make it our last. As yet I do not know whether I shall be able to extend my tour: all things tend to drive me back to Rome at Easter. I shall let things take their course.
Angelica has undertaken to paint a scene of my "Iphigenia." The thought is a very happy subject for a picture, and she will delineate it excellently. It is the moment when Orestes finds himself again in the presence of his sister and his friend. What the three characters are saying to each other she has indicated by the grouping, and given their words in the expressions of their countenances. From this description you may judge how keenly sensitive she is, and how quick she is to seize whatever is adapted to her nature. And it is really the turning-point of the whole drama.
Farewell, and love me! Here the people are all very good, even though they do not know what to make of me. Tischbein, on the other hand, pleases them far better. This evening he hastily painted some heads of the size of life, at and about which they disported themselves as strangely as the New Zealanders at the sight of a ship of war. Of this an amusing anecdote.
Tischbein has a great knack of etching with a pen the shapes of gods and heroes, of the size of life, and even more. He uses very few hues, but cleverly puts in the shades with a broad pencil, so that the heads stand out roundly and nobly. The bystanders looked on with amazement, and were highly delighted. At last an itching seized their fingers to try and paint: they snatched the brushes, and painted—one another's beards, daubing each other's faces. Was not this an original trait of human nature? And this was done in an elegant circle, in the house of one who was himself a clever draughtsman and painter! It is impossible to form an idea of this race without having seen them.
