the Romans. Many of their coaches, horses, and equipages, are splendid. The carriage of Torlonia the banker, alias the Duke of Bracciano, was observed among the foremost of the glittering throng, drawn by palfreys, and bearing the escutcheons of purchased nobility.

We were this evening honoured with a call from Signor Trentanove, the celebrated sculptor, whose reputation is so well known to our countrymen, as the pupil and successor of Canova. He sat with us an hour, and we were delighted with an interview, which subsequently led to a more intimate acquaintance. He is yet quite a young man, handsome in his person, with a fine forehead, and a keen dark eye. Genius and intellect are very legibly written in the lines of his face. In his manners he is modest, affable, and extremely prepossessing, manifesting great cordiality and kindness of heart. On taking leave, he politely tendered his good offices, and offered any facilities in his power, to enable us to examine the works of art, and other objects of interest at Rome. The sequel will prove, that this act of civility was not a mere compliment, but resulted in many kind attentions and valuable services.

On the following day, we all went to the Palazzo Rospigliosi, standing on the ruins of Constantine's Baths, in the V region of Monte Cavallo. In a pretty garden filled with oranges, citrons, and flowers, is a pavilion of no great beauty, the ceiling of which is adorned with the celebrated Aurora of Guido, esteemed one of the finest frescos at Rome. The design is grand, but we were somewhat disappointed in the execution, being unable to discover those masterly touches, which have called forth the admiration of others. A quadrigæ or four-horse chariot, is driven by Phoebus. The heads of the horses are fine; but the figure, face, and attitude of the god of day appeared to us peculiarly awkward, and unworthy of so brilliant a divinity. If Phæton did not drive with more spirit, no wonder he was thrown into the Po. Just above the fiery steeds appears the Morning Star, in the guise of a Cupid bearing a torch. Round the chariot of the Sun dance the Hours, in the shape of nymphs, seven in number. Their forms are gross and heavy, their legs large, and their arms brawny, forming an odd personification of those winged, ae, rial spirits, who are supposed to tread with light footsteps, and flit by, almost unperceived. They are clad in costumes of different colours, in which the favourite blue of the artist

predominates. The skies and clouds present a tolerable picture of the mingled hues and reflected blushes of morning. In front of the steeds is Aurora herself, the precursor and guide of Phoebus. She is represented in the form of a beautiful female, flying through the heavens and lighting up the orient with her smiles. It is, on the whole, a pretty picture, defective as parts of it appear in detail.

I was much pleased with a basaltic bust of Scipio Africanus, found at Liternum or Patria, the place of his exile, between Gaeta and Cumæ. It is the most striking head I have seen at Rome. The venerable warrior and patriot is represented as perfectly bald, and exhibiting a scar on his right His face is strongly marked with the lines of thought.

brow.

LETTER LXXVI.

ROME CONTINUED-NERO'S TOWER-VILLA ALBANI-STUDIO OF TRENTANOVE BORGHESE PALACE EXCURSION TO MONS SACER-CANONIZATION OF A NEW SAINT-SUNDAY IN ROME SPADA AND

FARNESE PALACES-VILLA BORGHESE-FI

NALE OF THE POPE'S SAINT.

June, 1826.-On the Quirinal Hill, stands the tower on which Nero is said to have sat and fiddled, while Rome was in flames. Vague and improbable as the tradition is, we sought permission to enter, and follow the footsteps of the tyrant to the summit, but were repulsed at the door. The base of the monument is occupied as a nunnery, and of course there is no admission to the cells of the holy sisterhood.

Foiled in this attempt, we made an excursion to the Villa Albani, beyond the Fountain of Termine,* and near the Porta Pia, or Gate of Pius IV. which is one of the most magnificent at Rome. The villa commands an enchanting view of Tivoli and the Alban Mount. Its grounds and gardens are extensive, sloping gently towards the Campagna, and forming one of the most delightful situations in the suburbs of the city. Yet with all these natural advantages, Albani exhibits

*This is one of the finest works of the kind in the city. Its embellishments are peculiarly appropriate, consisting of a statue of Moses bringing water from the rock, and a bas-relief, representing Aaron leading the Israelites to slake their thirst at the fountain,

little taste and few attractions. Its walks are laid out in the most formal manner; its squares and alleys are all rightangled; its trees are despoiled of their native charms; and its fountains resemble the locks of a canal.

Within the enclosure are three edifices, designed merely as lodges, galleries, and places of occasional resort for amusement. The principal edifice is lofty, light, and airy, with a beautiful porch extending the whole length in front, fifteen or twenty feet in depth, supported by a long range of pillars. Its roof is arched, and the pavement is a splendid mosaic, composed of black and white marble. This portico is worth more than all the rest of the building, on which immense sums of money have been squandered. Along the front are semicircular recesses, forming the entrances to the stairways, and ornamented with statues, busts, and hermes. With a few exceptions it is a poor lot of sculpture.

At evening we made an excursion across the Milvian Bridge, and thence down the right bank of the Tiber, along the foot of Monte Mario, to the Porta-Angelica, near the Vatican a circuit of four or five miles, affording many fine views of the hills, the river, the walls, and the distant towers of the city. For the greater part of the way, the path pursues the windings of the Tiber, the borders of which are rural and flowery. In the summer months this is the fashionable drive with the Romans.

On the following day, we visited the Studio of Trentanove. He was closeted with an English lady, who was sitting for her bust; but he requested us to make ourselves at home in his study, if it could afford any amusement. We found it rich in statues, and exquisite specimens of sculpture. Copies of the Venus de' Medicis and the Apollino are worthy of the original in the Gallery at Florence. I was delighted with a group of two children; one with a bird, and the other with its nest. The former is laughing, and the latter in tears. In attitude and expression, both are true to nature. It is a beautiful production, as well in design as in execution, and would form a fine decoration for a drawing-room. We here found a gallery, composed of the busts of our countrymen, from Washington and Franklin down to some of our personal acquaintances, whose faces were instantly recognized. In his general style, Trentanove adheres to the instructions of his great master, Canova, though not so rigidly as to cohis faults. He is an artist of discriminating mind and

ру

correct taste, with all the advantages which the galleries and schools of Italy can afford. In my opinion the day is not distant, if it has not already arrived, when the productions of his chisel will rival those of his illustrious predecessor. He possesses both the genius and industry, to reach the highest eminence in his profession.

In the afternoon I visited the Palazzo Borghese, the largest and one of the most magnificent palaces in Rome. It is situated on the left bank of the Tiber, above the bridge of St. Angelo. The porticos in the rear overhang and look out upon the river. A lofty and noble front ranges along the street. The apartments are both numerous and spacious. Some of them are extremely rich in decorations. The vaulted ceilings are highly gilt. Sheets of mirrors are halfcovered with Cupids and wreaths of flowers. But a choice collection of paintings furnishes the strongest attraction. The walls of ten rooms are entirely covered with some of the rarest pictures of the first artists. It would be difficult to find a gallery, which contains a greater variety, or a more select assortment of paintings. Yet there is no tenant in the palace to enjoy them. Paulina, the sister of Napoleon, has gone to the tomb, and Prince Borghese, her husband, is a wanderer in France and England, leaving his Italian villas and palaces behind.

After dinner we made an excursion to Mons Sacer, whither the plebeian multitude retreated in rebellion, and gave origin to the office of Tribune. It is several miles from Rome, on the right bank of the Anio, in the depth of the Campagna. The only person we saw, after leaving the gates of the city, was an old man clad in goat-skins, with the hairy side out. He looked himself like one of the beasts of his charge, bearing a striking similitude to Pan and the fabled Satyrs. He has a rude hut by the margin of the headlong stream, and appears to live entirely alone. The hill, so renowned in history, is a green swell of moderate elevation, rising like a tumulus on the waste. We here witnessed one of the most splendid sunsets I ever beheld, transcending the boldest and richest tints of the pencil. The west was in a blaze of glory, and imparted to the clouds and to the distant mountains the most gorgeous hues of crimson, purple, and gold.

In the evening we went to the chapel of Capuchins, to witness the initiatory step towards making a new saint and entering him in the calendar. The whole process occupied

three days, or more properly three nights; for all the exercises took place by candle-light, when it is much easier to make a great show than in the glare of sunshine. We found an immense multitude assembled to witness the ceremonies, which in themselves amount to nothing. The church, the squares, and the streets in the vicinity were brilliantly illuminated, and thronged to overflowing with both sexes in their best dresses. It was indeed a splendid spectacle. A rude image of the Saint was suspended over the high altar, with a circle of brass wire to form the rays of a glory about his head. A congregation of monks and priests, in their sacerdotal robes, gathered round the brilliant shrine and joined in high mass, after which some exquisite pieces of music were performed in the finest style.

I have now an image of this saint upon my table, struck off for the occasion, on a small duodecimo leaf, with the prayer to be offered to him on the opposite page. He was canonized under the appellation of Beato Angelo d'Acri, and seems to have been a missionary some two or three hundred years ago. He is represented in the guise of a monk, wearing a long beard, a coarse robe, with a girdle about his loins, a crucifix in his hand, and a death's head by his side. The supplication directed to be addressed to him begins with "Oh Beato Angelo, che foste cosi propizio a vostri divoti," and concludes with an earnest prayer for his intercession. I inquired in vain for the peculiar claims of this monk to a place in the calendar. It is a rule with the Popes never to make a Saint of a person, with whose character the world is acquainted, and until the events of his life have become mere matter of tradition.

The act of canonization appeared to be a festival, rather than a solemn religious rite. There was no indication of seriousness in the audience. The street leading from the church to the Fountain of Trevi was kept in a blaze till midnight, and was converted into the Corso of the evening. It was constantly thronged with belles and beaux, promenading between these two points, occasionally pausing at the Fountain, to see the beams of a full moon and the glare of variegated lamps reflected from the silver sheet of waters, foaming over a rocky bed. I rested upon the rim of the marble basin, watching alternately the beauty of the cascade and the gaiety of the crowd. Madame de Stael here lays the scene of one of the most highly wrought passages in