The Project Gutenberg Encyclopedia Volume 1 of 28 by Project Gutenberg - Pages 990-1484

(download Open eBook Format)

The Project Gutenberg Encyclopedia Volume 1 of 28

The mer­chant who turns to these pages for prac­ti­cal sug­ges­tions con­cern­ing the ad­ver­tis­ing of his own busi­ness, can be giv­en no bet­ter ad­vice than to be­take him­self to an es­tab­lished ad­ver­tis­ing agent of good re­pute, and be guid­ed by his coun­sels. The chief part that he can him­self play with ad­van­tage is to note from day to day whether the agent is ob­tain­ing ad­van­ta­geous po­si­tions for his an­nounce­ments. Ev­ery ad­ver­tis­er will nat­ural­ly pre­fer a right-​hand page to a left-​hand page, and the right side of the page to the left side of the page; while the ad­ver­tis­er who most in­de­fati­ga­bly urges his claims up­on the agent will, in the long run, ob­tain the largest share of the favours to be dis­tribut­ed. To the mer­chant who in­clines to con­sid­er ad­ver­tis­ing in con­nex­ion with the broad­er as­pects of his call­ing, it may be sug­gest­ed that a new chan­nel of trade de­mands very se­ri­ous at­ten­tion. What is called in Eng­land “postal trade,” and in Amer­ica “mail or­der busi­ness,” is grow­ing very rapid­ly. Small deal­ers in both coun­tries have com­plained very bit­ter­ly of the com­pe­ti­tion they suf­fer from the gen­er­al deal­ers and from stores made up of de­part­ments which, un­der one roof, of­fer to the con­sumer ev­ery imag­in­able sort of mer­chan­dise. This gen­er­al trad­ing, which, on the one hand, se­ri­ous­ly threat­ens the small trad­er, and on the oth­er hand of­fers greater pos­si­bil­ities of prof­it to the pro­por­tion­ate­ly small num­ber of per­sons who can un­der­take busi­ness on so large a scale, be­comes in­finite­ly more formidable when the gen­er­al deal­er en­deav­ours not on­ly to at­tract the trade of a town, but to make his place of busi­ness a cen­tre from which he dis­tributes by post his goods to re­mote parts of the coun­try. In Amer­ica, where the weight of parcels car­ried by post is lim­it­ed to 4 lb., and where the pri­vate car­ry­ing com­pa­nies are forced to charge a very much high­er rate for car­riage from New York to Cal­ifor­nia than for short­er dis­tances, the cen­tral­iza­tion of trade is nec­es­sar­ily lim­it­ed; but it is no se­cret that, at the present mo­ment, per­sons re­sid­ing in those parts of the Unit­ed King­dom most re­mote from Lon­don ha­bit­ual­ly avail them­selves of the En­glish par­cel post, which car­ries pack­ages up to 11 lb. in or­der to pro­cure a great part of their house­hold sup­plies di­rect from gen­er­al deal­ers in Lon­don. A trad­ing com­pa­ny, which con­ducts its op­er­ations up­on such a scale as this, can af­ford to spend an al­most un­lim­it­ed sum in ad­ver­tis­ing through­out the Unit­ed King­dom, and even the trad­er who of­fers on­ly one spe­cif­ic class of mer­chan­dise is be­gin­ning to rec­og­nize the pos­si­bil­ity of ap­peal­ing to the whole coun­try.

Le­gal reg­ula­tion.

The fol­low­ing is a brief sum­ma­ry of the laws and reg­ula­tions deal­ing with ad­ver­tise­ments in pub­lic places in cer­tain of the coun­tries of Con­ti­nen­tal Eu­rope and in the Unit­ed States of Amer­ica, the chief au­thor­ity for which is an of­fi­cial re­turn is­sued by the British Home Of­fice in 1903.

France.–The per­mis­sion of the own­er is alone re­quired for the plac­ing of ad­ver­tise­ments on pri­vate build­ings; but build­ings, walls, &c., be­long­ing to the gov­ern­ment or lo­cal au­thor­ities are re­served ex­clu­sive­ly for of­fi­cial no­tices, &c.; these alone can be print­ed on white pa­per, all oth­ers must be on coloured pa­per. Mu­nic­ipal au­thor­ities con­trol the size, con­struc­tion, &c., of hoard­ings used for ad­ver­tis­ing pur­pos­es, and the po­lice have full pow­ers over the ex­hi­bi­tion of in­de­cent or oth­er ob­jec­tion­able ad­ver­tise­ments. The So­ci­ete pour la pro­tec­tion des paysages, found­ed in 1901, has for one of its ob­jects the pre­ven­tion of ad­ver­tise­ments which dis­fig­ure the scenery or are oth­er­wise ob­jec­tion­able.

Ger­many.–By sec. 43 of the Im­pe­ri­al Com­mer­cial Or­di­nance per­mis­sion to post any trade ad­ver­tise­ment in a pub­lic street, square, &c., must be first ob­tained from the lo­cal po­lice. The po­lice al­so con­trol (by sec. 55 of the Im­pe­ri­al Press Law 1874) ad­ver­tise­ments which are not of a trade char­ac­ter, but this reg­ula­tion does not af­fect the right of the fed­er­al leg­is­la­tures to make reg­ula­tions in re­gard to them (sec. 30). It would be im­pos­si­ble to give in any de­tail the po­lice reg­ula­tions as to ad­ver­tise­ments which ex­ist, e.g. in Prus­sia, but the fol­low­ing rules in force in Berlin may be giv­en:–Pub­lic ad­ver­tise­ments in pub­lic streets and places may be post­ed on­ly on the ap­pli­ances, such as pil­lar posts, &c., pro­vid­ed for the pur­pose. Own­ers of prop­er­ty may post ad­ver­tise­ments on their own prop­er­ty but on­ly such as con­cern their own in­ter­ests. Ad­ver­tise­ments on pub­lic con­veyances are for­bid­den. In 1902 a Prus­sian law was passed au­tho­riz­ing the po­lice to for­bid all ad­ver­tise­ment hoard­ings, &c., which would dis­fig­ure par­tic­ular­ly beau­ti­ful land­scapes in ru­ral dis­tricts. The Hesse-​Darm­stadt Act of 1902 pro­hibits the plac­ing of any ad­ver­tise­ments, posters, &c., on a mon­ument of­fi­cial­ly pro­tect­ed un­der the act, if it would be like­ly to in­jure the ap­pear­ance of the mon­ument. As in­stances of the nu­mer­ous lo­cal pro­vi­sions against the abuse of ad­ver­tis­ing may be cit­ed pro­vi­sions against the abuse of ad­ver­tis­ing may be cit­ed those of Augs­burg and Lubeck, by Which any ad­ver­tise­ment that would in­jure the Stadt­bild or ap­pear­ance of the town may be pro­hib­it­ed and re­moved by the lo­cal au­thor­ity (see G. Bald­win Brown, The Care of An­cient Mon­uments, 1905). Full pow­ers ex­ist un­der the Im­pe­ri­al Crim­inal Code for the sup­pres­sion of in­de­cent or ob­jec­tion­able ad­ver­tise­ments.

Aus­tria.—Per­mis­sion of the po­lice is re­quired for the ex­hi­bi­tion of print­ed no­tices in pub­lic places oth­er than such as are of pure­ly lo­cal or in­dus­tri­al in­ter­est, such as no­tices of en­ter­tain­ment, leas­es, sales, &c., or the­atre pro­grammes, and these can on­ly be shown in places ap­proved by the lo­cal au­thor­ities (Press Law 1862). The press-​po­lice act as ad­ver­tise­ment cen­sors and de­ter­mine whether an ad­ver­tise­ment can be al­lowed or not. In Hun­gary there are no gen­er­al laws or reg­ula­tions, but the mu­nic­ipal­ities have pow­er to is­sue or­di­nances deal­ing with the ques­tion.

Italy.–All con­trol rests with the mu­nic­ipal and com­mu­nal au­thor­ities, who may de­cide on the places where ad­ver­tise­ments may or may not be post­ed, and can pre­vent hoard­ings be­ing placed on or near an­cient mon­uments or pub­lic build­ings. Switzer­land.—The Fed­er­al Gov­ern­ment has no au­thor­ity to deal with this ques­tion; cer­tain of the can­tons have reg­ula­tions, e.g. Lucerne pro­hibits the pub­lic ad­ver­tis­ing of in­fe­ri­or goods by means of a false de­scrip­tion, Basel-​Stadt gives the po­lice the pow­er of cen­sor­ing all ad­ver­tise­ments. Many of the com­mu­nal au­thor­ities through­out Switzer­land have spe­cial re­stric­tions and reg­ula­tions. In Zurich the po­lice choose the ad­ver­tis­ing sta­tions, in Berne the mu­nic­ipal­ity pos­sess­es a monopoly of the right of erect­ing ad­ver­tise­ments. The So­ci­ety known as the Ligue pour la con­ser­va­tion de la Su­isse pit­toresque or Schweitzerisch­er Heimatschutz has for one of its ob­jects the preser­va­tion of scenery from dis­fig­ur­ing ad­ver­tise­ments.

Unit­ed States.—There is no fed­er­al leg­is­la­tion on the sub­ject, the mat­ter be­ing one for reg­ula­tion by the states, which in most cas­es have left it to the var­ious mu­nic­ipal­ities and oth­er lo­cal au­thor­ities. With re­gard to in­de­cent and ob­jec­tion­able ad­ver­tise­ments some states have spe­cial leg­is­la­tion on the mat­ter, oth­ers are con­tent with the or­di­nary crim­inal laws or po­lice pow­ers or with the law of nui­sance or of tres­pass. Thus con­trol can be ex­er­cised over such ad­ver­tise­ments as are dan­ger­ous to pub­lic safe­ty, health or morals. The state of New York pro­hibits ad­ver­tise­ments of lot­ter­ies. It would be im­pos­si­ble to give in de­tail the dif­fer­ent laws and reg­ula­tions passed in the var­ious states or by mu­nic­ipal­ities. The fol­low­ing are some of the more strik­ing mea­sures adopt­ed in cer­tain of the states. In Mas­sachusetts no ad­ver­tis­ing signs or de­vices are al­lowed on the pub­lic high­ways. Pow­er has been grant­ed to city and town au­thor­ities to reg­ulate ad­ver­tise­ments in, near or vis­ible from pub­lic parks. In the Dis­trict of Columbia no ad­ver­tise­ment is al­lowed which ob­structs a high­way, and all dis­tri­bu­tion of hand­bills, cir­cu­lars, &c., in pub­lic streets, parks, &c., is pro­hib­it­ed. This pro­hi­bi­tion against what are gen­er­al­ly known as “dodgers” is very gen­er­al in the lo­cal reg­ula­tions through­out the states. In Illi­nois, city coun­cils are em­pow­ered on the in­cor­po­ra­tion of the city to reg­ulate and pre­vent the use of streets, side­walks and pub­lic grounds for signs, hand­bills and ad­ver­tise­ments, &c., and al­so the ex­hi­bi­tion of ban­ners, plac­ards, in the streets or side­walks. Chica­go has a body of most strin­gent rules, but they ap­par­ent­ly have been found im­pos­si­ble to en­force; thus no ad­ver­tise­ment board more than 12 ft. square with­in 400 ft. of a pub­lic park or boule­vard, no ad­ver­tise­ments oth­er than small ones re­lat­ing to the busi­ness car­ried on in the premis­es where the ad­ver­tise­ment is post­ed, or of sales, &c., are al­lowed in streets where three-​quar­ters of the hous­es are “res­idences” on­ly. Pro­hi­bi­tion is al­so ex­tend­ed to the ad­ver­tise­ments of those pro­fess­ing to cure dis­eases or giv­ing no­tice of the sale of medicines. In Boston there are reg­ula­tions pro­hibit­ing pro­ject­ing or over­hang­ing signs in the streets, and spe­cial rules as to the height at which street signs and ad­ver­tise­ments must be placed. The dis­tri­bu­tion of “dodgers” in the streets is pro­hib­it­ed. Ad­ver­tise­ments for places of amuse­ment must be ap­proved by the com­mit­tee on li­cences.

Tax­ation.

France, Bel­gium, Italy and cer­tain of the can­tons in Switzer­land im­pose a tax on ad­ver­tise­ments, as do cer­tain of the Unit­ed States of Amer­ica, where the form is usu­al­ly that of a li­cence du­ty on bill­posters or ad­ver­tis­ing agen­cies. In many cas­es in the Unit­ed States this is im­posed by the mu­nic­ipal­ities. In ev­ery case both in Eu­rope and Amer­ica ad­ver­tise­ments in news­pa­pers are not sub­ject to any tax. With re­gard to the lit­er­ature of ad­ver­tis­ing, in ad­di­tion to the his­tor­ical ar­ti­cle in the Ed­in­burgh Re­view for Febru­ary 1843, al­ready men­tioned, and that in the Quar­ter­ly Re­view for June 1855, the So­ci­ety for Check­ing the Abus­es of Pub­lic Ad­ver­tis­ing is­sue a jour­nal, A Beau­ti­ful World. The Jour­nal of the So­ci­ety of Com­par­ative Leg­is­la­tion (N.S. xvi. 1906) con­tains an ar­ti­cle by W.J.B. Byles on For­eign Law and the Con­trol of Ad­ver­tise­ments in Pub­lic Places. The ad­ver­tis­ers’ hand­books, is­sued by the lead­ing ad­ver­tis­ing agents, will al­so be found to con­tain prac­ti­cal in­for­ma­tion of great use to the ad­ver­tis­er. (H. R. H.*; C. WE.)

AD­VICE (Fr. avis, from Lat. ad, to, and vi­sum, viewed), coun­sel giv­en af­ter con­sid­er­ation, or in­for­ma­tion from a dis­tance giv­ing par­tic­ulars of some­thing prospec­tive ( e.g. “ad­vice” of an im­mi­nent bat­tle, or of a car­go due). In com­merce it is a com­mon word for a for­mal no­tice from one per­son con­cerned in a trans­ac­tion to an­oth­er.

AD­VO­CATE (Lat. ad­vo­ca­tus, from ad­vo­care, to sum­mon, es­pe­cial­ly in law to call in the aid of a coun­sel or wit­ness, and so gen­er­al­ly to sum­mon to one’s as­sis­tance), a lawyer au­tho­rized to plead the caus­es of lit­igants in courts of law. The word is used tech­ni­cal­ly in Scot­land (see AD­VO­CATES, FAC­UL­TY OF) in a sense vir­tu­al­ly equiv­alent to the En­glish term bar­ris­ter, and a deriva­tive from the same Latin source is so used in most of the coun­tries of Eu­rope where the civ­il law is in force. The word ad­vo­ca­tus is not of­ten used among the ear­li­er ju­rists, and ap­pears not to have had a strict mean­ing. It is not al­ways as­so­ci­at­ed with le­gal pro­ceed­ings, and might ap­par­ent­ly be ap­plied to a sup­port­er or coad­ju­tor in the pur­suit of any de­sired ob­ject. When it came to be ap­plied with a more spe­cif­ic lim­ita­tion to le­gal ser­vices, the po­si­tion of the ad­vo­ca­tus was still un­cer­tain. It was dif­fer­ent from, and ev­ident­ly in­fe­ri­or to, that of the ju­ris-​con­sul­tus, who gave his opin­ion and ad­vice in ques­tions of law, and may be iden­ti­fied with the con­sult­ing coun­sel of the present day. Nor is the mere­ly pro­fes­sion­al ad­vo­cate to be con­found­ed with the more dis­tin­guished or­ator, or pa­tronus, who came for­ward in the guise of the dis­in­ter­est­ed vin­di­ca­tor of jus­tice. This dis­tinc­tion, how­ev­er, ap­pears to have arisen in lat­er times, when the pro­fes­sion be­came mer­ce­nary. By the lex Cineia, passed about two cen­turies B.C., and sub­se­quent­ly re­newed, the ac­cep­tance of re­mu­ner­ation for pro­fes­sion­al as­sis­tance in law­suits was pro­hib­it­ed. This law, like all oth­ers of the kind, was evad­ed. The skil­ful de­bater was pro­pi­ti­at­ed with a present; and though he could not sue for the val­ue of his ser­vices, it was ruled that any hon­orar­ium so giv­en could not be de­mand­ed back, even though he died be­fore the an­tic­ipat­ed ser­vice was per­formed. The traces of this eva­sion of a law may be found in the ex­ist­ing prac­tice of re­ward­ing coun­sel by fees in an­tic­ipa­tion of ser­vices. The term ad­vo­ca­tus came even­tu­al­ly to be the word em­ployed when the bar had be­come a pro­fes­sion, and the qual­ifi­ca­tions, ad­mis­sion, num­bers and fees of coun­sel had be­come a mat­ter of state reg­ula­tion, to des­ig­nate the plead­ers as a class of pro­fes­sion­al men, each in­di­vid­ual ad­vo­cate, how­ev­er, be­ing still spo­ken of as pa­tron in ref­er­ence to the lit­igant with whose in­ter­est he was en­trust­ed. The ad­vo­ca­tus fis­ci, or fis­cal ad­vo­cate, was an of­fi­cer whose func­tion, like that of a so­lic­itor of tax­es at the present day, was con­nect­ed with the col­lec­tion of the rev­enue. The lawyers who prac­tised in the En­glish courts of com­mon law were nev­er of­fi­cial­ly known as ad­vo­cates, the word be­ing re­served for those who prac­tised in the courts of the civ­il and canon law (see DOC­TORS’ COM­MONS). There was for­mer­ly an im­por­tant of­fi­cial termed his majesty’s ad­vo­cate-​gen­er­al, or more short­ly, the king’s ad­vo­cate, who was the prin­ci­pal law of­fi­cer of the crown in the Col­lege of Ad­vo­cates or Doc­tors’ Com­mons, and in the ad­mi­ral­ty and ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal courts. He dis­charged for these courts the du­ties which cor­re­spond to those of the so­lic­itor of the trea­sury (see SO­LIC­ITOR). His opin­ion was tak­en by the for­eign of­fice on in­ter­na­tion­al mat­ters, and on high ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal mat­ters he was al­so con­sult­ed; all or­ders in coun­cil were sub­mit­ted to him for ap­proval. The of­fice may now be said to be ob­so­lete, for af­ter the res­ig­na­tion of Sir Travers Twiss, the last hold­er, in 1872, it was not filled up. There was al­so a sec­ond law of­fi­cer of the crown in the ad­mi­ral­ty court called the ad­mi­ral­ty ad­vo­cate. This of­fice has long been va­cant. Ad­vo­cate is al­so the ti­tle still in use in some of the British colonies to de­note the chief law of­fi­cer of the crown there. For in­stance, in Sier­ra Leone (un­til 1896), La­gos and Cyprus he is called the king’s ad­vo­cate; in Mal­ta, crown ad­vo­cate; in Mau­ri­tius, pro­cureur and ad­vo­cate-​gen­er­al, and in the provinces of In­dia ad­vo­cate-​gen­er­al. In France, the av­ocats, as a body, were re­or­ga­nized un­der the em­pire by a de­cree of the 15th of De­cem­ber 1830. There is, how­ev­er, a dis­tinc­tion be­tween av­ocats and avoues. The lat­ter, whose num­ber is lim­it­ed, act as procu­ra­tors or agents, rep­re­sent­ing the par­ties be­fore the tri­bunals, draft and pre­pare for them all for­mal acts and writ­ings, and pre­pare their law­suits for the oral de­bates. The of­fice of the av­ocat, on the oth­er hand, con­sists in giv­ing ad­vice as to the law, and con­duct­ing the caus­es of his clients by writ­ten and oral plead­ings. The num­ber of av­ocats is not lim­it­ed; ev­ery li­cen­ti­ate of law be­ing en­ti­tled to ap­ply to the cor­po­ra­tion of av­ocats at­tached to each court, and af­ter pre­sen­ta­tion to the court, tak­ing the oath of of­fice and pass­ing three years in at­ten­dance on some old­er ad­vo­cate, to have him­self recog­nised as an ad­vo­cate.

In Ger­many the ad­vo­cat no longer forms a dis­tinct class of lawyer. Since 1879, when a sweep­ing ju­di­ca­ture act (Deutsche Jus­tizge­set­zge­bung) re­con­sti­tut­ed the ju­di­cial sys­tem, the ad­vo­cat in his char­ac­ter of ad­vis­er, as dis­tin­guished from the procu­ra­tor, who for­mer­ly rep­re­sent­ed the client in the courts, has be­come merged in the Recht­san­walt, who has the du­al char­ac­ter of coun­sel­lor and plead­er.

The ad­vo­cates ec­cle­si­ae.

In the mid­dle ages the word ad­vo­ca­tus (Fr. avoue, Ger. Vogt) was used on the con­ti­nent as the ti­tle of the lay lord charged with the pro­tec­tion and rep­re­sen­ta­tion in sec­ular mat­ters of an abbey. The of­fice is trace­able as ear­ly as the be­gin­ning of the 5th cen­tu­ry in the Ro­man em­pire, the church­es be­ing al­lowed to choose de­fen­sores from the body of ad­vo­cates to rep­re­sent them in the courts. In the Frank­ish king­dom, un­der the Merovin­gians, these lay rep­re­sen­ta­tives of the church­es ap­pear as agentes, de­fen­sores and ad­vo­cati; and un­der the Car­olin­gians it was made oblig­atory on bish­ops, ab­bots and abbess­es to ap­point such of­fi­cials in ev­ery coun­ty where they held prop­er­ty. The of­fice was not hered­itary, the ad­vo­ca­tus be­ing cho­sen, ei­ther by the ab­bot alone, or by the ab­bot and bish­op con­cur­rent­ly with the count. The same caus­es that led to the de­vel­op­ment of the feu­dal sys­tem al­so af­fect­ed the ad­vo­ca­tus. In times of con­fu­sion church­es and abbeys need­ed not so much a le­gal rep­re­sen­ta­tive as an armed pro­tec­tor, while as feu­dal im­mu­ni­ties were con­ced­ed to the ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal foun­da­tions, these re­quired a rep­re­sen­ta­tive to de­fend their rights and to ful­fil their sec­ular obli­ga­tions to the state, e.g. to lead the ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal levies to war. A new class of ad­vo­ca­tus thus arose, whose of­fice, com­mon­ly re­ward­ed by a grant of land, crys­tal­lized in­to a fief, which, like oth­er fiefs, had by the be­gin­ning of the 11th cen­tu­ry be­come hered­itary.

The French avoue.

In France the ad­vo­cati (avoues) were of two class­es.–(1) great barons, who held the ad­vo­cate­ship of an abbey or abbeys rather as an of­fice than a fief, though they were in­dem­ni­fied for the pro­tec­tion they af­ford­ed by a do­main and rev­enues grant­ed by the abbey: thus the duke of Nor­mandy was ad­poea­tus of near­ly all the abbeys in the duchy; (2) pet­ty seigneurs, who held their avoueries as hered­itary fiefs and of­ten as their sole means of sub­sis­tence. The avoue of an abbey, of this class, cor­re­spond­ed to the vi­dame (q.v.) of a bish­op. Their func­tion was gen­er­al­ly to rep­re­sent the ab­bot in his ca­pac­ity as feu­dal lord; to act as his rep­re­sen­ta­tive in the courts of his su­pe­ri­or lord; to ex­er­cise sec­ular jus­tice in the ab­bot’s name in the ab­ba­tial court; to lead the re­tain­ers. Of the abbey to bat­tle un­der the ban­ner of the pa­tron saint.

In Eng­land.

In Eng­land the word ad­vo­ca­tus was nev­er used to de­note an hered­itary rep­re­sen­ta­tive of an ab­bot; but in some of the larg­er abbeys there were hered­itary stew­ards whose func­tions and priv­ileges were not dis­sim­ilar to those of the con­ti­nen­tal ad­vo­cati. The word ad­vo­ca­tus, how­ev­er, was in con­stant use in Eng­land to de­note the pa­tron of an ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal benefice, whose sole right of any im­por­tance was an hered­itary one of pre­sent­ing a par­son to the bish­op for in­sti­tu­tion. In this way the hered­itary right of pre­sen­ta­tion to a benefice came to be called in En­glish an “ad­vow­son” (ad­vo­ca­tio). The ad­vo­ca­tus played a more im­por­tant part in the feu­dal poli­ty of the Em­pire and of the Low Coun­tries than in France, where his func­tions, con­fined to the pro­tec­tion of the in­ter­ests of re­li­gious hous­es, were su­per­seded from the 13th cen­tu­ry on­wards by the growth of the cen­tral pow­er and the in­creas­ing ef­fi­cien­cy of the roy­al ad­min­is­tra­tion. They had, in­deed, long ceased to be ef­fec­tive for their orig­inal pur­pose; and from the time when their of­fice be­came a fief they had tak­en ad­van­tage of their po­si­tion to pil­lage and sup­press those whom it was their func­tion to de­fend. The me­dieval records, not in France on­ly, are full of com­plaints by ab­bots of their usurpa­tions, ex­ac­tions and acts of vi­olence.

The Ger­man Vogt.

In Ger­many the ti­tle of ad­vo­ca­tus ( Vogt) was giv­en not on­ly to the ad­vo­cati of church­es and abbeys, but to the of­fi­cials ap­point­ed, from ear­ly in the mid­dle ages, by the em­per­or to ad­min­is­ter their im­me­di­ate do­mains, in con­tradis­tinc­tion to the counts, who had be­come hered­itary princes of the Em­pire. The ter­ri­to­ry so ad­min­is­tered was known as Vogt­land (ter­ra ad­vo­ca­to­rum), a name still some­times em­ployed to des­ig­nate the strip of coun­try which em­braces the prin­ci­pal­ities of Reuss and ad­ja­cent por­tions of Sax­ony, Prus­sia and Bavaria. These im­pe­ri­al ad­vo­cati tend­ed in their turn to be­come hered­itary. Some­times the em­per­or him­self as­sumed the ti­tle of Vogt of some par­tic­ular part of his im­me­di­ate do­main. In the Nether­lands as well as in Ger­many ad­vo­cati were of­ten ap­point­ed in the cities, by the over­lord or by the em­per­or, some­times to take the place of the bailiff (Ger. Schultheiss, Dutch schout, Lat. scul­te­tus), some­times along­side this of­fi­cial.

See Du Cange, Glos­sar­ium (ed. 1883, Niort), s. “Ad­vo­cati”; A. Luchaire, Manuel des in­sti­tu­tions fran­cais­es (Paris, 1892); Her­zog Hauck, Realen­cyk­lopadie (ed. Leipzig, 1896), s. “Ad­vo­ca­tus ec­cle­si­ae,” where fur­ther ref­er­ences will be found.

AD­VO­CATES, FAC­UL­TY OF, the col­lec­tive term by which what in Eng­land are called bar­ris­ters are known in Scot­land. They pro­fes­sion­al­ly at­tend the supreme courts in Ed­in­burgh; but they are priv­ileged to plead in any cause be­fore the in­fe­ri­or courts, where coun­sel are not ex­clud­ed by statute. They may act in cas­es of ap­peal be­fore the House of Lords; and in some of the British colonies, where the civ­il law is in force, it is cus­tom­ary for those who prac­tise as bar­ris­ters to pass as ad­vo­cates in Scot­land. This body has ex­ist­ed by im­memo­ri­al cus­tom. Its priv­ileges are con­sti­tu­tion­al, and are found­ed on no statute or char­ter of in­cor­po­ra­tion. The body formed it­self grad­ual­ly, from time to time, on the mod­el of the French cor­po­ra­tions of av­ocats, ap­point­ing like them by a gen­er­al vote, a dean or doyen, who is their prin­ci­pal of­fi­cer. It al­so dif­fers from the En­glish and Irish so­ci­eties in that there is no gov­ern­ing body sim­ilar to the benchers, nor is there any re­sem­blance to the quasi-​col­le­giate dis­ci­pline and the us­ages and cus­toms pre­vail­ing in an inn of court. No cur­ricu­lum of study, res­idence or pro­fes­sion­al train­ing was, un­til 1856, re­quired on en­ter­ing this pro­fes­sion; but the fac­ul­ty have al­ways had the pow­er, be­lieved to be li­able to con­trol by the Court of Ses­sion, of re­ject­ing any can­di­date for ad­mis­sion. The can­di­date un­der­goes two pri­vate ex­am­ina­tions –the one in gen­er­al schol­ar­ship, in lieu of which, how­ev­er, he may pro­duce ev­idence of his hav­ing grad­uat­ed as mas­ter of arts in a Scot­tish uni­ver­si­ty, or ob­tained an equiv­alent de­gree in an En­glish or for­eign uni­ver­si­ty; and the oth­er, at the in­ter­val of a year, in Ro­man, pri­vate in­ter­na­tion­al and Scots law, He must, be­fore the lat­ter ex­am­ina­tion, pro­duce ev­idence of at­ten­dance at class­es of Scots law and con­veyanc­ing in a Scot­tish uni­ver­si­ty, and at class­es of civ­il law, pub­lic or in­ter­na­tion­al law, con­sti­tu­tion­al law and med­ical ju­rispru­dence in a Scot­tish or oth­er ap­proved uni­ver­si­ty. He has then to un­der­go the old aca­dem­ic form of the pub­lic im­pugn­ment of a the­sis on some ti­tle of the pan­dects; but this cer­emo­ny, called the pub­lic ex­am­ina­tion, has de­gen­er­at­ed in­to a mere form. A large pro­por­tion of the can­di­date’s en­trance fees (amount­ing to L. 339) is de­vot­ed to the mag­nif­icent li­brary be­long­ing to the fac­ul­ty, which lit­er­ary in­ves­ti­ga­tors in Ed­in­burgh find so em­inent­ly use­ful.

AD­VO­CA­TUS DI­ABOLI, dev­il’s ad­vo­cate, the name pop­ular­ly giv­en to the pro­mot­er of the Faith (pro­mo­tor fidei), and of­fi­cer of the Sa­cred Con­gre­ga­tion of Rites at Rome, whose du­ty is to pre­pare all pos­si­ble ar­gu­ments against the ad­mis­sion of any one to the posthu­mous hon­ours of be­at­ifi­ca­tion and can­on­iza­tion. This func­tionary is first for­mal­ly men­tioned un­der Leo X.(1513- 1521) in the pro­ceed­ings in con­nex­ion with the can­on­iza­tion of St Loren­zo Gius­tini­ani. In 1631 Ur­ban VI­II. made his pres­ence, ei­ther in per­son or by deputy, nec­es­sary for the va­lid­ity of any act con­nect­ed with the pro­cess of be­at­ifi­ca­tion or can­on­iza­tion (see CANON­ISA­TION). The phrase, “dev­il’s ad­vo­cate,” has by an easy trans­fer­ence come to be used of any one who puts him­self up, or is put up, for the sake of pro­mot­ing de­bate, to ar­gue a case in which he does not nec­es­sar­ily be­lieve.

AD­VOW­SON, or @AD­VOWZEN (through O. Fr. ad­vou­son, from Lat. ad­vo­ca­tio, a sum­mons to), the right of pre­sen­ta­tion to a va­cant ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal benefice, so called be­cause the pa­tron de­fends or ad­vo­cates the claims of the per­son whom he presents. At what pe­ri­od the right of ad­vow­son arose is un­cer­tain; it was prob­ably the re­sult of grad­ual growth. The ear­li­est trace of the prac­tice is found in the de­cree of the coun­cil of Or­ange, A.D. 441, which al­lowed a bish­op, who had built a church in the dio­cese of an­oth­er bish­op, to nom­inate the clerk, but not to con­se­crate the church. The 123rd Nov­el of Jus­tini­an, pro­mul­gat­ed about the end of the 5th cen­tu­ry, de­creed “that if any man should erect an or­ato­ry, and de­sire to present a clerk there­to by him­self or his heirs, if they fur­nish a com­pe­ten­cy for his liveli­hood, and nom­inate to the bish­op such as are wor­thy, they may be or­dained.” The 57th Nov­el em­pow­ered the bish­op to ex­am­ine them and judge of their qual­ifi­ca­tions, and, where those were suf­fi­cient, obliged him to ad­mit the clerk. In Eng­land, for quite two cen­turies af­ter its con­ver­sion, the cler­gy ad­min­is­tered on­ly pro tem­pore in the parochial church­es, re­ceiv­ing their main­te­nance from the cathe­dral church, all the ap­point­ments with­in the dio­cese ly­ing with the bish­op. But in or­der to pro­mote the build­ing and en­dow­ment of parochial church­es those who had con­tribut­ed to their erec­tion ei­ther by a grant of land, by build­ing or by en­dow­ment, be­came en­ti­tled to present a clerk of their own choice to the bish­op, who was in­vest­ed with the rev­enues de­rived from such con­tri­bu­tion. Af­ter the Nor­man Con­quest, when the bound­aries be­tween church and state were more clear­ly marked, it be­came usu­al for pa­trons to ap­point to liv­ings not on­ly with­out the con­sent, but even against the will, of the bish­ops.

Ad­vow­sons are di­vid­ed in­to two kinds, ap­pen­dant and in gross. Orig­inal­ly the right of nom­inat­ing1 or pre­sent­ing was an­nexed to the per­son who built or en­dowed the church, but the right grad­ual­ly be­came an­nexed to the manor in which it was built, for the en­dow­ment was con­sid­ered par­cel of the manor, the church be­ing built for the use of the in­hab­itants, and the tithes of the manor be­ing at­tached to the church. Con­se­quent­ly where the right of pa­tron­age (the right of the pa­tron to present to the bish­op the per­son whom he has nom­inat­ed to be­come rec­tor or vicar of the parish to the benefice of which he claims the right of ad­vow­son) re­mains at­tached to the manor, it is called an ad­vow­son ap­pen­dant, and pass­es with the es­tate by in­her­itance or sale with­out any spe­cial con­veyance. But where, as is of­ten the case, the right of pre­sen­ta­tion has been sold by it­self, and so sep­arat­ed from the manor, it is called an ad­vow­son in gross. An ad­vow­son may al­so be part­ly ap­pen­dant, and part­ly in gross, e.g. if an own­er grant­ed to an­oth­er ev­ery sec­ond pre­sent­ment, the ad­vow­son would be ap­pen­dant for the grantor’s turn and in gross for the grantee’s.

Ad­vow­sons are fur­ther dis­tin­guished in­to pre­sen­ta­tive and colla­tive. In a pre­sen­ta­tive ad­vow­son, the pa­tron presents a cler­gy­man to the bish­op, with the pe­ti­tion that he be in­sti­tut­ed in­to the va­cant liv­ing. The bish­op is bound to in­duct if he find the cler­gy­man canon­ical­ly qual­ified, and a re­fusal on his part is sub­ject to an ap­peal to an ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal court ei­ther by pa­tron or by pre­sen­tee. In a colla­tive ad­vow­son the bish­op is him­self the pa­tron, ei­ther in his own right or in the right of the prop­er pa­tron, which has lapsed to him through not be­ing ex­er­cised with­in the statu­to­ry pe­ri­od of six months af­ter the va­can­cy oc­curred. No pe­ti­tion is nec­es­sary in this case, and the bish­op is said to col­late to the benefice. Be­fore 1898 there were al­so do­na­tive ad­vow­sons, but the Benefices Act 1898 made all do­na­tions with cure of souls pre­sen­ta­tive. In a do­na­tive ad­vow­son, the sovereign, or any sub­ject by spe­cial li­cence from the sovereign, con­ferred a benefice by a sim­ple let­ter of gift, with­out any ref­er­ence to the bish­op, and with­out pre­sen­ta­tion and in­sti­tu­tion. The in­cum­bent of such a liv­ing was to a great ex­tent free from the ju­ris­dic­tion of the bish­op, who could on­ly reach him through the ac­tion of an ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal court. The Benefices Act of 1898 did not make any sub­stan­tial change in the le­gal char­ac­ter of ad­vow­sons, which re­main prac­ti­cal­ly the same as be­fore the act. Briefly, it pre­vents the deal­ing with the right of pre­sen­ta­tion as a thing apart from the ad­vow­son it­self; in­creas­es the pow­er of the bish­ops to refuse the pre­sen­ta­tion of un­fit per­sons, and re­moves sev­er­al abus­es which had arisen in the trans­fer of pa­tron­age. Un­der the pre­vi­ous­ly ex­ist­ing law, si­mo­ny, or “the cor­rupt pre­sen­ta­tion of any per­son to an ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal benefice for gift, mon­ey or re­ward,” ren­ders the pre­sen­ta­tion void, and sub­jects the per­sons privy or par­ty to it to penal­ties; a pre­sen­ta­tion to a va­cant benefice can­not be sold, and no clerk in holy or­ders can pur­chase for him­self a next pre­sen­ta­tion. An ad­vow­son may, how­ev­er, be sold dur­ing a va­can­cy, though that will not give the right to present to that va­can­cy; and a clerk may buy an ad­vow­son even though it be on­ly an es­tate for life, and present him­self on the next va­can­cy. Un­der the Benefices Act, ad­vow­sons may not be sold by pub­lic auc­tion ex­cept in con­junc­tion with land­ed prop­er­ty ad­ja­cent to the benefice; trans­fers of pa­tron­age must be reg­is­tered in the reg­istry of the dio­cese, and no such trans­fers can be made with­in twelve months af­ter the last ad­mis­sion or in­sti­tu­tion to the benefice. Re­stric­tions had al­so been im­posed on the trans­fer of pa­tron­age of church­es built un­der the Church Build­ing Acts and New Parish­es Acts, and on that of benefices in the gift of the lord chan­cel­lor, and sold by him in or­der to aug­ment oth­ers; but agree­ments may be made as to the pa­tron­age of such church­es in favour of per­sons who have con­tribut­ed to their build­ing or en­large­ment with­out be­ing void for si­mo­ny.

The right of pre­sen­ta­tion may be ex­er­cised by its own­er whether he be an in­fant, ex­ecu­tors, trustees, co­parceners (who, if they can­not agree, present in turn in or­der of age) or mort­gagee (who must present the nom­inee of the mort­gagor), or a bankrupt (who, al­though the ad­vow­son be­longs to his cred­itors, yet has the right to present to a va­can­cy). Cer­tain own­ers of ad­vow­sons are tem­porar­ily or per­ma­nent­ly dis­abled from ex­er­cis­ing the right which de­volves up­on oth­er per­sons; and the crown as pa­tron paramount of all benefices can fill all church­es not reg­ular­ly filled by oth­er pa­trons. It thus presents to all va­can­cies caused by si­mo­ni­acal pre­sen­ta­tions, or by the in­cum­bent hav­ing been pre­sent­ed to a bish­opric or in benefices be­long­ing to a bish­opric when the see is va­cant by the bish­op’s death, trans­la­tion or de­pri­va­tion. Where a pre­sen­ta­tion be­longs to a lu­natic, the lord chan­cel­lor presents for him. Where it be­longs to a Ro­man Catholic the right is ex­er­cised in his be­half by the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ox­ford if the benefice be sit­uate south of the riv­er Trent, and by that of Cam­bridge if it be north of that riv­er. Be­sides the qual­ifi­ca­tions re­quired of a pre­sen­tee by canon law, such as be­ing of the canon­ical age, and in priest’s or­ders be­fore ad­mis­sion, suf­fi­cient learn­ing and prop­er or­tho­doxy or morals, the Benefices Act re­quires that a year shall have elapsed since a trans­fer of the right of pa­tron­age, un­less it can be shown that such trans­fer was not made in view of a prob­able va­can­cy; that the pre­sen­tee has been a dea­con for three years; and that he is not un­fit for the dis­charge of his du­ties by rea­son of phys­ical or men­tal in­fir­mi­ty or in­ca­pac­ity, grave pe­cu­niary em­bar­rass­ment, grave mis­con­duct or ne­glect of du­ty in an ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal of­fice, evil life, or con­duct caus­ing grave scan­dal con­cern­ing his moral char­ac­ter since his or­di­na­tion, or be­ing par­ty to an il­le­gal agree­ment with re­gard to the pre­sen­ta­tion; that no­tice of the pre­sen­ta­tion has been giv­en to the parish of the benefice. Ex­cept by leave of the bish­op or se­ques­tra­tor, the in­cum­bent of a se­questered benefice can­not be pre­sent­ed. The act al­so gives to both pa­tron and pre­sen­tee an al­ter­na­tive mode of ap­peal against a bish­op’s re­fusal to in­sti­tute or ad­mit, ex­cept on a ground of doc­trine or rit­ual, to a court com­posed of an arch­bish­op of the province and a judge of the High Court nom­inat­ed for that pur­pose by the lord chan­cel­lor, a course which, how­ev­er, bars re­sort be­ing had to the or­di­nary suits of du­plex querela or ac­tion of quare im­ped­it. In case of re­fusal of one pre­sen­tee, a lay pa­tron may present an­oth­er, and a cler­ical pa­tron may do so af­ter an un­suc­cess­ful ap­peal against the re­fusal. Up­on in­sti­tu­tion the church is full against ev­ery­body ex­cept the crown, and af­ter six months’ peace­able pos­ses­sion the clerk is se­cured in pos­ses­sion of the benefice, even though he may have been pre­sent­ed by a per­son who is not the prop­er pa­tron. The true pa­tron can, how­ev­er, ex­er­cise his right to present at the next va­can­cy, and can re­serve the ad­vow­son from an usurp­er at any time with­in three suc­ces­sive in­cum­ben­cies so cre­at­ed ad­verse­ly to his right, or with­in six­ty years. Col­la­tion, which oth­er­wise cor­re­sponds to in­sti­tu­tion, does not make the church full, and the true pa­tron can dis­pos­sess the clerk at any time, un­less he is a pa­tron who col­lates. Pos­ses­sion of the benefice is com­plet­ed by in­duc­tion, which makes the church full against any one, in­clud­ing the crown. If the prop­er pa­tron fails to ex­er­cise his right with­in six cal­en­dar months from the va­can­cy, the right de­volves or laps­es to the next su­pe­ri­or pa­tron, e.g. from an or­di­nary pa­tron to the bish­op, and if he makes sim­ilar de­fault to the arch­bish­op, and from him on sim­ilar de­fault to the crown. If a bish­opric be­comes va­cant af­ter a lapse has ac­crued to it, it goes to the metropoli­tan; but in case of a va­can­cy of a benefice dur­ing the va­can­cy of the see the crown presents. Un­til the right of pre­sen­ta­tion so ac­cru­ing to a bish­op or arch­bish­op is ex­er­cised, the pa­tron can still ef­fec­tu­al­ly present but not if lapse has gone to the crown.

(See al­so BB­NEFICE; GLEBE; IN­CUM­BENT; VICAR.)

AU­THOR­ITIES.—Burn, Ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal Law; Bing­ham’s Orig­ines Ec­cle­si­as­ti­cae, or, the An­tiq­ui­ties of the En­glish Church; Mire­house, On Ad­vow­son; Phillimore, Ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal Law.

1 The dis­tinc­tion be­tween nom­ina­tion to a liv­ing and pre­sen­ta­tion is to be not­ed. Nom­ina­tion is the pow­er, by virtue of a manor or oth­er­wise, to ap­point a clerk to the pa­tron of a benefice, to be by him pre­sent­ed to the or­di­nary. Pre­sen­ta­tion is the act of a pa­tron in of­fer­ing his clerk to the bish­op, to be in­sti­tut­ed in a benefice of his gift. Nom­ina­tion and pre­sen­ta­tion, though gen­er­al­ly used in law lor the same thing must be so dis­tin­guish­nd, for it is pos­si­ble that the rights of nom­ina­tion may be in one per­son, and the rights of pre­sen­ta­tion in an­oth­er.

ADYE, SIR JOHN MILLER (1819-1900), British gen­er­al, son of Ma­jor James P. Adye, was born at Sevenoaks, Kent, on the 1st of Novem­ber 1819. He en­tered the Roy­al Ar­tillery in 1836, was pro­mot­ed cap­tain in 1846, and served through­out the Crimean War as brigade-​ma­jor and as­sis­tant ad­ju­tant-​gen­er­al of ar­tillery (C.B., brevets of ma­jor and lieu­tenant-​colonel). In the In­di­an Mutiny he served on the staff in a sim­ilar ca­pac­ity. Pro­mot­ed brevet-​colonel in 1860, he was spe­cial­ly em­ployed in 1863 in the N.W. fron­tier of In­dia cam­paign, and was deputy ad­ju­tant-​gen­er­al, Ben­gal, from 1863 to 1866, when he re­turned home. From 1870 to 1875 Adye was di­rec­tor of ar­tillery and stores at the War Of­fice. He was made a K.C.B. in 1873, and was pro­mot­ed to be ma­jor-​gen­er­al and ap­point­ed gov­er­nor of the Roy­al Mil­itary Acade­my, Wool­wich, in 1875, and sur­vey or gen­er­al of the ord­nance in 1880. In 1882 he was chief of staff and sec­ond in com­mand of the ex­pe­di­tion to Egypt, and served through­out the cam­paign (G.C.B. and thanks of par­lia­ment). He held the gov­ern­ment of Gibral­tar from 1883 to 1886. Pro­mot­ed lieu­tenant-​gen­er­al in 1879, gen­er­al and colonel com­man­dant of the Roy­al Ar­tillery in 1884, he re­tired in 1886. He un­suc­cess­ful­ly con­test­ed Bath in the Lib­er­al in­ter­est in 1892. He died on the 26th of Au­gust 1900. He was au­thor of A Re­view of The Crimean War; The De­fense of Cawn­pore; A Fron­tier Cam­paign in Afghanistan; Rec­ol­lec­tions of a Mil­itary Life; and In­di­an Fron­tier Pol­icy.

ADY­TUM, the La­tinized form of adu­ton (not to be en­tered), the in­ner­most sanc­tu­ary in an­cient tem­ples, ac­cess to which was for­bid­den to all but the of­fi­ci­at­ing priests. The most fa­mous ady­tum in Greece was in the tem­ple of Apol­lo at Del­phi.

ADZE (from the Old Eng. ade­sa, of which the ori­gin is un­known), a tool used for cut­ting and plan­ing. It is some­what like an axe re­versed, the edge or the blade curv­ing in­ward and placed at right an­gles to the han­dle. This shape is most suit­able for plan­ing un­even tim­ber, as in­equal­ities are “hooked off” by the curved blade. (See TOOLS.)

AEA­CUS, in Greek leg­end, an­ces­tor of the Aeaci­dae, was the son of Zeus and Aegi­na, daugh­ter of the riv­er-​god Aso­pus. His moth­er was car­ried off by Zeus to the is­land of Oenone, which was af­ter­wards called by her name. The is­land hav­ing been de­pop­ulat­ed by a pesti­lence, Zeus changed the ants up­on it in­to hu­man be­ings (Ovid, Met. vii. 520), who were called Myr­mi­dones (murmekes = ants) . Aea­cus ruled over his peo­ple with such jus­tice and im­par­tial­ity that af­ter his death he was made judge of the low­er world to­geth­er with Mi­nos and Rhadaman­thus. By his wife En­deis he was the fa­ther of Tela­mon and Peleus. His suc­cess­ful prayer to Zeus for rain at a time of drought (Isocrates, Evago­ras, 14) was com­mem­orat­ed by a tem­ple at Aegi­na (Pau­sa­nias ii. 29). He him­self erect­ed a tem­ple to Zeus Pan­hel­lenios and helped Po­sei­don and Apol­lo to build the walls of Troy. See Hutchin­son, Aea­cus, 1901.

AE­CLANUM, an an­cient town of Sam­ni­um, Italy, 15 m. E.S.E. of Ben­even­tum, on the Via Ap­pia (near the mod­ern Mirabel­la). It be­came the chief town of the Hirpi­ni af­ter Ben­even­tum had be­come a Ro­man colony. Sul­la cap­tured it in 89 B.C. by set­ting on fire the wood­en breast­work by which it was de­fend­ed, and new for­ti­fi­ca­tions were erect­ed. Hadri­an, who re­paired the Via Ap­pia from Ben­even­tum to this point, made it a colony; it has ru­ins of the city walls, of an aque­duct, baths and an am­phithe­atre; near­ly 400 in­scrip­tions have al­so been dis­cov­ered. Two dif­fer­ent routes to Apu­lia di­verged at this point, one (Via Au­re­lia Ae­cla­nen­sis) lead­ing through the mod­ern Ar­iano to Her­do­niae, the oth­er (the Via Ap­pia of the Em­pire) pass­ing the La­cus Amp­sanc­tus and go­ing on to Aquilo­nia and Venu­sia; while the road from Ae­clanum to Abellinum (mod. Avel­li­ni) may al­so fol­low an an­cient line. H. Nis­sen (Ital­is­che Lan­des kunde, Berlin, 1902, ii. 819) speaks of an­oth­er road, which he be­lieves to have been that fol­lowed by Ho­race, from Ae­clanum to Tre­vicum and thence to Aus­cu­lum; but Th. Mon­im­sen (Cor­pus In­scrip. Lat., Berlin, 1883, ix. 602) is more like­ly to be right in sup­pos­ing that the road tak­en by Ho­race ran di­rect­ly from Ben­even­tum to Tre­vicum and thence to Aquilo­nia (though the course of this road is not yet de­ter­mined in de­tail), and that the eas­ier, though some­what longer, road by Ae­clanum was of lat­er date.

AEDE­SIUS (d. A.D. 355), Neo­pla­ton­ist philoso­pher, was born of a no­ble Cap­pado­cian fam­ily. He mi­grat­ed to Syr­ia, at­tract­ed by the lec­tures of Iamblichus, whose fol­low­er he be­came. Ac­cord­ing to Eu­napius, he dif­fered from Iamblichus on cer­tain points con­nect­ed with mag­ic. He taught at Perga­mum, his chief dis­ci­ples be­ing Eu­se­bius and Max­imus. He seems to have mod­ified his doc­trines through fear of Con­stan­tine.

See Rit­ter and Preller, 552; Rit­ter’s Geschichte der Philoso­phie; T. Whit­tak­er, The Neo­pla­ton­ists (Cam­bridge, 1901).

AEDIC­ULA (diminu­tive of Lat. aedis or aedes, a tem­ple or house), a small house or tem­ple,–a house­hold shrine hold­ing small al­tars or the stat­ues of the Lares and Pe­nates.

AEDILE (Lat. aedilis), in Ro­man an­tiq­ui­ties, the name of cer­tain Ro­man mag­is­trates, prob­ably de­rived from aedis (a tem­ple), be­cause they had the care of the tem­ple of Ceres, where the ple­beian archives were kept. They were orig­inal­ly two in num­ber, called “ple­beian” aediles. They were cre­at­ed in the same year as the tri­bunes of the peo­ple (494 B.C.), their per­sons were sacro­sanct or in­vi­olable, and (at least af­ter un­til they were elect­ed at the Comi­tia Trib­uta out of the ple­beians alone. Orig­inal­ly in­tend­ed as as­sis­tants to the tri­bunes, they ex­er­cised cer­tain po­lice func­tions, were em­pow­ered to in­flict fines and man­aged the ple­beian and Ro­man games. Ac­cord­ing to Livy (vi. 42), af­ter the pass­ing of the Licini­an ro­ga­tions, an ex­tra day was added to the Ro­man games; the aediles re­fused to bear the ad­di­tion­al ex­pense, where­upon the pa­tri­cians of­fered to un­der­take it, on con­di­tion that they were ad­mit­ted to the aedile­ship. The ple­beians ac­cept­ed the of­fer, and ac­cord­ing­ly two “cu­rule” aediles were ap­point­ed–at first from the pa­tri­cians alone, then from pa­tri­cians and ple­beians in turn, last­ly, from ei­ther–at the Comi­tia Trib­uta un­der the pres­iden­cy of the con­sul. Al­though not sacro­sanct, they had the right of sit­ting in a cu­rule chair and wore the dis­tinc­tive to­ga prae­tex­ta. They took over the man­age­ment of the Ro­man and Megale­sian games, the care of the pa­tri­cian tem­ples and had the right of is­su­ing edicts as su­per­in­ten­dents of the mar­kets. But al­though the cu­rule aediles al­ways ranked high­er than the ple­beian, their func­tions grad­ual­ly ap­prox­imat­ed and be­came prac­ti­cal­ly iden­ti­cal.

Ci­cero (Legg. iii. 3, 7) di­vides these func­tions un­der three heads:–(1) Care of the city: the re­pair and preser­va­tion of tem­ples, sew­ers and aque­ducts; street cleans­ing and paving; reg­ula­tions re­gard­ing traf­fic, dan­ger­ous an­imals and di­lap­idat­ed build­ings; pre­cau­tions against fire; su­per­in­ten­dence of baths and tav­erns; en­force­ment of sump­tu­ary laws; pun­ish­ment of gam­blers and usurers; the care of pub­lic morals gen­er­al­ly, in­clud­ing the pre­ven­tion of for­eign su­per­sti­tions. They al­so pun­ished those who had too large a share of the ager pub­li­cus, or kept too many cat­tle on the state pas­tures. (2) Care of pro­vi­sions: in­ves­ti­ga­tion of the qual­ity of the ar­ti­cles sup­plied and the cor­rect­ness of weights and mea­sures; the pur­chase of corn for dis­pos­al at a low price in case of ne­ces­si­ty. (3) Care of line games: su­per­in­ten­dence and or­ga­ni­za­tion of the pub­lic games, as well as of those giv­en by them­selves and pri­vate in­di­vid­uals (e.g. at fu­ner­als) at their own ex­pense. Am­bi­tious per­sons of­ten spent enor­mous sums in this man­ner to win the pop­ula1 favour with a view to of­fi­cial ad­vance­ment.

In 44 Cae­sar added two pa­tri­cian aediles, called Ce­reales, whose spe­cial du­ty was the care of the corn-​sup­ply. Un­der Au­gus­tus the of­fice lost much of its im­por­tance, its ju­ridi­cal func­tions and the care of the games be­ing trans­ferred to the prae­tor, while its city re­spon­si­bil­ities were lim­it­ed by the ap­point­ment of a prae­fec­tus ur­bi. In the 3rd cen­tu­ry A.D. it dis­ap­peared al­to­geth­er.

AU­THOR­ITIES.–Schu­bert, De Ro­mano­rum Aedilibus (1828); Hoff­mann, De Aedilibus Ro­ma­nis (1842); Goll, De Aedilibus sub Cae­sarum Im­pe­rio (1860); La­batut, Les Ediles et les moeurs (1868); Mar­quardt Momm­sen, Hand­buch der ro­man­is­chen Al­ter­tumer, ii. (1888); Soltau, Die ur­sprungliche Be­deu­tung und Com­pe­tenz der Aediles Plebis (Bonn, 1882).

AE­DUI, HAE­DUI or HEDUI (Gr. Aidouoi), a Gal­lic peo­ple of Gal­lia Lug­dunen­sis, who in­hab­it­ed the coun­try be­tween the Arar (Saone) and Liger (Loire). The state­ment in Stra­bo (ii. 3. 192) that they dwelt be­tween the Arar and Du­bis (Doubs) is in­cor­rect. Their ter­ri­to­ry thus in­clud­ed the greater part of the mod­ern de­part­ments of Saone-​et-​Loire, Cote d’Or and Nievre. Ac­cord­ing to Livy (v. 34), they took part in the ex­pe­di­tion of Bellovesus in­to Italy in the 6th cen­tu­ry B.C. Be­fore Cae­sar’s time they had at­tached them­selves to the Ro­mans, and were hon­oured with the ti­tle of broth­ers and kins­men of the Ro­man peo­ple. When the Se­quani, their neigh­bours on the oth­er side of the Arar, with whom they were con­tin­ual­ly quar­relling, in­vad­ed their coun­try and sub­ju­gat­ed them with the as­sis­tance of a Ger­man chief­tain named Ar­io­vis­tus, the Ae­dui sent Divi­ti­acus, the druid, to Rome to ap­peal to the sen­ate for help, but his mis­sion was un­suc­cess­ful. On his ar­rival in Gaul (58 B.C.), Cae­sar re­stored their in­de­pen­dence. In spite of this, the Ae­dui joined the Gal­lic coali­tion against Cae­sar (B.G. vii. 42), but af­ter the sur­ren­der of Vercinge­torix at Ale­sia were glad to re­turn to their al­le­giance. Au­gus­tus dis­man­tled their na­tive cap­ital Bibracte on Mont Beu­vray, and sub­sti­tut­ed a new town with a half-​Ro­man, half-​Gaul­ish name, Au­gus­to­dunum (mod. Au­tun). Dur­ing the reign of Tiberias (A.D. 21), they re­volt­ed un­der Julius Sacrovir, and seized Au­gus­tudunum, but were soon put down by Gaius Sil­ius (Tac­itus Ann. iii. 43-46). The Ae­dui were the first of the Gauls to re­ceive from the em­per­or Claudius the dis­tinc­tion of juo hano­rum. The ora­tion of Eu­me­nius (q.v.), in which he plead­ed for the restora­tion of the schools of his na­tive place Au­gus­to­dunum, shows that the dis­trict was ne­glect­ed. The chief mag­is­trate of the Ae­dui in Cae­sar’s time was called Ver­go­bre­tus (ac­cord­ing to Momm­sen, “judg­ment-​work­er”), who was elect­ed an­nu­al­ly, pos­sessed pow­ers of life and death, but was for­bid­den to go be­yond the fron­tier. Cer­tain clientes, or small com­mu­ni­ties, were al­so de­pen­dent up­on the Ae­dui.

See A. E. Des­jardins, Ge­ogra­phie de la Gaide, ii. (1876-1893); T. R. Holmes, Cae­sar’s Con­quest of Gaul (1899).

AE­GA­DI­AN ISUANDS (Ital. Isole Egati; anc. Ae­gales In­su­lae), a group of small moun­tain­ous is­lands off the west­ern coast of Sici­ly, chiefly re­mark­able as the scene of the de­feat of the Carthagini­an fleet by C. Lu­tatius Cat­ulus in 241 B.C., which end­ed the First Punic War. Fav­ig­nana (Ae­gusa), the largest, pop. (1901) 6414, lies 10 m. S.W. of Tra­pani; Lev­an­zo (Phor­ban­tia) 8 m. W.; while Mar­iti­mo, the an­cient iera ne­sos, 15 m. W. of Tra­pani, is now reck­oned as a part of the group. They be­longed to the Pallavici­ni fam­ily of Genoa un­til 1874, when they were bought by Sig­nor Flo­rio of Paler­mo.

AEGEAN CIV­ILIZA­TION, the gen­er­al term for the pre­his­toric civ­iliza­tion, pre­vi­ous­ly called “Myce­naean” be­cause its ex­is­tence was first brought to pop­ular no­tice by Hein­rich Schlie­mann’s ex­ca­va­tions at Myce­nae in 1876. Sub­se­quent dis­cov­er­ies, how­ev­er, have made it clear that Myce­nae was not its chief cen­tre in its ear­li­er stages, or, per­haps, at any pe­ri­od; and, ac­cord­ing­ly, it is more usu­al now to adopt a wider ge­ograph­ical ti­tle.

I. His­to­ry of Dis­cov­ery and Dis­tri­bu­tion of Re­mains.–Myce­nae and Tiryns are the two prin­ci­pal sites on which ev­idence of a pre­his­toric civ­iliza­tion was re­marked long ago by the clas­si­cal Greeks. The cur­tain-​wall and tow­ers of the Myce­naean citadel, its gate with heraldic li­ons, and the great “Trea­sury of Atreus” had borne silent wit­ness for ages be­fore Schlie­mann’s time; but they were sup­posed on­ly to speak to the Home­ric, or at far­thest a rude Hero­ic be­gin­ning of pure­ly Hel­lenic, civ­iliza­tion. It was not till Schlie­mann ex­posed the con­tents of the graves which lay just in­side the gate (see MYCE­NAE), that schol­ars rec­og­nized the ad­vanced stage of art to which pre­his­toric dwellers in the Myce­naean citadel had at­tained. There had been, how­ev­er, a good deal of oth­er ev­idence avail­able be­fore 1876, which, had it been col­lat­ed and se­ri­ous­ly stud­ied, might have dis­count­ed the sen­sa­tion that the dis­cov­ery of the citadel graves even­tu­al­ly made. Al­though it was rec­og­nized that cer­tain trib­utaries, rep­re­sent­ed e.g. in the XVI­IIth Dy­nasty tomb of Rekhmara at Egyp­tian Thebes as bear­ing vas­es of pe­cu­liar forms, were of some Mediter­ranean race, nei­ther their pre­cise habi­tat nor the de­gree of their civ­iliza­tion could be de­ter­mined while so few ac­tu­al pre­his­toric re­mains were known in the Mediter­ranean lands. Nor did the Aegean ob­jects which were ly­ing ob­scure­ly in mu­se­ums in 1870, or there­abouts, pro­vide a suf­fi­cient test of the re­al ba­sis un­der­ly­ing the Hel­lenic myths of the Ar­gol­id, the Troad and Crete, to cause these to he tak­en se­ri­ous­ly. Both at Sevres and Neucha­tel Aegean vas­es have been ex­hib­it­ed since about 1840, the prove­nience be­ing in the one case Phy­lakope in Me­los, in the oth­er Cephalo­nia. Lud­wig Ross, by his ex­plo­rations in the Greek is­lands from 1835 on­wards, called at­ten­tion to cer­tain ear­ly in­taglios, since known as In­sel­steine; but it was not till 1878 that C. T. New­ton demon­strat­ed these to be no strayed Phoeni­cian prod­ucts. In 1866 prim­itive struc­tures were dis­cov­ered in the is­land of Thera­sia by quar­ry­men ex­tract­ing poz­zolana for the Suez Canal works; and when this dis­cov­ery was fol­lowed up in 1870, on the neigh­bour­ing San­torin (Thera), by rep­re­sen­ta­tives of the French School at Athens, much pot­tery of a class now known im­me­di­ate­ly to pre­cede the typ­ical late Aegean ware, and many stone and met­al ob­jects, were found and dat­ed by the ge­ol­ogist Fouque, some­what ar­bi­trar­ily, to 2000 B.C., by con­sid­er­ation of the su­per­in­cum­bent erup­tive stra­tum. Mean­while, in 1868, tombs at Ialy­sus in Rhodes had yield­ed to M. A. Bil­iot­ti many fine paint­ed vas­es of styles which were called lat­er the third and fourth “Myce­naean”; but these, bought by John Ruskin, and pre­sent­ed to the British Mu­se­um, ex­cit­ed less at­ten­tion than they de­served, be­ing sup­posed to be of some lo­cal Asi­at­ic fab­ric of un­cer­tain date. Nor was a con­nex­ion im­me­di­ate­ly de­tect­ed be­tween them and the ob­jects found four years lat­er in a tomb at Meni­di in At­ti­ca and a rock-​cut “bee-​hive” grave near the Ar­give Her­aeum.

Even Schlie­mann’s first ex­ca­va­tions at Hissar­lik in the Troad (q.v.) did not ex­cite sur­prise. But the “Burnt City” of his sec­ond stra­tum, re­vealed in 1873, with its for­ti­fi­ca­tions and vas­es, and a hoard of gold, sil­ver and bronze ob­jects, which the dis­cov­er­er con­nect­ed with it, be­gan to arouse a cu­rios­ity which was des­tined present­ly to spread far out­side the nar­row cir­cle of schol­ars. As soon as Schlie­mann came on the Myce­nae graves three years lat­er, light poured from all sides on the pre­his­tot­ic pe­ri­od of Greece. It was rec­og­nized that the char­ac­ter of both the fab­ric and the dec­ora­tion of the Myce­naean ob­jects was not that of any well-​known art. A wide range in space was proved by the iden­ti­fi­ca­tion of the In­sel­steine and the Ialy­sus vas­es with the new style, and a wide range in time by col­la­tion of the ear­li­er Ther­aean and Hissar­lik dis­cov­er­ies. A re­la­tion be­tween ob­jects of art de­scribed by Homer and the Myce­naean trea­sure was gen­er­al­ly al­lowed, and a cor­rect opin­ion pre­vailed that, while cer­tain­ly pos­te­ri­or, the civ­iliza­tion of the Il­iad was rem­inis­cent of the Myce­naean. Schlie­mann got to work again at Hissar­lik in 1878, and great­ly in­creased our knowl­edge of the low­er stra­ta, but did not rec­og­nize the Aegean re­mains in his “Ly­di­an” city of the sixth stra­tum, which were not to be ful­ly re­vealed till Dr W. Dorpfeld re­sumed the work at Hissar­lik in 1892 af­ter the first ex­plor­er’s death (see TROAD). But by lay­ing bare in 1884 the up­per stra­tum of re­mains on the rock of Tiryns (q.v.), Schlie­mann made a con­tri­bu­tion to our knowl­edge of pre­his­toric do­mes­tic life which was am­pli­fied two years lat­er by Chr. Tsoun­tas’s dis­cov­ery of the Myce­nae palace. Schlie­mann’s work at Tiryns was not re­sumed till 1905, when it was proved, as had long been sus­pect­ed, that an ear­li­er palace un­der­lies the one he had ex­posed. From 1886 dates the find­ing of Myce­naean sepul­chres out­side the Ar­gol­id, from which, and from the con­tin­ua­tion of Tsoun­tas’s ex­plo­ration of the build­ings and less­er graves at Myce­nae, a large trea­sure, in­de­pen­dent of Schlie­mann’s prince­ly gift, has been gath­ered in­to the Na­tion­al Mu­se­um at Athens. In that year were ex­ca­vat­ed dome-​tombs, most al­ready ri­fled but re­tain­ing some of their fur­ni­ture, at Ark­ina and Eleu­sis in At­ti­ca, at Di­mi­ni near Vo­lo in Thes­saly, at Kam­pos on the west of Mount Tayge­tus, and at Maskara­ta in Cephalo­nia. The rich­est grave of all was ex­plored at Vaphio in La­co­nia in 1889, and yield­ed, be­sides many gems and mis­cel­la­neous gold­smiths’ work, two gold­en gob­lets chased with scenes of bull-​hunt­ing, and cer­tain bro­ken vas­es paint­ed in a large bold style which re­mained an enig­ma till the ex­ca­va­tion of Cnos­sus. In 1890 and 1893 Staes cleared out cer­tain less rich dome-​tombs at Thori­cus in At­ti­ca; and oth­er graves, ei­ther rock-​cut “bee-​hives” or cham­bers, were found at Spa­ta and Aphid­na in At­ti­ca, in Aegi­na and Salamis, at the Her­aeum (see AR­GOS) and Nau­plia in the Ar­gol­id, near Thebes and Del­phi, and not far from the Thes­salian Laris­sa. Dur­ing the ex­ca­va­tions on the Acrop­olis at Athens, ter­mi­nat­ed in 1888, many pot­sherds of the Myce­naean style were found; but Olympia had yield­ed ei­ther none, or such as had not been rec­og­nized be­fore be­ing thrown away, and the tem­ple site at Del­phi pro­duced noth­ing dis­tinc­tive­ly Aegean. The Amer­ican ex­plo­rations of the Ar­give Her­aeum, con­clud­ed in 1895, al­so failed to prove that site to have been im­por­tant in the pre­his­toric time, though, as was to be ex­pect­ed from its neigh­bour­hood to Myce­nae it­self, there were traces of oc­cu­pa­tion in the lat­er Aegean pe­ri­ods. Pre­his­toric re­search had now be­gun to ex­tend be­yond the Greek main­land. Cer­tain cen­tral Aegean is­lands, An­tiparos, Ios, Amor­gos, Sy­ros and Siph­nos, were all found to be sin­gu­lar­ly rich in ev­idence of the mid­dle-​Aegean pe­ri­od. The se­ries of Syran built graves, con­tain­ing crouch­ing corpses, is the best and most rep­re­sen­ta­tive that is known in the Leg­ean. Me­los, long marked as a source of ear­ly ob­jects, but not sys­tem­at­ical­ly ex­ca­vat­ed un­til tak­en in hand by the British School at Athens in 1896, yield­ed at Phy­lakope re­mains of all the Aegean pe­ri­ods, ex­cept the Ne­olith­ic. A map of Cyprus in the lat­er Bronze Age (such as is giv­en by J. L. Myres and M. O. Richter in Cat­alogue of the Cyprus Mu­se­um) shows more than five-​and-​twen­ty set­tle­ments in and about the Mesaorea dis­trict alone, of which one, that at Enko­mi, near the site of Salamis, has yield­ed the rich­est Aegean trea­sure in pre­cious met­al found out­side Myce­nae. E. Chantre in 1894 picked up lus­tre­less ware, like that of Hissari­ik, in cen­tral Phty­gia and at Pte­ria (q.v.), and the En­glish ar­chae­olog­ical ex­pe­di­tions, sent sub­se­quent­ly in­to north-​west­ern Ana­to­lia, have nev­er fall­ed to bring back ce­ram­ic spec­imens of Aegean ap­pear­ance from the val­leys of the Rhyn­dncus, San­gar­ius and Halys. In Egypt in 1887 W. M. F. Petrie found paint­ed sherds of Cre­tan style at Kahun in the Fayum, and far­ther up the Nile, at Tell el-​Amar­na, chanced on bits of no few­er than 800 Aegean vas­es in 1889. There have now been rec­og­nized in the col­lec­tions at Cairo, Flo­rence, Lon­don, Paris and Bologna sev­er­al Egyp­tian im­ita­tions of the Aegean style which can be set off against the many debts which the cen­tres of Aegean cul­ture owed to Egypt. Two Aegean vas­es were found at Sidon in 1885, and many frag­ments of Aegean and es­pe­cial­ly Cypri­ote pot­tery have been turned up dur­ing re­cent ex­ca­va­tions of sites in Philis­tia by the Pales­tine Fund. South-​east­ern Sici­ly, ev­er since P. Or­si ex­ca­vat­ed the Si­cel ceme­tery near Lenti­ni in 1877, has proved a mine of ear­ly re­mains, among which ap­pear in reg­ular suc­ces­sion Aegean fab­rics and mo­tives of dec­ora­tion from the pe­ri­od of the sec­ond stra­tum at Hissar­lik. Sar­dinia has Aegean sites, e.g. at Abi­ni near Teti; and Spain has yield­ed ob­jects rec­og­nized as Aegean from tombs near Cadiz and from Saragos­sa. One land, how­ev­er, has eclipsed all oth­ers in the Aegean by the wealth of its re­mains of all the pre­his­toric ages, viz. Crete, so much so that, for the present, we must re­gard it as the foun­tain-​head of Aegean civ­iliza­tion, and prob­ably for long its po­lit­ical and so­cial cen­tre. The is­land first at­tract­ed the no­tice of ar­chae­ol­ogists by the re­mark­able ar­cha­ic Greek bronzes found in a cave on Mount Ida in 1885, as well as by epi­graph­ic mon­uments such as the fa­mous law of Gorty­na; but the first un­doubt­ed Aegean re­mains re­port­ed from it were a few ob­jects ex­tract­ed from Cnos­sus by Mi­nos Kalokhairi­nos of Can­dia in 1878. These were fol­lowed by cer­tain dis­cov­er­ies made in the S. plain Mes­sara by F. Halb­herr. W. J. Still­man and H. Schlie­mann both made un­suc­cess­ful at­tempts at Cnos­sus, and A. J. Evans, com­ing on the scene in 1893, trav­elled in suc­ceed­ing years about the is­land pick­ing up tri­fles of un­con­sid­ered ev­idence, which grad­ual­ly con­vinced him that greater things would even­tu­al­ly be found. He ob­tained enough to en­able him to fore­cast the dis­cov­ery of writ­ten char­ac­ters, till then not sus­pect­ed in Aegean civ­iliza­tion. The rev­olu­tion of 1897-98 opened the door to wider knowl­edge, and much ex­plo­ration has en­sued, for which see CRETE. Thus the “Aegean Area” has now come to mean the Archipela­go with Crete and Cyprus, the Hel­lenic penin­su­la with the Io­ni­an isles, and West­ern Ana­tolic. Ev­idence is still want­ing for the Mace­do­nian and Thra­cian coasts. Off­shoots are found in the W. Mediter­ranean, in Sici­ly, Italy, Sar­dinia and Spain, and in the E. in Syr­ia and Egypt. About the Cyre­naica we are still in­suf­fi­cient­ly in­formed.

II. Gen­er­al Na­ture of the Ev­idence.—For de­tails of mon­umen­tal ev­idence the ar­ti­cles on CRETE, MYCE­NAE, TIRYNS, TROAD, CYPRUS, &c., must be con­sult­ed. The most rep­re­sen­ta­tive site ex­plored up to now is Cnos­sus (see CRETE, sect. Ar­chae­ol­ogy), which has yield­ed not on­ly the most var­ious but the most con­tin­uous ev­idence from the Ne­olith­ic age to the twi­light of clas­si­cal civ­iliza­tion. Next in im­por­tance come Hissar­lik, Myce­nae, Phaes­tus, Ha­gia, Tri­ada, Tiryns, Phy­lakope, Palaikas­tro and Gour­nia.

A. The in­ter­nal ev­idence at present avail­able com­pris­es–

Struc­tures.—Ru­ins of palaces, pala­tial vil­las, hous­es, built dome- or cist-​graves and for­ti­fi­ca­tions (Aegean isles, Greek main­land and N.W. Ana­to­lia), but not dis­tinct tem­ples; small shrines, how­ev­er, and temene (re­li­gious en­clo­sures, re­mains or one of which were prob­ably found at Pet­so­fa near Palaikas­tro by J. L. Myres in 1904) are rep­re­sent­ed on in­taglios and fres­coes. From the sources and from in­lay-​work we have al­so rep­re­sen­ta­tions of palaces and hous­es.

(2) Struc­tural Dec­ora­tion.–Ar­chi­tec­tural fea­tures, such as columns, friezes and var­ious mould­ings; mu­ral dec­ora­tion, such as fres­co-​paint­ings, coloured re­liefs and mo­sa­ic in­lay.

(3) Fur­ni­ture.–(a) Do­mes­tic, such as ves­sels of all sorts and in many ma­te­ri­als, from huge store-​jars down to tiny unguent-​pots; culi­nary and oth­er im­ple­ments; thrones, seats, ta­bles, &c., these all in stone or plas­tered ter­ra-​cot­ta. (b) Sa­cred, such as mod­els or ac­tu­al ex­am­ples of rit­ual ob­jects; of these we have al­so nu­mer­ous pic­to­ri­al rep­re­sen­ta­tions. (c) Fu­ner­ary, e.g. coffins in paint­ed ter­ra-​cot­ta.

(4) Artis­tic fab­rics, e.g. plas­tic ob­jects, carved in stone or ivory, cast or beat­en in met­als (gold, sil­ver, cop­per and bronze), or mod­elled in clay, faience, paste, &c. Very lit­tle trace has yet been found of large free sculp­ture, but many ex­am­ples ex­ist of sculp­tors’ small­er work. Vas­es of all kinds, carved in mar­ble or oth­er stones, cast or beat­en in met­als or fash­ioned in clay, the lat­ter in enor­mous num­ber and va­ri­ety, rich­ly or­na­ment­ed with coloured schemes, and some­times bear­ing mould­ed dec­ora­tion. Ex­am­ples of paint­ing on stone, opaque and trans­par­ent. En­graved ob­jects in great num­berr e.g. ring-​bezels and gems; and an im­mense quan­ti­ty of clay im­pres­sions, tak­en from these.

(5) Weapons, tools and im­ple­ments, in stone, clay and bronze, and at the last iron, some­times rich­ly or­na­ment­ed or in­laid. Nu­mer­ous rep­re­sen­ta­tions al­so of the same. No ac­tu­al body-​ar­mour, ex­cept such as was cer­emo­ni­al and buried with the dead, like the gold breast­plates in the cir­cle-​graves at Myce­nae.

(6) Ar­ti­cles of per­son­al use, e.g. brooches ef­bu­lae), pins, ra­zors, tweez­ers, &c., of­ten found as ded­ica­tions to a de­ity, e.g. in the Dic­taean Cav­ern of Crete. No tex­tiles have sur­vived.

(7) Writ­ten doc­uments, e.g. clay tablets and discs (so far in Crete on­ly), but noth­ing of more per­ish­able na­ture, such as skin, pa­pyrus, &c.; en­graved gems and gem im­pres­sions; leg­ends writ­ten with pig­ment on pot­tery (rare); char­ac­ters in­cised on stone or pot­tery. These show two main sys­tems of script (see CRETE).

(8) Ex­ca­vat­ed tombs, of ei­ther the pit or the grot­to kind, in which the dead were laid, to­geth­er with var­ious ob­jects of use and lux­ury, with­out cre­ma­tion, and in ei­ther coffins or lo­culi or sim­ple wrap­pings.

(9) Pub­lic works, such as paved and stepped road­ways, bridges, sys­tems of drainage, &c.

B. There is al­so a cer­tain amount of ex­ter­nal ev­idence to be gath­ered from–(1) Mon­uments and records of oth­er con­tem­po­rary civ­iliza­tions, e.g. rep­re­sen­ta­tions of alien peo­ples in Egyp­tian fres­coes; im­ita­tion of Aegean fab­rics and style in non-​Aegean lands; al­lu­sions to Mediter­ranean peo­ples in Egyp­tian, Semitic or Baby­lo­ni­an records.

(2) Lit­er­ary tra­di­tions of sub­se­quent civ­iliza­tions, es­pe­cial­ly the Hel­lenic; such as, e.g., those em­bod­ied in the Home­ric po­ems, the leg­en­da con­cern­ing Crete, Myce­nae, &c.; state­ments as to the ori­gin of gods, cults and so forth, trans­mit­ted to us by Hel­lenic an­ti­quar­ians such as Stra­bo, Pau­sa­nias, Diodor­us Sicu­lus, &c.

(3) Traces of cus­toms, creeds, rit­uals, &c., in the Aegean area at a lat­er time, dis­cor­dant with the civ­iliza­tion in which they were prac­tised and in­di­cat­ing sur­vival from ear­li­er sys­tems. There are al­so pos­si­ble lin­guis­tic and even phys­ical sur­vivals to be con­sid­ered.

III Gen­er­al Fea­tures of Aegean Cival­iza­tion.–The lead­ing fea­tures of Aegean civ­iliza­tion, as de­duced from the ev­idence, must be stat­ed very briefly.

(1) Po­lit­ical Or­gan­isa­tion.–The great Cre­tan palaces and the for­ti­fied citadels of Myce­nae, Tiryns and Hissar­lik, each con­tain­ing lit­tle more than one great res­idence, and dom­inat­ing low­er towns of mean­er hous­es, point to monar­chy at all pe­ri­ods. In­de­pen­dent lo­cal de­vel­op­ments of art be­fore the mid­dle of the 2nd mil­len­ni­um B.C. sug­gest the ear­ly ex­is­tence of in­de­pen­dent units in var­ious parts, of which the strongest was the Cnos­sian. Af­ter that date the ev­idence goes strong­ly to show that one po­lit­ical do­min­ion was spread for a brief pe­ri­od, or for two brief pe­ri­ods, over al­most all the area (see lat­er). The great num­ber of trib­ute-​tal­lies found at Cnos­sus per­haps in­di­cates that the Cen­tre of pow­er was al­ways there.

(2) Re­li­gion.–The fact that shrines have so far been found with­in palaces and not cer­tain­ly any­where else in­di­cates that the kings kept re­li­gious pow­er in their own hands; per­haps they were them­selves high-​priests. Re­li­gion in the area seems to have been es­sen­tial­ly the same ev­ery­where from the ear­li­est pe­ri­od, viz. the cult of a Di­vine Prin­ci­ple, res­ident in dom­inant fea­tures of na­ture (sun, stars, moun­tains, trees, &c.) and con­trol­ling fer­til­ity. This cult passed through an an­icon­ic stage, from which fetish­es sur­vived to the last, these be­ing rocks or pil­lars, trees, weapons (e.g. bipen­nis, or dou­ble war-​axe, shield), etc. When the icon­ic stage was reached, about 2000 B.C., we find the Di­vine Spir­it rep­re­sent­ed as a god­dess with a sub­or­di­nate young god, as in many oth­er E. Mediter­ranean lands. The god was prob­ably son and mate of the god­dess, and the di­vine pair rep­re­sent­ed the ge­nius of Re­pro­duc­tive Fer­til­ity in its re­la­tions with hu­man­ity. The god­dess some­times ap­pears with doves, as uran­ic, at oth­ers with snakes, as chthon­ic. In the rit­ual fetish­es, of­ten of minia­ture form, played a great part: all sorts of plants and an­imals were sa­cred: sac­ri­fice (not burnt, and hu­man very doubt­ful), ded­ica­tion of all sorts of of­fer­ings and sim­ulacra, in­vo­ca­tion, &c., were prac­tised. The dead, who re­turned to the Great Moth­er, were ob­jects of a sort of hero-​wor­ship. This ear­ly na­ture-​cult ex­plains many anoma­lous fea­tures of Hel­lenic re­li­gion, es­pe­cial­ly in the cults of Artemis and Aphrodite. (See CRETE.)

(3) So­cial Or­ga­ni­za­tion.—There is a pos­si­bil­ity that fea­tures of a primeval ma­tri­ar­chate long sur­vived; but there is no cer­tain ev­idence. Of the or­ga­ni­za­tion of the peo­ple un­der the monarch we are ig­no­rant. There are so few rep­re­sen­ta­tions of armed men that it seems doubt­ful if there can have been any pro­fes­sion­al mil­itary Class. The­atral struc­tures found at Cnos­sus and Phaes­tus, with­in the precincts of the palaces, were per­haps used for shows or for sit­tings of a roy­al as­size, rather than for pop­ular as­sem­blies. The Cnos­sian re­mains con­tain ev­idence of an elab­orate sys­tem of reg­is­tra­tion, ac­count-​keep­ing and oth­er sec­re­tar­ial work, which per­haps in­di­cates a con­sid­er­able body of law. The line of the rul­ing class was com­fort­able and even lux­uri­ous from ear­ly times. Fine stone palaces, rich­ly dec­orat­ed, with sep­arate sleep­ing apart­ments, large halls, in­ge­nious de­vices for ad­mit­ting light and air, san­itary con­ve­niences and mar­vel­lous­ly mod­ern ar­range­ments for sup­ply of wa­ter and for drainage, at­test this fact. Even the small­er hous­es, af­ter the Ne­olith­ic pe­ri­od, seem al­so to have been of stone, plas­tered with­in. Af­ter 1600 B.C. the palaces in Crete had more than one sto­ry, fine stair­ways, bath-​cham­bers, win­dows, fold­ing and slid­ing doors, &c. In this lat­er pe­ri­od, the dis­tinc­tion of blocks of apart­ments in some palaces has been held to in­di­cate the seclu­sion of wom­en in harems, at least among the rul­ing caste. Cnos­sian fres­coes show wom­en grouped apart, and they ap­pear alone on gems. Flesh and fish and many kinds of veg­eta­bles were ev­ident­ly eat­en, and wine and beer were drunk. Ves­sels for culi­nary, ta­ble, and lux­uri­ous us­es show an in­fi­nite va­ri­ety of form and pur­pose. Ar­ti­fi­cers’ im­ple­ments of many kinds were in use, bronze suc­ceed­ing ob­sid­ian and oth­er hard stones as the ma­te­ri­al. Seats are found care­ful­ly shaped to the hu­man per­son. There was ev­ident­ly olive- and vine-​cul­ture on a large scale in Crete at any rate. Char­iots were in use in the lat­er pe­ri­od, as is proved by the pic­tures of them on Cre­tan tablets, and there­fore, prob­ably, the horse al­so was known. In­deed a horse ap­pears on a gem im­pres­sion. Main ways were paved. Sports, prob­ably more or less re­li­gious, are of­ten rep­re­sent­ed, e.g. bull­fight­ing, danc­ing, box­ing, armed com­bats.

(4) Com­merce was prac­tised to some ex­tent in very ear­ly times, as is proved by the dis­tri­bu­tion of Melian ob­sid­ian over all the Aegean area and by the Nilot­ic in­flu­ence on ear­ly Mi­noan art. We find Cre­tan ves­sels ex­port­ed to Me­los, Egypt and the Greek main­land. Melian vas­es came in their turn to Crete. Af­ter 1600 B.C. there is very close in­ter­course with Egypt, and Aegean things hnd their way to all coasts of the Mediter­ranean (see be­low). No traces of cur­ren­cy have come to light, un­less cer­tain ax­eheads, too slight for prac­ti­cal use, had that char­ac­ter; but stan­dard weights have been found, and rep­re­sen­ta­tions of in­gots. The Aegean writ­ten doc­uments have not yet proved (by be­ing found out­side the area) epis­to­lary cor­re­spon­dence with oth­er lands. Rep­re­sen­ta­tions of ships are not com­mon, but sev­er­al have been ob­served on Aegean gems, gem-​seal­ings and vas­es. They are ves­sels of low free-​board, with masts. Fa­mil­iar­ity with the sea is proved by the free use of ma­rine mo­tives in dec­ora­tion.

(5) Treat­ment or the Dead.–The dead in the ear­li­er pe­ri­od wore laid (so far as we know at present) with­in cists con­struct­ed of up­right stones. These were some­times in­side caves. Af­ter the buri­al the cist was cov­ered in with earth. A lit­tle lat­er, in Crete, bone-​pits seem to have come in­to use, con­tain­ing the re­mains of many buri­als. Pos­si­bly the flesh was boiled off the bones at once (“scar­ifi­ca­tion”), or left to rot in sep­arate cists awhile; af­ter­wards the skele­tons were col­lect­ed and the cists re-​used. The coffins are of small size, con­tain corpses with the knees drawn up to the chin and are found in ex­ca­vat­ed cham­bers or pits. In the lat­er pe­ri­od a pe­cu­liar “bee-​hive” tomb be­came com­mon, some­times whol­ly or part­ly ex­ca­vat­ed, some­times (as in the mag­nif­icent Myce­naean “Trea­suries”) con­struct­ed dome­wise. The shaft-​graves in the Myce­nae cir­cle are al­so a late type, par­al­leled in the lat­er Cnos­sian ceme­tery. The lat­est type of tomb is a flat­ly vault­ed cham­ber ap­proached by a hor­izon­tal or slight­ly in­clined way, whose sides con­verge above. At no pe­ri­od do the Aegean dead seem to have been burned. Weapons, food, wa­ter, unguents and var­ious trin­kets were laid with the corpse at all pe­ri­ods. In the Myce­nae cir­cle an al­tar seems to have been erect­ed over the graves, and per­haps slaves were killed to bear the dead chiefs com­pa­ny. A paint­ed sar­coph­agus, found at Ha­gia Tri­ada, al­so pos­si­bly shows a hero-​cult of the dead.

(6) Artis­tic Pro­duc­tion.–Ce­ram­ic art reached a spe­cial­ly high stan­dard in fab­ric, form and dec­ora­tion by the mid­dle of the 3rd mil­len­ni­um B.C. in Crete. The prod­ucts of that pe­ri­od com­pare favourably with any pot­ters’ work in the world. The same may be said of fres­co-​paint­ing, and prob­ably of met­al work. Mod­elling in ter­ra-​cot­ta, sculp­ture in stone and ivory, en­grav­ing on gems, were fol­low­ing it close­ly by the be­gin­ning of the 2nd mil­len­ni­um. Af­ter 2000 B.C. all these arts re­vived, and sculp­ture, as ev­idenced by re­lief work, both on a large and on a small scale, carved stone ves­sels, met­al­lur­gy in gold, sil­ver and bronze, ad­vanced far­ther. This art and those of fres­co- and vase-​paint­ing and of gem-​en­grav­ing stood high­er about the 15th cen­tu­ry B.C. than at any sub­se­quent pe­ri­od be­fore the 6th cen­tu­ry. The man­ufac­ture, mod­elling and paint­ing of faience ob­jects, and the mak­ing of in­lays in many ma­te­ri­als were al­so fa­mil­iar to Aegean crafts­men, who show in all their best work a strong sense of nat­ural form and an ap­pre­ci­ation of ide­al bal­ance and dec­ora­tive ef­fect, such as are seen in the best prod­ucts of lat­er Hel­lenic art. Ar­chi­tec­tural or­na­ment was al­so high­ly de­vel­oped. The rich­ness of the Aegean cap­itals and columns may be judged by those from the “Trea­sury of Atreus” now set up in the British Mu­se­um; and of the friezes we have ex­am­ples in Myce­naean and Cnos­sian frag­ments, and Cnos­sian paint­ings. The mag­nif­icent gold work of the lat­er pe­ri­od, pre­served to us at Myce­nae and Vaphio, needs on­ly to be men­tioned. It should be com­pared with stone work in Crete, es­pe­cial­ly the steatite vas­es with re­liefs found at Ha­gia Tri­ada. On the whole, Aegean art, at its two great pe­ri­ods, in the mid­dle of the 3rd and 2nd mil­len­nia re­spec­tive­ly, will bear com­par­ison with any con­tem­po­rary arts.

IV. Ori­gin, Na­ture and His­to­ry of Aegean Civ­iliza­tion.—The ev­idence, sum­ma­rized above, though very var­ious and vo­lu­mi­nous, is not yet suf­fi­cient to an­swer all the ques­tions which may be asked as to the ori­gin, na­ture and his­to­ry of this civ­iliza­tion, or to an­swer any but a few ques­tions with ab­so­lute cer­tain­ty. We shall try to in­di­cate the ex­tent to which it can le­git­imate­ly be ap­plied.

A. Dis­tinc­tive Fea­tures.—The fact that Aegean civ­iliza­tion is dis­tin­guished from all oth­ers, pri­or or con­tem­po­rary, not on­ly by its ge­ograph­ical area, but by lead­ing or­gan­ic char­ac­ter­is­tics, has nev­er been in doubt, since its re­mains came to be stud­ied se­ri­ous­ly and im­par­tial­ly. The truth was in­deed ob­scured for a time by per­sis­tent prej­udices in favour of cer­tain alien Mediter­ranean races long known to have been in re­la­tion with the Aegean area in pre­his­toric times, e.g. the Egyp­tians and es­pe­cial­ly the Phoeni­cians. But their claims to be the prin­ci­pal au­thors of the Aegean re­mains grew fainter with ev­ery fresh Aegean dis­cov­ery, and ev­ery new light thrown on their own prop­er prod­ucts; with the Cre­tan rev­ela­tions they ceased al­to­geth­er to be con­sid­ered ex­cept by a few Home­ric en­thu­si­asts. Briefly, we now know that the Aegean civ­iliza­tion de­vel­oped these dis­tinc­tive fea­tures. (i) An in­dige­nous script ex­pressed in char­ac­ters of which on­ly a very small per­cent­age are iden­ti­cal, or even ob­vi­ous­ly con­nect­ed, with those of any oth­er script. This is equal­ly true both of the pic­to­graph­ic and the lin­ear Aegean sys­tems. Its near­est affini­ties are with the “Asian­ic” scripts, pre­served to us by Hit­tite, Cypri­ote and south-​west Ana­to­lian (Pam­phy­han, Ly­cian and Car­ian) in­scrip­tions. But nei­ther are these affini­ties close enough to be of any prac­ti­cal aid in de­ci­pher­ing Aegean char­ac­ters, nor is it by any means cer­tain that there is parent­age. The Aegean script may be, and prob­ably is, pri­or in ori­gin to the “Asian­ic”; and it may equal­ly well be owed to a re­mote com­mon an­ces­tor, or (the small num­ber of com­mon char­ac­ters be­ing con­sid­ered) be an en­tire­ly in­de­pen­dent evo­lu­tion from rep­re­sen­ta­tions of nat­ural ob­jects (see CRETE). (2) An Art, whose prod­ucts can­not be con­found­ed with those of any oth­er known art by a trained eye. Its obli­ga­tions to oth­er con­tem­po­rary arts are many and ob­vi­ous, es­pe­cial­ly in its lat­er stages; but ev­ery bor­rowed form and mo­tive un­der­goes an es­sen­tial mod­ifi­ca­tion at the hands of the Aegean crafts­man, and the prod­uct is stamped with a new char­ac­ter. The se­cret of this char­ac­ter lles ev­ident­ly in a con­stant at­tempt to ex­press an ide­al in forms more and more close­ly ap­proach­ing to re­al­ities. We de­tect the dawn of that spir­it which af­ter­wards an­imat­ed Hel­lenic art. The fres­co-​paint­ings, ce­ram­ic mo­tives, re­liefs, free sculp­ture and tore­utic hand­iwork of Crete have sup­plied the clear­est proof of it, con­firm­ing the im­pres­sion al­ready cre­at­ed by the gold­smiths’ and painters’ work of the Greek main­land (Myce­nae, Vaphio, Tiryns). (3) Ar­chi­tec­tural plans and dec­ora­tion. The ar­range­ment of Aegean palaces is of two main types. First (and per­haps ear­li­est in time), the cham­bers are grouped round a cen­tral court, be­ing en­gaged one with the oth­er in a labyrinthine com­plex­ity, and the greater ob­longs are en­tered from a long side and di­vid­ed lon­gi­tu­di­nal­ly by pil­lars. Sec­ond, the main cham­ber is of what is known as the megaron type, i.e. it stands free, iso­lat­ed from the rest of the plan by cor­ri­dors, is en­tered from a vestibule on a short side, and has a cen­tral hearth, sur­round­ed by pil­lars and per­haps hy­paethral; there is no cen­tral court, and oth­er apart­ments form dis­tinct blocks. For pos­si­ble ge­ograph­ical rea­sons for this du­al­ity of type see CRETE. In spite of many com­par­isons made with Egyp­tian, Baby­lo­ni­an and “Hit­tite” plans, both these ar­range­ments re­main in­con­gru­ous with any re­mains of pri­or or con­tem­po­rary struc­tures else­where. Whether ei­ther plan suits the “Home­ric palace” does not af­fect the present ques­tion. (4) A type of tomb, the dome or “bee-​hive,” of which the grand­est ex­am­ples known are at Myce­nae. The Cre­tan “lar­nax” coffins, al­so, have no par­al­lels out­side the Aegean. There are oth­er in­fi­nite sin­gu­lar­ities of de­tail; but the above are more than suf­fi­cient to es­tab­lish the point.

B. Ori­gin and Con­ti­nu­ity.–With the im­mense ex­pan­sion of the ev­idence, due to the Cre­tan ex­ca­va­tions, a ques­tion has arisen how far the Aegean civ­iliza­tion, whose to­tal du­ra­tion cov­ers at least three thou­sand years, can be re­gard­ed as one and con­tin­uous. Thanks to the ex­plo­ration of Cnos­sus, we now know that Aegean civ­iliza­tion had its roots in a prim­itive Ne­olith­ic pe­ri­od, of un­cer­tain but very long du­ra­tion, rep­re­sent­ed by a stra­tum which (on that site in par­tic­ular) is in places near­ly 20 ft. thick, and con­tains stone im­ple­ments and sherds of hand­made and hand-​pol­ished ves­sels, show­ing a pro­gres­sive de­vel­op­ment in tech­nique from bot­tom to top. This Cnos­sian stra­tum seems to be through­out ear­li­er than the low­est lay­er at Hissar­lik. It clos­es with the in­tro­duc­tion of in­cised, white-​filled dec­ora­tion on pot­tery, whose mo­tives are present­ly found re­pro­duced in monochrome pig­ment. We are now in the be­gin­ning of the Bronze Age, and the first of Evans’s “Mi­noan” pe­ri­ods (see CRETE). There­after, by ex­act ob­ser­va­tion of strat­ifi­ca­tion, eight more pe­ri­ods have been dis­tin­guished by the ex­plor­er of Cnos­sus, each marked by some im­por­tant de­vel­op­ment in the uni­ver­sal and nec­es­sary prod­ucts of the pot­ter’s art, the least de­struc­tible and there­fore most gen­er­al­ly used ar­chae­olog­ical cri­te­ri­on. These pe­ri­ods fill the whole Bronze Age, with whose close, by the in­tro­duc­tion of the su­pe­ri­or met­al, iron, the Aegean Age is con­ven­tion­al­ly held to end. Iron came in­to gen­er­al Aegean use about 1000 B.C., and pos­si­bly was the means by which a body of north­ern in­vaders es­tab­lished their pow­er on the ru­ins of the ear­li­er do­min­ion. The im­por­tant point is this, that through­out the nine Cnos­sian pe­ri­ods, fol­low­ing the Ne­olith­ic Age (named by Evans, “Mi­noan I. 1, 2, 3; II. 1, 2, 3; III. 1, 2, 3”; see CRETE), there is ev­idence of a per­fect­ly or­der­ly and con­tin­uous evo­lu­tion in, at any rate, ce­ram­ic art. From one stage to an­oth­er, fab­rics, forms and mo­tives of dec­ora­tion de­vel­op grad­ual­ly; so that, at the close of a span of more than two thou­sand years, at the least, the in­flu­ences of the be­gin­ning can still be clear­ly seen and no trace of vi­olent artis­tic in­tru­sion can be de­tect­ed. This fact, by it­self, would go far to prove that the civ­iliza­tion con­tin­ued fun­da­men­tal­ly and es­sen­tial­ly the same through­out. It is, more­over, sup­port­ed by less abun­dant re­mains of oth­er arts. That of paint­ing in fres­co, for in­stance, shows the same or­der­ly de­vel­op­ment from at any rate Pe­ri­od II. 2 to the end. About in­sti­tu­tions we have less cer­tain knowl­edge, there be­ing but lit­tle ev­idence for the ear­li­er pe­ri­ods; but in the doc­uments re­lat­ing to re­li­gion, the most sig­nif­icant of all, it can at least be said that there is no trace of sharp change. We see ev­idence of a uni­form Na­ture Wor­ship pass­ing through all the nor­mal stages down to the an­thropism in the lat­est pe­ri­od. There is no ap­pear­ance of in­tru­sive deities or cult-​ideas. We may take it then (and the fact is not dis­put­ed even by those who, like Dorpfeld, be­lieve in one thor­ough racial change, at least, dur­ing the Bronze Age) that the Aegean civ­iliza­tion was in­dige­nous, firm­ly root­ed and strong enough to per­sist es­sen­tial­ly un­changed and dom­inant in its own ge­ograph­ical area through­out the Ne­olith­ic and Bronze Ages. This con­clu­sion can hard­ly en­tail less than a be­lief that, at any rate, the mass of those who pos­sessed this civ­iliza­tion con­tin­ued racial­ly the same.

There are, how­ev­er, in cer­tain re­spects at cer­tain pe­ri­ods, ev­idences of such changes as might be due to the in­tru­sion of small con­quer­ing castes, which adopt­ed the su­pe­ri­or civ­iliza­tion of the con­quered peo­ple and be­came as­sim­ilat­ed to the lat­ter. The ear­li­est palace at Cnos­sus was built prob­ably in Pe­ri­od II. 1 or 2. It was of the type men­tioned first in the de­scrip­tion of palace-​plans above. Be­fore Pe­ri­od III. 1 it was large­ly re­built, and ar­gu­ments have been brought for­ward by Dorpfeld to show that fea­tures of the sec­ond type were then in­tro­duced. A sim­ilar re­build­ing took place at the same epoch at Phaes­tus, and pos­si­bly at Ha­gia Tri­ada. Now the sec­ond type, the “megaron” ar­range­ment, char­ac­ter­izes pe­cu­liar­ly the palaces dis­cov­ered in the north of the Aegean area, at Myce­nae, Tiryns and Hissar­llk, where up to the present no signs of the first type, so char­ac­ter­is­tic of Crete, have been ob­served. These north­ern “megara” are all of late date, none be­ing pri­or to Mi­noan III. 1. At Phy­lakope, a “megaron” ap­pears on­ly in the up­per­most Aegean stra­tum, the un­der­ly­ing struc­tures be­ing more in con­for­mi­ty with the ear­li­er Cre­tan. At the same epoch a no­table change took place in the Aegean script. The pic­to­graph­ic char­ac­ters, found on seals and discs of Pe­ri­od II. in Crete, had giv­en way en­tire­ly to a lin­ear sys­tem by Pe­ri­od III. That sys­tem thence­for­ward pre­vailed ex­clu­sive­ly, suf­fer­ing a slight mod­ifi­ca­tion again in III. 2 and 3. These and oth­er less well marked changes, say some crit­ics, are signs of a racial con­vul­sion not long af­ter 2000 B.C. An old race was con­quered by a new, even if, in mat­ters of civ­iliza­tion, the for­mer cap­ta vic­torem cepit. For these races re­spec­tive­ly Dorpfeld sug­gests the names “Ly­cian” and “Car­ian,” the lat­ter com­ing in from the north Aegean, where Greek tra­di­tion re­mem­bered its for­mer dom­inance. These names do not great­ly help us. If we are to ac­cept and prof­it by Dorpfeld’s nomen­cla­ture, we must be sat­is­fied that, in their lat­er his­toric habi­tats, both Ly­cians and Car­ians showed un­mis­tak­able signs of hav­ing for­mer­ly pos­sessed the civ­iliza­tions at­tribut­ed to them in pre­his­toric times–signs which re­search has hith­er­to whol­ly failed to find. The most that can be said to be ca­pa­ble of proof is the in­fil­tra­tion of some north­ern in­flu­ence in­to Crete at the end of Mi­noan Pe­ri­od II.; but it prob­ably brought about no change of dy­nasty and cer­tain­ly no change in the pre­vail­ing race. A good deal of an­thro­po­met­ric in­ves­ti­ga­tion has been de­vot­ed to hu­man re­mains of the Aegean epoch, es­pe­cial­ly to skulls and bones found in Crete in tombs of Pe­ri­od II. The re­sult of this, how­ev­er, has not so far es­tab­lished more than the fact that the Aegean races, as a whole, be­longed to the dark, long-​head­ed Ho­mo Mediter­ra­neus, whose prob­able ori­gin lay in mid-​east­ern Africa—a fact on­ly valu­able in the present con­nex­ion in so far as it tends to dis­cred­it an Asi­at­ic source for Aegean civ­iliza­tion. Not enough ev­idence has been col­lect­ed to af­fect the ques­tion of racial change dur­ing the Aegean pe­ri­od. From the skull­forms stud­ied, it would ap­pear, as we should ex­pect, that the Aegean race was by no means pure even in the ear­li­er Mi­noan pe­ri­ods. It on­ly re­mains to be added that there is some ground for sup­pos­ing that the lan­guage spo­ken in Crete be­fore the lat­er Doric was non-​Hel­lenic, but In­do-​Eu­ro­pean. This in­fer­ence rests on three in­scrip­tions in Greek char­ac­ters but non-​Greek lan­guage found in E. Crete. The lan­guage has some ap­par­ent affini­ties with Phry­gian. The in­scrip­tions are post-​Aegean by many cen­turies, but they oc­cur in the part of the is­land known to Homer as that in­hab­it­ed by the Eteo-​Cre­tans, or abo­rig­ines. Their lan­guage may prove to be that of the Lin­ear tablets.

C. His­to­ry of Aegean Civ­iliza­tion.—His­to­ry of an in­fer­en­tial and sum­ma­ry sort on­ly can be de­rived from mon­uments in the ab­sence of writ­ten records. The lat­ter do, in­deed, ex­ist in the Case of the Cre­tan civ­iliza­tion and in great num­bers; but they are un­de­ci­phered and like­ly to re­main so, ex­cept in the im­prob­able event of the dis­cov­ery of a long bi-​lin­gual text, part­ly couched in some fa­mil­iar script and lan­guage. Even in that event, the in­for­ma­tion which would be de­rived from the Cnos­sian tablets would prob­ably make but a small ad­di­tion to his­to­ry, since in very large part they are ev­ident­ly mere in­ven­to­ries of trib­ute and stores. The en­graved gems prob­ably record di­vine or hu­man names. (See CRETE.)

(1) Chronol­ogy.–The ear­li­est chrono­log­ical da­tum that we pos­sess is in­ferred from a close sim­ilar­ity be­tween cer­tain Cre­tao hand-​made and pol­ished vas­es of Mi­noan Pe­ri­od I. 1 and oth­ers dis­cov­ered by Petrie at Aby­dos in Egypt and re­ferred by him to the Ist Dy­nasty. He goes so far as to pro­nounce the lat­ter to be Cre­tan im­por­ta­tions, their fab­ric and forms be­ing un­like any­thing Nilot­ic. If that be so, the pe­ri­od at which stone im­ple­ments were be­gin­ning to be su­per­seded by bronze in Crete must be dat­ed be­fore 4000 B.C. But it will be re­mem­bered that be­low all Evans’s “Mi­noan” stra­ta hes the im­mense­ly thick Ne­olith­ic de­posit. To date the be­gin­ning of this ear­li­est record of hu­man pro­duc­tion is im­pos­si­ble at present. The Ne­olith­ic stra­tum varies very much in depth, rang­ing from near­ly 20 ft. to 3 ft., but is deep­est on the high­est part of the hillock. Its vari­ations may be due equal­ly to nat­ural de­nuda­tion of a stra­tum once of uni­form depth, or to the ar­ti­fi­cial heap­ing up of a mound by lat­er builders. Even were cer­tain­ty as to these al­ter­na­tives at­tained, we could on­ly guess at the av­er­age rate of ac­cu­mu­la­tion, which ex­pe­ri­ence shows to pro­ceeb very dif­fer­ent­ly on dif­fer­ent sites and un­der dif­fer­ent so­cial and cli­mat­ic con­di­tions. In lat­er pe­ri­ods at Cnos­sus ac­cu­mu­la­tion seems to have pro­ceed­ed at a rate of, rough­ly, 3 ft. per thou­sand years. Reck­on­ing by that stan­dard we might push the ear­li­est Ne­olith­ic re­mains back be­hind 10,000 B.C.; but the cal­cu­la­tion would be wor­thy of lit­tle cre­dence.

Pass­ing by cer­tain frag­ments of stone ves­sels, found at Cnos­sus, and co­in­ci­dent with forms char­ac­ter­is­tic of the IVth Pharaon­ic Dy­nasty, we reach an­oth­er fair­ly cer­tain date in the syn­chro­nism of re­mains be­long­ing to the XI­Ith Dy­nasty (c. 2500 B.C. ac­cord­ing to Petrie, but lat­er ac­cord­ing to the Berlin School) with prod­ucts of Mi­noan Pe­ri­od II. 2. Char­ac­ter­is­tic Cre­tan pot­tery of this pe­ri­od was found by Petrie in the Fayum in con­junc­tion with XI­Ith Dy­nasty re­mains, and var­ious Cre­tan prod­ucts of the pe­ri­od show strik­ing co­in­ci­dences with XI­Ith Dy­nasty styles, es­pe­cial­ly in their adop­tion of spi­ral­iform or­na­ment. The spi­ral, how­ev­er, it must be con­fessed, oc­curs so of­ten in nat­ural ob­jects (e.g. horns, climb­ing plants, shav­ings of wood or met­al) that too much stress must not be laid on the mu­tu­al parent­age of spi­ral­iform or­na­ment in dif­fer­ent civ­iliza­tions. A dior­ite stat­uette, refer­able by its style and in­scrip­tion to Dy­nasty XI­II., was dis­cov­ered in de­posit of Pe­ri­od II. 3 in the Cen­tral Court, and a car­touche of the “Shep­herd King,” Khyan, was al­so found at Cnos­sus. He is usu­al­ly dat­ed about 1900 B.C. This brings us to the next and most cer­tain syn­chro­nism, that of Mi­noan Pe­ri­ods III. 1, 2, with Dy­nasty XVI­II. (c. 1600-1400 B.C.). This co­in­ci­dence has been ob­served not on­ly at Cnos­sus, but pre­vi­ous­ly, in con­nex­ion with dis­cov­er­ies of scarabs and oth­er Egyp­tian ob­jects made at Myce­nae, Ialy­sus, Vaphio, &c. In Egypt it­self. Refti trib­utaries, bear­ing Vas­es of Aegean form, and them­selves sim­ilar in fash­ion of dress and ar­range­ment of hair to fig­ures on Cre­tan fres­coes and gems of Pe­ri­od III., are de­pict­ed un­der this and the suc­ceed­ing Dy­nas­ties (e.g. Rekhmara tomb at Thebes). Ac­tu­al vas­es of late Mi­noan style have been found with re­mains of Dy­nasty XVI­II., es­pe­cial­ly in the town of Amenophis IV. Akhen­aton at Tell el-​Amar­na; while in the Aegean area it­self we have abun­dant ev­idence of a great wave of Egyp­tian in­flu­ence be­gin­ning with this same Dy­nasty. To this wave were owed in all prob­abil­ity the Nilot­ic scenes de­pict­ed on the Myce­nae dag­gers, on fres­coes of Ha­gia Tri­ada and Cnos­sus, on pot­tery of Za­kro, on the shell-​re­lief of Phaes­tus, &c.; and al­so many for­rus and fab­rics, e.g. cer­tain Cre­tan coffins, and the faience in­dus­try of Cnos­sus. These serve to date, be­yond all rea­son­able ques­tion, Pe­ri­ods III. 1-2 in Crete, the shaft-​graves in the Myce­nae cir­cle, the Vaphio tomb, &c., to the 16th and 15th cen­turies B.C., and Pe­ri­od III. 3 with the low­er town at Myce­nae, the ma­jor­ity of the sixth stra­tum at Hissar­lik, the Ialy­sus buri­als, the up­per stra­tum at Phy­lakope, &c., to the cen­tu­ry im­me­di­ate­ly suc­ceed­ing.

The ter­mi­nus ad quem is less cer­tain—iron does not be­gin to be used for weapons in the Aegean till af­ter Pe­ri­od III. 3, and then not ex­clu­sive­ly. If we fix its in­tro­duc­tion to about 1000 B C. and make it co­in­ci­dent with the in­cur­sion of north­ern tribes, re­mem­bered by the clas­si­cal Greeks as the Do­ri­an In­va­sion, we must al­low that this in­cur­sion did not al­to­geth­er stamp out Aegean civ­iliza­tion, at least in the south­ern part of its area. But it fi­nal­ly de­stroyed the Cnos­sian palace and ini­ti­at­ed the “Ge­omet­ric” Age, with which, for con­ve­nience at any rate, we may close the his­to­ry of Aegean civ­iliza­tion prop­er.

(2) An­nals.–From these and oth­er da­ta the out­lines of prim­itive his­to­ry in the Aegean may be sketched thus. A peo­ple, agree­ing in its pre­vail­ing skull-​forms with the Mediter­ranean race of N. Africa, was set­tled in the Aegean area from a re­mote Ne­olith­ic an­tiq­ui­ty, but, ex­cept in Crete, where in­su­lar se­cu­ri­ty was com­bined with great nat­ural fer­til­ity, re­mained in a sav­age and un­pro­duc­tive con­di­tion un­til far in­to the 4th mil­len­ni­um B.C. In Crete, how­ev­er, it had long been de­vel­op­ing a cer­tain civ­iliza­tion, and at a pe­ri­od more or less con­tem­po­rary with Dy­nas­ties XI. and XII. (2500 B.C.?) the scat­tered com­mu­ni­ties of the cen­tre of the is­land co­alesced in­to a strong monar­chi­cal state, whose cap­ital was at Cnos­sus. There the king, prob­ably al­so high priest of the pre­vail­ing na­ture-​cult, built a great stone palace, and re­ceived the trib­ute of feuda­to­ries, of whom, prob­ably, the prince of Phaes­tus, who com­mand­ed the Mes­sara plain, was chief. The Cnos­sian monarch had mar­itime re­la­tions with Egypt, and present­ly sent his wares all over the S. Aegean (e.g. to Me­los in the ear­li­er Sec­ond City Pe­ri­od of Phy­lakope) and to Cyprus, re­ceiv­ing in re­turn such com­modi­ties as Melian ob­sid­ian knives. A sys­tem of pic­to­graph­ic writ­ing came in­to use ear­ly in this Palace pe­ri­od, but on­ly a few doc­uments, made of durable ma­te­ri­al, have sur­vived. Pic­to­ri­al art of a pure­ly in­dige­nous char­ac­ter, whether on ce­ram­ic ma­te­ri­al or ph­ster, made great strides, and from ce­ram­ic forms we may le­git­imate­ly in­fer al­so a high skill in met­al­lur­gy. The ab­sence of for­ti­fi­ca­tions both at Cnos­sus and Phaes­tus sug­gest that at this time Crete was in­ter­nal­ly peace­ful and ex­ter­nal­ly se­cure. Small set­tle­ments, in very close re­la­tion with the cap­ital, were found­ed in the east of the is­land to com­mand fer­tile dis­tricts and as­sist mar­itime com­merce. Gour­nia and Palaikas­tro ful­filled both these ends: Za­kro must have had main­ly a com­mer­cial pur­pose, as the start­ing-​point for the African coast. The acme of this do­min­ion was reached about the end of the 3rd mil­len­ni­um B.C., and there­after there en­sued a cer­tain, though not very se­ri­ous, de­cline. Mean­while, at oth­er favourable spots in the Aegean, but chiefly, it ap­pears, on sites in easy re­la­tion to mar­itime com­merce, e.g. Tiryns and Hissar­lik, oth­er com­mu­ni­ties of the ear­ly race be­gan to ar­rive at civ­iliza­tion, but were nat­ural­ly in­flu­enced by the more ad­vanced cul­ture of Crete, in pro­por­tion to their near­ness of vicin­ity. Ear­ly Hissar­lik shows less Cre­tan in­flu­ence and more ex­ter­nal (i.e. Asi­at­ic) than ear­ly Me­los. The in­ner Greek main­land re­mained still in a back­ward state. Five hun­dred years lat­er–about 1600 B.C.—-we ob­serve that cer­tain strik­ing changes have tak­en place. The Aegean re­mains have be­come as­ton­ish­ing­ly uni­form over the whole area; the lo­cal ce­ram­ic de­vel­op­ments have al­most ceased and been re­placed by ware of one gen­er­al type both of fab­ric and dec­ora­tion. The Cre­tans have stayed their pre­vi­ous deca­dence, and are once more pos­ses­sors of a pro­gres­sive civ­iliza­tion. They have de­vel­oped a more con­ve­nient and ex­pres­sive writ­ten char­ac­ter by stages of which one is best rep­re­sent­ed by the tablets of Ha­gia Tri­ada. The art of all the area gives ev­idence of one spir­it and com­mon mod­els; in re­li­gious rep­re­sen­ta­tions it shows the same an­thro­po­mor­phic per­son­ifi­ca­tion and the same rit­ual fur­ni­ture. Ob­jects pro­duced in one lo­cal­ity are found in oth­ers. The area of Aegean in­ter­course has widened and be­come more busy. Com­merce with Egypt, for ex­am­ple, has in­creased in a marked de­gree, and Aegean ob­jects or im­ita­tions of them are found to have be­gun to pen­etrate in­to Syr­ia, in­land Asia Mi­nor, and the cen­tral and west­ern Mediter­ranean lands, e.g. Sici­ly, Sar­dinia and Spain. There can be lit­tle doubt that a strong pow­er was now fixed in one Aegean cen­tre, and that all the area had come un­der its po­lit­ical, so­cial and artis­tic in­flu­ence.

How was this brought about, and what was the im­pe­ri­al cen­tre? Some change seems to have come from the north; and there are those who go so far as to say that the cen­tre hence­for­ward was the Ar­gol­id, and es­pe­cial­ly “gold­en” Myce­nae, whose lords im­posed a new type of palace and a mod­ifi­ca­tion of Aegean art on all oth­er Aegean lands. Oth­ers again cite the old es­tab­lished pow­er and pro­duc­tiv­ity of Crete; the im­mense ad­van­tage it de­rived from in­su­lar­ity, nat­ural fer­til­ity and ge­ograph­ical re­la­tion to the wider area of east Mediter­ranean civ­iliza­tions; and the ab­sence of ev­idence else­where for the grad­ual growth of a cul­ture pow­er­ful enough to dom­inate the Aegean, They point to the fact that, even in the new pe­ri­od, the palm for wealth and va­ri­ety of civ­ilized pro­duc­tion still re­mained with Crete. There alone we have proof that the art of writ­ing was com­mon­ly prac­tised, and there trib­ute-​tal­lies sug­gest an im­pe­ri­al or­ga­ni­za­tion; there the arts of paint­ing and sculp­ture in stone were most high­ly de­vel­oped; there the roy­al res­idences, which had nev­er been vi­olent­ly de­stroyed, though re­mod­elled, con­tin­ued un­for­ti­fied; where­as on the Greek main­land they re­quired strong pro­tec­tive works. The gold­en trea­sure of the Myce­nae graves, these crit­ics urge, is not more splen­did than would have been found at Cnos­sus had roy­al buri­als been spared by plun­der­ers, or been hap­pened up­on in­tact by mod­ern ex­plor­ers. It is not im­pos­si­ble to com­bine these views, and place the seat of pow­er still in Crete, but as­cribe the re­nascence there to an in­flux of new blood from the north, large enough to in­stil fresh vigour, but too small to change the civ­iliza­tion in its es­sen­tial char­ac­ter.

If this dom­inance was Cre­tan, it was short-​lived. The se­cu­ri­ty of the is­land was ap­par­ent­ly vi­olat­ed not long af­ter 1500 B.C., the Cnos­sian palace was sacked and burned, and Cre­tan art suf­fered an ir­repara­ble blow. As the com­par­ative­ly life­less char­ac­ter which it pos­sess­es in the suc­ceed­ing pe­ri­od (III. 3) is co­in­ci­dent with a sim­ilar deca­dence all over the Aegean area, we can hard­ly es­cape from the con­clu­sion that it was due to the in­va­sion of all the Aegean lands (or at least the Greek main­land and isles) by some less civ­ilized con­querors, who re­mained po­lit­ical­ly dom­inant, but, like their fore­run­ners, hav­ing no cul­ture of their own, adopt­ed, while they spoiled, that which they found. Who these were we can­not say; but the prob­abil­ity is that they too came from the north, and were pre­cur­sors of the lat­er “Hel­lenes.” Un­der their rule peace was re-​es­tab­lished, and art pro­duc­tion be­came again abun­dant among the sub­ject pop­ula­tion, though of in­fe­ri­or qual­ity. The Cnos­sian palace was re-​oc­cu­pied in its north­ern part by chief­tains WHO have left nu­mer­ous rich graves; and gen­er­al com­mer­cial in­ter­course must have been re­sumed, for the uni­for­mi­ty of the deca­dent Aegean prod­ucts and their wide dis­tri­bu­tion be­come more marked than ev­er.

About 1000 B.C. there hap­pened a fi­nal catas­tro­phe. The palace at Cnos­sus was once more de­stroyed, and nev­er re­built or re-​in­hab­it­ed. Iron took the place of Bronze, and Aegean art, as a liv­ing thing, ceased on the Greek main­land and in the Aegean isles in­clud­ing Crete, to­geth­er with Aegean writ­ing. In Cyprus, and per­haps on the south-​west Ana­to­lian coasts, there is some rea­son to think that the cat­aclysm was less com­plete, and Aegean art con­tin­ued to lan­guish, cut off from its foun­tain-​head. Such artis­tic fac­ul­ty as sur­vived else­where is­sued in the life­less ge­omet­ric style which is rem­inis­cent of the lat­er Aegean, but whol­ly un­wor­thy of it. Cre­ma­tion took the place of buri­al of the dead. This great dis­as­ter, which cleared the ground for a new growth of lo­cal art, was prob­ably due to yet an­oth­er in­cur­sion of north­ern tribes, more bar­barous than their pre­de­ces­sors, but pos­sessed of su­pe­ri­or iron weapons—those tribes which lat­er Greek tra­di­tion and Homer knew as the Do­ri­ans. They crushed a civ­iliza­tion al­ready hard hit; and it took two or three cen­turies for the artis­tic spir­it, in­stinct in the Aegean area, and prob­ably pre­served in sus­pend­ed an­ima­tion by the sur­vival of Aegean racial el­ements, to blos­som anew. On this con­quest seems to have en­sued a long pe­ri­od of un­rest and pop­ular move­ments, known to Greek tra­di­tion as the Io­ni­an Mi­gra­tion and the Ae­olic and Do­ri­an “col­oniza­tions”; and when once more we see the Aegean area clear­ly, it is dom­inat­ed by Hel­lenes, though it has not lost all mem­ory of its ear­li­er cul­ture.

BIB­LI­OG­RA­PHY.–Much of the ev­idence is con­tained in ar­chae­olog­ical pe­ri­od­icals, es­pe­cial­ly An­nu­al of the British School at Athens (1900–); Mon­umen­ti An­tichi and Ren­di­con­ti d. R. Ac. d. Lin­cei (1901–); Ephemeris Ar­chaiologike (1885- ); Jour­nal of Hel­lenic Stud­ies, Athenis­che Mit­theilun­gen, Bul­letin de cor­re­spon­dance hel­lenique, Amer­ican Jour­nal of Ar­chae­ol­ogy, &c. (all since about 1885). SPE­CIAL WORKS: H. Schlie­mann’s books (see SCHLIE­MANN), sum­ma­rized by C. Schuch­hardt, Schlie­mann’s Ex­ca­va­tions (1891); Chr. Tsoun­tas, Muke­nai (1893); Chr. Tsoun­tas and J. I. Man­att, the Myce­naean Age (1897); G. Per­rot and Ch. Chip­iez, His­toire de l’art dans l’an­tiq­uite, vol. vi. (1895); W. Dorpfeld, Tro­ja (1893) and Tro­ja und Il­ios (1904); A. Furt­wan­gler and G. Loschke, Mykenis­che Vasen (1886); A. S. Mur­ray, Ex­ca­va­tions in Cyprus (1900); W. Ridge­way, Ear­ly Age of Greece (1901 foll.); H. R. Hall, The Old­est Civ­iliza­tion of Greece (1901); A. J. Evans, “Myce­naean Tree and Pil­lar Cult” in Journ. Hell. Stud­ies (1901) and “Pre­his­toric Tombs of Knos­sos,’ in Ar­chae­olo­gia (1905) F. Noack, Home­rische Palaste (1903); Ex­ca­va­tions at Phy­lakopi, by mem­bers of the British School at Athens (1904); Har­ri­et A. Boyd (Mrs Hawes), Ex­ca­va­tions at Gour­nia (1901) . D. G. Hog­arth, “Aegean Re­li­gion” in Hast­ings’ Dict. of Re­li­gions (1906) For a re­cent view of the place of Aegean civ­iliza­tion in the his­to­ry of Hel­lenic cul­ture see Die Hel­lenis­che Kul­tur by F. Baum­garten, &c. (1905). Var­ious sum­maries, con­tro­ver­sial ar­ti­cles, &c., for­mer­ly quot­ed, are now su­per­seded by re­cent dis­cov­er­ies. See al­so CRETE, MYCE­NAE, TROAD, CE­RAM­ICS, PLATE, &c. (D. G. H.)

AEGEAN SEA, a part of the Mediter­ranean Sea, be­ing the archipela­go be­tween Greece on the west and Asia Mi­nor on the east, bound­ed N. by Eu­ro­pean Turkey, and con­nect­ed by the Dar­danelles with the Sea of Marmo­ra, and so with the Black Sea. The name Archipela­go (q.v.) was for­mer­ly ap­plied specif­ical­ly to this sea. The ori­gin of the namo Aegean is un­cer­tain. Var­ious deriva­tions are giv­en by the an­cient gram­mar­ians–one from the town of Ae­gae; an­oth­er from Aegea, a queen of the Ama­zons who per­ished in this sea; and a third from Aegeus, the fa­ther of The­seus, who, sup­pos­ing his son dead, drowned him­self in it. The fol­low­ing are the chief is­lands: Tha­sos, in the ex­treme north, off the Mace­do­nian coast; Samoth­race, fronting the Gulf of Saros; Im­bros and Lem­nos, in pro­lon­ga­tion of the penin­su­la of Gal­lipoli ( Thra­cian Cher­son­ese); Eu­boea, the largest of all, ly­ing close along the east coast of Greece; the North­ern Spo­rades, in­clud­ing Sciathos, Scope­los and Halone­sos, run­ning out from the south­ern ex­trem­ity of the Thes­salian coast, and Scy­ros, with its satel­lites, north-​east of Eu­boea; Les­bos and Chios; Samos and Nikaria; Cos, with Ca­lym­nos to the north; all off Asia Mi­nor, with the many oth­er is­lands of the Spo­rades; and, fi­nal­ly, the great group of the Cy­clades, of which the largest are An­dros and Tenos, Nax­os and Paros. Many of the Aegean is­lands, or chains of is­lands, are ac­tu­al­ly pro­lon­ga­tions of promon­to­ries of the main­land. Two main chains ex­tend right across the sea—the one through Scy­ros and Psara (be­tween which shal­low banks in­ter­vene) to Chios and the ham­mer-​shaped promon­to­ry east of it; and the oth­er run­ning from the south­east­ern promon­to­ry of Eu­boea and con­tin­uing the ax­is of that is­land, in a south­ward curve through An­dros, Tenos, My­conos, Nikaria and Samos. A third curve, from the south east­ern­most promon­to­ry of the Pelo­pon­nese through Ceri­go, Ctete, Carpathos and Rhodes, marks off the out­er deeps of the open Mediter­ranean from the shal­low seas of the archipela­go, but the Cre­tan Sea, in which depths oc­cur over 1000 fath­oms, in­ter­venes, north of the line, be­tween it and the Aegean prop­er. The Ae­go­tu it­self is nat­ural­ly di­vid­ed by the is­land-​chains and the ridges from which they rise in­to a se­ries of basins or troughs, the 8leep­est of which is that in the north, ex­tend­ing from the coast of Thes­saly fo the Gulf of Saros, and de­mar­cat­ed south­ward by the North­ern Spo­rades, Lem­nos, Im­bros and the penin­su­la of Gal­lipoli. The greater part of ths trough is over 600 fath­oms deep. The pro­fu­sion of is­lands and their usu­al­ly bold el­eva­tion give beau­ty and pic­turesque­ness to the sea, but its nav­iga­tion is dif­fi­cult and dan­ger­ous, notwith­stand­ing the large num­ber of safe and com­modi­ous gulfs and bays. Many of the is­lands are of vol­canic for­ma­tion; and a well-​de­fined vol­canic chain bounds the Cre­tan Sea on the north, in­clud­ing Mi­lo and foimo­los, San­torin (Thera) and Thera­sia, and ex­tends to Nisy­ros. Oth­ers, such as Paros, are main­ly com­posed of mar­ble, and iron ore oc­curs in some. The larg­er is­lands have some fer­tile and well-​wa­tered val­leys and plains. The chief pro­duc­tions are wheat, wine, oil, mas­tic, figs, raisins, hon­ey, wax, cot­ton and silk. The peo­ple are em­ployed in fish­ing for coral and sponges, as well as for bream, mul­let and oth­er fish. The men are hardy, well built and hand­some; and the wom­en are not­ed for their beau­ty, the an­cient Greek type be­ing well pre­served. The Cy­clades and North­ern Spo­rades, with Eu­boea and small is­lands un­der the Greek shore, be­long to Greece; the oth­er is­lands to Turkey.

AEGEUS, in Greek leg­end, son of Pan­dion and grand­son of Ce­crops, was king of Athens and the fa­ther of The­seus. He was de­posed by his nephews, but The­seus de­feat­ed them and re­in­stat­ed his fa­ther. When The­seus set out for Crete to de­liv­er Athens from the trib­ute to the Mino­taur he promised Aegeus that, if he were suc­cess­ful, he would change the black sail car­ried by his ship for a white one. But, on his re­turn, he for­got to hoist the white sail, and his fa­ther, sup­pos­ing that his son had lost his life, threw him­self from a high rock on which he was, keep­ing watch in­to the sea, which was af­ter­wards called the Aegean. The Athe­ni­ans hon­oured him with a stat­ue and a shrine, and one of the At­tic demes was named af­ter him. Plutarch, The­seus; Pau­sa­nias i. 22; Hy­gi­nus, Fab. 43; Cat­ul­lus lx­iv. 207.

AEGI­NA (EGI­NA or EN­GIA), an is­land of Greece in the Sa­ron­ic Gulf, 20 m. from the Peiraeus Tra­di­tion de­rives the name from Aegi­na, the moth­er of Aea­cus, who was born in and ruled the is­land. In Shape Aegi­na is tri­an­gu­lar, 8 m. long from N.W. to S.E., and 6 m. broad, with an area of about 41 sq. m. The west­ern side con­sists of stony but fer­tile plains, which are well cul­ti­vat­ed and pro­duce lux­uri­ant crops of grain, with some cot­ton, vines, al­monds and figs. The rest of the is­land is rugged and moun­tain­ous. The south­ern end ris­es in the con­ical Mount Oros, and the Pan­hel­leni­an ridge stretch­es north­ward with nar­row fer­tile val­leys on ei­ther side. From the ab­sence of marsh­es the cli­mate is the most healthy in Greece. The is­land forms part of the mod­ern Uo­mos of At­ti­ca and Boeo­tia, of which it forms an eparchy. The sponge fish­eries are of con­sid­er­able im­por­tance. The chief town is Aegi­na, sit­uat­ed at the north-​west end of the is­land, the sum­mer res­idence of many Athe­ni­an mer­chants. Capo d’Is­tria, to whom there is a stat­ue in the prin­ci­pal square, erect­ed there a large build­ing, in­tend­ed for a bar­racks, which was sub­se­quent­ly used as a mu­se­um, a li­brary and a school. The mu­se­um was the first in­sti­tu­tion of its kind in Greece, but the col­lec­tion was trans­ferred to Athens in 1834.

An­tiq­ui­ties.–The ar­chae­olog­ical in­ter­est of Aegi­na is cen­tred in the well-​known temlple on the ridge near the north­ern cor­ner of the is­land. Ex­ca­va­tions were made on its site in 1811 by Baron Haller von Haller­stein and the En­glish ar­chi­tect C. R. Cock­erell, who dis­cov­ered a con­sid­er­able amount of sculp­ture from the ped­iments, which was bought in 1812 by the crown prince Louis of Bavaria; the groups were set up in the Glyp­tothek at Mu­nich af­ter the fig­ures had been re­stored by B. Thor­vald­sen. Their restora­tion was some­what dras­tic, the an­cient parts be­ing cut away to al­low of ad­di­tions in mar­ble, and the new parts treat­ed in im­ita­tion of the an­cient weath­er­ing. Var­ious con­jec­tures were made as to the ar­range­ment of the fig­ures. That ac­cord­ing to which they were set up at Mu­nich was in the main sug­gest­ed by Cock­erell; in the mid­dle of each ped­iment was a fig­ure of Athena, set well back, and a fall­en war­rior at her feet; on each side were stand­ing spear­men, kneel ing spear­men and bow­men, all fac­ing to­wards the cen­tre of the com­po­si­tion; the cor­ners were filled with fall­en war­riors. In 1901 Pro­fes­sor Furt­wan­gler be­gan a more sys­tem­at­ic ex­ca­va­tion of the site, and the new dis­cov­er­ies he then made, to­geth­er with a fresh and com­plete study of the fig­ures and frag­ments in Mu­nich, have led to a re­ar­range­ment of the whole, which, if not cer­tain in all de­tails, may be re­gard­ed as ap­proach­ing fi­nal­ity. Ac­cord­ing to this the fig­ures of com­bat­ants do not all face to­wards the cen­tre, but are bro­ken up, as in oth­er ear­ly com­po­si­tions, in­to a se­ries of groups of two or three fig­ures each. A fig­ure of Athena still oc­cu­pies the cen­tre of each ped­iment, but is set far­ther for­ward than in the old re­con­struc­tion. On each side of this, in the west­ern ped­iment, is a group of two com­bat­ants over a fall­en war­rior; in the east­ern ped­iment, a war­rior whose op­po­nent is falling in­to the arms of a sup­port­ing fig­ure; oth­er fig­ures al­so–the bow­men es­pe­cial­ly—face to­wards the an­gles, and so give more va­ri­ety to the com­po­si­tion. The west­ern ped­iment, which is more con­ser­va­tive in type, rep­re­sents the ear­li­er ex­pe­di­tion of Her­acles and Tela­mon against Troy; the east­ern, which is bold­er and more ad­vanced, prob­ably refers to episodes in the Tro­jan war. There are al­so re­mains of a third ped­iment, which may have been pro­duced in com­pe­ti­tion, but nev­er placed on the tem­ple. For the char­ac­ter of the sculp­tures see GREEK ART. The plan of the tem­ple is chiefly re­mark­able for the un­sym­met­ri­cal­ly placed door lead­ing from the back of the cel­la in­to the opisthodomus. This opisthodomus was com­plete­ly fenced in with bronze grat­ings; and the ex­ca­va­tors be­lieve it to have been adapt­ed for use as an ady­tum (shrine). It was dis­put­ed in ear­li­er times whether the tem­ple was ded­icat­ed to Zeus or Athena. In­scrip­tions found by the re­cent ex­ca­va­tions seem to prove that it must be iden­ti­fied as the shrine of the lo­cal god­dess Aphaea, iden­ti­fied by Pau­sa­nias with Brit­omar­tis and Dic­tyn­na.

The ex­ca­va­tions have laid bare sev­er­al oth­er build­ings, in­clud­ing an al­tar, ear­ly propy­laea, hous­es for the priests and re­mains of an ear­li­er tem­ple. The present tem­ple prob­ably dates from the time of the Per­sian wars. In the town of Aegi­na it­self are the re­mains of an­oth­er tem­ple, ded­icat­ed to Aphrodite; one col­umn of this still re­mains stand­ing, and its foun­da­tions are fair­ly pre­served.

AU­THOR­ITIES.–An­tiq­ui­ties of Io­nia (Lon­don, 1797), ii. pl. ii.-vii.; C. R. Cock­erell, The Tem­ples of Jupiter Pan­hel­le­nius at Aegi­na, &c. (Lon­don, 186O); Ch. Gareier, Le Tem­ple de Jupiter Pan­hel­le­nien a Egine (Paris, 1884); Ad. Furt­wan­gler and oth­ers, Aegi­na, Heilig­tum der App Mu­nich, 1906), where ear­li­er au­thor­ities are col­lect­ed and dis­cussed. (E. GR.)

His­to­ry.–(1) An­cient. Aegi­na, ac­cord­ing to Herodotus (v. 83), was a colony of Ep­idau­rus, to which state it was orig­inal­ly sub­ject. The dis­cov­ery in the is­land of a num­ber of gold or­na­ments be­long­ing to the lat­est pe­ri­od of Myce­naean art sug­gests the in­fer­ence that the Myce­naean cul­ture held its own in Aegi­na for some gen­er­ations af­ter the Do­ri­an con­quest of Ar­gos and Lacedae­mon (see A. J. Evans, in Jour­nal of Hel­lenic Stud­ies, vol. xi­ii. p. 195). It is prob­able that the is­land was not dorized be­fore the 9th cen­tu­ry B.C. One of the ear­li­est facts known to us in its his­to­ry is its mem­ber­ship in the League of Cabau­ria, which in­clud­ed, be­sides Aegi­na, Athens, the Minyan (Boeo­tian) Or­chomenos, Troezen, Hermione, Nau­plia and Prasi­ae, and was prob­ably an or­ga­ni­za­tion of states which were still Myce­naean, for the op­pres­sion of the pira­cy which had sprung up in the Aegean as a re­sult of the de­cay of the naval suprema­cy of the Myce­naean princes. It fol­lows, there­fore, that the mar­itime im­por­tance of the is­land dates back to pre-​Do­ri­an times. It is usu­al­ly stat­ed on the au­thor­ity of Epho­rus, that Phei­don (q.v.) of Ar­gos es­tab­lished a mint in Aegi­na. Though this state­ment is prob­ably to be re­ject­ed, it may be re­gard­ed as cer­tain that Aegi­na was the first state of Eu­ro­pean Greece to coin mon­ey. Thus it was the Aegine­tans who, with­in thir­ty or forty years of the in­ven­tion of coinage by the Ly­di­ans (c. 700 B.C.), in­tro­duced to the west­ern world a sys­tem of such in­cal­cu­la­ble val­ue to trade. The fact that the Aegine­tan scale of coins, weights and mea­sures was one of the two scales in gen­er­al use in the Greek world is suf­fi­cient ev­idence of the ear­ly com­mer­cial im­por­tance of the is­land. It ap­pears to have be­longed to the Ere­tri­an league; hence, per­haps, we may ex­plain the war with Samos, a lead­ing mem­ber of the ri­val Chal­cid­ian league in the reign of King Am­ph­icrates (Herod. iii. 59), i.e. not lat­er than the ear­li­er half of the 7th cen­tu­ry B.C. In the next cen­tu­ry Aegi­na is one of the three prin­ci­pal states trad­ing at the em­po­ri­um of Nau­cratis (q.v.), and it is the on­ly state of Eu­ro­pean Greece that has a share in this fac­to­ry (Herod. ii. 178). At the be­gin­ning of the 5th cen­tu­ry it seems to have been an en­tre­pot of the Pon­tic grain trade, at a lat­er date an Athe­ni­an monopoly (Herod. vii. 147). Un­like the oth­er com­mer­cial states of the 7th and 6th cen­turies B.C., e.g. Corinth, Chal­cis, Ere­tria and Mile­tus, Aegi­na found­ed no colonies. The set­tle­ments to which Stra­bo refers (vi­ii. 376) can­not be re­gard­ed as any re­al ex­cep­tions to this state­ment.

The his­to­ry of Aegi­na, as it has come down to us, is al­most ex­clu­sive­ly a his­to­ry of its re­la­tions with the neigh­bour­ing state of Athens. The his­to­ry of these re­la­tions, as record­ed by Herodotus (v. 79-89; vi. 49-51, 73, 85-94), in­volve crit­ical prob­lems of some dif­fi­cul­ty and in­ter­est. He traces back the hos­til­ity of the two states to a dis­pute about the im­ages of the god­dess­es Damia and Aux­esia, which the Aegine­tans had car­ried off from Ep­idau­rus, their par­ent state. The Ep­idau­ri­ans had been ac­cus­tomed to make an­nu­al of­fer­ings to the Athe­ni­an deities Athena and Erechtheus in pay­ment for the Athe­ni­an olive-​wood of which the stat­ues were made. Up­on the re­fusal of the Aegine­tans to con­tin­ue these of­fer­ings, the Athe­ni­ans en­deav­oured to car­ry away the im­ages. Their de­sign was mirac­ulous­ly frus­trat­ed—ac­cord­ing to the Aegine­tan ver­sion, the stat­ues fell up­on their knees—and on­ly a sin­gle sur­vivor re­turned to Athens, there to fall a vic­tim to the fury of his com­rades’ wid­ows, who pierced him with their brooch-​pins. No date is as­signed by Herodotus for this “old feud”; re­cent writ­ers, e.g. J. B. Bury and R. W. Macan, sug­gest the pe­ri­od be­tween Solon and Pei­si­stra­tus, c. 570 B.C.. It may be ques­tioned, how­ev­er, whether the whole episode is not myth­ical. A crit­ical anal­ysis of the nar­ra­tive seems to re­veal lit­tle else than a se­ries of ae­ti­olog­ical tra­di­tions (ex­plana­to­ry of cults and cus­toms, e.g. of the kneel­ing pos­ture of the im­ages of Damia and Aux­esia, of the use of na­tive ware in­stead of Athe­ni­an in their wor­ship, and of the change in wom­en’s dress at Athens from the Do­ri­an to the Io­ni­an style. Thc ac­count which Herodotus gives of the hos­til­ities be­tween the two states in the ear­ly years of the 5th cen­tu­ry B.C. is to the fol­low­ing ef­fect. Thebes, af­ter the de­feat by Athens about 507 B.C., ap­pealed to Aegi­na for as­sis­tance. The Aegine­tans at first con­tent­ed them­selves with send­ing the im­ages of the Aeaci­dae, the tute­lary heroes of their is­land. Sub­se­quent­ly, how­ev­er, they en­tered in­to an al­liance, and rav­aged the sea-​board of At­ti­ca. The Athe­ni­ans were prepar­ing to make reprisals, in spite of the ad­vice of the Del­ph­ic or­acle that they should de­sist from at­tack­ing Aegi­na for thir­ty years, and con­tent them­selves mean­while with ded­icat­ing a precinct to Aea­cus, when their projects were in­ter­rupt­ed by the Spar­tan in­trigues for the restora­tion of Hip­pias. In 401 B.C. Aegi­na was one of the states which gave the sym­bols of sub­mis­sion (“earth and wa­ter”) to Per­sia. Athens at once ap­pealed to Spar­ta to pun­ish this act of medism, and Cleomenes I. (q.v.), one of the Spar­tan kings, crossed over to the is­land, to ar­rest those who were re­spon­si­ble for it. His at­tempt was at first un­suc­cess­ful; but, af­ter the de­po­si­tion of De­mara­tus, he vis­it­ed the is­land a sec­ond time, ac­com­pa­nied by his new col­league Leo­ty­chides, seized ten of the lead­ing cit­izens and de­posit­ed them at Athens as hostages. Af­ter the death of Cleomenes and the re­fusal of the Athe­ni­ans to re­store the hostages to Leo­ty­chides, the Aegine­tans re­tal­iat­ed by seiz­ing a num­ber of Athe­ni­ans at a fes­ti­val at Suni­um. There­upon the Athe­ni­ans con­cert­ed a plot with Nico­dro­mus, the lead­er of the demo­crat­ic par­ty in the is­land, for the be­tray­al of Aegi­na. He was to seize the old city, and they were to come to his aid on the same day with sev­en­ty ves­sels. The plot failed ow­ing to the late ar­rival of the Athe­ni­an force, when Nico­dro­mus had al­ready fled the is­land. An en­gage­ment fol­lowed in which the Aegine­tans were de­feat­ed. Sub­se­quent­ly, how­ev­er, they suc­ceed­ed in win­ning a vic­to­ry over the Athe­ni­an fleet. Alf the in­ci­dents sub­se­quent to the ap­peal of Athens to Spar­ta are ex­press­ly re­ferred by Herodotus to the in­ter­val be­tween the send­ing of the her­alds in 491 B.C. and the in­va­sion of Datis and Ar­ta­phernes in 490 B.C. (cf. Herod. vi. 49 with 94). There are dif­fi­cul­ties in this sto­ry, of which the fol­low­ing are the prin­ci­pal:–(i.) Herodotus nowhere states or im­plies that peace was con­clud­ed be­tween the two states be­fore 481 B.C., nor does he dis­tin­guish be­tween dif­fer­ent wars dur­ing this pe­ri­od. Hence it would fol­low that the war last­ed from short­ly af­ter 507 B.C. down to the congress at the Isth­mus of Corinth in 481 B.C. (ii.) It is on­ly for two years (490 and 491) out of the twen­ty-​five that any de­tails are giv­en. It is the more re­mark­able that no in­ci­dents are record­ed in the pe­ri­od be­tween Marathon and Sabamis, see­ing that at the time of the Isth­mi­an Congress the war is de­scribed as the most im­por­tant one then be­ing waged in Greece (Herod. vii. 145). (iii.) It is im­prob­able that Athens would have sent twen­ty ves­sels to the aid of the Io­ni­ans in 498 B.C. if at the time she was at war with Aegi­na. (iv.) There is an in­ci­den­tal in­di­ca­tion of time, which points to the pe­ri­od af­ter Marathon as the true date for the events which are re­ferred by Herodotus to the year be­fore Marathon, viz. the thir­ty years that were to elapse be­tween the ded­ica­tion of the precinct to Aea­cus and the fi­nal vic­to­ry of Athens (Herod. v. 89). As the fi­nal vic­to­ry of Athens over Aegi­na was in 458 B.C., the thir­ty years of the or­acle would car­ry us back to the year 488 B.C. as the date of the ded­ica­tion of the precinct and the out­break of hos­til­ities. This in­fer­ence is sup­port­ed by the date of the build­ing of the 200 triremes “for the war against Aegi­na” on the ad­vice of Themis­to­cles, which is giv­en in the Con­sti­tu­tiom of Athens as 483-482 B.C. (Herod. vii. 144; Ath. Pol. r2. 7). It is prob­able, there­fore, that Herodotus is in er­ror both in trac­ing back the be­gin­ning of hos­til­ities to an al­liance be­tween Thebes and Aegi­na (c. 507) and in putting the episode of Nico­dro­mus be­fore Marathon. Over­tures were un­ques­tion­ably made by Thebes for an al­liance with Aegi­na c. 507 B.C., but they came to noth­ing. The re­fusal of Aegi­na was veiled un­der the diplo­mat­ic form of “send­ing the Aeaci­dae.” The re­al oc­ca­sion of the out­break of the war was the re­fusal of Athens to re­store the hostages some twen­ty years lat­er. There was but one war, and it last­ed from 488 to 481. That Athens had the worst of it in this war is cer­tain. Herodotus had no Athe­ni­an vic­to­ries to record af­ter the ini­tial suc­cess, and the fact that Themis­to­cles was able to car­ry his pro­pos­al to de­vote the sur­plus funds of the state to the build­ing of so large a fleet seems to im­ply that the Athe­ni­ans were them­selves con­vinced that a supreme ef­fort was nec­es­sary. It may be not­ed, in con­fir­ma­tion of this view, that the naval suprema­cy of Aegi­na is as­signed by the an­cient writ­ers on chronol­ogy to pre­cise­ly this pe­ri­od, i.e. the years 490-480 (Eu­se­bius, Chron. Can. p. 337).

In the re­pulse of Xerx­es it is pos­si­ble that the Aegine­tans played a larg­er part than is con­ced­ed to them by Herodotus. The Athe­ni­an tra­di­tion, which he fol­lows in the main, would nat­ural­ly seek to ob­scure their ser­vices. It was to Aegi­na rather than Athens that the prize of val­our at Salamis was award­ed, and the de­struc­tion of the Per­sian fleet ap­pears to have been as much the work of the Aegine­tan con­tin­gent as of the Athe­ni­an (Herod. vi­ii. 91). There are oth­er in­di­ca­tions, too, of the im­por­tance of the Aegine­tan fleet in the Greek scheme of de­fence. In view of these con­sid­er­ations it be­comes dif­fi­cult to cred­it the num­ber of the ves­sels that is as­signed to them by Herodotus (30 as against 180 Athe­ni­an ves­sels, cf. GREEK HIS­TO­RY, sect. Au­thor­ities). Dur­ing the next twen­ty years the Phi­lo-​la­co­ni­an pol­icy of Ci­mon (q.v.) se­cured Aegi­na, as a mem­ber of the Spar­tan league, from at­tack. The change in Athe­ni­an for­eign pol­icy, which was con­se­quent up­on the os­tracism of Ci­mon in 461, led to what is some­times called the First Pelo­pon­nesian War, in which the brunt of the fight­ing fell up­on Corinth and Aegi­na. The lat­ter state was forced to sur­ren­der to Athens af­ter a siege, and to ac­cept the po­si­tion of a sub­ject-​al­ly (c. 456 B.C.). The trib­ute was fixed at 30 tal­ents. By the terms of the Thir­ty Years’ Truce (445 B.C.) Athens covenant­ed to re­store to Aegi­na her au­ton­omy, but the clause re­mained a dead let­ter. In the first win­ter of the Pelo­pon­nesian War (431 B.C.) Athens ex­pelled the Aegine­tans, and es­tab­lished a cleruchy in their is­land. The ex­iles were set­tled by Spar­ta in Thyreatis, on the fron­tiers of La­co­nia and Ar­go­lis. Even in their new home they were not safe from Athe­ni­an ran­cour.1 A force land­ed un­der Nicias in 424, and put most of them to the sword. At the end of the Pelo­pon­nesian War Lysander re­stored the scat­tered rem­nants of the old in­hab­itants to the is­land, which was used by the Spar­tans as a base for op­er­ations against Athens in the Corinthi­an War. Its great­ness, how­ev­er, was at an end. The part which it plays hence­for­ward is in­signif­icant.

It would be a mis­take to at­tribute the fall of Aegi­na sole­ly to the de­vel­op­ment of the Athe­ni­an navy. It is prob­able that the powor of Aegi­na had steadi­ly de­clined dur­ing the twen­ty years af­ter Sabamis, and that it had de­clined ab­so­lute­ly, as well as rel­ative­ly, to that of Athens. Com­merce was the source of Aegi­na’s great­ness, and her trade, which ap­pears to have been prin­ci­pal­ly with the Lev­ant, must have suf­fered se­ri­ous­ly from the war with Per­sia. Her medism in 491 is to be ex­plained by her com­mer­cial re­la­tions with the Per­sian Em­pire. She was forced in­to pa­tri­otism in spite of her­self, and the glo­ry won by Salamis was paid for by the loss of her trade and the de­cay of her ma­rine. The com­plete­ness of the ru­in of so pow­er­ful a state–we should look in vain for an anal­ogous case in the his­to­ry of the mod­ern world–finds an ex­pla­na­tion in the eco­nom­ic con­di­tions of the is­land, the pros­per­ity of which rest­ed up­on a ba­sis of slave-​labour. It is im­pos­si­ble, in­deed, to ac­cept Aris­to­tle’s (cf. Athenaeus vi. 272) es­ti­mate of 470,000 as the

1Per­icles called Aegi­na the “eye-​sore” (leme) of the Peiraeus.

num­ber of the slave-​pop­ula­tion; it is clear, how­ev­er, that the num­ber must have been out of all pro­por­tion to that of the free in­hab­itants. In this re­spect the his­to­ry of Aegi­na does but an­tic­ipate the his­to­ry of Greece as a whole. The con­sti­tu­tion­al his­to­ry of Aegi­na is un­usu­al­ly sim­ple. So long as the is­land re­tained its in­de­pen­dence the gov­ern­ment was an oli­garchy. There is no trace of the hero­ic monar­chy and no tra­di­tion of a tyran­nis. The sto­ry of Nico­dro­mus, while it proves the ex­is­tence of a demo­crat­ic par­ty, sug­gests, at the same time, that it could count up­on lit­tle sup­port.

(2) Mod­ern.—Aegi­na passed with the rest of Greece un­der the suc­ces­sive dom­ina­tions of Mace­don, the Ae­to­lians, At­talus of Perga­mum and Rome. In 1537 the is­land, then a pros­per­ous Vene­tian colony, was over­run and ru­ined by the pi­rate Bar­barossa (Khair-​ed-​Din). One of the last Vene­tian strongholds in the Lev­ant, it was ced­ed by the treaty of Pas­sarowitz (1718) to the Turks. In 1826-1828 the town be­came for a time the cap­ital of Greece and the cen­tre of a large com­mer­cial pop­ula­tion (about 10,000), which has dwin­dled to about 4300.

BIB­LI­OG­RA­PHY.—Herodotus loc. cit.; Thucy­dides i. 105, 108, ii. 27, iv. 56, 57. For the crit­icism of Herodotus’s ac­count of the re­la­tions of Athens and Aegi­na, Wil­am­owitz, Aris­tote­les und Athen, ii. 280-288, is in­dis­pens­able. See al­so Macan, Herodotus iv.-vi., ii. 102-120. (E. M. W.)

AEGINE­TA, PAULUS, a cel­ebrat­ed sur­geon of the is­land of Aegi­na, whence he de­rived his name. Ac­cord­ing to Le Clerc’s cal­cu­la­tion, he lived in the 4th cen­tu­ry of the Chris­tian era; but Ab­ul­farag­ius (Barhe­braeus) places him with more prob­abil­ity in the 7th. The ti­tle of his most im­por­tant work, as giv­en by Suidas, is Epit­omes ‘Ia­trikes Bib­lia ‘Ep­ta (Syn­op­sis of Medicine in Sev­en Books), the 6th book of which, treat­ing of op­er­ative surgery, is of spe­cial in­ter­est for sur­gi­cal his­to­ry. The whole work in the orig­inal Greek was pub­lished at Venice in 1528, and an­oth­er edi­tion ap­peared at Basel in 1538. Sev­er­al Latin trans­la­tions have been pub­lished, and an ex­cel­lent En­glish ver­sion, with com­men­tary, by Dr F. Adams (1844-1848).

AEGIS (Gr. Aigis), in Homer, the shield or buck­ler of Zeus, fash­ioned for him by Hep­haes­tus, fur­nished with tas­sels and bear­ing the Gor­gon’s head in the cen­tre. Orig­inal­ly sym­bol­ical of the storm-​cloud, it is prob­ably de­rived from ais­so, sig­ni­fy­ing rapid, vi­olent mo­tion. When the god shakes it, Mount Ida is wrapped in clouds, the thun­der rolls and men are smit­ten with fear. He some­times lends it to Athene and (rarely) to Apol­lo. In the lat­er sto­ry (Hy­gi­nus, Po­et. As­tronom. ii. 13) Zeus is said to have used the skin of the goat Amaltheia (aigis=goat-​skin) which suck­led him in Crete, as a buck­ler when he went forth to do bat­tle against the gi­ants. An­oth­er leg­end rep­re­sents the aegis as a fire-​breath­ing mon­ster like the Chi­maera, which was slain by Athene, who af­ter­wards wore its skin as a cuirass (Diodor­us Sicu­lus iii. 70) It ap­pears to have been re­al­ly the goat’s skin used as a belt to sup­port the shield. When so used it would gen­er­al­ly be fas­tened on the right shoul­der, and would par­tial­ly en­vel­op the chest as it passed oblique­ly round in front and be­hind to be at­tached to the shield un­der the left arm. Hence, by trans­fer­ence, it would be em­ployed to de­note at times the shield which it sup­port­ed, and at oth­er times a cuirass, the pur­pose of which it in part served. In ac­cor­dance with this dou­ble mean­ing the aegis ap­pears in works of art some­times as an an­imal’s skin thrown over the shoul­ders and arms, some­times as a cuirass, with a bor­der of snakes cor­re­spond­ing to the tas­sels of Homer, usu­al­ly with the Gor­gon’s head in the cen­tre. It is of­ten rep­re­sent­ed on the stat­ues of Ro­man em­per­ors, heroes and war­riors, and on cameos and vas­es.

See F. G. Wel­ck­er, Griechis­che Got­ter­lehre (1857); L. Freller, Griechis­che Mytholo­gie, i. (1887); ar­ti­cles in Pauly-​Wis­sowa’s Re­al En­cy­clopadie, Rosch­er’s Lexikon der Mytholo­gie Darem­berg and Saglio’s Dic­tio­nnaire des An­tiq­uites, and Smith’s Dic­tio­nary of Greek and Ro­man An­tiq­ui­ties (3rd ed., 1890).

AEGISTHUS, in Greek leg­end, was the son of Thyestes by his Own daugh­ter Pelop­ia. Hav­ing been ex­posed by his moth­er to con­ceal her shame, he was found by shep­herds and suck­led by a goat-​whence his name. His un­cle Atreus, who had mar­ried Pelop­ia, took him to Myce­nae, and brought him up as his own son. When he grew up Aegisthus slew Atreus, and ruled joint­ly with his fa­ther over Myce­nae, un­til they were de­posed by Agamem­non on his re­turn from ex­ile. Af­ter the de­par­ture of Agamem­non to the Tro­jan war, Aegisthus se­duced his wife Clytaemnes­tra (more cor­rect­ly Clytaemes­tra) and with her as­sis­tance slew him on his re­turn. Eight years lat­er his mur­der was avenged by his son Orestes.

Homer, Od. iii. 263, iv. 517; Hy­gi­nus, Fab. 87.

AEGOSPOTA­MI (i.e. “Goat Streams”), a small creek is­su­ing in­to the Helle­spont, N.E. of Ses­tos, the scene of the de­ci­sive bat­tle in 405 B.C. by which Lysander de­stroyed the last Athe­ni­an ar­ma­ment in the Pelo­pon­nesian War (q.v.). The town­ship of that name, whose ex­is­tence is at­test­ed by coins of the 5th and 4th cen­turies, must have been quite in­signif­icant.

AE­FRIC, called the “Gram­mar­ian” (c. 955-1020?), En­glish ab­bot and au­thor, was born about 955. He was ed­ucat­ed in the Bene­dic­tine monastery at Winch­ester un­der AEthel­wold, who was bish­op there from 963 to 984. AEthel­wold had Car­ried on the tra­di­tion of Dun­stan in his gov­ern­ment of the abbey of Abing­don, and at Winch­ester he con­tin­ued his stren­uous ef­forts. He seems to have ac­tu­al­ly tak­en part in the work of teach­ing. AEl­fric no doubt gained some rep­uta­tion as a schol­ar at Winch­ester, for when, in 987, the abbey of Cer­nel (Cerne Ab­bas, Dorset­shire) was fin­ished, he was sent by Bish­op AElfheah (Alphege), AEthel­wold’s suc­ces­sor, at the re­quest of the chief bene­fac­tor of the abbey, the eal­dor­man AEthel­maer, to teach the Bene­dic­tine monks there. He was then in priest’s or­ders. AEthel­maer and his fa­ther AEthel­weard were both en­light­ened pa­trons of learn­ing, and be­came AEl­fric’s faith­ful friends. It was at Cer­nel, and part­ly at the de­sire, it ap­pears, of AEthel­weard, that he planned the two se­ries of his En­glish hom­ilies (ed. Ben­jamin Thor­pe, 1844–1846, for the AEl­fric So­ci­ety), come piled from the Chris­tian fa­thers, and ded­icat­ed to Siger­ic, arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury (990-994). The Latin pref­ace to the first se­ries enu­mer­ates some of AEl­fric’s au­thor­ities, the chief of whom was Gre­go­ry the Great, but the short hst there giv­en by no means ex­hausts the au­thors whom he con­sult­ed. In the pref­ace to the first vol­ume he re­grets that ex­cept for Al­fred’s trans­la­tions En­glish­men had no means of learn­ing the true doc­trine as ex­pound­ed by the Latin fa­thers. Pro­fes­sor Ear­le (A.S. Lit­er­ature, 1884) thinks he aimed at cor­rect­ing the apoc­ryphal, and to mod­ern ideas su­per­sti­tious, teach­ing of the ear­li­er Blick­ling Hom­ilies. The first se­ries of forty hom­ilies is de­vot­ed to plain and di­rect ex­po­si­tion of the chief events of the Chris­tian year; the sec­ond deals more ful­ly with church doc­trine and his­to­ry, AEl­fric de­nied the im­mac­ulate birth of the Vir­gin (Hom­ilies, ed. Thor­pe, ii. 466), and his teach­ing on the Eu­charist in the Canons and in the Ser­mo de sac­ri­fi­cio in die pas­cae (ibid. ii. 262 seq.) was ap­pealed to by the Ref­or­ma­tion writ­ers as a proof that the ear­ly En­glish church did not hold the Ro­man doc­trine of tran­sub­stan­ti­ation.1 His Latin Gram­mar and Glos­sary 2 were writ­ten for his pupils af­ter the two books of hom­ilies. A third se­ries of hom­ilies, the Lives of the Saints, dates from 906 to 997. Some of the ser­mons in the sec­ond se­ries had been writ­ten in a kind of rhyth­mi­cal, al­lit­er­ative prose, and in the Lives of the Saints (ed. W. W. Skeat, 1881-1900, for the Ear­ly En­glish Text So­ci­ety) the prac­tice is so reg­ular that most of them are ar­ranged as verse by Pro­fes­sor Skeat. By the wish of AEthel­weard he al­so be­gan a para­phrase 3 of parts of the Old Tes­ta­ment, but un­der protest, for the sto­ries re­lat­ed in it were not, he thought, suit­able for sim­ple minds. There is no cer­tain proof that he re­mained at Cer­nel. It has been sug­gest­ed that this part of his life was chiefly spent at Winch­ester; but his writ­ings for the pa­trons of Cer­nel, and the fact that he wrote in 998 his Canons 4 as a pas­toral let­ter for Wulf­sige, the bish­op of Sher­borne, the dio­cese in which the abbey was sit­uat­ed, af­ford pre­sump­tion of con­tin­ued res­idence there. He be­came in 1005 the first ab­bot of Eyn­sham or En­sham, near Ox­ford, an­oth­er foun­da­tion of AEthel­maer’s. Af­ter his el­eva­tion he wrote an abridg­ment for his monks of AEthel­wold’s De con­sue­tu­dine mona­cho­rum5, adapt­ed to their rudi­men­ta­ry ideas of monas­tic life; a let­ter to Wulfgeat of Yl­man­dun6; an in­tro­duc­tion to the study of the Old and New Tes­ta­ments (about 1008, edit­ed by William L’Isle in 1623); a Latin life of his mas­ter AEthel­wold7; a pas­toral let­ter for Wulf­stan, arch­bish­op of York and bish­op of Worces­ter, in Latin and En­glish; and an En­glish ver­sion of Be­de’s De Tem­po­ribus8. The Col­lo­qui­um9, a Latin di­alogue de­signed to serve his schol­ars as a man­ual of Latin con­ver­sa­tion, may date from his life at Cer­nel. It is safe to as­sume that the orig­inal draft of this, af­ter­wards en­larged by his pupil, AEl­fric Ba­ta, was by AEl­fric, and rep­re­sents what his own schol­ar days were like. The last men­tion of AEl­fric Ab­bot, prob­ably the gram­mar­ian, is in a will dat­ing from about 1020.

There have been three sup­po­si­tions about AEl­fric. (1) He was iden­ti­fied with AEl­fric (995–1005), arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury. This view was up­held by John Bale (III. Maj. Bril. Scrip­to­rum 2nd ed., Basel, 1557-1559; vol. i. p. 149, s.v, Al­fric); by Humphrey Wan­ley (Cat­alo­gus li­bro­rum septen­tri­on­al­ium, &c., Ox­ford, 1705, form­ing vol. ii. of George Hick­es’s An­ti­quae lit­er­at­urae septemtri­on­alis); by Eliz­abeth El­stob, The En­glish Sax­on Homi­ly on the Birth­day of St Gre­go­ry (1709; new edi­tion, 1839); and by Ed­ward Rowe Mores, AEl­frico, Dorober­nen­si, archiepis­copo, Com­men­tar­ius (ed. G. J. Thorke­lin, 1789), in which the con­clu­sions of ear­li­er writ­ers on AEl­fric are re­viewed. Mores made him ab­bot of St Au­gus­tine’s at Dover, and fi­nal­ly arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury. (2) Sir Hen­ry Spel­man, in his Conci­na . . .(1639, vol. i. p. 583), print­ed the Canones ad Wulsinum epis­cop­um, and sug­gest­ed AEl­fric Put­ta or Put­to, arch­bish­op of York, as the au­thor, adding some note of oth­ers bear­ing the name. The iden­ti­ty of AEl­fric the gram­mar­ian with AEl­fric arch­bish­op of York was al­so dis­cussed by Hen­ry Whar­ton, in An­glia Sacra (1691, vol. i. pp. 125-134), in a dis­ser­ta­tion reprint­ed in J. P. Migne’s Pa­trolo­gia (vol. 139, pp. 1459-70, Paris, 1853). (3) William of Malmes­bu­ty (De gestis pon­tif­icum An­glo­rum, ed. N. E. S. A. Hamil­ton, Rolls Se­ries, 1870, p. 406) sug­gest­ed that he was ab­bot of Malmes­bury and bish­op of Cred­iton. The main facts of his ca­reer were fi­nal­ly elu­ci­dat­ed by Ed­uard Di­et­rich in a se­ries of ar­ti­cles con­tribut­ed to C. W. Nied­ner’s Zeitschrift fur his­torische The­olo­gie (vols. for 1855 and 1856, Gotha), which have formed the ba­sis of all sub­se­quent writ­ings on the sub­ject.

Sketch­es of AEl­fric’s ca­reer are in B. Ten Brink’s Ear­ly En­glish Lit­er­ature (to Wiclif) (trans. H. M. Kennedy, New York, 1883, pp. 105-112), and by J. S. West­lake in The Cam­bridge His­to­ry of En­glish Lit­er­ature (vol. i., 1907, pp. 116-129). An ex­cel­lent bib­li­og­ra­phy and ac­count of the crit­ical ap­pa­ra­tus is giv­en in Dr R. Wulk­er’s Grun­driss zur Geschichte der an­gel­sach­sis­chen Lit­ter­atur (Leipzig, 1885; pp. 452-480). See al­so the ac­count by Pro­fes­sor Skeat in Pt. iv. pp. 8-61 of his edi­tion of the Lives of the Saints, al­ready cit­ed, which gives a full ac­count of the MSS., and a dis­cus­sion of AEl­fric’s sources, with fur­ther bib­li­ograph­ical ref­er­ences; and AEl­fric, a New Study of his Life and Writ­ings, by Miss C. L. White (Boston, New York and Lon­don, 1898) in the “Yale Stud­ies in En­glish.” Al­cui­ni In­ter­ro­ga­tiones Sigewul­fi Pre­se­by­teri in Gen­esin (ed. G. E. McLean, Halle, 1883) is at­tribut­ed to AEl­fric by its ed­itor. There are oth­er iso­lat­ed ser­mons and trea­tis­es by AEl­fric, print­ed in vol. iii. of Grein’s Bibl. v. A.S. Prosa.

1 See A Tes­ti­monie of An­tiq­ui­tie, shew­ing the aun­cient fayth in the Church of Eng­land touch­ing the sacra­ment of the body and bloude of the Lord here pub­like­ly preached, print­ed by John Day (1567). It was quot­ed in John Foxe’s Actes and Mon­uments (ed. 1610)) 2 Ed. J. Zupitza in Samm­lung en­glis­ch­er Denkmaler (vol. i., Berlin, 1880). 3 Edit­ed by Ed­ward Thwait­es as Hep­ta­teuchus (Ox­ford 1698); mod­ern edi­tion in Grein’s Bib­lio­thek der A. S. Prosa (vol. i. Cas­sel and Got­tin­gen, 1872). See al­so B. Ass­mann, Abt AEl­fric’s . . . Es­ther (Halle, 1885), and Abt AEl­fric’s Ju­dith (in An­glia, vol. x.). 4 Print­ed by Ben­jamin Thor­pe in An­cient Laws and In­sti­tutes of Eng­land (1840), with the lat­er pas­toral for Wulf­stan. 5 See E. Breck, A Frag­ment of AEl­fric; trans­la­tion of AEthel­wold’s De Con­sue­tu­dine Mona­cho­rum and its re­la­tion to oth­er MSS. (Leipzig 1887). 6 Ilm­ing­ton, on the bor­ders of War­wick­shire and Glouces­ter­shire. 7 In­clud­ed by J. Steven­son in the Chron. Monast. de Abin­gon (vol. ii. pp. 253-266, Rolls Se­ries, 1858). 8 See Os­wald Cock­ayne, Leech­doms, Wort­cun­ning and Star­craft (vol. iii., 1866, pp. xiv.-xix. and pp. 233 et. seq.) in the Rolls Se­ries. 9 See an ar­ti­cle by J. Zupitza in the Zeitschrift fur deutsches Al­ter­tum (vol. xix., new se­ries, 1887).

AELIA CAPI­TOLI­NA, the city built by the em­per­or Hadri­an, A.D. 131, and oc­cu­pied by a Ro­man colony, on the site of Jerusalem (q.v.), which was in ru­ins when he vis­it­ed his Syr­ian do­min­ions. Aelia is de­rived from the em­per­or’s fam­ily name, and Capi­loli­na from that of Jupiter Capi­toli­nus, to whom a tem­ple was built on the site of the Jew­ish tem­ple.

AELIAN (AELIANUS TACTI­CUS), Greek mil­itary writ­er of the 2nd cen­tu­ry A.D., res­ident at Rome. He is some­times con­fused with Claudius Aelianus, the Ro­man writ­er re­ferred to be­low. Aelian’s mil­itary trea­tise, Tak­tike Theo­ria, is ded­icat­ed to Hadri­an, though this is prob­ably a mis­take for Tra­jan, and the date A.D. 106 has been as­signed to it. It is a hand­book of Greek, i.e. Mace­do­nian, drill and tac­tics as prac­tised by the Hel­lenis­tic suc­ces­sors of Alexan­der the Great. The au­thor claims to have con­sult­ed all the best au­thor­ities, the chief of which was a lost trea­tise on the sub­ject by Poly­bius. Per­haps the chief val­ue of Aelian’s work lies in his crit­ical ac­count of pre­ced­ing works on the art of war, and in the ful­ness of his tech­ni­cal de­tails in mat­ters of drill. Crit­ics of the 18th cen­tu­ry—Guichard Fo­lard and the prince de Ligne–were unan­imous in think­ing Aelian great­ly in­fe­ri­or to Ar­ri­an, but both on his im­me­di­ate suc­ces­sors, the Byzan­tines, and on the Arabs, who trans­lat­ed the text for their own use, Aelian ex­er­cised a great in­flu­ence. The em­per­or Leo VI. in­cor­po­rat­ed much of Aelian’s text in his own work on the mil­itary art. The Ara­bic ver­sion of Aelian was made about 1350. In spite of its aca­dem­ic na­ture, the co­pi­ous de­tails to be found in the trea­tise ren­dered it of the high­est val­ue to the army or­ga­niz­ers of the 16th cen­tu­ry, who were en­gaged in fash­ion­ing a reg­ular mil­itary sys­tem out of the se­mi-​feu­dal sys­tems of pre­vi­ous gen­er­ations. The Mace­do­nian pha­lanx of Aelian had many points of re­sem­blance to the sol­id mass­es of pike­men and the “squadrons” of cav­al­ry of the Span­ish and Dutch sys­tems, and the trans­la­tions made in the 16th cen­tu­ry formed the ground­work of nu­mer­ous books on drill and tac­tics. More­over, his works, with those of Xenophon, Poly­bius, Ae­neas and Ar­ri­an, were minute­ly stud­ied by ev­ery sol­dier of the 16th and 17th cen­turies who wished to be mas­ter of his pro­fes­sion. It has been sug­gest­ed that Ael­lan was the re­al au­thor of most of Ar­ri­an’s Tac­ti­ca, and that the Tak­tike Theo­ria is a lat­er re­vi­sion of this orig­inal, but the the­ory is not gen­er­al­ly ac­cept­ed.

The first edi­tion of the Greek text is that of Robortel­li (Venice, 1552); the Elze­vir text (Lei­den, 1613) has notes. The text in W. Rus­tow and H. Kochly’s Gric­chis­che Kriegss­chrift­steller (1855) is ac­com­pa­nied by a trans­la­tion, notes and re­pro­duc­tions of the orig­inal il­lus­tra­tions. A Latin trans­la­tion by Theodore Gaza of Thes­sa­loni­ca was in­clud­ed in the fa­mous col­lec­tion Vet­eres de re mililari scrip­tores (Rome and Venice, 1487, Cologne, 1528, &c.). The French trans­la­tion of Machault, in­clud­ed in his Mil­ices des Grecs et Ro­mains (Paris, 1615) and en­ti­tled De la Ser­gen­terie des Grecs, a Ger­man trans­la­tion from Theodore Gaza (Cologne, 1524), and the En­glish ver­sion of Jo. B(in­gham), which in­cludes a drill-​man­ual of the En­glish troops in the Dutch ser­vice, Tacticks of Aelian (Lon­don, 1616) are of im­por­tance in the mil­itary lit­er­ature of the pe­ri­od. A lat­er French trans­la­tion by Bouchard de Bussy. La Mil­ice des Grecs on Tac­tique d’Elien (Paris 1737 and 1757); Baum­gart­ner’s Ger­man trans­la­tion in his in­com­plete Samm­lung aller Kriegss­chrift­steller der Griechen (Mannheim and Franken­thal, 1779), re­pro­duced in 1786 as Von Schlach­tord­nun­gen, and Vis­count Dil­lon’s En­glish ver­sion (Lon­don, 1814) may al­so be men­tioned. See al­so R. Forster, Stu­di­en zu den griechis­chen Tak­tik­ern (Her­mes, xii., 1877, pp. 444-449); F. Wusten­feld, Das Heer­we­sen der Muhammedan­er und die ara­bis­che Ue­ber­set­zung der Tak­tik des Aelianus (Got­tin­gen, 1880); M. Jahns, Gesch. der Kriegswis­senscharen, i. 95-97 (Mu­nich, 1889); Rus­tow and Kochly, Gesch. des griechis­chen Kriegswe­sens (1852). A. de Lort-​Serig­nan, La Pha­lange (1880); P. Serre, Etudes sur L’his­toire mil­itaire et mar­itime des Grecs et des Ro­mains (1887); K. K. Muller, in Pauly-​Wis­sowa, Realen­cy­clopadie (Stuttgart, 1894).

AELIAN (CLAUDIUS AELIANUS), Ro­man au­thor and teach­er of rhetoric, born at Praen­este, flour­ished un­der Sep­ti­mius Severus and prob­ably out­lived Elaga­balus (d. 222). He spoke Greek so per­fect­ly that he was called “hon­ey-​tongued” (meliglos­sos); Al­though a Ro­man he pre­ferred Greek au­thors, and wrote in Greek him­self. His chief works are: On the Na­ture of An­imals, cu­ri­ous and in­ter­est­ing sto­ries of an­imal life, fre­quent­ly used to con­vey moral lessons (ed. Schnei­der, 1784; Ja­cobs, 1832); Var­ious His­to­ry-​for the most part pre­served on­ly in an abridged form–con­sist­ing main­ly of anec­dotes of men and cus­toms (ed. Lune­mann, 1811). Both works are valu­able for the nu­mer­ous ex­cerpts from old­er writ­ers. Con­sid­er­able frag­ments of two oth­er works On Prov­idence and Di­vine Man­ifes­ta­tions are pre­served in Suidas; twen­ty Peas­ants’ Let­ters, af­ter the man­ner of Al­ci­phron but in­fe­ri­or, are al­so at­tribut­ed to him.

Edi­tio prin­ceps of com­plete works by Ges­ner, 1556; Hercher, 1864-1866. En­glish trans­la­tion of the Var­ious His­to­ry on­ly by Flem­ing, 1576, and Stan­ley, 1665; of the Let­ters by Quil­lard (French), 1895.

AELRED, AILRED, ETHELRED (1100-1166), En­glish the­olo­gian, his­tor­ical writ­er and ab­bot of Rievaulx, was born at Hex­ham about the year 1109. In his youth he was at the court of Scot­land as an at­ten­dant of Hen­ry, son of David I. He was in high favour with that sovereign, but re­nounced the prospect of a bish­opric to en­ter the Cis­ter­cian house of Rievaulx in York­shire, which was found­ed in 1131 by Wal­ter Es­pec. Here AElred re­mained for some time as mas­ter of the novices, but be­tween the years 1142 and 1146 was elect­ed ab­bot of Reves­by in Lin­colnshire and mi­grat­ed thith­er. In 1146 he be­came ab­bot of Rievaulx. He led a life of the sever­est as­ceti­cism, and was cred­it­ed with the pow­er of work­ing mir­acles; ow­ing to his rep­uta­tion the num­bers of Rievaulx were great­ly in­creased. In 1164 he went as a mis­sion­ary to the Picts of Gal­loway. He found their re­li­gion at a low ebb, the reg­ular cler­gy ap­athet­ic and sen­su­al, the bish­op lit­tle obeyed, the laity di­vid­ed by tho fam­ily feuds of their rulers, un­chaste and ig­no­rant. He in­duced a Gal­we­gian chief to take the habit of re­li­gion, and re­stored the peace of the coun­try. Two years lat­er he died of a de­cline, at Rievaulx, in the fifty-​sev­enth year of his age. In the year 1191 he was can­on­ized. His writ­ings are vo­lu­mi­nous and have nev­er been com­plete­ly pub­lished. Amongst them are hom­ilies “on the bur­den of Baby­lon in Isa­iah”; three books “on spir­itu­al friend­ship”; a life of Ed­ward the Con­fes­sor; an ac­count of mir­acles wrought at Hex­ham, and the tract called Re­la­tio de Stan­dar­do. This last is an ac­count of the Bat­tle of the Stan­dard (1138), bet­ter blown than the sim­ilar ac­count by Richard of Hex­ham, but less trust­wor­thy, and in places ob­scured by a pe­cu­liar­ly turgid rhetoric.

See the Vi­ta Alre­di in John of Tynemouth’s No­va Leg­en­da An­glie (ed. C. Horstmann, 1901, vol. i. p. 4i), whence it was tak­en by Cap­grave. From Cap­grave the work passed in­to the Bol­lan­dist Ac­ta Sanc­to­rum (Jan. ii p. 30). This life is anony­mous, but of an ear­ly date. The most com­plete print­ed col­lec­tion of AElred’s works is in Migne’s Pa­trolo­gia Lati­na, vol. cx­cv.; but this does not in­clude the Mirac­ula Hag­ul­stat­den­sis Ec­cle­si­ae which are print­ed in J. Raine’s Pri­ory of Hex­ham, vol. i. (Sur­tees So­ci­ety, 1864).–A com­plete list of works at­tribut­ed to AElred is giv­en in T. Tan­ner’s Bib­lio­the­ca Bri­tan­ni­co-​Hi­ber­ni­ca (1748), pp. 247,248. The Re­la­tio de Stan­dar­do has been crit­ical­ly edit­ed by R. Howlett in Chron­icles, &c., of Stephen, Hen­ry II. and Richard I., vol. iii. (Rolls Se­ries, 1886). . (H. W. C. D.)

AE­MIL­IA VIA, or AE­MIL­IAN WAY. (1) A high­road of Italy, con­struct­ed in 187 B.C. by the con­sul M. Aemil­ius Lep­idus, from whom it taves its name; it ran from Arim­inum to Pla­cen­tia, a dis­tance of 176 m. al­most straight N.W., with the plain of the Po (Padus) and its trib­utaries on the right, and the Apen­nines on the left. The 79th mile­stone from Arim­inum found in the bed of the Phenus at Bonon­ia records the restora­tion of the road by Au­gus­tus from Arim­inum to the riv­er Tre­bia in 2 B.C. (No­tiz. Scav., 1902, 539). The bridge by which it crossed the Sil­laro was re­stored by Tra­jan in A.D. 100 (No­tizie degli Scavi, 1888, 621). The mod­ern high­road fol­lows the an­cient line, and some of the orig­inal bridges still ex­ist. Af­ter Au­gus­tus, the road gave its name to the dis­trict which formed the eighth re­gion of Italy (pre­vi­ous­ly known as Gal­lia or Provin­cia Arim­inum), at first in pop­ular us­age (as in Mar­tial), but in of­fi­cial lan­guage as ear­ly as the 2nd cen­tu­ry; it is still in use (see EMIL­IA). The dis­trict was bound­ed on the N. by the Padus, E. by the Adri­at­ic, S. by the riv­er Crus­tu­mi­um (mod. Con­ca), and W. by the Apen­nines and the Ira (mod. Staffo­ra) at Iria (mod. Voghera), and cor­re­sponds ap­prox­imate­ly with the mod­ern dis­trict.

(2) A road con­struct­ed in 109 B.C. by the cen­sor M. Aemil­lus Scau­rus from Va­da Volater­rana and Lu­na to Va­da Saba­tia and thence over the Apen­nines to Il­er­tona (Tor­tona), where it joined the Via Pos­tu­mia from Gen­ua to Cre­mona. We must, how­ev­er (as Momm­sen points out in C.I.L. v. p. 885), sup­pose that the por­tion of the coast road from Va­da Volater­rana to Gen­ua at least must have ex­ist­ed be­fore the con­struc­tion of the Via Pos­tu­mia in 148 B.C. In­deed Poly­bius (iii. 39. 8) tells us (and this must re­fer to the time of the Grac­chi if not ear­li­er) that the Ro­mans had in his time built the coast road from the Rhone to Cartha­go No­va; and it is in­cred­ible that the coast road in Italy it­self should not have been con­struct­ed pre­vi­ous­ly. It is, how­ev­er, a very dif­fer­ent thing to open a road for traf­fic, and so to con­struct it that it takes its name from that con­struc­tion in per­pe­tu­ity. (, As.)

AEMIL­IUS, PAULUS (PAO­LO EMILIO ) (d. 1529), Ital­ian his­to­ri­an, was born at Verona. He ob­tained such rep­uta­tion in his own coun­try that he was in­vit­ed to France in the reign of Charles VI­II., in or­der to write in Latin the his­to­ry of the kings of France, and was pre­sent­ed to a canon­ry in Notre Dame. He en­joyed the pa­tron­age and sup­port of Louis XII. He died at Paris on the 5th of May 1529. His De Re­bus gestis Fran­co­rum was trans­lat­ed in­to French in 1581, and has al­so been trans­lat­ed in­to Ital­ian and Ger­man.

AE­NEAS, the fa­mous Tro­jan hero, son of An­chis­es and Aphrodite, one of the most im­por­tant fig­ures in Greek and Ro­man leg­endary his­to­ry. In Homer, he is rep­re­sent­ed as the chief bul­wark of the Tro­jans next to Hec­tor, and the favourite of the gods, who fre­quent­ly in­ter­pose to save him from dan­ger (Il­iad, v. 311). The leg­end that he re­mained in the coun­try af­ter the fall of Troy, and found­ed a new king­dom (Il­iad, xx. 308; Hymn to Aphrodite, 196) is now gen­er­al­ly con­sid­ered to be of com­par­ative­ly late ori­gin. The sto­ry of his em­igra­tion is post-​Home­ric, and set forth in its fullest de­vel­op­ment by Vir­gil in the Aeneid. Car­ry­ing his aged fa­ther and house­hold gods on his back and lead­ing his lit­tle son As­ca­nius by the hand, he makes his way to the coast, his wife Creusa be­ing lost dur­ing the con­fu­sion of the flight. Af­ter a per­ilous voy­age to Thrace, De­los, Crete and Sici­ly (where his fa­ther dies), he is cast up by a storm, sent by Juno, on the African coast. Re­fus­ing to re­main with Di­do, queen of Carthage, who in de­spair puts an end to her life, he sets sail from Africa, and af­ter sev­en years’ wan­der­ing lands at the mouth of the Tiber. He is hos­pitably re­ceived by Lat­inus, king of Latium, is be­trothed to his daugh­ter Lavinia, and founds a city called af­ter her, Lavini­um. Tur­nus, king of Ru­tuli, a re­ject­ed suit­or, takes up arms against him and Lat­inus, but is de­feat­ed and slain by Ae­neas on the riv­er Nu­mi­cius. The sto­ry of the Aeneid ends with the death of Tur­nus. Ac­cord­ing to (i. 1. 2), Ae­neas, af­ter reign­ing a few years over Latium, is slain by the Ru­tuli; af­ter the bat­tle, his body can­not be found, and he is sup­posed to have been car­ried up to heav­en. He re­ceives di­vine hon­ours, and is wor­shipped un­der the name of Jupiter In­di­ges (Diony­sius Halle. i. 64).

See J. A. Hild, La Leg­ende d’Enee avant Vergile (1883); F. Cauer, De Fabuls Grae­cis ad Ro­mam con­di­tum per­ti­nen­tibus (1884) and Die Romis­che Ae­ne­as­sage, von Nae­vius bis Vergilius (1886); G. Boissier, “La Leg­ende d’Enee” in Re­vue des Deux Mon­des, Sept. 1883; A. Forste­mann, Zur Geschichte des Ae­neas­mythus (1894); ar­ti­cles in Pauly-​Wis­sowa’s Realen­cy­clopadie (new ed., 1894); Rosch­er’s Lex­icon der Mytholo­gie; Darem­berg and Saglio’s Dic­tio­nnaire des an­tiq­uites; Preller’s Griechis­che und romis­che Mytholo­gie; and es­pe­cial­ly Schwe­gler, Romis­che Geschichte (1867).

Ro­mances.—The sto­ry of Ae­neas, as a se­quel to the leg­end of Troy, formed the sub­ject of sev­er­al epic ro­mances in the mid­dle ages. The Ro­man d’Eneas (c. 1160, or lat­er), of un­cer­tain au­thor­ship (at­tribut­ed by some to Benoit de Sainte-​More), the first French po­em di­rect­ly im­itat­ed from the Aeneid, is a fair­ly close adap­ta­tion of the ori­inal. The trou­vere, how­ev­er, omits the greater part of the wan­der­ings of Ae­neas, and adorns his nar­ra­tive with gor­geous de­scrip­tions, with ac­counts of the mar­vel­lous prop­er­ties of beasts and stones, and of sin­gle com­bats among the knights who fig­ure in the sto­ry. He al­so elab­orates the episodes most at­trac­tive to his au­di­ence, no­tably those of Di­do and Ae­neas and Lavinia, the last of whom plays a far more im­por­tant part than in the Aeneid. Where pos­si­ble, he sub­sti­tutes hu­man for di­vine in­ter­ven­tion, and ig­nores the idea of the glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of Rome and Au­gus­tus, which dom­inates the Vir­gilian epic. On this work were found­ed the Enei­de or Eneit (be­tween 1180 and 1190) of Hein­rich von Veldeke, writ­ten in Flem­ish and now on­ly ex­tant in a ver­sion in the Thuringian di­alect, and the Eney­dos, writ­ten by William Cax­ton in 1490. See Eneas, ed. J. Salver­do de Grave (Halle, 1891); see al­so A. Lit­teraire de la France, xix.; Veldeke’s En­cide, ed. Ettmuller (Leipzig, 1852) and O. Be­haghel (Heil­bronn, 1882); Eney­dos, ed. F. J. Fur­ni­vall (1890). For Ital­ian ver­sions see E. G. Par­odi in Stu­di di filolo­gia ro­man­za (v. 1887).

AE­NEAS TACTI­CUS (4th cen­tu­ry B.C.), one of the ear­li­est Greek writ­ers on the art of war. Ac­cord­ing to Aelianus Tacti­cus and Poly­bius, he wrote a num­ber of trea­tis­es (Up­om­ne­ma­ta) on the sub­ject; the on­ly one ex­tant deals with the best meth­ods of de­fend­ing a for­ti­fied city. An epit­ome of the whole was made by Cineas, min­is­ter of Pyrrhus, king of Epirus. The work is chiefly valu­able as con­tain­ing a large num­ber of his­tor­ical il­lus­tra­tions. Ae­neas was con­sid­ered by Casaubon to have been a con­tem­po­rary of Xenophon and iden­ti­cal with the Ar­ca­di­an gen­er­al Ae­neas of Stym­phalus, whom Xenophon (Hel­leni­ca, vii. 3) men­tions as fight­ing at the bat­tle of Man­tinea (362 B.C.). Edi­tions in I. Casaubon’s (1619), Gronovius’ (1670) and Ernesti’s (1763) edi­tions of Poly­bius; al­so.sep­arate­ly, with notes, by J. C. Orel­li (Leipzig, 1818). Oth­er texts are those of W. Rus­tow and H. Kochly (Griechis­che Kriegss­chrift­steller, vol. i. Leipzig, 183S) and A. Hug, Pro­le­gom­ena Crit­ica ad Ae­neae edi­tionem (Zurich Uni­ver­si­ty, 1874). See al­so Count Beau­so­bre, Com­men­taires sur la de­fense des places d’Ae­neas (Am­ster­dam, 1757); A. Hug, Ae­neas von Stym­pha­los (Zurich, 1877); C. C. Lange, De Ae­neae com­men­tario po­liorceti­co (Berlin, 1879); M. H. Mey­er, Ob­ser­va­tiones in Ae­neam Tacticum (Halle, 1835) ; Haase, in Jahns Jahrbuch, 1835, xiv. 1 ; Max Jahns, Gesch. der Kriegswis­senschaften, i. pp. 26-28 (Mu­nich, 1889) ; Ad. Bauer, in Zeitschrift fur allg. Geschichte, &c., 1886, i.; T. H. Williams in Amer­ican Jour­nal of Philol­ogy, xxv. 4; E. Schwartz in Pauly-​Wis­sowa, Realen­cy­clopadie (Stuttgart, 1894).

AE­NESIDE­MUS, Greek philoso­pher, was born at Cnos­sus in Crete and taught at Alexan­dria, prob­ably dur­ing the first cen­tu­ry B.C. He was the lead­er of what is some­times known as the third scep­ti­cal school and re­vived to a great ex­tent the doc­trine of Pyrrho and Ti­mon. His chief work was the Pyrrho­ni­an Prin­ci­ples ad­dressed to Lu­cius Tubero. His phi­los­ophy con­sist­ed of four main parts, the rea­sons for scep­ti­cism and doubt, the at­tack on causal­ity and truth, a phys­ical the­ory and a the­ory of moral­ity. Of these the two for­mer are im­por­tant. The rea­sons for doubt are giv­en in the form of the ten “tropes”: (1) dif­fer­ent an­imals man­ifest dif­fer­ent modes of per­cep­tion; (2) sim­ilar dif­fer­ences are seen among in­di­vid­ual men; (3) even for the same man, sense-​giv­en da­ta are self-​con­tra­dic­to­ry, (4) vary from time to time with phys­ical changes, and (5) ac­cord- ing to lo­cal re­la­tions; (6) and (7) ob­jects are known on­ly in- di­rect­ly through the medi­um of air, mois­ture, &c., and are in a con­di­tion of per­pet­ual change in colour, tem­per­ature, size and mo­tion; (8) all per­cep­tions are rel­ative and in­ter­act one up­on an­oth­er; (9) Our im­pres­sions be­come less deep by rep­eti­tion and cus­tom; and (10) all men are brought up with dif­fer­ent be­liefs, un­der dif­fer­ent laws and so­cial con­di­tions. Truth varies in­finite­ly un­der cir­cum­stances whose rel­ative weight can­not be ac­cu­rate­ly gauged. There is, there­fore, no ab­so­lute knowl­edge, for ev­ery man has dif­fer­ent per­cep­tions, and, fur­ther, ar­ranges and groups his da­ta in meth­ods pe­cu­liar to him­self; so that the sum to­tal is a quan­ti­ty with a pure­ly sub­jec­tive va­lid­ity. The sec­ond part of his work con­sists in the at­tack up­on the the­ory of causal­ity, in which he ad­duces al­most en­tire­ly those con­sid­er­ations which are the ba­sis of mod­ern scep­ti­cism. Cause has no ex­is­tence apart from the mind which per­ceives; its va­lid­ity is ide­al, or, as Kant would have said, sub­jec­tive. The re­la­tion be­tween cause and ef­fect is un­think­able. If the two things are dif­fer­ent, they are ei­ther si­mul­ta­ne­ous or in suc­ces­sion. If si­mul­ta­ne­ous, cause is ef­fect and ef­fect cause. If not, since ef­fect can­not pre­cede cause, cause must pre­cede ef­fect, and there must be an in­stant when cause is not ef­fec­tive, that is, is not it­self. By these and sim­ilar ar­gu­ments he ar­rives at the fun­da­men­tal prin­ci­ple of Scep­ti­cism, the rad­ical and uni­ver­sal op­po­si­tion tion of caus­es; pan­ti lo­go lo­gos an­tikeitai. Hav­ing reached this con­clu­sion, he was able to as­sim­ilate the phys­ical the­ory of Her­acli­tus, as is ex­plained in the Hy­po­ty­pos­es of Sex­tus Em­pir­icus. For ad­mit­ting that con­traries co-​ex­ist for the per­ceiv­ing sub­ject, he was able to as­sert the co-​ex­is­tence of con­trary qual­ities in the same ob­ject. Hav­ing thus dis­posed of the ideas of truth and causal­ity, he pro­ceeds to un­der­mine the eth­ical cri­te­ri­on, and de­nies that any man can aim at Good, Plea­sure or Hap­pi­ness as an ab­so­lute, con­crete ide­al. All ac­tions are prod­uct of plea­sure and pain, good and evil. The end of eth­ical en­deav­our is the con­clu­sion that all en­deav­our is vain and il­log­ical. The main ten­den­cy of this de­struc­tive scep­ti­cism is es­sen­tial­ly the same from its first crys­tal­liza­tion by Ae­neside­mus down to the most ad­vanced scep­tics of to-​day (ree SCEP­TI­CISM). For the im­me­di­ate suc­ces­sors of Ae­neside­mus see AGRIP­PA, SEX­TUS EM­PIR­ICUS. See al­so CARNEADES and ARCE­SI­LAUS. Of the Por­roneioi lo­goi noth­ing re­mains; we have, how­ev­er, an anal­ysis in the Myri­obib­lion of Photius. See Zeller’s His­to­ry of Greek Phi­los­ophy; F. Sais­set, AE­nesideme, Pas­cal, Kant; Rit­ter and Preller, sec. sec. 364-87O.

AE­OLIAN HARP (Fr. harpe eoli­enne; Ger. Aol­sharfe, Wind­harfe; Ital. arpa d’Eo­lo), a stringed mu­si­cal in­stru­ment, whose name is de­rived from Ae­olus, god of the wind. The ae­olian harp con­sists of a sound-​box about 3 ft long, 5 in. wide, and 3 in. deep, made of thin deal, or prefer­ably of pine, and hav­ing beech ends to hold the tun­ing-​pins and hitch-​pins. A dozen or less catgut strings of dif­fer­ent thick­ness, but tuned in ex­act uni­son, and left rather slack, are at­tached to the pins, and stretched over two nar­row bridges of hard wood, one at each end of the sound-​board, which is gen­er­al­ly pro­vid­ed with two rose sound-​holes. To en­sure a prop­er pas­sage for the wind, an­oth­er pine board is placed over the strings, rest­ing on pegs at the ends of the sound-​board, or on a con­tin­ua­tion of the ends raised from 1 to 3 in. above the strings. Kauf­mann of Dres­den and Hein­rich Christoph Koch, who im­proved the ae­olian harp, in­tro­duced this con­trivance, which was called by them Wind­fang and Wind­flugel; the up­per board was pro­longed be­yond the sound-​box in the shape of a fun­nel, in or­der to di­rect the cur­rent of air on to the strings. The ae­olian harp is placed across a win­dow so that the wind blows oblique­ly across the strings, caus­ing them to vi­brate in aliquot parts, i.e. (the fun­da­men­tal note not be­ing heard) the half or oc­tave, the third or in­ter­val of the twelfth, the sec­ond Oc­tave, and the third above it, in fact the up­per par­tials of the strings in reg­ular suc­ces­sion. With the in­creased pres­sure of the wind, the dis­so­nances of the 11th and 13th over­tones are heard in shrill dis­cords, on­ly to give place to beau­ti­ful har­monies as the force of the wind abates. The prin­ci­ple of the nat­ural vi­bra­tion of strings by the pres­sure of the wind was rec­og­nized in an­cient times; King David, we hear from the Rab­binic records, used to hang his kin­nor (kithara) over his bed at night, when it sound­ed in the mid­night breeze. The same is re­lat­ed of St Dun­stan of Can­ter­bury, who was in con­se­quence charged with sor­cery. The Chi­nese at the present day fly kites of var­ious sizes, hav­ing strings stretched across aper­tures in the pa­per, which pro­duces the ef­fect of an aeri­al cho­rus.

See Athana­sius Kircher, Musurgia Uni­ver­salis, where the ae­olian harp is first de­scribed (1602-1608), p. 148; Math­ew Young, Bish­op of Clon­fert, En­quiry in­to the Prin­ci­pal Phe­nom­ena of Sounds and Mu­si­cal Strings pp. 170-182 (Lon­don, 1784); Got­tin­gen Pock­et Cal­en­dar (1792); Mendel’s Musikalis­ches Con­ver­sa­tions-​Lexikon, ar­ti­cle “Ae­ol­sharfe.’, An il­lus­tra­tion is giv­en in Rees’ En­cy­clo­pe­dia, plates, vol. ii. Misc. pl. xxv (K. S.)

AE­OLIS (AE­OLIA), an an­cient dis­trict of Asia Mi­nor, col­onized at a very ear­ly date by Ae­olian Greeks. The name was ap­plied to the coast from the riv­er Her­mus to the promon­to­ry of Lec­ture, i.o. be­tween Io­nia to S. and Troas to N. The Ae­olians found­ed twelve cities on the main­land, in­clud­ing Cyme, and nu­mer­ous towns in Myti­lene: they were said al­so to have set­tled in the Troad and even with­in the Helle­spont.

AE­OLUS, in Greek mythol­ogy, ac­cord­ing to Homer the son of Hip­potes, god and fa­ther of the winds, and ruler of the is­land of Ae­olia. In the Odyssey (x. I) he en­ter­tains Odysseus, gives him a favourable wind to help him on his jour­ney, and a bag in which the un­favourable winds have been con­fined. Out of cu­rios­ity. or with the idea that it con­tains valu­able trea­sures, Odysseus’ com­pan­ions open the bag; the winds es­cape and drive them back to the is­land, whence Ae­olus dis­miss­es them with bit­ter re­proach­es. Ac­cord­ing to Vir­gil, Ae­olus dwells on one of the Ae­olian is­lands to the north of Sici­ly, Li­para or Strongyle (Strom­boll), where he keeps the winds im­pris­oned in a vast cav­ern (Vir­gil, Aen. i. 52). An­oth­er ge­neal­ogy makes him the son of Po­sei­don and Arne, grand­daugh­ter of Hip­potes, and a de­scen­dant of Ae­olus, king of Mag­ne­sia in Thes­saly, the myth­ical an­ces­tor of the tribe of the Ae­olians (Diodor­us iv. 67).

AEON, a term of­ten used in Greek (aion) to de­note an in­def­inite or in­fi­nite du­ra­tion of time; and hence, by metonymy, a be­ing that ex­ists for ev­er. In the lat­ter sense it was chiefly used by the Gnos­tic sects to de­note those eter­nal be­ings or man­ifes­ta­tions which em­anat­ed from the one in­com­pre­hen­si­ble and in­ef­fa­ble God. (See GNOS­TI­CISM.)

AEPI­NUS, FRANZ UL­RICH THEODOR (1724-1802), Ger­man nat­ural philoso­pher, was born at Ro­stock in Sax­ony on the 13th of De­cem­ber 1724. He was de­scend­ed from John Aepi­nus (1499-1553), the first to adopt the Greek form (aiper­nos) of the fam­ily name Hugk or Huck, and a lead­ing the­olo­gian and con­tro­ver­sial­ist at the time of the Ref­or­ma­tion. Af­ter study­ing medicine for a time, Franz Aepi­nus de­vot­ed him­self to the phys­ical and math­emat­ical sci­ences, in which he soon gained such dis­tinc­tion that he was ad­mit­ted a mem­ber of the Berlin acade­my of sci­ences. In 1757 he set­tled in St Pe­ters­burg as mem­ber of the im­pe­ri­al acade­my of sci­ences and pro­fes­sor of physics, and re­mained there till his re­tire­ment in 1798. The rest of his life was spent at Dor­pat, where he died on the 10th of Au­gust 1802. He en­joyed the spe­cial favour of the em­press Cather­ine II., who ap­point­ed him tu­tor to her son Paul, and en­deav­oured, with­out suc­cess, to es­tab­lish nor­mal schools through­out the em­pire un­der his di­rec­tion. Aepi­nus is best known by his re­search­es, the­oret­ical and ex­per­imen­tal, in elec­tric­ity and mag­netism, and his prin­ci­pal work, Ten­ta­men Theo­ri­ae Elec­tric­itatis et Mag­netis­mi, pub­lished at St Pe­ters­burg in 1759, was the first sys­tem­at­ic and suc­cess­ful at­tempt to ap­ply math­emat­ical rea­son­ing to these sub­jects. He al­so pub­lished a trea­tise, in 176I, De dis­tri­bu­tione caloris per tel­lurem, and he was the au­thor of mem­oirs on dif­fer­ent sub­jects in as­tron­omy, me­chan­ics, op­tics and pure math­emat­ics, con­tained in the jour­nals of the learned so­ci­eties of St Pe­ters­burg and Berlin. His dis­cus­sion of the ef­fects of par­al­lax in the tran­sit of a plan­et over the sun’s disc ex­cit­ed great in­ter­est, hav­ing ap­peared (in 1764) be­tween the dates of the two tran­sits of Venus that took place in the 18th cen­tu­ry.

AE­QUI, an an­cient peo­ple of Italy, whose name oc­curs con­stant­ly in Livy,s first decade as hos­tile to Rome in the first three Cen­turies of the city’s ex­is­tence. They oc­cu­pied the up­per reach­es of the val­leys of the Anio, Tolenus and Himel­la; the last two be­ing moun­tain streams run­ing north­ward to join the Nar. Their chief cen­tre is said to have been tak­en by the Ro­mans about 484 B.C. (Diodor­us xi. 40) and again about nine­ty years lat­er (id. xiv. 106), but they were not fi­nal­ly sub­dued Un­til the end of the sec­ond Sam­nite war (Livy ix. 45,; x. 1; Diod. xx. 101), when they seem to have re­ceived a lim­it­ed form of fran­chise (Cic. Off. i. II, 35). All we know of their sub­se­quent po­lit­ical con­di­tion is that af­ter the So­cial war the folk of Cliter­nia and Ner­sae ap­pear unit­ed in a res Pub­li­ca Ae­quicu­lo­rum, which was a mu­nicip­ium of the or­di­nary type (C.I.L. ix. p. 388). The Latin colonies of Al­ba Fu­cens (304 B.C.) and Car­si­oll (298 B.C.) must have spread the use of Latin (or what passed as such) all over the dis­trict; through it by the chief (and for some time the on­ly) route (Pia Va­le­ria) to Luce­ria and the south. Of the lan­guage spo­ken by the Ae­qui be­fore the Ro­man con­quest we have no record; but since the Mar­si (q.v.), who lived far­ther east, spoke in the 3rd cen­tu­ry B.C. a di­alect close­ly akin to Latin, and since the Her­ni­ci (q.v.), their neigh­bours to the south-​west, did the same, we have no ground for sep­arat­ing any of these tribes from the La­tian group (see LA­TI­NI). If we could be cer­tain of the ori­gin of the a in their name and of the re­la­tion be­tween its short­er and its longer form (note that the i in Ae­qui­cidus is long–Vir­gil, Aen. vii. 74—-which seems to con­nect it with the loca­tive of ae­qu­um “a plain,” so that it would mean “dwellers in the plain”; but in the his­tor­ical pe­ri­od they cer­tain­ly lived main­ly in the hills), we should know whether they were to be grouped with the q or the p di­alects, that is to say, with Latin on the one hand, which pre­served an orig­inal q, or with the di­alect of Veli­trae, com­mon­ly called Vols­cian (and the Volsci were the con­stant al­lies of the Ae­qui), on the oth­er hand, in which, as in the Igu­vine and Sam­nite di­alects, an orig­inal q is changed in­to p. There is no de­ci­sive ev­idence to show whether the q in Latin ae­qu­us rep­re­sents an In­do-​Eu­ro­pean q as in Latin quis, Um­bro-​Volsc. pis, or an In­do-​Eu­ro­pean k+u as in equ­us, Umb. ek­vo-. The deriva­tive ad­jec­tive Ae­quicus might be tak­en to range them with the Volsci rather than the Sabi­ni, but it is not clear that this ad­jec­tive was ev­er used as a re­al eth­ni­con; the name of the tribe is al­ways Ae­qai, or Ae­quicoli. At the end of the Re­pub­li­can pe­ri­od the Ae­qui ap­pear, un­der the name Ae­qui­culi or Ae­quicoh, or­ga­nized as a mu­nicip­ium, the ter­ri­to­ry of which seems to have com­prised the up­per part of the val­ley of the Salto, still known as Ci­colano. It is prob­able, how­ev­er, that they con­tin­ued to live in their vil­lages as be­fore. Of these Ner­sae (mod. Nesce) was the most con­sid­er­able. The polyg­onal ter­race walls, which ex­ist in con­sid­er­able num­bers in the dis­trict, are short­ly de­scribed in Romis­che Mit­teilun­gen (1903), 147 seq., but re­quire fur­ther study. See fur­ther the ar­ti­cles MAR­SI, VOLSCI, LA­TI­NI, and the ref­er­ences there giv­en; the place-​names and oth­er scanty records of the di­alect are col­lect­ed by R. S. Con­way. The Ital­ic Di­alects, pp. 300 ff. (R. S. C.)

AER­ARII (from Lat. aes, in its sub­sidiary sense of “poll­tax”), orig­inal­ly a class of Ro­man cit­izens not in­clud­ed in the thir­ty tribes of Servius Tul­lius, and sub­ject to a poll-​tax ar­bi­trar­ily fixed by the cen­sor. They were (1) the in­hab­itants of con­quered towns which had been de­prived of lo­cal self-​gov­ern­ment, who pos­sessed the jus eonu­bii and ius com­mercii, but no po­lit­ical rights; Caere is said to have been the first ex­am­ple of this (353 B.C.); hence the ex­pres­sion “in tab­ulas Caer­itum re­ferre” came to mean “to de­grade to the sta­tus of an aer­ar­ius”: (2) full cit­izens sub­ject­ed to civ­il degra­da­tion (in­famia) as the re­sult of fol­low­ing cer­tain pro­fes­sions (e.g. act­ing), of dis­hon­ourable acts in pri­vate life (e.g. bigamy) or of con­vic­tion for cer­tain crimes; (3) per­sons brand­ed by the cen­sor. Those who were thus ex­clud­ed from the tribes and cen­turies had no vote, were in­ca­pable of fill­ing Ro­man mag­is­tra­cies and could not serve in the army. Ac­cord­ing to Momm­sen, the aer­arii were orig­inal­ly the non-​as­sidui (non-​hold­ers of land), ex­clud­ed from the tribes, the comi­tia and the army. By a re­form of the cen­sor Ap­pius Claudius in 312 B.C. these non-​as­sidui were ad­mit­ted in­to the tribes, and the aer­arii as such dis­ap­peared. But in 304, Fabius Rul­lianus lim­it­ed them to the four city tribes, and from that time the term meant a man de­grad­ed from a high­er (coun­try) to a low­er (city) tribe, but not de­prived of the right of vot­ing or of serv­ing in the army. The ex­pres­sions “tribu mo­vere” and “aer­ar­ium facere,’: re­gard­ed by Momm­sen as iden­ti­cal in mean­ing (“to de­grade from a high­er tribe to a low­er,’), are ex­plained by A. H. J. Greenidge—the first as rel­ega­tion from a high­er to a low­er tribe or to­tal ex­clu­sion from the tribes, the sec­ond as ex­clu­sion from the cen­turies. Oth­er views of the orig­inal aer­arii are that they were–ar­ti­sans and freed­men (Niebuhr); in­hab­itants of towns unit­ed with Rome by a hos­pi­tium pub­licum, who had be­come domi­ciled on Ro­man ter­ri­to­ry (Lange); on­ly a class of de­grad­ed cit­izens, in­clud­ing nei­ther the cives sine suf­fra­gio nor the ar­ti­sans (Mad­vig); iden­ti­cal with the capite cen­si of the Ser­vian con­sti­tu­tion (Be­lot, Greenidge). See A. H. J. Greenidge, In­famia in Ro­man Law (1894), where Momm­sen’s the­ory is crit­icized; E. Be­lot, His­toire des cheva­liers ro­mains, i. p. 200 (Paris, 1866); L. Par­don, De Aer­ari­is (Berlin, 1853); P. Willems, Le Droit pub­lic ro­main (1883); A. S. Wilkins in Smith’s Dict. of Greek and Ro­man An­tiq­ui­ties (3rd ed., 189I); and the usu­al hand­books of an­tiq­ui­ties.

AER­AR­IUM (from Lat. aes, in its de­rived sense of “mon­ey”) the name (in full, aer­ar­ium stab­ulum, trea­sure-​house) giv­en in an­cient Rome to the pub­lic trea­sury, and in a sec­ondary sense to the pub­lic fi­nances. The trea­sury con­tained the mon­eys and ac­counts of the state, and al­so the stan­dards of the le­gions; the pub­lic laws en­graved on brass, the de­crees of the sen­ate and oth­er pa­pers and reg­is­ters of im­por­tance. These pub­lic trea­sures were de­posit­ed in the tem­ple of Sat­urn, on the east­ern slope of the Capi­to­line hill, and, dur­ing the re­pub­lic, were in charge of the ur­ban quaeators (see QUAESTOR), un­der the su­per­in­ten­dence and con­trol of the sen­ate. This ar­range­ment con­tin­ued (ex­cept for the year 45 B.C., when no quaestors were cho­sen) un­til 28 B.C., when Au­gus­tus trans­ferred the aer­ar­ium to two prao­jec­ti aer­arii, cho­sen an­nu­al­ly by the sen­ate from ex-​prae­tors; in 23 these were re­placed by two prae­tors (prae­tores aer­arii or ad aer­ar­ium), se­lect­ed by lot dur­ing their term of of­fice; Claudius in A.D. 44 re­stored the quaestors, but nom­inat­ed by the em­per­or for three years, for whom Nero in 56 sub­sti­tut­ed two ex-​prae­tors, un­der the same con­di­tions. In ad­di­tion to the com­mon trea­sury, sup­port­ed by the gen­er­al tax­es and charged with the or­di­nary ex­pen­di­ture, there was a spe­cial re­serve fund, al­so in the tem­ple of Sat­urn, the aer­ar­ium sanc­tum (or sanc­tius), prob­ably orig­inal­ly con­sist­ing of the spoils of war, af­ter­wards main­tained chiefly by a 5% tax on the val­ue of all man­umit­ted slaves, this source of rev­enue be­ing es­tab­lished by a lex Man­lia in 357. This fund was not to be touched ex­cept in cas­es of ex­treme ne­ces­si­ty (Livy vii. 16, xxvii. 10). Un­der the em­per­ors the sen­ate con­tin­ued to have at least the nom­inal man­age­ment of the aer­ar­ium, while the em­per­or had a sep­arate ex­che­quer, called fiseus. But af­ter a time, as the pow­er of the em­per­ors in­creased and their ju­ris­dic­tion ex­tend­ed till the sen­ate ex­ist­ed on­ly in form and name, this dis­tinc­tion vir­tu­al­ly ceased. Be­sides cre­at­ing the fis­cus, Au­gus­tus al­so es­tab­lished in A.D. 6 a mil­itary trea­sury (aer­ar­ium mil­itare), con­tain­ing all mon­eys raised for and ap­pro­pri­at­ed to the main­te­nance of the army, in­clud­ing a pen­sion fund for dis­abled sol­diers. It.was large­ly en­dowed by the em­per­or him­self (see Mon­umen­tum An­cyranum, iii. 35) and sup­port­ed by the pro­ceeds of the tax on pub­lic sales and the suc­ces­sion du­ty. Its ad­min­is­tra­tion was in the hands of three prae­fec­ti aer­arii mil­itaris, at first ap­point­ed by lot, but af­ter­wards by the em­per­or, from sen­ators of prae­to­ri­an rank, for three years. The lat­er em­per­ors had a sep­arate aer­ar­ium pri­va­tum, con­tain­ing the mon­eys al­lot­ted for their own use, dis­tinct from the fis­cus, which they ad­min­is­tered in the in­ter­ests of the em­pire.

The tri­buni aer­arii have been the sub­ject of much dis­cus­sion. They are sup­posed by some to be iden­ti­cal with the cu­ra­tores tribu­um, and to have been the of­fi­cials who, un­der the Ser­vian or­ga­ni­za­tion, levied the war-​tax (trib­utum) in the tribes and the poil-​tax on the aer­arii (q.v.). They al­so act­ed as pay­mas­ters of the eq­ui­tes and of the sol­diers on ser­vice in each tribe. By the lex Au­rel­la (70 B.C.) the list of ju­dices was com­posed, in ad­di­tion to sen­ators and eq­ui­tes, of tri­buni aer­arii. Whether these were the suc­ces­sors of the above, or a new or­der close­ly con­nect­ed with the eq­ui­tes, or even the same as the lat­ter, is un­cer­tain. Ac­cord­ing to Momm­sen, they were per­sons who pos­sessed the eques­tri­an cen­sus, but no pub­lic horse. They were re­moved from the list of ju­dices by Cae­sar, but re­placed by Au­gus­tus. Ac­cord­ing to Mad­vig, the orig­inal tri­buni aer­arii were not of­fi­cials at all, but pri­vate in­di­vid­uals of con­sid­er­able means, quite dis­tinct from the cu­ra­tores tribu­uin, who un­der­took cer­tain fi­nan­cial work con­nect­ed with their own tribes. Then, as in the case of the eq­ui­tes, the term was sub­se­quent­ly ex­tend­ed to in­clude all those who pos­sessed the prop­er­ty qual­ifi­ca­tion that would have en­ti­tled them to serve as tri­buni aer­arii. See Tac­itus, An­nals, xi­ii. 29, with Furneaux’s notes; O. Hirschfeld, “Das Aer­ar­ium mil­itare in der romis­chen Kaiserzeit,” in Fleck­eisen’s Jahrbuch, vol. xcvii. (1868); S. Her­rlich, De Aer­ario et Fis­co Ro­mano­rum (Berlin, 1872); and the usu­al hand­books and dic­tio­nar­ies of an­tiq­ui­ties. On the tri­buni aer­arii see E. Be­lot, Hist. des cheva­liers ro­mains, ii. p. 276; J. N. Mad­vig, Opus­cu­la Aca­dem­ica, ii. p. 242; J. B. Mis­poulet, Les In­sti­tu­tions poli­tiques des Ro­mains (1883), ii. p. 208; Momm­sen, Romis­ches Staat­srecht, iii. p. 189; A. S. Wilkins in Smith’s Dic­tio­nary of Greek and Ro­man An­tiq­ui­ties (3rd ed., 1890).

AER­AT­ED WA­TERS. Wa­ters charged with a larg­er pro­por­tion of car­bon diox­ide than they will dis­solve at or­di­nary at­mo­spher­ic pres­sure oc­cur in springs in var­ious parts of the world (see MIN­ER­AL WA­TERS). Such wa­ters, which al­so gen­er­al­ly hold in so­lu­tion a con­sid­er­able per­cent­age of saline con­stituents, ear­ly ac­quired a rep­uta­tion as medic­inal agents, and when car­bon diox­ide (“fixed air”) be­came fa­mil­iar to chemists the pos­si­bil­ity was rec­og­nized, as by Joseph Priest­ley (Di­rec­tions for im­preg­nat­ing wa­ter with fixed air . . . to com­mu­ni­cate the pe­cu­liar Spir­it and Virtues of Pyr­mont wa­ter, 1772), of im­itat­ing them ar­ti­fi­cial­ly. Many of the or­di­nary aer­at­ed wa­ters of com­merce, how­ev­er, do not pre­tend to re­pro­duce any known nat­ural wa­ter; they are mere­ly bev­er­ages ow­ing their pop­ular­ity to their ef­fer­vesc­ing prop­er­ties and the flavour im­part­ed by a small quan­ti­ty of some salt such as sodi­um bi­car­bon­ate or a lit­tle fruit syrup. Their man­ufac­ture on a con­sid­er­able scale was be­gun at Gene­va so far back as 1790 by Nicholas Paul, and the ex­cel­lence of the so­da wa­ter pre­pared in Lon­don by J. Schweppe, who had been a part­ner of Paul’s, is re­ferred to by Tiberius Cav­al­lo in his Es­say on the Medic­inal Prop­er­ties of Fac­ti­tious Airs, pub­lished in 1798. Many forms of ap­pa­ra­tus are em­ployed for charg­ing the wa­ter with the gas. A sim­ple ma­chine for do­mes­tic use, called a gaso­gene or selt­zo­gene, con­sists of two strong glass globes con­nect­ed one above the oth­er by a wide glass tube which ris­es near­ly to the top of the up­per and small­er globe. Sur­mount­ing the small globe there is a spring valve, fit­ted to a nar­row tube that pass­es through the wide tube to the bot­tom of the large globe. To use the ma­chine, the low­er ves­sel is filled with wa­ter, and in the up­per one, round the base of the wide tube, is placed a mix­ture, com­mon­ly of sodi­um bi­car­bon­ate and tar­tar­ic acid, which with wa­ter yields car­bon diox­ide. The valve head is then fas­tened on, and by tilt­ing the ap­pa­ra­tus some wa­ter is made to flow through the wide tube from the low­er to the up­per ves­sel. The wa­ter in the low­er globe takes up the gas thus pro­duced, and when re­quired for use is with­drawn by the valve, be­ing forced up the nar­row tube by the pres­sure of the gas. In an­oth­er ar­range­ment the gas is sup­plied com­pressed in lit­tle steel cap­sules, and is lib­er­at­ed in­to a bot­tle con­tain­ing the wa­ter which has to be aer­at­ed. On a large scale, use is made of con­tin­uous­ly act­ing ma­chin­ery which is es­sen­tial­ly of the type de­vised by Joseph Bramah. The gas is pre­pared in a sep­arate gen­er­ator by the ac­tion of sul­phuric acid on sodi­um bi­car­bon­ate or whit­ing, and af­ter be­ing washed is col­lect­ed in a gas-​hold­er, whence it is forced with wa­ter un­der pres­sure in­to a re­ceiv­er or sat­ura­tor in which an ag­ita­tor is kept mov­ing. Some man­ufac­tur­ers buy their gas com­pressed in steel cylin­ders. The wa­ter thus aer­at­ed or car­bon­at­ed pass­es from the re­ceiv­er, in which the pres­sure may be 100-200 lb. on the square inch, to bot­tling ma­chines which fill and close the bot­tles; if bev­er­ages like lemon­ade are be­ing made the req­ui­site quan­ti­ty of fruit syrup is al­so in­ject­ed in­to the bot­tles, though some­times the fruit syrup mix­ture is aer­at­ed in bulk. For so­da wa­ter sodi­um bi­car­bon­ate should be added to the wa­ter be­fore aer­ation, in vary­ing pro­por­tions up to about 15 grains per pint, but the sim­ple car­bon­at­ed wa­ter of­ten does du­ty in­stead. Potash wa­ter, lithia wa­ter and many oth­ers are sim­ilar­ly pre­pared, the var­ious salts be­ing used in such amounts as are dic­tat­ed by the ex­pe­ri­ence and taste of the man­ufac­tur­er. Aer­at­ed wa­ters are sent out from the fac­to­ries ei­ther in siphons (q.v.) or in bot­tles; the lat­ter may be closed by corks, or by screw-​stop­pers or by in­ter­nal stop­pers con­sist­ing of a valve, such as a glass ball, held up against an in­di­arub­ber ring in the neck by the pres­sure of the gas. For use in “so­da-​foun­tains” the wa­ters are sent out in large cylin­ders.

See W. Kirk­by, Evo­lu­tion of ar­ti­fi­cial Min­er­al Wa­ters (Manch­ester, 1902).

AERO­NAU­TICS, the art of “nav­igat­ing” the “air.” It is di­vis­ible in­to two main branch­es–aero­sta­tion, deal­ing prop­er­ly with ma­chines which like bal­loons are lighter than the air, and avi­ation, deal­ing with the prob­lem of ar­ti­fi­cial flight by means of fly­ing ma­chines which, like birds, are heav­ier than the air, and al­so with at­tempts to fly made by hu­man be­ings by the aid of ar­ti­fi­cial wings fit­ted to their limbs.

His­tor­ical­ly, avi­ation is the old­er of the two, and in the leg­ends of gods or myths of men or an­imals which are sup­posed to have trav­elled through the air, such as Pe­ga­sus, Medea’s drag­ons and Daedalus, as well as in Egyp­tian bas-​re­liefs, wings ap­pear as the means by which aeri­al lo­co­mo­tion is ef­fect­ed. In lat­er times there are many sto­ries of men who have at­tempt­ed to fly in the same way. John Wilkins (1614-1672), one of the founders of the Roy­al So­ci­ety and bish­op of Chester, who in 1640 dis­cussed the pos­si­bil­ity of reach­ing the moon by voli­ta­tion, says in his Math­emat­ical Mag­ick (1648) that it was re­lat­ed that “a cer­tain En­glish monk called Elmerus, about the Con­fes­sor’s time,” flew from a town in Spain for a dis­tance of more than a fur­long; and that oth­er per­sons had flown from St Mark’s, Venice, and at Nurem­berg. Gio­van­ni Bat­tista Dante, of Pe­ru­gia, is said to have flown sev­er­al times across Lake Trasimene. At the be­gin­ning of the 16th cen­tu­ry an Ital­ian al­chemist who was col­lat­ed to the ab­ba­cy of Tung­land, in Gal­loway, Scot­land, by James IV., un­der­took to fly from the walls of Stir­ling Cas­tle through the air to France. He ac­tu­al­ly at­tempt­ed the feat, but soon came to the ground and broke his thigh-​bone in the fall–an ac­ci­dent which he ex­plained by as­sert­ing that the wings he em­ployed con­tained some fowls’ feath­ers, which had an “affin­ity” for the dung-​hill, where­as if they had been com­posed sole­ly of ea­gles’ feath­ers they would have been at­tract­ed to the air. This anec­dote fur­nished Dun­bar, the Scot­tish po­et, with the sub­ject of one of his rude satires. Leonar­do da Vin­ci about the same time ap­proached the prob­lem in a more sci­en­tif­ic spir­it, and his note­books con­tain sev­er­al sketch­es of wings to be fit­ted to the arms and legs. In the fol­low­ing cen­tu­ry a lec­ture on fly­ing de­liv­ered in 1617 by Fley­der, rec­tor of the gram­mar school at Tub­in­gen, and pub­lished eleven years lat­er, in­cit­ed a poor monk to at­tempt to put the the­ory in­to prac­tice, but his ma­chin­ery broke down and he was killed.

In Fran­cis Ba­con’s Nat­ural His­to­ry there are two pas­sages which re­fer to fly­ing, though they scarce­ly bear out the as­ser­tion made by some writ­ers that he first pub­lished the true prin­ci­ples of aero­nau­tics.

The first is styled Ex­per­iment Soli­tary, touch­ing Fly­ing in the Air –“Cer­tain­ly many birds of good wing (as kites and the like) would bear up a good weight as they fly; and spread­ing leathers thin and close, and in great breadth, will like­wise bear up a great weight, be­ing even laid, with­out tilt­ing up on the sides. The fur­ther ex­ten­sion of this ex­per­iment might be thought up­on.” The sec­ond pas­sage is more dif­fuse, but less in­tel­li­gi­ble; it is styled Ex­per­iment Soli­tary, touch­ing un­equal weight (as of wool and lead or bone and lead); if you throw it from you with the light end for­ward, it will turn, and the weight­ier end will re­cov­er to be for­wards, un­less the body be over long. The cause is, for that the more dense body hath a more vi­olent pres­sure of the parts from the first im­pul­sion, which is the cause (though hereto­fore not found out, as hath been of­ten said) of all vi­olent mo­tions; and when the hin­der part moveth swifter (for that it less en­dureth pres­sure of parts) that the for­ward part can make way for it, it must needs be that the body turn over; for (turned) it can more eas­ily draw for­ward the lighter part.” The fact here al­lud­ed to is the re­sis­tance that bod­ies ex­pe­ri­ence in mov­ing through the air, which, de­pend­ing on the quan­ti­ty of sur­face mere­ly. must ex­ert a pro­por­tion­al­ly greater ef­fect on rare sub­stances. The pas­sage it­self, how­ev­er, af­ter mak­ing ev­ery al­lowance for the pe­ri­od in which it was writ­ten, must be deemed con­fused, ob­scure and un­philo­soph­ical. In his posthu­mous work, De Mo­tu An­imal­ium, pub­lished at Rome in 1680-1681, G.A.Borel­li gave cal­cu­la­tions of the enor­mous strength of the pec­toral mus­cles in birds; and his propo­si­tion cciv. (vol. i. pp. 322-326), en­ti­tled Est im­pos­si­bile ut homines pro pri­is viribus ar­ti­fi­ciose volare possint, points out the im­pos­si­bil­ity of man be­ing able by his mus­cu­lar strength to give mo­tion to wings of suf­fi­cient ex­tent to keep him sus­pend­ed in the air. But dur­ing his life­time two French­men, Al­lard in 1660 and Besnier about 1678, are said to have suc­ceed­ed in mak­ing short flights. An ac­count of some of the mod­ern at­tempts to con­struct fly­ing ma­chines will be found in the ar­ti­cle FLIGHT AND FLY­ING; here we ap­pend a brief con­sid­er­ation of the me­chan­ical as­pects of the prob­lem.

The very first es­sen­tial for suc­cess is safe­ty, which will prob­ably on­ly be at­tained with au­to­mat­ic sta­bil­ity. The un­der­ly­ing prin­ci­ple is that the cen­tre of grav­ity shall at all times be on the same ver­ti­cal line as the cen­tre of pres­sure. The lat­ter varies with the an­gle of in­ci­dence. For square planes it moves ap­prox­imate­ly as ex­pressed by Joes­sel’s for­mu­la, C + (0.2 + 0.3 sin a) L, in which C is the dis­tance from the front edge, L the length fore and aft, and a the an­gle of in­ci­dence. The move­ment is dif­fer­ent on con­cave sur­faces. The term aero­plane is un­der­stood to ap­ply to flat sus­tain­ing sur­faces, but ex­per­iment in­di­cates that arched sur­faces are more ef­fi­cient. S. P. Lan­gley pro­posed the word aero­drome, which seems the prefer­able term for ap­pa­ra­tus with wing-​line sur­faces. This is the type to which re­sults point as the prop­er one for fur­ther ex­per­iments. With this it seems prob­able that, with well-​de­signed ap­pa­ra­tus, 40 to 50 lb. can be sus­tained per in­di­cat­ed h.p., or about twice that quan­ti­ty per re­sis­tance or “thrust” h.p., and that some 30 or 40 k of the weight can be de­vot­ed to the ma­chin­ery, thus re­quir­ing mo­tors, with their pro­pellers, shaft­ing, sup­plies, &c., weigh­ing less than 20 lb. per h.p. It is ev­ident that the ap­pa­ra­tus must be de­signed to be as light as pos­si­ble, and al­so to re­duce to a min­imum all re­sis­tances to propul­sion. This be­ing kept in view, the strength and con­se­quent sec­tion re­quired for each mem­ber may be cal­cu­lat­ed by the meth­ods em­ployed in pro­por­tion­ing bridges, with the dif­fer­ence that the sup­port (from air pres­sure) will be con­sid­ered as uni­form­ly dis­tribut­ed, and the load as con­cen­trat­ed at one or more points. Small­er fac­tors of safe­ty may al­so have to be used. Know­ing the sec­tions re­quired and unit weights of the ma­te­ri­als to be em­ployed, the weight of each part can be com­put­ed. If a mod­el has been made to ab­so­lute­ly ex­act scale, the weight of the full-​sized ap­pa­ra­tus may ap­prox­imate­ly be as­cer­tained by the for­mu­la

$$W’ = W\sqrt{\left({S’\over S}\right)}^3,$$

in which W is the weight of the mod­el, S its sur­face, and W’ and S’ the weight and sur­face of the in­tend­ed ap­pa­ra­tus. Thus if the mod­el has been made one-​quar­ter size in its ho­mol­ogous di­men­sions, the sup­port­ing sur­faces will be six­teen times, and the to­tal weight six­ty-​four times those of the mod­el. The weight and the sur­face be­ing de­ter­mined, the three most im­por­tant things to know are the an­gle of in­ci­dence, the “lift,” and the re­quired speed. The fun­da­men­tal for­mu­la for rect­an­gu­lar air pres­sure is well known: P=KV2S, in which P is the rect­an­gu­lar nor­mal pres­sure, in pounds or kilo­grams, K a co­ef­fi­cient (0.0049 for British, and 0.11 for met­ric mea­sures), V the ve­loc­ity in miles per hour or in me­tres per sec­ond, and S the sur­face in square feet or in square me­tres. The nor­mal on oblique sur­faces, at var­ious an­gles of in­ci­dence, is giv­en by the for­mu­la P = KV2Se, which lat­ter fac­tor is giv­en both for planes and for arched sur­faces in the sub­joined ta­ble:–.

PER­CENT­AGES OE AIR PRES­SURE AT VAR­IOUS AN­GLES OF IN­CI­DENCE

PLANES (DUCHEMIN FOR­MU­LA, VER­IFIED BY LAN­GLEY). WINGS (LILIEN­THAL). N = P(2sina/(1+sin2a)). Con­cav­ity 1 in 12 An­gle. Nor­mal. Lift. Drift. Nor­mal. Lift. Drift. Tan­gen­tial a e ecosa esina e ecosa esina force a -9 deg. 0.0 0.0 0.0 +0.070 -8 deg. 0.040 0.0396 -0.0055 +0.067 -7 deg. 0.080 0.0741 -0.0097 +0.064 -6 deg. 0.120 0.1193 -0.0125 +0.060 -5 deg. 0.160 0.1594 -0.0139 +0.055 -4 deg. 0.200 0.1995 -0.0139 +0.049 -3 deg. 0.242 0.2416 -0.0126 +0.043 -2 deg. 0.286 0.2858 -0.0100 +0.037 -1 deg. 0.332 0.3318 -0.0058 +0.031 0 deg. 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.381 0.3810 -0.0 +0.024 +1 deg. 0.035 0.035 0.000611 0.434 0.434 +0.0075 +0.016 +2 deg. 0.070 0.070 0.00244 0.489 0.489 +0.0170 +0.008 +3 deg. 0.104 0.104 0.00543 0.546 0.545 +0.0285 0.0 +4 deg. 0.139 0.139 0.0097 0.600 0.597 +0.0418 -0.007 +5 deg. 0.174 0.173 0.0152 0.650 0.647 +0.0566 -0.014 +6 deg. 0.207 0.206 0.0217 0.696 0.692 +0.0727 -0.021 +7 deg. 0.240 0.238 0.0293 0.737 0.731 +0.0898 -0.028 +8 deg. 0.273 0.270 0.0381 0.771 0.763 +0.1072 -0.035 +9 deg. 0.305 0.300 0.0477 0.800 0.790 +0.1251 -0.042 10 deg. 0.337 0.332 0.0585 0.825 0.812 +0.1432 -0.050 11 deg. 0.369 0.362 0.0702 0.846 0.830 +0.1614 -0.058 12 deg. 0.398 0.390 0.0828 0.864 0.845 +0.1803 -0.064 13 deg. 0.431 0.419 0.0971 0.879 0.856 +0.1976 -0.070 14 deg. 0.457 0.443 0.1155 0.891 0.864 +0.2156 -0.074 15 deg. 0.486 0.468 0.1240 0.901 0.870 +0.2332 -0.076

The sus­tain­ing pow­er, or “lift” which in hor­izon­tal flight must be equal to the weight, can be cal­cu­lat­ed by the for­mu­la L=KV2Sec­osa, or the fac­tor may be tak­en di­rect from the ta­ble, in which the “lift” and the “drift” have been ob­tained by mul­ti­ply­ing the nor­mal e by the co­sine and sine of the an­gle. The last col­umn shows the tan­gen­tial pres­sure on con­cave sur­faces which O. Lilien­thal found to pos­sess a pro­pelling com­po­nent be­tween 3 deg. and 32 deg. and there­fore to be neg­ative to the rel­ative wind. For­mer modes of com­pu­ta­tion in­di­cat­ed an­gles of 10 to 15 as nec­es­sary for sup­port with planes. These mere pro­hibito­ry in con­se­quence of the great “drift”; but the present da­ta in­di­cate that, with con­cave sur­faces, an­gles of 2 deg. to 5 will pro­duce ad­equate “lift.” To com­pute the lat­ter the an­gle at which the wings are to be set must first be as­sumed, and that of @ will gen­er­al­ly be found prefer­able. Then the re­quired ve­loc­ity is next to be com­put­ed by the for­mu­la

$$V = \sqrt{L\over KS\eta\cos\al­pha};$$

or for con­cave wings at +3 deg. :

$$V = \sqrt{W\over 0.545KS}.$$

Hav­ing thus de­ter­mined the weight, the sur­face, the an­gle of in­ci­dence and the re­quired seed for hor­izon­tal sup­port, the next step is to cal­cu­late the pow­er re­quired. This is best ac­com­plished by first ob­tain­ing the to­tal re­sis­tances, which con­sist of the “drift” and of the head re­sis­tances due to the hull and fram­ing. The lat­ter are ar­rived at prefer­ably by mak­ing a tab­ular state­ment show­ing all the spars and parts of­fer­ing head re­sis­tance, and ap­ply­ing to each, the co­ef­fi­cient ap­pro­pri­ate to its “mas­ter sec­tion,” as as­cer­tained by ex­per­iment. Thus is ob­tained an “equiv­alent area” of re­sis­tance, which is to be mul­ti­plied by the wind pres­sure due to the speed. Care must be tak­en to re­solve all the re­sis­tances at their prop­er an­gle of ap­pli­ca­tion, and to sub­tract or add the tan­gen­tial force, which con­sists in the sur­face S, mul­ti­plied by the wind pres­sure, and by the fac­tor in the ta­ble, which is, how­ev­er, 0 for 3 and 32, but pos­itive or neg­ative at oth­er an­gles. When the ag­gre­gate re­sis­tances are known, the “thrust h.p.” re­quired is ob­tained by mul­ti­ply­ing the re­sis­tance by the speed, and then al­low­ing for me­chan­ical loss­es in the mo­tor and pro­peller, which loss­es will gen­er­al­ly be 50% of in­di­cat­ed h.p. Close ap­prox­ima­tions are ob­tained by the above method when ap­plied to full sized ap­pa­ra­tus. The fol­low­ing ex­am­ple will make the pro­cess clear­er. The weight to he car­ried by an ap­pa­ra­tus was 189 lb. on con­cave wings of 143.5 sq. ft. area, set at a pos­itive an­gle of 3 deg. There were in ad­di­tion rear wings of 29.5 sq. ft., set at a neg­ative an­gle of 3 deg. ; hence, L= 189=.o.oo5XV2X143.5X0.545. Whence

$$V = \sqrt{189\over 0.005\times 143.5\times 0.545 = 22\hbox{ miles per hour},$$

at which the air pres­sure would be 2.42 lb. per sq. ft. The area of spars and man was 17.86 sq. ft., re­duced by var­ious co­ef­fi­cients to an “equiv­alent sur­face” of 11.70 sq. ft., so that the re­sis­tances were:– Drift front wings, 143.5X0.0285X2.42 . . . .= 9.90 lb. Drift rear wings, 29.5X(o.o43-0.242X0.05235)X2.42 = 2.17 lb. Tan­gen­tial force at 3 deg. . . . . . . . . = 0.00 lb. Head re­sis­tance, 11.70X2.43 . . . . . = 28.31

To­tal re­sis­tance . . . . . . . .= 40.38

Speed 22 miles per hour. Pow­er = (40.38X22)/375 = 2.36 h.p. for the “thrust” or 4.72 h.p. for the mo­tor. The weight be­ing 189 lb., and the re­sis­tance 40.38 lb., the glid­ing an­gle of de­scent was 40.38/189 = tan­gent of 12 deg. , which was ver­ified by many ex­per­iments.

The fol­low­ing ex­pres­sions will be found use­ful in com­put­ing such projects, with the aid of the ta­ble above giv­en:

1. Wind force, F = KV2. 8. Drift, D = KSV2esina 2. Pres­sure, P = KV2S. 9. Head area E, get an equiv­alent 3. Ve­loc­ity, V = sqrt. (W/(KSec­osa)) 10. Head re­sis­tance, H = EF. 4. Sur­face S varies as 1/V2. 11. Tan­gen­tial force, T = Pa 5. Nor­mal, N = KSV2e. 12. Re­sis­tance, R = D + H (+ or -) T. 6. Lift, L = KSV2ec­soa. 13. Ft. lb., M = RV. 7. Weight, W = L = Ncosa. 14. Thrust, h.p., = RV/fac­tor.

AERO­STA­TION.—Pos­si­bly the fly­ing dove of Archy­tas of Tar­en­tum is the ear­li­est sug­ges­tion of true aero­sta­tion. Ac­cord­ing to Aulus Ge­nius (Noctes At­ti­cae) it was a “mod­el of a dove or pi­geon formed in wood and so con­trived as by a cer­tain me­chan­ical art and pow­er to fly: so nice­ly was it bal­anced by weights and put in mo­tion by hid­den and en­closed air.” This “hid­den and en­closed air” may con­ceiv­ably rep­re­sent an an­tic­ipa­tion of the hot-​air bal­loon, but it is at least as prob­able that the ap­par­ent flight of the dove was a mere me­chan­ical trick de­pend­ing on the use of fine wires or strings in­vis­ible to the spec­ta­tors. In the mid­dle ages vague ideas ap­pear of some ethe­re­al sub­stance so light that ves­sels con­tain­ing it would re­main sus­pend­ed in the air. Roger Ba­con (1214-1294) con­ceived of a large hol­low globe made of very thin met­al and filled with ethe­re­al air or liq­uid fire, which would float on the at­mo­sphere like a ship on wa­ter. Al­bert of Sax­ony, who was bish­op of Hal­ber­stadt from 1366 to 1390, had a sim­ilar no­tion, and con­sid­ered that a small por­tion of the prin­ci­ple of fire en­closed in a light sphere would raise it and keep it sus­pend­ed. The same spec­ula­tion was ad­vanced by Fran­cis Men­doza, a Por­tuguese Je­suit, who died in 1626 at the age of forty-​six, and by Gas­par Schott (1608-1666), al­so a Je­suit and pro­fes­sor of math­emat­ics at Wurzburg, though for fire he sub­sti­tut­ed the thin ethe­re­al flu­id which he be­lieved to float above the at­mo­sphere. So late as 1755 Joseph Galien (1699-1782), a Do­mini­can fri­ar and pro­fes­sor of phi­los­ophy and the­ol­ogy in the pa­pal uni­ver­si­ty of Avi­gnon, pro­posed to col­lect the dif­fuse air of the up­per re­gions and to en­close it in a huge ves­sel ex­tend­ing more than a mile ev­ery way, and in­tend­ed to car­ry fifty-​four times as much weight as did Noah’s ark. A some­what dif­fer­ent but equal­ly fan­tas­tic method of mak­ing heavy bod­ies rise is quot­ed by Schott from Lau­re­tus Lau­rus, ac­cord­ing to whom swans’ eggs or leather balls filled with ni­tre, sul­phur or mer­cury as­cend when ex­posed to the sun. Lau­rus al­so stat­ed that hens’ eggs filled with dew will as­cend in the same cir­cum­stances, be­cause dew is shed by the stars and drawn up again to heav­en by the sun’s heat dur­ing the day. The same no­tion is uti­lized by Cyra­no de Berg­er­ac (1619-1655) in his ro­mances de­scrib­ing jour­neys to the moon and sun, for his French trav­eller fas­tens round his body a mul­ti­tude of very thin flasks filled with the morn­ing’s dew, where­by through the at­trac­tive pow­er of the sun’s heat on the dew he is raised to the mid­dle re­gions of the at­mo­sphere, to sink again, how­ev­er, on the break­ing of some of the flasks.

A dis­tinct ad­vance on Schott is marked by the scheme for aeri­al nav­iga­tion pro­posed by the Je­suit, Fran­cis Lana (1631-1687), in his book, pub­lished at Bres­cia in 1670, Pro­dro­mo ovvero Sag­gio di al­cune in­ven­zioni nuove promes­so all’ Arte Maes­tra. His idea, though use­less and un­prac­ti­cal in so far that it could nev­er be car­ried out, is yet de­serv­ing of no­tice, as the prin­ci­ples in­volved are sound; and this can be said of no ear­li­er at­tempt. His project was to pro­cure four cop­per balls of very large di­men­sions (fig. 1), yet so ex­treme­ly thin that af­ter the air was ex­haust­ed from them they would be lighter than the air they dis­placed and so would rise; and to those four balls he pro­posed to at­tach a boat, with sails, &c., which would car­ry up a man. He sub­mit­ted the whole mat­ter to cal­cu­la­tion, and pro­posed that the globes should be about 25 ft. in di­am­eter and 1/225th of an inch in thick­ness; this would give from all four balls a to­tal as­cen­sion­al force of about 1200 lb., which would be quite enough to raise the boat, sails, pas­sen­gers, &c. But the ob­vi­ous ob­jec­tion to the whole scheme is, that it would be quite im­pos­si­ble to con­struct a globe of so large a size and of such small thick­ness which would even sup­port its own weight with­out col­laps­ing if placed on the ground, much less bear the ex­ter­nal at­mo­spher­ic pres­sure when the in­ter­nal air was re­moved. Lana him­self no­ticed this ob­jec­tion, but he thought that the spher­ical form of the cop­per shell would, notwith­stand­ing its ex­treme thin­ness, en­able it, af­ter the ex­haus­tion was ef­fect­ed, to sus­tain the enor­mous pres­sure, which, act­ing equal­ly on ev­ery point of the sur­face, would tend to con­sol­idate rather than to break the met­al. His pro­pos­al to ex­haust the air from the globes by at­tach­ing to each a tube 36 ft. long, fit­ted with a stop­cock, and so pro­duc­ing a Tor­ri­cel­lian vac­uum, sug­gests that he was ig­no­rant of the in­ven­tion of the air-​pump by Ot­to von Gu­er­icke about 1650.

We now come to the in­ven­tion of the bal­loon, which was due to Joseph Michel Mont­golfi­er (1740-1810) and Jacques Eti­enne Mont­golfi­er (1745-1799), sons of Pierre Mont­golfi­er, a large and cel­ebrat­ed pa­per­mak­er at An­non­ay, a town about 40 m. from Lyons. The broth­ers had ob­served the sus­pen­sion of clouds in the at­mo­sphere, and it oc­curred to them that if they could en­close any vapour of the na­ture of a cloud in a large and very light bag, it might rise and car­ry the bag with it in­to the air. To­wards the end of 1782 they in­flat­ed bags with smoke from a fire placed un­der­neath, and found that ei­ther the smoke or some vapour emit­ted from the fire did as­cend and car­ry the bag with it. Be­ing thus as­sured of the cor­rect­ness of their views, they de­ter­mined to have a pub­lic as­cent of a bal­loon on a large scale. They ac­cord­ing­ly in­vit­ed the States of Vi­varais, then as­sem­bled at An­non­ay, to wit­ness their aero­stat­ic ex­per­iment; and on the 5th of June 1783, in the pres­ence of a con­sid­er­able con­course of spec­ta­tors, a linen globe of 105 ft. in cir­cum­fer­ence was in­flat­ed over a fire fed with small bun­dles of chopped straw. When re­leased it rapid­ly rose to a great height, and de­scend­ed, at the ex­pi­ra­tion of ten min­utes, at the dis­tance of about 1 1/2m. This was the dis­cov­ery of the bal­loon. The broth­ers Mont­golfi­er imag­ined that the bag rose be­cause of the lev­ity of the smoke or oth­er vapour giv­en forth by the burn­ing straw; and it was not till some time lat­er that it was rec­og­nized that the as­cend­ing pow­er was due mere­ly to the light­ness of heat­ed air com­pared to an equal vol­ume of air at a low­er tem­per­ature. In this bal­loon, no source of heat was tak­en up, so that the air in­side rapid­ly Cooled, and the bal­loon soon de­scend­ed.

The news of the ex­per­iment at An­non­ay at­tract­ed so much at­ten­tion at Paris that Barthele­mi Fau­jas de Saint-​Fond (1741-1819), af­ter­wards pro­fes­sor of ge­ol­ogy at the Musee d’His­toire Na­turelle, set on foot a sub­scrip­tion for pay­ing the ex­pense of re­peat­ing the ex­per­iment. The bal­loon was con­struct­ed by two broth­ers of the name of Robert, un­der the su­per­in­ten­dence of the physi­cist, J. A. C. Charles. The first sug­ges­tion was to copy the pro­cess of Mont­golfi­er, but Charles pro­posed the ap­pli­ca­tion of hy­dro­gen gas, which was adopt­ed. The fill­ing of the bal­loon, which was made of thin silk var­nished with a so­lu­tion of elas­tic gum, and was about 13 ft. in di­am­eter, was be­gun on the 23rd of Au­gust 1783, in the Place des Vic­toires. The hy­dro­gen gas was ob­tained by the ac­tion of di­lute sul­phuric acid up­on iron fil­ings, and was in­tro­duced through lead­en pipes; but as the gas was not passed through cold wa­ter, great dif­fi­cul­ty. was ex­pe­ri­enced in fill­ing the bal­loon com­plete­ly; and al­to­geth­er about 300 lb. of sul­phuric acid and twice that amount of iron fil­ings were used (fig. 2). Bul­letins were is­sued dai­ly of the progress of the in­fla­tion; and the crowd was so great that on the 26th the bal­loon was moved se­cret­ly by night to the Champ de Mars, a dis­tance of 2 m. On the next day an im­mense con­course of peo­ple cov­ered the Champ de Mars, and ev­ery spot from which a view could be ob ob­tained was crowd­ed. About five o’clock a can­non was dis­charged as the sig­nal for the as­cent, and the bal­loon when lib­er­at­ed rose to the height of about 3000 ft. with great ra­pid­ity. A show­er of rain which be­gan to fall di­rect­ly af­ter it had left the earth in no way checked its progress; and the ex­cite­ment was so great, that thou­sands of well-​dressed spec­ta­tors, many of them ladies, stood ex­posed, watch­ing it in­tent­ly the whole time it was in sight and were drenched to the skin, The bal­loon, af­ter re­main­ing in the air for about three-​quar­ters of an hour, fell in a field near Gonesse, about 15 m. off, and ter­ri­fied the peas­antry so much that it was torn in­to shreds by them. Hy­dro­gen gas was at this time known by the name of in­flammable air; and bal­loons in­flat­ed with gas have ev­er since been called by the peo­ple air-​bal­loons, the kind in­vent­ed by the Mont­golfiers be­ing des­ig­nat­ed fire-​bal­loons. French Writ­ers have al­so very fre­quent­ly styled them af­ter their in­ven­tors, Char­lieres and Mont­golfieres. On the 19th of Septem­ber 1783 Joseph Mont­golfi­er re­peat­ed the An­non­ay ex­per­iment at Ver­sailles, in the pres­ence of the king, the queen, the court and an im­mense num­ber of spec­ta­tors. The in­fla­tion was be­gun at one o’clock, and com­plet­ed in eleven min­utes, when the bal­loon rose to the height of about 1500 ft., and de­scend­ed af­ter eight min­utes, at a dis­tance of about 2 m., in the wood of Vau­cres­son. Sus­pend­ed be­low the bal­loon: in a cage, had been placed a sheep, a cock and a duck, which were thus the first aeri­al trav­ellers. They were quite un­in­jured, ex­cept the cock, which had its right wing hurt in con­se­quence of a kick it had re­ceived from the sheep; but this took place be­fore the as­cent. The bal­loon, which was paint­ed with or­na­ments in oil colours, had a very showy ap­pear­ance (fig. 3). Fran­cois Pi­la­tre de Rozi­er (1756-1785), a na­tive of Metz, who was ap­point­ed su­per­in­ten­dent of the nat­ural his­to­ry col­lec­tions of Louis XVI­II. On the 15th of Oc­to­ber 1783, and fol­low­ing days, he made sev­er­al as­cents (gen­er­al­ly alone, but once with a com­pan­ion, Girond de Vil­lette) in a cap­tive bal­loon (i.e. one at­tached by ropes to the ground), and demon­strat­ed that there was no dif­fi­cul­ty in tak­ing up fu­el and feed­ing the fire, which was kin­dled in a bra­zier sus­pend­ed un­der the bal­loon, when in the air. The way be­ing thus pre­pared for aeri­al nav­iga­tion, on the 21st of Novem­ber 1783, Pi­la­tre de Rozi­er and the mar­quis d’Ar­lan­des first trust­ed them­selves to a free fire-​bal­loon. The ex­per­iment was made from the Jardin du Chateau de la Muette, in the Bois de Boulogne. A large fire-​bal­loon was in­flat­ed at about two o’clock, rose to a height of about 500 ft., and pass­ing over the In­valides and the Ecole Mililaire, de­scend­ed be­yond the Boule­vards, about 9000 yds. from the place of as­cent, hav­ing been be­tween twen­ty and twen­ty-​five min­utes in the air. On­ly ten days lat­er, viz. on the 1st of De­cem­ber 1783, Charles as­cend­ed from Paris in a bal­loon in­flat­ed with hy­dro­gen gas. The bal­loon, as in the case of the small one of the same kind pre­vi­ous­ly launched from the Champ de Mars, was con­struct­ed by the broth­ers Robert, one of whom took part in the as­cent. It was 27 ft. in di­am­eter, and the car was sus­pend­ed from a hoop sur­round­ing the mid­dle of the bal­loon, and fas­tened to a net, which cov­ered the up­per hemi­sphere. The bal­loon as­cend­ed very gen­tly from the Tu­ileries at a quar­ter to two o’clock, and af­ter re­main­ing for some time at an el­eva­tion of about 2000 ft., it de­scend­ed in about two hours at Nesle, a small town about 27 m. from Paris, when Robert left the car, and Charles made a, sec­ond as­cent by him­self. He had in­tend­ed to have re­placed the weight of his com­pan­ion by a near­ly equiv­alent quan­ti­ty of bal­last; but not hav­ing any suit­able means of ob­tain­ing such at the place of de­scent, and it be­ing just up­on sun­set, he gave the word to let go, and the bal­loon be­ing thus so great­ly light­ened, as­cend­ed very rapid­ly to a height of about 2 m. Af­ter stay­ing in the air about half an hour, he de­scend­ed 3 m. from the place of as­cent, al­though he be­lieved the dis­tance tra­versed, ow­ing to dif­fer­ent cur­rents, to have been about 9 m. In this sec­ond jour­ney he ex­pe­ri­enced a vi­olent pain in his right ear and jaw, no doubt pro­duced by the ra­pid­ity of the as­cent. He al­so wit­nessed the phe­nomenon of a dou­ble sun­set on the same day; for when he as­cend­ed, the sun had set in the val­leys, and as he mount­ed he saw it rise again, and set a sec­ond time as he de­scend­ed.

All the fea­tures of the mod­ern bal­loon as now used are more or less due to Charles, who in­vent­ed the valve at the top, sus­pend­ed the car from a hoop, which was it­self at­tached to the bal­loon by net­ting, &c. With re­gard to his use of hy­dro­gen gas, there are an­tic­ipa­tions that must be no­ticed. As ear­ly as 1766 Hen­ry Cavendish showed that this gas was at least sev­en times lighter than or­di­nary air, and it im­me­di­ate­ly oc­curred to Dr Joseph Black, of Ed­in­burgh, that a thin bag filled with hy­dro­gen gas would rise to the ceil­ing of a room. He pro­vid­ed, ac­cord­ing­ly, the al­lan­tois of a calf, with the view of show­ing at a pub­lic lec­ture such a cu­ri­ous ex­per­iment; but for some rea­son it seems to have failed, and Black did not re­peat it, thus al­low­ing a great dis­cov­ery, al­most with­in his reach, to es­cape him. Sev­er­al years af­ter­wards a sim­ilar idea oc­curred to Tiberius Cav­al­lo, who found that blad­ders, even when care­ful­ly scraped, are too heavy, and that Chi­na pa­per is per­me­able to the gas. But in 1782, the year be­fore the in­ven­tion of the Mont­golfiers, he suc­ceed­ed in el­evat­ing soap-​bub­bles by in­flat­ing them with hy­dro­gen gas. Re­search­es on the use of gas for in­flat­ing bal­loons seem to have been car­ried on at Philadel­phia near­ly si­mul­ta­ne­ous­ly with the ex­per­iments of the Mont­golfiers; and when the news of the lat­ter reached Amer­ica, D. Rit­ten­house and F. Hop­kin­son, mem­bers of the Philo­soph­ical So­ci­ety at Philadel­phia; con­struct­ed a ma­chine con­sist­ing of forty-​sev­en small hy­dro­gen gas-​bal­loons at­tached to a car or cage. Af­ter sev­er­al pre­lim­inary ex­per­iments, in which an­imals were let up to a cer­tain height by a rope, a car­pen­ter, one James Wilcox, was in­duced to en­ter the car for a small sum of mon­ey; the ropes were cut, and he re­mained in the air about ten min­utes, and on­ly then ef­fect­ed his de­scent by mak­ing in­ci­sions in a num­ber of the bal­loons, through fear of falling in­to the riv­er, which he was ap­proach­ing.

First As­cents in Great Britain.

Al­though the news of the An­non­ay and sub­se­quent ex­per­iments in France rapid­ly spread all over Eu­rope, and formed a top­ic of gen­er­al dis­cus­sion, still it was not till five months af­ter the Mont­golfiers had first pub­licly sent a bal­loon in­to the air that any aero­stat­ic ex­per­iment was made in Eng­land. In Novem­ber 1783 Count Francesco Zam­bec­ca­ri (1756-1812), an Ital­ian who hap­pened to be in Lon­don, made a bal­loon of oil-​silk, 10 ft. in di­am­eter, and weigh­ing 11 lb. It was pub­licly shown for sev­er­al days, and on the 25th it was three-​quar­ters filled with hy­dro­gen gas and launched from the Ar­tillery ground at one o’clock. It de­scend­ed af­ter two hours and a half near Pet­worth, in Sus­sex, 48 m. from Lon­don. This was the first bal­loon that as­cend­ed from En­glish ground. On the 22nd of Febru­ary 1784 a hy­dro­gen gas bal­loon, 5 ft. in di­am­eter, was let up from Sand­wich, in Kent, and de­scend­ed at War­ne­ton, in French Flan­ders, 75 m. dis­tant. This was the first bal­loon that crossed the Chan­nel. The first per­son who rose in­to the air from British ground ap­pears to have been J. Tytler1, who as­cend­ed from the Come­ly Gar­dens, Ed­in­burgh, on the 27th of Au­gust 1784, in a fire-​bal­loon of his own con­struc­tion. He de­scend­ed on the road to Re­stal­rig, about half a mile from the place where he rose.

But it was Vin­cent Lu­nar­di who prac­ti­cal­ly in­tro­duced aero­sta­tion in­to Great Britain. Al­though Tytler had the prece­dence by a few days still his at­tempts and par­tial suc­cess were all but un­known; where­as Lu­nar­di’s ex­per­iments ex­cit­ed an enor­mous amount of en­thu­si­asm in Lon­don. He was sec­re­tary to Prince Cara­man­ico, the Neapoli­tan am­bas­sador, and his pub­lished let­ters to his guardian, the cheva­lier Com­pag­ni, writ­ten while he was car­ry­ing out his project, and de­tail­ing all the dif­fi­cul­ties, &c., he met with as they oc­curred, give an in­ter­est­ing and vivid ac­count of the whole mat­ter. His bal­loon was 33 ft. in cir­cum­fer­ence (fig.4), and was ex­posed to the pub­lic view at the Lyceum in the Strand, where it was vis­it­ed by up­wards of 20,000 peo­ple. He orig­inal­ly in­tend­ed to as­cend from Chelsea Hos­pi­tal, but the con­duct of a crowd at a gar­den at Chelsea, which de­stroyed the fire-​bal­loon of a French­man named de Moret, who an­nounced an as­cent on the 11th of Au­gust, but was un­able to keep his word, led to the with­draw­al of the leave that had been grant­ed. Ul­ti­mate­ly he was per­mit­ted to as­cend from the Ar­tillery ground, and on the 15th of Septem­ber 1784 the in­fla­tion with hy­dro­gen gas took place. It was in­tend­ed that an En­glish gen­tle­man named Big­gin should ac­com­pa­ny Lu­nar­di; but the crowd be­com­ing im­pa­tient, the lat­ter judged it pru­dent to as­cend with the bal­loon on­ly par­tial­ly full rather than risk a longer de­lay, and ac­cord­ing­ly Mr Big­gin was obliged to leave the car. Lu­nar­di there­fore as­cend­ed alone, in pres­ence of the prince of Wales and an enor­mous crowd of spec­ta­tors. He took up with him a pi­geon, a dog and a cat, and the bal­loon was pro­vid­ed with oars, by means of which he hoped to raise or low­er it at plea­sure. Short­ly af­ter start­ing the pi­geon es­caped, and one of the oars be­came bro­ken and fell to the ground. In about an hour and a half he de­scend­ed at South Mimms, in Hert­ford­shire, and land­ed the cat, which had suf­fered from the cold: he then as­cend­ed again, and de­scend­ed, af­ter the lapse of about three-​quar­ters of an hour, at Stan­don, near Ware, where he had great dif­fi­cul­ty in in­duc­ing the peas­ants to come to his as­sis­tance; but at length a young wom­an, tak­ing hold of one of the cords, urged the men to fol­low her ex­am­ple, which they then did. The ex­cite­ment caused by this as­cent was im­mense, and Lu­nar­di at once be­came the star of the hour. He was pre­sent­ed to the king, and was court­ed and flat­tered on all sides. To show the en­thu­si­asm dis­played by the peo­ple dur­ing his as­cent, he tells him­self, in his sixth let­ter, how a la­dy, mis­tak­ing the oar which fell for him­self, was so af­fect­ed by his sup­posed de­struc­tion that she died in a few days; but, on the oth­er hand, he says he was told by the judges “that he had cer­tain­ly saved the life of a young man who might pos­si­bly be re­formed, and be to the pub­lic a com­pen­sa­tion for the death of the la­dy”; for the ju­ry were de­lib­er­at­ing on the fate of a crim­inal, whom they must ul­ti­mate­ly have con­demned, when the bal­loon ap­peared, and to save time they gave a ver­dict of ac­quit­tal, and the whole court came out to view the bal­loon. The king al­so was in con­fer­ence with his min­is­ters; but on hear­ing that the bal­loon was pass­ing, he broke up the dis­cus­sion, and with them watched the bal­loon through tele­scopes. The bal­loon was af­ter­wards ex­hib­it­ed in the Pan­theon. In the lat­ter part of the fol­low­ing year (1785) Lu­nar­di made sev­er­al suc­cess­ful as­cents from Kel­so, Ed­in­burgh and Glas­gow (in one of which he tra­versed a dis­tance of 110 m.); these he de­scribed in a sec­ond se­ries of let­ters. The first as­cent from Ire­land was made on the 19th of Jan­uary 1785 by a Mr Cros­bie, who on the fol­low­ing 19th of Ju­ly at­tempt­ed to cross St George’s Chan­nel to Eng­land but fell in­to the sea. The sec­ond per­son who as­cend­ed from Ire­land was Richard Maguire. Mr Cros­bie had in­flat­ed his bal­loon on the 12th of May 1785, but it was un­able to take him up. Maguire in these cir­cum­stances of­fered him­self as a sub­sti­tute, and his of­fer be­ing ac­cept­ed he made the as­cent. For this he was knight­ed by the Lord-​Lieu­tenant. An­oth­er at­tempt to cross St George’s Chan­nel was made by James Sadler on the 1st of Oc­to­ber 1812, and he had near­ly suc­ceed­ed when in con­se­quence of a change of wind he was forced to de­scend in­to the sea off Liv­er­pool, whence he was res­cued by a fish­ing-​boat. But on the 22nd of Ju­ly 1817 his sec­ond son, Wind­ham Sadler, suc­ceed­ed in cross­ing from Dublin to Holy­head.

The first bal­loon voy­age across the En­glish Chan­nel was ac­com­plished by Jean Pierre Blan­chard (1753-1809) and Dr. J. Jef­fries, an Amer­ican physi­cian, on the 7th of Jan­uary 1785. In the pre­ced­ing year, on the 2nd of March, Blan­chard, who was one of the most cel­ebrat­ed of the ear­li­er aero­nauts, made his first voy­age from Paris in a bal­loon 27 ft. in di­am­eter (fig. 5), and de­scend­ed at Bil­lan­court near Sevres. Just as the bal­loon was about to start, a young man jumped in­to the car and draw­ing his sword de­clared his de­ter­mi­na­tion to as­cend with Blan­chard. He was ul­ti­mate­ly re­moved by force. It has some­times been in­cor­rect­ly stat­ed that he was Napoleon Bona­parte; his name in re­al­ity was Dupont de Cham­bon. In their Chan­nel cross­ing Blan­chard and his com­pan­ion, who start­ed from Dover, when about one-​third across found them­selves de­scend­ing, and threw out ev­ery avail­able thing from the boat or car. When about three- quar­ters across they were de­scend­ing again, and had to throw out not on­ly the an­chor and cords, but al­so to strip and throw away their cloth­ing, which they found they were ris­ing, and their last re­source, viz. to cut away the car, was ren­dered un­nec­es­sary. As they ap­proached the shore the bal­loon rose, de­scrib­ing a mag­nif­icent arch high over the land. They de­scend­ed in the for­est of Guinnes. On the 15th of June 1785, Pi­la­tre de Rozi­er made an at­tempt to re­peat the ex­ploit of Blan­chard and Jef­fries in the re­verse di­rec­tion, and cross from Boulogne to Eng­land. For this pur­pose he con­trived a dou­ble bal­loon, which he ex­pect­ed would com­bine the ad­van­tages of both kinds—a fire-​bal­loon, 10 ft. in di­am­eter, be­ing placed un­der­neath a gas-​bal­loon of 37 ft. in di­am­eter, so that by in­creas­ing or di­min­ish­ing the fire in the for­mer it might be pos­si­ble to as­cend or de­scend with­out waste of gas. Rozi­er was ac­com­pa­nied by P. A. Ro­main, and for rather less than half an hour af­ter the aero­stat as­cend­ed all seemed to be go­ing on well, when sud­den­ly the whole ap­pa­ra­tus was seen in flames, and the un­for­tu­nate ad­ven­tur­ers came to the ground from the sup­posed height of more than 3000 ft. Rozi­er was killed on the spot, and Ro­main on­ly sur­vived about ten min­utes. A mon­ument was erect­ed on the place where they fell, which was near the sea-​shore, about 4 m. from the start­ing-​point.

Ear­ly large bal­loons.

The largest bal­loon on record (if the con­tem­po­rary ac­counts are cor­rect) as­cend­ed from Lyons on the 19th of Jan­uary 1784. It was more than 100 ft. in di­am­eter, about 130 ft. in height, and when dis­tend­ed had a ca­pac­ity, it is said, of over half a mil­lion cu­bic feet. It was called the “Fles­selles” (from the name of its pro­pri­etor, we be­lieve), and af­ter hav­ing been in­flat­ed from a straw fire in sev­en­teen min­utes, it rose with sev­en per­sons in the car to the height of about 3000 ft., but de­scend­ed again af­ter the lapse of about a quar­ter of an hour from the time of start­ing, in con­se­quence of a rent in the up­per part. An­oth­er large fire-​bal­loon, 68 ft. in di­am­eter, was con­struct­ed by the cheva­lier Paul An­dreani of Mi­lan, and on the 25th of Febru­ary he as­cend­ed in it from Mi­lan, re­main­ing in the air for about twen­ty min­utes. This is usu­al­ly re­gard­ed as the first as­cent in Italy (but see Mon­ck Ma­son’s Aero­nau­ti­ca, p. 247). On the 7th of Novem­ber 1836, at half-​past one o’clock, a large bal­loon con­tain­ing about 85,000 cub. ft. of gas as­cend­ed from Vaux­hall Gar­dens, Lon­don, car­ry­ing Robert Hol­lond, M.P., Mon­ck Ma­son and Charles Green, and de­scend­ed about two leagues from Weil­burg, in the duchy of Nas­sau, at half-​past sev­en the next morn­ing, hav­ing thus tra­versed a dis­tance of about 500 m. in 18 hours; Liege was passed in the course of the night, and Coblentz in the ear­ly morn­ing. In con­se­quence of this jour­ney the bal­loon be­came fa­mous as the “Nas­sau Bal­loon” (fig. 6). Charles Green (1785-1870), who con­struct­ed it and sub­se­quent­ly be­came its own­er, was the most cel­ebrat­ed of En­glish aero­nauts, and made an ex­traor­di­nary num­ber of as­cents. His first, made from the Green Park, Lon­don, on the 19th of Ju­ly 1821 at the coro­na­tion of George IV., was dis­tin­guished for the fact that for the first time coal-​gas was used in­stead of hy­dro­gen for in­flat­ing the bal­loon. In 1828 he made an eques­tri­an as­cent from the Ea­gle Tav­ern, City Road, Lon­don, seat­ed on his favourite pony. Such as­cents have since been re­peat­ed; in 1852 Madame Poitevin made one from Cre­morne Gar­dens, but was pre­vent­ed from giv­ing a sec­ond per­for­mance by po­lice in­ter­fer­ence, the ex­hi­bi­tion out­rag­ing pub­lic opin­ion. It was in de­scend­ing from the “Nas­sau Bal­loon” in a parachute that Robert Cock­ing was killed in 1837 (see PARACHUTE) . Green was the in­ven­tor of the guide-​rope, which con­sists of a long rope trail­ing be­low the car. Its func­tion is to re­duce the waste of gas and bal­last re­quired to keep the bal­loon at a prop­er al­ti­tude. When a bal­loon sinks so low that a good deal of the guide-​rope rests on the ground, it is re­lieved of so much weight and there­fore tends to rise; if on the oth­er hand it ris­es so that most of the rope is lift­ed off the ground, it has to bear a greater weight and tends to sink.

In 1863 A. Nadar, a Paris pho­tog­ra­pher, con­struct­ed “Le Geant,” which was the largest gas-​bal­loon made up to that time and con­tained over 200,000 cub. ft. of gas. Un­der­neath it was placed a small­er bal­loon, called a com­pen­sator, the ob­ject of which was to pre­vent loss of gas dur­ing the voy­age. The car had two sto­ries, and was, in fact, a mod­el of a cot­tage in wick­er-​work, 8 ft. in height by 13 ft. in length, con­tain­ing a small print­ing-​of­fice, a pho­to­graph­ic de­part­ment, a re­fresh­ment-​room, a lava­to­ry, &c. The first as­cent took place at five o’clock on Sun­day the 4th of Oc­to­ber 1863, from the Champ de Mars. There were thir­teen per­sons in the car, in­clud­ing one la­dy, the princess de la Tour d’Au­vergne, and the two aero­nauts Louis and Jules Go­dard. In spite of the elab­orate prepa­ra­tions that had been made and the stores of pro­vi­sions that were tak­en up, the bal­loon de­scend­ed at nine o’clock, at Meaux, the ear­ly de­scent be­ing ren­dered nec­es­sary, it was said, by an ac­ci­dent to the valve-​line. At a sec­ond as­cent, made a fort­night lat­er, there were nine pas­sen­gers, in­clud­ing Madame Nadar. The bal­loon de­scend­ed at the ex­pi­ra­tion of sev­en­teen hours, near Nien­burg in Hanover, a dis­tance of about 400 m. A strong wind was blow­ing, and it was dragged over the ground for 7 or 8 m. All the pas­sen­gers were bruised, and some se­ri­ous­ly hurt. The bal­loon and car were then brought to Eng­land, and ex­hib­it­ed at the Crys­tal Palace at the end of 1863 and be­gin­ning of 1864. The two as­cents of Nadar’s bal­loon ex­cit­ed an ex­traor­di­nary amount of en­thu­si­asm and in­ter­est, vast­ly out of pro­por­tion to what they were en­ti­tled to. Nadar’s idea was to ob­tain suf­fi­cient mon­ey, by the ex­hi­bi­tion of his bal­loon, to car­ry out a plan of aeri­al lo­co­mo­tion he had con­ceived pos­si­ble by means of the prin­ci­ple of the screw; in fact, he spoke of “Le Geant” as “the last bal­loon.” He al­so start­ed L’Aero­naute, a news­pa­per de­vot­ed to aero­sta­tion, and pub­lished a small book, which was trans­lat­ed in­to En­glish un­der the ti­tle The Right to Fly. Di­rect­ly af­ter Nadar’s two as­cents, Eu­gene Go­dard con­struct­ed a fire-​bal­loon of near­ly half a mil­lion cu­bic feet ca­pac­ity–more than dou­ble that of Nadar’s and on­ly slight­ly less than that at­tribut­ed to the “Fles­selles” of 1783. The air was heat­ed by an 18-ft. stove, weigh­ing, with the chim­ney, 980 lb. This fur­nace was fed by straw; and the “car” con­sist­ed of a gallery sur­round­ing it. Two as­cents of this bal­loon, the first fire-​bal­loon seen in Lon­don, were made from Cre­morne Gar­dens in Ju­ly 1864. Af­ter the first jour­ney the bal­loon de­scend­ed at Green­wich, and af­ter the sec­ond at Waltham­stow, where it was in­jured by be­ing blown against a tree. Notwith­stand­ing its enor­mous size, Go­dard as­sert­ed that it could be in­flat­ed in half an hour, and the in­fla­tion at Cre­morne did not oc­cu­py more than an hour. In spite of the ra­pid­ity with which the in­fla­tion was ef­fect­ed, few who saw the as­cent could fail to re­ceive an im­pres­sion un­favourable to the fire-​bal­loon in the mat­ter of safe­ty, as a rough de­scent, with a heat­ed fur­nace as it were in the car, could not be oth­er than most dan­ger­ous.

Long bal­loon voy­ages.

In the sum­mer of 1873 the pro­pri­etors of the New York Dai­ly Graph­ic, re­viv­ing a project dis­cussed by Green in 1840, de­ter­mined to con­struct a very large bal­loon, and en­able the Amer­ican aero­naut, John Wise, to re­al­ize his favourite scheme of cross­ing the At­lantic Ocean to Eu­rope, by tak­ing ad­van­tage of the cur­rent from west to east which was be­lieved by many to ex­ist con­stant­ly at heights above 10,000 ft. The project came to noth­ing ow­ing to the qual­ity of the ma­te­ri­al of which the bal­loon was made. When it was be­ing in­flat­ed in Septem­ber 1873 a rent was ob­served af­ter 325,000 cub. ft. of gas had been put in, and the whole rapid­ly col­lapsed. The size was said to be such as to con­tain 400,000 cub. ft., so that it would lift a weight of 14,000 lb. No bal­loon voy­age has yet been made of a length com­pa­ra­ble to the breadth of the At­lantic. In fact on­ly two voy­ages ex­ceed­ing 1000 m. are on record–that of John Wise from St Louis to Hen­der­son, N.Y., 1120 m., in 1859, and that of Count Hen­ry de la Vaulx from Paris to Ko­ros­tich­eff in Rus­sia, 1193 m., in 1900. On the 11th of Ju­ly 1897 Sa­lomon An­dree, with two com­pan­ions, Strend­berg and Frankel, as­cend­ed from Spitzber­gen in a dar­ing at­tempt to reach the North Pole, about 600 m. dis­tant. One car­ri­er pi­geon, ap­par­ent­ly lib­er­at­ed 48 hours af­ter the start, was shot, and two float­ing buoys with mes­sages were found, but noth­ing more was heard of the ex­plor­ers.

Sci­en­tif­ic As­cents.

At an ear­ly date the bal­loon was ap­plied to sci­en­tif­ic pur­pos­es. as far back as 1784, Dr Jef­fries made an as­cent from Lon­don in which he car­ried out baro­met­ric, ther­mo­met­ric and hy­gro­met­ric ob­ser­va­tions, al­so col­lect­ing sam­ples of the air at dif­fer­ent heights. In 1803 the St Pe­ters­burg Acade­my of Sci­ences, en­ter­tain­ing the opin­ion that the ex­per­iments made on moun­tain-​sides by J. A. Deluc, H. B. de Saus­sure, A. von Hum­boldt and oth­ers must give re­sults dif­fer­ent from those made in free air at the same heights, re­solved to ar­range a bal­loon as­cent. Ac­cord­ing­ly, on the 30th of Jan­uary 1808, .Sacharof, a mem­ber of the acade­my, as­cend­ed in a gas bal­loon, in com­pa­ny with a French aero­naut, E. G. Robert­son, who at one time gave con­jur­ing en­ter­tain­ments in Paris. The as­cent was made at a quar­ter past sev­en, and the de­scent ef­fect­ed at a quar­ter to eleven. The height reached was less than 1 1/2 m. The ex­per­iments were not very sys­tem­at­ical­ly made, and the chief re­sults were the fill­ing and bring­ing down of sev­er­al flasks of air col­lect­ed at dif­fer­ent el­eva­tions, and the sup­posed ob­ser­va­tion that the mag­net­ic dip was al­tered. A tele­scope fixed in the bot­tom of the car and point­ing ver­ti­cal­ly down­wards en­abled the trav­ellers to as­cer­tain ex­act­ly the spot over which they were float­ing at any mo­ment. Sacharof found that, on shout­ing down­wards through his speak­ing-​trum­pet, the echo from the earth was quite dis­tinct, and at his height was au­di­ble af­ter an in­ter­val of about ten sec­onds (Phil. Mag., 1805, 21, p. 193).

Some of the re­sults re­port­ed by Robert­son ap­pear­ing doubt­ful, Laplace pro­posed to the mem­bers of the French Acade­my of Sci­ences that the funds placed by the gov­ern­ment at their dis­pos­al for the pros­ecu­tion of use­ful ex­per­iments should be uti­lized in send­ing up bal­loons to test their ac­cu­ra­cy. The propo­si­tion was sup­port­ed by J. A. C. Chap­tal, the chemist, who was then min­is­ter of the in­te­ri­or, and ac­cord­ing­ly the nec­es­sary ar­range­ments were speed­ily ef­fect­ed, the charge of the ex­per­iments be­ing giv­en to L. J. Gay-​Lus­sac and J. B. Biot. The prin­ci­pal ob­ject of this as­cent was to de­ter­mine whether the mag­net­ic force ex­pe­ri­enced any ap­pre­cia­ble diminu­tion at heights above the earth’s sur­face. On the 24th of Au­gust 1804, Gay-​Lus­sac and Biot as­cend­ed from the Con­ser­va­toire des Arts at ten o’clock in the morn­ing. Their mag­net­ic ex­per­iments were in­com­mod­ed by the ro­ta­tion of the bal­loon, but they found that, up to the height of 13,000 ft., the time of vi­bra­tion of a mag­net was ap­pre­cia­bly the same as on the earth’s sur­face. They found al­so that the air be­came dri­er as they as­cend­ed. The height reached was about 13,000 ft., and the tem­per­ature de­clined from 63 deg. to 51 deg. F. The de­scent was ef­fect­ed about half-​past one, at Meriv­ille, 18 leagues from Paris.

In a sec­ond ex­per­iment, which was made on the 16th of Septem­ber 1804, Gay-​Lus­sac as­cend­ed alone. The bal­loon left the Con­ser­va­toire des Arts at 9.40 A.M., and de­scend­ed at 3.45 P.M. be­tween Rouen and Dieppe. The chief re­sult ob­tained was that the mag­net­ic force, like grav­ita­tion, did not ex­pe­ri­ence any sen­si­ble vari­ation at heights from the earth’s sur­face which we can at­tain to. Gay-​Lus­sac al­so brought down air col­lect­ed at the height of near­ly 23,000 ft., and on anal­ysis it ap­peared that its com­po­si­tion was the same as that of air col­lect­ed at the earth’s sur­face. At the time of leav­ing the earth the ther­mome­ter stood at 82 deg. F., and at the high­est point reached (23,000 ft.) it was 14.9 deg. F. Gay-​Lus­sac re­marked that at his high­est point there were still clouds above him.

From 1804 to 1850 there is no record of any sci­en­tif­ic as­cents in bal­loons hav­ing been un­der­tak­en. In the lat­ter year J. A. Bixio (1808-1865) and A. Bar­ral (1819-1884) made two as­cents of this kind. In the first they as­cend­ed from the Paris ob­ser­va­to­ry on the 29th of June 1850, at 10.27 A.M., the bal­loon be­ing in­flat­ed with hy­dro­gen gas. The day was a rough one, and the as­cent took place with­out any pre­vi­ous at­tempt hav­ing been made to test the as­cen­sion­al force of the bal­loon. When lib­er­at­ed, it rose with great ra­pid­ity, and be­com­ing ful­ly in­flat­ed it pressed up­on the net­work, bulging out at the top and bot­tom. The ropes by which the car was sus­pend­ed be­ing too short, the bal­loon soon cov­ered the trav­ellers like an im­mense hood. In en­deav­our­ing to se­cure the valve-​rope, they made a rent in the bal­loon, and the gas es­caped so close to their faces as al­most to suf­fo­cate them. Find­ing that they were de­scend­ing then too rapid­ly, they threw over­board ev­ery­thing avail­able, in­clud­ing their coats and on­ly ex­cept­ing the in­stru­ments. The ground was reached at 10h. 45m., near Lagny. Of course no ob­ser­va­tions were made. Their sec­ond as­cent was made on the 27th of Ju­ly, and was re­mark­able on ac­count of the ex­treme cold met with. At about 20,000 ft. the tem­per­ature was 15 deg. F., the bal­loon be­ing en­veloped in cloud; but on emerg­ing from the cloud, at 23,000 ft., the tem­per­ature sank to –38 deg. F., no less than 53 deg. F. be­low that ex­pe­ri­enced by Gay-​Lus­sac at the same el­eva­tion. The ex­is­tence of these very cold clouds served to ex­plain cer­tain me­te­oro­log­ical phe­nom­ena that were ob­served on the earth both the day be­fore and the day af­ter the as­cent. Some pi­geons were tak­en up in this, as in most oth­er high as­cents; when lib­er­at­ed, they showed a re­luc­tance to leave the car, and then fell heav­ily down­wards.

In Ju­ly 1852 the com­mit­tee of the Kew Ob­ser­va­to­ry re­solved to in­sti­tute a se­ries of bal­loon as­cents, with the view of in­ves­ti­gat­ing such me­te­oro­log­ical and phys­ical phe­nom­ena as re­quire the pres­ence of an ob­serv­er at a great height in the at­mo­sphere. John Welsh (1824-1859) of the Kew Ob­ser­va­to­ry was the ob­serv­er, and the great “Nas­sau Bal­loon” was em­ployed, with Green him­self as the aero­naut. Four as­cents were made in 1852, viz. on the 17th and 26th of Au­gust, the 31st of Oc­to­ber and the 10th of Novem­ber. The heights at­tained were 19,510, 19,100, 12,680 and 22,930 ft., and the low­est tem­per­atures met with in the four as­cents were 8.7 deg. F. (19,380 ft.), 12.4 deg. F. (18,370 ft.), 16.4 deg. F. (12,640 ft.) and 10.5 deg. F. (22,370 ft.). The de­cline of tem­per­ature was very reg­ular. A siphon barom­eter, dry and wet bulb ther­mome­ters, as­pi­rat­ed and free, and a Reg­nault hy­grom­eter were tak­en up. Some air col­lect­ed at a con­sid­er­able height was found on anal­ysis not to dif­fer ap­pre­cia­bly in its com­po­si­tion from air col­lect­ed near the ground. For the orig­inal ob­ser­va­tions see Phil. Trans., 1853, pp. 311-346.

Glaish­er’s as­cents.

At the meet­ing of the British As­so­ci­ation for the Ad­vance­ment of Sci­ence held at Ab­erdeen in 1859, a com­mit­tee was ap­point­ed for the pur­pose of mak­ing ob­ser­va­tions in the high­er stra­ta of the at­mo­sphere by means of the bal­loon. For two years noth­ing was ef­fect­ed, ow­ing to the want both of an ob­serv­er and of a suit­able bal­loon. Af­ter its reap­point­ment at the Manch­ester meet­ing of 1861, the com­mit­tee com­mu­ni­cat­ed with Hen­ry Tracey Coxwell (1819-1900), an aero­naut who had made a good many as­cents, and he agreed to con­struct a new bal­loon, of 90,000 cub. ft. ca­pac­ity, on the con­di­tion that the com­mit­tee would un­der­take to use it, and pay L. 25 for each high as­cent made es­pe­cial­ly on its be­half, de­fray­ing al­so the cost of gas, &c., so that the ex­pense of each high as­cent amount­ed to near­ly L. 50. An ob­serv­er be­ing still want­ed, James Glaish­er, a mem­ber of the com­mit­tee, of­fered him­self to take the ob­ser­va­tions, and ac­cord­ing­ly the first as­cent was made on the 17th of Ju­ly 1862, from the gas-​works at Wolver­hami­ton, this town be­ing cho­sen on ac­count of its cen­tral po­si­tion in the coun­try. Al­to­geth­er, Glaish­er made twen­ty-​eight as­cents, the last be­ing on the 26th of May 1866. Of these on­ly sev­en were spe­cial­ly high as­cents, al­though six oth­ers were un­der­tak­en for the ob­jects of the com­mit­tee alone. . On the ether oc­ca­sions he availed him­self of pub­lic as­cents from the Crys­tal Palace and oth­er places of en­ter­tain­ment, mere­ly tak­ing his place like the oth­er pas­sen­gers. In the last six as­cents an­oth­er aero­naut and a small­er bal­loon were em­ployed. The dates, places of as­cent and great­est heights (in feet) at­tained in the twen­ty-​eight as­cents were–1862: Ju­ly 17, Wolver­hamp­ton, 26,177; Ju­ly 30, Crys­tal Palace, 6937; Au­gust 18, Wolver­hamp­ton, 23,377; Au­gust 20, Crys­tal Palace, 5900; Au­gust 21, Hen­don, 14,355; Septem­ber 1, Crys­tal Palace, 4190; Septem­ber 5, Wolver­hamp­ton, 37,000; Septem­ber 8, Crys­tal Palace, 5428. 1863: March 31, Crys­tal Palace, 22,884; April 18, Crys­tal Palace, 24,163; June 26, Wolver­ton, 23,200; Ju­ly 11, Crys­tal Palace, 6623; Ju­ly 21, Crys­tal Palace, 3298; Au­gust 31, New­cas­tle-​up­on-​Tyne, 8033; Septem­ber 29, Wolver­hamp­ton, 16,590; Oc­to­ber 9, Crys­tal Palace, 7310. 1864: Jan­uary 12, Wool­wich, 11,897; April 6, Wool­wich, 11,075; June 13, Crys­tal Palace, 3543; June 20, Der­by, 4280; June 27, Crys­tal Palace, 4898; Au­gust 29, Crys­tal Palace, 14,581; De­cem­ber 1, Wool­wich, 5431; De­cem­ber 30, Wool­wich, 3735. 1865: Febru­ary 27, Wool­wich, 4865; Oc­to­ber 2, Wool­wich, 1949; De­cem­ber 2, Wool­wich, 4628. 1866: May 26, Wind­sor, 6325.

The pri­ma­ry ob­ject of the as­cents was to de­ter­mine the tem­per­ature of the air, and its hy­gro­met­ri­cal state at dif­fer­ent el­eva­tions to as great a height as could be reached; and the sec­ondary ob­jects were-(1) to de­ter­mine the tem­per­ature of the dew-​point by Daniell’s and Reg­nault’s hy­grom­eters, as well as by the dry and wet bulb ther­mome­ters, and to com­pare the re­sults; (2) to com­pare the read­ings of an aneroid barom­eter with those of a mer­cu­ri­al barom­eter up to the height of 5 m.; (3) to de­ter­mine the elec­tri­cal state of the air, (4) the oxy­genic con­di­tion of the at­mo­sphere, and (5) the time of vi­bra­tion of a mag­net; (6) to col­lect air at dif­fer­ent el­eva­tions; (7) to note the height and kind of clouds, their den­si­ty and thick­ness; (8) to de­ter­mine the rate and di­rec­tion of dif­fer­ent cur­rents in the at­mo­sphere; and (9) to make ob­ser­va­tions on sound. The in­stru­ments used were mer­cu­ri­al and aneroid barom­eters, dry and wet bulb ther­mome­ters, Daniell’s dew-​point hy­grom­eter, Reg­nault’s con­dens­ing hy­grom­eter, max­imum and min­imum ther­mome­ters, a mag­net for hor­izon­tal vi­bra­tion, her­met­ical­ly sealed glass tubes ex­haust­ed of air, and an elec­trom­eter. In one or two of the as­cents a cam­era was tak­en up.

The com­plete ob­ser­va­tions, both as made and af­ter re­duc­tion, are print­ed in the British As­so­ci­ation Re­ports, 1862-1866; here on­ly a gen­er­al ac­count of the re­sults can he giv­en. It ap­peared that the rate of the de­cline of tem­per­ature with el­eva­tion near the earth was very dif­fer­ent ac­cord­ing as the sky was clear or cloudy; and the equal­ity of tem­per­ature at sun­set and in­crease with height af­ter sun­set were very re­mark­able facts which were not an­tic­ipat­ed. Even at the height of 5 m., cir­rus clouds were seen high in the air, ap­par­ent­ly as far above as they seem when viewed from the earth. The re­sults of the ob­ser­va­tions dif­fered very much, and no doubt the at­mo­spher­ic con­di­tions de­pend­ed not on­ly on the time of day, but al­so on the sea­son of the year, and were such that a vast num­ber of as­cents would be req­ui­site to de­ter­mine the true laws with any­thing ap­proach­ing to cer­tain­ty and com­plete­ness. It was al­so clear that Eng­land is a most un­fit coun­try for the pur­suit of such in­ves­ti­ga­tions, as, from what­ev­er place the bal­loon start­ed, it was nev­er safe to be more than an hour above the clouds for fear of reach­ing the sea. It ap­peared from the ob­ser­va­tions that an aneroid barom­eter could be trust­ed to read as ac­cu­rate­ly as a mer­cu­ri­al barom­eter to the heights reached. The time of vi­bra­tion of a hor­izon­tal mag­net was tak­en in very many of the as­cents, and the re­sults of ten dif­fer­ent sets of ob­ser­va­tions in­di­cat­ed that the time of vi­bra­tion was longer than on the earth. In al­most all the as­cents the bal­loon was un­der the in­flu­ence of cur­rents of air in dif­fer­ent di­rec­tions which var­ied great­ly in thick­ness. The di­rec­tion of the wind on the earth was some­times that of the whole mass of air up to 20,000 ft., whilst at oth­er times the di­rec­tion changed with­in 500 ft. of the earth. Some­times di­rect­ly op­po­site cur­rents were met with at dif­fer­ent heights in the same . as­cent, and three or four streams of air were en­coun­tered mov­ing in dif­fer­ent di­rec­tions. The di­rect dis­tances be­tween the places of as­cent and de­scent, apart from the move­ments of the bal­loon un­der the in­flu­ence of these var­ious cur­rents, were al­ways very much greater than the hor­izon­tal move­ment of the air as mea­sured by anemome­ters. For ex­am­ple, on the 12th of Jan­uary 1862, the bal­loon left Wool­wich at 2h. 8m. P.M., and de­scend­ed at Lak­en­heath, 70 m. dis­tant from the place of as­cent, at 4h. 19m. P.M. At the Green­wich Ob­ser­va­to­ry, by a Robin­son anemome­ter, dur­ing this time the mo­tion of the air was 6 m. on­ly. With re­gard to phys­io­log­ical ob­ser­va­tions, Glaish­er found that the fre­quen­cy of his pulse in­creased with el­eva­tion, as al­so did the num­ber of in­spi­ra­tions. The num­ber of his pul­sa­tions was gen­er­al­ly 76 per minute be­fore start­ing, about 90 at 10,000 ft., 100 at 20,000 ft., and 110 at high­er el­eva­tions. But a good deal de­pend­ed on the tem­per­ament of the in­di­vid­ual. This was al­so the case in re­spect to colour; at 10,000 ft. the faces of some would be a glow­ing pur­ple, whilst oth­ers would be scarce­ly af­fect­ed; at 4 m. high Glaish­er found the pul­sa­tions of his heart dis­tinct­ly au­di­ble, and his breath­ing was very much af­fect­ed, so that pant­ing was pro­duced by the slight­est ex­er­tion; at 29,000 ft. he be­came in­sen­si­ble. In ref­er­ence to the prop­aga­tion of sound, it was at all times found that sounds from the earth were more or less au­di­ble ac­cord­ing to the amount of mois­ture in the air. When in clouds at 4 m. high, a rail­way train was heard; but when clouds were far be­low, no sound ev­er reached the ear at this el­eva­tion. The dis­charge of a gun was heard at 10,000 ft. The bark­ing of a dog was heard at the height of 2 m., while the shout­ing of a mul­ti­tude of peo­ple was not au­di­ble at heights ex­ceed­ing 4000 ft. In his as­cent of the 5th of Septem­ber 1862, Glaish­er con­sid­ered that he reached a height of 37,000 ft. But that fig­ure was based, not on ac­tu­al record, but on the cir­cum­stances that at 29,000 ft., when he be­came in­sen­si­ble, the bal­loon was ris­ing 1000 ft. a minute, and that when he re­cov­ered con­scious­ness thir­teen min­utes lat­er it was falling 2000 ft. a minute, and the ac­cu­ra­cy of his con­clu­sions has been ques­tioned. Few sci­en­tif­ic men have im­itat­ed Glaish­er in mak­ing high as­cents for me­te­oro­log­ical ob­ser­va­tions. In 1867 and 1868 Camille Flam­mar­ion made eight or nine as­cents from Paris for sci­en­tif­ic pur­pos­es. The heights at­tained were not great, but the gen­er­al re­sult was to con­firm the ob­ser­va­tions of Glaish­er; for an ac­count see Voy­ages aeriens, Paris, 1870, or Trav­els in the Air, Lon­don, 1871, in which al­so some as­cents by W. de Fon­vielle are no­ticed. On the 15th of April 1875, H. T. Siv­el, J. E. Croce-​Spinel­li and Gas­ton Tis­sandi­er as­cend­ed from Paris in the bal­loon “Zenith,” and reached a height of 27,950 ft.; but on­ly Tis­sandi­er came down alive, his two com­pan­ions be­ing as­phyx­iat­ed. This put an end to such at­tempts for a time. But Dr A. Berson and Lieut. Gross at­tained 25,840 ft. on the 11th of May 1894; Berson, as­cend­ing alone from Strass­furt on the 4th of De­cem­ber 1894, at­tained about 31,500 ft. and record­ed a tem­per­ature of –54 deg. F.; and Berson and Stan­ley Spencer are stat­ed by the lat­ter to have at­tained 27,500 ft. on the 15th of Septem­ber 1898 when they as­cend­ed in a hy­dro­gen bal­loon from the Crys­tal Palace, the ther­mome­ter reg­is­ter­ing –29 deg. F. On the 31st of Ju­ly 1901, Berson and R. J. Sur­ing, as­cend­ing at Berlin, ac­tu­al­ly not­ed a baro­met­ric read­ing cor­re­spond­ing to a height of 34,500 ft., and pos­si­bly rose 1000 or 1500 ft. high­er, though in spite of oxy­gen in­hala­tions they were un­con­scious dur­ing the high­est por­tion of the as­cent.

The per­son­al dan­ger at­tend­ing his as­cents led Gus­tave Her­mite and Be­san­con in Novem­ber 1892 to in­au­gu­rate the send­ing up of un­manned bal­loons (bal­lons son­des) equipped with au­to­mat­ic record­ing in­stru­ments, and kites (q.v.) have al­so been em­ployed for sim­ilar me­te­oro­log­ical pur­pos­es. (See al­so ME­TE­OROLOOY.)

Mil­itary bal­loons.

The bal­loon had not been dis­cov­ered very long be­fore it re­ceived a mil­itary sta­tus, and soon af­ter the be­gin­ning of the French rev­olu­tion­ary war an aero­nau­tic school was found­ed at Meudon, in charge of Guy­ton de Morveau, the chemist, and Colonel J. M. J. Coutelle (1748-1835). Four bal­loons were con­struct­ed for the armies of the north, of the Sam­bre and Meuse, of the Rhine and Moselle, and of Egypt. In June 1794 Coutelle as­cend­ed with the ad­ju­tant and gen­er­al to re­con­noitre the hos­tile army just be­fore the bat­tle of Fleu­rus, and two re­con­nais­sances were made, each oc­cu­py­ing four hours. It is gen­er­al­ly stat­ed that it was to the in­for­ma­tion so gained that the French vic­to­ry was due. The bal­loon corps was in con­stant req­ui­si­tion dur­ing the cam­paign, but it does not ap­pear that, with the ex­cep­tion of the re­con­nais­sances just men­tioned, any great ad­van­tages re­sult­ed, ex­cept in a moral point of view. But even this was of im­por­tance, as the en­emy were much dis­con­cert­ed at hav­ing their move­ments so com­plete­ly watched, while the French were cor­re­spond­ing­ly elat­ed at the su­pe­ri­or in­for­ma­tion it was be­lieved they were gain­ing. An at­tempt was made to re­vive the use of bal­loons in the African cam­paign of 1830, but no op­por­tu­ni­ty oc­curred in which they could be em­ployed. It is said that in 1849 a re­con­noitring bal­loon was sent up from be­fore Venice, as al­so were small bal­loons load­ed with bombs to be ex­plod­ed by time-​fus­es. In the French cam­paign against Italy in 1859 the French had re­course to the use of bal­loons, but this time there was not any aero­stat­ic corps, and their man­age­ment was en­trust­ed to the broth­ers Go­dard. Sev­er­al re­con­nais­sances were made, and one of es­pe­cial in­ter­est the day be­fore the bat­tle of Solferi­no. No in­for­ma­tion of much im­por­tance seems, how­ev­er, to have been gained there­by. In the Amer­ican Civ­il War (1861) bal­loons were a good deal used by the Fed­er­als. There was a reg­ular bal­loon staff at­tached to Mc­clel­lan’s army, with a cap­tain, an as­sis­tant-​cap­tain and about 50 non-​com­mis­sioned of­fi­cers and pri­vates. The ap­pa­ra­tus con­sist­ed of two gen­er­ators, drawn by four hors­es each; two bal­loons, drawn by four hors­es each, and an acid-​cart, drawn by two hors­es. The two bal­loons used con­tained about 13,000 and 26,000 ft. of gas, and the in­fla­tion usu­al­ly oc­cu­pied about three hours. (See Roy­al En­gi­neers’ Pa­pers, vol. xii.) By their aid use­ful in­for­ma­tion was gained about the en­emy round Rich­mond and in oth­er places, but even­tu­al­ly dif­fi­cul­ties of trans­port and the to­pog­ra­phy of the the­atre of war made bal­loon­ing im­prac­ti­ca­ble; and lit­tle was heard of it af­ter the first two years of the war.

The bal­loon proved it­self very valu­able dur­ing the siege of Paris (1870-71). It was by it alone that com­mu­ni­ca­tion was kept up be­tween the be­sieged city and the ex­ter­nal world, as the bal­loons car­ried away from Paris the pi­geons which af­ter­wards brought back to it the news of the provinces. The to­tal num­ber of bal­loons that as­cend­ed from Paris dur­ing the siege, con­vey­ing per­sons and despatch­es, was six­ty-​four–the first hav­ing start­ed on the 23rd of Septem­ber 1870, and the last on the 28th of Jan­uary 1871. Gam­bet­ta ef­fect­ed his es­cape from Paris, on the 7th of Oc­to­ber, in the bal­loon “Ar­mand-​Barbes,’, an event which doubt­less led to the pro­lon­ga­tion of the war. Of the six­ty-​four bal­loons on­ly two were nev­er heard of; they were blown out to sea. One of the most re­mark­able voy­ages was that of the “Ville d’Or­leans,” which, leav­ing Paris at eleven o’clock on the 21st of Novem­ber, de­scend­ed fif­teen hours af­ter­wards near Chris­tia­nia, hav­ing crossed the North Sea. Sev­er­al of the bal­loons on their de­scent were tak­en by the Prus­sians, and a good many were fired at while in the air. The av­er­age size of the bal­loons was from 2000 to 2050 me­tres, or from 70,000 to 72,000 cub. ft. The above facts are ex­tract­ed from Les Bal­lons du siege de Paris, a sheet pub­lished by Buila and Sons, Paris, and com­piled by the broth­ers Tis­sandi­er, well-​known French aero­nauts, which gives the name, size and times of as­cent and de­scent of ev­ery bal­loon that left Paris, with the Da.mes of the aero­naut and gen­er­al­ly al­so of the pas­sen­gers, the weight of despatch­es, the num­ber of pi­geons, &c. On­ly those bal­loons, how­ev­er, are no­ticed in which some per­son as­cend­ed. The bal­loons were man­ufac­tured and despatched (gen­er­al­ly from (the plat­forms of the Or­leans or the North­ern rail­way) un­der the di­rec­tion of the Post Of­fice. The aero­nauts em­ployed were most­ly sailors, who did their work very well. No use what­ev­er was made in the war of bal­loons for pur­pos­es of re­con­nais­sance.

Bal­loon­ing, how­ev­er, as a rec­og­nized mil­itary sci­ence, on­ly dates back to about the year 1883 or 1884, when most of the pow­ers or­ga­nized reg­ular bal­loon es­tab­lish­ments. In 1884-85 the French found bal­loons very use­ful dur­ing their cam­paign in Tongk­ing; and the British gov­ern­ment al­so despatched bal­loons with the Bechua­na­land ex­pe­di­tion, and al­so with that to Suakin in those years. Dur­ing the lat­ter cam­paign sev­er­al as­cents were made in the pres­ence of the en­emy, on whom it was said that a great moral ef­fect was pro­duced. The em­ploy­ment of bal­loons has been com­mon in near­ly all mod­ern wars.

We may briefly de­scribe the ap­pa­ra­tus used in mil­itary op­er­ations. The French in the cam­paigns of the 19th cen­tu­ry used var­nished silk bal­loons of about 10,000 cub. ft. ca­pac­ity. The Amer­icans in the Civ­il War used much larg­er ones. those of 26,000 cub. ft. be­ing found the most suit­able. These were al­so of var­nished silk. In the present day most na­tions use bal­loons of about 20,000 cub. ft., made of var­nished cam­bric; but the British war bal­loons, made of gold­beat­er skin, are usu­al­ly of com­par­ative­ly small size, the nor­mal ca­pac­ity be­ing 10,000 cub. ft., though oth­ers of 7000 and 4500 cub. ft. have al­so been used, as at Suakin. The usu­al shape is spher­ical; but since 1896 the Ger­mans, and now oth­er na­tions, have adopt­ed a long cylin­dri­cal-​shaped bal­loon, so af­fixed to its ca­ble as to present an in­clined sur­face to the wind and thus act part­ly on the prin­ci­ple of a kite. Though coal-​gas and even hot air may oc­ca­sion­al­ly be used for in­fla­tion, hy­dro­gen gas is on ac­count of its light­ness fat prefer­able. In the ear­ly days of bal­loon­ing this had to be man­ufac­tured in the field, but nowa­days it is al­most uni­ver­sal­ly car­ried com­pressed in steel tubes. About 100 such tubes, each weigh­ing 75lb., are re­quired to fill a 10,000-ft. bal­loon. Tubes of greater ca­pac­ity have al­so been tried.

The bal­loon is al­most al­ways used cap­tive. If al­lowed to go free it will usu­al­ly be rapid­ly car­ried away by the wind and the re­sults of the ob­ser­va­tions can­not eas­ily be trans­mit­ted back. Oc­ca­sions may oc­cur when such as­cents will be of val­ue, but the usu­al method is to send up a cap­tive bal­loon to a height of some­where about 1000 ft. With the stan­dard British bal­loon two of­fi­cers are sent up, one of whom has now par­tic­ular­ly to at­tend to the man­age­ment of the bal­loon, while the oth­er makes the ob­ser­va­tions.

With re­gard to ob­ser­va­tions from cap­tive bal­loons much de­pends on cir­cum­stances. In a thick­ly wood­ed coun­try, such as that in which the bal­loons were used in the Amer­ican Civ­il War, and in the war in Cu­ba (in which the bal­loon mere­ly served to ex­pose the troops to se­vere fire), no very valu­able in­for­ma­tion is, as a rule, to be ob­tained; but in fair­ly open coun­try all im­por­tant move­ments of troops should be dis­cernible by an ex­pe­ri­enced ob­serv­er at any point with­in about four or five miles of the bal­loon. The cir­cum­stances, it may be men­tioned, are such as would usu­al­ly pre­clude one un­ac­cus­tomed to bal­loon­ing from af­ford­ing valu­able re­ports. Not on­ly is he li­able to be dis­turbed by the nov­el and ap­par­ent­ly haz­ardous sit­ua­tion, but troops and fea­tures of the ground of­ten have so pe­cu­liar an ap­pear­ance from that point of view, that a novice will of­ten have a dif­fi­cul­ty in de­cid­ing whether an ob­ject be a col­umn of troops or a ploughed field. Then again, much will de­pend on at­mo­spher­ic con­di­tions. Thus, in misty weath­er a bal­loon is well-​nigh use­less; and in strong winds, with a ve­loc­ity of any­thing over 20 m. an hour, ef­fi­cient ob­ser­va­tion be­comes a mat­ter of dif­fi­cul­ty. When some spe­cial point has to be re­port­ed on, such as whether there is any large body of troops be­hind a cer­tain hill or wood, a rapid as­cent may still be mace in winds up to 30 m. an hour, but the bal­loon would then be so un­steady that no care­ful scout­ing could be made. It is.usu­al­ly es­ti­mat­ed that a suc­cess­ful cap­tive as­cent can on­ly be made in Eng­land on half the days of the year. As a gen­er­al rule bal­loon as­cents would be made for one of the fol­low­ing ob­jects– to ex­am­ine the coun­try for an en­emy; to re­con­noitre the en­emy’s po­si­tion; to as­cer­tain the strength of his force, num­ber of guns and ex­act sit­ua­tion of the var­ious arms; al­so to note the plan of his earth­works or for­ti­fi­ca­tions. Dur­ing an ac­tion the aeri­al ob­serv­er would be on the look-​out for any move­ments of the en­emy and give warn­ing of flank at­tacks or sur­pris­es. Such an ob­serv­er could al­so keep the gen­er­al in­formed as to the progress of var­ious de­tached par­ties of his own force, as to the ad­vance of re­in­force­ments, or to the con­duct of any fight­ing go­ing on at a dis­tance. Bal­loon ob­ser­va­tions are al­so of es­pe­cial use to ar­tillery in cor­rect­ing their aim. The vul­ner­abil­ity of a cap­tive bal­loon to the en­emy’s fire has been test­ed by many ex­per­iments with vari­able re­sults. One es­tab­lished fact is that the range of a bal­loon in mid-​air is ex­treme­ly dif­fi­cult to judge, and, as its al­ti­tude can he very rapid­ly al­tered, it be­comes a very dif­fi­cult mark for ar­tillery to hit. A few bul­let-​holes in the fab­ric of a bal­loon make but lit­tle dif­fer­ence, since the size of the per­fo­ra­tion is very minute as com­pared with the great sur­face of ma­te­ri­al, but on the oth­er hand, a shrap­nel burst­ing just in front of may cause a rapid fall. It is there­fore con­sid­ered pru­dent to keep the bal­loon well away from an en­emy, and two miles are laid down as the near­est ap­proach it should make ha­bit­ual­ly.

Be­sides be­ing of use on land for war pur­pos­es, bal­loons have been tried in con­nex­ion with the naval ser­vice. In France es­pe­cial­ly reg­ular tri­als have been made of in­flat­ing bal­loons on board ships, and send­ing them aloft as a look-​out; but it is now gen­er­al­ly con­tend­ed that the dif­fi­cul­ties of stor­ing the gas and of ma­noeu­vring the bal­loon are so great on board ship as to be hard­ly worth the re­sults to be gained.

A very im­por­tant de­vel­op­ment of mil­itary bal­loon­ing is the nav­iga­ble bal­loon. If on­ly a bal­loon could be sent up and driv­en in any re­quired di­rec­tion, and brought back to its start­ing-​point, it is ob­vi­ous that it would be of the very great­est use in war.

Di­ri­gi­ble bal­loons.

From the very first in­ven­tion of bal­loons the prob­lem has been how to nav­igate them by propul­sion. Gen­er­al J. B. M. C. Meusnier (1754-1793) pro­posed an elon­gat­ed bal­loon in 1784. It was ex­per­iment­ed on by the broth­ers Robert, who made two as­cen­sions and claimed to have ob­tained a de­vi­ation of 22 deg. from the di­rec­tion of a light wind by means of aeri­al oars worked by hand. The rel­ative speed was prob­ably about 3 m. an hour, and it was so ev­ident that a very much more en­er­get­ic light mo­tor than any then known was re­quired to stem or­di­nary winds that noth­ing more was at­tempt­ed till 1832, when Hen­ri Gif­fard (1825-1882) as as­cend­ed with a steam-​en­gine of then un­prece­dent­ed light­ness. The sub­joined ta­ble ex­hibits some of the re­sults sub­se­quent­ly ob­tained :—

Year. In­ven­tor. Length. Dia- Con- Lift­ing Weight Weight H.P. Speed me­ter. tents. Ca­pa- of of per city. Bal­lon. Mo­tor. hour. Ft. Ft. Cub.ft. lb. lb. lb. Miles 1852 Gif­fard 144 39 88,300 3,978 2,794 462 3.0 6.71 1872 Dupuy de Lome 118 49 120,088 8,358 4,728 2000 0.8 6.26 1884 Tis­sandi­er 92 30 37,439 2,728 933 616 1.5 7.82 1885 Re­nard and Krebs 165 27 65,836 4,402 2,449 1174 9.0 14.00 1897 Schwarz 157 {46 39} 130.500 8,133 6,800 800? 16.0 17.00 1900 Zep­pelin I 420 39 400,000 25,000 19,000 1500 32.0 18.00 1901 San­tos Du­mont VI. 108 20 22,200 .. .. .. 16.20 19.00 1908 “Re­pub- lique” 195 35 130,000 3,100 .. .. 80 30 1908 Zep­pelin IV 446 42 1/2 450,000 .. .. .. 220 ..

Gif­fard, the fu­ture in­ven­tor of the in­jec­tor, de­vised a steam-​en­gine weigh­ing, with fu­el and wa­ter for one hour, 154 lb. per horse-​pow­er, and was bold enough to em­ploy it in prox­im­ity to a bal­loon in­flat­ed with coal gas. He was not able to stem a medi­um wind, but at­tained some de­vi­ation. He re­peat­ed the ex­per­iment in 1855 with a more elon­gat­ed spin­dle, which proved un­sta­ble and dan­ger­ous. Dur­ing the siege of Paris the French Gov­ern­ment de­cid­ed to build a nav­iga­ble bal­loon, and en­trust­ed the work to the chief naval con­struc­tor, Dupuy de Lome. He went in­to the sub­ject very care­ful­ly, made es­ti­mates of all the strains, re­sis­tances and speeds, and test­ed the bal­loon in 1872. De­vi­ations of 12 deg. were ob­tained from the course of a wind blow­ing 27 to 37 m. per hour. The screw pro­peller was driv­en by eight labour­ers, a steam-​en­gine be­ing deemed too dan­ger­ous; but it was es­ti­mat­ed that had one been used, weigh­ing as much as the men, the speed would have been dou­bled. Tis­sandi­er and his broth­er ap­plied an elec­tric mo­tor, lighter than any pre­vi­ous­ly built, to a spin­dle-​shaped bal­loon, and went up twice in 1883 and 1884. On the lat­ter oc­ca­sion he stemmed a wind of 7 m. per hour. The broth­ers aban­doned these ex­per­iments, which had been car­ried on at their own ex­pense, when the French War De­part­ment took up the prob­lem. Re­nard and Krebs, the Of­fi­cers in charge of the War Aero­nau­ti­cal De­part­ment at Heudon, built and ex­per­iment­ed with in 1884 and 1885 the fusiform bal­loon “ La France,” in which the “ mas­ter” or max­imum sec­tion was about one-​quar­ter of the dis­tance from the stem. The pro­pelling screw was at the front of the car and driv­en by an elec­tric mo­tor of un­prece­dent­ed light­ness. Sev­en as­cents were made on very calm days, a max­imum speed of 14 m. an hour was ob­tained, and the bal­loon re­turned to its start­ing-​point on five of the sev­en oc­ca­sions. Sub­se­quent­ly an­oth­er bal­loon was con­struct­ed, said to be ca­pa­ble of a speed of 22 to 28 m. per hour, with a dif­fer­ent mo­tor. Af­ter many years of ex­peri- ment Dr Wolfert built and ex­per­iment­ed with in Berlin, in 1897, a cigar-​shaped bal­loon driv­en by a gaso­line mo­tor. An ex­plo­sion took place in the air, the bal­loon fell and Dr Wolfert and his as­sis­tant were killed. It was al­so in 1897 that an alu­mini­um bal­loon was built from the de­signs of D. Schwarz and test­ed in Be­din. It was driv­en by a Daim­ler ben­zine mo­tor, and at­tained a greater speed than “La France”; but a driv­ing belt slipped, and in com­ing down the bal­loon was in­jured be­yond re­pair.

From 1897 on­wards Count Fer­di­nand von Zep­pelin, of the Ger­man army, was en­gaged in con­struct­ing an im­mense bal­loon, tru­ly an air­ship, of most care­ful and most in­tel­li­gent de­sign, to car­ry five men. It con­sist­ed of an alu­mini­um frame­work con­tain­ing six­teen gas bags with a to­tal ca­pac­ity of near­ly 400,000 cub. ft., and it had two cars, each con­tain­ing a 16 h.p. mo­tor. It was first test­ed in June 1900, when it at­tained a speed of 18 m. an hour and trav­elled a dis­tance of 3 1/2 m. be­fore an ac­ci­dent to the steer­ing gear ne­ces­si­tat­ed the dis­con­tin­uance of the ex­per­iment. In 1905 Zep­pelin built a sec­ond air­ship which had a slight­ly small­er ca­pac­ity but much greater pow­er, its two mo­tors each de­vel­op­ing 85 h.p. This, af­ter mak­ing some suc­cess­ful trips, was wrecked in a vi­olent gale, and was suc­ceed­ed by a third air­ship, which, at its tri­al in Oc­to­ber 1906, trav­elled round Lake Con­stance and showed it­self able to ex­ecute nu­mer­ous curves and tra­vers­es. At a sec­ond se­ries of tri­als in Septem­ber 1907, af­ter some al­ter­ations had been ef­fect­ed, it at­tained a speed of 36 m. an hour, re­main­ing in the air for many hours and car­ry­ing nine or eleven pas­sen­gers. A fourth ves­sel of sim­ilar de­sign, but with more pow­er­ful mo­tors, was tried in 1908, and suc­ceed­ed in trav­el­ling 250 m. in 11 hours, but ow­ing to a storm it was wrecked when on land and burnt at Ech­ter­din­gen on the 5th of Au­gust. Sub­scrip­tions, head­ed by the em­per­or, were at once raised to en­able Zep­pelin to build an­oth­er. Mean­while in 1901 Al­ber­to San­tos Du­mont had be­gun ex­per­iments with di­ri­gi­ble bal­loons in Paris, and on the 19th of Oc­to­ber won the Deutsch prize by steer­ing a bal­loon from St Cloud round the Eif­fel tow­er and back in half an hour, en­coun­ter­ing on his re­turn jour­ney a wind of near­ly 5 me­tres a sec­ond. An air­ship con­struct­ed by Pierre and Paul Lebaudy in 1904 al­so made a num­ber of suc­cess­ful tri­als in the vicin­ity of Paris; with a mo­tor of 40 h.p., its speed was about 25 m. an hour, and it reg­ular­ly car­ried three pas­sen­gers. In Oc­to­ber 1907 the “Nul­li Se­cun­dus,” an air­ship con­struct­ed for the British War Of­fice, sailed from Farn­bor­ough round St Paul’s Cathe­dral, Lon­don, to the Crys­tal Palace, Syden­ham, a dis­tance of about 50 m., in 3 hours 35 min­utes. The weight car­ried, in­clud­ing two oc­cu­pants, was 3400 lb., and the max­imum speed was 24 m. an hour, with a fol­low­ing wind of 8 m. an hour.

Thus the prin­ci­ples which gov­ern the de­sign of the di­ri­gi­ble bal­loon may be said to have been evolved. As the lift­ing pow­er crows as the cube of the di­men­sions, and the re­sis­tance ap­prox­imate­ly as the square, the ad­van­tage lies with the larg­er sizes of bal­loons, as of ocean steam­ers, up to the lim­its with­in which they may be found prac­ti­ca­ble. Count Zep­pelin gained an ad­van­tage by at­tach­ing his pro­pellers to the bal­loon, in­stead of to the car as hereto­fore; but this re­quires a rigid frame­work and a great in­crease of weight. Le Com­pagnon en­deav­oured, in 1892, to sub­sti­tute flap­ping wings for ro­tary pro­pellers, as the for­mer can be sus­pend­ed near the cen­tre of re­sis­tance. C. Danilewsky fol­lowed him in 1898 and 1899, but with­out re­mark­able re­sults. Dupuy de Lome was the first to es­ti­mate in de­tail the re­sis­tances to bal­loon propul­sion, but ex­per­iment showed that in the ag­gre­gate they were greater than he cal­cu­lat­ed. Re­nard and Krebs al­so found that their com­put­ed re­sis­tances were large­ly ex­ceed­ed, and af­ter re­vis­ing the re­sults they gave the for­mu­la R=0.01685 D2V2, R be­ing the re­sis­tance in kilo­grams, D the di­am­eter in me­tres and V the ve­loc­ity in me­tres per sec­ond. Re­duced to British mea­sures, in pounds, feet and miles per hour, R=0.0006876 D2V2, which is some­what in ex­cess of the for­mu­la com­put­ed by Dr William Pole from Dupuy de Lome’s ex­per­iments. The above co­ef­fi­cient ap­plies on­ly to the shape and rig­ging of the bal­loon “La France,” and com­bines all re­sis­tances in­to one equiv­alent, which is equal to that of a flat plane 18% of the “mas­ter sec­tion.” This co­ef­fi­cient may per­haps here­after be re­duced by one-​half through a bet­ter form of hull and car, more like a fish than a spin­dle, by di­min­ished sec­tions of sus­pen­sion lines and net, and by plac­ing the pro­peller at the cen­tre of re­sis­tance. To com­pute the re­sults to be ex­pect­ed from new projects, it will be prefer­able to es­ti­mate the re­sis­tances in de­tail. The fol­low­ing ta­ble shows how this was done by Dupuy de Lome, and the prob­able cor­rec­tions which should have been made by him:–

RE­SIS­TANCES–DUPUY DE LOME’S BAL­LOON

Com­put­ed by Dupuy de Lome. More Prob­able Val­ues. V = 2.22 m. per sec. V = 2.82 m. per sec. Area Co­ef­fi­ci- Air Re­sist- Co­ef­fi­ci- Air Re­sist- Part. Sq. ent. Pres- an­ce, ent. Pres- an­ce, Me­tres sure. Kg. sure Kg. Hull, with­out net 172.96 1/30 0.665 3.830 1/15 0.875 10.091 Car 3.25 1/5 ,, 0.432 1/5 ,, 0.569 Men’s bod­ies 3.00 1/5 ,, 0.400 1/5 ,, 1.312 Gas tubes 6.40 1/5 ,, 0.850 1/2 ,, 2.750 Small cords 10.00 1/2 ,, 3.325 1/2 ,, 4.375 Large cords 9.90 1/3 ,, 2.194 1/3 ,, 2.887 11.031 21.984

When the re­sis­tances have been re­duced to the low­est min­imum by care­ful de­sign, the at­tain­able speed must de­pend up­on the ef­fi­cien­cy of the pro­peller and the rel­ative light­ness of the mo­tor. The com­mer­cial us­es of di­ri­gi­ble bal­loons, how­ev­er, will be small, as they must re­main housed when the wind aloft is brisk. The sizes will be great and cost­ly, the loads small, and the craft frail and short-​lived, yet di­ri­gi­ble bal­loons con­sti­tute the ob­vi­ous type for gov­ern­ments to evolve, un­til they are su­per­seded by ef­fi­cient fly­ing ma­chines. (See fur­ther, as to the lat­ter, the ar­ti­cle FLIGHT AND FLY­ING.)

Prac­tice of aero­sta­tion.

The chief dan­ger at­tend­ing bal­loon­ing lles in the de­scent; for if a strong wind be blow­ing, the grap­nel will some­times trail for miles over the ground at the rate of ten or twen­ty miles an hour, catch­ing now and then in hedges, ditch­es, roots of trees, &c.; and, af­ter giv­ing the bal­loon a ter­ri­ble jerk, break­ing loose again, till at length some ob­struc­tion, such as the wood­ed bank of a stream, af­fords a firm hold. This dan­ger, how­ev­er, has been much re­duced by the use of the “rip­ping-​cord,” which en­ables a pan­el to be ripped open and the bal­loon to be com­plete­ly de­flat­ed in a few sec­onds, just as it is reach­ing the earth. But even a very rough de­scent is usu­al­ly not pro­duc­tive of any very se­ri­ous con­se­quences; as, al­though the oc­cu­pants of the car gen­er­al­ly re­ceive many bruis­es and are per­haps cut by the ropes, it rarely hap­pens that any­thing worse oc­curs. On a day when the wind is light (sup­pos­ing that there is no want of bal­last) noth­ing can be eas­ier than the de­scent, and the aero­naut can de­cide sev­er­al miles off on the field in which he will alight. It is very im­por­tant to have a good sup­ply of bal­last, so as to be able to check the ra­pid­ity of the de­scent, as in pass­ing down­wards through a wet cloud the weight of the bal­loon is enor­mous­ly in­creased by the wa­ter de­posit­ed on it; and if there is no bal­last to throw out in com­pen­sa­tion, the ve­loc­ity is some­times very great. It is al­so con­ve­nient, if the dis­trict up­on which the bal­loon is de­scend­ing ap­pear un­suit­able for land­ing, to be able to rise again. The bal­last con­sists of fine baked sand, which be­comes so scat­tered as to be in­ap­pre­cia­ble be­fore it has fall­en far be­low the bal­loon. It is tak­en up in bags con­tain­ing about 1/2 cwt. each. The bal­loon at start­ing is lib­er­at­ed by a spring catch which the aero­naut re­leas­es, and the bal­last should be so ad­just­ed that there is near­ly equi­lib­ri­um be­fore leav­ing, else the ra­pid­ity of as­cent is too great, and has to be checked by part­ing with gas. It is al­most im­pos­si­ble to lib­er­ate the bal­loon in such a way as to avoid giv­ing it a ro­tary mo­tion about a ver­ti­cal ax­is, which con­tin­ues dur­ing the whole time it is in the air. This ro­ta­tion makes it dif­fi­cult for those in the car to dis­cov­er in what di­rec­tion they are mov­ing; and it is on­ly by look­ing down along the rope to which the grap­nel is sus­pend­ed that the mo­tion of the bal­loon over the coun­try be­low can be traced. The up­ward and down­ward mo­tion at any in­stant is at once known by mere­ly drop­ping over the side of the car a small piece of pa­per: if the pa­per as­cends or re­mains on the same lev­el or sta­tion­ary, the bal­loon is de­scend­ing; while, if it de­scends, the bal­loon is as­cend­ing. This test is ex­ceed­ing­ly del­icate.

REPER­ENCES.–Tiberius Cav­al­lo, Trea­tise on the Na­ture and Prop­er­ties of Air and oth­er per­ma­nent­ly Elas­tic Flu­ids (Lon­don, 1781); Idem, His­to­ry and Prac­tice of Aero­sta­tion (Lon­don, 1785); Vin­cent Lu­nar­di, Ac­count of the First Aeri­al, Voy­age in Eng­land, in a Se­ries of let­ters to his Guardian (Lon­don, 1785); T. Forster, An­nals of some Re­mark­able aeri­al and alpine Voy­ages (Lon­don, 1832); Mon­ck Ma­son, Aero­nau­ti­ca (Lon­don, 1908; John Wise, A Sys­tem of Aero­nau­tics, com­pre­hend­ing its Ear­li­est In­ves­ti­ga­tions (Philadel­phia, 1850); Hat­ton Tu­mor, As­tra Cas­tra, Ex­per­iments and Ad­ven­tures in the At­mo­sphere (Lon­don, 1863); J. Glaish­er, C. Flam­mar­ion, W. de Fon­vielle and G. Tis­sandi­er, Voy­ages aeriens (Paris, 1870) (trans­lat­ed and edit­ed by James Glaish­er un­der the ti­tle Trav­els in the Air (Lon­don, 1871); O. Chanute, Progress in Fly­ing Ma­chines (New York, 1894); W. de Fon­vielle, Les Bal­lons son­des (Paris, 1899); Idem, His­toire de la nav­iga­tion aeri­enne (Paris, 1907); F. Walk­er, Aeri­al Nav­iga­tion (Lon­don, 1902); J. Lecor­nu, La Nav­iga­tion aeri­enne (Paris, 1903); M. L. Marchis, Lecons sur la nav­iga­tion aeri­enne (Paris, 1904), con­tain­ing many ref­er­ences to books and pe­ri­od­icals on pp. 701-704; Nav­igat­ing the Air (pa­pers col­lect­ed by the Aero Club of Amer­ica) (New York, 1907); A. Hilde­brandt, Air­ships past and present (Lon­don, 1908).

1 Mr Tytler con­tribut­ed large­ly to, and, in­deed, ap­pears to have been vir­tu­al­ly ed­itor of, the sec­ond edi­tion (1778-1783) of the En­cy­clopae­dia Bri­tan­ni­ca.

AEROTHER­APEU­TICS, the treat­ment of dis­ease by at­mo­spher­ic air: a term which of late has come to be used some­what more loose­ly to in­clude al­so pneu­mother­apeu­tics, or the treat­ment of dis­ease by ar­ti­fi­cial­ly pre­pared at­mo­spheres. The phys­ical and chem­ical prop­er­ties of at­mo­spher­ic air, un­der or­di­nary pres­sure or un­der mod­ified pres­sure, may be ther­apeu­ti­cal­ly uti­lized ei­ther on the ex­ter­nal sur­face of the body, on the res­pi­ra­to­ry sur­face, or on both sur­faces to­geth­er. Al­so mod­ifi­ca­tions may be in­duced in the ven­ti­la­tion of the lungs by gen­er­al gym­nas­tics or res­pi­ra­to­ry gym­nas­tics. The ben­efi­cial ef­fects of air un­der or­di­nary pres­sure are now uti­lized in line open-​air treat­ment of ph­thisi­cal pa­tients, and the main in­di­ca­tions of ben­efit re­sult­ing there­from are re­duc­tion of the fever, im­prove­ment of ap­petite and the in­duc­tion of sleep. The air, how­ev­er, may be mod­ified in com­po­si­tion or in tem­per­ature. In­hala­tion is the most com­mon and suc­cess­ful method of ap­ply­ing it–when mod­ified in com­po­si­tion–to the hu­man body. The meth­ods in use are as fol­lows: (1) In­hala­tion of gas­es, as oxy­gen and ni­trous ox­ide. The dys­pnoea and cyanosis of pneu­mo­nia, cap­il­lary bron­chi­tis, heart fail­ure, &c., are much re­lieved by the in­hala­tion of oxy­gen; and ni­trous ox­ide is large­ly used as an anaes­thet­ic in mi­nor op­er­ations; (2) Cer­tain liq­uids are used as anaes­thet­ics, which volatilize at low tem­per­atures, as chlo­ro­form and ether. (3) Mer­cury and sul­phur, both of which re­quire heat for volatiliza­tion, are very large­ly used. In a mer­cu­ri­al or sul­phur bath, the pa­tient, en­veloped in a sheet, sits on a chair be­neath which a spir­it lamp is placed to va­por­ize the drug, the best re­suits be­ing ob­tained when the at­mo­sphere is sur­charged with steam at the same time. The vapour en­velops the pa­tient and is ab­sorbed by the skin. This method is ex­ten­sive­ly used in the treat­ment of syphilis, and al­so for sca­bies and oth­er par­asitic af­fec­tions of the skin. (4) Moist in­hala­tions are rather los­ing re­pute in the light of mod­ern in­ves­ti­ga­tions, which tend to show that noth­ing low­er than the larg­er bronchial tubes is af­fect­ed. Com­pli­cat­ed ap­pa­ra­tus has been de­vised for the ap­pli­ca­tion, al­though a wide-​mouthed jug filled with boil­ing wa­ter, in­to which the drug is thrown, is al­most equal­ly ef­fi­ca­cious.

Ar­ti­fi­cial at­mo­spheres may be made for in­valids by res­pi­ra­tors which cov­er the mouth and nose, the air be­ing drawn through tow or sponge, on which is sprin­kled the dis­in­fec­tant to be used. This is most valu­able in the in­tense­ly of­fen­sive breath of some cas­es of bronchiec­ta­sis.

The air may be mod­ified as to tem­per­ature. Cold air at 32–33 deg. F. has been used in chron­ic catarrhal con­di­tions of the lungs, with the re­sult that cough di­min­ish­es, the pulse be­comes fuller and slow­er and the gen­er­al con­di­tion im­proves. The more re­cent ob­ser­va­tions of Pasquale di Tul­lio go far to show that this may be im­mense­ly valu­able in the treat­ment of haemop­ty­sis. The in­spi­ra­tion of su­per­heat­ed dry air has been the sub­ject of much in­ves­ti­ga­tion, but with very doubt­ful re­sults.

Hot air ap­plied to the skin is more note­wor­thy in its ther­apeu­tic ef­fects. If a cur­rent of hot air is di­rect­ed up­on healthy skin, the lat­ter be­comes pale and con­tracts in con­se­quence of va­so-​con­stric­tion. But if it is di­rect­ed on a patch of dis­eased skin, as in lu­pus, an in­flam­ma­to­ry re­ac­tion is set up and the dis­eased part be­gins to un­der­go necro­sis. This fact has been used with good re­sults in lu­pus, ot­or­rhoea, rhini­tis and oth­er nasal and la­ryn­geal trou­bles.

Last­ly the air may be ei­ther com­pressed or rar­efied. The phys­io­log­ical ef­fects of com­pressed air were first stud­ied in div­ing-​bells, and more re­cent­ly in cais­sons. Cais­son work­ers at first en­joy in­creased strength, vigour and ap­petite; lat­er, how­ev­er, the op­po­site ef­fect is pro­duced and in­tenbe de­bil­ity su­per­venes. In ad­di­tion, cais­son work­ers suf­fer from a se­ries of trou­bles which are known as ac­ci­dents of de­com­pres­sion. (See CAIS­SON DIS­EASE.) But, ther­apeu­ti­cal­ly, com­pressed air has been uti­lized by means of pneu­mat­ic cham­bers large enough to hold one or more adults at the time, in which the pres­sure of the at­mo­sphere can be ex­act­ly reg­ulat­ed. This form of treat­ment has been found of much val­ue in the treat­ment of em­phy­se­ma, ear­ly pul­monary tu­ber­cu­lo­sis (not in the pres­ence of per­sis­tent high tem­per­ature, haem­or­rhage, soft­en­ing or sup­pu­ra­tion), de­layed ab­sorp­tion of pleu­ral ef­fu­sions, heart dis­ease, anaemia and chloro­sis. But com­pressed air is con­tra-​in­di­cat­ed in ad­vanced tu­ber­cle, fever, and in dis­eases of kid­neys, liv­er or in­testines.

Rar­efied air was used as long ago as 1835, by V. T. Jun­od, who uti­lized it for lo­cal ap­pli­ca­tion by in­vent­ing the Jun­od Boot. By means of this the blood could be drawn in­to any part to which it was ap­plied, the ves­sels of which be­came gorged with blood at the ex­pense of in­ter­nal or­gans. More re­cent­ly this method of treat­ment has un­der­gone far-​reach­ing de­vel­op­ments and is known as the pas­sive hy­per­aemic treat­ment.

There are al­so var­ious forms of ap­pa­ra­tus by means of which air at greater or less­er pres­sures may be drawn in­to the lungs, and for the per­for­mance of lung gym­nas­tics of var­ious kinds. Mr Ketchum of the Unit­ed States has in­vent­ed one which is much used. A com­mit­tee of the Bromp­ton Hos­pi­tal, Lon­don, in­ves­ti­gat­ing its ca­pa­bil­ities, de­cid­ed that its use brought about (1) an in­crease of chest cir­cum­fer­ence, and (2) in cas­es of con­sol­ida­tion of the lung a diminu­tion in the area of dul­ness.

AERT­SZEN (or AART­SEN), PIETER (1507-1573), called “Long Pe­ter” on ac­count of his height, Dutch his­tor­ical painter, was born and died at Am­ster­dam. When a youth he dis­tin­guished him­self by paint­ing home­ly scenes, in which he re­pro­duced ar­ti­cles of fur­ni­ture, cook­ing uten­sils, &c., with mar­vel­lous fi­deli­ty, but he af­ter­wards cul­ti­vat­ed his­tor­ical paint­ing. Sev­er­al of his best works—al­tar-​pieces in var­ious church­es—were de­stroyed in the re­li­gious wars of the Nether­lands. An ex­cel­lent spec­imen of his style on a small scale, a pic­ture of the cru­ci­fix­ion, may be seen in the Antwerp Mu­se­um. Aert­szen was a mem­ber of the Acade­my of St Luke, in whose books he is en­tered as Langhe Pe­ter, schilder. Three of his sons at­tained to some note as painters.

AESCHINES (389-314 B.C.), Greek states­man and or­ator, was born at Athens. The state­ments as to his parent­age and ear­ly life are con­flict­ing; but it seems prob­able that his par­ents, though poor, were re­spectable. Af­ter as­sist­ing his fa­ther in his school, he tried his hand at act­ing with in­dif­fer­ent suc­cess, served with dis­tinc­tion in the army, and held sev­er­al clerk­ships, amongst them the of­fice of clerk to the Boule. The fall of Olyn­thus (348) brought Aeschines in­to the po­lit­ical are­na, and he was sent on an em­bassy to rouse the Pelo­pon­nesus against Philip. In 347 he was a mem­ber of the peace em­bassy to Philip of Mace­don, who seems to have won him over en­tire­ly to his side. His dila­tori­ness dur­ing the sec­ond em­bassy (346) sent to rat­ify the terms of peace led to his ac­cu­sa­tion by De­mos­thenes and Timarchus on a charge of high trea­son, but he was ac­quit­ted as the re­sult of a pow­er­ful speech, in which he showed that his ac­cus­er Timarchus had, by his im­moral con­duct, for­feit­ed the right to speak be­fore the peo­ple. In 343 the at­tack was re­newed by De­mos­thenes in his speech On the False Em­bassy; Aeschines replied in a speech with the same ti­tle and was again ac­quit­ted. In 339, as one of the Athe­ni­an deputies (py­lago­rae) in the Am­ph­ic­ty­on­ic Coun­cil, he made a speech which brought about the Sa­cred War. By way of re­venge, Aeschines en­deav­oured to fix the blame for these dis­as­ters up­on De­mos­thenes. In 336, when Cte­siphon pro­posed that his friend De­mos­thenes should be re­ward­ed with a gold­en crown for his dis­tin­guished ser­vices to the state, he was ac­cused by Aeschines of hav­ing vi­olat­ed the law in bring­ing for­ward the mo­tion. The mat­ter re­mained in abeyance till 330, when the two ri­vals de­liv­ered their speech­es Against Cte­siphon and on the crown. The re­sult was a com­plete vic­to­ry for De­mos­thenes. Aeschines went in­to vol­un­tary ex­ile at Rhodes, where he opened a school of rhetoric. He af­ter­wards re­moved to Samos, where he died in the sev­en­ty-​fifth year of his age. His three speech­es, called by the an­cients “the Three Graces,” rank next to those of De­mos­thenes. Photius knew of nine let­ters by him which he called the Nine Mus­es; the twelve pub­lished un­der his name (Hercher, Epis­tolo­graphi Grae­ci) are not gen­uine.

AN­CIENT AU­THOR­ITIES.—De­mos­thenes, De Coro­na and De Fal­sa Lega­tione; Aeschines, De Fal­sa Lega­tione and In Cte­siphon­tem; Lives by Plutarch, Philo­stra­tus and Liba­nius; the Ex­ege­sis of Apol­lo­nius. EDI­TIONS.–Bensel­er (1855-1860) (trans. and notes), Wei­dner (1872), Blass (1896); Against Cte­siphon, Wei­dner (1872, 1878), G.A.and W.H. Sim­cox (1866), Drake (1872), Richard­son(1889), Gwatkin and Shuck­burgh (1890). EN­GLISH TRANS­LA­TIONS.–Le­land (1771). Bid­dle (1881), and oth­ers. See al­so Ste­chow, Aes­chi­nis Or­atoris vi­ta (1841); Marc­hand, Charak­ter­is­tik des Red­ners Aschines (1876): Castets, Es­chine, l’Ora­teur (1875); for the po­lit­ical prob­lems see his­to­ries of Greece, esp. A. Holm, vol. iii. (Eng. trans., 1896); A. Schofer, De­mosth. und seine Zeit (Leipzig, 1856-1858); al­so DE­MOS­THENES.

AESCHINES (5th cen­tu­ry B.C.), an Athe­ni­an philoso­pher. Ac­cord­ing to some ac­counts he was the son of a sausage-​mak­er, but oth­ers say that his fa­ther was Lysa­nias (Diog. Laert. ii. 60; Suidas, q.v..) He was an in­ti­mate friend of Socrates, who is re­port­ed to have said that the sausage-​mak­er’s son alone knew how to hon­our him. Dio­genes Laer­tius pre­serves a tra­di­tion that it was he, not Crito, who of­fered to help Socrates to es­cape from prison. He was al­ways a poor man, and Socrates ad­vised him “to bor­row from him­self, by di­min­ish­ing his ex­pen­di­ture.” He start­ed a per­fumery shop in Athens on bor­rowed cap­ital, be­came bankrupt and re­tired to the Syra­cu­san court, where he was well re­ceived by Aris­tip­pus. Ac­cord­ing to Diog. Laert. (ii. 61), Pla­to, then at Syra­cuse, point­ed­ly ig­nored Aeschines, but this does not agree with Plutarch, De adu­la­tore et am­ico (c. 26). On the ex­pul­sion of the younger Diony­sius, he re­turned to Athens, and, find­ing it im­pos­si­ble to pro­fess phi­los­ophy pub­licly ow­ing to the con­tempt of Pla­to and Aris­toue, was Com­pelled to teach pri­vate­ly. He wrote al­so foren­sic speech­es; Phryn­ichus, in Photius, ranks him amongst the best or­ators, and men­tions his ora­tions as the stan­dard of the pure At­tic style. Her­mo­genes al­so spoke high­ly of him (Peri ideon.) He wrote sev­er­al philo­soph­ical di­alogues: (1) Con­cern­ing virtue, whether it can be taught; (2) Eryx­ias, or Era­si­stra­tust con­cern­ing rich­es, whether they are good; (3) Ax­iochus: con­cern­ing death, whether it is to be feared,–but those ex­tant on the sev­er­al sub­jects are not gen­uine re­mains. J. le Clerc has giv­en a Latin trans­la­tion of them, with notes and sev­er­al dis­ser­ta­tions, en­ti­tled Sil­vae Philo­log­icae, and they have been edit­ed by S. N. Fis­ch­er (Leipzig, 1786), and K. F. Her­mann, De Aeschin. So­crat. re­lig. (Gott. 1850). The gen­uine di­alogues ap­pear to have been marked by the So­crat­ic irony; an amus­ing pas­sage is quot­ed by Ci­cero in the De in­ven­tione (i. 31).

See Hirzel, Der Di­alog. i. 129-140; T. Gom­perz, Greek Thinkers, vol. iii. p. 342 (Eng. trans. G. G. Berry, Lon­don, 1905).

AESCHY­LUS (525-456 B.C.), Greek po­et, the first of the on­ly three At­tic Trage­di­ans of whose work en­tire plays sur­vive, and in a very re­al sense (as we shall see) the founder of the Greek dra­ma, was born at Eleu­sis in the year 525 B.C.

Life.

His fa­ther, Eu­phori­on, be­longed to the “Eu­pa­tri­dae” or old no­bil­ity of Athens, as we know on the au­thor­ity of the short Life of the po­et giv­en in the Medicean Manuscript (see note on “au­thor­ities” at the end). Ac­cord­ing to the same tra­di­tion he took part as a sol­dier in the great strug­gle of Greece against Per­sia; and was present at the bat­tles of Marathon, Artemi­si­um, Salamis and Plataea, in the years 490-479. At least one of his broth­ers, Cy­nae­girus, fought with him at Marathon, and was killed in at­tempt­ing a con­spic­uous act of brav­ery; and the broth­ers’ por­traits found a place in the na­tion­al pic­ture of the bat­tle which the Athe­ni­ans set up as a memo­ri­al in the Stoa Poe­cile (or “Pic­tured Porch”) at Athens.

The vigour and lofti­ness of tone which mark Aeschy­lus’ po­et­ic work was not on­ly due, we may be sure, to his na­tive ge­nius and gifts, pow­er­ful as they were, but were part­ly in­spired by the per­son­al share he took in the great ac­tions of a hero­ic na­tion­al up­ris­ing. In the same way, the po­et’s brood­ing thought­ful­ness on deep ques­tions—the pow­er of the gods, their deal­ings with man, the dark mys­ter­ies of fate, the fu­ture life in Hades–though large­ly due to his turn of mind and tem­per­ament, was doubt­less con­nect­ed with the place where his child­hood was passed. Eleu­sis was the cen­tre of the most fa­mous wor­ship of Deme­ter, with its pro­ces­sions, its cer­emonies, its mys­ter­ies, its im­pres­sive spec­ta­cles and noc­tur­nal rites; and these were in­ti­mate­ly con­nect­ed with the Greek be­liefs about the hu­man soul, and the un­der­world.

His dra­mat­ic ca­reer be­gan ear­ly, and was con­tin­ued for more than forty years. In 499, his 26th year, he first ex­hib­it­ed at Athens; and his last work, act­ed dur­ing his life­time at Athens, was the tril­ogy of the Oresteia, ex­hib­it­ed in 458. The to­tal num­ber of his plays is stat­ed by Suidas to have been nine­ty; and the sev­en ex­tant plays, with the dra­mas named or name­able which sur­vive on­ly in frag­ments, amount to over eighty, so that Suidas’ fig­ure is prob­ably based on re­li­able tra­di­tion. It is well known that in the 5th cen­tu­ry each ex­hibitor at the trag­ic con­tests pro­duced four plays; and Aeschy­lus must there­fore have com­pet­ed (be­tween 499 and 458) more than twen­ty times, or once in two years. His first vic­to­ry is record­ed in 484, fif­teen years af­ter his ear­li­est ap­pear­ance on the stage; but in the re­main­ing twen­ty-​six years of his dra­mat­ic ac­tiv­ity at Athens he was suc­cess­ful at least twelve times. This clear­ly shows that he was the most com­mand­ing fig­ure among the trage­di­ans of 500-458; and for more than half that time was usu­al­ly the vic­tor in the con­tests. Per­haps the most strik­ing ev­idence of his ex­cep­tion­al po­si­tion among his con­tem­po­raries is the well-​known de­cree passed short­ly af­ter his death that whoso­ev­er de­sired to ex­hib­it a play of Aeschy­lus should “re­ceive a cho­rus,” i.e. be of­fi­cial­ly al­lowed to pro­duce the dra­ma at the Dionysia. The ex­is­tence of this de­cree, men­tioned in the Life, is strong­ly con­firmed by two pas­sages in Aristo­phanes: first in the pro­logue of the Achar­ni­ans (which was act­ed in 425, thir­ty-​one years af­ter the po­et’s death), where the cit­izen, grum­bling about his griefs and trou­bles, re­lates his great dis­ap­point­ment, when he took his seat in the the­atre “ex­pect­ing Aeschy­lus,” to find that when the play came on it was Theog­nis; and sec­ond­ly in a scene of the Frogs (act­ed 405 B.C.), where the throne of po­et­ry is con­test­ed in Hades be­tween Aeschy­lus and Eu­ripi­des, the for­mer com­plains (Fr. 860) that “the bat­tle is not fair, be­cause my own po­et­ry has not died with me, while Eu­ripi­des’ has died, and there­fore he will have it with him to re­cite”-a clear ref­er­ence, as the scho­liast points out, to the con­tin­ued pro­duc­tion at Athens of Aeschy­lus’ plays af­ter his death.

Apart from fa­bles, guess­es and blun­ders, of which a word is said be­low, the on­ly oth­er in­ci­dents record­ed of the po­et’s life that de­serve men­tion are con­nect­ed with his Si­cil­ian vis­its, and the charge pre­ferred against him of re­veal­ing the “se­crets of Deme­ter.” This tale is briefly men­tioned by Aris­to­tle (Eth. iii. 2), and a late com­men­ta­tor (Eu­stratius, 12th cen­tu­ry) quotes from one Her­aclides Pon­tius the ver­sion which may be briefly giv­en as fol­lows:–

The po­et was act­ing a part in one of his own plays, where there was a ref­er­ence to Deme­ter. The au­di­ence sus­pect­ed him of re­veal­ing the in­vi­olable se­crets, and rose in fury; the po­et fled to the al­tar of Diony­sus in the or­ches­tra and so saved his life for the mo­ment; for even an an­gry Athe­ni­an crowd re­spect­ed the in­vi­olable sanc­tu­ary. He was af­ter­wards charged with the crime be­fore the Are­opa­gus; and his plea “that he did not know that what he said was se­cret” was ac­cept­ed by the court and se­cured his ac­quit­tal. The com­men­ta­tor adds that the prowess of the po­et (and his broth­er) at Marathon was the re­al cause of the le­nien­cy of his judges. The sto­ry was af­ter­wards de­vel­oped, and em­bel­lished by ad­di­tions; but in the above shape it dates back to the 4th cen­tu­ry; and as the main fact seems ac­cept­ed by Aris­to­tle, it is prob­ably au­then­tic.

As to his for­eign trav­el, the sug­ges­tion has been made that cer­tain de­scrip­tions in the Per­sae, and the known facts that he wrote a tril­ogy on the sto­ry of the Thra­cian king Ly­cur­gus, per­se­cu­tor of Diony­sus, seem to point to his hav­ing a spe­cial knowl­edge of Thrace, which makes it like­ly that he had vis­it­ed it. This, how­ev­er, re­mains at best a con­jec­ture. For his re­peat­ed vis­its to Sici­ly, on the oth­er hand, there is con­clu­sive an­cient ev­idence. Hi­ero the First, tyrant of Syra­cuse, who reigned about twelve years (478-467), and amongst oth­er ef­forts af­ter mag­nif­icence in­vit­ed to his court fa­mous po­ets and men of let­ters, had found­ed a new town, Aet­na, on the site of Catana which he cap­tured, ex­pelling the in­hab­itants. Among his guests were Aeschy­lus, Pin­dar, Bac­chylides and Si­monides. About 476 Aeschy­lus was en­ter­tained by him, and at his re­quest wrote and ex­hib­it­ed a play called The Wom­en of Aet­na in hon­our of the new town. He paid a sec­ond vis­it about 472, the year in which he had pro­duced the Per­sae at Athens; and the play is said to have been re­peat­ed at Syra­cuse at his pa­tron’s re­quest. Hi­ero died in 467, the year of the Sev­en against Thebes; but af­ter 458, when the Oresteia was ex­hib­it­ed at Athens, we find the po­et again in Sici­ly for the last time. In 456 he died, and was buried at Gela; and on his tomb was placed an epi­taph in two ele­giac cou­plets say­ing: “Be­neath this stone lies Aeschy­lus, son of Eu­phori­on, the Athe­ni­an, who per­ished in the wheat-​bear­ing land of Gela; of his no­ble prowess the grove of Marathon can speak, or the long-​haired Per­sian who knows it well.” The au­thor­ship of this epi­taph is un­cer­tain, as the Life says it was in­scribed on his grave by the peo­ple of Gela, while Athenaeus and Pau­sa­nias at­tribute it to Aeschy­lus. Prob­ably most peo­ple would agree that on­ly the po­et him­self could have praised the sol­dier and kept si­lence about the po­et­ry.

Of the mar­vel­lous tra­di­tions which gath­ered round his name lit­tle need be said. Pau­sa­nias’ tale, how Diony­sus ap­peared to the po­et when a boy, asleep in his fa­ther’s vine­yard, and bade him write a tragedy—or the ac­count in the Life, how he was killed by an ea­gle let­ting fall on his head a tor­toise whose shell the bird was un­able to crack—clear­ly be­long to the same class of leg­ends as the sto­ry that Pla­to was son of Apol­lo, and that a swarm of bees set­tled up­on his in­fant lips as he lay in his moth­er’s arms. Less su­per­nat­ural, but hard­ly more his­tor­ical, is the state­ment in the Life that the po­et left Athens for Sici­ly in con­se­quence of his de­feat in the dra­mat­ic con­test of 468 by Sopho­cles; or the al­ter­na­tive sto­ry of the same au­thor­ity that the cause of his cha­grin was that Si­monides’ el­egy on the heroes slain at Marathon was pre­ferred to his own. Apart from the in­her­ent im­prob­abil­ity of such pet­ti­ness in such a man, nei­ther sto­ry fits the facts; for in 467, the next year af­ter Sopho­cles’ suc­cess, we know that Aeschy­lus won the prize of tragedy with the Septem; and the Marathon el­egy must have been writ­ten in 490, four­teen years be­fore his first vis­it to Sici­ly.

Work.

In pass­ing from Aeschy­lus’ life to his work, we have ob­vi­ous­ly far more trust­wor­thy da­ta, in the sev­en ex­tant plays (with the frag­ments of more than sev­en­ty oth­ers), and par­tic­ular­ly in the in­valu­able help of Aris­to­tle’s Po­et­ics. The re­al im­por­tance of our po­et in the de­vel­op­ment of the dra­ma (see DRA­MA: Greek) as com­pared with any of his three or four known pre­de­ces­sors–who are at best hard­ly more than names to us–is shown by the fact that Aris­to­tle, in his brief re­view of the rise of tragedy (Po­et. iv. 13), names no one be­fore Aeschy­lus. He rec­og­nizes, it is true, a long pro­cess of growth, with sev­er­al stages, from the dithyra­mb to the dra­ma; and it is not dif­fi­cult to see what these stages were. The first step was the ad­di­tion to the old choric song of an in­ter­lude spo­ken, and in ear­ly days im­pro­vised, by the lead­er of the cho­rus (Po­et. iv. 12). The next was the in­tro­duc­tion of an ac­tor (up­okrites or “an­swer­er”), to re­ply to the lead­er; and thus we get di­alogue added to recita­tion. The “an­swer­er” was at first the po­et him­self (Ar. Rhet. iii. 1). This change is tra­di­tion­al­ly at­tribut­ed to Thes­pis (536 B.C.), who is, how­ev­er, not men­tioned by Aris­to­tle. The mask, to en­able the ac­tor to as­sume dif­fer­ent parts, by whom­so­ev­er in­vent­ed, was in reg­ular use be­fore Aeschy­lus’ day. The third change was the en­larged range of sub­jects. The lyric dithyra­mb-​tales were nec­es­sar­ily about Diony­sus, and the in­ter­ludes had, of course, to fol­low suit. Noth­ing in the world so tena­cious­ly re­sists in­no­va­tion as re­li­gious cer­emo­ny; and it is in­ter­est­ing to learn that the Athe­ni­an pop­ulace (then, as ev­er, ea­ger for “some new thing”) nev­er­the­less op­posed at first the in­tro­duc­tion of oth­er tales. But the in­no­va­tors won; or oth­er-​wise there would have been no At­tic dra­ma.

In this way, then, to the orig­inal lyric song and dances in hon­our of Diony­sus was added a spo­ken (but still met­ri­cal) in­ter­lude by the cho­rus-​lead­er, and lat­er a di­alogue with one ac­tor (at first the po­et), whom the mask en­abled to ap­pear in more than one part.

But ev­ery­thing points to the fact that in the de­vel­op­ment of the dra­ma Aeschy­lus was the de­ci­sive in­no­va­tor. The two things that were im­por­tant, when the 5th cen­tu­ry be­gan, if tragedy was to re­al­ize its pos­si­bil­ities, were (1) the dis­en­tan­gle­ment of the di­alogue from its po­si­tion as an in­ter­lude in an artis­tic and re­li­gious pageant that was pri­mar­ily lyric; and (2) its gen­er­al el­eva­tion of tone. Aeschy­lus, as we know on the ex­press au­thor­ity of Aris­to­tle (Po­et. iv. 13), achieved the first by the in­tro­duc­tion of the sec­ond ac­tor; and though he did not be­gin the sec­ond, he gave it the de­ci­sive im­pulse and con­sum­ma­tion by the over­whelm­ing ef­fect of his se­ri­ous thought, the state­ly splen­dour of his style, his high dra­mat­ic pur­pose, and the artis­tic grandeur and im­pres­sive­ness of the con­struc­tion and pre­sent­ment of his tragedies.

As to the im­por­tance of the sec­ond ac­tor no ar­gu­ment is need­ed. The essence of a play is di­alogue; and a col­lo­quy be­tween the coryphaeus and a mes­sen­ger (or, by aid of the mask, a se­ries of mes­sen­gers), as must have been the case when Aeschy­lus be­gan, is in re­al­ity not di­alogue in the dra­mat­ic sense at all, but rather nar­ra­tive. The dis­cus­sion, the per­sua­sion, the in­struc­tion, the plead­ing, the con­tention—in short, the in­ter­act­ing per­son­al in­flu­ences of dif­fer­ent char­ac­ters on each oth­er–are in­dis­pens­able to any­thing that can be called a play, as we un­der­stand the word; and, with­out two “per­son­ae drama­tis” at the least, the dra­ma in the strict sense is clear­ly im­pos­si­ble. The num­ber of ac­tors was af­ter­wards in­creased; but to Aeschy­lus are due the per­cep­tion and the adop­tion of the es­sen­tial step; and there­fore, as was said above, he de­serves in a very re­al sense to be called the founder of Athe­ni­an tragedy.

Of the sev­en ex­tant plays, Sup­plices, Per­sae, Septem con­tra The­bas, Prometheus, Agamem­non, Choephoroe and Eu­menides, five can for­tu­nate­ly be dat­ed with cer­tain­ty, as the ar­chon’s name is pre­served in the Ar­gu­ments; and the oth­er two ap­prox­imate­ly. The dates rest, in the last re­sort, on the di­daskali­ai, or the of­fi­cial records of the con­tests, of which we know that Aris­to­tle (and oth­ers) com­piled cat­alogues; and some ac­tu­al frag­ments have been re­cov­ered. The or­der of the plays is prob­ably that giv­en above; and cer­tain­ly the Per­sae was act­ed in 472, Septem in 467, and the last three, the tril­ogy, in 458. The Sup­plices is gen­er­al­ly, though not unan­imous­ly, re­gard­ed as the old­est; and the best au­thor­ities tend to place it not far from 490. The ear­ly date is strong­ly con­firmed by three things: the ex­treme sim­plic­ity of the plot, the choric (in­stead of dra­mat­ic) open­ing, and the fact that the per­cent­age of lyric pas­sages is 54, or the high­est of all the sev­en plays. The chief doubt is in re­gard to Prometheus, which is var­ious­ly placed by good au­thor­ities; but the very low per­cent­age of lyrics (on­ly 27, or rough­ly a quar­ter of the whole), and still more the strong char­ac­ter­iza­tion, a marked ad­vance on any­thing in the first three plays, point to its be­ing lat­er than any ex­cept the tril­ogy, and sug­gest a date some­where about 460, or per­haps a lit­tle ear­li­er. A few com­ments on the ex­tant plays will help to in­di­cate the main points of Aeschy­lus’ work.

Sup­plices.—The ex­cep­tion­al in­ter­est of the Sup­plices is due to its date. Be­ing near­ly twen­ty years ear­li­er than any oth­er ex­tant play, it fur­nish­es ev­idence of a stage in the evo­lu­tion of At­tic dra­ma which would oth­er­wise have been un­rep­re­sent­ed. Ge­nius, as Patin says, is a “puis­sance li­bre,” and none more so than that of Aeschy­lus; but with all al­lowance for the “un­con­trolled pow­er” of this po­et, we may feel con­fi­dent that we have in the Sup­plices some­thing re­sem­bling in gen­er­al struc­ture the lost works of Cho­er­ilus, Phryn­ichus, Prati­nas and the 6th cen­tu­ry pi­oneers of dra­ma.

The plot is briefly as fol­lows: the fifty daugh­ters of Danaus (who are the cho­rus), be­trothed by the fi­at of Ae­gyp­tus (their fa­ther’s broth­er) to his fifty sons, flee with Danaus to Ar­gos, to es­cape the mar­riage which they ab­hor. They claim the pro­tec­tion of the Ar­give king, Pelas­gus, who is kind but timid; and he (by a pleas­ing anachro­nism) refers the mat­ter to the peo­ple, who agree to pro­tect the fugi­tives. The pur­su­ing fleet of suit­ors is seen ap­proach­ing; the her­ald ar­rives (with a com­pa­ny of fol­low­ers), blus­ters, threat­ens, or­ders off the cow­er­ing Danaids to the ships and fi­nal­ly at­tempts to drag them away. Pelas­gus in­ter­pos­es with a force, drives off the Egyp­tians and saves the sup­pli­ants. Danaus urges them to prayer, thanks­giv­ing and maid­en­ly mod­esty, and the grate­ful cho­rus pass away to the shel­ter of­fered by their pro­tec­tors.

It is clear that we have here the dra­ma in its nascent stage, just de­vel­op­ing out of the lyric pageant from which it sprang. The in­ter­est still cen­tres round the cho­rus, who are in fact the “pro­tag­onists” of the play. Char­ac­ter and plot—the two es­sen­tials of dra­ma, in the view of all crit­ics from Aris­to­tle down­wards–are both here rudi­men­ta­ry. There are some fluc­tu­ations of hope and fear; but the play is a sin­gle sit­ua­tion, The stages are: the ap­peal; the hes­ita­tion of the king, the re­solve of the peo­ple; the de­feat of in­so­lent vi­olence; and the res­cue. It should not be for­got­ten, in­deed, that the play is one of a tril­ogy—an act, there­fore, rather than a com­plete dra­ma. But we have on­ly to com­pare it with those lat­er plays of which the same is true, to see the dif­fer­ence. Even in a tril­ogy, each play is a com­plete whole in it­self, though al­so a por­tion of a larg­er whole.

Per­sae.—The next play that has sur­vived is the Per­sae, which has again a spe­cial in­ter­est, viz. that it is the on­ly ex­tant Greek his­tor­ical dra­ma. We know that Aeschy­lus’ pre­de­ces­sor, Phryn­ichus, had al­ready twice tried this ex­per­iment, with the Cap­ture of Mile­tus and the Phoeni­cian Wom­en; that the lat­ter play dealt with the same sub­ject as the Per­sae, and the han­dling of its open­ing scene was im­itat­ed by the younger po­et. The plot of the Per­sae is still severe­ly sim­ple, though more de­vel­oped than that of the Sup­pli­ants. The open­ing is still lyric, and the first quar­ter of the play brings out, by song and speech, the anx­iety of the peo­ple and queen as to the fate of Xerx­es’ huge army. Then comes the mes­sen­ger with the news of Salamis, in­clud­ing a de­scrip­tion of the sea-​fight it­self which can on­ly be called mag­nif­icent. We re­al­ize what it must have been for the vast au­di­ence—30,000, ac­cord­ing to Pla­to (Symp. 175 E)– to hear, eight years on­ly af­ter the event, from the supreme po­et of Athens, who was him­self a dis­tin­guished ac­tor in the war, this thrilling nar­ra­tive of the great bat­tle. But this re­flex­ion at once sug­gests an­oth­er; it is not a tragedy in the true Greek sense, ac­cord­ing to the prac­tice of the 5th-​cen­tu­ry po­ets. It may be called in one point of view a tragedy, since the scene is laid in Per­sia, and the dra­ma forcibly de­picts the down­fall of the Per­sian pride. But its re­al aim is not the “pity and ter­ror” of the de­vel­oped dra­ma; it is the tri­umphant glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of Athens, the ex­ul­ta­tion of the whole na­tion gath­ered in one place, over the ru­in of their foe. This is best shown by the praise of Aeschy­lus’ great ad­mir­er and de­fend­er Aristo­phanes, who (Frogs, 1026-1027) puts in­to the po­et’s mouth the boast that in the Per­sae he had “glo­ri­fied a no­ble ex­ploit, and taught men to be ea­ger to con­quer their foe.”

Thus, both as an his­toric dra­ma and in its re­al ef­fect, the Per­sae was an ex­per­iment; and, as far as we know, the ex­per­iment was not re­peat­ed ei­ther by the au­thor or his suc­ces­sors. One fur­ther point may be not­ed. Aeschy­lus al­ways has a taste for the un­seen and the su­per­nat­ural; and one ef­fec­tive in­ci­dent here is the rais­ing of Dar­ius’s ghost, and his prophe­cy of the dis­as­trous bat­tle of Plataea. But in the ghost’s rev­ela­tions there is a mix­ture of au­dac­ity and naivete, char­ac­ter­is­tic at once of the po­et and the ear­ly youth of the dra­ma. The dead Dar­ius proph­esies Plataea, but has not heard of Salamis; he gives a brief (and in­ac­cu­rate) list of the Per­sian kings, which the queen and cho­rus, whom he ad­dress­es, pre­sum­ably know; and his on­ly prac­ti­cal sug­ges­tion, that the Per­sians should not again in­vade Greece, seems at­tain­able with­out the aid of su­per­hu­man fore­sight.

Septem con­tra The­bas.—Five years lat­er came the The­ban Tragedy. It is not on­ly, as Aristo­phanes says (Frogs, 1024), “a play full of the mar­tial spir­it,” but is (like the Sup­plices) one of a con­nect­ed se­ries, deal­ing with the evil fate of the The­ban House. But in­stead of be­ing three acts of a sin­gle sto­ry like the Sup­plices, these three plays trace the fate through three gen­er­ations, Laius, Oedi­pus and the two sons who die by each oth­er’s hands in the fight for the The­ban sovereign­ty. This fam­ily fate, where one evil deed leads to an­oth­er af­ter many years, is a larg­er con­cep­tion, strik­ing­ly suit­ed to Aeschy­lus’ ge­nius, and con­sti­tutes a no­table stage in the de­vel­op­ment of the Aeschylean dra­ma. And just as here we have the tragedy of the The­ban house, so in the last ex­tant work, the Oresteia, the po­et traces the tragedy of the Pelopid fam­ily, from Agamem­non’s first sin to Orestes’ vengeance and pu­rifi­ca­tion. And the names of sev­er­al lost plays point to sim­ilar han­dling of the trag­ic tril­ogy.

The Sev­en against Thebes is the last play of its se­ries; and again the plot is severe­ly sim­ple, not on­ly in out­line, but in de­tail. Fa­ther and grand­fa­ther have both per­ished mis­er­ably; and the two princes have quar­relled, both claim­ing the king­dom. Eteo­cles has driv­en out Polyn­ices, who fled to Ar­gos, gath­ered a host un­der sev­en lead­ers (him­self be­ing one), and when the play opens has be­gun the siege of his own city. The king ap­pears, warns the peo­ple, chides the clam­our of wom­en, ap­points sev­en The­bans, in­clud­ing him­self, to de­fend the sev­en gates, de­parts to his post, meets his broth­er in bat­tle and both are killed. The oth­er six chief­tains are all slain, and the en­emy beat­en off. The two dead princes are buried by their two sis­ters, who alone are left of the roy­al house.

Var­ious signs of the ear­ly dra­ma are here man­ifest. Half the play is lyric; there is no com­pli­ca­tion of plot; the whole ac­tion is re­cit­ed by mes­sen­gers; and the fa­tal­ity where­by the pre­dict­ed mu­tu­al slaugh­ter of the princes is brought about is no ac­ci­den­tal stroke of des­tiny, but the choice of the king Eteo­cles him­self. On the oth­er hand, the open­ing is no longer lyric (like the two ear­li­er plays) but dra­mat­ic; the main scene, where the mes­sen­ger re­ports at length the names of the sev­en as­sailants, and the king ap­points the sev­en de­fend­ers, each man go­ing off in si­lence to his post, must have been an im­pres­sive spec­ta­cle. One nov­el­ty should not be over­looked. There is here the first pas­sage of di­anoia or gen­er­al re­flex­ion of life, which lat­er be­came a reg­ular fea­ture of tragedy. Eteo­cles mus­es on the fate which in­volves an in­no­cent man in the com­pa­ny of the wicked so that he shares un­just­ly their de­served fate. The pas­sage (Theb. 597-608) is in­ter­est­ing; and the whole part of Eteo­cles shows a new ef­fort of the po­et to draw char­ac­ter, which may have some­thing to do with the rise of Sopho­cles, who in the year be­fore (468) won with his first play, now lost, the prize of tragedy.

There re­main on­ly the Prometheus and the Oresteia, which show such marked ad­vance that (it may al­most be said) when we think of Aeschy­lus it is these four plays we have in mind.

Prometheus.—The Prometheus-​tril­ogy con­sist­ed of three plays: Prometheus the Fire-​bringer, Prometheus Bound, Prometheus Un­bound. The two last nec­es­sar­ily came in that or­der; the Fire-​bringer is prob­ably the first, though re­cent­ly it has been held by some schol­ars to be the last, of the tril­ogy. That Prometheus sinned against Zeus, by steal­ing fire from heav­en; that he was pun­ished by fear­ful tor­tures for ages; that he fi­nal­ly was rec­on­ciled to Zeus and set free,–all this was the an­cient tale in­dis­outably. Those who hold the Fire-​bringer (Pur­foros) to be the fi­nal play, con­jec­ture that it dealt with the es­tab­lish­ment of the wor­ship of Prometheus un­der that ti­tle, which is known to have. ex­ist­ed at Athens. But the oth­er or­der is on all grounds more prob­able; it keeps the nat­ural se­quence—crime, pun­ish­ment, rec­on­cil­ia­tion, which is al­so the se­quence in the Oresteia. And if the rec­on­cil­ia­tion was achieved in the sec­ond play, no scheme of ac­tion suf­fic­ing for the third dra­ma seems even plau­si­ble.1

How­ev­er that may be, the play that sur­vives is a po­em of un­sur­passed force and im­pres­sive­ness. Nev­er­the­less, from the point of view of the de­vel­op­ment of dra­ma, there seems at first sight lit­tle scope in the sto­ry for the nor­mal hu­man in­ter­est of a tragedy, since the ac­tors are all di­vine, ex­cept Io, who is a dis­tract­ed wan­der­er, vic­tim of Zeus’ cru­el­ty; and be­tween the open­ing where Prometheus is nailed to the Scythi­an rock, and the close where the earth­quake en­gulfs the rock, the hero and the cho­rus, ac­tion in the or­di­nary sense is ip­so fac­to im­pos­si­ble. This is just the op­por­tu­ni­ty for the po­et’s bold in­ven­tive­ness and fine imag­ina­tion. The tor­tured suf­fer­er is vis­it­ed by the Ocean­ic Nymphs, who float in, borne by an (imag­inary) winged car, to con­sole; Oceanus (rid­ing a grif­fin, doubt­less al­so imag­inary) fol­lows, kind but timid, to ad­vise sub­mis­sion; then ap­pears Io, vic­tim of Zeus’ love and Hera’s jeal­ousy, to whom Prometheus proph­esies her fu­ture wan­der­ings and his own fate; last­ly Her­mes, in­so­lent mes­sen­ger of the gods, who tries in vain to ex­tort Prometheus’ se­cret knowl­edge of the fu­ture. Oceanus, the well-​mean­ing palaver­ing old men­tor, and Her­mes, the blus­ter­ing and fu­tile jack-​in-​of­fice, gods though they be, are vig­or­ous, au­da­cious and very hu­man char­ac­ter-​sketch­es; the soft en­trance of the con­sol­ing nymphs is un­speak­ably beau­ti­ful; and the prophe­cy of Io’s wan­der­ings is a strik­ing ex­am­ple of that new keen in­ter­est in the world out­side which was felt by the Greeks of the 5th cen­tu­ry, as it was felt by the Eliz­abethan En­glish in a very sim­ilar epoch of na­tion­al spir­it and en­ter­prise two thou­sand years lat­er. Thus, though dra­mat­ic ac­tion is by the na­ture of the case im­pos­si­ble for the hero, the vis­itors pro­vide re­al dra­ma.

An­oth­er im­por­tant point in the de­vel­op­ment of tragedy is what we may call the “bal­anced is­sue.” The ques­tion in Sup­pli­ants is the pro­tec­tion of the threat­ened fugi­tives; in Per­sae the hu­mil­ia­tion of over­ween­ing pride. So far the sym­pa­thy of the au­di­ence is not doubt­ful or di­vid­ed. In the Septein there is an ap­proach to con­flict of feel­ing; the ban­ished broth­er has a per­son­al grievance, though guilty of the im­pi­ous crime of at­tack­ing his own coun­try. The sym­pa­thy must be for the de­fend­er Eteo­cles; but it is at least some­what qual­ified by his in­jus­tice to his broth­er. In Prometheus the is­sue is more near­ly bal­anced. The hero is both a vic­tim and a rebel. He is pun­ished for his ben­efits to man; but though Zeus is tyran­nous and un­grate­ful, the hero’s reck­less de­fi­ance is shock­ing to Greek feel­ing. As the play goes on, this is sub­tly and del­icate­ly in­di­cat­ed by the at­ti­tude of the cho­rus. They en­ter over­flow­ing with pity. They are slow­ly chilled and alien­at­ed by the hero’s vi­olence and impi­ety; but they nobly de­cline, at the last cri­sis, the mean ad­vice of Her­mes to desert Prometheus and save them­selves; and in the fi­nal crash they share his fate.

Oresteia.—The last and great­est work of Aeschy­lus is the Oresteia, which al­so has the in­ter­est of be­ing the on­ly com­plete tril­ogy pre­served to us. It is a three-​act dra­ma of fam­ily fate, like the Oedi­pus-​tril­ogy; and the acts are the sin, the re­venge, the rec­on­cil­ia­tion, as in the Prometheus-​tril­ogy. Again, as in Prometheus, the plot, at first sight, is such that the con­di­tions of dra­ma seem to ex­clude much de­vel­op­ment in char­ac­ter-​draw­ing. The gods are ev­ery­where at the root of the ac­tion. The in­spired prophet, Calchas, has de­mand­ed the sac­ri­fice of the king’s daugh­ter Iphi­ge­nia, to ap­pease the of­fend­ed Artemis. The in­spired Cas­san­dra, brought in as a spear-​won slave from con­quered Troy, re­veals the mur­der­ous past of the Pelopid house, and the im­mi­nent slaugh­ter of the king by his wife. Apol­lo or­ders the son, Orestes, to avenge his fa­ther by killing the mur­der­ess, and pro­tects him when af­ter the deed he takes sanc­tu­ary at Del­phi. The Erin­nyes (“Fu­ries”) pur­sue him over land and sea; and at last Athena gives him shel­ter at Athens, sum­mons an Athe­ni­an coun­cil to judge his guilt, and when the court is equal­ly di­vid­ed gives her cast­ing vote for mer­cy. The last act ends with the rec­on­cil­ia­tion of Athena and the Fu­ries; and the lat­ter re­ceive a shrine and wor­ship at Athens, and promise favour and pros­per­ity to the great city. The scope for hu­man dra­ma seems de­lib­er­ate­ly re­strict­ed, if not closed, by such a sto­ry so han­dled. Nev­er­the­less, as a fact, the growth of char­ac­ter­iza­tion is, in spite of all, not on­ly vis­ible but re­mark­able. Clytemnes­tra is one of the most pow­er­ful­ly pre­sent­ed char­ac­ters of the Greek dra­ma. Her man­ly courage, her vin­dic­tive and un­shak­en pur­pose, her hard­ly hid­den con­tempt for her tool and ac­com­plice, Aegisthus, her cold scorn for the fee­bly vac­il­lat­ing el­ders, and her un­flinch­ing ac­cep­tance (in the sec­ond play) of in­evitable fate, when she faces at last the avowed avenger, are all por­trayed with match­less force–her very craft be­ing scorn­ful­ly as­sumed, as need­ful to her pur­pose, and con­temp­tu­ous­ly dropped when the pur­pose is served. And there is one oth­er no­tice­able point. In this tril­ogy Aeschy­lus, for the first time, has at­tempt­ed some touch­es of char­ac­ter in two of the hum­bler parts, the Watch­man in Aga­meni­noni, and the Nurse in the Choephoroe. The Watch­man opens the play, and the vivid and al­most hu­mor­ous sen­ten­tious­ness of his lan­guage, his dark hints, his preg­nant metaphors drawn from com­mon speech, at once give a strik­ing touch of re­al­ism, and form a point­ed con­trast to the ter­ri­ble dra­ma that im­pends. A very sim­ilar ef­fect is pro­duced at the cri­sis of the Choephoroe by the speech of the Nurse, who com­ing on a mes­sage to Aegisthus pours out to the cho­rus her sor­row at the re­port­ed death of Orestes and her fond mem­ories of his baby­hood—with the most home­ly de­tails; and the most strik­ing re­al­is­tic touch is per­haps the bro­ken struc­ture and al­most in­con­se­quent ut­ter­ance of the old faith­ful slave’s speech. These two are ver­ita­ble fig­ures drawn from con­tem­po­rary life; and though both ap­pear on­ly once, and are quite unim­por­tant in the dra­ma, the in­no­va­tion is most sig­nif­icant, and es­pe­cial­ly as adopt­ed by Aeschy­lus.

It re­mains to say a word on two more points, the re­li­gious ideas of Aeschy­lus and some of the main char­ac­ter­is­tics of his po­et­ry.

The re­li­gious as­pect of the dra­ma in one sense was promi­nent from the first, ow­ing to its evo­lu­tion from the choral cel­ebra­tion of the god Diony­sus. But the new spir­it im­port­ed by the ge­nius of Aeschy­lus in­to the ear­ly dra­ma was re­li­gious in a pro­founder mean­ing of the term. The sad­ness of hu­man lot, the pow­er and mys­te­ri­ous deal­ings of the gods, their ter­ri­ble and in­scrutable wrath and jeal­ousy (aga and pthonos), their cer­tain vengeance up­on sin­ners, all the more fear­ful it de­layed.—Such are the po­et’s con­stant themes, de­liv­ered with strange solem­ni­ty and im­pres­sive­ness in the the songs, es­pe­cial­ly in the Oresteia. And at times, par­tic­ular­ly in the Tril­ogy, in his ref­er­ence to the di­vine pow­er of Zeus, he al­most ap­proach­es a stern and som­bre monothe­ism. “One God above all, who di­rects all, who is the cause of all” (Ag. 163, 1485); the watch­ful­ness of this Pow­er over hu­man ac­tion (363-367), es­pe­cial­ly over the pun­ish­ment of their sins; and the mys­te­ri­ous law where­by sin al­ways begets new sin (Ag. 758-760):—these are ideas on which Aeschy­lus dwells in the Agamem­non with pe­cu­liar force, in a strain at once lofty and som­bre. One spe­cial­ly note­wor­thy point in that play is his ex­plic­it re­pu­di­ation of the com­mon Hel­lenic view that pros­per­ity brings ru­in. In oth­er places he seems to share the feel­ing; but here (Ag. 730) he goes deep­er, and de­clares that it is not ol­bos but al­ways wicked­ness that brings about men’s fall. All through there is a re­cur­ring note of fear in his view of man’s des­tiny, ex­pressed in vivid im­ages—the “death that lurks be­hind the wall” (Ag. 1004), the “hid­den reef which wrecks the bark, un­able to weath­er the head­land” (Eum. 561-565). In one re­mark­able pas­sage of the Eu­menides (517-525) this fear is ex­tolled as a moral pow­er which ought to be en­throned in men’s hearts, to de­ter them from im­pi­ous or vi­olent acts, or from the pride that im­pels them, to such sins.

Of the po­et­ic qual­ities of Aeschy­lus’ dra­ma and dic­tion, both in the lyrics and the di­alogue, no ad­equate ac­count can be at­tempt­ed; the briefest word must here suf­fice. He is ev­ery­where dis­tin­guished by grandeur and pow­er of con­cep­tion, pre­sen­ta­tion and ex­pres­sion, and most of all in the lat­est works, the Prometheus and the Tril­ogy. He is pre-​em­inent in de­pict­ing the slow ap­proach of fear, as in the Per­sae; the im­mi­nent hor­ror of im­pend­ing fate, as in the bro­ken cries and vi­sions of Cas­san­dra in the Agamem­non (1072-1177), the long lament and prayers to the nether pow­ers in the Choephoroe (313-478), and the grad­ual rous­ing of the slum­ber­ing Fu­ries in the Eu­menides (117-139). The fa­tal end in these tragedies is fore­seen; but the ef­fect is due to its mea­sured ad­vance, to the slow­ly dark­en­ing sus­pense which no po­et has more pow­er­ful­ly ren­dered. Again, he is a mas­ter of con­trasts, es­pe­cial­ly of the Beau­ti­ful with the Trag­ic: as when the float­ing vi­sion of con­sol­ing nymphs ap­pears to the tor­tured Prometheus (115-135); or the un­matched lyrics which tell (in the Agamem­non, 228-247) of the death of Iphi­ge­nia; or the vi­sion of his lost love that the night brings to Menelaus (410-426). And not least no­tice­able is the ex­traor­di­nary range, force and imag­ina­tive­ness of his dic­tion. One ex­am­ple of his lyrics may be giv­en which will il­lus­trate more than one of these points. It is tak­en from the long lament in the Septem, sung by the cho­rus and the two sis­ters, while fol­low­ing the fu­ner­al pro­ces­sion of the two princes. These laments may at times be weari­some to the mod­ern read­er, who does not see, and im­per­fect­ly imag­ines, the state­ly and pa­thet­ic spec­ta­cle; but to the an­cient feel­ing they were as solemn and im­pres­sive as they were cer­emo­ni­al­ly in­dis­pens­able. The solem­ni­ty is here height­ened by the fol­low­ing lines sung by one of the cho­rus of The­ban wom­en (Sept. 854-860):–

Nay, with the waft­ing gale of your sighs, my sis­ters, Beat on your heads with your hands the stroke as of oars, The stroke that pass­es ev­er across Acheron, Speed­ing on its way the black-​robed sa­cred bark,– The bark Apol­lo comes not near, The bark that is hid­den from the sun­light– To the shore of dark­ness that wel­comes all! AU­THOR­ITIES.—The chief au­thor­ity for the text is a sin­gle MS. at Flo­rence, of the ear­ly 11th cen­tu­ry, known as the Medicean or M., writ­ten by a pro­fes­sion­al scribe and re­vised by a con­tem­po­rary schol­ar, who cor­rect­ed the copy­ist’s mis­takes, added the scho­lia, the ar­gu­ments and the drama­tis per­son­ae of three plays (Theb., Agam, Eum.), and at the end the Life of Aeschy­lus and the Cat­alogue of his dra­mas. The MS. has al­so been fur­ther cor­rect­ed by lat­er hands. In 1896 the Ital­ian Min­istry of Pub­lic In­struc­tion pub­lished the MS. in pho­to­graph­ic fac­sim­ile, with an in­struc­tive pref­ace by Sig­nor Ros­tag­no. Be­sides M. there are some eight lat­er MSS. (13th to 15th cen­tu­ry), and nu­mer­ous copies of the three se­lect plays (Sept., Pers., Prom.) which were most read in the lat­er Byzan­tine pe­ri­od, when Greek lit­er­ature was re­duced to grad­ual­ly di­min­ish­ing ex­cerpts. These lat­er MSS. are of lit­tle val­ue or au­thor­ity. The edi­tions, from the be­gin­ning of the 15th cen­tu­ry to the present are very nu­mer­ous, and the text has been fur­ther con­tin­uous­ly im­proved by iso­lat­ed sug­ges­tions from a host of schol­ars. The three first print­ed copies (Al­dine, 1518; Turneb­us and Robortel­lo, 1552) give on­ly those parts of Agamem­non found in M., from which MS. some leaves were lost; in 1557 the full text was re­stored by Vet­tori (Vic­to­rius) from lat­er MSS. Af­ter these four, the chief edi­tions of He sev­en plays were those of Schutz, Por­son, Burler, Wellauer, Din­dorf, Bothe, Ahrens, Pa­ley, Her­mann, Har­tung, Weil, Merkel, Kirch­hoff and Weck­lein. Be­sides these, over a hun­dred schol­ars have thrown light on the cor­rup­tions or ob­scu­ri­ties of the text, by edi­tions of sep­arate plays, by emen­da­tions, by spe­cial stud­ies of the po­et’s work, or in oth­er ways. Among re­cent writ­ers who have made such con­tri­bu­tions may be men­tioned Wil­am­owitz-​Moel­len­dorf, En­ger, Con­ing­ton, Blay­des, Co­bet, Meineke, Mad­vig, El­lis, W. Head­lam, Davies, Tuck­er, Ver­rall and Haigh. The Frag­ments have been edit­ed by Nauck and al­so by Weck­lein. The Aeschylean stag­ing is dis­cussed in Al­bert Muller’s Lehrbuch der griechis­chen Buh­nenal­ter­humer; in “Die Buhne des Aeschy­los,” by Wil­am­owitz (Her­mes, xxi.); in Smith’s Dict. of An­tiq­ui­ties, art. “The­atrum” (R. C. Jebb); in Dorpfeld and Reisch (Das griechis­che The­ater), Haigh’s At­tic The­atre, and Gard­ner and Jevons’ Man­ual of Greek An­tiq­ui­ties. En­glish Verse Trans­la­tions: Agamem­non, Mil­man and R. Brown­ing; Oresteia, Sup­pli­ants, Per­sae, Sev­en against Thebes, Prometheus Vinc­tus, by E. D. A. Mor­shead; Prometheus, E. B. Brown­ing; the whole sev­en plays, Lewis Camp­bell. (A. SI.)

1 The Eu­menides is quot­ed as a par­al­lel, be­cause there the es­tab­lish­ment of this wor­ship at Athens con­cludes the whole tril­ogy; but it is for­got­ten that in Eu­menides there is much be­sides–the pur­suit of Orestes, the refuge at Athens, the tri­al, the ac­quit­tal, the con­cil­ia­tion by Athena of the Fu­ries; while here the sto­ry would be fin­ished be­fore the last play be­gan.

AES­CU­LAPIUS (Gr. `Askle­pios), the leg­endary Greek god of medicine, the son of Apol­lo and the nymph Coro­nis. Tric­ca in Thes­saly and Ep­idau­rus in Ar­go­lis dis­put­ed the hon­our of his birth­place, but an or­acle de­clared in favour of Ep­idau­rus. He was ed­ucat­ed by the cen­taur Che­iron, who taught him the art of heal­ing and hunt­ing. His skill in cur­ing dis­ease and restor­ing the dead to life aroused the anger of Zeus, who, be­ing afraid that he might ren­der all men im­mor­tal, slew him with a thun­der­bolt (Apol­lodor­us iii. 10; Pin­dar, Ph­thia, 3; Diod. Sic. iv. 71). Homer men­tions him as a skil­ful physi­cian, whose sons, Machaon and Po­dalir­ius, are the physi­cians in the Greek camp be­fore Troy (Il­iad, ii. 731). Tem­ples were erect­ed to Aes­cu­lapius in many parts of Greece, near heal­ing springs or on high moun­tains. The prac­tice of sleep­ing (in­cu­ba­tio) in these sanc­tu­ar­ies was very com­mon, it be­ing sup­posed that the god ef­fect­ed cures or pre­scribed reme­dies to the sick in dreams. All who were healed of­fered sac­ri­fice—es­pe­cial­ly a cock—and hung up vo­tive tablets, on which were record­ed their names, their dis­eases and the man­ner in which they had been cured. Many of these vo­tive tablets have been dis­cov­ered in the course of ex­ca­va­tions at Ep­idau­rus. Here was the god’s most fa­mous shrine, and games were cel­ebrat­ed in his hon­our ev­ery five years, ac­com­pa­nied by solemn pro­ces­sions. Hero­das (Mimes, 4) gives a de­scrip­tion of one of his tem­ples, and of the of­fer­ings made to him. His wor­ship was in­tro­duced in­to Rome by or­der of the Sibylline books (293 B.C.), to avert a pesti­lence. The god was fetched from Ep­idau­rus in the form of a snake and a tem­ple as­signed him on the is­land in the Tiber (Livy x. 47; Ovid, Metam. xv. 622). Aes­cu­lapius was a favourite sub­ject of an­cient artists. He is com­mon­ly rep­re­sent­ed stand­ing, dressed in a long cloak, with bare breast; his usu­al at­tribute is a club-​like staff with a ser­pent (the sym­bol of ren­ova­tion) coiled round it. He is of­ten ac­com­pa­nied by Tele­spho­rus, the boy ge­nius of heal­ing, and his daugh­ter Hy­gieia, the god­dess of health. Vo­tive re­liefs rep­re­sent­ing such groups have been found near the tem­ple of Aes­cu­lapius at Athens. The British Mu­se­um pos­sess­es a beau­ti­ful head of Aes­cu­lapius (or pos­si­bly Zeus) from Me­los, and the Lou­vre a mag­nif­icent stat­ue.

BIB­LI­OG­RA­PHY.–L. Dy­er, The Gods in Greece (1891); Jane E. Har­ri­son, Pro­le­gom­ena to the Study of Greek Re­li­gion (1903); R. Caton, Ex­am­ples and Rit­ual of A. at Ep­idau­rus and Athens (1900); ar­ti­cles in Pauly-​Wis­sowa’s Re­al-​En­cy­clopadie, Rosch­er’s Lexikon der Mytholo­gie; T. Panof­ka, Askle­pios und die Asklepi­aden (1846); Al­ice Wel­ton, “The Cult of Askle­pios,” in Cor­nell Stud­ies in Clas­si­cal Philol­ogy, iii. (New York, 1894); W. H. D. Rouse, Greek Vo­tive Of­fer­ings (1902).

AE­SER­NIA (mod. Is­er­nia), a Sam­nite town on the road from Ben­even­tum to Corfini­um, 58 m. to the north-​east of the for­mer, at the junc­tion of a road go­ing past Ve­nafrum to the Via Lati­na. These routes are all fol­lowed by mod­ern rail­ways—the lines to Cam­pobas­so, Sul­mona and Ca­ianel­lo. A Ro­man colony was es­tab­lished there in 263 B.C. It be­came the head­quar­ters of the Ital­ian re­volt af­ter the loss of Corfini­um, and was on­ly re­cov­ered by Sul­la at the end of the war, in 80 B.C. Re­mains of its for­ti­fi­ca­tions are still pre­served—mas­sive cy­clo­pean walls, which serve as foun­da­tion to the walls of the mod­ern town and of a Ro­man bridge, and the sub­ter­ranean chan­nel of an aque­duct, cut in the rock, and dat­ing from Ro­man times.

AE­SOP (Gr. Aiso­pos), fa­mous for his Fa­bles, is sup­posed to have lived from about 620 to 560 B.C. The place of his birth is un­cer­tain—Thrace, Phry­gia, Aethiopia, Samos, Athens and Sardis all claim­ing the hon­our. We pos­sess lit­tle trust­wor­thy in­for­ma­tion con­cern­ing his life, ex­cept that he was the slave of Iad­mon of Samos and met with a vi­olent death at the hands of the in­hab­itants of Del­phi. A pesti­lence that en­sued be­ing at­tribut­ed to this crime, the Del­phi­ans de­clared their will­ing­ness to make com­pen­sa­tion, which, in de­fault of a near­er con­nex­ion, was claimed and re­ceived by Iad­mon, the grand­son of his old mas­ter. Herodotus, who is our au­thor­ity for this (ii. 134), does not state the cause of his death; var­ious rea­sons are as­signed by lat­er writ­ers–his in­sult­ing sar­casms, the em­bez­zle­ment of mon­ey en­trust­ed to him by Croe­sus for dis­tri­bu­tion at Del­phi, the theft of a sil­ver cup.

Ae­sop must have re­ceived his free­dom from Iad­mon, or he could not have con­duct­ed the pub­lic de­fence of a cer­tain Sami­an dem­agogue (Aris­to­tle, Rhetoric, ii. 20). Ac­cord­ing to the sto­ry, he sub­se­quent­ly lived at the court of Croe­sus, where he met Solon, and dined in the com­pa­ny of the Sev­en Sages of Greece with Pe­rian­der at Corinth. Dur­ing the reign of Pei­si­stra­tus he is said to have vis­it­ed Athens, on which oc­ca­sion he re­lat­ed the fa­ble of The Frogs ask­ing for a King, to dis­suade the cit­izens from at­tempt­ing to ex­change Pei­si­stra­tus for an­oth­er ruler. The pop­ular sto­ries cur­rent re­gard­ing him are de­rived from a life, or rather ro­mance, pre­fixed to a book of fa­bles, pur­port­ing to be his, col­lect­ed by Max­imus Planudes, a monk of the 14th cen­tu­ry. In this he is de­scribed as a mon­ster of ug­li­ness and de­for­mi­ty, as he is al­so rep­re­sent­ed in a well-​known mar­ble fig­ure in the Vil­la Al­bani at Rome. That this life, how­ev­er, was in ex­is­tence a cen­tu­ry be­fore Planudes, ap­pears from a 13th-​cen­tu­ry MS. of it found at Flo­rence. In Plutarch’s Sym­po­sium of the Sev­en Sages, at which Ae­sop is a guest, there are many jests on his orig­inal servile con­di­tion, but noth­ing deroga­to­ry is said about his per­son­al ap­pear­ance. We are fur­ther told that the Athe­ni­ans erect­ed in his hon­our a no­ble stat­ue by the fa­mous sculp­tor Lysip­pus, which fur­nish­es a strong ar­gu­ment against the fic­tion of his de­for­mi­ty. Last­ly, the ob­scu­ri­ty in which the his­to­ry of Ae­sop is in­volved has in­duced some schol­ars to de­ny his ex­is­tence al­to­geth­er.

It is prob­able that Ae­sop did not com­mit his fa­bles to writ­ing; Aristo­phanes (Wasps, 1259) rep­re­sents Philo­cleon as hav­ing learnt the “ab­sur­di­ties” of Ae­sop from con­ver­sa­tion at ban­quets) and Socrates whiles away his time in prison by turn­ing some of Ae­sop’s fa­bles “which he knew” in­to verse (Pla­to, Phae­do, 61 b). Demetrius of Phalerum (345-283 B.C.) made a col­lec­tion in ten books, prob­ably in prose (Lop­son Aisopeion sun­agogai) for the use of or­ators, which has been lost. Next ap­peared an edi­tion in ele­giac verse, of­ten cit­ed by Suidas, but the au­thor’s name is un­known. Babrius, ac­cord­ing to Cru­sius, a Ro­man and tu­tor to the son of Alexan­der Severus, turned the fa­bles in­to cho­liambics in the ear­li­er part of the 3rd cen­tu­ry A.D. The most cel­ebrat­ed of the Latin adapters is Phae­drus, a freed­man of Au­gus­tus. Avianus (of un­cer­tain date, per­haps the 4th cen­tu­ry) trans­lat­ed 42 of the fa­bles in­to Latin ele­giacs. The col­lec­tions which we pos­sess un­der the name of Ae­sop’s Fa­bles are late ren­der­ings of Babrius’s Ver­sion or Progum­nas­ma­ta, rhetor­ical ex­er­cis­es of vary­ing age and mer­it. Syn­tipas trans­lat­ed Babrius in­to Syr­iac, and An­dreop­ulos put the Syr­iac back again in­to Greek. Ig­natius Di­aconus, in the 9th cen­tu­ry, made a ver­sion of 55 fa­bles in cho­liambic tetram­eters. Sto­ries from Ori­en­tal sources were added, and from these col­lec­tions Max­imus Planudes made and edit­ed the col­lec­tion which has come down to us un­der the name of Ae­sop, and from which the pop­ular fa­bles of mod­ern Eu­rope have been de­rived.

For fur­ther in­for­ma­tion see the ar­ti­cle FA­BLE; Bent­ley, Dis­ser­ta­tion on the Fa­bles of Ae­sop; Du Mer­il, Poe­sies inedites du moyen age (1854); J. Ja­cobs, The Fa­bles of Ae­sop (1889): i. The his­to­ry of the Ae­sopic fa­ble; ii. The Fa­bles of Ae­sop, as first print­ed by William Cax­ton, 1484, from his French trans­la­tion; Hervieux, Les Fab­ulistes Latins (1893-1899). Be­fore any Greek text ap­peared, a Latin trans­la­tion of 100 Fab­ulae Ae­sopi­cae by an Ital­ian schol­ar named Ranuzio (Renu­tius) was pub­lished at Rome, 1476. About 1480 the col­lec­tion of Planudes was brought out at Mi­lan by Buono Ac­cor­so (Ac­cur­sius), to­geth­er with Ranuzio’s trans­la­tion. This edi­tion, which con­tained 144 fa­bles, was fre­quent­ly reprint­ed and ad­di­tions made from time to time from var­ious MSS.–the Hei­del­berg (Pala­tine), Flo­ren­tine, Vat­ican and Augs­burg—by Stephanus (1547), Nevelet (1610), Hud­son (1718), Haupt­mann (1741), Fu­ria (1810), Coray (1810), Schnei­der (1812) and oth­ers. A crit­ical edi­tion of all the pre­vi­ous­ly known fa­bles, pre­pared by Carl von Halm from the col­lec­tions of Fu­ria, Coray and Schnei­der, was pub­lished in the Teub­ner se­ries of Greek and Latin texts. A Fab­ularum Ae­sopi­carum syl­loge (233 in num­ber) from a Paris MS., with crit­ical notes by Stern­bach, ap­peared in a Cra­cow Uni­ver­si­ty pub­li­ca­tion, Rozprawy akademii umiejetinosci (1894).

AE­SO­PUS, a Greek his­to­ri­an who wrote a his­to­ry of Alexan­der the Great, a Latin trans­la­tion of which, by Julius Va­lerius, was dis­cov­ered by Mai in 1816.

AE­SO­PUS, CLODIUS, the most em­inent Ro­man trage­di­an, flour­ished dur­ing the time of Ci­cero, but the dates of his birth and death are not known. The name seems to show that he was a freed­man of some mem­ber of the Clo­di­an gens. Ci­cero was on friend­ly terms with both him and Roscius, the equal­ly dis­tin­guished co­me­di­an, and did not dis­dain to prof­it by their in­struc­tion. Plutarch (Ci­cero, 5) men­tions it as re­port­ed of Ae­so­pus, that, while rep­re­sent­ing Atreus de­lib­er­at­ing how he should re­venge him­self on Thyestes, the ac­tor for­got him­self so far in the heat of ac­tion that with his trun­cheon he struck and killed one of the ser­vants cross­ing the stage. Ae­so­pus made a last ap­pear­ance in 55 B.C.—when Ci­cero tells us that he was ad­vanced in years–on the oc­ca­sion of the splen­did games giv­en by Pom­pey at the ded­ica­tion of his the­atre. In spite of his some­what ex­trav­agant liv­ing, he left an am­ple for­tune to his spendthrift son, who did his best to squan­der it as soon as pos­si­ble. Ho­race (Sat. iii. 3. 239) men­tions his tak­ing a pearl from the ear-​drop of Cae­cil­ia Metel­la and dis­solv­ing it in vine­gar, that he might have the sat­is­fac­tion of swal­low­ing eight thou­sand pounds’ worth at a draught.

Ci­cero, De Div­ina­tione, i. 37; pro Ses­tio, 56, 58; Quint., In­stit. xi. 3, iii; Mac­ro­bius, Sat. iii. 14.

AES­THET­ICS, a branch of study var­ious­ly de­fined as the phi­los­ophy or sci­ence of the beau­ti­ful, of taste or of the fine arts.

Pre­lim­inary def­ini­tion.

The name is some­thing of an ac­ci­dent. In its orig­inal Greek form (ais­thetikos) it means what has to do with sense-​per­cep­tion as a source of knowl­edge; and this is still its mean­ing in Kant’s phi­los­ophy (“Tran­scen­den­tal Aes­thet­ic”). Its lim­ita­tion to that func­tion of sen­su­ous per­cep­tion which we know as the con­tem­pla­tive en­joy­ment of beau­ty is due to A. G. Baum­garten. Al­though the sub­ject does not read­ily lend it­self to pre­cise def­ini­tion at the out­set, we may in­di­cate itss­cope and aim, as un­deibtood by re­cent writ­ers, by say­ing that it deals suc­ces­sive­ly with one great de­part­ment of hu­man ex­pe­ri­ence, viz. the plea­sur­able ac­tiv­ities of pure con­tem­pla­tion. By pure con­tem­pla­tion is here un­der­stood that man­ner of re­gard­ing ob­jects of sense-​per­cep­tion, and more par­tic­ular­ly sights and sounds, which is en­tire­ly mo­tived by the plea­sure of the act it­self. The term “ob­ject” means what­ev­er can be per­ceived through one of the sens­es, e.g. a flow­er, a land­scape, the flight of a bird, a se­quence of tones. The con­tem­pla­tion may be im­me­di­ate when (as most­ly hap­pens) the ob­ject is present to sense; or it may be me­di­ate, when as in read­ing po­et­ry we dwell on im­ages of ob­jects of sense. When­ev­er we be­come in­ter­est­ed in an ob­ject mere­ly as pre­sent­ed for our con­tem­pla­tion our whole state of mind may be de­scribed as an aes­thet­ic at­ti­tude, and our ex­pe­ri­ence as an aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence. Oth­er ex­pres­sions such as the plea­sure of taste, the en­joy­ment and ap­pre­ci­ation of beau­ty (in the larg­er sense of this term), will serve less pre­cise­ly to mark off this de­part­ment of ex­pe­ri­ence.

Dif­fer­en­ti­ation of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence. Its char­ac­ter­is­tics as feel­ing.

Aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence is dif­fer­en­ti­at­ed from oth­er kinds of ex­pe­ri­ence by a num­ber of char­ac­ter­is­tics. We com­mon­ly speak of it as en­joy­ment, as an ex­er­cise and cul­ti­va­tion of feel­ing. The ap­pre­ci­ation of beau­ty is per­vad­ed and sus­tained by plea­sur­able feel­ing. In aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment our ca­pac­ities of feel­ing at­tain their fullest and most per­fect de­vel­op­ment. Yet, as its de­pen­dence on a qui­et at­ti­tude of con­tem­pla­tion might tell us, aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence is char­ac­ter­ized by a cer­tain de­gree of calm­ness and mod­er­ation of feel­ing. Even when we are moved by a tragedy our feel­ing is com­par­ative­ly re­strained. A rare ex­hi­bi­tion of beau­ty may thrill the soul for a mo­ment, yet in gen­er­al the en­joy­ment of it is far re­moved from the ex­cite­ment of pas­sion. On the oth­er hand, aes­thet­ic plea­sure is pure en­joy­ment. Even when a dis­agree­able el­ement is present, as in a mu­si­cal dis­so­nance or in the suf­fer­ing of a trag­ic hero, it con­tributes to a high­er mea­sure of en­joy­ment. It is, more­over, free from the painful el­ements of crav­ing, fa­tigue, con­flict, anx­iety and dis­ap­point­ment, which are apt to ac­com­pa­ny oth­er kinds of en­joy­ment; such as the sat­is­fac­tion of the ap­petites and oth­er needs. To this pu­ri­ty of aes­thet­ic plea­sure must be added its re­fine­ment, which im­plies not mere­ly a cer­tain re­mote­ness from the bod­ily needs, but the ef­fect of a union of sense and mind in giv­ing am­pli­tude as well as del­ica­cy to our en­joy­ment of beau­ty.

Marked off from prac­ti­cal ac­tiv­ity,

As the re­gion of most pure and re­fined feel­ing, aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence is clear­ly marked off from prac­ti­cal life, with its ur­gent de­sires and the rest. In aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion de­sire and will as a whole are al­most dor­mant.

al­so from in­tel­lec­tu­al ac­tiv­ity.

This de­tach­ment from the dai­ly life of prac­ti­cal needs and aims is brought out in Kant’s pos­tu­late that aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment must be dis­in­ter­est­ed (“ohne In­ter­esse”), that when we re­gard an ob­ject aes­thet­ical­ly we are not in the least con­cerned with its prac­ti­cal sig­nif­icance and val­ue: one can­not, for ex­am­ple, at the same mo­ment aes­thet­ical­ly en­joy look­ing at a paint­ing and de­sire to be its pos­ses­sor. In like man­ner, even if less ao­par­ent­ly, aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion is marked off from the ar­du­ous men­tal work which en­ters in­to the pur­suit of knowl­edge. In con­tem­plat­ing an aes­thet­ic ob­ject we are men­tal­ly oc­cu­pied with the con­crete, where­as all the more se­ri­ous in­tel­lec­tu­al work of sci­ence in­volves the dif­fi­cul­ties of the ab­stract. The con­tem­pla­tion is, more­over, free from those re­straints which are im­posed on our men­tal ac­tiv­ity by the de­sire to ob­tain knowl­edge.

Uni­for­mi­ty of aestet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence.

While as the high­est phase of feel­ing aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence ap­pears to be­long to our sub­jec­tive life, the hid­den re­gion of the soul, it is con­nect­ed just as clear­ly, through the act of sense-​per­cep­tion, with the world of ob­jects which is our com­mon pos­ses­sion. Be­ing thus de­pen­dent on a con­tem­pla­tion of things in this com­mon world it rais­es the ques­tion whether, like the per­cep­tion of these ob­jects, it is a uni­form ex­pe­ri­ence, the same for oth­ers as for my­self. We touch here on the last char­ac­ter­is­tic of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence which needs to he not­ed at this stage, its uni­for­mi­ty or sub­jec­tion to law. It is a com­mon idea that men’s judg­ments about mat­ters of taste dis­agree to so large an ex­tent that each in­di­vid­ual is left very much to his sub­jec­tive im­pres­sions. With re­gard to many of the sub­tler mat­ters of aes­thet­ic ap­pre­ci­ation, at any rate, there is un­doubt­ed­ly on a first view the ap­pear­ance of a want of agree­ment.

The aes­thet­ic judg­ment.

Con­trast­ed with log­ical judg­ments or even with eth­ical ones, aes­thet­ic judg­ments may no doubt look un­cer­tain and “sub­jec­tive.” The propo­si­tion “this tree is a birch” seems to lend it­self much bet­ter to crit­ical dis­cus­sion and to gen­er­al ac­cep­tance or re­jec­tion than the propo­si­tion “this tree is beau­ti­ful.” This cir­cum­stance, as Kant shrewd­ly sug­gests, helps to ex­plain why we have come to em­ploy the word “taste” in deal­ing with aes­thet­ic mat­ters; for the pro­nounce­ments of the sense of taste are rec­og­nized as among the most un­cer­tain and “sub­jec­tive” of our sen­seim­pres­sions. Yet viewed as a species of plea­sur­able feel­ings, aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ences will be found to ex­hib­it a large amount of uni­for­mi­ty, of ob­jec­tive agree­ment as be­tween dif­fer­ent ex­pe­ri­ences of the same per­son and ex­pe­ri­ences of dif­fer­ent per­sons. This gen­er­al agree­ment ap­pears to be clear­ly im­plied in the or­di­nary form of our aes­thet­ic judg­ments. To say “this rose is beau­ti­ful” means more than to say “the sight of this rose af­fects me agree­ably.” It means that the rose has a gen­er­al pow­er of so af­fect­ing me (at dif­fer­ent times) and oth­ers as well.

Log­ical judg­ment and judg­ment of val­ue.

The judg­ment is not the same as a log­ical one. It does not say sim­ply that as a mat­ter of fact it al­ways does please—even if we add the lim­ita­tion those who for, as we know, our vary­ing mood and state of re­cep­tiv­ity make a pro­found dif­fer­ence in the ful­ness of the aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment. It is a “judg­ment of val­ue” which claims for the rose aes­thet­ic rank as an ob­ject prop­er­ly qual­ified to please con­tem­pla­tive sub­jects. This val­ue, it is plain, is rel­ative to con­scious sub­jects; yet since it is rel­ative to all com­pe­tent ones, it may be re­gard­ed as “ob­jec­tive”—that is to say, as be­long­ing to the ob­ject.1

Late de­vel­op­ment of the sci­ence.

This slight pre­lim­inary in­spec­tion of the sub­ject will pre­pare one for the cir­cum­stance that the sci­en­tif­ic treat­ment of it has be­gun late, and is even now far from be­ing com­plete. This slow­ness of de­vel­op­ment is in part ex­plained by the de­tach­ment of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence from the ur­gent needs of life. In a com­par­ative­ly ear­ly stage of hu­man progress some thought had to be be­stowed on such press­ing prob­lems as to how to cope with the forces of na­ture and to turn them to use­ful ac­count; how to se­cure in hu­man com­mu­ni­ties obe­di­ence to cus­tom and law. But the prob­lem of throw­ing light on our aes­thet­ic plea­sures had no such ur­gen­cy.2 To this it must be added that aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence (in all but its sim­pler and crud­er forms) has been, and still is con­fined to a small num­ber of per­sons; so that the sub­ject does not ap­peal to a wide pop­ular in­ter­est; while, on the oth­er hand, the sub­jects of this ex­pe­ri­ence not in­fre­quent­ly have a strong sen­ti­men­tal dis­like to the idea of in­tro­duc­ing in­to the re­gion of re­fined feel­ing the cold light of sci­en­tif­ic in­ves­ti­ga­tion. Last­ly, there are spe­cial dif­fi­cul­ties in­her­ent in the sub­ject. One se­ri­ous ob­sta­cle to a sci­en­tif­ic the­ory of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence is the il­lu­sive char­ac­ter of many of its fin­er el­ements—for ex­am­ple, the sub­tle dif­fer­ences of feel­ing-​tone pro­duced by the sev­er­al colours as well as by their sev­er­al tones and shades, by the sev­er­al mu­si­cal in­ter­vals, and so forth. Fi­nal­ly, there is the cir­cum­stance just touched on that much of this re­gion of ex­pe­ri­ence, in­stead of at once dis­clos­ing uni­for­mi­ty, seems to be rather the abode of caprice and un­cer­tain­ty. The vari­ations in taste at dif­fer­ent lev­els of cul­ture, among dif­fer­ent races and na­tions and among the in­di­vid­ual mem­bers of the same com­mu­ni­ty are nu­mer­ous and strik­ing, and might at first seem to bar the way to a sci­en­tif­ic treat­ment of the sub­ject. These con­sid­er­ations sug­gest that an ad­equate the­ory of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence could on­ly be at­tempt­ed af­ter the req­ui­site sci­en­tif­ic skill had been de­vel­oped in oth­er and more press­ing de­part­ments of in­quiry.

In­ad­equate the­ories of sub­ject.

If we glance at the modes of treat­ing the sub­ject up to a quite re­cent date we find that lit­tle of se­ri­ous ef­fort to ap­ply to it a strict­ly sci­en­tif­ic method of in­ves­ti­ga­tion. The whole ex­tent of con­crete ex­pe­ri­ence has not been ad­equate­ly rec­og­nized, still less ad­equate­ly ex­am­ined. For the greater part thinkers have been in haste to reach some sim­ple for­mu­la of beau­ty which might seem to cov­er the more ob­vi­ous facts. This has com­mon­ly been de­rived de­duc­tive­ly from some more com­pre­hen­sive idea of ex­pe­ri­ence or hu­man life as a whole. Thus in Ger­man trea­tis­es on aes­thet­ics which have been large­ly thought out un­der the in­flu­ence of philo­soph­ic ide­al­ism the beau­ti­ful is sub­sumed un­der the idea, of which it is re­gard­ed as one spe­cial man­ifes­ta­tion, and its place in hu­man ex­pe­ri­ence has been de­ter­mined by defin­ing its log­ical re­la­tions to the oth­er great co-​or­di­nate con­cepts, the good and the true. These at­tempts to reach a gen­er­al con­cep­tion of beau­ty have of­ten led to one-​sid­ed­ness of view. And this one-​sid­ed­ness has some­times char­ac­ter­ized the the­ories of those who, like Al­ison, have made a wider sur­vey of aes­thet­ic facts.

Aes­thet­ics as a nor­ma­tive sci­ence.

Aes­thet­ics, like Ethics, is a Nor­ma­tive Sci­ence, that is to say, con­cerned with de­ter­min­ing the na­ture of a species of the de­sir­able or the good (in the large sense). It seeks one or more reg­ula­tive prin­ci­ples which may help us to dis­tin­guish a re­al from an ap­par­ent aes­thet­ic val­ue, and to set the high­er and more per­fect il­lus­tra­tions of beau­ty above the low­er and less per­fect. As a sci­ence it will seek to re­al­ize its nor­ma­tive func­tion by the aid of a pa­tient, me­thod­ical in­ves­ti­ga­tion of facts, and by pro­cess­es of ob­ser­va­tion, anal­ysis and in­duc­tion sim­ilar to those car­ried out in the nat­ural sci­ences.

Aestet­ics not a prac­ti­cal sci­ence.

In speak­ing of aes­thet­ics as a nor­ma­tive sci­ence we do not mean that it is a prac­ti­cal one in the sense that it sup­plies prac­ti­cal rules which may serve as def­inite guid­ance for the artist and the lover of beau­ty, in their par­tic­ular prob­lems of se­lect­ing and ar­rang­ing el­ements of aes­thet­ic val­ue. It is no more a prac­ti­cal sci­ence than log­ic. The sup­po­si­tion that it is so is prob­ably favoured by the idea that aes­thet­ic the­ory has art for its spe­cial sub­ject. But this is to con­fuse a gen­er­al aes­thet­ic the­ory–what the Ger­mans call “Gen­er­al Aes­thet­ics”—with a the­ory of art (Kunst­wissenschaft). The for­mer, with which we are here con­cerned, has to ex­am­ine aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence as a whole; which, as we shall present­ly see, in­cludes more than the en­joy­ment and ap­pre­ci­ation of art.

Prob­lems of the sci­ence.

We may now in­di­cate with more ful­ness the main prob­lems of our sci­ence, seek­ing to give them as pre­cise a form as pos­si­ble.

Is beau­ty a sin­gle qual­ity in ob­jects?

At the out­set we are con­front­ed with an old and al­most baf­fling ques­tion: “Is beau­ty a sin­gle qual­ity in­her­ent in ob­jects of per­cep­tion like form or colour?” Com­mon lan­guage cer­tain­ly sug­gests that it is. Aes­thet­ics, too, be­gan its in­quiry at the same point of view, and its his­to­ry shows how much pains men have tak­en in try­ing to de­ter­mine the na­ture of this at­tribute, as well as that of the fac­ul­ty of the soul by which it is per­ceived. Yet a lit­tle ex­am­ina­tion of the facts suf­fices to show that the the­ory is be­set with se­ri­ous dif­fi­cul­ties. What­ev­er beau­ty may be it is cer­tain­ly not a qual­ity of an ob­ject in the same way in which the colour or the form of it is a qual­ity. These are phys­ical qual­ities, known to us by soe­cif­ic mod­ifi­ca­tions of our sen­sa­tions.

Beau­ty not a phys­ical qual­ity.

The beau­ty of a rose or of a peach is clear­ly not a phys­ical qual­ity. Nor do we in at­tribut­ing beau­ty to some par­tic­ular qual­ity in an ob­ject, say colour, con­ceive of it as a phase of this qual­ity, like depth or bril­liance of colour, which, again, is known by a spe­cial mod­ifi­ca­tion of the sen­sa­tions of colour. Hence we must say that beau­ty, though un­doubt­ed­ly re­ferred to a phys­ical ob­ject, is ex­tra­ne­ous to the group of qual­ities which makes it a phys­ical ob­ject.

Beau­ty at­tribut­ed to dif­fer­ent qual­ities in ob­jects.

Beau­ty is fre­quent­ly at­tribut­ed to a con­crete ob­ject as a whole—to a flow­er or shell, for ex­am­ple, as a vis­ible whole. Our ev­ery­dav aes­thet­ic judg­ments are wont to leave the at­tributes thus vague­ly re­ferred to the con­crete ob­ject. Yet it is equal­ly cer­tain that we not in­fre­quent­ly speak of the beau­ty of some de­fin­able as­pect to, or qual­ity of an ob­ject, as when we pro­nounce the con­tour of a moun­tain or of a vase to be beau­ti­ful. And it may be asked whether, in thus lo­cal­iz­ing beau­ty, so to speak, in one of the con­stituent qual­ities of an ob­ject, we al­ways place it in the same qual­ity. A mere glance at the facts will suf­fice to con­vince us that we do not. We call the fa­cade of a Greek tem­ple beau­ti­ful with spe­cial ref­er­ence to its ad­mirable form; where­as in pred­icat­ing beau­ty of the ru­in of a Nor­man cas­tle we re­fer rather to what the ru­in means—to the ef­fect of an imag­ina­tion of its past proud strength and slow van­quish­ment by the un­re­lent­ing strokes of time.

For­mal­ists and ex­pres­sion­al­ists.

This fact that beau­ty ap­per­tains now more to one qual­ity, now more to an­oth­er, helps us to un­der­stand why cer­tain the­orists, known as for­mal­ists, re­gard­ed beau­ty as for­mal or re­sid­ing in form, where­as oth­ers, the ide­al­ists or ex­pres­sion­al­ists, view it as re­sid­ing in ide­al con­tent or ex­pres­sion. These the­ories. how­ev­er, like oth­er at­tempts to find an ad­equate sin­gle prin­ci­ple of beau­ty, are un­sat­is­fac­to­ry. Form and ide­al con­tent are each a great source of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment, and ei­ther can be found in a de­gree of suprema­cy which prac­ti­cal­ly ren­ders the co-​op­er­ation of the oth­er unim­por­tant. The two build­ings cit­ed above, two hu­man faces, two mu­si­cal com­po­si­tions, may ex­hib­it in an im­pres­sive and en­gross­ing way the beau­ty of form and of ex­pres­sion re­spec­tive­ly.

Three ul­ti­mate modes of beau­ty.

Nor is this all. Beau­ty re­fus­es to be con­fined even to these two. There are the var­ious beau­ties of colour, for ex­am­ple, as ex­hib­it­ed in such fa­mil­iar phe­nom­ena of na­ture as sea and sky, au­tumn moors and woods. A slight anal­ysis of the con­stituents of ob­jects to which we at­tribute beau­ty shows that there are at least three dis­tinct modes of this at­tribute, name­ly (1) sen­su­ous beau­ty, (2) beau­ty of form and (3) beau­ty of mean­ing or ex­pres­sion, nor do these ap­pear to be re­ducible to any high­er or more com­pre­hen­sive prin­ci­ple. It re­quires a cer­tain bold­ness to at­tempt to ef­fect a rap­proche­ment be­tween the for­mal and the ex­pres­sion­al fac­tor.3 An ap­par­ent uni­fi­ca­tion of the three seems at present on­ly pos­si­ble by sub­sti­tut­ing for beau­ty an­oth­er con­cept at least equal­ly vague, such as per­fec­tion,4 which seems to im­ply the idea of pur­po­sive­ness, and to ap­ply clear­ly on­ly to cer­tain do­mains of beau­ty, e.g. or­gan­ic form.

Beau­ty and al­lied con­cep­tions.

We may now take an­oth­er step and say that beau­ty ap­pears to be a qual­ity in ob­jects which is not sharply dif­fer­en­ti­at­ed from oth­er and al­lied qual­ities. If we look at the us­ages of speech we shall find that beau­ty has its kin­dred con­cep­tions, such as grace­ful­ness, pret­ti­ness and oth­ers. Writ­ers on aes­thet­ics have spent much time on these “Mod­ifi­ca­tions of the Beau­ti­ful.” The point em­pha­sized here is the dif­fi­cul­ty of draw­ing the line be­tween them. Even an ex­pert may hes­itate long be­fore say­ing whether a hu­man face, a flow­er or a cameo should be called beau­ti­ful or pret­ty. Must we pos­tu­late as many al­lied qual­ities as there are names for these pleas­ing as­pects of ob­jects? Or must we do vi­olence to us­age and so stretch the word “Beau­ty” as to make it cov­er all qual­ities or as­pects of ob­jects which have aes­thet­ic val­ue, in­clud­ing those “mod­ifi­ca­tions of the beau­ti­ful” which we know as the sub­lime, the com­ic and the rest? But the wider we try in this way to make the de­no­ta­tion of the term the va­guer grows the con­no­ta­tion. We are thus left equal­ly in­ca­pable of say­ing what the qual­ity is, and in which as­pect or at­tribute of the ob­ject it in­heres.5

As­sump­tion of ob­jec­tive qual­ityt of beau­ty dis­pensed with.

It seems to fol­low that in con­struct­ing a sci­en­tif­ic the­ory we do well to dis­pense with the as­sump­tion of an ob­jec­tive qual­ity of beau­ty. Aes­thet­ics will re­turn to Kant and con­fine it­self to the ex­am­ina­tion of ob­jects called beau­ti­ful in their re­la­tion to, and in their man­ner of af­fect­ing our minds.6 The aes­thet­ic val­ue of such an ob­ject will be viewed as con­sist­ing in the pos­ses­sion of cer­tain assignable char­ac­ter­is­tics by means of which it is fit­ted to af­fect us in a cer­tain de­sir­able way, to draw us in­to the en­joy­able mood of aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion.

Aes­thet­ic qual­ities.

These char­ac­ter­is­tics may con­ve­nient­ly be called aes­thet­ic qual­ities.7 Ob­jects which are found to pos­sess one or more of these qual­ities in the re­quired de­gree of ful­ness claim a cer­tain aes­thet­ic val­ue, even though they fall short of be­ing “beau­ti­ful,” in the more ex­act­ing use of this word. They are in the di­rec­tion—“im Sinne,” as Fech­ner says—-of beau­ty, con­ceived as some­thing fuller and rich­er, an­swer­ing to a high­er stan­dard of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment and a sev­er­er de­mand on our part. The word “beau­ty” may still be used oc­ca­sion­al­ly, where no am­bi­gu­ity aris­es, as a con­ve­nient ex­pres­sion for aes­thet­ic val­ue in all its de­grees. Yet it is bet­ter to keep the term ap­pli­ca­ble to the ob­jects com­mon­ly de­not­ed by it by mak­ing it rep­re­sent the fuller aes­thet­ic sat­is­fac­tions which flow from a rare and com­mand­ing ex­hi­bi­tion of one or more of these qual­ities, from what may be de­scribed as an ap­pre­cia­ble ex­cel­lence of aes­thet­ic qual­ity.

By thus dis­pens­ing with the con­cept of beau­ty as some oc­cult un­de­fin­able qual­ity, we get rid of much of the con­tra­dic­tion which ap­pears to in­here in our aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence. For ex­am­ple, a bit of bril­liant colour in a bon­net which pleas­es the wear­er but of­fends her su­pe­ri­or in aes­thet­ic mat­ters takes its place as some­thing which per se has a cer­tain de­gree of aes­thet­ic val­ue even though the par­tic­ular re­la­tions in­to which it has now thrust it­self, pal­pa­ble to the trained eye, may prac­ti­cal­ly rob it of its val­ue. In thus sub­sti­tut­ing the rel­ative idea of aes­thet­ic val­ue for the ab­so­lute idea of beau­ty we may no doubt seem to be de­stroy­ing the re­al­ity of the ob­ject of aes­thet­ic per­cep­tion. This point may more con­ve­nient­ly be tak­en up lat­er when we con­sid­er the whole ques­tion of aes­thet­ic il­lu­sion.

Prob­lem of aes­thet­ic ef­fect.

This new way of en­vis­ag­ing aes­thet­ic ob­jects re­quires us to make the study of their ef­fect a promi­nent part of our in­ves­ti­ga­tion. In all the valu­able re­cent work on the sub­ject, at­ten­tion has been large­ly con­cen­trat­ed on this ef­fect. More par­tic­ular­ly we have to in­ves­ti­gate and il­lu­mine sci­en­tif­ical­ly the plea­sur­able side of the ex­pe­ri­ence.

Aes­thet­ics and laws of plea­sure.

In do­ing this we shall make use of all the light we can ob­tain from a study of known laws of Plea­sure. Thus we shall avail our­selves not on­ly of the the­ory of the plea­sure-​tones of sen­sa­tion but of that of the con­di­tions of an agree­able ex­er­cise of the at­ten­tion up­on ob­jects more par­tic­ular­ly of the char­ac­ter­is­tics of ob­jects which ad­equate­ly stim­ulate the at­ten­tion with­out con­fus­ing or bur­den­ing it.

Prob­lem of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment a spe­cial one.

Yet this does not re­quire that we should treat the aes­thet­ic prob­lem as a part of the more gen­er­al sci­ence of plea­sure, as has been at­tempt­ed by some, e.g. Grant Allen (Phys­io­log­ical Aes­thet­ics) and Rut­gers Mar­shall (Pain, Plea­sure and Aes­thet­ics, and Aes­thet­ic Prin­ci­ples.) To do so would be to run the risk of con­sid­er­ing on­ly the more gen­er­al as­pects and con­di­tions of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment, where­as what we need is a the­ory of it as a spe­cif­ic kind of plea­sur­able ex­pe­ri­ence.

The at­ti­tude of aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion.

What is re­quired at the present stage of de­vel­op­ment of the sci­ence is a deep­er in­ves­ti­ga­tion of the aes­thet­ic at­ti­tude of mind as a whole, of what we may call the aes­thet­ic psy­chosis. We need to probe the act of con­tem­pla­tion it­self, the mode of ac­tiv­ity of at­ten­tion in­volved in this calm, half-​dream­like gaz­ing on the mere look of things un­con­cerned with their or­di­nary and weight­ier im­ports. We need fur­ther to de­ter­mine the ef­fect of this con­tem­pla­tive at­ti­tude up­on the sev­er­al men­tal pro­cess­es in­volved, the act of per­cep­tion it­self, with its grasp of man­ifold re­la­tions, the flow of ideas, the par­tial resur­gence and trans­for­ma­tion of emo­tion. In ex­am­in­ing these ef­fects we must keep in view the dou­ble side of the con­tem­pla­tive at­ti­tude, the wide range of free move­ment which per­cep­tion and imag­ina­tion claim and en­joy, and the will­ing sub­jec­tion of the con­tem­pla­tive mind to the spell of the ob­ject.

In­tel­lec­tu­al and aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ity fur­ther dif­fer­en­ti­at­ed.

A deep­er in­spec­tion of the con­tem­pla­tive mood may be ex­pect­ed to ren­der clear­er the dif­fer­ence be­tween the men­tal ac­tiv­ity em­ployed in aes­thet­ic per­cep­tion and imag­ina­tion and in­tel­lec­tu­al ac­tiv­ity prop­er; be­tween. say, the dif­fer­enc­ing of al­lied tints in­volved in the fin­er aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment of colour and the sharp­er, clear­er dis­crim­ina­tion of tints re­quired in sci­en­tif­ic ob­ser­va­tion, and be­tween such a grasp of re­la­tions as is re­quired for a just ap­pre­ci­ation of beau­ti­ful form and that se­vere anal­ysis and mea­sure­ment of for­mal el­ements and their re­la­tions which is in­sist­ed up­on by sci­ence. As a re­sult of a fin­er dis­tinc­tion here we may prob­ably be in a bet­ter po­si­tion to de­ter­mine the point—touched on more than once in re­cent works on aes­thet­ics—how far in­tel­lec­tu­al plea­sure prop­er, e.g. that of rec­og­niz­ing and clas­si­fy­ing ob­jects, en­ters as a sub­or­di­nate el­ement in­to aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment. Is aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment es­sen­tial­ly so­cial?

One point in the char­ac­ter­iza­tion of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence has been re­served, name­ly, the ques­tion whether it is es­sen­tial­ly a form of so­cial en­joy­ment. No one doubts that a man of­ten en­joys beau­ty, e.g. that of a land­scape, when alone; yet at such a mo­ment he not on­ly rec­og­nizes that his plea­sure is a pos­si­ble one for oth­ers, but is prob­ably aware of a sub-​con­scious wish that oth­ers were present to share his en­joy­ment. Kant went so far as to say that on a desert is­land a man would adorn nei­ther his hut nor his per­son. How­ev­er this be, it seems cer­tain that as a rule we tend to in­dulge our aes­thet­ic tastes in com­pa­ny with oth­ers. This habit of mak­ing aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment a so­cial ex­pe­ri­ence would in it­self tend to de­vel­op the sym­pa­thies and the sym­pa­thet­ic in­tel­li­gence and thus to pro­mote ex­changes of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence. The con­tent, too, of our aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ences would be favourable to such con­joint acts of aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion, and to the mu­tu­al shar­ing of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ences; for, as dis­in­ter­est­ed and uni­ver­sal modes of en­joy­ment de­tached from per­son­al in­ter­ests, they are clear­ly free from the ego­is­tic ex­clu­sive­ness which char­ac­ter­izes our pri­vate en­joy­ments which at best can on­ly be par­tic­ipat­ed in by one or two close­ly at­tached friends. Our aes­thet­ic en­joy­ments are thus em­inent­ly fit­ted to be so­cial ones; and as such they be­come great­ly am­pli­fied by sym­pa­thet­ic res­onance.

The aes­thet­ic sens­es.

We are now in a po­si­tion to con­sid­er a point much dis­cussed of late, name­ly, the spe­cial con­nex­ion of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment with the two sens­es, sight and hear­ing. Two ques­tions arise here: (1) Do the oth­er and “low­er” sens­es take any part in aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence? (2) What are the “high­er” ones? With re­gard to the first it is com­ing to be rec­og­nized that aes­thet­ic plea­sure is not strict­ly con­fined to the two sens­es in ques­tion. Com­mon lan­guage sug­gests that we find in cer­tain odours and even in cer­tain flavours a val­ue anal­ogous to that im­plied in call­ing an ob­ject beau­ti­ful.

Aes­thet­ic claims of touch.

Hegel ex­clud­ed the oth­er sens­es–even touch—-on the ground that aes­thet­ics had to do on­ly with art, in which there was no place for per­cep­tions of touch. A clos­er ex­am­ina­tion has shown that this im­por­tant sense plays a con­sid­er­able part in art-​ef­fects. And even if this were not so, Hegel’s ex­clu­sion of touch from the rank of aes­thet­ic sens­es would be a strik­ing il­lus­tra­tion of the nar­row­ing ef­fect on sci­en­tif­ic the­ory of the iden­ti­fi­ca­tion of aes­thet­ic ob­jects with pro­duc­tions of art. To say that the ex­pe­ri­ence of ex­plor­ing with the fin­gers a vel­vety petal or the smooth sur­face of a sea-​round­ed peb­ble has no aes­thet­ic el­ement savours of a per­verse ar­bi­trari­ness. Touch is no doubt want­ing in a pre­rog­ative of hear­ing and sight which we shall present­ly see to be im­por­tant, name­ly, that be­ing act­ed on by ob­jects at a dis­tance they ad­mit of a si­mul­ta­ne­ous per­cep­tion by a num­ber of per­sons–as in­deed even the sense of smell does in a mea­sure. This is prob­ably the chief rea­son why, ac­cord­ing to cer­tain tes­ti­mo­ny, the blind re­ceive but lit­tle aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment from tac­tu­al ex­pe­ri­ence.8 Yet this draw­back is com­pen­sat­ed to some ex­tent by the fact that agree­able tac­tu­al ex­pe­ri­ence may be tak­en up as sug­gest­ed mean­ing in­to our vi­su­al per­cep­tions.

Pre­rog­atives of sight and hear­ing.

The two priv­ileged sens­es, sight and hear­ing, owe their su­pe­ri­or­ity to a num­ber of con­sid­er­ations. They are the far­thest re­moved from the nec­es­sary life func­tions, with the press­ing needs and dis­turb­ing crav­ings which be­long to these. Even touch, though imoor­tant as a source of knowl­edge, has for its pri­ma­ry func­tion to ex­am­ine the things which ap­proach our or­gan­isms in their re­la­tion to this as in­ju­ri­ous or harm­less. The two high­er sens­es present to us ma­te­ri­al ob­jects in their least ag­gres­sive and men­ac­ing man­ner: vis­ible forms and colours, tones and their com­bi­na­tions, ap­pear when com­pared with ob­jects felt to be in con­tact with our body, to be rather sem­blances or dis­tant signs of ma­te­ri­al re­al­ities than these re­al­ities them­selves; and this cir­cum­stance fits these sens­es to be in a spe­cial way the or­gans of aes­thet­ic per­cep­tion with its calm, dream­like de­tach­ment and its en­joy­able free­dom of move­ment. They are, more­over, the two sens­es by the use of which a num­ber of per­sons may join most per­fect­ly in a com­mon act of aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion. This dis­tinc­tion strength­ens their claims to be in a spe­cial man­ner the aes­thet­ic sens­es, and this for a dou­ble rea­son. (1) It makes them sense-​av­enues by which each of us ob­tains the most im­me­di­ate and most im­pres­sive con­vic­tion that aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence is a com­mon pos­ses­sion of the many, and is large­ly sim­ilar in the case of dif­fer­ent in­di­vid­uals. (2) It marks them off as the sens­es by the ex­er­cise of which per­cep­tu­al en­joy­ment may most read­ily and cer­tain­ly be in­creased through the res­onant ef­fects of sym­pa­thy. The ex­pe­ri­ences of the the­atre and of the con­cert-​hall suf­fi­cient­ly il­lus­trate these dis­tin­guish­ing func­tions of the two sens­es. Oth­er dis­tin­guish­ing pre­rog­atives of sight and hear­ing flow from the char­ac­ter­is­tics of their sen­sa­tions and per­cep­tions, a point to be touched on lat­er.9

Aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ity and play. (a) Points of affin­ity be­tween them.

Our de­ter­mi­na­tion of the char­ac­ter­is­tics of the aes­thet­ic at­ti­tude has now been car­ried far enough to en­able us to con­sid­er an­oth­er point much dis­cussed in re­cent aes­thet­ic lit­er­ature, viz. the re­la­tion of this at­ti­tude to that of play. The affini­ties of the two are strik­ing and are dis­closed in ev­ery­day lan­guage, as when we speak of the “play” of imag­ina­tion or of “play­ing” on a mu­si­cal in­stru­ment. Both play and aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion are ac­tiv­ities which are con­trolled by no ex­tra­ne­ous end, which run on freely di­rect­ed on­ly by the in­trin­sic de­light of the ac­tiv­ity. Hence they both con­trast with the se­ri­ous work im­posed on us and con­trolled by what we mark off as the ne­ces­si­ties of life, such as pro­vid­ing for bod­ily wants, or rear­ing a fam­ily. They each add a sort of lux­uri­ous fringe to life. In aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment our sens­es, our in­tel­li­gence and our emo­tions are alike re­leased from the con­straint of these nec­es­sary ends, and may be said to re­fresh them­selves in a kind of play. Fi­nal­ly, they are both char­ac­ter­ized by a strong in­fu­sion of make-​be­lieve, a dis­po­si­tion to sub­sti­tute pro­duc­tions of the imag­ina­tion for ev­ery­day re­al­ities. In this re­spect, again, they form a con­trast to that se­ri­ous con­cern with fact and prac­ti­cal truth which the nec­es­sary aims of life im­pose on us. Lit­tle won­der, then, that Pla­to rec­og­nized in the con­trast be­tween the rep­re­sen­ta­tive and the use­ful arts an anal­ogy be­tween play and earnest,10 and that since the time of Schiller so much use has been made of the anal­ogy in aes­thet­ic works.

(b) Points of dif­fer­ence.

Yet though sim­ilar. the two kinds of ac­tiv­ity are dis­tin­guish­able in im­por­tant re­spects. For one thing, aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion pure and sim­ple is a com­par­ative­ly tran­quil and pas­sive at­ti­tude, where­as play means do­ing some­thing and com­mon­ly in­volves some amount of stren­uous ex­er­tion, ei­ther of body or of mind. A clos­er anal­ogy might be drawn be­tween play and artis­tic pro­duc­tion. Yet even when the par­al­lel is thus nar­rowed, pret­ty ob­vi­ous dif­fer­ences dis­close them­selves. It is on­ly in their more prim­itive phas­es that the two at­ti­tudes ex­hib­it a close sim­ilar­ity. As they de­vel­op, strik­ing di­ver­gences be­gin to ap­pear. The play mood, in­stead of ap­proach­ing the calm con­tem­pla­tive mood of the lover of beau­ty, in­volves feel­ings and im­puls­es which lie at the roots of our prac­ti­cal in­ter­ests, viz. am­bi­tion, ri­val­ry and strug­gle. It has, more­over, in all its stages a pal­pa­ble util­ity—even though this is not re­al­ized by the play­er—serv­ing for the ex­er­cise and de­vel­op­ment of body, in­tel­li­gence and char­ac­ter. Beau­ty and art rise high above play in pu­ri­ty of the dis­in­ter­est­ed at­ti­tude, in placid de­tach­ment from the ser­vice­able and the nec­es­sary, and, still more, in range and va­ri­ety of re­fined in­ter­est, com­pre­hend­ed in “the love of beau­ty.” Fi­nal­ly, aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ities are di­rect­ed by ide­al con­cep­tions and stan­dards to which hard­ly any­thing cor­re­sponds in play save where games of skill take on some­thing of the dig­ni­ty of a fine art.11

Meth­ods of re­search in aes­thet­ics.

So far as to the pre­lim­inary de­lim­it­ing work in aes­thet­ic sci­ence. On­ly a bare in­di­ca­tion can be made as to the meth­ods of re­search by which its ad­vance can be fur­thered, and as to the sev­er­al di­rec­tions of in­quiry which it will have to fol­low. With re­gard to the for­mer the method of in­ves­ti­ga­tion will con­sist in a care­ful in­quiry in­to two or­ders of fact: (1) Ob­jects which com­mon tes­ti­mo­ny or the his­to­ry of art show to be wide­ly rec­og­nized ob­jects of aes­thet­ic val­ue; (2) records of the aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence of in­di­vid­uals, whether artists or am­ateurs.

Ex­am­ina­tion of aes­thet­ic ob­jects.

Since aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence is brought about and its modes de­ter­mined by ob­jects pos­sess­ing cer­tain qual­ities, it seems ev­ident that sci­en­tif­ic aes­thet­ics must make an ex­am­ina­tion and com­par­ison of these a fun­da­men­tal part of its prob­lem. These ob­jects will, as al­ready hint­ed, in­clude both nat­ural ones in the in­or­gan­ic and or­gan­ic worlds, and works of art which can be shown to be ob­jects of gen­er­al or wide­ly rec­og­nized aes­thet­ic val­ue.

Na­ture as sup­ply­ing aes­thet­ic ob­jects.

With­out at­tempt­ing here to dis­cuss ad­equate­ly the re­la­tion of nat­ural beau­ty to that of art we may note one or two points. Some con­tem­pla­tion and ap­pre­ci­ation of the beau­ti­ful as­pects of na­ture is not on­ly pri­or in time to art, but is a con­di­tion of its gen­esis. The en­joy­ment of the pleas­ing as­pects of land and sea, of moun­tain and dale, of the in­nu­mer­able or­gan­ic forms, has steadi­ly grown with the de­vel­op­ment of cul­ture; and this growth, though un­doubt­ed­ly aid­ed by that of the feel­ing for art—es­pe­cial­ly paint­ing and po­et­ry—is to a large ex­tent in­de­pen­dent of it.12 Some of the finest in­sight in­to the se­crets of beau­ty has been gained by those who had on­ly a lim­it­ed ac­quain­tance with art. What is still more im­por­tant in the present con­nex­ion is that the aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence gained by the di­rect con­tem­pla­tion of na­ture in­cludes va­ri­eties which art can­not re­pro­duce. It is enough to re­call what Helmholtz and oth­ers have told us about the lim­ita­tions of the pow­ers of pic­to­ri­al art to rep­re­sent the more bril­liant de­grees of light; the ad­mis­sions of painters them­selves as to the lim­its of their art when it seeks to ren­der the fin­er gra­da­tions of light and colour in such com­mon ob­jects as a tree-​trunk or a bit of old wall. Na­ture, more­over, in spread­ing out her spaces of earth, sea and sky, and in ex­hibit­ing the ac­tion of her forces, does so on a scale which seems to make sub­lim­ity her pre­rog­ative in which art vain­ly en­deav­ours to par­tic­ipate.

Use of works of art by the the­orist.

On the oth­er hand, it is com­ing to be seen that the con­struc­tion of a the­ory of aes­thet­ic val­ues must be as­sist­ed by a much more pre­cise ex­am­ina­tion than aes­theti­cists are com­mon­ly con­tent to make, of works of art. The im­por­tance of in­clud­ing these is that they are well-​de­fined ob­jec­tive ex­pres­sions of what the aes­thet­ic con­scious­ness ap­proves and prefers. In in­quir­ing, for ex­am­ple, in­to the pleas­ing re­la­tions of colour we might have to wait long for a the­ory if we were de­pen­dent on what even so gift­ed a writ­er as Ruskin can tell us about na­ture’s jux­ta­po­si­tions: where­as if it can be shown that through­out the his­to­ry of chro­mat­ic art or dur­ing its bet­ter pe­ri­od there has been a ten­den­cy to pre­fer cer­tain com­bi­na­tions, this fact be­comes a piece of con­vinc­ing ev­idence as to their aes­thet­ic val­ue.

Dif­fi­cul­ties in us­ing works of art as ma­te­ri­al.

Even here, how­ev­er, there are sources of un­cer­tain­ty. It is not true to say that a work of art is a pure out­come of the aes­thet­ic feel­ing of the artist. even if we take this in a com­pre­hen­sive sense. It is sub­ject to the in­flu­ence of all the tem­po­rary feel­ings and ten­den­cies of the time which pro­duced it. The aes­thet­ic mo­tive which is sup­posed to orig­inate it is apt to be com­pli­cat­ed and dis­guised by oth­er mo­tives, e.g. util­ity in ar­chi­tec­ture,13 an im­pulse to in­struct if not to re­form in mod­ern fic­tion.

Ef­fects of cus­tom on artis­tic pref­er­ence.

Again, if it is said that a cer­tain de­gree of per­ma­nence as­sures us of the aes­thet­ic val­ue of a fea­ture of art, we are met by the dif­fi­cul­ty that cus­tom plays an im­por­tant part in art, the re­sult of con­ven­tion fixed by tra­di­tion of­ten sim­ulat­ing the as­pect of a deep-​seat­ed aes­thet­ic pref­er­ence. In this con­nex­ion it is to be re­marked that even so per­ma­nent an el­ement as sym­me­try may owe its quasi­aes­thet­ic val­ue to cus­tom, by which is un­der­stood its wide and im­pres­sive dis­play in the or­gan­ic and even the in­or­gan­ic world.14 Yet the in­flu­ence of cus­tom tak­en in this larg­er sense need not great­ly dis­turb us. In aes­thet­ics, as in ethics, the ques­tion of va­lid­ity has to be kept dis­tinct from that of ori­gin. If sym­me­try (in gen­er­al) is ap­pre­ci­at­ed as aes­thet­ical­ly pleas­ing, the ques­tion of its gen­esis be­comes im­ma­te­ri­al. An­oth­er dif­fi­cul­ty, not pe­cu­liar to aes­thet­ic in­ves­ti­ga­tion, is that of re­con­struct­ing the modes of aes­thet­ic con­scious­ness rep­re­sent­ed by forms of art which dif­fer wide­ly from those of our own age and type of cul­ture.

Val­ue of prim­itive art for aes­thet­ics.

In uti­liz­ing art ma­te­ri­al for aes­thet­ic the­ory the the­orist will need to note the work re­cent­ly done by En­glish and Ger­man writ­ers on prim­itive art. And this not mere­ly be­cause of the val­ue of the ear­ly forms of art for a the­ory of the evo­lu­tion of the aes­thet­ic con­scious­ness; but be­cause the em­bry­on­ic stages of art are like­ly to have a pe­cu­liar in­ter­est as il­lus­trat­ing in a com­par­ative­ly iso­lat­ed form some of the sim­pler modes of aes­thet­ic ap­pre­ci­ation, e.g. in the group­ing of colours, in the mode of cov­er­ing a sur­face with lin­ear or­na­ment. Yet it is not nec­es­sary to give prim­itive art a con­sid­er­able place in a gen­er­al aes­thet­ics. As a nor­ma­tive sci­ence, it is to be re­mem­bered, this is much more im­me­di­ate­ly con­cerned with the high­er stages of aes­thet­ic cul­ture. In seek­ing to es­tab­lish norms or reg­ula­tive prin­ci­ples, we must, it is ev­ident, make a spe­cial study of ob­jects of art which be­long to our own lev­el of cul­ture. For these rea­sons it would ap­pear nec­es­sary to in­clude in a gen­er­al aes­thet­ic the­ory some ref­er­ence to the evo­lu­tion of art and of the aes­thet­ic con­scious­ness.

Evo­lu­tion as cri­te­ri­on of aes­thet­ic height.

A fur­ther rea­son for in­clud­ing it is that the evo­lu­tion of art sup­plies a most valu­able aux­il­iary cri­te­ri­on of de­gree or height of aes­thet­ic val­ue. Pro­vid­ed that we dis­tin­guish what is a re­al pro­cess of evo­lu­tion from one of mere change of fash­ion in taste, and that we con­fine our­selves to the larg­er fea­tures of the pro­cess, we may make the prin­ci­ple of evo­lu­tion a ser­vice­able one by re­gard­ing those forms and fea­tures of art as high­er in re­spect of aes­thet­ic val­ue which grow dis­tinct and rel­ative­ly fixed in the lat­er and bet­ter stages of the evo­lu­tion of art.15

Ex­act mea­sure­ment of char­ac­ter­is­tics of art-​work.

This part of aes­thet­ic in­ves­ti­ga­tion should be made as ex­act as pos­si­ble.Thus in deal­ing with the tri­ads of colour said to be most fre­quent­ly em­ployed in the best pe­ri­od of Ital­ian paint­ing the ob­serv­er should note and record as far as this is pos­si­ble not on­ly the pre­cise tints, but al­so the pre­cise de­grees of their sev­er­al lu­mi­nosi­ties. With re­gard to el­ements of form in art, the ju­di­cious use of pho­tog­ra­phy and care­ful mea­sure­ment would prob­ably help us to un­der­stand the prac­tices of art in its bet­ter pe­ri­ods. This ex­am­ina­tion of art ma­te­ri­al by the aes­thet­ic the­orist should be sup­ple­ment­ed by a study of what artists have writ­ten about their meth­ods, of the rules laid down for stu­dents of art, and last­ly of the gen­er­al­iza­tions reached by the more sci­en­tif­ic kind of writ­er up­on art.16

Aes­thet­ic in­duc­tions.

A prop­er me­thod­ical in­quiry in­to aes­thet­ic ob­jects aid­ed by a knowl­edge of the prac­tices of art would lead to in­duc­tions of such char­ac­ter­is­tics are aes­thet­ical­ly valu­able.”17

Germs of aes­thet­ic pref­er­ence in chil­dren, etc.

This pre­lim­inary work of aes­thet­ic sci­ence in col­lect­ing and analysing facts may be ex­tend­ed in two di­rec­tions: by an ex­am­ina­tion (a) of the ear­li­er and sim­pler forms of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence, and (b) of the fuller and more com­plex ex­pe­ri­ences of those spe­cial­ly trained in the per­cep­tion and en­joy­ment of beau­ty. (a) The for­mer would be il­lus­trat­ed by a more me­thod­ical in­ves­ti­ga­tion in­to the rudi­men­ta­ry aes­thet­ic lik­ings of chil­dren and of the low­er races. Such in­quiries may be ex­pect­ed to add to our knowl­edge of the sim­pler and more uni­ver­sal forms of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment. Some at­ten­tion has been paid by Dar­win and oth­ers to germs of taste in birds and oth­er an­imals. Yet this line of in­quiry, though of some val­ue for a the­ory of the evo­lu­tion of taste, seems to throw but lit­tle light on aes­thet­ic pref­er­ences as found in man.18

Aes­thet­ic ex­per­iment.

An im­por­tant fea­ture in this new in­ves­ti­ga­tion in­to sim­pler modes of aes­thet­ic pref­er­ence is that it pro­ceeds by way of ex­per­iment, that is to say, a me­thod­ical test­ing of the aes­thet­ic pref­er­ences of a num­ber of in­di­vid­uals. Fech­ner in­tro­duced the method of ex­per­iment in­to aes­thet­ics in his re­search­es on the prefer­abil­ity (ac­cord­ing to Zeis­ing) of the pro­por­tion known as the “gold­en sec­tion.”19 Since his time oth­er ex­per­imen­tal in­quiries have been made, both as to what forms (e.g. what va­ri­ety of rect­an­gle) and what com­bi­na­tions of colours are most pleas­ing. The re­sults of these ex­per­iments are dis­tinct­ly promis­ing, though they have not yet been car­ried far enough to be made the ba­sis of per­fect­ly trust­wor­thy gen­er­al­iza­tions.20

Ex­pe­ri­ence and judg­ments of ex­perts.

A valu­able por­tion of the da­ta for a sci­ence of aes­thet­ics lies in the record­ed ex­pe­ri­ences of artists, art crit­ics, and oth­ers who have spe­cial­ly de­vel­oped their tastes; This source of in­for­ma­tion has cer­tain­ly nev­er been made use of in a com­plete and me­thod­ical man­ner by the­orists, a quo­ta­tion now and again from writ­ers like Goethe and Ruskin hav­ing been deemed suf­fi­cient. Yet it is safe to say that an ad­equate un­der­stand­ing of the fin­er ef­fects of beau­ty, both in na­ture and in art, pre­sup­pos­es the as­sim­ila­tion of what is best in these records. And this not on­ly be­cause they com­mon­ly sup­ply us with new and valu­able va­ri­eties of ex­pe­ri­ence of the more re­fined kind, but be­cause the aes­thet­ic judg­ments on na­ture and art of men in whom the feel­ing of beau­ty has been spe­cial­ly cul­ti­vat­ed have a greater val­ue than those of oth­ers.21 It may be added that these records are wont to con­tain re­flex­ions which, though want­ing in sci­en­tif­ic pre­ci­sion, can be uti­lized by sci­ence.

Psy­cho­log­ical anal­ysis of ma­te­ri­al.

We now come to the work of sci­en­tif­ic con­struc­tion prop­er. The fin­er anal­ysis of the ob­jects which please aes­thet­ical­ly as well as of the agree­able type of con­scious­ness to which they min­is­ter be­longs to the psy­chol­ogist, and it is note­wor­thy that the best re­cent con­tri­bu­tions to the sci­ence have been made by men who were ei­ther known as psy­chol­ogists or at least had trained them­selves in psy­cho­log­ical anal­ysis. A word or two must suf­fice to in­di­cate the more im­por­tant di­rec­tions of the the­oret­ic in­ter­pre­ta­tion. We may in il­lus­trat­ing this set out from the con­ve­nient triple di­vi­sion of the fac­tors in aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence: (A) the sen­su­ous, (B) the per­cep­tu­al or for­mal, (C) the imag­ina­tive, in­clud­ing all that is sug­gest­ed by the aes­thet­ic pre­sen­ta­tion, its mean­ing and ex­pres­sive­ness.

The sen­su­ous fac­tor. Phys­io­log­ical aes­thet­ics.

(A) In deal­ing with the sen­su­ous fac­tor the psy­chol­ogist is ma­te­ri­al­ly aid­ed by the phys­iol­ogist. It is suf­fi­cient to point to the con­tri­bu­tion made to the anal­ysis of mu­si­cal sen­sa­tions by the clas­si­cal re­search­es of Helmholtz (see be­low). Yet the ap­pli­ca­tion of a knowl­edge of phys­io­log­ical con­di­tions seems as yet to be of lit­tle ser­vice when we come to the fin­er as­pects of this sen­su­ous ex­pe­ri­ence, to the sub­tle ef­fects of colour com­bi­na­tion, for ex­am­ple, and to the nu­ances of feel­ing-​tone at­tach­ing to dif­fer­ent tints. In the fin­er anal­ysis of the sen­su­ous ma­te­ri­al of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment it is the psy­chol­ogist who counts.22

Psy­cho­log­ical prob­lems.

Among the valu­able con­tri­bu­tions re­cent­ly made in this do­main one may in­stance the care­ful de­ter­mi­na­tion of the aes­thet­ical­ly im­por­tant char­ac­ter­is­tics of the sen­sa­tions of sight and hear­ing, such as the fine­ly grad­uat­ed va­ri­ety of their qual­ities (colour and tone), their ca­pa­bil­ity of en­ter­ing in­to com­bi­na­tions in which they pre­serve their in­di­vid­ual­ity, in­clud­ing the im­por­tant com­bi­na­tions of time and space form. With these are to be in­clud­ed the dis­tin­guish­ing char­ac­ter­is­tics of the con­comi­tant feel­ing-​tones, e.g. their com­par­ative calm­ness and their clear sep­ara­tion from the sen­sa­tions which they ac­com­pa­ny. These char­ac­ter­is­tics help us to un­der­stand the greater re­fine­ment of these sens­es and al­so the more pro­longed as well as vary­ing en­joy­ment which they con­tribute, as well as the ex­ten­sion of this en­joy­ment by imag­ina­tive re­pro­duc­tion.23 Next to this de­ter­mi­na­tion of im­por­tant aes­thet­ic char­ac­ter­is­tics of the two sens­es may be named a fin­er prob­ing of the nu­ances of plea­sur­able tone ex­hib­it­ed by the sev­er­al colours and tones. A point still need­ing spe­cial in­ves­ti­ga­tion is ex­tent of the sen­su­ous fac­tor in aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment. There has been a ten­den­cy in aes­thet­ic the­ory to over-​in­tel­lec­tu­al­ize aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence and to find the val­ue even of the sen­su­ous fac­tor in some in­tel­lec­tu­al prin­ci­ple, as when it is said (by Pla­to and Hegel among oth­ers) that a smooth or lev­el tone and a uni­form mass of colour owe their val­ue to the prin­ci­ple of uni­ty. But such pro­lon­ga­tion (with­in ob­vi­ous lim­its) in time or space is a con­di­tion of the full en­joy­ment of the dis­tinc­tive qual­ity of an in­di­vid­ual tone or colour, and as such has a sen­su­ous val­ue. Aes­thet­ics has to prove the sen­su­ous val­ue, the plea­sure which is due not on­ly to the feel­ing-​tones of the sev­er­al sen­sa­tions but to those of their var­iods com­bi­na­tions. Spite of a ten­den­cy of late to dis­par­age the co-​op­er­ation of the “mo­tor sen­sa­tions” con­nect­ed with move­ments of the eye in the aes­thet­ic ap­pre­ci­ation of lin­ear form, e.g. curves, ev­idence sug­gests that cer­tain curves, like fine gra­da­tions of colour, may owe a con­sid­er­able part of their val­ue to a mode of vary­ing the sen­su­ous ex­pe­ri­ence which is in a pe­cu­liar man­ner agree­able. On the oth­er hand, this the­oret­ic in­ves­ti­ga­tion of sense-​ma­te­ri­al will need to de­ter­mine with care the added val­ue due to the ac­tion of ex­pe­ri­ence in giv­ing some­thing of mean­ing to par­tic­ular colours and tones and their com­bi­na­tions, e.g. warmth of colour, height of tone.

The per­cep­tu­al fac­tor.

(B) Un­der the sci­en­tif­ic treat­ment of the per­cep­tu­al or for­mal fac­tor in aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence we have many spe­cial prob­lems, of which on­ly a few can be touched on here. Tak­ing this fac­tor to in­clude all com­bi­na­tions of el­ements in which there is a more or less dis­tinct per­cep­tion of pleas­ing re­la­tions, we meet here with such work as that of C. Stumpf (Ton-​psy­cholo­gie) in de­ter­min­ing the way in which tones com­bine and tend to fuse. Lat­er ex­per­iments have added to our knowl­edge of the ob­scure sub­ject of colour har­mo­ny, en­ab­hng us to dis­tin­guish pleas­ing con­trasts of colour from the more rest­ful com­bi­na­tions of near­ly al­lied tints. Our knowl­edge of pleas­ing form in the nar­row­er sense, that is to say, space and time form, has been ad­vanced by a num­ber of re­cent in­quiries. The val­ue of sym­me­try, the mean­ing of pro­por­tion and the aes­thet­ic val­ue to be set on cer­tain pro­por­tions, the forms of these are some of the points dealt with in more cen­tral and in spe­cial works24. In the case of forms, still more than in that of sen­su­ous el­ements, it is need­ful to de­ter­mine the ex­tent to which the val­ue of the for­mal as­pect is mod­ified by ex­pe­ri­ence and the ac­qui­si­tion of mean­ing. This is pret­ty cer­tain­ly the source of the aes­thet­ic val­ue claimed for cer­tain pro­por­tions, whether in the hu­man fig­ure or oth­er or­gan­ic forms or in the freer con­struc­tions of form in art.25 An­oth­er prob­lem is to de­ter­mine the in­flu­ence of the feel­ing-​tones of the com­bin­ing el­ements on the pleas­ing char­ac­ter of the whole. It is prob­able that a par­tic­ular com­bi­na­tion of colours owes some­thing of its plea­sure val­ue to a har­mo­ny of the feel­ing-​tones of the el­ements. This is pret­ty cer­tain­ly the case where the feel­ing-​tones of the el­ements are close­ly akin, as in the case of a num­ber of low tones of colours, or of ar­chi­tec­tural or oth­er forms where one for­mal el­ement–say, a ver­ti­cal line, a rect­an­gle of a cer­tain pro­por­tion or a par­tic­ular va­ri­ety of arch–re­peats it­self and be­comes a dom­inat­ing fea­ture of the whole.

The imag­ina­tive fac­tor.

(C) The imag­ina­tive fac­tor—which cor­re­sponds with what Fech­ner calls the “in­di­rect”—in­cludes all that imag­ina­tive ac­tiv­ity adds to our en­joy­ment when we con­tem­plate an aes­thet­ic ob­ject. It may con­sist first of all in re­call­ing con­crete ex­pe­ri­ences firm­ly as­so­ci­at­ed with the ob­ject, as when the sight of wild-​flow­ers in a Lon­don street calls up an im­age of fields and lanes. In or­der that these im­ages may add to the aes­thet­ic val­ue of the ob­ject they must cor­re­spond to our com­mon as­so­ci­ations, as dis­tin­guished from ac­ci­den­tal in­di­vid­ual ones. A large in­crease of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment comes to us through such sug­gest­ed im­ages. Al­though in gen­er­al it is im­ages of con­crete ob­jects which are called up, ideas of a more ab­stract char­ac­ter may take part though they tend in this case to as­sume a con­crete as­pect. This is il­lus­trat­ed in the ap­pre­ci­ation of “typ­ical beau­ty” in which a con­crete form rep­re­sents in an ex­cep­tion­al way the com­mon form of a species, and in that of sym­bol­ic rep­re­sen­ta­tion. An im­por­tant part of this work of as­so­ci­ation is to ren­der ob­jects ex­pres­sive of men­tal states, as when we read off the par­tic­ular shade of feel­ing ex­pressed by a nat­ural scene.26

Freer play of imag­ina­tion.

In the po­et­ic con­tem­pla­tion of na­ture, her forces, her glad­ness and oth­er moods, this imag­ina­tive ac­tiv­ity, though still de­riv­ing lead­ing to an in­vest­ment of nat­ural ob­jects with a new and more fan­ci­ful mean­ing, as when we “ap­per­ceive” a wil­low droop­ing over a pond or the front of an old cot­tage un­der a quasi-​hu­man form, en­dow­ing it with some­thing akin to our own feel­ings and mem­ories. What, it may be asked, is the whole range of this freer play of a life-​giv­ing fan­cy in our aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment? Some re­cent the­orists have at­tempt­ed to an­swer this ques­tion by say­ing that it con­sti­tutes a vi­tal el­ement in all aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion. Th. Lipps and oth­ers who fol­low him seek to show that this vi­tal­iz­ing ac­tiv­ity of the fan­cy, which pro­duces a new and il­lu­so­ry ob­ject, is the es­sen­tial in­gre­di­ent in the aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment of the forms of ma­te­ri­al ob­jects. Ac­cord­ing to this the­ory, when in the aes­thet­ic mood I en­joy the form of a tree, of a church steeple or of the front of a Greek tem­ple, I am not on­ly as­crib­ing life and feel­ing to it, but am pro­ject­ing my­self in fan­cy in­to the ob­ject thus con­struct­ed, feel­ing for the mo­ment that I am the tree or the steeple. The pro­cess of viv­ifi­ca­tion is car­ried out as fol­lows. Lines rep­re­sent cer­tain move­ments, and in the aes­thet­ic mood we trans­late all lines and so all forms back in­to the cor­re­spond­ing move­ments, which may be mere­ly imag­ined (as Lipps him­self thinks, or may be re­al­ized in part by sen­su­ous el­ements, viz. mo­tor sen­sa­tions; which again may be re­gard­ed ei­ther as con­comi­tants of eye move­ments, or as aris­ing from an or­gan­ical­ly con­nect­ed im­pulse to move the hand along the lines fol­lowed by the eye.27 Thus the columns of a tem­ple rep­re­sent up­ward move­ment, and are ap­per­ceived as striv­ing up­wards so as to re­sist the down­ward pres­sure of the entab­la­ture. Since move­ments are the great means of ex­pres­sion in man, this imag­ina­tive read­ing of move­ment in­to mo­tion­less and even mas­sive and sta­ble forms en­ables us to en­dow them with quasi-​hu­man feel­ings. In look­ing, for ex­am­ple, at the weighty mass­es of a build­ing we en­ter sym­pa­thet­ical­ly in­to the suc­cess­ful striv­ings of the sup­port­ing struc­tures to re­sist the down­ward thrust of grav­ity in the sup­port­ed mass­es. The the­ory here briefly in­di­cat­ed28 is in­ter­est­ing as il­lus­trat­ing an at­tempt from the psy­cho­log­ical side to find a sci­en­tif­ic sup­port for philo­soph­ic ide­al­ism or ex­pres­sion­al­ism. It is al­ready be­gin­ning to be rec­og­nized in Ger­many as an ex­ag­ger­ation. It may be enough to say that as ap­plied to forms gen­er­al­ly, in­clud­ing those of sculp­ture and ar­chi­tec­ture, the the­ory is op­posed by our or­di­nary way of speak­ing, which im­plies quite an­oth­er point of view in the aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion of form, name­ly, that of a spec­ta­tor ex­ter­nal to the ob­ject con­tem­plat­ed. When our eye glides over the beau­ties of a stat­ue, our imag­ina­tive ac­tiv­ity so far from trans­port­ing us with­in the ob­ject car­ries us as tac­tu­al feel­ers out­side the sur­face. Sim­ilar­ly, when we de­light in the di­vid­ed spaces of a Goth­ic roof, so far from be­ing imag­ina­tive­ly en­gaged in tak­ing part in the ef­forts and strains of pil­lar, arch and the rest, we move in fan­cy along the path­ways de­fined by the de­sign­er, tac­tu­al­ly feel­ing and ap­pre­ci­at­ing each di­men­sion, each de­tail of form. The at­tempt to force a the­ory fit­ted for po­et­ry on sculp­ture and ar­chi­tec­ture would rob these of their dis­tinc­tive aes­thet­ic val­ues; in the one case, of the plas­tic beau­ty of fine­ly mould­ed mar­ble sur­faces as re­al­ized by imag­ina­tive ex­cur­sions of the hand; and in the oth­er case, of the per­fect still­ness and sta­bil­ity which give to great struc­tures their solemn and qui­et­ing as­pect.29

Aes­thet­ic Il­lu­sion.

The the­ory of a vi­tal­iz­ing play of imag­ina­tion (Ein­fuh­lung) run­ning through all modes of aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion is an ex­ag­ger­ation of the el­ement of il­lu­sion which cer­tain­ly char­ac­ter­izes this con­tem­pla­tion. As sug­gest­ed above, by blot­ting out for the mo­ment the per­cep­tion of all save that which pleas­es it sub­sti­tutes a new for the more sol­id re­al­ity of our prac­ti­cal mood. More­over, as a state of per­cep­tu­al ab­sorp­tion in which one los­es con­scious­ness of the or­di­nary self and its world, it has a cer­tain re­sem­blance to the state of ec­sta­sy and of the hyp­not­ic trance.30 It is favourable to the play-​like in­dul­gence in a fan­ci­ful trans­for­ma­tion of what is seen or heard, which may be de­scribed as a “will­ing self-​de­cep­tion,” more or less com­plete. Yet as we have seen, some­thing of the re­al ev­ery­day world sur­vives even in our freer aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion of form. Hence there is much to be said for the idea that we have in aes­thet­ic il­lu­sion to do with a kind of dou­ble con­scious­ness, a ten­den­cy to an il­lu­so­ry ac­cep­tance of the prod­uct of our fan­cy as the re­al­ity, re­strained by a sub­con­scious recog­ni­tion of the ev­ery­day tan­gi­ble re­al­ity be­hind.31

Vari­ations of imag­ina­tive ac­tiv­ity.

It is ev­ident that both in the more con­fined and in the freer form the el­ement of imag­ina­tive ac­tiv­ity in aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence will vary great­ly among in­di­vid­uals and among peo­ples. Dif­fer­ences in past ex­pe­ri­ence lead­ing to di­verse habits of as­so­ci­ation, as well as in those nat­ural dis­po­si­tions which prompt one per­son to pre­fer mo­tor im­ages, an­oth­er vi­su­al, an­oth­er au­dile, will mod­ify the pro­cess in this en­joy­able en­large­ment and trans­for­ma­tion of what is pre­sent­ed to sense. It is for aes­thet­ics at once to rec­og­nize these vari­ations of imag­ina­tive ac­tiv­ity and to de­ter­mine the more com­mon and uni­ver­sal di­rec­tions which it fol­lows.

Form and ex­pres­sion not ab­so­lute­ly dis­tinct.

The re­cent in­quiry in­to our way of con­tem­plat­ing form is, in spite of ex­ag­ger­ation, valu­able as show­ing that our dis­tinc­tions of form and ex­pres­sion are not ab­so­lute. Just as there is the rudi­ment of ide­al sig­nif­icance in colour, not so form, even in its more ab­stract and el­emen­tary as­pects, is not whol­ly ex­pres­sion­less, but may be be en­dowed with some­thing of life by the imag­ina­tion. The recog­ni­tion of this truth does not, how­ev­er, af­fect the va­lid­ity of our treat­ing form and ex­pres­sion as two broad­ly dis­tin­guish­able fac­tors of aes­thet­ic plea­sure. A line may be pleas­ing to sense-​per­cep­tion, and in ad­di­tion il­lus­trate ex­pres­sion­al val­ue by sug­gest­ed ease of move­ment or pose. Sim­ilar­ly, a con­crete form, e.g. that of a sculp­tured hu­man fig­ure in re­pose, or of a grace­ful birch or fern, owes its aes­thet­ic val­ue to a hap­py com­bi­na­tion of pleas­ing lines and of in­ter­est­ing ideas.

Aes­thet­ic emo­tion.

In close con­nex­ion with the de­ter­mi­na­tion of the imag­ina­tive fac­tor in aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion, the psy­chol­ogist is called on to de­fine the soe­cial char­ac­ter­is­tics of aes­thet­ic emo­tion. That our at­ti­tude when we watch a beau­ti­ful ob­ject, say the curl of a break­er as it falls, or some choice piece of sculp­ture, is an emo­tion­al one is cer­tain, and in­ge­nious at­tempts have been made by Home (Lord Kames) and oth­ers to equip the emo­tion with a full ac­com­pa­ni­ment of cor­po­re­al ac­tiv­ity, such as height­ened res­pi­ra­to­ry ac­tiv­ity.32 Yet aes­thet­ic emo­tion is to be con­trast­ed with the more vi­olent and pas­sion­ate state of love and oth­er emo­tions, and this dif­fer­ence calls for fur­ther in­ves­ti­ga­tion. A clos­er in­quiry in­to the fea­tures of that calm yet in­tense emo­tion which a rapt state of aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion in­duces is a nec­es­sary pre­lim­inary to a sci­en­tif­ic de­mar­ca­tion of the sphere of beau­ty in the nar­row or more ex­clu­sive sense, from that of the sub­lime, the trag­ic and the com­ic. Each of these de­part­ments of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence has well-​marked emo­tion­al char­ac­ter­is­tics; and the def­ini­tion of these “mod­ifi­ca­tions of the beau­ti­ful” has in the main been reached through an anal­ysis of the emo­tion­al states in­volved. This chap­ter in the psy­cho­log­ical treat­ment of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence has to con­sid­er two points which have oc­cu­pied a promi­nent place in aes­thet­ic the­ory. The first is the na­ture of “re­vived” or “ide­al” emo­tion, such as is il­lus­trat­ed in the feel­ing ex­cit­ed sym­pa­thet­ical­ly when we wit­ness or hear of an­oth­er’s sor­row or joy. The sec­ond point is the na­ture of those mixed emo­tion­al states which are il­lus­trat­ed in our aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment of the sub­lime and the oth­er “mod­ifi­ca­tions,” in all of which we can rec­og­nize a kind of dou­ble emo­tion­al con­scious­ness in which painful el­ements ac­com­pa­ny and mod­ify plea­sur­able ones, in such a man­ner that in the end the lat­ter ap­pear to be rather strength­ened than weak­ened.33

Lim­its of anal­ysis in aes­thet­ics.

The psy­cho­log­ical treat­ment of aes­thet­ic da­ta here sketched out can­not stop at an anal­ysis of the aes­thet­ic state or at­ti­tude in­to a num­ber of re­co­eniz­able el­ements each of which con­tributes its own quan­tum of plea­sur­able­ness. Our en­joy­ment in con­tem­plat­ing, say, a green alp set above dark crags, is an in­di­vis­ible whole. And it is a con­scious­ness of this fact which makes men dis­posed to re­sent the dis­sec­tion of their aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment in­to a num­ber of con­stituent plea­sures. Nor is this all. Ev­ery aes­thet­ic ob­ject is some­thing unique, dif­fer­ing in in­di­vid­ual char­ac­ter­is­tics from all oth­ers; and as the ob­ject, so the mood of the con­tem­pla­tor. One may al­most say that there are as many modes of mu­si­cal de­light as there are wor­thy com­po­si­tions. It would seem ei­ther that this feel­ing of a unique in­di­vis­ible whole must be dis­missed as an il­lu­sion, or that we have to ad­mit an un­ex­plained residue in our aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence, which may some day be ex­plained by help of a larg­er and more ex­act con­cep­tion of aes­thet­ic har­mo­ny, of the laws of in­ter­ac­tion and of fu­sion of psy­chi­cal el­ements.34

Con­struc­tion of aes­thet­ic norms.

We may now glance at the ide­al pur­pose of this sci­en­tif­ic anal­ysis and in­ter­pre­ta­tion, name­ly, the con­struc­tion of norms or reg­ula­tive prin­ci­ples cor­re­spond­ing to the sev­er­al­ly es­sen­tial el­ements of aes­thet­ic val­ue as­cer­tained. The lat­er psy­cho­log­ical treat­ment of the sub­ject has led up to the for­mu­la­tion of cer­tain ide­al re­quire­ments in beau­ti­ful ob­jects. The work of Fech­ner in this di­rec­tion (Vorschule der As­thetik) was a note­wor­thy con­tri­bu­tion to this kind of con­struc­tion, at once sci­en­tif­ic and di­rect­ed to the con­struc­tion of ide­al de­mands, and is still a mod­el for work­ers in the same field. He has taught us how the at­tempt to for­mu­late one all-​com­pre­hen­sive prin­ci­ple–e.g. uni­ty in va­ri­ety, has led to a bar­ren ab­stract­ed­ness, and that we need in its place a num­ber of more con­crete prin­ci­ples. In for­mu­lat­ing these prin­ci­ples care must be tak­en to de­ter­mine their re­spec­tive scopes and their mu­tu­al re­la­tions—to de­cide, for ex­am­ple, whether ex­pres­sion, to which our mod­ern feel­ing un­doubt­ed­ly as­cribes a high val­ue, is a uni­ver­sal de­mand in the same sense as uni­ty or har­mo­ny of parts is ad­mit­ted to be. A sys­tem of norms must fur­ther sup­ply some com­pre­hen­sive cri­te­ri­on by help of which de­grees of aes­thet­ic val­ue may be de­ter­mined, as de­ter­mined by the de­grees of com­plete­ness of the sev­er­al plea­sur­able ac­tiv­ities, –sen­su­ous, per­cep­tu­al and imag­ina­tive,–and jus­ti­fy the form of judg­ment “this ob­ject is more beau­ti­ful (or of a high­er kind of beau­ty) than that.” Such reg­ula­tive prin­ci­ples and stan­dards of com­par­ison will, it is clear, fail us just at the point where anal­ysis stops. Ed­mund Gur­ney urges that an aes­thet­ic prin­ci­ple such as uni­ty in va­ri­ety is com­plied with equal­ly well by mu­si­cal com­po­si­tions which are com­mon­place and leave us cold and by those which evoke the full thrill of aes­thet­ic de­light, and he con­cludes that the spe­cial beau­ty of form in the lat­ter in­stance is ap­pre­ci­at­ed by a kind of in­tu­ition which can­not be anal­ysed (see The Pow­er of sound, ix.). The ar­gu­ment is hard to com­bat. It would seem that af­ter all our ef­forts to de­fine aes­thet­ic qual­ities and enu­mer­ate cor­re­spond­ing ide­al re­quire­ments we are left with an un­ex­plained re­main­der. This can on­ly be ten­ta­tive­ly de­fined as the con­crete ob­ject it­self in its whole­ness, which is not on­ly a per­fect­ly har­mo­nized com­bi­na­tion of sen­su­ous, for­mal and ex­pres­sion­al val­ues, but im­press­es us as some­thing which has a fresh in­di­vid­ual­ity and the dis­tinc­tion of aes­thet­ic ex­cel­lence.

Con­nex­ion be­tween aes­thet­ic and oth­er ex­pe­ri­ence: (a) with in­tel­lec­tu­al in­ter­ests.

Aes­thet­ics is wont to treat of a cer­tain kind of ex­pe­ri­ence as if it were a closed com­part­ment. Yet there is in re­al­ity no such per­fect seclu­sion. Our en­joy­ment of beau­ty, though to be dis­tin­guished from our in­tel­lec­tu­al and our prac­ti­cal in­ter­ests, touch­es and in­ter­acts with these. With re­gard to in­tel­lec­tu­al in­ter­ests it is clear that much of the men­tal ac­tiv­ity which en­ters in­to our aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment is in­tel­lec­tu­al–e.g. in the per­cep­tion of the re­la­tions of form. even though it stood short of the ab­stract anal­ysis of sci­en­tif­ic ob­ser­va­tion. Again, in ap­pre­ci­at­ing beau­ty of type which in­volves ac­cord­ing to Taine a recog­ni­tion of the most im­por­tant char­ac­ters of the species, we are, it is ev­ident, close to the sci­en­tif­ic point of view. Sim­ilar­ly, when sci­en­tif­ic knowl­edge en­ables us in the mood of aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion to re­trace imag­ina­tive­ly the mode of for­ma­tion of a cloud or a moun­tain form, or the mode in which a climb­ing plant finds its way up­wards. It is for aes­thet­ics to rec­og­nize the fact, and to dis­crim­inate a le­git­imate aes­thet­ic func­tion of sci­en­tif­ic ideas when they en­large the scope of a plea­sur­able play of the imag­ina­tion, and are freed from the con­trol of a se­ri­ous pur­pose of ex­plain­ing what is seen.

(b) with prac­ti­cal in­ter­ests.

A sim­ilar re­mark ap­plies to the con­tacts of our aes­thet­ic with our prac­ti­cal in­ter­ests. While as dom­inant fac­tors the lat­ter in­flu­ence our feel­ing for beau­ty in an in­di­rect and sub­or­di­nate way. This is rec­og­nized by those (e.g. Home) who in­sist on a par­tic­ular kind of aes­thet­ic val­ue un­der the name of rel­ative beau­ty, or the pleas­ing as­pect of fit­ness for a pur­pose. If a drink­ing-​ves­sel please in part be­cause of its per­fect adap­ta­tion to its pur­pose, the aes­thet­ic val­ue as­cribed to it seems to de­rive some­thing from a feel­ing of re­spect for util­ity it­self. In an­oth­er way beau­ty re­asserts in mod­ern aes­thet­ics that kin­ship with util­ity on which it in­sist­ed in the days of Socrates. The idea that typ­ical beau­ty co­in­cides with what is vig­or­ous and con­ducive to the con­ser­va­tion of the species is as old as Hobbes.35

Bi­olog­ical treat­ment of beau­ty.

Dar­win and his fol­low­ers have de­vel­oped the bi­olog­ical con­cep­tion that sex­ual se­lec­tion tends to de­vel­op aes­thet­ic pref­er­ences along lines which cor­re­spond to what sub­serves the main­te­nance of the species or tribe. Re­cent writ­ers have shown how the rude germs of aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ity in prim­itive types of com­mu­ni­ty would sub­serve nec­es­sary trib­al ends–e.g. mu­si­cal rhythm by ex­er­cis­ing mem­bers of the tribe in con­cert­ed war-​like ac­tion.36 Yet these in­ter­est­ing spec­ula­tions have to do rather with the ear­li­er stages of the evo­lu­tion of the aes­thet­ic fac­ul­ty than with its func­tions in the high­er stages.

Aes­thet­ics and ethics.

An idea of a so­cial util­ity in aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence which does de­mand the at­ten­tion of the the­orist is that the cul­ture of beau­ty and art has a so­cial­iz­ing in­flu­ence, help­ing to give to our emo­tion­al ex­pe­ri­ence new forms of ex­pres­sion where­by our sym­pa­thies are deep­ened and en­larged.37 The fur­ther elu­ci­da­tion of this el­ement of hu­man­iz­ing in­flu­ence in aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment may be ex­pect­ed to throw new light on the ques­tion, much dis­cussed through­out the his­to­ry of aes­thet­ics, of the re­la­tion of the sci­ence to ethics, by show­ing that they have a com­mon root in our sym­pa­thet­ic na­ture and in­ter­est in hu­man­ity.

Aes­thet­ic the­ory and prob­lems of art.

In or­der to com­plete the out­line of aes­thet­ic the­ory we need to glance at the re­la­tion of gen­er­al aes­thet­ics to the spe­cial prob­lems of Fine Art. It is ev­ident that the def­ini­tion of the aims and meth­ods of art, both as a whole and in its sev­er­al forms, in­volv­ing as it does spe­cial tech­ni­cal knowl­edge, may with ad­van­tage be treat­ed apart from a gen­er­al the­ory. (See FINE ARTS.) At the same time the study of art rais­es larg­er prob­lems which re­quire to be dealt with to some ex­tent by this the­ory. We may in­stance the group of prob­lems which have to do with the re­la­tion of art to “beau­ty” in its nar­row­er sense, such as the func­tion of the painful and of the ug­ly in art, the mean­ing of artis­tic im­ita­tion and truth to na­ture, of ide­al­iza­tion, and the na­ture of artis­tic il­lu­sion; al­so the ques­tion of the di­dac­tic and of the moral func­tion of art. Even more spe­cial prob­lems of art, such as the ef­fect of the trag­ic, the na­ture of mu­si­cal ex­pres­sion, can on­ly be ad­equate­ly treat­ed in the light of a gen­er­al aes­thet­ic the­ory.

In con­clu­sion, it may be point­ed out that the psy­cho­log­ical the­orist has of late been busy in an out­ly­ing re­gion of art-​lore, in­quir­ing in­to the na­ture of the artis­tic im­pulse and tem­per­ament, and in­to the pro­cess­es of imag­ina­tive cre­ation. These in­quiries have been car­ried out to some ex­tent in con­nex­ion with stud­ies of the ori­gin of art, and of the re­la­tion of art to the so­cial en­vi­ron­ment. Their im­por­tance for aes­thet­ics lies in the cir­cum­stance that they are fit­ted to throw light up­on the aes­thet­ic con­scious­ness as it is de­vel­oped in those who are not on­ly in a spe­cial sense cul­ti­va­tors of it, but rep­re­sent in a pe­cu­liar man­ner the ideas and the aims of art.38

HIS­TO­RY OF THE­ORIES In the fol­low­ing sum­ma­ry of the most im­por­tant con­tri­bu­tions to aes­thet­ic doc­trine, on­ly such writ­ings will be rec­og­nized as con­tribute to a gen­er­al con­cep­tion of aes­thet­ic ob­jects or ex­pe­ri­ence. These in­clude the more sys­tem­at­ic treat­ment of the sub­ject in philo­soph­ic works as well as the more thought­ful kind of dis­cus­sion of prin­ci­ples to be met with in writ­ings on art by crit­ics and oth­ers.

Greek Spec­ula­tions.—An­cient Greece supolies us with the first im­por­tant con­tri­bu­tions to aes­thet­ic the­ory, though these are scarce­ly, in qual­ity or in quan­ti­ty, what one might nave ex­pect­ed from a peo­ple which had so high an ap­pre­ci­ation of beau­ty and so strong a bent for philo­soph­ic spec­ula­tion. The first Greek thinker of whose views on the sub­ject we re­al­ly know some­thing is Socrates. We learn from Xenophon’s ac­count of him that he re­gard­ed the beau­ti­ful as co­in­ci­dent with the good, and both of them are re­solv­able in­to the use­ful. Ev­ery beau­ti­ful ob­ject is so called be­cause it serves came ra­tio­nal end, whether the se­cu­ri­ty or the grat­ifi­ca­tion of man. Socrates ap­pears to have at­tached lit­tle im­por­tance to the im­me­di­ate grat­ifi­ca­tion which a beau­ri­ful ob­ject af­fords to per­cep­tion and con­tem­pla­tion, but to have em­pha­sized rather its pow­er of fur­ther­ing the more nec­es­sary ends of life. The re­al­ly valu­able point in his doc­trine is the rel­ativ­ity of beau­ty. Un­like Pla­to, he rec­og­nized no self-​beau­ty (au­to to kalon) ex­ist­ing ab­so­lute­ly and out of all re­la­tion to a per­cip­ient mind.

Pla­to.

Of the views of Pla­to on the sub­ject, it is hard­ly less dif­fi­cult to gain a clear con­cep­tion from the Di­alogues, than it is in the case of eth­ical good. In some of these, var­ious def­ini­tions of the beau­ti­ful are re­ject­ed as in­ad­equate by the Pla­ton­ic Socrates. At the same time we may con­clude that Pla­to’s mind leaned de­cid­ed­ly to the con­cep­tion of an ab­so­lute beau­ty, which took its place in his scheme of ideas or self-​ex­isi­ing forms. This true beau­ty is noth­ing dis­cov­er­able as an at­tribute in an­oth­er thing, for these nre on­ly beau­ti­ful things, not the beau­ti­ful it­self. Love (Eros) pro­duces as­pi­ra­tion to­wards this pure idea. Else­where the soul’s in­tu­ition of the self-​beau­ti­ful is said to be a rem­inis­cence of its pre­na­tal ex­is­tence. As to the pre­cise forms in which the idea of beau­ty re­veals it­self, Pla­to is not very de­cid­ed. His the­ory of an ab­so­lute beau­ty does not eas­ily ad­just it­self to the no­tion of its con­tribut­ing mere­ly a va­ri­ety of sen­su­ous plea­sure, to which he ap­pears to lean in some di­alogues. He tends to iden­ti­fy the self-​beau­ti­ful with the con­cep­tions of the true and the good, and thus there arose the Pla­ton­ic for­mu­la kalok­agath­ia. So far as his writ­ings em­body the no­tion of any com­mon el­ement in beau­ti­ful ob­jects, it is pro­por­tion, har­mo­ny or uni­ty among their parts. He em­pha­sizes uni­ty in its sim­plest as­pect as seen in even­ness of line and pu­ri­ty of colour. He rec­og­nizes in places the beau­ty of the mind, and seems to think that the high­est beau­ty of pro­por­tion is to be found in the union of a beau­ti­ful mind with a beau­ti­ful body. He had but a poor opin­ion of art, re­gard­ing it as a trick of im­ita­tion (mime­sis) which takes us an­oth­er step far­ther from the lu­mi­nous sphere of ra­tio­nal in­tu­ition in­to the shad­owy re­gion of the sem­blances of sense. Ac­cord­ing­ly, in his scheme for an ide­al re­pub­lic, he pro­vid­ed for the most in­ex­orable cen­sor­ship of po­ets, &c., so as to make art as far as pos­si­ble an in­stru­ment of moral and po­lit­ical train­ing.

Aris­to­tle.

Aris­to­tle pro­ceed­ed to a more se­ri­ous in­ves­ti­ga­tion of the aes­thet­ic phe­nom­ena so as to de­vel­op by sci­en­tif­ic anal­ysis cer­tain prin­ci­ples of beau­ty and art. In his trea­tis­es on po­et­ry and rhetoric he gives us, along with a the­ory of these arts, cer­tain gen­er­al prin­ci­ples of beau­ty; and scat­tered among his oth­er writ­ings we find many valu­able sug­ges­tions on the same sub­ject. He seeks (in the Meta­physics) to dis­tin­guish the good and the beau­ti­ful by say­ing that the for­mer is al­ways in ac­tion (`en prax­ei) where­as the lat­ter may ex­ist in mo­tion­less things as well (`en akine­tois.) At the same time he had as a Greek to al­low that though es­sen­tial­ly dif­fer­ent things the good might un­der cer­tain con­di­tions be called beau­ti­ful. He fur­ther dis­tin­guished the beau­ti­ful from the fit, and in a pas­sage of the Pol­itics set beau­ty above the use­ful and nec­es­sary. He helped to de­ter­mine an­oth­er char­ac­ter­is­tic of the beau­ti­ful, the ab­sence of all lust or de­sire in the plea­sure it be­stows. The uni­ver­sal el­ements of beau­ty, again, Aris­to­tle finds (in the Meta­physics) to be or­der (taxis), sym­me­try and def­inite­ness or de­ter­mi­nate­ness (to oris­menon). In the Po­et­ics he adds an­oth­er es­sen­tial, name­ly, a cer­tain mag­ni­tude; it be­ing de­sir­able for a syn­op­tic view of the whole that the ob­ject should not be too large, while clear­ness of per­cep­tion re­quires that it should not be too small. Aris­to­tle’s views on art are an im­mense ad­vance on those of Pla­to. He dis­tinct­ly rec­og­nized (in the Pol­itics and else­where) that its aim is im­me­di­ate plea­sure, as dis­tinct from util­ity, which is the end of the me­chan­ical arts. He took a high­er view of artis­tic im­ita­tion than Pla­to, hold­ing that so far from be­ing an un­wor­thy trick, it im­plied knowl­edge and dis­cov­ery, that its ob­jects not on­ly com­prised par­tic­ular things which hap­pen to most, but con­tem­plat­ed what is prob­able and what nec­es­sar­ily ex­ists. The cel­ebrat­ed pas­sage in the Po­et­ics, where he de­clares po­et­ry to be more philo­soph­ical and se­ri­ous a mat­ter (spoudaiteron) than phi­los­ophy, brings out the ad­vance of Aris­to­tle on his pre­de­ces­sor. He gives us no com­plete clas­si­fi­ca­tion of the fine arts, and it is doubt­ful how far his prin­ci­ples, e.g. his cel­ebrat­ed idea of a pu­rifi­ca­tion of the pas­sions by tragedy, are to be tak­en as ap­pli­ca­ble to oth­er than the po­et­ic art.

Plot­inus.

Of the lat­er Greek and Ro­man writ­ers the Neo-​Pla­ton­ist Plot­inus de­serves to be men­tioned. Ac­cord­ing to him, ob­jec­tive rea­son (nous) as self-​mov­ing, be­comes the for­ma­tive in­flu­ence which re­duces dead mat­ter to form. Mat­ter when thus formed be­comes a no­tion (lo­gos), and its form is beau­ty. Ob­jects are ug­ly so far as they are un­act­ed up­on by rea­son, and there­fore form­less. The cre­ative rea­son is ab­so­lute beau­ty, and is called the more than beau­ti­ful. There are three de­grees or stages of man­ifest­ed beau­ty: that of hu­man rea­son, which is the high­est; of the hu­man soul, which is less per­fect through its con­nex­ion with a ma­te­ri­al body; and of re­al ob­jects, which is the low­est man­ifes­ta­tion of all. As to the pre­cise forms of beau­ty, he sup­posed, in op­po­si­tion to Aris­to­tle, that a sin­gle thing not di­vis­ible in­to parts might be beau­ti­ful through its uni­ty and sim­plic­ity. He gives a high place to the beau­ty of colours in which ma­te­ri­al dark­ness is over­pow­ered by light and warmth. In ref­er­ence to artis­tic beau­ty he said that when the artist has no­tions as mod­els for his cre­ations, these may be­come more beau­ti­ful than nat­ural ob­jects. This is clear­ly a step away from Pla­to’s doc­trine to­wards our mod­ern con­cep­tion of artis­tic ide­al­iza­tion.

Ger­man writ­ers. (a) Sys­tem­at­ic trea­tis­es; Baum­garten.

2. Ger­man Writ­ers.—We may pass by the few thoughts on the sub­ject to be found among me­dieval writ­ers and turn to mod­ern the­ories, be­gin­ning with those of Ger­man writ­ers as the most nu­mer­ous and most elab­orate­ly set forth. The best of the Ger­mans who at­tempt­ed to de­vel­op an aes­thet­ic the­ory as part of a sys­tem of phi­los­ophy was Baum­garten (Aes­thet­ica) . Adopt­ing the Leib­nitz-​Wolf­fi­an the­ory of knowl­edge, he sought to com­plete it by set­ting over against the clear sci­en­tif­ic or “log­ical” knowl­edge of the un­der­stand­ing, the con­fused knowl­edge of the sens­es, to which (as we have seen) he gave the name “aes­thet­ic.” Beau­ty with him thus cor­re­sponds with per­fect sense-​knowl­edge. Baum­garten is clear­ly an in­tel­lec­tu­al­ist in aes­thet­ics, re­duc­ing taste to an in­tel­lec­tu­al act and ig­nor­ing the el­ement of feel­ing. The de­tails of his aes­thet­ics are most­ly unim­por­tant. Ar­gu­ing from Leib­nitz’s the­ory of the world as the best pos­si­ble, Baum­garten con­clud­ed that na­ture is the high­est em­bod­iment of beau­ty, and that art must seek its supreme func­tion in the strictest pos­si­ble im­ita­tion of na­ture.

Kant.

The next im­por­tant treat­ment of aes­thet­ics by a philoso­pher is that of Kant. He deals with the “Judg­ment of Taste” in the Cri­tique of the Pow­er of Judg­ment (J. H. Bernard’s trans­la­tion 1892), which trea­tise sup­ple­ments the two bet­ter-​known cri­tiques (vide KANT), and by in­ves­ti­gat­ing the con­di­tions of the va­lid­ity of feel­ing me­di­ates be­tween then re­spec­tive sub­jects, cog­ni­tion and de­sire (vo­li­tion). He takes an imoor­tant step in deny­ing ob­jec­tive ex­is­tence to beau­ty. Aes­thet­ic val­ue for him is fit­ness to please as ob­ject of pure con­tem­pla­tion. This aes­thet­ic sat­is­fac­tion is more than mere agree­able­ness, since it must be dis­in­ter­est­ed and free–that is to say, from all con­cern about the re­al ex­is­tence of the ob­ject, and about our de­pen­dence on it. He ap­pears to con­cede a cer­tain for­mal ob­jec­tiv­ity to beau­ty in his doc­trine of an ap­pear­ance of pur­po­sive­ness (Zweck­mas­sigkeit) in the beau­ti­ful ob­ject, this be­ing de­fined as its har­mo­ny with the cog­na­tive fac­ul­ties in­volved in an aes­thet­ic judg­ment (imag­ina­tion and un­der­stand­ing); a har­mo­ny the con­scious­ness of which un­der­lies our aes­thet­ic plea­sure. Yet this part of his doc­trine is very im­per­fect­ly de­vel­oped. While beau­ty thus ceas­es with Kant to have ob­jec­tive va­lid­ity and re­mains valid on­ly for the con­tem­pla­tor, he claims for it uni­ver­sal sub­jec­tive va­lid­ity, since the ob­ject we pro­nounce to be beau­ti­ful is fit­ted to please all men. We know that this must be so from re­flect­ing on the dis­in­ter­est­ed­ness of our plea­sure, on its en­tire in­de­pen­dence of per­son­al in­cli­na­tion. Kant in­sists that the aes­thet­ic judg­ment is al­ways, in log­ical phrase, an “in­di­vid­ual” i.e. a sin­gu­lar one, of the form “This ob­ject (e.g. rose) is beau­ti­ful.” He de­nies that we can reach a valid uni­ver­sal aes­thet­ic judg­ment of the form “All ob­jects pos­ses­sine such and such qual­ities are beau­ti­ful.” (A judg­ment of this form would, he con­sid­ers, be log­ical, not aes­thet­ic.) in deal­ing with beau­ty Kant is think­ing of na­ture, rank­ing this as a source of aes­thet­ic plea­sure high above art, for which he shows some­thing of con­tempt. He seems to re­treat from his doc­trine of pure subiec­tiv­ity when he says that the high­est sig­nif­icance of beau­ty is to sym­bol­ize moral good; go­ing fur­ther than Ruskin when he at­tach­es ide­als of mod­esty, frank­ness, courage, &c., to the sev­en pri­ma­ry colours of New­ton’s sys­tem. He has made a sol­id con­tri­bu­tion to the the­ory of the sub­lime, and has put forth a sug­ges­tive and a rather in­ad­equate view of the lu­di­crous. But his main ser­vice to aes­thet­ics con­sists in the pre­lim­inary crit­ical de­ter­mi­na­tion of its aim and its fun­da­men­tal prob­lems.

Schelling.

Schelling is the first thinker to at­tempt a Phi­los­ophy of Art. He de­vel­ops this as the third part of his sys­tem of tran­scen­den­tal ide­al­ism fol­low­ing the­oret­ic and prac­ti­cal phi­los­ophy. (See SCHELLING;–al­so Schelling’s Werke, Bd. v., and J. Wat­son, Schelling’s Tran­scen­den­tal Ide­al­ism, ch. vii., Chica­go, 1882.) Ac­cord­ing to Schelling a new philo­soph­ical sig­nif­icance is giv­en to art by the doc­trine that the iden­ti­ty of sub­ject and ob­ject–which is half dis­guised in or­di­nary per­cep­tion and vo­li­tion–is on­ly clear­ly seen in artis­tic per­cep­tion. The per­fect per­cep­tion of its re­al self by in­tel­li­gence in the work of art is ac­com­pa­nied by a feel­ing of in­fi­nite sat­is­fac­tion. Art in thus ef­fect­ing a rev­ela­tion of the ab­so­lute seems to at­tain a dig­ni­ty not mere­ly above that of na­ture but above that of phi­los­ophy it­self. Schelling throws but lit­tle light on the con­crete forms of beau­ty. His clas­si­fi­ca­tion of the arts, based on his an­tithe­sis of ob­ject and sub­ject, is a cu­rios­ity in in­tri­cate ar­range­ment. He ap­plies his con­cep­tion in a sug­ges­tive way to clas­si­cal tragedy.

Hegel.

In Hegel’s sys­tem of phi­los­ophy art is viewed as the first stage of the ab­so­lute spir­it. (See HEGEL; al­so Werke, Bd. x., and Bosan­quet’s In­tro­duc­tion to Hegel’s Phi­los­ophy of Fine Art.) In this stage the ab­so­lute is im­me­di­ate­ly present to sense-​per­cep­tion, an idea which shows the writ­er’s com­plete rup­ture with Kant’s doc­trine of the “sub­jec­tiv­ity” of beau­ty. The beau­ti­ful is de­fined as the ide­al show­ing it­self to sense or through a sen­su­ous medi­um. It is said to have its life in show or sem­blance (Schein) and so dif­fers from the true, which is not re­al­ly sen­su­ous, but the uni­ver­sal idea con­tained in sense for thought. The form of the beau­ti­ful is uni­ty of the man­ifold. The no­tion (Be­griff gives ne­ces­si­ty in mu­tu­al de­pen­dence of parts (uni­ty), while the re­al­ity de­mands the sem­blance (Schein) of lib­er­ty in the parts. He dis­cuss­es very ful­ly the beau­ty of na­ture as im­me­di­ate uni­ty of no­tion and re­al­ity, and lays great em­pha­sis on the beau­ty of or­gan­ic life. But it is in art that, like Schelling, Hegel finds the high­est rev­ela­tion of the beau­ti­ful. Art makes up for the de­fi­cien­cies of nat­ural beau­ty by bring­ing the idea in­to clear­er light, by show­ing the ex­ter­nal world in its life and spir­itu­al an­ima­tion. The sev­er­al species of art in the an­cient and mod­ern worlds de­pend on the var­ious com­bi­na­tions of mat­ter and form. He clas­si­fies the in­di­vid­ual arts ac­cord­ing to this same prin­ci­ple of the rel­ative suprema­cy of form and mat­ter, the low­est be­ing ar­chi­tec­ture, the high­est, po­et­ry.

Di­alec­tic of the Hegelians.

Cu­ri­ous de­vel­op­ments of the Hegelian con­cep­tion are to be found in the di­alec­ti­cal treat­ment of beau­ty in its re­la­tion to the ug­ly, the sub­lime, &c., by Hegel’s dis­ci­ples, e.g. C. H. Weisse and J. K. F. Rosenkranz. The most im­por­tant prod­uct of the Hegelian School is the elab­orate sys­tem of aes­thet­ics pub­lished by F. T. Vis­ch­er (Es­thetik, 3 Theile, 1846–1834). It il­lus­trates the dif­fi­cul­ties of the Hegelian thought and ter­mi­nol­ogy; yet in deal­ing with art it is full of knowl­edge and high­ly sug­ges­tive.

Schopen­hauer.

The aes­thet­ic prbolem is al­so treat­ed by two oth­er philoso­phers whose thought set out from cer­tain ten­den­cies in Kant’s sys­tem, viz. Schopen­hauer and Herbart. Schopen­hauer (see SCHOPEN­HAUER, al­so The World as Will and Idea, trans­lat­ed by R. B. Hal­dane, esp. vol. i. pp. 219-346), aban­don­ing al­so Kant’s doc­trine of the sub­jec­tiv­ity of beau­ty, found in aes­thet­ic con­tem­pla­tion the per­fect eman­ci­pa­tion of in­tel­lect from will. In this con­tem­pla­tion the mind is filled with pure in­tel­lec­tu­al forms, the “Pla­ton­ic Ideas” as he calls them, which are ob­jec­ti­fi­ca­tions of the will at a cer­tain grade of com­plete­ness of rep­re­sen­ta­tion. He ex­alts the state of artis­tic con­tem­pla­tion as the one in which, as pure in­tel­lect set free from will, the mis­ery of ex­is­tence is sur­mount­ed and some­thing of bliss­ful ec­sta­sy at­tained. He holds that all things are in some de­gree beau­ti­ful, ug­li­ness be­ing viewed as mere­ly imo­er­fect man­ifes­ta­tion or ob­jec­ti­fi­ca­tion of will. In this way the beau­ty of na­ture, some­what slight­ed by Schelling and Hegel, is re­ha­bil­itat­ed.

Herbart.

J. F. Herbart (q.v.) struck out an­oth­er way of es­cap­ing from Kant’s idea of a pure­ly sub­jec­tive beau­ty (Ker­bach’s edi­tion of Werke, Bd. ii. pp. 339 et seq.; Bd. iv. pp. 105 et seq., and Bd. ix. pp. 92 et seq..) He did, in­deed, adopt Kant’s view of the aes­thet­ic Judg­ment as sin­gu­lar (“in­di­vid­ual”); though he se­cures a cer­tain de­gree of log­ical uni­ver­sal­ity for it by em­pha­siz­ing the point that the pred­icate (beau­ty) is per­ma­nent­ly true of the same aes­thet­ic ob­ject. At the same time, by re­fer­ring the beau­ty of con­crete ob­jects to cer­tain aes­thet­ic re­la­tions, he vir­tu­al­ly ac­cept­ed the pos­si­bil­ity of uni­ver­sal aes­thet­ic judg­ments (cf. supra.) Since he thus re­duces beau­ty to ab­stract re­la­tions he is known as a for­mal­ist, and the founder of the for­mal­is­tic school in aes­thet­ics. He sets out with the idea that on­ly re­la­tions please–in the Kan­tian sense of pro­duc­ing plea­sure de­void of de­sire; and his aim is to de­ter­mine the “aes­thet­ic el­emen­tary re­la­tions”, or the sim­plest re­la­tions which pro­duce this plea­sure. These in­clude those of will, so that, as he aomits, eth­ical judg­ments are in a man­ner brought un­der an aes­thet­ic form. His typ­ical ex­am­ple of aes­thet­ic re­la­tions of ob­jects of sense-​per­cep­tion is that of har­mo­ny be­tween tones. The sci­ence of thor­ough-​bass has, he thinks, done for mu­sic what should be done al­so for oth­er de­part­ments of aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence. This doc­trine of el­emen­tary re­la­tions is brought in­to con­nex­ion with the au­thor’s psy­cho­log­ical doc­trine of pre­sen­tar­ions with their ten­den­cies to mu­tu­al in­hi­bi­tion and to fu­sion, and of the vary­ing feel­ing-​tones to which these pro­cess­es give rise. This mode of treat­ing the prob­lem of beau­ty and aes­thet­ic per­cep­tion has been great­ly de­vel­oped and worked up in­to a com­rlete sys­tem of aes­thet­ics by one of Herbart’s dis­ci­ples, Robert Zim­mer­mann (As­thetik, 1838).

Less­ing.

Less­ing, in his Lao­coon and else­where, sought to de­duce the spe­cial func­tion of an art from a con­sid­er­ation of the means at its dis­pos­al. He took pains to de­fine the bound­aries of po­et­ry and up­on the ends and ap­pli­ances of art. Among these his dis­tinc­tion be­tween arts which em­ploy the co­ex­is­tent in space and those which em­ploy the suc­ces­sive (as po­et­ry and mu­sic) is of last­ing val­ue. In his dra­mat­ic crit­icisms he sim­ilar­ly en­deav­oured to de­vel­op clear gen­er­al prin­ci­ples on such points as po­et­ic truth, im­prov­ing up­on Aris­to­tle, on whose teachi­na he main­ly re­lies.

Goethe. Schiller.

Goethe wrote sev­er­al tracts on aes­thet­ic top­ics, as well as many apho­risms. He at­tempt­ed to me­di­ate be­tween the claims of ide­al beau­ty, as taught by J. J. Winck­el­mann, and the aims of du­al­iza­tion. Schiller (q.v.) dis­cuss­es, in a num­ber of dis­con­nect­ed es­says and let­ters some of the main ques­tions in the phi­los­ophy of art. He looks at art from the side of cul­ture and the forces of hu­man na­ture, and finds in an aes­thet­ical­ly cul­ti­vat­ed soul the rec­on­cil­ia­tion of the sen­su­al and ra­tio­nal. His let­ters on aes­thet­ic ed­uca­tion (Uber die as­thetis­che Erzichung des Men­schen, trans. by J. Weiss, Boston, 1845) are valu­able, bring­ing out among oth­er points the con­nex­ion be­tween aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ity and the uni­ver­sal im­pulse to play (Spiel­trieb.) Schiller’s thoughts on aes­thet­ic sub­jects are per­vad­ed with the spir­it of Kant’s phi­los­ophy.

Jean Paul.

An­oth­er ex­am­ple of this kind of re­flec­tive dis­cus­sion of art by lit­er­ary men is af­ford­ed us in the Vorschule der As­thetik of Jean Paul Richter. This is a rather am­bi­tious dis­cus­sion of the sub­lime and lu­di­crous, which, how­ev­er, con­tains much valu­able mat­ter on the na­ture of hu­mour in ro­man­tic po­et­ry. Among oth­er writ­ers who re­flect more or less philo­soph­ical­ly on the prob­lems to which mod­ern po­et­ry gives rise are Wil­helm von Hum­boldt, the two Schlegels and Gerv­inus.

Con­tri­bu­tions by Ger­man sa­vants.

A word may be said in con­clu­sion on the at­tempts of Ger­man sa­vants to ap­ply a knowl­edge of phys­io­log­ical con­di­tions to the in­ves­ti­ga­tion of the sen­su­ous el­ements of aes­thet­ic ef­fect, as well as to in­tro­duce in­to the study of the sim­pler aes­thet­ic forms the meth­ods of nat­ural sci­ence. The clas­sic work of Helmholtz on “Sen­sa­tions of Tone” is a high­ly mu­si­cal com­po­si­tion on physics and phys­iol­ogy. The en­deav­our to de­ter­mine with a like de­gree of pre­ci­sion the phys­io­log­ical con­di­tions of the plea­sur­able ef­fects of colours and their com­bi­na­tions by E. W. Brucke, Ewald Her­ing and more re­cent in­ves­ti­ga­tors, has so far failed to re­al­ize the desider­atum laid down by Herbart, that there should be a the­ory of colour-​re­la­tions equal in com­plete­ness and ex­act­ness to that of tone-​re­la­tions. The ex­per­imen­tal in­quiry in­to sim­ple aes­thet­ical­ly pleas­ing forms was be­gun by G. T. Fech­ner in seek­ing to test the sound­ness of Adolf Zeis­ing’s hy­poth­esis that the most pleas­ing pro­por­tion in di­vid­ing a line, say the ver­ti­cal part of a cross, is the “gold­en sec­tion,” where the small­er di­vi­sion is to the larg­er as the lat­ter to the sum. He de­scribes in his work on “Ex­per­imen­tal Aes­thet­ics” (Auf ex­per­imen­tal­en As­thetik) a se­ries of ex­per­iments car­ried out on a large num­ber of per­sons, bear­ing on this point, the re­sults of which he con­sid­ers to be in favour of Zeis­ing’s hy­poth­esis.

Dis­cus­sions of more con­crete prob­lems.

3. French Writ­ers.–In France aes­thet­ic spec­ula­tion grew out of the dis­cus­sion by po­ets and crit­ics on the re­la­tion of mod­ern art, and Boileau in the 17th cen­tu­ry, the de­vel­op­ment of the the dis­pute be­tween the “an­cients” and the `mod­erns” at the end of the 17th cen­tu­ry by B. le Bou­vi­er de Fontenelle and Charles Per­rault, and the con­tin­ua­tion of the dis­cus­sion as to the aims of po­et­ry and of art gen­er­al­ly in the 18th cen­tu­ry by Voltaire, Bayle, Diderot and oth­ers, not on­ly of­fer to the mod­ern the­orists valu­able ma­te­ri­al in the shape of a record by ex­perts of their aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence, but dis­close glimpses of im­por­tant aes­thet­ic prin­ci­ples. A more sys­tem­at­ic ex­am­ina­tion of the sev­er­al arts (cor­re­spond­ing to that of Less­ing) is to be found in the Cours de belles let­tres of Charles Bat­teux (1765), in which the mean­ing and val­ue of the im­ita­tion of na­ture by art are fur­ther elu­ci­dat­ed, and the arts are clas­si­fied (as by Less­ing) ac­cord­ing as they em­ploy the forms of space or those of time.

The­ories of or­gan­ic beau­ty. Buffi­er.

The be­gin­ning of a more sci­en­tif­ic in­ves­ti­ga­tion of beau­ty in gen­er­al is con­nect­ed with the name of Pere Buffi­er (see First Truths), form, and il­lus­trates his the­ory by the hu­man face. A A beau­ti­ful face is at once the most com­mon and most rare among mem­bers of the species. This seems to be a clum­sy way of say­ing that it is a clear ex­pres­sion of the typ­ical form of the species.

Taine.

This idea of typ­ical beau­ty (which was adopt­ed by Reynolds) has been worked out more re­cent­ly by H. Taine. In his work, The Ide­al in Art (trans. by i. Du­rand), he pro­ceeds in the man­ner of a botanist to de­ter­mine a scale of char­ac­ters in the phys­ical and moral man. The de­gree of the uni­ver­sal­ity or im­por­tance of a char­ac­ter, and of its benef­icence or adap­ta­tion to the ends of life, de­ter­mine the mea­sure of its aes­thet­ic val­ue, and ren­der the work of art, which seeks to rep­re­sent it in its pu­ri­ty, an ide­al work.

French sys­tems of aes­thet­ics: The spir­itu­al­istes.

The on­ly elab­orat­ed sys­tems of aes­thet­ics in French lit­er­ature are those con­struct­ed by the spir­itu­al­istes, the philosoohic writ­ers who un­der the in­flu­ence of Ger­man thinkers ef­fect­ed a re­ac­tion against the crude sen­sa­tion­al­ism of the 18th cen­tu­ry they aim at elu­ci­dat­ing the high­er and spir­itu­al el­ement in aes­thet­ic im­pres­sions, ap­pear­ing to ig­nore any ca­pa­bil­ity in the sen­su­ous ma­te­ri­al of af­ford­ing a true aes­thet­ic de­light. J. Cousin and Jean Charles Lev­eque are the prin­ci­pal writ­ers of this school. The lat­ter de­vel­oped an elab­orate sys­tem of the sub­ject (La Sci­ence du beau.) All beau­ty is re­gard­ed as spir­itu­al in its na­ture. The sev­er­al beau­ti­ful char­ac­ters of an or­gan­ic body–of which the prin­ci­pal are mag­ni­tude, uni­ty and va­ri­ety of parts, in­ten­si­ty of colour, grace or flex­ibil­ity, and cor­re­spon­dence to en­vi­ron­ment–may be brought un­der the con­cep­tion of the ide­al grandeur and or­der of the species. These are per­ceived by rea­son to be the man­ifes­ta­tions of an in­vis­ible vinal force. Sim­ilar­ly the beau­ties of in­or­gan­ic na­ture are to be viewed as the grand and or­der­ly dis­plays of an im­ma­te­ri­al ohvsi­cal force. Thus all beau­ty is in its ob­jec­tive essence ei­ther spir­it or un­con­scious force act­ing with ful­ness and in or­der.

4. En­glish Writ­ers.–There is noth­ing an­swer­ing to the Ger­man con­cep­tion of a sys­tem of aes­thet­ics in En­glish lit­er­ature. The in­quiries of En­glish thinkers have been di­rect­ed for the most part to such mod­est prob­lems as the psy­cho­log­ical pro­cess by which we per­ceive the beau­ti­ful–dis­cus­sions which are apt to be re­gard­ed by Ger­man his­to­ri­ans as de­void of re­al philo­soph­ical val­ue. The writ­ers may be con­ve­nient­ly ar­ranged in two di­vi­sions, an­swer­ing to the two op­posed di­rec­tions of En­glish thought: (i) the In­tu­ition­al­ists, those who rec­og­nize the ex­is­tence of an ob­jec­tive beau­ty which is a sim­ple un­analysable at­tribute or prin­ci­ple of things: and (2) the An­alyt­ical the­orists, those who fol­low the an­alyt­ical and psy­cho­log­ical method, con­cern­ing them­selves with the sen­ti­ment of beau­ty as a com­plex growth out of sim­pler el­ements.

The In­tu­ition­ists. Shaftes­bury.

Shaftes­bury is the first of the in­tu­ition­al writ­ers on beau­ty. In his Char­ac­ter­is­tics the beau­ti­ful and the good are com­bined in one ide­al con­cep­tion, much as with Pla­to. Mat­ter in it­self is ug­ly. The or­der of the world, where­in all beau­ty re­al­ly re­sides, is a spir­itu­al prin­ci­ple, all mo­tion and life be­ing the prod­uct of spir­it. The prin­ci­ple of beau­ty is per­ceived not with the out­er sense, but with an in­ter­nal or moral sense which ap­pre­hends the good as well. This per­cep­tion yields the on­ly true de­light, name­ly, spir­itu­al en­joy­ment.

Hutch­eson.

Fran­cis Hutchin­son, in his Sys­tem of Moral Phi­los­ophy, though he adopts many of Shaftes­bury’s ideas, dis­tinct­ly dis­claims any in­de­pen­dent self-​ex­ist­ing beau­ty in ob­jects. “All beau­ty,” he says, “is rel­ative to the sense of some mind per­ceiv­ing it.” One cause of beau­ty is to be found not in a sim­ple sen­sa­tion such as colour or tone, but in a cer­tain or­der among the parts, or “uni­for­mi­ty amidst va­ri­ety.” The fac­ul­ty by which this prin­ci­ple in­dis­cerned is an in­ter­nal sense which is de­fined as “a pas­sive pow­er of re­ceiv­ing ideas of beau­ty from all ob­jects in which there is uni­for­mi­ty in va­ri­ety.” This in­ner sense re­sem­bles the ex­ter­nal sens­es in the im­me­di­ate­ness of the plea­sure which its ac­tiv­ity brings: and fur­ther in the ne­ces­si­ty of its im­pres­sions: a beau­ti­ful thing be­ing al­ways, whether we will or no, beau­ti­ful. He dis­tin­guish­es two kinds of beau­ty, ab­so­lute or orig­inal, and rel­ative or com­par­ative. The lat­ter is dis­cerned in an ob­ject which is re­gard­ed as an im­ita­tion or sem­blance of an­oth­er. He dis­tinct­ly states that “an ex­act im­ita­tion may still be beau­ti­ful though the orig­inal were en­tire­ly de­void of it.” He seeks to prove the uni­ver­sal­ity of this sense of beau­ty, by show­ing that all men, in pro­por­tion to the en­large­ment of their in­tel­lec­tu­al ca­pac­ity, are more de­light­ed with uni­for­mi­ty than the op­po­site.

Reid.

In his Es­says on the In­tel­lec­tu­al Pow­ers (vi­ii. “Of Taste”) Thomas Reid ap­plies his prin­ci­ple of com­mon sense to the prob­lem of beau­ty say­ing that ob­jects of beau­ty agree not on­ly in pro­duc­ing a cer­tain agree­able emo­tion, but in the ex­ci­ta­tion along with this emo­tion of a be­lief that they pos­sess some per­fec­tion or ex­cel­lence, that beau­ty ex­ists in the ob­jects in­de­pen­dent­ly our minds. His the­ory of beau­ty is severe­ly spir­itu­al. All beau­ty re­sides pri­mar­ily in the fac­ul­ties of the mind, in­tel­lec­tu­al and moral. The beau­ty which is spread over the face of vis­ible na­ture is an em­ana­tion from this spir­itu­al beau­ty, and is beau­ty be­cause it sym­bol­izes and ex­press­es the lat­ter. Thus the beau­ty of a plant re­sides in its per­fect adapra­tion to its end, a per­fec­tion which is an ex­pres­sion of the wis­dom of its Cre­ator.

Hamil­ton.

In his Lec­tures on Meta­physics Sir W. Hamil­ton gives a short ac­count of the sen­ti­ments of taste, which (with a su­per­fi­cial re­sem­blance to Kant) he re­gards as sub­serv­ing both the sub­sidiary and the elab­ora­tive fac­ul­ties in cog­ni­tion, that is, the imag­ina­tion and the un­der­stand­ing. The ac­tiv­ity of the for­mer cor­re­sponds to the el­ement of va­ri­ety in a beau­ti­ful ob­ject, that of the lat­ter with its uni­ty. He ex­plic­it­ly ex­cludes all oth­er kinds of plea­sure, such as the sen­su­ous, from the prop­er grat­ifi­ca­tion of beau­ty. He de­nies that the at­tribute of beau­ty be­longs to fit­ness.

Ruskin.

John Ruskin’s well-​known spec­ula­tions on the na­ture of beau­ty in Mod­ern Painters (“Of ideas of beau­ty”), though sad­ly want­ing in sci­en­tif­ic pre­ci­sion, have a cer­tain val­ue in the his­to­ry of di­vine at­tributes. Its true na­ture is ap­pre­ci­at­ed by the the­oret­ic fac­ul­ty which is con­cerned in the moral con­cep­tion and ap­pre­ci­ation of ideas of beau­ty, and must be dis­tin­guished from the imag­ina­tive or artis­tic fac­ul­ty, which is em­ployed in re­gard­ing in a cer­tain way and com­bin­ing the ideas re­ceived from ex­ter­nal na­ture. He dis­tin­guish­es be­tween typ­ical and vi­tal beau­ty. The for­mer is the ex­ter­nal qual­ity of bod­ies which typ­ifies some di­vine at­tribute. The lat­ter con­sists in “the ap­pear­ance of fe­lic­itous ful­fil­ment of func­tion in liv­ing things.” The forms of typ­ical beau­ty are:–(1) in­fin­ity, the type of the di­vine in­com­pre­hen­si­bil­ity; (2) uni­ty, the type of the di­vine com­pre­hen­sive­ness; (3) re­pose, the type of the di­vine per­ma­nence; (4) sym­me­try, the type of the di­vine jus­tice; (5) pu­ri­ty, the type of the di­vine en­er­gy; and (6) mod­er­ation, the type of gov­ern­ment by law. Vi­tal beau­ty, again, is re­gard­ed as rel­ative when the de­gree of ex­al­ta­tion of the func­tion is es­ti­mat­ed, or gener­ic if on­ly the de­gree of con­for­mi­ty of an in­di­vid­ual to the ap­point­ed func­tions of the species is tak­en in­to ac­count. Ruskin’s writ­ings il­lus­trate the ex­treme ten­den­cy to iden­ti­fy aes­thet­ic with moral per­cep­tion.

The an­alyt­ical the­orists. Ad­di­son.

Ad­di­son’s “Es­says on the Imag­ina­tion”’ con­tribut­ed to the Spec­ta­tor, though they be­long to pop­ular lit­er­ature, con­tain the germ of sci­en­tif­ic anal­ysis in the state­ment that the plea­sures of imag­ina­tion (which arise orig­inal­ly from sight) fall in­to two class­es–(1) pri­ma­ry plea­sures, which en­tire­ly pro­ceed from ob­jects be­fore our eyes; and (2) sec­ondary plea­sures, flow­ing frm the ideas of vis­ible ob­jects. The lat­ter are great­ly ex­tend­ed by the ad­di­tion of the prop­er en­joy­ment of re­sem­blance, which is at the ba­sis of all mimicry and wit. Ad­di­son rec­og­nizes, too, to some ex­tent, the in­flu­ence of as­so­ci­ation up­on our aes­thet­ic pref­er­ences.

Home.

In the El­ements of Crit­icism of Home (Lord Kames) an­oth­er at­tempt is made to re­solve the plea­sure of beau­ty in­to its el­ements. Beau­ty and ug­li­ness are sim­ply the pleas­ant and un­ap­pears to ad­mit no gen­er­al characreris­tic of beau­ti­ful ob­jects be­yond this pow­er of yield­ing plea­sure. Like Hutch­eson, he di­vides beau­ty in­to in­trin­sic and rel­ative, but un­der­stands by the lat­ter the ap­pear­ance of fit­ness and util­ity, which is ex­clud­ed from the beau­ti­ful by Hutch­eson.

Hog­arth.

Pass­ing by the name of Sir Joshua Reynolds, whose the­ory of beau­ty close­ly re­sem­bles that of Pere Buffi­er, we come to the ar­tic­ula­tions of an­oth­er artist and painter, William Hog­arth. He dis­cuss­es, in his Anal­ysis of Beau­ty, all the el­ements of vi­su­al beau­ty. He finds in this the fol­low­ing el­ements:—(1) fit­ness of the parts to some de­sign; (2) va­ri­ety in as many ways as pos­si­ble; (3) uni­for­mi­ty, reg­ular­ity or sym­me­try, which is on­ly beau­ti­ful when it helps to pre­serve the char­ac­ter of fit­ness; (4) sim­plic­ity or dis­tinct­ness, which gives plea­sure not in it­self, but through its en­abling the eye to en­joy va­ri­ety with ease; (5) in­tri­ca­cy, which pro­vides em­ploy­ment for our ac­tive en­er­gies, lead­ing the eye “a wan­ton kind of chase”; (6) quan­ti­ty or mag­ni­tude, which draws our at­ten­tion and pro­duces ad­mi­ra­tion and awe. The beau­ty of pro­por­tion he re­solves in­to the needs of fit­ness. Hog­arth ap­plies these prin­ci­ples to the de­ter­mi­na­tion of the de­grees of beau­ty in lines, fig­ures and groups of forms. Among lines he sin­gles out for spe­cial hon­our the ser­pen­tine (formed by draw­ing a line once round from the base to the apex of a long slen­der cone).

Burke.

Burke’s spec­ula­tions, in his In­quiry in­to the Ori­gin of our Ideas of the Sub­lime and Beau­ti­ful, il­lus­trate the ten­den­cy of En­glish writ­ers to treat the prob­lem as a psy­cho­log­ical one and to in­tro­duce phys­io­log­ical con­sid­er­ations. He finds the el­ements of beau­ty to be:– (1) small­ness; (2) smooth­ness; (3) grad­ual vari­ation of di­rec­tion in gen­tle curves; (4) del­ica­cy, or the ap­pear­ance of fragili­ty; (5) bright­ness, pu­ri­ty and soft­ness of colour. The sub­lime is rather crude­ly re­solved in­to as­ton­ish­ment, which he thinks al­ways re­tains an el­ement of ter­ror. Thus “in­fin­ity has a ten­den­cy to fill the mind with a de­light­ful hor­ror.” Burke seeks what he calls “ef­fi­cient caus­es” for these aes­thet­ic im­pres­sions in cer­tain af­fec­tions of the the nerves of sight anal­ogous to those of oth­er sens­es, name­ly, the sooth­ing ef­fect of a re­lax­ation of the nerve fi­bres. The ar­bi­trari­ness and nar­row­ness of this the­ory can­not well es­cape the read­er’s at­ten­tion.

Al­ison.

Al­ison, in his well-​kn­won Es­says on the Na­ture and Prin­ci­ples of Taste, pro­ceeds by a method ex­act­ly the op­po­site to that of Hog­arth and Burke. He seeks to anal­yse the men­tal pro­cess when finds that this con­sists in a pe­cu­liar op­er­ation of the imag­ina­tion, name­ly, the flow of a train of ideas through the mind, which ideas al­ways cor­re­spond to some sim­ple af­fec­tion or emo­tion (e.g. cheer­ful­ness, sad­ness, awe) awak­ened by the ob­ject. He thus makes as­so­ci­ation the sole source of aes­thet­ic de­light, and de­nies the ex­is­tence of a pri­ma­ry source in sen­sa­tions them­selves. He il­lus­trates the work­ing of the prin­ci­ple of as­so­ci­ation at great length, and with much skill; yet his at­tempt to make it the unique source of aes­thet­ic plea­sure fails com­plete­ly. Fran­cis Jef­frey’s Es­says on Beau­ty (in the Ed­in­burgh Re­view, and En­cy­clopae­dia Bri­tan­ni­ca, 8th edi­tion) are lit­tle more than a mod­ifi­ca­tion of Al­ison’s the­ory. Philo­soph­ical Es­says con­sists in point­ing out the un­war­rant­ed as­sump­tion lurk­ing in the doc­trine of a sin­gle qual­ity run­ning through all va­ri­eties of beau­ti­ful ob­ject. He seeks to show how the suc­ces­sive changes in the mean­ing of the term “beau­ti­ful” have arisen. He sug­gests that it orig­inal­ly con­not­ed the plea­sure of colour. The val­ue of his dis­cus­sion re­sides more in the crit­icism of his pre­de­ces­sors than in the con­tri­bu­tion of new ideas. His con­cep­tion of the sub­lime, sug­gest­ed by the et­ymol­ogy of the word, em­pha­sizes the el­ement of height in ob­jects.

Of the as­soica­tion psy­chol­ogists James Mill did lit­tle more to­wards the anal­ysis of the sen­ti­ments of beau­ty than re-​state Al­ison’s doc­trine. Alexan­der Bain, in his trea­tise, The Emo­tions and the Will (“Aes­thet­ic Emo­tions”), car­ries this ex­am­ina­tion con­sid­er­ably fur­ther. He seeks to dif­fer­en­ti­ate aes­thet­ic from oth­er va­ri­eties of plea­sur­able emo­tion by three char­ac­ter­is­tics:–(1) their free­dom from life-​serv­ing us­es, be­ing grat­ifi­ca­tions sought for their own sakes; (2) their pu­ri­ty from all dis­agree­able con­comi­tants; (3) their em­inent­ly sym­pa­thet­ic or share­able na­ture. He takes a com­pre­hen­sive view of the con­stituents of aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment, in­clud­ing the plea­sures of sen­sa­tion and of its re­vived or its “ide­al” form; of re­vived emo­tion­al states; and last­ly the sat­is­fac­tion of those wide-​rang­ing sus­cep­ti­bil­ities which we call the love of nov­el­ty, of con­trast and of har­mo­ny. The ef­fect of sub­lim­ity is con­nect­ed with the man­ifes­ta­tion of su­pe­ri­or pow­er in its high­est de­grees, which man­ifes­ta­tion ex­cites a sym­pa­thet­ic ela­tion in the be­hold­er. The lu­di­crous, again, is de­fined by Bain, im­prov­ing on Aris­to­tle and Hobbes, as the degra­da­tion of some­thing pos­sess­ing dig­ni­ty in cir­cum­stances that ex­cite no oth­er strong emo­tion.

Her­bert Spencer, in his First Prin­ci­ples, Prin­ci­ples of Psy­chol­ogy and Es­says, has giv­en an in­ter­est­ing turn to the psy­chol­ogy of aes­thet­ics by the ap­pli­ca­tion of his doc­trine of evo­lu­tion. Adopt­ing Schiller’s idea of a con­nex­ion be­tween aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ity and play, he seeks to make it the start­ing-​point in trac­ing the evo­lu­tion of aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ity. Play is de­fined as the out­come of the su­per­flu­ous en­er­gies of the or­gan­ism: as the ac­tiv­ity of or­gans and fac­ul­ties which, ow­ing to a pro­longed pe­ri­od of in­ac­tiv­ity, have be­come spe­cial­ly ready to dis­charge their func­tion, and as a con­se­quence vent them­selves in sim­ulat­ed ac­tions. Aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ities sup­ply a sim­ilar mode of self-​re­liev­ing dis­charge to the high­er or­gans of per­cep­tion and emo­tion; and they fur­ther agree with play in not di­rect­ly sub­serv­ing any pro­cess­es con­ducive to life; in be­ing grat­ifi­ca­tions sought for their own sake on­ly. Spencer seeks to con­struct a hi­er­ar­chy of aes­thet­ic plea­sures ac­cord­ing to the de­gree of com­plex­ity of the fac­ul­ty ex­er­cised: from those of sen­sa­tion up to the re­vived emo­tion­al ex­pe­ri­ences which con­sti­tute the aes­thet­ic sen­ti­ment prop­er. Among the more vague­ly re­vived emo­tions Spencer in­cludes more per­ma­nent feel­ings of the race trans­mit­ted by hered­ity; as when he refers the deep and in­de­fin­able emo­tion ex­cit­ed by mu­sic to as­so­ci­ations with vo­cal tones ex­pres­sive of feel­ing built up dur­ing the past his­to­ry of our species. This bi­olog­ical treat­ment of aes­thet­ic ac­tiv­ity has had a wide in­flu­ence, some e.g. Grant Allen) be­ing con­tent to de­vel­op his evo­lu­tion­al method. Yet, as sug­gest­ed above, his the­ory is now rec­og­nized as tak­ing us on­ly a lit­tle way to­wards an ad­equate un­der­stand­ing of our aes­thet­ic ex­pe­ri­ence.

BIB­LI­OG­RA­PHY.39–.a) Works on Gen­er­al Aes­thet­ics. which deal with the whole sub­ject. The fol­low­ing will be found help­ful: Her­bert Spencer, Prin­ci­ples of Psy­chol­ogy, pt. vi­ii. c. 9, “Aes­thet­ic Sen­ti­ments,” and the pa­pers on “Use and Beau­ty,” “Ori­gin and Func­tion of Mu­sic” and oth­ers in the Es­says; A. Bain, Emo­tions and Will, “Aes­thet­ic Emo­tions”; J Sul­ly, Hu­man Mind, ii. “Aes­thet­ic Sen­ti­ment”: (Grant Allen, “Phys­io­log­ical Aes­thet­ics” (Meth., Pl., Sens­es, Play); Rut­gers Mar­shall, Pain, Plea­sure and Aes­thet­ics, and Aes­thet­ic Prin­ci­ples (Meth., Pl., Play).

French and Ital­ian Works.–M. Guyau, Les prob­lemes de l’es­the­tique con­tem­po­raine (1884) (Pl., Play); E. Veron, L’Es­the­tique (1890) (slight Pl.); L. Bray, Du Beau (1902). (Pl., Play); P. Sauri­an, La Beaute ra­tionnelle (1904) (Meth., Pl., Sens­es, Einf.); M. Pi­lo, Es­tet­ica (Pl., Sens­es): A. Rol­la, Sto­ria delle idee es­tetiche in Italia (1905) (full ac­count of ideas of Dante and oth­er me­dieval writ­ers, as well as of mod­ern sys­tems).

Ger­man Works.—K. Kostlin, Pro­le­gom­ena zur As­thetik (1889) (good in­tro­duc­tion to sub­ject); K. Groos, Der as­thetis­che Genuss (1902) (Meth., Judg., Play, Sens­es, Einf. and Ill.); J. Volkelt, Sys­tem der As­thetik (1905) (very full and clear) (Meth., Norm., Evol., Sens­es, Einf.); J. Cohn, All­ge­meine As­thetik (1901) (Val., Play, Einf.); K. Lange, Das We­sen der Kun­st (1901) (Meth., Einf., Ill., Play).

(b) Works on His­to­ry on. Schasler, Kri­tis­che Geschichte der As­thetik in Deutsch­land; M. Schasler, Kri­tis­che Geschichte der As­thetik (full and elab­orate, deal­ing with an­cient and mod­ern the­ories); E. von Hart­mann, Die deutsche as­thetik seit Kant (Aus­ge­wahlte Werke, iii.); K. H. von Stein, Die Entste­hung der neueren As­thetik (the­ories of French crit­ics, &c.); F. Brunetiere, L’Evo­lu­tion des gen­res (His­to­ry of crit­ical dis­cus­sions in the 17th and 18th cen­turies); B. Bosan­quet, His­to­ry of Aes­thet­ics (very full, es­pe­cial­ly on an­cient the­ories and Ger­man sys­tems); W. Knight, Phi­los­ophy of the Beau­ti­ful, pt. i. “His­to­ry” (Univ. Ex­ten­sion Man­uals, a pop­ular re­sume with quo­ta­tions). (J. S.)

1 See be­low for Kant’s view of the aes­thet­ic judg­ment, as hav­ing sub­jec­tive uni­ver­sal va­lid­ity. On the mean­ing of judg­ments of val­ue see J. Cohn, All­gem. As­thetik, Ein­leitung, pp. 7 ff., and Teil i., Kap. 2 and 3.

2 Cf. Lar­id, In­tro­duc­tion to Phi­los­ophy, pp. 330, 361.

3 For ex­am­ple, that hint­ed at by Bosan­quet in his def­ini­tion of the beau­ti­ful, His­to­ry of aes­thet­ic, p. 5.

4 Beau­ty is de­fined as per­fec­tion by P. Souri­au, La Beaute ra­tionnelle, 2eme par­tie.

5 K. Groos ar­gues well against this vi­olent stretch­ing of the word beau­ti­ful, Ein­leitung in die As­thetik, pp. 46 seq.

6 Kant, in de­vel­op­ing his idea of beau­ty as sub­jec­tive, was prob­ably in­flu­enced by Hume, who wrote: “Beau­ty is no qual­ity in things them­selves; it ex­ists mere­ly in the mind which con­tem­plates them” (Es­says, xxii.).

7 On the na­ture of these qual­ities see S. Witasek, Grundzuge der All­gem. As­thetik, p. 11.

8 See J. Cohn; All­gem. Es­thetik, P. 96

9 Orig­inal­ly, as point­ed out by Home and oth­ers, sight was re­gard­ed as the sense by which we re­ceived im­pres­sions of beau­ty. The recog­ni­tion of the claims of hear­ing date back to Pla­to. (See Bosan­quet, Hist. of Aesth. pp. 51-52). For re­cent dis­cus­sions of the claims of sight and hear­ing see ar­ti­cle by J. Volkelt, “Der Aesth. Werth der niederen Sinne,” in Zeitschrift fur Psych. u. Phys. der Sin­nesor­gane, vol. xxix. pp. 402 ff.; see al­so be­low, Bib­li­og­ra­phy.

10 Laws, 880 (see Bosan­quet, op. cit. p. 54).

11 Pla­to had a glimpse of the re­sem­blance of art to play (see Bosan­quet, op. cit. p. 54). Among mod­ern writ­ers the idea is spe­cial­ly con­nect­ed with the names of Schiller and Her­bert Spencer. In re­cent works the sub­ject is touched on by S. Wit­tasek, Grundzuge der all­gem. As­thetik, pp. 223 fl.; Bray, Du Beau, pp. 62 ff., and by Rut­gers Mar­shall and oth­ers re­ferred to be­low in Bib­li­og­ra­phy.

12 Hence to say, as Bosan­quet says (op. cit. pp. 3-4), that art is to na­ture as the sci­en­tif­ic con­cep­tion of the world to that of the or­di­nary ob­serv­er, seems wide of the mark.

13 K. Lange goes very far in at­tribut­ing a prac­ti­cal mo­tive to fea­tures of ar­chi­tec­ture com­mon­ly sup­posed to have aes­thet­ic val­ue, e.g. a reg­ular se­ries of sim­ilar forms (Das We­sen der Kun­st, Bd. i. pp. 277 ff.).

14 K. Lange thinks that even sym­me­try prob­ably has a tech­ni­cal ori­gin (op. cit. pp. 283-284).

15 The ques­tion of the place of the his­tor­ical de­vel­op­ment of art in aes­thet­ic the­ory is care­ful­ly con­sid­ered by J. Volkelt, Sys­tem der As­thetik, Bd. i. 5es Kap.

16 See, for ex­am­ple, a lit­tle work, The Gen­esis of Art-​From, by G. L. Ray­mond.

17 Kant, stop­ping short of an anal­ysis of the beau­ty of a con­crete ob­ject, said there were no aes­thet­ic judg­ments of this uni­ver­sal form see be­low). On the im­por­tance of these in­duc­tions see K. H. von Stein, Vor­lesun­gen uber As­thetik (Ein­leitung).

18 Cu­ri­ous­ly enough Thomas Reid rec­og­nized a germ of aes­thet­ic taste in an­imals. Es­says, Of Taste, ch. v. The aes­thet­ic im­por­tance of the ob­ser­va­tions made on an­imals is dealt with by L. Bray, Du Beau, pp. 233 ff.

19 See be­low, and Bosan­quet, op. cit. pp. 382 ff.

20 The chief lines of ex­per­imen­tal aes­thet­ics are in­di­cat­ed by W. Wundt in his Phys­iol. Psy­cholo­gie (5e Au­flage), Bd. iii. pp. 142 ff. and 147 ff.

21 On the val­ue of the judg­ments of ex­perts see K. Groos, Der asth. Genuss, p. 149.

22 Ex­am­ples of a forci­na of the phys­io­log­ical method in aes­thet­ics may be found in the Phys­io­log­ical Aes­thet­ics of Grant Allen, and the Auf­gabe der Kun­st­physialo­gie, by Georg Hirsch.

23 These aes­thet­ic pre­rog­atives of the sen­sa­tions of hear­ing and sight have been well brought out in the ar­ti­cle by J. Volkelt, al­ready re­ferred to.

24 On the lat­er in­ves­ti­ga­tions in­to mu­si­cal con­so­nance and har­mo­ny, har­mo­ny of colours, rhyth­mic and pleas­ing spa­tial forms, see Wundt, op..cit. Bd. ii. pp. 419 ff., and iii. 135 g., 140 ff., 147 ff. and 154 ff. Time-​form in mu­sic is spe­cial­ly dis­cussed by E. Gur­ney, The Pow­er of Sound, v.

25 K. Lange, who rec­og­nizes the in­flu­ence of na­ture and cus­tom here de­nies that pro­por­tion is an aes­thet­ic prin­ci­ple (Das We­sen der Kun­st, 11es Kap.).

26 Al­ison and oth­er En­glish As­so­ci­ation­ists have em­pha­sized the aes­thet­ic im­por­tance of the prin­ci­ple of as­so­ci­ation. Among more re­cent ad­vo­cates of it is G. T. Fech­ner. Vorschule der As­thetik, and O. Kulpe, “Uber den as­so­cia­tiv Fac­tor des as­thet. Ein­drucks”, Fiertel­jahrss­chrift fur wis­sensch. Philoso­phie, xxi­ii. pp. 145 ff.

27 This idea of im­ita­tive hand-​move­ment in con­tem­plat­ing form is sup­port­ed by K. Groos, Der asth. Genuss, pp. 49 ff.

28 It is com­mon­ly spo­ken of as “feel­ing one­self in­to” Ein­fuhlen), or as“sym­pa­thet­ic feel­ing” (Mitempfind­en.)

29 Lipps the­ory is de­vel­oped in a num­ber of works, the chief of which is As­thetik: Psy­cholo­gie des Scho­nen und der Kun­st, see esp. 1er Theil, 1er to 3er Ab­schnitt; cf. Paul Stern, Ein­fuh­lung und As­so­ci­ation, in which is to be found an his­tor­ical sketch of the the­ory, and A. Hilde­brand, Form in der bilden­den Kun­st. The play of imag­ina­tion in the con­tem­pla­tion of form is dis­cussed al­so by P. Souri­au, L’Es­the­tique du mou­ve­ment, 3eme part., and La Sug­ges­tion dans l’art, pp. 300 ff. Cf. works of Karl Groos and K. Lange named be­low (Bib­li­og­ra­phy.) .

30 See P. Souri­au, La Sug­ges­tion dans l’art (1ere par­tie).

31 Cf. K. Lange, op. cit. lfh. i. p. 208.

32 See a cu­ri­ous pas­sage in Home’s El­ements of Crit­icism, chap iv., in which the emo­tions ex­cit­ed by great and el­evat­ed ob­jects are said to ex­press them­selves ex­ter­nal­ly by a spe­cial in­flat­ing in­spi­ra­tion, and by stretch­ing up­ward and stand­ing “a-​tip­toe” re­spec­tive­ly; al­so an ar­ti­cle on “Re­cent Aes­thet­ics’, by Ver­non Lee in the Quar­ter­ly Re­view, 1904, part i. pp. 420-443.

33 See Hume, Es­says, “Es­say of Tragedy,” and the im­por­tant dis­cus­sions on the mean­ing of Aris­to­tle’s doc­trine of the emo­tions of tragedy and of emo­tion­al pu­rifi­ca­tion or “al­le­vi­at­ing dis­charge’, (kathansis) touched on by Bosan­quet, op. cit. pp. 64 ff. and 234 ff.

34 That beau­ty im­plies a pe­cu­liar blend­ing of for­mal and spir­itu­al (geistige) fac­tors is rec­og­nized by H. Riegel, Die bildende Kun­ste; pp. 16 ff.

35 Hu­man Na­ture (first part of Tri­pos), ch. vi­ii. sec. 5 (Molesworth’s edi­tion of Works, vol. iv. p. 38).

36 See among oth­ers R. Wal­lascheck, Prim­itve Mu­sic, pp. 270 ff., and Y. Hirn, The Ori­gin of Art, pp. 9 ff.; cf. W. Jerusalem, Ein­leitung in die Philoso­phie, pp. 116, 117.

37 The idea of this so­cial util­ity in aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment is touched on by Kant, Critic­ue of Judg­ment (Bernard’s trans.), p. 174; and is more ful­ly worked out by Guyau, L’Art au point de vue so­ci­ologique, ch. ii. and iii.; cf. Rut­gers Mar­shall, Aes­thet­ic Prin­ci­ples, pp. 81-82.

38 On the na­ture of the prim­itive art-​cul­ture, see Rut­gers Mar­shall, Aes­thet­ic Prin­ci­ples, ch. iii.; M. Bald­win, So­cial and Eth­ical In­ter­pre­ta­tions, pp. 151 ff: Y. Hirn, The Ori­gin of Art, ch. ii. On artis­tic ge­nius and its cre­ative pro­cess, see H. Taine, The Phi­los­ophy of Art, Part ii.; P. Souri­au, L’Imag­ina­tion de l’artiste; G. Seailles, Es­sai sur la ge­nie dans l’art; E. Grosse, Kunst­wissenschaftliche Stu­di­en iii.; Ar­reat, Psy­cholo­gie du pein­tre; L. Dau­ri­ac, Es­sai sur l’es­prit mu­si­cal.

39 On­ly re­cent works are in­clud­ed. Im­por­tant points in each are in­di­cat­ed by ab­bre­vi­ations, name­ly:–

Einf., Ein­fuh­lung (ex­pres­sion­al el­ement in form). Evol., for bear­ings of evo­lu­tion. Ill., for aes­thet­ic il­lu­sion. Judg., for aes­thet­ic judg­ment. Meth., for method of aes­thet­ics. Norm., for the nor­ma­tive func­tion of aes­thet­ics Pl., for the­ory of plea­sure Play, for Play and aes­thet­ic en­joy­ment Sens­es, for aes­thet­ic val­ue of high­er sens­es. Val., for aes­thet­ic val­ue.

AES­TI­VA­TION (from Lat. aes­ti­vare, to spend the aes­tas, or sum­mer; the word is some­times spelled “es­ti­va­tion”), lit­er­al­ly “sum­mer res­idence,” a term used in zo­ol­ogy