Chapter II: The Ideal of Sculpture (3)

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.