when the Laocoon, the Torso,' the Dying Gladiator, and the Apollo, were designed, for the wonder and admiration of future ages.

The temple in which they were found, is believed, I know not upon what authority, to have been that of Jupiter Panhellenius; yet, though there is abundant proof that there was such a temple, there is none whatever, that there was no other; and as the statue of Minerva was found surmounting both pediments, it would seem more reasonable to ascribe the temple to her, especially as no vestige whatever of Jupiter has been discovered. This point is, however, extremely immaterial; further than that if this be not that famous Temple of Jupiter, and if its site could be elsewhere traced, the discovery of more hidden treasures might reward the industry of future excavators. The earthquake that buried these, may have involved other temples and other sculpture in its ruins.

It is a strange paradox, that it is to the destructive convulsions of Nature, we owe the preservation of some of the most valuable remains of art. Herculaneum and Pompeii, the bas reliefs of the Arcadian Temple of Apollo,* on Mount Cotylion near Phigalia, and the Egina Marbles, are by no means the only instances.

It is well known, that the two English discover

* Now in the British Museum; the work of the same era as those of the Parthenon, but of very inferior sculpture.

ers of the Egina marbles, took infinite pains to have them secured to our country, but in vain. At their sale, in the island of Zante, the Prince Royal of Bavaria, not the Prince Regent of England, was their purchaser.

LETTER LXXXIX.

SCULPTORS.PAINTERS.-ARTISTS.

THE third sculptor in eminence at Rome, is Rodolph Schadow, a native of Prussia, whose fame, I think, scarcely equal to his desert, for he is an artist of first-rate genius, and some of his works would not dishonour the best era of Grecian taste.

Perhaps, indeed, he sometimes approaches rather too closely to individual models of ancient sculpture for the general spirit can never be too strongly preserved; but we can often trace the immediate source of his ideas, which is never agreeable. This is particularly striking in his pretty little figure of the Girl just issuing from the Bath, tying her sandal on her slender foot, which immediately recals the well-known statue in the Florentine gallery, in a similar attitude.

Rodolph Schadow, is, however, no slavish copyist from the antique, nor would I impeach the originality of his genius. Many of his ideas are truly his own; and even when this is not the case, he is quite as close an imitator of the beauty, as the forms, of ancient sculpture; and I know not how higher praise can be given to any modern artist.

By far his most beautiful work, among many that are beautiful, is the Filatrice,-a female figure, of singular delicacy and grace, sitting twining a golden thread upon a spindle. It is singular, that almost all the great sculptors of the present day, seem to exce! in the female form, and the reverse of this remark applies to painters.

These three great names, Canova, Thorwaldsen, and Schadow, stand prominent in fame among the crowd of artists at Rome; but the numbers of sculptors who are settled here, is scarcely credible. Among these there are many whose works and merits are well worthy of notice; but enumeration is so dull, that I shall only mention one, the Signora Teresa Benincampé, whose beautiful bust of Casino, and many of her other works, need only be seen to be admired; I cannot, at the same time, refrain from offering my sincere tribute of respect, to her distinguished talents and independent mind, or expressing my fervent wish, that her success may be proportioned to her deserts.

In busts, (portrait busts I mean,) Chantry, I think, equals, if not excels, all foreign artists; and if he had enjoyed their inestimable advantages of living among the masterpieces of ancient sculpture, and drinking in their beauties at every glance and at every moment, I have no doubt he would have rivalled them in the higher departments of sculpture,—even in the ideal. His conceptions are truly fine, and give promise of great future excellence ; but his genius is not yet fully matured, and it requires that cultivation which England cannot afford. This, indeed, is the true school of arts. If

there be any taste or talent, it must develope itself

here.

The painters are scarcely inferior to the sculptors of Rome in number, but infinitely so in excellence. Camuccini is the most celebrated; perhaps he may justly be called the first living historical painter in the world, but this, after all, is but poor positive praise. West certainly cannot compete with him in correct design and chaste composition; nor can any of the modern French or Germans, with all their extravagance and bombast, their stage-struck attitudes, and overcharged expression, approach to him in any thing. I am sorry to say he nearly descends to their level in the false tone and revolting glare of his colouring; not that he is so bad for language falls short of terms in which to describe their badness-but he is far from good. How an eye like Camuccini's, so quick to discern the harmonious tints, the soft blended lights, the magic chiaro' oscuro, the breadth, and truth, and nature, and effect, of the colouring of the great masters can endure to look at his own, is to me inconceivable. Its glare, and tawdriness, and violence, hurt and offend one's eyes, and are a complete outrage on Nature. For this reason, almost the only works of Camuccini, which I can look at with satisfaction, are his studies in chiaro' The cartoon sketch of the Marriage of Cupid and Psyche, in his studio, for instance, is far superior to the finished fresco at the Palazzo Torlonia, although the colouring of that is by no means so bad as many of his works. His composition is chaste and scientific, and he certainly de

Oscuro.