Phryne
This Athenian hetæra was a creature of surpassing physical perfection. She acquired so much wealth by her charms that she offered to rebuild the walls of Thebes if she might put on them this inscription: “Alexander destroyed them, but Phryne rebuilt them.” Apelles’ celebrated picture of Venus Anadyomene was from Phryne, who entered the sea with hair dishevelled for a model. She is shown rising from the sea, and wringing the water from her hair with her hands. The Cnidian Venus of Praxiteles was also taken from the same model. Among his most celebrated works the Cnidian Aphrodite stands first, as one of the most famous art creations of antiquity. “The old authors,” says Lübke, “are filled with its fame; and they relate that the Bithynian king, Nicomedes, offered the people of Cnidos the payment of their whole state debt in exchange for this work. The artist had represented the goddess entirely nude, but had modified this bold innovation by making her left hand about to take up a garment, as though she had just emerged from the bath, while with her right she modestly shielded her person. The quiet of her posture was enlivened by a delicate sense of life, which gave to the outlines of the beautiful form a pleasant look of animation: the glance of the eyes had that liquid, melting expression, which, far removed from the mere craving of desire, might best convey the tender longing of a goddess of love. However numerous may be the copies of this famous statue that have come down to us, they can, at best, only convey to us the outward characteristics of its attitude, not the exquisite purity of the work of Praxiteles himself.”
William W. Story’s beautiful lines on Praxiteles and Phryne are well worth quoting here:
A thousand silent years ago,
The twilight faint and pale
Was drawing o’er the sunset glow
Its soft and shadowy veil,—
When from his work the sculptor stayed
His hand and turned to one
Who stood beside him half in shade,
Said with a sigh, “’Tis done.”
Thus much is saved from chance and change,
That waits for me and thee,
Thus much—how little! from the range
Of Death to Destiny.
Phryne, thy human lips shall pale,
Thy rounded limbs decay,—
Nor love nor prayers can aught avail
To bid thy beauty stay;
But there thy smile for centuries
On marble lips shall live,—
For Art can grant what love denies
And fix the fugitive.
Sad thought! nor age, nor death shall fade
The youth of this cold bust,
When this quick brain and hand that made,
And thou and I are dust!
When all our hopes and fears are dead
And both our hearts are cold,
And love is like a tune that’s played
And life a tale that’s told,
This senseless stone so coldly fair
That love nor life can warm,
The same enchanting look shall wear,
The same enchanting form.
Its peace no changes shall destroy,
Its beauty age shall spare,
The bitterness of vanished joy,
The wearing waste of care.
And there upon that silent face
Shall unborn ages see
Perennial youth, perennial grace
And sealed serenity.
And strangers, when we sleep in peace,
Shall say not quite unmoved,
So smiled upon Praxiteles
The Phryne whom he loved.