and line of more
perfect grace and beauty, which he chooses instead, and makes it visible
and permanent in stone or brass. You see nothing in me, but merely Piso
as he walks the streets. Periander sees another within, bearing no more
resemblance to me--yet as much--than does this, to Aurelian.'

'That, I simply conceive, to be so much sophistry,' rejoined the poet,
'which no man would be guilty of, except he had been for the very
purpose, as one must think, of degrading his intellect, to the Athenian
schools. Still, as I said and think, the statue is made to commemorate
the man represented, not the artist.'

'It is made for that. But, oftentimes, the very name of the man
commemorated is lost, while that of the artist lives forever. In my
judgment there is as much of Periander in the statue as there is of
Aurelian.'

'I know not what the fame of this great Periander may be ages hence. It
has not till now reached my ear.'

'It is not easy to reach the ear of some who dwell in the via coeli.'
I could not help saying that.

'My rooms, sir, I would inform you,' he rejoined sharply, 'are on the
third floor.'

'Then I do wonder you should not have heard of Periander.'

'Greater than Aurelian! and I must wonder too. A poet may be greater
than a general or an emperor, I grant: he is one of the family of the
gods; but how a worker in brass or marble can be, passes my poor
understanding. It is vain to attempt to raise the mere artist, to the
level of the historian or poet.'

'I think that too. I only said he was greater than Aurelian--'

'Than Aurelian,' replied Spurius, 'who has extended the bounds of the
empire!'

'But narrowed those of human happiness,' I answered. 'Which is of more
consequence, empire or man? But now, man was the great object! I grant
you he is, and for that reason a man who, like an artist of genius, adds
to the innocent sources of human enjoyment, is greater than the soldier
and conqueror, whose business is the annoyance and destruction of life.
Aurelian has slain hundreds of thousands. Periander never injured a
worm. He dwells in a calm and peaceful world of his own, and his works
are designed to infuse the same spirit that fills himself into all who
behold them. You must confess the superior power of art, and of the
artist, in this very figure. Who thinks of conquest, blood, and death,
as he looks upon these flowing outlines, this calm, majestic form--upon
that still face? The artist here is