2. The penance of the Magdalene is a subject which has become, like the penance of St. Jerome, a symbol of Christian penitence, but still more endeared to the popular imagination by more affecting and attractive associations, and even more eminently picturesque,—so tempting to the artists, that by their own predilection for it they have assisted in making it universal. In the display of luxuriant female forms, shadowed (not hidden) by redundant fair hair, and flung in all the _abandon_ of solitude, amid the depth of leafy recesses, or relieved by the dark umbrageous rocks; in the association of love and beauty with the symbols of death and sorrow and utter humiliation; the painters had ample scope, ample material, for the exercise of their imagination, and the display of their skill: and what has been the result? They have abused these capabilities even to licence; they have exhausted the resources of Art in the attempt to vary the delineation; and yet how seldom has the ideal of this most exquisite subject been—I will not say realised—but even approached? We have Magdalenes who look as if they never could have sinned, and others who look as if they never could have repented; we have Venetian Magdalenes with the air of courtesans, and Florentine Magdalenes with the air of Ariadnes; and Bolognese Magdalenes like sentimental Niobes; and French Magdalenes, _moitié galantes_, _moitié dévotes_; and Dutch Magdalenes, who wring their hands like repentant washerwomen. The Magdalenes of Rubens remind us of nothing so much as of the ‘unfortunate Miss Bailey;’ and the Magdalenes of Van Dyck are fine ladies who have turned Methodists. But Mary Magdalene, such as we have conceived her, mournful yet hopeful,—tender yet dignified,—worn with grief and fasting, yet radiant with the glow of love and faith, and clothed with the beauty of holiness,—is an ideal which painting has not yet realised. Is it beyond the reach of Art? We might have answered this question, had Raphael attempted it;—but he has not. His Magdalene at the feet of Christ is yet unforgiven—the forlorn castaway, not the devout penitent. The Magdalene doing penance in her rocky desert first became a popular subject in the sixteenth century; in the seventeenth it was at the height of favour. There are two distinct versions of the subject, infinitely varied as to detail and sentiment: either she is represented as bewailing her sins, or as reconciled to Heaven. In the former treatment she lies prostrate on the earth, or she is standing or kneeling at the entrance of the cave (in some of the old illuminated missals the upper part of her body is seen emerging from a cave, or rather a hole in the ground), the hands clasped, or extended towards heaven; the eyes streaming with tears; the long yellow hair floating over the shoulders. The crucifix, the skull, and sometimes the scourge, are introduced as emblems of faith, mortality, and penance; weeping angels present a crown of thorns.