the painter can never pass, and perhaps more because they want the clear vision to see what he has expressed, have declared themselves ill content with the inadequate representation of that Divine countenance. But they have most loudly condemned the bright red hair, so bright, and raised so high around the head, as to form an almost self-luminous balo. It has not allayed their dissatisfaction to be told that this was a compromise of the claims of modern naturalism, on the one hand, and medieval symbolism on the other, a compromise effected by such an arrangement of a natural feature as would suggest the nimbus or glory of the old masters. They resent the obtrusion of any mere conventionalism into the representation of so sacred an incident. Yet the fact remains, that a painter, painting for the British public, has considered it due to himself and his subject to brave these criticisms, and to go as far as, in these days, and in a historical picture, he may towards the employment of a conventional symbol of medieval times.

This of itself raises a presumption that something may be said on behalf of medieval symbolism on principle. And in fact it enters so largely into the composition of many of our most precious art treasures, which cannot be understood without some acquaintance with it, that it may not be useless to devote a few pages to the discussion of its place in art, and to a consideration of some of its more prominent features and characteristics.

Christian art was at first applied solely to purposes of decoration. A painting was not painted nor was a statue chiselled to be a treasure in itself, wherever it might be. It always implied the existence of something to be decorated. Hence the walls of churches and of monasteries, and illuminated manuscripts, are for many centuries the great repositories of Christian art. The earliest specimens of it consist of frescoes on the walls and ceilings of the Catacombs, and basreliefs on the sarcophagi lying there. Its earliest object was the utilisation of vacant spaces, and opportunities of decoration for the purpose of religious instruction. This object was attained by representations which at once conveyed a meaning to the eye. The Good Shepherd reminded every beholder of our Lord's teachings. The story of Jonah was recognized as typical of the resurrection, that corner-stone of the Christian faith. No subjects are more frequent in the Catacombs than these, and they taught the lesson with out any explanation. But little variety of idea was to be obtained within the range of works so readily intelligible; and when the artist passed beyond its bounds, some clue to

his meaning became absolutely necessary, unless he at once abandoned his functions as a teacher. Accordingly, in many early works of art, especially of the Eastern Church, the figures are identified by their names; but long after this practice had died out, it remained customary to distinguish them by certain signs. Thus our Saviour is distinguished by the cross; either the cross of the passion, heavy and strong, or the resurrection cross, formed of two light transverse bars, often carrying a flag. He is also identified by the stigmata on hands and feet and side; or by a mantle folded round Him, and held so as to display the wound in the side; or He is surrounded by the symbols of the four evangelists,-the angel, the lion, the ox, and the eagle; or He bears a book, sometimes closed, but often open, and with one of the following texts written upon it: "Peace be with you;" "I am the way, the truth, and the life;" "I am the light of the world;" "I am the resurrection;" "He who hath seen me hath seen the Father;" "I and the Father are one;""In the beginning was the Word." Saints likewise had their appropriate marks, familiar enough to identify them by. This identification by means of recognised signs, which was required for purposes of instruction, was rendered the more necessary by the habitual neglect of truth in the accessories which distinguished the ancient painters. In Italian art we find all the scenes of the sacred story placed in Italian landscapes or among Italian buildings, enacted by figures in Italian costume, and often tinctured with a certain infusion of Italian habits and manners. The same charge, if charge it be, may be brought against the Christian art of Holland, and indeed of every country. The practice arose, no doubt, from ignorance; but one result of it was to make more than ever needful a system of signs which would give the key to the artist's meaning.

Identification, however, is not the most important end and object of symbolism. The painter's intention, in a picture of the apostle Peter, for example, is not to say, "This is Peter;" it is to express his thoughts concerning Peter. His aim is not simply to suggest the idea of that apostle to the spectator's mind, but to declare his conception of his character, and of the emotions which moved him, or the thoughts which burned within him. For this it is of course necessary that the spectator should know for whom the figure is meant; but as art advanced it became easier to secure this object without any such cumbrous device as writing the name over the head; and when the higher aim was once satisfied, anything which merely

served the purpose of identification was foreign to the object of the picture. It will be readily seen, however, that many of the characteristic insignia of Christ above mentioned do more than identify. The cross and the stigmata speak aloud of His sacrifice; the evangelists proclaim the diffusion of His gospel; the texts have each of them its own significance. So it is with the signs of the saints. And a symbol was in use which, not being in any way subservient to the end of identification, simply expresses some thought of the artist concerning his subject. This was the nimbus, or glory; and its variety of meanings well illustrates the real uses of symbolism.

It is used, both in painting and sculpture, as a sign not of office but of character; and its various forms indicate different personal qualities, just as the crown, according to the style of its ornaments, marks a king, duke, marquis, earl, or baron. It sometimes encircles the head; sometimes the whole body. In the former case, it commonly has the name of nimbus; in the latter that of aureole, and the combination of the two is called a glory; but this use of the words is not universally

current.

The aureole varies somewhat in form, but it is most commonly oval. Its meaning, however, does not change with its shape. It always indicates high eininence, and is generally applied to Divine persons. Angels are not adorned with it, and saints rarely before the golden age of art; but the Virgin has it much earlier.

The nimbus proper has a great variety of shapes and of meanings. In the Latin Church it always indicates sanctity, though some forms of it have a further significance. Its commonest shape is that of a circular disc. If the disc is intersected by transverse bars, it is a mark of divinity. It is then called the cruciform nimbus, and is applied even to the emblems sometimes used to represent the Divine persons. Thus the Father was, in early art, represented by a hand; and in a miniature of the ninth century, this symbol is surrounded by the cruciform nimbus. The Son often appears in the form of a Lamb; and the Lamb is decorated with the same exclusive mark. The Holy Spirit, who is generally figured as a dove, is distinguished by the same sign. On the other hand, the Virgin Mary, in spite of all the Mariolatry of both the Eastern and Western Churches, never possesses this peculiar mark of divinity. Other forms of the nimbus are the triangle and the square. When it is triangular it has the same exclusive application as the cruciform nimbus, and symbolizes the Trinity. The square nimbus was, in Italy, used to in

dicate that the person decorated with it was living at the time the work was executed, and it is often of great value in fixing the date of manuscripts and works of art in which it occurs. It is occasionally, however, applied to an image of the Divine Being, either alone, or in combination with some other form of, nimbus. It then indicates the ever-living God. In the Eastern Church, the use of the nimbus is more frequent than in Western art; but it has a much less precise meaning. It seems to claim consideration, not only on the ground of sanctity, but of eminence of other kinds. It is applied to saints, and to many persons who are not saints,-to kings, statesmen, and warriors. It frequently signi fies power, and it is withheld from beings destitute of this title to admiration. Thus, in a miniature of the twelfth century, the Beast with seven heads (Rev. xiii. 1-3) wears a nimbus on six of them, but the seventh, which is " as it were wounded to death," is without it. And even Satan has it in a miniature of the tenth century.

There are no varieties of form used to indicate these different meanings, but sometimes a moral intention is conveyed in the colour. Thus, in a fresco of the Last Supper in a small church at Athens, Judas, in virtue of his apostleship, has a nimbus; but while the nimbus of the other apostles is of some bright colour, white, green, or golden yellow, that of Judas is black.

In the East, as in the West, the cruciform and the triangular nimbus are marks of divinity, and this intention is made the more clear by inscribing on three branches of the cross (the fourth branch being concealed by the head), or at the three angles of the triangle, the letters ON, this being the name which God gave Himself when He spoke to Moses from the burning bush, 'Ey siμ 'O "ÎN : "I am that I AM."

The glory has no peculiar signification. When the aureole is combined with any form of the nimbus, it simply intensifies the meaning of the latter, whatever that may be.

The nimbus is never seen on the sarcophagi, the most ancient, of Christian monuments; and it did not come into constant use in the West till the eighth and ninth centuries. It died out in the sixteenth century. It was first applied to the Divine persons and the apostles, and was retained by them after other personages had lost it. The aureole came into use later than the nimbus; it was always used less, and ceased to be applied earlier.

The use of the nimbus is, however, far older than Christianity. It appears on Hindoo monuments of the most remote antiquity. The Hindoo goddess Maya is surrounded by a semi-aureole of light, and from the top of

ing old Jew, who, with a strong swing of the arm, is scattering the tares far and wide. The light from the sky is reflected from the brook with a greener and almost livid hue, and falling full on his face, draws the first attention to its intense malignity of expression. It cannot be urged that there is no symbolism, for surely two serpents and a hyena are more than the average allowance of evil beasts which might be expected to attend a man's steps at night in a cultivated field in Palestine. The painter's object was to represent an enemy sowing tares; and, instead of trusting only to the malignity of the countenance, he aided himself in the expression of his meaning by the use of symbolical accessories.*

Perhaps, however, the symbolical significance of accessories in themselves natural will appear clearer on a comparison of two pictures of the same subject. Nothing more solemn has ever been attempted by art than the representation of our Lord in the garden of Gethsemane. The mystery of that awful hour has been variously conceived by different artists, and their thoughts have been expressed with the help of conventional signs, and without it. To our modern eyes, pictures whose meaning is not dependent on such aid will seem the most appropriate. One of the most noted is that by Giovanni Bellini in the National Gallery. In the distance is the multitude with swords and staves" coming over the Cedron. The three apostles lie asleep at the foot of a little hillock in the calm evening air. Every object is distinct, but the brightness of the day has gone, and all across the sky there is a

* The picture obviously is not open to any objection as an attempt to paint a parable." The story of a parable may be painted as well as any other story, and there is no attempt to paint its teaching; for we cannot think that the suggestion of fiery wings which some critics have found in the curved rift in the clouds, or of cloven feet in the broad and ill-shapen feet of the man, was intended by the artist. Greek art, on the other hand, is in the extreme of this error. In pictures of the same parable in Eastern Churches, angels appear conducting the orthodox into paradise, and devils binding heretics with chains, and leading them

down into hell.

it is much more like our Lord when He said to His disciples, "Let not your heart be troubled: ... Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you," than when "being in an agony, He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."

The real meaning of the scene is not even suggested by Bellini's picture. Rembrandt has an etching of the same subject, for which the reader may be referred to Mrs. Jameson and Lady Eastlake's recent work. The buildings of Jerusalem are roughly sketched in the background; in front, the forms of the sleeping apostles are barely indicated. Above them is the figure of the Saviour. He has lifted His hands in prayer, but at the moment chosen by the artist His whole frame seems about to give way; the hands, still clasped, are beginning to drop, the head falls a little on one side, and a few simple lines of the face are full of unutterable woe. The brow is rigid; the eyes firmly closed against any impression from without; the mouth drawn into a death-like stiffness. It would be a relief even to see those fixed lips tremble, but they cannot. The crowd who are to make Him captive issue from the city gate. Heavy clouds behind mass themselves in the shape of the cross, and the moon, far up in the sky, half hides her face behind them, as if fearing to look on. Something far greater than the fear of pain or the prospect of death is required to account for this intensity of suffering. It is the burden of the world's sin which bows Him down, and which seems as if it would crush Him, but for the angel, who with strong arms, and with a look of the most fervent sympathy, bears up the sinking frame. There is no noise or tumult, no violent wringing of the hands; all the scene is quiet and subdued, majestic in its solemn stillness, but the more terribly poignant and to the quick.

No one can doubt that Rembrandt's is the

truer conception. If the object of art be to please, such a subject may not be legiti mate, but it is a commentary on the sacred text which we should all do well to ponder.

Regarding the two pictures, however, as works of art, and applying them to the illustration of our subject, they suggest the question why Bellini placed the scene under a pensive evening sky, and Rembrandt in fitful moonlight? Not for historical reasons, for though it is clear that Bellini was historically untrue, it is not equally clear that Rembrandt was historically true. But each of them chose his accessories, because they were in harmony with the ground tone of feeling of his picture, accessories which themselves prompted the emotions which he desired to