At the Farnesini palace our amusements were of a nature very contrary to this; but every place produces amusement when one is willing to be pleased. After looking over the various and inestimable productions of art contained there, we came at last to the celebrated marriage of Alexander’s Roxana; where, say some of the books of description, the world’s greatest hero is represented by Europe’s greatest painter. Some French gentlemen were in our company, and looking steadily at the picture for a while, one of them exclaimed, “A la fin voila ce qui est vrayment noble; cet Alexandre là; il paroit effectivement le roy de France même[17].”
The Spada palace boasts Guercino’s Dido, so disliked by the critics, who say she looks spitted; but extremely esteemed by those that understand its merit in other respects. There is also the very statue kept at this palace, at the feet of which Cæsar fell when he was assassinated at the capitol: those who shew it never fail to relate his care to die gracefully; which was likewise the last desire that occupied Lucretia’s mind: Augustus too, justly considering his life as scenical, desired the plaudits of his friends at its conclusion: and even Flavius Vespasian, a plain man as one should think during a pretty large portion of his existence, wished at last to die like an emperor. That this statue of Pompey should have been accidentally found with the head lying in one man’s ground and the body in another, is curious enough: a rage for appropriation gets the better of all the love of arts; so the contending parties (like the sisters in David Simple, with their fine-worked carpet) fairly severed the statue, and took home each his half; the proprietor of this palace meanwhile purchased the two pieces, stuck them once more together, and here they are.—Pity but the sovereign had carried both off for himself.—Pius Sextus however is not so disposed: he has had a legacy left him within these last years, to the prejudice of some nobleman’s heirs; who loudly lamented their fate, and his tyranny who could take advantage, as they expressed it, of their relation’s caprice. The Pope did not give it them back, because they behaved so ill, he said; but neither did he seize what was left him, by dint of despotic authority; he went to law with the family for it, which I thought a very strange thing; and lost his cause, which I thought a still stranger.
We have just been to see his gardens; they are poor things enough; and the device of representing Vulcan’s cave with the Cyclops, in water-works, was more worthy of Ireland than Rome! Monte Cavallo is however a palace of prodigious dignity; the pictures beyond measure excellent; his collection of china-ware valuable and tasteful, and there are two Mexican jars that can never be equalled.
Villa Albani is the most dazzling of any place yet however; and the caryatid pillars the finest things in it, though replete with wonders, and distracting with objects each worthy a whole day’s attention. Here is an antique list of Euripides’s plays in marble, as those tell me who can read the Greek inscriptions; I lose infinite pleasure every day, for want of deeper learning. Pillars not only of giall’ antique, but of paglia[18], which no house but this possesses, amaze and delight indocti doctique though; the Vatican itself cannot shew such: a red marble mask here, three feet and a half in diameter, is unrivalled; they tell you it is worth its own weight in louis d’ors: a canopus in basalt too; and cameos by the thousand.
Mengs should have painted a more elegant Apollo for the centre of such a gallery; but his muses make amends; the Viaggiana says they are all portraits, but I could get nobody to tell me whose. The Abbé Winckelman, who if I recollect aright lost his life by his passion for virtù, arranged this stupendous collection, in conjunction with the cardinal, whose taste was by all his contemporaries acknowledged the best in Rome.
We were carried this morning to a cabinet of natural history belonging to another cardinal, but it did not answer the account given of it by our conductors.
What has most struck me here as a real improvement upon social and civil life, was the school of Abate Sylvester, who, upon the plan of Monsieur L’Epée at Paris, teaches the deaf and dumb people to speak, read, write, and cast accounts; he likewise teaches them the principles of logic, and instructs them in the sacred mysteries of our holy religion. I am not naturally credulous, nor apt to take payment in words for meanings; much of my life has been spent, and all my youth, in the tuition of babies; I was of course less likely to be deceived; and I can safely say, that they did appear to have learned all he taught them: that appearance too, if it were no more, is so difficult to obtain, the patience required from the master is so very great, and the good he is doing to mankind so extensive, that I did not like offensively to detect the difference between knowing a syllogism and appearing to know it. With regard to morality, the pupils have certainly gained many præcognita. While the capital scholars were shewing off to another party, I addressed a girl who sat working in the window, and perceived that she could explain the meaning of the commandments competently well. To prove the truth, I pretended to pick a gentleman’s pocket who stood near me; peccato! said the wench distinctly; she was about ten years old perhaps: but a little boy of seven was deservedly the master’s favourite; he really possessed the most intelligent and interesting countenance I ever saw, and when to explain the major, minor, and consequence, he put the two first together into his hat with an air of triumph, we were enchanted with him. Some one to teize him said he had red hair; he instantly led them to a picture of our Saviour which hung in the room, said it was the same colour of his, and ought to be respected.
Surely it is little to the credit of us English, that this worthy Abbé Sylvester should have a stipend from government; that Monsieur L’Epée de Paris should be encouraged in the same good work; that Mr. Braidwood’s Scotch pupils should justly engage every one’s notice—while we sleep! A friend in company seeing me fret at this, asked me if I, or any one else, had ever seen or heard of a person really qualified for the common duties of society by any of these professors;—“That a deaf and dumb man should understand how to discourse about the hypostatic union,” added he, “I will not desire; but was there ever known in Paris, Edinburgh, or Rome, a deaf and dumb shoemaker, carpenter, or taylor? Or did ever any watchmaker, fishmonger, or wheelwright, ever keep and willingly employ a deaf and dumb journeyman?”—Nobody replied; and we went on our way to see what was easier decided upon and understood—the tomb of Raphael at the Pantheon.
Among the many tours that have been written, a musical tour, an astronomical tour, &c. I wonder we have never had a sepulchral tour, making the tombs of famous men its object of attention. That Raphael, Caracci, with many more people of eminence, sleep at the Pantheon, is however but a secondary consideration; few can think of the monuments in this church, till they have often contemplated its architecture, which is so finely proportioned that on first entering you think it smaller than it really is: the pillars are enormous, the shafts all of one piece, the composition Egyptian granite; these are the sixteen which support the portico built by Agrippa; whose car, adorned with trophies and drawn by brazen horses, once decorated the pediment, where the holes formed by the cramps which fastened it are still visible. Genseric changed the gate, and connoisseurs know not where he placed that which Agrippa made: the present gate is magnificent, but does not fit the place; much of the brass plating was removed by Urban the Eighth, and carried to St. Peter’s: he was the Barberini pope; and of him the people said—
Barbarini faciunt barbara, &c.