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On the 19th I visited the Palazzo Spada, a monstrous, half-deserted palace, surrounding spacious quadrangular courts, with niches above, occupied by gods and saints. An elderly woman conducted me through the spacious halls, containing many fine specimens of the arts, among which are eight beautiful pieces, of bass-relief, or more properly alto-relievo, from the temple of Bacchus; a fine antique of the Grecian philosopher Antisthenes, seated in a thinking posture, with his head leaning upon his hand; Love reposing on a couch; the head of Laocoon; and a miniature model of St. Peter's. But by far the most interesting work in the palace, and the principal object of my visit, is a colossal statue of Pompey, at the base of which Cæsar fell. There is some doubt as to its identity, and the authenticity of the tradition. As there must be some work of the kind at Rome, this may perhaps as well be the one. It is said to have been found in a vault under a street, in the vicinity of Pompey's Forum. At all events, it is a statue of some merit, representing a warrior in an imposing attitude, with a fine exhibition of muscles. His right arm is outstretched; in his left hand he holds a globe; and a sword hangs at his side. I could perceive no reason why it might not be the conqueror of the East.

From the Spada palace, I went to the Palazzo Farnese, in the same neighbourhood. It is an immense pile, the materials of which were drawn from the Coliseum, that exhaustless quarry whence many of the embellishments of modern Rome have been derived. The barbarous act of plunder is not redeemed by the magnificence of the palace, although its exterior surpasses in loftiness and architectural grandeur any similar edifice in the city. It is three stories high; the first of the Doric, the second of the Ionic, and the third of the Corinthian order. The frieze is particularly adınired for its elegance. On the public square in front are two basins of granite, of an oval form, seven feet in diameter, and four or five in depth. They were found in the Baths of Caracalla, and are now used as the reservoirs of two copious fountains.

In the court I found the sarcophagus of Cecilia Metella, from her tomb on the Appian Way. It is composition, encrusted with Parian marble, sculptured with the heads of animals. It is capacious enough to hold all the patrician ashes of ancient Rome. In the back porch are several sarcophagi, fragments of pillars, and other antiquities. Climbing a noble flight of stairs, I examined the celebrated frescos of Annibal Caracci. The central and principal picture represents the triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne, the chariot of the former being drawn by tigers, and that of the latter by goats. Near the car of the god is

Pan with his pastoral pipes. It is an animated scene.

At one end

of the hall, the god of shepherds is offering goat-skins to Diana; at the other, Paris is in the act of receiving the apple of discord from Mercury. There is on the whole much originality, as well as poetic fancy, displayed in these frescos. The other apartments contain a collection of statues, comprising a great deal of lumber. Among the best, is an equestrian statue of Caligula, found in the ruins of Pompeii. A group of recumbent figures claim to be of the school of Michael Angelo. There is much gilt about some of the articles, in the worst possible taste. A personification of Vanity holds a real mirror in one hand, and a brazen serpent in the other. She looks like the fabled image of the mermaid, with her glass and comb. This enormous palace, in which a small family might easily be lost, and the saloons of which are silent and cheerless, is at present occupied by the Neapolitan minister to the Papal Court. He is probably lodged in some remote corner, as no furniture was observed in the apartments comprising the gallery.

In the afternoon I walked to the Villa Borghese, which is without the walls of the city, spreading northerly from the base of the Pincian Hill. It is three miles in circumference, embracing a park, somewhat in the English style, the woods, walks, fountains, and other embellishments of which, display much taste in rural scenery, furnishing a striking contrast to ordinary Italian gardens. The pine, ilex, and elm, are among the most conspicuous trees. Broad avenues for carriages are laid out in all directions, which are open to the public, and form a charming drive. At the gate, the visitant passes under an aqueduct, inscribed on one side with the words, " Appia felix ad lacum ;" on the other, "Ne quem mitissimus amnis impediat," a pretty motto for a copious stream, which flows ten or fifteen feet above an excellent road. Just beyond the entrance, two vistas open at right angles, at the extremities of which, are Grecian temples, forming beautiful terminations. One of the shrines is dedicated to Ceres. In front are four columns with an elegant frieze. The pillars appear to be ancient. Statues, fountains, and pavilions, fill the woods.

I trod most of the umbrageous paths, and at length came to the principal lodge, which is lost among the trees. It is a noble edifice filled with the works of art. Numerous saloons open into a spacious hall, forming the vestibule, the vaulted roof of which is highly embellished. On the wall, facing the front door, is the celebrated equestrian statue, in alto-relievo, of Curtius, leaping into the gulf which opened in the Roman Forum. The horse is said to be an antique, but the figure of the rider, modern. This famous piece of sculpture, did not strike me

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very forcibly. The legs of the steed are coiled up in a way which appears unnatural, even while leaping through the air. There is neither boldness nor freedom in the manner. The expression of Curtius' face is the strongest point in the group.

Frescos of the very first order adorn the ceilings of the vestibule and the other apartments. There is also a rich collection of statuary. Apollo and Daphne, by Bernini, form a fine group. The nymph is just in the act of being changed into a laurel, the leaves of which are springing from her hands, and her feet cling like roots to the rocks: the bark also is beginning to envelope her snowy trunk. A passage from the Metamorphoses of Ovid, whence the subject is taken, is inscribed on the pedestal. In the same room is another group, representing Æneas bearing Anchises from the flames of Troy, with little Iulus at his side. The drapery is admirable. Four large vases of alabaster. and one of verde antique, are superb ornaments, perfect in form and finish. Among the rarer pieces of sculpture, are a sleeping hermaphrodite, and the original of the two children in Trentanove's Studio. Hundreds of copies of the latter have been taken. The paintings are not numerous, nor remarkably choice. One of the best is the Lion Hunt.

Some repairs and removals are going on at the Lodge. The floor of one apartment was heaped with disjointed statues-heads in one place, legs, arms, and hands, in another. It looked like the dissecting room of an anatomist. To the traveller who has visited the Belvidere on the Alban Mount, the Borghese Palace on the banks of the Tiber, and the splendid attractions of these grounds, it appears strange that the wealthy proprietor should be willing to leave such princely residences, with the skies of Italy and the monuments of Rome, for the crowded and noisy streets of Paris or London. But there is no accounting for tastes. The Prince is said to be a fat easy man, fond of eating and sleeping, caring little for classical antiquities or the works of modern


In the evening we went to see the Pope give the finishing touch to his new saint. At 8 o'clock he brushed along through the congrega ted multitude, blessing the people as he passed, who all prostrated themselves upon the pavement. There was such an immense throng. that I could see or hear little of what was going on at the altar. Prayers were said, and hymns of beatification sung. The whole front of the church, and the streets in the vicinity, were brilliantly illuminated. At the conclusion of the ceremonies, a splendid volley of fireworks was let off, on the square in front of the chapel; and the modern saint, like the ancient prophet, might be said to have ascended in a

chariot of flame.

The nocturnal festival was prolonged to a late hour. Houses hung with banners of crimson, and balconies filled with circles of Roman beauty, certainly presented a brilliant spectacle.

While we were at breakfast next morning, word came that the church of the Capuchins was burnt down, from the illumination of the night previous. Here was a most ominous and unlucky occurrence, as well for his Holiness as his Saintship. Although Beato Angelo could work other miracles, and excite celestial flames, he could not use the bucket and quench terrestrial fires. His own image and the brazen radii of his glory suffered in the conflagration. This catastrophe was hard of explanation, and staggered the faithful. In other countries, it would be accounted a judgment from heaven, for the mockery of deifying a monk. After finishing our coffee, we walked to the scene of desolation, which last evening was so brilliant and so gay. The front of the chapel was entirely consumed, and other parts sustained much injury. Cinders were strewed among the wreaths, with which the brows of madonnas and saints were entwined. While other articles of furniture were seared, it is remarkable, that the splendid picture of Guido's Archangel, denominated the Catholic Apollo, passed through the flames without detriment, although it was suspended over an altar near the front door. It is a noble production, perhaps the chef d'œuvres of its author. Copies of it have been multiplied without number. The Archangel is represented in the attitude of treading upon the Prince of Darkness.




June, 1826.

THE morning of the 20th was occupied in a visit to the Barberini Palace, which possesses few external attractions. In the vestibule is a celebrated fresco by Pietro da Cortona. It is divided into numerous compartments, the subjects of which are disconnected. The allegories in some instances, are abstract and confused, requiring an interpreter to expound them. Among the ornaments of the rooms, is a series of medallions, giving views of London, Paris, and the cities of Germany. In the audience chamber is a throne, with a canopy of green baize, bearing a tawdry exhibition of the family arms, which in one of the frescos are represented as borne to heaven by the Virtues, in the presence of Providence, Time, Eternity, and the Fates! Before the throne, at the time of our visit, the floor was heaped with a pile of dirty tags of wool, shattered trunks, baskets, and other lumber, which did not very well comport with the images of high nobility. The collection of statues is indifferent, with the exception of one or two pieces, ascribed to Michael Angelo. In the gallery are many good pictures, among which, are an exact copy of Guido's Archangel, mentioned above, and a duplicate of La Fornarina, by Raphael himself. She differs widely, in character and style, from the divine portrait in the Florentine gallery. It would seem as if the artist in that work surpassed himself, and in moments of less inspiration, found the touches of his own pencil inimitable. Potiphar's wife and Joseph make a most luscious picture. Never were voluptuousness and chastity more forcibly contrasted. The pencil has been true to the scriptural narrative. She has just risen from her couch in dishabille, or rather, imperfectly draped, with her bosom open, and her cheek flushed. Her naked foot is planted upon that of the young Israelite, in the struggle to drag him back. His face and figure express coldness, composure, and determi ned resolution. The wall of one of the rooms is almost entirely covered with the Supper of the Gods; and another by the Triumph of Bacchus. Their dimensions are perhaps, their most remarkable fea

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