Читать книгу A History of Sculpture - Ernest Henry Short - Страница 10

When the Olympian games started they were confined to the south of Greece, and grew up under the patronage of Sparta. As early as 776 b.c. the meetings determined the chronological system of Greece. A few years later the festival had established itself so firmly in the Hellenic social system that it became the occasion of a national assembly of the Greek-speaking world. At all other times the distinction between Athenian and Spartan, between Argive and Theban, was absolute. During the Olympian games the Greek escaped from the grinding effort to preserve his civic individuality—the price he paid for citizenship in such a state as Athens or Sparta. Under the shadow of Mount Cronus, at the time of the second full moon after Midsummer Day, the competitors and spectators came together from Italy, Sicily, Asia Minor, and the islands of the Ægean. A sacred armistice had been proclaimed by the Olympian heralds in all the states of Greece. The deputies from every part vied with one another in the splendour of their equipment and the value of their offerings to the state of which they were the guests.

Remembering that we are endeavouring to account for the rise of one of the great arts of all time, let us call to mind the scene on the plain between the Alpheus and the Cladeus on one of the five days during which the festival lasted. With one exception—the Priestess of Demeter—there is no woman in the vast assembly. It is the fourth day of the games. The judges can be seen, clad in the purple robes of their office. Near by, in the brilliant sunshine, his naked form standing out in clear outline, is one of the competitors in the Pentathlon. This comprises leaping, running, wrestling, and hurling the spear and discus. All who enter must excel in each. Victory is not certain until three of the five events have been won. The most famous Pentathli are light men—not bulky wrestlers. Of all the competitions, this needs the finest physique and is most calculated to develop that elasticity and harmonious balance which the Greek prizes in his youth. Well might Aristotle call the Pentathli “the most handsome of all athletes.” The youthful figure, on a space raised slightly above the ground, is of pure Hellenic blood. He rests on his right foot, his knee bent and his body leaning forward. In his hand is the stone discus, ten or twelve inches in diameter, which reaches half way up his forearm. In front, in the distance, stands a friend ready to mark the spot where the stone falls. The eyes of Greece are upon the discobolus. His only reward is the right to lay the crown of leaves in the shrine of the god of his native town. Can it be wondered that the artists of Greece were inspired to their grandest achievements by such sights? It would have been strange indeed if their finest works had not included the representations of the winners of the garland of wild olive.

But the truth goes deeper than this. Without such inspirations Greek sculpture would never have risen to the heights it did attain. And without the achievements of the Hellene, can we be sure that Michael Angelo would have ever been more than a struggler? He might have painted the Sistine ceiling, but would he have modelled the David or carved the monuments in the Medici Chapel? The festival at Olympia and the gymnasia in every Greek city were surely necessary if the art which depends upon “the passion for naked male beauty” was to come to its own. In no other way could “every limb present”—we are quoting from Schopenhauer—“its plastic significance to criticism and to comparison with the ideal which lay undeveloped” in the imaginations of men. Under circumstances less strenuous the dull anticipation of bodily beauty would never have been raised “to such distinct consciousness that men would have become capable of objectifying it in works of art.”

We have seen that the initiation of the Olympian games was due to Sparta and its Peloponnesian allies. Moreover, the custom of laying aside all clothing for the various sports was first adopted by the Peloponnesians, and only spread slowly through the other Greek city-states. These facts, together with the location of Olympia in the centre of the Peloponnese, suggest why the “Dorian” sculptors devoted particular attention to such subjects as the Olympian festivals offered. In the fifth century Argos was second only to Athens as an artistic centre, and Polyclitus of Argos, who headed “the Dorian School,” was considered the equal of Phidias himself.

The ideal for which Polyclitus worked was the portrayal of the healthy human form in its most complete and harmonious development, and, particularly, the preservation of a due proportion between the various parts of the body. His success may be judged from the fact that his statue, the “Doryphorus”—spear-bearer—was adopted by his artistic successors as the standard of perfection of the youthful male figure, and was known as “The Canon.”

The bronze originals of the “Doryphorus” and its companion, the “Diadumenus,” which depicts a youth binding the diadem of victory about his brow, have perished. We are therefore compelled to gauge the genius of Polyclitus by the marble copies. There is a famous copy of the “Doryphorus” in the National Museum at Naples.

Photo.Holliday, Oxford

MYRON’S DISCOBOLUS

The Ashmolean, Oxford

The chief point of interest in the Dorian school, however, arises from a comparison of the works produced under its direct influence with the better-known examples of the Attic school. Early in the fifth century the school of sculpture located around Argos seems to have been one of the most influential in Greece. The Argive Ageladas, under whom Polyclitus was a student, is credited with having instructed the two other early masters—Myron and Phidias. However this may be, the Argive influence was not all-powerful amongst the Athenian sculptors. The variation between the two schools is more noticeable than the resemblance. And this is of vital interest, depending as it does upon the entirely different mental and emotional atmosphere in the two city-states.

If the two well-known statues of discoboli are compared with the “Doryphorus” of Polyclitus, the characteristic differences between the Athenian and Dorian schools are clear.

The standing “Discobolus” may well be a copy of the “Pentathlon Winner” of Alcamenes, a co-worker with Phidias, who reached his prime about 420 b.c. It shows the athlete holding the discus in his left hand. He is measuring the ground with his eye, testing the elasticity of his limbs and the sureness of his footing as he does so.

The “Discobolus” of Myron represents the Pentathlete in the act of throwing the discus. Lucian speaks of “the discus-thrower, bending into position for the cast: turning towards the hand holding the discus, and all but kneeling on one knee, he seems as if he would straighten himself up at the throw.” The statue is a consummate proof of Myron’s skill in the rendering of vigorous movement. The copies in the Vatican and the British Museum are in marble. In the original bronze the discus-thrower looked back, not at the ground, as in the restoration. The correct attitude can be seen in the recently discovered replica, now in the possession of the Italian Government, or, still better, in the fine bronze cast in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, which dispenses with the disfiguring support necessary in a marble copy.

Both these statues of discoboli are distinguished above all for the rhythm of their composition—a rhythm which is the expression in bronze of the beautifully balanced and magnificently full lives of the Athenians of the Periclean age. Polyclitus invested his figures with a natural vigour and dignity which won for him the suffrages of his Peloponnesian countrymen. But even allowing for the fact that we judge the Argive from late copies, while such originals as the Parthenon frieze remain to witness to the achievements of the rival school, it cannot be doubted that the Athenian ideal was the nobler and its attainment worthier of praise. Nor can we attribute the difference to anything else than the more vitalising atmosphere in which Athenian art was nourished—a fact which will be clear when we have estimated the circumstances which led to the erection of the Parthenon.