The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 352, January 17, 1829

The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 352, January 17, 1829
Various

Various

The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction / Volume 13, No. 352, January 17, 1829

PRINCE RUPERT'S PALACE

Prince Rupert, who will be remembered in the annals of the useful and fine arts when his military fame shall be forgotten, resided at a house in Beech-lane, Barbican, of the remains of which the above is a representation. His residence here was in the time of Charles II.; for it is said that Charles paid him a visit, when the ringers of Cripplegate had a guinea for complimenting the royal guest with a "merry peal." As the abode of a man of science, (for the prince was one of the most ingenious men of his time,) this engraving will doubtless be acceptable to the readers of the MIRROR. It, moreover, shows that even at that period, a residence in the City and its neighbourhood was not thought derogatory to a man of rank or fortune.[1 - He likewise held the villa of Brandenburgh House, at Hammersmith, since known as the residence of Queen Caroline.]

With the historical character of Prince Rupert, most of our readers are probably familiar. Many useful inventions resulted from his studies, among which are the invention of "Prince's Metal," locks for fire-arms, improvements in gunpowder, &c. After the restoration, he was admitted into the Privy Council. He likewise became a fellow of the newly-founded Royal Society, and a member of the Board of Trade; and to his influence is ascribed the establishment of the Hudson's Bay Company, of which he was the first governor. Orford, Evelyn, and Vertue attribute to him the invention of mezzotinto engraving; but this has been disputed, and, we believe, disproved.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE COLOSSEUM, IN THE REGENT'S PARK

By the courtesy of Mr. Hornor, the proprietor, we have been favoured with a private view of the interior of this stupendous building; and, as it is our intention to illustrate the ensuing Number of the MIRROR with a view of the exterior, we shall for the present confine ourselves to such descriptive details as we have been enabled to collect in our recent visit. The interior is, however, in an unfinished state; the works are in actual progress, and the operations of the several artists continue uninterrupted by the access of visiters.

On entering the edifice by the large door in front, a staircase on the right leads to a passage, which communicates with a circular saloon hung with coloured drapery. This room, which, when finished, will be the largest of the kind in London, occupies the whole internal space, or the basement of the building, with the exception of the staircase leading to the summit, which rises like a large column from the centre. This circular saloon is intended for the exhibition of paintings and other productions of the fine arts; and it redounds highly to the credit of Mr. Hornor, that this exhibition is to be entirely free of charge to the artists. Such an introduction of their works to public notice cannot fail to prove mutually advantageous.

It may be here necessary to state that the wall of the building represents a panoramic View of London, as seen from the several galleries of St. Paul's Cathedral—and that the view of the picture is obtained from three galleries—the first of which corresponds, in relation to the view, with the first gallery at the summit of the dome of St. Paul's; the second is like that of the upper gallery on the same edifice; and the third, from its great elevation, commands a view of the remote distance which describes the horizon in the painting. Above the last-mentioned gallery is placed the identical copper ball which for so many years occupied the summit of St. Paul's; and above it is a fac-simile of the cross by which it was surmounted. Over these is hung the small wooden cabin in which Mr. Hornor made his drawings for the picture, in the same perilous situation it occupied during the period of the repairs which some years ago were done to the cathedral. A small flight of stairs leads from this spot to the open gallery which surrounds the top of the Colosseum, commanding a view of the Regent's Park and the subjacent country.

The communication with the galleries is by staircases of curious construction, built on the outer side of the central column already mentioned. This column is hollow, and within it a small circular chamber is to be caused to ascend when freighted with company, by means of machinery, with an imperceptible motion to the first gallery. The doors of the chamber will then open, and by this novel means of being elevated, visiters may avoid the fatigue of ascending by the stairs, and then walk out into the gallery to enjoy the picture.

In extent and accuracy, the Panorama is one of the most surprising achievements of art in this or any other country. The picture covers upwards of 40,000 square feet, or nearly an acre of canvass; the dome of the building on which the sky is painted, is thirty feet more in diameter than the cupola of St. Paul's; and the circumference of the horizon from the point of view, is nearly 130 miles. The painting is almost completed; indeed, sufficiently so, for the general effect; although this will be considerably increased by the insertion of the remaining details, and the last or finishing touches. Much as the spectator will be struck by the fidelity of the representation, there is one claim it has to his admiration, which has only to be explained to be universally acknowledged. It is simply this. Only let such of our readers as have ascended the galleries of St. Paul's, think of the fatigue they experienced in the toil, and comparatively speaking, the little gratification they experienced on their arrival at the summit. In short, what had they for their pains but the distinct roofs of the houses in the immediate vicinity, while the rest of the city was half lost in fog and the smoke of "groves of chimneys." The only period at which London can be seen, is at sun-rise on a fine summer morning—such a morning, for instance, as that of the last Coronation. This too must be before the many thousand fires are lighted—exactly the period at which it is impossible to gain admittance to the cathedral. In the Panorama of the Colosseum, therefore, alone it is that we can see the "mighty heart," the town we inhabit; and for this grand scene we are indebted to the indefatigable genius of Mr. Hornor.[2 - It may be a test of the length of the reader's acquaintance with the MIRROR—but at page 450, vol. i. he will find a brief account of the means by which Mr. Hornor completed his sketches for the Panorama—his erection of an observatory—and a faint idea of the extreme perils, all which did not daunt the fearless mind of this aspiring artist. Mr. Britton says the sketches made for the projected picture, occupied 2,000 sheets of paper!]

The magnificent effect of the Panorama, however, baffles all description of our pen. Indeed, the scene gives rise to so many inspiring associations in an enthusiastic mind, that few Englishmen, and still fewer Londoners, are equal to the detail of its description. Every inch of the vast circumference abounds with subject for reflection. The streets filled with passengers and vehicles—the grandeur of the public buildings, churches, and palatial structures—the majestic river winding grandly along, with the shipping, vessels, and gay trim of civic barges gliding on its surface, its banks studded with splendid hospitals, docks, and antique towers—and its stream crossed with magnificent bridges—till it stretches away beyond the busy haunts of industry, to the rural beauties of Richmond, and the castellated splendour of Windsor. Of course, the river is the most attractive object in the painting; but overlooking the merits of the town itself, and the world of streets and buildings—the representation of the environs is delightfully picturesque, and the distances are admirably executed; while the whole forms an assemblage of grandeur, unparalleled in art, as the reality is in the history of mankind.

The grand and distinguishing merit of the Panorama at the Colosseum is, however, of a higher order than we have yet pointed out to the reader. It has the unusual interest of picturesque effect with the most scrupulous accuracy; and, in illustration of the latter excellence, so plain are the principal streets in the view, that thousands of visitors will be able to identify their own dwellings. We have termed this an unusual effect, because we are accustomed to view panoramas as fine productions of art, with fascinating and novel contrasts, and altogether as beautiful pictures; but pleasing as may be their effect on the spectator, it must fall very short of the intense interest created by the topographical or map-like accuracy of Mr. Hornor's picture, which is correct even to the most minute point of detail. Thousands of spectators will therefore become rivetted by some particular objects, for every Londoner can name a score of sites which are endeared to him by some grateful recollections and associations of his life; whilst our country friends will be lost in admiration at the immense knot of dwellings, till they contrive to pick their road back to their inn or temporary abode in this queen of cities. In order to court the rigorous inspection of the most critical visiters, engraved sections of the various parts of the picture, numbered and described, will be placed in the compartments to which the panorama corresponds; and for still further gratification, glasses will he placed in the gallery, by which houses at the distance of ten or twelve miles from the city may easily be discerned. All this amounts to microscopic painting, or the most elaborate mosaic-work of art.

The effect of the near houses, or those in the immediate vicinity of St. Paul's, is very striking; and the perspective and effect of light and shade of the campanile towers in front of the cathedral are admirably managed. In short, nothing can exceed the fine contrast of the bold and broad buildings in the fore-ground with the work of the middle, and the minuteness of the back-ground:—

Now to the sister hills that skirt her plain,
To lofty Harrow now, and now to where
Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow,
In lovely contrast to this glorious view,
Calmly magnificent.
Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around,
Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires,
—–till all
The stretching landscape into mist decays.

It seems scarcely possible for painting to achieve anything nearer to reality than has been effected in the union of the projecting portions and the flat surface of the picture—an effect which will be hailed with enthusiasm by the spectator. This part is the work of Mr. Paris, "of whose talents and valuable assistance in the execution of the painting," says a writer in the Times, "the proprietor speaks in terms of generous enthusiasm, which are well deserved, and equally honourable to both parties." Another critical writer, in the Weekly Review, likewise, pays a deserved tribute to the genius of Mr. Paris, in his share of the painting. He says, "The spectator who shall view this magnificent Panorama, without being previously informed of the difficulties with which the able and indefatigable artist, Mr. E.T. Paris, had to contend, however he may be struck with the tout ensemble, will hardly be able to appreciate the merit of the work. In the first place, as no one individual could accomplish such an undertaking in a sufficiently short period, many artists were necessarily employed; each of these had his own peculiar style, and taste, and notions, which of course he would not depart from; when each of the assistant artists, therefore, had finished his part, it was necessary for Mr. Paris to go himself over the whole, retouch everything, and reduce the various parts into harmony with each other. This he has effected in the most admirable manner, so that, at present the productions of numerous dissimilar pencils appear like the creation of one man. Another, and perhaps still greater difficulty, was to preserve the true perspective from so elevated and novel a point of view, and on curved canvass; for, by the closing of the dome, that part of the picture upon which the greatest distance was to be represented, is in reality placed nearest to the spectator. We must observe, however, that these difficulties have all been surmounted, and that the illusion is most complete."

Our limits advise us to quit the principal building, or that appropriated to the panoramic view, especially as we cannot convey to the reader an indistinct notion of the curious stair-work, machinery, and carpentry of the ascents, &c. We were induced to ascend to the exterior, but the mid-day smoke of the town, and the heavy fog of the day, spoiled our view. Had it not been so, the numerous buildings below, with the gardens, &c. would have reminded us that much yet remained to be seen. We hastened down the staircase, as quickly as the loop-hole light would allow, (for this part is to be lit with gas,) and returned to the front court by the large door at which we entered. In the entrance-hall are two aloes in tubs, one of them of noble size, and we could not help contrasting this single triumph of Nature with the little world of art we had just been exploring; and our train of reflection was unbroken on our entering by the left-hand lodge-door, a range of arched conservatories, in the centre of one of which is a Camellia Japonica, which produces thirty varieties of flower, and is, perhaps, the most magnificent specimen in England. Already here are several rare and beautiful plants—a large proportion of exotics, and some of the most curious plants of this country's growth. In the centre of one of the chambers is a circular tank of water, surrounded by small jets, which are to raise their streams so as to form a round case of water, within which are to be aquatic plants, &c. At the end of this room aviaries are in preparation.

Hence we ascended into a beautiful reading-room, with French windows and rusticated Gothic verandas. The artistes were here busy in hanging the walls, &c. with green damask moreen. The next room in the suite will be a library of beautiful proportions; and beyond this will be another room equally splendid, besides numerous other smaller apartments, in all numbering thirty. The object of this part of the building is to afford to subscribers all the advantages of a club and a reading-room, combined with the novel and luxurious conveniences of the establishment. We now come to what appears to us the bijou of the whole. A passage leads from the saloon to a suite of small chambers, representing a Swiss cottage. One of these rooms is finished. It is wainscotted with coloured (knotted) wood, and carved in imitation of the fanciful interior of the dwellings of the Swiss mountaineers. The immense projecting chimney, its capacious corners, and the stupendous fire-dogs, are truly characteristic charms of cottage life; and the illusion is not a little enhanced by the prospect from the windows, consisting of terrific rocks and caverns,[3 - Mimic rocks and stones may be wrought into sublime effect; and have often been introduced into landscape-gardening with striking success.] among which a cascade is to fall from an immense height into a lake, which is to spread immediately beneath the windows. The water is not yet admitted here; but from some successful specimens of this branch of art, which we have seen, we are induced to think the Swiss cottage and its scenery will be very attractive. The exterior of the dwelling, with its broad eaves, &c. is beautifully picturesque; and the interior, supplied with a suite of rustic furniture, is even sufficiently unique for the recherché taste of Mr. Hope.

This is but an imperfect outline of the ingenious works which are now just finishing at the Colosseum. The undertaking, as the name imports, is one of the most gigantic enterprises for public gratification which it has ever been our lot to witness; but great as may be the capital already expended here, and indefatigable as have been the exertions of the proprietor during the last seven years, it is almost impossible that such genius should not be amply remunerated. As a concentration of every refined amusement and luxurious comfort which the taste of the times can dictate, the Colosseum will doubtless be without a rival in Europe. The charms of useful and elegant literature will here alternate with the exquisite masterpieces of modern art—and to aid these attractions, the pure pleasures of the garden and green-house, and studies from the wild and wonderful of sublime nature—will be superadded. The extent occupied by the requisite buildings, &c. is, as we were informed, little short of five acres.

To conclude, the Colosseum will very shortly be opened to the public. In the meantime, such persons as wish, may be gratified with a private view of the works in their present state, on terms which have already been announced by the proprietor.

TO –

(For the Mirror.)

Yes! tis to thee love
I waken the string:
Yes! 'tis to thee love
I only would sing;
And in thine eyes love,
I ask but to shine;
With softest affection,
As thou dost in mine.

Dearest and kindest,
I ask but to be
Cherished by thee love,
As thou art by me;
Then shall our moments
Glide sunnily o'er.
And blest with each other,
We sigh for no more.

Wife of thy bosom,
By thee loved alone,
No dearer blessing
This proud world can own:
All its attractions
Delighted I'll fly,
For thee love, to live,
And with thee love to die!

H

HIEROGLYPHICAL CHARACTERS

(For the Mirror.)

Hieroglyphics consist in certain symbols which are made to stand for invisible objects, on account of some analogy which such symbols were supposed to bear to the objects. Egypt was the country where this sort of writing was most studied, and brought into a regular science. In hieroglyphics was conveyed all the boasted knowledge of their priests. According to the properties which they ascribed to animals, they chose them to be the emblems of moral objects. Thus ingratitude was expressed by a viper; imprudence, by a fly; wisdom, by an ant; knowledge, by an eye; eternity, by a circle which has neither beginning nor end; a man universally shunned, by an eel, which they supposed to be found with no other fish. Sometimes they joined two or more of these characters together, as a serpent with a hawk's head, denoted nature, with God presiding over it.

INA

MANNERS & CUSTOMS OF ALL NATIONS

BULL-FIGHTS AT LIMA

From General Miller's Memoirs. Second edition

The taste for bull-fights, introduced by the early Spaniards, is retained by their American descendants with undiminished ardour. The announcement of an exhibition of this kind produces a state of universal excitement. The streets are thronged, and the population of the surrounding country, dressed in their gayest attire, add to the multitudes of the city. The sport is conducted with an éclat that exceeds the bull-fights in every other part of South America, and perhaps even surpasses those of Madrid. The death of the bull, when properly managed, creates as much interest in the ladies of Lima, as the death of the hare to the English huntress, or the winning horse to the titled dames at Newmarket or Doncaster. Nor can the pugilistic fancy of England take a deeper interest in the event of a prize-fight, than the gentlemen of Lima in the scientific worrying of a bull. It is curious to observe how various are ideas of cruelty in different countries. The English, for instance, exclaim against the barbarity of the bull-fight, as compared with the noble sport of cock-fighting, badger-baiting, &c. But their enlightened horror could not exceed the disgust shown by a young South American, who witnessed a casual boxing-match between two boys in Hyde Park, surrounded and encouraged, as he expressed himself, by well-dressed barbarians. It is amusing to witness the complacency with which one nation accuses another of cruelty, without taking a glance at customs at home. The bulls destined for the ring are obtained principally from the woods in the valleys of Chincha, where they are bred in a wild state. To catch and drive them to Lima, a distance of sixty leagues, is a matter of no inconsiderable expense. A bull is given by each gremio, or incorporated trading company of the city. The gremios vie in decorating their donation, which is bedizened with ribbons and flowers; across its shoulders are suspended mantles richly embroidered with the arms of the gremio to which it belongs, all of which become the perquisite of the Toreador or Matador who slays the bull. The price of admission is four reals, or two shillings; but an additional charge is made for seats in the boxes; and the managers pay a considerable tax to government on every performance. Early in the afternoon of the day fixed upon for a bull-fight, every street leading to the amphitheatre is crowded with carriages, horsemen, and pedestrians. All are in the highest state of excitement, the highest glee, and in full dress. The business of the ring commences, about 2 p.m. by a curious sort of prelude. A company of soldiers perform a despejo, or a military pantomime. The men having been previously drilled for that purpose, go through a variety of fanciful evolutions, forming the Roman and Greek crosses, stars, and figures, so describing a sentence, such as viva la patria, viva San Martin, or the name of any other person who happens to be at the head of the government. As a finale, the soldiers form a circle, face outwards, then advance towards the boxes, preserving their circular order, which they extend, until they approach close enough to climb up to the benches. Every movement is made to the sound of the drum; the effect is exceedingly good. A band of music is likewise in attendance, and plays at intervals. The prelude being over, six or seven toreador enter the arena on foot, dressed in silk jackets of different colours, richly spangled or bordered with gold or silver lace. One or two of these men, and who are called matadores, are pardoned criminals, and they receive a considerable sum for every bull they kill. About the same time various amateurs, well mounted on steeds gaily caparisoned, fancifully and tastefully attired, present themselves. When all is prepared, a door is opened under the box occupied by the municipality, and a bull rushes from a pen. At first he gazes about as if in surprise, but is soon put upon his mettle, by the waving of flags and the throwing of darts, crackers, and other annoyances. The amateur cavaliers display their horsemanship and skill in provoking and in eluding his vengeance, in order to catch the eye of some favourite fair one, and to gain the applause of their friends and the audience. They infuriate the animal by waving a mantle over his head, and when pursued they do not allow their horses to advance more than a few inches from the horns of the angry bull. When at full speed, they make their horse revolve upon his hind legs, and remain in readiness to make a second turn upon the animal. This operation is several times repeated with equal agility and boldness, and is called capear. The amateurs then promenade around to acknowledge the plaudits bestowed. This species of sparring on horseback with the bull, is practised only in South America. Indeed in no other part of the world is the training of the horses, or the dexterity of the horseman, equal to the performance of such exploits. Effigies made of skin and filled with wind, and others made of straw, in which are live birds, are placed in the arena. The bull tosses them in the air, but being made heavy at the base, they come to the ground always retaining an upright posture. The straw figures are furnished with fire-works, which are made to take fire when the birds escape from within, and it sometimes happens that the bull has the flaming and cracking figure upon his horns. Sometimes the bull is maddened by fire-works being fastened on him, which go off in succession. The crackers being expended, the animal usually stands gazing around with rolling tongue, panting sides, and eyes sparkling with rage. He is then faced by the principal matador, who holds a straight sword in one hand and a flag in the other; as the bull runs at him with full speed, the matador coolly, but with great celerity, takes one step to the left, holding the flag just over the spot he occupied when the bull took aim. Being foiled, the bull wheels round, and charges his tormentor a second time, who again skilfully eludes being caught on the horns: this is repeated about three times, to the great delight of the audience. At length the matador assumes a sort of fencing attitude, and at the critical moment, plunges his sword into the bull's neck, near to its shoulders, when it falls dead at his feet. Handkerchiefs are waved, and applauding shouts resound from every side. Four horses richly harnessed then appear. The dead bull is quickly fixed to traces, and dragged out at a gallop, cheered by continued acclamations.