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THE RIDER ON THE WHITE HORSE

BY G. F. WATTS, R.A.

THE RIDER ON THE WHITE HORSE

The Book of Revelation is full of word-pictures of the wonderful things which its writer saw in vision. And it is natural that great artists should try to turn some of these word-pictures into real pictures for the eye. Mr. Watts has done this for the first part of the sixth chapter, which tells us about the four different horses, white, red, black, and pale, and about their four riders. He has made these horses and riders the subjects of four different paintings, and it is the first of them--the Rider on the White Horse--which is before us now. As we look at the picture we are helped to imagine what the vision was like, and helped perhaps also to understand the truth it was meant to teach.

The Horse and the Rider are, of course, the principal figures. The Horse is a splendid milk-white charger. Its breast is broad and powerful. Its neck is arched proudly. It has a small but graceful head, beautiful eyes, widely opened nostrils, and a mouth that seems to be impatiently champing the bit. The front portion of its mane is parted on its brow and streams back round the ears on either side. The rest of the mane is erect on its neck. The Rider is a towering and terrible figure. He wears a loose flowing cloak which swells around and behind him in the wind. His left arm, strong and bare, is firmly stretched out, and his left hand holds a thick bow in its iron grasp. His right arm is out of sight, and only the right hand is seen, drawing back the bowstring to his breast. At his left side there hangs a quiver, full of arrows with feathered shafts. On his head he wears a stately winged helmet, and above it a crown. His face wears a look of commanding strength, and in the eyes beneath the shadow of the helmet there is an awful gleam of fixed and pitiless resolve.

These two principal figures are closely surrounded by others. Three of these on the left of the Horse first attract our attention. The foremost, a dusky form, with head bent forward, and breast and shoulders bare, leads the Horse with his right hand by the bridle rein. Behind him, the fair face of a woman appears, framed in the folds of the mantle that is gathered closely around her neck; and behind this still another face is seen in the background. These three are all marching alongside of the Horse and his Rider. Just in front of the figure who leads the Horse there is a figure lying backwards with closed eyes, as if in death; and on the further side of the Horse two other lifeless faces come into view. In the lower left hand corner of the picture, just in front of the Horse we see the bowed head and stooping shoulders of one more dark form. All these figures, the dead as well as the living, have bright stars on their foreheads, though the star on the brow of the one furthest back is partly hidden by the bow. The Rider and his companions move forward under a gloomy sky, with angry streaks of light showing here and there between the clouds. A wind seems to be blowing in their faces. And high up behind them great eagles, with spreading wings, are hovering in the air.

Now, what shall we say is the meaning of the Bible vision which this picture brings afresh before our eyes? The four Horses with their Riders represent four kinds of judgment which God sends at times upon the world. They are Conquest, Slaughter, Famine, and Death. The Rider on the White Horse stands for the first of these. The picture shows us the way in which strong nations and their rulers subdue the world, and build up great Empires by force. The Rider's stately figure, and resolute face, and stern, unpitying eyes remind us of famous conquerors like Alexander the Great and Napoleon. The bow and quiver make it clear that it is by the weapons of war that their successes have been won. The proud war-horse, forcing its way among the thronging forms around it, suggests the resistless power with which Conquest goes on its triumphant way. The crown on the Rider's head is an emblem of the glory and dominion which conquerors win. In the other figures with the starry brows we may see the different nations, or the kings and queens, who have been touched and influenced by the spirit of War for Empire's sake. The leader of the Horse, and the other two forms behind him, may represent nations that are marching along on the path of Conquest. The prostrate, lifeless figures may be nations that have perished in the strife. And the bowed head in front of the Horse's breast may stand for one of the nations that are subdued, and brought under the power of those that are stronger than themselves. The dark, angry sky makes us feel that the Conqueror's progress is full of dread; and the eagles give us a hint of the horrors that he leaves behind him, of the dead bodies that lie in the track of the White Horse and his terrible Rider, of the other three Riders, more terrible still, who follow in his train.

As we look at this picture we learn that War and Conquest have two sides. At first sight we are attracted by the power and majesty of the Horse and his Rider, and we cannot help admiring them. There is something grand and noble in the might of a great nation, in the strong will and fearless courage of a great conqueror. We are stirred and thrilled when we see the march of great armies, and hear the tidings of great victories. There is a feeling of pride in belonging to a great Empire which has proved itself able to subdue the world. It seems a glorious thing to lead, or even to take part, in such a conquest. But the more closely we look at the picture, the more we feel that it is not altogether a pleasant and satisfying sight. The kind of conquest which the Rider on the White Horse represents is, after all, not a blessing, but a judgment which God sends on the world. It is the victory of strength over weakness. If it brings glory to some nations, it brings destruction to others, and humiliation to others still. It means the loss of countless lives, and the wrecking of numberless homes. It is followed by unspeakable sufferings and bitter sorrows. It knows nothing of pity or mercy. Its garlands of triumph are stained with blood and tears.

Jesus shall reign where'er the sun Does his successive journeys run; His kingdom stretch from shore to shore, Till moons shall wax and wane no more.

Blessings abound where'er He reigns: The prisoner leaps to lose his chains; The weary find eternal rest; And all the sons of want are blest.

Zech. ix. 9, 10.

Ps. xlv. 4.

THE MAN WITH THE MUCK-RAKE

BY THE LATE SIR J. NO?L PATON, R.S.A.

THE MAN WITH THE MUCK-RAKE

The late Sir No?l Paton has taken this as the subject of one of his most famous pictures. The canvas is a large one, and the figures in it are of life-size. That of the man with the muck-rake himself first arrests your eye, and chiefly draws your attention. He is an old man with a grey beard. His face is a handsome one, and you see that he has gifts and powers which might have made him wise and venerable in his old age, if only he had made a good use of them. But instead of the noble gravity which you might expect to find on such a face, there is nothing but an eager gleam and a senseless smile of perfectly childish and foolish delight. He wears on his head an old broad-rimmed hat, adorned with a gold chain and a peacock's feather. At his belt he has several bags full of gold, and also a dagger with which he is ready to defend his possessions. One of the bags has burst, and the coins are dropping on the ground. On his back he carries a wallet, crammed with old law-papers and straw. He kneels on one knee, and his whole body is bent downward. With his left hand he grasps the handle of a rake which has three long prongs. He is using the rake to draw towards him a lot of varied stuff that is littered about in front of him--more straw and papers, a broken necklace of beads, and a heart-shaped brooch, besides coins and feathers, and other such things. A large black beetle creeps near his feet. A little further in front of him more rubbish lies in a heap--a book of fashions, a fan, still more straw, some artificial roses and withered leaves, an old lamp, a skull, and a king's crown, all battered and bent and blood-stained. There is a toad crouching under the fan. Among the other things a snake is crawling, and blowing out of its mouth beautifully coloured bubbles, airy and unsubstantial. You can see one of them breaking as it touches a stone. It is on these bubbles that the eager, delighted gaze of the old man is fixed, and to grasp them he is stretching out his thin and trembling right hand. His left ankle is bound by a strong fetter of gold. When you have looked at the picture for a little while, you see that he is in a prison cell. A faint light glimmers through a grated window at the back, where steps come down into the cell by the side of a pillar. Beside the old man a lantern stands on the ground. Its glass sides are shaped like church windows, but the flame of the candle inside is guttering and going out. The straw on the floor is bursting into red flames and wreaths of smoke, and the whole pile of rubbish is on the point of being burned up.

Behind the man with the muck-rake is another Figure, tall and straight, yet bending down in pity. It is the Figure of Christ. He stands motionless, with a look of sorrowful patience on His face. One of His hands is laid on the old man's shoulder, and with the other He holds up a bright crown. It is a crown of thorns, the same which He wore Himself, but on the thorns are seven bright stars. They turn it into a crown of glory, and shed a radiance over all the picture. You can see that the Saviour's hands have been pierced, and that the thorns have left bleeding marks upon His brow.

Away in the dim background, hovering on many-tinted pinions, and with hands clasped in prayer, is an angel--the guardian angel of the old man's soul. This angel has a face of unspeakable sadness, and eyes in which you can almost see the trembling of big tears, ready to fall.

These are some of the things that the genius and the exquisite skill of the painter have put into the picture for our eyes to see. What did he mean our minds and hearts to understand by them all? Perhaps I may begin to answer that question by reminding you of what John Banyan meant by the man in his story.

I think I am not wrong in saying that the story and the picture set before us two kinds of life--a poor and worthless one which many people choose, and a high and glorious one from which many people turn away.

This is a childish kind of life for any one to spend. A look at the old man's face shows us that. God has given us natures that we can put to the noblest uses; but if we prize and pursue nothing save the pleasures and the riches of this world, we shall carry into our old age the foolishness and senselessness of the youngest children.

Such a life, besides, is a life of bondage and care. We make the world into a prison, and we fetter ourselves with chains, when we make its good things our chief aim and reward. The battered and blood-stained crown shows that the highest earthly ambitions have their pains and miseries even when they are most successful.

Then this kind of life does not satisfy, and does not last. The varied rubbish shows that this world's possessions are not worth much after all. The bursting bubbles show that their attraction is hollow and delusive. The coins escaping from the bags show that we cannot keep our riches for ever, no matter how hard we try. The rising flames remind us that nothing on the earth will endure.

Lastly, a worldly life is an unworthy life. The toad and beetle and snake show that there are often vile things hidden among the treasures of earth. The bent, crouching form of the old man shows how selfishness and greed degrade and bow down our nature. The expiring flame of the lantern warns us that worldly grasping puts out the light of love and goodness in the soul.

Such a life is the only one that is truly happy, though it may not seem so pleasant as the other. It is far more blessed to give than to receive.

It is the only life that is truly noble. There never was such a grand life as the life of the Lord Jesus on earth, and the more our life is like His, the nearer will it come to its highest and best.

It is the life, too, that leads to the richest reward. The thorns are turned into stars. The emblem of pain and sacrifice is changed into a crown of light and glory.

But it is the life of likeness to Christ. It is a share of His own crown and of His own glory that He offers to us, and we cannot get these except by being like Him. We can only win them by following Him. He has suffered for us, and given Himself for us. We need to learn of Him, and to be filled with His Spirit of self-forgetting, self-denying, self-sacrificing love.

Some of you may be old enough to feel that your life has already been too much like that of the man with the muck-rake. It has been too selfish and too worldly: it has been a life beneath you; a life of chains and bondage; a life perhaps touched with vileness; a life spent in pursuit of worthless trifles; a life degrading and darkened and foolish and vain. Well, this patient Saviour stands beside you. He bends over you in pity. He touches you with His pierced hand. He asks you to yield to His love, and to be loving like Him. He offers you the crown of glory, instead of the rubbish that you have coveted so long. If you will look up to Him, and meet His look, and take His gift, and follow Him, you will find true light, true freedom, true riches, true nobility. His suffering will be rewarded. His patience will be satisfied. There will be joy in the presence of the angels of God.

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