I wonder if it has ever occurred to those who have studied the inner life and meaning of these old representations,—­owed to them, perhaps, homilies of wisdom, as well as visions of poetry,—­that the introduction of the ox and the ass, those symbols of animal servitude and inferiority, might be otherwise translated;—­that their pathetic dumb recognition of the Saviour of the world might be interpreted as extending to them also a participation in his mission of love and mercy;—­that since to the lower creatures it was not denied to be present at that great manifestation, they are thus brought nearer to the sympathies of our humanity, as we are, thereby, lifted to a nearer communion with the universal spirit of love;—­but this is “considering too deeply,” perhaps, for the occasion.  Return we to our pictures.  Certainly we are not in danger of being led into any profound or fanciful speculations by the ignorant painters of the later schools of art.  In their “Nativities,” the ox and ass are not, indeed, omitted; they must be present by religious and prescriptive usage; but they are to be made picturesque, as if they were in the stable by right, and as if it were only a stable, not a temple hallowed to a diviner significance.  The ass, instead of looking devoutly into the cradle, stretches out his lazy length in the foreground; the ox winks his eyes with a more than bovine stupidity.  In some of the old German pictures, while the Hebrew ox is quietly chewing the cud, the Gentile ass “lifts up his voice” and brays with open mouth, as if in triumph.

One version of this subject, by Agnolo Gaddi, is conceived with much simplicity and originality.  The Virgin and Joseph are seen together within a rude and otherwise solitary building.  She points expressively to the manger where lies the divine Infant, while Joseph leans on his staff and appears lost in thought.

Correggio has been much admired for representing in his famous Nativity the whole picture as lighted by the glory which proceeds from the divine Infant, as if the idea had been new and original. ("La Notte,” Dresden Gal.) It occurs frequently before and since his time, and is founded on the legendary story quoted above, which describes the cave or stable filled with a dazzling and supernatural light.

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It is not often we find the Nativity represented as an historical event without the presence of the shepherds; nor is the supernatural announcement to the shepherds often treated as a separate subject:  it generally forms part of the background of the Nativity; but there are some striking examples.

In a print by Rembrandt, he has emulated, in picturesque and poetical treatment, his famous Vision of Jacob, in the Dulwich Gallery.  The angel (always supposed to be Gabriel) appears in a burst of radiance through the black wintry midnight, surrounded by a multitude of the heavenly host.  The shepherds fall prostrate, as men amazed and “sore afraid;” the cattle flee different ways in terror (Luke ii. 9.) I do not say that this is the most elevated way of expressing the scene; but, as an example of characteristic style, it is perfect.