So the years went; and one day, as they were playing about by the side of the river, there came into the field a beautiful white bull. He was quite white all over—as white as the whitest snow; there was not a single spot or speck on any part of his body. And he came and lay down on the green grass, and remained still and quiet. So they went nearer and nearer to the bull, and the bull did not move, but looked at them with his large eyes as if he wished to ask them to come and play with him, and at last they came to the place where the bull was. Then Kadmos thought that he would be very brave, so he put out his hand, and began to pat the bull on his side, and the bull only made a soft sound to show how glad he was. Then Europa put out her hand, and stroked him on the face, and laid hold of his white horn, and the bull rubbed his face gently against her dress.

So by and by Kadmos thought that it would be pleasant to have a ride on the back of the bull, and he got on, and the bull rose up from the ground, and went slowly round the field with Kadmos on his back, and just for a minute or two Kadmos felt frightened, but when he saw how well and safely the bull carried him, he was not afraid any more. So they played with the bull until the sun sank down behind the hills, and then they hastened home.

When they reached the house, they ran quickly to Telephassa, and said to her, "Only think, we have been playing in the field with a beautiful white bull." And Telephassa was glad that they had been so happy, but she would not have been so glad if she had known what the bull was going to do.

Now, the next day while Europa was on its back, the bull began to trot quickly away, but Kadmos thought he was only trotting away for fun. So he ran after him, and cried out to make him stop. But the faster that Kadmos ran, the bull ran faster still, and then Kadmos saw that the bull was running away with his sister, Europa. Away the bull flew, all along the bank of the river, and up the steep hill and down into the valley on the other side, and then he scoured along the plain beneath. And Kadmos watched his white body, which shone like silver as he dashed through the small bushes and the long waving grass and the creeping plants which were trailing about all over the ground, till at last the white body of the bull looked only like a little speck, and then Kadmos could see it no more.

Very wretched was Kadmos when his sister was taken away from him in this strange way. His eyes were full of tears so that he could scarcely see, but still he kept on looking and looking in the way the bull had gone, and hoping that he would bring his sister back by and by. But the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, and then Kadmos saw him go down behind the hills, and he knew now that the bull would not come again, and then he began to weep bitterly. He hardly dared to go home and tell Telephassa what had happened, and yet he knew that he ought to tell her. So he went home slowly and sadly, and Telephassa saw him coming alone, and she began to be afraid that something had happened to Europa, and when she came up to him Kadmos could scarcely speak. At last he said, "The bull has run away with Europa." Then Telephassa asked him where he had gone, and Kadmos said that he did not know. But Telephassa said, "Which way did he go?" and then Kadmos told her that the bull had run away towards the land of the West, where the sun goes down into his golden cup. Then Telephassa said that they, too, must get up early in the morning and go towards the land of the West, and see if they could find Europa again.

That night they hardly slept at all, and their cheeks were pale and wet with their tears. And before the sun rose, and while the stars still glimmered in the pale light of the morning, they got up and went on their journey to look for Europa. Far away they went, along the valleys and over the hills, across the rivers and through the woods, and they asked every one whom they met if they had seen a white bull with a girl upon its back. But no one had seen anything of the kind, and many people thought that Kadmos and Telephassa were silly to ask such a question, for they said, "Girls do not ride on the backs of bulls; you can not be telling the truth." So they went on and on, asking every one, but hearing nothing about her; and as they journeyed, sometimes they saw the great mountains rising up high into the sky, with their tops covered with snow, and shining like gold in the light of the setting sun; sometimes they rested on the bank of a great broad river, where the large white leaves lay floating and sleeping on the water, and where the palm trees waved their long branches above their heads. Sometimes they came to a water-fall, where the water sparkled brightly as it rushed over the great stones. And whenever they came to these beautiful places, Kadmos would say to Telephassa, "How we should have enjoyed staying here if Europa were with us; but we do not care to stay here now, we must go on looking for her everywhere." So they went on and on till they came to the sea, and they wondered how they could get across it, for it was a great deal wider than any river which they had seen. At last they found a place where the sea was narrow, and here a boatman took them across in his boat, just where little Helle had been drowned when she fell off the back of the ram that was carrying her and her brother away to Kolchis. So Telephassa and Kadmos crossed over Hellespontos, which means the Sea of Helle, and they went on and on, over mountains and hills and rocks, and wild gloomy places, till they came to the sunny plains of Thessaly. And still they asked every one about Europa, but they found no one who had seen her. And Kadmos saw that his mother was getting weak and thin, and that she could not walk now as far and as quickly as she had done when they had set out from home to look for his sister. So he asked her to rest for a little while. But Telephassa said, "We must go on, Kadmos, for if we do, perhaps we may still find Europa." So they went on, until at last Telephassa felt that she could not go any further. And she said to Kadmos, "I am very tired, and I do not think I shall be able to walk any more with you; I must lie down and go to sleep here, and perhaps, Kadmos, I may not wake again. But if I die while I am asleep, then you must go on by yourself and look for Europa, for I am quite sure that you will find her some day, although I shall not be with you. And when you see your sister, tell her how I longed to find her again, and how much I loved her always. And now, my child, I must go to sleep, and if I do not wake up any more, then I trust that we shall all see each other again one day, in a land which is brighter and happier than even the land in which we used to live before your sister was taken away from us."

So when she had said this, Telephassa fell asleep, just as the daylight was going away from the sky, and when the bright round moon rose up slowly from behind the dark hill. All night long Kadmos watched by her side, and when the morning came, he saw that Telephassa had died while she was asleep. Her face was quite still, and Kadmos knew by the happy smile which was on it, that she had gone to the bright land to which good people go when they are dead. Kadmos was very sorry to be parted from his mother, but he was not sorry that now she could not feel tired or sorrowful any more. So Kadmos placed his mother's body in the ground, and very soon all kinds of flowers grew up upon her grave.

But Kadmos had gone on to look for his sister, Europa, and presently he met a shepherd who was leading his flock of sheep. He was very beautiful to look at. His face shone as bright almost as the sun. He had a golden harp, and a golden bow, and arrows in a golden quiver, and his name was Phoebus Apollo. And Kadmos went up to him and said, "Have you seen my sister, Europa? a white bull ran away with her on his back. Can you tell me where I can find her?" And Phoebus Apollo said, "I have seen your sister, Europa, but I can not tell you yet where she is, you must go on a great way further still, till you come to a town which is called Delphi, under a great mountain named Parnassos, and there perhaps you may be able to find out something about her. But when you have seen her you must not stay there, because I wish you to build a city, and become a King, and be wise and strong and good. You and Europa must follow a beautiful cow that I shall send, till it lies down upon the ground to rest, and the place where the cow shall lie down shall be the place where I wish you to build the city."

So Kadmos went on and on till he came to the town of Delphi, which lay beneath the great mountain, called Parnassos. And there he saw a beautiful temple with white marble pillars, which shone brightly in the light of the early morning. And Kadmos went into the temple, and there he saw his dear sister, Europa. And Kadmos said, "Europa, is it you, indeed? How glad I am to find you." Then Europa told Kadmos how the bull had brought her and left her there a long time ago, and how sorry she had been that she could not tell Telephassa where she was. Then she said to Kadmos, "How pale and thin and weak you look; tell me how it is you are come alone, and when shall I see our dear mother?" Then his eyes became full of tears, and Kadmos said, "We shall never see our mother again in this world. She has gone to the happy land where good people go when they are dead. She was so tired with seeking after you that at last she could not come any further, and she lay down and fell asleep, and never waked up again. But she said that when I saw you I must tell you how she longed to see you, and how she hoped that we should all live together one day in the land to which she has gone before us. And now, Europa, we must not stay here, for I met a shepherd whose name is Phoebus Apollo. He had a golden harp and a golden bow, and his face shone like the sun, and he told me that we must follow a beautiful cow which he would send, and build a city in that place where the cow shall lie down to rest."



So Europa left Delphi with her brother, Kadmos, and when they had gone a little way, they saw a cow lying down on the grass. But when they came near, the cow got up, and began to walk in front of them, and then they knew that this was the cow which Phoebus Apollo had sent. So they followed the cow, and it went on and on, a long way, and at last it lay down to rest on a large plain, and Kadmos knew then that this was the place where he must build the city. And there he built a great many houses, and the city was called Thebes. And Kadmos became the King of Thebes, and his sister, Europa, lived there with him. He was a wise and good King, and ruled his people justly and kindly. And by and by Kadmos and Europa both fell asleep and died, and then they saw their mother, Telephassa, in the happy land to which good people go when they are dead, and were never parted from her any more.

BELLEROPHON.

The minstrels sang of the beauty and the great deeds of Bellerophon through all the lands of Argos. His arm was strong in the battle, his feet were swift in the chase, and his heart was pure as the pure heart of Artemis and Athene. None that were poor and weak and wretched feared the might of Bellerophon. To them the sight of his beautiful form brought only joy and gladness, but the proud and boastful, the slanderer and the robber, dreaded the glance of his keen eye. But the hand of Zeus lay heavy upon Bellerophon. He dwelt in the halls of King Proetos, and served him even as Herakles served the mean and crafty Eurystheus. For many long years Bellerophon knew that he must obey the bidding of a man weaker than himself, but his soul failed him not, and he went forth to his long toil with a heart strong as the sun when he rises in his strength, and pure as the heart of a little child.

But Anteia, the wife of King Proetos, saw day by day the beauty of Bellerophon, and she would not turn away her eye from his fair face. Every day he seemed to her to be more and more like to the bright heroes who feast with the gods in the halls of high Olympos, and her heart became filled with love, and she sought to beguile Bellerophon by her enticing words. But he hearkened not to her evil prayer, and heeded not her tears and sighs; so her love was turned to wrath, and she vowed a vow that Bellerophon should suffer a sore vengeance, because he would not hear her prayer. Then, in her rage, she went to King Proetos, and said, "Bellerophon, thy slave, hath sought to do me wrong, and to lead me astray by his crafty words. Long time he strove with me to win my love, but I would not hearken to him. Therefore, let thine hand lie more heavy upon him than in time past, for the evil that he hath done, and slay him before my face." Then was Proetos also full of anger, but he feared to slay Bellerophon, lest he should bring on himself the wrath of Zeus, his father. So he took a tablet of wood, and on it he drew grievous signs of toil and war, of battles and death, and gave it to Bellerophon to carry to the far-off Lykian land, where the father of Anteia was King, and as he bade him farewell, he said, "Show this tablet to the King of Lykia, and he will recompense thee for all thy good deeds which thou hast done for me, and for the people of Argos."

So Bellerophon went forth on his long wandering, and dreamed not of the evil that was to befall him by the wicked craft of Anteia. On and on he journeyed towards the rising of the sun, till he came to the country of the Lykians. Then he went to the house of the King, who welcomed him with rich banquets, and feasted him for nine days, and on the tenth day he sought to know wherefore Bellerophon had come to the Lykian land. Then Bellerophon took the tablet of Proetos and gave it to the King, who saw on it grievous signs of toil and woe, of battles and death. Presently the King spake, and said, "There are great things which remain for thee to do, Bellerophon, but when thy toil is over, high honor awaits thee here and in the homes of the bright heroes." So the King sent him forth to slay the terrible Chimaera, which had the face of a lion with a goat's body and a dragon's tail. Then Bellerophon journeyed yet further towards the rising of the sun, till he came to the pastures where the winged horse, Pegasos, the child of Gorgo, with the snaky hair, was feeding, and he knew that if he could tame the steed he should then be able to conquer the fierce Chimaera.

Long time he sought to seize on Pegasos, but the horse snorted wildly and tore up the ground in his fury, till Bellerophon sank wearied on the earth and a deep sleep weighed down his eyelids. Then, as he slept, Pallas Athene came and stood by his side, and cheered him with her brave words, and gave him a philtre which should tame the wild Pegasos. When Bellerophon awoke, the philtre was in his hand, and he knew now that he should accomplish the task which the Lykian King had given him to do. So, by the help of Athene, he mounted the winged Pegasos and smote the Chimaera, and struck off his head, and with it he went back, and told the King of all that had befallen him. But the King was filled with rage, for he thought not to see the face of Bellerophon again, and he charged him to go forth and do battle with the mighty Solymi and the fair Amazons. Then Bellerophon went forth again, for he dreamed not of guile and falsehood, and he dreaded neither man nor beast that might meet him in open battle. Long time he fought with the Solymi and the Amazons, until all his enemies shrank from the stroke of his mighty arm, and sought for mercy. Glad of heart, Bellerophon departed to carry his spoils to the home of the Lykian King, but as he drew nigh to it and was passing through a narrow dell where the thick brushwood covered the ground, fifty of the mightiest Lykians rushed upon him with fierce shoutings, and sought to slay him. At the first, Bellerophon withheld his hands, and said, "Lykian friends, I have feasted in the halls of your King, and eaten of his bread; surely ye are not come hither to slay me." But they shouted the more fiercely, and they hurled spears at Bellerophon; so he stretched forth his hand in the greatness of his strength, and did battle for his life until all the Lykians lay dead before him.

Weary in body and sad of heart, Bellerophon entered the hall where the King was feasting with his chieftains. And the King knew that Bellerophon could not have come thither unless he had first slain all the warriors whom he had sent forth to lie in wait for him. But he dissembled his wrath, and said, "Welcome, Bellerophon, bravest and mightiest of the sons of men. Thy toils are done, and the time of rest is come for thee. Thou shalt wed my daughter, and share with me my kingly power."

Then the minstrels praised the deeds of Bellerophon, and there was feasting for many days when he wedded the daughter of the King. But not yet was his doom accomplished; and once again the dark cloud gathered around him, laden with woe and suffering. Far away from his Lykian home, the wrath of Zeus drove him to the western land where the sun goes down into the sea. His heart was brave and guileless still, as in the days of his early youth, but the strength of his arm was weakened, and the light of his eye was now dim. Sometimes the might was given back to his limbs, and his face shone with its ancient beauty; and then, again, he wandered on in sadness and sorrow, as a man wanders in a strange path through the dark hours of night, when the moon is down. And so it was that when Bellerophon reached the western sea, he fell asleep and died, and the last sight which he saw before his eyes were closed was the red glare of the dying sun, as he broke through the barred clouds and plunged beneath the sea.

ALTHAIA AND THE BURNING BRAND.

There was feasting in the halls of Oineus, the chieftain of Kalydon, in the AEtolian land, and all prayed for wealth and glory for the chief, and for his wife, Althaia, and for the child who had on that day been born to them. And Oineus besought the King of gods and men with rich offerings, that his son, Meleagros, might win a name greater than his own, that he might grow up stout of heart and strong of arm, and that in time to come men might say, "Meleagros wrought mighty works and did good deeds to the people of the land."

But the mighty Moirai, whose word even Zeus himself may not turn aside, had fixed the doom of Meleagros. The child lay sleeping in his mother's arms, and Althaia prayed that her son might grow up brave and gentle, and be to her a comforter in the time of age and the hour of death. Suddenly, as she yet spake, the Moirai stood before her. There was no love or pity in their cold, grey eyes, and they looked down with stern, unchanging faces on the mother and her child, and one of them said, "The brand burns on the hearth, when it is burnt wholly, thy child shall die." But love is swifter than thought, and the mother snatched the burning brand from the fire, and quenched its flame in water, and she placed it in a secret place where no hand but her own might reach it.

So the child grew, brave of heart and sturdy of limb, and ever ready to hunt the wild beasts or to go against the cities of men. Many great deeds he did in the far-off Kolchian land, when the chieftains sailed with Athamas and Ino to take away the golden fleece from King Aietes. But there were greater things for him to do when he came again to Kalydon, for his father, Oineus, had roused the wrath of the mighty Artemis. There was rich banqueting in his great hall when his harvest was ingathered, and Zeus and all the other gods feasted on the fat burnt-offerings, but no gift was set apart for the virgin child of Leto. Soon she requited the wrong to Oineus, and a savage boar was seen in the land, which tore up the fruit-trees, and destroyed the seed in the ground, and trampled on the green corn as it came up. None dared to approach it, for its mighty tusks tore everything that crossed its path. Long time the chieftains took counsel what they should do, until Meleagros said, "I will go forth; who will follow me?" Then from Kalydon and from the cities and lands round about came mighty chieftains and brave youths, even as they had hastened to the ship, Argo, when they sought to win the golden fleece from Kolchis. With them came the Kouretes, who live in Pleuron, and among them were seen Kastor and Polydeukes, the twin brethren, and Theseus, with his comrade, Peirithoos, and Iason and Admetos. But more beautiful than all was Atalante, the daughter of Schoineus, a stranger from the Arcadian land. Much the chieftains sought to keep her from the chase, for the maiden's arm was strong, and her feet swift, and her aim sure, and they liked not that she should come from a far country to share their glory or take away their name. But Meleagros loved the fair and brave maiden, and said, "If she go not to the chase, neither will I go with you." So they suffered her, and the chase began. At first the boar fled, trampling down those whom he chanced to meet, and rending them with his tusks, but at last he stood fiercely at bay, and fought furiously, and many of the hunters fell, until at length the spear of Atalante pierced his side, and then Meleagros slew him.

Then was there great gladness as they dragged the body of the boar to Kalydon, and made ready to divide the spoil. But the anger of Artemis was not yet soothed, and she roused a strife between the men of Pleuron and the men of Kalydon. For Meleagros sought to have the head, and the Kouretes of Pleuron cared not to take the hide only for their portion. So the strife grew hot between them, until Meleagros slew the chieftain of the Kouretes, who was the brother of Althaia, his mother. Then he seized the head of the boar, and bare it to Atalante, and said, "Take, maiden, the spoils are rightly thine. From thy spear came the first wound which smote down the boar; and well hast thou earned the prize for the fleetness of thy foot and the sureness of thy aim."

So Atalante took the spoils and carried them to her home in the Arcadian land, but the men of Pleuron were full of wrath, and they made war on the men of Kalydon. Many times they fought, but in every battle the strong arm of Meleagros and his stout heart won the victory for the men of his own city, and the Kouretes began to grow faint in spirit, so that they quailed before the spear and sword of Meleagros. But presently Meleagros was seen no more with his people, and his voice was no longer heard cheering them on to the battle. No more would he take lance in hand or lift up his shield for the strife, but he tarried in his own house by the side of the beautiful Kleopatra, whom Idas, her father, gave to him to be his wife.

For the heart of his mother was filled with grief and rage when she heard the story of the deadly strife, and that Meleagros, her child, had slain her brother. In heavy wrath and sorrow she sat down upon the earth, and she cast the dust from the ground into the air, and with wild words called on Hades, the unseen King, and Persephone, who shares his dark throne: "Lord of the lands beneath the earth, stretch forth thy hand against Meleagros, my child. He has quenched the love of a mother in my brother's blood, and I will that he should die." And even as she prayed, the awful Erinys, who wanders through the air, heard her words and swore to accomplish the doom. But Meleagros was yet more wrathful when he knew that his mother had laid her curse upon him, and therefore he would not go forth out of his chamber to the aid of his people in the war.

So the Kouretes grew more and more mighty, and their warriors came up against the City of Kalydon, and would no longer suffer the people to come without the walls. And everywhere there was faintness of heart and grief of spirit, for the enemy had wasted their fields and slain the bravest of the men, and little store remained to them of food. Day by day Oineus besought his son, and the great men of the city fell at the knees of Meleagros and prayed him to come out to their help, but he would not hearken. Still he tarried in his chamber with his wife, Kleopatra, by his side, and heeded not the hunger and the wailings of the people. Fiercer and fiercer waxed the roar of war; the loosened stones rolled from the tottering wall, and the battered gates were scarce able to keep out the enemy. Then Kleopatra fell at her husband's knee, and she took him by the hand, and called him gently by his name, and said, "O Meleagros, if thou wilt think of thy wrath, think also of the evils which war brings with it—how when a city is taken, the men are slain, and the mother with her child, the old and the young are borne away into slavery. If the men of Pleuron win the day, thy mother may repent her of the curse which she has laid upon thee; but thou wilt see thy children slain and me a slave."



Then Meleagros started from his couch and seized his spear and shield. He spake no word, but hastened to the walls, and soon the Kouretes fell back before the spear which never missed its mark. Then he gathered the warriors of his city, and bade them open the gates, and went forth against the enemy. Long and dreadful was the battle, but at length the Kouretes turned and fled, and the danger passed away from the men of Kalydon.

But the Moirai still remembered the doom of the burning brand, and the unpitying Erinys had not forgotten the curse of Althaia, and they moved the men of Kalydon to withhold the prize of his good deeds from the chieftain, Meleagros. "He came not forth," they said, "save at the prayer of his wife. He hearkened not when we besought him, he heeded not our misery and tears; why should we give him that which he did not win from any love for us?" So his people were angry with Meleagros, and his spirit grew yet more bitter within him. Once again he lay within his chamber, and his spear and shield hung idle on the wall, and it pleased him more to listen the whole day long to the soft words of Kleopatra than to be doing brave and good deeds for the people of his land.

Then the heart of his mother, Althaia, was more and more turned away from him, so that she said in bitterness of spirit, "What good shall his life now do to me?" and she brought forth the half-burnt brand from its secret place, and cast it on the hearth. Suddenly it burst into a flame, and suddenly the strength of Meleagros began to fail as he lay in the arms of Kleopatra. "My life is wasting within me," he said; "clasp me closer in thine arms; let others lay a curse upon me, so only I die rejoicing in thy love." Weaker and weaker grew his failing breath, but still he looked with loving eyes on the face of Kleopatra, and his spirit went forth with a sigh of gladness, as the last spark of the brand flickered out upon the hearth.

Then was there grief and sorrow in the house of Oineus and through all the City of Kalydon, but they wept and mourned in vain. They thought now of his good deeds, his wise counsels, and his mighty arm, but in vain they bewailed the death of their chieftain in the glory of his age. Yet deeper and more bitter was the sorrow of Althaia, for the love of a mother came back to her heart when the Moirai had accomplished the doom of her child. And yet more bitterly sorrowed his wife, Kleopatra, and yearned for the love which had been torn away from her. There was no more joy within the halls of Oineus, for the Erinys had done their task well. Soon Althaia followed her child to the unknown land, and Kleopatra went forth with joy to meet Meleagros in the dark kingdom of Hades and Persephone.

IAMOS.

On the banks of Alpheios, Evadne watched over her new-born babe, till she fled away because she feared the wrath of Aipytos, who ruled in Phaisana. The tears streamed down her cheeks as she prayed to Phoebus Apollo, who dwells at Delphi, and said, "Lord of the bright day, look on thy child, and guard him when he lies forsaken, for I may no longer tarry near him."

So Evadne fled away, and Phoebus sent two serpents, who fed the babe with honey as he lay amid the flowers which clustered round him. And ever more and more through all the land went forth the saying of Phoebus, that the child of Evadne should grow up mighty in wisdom and in the power of telling the things that should happen in the time to come. Then Aipytos asked of all who dwelt in his house to tell him where he might find the son of Evadne. But they knew not where the child lay, for the serpents had hidden him far away in the thicket, where the wild flowers sheltered him from wind and heat. Long time they searched amid the tall reeds which clothe the banks of Alpheios, until at last they found the babe lying in a bed of violets. So Aipytos took the child and called his name Iamos, and he grew up brave and wise of heart, pondering well the signs of coming grief and joy, and the tokens of hidden things which he saw in the heaven above him or the wide earth beneath. He spake but little to the youths and maidens who dwelt in the house of Aipytos, but he wandered on the bare hills or by the stream side, musing on many things. And so it came to pass that one night, when the stars glimmered softly in the sky, Iamos plunged beneath the waters of Alpheios, and prayed to Phoebus who dwells at Delphi, and to Poseidon, the lord of the broad sea; and he besought them to open his eyes, that he might reveal to the sons of men the things which of themselves they could not see. Then they led him away to the high rocks which look down on the plain of Pisa, and they said, "Look yonder, child of Evadne, where the white stream of Alpheios winds its way gently to the sea. Here, in the days which are to come, Herakles, the son of the mighty Zeus, shall gather together the sons of Helen, and give them in the solemn games the mightiest of all bonds; hither shall they come to know the will of Zeus, and here shall it be thy work and the work of thy children to read to them the signs which of themselves they can not understand." Then Phoebus Apollo touched his ears, and straightway the voices of the birds spake to him clearly of the things which were to come and he heard their words as a man listens to the speech of his friend. So Iamos prospered exceedingly, for the men of all the Argive land sought aid from his wisdom, and laid rich gifts at his feet. And he taught his children after him to speak the truth and to deal justly, so that none envied their great wealth, and all men spake well of the wise children of Iamos.



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FINE ARTS.

The artistic instinct is one of the earliest developed in man; the love of representation is evolved at the earliest period; we see it in the child, we see it in the savage, we find traces of it among primitive men. The child in his earliest years loves to trace the forms of objects familiar to his eyes. The savage takes a pleasure in depicting and rudely giving shape to objects which constantly meet his view. The artistic instinct is of all ages and of all climes; it springs up naturally in all countries, and takes its origin alike everywhere in the imitative faculty of man. Evidences of this instinct at the earliest period have been discovered among the relics of primitive men; rough sketches on slate and on stone of the mammoth, the deer, and of man, have been found in the caves of France; the American savage traces rude hunting scenes, or the forms of animals on the covering of his tents, and on his buffalo robes; the savage Australian covers the side of caverns, and the faces of rocks with coarse drawings of animals. We thus find an independent evolution of the art of design, and distinct and separate cycles of its development through the stages of rise, progress, maturity, decline and decay, in many countries the most remote and unconnected with one another. The earliest mode of representing men, animals and objects was in outline and in profile. It is evidently the most primitive style, and characteristic of the commencement of the art, as the first attempts made by children and uncivilized people are solely confined to it; the most inexperienced perceive the object intended to be represented, and no effort is required to comprehend it. Outline figures were thus in all countries the earliest style of painting, and we find this mode practiced at a remote period in Egypt and in Greece. In Egypt we meet paintings in this earliest stage of the art of design in the tombs of Beni Hassan, dating from over 2000 B.C. They are illustrative of the manners and customs of that age. Tradition tells us that the origin of the art of design in Greece was in tracing in outline and in profile the shadow of a human head on the wall and afterwards filling it in so as to present the appearance of a kind of silhouette. The Greek painted vases of the earliest epoch exhibit examples of this style. From this humble beginning the art of design in Greece rose in gradually successive stages, until it reached its highest degree of perfection under the hands of Zeuxis and Apelles.

The interest that attaches to Egyptian art is from its great antiquity. We see it in the first attempts to represent what in after times, and in some other countries, gradually arrived, under better auspices, at the greatest perfection; and we even trace in it the germ of much that was improved upon by those who had a higher appreciation of, and feeling for, the beautiful. For, both in ornamental art, as well as in architecture, Egypt exercised in early times considerable influence over other people less advanced than itself, or only just emerging from barbarism; and the various conventional devices, the lotus flowers, the sphinxes, and other fabulous animals, as well as the early Medusa's head, with a protruding tongue, of the oldest Greek pottery and sculptures, and the ibex, leopard, and above all the (Nile) "goose and sun," on the vases, show them to be connected with, and frequently directly borrowed from, Egyptian fancy. It was, as it still is, the custom of people to borrow from those who have attained to a greater degree of refinement and civilization than themselves; the nation most advanced in art led the taste, and though some had sufficient invention to alter what they adopted, and to render it their own, the original idea may still be traced whenever it has been derived from a foreign source. Egypt was long the dominant nation, and the intercourse established at a very remote period with other countries, through commerce of war, carried abroad the taste of this the most advanced people of the time; and so general seems to have been the fashion of their ornaments, that even the Nineveh marbles present the winged globe, and other well-known Egyptian emblems, as established elements of Assyrian decorative art.



While Greece was still in its infancy, Egypt had long been the leading nation of the world; she was noted for her magnificence, her wealth, and power, and all acknowledged her pre-eminence in wisdom and civilization. It is not, therefore, surprising that the Greeks should have admitted into their early art some of the forms then most in vogue, and though the wonderful taste of that gifted people speedily raised them to a point of excellence never attained by the Egyptians or any others, the rise and first germs of art and architecture must be sought in the Valley of the Nile. In the oldest monuments of Greece, the sloping or pyramidal line constantly predominates; the columns in the oldest Greek order are almost purely Egyptian, in the proportions of the shaft, and in the form of its shallow flutes without fillets; and it is a remarkable fact that the oldest Egyptian columns are those which bear the closest resemblance to the Greek Doric.

Though great variety was permitted in objects of luxury, as furniture, vases, and other things depending on caprice, the Egyptians were forbidden to introduce any material innovations into the human figure, such as would alter its general character, and all subjects connected with religion retained to the last the same conventional type. A god in the latest temple was of the same form as when represented on monuments of the earliest date; and King Menes would have recognized Amun, or Osiris, in a Ptolemaic or a Roman sanctuary. In sacred subjects the law was inflexible, and religion, which has frequently done so much for the development and direction of taste in sculpture, had the effect of fettering the genius of Egyptian artists. No improvements, resulting from experience and observation, were admitted in the mode of drawing the human figure; to copy nature was not allowed; it was therefore useless to study it, and no attempt was made to give the proper action to the limbs. Certain rules, certain models, had been established by the priesthood, and the faulty conceptions of ignorant times were copied and perpetuated by every successive artist. For, as Plato and Synesius say, the Egyptian sculptors were not suffered to attempt anything contrary to the regulations laid down regarding the figures of the gods; they were forbidden to introduce any change, or to invent new subjects and habits, and thus the art, and the rules which bound it, always remained the same.

Egyptian bas-relief appears to have been, in its origin, a mere copy of painting, its predecessor. The first attempt to represent the figures of gods, sacred emblems, and other subjects, consisted in drawing or painting simple outlines of them on a flat surface, the details being afterwards put in with color; but in process of time these forms were traced on stone with a tool, and the intermediate space between the various figures being afterwards cut away, the once level surface assumed the appearance of a bas-relief. It was, in fact, a pictorial representation on stone, which is evidently the character of all the bas-reliefs on Egyptian monuments, and which readily accounts for the imperfect arrangement of their figures.

Deficient in conception, and above all in a proper knowledge of grouping, they were unable to form those combinations which give true expression; every picture was made up of isolated parts, put together according to some general notions, but without harmony, or preconceived effect. The human face, the whole body, and everything they introduced, were composed in the same manner, of separate members placed together one by one according to their relative situations: the eye, the nose, and other features composed a face, but the expression of feelings and passions was entirely wanting; and the countenance of the King, whether charging an enemy's phalanx in the heat of battle, or peaceably offering incense in a sombre temple, presented the same outline and the same inanimate look. The peculiarity of the front view of an eye, introduced in a profile, is thus accounted for: it was the ordinary representation of that feature added to a profile, and no allowance was made for any change in the position of the head.

It was the same with drapery: the figure was first drawn, and the drapery then added, not as part of the whole, but as an accessory; they had no general conception, no previous idea of the effect required to distinguish the warrior or the priest, beyond the impressions received from costume, or from the subject of which they formed a part, and the same figure was dressed according to the character it was intended to perform. Every portion of a picture was conceived by itself, and inserted as it was wanted to complete the scene; and when the walls of the building, where a subject was to be drawn, had been accurately ruled with squares, the figures were introduced, and fitted to this mechanical arrangement. The members were appended to the body, and these squares regulated their form and distribution, in whatever posture they might be placed.

As long as this conventional system continued, no great change could take place, beyond a slight variation in the proportions, which at one period became more elongated, particularly in the reign of the second Remeses; but still the general form and character of the figures continued the same, which led to the remark of Plato, "that the pictures and statues made ten thousand years ago, are in no one particular better or worse than what they now make." And taken in this limited sense—that no nearer approach to the beau ideal of the human figure, or its real character, was made at one period than another—his remark is true, since they were always bound by the same regulations, which prohibited any change in these matters, even to the latest times, as is evident from the sculptures of the monuments erected after Egypt had long been a Roman province. All was still Egyptian, though of bad style; and if they then attempted to finish the details with more precision, it was only substituting ornament for simplicity; and the endeavor to bring the proportions of the human figure nearer to nature, with the retention of its conventional type, only made its deformity greater, and showed how incompatible the Egyptian was with any other style.

In the composition of modern paintings three objects are required: one main action, one point of view, and one instant of time, and the proportions and harmony of the parts are regulated by perspective, but in Egyptian sculpture these essentials were disregarded; every thing was sacrificed to the principal figure; its colossal dimensions pointed it out as a center to which all the rest was a mere accessory, and, if any other was made equally conspicuous, or of equal size, it was still in a subordinate station, and only intended to illustrate the scene connected with the hero of the piece.

In the paintings of the tombs greater license was allowed in the representation of subjects relating to private life, the trades, or the manners and occupations of the people, and some indication of perspective in the position of the figures may occasionally be observed; but the attempt was imperfect, and, probably, to an Egyptian eye, unpleasing, for such is the force of habit, that even where nature is copied, a conventional style is sometimes preferred to a more accurate representation.

In the battle scenes on the temples of Thebes, some of the figures representing the monarch pursuing the flying enemy, despatching a hostile chief with his sword, and drawing his bow, as his horses carry his car over the prostrate bodies of the slain, are drawn with much spirit, and the position of the arms gives a perfect idea of the action which the artist intended to portray; still, the same imperfections of style, and want of truth, are observed; there is action, but no sentiment, expression of the passions, nor life in the features; it is a figure ready formed, and mechanically varied into movement, and whatever position it is made to assume, the point of view is the same: the identical profile of the human body with the anomaly of the shoulders seen in front. It is a description rather than a representation.

But in their mode of portraying a large crowd of persons they often show great cleverness, and, as their habit was to avoid uniformity, the varied positions of the heads give a truth to the subject without fatiguing the eye. Nor have they any symmetrical arrangement of figures, on opposite sides of a picture, such as we find in some of the very early paintings in Europe.

As their skill increased, the mere figurative representation was extended to that of a descriptive kind, and some resemblance of the hero's person was attempted; his car, the army he commanded, and the flying enemies, were introduced, and what was at first scarcely more than a symbol, aspired to the more exalted form and character of a picture. Of a similar nature were all their historical records, and these pictorial illustrations were a substitute for written documents. Rude drawing and sculpture, indeed, long preceded letters, and we find that even in Greece, to describe, draw, engrave, and write, were expressed by the same word.

Of the quality of the pencils used by the Egyptians for drawing and painting, it is difficult to form any opinion. Those generally employed for writing were a reed or rush, many of which have been found with the tablets or inkstands belonging to the scribes; and with these, too, they probably sketched the figures in red and black upon the stone or stucco of the walls. To put in the color, we may suppose that brushes of some kind were used, but the minute scale on which the painters are represented in the sculptures prevents our deciding the question.

Habits among men of similar occupations are frequently alike, even in the most distant countries, and we find it was not unusual for an Egyptian artist, or scribe, to put his reed pencil behind his ear, when engaged in examining the effect of his painting, or listening to a person on business, like a clerk in the counting-house.

The Etruscans, it is said, cultivated painting before the Greeks, and Pliny attributes to the former a certain degree of perfection before the Greeks had emerged from the infancy of the art. Ancient paintings at Ardea, in Etruria, and at Lanuvium still retained, in the time of Pliny, all their primitive freshness. According to Pliny, paintings of a still earlier date were to be seen at Caere, another Etruscan city. Those paintings mentioned by Pliny were commonly believed to be earlier than the foundation of Rome. At the present day the tombs of Etruria afford examples of Etruscan painting in every stage of its development, from the rudeness and conventionality of early art in the tomb of Veii to the correctness and ease of design, and the more perfect development of the art exhibited in the painted scenes in the tombs of Tarquinii. In one of these tombs the pilasters are profusely adorned with arabesques, and a frieze which runs round the side of the tomb is composed of painted figures draped, winged, armed, fighting, or borne in chariots. The subjects of these paintings are various; in them we find the ideas of the Etruscans on the state of the soul after death, combats of warriors, banquets, funeral scenes. The Etruscans painted also bas-reliefs and statues.

The Greeks carried painting to the highest degree of perfection; their first attempts were long posterior to those of the Egyptians; they do not even date as far back as the epoch of the siege of Troy; and Pliny remarks that Homer does not mention painting. The Greeks always cultivated sculpture in preference. Pausanias enumerates only eighty-eight paintings, and forty-three portraits; he describes, on the other hand, 2,827 statues. These were, in fact, more suitable ornaments to public places, and the gods were always represented in the temple by sculpture. In Greece painting followed the invariable law of development. Its cycle was run through. Painting passed through the successive stages of rise, progress, maturity, decline, and decay. The art of design in Greece is said to have had its origin in Corinth. The legend is: the daughter of Dibutades, a potter of Corinth, struck by the shadow of her lover's head cast by the lamp on the wall, drew its outline, filling it in with a dark shadow. Hence, the earliest mode of representing the human figure was a silhouette. The simplest form of design or drawing was mere outline, or monogrammon, and was invented by Cleanthes, of Corinth. After this the outlines were filled in, and light and shade introduced of one color, and hence were styled mono-chromes. Telephanes, of Sicyon, further improved the art by indicating the principal details of anatomy; Euphantes, of Corinth, or Craton, of Sicyon, by the introduction of color. Cimon, of Cleonae, is the first who is mentioned as having advanced the art of painting in Greece, and as having emancipated it from its archaic rigidity, by exchanging the conventional manner of rendering the human form for an approach to truthfulness to nature. He also first made muscular articulations, indicated the veins, and gave natural folds to draperies. He is also supposed to have been the first who used a variety of colors, and to have introduced foreshortening. The first painter of great renown was Polygnotus. Accurate drawing, and a noble and distinct manner of characterizing the most different mythological forms was his great merit; his female figures also possessed charms and grace. His large tabular pictures were conceived with great knowledge of legends, and in an earnest religious spirit. At Athens he painted, according to Pausanias, a series of paintings of mythological subjects in the Pinakotheke in the Propylaea on the Acropolis, and pictorial decorations for the temple of Theseus, and the Poecile. He executed a series of paintings at Delphi on the long walls of the Lesche. The wall to the right on entering the Lesche bore scenes illustrative of the epic myth of the taking of Troy; the left, the visit of Ulysses to the lower world, as described in the Odyssey. Pliny remarks that in place of the old severity and rigidity of the features he introduced a great variety of expression, and was the first to paint figures with the lips open. Lucian attributes to him great improvements in the rendering of drapery so as to show the forms underneath. Apollodorus, of Athens, was the first great master of light and shade. According to Pliny he was the first to paint men and things as they really appear. A more advanced stage of improved painting began with Zeuxis, in which art aimed at illusion of the senses and the rendering of external charms. He appears to have been equally distinguished in the representation of female charms, and of the sublime majesty of Zeus on his throne. His masterpiece was his picture of Helen, in painting which he had as his models the five most beautiful virgins of Croton.

Neither the place nor date of the birth of Zeuxis can be accurately ascertained, though he was probably born about 455 B.C., since thirty years after that date we find him practicing his art with great success at Athens. He was patronized by Archelaus, King of Macedonia, and spent some time at his court. He must also have visited Magna Graecia, as he painted his celebrated picture of Helen for the City of Croton. He acquired great wealth by his pencil, and was very ostentatious in displaying it. He appeared at Olympia in a magnificent robe, having his name embroidered in letters of gold, and the same vanity is also displayed in the anecdote that, after he had reached the summit of his fame, he no longer sold, but gave away, his pictures, as being above all price. With regard to his style of art, single figures were his favorite subjects. He could depict gods or heroes with sufficient majesty, but he particularly excelled in painting the softer graces of female beauty. In one important respect he appears to have degenerated from the style of Polygnotus, his idealism being rather that of form than of character and expression. Thus his style is analogous to that of Euripides in tragedy. He was a great master of color, and his paintings were sometimes so accurate and life-like as to amount to illusion. This is exemplified in the story told of him and Parrhasius. As a trial of skill, these artists painted two pictures. That of Zeuxis represented a bunch of grapes, and was so naturally executed that the birds came and pecked at it. After this proof, Zeuxis, confident of success, called upon his rival to draw aside the curtain which concealed his picture. But the painting of Parrhasius was the curtain itself, and Zeuxis was now obliged to acknowledge himself vanquished, for, though he had deceived birds, Parrhasius had deceived the author of the deception. But many of the pictures of Zeuxis also displayed great dramatic power. He worked very slowly and carefully, and he is said to have replied to somebody who blamed him for his slowness, "It is true I take a long time to paint, but then I paint works to last a long time." His master-piece was the picture of Helen, already mentioned.

Parrhasius was a native of Ephesus, but his art was chiefly exercised at Athens, where he was presented with the right of citizenship. His date can not be accurately ascertained, but he was probably rather younger than his contemporary, Zeuxis, and it is certain that he enjoyed a high reputation before the death of Socrates. The style and degree of excellence attained by Parrhasius appear to have been much the same as those of Zeuxis. He was particularly celebrated for the accuracy of his drawing, and the excellent proportions of his figures. For these he established a canon, as Phidias had done in sculpture for gods, and Polycletus for the human figure, whence Quintilian calls him the legislator of his art. His vanity seems to have been as remarkable as that of Zeuxis. Among the most celebrated of his works was a portrait of the personified Athenian Demos, which is said to have miraculously expressed even the most contradictory qualities of that many-headed personage.

[Illustration: PAINTING. (2600 years old.)

Parrhasius excelled in giving a roundness and a beautiful contour to his figures, and was remarkable for the richness and variety of his creations. His numerous pictures of gods and heroes attained the highest consideration in art. He was overcome, however, in a pictorial contest, in which the subject was the contest of Ulysses and Ajax for the arms of Achilles, by the ingenious Timanthes, in whose sacrifice of Iphigenia the ancients admired the expression of grief carried to that pitch of intensity at which art had only dared to hint. The most striking feature in the picture was the concealment of the face of Agamemnon in his mantle. (The concealment of the face of Agamemnon in this picture has been generally considered as a "trick" or ingenious invention of Timanthes, when it was the result of a fundamental law in Greek art—to represent alone what was beautiful, and never to present to the eye anything repulsive or disagreeable; the features of a father convulsed with grief would not have been a pleasing object to gaze on; hence the painter, fully conscious of the laws of his art, concealed the countenance of Agamemnon.) Timanthes was distinguished for his invention and expression. Before all, however, ranks the great Apelles, who united the advantages of his native Ionia—grace, sensual charms, and rich coloring—with the scientific accuracy of the Sicyonian school. The most prominent characteristic of his style was grace (charis), a quality which he himself avowed as peculiarly his, and which serves to unite all the other gifts and faculties which the painter requires; perhaps in none of his pictures was it exhibited in such perfection as in his famous Anadyomene, in which Aphrodite is represented rising out of the sea, and wringing the wet out of her hair. But heroic subjects were likewise adapted to his genius, especially grandly-conceived portraits, such as the numerous likenesses of Alexander, by whom he was warmly patronized. He not only represented Alexander with the thunderbolt in his hand, but he even attempted, as the master in light and shade, to paint thunderstorms, probably at the same time as natural scenes and mythological personifications. The Anadyomene, originally painted for the temple of AEsculapius, at Cos, was transferred by Augustus to the temple of D. Julius, at Rome, where, however, it was in a decayed state even at the time of Nero. Contemporaneously with him flourished Protogenes and Nicias. Protogenes was both a painter and a statuary, and was celebrated for the high finish of his works. His master-piece was the picture of Ialysus, the tutelary hero of Rhodes, where he lived. He is said to have spent seven years on it. Nicias, of Athens, was celebrated for the delicacy with which he painted females. He was also famous as an encaustic painter, and was employed by Praxiteles to apply his art to his statues. The glorious art of these masters, as far as regards light, tone, and local colors, is lost to us, and we know nothing of it except from obscure notices and later imitations. It is not thus necessary to speak at length of the various schools of painting in Greece, their works being all lost, the knowledge of the characteristics peculiar to each school would be at the present day perfectly useless. Painting had to follow the invariable law of all development; having reached a period of maturity, it followed, as a necessary consequence, that the period of decline should begin. The art of this period of refinement, Mr. Wornum writes, which has been termed the Alexandrian, because the most celebrated artist of this period lived about the time of Alexander the Great, was the last of progression, or acquisition, but it only added variety of effect to the tones it could not improve, and was principally characterized by the diversity of the styles of so many contemporary artists. The decadence of the arts immediately succeeded, the necessary consequence, when, instead of excellence, variety and originality became the end of the artist. The tendencies which are peculiar to this period gave birth sometimes to pictures which ministered to a low sensuality; sometimes to works which attracted by their effects of light, and also to caricatures and travesties of mythological subjects. The artists of this period were under the necessity of attracting attention by novelty and variety; thus rhyparography, and the lower classes of art, attained the ascendency, and became the characteristic styles of the period. In these Pyreieus was pre-eminent; he was termed rhyparographos, on account of the mean quality of his subjects. After the destruction of Corinth by Mummius and the spoliation of Athens by Sylla the art of painting experienced a rapid and total decay.



We shall now make a few extracts from Mr. Wornum's excellent article on the vehicles, materials, colors, and methods of painting used by the Greeks.

The Greeks painted with wax, resins, and in water-colors, to which they gave a proper consistency, according to the material upon which they painted, with gum, glue, and the white of egg; gum and glue were the most common.

They painted upon wood, clay, plaster, stone, parchment, and canvas. They generally painted upon panels or tables, and very rarely upon walls; and an easel, similar to what is now used, was common among the ancients. These panels, when finished, were fixed into frames of various descriptions and materials, and encased in walls. The ancients used also a palette very similar to that used by the moderns, as is sufficiently attested by a fresco painting from Pompeii, which represents a female painting a copy of Hermes, for a votive tablet, with a palette in her left hand.

The earlier Grecian masters used only four colors: the earth of Melos for white; Attic ochre for yellow; Sinopis, an earth from Pontus, for red; and lamp-black; and it was with these simple elements that Zeuxis, Polygnotus, and others of that age, executed their celebrated works. By degrees new coloring substances were found, such as were used by Apelles and Protogenes.

So great, indeed, is the number of pigments mentioned by ancient authors, and such the beauty of them, that it is very doubtful whether, with all the help of modern science, modern artists possess any advantage in this respect over their predecessors.

We now give the following list of colors, known to be generally used by ancient painters:

Red.—The ancient reds were very numerous, cinnabar, vermilion, bisulphuret of mercury, called also by Pliny and Vitruvius, minium. The cinnabaris indica, mentioned by Pliny and Dioscorides, was what is vulgarly called dragon's blood, the resin obtained from various species of the calamus palm. Miltos seems to have had various significations; it was used for cinnabaris, minium, red lead, and rubrica, red ochre. There were various kinds of rubricae; all were, however, red oxides, of which the best were the Lemnian, from the Isle of Lemnos, and the Cappadocian, called by the Romans rubrica sinopica, from Sinope in Paphlagonia. Minium, red oxide of lead, red lead, was called by the Romans cerussa usta, and, according to Vitruvius, sandaracha.

The Roman sandaracha seems to have had various significations. Pliny speaks of the different shades of sandaracha; there was also a compound color of equal parts of sandaracha and rubrica calcined, called sandyx, which Sir H. Davy supposed to approach our crimson in tint; in painting it was frequently glazed with purple, to give it additional lustre.

Yellow.—Yellow-ochre, hydrated peroxide of iron, the sil of the Romans, formed the base of many other yellows, mixed with various colors and carbonate of lime. Ochre was procured from different parts—the Attic was considered the best; sometimes the paler sort of sandaracha was used for yellow.

Green.—Chrysocolla, which appears to have been green carbonate of copper, or malachite (green verditer), was the green most approved of by the ancients; there was also an artificial kind which was made from clay impregnated with sulphate of copper (blue vitriol) rendered green by a yellow dye. The commonest and cheapest colors were the Appianum, which was a clay, and the creta viridis, the common green earth of Verona.

Blue.—The ancient blues were very numerous; the principal of these was coeruleum, azure, a species of verditer, or blue carbonate of copper, of which there were many varieties. The Alexandrian was the most valued, as approaching the nearest to ultramarine. It was also manufactured at Pozzuoli. This imitation was called coelon. Armenium was a metallic color, and was prepared by being ground to an impalpable powder. It was of a light blue color. It has been conjectured that ultramarine (lapis lazuli) was known to the ancients under the name of Armenium, from Armenia, whence it was procured. It is evident, however, from Pliny's description, that the "sapphirus" of the ancients was the lapis lazuli of the present day. It came from Media.

Indigo, indicum, was well known to the ancients.

Purple.—The ancients had several kinds of purple, purpurissimum, ostrum, hysginum, and various compound colors. Purpurissimum was made from creta argentaria, a fine chalk or clay, steeped in a purple dye, obtained from the murex. In color it ranged between minium and blue, and included every degree in the scale of purple shades. The best sort came from Pozzuoli. Purpurissimum indicum was brought from India. It was of a deep blue, and probably was the same as indigo. Ostrum was a liquid color, to which the proper consistence was given by adding honey. It was produced from the secretion of a fish called ostrum, and differed in tint according to the country from whence it came; being deeper and more violet when brought from the northern, redder when from the southern coasts of the Mediterranean. The Roman ostrum was a compound of red ochre and blue oxide of copper. Hysginum, according to Vitruvius, is a color between scarlet and purple. The celebrated Tyrian dye was a dark, rich purple, of the color of coagulated blood, but, when held against the light, showed a crimson hue. It was produced by a combination of the secretions of the murex and buccinum. In preparing the dye the buccinum was used last, the dye of the murex being necessary to render the colors fast, while the buccinum enlivened by its tint of red the dark hue of the murex. Sir H. Davy, on examining a rose-colored substance, found in the baths of Titus, which in its interior had a lustre approaching to that of carmine, considered it a specimen of the best Tyrian purple. The purpura, as mentioned in Pliny, was an amethyst or violet color.

Brown.—Ochra usta, burnt ochre.—The browns were ochres calcined, oxides of iron and manganese, and compounds of ochres and blacks.

Black.—Atramentum, or black, was of two sorts, natural and artificial. The natural was made from a black earth, or from the secretion of the cuttle-fish, sepia. The artificial was made of the dregs of wine carbonized, calcined ivory, or lamp-black. The atramentum indicum, mentioned by Pliny, was probably the Chinese Indian ink.

White.—The ordinary Greek white was melinum, an earth from the Isle of Melos; for fresco-painting the best was the African paroetonium. There was also a white earth of Eretria and the annularian white. Carbonate of lead, or white lead, cerussa, was apparently not much used by the ancient painters. It has not been found in any of the remains of painting in Roman ruins.

Methods of Painting.—There were two distinct classes of painting practiced by the ancients—in water colors and in wax, both of which were practiced in various ways. Of the former the principal were fresco, al fresco; and the various kinds of distemper (a tempera), with glue, with the white of egg, or with gums (a guazzo); and with wax or resins when these were rendered by any means vehicles that could be worked with water. Of the latter the principal was through fire, termed encaustic.

Fresco was probably little employed by the ancients for works of imitative art, but it appears to have been the ordinary method of simply coloring walls, especially amongst the Romans. Coloring al fresco, in which the colors were mixed simply in water, as the term implies, was applied when the composition of the stucco on the walls was still wet (udo tectorio), and on that account was limited to certain colors, for no colors except earths can be employed in this way.

The fresco walls, when painted, were covered with an encaustic varnish, both to heighten the colors and to preserve them from the injurious effects of the sun or the weather. Vitruvius describes the process as a Greek practice. When the wall was colored and dry, Punic wax, melted and tempered with a little oil, was rubbed over it with a hard brush (seta); this was made smooth and even by applying a cauterium or an iron pan, filled with live coals, over the surface, as near to it as was just necessary to melt the wax; it was then rubbed with a candle (wax) and a clean cloth. In encaustic painting the wax colors were burnt into the ground by means of a hot iron (called cauterium) or pan of hot coals being held near the surface of the picture. The mere process of burning in constitutes the whole difference between encaustic and the ordinary method of painting with wax colors.

We shall now say a few words with regard to the much canvassed question of painting or coloring statues. Its antiquity and universality admit of no doubt. Indeed, the practice of painting statues is a characteristic of a primitive and workmanship of clay or wood. It was a survival of the old religious practices of daubing the early statues of the gods with vermilion, and was done to meet the superstitious tastes of the uneducated. Statues for religious purposes may have been painted in obedience to a formula prescribed by religion, but statues as objects of art, on which the sculptor exhibited all his genius and taste, were unquestionably executed in the pure and uncolored marble alone. In the chryselephantine, or ivory statues of Jove and Minerva, by Phidias, art was made a handmaid to religion. Phidias himself would have preferred to have executed them in marble.

We may further remark that form, in its purest ideal, being the chief aim of sculpture, any application of color, which would detract from the purity and ideality of this purest of the arts, could never be agreeable to refined taste. Coloring sculpture and giving it a life-like reality is manifestly trenching on the province of painting, and so departing from the true principle of sculpture, which is to give form in its most perfect and idealized development. We must also consider that sculpture in marble, by its whiteness, is calculated for the display of light and shade. For this reason statues and bas-reliefs were placed either in the open light to receive the direct rays of the sun, or in underground places, or thermae, where they received their light either from an upper window, or, by night, from the strong light of a lamp, the sculptor having for that purpose studied the effects of the shadows. It must also be remembered that the statues in Greek and Roman temples received their light from the upper part of the building, many of the temples being hypaethral, thus having the benefit of a top light, the sculptor's chief aim. Color in these statues or bas-reliefs would have tended to mar the contrasts of light and shade, and blended them too much; for example, color a photograph of a statue, which exhibits a marked contrast of light and shade, and it will tend to confuse and blend the two. The taste for polychrome sculpture in the period of the decline of art was obviously but a returning to the primitive imperfection of art, when an attempt was made to produce illusion in order to please the uneducated taste of the vulgar.

The Romans derived their knowledge of painting from the Etruscans, their ancestors and neighbors; the first Grecian painters who came to Italy are said to have been brought over by Demaratus, the father of Tarquinius Priscus, King of Rome; at all events Etruria appears to have exercised extensive influence over the arts of Rome during the reign of the Tarquins. Tradition attributes to them the first works which were used to adorn the temples of Rome, and, according to Pliny, not much consideration was bestowed either on the arts or on the artists. Fabius, the first among the Romans, had some painting executed in the temple of Salus, from which he received the name of Pictor. The works of art brought from Corinth by Mummius, from Athens by Sulla, and from Syracuse by Marcellus, introduced a taste for paintings and statues in their public buildings, which eventually became an absorbing passion with many distinguished Romans. Towards the end of the republic Rome was full of painters. Julius Caesar, Agrippa, Augustus, were among the earliest great patrons of artists. Suetonius informs us that Caesar expended great sums in the purchase of pictures by the old masters. Under Augustus, Marcus Ludius painted marine subjects, landscape decorations, and historic landscape as ornamentation for the apartments of villas and country houses. He invented that style of decoration which we now call arabesque or grotesque. It spread rapidly, insomuch that the baths of Titus and Livia, the remains discovered at Cumae, Pozzuoli, Herculaneum, Stabiae, Pompeii, in short, whatever buildings about that date have been found in good preservation, afford numerous and beautiful examples of it. At this time, also, a passion for portrait painting prevailed; an art which flattered their vanity was more suited to the tastes of the Romans than the art which could produce beautiful and refined works similar to those of Greece. Portraits must have been exceedingly numerous; Varro made a collection of the portraits of 700 eminent men. Portraits, decorative and scene painting, seem to have engrossed the art. The example, or rather the pretensions, of Nero must also have contributed to encourage painting in Rome; but Roman artists were, however, but few in number; the victories of the consuls, and the rapine of the praetors, were sufficient to adorn Rome with all the master-pieces of Greece and Italy. They introduced the fashion of having a taste for the beautiful works of Greek art. At a later period, such was the corrupt state of taste, that painting was almost left to be practiced by slaves, and the painter was estimated by the quantity of work that he could do in a day.

The remains of painting found at Pompeii, Herculaneum, and in the baths of Titus, at Rome, are the only paintings which can give us any idea of the coloring and painting of the ancients, which, though they exhibit many beauties, particularly in composition, are evidently the works of inferior artists in a period of decline. At Pompeii there is scarcely a house the walls of which are not decorated with fresco paintings. The smallest apartments were lined with stucco, painted in the most brilliant and endless variety of colors, in compartments simply tinted with a light ground, surrounded by an ornamental margin, and sometimes embellished with a single figure or subject in the center, or at equal distances. These paintings are very frequently historical or mythological, but embrace every variety of subject, some of the most exquisite beauty. Landscape painting was never a favorite with the ancients, and if ever introduced in a painting, was subordinate. The end and aim of painting among the ancients was to represent and illustrate the myths of the gods, the deeds of heroes, and important historical events, hence giving all prominence to the delineation of the human form. Landscape, on the other hand, illustrated nothing, represented no important event deserving of record, and was thus totally without significance in a Grecian temple or pinacotheca. In an age of decline, as at Pompeii, it was employed for mere decorative purposes. Many architectural subjects are continually found in which it is easy to trace the true principles of perspective, but they are rather indicated than minutely expressed or accurately displayed; whereas in most instances a total want of the knowledge of this art is but too evident. Greek artists seem to have been employed; indeed, native painters were few, while the former everywhere abounded, and their superiority in design must have always insured them the preference.

The subjects of Roman mural paintings are usually Greek myths; in the composition and style we see Greek conception, modified by Roman influence. The style of drawing is rather dexterous than masterly; rapidity of execution seems to be more prized than faithful, conscientious representation of the truth of nature; the drawing is generally careless, and effects are sometimes produced by tricks and expedients, which belong rather to scene-painting than to the higher branches of art. It must not, however, be forgotten that the majority of these pictures were architectural decorations, not meant to be regarded as independent compositions, but as parts of larger compositions, in which they were inserted as in a frame. As examples of ancient coloring they are of the highest interest, and much may be learnt from them in reference to the technical materials and processes employed by ancient artists.

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SCULPTURING.

We do not intend to enter here on the history of sculpture in all its phases, but to give the distinctive features which characterize the different styles of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman sculpture, as they are visible in statues of the natural or colossal size, in statues of lesser proportion, and lastly in busts and bas-reliefs.

We shall give also the styles of each separate nation which prevailed at each distinct age or epoch, styles which mark the stages of the development of the art of sculpture in all countries. Sculpture, like architecture and painting, indeed all art, had an indigenous and independent evolution in all countries, all these arts springing up naturally, and taking their origin alike everywhere in the imitative faculty of man. They had their stages of development in the ascending and descending scales, their rise, progress, culminating point, decline and decay, their cycle of development; the sequence of these stages being necessarily developed wherever the spirit of art has arisen, and has had growth and progress. The first and most important step in examining a work of ancient sculpture is to distinguish with certainty whether it is of Egyptian, Etruscan, Greek, or Roman workmanship; and this distinction rests entirely on a profound knowledge of the style peculiar to each of those nations. The next step is, from its characteristic features, to distinguish what period, epoch, or stage of the development of the art of that particular nation it belongs to. We shall further give the various attributes and characteristics of the gods, goddesses, and other mythological personages which distinguish the various statues visible in Egyptian, Etruscan, Greek, and Roman sculpture.

This enumeration will be found of use in the many sculpture galleries of the various museums both at home and abroad.

Man attempted sculpture long before he studied architecture; a simple hut, or a rude house, answered every purpose as a place of abode, and a long time elapsed before he sought to invent what was not demanded by necessity.

Architecture is a creation of the mind; it has no model in nature, and it requires great imaginative powers to conceive its ideal beauties, to make a proper combination of parts, and to judge of the harmony of forms altogether new and beyond the reach of experience. But the desire in man to imitate and to record what has passed before his eyes, in short, to transfer the impression from his own mind to another, is natural in every stage of society; and however imperfectly he may succeed in representing the objects themselves, his attempts to indicate their relative position, and to embody the expression of his own ideas, are a source of the highest satisfaction.

As the wish to record events gave the first, religion gave the second impulse to sculpture. The simple pillar of wood or stone, which was originally chosen to represent the deity, afterwards assumed the human form, the noblest image of the power that created it; though the Hermae of Greece were not, as some have thought, the origin of statues, but were borrowed from the mummy-shaped gods of Egypt.

Pausanias thinks that "all statues were in ancient times of wood, particularly those made in Egypt;" but this must have been at a period so remote as to be far beyond the known history of that country; though it is probable that when the arts were in their infancy the Egyptians were confined to statues of that kind; and they occasionally erected wooden figures in their temples, even till the times of the latter Pharaohs.

Long after men had attempted to make out the parts of the figure, statues continued to be very rude; the arms were placed directly down the side of the thighs, and the legs were united together; nor did they pass beyond this imperfect state in Greece, until the age of Daedalus. Fortunately for themselves and for the world, the Greeks were allowed to free themselves from old habits, while the Egyptians, at the latest periods, continued to follow the imperfect models of their early artists, and were forever prevented from arriving at excellence in sculpture; and though they made great progress in other branches of art, though they evinced considerable taste in the forms of their vases, their furniture, and even in some architectural details, they were forever deficient in ideal beauty, and in the mode of representing the natural positions of the human figure.

In Egypt the prescribed automaton character of the figures effectually prevented all advancement in the statuary's art; the limbs being straight, without any attempt at action, or, indeed, any indication of life; they were really statues of the person they represented, not the person "living in marble," in which they differed entirely from those of Greece. No statue of a warrior was sculptured in the varied attitudes of attack and defence; no wrestler, no discobolus, no pugilist exhibited the grace, the vigor, or the muscular action of a man; nor were the beauties, the feeling, and the elegance of female forms displayed in stone: all was made to conform to the same invariable model, which confined the human figure to a few conventional postures.

A sitting statue, whether of a man or woman, was represented with the hands placed upon the knees, or held across the breast; a kneeling figure sometimes supported a small shrine or sacred emblem; and when standing the arms were placed directly down the sides of the thighs, one foot (and that always the left) being advanced beyond the other, as if in the attitude of walking, but without any attempt to separate the legs.

The oldest Egyptian sculptures on all large monuments were in low relief, and, as usual at every period, painted (obelisks and everything carved in hard stone, some funeral tablets, and other small objects, being in intaglio); and this style continued in vogue until the time of Remeses II., who introduced intaglio very generally on large monuments; and even his battle scenes at Karnac and the Memnonium are executed in this manner. The reliefs were little raised above the level of the wall; they had generally a flat surface with the edges softly rounded off, far surpassing the intaglio in effect; and it is to be regretted that the best epoch of art, when design and execution were in their zenith, should have abandoned a style so superior; which, too, would have improved in proportion to the advancement of that period.

After the accession of the twenty-sixth dynasty some attempt was made to revive the arts, which had been long neglected; and, independent of the patronage of government, the wealth of private individuals was liberally employed in their encouragement. Public buildings were erected in many parts of Egypt, and beautified with rich sculpture; the City of Sais, the royal residence of the Pharaohs of that dynasty, was adorned with the utmost magnificence, and extensive additions were made to the temples of Memphis, and even to those of the distant Thebes.

The fresh impulse thus given to art was not without effect; the sculptures of that period exhibit an elegance and beauty which might even induce some to consider them equal to the productions of an earlier age, and in the tombs of the Assaseef, at Thebes, are many admirable specimens of Egyptian art. To those, however, who understand the true feeling of this peculiar school, it is evident, that though in minuteness and finish they are deserving of the highest commendation, yet in grandeur of conception and in boldness of execution they fall far short of the sculptures of Sethos and the second Remeses.

The skill of the Egyptian artists in drawing bold and clear outlines is, perhaps, more worthy of admiration than anything connected with this branch of art, and in no place is the freedom of their drawing more conspicuous than in the figures in the unfinished part of Belzoni's tomb, at Thebes. It was in the drawing alone that they excelled, being totally ignorant of the correct mode of coloring a figure, and their painting was not an imitation of nature, but merely the harmonious combination of certain hues, which they well understood. Indeed, to this day the harmony of positive colors is thoroughly felt in Egypt and the East, and it is strange to find the little perception of it in Northern Europe, where theories take upon themselves to explain to the mind what the eye has not yet learned, as if a grammar could be written before the language is understood.

A remarkable feature of Egyptian sculpture is the frequent representation of their Kings in a colossal form. The two most famous colossi are the seated figures in the plain of Thebes. One is recognized to be the vocal Memnon (Amunoph III.) mentioned by Strabo. They are forty-seven feet high, and measure about eighteen feet three inches across the shoulders. But the grandest and largest colossal statue was the stupendous statue of King Remeses II., a Syenite granite, in the Memnonium, at Thebes. It represented the King seated on a throne, in the usual attitude of Kings, the hands resting on his knees. It is now in fragments. It measured twenty-two feet four inches across the shoulders. According to Sir G. Wilkinson, the whole mass, when entire, must have weighed about 887 tons. A colossal statue of Remeses II. lies with his face upon the ground on the site of Memphis; it was placed before the temple of Pthah. Its total height is estimated at forty-two feet eight inches, without the pedestal. It is of white siliceous limestone. Another well-known colossus is the statue of the so-called Memnon, now in the British Museum. It is supposed to be the statue of Remeses II. It was brought by Belzoni from the Memnonium, at Thebes.