The next stage in the development of the Centaur is seen in the archaic gem from the British Museum[976] in fig. 120. Here the noticeable point is that the Centaur, though he has still the body of a man, is beginning to be more of a horse. He has hoofs for feet. He is behaving just like the Satyr on the coin in fig. 117, or the aggressor on the François vase (fig. 116), he is carrying off a woman. It is the last step in the transition to the Centaur of the Parthenon, i.e. the horse with head and trunk of a man. Between Satyr and Centaur the sole difference is this: the Centaur, primarily a wild man, became more and more of a horse, the Satyr resisted the temptation and remained to the end what he was at the beginning, a wild man, with horse adjuncts of ears, tail and occasionally hoofs. Greek art, as has been already seen in discussing the Gorgon, was liberal in its experiments with monster forms, the horse Medusa failed (p. 179), the horse Centaur prevailed[977]. The Parthenon type of the Centaur, the type in which the horse-form is predominant, obtains later in red-figured vase-paintings for all Centaurs save one, the virtuous Cheiron. Cheiron always keeps his human feet and legs and often wears a decent cloak to mark his gentle civilized citizenship. Pausanias[978] when examining the chest of Kypselos at Olympia, a monument dedicated in the seventh century B.C., noted this peculiarity: ‘And the Centaur has not all his feet like a horse, but the front feet are the feet of a man.’ Pindar[979] does definitely in the case of Cheiron identify φήρ and Κένταυρος, but art kept for Cheiron the more primitive and human type to emphasize his humanity, for he is the trainer of heroes, the utterer of wise saws, the teacher of all gentle arts of music and medicine, he has the kind heart of a man. [Illustration: FIG. 121.] The charming little design in fig. 121 is from an oinochoë in the British Museum[980]. Though the technique is black-figured the delicate soft style is archaistic rather than archaic and the vase is probably not older than the middle of the fifth century B.C. The good Cheiron is a quaint blend of horse and middle-aged citizen. The tree branch he still carries looks back to the primitive habits he has left far behind, and the little tree in front marks the woodland home. But there is nothing shaggy about his neat decorous figure. Even the dog who used to go hunting with him is now alert to give a courteous welcome to the guest. A father is bringing his child, a little miniature copy of himself, to be reared in the school of Cheiron. Father and son are probably Peleus and Achilles, but the child might be Jason or even Asklepios. It is the good Centaur only who concerns us. How has he of the mountains, fierce and untameable, come to keep a preparatory school for young heroes? The answer to this question is interesting and instructive. * * * * *