To write of the beginning of painting in Greece, one of two theories must be repeated. Either that all nations, at a certain stage of civilisation, have discovered a fondness and aptness for the fine arts without communicating with others; or that painting was brought with the other arts ready formed from Egypt to Sicyon and Corinth.

For my part I am apt to consider both these views as partly true.

It is not to be supposed that the civilised people, whatever was its origin, which possessed Greece before the time of the earliest Egyptian colonies, and which in the massy walls and curious treasure-houses, which it has left as monuments, proving a considerable advance in the knowledge of mechanics, had made none in those finer arts that adorn and sweeten life. Neither are we obliged to believe that the Egyptian Colonies, whether led by an unfortunate prince, or composed of men flying from the tyranny of a harsh government, would forget to practise the arts which flourished in their native soil. They might improve the nation on whose shores they landed, and in return be improved by intercourse with it[71].

It is certain, however, that whatever were the first steps of the arts of Greece, they soon out-stripped those of every other nation, making their practice the law by which all others were to be tried for ever.

Alas, for the pictures of Greece! they have perished, and are now mere matter of history, and like the hands that produced them

But the temples they adorned, the statues that were coeval with them, the bassi-relievi conceived in the spirit that inspired them, are not utterly gone; and while we have them before us, the history of the pictures of Greece may still borrow a momentary reality as we read over the descriptions of the heroes of Polygnotus, and the Helens and Venuses of Zeuxis and Apelles.

Of the plastic arts it is scarcely possible to doubt that modelling in clay must be the earliest that arrived at any degree of perfection. The very shaping and moulding of vessels for domestic use, must have given a facility of hand to the potter, highly advantageous when he began to model his first ornamental foliage, and afterwards in his imitations of men and animals. It is a pity not to believe that the first portrait in profile, and the first bust, owed their common origin to love; and after all it may be true. The potter’s art may have formed the clumsy likeness of a human head, and many a rude outline may have been scratched on rocks, or cut in turf, or drawn in the sands before. But Dibutatis tenderly tracing the shadow of her sleeping lover, may still have formed the first individual likeness; and her father’s filling up of that line, the first head in clay that deserved the name of model.

At all events, I would have the poets and the young believe it.

The tale points to Corinth as an early nursery of art; and we have seen how closely the beautiful vases of that city and those of Etruria resemble each other. Of late years, vessels almost equally beautiful, and not dissimilar in form, have been found delineated in the catacombs of Egypt; but it is remarkable, that although they are ornamented with many tracings and scrolls like those of Corinth, there is no instance of their bearing the human form.

The designs on the Corinthian and Etruscan vases, may be considered as pictures in monochrome, according to Fuseli[72], whose ingenious but somewhat fanciful account of the process by which the monochromes were executed, is probably near the truth.

The works of the earliest Greek painters, therefore, which we know were called monochromes, resembled the Corinthian and Etruscan figured vases; and, perhaps, it is equally credible that the two, three, and four-tinted vases represent, with tolerable accuracy, the steps towards the many coloured pictures which excited the admiration of the Greeks in the earliest paintings mentioned in authentic history.

But, before we take up the history of painting exclusively, it will not be uninteresting to name a few of those early productions of the workers in metal, mentioned by the poets or older historians, and, in some instances, preserved in the treasures of the Grecian temples, particularly those of Delphi, to a late period[73]. We must remember that the Greeks of Europe, Asia, and the Islands, practised the arts with equal taste and success; that, by trade or by alliance with the Phœnicians, they maintained an intercourse with Egypt, and also a direct commerce with the Etruscans; and that their border nations on the Asiatic side were cultivated and luxurious, drawing their origin either from the same ancient civilised stock with themselves, or from Egypt, or its immediate neighbourhood.

The shield of Achilles, that noble piece of chased and inlaid work as described by Homer, about nine centuries before our era, is an example. Its rich design could not have been imagined, unless the arts necessary to produce it had arrived at a high degree of perfection in his country at the time he wrote[74], though we may doubt if, at the period of the war of Troy, three hundred years before Homer, there existed artificers capable of executing it.

Within a century after the taking of Troy, there was a great movement among the Greek tribes; many new colonies settled in Asia Minor, and the Heraclidæ finally regained their ancient seats in Peloponnesus. It is worthy of remark, that at that period Jerusalem was adorned with her first magnificent temple by Solomon, and that David built his house of cedar. The chief workman sent by Hiram the king of Tyre, to assist Solomon in the building of the Temple, but more especially to superintend the execution of the ornaments, was the son of a Tyrian artist by a Jewess of the tribe of Naphthali. According to one passage of scripture he was like his master called Hiram[75].

A little before the building of the temple we must place the construction of the tomb of Absalom, part hewn in the rock, and part built; which resembles in those particulars, and, in my mind, surpasses in taste, many of those described and figured by late travellers in Asia minor; while I should say, the cavern tombs of the kings of Judah have a resemblance to those of Egypt, or rather, perhaps, to the curious excavations discovered by late travellers, at Petra in Edom[76]. These are surely proofs that the arts were flourishing as freely in Syria, as in Asia Minor at that time.

But, to return to Greece. About seven centuries before the Christian era, the temple of Delphi was enriched by a number of most precious gifts by some of the kings of Asia. Gyges, whose story has served for the foundation of so many charming tales of enchantment and fairyism, sent to the god at Delphi the first foreign offering, or, as the Greeks term it, the first gift from a barbarian[77]. It consisted of vessels of gold, silver, and brass; among which, six golden goblets, particularly valued, were afterwards placed, in a chest or cupboard called the treasury of Corinth, which was presented by Cypselus[78] to the shrine, some years afterwards. Midas had by a short time anticipated the gifts of Gyges, consecrating to the Delphian Apollo the throne whence he dispensed justice, said to be of exquisite workmanship[79].

Halyatus, the great-grandson of Gyges, sent a vase to Delphi, precious for its material, but still more precious on account of the workmanship of the under cup which supported it. The vase was of chased silver, the under cup of iron curiously inlaid with silver, the work of Glaucus of Phocis, said to be the inventor of that kind of work in metal. This was the only one of the gifts of the Lydian kings that remained when Pausanias visited the temple.

Indeed, the magnificent presents sent by Crœsus, the son of Halyatus, would have been sufficient to tempt the cupidity of a conqueror, and perhaps to overcome the honesty of the priests of Delphi themselves. Of pure gold there were a hundred and seventeen bricks or tiles, forming the floor for a lion of great size, of the same metal, and the statue of a woman said to have baked the bread for the king’s household. These were taken by the Phocians to defray the expenses of the sacred war. There were also many beautiful chiselled vases of gold and silver, basins, ewers, fountains, and cisterns. One goblet of silver was particularly precious; it was said to be the work of Theodorus of Samos[80], one of the earliest founders in bronze.

Crœsus also enriched other temples with precious gifts. The great temple at Ephesus possessed three golden heifers and some fine columns given by him. The shrines of Thebes in Bœotia, were enriched by him; and to the temples in Miletus, he had sent gifts of equal value with those he consecrated at Delphi.

In return for a quantity of gold given by Crœsus to the Lacedemonians, they sent him a large vessel of bronze, round the mouth of which the figures of all sorts of animals were chased or engraved. The vase, indeed, never reached Crœsus, who was dethroned by Cyrus while it was on its way, and it fell into the hands of some merchants who sold it for a large price. Cyrus had the fortune not only to obtain the treasure in the precious metals and in the workmanship, of the gorgeous possessions of Crœsus, more precious than those metals themselves, but also to restore to Jerusalem the splendid ornaments and rich vessels, the work of the Tyrian artists, which belonged to the temple, and which were no doubt saved, by having been consecrated in[81] the temple of Belus, during the taking of Babylon.

It will perhaps never be known in what degree the taking of the Capital of the Chaldeans by Cyrus, altered the state of literature and art in ancient Persia. I have already referred to the passage in the prophet Ezekiel, which mentions the portraying the figures of men with vermilion, according to the use of the Chaldeans of Babylon; and, it should be observed, that their many-coloured head-dresses are also mentioned; so that the Babylonian pictures, such as they were, were not monochromes. But this belongs to another place[82].

The Greeks had early adopted or borrowed deities from every nation. The Syrian Astaroth or Astarte, and Thammuz or Adonis, were not neglected, but were received as kindly in the temples, as the Tyrian purple and the fine linen of Egypt, in the ports of Greece; and they were too intelligent and tasteful, not to adopt whatever of beautiful or elegant might be found among the artificers and artists of the nations with which they traded. Perhaps the Greeks were less inventors, than quick and happy discerners, of what was beautiful. They seem to have wrought the rough materials of many other nations into the happiest forms; and, if they borrowed largely from others, they amply repaid them by the beauty of the works they produced, and the excellent artists they formed, and these, by seeking employment in foreign countries, refined no doubt the taste of the great barbaric courts.

The art of inlaying and colouring metals is still possessed in perfection by many of the descendants of the nations of Asia Minor and Syria. The Circassians especially pride themselves on colouring silver, an art in which in ancient times the Egyptians excelled, though it was practised by the artists of Tyre and Sidon[83].

Figures and sometimes portraits were introduced in the patterns of the stained metals; and though the damasking or colouring steel[84] is now confined to swords and fire-arms, the example of the curious under-cup, seen by Pausanias at Delphi, shows that it was applied to different purposes by the inventors.

I have dwelt more upon the ornamental and religious vases, whether in clay or wrought in metal, than upon statues in bronze or marble, because their subjects, the manner of treating them, and the tools employed in executing them, seem properly to belong to painting. On the fictile vases, the subjects being chiefly applicable to funereal rites, represent the mysteries of Ceres, Bacchus, and Hercules. Any part of the fables concerning those divinities sufficed to indicate the mystery. I have seen a beautiful design of Triptolemus with a winged car, a type surely of the burial of the body in earth, while the living spirit shall revive, even as the corn sown in the field springeth up to beauty and use when the winter is gone. The struggles of Bacchus and Hercules, the death of Linus, the descent of Hercules to Hades, all these are compositions belonging strictly to picture, and form the first steps towards it; departing more from the nature of designs for sculptured friezes or tablets in bas-relief, than those other Bacchic subjects, where the Menadæ and their companions dance at fixed distances and independent of each other, or the graver Pyrrhic dancers that are supposed to be equally emblematical, and are frequently drawn on the vases or on the sides of altars, consecrated to the service of the temples.

One of the most interesting works of the kind, of which the knowledge has come down to us, was the chest of Cypselus already mentioned, in the temple of Juno at Olympia in Elis[85], it was of cedar, inlaid with gold, silver, and ivory; it was covered with designs indicative of the mysteries, or representing funeral games. Whatever relates to Ceres or Proserpine, to Bacchus or to Hercules, as connected with Dis, is represented. Pausanias describes many figures, which my very imperfect knowledge of their mystic meaning would lead me to call miscellaneous; but they are doubtless connected with the main design. Among these are some representing the virtues and the arts. It is clear that the woman called Night, with a black child in one arm and a white one in the other, called Death and Sleep, has a reference to the usual mysteries of death.

But the fancy of the artificer has brought together, according to the description, all the greater gods and older heroes, without any very perceptible connexion as to their position[86].

In the same temple where that chest was placed, there were statues, altars, treasures, and vases innumerable. However, there is but one more that I shall notice on account of the fitness of the figures that adorned it. It was the table of gold and ivory upon which the crowns of the victors in the Olympic games were placed, and was the work of Colotes, who, like his master Phidias, was a painter as well as a sculptor. That is, they both of them designed, and sometimes carried on their drawings, so far as to make them real monochrome pictures[87]. This appears to have been sometimes done as a preparation for working in relief, as on the famous shield of Minerva, designed by Pantænus the brother of Phidias. On the front of the table or altar were the six greater gods more particularly patrons of the games; namely, Cybele, Juno, Jupiter, Mercury, Apollo, and Diana. On the back the Olympic games were carved or inlaid—it is not very clear which, as the word used is only representation—and we know there were both carving and inlaying in the chest. One side contained a battle under the direction of Mars; and close by, were Esculapius and Hygeia; the other side was filled by Pluto, Proserpine, Bacchus and two nymphs, one of whom held a globe, the other a key: both symbolical of the mastery of Pluto or death over the world.

The earliest names of Greek painters, discovered by the indefatigable Pliny, are those of Dynas, Hygiænon, and Charmas. What their works might be we can scarcely conjecture; for it is accounted a great improvement that after them Eumanus the Athenian distinguished man from woman in his figures[88], and undertook to draw any object he could see; and Cimon the Cleonian proceeded so far as to place his figures in different positions, and to give the proper direction to the eyes.

These all preceded Bularchus, whose picture of the battle of the Magnetes must have very far surpassed the works of those artists. It was esteemed so highly, that Candaules, the last King of Lydia, of the race of the Heraclidæ, bought it at a very high price—it is reported, at its weight in gold—and regarded it as a treasure. This was about the eighteenth Olympiad, or nearly 730 years before our era.

If the description given by Lucian of the picture in the temple of Diana in Taurica, and which he ascribes to some very ancient unknown painter, be anything but imaginary, it must have been painted about this time[89].

In the half century after Bularchus, the arts of design, and especially painting, had made large and rapid progress. Somewhere about the eightieth Olympiad, or between four and five hundred years before Christ, prizes for painting were instituted at Delphi and at Corinth; and we find Pantænus, the brother of Phidias, contending at Delphi with Timagros, among the first of the exhibitors for the prize.

Besides the drawings or pictures, which Pantænus had made in conjunction with Phidias[90], he had already painted at Athens the battle of Marathon, in which the portraits of the leaders of both armies were conspicuous. The two Mycons, and Timarete, the daughter of the second, were his cotemporaries; his elders, Aglaiophon, Cephysodorus, and Phylus, were still living. These all employed their genius upon subjects relating to the religion or the history of their country. From devotion or patriotism they drew their inspiration. Hence the grandeur and severity that, according to all authors, distinguished their works.

Between seven and eight centuries before Christ, about the time when the Olympic games became fixed, many of the temples and public buildings of Athens appear to have been improved or rebuilt. At that period all the states, enjoying any advantages of situation as to maritime commerce, appear to have been actively employed in domestic improvements, or in sending out foreign colonies. Syracuse, Corcyra, Tarentum, Rome, and many other cities were founded. Byzantium, half a century later; and in the interval Necho’s ships had sailed round Africa.

By the year 550 before Christ, the Athenians, under the government of Pisistratus and his sons, had not only improved in all that renders civilised life delightful, but had extended their commerce, and acquired a degree of wealth and splendour, that drew upon them, first the admiration, and not long after the hostile attacks of the Persians, aided, it must be confessed, by the revenge of the Pisistratidæ, who had been expelled when the popular government was established.

It was then when the great contest began between Athens and the Monarchs of the East, who would have oppressed all Greece by the conquest of her first free people, that the arts were called into existence. They lent their aid to deepen religion, to animate patriotism, to reward virtue.

Themistocles rebuilt in purer taste, and with greater magnificence, some of the temples, and most of the other public buildings injured by the Persians. But it is said that his works were chiefly those necessary, or at least most useful to the people.

Cimon, the son of that Miltiades who won the battle of Marathon, resolved to beautify the city with temples, and statues, and pictures, part of the expense of which he defrayed out of his private fortune, and part was provided for by a portion of the Persian spoils.

Struck with the heedlessness of the Athenians, who, among their many shrines, had never erected one in honour of Theseus, their greatest benefactor, he planned and accomplished the Temple of Theseus[91], about thirty years before Pericles’ more magnificent structure, the Parthenon, rose to fix for ever a canon for perfection in architecture and sculpture[92].

The expedition of Cimon to the Isle of Scyros, to recover the bones of Theseus, and to punish the islanders for the death of that hero, was immediately followed by the erection of the venerable temple, still standing in honour of his remains. Its decorations were more beautiful than any that had hitherto been seen.

Mycon, who was both a sculptor and a painter, had the direction of the structure. The sculptured metopes are said to be even finer than those of the Parthenon[93] in execution, though inferior in taste; and the same is said of the two friezes that adorn the front and back vestibules of the temple. As these pieces of sculpture bear marks even now of having been coloured, I must consider them as works fitted, in the opinion of one of the greatest painters of that age, to be considered as pictures.

The friendship that subsisted between Theseus and his cousin Hercules, and the gratitude so strongly expressed by Theseus for the services and favours of his friend, rendered it natural that a temple to one of these heroes should be decorated with the acts of both; and as in life Theseus had always generously given the first place to Hercules, so in his monument the Athenians placed the pictures of his actions in the front of the temple, while those of Theseus occupied the back and sides.

The flat pictures were what we should call frescoes; they were all painted upon the interior walls of the Theseum, and related solely to the actions of Theseus.

It is impossible now to know how far Mycon had departed from the Egyptian style of painting which had prevailed in Athens and elsewhere before this period.

Where paintings of mythological, or even historical subjects were required in public places, plain unbroken colours, without much regard to nature, were applied, so as to produce a dazzling effect at a distance, much like that of an Eastern bazaar, where separate pieces of various coloured brocades produce a gorgeous but not unpleasant show.

By the age of Mycon some discrimination was used in the application of colour. The coloured foliage and meanders which decorated the Theseum, the Parthenon, and the Panhellenic Temple of Egina[94], were only internal decorations; and I think the descriptions left of the pictures contemporary with those of Mycon, justify us in concluding that the Egyptian practice was already falling into disuse.

The subjects chosen to do honour to Hercules were, of course, his own actions, not exactly those called the twelve labours of Hercules; though some of them are mixed with other events in the hero’s life. The subject of the frieze, over the front entrance, is the war with the giants, in which the superior gods are only spectators, while Hercules, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, and Mercury, are actively engaged in combat with the giants. The subjects on the metopes, relating to Hercules, are some of them too much injured to be recognised with certainty; but others are from his common adventures, such as the Nemean Lion, the Hydra, and so on.

The frieze, in honour of Theseus, represents the battle of the Centaurs and Lapithæ. Among the groups there are some of great beauty; but I cannot help thinking that, like those of the battle of the giants, there is an affectation of a display of strength. There are too many figures with legs outstretched and strained, and arms employed without a visible necessity; very unlike the work of Phidias, where the action of every figure is directed to its proper purpose.

But it is not as sculpture I speak of them; all these figures were painted by Mycon and his daughter Timarete, reported by Pliny to have been a paintress of great reputation. Even yet, Colonel Leake[95] says, there are traces of bronze or gold coloured armour, garments of various hues, azure skies, and golden stars. If these artists gave natural colours to the objects they treated, it was already a great improvement on the Egyptian notion of pictures; but yet their works must have resembled those ancient altar-pieces, some by the hand of Albert Durer himself, which we still meet with occasionally in the German churches[96].

The description of, and apology for, coloured sculpture in Flaxman’s seventh lecture, leaves nothing to be said on that side of the question. On the other I believe there is an universal feeling of distaste to anything so like waxwork.

The pictures on the inner walls of the Theseum were painted on stucco, which here and there still retains vestiges of colour.

The subjects were most probably effaced when the temple was converted into a Christian church.

They were the battle of the Amazons, that of the Centaurs and Lapithæ, and one of an action performed by Theseus, in Crete, to convince Minos that he was indeed the son of Neptune. It appears that the king, offended with Theseus, had taunted him with pretending falsely to a divine origin, and threw a ring into the sea, desiring him, if he really had the influence of a son with Neptune, to restore it. Theseus immediately dived to the bottom, and soon emerging from the tide he presented the king with his signet, and displayed the golden crown with which Amphitrite had honoured him while below the waves.

The best work of Mycon, however, according to Pausanias, was Acastus and his horses, which he painted in the temple of the Dioscuri. His was also the picture of the Argonauts, in the same temple, where Polygnotus also painted some excellent pictures.

But leaving these things, I must hasten on to a work of still greater importance in the history of painting, and which the Athenians likewise owed to Cimon. I mean the Stoa or Portico, called Pæcile, on account of its many colours[97]. The painters who adorned it were Polygnotus, Mycon, and Pantænus. Here, both the patriotism and filial piety of Cimon were gratified. The memorable acts of the Athenians, from the time of Theseus, the war of Troy, and other historic subjects were represented in the Stoa; but the picture that was of most importance, nay, that almost forced the spectators to forget all the others, was the battle of Marathon, by Polygnotus.

I must refer to Fuseli for a most beautiful and spirited sketch of the character of the works of Polygnotus, and confine myself to relate the little that history tells of them.

Alas! for the ancient painters that no Vasari among them condescended to collect gossipping anecdotes, and tell us about their houses, their dress, their labours, and their amusements. We might, indeed, have been induced to believe a few pleasing fables, but who would not delight in being brought a little nearer to those master minds, which gave a character to their age, and to grow into acquaintance with them at the expense of a little incorrectness.

But I am obliged to take leave of Mycon, well paid as we are told, for his works, and of his daughter, without knowing more of their lives or deaths; and in turning to Polygnotus, what can I tell of, before he painted in the Stoa, but that he was the son and pupil of Aglaiophon, and was born at Thasos? After he had finished his great pictures in the Stoa, and the votive pictures of the Gnidians at Delphi, I can indeed show that his patriotism induced him to refuse all payment for the public works executed in honour of his country. And that the Greeks, in return, were so alive to his worth, that the Amphictyonic council decreed, that wherever he might travel in Greece he should be received with public honours and provided for at the public expense!

Notwithstanding the coldness of Pausanias’ description, we cannot but perceive that a true poetical feeling governed the composition of the battle of Marathon. Presiding over the whole, the hero Marathon, after whom the plain was named, received Minerva, the patroness of Athens, accompanied by Hercules, and soon to be joined by Theseus, whose shade, arising out of the earth, thus claimed Attica as his native soil. The armies are engaged in combat: some of the Persian chiefs are distinguished, particularly Mardonius, the insertion of whose portrait scarcely gratified the Athenians less than that of their own commander, Miltiades, along with whom were Callimachus, Echetlus, and the poet Æschylus, who was in the battle that day[98]. In another part of the field the Persians were routed; and farther on, some were seen hurrying to their ships to escape, and others flying towards the marshes, where the Greeks following were slaying them in their flight[99].

I am aware that critics require painters to observe what they call the unities, not less than dramatic poets; and that to represent different actions of the same story, or different parts of the same action, on one and the same canvas, is to sin grievously against their rules. But Shakspeare gloriously breaks the laws of the drama, and Polygnotus had a right to break those, if they then existed, of the picture. In a future Essay I hope to show the great advantages that may be derived from a disregard of the unities in painting, and to bring forward examples of its success by more modern artists. Meantime, in some of the other works of Polygnotus, which I am about to mention, it will be seen that he used considerable freedom in this respect. But, to go on with those in Athens. In the temple of the Dioscorides, assisted by Mycon, he painted the actions of these heroes[100], and their marriage with the daughters of Leucippus. Two other pictures adorned one of the buildings of the Acropolis, the subjects being Achilles among the young women of Scyros, and the meeting of Ulysses and Nausicaa[101].

But the great works of Polygnotus were the story of Troy and the descent of Ulysses into the infernal regions, painted in the Lesche, or public hall, at Delphi.

From the very unartistlike description by Pausanias, I think I can make out, that the back ground of the picture was filled by the town, the citadel, the surrounding country, and the sea. The hero Epeus, naked, was visible destroying the walls of the citadel, over the top of which the head of the famous wooden horse was seen[102]. Scattered about singly, or in groups, were the dead or the dying. On the margin of the sea were the Greek ships, on board of which parties of the conquerors were embarking; while their servants were bearing tents, furniture, and spoil, to put on board.

Approaching the foreground, and distributed in groups, were the principal captives, and some of the heroes. Helen was sitting attended by her maids, one of whom was tying her sandal, and gazed upon by Briseis, Diomed, and Iphis. Near her, were some of both the nations whose miseries she had caused. The chief of these were the captive Trojan princesses: Andromache, with her infant, and one of her sisters, Priam’s daughter, Medisecasta, veiled; but the poor virgin Polyxena was bareheaded, with her hair gathered into a knot, as became her years.

In front of the city, the groups were composed of more wretched captives still, in various attitudes; some thrown upon couches, others kneeling, some clinging to their native altars, and, chief in misery, the sad Cassandra, with her arms round the Palladium, crouched upon the earth as Ajax was drawing nigh the altar, where the Atridæ appeared ready to receive his oath. Some of the circles of the lower town were laid open where this was taking place. There, boys were seen clinging to the altars, or infants to their mothers, while Neoptolemus was continuing the work of slaughter.

Such were the grand features of the picture. Some touches of common nature we find there, were, as if to give truth to the scene. For instance, the horse rolling on the sandy shore, and servants loading a beast of burden[103].

The other picture was the Descent of Ulysses, described by Pausanias with even less feeling than the first. It is, however, evident that the reedy Acheron, with Charon’s boat, occupied the foreground; and that one of the figures in the boat was a person initiated into the Eleusinian rites, by the covered basket she held, thus signifying the mysterious passage between life and death. Beyond the river, the demon Eurynomus, of an unearthly hue, was fitly placed, sitting on the skin of a vulture, and gnawing the bones of the dead[104]. Ulysses, performing the incantation, was properly conspicuous; and the rest of the picture was filled with the women and heroes whom he saw or spoke to while in the kingdom of Pluto.

The clumsy way in which these pictures, and those in the Temple of Minerva, in Bœotia, are described by Pausanias, who saw them six hundred years after they were painted, has led even Fuseli to fancy that all the figures were of equal size and at equal distance from the spectator. But the inference is surely not just; for an ignorant man would probably (especially if the horizon were placed high in the picture) thus speak of one group as above another instead of beyond it.

Any one who has had the good fortune to examine, at leisure, Hemelink’s epic picture of the three kings, formerly in the Boiserée collection, and now at Munich, will at once comprehend the possibility of arranging the most complicated subject, without confusion of parts or division of interest; and I cannot comprehend why we are to suppose Polygnotus incapable of such arrangement[105]. There are two pictures in the Pitti palace, by Andrea del Sarto, of the history of Joseph, arranged as I suppose the great works of the Pæcile and at Delphi to have been; which, to such as admire only Italian art of the best time, will afford proof, if it were wanting, of the excellent effect that a departure from vulgar rules may sometimes produce.

I must not omit to say that Polygnotus, like the painters of the vases, wrote the names of the principal figures near them.

I have now repeated the account Pausanius has left us of the pictures of Polygnotus. It remains to consider what has been said, particularly by Pliny, of the change he effected in the art.

Before his time the faces had all one grave set expression; something, as we may presume, like that of the marbles and bronzes of the Eginetic and Etruscan schools.

Polygnotus first parted the lips, varied the appearance and expression of the eyes, dimpled the cheeks with smiles, or deformed the brow and nostrils with the expression of passion, however imperfectly rendered. He also it was who introduced the use of veils and other light and becoming ornaments in his female figures, and adorned their heads with fillets and coronals, thus adding delicacy and grace to his high poetical conceptions. In the brides of Castor and Pollux, in the captive Trojan princesses, and in the shades of celebrated and unhappy women in the descent of Ulysses, these qualities were particularly admired. Polygnotus, then, must be looked upon as the painter, who, leaving the practice of making mere coloured bas-reliefs, rendered painting a separate art, and established the difference between statues and groups in marble or bronze, and true pictures.

The name of Polygnotus is the greatest that adorns what we may consider as the first great epocha of Greek art. When, having nearly attained perfection, sculpture in the hands of Phidias produced the perfectly sublime in his Jupiter Olympias and his Minerva of the Parthenon, and formed a model which has never been safely departed from, for the composition of basso-relievo in the Panathenaic procession. But in painting, Polygnotus, though he had attained to great grandeur and majesty, had still left much to his successors to add in correctness, in expression, and in grace.

Contemporary with Polygnotus was Evenor, the master as well as father of Parrhasius[106]. But before Parrhasius began to distinguish himself, Apollodorus of Athens had made a great and rapid stride in art, and had painted at least two pictures that for six centuries commanded the admiration of all men of taste and understanding. He therefore may be considered as the first of the second epocha of Greek painting.

It was Apollodorus who first gave the niceties of character and expression to his figures; strength and force without exaggeration, and tenderness without insipidity. He added also to the mechanical powers of the painter, by breaking the colours, and showing the value of light and shade, of harmony and contrast. Pliny says, “I may well and truly say, that none before him brought the pencil into a glorious name and especial credit[107].” The only two pictures of which we know the subjects, were preserved at Pergamos, at least until the end of the first century of the Christian era. In one the chief figure was a kneeling priest in fervent adoration. The other represented Ajax Oileus on a rock, stricken by the thunderbolt after escaping from his perishing fleet.

It is evident that the effects of such subjects must have depended in great measure on light, and shadow, and colour. Accordingly, the school of Apollodorus produced the painter of most note among the ancients for those qualities. I mean the Heracleot Zeuxis; but Zeuxis had also the advantage of being a contemporary of the Ephesian Parrhasius, and was thus able to avail himself of the improvements introduced by that extraordinary man.

Parrhasius no doubt made use of the studies of the Macedonian Pamphilus who painted at Sicyon, and greatly improved that famous school, whence, half a century after the time of Apollodorus, proceeded Apelles and other painters of note. This Pamphilus taught his pupils arithmetic and geometry, without which he maintained that it was impossible to paint. Linear perspective was thus improved, and some general rules, acted upon intuitively before, were now fixed; but the delicacy of eye, which demanded a finer perspective, belonged to Parrhasius. He introduced the magic of aërial perspective; and the description by Pliny, of the manner in which the objects in his pictures seemed to shadow somewhat behind, and yet showed what they seemed to hide, may lead us to imagine that he was not ignorant of the effect of reflected lights.

He is praised for the beauty of his features, and peculiarly the sweetness and “lovely grace about the mouth and lips;”[108] the softness and fulness of the hair; the blended tints that melted away the outline, in some instances perhaps too much, as we gather from the painter Euphranor’s observation, that the Theseus of Parrhasius looked as if he fed on roses, while his own had evidently fed on flesh.

Two ancient writers on painting, Antigonus and Xenocrates, now lost, praised Parrhasius especially for the delicacy with which he finished the extremities of his figures. They quoted many pictures on pannel, and drawings on parchment, which served as examples for other painters, and as proofs of his wonderful skill in this part of his art.

It is to these authors that Pliny ascribes the criticism that the interior drawings were not quite equal to the outlines of his figures: not that they were inferior to those of other men, but only as one part of Parrhasius’ work might be inferior to another: Parrhasius, compared with Parrhasius[109], who, as Horace says,

We have a pretty considerable list of the works of this great painter which were in existence when Pliny wrote; one of these indeed, which was at Rhodes, was held in great reverence, because, although the pannel on which it was painted had been thrice struck with lightning, yet the painting remained uninjured; the subject was a story of Meleager, Perseus, and Hercules. There is scarcely any class of subjects which Parrhasius does not appear to have chosen occasionally. One of the most celebrated of his pictures was a personification of the Demos, or people of Athens, in which he is said to have embodied the virtues, talents, humours, and inconstancy of that witty, capricious democracy.

He is praised for the majesty of his demi-gods and heroes, the beauty and expression of his women and young men, and the grace and simplicity of his children. In short, to use the words of Quintilian, “Parrhasius was so exact in every particular, that he is looked upon even to this day as the lawgiver of painters; because the paintings of gods and heroes, such as he has left behind him, are held as so many models, which they make it a rule to follow invariably[111].”

Of the life of Parrhasius we know nothing, but of his manners we have a curious picture preserved by Pliny. His vanity appears to have been almost insufferable. He clothed himself in a purple robe, and wore a chaplet of golden flowers; his staff was entwined with tendrils of gold, and his sandals were clasped at the instep and ankle with golden latchets. He affected the name of Abrodrœtus, or the delicate[112], assumed the title of Prince of Painters, and pretended to have had Apollo himself for his forefather. There was something like insanity in the assertion that Hercules appeared to him in the visions of the night, that he might delineate his form with exactness[113]; and, perhaps, his insolent demeanour to other painters might spring from an unsound mind.

Two anecdotes concerning him are well known. His contest with Zeuxis, in which, though the grapes on the head of the boy of Zeuxis had deceived the birds, the curtain painted by Parrhasius deceived Zeuxis himself[114]. The second story is, that having lost the prize in a contest with Timanthes of Samos, for a picture of the contest between Ajax and Ulysses for the armour of Achilles, he affected to pity Ajax for being thus a second time foiled by a worthless rival.

The most celebrated of the contemporaries of Parrhasius was Zeuxis of Heraclea, who began to attract public notice soon after Parrhasius himself had established his reputation. He was the pupil either of Demophiles the Nemerian, or Niceas the Thracian, perhaps of both. Quintilian says[115], that “he painted bodies with greater than real proportions, thinking such a form to be more august; and in this it is thought he followed Homer’s manner, who took pleasure in representing all his characters, even his women, of large and strong size.”

Apollodorus, of whose extraordinary powers I have already spoken, paid the same generous tribute to the rising merit of Zeuxis, as Michael Angelo did to that of Raffaelle; and even wrote some verses, which have been lost, in praise of his works.

Zeuxis’ works were so eagerly sought after, that he very soon made a fortune equal to his wishes, after which he refused to work for money, but gave away his pictures; for instance, to the people of Agrigentum he presented his great picture of Alcmena; and to Archelaus, King of Macedon, a large painting of Pan. We are obliged to Pliny for preserving the subjects of several of his best works. Jupiter, surrounded by the other gods, is praised for its majesty; and the picture of the infant Hercules strangling the serpents in his cradle, for the expression of the bystanders, especially of Amphitryon and Alcmena. Of his Penelope it is said that he had not only painted the outward charms and features of her person, but the inward qualities and affections of her mind.

Of his famous Helen, and of the story of his choosing her several perfections from several beautiful women sent to him by the Agrigentines for the purpose, when they entreated him to paint their votive picture for the temple of Juno, it is unnecessary to remind the reader, as the story, true or false, is in every collection of anecdotes. We know not Zeuxis’ own estimation of that picture, but with another of his works he was so satisfied, that he is said to have written under it, “It will be easier to envy than to imitate me.” The subject was a wrestler. Some writers, however, say that the inscription, which was a Greek Iambic verse, was written by Apollodorus, his master and friend. And this is most natural; for what man of genius was ever entirely satisfied with his own work?

I have already mentioned the contest of Zeuxis with Parrhasius, for the nicest power of imitation in painting. The picture of the Muses, which was carried to Rome, demanded qualities of a different kind; so did the Marsyas, which Pliny likewise saw in Italy. His drawings in a single colour, relieved with white, appear to have been numerous and greatly valued[116]. Like Raffaelle, Zeuxis is said to have painted sometimes on earthen ware, and that vases and cups adorned by him were much prized. Possibly he only furnished the designs for these.

Zeuxis was not quite free from the same love of show which distinguished his great rival, Parrhasius. He is reported to have shown himself, magnificently attired, at the Olympic games, and to have caused his name to be embroidered in gold upon his upper garments, of which he displayed an unusual number of changes during the games.

Another of the great men who flourished in this second period, was Timanthes. His celebrated picture of Iphigenia, in Aulis, has been the subject of much criticism. The ancient writers, with one accord, praise the feeling which led the painter to conceal the father’s face; and though it is probable that most of them either mistook, or were ignorant of, the principle on which Timanthes, as an artist, proceeded, they were still right as to human nature. Reynolds and some other modern critics, especially Falconet, have reprobated the idea of Timanthes; but Fuseli has, in my opinion, set the matter at rest in a very beautiful piece of criticism[117], which I shall give below.

The picture itself was painted in competition with Colotes of Teos, whom I have already mentioned as the sculptor of the table of the Coronets at Delphi. The work of Timanthes gained the prize, as his Ajax had done, when exhibited in competition with that of Parrhasius.

There was a celebrated portrait of a prince by him, of which Pliny says, “It was thought to be most absolute: the majesty is such that all the art of painting a man seemeth comprised in that one portrait.” Timanthes did not always confine himself, however, to the grand and the pathetic. There is an account of a little picture where he represented a Cyclops asleep, and a number of little satyrs peeping out of the woods; some of whom, astonished at his size, are measuring the thumb of the unconscious giant with wands.

At the same time with the four great painters, Apollodorus, Parrhasius, Zeuxis, and Timanthes, lived Euxenidas, Eupompus, Echion, Therimachus, and some others not unworthy of their fellowship. They were remarkable also as having formed the men who flourished in the third and most brilliant epoch of painting in Greece.

As this essay is already longer than I intended, I will close it here; and endeavour, in another, to sketch the history of the highest prosperity and gradual decline of art in Greece. The consideration of the causes of that decline belongs to the philosophy of general history. I will only remark, that painting in Greece rose to its highest excellence by individual exertions, exciting the sympathy, and therefore the patronage, of the public generally; that it flourished under the encouragement of Alexander; but that the unnatural fostering of power appears to have weakened the spirit of art, which faded after his time, as those delicate plants which are cherished into extraordinary beauty by the heat of the stove, after a season languish and die, even of the effort that seemed to contribute to their luxuriance.