The _Bacchanalian Group with Silenus_ and the _Bacchanalian Group with a Wine-Press_ (which, like the _Battle of the Sea-Gods_, may be joined together so as to form one long, horizontal composition) show greater skill on the part of the engraver. Mantegna’s increasing passion for the antique is reflected in the standing figure to the left, who with his left hand reaches up towards the wreath with which he is about to be crowned, while resting his right hand upon a horn of plenty. This figure is obviously inspired by the Apollo Belvedere, while the standing faun, at the extreme right, filled with the sheer delight of mere animal existence, is a delightful creation in Mantegna’s happiest mood. The two plates of the _Battle of the Sea-Gods_ may be assigned, on technical grounds, to about the same period as the two Bacchanals. The drawing which Durer made of the right-hand portion, as also of the _Bacchanalian Group with Silenus_, both dated 1494, conclusively prove that these engravings antedate the completion of the _Triumph of Cæsar_. Though Mantegna borrowed his material from the antique, he has so shaped it to his ends, so stamped upon it the impress of his own personality, as to make of it not an echo of classic art, but an original creation of compelling force and charm. “These are not the mighty gods of Olympus but the inferior deities of Nature, of the Earth and the Sea, who acknowledge none of the higher obligations and who display unchecked their wanton elemental nature, giving a loose rein to all the exuberance of their joy in living.... These creatures of the sea frolic about in the water, turbulent and wanton as the waves.... The combat with those harmless-looking weapons is probably not meant to be in earnest; a vent for their superfluous energy is all they seek.”[9] [9] Andrea Mantegna. By Paul Kristeller. London; Longman’s Green & Co. 1901. p. 395. To a somewhat later period belongs the _Entombment_. There is nothing of the meek spirit of the Redeemer in this passionate plate. The hard, lapidary landscape is in accord with the figures, which might, not unfittingly, find a place upon some triumphal arch. Three crosses crown the distant hill. At the right stands St. John, a magnificent figure, giving utterance to his unspeakable grief, while the Virgin, sinking in a swoon, is supported by one of the holy women. Here is none of that tenderness which we associate with the divine tragedy, none of that grace and beauty which inheres in the work of many of the Italian painters of the Renaissance. All is stark and harsh. It is not food for babes, but it is superb.