No critic has displayed a keener feeling for the
beauty and significance of such works as came within
his knowledge, or a truer imagination in bridging over
the gulfs at which direct knowledge failed him. And
his style, warm with the glow of sustained enthusiasm,
yet calm, dignified, and harmonious, was worthy of his
splendid theme.—_Sime._
More artistic and æsthetic views have prevailed in
every direction since Winckelmann became a recognized
authority.—_Schlegel._
The Apollo of the Vatican.
Among all the works of antiquity which have escaped destruction the
Apollo of the Vatican reaches the highest ideal of art. It surpasses
all other statues as Homer’s Apollo does that of all succeeding poets.
Its size lifts it above common humanity, and its altitude bespeaks its
greatness. The proud form charming in the manliness of the prime of
life seems clothed with endless youth.
Go with thy soul into the kingdom of celestial beauty and seek to
create within thyself a divine nature, and to fill thy heart with forms
which are above the material. For here there is nothing perishable,
nothing that mortal imperfection demands. No veins heat, no sinews
control this body; but a heavenly spirit spreading like a gentle stream
fills the whole figure.
He has foiled the Python against which he has just drawn his bow, and
the powerful dart has overtaken and killed it. Satisfied, he looks far
beyond his victory into space; contempt is on his lip and the rage
which possesses him expands his nostrils and mounts to his forehead.
Still the peace which hovers in holy calm upon his forehead is
undisturbed; his eye like the eyes of the muses is full of gentleness.
In all the statues of the father of gods which remain to us in none
does he come so near to that grandeur in which he has revealed himself
to the poets as he does here in the face of his son. The peculiar
beauties of the remaining gods are united here in one: the forehead of
Jupiter, pregnant with the goddess of wisdom, eyebrows which reveal his
will in their arch, the full commanding eyes of the queen of the gods,
and a mouth of the greatest loveliness. About this divine head the soft
hair, as if moved by a gentle breeze, plays like the graceful tendrils
of a vine. He seems like one anointed with the oil of the gods, and
crowned with glory by the Graces.
Before this wonderful work of art I forget all else. My bosom throbs
with adoration as his with the spirit of prophecy. I feel myself
carried back to Delos and to the lyric halls, the places which Apollo
honored with his presence; then the statue before me seems to receive
life and motion like Pygmalion’s beauty; how is it possible to paint,
to describe it? Art itself must direct me, must lead my hand, to carry
out the first outlines which I attempt. I lay my effort at its feet as
those who would crown the god-head, but can not attain the height, do
their wreaths.