The S. Proclus is a beautiful figure, but the others—bishops and popes! Below are heavenly children playing with attributes. The painter, who had no choice left him, laboured to help himself as best he could. He exerted himself merely to show that he was not the barbarian. Two naked figures by Guido; a St. John in the Wilderness; a Sebastian, how exquisitely painted, and what do they say? the one is gaping and the other wriggling.
Were I to contemplate history in my present ill humor, I should say, Faith revived art, but Superstition immediately made itself master of it, and ground it to the dust.
After dinner, seeming somewhat of a milder temper and less arrogantly disposed than in the morning, I entered the following remarks in my note-book. In the palace of the Tanari there is a famous picture by Guido, the Virgin suckling the infant Saviour—of a size rather larger than life—the head as if a god had painted it,—indescribable is the expression with which she gazes upon the sucking infant. To me it seems a calm, profound resignation, as if she were nourishing not the child of her joy and love, but a supposititious, heavenly changeling; and goes on suckling it because now she cannot do otherwise, although, in deep humility, she wonders how she ever came to do it. The rest of the canvass is filled up with a mass of drapery which connoisseurs highly prize. For my part I know not what to make of it. The colours, too, are somewhat dim; the room and the day were none of the brightest.
Notwithstanding the confusion in which I find myself I yet feel that experience, knowledge, and taste, already come to my aid in these mazes. Thus I was greatly won by a "Circumcision" by Guercino, for I have begun to know and to understand the man. I can now pardon the intolerable subject and delight in the masterly execution. Let him paint whatever can be thought of, everything will be praiseworthy and as highly finished as if it were enamel.
Bologna.
And thus it happened with me as with Balaam the over-ruled prophet, who blessed where he thought to curse; and I fear this would be the case still oftener were I to stay here much longer.
And then, again, if one happens to meet with a picture after Raphael, or what may with at least some probability be ascribed to him, one is soon perfectly cured and in good temper again. I fell in yesterday with a S. Agatha, a rare picture, though not throughout in good keeping. The artist has given to her the mien of a young maiden full of health and self-possession, but yet without rusticity or coldness. I have stamped on my mind both her form and look, and shall mentally read before her my "Iphigenia," and shall not allow my heroine to express a sentiment which the saint herself might not give utterance to.
And now when I think again of this sweet burden which I carry with me throughout my wanderings, I cannot conceal the fact that, besides the great objects of nature and art, which I have yet to work my way through, a wonderful train of poetical images keeps rising before me and unsettling me. From Cento to this place I have been wishing to continue my labors on the Iphigenia, but what has happened? inspiration has brought before my mind the plan of an "Iphigenia at Delphi," and I must work it out. I will here set down the argument as briefly as possible.
Electra, confidently hoping that Orestes will bring to Delphi the image of the Taurian Diana, makes her appearance in the Temple of Apollo, and as a final sin-offering dedicates to the god, the axe which has perpetrated so many horrors in the house of Pelops. Unhappily she is, at this moment, joined by a Greek, who recounts to her how, having accompanied Pylades and Orestes to Tauris, he there saw the two friends led to execution, but had himself luckily made his escape. At this news the passionate Electra is unable to restrain herself, and knows not whether to vent her rage against the gods or against men.
In the mean time Iphigenia, Orestes, and Pylades have arrived at Delphi. The heavenly calmness of Iphigenia contrasts remarkably with the earthly vehemence of Electra, as the two sisters meet without knowing each other. The fugitive Greek gains sight of Iphigenia, and recognizing in her the priestess, who was to have sacrificed the two friends, makes it known to Electra. The latter snatching the axe from the altar, is on the point of killing Iphigenia, when a happy incident averts this last fearful calamity from the two sisters. This situation, if only I can succeed in working it out well, will probably furnish a scene unequalled for grandeur or pathos by any that has yet been produced on the stage. But where is man to get time and hands for such a work, even if the spirit be willing.