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made so public, that there is no indelicacy in the topic. It directly arose from two things: his idle scorn of following the common courses of his profession, and his determination to paint only Scripture-pieces, and those on the most colossal and hazardous scale. Much may be forgiven to the errors of an ambitious spirit, resolved on freeing itself from what had been, however childishly, called the degradation of its art. But cooler sense would have taught him, that exclusively to paint subjects, for which none but cathedrals and churches could be purchasers, and which, from the custom of the country, neither would purchase, was a hazardous speculation. The mere size of his pictures puts them beyond all hope of admission into private collections; for what could be done with three or four hundred square feet of canvas, covered with whatever majesty of prophet or apostle? Even if he must paint Scripture-pieces, his choice of subjects was injudicious. The New Testament was his selected field. But the character of the New Testament is beyond the power of painting. The highest grandeur clothed in the most extreme simplicity; prophets and apostles wearing the aspect of fishermen and peasants. All magnificence of mind under all humility of body, even a Deity veiling himself under the semblance of a harassed and outcast man, are all beyond the reach of an art which speaks only to the eye. No force of the pencil can make, or ought to make, those beings look otherwise than men, whom we yet know to be more. The nearer the painting is to probability, the farther it is from reality. The little artifices of haloes and glories round saintly and divine heads, are at once repulsive to truth, and evidences of the conscious inability of painting. Yet these unconquerable disadvantages Haydon undertook to combat, and to combat with the addition of a difficulty entirely his own. He conceived for himself a head of the Saviour, repugnant to all those fine imaginations of the Italian school which had already established the countenance. The result was total, undeniable failure. For the combined loftiness and suavity, the mild superiority, and the dignified sorrow, that alternately predominated in the pictures of Raphael, Corregio, and Guido, he gave us a head modelled on some fantastic conception of craniology, and a visage as dull as a

mathematician's. The countenance in which the first painters in the world had given their finest impression of the united nature of God and man, and which had become by habit identified with the name, was profaned; and a heavy and repulsive physiognomy substituted for the features of manly beauty and celestial virtue. This palpable fault degraded his picture of the Entry into Jerusalem, a work of great design, and vigorous execution. The physiognomy of the principal figure was fatal to the popularity of the powerful groups that filled the canvas; and piety and taste alike turned away.

If Haydon had selected the Old Testament, he might have found the congenial field for his boldness, originality, and breadth of design. The Hebrew kings and warriors, the gorgeous ceremonials of the Hebrew rituals, the mighty events of a history illustrated by human pomps and divine glories, the united crownings and consecrations, the magnificence of Persia, Egypt, and India, in the midst of the scenery of Palestine, the perpetual miracles, the intercourse of men and angels, the ascent to heaven, have all formed the most sublime efforts of the pencil. They all address the eye. Where there is grandeur of purpose, there is grandeur of person. Acts worthy of kings and prophets are done in palaces, or in the presence of classes and companies of magnificent shapes, mortal or immortal, that relieve the mind from all doubt of the nobleness of the agent, and invest him with a magnificence suitable to the minister of God, or the ruler of nations.

Haydon has petitioned the House of Commons to extend its patronage to History-painting. One of the objects of this petition may have been to bring his case before the country. It is to be hoped that this object will not be disappointed, and that a man of his ability will not be suffered to linger under the depression of hopeless ill fortune. But when Haydon shall re-appear, he must altogether change his conception of the way to fame. He must be undone, or listen to the advice which tells him, that no individual can triumph by resisting the taste of a civilized age; that if he expect to sell his pictures, he must restrict them to the size of sale; that if he will live by the public favour, he must consult the public taste in the

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the salutary conclusion, that his past
progress has been constructed upon
erroneous principles; and if the hour
that sends him among the world again
shall send him out as a new man, to
commence a new career, young with
the experience of years, and vigorous
from the excitement of new hope, he
may yet rejoice in his temporary ca-
lamity, and do honour to his age.

THE PYRENEES.*

THERE is some old and absurd at traction in all that relates to Spain. Nous Anglois talk of it in a universal spirit of romance; and it is the only topic on which we do not ridicule and scorn romance in word and deed. But, something mingled of Moor and Christian chivalry, as theorbos touched to Sultanas, and bowers and alcoves fretted over with Arabesques and Saracen poetry, the remnants of the manners of a brilliant, fierce, jewelled, and mailed people haunt our imaginations; and it is thenceforth allowed and allowable for every man to be an enthusiast for Spain, for its beauty and valour, gallantry and guitars, the luxuriance of its valleys, and the proud brows of its sierras, provided he has never been within the borders of the land. Romance in an actual traveller is beyond all mercy. In our closets, and with a volume of Gongora or Calderon on the table, we may be forgiven for the folly of dreaming the Spaniard of the 19th century into the bard, the hero, and the enthusiast of the 15th. But the testimony of the eye should be fatal; and he who resists it is equally desperate of cure and pardon. The Spanish war is already extinguished, cast away, gone down with its whole revolutionary cargo. But some pamphlets have been brought out by it, descriptive of features and adventures that deserve to survive the Cortes, their Constitution, and their burlesque war. One of these gives a few curious details of the frontier, when the French kept watch, during the past year, over the plague and the revolution together. The writer, Thiers, is a Frenchman, and is what would once have been a philosopher, and would have been worshipped in the Pantheon, but that fashion has passed away, nous avons changè tout cela ;" and M. Thiers is now a respecter of

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the rights of independent nations, and swears by Monarchy and la Charte. His work is written with some ingenuity, with the eye of an artist, and with a profound admiration for France, the great man now no more, and himself. But his descriptions are better than his politics. His coup-d'œil of the south is graphic.

"The soil of Provence, though covered with mountains, is essentially different in character from that of the Alps and Pyrenees. It does not present continual heights and defiles, like the great mountainous countries, nor moderate eminences, gradually declining to the plain, as we see on the north side of the Pyrenees. There are plains, hills, and, above all, some stray ridges of the Alps, which terminate in the Mediterranean. Hence the prospect over this diversified soil, is not always bounded by masses of rocks, confined within valleys, or lost in immense plains. It alternately contracts and extends over a soil which is sometimes level, sometimes covered with perpendicular mountains, and sometimes loses itself over the expanse of a sea, when the darkest azure is contrasted with sparkling light.

"In the midst of an immense opening between two great chains of rocks, which stretch into the sea, lies Marseilles. When a traveller arriving from the north reaches the first chain, he suddenly perceives this immense basin, and is astonished at its extent and dazzling brilliancy. Soon after, he is struck with the structure of the soil, and its singular vegetation. An immense mass of grey and bluish limestone forms the first enclosure; lower branches diverge from it, and extend into the plain, composing an unequal and very varied soil. On every eminence there are tufts of Italian pines,

• The Pyrenees, and the South of France, during the months of September and December 1822. By A. Thiers. 8vo. Treuttel and Wurtz, London, 1823.

The Fyrences.

which form elegant parasols of dark, and almost blackish green. Pale green olive trees, of a moderate height, descend along the hills; and, by their paleness and little round masses, contrast singularly with the slender stature, and magnificence, and dome of the pines. At their feet is a low, thick, and greyish vegetation; it is the sage, and the odoriferous thyme, which, when trodden on, emits a power ful and agreeable perfume. In the centre of the basin, Marseilles, almost concealed by a long and straggling hill, appears in profile; and its outline, sometimes hidden in the vapour, some times appearing between the undula tions of the ground, terminates in the blue of the sea, with the handsome town of St John. Indentations of the éoast are washed by the waves of the Mediterranean, which extends to the west, with the Isles of Pomegue, Ratonneau, and the fort of If. It is under those beautiful pines, and in these innumerable country houses, that the Marseillese come every Sunday to forget the bustle of the quays, their disputes with the officers of the customs, and the business of the countinghouse.

"As the tourist approaches the Spanish frontier, he is reminded of the state of things by groups of Spanish Monks flying into France, by aidesde-camp filling the inns, by waggons and droves of mules choking up the roads, and all the bustle of fugitation and war. He reaches Perpignan.

"I immediately walked through the town. It is an ancient place, which was always fortified, because it is the passage between Roussillon and Catalonia. It is situated in a beautiful plain, bounded on the west by Mount Canigou, one of the highest of the Pyrenees; to the north, by the mountains of Corbieres; to the east, by the sea, hidden behind fertile hills; to the south, by the road to Catalonia. The temperature of the climate is entirely southern. Some leagues from it, the orange grows in the open air, and in the very basin in which it stands, there are immense plantations of olives, which extend to the foot of Canigou. Thus, while the summit of this mountain is buried under the snow, its base is covered with the finest productions of the south.

"The fortifications of Perpignan are of brick, and their form and system are ancient. A skilful engineer has lately

[July,

repaired a considerable part of them; he has replaced most of the towers by bastions; protected the ramparts by means of terraces or excavations; has made covered ways and outworks. The citadel is now very strong; a triple enclosure renders it able to resist three attacks; and, by its position, it commands the town. The works were carried on with extreme activity during the latter end of the autumn; almost all the batteries were armed; the supplies of powder, cartridges, and provisions, were completing; wood was cutting in the country for making gabions, and a park of field-artillery was forming in a plain to the east of the town. A considerable number of waggons was already collected, and twenty, or twenty-five, pieces of cannon, were placed on their carriages. Though these preparations are not so considerable as had been reported, it the same were done in the fortresses is nevertheless equally desirable that on the Rhine; for it is probable that north than on the south. However, our real enemies are rather in the the works of Perpignan are said to be nothing more than the completion of of our fortresses; and the expense does plans long since made, for the repairs not perhaps amount to above 150,000 francs.

much political importance as Tou-
"Perpignan is certainly not of so
louse. The latter city, with its Trap-
pist, its two journals, and its pious
However, Perpignan is, for the mo-
souls, is the centre of vast projects.
ment, a place of great interest, if not
political, yet picturesque; and I of-
let, to paint the numerous fugitives
ten wished for the pencil of M. Char-
with which it is filled.

ners of every emigration, swarmed at
"The monks, who are the forerun-
Perpignan, and preceded the Regency.
At Narbonne, I had already met the
Capuchins, with their ample brown
flowing robes, their large hoods hang-
ing down to the middle of their backs,
their rosary, and their bare head and
feet. At Perpignan, I saw monks of
all colours; black, blue, white, grey,
and reddish brown; the Curés, in large
surtouts and immense French hats.
I remarked a singular habit in them
when I met them; they followed me
a question, and their extended hands,
with their eyes, as if ready to answer
Spain, they bless all the peasants; and
as if ready to give the benediction. In

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I understood they were, inclined to be equally generous in France. Two of them, with whom I conversed, said carelessly, The Spaniards like it, and we give it to them. In France, they do not care for it, and we keep it to ourselves.' In general, I did not find them very fanatical. They have a kind of indolence, which excludes violent sentiments. They are very little affected by the diminution of the King's power; but the happy theo cratic influence which they enjoyed, has been disturbed. Several of their convents have been visited; the majority have suffered for the crimes of a few, and they have fled ; in no great hurry, however, and contented with the quiet and easy pace of their mules. The profession of a monk is very general in Spain, because it is easy, pleasant, and favours all kind of idleness. If a man has committed any irregularities, or if he be still more lazy than his lazy countrymen, he is received into a monastery, and displays his tranquil sanctity in the eyes of the people. A portion of the land is allot ted for their support; and voluntary donations add considerably to their established income. This lazy mode of life gives most of them a happy en bon point; a lively red to their cheeks, effaces the fine lines of the Moorish countenance; renders those happy bodies difficult to be moved; and in their untroubled reign, takes from them even the hatred of heresy, the very name of which is unknown to the greater part of them. In others, the cloister appears to have made the complexion sallow, hollowed and inflamed the eyes, depressed the cheeks, and thus produced the ideal of fanaticism. I have never seen anything finer than some of these heads projecting from the large robes of the capuchins, with an ample forehead, a long straight nose, large black fixed eyes, a little, strong, and thick beard. Among them are those men, who, by turns, monks and guerillas, have quitted the mountains since the return of Ferdinand, and now go back to them, to satisfy an ardent temperament, which, under other institutions, would have shewn itself in great actions and noble enterprizes."

This Frenchman describes with some feeling of picturesque beauty, and his sketches of scenery have a clearness rare among his countrymen. The range of the Pyrenees is full of those

finer features of landscape, which make the true province of painting; with some points of gigantic height and savage solitude, with glaciers and ava lanches, its general height is that which allows the harmonies of forest colour ing, of luxuriant valleys, and of spark ling and gentle streams. The Alps are too wild and lofty for this; the Apennines are perhaps too low, too naked of forest, and too steril. Our artists have now exhausted the prominent subjects of the pencil at home; a di ligence and a week will place them in the midst of a new world of charac teristica nd glorious scenery; and I should not be surprised to see Mount Canigou, and the Cerdagne, monks, mules, fortresses and all, transformed to English walls.

"One of the finest sights that I met with in the Pyrenees, was that which struck me when I first left Perpignan to penetrate into the moun tains. It was about six in the morning. The cold was severe; a violent and icy wind blew from the mountains of Capsir, which were covered with snow; and a young man of Rousillon, with a short jacket, a hanging cap, and a short and lively face, drove at a gallop four horses, which carried us round Mount Canigou. The plain had not yet received a ray of the sun, when suddenly the top of Canigou was lit with a rose-coloured tint, which, blending with the white of the snow, produced a shade inexpressibly soft. The luminous band increasing as the sun rose higher, the upper peak seemed to enlarge in proportion as it was illuminated. The whole mountain was speedily covered with light and purple. Then all its forms, hitherto concealed by the darkness, became inarked at once; all its projections rose, all its hollows seemed to be deeper. The cold, the wind, and our rapid motion, added to the effect of this fine scene.

"After having proceeded a long time round the foot of Canigou, the mountains of Caspir, which are at first in front, appear at the side. We then enter the defiles, and the plain disappears, not to appear again till a hundred leagues off, that is to say, at Bayonne. Advancing to the defiles which lead to Cerdagne, we find a people who are entirely Spanish. The women, whose faces are round and animated, wear a handkerchief, which, spreading like a veil at the back of the head, is fastened, by two corners, under the chin,

and hangs in a point over the shoulders. A bow of black ribbon, tastefully fastened at the root of the hair, ornaments the forehead; the waist is strongly compressed by a corset, laced in front; and they shew peculiar grace in their Sunday dances."

M. Thiers now comes rapidly into the centre of operations.

"Prades is the first place at all considerable that we meet after Perpignan, and it is the last. Carriages cannot pass beyond it; the way of travelling is on horseback. At the moment of my arrival, news had been received of the late defeats of the Regency, and of the flight of the insurgents into the French territory. I heard the mountaineers speaking of it with warmth, and with the fullest disposition to find something marvellous in it. Every one told his own story, but all spoke with wonder of the cavalry of Mina, which, they said, ran upon the points of the rocks. Without, however, being so miraculous, it is certain that this cavalry traverses the mountains with surprising rapidity and ease. They also announced the approach of several generals, the Regency itself, and, above all, El Rey Mata Florida, as the peasants here called him."

In those days, "Rebellion was good-luck;" and the Cortes were "viceroys over the King." The scale has turned since, and the kingly Cortes are now playing the fugitive, in place of El Rey Mata Florida. The tourist is at last indulged with a view of an emigrant rebellion.

"I was anxious to get to the place where those celebrated insurgents were to be seen. After travelling very rapidly, towards night-fall, I met with the first encampment, in a small field, at the foot of the mountains, and in the midst of the snow. I never saw a more melancholy and original sight. It was distinguished, at a distance, by the floating pennons of our lancers, who were placed as sentinels at the four corners of the itinerant village. Twelve or fifteen hundred poor creatures, men, women, children, and old people, were stretched upon the ground, with their baggage spread out; some were lying on a little straw; others added their clothes, and endeavoured to make beds of them. Some mules were fastened outside the circle, with their heads covered with ornaments, and their eyes with plates of copper, according to the Spanish fashion.'

The traveller then penetrates into the defiles, and finds, as he advances, the increasing evidences of the confusion and misery brought upon the population by the giddy and unnational attempt of the Cortes.

"I resumed my way among the mountains. The roads were covered with the poor stragglers who had remained behind. To these were added, officers, monks, curés, students with the large Arragonese hat, and the gown tucked up.

"In the midst of this melancholy scene, I was much struck with a young man, dressed in rather a handsome uniform, and well mounted, who, though unarmed, was distinguished by a loftiness and grace entirely African, put his horse on all his paces, and seemed to amuse himself with the road and the fugitives."

Our extracts must close, though the pamphlet contains many interesting. details. But the flight of the Regency is too curious an event in the chapter of revolutionary accidents, not to be. worth transferring. The traveller has set out early to pass the defiles lead-, ing to the valley of the Cerdagne.

"I left Olette in the morning, after having, with great difficulty, procured, a mule and a guide. The sky was dark and stormy; an impetuous wind blew, through the defiles. I took the road to Mount Louis. There the mountains draw closer together, and rise. The road is cut out on one side of the rocks, at one third of their height, and allows room for one mule at most.— Above, are inaccessible eminencesbelow, are torrents-and beyond, are other mountains. The scene is most diversified. Sometimes you rise, and seem to command the abyss; at others, you descend, and seem to have it over your head. Sometimes, following the sinuosities of the defile, you come into an obscure enclosure, apparently without an outlet; then, suddenly doubling a point, you discover an unexpected and immense prospect; vast amphitheatres of dazzling snow, black pines, and a succession of mountains, which crowd together, and lock into each other. The confusion of cubic and broken masses of limestone; blocks of granite; the schistus, detached in slabs, or broken into little flakes, added to the roaring of the torrents, the disorder of the winds, and the pressed

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