was this countenance bowed to the earth in such deep humility? Why was the next lifted up in such beaming admiration? How he willed that eloquence should burn on the lips of the apostle, and excess of worship make the hearer awed and pale? How malignity should lour in the eye of the Jew, and philosophic doubt sit in the inquisitive aspect of the Greek? Those would be precious as fragments of the mighty minds that in all their shapes were mighty, as excursions of the eagle pinion into a new region, and developing new and consummate nerve. But their great value would be in their illustration of the matchless works that were like the pillars of the Israelites in their march through the promised land -to remain to posterity not simply ev idences of early triumph, but memorials of a time when they lived under influences that had since seemed to have gone from them-influences like the immediate impression of a power superior to man. The pencil is not the mind it is slow, feeble, and narrow, compared to the splendour, variety, and rapidity of imagination. The can vass may be covered with glorious beauty, and yet it may contain but the relics and remnants of the power that has conceived its beauty; a thousand visions of the sublime and the lovely have passed over the mind that coloured the canvass; and of them all, not one may have been fully embodied. The thoughts of day and night, the dreams and inspirations of years, have been summoned up and busied round the story; and how few of these crowding and brilliant phantoms can find room upon that narrow ground. The intentions of the great painter for one picture would make a succession of mighty pictures. What value could be too high for the intentions of Raphael meditating on the Transfiguration, or Michael Angelo fixing his intense eye on the vault of the Sistine Chapel? We wish to see Mr. Haydon's example adopted by our leading artists.

The verses from which the subject of this picture is taken, are

"St. John, xii. 15. Fear not, daughter of Zion,

behold thy King cometh, sitting on an ass's colt.' their clothes in the way.-37. And when he was come nigh, even now at the descent of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice, for all the mighty

"St. Luke, xix. 36. And as he went, they spread

works that they had seen.-38. Saying, blessed be the

King that cometh in the name of the Lord, peace in Heaven, and glory in the highest.-39. And some of the Pharisees from among the multitude said unto him, Master, rebuke thy disciples.-40. And he an

swered and said unto them, I tell you, that if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.'

"The subject chosen for this picture is one of the most important events in the life of Christ. It was, as it were, his earthly triumph, and immediately preceded his agony and martyrdom. It happened a few days before the keeping of the passover, when the inhabitants of the neighbouring country were crowding towards Jerusalem to keep it. Our Saviour himself was approaching the city for that purpose, curing the blind, and the lame, and the sick, as he passed, until the multitude, worked to the highest fervour by the proofs of his divinity they continually witnessed, unable any longer to resist the evidence of their own senses, swelling to countless numbers as they pressed on, and awed into belief in spite of their worldly interests, by remembering the greatest of his miracles, the raising of Lazarus, they greeted him with such shouts as were heard within the walls of Jerusalem. The crowd of people already arrived immediately left the city with palm branches in their hands, and went forth singing hosannahs to meet him. The two crowds joining, bore Christ in triumph down the Mount of Olives to the temple, spreading their garments before him to ride over, rejoicing and praising God for all the mighty works which they had seen! The whole city seemed to have been greatly agitated as Christ passed through the streets to the temple. The resurrection of La

zarus was undoubtedly the great stimulant to the feelings of the people. St. John says, that the people with him, when he called Lazarus from the grave, related what they had seent; and it was on account of this that they met him. And the inhabitants of Jerusalem, disturbed by the uproar, and flock ing from distant streets, said, Who is this? and the crowd answered, This is Jesus, the prophet of Nazareth of Galilee.' And the Pharisees, envious and mortified, said among themselves, See ye how ye prevail nothing; behold the whole world is gone after him.'

"In the midst of the multitude rides our Saviour, through a passage opened for him, as it were, by awe and respect. The subject by itself, that is, our Saviour and the crowd only, would not have had sufficient human interest; it was therefore hoped, that by mingling episodes on each side, consonant with the spirit of Christianity; by bringing forward some of the most prominent characters of the Gospel, who had been indebted to Christ either for their health or their existence, human interest might be added by the passions displayed, so as to excite, if possible, a deeper feeling in all Christian hearts. On the right hand of our Saviour stands an anxious mother, who has brought her repentant and blushing daughter for pardon. She hides her face with one hand, as if conscious of being unworthy to look her Saviour in the face, and suffers her mother to put up her right hand for forgiveness. The reader must be reminded that the painter is only expressing what he meant to do. Immediately behind the penitent girl, is the other daughter married and with her child, leaning forward to support the spirits of her sister, and checking her own sensations. However anxious for her sister, she is not unmindful of her own boy, whom she keeps to her side by her two hands, one on his shoulder the other on his head. Her complexion is fair and her hair light,

not uncommon in the east, in contrast to the black hair and different temperament of her sister. Her air is meant to be that of a young mother-domestic, virtuous, feeling, and pious. The very purity and goodness of such characters in life make them tender to the frailties of others; for one of the great things which Christianity has done for the world, has been to render misery, misfortune, and deformity causes of greater sympathy and affection. Her child, too young to be interested in any of the anxieties of his mother, looks back with the vacant innocence of childhood. Behind is a friend in a turban looking over, half curious and anxious. Betwixt Christ's right shoulder and the mother of the penitent girl, with green drapery over his head, is Joseph of Arimathea: a pious warmth of feeling in his expression is intended. Immediately over the head of the penitent girl is the face of a Roman soldier, who had rushed in with another stream of people from the right, as if actuated by awe and curiosity. Immediately below kneels the good centurion, laying his civic crown and sword at the feet of Christ, and pondering solemnly as he approaches. The corresponding figure to the centurion on the opposite side, is the Canaanitish woman, who is spreading her garment in the road and looking up to Christ with gratitude. By her side, in crimson drapery and a white turban, prostrate in adoration, has fallen a figure which was intended for Lazarus, but perhaps it may be too old. Above, in green, is Jairus and his daughter; the action of Jairus with his hands on each side of his daughter to present her, with his face as if sparkling with expression was meant to denote the father, happy and delighted to find his child again alive, on whom his hopes are placed. The daughter bends forward, with her hands on her bosom, not daring to lift her eyes to her Saviour's face, but showing by the nature of her expression, the feelings of her heart. By the left hand of Christ

are St. Peter and St. John; the one expressing deep attention, the other enthusiastic attachment. Between St. John and St. Peter is a face scrutini zing, and immediately behind St. Peter is St. Andrew, who is supposed to have caught a glance behind Christ of the penitent girl. The crowd in the extreme distance is descending on the edge of the hill, winding round and under the walls of the city, then turning after those immediately behind Christ, the whole multitude shouting hozannas as they come. On the right side of Christ in the crowd, a man actuated by enthusiasm, bas raised himself a little above, and is pointing out Christ to his companions with one hand, and waving a palm branch in the other :--and between the palm trees and Christ's left shoulder, is another figure, turning back to those immediately behind, as if bidding them to follow him.

66

The figure of our Saviour is now to be spoken of, and every man must tremble to describe an attempt to represent so awful a being. The moment chosen for his expression is one of conscious prophetic power-not when he is weeping or melancholy-not when the man of sorrows-but when excited by the furious enthusiasm of the people to anticipate his death, and calmly but energetically collecting his feelings to bear it. There is something sublime in the idea, that in the midst of the highest earthly triumph, surrounded by a devoted and shouting populace, he alone would see into the seeds of time,' and muse on his approaching sacrifice! The enthusiasm of the people at that moment seemed to have aroused the energetic part of his divine nature; and though on the sight of Jerusalem, immediately after he had began to descend the Mount of Olives, he melted into sensibility at the misery he foresaw hanging over the city; yet his telling the Pharisees directly preceding this, that if the people were quiet, the very stones would cry out,' proves that he shared in some degree the enthusiasm he bad excited. He went strait to the temple, and overthew

the tables of the money-changers, with the feelings of a being conscious of his fate, and determined no longer to stand on terms for the short period he remained, with hypocrisy, duplicity, or crime. In the same state he appears to have stayed in the temple day after day, performing miracles and attacking the priests, till the very children shouted hosannas at the entrance, and the animosity of the whole Jewish Sanhedrim was roused to seize and to sacrifice him.

"What every one must feel is, that this is a new and different aspect for his character from any other; and it is the moment that follows his triumphant approach, and precedes his pathetic lamentation over the city, that it is wished to develop by his air and appearance. If it be totally different from other representations of his divinity, let not those who are the judges decide it is wrong because it is different-let them think a little before they decide, as the painter thought a little before it was painted, and as his life will be devoted principally to Christian subjects, there is yet opportunity to paint all the various feelings in which his divine nature displayed itself. He will endeavour to show in future pictures his moments of love and of agony, as well as those of elevated and prophetic Deity. How does he feel the miserable incompetency of his own imagination, who struggles to see that face in which all that is visible of the Deity is reflected !-Pure! Serene!-Smiling awfully and sweet!

Bland!-Benignant !-Lovely!— Sublime in its beauty!-Compassionate in its grandeur !-Quivering with sensibility !-Terrible in its composure!-Omnipotent in its sedateness!

"With respect to the composition, it is contrary to the rules of the schools to have a canvass so filled. But a sea of distant people rolling in motion, and united in sentiment, contrasted with the full size of fore-ground figures, thousands often appearing in all their various motions, between one head and another of the figures which are close to the eye, is one of the most imposing and impressive sights in nature; ane

why should any man be restrained by an academic rule from attempting to transfer to his canvass, that which in nature all have been impressed with?

"There is yet another subject on which permission must be granted to say a few words, namely, the introduction of portraits. Close to the palm trees and behind the buttress, have been introduced Voltaire as a sneerer at Jesus, Newton as a believer, and Wordsworth, the living poet, bending down in awful veneration. This, of course, is a gross anachronism. But to gain any great object in poetry, or painting, such violations of strict propriety have constantly been made, and such conduct can be justified by the greatest examples. They who are Deists object to it on another ground, namely, that it is making Voltaire sneer at what is perfectly harmless and innocent. But will it be pretended that Voltaire would not have sneered to have witnessed our Saviour, meek and lowly, and riding on an ass, followed by shouting thousands? It has been said that it is unjust, and that it brings Voltaire into ridicule. But why unjust? The subject is the triumph of the author of that religion in whose divinity Christians hope for eternal life. The modern ridiculer of the whole system is painted looking at this triumph with his habitual sneer. By his side is placed Newton, who was a believer, and a greater intellect than Voltaire. If Newton be wrong, as Deists think him, Voltaire will be, as he ought to be, reverenced. If, as Christians believe, Newton be right, Voltaire will be, as he ought to be, ridiculous. Where then is the injustice? It has been called an application to the passions of the million: it is not so. It is one to their common sense and feeling, by the means of imitation, the language of the art. The face of a man who never ceased to ridicule Christianity and its founders, is shown contrasted with the face of one who never ceased to bend down before them with reverence and awe and patient investigation. If Voltaire's expression, the consequence of sixty years' habitual sneering and levity, suffers by comparison 21 ATHENEUM VOL. 8.

with that of Newton, the result of sixty years' profound deduction and virtue, it is surely not the painter's fault, but Voltaire's misfortune.-Is a Christian to hesitate at doing any thing hat may bring Voltaire into ridicule, who never hesitated at any jest, however obscene or blasphemous, that could lessen the respect to those for whom he had an awful feeling of veneration ?-Let any man ridicule Voltaire, and he is an ignorant, prejudiced, and purblind bigot; but let him ridicule St. Peter and St. Paul, let him sneer at the martyrdom of those who stamped the intensity of their conviction with their blood-let him call Christianity, with Tacitus, an execrable superstition, and he is esteemed a man of enlarged views, a sceptic of enlightened capacity, who has had strength of understanding and liberality of sentiment to shake off the prejudices of education !"

Such is the language of this intelligent man in detailing the successful labour of six years. Nothing that we can say could add to the clearness with which it brings the work before the eye; and we shall add little in the shape of criticism. The story is fully told. The first glance decides the subject-the moment of the transaction-the impulse of the people. The artist has at once attained the triumph of the history painter. His colouring is superb. He bas here attained the second triumph. No living colourist has thrown upon the canvass a richer and more powerful depth of tint. His picture glows with living splendour. Time will tone down its freshness, and thus add to its truth; but the passing of a century will not diminish its gorgeous beauty, nor perhaps produce its superior. The head of the principal figure has excited doubts. It is pale, the hair tinged with red, and the countenance less lovely than contemplative. We should have probably preferred a darker shade for the hair and eyes, and tinged the countenance with some of that sublime, yet human enthusiasm, which might have glowed in the Son of David coming in triumph to the city of God. But on a subject of this order we must pay due deference to the

judgment which has made it a long and anxious study. The painter has not rested in his first impression; this head has been the result of many changes, and he has already had the testimony

of, perhaps, the most perfect existing judge of the human countenance under strong internal feeling, Mrs. Siddons, that he has chosen well for the prophetic expression of a supernatural mind.

Lady S to Lady T.

Naples, October, 18-.

IMENTIONED, my dear daughMENTIONED, my dear daughter, that I got the particulars of a most romantic and interesting history lately, and I only now have found leisure to write them down for you. When in public with the Marchioness of S, I had seen her frequently address a very pleasing, fine young woman, whose name and rank I knew, but nothing more; and she said she wished I should be better acquainted with her before she told me her history. She was reserved, but had a mild sort of quiet melancholy in her manner, that attracted me very much; and you shall now learn the cause. I am not at liberty to give her full name, so you must be satisfied with her being called Rosalie, after her Saint. She was the daughter of one of the first houses in this country, and brought into the world with every advantage, having been educated at home, and under a very amiable mother, who, unfortunately, died when she was only fifteen. Her father had selected a youth for her partner in life every way worthy of her; and, what seldom happens, the young people were allowed to form an attachment before marriage, by a considerable degree of intimacy. The young Count's mother was a high, violent character, but had not openly opposed this; however, she conducted herself in a manner that showed little partiality to her future daughter. All, however, went on till a few days before the marriage; great and splendid were the preparations, and future happiness appeared within their reach. The young people, as usual, were separated for the last two days;

one hardly dare glance at the feelings with which they parted to meet again in the happiest union; love and hope blinding them to all future chances against the completion of their happiness. The evening before the marriage day, Count P.'s mother came to his house, newly prepared for his bride, and said, it had been resolved the marriage should take place on that night, privately, to spare his lovely Rosalie's feelings, as she shrunk from the public solemnity, and that all should be ready, and at an hour she named, he would be called for by the father. Accordingly, every thing was so arranged, and the young man was conducted to church, his carriage following his supposed father-in-law. At the altar, which was dimly lighted, stood his mother and the bride, covered by a very thin silver tissue veil; and the ceremony proceeded. The youth, whose thoughts were fixed on his present happiness, and engrossed by the service, distinguished no one, and received his wife in full confidence. Silent she was, but tranquil; and his mother carried her home: all the cortegé parted; and he followed to his own house, there to unveil the treasure of his heart. He found the saloon illuminated, and his brother and sister, who on some pretence had been kept absent from the ceremony, seemingly waiting in impatience with his mother beside the bride. The doors closed after him, and his mother withdrew the veil, and discovered to him that his wife was a beautiful idiot, whose large estates she had long coveted, and had taken this most wicked manner of obtaining for her family. The anguish that followed brought him to the gates of death, and the loss of reason had nearly been the