Now that I have done my best to understand them without an
interpreter, I mean to buy Ruskin's pamphlet at my next visit, and look
at them through his eyes. But I do not think that I can be driven out of
the idea that a picture ought to have something in common with what the
spectator sees in nature.
Marlborough House may be converted, I think, into a very handsome
residence for the young Prince of Wales. The entrance from the
court-yard is into a large, square central hall, the painted ceiling of
which is at the whole height of the edifice, and has a gallery on one
side, whence it would be pleasant to look down on a festal scene below.
The rooms are of fine proportions, with vaulted ceilings, and with
fireplaces and mantel-pieces of great beauty, adorned with pillars and
terminal figures of white and of variegated marble; and in the centre of
each mantel-piece there is a marble tablet, exquisitely sculptured with
classical designs, done in such high relief that the figures are
sometimes almost disengaged from the background. One of the subjects was
Androcles, or whatever was his name, taking the thorn out of the lion's
foot. I suppose these works are of the era of the first old Duke and
Duchess. After all, however, for some reason or other, the house does
not at first strike you as a noble and princely one, and you have to
convince yourself of it by examining it more in detail.
On leaving Marlborough House, I stepped for a few moments into the
National Gallery, and looked, among other things, at the Turners and
Claudes that hung there side by side.
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