OF THE FINE ARTS. 



XI 



miracles of art. Gods were wrought in marble, in 

 ivory, and in gold, and pilgrims and worshippers 

 approached, rather to behold the majestic beauty 

 of Minerva, or the stern sublimity of Jupiter, 

 than to wonder at the structure which contained 

 them. 



Let no one, however, suppose that I am in- 

 sensible to the merits of the Grecian architecture ; 

 if it failed to rise with its sister arts, it was from 

 no want of genius in those who professed it, but 

 rather its own character, which limits it and con- 

 fines it more to the eye than to the mind. A 

 little was taken from the durability discernible 

 in the Egyptian works, and more was added in 

 the matter of elegance ; much that was heavy 

 was avoided ; columns were shaped by science, 

 and with some reference to the appearance of 

 the structure they had to support ; capitals were 

 rendered more airy and graceful, and those 

 enormous rocky roofings were dispensed with in 

 which the architects of the Nile excelled. Nor 

 was this all ; ingenious men divided architecture 

 into degrees or orders ; one represented sim- 

 plicity and strength ; another united simplicity 

 with elegance ; a third added lightness and 

 beauty ; and a fourth preserving truth of propor- 

 tion and unity of combination, loaded itself with 

 ornament, and carried the florid as far as Grecian 

 simplicity pennitted. Much was gained, and 

 something lost, by these changes. While archi- 

 tecture assimilated itself more to the wants of 

 man, and descended from the gigantic and the 

 stupendous to the graceful and the serviceable, 

 the artists who wrought the change seem to have 

 sacrificed durability to beauty. Such frail ma- 

 terials as the forests present were scorned by the 

 architects of the Pharaohs ; they knew that wood 

 must soon yield to time, if it succeeded in escap- 

 ing fire, and with perhaps the terrors of invaders 

 before their eyes, they employed no perishable 

 materials, but made use of enormous slabs of 

 stone, on which fire could take no hold, and 

 which the hurried efforts of enemies could not 

 overturn. The Greek architects had either more 

 faith in the durability of their materials, or the 

 stability of their empire. Less massive struc- 

 tures, and roofs of polished cedar, plated over 

 with marble, no doubt were pleasing to the sight, 

 and when adorned with statues of gods, and 

 pictures of noble actions, could not fail to pro- 

 duce a strong effect on the mind. Yet to those 

 who reflected upon the vicissitudes of nations, the 

 whole must have appeared unsubstantial, nay, 

 shadowy. The roofs could not fail in time to 

 yield to the influence of the elements, and when 

 the frail covering was injured or swept away, the 

 rain would descend without obstruction into the 



walls, and sap the vigour of the cement, and 

 loosen and destroy the firmest masonry. This 

 is no visionary fear ; it has all come to pass ; the 

 enemies of Greece prevailed ; her statues of 

 ivory and gold tempted the spoiler by the rich- 

 ness of the materials ; her groups of marble lured 

 the nlore tasteful of the conquerors, and when her 

 gods were gone and her strength had decayed- 

 the roofs of her magnificent temples were ne- 

 glected, and behold the difference of the 

 architecture of Egypt and Greece ; many of the 

 national buildings of the former are still unbroken 

 and entire ; none of the structures of the latter 

 exist in a complete state, though raised a 

 thousand years perhaps after the other, they have 

 sunk gradually to ruin, and will soon exist only 

 in the labours of the draughtsman and the en- 

 graver. 



But the architecture of Greece may be called 

 immortal, compared to the brief existence which 

 time allotted to her noble paintings, the fame 

 of which has filled the world. He who works in 

 marble or granite may have some chance of sur- 

 viving in his productions for thousands of years ; 

 but he who commits his fancies to fine colours, 

 spread out upon wood or cloth, cannot hope to 

 live visibly for more than a few centuries. 

 " How long," said Napoleon, to the artist Da- 

 vid, " will a picture last ?" " For some five 

 hundred years, Sire," was the answer. " Bah !" 

 exclaimed the Emperor, " a fine immortality !" 

 That the whole peninsula of Greece, with her 

 numerous isles, and colonies in Asia, were filled 

 with pictures of the highest excellence, we have 

 the testimony of poets, historians, and travellers. 

 Their descriptions are generally rapturous, 

 rather than particular ; they dwell more upon the 

 effect, than the means by which that effect was 

 produced, and though they trace architecture and 

 sculpture to the banks of the Nile, they have been 

 less explicit with painting, and left us rather to 

 consider it as a direct emanation of Grecian 

 genius, than a light brought from a far land. 

 Nor is its parentage of much moment. The idea 

 only could come from the Nile : there painting 

 was in a state rude and uncouth, though splendid 

 enough in its colours : the human form had the 

 rigidity of a corpse ; and instead of natural ex- 

 pression and agreeable light and shade, all was 

 darkly undefined, or brightly splashed with costly 

 hues, like the landscapes on a Chinese vase. 



Of the state of painting, in the earlier days of 

 Greece, we can give no satisfactory account : we 

 may safely surmise, however, that it marched 

 side by side with sculpture, from rudeness to 

 beauty, and soon freed itself from the bounds into 

 which architecture threatened to confine it. If 



