In fact, of all the heavenly bodies the moon is the only one that belongs to painters. The stars are too distant and too small to produce greater effect in a picture than those on a royal mantle ; they belong to astronomers, philosophers, and thinkers, and I beheve no reasonable artist ever yet attempted to animate his picture with them. The sun is too magnificent, too bright and fiery, to be painted otherwise than in reflection ; and the painter who endeavours to represent him seems to me to commit as great a fault as he does who attempts to represent the face of God. God and the sun can be seen only as they ai-e reflected in their works. None can look on the face of the sun but when he is veiled in clouds. It is otherwise with the moon, whose fair form shines so softly and tenderly in the vaults of heaven, and in whom all eyes may rejoice.
As if directly to contradict our remark on Van der Neer's moonlight pictures, in the very next room hang Claude Lorraine's four celebrated pictures of the four times of the day, where not only the morning and evening sun are depicted, but also the powerful orb in his midday splendour, indicated by a dwarfish blot of red colour. Beautiful as the landscapes of the renowned Lorraine otherwise were, we could not reconcile ourselves to his pitiful Apollo, and were sorry that Claude had not avoided this mistake. These nmch-esteemed pictures were painted in Italy, and passed through various hands in Italy and France, till they reached the Hungarian forest, and remained a while at Cassel, whence they were stolen by the Corsican Csesar and laid at the feet of his consort in Paris. From Paris they were brought by Alexander and suspended in his northern Palmyra, where, amid snow and ice, they speak to the Hyperboreans of the glories of the south. They seem to be quite in their place here, and are better understood and more enjoyed than elsewhere ; because here more than elsewhere is felt the want of what they display so gloriously. It will be long, probably, before a hand is found strong enough to remove them from their present places.
After Claude's landscapes, the next picture that greets us is a lovely maiden, by Pordenon, before the suffering Christ. Is it Anna, or is it Mary ? — the oil-lavisher or the adultress ? She is beautiful, and to no manly and feeling heart can she plead in vain for sympathy. It is one of the loveliest female faces that hves on canvass, and well deserves to be sought out among thousands. We promise never to forget her, and wander further to where the old woman of Denner offers a pinch of snuff either to us or to her husband, who hangs near her. In these two pictures the very hairs on the head are counted, and even the hairs on the moles of the face. It is incomprehensible that Denner, w^ho was undoubtedly a good painter, should have given himself so much trouble about every wrinkle and mole. It makes one melancholy to look at them ; it is as if we saw how grief and vexation had laboured for years to furrow the skin. Yet has not Claude Lorraine painted every stubble in his corn-fields ? Caracci's " Christ Bearing the Cross," and Dominichino's " Arrow Poisoner," are excellent pictures, and would be enjoyed if there were not too loud a screaming and caclding from Wynant's and Hondekoter's poultry. Here is a whole haU-full of fowls, chickens, ducks, peacocks, pheasants, and turkeys ; as many of every race as in the St. Petersburg market. Willingly woiild we rest ourselves on the wooden bench beneath the protecting thatch that Wynant's pencil has created. Thick-foliaged oak-trees and fresh elder-bushes shade the wanderer ; the pretty feathered tribe pliune themselves and quarrel, and peck at the com and the gnats in the grass. In the souls of these two painters most priceless peace must have borne sway. They seem to have dreamed of nothing but of the innocent dumb souls so wonderfully lodged hi the bodies of domestic fowls, and to have been exclusively occupied with doves, capons, oxen, and calves. Even the disputes and wars of these birds cannot have disturbed their equanimity, for it is only the passions and wars of men which go to our hearts.