The Historians' History of the World 01

If we would judge how direct and unequivocal was the impulse which the dying nation transferred to the adolescent one in point of art, we have but to take a few steps in the British Museum, from the Assyrian rooms to the wonderful hall that holds Lord Elgin’s trophies from the desecrated Parthenon. Look, then, upon the frieze of bas-relief that bears the magic name of Phidias. If anything can reconcile us to the act that deprived Greece of her priceless heirlooms, it is the fact that they have found lodgment here close beside their oriental prototypes, where half a million visitors each year may at least have an opportunity to learn the lesson that human progress is an accretion, a growth, a building upon foundations; and, specifically, that Greek art, no less than other forms of human culture, was an evolution, and not an isolated miracle. For what is the Parthenon frieze, as we now come to it fresh from the palaces of Nineveh, but an Assyrian fresco adapted to the needs and ideals of another race and developed by the genius of a newer civilisation? The profiled figures in low relief coursing together, are they different in conception from the profiled figures of the palaces we have just left? The horses of the Parthenon frieze might almost seem to have stepped bodily from the palaces of Asshurbanapal. They have gained something in suppleness of limb, have altered their attitude in a measure, to be sure, thanks to their new environment. But their type has not changed by so much as an actual breed of horses might be changed in as many generations. Note the head, the most typical and characteristic feature of this Grecian steed. Line for line it is the same head, trappings aside, that we have just seen at Nineveh. Even the defects of the Assyrian drawing are there—the too small and slender face, and receding lower jaw, the tiny ear, the far too full and “chuffy” neck. Possibly no horse in nature was ever like this, but the Assyrian artist so conceives it; the Greek copies that conception; and the distorted type will be transmitted down the generations to the Italian of the Renaissance, to the classical painters of Spain, the Netherlands, and Germany, and France; nay, even to the artist of the nineteenth century. The court artist of an oriental prince of the ninth or tenth century B.C. conceives a certain ideal; and, following him, a certain type of sculptured horse, such as the artist who carved it has never seen, steps before the chariot on Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe in nineteenth-century Paris.c

Bas-relief of Horses

If Mesopotamian art and literature had been forgotten in succeeding ages, Chaldean science had not shared the same fate. The fame of the Babylonian astrology and astronomy was still fresh in the mind of the Greeks of the day of Diodorus, as we shall see, and it is curious to reflect that even at this relatively late period after Greece had passed far beyond the culminating point of her own career the learned Greek looked upon Chaldean science as something beyond the pale of the science of his own nation. It would seem as if the cultivated Greek looked back upon the Babylonian civilisation with something of that reverence which “modern” European nations have reserved for Greece itself. It is significant, too, that the Babylonians themselves, even in the day of their decline, continued to regard the Greeks, along with the rest of the outside world, as “barbarians” in something more than the Greek sense of the word.

The older civilisation always thus regards the younger, regardless of the actual relative merits of the two. It was an Egyptian priest who lectured the famous Greek in these words: “O Solon! Solon! You Hellenes are but children, and there is never an old man who is a Hellene. In my mind you are all young. There is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient tradition, nor any science hoary with age”; but the same words might well have been pronounced by a priest of Chaldea. We have learned through Diodorus that the Egyptians guarded the secrets of their science very jealously from the Greeks, who travelled and sojourned there for the express purpose of learning them; and there is reason to suppose that much the same reception was accorded the Greek traveller in Babylonia, since Herodotus seems to have learned so little there beyond what his own direct observations taught him.