excellent collection of plaster casts, in which antique art is so well represented in all its stages.
I was surprised at the instinctive sense of art in Minna and the originality of her criticisms. She was amused over the "Æginets'" set smile, whether they killed or were killed, but at the same time remarked how advanced art already was in the treatment of the body and its movements. It struck her for the first time that an art can be at such a standard that its technique is almost perfect in certain directions, while there is something higher towards which it is moving with the uncertain footsteps of a child. And she questioned whether this was not also the case in a lower degree, with what we recognise as perfect art.
In the Parthenon Hall it was especially the Torsos from the gable groups which impressed her. But what struck her most of all were the master-pieces of the after-classic art "The Gaul," "The Grinder," "Venus of Milo"—most of the other statues of Aphrodites she passed by with indifference. She pointed out to me many details that I had not remarked myself, the life-like touch of reality in a hand or foot, remarking that in statues of modern artists which she had seen these were often made too "beautiful."
Sometimes a personal interest in these plastic studies was awakened: "How nice to have such a beautiful straight Grecian nose!" she sighed more than once, "then you would love me still more. Oh yes, you would be bound to do so."
And after having inspected a whole collection of goddesses: "But they have not got such very thin arms!"
"Why should they have?"
"I thought it was ugly to have strong arms," she answered, the blood rushing into her face as she turned away.
