The magnificent full length “Charioteer,” reins in hand, excavated by the French Expedition at Delphi, is not only the finest pre-Phidian bronze in existence, but marks the “border line between dying archaism and the vigorous life of free naturalism.” The statue may have formed part of a chariot group set up as a dedicatory offering by Polyzalus, the brother of Hieron of Syracuse, in honour of a victory in the games at Delphi. The entire work portrayed a high-born youth, waiting in a chariot at the starting-post. A companion was at his side, grooms, no doubt, standing at the horses’ heads. The driver’s chiton is gathered across the shoulders by a curious arrangement of threads, run through the stuff in order to prevent the loose garment fluttering in the wind. It dates from about 470 B.C. The bronze is representative of the highest achievements of Greek art before the advent of the three great sculptors of the fifth century. Traces of archaic workmanship are most noticeable in the face and drapery. The arms and the feet, however, are beautifully natural. [Illustration: THE CHARIOTEER (BRONZE) Delphi Museum] [Illustration: HARMODIUS National Museum, Naples] Still the stiffness and conventionality of the archaic period died hard. Even in the works of Myron, whose reputation was established by the middle of the fifth century, there are still traces of archaic treatment, as in the hair. But in such a statue as his “Discobolus,” with its truthfulness to nature, its rhythmic grace of design and its triumphant mastery over all technical difficulties, we can realise how far the sculpture of his age was ahead of the best work possible fifty years earlier. The mention of Myron, the earliest artist to benefit by the freeing of the plastic arts from the shackles of conventionalism, brings us upon one of the prime problems of Greek sculpture. Practically, the history of Greek sculpture depends upon the connections which can be established between the art and three leading ideals. The difficulty of really understanding it depends upon the distance we moderns have progressed—pardon us the term—from those three dominating ideas. “How we jabber about the Greeks! What do we understand of their art, the soul of which is the passion for naked male beauty?” So says Nietzsche. And he proceeds to point out that for this very reason the Greeks had a perspective altogether different from our own. Nothing can be truer; nor can anything be more certain than that this truth must be realised absolutely by all who would penetrate beyond the outer courts of the temple of Hellenic sculpture. But though we cannot look at a Greek statue with the understanding of a Hellene, though classic sculpture is, as it were, written in an alien tongue, the historian can readily enumerate the influences by which the art was fostered, and the ideals which it sought to embody.