roundabout papers-第37部分

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ficer　who　answers　to　the　beadle　of　the　British　Islands；　and　is　pacing　about　the　church　with　an　eye　on　the　congregation。　　Now　the　boast　of　Catholics　is　that　their　churches　are　open　to　all；　but　in　certain　places　and　churches　there　are　exceptions。　　At　Rome　I　have　been　into　St。　Peter's　at　all　hours：　the　doors　are　always　open；　the　lamps　are　always　burning；　the　faithful　are　for　ever　kneeling　at　one　shrine　or　the　other。　　But　at　Antwerp　not　so。　　In　the　afternoon　you　can　go　to　the　church；　and　be　civilly　treated；　but　you　must　pay　a　franc　at　the　side　gate。　　In　the　forenoon　the　doors　are　open；　to　be　sure；　and　there　is　no　one　to　levy　an　entrance　fee。　　I　was　standing　ever　so　still；　looking　through　the　great　gates　of　the　choir　at　the　twinkling　lights；　and　listening　to　the　distant　chants　of　the　priests　performing　the　service；　when　a　sweet　chorus　from　the　organ…loft　broke　out　behind　me　overhead；　and　I　turned　round。　　My　friend　the　drum…major　ecclesiastic　was　down　upon　me　in　a　moment。　　〃Do　not　turn　your　back　to　the　altar　during　divine　service；〃　says　he；　in　very　intelligible　English。　　I　take　the　rebuke；　and　turn　a　soft　right…　about　face；　and　listen　awhile　as　the　service　continues。　　See　it　I　cannot；　nor　the　altar　and　its　ministrants。　　We　are　separated　from　these　by　a　great　screen　and　closed　gates　of　iron；　through　which　the　lamps　glitter　and　the　chant　comes　by　gusts　only。　　Seeing　a　score　of　children　trotting　down　a　side　aisle；　I　think　I　may　follow　them。　　I　am　tired　of　looking　at　that　hideous　old　pulpit　with　its　grotesque　monsters　and　decorations。　　I　slip　off　to　the　side　aisle；　but　my　friend　the　drum…major　is　instantly　after　mealmost　I　thought　he　was　going　to　lay　hands　on　me。　　〃You　mustn't　go　there；〃　says　he；　〃you　mustn't　disturb　the　service。〃　　I　was　moving　as　quietly　as　might　be；　and　ten　paces　off　there　were　twenty　children　kicking　and　clattering　at　their　ease。　　I　point　them　out　to　the　Swiss。　　〃They　come　to　pray；〃　says　he。　　〃YOU　don't　come　to　pray；　you〃　　〃When　I　come　to　pay；〃　says　I；　〃I　am　welcome；〃　and　with　this　withering　sarcasm；　I　walk　out　of　church　in　a　huff。　　I　don't　envy　the　feelings　of　that　beadle　after　receiving　point　blank　such　a　stroke　of　wit。

LEO　BELGICUS。Perhaps　you　will　say　after　this　I　am　a　prejudiced　critic。　　I　see　the　pictures　in　the　cathedral　fuming　under　the　rudeness　of　that　beadle；　or　at　the　lawful　hours　and　prices；　pestered　by　a　swarm　of　shabby　touters；　who　come　behind　me　chattering　in　bad　English；　and　who　would　have　me　see　the　sights　through　their　mean；　greedy　eyes。　　Better　see　Rubens　any　where　than　in　a　church。　　At　the　Academy；　for　example；　where　you　may　study　him　at　your　leisure。　　But　at　church？I　would　as　soon　ask　Alexandre　Dumas　for　a　sermon。　Either　would　paint　you　a　martyrdom　very　fiercely　and　picturesquely　writhing　muscles；　flaming　coals；　scowling　captains　and　executioners；　swarming　groups；　and　light；　shade；　color　most　dexterously　brilliant　or　dark；　but　in　Rubens　I　am　admiring　the　performer　rather　than　the　piece。　　With　what　astonishing　rapidity　he　travels　over　his　canvas；　how　tellingly　the　cool　lights　and　warm　shadows　are　made　to　contrast　and　relieve　each　other；　how　that　blazing；　blowsy　penitent　in　yellow　satin　and　glittering　hair　carries　down　the　stream　of　light　across　the　picture！　　This　is　the　way　to　work；　my　boys；　and　earn　a　hundred　florins　a　day。　　See！　I　am　as　sure　of　my　line　as　a　skater　of　making　his　figure　of　eight！　and　down　with　a　sweep　goes　a　brawny　arm　or　a　flowing　curl　of　drapery。　　The　figures　arrange　themselves　as　if　by　magic。　　The　paint…pots　are　exhausted　in　furnishing　brown　shadows。　The　pupils　look　wondering　on；　as　the　master　careers　over　the　canvas。　Isabel　or　Helena；　wife　No。　1　or　No。　2；　are　sitting　by；　buxom；　exuberant；　ready　to　be　painted；　and　the　children　are　boxing　in　the　corner；　waiting　till　they　are　wanted　to　figure　as　cherubs　in　the　picture。　　Grave　burghers　and　gentlefolks　come　in　on　a　visit。　　There　are　oysters　and　Rhenish　always　ready　on　yonder　table。　　Was　there　ever　such　a　painter？　　He　has　been　an　ambassador；　an　actual　Excellency；　and　what　better　man　could　be　chosen？　　He　speaks　all　the　languages。　　He　earns　a　hundred　florins　a　day。　　Prodigious！　　Thirty…　six　thousand　five　hundred　florins　a　year。　　Enormous！　　He　rides　out　to　his　castle　with　a　score　of　gentlemen　after　him；　like　the　Governor。　　That　is　his　own　portrait　as　St。　George。　　You　know　he　is　an　English　knight？　　Those　are　his　two　wives　as　the　two　Maries。　　He　chooses　the　handsomest　wives。　　He　rides　the　handsomest　horses。　　He　paints　the　handsomest　pictures。　　He　gets　the　handsomest　prices　for　them。　　That　slim　young　Van　Dyck；　who　was　his　pupil；　has　genius　too；　and　is　painting　all　the　noble　ladies　in　England；　and　turning　the　heads　of　some　of　them。　　And　Jordaenswhat　a　droll　dog　and　clever　fellow！　　Have　you　seen　his　fat　Silenus？　　The　master　himself　could　not　paint　better。　　And　his　altar…piece　at　St。　Bavon's？　　He　can　paint　you　anything；　that　Jordaens　cana　drunken　jollification　of　boors　and　doxies；　or　a　martyr　howling　with　half　his　skin　off。　　What　a　knowledge　of　anatomy！　　But　there　is　nothing　like　the　master　nothing。　　He　can　paint　you　his　thirty…six　thousand　five　hundred　florins'　worth　a　year。　　Have　you　heard　of　what　he　has　done　for　the　French　Court？　　Prodigious！　　I　can't　look　at　Rubens's　pictures　without　fancying　I　see　that　handsome　figure　swaggering　before　the　canvas。　　And　Hans　Hemmelinck　at　Bruges？　　Have　you　never　seen　that　dear　old　hospital　of　St。　John；　on　passing　the　gate　of　which　you　enter　into　the　fifteenth　century？　　I　see　the　wounded　soldier　still　lingering　in　the　house；　and　tended　by　the　kind　gray　sisters。　　His　little　panel　on　its　easel　is　placed　at　the　light。　　He　covers　his　board　with　the　most　wondrous；　beautiful　little　figures；　in　robes　as　bright　as　rubies　and　amethysts。　　I　think　he　must　have　a　magic　glass；　in　which　he　catches　the　reflection　of　little　cherubs　with　many…　colored　wings；　very　little　and　bright。　　Angels；　in　long　crisp　robes　of　white；　surrounded　with　halos　of　gold；　come　and　flutter　across　the　mirror；　and　he　draws　them。　　He　hears　mass　every　day。　　He　fasts　through　Lent。　　No　monk　is　more　austere　and　holy　than　Hans。　　Which　do　you　love　best　to　behold；　the　lamb　or　the　lion？　the　eagle　rushing　through　the　storm；　and　pouncing　mayhap　on　carrion；　or　the　linnet　warbling　on　the　spray？　By　much　the　most　delightful　of　the　Christopher　set　of　Rubens　to　my　mind　（and　ego　is　introduced　on　these　occasions；　so　that　the　opinion　may　pass　only　for　my　own；　at　the　reader's　humble　service　to　be　received　or　declined；）　is　the　〃Presentation　in　the　Temple：〃　splendid　in　color；　in　sentiment　sweet　and　tender；　finely　conveying　the　story。　To　be　sure；　all　the　others　tell　their　tale　unmistakablywitness　that　coarse　〃Salutation；〃　that　magnificent　〃Adoration　of　the　Kings〃　（at　the　Museum）；　by　the　same　strong　downright　hands；　that　wonderful　〃Communion　of　St。　Francis；〃　which；　I　think；　gives　the　key　to　the　artist's　faire　better　than　any　of　his　performances。　　I　have　passed　hours　before　that　picture　in　my　time；　trying　and　sometimes　fancying　I　could　understand　by　what　masses　and　contrasts　the　artist　arrived　at　his　effect。　　In　many　others　of　the　pictures　parts　of　his　method　are　painfully　obvious；　and　you　see　how　grief　and　agony　are　produced　by　blue　lips；　and　eyes　rolling　blood　shot　with　dabs　of　vermilion。　There　is　something　simple　in　the　practice。　　Contort　the　eyebrow　sufficiently；　and　place　the　eyeball　near　it；by　a　few　lines　you　have　anger　or　fierceness　depicted。　　Give　me　a　mouth　with　no　special　expression；　and　pop　a　dab　of　carmine　at　each　extremityand　there　are　the　lips　smiling。　　This　is　art　if　you　will；　but　a　very　naive　kind　of　art：　and　now　you　know　the　trick；　don't　you　see　how　easy　it　is？

TU　QUOQUE。Now　you　know　the　trick；　suppose　you　take　a　canvas　and　see　whether　YOU　can　do　it？　　There　are　brushes；　palettes；　and　gallipots　full　of　paint　and　varnish。　　Have　you　tried；　my　dear　sir　you　who　set　up　to　be　a　connoisseur？　　Have　you　tried？　　I　haveand　many　a　day。　　And　the　end　of　the　day's　labor？　　O　dismal　conclusion！　Is　this　puerile　niggling；　this　feeble　scrawl；　this　impotent　rubbish；　all　you　can　produceyou；　who　but　now　found　Rubens　commonplace　and　vulgar；　and　were　pointing　out　the　tricks　of　his　mystery？　　Pardon；　O　great　chief；　magnificent　master　and　poet！　　You　can　DO。　　We　critics；　who　sneer　and　are　wise；　can　but　pry；　and　measure；　and　doubt；　and　carp。　　Look　at　the　lion。　　Did　you　ever　see　such　a　gross；　shaggy；　mangy；　roaring　brute？　　Look　at　him　eating　lumps　of　raw　meat　positively　bleeding；　and　raw　and　toughtill；　faugh！　it　turns　one's　stomach　to　see　himO　the　coarse　wretch！　　Yes；　but　he　is　a　lion。　Rubens　has　lifted　his　great　hand；　and　the　mark　he　has　made　has　endured　for　two　centuries；　and　we　still　continue　wondering　at　him；　and　admiring　him。　　What　a　strength　in　that　arm！　　What　splendor　of　will　hidden　behind　that　tawny　beard；　and　those　honest　eyes！　　Sharpen　your　pen；　my　good　critic；　shoot　a　feather　into　him；　hit　him；　and　make　him　wince。　　Yes；　you　may　hit　him　fair；　and　make　him　bleed；　too；　but；　for　all　that；　he　is　a　liona　mighty；　conquering；　generous；　rampageous　Leo　Belgicusmonarch　of　his　wood。　　And　he　is　not　dead　yet；　and　I　will　not　kick　at　him。

SIR　ANTONY。In　that　〃Pieta〃　of　Van　Dyck；　in　the　Museum；　have　you　ever　looked　at　the　yellow…robed　angel；　with　the　black　scarf　thrown　over　her　wings　and　robe？　　What　a　charming　figure　of　grief　and　beauty！　　What　a　pretty　compassion　it　inspires！　　It　soothes　and　pleases　me　like　a　sweet　rhythmic　chant。　　See　how　delicately　the　yellow　robe　contrasts　with　the　blue　sky　behind；　and　the　scarf　binds　the　two！　　If　Rubens　lacked　grace；　Van　Dyck　abounded　in　it。　　What　a　consummate　elegance！　　What　a　perfect　cavalier！　　No　wonder　the　fine　ladies　in　England　admired　Sir　Antony。　　Look　at　Here　the　clock　strikes　three；　and　the　three　gendarmes　who　keep　the　Musee　cry　out；　〃Allons！　　Sortons！　　Il　est　trois　heures！　　Allez！　Sortez！〃　and　they　skip　out　of　the　gallery　as　happy　as　boys　running　from　school。　　And　we　must　go　too；　for　though　many　stay　behindmany　Britons　with　Murray's　Handbooks　in　their　handsome　handsthey　have　paid　a　franc　for　entrance…fee；　you　see；　and　we　knew　nothing　about　the　franc　for　entrance　until　those　gendarmes　with　sheathed　sabres　had　driven　us　out　of　this　Paradise。　But　it　was　good　to　go　and　drive　on　the　great　quays；　and　see　the　ships　unlading；　and　by　the　citadel；　and　wonder　howab