II.

In the previous chapter we have critically considered the text of Pliny

bearing upon the question whether the ancient Greeks and Romans were

acquainted with the art of casting. Let us now proceed to some general

considerations as to the probability that this art was known and

practiced by them.

In the first place, the distinction between modeling and casting must

be constantly kept in mind, and care must be taken not to confound

the two totally different terms “mould” and “model.” That gypsum was

used in modeling there can be no doubt, and it is quite possible that

it may have been used to fill prepared moulds of stone, terra cotta,

or other materials for the making of ectypa. There is indeed no proof

of this; but as we know that moulds were made and cut in stone, into

which clay was pressed, to be then withdrawn and baked for ectypa with

which to adorn houses, so also it is possible that gypsum may have

been used for this purpose. This, however, is merely a supposition,

and the fact that none of them have ever been found in plaster renders

it highly improbable. In these ectypa of clay, as well as in the

impressions taken from them, there are no indications of anything like

what we call a piece-mould, composed of many sections; and whenever

there are under-cuttings in the ectypa, which could not be withdrawn

from the mould and which would fasten them into it, these parts of the

ectypa are invariably worked by hand. For instance, in the collection

of Mr. Fol in Rome there are several terra cotta figures of low relief

evidently stamped from a mould, which are appliqué, or fastened

subsequently to the cista of which they form a part. The sutures under

each figure are still visible, but they are all corrected and worked

by hand after being withdrawn, and have evidently suffered in being

removed from the mould. In the same collection there are several

specimens of plaster reliefs, with such deep under-cuttings that they

could not have been withdrawn from a single piece-mould; but all these

under-cuttings are freely worked by hand, showing plainly that they

were not in the stamp or mould; and it is also clear that they were

afterwards worked over with fluid plaster, the edges and flats of

which have not been rounded, but left as it was freely laid on by hand.

It is probable that in these cases plaster was pressed into a mould in

the same manner as clay, and afterwards worked up and finished. But the

slightest examination will show clearly that if a mould was employed to

give a general form to them, it certainly was not a piece-mould; and

that they are not castings in the modern sense of the word, but only

rude stamps.

These are the only specimens, however, so far as we are aware, of

any such use of plaster for low-relief ornaments,—the ectypa which

have been preserved to us being invariably of baked clay. If plaster

had been used for this purpose, we should expect to find casts in the

interior of houses or tombs, where they would be protected from the

weather, and where they could be easily introduced into the walls and

ceilings. But though elaborately ornamented designs in relief, worked

in gypsum, are to be found still fresh and uninjured on the ancient

tombs and baths, all of them were freely and rapidly modeled by hand

while the gypsum was still fresh and plastic, and not a single specimen

of cast plaster has been found. It is but a few years since the tombs

in the Via Latina were opened, and in two of them the ceilings, divided

into compartments, were covered with rich and fantastic designs of

flowers, fruit, arabesques, groups of imaginary animals, sea-nymphs,

and human figures; the designs varying in each compartment, and all

modeled in the plaster with remarkable vivacity and spirit: not one

of them was cast. So in the houses at Pompeii, not a vestige of a

figure or ornament cast in plaster has ever been found,—nor a mould in

plaster; and when one considers that, being completely protected, they

would naturally have survived as well as other far more fragile and

destructible objects which have been preserved, the evidence is almost

absolute that they never could have existed there. If so, it is in the

highest degree probable that they existed nowhere. It would seem plain,

then, that even the first, simplest, and most natural processes of

casting in gypsum were unknown to the ancients, for no other process is

so easy and simple as to fill a flat mould with plaster and then remove

it, provided there are no under-cuttings. In doing this, however, there

is a slight practical difficulty if the mould is in one piece, as the

least under-cutting would render it impossible to remove the cast

without injury or breakage. Indeed, though there were no under-cutting,

it would at least be very difficult to remove the plaster from a mould

in one piece. Clay would be removed with far greater ease because of

its pliancy, and any cracks or imperfections could be at once remedied;

add to this that baked clay is one of the most enduring of materials,

and we have the probable reasons why the ancients used it instead of

gypsum. But whatever may have been their reasons, it is perfectly

clear that they did use clay; and we have no evidence that they ever

used plaster.

This use of gypsum to take impressions from flat moulds is suggested

by Theophrastus, it would seem, in his treatise on mineralogy,[18]

in which he says that plaster “seems better than other materials to

receive impressions.” The term ἀπόμαγμα means nothing more than an

impression, such as one makes in wax from a seal ring, and such as is

common still in plaster; it is to this use that he seems to refer. He

does not say, however, that gypsum was really put to this use; and if

it were, it would advance us little in our inquiry, since any material

which is soft will receive an impression, whether it be bread, pitch,

clay, wax, or any similar substance.

But the step from this simple process of stamping in a shallow mould

to casting from life or from the round is enormous. The difficulties

are multiplied a hundred-fold. It is no longer a simple operation,

but a nice and complicated one. The part to be cast must first be

oiled or soaped, then covered with plaster of about the consistency

of rich cream, then divided into sections while the material is still

tender, so as to enable the mould to be withdrawn part by part without

breakage, then allowed to set, then removed, oiled or soaped on the

interior surface, the parts all properly replaced, fluid plaster poured

into the mould,—and finally, after the cast is set, the mould must be

carefully removed by a hammer and chisel. This is an elaborate process

as applied to an arm or a hand, but when applied to a living face it

is not only difficult but disagreeable, and unless due care be used it

may be dangerous; and after all a cast from the face is hard, forced,

and unnatural in its character and impression, however skillfully it

may be done, and can only serve the sculptor as the basis of his work.

Yet if the common interpretation of the passage in Pliny be accurate,

this is the process which was invented and practiced by Lysistratus,

and by means of which he made portraits. _Credat Judæus!_ With all our

knowledge and practice, we do not find this to answer in our own time.

But to cast from a statue in clay is still more difficult and

complicated; there the extremest care and nicety are required in making

the proper divisions, in extracting the clay and irons, recommitting

the sections, and breaking off the outer shell of the mould. In fact,

the modern process is so complicated that no one can see it without

wondering how it ever came to be so thought out and perfected, or

without being convinced that it must have been slowly arrived at by

many steps and many failures.

That statues were modeled in plaster by the ancients there is no doubt.

Pausanias mentions several;[19] and Spartianus[20] also speaks of

“Three Victories” in plaster, with palms in their hands, erected at

one of the games,—and says that on one of the days of the Circensian

games when according to common custom they were erected, the central

one on which the name of Severus was inscribed, and which bore a globe,

was thrown down by a gust of wind from the podium, and that another

bearing the name of Geta on it also fell and was shattered to pieces.

Firmicus[21] also relates that after Zagreus, son of Jupiter, was slain

by the Titans, his body was cut to pieces and thrown into a cauldron,

from which Minerva rescued the heart and carried it to Jupiter. He then

gave it to Semele, who resuscitated Zagreus, and Jupiter afterwards

preserved his likeness in plaster,—“Ex gypso plastico opere perfecit.”

Mr. Perkins cites all these instances, and says: “They authorize us

to believe that the Greeks and Romans practiced casting in plaster.”

But in saying this he altogether overlooks the very plain distinction

between the two entirely different operations of casting and modeling.

We know that they modeled in plaster; the only question is whether they

_cast_ in that material. The term for casting, as we have stated, was

“fundere,” and is always used when real casting in brass or other metal

is spoken of; but nowhere is the term “fundere” applied to any work

in gypsum. “Ars fundendi æro” is constantly spoken of,—“ars fundendi

gypso” never. Besides, the very phrase “ex gypso plastico opere

perfecit” is at variance with casting. The words “plastico” and “opere”

mean modeling, and nothing else.

But throughout this paper by Mr. Perkins these two completely distinct

processes are constantly confounded with each other. It suffices for

him to find a statement in an ancient writer that anything is made in

plaster, or even an allusion to a plaster statue, and at once he jumps

to the conclusion that the statue was necessarily cast, and not shapen

or modeled.

“It remains for us now,” he says, “to establish by undeniable proof

how little foundation there is for the opinion of those who pretend

that the ancients did not make use of plaster for casting, supporting

their opinion on the complete absence of statues and statuettes

in plaster, or fragments of any kind found in excavations, when

nevertheless thousands of objects of the frailest kind are found, such

as stuccoes, vases, terra cotta, glass, wax heads, etc. If it be true

that the inclemencies of weather and atmospheric agents could cause

the disappearance of plaster saturated with humidity, or placed in

conditions favorable to its destruction, it does not necessarily follow

that these conditions always reproduce themselves. It suffices, to

convince one’s self of this, to _glance at the plates_ 67, 76, 85, in

the magnificent work published at St. Petersburg on the antiquities of

the Cimmerian Bosphorus. These plates represent plasters preserved in

the Museum of the Hermitage, coming from a tomb on Mount Mithridates

opened in 1832, and from another tomb at Kertch excavated in 1843.

These plasters date back to the fourth century before our era.[22]

Adorned with various colors and executed in relief, they were destined

to be attached as ornaments to other objects, such as sarcophagi,

pilasters, walls, etc.”

Well! what if they were? Is this any proof that they were cast? Mr.

Perkins is easily satisfied, if he is assured of this fact by looking

at engraved plates. Are they all of the same size? Are they identical,

as they would be if they were cast from the same mould, or are they

like all other plaster and stucco work of the ancients of which we are

cognizant,—ornaments modeled by hand? or are they pressures from a

flat, shallow mould, like the ectypa? If the latter, they are almost

unique; and so far they prove that the artists who made them understood

this first and simplest process of casting, or rather of stamping.

But from plates it would be impossible to determine this fact, and

Mr. Perkins gives us no reason to think they are unlike all the other

ancient stucco work. He does not profess to have seen and examined them

for himself; at all events, one fact is clear, that these, if they are

in plaster, are painted plaster.

In the British Museum there exist some of these so-called casts in

plaster from Cyrenaica and from Kertch. Undoubtedly they are nearer to

being true casts than anything else which has as yet been discovered;

but, after all, a careful examination of them will show that they are

not casts in the legitimate sense of the word, but merely stamps for

a mould, and fashioned in precisely the same way that was employed in

making the hollow terra cottas. To make these, a very rude stamp was

executed, with no under-cuttings of any kind, everything being filled

up which could impede the removal of the clay, which was pressed into

the stamp, then carefully extracted again and finished by hand. All

the terra cotta reliefs called ectypa were made in this way, and some

of the moulds still exist,—not one of them, however, in plaster. The

same process was employed to make some of the figures of terra cotta

in the round, by making a mould of two pieces divided in the middle,

of a very generalized form, with no under-cuttings. Into each of these

moulds a quantity of clay was squeezed; the two parts were then removed

carefully, and joined together. A general form was thus obtained, and

the artist proceeded to model and to finish it with more or less care.

In this way not only ectypa were made in clay and afterwards baked, but

also small flat ornaments which were afterwards appliqué, or fastened

on to flat or round surfaces,—as on to cista. This is the process by

which fragments of the figures from Cyrenaica and Kertch in the British

Museum were made. The junction of the two halves is clear. The work is

very rude; there are no under-cuttings; everything is filled up which

would in the least impede the withdrawal of the material from the

stamp. There is, for instance, an arm and hand, with the interstices

of the fingers quite filled up. But what clearly proves that these

figures were not cast, as distinguished from stamped, is the head. Here

the hair being adorned with a wreath with under-cuttings, it could not

be withdrawn from the stamp without destroying it, and it is entirely

appliqué, or worked on to the head after it was removed. Had it been

cast, there would have been no such difficulty. Nor, again, is it quite

clear that the material of these figures is pure gypsum. It would

rather seem to be a mixture of gypsum with white clay, or argilla, to

give it flexibility, and enable it to be withdrawn from the mould.

Indeed, it may here be observed that it is in every way probable that

the gypsum used by the ancients in modeling and ornamental work was

differently prepared from that which we now use, and was mixed with

some material which prevented it from setting rapidly, and gave it

strength, ductility, and plasticity. Otherwise it is difficult to see

how such works as those in the tombs of the Via Latina, which no one

can doubt are modeled by hand, could have been executed with at once

so much finish and freedom. Gypsum, as we use it, would set too soon to

enable us to work it in such a manner. In the tombs of the Via Latina

which were lately discovered, it is worked as freely as if it were

clay, and was plainly so prepared as to enable the artist to take his

own time in modeling, without fear of its hardening—or, as we call it,

setting—immediately.

This, then, is nothing new. It is not casting, and these figures are

not casts. They are stamps, just like the ectypa of terra cotta. We

know that κοροκόσμια or dolls were anciently made in this way of wax

and gypsum, or of terra cotta; and these are κοροκόσμια.

To infer from the fact that the Greeks knew and practiced the art

of pressing into shallow moulds of stone, without under-cuttings,

either clay, pitch, wax, or plaster, that they also understood and

practiced the art of making moulds and casts from life or from the

round is utterly unwarrantable. Nothing is more simple than the one

art, while the other is extremely complex. The one is merely like

making an impression from a seal, which would naturally suggest itself

to the first person who left the pressure of his foot in clay or mud;

the other requires various processes of calculation and invention.

In inventions it is not always or ordinarily the first step which

costs, but the subsequent and calculated steps. Centuries often elapse

between the first step and the second. A remarkable instance of this

is to be found in the history of the invention of printing. The first

steps to this wonderful art were taken by the ancient Romans; the

very process by which we now print was known and practiced by them;

but the application of it to the printing of books does not seem to

have occurred to their minds. It cannot, however, but appear most

extraordinary that the idea of printing should not have occurred to

them when we consider the facts of the case. Pliny relates that Cato

published a book containing portraits of distinguished persons of his

time, of which there were many copies; and so far as we can conjecture,

these copies were probably stamped on parchment or some such material,

and afterwards colored. Putting this together with the fact that

ancient bricks have been lately found in Rome with names and numbers

stamped upon them by means of movable types, so that the numbers or

letters could be arranged at will, we might absolutely state that the

ancient Romans understood and practiced the art of printing. They

certainly did print on their brick; they probably stamped the portraits

of cuts in their books,—but so far as we know they never united the

processes, and never stamped a book with movable types. Adopting Mr.

Perkins’s method of argument, we might declare, however, that the mere

fact that none of these printed books have ever come down to us was

entirely inconclusive, since these books might have utterly perished;

while we have the clearest proof that they did print with movable

types on brick, and therefore it is plain that they invented printing.

The step from one of these processes to the other does indeed seem

so evident, so natural, almost so inevitable, that we are puzzled to

imagine how they could ever have overlooked it. Yet there is little

doubt that they did. But from the simple fact of stamping in clay

or plaster to the complex process of making moulds and casts in the

round requires not one step but many, and each one of them requires

calculation and invention. Indeed, if the art were now to be lost, it

would be easy to conceive that centuries might pass before it would be

reinvented.

In the collection of Mr. Fol of Rome, of which we have heretofore

spoken, there are some interesting fragments of ancient statuettes in

the round, very carefully finished in plaster, being the leg and thigh

of one, and the half-breast and a portion of the torso of another.

These are as carefully finished as if they were in marble, but they

are elaborately worked by hand in the plaster, and not cast. These

are exceedingly interesting as showing the method of the ancients

in working in plaster, and they clearly illustrate the process of

Lysistratus as described by Pliny,—the only difference being that the

surface is of gypsum and not of wax, or color. The interior or core

of these fragments, which is solid, is of lime, or a coarse kind of

gypsum, and over the surface of this core is spread a thin coating

of fine gypsum, which has been elaborately worked and smoothed on

while it was fluid. The touches and creases on the surface are those

of a modeler’s hand and stick, and it differs in every way from a

cast. It is therefore plain that the artist first made a core, or

rough “imaginem” or “formam,” of coarse gypsum, and that he improved,

emended, and finished the surface, not by means of “cera infusa in eam

formam gypsi,” but of gypsum spread over it,—just as Lysistratus did.

The language of Pliny is an exact description of this process.

Again, a strong negative indication that gypsum was not used for

casting, or indeed to any extent in modeling, is to be found in the

chapter by Pliny on gypsum. “Its use is,” he says, “to whitewash

[or parget], and to make small figures to ornament houses, and for

wreaths.” He also adds that it is a good medicine for pains in the

stomach; but he entirely omits to mention that it was ever used for

casting. Is it possible to believe that if it were so used he would

not have alluded even to such a fact? Would it be conceivable that

at the present day a chapter could be written on plaster of Paris,

omitting its employment for the purpose of casting? After giving us

this enumeration of the uses to which gypsum is applied, Pliny goes on

to describe its nature, tell where it is found, and name the different

kinds; and he concludes with no allusion to any other use than what he

has previously stated.

Again, Pliny in the chapter on Lysistratus—which it must be remembered

is devoted to modeling—mentions one fact which seems to be inconsistent

with any knowledge at that time of casting. Arcesilaus, he says,

modeled a drinking-cup or mixing-bowl in plaster, which he sold to

Octavius, a Roman knight,[23] for a talent (£250). It is impossible to

believe that such an enormous price would have been given for a mere

plaster bowl. If the process of casting from it was then understood,

Arcesilaus might have repeated it in cast a thousand times, and the

original and the cast being in the same material, one would have been

quite as good as the other, if retouched. Yet he seems only to have

made one, and to have asked a talent for that. Again, Lucullus made a

contract with this same artist to model for him in plaster a statue of

Fabatus, for which he agreed to pay him no less than 60,000 sesterces,

or £530.

It is worth noting, too, as a curious fact, that just at the very

time when Lysistratus is supposed to have invented plaster-casting,

the art of brass-casting began to decline in character and style, and

soon after seems to have died out and been lost; at all events, Pliny

tells us that soon after the 120th Olympiad the art perished,—“cessavit

deinde ars.” And as Lysistratus lived only about twenty-five years

previously, it would be singular to find one of these arts dying out

just as the other was being developed.

Mr. Perkins also thinks it valuable to tell us that Canova was of

opinion that the sculptors of antiquity made finished sketches, and

then by means of proportional compasses enlarged them and took points

on the marble; and he adds, “We should weigh these words of a great

sculptor who devoted himself to the most minute researches on this

subject, as well as to everything that had relation to the fine arts.”

We agree that we should weigh the words of this distinguished sculptor,

though we were not aware before that he was a profound archæologist,

or had made minute researches on this subject. But how in any way does

this tend to prove that the ancient Greeks and Romans knew how to cast

in plaster? We are equally unable to see the precise bearing on this

question of the fact also stated by him, that the drill is supposed by

some to have been invented by Callimachus, and by others to have been

used long before; or that the pointing of a statue was probably known

to the Greeks, and certainly to the Romans.

Yet in a certain way the opinion of Canova that the ancients made small

sketches, and by proportional compasses transferred their proportions,

measures, and general forms to their large works, has an argumentative

relation to the subject different from what Mr. Perkins probably

supposed. This opinion is undoubtedly well founded, and accepting it

as such, what does it indicate? That the process of casting in plaster

was known to the ancients? By no means. So far as it goes, it proves

diametrically the opposite,—as Mr. Perkins might have seen, had he

weighed the words of this great sculptor.

In fact, this leads us to one of the strongest arguments against the

opinion apparently advocated by Mr. Perkins. Had the ancients known

how to cast in plaster from the model, as they knew how to cast in

bronze, this process of making small statuettes and enlarging therefrom

would have been quite unnecessary. They would thus have escaped the

incorrectness which is unavoidable in such a process, by at once making

their models of full size, and completely finishing them in clay or

other plastic material before transferring them to the marble. Their

process probably was to make a small statuette in clay, and then bake

it or dry it. But in transferring proportionally this small figure

into a large one, an objection occurs. Defects scarcely perceptible in

a small figure become gross defects when multiplied into a large one.

Not only variations of one eighth of an inch more or less in small

particulars in a figure a foot high would alter entirely the relative

proportions of a figure eight feet high, but other inaccuracies

inevitably occurring in enlarging by proportional compasses would

increase these disproportions, so that the increased figure would

be invariably untrue in its effect and in its measures. Now this is

precisely what is apparent to any one who carefully studies the antique

statues. Even in works showing the highest artistic knowledge and

skill, the want of correspondence of measures and proportions between

the two sides of the figure is very manifest; and the larger they are

the more this is exhibited. Thus, to take one of the highest examples,

in the Theseus we find astonishing knowledge and artistic skill in

treatment, beside disagreements of measurement in corresponding parts,

which are evidently the result of the defective mechanical process

of enlargement. The legs are beautifully modeled, but of unequal

length,—one being much longer in the thigh than the other. The same

observation is true of the clavicle, and indeed throughout the statue.

Now even an inferior artist would have seen and avoided these mistakes

in modeling the statue full size, but the defect would be easily passed

over by the eye in the small sketch, particularly if the statuette were

merely a sketch, as was in all probability the usual case. It would

be difficult to believe that an artist with the mastery shown in this

statue would not have seen and corrected these mistakes, had the model

of this figure been of the same size. This of course he perceived after

the points were taken in the marble and the work was roughed out, but

then it was too late to remedy them. This difficulty he and all other

artists must constantly have felt. The question was how to avoid it.

Nothing could have been more simple, if the modern process of casting

in plaster from the clay model had been known to them. They would

simply have modeled the statue in clay of its full size, cast it in

plaster, and been sure of its exact proportions and measures.

Let us take one step further. Had they understood the modern process

of casting in plaster from the clay or from a statue, they could from

the cast have multiplied in marble the same statue any number of

times, identically or with such minute differences as few eyes could

perceive. The repliche in a modern sculptor’s studio are scarcely

to be distinguished from each other, and there would have been no

difficulty in doing the same thing in an ancient sculptor’s studio.

What is the fact known? So far from this being the case, not only are

there comparatively very few repliche even of the most famous statues,

for which there would necessarily be a great demand, but even in the

various repliche which we have there are not only no two which approach

to identity either in attitude or in size, but one can scarcely say of

any of them that the artist had more at best than a vivid recollection

of the original or of some other replica, much less that he had it

before him to copy even by eye. Often the attitude is changed, as well

as the size and proportions; sometimes the action is reversed; and in

all cases such differences exist as it is impossible that the clumsiest

workman could have made with a cast of the original before him. Nor

do we read or hear of any copies in our sense of copy; that is, exact

reproduction of any of the great works of the great sculptors. Look,

for instance, at the Venus of the Capitol and the Venus de Medici

and the St. Petersburg Venus; they are all repliche of the renowned

statue by Praxiteles, but beyond the general attitude there is no

resemblance, not so much as any clever artist of to-day could make

from mere recollection. Look again at the portrait busts; how many are

there of Marcus Aurelius, Octavius Cæsar, and Lucius Verus!—and no two

of them approaching identity. Of the thousands of statues which have

been excavated, no two are exact copies from the same model. There is

at best nothing more than a family resemblance among those which are

most alike. Would this be possible, if the ancients knew and practiced

the art of casting in plaster as we do? It would seem to be utterly

impossible, or at least improbable to the highest degree.

Again, why should not the great artists themselves, or their scholars,

have made repliche of their famous statues? Nothing would have been

easier had there been any casts from them. They were greatly coveted,

and the prices paid for the original works were enormous,—so enormous

that the largest prices of our day shrink into insignificance beside

them. For the famous nude Venus by Praxiteles, Athens, in her extreme

desire to possess it, offered in exchange to pay the whole public

debt of the state to which it belonged. This offer, however, was

peremptorily refused. Yet what could have been more easy, had a cast

of it been in existence, or had they known how to make one, than for

Praxiteles or his scholars to have made an exact replica, fully equal

to the original or even superior to it, with additional touches of the

master’s hand? That this was never done, or hinted at, proves that, the

statue once having passed out of the artist’s hands, he could repeat

it from memory only by aid of his sketch; and this would not only have

cost him as much labor as making a new statue, but would in no sense

have been identical. Again, is it to be supposed that if Polyclitus had

an absolute cast of his life-size statue of the Doryphoros which would

have enabled him to repeat it with exactness, the original would have

commanded such a price as one hundred talents, or £25,000? Or is it

possible to suppose that Arcesilaus would have received a gold talent

(£250) for a plaster bowl which could have been repeated by casting,

for almost nothing? It was because it was modeled, and the modern

process of casting in a piece-mould was unknown, that it commanded such

a price. Here making a rude stamp without under-cuttings would not

suffice. The _finesse_ of the work could not be given, and the work

would have been destroyed or greatly injured in the attempt.

If it be a fact that the Greeks and Romans knew this process, one would

naturally expect to find at least some fragments of casts or moulds

in plaster of their great works,—as for instance of their small and

exquisite Corinthian bronzes, if not of their large figures. But, so

far as we are aware, nothing of the kind has ever been found. The

whole city of Pompeii in the height of its luxury was buried under

a fall of ashes, which for many long centuries preserved the most

refined, fragile, and delicate utensils and works of art; and it is

but a few years since that we removed these ashes and explored its

houses and rooms which had been untouched since that fatal calamity

befell them of which Pliny gives us so vivid an account. It is on the

statements of the younger Pliny himself that those rely who claim

that the ancients knew and practiced casting in plaster. Long before

his day, then, this art had been invented; and we should naturally

expect to find some specimens of it in this city of luxury, among its

pictures, its vases, its statues, and its glass. But in all Pompeii

there has not been found a vestige of a casting in plaster. Its

stuccoes still remain, the bas-reliefs worked in plaster on its walls

are still uninjured, its paintings are still fresh, its vases unbroken,

its household utensils perfect. Hermetically sealed up under that

mound of ashes, there was nothing to injure a cast in any house, if it

existed. But there is absolutely nothing of the kind. Yet this was a

people devoted to art, and whose houses were filled with knick-knacks

of every kind. We find the sculptor’s studio, but there is not a cast

in it, nor is there the shop of a caster. It is plain, therefore, that

there was not a cast in Pompeii.

But if anywhere there were casts from the round there were also

piece-moulds from the round. Where are they? Has any person ever

heard of one? Now a hollow cast is comparatively a fragile object; but

a plaster mould, saturated as it must be with oil, is anything but a

fragile object. Sheltered from the inclemencies of storm and rain, it

would last for thousands of years, and would even resist a century of

exposure to the weather of Italy. But not underground nor aboveground

anywhere has such a thing been found. Whatever moulds have been found

are fit only for mere stamping. They are extremely rude, without

under-cuttings, and seem merely to give a general shape. They are not

cast upon anything, but worked out by hand, and are not in plaster.

They are all small; nothing ever has been found which is either a

mould, or a cast from life, or from a statue, or from a vase or bowl,

or any careful work of art.

An ancient manufactory of terra cotta has been lately discovered and

unearthed at Arezzo in Tuscany, and a large number of moulds was

found, taken apparently from vases executed originally on some hard

metal, probably in silver. The figures on these moulds are of the most

exquisite design and execution, and for beauty and delicacy of finish

exceed anything which remains to us of Greek or Etruscan art. There

are no under-cuttings, and the relief is so low and flat as to yield

an impression scarcely, if at all, higher than a seal or intaglio.

All these moulds, however, are in terra cotta. Not one is in plaster,

though in this material they could have been executed more easily

and exactly, and could have been reproduced in the original size. Of

course, first taken, as they were, in soft clay, then baked, they of

necessity shrank in size and were subject to warping and cracking, all

which defects would have been avoided had they been made in plaster.

All this would indicate that the use of plaster in making moulds was

not practiced at that period, even in such a simple operation as this.

In face of this we must say we do not agree with Mr. Perkins when

he thinks he “establishes by undeniable proof how little founded is

the opinion of those who pretend that the ancients did not practice

casting in plaster,—sustaining it by the complete absence of statues

and statuettes of plaster or fragments of any kind in the excavations,

when nevertheless thousands of objects are found of the most fragile

nature;” and especially when the undeniable proof which he offers is

the existence of some works and arabesque ornaments in plaster found

at Kertch, and supposed to belong to the fourth century before the

Christian era, and which apparently he has never seen. On the contrary,

we should like to know how he explains the fact that no indubitable

ancient moulds or castings have ever been found.

But Mr. Perkins does not seem to reason beyond his texts. He does not

discuss the probabilities of the case; he does not undertake to account

for, or to harmonize with his view, the great fact that nothing has

been found of ancient art cast in plaster. Outside of what is written

in books he does not venture. He does not even seem to have a clear

opinion of his own. He says, “Sur ce point [casting in plaster] les

textes nous laissent dans les ténèbres. Faut-il s’en étonner? Non!

Les auteurs classiques trompent notre curiosité sur des choses d’un

bien autre intent. Que nous disent-ils des vases peints, dont les

musées de l’Europe regorgent? Rien,” etc. Well, if the texts leave us

in darkness, are we then to know nothing and to think nothing? Are we

not to exercise our minds, and if a doubtful text seems to indicate

a fact utterly at variance with our reason and with the facts we

know, are we to treat that text as a fetich, and bow down and worship

it, because it is written in a book? Are we to endeavor to wrench

everything into harmony with it? Or, if it will not agree with facts

of which there is no doubt, are we not rather to sacrifice the text

than our own reason? And especially, are we to pay such reverence to

a doubtful text of Pliny, the most careless of writers, the least

accurate of archæologists? As to the painted vases, no argument or

ancient texts are needed; there is no question in respect to them;

they existed in great numbers; but in respect to casting in plaster

there is nothing but texts to depend upon. Nay more, there is only one

passage in any ancient author, so far as I am aware, that _seems_ to

assert the existence of this process; and the question is as to the

meaning of this very ambiguous passage. If it means what Mr. Perkins

supposes, where are the moulds; where are the casts; where are the

finished likenesses; where is there anything, in a word, to support the

statements of Pliny, as thus interpreted? Does it not seem amazing that

they should all have totally disappeared?

That the text of Pliny, on which all rests, does not mean what it

is supposed to mean by Mr. Perkins, we have endeavored to show; but

at all events, since it is admitted to be most obscure and scarcely

intelligible, it would be better to throw the text overboard, if

it is in conflict with all we know and is improbable in itself,

particularly when we take into consideration the corrupt condition

of the entire text of Pliny. Dr. Brunn, who is certainly an able and

learned archæologist, does not hesitate to reject a portion of this

very text, from the words “idem et de signis effigiem exprimere,” as

an interpolation; and there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who

carefully examines it that this entire passage is full of confusion of

ideas and statements.

Mr. Perkins endeavors to strengthen his position, and also the text of

Pliny as he understands it, by a citation from the “Tragic Jupiter” of

Lucian, in which the statue of Hermes complains that he is spotted by

the pitch with which the sculptors cover his limbs every day, “afin

de les reproduire,” he gratuitously adds, with no authority in the

text for such a statement; and _apropos_ of this he tells us that one

may “model with pitch mixed with marble dust or brick.” He adds: “It

is what the Italians call ‘ciment,’ and they employ it for the most

delicate parts of the mould. It is sufficient in order to keep it in a

malleable state to set the piece on which one is working near the fire,

or to soften it from time to time in a bath of hot water.” “Now this

information,” he continues, “which we owe to one of the most eminent

and learned artists of our age, is very precious, since it gives us

the real meaning of the passage in Lucian.” This taken in connection

with a passage in Apollodorus representing Dædalus making a statue to

Hercules ἐν πίσσῃ or ἐν πίσῃ—the word is doubtful—induces Mr. Perkins

“to conclude, first, that two centuries before the Christian era, pitch

was used, mixed without doubt with other substances, to cast statues

[mouler les statues]; second, that the passage in Lucian not only

contains one of those railleries of which the Voltaire of antiquity

was so prodigal, but leads us to suspect that it veils the indication

of one of the processes of casting.” That is, first he inclines to the

opinion that πίσσῃ (pitch) is a misprint for πίτυς (pine wood), and

that the statue made by Dædalus was in wood; and then he immediately

turns around, and thinks that it proves the existence of casting in

plaster. It cannot mean both; and the probability would seem to be that

he is wrong in both suppositions, and that Dædalus was only employed in

painting his statue in resin or wax.

The seriousness of this passage is more remarkable than its accuracy.

Who can the eminent and learned artist be who has given us this so

precious information?—“ce renseignement tres-précieux,”—which is known

to every humble caster in Europe,—though he is not quite correct in

the composition of what he says the Italians call “ciment.” He must

be a French artist who scorns the Italian language as being, in the

words of another of his countrymen, “rien que de mauvais Français.”

“Ciment” is not an Italian word, and “cimento” has a quite different

significance,—that of attempt or essay. The Italian casters call this

material “cera,” though it is not wax. But aside from this, let us

consider this passage from Lucian to which Mr. Perkins, following other

writers, refers us as showing that the process of casting in plaster

was known to the ancient Greeks.

The Ζεὺς Τραγῳδός of Lucian is a satire on the divinities of Greece,

and a council of them is called to deliberate on what should be done

in consequence of an assault upon their nature and power by Damis. The

gods are called upon, and a question arises as to the precedence they

should have, whether it should be according to the material of which

they are made,—of ivory, gold, bronze, stone, or clay,—or according to

the excellence of their workmanship and the skill of the artist; but

such confusion of claims is made that no precedence is finally allowed

to any one, and the question as to the reasons and arguments of Damis

and his opponent Timocles is discussed. While this is going on, a

figure is seen approaching which is thus described:—

“But who is this who comes in such haste [ὁ χαλκοῦς, ὁ εὔγραμμος, ὁ

εὐπερίγραφος, ὁ ἀρχαῖος τὴν ἀνάδεσιν τῆς κόμης], this bronze, this

beautifully chased or engraved, beautifully outlined, the archaic

in the arrangement of his hair [πίττης γοῦν ἀναπέπλησαι, ὁσημέραι

ἐκματτόμενος ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνδριαντοποιῶν]; he is clogged with pitch from

seals or impressions being daily taken from it by the sculptors.”