First of all, the Cecilia of Raphael. It was exactly what I had been told of it, but now I saw it with my own eyes. He has invariably accomplished that which others wished in vain to accomplish, and I would at present say no more of it than that it is by him. Five saints, side by side; not one of them has anything in common with us: however, their existence stands so perfectly real, that one would wish for the picture to last through eternity, even though for himself he could be content to be annihilated. But in order to understand Raphael aright, and to form a just appreciation of him, and not to praise him as a god, or as Melchisedec, "without descent" or pedigree, it is necessary to study his masters and his predecessors. These, too, had a standing on the firm soil of truth. Diligently, not to say anxiously, they had laid the foundation, and vied with each other in raising, step by step, the pyramid aloft, until at last, profiting by all their labours, and enlightened by a heavenly genius, Raphael set the last stone on the summit, above which, or even at which, no one else can ever stand.
Our interest in the history of art becomes peculiarly lively when we consider the works of the old masters. Francesco Francia is a very respectable artist; Pietro Perugino, so bold a man, that one might almost call him a noble German fellow. Oh, that fate had carried Albert Dürer farther into Italy! In Munich I saw a couple of pieces by him of incredible grandeur. Poor man! how he mistook his own worth in Venice, and made an agreement with the priests, on which he lost weeks and months! See him, in his journey through the Netherlands, exchanging his noble works of art for parrots, and, in order to save his douceur, drawing the portraits of the domestics, who bring him—a plate of fruit. To me the history of such a poor fool of an artist is infinitely touching.
Toward evening I got out of this ancient, venerable,
