place, enjoying the refreshing coolness of evening under an unclouded sky, the time is passed in sport and festivity, animated by all the vivacity which artists may indulge in; and on this classic ground, in the vicinity of that Tiber, which was so dear to Horace, and of Meænas's villa, the recollection of past ages adds to the charms of the present moment.

"The festival of St. Peter was celebrated to-day; and on this occasion the princes and nobles display the utmost magnificence; they go to church in the most sumptuous equipages, drawn by horses superbly decorated. The pope's troops follow, who do not make so brilliant an appearance. The caval ry parades in the most grotesque confusion; one has only stockings, while another has boots that are not fellows; the horses walk as slowly as if they were dragging the plough in short, the whole forms a spectacle as novel as it is ridiculous.

"In Rome one frequently meets with the most striking contrasts; by the side of the finest productions of painting and architecture, you often see the most disgusting specimens of bad taste; in one spot all the pomp of opulence displays itself, close to it all the miseries of poverty obtrude themselves on the eye; in the streets, beings whose very aspect appals the soul, lie on the threshold of palaces, &c.

"The most beautiful part of this festival is the spectacle which closes the day; and indeed all Rome looks forward to it with anxious expectation. In the evening the cupola of St. Peter's church is illuminated. There are torches placed on the balustrade, which are lighted as soon as it grows dusk; the

signal is given by the sound of a bell, and in an instant the whole cupola appears in a flame. The colossal masses of the church and the other buildings which surround it, illumined in various ways by this immense mass of light, present a spectacle of the most singular and striking nature. The multitude, which crowds from every quarter to behold this sight, produces a number of whimsic il groups which are varying every minute. They seem to undulate like waves, at one time illumined by the most vivid brightness, at another lost in total obscurity. At midnight a superb firework, played from the castle of St. Angelo in honour of the triumph of the church, terminates with becoming dignity the festivities of the day.

But all the festivals and all the fireworks in the world would never afford me half the gratification I experienced from my visit to More. He had not, indeed, leisure to converse long with me, when I called on him, but I was fully recompensed by being allowed to remain in his study quite at my ease. Four pictures particularly struck me; the two first represent a sunrise and a sunset; the third a tempest at sea, of good colouring and the most terrific effect; the fourth, the deluge. In the latter nothing is seen but sky and water, and a few rocks, which here and there appear; yet the combination of colour produces altogether a striking effect. A picture representing an eruption of Mount Etna, pleased me least, although it possesses infinite merit; but a mass of fire alone, without the concurrence of other objects to interrupt the uniformity of its colour, can never, I think, excite great interest, nor produce a very strong impression. More excels principally in colouring; the eye

reposes with pleasure on his beautiful skies, which boast a truly aerial transparency; his thorough knowledge of perspective enables him to produce the most enchanting harmony in his landscapes; his trees are characterized with perfect truth; his water is brilliant and limpid, and for a landscape paint er his figures are very tolerably drawn. It appears to me, that the manner in which he glazes his half tints contributes materially to the beauty of his colouring.

"I begin to feel myself at home in this city, and by degrees become acquainted with the beauties which every part offers to my eyes. Soon after my arrival I went to see the gallery of pictures belonging to prince Borghese. The most celebrated picture in this collection is the entombing of Christ, by Raphael. The design, composition, and an inexpressible clearness of colouring, have induced connoisseurs to class this exquisite painting with the finest productions of the art. A small Madona with the infant Jesus, and an angel on each side holding a torch, is well known to you by the drawing of it which Lipps sent you; the most exquisite grace, and an expression of virgin innocence, are diffused over the countenance of the mother; and the child is not inferior in beauty. There are also in this collection some very fine Titians; the head of Cæsar Borgiain particular claims admiration; and while contemplating its excellence, even some charming Vandycks which are near it lose their attraction. If Titian had united the drawing of Raphael with the magic of his colouring, he would have been the first painter in the world..

"My mind filled with the highest expectations, I repaired to the

Sestini chapel. When I entered the building, I thought the spirit of Michael Angelo appeared before me in majestic grandeur, and filled me with profound respect. What a boldness and fire of imagination is displayed in his picture of the Last Judgment! The de appear to be actually rising from the earth, and disengaging themselves from their winding-sheets, to rise in varied groups towards heaven. The spectator is seized with terror on beholding the damned precipitated into the dreadful abyss, which opens its jaws to receive them. What animation and richness in the composition! and in what energetic and terrific forms is the work of destruction offered to the eye! This painting, considered in all points, is perhaps the greatest effcit of the art; and in fact, who can be compared with Raphael and Michael Angelo? The same great genius also displays itself in the decorations on the walls and ceiling of the chapel, although under the most varied forms; yet the same grandeur and simplicity of outline pervades the whole of these works, which in a great measure approaches the ideal beau ty of the antients.

"C. GESSNER."

"C. GESSNER TO HIS FATHER.

"Rome, Aug. 1, 1787. "The gallery of prince Doria contains, among other valuable pictures, three Claudes, which are esteemed some of the best productions of this master: and also some of the finest of Poussin; the Flight into Egypt is one of the three first. The Holy Family is reposing by the side of a rivulet which fows through a forest. The setting sun

spreads

spreads a glowing tint over the trunks of the trees, and its rays passing between their branches are reflected in the water, which produces a very singular illusion. The dark colouring of the trees, contrasted with the brilliancy of the sky, which appears through the interstices of the foliage, adds to its effect, and gives it almost the appearance of fire. This picture presents every varied tint of green, yet the most perfect harmony reigns through the whole. The trees are finely drawn, and their forms well chosen. The second picture is a sunset, in which that orb is just sinking into the ocean; a charming painting, replete with effect. The extent of the water occupies more than half the height of it; and although it appears all of one colour and perfectly calm, yet the effect produced by the rays of the sun reflected in different ways from its surface, and by the progressive gradation of tints which mingle with the sky in an aerial vapour, extends the limits of the horizon to the distance of several miles. Some majestic rocks form a barrier to the sea on one side, and some large trees occupy the foreground. The subject of the third is morning in its earliest progress. A lake of translucent water is edged with tufts of trees, through the dark foliage of which some mountains are visible, which melt into a gray distance; all the objects appear tinted by the fresh vapour of morning. The foreground is ornamented with some beautiful architectural buildings, and the whole is so highly finished as to be a perfect illusion. The composition, the choice of objects, every part in short is of exquisite taste, and even in the smallest blade of grass a

strict attention to nature is discernible.

"I have already told you, that this collection contains two landscapes by Poussin. Some sketches by this artist, and some engravings from his pictures, are nearly all that is known of his works in Germany; and those who judge of his talents from these specimens, must in fact suppose him a mannerist, particularly when compared with Claude Lorraine. But those of his pictures which are finished, are replete with an exquisite feeling of the beauties of nature; and in composition he sometimes rises to epic sublimity. He has neither a superior nor a rival. Claude possesses the undefinable charms of cheerfulness and elegance. Poussin has more grandeur and dignity. Claude is the Correggio of landscape painters, while Poussin is the Michael Angelo. The former surpasses every one in excellence of execution; but many works of the latter are particularly admirable for a true and vigorous colouring. But to return to those of his pictures which enrich the Doria gallery. One represents a storm; some shepherds are hastily coming down an excavated road, and driving their flocks towards a forest, which appears to be violently agitated by the tempest. This painting tontains a fire and energy peculiar to itself, and fear is imprinted on the countenances of the figures with great truth of expression.

"I have this moment received your excellent letter of the 17th of July, for which I have been long in anxious expectation. You inquire after Meyer and Kölla; they are persons distinguished for their talents and industry. I have seen some heads by them in the manner

"C. GESSNER TO HIS FATHER.

"Rome, Aug. 17,1787. "I am continually changing my lodging; I am just going to take possession of a new one. Sablet and I have hired a pretty little house, in which we are to live together. We are to be our own cooks, housekeepers, and butlers, and each of us is to take the charge of the housekeeping alternately. Sablet has initiated me in the art of turning the spit, and of basting the meat with the gravy; and my progress already does credit to my master. We have an old woman to assist us in the lesser details, and we live together like two friars in a cloyster, only with more pleasure and cheerfulness. I am certain, my dear father, you would be delighted with our little arrangements, and you would do honour to our dinner. I have besides another advantage: from the windows of my apartment I have an uninterrupted view of the country and the vineyards which are scattered over it, and I can study skies and trees without going out of my house. This will be very useful to me in many respects. Sablet is fond of order, and is a good economist, and on this point he gives me some

good advice; he also obliges me always to converse either in French or Italian. Drouet has also a share in our study; he is a very amiable young Frenchman, who paints history; and Mr. Denis, a very able Flemish landscape painter, lives close to our door. Every evening we have an assemblage of artists, all men of talent, which forms quite an academy; we laugh and amuse ourselves, and chatter like magpies on the arts, and we are as happy as if we were in Paradise.

"Yet, notwithstanding I feel so comfortable in many respects, I am often dejected and discouraged, when I consider all the difficulties which are still to be conquered, before I can rise even to mediocrity in my art! and if I did not feel conscious that my whole soul is engrossed by it, that through the medium of that alone I view and study nature; if this reflection did not give me some degree of confidence, and encourage me to hope that I was born a painter, I believe I should despair of ever becoming one. I cannot well account for a singular change, which seems to have taken place in me. I feel disgusted with the style I have adopted; the reason may be be cause I find but few good models for it in Rome, and that excepting only the masterpieces of the antient artists, the number of which is very small, there are but few pictures in that style which reach beyond mediocrity. Atthe same time I am well aware how dangerous it is to deviate from one's own sphere; I have various examples before my eyes of young artists, particularly Germans, who, from being tolerably good landscape painters, have become very bad historical painters,

and

and who, instead of delighting your eyes with beautiful views and smiling scenes, disgust you with dropsical Venuses and contemptible Alexanders. M. —— for example, who certainly possesses some talent, would have been far more respectable had he continued to paint his pigs, a style in which he had peculiar merit, than to daub over historical caricatures. How many painters study the antique without comprehending it, and will never be able to paint any thing but statues, devoid of soul and expression! For my part, the smallest object in which I can trace nature has more charms in my eyes than these mutilated and inanimate compositions, which neither interest my feelings nor engage my attention. Both H. Roos and Berghem studied at Rome, yet each continued in that particular line which he had chosen. The former applied himself to the study of landscape, of works of architecture, and of the fine flocks which here presented themselves to his eye, and he became a great painter. The other imitated nature with equal correctness; the mountains which surround me, the atmosphere in which 1 live, appear to me every fine evening, as I have observed them in his pictures.

"In general, the masters of the Flemish school, considered as painters, may, I think, without disadvantage, be placed in competition with those of the Italian school; and excepting only the very few great men who have adorned the latter, I should even give the preference to the Flemish. The too frequent neglect of colouring, and the studied style of the Italian masters, make the eye return with increased pleasure to the natural simplicity of the others. Yet it

must be confessed, that the great masters in the historical line which the Italians boast of, have united all the principal parts of the art. I admire above all, the grandeur and simplicity of their composition. A small number of figures, but those carefully drawn and deeply studied, are sufficient for them to compose an admirable picture. Every thing speaks and acts; every part is full of animation and soul. They

never make use of such additions as are merely intended to fill up a space, yet no unpleasant vacancy offends the eye. On the contrary, in what modern artists call great compositions, the canvas is indeed filled to its utmost extent with some dozen of figures and an infinity of accessory details; but these figures neither say nor do any thing, and one seeks in vain, in such an insignificant assemblage, for that harmony and unity which delights. the eye and engrosses the mind. But, indeed, this is the great secret of the art, and there are very few who are in possession of it; to rise to so elevated a height, one should have the genius of a Raphael, the creative imagination of a Michael Angelo, and the magic pencil of a Correggio. When I read the catalogue of historical painters, and observe how rare are the instances of real excellence, I feel very forcibly the absurdity of my wish to depart from the line I have chosen. Besides which, this style is undoubtedly susceptible of improvement.

"A fine horse and a good figure, placed in a well-selected landscape, immediately make an agreeable picture; and it is my business to add life and interest to it by introdu cing action. Instead of these objects, paint a cart-horse on a heap of sand. This picture, if it be well executed, will always possess some