This decline in art may be accounted for by supposing that, in the infancy of a people, or after the occurrence of any great event having a very decided influence upon their manners, their religion, or their political state, nature was the chief, if not the only, object of study. When a certain proficiency had been attained, and no violent changes took place to shake the established order of things, the artist, instead of endeavouring to imitate that which he saw in nature, received as correct delineations the works of his predecessors, and made them his types and his models. In some countries, as in Egypt, religion may have contributed to this result. Whilst the imagination, as well as the hand, was fettered by prejudices, and even by laws, or whilst indolence or ignorance led to the mere servile copying of what had been done before, it may easily be conceived how rapidly a deviation from correctness of form would take place. As each transmitted the errors of those who had preceded him, and added to them himself, it is not wonderful if, ere long, the whole became one great error. It is to be feared that this prescriptive love of imitation has exercised no less influence on modern art than it did upon the arts of the ancients.
As the earliest specimens of Assyrian art which we possess are the best, it is natural to conclude that either there are other monuments still undiscovered which would tend to show a gradual progression, or that such monuments did once exist, but have long since perished; otherwise it must be inferred that those who raised the most ancient Assyrian edifice derived their knowledge directly from another people, or merely imitated what they had seen in a foreign land. Some are inclined to look upon the style and character of these early sculptures as purely Egyptian. But there is such a disparity in the mode of treatment and in the execution, that the Egyptian origin of Assyrian art appears to me to be a question open to considerable doubt. That which they have in common would mark the first efforts of any people of a certain intellectual order to imitate nature. The want of relative proportions in the figures and the ignorance of perspective—the full eye in the side face and the bodies of the dead scattered above or below the principal figures—are as characteristic of all early productions of art as they are of the rude attempts at delineation of children. It is only in the later monuments of Nineveh that we find evident and direct traces of Egyptian influence: as in the sitting sphinxes and ivories of Nimrud, and in the lotus-shaped ornaments of Khorsabad and Kuyunjik; perhaps also in the custom which then prevailed of inserting the name of the king, or of the castle, upon or immediately above their sculptured representations. Neither the ornaments of the earliest palace of Nimrud, nor the costumes, nor the elaborate nature of the embroideries upon the robes, with the groups of human figures and animals, nor the mythological symbols, are of an Egyptian character; they show a very different taste and style.
Bas-relief of Scribes writing down the Number of Heads of the Slain
(Layard)
The principal distinction between Assyrian and Egyptian art appears to be that in the one conventional forms were much more strictly adhered to than in the other. The angular mode of treatment, so conspicuous in Egyptian monuments, even in the delineation of every object, is not perceivable in those of Assyria. Had the arts of the two countries been derived from the same source—or had one been imitated from the other—they would both surely have displayed the same striking peculiarity. The Assyrians, less fettered, sought to imitate nature more closely, however rude and unsuccessful their attempts may have been; and this is proved by the constant endeavour to show the muscles, veins, and anatomical proportions of the human figure.
We must not lose sight of the assertion of Moses of Chorene—derived no doubt from ancient traditions, if not from direct historical evidence—that when Ninus founded the Assyrian Empire, a people far advanced in civilisation and in the knowledge of the arts and sciences, whose works the conquerors endeavoured to destroy, were already in possession of the country. Who that people may have been, we cannot now even conjecture. The same mystery hangs over the origin of the arts in Egypt and in Assyria. They may have been derived, before the introduction of any conventional forms, from a common source—from a people whose very name, and the proofs of whose former existence, may have perished even before tradition begins.