Newspaper Page Text
No. 37. Vol. 11.
MR HAYDON’S NI3W PICTURE OF
CHRIST’S TRIUMPHANT ENTRY
INTO JERUSALEM.
Extracted from “ Annals of the Fine Arts” 1820.
The verses from which the subject of
this picture is taken, are
St. John xii. 15. ‘ Fear not, daughter of
Zion, behold thy King cometh, sitting on an ass’s
C °u‘st. Luke, six. 36. ‘ And as he went, they
spread their clothes in the way.—37. And when
he was come nigh, even now at the descent of
the. Mount of Olives, Jthe whole multitude of the
disciples began to rejoice, and praise God with a
loud voice, for all the mighty works that they had
gPe n.—3B. Saying, blessed be the King that
cometh io the'naiue of the Lord, peace in heav
en, and glory in the highest.—39. And some of
the Pharisees from among the multitude, said un
to him, Master, rebuke thy disciples.—4o. And
he answered and said unto them, l tell you, that
if lhee should hold their peace, the stones
would immediately cry out.”
The subject cbO*?n for this picture is one
of the most important events in tLe life of
Christ. It was, as it were, his earthly tri
umph, and immediately preceded his ago
ny and martyrdom. It happened a Jew
weeks before the keeping of the PassAer,
when the inhabitants of the neighbouring
country were crowding towards Jerusalem
to keep it. Cur Saviour himself, was ap
proaching the city for that purpose, curing
the bllfid, and the lame, and the sick, as he
passed, until the multitude, worked to the
highest fervour by the proofs of his divini
ty °they continually witnessed, unable any
longer to resist the evidence of their own
senses, swelling to countless numbers as
they pressed on, and awed into belief in
spite of their worldly interests, by remem
bering the greatest of his miracles, thq
raising of Lazarus, they greeted him with
such shouts as were beard within the walls of
Jerusalem. The crowd of people already
arrived, immediately left the city with palm
branches in their hands, and went forth
singing hosannas to meet him. The two
crowds joining, bore in triumph
down the Mount of Olives to the temple,
spreading their garments before him to
ride over, rejoicing and praising God for all
the mighty works which they had seen !
The whole city seemed to have been great
ly agitated* as Christ passed through the
streets to the temple. The resurrection
of Lazarus Was undoubtedly the great stim
ulant to the feelings of the people. St.
John says, that the people with him, when
he called Lazarus from the grave, related
whai they had seenf; and ii was on ac
count of this that they met him. And the
inhabitants of Jerusalem, disturbed by the
uproar, and Hocking from distant streets,
said, Who is this 1 and the crowd answer
ed, ‘ This is Jesus, the prophet of Naza
reth of Galilee.’ And the Pharisees en
vious and mortified, said among themselves,
‘ See ye how ye prevail nothing ; behold
the whole world is gone after him.’
In the midst of the multitude rides our
Saviour, through a passage opened for him,
as it were, by awe and respect. The sub
ject by itself, that is, our Saviour and the
crowd only, would not have had sufficient
human interest ; it was therefore hoped,
that mingling episodes on each side,
consonant with the spirit of Christianity ;
by bringing forward some of the most prom
inent characters of the Gospel, who had
been indebted to Christ either for their
health or their existence, human interest
might be added by the’ passions displayed,
.so as to excite, if possible, a deeper feel
yitig in all Christian hearts. On the right
hand of our Saviour stands an anxious mo
ther, who has brought her repentant and
blushing daughter for pardon. She hides
her face with one hand, as if conscious of
being unworthy to look her Saviour in the
face, and suffers her mother to put up her”
right hand for forgiveness. The reader
must be reminded that the painter is ouly
expressing what he meant to do. Imme
’ diately behind the penitent girl, is the oth
er daughter married and with her child,
leaning forward to support the spirits of her
sisier. and checking her own sensations.—
However anxious for her sister, she is not
unmindful of her own boy, whom she keeps
to her side by her two hands, one on his
shoulder, the other on his head. Her com
plexion is fair, and her hair light, not un
■ common in the east, in contrast to the
% l Vick hair and different temperament of her
sister. Her air is meant to be that of a
young mother—donoeslick, virtuous, feel
: ing and pious. The very purity and good
ness of such characters in life make them
tender to the frailties of others ; for one of
the great things which Christianity has
done for the world, has been to render mis
ery, misfortune and deformity causes of
greateif sympathy and affection. Her child,
I too young to be interested in any of the
I anxieties of his mother, looks hack with the
I vacant innocence of childhood. Behind is
la friend in a turban looking over, half cu
|rion, and anxious. Betwixt Christ’s right
■honlder and the mother of the. penitent
fcirl, with green drapery over his head, is
■ osrph of Arimathea : a pious warmth of
Seeling in his expression is intended. Im-
Aiediately over the head of the penitent
jßirl is the face of a Roman soldier, who
Bad rushed in with another stream of peo-
H * iQat. chap. xxi. v. 10—The word used means
nB tremble, to shake, to be in commotion.
S® t St. J ohn, chap, xji, v. 17.
THE MISSIONARY.
GO YE WTO JILL THE WORLD. AND PREACH THE GOSPEL TO EVERY CREATURE. —Jxsna Caaist.
MOUNT ZION, (HANCOCK CO.* GA.) FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1821.
pie from the right, as if aduated by awe
and curiosity. Immediately below kneels
tb good centurion, laying his civick crown
and sword at the feet of Christ, and pon
dering solemnly as he approaches. The
corresponding figure to the centurion on
the opposite side, is the Canaanitish wo
man, who is spreading her garment in the
road, and looking up to Christ with grati
tude. By her side, in crimson drapery and
a white turban, prostrate in adoration, ha 9
fallen a figure which was intended for Laz
arus, hut perhaps it may be too old. Above,
in green, is Jairus and his daughter; the
action of Jairus with his hands on each
side of bis daughter, to present her, with
his face as if sparkling with expression was
meant to denote the father, happy and de
lighted to find his child again alive, on
whom his hopes are placed. The daugh
ter bends forwards, with her hands on her
bosom, riot daring to lift her eyes to her
Saviour’s face, but show ing by the nature
of her expression, the feelings of her heart.
By the left hand of Christ are St. Peter and
St. John ; the one expressing deep atten
tion, the other enthusiaStick attachment.—
Between St. John and St. Peter is a face
scrutinizing,- and immediately behind St.
Peter is St. Andrew, who is supposed to
have caught a glance behind Christ of the
penitent girl. The crowd in the extreme
distance is descending on the edge of the
hill, winding round and under the walls of
the city, then turning after those immedi
ately behind Christ, the whole multitude
shouting hosannas as they Come. On the
right side of Christ in the crowd, a man ac
tuated by enthusiasm, has raised himself a
little above, and is pointing out Christ to
his companion* with one hand, and waving
a palm branch in the other ; and between
the palm trees and Christ’s left shoulder, is
another figure, turning hack to those imme
diately behind, as if biduing them to follow
him.
The figure of our Saviour is now to be
spoken of, and every man must tremble, to
describe an attempt to represent So awful
a being. The moment chosen for this ex
pression is one of conscious prophetick
power—-not when he is weeping or melan
choly—not when the man of sorrows—but
Tv hen excited by the furious enthusiasm of
the people to anticipate his death, and
calmly but energetically collecting his feel
ings to bear it. There is something sub
lime in the idea, that in the midst of the
highest earthly triumph, surrounded by a
devoted and shouting populace, be alone
would see 1 into the seeds ol time,’ and muse
on his approaching sacrifice ! The enthu
siasm of the people at that moment seem
ed to have aroused the energetick part of
his Divine Nature ; and though on the
sight of Jerusalem, immediately he
had began to descend the Mount of Olives,
he melted >uto sensibility at the misery he
foresaw hanging over the city ; yet his tel
ling flie Pharisees directly preceding this,
that if the people were quiet, the very
stones would cry out, proves that lie shared
in some degree, the enthusiasm he had ex
cited. He went straight to the temple, and
overthrew the tables of the money-changers
with the feelings of a being conscious of his
fate, and determined no longer to stand on
terms for the short period he remained,
with hypocrisy, duplicity, or crime. In the
same state he appears to have stayed in
the temple day after day, performing mir
acles and attacking the priests, till the very
children shouted hosannas at the entrance,
and the animosity of the whole Jewish San
hedrim was roused to seize and to sacrifice
him.
What every one must feel is, that this is
anew and different aspect for his character
from any other ; and it is the moment that
follows Ins triumphant approach, and pre
cedes his pathetick lamentation over the
city, that it is wished to devefope bv his
air and appearance. If it be totally differ
ent from other representations of his di
vinity, let not these who are the judges de
cide it is wrong because it is different—let
them think a liitlc before they decide, as
the painter thought a little before it was
painted, and as his life will be devoted
principally to Christian subjects, there is
yet opportunity to paint all the various
feelings in which his divine nature display
ed itself. He will endeavour to show in
future pictures his moments of love and of
agony, as well as those of elevated and
prophetick Deity. How does he feel the
miserable incompetency of his own imagi
nation, who struggles to see that face in
which all that is visible of the Deity is re
flected ! Purd, serene !—Smiling awfully
anil sweet !—Bland !—Benignant !—Love
ly ! Sublime in its beauty—Compassionate
in its grandeur! Quivering with sensibility !
Terrible in .its composure! Omnipotent in
its sedateness !
With respect to the composition, it is
contrary to the rules of the schools to have
a canvass so filled. But a sea of distant
people rolling in motion, and united in sen
timent. contrasted with the. full size of fore
ground figures, thousands often appearing
in ali their various motions, between one
head and the figures which are
close to the eye, is one of the most impos
ing and impressive sights in nature ; and
why should any man be restrained by an
academick rule from attempting to transfer
to his canvass, (bat which in nature all have
been impressed with ?
There is yet another subject on which
permission must he granted to say a few
words, namely, the .nlroductioo of portraits.
Close to the palm trees and behind the
buttress, have been introduced Voltaire as
a sneerer at Jesus, Newton as a believer,
and Wordsworth, the living poet, bending
dowh in awful veneration. This, of course,
is a gross anachronism. But to gain any
great object in poetry or painting, such vi
olations of strict propriety have constantly
been made, and such conduct can he jus
tified by the greatest examples. They who
are Deists object to it on another ground,
namely, that it is making Voltaire sneer at
what is peifectly harmless and innocent.—
But will it be pretended that Voltaire would
not hdve sneered to have witnessed our
Saviour, meek and lowly, and riding on an
ass, followed by shouting thousands? It has
been said that it is unjust, and that it brings
Voltaire into ridicule. But why unjust?—
The subject is the triumph of the author
of that religion, in whose-divinity Christians
hope for life. The modern ridi
fculerofthe whole system is painted looking
at this triumph with his habitual sneer. By
his side is placed Newton, who was a be
liever, and a greater intellect than Vol
taire. If Newton be wrong, as Deists
think him, Voltaire will he, as he ought to
be, reverenced. If, as Christians believe,
Newton be right, Voltaire will be, as he
ought to he, ridiculous. Where then is (he
injustice ? It has been called an application
to the passions of (he million ; it is not so.
It is one to their common sense arid feel
ing, by the means of imitation, the language
of the art. The face of a man who never
ceai-pd to ridicule Christianity and its foun
ders, is shown contrasted with the face of
one who never ceased to bend down before
them with reverence and awe and patient
investigation. It Voltaire’s expression, the
consequence of sixty years’ habitual sneer
ing and levity, suffers by comparison with
that of Newton, the result of sixty years’
profound deduction and virtue, it is surely
not the painter’s fault, but Voltaire’s mis
fortune. Is a Christian to hesitate at do
ing any thing that may bring Voltaire into
ridicule, who never hesitated at any jest
however obscene or blasphemous, that
could lessen the respect to those fur whom
he awful feeling of veneration ? Let
any man ridicule Voltaire, and he is an ig
norant, prejudiced, and purblind bigot; but
•et him ridicule St. Peter and St. Paul, let
him sneer at the martyrdom of those who
stamped the intensity of their conviction
with their blood—let him call Christianity,
with Tacitus, an execrable superstition,
and iie is esteemed a man of enlarged views,
a skeptick of enlightened capacity, who
has had strength of understanding and libe
rality of sentiment to shake off the preju
dices of education !
Such is the language of this intelligent
man in detailing the successful labour of six
years. Nothing that we can say could add
to the clearness with which it brings the
work before the eve ; and we shall add
bttle in the shape of criticism. The story
is fully told. The first glance decides the
subject—the moment of the transaction—
the impulse ofthe people. The artist has
at once attained the triumph of the his
tory painter. His colouring is superb.—
He has here attained the second triumph.
No living colourist has thrown upon the
canvass a richer and more powerful dept 1 *
of tint. His picture glows with living
splendour. Time will tone down its fresh
ness, and thus add to its truth ; but the
passing of a century will not diminish its
gorgeous beauty, nor perhaps produce its
superionr. The head of the principal fig
ure has excited doubts. It is pale, the hair
tinged with red, and the countenance
less lovely than contemplative. We
should have probably preferred, a dark
er shade for the hair and the eyes, and
tinged the countenance with some of that
sublime, yet human enthusiasm, which
nfight have glowed in the Son of David
coming in triumph to the city of God.—
But on a subject of this order we must pay
due deference to the judgment which has
made it a long and anxious study. The paint
er has not rested in his first impression—this
head has been the result of many changes,
& he has already had the testimony of, per
haps, the moss perfect existing judge of the
human countenance under strong internal
feeling, Mrs. Siddons, that he has chosen
well for the prophetick expression of a su
pernatural mind.
FROM THE GUARDIAN.
SORROWS UNSEEN.
The superficial observer estimates hap
piness by appearances. To the young, es
pecially, the rich seem to be happy : so
seems to be the man who is rolled in an el
egant carriage; or he that enjoys popular
favour; or he, that dwells in elegant man
sions; or he, that is surrounded with gay
and honourable companions, and u with
holds not his heart from any joy.” But if
we could open the recesses of the hearts of
those, whom perhaps we envy, because we
fancy them to be happier than ourselves;
we should often he surprised, to fir! in
them more care than pleasure and more
distressing anxiety, or even anguish, than j
enjoyment.
As 1 was entering a great city, l passed
a mansion which indicated to my disorder
ed fancy, that it was the abode of earthly
bliss. Us marble foundations, suited at the
same time for beauty and durability; its
lofty walls, rising story above story; its
halls and porticos and gravel walks, sur
rounded with trees and gardens and other
works of nature and art to delight the fancy
and regale the senses—these outward beau
ties and elegances, with all that imagina
tion readily painted as dwelling within,
such as spacious rooms, fine furniture, men
servants and maidens, & all the other enjoy
ments which weaUh and taste can procure,
constrained me to say as I passed by, “■ Sure
ly, this is an abode of happiness.” Scarce
ly had this sentence been uttered, before 1
passed another building, and then
and went on with similar reflections, till I
hud gone by the splendid assemblage of
pAlaces, which vied with each other in
beauty, and yet seemed the more beautiful
for being situated together and reflecting
beauty upon each other. The train of
thought, commenced at a sight so interest
ing, continued some time during the pro
gress of my journey. “ How happy,” said
1, “ are the inhabitants of those buiitiing-;
they want for nothing, and all their enjoy
ments are heightened and rendered doubly
delightful by the refinements of taste and
the elegances of literary at* wnrr.ent.”
Thus I was led insensibly to despise my
humble dwelling and enjoyments, and all
the dwellings and enjoyments but those of
a few, a very few, who reside in superb
and magnificent mansions.
The words of Solomon came to mind,
The heart knozseth its ozen bitterness , and im
mediately my imagination, as if to make
some atonement for her recent transgres
sion, commenced anew train of reflections,
accordant with the serious realities of sober
life.
“ Enter the first mansion,” said she,
“ around which the drapery of happiness is
so tastefully drawn, and you will behold a
scene of real sorrow. The mistress of this
family has been wasting for years by aeon
sumption, which has baffled all human pre
scription. The elegant mansion is better
than a poor house, because it wards off the
rain and wind. But her splendid apartments,
and her fine furniture, and her sumptuous
table, and her numerous attendants do not
abate the flood of her sorrows. Her appe
tite sickens at the mention of food ; her
eyes turn away from the sight of splendour;
and the very sound of the feet of her do
mesticks causes her feeble nerves to trem
ble. But who can tell the’sorrows of her
heart? What may be occasioned by the
sight of abundance, which she cannot enjoy?
And what by the prospect of leaving these
splendours which she cannot retain ? And
what by the sight of mouldering to atoms
in the tomb ? And what by the assurance of
appearing at the bar of her final judge ?
True are the words of Solomon, The heart
knoweth its ozan bitterness.
As I continued my journey, unattended
by any fellow traveller, my imagination
still continued her reflections, and almost
led tne into a reverie.
“ Go now,” said she, and see what is in
the next dwelling. It was but a few d-ys
ago that a messenger arrived from the ar
my with tidings respecting a favourite son
of this family. This son had entei'd into
1 (he service of his country with all the ar
dour of ambition and all (he parade of pat
riotism. But while his heart heat high
with these emotions, the hearts of his pa
rents palpitated wiih the mingled anxieties
of hope and fear; and his-sisters trembled
at the thought of his approach to the field
of battle. Every breath of intelligence
from this son and brother had been receiv
ed with trembling anxiety, and till the ar
rival of this messenger all had been fa
vourable. The messenger presented a
letter to hU father in which it was written,
that there had been a great battle,in which
this young man had fallen among many
other brave youths of his country. The
heart knozi'cth its Wti bitterness.
The owner of the next mansion came
upon the stage of action, with eveiy advan
tage of friends and fortune, talents and ed
ucation. The fairest prospects of advance
ment vvere before him, and a train of ad
mirers shone around him. But now he has
done with all publick business. He rarely
visits the places which were once enliven
ed by his shining qualities. His former
admirers are ashamed to own his acquaint
ance, and a dark cloud lowers over the
whole prospect before him. He idles aivay
his days in the insipid round of animal in
dulgences, and is fast sinking in the gulph
of oblivion. The melancholy fact is, that
he was too free with the. zvinc, when it mas
reel , ami ztrren it gave its colour i| the cup.
He might recover; but his invincible habit
has decreed that he shall surely die. His
parents are covered with shame, and his
broken-hearted wife waits for the sad day,
when her greatest comfort will he, that she
is a widow. The heart knoweth its ozan .-ti
le rn css.
But enter into another of these superb
buildings, which attract your attention and
raise your envy. No one languishes here
with consumption, or is grieved for a son
Price $ $3,50 pr. ann. cr, )
’ ( $3,00 in advancs. >
fallen in battle, or ts trembling far a friend
sinking in the whirlpool of intemperance.
Yet in this house dwells an accompiisned
daughter, who was seduced from the path
of virtue by listening to the flatteries of a
deceiver. And her heart, and her mother’s
heart, and her father’s heart, and iier bro
ther’s heart, and her sister’s heart, knozneth
its own bitterness.
Nor Js there any end of this bitterness.
Think what embittered the cup of Hainan,
which prosperity had filied even to the
brim. He declared that all his honour,
and wealth, and friends and power availed
him nothing, so long as he saw Mordecai
the Jew sitting at (he king’s gate.
Learn then not to estimate happiness by
the abundance of external enjoyments ;
that trouble begins with an improper de
sire of increasing happiness; and, that the
first step towards relief irotn trouble, is re
pentance. VIATOR.
AMERICAN BOARD OF COMMISSION
ERS FOR FOREIGN MISSIONS.
eleventh annual meeting.
[Report continued from page 121. j
[After narrating tlje Departure of Messrs. Rarsons
and Fisk, their arrival at Smyrna, Reception,
and commencement of the Study of the Greek
Language, the Report adds:—]
Mission to Palestine.
The Rev. Charles Williamson, chaplain
to the British consulate, has frf
the Secretary an intere-ting and affection
ate letter, from which it will be suitable to
lay before the Board the following e strict?.
S/nyrnci , Feb. 132 ‘,
“ rev. and dear sir. —Although .air
friends, the missionaries, have acquainted
von with their safe arrival in Smyrna, vet I
would wish to join in the annunciation of
the fact.”
“I would first greet you and every mem
ber ofthe American Board of Commissinn
ers for Foreign Missions. Accept of my
most cordial salutations, and Christian con
gratulations, on the happy commencement,
cf an enterprise, which must in due time,
terminate in the comple.tesl success—in the
conversion of the heathen and reformation
of the Christian world. Every attention
has been, and shall be paid to Messrs. Par
sons and Fisk, and to all their successors,
who will corneas the messengers of the
Lord, as far as my abilities and influence
will possibly avail.”
” Within the last fitly years, literature
is beginning to peep out among the Gree k?
1 from her hiding places in Turkey. Some
of the best informed are acquainted with
the history of (he Reformation; and will
grant that Luther was a great man, sent for
■ the benefit of the human race, though they
are far at present from desiring a like re
-1 formation. Luther and those other re
formers, who did not condemn and sweep
away episcopal superintendence, are re
spected by a few of the Greeks, though the
majority will have nothing to do with re
formation, ami know nothing about it. Be
sides the Christians all around the shores
of the Mediterranean, those of Egypt, A
byssinia, Arabia, Syria, Persia, Asm Minor.
Russia, and Turkey in Europe, ot whatev
er denomination they may be, all have
their own episcopal magistrates in ecclesi
astical affairs ; and each party has fixed laws
for clergy and laity, of which the violation
of the most trifling, these ignorant people
consider as more heinou*, than of the most
important law of the state.
“ The sale and distribution of the Holy
Scriptures and religious tracts, have been
hitherto the only missionary operations
carried on, in this country. A missionary
visiting the different towns must endeavour,
not only to make the acquaintance, but to
gain the confidence pf the leading tnpn and
priests ofthe Greeks. With the assistance
of his npw friends, the missionary may he
able to distiibute many copies of (he ever
[ lasting Word, in a language intelligible to
the people, a blessing of which those re
gions have been deprived for some hun
dreds ofyears. Next to the countenance
of the Greeks, religious tracts, compiled
from the first fathers of the Christian
church, will be of the greatest service to
missionaries. The Greeks highly esteem
and venerate the ancient martyrs. Their
writing? are looked upon as oracles ; but
they are very scarce, and unintelligible to
the peoplcf, as they stand in ancient Greek.
In case of opposition, which sometimes
happens, and of a deadly indifference,
which generally prevails, tracts will he of
the greatest utility in bringing forward the
fathers to allay oppositibn, and to recom
mend the duty of perusing the Scriptures,
as well as to awaken a spirit of piety, and
of inquiry after Gospel jruth.”
*• Two other important parts of the mis
sionary labour remain to be entered upon.
The first is education ; —the other a trans
lation, not of the Scriptures, for that is ac- c
complished, but of all other good religious
books and tracts. The printing of a reli- *
gious monthly publication in Modern Greek,
not offending tne institutions of the country,
is of primary importance, and would ho, ~i
the hands of prudent conductors, of incal
culable service. The extensive fields of
education are not, to foreign Protestant
missionaries, so easily and completely ac
cessible, as the rich and most abnndart
streams ol a fount of types, wixcb v.oifld
