DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.53068#0285
THE LAST FIVE YEARS OF THE PAINTER
when he saw what was done, believed, being astonished at the doctrine of the
Lord”.
The contest between faith and imposture takes place in front of an archi-
tectural composition entirely befitting the figures that are to occupy the space,
with the nobility and compactness of its contributory members; it is as if there
were a summons before a temporal tribunal. In the dignity of office, with a
golden wreath and green toga, raised above the multitude by his place above
the steps and in front of the tribune, Sergius Paulus has taken his seat on the
throne when Saul stretches out his right hand like a rod of heaven against the
stricken impostor who has dared to intrude with his Eastern sorceries under his
eyes. This simple man, with the strong shoulders of the artizan and firmly
taking his stand, seems to be the one amongst all the others who has “put on
the new man”, “full of the Holy Ghost”. And the judge, who has them both
brought before his judgment seat, is nothing but a harassed mortal. In sym-
pathetic fear, his lictors recognise that the temporal force of their arms is not
needed where the judgment of heaven is being executed. The one next to
the Proconsul, thrusting his arm from his toga, draws the attention of the doubters
behind him to the proud man who has been smitten from heaven. He is answered
by the gesture of the woman full of foreboding; she has recognised the power of
God sooner than other onlookers, who in their dullness are merely clever, whilst
the men round Elymas have not yet got over what is actually taking place,
the transformation in his eyes. The attention, as one looks at the picture, is
centred on the great thing that is happening within the narrow compass of a
pair of eyes, as if in some play of circling balls worthy of Leonardo. But from
the smitten shoulders of the victim the line is carried on, through the com-
panion who gropes after him with seeing eyes, to the terrified Praetor, along
his arms to his head—and from the opposite direction also he is the focus. The
chastising hand of Paul is directed at his adversary, but at the same time every
fold of his garment, ending in the high light on his hand and threatening finger,
points undeviatingly towards the Praetor. And here history-painting becomes
world history; in this Praetor the Roman Imperium is shaken, and the judge
himself becomes the tongue of the scales of justice, inclining towards the “new
man” when the old man proves to be too light. All that was in him depended
on equilibrium. This judge on his tribunal resembles the priest in the Mass of
Bolsena who falters at the spectacle of Transubstantiation. The focal point of
vision of the whole space, of which the construction is shown with great exact-
ness, lies to the left of his head. In the dramatic undulation of the row of heads,
from the praying Barnabas to the deaf mute on the right-hand margin, he is
dominant, not merely through his golden crown. The axes of the occurrence
in the foreground meet at an angle in him; they cross in him, and diverge into
the distance in the architecture behind him. He forms the centre of this com-
position, spiritually and spatially and aesthetically. A semicircle opens in
267
when he saw what was done, believed, being astonished at the doctrine of the
Lord”.
The contest between faith and imposture takes place in front of an archi-
tectural composition entirely befitting the figures that are to occupy the space,
with the nobility and compactness of its contributory members; it is as if there
were a summons before a temporal tribunal. In the dignity of office, with a
golden wreath and green toga, raised above the multitude by his place above
the steps and in front of the tribune, Sergius Paulus has taken his seat on the
throne when Saul stretches out his right hand like a rod of heaven against the
stricken impostor who has dared to intrude with his Eastern sorceries under his
eyes. This simple man, with the strong shoulders of the artizan and firmly
taking his stand, seems to be the one amongst all the others who has “put on
the new man”, “full of the Holy Ghost”. And the judge, who has them both
brought before his judgment seat, is nothing but a harassed mortal. In sym-
pathetic fear, his lictors recognise that the temporal force of their arms is not
needed where the judgment of heaven is being executed. The one next to
the Proconsul, thrusting his arm from his toga, draws the attention of the doubters
behind him to the proud man who has been smitten from heaven. He is answered
by the gesture of the woman full of foreboding; she has recognised the power of
God sooner than other onlookers, who in their dullness are merely clever, whilst
the men round Elymas have not yet got over what is actually taking place,
the transformation in his eyes. The attention, as one looks at the picture, is
centred on the great thing that is happening within the narrow compass of a
pair of eyes, as if in some play of circling balls worthy of Leonardo. But from
the smitten shoulders of the victim the line is carried on, through the com-
panion who gropes after him with seeing eyes, to the terrified Praetor, along
his arms to his head—and from the opposite direction also he is the focus. The
chastising hand of Paul is directed at his adversary, but at the same time every
fold of his garment, ending in the high light on his hand and threatening finger,
points undeviatingly towards the Praetor. And here history-painting becomes
world history; in this Praetor the Roman Imperium is shaken, and the judge
himself becomes the tongue of the scales of justice, inclining towards the “new
man” when the old man proves to be too light. All that was in him depended
on equilibrium. This judge on his tribunal resembles the priest in the Mass of
Bolsena who falters at the spectacle of Transubstantiation. The focal point of
vision of the whole space, of which the construction is shown with great exact-
ness, lies to the left of his head. In the dramatic undulation of the row of heads,
from the praying Barnabas to the deaf mute on the right-hand margin, he is
dominant, not merely through his golden crown. The axes of the occurrence
in the foreground meet at an angle in him; they cross in him, and diverge into
the distance in the architecture behind him. He forms the centre of this com-
position, spiritually and spatially and aesthetically. A semicircle opens in
267