of them by any foreign government, and finally purchased them for thirty
thousand francs—certainly a very small price. I succeeded in seeing them
later, still in their boxes at Athens, and though not equal to the
Venus, or of the same epoch, they are very fine works.
But there the excavations stop; the owner had no means to pump out the
water that flooded his diggings, the Government had no more, and as no
one is allowed to dig unless for the Greek museum, whatever remains
under ground and water is likely to remain there another generation.
We then climbed up the zigzag road to the theatre. It is, as I have
said, of late times, probably Roman, and was never complete. Fragments
of unfinished ornament lie still where the stage should have been, but
it had clearly never been carried up above the seven ranges of seats now
existing. It was just outside the wall of the inner city, on the brow of
the hill, and overlooked the spacious harbor and looked out to sea.
There is no record of any sculpture having been found there. It was
purchased and excavated by the King of Bavaria.
Less than half a mile beyond, going with the sea at our backs, was the
field where the statue was found. The Greeks have entertained a great
deal of indignation at the rape, which they affect to call robbery; but
the civilized world may thank the French captain who, coming to get it,
and finding it already half-embarked on board a Turkish vessel, destined
for Constantinople, made the most legitimate use that was ever made of
_force majeure_, and took it away from the Turk to transfer it to the
hold of his own ship. Otherwise, no one knows what vile uses it might
have gone to, or what oblivion and destruction. All the world knows it
now, but Greek genius would have forever lacked one of its greatest
triumphs in modern times if it had disappeared in the slums of Stamboul.
[Illustration: STREET IN CASTRO.]
As I have said, there is now no trace of any construction of any kind to
be seen at the locality. The wall in which was the niche was gone, and
the field of the present owner has encroached considerably on the space
beyond, the _débris_ being piled up in huge masses like walls, and two
or three terraces above runs the citadel wall, a mass of Hellenic
masonry built of blocks of lava. The Pelasgic walls, of which some
authors speak, do not exist anywhere in the island. Brest took up a
stone, and as we stood on the wall of _débris_ above, cast it into the
field, and said, “There stood the Venus!” In the illustration I have put
a white cross on the spot.
There cannot remain the slightest doubt that the statue had been
concealed, and to my mind, the circumstances indicated for its
concealment are these: The niche, judging from its character, had been
built in Roman times; as the rubbly nature of the masonry indicated,
probably covered with stucco, as it would have been if intended for
ornament, and was designed as a shelter for an altar, or for the statue
of some divinity—Terminus, Hermes, Pan or Faunus, the more Roman
companion of him. Here the inscription and the Hermes found furnish a
plausible clew, and agree with the indication of the masonry in pointing
out the epoch of this conjunction of circumstances as subsequent to the
second century before Christ; how long after we cannot in any wise
indicate.
[Illustration: THE SITE OF OLD MELOS, FROM THE PORT. (WHITE CROSS SHOWS
WHERE THE “VENUS” WAS FOUND.)]
Now as to the epoch of the statue there can be no doubt that it was of
the immediately post-Phidian epoch; and all the most authoritative
opinions attribute it to the Attic school, and probably of the time and
school of Scopas—and some of the weightiest authorities have accepted
Scopas himself as the author.
Anything more definite than this it is impossible to establish by any
now known evidence. The concealment of the statue, then, was several
centuries later than the execution of it.
The Greeks of the classical epoch, even down to the first century after
Christ, retained, amidst all the degradation of their contemporary art,
a distinct recognition of the excellence of the elder work, as the
enormous artistic as well as pecuniary value of some of the masters’
_chefs d’œuvre_ prove. That this was one of them, and of one of the
chief masters, all civilization agrees, and, although we have lost the
name of the author, the people who hid it must have known it well. The
availing themselves of the niche, ready-made to their hands, indicates
that the possessors of the statue worked in haste, piling up stones in
front of the niche, instead of walling it up.
This indicates the haste of impending attack, or work done in secret. In
either case, if the statue had a temple in that locality, it would be
concealed near it, or near the place where it was accustomed to stand;
but no such temple is known. We may remember the contrast with the
colossal and magnificent Hercules found in a drain at Rome, carefully
covered over with good masonry. Concealment was the object in both
cases, and the greater haste and furtiveness with the Melian statue
indicate rather that it was brought from a distance than that it could
be a divinity of the island.
Conjecture as to the origin of the statue, if my hypothesis is true,
points to Athens, not only because the work is Attic, but because we
know by the coins of Melos, which in all the latest coinages still bear
the owl of Athens, that Melos belonged to that city as late as she had
any Greek allegiance, which must have been some time into the Empire, as
the Romans long made it a policy to preserve a certain kind of autonomy
in the Greek states, even when their subjection was complete. That it is
Attic, no one can doubt in face of the evidence I shall show. That
Athens was the only city likely to send to Melos a treasure of this
kind, concealment of which was impossible in Athens, is almost certain.
I conclude that it was a highly valued statue of Athens, sent to Melos
in time of great danger, to be concealed and preserved. What period this
might have been is only to be guessed at; it is therefore hardly worth
while to say more about it, except to indicate that four periods in late
Athenian history might furnish the motive requisite: when the army of
Mithridates, under Archelaus, took Athens; the wars between the factions
of Marius and Sylla; the Lacedemonian war, and the invasions of the
Iconoclasts. The Romans do not appear, in spite of all their plundering
and the enormous quantity of statues carried away from Greece, to have
desecrated the temples of the Greek gods, as we see that Pausanias, in
the century after Christ, found the most valuable of them _in situ_, as,
for instance, the Diana Brauronia of Praxiteles, the Perseus of Myron,
with others of great fame. The above conclusion, considering all the
known and reasonably conjecturable details of the discovery and
concealment, seems to me justifiable,—as well as that it was concealed
at some time between the century or two centuries before Christ and the
end of the first century after.
Now, what was the statue? We have so long been in the habit of accepting
all female statues, not distinguished by well-known symbols of their
divinity, as Venuses, that we make no distinction even in cases where
the type demands it. And yet the dominant characteristic of Greek
sculpture is this close adherence to established types. We are never at
a loss to distinguish Diana, Minerva, Juno, or even Ceres and the lesser
deities. Venus, it is true, came into vogue as subject for the sculptors
of sacred statues later than some of the others; but all that we know of
the Venus of the artists indicates that it was _par excellence_ the
womanly type. The treatment of the head in Greek sculpture was a point
apparently of doctrine, as it was in Byzantine and in the later
ecclesiastical art of Greece. It is always in a conventional type,
utterly separated from the individual.
[Illustration: MEDICEAN VENUS.]
[Illustration: VENUS URANIA.]
[Illustration: CAPITOLINE VENUS.]
[Illustration: VENUS OF THE VATICAN.]
[Illustration: VENUS ANADYOMENE.]
[Illustration: VENUS VICTRIX OF THE LOUVRE.]
This unquestionable fact should have taught us to reject from the Venus
category many statues which are now included in it, as for instance, the
Callipyge, and all in which a trace of portraiture is to be found,
besides diminishing that category by all the statues of the heroic type,
as in none of the legends of beliefs of the Greek faith was Venus ever
endowed with a heroic quality. The preconceived notion that the Melian
statue was a Venus has been a continual cause of confusion. This was, as
I have shown, the first hypothesis of the French officers, none of whom
appear to have been possessed of any archæological knowledge, and who
had the commonly prevailing notion that any nude statue must be a Venus.
I have taken the pains to collect a number of representations of the
various so-called Venuses, and most of which the type, or symbols,
justify us in so classifying; and a comparison of their character will
show what is the Venus type,—making this proviso, however, that we have
no other than internal evidence for denominating most of them Venuses.
The chief of these, in what we seek for most, _i. e._, the impersonal
type, which was inseparable from the Greek deities down through the
decline of art, which began in the time of Alexander, are: the Medici, a
distinctly marked Attic work, later, however, than the Melian statue;
the Capitoline, apparently a still later reminiscence of the Medici and
one of many similar reminiscences; and the “Venus coming out of the
bath,” at Naples, a better work than the last, but still already widely
separated from the purely conventional type of the Medicean, which we
may authoritatively accept as the Venus type of the best period of the
Venus sculpture. The close comparison of the heads and details of the
flesh will give those who do not know the originals an invaluable lesson
in the treatment of the figure in Greek art. The so-called “Venus
Urania,” at Florence, marks, to my mind, a distinct departure from the
Venus type,—so marked, indeed, as to make me decline to accept it as a
Venus, while the still typical character of the face is one which must
place it in a good period of art, before ideality of treatment had
entirely given way to individuality. The art is of too good an epoch to
have departed so far from the type of Venus, if intended for her, and
indicates rather a nymph, or some inferior deity. The Venus of the
Vatican is too late and too low down in the scale of art to be an
authoritative witness in the matter; while the Venus Anadyomene, while
still reserving the ideal character, resembles the Urania rather, in a
separation of the type from the Venus. Later still, and perhaps at the
end of that period which may be called the ideal period of antique
sculpture, most probably of Græco-Roman art, is the Venus Victrix of the
Louvre; unquestionably a Venus, for she bears in her hand the
apple—symbol of fruitfulness. But how far from the type of our Melian
treasure! In that is the most distinct approach to the Athena type—a
purely heroic ideal. I cannot believe that its sculptor intended it for
a Venus.
[Illustration: VENUS OF CAPUA.]
[Illustration: RESTORATION OF THE STATUE AS PROPOSED BY MR. TARRAL.]
The patient German admirer of our statue, which Von Ravensburg is, has
gone through all the literature and all the conjectures which it has
given rise to, as to the chief problem which gives interest to any
investigation, _i. e._, the restoration of the statue. No attempt will
satisfy all the investigators; but that which Von Ravensburg accepts
with approval—viz., the restoration of Mr. Tarral (an Englishman
residing in Paris for many years, who has given his chief attention to
this problem)—shows so entire a want of appreciation of the character of
antique design, which is, after all, our only clew, that I shall not
hesitate to put aside, not only the solution proposed, but the judgment
that could accept as satisfactory such a solution of one of the most
interesting of artistic problems. I give the figure which Von Ravensburg
publishes as Tarral’s restoration of the statue, that one may see how
absolutely its inanity is at variance with the spirit of Greek design.
The mere completion of the statue, in this sense, destroys the dignity
and unity of the work so completely that to look at it is enough for a
cultivated judgment to decide that, whatever it may have been, this it
was _not_. The author gives, also, photographs of the fragments
found—fragments so imperfect and corroded that we can only say that they
appear to be from a very low period of art, and are utterly worthless as
data for measure or opinion, from their extremely fragmentary state.
[Illustration: FRAGMENTS FOUND AT MELOS ATTRIBUTED TO THE STATUE.]
Besides, I have shown, from the records of discovery, that there is no
further reason to connect them with the statue than that they were also
found at Melos.
In following the whole course of the demonstration which Von Ravensburg
attempts of this solution of the problem, I arrive at the conclusion
that, with all his patience and research, his judgment is utterly
untrustworthy on a problem which requires not only freedom from
preconception, but long cultivation of artistic perception and general
critical ability. Mr. Tarral’s attempt proves, to my mind, only that
this was not the solution.
[Illustration: VICTORY OF BRESCIA—FRONT.]
[Illustration: VICTORY OF BRESCIA—SIDE.]
The various suggestions, more or less authoritative, made as to the
restoration, and thence as to the determination of the attributes of the
statue, are to be summed up briefly. The Count de Clarac, the then
curator of the antiques of the Louvre, adopted the Venus with the apple
hypothesis, but afterward abandoned it in favor of one put forward by
Millingen, that it was a Victory. This is one of the theories of the
restoration which has found the greatest number of adherents. Several
restorations have been proposed, which make the statue part of a group,
all which, though defended or proposed by many _dilettanti_, I reject,
for what to me seem sufficient reasons, viz.: _Firstly_, we have in the
statue no evidence whatever that it formed part of a group, and without
some such the hypothesis is gratuitous; _Secondly_, we have—with one
exception, which I shall presently note, and which gives no countenance
to such a theory—no statue or parts of statues which agree with it in
artistic quality, or even none which lend themselves to a group, if such
were made up by various sculptors; _Thirdly_, that, at the epoch in
which the statue was produced, any group which has been suggested would
have been out of accordance with the aims of art, as practiced by the
Greeks. The only evidence in favor of such a theory is that in some
antique fragments or coins are indications of such a figure as the
Melian in combination. But, as this statue must have been in its own
time nearly as celebrated, relatively, as in ours, it must have given
rise to many imitations and adaptations. It may have given rise to some
which support the group theory, but to more which support an opposing
theory.
[Illustration: VICTORY RAISING AN OFFERING (TEMPLE OF NIKÉ APTEROS, THE
ACROPOLIS, ATHENS).]
Von Ravensburg goes over, in detail, all the group theories, and easily
finds fatal objections to all. What most surprises me is that any one
ever tried to put it into a group, so completely by itself does it stand
in every sense of the word.
Millingen, in 1826, started his theory that it was a Victory holding a
shield in both hands. I am quite convinced that many who have started
other theories would have adopted this if they had not been anticipated
in proposing it. The vanity of archæological research, and eagerness to
propose something new is so dominant in most archæologists that they
exercise more ingenuity to advance some new theory than would be
requisite to show the validity of an old one. And the statue of Melos
has been preëminent in fruitfulness of theories of all qualities and
grades of improbability. Millingen, however, supported his theory by a
similar statue known as the Capuan Venus, a reproduction, I believe, in
Roman times, of the Melian statue, probably through some other
intermediate copy or reproduction, as the sculptors of the Capuan statue
could not have seen the Melian. The arms are a modern and abominable
restoration. Here, again, I must, in passing, protest against the
attribution to the Venus type of all nude or semi-nude statues. There is
nothing in the Capuan which indicates that it was intended as a Venus.
Millingen quotes Apollonius of Rhodes as describing a statue of Venus
looking at herself in the shield of Mars, which she herself is holding,
but this is no evidence of the type correspondence, and the gravamen of
the matter lies precisely in the diversity of the type from the
recognizable Venuses. But the Capuan is too far in type and treatment
from the Melian to serve as definite argument. Such as it is, an item in
the discussion, I will not exaggerate its importance, though I believe
it to be a far-away recollection of the Melian statue.
“The Victory of Brescia” is another of the recollections, rather than
reproductions, of the type of which I believe the Melian statue to be
the original. It is in bronze, is later, and has the wings, but the type
is unmistakable, and the action of the torso and head is sufficiently
different from our statue to show that it was only an emulation, and not
a plagiarism, that was intended.
The drapery differs in the arrangement, being of bronze and agreeing
with some undisputed Victories at Athens, but the action of the left leg
holding the shield is the same, and that of the arms corresponds very
nearly, as far as the arms remain in the Melian work. As a whole, it
reminds one more of the latter than does any other of the statues of its
class.
The case is one in which archæological knowledge is of very little
value, unless it be aided by thorough artistic study and a knowledge of
the requirements of art proper. The archæologist, like other scientists,
must have positive evidence to work on; and the testimony of pure taste,
the intuitions of an artistic education, are of no use to him except as
confirmatory. The intuition of the artist, whose taste has been educated
by long study of the works he has to deal with, arrives at opinions by a
kind of inspiration to which science often lacks all means of access. In
the case of this statue, archæology has no evidence to weigh, and the
ponderous erudition which Overbeck, Müller, Jahn, Welcker, and others
have piled on the question has no foundation. We can determine with
comparative certainty that the statue belongs to the epoch between
Phidias and Praxiteles, because we have the work of the school of
Phidias and sufficient comparative data for that of Praxiteles [and now,
since the discovery of the Hermes at Olympia, positive data] to judge
from; and we have a right to say that the Melian statue came between
these, but beyond this nothing—no clew except what lies in the design
and the unities attendant on it, of which _per se_ the professed
archæologist is no judge.
In working about the Acropolis of Athens some years ago, I photographed,
amongst other sculptures, the mutilated Victories in the Temple of Niké
Apteros, the “Wingless Victory,” the little Ionic temple in which stood
that statue of Victory of which it is said that “_the Athenians made her
without wings that she might never leave Athens_”; and looking at the
photographs afterward, when the impression of the comparatively
diminutive size had passed, I was struck with the close resemblance of
the type to that of the “Venus” of Melos. There are the same large,
heroic proportions, the same ampleness in the development of the nude
parts, the same art in the management of the draperies, and Richard
Greenough, the American sculptor, has called my particular attention to
the curious similarity in the treatment of the folds of the drapery, in
the introduction of a plane between the folds, a resemblance not found
in any other similar works as far as I know.
[Illustration: VICTORY UNTYING HER SANDAL (TEMPLE OF NIKÉ APTEROS, THE
ACROPOLIS, ATHENS).]
[Illustration: VICTORIES LEADING A BULL TO SACRIFICE (TEMPLE OF NIKÉ
APTEROS, THE ACROPOLIS, ATHENS).]
They are little high reliefs, part of a balustrade which surrounded the
cortile of the Temple of Niké Apteros, hardly three feet high in their
perfect state, and now without heads or hands or feet. There are four of
them: one apparently untying her sandal; another,—that which best shows
the type of the figure—raising an offering or crown, and two others
leading a bull to sacrifice. I give the series. Note the exquisite
composition of the drapery below the knee of the Victory raising the
offering, and the superb flow of the entire draperies in the
sandal-tying figure, but, above all, the Victory type in the whole
assemblage. How absolutely it agrees with that of the Melian statue, and
how utterly alone in all antique art that is but for these!
Since I have begun this study, it has twice happened that artist friends
trained in the French school (_i. e._, in the only school which
cultivates the perception of style in design, and the only one that
emulates the Greek in its characteristics), both trained draughtsmen,
came into my room, and without any remark I showed them the photographs
of the Victories at Athens. They were new to both, but in one case as in
the other the first expression was: “How like the Venus of Melos!” And
the similarity runs through the treatment of every part—the management
of drapery to express the action of the limbs, the firm, heroic mould of
the figure, and the modeling of the round contours. Compare (in the
casts, if possible, as the small scale of my illustrations will not show
the point so clearly) the right shoulder of the Venus with that in the
stooping Victory. The slight differences which exist are just what might
be expected between a figure which stands as principal, isolated, and to
be seen from all sides, and one which was secondary, subordinate, of
partial decorative use, and to be seen only in one view. My
illustrations will hardly convey the strikingness of the similarity, but
I defy any one to compare side by side the series of Victories and the
Melian statue in casts and not admit that the type, the treatment, the
ideal, are the same, as sisters may be the same, or at least as mother
and daughter.
The little Temple of Niké Apteros had once, we know, a statue of Victory
without wings, and we know the _bon mot_, which I have given above,
which it suggested. The decorations of the temple are attributed to
Scopas and his school, and this Victory was unique, so far as we know,
in being wingless. We may well conceive, with the symbolical
meaning—talismanic, rather—implied in what we know of it by this
witticism, that the Athenians would have a special anxiety to keep it
from becoming a trophy in the hands of an enemy, even one who might not
be disposed to desecrate the temples of the greater gods. Niké was
rather an attribute or variation of Athena than a distinct goddess, and
was as such both of great value to the Athenians, being the _alter ego_
of their patroness; and of less reverence to the enemy, as not Minerva
herself. At all events, when Pausanias visited Athens the Niké Apteros
had gone. Her temple still stood there, and near it on the Acropolis
hill stood some of the greatest art-treasures of the antique world
untouched.
[Illustration: THE SO-CALLED VENUS OF MELOS—FRONT.]
[Illustration: THE “VENUS” RESTORED—FRONT.
(TRACED FROM A PHOTOGRAPH OF A LIVING MODEL.)]
[Illustration: THE “VENUS” RESTORED—SIDE.
(TRACED FROM A PHOTOGRAPH OF A LIVING MODEL.)]
[Illustration: THE SO-CALLED VENUS OF MELOS—SIDE.]