480. The Lying in of Mary of Medici.
His celebrated picture of the Assumption has lately been put
up in the _Musée_.
481. The Happiness of Peace.
508. Adriana de Perès, wife of Nicholas Rockox, married in 1589,
died in 1619.
509. The Crucifixion of St. Peter.
510. Christ on the Cross, between the two Thieves, at the moment
when the centurion wounds him in the side.
511. The Last Supper.
512. The Adoration of the Kings, larger than life.
513. St. Roch interceding for the Persons afflicted with the
Plague.
514. St. Roch fed by his Dog.
N. B. I particularly recommend these last six pictures to
your attention. They are more than commonly beautiful.
515. St. Roch cured of the Plague by an Angel.
516. Christ dead in the Arms of his Father.
517. The Adoration of the Wise Men.—(An admirable picture.)
518. The Beheading of St. John the Baptist.
519. St. John the Evangelist thrown into a Copper of boiling Oil.
520. The Portrait of a Woman, dressed in a hat, and, holding a
bunch of roses in her hand.
521. Another Portrait of a Woman in black, her head uncovered,
and her hands crossed.
522. The Nativity of our Saviour, a sketch.
523. The Resurrection of Christ, a sketch.
524. Lot and his Family leaving Sodom, led by an Angel.
525. The Virgin and the Infant Jesus, surrounded with Innocents.
This is called the Virgin and the Angels.
526. The Kernesse, or Village Holiday.—(A very curious picture.)
527. The Descent from the Cross.
528. The Miraculous Draught of Fishes.
529. The Apostles finding in the Mouth of a Fish, the Piece of
Money necessary for the Payment of the Tribute.
530. The Angel, making the Young Tobias angle for the Fish, the
gall of which was to restore his Father’s sight.
531. The Portrait of a Princess, who appears to be Elizabeth of
Bourbon, Daughter of Henry the IVth, and Wife of Philip,
King of Spain.
532. The Triumph of Pomona.
533. Venus and Adonis.
534. A View of Malines.
535. A View of Cadiz.
TENIERS (THE YOUNGER DAVID.)
No. 575. The Smoker.
576. The Grinder.
577. Country people dancing to the sound of the Bagpipe.
578. The Works of Charity.
579. The Village Wedding.
580. The Preparations for a Repast.
581. Peter’s Denial of our Saviour.
582. A Landscape.
583. The inside of an Ale-house, with Persons playing at Cards.
584. The Prodigal Son at Table, with his Mistresses.—(In this
picture Teniers is supposed to have drawn himself and
his Family.)
585. Hern shooting.
586. The Alchymist in his Laboratory.
587. An old Man’s Head in a Fur Dress and Bonnet.
588. The inside of an Ale-house.
TENIERS (THE ELDER DAVID.)
No. 589. A Man playing on a Bagpipe.
ITALIAN SCHOOL.
GIO BENEDETTO CASTIGLIONE (CALLED AT GENOA, IL GRECHETTO, AND IN
FRANCE, THE BENDETTE.)
No. 689. The Nativity.
690. The Money-sellers driven from the Temple.
691. Melchisedec, King of Salem, offering Bread and Wine to
Abraham.
692. A Woman carrying a Vase on her head, an old Man, and an
African with a Turban on his head holding a copper plate.
693. In the middle of a Court a Woman carrying a Copper Vessel,
and an Ass loaded with Kitchen Furniture.
694. Jacob leaves Mesopotamia, in order to see his Father in
Canaan.
695. Bacchanalians and Satyrs resting, and playing on different
Instruments.
ALBANI (FRANCESCO.)
No. 660. The Birth of the Virgin.
661. Mystic Vision of the Cross.
662. Diana and Acteon.
663. The Holy Family.
664. The Rest in Egypt.
665. The Rest in Egypt.
666. St. Francis praying before a Crucifix.
667. God the Father in his Glory.
668. Adam and Eve.
669. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
670. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
671. Our Saviour appearing to Mary Magdalen.
672. The Baptism of Jesus in the Waters of Jordan.
673. The preaching of St. John in the Desert.
674. Apollo at the House of Admetus, King of Thessaly.
675. The Triumph of Cybele.
676. Fire.
677. Air.
678. Water.
679. Earth.
680. } The Loves and Graces at the Toilet of Venus.
681. }
682. }
683. }
684. Apollo and Daphne.
685. Salmacis and Hermaphroditus.
THE CARRACCI.
The four Elements by the three Carracci, that is to say,
No. 703. Earth, by Lodovico Carracci.
704. Water, by Lodovico Carracci.
705. Fire, by Agostino Carracci,
706. Air, by Annibale Carracci.
CARRACCI (AGOSTINO.)
No. 707. The Assumption of the Virgin.
708. St. Cæcilia and St. Marguerite.
709. The Communion of St. Jerom.
710. Hercules in his Cradle, strangling the Serpents.
CARRACCI (LODOVICO.)
No. 711. The Virgin, St. Francis, and St. Joseph.
712. St. Hyacinth, to whom the Virgin appears.
713. The vocation of St. Matthew.
714. St. John baptizing Christ.
715. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
716. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.
717. The Virgin and the Infant Jesus.
CARRACCI (ANTONIO, NATURAL SON OF AGOSTINO CARRACCI.)
No. 718. The Deluge.
CARRACCI (ANNIBALE.)
No. 719. The Mother of Pity.
720. St. Luke, St. Catherine, and the Virgin.
721. Christ lying dead on the Knees of the Virgin.
722. The Birth of the Virgin.
723. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ.
724. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ,
725. Jesus asleep. This picture is commonly called, the Silence
of Carracci.
726. Fishing.
727. Hunting.
728. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.
729. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.
730. Christ laid in his Tomb.
731. The Portrait of a learned Man.
732. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
733. Diana and Calisto.
734. The Martyrdom of St. Stephen.
735. The Martyrdom of St. Stephen.
736. A Concert on the Water.
737. The Preaching of St. John in the Desert.
738. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
739. The Assumption of the Virgin.
740. A Hermit meditating.
741. The Sacrifice of Abraham. A Landscape.
742. The Death of Absalom. A Landscape.
CARAVAGGIO (MICHAEL ANGELO AMERIGI, CALLED THE CARAVAGGE.)
No. 743. The Death of the Virgin.
744. Christ carried to the Grave.
745. Adolphus and Vignacourt.
746. A young Gipsy telling a young Man’s Fortune.
747. St. John the Baptist.
748. Wandering Musicians singing at the close of Evening, and at
the Corner of the Street, an Anthem to the Virgin.
N.B. It is doubtful whether this was the work of Caravaggio,
or of one of his pupils.
CAVEDONE (JAMES.)
No. 749. St. Eloi and St. Petronius.
750. St. Cæcilia singing the praises of the Lord.
CORREGIO (ANTONY ALLEGRI, CALLED THE CORREGE.)
No. 753. The Virgin, the Infant Jesus, the Magdalen, and St. Jerom.
754. The Rest in Egypt.
755. Antiope asleep.
756. The Marriage of St. Catherine.
757. The taking down from the Cross.
758. The Martyrdom of St. Placidus and St. Flavia.
759. The Infant St. John.
760. A Head of Christ crowned with Thorns.
DOMENICHINO (DOMENICO ZAMPIEN, CALLED IN FRANCE THE DOMENIQUEZ.)
No. 763. The Communion of St. Jerom.—(N.B. This admirable picture
appears to me the best in the collection.)
764. The Rosary protected by the Virgin.
765. The Martyrdom of St. Agnes.
766. David playing on the Harp.
767. Rinaldo and Armida.
768. Æneas saving his Father Anchises from the Ruins of Troy.
769. St. Cæcilia.
770. The Concert.
771. The Virgin and St. Antony of Padua.
772. The Virgin taking Water from a River with a Shell.
773. Timoclea before Alexander.
774. A Landscape.
775. A Landscape.
776. A Landscape.
777. God cursing Adam and Eve.
778. The Ecstacy of St. Paul.
779. The Triumph of Love.
FERRARI (GANDERTIO.)
No. 784. St. Paul the Apostle.
785. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.
GUIDO (RENI, CALLED IN FRANCE THE GUIDE.)
No. 797. The Crucifixion of St. Peter.
798. Christ giving the Keys to St. Peter.
799. St. Jerom, St. Thomas, and the Virgin.
800. Fortune.
801. David holding the Head of the Giant Goliah.
802. The Virgin, the Infant Jesus, and St. John kissing his Feet.
803. The Virgin holding the Infant Jesus asleep on her Knees.
804. The Union of Design and Colouring.
805. St. John the Baptist in the Desert.
806. The Magdalen.
807. The Magdalen.
808. St. Sebastian.
809. The Samaritan Woman.
810. Christ in the Garden of Olives.
811. Christ on the Cross, and the Magdalen.
812. A Head of Christ crowned with Thorns.
813. Hercules killing the Hydra.
814. The Battle of Hercules and Achelöus.
815. The taking away of Dejanira by Nessus.
816. Hercules on the Funeral Pile.
817. The Mother of Pity, with the Saints who protected the City
of Bologna.
818. St. Roch in his Prison.
819. The Massacre of the Innocents.
820. The Angelic Salutation.
821. The Purification of the Virgin.
822. The Sleep of the Infant Jesus.
823. The eternal Father.
824. St. John in the Wilderness.
825. The Rest in Egypt.
826. St. John.
827. The carrying away of Helen.
GUERCINO (GIO FRANCESCO BARBIERI, CALLED THE GUERCHIN.)
No. 829. The Picture of Guerchini, painted by himself.
830. The Magician Circe.
831. Jesus Christ giving the Keys to St. Peter.
832. The Martyrdom of St. Peter the Apostle.
833. The Resurrection of Lazarus.
834. The Infant Jesus, holding the Hand of his Mother, gives his
benediction.
835. The Incredulity of St. Thomas.
836. The Vision of St. Jerom.
837. Amnon and Thamar.
838. St. Theresa and Jesus Christ.
839. The Circumcision of Christ.
840. The beheading of St. John and St. Paul, under the Reign of
the Emperor Julian, called the Apostate.
841. The Vision of St. Bruno.
842. The Saints Protectors of the Town of Modena.
843. The Virgin appearing to St. Jerom.
844. St. Peter at his Prayers.
845. St. Paul holding the Sword with which he is about to be put
to Death.
846. St. Francis and St. Benoit.
847. St. William and St. Felix.
848. The Marriage of St. Catherine.
849. Herod’s Daughter receiving the Head of St. John the Baptist.
850. Christ appearing to the Virgin.
851. Conclusion of the Battle between the Romans and Sabines.
LANFRANCO (GIOVANNI LANFRANCO, CALLED THE LANFRANC.)
No. 854. Agar in the Desert.
855. The parting of St. Peter and St. Paul.
856. St. Bartholomew the Apostle.
857. St. Peter imploring the Pardon of his Master.
857. B. St. Peter deploring his Faults.
858. The crowning of the Virgin.
THE FOLLOWING ARE FROM THE ROMAN, FLORENTINE, AND VENETIAN SCHOOLS.
ALEXANDER VERONESE.
No. 910. The Adultress.
LEONARDO DA VINCI.
No. 921. The holy family accompanied by St. Michael, St. Elizabeth,
and St. John holding a Sheep.
922. The Virgin holding the Infant Jesus.
923. The Picture of Madame Lise.
924. The Picture of a Woman in black.
PAUL VERONESE.
No. 927. The Marriage of St. Catherine.
RAPHAEL.
No. 931. The Infant Jesus caressing St. John.
932. St. Michael subduing the Devil.
933. St. Michael combating Monsters. An allegorical painting.
934. St. George.
935. The Virgin, St. John, and the Infant Jesus asleep. (Commonly
called the Silence of the Virgin.)
936. The Vision of Ezekiel.
937. A young Man reflecting.
938. A young Man about fifteen or sixteen Years old.
To which pictures of Raphael has lately been added his
celebrated one of the Holy Family.
TITIAN (TIZIANO VECELLI.)
No. 940. The crowning with Thorns.
941. Christ carried to the Tomb.
942. Portrait of a Man in black.
943. Portrait of a Man in black.
LETTER III.
The _fête_ of the 18th of brumaire in honour of the
preliminaries, and of the anniversary of the consular
government.—Apathy of the people.—Fireworks.—Accident which
happened to an english gentleman.—_Postscript._ The death of
the gentleman last named.
Paris, november the 10th, 1801 (19 brumaire.)
MY DEAR SIR,
Having in my last letter attempted to describe the objects which
particularly attracted my notice on my first arrival, I shall in this
endeavour to satisfy the curiosity which you will naturally feel,
relative to the splendid _fête_ celebrated yesterday in honour of the
peace with England, and of the anniversary of the consular government.
The rejoicings may be said to have begun on the preceding evening; as
the cannon were fired, and the theatres thrown open to the public, with
the single exception of the italian opera, where was also represented
a musical piece, the words of which were in honour of the occasion. I
wished very much to have been present at one of the performances given
gratis to the people; but I was dissuaded from going there, by the
advice of some french friends, who assured me, that the attempt would be
attended with considerable danger. I therefore contented myself with
visiting the only _spectacle_[6] where money was received.
The company of italian actors usually occupies the _Théâtre Favart_, but
at present performs in a very beautiful little play-house belonging to
“la Société olympique,” situate in the street which was formerly known as
“la rue de Chante Reine;” but which, in honour of Bonaparte, (who resided
there while a private man) is now called “la rue de la Victoire.”
The entrance to this theatre is strikingly elegant and novel, consisting
of a circular piazza, in the middle of which is a grass plot. The
building is well proportioned; and the chandelier, by which it is
brilliantly lighted, extremely beautiful. The music seemed good; but the
female performers relied entirely on the charms of their voice; for I
never remember to have seen, on any other stage, such an assemblage of
ugly women as this presented. The audience consisted of the best company
at Paris; and I had the pleasure of seeing there madame Bonaparte, who
sat in the stage box, accompanied by mademoiselle Beauharnois, her
daughter, and by madame le Clerc, the consul’s sister. Bonaparte was also
said to be present, but being in a _loge grillé_, could not be perceived.
_Madame_, as far as I can judge from the distance at which I saw her, has
a mild, amiable countenance, which is universally allowed to be the just
picture of her disposition. Her person is elegant, and her appearance
altogether much like that of an english woman of fashion.
Mademoiselle Beauharnois[7] is a fair girl of sixteen or seventeen, and,
without being remarkably beautiful, is extremely interesting. Her manners
are modest; and her dress simple, and in good taste. Madame le Clerc[8]
is a very pretty little woman, and much admired at Paris.
Excuse this digression, into which I was led by naming the preparatory
rejoicings of the preceding evening. I proceed to the _fête_ itself.
The 18th of brumaire, that long expected day, began in clouds of rain.
The Parisians were _au désespoir_. Every body predicted, that the vast
preparations, which had been made for this jubilee, would be thrown away;
that the illumination would fail; in short, that the whole would be an
“_affaire manquée_[9].”
Those who ventured into the streets, notwithstanding the torrents of
rain, heard, on every side, “_quel mauvais temps! quel malheur! vraiment
c’est terrible—c’est affreux. La fête auroit été si belle, si ce diable
de pluie n’avait pas tombé_[10].”
The morning passed away without the faintest hopes of better weather,
and in mutual condolences on the loss of the _beau spectacle_, which had
been promised for this day. The rejoicings were to begin at four o’clock.
About three the weather suddenly changed, the clouds dispersed, the sky
became serene. It happened that this took place precisely at the moment,
when the first consul appeared at the window of the palace, and every
body agreed, that the favourable change was solely produced _par la bonne
fortune de Bonaparte_[11].
Indeed, it is not without some reason that this prejudice is entertained
by the public, and that Bonaparte has, on more occasions than one,
appealed to his good fortune. Great and transcendant as are the talents
of that extraordinary man, they are not more remarkable than the singular
concatenation of fortunate circumstances, which have uniformly attended
his progress through life. Possessed of the former, unaccompanied by the
latter, he would have probably become a distinguished character, but he
never could have reached that summit of grandeur, where he is at present
so securely seated.
I return to my subject. The signal for the commencement of the _fête_
was the departure of a balloon, in which monsieur and madame Garnerin
ascended, at half past four o’clock, through a clear sky, which no longer
bore any marks of the tempestuous weather of the morning. After the
balloon had attained a certain height, a parachute was sent down, and
the live animal which it contained reached the ground in safety. I was
fortunate enough to dine this day with a family[12] who reside in what
was first called “la Garde-meuble,” then “la place de Louis XV,” for some
time the seat of so many legal murders, under the appellation of “de la
Revolution,” and now styled, in honour of the present government, “_de
la Concorde_.” As the principal rejoicings were to take place in this
spot, I could not have been better situate. We dined in a back room;
and during the short time which we passed at table (for a french dinner
seldom exceeds an hour), the lamps had been lighted. Never shall I forget
the splendid sight, which appeared to have been almost produced by magic,
and which burst on us in returning to the salon (or _drawing room_),
the windows of which command an extensive view of the _place de la
Concorde_, of the bridge of Louis XVI, of the palace or hospital of _les
Invalides_, of the Thuilleries, of the palace of the _Corps Législatif_,
formerly called “_de Bourbon_,” of the river, and of several buildings
in the _Fauxbourg St. Germain_. All these striking objects were now one
blaze of light. My eyes were so dazzled with the scene which presented
itself, that it was some time before I could take a distinct view of each
particular beauty. The public edifices I have named, all of which are of
the finest architecture, covered with innumerable lamps, arranged with
the greatest taste, and which being of different heights, seemed to rise
the one above the other; and the majestic domes splendidly illuminated,
and extending the blaze of light as far as the eye could reach, formed
altogether a _coup d’œil_, which may be conceived, but which cannot be
described. I had scarcely recovered from the surprise and admiration,
which this sight produced, when the pantomime, intended to represent the
horrors of war, and the happiness of peace, began under the colonnade
where it was my good fortune to be seated.
I must confess, that this farce appeared to me ridiculous, and equally
unworthy the great nation which gave the _fête_, and the important
event which it was intended to celebrate. Sham combats, falling towers,
wounded heroes, devils with torches, allegorical emblems of Discord, &c.,
followed by cornucopias, dancing peasants, cars of triumph, and lastly,
by an illuminated temple of peace, which rose on the ruins of that of
war, formed the principal entertainment. I think you will agree with me,
that such a _spectacle_ was better calculated for the stage of Sadler’s
Wells in London, or the _Ambigu-comique_ at Paris, than for the principal
object of a great and national festival. Simple and plain as is this
reflection, it did not seem to strike any of the french spectators, and
the wisest of them looked on without disgust, and almost with admiration,
on that which, instead of commemorating the most important event which
Europe has seen for many years, appeared to the eye of reason only suited
to entertain the dotage of age, or the simplicity of infancy.
If the pantomime were not very deserving of praise, it forms a single
exception; and I can assure you, with great truth, that every other
part of the _fête_ was truly magnificent. As no carriage was allowed to
roll that evening (a laudable precaution, taken on all such occasions
at Paris), and as the fireworks were to take place on the river, at
some distance from the house where I dined, it was necessary to pass on
foot, through the vast crowd which filled _la place de la Concorde_,
the walks of the Thuilleries, the bridges, the streets, &c. Yet such
was the order that was preserved, and such the tranquillity of the
people, that, accompanied by my wife and one gentleman, I made my way, I
suppose, through nearly a million of people, without the least accident,
and with certainly not more crowding than is daily experienced at a
private fashionable ball in London. What astonished me most, indeed, the
whole day, was the dead calm which prevailed among the spectators. They
looked on, walked about, and seemed entertained with the shows which
were exhibited; yet no cries of triumph, no shouts of joy, expressed the
public satisfaction. The apathy which prevails in this country on all
public events, and which has succeeded to the fever of popular violence,
is strikingly apparent on all occasions, but on none more than this.
During my walk, I passed through the garden of the Thuilleries. The
alleys were brilliantly decorated with rows of lamps, suspended on frames
constructed for the purpose; and the palace was itself, if possible,
still more resplendent. The whole had the appearance of an enchanted
castle. From a house on the _quai Voltaire_, I saw the fireworks to
great advantage; and they appeared to me, accustomed only to such as are
exhibited in England, extremely beautiful. What pleased me most in the
display, was a contrivance, by which the fire seemed to rise from the
water; an ingenious and elegant idea, by which the inventor probably
meant to represent allegorically, by the union of opposing elements,
the reconciliation of two nations, always the rivals, and so long the
enemies, of each other. There was a temple of commerce on the river, and
little boats, with pendants of different nations. All this I consider
as forming a second act to the pantomime exhibited on the _place de la
Concorde_, and which I have already ventured to condemn. Both appeared,
to an english eye, insignificant, if not ridiculous.
The fireworks appeared to me as perfect as possible; but there was some
discontent expressed by the persons near me, that what is called a
_bouquet_, with which they were to have concluded, was not displayed.
This disappointment was attributed by some to a want of skill in the
manager, and by others to an order of government, arising from a fear of
danger to the adjoining buildings.
I cannot pretend to determine this _important_ question; but I must be
permitted to say, that if the parisians were not satisfied with this
day’s amusement, they must be very unreasonable indeed in their pursuit
of _spectacles_.
I returned home about eleven at night, much delighted with what I had
seen; and though Mrs. ⸺ and myself were again obliged to pass through
this mighty crowd, we neither of us experienced the slightest hurt, or
the least incivility.
I was in hopes to have been able to add, that the day passed over without
the most trifling accident; but I have, unfortunately, just received
the melancholy news, that Mr. ⸺, an english gentleman, fell from a
scaffolding, where he had placed himself to see the fireworks, and is
so dreadfully wounded, as to render the hopes of his recovery highly
improbable.
I understand, that the accident took place very near the Thuilleries,
and that the first consul, with laudable humanity, sent every proper
assistance to our unfortunate countryman, who is now attended by the
physician and surgeon particularly attached to the family of Bonaparte.
Most ardently do I hope, that their skill and care may be attended with
success; but I am told, this is more than they expect themselves.
Adieu, my dear friend. I am sorry to send you so imperfect an account of
one of the finest sights, perhaps, ever exhibited in Europe; but I do
not excel in description at any time, and what I have attempted on this
occasion, would baffle the ablest pen.
I am, &c.
_POSTSCRIPT._
The unfortunate Mr. ⸺, mentioned in this letter, languished three weeks
in agony, and at last expired, in the arms of a young and beautiful wife,
who had accompanied him in this ill fated journey, (the sole object
of which was the sight of a festival, which had to him so tragical a
conclusion), who attended him, with exemplary patience and unceasing
care, during his illness, and who, after receiving his last breath,
herself conveyed his remains to his native country. To add to the
calamity of this unfortunate and amiable woman, she had not a friend, or
even an acquaintance, of either sex, at Paris; and in the discharge of
the painful and pious offices I have mentioned, her only assistant was
Mr. Peregaux, her banker, who, I am told, afforded her every consolation
in his power.—Though I did not know this lady, her story made a deep
impression on my mind, and for some days I could not divest myself of the
melancholy it created.
LETTER IV.