And as if these stirring sounds, echoed in more Miltomic phrase and more melliduous blandishment, had soon reached the ears of Poussin, and incited him to perceive yet more distinctly, that without landscape, histrey-painting was but like the solitary Adam; and to invocate the living principles of landscape, in the language of Paradise: Awake My first, my espoused, my latest found ; LANDSCAPE, WITH ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. DOMINICHINO. LOFTY trees, which are very carefully, and very ably, painted, considering the early period of their production, adorn the fore-ground; a road passes between them toward a fortified metropolis: the reach of an ample river, a tract of champaign country, and a lake, embellish the distant landscape, while the prospect is bounded by mountains. The city is defended by projecting bastions, and is adorned with temples, towers, and other superb buildings, among which appears-somewhat prematurely, when the legend to which all this has reference, is referred to—the spire of a Christian church. The story, with the exception of a few local and minor circumstances, is tolerably well told. The dragon is dark, winged, coiled, and placed in the centre of the fore-ground; the principal light falls on the terrified princess, who, attired in her royal and bridal habiliments, and distracted by extreme danger, is flying from his fatal clutch: the dragon's pursuit of this beautiful victim is arrested by the Arian champion, who is tilting at him from a pie-bald charger, armed at all points, in full career, and with spear in rest. The second light, falls on the white parts of the horse, and gleams on the plate armour of the valorous knight. A gloomy sentiment pervades the scene. The whole is of a deep and solemn tone, suited to the immolation of a princess. This picture is more elaborately and more tastefully pencilled, than are some other of this painter's works; and the landscape passages, than any painter's works of this early period, save and except Titian; for Poussin was now but dawning. The nearer trees, indeed, are so ably generalised, yet their branching, ramifications, and foliage, are so skilfully detailed, and discover so much accurate observation, that they powerfully remind us of.those in the St. Peter Martyr of Titian, which are so justly celebrated. These are not portraits of individual trees; neither are they, although somewhat diversified from each other, specifically, either acacias, oaks, ashes, pines, or elms, or of any other well known forest trees, either of Africa, which is the proper scene of the story, or of any other clime [no date palms are among them], which shows that the Italian landscape painters from the first, set to work scholastically, and sought for the genus rather than the species, or the individual, when trees were to be introduced into their compositions. In the present instance, the sentiment of overshadowing loftiness is successfully imparted. But for the warm interest which the reader will naturally take in the combat that is proceeding, and in the rescue of a lovely princess, he would be sensible here of an umbrageous coolness and shelter, or at least, he would perceive that such coolness and shelter were ably suggested. Dr. Johnson and Mr. Payne Knight have (in substance) both remarked, that we never mistake pictures for realities. Deceptive resemblance, real or pretended, is a merely vulgar mode of estimating the merits of paintings, which, unless they be of the lowest order, address themselves not to the sense, but through the sense of vision, to the imagination and intellect. We love pictures—not because we mistake them for realities, but because they bring realities to mind. As we gaze at the finest painted landscapes, we never entertain the least notion that we are wandering among real groves, or admiring real fountains, but are most agreeably charmed into the reflection of how we should feel, were such groves as we see depicted, waving above our heads; or such fountains bubbling up, or such rivulets flowing, beside us. We have here paused a moment among Dominichino's trees, as among those from the pencil of Titian, wishing to assist the critical reader in noting the germination and gradual growth of the landscape-painter's branch of art and shall now proceed with what appertains to our Princess, Knight, and Dragon, Mr. Ottley is so frequently-so generally-right in his pictorial remarks, that he can far better afford than some other critical dissertators, to be sometimes mistaken. He writes of the present landscape, that it "assuredly does not represent a spot where we should expect to meet the enormous Dragon, which the painter has been pleased to represent on the fore-ground, with St. George, on a heavy charger, his lance in the rest, tilting at him, and a Princess running away frightened; for there is no deep recess, no cavern, no indication even of a rock, where the poor monster may be supposed to have a hiding-place, to which, like others of his kind, he may retire in case of any threatened discomfiture." This is losing sight of the legend, and of the true object of sympathy; and I know not why we should wish the naughty, wicked Dragon, to have possessed so much generalship. If we rightly remember-but it is long since we read Dunlop's History of Fiction, or the Seven Champions of Christendom-this dragon of dragons—the great and dreadful prototype of him of Wantley, and of all other ferocious and virgin-devouring dragons--was no sculker, and needed no hidingden. He looked round on a wide domain of desolation, the result of his own savage, and hitherto uncontrolable, voracity; and having long been pampered with a damsel for dinner every day (till the lot had remorselessly fallen on the king's daughter), had become confirmed in his despotic power and possessions: his usurpations had been submitted to, and acknowledged as rights: a compact had been made with him: such a monster-like other nuisances that are sufficiently powerful, may boldly stalk abroad, and inhabit even gardens and pleasure-grounds. In the emphatic and strictly applicable words of our poet, this dreaded and invincible dragon "Was monarch of all he survey'd, For all former disputants had fallen before his pestiferous breath, till, at length, he met his match in the thrice valiant and renowned St. George-the champion of Arius and distressed princesses, and prime pattern of chivalry to future generations: who, if he did not shoot with a long bow, employed, on this terrible occasion, a very long spear, as Dominichino wisely opined, and as our readers may see. Conformably to this alarming state of things, the roads and groves are here represented as being depopulated. No other human figures than those of the saint and the royal and devoted virgin, are present, near the fore-ground; and none are discoverable at a distance excepting a few, who have assembled on the city walls, to witness the impending catastrophe ; and who, with held up and outstretched arms, are expressing their wonder at the champion's courage and enterprise. In the above passage concerning the combat, we have been so far from employing the word dispute in a metaphorical, or tropical, sense, that we have, in fact, put aside for the moment, that military trope of the crusading ages, which has clothed and set forth a virulent polemic dispute, as a perilous adventure, and have substituted the literal meaning; for the legend of St. George victorious over the Dragon, when divested of its chivalric and romantic hues, is, in plain truth, nothing more than a triumphant way of displaying the issue of a celebrated religious quarrel, which took place during the earlier ages of Christianity, between the Arian and Athanasian factions. It has been allegorically represented as a romantic and picturesque adventure; but it was in itself, simply a violent polemic quarrel for supremacy, |