Beauty: Illustrated Chiefly by an Analysis and Classificatin of Beauty in Woman

Of the general outline thus formed of the face, Winckelmann more truly says: “In the formation of the face, the Greek profile is the principal characteristic of sublime beauty. This profile is produced by the straight line, or the line but very slightly indented, which the forehead and nose form in youthful faces, especially female ones. Nature seems less disposed to accord this form to the face in cold than in mild and temperate climes; but wherever this profile is found, it is always beautiful. The straight full line expresses a kind of greatness, and, gently curved, it presents the idea of agreeable delicacy. That in these profiles exists one cause of beauty is proved by the character of the opposite line; for the greater the inflection of the nose, the less beautiful is the face; and if, when seen sidewise, it presents a bad profile, it is useless to look for beauty in any other view.”

A third rule of the Greek artists, in heads of the highest character, is greatly illustrated by the new views just stated. If, in these, they desired to render ideas and intellect more dominant than emotions of pleasure or pain, and emotions more dominant than passion, it becomes evident why they equally sought to avoid the convulsions of impassioned expression.

A very beautiful object of this, is mistaken by Winckelmann. I quote his words:—

“Taken in either sense [of action or of passion], expression changes the features of the face, and the disposition of the body, and, consequently, the forms which constitute beauty; and the greater the change, the greater the loss of beauty. Therefore, the state of tranquillity and repose was considered as a fundamental point in the art. Tranquillity is the state proper to beauty.

“The handsomest men are generally the most mild and the best disposed.

“Besides, tranquillity and repose, both in men and animals, is the state which allows us best to examine and represent their nature and qualities; as we can see the bottom of the sea or rivers only when the waves are tranquil and the stream runs smoothly.

“Therefore, the Grecian artists, wishing to depict, in their representations of their deities, the perfection of human beauty, strove to produce, in their countenances and actions, a certain placidity without the slightest change or perturbation, which, according to their philosophy, was at variance with the nature and character of the gods. The figures produced in this state of repose, expressed a perfect equilibrium of feeling.

“But, as complete tranquillity and repose cannot exist in figures in action, and even the gods are represented in human form, and subject to human affections, we must not always expect to find in them the most sublime idea of beauty. This is then compensated for by expression. The ancient artists, however, never lost sight of it: it was always their principal object, to which expression was in some sort made subservient.

“Beauty without expression would be insignificant, and expression without beauty would be unpleasing; but, from their influence over each other, from combining together their apparently discordant qualities, results an eloquent, persuasive, and interesting beauty.”

Some of these remarks are true and beautiful; but the great object of the Greeks, in suppressing the convulsions of impassioned expression, was the bestowal of grace, the highest quality in all representation. It is surprising that this should have been so universally overlooked, that, even among artists, nothing is more common than to hear regrets that the Greeks gave so little expression to their figures! Let the reader now peruse again Dr. Smith’s and Mr. Alison’s account of grace, and if he is acquainted with the productions of ancient art, he will see that the Greeks suppressed impassioned expression only to bestow the highest degree of grace. Those, therefore, who complain of this, show themselves ignorant of the best object of their art.

If the explanation of this great purpose be clearly borne in mind, the remaining observations of Winckelmann will receive a better application than that to which he limited them:—

“Repose and tranquillity may be regarded as the effect of that composed manner which the Grecians studied to show in their actions and gestures. Among them, a hurried gait was regarded as contrary to the idea of decent deportment, and partaking somewhat of expressive boldness.... While on the other hand, slow and regulated motions of the body were proofs among the ancients of a great mind.

“The highest idea of tranquillity and composure is found expressed in the representations of the divinities; so that from the father of the gods to the inferior deities, their figures appear free from the influence of any affection. The greatest of the poets thus describes Jupiter as making all Olympus tremble by merely moving his eyebrow or shaking his locks.... All the figures of Jupiter are not however made in the same style.

“The Vatican Apollo represents this god quiet and tranquil after the death of the serpent Python which he had slain with a dart, and should also express a certain contempt for a victory so easy to him. The skilful artist, who wished to imbody the most beautiful of the gods, has depicted anger in the nose, which according to the most ancient poets was the seat of it, and contempt in the lips: contempt is expressed by the drawing up of the under lip, and anger by the expansion of the nostrils.

“The expression of the passions in the face should accord with the attitude and gestures of the body; and the latter should be suitable to the dignity of the gods in their statues and figures: from this results its propriety.

“In representing the figures of heroes, the ancient artist exercised equal care and judgment; and expressed only those human affections which are suitable for a wise man, who represses the violence of his passions, and scarcely allows a spark of the internal flame to be seen, so as to leave to those who are desirous of it, the trouble of finding out what remains concealed.

“We have examples of this in two of the most beautiful works of antiquity, one of which is the image of the fear of certain death, the other of suffering exceeding anguish.

“Niobe and her daughters, against whom Diana shot her fatal arrows, are represented as seized with terror and horror, in that state of indescribable anguish, when the sight of instant and inevitable death deprives the mind of the power of thought. Of this state of stupor and insensibility, the fable gives us an idea in the metamorphosis of Niobe into a stone; and hence Æschylus introduces her in his tragedy as stunned and speechless. In such a moment, when all thought and feeling ceases, in a state bordering upon insensibility, the appearance is not altered nor any feature of the face disturbed, and the mighty artist could here depict the most sublime beauty, and has indeed done so. Niobe and her daughters are, and ever will be, the most perfect models of beauty.

“Laocoon is the image of the most acute grief, that puts the nerves, the muscles, and the veins, in action. His blood is in a state of extreme agitation from the venomous bite of the serpents; every part of his body evinces pain and suffering; and the artist has put in motion, so to speak, all the springs of nature, and thus made known the extent of his art and the depth of his knowledge. In the representation, however, of this excessive torment, we can still recognise the conduct of a brave man struggling against his misfortunes, stifling the emotions of his anguish, and striving to repress them.”

“The ancient artists have preserved this air of composure even in their dancing figures, except the Bacchanals; and thus an opinion obtained that the action of their figures should be modelled on the manners adopted in their ancient dances, and therefore, in their later dances, the ancient figures served as a model to the performers to prevent their overstepping the bounds of a modest deportment:

 
Molli diducunt candida gestu
Brachia. Propert.
 

“No immoderate or violent passions are ever found expressed in the public works of the ancients.

“The knowledge of the ancients cannot be better known than by comparing their performances with the majority of those of the moderns, in which a little is expressed by much, instead of much by a little. This is what the Greeks call παρενθύρσος; a word that aptly expresses the defect produced by too much expression in modern artists. Their figures resemble in action the comedians of the ancient theatre, who, to render themselves visible even to the most distant portion of the audience, were compelled to exceed the limits of nature and truth; and the faces of modern figures are like the ancient masks, which for the same reason, the increase of expression, became hideous.

“This excess of expression is taught in a book which goes into the hands of all young artists, ‘A Treatise on the Passions,’ by Carlo Le Brun, and in the annexed drawings, not only is the highest degree of passion expressed on the face, but in some even to madness.”

Hence, we may say with Azara, that “the Greeks possessed that art in such perfection, that in their statues one scarcely discovers that they had thought of expression, and nevertheless each says that which it ought to say. They are in a repose which shows all the beauty without any alteration; and a soft and sweet motion, of the mouth, the eyes, or the mere action, expresses the effect, enchanting at once the mind and the senses.”

In the inferior beings, however, when passion is expressed, the features are varied by the Greek artists as they are in nature.

Such are the great ideal rules with regard to the head and the functions of thought.

With regard to the body and the nutritive system, the Greeks similarly idealized. “Seeking for images of worship, consequently of a nature superior to our own, so that they might awaken in the mind veneration and love, they thought that the representations most worthy of the Divinity, and most likely to attract the attention of man, would be those expressing the continuance of the gods in eternal youth and in the prime of life.

“To the idea derived from the poets, of the eternal youth of the deities, whether male or female, was added another by which they supposed the female divinities should have all the appearance of virgins.

“The form of the breast in the figures of the divinities, is like that of a virgin, which, to be beautiful, must possess a moderate fulness. This was particularly shown in the breasts, which the artists represented without nipples, like those of young girls, whose cincture, in the poet’s phrase, Lucina has not yet undone.

On their treatment of the limbs and locomotive system, Hogarth throws light; and, as I am not aware that he was anticipated in this respect, I quote him:—

“May be,” he says, “I cannot throw a stronger light on what has been hitherto said of proportion, than by animadverting on a remarkable beauty in the Apollo Belvidere, which hath given it the preference even to the Antinous: I mean a superaddition of greatness, to at least as much beauty and grace as is found in the latter.

“These two masterpieces of art are seen together in the same apartment at Rome, where the Antinous fills the spectator with admiration only, while the Apollo strikes him with surprise, and, as travellers express themselves, with an appearance of something more than human; which they of course are always at a loss to describe: and this effect, they say, is the more astonishing, as, upon examination, its disproportion is evident even to a common eye. One of the best sculptors we have in England, who lately went to see them, confirmed to me what has been now said, particularly as to the legs and thighs being too long, and too large for the upper parts.

“Although, in very great works, we often see an inferior part neglected, yet here it cannot be the case, because, in a fine statue, just proportion is one of its essential beauties: therefore, it stands to reason, that these limbs must have been lengthened on purpose, otherwise it might have been easily avoided.

“So that if we examine the beauties of this figure thoroughly we may reasonably conclude, that what has been hitherto thought so unaccountably excellent in its general appearance, has been owing to what has seemed a blemish in a part of it: but let us endeavor to make this matter as clear as possible, as it may add more force to what has been said.

“Statues, by being bigger than life (as this one is, and larger than the Antinous), always gain some nobleness in effect, according to the principle of quantity, but this alone is not sufficient to give what is properly to be called greatness in proportion.... Greatness of proportion must be considered as depending on the application of quantity to those parts of the body where it can give more scope to its grace in movement, as to the neck for the larger and swanlike turns of the head, and to the legs and thighs, for the more ample sway of all the upper parts together.

“By which we find that the Antinous being equally magnified to the Apollo’s height, would not sufficiently produce that superiority of effect, as to greatness, so evidently seen in the latter. The additions necessary to the production of this greatness in proportion, as it there appears added to grace, must then be, by the proper application of them to the parts mentioned only.

“I know not how farther to prove this matter than by appealing to the reader’s eye, and common observation, as before.... The Antinous being allowed to have the justest proportion possible, let us see what addition, upon the principle of quantity, can be made to it, without taking away any of its beauty.

“If we imagine an addition of dimensions to the head, we shall immediately conceive it would only deform—if to the hands or feet, we are sensible of something gross and ungenteel—if to the whole lengths of the arms, we feel they would be dangling and awkward—if, by an addition of length or breadth to the body, we know it would appear heavy and clumsy—there remains then only the neck, with the legs and thighs to speak of; but to these we find, that not only certain additions may be admitted without causing any disagreeable effect, but that thereby greatness, the last perfection as to the proportion, is given to the human form, as is evidently expressed in the Apollo.”

This is well done by Hogarth. It required but a little anatomical knowledge to see the reason of this. The length of the neck, by which the head is farther detached from the trunk, shows the independence of the higher intellectual system upon the lower one of mere nutrition; and the length of limbs shows that the mind had ready obedience in locomotive power.

I have now to obviate some objections to the existence of simple, pure, high, and perfect ideal beauty, objections, which writers on this subject have hitherto neglected.

Alison says: “The proportions of the form of the infant are very different from those of youth; these again from those of manhood; and these again perhaps still more from those of old age and decay.... Yet every one knows, not only that each of these periods is susceptible of beautiful form, but, what is much more, that the actual beauty in every period consists in the preservation of the proportions peculiar to that period, and that these differ in every article almost from those that are beautiful in other periods of the life of the same individual.”

But the beauty of the infant is not perfect beauty: it is that, on the contrary, of mere promise, not that of fulfilment. So also the beauty of old age is not perfect beauty: it is that, on the contrary, which affects and interests us chiefly by the regret we feel that its perfection has passed, or is gradually vanishing.

“The same observation,” says Alison, “is yet still more obvious with regard to the difference of sex. In every part of the form, the proportions which are beautiful in the two sexes are different; and the application of the proportions of the one to the form of the other, is everywhere felt as painful and disgusting.” So also says Burke: “Let us rest a moment on this point; and consider how much difference there is between the measures that prevail in many similar parts of the body, in the two sexes of this single species only. If you assign any determinate proportions to the limbs of man, and if you limit human beauty to these proportions, when you find a woman who differs in the make and measure of almost every part, you must conclude her not to be beautiful in spite of the suggestions of your imagination; or in obedience to your imagination you must renounce your rules; you must lay by the scale and compass, and look out for some other cause of beauty. For, if beauty be attached to certain measures which operate from a principle in nature, why should similar parts with different measures of proportion be found to have beauty, and this, too, in the very same species?”

To this I might say the beauty of woman is not the highest beauty: it is beauty of the nutritive more than of the higher thinking system. But there is another and a better answer: the difference of sex which affects all the higher animals is a greater difference than that which subsists between some of their varieties or even of their species; and the same laws of ideal beauty are as inapplicable to different sexes as to different species.

“We see, every day, around us,” says Alison, “some forms of our species which affect us with sentiments of beauty. In our own sex, we see the forms of the legislator, the man of rank, the general, the man of science, the private soldier, the sailor, the laborer, the beggar, &c. In the other sex, we see the forms of the matron, the widow, the young woman, the nurse, the domestic servant, &c.... We expect different proportions of form from the painter, in his representation of a warrior and a shepherd, of a senator and of a peasant, of a wrestler and a boatman, of a savage and of a man of cultivated manners.... We expect, in the same manner, from the statuary, very different proportions in the forms of Jove and of Apollo [this should have been excepted], of Hercules and of Antinous, of a Grace and of Andromache, of a Bacchanal and of Minerva,” &c.

That, in all these cases, the beauty is partial, is evident from the circumstance that what is found in one is wanting in another; and partial beauty is not perfect beauty. But this last point has been well stated by Reynolds and Barry.

“To the principle I have laid down,” says Reynolds, “that the idea of beauty in each species of being is an invariable one, it may be objected, that in every particular species there are various central forms which are separate and distinct from each other, and yet are undeniably beautiful; that in the human figure, for instance, the beauty of Hercules is one, of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another [again the same error]; which makes so many different ideas of beauty.... It is true, indeed, that these figures are each perfect in their kind, though of different character and proportions; but still none of them is the representation of an individual, but of a class. And as there is one general form, which, as I have said, belongs to the human kind at large, so in each of these classes there is one common idea and central form, which is the abstract of the various individual forms belonging to that class. Thus, though the forms of childhood and age differ exceedingly, there is a common form in childhood, and a common form in age, which is the more perfect, as it is more remote from all peculiarities. But I must add farther, that though the most perfect forms of each of the general divisions of the human figure are ideal, and superior to any individual form of that class, yet the highest perfection of the human figure is not to be found in any one of them. It is not in the Hercules, nor in the Gladiator, nor in the Apollo, but in that form which is taken from all, and which partakes equally of the activity of the Gladiator, of the delicacy of the Apollo, and of the muscular strength of the Hercules. For perfect beauty in any species must combine all the characters which are beautiful in that species. It cannot consist in any one to the exclusion of the rest: no one, therefore, must be predominant, that no one may be deficient.”

“A high degree of particular character,” says Barry, “cannot be superinduced upon pure or simple beauty without altering its constituent parts; this is peculiar to grace only; for particular characters consist, as has been observed before, in those deviations from the general standard for the better purpose of effecting utility and power, and become so many species of a higher order; where nature is elevated into grandeur, majesty, and sublimity.”

There is an ideal in attitude as well as in the form of the head and body.

This ideal is exactly opposed to the academical rule mentioned by Dufresnoy, Reynolds, and others, namely, that the right leg and left arm, or the left leg and right arm, should be advanced or withdrawn together. These are the mere attitudes of progression, not those of expression; and the academical rule is only an academical blunder. To anything but walking—to the free and unembarrassed expressions of the body, it is, indeed, quite inapplicable, and could produce only contortion.

The rule of ideal attitude, which I long ago deduced, both from physiological principles, and from the practice of the Greek artists, is that all the parts of one side of the body should be advanced or withdrawn together; that when one side is advanced, the other should be withdrawn; and that when the right arm is elevated, extended, or bent forward, the left leg should be elevated, extended, or bent backward—in all respects the reverse of the academical rule, so complacently mentioned by Dufresnoy, Reynolds, &c.

The foundation of this rule in the necessary balance of the body, and that distribution of motion which equally animates every part, must be obvious to every one. It is illustrated by the finest statues of the Greeks, wherever the expression intended was free and unembarrassed, and even in those, as the Laocoon and his sons, where, though the action was constrained and convulsive, the sculptor was yet at liberty to employ the most beautiful attitude. It is abandoned in these great works, when either action embarrassed by purpose, or clownishness, as in the Dancing Faun, are expressed.⁴⁸

I have now only to add, with Moreau, that individual beauty, the most perfect, differs always greatly from the ideal, and that which is least removed from it, is very difficult to be found. Hence, in all languages, the epithet rare is attached to beauty; and the Italians even call it pellegrina, foreign, to indicate that they have not frequently an opportunity of seeing it: they speak of “bellezze pellegrine,”—“leggiadria singolare e pellegrina.”