dabbled in classical archaeology were not the men to look forward. Only
the people, led by the monks, were vaguely, and doubtless stupidly, on
the side of emotion and the future. Soon after Justinian's death the
Empire began to divide itself into two camps. Appropriately, religious
art was the standard of the popular party, and around that standard the
battle raged. "No man," said Lord Melbourne, "has more respect for the
Christian religion than I; but when it comes to dragging it into private
life...." At Constantinople they began dragging religion, and art too,
into the sanctity of private capital. Now, no official worth his salt
can watch the shadow being recklessly sacrificed to the substance
without itching to set the police on somebody; and the vigilance and
sagacity of Byzantine civilians has become proverbial. We learn from a
letter written by Pope Gregory II to the Emperor Leo, the iconoclast,
that men were willing to give their estates for a picture. This, to
Pope, Emperor, and Mr. Finlay the historian, was proof enough of
appalling demoralisation. For a parallel, I suppose, they recalled the
shameful imprudence of the Magdalene. There were people at
Constantinople who took art seriously, though in a rather too literary
spirit--"dicunt enim artem pictoriam piam esse." This sort of thing had
to be stopped. Early in the eighth century began the iconoclast
onslaught. The history of that hundred years' war, in which the popular
party carried on a spirited and finally successful resistance, does not
concern us. One detail, however, is worth noticing. During the
iconoclast persecution a new popular art makes its appearance in and
about those remote monasteries that were the strongholds of the mystics.
Of this art the Chloudof Psalter is the most famous example. Certainly
the art of the Chloudof Psalter is not great. A desire to be
illustrative generally mars both the drawing and the design. It mars,
but does not utterly ruin; in many of the drawings something significant
persists. There is, however, always too much realism and too much
literature. But neither the realism nor the literature is derived from
classical models. The work is essentially original. It is also
essentially popular. Indeed, it is something of a party pamphlet; and in
one place we see the Emperor and his cabinet doing duty as a conclave of
the damned. It would be easy to overrate the artistic value of the
Chloudof Psalter, but as a document it is