Mosaics of Grecian History Part 39

While the art of painting was early developed in Greece, certainly as far back as 718 B.C., the first painter of renown was Polygno'tus, of Tha'sos, who went to Athens about 463 B.C., and established there what was called "the Athenian school" of painting.

Aristotle called him "the painter of character," as he was the first to give variety to the expression of the countenance, and ease and grace to the outlines of figures or the flow of drapery.

He painted many battle scenes, and with his contemporaries, Diony'sius of Col'oplon, Mi'con, and others, he embellished many of the public buildings in Athens, and notably the Temple of Theseus, with representations of figures similar to those of the sculptor. About 404 B.C. painting reached a farther degree of excellence in the hands of Apollodo'rus, a native of Athens, who developed the principles of light and shade and gave to the art a more dramatic range. Of this school Zeux'is, Parrha'sius, and Timan'thes became the chief masters.

PARRHASIUS.

Of the artists of this period it has been a.s.serted by some authorities that Parrhasius was the most celebrated, as he is said to have "raised the art of painting to perfection in all that is exalted and essential;" uniting in his works "the cla.s.sic invention of Polygnotus, the magic tone of Apollodorus, and the exquisite design of Zeuxis." He was a native of Ephesus, but became a citizen of Athens, where he won many victories over his contemporaries. One of these is recorded by Pliny as having been achieved in a public contest with Zeuxis. The latter displayed a painting of some grapes, which were so natural as to deceive the birds, that came and pecked at them. Zeuxis then requested that the curtain which was supposed to screen the picture of Parrhasius be withdrawn, when it was found that the painting of Parrhasius was merely the representation of a curtain thrown over a picture-frame. The award of merit was therefore given to Parrhasius, on the ground that while Zeuxis had deceived the birds, Parrhasius had deceived Zeuxis himself.

The Roman philosopher Seneca also tells a story of Parrhasius as follows: While engaged in making a painting of "Prometheus Bound," he took an old Olynthian captive and put him to the torture, that he might catch, and transfer to canvas, the natural expression of the most terrible of mortal sufferings. This story, we may hope, is a fiction; but the incident is often alluded to by the poets, and the American poet WILLIS has painted the alleged scene in lines scarcely less terrible in their coloring than those pallid hues of death-like agony which we may suppose the painter-artist to have employed.

Parrhasius and his Captive.

Parrhasius stood gazing forgetfully Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Cau'casus-- The vulture at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh; [Footnote: Vulcan; the Olympian artist, who, when hurled from heaven, fell upon the Island of Lemnos, in the aegean. He forged the chain with which Prometheus was bound.]

And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim, Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows forth With its far-reaching fancy, and with form And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye Flashed with a pa.s.sionate fire; and the quick curl Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, Were like the wing'd G.o.d's, breathing from his flight.

[Footnote: The winged G.o.d Mercury.]

"Bring me the captive now!

My bands feel skilful, and the shadows lift From my waked spirit airily and swift, And I could paint the bow.

Upon the bended heavens, around me play Colors of such divinity to-day.

"Ha! bind him on his back!

Look! as Prometheus in my picture here!

Quick, or he faints! stand with the cordial near!

Now--bend him to the rack!

Press down the poisoned links into his flesh, And tear agape that healing wound afresh!

"So, let him writhe! How long Will he live thus? Quick, my good pencil, now!

What a fine agony works upon his brow!

Ha! gray-haired, and so strong!

How fearfully he stifles that short moan!

G.o.ds! if I could but paint a dying groan!

"'Pity' thee! So I do.

I pity the dumb victim at the altar; But does the robed priest for his pity falter?

I'd rack thee though I knew A thousand lives were perishing in thine!

What were ten thousand to a fame like mine?

"Yet there's a deathless name!

A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, And like a steadfast planet mount and burn; And, though its crown of flame Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone, By all the fiery stars I'd bind it on!

"Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst; Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first; Though it should bid me stifle The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, And taunt its mother till my brain went wild--

"All--I would do it all Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot-- Thrust foully into earth to be forgot!

O heavens! but I appall Your heart, old man! Forgive--ha! on your lives Let him not faint!--rack him till he revives!

"Vain--vain--give o'er. His eye Glazes apace. He does not feel you now; Stand back! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow.

G.o.ds I if he do not die But for one moment--one--till I eclipse Conception with the scorn of those calm lips!

"Shivering! Hark! he mutters Brokenly now: that was a difficult breath-- Another? Wilt thou never come, O Death?

Look how his temple flutters!

Is his heart still? Aha! lift up his head!

He shudders--gasps--Jove help him! So--he's dead!"

How like a mounting devil in the heart Rules the unreined ambition! Let it once But play the monarch, and its haughty brow Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought, And unthrones peace forever. Putting on The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns The heart to ashes, and with not a spring Left in the bosom for the spirit's lip, We look upon our splendor and forget The thirst of which we perish!

II. ARCHITECTURE.

In Architecture, too, thy rank supreme!

That art where most magnificent appears The little builder, man; by thee refined, And smiling high, to full perfection brought.

--THOMSON.

We have already referred, in general terms, to the monuments of art for which the era of Athenian greatness was distinguished, and have stated that it was more particularly in the "Age of Pericles" that Athenian genius and enthusiasm found their full development, in the erection or adornment of those miracles of architecture that crowned the Athenian Acropolis or surrounded its base. The following eloquent description, from the pen of BULWER, will convey a vivid idea of the magnitude and the brilliancy of the labors performed for

The Adornment of Athens.

"Then rapidly progressed those glorious fabrics which seemed, as Plutarch gracefully express it, endowed with the bloom of a perennial youth. Still the houses of private citizens remained simple and unadorned; still were the streets narrow and irregular; and, even centuries afterward, a stranger entering Athens would not at first have recognized the claims of the mistress of Grecian art. But to the homeliness of her common thoroughfares and private mansions the magnificence of her public edifices now made a dazzling contrast. The Acropolis, that towered above the homes and thoroughfares of men--a spot too sacred for human habitation-- became, to use a proverbial phrase, 'a city of the G.o.ds.' The citizen was everywhere to be reminded of the majesty of the state --his patriotism was to be increased by the pride in her beauty-- his taste to be elevated by the spectacle of her splendor.

"Thus flocked to Athens all who throughout Greece were eminent in art. Sculptors and architects vied with one another in adorning the young empress of the seas: then rose the masterpieces of Phidias, of Callic'rates, of Mnesicles, which, either in their broken remains, or in the feeble copies of imitators less inspired, still command so intense a wonder, and furnish models so immortal.

And if, so to speak, their bones and relics excite our awe and envy, as testifying of a lovelier and grander race, which the deluge of time has swept away, what, in that day, must have been their brilliant effect, unmutilated in their fair proportions-- fresh in all their lineaments and hues? For their beauty was not limited to the symmetry of arch and column, nor their materials confined to the marbles of Pentel'icus and Pa'ros. Even the exterior of the temples glowed with the richest harmony of colors, and was decorated with the purest gold: an atmosphere peculiarly favorable to the display and the preservation of art, permitted to external pediments and friezes all the minuteness of ornament --the brilliancy of colors, such as in the interior of Italian churches may yet be seen--vitiated, in the last, by a gaudy and barbarous taste. Nor did the Athenians spare any cost upon the works that were, like the tombs and tripods of their heroes, to be the monuments of a nation to distant ages, and to transmit the most irrefragable proof 'that the power of ancient Greece was not an idle legend.'" [Footnote: "Athens: Its Rise and Fall,"

pp. 256, 257.]

1. THE ACROPOLIS AND ITS SPLENDORS.

The Acropolis, the fortress of Athens, was the center of its architectural splendor. It is a rocky height rising abruptly out of the Attic plain, and was accessible only on the western side, where stood the Propylae'a, a magnificent structure of the Doric order, constructed under the direction of Pericles by the architect Mnesicles, and which served as the gate as well as the defence of the Acropolis. But the latter's chief glory was the Parthenon, or Temple of Minerva, built in the time of Pericles by Icti'nus and Callic'rates, and which stood on the highest point, near the center. It was constructed entirely of the most beautiful white marble from Mount Pentelicus, and its dimensions were two hundred and twenty-eight feet by one hundred and two --having eight Doric columns in each of the two fronts, and seventeen in each of the sides, and also an interior range of six columns in each end. The ceiling of the western part of the main building was supported by four interior columns, and of the eastern end by sixteen. The entire height of the building above its platform was sixty-five feet. The whole was enriched within and without with matchless works of art by various artists under the direction of Phidias--its chief wonder, however, being the gold and ivory statue of the Virgin G.o.ddess, the work of Phidias himself, elsewhere described.

This magnificent structure remained entire until the year 1687, when, during a siege of Athens by the Venetians, a bomb fell on the devoted Parthenon, and, setting fire to the powder that the Turks had stored there, entirely destroyed the roof and reduced the whole building almost to ruins. The eight columns of the eastern front, however, and several of the lateral colonnades, are still standing; and the whole, dilapidated as it is, retains an air of inexpressible grandeur and sublimity.

The Parthenon.

Fair Parthenon! yet still must fancy weep For thee, thou work of n.o.bler spirits flown.

Bright as of old the sunbeams o'er thee sleep In all their beauty still--and thine is gone!

Empires have sunk since thou wast first revered, And varying rites have sanctified thy shrine.

The dust is round thee of the race that reared Thy walls, and thou--their fate must still be thine!

But when shall earth again exult to see Visions divine like theirs renewed in aught like thee?

Lone are thy pillars now--each pa.s.sing gale Sighs o'er them as a spirit's voice, which moaned That loneliness, and told the plaintive tale Of the bright synod once above them throned.

Mourn, graceful ruin! on thy sacred hill Thy G.o.ds, thy rites, a kindred fate have shared: Yet art thou honored in each fragment still That wasting years and barbarous hands have spared; Each hallowed stone, from rapine's fury borne, Shall wake bright dreams of thee in ages yet unborn.

Yes; in those fragments, though by time defaced, And rude, insensate conquerors, yet remains All that may charm th' enlightened eye of taste, On sh.o.r.es where still inspiring freedom reigns.

As vital fragrance breathes from every part Of the crushed myrtle, or the bruised rose, E'en thus th' essential energy of art There in each wreck imperishably glows!

The soul of Athens lives in every line, Pervading brightly still the ruins of her shrine.

--MRS. HEMANS.