It was a maxim of Greek philosophy, that the magnanimous man is seldom, under any circumstances, disturbed. In action, therefore, he would exhibit the same tranquil countenance as when at rest. Thus, Socrates at Potidæa, at Delion, in the Prison of the Eleven about to quaff the hemlock, would in looks be much the same. And this self-command, observable in one great man, art attributed generally to the gods and heroes, who, in whatever actions they might be engaged, would still retain a self-possessed and serene aspect. Hence, even the battle-pieces of the Greeks are beautiful. Men fight and die, but under the guidance of duty. We behold none of those demoniacal passions, nothing of that animal ferocity, or of that succumbing to pain which convert so many modern pictures into slaughter-house representations. We feel that the actors contemplated death only as the distributor of imperishable glory,—that imagination had coloured everything around them with its rainbow tints,—that by anticipation they enjoyed the panegyric which would be pronounced over them in the hearing of all they loved,—the monument which would be raised over their ashes,—the deathless reward which would be bestowed on their patriotism and valour in the historic page. To men, so feeling and so thinking, where was the sting of death? They could compress eternity into a moment, and grasp all future time, and live through it by the irresistible force of imagination. To be able to represent such forms and features, it was necessary to study simultaneously the conceptions of the poets, and the progressive developement of the human figure from infancy to age. From this study resulted a body of experience, the fruit of innumerable comparisons, out of which sprang that gradually corrected and improved and elevated conception of the human figure which is denominated _the ideal_. Instances, isolated from the great body of artistic study, have crept into ordinary books, and been thereby invested with an air of vulgarity. But this will not hinder the philosopher or the artist from including them in his scheme of study and converting them into germs of utility. In this part of their progress religion stepped in to the aid of the artist. The several goddesses represented each a style of women of whom they might be considered the original type. Aphrodite, for example, represented the impassioned and tender,[967] naturally parasites of man and too often frail; Hera, the chaste matron, dignified, authoritative, energetic, but inclined to violence and self-will; Artemis, reserved, modest, retiring, like a nun, was the prototype of unspotted maidenhood, revered for its own purity; Athena, perfect in intellect as in form, uniting the loveliness of Aphrodite, the majesty of Hera, the delicacy and chastity of Artemis with the wisdom of Zeus, constituted properly the ideal of womanhood, loftier than Eve before the fall and such as it can exist only in the imagination. Footnote 967: