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nument by him, which Duke Albert of Saxe Teschen erected in the church of St. Augustine at Vienna, to the archduchess Christine. But nothing can be less alike, nevertheless, than the two monuments. That to the charitable archduchess is full of grace, sweetness, and pathos . . . . whereas the pile erected in honour of the modern Phidias suggests no idea but that of massivenesss . . . . and great expense. The little square stone inserted by an obscure monk in the floor of the same church to the memory of Titian, is as much beyond it in its power of touching the feelings, as the other is in that of catching the eye.

The grave of Titian, who, after living ninetynine years, fell a victim to the plague at last, was dug hastily, as ever happens under such circumstances, and the precise spot where his more wonderful right hand moulders, is not known; but near where he is supposed to lie, a monk of the conventualists has inserted the little plain slab above mentioned, and inscribed it with these words:

Of the churches of Venice I am almost as much afraid to speak, as of the pictures. I came here with a very impious sort of notion, that I should find the architecture of Palladio too full of ornament and devices for my taste; but I have been very satisfactorily convinced, since my arrival, that

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the imaginings of ignorance are of little worth. There is a blending of grace and majesty in his works here, that gives a peculiar character to every scene in which they make a part; and they harmonise so exquisitely well with the delicate clearness of the atmosphere, the liquid smoothness of the clear mirror that every where reflects them, and the advantageous points of view which the fine reaches of the Grand Canal enable the spectator to obtain, that no where can the effect of beautiful architecture be felt more strongly. And yet, notwithstanding the startling brilliancy of the coup d'œil, which on first traversing this Grand Canal creates so strong a degree of pleasure and surprise, this general effect is less marvellous than the repetition and accumulation of various sights, all sources of wonder and admiration, which this extraordinary place continues to furnish, day after day, with an abundance that seems absolutely unbounded. We have now been here rather more than a week, and I think I have already seen within the churches and palaces of this sea-barriered city a greater accumulation of wealth in their gems, marbles, pictures, gildings, carvings, halls, frescoes, staircases, ceilings, columns, and cornices, than in all the other churches and palaces that I ever saw. The excess of this accumulation has completely astonished me, I confess .... for though I have all my life been reading of the past glory of Venice, of its wealth and its

106 STATUES AND PAINTINGS OF VENICE.

greatness, I had no idea whatever that I should still find here such a well-preserved treasury of wealth. The marbles alone that have been made to traverse the seas in order to line the multitude of gorgeous churches in Venice, when seen as we have seen them in rapid succession, amount to something almost incredible, both as to their wonderful variety and the labour bestowed upon them. Statues seem as abundant as leaves upon the trees in a summer grove, and you might suppose that works in relievo cost no more trouble than paper filagree. The pictures, too, are of a splendour, a glow of colouring, and a sumptuousness of detail that would be sought in vain elsewhere. Milne says, and very truly, of these Venetian painters,

"Their eyes,

Taught by this sun and sea,

Flash'd on their works those burning dyes,

That fervent poetry!

And wove the shades so thinly clear,

They would be parts of light

In northern climes."

I rejoice to say that at the present moment it would be very statistically incorrect to say that Venice was perishing. That the work of destruction had begun, and was rapidly progressing, is undoubtedly true, when speaking of some few years ago; but it is so no longer. Austria is certainly not at all likely to restore to Venice the aristocratic power of her old republic; but as long

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as the city is in her hands the politically indifferent connoisseurs may set their hearts at rest concerning her condition. Nothing that is left will be suffered to deteriorate further, unless, indeed, it should be doomed to destruction by the will of the actual possessor, in which case, of course, the rights of private property must and will interfere with the inclination which the present government has so clearly manifested to preserve whatever is either curious or valuable. That there are several of the fine old palaces which have for very many years past been suffered to ask in vain for repair, is most certain ; and it is not improbable that some of these must fall victims to decay, it being already too far advanced to leave any rational hope of stopping it. I am afraid that the beautiful palace of the Foscari will be among these. The very title to it is doubtful, they say; and therefore no one has a right to enter upon and repair it, however much they might wish to do so.

There is also another palace which, although its goodly walls still stand unshaken, shows symptoms of the unchecked mischief of time within them in a manner and to a degree that is truly grievous. This unhappy Palazzo Barbarigo contains many of what were among the finest cabinet pictures of Titian. The ancestors of the noble family to whom it still belongs, were among the dearest and latest patrons and friends of the great artist: he resided for many of his last years in this their

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PALAZZO BARBARIGO.

palace; his latest works were executed within its walls; and there he died.

In no other spot does the decay into which Venice is said to have fallen show itself with such painful distinctness as here. I had been told long before I entered it, that this Palazzo Barbarigo was the very centre and nucleus of Titian's glory .... and so it may have been, and so it might be still, had the commonest care been given to the alas! not immortal works he left there. Closely connected by friendship with the Barbarigo family, it was under their roof, as I have said, that he resided, and there that he made his studio, during many of his latter years, leaving it at his death full of a multitude of precious morsels which were doubtless bequeathed to the dear friends with whom he was domesticated; for they seem to have become heir-looms of their race, and there certainly appears to have existed throughout all the successive generations of this noble family a very laudable desire to keep the collection entire. . . . .. Not a thread of canvass touched by Titian has ever, I dare say, been parted with either "for love or money" by any of the Barbarigo race during the four centuries that they have been the owners and guardians of this remarkable collection. But that was not the only reverence which it demanded at their hands.

Undoubtedly it is highly interesting to be told and to believe, that no atom of this precious