diaphragm in a state of muscular tension cannot exist side by side with
a large flabby abdomen. If a man’s body is to be beautiful, and if the
man himself is to be in perfect physical condition, the abdomen must be
reduced to the smallest possible dimensions and not overloaded with fat.
The size of the abdomen is increased by the absorption of large masses
of food, especially if they are of a gaseous and indigestible nature; it
is decreased if the amount of food taken is reduced and if the food
itself is rich in nutriment so that less bulk is required. Above all,
if the muscles of the abdomen and back are strengthened by a
carefully-designed system of exercises, they will take their share in
bearing the weight of the upper part of the body and will prevent it
from settling down, an inert mass, in the socket of the pelvis. As
things are now, our hip muscles have usually too much work to do and are
exaggeratedly developed, and an examination of any Greek athlete
statue--the Diadumenos will serve as one example of many--will show that
the Greek hip was much finer and slimmer than ours: it was more behind
the body than under it and a far greater freedom of movement was thereby
made possible.
An even more striking change will be seen in the muscles of the abdomen.
With us a young, well-proportioned man has usually a depression just
above the iliac ridge, and the iliac line descending from the hips to
the top of the legs makes only a slight inward curve. In the Greek body
we see a firm roll of flesh lying just above the iliac crest, the iliac
line running beneath it for a short distance inwards in a horizontal
direction, and then bending downwards at an obtuse or sometimes almost a
right-angle.
Of this plain fact two explanations are possible. Either the ancient
sculptors wilfully falsified their models’ contours in the interests of
ideal beauty, or else this difference between the ancient and modern
abdomen really did exist. The first explanation is highly improbable
considering the Greeks’ artistic conscience, and furthermore in their
statues of women no trace of this horizontal iliac line is ever
apparent. The only reasonable inference is that these muscles, which
with us are so undeveloped as to be invisible, were the result of the
constant physical training to which the Greek man, but not the Greek
woman, was habituated.
In an artistic sense there can be no doubt as to the excellent effect
which the ancient line produces. It gives proportion and an air of
solidity and greatly diminishes the superficial area of the abdomen. And
that it represented a real condition rather than an artistic ideal is a
very probable fact, for the statues of Greek athletes often represent
positions which for us with our weak abdomens are almost impossible of
attainment. One of the most perfect of all, Myron’s Diskobolos--the
young athlete throwing the diskos--seemed to Herbert Spencer ‘an
impossible contortion’; and after a close examination of its poise he
declared that at the next moment--if the action were continued--it would
fall upon its nose. It is quite possible that such a regrettable
accident would have been the result if our revered philosopher had
attempted to perform the movement, but the muscles of the Greek body,
properly trained and hardened, found in it no insuperable difficulty.
The movement that Myron represents is the swing back of the diskos. The
athlete has already taken his stance, and with left foot forward has
extended the diskos horizontally to the front in his right hand. Then
comes the decisive action: the whole weight of the body is transferred
to the right foot, whose toes grip the ground at full tension; the left
foot trails back, offering no resistance either to the pause or the
coming momentum; the body swings round upon the fixed pivot of the right
foot. The diskos held in the right hand comes downwards and backwards;
head and body turn with it; the next moment the body will swing round
again with a forward lift and the diskos will fly from the extended
hand. Whether the force of the throw relies entirely upon the lift of
the thighs and the swing of the body, or upon the arm alone, swinging
rapidly in a free shoulder socket, will depend upon the weight of the
diskos used. In either case it is the pause at the end of the backward
swing that the sculptor has fixed in the bronze.
Only in imagination can we see the actions by which the body has got
into this position and by which it will again recover its equilibrium.
It illustrates one of Lessing’s sayings in the _Laocoön_: ‘Of ever
changing nature the artist can use only a single moment and this from a
single point of view. And as his work is meant to be looked at not for
an instant but with long consideration, he must choose the most fruitful
moment, and the most fruitful point of view, that, to wit, which leaves
the power of imagination free.’
One of the greatest benefits that the ancient Greeks have bestowed upon
the modern world, if only we like to make use of it, is the standard of
bodily perfection they have bequeathed to us in the remains of their
sculpture. Just as Greek literature is eternally precious, not only for
itself but as a criterion of beauty, so Greek statuary supplies us with
visible proof of the power and grace to which the human body with proper
care and training can attain. Besides the Diskobolos we have an
admirable example of slender vigour in the Hermes of Praxiteles, of
athletic strength in the Hagias of Lysippus, of grave dignity in the
Charioteer of Delphi, of poise and balance in the Archers of the Ægina
pediment, and of what the Greeks considered perfect proportion in the
various copies--all unfortunately rather late and lifeless--of the
Doryphoros of Polycleitus, from which the sculptor himself worked out
his ideal canon.
Of examples of female beauty we have an equal wealth, and almost every
movement of the body may be illustrated from some extant statue. For
walking, we have the Victory of Pæonius, stepping freely forward with
her light linen robe blowing back against her girlish limbs, and the
more mature figure of the Victory of Samothrace. To some modern critics
both statues seem to be flying through the air, but the appearance of
winged motion is in reality simply due to the fact that they are walking
_correctly_, using about half the effort, and covering at each pace
nearly double the ground that a modern woman would traverse.
As types of the standing position there are the three great statues of
Venus in Paris, Rome, and Florence. The Venus de Milo, more beautiful
than any modern body with her mingled charm of grace and vigour, the
tapering waist line and fine hips giving grace, the strength and
development of the abdominal muscles promising the perfect fulfilment of
woman’s noblest task; the Venus of Cnidus, where again the line of
beauty is the line of the hips, as the goddess stands with left knee
bent resting the weight of her body on the right flank; the Venus de
Medici, less vigorous at first sight than the other two, but revealing
on a closer view a subtle complexity of sinew and muscle about the waist
line, where the modern corset leaves unsightly rolls of fat and muscles
atrophied.
For sitting, there is the group known usually as ‘The Three Fates,’ from
the east pediment of the Parthenon; the figures resting, but resting
with knowledge, the shoulders square and thorax high
[Illustration: THE VICTORY OF PAIONIOS (Olympia)]
arched, the body not allowed to collapse in an inert mass, but ready at
need to spring again at once into active life. Another example is the
crouching Venus of the Vatican, set in a position of modest grace which
a modern woman would find almost impossible of attainment. With us the
cartilages of the breast bone are practically useless and the thorax is
left unsupported; Greek women were able to move the entire thorax
sideways, a capacity we have lost, and when lowering their bodies they
kept them, as does the goddess here, with the longitudinal axis of the
torso remaining as far as possible in the vertical plane.
If we need types of more active motion, there is the Amazon from the
pediment at Epidaurus, her body perfectly poised as her thigh muscles
press the horse’s side; or the Athena of the Æginetan pediment showing
us how with proper control of the muscles it is possible to turn the
body through three-quarters of a circle without moving the feet; and the
exquisite bronze Fortune at Naples, a perfect example of muscular
balance--‘drawn up on the extreme points of her toes, she looks as
though hovering over the world, light as thistledown, and yet in her
tense immobility the very essence of Force.’
It has often been said that the marvellous achievements of Greek
sculptors were a result of their daily opportunities of seeing the nude
form; but nudity alone does not suffice. The greatest sculptor of our
time tried the experiment of studying his nude models as they walked to
and fro at their ease in his great room at the Hotel Biron. We saw the
result: critics accused him of a love for the grotesque and the uncouth,
while Rodin himself was reduced to the theory that for the artist
nothing is ugly. The truth is that the naked body of a modern grown man
is not beautiful, and therefore a faithful transcription such as Rodin
gives cannot be beautiful. But the Greek models were beautiful, because
beauty of body had been developed by a system of gymnastics universally
applied.
With their statues to guide us, it will be our own fault if we do not
again reach the standard of physical perfection which the Greeks
attained; for it is a curious and inspiriting fact that the human form
almost immediately responds to any opportunity that is given it, and
that with each child the race begins anew. What we need is a national
training, carefully planned by experts and adapted alike for children,
youths and grown men. And with it we need a fuller realization of the
duty that every one owes to himself, and a deeper determination to make
each part of our body as beautiful as nature allows. Listen to the words
of the wisest of philosophers:
‘It is a shameful thing to grow old in neglect, without having realized
to the utmost such strength and beauty as your body is capable of.
Strength and beauty will not come of themselves: the man who takes no
care for them will never possess them.’
5
Galen’s Treatise on the Small Ball
Ball games, as we know from Homer, were from the earliest times popular
among the Greeks, being especially esteemed for the grace of body which
the act of throwing and catching gives. The central incident of the
_Odyssey_ is connected with such a game, for it was a lost ball that
roused Odysseus from his sleep in the bush and led to his discovery by
Nausicaa. At Athens in the fifth century they were, for men, rather
overshadowed by the gymnastic exercises already described, but youths
found in them a favourite diversion, and the poet Sophocles in his
tragedy of the _Nausicaa_ won particular praise in the title-rôle--a
non-speaking part--because of his dexterous skill. Those who played, as
Athenæus tells us, always paid great attention to elegance of attitude,
and he quotes from the comic poet Demoxenus:
‘A youth I saw was playing ball,
Seventeen years of age and tall;
From Cos he came, and well I wot
The gods look kindly on that spot.
For when he took the ball or threw it,
So pleased were all of us to view it,
We all cried out; so great his grace
Such frank good humour in his face,
That every time he spoke or moved,
All felt as if that youth they loved.
Sure ne’er before had these eyes seen,
Nor ever since, so fair a mien:
Had I stayed long, most sad my plight
Had been, to lose my wits outright,
And even now the recollection
Disturbs my senses’ calm reflection.’
Of the actual details of these ball games we have very few accounts in
literature or representations in art. One of the most recent
archæological discoveries has, however, thrown light on one point. Up
till lately we had no instance of implements being used; but in
February, 1922, while the foundations of a shop were being constructed
at Athens, sections of the Themistoclean circuit wall were brought to
light. Built into them were three quadrangular bases of Pentelic marble
with sculptured reliefs on their sides and one of these reliefs shows
clearly the details of a hockey match. The ball is on the ground in the
exact middle: two youths with sticks are engaged in a ‘bully’ for it
precisely in the modern fashion: on either side of them stand two other
pairs of youths, with sticks, representing, it may be presumed, the rest
of the two competing teams.
Another of the six reliefs, equally interesting, shows probably the
beginning of the most popular and the most energetic of all forms of
ball games, the Phæninda, played with a small hard ball stuffed with
hair, the Harpastum. The game bore some resemblance to our Rugby, except
that the ball was always thrown and never kicked. The scene on the
relief represents a throw-in from the touchline; one youth is preparing
to throw, the rest are waiting either to seize the ball in the air or to
tackle the next possessor. A passage from the comedian Antiphanes,
quoted by Athenæus (Bk. I, ch. 26), gives a lively picture:
‘The player takes the ball elate,
And gives it safely to his mate,
Avoids the blows of the other side
And shouts to see them hitting wide.
List to the cries, “Hit here,” “hit here,”
“Too far,” “too high,” “that is not fair”--
See every man with ardour burns
To make good strokes and quick returns.’
Another sort of game, less rough in character and more akin to our
lacrosse, was possibly played with a lighter feather stuffed ball, in
Greek, _sphaira_, the Latin _follis_. Here, tackling was not allowed,
and the ball was thrown from hand to hand while the players were running
at full speed.
In playing with the _harpastum_ or the _follis_ the main object was to
drive your opponents to retreat behind their base line, and in both
styles there
[Illustration: THE THROW-IN AT THE SMALL BALL GAME (Athens)]
was a good deal of running. The third type of game, played with the
_trigon_, required less exertion. The players here were only three in
number, and stood at the three-corners of a triangle, throwing balls
quickly one at the other: both hands were used and caddies supplied the
players with missiles.
All three games were Greek inventions; but they reached the height of
their popularity under the Roman Empire. Seneca, writing on the brevity
of mortal life, complains that there are many people who have no other
occupation but to play ball from morning till night. Martial frequently
mentions the dusty _harpastum_, the warming _trigon_, and the feathered
_follis_, and in one of his epigrams praises a young student for taking
his exercise in the form of a long run rather than waste his time on the
‘busy idleness’ of a ball game. To this period also belongs the one
serious account that we have in Greek of any game, Galen’s treatise on
exercise with the small ball.
Claudius Galenus, born at Pergamum in the reign of Hadrian, 131 A.D., is
one of the most notable figures of a notable age. Courtier-physician,
scholar-diplomat, the friend of princes and the trainer of gladiators,
he recalls the versatility of the great sophists of the fifth century
B.C., and he equals them in the breadth and profundity of his knowledge.
His writings embrace four distinct fields: medicine in all its aspects,
philosophy, rhetoric, and grammatical logic; and although he is best
known as a physician his commentaries on Hippocrates may claim to be the
beginning of truly scientific scholarship.
His long life was spent in acquiring and imparting knowledge. A thorough
education, conducted under his father’s eye, rendered him apt for every
art. His wealth enabled him to travel and study at his leisure, and in
early manhood he made the ‘grand tour’ of the ancient world, living for
a time at Smyrna, Alexandria, and Rome before he returned to his native
town. We have now 118 genuine extant works from his pen, which
translated from the Greek into Arabic and thence again into Latin, were
the chief text-books in all the mediæval universities. Editions were
innumerable, and even to-day the name of Galen occupies more than fifty
pages in the British Museum Catalogue. In a production so immense we
must not expect consummate grace of language, but his own maxim, ‘the
first merit of style is clearness’ is well exemplified in the ‘Small
ball,’ which is short enough to be translated here in its entirety.
‘How great an advantage for health gymnastic exercises are
and what an important part they play in questions of diet has been
sufficiently explained by the best of our ancient philosophers and
physicians. But how superior to all other exercise is the use of the
small ball has never been adequately set forth by any of my
predecessors. It is only right then for me to put forward my ideas for
your criticism, Epigenes, since you have the very best practical
experience of the athletic art, in the further hope that they may be
useful also to all those to whom you communicate your knowledge.
‘The best forms of gymnastic, I think, are those which are
able not only to work the body but also to delight the mind. Those men
were true philosophers who invented coursing and the other varieties of
the chase, tempering the labour they involve with pleasure, exultation
and rivalry, and they had an accurate knowledge of human nature. So
powerful an effect has mental emotion upon the stuff of which we are
made that many people have been cured of ailments merely by the effect
of joy, while many others have fallen ill from sorrow. Indeed, of all
the affections that are rooted in the body none is strong enough to
master those others that have the mind for their sphere. So it is wrong
to neglect the character of our mental emotions; we ought for every
reason to give more attention to them than to the condition of our body,
especially as the mind is more important than the body can be. This care
is the common function of all gymnastic exercises that have an element
of pleasure in them, but there are other special points in small ball
play which I will now describe.
‘Firstly, it is easy. If you consider what time and trouble
all the business of hunting involves, especially coursing, you will
clearly see that no one who is engaged in public service or who follows
an art or trade can take part in these forms of exercise; they require
abundant wealth and a person who enjoys considerable leisure. But ball
play is different. It is so democratic that even the poorest can spare
the necessary trouble. It needs no nets, nor weapons, nor horses, nor
hounds: all it requires is one small ball. Moreover, it suits itself so
well to a man’s other pursuits, that it does not compel him to neglect
any of them for its sake. What could be easier than a sport which allows
any form of human occupation or condition? As regards the exercise that
hunting gives, it is out of our power to enjoy it easily: it requires
money to provide an elaborate equipment and freedom from occupation to
wait for a suitable opportunity. But with ball play even the poorest
have no difficulty in getting the implements; it will wait for us, and
quite busy people find opportunity to enjoy it. Its accessibility is a
very great advantage.
‘If you consider the effect and nature of each of the other
kinds of exercise, you will see clearly that ball play is the most
satisfactory of them all. You will find that the others are either over
violent or not violent enough; that they give disproportionate exercise
to the lower or to the upper part of the body or to one part at the
expense of the others; the loins, the head, the arms, the chest.
Something which keeps all parts of the body moving alike and admits
either of the most violent strain or the gentlest relaxation, this can
be found in no exercise except the small ball. The game can be sharp or
slow, soft or violent just according to your own inclination, as your
body seems to need it. You can exercise all parts of the body at the
same time, if that appears best, or if it should seem preferable, some
parts rather than others. When the players form sides and try to stop
their opponents midway and rob them of the ball, the exercise is very
severe and violent. You often have to grip your man in wrestling fashion
or else collar him; the latter method giving plenty of work for head and
neck, the former exercising ribs, chest and stomach, as you fasten your
own grip or escape from your opponent’s. Sometimes you make your mark,
sometimes you use one of the holds that are taught in the wrestling
schools; and this means a very considerable strain on the loins and the
legs. And so for this sport a man must be a strong runner: he will have
to swerve and leap sideways as well as run straight forward and this is
hard exercise for the legs. Indeed, to speak the truth, it is the only
sport that properly exercises the legs in all their parts. When you run
forward one set of sinews and muscles comes into play; when you jump
backwards others have more work to do, and others again when you change
direction sideways. In track-running on the contrary, only one sort of
movement is necessary and the exercise is unequal, not affecting all
parts of the legs alike.
‘And as with the legs so also with the arms, the exercise is
very fairly apportioned, for the players are accustomed to catch the
ball in every kind of attitude. This variety of attitude inevitably
exercises different muscles at different times in different degrees of
intensity. Every muscle has its turn of work and an equal share of rest:
they are now active, now quiescent; none remains altogether idle, none
is overcome with weariness by working alone. As for the training that
the eye receives you may realize this by remembering that unless a man
anticipates exactly the flight of the ball and its direction, he must
inevitably fail to make his catch. Moreover, the wits are sharpened by
the game: you have to think carefully how best to stop your opponent,
and not drop the ball yourself. Thought by itself makes a man thin; but
when it is combined with exercise and the pleasant rivalry of a sport it
is of the very greatest benefit. The body improves in health, the mind
is turned to practical knowledge. When exercise can render service both
to body and mind, each in its own special form of excellence, it is a
blessing indeed.
[Illustration: A HOCKEY MATCH (Statue base discovered at Athens,
1922)]
‘It is easy too to see that ball games can give men practice
in two most important forms of training, those two which the royal
ordinance of law bids our generals most sedulously to pursue. The
functions of a good general are these: to attack at the proper time and
to seize quickly each opportunity for action: to secure the property of
the enemy either by force or by an unexpected assault, and to keep safe
any possessions already acquired. In short, a general should be an
expert guardian and an expert thief: that is the sum of his trade.
‘Now, can any exercise but ball games train a man so well
how to keep what he has got, to recover what he has lost, and to
anticipate his opponent’s plans? I should be surprised, if you could
tell me of one. Most forms of exercise have the opposite effect: they
make men lazy, slow-witted and fond of sleep. The competitions of the
wrestling school tend to make people corpulent rather than to train them
in virtue. Many wrestlers become so fat that they have difficulty in
breathing, and such folk could never be good generals in time of war or
good administrators either in a royal or a republican state: you might
sooner trust pigs than them.