The meaning of this passage hangs on the word _circumlitio_. Winckelmann follows the mass of commentators in understanding this as referring to some mode of _polishing_ the statues; but Quatremère de Quincey, in his magnificent work “Le Jupiter Olympien,” satisfactorily shows this to be untenable, not only because no sculptor could think of preferring such of his statues as had been better polished, but also because Nicias being a _painter_, not a sculptor, his services must have been those of a painter. What were they? Nicias was an _encaustic painter_, and hence it seems clear that his _circumlitio_—his mode of finishing the statues, so highly prized by Praxiteles—must have been the application of encaustic painting to those parts which the sculptor wished to have ornamented. For it is quite idle to suppose a sculptor like Praxiteles would allow another sculptor to _finish_ his works. The rough work may be done by other hands, but the finishing is always left to the artist. The statue completed, there still remained the painter’s art to be employed, and for that Nicias was renowned. Even Winckelmann (“Geschichte der Kunst,” buch I. kap. 2), after noting how the ancients were accustomed to dress their statues, adds, “This gave rise to the painting of those parts of the marble statues which represented the clothes, as may be seen in the Diana found at Herculanæum in 1760. The hair is blonde; the draperies white, with a triple border, one of gold, the other of purple, with festoons of flowers, the third plain purple.” There are still traces visible of gilding in the hair of statues. Even the Venus de’ Medici has such. And the bored ears speak plainly of earrings. While the testimony of antiquity is thus explicit, there is the still more convincing testimony of living eyes, which have seen this painting on statues. The celebrated Swedish traveller, Akerblad, says, “I am convinced that the practice of colouring marble statues and buildings was much more frequent than is supposed. The second time I visited Athens, I had opportunity of narrowly inspecting the frieze of the Temple of Theseus, and I came away convinced it had been painted.” Quatremère de Quincey mentions statues he has seen, and refers especially to the Apollo in the Louvre, made of Pentelic marble, almost all over the naked surfaces of which a trace of red was faintly perceptible. The same with a Diana at Versailles; but he adds, “these traces grow daily fainter.” The eyes and mouth of the colossal Pallas de Velletri still retain the violet colour.