The Press.
London, England, 1856-05-10 00:00:00

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SATURDAY,

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ROYAL ACADEMY.

-
(Second Notice.)
THOUGH many of the ordinary contributors furs'
nothing this year, the collection on the whole rilsi
above the average in general excellence. There is no
great work, either in subject, style, or treatmentt
but the general impression in the mind of the visitor
is certainly one of perfect satisfaction. Neither East.
lake, Mulready, Creswick, Cope, nor Herbert furnish
a single work, while the contributions of Landseer,
Webster, Leslie are either scanty in number or in-
ferior to previous efforts.
To begin with the works of' that class of artists
which, whatever be its actual merits or demerits, cer •
tainly somehow manages to attract a larger share of
public attention than any other—we mean the Pre•
Raphaelites—by far the finest work for power of ex-
pression and effective telling of a story is one to
which neither description nor artist's name is affixed
in the catalogue (No. 413). A wounded Cavalier
lies on the ground supported in the arms of a Puritan
girl, who clasps one of his hands in her own; from
behind a tree, in the trunk of which is sticking a
broken sword•blade, a young Puritan looks gloomily
down on the fallen Royalist. At the feet of the dead
or dying man is scattered a pack of cards, the handle
of his sword lies on the ground, his armour is slightly
rusted, a butterfly basks with wide-opened wings on
the sword-blade, while between the tree and the body
a spider has spun its web. Out of these few facts,
powerfully placed before him, the spectator has to
construct his theory of the subject. Our own version
is this :—The Cavalier has been gambling in the
wood, a duel has arisen, he has been wounded, and,
staggering, has struck a wild ill-directed blow at his
antagonist, which, taking effect on the tree, has bro•
ken his sword in his hand; he has fallen dying to
the ground, where he has lain so long that the dew
has stained his bright cuirass, and a spider
slowly wound her web rround his limbs—so still,
that even a butterfly, in perfect confidence, has not
feared to settle close to his body. His Puritan "true-
love," innocent of the fatal brawl, wandering into the
wood with a godly admirer and tutor, has found the
wounded Royalist,fallen on her knees beside him (with.
out startling the butterfly), and now anxiously seeks to
call back the colour to that ghastly face and warm
those pale shrunk hands, which lie for once so cold
and passive in her own. The other admirer looks
grimly on—he has discovered the truth—but, mingled
with natural jealousy, is the haughty look of self-
righteousness, the triumph of saint over sinner, as he
turns his glance to the fallen Cavalier from the
cards, the crushed fern, and the broken blade. His
expression is a fine study. We cannot quite decide
whether the hero of the picture be dead or no. His
face has all the ashy paleness of a corpse; the half-
opened lids just reveal the dull, glazed eye, and the
lips are parted in that smile which is peculiar to
death ; a sad smile, as it were, of gentle pity for those
who are left behind in this" rough world" to struggle
on alone ; but in the manifest sinking or drawing-in of
the abdomen we seem to have one symptom of re-
turning animation ; for after an exposure long
enough to have rusted metal, we should be inclined
to believe that in summer cricl that it is summer is
evidenced by the butterfly) a visibie enlargement of
that part of the dead body would have taken place.
The girl looks away from her fainting lover's face;
her expression is that of anxious breathless atten-
tion, absorbed and waiting some new sign of life,
since no hope can be gained from the rigid stillness
of those marble features. There is the usual fault
of the pre-Raphaelite school here ; so minute an
elaboration of dress, so intense and painful a reality
in colour, texture, and arrangement of garments,
that the human beings in the picture, in spite of the
wonderful force and truth of expression in the
heads, look like ghosts in real clothes. Bat it is,
minus this obvious fault, a most remarkable work;
and we willingly overlook its few weaknesses for the
sake of its numerous and striking excellencies and
undoubted power and truth. The known apostles of
the new pictorial faith are all eclipsed by the success
of Mr. Burton, whose future career will, we hope,
bear out the full promise given in this remarkable
picture.
Mr. Millais spreads his strength over five dir-
ferent works, of which " Peace concluded in ISM°
(No. 200) is the principal. A little girl places in
mamma's lap—who is very uneasily seated on papa's
lap, and looks absent and generally uncomfortable,
papa again lying with his knees elevated on a sofa,
and a newspaper in his hand—some toys out of' a
" Noah's ark," one of which, a dove with an olive
branch in its mouth, she holds up by way of illus-
trating the ratification of the treaty of peace. Her
sister looks straight out of the picture, and seems
to
be contributing very little to the family jubilation,
which however is very calmly expressed by all. We

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