CHAPTER II

THE IDEAL OF SCULPTURE

Now that we pass on to consider the really ideal style of sculpture we must once again recall the fact that the perfected type necessarily presupposes the imperfect as its predecessor; and it does so not merely in relation to its technique, which, in the first instance, does not concern us here, but in respect to the general notion, in other words the mode of its conception and the particular way in which it sets forth the same ideally. We have in general terms called the symbolical type that of inquiry; consequently pure sculpture, too, has for its presupposition a certain stage of the symbolical type, and by this we do not merely mean a stage of the symbolic form as generally conceived, in other words of architecture, but a form of sculpture which is itself characterized by the symbolical principle. We shall find an opportunity of supporting this assertion with the example of Egyptian sculpture in the third chapter.

We may in this place and from the point of view of the Ideal generally, and for the present wholly in an abstract and formal manner, assume that which we term symbolical in a specific art is its _incompleteness_; as, for example, we may so apply this term to an attempt of children to draw the human figure, or mould it from wax and clay. What they execute is to this extent merely a symbol, as it only _suggests_ the living reality it purports to exhibit, remaining, however, wholly unfaithful to the actual object and its significance. Art is consequently in the first instance hieroglyphical, no mere accidental and capricious mark, but a haphazard delineation of an object for the imagination. For this purpose a badly drawn figure suffices if it recalls that object it is intended to suggest. In a similar way piety is content with badly executed images, and still worships Christ, the Virgin, and any other saint in the most bungling counterfeit, although such images may merely derive such individualization purely from particular attributes conveyed by such means as a lantern or a mill-stone. For piety refuses to be reminded of aught save the object; the soul adds all else thereto, which will be filled up with an image of the object, however untrue the counterfeit may be. It is not the living expression of the present which is required; it is not that which is presented which is intended to enkindle us by itself. Rather a work of art of this kind already brings satisfaction if it excites the general concept of the objects by virtue of its images, however insufficient they be. A concept of this kind, however, already abstracts from the given content. I can readily imagine some known thing, such as a house, a tree, a man; but even in such a case, where the reference is to something quite determinate, the concept merely includes wholly general traits, and is in fact only a _true concept_[153] in so far as it has effaced from the concrete presentment the wholly immediate singularity of the objects and simplified the same. If the imaged concept, which the work of art has to arouse in us, is that of the divine nature, and if this has to receive recognition from an entire people, this object is especially attainable when no _alteration_ is allowed in the mode of presentation. For this reason art is on the one hand conventional, and on the other scholastic[154]; and this is so not merely in the case of the more ancient Egyptians, but also in that of more ancient Greek and Christian art. The artist in such case was bound to restrict himself to definite forms and to repeat their type.

The crucial point of transition, where fine art wakes from its sleep, must consequently be sought there, where at last the artist is creative by virtue of his own free conception, where the flash of genius strikes into the material presented, and communicates freshness and vitality to the presentment. Then for the first time the atmosphere of mind[155] enfolds the work of art, which is no longer restricted to merely calling up in a general way some idea before the mind, and recalling to it some deeper significance which the spectator already is essentially possessed of, but which proceeds to make visible this significance as throughout made vitally present in some individualized creation, and which consequently neither makes no further advance beyond the purely superficial generality of its forms, nor binds itself on the other hand, in respect to the detail of its delineation, to the characteristics of all that common reality offers it.

In the rise of ideal sculpture we presuppose perforce a complete passage to such a sphere of creation. In establishing the facts of this appearance we may emphasize the following points of view.

_First_, we have to address ourselves to the general character of the ideal form in its contrast to the stages previously discussed.

_Secondly_, we shall have to adduce specific aspects of it, the importance of which is most obvious, such as the way in which facial characteristics, drapery, and pose are modelled or treated.

_Thirdly_, we have to enforce the position that the ideal figure is not merely a general type of beauty in the formal sense of type, but includes, by virtue of its principle of individuality, which belongs to the really living Ideal, essentially, too, the aspect of differentiation and specific definition within its own sphere, and by this means the province of sculpture is expanded in a cycle of

## particularized images of gods and heroes.

1. THE GENERAL CHARACTERIZATION OF THE IDEAL FIGURE OF SCULPTURE

We have already examined at length what the general principle of the classical ideal is. Our present inquiry is therefore limited to the particular mode under which this principle is realized through the medium of sculpture in the human form. In this connection the lines of difference between the human physiognomy, expressive as it is of spiritual life and the general build of the animal organism, which is unable to pass beyond the mere expression of natural life in its unbroken association with natural wants and an organism that is exclusively adapted to their satisfaction, will supply us with a standard of comparison which carries us considerably further. Yet even such a standard is still somewhat indefinite for the reason that the human form alone neither is as bodily form, or as an expression of Spirit, wholly and as we find it first of ideal type. On the contrary we may observe with more closeness from the fine masterpieces of Greek sculpture what the ideal of sculpture in the spiritually fine expression of its creations has to bring before us. It was pre-eminently Winckelmann who, with this intimate knowledge of and devotion for art of this kind, and by means of his receptive enthusiasm, no less than his intelligence and critical faculty, made an end of indefinite statements over the Ideal of Greek beauty by leaving the characterization of detail in the form at once distinct and precise, an endeavour which by itself is full of instruction. No doubt the results he obtained supply abundant opportunity for further criticism, exceptions, and the like; but we should be careful, before attempting to criticize details and errors in his work, not to obscure the main result which he established. However far aesthetic science may extend its borders that at least must be presupposed as essential. Assuming this, it cannot, however, be denied that since Winckelmann's death our knowledge of the antique has not only been essentially enlarged in the number of examples submitted to criticism, but also has been placed on a securer basis in its relation to the style of these works and the true appreciation of their beauty.

Winckelmann, no doubt, passed under review a great number of Egyptian and Greek statues; we have, however, added in more recent times the closer acquaintance of the Aeginetan sculptures, no less than those masterworks which in part are ascribed to Pheidias and in part we must recognize as creations of his age and under his supervision. In a word we have secured a more intimate knowledge of a number of sculptures, whether single statues or reliefs, which, in their relation to the severity of the ideal style, are referable to the age in which Greek art was at its fullest bloom. For these astonishing monuments of Greek sculpture, as is well known, we are indebted to the efforts of Lord Elgin, who, as English ambassador to Turkey, had a number of statues and reliefs of the greatest beauty taken from the Parthenon at Athens and other towns to England. People have blamed such acquisitions and called them temple robbery. Lord Elgin has, however, as a matter of fact, really rescued these works of art for Europe and preserved them from complete destruction. Such an enterprise deserves its true recognition. Moreover, it is due to this circumstance that the interest of all connoisseurs and friends of art have been directed to an epoch and a mode of presentation, which, in the exceptionally consistent severity of its style, constitutes the true greatness and height of the Ideal. What the general verdict has highly estimated in the works of this epoch is not the charm and grace of form and pose, not the elegance of expression which already, as in the times subsequent to Pheidias, makes an external appeal and distinctly aims at pleasing the spectator, nor yet the delicacy and boldness of the elaboration; rather the general chorus of praise is concentrated upon the expression of self-subsistency and essential repose in these figures, and more especially has this note of admiration been most emphatic by virtue of the free vitality, the absolute transfusion of and command over the purely natural and material aspect, a command by which the artist moulds the marble, makes it alive and endows it with a soul. And we may add that when all has been said that can be said in such praise the figure of the reclining river-god remains as most emphatically its object, which is one of the finest examples of antique art we have recovered.

(_a_) The vitality of these works consists in this, that they are the free product of the genius of the artist. The artist at this stage is neither satisfied with giving, by means of general and haphazard contours, suggestions and expressions, a general conception of that which he desires to reproduce, nor does he, on the other hand, in respect to what is individual and singular, accept the forms as he has received them by chance from the external world. For this reason also he does not present them again with loyalty to this accidental aspect, but he is concerned to place within his own free creation what is empirically particularized in isolated aspects that thus appear in a further individual accord with the universal types of the human form, an accord which is made to appear as throughout transpierced with the spiritual configuration of that which he is called to make apparent, when he suffers us to see his own vitality, conception and animation in the work regarded on the side of the artist's activity. The universal aspect of the content of his work is not due to his creation. It is presented him by means of mythology and saga precisely in the way that he finds the general effect and details of the human form; but the free and living individualization, which permeates all portions on his work, is the result of his own personal point of view, his efforts and services.

(_b_) The effect and charm of this vitality and freedom is only produced by means of the sufficiency, the honest candour of the elaboration of all the particular parts to which the most definite knowledge and review of the construction of these parts belongs, no less in their position of repose than also in that of their motion. The way in which the different members are disposed and moulded with regard to rondure and smoothness, in every condition of rest and movement, must be expressed in the most satisfactory way. This fundamental elaboration and placing in relief of all the separate parts we find in all products of antique art, and the animation thus produced is only the effect of infinite pains and truth. When the eye contemplates works of this kind it is, in the first instance, unable clearly to recognize a mass of distinction; and it is only by virtue of a particular manner of lighting that we can appreciate the same by means of a stronger contrast between light and shadow. But though these fine nuances are imperceptible at first glance, the general impression they produce is not for that reason lost. In part they appear as the spectator varies his point of view, and in part we derive from them what is essentially the impression of the organic continuity of all the members and their forms. This spirit of vitality, this soul of material configuration, is due wholly to the fact that, though every part is entirely complete in its separable independence, yet it is to a like extent throughout, by virtue of the wealth of its modes of transition, associated not merely with the part that is immediately its neighbour, but with the entire work. For this reason the form is vital in every part of it; the least detail of it is stamped with purpose; every part of it is differentiated from the rest, possesses that which distinguishes it and makes it distinct, and yet is affected by the same fluidity of treatment, is only what it is vitally as a part of the whole, so that we are able to recognize the whole in the very fragments of it, and a part that is broken off enables us not merely to see but to enjoy a totality that is not thus mutilated. The material surface, although for the most part statues are now seriously impaired by the weather and other causes in this respect, presents a soft and malleable appearance; and in one particular example of the head of a horse I have in mind it literally glows with the ardour of life on the face of the marble itself. This scarce perceptible undercurrent of fluidity in all organic parts, united to the most conscientious elaboration which avoids purely regular surfaces and anything approaching the bare convexity of circular shape, supplies that softness and ideality of all parts, that harmonious unity, which extends throughout the whole as the spiritual breath of one animating presence.

(_c_) However true, notwithstanding, expression of detailed or general configuration may be, this truth is no mere imitation of Nature simply. Sculpture is always occupied with the abstraction of form, and is consequently obliged, on the one hand, to omit from the bodily presentment what is most essentially the natural aspect, in other words, what is exclusively indicative of natural function. From a further point of view it is unable to carry to extremes its

## particularization of detail, but rather as, for example, in its

treatment of hair, must restrict its attention and reproduction to the more general of its forms. In this way, apart from any other, the human figure, when properly treated by sculpture, is at once declared as the form and expression of Spirit, rather than of a purely natural form. Closely connected with this consideration is the fact that, though a spiritual content is expressed by means of sculpture in the _bodily_ form, yet in the genuine Ideal it is not asserted so _prominently_ in the exterior form to the extent of making that which is simply external in its charm and grace either the exclusive or predominant attraction to the spectator. On the contrary, though the genuine and more severe Ideal of Spirituality is here presented in bodily shape, and is exclusively thus presented by means of such shape and its expression, yet this configuration must equally appear to be without exception unified, supported and transfused by this ideal content. The swell of life, the malleability and bodily presence, or sensuous fulness and beauty of the bodily organism, must as little supply independently the object of the presentation, as what is individual in the spiritual presence can be carried to the length of expressing the more intimate and more closely related inner life of the spectator, when we consider his own particularity.

2. THE PARTICULAR ASPECTS OF THE IDEAL FORM OF SCULPTURE AS SUCH

If we direct our attention now to the more specific consideration of the fundamental phases, on which the ideal form of sculpture reposes, we shall do well to follow Winckelmann in essentials, who has laid stress on the several types with the finest intuitive sense, and with the most fortunate results, as well as on the way in which the same have been treated and shaped by Greek artists, with the result that they finally present to us the Ideal of sculpture. The vitality, this floating emanation no doubt evades the definitions of the understanding, which in the present case is unable to hold fast and transpierce the particular as in architecture, which, however, asserts itself in the entire work, as we have already seen, as the coalescence of free spirituality and bodily forms.

The first general feature of distinction which arrests us concerns the determination of works of sculpture in a general way, by virtue of which the human form has to express that which is spiritual. The spiritual expression, albeit it has to be poured forth over the entire bodily presence reaches its highest degree of concentration in the _facial form_, whereas the remaining members are merely able to reflect what is spiritual by means of their _position_, in so far, that is, as the same proceeds from Spirit in its essential freedom.

In our examination of these ideal forms we will make a beginning in the _first_ place with the head; we will, then, in the _second_ place enlarge upon the position of the body, after which we shall _conclude_ with the principle of the drapery.

(_a_) In the ideal configuration of the human head we are first and foremost confronted with the so-called Greek profile.

(_α_) This profile consists in the peculiar union of the forehead and nose; in the almost straight or merely slightly crooked line in which the forehead unites without interruption with the nose, as also, to speak more accurately, in the vertical direction of this line to another which, extending it from the root of the nose to the orifice of the ear, forms a right angle with the line of the forehead and nose above mentioned. In a line of this sort nose and forehead stand throughout to one another in the ideal and fine art of sculpture, and the question presents itself whether this is a merely national and artistic contingency or a physiological necessity.

Camper, the famous Dutch physiologist, has, with more exactness and in an exceptional way, characterized this line as the line of facial beauty; he in fact discovers therein the main distinction between the form of the human visage and the profile of animal life; and on account of this follows up the modifications of this feature throughout the various human races. In this respect his researches are no doubt in conflict with those of Blumenbach[156]. Speaking generally, however, the line adverted to is in fact a most marked means of distinction between the outward form of man and animal. Among animals, it is true, muzzle and nasal bone also form a more or less straight line, but the specific projection of the animal's snout, which is forced to the front, as being in the nearest practical relation to objects, is essentially determined through its connection with the skull, united to which the ear is moreover placed above or below, so that in the present instance the line that is carried forward from the skull to the root of the nose or the upper jaw, where the teeth are in position, forms an acute angle instead of a right angle as is found in the case of man. Everybody can independently feel in a general way the strength of this distinction, which no doubt opens the path to more definite thinking on the subject.

(_αα_) In the formation of the head of animals the most insistent feature is the mouth as the organ by means of which it feeds in co-operation with the upper and lower jaws, the teeth, and the muscles of mastication. All the other organs are subordinate and in a position of subservience to this principal feature. Notably the snout as a means of scenting food, the eyes being to a lesser degree instrumental in spying it out. The express insistence on these animal features as exclusively devoted to the natural wants and their satisfaction gives to the head of the animal the appearance as though intended merely to satisfy natural functions without any trace of spiritual ideality. For this reason the entire animal organism is rendered intelligible from the mouth as a point of departure. A specific mode of nourishment, that is to say, requires a specific structure of the muzzle, a particular formation of the teeth, together with which the structure of the jaw bones, the muscles of mastication, cheek-bones, and, moreover, the vertebrae, the thighbones, claws, and so forth all stand in the closest relation. The body of the animal merely subserves natural ends and on account of this dependence on the purely material aspect of nourishment gives the impression of absence of spirit. If, then, the human countenance is, even in its bodily conformation, to possess a spiritual stamp, those organs which in the animal form are so predominant must in the case of man, retire from such a pre-eminence and give way to those which do not so much suggest a practical relation as one that is referable to the ideality of mind.

(_ββ_) The human countenance has consequently a _second_ central point, in which that attitude to facts, which indicates the relation of the soul or spirit, is declared. We find this in the _upper_ portion of the face, in the thoughtful brow and the eye, through which we face the soul, which looms out beneath it, together with its environment. Thought, reflection--that is, the introspection of the spiritual identity--is necessarily connected with the forehead, whose internal life in concentrated clarity looks forth from the eye. Through the prominence of the forehead and the correspondingly retreating appearance of the mouth and the cheek-bones the human countenance derives its _spiritual_ character. This projection of the brow is therefore necessarily that which determines the entire formation of the skull, which no longer falls back, forming the side of an acute angle as its extreme point the mouth is pressed to the front[157], but rather permits of a line being drawn from the forehead through the nose to the point of the chin, which, with a second drawn over the rear of the skull to the apex of the forehead, form a right angle, or one at least which approximates to it.

(_γγ_) _Thirdly_, we may say that the _nose_ forms the passage and connection between the lower and upper portion of the face, that is to say, between the purely contemplative and spiritual forehead and the practical organ of nutrition; and if we take into consideration its natural function as the organ of smell it is rightly placed in this intermediate position between an attitude to the external world which is either wholly practical or ideal. No doubt the sense of smell in such a position is still associated with an animal want; it is intimately connected with the taste; and for this reason, in the case of the mere animal, the snout is at the service of the mouth and the organ of nourishment. But the sense of smell is by itself as a fact no actual consumption of objects, as eating and tasting are; it merely accepts the result of the process in which the objects pass into the atmosphere and its invisible and mysterious medium of dissolution. Assuming, then, that the passage from forehead and nose is of such a formation that the forehead viewed independently arches forward, and yet in relation to the nose retreats, whereas this latter organ on its part, in proximity to the forehead, is withdrawn back and only projects beyond this point, we see that both these portions of the face--that is, the contemplative part, the forehead, and that which suggests a practical use, with which we may associate the mouth, form an emphatic contrast, in virtue of which the nose, as belonging in a sense to both extremes, appertains equally to the practical aims[158] of the mouth. Furthermore, the forehead, in its isolated position, receives the appearance of severity and exclusive spiritual concentration in its contrast to the eloquent sympathy of the mouth, which is primarily the organ of nutritive support, and at the same time accepts the nasal organ into its service as its instrument in creating the natural want by virtue of its smell, and thereby declares its direct relation to the material side. And in close connection with this reciprocity is the contingent character of the form to the indeterminable modifications of which both nose and forehead may be carried. The particular type of the forehead's arch, the nature of its projection or retreat, loses its secure lines of definition, and the nose can be fiat or fine, drooping, arched, more acutely flattened and a snub.

By virtue of amelioration[159] and accommodation, however, that beautiful harmony, which the Greek profile asserts in the gentle and uninterrupted communication between the spiritual forehead and the nose, that is, between the upper and lower portions of the face, the nose appears on this very account of closer affinity to the forehead, and consequently receives itself a spiritual expression and character as though drawn up into the spiritual system. The sense of smell becomes at the same time a sense independent of purely practical ends, a nose refined for spiritual purpose; just as in fact also the nose by its sneer and similar movements, however unimportant by themselves they may be, is nevertheless shown to be in the highest degree pliable as a mode of expressing the judgments and emotions of soul-life. So, for example, we say of a proud man that he holds his nose high, or ascribe sauciness to a young girl who tosses up her bit of a nose.

And the same thing may be said of the _mouth._ No doubt it is on the one hand referable as an instrument to the satisfaction of hunger and thirst; it expresses, however, in addition to this conditions of the soul, opinions, and passions. Even among animals it is used in this relation as the organ of animal cries, and by man as that of speech, laughter, sighs, and so forth, by which means the lineaments of the mouth are themselves associated with the facts of eloquent soul-sympathy, or of joy, sorrow, and similar conditions.

It is no doubt asserted that, though for the Greeks, such a configuration of the human countenance is presented as the true presentation of beauty, the Chinese, Jews, and Egyptians, regarded on the contrary an entirely different type, or rather forms absolutely in conflict with such, as equally beautiful, or yet more beautiful, and the conclusion is made that, cancelling one example by another, we have not proved that the Greek profile is the type of genuine beauty. Such a statement, however, is wholly superficial. The Greek profile must in fact not be regarded as any mere external and accidental form, but approximates to the ideal of beauty by its independent claims, namely, first, because it is the type of countenance in which the expression of soul-life forces into the background all that is purely material, and, secondly, because it to the fullest extent detaches itself from all that is contingent in the form, without, however, displaying thereby mere subservience to rule, and leaving no place for every kind of individuality.

(_β_) With respect to specific types and their closer consideration I will merely touch upon certain fundamental aspects selected from the abundant material which otherwise invites attention. In this respect we may in the _first_ instance refer to the forehead, the eye, and the ear, as those parts of the face which are most nearly related to the contemplative, or at least spiritual aspect, and, _secondly_, to the nose, mouth, and chin, as those relatively speaking more connected with the organs of practical import.

_Thirdly_, we shall have somewhat to say of the _hair_ as the external setting, by virtue of which the head is rounded off in an oval shape of beauty.

(_αα_) The _forehead_ is in the ideal form of classical sculpture, neither fully arched forward, nor as a rule lofty; for, although the spiritual aspect has to be prominently emphasized in its configuration of the visual features, yet it is not as yet spirituality simply as such, which sculpture has to present before us, but rather individuality as still exclusively expressed in bodily form.

In heads of Hercules, for example, the forehead is preferably low, for the reason that Hercules possesses rather the muscular vigour of the body directed towards external objects than the introspective energy of mind. And for the rest we find the forehead subject to many modifications, lower in the case of charming and youthful feminine forms, and more lofty in the case of figures that represent substantial character and serious reflection.

In speaking of the _eye_ it is important at once to make it clear that in the figure of ideal sculpture, in addition to the absence of any true colour such as is found in painting, the _glance_ of the eye is also absent. It is possible no doubt to show on historical evidence that the ancients, in the case of particular images of Minerva and other gods placed in temples, have painted the eye, since we find actual traces of colour in certain statues; in the case of images dedicated to a sacred purpose, however, artists have frequently held fast so far as possible to traditional usage in the face of good taste. In the case of other examples it is clear that they must have possessed eyes in the shape of precious stones inserted. This practice, however, is the result of a desire already adverted to of adorning the images of gods in as rich and lavish a manner as possible. And we may affirm generally that such either mark the beginnings of the art, or are due, as exceptions, to the traditions of religion. Moreover, apart from this, mere colour is still far from giving to the eye the essentially concentrated look, which alone communicates to it an expression that is wholly complete. We may therefore here assume it as a fact that in the case of statues and busts of a truly classical type, unaffected by such exceptional conditions which have come down to us from antiquity, the light focus of the eye, no less than the spiritual expression of its glance, is absent. For although not unfrequently the focus is inserted in the apple of the eye, or at least is indicated by a conical depression, and a modification which expresses the light point of this focus and by this means a kind of visual glance, such remains nevertheless the purely external configuration of the eye-ball, and is no presentation of its vitality; in other words it is not the glance of it simply, the inward glance, that is, of the soul.

We can readily imagine that it must cost the artist a great deal to sacrifice the eye in its simple aspect of animation. We have only to look a man in the eyes to discover a point of arrest, a centre that explains and is basic to his entire presentment, which we may grasp in its simplest terms from the unifying declaration of its bare look. The eye-glance is in fact that aspect which is most steeped in soul; it is the concentration of the inward life and its subjective emotion. Just as a man by means of a handshake, so, too, with yet more rapidity he is brought into unity with his fellow by virtue of the eye-glance he faces. And it is this pre-eminently spiritual mode of revelation which sculpture is forced to dispense with. In painting, on the contrary, this outward expression of soul-life makes its appearance by means of the subtle gradations of colouring either in its entire spiritual effect, or in a manifest association with external facts and the

## particular interests, feelings, and passions, which are called up by

their presence. But the province of the sculptor in his art is neither the essential inwardness of soul-life, the concentration of the entire man in the simple centre of self-identity, which gleams out in the human glance as its ultimate point of illumination, nor the developed subjectivity as we find it diffused amid the surrounding world. The end of sculpture is the totality of the external form, into which the soul must disintegrate itself, and present itself by means of the manifold of the medium thus utilized, so that the recourse to one simple soul-focus, in other word the immediacy of the spirit-glance, is not here permitted. The work of sculpture possesses no such ideal intimacy in its simplest terms which is allowed to assert itself, as the human look does assert itself in contrast to other parts of the human body, thereby unfolding a contrast between the eye and the body; rather in sculpture what the individual is in his ideal and spiritual significance remains wholly fused in the total aspect of form, which the spirit that contemplates it, the spectator, can alone grasp in its unity. And in the _second_ place, and with equal truth the eye peers into the world that surrounds it; it necessarily looks at something positive, and thereby is witness to man in his relation to a manifold world of objects, just as in the sphere of feeling he is united to his environment and general experience. It is, however, precisely this union with external objects from which the true figure of sculpture is withdrawn, being rather absorbed in what is substantive in its own spiritual content, essentially self-subsistent, that is without further diffusion or development. _Thirdly_, the glance of the eye receives its fully evolved significance by virtue of the expression of the rest of the bodily presentment, such as in its general mien and speech, albeit as the purely formal point of subjective life, in which the entire manifold of the form and its environment is concentrated to a focus, it holds itself aloof and contrasted with this development. A breadth of vision of this specific kind is, however, foreign to the plastic art. For this reason the more specialized mode of expression in the human vision, which did not at the same time immediately discover its further reciprocal response of effect in the entire compass of its configuration, could only be an accidental particularity, which the sculptured figure must dispense with. For reasons such as these, sculpture does not merely deprive itself of nothing when it leaves its figures bare of the eye's full glance; but we may affirm that it is only true to its fundamental principle when it totally disregards this mode of the soul's expression. Consequently it is merely one more example of the fine insight of antiquity, that it recognized firmly this limitation and restriction of sculpture, and remained loyal to the abstract view it implied. It is an evidence of the lofty intelligence of the ancients, based on the fulness of their reasoning faculties, and the comprehensive grasp of their outlook. No doubt we do meet with cases in antique sculpture, in which the eyes gaze upon some definite point, as for example in the case of the faun we have alluded to several times who glances at the young Bacchus. This smile of recognition is expressed in a moving way; but even here the eye is itself visionless, and the real statues of the gods in their simple situations are not presented to us in relations of this specific character so far as the direction of eye and glance is concerned.

With regard to the _form_ of the eye in ideal sculpture it is large of size, widely extended, oval and in respect to position placed at right angles toward the line of the forehead and nose, and in considerable depression. As far back as Winckelmann[160] the large size of the eye was accounted significant of beauty, just as a great light is more beautiful than a small one. "The size, however," his description continues, "is relative to the bone of the eye or its cavity, and is expressed in the mode of incision[161] and in the opening of the eyelids, of which in beautiful eyes the upper describes a more circular arch toward the angle within than the lower one." In the case of profile heads of superior workmanship the apple of the eye itself possesses a profile and receives precisely by virtue of this opening thus cut away a nobility and a free glance, whose very light, according to Winckelmann's observation, is rendered visible on coins through an exalted point or focus on the apple of the eye. At the same time mere size does not make all eyes beautiful; they are this in the first place by virtue of the cast of the eyelids, and in the second through being themselves deepset. In other words the eye ought not to press forward, and by so doing be thrust on the external world, for it is just this close relation to the external world which is removed from the ideal, exchanging for this the self-retirement of personality upon its own resources, that is, upon what is ideally substantive in the individuality. The projection of the eye, however, also suggests the thought that the apple of the eye is at one time pushed to the fore and at another withdrawn, and, particularly in the case of the staring gaze, only testifies to the fact that the individual is beside himself, either staring in total absence of thought, or in an equally soulless way absorbed in the gaze upon some material object. In the Ideal of antique sculpture the eye is placed in even more pronounced retreat than we actually find it in Nature. Winckelmann suggests as a reason for this that in the case of statues of larger size which are placed more remote from the vision of the spectator, without this more receding position, on account of the fact that apart from this the apple of the eye was for the most part flat, the eye itself would have been without meaning and practically lifeless, if by just this more emphatic projection of the bone of the eye-socket, the thereby accentuated play of light and shadow had not made the eye more apparently active. Yet this deepening of the eye has a yet further significance. In other words, if the forehead is thereby suffered to receive a prominence superior to that of Nature the contemplative portion of the face is the predominant factor, and we receive a keener sense of spiritual expression, while also the emphasized shadow in the eye-sockets on its own account enables us to feel a depth and unimpaired inwardness, a look that is shut off from external objects, and retires on the essential presence of individuality, whose depths are suffused over the entire presentment. In the case of coins, too, of the best period the eyes are deep-set, and the enclosing bones of the eye are projected. The eyebrows on the contrary are not expressed by a more extended arch of tiny hairs, but merely suggested by means of the acute sharpness of the eye-bone ridge, which, without interrupting the forehead in its form of continuity as eyebrows actually do through their colour and relative elevation, surround the eyes as with an elliptical garland. The more elevated and consequently more independent arch of the eye-brows has never been regarded as beautiful.

Winckelmann[162] further observes with regard to the _ears_ that the ancients devoted the greatest care to their elaboration, so that in the case of cut stones indifferent attention to the execution of the ear is an infallible sign of the spuriousness of the work in question. In

## particular he insists that statues which are portraits often reproduced

the characteristic and individual type of the ear. It is consequently possible in many cases to ascertain the very personality represented from the ear, if the same happens to be known, and to take one example, from a single ear with an exceptionally large opening into it, to deduce the presence of a Marcus Aurelius. Indeed, the ancients have not failed to indicate in this respect what is actually misshapen. As examples of a peculiar type of ear to be found in ideal heads, Winckelmann draws attention to certain ears given to Hercules, which are beaten out flat, and others which bulge out in their cartilaginous folds. They indicate wrestlers and pancratiasts, just as Hercules himself carried off the prize at Elis as a pancratiast in the games of Pelops.

(_ββ_) We have still to add some remarks with reference to that part of the countenance which is more nearly related to the practical or sensuous side of natural function, in other words the specific form of the nose, the mouth, and the chin. The distinction in the form of the nose gives to the face a variety of configuration and many various kinds of expression. A keenly cut nose with thin folds[163] at the apertures we are accustomed to associate with an acute understanding, whereas a broad and drooping one, or a snub nose that is somewhat brutish, suggests as a rule sensuality, folly, and bestiality. It is, however, the function of sculpture to hold itself aloof, not merely from such extremes, but also the intermediate stages of design and expression, and refuse consequently to accept, as we have already seen is the case with the Greek profile, not simply the separation from the forehead, but also the extreme curve, whether upwards or downwards, the acute point and the more extended rounding off, the elevation in the middle and the depression towards the forehead and the mouth, generally speaking the extreme acuteness and thickness of the nose, setting in the place of these varied modifications a comparatively indifferent type, if at the same time one which in a quiet way is throughout vitalized by individuality.

Second only to the eye the _month_ belongs to the most beautiful portion of the face, provided that it is formed not so much in express relation to its natural function as an organ for eating and drinking as in accommodation to its spiritual significance. In this respect it only gives place to the eye in the variety and wealth of its means of expression, and this though it is enabled to express with vital force the finest nuances of scorn, disdain, envy, the entire gamut of sorrows and joy through the slightest of movements and the fullest play of such, and to a similar degree to express the charm of love, earnestness, sensuous feeling, obstinacy, attraction, and other such emotions by its state of repose. Sculpture, however, makes less use of it to express the nuances of particular expression, and, above all, is bound to keep what is entirely sensuous, and suggests natural wants away from the form and delineation of the lips. For the most part, therefore, it models the mouth neither over-full-shaped nor too spare, for extremely thin lips also suggest a parsimony of emotional life; makes the underlip more full than the upper, which was also the case with Schiller, upon the modelling of whose mouth was inscribed every kind of significance and fulness of temperament. This more ideal type of the lips in its contrast to the animal snout presents the appearance of a certain absence of desire, whereas in the case of the beast, if the upper portion projects, we are at once reminded of the headlong devouring of food and the grasp for it. Among human beings the mouth is, when we have regard for its spiritual relation, primarily the seat of human speech, the organ for the free communication of self-conscious life, just as the eye is that of the emotional spirit. Moreover, according to the ideals of sculpture, the lips are not tightly closed; rather in the works of art in its blooming season the mouth is set slightly open without suffering the teeth, however, to be visible, which have nothing to do with the expression of a spiritual significance. This attitude is so far supported by the fact that when the organs of sense are strongly active, as, for example, when we gaze intently at an object, the mouth is closed; when, on the contrary, we are absorbed in visionless thought it opens slightly and the angles of the mouth are to an appreciable extent inclined downwards.

Last in our review of the objects above named, the _chin_, in its ideal form, completes the spiritual expression of the mouth, that is, assuming it is not wholly absent, as in the case of animals, or only retained in a retreating and meagre condition as in works of Egyptian sculpture, but as rather lengthened out even beyond the degree which is usual, receiving thus in the rounded fulness of its arched curve, more

## particularly where we have shorter underlips, yet further increase of

size. To sum up in fact a full chin conveys the impression of a certain satiety and repose. Odd fussy wenches wag with their withered-up chins and meagre muscles. Goethe, for example, likens their chops to a pair of tongs that will be snatching at something. All restlessness of this kind disappears with a full chin. The dimple, however, which nowadays is held to have some claim to beauty is, as an accidental grace itself, no essential accompaniment of beauty. In its place, however, a rounded chin of considerable proportions is an infallible sign of antique heads. In the case of the Medicean Venus it is not so noticeable, but it is proved on good evidence that the statue has suffered a loss in this respect.

(_γγ_) We have only now in conclusion to refer to the _hair._ Generally speaking the hair has rather the character of a vegetable than an animal formation; it testifies less to the strength of the organism than it is indicative of weakness. Barbarians allow the hair to hang in straight lines, or cut it off close to the head rather than in undulating line or locks. The ancients, on the contrary, devoted excessive attention to the elaboration of the hair in their ideal works of sculpture, a direction in which more modern artists devote less trouble and skill. No doubt the ancients also, when the stone on which they worked was extremely hard, did not suffer the hair of the head to flow in freely hanging locks, but arranged as though it was cropped short[164] and, in that form, finely combed out. In the case of marble sculpture of the better time the hair is in locks and of great vigour both in the case of male and female heads, where we find it presented in upward rolls and bound together on the crown of the head; one finds it at least, as Winckelmann points out, drawn out in winding rolls and with express depressions the better to indicate its various folds in light and shadow, which is impossible if the drills are shallow. Add to this in the case of particular gods the line of direction and the arrangement of the hair is different In a similar way in Christian painting Christ is made recognizable by a definite type of the crown of the head and the locks of hair, following which type in our own time there are not a few who deliberately imitate such an appearance.

(_γ_) The parts above described in their form sum up collectively the head as a whole. The beautiful form is here determined by a line which most nearly approaches the oval of an egg, and thereby resolves every indication of sharpness, pointedness, and angularity in harmonious form and a gently progressive association, without, however, being exclusively regular and abstractly symmetrical, or issuing in multifold variety of lines and their direction and inclination as is the case with other portions of the body. In order to form this self-collected oval shape, the beautiful and free inclination from the chin to the ear contributes, particularly if we look at the face from the front, no less than the line already indicated, which describes the termination of the forehead, the bones of the eye-socket. And the arch over the profile from forehead over the point of the nose to the chin is equally noticeable, and the beautiful arching of the back of the head to the nape of the neck. So much I have permitted myself, without entering on further detail, to observe on the ideal shape of the head.

(_b_) In respect to the other organic members such as neck, breast, back, belly, arms, hands, thighs, and feet, we find here another type of co-ordination. They can no doubt possess a beautiful form, but the beauty is sensuous, vital, without expressing by virtue of their form as such a spiritual significance as the countenance expresses it. The ancients have shown for the form of these parts of the body the highest sense of beauty; but in genuine sculpture they must not merely pass as the beauty of a living organism, but as members of the _human_ form it is their further function to present the appearance of a spiritual effect, so far as this is compatible with what is purely bodily presence. Otherwise the expression of the soul would be concentrated wholly in the face, whereas in plastic sculpture what is spiritual must appear as permeating nothing less than the entire configuration, and must not be permitted to isolate itself independently and in contrast to what is corporeal.

If we now inquire what are the means which enable the breast, the torso, the back, and the extremities to contribute to the expression of spirit and thereby to receive over and beyond a beautiful vitality, the breath of a spiritual life, we shall find the following:

In the _first_ place there is the relation in which the limbs, in so far as that relation proceeds from the ideality of Spirit, and is freely determined by that ideality, are brought into juxtaposition.

_Secondly_, there is the motion and repose in their complete freedom and beauty of form.

_Thirdly_, this type of position and motion in their definite affiliation[165] and expression supplies the situation more closely, in which the Ideal, which can never consist purely in the Ideal of abstraction, is comprehended.

I will add yet further some general remarks on the above points.

(_α_) With regard to _position_ of first importance is that aspect we have had already occasion to notice in a superficial way, namely, the _upright_ position of man. The body of animals moves in a parallel line with the ground; mouth and eye follow the same direction, and the animal is unable independently to raise himself from this relation to gravity. The opposite is the case with mankind; the eye looking straight forward is placed in its natural direction, that is, in a right angle with the line of gravity and the body. Man is no doubt able to go on all fours just as animals do, and children do so in fact; but as soon as consciousness begins to awaken, man wrests himself from the animal chains of the earth, and stands up straight in free independence. This stansion is an act of will, for if we cease to try to stand our body collapses and falls to the ground. In this way the upright position possesses a spiritual significance, in so far as the self-elevation from the ground remains linked with the volition and thus with that which is spiritual and ideal; just as we are accustomed to say of an essentially free and independent man, who keeps his opinions, view's, principles, and aims unaffected by others, that he stands on his own feet.

The upright position is, however, not yet merely as such beautiful; it is only so by virtue of the freedom of its form. In other words if a man stands up only straight in an abstract way, letting his hands fall glued to his side with no interval of separation, his legs in the same way being close to each other, we receive an untoward expression of stiffness, even although in the first instance this is due to no compulsion. From this stiff effect we deduce on the one hand the abstract and likewise architectonic principle of uniformity, under which the limbs adhere together in the like position, and on the other hand we do not discover in it any determination derived from what is spiritual and the ideal principle. In such a case arms, legs, breast, body, all the members stand and hang just as though they had from the first grown there on man, without being brought by means of his spirit, his volition and emotions into a change of position. The same thing may be said of the sitting posture. Conversely also the squatting or perching on the ground is destitute of freedom for the reason that it suggests an attitude of subordination, dependence, and serfdom. The free position, on the contrary, avoids in a measure this abstract uniformity and angularity, and places the position under lines which approximate to the organic form; and to a further extent it suffers spiritual relations to shine through, so that by virtue of such a position the conditions and passions of the soul are cognizable. Only in this manner can the position pass as a genuine exhibition of Spirit.

In the application of positions as significant pose[166], it is necessary, however, that sculpture proceed with great circumspection, and it has thereby many a difficulty to overcome. On the one hand, no doubt, the reciprocal relation of the members is to be derived from the ideal principle of Spirit; on the other hand, however, this determination from the ideal side ought not to place the particular parts under a mode which contradicts the corporeal structure and the laws of the same, and thereby produce the impression of a constraint imposed on the members, or come into collision with the material of substance, in which sculpture is set the task to execute the artist's conceptions. And, in the third place, the pose must appear wholly spontaneous, as though the body received it of its own initiative, otherwise body and spirit have the appearance of being distinct and separable from each other, and are involved in the relative position of mere direction from one side and purely abstract obedience from the other, whereas both in sculpture ought rightly to constitute one and the same immediately congruent totality. This absence of constraint is here of the first importance. Spirit, as the ideal principle, must throughout transfuse the members, and these latter must in like degree essentially accept spirit and its determination as to the content of its own soul. As to the pose itself and its character, which we may empower to express the just attitude in ideal sculpture, we can readily infer from our previous exposition that it ought not be one wholly referable to change or instantaneous action. The representation of sculpture must produce no effect such as is seen in the case where men, while in the art of motion and action, were turned to stone or frozen by means of Hüon's horn. On the contrary, it is necessary that the posture, although it may without question point to some characteristic

## action, express for all that merely a beginning and preparation, an

intention, or it must indicate the close of an action and a return from the same to the state of repose. The repose and self-subsistency of a spiritual life, which potentially encloses in itself an entire world, is the most suitable aspect for the ideal form of sculpture.

(_β_) And, in the _second_ place, what we have observed of posture is equally applicable to _motion._ There is in sculpture as such less room for motion in the full sense of the term than other arts[167], just in so far as the same does not as yet advance to the mode of presentation which is more nearly related to an art whose sphere of effect is more extensive. The tranquil image of the god in his blessed self-seclusion is the presentment which it is its task mainly to set before us in all its essential freedom from conflict. A variety of movement is necessarily excluded from such. What we ought to have is rather a stansion or reclining posture of essential self-absorption[168]. This attitude of self wholly referable to self it is which does not proceed to a definite action, and by doing so does not contract its entire energy to the space of a single moment, making such of first importance, but rather persists in the continued equilibrium of tranquillity. We ought to be able to imagine that the figure of the gods will remain for ever in the same posture. The escape from self-subsistency, the plunging of individual life within the vortex of a particular action that implies conflict, the strain of the moment, which is unable to continue as such--such relations are foreign to the ideality of sculpture. We cross them rather where, in the case of groups and reliefs, the particular moments of an action are presented with a distinct inclination to the principle of painting. A result brought about by powerful effects, and their passing exhibition, no doubt exercises upon us an immediate impression; but after once having received it we do not readily return to it. For that which is so prominent in the presentation is the affair of a moment's passage, which we both observe and recognize in that moment, whereas the ideal fulness and freedom, what is infinite in its significance, in other words that which holds our attention permanently, is relegated to the background.

(_γ_) In asserting this, however, we do not maintain that sculpture, where, in the case where it adheres to its principle in all its severity and attains its highest point, must necessarily exclude entirely the attitude of movement. If it did so it would merely present to us the divine in its indeterminacy and indifference. On the contrary, in so far as it is its function to comprehend the substantive as individuality, and to present it to our vision in bodily form, both the ideal and external condition, in accordance with which it brings its content and form to an impression, is necessarily individual. And it is this individuality of a definite situation which is pre-eminently expressed by means of the pose and movement of the body. Inasmuch as, however, the substantive in sculpture is of most importance, and individuality is not as yet itself extricated from the same to the point of particular self-subsistency, the specific determinacy of the situation must not be of a kind that it impairs or annuls the simple sterling character[169] of that substantiveness, by either making it one-sided or drawing it into the conflict of collisions, or in a general way by placing it without reserve under the overmastering importance and variety of what is particular. It must rather remain, independently regarded, a determinacy less essential in its result, or rather we may say a vivacious play of vital force, harmless in effect over the superficial features of individuality, whose substantive character in no respect suffers loss thereby in depth, subsistency, and repose. This is, however, a point which I have at an earlier stage of this investigation already[170] discussed at length in relation to the Ideal of sculpture when the situation itself was under review, in which the Ideal ought to appear in definite relation to the presentation: further discussion may here be consequently dispensed with.

(_c_) The last point of importance we have now to consider is the question of _drapery_ in sculpture. At first sight it may appear as though the nude form and its corporeal beauty permeated by spiritual significance, in the manner of its pose and movement, were the most appropriate form for the Ideal of sculpture, and drapery were simply a hindrance. In accordance with such a view we hear the complaint raised, more particularly in our own time, that modern sculpture is so frequently forced to drape its figures, whereas no drapery should touch the beauty of human organic forms. And we have finally the wail added that our artists should have so little opportunity of studying the nude which was ever before the eyes of the ancients. In general we may simply reply to this that though without question, from the point of view of sensuous beauty, the preference must be given to the nude form, yet merely sensuous beauty is not the ultimate aim of sculpture, so that the Greeks do not give the lead to a false path when they presented the larger number of their male figures no doubt in the nude, but by far the greater number of female figures draped.

(_α_) And generally we may add that, apart from artistic purpose, drapery is justified in real measure in the necessity of providing a protection from climatic changes, Nature having failed to provide man with any covering of hide, feathers, hair, such as animals possess. And from another point of view it is the sense of modesty which compels man to cover himself with raiment. Now this shame, regarded in a general way, is a beginning of indignation over that which is coarse or crude. Man in fact, who is conscious of his more elevated calling to be Spirit, must necessarily regard what is purely animal as an incompatibility with that, and pre-eminently seek to cover, as that which is not consonant with the Ideal of his soul[171], those parts of his body, such as the belly, breast, back, and legs, which are subservient to animal functions, or only are directed to external uses, and possess directly no spiritual determinacy, and no spiritual expression. We therefore find among every people, who have entered upon the life of reflection, this sense of shame and the necessity of clothing in some degree, whether great or small. As far back as the narrative of Genesis we have this transition expressed in the shrewdest way. Before Adam and Eve have eaten of the tree of knowledge they walk in Paradise in the nakedness of innocence; but no sooner is their consciousness as spiritual beings[172] aroused than they are ashamed of their nakedness. The same sense is prevalent among all other Asiatic nations. So, for example, Herodotus asserts in narrating[173] how Gyges came to the throne, that it was regarded even in a man as a matter of shame among the Lydians, and almost all barbarians, to be seen naked; and as a proof of this we have the tale of the wife of Candaules, king of the Lydians. The tale runs that Candaules exposed his wife in nudity to the gaze of Gyges, his satellite and favourite, in order to convince him that her beauty as a woman was beyond compare. She, however, discovered the outrage, which it was intended to conceal from her, by chance seeing Gyges, who had been hidden in her sleeping chamber, slip out of the door. Indignant at the outrage, she received Gyges in audience the following day, and declared to him that, inasmuch as the king had taken this step and permitted Gyges to see what he ought not to have seen, he might select one of two courses, either kill the king as his punishment, and possess himself both of her and the kingdom, or himself die. Gyges selected the first alternative, and after assassinating the king mounted the throne and married the widow. On the other hand the Egyptians represented frequently, or, indeed, for the most part, their statues in the nude to the extent that the male figures merely carried an apron; and in the case of Isis the drapery was indicated by nothing more than a barely perceptible fringe round the legs. This, however, was neither due to a defective sense of shame, nor in virtue of their instinct for the beauty of organic forms. For if we consider their symbolic point of view we can only maintain that what concerned them was not the configuration of a presentment consonant with a spiritual significance, but rather the meaning, the essence and conception of that which the form was intended to present to intelligence; and they permitted the human form to be thus, without reflection upon the further and more remote adequacy of the same to Spirit, in its natural state, which they moreover copied with great closeness to life.

(_β_) Finally, among the Greeks, we meet with both aspects, both nude and draped figures. And in actual life also they were equally clothed, albeit from other considerations they held it a point of honour to have first contested in the games nude. To an exceptional degree the Lacedaemonians were the first to wrestle naked. But this was with them not due so much to a sense of beauty as to their general indifference to what savoured of refinement and spiritual purport in the sense of modesty. In the national character of the Greek people, among whom the feeling for personal individuality in all its immediacy, and as it is the spiritual animation of their existence, is so strongly developed, taking this as the instinct for free and beautiful forms, it was also inevitable that what was human in its immediacy, the bodily presence, that is, as it belongs to man and is suffused with his spirit, should be elaborated in independent form, and that the human form should be revered above all others for the reason that it is the freest and the most beautiful. In this sense, no doubt, they threw aside that instinct of shame, which will not suffer us to look at what is purely corporeal in' man, not out of indifference to what was spiritual, but with an indifference to what is purely sensuous in desire, for the sake of beauty; and this intention is manifest in full play throughout a great number of their nude figures.

This entire absence of drapery, however, it was impossible wholly to justify on principle. For, as I have already indicated when distinguishing the head from other parts of the body, it is undeniable that the spiritual expression of the form is restricted to the face and the pose and movement of the whole, to the general mien, which is preeminently eloquent by virtue of the arms, hands, and position of the legs. For these organs, whose activity is in an outward direction, have still, and precisely by the nature of their pose and movement, for the most part the expression of a spiritual deliverance. The other members of the body, on the contrary, are and remain solely productive of a sensuous beauty; and the distinguishing features which are visible on them can only be bodily vigour, development of muscle, or degrees of delicacy and softness, such as characterize respectively the two sexes, age, youth, and childhood. As a means, therefore, of expressing what is spiritual in the form, the nudity of these parts is also from the standpoint of beauty indifferent; and it is only due to our moral sense, when, that is to say, the main thing looked for is the paramount presentation of the spiritual in man, that such parts should be veiled. What in general ideal art does in the case of every separate part of the body is to remove the necessary limitations of animal life in its detailed particularities, such as little veins, wrinkles, hairs of the skin, and so forth, and simply to enforce and emphasize the spiritual impression of the form in its vital outlines, and this is precisely what drapery effects. It covers up the superfluity of the organs, which are no doubt necessary for the body's self-support, but are in other respects superfluous as an expression of the spirit's import. We are, therefore, not entitled to assert without condition that the nudity of figures of sculpture in every respect betrays a higher sense of beauty, and a greater ethical freedom and emaculacy. It was in this respect, as in others, that a just and spiritual instinct dominated the Greek.

Children, Cupid for example, where we find the bodily presentment one of unreserved innocence, and the spiritual beauty consisting just in this; or, to take other examples, youths, youthful gods, heroic gods, and heroes, such as Perseus, Hercules, Theseus, Jason, in which cases heroic courage, and the use and elaboration of the bodily frame in works of bodily strength and permanence is of most importance; or wrestlers in the national games, where it is not so much the content of the action, the spirit and individuality of character, as the physical aspect of the exploit, the vigour, suppleness, and free play of the muscles and limbs, which is the source of exclusive interest; or finally fauns and satyrs, Bacchantes in the frenzy of the dance, no less than Aphrodite, in so far as the sensuous charm of her beauty is emphasized--such are the kind of examples which were rendered in the nude by antique sculpture. Where, on the contrary, a more lofty significance and reflection, a more ideal earnestness is made prominent, where in general the natural features are not superlatively emphasized, there we get drapery. So Winckelmann adduces a case where among ten statues of the female form only one is wholly undraped. Among the goddesses Pallas, Juno, Vesta, Diana, Ceres and the Muses are pre-eminently those which are veiled in drapery, while among the gods such a treatment particularly applies to Jupiter, and the bearded Indian Bacchus, with some others.

(_γ_) And finally with regard to the principle of drapery, it is unquestionable that we have here a subject that critics are very fond of discussing, and which has consequently to some extent been already well thrashed out. I will, therefore, limit myself to the few following remarks.

Generally we have no reason to lament the fact that our modern feeling of what is respectable is somewhat averse to setting up totally nude figures. For if the drapery merely permits the pose in question to be entirely transpicuous instead of covering it up, we lose nothing at all; rather the drapery is just that which rightly fixes the emphasis, and is in this respect even an advantage, in so far as it draws us aside from the direct view of that which as merely sensuous is without true significance, and simply shows us what is there in relation to the situation expressed by means of pose and movement.

(_αα_) Once accept this principle, and it may at first sight appear that such covering is of most signal advantage for the artistic treatment, which conceals the contour of the limbs, and consequently also the pose as little as possible, precisely in fact as this is the case with our sufficiently enclosing _modern_ garments. Our closely fitting sleeves and trousers follow the outlines of the form, and stand in the way of the motion and mien least of all by their making the entire form of the limbs visible. The long white garments and bulging-out hoses of the Orientals, on the contrary, are intolerable to our sense of vivacity and multifarious activities, and are only fitting for folk who, like the Turks, sit the whole day long in one place with legs crossed, or only perambulate slowly and with great gravity. And yet we are conscious at the same time--indeed the very first glance at either modern statues or pictures will establish the truth for us--that our modern clothing is entirely unartistic. In other words what we behold in it really is, as I have already in another passage, insisted, not the fine, free, and vital outlines of the body in their tender and flowing elaboration, but stretched out sacks with stiff folds. For albeit we do obtain the most generalized form, yet the beauty of the organic undulations is lost; and what we really look at is a contrivance of exterior aim, a matter of tailor's work, which in one place is stitched together, in another folded back over, and yet in another made tightly fitting--in other words, as a whole, forms that are not free, folds and surfaces which are fastened together by stitch, buttons and button holes. To all intents and purposes such a clothing as this is simply a cover and veil, which, while devoid of any real form of its own, yet in its other aspect, though in a general sort of way following the organic contour of limbs, hides from the view just that sensuous beauty and vital rondour and undulation which belongs to them, merely to replace it with the material aspect of the mechanically elaborated stuff of which it is composed. And thus we get what is so entirely inartistic in our modern form of garments.

(_ββ_) The principle for an artistic type of clothing, then, consists in this that it is at the same time treated as a work of architectonic design. Such a work is simply an environment, in which a man can likewise move in freedom, and which must essentially possess and declare on its part a determinate shape of its own as its mode of covering quite apart from the form which it encloses. Add to this such a work, in its aspect of a thing which is worn and carried, must freely follow its own mechanical texture. A principle of this type follows in the track of the kind of draping which we find adopted in the ideal sculpture of the ancients. Particularly here do we find that the mantle is as it were a house in which free motion is possible. It is no doubt carried, but is only made fast at one point, namely, on the shoulder. For the rest it evolves its particular form according to the modifications brought about by its own weight; it hangs, falls along the ground, and casts folds spontaneously, and only receives through the pose the varied changes of this free kind of configuration. In like manner there is little to impair essentially, if in varied degree, the freedom of disposition in other parts of antique drapery. This it is which constitutes its artistic quality. It is only in drapery such as this that we do not face something which is a burden, and something artificial, whose shape merely displays an external constraint and necessity, which is rather something itself independent in its form, and which, however, accepts from a spiritual source, that is the pose of the figure, its point of departure. For this reason the garments of the ancients are only fastened to the body so far as is actually unavoidable, that is, to prevent their collapse, and are modified by the pose of it. In all other respects they hang freely about it, and themselves in their power of movement through the motion of the body give yet further support to the same principle. And this is wholly as it should be; for the body is one thing and its drapery another, and the latter ought thereby to receive its full due and be displayed in its freedom. Modern clothing on the contrary is either wholly carried by the body and purely in subjection to it, so that even the pose itself is too emphatically repeated, and it merely follows the forms of the limbs, or, in cases where it is able to secure an independent form in the formation of folds, it is after all merely the tailor's work who makes this form according to the exigences of fashion. The material is, on the one hand, dragged up and down by the various parts of the body and their movements, and, on the other, by its stitches and seams. On grounds of this description the antique form of drapery is by a long way to be preferred to our modern style as the ideal standard for works of sculpture. No end has been written with every resource of antiquarian research over the form and details of the ancient ways of draping, for although men as a rule do not permit themselves to chatter much over fashion in their clothes, the kind of cloth, border, cut, and every other such detail, yet they find ample justification from the antiquarian standpoint for treating these trifling matters also as important, and of talking about them with even greater prolixity than is permitted to woman herself in her unchallenged field of supremacy.

(_γγ_) It is, however, a totally different problem we have to consider when the question is asked whether modern clothing, that is, the kind so greatly to be contrasted with the antique, is in all cases to be rejected. This question is of particular importance when we examine the case of portrait statues; and inasmuch as its main interest closely touches a principle of importance to art as we have it now, we will consider it at rather greater length. When nowadays we have to create a portrait of some contemporary it becomes necessarily a part of it that the drapery and the environment are both accepted from the actual facts of their individual existence, for, inasmuch as it is just this actual person which is here made the object of art, this external framework, to which the clothing essentially belongs, is in its reality and truth precisely that which is most important. And this is more especially to be observed when what is aimed at is the presentment before our vision in our individuality of well-defined characters whose greatness and activity in any _particular_ sphere have been remarkable. Whether it be in a picture, or in the marble, an individual is, in fact, exhibited to our immediate vision in a bodily mode, in other words under external conditions, and to seek to carry the portrait beyond such a restriction would virtually imply the self-contradiction that the individual was associated with that which was essentially untrue, and this for the reason that the service, what is peculiar and distinguished in actual men, consists precisely in their active relations to the real, that is in their life and action in definite professional spheres. And if this individual activity is to be made clear to us the environment must exhibit nothing that is foreign to or tends to impair the effect. A famous general, for example, has lived in respect to his professional surroundings with cannon, rifles, and powder before his eyes. If we intend to depict him in his professional

## activity we recur most naturally to the way he gives orders to his

adjutants, commands the line of battle, and advances against the enemy. And with yet more detail such a general is not merely one of a class, but is distinguished by the particular style of his uniform. He is either a leader of infantry or a stalwart hussar, and so forth. In every example of this kind we have some exceptional form of habiliment which is appropriate to the circumstances. Moreover a famous general is simply a famous general, not necessarily a law-giver, poet, or even very possibly a religious man; he commands in all respects as a soldier; he is just that; he is, in a word, no complete totality, and this alone gives us the ideal and divine type. For the divinity of the ideal figures of sculpture is to be sought in nothing so much as this that their character and individuality are appertinent to no

## particular relations and professed callings, but are rather removed

from such division, or, in the case that the idea of such relations is mooted, it is so placed before us that we are forced to believe about such individuals that their powers of performance are unlimited. For reasons such as the above a demand to represent the heroes of our time or the more recent Past, when their heroism is of a restricted nature, in ideal drapery is very superficial. Such a demand testifies no doubt to a zeal for artistic beauty, but a zeal which is unintelligent, and in its devotion to the antique overlooks the fact that the greatness of the ancients likewise reposes essentially in the lofty comprehension of all that they accomplished. In other words, they have, no doubt, represented what is essentially ideal, but they have not sought to enforce a form that is opposed to reality. If the entire content of the individuals in question is not of an ideal character, then their draping ought not to be such; and if a powerful, determined, and resolute general does not already possess a countenance indicative of the lineaments of Mars, then to drape him with Greek drapery would be as much a folly as though we popped a bearded man in a maiden's petticoats. Despite this truth, however, modern clothing does involve us in considerable difficulty because it is subject to fashion, and consequently subject to change. For the rational principle of fashion consists in this that it exercises over Time the claim to be always subject to modification. A robe, according to some particular cut, soon passes out of fashion, and it is only in fashion so long as it pleases. But when the fashion is over, we cease to be used to it, and what pleased us a few years back now appears suddenly ridiculous. For this reason only those forms of garments are appropriate for statues which carry the specific character of a period in a more permanent type; but, in general, it may be advisable to find a middle way, as our artists attempt to do. Yet, despite of the rule, it is generally a mistake to clothe portrait statues in modern clothing when they are either small, or the object sought after is simply a familiar presentation. In such cases mere busts are best, which are the more easily lifted to an ideal elevation, simply neck and breast being retained, inasmuch as the head and the physiognomy thus remain of most importance, and everything else is relegated to incidental insignificance. Where we have large-sized statues on the contrary, more particularly where the pose is one of tranquillity, we see at once, because they are in repose, how they are draped; and large-sized male figures, even in the painted portrait, when clothed after modern wont can only with difficulty be raised over what is insignificant. As instances we may mention the full-figure seated portraits by old Tischbein of Herder and Wieland, of which we have excellent engravings on copper. One feels at once, when looking at them, that it is a somewhat stale, flat, and unprofitable business to gaze at their breeches, stockings, and shoes, and absolutely so to see their cosy, self-contented posture on a sofa, where they have their hands lying happily together over their paunches.

It is another matter with portrait statues of individuals where, either in respect to the period of their activity they are far removed from our own, or are themselves essentially of an ideal greatness. In such cases what is old is already divested of the temporal aspect and has passed into the more indefinite background of the general idea, so that in this release from its particular form of actuality it is also in the mode of its drapery capable of an ideal presentation. And this is still more true in the case of individuals, who by virtue of their self-subsistency and the ideal fulness of what are otherwise the mere limitations of their particular profession, and detached from what is merely the activity of a definite period of time, create independently for themselves a free totality, a world of relations and activities, and consequently should appear, even in the aspect of their habiliments, as exalted above the familiar guise of everyday life in their ordinary temporal costume. As far back as the Greeks we find statues of Achilles and Alexander, on which the more individual traits of portraiture are of so fine a quality that we should rather imagine them to be sons of gods than human beings. In the case of the genial and greathearted youth Alexander this is quite as it should be. And in much the same way, moreover, Napoleon himself has been lifted to such a fame, and is a genius of so comprehensive a grasp, that there is no reason why he should not be depicted in ideal drapery, which indeed would not be unfitting for Frederick the Great, when the object is to celebrate him in all his greatness of soul. No doubt the size of the statues is here, too, of importance. In the case of small figures, which carry an air of familiarity, the three-cornered little hat of Napoleon is out of place no less than the famous uniform and the arms crossed over breast, and, if we desire to have before us the great Frederick as "old Fritz," we may have him pictured for us with hat and stick as we find him on tobacco boxes.

3. THE INDIVIDUALITY OF IDEAL FIGURES OF SCULPTURE

Hitherto we have considered the Ideal of sculpture in its general character and in the further aspect of the more detailed forms which distinguish it. We have _thirdly_ only left us to emphasize the fact that the Ideals of sculpture, in so far as, in respect to their content, they have to manifest what is substantive in individualities, and in respect to their external form the human bodily shape, are also under the necessity of an advance in which the _particularity_ of their presentation is differentiated, and an aggregate of specific individuals is thereby created, just as we already, in the classical type of art, recognize the embracing circle of the Greek gods. We may, no doubt, very possibly imagine to ourselves there can only be one _exemplum_ of the finest beauty and perfection, which may be, moreover, concentrated in its absolute completeness in one statue. Such a conception of one Ideal in its purity is deficient in insight and indeed ridiculous. For the beauty of the Ideal consists just in this, that it is no purely general form or standard, but essentially individuality, and consequently possesses both particularity and character. It is simply owing to this that vitality is imported into works of sculpture, and it is this[174] which expands the one abstract beauty, in a totality of essentially definite creations. Taken as a whole, however, this aggregate is, if we regard its content, one with marked limits; and the reason is that a number of categories, which we are, for example, accustomed to employ in our Christian outlook, fall absolutely away in the case of the genuine Ideal of sculpture. The ethical points of view and virtues, for example, such as were brought together by the Middle Ages and our modern world in a synthetical nexus of duties which yields to some modification, moreover, in every epoch, has no meaning at all when applied to the ideal gods of sculpture; it is simply absent from such a circle altogether. Consequently we can as little expect to find here the presentation of sacrifice, of egotism overcome, of the conflict, against what is sensuous, of the victory of chastity and so forth, as that of incommutable fidelity, of the honour and honesty of either man or woman, or of the expression of religious meekness, subjection, and blessedness in God. All these virtues, qualities, and conditions repose in part on the breach between what is spiritual and what is corporeal; and in part they retire altogether beyond what is of the body within, the intimate shrine of the soul, or betray the individual personal life in its separation from its entirely concrete and explicit substance, as also in its struggle to find again mediation in the same. Moreover, the circle of these veritable gods of sculpture is no doubt a totality, but, as we already discovered in our consideration of the classical type of art, it is, when we examine the distinguishing differences of its notion, no stringently articulated and unified system. Moreover, the particular examples are every one of them to be distinguished from all the others in their essentially definite and self-exclusive individuality, albeit they are not thus set apart by virtue of the characteristics of a purely abstract mintage, but rather, on the contrary, include much which they share in common relatively to their ideal and divine substance.

We will now pass in review the distinctions above indicated under the following aspects:

_First_, we have to examine purely external marks, incidental attributes, style of drapery, style of armour, and such like, indications with the detail of which Winckelmann deals at exceptional length.

_Secondly_, we shall see how the most important differences do not merely consist in external marks and traits of this kind, but rather in the individual configuration and _habitus_ of the entire figure. What is most important in this respect is the distinction of _age_, _sex_, no less than that of the _different sphere_, from which the works receive their content and form, whether they are the impressions of gods, heroes, satyrs, fawns, or such representations as reach their final dissolution in the attempt to render animal images.

And, _thirdly_, we propose to direct the attention on a _particular_ example of each class, in the individual form of which sculpture elaborates these general differences. Here, no doubt, we are faced with a multiplicity of material, and can only permit ourselves to deduce parts of it by way of example, a province, too, as it moreover is which implies a large experience.

(_a_) In considering these _first_ mere attributes and all such external accessories, the kind of ornament, armour, tools, vessels, and in general all that is associated with mere environment, we find that such things are of a very simple character in superior works of sculpture, and retained only in a temperate and restricted degree, so that we see little of them beyond what is suggestive or sufficient to appeal to our minds. It is the independent figure, that is its expression and not outside accessories, which has to give us the spiritual significance and its manifestation. Conversely, however, marks of this kind are nevertheless necessary, in order to enable us to recognize the particular gods. In other words divinity in its universal guise, which is the source of the substantive part of the presentment in the case of each individual, asserts, by virtue of this very equality of ground-basis, close affinity between the expression of each example and also between the individual figures, so that every god is to this extent withdrawn from the aspect of his particularity, and can indeed further pass through other conditions and modes of expression, than would otherwise belong to them. For this reason we do not as a rule have set before us the particular characterization with complete seriousness; and it is frequently these external additions which exclusively make the particular god intelligible. Among these indicating marks I will allude briefly to the following.

(_α_) I have already discussed the real _attributes_ when the classical type of art and its gods presented an opportunity. In sculpture the same lose yet more their self-subsistent, symbolical character, and merely retain the right to appear as the external presentation and form which is referable to simply one aspect of the specific gods, a presentment which is true to this extent or approximately so. Such marks are frequently borrowed from animal life, as for example when Zeus is represented with the eagle, Juno with the peacock, Bacchus with the tiger and panther, who are harnessed to his car, because, as Winckelmann observes[175], this animal is an exceptionally thirsty one, and, moreover, fond of wine; and in the like manner we have Venus with her hare. Other attributes are tools or utensils of some kind, which are related to activities and actions, which may be ascribed to any particular god by virtue of his or her specific individuality. So we have Bacchus depicted with the thyrsus wand, in order to entwine thereon the ivy-leaves and garlands; or he receives a wreath of laurel leaves, to indicate him as victorious in his expedition to India, or a torch, with which he lighted Ceres home.

Accessories such as these, among which I have here, of course, only adduced the most famous examples, are an exceptional stimulus to the acuteness and learning of our professors, and carry them into a kind of commerce in trifles, which too frequently leads them out of bounds, and finds significance in things where there is really none. As an example we are assured that two famous sleeping female figures in the Vatican and the Villa Medici are representations of Cleopatra, simply because they have a bracelet in the shape of a viper, and to the vision of such archaeologists a serpent at once suggests the death of Cleopatra, much as it would suggest to a pious father of the church the original serpent who seduced Eve in Paradise. It was, however, a prevailing custom for Greek women to wear bracelets in serpent coils, and such bracelets in fact were called by that name. Consequently the just sense of Winckelmann[176] has long ago rejected this interpretation, and Visconti has finally recognized[177] them as figures of Ariadne, as she at lasts sinks to sleep after her sorrow at the departure of Theseus. Although in uncounted cases acuteness of this quality shows itself at fault in dealing with detail of this kind, and makes itself appear contemptible in its departure from such insignificant facts, yet unquestionably both research and criticism of apparently unimportant facts are necessary, because it is only thereby that we can arrive at the closer determination of a figure. Yet even here the difficulty crops up, that attributes no less than form, do not in all cases point our conclusions to one god, but may be shared in common by several. We have the vase, for example, not only associated with Jupiter, Apollo, Mercury, Aesculapius, but also with Ceres and Hygiaea. Several goddesses receive the ear of corn; we find the lily in the hand of Juno, Venus, and Hope; and even the lightning is not the exclusive possession of Zeus, for it is shared by Pallas, who on her part again does not alone carry; the Aegis, but on equal terms with Zeus, Juno, and Apollo[178]. The source of the individual deities from a general significance of less determinate character which, they share itself is associated with ancient symbols, which were appertinent to this more general and consequently more widely shared nature.

(_β_) Accessories of this incidental nature are more in place with works which, already departing from the simple repose of the gods, represent actions, groups, or the series of figures such as we find on reliefs, and for this reason are able to make more extensive use of a variety of external indications and suggestions. On gifts dedicate to a devout purpose, which are frequent in all kinds of works of art and nowhere more frequent than, in the case of statuary, on statues of Olympic victors, but more particularly on coins and cut stones, the rich and prolific invention of the Greek found ample scope for the presence of symbolical references of this type, such as that to his city's locality and others like it.

(_γ_) Other signs are more removed from purely external significance, and penetrate deeper within the individuality of such deities. These themselves are a part of the particular type in question, and are an integrating factor in it. Among such we may mention the specific type of the drapery, armour, adornment of the hair, and other attire of a similar nature, in respect of which I must here content myself in elucidation with a few examples borrowed from Winckelmann, who exercised great acuteness in such matters. Among the several gods Zeus was pre-eminently recognizable by the general treatment of his hair, and our authority maintains[179], that any particular head can at once be determined as one intended for this deity or no by the hair over his forehead, or his beard, even though there be nothing else significant to arrest us. In other words he asserts that, "the hair is elevated in an outward curve on the brow, and its different divisions fall in a narrow curve with broken lines[180] down again." This type of hair-treatment was so rigorous, that we even find it persisted in among the sons and grandchildren of Zeus. So, for example, the head of Zeus is barely to be distinguished from that of Aesculapius in this respect, who consequently receives another kind of beard, more particularly over the upper lip, where the same is more depressed in its curve, whereas that of Zeus is rather folded over the angle of the mouth and intermingled with the beard on the chin. Winckelmann further recognizes the fine head of a statue in the Villa Medici, later in Florence, by means of the more curled beard, which, moreover, folds over the upper lip, and is of greater thickness, and must be distinguished from the heads of Zeus with their greater tendency to curled locks. Pallas, in direct contrast to Diana, wears her hair long, bound together in its downward fall from the head, and then beneath the fillet flowing in a series of locks. Diana, on the contrary, wears hers thrown up from all sides, and fastened in a knot on the crown of the head. The head of Ceres is up to the back portion covered with her veil. Add to this, in addition to the corn she carries, she holds a diadem as Juno does, in front of which, to quote our authority once more[181], the scattered hairs are thrown into a charming confusion, as though to suggest possibly her sorrow at the robbing of her daughter Proserpine. Individuality of the same kind is emphasized by other exterior means, as for example, when we recognize Pallas by her helmet and its

## particular shape, in her type of drapery and various other things.

(_b_) The truly vital individuality, however, in so far as it should find its mintage in sculpture by means of the spontaneous and beautiful bodily form, ought not to be asserted merely by such accessories as the external attributes or modes of things we have cited, but should be displayed no less in the form itself than in its expression. In attempting such an individualization the fine insight and creative power of the Greek artist increased in proportion as the figures of their deities possessed a substantive basis of essentially the same kind, from which, without wholly departing from it, it was their task so to elaborate the characteristic individuality that this ground-root of their conception was still maintained as a wholly vital and present fact. Nothing invites our admiration so much in the best works of antique sculpture than the exquisite attention the artist directed to the task of bringing the smallest traits of the presentment and expression into harmony with the entire figure, an attention which is, in fact, the source of such a harmony.

(_α_) If we inquire further after general distinctions of main importance which assert themselves as the substantive bases in most direct relation to the more individual severation of the bodily forms and their expression we may note, _first_, the distinction of more youthful figures in contrast to those of more mature age. In the genuine Ideal, as I have already stated, every trait, every particular part of the figure is expressed; and, moreover, the direct line, which is taken straight forward, avoids the abstractly level surface precisely as the circular form avoids the geometrical circle; and instead of this the vital variety of lines and shapes is elaborated in the finest way throughout by the nuances of their transitional forms which unite them. In juvenile and youthful age the boundaries of forms are less noticeably fluent, and pass into each other so finely, that we may compare them, I borrow the simile from Winckelmann[182], with the surface of a sea unruffled by the wind, of which we may say that, although in continuous motion, it is still. In the case of more advanced age, however, such distinguishing features are more definitely emphasized, and have to be elaborated with more pronounced characterization. Consummate male figures consequently are more likely to please us at the first glance, because the expression is throughout more distinct, and we wonder more readily at the knowledge and ability of the artist. Youthful examples appear more easy in their accomplishment because of their softness, and the smaller number of their distinguishing features. As a matter of fact, however, the opposite is the case. That is to say, in so far as "the forming of their parts in the interval between their first growth and their completion is permitted to be indefinite[183]," the joints, bones, sinews, muscles, are necessarily more delicate and tender, yet are none the less suggested. Antique art celebrates its triumph in just this fact, that even in its most delicate figures all parts throughout and their appropriate organization are somehow made perceptible in barely visible nuances of elevation and depression, by means of which the science and virtuosity of an artist is only followed by an observer whose research and attention is equally thorough. If, for example, to take the case of a delicate human figure, such as the youthful Apollo, the entire structure of the human body were not reproduced actually, and in all its essentials with consummate, if half veiled insight, the members might indeed appear well and fully rounded off, but they would be at the same time flaccid, without expression and variety, so that the entire effect could hardly satisfy. As a striking example of the distinction between the youthful body and a man's in mature age, we may adduce the sons and father in the Laocoon group.

Speaking generally the Greeks, in the representation of their deities, preferred the still youthful age, and even in heads and statues of Zeus and Neptune do not indicate old age.

(_β_) In the case of the _sex_, in which the figure is portrayed, the difference, that is, between male and female figures, we meet with a distinctive mark of still more importance. In general we may affirm of the latter what I have already briefly stated in the contrast drawn between the more youthful and more advanced age. The female figures are more tender and soft, the sinews and muscles, albeit they must be there, are less pronounced, the transitional lines are more flowing and malleable, yet in the wide interval of expression from the point of quiet earnestness, greater severity of power and dignity to that of the most delicate charm and grace of the love attraction, there is room for the richest gradations and variety. We find a wealth of form equally great in the male figures, in the treatment of which we have, moreover, the expression of elaborate bodily strength and courage. The cheerful tone of delight, however, is shared by all, a blithesomeness and blessed indifference, which soars above all particularity, associated not unfrequently with a trait of tranquil sorrow, a kind of smile through tears, in which we neither have wholly smile nor tears.

There is not a marked line of distinction here between the masculine and feminine character, for the more youthful figures of Bacchus and Apollo frequently are fined out to the point of feminine delicacy and softness, nay, we even find representations of Hercules in which there is so much the appearance of a young woman's form that critics have confused him with Iole, his sweetheart. And it is not merely this point of transition but even the combination of the male and female figure, which the ancients have expressly represented in their hermaphrodites.

(_γ_) _Thirdly_, and in conclusion, there is the question as to the main distinctions which the figure of sculpture receives in order that it may be classed within one of the specific divisions of subject-matter which constitute the content of the ideal outlook on the world appropriate to this art.

The organic forms which sculpture can utilize generally in its plastic effort are on the one hand the forms of humanity, on the other those of _animal_ life. In respect to the animal forms we have already seen that in the case of the more severe type of the art at its culminating perfection they will only be found as attributes associated with the divine form, as when we find a hind with the hunting Diana, or Zeus with an eagle. And the same thing may be said of the panther, griffin, and similar figures. Apart from the genuine attributes animal forms are, however, accepted partly in combination with human shapes, and in part entirely by themselves. The extent, however, of such representations is of a limited character. Apart from figures of the roebuck it is above all the horse whose beauty and fiery animation obtains a recognition in plastic art, whether it be in union with the human form, or in its own free and independent shape. In fact, we find that the horse stands generally in a close relation to the courage, bravery, and dexterity of human heroism and heroic beauty, whereas other animals, such as the lion, which Hercules overcomes, and the wild boar, which Meleager kills, are objects of heroic deeds themselves, and consequently are entitled to a place within the circle of representation, when such are expanded in groups and reliefs where a freer field is admissible for situations of movement and action.

The _human_ figure on its part, in so far as it is conceived in form and expression as pure Ideal, supplies the adequate form for the divine, which, being still in union with the sensuous material, is not capable of being concentrated in the simple unity of _one_ God, and can merely embrace a _collective_ whole of divine figures. And similarly, to put the matter conversely, the human, whether we regard it according to its form or its expression, cannot pass out of the province of human individuality, albeit the same is at one time brought into intimacy and union with the divine, and at another with the animal nature.

For these reasons sculpture is faced with various sources out of which it can select and elaborate its subject-matter, and which I will now review. The essentially central source is, as I have already several times indicated, the sphere of the _particular gods._ Their distinction from humanity preeminently consists in this, that as they, in respect to that which they express, appear essentially gathered up over and beyond the finitude of care and mortal passion within a blessed repose and everlasting youth, so, too, their bodily shapes are not merely purified from the finite particularity of mankind, but they are further detached from everything which would suggest the needs and necessary limitations of sensuous life, without, however, losing their vitality. We have, for example, an object of human interest in the way a mother pacifies her child. The Greek goddesses, however, are always represented as childless. Juno, according to the myth, tosses the young Hercules from her, and the Milky Way is the result. To associate a son with the majestic spouse of Zeus was beneath the dignity of the antique point of view. Even Aphrodite does not appear in sculpture as mother. Cupid is no doubt very near to her, but scarcely in the sense of her child. In the same way Jupiter is nursed by a goat, and Romulus and Remus are suckled by a wolf. Among Egyptian and Hindoo representations, on the contrary, we find many, in which deities receive mother's milk from goddesses. Among Greek goddesses the maiden form is that which is pre-eminent, this being that which to the least extent asserts the purely natural functions of the wife.

The above constitutes an important contrast between classical art and romantic, in the latter of which maternal love is a leading subject. After the gods we find that sculpture deals with heroes and those figures which have both the human and animal form in their composition, such as centaurs, fauns, and satyrs.

The line of distinction between _heroes_ and gods is a very fine one; and much the same interval separates them from ordinary human life. Winckelmann observes with regard to a Battus on a coin of Cyrene, "With a single glance of tender jollity we could make a Bacchus of it, and one trait of godlike greatness would leave us an Apollo." And yet even in such cases human forms, where the object is to envisage the force of the will and bodily strength, tend in certain directions to make for greatness; the artist gave to the muscular development a vital

## activity and movement, and in violent actions set in motion all the

springs of Nature's workmanship. Inasmuch as, however, we find the same hero subject to an entire series of conditions not merely distinct, but opposed to each other, the masculine forms here also frequently approximate to the feminine. This is, for example, the case where Achilles first appears among the maidens of Lycomedes. Here we do not find him in his full heroic strength such as he displays before Troy, but in drapery resembling that of a woman and a fascination of figure which almost conceals his sex. Hercules, too, is not always depicted in the gravity and power suggestive of the tedious labours which he performed, but in the milder impersonation of his service to Omphale, as also in the repose of his deification, and generally in a variety of situations. In other relations heroes possess the closest affinity for the figures of the deities themselves, Achilles for that of Mars, for instance; it is consequently only after the most profound study that we can recognize the specific meaning of a piece of statuary merely from the characterization without further suggestion from attributes. Really expert connoisseurs can, however, deduce the character and shape of the entire figure from isolated pieces and supply what is missing; from which fact we again are instructed to admire the fine insight and the consequential character the individualization of Greek art displays to us, whose masters knew how to preserve and execute even the smallest detail in consonance with the entire effect.

Coming now to _satyrs_ and _fauns_ we find in them made visible what is throughout excluded from the lofty Ideal of the gods, the needs of mankind, the jollity of life, sensuous pleasure, satisfaction of excessive desire, and the like. Yet we find in particular young satyrs and fauns so remarkable for the beauty in which they are represented by the ancients that, to adopt a phrase of Winckelmann[184], "Every example of such figures may be exchanged, if we except the head, for a statue of Apollo, I refer to that one which is styled Sauroktonos, and possesses the same stansion of the legs." The heads of fauns and satyrs may be known by their pointed ears, their stiffly erected hair, and their little horns.

A _second_ province of sculpture is occupied by what is _human simply._ In this we have above all else the beauty of human form as we find it set before us in its elaborate power and dexterity in the sacred games. Wrestlers, discoboli, and the like are its main subject-matter. In such productions sculpture proceeds in a way that is somewhat opposed to the mere portrait, in which department the ancients, even in cases where they actually copied _real_ personages, still understood how to hold fast throughout to the principle of sculpture as we have come to know it.

The _last_ field that sculpture makes its own is that of independent _animal_ figures, more particularly lions, hounds, and some others. Here, too, the ancients did not fail to grasp, make vital in its individuality, and enforce the principle of sculpture, the substantive significance of form, and indeed attained to such a perfection that, to take one example, the cow of Myron has become more famous than all his other works. Goethe, in "Kunst und Alterthum[185]," has described it with great charm of style, and pre-eminently drawn attention to the fact that, as we have already seen, such as animal function as suckling is only presented by Greek art in the entirely animal world. He entirely sets on one side poetical conceits such as we find in ancient epigrams, and with acuteness confines his attention to the _naïveté_ of the conception out of which this most familiar of artistic themes arises.

(_c_) In concluding this chapter we have now to refer a little more closely to the _particular_ individuals, in the characterization and vitality of which the distinctions above mentioned are elaborated, that is to say, for the most part to the presentment of gods.

(_α_) However much, speaking generally--and we may no doubt seek to enforce our conviction in reference also to the spiritual deities of sculpture--this spiritual significance is at bottom the emancipation of individuality--and the remark applies to Ideals also according to the degree of their ideality and nobility--to that extent as individuals their distinction from one another is less marked. And the astonishing thing in the problem of sculpture, as solved by the Greeks, consisted just in this, that despite of the universality and ideality of their gods they have none the less preserved their individuality and lines of distinction; they have done so despite the fact that in certain directions we are conscious of the endeavour to eliminate hard-and-fast boundaries and to depict particular forms in their transitional state. If, moreover, we are inclined to regard individuality in a way that suggests definite traits as being appropriate to definite deities, much as the traits of a portrait are so, a fixed type will thereby necessarily appear to be substituted for a vital creation and art will suffer accordingly. But this is quite as little in accordance with the facts. On the contrary we find that their invention in such individualization and vitalization gained in subtlety just in proportion as a substantive type lay at the roots of the same.

(_β_) Again, in considering the particular deities, we are inevitably led to the conviction that one individual is of commanding influence in determining all these ideal figures. This supreme value and dignity Pheidias attached in an unrivalled degree to the form and expression of his Zeus, albeit the father of the gods and mankind, is set before us at the same time with a blithe and benignant look throned in serenity of mature age, that is not in the first flush of youth, without, however, on the other hand emphasizing in the least any harshness of form or suggesting the feebleness of age. The most obvious parallels in form and gesture with Zeus are his brothers Neptune and Pluto, whose interesting statues in Dresden, for example, despite all that they share with him, nevertheless retain a clear line of distinction--Zeus himself, by virtue of the benignity of his lofty presence, Neptune, by virtue of his greater ruggedness, Pluto, who is a kindred type to the Egyptian Serapis, by virtue of his profounder gloom and melancholy.

Essentially more apart from Zeus are Bacchus and Apollo, Mars and Mercury, the first pair in their more youthful beauty and the greater delicacy of their figures, the second more masculine albeit beardless. Mercury, too, is more robust, more slender in shape, with exceptional fineness noticeable in the facial traits. Mars is not so much marked out from the others as Hercules might be in the strength of his muscles and other parts of his figure, but rather as a more youthful and beautiful hero of an ideal form.

Among the goddesses I will only refer to Juno, Pallas, Diana, and Aphrodite.

Just as Zeus among the masculine deities, so, too, Juno among the feminine displays in her figure and its expression the greatest dignity. The large circular-arched eyes are proud and commanding, in like manner, too, the mouth by which she is at once recognized more

## particularly in profile. Generally she presents the appearance of "a

queen, who will rule, is to be revered and must awaken devotion[186]." Pallas, on the contrary, receives the expression of more austere maidenhood and chastity. Tenderness, love, and every kind of womanly weakness are kept away from her; her eyes are less expanded than those of Here, less emphatically arched and somewhat downcast in the tranquillity of reflection, just as her head is, which is not proudly erect as in the case of the spouse of Zeus, although it is armed with a helmet. A very similar type of maidenhood characterizes the figure of Diana. She is, however, endowed with a more fascinating quality, more lightly poised, more slender, albeit there is no self-conscious delight in her charm. She is not given the pose of tranquil observation, but is generally in motion, pressing forward as toward some object in her vision.

Finally we have Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty as such, who is, along with the Graces and the Hours, alone depicted by the Greek artists as undraped and even here subject to exceptions. In her case nudity is justified on the good ground that she expresses, above all, sensuous beauty and its conquest, grace, attractiveness, tenderness, elevated and tempered by spiritual qualities. Her eye, even in cases where a more grave and lofty expression is emphasized, is smaller than that of Pallas and Juno, not so much in length, but narrower by reason of the lower eyelid being slightly raised, by which means Love's yearning look is admirably expressed. She varies, however, very considerably in the type expressed. In some cases her pose is more serious and powerful; in others delicacy and tenderness are most insisted upon; her age, too, is sometimes that of maidenhood, at other of riper years. Winckelmann compares the Medicean Venus to a rose which blossoms in the fair light of its own colour at daybreak. Uranian Aphrodite is, on the contrary, indicated by a diadem which resembles that worn by Juno, and which Venus victrix also wears.

(_γ_) The discovery of this plastic individuality, whose entire expression is wholly elaborated through abstract form and nothing further, was in a like degree of consummate perfection peculiar to the Greeks and is due to religion itself. A more spiritual religion can rest satisfied with the contemplation and devotion of the soul, so that works of sculpture pass for it simply as so much luxury and superfluity. A religion so dependent on the sense vision as the Greek was must necessarily continue to create, inasmuch as for it this artistic production and invention is itself a religious activity and satisfaction, and for the people the sight of such works is not merely so much sight-seeing, but is part of their religion and soul-life. And in general the Greeks did everything with a public and universal aim in view, in which every man discovered his enjoyment, pride, and honour. In this public aspect the art of the Greeks is not merely an ornamental object, but a vital thing that meets a really felt want, in much the same sort of way as that of painting in its most glorious season responded to the life of Venice. Only on grounds such as these can we find a rational explanation, if we consider the great difficulties which the technique of sculpture implies, for the host of sculptured figures, this forest of statues of every kind, which in their thousand and indeed thousands, were to be met with in _one_ single city, in Elis, in Athens, in Corinth, and even in towns of lesser importance, and in the same way in the greater Greece beyond and the islands of the Cyclades.

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