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THE QUIVER 2/1900

PICTORIAL SERMONS.

With truth and beauty as the objects of his art, the painter, whatever be the subject he is endeavouring to depict, becomes a guide and helpmeet to his fellow-men. His art is "twice blessed," blessing "him that gives and him that takes." The contemplation of a beautiful and pure work of art acts as a charm upon the mind oppressed with care and trouble. A landscape on canvas, reflecting the sunshine of the countryside, suggesting its freedom of atmosphere, its "fair quiet and sweet rest," when seen in the midst of the toil and grime of a great city, is a sedative to the jaded nerves of the busy worker; it reminds him of the glories of nature which lie outside the boundaries of the man-made wilderness of houses, and brings him for the moment into close commune with Nature herself. A glimpse of blue sea, of clear running stream, or some sweet pastoral scene, carries with it a breath of fresh air, invigorating and refreshing, to those who gaze upon its brightness through the murky atmosphere of the city streets.

The painter, indeed, has a power which competes closely with the eloquence of the preacher, or the soothing rhythm of the poet; it raises the man who approaches his work with a receptive heart from his own petty self, enlarges his sympathies and his hopes, calms his troubles, and sends him back refreshed and invigorated to his struggle with the cares and troubles of his daily life.

A great picture is not so much one that displays the technical skill of the painter as his power to appeal to the emotions of those who look at it. Truth is at all times simple, and he who would expound it, either in sermon, poem, or picture, must do so in language which can be readily understood of the people. This does not make his task any the lighter, for any straining after effects of simplicity betrays his own lack of truth; simplicity must be spontaneous--from the heart.

Judging a picture, then, by this standard of simplicity and truth, we look first of all for these qualities; we look to see if the artist is sincere in his representation of the scene he presents to us. If we find this to be so, then we receive the work as a contribution to the truth we are seeking. Some painters force us to recognise their skill as colourists, as draughtsmen, as archaeologists--they have insisted upon their accuracy in these respects, but oftentimes at the sacrifice of all spirituality; their pictures are representations of costume, of architecture--what you will--but the true spirit of art is lacking; they are merely skilfully painted canvases.

An interesting volume has recently been published in which are gathered together pictures, by modern artists of varied nationality, which illustrate the Bible story from Genesis to Revelation, and which affords an excellent opportunity of studying the manner in which Biblical subjects have impressed artists of different countries and temperaments. Each has chosen to illustrate the portion of Scripture which appealed to his own particular inclination, and the result is a collection of pictures which cannot fail to interest all who examine it. There are reproductions of the vast conceptions of John Martin, which so impressed his contemporaries--"Belshazzar's Feast," "The Fall of Babylon," and "The Fall of Nineveh"--with their hundreds of figures struggling, writhing, fighting, and dying amid the gorgeous palaces and the buildings of those wonderful cities of old. The curiously eccentric genius of Turner is shown in his "Deluge" and "Destruction of Sodom"--in the one, the swirling rush of the destroying torrent sweeping away crowds of doomed humanity; in the other, the glare and smoke of the burning City of the Plain, the tottering columns of the buildings, and the wild hurryings of the affrighted citizens. Now the sensuous dancings and frivolities of "The World before the Flood," by William Etty, R.A.: and now the grim pictures of the Biblical tragedies from the brushes of the masters of the French School. Here the calm, peaceful creations of Burne-Jones and Rossetti--decoratively beautiful--and then the prettily human pictures of Dyce and Herbert. The modern German artists who delight in representing Christ living among and appealing to the people of our day--the school in which Herr Fritz von Uhde stands pre-eminent--are represented by "Christ's Call to the Sick and Weary," by Herr A. Dietrich.

"Sacred Art: The Bible Story Pictured by Eminent Modern Painters." Edited by A. G. Temple, F.S.A.

From this series of pictures we have selected some typical works with which to illustrate this article, and these will serve to show the variety and interest of the whole.

The President of the Royal Academy, Sir Edward J. Poynter, delights in rendering classic scenes and stories on his canvases, and of late years has turned his attention almost entirely to such; but twenty or so years ago he painted several religious pictures, and was one of the artists chosen by Messrs. Dalziel to illustrate their great edition of the Bible. Egypt seems especially to have fascinated him, for, in addition to the picture of "Joseph Introducing Jacob to Pharaoh," he painted another large canvas dealing with the captivity, in which crowds of Israelites are dragging a great, clumsy trolley on which is placed an enormous stone lion for the decoration of a temple. In this picture, as in the one illustrated on page 387, the artist has exhibited his love for Egyptian architecture, with its massive pillars covered with mysterious symbols. But in the latter work Sir Edward Poynter has made the human element predominant; and the simple, pathetic figure of the patriarch, leaning heavily on his staff and on the shoulder of his long-lost son, stands out in contrast with the languorous splendour of the Pharaoh.

Vastly impressive and weird is Mr. Hacker's "And there was a great cry in Egypt." This artist has on more than one occasion exhibited works of a religious nature at the Royal Academy; but none better than the one before us and "The Annunciation," purchased for the Chantrey Collection, and now in the National Gallery of British Art. The picture reproduced on page 388 illustrates the passage in Exodus : "And there was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead." It is in its suggestiveness that the picture tells: we see none of the horrors of the last plague; they are only suggested in the title. The silent, sorrowing figure of the Angel of Death, sweeping through the city with flaming sword in hand and trailing robe of black--symbol of the train of sorrow he leaves behind him--is noble and dignified. Carried along on swift wings through the deserted streets of the stricken city, the destroyer touches in each household the doomed "first-born," and only that weird, heart-breaking cry rising on the night air tells of the sorrow and misery that mark his track.

The next illustration deals with the incident of Moses' second descent from Sinai, bearing the re-written tables of the law, and is the work of J. R. Herbert, R.A. It forms one of the series of frescoes in the House of Lords.

"Ruth and Naomi" is one of the best of the Scriptural subjects treated by the late P. H. Calderon, R.A., and hangs in the Walker Art Gallery at Liverpool. The passage illustrated is that in which Ruth makes her impassioned appeal: "Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God"; and the artist has imparted to the beautiful figure of Ruth all the intensity and passion to which the words give utterance.

And yet, when it is examined, what is there to find fault with in this respect? Absolutely nothing. The artist set himself to paint from nature; the work appeals directly to the observant eye by its simple force; even the symbols are not intricate when carefully considered. The Child, whilst playing with the pincers in His father's workshop, has injured His hand on a rusty nail protruding from the wood on the bench. Joseph draws back the fingers to examine the wound , and Mary, with grief and motherly anxiety portrayed on every line of her face, seeks to soothe the Boy, and with a piece of linen prepares to bind up the hand. St. John is coming with a bowl of water with which to bathe the injury, and St. Anne leans forward to remove the tool which contributed to the hurt. On the ladder against the wall rests a dove--the emblem of peace--and through the open doorway can be seen a flock of sheep huddled close to a fence, emblematical of the faithful, the Church of Christ. Farther out in the meadow is a well--the well of Truth.

The picture was painted on commission for Mr. Farrar, the well-known dealer, for the sum of ?250--a large sum in those days for a work by a young man.

This picture will form the subject of one of the fine art plates offered to readers of THE QUIVER, on conditions which are stated elsewhere in this number. Lord Leighton's well-known painting "The Star in the East," and the masterpieces of four other eminent artists, will also be included; the whole forming a set of sacred pictures, suitable for framing, of permanent value and interest for every Christian home as well as every Sunday school and mission hall.

The other picture by Millais, which is reproduced as the frontispiece to this number, was based upon a drawing which the artist made for Messrs. Routledge, in 1853, for a series of "The Parables of our Lord." The painting, however, was not made until 1862, when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy. It was afterwards totally destroyed in a gas explosion at Baron Marochetti's house.

The picture "Faith," by the late E. Armitage, R.A. , is an excellent illustration of the passage, "For she said within herself, If I may but touch His garment, I shall be whole."

The tragedy of the betrayal, and the perfidy of Judas, have been the subjects of innumerable pictures; and that of "Judas," by Henry Tidey, which we reproduce, is typical of many. The betrayer is represented here when leaving the house in which is being held the sacred feast on the night of the betrayal. The pose of the man reveals the shame which he is feeling; hesitating yet as to whether his fell purpose shall be accomplished.

The illustration on page 392 shows us the memorable scene when Pilate exclaims to the multitude surrounding the palace, "Behold the Man!" The work of a modern Italian artist, this picture is an admirable rendering of the tragic event, the subdued patience of the central Figure contrasting strongly with that of the subservient prefect.

ARTHUR FISH.

Dependent upon Charity.

It was a radiant June morning, and the fashionable watering-place--Beachbourne--was looking its best in the brilliant sunshine. Smart carriages dashed past, well-dressed cyclists careered gaily along, and the High Street shops were thronged with fashionable customers.

A tall, refined-looking girl, whose exquisitely fitting garb lent additional elegance to her graceful figure, came along the pavement, holding by the hand a pretty, fair-haired child of six, likewise beautifully dressed. At a confectioner's window the child suddenly stopped. "Oh, mummy, do buy me one of those dear little chocolate pigs! I haven't had any sweets for ever so long!"

"Don't tease, Doris. I have no money to buy sweets."

The child opened great eyes of wonder.

"Why, mummy, you've got shillings, sovewins, great heaps of them, in your purse! I saw them!" she remonstrated. And, indeed, Mrs. Burnside's dainty, silver-mounted purse was literally bulging with coin.

"They all belong to auntie, and she wants them to pay her bills." And she turned resolutely from the enticing window, whereupon Doris, who was tired with the walk and the heat, burst into loud crying.

As her mortified mother strove to check her, a young man in a professional frock-coat and tall hat, who was passing, turned to see the cause of the uproar. Mrs. Burnside's fair face flushed. "My little girl is very naughty this morning, Dr. Inglis," she said, answering the inquiry in his grey eyes. They were but slightly acquainted, occasionally meeting in society.

"I want--a choc'late pig," wailed Doris. "Mummy won't buy me one--unkind mummy!"

So Doris got her wish; and, once inside the confectioner's, she fancied so many things that very little remained to Dr. Inglis out of a shilling; and he needed all his shillings badly. But he loved children, and already May Burnside's blue eyes had begun to haunt him, She held out her beautifully gloved hand with a grateful smile; and he noticed how thoroughbred she looked as she went with the now happy Doris down the sunny street.

There was a shadow on the young man's face as he sped home to his scanty luncheon. He was too poor to take a house, so he rented three rooms in a sedate-looking villa in a side street. Doctors simply swarmed at Beachbourne, and sometimes Harold Inglis doubted the wisdom of trying to work up a connection there. The eldest son of an impoverished country squire, he had to depend upon his own exertions; and, after a brilliant college career, came to Beachbourne, hoping to work up a practice, as he was too poor to buy one. Could he have taken a fine house and kept a carriage, he might have succeeded; for he was a gentleman to the backbone, and had a pleasant face and manner. But he remained almost unknown, and, after a year of heart-breaking disappointments, found himself barely able to live.

Meanwhile May and Doris Burnside were bound for Victoria Square, the most fashionable locality in Beachbourne. Mrs. Burnside resided with her aunt, Miss Waller, a sprightly spinster of fifty, who lived at the very top of her handsome income, and was a leader of local fashion. A smart footman opened the door, and the beautiful drawing-room they entered was a great contrast to Dr. Inglis's bare sitting-room.

Miss Waller, a good-looking woman with white hair, and very richly dressed, turned round from a fine old Chippendale writing-table. "Oh! there you are." Then, as Doris began some childish babble about the chocolate pig, she added impatiently, "Ring for Mary to take that child upstairs. I wish you wouldn't bring her in here!"

Miss Waller had no love for children; and Doris was too well trained to defy her great-aunt. Still hugging her precious sweets, she was whisked away; whilst the spinster, producing a gilt-edged account-book, methodically entered the sums paid by her niece that morning out of a twenty-pound note. Every halfpenny was accounted for, and when May closed her purse just one solitary sixpence remained in it which she could really call her own. Sometimes she had not even that.

"I've ordered the carriage for three," announced Miss Waller. "We must call on Lady Lee, and the Amberys, and it's Mrs. Edgell's 'at home' day. Put on your grey dress and your new hat."

"Yes, aunt," meekly responded May.

"And to-morrow you must unpick my green dinner-dress. I intend to have it dyed."

"Yes, aunt," repeated Mrs. Burnside, as she went to the door. "Yes, aunt," was what she was obliged to say all day long; to have said "No, aunt," would have been a complete reversal of all the Victoria Square traditions.

To do good by stealth is unfashionable nowadays, and when Miss Waller, to her great disgust, found herself obliged to offer a home to her widowed niece and her child, she took care that all Beachbourne should know and extol her generosity.

"How delightful for Mrs. Burnside to have such a luxurious home!" remarked many people who saw the aunt and niece that afternoon, gorgeously arrayed; for it was known that, but for Miss Waller, May would have been obliged to earn a living. Many a tired governess or poor shop-assistant looked enviously at the pretty girl dashing by in the smart carriage--the pretty girl who was dressed in silk and chiffon, but had only sixpence in her pocket!

The daughter of a struggling country doctor, May had fallen in love at eighteen with a handsome but dissipated assistant of her father's, who persuaded her into a clandestine marriage. She knew Arthur Burnside was far from steady, but it seemed noble and heroic to marry him that she might undertake his reformation. Poor foolish child! she failed to realise that if a man is too weak to stand alone, without some woman to prop him up continually, the chances are that he will bring ruin upon both. May shuddered to recall those four miserable years of ill-treatment, disgrace, and privation, which ended in the death of her husband, and left her absolutely penniless. Her father was dead, his other children were scattered, and, but for Miss Waller, she and Doris might have starved.

Yet, despite the outward prosperity of her new life, she found the bread of dependence so bitter that, but for Doris, she would have tried to earn her living. She was not highly educated, and could only have hoped for a subordinate post; but it was so galling never to have a garment to wear or a coin to spend, save through her aunt's bounty, that she often thought she would be happier as a nurse or parlourmaid. She mixed as an equal with rich and fashionable people, and had to talk as if want of money were absolutely unknown, though she could not even afford to buy her child a few sweets. She dared not ask her aunt for pocket-money, for she well knew that, though Miss Waller supplied her with fashionable clothes, it was only because she could not bear to be disgraced by shabby relations, and she secretly grudged every penny spent on her niece. Yet she dared not quarrel with her aunt, who was her only hope for a good education for her child. May was resolved that Doris should be so accomplished that, if needful, she could earn her bread. "Oh, if only I had not been so idle at school! If I had practised, and talked to Fr?ulein more!" poor May thought to herself, with unavailing regret, as the country roads flitted by.

But she had little leisure for these sad thoughts. She had to brace herself to play her part in three crowded drawing-rooms, as if she had not a care in the world. Miss Waller was well pleased with the admiration her graceful niece always excited in society; and, thanks to May, the spinster received many invitations which might not otherwise have arrived. Miss Waller had a horror of being classed as a frump; instead, she prided herself on being exceedingly modern and up-to-date.

"Just fancy that plain little Daisy Edgell being engaged to a Liverpool man with heaps of money!" she remarked as they rolled homewards. "We met him at the Hubbards' last year, if you remember."

"I thought him very ugly and commonplace."

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