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the spectators, who wish that an object so pleasing, so enchanting to the sight, may not be longer deprived of that blessing. This group is backed by that of the high-priest and Pharisees, whose countenances, by their variety and aptness, are in a most classical style. A figure in the right corner, pointing at our Saviour, and glancing on him a look full of malice, has been mistaken for the traitor Judas; but the painter had too correct a conception of his subject, to bring forward such a hideous character. Fear and cowardice are fit companions for conscious guilt, and Mr. West has most appropriately placed Iscariot in the back ground, lurking behind the two Apostles who are beyond the blind man, and darting, slyly, through the crowd, a glance full of malignity, perfidy, and treason, at the divine prototype of goodness, truth, and mercy. His invidious eye and part of his sallow face are all that can be seen of him.

From the group of Priests, Scribes, and Pharisees, the sight of the spectator is agreeably and gradually led, by the contrast of several elegant women, bearing baskets of doves and flowers, to an inside view of the temple, where, in the Sanctuary, the seven-branched Candelabrium burns in awful majesty. A peristyle of well-painted but plain colours, adorned with lamps, conveys the roving eye to a glance at the gate called Speciosa, so well represented in one of the Cartoons : young Levites, boys crying "Hosanna," and other figures of less import in the demi-jour, fill up the intervals, without crowding, and direct our attention to a more interesting part of the picture.

On the left side of the canvass, an elderly woman, distorted by complicated disease, is brought to Jesus by several friends and relations, two of whom appear to be Roman soldiers, whose sturdy mien and military dress contrast excellently with, and set off, the pallid face and emaciated limbs of the sufferer, as well as the beautiful and most lovely features of her distressed daughter.

In front of this affecting group a Centurion is in the act of

kneeling his attitude, the anatomical merit of his figure, and the classical correctness of his costume, deserve our unfeigned admiration. He expresses what he feels, and appears to feel the most profound veneration for HIM whom he so earnestly supplicates. Between him and Christ one of the principal groups is placed.

An old man, worn out with a long and death-brooding illness, is carried by two strong porters, one standing at the head and supporting the superior part of the body, the other kneeling, his back towards the spectators, and holding the feet and legs. Such attention has been paid to anatomy and colouring in the working up of these two figures, that both, and especially the standing one, seem rather living beings than the masterly and successful efforts of a judicious pencil. But what shall we say of the sick man intrusted to their care? The impression still remains, and will not be easily removed from our mind.-Surely the expression on the face of the reviving Lazarus, by Seb. del Piombo, is admirable; and it has been whispered, that the restoring hand, whose original wonders we are now relating, had somewhat to do there with making up for the rapacity of Time ;-here the expression is greater still; we read in the half-sunk eyes, on the projecting brows and quivering lips of the decaying man, lively hope and heart-soothing confidence pronounced with the most energetic emphasis. His skeleton arms and hands are raised towards the real source of health and comfort, and his feet, which happen naturally to be the nighest part to the healing power, by a gentle glow of returning blood, which distinguishes them from the general tint of the body, seem to have already felt the emanating virtue that flowed spontaneously from HIM who alone could say, in truth, "I am the life."

Contrast is the most powerful engine a painter can make use of to secure admiration to his works. Mr. West has succeeded wonderfully in this part, and thence arises that secret charm, which, even at first sight, wins the approbation of the beholder. The beautiful woman who holds the crutch of her

dying father, the healthy complexion of her face, and the glow of her extended neck; the figure of the young man above; the lovely boy annexed to the group; the blind old man led by a lad; the young Apostle, who seems engaged in eager conference; the lunatic boy in the arms of his afflicted father; the impassioned air of his two sisters, who are looking towards our Saviour; all here deserve the most unqualified approbation, and make the centre of the picture the focus of interest.


Thus far we have given, or, at least, endeavoured to give, a general view of the picture. Now it remains for us to enter into the detail; and we are startled at the idea of anatomizing a piece of workmanship, the tout ensemble of which, to be adequately described, would have required a pen and a mind equal to the pencil and genius that created it.

It has generally been understood that the rule of the threefold unity, so strictly adhered to by Greek, Latin, and French Dramatists, has an equal claim upon the attention of Painters. In fact, an historical picture is, in itself, a silent drama, or, at least, a selected scene, the fleeting and momentary performance of which has, by the commanding hand of the Artist, been fixed on canvass. Yet we have to deplore that many of the great luminaries of the chromatic world have often deviated from the unities of action, time, and place. It has been respectfully, but most justly, observed, that the chef-d'œuvre of Raphael, mentioned in the beginning of these observations, labours under the incorrectness of a double transaction; a fault which, after this deluding precedent, and upon the high authority of so great a master, crept into the works of many of his followers, who, unfortunately, had neither talents nor elevation of mind sufficient to redeem, or atone for, the indisputable error. The unity of time has been also infringed upon by painters of all ages, but most egregiously by those who, tread

ing the dark paths of the reviving art, had yet but a doubtful dawn to guide them through the intricacies of their fantastic way. We often remark, in their performances, episodes which certainly belong to other times, and personages who lived in ages previous or posterior to the principal figure. These anachronisms are most common in religious subjects, and cannot be accounted for, unless by the too-obsequious docility of the hand that painted to the imperious directions and command of the hand that paid. The unity of place has not been much more regarded by several others, who, on the same canvass, exhibit several scenes acted on different spots; placing in the corner of a Crucifixion, the Agony in the Garden; or in the background of Vulcan forging the armour of Eneas, that very hero admiring the work under a tree. Happily, the patrons of the Art being less bigotted to their own whims, and the Painters, through the liberality of their patrons, less penurious, these incongruities do not often hurt our eyes in modern paintings.

In the valuable performance under our inspection none of these hardly excusable faults are to be found. The last group (which, if we consider its high importance as an integral part of the whole, we have but slightly sketched) constitutes, with the person of Christ, the entire subject: all the rest is accessary. No episode, no digression is idly introduced which might detract in the least from the full attention of the beholder; and, although the son of God appears to feel for all the sufferers who surround him and entreat his benevolent attention to their respective infirmities, yet the entire scene consists in the act of healing the sick man.


When a Painter has conceived a sublime composition, and his hand has chalked it out on the pannel or canvass, much more still remains to be done. His design, as the word is


understood in a more specific sense, ought, by its correctness and aptness, to answer the grandeur of the invention. Here again, in this second part of a great Painter's duty, we shall have the pleasing task of praising the President of the Royal Academy. The outlines are every where in the classical style of the Roman School, and the "airs de téte" elegant, varied, and pure. No repeated similarity, no mannerist's contortions, disgust the eye; no forced oppositions of figures and of limbs puzzle the critic's mind.

The extremities, so often neglected by some of the ancient masters, are here admirably articulated and highly finished; and even that part (which, though apparently of little consequence, Lud. Caracci deemed so difficult to draw with agreeable truth, that he himself composed, after the best specimens in nature, a canon or rule for it) the human ear, wherever it meets the sight, is boldly pronounced, and expressed with indisputable mastership. The feet of Christ are those which Magdalen anointed and kissed, and the sandals are in perfect harmony with them. The feet and hands of the old man are entitled to great praise, also, though of a very different appearance His knotted and ache-worn fingers and bare phalanxed toes, may serve as a study for any artist who desires to become perfect in anatomical accuracy.

The hands of Jesus are very remarkable. The left one is so judiciously, so happily placed, that it appears insulated, as in nature, in the ambient air; and the right, which balances the other in graceful equilibrium, receives, between the indexfinger and the thumb, the brightest ray of light to be found in the whole picture as if, being the organ through which the divine power emanates and manifests itself, it ought to have emitted, above all the rest, an acmé of brilliancy and incomparable radiance. Hence, from this single spot, in the general economy of the keeping, the light decreases, through the well-understood medium of chiaro oscuro, into still visible shades.

We must not forget to mention here the boldness of the

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