The barbarians are not beauty-levers; they are moneylovers. On the contrary, the beauty of this hall has nothing to do with barbarian eyes, Persian flattery, or Sultanic vainglory. Instead of just a poor man, it wants a cultured man for a spectator, who, instead of judging with his eyes, applies thought to what he sees. It faces the fairest quarter of the day (for the fairest and loveliest is surely the beginning); it welcomes in the sun when he first peeps up; light fills it to overflowing through the wide-flung doors; the proportion of length to “breadth and of both to height is harmonious; the windows are generous and well-suited to every season of the year. Is not all this attractive and praiseworthy?

One might also admire the ceiling for its reserved modelling, its flawless decoration, and the refined - symmetry of its gilding, which is not unnecessarily lavish, but only in such degree as would suffice a modest and beautiful woman to set off her beauty— a delicate chain round her neck, a light ring on her finger, pendants in her ears, a buckle, a band that confines the luxuriance of her hair and adds as much to her good looks as a purple border adds to a gown. It is courtesans, especially the less attractive of them, who have clothing all purple and necks all gold, trying to secure seductiveness by extravagance and to make up for their lack of beauty by the addition of extraneous charms; they think that their arms will look whiter when they are bright with gold, and that the unshapeliness of their feet will escape notice in golden sandals, and that their very faces will be lovelier when seen together with something very bright. This is the course they follow; but a modest girl uses only what gold is sufficient and necessary, and would not be ashamed of her beauty, I am sure, if she were to show it unadorned.

The ceiling of this hall—call it the face if you will—well-featured itself, is as much embellished by the gilding as heaven by the stars at night, with sprinkled lights and scattered flowers of fire. If all were fire, it would be terrible, not beautiful, to us. You will observe that the gilding yonder is not purposeless, and not intermingled with the rest of the decorations for its own charm alone. It shines witha sweet radiance, and colours the whole hall with its flush; for when the light, striking the gold, lays hold of it and combines with it, they gleam jointly and make the flush doubly brilliant.

Such is the top, the summit of the hall: it needs a Homer to praise it by calling it “highceiled” like the chamber of Helen Il. 3, 423; Od. 4. 121.Il. 3, 423; Od. 4. 121. or “dazzling” like Olympus. Il. 1, 253; 13, 243; Od. 20, 103. The rest of the decoration, the frescoes on the walls, the beauty of their colours, and the vividness, exactitude, and truth of each detail might well be compared with the face of spring and with a flowery field, except that those things fade and wither and change and cast their beauty, while this is spring eternal, field unfading, bloom undying. Naught but the eye touches it and culls the sweetness of what it sees.

Who would not be charmed with the sight or all these beautiful things? Who would not want to outdo himself in speaking among them, aware that it is highly disgraceful not to be a match for that which one sees? The sight of beauty is seductive, and not to man alone. Even a horse, I think, would find more pleasure in running on a soft, sloping plain that receives his tread pleasantly, yields a little to his foot, and does not shock his hoof. Then he puts in play all his power of running, gives himself over to speed and nothing else, and vies with the beauty of the plain.