with ever renewed, ever increased pleasure? Surely it is not the hideous
faces of most of the figures and their scarcely less hideous bodies. Nor
is it the pattern as decorative design, which is of great beauty indeed,
but not at all in proportion to the spell exerted upon us. Least of all
is it--for most of us--an interest in the technique or history of
engraving. No, the pleasure we take in these savagely battling forms
arises from their power to directly communicate life, to immensely
heighten our sense of vitality. Look at the combatant prostrate on the
ground and his assailant bending over, each intent on stabbing the
other. See how the prostrate man plants his foot on the thigh of his
enemy, and note the tremendous energy he exerts to keep off the foe,
who, turning as upon a pivot, with his grip on the other's head, exerts
no less force to keep the advantage gained. The significance of all
these muscular strains and pressures is so rendered that we cannot help
realising them; we imagine ourselves imitating all the movements, and
exerting the force required for them--and all without the least effort
on our side. If all this without moving a muscle, what should we feel if
we too had exerted ourselves! And thus while under the spell of this
illusion--this hyperæsthesia not bought with drugs, and not paid for
with cheques drawn on our vitality--we feel as if the elixir of life,
not our own sluggish blood, were coursing through our veins.

[Page heading: "HERCULES STRANGLING DAVID"]

Let us look now at an even greater triumph of movement than the Nudes,
Pollaiuolo's "Hercules Strangling Antæus." As you realise the suction of
Hercules' grip on the earth, the swelling of his calves with the pressure
that falls on them, the violent throwing back of his chest, the stifling
force of his embrace; as you realise the supreme effort of Antæus, with
one hand crushing down upon the head and the other tearing at the arm of