TO CAPTAIN SMITH.
Florence, March 26th, 1789.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
When I inform you, that the Catalogue alone of the Gallery of Florence, fills a large volume, what an unconscionable request will my dear friend appear to have made, in demanding a regular description of this superb and invaluable collection.
From so young an Amateur as I am, such an attempt, methinks, would be the height of presumption--I had almost said, of profanation. But, to convince you how much I would undertake to oblige you, suffice it to say, that the part properly called the Gallery, consists of two sides of a parallelogram of considerable length, joined together by a third, much shorter.
Round the cornice, the portraits of every great character, of whatever nation he belonged to, from Artaxerxes Memnon, King of Persia, to Dr. Anthony Cocchi, who died at Florence in 1758, are ranged according to their country. Among the English, I observed Wolsey, Cranmer, Cromwell, and Monk.
The wall between the cornice and the moulding, is lined with about an hundred and thirty paintings, by the most celebrated masters: all are admirable; but that which particularly strikes me, is the Mary Magdalen from the Tuscan school. Her hands are joined together with an expression which evinces the anguish of her soul, and the sincerity of her repentance. A skull is on the table before her. Remorse and Despair, in their most aggravated forms, are preying upon her; and yet her beauty is in all its captivating charms. Her face surpasses every conception; and the vest, which has fallen from her shoulders, displays a neck which even an Anchorite would for ever hang upon. She herself, with all the earnestness of her supplication, seems scarce to dare hope to be forgiven.--But, were there a doubt of it, sweet Penitent! I should die distracted.
John de St. John's Bridal Night, is another excellent painting. He has given the Bride all the fondness and beauty of a Venus, but has made her more than the Goddess, by shewing that the height of conjugal love, could not remove her natural modesty.
Her handmaids are leading her into her bed-chamber; but, when she discovers her husband ready to receive her, modesty overcomes her, and prevents her advancing. The longing Bridegroom invites her with the most ardent affection, and, with a smile of tenderness, seems amused with her coyness. She returns his smile, but with a kind of denial; and yet seems wishing to comply, but cannot persuade herself to approach him. Her Friends are encouraging her, and the old Nurse is growing angry at the delay. But I am presuming to be particular. I therefore pass over the rest of the paintings, and come to the statues and busts, which are ranged on bases, at regular distances, along the walls.
At the east end, there is a Horse, whose head and body excel any thing of the kind I ever beheld; but the legs are modern, and do not seem to belong to him.