a costly series of engravings, chiefly of the French and Italian museums, and the drawings of Guercino, Salvator Rosa, and other masters.
The separate chamber in which these collections were at first contained, made a favorite place of meeting for Margaret and a few of her friends, who were lovers of these works.
First led perhaps by Goethe, afterwards by the love she herself conceived for them, she read everything that related to Michel Angelo and Raphael.
She read, pen in hand, Quatremere de Quincy's lives of those two painters, and I have her transcripts and commentary before me. She read Condivi, Vasari, Benvenuto Cellini, Duppa, Fuseli, and Von Waagen,—great and small.
Every design of Michel, the four volumes of Raphael's designs, were in the rich portfolios of her most intimate friend.
I have been very happy, she writes,
with four hundred and seventy designs of Raphael in my possession for a week.
These fine entertainments were shared with many admirers, and, as
ugh soaring, they hold on with a stress which almost breaks the chains of matter to the hearer.
O, how refreshing, after polemics and philosophy, to soar thus on strong wings!
Yes, Father, I will wander in dark ways with the crowd, since thou seest best for me to be tied down.
But only in thy free ether do I know myself.
When I read Beethoven's life, I said, I will never repine.
When I heard this symphony, I said, I will triumph.
To-day I have finished the life of Raphael, by Quatremere de Quincy, which has so long engaged me. It scarce goes deeper than a catalogue raisonnee, but is very complete in its way. I could make all that splendid era alive to me, and inhale the full flower of the Sanzio.
Easily one soars to worship these angels of Genius.
To venerate the Saints you must well nigh be one.
I went out upon the lonely rock which commands so delicious a panoramic view.
A very mild breeze had sprung up after the extreme heat.
A sunset of the melting kind was succeede