The Sun.
London, England, 1868-07-21 00:00:00

greatest abasement. The swine he should be
tending are wandering off unheeded • they are
admirably painted, butare decidedly French
in breed ; the Prodigal weeps bitter tears,
covering his face with his hands ; the scene
is a hot, thirsty desert ; the distinctness of the
distant rocks and hot burning sky are all true
to nature. The " Morning Star ' is an ex-
quisitely-conceived airy figure, bearing in the
edge of her mantle the star. The orphreys
of her garments reflect the many-coloured
tints of dawn. One cannot but feel happy on
looking at the " Return after Victory." A
handsome soldier is being welcomed home ;
his wife clings to him ; his mother weeps for
joy ; the children, the domestics, all seem over-
come with happiness. As a contrast, we see
in another picture groups of women on the
evening after the execution of the Emperor
Maximilian making the devotion of the Way of
the Cross. On little heaps of stones in the
cemetery rude crosses are set up, and many
candles are lighted round them ; the women
seem wild with grief ; " wayside plants " are
growing in almost tropical luxuriance near a
roadside cross, which we may imagine records
some violent death, of which the flowering
plants seem trying to obliterate the memory.
The various paintings of Roman slaves are too
curious and interesting to be passed over
without notice. We see them first as the
petted favourites of rich patricians, and then
in very different positions, undergoing the
many tortures that ingenious cruelty had de-
vised, one of which (invented by Vidius Pollio,
the favourite of Augustus) was the placing
them in walled enclosures where serpents
abounded ; we see them dying either of their
venom or of hunger. Some are driven like
beasts of burden, working on the burning
shores of Ostia ; and one is dying, poisoned by
Locusta for the entertainment of Nero. Louis
XVII., in the Temple, in misery and rags, and
with a look of intense suffering on his face,
is a painting few can pass by without ob-
serving. The "Afterglow in Egypt," with a
woman driving cattle to water, gives us quite a
new version of this wonderful effect. There
are many happy illustrations of Italian life.
A Neapolitan boy, with the scantiest amount
of clothing, and the happiest of faces, is playing
with the oranges he should be selling, and
keeping two or three in the air with the aroit-
ness of a juggler. A very charming picture
gives us the main street of Torre del Greco.
It is a fete day ; the facade of the church is
gay with coloured lamps ; the procession of
the Blessed Sacrament is passing out from
it ; people are kneeling near it ; mendicant
friars are hurrying home with the proceeds of
their " quest.' One can well imagine the
noise made by the vendors of fruit and fish.
Two " Forestieri," probably English, are look-
ing on at the busy scene. Behind the town
rises Vesuvius, with its usual thin stream of
smoke. It has more than once laid the town
in ashes, and may.do so again at any moment.
We notice in passing, a good view of " The old
port," Marseilles, with a " Turneresque" effect
of shipping ; also a well-conceived idea of
" Monks superintending the excavations at
St. Clement's," Rome. These excavations have
disclosed the original Basilica and house of St.
Clement's, and well-preserved frescoes of the
earliest ages of Christian art. In a painting
of the Refectory of the Monks of the Trinita,
Rome, the bright lights contrasting with the
dark shadows are most cleverly given. The
Monks—some in deep shade and some in bright
sunlight—are eating their mid-day meal, and
the various pets of the monastery—magpies,
dogs, cats—are painted with great truth. One
can quite feel the cool, modest air of the
" Bosquet, near Meaux," where an ornamental
canal winds sluggishly under high green trees,
and on which swans float languidly. Quite a
chef d'oeuvre of animal painting is a cluster of
seven asses—the heads only seen—drinking at
a fountain. With a great deal of humour
another artist gives us an enthusiastic student
of nature painting in the High Alps, and so
busily engaged, that he is quite unconscious
of the bear who has crept up behind him, and
who is contemplating a friendly hug. " Pene-
lope and Phryne " shows us that the quiet,
home-loving girl, in modest attire, may be more
attractive than the haughty beauty arrayed
for conquest. Quite a solemn picture is that
of " Evening on board of a French man-of-
war." All bow bare-headed before the crucifix,
while the aged priest recites the evening litany.
French artists, much more than our own,
record the passing events of the day ; and
surely there never was a subject more fitted
for a painting than that of the present saintly
Pontiff, Pius IX.—in pursuance of the divine
precept, " Love your enemies,"—visiting the
Garibaldian prisoners, many of whom, smitten
with remorse and deeply touched (as all are),
in the presence of the Holy Father, bow to the
ground and kiss the feet of the Pontiff
King,
who, in his white robes, and with his face
glowing with love for those who have hated
him, forms a great contrast to the red-shirted
ruffianism by which he is surrounded.
What can be said in favour of the intense
naturalism now so much in vogue in Eng-
land ? Beyond the pleasurable, though but
momentary, sensation of seeing some every
day commonplace cleverly rendered, how little
is there to admire ! Pictures of this kind
may be most dexterously rendered, and may
be valuable records of the time, but art they
are not, any more than real carts and horses
)-c—vhile Hercules cleans
nilaltu:oaol-n
istic have we become, that some one has said
and real Hansom cabs are drama. People ow
out a real Augean. stable." What vast sums
have been given for pictures of railway stations
have (speakingto ho odf t
i, theeir
nosesstag e
and race-courses, capital for engraving to sell
for public-house parlours, but not of much
value as pictures. The French, who are always
prone to carry an English idea to excess (as we
see in the matter of "Le Sport " generally,
and "Bull-dognes " and tight trowsers in
particular), are outstripping us in this branch.
A room full of men (whether gentlemen or
waiters, is hardly clear), all in black coats and
white ties does not make a picture, and what
is there but waste of time in the elaborate (and
certainly clever) painting of a real raw hind
quarter of beef, and another of the inside of a
pig ? There was once a rage at Florence for
paintings of the various stages of decay the
human body undergoes in the tomb—and they
are true to a sickenino•sdegree.deree. Shall we get
to this again 9—Wes/nuns/sr Gazette.

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