The Crown of Wild Olive
on copper, made in the central periods of each style, and representing
the same goddess--Aphrodite. They are now set beside each other in your
Rudimentary Series. The first is from a patera lately found at Camirus,
authoritatively assigned by Mr. Newton, in his recent catalogue, to the
best period of Greek art. The second is from one of the series of
engravings executed, probably, by Baccio Baldini, in 1485, out of which
I chose your first practical exercise--the Sceptre of Apollo. I cannot,
however, make the comparison accurate in all respects, for I am obliged
to set the restricted type of the Aphrodite Urania of the Greeks beside
the universal Deity conceived by the Italian as governing the air,
earth, and sea; nevertheless the restriction in the mind of the Greek,
and expatiation in that of the Florentine, are both characteristic. The
Greek Venus Urania is flying in heaven, her power over the waters
symbolized by her being borne by a swan, and her power over the earth by
a single flower in her right hand; but the Italian Aphrodite is rising
out of the actual sea, and only half risen: her limbs are still in the
sea, her merely animal strength filling the waters with their life; but
her body to the loins is in the sunshine, her face raised to the sky;
her hand is about to lay a garland of flowers on the earth.
186. The Venus Urania of the Greeks, in her relation to men, has power
only over lawful and domestic love; therefore, she is fully dressed, and
not only quite dressed, but most daintily and trimly: her feet
delicately sandalled, her gown spotted with little stars, her hair
brushed exquisitely smooth at the top of her head, trickling in minute
waves down her forehead; and though, because there's such a quantity of
it, she can't possibly help having a chignon, look how tightly she has
fastened it in with her broad fillet. Of course she is married, so she
must wear a cap with pretty minute pendant jewels at the border; and a
very small necklace, all that her husband can properly afford, just
enough to go closely round the neck, and no more. On the contrary, the
Aphrodite of the Italian, being universal love, is pure-naked; and her
long hair is thrown wild to the wind and sea.
These primal differences in the symbolism, observe, are only because the
artists are thinking of separate powers: they do not necessarily involve
any national distinction in feeling. But the differences I have next to
indicate are essential, and characterize the two opposed national modes
of mind.
187. First, and chiefly. The Greek Aphrodite is a very pretty person,
and the Italian a decidedly plain one. That is because a Greek thought
no one could possibly love any but pretty people; but an Italian thought
that love could give dignity to the meanest form that it inhabited, and
light to the poorest that it looked upon. So his Aphrodite will not
condescend to be pretty.
188. Secondly. In the Greek Venus the breasts are broad and full, though
perfectly severe in their almost conical profile;--(you are allowed on
purpose to see the outline of the right breast, under the chiton:)--also
the right arm is left bare, and you can just see the contour of the
front of the right limb and knee; both arm and limb pure and firm, but
lovely. The plant she holds in her hand is a branching and flowering
one, the seed vessel prominent. These signs all mean that her essential
function is child-bearing.
On the contrary, in the Italian Venus the breasts are so small as to be
scarcely traceable; the body strong, and almost masculine in its angles;
the arms meagre and unattractive, and she lays a decorative garland of
flowers on the earth. These signs mean that the Italian thought of love
as the strength of an eternal spirit, for ever helpful; and for ever
crowned with flowers, that neither know seed-time nor harvest, and bloom
where there is neither death, nor birth.
189. Thirdly. The Greek Aphrodite is entirely calm, and looks straight
forward. Not one feature of her face is disturbed, or seems ever to have
been subject to emotion. The Italian Aphrodite looks up, her face all
quivering and burning with passion and wasting anxiety. The Greek one
is quiet, self-possessed, and self-satisfied; the Italian incapable of
rest, she has had no thought nor care for herself; her hair has been
bound by a fillet like the Greeks; but it is now all fallen loose, and
clotted with the sea, or clinging to her body; only the front tress of
it is caught by the breeze from her raised forehead, and lifted, in the
place where the tongues of fire rest on the brows, in the early
Christian pictures of Pentecost, and the waving fires abide upon the
heads of Angelico's seraphim.
190. There are almost endless points of interest, great and small, to be
noted in these differences of treatment. This binding of the hair by the
single fillet marks the straight course of one great system of art
method, from that Greek head which I showed you on the archaic coin of
the seventh century before Christ, to this of the fifteenth of our own
era--nay, when you look close, you will see the entire action of the
head depends on one lock of hair falling back from the ear, which it
does in compliance with the old Greek observance of its being bent there
by the pressure of the helmet. That rippling of it down her shoulders
comes from the Athena of Corinth; the raising of it on her forehead,
from the knot of the hair of Diana, changed into the vestal fire of the
angels. But chiefly, the calmness of the features in the one face, and
their anxiety in the other, indicate first, indeed, the characteristic
difference in every conception of the schools, the Greek never
representing expression, the Italian primarily seeking it; but far more,
mark for us here the utter change in the conception of love; from the
tranquil guide and queen of a happy terrestrial domestic life, accepting
its immediate pleasures and natural duties, to the agonizing hope of an
infinite good, and the ever mingled joy and terror of a love divine in
jealousy, crying, "Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon
thine arm; for love is strong as death, jealousy is cruel as the grave."
The vast issues dependent on this change in the conception of the ruling
passion of the human soul, I will endeavour to show you, on a future
occasion: in my present lecture, I shall limit myself to the definition
of the temper of Greek sculpture, and of its distinctions from
Florentine in the treatment of any subject whatever, be it love or
hatred, hope or despair.
These great differences are mainly the following.
191. 1. A Greek never expresses momentary passion; a Florentine looks to
momentary passion as the ultimate object of his skill.
When you are next in London, look carefully in the British Museum at the
casts from the statues in the pediment of the Temple of Minerva at
AEgina. You have there Greek work of definite date;--about 600 B.C.,
certainly before 580--of the purest kind; and you have the
representation of a noble ideal subject, the combats of the AEacidae at
Troy, with Athena herself looking on. But there is no attempt whatever
to represent expression in the features, none to give complexity of
action or gesture; there is no struggling, no anxiety, no visible
temporary exertion of muscles. There are fallen figures, one pulling a
lance out of his wound, and others in attitudes of attack and defence;
several kneeling to draw their bows. But all inflict and suffer, conquer
or expire, with the same smile.
192. Plate XIV. gives you examples, from more advanced art, of true
Greek representation; the subjects being the two contests of leading
import to the Greek heart--that of Apollo with the Python, and of
Hercules with the Nemean Lion. You see that in neither case is there the
slightest effort to represent the [Greek: lyssa] or agony of contest. No
good Greek artist would have you behold the suffering, either of gods,
heroes, or men; nor allow you to be apprehensive of the issue of their
contest with evil beasts, or evil spirits. All such lower sources of
excitement are to be closed to you; your interest is to be in the
thoughts involved by the fact of the war; and in the beauty or rightness
of form, whether active or inactive. I have to work out this subject
with you afterwards, and to compare with the pure Greek method of
thought, that of modern dramatic passion, engrafted on it, as typically
in Turner's contest of Apollo and the Python: in the meantime, be
content with the statement of this first great principle--that a Greek,
as such, never expresses momentary passion.
193. Secondly. The Greek, as such, never expresses personal character,
while a Florentine holds it to be the ultimate condition of beauty. You
are startled, I suppose, at my saying this, having had it often pointed
out to you, as a transcendent piece of subtlety in Greek art, that you
could distinguish Hercules from Apollo by his being stout, and Diana
from Juno by her being slender. That is very true; but those are general
distinctions of class, not special distinctions of personal character.
Even as general, they are bodily, not mental. They are the distinctions,
in fleshly aspect, between an athlete and a musician,--between a matron
and a huntress; but in no wise distinguish the simple-hearted hero from
the subtle Master of the Muses, nor the wilful and fitful girl-goddess
from the cruel and resolute matron-goddess. But judge for
yourselves;--In the successive plates, XV.--XVIII., I show you,[136]
typically represented as the protectresses of nations, the Argive,
Cretan, and Lacinian Hera, the Messenian Demeter, the Athena of Corinth,
the Artemis of Syracuse, the fountain Arethusa of Syracuse, and the
Sirem Ligeia of Terina. Now, of these heads, it is true that some are
more delicate in feature than the rest, and some softer in expression:
in other respects, can you trace any distinction between the Goddesses
of Earth and Heaven, or between the Goddess of Wisdom and the Water
Nymph of Syracuse? So little can you do so, that it would have remained
a disputed question--had not the name luckily been inscribed on some
Syracusan coins--whether the head upon them was meant for Arethusa at
all; and, continually, it becomes a question respecting finished
statues, if without attributes, "Is this Bacchus or Apollo--Zeus or
Poseidon?" There is a fact for you; noteworthy, I think! There is no
personal character in true Greek art:--abstract ideas of youth and age,
strength and swiftness, virtue and vice,--yes: but there is no
individuality; and the negative holds down to the revived
conventionalism of the Greek school by Leonardo, when he tells you how
you are to paint young women, and how old ones; though a Greek would
hardly have been so discourteous to age as the Italian is in his canon
of it,--"old women should be represented as passionate and hasty, after
the manner of Infernal Furies."
194. "But at least, if the Greeks do not give character, they give ideal
beauty?" So it is said, without contradiction. But will you look again
at the series of coins of the best time of Greek art, which I have just
set before you? Are any of these goddesses or nymphs very beautiful?
Certainly the Junos are not. Certainly the Demeters are not. The Siren,
and Arethusa, have well-formed and regular features; but I am quite sure
that if you look at them without prejudice, you will think neither
reach even the average standard of pretty English girls. The Venus
Urania suggests at first, the idea of a very charming person, but you
will find there is no real depth nor sweetness in the contours, looked