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Title: Douris and the Painters of Greek Vases
Author: Pottier, Edmond
Language: English
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[Illustration: Fig. 1. KANTHAROS AND KYLIX (Cup).

By Douris. Brussels and Louvre Museums.]




Membre de L’Institut

Translated by Bettina Kahnweiler

With a Preface by
Jane Ellen Harrison
Hon.D.Litt.Durham, Hon.Ll.D.Aberdeen

John Murray, Albemarle Street, W.



The translator of M. Pottier’s monograph on _Douris_ has kindly
asked me to write, by way of preface, a few words on the relation of
Greek vase-painting to Greek literature and to Greek mythology. I do
this with the more pleasure because this relation has, I think, been
somewhat seriously misunderstood, and M. Pottier’s delightful monograph
which, thanks to Miss Kahnweiler, is now given to us in English form,
should do much to clear away misconception and to set the matter before
us in a light at once juster and more vivid.

       *       *       *       *       *

First let us consider for a moment the relation between Greek art and
Greek literature.

In classical matters we are all of us, scholars and students alike,
bred up in a tradition that is literary. Our earliest contact with
the Greek mind is through Greek poets, historians, philosophers. This
is well, for these remain--all said--the supreme revelation. But this
priority of _literary_ contact begets, almost inevitably, a certain
confusion of thought. Bred as we are in a literary tradition, we come
later to be confronted with other utterances of the Greek mind, for
example graphic art--vase-painting. This we naturally seek to relate to
our earlier and purely literary conceptions. What has come to us second
we instinctively make subordinate, ancillary. Greek art, and especially
what we call a “minor art,” such as vase-painting, is the “hand-maid”
of Greek poetry, or, to drop metaphor, the function of Greek art, is,
we think, to illustrate Greek literature. Public and publisher alike
demand nowadays that books on Greek literature, on Greek mythology,
even editions of Greek plays, should be “illustrated” from Greek art.

By illustration is meant translation, the transference with the
minimum of alteration of an idea expressed in one art into the medium
of another. Were it possible in a work of art to separate the idea
expressed from the form in which it is expressed, such transference
might be an eligible and even elegant pastime. But every one knows that
such separation of idea and form is in art impossible. Translation of
poetry from one language to another is precarious, a thing only to be
attempted by a poet; translation from one art to another is a task
so inherently barren that the Greek, till his decadence, left it,
instinctively, unattempted.

Against the poison of this “illustration” theory M. Pottier’s monograph
is the best antidote, and all students of the Greek mind will be
grateful to Miss Kahnweiler for making his monograph more easily
accessible. M. Pottier focuses our attention on the personal artist, a
man not intent on “illustrating” another man’s work, but on producing
works of art of his own. Douris uses sometimes the same material as
Homer or Arktinos, but he shapes it to his own decorative ends; he
draws his inspiration naturally and necessarily rather from graphic
than from literary tradition.

       *       *       *       *       *

Beneath the “illustration” fallacy there lurks, as regards mythology,
another and a subtler misconception.

Until quite recent years mythology has been again to scholars and
students alike, a thing of “mythological allusions,” a matter to be
“looked up” with a view to the elucidation of obscure passages in
_Pindar_ or dramatic choruses. Even nowadays mythology remains, to many
a well-furnished scholar, a sort of by-product, an elegant outgrowth of
the Greek mind, a thing merely “poetical,” by which he means having
no touch with reality. Or, at best, if the scholar be himself a poet,
he loves mythology without analysing it, he feels it as a dream that
haunts, a thing that attends and allures him through the waste places
of scholarship, more real and more abiding than any realism, a thing to
him so intimate that he does not ask the _why_ of it.

Thanks to the impact of another study, anthropology, we are awake
now and look at mythology with other eyes. We know that mythology
is not a last, lovely, literary flower, but a thing primitive,
deep-seated, long antedating anything that can be called literature,
not a separate “subject” at all, but rather a mode of thinking common
at an early stage to all subjects. Mythology is not the outcome of an
idle, vagrant fancy, but a necessary step in the evolution of human
thought; a strenuous step taken by man towards knowledge, towards the
fashioning and ordering of the world of mental conceptions. Mythology
is the mother-earth out of which for the Greeks grow those stately,
fruit-bearing trees, literature, art, history, philosophy. A Greek
vase-painter does not “illustrate” mythology, he utters it in line and
colour as the poet utters it in words and rhythm.

Take a simple instance from the work of Douris, the kylix in the
Louvre, in the centre of which is painted _Eos carrying the body of

The mythologist, that is man in his early days of thinking, cannot
conceive or name the abstract, empty “dawn.” The glow of morning is
to him the print of unearthly yet human fingers. He images “dawn” as
“Dawn,” in terms of humanity, that is of the one and only thing he
inwardly felt and knew--himself. The dawn is for him a beautiful woman,
and to complete her humanity, she is a mother. Literature, which is at
first but story-telling, took up the tale, and knew that Eos the Dawn
who rose in the East had a child of the East for her son, and mourned
for him in his death, and carried him away for his burial.

The vase-painter is a mythologist too, and he takes a mythological
story for his motive, but his art has other ends than that of the poet.
He may have heard the story recited at a Panathenaic festival, just as
he may have seen it painted on some Stoa or Lesche. But he does not
illustrate it, does not translate from an alien art into his own. He
takes the myth and lets his own art say what it and only it can say.
He has seen in the human body the vision of a heavenly pattern; he
gives us the grace of a bending body, the poise of a flying foot, the
swiftness of straight lines, the majesty and poignancy of limbs stark
in death. That is all, and, surely, enough.

                                             JANE ELLEN HARRISON.


  CHAP.                                                             PAGE


  III. THE WORKSHOP AND TOOLS OF DOURIS                               23

   IV. HOW DOURIS WORKED                                              30

    V. THE WORK OF DOURIS                                             43

       CONCLUSION                                                     80

       BIBLIOGRAPHY                                                   87

       INDEX                                                          89


  Fig.                                                              Page
    1. Kantharos and Kylix (drinking cups) by Douris. Brussels
          and Louvre Museums. Taken from Photographs      _Frontispiece_

    2. Workshop of a Vase Painter (red figured hydria in Caputi
          Collection at Ruvo), from Blümner. _Technologie und
          Terminolog. der Gewerbe und Künste_, ii., p. 85, Fig. 15     4

    3. The painter Smikros and his companions (red figured krater
          in the Brussels Museum), from _Monuments et Mémoires de
          la Fondation Piot_ (article by C. Gaspari, ix., 1902,
          Pl. 2)                                                       8

    4. A Potter’s Workshop; modelling and baking of vases
          (black-figured hydria, Munich Museum), from Birch,
          “History of Ancient Pottery,” 1858, p. 249                  12

    5. A display of Vases and a purchaser (red figured kylix
          painted by Phintias, Baltimore Museum). Hartwig’s
          _Meisterschalen_, Pl. 17                                    16

    6. Youths exercising in the Palæstra (red figured kylix by
          Douris, Louvre Museum), from an original Photograph         20

    7. Aphrodite upon her Swan (Polychrome on white background,
          British Museum), from A. Murray and A. Smith,
          “White Attic Vases,” Pl. 15                                 24

    8. Eos carrying Memnon, her dead son (red figured kylix by
          Douris, Louvre Museum), from an original Photograph         28

    9. Contest of Menelaos and Paris (exterior of preceding
          one), from an original Photograph                           32

   10. Contest of Ajax and Hector (exterior of preceding one),
          from an original Photograph                                 36

   11. The Adventures of Theseus (red figured kylix by Douris,
          British Museum), from E. d’Eichthal et Th. Reinach
          _Poèmes choisis de Bacchylide_, p. 48                       40

   12. Theseus and Kerkyon; Theseus and the Marathonian bull
          (reverse of red figured cup by the potter Euphronios,
          in the Louvre Museum) taken from Furtwängler &
          Reichhold _Griechische Vasenmalerei_, Pl. 5                 44

   13. Nereids appealing to Nereus and Doris (red figured
          cup by Douris, Louvre Museum), taken from _Wiener
          Vorlegeblätten_, vii., Pl. 2                                48

   14. Sileni playing and dancing (red figured vase by Douris,
          British Museum) Furtwängler & Reichhold _Griechische
          Vasenmalerei_, Pl. 48                                       52

   15. Hera and Iris attacked by Sileni (red figured cup by
          Brygos, British Museum), Furtwängler & Reichhold
          _Griechische Vasenmalerei_, Pl. 17                          54

   16. Contest of Ajax and Ulysses; the voting of the Greek
          Chiefs (red figured cup by Douris, Vienna Museum),
          Furtwängler & Reichhold _Griechische Vasenmalerei_,
          Pl. 54                                                      56

   17. Ulysses restoring the Arms of Achilles to Neoptolemos
          (interior of preceding one), Furtwängler & Reichhold
          _Griechische Vasenmalerei_, Pl. 54                          60

   18. Achilles killing Troïlos (red figured cup by Euphronios,
          Perugia Museum) taken from Rayet et Collignon,
          _Céramique Grecque_, Fig. 70                                64

   19. Soldiers arming (red figured cup by Douris, Vienna
          Museum), Furtwängler & Reichhold, Pl. 53                    68

   20. Greek Hoplite and Persian Standard-bearer (red figured
          cup by Douris, Louvre Museum), _Wiener Vorlegeblätten_,
          vii., Pl. 3. Great surface indicates restoration            70

   21. Seated Youth holding a Hare (red figured kylix by Douris,
          Louvre Museum), from an original Photograph                 72

   22. Interior of a School (red figured kylix by Douris, Berlin
          Museum), from _Monumenti dell’ Inst. Arch._, ix., Pl. 54    76

   23. A Schoolmaster. Berlin Museum, from Hartwig,
          _Meisterschalen_, Pl. 46                                    80

   24. Zeus carrying off a Woman (attributed to Douris, Louvre
          Museum), from an original Photograph                        84

   25. A Painter at Work (fragment, Boston Museum), _Jahrbuch
          des Arch. Instituts_, xiv., 1899, Pl. 4, Hartwig            86




This book has not been written for the professional archæologist. While
speaking of Douris, we propose to give the reading public an idea of
the chief characteristics of Greek painting.

It may be asked why the title of this little book is not Polygnotos or
Parrhasios. As we are treating of ancient painting, why not choose as a
study one of these famous men, whose works give to the art of his time
its distinctive character?

The answer is simple. Not a single painting is preserved by the masters
who, with the sculptors Phidias, Polykleitos, Praxiteles, and Lysippos,
made the ages of Pericles and Alexander illustrious. Not a fragment of
their paintings nor a piece of their frescoes has escaped destruction.
Unfortunate chance has thus kept the most glorious period of Greek
painting hidden from our view. Recent discoveries in Mycenæ, Tiryns,
Crete, and Melos have revealed astonishing works of the pre-Hellenic
age, and they have restored to us frescoes contemporary with Minos
and Agamemnon. And for more than a century the excavations at Pompeii
and Herculaneum have made known all the details of the decoration of
Roman houses at the time of Augustus and Titus. But between these two
periods--separated by fifteen or twenty centuries--all is obscurity,--a
dark gap which a few marble panels in the museum of Athens are quite
insufficient to cover. These pale remnants of funereal monuments from
the Kerameikos, frescoes painted on marble, reproduced the life and
likeness of the departed.

Literature still remains. Pausanias, Pliny, Lucian, and others have
enumerated and described the celebrated works of ancient painting, and
indicated the chief characteristics of the great masters. In certain
passages even the technique is mentioned and analysed. With the help of
this literature we can, in a general way, trace the history of Greek
painting, and it is chiefly from these records that such classic books
have been written as Brunn’s _Geschichte der Künstler_ and Woltmann’s
_Geschichte der Malerei_. For gaining a thorough knowledge of the data
of the subject, the great value of these books is unquestionable.

But there is no doubt that a history compiled from texts becomes
excessively dry, even though illustrations are borrowed from Pompeii
and Herculaneum. What impression would any one who had never seen a
painting by Raphael or Michelangelo receive by merely reading about

Furthermore, many ancient authors, far from being accurate or full
in their information, are hopelessly brief; often the subject of a
painting and the name of its author are mentioned in but three words.
Let us suppose that two thousand years hence our descendants should
find a guide-book and read, “_The Sacred Grove of the Muses_, by
Puvis de Chavannes.” What conclusions could they draw in regard to
the composition of the painting or the talent of its author? Such
is our position in regard to many works of antiquity. Even if, as
is sometimes the case, the descriptions are full, as in a passage
where Pausanias enumerates all the persons in the two frescoes of
Polygnotos at Delphi, _The Visit to Hades_ and _The Capture of Troy_,
the same darkness still exists as to the placing of the figures, their
expression, their attitude, and the technique of the colouring.

Thanks to the study devoted to painted vases, we are now able to
get a better idea of and throw a little more light on the style and
composition of Greek painting. M. Paul Girard’s book, _La Peinture
Antique_ is an instance. Nearly all the illustrations in the chapters
devoted to classic Greece are taken from the decoration of vases. To
return to a comparison made above. One who knew nothing of Raphael’s
work, but who had seen some _faïence_ of Urbino reproducing certain
works of the time, would in every way be more capable than those who
had not of understanding the master’s composition and his style. He
would undoubtedly still lose many things. He never would realise the
harmony of his colours or the loftiness and purity of his designs. This
is, alas! what we must say, in comparing the painting of a Greek vase
with the lost paintings of Polygnotos or Zeuxis. The reflection of a
lost art is all that remains to us!

[Illustration: Fig. 2. THE WORKSHOP OF A VASE PAINTER.

Caputi Collection, Ruvo.]

We should add, however, that the distinction between Greek
manufacturers and their models must have been less marked than in
later ages. Of this we cannot give material proof, but from certain
details we arrive at this conclusion. On the one hand, the Attic
craftsman was endowed, as rarely any one has been, with the art of
design and the sense of style. On the other hand, the ancient fresco,
particularly of the fifth century, was only drawing in flat colours,
without shading or modelling. Hence, there did not exist the gulf which
in modern times separates a reproduction due to mechanical means from a
painting executed with all the fine shades and skilful distinctions of
_chiaro oscuro_. In Greece, a painter of frescoes or a painter of vases
was above all things a good draughtsman. Here is a common measure which
reduces the distance between them.

In the absence of original paintings we must descend a step and have
recourse to the vase industry, and thus discover dimly the nature of
pictorial art in the best times of classic Greece.

But here another question arises. In treating of Greek ceramics, is the
name of Douris the most important one among the many artists presenting
themselves to our mind? He formed one of the Pleïades, who, between
the expulsion of the tyrant Hippias (510 B.C.) and the Persian wars
(490–479 B.C.), brought the manufacture of Athenian pottery to its
culminating point. His rivals Euphronios and Brygos have, however, been
considered more skilled or more inspired in their work. Why then choose
Douris as the most representative type of Greek painting?

This is the reason. We know at present about one hundred names of
manufacturers and painters of vases. Those who during the best period
have left the greatest number of works are Euphronios, Douris, Hieron,
and Brygos. Leaving aside simple fragments, and only counting pieces
helpful for serious study, we possess of the first-named ten signed
works, of the third twenty, of the fourth eight. Of Douris twenty-eight
are known.

The greater number alone would justify our choice. But another and
more important consideration may be added to the former. Manufacturers
of vases have different trademarks for their ware. They trace their
name with a paint-brush on the body of the vase, or else incise it
in fine letters on the foot or handle. The mode in which their name
occurs varies: “So-and-so made,” or else “So-and-so painted.” There
can be no uncertainty as to the latter phrase; it refers to the artist
who executed the paintings decorating the vase. But this term is far
less frequent than the former, which has caused many discussions.
“So-and-so made”? Is it a more elliptical way of implying the designer,
or is it the potter who speaks in contrast to the painter and designer?
Or, again, did the same man make the vase and then paint it? Is it the
master, the overseer who directs the entire manufacture, and who, after
the different processes of modelling, of decoration, and of baking have
been executed under his direction and according to his plans, affixes
to the ware of his house a sort of commercial trade-mark? All these
opinions have been supported at different times. We cannot say that the
subject has been fully elucidated. In consequence we run a great risk
of mistake in saying that a painting is a certain potter’s workmanship,
when the vase does not explicitly state who painted it.

The inevitable conclusion remains; to argue with certainty about
painters of vases we can only trust one expression: “So-and-so
painted.” In the most prominent group of potters of the fifth century,
it is Douris who best fulfils all these conditions, and relieves
us of all uncertainties on this subject. He is a craftsman, and
can make a pot or have one made under his direction. The museum at
Brussels possesses a kantharos which “Douris made” (Fig. 1). But he
is above all a draughtsman and executes all his paintings himself,
for the twenty-eight examples mentioned, including the kantharos at
Brussels, bear the words, “Douris painted.” Even Euphronios, to whom
Klein devoted an entire book, making this artist famous--and who to
many represents the vase painter _par excellence_--only signed as
draughtsman three or four vases, and as craftsman seven.

As potter and painter, Douris fulfils the necessary qualifications of
a master-craftsman; above all as draughtsman and painter, he satisfies
most fully our desire of finding in the decoration of painted vases a
reflection of the great contemporary art. This is why the choice of his
name seemed to us imperative.


Krater in the Brussels Museum.]



A biography of Douris must not be expected. No classical writer has
honoured one of these potters even so far as to mention his name.
Ancient literature has only left some brief allusions to the craft,
some inscriptions recalling their dedications in sanctuaries. The
vases themselves and the inscriptions traced thereon form the clearest
testimony we possess. Here again we must be guided by discretion and
not drift into romance. A learned German assumes that Euthymides, a
celebrated potter of the fifth century and a contemporary of Douris,
must have died young, while his rival Euphronios, after a long career,
died at an advanced age. He quite forgets that the number of signed
vases to be attributed to any individual artist is liable to be
diminished or increased by a chance discovery, and that we are still
far from being able to survey at a glance the complete production of
a manufacturer. Euthymides may have produced far more than Euphronios;
we have, however, only recovered seven of his vases. An enquiry into
the lives of vase painters must be confined to a consideration of the
general conditions of their position. All inference as to special facts
is necessarily conjectural and fictitious.

Modern historians have made known to us this important fact: trade in
Athens, as in other Greek cities, was chiefly in the hands of those
called “Metics,” that is to say, strangers living in the city and given
certain political rights regulated by special laws. Athens possessed
laws most favourable to the metics, and from the time of Solon,
according to Plutarch, strangers crowded into this generous city, which
offered such obvious advantages to settlers.

During the time of the Peloponnesian war (431 B.C.) the number of
metics had increased to 96,000, as compared with 120,000 citizens--an
enormous proportion. It is therefore to be supposed that many
manufacturers at the beginning of the fifth century were aliens or
descended from foreign families. This hypothesis is confirmed by the
potters’ names, many of which are foreign: Skythes (the Scythian),
Lydos (the Lydian), Amasis (name of an Egyptian Pharaoh of the
sixth century), Kolchos (inhabitant of Colchis), Thrax (of Thrace),
Sikanos and Sikelos (the Sicilian), Brygos (name of a Macedonian or
Illyrian people), etc. Beside these, however, we meet with many purely
Greek or Attic names--Klitias, Ergotimos, Nikosthenes, Epiktetos,
Pamphaios, Euphronios, Hieron, Megakles, and others. In certain cases,
the craftsman’s patronymic follows, as Kleomenes, son of Nikias;
Euthymedes, son of Polios. This indicates a freeman and citizen of
Athens. Once we even find the deme mentioned: Nikias, son of Hermokles,
of the deme Anaphlystos. We here catch a glimpse of a society where the
actual citizen associates freely with many naturalised aliens. It is
probable that slaves or freedmen were also employed, as one may guess
from the following nicknames: Paidikos (beautiful child), Smikros (the
little one), Mys (the rat). Douris’ name does not appear to be Attic.
It is always written Doris on vases, but we know that in those times
the diphthong _ou_ was simply expressed by _o_. The name Doris does not
exist in the catalogue of men’s names which has come down to us, while
the name Douris is well-known. It may have been of Ionian origin.

To resume, the Kerameikos of Athens formed a district by itself, a
little world where all sorts of people belonging to different races
and societies jostled one another. The master was the manager of
the factory and a craftsman, capable of making a vase as well as
painting it, designing the forms, the ornaments, and the subjects.
His assistants, who were sometimes allowed the honour of signing,
were employed under his direction in the shaping and decorating of
pottery; even women took part in this work, as we see on a beautiful
vase-painting (Fig. 2) to be described later. Lastly, there were the
workmen engaged in working the clay, preparing the glaze and the
colours, taking care of the ovens, moving materials, etc. Comparing the
arrangements in a modern ceramic factory, one will find about the same
conditions and these three grades of workers.


Hydria. Munich Museum.]

We must naturally picture things in Greece on a modest scale: the
enterprise conducted at less expense than nowadays, the capital
smaller, and the staff reduced to those strictly required. Above
all, it is necessary to remember that the division of labour was
far less marked in ancient times than with us. The same man was
capable of different tasks, he was employed according to his ability
and intelligence. There was nothing of the mechanical spirit, which
nowadays has passed into the man from the machine, and, for the sake
of greater speed and precision, isolates a workman in a corner of
the factory without teaching him anything else. Undoubtedly a social
hierarchy existed and weighed heavily upon the individual; to be
citizen, metic, or slave implied profoundly different conditions of
life, which raised more formidable barriers between classes than with
us. But in the exercise of art or industry the life of the ancients
presents itself under a singularly democratic aspect. Their workmen
shared their mental work far more than ours do, and were familiar with
all the details of the craft. This it is which gives to the industrial
art of the Greeks a marked distinction. No matter how modest the
work, one feels a living intelligence therein. The history of vases
is most suggestive in this respect. We never find the stiffness of
mechanical labour, the monotony of copy repeated to satiety. All
are not masterpieces--far from it. But not one is quite devoid of
individuality, and the best proof that can be given is that two painted
Greek vases exactly identical do not exist.

Whether Douris was metic or citizen, we may think of him as a
craftsman, who by his knowledge and skill had acquired an important
position in the town, and directed one of these flourishing
establishments in the potters’ quarter, near the Dipylon Gate, and just
at the entrance to the Necropolis. His ware helped to carry the fame of
Attic taste into distant lands.

We know that the majority of Greek vases have been gathered from
Etruscan tombs, where they formed the personal property of the dead
after having been used by families at banquets and at religious
ceremonies. Similar finds have been made in many other sites of the
ancient world: in the islands of Sicily, Rhodes, Melos; on the coast
of Africa, in Cyrenaica; in the Thracian Chersonese, even as far as
the Crimea. But nowhere have the finds been richer than in Etruria;
this was the favourite market for Attic ware during the sixth and the
greater part of the fifth century.

After the disastrous war in Sicily, when communication with the
Tyrrhenian Sea was severed, they turned to southern Italy, the
Islands, Africa, and the Scythian colonies. The trade in vases was
not limited to the home market, to the customers of Athens and the
neighbourhood. The most important and most thriving part of the
industry was the export into foreign countries. What we to-day term
_l’article de Paris_ scattered over all the world somewhat recalls the
favour enjoyed by Attic productions in that age. Great profits must
have been realised.

This trade was again combined with other important exports. It would be
an error to consider the painted vase as a curio simply made for the
pleasure of the eyes of the collector or artist, like the porcelain
of China and of Japan to-day. The Greeks had no _bric-à-brac_. We may
even say that there were no art amateurs or collectors. Utility was the
only foundation of art: it formed its health and strength. We do not
believe a statue was ever made, even in the fifth century, simply for
the pleasure of creating a beautiful piece of work. Each art object had
a practical purpose, and only existed by virtue of a want: offerings
to the gods, consecrations after victories, household utensils, votive
offerings at the altar and the tomb. It follows that industrial art was
still more intimately connected with practical needs. The amphora,
which appears as a speciality of Athens in the ceramic industry,
contained the famous oil gathered in the plain--to-day still famous
for its olive groves--or wine from Parnes. We know positively that
the Panathenaic amphoræ given as prizes at the feasts in honour of
Athene contained the savoury oil produced by the sacred plants of the
goddess. Victors carried these to their homes as trophies. There is
no reason to believe that other vases were treated differently. Why
should the painted amphoræ, such as are found from the sixth century
onwards in great numbers in Etruscan tombs, be sent forth empty from
the workshops of Corinth, Chalkis, or Athens? They certainly once
contained a product prized by the inhabitants of Caere and Volsinii
more than the beauty of the painting on their exterior. In consequence
of this beautiful decoration, which was a sort of trade-mark of Greek
produce, rich families in Italy ordered entire “table services” from
Athens for special use at banquets and religious festivals. They
not only comprised receptacles for oil and wine--amphoræ, krateres,
lekythoi, decanters for wine as the oinochoai, holders of water as the
hydria--but also vases for drinking, such as the kylix, the kantharos,
and the skyphos, and even plates and platters. From the fifth
century onwards Athens had succeeded in destroying all competition. She
had become the unique centre of this trade. The character of the art
then obtained decisive importance.


Kylix by Phintias. Baltimore Museum.]

The manufacture of the kylix--which was essentially the instrument of
joy and gaiety, passing at banquets from hand to hand and admired by
every one as it passed--received an impetus until then unknown.

Hence it was in consequence of being in close connection with the
export trade and with the two other great industries of wine and oil
that the ceramic art of Athens developed so extraordinarily. The
manufacturers must frequently have made large fortunes. Historians
tell us that the great fortunes in Athens were in the hands of the
metics. It is not astonishing to hear of rich offerings being made
on the Acropolis by manufacturers, some of whom were potters. On the
pedestal of an offering we read the name of the potter Euphronios. A
votive stele, in a style of delicate archaism, represents in bas-relief
a manufacturer of vases seated, holding two drinking cups in one hand.
Unfortunately a great part of the inscription is effaced, but one can
still distinguish the end of a name “IOS” which might be Euphronios.
The style of the sculpture and the accepted date of the ceramist would

The most beautiful archaic statue found on the Acropolis is signed
by one of the greatest sculptors of the fourth century, Antenor, and
bears a dedication made by a certain Nearchos, who might be a maker of
black-figured vases--one of which is preserved. This identification is
unfortunately not certain, but is admitted by several archæologists,
and implies nothing improbable. If one could definitely prove that
the potter Nearchos had ordered, of a famous sculptor, an important
work for an offering to the goddess Athene as a tithe of his gains, we
should possess most important evidence as to the social and pecuniary
condition of craftsmen.

Another curious record of the mode of life led by certain potters is
given on a vase in the Museum at Brussels. A painter has painted his
own portrait in the features of a young man at a banquet leaning on a
couch, feasting in the gay company of friends and hetairai (Fig. 3).
He is a contemporary of Douris named Smikros. One day, his purse being
well filled in consequence of good orders, he and some companions of
the studio indulged in the pleasures the city yielded.

If, by such information we may consider the pecuniary position of
potters as fairly good, shall we conclude that their education was
equal to that of the best Athenian society? Here it may be well to
enter a protest against the commonly accepted opinion. Vase painters
are usually credited with qualities of originality amounting to
positive genius. The merit of the composition and of the choice of
subject, the skill in placing the figures, the invention of attitude
and movement, are all attributed to them. Hartwig, an author who has
closely studied the Greek drinking cups of the fifth century, goes so
far in his admiration as to reject as fanciful any connection between
the works of this industry and the great works of contemporary art.
He grants that vase painters copy one another, and that they borrow
mutually subjects for designs and even persons. But he maintains that
their province remains indisputedly theirs, and one need not look for
copies from celebrated works in their art.

This opinion appears, like many others, to contain a truth and an
error. It is quite true, that to look for a commonplace reproduction
of great art upon painted vases would be useless. Many subjects are
strictly designed for the express purpose of the vase, for the form of
its surface, and are drawn from scenes of everyday life which were
constantly under the draughtsman’s eyes, scenes of the palæstra, of
banquets, military armaments, processions of cavalry, etc. Who could
imagine a Greek draughtsman not copying Nature?

But, on the other hand, how can one think of an artisan as skilled as
an Athenian ceramist, who could remain indifferent to the lessons of
the great masters? Would not his eyes and brain be filled with the
works of art which made all public buildings and sanctuaries museums
in the open air? And in that case, what strange rule would forbid
him to borrow many of the subjects and persons from these superior
models? These would be abstracts, free compositions, adaptations, but
nevertheless a borrowing.


Kylix by Douris. Louvre Museum.]

Furthermore, what we have just said of vase manufacturers places
them in a popular class whose members did not shine by education.
Merchants of free status, metics, freedmen or slaves could not form
a society comparable to the one in which lived a Polygnotos or a
Phidias. Isocrates says scornfully: “Who would dare compare Phidias
to a maker of terracottas, or Zeuxis and Parrhasios to a painter of
votive offerings?” He would undoubtedly have said the same of vase
painters. We affirm, in fact, that many of these workers were quite
illiterate; some were content simply to trace sham letters or letters
in juxtaposition, without any meaning, in the place of the usual
inscription. Many made gross mistakes, or mixed the dialect of their
own country with that of Athens. Some did not even know how to spell
the name of the potter for whom they were working, but wrote it in
three or four different ways. These little facts help to illustrate the
inferior condition of this society. To look here for great artists,
philosophers or thinkers, rivals of Pindar and Æschylus, of Phidias
and Polygnotos, would be contrary to all likelihood. If Euphronios,
Douris or Brygos had genius, it was entirely in their province as
skilled draughtsmen, guided and influenced by beautiful models, besides
being business men and prudent merchants. The idea of raising such men
to the height of creators and inventors would certainly have greatly
astonished the Athenians.

To sum up, Nature and living truth--the works of great masters and
the teachings of the past--these form the double source from which
all artists, at all times, have drawn. It would seem difficult to
exclude from one or the other the painters of Greek vases. On the
contrary, in studying them we feel, although their social position is
humble, and their private education mediocre, that they are peculiarly
great, inasmuch as their artistic sense is always alert, always
emulous of competitors or works of art about them, and, finally,
great in that dominant quality which the Greek carries within him--a
keen sensitiveness to all that is beautiful in life. As artisans,
craftsmen, merchants and metics, they move in a lower sphere in their
city; but nothing shows more clearly the power of the environment than
seeing in Athens, which had become the spiritual centre of Greece,
the working man’s world raising itself without effort from its dead
level to the intellectual life of the higher classes: a phenomenon
all the more remarkable as it occurred in an ancient society, that is
to say, in an era when the social barriers were inflexibly rigid. May
modern democracies be inspired by this example and understand that the
education of the masses comes from the highly-gifted, and the masses
will never be high-minded when those whom fortune has placed above them
are worthless.



We must regard Douris from two points of view: the craftsman and the

Let us first see what his workshop was like. Again, all the documents
we possess are the vases themselves, or terracotta tablets which served
as votive offerings. We see upon them workmen in the act of turning or
painting pots, lighted ovens, pottery exposed for sale, etc. Upon a
black-figured hydria at Munich (Fig. 4) we see such an establishment
divided into two parts: to the left is the workshop where the turning,
shaping and polishing of vases takes place; to the right, under the
supervision of an aged man, who apparently is the master, are other
workmen carrying finished pots to dry and bake them. In the extreme
corner is the high oven decorated with a Silenus mask. Here, a vase
from Ruvo (Fig. 2) takes us to a painter’s studio. Three painters, each
grasping a brush, are decorating the body and neck of two krateres and
one kantharos, while other vases on the ground are awaiting their turn.
To the right, on a platform, a woman is painting the handle of a larger
krater; above her some small pots are leaning against the wall. The
composition is ingeniously completed by the appearance of two Victories
and Athene armed with helmet and lance, who solemnly crown the workmen
bending over their work--a poetic symbol to glorify the fame of
Athenian industry.

The act of painting is illustrated upon some vase fragments, where we
see the artist working with a very finely-pointed brush (Fig. 25).
Lastly, some Corinthian platters show us workmen turning vases and
watching the baking, and the kiln filled with piles of pottery. One
even represents a merchant ship with a cargo of pottery, oinochoai
or small perfume bottles, destined for some land across the sea. We
will mention one other kylix by the painter Phintias, upon which are
displayed a potter’s wares. A number of vases are placed on the ground,
and a youth with a purse in his hand is stooping in the act of choosing
his purchase (Fig. 5).

[Illustration: Fig. 7. APHRODITE UPON HER SWAN.

White background. British Museum.]

All these scenes are small genre pictures like _The Barbers_ or _The
Lace Makers_ of Holland and Flanders in the seventeenth century.
They teach us the chief characteristics of the ceramic art.

An establishment of this kind implies several buildings. The vase
turners or makers would be in a separate room from the painters.
One or more ovens would be required in a court, with a shed for the
storage of raw materials, and for kneading and refining the clay.
Lastly, we must assume that there were some rooms for warehousing and a
sale-room adjoining the factory, in addition to rooms for the masters
and night-watchmen. No matter how modest the staff, it would amount to
fifteen or twenty persons, counting not only those in charge of the
factory, but labourers and stokers. Upon the hydria at Munich (Fig. 4),
in a painting necessarily restricted, we can count eight persons. Upon
the vase from Ruvo (Fig. 2) the studio contains four workers--three men
and one woman--all painting. To obtain a correct idea of the staff one
must at least treble this number.

Hence a potter like Douris must have superintended a factory
representing a commercial enterprise of some importance. We must
not think of an artist, who, in his solitary studio, at his leisure
and according to his inspiration, sketches subjects or forms for
vases, and leaves the execution to others. We must not forget it is
an industry. This practical purpose must profoundly influence one’s
opinions as to the nature of the potter’s studies, his manner of
composing, and the profit he expects from his enterprise.

We will not discuss points of technique which demand too detailed an
enquiry, and would raise questions not yet solved. Let us think of the
materials as gathered in the hands of the craftsman: clay carefully
chosen and refined, colours for glazing and retouching, lustres
intended to brighten the natural colour of the clay, and the black for
the design, wheels and moulds, rules and compass, sharp points for
sketching, brushes of all kinds, etc.

The most commonly used and most valuable ingredient is the black glaze,
the composition of which is still unknown; its basis is oxide of iron.
It is used for drawings on red clay, to trace features, persons,
accessories and decorations, and to cover the background. It is to
the Greek what Indian ink is to the draughtsman of Japan. In baking,
it takes on a warm, velvety tone, sometimes a little olive, sometimes
it becomes in the flames a little yellow or red. It is brightened
by a brilliant lustre which frequently produces the effect of a
mirror, but it never has the cold or waxy tone which disfigures modern
imitations of antique vases. It is thick and rich, and forms, after
drying, a slight prominence perceptible to the finger. Lastly, it is
indestructible, even by acids, and does not change with time, unless
the surface of the clay beneath it has been touched by damp, in which
case it flakes off.

The invention of this black was one of the most beautiful discoveries
in ancient industry. If we could only discover its formula it would
still be of the greatest importance. It was in use from the time of
the Mycenæan age, that is to say, more than a thousand years before
our era; eventually potters brought it to perfection, increasing its
delicacy, thickness and brilliancy. About the time of Douris it had
reached its perfection and retained its excellence until the end of
the fifth century. After the capture of Athens and the ruin of the
potters’ workshops, the recipe was lost or the manufacture of it became
neglected, for vases of the fourth century, found in Bœotia and in
Southern Italy, show a great deterioration in this respect.

Next to the black, his brush is of the greatest importance to the
Athenian artist. Its nature has been much discussed. In some of the
illustrations cited, we see it in the hands of workmen while drawing
(Figs. 2 and 25). It consists of a thin handle, doubtless of wood,
to which is joined a long and thin point. Some suppose it to be
the barbule of a bird’s feather; the feathers of the woodcock are
particularly suitable for very delicate lines. In the opinion of others
it is merely a hog’s bristle. The brushes vary in thickness according
to the number and stoutness of the bristles employed.

The Greeks must have been able to paint with one single bristle, a
method requiring great patience and special skill in loading the
brush with paint and guiding it on the clay; but in this manner
particularly delicate lines of even strength from end to end can be
obtained. Experiments have been made with ordinary paint, proving this
conclusively. Of course the painter must have had thicker brushes at
his disposal with which to trace heavier outlines. The background had
to be put in with heavy and broad brushes. But the fine brush is the
tool above all others with which the Greek draughtsman accomplished
wonderful feats, placing lines of extraordinary delicacy side by
side, or throwing out a line at a single stroke, the impeccable
straightness of which delights and surprises the eye. We have reason
to believe that it was not a tool for craftsmen only. Painters of
frescoes and large paintings had the same difficulties to contend with,
if we are to give credence to an anecdote by Pliny: for Apelles and
Protogenes competed who should draw the most perfect and finest line.


Kylix by Douris. Louvre Museum.]



Let us now watch the craftsman at work. We have said that Douris was
a potter, but that usually he left to others the care of making vases
according to well-known models, and reserved to himself the task of
decoration. In what then does his character of painter consist?

First he must decide on the subject. The Greeks tried, as much as
possible, to adapt the design to the purpose of the vase. An amphora or
a krater would not usually have the same design as a kylix. There were
no rules on the subject, and the utmost liberty was given the artist.
Nevertheless, we notice that grave subjects and personages in attitudes
of repose are given the preference on large vases, which had stable
bases and were rarely moved, as harmonizing best with their broad
surface and vertical lines. Animated or everyday subjects are better
adapted to the horizontal sides of a kylix, which circulated freely in
the hands of guests.

For the same reason, we may say that the painting of large vases
remained essentially conservative, more attached to ancient methods and
subjects, while the painting of the kylix constantly called forth new
ideas: hence its great importance in the fifth century.

Certain archæologists claim to have discovered two distinct branches
in the industry--but that is an error. The same distinguished artists
produced the large krater and the kylix, as for example Euphronios.
But it would be more correct to distinguish two schools side by side,
and those artists who by preference decorated the kylix were more
“progressive.” Douris is of this number, if not in style, at least in
the choice of his subjects. He tries to create new designs; he draws
from daily life, banquet scenes, dancing scenes, scenes from the
palæstra (Fig. 6), amorous scenes--well adapted for a drinking cup. On
the other hand, if he approaches heroic or mythical compositions, he
makes use of the opportunity to draw beautiful bodies in motion, rape
or battle episodes: The Nereids flying from Peleus (Fig. 13); Theseus
killing the Minotaur and Attic robbers (Fig. 11); or the battles of
heroes in Homer, as those of Menelaos and Paris or Ajax and Hector
(Figs. 9 and 10). At other times, we find allusions to recent glorious
events which had taken place in Greece, a Greek soldier striking down a
Persian (Fig. 20), Hoplites and Asiatic archers at close quarters. He
belonged to that group of artists who are always looking for action,
for the new and the modern.

After what originals did the painter compose? We are quite ignorant
here, and cannot specify without falling into fiction and hypothesis.
Were there sketch books, representing the individual observations
of the artist, taken from Nature or from great contemporary works?
Or did πίνακες, tablets of wood or panels of terracotta, serve for
preliminary sketches? Did a painter, as it were, design a “model” which
he transferred to clay or gave to his workmen as a theme to work upon?
All these questions remain unanswered. One is forced to surmise that
the master signed only works on which he himself had worked, those
which he designed and circulated as his latest productions, the _editio
princeps_, so to speak, inscribed with his signature. But when a
subject once composed was repeated in the workshop, copied with slight
variations by workmen, the pottery, no matter what its commercial
value, was no longer entitled to this personal certificate.


Exterior of preceding Cup.]

Subjects thus composed with free repetition must be very numerous, for
there is, as it were, a strong family likeness among many of them:
battle scenes, banquets, gatherings of youths, games in the palæstra.
Another important fact, must be stated, no obstacle was placed against
plagiarism in ancient times; on the contrary, it was the spirit and
essence of industrial art. We have proof of this in the terracottas
as well as in the vases. Every one copies or imitates his neighbour.
There is no copyright or patent for artistic property, an idea which
has become the subject of legislation only in modern times. Considering
the communistic way in which these Greek craftsmen lived, at a time
when production was so intense, and the personal reputation of a potter
might prove so great a factor in his fortune, we can readily understand
how any man may have been led to protect himself against plagiarism
by means of a signature which authenticated a production. A krater by
Euphronios, a kylix by Douris or Brygos, might be particularly sought
after by certain customers in Greece and Etruria. Why should they not
be assured that they had in their hands an original work of a great
master, and not a copy made by workmen or competitors? Have we not
clocks signed by Boulle, and chests of drawers by Riesener, which are
thus distinguished from similar objects, sometimes very beautiful, but
which, without a trade-mark, do not represent original work?

Such then is the sense in which we should understand the signature of
a vase by Douris. He sought, devised and composed the design. And even
more, his own hands carried out the painting.

Let us now reflect upon the material side of the painter’s trade.

The artist begins with a simple sketch made by means of a hard
point, it may simply be the sharpened end of a bit of wood, which
scratches the unbaked clay, leaving decided traces after the final
painting, baking and glazing. There is hardly a beautiful vase of
this period, signed or not, which does not show these traces. This
sketch sufficiently proves the absolute independence of the worker
in regard to his model, and contradicts the opinion of those who
maintain that the transfer was made with compasses. On the contrary,
one feels how free the work is, and that the arrangement was invented
entirely to suit the object decorated. And what enables us to follow
the method of sketching still more closely, is the fact that the
stroke of the brush, coming after, has not always exactly followed
its lines. There have been alterations at the last moment, a lowered
arm has been raised, a foot advanced, etc. It is impossible to doubt
the spontaneous character, in some respects the improvisation of the
design. It is, besides, rare to outline completely every person in
a sketch. Frequently the outlines of one or two, with their chief
characteristics, are drawn, and these determine the rest.

When the sketch is finished, the painter begins to put in his colour.
He first takes a broad brush and rapidly indicates in black the
outlines of the figures which compose his picture: this broad stroke
of the brush charged with more colour and forming a projection round
the figures can be easily distinguished. Next come the fine brushes,
composed of only one bristle, giving in accurate and precise strokes
the chief lines of the bodies and the folds of the garments; others,
a little heavier, are used to indicate the hair, the beard, ornaments
on the garments, etc. The black may be used in a variety of tones. By
diluting it a more fluid matter was obtained, rather grey, which was
frequently used for the under sides of objects, for rendering muscular
details, the wavy folds in drapery, locks of hair, etc. Usually
this diluted black would turn yellow in the baking. An unobtrusive
polychrome is the result which the painters used with ingenuity; they
were thus able to produce blonde hair or slightly golden folds of

We have already stated that, in order to carry out these very fine
lines, the artist probably held his brush firmly, not only with the
tips of his fingers, but with closed hand as the Japanese painters
still do (Figs. 2 and 25). He must move slowly and firmly in tracing
these fine lines. Constantly obliged to take fresh colour, he sometimes
had to break a line two or three times; but these joinings are only
visible with a magnifying glass. It is said that it was impossible to
make any correction of the stroke, and that the faultless execution of
the lines proves the wonderful skill of the Greeks. We believe this to
be an error. A wet sponge probably sufficed to remove any drawings or
parts of them from the clay, and when it was dry the artist could begin
work again. It was a question of patience and skill. It is because
correction was so easy, that the results attained are usually

[Illustration: Fig. 10. CONTEST OF AJAX AND HECTOR.

Exterior of preceding Cup.]

The painting finished, the pot was handed over to a workman to fill in
the background between the figures with black as well as the foot and
the edges of the handles.

After the black had dried, the pot was returned to the artist’s hands
to be retouched with colour. In the sixth century, in the black-figured
style, many colours were used, as violet-red and white. At the time of
Douris, the red figured vases displayed very few complementary colours.
Great simplicity characterized the taste of the times. A few red lines
sufficed to indicate fillets tied in the hair, belts holding swords,
the reins of horses, etc. Red was likewise used to trace inscriptions
or the signature of the artist (Fig. 8). Others preferred to inscribe
it in black on the foot of handle (Fig. 15). Others again incised it
with a style in the thick colour. White only returns again to favour
after the Persian wars. About the time of Douris, in the workshop of
one of his rivals--Brygos--who may have been a little younger, attempts
were made to heighten the effect of the red figures by a little gilding
cautiously placed on the outlines of the armour, helmets and vases for
libations. It is a return to the rich polychromy, which later continues
to develop, and ends in those pretty little gilt vases devoted to
scenes of child life, beloved by Attic customers towards the end of
the fifth century. As far as we know, Douris does not seem to have
taken part in the manufacture of the beautiful drinking cups with a
white background and fresco tones of brown, red and violet, with which
the workshops of Euphronios and his successors were busy (Fig. 7). He
adheres to the classical method of figures left in the red clay, and
only retouched by a few wine-coloured lines. It may be said that he is
not a colourist. To his eyes, as to those of Ingres, drawing is the
very foundation of the art.

When the drawings were finished, his chief task was done; but his
position as manufacturer did not permit him to remain indifferent to
the rest. He had to carry his painted pottery to the drying place, and,
after the required time, to have it baked. This is a very delicate part
of the manufacture of vases, on which its success greatly depends.
Ancient ovens were probably very imperfect. There are many examples of
oxidization by contact with the flame, which improperly reddens the
side of a vase or turns half a figure orange. The supports on which
vases were placed, while drying, sometimes left round marks. In one
known instance, in consequence of two freshly painted vases touching
one another, the hoofs of a horse have become impressed upon the face
of a youth.

Defects in the material were more liable then than now to expose the
ceramist to breakage and various accidents, which at all times have
been the despair of the manufacturer, and which an Homeric singer
already ascribed to special demons, “Syntrips, Smaragos, Asbetos,
Sabaktes, Omodamos, gods fatal to the furnace.” We have already
described a kiln adorned with a head of Silenus, a prophylactic fetish,
destined to cast out evil influences (Fig. 4).

At last the pottery is taken out of the oven. The master can
contemplate his work, test the delicacy of its sides, examine the
fusion of the colours, study the change of tone in the baking. Other
workmen come to immerse the vases in a prepared bath, which will
glaze the entire visible surface, brighten the red of the clay, the
background and all the black lines, but will leave the retouching
dull. We are quite ignorant of the ingredients of the bath which so
thoroughly accomplished all this and gave the pottery its splendour.
We only know that a red precipitate was formed, traces of which are
frequently visible under the foot and upon the clay which had remained
uncovered. Among vases of the decline, this red overruns the entire
drawing and gives an unpleasant appearance to the whole; in this case,
as with the black, either the recipe of the glaze had been lost, or
else the work was badly executed. Possibly a dry rubbing with leather
or some other substance added finish to the glaze.

We must not even yet regard the potter’s work as finished. He had to
superintend the sale, attract customers, confer with shipowners in
regard to the export. Nor was advertising unknown to the ancients.
It adopted many devices. Some potters contrived to paint on the vase
subjects or inscriptions alluding to the products therein. There are
scenes of wine and oil sales, with sentences, praising the merchandise
or the honesty of the merchant. There are incentives to the pleasure of
drinking, friendly greetings and wishes of good health to him who will
use the kylix or kantharos. Even the details of the potter’s trade have
served as matter for representation, to recall to the customer the fame
of Attic workshops. The prettiest allegory is the one we mentioned
above, where we saw Athene accompanied by two little Victories entering
a workshop of painters and placing crowns on the heads of the workmen
(Fig. 2).

[Illustration: Fig. 11. THE ADVENTURES OF THESEUS.

By Douris. British Museum.]

But the means most frequently adopted to attract buyers was to inscribe
on the body of a vase the name of some young man of distinguished
family in Athens, known either for his beauty or his fortune, and in
this way to gain the good-will of a rich customer, who would bring the
patronage of all his family and friends. We have a large number of such
inscriptions wherein the manufacturer invokes “the handsome Leagros,”
“the handsome Glaukon,” or “the handsome Megakles,” etc., and we
recognize in these names well-known members of the Athenian aristocracy
(Figs. 5, 7, 8).

It will be remembered that the Italian potters of the sixteenth century
put into circulation _coppe amatorie_, bearing portraits of beautiful
women, surrounded by inscriptions celebrating _Lucrezia diva_ or “the
fair Camilla.” This is a similar idea.

Lastly, we have one example of a personal advertisement in rather an
aggressive form, coming from Euthymides, a contemporary and rival
of Euphronios. Upon an amphora in the Museum at Munich, the boastful
craftsman has written this defiant apostrophe: “Euphronios has never
done so well!”

These minute details enable us to penetrate into the material life of
the workshop. We catch a glimpse of the greedy struggles for gain,
the ambitions and rivalries involved in all commercial enterprise. It
is the seamy side of this beautiful art, which to-day appears to us
so pure and free from all material considerations. As in all human
efforts, there were undoubtedly in reality many competing interests,
many cruel cares, much deceit and hatred. But time has done its work;
has thrown a veil over the mean and petty things in life, and only
allowed those to survive which are truly sane and useful. Let us
rejoice in not knowing whether Douris was a successful business man,
whether he honestly made a fortune, or whether he died miserably in
debt. That which remains of his work is the spiritual, the true and
fruitful part of his life. His drawings teach us what he was, not as an
individual, but as an artist, as a member of the great Athenian family,
and this it is which interests us above all.



We will only consider here the works signed by Douris, and leave
aside a considerable number of anonymous vases attributed to him. We
only wish to argue from indisputable records. The number consists of
twenty-six drinking cups, one kantharos, and one vase for cooling wine,
forming in all about eighty paintings, which can be divided into three
distinct groups:

    1. Mythical and heroic subjects, adventures of gods and heroes.

    2. Martial subjects, scenes of arming and battle.

    3. Subjects of everyday life, banquets, conversations and
         exercises in the palæstra.

It would, no doubt, be interesting to study these subjects
chronologically, and to follow step by step the career of the artist;
but we could not place much confidence in a detailed enumeration of
dates. We will select the first group as most clear and precise. This
will not prevent our examining the numerous and diverse styles through
which the talent of Douris passed. On the whole, we may say there were
two chief periods in his style: the one, while he adhered to ancient
traditions, and his drawings remained stiff and archaic; the other,
when his brush became flexible to a remarkable degree, and when he
began to create. It is the story of many artists, both ancient and

1. _Mythical and Heroic Subjects._

The kylix of Eos and Memnon (Figs. 8, 9, 10), well known to visitors of
the Louvre, is not only the oldest but the one which best illustrates
the first period of Douris, and deserves the closest attention from
lovers of art. It is a masterpiece of Greek ceramic art, at a time
when the painting of red figures, while still retaining the stiff,
archaic forms, finds means to move the feelings by purity of line and
a deep sense of life. The vase, by the potter Kalliades, in itself
reveals an old shape (Fig. 1 right) with the foot short and squat, the
sides heavy, a deep bowl and short handles, following the models of
Nikosthenes and Pamphaios of the sixth century. Later Douris made a
kylix of far more graceful outline, with a shallower bowl, a higher
stem made slender in the middle, and lighter handles, such as one
sees in the workshops of Euphronios, Hieron and Brygos (Fig. 1 left).
On this kylix there are a great number of inscriptions: nearly every
person is designated by name. Besides the signatures of the potter and
painter we can read the name of the handsome Hermogenes (Fig. 8), and
with it a fragment of a phrase, the meaning of which remains doubtful.
Seventeen or eighteen words in all are scattered in fine red letters
over the inner surface and the reverse of the cup. This profusion of
writing is in itself archaic; men were communicative in early times,
and delighted in labelling their figures like our old illuminators of
the Middle Ages. More recent works of Douris have lost this useless
mode of expression. Painting is its own interpreter, and has no further
need of this awkward assistance.

[Illustration: Fig. 12.


Kylix by Euphronios. Louvre Museum.]

The composition is synthetic. It contains three events in the Trojan
war. On the reverse are the combats of Menelaos and Paris, Ajax and
Hector; on the inner side the Ethiopian King Memnon lies dead in the
arms of his mother, the goddess Eos (the Dawn). Some archæologists
who have studied these paintings have tried to find here a strong and
learned unity, a kind of drama in three acts, even at the expense of
the inscriptions. Brunn even maintained that the latter were faulty, as
he conceived therein an Achilleid, celebrating three different feats of
the great hero. Others have refused to see any reference to the Epics,
and have noted the differences which distinguished the text of Homer
from these paintings. For instance, Douris has placed behind Menelaos
the goddess Aphrodite, protectress of Troy, which seems inconsistent;
behind Paris we see Artemis carrying her bow; behind Ajax is the
goddess Athene. These divinities do not figure in the Homeric account.
As regards the death of Memnon, it appears to belong to an epic by
another cyclic poet, Arktinos of Miletos. It is the imagination of the
poet that collected at random, as it were, these scattered subjects,
and united them according to his fancy.

The opinion we hold amid these conflicting views will be more easily
understood by reference to the chapters on the social and mental
conditions of the Athenian potters. To suppose them to have conceived
themes of deep meaning, elaborated like an ode of Pindar or a chorus of
Sophocles with strophe, antistrophe and epode, seems most unlikely; and
if, in order to gain good results, the inscriptions must be changed,
we do not hesitate to reject such a procedure as contrary to all
scientific method. Who can believe that these profound thinkers were
so stupid as not to write correct inscriptions? On the other hand, we
know enough of the art of the period, of the advance made in design,
to expect a certain unity in the whole. It is the spirit of the entire
school to unite the different parts of the vase by subjects closely
connected, or at least related. In the present case we believe the
Trojan war to be the great theme uniting the three paintings. This was
the most cherished subject, even with the people. We must remember
that a painter of vases had nothing in common with a modern designer
who has a text to illustrate before his eyes. It is hardly likely that
manuscripts of Homer or Arktinos were found on the work-benches of the
Kerameikos. For these craftsmen, memory or the remembrance of some
recitation at the Panathenaic festivals had to take the place of the

In consequence, the chief episode must have made a decided impression
on the mind, without involving accuracy in minor details. In re-reading
the _Iliad_, Book III. (Menelaos and Paris), and Book VII. (Ajax and
Hector), we gain the impression that the artist, whoever he was (for
the craftsman may have copied a known work), has here reproduced the
essential elements of the drama. In adding persons, as Athene behind
Paris, or Aphrodite behind Menelaos, the artist simply adhered to the
conditions of the composition of a painting, which at this period
scrupulously obeyed the rules of symmetry. Aphrodite is placed there
to restrain the arm of Menelaos, as the gesture of her right hand
indicates. Artemis, as a companion figure on the other side, represents
the protecting gods of Troy (Fig. 9); two goddesses were not too much
to watch over the handsome Paris.

The other reverse (Fig. 10) similarly conforms to, and diverges from,
the Homeric text. As in the poem, Hector struck by a rock thrown by
his adversary sinks to his knees and Apollo advances to support him.
(The irregularly shaped object above indicates the stone.) In Homer,
Athene does not appear, but here, placed as she is behind Ajax, whom
she appears to be pushing forward with a gesture, she represents the
protecting goddess of the Greeks. The symmetry of the two sides is
essential. The decorative tradition requires it, and the painter sets
his professional duty before his respect for a poetic text, in which no
one saw anything more than a general theme for beautiful subjects
and attitudes. We are quite convinced that the great painters took
exactly the same liberties with the cyclic poems they interpreted. The
description of the masterpiece of Polygnotos, _The Taking of Troy_,
bears witness to this. The artist seems to have complied with the
general information given in the epic, but not to have illustrated any
given text.


By Douris. Louvre Museum.]

In spite of the archaic stiffness, the execution of the subjects
delights us by the purity of line and the great care in detail. The
painting is simply a drawing, hardly retouched with a few red lines.
It is like a dry point engraving, in which all the lines are somewhat
prominent. The symmetrical and parallel folds of the garments, details
of the armour, the imbrications, the chasing of the helmets and
cuirasses, the locks and curls of hair, are marvels of patient and
conscientious work. The ornaments, as carefully finished as the rest,
have the same stiff and rather metallic precision. Lastly, the black
glaze, thick and velvety, gives an extraordinary brilliancy to the
entire vase.

In considering the painting of the interior (Fig. 8), we move upwards
another step. In its small compass, we consider it one of the finest
paintings handed down to us from ancient times. It consoles us somewhat
for the loss of so many masterpieces, and we cannot suppose that a
potter, working alone in his workshop, invented this first _Mater
dolorosa_, which is as touching as a Mantegna or a Roger Van der
Weyden. Nowhere is a copy from a great painting more forcibly evident.
Every one must be impressed by the striking resemblance of this Pagan
and Greek creation to the emblem that has moved Christian souls for
so many centuries. Eos, standing with outstretched and beating wings,
bends toward the dead face of her son Memnon, her strained arms
supporting his rigid body. The goddess, who represents the radiant
morning and the promises of Nature awakening with the dawn, is here
simply a despairing mother imprinting on her mind with one long look
the beloved features she will see no more; the contrast is profoundly
sad, and a creation worthy of a great poet. The body of the powerful
prince of the Ethiopians, the ally of Priam, is entirely nude as it was
taken up on the battlefield where his adversary Achilles had robbed him
of his armour. The stiff legs are stretched out, the left foot still
contracted with pain, the arms swing limply, the head drops, while the
dishevelled hair, the delicate beard, and the closed eyes arouse an
irresistible memory of the dead Christ. We have a true _Pietà_ before
our eyes.

What miracle in art, what unexpected chance unites Pagan and Christian
art to express the same thought, in the same form? Is it not a proof
that across the centuries great artists share the same thoughts, and
to express the emotions of life create a universal language? Is it not
this again which attracts us in Homer, in those never to be forgotten
scenes, expressing so well the deep feelings of all men at all times;
the farewell of Hector and Andromache, the return of Ulysses to Ithaca?
Art soars above time and space, more than all else it embodies the
solidarity of succeeding generations without any knowledge of one

A kylix in the British Museum, with _The Adventures of Theseus_ (Fig.
11), of more recent form and style, teaches us still better that behind
the vase painter may be concealed other and greater personalities,
who are the true creators of the work of art. A famous kylix from
the workshop of Euphronios shows us similar scenes glorifying the
Athenian hero, forming with the _Eos and Memnon_, by Douris, and _The
Taking of Troy_, by Brygos, a glorious trio of ceramic masterpieces,
of which the Louvre is justly proud. In comparing the works of Douris
with those coming from the workshops of Euphronios, the idea suggests
itself that they either copied one another or borrowed from one common
original. Both suppositions are possible. As already mentioned, no
law or custom prohibited artistic plagiarism. If Douris knew of the
beautiful work executed by his colleague, nothing prevented him from
adopting it for his own use. But, on the other hand, the broad style
of Euphronios’ production and the peculiar character of the adventure
of Theseus recovering the ring of Minos from the bottom of the sea,
a subject treated by Mikon, one of the great painters of the fifth
century, finally the great number of works of art which at this
period celebrated the national hero’s glory, lead us to believe that
a potter had no need to look over his neighbour’s shoulder to gain
suggestions for a theme of Theseus. He was surrounded by models in
painting, sculpture, painted bas-reliefs, models, carved and engraved.
The supposition of a common model or several models, from which a
craftsman, in a way, chose the desired subject, seems most probable.

[Illustration: Fig. 14. SILENI PLAYING AND DANCING.

Vase by Douris. British Museum.]

It is only in this sense and with such reservation that these two cups
can be compared. In looking at the superb vase in the Louvre, no one
will hesitate to give the preference to the workshop of Euphronios. In
the interior is _The Visit of Amphitrite_; in this painting the author
has retained all the seriousness of great religious art with a touch of
archaism in the drawing and position of the characters, showing thereby
that he has copied an ancient fresco; while, on the contrary, on the
reverses, the combats of Theseus with the robbers Skiron, Prokrustes
and Kerkyon, and the struggle with the Marathonian bull, are treated as
in metopes, with bold, vigorous lines, giving rather a feeling of the
influence of sculpture (Fig. 12).

The composition of Douris (Fig. 11) is more firmly knit, because it
concentrates all the attention on the adventures of the hero against
monsters and robbers. In the interior is the fight with the Minotaur,
an ancient and classic theme from the sixth century; on the reverses,
the defeat of Kerkyon, of Skiron and Sinis, and the hunt of the boar of
Krommyon; two women give some variety and animation to the whole, the
nymph Phaia who lived at Krommyon, and the goddess Athene who protects
her favourite hero at his labours. Here again is a closely-knit
trilogy; but, we must confess, the execution is far inferior to that
of the cup of Euphronios. It is accurate and a little commonplace.
There is, however, noticeable a desire to express landscape, a care for
external ornament, visible in the palm tree and the small trees placed
about, and by a cloak thrown upon a tree trunk. It is a rare mark among
Greek painters, and worthy of note.

We will look more rapidly at the paintings of the kantharos at
Brussels, the importance of which, as being a vase moulded by Douris
himself, we have already mentioned (Fig. 1). The figures represent
“Herakles’ contest with the Amazons,” an old type, nearly a century
old, but with the added beauty of a clear and accurate style, and an
admirably certain execution. Nor are the subjects new which are treated
upon another kylix in the Louvre, _The Rape of Thetis by Peleus_.
But Douris deserves the credit of having skilfully revived an old
subject known on Corinthian and Attic vases of the sixth century. It
is possible to follow in the Louvre the same painting done in turn by
a Corinthian, then by an Attic painter of black figures, and lastly
by Douris. It is of great interest to follow the development of the
composition and of the grouping of the figures, of their attitudes,
and of the drawing itself. We perceive here the same differences as in
comparing a Madonna of Cimabue with one of Lippi. Symmetry of figures,
stiff and angular outlines and severe features have given place to life
and tender touches of the brush. At the same time, the close connection
of these successive works appears most striking--the link with the past
has never been severed; the fundamental conception has always remained
the same; improvement has come from within, and extends to every little


By Brygos. British Museum.]

Douris has extended his composition and united the two reverse sides of
the kylix. On one, the hero seizes the goddess, who struggles in his
grasp and has summoned to her aid the magic art of transformations.
These are given with all the _naïveté_ of primitive art: to tell us
that Thetis changes into a lion, and later into a serpent, the artist
has drawn on one side a young lion seated on the shoulder of the
goddess, and tearing with his teeth the arm of her ravisher; on the
other a serpent lifts its twisted coils and darts its threatening jaws
at him. The companions of Thetis, the Nereids, frightened by so bold
an attack, take flight, and this gives the painter an opportunity of
showing us young girls running in many graceful attitudes--the arms
are tossed in gestures that are still angular; the bare feet and legs
escape from the drapery, showing the rather lean suppleness of these
young maidens. It is, at the same time, a skilful method of uniting the
whole; in fact, on the other reverse we see other nymphs running, who
come to tell the god Nereus and his wife Doris of the attempt. Both are
seated on ornamented thrones with the Olympian majesty of a Jupiter and
a Juno (Fig. 13). All the beauty of the famous group in the Panathenaic
Frieze is already visible in their movements and their attitude.



By Douris. Vienna Museum.]

Unfortunately the interior is defaced and restored, but the artist
has shown no less ingenuity in its design. He has taken a theme
frequently used by painters of red figures, and thus rendered rather
commonplace--the libation; but instead of showing us the well-known
scene of a soldier departing on a campaign and receiving the full
cup from a woman, he has enlarged the subject, and shows us the god
Poseidon seated, receiving a libation cup from the hands of a goddess,
probably his wife, Amphitrite. Again a synthetic trilogy prevails in
this composition: in the upper part of the vase the god of the sea
and his consort are throned; in the lower part is enacted a little
drama which takes place on the seashore, and has sea-gods as actors.
Everywhere we find the intelligent skill of the Greek, and the easy art
with which he beautifies all he touches. Was all this the personal work
of Douris? or does the model he copies and follows deserve much of the
credit? It will always remain an open question. As we possess a kylix
by the potter Hieron (it has even been ascribed to Douris), another by
the painter Peithinos, and many anonymous vases which repeat in similar
form the details of _The Rape of Thetis_, we again incline towards the
second hypothesis. How many sanctuaries in Greece, dedicated to the
gods of the sea, must have contained paintings or reliefs of this kind!

It is the variety of models, in a word, which best explains the variety
of styles among painters of vases. As we remarked above, no vase
painter is of greater interest in this respect than Douris. If any one
wishes to estimate at a single glance his often puzzling versatility,
he need only look at the mythological painting on a large receptacle
for wine in the British Museum (Fig. 14). The choice of the subject,
_The Bacchic Thiasos_, repeated to satiety upon black-figured amphoræ
of the sixth century, leads us to expect only a commonplace painting,
but the artist instead brings us face to face with one of the most
spirited sketches Greek art has left to us.

Douris shows himself daring, amusing, free almost to indecency, and
one asks how the same brush which painted many little paintings,
rather stiff in their symmetry, could become animated to the point of
inventing these funambulistic movements of wild beasts let loose. These
are Sileni playing and dancing. Arranged in a row, like mountebanks
upon their stage, they abandon themselves to frantic sports under the
leadership of a herald costumed as Hermes, on his head the petasos,
and in his hand the caduceus. One lowers his head to drink from a
cup placed on the floor; a second, in a half-lying position, has the
contents of a goat skin and a wine jug poured together into his mouth
by two of his companions; others toy in a ludicrous fashion with
kantharoi, or dance on one foot, and try by bending forward to reach
a full cup. Even expurgated, this painting sufficiently shows the
unbridled gaiety and fun which the Greek designer allowed himself.
In that again he resembles the Japanese draughtsman, in love with
buffooneries and acrobatic postures. Those who only like to think of
Greek art as serious and moralizing, can take their own view. Greek art
knew all and dared all--works such as were placed upon school walls to
elevate thought, and such as were hidden under a cloak. The same brush
drew the touching image of _Eos and Memnon_, and this scene of a pagan,

In Athens this surprised no one. We have, however, classified our
artists, and confined them to their specialities. We do not admit that
a “serious” artist could cause laughter, and we have our professional
caricaturists. Leonardo da Vinci, it is true, did not disdain to draw
the grotesque. Neither ancient painting nor sculpture feared the ugly
or the comic; but they gave to each a meaning. They did not cause
laughter for the sake of laughing. They did not cause fear for the sake
of frightening. These important elements in real life have a symbolic
and allegoric meaning. The head of Medusa appears as a survival of
vanished monsters, which terrified man when he sought to establish his
dominion on earth. The Learnæan hydra is, on the most ancient vases, a
gigantic octopus gripping Herakles and Iolaos, as the octopus clasps
Gilliatt in _Les travailleurs de la mer_. The grimacing mask of the
satyr is the inheritance of a very early conception transformed by
art. It would not be difficult to prove, documents in hand, that the
large anthropoid apes met by the Phœnicians in their explorations in
Africa, and drawn by them on their metal cups of the seventh century,
furnished the Ionian artists, when combined with the Bes of the
Egyptians, with the prototype of the hairy and shaggy Silenus, with the
flat-nosed face, that one sees on certain sarcophagi of Klazomenai.
This is what we admire in the Sileni of Douris. The skilful, dry point
of the artist knew how to preserve, when he sketched them on clay, all
their simian agility, their droll, gorilla-like features, the relaxed,
sinewy and flexible limbs, wherein we recognize the vigorous beast in
semblance of a man. We only know of one other artist who has rendered
this bounding animal gait of the Sileni with equal success--the painter
of a kylix from the workshop of the potter Brygos, which is undoubtedly
inspired by a satyric drama; here the goddess Hera and her companion
Iris are in great distress through falling into the midst of such a
wild band. Fortunately Hermes with fair words, and Herakles with his
club, arrive in time to restrain these rash and disrespectful fellows
(Fig. 15).


Interior of preceding Cup.]

Let us finish this review of the mythological subjects with a kylix
from the Museum in Vienna on which we see _The Contest over the Arms of
Achilles_ (Figs. 16 and 17). It will give us an opportunity of studying
dramatic themes in the hands of Douris, drawn from epic poetry, and
adopted by the writers of tragedy. We know how, later, Sophocles in
his _Ajax with the Scourge_, showed the fatal result of the unexpected
quarrel arising between Ulysses and Ajax for the possession of the
divine weapons, which Thetis had given to her son Achilles. This event
was a favourite theme, and had been treated in ceramic painting from
the sixth century onwards. In what work and what kind of production did
Douris seek his inspiration? We shall always remain ignorant of this.
We only wish to show by this example in how great a measure the Greek
theatre influenced composition and even the style of painted vases.

Several black-figured vases, some of which are in the Louvre, represent
this _Contest_; the two heroes have come to blows and are falling upon
each other fiercely, while Agamemnon and other Greeks exert themselves
to separate them. This fundamental theme was not lost on Douris, for
he made use of it on one of the reverses of his kylix (Fig. 16). But,
following his fancy or other models of which we know nothing, he adds
two other episodes: (1) on the other reverse, _The Voting of the Greek
Chiefs_, who all bring their votes in the shape of pebbles, and place
them on an altar in the presence of the goddess Athene, thus awarding
the victory to Ulysses (Fig. 16); (2) in the interior, _Ulysses and
Neoptolemos_, a painting forming, as it were, the heroic catastrophe of
the drama, where the victor renounces the glorious weapons and restores
them generously to the son of Achilles, so that he in turn may wear
them and accomplish the ruin of the Trojans (Fig. 17). Here, again,
Douris’ favourite manner of composition results in a trilogy. We have
the three acts in a tragedy, dominated by the memory of Achilles and
the epic of the Trojan war.

The fact will at once be recalled that to the Greek theatre, as
conceived by Æschylus and his immediate predecessors, a similar
arrangement was not unknown. We find many such examples of about the
time of the Persian wars, not only by Douris, but by his rivals as well.

To look here for an exact copy of some contemporaneous work would
undoubtedly be absurd. We can hardly insist too strongly on this
point. The absence of the costumes and accessories of the theatre,
which were so individual and expressive in their conventions, is an
indication that the painter did not try to depict on clay the living
spectacle he had just witnessed. In a later age, the Greek vases of
southern Italy freely transferred scenes from tragedies, but in this
ancient period we have no such examples. The composition is derived
from the theatre just as in the kylix of _Eos and Memnon_, mentioned
above, it depends on Homer. It is a general impression that the mind
of the artist has absorbed, and it helps him to arrange his subjects

Professor Carl Robert has very well remarked that the vases of the
sixth century have the “epic” manner; they tell stories and relate to
us in detail like the ancient singers. Those of the group of Douris
have a “dramatic” manner; they habitually appeal to us by synthetic
groupings, which we accurately term in the language of the theatre
_tableaux_, and which sum up an entire scene. We would further remark
that in Douris and his contemporaries, the figures assume attitudes
which one might call “scenic.”

On one side of the painting of the _Voting_ (Fig. 16), Ulysses, with
uplifted hands, expresses at once astonishment and delight to see how
the heap of little stones which represent the votes in his favour is
growing; while, on the other side, in the right corner of the scene,
Ajax, alone and deserted and feeling defeat inevitable, covers his head
with his cloak to hide his disgrace, a dramatic figure, suggesting the
often cited work of Timanthes--Agamemnon hiding his face so as not to
witness the sacrifice of his daughter Iphigeneia. We still could cite
vases from the Louvre--beautiful examples--showing Achilles returning
sad and in despair to his tent. What caused this beautiful and tragic
inspiration? Who created these attitudes of mute eloquence if not the
Greek drama? Do we not know that one of the great effects in the drama
of Æschylus was precisely his placing on the stage an immovable Niobe,
and a stern Achilles, who answered the messages of Agamemnon simply
with unrelenting silence?

[Illustration: Fig. 18. ACHILLES KILLING TROÏLOS.

By Euphronios. Louvre Museum.]

The poetry in the best compositions of Douris is entirely derived from
memories of the epic and memories of the drama. It matters little
whether he invented them or whether they were suggested to him; it is
the very essence of Greek painting disclosed before our eyes, with its
spirit of freedom and ready adaptation. Everything is helpful and
suggestive to an artist. Whether derived from epic recitations, from
lyric strophes, or from the theatre, these floating images all become
fixed by his brush and take definite shapes, which in turn will haunt
the imagination of other artists and guide their hands. What a rich
fertility of art, which multiplied its creations on all hands, and
united all classes of the Athenian people into a kind of brotherhood of

2. _Martial Subjects._

Battle-scenes had for three centuries been the classic subject of
industrial design. As with all primitive peoples, war had been at
first the chief occupation of the Greeks, and in consequence one of
the chief sources of art. The Dipylon vases covered with warriors,
chariots, boats, dead and wounded, or with pompous funeral scenes are
contemporary with the _Iliad_. From the seventh to the fifth century
the warrior subject was repeated to satiety upon all ceramics with
black figures. How will Douris profit by this?

Seven drinking cups bearing twenty paintings are devoted to this style.
Most of them are subject to the rules of symmetric composition, which
we observed on the Memnon kylix, in the contests of Menelaos and Paris,
and of Ajax and Hector. Truth and tradition unite in giving to this
subject the appearance of a simple duel, the secondary personages, as
it were, forming a frame. Sometimes a wounded man placed between the
two champions indicates the cause of the encounter, and at the same
time forms the centre of the group. This primitive scheme, much used
by the Corinthians, is found again in many of Douris’ paintings. It
is evident that he did not give himself great trouble to invent, and
that he only reproduces a well-known theme. One may say as much of the
battle, considered as a hand-to-hand fight; five hoplites are engaged
in a struggle in a regular and prescribed manner, where the combatants,
ordinarily paired two and two, display their strength in the attitudes
of well disciplined duellists. It is only a variant of the preceding
subject. These works teach us nothing new with regard to the art of
Douris, and are only of value in so far as the minute mastery of his
brush is concerned. We must look elsewhere for his ingenious mind--in
the scenes of arming and the battles of Greeks and Persians.

Arming is only an episode of military life. Instead of showing us
the battle, the painter allows us to be present at the preparations.
A strong effect has been produced on a kylix made in the workshop of
Euphronios: Achilles, in ambush, surprises Troïlos, the youngest son
of Priam, who comes to draw water at a fountain; he pursues him across
the plain as he flees in his chariot. The alarm is given, and one sees
the Trojans hastily arming and running to the royal child’s assistance.
But they come too late. In another painting we see the crime already
accomplished; without pity for the tender years or the cries of his
victim, the hero cuts off the boy’s head by the altar of Apollo, where
he has taken refuge (Fig. 18).

The conceptions of Douris are not so dramatic. The design of the kylix
in Vienna, which is a masterpiece of its kind, allows us in a manner
to penetrate into a Greek camp, at the hour when all are preparing for
the manœuvres or the battle (Fig. 19). It is mediocre, even a little
commonplace, as regards observation, but it is clever by the realism
of the small practical details. In the interior is the classic scene
of a libation, a soldier before his departure praying to the gods;
a woman brings him wine which she pours into a sacrificial cup. On
the reverse, an encampment; the alarm has sounded, every one seeks
his arms in haste, one his sword, another his lance or helmet. The
monotony of the subject had to be varied. The painter has succeeded in
this by introducing some old and bearded men who help and encourage
the youths, and a woman who brings a shield and a sword. Nothing
can be more animated than the faces and gestures of these young men
arming themselves. One tries his sword and draws it partly out of the
scabbard, another binds the fillet about his hair, so as to adjust his
helmet more firmly; his companion, with a finical gesture, turns up his
sleeve and the lower part of his tunic. Elsewhere (Fig. 19), a hoplite
already helmeted places greaves on his legs, another dons his corselet,
a third hangs his sword at his side and puts the shoulder belt over his
shoulder, a fourth makes a little gesture of comic despair showing that
he has forgotten to place a crest on his helmet, while the last raises
and ties his long hair. These are sketches drawn from life, and are
almost like the sketch-book of an artist who has accompanied soldiers
at their manœvres. What we term “military painting,” in its familiar
and picturesque form, dates from the Greeks.

[Illustration: Fig. 19. SOLDIERS ARMING.

By Douris. Vienna Museum.]

The style of this kylix is ancient, and it dates from the earliest
period in the career of Douris. Although found at the same time and in
the same place as the other kylix at Vienna (Fig. 16), representing
_The Contest of Ajax and Ulysses_, although signed by the same painter
and moulded by the same potter Python, it represents an entirely
different manner. Here is a style still archaic, the heads large, the
bodies rather thickset, the draperies with regular and symmetrical
lines, an extreme minuteness in all details. There, the proportions
are reversed, the bodies lengthened, with small heads, the garments
with wavy folds, the entire execution freer and with less care for
detail. No one would think of attributing the two vases to the same
master if they did not bear the name of Douris. This comparison permits
us to appreciate the nature of the changes that took place in a Greek
potter’s career. He is not a craftsman who is satisfied to remain in
the routine of a uniform method. He is an artist who wishes to learn,
who reflects and develops. Herr Hartwig has well demonstrated that
there was a “first” as well as a “second” style in Douris, as in our
days in Corot or Fantin-Latour.

To introduce glorious memories of the Persian invasion, only recently
repulsed by the Greeks, was another mode of rejuvenating the
warrior subjects. These direct allusions to the Persian wars, are,
to our great surprise, only rarely found on the monuments. It is a
characteristic trait of the idealism in which the art of the fifth
century delights. Anything in the form of anecdote or accident, all
that forms the woof of material facts, is only of slight interest
to it. It fears also to provoke the gods by extolling the grandeur
of Athens, and hence allegory and symbol are used in preference.
The Treasury of the Athenians, raised at Delphi from a tithe of the
spoils of Marathon, glorified the deeds of Herakles and Theseus. The
pediments of the Temple at Ægina, probably made after Salamis, show
the Trojans conquered by Homeric heroes. To celebrate Greece’s second
victory over Asia, images of the Trojan horse were placed on the
Acropolis and on the slopes of Delphi. Industrial painting conforms
to the same principles. Warrior subjects were frequently represented
by battle-scenes between Greeks and Asiatics, but appear only to
contain allusions to the Epic, or else to the battle of Herakles with
the Amazons (Fig. 1), which recalls the great deeds of the Greeks’
ancestors against barbarians.


By Douris. Louvre Museum.]

We may say that Douris gave proof of originality by frankly dealing
with modern subjects. A kylix at the Louvre, unfortunately damaged and
restored, shows in the interior an hoplite striking with his sword a
fallen barbarian soldier, who holds a standard with two square-shaped
flags (Fig. 20). This typical accessory leaves no doubt as to the
meaning of the painting. A banner would never be placed in the hands of
a Trojan. It is very probable that the victors of Marathon picked up
Persian standards on the battlefield with the spoils, and that we have
here the reproduction of such a trophy. We look upon this sketch of
Douris as a precious record of the army led by Datis and Artaphernes in
490. For the vase is not of a style to be dated after 480, that is to
say, after the second invasion conducted by Xerxes in person.

Other vases attributed to the painter Onesimos represent battles of
Greeks against Asiatics on horseback, very realistic in form. Here
one may again see copies from life. Lastly, Greeks and Persians are
fighting on the sculptured frieze which adorns one side of the small
temple of Nike Apteros on the Acropolis. These, however, are rare
allusions to the greatest military achievements of the century. It
is not difficult to imagine what they would have produced in modern
art. We must, however, beware of crediting Douris with an exaggerated
initiative, and we must not forget that among the lost works of Greek
art, a painting by Mandrocles is mentioned, dating from Darius’
expedition into Scythia, _The Crossing of the Bosphorus_, and at Athens
a _Battle of Marathon_, attributed to Panainos, in which Miltiades and
the chief Greek generals were seen repulsing the Asiatic phalanxes.
Douris and Onesimos did not lack models to guide them into this
channel. The value of their works is above all in the good fortune
which has preserved them to us, and gives us, if not the letter, at
least the spirit of the painting dedicated to contemporary history.

3. _Everyday Scenes._

Here, again, it is convenient to divide the work of Douris into two
parts. At times, like all the manufacturers, he made use of old
subjects with hardly any change; then, again, he sought new ideas and
popularized unused themes. The latter, of course, will chiefly
occupy our attention.

A general statement should first be made: the work of Douris, as we
actually know it, shows a distinct preference for living subjects.
Of his eighty paintings we can count seventeen dedicated to mythical
subjects, twenty-two to military life, and forty-one to everyday
scenes. The proportion in favour of contemporary life is more than
three-fourths. Comparing these with works signed in the workshops of
Euphronios (fifteen mythical subjects, two warrior subjects, and eight
everyday scenes), from the workshop of Brygos (seventeen mythical,
one warrior, and six everyday scenes), we observe that the proportion
is reversed by the two most distinguished rivals of Douris. We may,
therefore, note this characteristic in his work which he has in
common with another great designer, Hieron (twenty-three mythical and
thirty-one familiar scenes). These two artists thus prepared the way
for the genre picture, which was to dominate the second half of the
fifth century, and to make women and children the favourite subjects of

[Illustration: Fig. 21. SEATED YOUTH HOLDING A HARE.

By Douris. Louvre Museum.]

The most frequent themes are scenes from the palæstra (Fig. 6). Youths
are wrestling, running, jumping, dumb-bells in hand, or throwing the
discus; the teachers of gymnastics watch the sports, rod in hand, ready
to punish the lazy or check any brutality. Sometimes a small column, or
a basin intended for ablutions, a pick-axe, or a javelin thrown down,
indicates where the scene takes place. Only this much would a Greek
draughtsman permit himself as scenery. Man alone, action or living
forms, are the subjects of his study; nor does he seek, as we do, to
endow with sentiment the objects in his environment. Landscape, which
moves us, leaves him quite indifferent. But what knowledge of the
human form, what love of line and contour! His short, skilful brush
moves freely on the clay, throwing out delicate outlines, simplifying
the muscles and giving only the most essential, breaking or spreading
out the long folds of the drapery, emphasizing the flexible spine,
drawing sinewy hands and grave profiles with strong chins and heavy
lips. He attacks the difficulties over which archaic art had not yet
triumphed--foreshortening and three-quarter poses.

Kimon of Kleonai, a great painter of the sixth century, had proved how
effective the latter could be. In the structure of the eye he attacks
another difficult problem, trying to modify the everlasting and awkward
convention of earlier times--a face in profile with an eye full face.
He tries many forms--round, triangular, open on one side. One feels the
solution, which henceforth shall be that of all draughtsmen, growing
under his fingers. All this is suggested by the study of his beautiful
paintings, in which Douris has not invented much, for the school which
preceded him, that of Epiktetos, of Paidikos, of Chakrylion, offered
similar studies, but he unfolds a constant desire for perfection of

In his work one may note the clever and economical device of drawing
many persons by means of very few models. In his scenes of the
palæstra, consisting of ten or twelve persons, he uses, in fact, only
two models--a bearded man and a youth, who are seen under different
aspects. Many of his contemporaries made use of the same device. It
may be inferred that in these scenes the painter used living models
more frequently than elsewhere; it is a companion or an apprentice who
has posed and has been turned about on every side. In consequence, the
composition is not so bold, but more commonplace than in the mythic
paintings inspired by superior models.

Nowhere is this inability to group the figures in familiar scenes more
apparent than in a kylix at the Louvre, in spite of an abundance of
humorous detail and pretty silhouettes. What can be more graceful than
the figure of _The Youth and the Hare_ (Fig. 21)? Seated on a stool
and leaning on a stick, he looks with tenderness at the nimble little
creature, which the Athenians liked to tame, and which prowled about
their houses as cats do with us. At the same time it was a love token,
and one frequently sees on ceramic paintings grave persons advance
holding by the ears this frisky gift, which they offer to young boys.
Plato’s _Banquet_ informs us on this well-known custom of the Greeks.
On the inner circle, framing like a medallion _The Youth and the Hare_,
runs a band, repeating a design ten times in almost the same form--a
bearded man rests on his stick, addressing friendly words to a boy
seated before him. One holds a lyre; another a hare; others are wrapt,
as if chilly, in their cloaks. Similar themes decorate the two reverse
sides. In all one can count thirty-three persons, but there are in
reality only two actors. It is as if a metope with two figures were
constantly repeated, with some variety, upon all the free space of the
vase. Each detail of the group is executed with zest and spirit, but
composition does not exist.

[Illustration: Fig. 22. INTERIOR OF A SCHOOL.

By Douris. Berlin Museum.]

The kylix in the Berlin Museum, _The Interior of a School_ (Fig.
22), shows the same fault, although it may be considered as Douris’
masterpiece in everyday scenes. But the subject is of such interest
to us, and throws so much light on the life of Greek scholars, that
we think no longer of imperfections nor of the systematic stiffness
of the groups. Here, again, Douris is seen as an original and fertile
initiator. He here abandons the palæstra and the gymnastic exercises,
repeated a hundred times, and takes us into the school-room where the
music-master and the grammarian give their lessons; on one reverse,
lessons on the lyre and recitations are given, on the other, lessons
in writing and flute-playing. In the interior, a simple figure of a
nude youth tying his sandal, shows the boy, whose task is finished,
preparing to run and play. It is a charming and sober painting, we
should call it to-day, “an instantaneous impression,” giving a glimpse
of life which particularly attracts us. How were the youths of Athens
educated? Upon that theme bulky volumes have been written.

As M. Paul Girard has shown in his _Education Athénienne_, this kylix
of Douris teaches us better than the texts. We see here the importance
the Greeks attached to musical instruction. The word “music” expressed
the entire education; literary studies, instrumental music and singing.
Music walked hand in hand with literature and gymnastic exercises.
Plato even went so far as to say that the art of touching the soul
with song inspired the desire for virtue. He rejected, however, as
voluptuous and enervating, certain Ionian and Lydian modes. We must
remember that music was intended chiefly, as represented on the vase in
Berlin, to accompany the song, and that the words were more significant
than the melody. Prayers, invocations, war-songs, moral maxims, all
contributed to make music a powerful instrument of education, and the
apparently paradoxical words of old Damon may in this way be explained,
when he said that the rules of music could not be changed without
shaking the state itself.

The kylix of Douris corresponds closely with these ideas. Literature
is represented, on the one hand, by a master of declamation holding
a written scroll, upon which we read the beginning of an epic poem
that a pupil is about to recite (Fig. 22); on the other side, a young
master is tracing a page of writing, while a pupil stands ready to copy
it. Meanwhile the tutors of the boys sit on stools, waiting for the
lessons to be finished to conduct them home. No other ancient artist
has permitted us to enter so intimately into Athenian life. What we
term “genre painting” has appeared. It is the last and perhaps the
most fertile inspiration that Douris derived from great contemporary
art. It permits us, at the same time, to admire the flexibility of a
great talent, starting with religious and heroic subjects in the severe
style of _Eos and Memnon_, and attaining to the graceful and brilliant
compositions of _The Youth and the Hare_, and _The Interior of a

There is an amusing sketch from the workshop of Euphronios, which may
be placed by the side of these paintings, showing a writing-teacher
bending forward in his chair, with forefinger raised and threatening,
as if he were scolding the little fellows confided to his care (Fig.


If we have succeeded in reproducing the rather complex physiognomy
of Douris, we hope we have clearly indicated its two-fold character.
His talent and his originality do not raise him above the conditions
imposed upon his craft. It would be an error to ascribe genius to him.
He owes his importance, on the one hand, to the disappearance of great
paintings, and, on the other hand, to the innate qualities of the
Greek race, which even invested popular works with freedom and beauty.
Julius Lange, the Danish archæologist, has said that to judge Greek
painting from the vases is like judging the light of the sun by the
reflection we receive from the moon. But if, in this regard, industrial
art is inferior to the lost masterpieces, let us not forget that it
is nearer to the people, whose thoughts it so forcibly expresses. So
the anonymous sculptors of images in our cathedral reveal to us the
mediæval French soul far better than the great artists can.

[Illustration: Fig. 23. A SCHOOLMASTER.

Berlin Museum.]

With these thousand sketches upon fragile clay we can retrace an
evolution which lasted four or five centuries, and created the
art of drawing, as it is practised by all modern nations. Indeed,
after long endeavours, the Greeks were the first who shattered the
tyrannic conventions to which artists had conformed, in Egypt,
Chaldea and Assyria. They refused to disjoint the human form on the
pretext of showing it from a true anatomical point of view. For the
artificial reality of the body drawn in sections, they substituted
a living silhouette seized in rapid movement, rendered with all its
irregularities of form and its lack of symmetry. This proved the
victory of art over science. One became accustomed to figures half
turned to the spectator, to perspective, to parts half hidden or
suppressed, one learnt to consider Nature not as she is, but as one
sees her. The orientation of art was completely changed.

The invention of foreshortening and of modelling by means of shadows
belongs to the Greeks. Both had considerable influence on the Roman
world, and later on modern times. We may compare these discoveries to
those in physics or in chemistry which entirely revolutionized the
domain of science. It is an error to suppose that the scientist alone
is capable of discoveries which humanity at large is called upon to
enjoy. In art the same action and reaction take place, and a solidarity
uniting the past and present is not less powerful. Between an Egyptian
fresco and an oil painting by Van Eyck there is scarcely anything in
common as regards conception and process. Between a drawing by Douris
and the _Stratonice_ of Ingres a resemblance is very perceptible,
almost a kind of brotherhood.

The drawings of Douris teach us to understand yet another thing.
Greek painting at this period had a cause at heart which the entire
fifth century upheld with passionate conviction--the belief that
the aim of the plastic arts is the representation of man. After the
Cretans and Mycenæans had derived such admirable inspirations from
the vegetable kingdom, from the marine fauna and flora, after the
picturesque studies of birds and deer which the Ionians had transmitted
to the Corinthian and Attic potters, we see Greek painting gradually
eliminating all this from design, in order to devote itself exclusively
to the representation of the human form. Nothing can turn it aside from
this course. Whether it is a question of gods and goddesses, heroes, or
even citizens, it is always the human form in all its aspects, in all
its attitudes, dignified or familiar, which the draughtsman observes.
Nowhere has such complete absorption of the artistic imagination been
seen. Later, after Alexander, the Greeks themselves somewhat modified
their attitude, and learnt once more to contemplate non-human nature;
but the limits within which Greek thought had voluntarily confined
itself remained severe during the century of Pericles. According to an
expression of Victor Bérard, it was a garden of humanity in which man
was the most beautiful plant. To this bias we owe some of the purest
masterpieces of which humanity can boast. Those of sculpture are famous
in all lands; those of painting were no less worthy of admiration,
but we only can judge them by the designs on vases. _Theseus and the
Marathonian Bull_ on the kylix by Euphronios (Fig. 12), the _Memnon_
by Douris (Fig. 8), or the _Zeus carrying off a Woman_ upon an
anonymous kylix in the Louvre (Fig. 24) which is attributed to him, the
_Aphrodite on the Swan_ in the British Museum (Fig. 7) by a somewhat
later artist, bear comparison with the most beautiful drawings of the
Renaissance. Never has the beauty of the human form in motion been
rendered with more sincere joy. Here, again, the Greeks prepared the
path for the moderns, teaching the dignity of man by proving him to
be more important and necessary in art than all else. It is no longer
Nature ruling and crushing with its immensity mankind ignorant of
itself. It is human thought, on the contrary, projecting itself on the
external world, and taking possession of it.

[Illustration: Fig. 24. ZEUS CARRYING OFF A WOMAN.

Louvre Museum.]

This is why we admire ancient art, and why a drawing by Douris tells us
so many things. Doubtless Douris has his message. He never suspected
it; he did not make it his aim; he was the unconscious instrument of a
great people and of a great revolution. This it is which makes works
of the past of such great value. Only time can show what they contained
of beauty and of fertility, even unknown to their authors. The creative
force animating them is beyond the individual; it springs from the
depths of the race which produces them. The sculptor who fashioned the
Venus of Melos could not foresee the fame his statue would achieve,
which he probably executed after many other similar ones. Leonardo da
Vinci would be greatly surprised at what we see in his _Gioconda_.
Anatole France says: “Each generation imagines anew the antique
masterpieces, and in this manner communicates to them a progressive
immortality.” It is not that we are duped by a delusion, but time has
done its work; moving on, it has discovered unexpected worth in certain

Renan made the profound remark, “Admiration is historic.” Indeed, not
only is distance necessary, but the wearing effect of centuries, to
distinguish the good from the bad, the eternal from the perishable, to
recognize the actual importance of a thought or an invention. Those
who love to meditate will not go in vain to the Louvre to look at
the kylix of _Eos and Memnon_. They will see a reflection of that
which formed the grandeur and beauty of Greek painting during the most
flourishing period of its history, and they will recognize in one of
its noblest expressions an art for ever lost.

[Illustration: Fig. 25. A Painter at Work, Boston Museum.]


  ROULEZ, in _Nuove Memorie dell’ Instituto_, ii., 1865, p. 393.

  HELBIG, in _Annali dell’ Instituto arch._, xlv., 1873, p. 53.

  FROEHNER, _Les Musées de France_, 1873, p. 37.

  RAYET-COLLIGNON, _Hist. de la Céramique Grecque_, 1888, p. 178.

  LUCKENBACH, in _Jahrbuch für class. Philologie_, suppl. Band xi.,
      1880, p. 518f.

  CARL ROBERT, _Bild und Lied_, 1881, pp. 28, 87, 98, 214.

  ---- _Scenen der Ilias und Aithiopis_, 1891. (XV. Hallisches
      Winckelmanns Programm.)

  MEIER, in _Archæol. Zeitung_, 1883, p. 1.

  W. KLEIN, _Euphronios_, 1886.

  ---- _Die griech. Vasen mit Meistersignaturen_, 1887.

  ---- _Die griech. Vasen mit Lieblingsinschriften_, 1898.

  TSOUNTAS, in _Ephéméris archoléogique d’Athènes_, iii., 1886, p. 40.

  LOEWY, in _Jahrbuch des deutsch. arch. Instituts_, iii., 1888, p.

  JANE E. HARRISON, in _Journal of Hellenic Studies_, x., 1889, p.

  ---- _Greek Vase Paintings_, 1894, p. 21.

  REISCH, in _Mittheilungen des arch. Inst. Römische Abth._, v.,
      1890, p. 331.

  ---- in _Festschrift für Gomperz_, 1902, p. 459.

  F. DÜMMLER, in _Bonner Studien_, 1890, p. 77.

  P. HARTWIG, _Die griech. Meisterschalen_, 1893, pp. 200f., 583f.

  FURTWÄNGLER AND REICHHOLD, _Die griech. Vasenmalerei_, 1904, pp.
      76, 114, 246, 267.

  MICHAELIS, in _Archæologische Zeitung_, 1873, p. 1.

  MURRAY, _Designs from Greek Vases_, 1894, p. 12f.

  TARBELL, in _American Journal of Archæology_, 1900, iv., p. 183.

  BIRCH, _Hist. Ancient Pottery_, ed. Walters, 1905, i., p. 434.


  Achilles, 50, 62, 64, 67

  Acropolis, 17, 13, 72

  Ægina, temple at, 70

  Æschylus, 21, 62, 64

  Africa, 14, 15

  Agamemnon, 2, 61, 64

  Ajax, 32, 46, 48, 61, 64

  Alexander, 2, 83

  Amasis, 11

  Amphitrite, 56

  Amphora, 16, 30

  Anaphlystos, deme of 11

  Antenor, 18

  Apelles, 29

  Aphrodite, 48

  ---- on her swan, 84

  Apollo, 48

  Arktinos of Miletos, 46, 47

  Artemis, 48

  Athene, 18, 46, 48, 53, 62

  Athenian pottery, 6

  Athenians, Treasury of, 70

  Athens, 2, 10, 16, 27

  Attic craftsmen, 5

  ---- taste, 14

  Augustus, 2

  Bérard, Victor, 83

  Berlin Museum kylix, 77

  Bes of the Egyptians, 60

  Black figured vases, 18

  ---- glaze, 12, 26, 27, 35f, 49

  Bœotia, 27

  Boulle, 34

  British Museum, 51, 57, 83

  Brunn, 3, 46

  Brushpainters 27, 28, 29, 35

  Brussels Museum, 8, 18

  Brygos, 6, 11, 21, 33, 52, 60, 73

  Caere, 16

  Chalkis, 16

  Chakrylion, 75

  _Chiaro oscuro_, 5

  China, 15

  Christ, 51

  Cimabue, Madonna of, 55

  Clay, 12, 26

  _Coppe amatorie_, 41

  Corinth, 16

  Corot, 69

  Craftsman, 12

  Crete, 2

  Crimea, 14

  Cyrenaica, 14

  Datis and Artaphernes, 71

  Delphi, 70

  Demons of destruction, 39

  Dipylon Gate, 14

  ---- vases, 65

  Doris, 11

  Douris, 1, 5, 6, 7, 18, 21, 25, 31, 33, 44, 57, 60, 62, 65, 72, 73, 80

  _Editio princeps_, 32

  Egypt, 81

  Eos, the Dawn, 45

  ---- and Memnon, 44, 50, 51, 59, 63, 66, 86

  “Epic” manner, 63

  Epiktetos, 11, 75

  Ergotimos, 11

  Etruria, 14, 33

  Etruscan tombs, 14, 16

  Euphronios, 6, 8, 10, 11, 17, 21, 31, 67, 73, 79

  Euthymedes, 9, 10, 41

  Fantin-Latour, 69

  Flanders, 25

  France, Anatole, 85

  Genre pictures, 24

  Girard, Paul, 4, 79

  Greece, 4

  Greek camps, 67

  ---- ceramics, 5

  ---- paintings, 2, 4, 6, 64

  ---- pictures, 24

  ---- theatre, 62, 64

  Hartwig, 19, 69

  Hector, 32, 51

  Hellenic age, 2

  Hera, 60

  Herakles, 59, 60, 70

  Herculaneum, 2, 3

  Hermes, 58, 60

  Hierarchy, social, 13

  Hieron, 6, 11, 57, 73

  Hippias, 5

  History of vases, 13

  Homer, 32, 47f.

  Hoplites, 32

  Hydria, 16

  Iliad, 47, 65

  Ingres, 82

  Ionian artists, 60

  ---- origin, 12

  Iolaos, 59

  Iphigeneia, 64

  Iris, 60

  Islands, the, 15

  Isocrates, 20

  Italy, 16

  ---- southern, 14, 27

  Japan, 15

  Japanese draughtsman, 58

  ---- painters, 36

  Juno, 56

  Jupiter, 56

  Kalliades, 44

  Kantharos, 16

  ---- at Brussels, 54

  Kerameikos, 2, 12, 47

  Kimon of Kleonai, 74

  Klazomenai, 60

  Klein, 8

  Kleomenes, son of Nikias, 11

  Klitias, 11

  Kolchos, 11

  Krater, 16, 30

  Kylix, 16, 30, 31

  Lange, Julius, 80

  Learnæan hydra, 59

  Lekythos, 16

  Lippi, Madonna by, 55

  Lucian, 2

  Louvre Museum, 52, 53, 61, 64, 71, 76, 86

  ----, kylix at the, 54

  Lydian modes, 78

  Lydos, 11

  Lysippos, 1

  Mandrocles, 72

  Mantegna, 50

  Marathon, 70, 71

  Martial subjects, 43

  _Mater dolorosa_, 50

  Medusa, 59

  Megakles, 11

  Melos, 2, 14

  Memnon, King, 45

  Menelaos, 32, 45

  Metics, 10, 14

  Michelangelo, 2

  Miltiades, 72

  Minos, 2, 51

  Minotaur, 53

  Mikon, 52

  Munich Museum, 42

  ----, hydria at, 23, 25

  Music, 78

  Mycenæ, 2

  Mycenæan age, 27

  Mythological subjects, 43

  Nature, 20, 21, 32, 50, 81

  Nearchos, 18

  Necropolis, 14

  Neoptolemos, 62

  Nereids and Peleus, 31

  Nike Apteros, 71

  Nikias, son of Hermokles, 11

  Nikosthenes, 11, 44

  Oinochoai, 16, 24

  Onesimos, 71, 72

  Oxide of iron, 26

  Paidikos, 11, 75

  Pamphaios, 11, 44

  Panainos, 72

  Panathenaic amphoræ, 16

  ---- festival, 47

  Paris, 32, 45, 48

  Parnes, 16

  Parrhasios, 1, 20

  Pausanias, 2, 3

  Peithinos, 57

  Peloponnesian war, 10

  Pericles, 1, 83

  Persian, 32

  ---- wars, 5, 52, 70

  Phidias, 1, 20, 21

  Phintias, 24

  Phœnicians, 60

  Pietà, 50

  Pindar, 46

  πίνακες, 32

  Plato, 76

  Pleïades, 5

  Pliny, 2, 29

  Plutarch, 10

  Polygnotos, 1, 4, 20, 21, 49

  Polykleitos, 1

  Pompeii, 2, 3

  Poseidon, 56

  Praxiteles, 1

  Protogenes, 29

  Puvis de Chavannes, 3

  Raphael, 3, 4

  Renan, 85

  Rhodes, 14

  Riesner, 34

  Robert, Carl, 63

  Roman houses, 2

  Ruvo, 23

  Salamis, battle of, 70

  Scythian colonies, 15

  Sicily, 14

  Silenus mask, 23

  Sikanos, 11

  Sikelos, 11

  Skyphos, 17

  Skythes, 11

  Smikros, 11, 18

  Solon, 10

  Sophocles, 46, 61

  Subjects of daily life, 43

  Terracotta tablets, 23

  Theseus, adventures of, 51

  ---- and the Minotaur, 31

  _Thetis, Rape of_, 54

  Thracian Chersonese, 14

  Thrax, 11

  Tiryns, 2

  Titus, 2

  Trade mark, 16

  Trojan horse, 70

  ---- war, 45, 47, 62

  Troïlos, 67

  Tyrrhenian Sea, 14

  Ulysses, 50, 62

  Urbino, 4

  Van der Weyden, Roger, 50

  Van Eyck, 82

  Venus of Melos, 85

  Vienna Museum, kylix, 61, 67

  Vinci, Leonardo da, 59, 85

  Volsinii, 16

  Woltmann, 3

  Xerxes, 71

  Zeuxis, 4, 20


      *      *      *      *      *      *

Transcriber’s note:

Punctuation, hyphenation of individual compound words, and spelling
were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the
original book; otherwise they were not changed. The book’s hyphenation
patterns were inconsistent.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unpaired quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left

Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.

The index was not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page

Page xiv: “Wiener Vorlegeblätten” should be “Wiener Vorlegeblätter”.

Page 87: “Ephéméris archoléogique d’Athènes” should be “Ephéméris
archéologique d’Athènes”.

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+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Doctrine Publishing
Corporation's ISYS search for use by individuals, and we request that you
use these files for personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort
to Doctrine Publishing's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a
large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the use of
public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Keep it legal -  Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for
ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just because
we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States,
that the work is also in the public domain for users in other countries.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we
can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.