With Apollodorus of Athens, who flourished toward the close of the fifth century before Christ, there was a new development,—­that of dramatic effect.  His aim was to deceive the eye of the spectator by the appearance of reality.  He painted men and things as they appeared.  He also improved coloring, invented chiaroscuro (or the art of relief by a proper distribution of the lights and shadows), and thus obtained what is called “tone.”  He prepared the way for Zeuxis, who surpassed him in the power to give beauty to forms.  The Helen of Zeuxis was painted from five of the most beautiful women of Croton.  He aimed at complete illusion of the senses, as in the instance recorded of his grape picture.  His style was modified by the contemplation of the sculptures of Phidias, and he taught the true method of grouping.  His marked excellence was in the contrast of light and shade.  He did not paint ideal excellence; he was not sufficiently elevated in his own moral sentiments to elevate the feelings of others:  he painted sensuous beauty as it appeared in the models which he used.  But he was greatly extolled, and accumulated a great fortune, like Rubens, and lived ostentatiously, as rich and fortunate men ever have lived who do not possess elevation of sentiment.  His headquarters were not at Athens, but at Ephesus,—­a city which also produced Parrhasins, to whom Zeuxis himself gave the palm, since he deceived the painter by his curtain, while Zeuxis only deceived birds by his grapes.  Parrhasius established the rule of proportions, which was followed by succeeding artists.  He was a very luxurious and arrogant man, and fancied he had reached the perfection of his art.

But if that was ever reached among the ancients it was by Apelles,—­the Titian of that day,—­who united the rich coloring of the Ionian school with the scientific severity of the school of Sicyonia.  He alone was permitted to paint the figure of Alexander, as Lysippus only was allowed to represent him in bronze.  He invented ivory black, and was the first to cover his pictures with a coating of varnish, to bring out the colors and preserve them.  His distinguishing excellency was grace,—­“that artless balance of motion and repose,” says Fuseli, “springing from character and founded on propriety.”  Others may have equalled him in perspective, accuracy, and finish, but he added a refinement of taste which placed him on the throne which is now given to Raphael.  No artists could complete his unfinished pictures.  He courted the severest criticism, and, like Michael Angelo, had no jealousy of the fame of other artists; he reposed in the greatness of his own self-consciousness.  He must have made enormous sums of money, since one of his pictures—­a Venus rising out of the sea, painted for a temple in Cos, and afterwards removed by Augustus to Rome—­cost one hundred talents (equal to about one hundred thousand dollars),—­a greater sum, I apprehend, than was ever paid to a modern artist for a single picture, certainly in view of the relative value of gold.  In this picture female grace was impersonated.