The Sun.
London, England, 1837-07-13 00:00:00

FINE ARTS.

MARCUS CURTIUS.
J. Martin, London, 1837.

We have here another of Martin's mezzotints, exe-
cuted in his most effective manner. The subject is
Marcus Curtius leaping into the gulph—a well-known
legend recorded among the chronicles of Livy. The
artist has shown us his hero just at the moment when
he is making the fatal plunge. He is mounted on a
milk-white charger who is hovering over the dark
abyss ; while his rider uplifts his arms to Heaven, as
if invoking its blessing on his patriotic sacrifice. The
fore-ground, on either side the gulph, is made up
of crowds of figures grouped with singular attention
to picturesque effect ; and the back-ground, of a splen.
did and diversified range of buildings adorned with
porticos, statues, and rows of gigantic columns. In
the remote distance, and towering high above the other
edifices, the eye catches a glimpse of the majestic Ca-
pitol, which is brought out into vivid relief by the
dazzling flashes of lightning which are irradiating the
heavens just above it. Though well aware of the
striking effect he gives to them, we cannot but enter our
protest against Mr. Martin's constant, lavish use of these
sulphureous splendors. His imposing architectural piles
—his colossal pillars—his rocks—his mountains—his
theatrically disposed groupes—and sometimes even his
single figures—all these are invariably brought out by
the flash of the lightning. His clouds, too, are al-
ways full of storm and tempest—an effect which,
though appropriate enough in such paintings as the
" Crucifixion," or the " Fall of Nineveh," is irrelevant
in the present instance. Mr. Martin is a man of
vigorous, but limited, powers of. fancy. His concep-
tions are striking, but monotonous. He can re-
suscitate for us the " famous Babylon," and dip his
pencil " in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse," but
he cannot get beyond these two ideas. He knows not
how to pourtray character, or throw expression into
his single figures ; else he would surely have made
more of " Marcus Curtius," on whom the main interest
of his painting necessarily depends. As it is, we think
more of the horse than his rider, and still more of the
vast ranges of architecture, which should be but as
humble accessories to such a picture. Having dwelt
long enough in the " seventh heaven" of the imagina-
tion, Mr. Martin should now descend to earth, and
graduate in the school of humanity. He should
bear in mind that " the noblest study of mankind
is man," and throw more of human interest into
his subjects than he has hitherto done. Clouds,
black with thunder-storms—ghastly flashes of blue
lightnings—impressive but scarcely defined groupes
—and temples that seem the structures of gods ;
all these .are very well in their way, but one single
human figure which shall have power to impress
113 with feelings either of pity- or terror, like Sir
Joshua's Ugolino, is worth them all put together. Had
we not thought highly of Mr. Mai tin's abilities, which, in
their own peculiar way, are unrivalled, we should not have
urged so much on this subject—particularly as his
Marcus Curtius, in the disposition of its groupes, and
its startling effects of light and shade, never more im-
pressive than in the intense raven blackness of the
gulp!), is perhaps, if we except Belishazzar's Feast,
the most extraordinary picture he ever painted—but
when a great artist, in his zeal to " create a sensation"
wanders away from truth and nature, it is but just that
,e should be reminded of his error.

THE COVENANTER.
Ackerman, London, 1837. •
The famous scone in " Old Mortality," where John
Balfour, of Burley, is represented as seated alone in a
wild, romantic glen, leaning on his claymore, with his
well-thumbed Bible beside him, has, if we mistake
not., given rise to this picture, which is full of cha-
racter and vigour. The grim, old Covenanter, is
drawn to the life, with his sullen air of hardi-
hood, his compact, iron frame, and the half-
insane expression of his eye. The landscape, too, in
which he forms the chief object of attraction, is well
chosen. He is in the depth of a mountain solitude,
where nothing is to be heard, but the thundering
fall of distant cataracts, or the cry of the eagle and the
raven. Mr. Parker is the painter of this clever work
of art, which has found an adequate engraver in
Gellar, and has shown that he is fully competent to
do justice to one of the most vivid of Scott's de-
scriptions.