THE detection of fraudulent antiques and curios and other bogus works of art has become a science. PhÆdrus, who lived and wrote in the time of Tiberius CÆsar, tells in his fiftieth fable of how his contemporaries carved the name of Praxiteles on their marbles and the name of Myron on everything they wrought in silver, in order that their productions might pass as masterpieces of those supreme Hellenic artists.

Though the Romans were an art-loving people, they openly connived at art-fraud, but for esthetic reasons, as we learn from Pliny. He tells us that in his time the coins of Rome were so clumsily modeled and so basely cast that several artists made new molds, treating the designs of the mint more carefully, and produced spurious coins which were eagerly sought in place of the inartistic legal tender.

Michelangelo, piqued at the extravagant attention paid the antiques (to the exclusion of interest in his early struggles for recognition), conceived the clever idea of doing an Eros in marble after his own design, burying the work in mud for some months, and then digging it up in the presence of certain noble collectors. These gentlemen went mad over its beauty, proclaiming it to be the greatest relic antiquity had left them. Michelangelo finally disclosed to them his own initials, which he had carved in a hidden fold of the wings, and was highly amused at the discomfiture of his companions. They, however, came to their senses and had the good grace to recognize the towering genius who stood laughing before them. Indeed, one of them became his foremost patron.

This was a harmless trick conceived for salutary purposes, and not at all to be classed with the exploits of Gambello, Bassiano, or Giovanni del Cavino, whose forgeries of Roman medals were particularly skilful, though not proof against modern scientific methods of uncovering frauds. No wonder one of the ancient writers declared that, “the very nerves and sinews of knowledge consist of believing nothing rashly.” This was especially true in the days of the Renaissance, when a study of the antique came so quickly into fashion, and in the train of it such efforts to collect ancient objects of art that some of the unscrupulous but skilful artists and artisans of the time could scarcely resist the temptations offered by the ease with which clever art-forgeries were palmed off upon the gullible, who paid enormous prices for them. We know how Andreini of old-time Florence forged Greek signatures to ancient unsigned intaglii and how Flavio Sirletti lent his skill to it with the aid of Pliny’s record of ancient sculptors. The collection of Prince Poniatowski, nephew of the last King of Poland, contained some three thousand fraudulent engraved gems! As all of these gems were very beautiful in themselves, and as nearly all of their subjects were original with their engravers, it is unfortunate that such excellent and exquisitely done work could not have stood forth on its own merits to cast fame and not shame on the cunning hands that produced them.

Some counterfeiting is too laborious for profit, but it is marvelous to see some of the things that emanated in the early days from the shameless fake-factories of Pietro Fondi and others at Venice and in Corfu. The Sienese, too, were skilful copyists of the various trecento, quattrocento, and cinquecento objects of art. Terra-cotta figurines and Greek and Etruscan vases have ever been subjects for the hand of the forger and fabricator of antiques.

Pottery and porcelain have always seemed to tempt art-forgers and imitators. The way of the collector of Chinese and other Oriental porcelains and pottery has been made especially difficult in consequence. Even Bernard Palissy is believed by some to have imitated the wares of Briot, and in turn imitations of these imitations were once acquired by a museum. In our own day Palissy’s own ware has been imitated by Lesnes, Barbizet, and M. Pall. Perhaps the London Jarman was the prince of fakers. He obtained undecorated SÈvres pieces from France and had a Quaker potter from Staffordshire, one Randall by name, add all sorts of delightful scenes. They were purchased by the royal family, who took the pieces on good faith as being SÈvres decorations.

European enamels and early ivories have not escaped attention at the forger’s hand. When Sir A. W. Franks was innocently attempting to arrange the purchase of the Diptychion Leodiense for eight hundred pounds in England, he discovered that this object was nothing more than a clever combination of copies of two other panels of unquestioned authenticity.

And so things go merrily on, even in this day and generation. But your true collector is one who studies the objects he collects and he is not likely to be easily deceived. Photography has stretched forward a helping hand and by means of enlarged photographic prints of a subject in dispute, the minute comparisons between authenticated and merely attributed works of a period may be studied. It was Juvenal who coined the name “rara avis”; and the impatient collector who would acquire a “rare bird” of art as it flies toward him from the horizon of opportunity must be sure he knows something of its “ornithology” before he rushes recklessly forth, perchance to put the salt of good money on some worthless tail.

There is told the story of a certain Bavarian collector who began to doubt the authenticity of a little statuette in his possession. Finally he sent for a noted authority on the subject, who tried to reassure him. As the collector did not seem convinced, the expert, as a last resort, made mention of a certain test that might, though with danger to the object, be applied. The collector insisted on the attempt, in the course of which the statuette was hopelessly defaced, though the accident confirmed the expert’s opinion. “Ah,” moaned the owner, “why did I let you touch it!” “Ingrate!” replied the other with grim humor. “Have you not now the satisfaction of knowing your fears to be groundless, and my own knowledge to be trustworthy? Look at the pieces—without doubt the statuette was genuine!”