CHAPTER V

THE WORK OF DOURIS

We will only consider here the works signed by Douris, and leave aside a considerable number of anonymous vases attributed to him. We only wish to argue from indisputable records. The number consists of twenty-six drinking cups, one kantharos, and one vase for cooling wine, forming in all about eighty paintings, which can be divided into three distinct groups:

1. Mythical and heroic subjects, adventures of gods and heroes.

2. Martial subjects, scenes of arming and battle.

3. Subjects of everyday life, banquets, conversations and exercises in the palæstra.

It would, no doubt, be interesting to study these subjects chronologically, and to follow step by step the career of the artist; but we could not place much confidence in a detailed enumeration of dates. We will select the first group as most clear and precise. This will not prevent our examining the numerous and diverse styles through which the talent of Douris passed. On the whole, we may say there were two chief periods in his style: the one, while he adhered to ancient traditions, and his drawings remained stiff and archaic; the other, when his brush became flexible to a remarkable degree, and when he began to create. It is the story of many artists, both ancient and modern.

1. _Mythical and Heroic Subjects._

The kylix of Eos and Memnon (Figs. 8, 9, 10), well known to visitors of the Louvre, is not only the oldest but the one which best illustrates the first period of Douris, and deserves the closest attention from lovers of art. It is a masterpiece of Greek ceramic art, at a time when the painting of red figures, while still retaining the stiff, archaic forms, finds means to move the feelings by purity of line and a deep sense of life. The vase, by the potter Kalliades, in itself reveals an old shape (Fig. 1 right) with the foot short and squat, the sides heavy, a deep bowl and short handles, following the models of Nikosthenes and Pamphaios of the sixth century. Later Douris made a kylix of far more graceful outline, with a shallower bowl, a higher stem made slender in the middle, and lighter handles, such as one sees in the workshops of Euphronios, Hieron and Brygos (Fig. 1 left). On this kylix there are a great number of inscriptions: nearly every person is designated by name. Besides the signatures of the potter and painter we can read the name of the handsome Hermogenes (Fig. 8), and with it a fragment of a phrase, the meaning of which remains doubtful. Seventeen or eighteen words in all are scattered in fine red letters over the inner surface and the reverse of the cup. This profusion of writing is in itself archaic; men were communicative in early times, and delighted in labelling their figures like our old illuminators of the Middle Ages. More recent works of Douris have lost this useless mode of expression. Painting is its own interpreter, and has no further need of this awkward assistance.

The composition is synthetic. It contains three events in the Trojan war. On the reverse are the combats of Menelaos and Paris, Ajax and Hector; on the inner side the Ethiopian King Memnon lies dead in the arms of his mother, the goddess Eos (the Dawn). Some archæologists who have studied these paintings have tried to find here a strong and learned unity, a kind of drama in three acts, even at the expense of the inscriptions. Brunn even maintained that the latter were faulty, as he conceived therein an Achilleid, celebrating three different feats of the great hero. Others have refused to see any reference to the Epics, and have noted the differences which distinguished the text of Homer from these paintings. For instance, Douris has placed behind Menelaos the goddess Aphrodite, protectress of Troy, which seems inconsistent; behind Paris we see Artemis carrying her bow; behind Ajax is the goddess Athene. These divinities do not figure in the Homeric account. As regards the death of Memnon, it appears to belong to an epic by another cyclic poet, Arktinos of Miletos. It is the imagination of the poet that collected at random, as it were, these scattered subjects, and united them according to his fancy.

The opinion we hold amid these conflicting views will be more easily understood by reference to the chapters on the social and mental conditions of the Athenian potters. To suppose them to have conceived themes of deep meaning, elaborated like an ode of Pindar or a chorus of Sophocles with strophe, antistrophe and epode, seems most unlikely; and if, in order to gain good results, the inscriptions must be changed, we do not hesitate to reject such a procedure as contrary to all scientific method. Who can believe that these profound thinkers were so stupid as not to write correct inscriptions? On the other hand, we know enough of the art of the period, of the advance made in design, to expect a certain unity in the whole. It is the spirit of the entire school to unite the different parts of the vase by subjects closely connected, or at least related. In the present case we believe the Trojan war to be the great theme uniting the three paintings. This was the most cherished subject, even with the people. We must remember that a painter of vases had nothing in common with a modern designer who has a text to illustrate before his eyes. It is hardly likely that manuscripts of Homer or Arktinos were found on the work-benches of the Kerameikos. For these craftsmen, memory or the remembrance of some recitation at the Panathenaic festivals had to take the place of the book.

In consequence, the chief episode must have made a decided impression on the mind, without involving accuracy in minor details. In re-reading the _Iliad_, Book III. (Menelaos and Paris), and Book VII. (Ajax and Hector), we gain the impression that the artist, whoever he was (for the craftsman may have copied a known work), has here reproduced the essential elements of the drama. In adding persons, as Athene behind Paris, or Aphrodite behind Menelaos, the artist simply adhered to the conditions of the composition of a painting, which at this period scrupulously obeyed the rules of symmetry. Aphrodite is placed there to restrain the arm of Menelaos, as the gesture of her right hand indicates. Artemis, as a companion figure on the other side, represents the protecting gods of Troy (Fig. 9); two goddesses were not too much to watch over the handsome Paris.

The other reverse (Fig. 10) similarly conforms to, and diverges from, the Homeric text. As in the poem, Hector struck by a rock thrown by his adversary sinks to his knees and Apollo advances to support him. (The irregularly shaped object above indicates the stone.) In Homer, Athene does not appear, but here, placed as she is behind Ajax, whom she appears to be pushing forward with a gesture, she represents the protecting goddess of the Greeks. The symmetry of the two sides is essential. The decorative tradition requires it, and the painter sets his professional duty before his respect for a poetic text, in which no one saw anything more than a general theme for beautiful subjects and attitudes. We are quite convinced that the great painters took exactly the same liberties with the cyclic poems they interpreted. The description of the masterpiece of Polygnotos, _The Taking of Troy_, bears witness to this. The artist seems to have complied with the general information given in the epic, but not to have illustrated any given text.

In spite of the archaic stiffness, the execution of the subjects delights us by the purity of line and the great care in detail. The painting is simply a drawing, hardly retouched with a few red lines. It is like a dry point engraving, in which all the lines are somewhat prominent. The symmetrical and parallel folds of the garments, details of the armour, the imbrications, the chasing of the helmets and cuirasses, the locks and curls of hair, are marvels of patient and conscientious work. The ornaments, as carefully finished as the rest, have the same stiff and rather metallic precision. Lastly, the black glaze, thick and velvety, gives an extraordinary brilliancy to the entire vase.

In considering the painting of the interior (Fig. 8), we move upwards another step. In its small compass, we consider it one of the finest paintings handed down to us from ancient times. It consoles us somewhat for the loss of so many masterpieces, and we cannot suppose that a potter, working alone in his workshop, invented this first _Mater dolorosa_, which is as touching as a Mantegna or a Roger Van der Weyden. Nowhere is a copy from a great painting more forcibly evident. Every one must be impressed by the striking resemblance of this Pagan and Greek creation to the emblem that has moved Christian souls for so many centuries. Eos, standing with outstretched and beating wings, bends toward the dead face of her son Memnon, her strained arms supporting his rigid body. The goddess, who represents the radiant morning and the promises of Nature awakening with the dawn, is here simply a despairing mother imprinting on her mind with one long look the beloved features she will see no more; the contrast is profoundly sad, and a creation worthy of a great poet. The body of the powerful prince of the Ethiopians, the ally of Priam, is entirely nude as it was taken up on the battlefield where his adversary Achilles had robbed him of his armour. The stiff legs are stretched out, the left foot still contracted with pain, the arms swing limply, the head drops, while the dishevelled hair, the delicate beard, and the closed eyes arouse an irresistible memory of the dead Christ. We have a true _Pietà_ before our eyes.

What miracle in art, what unexpected chance unites Pagan and Christian art to express the same thought, in the same form? Is it not a proof that across the centuries great artists share the same thoughts, and to express the emotions of life create a universal language? Is it not this again which attracts us in Homer, in those never to be forgotten scenes, expressing so well the deep feelings of all men at all times; the farewell of Hector and Andromache, the return of Ulysses to Ithaca? Art soars above time and space, more than all else it embodies the solidarity of succeeding generations without any knowledge of one another.

A kylix in the British Museum, with _The Adventures of Theseus_ (Fig. 11), of more recent form and style, teaches us still better that behind the vase painter may be concealed other and greater personalities, who are the true creators of the work of art. A famous kylix from the workshop of Euphronios shows us similar scenes glorifying the Athenian hero, forming with the _Eos and Memnon_, by Douris, and _The Taking of Troy_, by Brygos, a glorious trio of ceramic masterpieces, of which the Louvre is justly proud. In comparing the works of Douris with those coming from the workshops of Euphronios, the idea suggests itself that they either copied one another or borrowed from one common original. Both suppositions are possible. As already mentioned, no law or custom prohibited artistic plagiarism. If Douris knew of the beautiful work executed by his colleague, nothing prevented him from adopting it for his own use. But, on the other hand, the broad style of Euphronios’ production and the peculiar character of the adventure of Theseus recovering the ring of Minos from the bottom of the sea, a subject treated by Mikon, one of the great painters of the fifth century, finally the great number of works of art which at this period celebrated the national hero’s glory, lead us to believe that a potter had no need to look over his neighbour’s shoulder to gain suggestions for a theme of Theseus. He was surrounded by models in painting, sculpture, painted bas-reliefs, models, carved and engraved. The supposition of a common model or several models, from which a craftsman, in a way, chose the desired subject, seems most probable.

It is only in this sense and with such reservation that these two cups can be compared. In looking at the superb vase in the Louvre, no one will hesitate to give the preference to the workshop of Euphronios. In the interior is _The Visit of Amphitrite_; in this painting the author has retained all the seriousness of great religious art with a touch of archaism in the drawing and position of the characters, showing thereby that he has copied an ancient fresco; while, on the contrary, on the reverses, the combats of Theseus with the robbers Skiron, Prokrustes and Kerkyon, and the struggle with the Marathonian bull, are treated as in metopes, with bold, vigorous lines, giving rather a feeling of the influence of sculpture (Fig. 12).

The composition of Douris (Fig. 11) is more firmly knit, because it concentrates all the attention on the adventures of the hero against monsters and robbers. In the interior is the fight with the Minotaur, an ancient and classic theme from the sixth century; on the reverses, the defeat of Kerkyon, of Skiron and Sinis, and the hunt of the boar of Krommyon; two women give some variety and animation to the whole, the nymph Phaia who lived at Krommyon, and the goddess Athene who protects her favourite hero at his labours. Here again is a closely-knit trilogy; but, we must confess, the execution is far inferior to that of the cup of Euphronios. It is accurate and a little commonplace. There is, however, noticeable a desire to express landscape, a care for external ornament, visible in the palm tree and the small trees placed about, and by a cloak thrown upon a tree trunk. It is a rare mark among Greek painters, and worthy of note.

We will look more rapidly at the paintings of the kantharos at Brussels, the importance of which, as being a vase moulded by Douris himself, we have already mentioned (Fig. 1). The figures represent “Herakles’ contest with the Amazons,” an old type, nearly a century old, but with the added beauty of a clear and accurate style, and an admirably certain execution. Nor are the subjects new which are treated upon another kylix in the Louvre, _The Rape of Thetis by Peleus_. But Douris deserves the credit of having skilfully revived an old subject known on Corinthian and Attic vases of the sixth century. It is possible to follow in the Louvre the same painting done in turn by a Corinthian, then by an Attic painter of black figures, and lastly by Douris. It is of great interest to follow the development of the composition and of the grouping of the figures, of their attitudes, and of the drawing itself. We perceive here the same differences as in comparing a Madonna of Cimabue with one of Lippi. Symmetry of figures, stiff and angular outlines and severe features have given place to life and tender touches of the brush. At the same time, the close connection of these successive works appears most striking--the link with the past has never been severed; the fundamental conception has always remained the same; improvement has come from within, and extends to every little detail.

Douris has extended his composition and united the two reverse sides of the kylix. On one, the hero seizes the goddess, who struggles in his grasp and has summoned to her aid the magic art of transformations. These are given with all the _naïveté_ of primitive art: to tell us that Thetis changes into a lion, and later into a serpent, the artist has drawn on one side a young lion seated on the shoulder of the goddess, and tearing with his teeth the arm of her ravisher; on the other a serpent lifts its twisted coils and darts its threatening jaws at him. The companions of Thetis, the Nereids, frightened by so bold an attack, take flight, and this gives the painter an opportunity of showing us young girls running in many graceful attitudes--the arms are tossed in gestures that are still angular; the bare feet and legs escape from the drapery, showing the rather lean suppleness of these young maidens. It is, at the same time, a skilful method of uniting the whole; in fact, on the other reverse we see other nymphs running, who come to tell the god Nereus and his wife Doris of the attempt. Both are seated on ornamented thrones with the Olympian majesty of a Jupiter and a Juno (Fig. 13). All the beauty of the famous group in the Panathenaic Frieze is already visible in their movements and their attitude.

Unfortunately the interior is defaced and restored, but the artist has shown no less ingenuity in its design. He has taken a theme frequently used by painters of red figures, and thus rendered rather commonplace--the libation; but instead of showing us the well-known scene of a soldier departing on a campaign and receiving the full cup from a woman, he has enlarged the subject, and shows us the god Poseidon seated, receiving a libation cup from the hands of a goddess, probably his wife, Amphitrite. Again a synthetic trilogy prevails in this composition: in the upper part of the vase the god of the sea and his consort are throned; in the lower part is enacted a little drama which takes place on the seashore, and has sea-gods as actors. Everywhere we find the intelligent skill of the Greek, and the easy art with which he beautifies all he touches. Was all this the personal work of Douris? or does the model he copies and follows deserve much of the credit? It will always remain an open question. As we possess a kylix by the potter Hieron (it has even been ascribed to Douris), another by the painter Peithinos, and many anonymous vases which repeat in similar form the details of _The Rape of Thetis_, we again incline towards the second hypothesis. How many sanctuaries in Greece, dedicated to the gods of the sea, must have contained paintings or reliefs of this kind!

It is the variety of models, in a word, which best explains the variety of styles among painters of vases. As we remarked above, no vase painter is of greater interest in this respect than Douris. If any one wishes to estimate at a single glance his often puzzling versatility, he need only look at the mythological painting on a large receptacle for wine in the British Museum (Fig. 14). The choice of the subject, _The Bacchic Thiasos_, repeated to satiety upon black-figured amphoræ of the sixth century, leads us to expect only a commonplace painting, but the artist instead brings us face to face with one of the most spirited sketches Greek art has left to us.

Douris shows himself daring, amusing, free almost to indecency, and one asks how the same brush which painted many little paintings, rather stiff in their symmetry, could become animated to the point of inventing these funambulistic movements of wild beasts let loose. These are Sileni playing and dancing. Arranged in a row, like mountebanks upon their stage, they abandon themselves to frantic sports under the leadership of a herald costumed as Hermes, on his head the petasos, and in his hand the caduceus. One lowers his head to drink from a cup placed on the floor; a second, in a half-lying position, has the contents of a goat skin and a wine jug poured together into his mouth by two of his companions; others toy in a ludicrous fashion with kantharoi, or dance on one foot, and try by bending forward to reach a full cup. Even expurgated, this painting sufficiently shows the unbridled gaiety and fun which the Greek designer allowed himself. In that again he resembles the Japanese draughtsman, in love with buffooneries and acrobatic postures. Those who only like to think of Greek art as serious and moralizing, can take their own view. Greek art knew all and dared all--works such as were placed upon school walls to elevate thought, and such as were hidden under a cloak. The same brush drew the touching image of _Eos and Memnon_, and this scene of a pagan, _Kermesse_.

In Athens this surprised no one. We have, however, classified our artists, and confined them to their specialities. We do not admit that a “serious” artist could cause laughter, and we have our professional caricaturists. Leonardo da Vinci, it is true, did not disdain to draw the grotesque. Neither ancient painting nor sculpture feared the ugly or the comic; but they gave to each a meaning. They did not cause laughter for the sake of laughing. They did not cause fear for the sake of frightening. These important elements in real life have a symbolic and allegoric meaning. The head of Medusa appears as a survival of vanished monsters, which terrified man when he sought to establish his dominion on earth. The Learnæan hydra is, on the most ancient vases, a gigantic octopus gripping Herakles and Iolaos, as the octopus clasps Gilliatt in _Les travailleurs de la mer_. The grimacing mask of the satyr is the inheritance of a very early conception transformed by art. It would not be difficult to prove, documents in hand, that the large anthropoid apes met by the Phœnicians in their explorations in Africa, and drawn by them on their metal cups of the seventh century, furnished the Ionian artists, when combined with the Bes of the Egyptians, with the prototype of the hairy and shaggy Silenus, with the flat-nosed face, that one sees on certain sarcophagi of Klazomenai. This is what we admire in the Sileni of Douris. The skilful, dry point of the artist knew how to preserve, when he sketched them on clay, all their simian agility, their droll, gorilla-like features, the relaxed, sinewy and flexible limbs, wherein we recognize the vigorous beast in semblance of a man. We only know of one other artist who has rendered this bounding animal gait of the Sileni with equal success--the painter of a kylix from the workshop of the potter Brygos, which is undoubtedly inspired by a satyric drama; here the goddess Hera and her companion Iris are in great distress through falling into the midst of such a wild band. Fortunately Hermes with fair words, and Herakles with his club, arrive in time to restrain these rash and disrespectful fellows (Fig. 15).

Let us finish this review of the mythological subjects with a kylix from the Museum in Vienna on which we see _The Contest over the Arms of Achilles_ (Figs. 16 and 17). It will give us an opportunity of studying dramatic themes in the hands of Douris, drawn from epic poetry, and adopted by the writers of tragedy. We know how, later, Sophocles in his _Ajax with the Scourge_, showed the fatal result of the unexpected quarrel arising between Ulysses and Ajax for the possession of the divine weapons, which Thetis had given to her son Achilles. This event was a favourite theme, and had been treated in ceramic painting from the sixth century onwards. In what work and what kind of production did Douris seek his inspiration? We shall always remain ignorant of this. We only wish to show by this example in how great a measure the Greek theatre influenced composition and even the style of painted vases.

Several black-figured vases, some of which are in the Louvre, represent this _Contest_; the two heroes have come to blows and are falling upon each other fiercely, while Agamemnon and other Greeks exert themselves to separate them. This fundamental theme was not lost on Douris, for he made use of it on one of the reverses of his kylix (Fig. 16). But, following his fancy or other models of which we know nothing, he adds two other episodes: (1) on the other reverse, _The Voting of the Greek Chiefs_, who all bring their votes in the shape of pebbles, and place them on an altar in the presence of the goddess Athene, thus awarding the victory to Ulysses (Fig. 16); (2) in the interior, _Ulysses and Neoptolemos_, a painting forming, as it were, the heroic catastrophe of the drama, where the victor renounces the glorious weapons and restores them generously to the son of Achilles, so that he in turn may wear them and accomplish the ruin of the Trojans (Fig. 17). Here, again, Douris’ favourite manner of composition results in a trilogy. We have the three acts in a tragedy, dominated by the memory of Achilles and the epic of the Trojan war.

The fact will at once be recalled that to the Greek theatre, as conceived by Æschylus and his immediate predecessors, a similar arrangement was not unknown. We find many such examples of about the time of the Persian wars, not only by Douris, but by his rivals as well.

To look here for an exact copy of some contemporaneous work would undoubtedly be absurd. We can hardly insist too strongly on this point. The absence of the costumes and accessories of the theatre, which were so individual and expressive in their conventions, is an indication that the painter did not try to depict on clay the living spectacle he had just witnessed. In a later age, the Greek vases of southern Italy freely transferred scenes from tragedies, but in this ancient period we have no such examples. The composition is derived from the theatre just as in the kylix of _Eos and Memnon_, mentioned above, it depends on Homer. It is a general impression that the mind of the artist has absorbed, and it helps him to arrange his subjects better.

Professor Carl Robert has very well remarked that the vases of the sixth century have the “epic” manner; they tell stories and relate to us in detail like the ancient singers. Those of the group of Douris have a “dramatic” manner; they habitually appeal to us by synthetic groupings, which we accurately term in the language of the theatre _tableaux_, and which sum up an entire scene. We would further remark that in Douris and his contemporaries, the figures assume attitudes which one might call “scenic.”

On one side of the painting of the _Voting_ (Fig. 16), Ulysses, with uplifted hands, expresses at once astonishment and delight to see how the heap of little stones which represent the votes in his favour is growing; while, on the other side, in the right corner of the scene, Ajax, alone and deserted and feeling defeat inevitable, covers his head with his cloak to hide his disgrace, a dramatic figure, suggesting the often cited work of Timanthes--Agamemnon hiding his face so as not to witness the sacrifice of his daughter Iphigeneia. We still could cite vases from the Louvre--beautiful examples--showing Achilles returning sad and in despair to his tent. What caused this beautiful and tragic inspiration? Who created these attitudes of mute eloquence if not the Greek drama? Do we not know that one of the great effects in the drama of Æschylus was precisely his placing on the stage an immovable Niobe, and a stern Achilles, who answered the messages of Agamemnon simply with unrelenting silence?

The poetry in the best compositions of Douris is entirely derived from memories of the epic and memories of the drama. It matters little whether he invented them or whether they were suggested to him; it is the very essence of Greek painting disclosed before our eyes, with its spirit of freedom and ready adaptation. Everything is helpful and suggestive to an artist. Whether derived from epic recitations, from lyric strophes, or from the theatre, these floating images all become fixed by his brush and take definite shapes, which in turn will haunt the imagination of other artists and guide their hands. What a rich fertility of art, which multiplied its creations on all hands, and united all classes of the Athenian people into a kind of brotherhood of labour!

2. _Martial Subjects._

Battle-scenes had for three centuries been the classic subject of industrial design. As with all primitive peoples, war had been at first the chief occupation of the Greeks, and in consequence one of the chief sources of art. The Dipylon vases covered with warriors, chariots, boats, dead and wounded, or with pompous funeral scenes are contemporary with the _Iliad_. From the seventh to the fifth century the warrior subject was repeated to satiety upon all ceramics with black figures. How will Douris profit by this?

Seven drinking cups bearing twenty paintings are devoted to this style. Most of them are subject to the rules of symmetric composition, which we observed on the Memnon kylix, in the contests of Menelaos and Paris, and of Ajax and Hector. Truth and tradition unite in giving to this subject the appearance of a simple duel, the secondary personages, as it were, forming a frame. Sometimes a wounded man placed between the two champions indicates the cause of the encounter, and at the same time forms the centre of the group. This primitive scheme, much used by the Corinthians, is found again in many of Douris’ paintings. It is evident that he did not give himself great trouble to invent, and that he only reproduces a well-known theme. One may say as much of the battle, considered as a hand-to-hand fight; five hoplites are engaged in a struggle in a regular and prescribed manner, where the combatants, ordinarily paired two and two, display their strength in the attitudes of well disciplined duellists. It is only a variant of the preceding subject. These works teach us nothing new with regard to the art of Douris, and are only of value in so far as the minute mastery of his brush is concerned. We must look elsewhere for his ingenious mind--in the scenes of arming and the battles of Greeks and Persians.

Arming is only an episode of military life. Instead of showing us the battle, the painter allows us to be present at the preparations. A strong effect has been produced on a kylix made in the workshop of Euphronios: Achilles, in ambush, surprises Troïlos, the youngest son of Priam, who comes to draw water at a fountain; he pursues him across the plain as he flees in his chariot. The alarm is given, and one sees the Trojans hastily arming and running to the royal child’s assistance. But they come too late. In another painting we see the crime already accomplished; without pity for the tender years or the cries of his victim, the hero cuts off the boy’s head by the altar of Apollo, where he has taken refuge (Fig. 18).

The conceptions of Douris are not so dramatic. The design of the kylix in Vienna, which is a masterpiece of its kind, allows us in a manner to penetrate into a Greek camp, at the hour when all are preparing for the manœuvres or the battle (Fig. 19). It is mediocre, even a little commonplace, as regards observation, but it is clever by the realism of the small practical details. In the interior is the classic scene of a libation, a soldier before his departure praying to the gods; a woman brings him wine which she pours into a sacrificial cup. On the reverse, an encampment; the alarm has sounded, every one seeks his arms in haste, one his sword, another his lance or helmet. The monotony of the subject had to be varied. The painter has succeeded in this by introducing some old and bearded men who help and encourage the youths, and a woman who brings a shield and a sword. Nothing can be more animated than the faces and gestures of these young men arming themselves. One tries his sword and draws it partly out of the scabbard, another binds the fillet about his hair, so as to adjust his helmet more firmly; his companion, with a finical gesture, turns up his sleeve and the lower part of his tunic. Elsewhere (Fig. 19), a hoplite already helmeted places greaves on his legs, another dons his corselet, a third hangs his sword at his side and puts the shoulder belt over his shoulder, a fourth makes a little gesture of comic despair showing that he has forgotten to place a crest on his helmet, while the last raises and ties his long hair. These are sketches drawn from life, and are almost like the sketch-book of an artist who has accompanied soldiers at their manœvres. What we term “military painting,” in its familiar and picturesque form, dates from the Greeks.

The style of this kylix is ancient, and it dates from the earliest period in the career of Douris. Although found at the same time and in the same place as the other kylix at Vienna (Fig. 16), representing _The Contest of Ajax and Ulysses_, although signed by the same painter and moulded by the same potter Python, it represents an entirely different manner. Here is a style still archaic, the heads large, the bodies rather thickset, the draperies with regular and symmetrical lines, an extreme minuteness in all details. There, the proportions are reversed, the bodies lengthened, with small heads, the garments with wavy folds, the entire execution freer and with less care for detail. No one would think of attributing the two vases to the same master if they did not bear the name of Douris. This comparison permits us to appreciate the nature of the changes that took place in a Greek potter’s career. He is not a craftsman who is satisfied to remain in the routine of a uniform method. He is an artist who wishes to learn, who reflects and develops. Herr Hartwig has well demonstrated that there was a “first” as well as a “second” style in Douris, as in our days in Corot or Fantin-Latour.

To introduce glorious memories of the Persian invasion, only recently repulsed by the Greeks, was another mode of rejuvenating the warrior subjects. These direct allusions to the Persian wars, are, to our great surprise, only rarely found on the monuments. It is a characteristic trait of the idealism in which the art of the fifth century delights. Anything in the form of anecdote or accident, all that forms the woof of material facts, is only of slight interest to it. It fears also to provoke the gods by extolling the grandeur of Athens, and hence allegory and symbol are used in preference. The Treasury of the Athenians, raised at Delphi from a tithe of the spoils of Marathon, glorified the deeds of Herakles and Theseus. The pediments of the Temple at Ægina, probably made after Salamis, show the Trojans conquered by Homeric heroes. To celebrate Greece’s second victory over Asia, images of the Trojan horse were placed on the Acropolis and on the slopes of Delphi. Industrial painting conforms to the same principles. Warrior subjects were frequently represented by battle-scenes between Greeks and Asiatics, but appear only to contain allusions to the Epic, or else to the battle of Herakles with the Amazons (Fig. 1), which recalls the great deeds of the Greeks’ ancestors against barbarians.

We may say that Douris gave proof of originality by frankly dealing with modern subjects. A kylix at the Louvre, unfortunately damaged and restored, shows in the interior an hoplite striking with his sword a fallen barbarian soldier, who holds a standard with two square-shaped flags (Fig. 20). This typical accessory leaves no doubt as to the meaning of the painting. A banner would never be placed in the hands of a Trojan. It is very probable that the victors of Marathon picked up Persian standards on the battlefield with the spoils, and that we have here the reproduction of such a trophy. We look upon this sketch of Douris as a precious record of the army led by Datis and Artaphernes in 490. For the vase is not of a style to be dated after 480, that is to say, after the second invasion conducted by Xerxes in person.

Other vases attributed to the painter Onesimos represent battles of Greeks against Asiatics on horseback, very realistic in form. Here one may again see copies from life. Lastly, Greeks and Persians are fighting on the sculptured frieze which adorns one side of the small temple of Nike Apteros on the Acropolis. These, however, are rare allusions to the greatest military achievements of the century. It is not difficult to imagine what they would have produced in modern art. We must, however, beware of crediting Douris with an exaggerated initiative, and we must not forget that among the lost works of Greek art, a painting by Mandrocles is mentioned, dating from Darius’ expedition into Scythia, _The Crossing of the Bosphorus_, and at Athens a _Battle of Marathon_, attributed to Panainos, in which Miltiades and the chief Greek generals were seen repulsing the Asiatic phalanxes. Douris and Onesimos did not lack models to guide them into this channel. The value of their works is above all in the good fortune which has preserved them to us, and gives us, if not the letter, at least the spirit of the painting dedicated to contemporary history.

3. _Everyday Scenes._

Here, again, it is convenient to divide the work of Douris into two parts. At times, like all the manufacturers, he made use of old subjects with hardly any change; then, again, he sought new ideas and popularized unused themes. The latter, of course, will chiefly occupy our attention.

A general statement should first be made: the work of Douris, as we actually know it, shows a distinct preference for living subjects. Of his eighty paintings we can count seventeen dedicated to mythical subjects, twenty-two to military life, and forty-one to everyday scenes. The proportion in favour of contemporary life is more than three-fourths. Comparing these with works signed in the workshops of Euphronios (fifteen mythical subjects, two warrior subjects, and eight everyday scenes), from the workshop of Brygos (seventeen mythical, one warrior, and six everyday scenes), we observe that the proportion is reversed by the two most distinguished rivals of Douris. We may, therefore, note this characteristic in his work which he has in common with another great designer, Hieron (twenty-three mythical and thirty-one familiar scenes). These two artists thus prepared the way for the genre picture, which was to dominate the second half of the fifth century, and to make women and children the favourite subjects of painters.

The most frequent themes are scenes from the palæstra (Fig. 6). Youths are wrestling, running, jumping, dumb-bells in hand, or throwing the discus; the teachers of gymnastics watch the sports, rod in hand, ready to punish the lazy or check any brutality. Sometimes a small column, or a basin intended for ablutions, a pick-axe, or a javelin thrown down, indicates where the scene takes place. Only this much would a Greek draughtsman permit himself as scenery. Man alone, action or living forms, are the subjects of his study; nor does he seek, as we do, to endow with sentiment the objects in his environment. Landscape, which moves us, leaves him quite indifferent. But what knowledge of the human form, what love of line and contour! His short, skilful brush moves freely on the clay, throwing out delicate outlines, simplifying the muscles and giving only the most essential, breaking or spreading out the long folds of the drapery, emphasizing the flexible spine, drawing sinewy hands and grave profiles with strong chins and heavy lips. He attacks the difficulties over which archaic art had not yet triumphed--foreshortening and three-quarter poses.

Kimon of Kleonai, a great painter of the sixth century, had proved how effective the latter could be. In the structure of the eye he attacks another difficult problem, trying to modify the everlasting and awkward convention of earlier times--a face in profile with an eye full face. He tries many forms--round, triangular, open on one side. One feels the solution, which henceforth shall be that of all draughtsmen, growing under his fingers. All this is suggested by the study of his beautiful paintings, in which Douris has not invented much, for the school which preceded him, that of Epiktetos, of Paidikos, of Chakrylion, offered similar studies, but he unfolds a constant desire for perfection of form.

In his work one may note the clever and economical device of drawing many persons by means of very few models. In his scenes of the palæstra, consisting of ten or twelve persons, he uses, in fact, only two models--a bearded man and a youth, who are seen under different aspects. Many of his contemporaries made use of the same device. It may be inferred that in these scenes the painter used living models more frequently than elsewhere; it is a companion or an apprentice who has posed and has been turned about on every side. In consequence, the composition is not so bold, but more commonplace than in the mythic paintings inspired by superior models.

Nowhere is this inability to group the figures in familiar scenes more apparent than in a kylix at the Louvre, in spite of an abundance of humorous detail and pretty silhouettes. What can be more graceful than the figure of _The Youth and the Hare_ (Fig. 21)? Seated on a stool and leaning on a stick, he looks with tenderness at the nimble little creature, which the Athenians liked to tame, and which prowled about their houses as cats do with us. At the same time it was a love token, and one frequently sees on ceramic paintings grave persons advance holding by the ears this frisky gift, which they offer to young boys. Plato’s _Banquet_ informs us on this well-known custom of the Greeks. On the inner circle, framing like a medallion _The Youth and the Hare_, runs a band, repeating a design ten times in almost the same form--a bearded man rests on his stick, addressing friendly words to a boy seated before him. One holds a lyre; another a hare; others are wrapt, as if chilly, in their cloaks. Similar themes decorate the two reverse sides. In all one can count thirty-three persons, but there are in reality only two actors. It is as if a metope with two figures were constantly repeated, with some variety, upon all the free space of the vase. Each detail of the group is executed with zest and spirit, but composition does not exist.

The kylix in the Berlin Museum, _The Interior of a School_ (Fig. 22), shows the same fault, although it may be considered as Douris’ masterpiece in everyday scenes. But the subject is of such interest to us, and throws so much light on the life of Greek scholars, that we think no longer of imperfections nor of the systematic stiffness of the groups. Here, again, Douris is seen as an original and fertile initiator. He here abandons the palæstra and the gymnastic exercises, repeated a hundred times, and takes us into the school-room where the music-master and the grammarian give their lessons; on one reverse, lessons on the lyre and recitations are given, on the other, lessons in writing and flute-playing. In the interior, a simple figure of a nude youth tying his sandal, shows the boy, whose task is finished, preparing to run and play. It is a charming and sober painting, we should call it to-day, “an instantaneous impression,” giving a glimpse of life which particularly attracts us. How were the youths of Athens educated? Upon that theme bulky volumes have been written.

As M. Paul Girard has shown in his _Education Athénienne_, this kylix of Douris teaches us better than the texts. We see here the importance the Greeks attached to musical instruction. The word “music” expressed the entire education; literary studies, instrumental music and singing. Music walked hand in hand with literature and gymnastic exercises. Plato even went so far as to say that the art of touching the soul with song inspired the desire for virtue. He rejected, however, as voluptuous and enervating, certain Ionian and Lydian modes. We must remember that music was intended chiefly, as represented on the vase in Berlin, to accompany the song, and that the words were more significant than the melody. Prayers, invocations, war-songs, moral maxims, all contributed to make music a powerful instrument of education, and the apparently paradoxical words of old Damon may in this way be explained, when he said that the rules of music could not be changed without shaking the state itself.

The kylix of Douris corresponds closely with these ideas. Literature is represented, on the one hand, by a master of declamation holding a written scroll, upon which we read the beginning of an epic poem that a pupil is about to recite (Fig. 22); on the other side, a young master is tracing a page of writing, while a pupil stands ready to copy it. Meanwhile the tutors of the boys sit on stools, waiting for the lessons to be finished to conduct them home. No other ancient artist has permitted us to enter so intimately into Athenian life. What we term “genre painting” has appeared. It is the last and perhaps the most fertile inspiration that Douris derived from great contemporary art. It permits us, at the same time, to admire the flexibility of a great talent, starting with religious and heroic subjects in the severe style of _Eos and Memnon_, and attaining to the graceful and brilliant compositions of _The Youth and the Hare_, and _The Interior of a School_.

There is an amusing sketch from the workshop of Euphronios, which may be placed by the side of these paintings, showing a writing-teacher bending forward in his chair, with forefinger raised and threatening, as if he were scolding the little fellows confided to his care (Fig. 23).

CONCLUSION

If we have succeeded in reproducing the rather complex physiognomy of Douris, we hope we have clearly indicated its two-fold character. His talent and his originality do not raise him above the conditions imposed upon his craft. It would be an error to ascribe genius to him. He owes his importance, on the one hand, to the disappearance of great paintings, and, on the other hand, to the innate qualities of the Greek race, which even invested popular works with freedom and beauty. Julius Lange, the Danish archæologist, has said that to judge Greek painting from the vases is like judging the light of the sun by the reflection we receive from the moon. But if, in this regard, industrial art is inferior to the lost masterpieces, let us not forget that it is nearer to the people, whose thoughts it so forcibly expresses. So the anonymous sculptors of images in our cathedral reveal to us the mediæval French soul far better than the great artists can.

With these thousand sketches upon fragile clay we can retrace an evolution which lasted four or five centuries, and created the art of drawing, as it is practised by all modern nations. Indeed, after long endeavours, the Greeks were the first who shattered the tyrannic conventions to which artists had conformed, in Egypt, Chaldea and Assyria. They refused to disjoint the human form on the pretext of showing it from a true anatomical point of view. For the artificial reality of the body drawn in sections, they substituted a living silhouette seized in rapid movement, rendered with all its irregularities of form and its lack of symmetry. This proved the victory of art over science. One became accustomed to figures half turned to the spectator, to perspective, to parts half hidden or suppressed, one learnt to consider Nature not as she is, but as one sees her. The orientation of art was completely changed.

The invention of foreshortening and of modelling by means of shadows belongs to the Greeks. Both had considerable influence on the Roman world, and later on modern times. We may compare these discoveries to those in physics or in chemistry which entirely revolutionized the domain of science. It is an error to suppose that the scientist alone is capable of discoveries which humanity at large is called upon to enjoy. In art the same action and reaction take place, and a solidarity uniting the past and present is not less powerful. Between an Egyptian fresco and an oil painting by Van Eyck there is scarcely anything in common as regards conception and process. Between a drawing by Douris and the _Stratonice_ of Ingres a resemblance is very perceptible, almost a kind of brotherhood.

The drawings of Douris teach us to understand yet another thing. Greek painting at this period had a cause at heart which the entire fifth century upheld with passionate conviction--the belief that the aim of the plastic arts is the representation of man. After the Cretans and Mycenæans had derived such admirable inspirations from the vegetable kingdom, from the marine fauna and flora, after the picturesque studies of birds and deer which the Ionians had transmitted to the Corinthian and Attic potters, we see Greek painting gradually eliminating all this from design, in order to devote itself exclusively to the representation of the human form. Nothing can turn it aside from this course. Whether it is a question of gods and goddesses, heroes, or even citizens, it is always the human form in all its aspects, in all its attitudes, dignified or familiar, which the draughtsman observes. Nowhere has such complete absorption of the artistic imagination been seen. Later, after Alexander, the Greeks themselves somewhat modified their attitude, and learnt once more to contemplate non-human nature; but the limits within which Greek thought had voluntarily confined itself remained severe during the century of Pericles. According to an expression of Victor Bérard, it was a garden of humanity in which man was the most beautiful plant. To this bias we owe some of the purest masterpieces of which humanity can boast. Those of sculpture are famous in all lands; those of painting were no less worthy of admiration, but we only can judge them by the designs on vases. _Theseus and the Marathonian Bull_ on the kylix by Euphronios (Fig. 12), the _Memnon_ by Douris (Fig. 8), or the _Zeus carrying off a Woman_ upon an anonymous kylix in the Louvre (Fig. 24) which is attributed to him, the _Aphrodite on the Swan_ in the British Museum (Fig. 7) by a somewhat later artist, bear comparison with the most beautiful drawings of the Renaissance. Never has the beauty of the human form in motion been rendered with more sincere joy. Here, again, the Greeks prepared the path for the moderns, teaching the dignity of man by proving him to be more important and necessary in art than all else. It is no longer Nature ruling and crushing with its immensity mankind ignorant of itself. It is human thought, on the contrary, projecting itself on the external world, and taking possession of it.

This is why we admire ancient art, and why a drawing by Douris tells us so many things. Doubtless Douris has his message. He never suspected it; he did not make it his aim; he was the unconscious instrument of a great people and of a great revolution. This it is which makes works of the past of such great value. Only time can show what they contained of beauty and of fertility, even unknown to their authors. The creative force animating them is beyond the individual; it springs from the depths of the race which produces them. The sculptor who fashioned the Venus of Melos could not foresee the fame his statue would achieve, which he probably executed after many other similar ones. Leonardo da Vinci would be greatly surprised at what we see in his _Gioconda_. Anatole France says: “Each generation imagines anew the antique masterpieces, and in this manner communicates to them a progressive immortality.” It is not that we are duped by a delusion, but time has done its work; moving on, it has discovered unexpected worth in certain objects.

Renan made the profound remark, “Admiration is historic.” Indeed, not only is distance necessary, but the wearing effect of centuries, to distinguish the good from the bad, the eternal from the perishable, to recognize the actual importance of a thought or an invention. Those who love to meditate will not go in vain to the Louvre to look at the kylix of _Eos and Memnon_. They will see a reflection of that which formed the grandeur and beauty of Greek painting during the most flourishing period of its history, and they will recognize in one of its noblest expressions an art for ever lost.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ROULEZ, in _Nuove Memorie dell’ Instituto_, ii., 1865, p. 393.

HELBIG, in _Annali dell’ Instituto arch._, xlv., 1873, p. 53.

FROEHNER, _Les Musées de France_, 1873, p. 37.

RAYET-COLLIGNON, _Hist. de la Céramique Grecque_, 1888, p. 178.

LUCKENBACH, in _Jahrbuch für class. Philologie_, suppl. Band xi., 1880, p. 518f.

CARL ROBERT, _Bild und Lied_, 1881, pp. 28, 87, 98, 214.

---- _Scenen der Ilias und Aithiopis_, 1891. (XV. Hallisches Winckelmanns Programm.)

MEIER, in _Archæol. Zeitung_, 1883, p. 1.

W. KLEIN, _Euphronios_, 1886.

---- _Die griech. Vasen mit Meistersignaturen_, 1887.

---- _Die griech. Vasen mit Lieblingsinschriften_, 1898.

TSOUNTAS, in _Ephéméris archoléogique d’Athènes_, iii., 1886, p. 40.

LOEWY, in _Jahrbuch des deutsch. arch. Instituts_, iii., 1888, p. 139.

JANE E. HARRISON, in _Journal of Hellenic Studies_, x., 1889, p. 231.

---- _Greek Vase Paintings_, 1894, p. 21.

REISCH, in _Mittheilungen des arch. Inst. Römische Abth._, v., 1890, p. 331.

---- in _Festschrift für Gomperz_, 1902, p. 459.

F. DÜMMLER, in _Bonner Studien_, 1890, p. 77.

P. HARTWIG, _Die griech. Meisterschalen_, 1893, pp. 200f., 583f.

FURTWÄNGLER AND REICHHOLD, _Die griech. Vasenmalerei_, 1904, pp. 76, 114, 246, 267.

MICHAELIS, in _Archæologische Zeitung_, 1873, p. 1.

MURRAY, _Designs from Greek Vases_, 1894, p. 12f.

TARBELL, in _American Journal of Archæology_, 1900, iv., p. 183.

BIRCH, _Hist. Ancient Pottery_, ed. Walters, 1905, i., p. 434.

INDEX

Achilles, 50, 62, 64, 67

Acropolis, 17, 13, 72

Ægina, temple at, 70

Æschylus, 21, 62, 64

Africa, 14, 15

Agamemnon, 2, 61, 64

Ajax, 32, 46, 48, 61, 64

Alexander, 2, 83

Amasis, 11

Amphitrite, 56

Amphora, 16, 30

Anaphlystos, deme of 11

Antenor, 18

Apelles, 29

Aphrodite, 48

---- on her swan, 84

Apollo, 48

Arktinos of Miletos, 46, 47

Artemis, 48

Athene, 18, 46, 48, 53, 62

Athenian pottery, 6

Athenians, Treasury of, 70

Athens, 2, 10, 16, 27

Attic craftsmen, 5

---- taste, 14

Augustus, 2

Bérard, Victor, 83

Berlin Museum kylix, 77

Bes of the Egyptians, 60

Black figured vases, 18

---- glaze, 12, 26, 27, 35f, 49

Bœotia, 27

Boulle, 34

British Museum, 51, 57, 83

Brunn, 3, 46

Brushpainters 27, 28, 29, 35

Brussels Museum, 8, 18

Brygos, 6, 11, 21, 33, 52, 60, 73

Caere, 16

Chalkis, 16

Chakrylion, 75

_Chiaro oscuro_, 5

China, 15

Christ, 51

Cimabue, Madonna of, 55

Clay, 12, 26

_Coppe amatorie_, 41

Corinth, 16

Corot, 69

Craftsman, 12

Crete, 2

Crimea, 14

Cyrenaica, 14

Datis and Artaphernes, 71

Delphi, 70

Demons of destruction, 39

Dipylon Gate, 14

---- vases, 65

Doris, 11

Douris, 1, 5, 6, 7, 18, 21, 25, 31, 33, 44, 57, 60, 62, 65, 72, 73, 80

_Editio princeps_, 32

Egypt, 81

Eos, the Dawn, 45

---- and Memnon, 44, 50, 51, 59, 63, 66, 86

“Epic” manner, 63

Epiktetos, 11, 75

Ergotimos, 11

Etruria, 14, 33

Etruscan tombs, 14, 16

Euphronios, 6, 8, 10, 11, 17, 21, 31, 67, 73, 79

Euthymedes, 9, 10, 41

Fantin-Latour, 69

Flanders, 25

France, Anatole, 85

Genre pictures, 24

Girard, Paul, 4, 79

Greece, 4

Greek camps, 67

---- ceramics, 5

---- paintings, 2, 4, 6, 64

---- pictures, 24

---- theatre, 62, 64

Hartwig, 19, 69

Hector, 32, 51

Hellenic age, 2

Hera, 60

Herakles, 59, 60, 70

Herculaneum, 2, 3

Hermes, 58, 60

Hierarchy, social, 13

Hieron, 6, 11, 57, 73

Hippias, 5

History of vases, 13

Homer, 32, 47f.

Hoplites, 32

Hydria, 16

Iliad, 47, 65

Ingres, 82

Ionian artists, 60

---- origin, 12

Iolaos, 59

Iphigeneia, 64

Iris, 60

Islands, the, 15

Isocrates, 20

Italy, 16

---- southern, 14, 27

Japan, 15

Japanese draughtsman, 58

---- painters, 36

Juno, 56

Jupiter, 56

Kalliades, 44

Kantharos, 16

---- at Brussels, 54

Kerameikos, 2, 12, 47

Kimon of Kleonai, 74

Klazomenai, 60

Klein, 8

Kleomenes, son of Nikias, 11

Klitias, 11

Kolchos, 11

Krater, 16, 30

Kylix, 16, 30, 31

Lange, Julius, 80

Learnæan hydra, 59

Lekythos, 16

Lippi, Madonna by, 55

Lucian, 2

Louvre Museum, 52, 53, 61, 64, 71, 76, 86

----, kylix at the, 54

Lydian modes, 78

Lydos, 11

Lysippos, 1

Mandrocles, 72

Mantegna, 50

Marathon, 70, 71

Martial subjects, 43

_Mater dolorosa_, 50

Medusa, 59

Megakles, 11

Melos, 2, 14

Memnon, King, 45

Menelaos, 32, 45

Metics, 10, 14

Michelangelo, 2

Miltiades, 72

Minos, 2, 51

Minotaur, 53

Mikon, 52

Munich Museum, 42

----, hydria at, 23, 25

Music, 78

Mycenæ, 2

Mycenæan age, 27

Mythological subjects, 43

Nature, 20, 21, 32, 50, 81

Nearchos, 18

Necropolis, 14

Neoptolemos, 62

Nereids and Peleus, 31

Nike Apteros, 71

Nikias, son of Hermokles, 11

Nikosthenes, 11, 44

Oinochoai, 16, 24

Onesimos, 71, 72

Oxide of iron, 26

Paidikos, 11, 75

Pamphaios, 11, 44

Panainos, 72

Panathenaic amphoræ, 16

---- festival, 47

Paris, 32, 45, 48

Parnes, 16

Parrhasios, 1, 20

Pausanias, 2, 3

Peithinos, 57

Peloponnesian war, 10

Pericles, 1, 83

Persian, 32

---- wars, 5, 52, 70

Phidias, 1, 20, 21

Phintias, 24

Phœnicians, 60

Pietà, 50

Pindar, 46

πίνακες, 32

Plato, 76

Pleïades, 5

Pliny, 2, 29

Plutarch, 10

Polygnotos, 1, 4, 20, 21, 49

Polykleitos, 1

Pompeii, 2, 3

Poseidon, 56

Praxiteles, 1

Protogenes, 29

Puvis de Chavannes, 3

Raphael, 3, 4

Renan, 85

Rhodes, 14

Riesner, 34

Robert, Carl, 63

Roman houses, 2

Ruvo, 23

Salamis, battle of, 70

Scythian colonies, 15

Sicily, 14

Silenus mask, 23

Sikanos, 11

Sikelos, 11

Skyphos, 17

Skythes, 11

Smikros, 11, 18

Solon, 10

Sophocles, 46, 61

Subjects of daily life, 43

Terracotta tablets, 23

Theseus, adventures of, 51

---- and the Minotaur, 31

_Thetis, Rape of_, 54

Thracian Chersonese, 14

Thrax, 11

Tiryns, 2

Titus, 2

Trade mark, 16

Trojan horse, 70

---- war, 45, 47, 62

Troïlos, 67

Tyrrhenian Sea, 14

Ulysses, 50, 62

Urbino, 4

Van der Weyden, Roger, 50

Van Eyck, 82

Venus of Melos, 85

Vienna Museum, kylix, 61, 67

Vinci, Leonardo da, 59, 85

Volsinii, 16

Woltmann, 3

Xerxes, 71

Zeuxis, 4, 20

PRINTED AT THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND 11 YOUNG STREET.

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Transcriber’s note:

Punctuation, hyphenation of individual compound words, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not changed. The book’s hyphenation patterns were inconsistent.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unpaired quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left unpaired.

Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to the corresponding illustrations.

The index was not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references.

Page xiv: “Wiener Vorlegeblätten” should be “Wiener Vorlegeblätter”.

Page 87: “Ephéméris archoléogique d’Athènes” should be “Ephéméris archéologique d’Athènes”.