THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 t:n;C5''i^<-d by Welch & Wa' 
 
 g ID) IK 
 
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 ■f Col. I. LMannm? of So. Ca
 
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 <i<J«AX^'lic--t/V" 
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 OP 
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX, 
 
 OF CHARLESTON, S. C. 
 
 MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN, 
 NEAV- YORK. 
 
 BY ROBERT W. GIBBES, M. D. 
 
 OF COLUMBIA, S. C. 
 
 COR. MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE, WASHINGTON ; Of THB 
 N. V. HISTORICAL SOCIETY, ETC. 
 
 " With gentle mannen, &nd a grateful heart 
 And all the genius of the graphic art.'^ 
 
 FOR THE mini 0! HIS MMILY. 
 
 COLUMBIA, S. C. 
 
 I. C. morgan's LETTER PRESS PRINT. 
 
 1846
 
 •»- « » 
 
 ■ • 1 
 
 « • • 
 
 € • * «.««« t 
 
 *• :
 
 ND 
 :237 
 
 , TO CHARLES FRASER, ESd. 
 
 Charleston, S. C. 
 
 ^ My Dear Sir: — In giving to the public this tribute of friendship 
 
 ■• to a son of your native city, I would do injustice to my feelings, 
 
 were I to omit inscribing it to you. 
 
 South Carohna, the mother of your distinguished friend, the illus- 
 
 1 trious Allston, has reason to be proud of the names she has fur- 
 
 ' nished to Art, and yours has ever been prominent in its history in 
 
 the United States. The accomplishments of the scholar, the fine 
 
 taste of the artist, and the successful versatility of your pencil, re- 
 
 ' quire this testimony of respect and esteem from 
 
 ' Yours, sincerely, 
 
 I 
 
 I ROBERT W. GIBBES. 


 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 It is a pleasant but mournful privilege of friendship, 
 to record the character and accomplishments of the 
 departed, and an impulse often arises to prompt us to 
 that sacred duty. When the object of our attachment 
 has been conspicuous for g-enius or talent, and its 
 nurture and development been productive of valua- 
 ble results, it is incumbent on those who have watch- 
 ed its progress to preserve for friends the memorials 
 of his life. In preparing and publishing the follow- 
 ing feeble tribute of respect to a much valued friend, 
 it may perhaps be considered that the circumscribed 
 sphere of action of the lamented De Veaux, and his 
 comparatively unknown merits, might have saved the 
 task; but for these very reasons have I been actuated 
 to endeavour to preserve the features of his existence. 
 As in the natural world the history and phenomena 
 of a brilliant meteor, however evanescent, in a distant 
 locality are received with satisfaction among scientific 
 men, so no doubt there will be some interested in art 
 
 K||^M
 
 6 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and in g-enius, who will find gratification in perusing- 
 this sketch of the personal attributes of James De 
 Veaux. It is true he was but httle known out of his 
 own State, but the later years of his short career had 
 g-iven him some claims to be ranked among- her most 
 g-ifted sons, for the efforts of his pencil. Few young 
 men ever had more or warmer friends, and there are 
 many who recall with affectionate regard and respect 
 their acquaintance of but short duration. He was 
 worthy of their esteem. 
 
 James De Veaux was born in the city of Charles- 
 ton, S. C, Sept. r2th, 1812. His father was the mate 
 of a schooner trading- to the West Indies, and was the 
 son of a Captain De Veaux, a revolutionary officer 
 at the sieg-e of Savannah.* He was killed by pirates 
 in 1822. In childhood James had but few opportu- 
 nities and received the rudiments of an English edu- 
 cation at a free school, kept on the Lancasterian sys- 
 tem. His worthy mother, whose five children were 
 early deprived of their principal support, having them 
 dependant on her personal labour, could not afford 
 that he should remain at school, and at the age of 
 thirteen he was placed as a clerk in the book-store 
 of Edwin Gibbes. Here he remained several years 
 
 * Captain De Veaux was a Frenchman, and had a commission in the 
 American army. After the revolution he was connected with the Lazaretto, 
 on Morris's Island, and with Fort Johnson, in Charleston harbour, where he 
 died in the service of the United States. He was a tall man, of dark, swarthy 
 complexion, and a fine looking officer. This information is derived from a 
 gentleman now living, who knew him well. 
 
 ^^■T't
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. / 
 
 discharg-ing- the drudgery of a shop boy, but attract- 
 ing- the notice of visitors by his quickness in attend- 
 ance and g-ood humor and propriety of behaviour. 
 He was fond of books, and employed his intervals of 
 business in reading" biography and works of fiction, — 
 among- the latter he took g-reat pleasure in Bunyan's 
 ^' Pilgrim^ s Progress.'''' He always kept a copy by 
 him, and was fond of speaking" of its character and 
 composition. On an occasion when he wished to 
 present to a lady, who had been kind to him, some 
 volume of remembrance, he chose a beautifully bound 
 copy of this work, as the most interesting" book he 
 could find. 
 
 With the boys of his age he was always a pleasing- 
 companion from his sprig'htly disposition and fondness 
 for fun, and the exercise of a remarkable talent for 
 good natured mimickry. His perception of the ludi- 
 crous was acute in a remarkable degree. His im- 
 agination was vivid, and his amusing sketches of 
 men and things with his boyish pencil first attracted 
 the notice of that genius which exhibited itself so 
 prominently in maturer years. 
 
 The late Wm. Hasell Gibbes observed with a 
 Hvely feeling the indications of a talent for drawing 
 in the young clerk, and the late Major A. Garden 
 took a similar interest in him, and encouraged him to 
 new efforts by carrying to the store drawings and 
 engravings for his use in copying. Among the earli-
 
 O MEMOIR OF 
 
 est of his pencil sketches is a truthful likeness of the 
 venerable Major now in my possession. 
 
 Mr. GiBBEs forwarded to his connection and friend, 
 the eminent Washington Allston, a sketch of "Jb- 
 seph and Ids Brethren,^^ for an opinion as to its merits. 
 He expressed much satisfaction with it, and earnestly 
 advised the education of the youth who had given 
 such an indication of genius for Art. Upon this, Mr. 
 G. applied to Allston to take him as a pupil, but, as 
 he was not in the habit of receiving students, he ad- 
 vised that he should be placed with Mr. Harding, 
 then in Washington, or sent to Philadelphia. 
 
 The earhest notice I have of him, in the letters of 
 my late father, is one of March, 1829, where he 
 says,— 
 
 " It will gratify you and your brother to learn that 
 I am using my most strenuous efforts to raise a sub- 
 scription among my friends for James De Veaux^ either 
 to go to Washington, to a particular friend of Wash- 
 ington Allston's, an artist of very high character, for 
 instruction and qualification as such, or to place him 
 under the direction of Mr. Bowman, also a painter of 
 reputation, who is taking portraits next door to us, 
 and has taken a great prepossession in favor of the 
 poor boy. I have collected two hundred dollars for 
 him, but must strive to get more. He improves daily 
 and is delighted and grateful for what we are doing 
 for him,"
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 9 
 
 Some small addition to this amount was made, but 
 Mr. G. and the Rev. AUston Gibbes added what was 
 needed, and he was soon after sent to Philadelphia. 
 Before he left Charleston, he painted in oil several 
 likenesses, cabinet size, among" which were worthy 
 of notice. Major Gai'den, Wm. Hasell Gibbes and 
 Charles E. Rowand, Esq. 
 
 In Philadelphia, he remained some time under the 
 instruction of John R. Smith, the veteran teacher of 
 drawing", and was highly esteemed by him for his 
 aptness and rapid improvement with the pencil. He 
 became a private pupil of Inman, and enjoyed also 
 the kind advice and assistance of Sully. From these 
 distinguished artists he derived his first knowledg-e 
 of colour. While with Mr. Inman he improved very 
 much, and his early pictures show the faithfulness of 
 study of his style; they are much after the manner of 
 his preceptor. 
 
 His pleasing manners, intelhg-ence and love of his 
 art, made him friends among- all the artists, and his 
 prog-ress was much facilitated by opportunities of see- 
 ing" them work, as well as by enjoying" the privileg-e 
 of drawing: and sketching^ ''in umber and white," in 
 the Gallery of Sculpture of the Academy of Fine Arts. 
 Here he remained until the fall of 1832, enjoying- the 
 friendship and instruction of the distinguished artists 
 above named. At this time at the ag-e of twenty, I 
 
 induced him to commence his public career as a por- 
 
 2
 
 10 MEMOIR OF 
 
 trait painter, in Columbiaj S. C, where at the mod- 
 erate charg-e of thirty dollars, he was successful in 
 procuring" full employment, and in g-iving- satisfaction 
 to most of his patrons. During* the session of the 
 Convention for Nulhfication, soon after his arrival in 
 November, he had among* his sitters, the Hon. Geo. 
 McDuffie, Hon. Henry Deas, Dr. Thos. Cooper, F. 
 W. Pickens, Esq., Gen. J. B. Earle, Hon. W. D. 
 Martin and other disting"uished men, whose portraits 
 are still valued as correct likenesses. He painted 
 during- the year following-, about thirty portraits, 
 when his increasing- reputation enabled him to ad- 
 vance to forty dollars, and the year after he received 
 fifty dollars. With the exception of a short visit to 
 the neig-hbouring- town of Camden, where he was 
 kindly received and liberally patronized, he continued 
 at Columbia until the fall of 1835, when he made an 
 unsuccessful visit to his native city Charleston. "A 
 prophet is without honour in his own country." He 
 remained the winter here, and painted a fine portrait 
 of the late Dr. Wm. Read, one of Rev. Wm. Capers, 
 Dr. Philip G. Prioleau, Dr. Thomas G. Prioleau, W. 
 Og-ilby, Esq., R. Barnwell Smith, Esq., and a few 
 others, but artists with less merit and no claims on the 
 community, were more successful, and he returned 
 soon after to Columbia. In Charleston he enjoyed 
 the friendship and kind consideration of the g-ifted and 
 highly accomplished Eraser, of whose talents and
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 11 
 
 acquirements he had a very hig"h estimate, and the 
 worthy and disting-uished White, took much concern 
 for his welfare. De Veaux appreciated much the 
 generous interest of those of his own profession, and 
 was studiously cautious to avoid giving- cause of of- 
 fence to them. If at any time he did so by pleasantry 
 of remark about their works, his keen perception of 
 the ludicrous was the cause of much mirth, but never 
 was he known intentionally to say or do what would 
 give a moment's pain to another. He seemed to have 
 in mind the remark of Reynolds, ''that it was impos- 
 sible for two painters in the same line of art to live in 
 friendship," — hence he was anxious always to avoid 
 any cause of difference with his brethren. On one 
 occasion he was invited to a neighbourhood to paint 
 two portraits with a prospect of others — on his arrival 
 there, he learned that another artist had received a 
 similar invitation, and was expected in a few weeks. 
 He painted those he was engaged for, and though his 
 success with them would have given him possession 
 of the field, he refused all others and returned to Co- 
 lumbia, that he might not interfere with the hopes of 
 the other. It happened somewhat strangely that on 
 his return to my house, which was his home, he found 
 a letter from this same artist, who was out of funds, 
 asking a loan to enable him to go to the neighbour- 
 hood De Veaux had just left. This was sent to him, 
 and he went and enjoyed the generosity of his hon- 
 ourable rival. On another occasion he was invited
 
 12 MEMOIR OF 
 
 to Virg-inia to take several family portraits, which he 
 did, and could have procured others, but he found a 
 relation of the family residing- in the town, who prac- 
 tised his art, and here ag-ain he declined additional 
 orders, from the same high principle. Though in 
 neither case was there any obligation, his noble na- 
 ture was opposed to apparently taking- an advantage 
 of poverty and need, by his superior abilities. 
 
 It was alwavs a source of bitter mortification and 
 deeply depressing- influence on his sensitive feehngs, 
 that he could not make " a local habitation and a name 
 in his native city." 
 
 For a long- time subsequently he gave way to feel- 
 ings of great despondency, became spiritless and 
 gloomy, and could not divest himself of the idea that 
 he was doomed to failure in his profession. In fact 
 he seriously requested me to look about for some oth- 
 er employment, in which he might earn a support for 
 his family. He had an excitable temperament and a 
 morbid sensibility, and while a litde encouragement 
 was a strong stimulus to his efforts, the slightest de- 
 pressing effect instantly prostrated his exertions. It 
 was painful to witness the deep suffering he under- 
 went, when some fancied slight or ill-natured criticism 
 of his works came to his sensitive ear. At times there 
 was strong reason to fear that his fits of abstraction 
 and gloom would end in a permanent darkness of his 
 fine luminous intellect. 
 
 His gendemanly propriety of manner, and his so-
 
 JAMES DEVEAUX. 13 
 
 cial qualities were such as to attach to him friends, 
 wherever he would allow them to become so, but he 
 had a humiliating" sensitiveness of his humble orig-in 
 and want of education, which made him reserved 
 among" strang"ers, and disposed to avoid society. Per- 
 haps this disposition was increased in him by the fact, 
 that nearly all his most intimate friends, and those 
 who exhibited most interest for him, were men of ed- 
 ucation and high position in society. Among" his pat- 
 rons he numbered many of the disting"uished citizens 
 of South Carolina. With the few indmate friends of 
 a small circle, he was a g-reat favourite, and his com- 
 pany much appreciated. Among" these he was most 
 intimate with W. Hampton, jr., whose devoted friend- 
 ship for him attracted the nodce of his father, Col. W. 
 Hampton. With a generous liberality towards one 
 to whom his son was so attached, he enabled him to 
 place at his disposal the means of visiting* the collec- 
 tions of art in England, and the galleries of the Lou- 
 vre. Overwhelmed with emotion at the unexpected 
 and noble liberality of his friend, De Veaux's grateful 
 feehngs were excessive, and his delight at the pros- 
 pect of the personal examination and study of the old 
 masters of his art, excited him to an enthusiasm which 
 gave buoyancy to his spirits, and sparkled in his con- 
 versation. Soon was this followed by the usual des- 
 pondency, upon the reflection that he was too humble 
 to be the recipient of such favor — that he never could
 
 14 MEMOIR OF 
 
 repay such kindness — that his previous education be- 
 ing defective he could never attain high excellence, — 
 and it was only after long and frequent argument and 
 earnest persuasion, that I induced him to accept the 
 proffered golden opportunity. 
 
 While in Columbia, he worked with assiduity, 
 though at times he would feel the want of the pres- 
 ence of artists with whom he could converse about 
 the mechanical execution of his work, and receive the 
 stimulus to exertion which their competition and esprit 
 de corps would afford. Often he became weary of 
 his steady employment, and yearned for the northern 
 cities, where he could breathe an atmosphere of art 
 in the collections of public institutions. Twice he 
 made short visits to New-York and Philadelphia, to 
 inspire fresh zeal among his old associates, and to see 
 the works of our eminent countrymen. His earnings 
 he freely contributed to the support of his mother and 
 family, and his whole desire for money seemed to be 
 on their account. His purse was always open to the 
 needy, and while a dollar was left, the applicant for 
 charity was never refused. 
 
 FeeHng sensibly the wants of his own condition 
 and that of his family, he had a heart to appreciate the 
 necessities of others. I well remember, that when 
 he received the first fruits of his pencil, and was in 
 possession of one hundred and twenty-five dollars, he 
 forwarded one hundred of it, to save from ruin a
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 15 
 
 young" engraver in Philadelphia, who had married 
 before he had means of support for a family, and be- 
 come deeply involved in debt. An urgent appeal to 
 DeVeaux, to loan him what would save from the 
 sheriff the few articles of furniture he had, and enable 
 him to keep up his work, was immediately answered, 
 and nearly the whole of his first receipts was sent to 
 his relief. This noble generosity was illy requited 
 by the recipient who subsequently became estranged 
 from him by some fancied injury, which De Veaux's 
 pride and self-respect prevented his noticing. How 
 apt is this to be the case that evil is returned for good 
 in this censorious and selfish world ! 
 
 For several years he lacked confidence in his abili- 
 ties, and great diffidence retarded his progress in his 
 profession. His knowledge of the world had led him 
 to observe the deference paid to wealth and to those 
 who were supposed to have it, and a sensitive nature 
 made him constantly suspicious that in his intercourse 
 with society, he was in a position to which his pov- 
 erty did not entitle him. His innate modesty could 
 never be satisfied that talents and professional attain- 
 ments gave him higher claims to consideration, than 
 the accidental possession of property qualificadons. 
 Whilst he was influenced by these consideradons, a 
 still greater source of mournful regret was the want 
 of a classical and collegiate education. How many 
 reject by idleness and dissipation, opportunities that 
 nature's gifted sons sigh for in vain !
 
 16 MEMOIR OP 
 
 Acute sensibility was specially characteristic of his 
 nature, and a serious bar to his improvement. It was 
 difficult for him to be satisfied with his work, and 
 even when most so, the slightest criticism, thoug-h by 
 unqualified persons, often caused him to destroy some 
 of his best efforts. He was occasionally fretted into a 
 feeling- bordering- on apathy, which it was difficult for 
 his friends to remove. Until his first visit to Europe, 
 he was habitually inclined to look more upon the dark 
 shades of life, and seemed afraid to indulg-e in bright 
 dreams of the future. The view of anticipated op- 
 portunities or prospective excellence, would always 
 be stifled by desponding thoughts, which were con- 
 stantly intruding on his imagination, to dispel the sun- 
 shine of hope with gloomy forebodings of disappoint- 
 ment. His dependant position on popular favour — 
 the want of success in Charleston — his painful appre- 
 ciation of obligations to others, all tended to throw 
 obstacles in the way of his advancement. And, ad- 
 ded to all these difficulties, the low state of art in our 
 country, and the want of patronage of gifted spirits, 
 decaying for the stimulus of support, were calculated 
 to weaken rather more his efforts to attain hisfh ex- 
 cellence. In Europe, Sir Joshua Reynolds died, 
 leaving sixty thousand pounds, and Sir Thomas Law- 
 rence accumulated wealth, though his generous lib- 
 erality made him squander it. George III., gave 
 Benjamin West an annual allowance of one thousand 
 pounds for the sake of art, and Louis Phillippe has
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 17 
 
 another worthy American artist permanently employ- 
 ed in his service. Our country is highly honoured in 
 having" furnished to England and France her sons of 
 genius, who are more appreciated there than in their 
 own land ! In the United States, who of our ar- 
 tists, from Gilbert Stuart to the present day, has 
 earned more than a bare support'? And how many 
 have failed to do that? Too often is want the ac- 
 companiment of merit here, where the fine arts are 
 appreciated only on utilitarian principles, and paint- 
 ings are valued for the beauty of their frames, or as a 
 necessary relief to the monotony of a parlour wall. 
 
 In Charleston an effort was once made to establish 
 an Academy of Fine Arts, and we find in history a 
 complimentary notice of it, 
 
 " but e'en the spot 
 
 Where it once stood is now forgot.' 
 
 In the fife of the distinguished Sir Henry Raeburn,* 
 one of his distinctions is, having been elected "a 
 member of the Academy of Arts in South Carolina," 
 "Sic transit gloria mundiP^ 
 
 During the summer of 1836, De Veaux sailed for 
 Europe, and it is a matter of deep regret that a pack- 
 age of his letters which was loaned to some friend 
 
 * The finest portrait which it has been my good fortune to see, was that of 
 Dugakl Stuart by Raeburn, since lost in the fire which destroyed some fine 
 works in the Pennsylvania Academy. A fine copy by Sully is in the St. An- 
 drews Society's Hall in Charleston, a present from a worthy patron of art, Dr. 
 P. Tidyman, of South Carolina. 
 
 3
 
 18 MEMOIR OF 
 
 has been lost or mislaid, as it deprives me of his first 
 impressions abroad in his own langfuag^e. An inter- 
 esting- communication from an intimate friend and 
 brother artist who accompanied him, supplies the loss 
 so well, that it is here copied, with kind acknowledg-e- 
 ments to J, H. Mifflin, Esq. for the privileg-e. 
 
 "Columbia, Pa. Nov. 30, 1844. 
 My Dear Sir, — It was but a few days since I dis- 
 covered accidentally that a letter for me was adver- 
 tised in the list of those lying" at the Post Office in 
 Philadelphia, and it is but two days since your valued 
 favour was received — forwarded to me at this place, 
 where I now reside. I regret very much that I did 
 not have it earlier, as I am sorry to lie thus long- under 
 the imputation of being indifferent to the subject of 
 your communication. I have thoug-ht often with some 
 degree of compunction of the silence and apparent 
 apathy of my affection for and remembrance of De 
 Veaux, that I had made no public testimony to his 
 talents, nor record of my esteem. I attributed to 
 you the obituary of him, and it was g-rateful to me to 
 see so just and proper a tribute to one who so well 
 deserved it, and whom I so much esteemed and loved. 
 I am rejoiced that you are about to undertake some- 
 thing- more worthy of him, issuing- appropriately from 
 you, and from his native State. I write you at once 
 that I may correct my appearance of neg-lect of this
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 19 
 
 melancholy yet pleasinof duty of recording" my admi- 
 ration of the virtues of our friend. I will crowd in 
 my sheet at present, without much order, what will 
 furnish an outline of the opportunity I had to judg-e 
 of his occupation or pursuits at any particular time, 
 and I will be happy hereafter to answer more mi- 
 nutely any questions to which my suggestions may 
 give rise. Most of our correspondence was so en- 
 tirely familiar and unconstrained, that the letters of 
 our friend will not do justice to his talents for episto- 
 lary writing, nor to his poetical feeling as an artist; — 
 in these, as in conversation with artists, I think I may 
 say, there was in some degree the affectation of avoid- 
 ing affectation, — he had seen so much of mock en- 
 thusiasm, and been so often disgusted with the cant 
 phrases of students of painting, that he expressed 
 much less than he felt admiration for the art, or for 
 the works of art. It was not in his letters nor con- 
 versation that you could discover his feeling for the 
 beauties of an artist, but in the avidity with which he 
 returned again and again, as I have often seen him, 
 to sit silent for hours, gazing at the works of Titian, 
 Rubens and Vandyke. When introduced to strangers 
 he was rather reserved — seemed never to wish to 
 make new acquaintances, and the artist never shewed 
 through his conversation. In fact I think he was mor- 
 bidly sensitive at one time about his profession — it 
 seemed to be 
 
 " His shame in crowds, his solitary pride."
 
 20 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I became acquainted with DeVeaux when he first 
 visited Philadelphia, and attended J. R. Smith's draw- 
 ing" school — and we were intimate from that time for- 
 ward. It was during- the spring", I believe, of 1830. 
 I had there a room to paint in, and DeVeaux frequent- 
 ly came to it ; and we occasionally copied pictures to- 
 gether ; — he had then practised a little in oil ; I had not 
 at all, and his presence was a great assistance to me. 
 Sully lent us (as he always does liberally) sketches 
 and heads — these were frequently copied by several 
 of the artists' students, then at drawing" school, De 
 
 Veaux, M and myself. De Veaux, at that time, 
 
 had seen no one but Osg-ood and Bowman paint in 
 Charleston, and often spoke of them. This first year, 
 while at drawing" school, he painted a small portrait for 
 me. He copied in umber and ivhite from the plaister, 
 in the statue g"allery of the Philadelphia Academy but 
 never copied any paintings there. He admired Sul- 
 ly very much — always did justice to the sweetness 
 and grace of his female portraits; but Inman came 
 to Philadelphia just at this time, and had a great run, 
 after painting a portrait of Chief Justice Marshall, in 
 which is a portrait of De Veaux's hand, (you will see 
 it is not an old man's hand from the engraving). He 
 painted Judge Rawle, and most of the Philadelphia 
 Bar; — a picture of Penn for the Historical Society, 
 &c; and DeVeaux became his pupil. While Inman 
 and Childs were carrying on business, lithographing, 
 &c. Albert Newsam (Childs's protege) was there, and
 
 JAMES DEVEAUX. 21 
 
 De Veaux became interested in and well acquainted 
 with him, (a deaf mute,) — he used to and could ever 
 afterward talk rapidly with him upon his fingers. I 
 recollect once, on De Veaux's return from Europe, 
 Newsam meeting- us at night, seeing- De Veaux un- 
 expectedly under a lamp at a corner, and the rapid 
 conversation that their fing-ers and eyes kept up! — 
 De Veaux, I think, was one of Inman's favorite pu- 
 pils. De Veaux always spoke with familiar and kind 
 regard of him personally, and with great admiration 
 of his wonderful versatiUty of talent and facility of 
 execution. He assisted Inman in copying King's In- 
 dian Gallery. This was while they were lithograph- 
 ing. At his commencement of painting with Inman, 
 he painted another portrait — a head for me. At this 
 
 time he was intimate with , an engraver, who 
 
 had many sketches that he made at different times 
 until he went to Europe, when their intimacy ceased. 
 
 He was intimate with a family, McM , for whom 
 
 he painted two portraits, one of a young lady just 
 married, very pretty. In the fall of 1834, after his re- 
 turn from a successful professional residence with you 
 at Columbia, and a visit to Camden, (you well know 
 of these, the dates, his success and improvement,) at 
 his instance I accompanied him southward to Charles- 
 ton. This summer and autumn were the last long 
 visit he made to Philadelphia; at this time he painted 
 two of your brothers, at my room in Arch street. We
 
 22 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 went through BaUimore, and by steam boat thence 
 to Charleston. I recollect his enthusiasm upon see- 
 ing* Charleston rising above the water — he said it was 
 like his idea of the approach to Venice. After this 
 we corresponded very briskly, but I more frequently 
 destroyed his letters. I was in Augusta, Ga. that 
 winter and the next, and in the spring of 1836, while 
 he was in Camden or Columbia, I was at Mobile. 
 We appointed a meeting at New York to sail for Eu- 
 rope on the first of August. We met but a few days 
 before the time, and sailed upon that day in the Or- 
 pheus, Capt. Beasley, and had a passage of twenty 
 days to Liverpool. Lieut. Wilkes^ of the Exploring 
 Expedition, and Miss Martineau, were among our 
 passengers. To you I may repeat that I think the re- 
 serve, and almost haughtiness of De Veaux's manner 
 to strangers, was in great part a sensitiveness to his 
 dependance and the usual poverty of our profession. 
 
 His late familiar association with those ( for 
 
 instance,) who appreciated him as a man as well as 
 an artist, but to whom money was an indifferent mat- 
 ter, tended to make him sensitive to this. I know 
 that he long hesitated to accept the kindness of Col. 
 
 W. H in furnishing means for the voyage, but 
 
 always acknowledged the very handsome manner of 
 his kindness. While I admit to you that he some- 
 times gave way to prejudice, perhaps too hastily con- 
 ceived, I must speak of the firmness of his friend-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 23 
 
 ships, the warmth of his affections, and the lasting- 
 impressions which kindness made upon him; — if he 
 was averse to incur obUg-ation, he was not slow to 
 acknowledge it, and he never forgot it. Of yourself 
 and family, he always spoke with esteem, affection 
 and gratitude. 
 
 He was fond of fun — of the burlesque — and with 
 me familiar enough, but his manner was cold and 
 dig-nified to strang-ers. I was highly amused with his 
 account of an interview with a good old Liverpool 
 merchant, Mr. Forde, upon whom he had a letter of 
 credit from Col. H. " But," said Mr. F., " Col. H. does 
 not limit your credit in this letter." "I did not expect 
 he would, sir," or "certainly not, sir," was the calm 
 reply of our dignified friend. He laughed when he 
 told me this, and very heartily. 
 
 The high fertility and verdant freshness of English 
 scenery delighted De Veaux : he was here too enthu- 
 siastic — I thought too partial to be a good patriotic 
 yankee — I was jealous of the admiration he gave to 
 the grand scale of every thing English — the Baronial 
 castles, parks, &c. We visited together Chester, Ea- 
 ton Hall near it, Knowsly Hall, the seat of the Earl of 
 Derby, where we saw a fine collection of pictures, 
 and a kind old house-keeper, who had been at Wash- 
 ington with some minister or consul, and who permit- 
 ted us a long loiter in the gallery — shewed us the 
 family portraits in a sitting room, where some of the
 
 24 MEMOIR OF 
 
 family were seated, &c. In Liverpool we saw (in 
 the City Hall, I think,) portraits of Lawrence, Phil- 
 lips and Hoppner. De Veaux liked Hoppner best, 
 and always continued very partial to his style. Here 
 we saw the first eleg-ant dignitary of a steward or 
 showman round a public or opened house, and we 
 were afraid to offend him by the offer of a half crown 
 — we learned better afterward. 
 
 We went to Kenilworth Castle, Warwick and War- 
 wick Castle, where we admired its town, its park, its 
 cedars, the vase, and its Rahens's^ and De Veaux often 
 laug^hed at recounting" the wonderful narrative of the 
 porter who shews "Sir Guy's porridge pot," and "a 
 rib of the dun cow," &c. &c. We went to Stratford 
 upon Avon, and the room of course — where we in- 
 scribed our names. At the church and over the 
 grave of Shakspeare, we were called upon for our 
 subscription to a new monument, or repairs of that 
 and the church, I forget which. De Veaux would 
 always give, you know, not to say liberally — it was 
 thoughtlessly, but money had no value with him — 
 and we set down our mite of testimony to our own 
 taste. Through Oxford we went to London. Here 
 we first went to Morley's Hotel, Trafalgar Square, — 
 afterward to Newman street, Oxford street, and took 
 lodgings over a Mr. Lloyd's, and near Jackson's paint- 
 ing room. He was then deceased, and his pictures 
 yet some of them for sale — it was near all the artists.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 25 
 
 We had a letter from Mr. Sully, introducing- us to 
 Mr. Leslie, upon whom we called, — but only once. 
 Dr. Cooper, of South Carolina, had given De Veaux a 
 letter to Mr. Rogers, the poet, and this procured him 
 the welcome of the house. I recollect he breakfast- 
 ed with him one morning. Rogers's collection of 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds's pictures was the most choice in 
 England. He had the best, — few other pictures, but 
 all gems, — one '•'Head of Christ'^ by Guido, bought 
 at the sale of Benj. West, for one thousand guineas. 
 We had liberty to copy any tJimg^ and Mr. Rogers 
 liberally and kindly offered De Veaux a room up 
 stairs, where he could have any picture removed. 
 De Veaux painted no7ie in London. We were disap- 
 pointed in finding such restrictions with regard to 
 copying in the National Gallery, — nothing but water- 
 colour sketches could be made, so we left for Paris 
 in October or November, 1836. Having frequented 
 all the exhibitions of art in London, — at the new gal- 
 lery, Trafalgar Square, the water-colour paintings, 
 old pictures, &c. &c., one morning after breakfast, 
 we separated in Pall Mall, De Veaux went to one 
 exhibition and I to another, — not far apart, — and I 
 was mortified to learn what I had missed seeing; for 
 though I saw the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland 
 looking at paintings for an hour or two like those re- 
 ally interested, — it was not like sitting, as De Veaux 
 
 had done, near by while Wellington and Wilkie 
 4
 
 26 MEMOIR OF 
 
 were talking of pictures. We made from London a 
 litde excursion to Richmond, Windsor Casde park 
 and forest, — got a glimpse of William IV. riding by 
 in his plain carriage, and we or our driver had a nod 
 from his majesty. 
 
 De Veaux could not be said to have studied at all 
 in England, — unless the memoranda he made in wri- 
 ting, — the careful looking into pictures, and an occa- 
 sional pencil sketch on a card or in a note book could 
 be called so. We had a plaster figure or so at our 
 room, but he painted none at all, — though we visited 
 pictures a great deal. He was disappointed in Rey- 
 nolds, or rather the preservation in which he found 
 his works, but was charmed with Hoppner, and liked 
 him as a model for his style of portraiture. — particu- 
 larly was he pleased with the portrait of an officer, a 
 head at Greenwich, it being among four side by side, 
 one Reynolds, one Stuart, and one Romney, — Rey- 
 nolds had faded, — Romney was hard, — Stuart was 
 like life, but Hoppner had the best subject and his 
 was the best head. De Veaux studied it well. 
 
 He used to be while in Europe, depressed in spir- 
 its. He sate the picture of gloom, — could not be 
 roused, — took no interest in objects of curiosity or 
 amusement, with which all Paris abounded, and 
 wished to return at once to America. This was in 
 the winter of '36 and '37. He did not wish to go 
 to Italy, if I could find any other company, — said he
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 27 
 
 would wait three months for me, and then in the 
 spring" or summer we would sail ag-ain from London. 
 I made my tour throug-h the principal cities of Italy 
 in this limited time, and found De Veaux more cheer- 
 ful on my return to Paris, — but at that time still in- 
 tending to return with me. After g-oing to London 
 he wavered, and at the wharf or vessel, he declined 
 to set down his name when I took a state-room. He 
 had enjoyed the trip through Brussells and Antwerp 
 highly, — Rubens delighted him in those cities. 
 
 He copied chiefly heads from Rubens and Vandyke 
 in the Louvre, and did so with great facility, preserv- 
 ing a general and beautiful resemblance, only per- 
 haps sometimes making the copy more effeminate as 
 well as prettier than the original, — this he inclined 
 always to do in his portraits. He disliked to see a 
 homely portrait of an original. In the evening he 
 drew at the Life-school in Crayon, and his drawings 
 were among the most elegant of the number, fifty to 
 seventy in the school. He painted but two or three 
 portraits in Paris, — of myself, his French teacher and 
 a friend. After the close of the Louvre to prepare 
 for a modern exhibition, Dc Veaux and I hired an 
 atelier and painted together, but he seemed to feel 
 the value of drawing the human figure, and often 
 attended the day Academy also. 
 
 He always spoke of Charleston with partiality 
 and affection. — allied to his home feeling was an un-
 
 28 MEMOIR OF 
 
 bounded admiration of Washington Allston. Upon 
 our second visit to London, we had the g'ood fortune 
 to take lodging's (througli the introduction of an artist 
 friend,) in the very house where Sully and Allston 
 had previously had rooms, sketches by Sully being in 
 the house, and one or two elegant things by Allston, 
 characteristic of his genius. 
 
 De Veaux could not be said to have read a great 
 deal, but remembered the poetical parts of what he 
 did read. He always had an edition of Shakspeare 
 in his trunk. In Paris, I recollect particularly, his 
 reading to me from Irving's description of Westmin- 
 ster Abby, a description which we could both appre- 
 ciate for its correctness and beauty. As an artist, the 
 fine study of action, — attitude, expression, — which the 
 stage afforded, at one time, attracted him a good deal. 
 Cooper he considered the model of an actor, and hav- 
 ing seen him first in Charleston, tended to continue 
 his partiality. I recollect his remarking to me, that 
 he had seen Cooper stop in the street, and gaze up 
 with apparent admiration at the symmetry of St. Mi- 
 chael's steeple in Charleston, — this was often present 
 to his fancy, when we were ascending spires, some 
 thousands of miles away. 
 
 De Veaux set little value on his copies after they 
 were made, and would give them freely to any well 
 deserving friend. I recollect an amusing fellow with 
 whom we became acquainted at the Louvre, who
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 29 
 
 used to come to see us often. This fellow's name was 
 Sharp ; — he has an Irishman, had some humour, " a 
 good eye for colour," but a most ludicrous lack of all 
 perception of "form," — consequently, though he toned 
 a Titian browner than the original, there was little 
 nature in his portrait from life. At the commence- 
 ment of our acquaintance. Sharp was officiously atten- 
 tive to De Veaux, got him to come round to his room 
 to paint a head of a young man, that was going to sit 
 to Sharp, — so fine a study ! De Veaux went, — at this 
 time he could not speak French, scarcely understood 
 a word, though he afterwards became proficient. He 
 wondered what excellence Sharp saw in the com- 
 mon place young man he was studying, but having 
 begun, he finished; when Sharp begged the portrait 
 of him, he admired the study so much ! ! De Veaux 
 gave it of course, but afterwards heard indignantly 
 that Sharp had sold the portrait to his study! It was 
 a plan to get a portrait by De Veaux. 
 
 He made a copy of " Titian^s Mistress " from the 
 Louvre and of Correggio's ^'•Marriage of St. Catha- 
 rine.''^ In the spring of 1837, we went to Brussells, 
 Antwerp and London, and at the latter place we 
 parted. On his return from Europe, I went to New 
 York to see him, and subsequendy he came to Phila- 
 delphia to see me, — after this our correspondence 
 declined, and did not condnue during his last visit to 
 Europe. I regret this exceedingly and blame myself
 
 i^4 
 
 30 MEMOIR OF 
 
 for it. I had received no notice of his declininj^f health, 
 until I saw his death announced in a Charleston paper. 
 I had hoped for many happy hours in his society in 
 my native town, at my own home. What you men- 
 tion with reg-ard to his feeling-s and expressions at 
 the approach of death, gives me g-reat satisfaction — 
 the minutest particulars in relation to the latter part 
 of his life, are very interesting- to me. 
 
 Very respectfully and sincerely 
 
 Yours. 
 
 While in Paris, DeVeaux painted a fine copy of 
 " Vandyke by himself,^^ which he presented to James 
 H. Hammond, Esq. — a copy of " Titian^s Mistress^^^ 
 purchased by Doctor Arrott of Philadelphia, and a 
 copy of " The Marriage of St. Catharine,'' by Correg"- 
 g-io. This was sold to the Hon. A. Stevenson, then 
 our Minister to Eng-land. He carried it to London, 
 where it was g"reatly admired, and Wilkie told 
 Mr. Stevenson he considered it the best copy he had 
 ever seen, of a picture frequently copied. It also 
 attracted the notice of Landseer, who passed a high 
 encomium on its merits. 
 
 He kept no journal during his residence in Paris, 
 as he subsequently did in Rome, and a few pencil 
 memoranda in a pocket note book are all that he made. 
 From it the following extract shews that they were 
 intended merely to recall observations. 
 
 T vw^ irKX>u^.-J ^* /Ci/i/.y-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 31 
 
 "Oct. 11th. We reached Paris at 11 p. m. and put 
 
 up at the hotel d'Lille et d'Albion rue St. Thomas 
 des Linne. One fellow carried our two trunks, carpet 
 bag's and hat boxes on a fixture lashed to his back, — 
 I had seen a porter drop in trying to lift one of them 
 in Liverpool. 
 
 "Oct. 13. Made my first visit to the Louvre to- 
 day — entrance — effect of the whole collection at once 
 — lisdessness of the visitors o-enerally, extravagant 
 affectation of others, — merits of the numerous copyists 
 — took a walk in the Palais Royal shops, — statues — 
 company — architecture- — whole effect — table d'Hote 
 — difference between the French and En^-lish taking- 
 their meals — terrace — urns with plants — children and 
 nurses — loiterers — water in the centre, — Garden of 
 the Tuilleries — walks thirty yards wide, ornamented 
 with numerous finely executed statues — woody part 
 about five hundred yards off — the effect of it — com- 
 pany Sunday afternoon — neat dress — beards — women 
 — soldiers' size compared with the Enghsh — tomb of 
 Maria Antoinette and Louise, plain and elegant — 
 Napoleon's column — triumphal arch rich to excess, 
 the work upon it correct and done in the most elabo- 
 rate style. Garden of plants — birds — beasts and rep- 
 tiles — embalmed crocodile — rhinoceros — skeleton of 
 a whale." 
 
 "Brussells — Hotel de Ville — gorgeous old Dutch 
 Church — interior — statue of dying soldier of last rev-
 
 32 MEMOIR OF 
 
 olution — Waterloo — monuments — relics bought from 
 the old lady, who gave us "good bye" in English — 
 next day to the museum — Prince of Orange's collec- 
 tion — Vandyke's four full lengths — Ruben's hunting 
 piece and family group — made a few sketches from 
 Vandyke and Rubens." 
 
 "21st. May. Arrived in Antwerp. — Cathedral — 
 Citadel — St. Jacques; — Ruben's tomb, prepared by 
 himself fifteen years before his death — a picture 
 placed over it by him two years before he died — 
 pictures by Vandyke in the same place — dead Christ 
 — and two profiles on the same canvass. Cathedral 
 five hundred English feet in height — went to the 
 top, the mostgorgeous steeple in the world — saw 
 Ireland in the distance." 
 
 Here he seems to have recorded his observations 
 more particularly, where, he was deeply impressed. 
 
 " At St. Jacques, the dead figure of Christ by Van- 
 dyke I prefer to all the other dead Christs I have 
 ever seen — there is but little in it, but all perfect — 
 the flesh, white drapery, solemn sky, are in most 
 perfect harmony; — two heads by him in the same 
 church in one canvass, profiles — I think two of his 
 best. At Mount Calvary or Church of St. Luke, the 
 " Christ Scourged" painted by Rubens, is my favorite 
 — the figure of the Saviour is just as we expect to 
 find it — enduring the whip without a murmer — the 
 figure on the left is a little strained in posture, the
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 33 
 
 rig"ht leg", rather affectedly disposed ; but one on the 
 right with one foot braced ag-ainst the leg* of Christ, 
 is bursting" with hatred and throws his whole force 
 into each blow— the colour is g"lowing. There are 
 several others here by Rubens, very excellent. 
 
 " At the Church of aS'^. Andre a picture by Rubens 
 of " The Flig-ht into Eg-ypt " is g-ood — Christ between 
 Joseph and his mother, who looks tenderly upon him 
 — one of Rubens's prettiest female faces; — the three 
 figures pleased me for their elegance, they are 
 remarkably so for this master. 
 
 "At St. Augustine^ a small whole length figure 
 clothed in purple silk, with a mantle of gold, delight- 
 ed me for its drawing and colour — by Vandyke — 
 "The extacy of St. Augustine," by the same, is a 
 beautiful production ; the torse of the saint forms the 
 chief or centre light and glitters in its place — the 
 angels above (particularly the one floating forward) 
 are most beautifully drawn and coloured. The altar 
 piece at this church by Rubens, is not as fresh as I 
 expected to find it: the figure of St. Sebastian in 
 the foreground is carefully drawn and the colouring 
 real flesh, the Virgin, Christ, St. John, and angels 
 are pure enough, but the other parts of the picture 
 look dingy or mouldy, and cannot be viewed with 
 any degree of pleasure — the subject is the marriage 
 of St. Catharine. 
 
 "At the Church of the Capuchins, St, Anfmne 
 5
 
 34 MEMOIR OF 
 
 de Padone, are two beautiful specimens of art — St. 
 Francis receiving- Christ from the hands of his mo- 
 ther, by Rubens — and the dead Christ resting- on the 
 knees of the Virgin — St. Madehne and two angels 
 weeping-, by Vandyke. 
 
 Rabens's is simple, well drawn, boldly and as har- 
 moniously coloured as any thing- I have seen; — it 
 appears to have been struck off in one of his happy 
 moods — no touch appears to have been repeated a 
 second time — the colouring- of Christ and the two 
 principal angels is charming-, and the drapery of the 
 Saint and Virgin as true as possible. 
 
 Vandyke^s body of Christ is equal to the one at St. 
 Jacques — the legs and arms are too leaden however, 
 — the head of St. Madeline is more expressive of 
 grief and more true in colour than any I have seen 
 elsewhere — the angels are very fine. This picture 
 is harmonious, but the anxiety of the painter to pro- 
 duce solemnity and gloom has carried him too far 
 and the general appearance is a little heavy — there 
 is too much black — the dress of the Saint, the sky, the 
 wings of the angels, the extremities of the Saviour, 
 making altogether too much darkness, but the body 
 of Christ is the more brilliant for it, and that perhaps 
 was the chief object of the painter. 
 
 St. Jacques again — Rubens's tomb — sat in his chair. 
 The picture over his tomb placed there by himself, 
 exceeds every thing of the same compass for colour
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 35 
 
 I ever saw, — nothing" is extravag-ant, he seems to 
 have commenced with the whole force of his palette 
 upon the sun scorched figure of time in the fore- 
 ground, and painted all his other figures up to it, — 
 the children and female are very fair, but not cold ; 
 his second wife is the prettiest in this picture— the 
 sky, architecture draperies, are all splendid. Time 
 and Love in the foreground and the head above 
 named are my favourite spots— the red drapery of 
 the old man in the centre I think richer than Titian. 
 
 "There are pictures here by Thyssens, very like 
 Vandyke, the assumption of the Virgin and another 
 very like his style." 
 
 " Malines or Mecldin. Christ on the Cross by Van- 
 dyke, at the Cathedral or Church of St. Rombaud, — 
 the Acbration of the Mag% — St. John Baptist in the 
 desert, — St. John Evangelist in the isle of Patmos, — 
 ditto in boiling oil — and the decollation of John Bap- 
 tist. The first named is the largest picture by Van- 
 dyke I have seen, and as it is the most diflficult to 
 manage, and so entirely successful, I must call it the 
 best I have seen, — we find fine drawing, delicate 
 pencilling and as far as the gloomy atmosphere per- 
 mits, splendid colouring, — the figure of the thief on 
 Christ's left is peculiarly lustrous, — Christ well drawn 
 and finely painted, — in the foreground is the mother 
 clothed in black, — at her right side kneeling and 
 clinging to the cross is Mary,— face beautiful— dress
 
 I 
 
 36 MEMOIR OP 
 
 dull pink — over the mother's left is seen St. John, 
 — his face red with weeping- and altog-ether too vul- 
 gar — two figures, head and bust only seen at the foot 
 of the cross looking- up at the Saviour, carry the g-roup 
 off; — on the rig-ht of the picture in the foreg-round, is 
 a larg-e fig-ure in light drapery bending- forward, and 
 directing- the attention of the soldier, who sits well 
 poised upon his horse, to the wound in the side of 
 Christ, which he seems to boast of having- inflicted 
 with the spear in his rig-ht hand, — the thief on the 
 right is somewhat in advance of Christ. The hlack 
 of the Virg-in's dress balances the armour and dark 
 man formed by the body of the rig"ht hand thief, — the 
 red of John is found on the soldier on horseback, — 
 Mary's ^inA: ov purple is a harmonizer between them; 
 the fig-ure of the left thief is painted ag-ainst a light 
 spot of sky, — this picture wants unity. Vandyke 
 seemed afraid of the effect of many figures disturbing 
 repose, and he has too few, — they are much detached 
 however, — the faults are few, the merits countless; — 
 for the subject, I think it far more imposing than Ru- 
 bens's in the Museum at Antwerp, which is more 
 powerful in colour, and light and shade, but lacks the 
 solemnity and gloom of the other. "Adoration of the 
 Magi," is more careful in drawing and fully equal in 
 colour to most of Rubens's. The design is superior to 
 his general works, — the playfulness of the Christ with 
 the shrinking modesty of the Virgin, cannot be sur-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 37 
 
 passed— this is my favourite virgin— the light is thrown 
 from the Saviour's person, and forms consequendy a 
 round or ball of lig-ht— as a candle or any other 
 sing-le bright object would, confined within a given 
 space — the figures throughout are so arranged as to 
 repeat with their heads chiefly this same form, — the 
 figure at the top of the picture with the torch gives a 
 pyramidal form to the whole group of light as well as 
 shadow,— it is a charming picture as need be seen, — 
 the attire of the virgin is very simple,— a fine blue 
 mantle lined with a colour composed of white, black, 
 and a glaze of lake,— the dress black and white, 
 almost white, warmed with a little red, — the sleeve 
 from the middle of the arm to the wrist is pink, — the 
 head of the old man next the Saviour offering the gold 
 cup, — the one bearing the incense pot, and the moor 
 in green with the white turban, are splendid points 
 for colour. A John baptizing Christ is well design- 
 ed, — both the figures are graceful except in the legs, 
 in the drawing of which Rubens shewed his weak- 
 ness too frequently,— the quiet bend of the Saviour 
 and slight timidity of John are happily hit off,— the 
 white drapery of Christ is the centre Hght and beau- 
 tifully painted,— the white Dove descending in a 
 burst of light repeats it; — the head of Christ is hand- 
 some, — the foliage and sky lovely. 
 
 " The decollation of St. John^^ is a splendid piece 
 of Chiaro-oscuro, — the headless body could not have 
 
 448Si3
 
 38 MEMOIR OF 
 
 been in a more difficult posture to draw, and it is 
 executed as well as any thing- of Raphael's I know 
 in the Louvre. 
 
 '■'■John the Evangelist in the isle of Patmos^^^ is rich- 
 ly painted, — the pink dress — red robe — rocks, eagle, 
 sky and visions in the heavens, all fine, — the head 
 has no expression that I could make any thing- of, 
 and ug-ly withal, — the ground and leaves beneath 
 him I must try and remember when called for. On 
 the other side of the panel, a ''St. John cast into 
 boiling oil," is splendidly executed every way, the 
 drawing of the principal figure is perfect, the execu- 
 tioners good also, and the whole effect in Rubens's 
 best manner. The last four pictures I have men- 
 tioned, are at St. Jeanus Church, at Malines, where it 
 is said Rubens directed his friends to go when they 
 wanted to see his finest works. At Notre Dame., in 
 the same city, are some worth special notice. " The 
 draught ofjishes,^^ — this for splendor of colour pleases 
 me, — the back of the fisherman in the centre of the 
 picture, hailing his brother in the distance to demand 
 assistance, is perfect, — the figure stooping in the boat 
 is very little inferior if any, — Christ is finely and even 
 delicately drawn, — the expression of thankfulness 
 upon the face of the old man whom he addresses is 
 entire, — the figure on the right of the picture repeats 
 the red of Christ, is well in colour, but the attempt to 
 foreshorten it makes it look too short.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 39 
 
 " Tobit and the Angel,^^ on the left, is sweetly de- 
 sig^ned, simple and natural, the action of both easy 
 and the fish looks slippery. Peter on the right side 
 taking" the money from the fish, is not as striking" as 
 the others, — too much crowded. St. Peter, whole 
 leng"th on the back, looks too much like Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds's Count Ugolino, — the St. Andrew on the 
 river of Tobit and the Ang"el, is much superior, — he 
 rests upon his cross, (three quarters to you) with one 
 hand behind him with a fish in it attached by a cord. 
 
 ''At Antwerp, in the Cathedral, is Rubens's De- 
 scent from the Cross^ so deservedly praised. In the 
 same church are three beautiful small works by him ; 
 the resurrection^ — the figure of Christ, very lig-ht and 
 well painted, — a fig"ure on a volet, at the right of it 
 representing" St. John, and on the left a fig"ure of the 
 Virg"in walking" with a palm leaf in her right hand, 
 and her left holding" her drapery aside— the face 
 three quarter view, the body side view — the drapery 
 purple with black mande, is beautifully painted, — 
 St. John's right arm is akimbo, the left elevated as if 
 surprised at some unexpected vision. TJie assumption 
 of the Virgin, a large picture over the grand altar, is 
 one of Rubens's best works, — the group of angels 
 surrounding her are no where surpassed to my 
 knowledge — and the group of men and women about 
 the tomb, present the greatest varieties of posture 
 and all happily expressed— the large figure in the
 
 40 MEMOIR OF 
 
 foreground of the woman in pink is exquisitely co- 
 loured, and the old man also is equally as good — the 
 ang-el to the right of the virgin, flying into the pic- 
 ture, is my favourite among all the angels I have had 
 the pleasure of seeing. There is a large picture 
 hanging opposite to the Descent from the Cross, the 
 dimensions the same with two volets also — the first 
 after his return from Italy, I could only think, not 
 shocking. The Descent from the Cross deserves all 
 the praise it ever received even from Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds." ***** *^ 
 
 These notes of observations of works of the Flem- 
 ish School which enlisted his feelings and attention, 
 are all that exist of his first visit to Europe. Among 
 his letters to his friends and in his journal kept in 
 Venice and Rome, on his return from the United 
 States, will be found others of interest relating to 
 ancient and modern art in Italy. After parting with 
 his friend Mifflin in London, he returned to Paris, 
 where he remained pursuing his studies in the Life- 
 school and copying in the Louvre until the spring of 
 1838. A memorandum on a slip of paper mentions 
 the date of his leaving France. 
 
 ''Left Havre 9th May, 1838, and after a dehghtful 
 voyage of twenty-seven days, arrived at New York. 
 Here is an end to my voyage and absence of twenty- 
 one months, and though delighted to see my native 
 land, yet I confess I am sighing after that I have left
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 41 
 
 behind me. God grant that I may g"o eastward once 
 more before I die! Ship Albany, June 6th, 1838, 
 waiting" at quarantine for the steamboat to take us 
 up." 
 
 Soon after De Veaux's arrival in N. York, (where 
 he spent that summer,) he painted at Mr. Sheg^ogue's 
 rooms a fine portrait of his friend Col. John L. Man- 
 ning", of South Carolina, and was invited by him to 
 his residence in Clarendon, to take the likenesses of 
 several of his family. Here an acquaintance formed 
 in Camden with this respected and polished g"entle- 
 man, ripened into that deep friendship and devo- 
 ted attachment which subsequently existed between 
 them. The g"entlemanly urbanity, the ease and affa- 
 biHty of his manners, the good humor and g-entleness 
 of disposition which were always characteristic of 
 him in the family circle, endeared him to all. The 
 spirit of his conversation, the liberality of his senti- 
 ments, and his self-sacrificing" g-enerosity on all 
 occasions, in addition to the possession of a hig"h 
 order of talents, caused all who knew him to respect 
 him. 
 
 In Clarendon he remained until the winter of 1839, 
 fully occupied, and turning" off from his easel many 
 of his best portraits, enjoying" himself in a delightful 
 society, which appreciated him highly, and having 
 every thing to encourage him in the prospects of his 
 profession. Having completed his engagements, he
 
 ) 
 
 42 MEMOIR OP 
 
 returned to Columbia, and spent the v/inter and spring 
 in discharging- some obhgations there. The summer 
 of 1840 was passed chiefly in Abingdon, Va., where 
 he was invited to paint portraits for the family of the 
 late General Preston. He made a short visit to New 
 York, and returned to Columbia in November. He 
 was in New York during the great excitement of 
 pohtical parties in the severe contest of that fall, but 
 took htde or no interest in it. To a friend he writes 
 at that time: 
 
 "I am sorry that my indifference to poHtics is so 
 incurable, that I cannot participate in the stirring 
 times we have had, and continue to have here, — my 
 leaning is towards your opponents, (whigs,) but so 
 slight at this particular time is my preference, that 
 the influence of any gentle delicate fair one could 
 throw me on either side ! How the storm howls in 
 the next street at this moment! — the thunder of some 
 political orator, who with "his throat of brass and 
 adamantine lungs," has been for two hours past 
 breathing destruction from a whig-wam, (ahas log 
 cabin,) has just ceased, and now five or ten thousand 
 men are chanting the chorus of a Tippecanoe song! 
 Hallo, here goes an equally great number of locos, — 
 from morn to night these fellows are en route, — music 
 is cheap, — here is a band of thirty musicians, — and 
 sJioes ought to be also, for most assuredly these are 
 "times that try men's soles!"
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 43 
 
 I am disposed to g-ive frequent and extended ex- 
 tracts from the letters of De Veaux, which were 
 usually written in his moments of excitement while 
 free from the depression which so often hung a 
 lurid cloud over the bright light that beamed from 
 his "mind's eye." They are spirited and sketchy, 
 full of sportive allusions and playful imagery — 
 thrown off currente calamo to his confidential friends 
 — many of them abounding with sparkling thoughts 
 and beautiful ideas. For one who had so few oppor- 
 tunities, they are fair specimens of unaffected and 
 easy epistolary compositions. 
 
 To at White Salphur Springs. 
 
 " Whence arises such studied neglect of one of 
 Nature's intelligencies? Week after week, with 
 increasing anxiety, have I looked for a concoction 
 from thy prolific noddle — wherefore comes it not? 
 Can it be that the sulphureous vapours, instead of 
 cleansing thy brain of its few aberrations, hath only 
 increased its muddlings 7 The gods forbid ! In- 
 stantly put pen to paper and let me decide — if my 
 terrible anticipations are correct, if I find you are 
 wandering 'mongst those that are in darkness, I'll 
 mourn like Rachel (only more so) — but if you are 
 " still in the light as I am in the light," I'll e'en 
 rejoice like the father of the prodigal son ! 
 
 <
 
 ) 
 
 44 MEMOIR OP 
 
 " If I can be jovial and sportive, surely you can 
 afford it— you playing- at the springs, and I working- 
 at the knobs (heads.) 
 
 "'Retreat from care that never must be mine,' 
 saith the poet, and I echo it. I must work hard to 
 make up for lost years, and reserve for distant hope 
 the blest idea of retirement and luxurious ease, for 
 a time when I will care no long-er for it — when the 
 verdure and the sunshine will be g-one from every 
 scene — when no locality will please, and imndering 
 will become a fixed restlessness, ' a mortal malady of 
 mind ' — but hang- it, this is too sad . 
 
 " 'Tis but rarely that a journal falls into these 
 paint-stamed hands of mine — but this morning-, by 
 accident, I perused one — you may imag-ine me (I 
 can't picture it) reading* an executive announcement 
 dubbing- you Lieut. Colonel! 'Old have I grown, 
 and from my weary bones, honor is almost cudgell'd,' 
 yet have I struggled all my youth through, without 
 finding that which has found you unsought. Verily, 
 ' some are born great, and some have greatness 
 thrust upon them,' — would that I may some day 
 encounter it ! 
 
 " 'I have professed me thy friend, and I confess 
 me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable 
 toughness,' — these professions were made to you 
 in your civil capacity, should I not reiterate them 
 now that your worship is ' armed and accoutred ' a
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 45 
 
 regular cannon-mouth looking- warrior 1 ' Thou hast 
 a jg-rim appearance, and thy face has a command 
 in't,' so you'll excuse my fears, and deal mercifully 
 with the great undubbed. 
 
 " I have no news to fill you with ' as pigeons 
 feed their young' — but with looks and language as 
 stern as any Colonel, I demand your reason for ne- 
 glecting me during your absence from this ' httle 
 spot of earth.' If nothing else will suffice to recall 
 one, can't the ' sweet memory' of our having to- 
 gether watched the nimble trout, cutting with pliant 
 oars the silver stream, or having sate beneath the 
 spreading sycamore, glaring with dire intent on the 
 opposite hills in hope of deer, and anon twisting our 
 happy thoughts into undying numbers ! — can none of 
 these things move you 1 — then surely you have gain- 
 ed the twenty pounds I hear of, and are not easily 
 moved. The hunting season is passed, and now the 
 trout must keep dark, unless they are tired of life. 
 We are ready, and must lessen the number of fish — 
 they are too cruel to live — do you know what they 
 do for grub 7 — why the great ones eat up the little 
 ones ! we are such clever philanthropists, we can't 
 stand that, so W. and J. and I must be 'up and 
 
 at ^ f^Yfi '" ^ ^ T^ * ^ 
 
 De Veaux continued to paint in Columbia, until the 
 summer of 1841. Since his return from Europe, his
 
 ) 
 
 46 MEMOIR OP 
 
 improvement being" marked, he received $100 for his 
 portraits, and had full occupation. On reference to 
 a note book of the portraits painted during* the inter- 
 val between his first and second visits to Europe, it 
 appears that he finished forty-three.* 
 
 With the g"enerous object of contributing* to the 
 cultivation of the fine artistic skill with which nature 
 had endowed the subject of this memoir, and to give 
 to his ardent spirit, the opportunities it sighed for, 
 Mrs. Gen. Hampton, Col. Wade Hampton, John L. 
 Manning*, Esq., and John S. Preston, Esq., made ar- 
 rang-ements with him to proceed to Italy, to make 
 copies for them of such works of the old masters as 
 he might select. 
 
 The interest which they took in his advancement 
 was based on the undoubted indications of genius 
 which he exhibited, and his worthy personal quali- 
 ties ; and they all feel deeply the loss to the State 
 and to the arts of their esteemed protege. The few 
 works he was permitted by a wise Providence to 
 achieve, give an earnest of what he would have done 
 had his valuable life been spared. On the arrival in 
 this country of his first original composition, '^ Christ 
 administered to by Angels,^^ a distinguished artist, of 
 fine taste and hberal feelings, who knew well his 
 abilities, observed to the owner of that painting, " if 
 
 * From his commencement in Columbia, in 1832, to his last visit to Europe, 
 he painted 240 portraits.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 47 
 
 De Veaux improves as much in the next two years 
 as he has during the last two, he will be equal to any 
 living artist." 
 
 In August, 1841, he left Columbia for the last time, 
 and with a heavy heart at parting, and melancholy 
 forebodings that he was never to return to it. Such 
 feelings were natural at separating himself from a 
 circle of intimate friends, who valued him as an art- 
 ist, and loved him as a man, — at leaving the abode 
 of many years, the scene of his early labours, his 
 progressive improvement, and his well earned suc- 
 cess ; — but little did those friends anticipate the short 
 career of youth and strength, that gave a promise of 
 wearing to a good old age, or of genius and acquire- 
 ment that entitled them to hope for honors and dis- 
 tinctions as life advanced ! How sad the reflection ! 
 
 He sailed from New York in September, and land- 
 ed in Liverpool, whence he soon departed for Paris. 
 For his subsequent movements and history, all must 
 now be derived from his own letters, his journal of 
 residence in Rome and Venice, and the letters of his 
 friends, Mr. Rossiter and Mr. Chambers. I prefer to 
 give the extracts from his letters as they were writ- 
 ten, in preference to incorporating the information 
 they contain in his narrative. Some of them, per- 
 haps, might have been better omitted, but the design 
 of these pages is to give a fair picture of the charac- 
 ter and acquirements of their subject.
 
 48 MEMOIR OF 
 
 J D to 
 
 ''Paris, Nov. 15, 1841. 
 
 As no excuse will suffice for my shameful silence, 
 passons. Two months and a half have elapsed since 
 I sailed from New York. Twenty-six days we were 
 sur mer — ten days between Liverpool and Paris, 
 (very leisurely, n'est ce pas'?) and here at Paris, 
 in the icorld^ more than one month, sketching- and 
 studying- Italian, to make my journey jRome-wsird — 
 (heavenward 1) — more pleasant. In three days I 
 start, and my next scrawl shall be from Florence, 
 and brimful of news. 
 
 My voyage was a delig-htful one — had the same 
 captain I sailed with before, and being- an old ac- 
 quaintance, I was head man among- the male popula- 
 tion of our floating city, and courted by the ladies for 
 my standing with the captain. We had on board a 
 Boston ' gal,' ' going ahead ' to be married. The 
 first week of our voyage, being struck with the un- 
 assuming modesty of manner, and the frankness, and 
 candor and honesty that beams so continually from 
 the visage of your friend, she approached me one 
 night, when the moon was bright, and the sea still, 
 and made me the depository of her secret love — the 
 ' gal' was affected ! ! One year ago, returning home 
 from Europe, she became enamoured of a chap, and
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 49 
 
 he of her — they became eng-aged — he returned to 
 Eng-land, to establish himself, and she has come out 
 now, with dresses, jewellery, cake, etc., all ready 
 for the appointment. What a journey for a young 
 woman ! que pensez volis ? I saw the cake, etc., 
 passed through the Custom House ! 
 
 Paris is just where it was, and is as much loved 
 as ever ; — it is the place for a Painter after all, and 
 if, during- my stay abroad, I have an offer or propo- 
 sals of any sort that will facilitate my success, I will 
 most assuredly remain here. There is a luxury in 
 associating with the young and talented enthusiasts 
 of this country, that makes one young again, and 
 chimes more with my temperament, than the cold 
 calculating grey looking spirits of our northern cities 
 — and unfortunately those are the only points in our 
 country where a Painter can live. Healy has painted 
 two pictures of Soult, and a head of the King — his 
 picture of Guizot is his best, and will be sent soon 
 to Washington. Since he painted the King, Col. 
 Thorne has advanced towards him, and he is paint- 
 ing full lengths for him. I had occasion to visit 
 Thome's Hotel with Healy, to choose parts of it for 
 some of the back-grounds of the pictures — the family 
 is at their country chateau, the hotel in the city he 
 rents from Louis Philippe's sister, — 'tis a splendid 
 palace — he must have Aster's purse, or its equal, at 
 
 command. 
 7
 
 50 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Write to me at Florence. I am passing along a 
 smooth and pleasant road, many thanks to my friends, 
 and yourself in the bargain. I shall write them all 
 
 from Florence ; remember me to all, and tell I 
 
 saw a httle grisette picking her ear with a shoe-ma- 
 ker's awl^ and I struck up his favorite air, 
 
 " 'Twere vain to tell thee all I feel" — . 
 
 What a pity she lost the pun — you shan't escape it, 
 
 any how." 
 
 J D to . 
 
 I 
 
 "Florence, Dec. 24, 1841. 
 
 My Dear Friend : 
 
 To express to you my shame and mortification at 
 the long silence I have kept, is utterly impossible ; — 
 fifty times I have seated my dull carcase and essayed 
 with might and main to think in a strain that would 
 be acceptable to you, but always fruitlessly. De- 
 spairing of ever being better fitted to perform, (for 
 I assure you that thoughts of the distance that divides 
 me from true friends, the time, and changes that must 
 in course occur, and the thousand pleasing recollec- 
 tions of past days that crowd upon me, keep me sad- 
 dened and dispirited.) I am resolved to appear now 
 before each of my friends, and knowing your lenien- 
 cy, choose to make my debut before you.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 51 
 
 I'll not treat of my ' various accidents by flood and 
 field/ that is a treat in reserve for a future occasion. 
 Let this suffice, that leaving- New York the 1st Sept., 
 I landed at Liverpool on the 26th, and pursued ' the 
 even tenor of my way' thence to London, Dover, 
 Boulog-ne and Paris, — halting- of course at each Korld 
 to draw — breath — not pictures. At Paris I remained 
 six or seven weeks, sketching- at the Louvre, and 
 studying Italian. At the end of that time, I flung" 
 myself into a French ' dilig-ence,^ g-ave the word 
 ' g-o,' and during- ten days and nig'hts was continu- 
 ally en route ; and here have I been in old Florence 
 nearly a month, painting- at the Gallery the six hours, 
 drawing- at nig-ht from the living- model, and the rest 
 of the time rambling- about among the old churches, 
 palaces, prisons, g-ardens, etc. etc. Oh! pack your 
 trunk and leave the sand-hills for a season — a walk 
 along the Arno, or a peep at the frescoes in old Santa 
 Croce, is worth the jaunt ; — besides — fruit season is 
 in, and always is, and how you would enjoy the juice 
 of the grape ! Though I am among the marvels 
 (marbles 7) of the earth, and in the world's garden, 
 let me not refuse to France its praise. I love its smi- 
 ling enthusiastic populace, its good and wise citizen 
 king, its gorgeous restaurants and splendid caffe — 
 oh, don't I ? — above all its men of mind — the g-reat 
 men in art and science are there — and I am not sure 
 that if Vernet, and Conder, and Coignet, had lived 
 
 I
 
 \ 
 
 52 MEMOIR OF 
 
 before Angelo, and Raphael, and Veronese, that they 
 would not be the idols, and with much more of rea- 
 son. At any rate, I left it, Paris — the world — with 
 a heavy heart and moistened lids, and trusting" to the 
 
 tender mercies of a French coach, was drawn and 
 quartered in Italy. 
 
 'Italia! oh Italia! thou hast the fatal g-ift of beau- 
 ty,' — it is an easy task for young- g^entlemen and 
 ladies of capabilities, to record in their familiar epis- 
 des and private tour books, long" dissertations, (after 
 a whole week's residence,) upon thy literature, thine 
 arts and thy manners, but my inexperience and ig-- 
 norance forbids me to venture upon so delicate a 
 subject, and so I pass on to more personal matters. 
 To attempt to tell you about the pictures and sta- 
 tues here, would only be to repeat the worn-out slang* 
 of connoisseurs, amateurs and painters; 'superb!' 
 ' magnificent! !' ' divine ! ! !' form the only vocabulary 
 that can express the impressions made by the sigfht 
 of the works, and they, by their familiarity, have lost 
 their force. I'll name a few of these, and leave you 
 to judg-e of my delig-ht in living" among-st such crea- 
 tions — Raphael's ^Madonna del Seggiola ' and ' For- 
 narina,^ and 'St. John in the Wilderness ' — ' Titian's 
 Belle,^ and a score of other Jiner things by him — 
 ^The Venus de Medici,' 'the goddess that loves in 
 stone' — Michael Angelo's statues of Bacchus, David, 
 &c. &c. — but I'll not consume paper in recounting
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 53 
 
 more ; — one thing- 1 am oblig-ed to lament most sadly, 
 is the unfitness of the finest pictures for our country 
 —those that in the copying- would be most service- 
 able to me, are totally unsuitable for parlor walls. 
 However, in the crowd of good things, I shall be 
 able to find enough of the proper character for home 
 consumption. The difficulties here are very great — 
 in Paris, as many as can get around a picture are 
 permitted to copy, and one permit serves for a year, 
 besides which you may be engaged on fifty pictures 
 at the same time, but here, one at a time, unless you 
 cheat, (which I am doing now, having two heads in 
 progress,) a separate permit for each picture is need- 
 ed. Only a certain number of painters is allowed in 
 each room, and often you are obliged to wait six 
 months for your turn. The Madonna and Fornarina 
 of Raphael are engaged for at least two years — 
 about forty names down for each. Copies of them 
 are made from copies, and so on to the fortieth gene- 
 ration, and palmed off on very shrewd purchasers for 
 copies of originals. Happily they are before me, 
 and can be studied without being copied — too much 
 copying is a delusive kind of occupation, and the 
 student is apt to let the master do his thinking, and 
 fall asleep over the work — but to hang over them, 
 dream of them, search continually to fathom the 
 process by which they were produced, and the prin- 
 ciple by which the painter was regulated, to en- 
 
 I
 
 54 MEMOIR OF •; 
 
 deavor to think like him, then shut yourself in your 
 studio, and choosing- a subject for yourself, seek to 
 imitate and equal, if possible, the work you have 
 been admiring", seems to me the most certain way of 
 becoming- a painter. Copying- at first is not to be g| 
 neg-lected, and in the course of time (time I must 
 have, and I want nothing- else, money I have in my 
 banker's hands here enoug-h for years — Florence is 
 too cheap!) I expect to have at least one g-reat copy 
 decorating- the house of each of my true friends — 
 none of youi* namby pamby material, but something- 
 that under the hammer (if the auctioneer does as he 
 is hid) will bring- a neat sum. Seriously, I shall try 
 myself on a few fine copies for Columbia, as soon 
 as I can g-et in — in the meantime, I am working- at 
 the finest heads I can find, (a Rubens and a Reyn- 
 olds at present,) six hours every day, (except their 
 confounded fete days, and they are very many now 
 that Christmas holidays are here,) and two hours 
 every nig-ht from the living- model. Enveloped thus 
 by an atmosphere of art, my days are g-liding- smooth- 
 ly and profitably along", thanks to the kind friends 
 among- whom I am proud that I can name yourself. 
 
 I am afraid you have other thoughts than of visit- 
 ing- this old man in his cell,, and you will not come to 
 enjoy Italia's sweet air. Years hence when you 
 send your boy to see the wonders of these beautiful 
 fairy lands, I shall greet him warmly if I am here,
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 55 
 
 but should I be 'in dull cold marble cased/ charg-e 
 him to find the spot, and hang" upon its silent head- 
 board a wreath of immortals." 
 
 *^ ^ J£, ^ 
 
 TT TT TT TV* 
 
 J D to . 
 
 "Florence, July 10, 1842. 
 
 * * * Inman has more natural talent per- 
 haps, but Sully has the learning", — all that application, 
 enthusiasm, experiment and experience could do, 
 aided too by g'ood natural taste, and a nice perception 
 of g-race and eleg^ance, almost of beauty, Mr. S. has 
 accomplished. Mr. I. has natural ability, a quick 
 eye and ready hand, — hard study has always been 
 irksome to him from ill health, but he does wonders 
 for all that. Sully is our Reynolds, and Allston 
 our iwnrfer, — I would not g"ive him for less than 
 Michael Angelo ! He is as fine as all the old masters 
 together! 
 
 I am anxious to talk a little about myself and my 
 course for the six months I have spent in Florence, 
 but am almost ashamed, for although I hope my 
 progress has been fully equal to all I hoped for, 
 and perhaps more than I had reason in hoping- for, 
 still I am mortified at what will appear to others, I 
 fear, as time lost — that is, making an original picture. 
 To be sure, I have been studying, working hard, but
 
 56 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I had no idea of the time required, the thousands of 
 changes, the painting" out in one hour the labour of 
 weeks, etc. etc. — Copying* is mere play to it, and 
 portrait painting" the greatest of luxuries. I could 
 have copied five pictures of the same size in the 
 same time, and I am vexed to think I could not g^et at 
 them when I arrived, as I was anxious to do. Every. 
 thing" here g'oes by favour, and artists are compelled 
 to wait sometimes a year to g"et permission to copy a 
 particular picture. I found that was to be my case, 
 and after two months copying" of heads, and finding" 
 my chance to copy the pictures I wanted, very slen- 
 der, I begran an original. Although more is learnt 
 in this way than by merely copying" the works of 
 others, still the time to a beginner, as well as the 
 labour, makes it appear when finished but slow work; 
 — however, quicker next time — it is not quite as long 
 as Allston taking six months to two small figures. 
 My picture has ten figures — the subject is ' Christ 
 administered to by Angels after his fast of forty daysf 
 it will take me nearly another month to finish, and 
 I shall start it off" toute de suite, although I would like 
 to keep it for the exhibition in September here. I 
 know I ought to have sent something long ago, and 
 had I been only copying, I could have done so, but 
 instead of that I have added one to the originals ! It 
 is for Col. H. 
 
 With regard to advantages here, they are great
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. * 57 
 
 that is beyond question, — but all in promises, — so far 
 as g-etting at the good pictures is concerned. The re- 
 gular old Italian copyists monopolize them; but when 
 painting originals, to have galleries and churches 
 all open for inspection, free, and every one of them 
 well stocked with chef cV ouvres, is a glorious privi- 
 lege, and the cost of living is one half that of Paris, 
 though there the copying is more facile and modern 
 artists are far superior. Give me Paris with my 
 pockets filled and Horace Vernet for my master, — 
 but Florence as things are. Models for pictures are 
 the heaviest items of expense here, — since I have 
 been engaged on my angels, I have had models 
 enough for inspection to people a small village, — 
 angels, — Italian angels! from three years up to thirty; 
 women and children, male and female. I wish you 
 could see me hauhng up one little fellow with a 
 belly-band and rope and tackle, and when I get him 
 in the air and say 'fly sir,' he curls all his limbs into 
 a heap and falls to crying ! 
 
 This climate is the thing for me. I don't fatten 
 any, — give me some good medical reason. I am 
 afraid it is an infirmity of age. 
 
 ***** 
 
 8
 
 58 MEMOIR OP 
 
 J D to 
 
 "Florence, Aug*. 10, 1842. 
 My Dear Friend: 
 
 Some century ago I tried to open a correspond- 
 ence with you, but 'twas 'snubbed' in its birth by 
 your veto; — when I began to write my friends from 
 Europe, your letter was written and sent with the 
 rest, — from .all the others to whom I wrote responses 
 came, and then between us it has been the old tune 
 of 'wheel about and turn about' with the exception 
 of yourself Your silence has had its effect on me, 
 and its consequence is a certain mysterious solemnity 
 of manner, and startling* sullenness of front, with 
 which I am apt to encounter friend and foe, when- 
 ever the heart is troubled. Beware ! how you 
 'tackle' me in this mood, — 'the bear robbed of her 
 cubs,' &c. would be a g-entle being" to take to your 
 bosom. 
 
 In a letter from * * * he tells me you are a 
 candidate for 'the sweet voices' of the sovereig^n 
 people, — for the legislative assembly. This has awa- 
 kened all my anxieties, — the terrible sacrifices of a 
 gentleman rise in order before me, — paper puffs, 
 retorts, sly squibs, foul inuendoes, barbecues, stump 
 speeches, whoops, hurras, a few stiff 'brandy and 
 waters,' then a fight, with a knock down and drag
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 59 
 
 out, to finish the first flushing- of a maiden speech! 
 I am right glad my absence saves my seeing you 
 during the struggle. I am sure you'll not be amia- 
 ble, the whole thing will clash so with the kind of 
 excitement you rehsh. It will nauseate you to leave 
 the dirty work to dirty hands ; but when all is gained, 
 to sit among your equals, and battle with the instruct- 
 ed and the intelligent, is the position where I can 
 depict you, with a pleasurable satisfaction, to my 
 mind's eye, and can admire the laudable ambition 
 that urges to such a contest. Write me when all is 
 over, — meantime I shall mourn your condition and 
 sympathize with your distresses. 
 
 When shall we meet again"? Not very soon, I 
 fear, unless you put your old threat into execution 
 and 'come over the sea.' I love Carolina, but 'I 
 love Rome more,' — or Florence, if you please, — 
 it is all one, — two days journey between them to be 
 sure, but it's all Italy ! From day to day my admira- 
 tion increases, and now that the language has become 
 rooted in me, I enjoy the country tenfold more than 
 ever. I am sometimes tempted to regret the very 
 kindness of my friends at home and wish them cruel, 
 that I might have an excuse for dwelling here al- 
 ways, 'midst vines and figs. Think of its making a 
 man forget his home and desiring to nestle with 
 strangers! But the people enter not into my calcu- 
 lations, — the climate, the scenery and the arts make 
 
 I
 
 I 
 
 60 MEMOIR OP 
 
 the chief of its charms. Oh! leave cob-webs and 
 dust and politics, and pines and scrub oaks, and all 
 other dirty things, and come here and breathe in 
 Italy, — quit the damp, dank, suffocating- air of sand 
 hills, and the leaden exhalations of those eternal 
 swamps, and come stand at my side at sun rise or 
 sun set and let me hear you say, ' this is life,' — one 
 day in the city of the Medici, is better than a thousand 
 within the walls of Gotham, — it is better to be a door- 
 keeper in the palace of the Grand Duke, than dwell 
 in the White House forever. Throw a few things 
 into an old trunk — borrow a few dollars, and come 
 and let me 'cicerone' you about. It is so easy a 
 matter — only twelve or fifteen days across the ocean, 
 that you ought to spend the coming winter here. 
 Make up a party, and start without giving it a thought. 
 I can add nothing to what has been chronicled 
 of the charms of this country, and you are better 
 acquainted with its recorded beauties than myself, 
 let me however certify to one item, — no description 
 written or pictured, can give more than a glimmer of 
 the landscape, or the faintest idea of the climate, the 
 atmosphere, the sun sets, olive groves, vineyards, 
 chateaux, towers, mountains, all at one glance ; — and 
 each cloud that intervenes throws a huge shadow 
 over some object and changes the whole character of 
 the picture. From minute tq minute thus there are 
 constant changes, and the rapt spectator becomes
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 61 
 
 'drunk with beauty.' Oh! come and let me teach 
 you to enjoy nature and art in their magnificence! 
 
 I am studying hard — but with what success you 
 shall shortly judge. The subject I have chosen for 
 my debut in history-painting is " Christ administered 
 to by the angelsJ^ Painting it under the eye of the 
 best works of dead^ masters, and having now and 
 then the scrutinizing eyes of living judges to contend 
 against, I have been floundering about in true whale 
 fashion for several months. It has been a good study 
 for me, — it has kept me always busily thinking and 
 fretting, and they are apt to leave impressions firmly 
 graven. Tell me what you think of it candidly for 
 an original. Before my funds give out, I shall have 
 one such, at least, for each of my good friends. — 
 There are American painters and sculptors here of 
 all sorts. I find nothing in their society to please 
 me, and so keep to myself Strange that so much 
 venom should exist among professors of a liberal 
 art, — but the truth is, that envy and jealousy are our 
 (painters') besetting sins, and the first thing I heard 
 of here was a flare up at Rome 'mongst the American 
 artists, and now they are all in Florence for the 
 summer, so I keep housed. Except rehgious sects, I 
 think ice are the warmest and best haters, and the 
 most mahgnant devils the sun ever deigned to shine 
 upon. Except the French, I find artists the most 
 disagreeable associates, so can't expect to make ma-
 
 I 
 
 62 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ny friends among- them, though I make some small i 
 sacrifices to avoid making- them enemies. The few 
 friends I have among them are exceptions to the 
 ofeneral rule. 
 
 Excuse this harlequin letter, — if I had a little gold 
 left, I'd make its black marks shine again, but were I 
 to re-write it, 'twould be little better than 'gilding 
 
 refined gold.' Addio." 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Florence, Nov. 7, 1842. 
 My Dear Friend: 
 
 You distress me when you complain of the few- 
 ness of my letters. I am certain of having written 
 
 frequently. I have written twice lately to , and 
 
 a long letter to , and I have taken your last from 
 
 my trunk, and find it marked 'answered,' — in fact 
 no letter leaves my table drawer for the solitude of 
 my leather malle^ till it has been responded to. Your 
 
 letter it indeed doleful in its tidings. Poor , she 
 
 bade from appearance fair for a long life and S 
 
 and J , 
 
 'Each in his narrow cell forever laid!' 
 
 What frequent and terrible warnings are daily 
 given us, and yet we travel on unmindful of the 
 threatenings! 
 
 I have been to Leghorn to ship my 'original' to
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 63 
 
 Col. H. You express the hope that I intend to send 
 somethino" else, — no, no, all the other thinsfs I have 
 are copies of heads, ug-ly faces, only chosen as studies 
 for colour — studies of costumes for future historicals 
 when I g'et home and can't find such thing's. All 
 these studies are interesting" and most useful to me, 
 but not so for a g-entleman's collection, — they are the 
 best things for a painter's studio, and I shall keep 
 them with me, — and have a big* box to take home, — 
 but I have finished all that sort of thing- for myself, 
 and the rest of my time I now devote to copying- for 
 my friends, so look out for boxes following- in rapid 
 succession, — making- originals is labour, but copying 
 is pastime. At Rome two weeks hence I shall dive 
 up to the eyes in copies — and then you'll cry 'hold, 
 enough,' but I will pile on in spite of entreaties. 
 
 I have been on a foot excursion of ten days, in the 
 most picturesque part of this lower world, — visited 
 Siena, and the two celebrated Convents of 'La Ver- 
 na' and 'Vallambrosa, where the Etruscan shade 
 high over arch embowers,' — lived two days with 
 the old fathers of Vallambrosa, and as many at the 
 other. We ate, we drank, we snuffed, and made 
 merry with these cloistered men, and never have I 
 seen more hospitality and kindness bestowed. They 
 chatted with us about Columbus, their countryman — 
 America — the Indians — and wondered and gaped at 
 the cannibal stories we told them. These good men 
 
 I
 
 64 MEMOIR OF 
 
 feed and lodge all visitors, and receive in recompense 
 only what your charity sug-g-ests; — no charg-e is made, 
 but, of course, each traveller, after being- feasted and 
 caressed, and hugged in the arms of these old an- 
 chorites, feels a bigness of soul, that tempts him into 
 a ruinous liberality, and thus the sweet placid mild- 
 ness of the old coveys procures them ample means 
 to support their institution. If I were not Devo, I 
 would be the prior of a convent! How I love the 
 quiet holy seclusion of their dweUings! 
 
 I have many sketches made from Nature as I jour- 
 neyed — we were four in number, Virginia, Boston, 
 New Haven and myself, and a jolly time we had 
 with all the loafers of each small town we strolled 
 through, (armed with knapsacks, etc.) following at 
 our heels, and uttering witticisms (an Italian privi- 
 lege,) at the expense of the forestieri — strangers. — 
 'May I ask the way to Poppi ' said I; 'Yes,' — said 
 a smart, sharp eyed beauty, (just for fun I did it,) — 
 'Yes you may' — 'Then where is it' I asked; 'I 
 don't know,' she laughingly replied. 
 
 *****
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 65 
 
 J D to 
 
 ''Florence, Nov. 14, 1842. 
 
 S , come to Italy. Nothing- painted or written 
 
 can g*ive an idea of the miUions of glorious objects 
 presented at every tarn — old churches, palaces and 
 prisons ! old towns tumbling to ruins, or a new one 
 springing into existence — take your choice and make 
 your picture. A run up to the top of one of the hun- 
 dreds of villa-capped hills (that actually encircle this 
 old walled city of eighty thousand inhabitants,) at sun- 
 set, is a perfect view of Paradise before the fall. Oh ! 
 what chiaro scuro — the city at your feet, with towers 
 and steeples tomd by time, and fresh varnished by 
 the rays of an Italian sun! — the Arno one sheet of 
 silver valley stretching far and wide — the immense 
 spreading of plains shadowed by a mountain cloud, 
 and cut into by a broad sheet of sunlight ! such things 
 I have never seen, and will never tire of — each se- 
 cond brinofs a change and a new picture. In all 
 this lavish sport of hot and cold, light and shade, the 
 eye rests soothingly upon the old white headed Ap- 
 penines, that seem to be stretching their necks to 
 get a look at the old Cathedral's huge comfortable 
 looking knob, and so warm themselves in imagination. 
 
 Lounging in old churches, cloisters and galleries, 
 is the occupation of m travellers. The churches
 
 66 MEMOIR OF 
 
 are decorated in a style of most gorg-eous imposing-- 
 ness — g"old and silver, crimson velvet and coloured 
 silks, and more than all, to me at least, what adds to ^ 
 the largeness of effect, are the hig-h and extensive 
 ceilings painted in architectural perspective, carrying" 
 the eye upward and onward by a complete delusion, 
 and finishing- in the cupola by a picture of the as- 
 cension of Christ, or more commonly of the Virg-in. 
 'The dim religious light' that is so studiously pre- 
 pared in these churches, adds of course to the well 
 painted illusions, and one loves to sit in the solemn 
 silence and gaze himself into a state of joyous en- 
 trancement that nothing earthly equals. Shall I 
 become a Catholic 1 No — I can have these sweet 
 dreams and be a Protestant 'for a' that' — the heretics 
 are not shut out from heaven — on earth at least. 
 
 From Giotto Massaccio and Ghirlandaio down to 
 Benvenuti of the present Florentine Academy, the 
 churches are adorned with pictures. An old fresco 
 from which Raphael took his figure of Christ in the 
 TransJigu7'ation, is here, all tumbling to pieces — come 
 quickly to see the last traces, if you will. Raphael 
 is better in the Louvre than here, but Rome is his 
 seat. Michael Angelo, in the tombs of the Medici, 
 distances all competition — there is nothing too great 
 for him — believe all you hear or read or imagine that 
 is grand and sublime, and you will do him no more 
 than justice— he is great beyond all other human
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. "* 67 
 
 greatness. His ^Mother and infant Jesus' in that 
 tomb, renders every other conception of that subject 
 httle and unsatisfactory — nothing- can describe it — 
 his imitators are all failures — he is unapproachable — 
 
 "Within that circle none durst tread but he;" 
 
 — others may deal with g^race, beauty, etc., but for 
 the ' thing's beyond ' none should attempt to follow 
 Ang'elo. In a few months I hope to stand before 
 his fresco of ' The Judg-ment ' at Rome ! 
 
 Of the present Italian school, it requires not that 
 I should tell you aug-ht; — that it has been declining^ 
 rapidly for nearly two centuries, and has ceased to 
 be named with the French or Eng-lish, you are well 
 aware. This is not surprising", — many causes have 
 aided to hasten its decay, but chief among them, the 
 fall of the Republic and the pride and independence 
 of the States, — the commercial wealth transplanted 
 to more favoured situations, — the churches, (the chief 
 supporters of the Artist,) overstocked with pictures, 
 and the constant demand for copies by foreigners 
 travelling" in this country, which has made (and kept) 
 copyists of men, who, with the patronage that Ra- 
 phael and others received, might have been their 
 equals. If other causes exist, it must be in the g^en- 
 eral deg^eneracy of the race, — the climate is I suppose 
 the same as then — the models the same, — the pic- 
 tures finer than they had to study — but the incentives
 
 68 MEMOIR OF 
 
 are wanting — ' money, naoney, and ag^ain money.' 
 The adoration of the old masters has done its share 
 of harm, for persons who for the last century have 1 
 travelled here have been unwilling- to pay for aught 
 but copies from them, and the government and 
 church are too poor, or have more pictures than they 
 need, so modern arusts of course dwindle into mere 
 copyists — and poor miserable devils they are — 
 cramped and disappointed in their first aspirings, 
 who can wonder at their failures 7 
 
 * * * # * 
 
 2) to Col. W H' 
 
 ''Florence, Nov. 7, 1842. 
 My Dear Sir: 
 
 You will not I am sure put a wrong construction 
 upon my long silence — were I blest with that quick- 
 ness of observation and aptness of language, which 
 seeing at one instant some object of interest, the 
 next moment transfers it felicitously to paper, all my 
 friends (and I am fortunate in possessing many,) 
 should long ere this time have been deluged with 
 my ' pencillings by the way ;' but members of my 
 craft are seldom quill-drivers, — we are obliged to 
 make the brush the vehicle for the passage of our 
 thoughts, and thus our very ' failings lean to virtue's
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 69 
 
 side,' inasmuch as our acquaintances escape the fre- 
 quent infliction of dull letters. 
 
 The advantage of spending- a year or two in Italy, 
 a painter can always appreciate — here is the reposi- 
 tory of all that is great in art. Materials inexhausti- 
 ble for the student to feast upon are before hinn, and 
 without their knowledge he might be fruidessly 
 wandering in the dark, — by studying these models 
 of our predecessors, (a long and irksome labour was 
 theirs!) our way is made short and easy; — the pains 
 taking man is enabled at a coup d^oeil to catch some 
 of the principles of art, which those who went before 
 him spent their lives in pursuing, and have willed to 
 their followers as a rich inheritance. These master 
 pieces of other times have pleased for centuries, and 
 he that can feel their beauties, and discovering the 
 rules and principles on which they were produced, 
 applies them to his own time, will be sure to please 
 again. In this spirit I endeavor to feel and work, 
 and if after years of practice that I hope are in store 
 for me, it should be my good fortune to shew proof 
 of having well used my present moments, it will add 
 not a litde to the pleasure of success, to couple with 
 it the grateful acknowledgment, that to yourself, first 
 and last, I am obliged for these invaluable opportu- 
 nities. 
 
 While engaged in making such studies as I think 
 will be of service to me hereafter, I have painted
 
 70 MEMOIR OF 
 
 also a picture of ' Christ fed by Angels,' after his 
 fastings and temptings of forty days and nights in 
 the wilderness. This is the first original painting 
 of many figures I have ever attempted, and should 
 the picture and subject be pleasing to yourself and 
 family, I would ask for it a place on your walls, at 
 least until such time as I can send you something 
 worthier. I have forwarded it to you, through Good- 
 hue & Co., New York. 
 
 The moment I have chosen is the arrival of the 
 ang-els with food and drink, and of the Saviour's 
 thanksgiving. The angels are disposed in acts and 
 postures that chanced to strike most pleasingly on 
 my fancy, — all blemishes and beauties (are there 
 such 7 ) are my own — it is strictly original. 
 
 Beginning on the right of the picture, (the left of 
 the observer,) is a figure partly obscured by the sha- 
 dows that fall from a cluster of foliage — this is the 
 wine-bearer, the Hebe of the company, — next a small 
 figure adjoining, is one presenting a cup of wine^ 
 but waiting religiously the cessation of grace, — be- 
 hind the kneehng figure, and some distance back in 
 the picture, is one coming forward, with hands clasp- 
 ed and eyes heavenward, as if in gratefulness for 
 the relief sent to the Christ, — then comes the person 
 of Jesus ; — immediately on his left, an angel is anx- 
 iously directing his attention to another just alighted, 
 bearing bread and fruit, whilst a third is seen eager-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 71 
 
 \y urg-ing" the food-bearer forward ; — an angel has 
 taken the hand of the Lord, and is reverently em- 
 bracing* it, — the foreground occupant kneels in silent 
 worship. 
 
 Action in some of the figures became necessary, 
 to give life and animation to the picture, which might 
 otherwise have appeared tame, spiritless and mono- 
 tonous. This movement I have affected by the sup- 
 posed inquietude of two or three of the younger 
 urchins. I think I have avoided any thing like too 
 much busde and confusion in the group, by the sa- 
 credness of air, bent heads, and prayerful aspects of 
 the majority, particularly the elder forms, and have 
 left all infringement of etiquette to the younger 
 branches of the family. 
 
 I shall be pleased to hear your own, and others' 
 remarks upon my work. 
 
 Florence exceeds all my expectations. It is an 
 object of admiration to all travellers — they linger 
 longest here, aud pine to return; — the general air of 
 the palaces, having been built as defences in dark 
 and troublous times, seems at first sight solemn and 
 mournful ; but then there are modern buildings to 
 gaze upon, and by the light of an Italian sky, 
 even these fine old barracks look grand and beauti- 
 ful. The environs are all olive and vine and fig-, 
 and mountains with old chateaux — so there is enough 
 for poetry to warble and painting to defile. The
 
 72 MEMOIR OF 
 
 people are roguish, but pleasantly or civilly so, — 
 they'll cheat — but entrap them in the effort, and they 
 will be witty at their own expense, and give you 
 a barg"ain for your cleverness. To the poor and 
 sick they are full of kindness and charity ; — their 
 relig'ion, teaching them to expect a good interest, 
 may have its weight. Societies to which noblemen 
 belong, the Grand Duke the head, at the signal 
 bell, at all hours of the day or night, quit their la- 
 bour, conceal their persons and faces in a long cowl, 
 and set out, a litter on their shoulders, to assist the 
 sick and wounded, or to bury the poor dead. Mira- 
 cles are not common now-a-days, but spots and pic- 
 tures are shewn, where and by which they have 
 been performed ; at one moment these miracle-work- 
 ing objects, or a little cross, placed near them, will 
 receive the kiss of an old toothless hag, and a mo- 
 ment after the exquisite, with his face hedged with 
 whiskers, and his segar 'twixt his fingers, imprints 
 the same way the well worn iron — and larg-e crosses 
 are painted on houses to keep off the Devil and his 
 legions. 
 
 The nobility are no longer rich ; — ^they have their 
 horses and carriages, but hire them out to pay ex- 
 penses, and the coachman is at home a shoe-maker 
 or tailor for the household. A stranger in Florence 
 is deceived by their outward show — -the French say 
 of them, ' habit de velours et ventre de son ' — velvet
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 73 
 
 coats, and stomachs of husks. The beauty of the 
 females is indisputable — you see it in faces express- 
 ive of all that is admirable in woman — except mo- 
 desty; — here the liquid glance of the melting- black 
 eye, and the soft languishing- of heavenly blue, are 
 equally loose in their expression. 
 
 After another year, which I contemplate spending 
 at Rome and Venice, I may return home." 
 
 This successful painting, which was an earnest of 
 the rapid digvelopment of De Veaux's fine genius, 
 came safely to hand. It was exhibited in New York 
 to the prominent artists, who spoke in exalted terms 
 of its composition, brilliancy of colouring, and beauty 
 of finish. Among those who saw it, Durand, Hun- 
 tingdon, Gray and others were much pleased with 
 it. It is a matter of regret that Inman and Sully 
 had no opportunity of giving an opinion of its merits. 
 
 I feel much disappointment that it is not in my 
 power to include in this sketch its effect on the taste- 
 ful mind of a worthy artist friend. I feel incompe- 
 tent to describe it in the language of art, and can 
 only say of it, that the drawing is correct, the ar- 
 rangement of the figures graceful, the expression in 
 keeping with the subject, the colouring rich and 
 brilliant, the tone good, and lights well placed. The 
 
 principal Hght is on the person of the Saviour, and 
 10
 
 74 MEMOIR OF 
 
 is g-ently subdued around him. The air of humiHty 
 and thankfulness is well exhibited in his counte- 
 nance, and the effects of fasting- shewn on his attenu- 
 ated frame. The figure of the Fruit-bearer is full 
 of beauty and feminine grace, — the kneehng female 
 offering the wine is most expressive of anxious in- 
 terest for the Lord, and the little angel in front of 
 him is a sweet embodiment of pleasing- reverence. 
 The picture in its general effect is admirably man- 
 aged, and the composition and execution would do 
 honor to many of more mature and wider reputation. 
 In g-iving now the Journal of observations, which 
 was kept by De Veaux during* his residence in Rome 
 and Venice, I will occasionally introduce a letter, so 
 as to keep up the circumstances of his life in the or- 
 der of their occurrence. 
 
 JOURNAL. 
 
 J. DE VEAUX. ROME, 1842. 
 
 Tuesday J JVov. 22, 1842. — Roused from a sweet 
 sleep by servant Maria, " la vettura e venuta " broke 
 from her unharmonious voice upon my half awakened 
 senses — it was then but five o'clock, and until half 
 
 past two, I had been up running- from C 's house 
 
 to B 's, and back again, in search of my cloak, 
 
 which one of them had taken off in place of his own. 
 B — , S — , F — , C — and M — had been with me, en-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 75 
 
 joying ourselves to a late hour. We shall never 
 meet again on such terms — youth, good spirits and 
 light hearts to cheer us — addio, i mici amici ! 
 
 At 7 o'clock vv^e rolled away from Mrs. Grazzini's 
 door, — eleven months I had passed happily in this 
 house, and now was leaving it forever. I felt that I 
 had formed an attachment for it, and was severing it 
 in the very moment of the discovery. Four insides — 
 Lieut. C , of the U. S. Navy, a Prussian physi- 
 cian, a Norwegian student, and a Hungarian painter, 
 
 R and myself in the cabriolet. We paid ten 
 
 dollars apiece, breakfast, dinner, bed "buona mano" 
 included, from Florence to Rome — the others more 
 or less as they were skilled in bargaining. 
 
 Trotting briskly along the streets, we soon passed 
 under the " Porta JRomano,^^ had our passports vised, 
 and then a long farewell to "la bella Firenze." We 
 were soon over the ten miles that conveyed us to 
 Casena, but we were to make Poggi Bonsi, twenty 
 five miles from Florence, ere our guide intended 
 we should be fed — and we were in his power — had 
 given our precious bodies over to his keeping, and 
 had to abide the issue. At two o'clock arrived at 
 the breakfast house, astonished our internals with 
 beef-steaks, mutton-chops, wine and coffee, and our 
 eyes, with a sign in this far off Italian town, bearing 
 in large letters " Gaffe Nuova Yorck." We hitched 
 up again and put off for Siena, fourteen miles farther,
 
 76 MEMOIR OF 
 
 passed Sagg-ia, an old sturdy fortification, and at eight 
 o'clock were safe at Siena. 
 
 We all did justice to the plentiful dinner our 
 "Vetturino" served us up — the wine was not good, 
 but some brandy bought at " Doney Cafe " by the 
 Lieutenant was capital; — retired one and all early 
 and slept like fagged travellers. I was roused at 
 
 daybreak by R crawling about in search of his 
 
 clothes, that he might sally forth and peep at the 
 Cathedral before we were ready to start. I prefer- 
 red my bed, as I had spent two whole days at Siena 
 in August, during the great " Festa " of the assump- 
 tion of the virgin, and was sufficiently sated with 
 the horse-racing — saturated with rain, and sent home 
 to bed — walking up and down its ugly streets, over 
 their fish-bone pavements. But to one who had not 
 suffered all this, the Cathedral was worth making a 
 voyage in the dark round the bed room, running his 
 head against a marble projection, and his shins 
 against the chairs, to visit. 
 
 At 8 o'clock we started, and, after passing over 
 seventeen miles of this scraggy, hilly, volcanic coun- 
 try, arrived at Buona convento at twelve o'clock, 
 and breakfasted to our entire satisfaction. Weather 
 cloudy, and the faces of two of our fellow-passengers 
 partaking its character — they, it appears, have ne- 
 glected a written agreement, "signed, sealed and 
 dehvered," and the conductor denies having promised
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 
 
 77 
 
 them breakfast, so they are to " pay the extra," or 
 Hve (is such a thing' possible?) on one meal per diem. 
 Making" for La Scala, (thirty-seven miles from Siena,) 
 our destination for to-nig-ht, we entered the narrow 
 g-ates of St. Ctiiirico — the church, — doors gothic, rich 
 and quaint, in architecture and device — the Cardinal's 
 palace of a piece with it. As we entered one gate, 
 and drove on to go out at the other, the windows of 
 the houses on either side were filled with women 
 and children — the babies ugly and dirty enough, but 
 the women ! — a small black velvet hat seemed to be 
 universally worn within doors, and I never saw even 
 Italians look so bewitching. I'll remember the pat- 
 tern of that same hat, and when I begin (I don't 
 think I ever will,) to tire of my wife, I'll get her a 
 hat of St. Ctuirico, and put her in a window and ride 
 by her, and if my old love is not rekindled at the 
 sight, the horse may keep on, I shan't care if he 
 never stops. 
 
 Outside the walls of this old town, a wide extent 
 of beautiful country lay before us — on our right hills 
 spring up here and there, and each one bears on its 
 peak the last sad remnant of some noted strong-hold 
 of the olden time; — on the left is Fienzi, — a full blaze 
 of sun light is on it, making it look like a city built 
 of white basalt; — a few miles to the south you see 
 where old Montepulciana (the producer of the "king 
 of wines,") lays his full length along, as if dead drunk
 
 78 MEMOIR OF 
 
 on his own hill top, under his vine! We finished our 
 day at about seven o'clock. 
 
 La Scala boasts one house, — there we halted, and 
 dinner was ordered, — but woe to me! for an indis- 
 cretion at breakfast, I am to lose my dinner. I too 
 fondly took a pork steak to my bosom, — it lay there 
 quietly some three or four hours, when (ung-rateful 
 pork!) it turned upon the stomach it should have 
 nourished, and rent it with retchings most vehement, 
 until it made its escape. 
 
 At six next morning-, had some strong coffee, felt 
 brisk and set out to be drawn at the rate of three 
 miles per hour, through a bleak wild looking coun- 
 try, — hills gashed and slit into countless slices by 
 earthquakes and washing rains. At starting, Radico- 
 fani, ten miles distant, perched on its jagged height, 
 was plainly visible, but before we had passed the 
 first half of our way toward it, it was entirely lost in 
 the clouds and mist of a gathering storm, and we 
 saw no more of its romantic and interesting ruins. 
 Some years ago when the Roman and Tuscan states 
 were disputing about the necessity of keeping up 
 its expensive armament, one in favor and the other 
 opposed to it, the powder magazine took fire and 
 decided the dispute. We drew up here in front of 
 the "dogana" and a splendid old fountain, and had 
 our passports looked into, — eight miles farther, and 
 we are at Torreciello, the last dogana in Tuscany, —
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 79 
 
 a few miles, and we are landed at Porta Centino, 
 the first Custom-house in the papal dominions. We 
 , met at this point five or six half famished soldiers, 
 i and g"ave them a dollar not to examine our trunks. 
 My naval friend refused to join our litde innocent 
 "bribery and corruption" spree, pressing- to be de- 
 tained and searched rather, but his countrymen with- 
 out his knowledge made up his share of the stake, 
 and we passed snugly on our way. 
 
 Breakfasted before we started; — a cold rain storm 
 now beg-an in g-ood earnest, and we started off* in it 
 like spunky fellows. Bolsena, sixteen miles distant, 
 was our point for the night. We were sadly disap- 
 pointed, — three miles from Centino, we stumbled, in 
 a dense fog* that obscured every thing- a few yards 
 ahead, upon Aquapendente, an odd old fashioned 
 town, on the brow of a hill,— a line of low black 
 buildings stretched along, with a stream of water 
 (dependant on heavy rains,) coursing along its top, 
 and tumbliing down its sides, forms a pretty cascade, 
 and gives the name to the place. A few hours be- 
 fore we arrived, two horses neglected by the guide, 
 had fallen from the road at this very eminence, and 
 landed on the plain fifty or sixty feet below, — stunned 
 and bruised, but not yet dead. We paid a paid here 
 for passport, and drove in a hard rain through this 
 first of papal towns that I have seen, — how different 
 to the snuggeries of Tuscany ! Narrow dirty streets,
 
 80 MEMOIR OF 
 
 low black houses, and every object had a burnt to a 
 cinder sort of look. We manaofed to g'et on five 
 miles farther to St. Lorenzo, and all hands were so 
 disheartened by the storm, that we " hove to." The 
 Hung-arian and the Norwegfian were for continuing* 
 the journey to Bolsena, but we tender hot house 
 plants outvoted these storm king's, and hauled into 
 port. Seated in a chimney corner with a sparkling" 
 fire to look into, and form pictures in the smoke, is 
 the way to meet a storm, — there is some little music 
 in its pattering- ag-ainst the window, and whistling- 
 round the house top, but having it beating" in your 
 bones, — in that, there is more of rheumatism and 
 catarrh than poetry. 
 
 Dined at seven o'clock on meag"re dishes, but 
 laug"hed and chatted over and at them, so 'twas a 
 pleasant dinner after all. Beds, — fleas! — next morn- 
 ing- we had no milk for coffee, as the bad weather 
 had kept the cows from home, so we started in hig-h 
 dudgeon, but we had hardly gone a half mile, before 
 the lake of Bolsena in its ravishing beauties broke 
 upon us, and every brow was instantly unclouded, 
 and the cows and milk forgotten. We rode alona* 
 its borders for some miles admiring its islands and 
 their fortifications, when suddenly "Bolsena slum- 
 bering on Volsinii," standing bolt upright on a bold 
 pile of rock, was before us. We did not pass through 
 it, but outside of its walls, and for picturesqueness
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 
 
 81 
 
 the old thing- is unmatchable, — old stone steps, — • 
 wells, — unroofed houses, — quaint windows, — tubs, 
 kettles, etc., all out of door kind of life, — R. and my- 
 self were keen for stopping to make a sketch, but 
 we had g-ood practical men of sense to deal with, 
 who refused to listen to such moonshine notions, — so 
 "drive on coachee." Came next upon St. Lorenzo 
 Vecchio, a wide waste of the scattered ruins of an 
 old town, many years the haunt of banditti, — nothing 
 seen but caves in the hills and holes in the ground, — 
 subterranean passages. It was here that Gheno di 
 Tacco (who was knighted by the Pope for robbing 
 his subjects in a kind and gentlemanly way,) and his 
 band inhabited, — laying the whole country under 
 contribution, and visiting secretly and cruelly those 
 who attempted to put the government on their trail. 
 How inefficient a government, when a crowd of 
 bandits were dreaded sufficiently to go unscathed! 
 The road is here strewn with small wooden crosses 
 marking the spots where soldiers and travellers have 
 been slain; — two bandits fell three months since, 
 and a third, their companion, is now in prison. The 
 country is flat and sterile; — passed two immense 
 hills of basalt, — seemed at least fifty yards high, and 
 very beautiful. One fisherman drawing his net looks 
 like monopoly, and I suppose the Pope sells the right 
 to the highest bidder. 
 
 At Montefiascone, ten miles from Bolsena, Mosca- 
 11
 
 82 MEMOIR OF 
 
 tella wine is made, — there we breakfasted at one 
 o'clock, — the town is dingy, — fiUhy, — dark, — never 
 have seen its Hke for dirt. Two small chickens and 
 an omelette for six able bodied, half famished bipeds! 
 I rushed from the table to the kitchen, followed by 
 my indignant "compagnons dii voyage," and spat out 
 all my stock of Italian in invectives against Italian 
 hosts in general and "mine host" in particular. He 
 swore, it being "un giorno magro," fast day, there 
 was nothing else in the house, — we just as loudly de- 
 clared we would neither eat nor pay, unless we could 
 get what we ordered; — at this, boiled beef, eggs in 
 all forms of cookery, fruits, cheese, came following 
 in fast succession, — our quarrel soon changed into a 
 brisk fire of jokes at our hoet's expense, who con- 
 fessed himself beaten, and he gave in his hearty 
 laugh as chorus to our jests. Left his door, and after 
 two miles of murky clouds and boggy roads, were 
 set upon by a storm of wind and rain driven with 
 sucli fury across the bleak campagna, that even our 
 friend, familiar with Norwegian blasts, rolled his dull 
 eyes in wondering dismay. This anti-Italian freak 
 joiu'neyed with us to Viterbo, fourteen niiles from 
 Montefiasc'jne, — the clouds and i-ain prevented us 
 from seeing other than the indistinct shapes of old 
 castles reared on hills, looming out here and there 
 through the cJiliiks in the storm. Here at Viteibo, 
 they had another look at our passports, and a trifle
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 83 
 
 we had to pay. To the hotel ''Aquila nera'' we 
 were sped by our fat vetturino,— ahghting-, each pas- 
 
 f seng-er sprang- for the door of the hotel— then the 
 
 i chase up the dark slimy steps, (what a fall I had at 
 Pisa!) dashing over heaps of empty wine flasks and 
 bundles of cork, up to the chambers,— what selfish 
 creatures we are! Here was a scramble for the best 
 
 i bed,— each man was anxious to be the most com- 
 fortable of the party;— the Lieutenant (who but he 
 should have been foremost 1) was the victor— chose 
 bed number one,— the old German next, and the 
 Norwegian flanked the Dutchman. "Five beds and 
 seven passengers," said the servan,l,7T-at that dread 
 sound there was a rush for the two remaining beds; 
 
 . won in fine st/le by tha Hungarian and Itahan. My 
 friend and myself were disposed to go out, and 
 seek beds elsewhere, rather than be nestled with 
 sti'angers; — the moment we declared our purpose, 
 the landlord offered to shew us two beds, giving us 
 a comprehensive wink; — knowing the rascals, we 
 smiled and followed, and were shown into apart- 
 ments almost regal,— if the Pope ever halts here, I 
 am sure he'll get these apartments. Here was an 
 impudent attempt (but every day occurrence,) to put 
 us all together, and in the morning charge us not a 
 cent less for the inconvenience; however, we got the 
 better of the landlord, and the day after shewed our 
 apartments, and had the laugh at our fellow travel- 
 lers who had a choice of rooms.
 
 84 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Sallied forth to stroll for an hour, — many beautiful 
 fountains adorn this town, and nothing" was wanting 
 to produce a perfect picture, but the moonlight to 
 play upon them; — the public square has its belfry 
 and four columns, — one column is capped by a lion, 
 another bears a griffin, and the other two the arms 
 of the Pope. The streets are well paved, and the 
 slabs of the side walks after the heart of all tender 
 footed animals,— long, black looking alleys, illumina- 
 ted by a solitary lamp, glimmering in the face of a 
 Madonna in her box, — groups of men and women in 
 noisy confab, making night jovial with their sonorous 
 voices and loud laughter, — two urchins taken in fla- 
 grant (lelit, being borne to "limbo," closed our hour's 
 walk in Viterbo. 
 
 Saturday. — This being our fifth day, we should 
 sleep in Rome, but for the bad weather occasioning 
 our delay at St. Lorenzo. We should have slept last 
 night at Ronciglione, thirty-four miles from Rome, 
 but must have patience, and go into the Eternal city 
 by daylight, which is after all an advantage. As 
 " every thing happens for the best," our disappoint- 
 ment may be our gain ; — by half past seven we are 
 " en route," and at twelve at Ronciglione ; — this 
 town looks as though lately laid in ruins by fire, but 
 'twas bombarded, fired and pillaged thirty odd years 
 since by the French, and few parts have been re- 
 built or cleared of their rubbish. What a dead 
 sleep seems to rest over this fair part of the earth !
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 85 
 
 " Oh ! Italia, Italia noii e piii come era prima," is 
 chanted by one of her sons, and is more applicable 
 at this present time than when he (Dante) wrote. 
 
 We had made sixteen miles, and after eating" heart- 
 ily, started to do another sixteen miles, which would 
 land us at Boccano, leaving* us for to-morrow (Sun- 
 day,) a pleasant drive of eighteen miles to Rome. — 
 Never had I encountered on land such a spell of 
 weather, — how old Boreas howled around us, as we 
 dragged slowly up the seven long miles of Mount 
 Viterbo! The wind whisded shrilly, and the rain 
 fell a cascade; — the fog was impenetrable, the driver 
 three feet in advance of me, was sometimes almost 
 invisible, — the quarters of the wheel horses seemed 
 the boundaries of the fog's dominion, and once when 
 I saw four dim dusky imps emerging from the dense 
 vapor, the fog cleared for an instant, and my sprites 
 were the gaunt listeners of our two leading asses! 
 The mountain with the needle point on our left is 
 Cimitro, and has its Chateau, and the lake we have 
 on the right is Lago di Vico, (anciently Semenus,) a 
 bituminous water, fatal to vegetation in its neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 After two hours rest, and " refreshment for man 
 and horse," we made another sortie, and during this 
 piece of our journey, all bedlam seemed let loose, — 
 such drops of rain ! — each of them a young Niagara! — 
 the cabriolet, with its cracks in the glass and chinks
 
 86 MEMOIR OF 
 
 in the frame-work, subjected me to partial soaking" 
 about the lap and leg's; — but look at the driver and his 
 outside, passeng-er — will they ever want water ag-ain 7 
 — drowned rats are dry looking objects to these men. 
 Toiled wearily up hill, and riding- through a small 
 town called Monte Rossi, (all mounts these towns,) 
 brought us, after five hours tugging, to Boccano. — 
 Here we alighted at a solitary looking inn — passed 
 through its muddy, slippery entrance, (a large hall on 
 the ground,) illuminated by a fire, around and about 
 which groups were gathered, — they gave us a salute 
 of Italian artillery, (the rich ribaldry of their lan- 
 guage,) as we scampered up the flight of broad but 
 greasy steps. I took the lead and mounted in safety, 
 — the Lieutenant canie next, but encumbered with a 
 pair of large cloth over-boots, he stumbled and fell— 
 the Hungarian stabber (so called from the ferocity of 
 his threats against the banditti of this classic region,) 
 dropped like a lover on his mistress' corpse over 
 the officer's prostrate form, and the old Prussian, ar- 
 riving at the instant, tripped amid the melee of legs 
 and arms that barred his passage, and added to the 
 weight the under man was doomed to bear. I sup- 
 pose ('twas too dark to see anything,) this old gen- 
 tleman undid for once the everlasting smile that 
 had rested on his face the entire journey — whether 
 reading his guide-book or pouring over his Italian 
 grammar — engaged in conversation or with his knife
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 87 
 
 and fork, complaining- of the weather or cursing- the 
 vetturino — still the same, there it was, laying- within 
 a circle formed by two lines, beginning- on either 
 side his nose, and descending to meet one another 
 a half inch below his heavy under lip, — there rested 
 that eternal g-rin, which was a source of speculation 
 for a day or two, but afterwards became too monoto- 
 nous to interest. I saw this codger in St. Peters — 
 was that a smile of derision and contempt with which 
 he eyed the ponderous dome 1 
 
 This night at Boccano we ate, we drank and were 
 a merry set, — the Lieutenant had fallen at first upon 
 the "padrona's" chamber, and was fierce a half hour 
 after when he found his things had been removed to 
 less comfortable quarters, — he called me to use my 
 Italian in his cause, and I think it may be laid down 
 as an aphorism, that a man is always more bitter, 
 when his venom is to pass through the lips of another. 
 All was in vain, but the landlady was less ang-ry than 
 is usual, — I suppose she saw the Lieutenant's perti- 
 nacity in attempting- to retain her room, a compliment 
 to her remaining- charms; — however he was well 
 fixed, — the "bimbo bravo" came to his aid, and the 
 "scaldino bene" was practised. We had promised 
 ourselves an egg nog to-night with the remains of 
 the Lieutenant's supply of brandy, but he retired 
 sud;'enly, and took his bottle with him. 
 
 Nov. 27. Sunday Morning. — Started from a deep
 
 88 MEMOIR OF 
 
 sleep at seven o'clock by a loud knock of the cami- 
 ciere, — I, not disposed to rise, lay quiet, — R. is roused 
 and g-athering- wakefulness enoug"h to breathe out, 
 "lasciata una candella a la porta," snores ag-ain, — half 
 an hour after our officer plies the door furiously with 
 his foot, and orders peremptorily that we " turn out 
 all hands." I receive the list boots as a memento 
 from our Lieutenant, — take our coffee, am liberal to 
 the camiciere as we draw near Rome, and take our 
 seats for the last stag-e. 
 
 During- the first mile we met nothing" but the 
 "vettura" filled with actors, but just after having* 
 passed the seventeenth mile stone, I saw something" 
 I took for an old tree. It was an effect produced by 
 fog's and clouds flitting" in curious whirls about old 
 Rome, and g-iving" that wavey form to St. Peters ! 
 " Ecce St. Pietro," said the driver, and at half past 
 eig"ht o'clock I raised my hat seventeen miles off 
 (not off my head) to St. Peter, and he seemed by 
 a decided inclination to acknowledg-e the compli- 
 ment. On the holy Sabbath day, on the '' Via 
 Caccia, " I had caug-ht my first g-limpse of that 
 temple, which of all others is most worthy the 
 Being" to whose worship it is dedicated ! Here the 
 campagna north of the city beg-ins, and at first 
 sig"ht I likened it to an immense southern planta- 
 tion, but as we neared the city, and the tombs (of 
 Nero and others,) and remnants of castles and villas
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 
 
 89 
 
 crowded the scene, all resemblance ceased, and the 
 campagna was new to me — wild, prostrate, lonely 
 image of desolation ! We rolled on, and passing* 
 many a splendid villa's gate, now closed with ma- 
 sonry, we crossed the Tiber at Monte Malle, (so 
 famed for Constantine's victory, " by this sign thou 
 shalt conquer,") and were at Rome in the " Piazza* 
 del Popolo." Here we paid one paul (about ten 
 cents,) to be examined, instead of going to " dogana;" 
 and drove to Hotel d'AUemande, where we were 
 " sans ceremonie " disgorged from the voiture — all 
 
 confusion, I saw Mr. H , and hailed him ere we 
 
 alighted, — scoured — dressed — ate — drank — strolled 
 with R to Monte Pinchio, saw the French Aca- 
 demy, Claude Lorraine's house and Salvator Rosa's. 
 Met the Lieutenant, went together to " Caffe Greco," 
 where Angelo and Raphael took their coffee, and 
 Thorwaldsen and De Veaux take theirs ! — Then to 
 
 to Mr. H 's at Hotel de I'Europe, met our Consul 
 
 Mr. Greene, and Mr. Crawford, the Sculptor — passed 
 a delightful evening, and returned to our room to 
 sleep in the bosom of the former mistress — of the 
 world ! 
 
 Nov. 28, 29, 30. These three days have been de- 
 voted to room seeking, and it has given me a fair 
 opportunity of seeing how things are managed be- 
 hind the curtain. The stranger is first struck with 
 
 * Piazza — Public Square. 
 
 12
 
 90 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the loathsomeness of the entrances to the houses, 
 except the palaces at present occupied by the de- 
 scendants of those who built them, and can afford to 
 occupy them exclusively, and the churches ; — but he 
 is surprised, after passing- through a broad vestibule 
 of filthiness, mounting- steps, broad and easy to as- 
 cend, but easier to descend, so foul and slippery — 
 to be ushered into rooms of splendid dimensions — 
 high ceilings, rich furniture — frescoes ornamenting" 
 every corner, and oil pictures hanging from the walls, 
 — drawing rooms for princes truly, — suites of apart- 
 ments that make sixty and seventy dollars a month 
 appear a reasonable demand. Almost every house 
 has its court yard, or its terrace, or piazza, or foun- 
 tain, flowers and vines in rich profusion. It is from 
 the back windows of upper stories that you see 
 into Rome, — more real life in the city, and pictur- 
 esqueness of architectural effect, than we can see 
 otherwise, — strangely formed pillars, — steps or stairs 
 of most fantastic curls, newly washed clothes stretch- 
 ed on a line from the top of one house to another, 
 forming a rainbow in colour and shape, — a washer 
 woman up to her thorax in suds, — a smart house-wife 
 preparing her own and her husband's meal, and 
 through a half open window, a black-eyed beauty is 
 putting her lovely form in stays, — it is a rich and 
 variegated picture. There seems to be a painter 
 genius in every family, — in each house some neatly
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 91 
 
 framed abortion was pointed out to me, by the fond 
 landlady mother as the pastime of " il mio fig-Ho," — 
 
 but now the search is over. R is in quarters 
 
 near the " Piazza del Popolo," at eight dollars per 
 month, and I at No. 23, Via Rossella, paying- six — 
 both of us complaining" at our hard fate, in not being 
 able to please ourselves better. 
 
 I have no fire place — (though I hope for one,)— no 
 carpet in my parlor — the entrance dark, crooked, and 
 boggy, — myriads of fleas are frolicking about me, and 
 a giant chinche eyeing me even now, and feasting in 
 anticipation , on the blood of a descendant of the 
 Huguenots. 
 
 Dec. 1.— Began to-day to " see sights"— painter like, 
 Borghese nearest, and thither I went, — thence to the 
 Corsini; — the Pitti palace collection at Florence is so 
 fresh in my memory, that every other must fail to sa- 
 tisfy at first visit. Dance of Corregio is my favourite 
 at Borghese, and Murillo's Mado?ina and Child at 
 the Corsini. Went after these visits to St. Peters. 
 Mr. Fenimore Cooper is the only man I ever heard 
 of, who was not at first glance disappointed in its 
 apparent size; — the immense arcades that stretch out 
 on either side gave a crampedness to the body of the 
 building — it seemed hedged in between two armies 
 of pillars !— approach slowly — recover your startled 
 senses, and think for a moment, — but you must reduce 
 yourself to a reasonable fit, as the firmament is much
 
 92 MEMOIR OF 
 
 larger, — St. Peters is small comparatively, — compare 
 a man standing- at the base of a column of the church 
 to one of the statues on its top — the man seems an 
 atom — a speck against the pillar — the figure on the 
 church seems scarcely a man's height — it is seven- 
 teen or nineteen feet ! You must enter into all this 
 to realize its perfection, — it is this same justness of 
 proportion — exact adaptation of parts to the whole, 
 that constitutes its charm, and lead us to rejoice after 
 some weeks acquaintance, that St. Peters is as it is, 
 and not as our foolish imaginings had represented 
 it — a strange fantastic oddity that no architect ever 
 has reared or ever will build. When you arrive at 
 the door of the church, turn round and look back 
 upon the square, — how much larger it appears than 
 when the building filled your eye, and obliged other 
 objects to look small! I entered the holy precincts — 
 how beautiful! — the first object that caught my eye, 
 as the door opened, was the shell of holy water, 
 supported by two infants, — they looked for all the 
 world like babes, and yet the men and women walk- 
 ing about them were smaller,— my eye caught that in 
 one moment, and the next, St. Peters, in all its vast- 
 ness as well as beauty, was present to me, — it seemed 
 to expand suddenly^ and now no effort of mine can 
 make it appear less — all description on canvass or 
 paper (the best picture is in the Louvre,) is fruitless — 
 rank madness — nothing is like unto it, — for twelve
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX, 93 
 
 months I have been familiar with the Duomo at 
 Florence, and had learjit to form a favourable opinion 
 of its size and beauty, but to-day, whilst walking- 
 about in this Roman edifice, (I must have grown 
 some,) I felt that I could toss the Florentine into the 
 air of the Roman, and catch it in my hand like a 
 rubber ball! — JVotre Dame de Paris would make a 
 snug confessional box in one of the transepts.* 
 
 The beggars, the filth and the bagpipers before the 
 Virgin's shrines, are the Roman bores — these mendi- 
 cants, when no one is near, are as joyous and witty 
 and gay spirited as young lords, but the moment a 
 strange sail heaves in sight, all changes in an instant — 
 crooked shin-bones — disjointed wrists — and a dozen 
 other deformities are presented as incentives to your 
 charity. 
 
 December 2. — I went with Lieut. C — to the top of 
 the Campodoglio, and had a splendid panoramic view 
 of Rome — the seven hills of antiquity and the four 
 of later days distinctly visible, — with the blue Medi- 
 terranean only fourteen miles distant, — descended 
 and paid four "biocchi" to see the " Tarpeian Rock." 
 Job help me ! looking over the wall of a garden 
 down on the sheds of modern two story houses. 
 
 ♦ " The internal length of the Church is 613 feet; the height to the top of the 
 cross, 430; the length of its transepts, 445 ; and the height of its main isle, 150 
 feet. The building covers nearly six acres of ground. Three centuries have 
 passed in its completion, and it has cost sixty millions of dollars." — Rome, by a 
 New- Yorlcer.
 
 94 MEMOIR OF 
 
 eighteen or twenty feet below is all left of it; — to 
 the Forum where one sees the remains of temples — 
 — ^^ Jupiter Tonans" three columns — " Temple of For- 
 tune'''' eig-ht columns — " Temple of Concord^'' nothing-! 
 — and the arch of '■'■ Septiinus Severus^^ — the column 
 of Phocas is within thirty yards — one hundred yards 
 farther, three columns of the temple of ^^ Jupiter Sta- 
 tor/^ and still another hundred yards, and you are at 
 '^Titus^s Arch." ^^The Temjjle of Peace" is between 
 these two last objects, on the other side of the " via;" 
 — pursuing" your way along" the " via sacra," you cover 
 about three or four hundred yards, when the temple 
 of Venus on the left, Constantine's arch on the rig"ht, 
 and the Coliseum in front, all burst on your weary 
 train. 
 
 In this stroll I saw for the first time the beautiful 
 column of Trajan^ (the model of the Vendome at 
 Paris,) and the fountain of Trevi. Whilst looking" 
 down from the steeple of the Campodoglio upon 
 Rome, my companion warmed into a classic fit, and 
 bring'ing- up from the bottom of his pockets notes and 
 memoranda of history g-athered from Goldsmith and 
 others, as his memory freshened at the perusal, he 
 would g-lance from one scene to another, till I was 
 delug"ed in declamation. — fling-ing* his arms into the 
 air and stretching himself so far over the railing, as 
 to induce me to wrap the skirt of his coat around my 
 hands to ensure his safety, — he pointed to the spot
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 95 
 
 where ''Caesar's body lay," — passed to Lucrezia the 
 chaste, and Virg^inia the innocent, — Camillus pausing" 
 to look back upon the city, from whence he was 
 issuing" a banished man; and had got as far into his 
 story, as to be busily eng"aged with the Goths and 
 Vandals in sacking Rome over again, when the old 
 attendant cut short the oration by declaring that the 
 ''Signore" had detained him too long, as his wife 
 waited his presence for dinner, — poor old man! your 
 lack of patience lost you that day at least a liberal 
 fee, — none of the after bows and smiles could make 
 atonement for an offence so great. 
 
 Dec. 3. — Thorwaldsen's Studio^ — the master spirit 
 is not in Rome, but in Copenhagen, superintending 
 the arrang'ement of a collection of his works, — he 
 was born at that place. There is some talk of his 
 returning here for a short time, and I may yet see 
 this greatest of moderns, — for excepting Michael 
 Angelo, nothing since the ancients equals him. His 
 " Christ and twelve Apostles" colossal figures, and 
 '■^ John i^reaching in the wilderness^" a group of sixteen 
 figures the size of nature, are the great achievments 
 of modern sculpture, — wonderful man! — from the 
 quiet solemnity of the apostles, he turns to work out 
 the maddening revels of a bacchanahan group, and it 
 seems the work of enchantment, — surely he but wills 
 it, and the clay assumes the form I * Doria Pcdace, — 
 
 ♦ Thorwaldsen died at Copenhagen in March, 1844. His funeral was 
 attended by the King and Princes in deep mourning, and the honors to his
 
 96 MEMOIR OF 
 
 richest in pictures of all the galleries here, except the 
 Vatican. Salvator Rosa's, ^^ Murder of Abel,^^ and tico 
 larg-e landscapes of Claude, are the gems. Titian's 
 and Vandyke's splendid ! Copying- was once freely 
 and generously permitted by the prince, but a pain- 
 ter, — a gallows-dog, — wiped his palette knife in the 
 silk curtains of the chamber, and now no copying 
 except by favour through some of the owner's pri- 
 vate friends is ever granted. 
 
 Dec. 5. — Pantheon. The sudden rushing up of 
 this Dome, and taking the eye and mind along into 
 the heavens, is the finest thing in architecture I know 
 of, — such a lifting up I never felt, — I was startled 
 into something like nervousness, — felt like flying 
 round the old glorious temple a turn or two, and 
 shooting through its aperture ! It is the most perfect 
 of the Roman temples, — built tv/enty-seven years 
 B. C* 
 
 The Vatican closed to-day, (and Thursday afesta) 
 because a balloon ascension (the second in Rome!) 
 takes place at three o'clock, and as the government 
 is concerned in the speculation, it is so arranged that 
 no good excuse can be made for staying away, — 
 two pauls a head entrance, — every body there, — the 
 
 memory were of the most distinguished character. The King subscribed 
 twenty-five thousand dollars towards his monument. 
 
 * It is now sacred as the burial place of Raphael, " the prince of painters," — 
 under whose bust is the celebrated inscription by Cardinal Bembo, 
 
 "Raphael, timuit quo sospite vinci 
 
 Rerum magna parens, et morienti, mori."
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 97 
 
 fellow rose about one hundred yards, and came down 
 ag-ain, and ridding- himself of coat, boots, etc. etc., he 
 rose ag-ain, and after ten minutes cavorting, landed 
 safely (more than I expected) near St. Peters, and all 
 the coaxing- could not get him up a third time. 
 
 Bep-an drawing- from the life to-nio-ht at the Ameri- 
 
 can Academy, — R , T , L- and myself. 
 
 For many days I have been wandering- about Rome, 
 seeking- no particular '4ion to kill," but encountering- 
 many, — the churches, fountains, obelisks, all enter 
 into these desultory walks, which I prefer to a 
 reg-ular drive to some chosen point, which either 
 disappoints, or is inaccessible, or where a servant's 
 fees or his gibberish make one testy. What store 
 houses, or rather tomhs, of fine pictures some of 
 these churches are! There are in the catalogue of 
 painters a certain set of names well known and de- 
 servedly so, — these are in the memories of all traveL 
 lers, and pictures bearing- such names as their authors, 
 all g-azed at and admired, but how many painting-s 
 there are here, without a name, which for composi- 
 tion or drawing- or Chiaro oscuro, and sometimes all 
 combined, the greatest masters might be proud to 
 have produced! Yesterday I saw a picture of the 
 ^^ Martyrdom of St. Andreio" that looked as though 
 Salvator had drawn and Rubens had coloured it, 
 but no name, — this is fame! After St. Peters, the 
 
 Church of St. Paid, erected on the spot where that 
 13
 
 98 MEMOIR OF 
 
 apostle suffered, is the larg-est and most beautiful, — 
 twenty years ag-o it was nearly consumed by fire,— 
 it has never been completed, — and another century 
 perhaps will find it imcomplete. St. John in Lateran 
 is my other favourite, and then St. Maria Mag-giore. 
 In St. PauPs, (which for size is next to St. Paul's in 
 London,) I saw a picture by Cammuccini, the ^^Con- 
 version of the Saint" — well drawn, but so formal and 
 common in design and crude in colour, as to fail 
 completely in interest, — nothing- original or new in 
 it; — a picture by Mr. Severn, an Englishman, is far 
 more poetic and spiritual, though indifferently drawn. 
 
 Thursday, Dec. 15. Lieut. C had a ticket for 
 
 St. Peters J and took me with him ; — this gentleman 
 is in good odour at the palace, — he had two days 
 since an interview with the Pope, who took his 
 hand ! and gave him a silver medal of himself, and a 
 crucifix for his mother, — both Catholics of course. 
 We had a favourable day and basked in the sun on 
 old St. Peters' top. I mounted to measure myself 
 by one of the statues on this eminence, and my head 
 reached the knee pan! I spanned a foot, (and my 
 span is nearly a foot,) and 'twas five of them ! there 
 was no limit to these old builders, and what a top- 
 knot has Michael An^-elo swunof in the air! The 
 Lieutenant and I penetrated the ball ! — were anxious 
 to get out upon the cross and ba^cl, but this was 
 forbidden, as accidents had happened, — so we sate
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 99 
 
 tog-ether in this brazen g-lobe, where twenty mig-ht 
 
 be accommodated, and g-azed for a while on things 
 
 I beneath, — and chatted away with the confidence of 
 
 i men feehng" themselves far above all mischievous 
 
 eaves-droppers. 
 
 Descended and entered the Vatican (my second 
 visit) tog-ether. Why is this collection not open to 
 the pubhc every dayl — no man's lifetime is enoug-h to 
 taste of all the treasures here shut up, — why confine 
 it to Mondays and Thursdays'? Apollo^ — Laocoon^ — 
 Meleager, — The Transfiguration of Raphael^ — -and 
 Domenichino's ^^ St. Jerome^'' with some thousands 
 of other fine works so nig-g-ardly dealt out, — Louis 
 Philippe manag-es the thing- better, — the " Loggia "* 
 of Raphael, and above all his '' Battle of Constantine''^ 
 and '■Hhe fire at ," went far beyond all calcula- 
 tion, and one feels willing to acknowledge that he is 
 "the prince of painters," — his cabinet and oil pic- 
 tures are mere child's play to these frescoes. 
 
 Wednesday^ Dec. 21. After three weeks of vexa- 
 tious disappointment, I commenced work to-day in 
 the Colonna Palace ; — two notes I have had the 
 Consul to write, but nothing except money will open 
 doors that servants are masters of; if I had found 
 out that secret sooner, I would have saved much 
 time. The master will send you a written permis- 
 sion, but leaves the rest to the domestic, and he 
 
 * An arcade whose roof and wall are painted by Raphael.
 
 100 MEMOIR OF 
 
 never has a place unoccupied, till he has felt the 
 weig-ht of two or three dollars, — the extreme mod- 
 esty of these creatures prevents their telling' you this, 
 ■and you may g-o back and forward, from time to the 
 end of time, unless you chance to learn from some 
 other source the existence of this hateful custom^ it 
 is frig-htful, to a painter at least, the power of these 
 rascals, — how a master can entrust so much, is more 
 than I can fathom. Doubtless, many an artist has 
 left Rome, after remaining" a week or two despairing* 
 of ever being- admitted, not knowing" that even with 
 the 7naster^s consent in his pocket, it is to the rnan he 
 is to look for favor, and that bolts fly back and pic- 
 tures dive from the walls at the mag-ical tones of two 
 clinking" scudl, — what will not villainous gold effect 
 in this selfish, bad world ! But the trouble is over, 
 and here I am in my chamber, made snug" by the 
 addition of a carpet, and fire-place g"Ouged in the 
 wall. I have paid five dollars for about a half cord 
 of wood, which will of course last the winter : what, 
 winter in Rome'? Really until yesterday I have 
 never wanted a fire, and can hardly now realize my 
 
 friends at home '' breaking the ice," — W to get 
 
 an old english drake, and the doctor to "better or 
 worse " a pleurisy. There is no humbug in this 
 cUmate, — I have been a sceptic in the matter, but 
 these last three weeks have ''fixed my notions," and 
 the bluest skies, and softest airs, and rosiest sun-sets,
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 101 
 
 all, all make Rome their home. Here is the home of 
 nature and of art ! 
 
 St. OnifriOj the retreat and death and burial place 
 of Tasso, is a convent on the west side of the Tiber, 
 and giving- a charming" view of Rome; — the chapel is 
 burthened with monuments to the illustrious dead, 
 but the poet's name stands pre-eminent. A small 
 marble slab marks the spot where his bones lay, and 
 in the wall over it is another marble, bearing- his 
 portrait, and a record of his renown, — in the library 
 is seen the cast in wax taken from his face after 
 death, and a few articles that belonged to him, — the 
 splendid oak he planted was blown down last year, 
 and as the rage for making snuff boxes, and other 
 like valuable presents, from the planting of great men, 
 has passed away, with the exception of the parts that 
 have been burnt by the fraternity, it is still lying on 
 the ground. This in England, and planted by a 
 Shakspeare or Milton, would be a perfect fortune, — 
 I shall I think, take a log on speculation ! it's worth 
 may yet become known before the whole trunk is 
 "cast into the fire." 
 
 It was in 1586 that Tasso was liberated from the 
 mad-house of Ferrara, where the Duke Alfonso had 
 been obliged to place him, and in 1595 he was found 
 dead in his chamber, the night preceding the day on 
 which he was to have been publicly crowned. You 
 may go to the door of this room and read the inscrip-
 
 102 MEMOIR OF 
 
 tion over it, but none are permitted to pass its thres- 
 hold — the door seems hermetically sealed. 
 
 Christmas-eve. Went to St. Peters — 'wanted to 
 go into the Sistine Chapel, where the Pope was to 
 be present at a mass, but had not found time to go 
 home for my dress coat, and could not pass in a 
 frock; — went into the church and heard the vespers, 
 barely heard them, the travellers chiefly English, 
 walking, talking and laughing, so independently. 
 One was a beautiful French woman, with an awk- 
 ward long chinned husband — I prevented her little 
 ponies from running off with her (knowing animals, 
 those Shetlands, to ru7i away with such a woman !) 
 one day, but she don't cog the salvatore to-day — 
 n'importe, — I would save her every day in the year, 
 just to see those eyes, so beautifully sparkling in their 
 alarm. 
 
 At 8 o'clock, p. m., I went to Mr. S 's room, 
 
 with T and E . We had a bottle of good 
 
 brandy, eggs, sugar, plates and tumblers. I served 
 them up an egg-nog^ to which they were strangers, 
 but took wonderfully to it on first acquaintance, and 
 
 "killed it with kindness;" — R joined us, and we 
 
 were all kind to each other. I went home and re- 
 tired at twelve o'clock, but at three was on foot again, 
 to be present at St. Maria Maggiore, to witness the 
 procession of the cradle and infant^— one of the things 
 you are told you must see. It assuredly is a duty^ —
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 103 
 
 a chant by the ordinary attendants, and a larg-e glass 
 cradle with silver gilt trappings and a golden baby, 
 the size of life, borne under a satin canopy by seve- 
 ral priests, is a flat affair for Rome. I met there 
 
 Messrs. S and M , they had been at St. Louis 
 
 des Francais at twelve o'clock, and were even worse 
 treated at that place, having "heard a little music and 
 seen nothing." Returning home at six in the morn- 
 ing, I met my four egg-nog friends, urging their way 
 towards the church, shewing, by their drowsy looks, 
 that they had slept too long to see the show at the 
 church before next year. 
 
 Dec. 25. — Christmas day. Took a carriage for 
 three pauls in the Piazza di Spagna, and went to St. 
 Pietro's, — the whole road was lined with carriages 
 going and returning, — had two Cardinals in advance 
 of me, — each drives two carriages, one for Secretary, 
 &c. After being an hour in the multitude at St. Pe- 
 ters, the clock struck ten, — the music struck up, and 
 from the first chapel on the right of the door, (which 
 was temporarily hung with curtains to conceal what 
 was behind,) issued the Pope. He was seated in a 
 gold and crimson chair, and borne upon the shoulders 
 of twelve men, all in crimson dresses, — the Pope in 
 white, with the jewelled diadem over his old, good 
 natured looking phiz. A canopy, supported by four 
 men, and two large fans, carried one on each side 
 of him, (no flies, but fleas very lively,) and a file of
 
 104 MEMOIR OP 
 
 soldiers, were preceded by the Cardinals and other 
 dig"nitaries ; — turned in towards the chapel of the 
 Saint — sacrament for a minute — then moved on, and 
 deposited their holy burden between the grand altar 
 and the " Confession " or sepulchre of St. Peter. 
 The old man walked toward the Sepulchre, and 
 kneeling", prayed, — all knelt — then walked to a chair, 
 covered with white satin, and taking- his seat, the 
 Cardinals approached one by one, bowed, bent and 
 kissed the extended hand ; — after them another grade 
 followed, who kissed the hem of his garment, — then 
 another still, who went down to the foot, and smack- 
 ed the handsome white satin shoe of the good man, — 
 music always going, — at least one hundred and fifty 
 kisses. This over, the Pope was accompanied to 
 another seat, reared under the great altar, — the back 
 ground to his white satin chair, rich red velvet cur- 
 tains, sustained by six gilded angels, each four feet 
 high, whilst a seventh, bearing a crown, is in the act 
 of descending to place it upon the Pope's head ; — then 
 followed a variety of forms, all done to splendid music 
 — various cups and plates, etc. etc., were borne from 
 the sepulchre to the Pope, who seemed to bless 
 them, and then they were carried off. The whole 
 concluded by the Pope at the " Confession" being 
 "incensed" by the oldest Cardinal, who was served 
 by the Pope in turn, etc. etc. — then he mounted his 
 seat, and was borne out as he had entered. It
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 105 
 
 occupied two hours and a half. There were tempo- 
 rary seats for the ladies, (they all seemed strang-ers,) 
 who were all in black with a veil on their heads, and 
 the gentlemen were all in black, full dress, — unless 
 this is attended to, you cannot pass in the church be- 
 yond the sepulchre of St. Peter. Military and civil 
 officers go in uniform, — the English red predominant, 
 — richest colour and finest looking men, — several 
 officers from our Mediterranean squadron, and a mil- 
 itary colonel from Michigan, — the Swiss guard of 
 the Pope in full uniform (designed by M. Angelo,) 
 the body cased in armour, and the helmet of steel, 
 with the two handed sword, — the splendid satins and 
 silks and laces of the Cardinals and other officials,— 
 the different costumes of the various attendants, all 
 minghng together, formed a scene that I feared only 
 fancy had pictured, but here the glorious reality was 
 before me, and now it is more like a splendid dream 
 than something I have really seen. I almost fear to 
 see more of it, lest this sweet, dreamy, uncertain 
 state should become too palpable from familiarity. 
 
 Dec. 26, 27. The custode of the Colonna palace 
 takes holiday, so I have spent these two days among 
 the tombs. There are in Rome three hundred and 
 sixty churches, — to see them all is impossible for me, 
 —time is too precious. The most remarkable for 
 architectural beauty, or as the depot of any great 
 
 works of art, or the burial place of a great man, are 
 14
 
 106 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 SO well known, that it is easy to find and see all that 
 is most interesting". With my guide book under my 
 arm, I have in two days peeped into two score of 
 them, and in each one have I found some work of 
 art fitted for a painter's study — not only Raphaels — 
 Guercinos — Marattas — Cortonas — Domenichinos and 
 a host of other fine -things, without great names to 
 recommend them. The Chapel of St. Ignace, in the 
 Church of Christ, has the most sumptuous display of 
 rich marbles and precious stones in the same space 
 to be found in any church, — two angels support a 
 globe of Lapis-lazuli! the largest known piece ex- 
 tant. The drapery of the figures is of surprising 
 beauty; and the marble groups on either side, by 
 Teodame and Legros, are very splendid. At St. 
 Pietro in Vincoli sits clothed in the majesty that An- 
 gelo could so well depict, the stern old lawgiver 
 Moses, and amid the sarcastic shafts of wits that 
 have been shot at the ample beard and glory crown- 
 ed head, the offended guide of Israel, wrapped in 
 the consciousness of true greatness, still looks undis- 
 mayed. Death came ere Angelo had finished even 
 that figure, (as may be seen by the right hand and 
 mastoid muscle of the neck,) and how far inferior are 
 the other figures placed there by Raphael de monte 
 Lupo ! Angelo's design is carried out, — Julius II., it 
 is erected to. St. Augustine has a single figure, a 
 fresco by Raphael, representing the prophet Isaiah,
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 107 
 
 a fine picture by Guercino, and a virgin and baby 
 in marble, more thickly strewn with presents of pic- 
 tures, pistols, knives and other knicknacks, than I 
 suppose any careful mother would be willing- to have 
 about a child. Here is the oldest cupola in Rome, of 
 the fourteenth century. 
 
 St. A7idrew of Mount Cavallo, is a beautiful little 
 pantheon. In St. Apostles is a monument by Canova 
 to Clement XIV ; — the figure of Clement is grand, 
 and the figure to his right, leaning on the urn, is a 
 chef d^ouvre — the sitting figure is as bad as the one 
 in the same church to his friend Volpato. In ara 
 Coeli place of the Capitol is a beautiful interior — the 
 long line (sixty-five or seventy) of red granite col- 
 umns on either side, and its gilded roof, make a rich 
 show. Pinterucchio has here some of his best fres- 
 coes, restored by Cammuccini. St. Catherine of 
 Siena and ^S*^. Domenic opposite, are both worth a 
 visit, — one for its frescoes by a pupil of Raphael, 
 (Timothy della Vite,) and the other because it is not 
 far off. St. Sylvester on the Quirinal has frescoes by 
 Domenichino. The Church of St. Louis, built by 
 the French in 1587, has a great ''Assumption" by 
 Bassano, some of Domenichino's best frescoes, a 
 copy by Guido of Raphael's St. Cecilia, and two 
 splendid pictures by M. Angelo Caravaggio. There 
 is here a monument to Sigalon, who copied Angelo's 
 " Last Judgment," (seven years labor,) for the French
 
 108 MEMOIR OF 
 
 g-Qvernment, and a full statue in white marble, erect- 
 ed by Louis Philippe to Claude Lorraine. These 
 Frenchmen will have the best or nothing-, — "aut 
 Caesar aut jhaullus." 
 
 St. Trinity is another of their constructions, built 
 by Charles VIII. of France, in 1494. Louis XVIII. 
 repaired and re-opened it. " The assumption of the 
 Virgin" here, is by Daniel de Volterra, — M. Angelo's 
 portrait, the man who points towards the virg-in ; — 
 ^^ Magdalen at the feet of Christ," by Julio Romano; — 
 the great " Taking down from, the Cross" of Volterra, 
 under M. Angelo's directions. This is the church of 
 the adjoining convent of the "sisters of the heart," 
 who occupy themselves in the education of young 
 Ijadies. 
 
 But the last visit I paid to-day was to the prison, 
 from which St. Peter was miraculously led by the 
 angel. I was led into this subterraneous cell by the 
 garrulous custode, and had the miracle explained with 
 all the impassioned fervor of a true believer. De- 
 scending into the pit (which is done by candle light,) 
 you meet the roughly hewn profile of an old man's 
 head, carefully covered over with iron grating-, and 
 this is the impression made in the wall by St. Peter's 
 hai^d visage, — (a blow from the heavy fist of a Roman 
 soldier is said to have occasioned this rude likeness.) 
 The opening above through which the light first 
 streamed in on the apostle's solitude, has its grate
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 109 
 
 also, and the place in the wall through which he 
 creeped to meet the angel outside the city wall, (for 
 this the guide assured me was the case,) has a door 
 of iron, barred and locked, — if there is an aperture, 
 neither sceptic nor behever can say. I plucked an 
 antique cobweb from the wall, and it lies in my 
 guide book, a memento of this dismal excursion. 
 
 Dec. 31. For the last four days I have been too 
 hard at work to see any thing, but this afternoon at 
 four o'clock, went to the Church of Jesus, and wit- 
 nessed, at the beautiful chapel of St. Ignace^ the 
 ceremony of taking leave of the old year, and thanks- 
 giving for the blessings enjoyed, and prayers for a 
 continuance of them the year to come. The Pope 
 officiated, — the music I enjoyed more than usual, — 
 there was all the mournfulness of an adieu in all the 
 tones, and impressed me sensibly with a feehng of 
 death ; — how rapidly the imposing and solemn splen- 
 dor of this religion grows on one! I must leave 
 Italy, or some day find myself a deserter from my 
 own family, and bowing to the forms of this fascin- 
 ating worship. 
 
 Jmiuary Ist^ 1843. All hail, thou day of good 
 resolutions, — which are never kept! I rose this 
 morning and had nothing neio to put on, — this is an 
 old superstitious custom of mine, and I am vexed that 
 I forgot yesterday, to furnish me something. 
 
 Went to the Church of "7h ara coeli,^^ — and saw
 
 / 
 
 110 MEMOIR OF ' 
 
 the real infant Jesus that St. Luke coloured and 
 varnished!! It is the full size of nature, (in marble,) 
 decked in the richest swaddling clothes, and laying" 
 in a manger. This is a pleasing exhibition, and 
 arranged exacdy on the plan of a scene on the stage 
 of the play house; — a wing of the church is the 
 theatre, — in the foreground is the babe, and over it, 
 hang Joseph and the virgin, clad in brightest colours, 
 and painted to the life, — groups of shepherds with 
 their presents have arrived, and are worshipping, — 
 the back ground is an extensive country, and figures 
 and groups are placed at different removes from the 
 eye, hastening toward the Christ, and as far as one 
 can see, crowds are observed winding along the vale 
 and hills, descending to visit the Saviour; — then 
 above is a crowd of angels, and the Father in their 
 midst, — all the principal figures are the size of life, 
 well carved and painted, and with the church dark- 
 ened and this group so illuminated, that the eye sees 
 not from whence the artificial fight proceeds, the 
 effect is magical. These Cathohc priests are all 
 painters in feeling, and get up these sights in so 
 wondrous and impressive style, as not only fill the 
 ignorant with awe, and impose on the credulity of 
 the weak, but draw admiration from the crowds of 
 intefiigent travellers, who cannot but admire the 
 ingenuity that accomplishes so much. 
 
 After six weeks of such weather as I have never
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. Ill 
 
 met elsewhere, — a succession of the lovehest, the 
 balmiest days that Italy only can furnish, we have 
 to-day to beg-in '43 with, a dark, rainy, miserable 
 time, and here I am before my fire of two sticks, 
 (each twelve inches long because my chimney is too 
 small to admit larger,) kindled only after a half hour's 
 application, and the consuming of at least one cent's 
 worth of cane and grape vine. 
 
 January 2. An Italian day, — old Rome is proud 
 of her reputation, and won't let a cloud obscure her 
 blue sky for more than twenty-four hours at a time. 
 
 Jan. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Alternately cloudy and clear; 
 painting steadily at the Colonna palace, and drawing 
 at night, — a little fire comfortable at home, but en- 
 gaged in the day I never think of it, and have none 
 where I work. Friday was a /esto, (pasqua,) — I 
 went yesterday to visit ^^ Marie degli Angeli,^' one of 
 M. Angelo's triumphs, — the round vestibule at the 
 entrance is one of the chambers of Diocletian's baths 
 which occupied this site, — a Greek cross is the form 
 adopted by Angelo. Salvator Rosa's and Carlo 
 Maratti's tombs are here. 
 
 Jan. 9. At the Propaganda from three to five 
 o'clock, listening to forty-eight different languages, 
 spoken in turn by the students of the institution, — 
 each occupied about three to five minutes, — Mr. Jer- 
 emiah Cummings from Washington city, said his say 
 in Latin, and was loudly applauded, and Mr. D. J.
 
 112 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Mclntyre of CharloUestown, in the Celtic tong-ue, 
 were the two Americans. Three or four coal black 
 skins were among" them, and the Ethiopian's lang'uage 
 agreeably surprised me, — the "vulgar Greek," and 
 the Spanish and Italian certainly bore off the palm 
 for sweetness of sound, — the "bulgarico" and "con- 
 canico" and "armino vulg-are," were never meant 
 for ears polite, — such violent jerkin gs of the human 
 voice, a sort of hop, step and jump snapping* in tico 
 of monosyllables. If I am here next year I'll not 
 forget to visit Babel ag-ain, — to g-o or send to the 
 secretary for a ticket is sufficient. I understand a 
 Mr. Carr of South Carolina, is at the establishment. 
 
 Jan. 17. The festa of St. Antonio Abbate, the 
 enamoured of swine and other animals. Went to 
 see the sprinkling* of beasts, — an old officiate sate at 
 a table in the church, (the sing-ers exerting- their 
 lungs all the while,) — at a table before him was a 
 small box of change; — whenever a carriag-e drove 
 up to the door an attendant entered, and paid some 
 three or four pauls to this jolly looking* friar, who 
 handing* him his change and a printed receipt, stalked 
 to the door, mumbled a few mysterious words, and 
 shook his wet mop over the horses, carriage and 
 occupant, — but this is poor sport, — it lasts eight days, 
 and Sunday is the rich time, the Cardinals, Bishops, 
 &c. &c., so I am to see the sight yet, — patience for 
 five days.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 113 
 
 Jan. 21. St. AgneSj — went to her Church, two 
 miles outside the g-ate Pia, and after hstening to the 
 mass "pontificale," — splendid it was,— at least an 
 hour of the best singing- to be g^ot in Rome, some of 
 the St. Celilia members being eng-ag-ed, — I saw the 
 "benediction of the lambs," — two httle animals borne 
 on velvet cushions, decked with flowers and crowned 
 with gay wreaths, were brought into the church, laid 
 on the altar, (feet tied of course,) and after being ad- 
 dressed in Latin, (clever sheep if they comprehended 
 it,) and sprinkled with holy water, were taken away 
 to be fleeced, — the wool made into tippets, (pallii,) 
 which the Pope sends as presents to several chosen 
 Archbishops. A singular scene, at least to a heretic^s 
 eye, occurred at the conclusion of the ceremony. — 
 As the priests carried the lambs forth, the people 
 ranged themselves so as to make an alley for their 
 egress, and each true believer, as the animal passed 
 within his or her reach, plucked a piece of wool from 
 its tender side, — what a running of the gauntlet! 
 Midst all this pinching, this "cruelty to animals," not 
 one complaining bleat escaped, so patient were the 
 lambs. To Rospigliosi palace, and looked a long 
 long time at Guide's ^^Aurora" — except '■'■Hercules 
 and the Ceiitaur JVessus^^ in the Louvre at Paris, I 
 have as yet seen nothing of Guide's that ranks him in 
 my esteem among the greatest; but these are two 
 
 masterly compositions, and in the whole range of 
 15
 
 114 MEMOIR OF 
 
 art, I remember no two pictures where movement is so 
 happily expressed; — there is in the "Aurora" a per- 
 fect rush for the "other side of sunset," — the wheel 
 of the chariot is unfortunately standing- fast, but is 
 only perceptible to us fault-finding- daubers. I have 
 never heard die critique, but it is too true. The 
 drawing- and harmony of colour are equal to the con- 
 ception, — the two first faces to the left of the specta- 
 tor are Raphaelesque and beautiful, '■^Apollo's head,^^ 
 the least satisfactory of all, — the flying- child as breezy 
 as a summer cloud, — the horses are grouped natur- 
 ally and their undefined or uncertain colour adds 
 wonderfully to the effect of hg-ht; — dazzled by the 
 blaze of sunshine the eye strives to give them a 
 palpable tint, but fails in the effort. ^^ Christ and 
 twelve Apostles,'^ by Rubens, half lengths, — noble 
 heads, fully worthy of their author; — a Bacchante 
 reclining on an empty flask by Pouissin, is a gem; — 
 ^^ Sampson jmlling down the Temple^^'' by Ludovico 
 Carracci, is grand in composition of lines, and migh- 
 ty in execution; — '^Adam and Eve^^^ surrounded by 
 birds, beasts, etc. etc., by Domenichino, is curious for 
 its wonderful workinsf out of animals. 
 
 Sunday, 22d Jan. I saw to-day three pictures 
 by a German artist, painted for the King of Holland, 
 and a design for ^'- John pr caching ^^ for the same royal 
 personage, — all clever; — the ^^ Emigration!'' — the ^^ Sis- 
 ter of Charity,^^ — how sweet that child that kisses her
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 115 
 
 hand! — and ^'■Filial Affection f^ — the sucking- babe 
 beats Raphael. The painter's name is Kreuseman. 
 
 Last nig"ht I witnessed the '' Tableaux vivans," by 
 the best of the Roman models ; — Poetry, — Justice, — 
 Philosophy, — Moses found of Raphael, — " Seven lean 
 and fat years," by Werbeck, — Judgment of Solo- 
 mon, — and " Niobe ;" — a pleasant evening", — the com- 
 pany composed of four hundred, Eng-lish, French 
 and Germans principally, at the Theatre "arg-ento." 
 These exhibitions fix the picture more lasting-ly in 
 one's mind ; — I shall make it a point to attend such 
 places whenever I have the opportunity, — how much 
 such a representation in nature leaves us to deplore 
 the inadequacy of art! Raphael never looked so 
 well as last nig^ht. 
 
 Wednesday^ Jan. 25. — I went to-day to visit Cardi- 
 nal Fesch's gallery in Via Giulia — upwards of three 
 thousand pictures ! — Rubens' '■'■Adoration of the Ma- 
 gi,^^ — Rembrant's "John preaching,^^ in black and 
 white, — his mother's head and others, — "Last judg- 
 menf^ of Tintoretto, — " Four Saints," — and "Madonna 
 and Child,^^ by Pordonone equal to Titian ; — some of 
 the best Teniers' I ever saw, — two charming Van- 
 dykes. 
 
 On my route to the Cardinal's palace, Falconieri^ 
 I saw the old palace of the once powerful family of 
 the Mattel, now extinct, and on entering the court 
 yard, found the sides of the palace crusted with ex-
 
 116 MEMOIR OF 
 
 quisite specimens of Grecian sculpture, — alto relievos 
 principally; — what picking's for a painter's port folio ! 
 
 Saw in the Piazza di Tartarughi a beautiful foun- 
 tain — four figfures support the basin, and from off the 
 hand of each a tortoise is walking* into the water, — 
 the hands seem raised as if with the object of pla- 
 cing* the animals in the water, and not to support the 
 basin. I visited St. Carlo in Catinari, built in 1612. 
 Lanfranco has painted the ceiling- of the g"reat altar, 
 and a picture of the ^^Annunciation" Pietro di 
 Cortone a jjrocession, and a clever fresco is here by 
 Guido. The four cardinal virtues by Domenichino, 
 are the best things except Sacchi's '■^Death of St. 
 Anne" the virgin's mother. 
 
 Strolled toward St. Pietro in Montorio^ on the hill 
 Janicule, and from the plat in front of the church 
 had the most splendid view of Rome I have yet fallen 
 upon. In the church is M. Angelo's desig^n and Pi- 
 ombo's painting of ^^ Christ whipped" and other paint- 
 ings of his around it, — Vasari's " Conversion of St. 
 Paul" — '■'■John Baptist" by Volterra, — Raphael's 
 '-^ Transfigw^ation" was over the altar before the Va- 
 tican received it, painted for this congregation, who 
 now receive a pension in place of it. The temple 
 raised by Bramante on the spot where St. Peter was 
 massacred, in the enclosure of this church, is a per- 
 fect specimen of beauty, — the fountain two hundred 
 yards above this edifice, is not to compare with my
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 
 
 117 
 
 old acquaintance that I pass daily on my way to the 
 Colonna palace — the fountain of Trevi. 
 
 Sciarra Palace. "The Gamblers of Caravaggio" — 
 " Vaiiity and Modesty,^^ by Da Vinci, — the " Violin 
 PloAjer" by Raphael, — the "Titian^s Mistress" has 
 been entirely ruined by " repairs," or else Titian 
 never saw it ; — the drapery is very well, but far in- 
 ferior in its way to any thing* by Titian that I am 
 privy to; — the "Past," the "Present" and "Future," 
 all three figures armed with bows and arrows, by 
 Valentine, are well drawn and painted. 
 
 Palazza Spada. Two heads, children, by Correg-- 
 gio, in the same picture, — the " Visitation," by Andrea 
 del Sarto, — a beautiful picture of " Winter" by Ten- 
 iers, and a " Girl" by Guercino, a back view, head 
 all in shadow, are chef d^ouvres. The rest of the 
 pictures, like the contents of some other g-alleries, 
 are mere trash, and better things may be found in 
 picture cleaners' shops. The first great hall is said 
 to be painted by Julio Romano, — if true, JuHo has 
 played false to himself, — bad, from first to last; — 
 the "Pompey" the statue, at the base of which 
 " Csesar fell," is on exhibition here, — who beheves 
 it"? It is a fine antique morsel, however, and may 
 have been sprinkled with the Roman's blood, — I 
 hope (as I have seen it,) it's the true article. 
 
 Feb. 2. The benediction and presentation of the 
 candles in St. Peters, where I witnessed almost a fac
 
 118 MEMOIR OF 
 
 simile of tiie splendid pag"eantries of Christmas day, 
 excepting- the candles. After the ceremony, a Te 
 Deuni was sung* for the delivery of the city from an 
 earthquake in 1707 ! — it chances to be this day twelve 
 years, since the present Pope was elected, and the 
 sixth is the anniversary of his consecration, which is 
 to be ushered in by the " guns of St. Ang-elo." 
 
 Su7iday, Feb. 12. Yesterday I took my studio in 
 the Via del Olmo, at four dollars per month, from 
 Mr. W , an English artist, — went to Colonna pal- 
 ace and brought my copy away ; thence to the Ros- 
 
 pigliosi palace with Mr. S to see a copy he 
 
 wants to purchase. R goes to be presented to 
 
 the Pope, with the P s of Boston. I painted at 
 
 his room till he returned, and had a conversation 
 with my pretty model on the happiness of matrimony, 
 — she has been married five months, and says the 
 sweets are bitters. 
 
 Eight or ten days since, heavy rains of four or five 
 days continuance flooded the campagna and the city 
 as far as the Corso in the Via Rissetta, — boats by 
 order of the government were rowing from house 
 to house and handing in at the windows bread to 
 the needy, — since 1805, there has been nothing hke 
 it. Sickness, and consequent suffering among the 
 poor, follow this sad event.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX, 119 
 
 D to 
 
 "Rome, Feb. 12, 1843. 
 
 * * * Once in Rome, and all is right, — hence- 
 forth, who can taunt me with that painter's reproach 
 of not having bowed before Raphael in the ^ Loggia,^ 
 and worshipped at the shrine of Angelo in the Sistine 
 Chapel 1 
 
 I succeeded after ten days (the old native copyists 
 are favoured in all the galleries of Europe, except 
 in France and Belgium, to the injury of foreigners,) 
 in obtaining permission to copy a picture of '■Rebecca 
 at the wellj by Guido, which has good three months 
 painting in it. I shall paint another of the same size 
 and send them from here before I leave for Venice, 
 
 (1st of June,) to Mrs. H and Mr. P . At 
 
 Venice, I am told on all hands, I am to find the best 
 pictures of my favourite Titian and Veronese, — and 
 will there execute at least two for * * * and * * *. 
 You must bear patiendy with me, — if I live, the pic- 
 tures will be painted. The original (those originals 
 are improving, tell me what you think of ' Christ and 
 Angels^ by Devo, candidly,) took me, at Florence, 
 seven months and upwards, hard work, — so I shall 
 make copies until I get back to Paris, which I think 
 will be in October, and winter it there, to paint your 
 historical picture.
 
 120 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I hope some day to talk to you about Rome, and 
 its environs, — to write about it, I have no room, — it 
 is not as beautiful as Florence, but how interesting- 
 every ruin ! It lacks the creature comforts of its 
 fair sister, but what food for the mind ! There is no 
 sky elsewhere, no sun-sets, — the natives talk of the 
 severity of the winter, and rejoice that it is past ! I 
 have worked every day in an old palace, in a room 
 twice as large as your house, and no spark of fire or 
 fire-place is there ; — snow fell one night an eighth of 
 an inch thick, and the next day was the poetry of 
 fine weather. I am a Roman, and am wiUing- to 
 take the cares of Popedom on my head, if it would 
 insure my living" always here. I came prepared to 
 be disappointed in the hig-h character of the winter, 
 but I have known no winter day. Can I not per- 
 suade you to come next winter ?— I'll work here 
 instead of at Paris if you will, — the Consul has open 
 house every Monday night, and all the Americans g-o 
 there, — about fifty now in Rome. 
 
 You see by the business part of my letter, that in 
 the day time I am copying- ; — at nig-ht, I draw at a 
 small Academy, composed of the six or seven Amer- 
 ican painters at Rome. We are all new comers 
 except two, — Mr. Terry, who, for three years has 
 been engaged on a picture of ' Christ and the Doctors 
 in the Temple,^ — he has been just five years here, 
 — his picture is highly creditable,— the other is
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX, 121 
 
 Mr. Crawford of N. York, a sculptor, who, for eight 
 years has been drinking* at the fountain of inspiration, 
 and has become bloated with habitual intemperance, 
 — he is full of art and genius and application, — his 
 great fault is his impatience of finish, and this ren- 
 ders the complaint generally made against the hands 
 and feet of his works just and true ; — but for poetic 
 conception of his subject and ability to work out his 
 imagining, he stands among the first in Rome, and 
 is the lion of American sculpture at home and 
 abroad. His ^ Orpheus^ descending into hell after 
 lulling with his harp Cerberus into sleep, is just fin- 
 ished, — the full size of life ; — and goes in the spring 
 to Boston, where you must see it, if you ever visit 
 ' the modern Athens.' 
 
 I have been twice to see the Pope officiate at St. 
 Peters, — have been within twenty yards of his holy 
 person, and a more amiable, benevolent, good old 
 face, I never saw, — he has been reigning twelve 
 years, thus overstepping by five years, the average 
 of the Popes (two hundred and sixty) from St. Peter 
 down to us. 
 
 Happy and contented, breathing an atmosphere all 
 
 art and beauty, my imagination often wanders to 
 
 your home, — fancy ranges unchecked, and I give 
 
 place and occupation to every member of the chosen 
 
 coterie you have about you ; — sometimes watching 
 
 the merry vintagers pouring forth their rich strains of 
 16
 
 122 MEMOIR OF 
 
 music that lig-htens toil, and again seated amidst the 
 grey old ruins of other days, as the purple shadows 
 of the setting sun comes over them, — even then I 
 have thought of you, happy at home, surrounded with 
 those household joys that make a heaven of earth." 
 
 iL. ^ ^ 
 
 TT TV" •7V' 
 
 The copy after Guido of ''Rebecca at the imll,'' is 
 now an ornament to the drawing room of Mrs. Gen- 
 eral Hampton, of South Carohna, and is a beaudfully 
 finished specimen of De Veaux's skill as a copyist. 
 It is a rich selection of the work of that master, 
 and a worthy representative of the gallery of the 
 Colonna Palace. 
 
 I have lately had the pleasure of seeing the beau- 
 tiful ''Orpheus" of Crawford in the Boston Athenae- 
 um.* It is a successful embodiment of poetical fiction 
 in marble, and does full justice to the opinion of the 
 sculptor's lamented friend, with the exception that 
 this is not amenable to the remark of the want of 
 finish of his works. The execution is admirable and 
 the finish very perfect. Much to the regret of all 
 
 * " The subject of Orpheus is conceived and developed in the genuine spirit 
 of classical antiquity, but the figure is executed with the life-like reality of 
 nature; the final model of modern as well as of ancient art. The daring lover 
 has lulled to sleep by his magic strains the triple headed Cerberus, who crouches 
 at his feet ; he passes this barrier, and presses forward with his impatient head 
 and heart in advance of his more sluggish feet ; one hand holds the potent lyre, 
 and the other shields his eyes from the bright day which he is quitting, and aids 
 him in striving to penetrate into the mysteries of Hades, which he is about to 
 brave in pursuit of his Eurydice. The suppressed energy of the moment pro- 
 duces a happy union of motion and repose, and the action and attributes tell 
 their own story." — "Rome," by a New Yorker, p. 183.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 123 
 
 lovers of the arts was the unfortunate condition in 
 which it reached this country, from carelessness in 
 the transportation. Though seriously broken, it has 
 been carefully put together, and is properly placed in 
 the distinguished institution which is an ornament to 
 Boston, where intellect and capacity and execution 
 are so worthily appreciated. Though we have as 
 yet but little to boast of in collections of paintings 
 and sculpture, Boston rivals Philadelphia as the de- 
 pository of the fine arts of the United States. The 
 residence of Stuart and of Allston, she possesses the 
 finest memorials of these men of genius, and well do 
 her citizens know their value. Here we can point 
 with satisfaction to worthy patrons of the arts, who 
 know how to enjoy the luxury of taste. 
 
 The extracts from the Journal of James De Veaux, 
 must afford pleasure to the lovers of spirited sketches 
 of the objects of interest in that classic land of spirit- 
 ual existences, — and his observations on the works 
 of the great masters of art may be useful to his pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Sunday, Feb. 19. With S , M , M and 
 
 R , went to visit the studio of Signor Overbeck in 
 
 the old Cenci palace. We saw but few things, — all 
 drawings, — figures of the apostles, which he has 
 painted at one of Torlonia's villas. They are feel- 
 ingly and religiously wrought out, — the "Triumph of
 
 124 MEMOIR OP 
 
 Religion and the A7^ts" has some noble figures, — the 
 "jEJntombme7it,^^ a cartoon of eight or ten figures, the 
 size of fife, is solemn and affecting, but has all the 
 rigidness and unpleasant severity of Pertigino, whom 
 Overbeck prefers to Raphael, — saying that " when 
 Raphael forsook the school of Perugino, God forsook 
 Raphael." The old gentleman (he seems about six- 
 ty,) received us gracefully and courteously. He is 
 about five feet ten or eleven inches high, very erect, 
 and has an eagle eye, fine aquihne nose and spacious 
 forehead, — a handsome man and a great painter, — 
 though for me, Vernet, Delaroche, Coignet and oth- 
 ers in Paris, are superior, — he has no pretensions to 
 colour. Went afterwards to Signor Cmnmuccini^s* 
 dwelling, and saw his private collection, — his studio 
 requires a ticket from himself, which I hope some 
 day to obtain. "^ sea-porf by Claude, — "Venus 
 and Ado7iis^^ by Titian, — a small ^^ Mother and C/iild,^^ 
 by Veronese, — ^^ Crucifixion^^ by Guido, a Bonafazio, 
 and a large picture of a fete champetre landscape, 
 by Titian, are magnificent works. They are all 
 fine, such as the greatest of living Roman artists 
 has chosen for his private gallery, but those speci- 
 fied are the gems, 
 
 Feb. 22. Washington's Birth-day. I have subscri- 
 bed to the dinner, — Dr. Van Rensellaer, President, 
 and Mr. Parish, Vice, — will pay my share, but not 
 
 * Cammuccini died in September, 1844.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 125 
 
 g-0, as I do not like the idea of inviting" tlie Consul, 
 and thus sharing- the honors of the day with Wash- 
 ington. None but an old fellow soldier is entided 
 to such distinction. It is not in taste, and I will not 
 make one of the posse. Walking- this morning- near 
 St. Maria Maggiore, I saw the Pope coming-, attended 
 by a larg-e cortege of troops and household officers ; 
 ran and kneeled in the door of the church, and so 
 g-ot nearer than I could at even a presentation, and 
 was with the few other stragglers about blessed by 
 the Head ; — the poor beg-g-ars actually screamed the 
 words "benedidone papa" as he passed from the 
 carriag-e to the church, so fearful were they of being- 
 neglected. The old man entered, — prayed at several 
 altars, and after fifteen minutes, started for another 
 church; — to-day I had him all to myself, no other 
 strang-er about, — twenty or thirty poor people around 
 who left their occupations to g-et blessed were my 
 only companions. / guess, I caug-ht more fleas than 
 blessings. 
 
 Feb. 26. The Washington dinner I hear passed 
 off in the usual way, — the speeches dull, — the toasts 
 stale, and the wine bad, and a great deal of it drunk. 
 A nephew of Jerome Bonaparte g-ave a speech, and 
 an abolition toast, which was drank with enthusi- 
 asm, — glad I was not there, as I must have followed 
 
 the lead of this g-uest, and g-iven him a pill of 
 
 another colour to swallow.
 
 126 MEMOIR OP 
 
 The six days of the Carnival are over, and there 
 are but two more, and then all will be quiet once 
 ao-ain ; — it is brilliant but tedious, — two or three 
 days do well enous^h, but eight weary horse and 
 man. Yet these are the only eight days of three 
 hundred and sixty-five that the Romans know. The 
 whole routine is the same from day to day ; — at two 
 o'clock the Campodoglio sends forth its merry peal, 
 and the masqueraders rush into the street armed 
 and accoutred according to taste, — the Roman soldier 
 and Italian bandit — the gay Lothario and the coarse 
 washer -woman, — harlequin and the sage counsellor, 
 are huddled promiscuously, and seem to come to- 
 gether upon this happy occasion, because none other 
 ever permits their proximity. Carriages, barouches, 
 omnibuses, all crowded, form two lines the whole 
 length of the Corso, passing and repassing, w^hilst 
 the foot frolickers walk between and on either side, 
 — balconies and windows in every story send out 
 streamers of variegated silks, and the loveliest look- 
 ing women are seen looking laughingly from every 
 casement, which is crowded with beauty. Bunches 
 of flowers thrown from hand to hand, and flung back 
 again, keep the air filled with bouquets, and give 
 beauty and life to one part of the scene, whilst at 
 another the millions of sugar plums showered from 
 above and dashed from below, remind one more of 
 the chilliness of a snow storm. These plums are
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 127 
 
 made of lime and flour, cost two cents a pound, — 
 they are carried in baskets, and are thrown by hand- 
 fuls of a hundred or more, and burst when they 
 are thrown with force, and as they shiver to pieces, 
 " the miller and his men " are completely eclipsed 
 in whiteness by the majority of the maskers. Some 
 of them are larg'e and hard, and when they encoun- 
 ter an unprotected spot, sting* severely. The favour- 
 ite beauties of the day are easily distinguished from 
 the others, by the superior coat of whiteninsf, which 
 they exhibit at the close of the day's sport. At five 
 o'clock, g-uns are fired, — the " Corso" cleared by 
 soldiers " horse and foot," and the races come on. 
 Eig-ht or ten horses are broug'ht in, — the poor devils 
 are covered with flaps or wing's with spurs attached, 
 so at each jump they receive the sharp rowels, — 
 they are held in line behind a rope breast hig-h, and 
 at a sig-nal, the rope falls, and away they g-o, brush- 
 ing* the crowd on either side, — from the " Piazza 
 Popolo " to the '' Piazza Venetia," one and a quarter 
 miles, — where they are stopped by a balustrade of 
 ropes and hanging" blankets, (an old woman's clothes 
 line.) The winner or winners usually strike a se- 
 vere blow or blows against the rope and blankets, 
 and sometimes break away, so there are similar 
 checks beyond, at intervals of fifteen or twenty feet. 
 The carriages and maskers are now again admitted, 
 and the same rose and plum game is renewed again.
 
 128 MEMOIR OF 
 
 At eig-ht o'clock begin the balls, which close (by law) 
 at twelve, — on Friday no sport is permitted, nor on 
 Sunday, except that Sabbath night, at twelve o'clock, 
 begins the " crack ball " of the season, which con- 
 tinues till breakfast time on Monday. These masked 
 balls are the same one sees elsewhere, except at 
 Paris, where they are very superior, — there every 
 one dances, — here they are content to promenade, 
 and to whisper unmeaning things to each other; — a 
 person masked attaches himself to one that is not, and 
 attempts to " run " him, — this is flat, unless you know 
 more of him and his private affairs than usually leaks 
 out. I am glad there is to be an end of all this in two 
 days, — though six months hence, if I am here, with 
 true Italian fickleness I may be willing for it again. 
 March 1. — Ash Wednesday. Yesterday closed the 
 Carnival, — the weather pretty fair; — three of the 
 
 horses fell on the slippery ground. S and I 
 
 in costume visited our friends, and I worried Mrs. 
 
 P with " negro talk." The scene which closed 
 
 the promenade on the " Corso " is the grand finale, — 
 the jubilee of fiends, — the carnival of devils ! This 
 strange mass of beings, masked and shouting, and 
 seen by the artificial fight of torches, candles, lamps, 
 etc. etc., presents to the imagination an infernal pic- 
 ture; — the cry of "senza moccolo," (without taper,) 
 as they dash at each other's light to put it out, is 
 universal, and keeps up a continual roar. Now all
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 129 
 
 is quiet ag-ain, and one more carnival lies buried with 
 the past ; — where shall I be when the season for its 
 renewal returns '? 
 
 J D to 
 
 "Rome, March, 1843. 
 In Rome ! — have seen the winter laid in its grave, 
 and have my eyes refreshed even now with whole 
 balconies of flowers, and trees laden with blossoms — 
 we have had some rainy days, — quite a freshet once, 
 — some cool weather, but not one cold day, and yet 
 the Italians complained of the severity of the season 
 — it snowed one nig-ht, and the next day was Italian! 
 Cloaks are worn, but it certainly is for ornament, — 
 I never in my life saw any thing- to equal the throw 
 g-iven to that article of dress by all the wearers, and 
 their name is leg-ion, — the shepherd, the beg"gar and 
 the dandy ! ! The cut is the same, — the texture 
 marks the caste. Of the mildness of the season, the 
 best proof is, that I have never experienced a mo- 
 ment's discomfort in a room all marbled and twice 
 the size of your modest ^ log-ement,' where I have 
 been copying all winter without a fire. It will be a 
 glorious thing to have the memory of such a winter, 
 when some of these days at home I shall be hemmed 
 
 in by -thick ribbed ice.' But let the truth be spoken 
 17
 
 130 MEMOIR OF 
 
 —I am in love, — between Paris and Rome, I would 
 repose me here forever,— just at present that is my 
 mood ! 
 
 I have finished, or nearly so, a copy, and begun 
 another picture, and will send them tog-ether in 
 June, when I g-o to Venice. About October, I will 
 g-o to Paris or come here to spend the winter, — the 
 only reason I doubt at all about it is, the cheaper 
 rate of living- here, — fully one-third difference. The 
 studies I wish to pursue when I finish the copies, 
 are more numerous and easier of access at Paris, — 
 but the confounded money, — tut ! I hate the jing-le of 
 the trash, and hate it more because I am beholden 
 to it, — bound hand and foot, and can't budge with- 
 out it, — cursed stuff! I have just tasted enoug-h and 
 heard enough to wish to stay ten years at least in 
 Europe, to pursue my art in Germany and Holland, 
 as well as at the different points in Italy and at Paris, 
 — such works, and such a life of study, — material for 
 work for fifty years after, might be gathered, — but 
 who talks of fifty years'? an old wrinkled brow and 
 grey beard 1 
 
 In some of my letters from Florence, I must have 
 told you of the favour shewn to native copyists over 
 foreign students, — the same system is practised here, 
 — it has one good effect, — it forces purchasers to get 
 their work done by ItaUans, and thus enables the 
 poor devils to live upon strangers, as their own coun-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 131 
 
 trymen never buy pictures, — but the inconvenience 
 to those who copy for improvement, is certainly 
 
 great. This fact accounts for H 's copies being" 
 
 by ItaHans ; — to the student, there is nothing" else- 
 where comparable to the facilities of the Louvre, — 
 Louis Philippe is truly a King /" 
 
 Poor De Veaux! Little did he suspect, when he 
 penned these hues, so full of enthusiasm and hope 
 and confidence, that a few short months were all that 
 were allotted to his earthly labours! While the 
 bright dreams of usefulness and honour and the fame 
 of the world were but just opening upon his imagi- 
 nation, and the mists of gloom and despondency were 
 becoming dislodged from his expanding mind, — while 
 the aspirations after high excellence now seemed 
 a fixed and impelling principle of his noble nature, 
 enabling him to shake off" the influence of his earlier 
 difliculties, — while youth and health and genius were 
 beginning to make him feel his powers, and to see 
 before him the open path to human greatness, — 
 how lamentable the thought that then, even then, he 
 was marked by the great Destroyer, as an early 
 victim ! 
 
 The Journal is full of lively pictures of "men and 
 things," and the notes of the works of art are char- 
 acteristic of his poetic feeling.
 
 132 MEMOIR OF 
 
 March, 1843. Mr. S and I went tog-ether, to 
 
 visit the Farnese palace, — called the most beautiful 
 at Rome, as much for its exterior as for the mag- 
 nificence of the internal embelhshments. Sangallo 
 was the first architect, and it was finished by M. 
 Ang-elo and Jacques della Porta, — the marbles em- 
 ployed were taken from the Cohseum ! This and 
 all the other property of the Farnese family belong 
 to the King of Naples, — so the famous Hercules, 
 (Glycon,) has gone thither and left the sarcophagus 
 of Cecilia Metella in its stead. The pictures have 
 all departed, but the frescoes of Annibale are here, 
 and ''bear the palm alone," — there is nothing in 
 Rome superior to them, — the " Triumph of Bacchus 
 and Ariadne'' is a triumph of art, — the Chiaro-'scuro, 
 divisional ornaments in imitation of basso relievo are 
 complete delusions. 
 
 April 1. At the Cavalier Barhieri's studio, saw a 
 table made in Mosaic for the Emperor of Russia, — 
 composed of three million of pieces, — occupied three 
 workmen three years, and is the most splendid thing 
 of its kind extant. The diameter is four feet, — eight 
 pictures form its face, eight views of Rome at eight 
 different hours of the day, forming " twenty four 
 hours at Rome ;" — the first is one hour before sunrise 
 within a few miles of Rome. — the last is the Cohs- 
 eum by moonlight, and the most beautiful of all, —
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 133 
 
 St. Peters is very splendidly executed; — the Pope 
 had it three days at the Vatican for inspection, and 
 the Cavalier three times to explain, — so said the 
 Cavalier, — it cost ten thousand dollars. 
 
 April 20. Witnessed at Rome an exhibition which 
 I often imagined and wished to see, but thoug-ht the 
 spirit of poetic inspiration had passed away, and the 
 
 days of improvising numbered. The Sig-nora 
 
 in person, dark, fat and forty, has dispelled the false 
 notion, and I have realized to the full, the charm of 
 listening to sweet Italian rhyme extempore, from the 
 lips of a real Improvisatrice. The subjects were 
 handed in by any person present, the lady chose 
 from among them, and then made choice of a piece 
 of music, which an assistant played upon the piano. 
 During the first five minutes or less, the Signora 
 stands wrapped in thought, and then suddenly falling 
 in with the air chants, a poem or a sonnet, — it seem- 
 ed hard work, if one may judge from the beating 
 temples, reddened face, perspiring brow, and ago- 
 nizing movements of the limbs of the actrice, — the 
 Itahans applauded, the Signora warmed, and for two 
 hours with slight intermission kept on the even tenor 
 of her way. She several times baulked for a word, 
 — looked very unutterable things^ turned back to the 
 commencement of a line or distich, and went smooth- 
 ly on. I would like to witness it once a month, but
 
 134 MEMOIR OF 
 
 she has closed with two exhibitions, the only ones 
 given here in eight or ten years.* 
 
 Holy Week is past, — Palm Sunday ushered it in, 
 and the fire works of the castle of St. Angelo burnt 
 it out. 
 
 J D to 
 
 "Rome, June 7, 1843. 
 
 I have been waiting- very impatiently for a letter 
 from you, to tell me something- about the picture I 
 sent home last fall, — with a tremendous ' Critica,' 
 laying- bare the enormous deformities of my first and 
 last ' historical,' — cutting and slashing at ugly bodies, 
 is so familiar to gents of your craft, that the dissec- 
 tion of as rare and beautiful a subject as myself, will 
 add fervour to your zeal, and I shall, no doubt, be 
 left like a boned turkey, minus the stuffing. 
 
 I have do7ie myself into the semblance of ' Calvin 
 Edson, the walking skeleton,' — before my seventh 
 month at Rome is completed, I shall have finished all 
 my work, — two pictures the size of the ' Christ and 
 AngelSj' (one original and one a copy,) and three 
 smaller things. Now for plans : — I will go to Flor- 
 ence and expect to copy a ^Holy Family,^ — it is by 
 Paul Veronese, never taken from the walls to be 
 
 * In Headley's " Letters from Italy," (Letter 23,) there is a description of 
 this Signora's exhibition.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 135 
 
 copied, but at the request of a government ; — Louis 
 Philippe's has it down now, and I may g-et a chance 
 at it, — if I do not, I g-o on to Venice and make two 
 there, certainly 07ie, and other studies for myself. My 
 copies will then be finished, and I have a project 
 ahead, recommended to me by one of the best artists 
 at Rome, — here it is: drawing- the human fig-ure 
 with accuracy, is the most important step in our pro- 
 fession, and the rock, I am certain, upon which the 
 English and American schools have split. To get 
 our fingers dabbling in paint, before we know well 
 the use of the porte crayon, has been the cause of 
 many a promising boy failing to reahze the hopes of 
 friends. I have become so fully satisfied with the 
 truth of this, that I am restless under the reign of 
 colour, and for a year at least, would serve under that 
 of charcoal, crayons and chalk. Whatever facility of 
 composition a man may be blessed with, if he has not 
 the power of drawing well the separate parts, the 
 whole must fail to please ; the idea, however clever, 
 badly expressed, loses its force. I find by my ac- 
 quaintance with the first artists here, that they have 
 devoted from ten to fifteen years to drawing alone! 
 from twelve or fifteen years of age to twenty five ! 
 It is too late for me to trifle thus with time, — besides, I 
 am past the beginning. Now the upshot of all this 
 is, that I may be easily comprehended when I say 
 that my earnest wish is to return here in November,
 
 136 MEMOIR OF 
 
 (after completing- all my copies,) and devote myself 
 exclusively to drawing, — to abandon paint for a 
 twelve-month, and draw from the frescoes of Ra- 
 phael and Michael Ang-elo at the Vatican, — in all 
 that time, I would have nothing* (as a picture) to 
 shew, as my work would be chiefly fig"ures the size 
 of life, done in black and white chalk. To others 
 this may appear lost time, but it is just the reverse, — 
 for it is the knowledg-e and confidence acquired by 
 such practice, that will g^ive a tenfold value to what- 
 ever I may do hereafter. It will be as hard a year's 
 labour as these last seven months in Rome have 
 been, and more profitable to me. I would abjure 
 paint as the g-rand contaminator of artists, and the 
 befouler of clean hands, and wrap myself in the 
 cloud of charcoal dust I shall raise in the Vatican. 
 
 I have painted one of my best heads for our friend 
 Fraser, who is an honor to our profession and 
 my state, — ^A Pilgrim^ from nature, which is really 
 good, for me. Present it to him in my name, if, after 
 you have seen it, you think it advisable. 
 
 Hunting-don has sailed from New York, and is on 
 his way to Rome, — Inman g-oes to settle in London ; 
 I must draio for a year, and distance the fraternity. 
 You will see by the picture I send a month hence, 
 how my last five or six months drawing- in the even- 
 ning only, tells in the larg*e fig-ures I have painted, of 
 course much more difficult than in small, — it is what
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 137 
 
 no American artist excels in but Allston. Beautiful 
 colour cannot disg-uise the misshapen limbs of the 
 full leng-th portraits in our country, and in historical 
 compositions, where the fig"ures are varied from the 
 plumb hnes of a sober up-and-down portrait, the dif- 
 ficulties increase tenfold. I am so desperate about 
 it, that between chalk and charcoal, I fear I will be a 
 case of asphyxia before next winter runs out." 
 
 ^L ^ ^ •iL' •ilf 
 
 -JP Tt* "TV" TT TV- 
 
 J- Z> to . 
 
 ''Rome, June 21, 1843. 
 I will §"0 into business before I lose the fitting* tone 
 of mind which is on me at present. The pictures 
 are finished, and as I leave here in one week for 
 Venice, I will deliver them to an ag-ent who will 
 send them to New York. ' The Bandit at Home,^ 
 
 an orig'inal composition, I have painted for Mr. P , 
 
 the two smaller pictures painted from nature, the 
 Roman ^Beggar GirP and ^A Pilgrim asleep ^ in sight 
 of St. Peterh Dome^ I intend, as litde presents to 
 
 Mrs. M and Mrs. M H , to keep them 
 
 in mind of me whilst I am in the 'city of the sea,' 
 
 making" larg^er copies for M and W . I hope 
 
 these pictures will please, — the kindness that has 
 been extended to me is a kind of dream. I have 
 
 never known its like, — reflecting* sometimes upon it, 
 
 18
 
 138 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I almost doubt my senses, and when I think of the 
 increasing run of good fortune from the day I first 
 entered your house in Columbia, I am tempted to 
 believe in the doctrine of transmigration. Every 
 thing has changed, — up to that time, all was doubt and 
 almost despair, — since then my march has been uni- 
 formly prosperous. My brief sojourn at the north is 
 not forgotten, nor am I ungrateful, but then I was 
 haunted by the fear, that after all my exertion, I 
 would not be able to give that assistance to my family 
 that they so much needed. It was at Columbia, that 
 this fear was first dispelled, — there too, that a series 
 of years, the happiest I have ever known, have been 
 passed, and it was there that last I found those that 
 have been every thing to me. Excuse this, — but I 
 am disposed to fly the track whenever I think of my 
 undeservedness, and the extraordinary liberality of 
 my friends. 
 
 Seven months residence at Rome, convinces me 
 that the decision of the learned in art is correct, — 
 that Rome stands without a competitor as furnishing 
 the materials for a painter. In every department of 
 art, and from every great school of art, examples are 
 abundantly spread before us, and the chef d^ouvres of 
 the two sublimest geniuses that painting can boast, 
 Angelo and Raphael, are here open to inspection and 
 study. There are difficulties in finding admittance 
 to copy in the private galleries, (and they contain
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX, 139 
 
 many of the gems,) but in time you g'et over this, and 
 all is well; — an efficient consul would mend matters 
 for the Americans. Then the churches, — three hun- 
 dred and fifty in number, and each an academy of 
 art! — the walls jammed with pictures, and many of 
 them fine, — some superb ; independently of this, the 
 climate a piece of heaven dropped upon earth, — and 
 the habits and costumes of the people, and the many 
 splendid religfious festivals, which attract the won- 
 dering- population from the surrounding- country, filling- 
 old Rome with food for the artist. Not a moment 
 need be lost, — every g-roup in the door ways, (they 
 live out of doors at this season,) is a picture. See 
 that mother and child, — it's the original of Raphael's 
 Madonna of the chair ! Artists come here for one. 
 year, and spend jive and ten^ — there is a continual 
 inducement to work, where every facility is offered, 
 and every body else is at work, — where a man can 
 be talking" of art all the day long with painters, — 
 visiting- the studios of the thousands that are always 
 here from east and west and north and south, see- 
 ing- what others do, and how they use the works of 
 the great masters to make their own valuable. The 
 gods be praised! that my home is here! — it will take 
 ' a long- pull, a strong- pull, and a pull altog-ether,' to 
 tear me from my footing-, — and if I succeed in getting- 
 a start here, who knows but I will be here to receive 
 and do the honors of the city to your boys, when
 
 140 MEMOIR OF 
 
 they come upon their tour 1— and should you come 
 yourself, I may receive you as Raphael did Leo 
 
 X!— io sono contento. S writes me from New 
 
 York and gives me a letter of critiques on my first 
 'original/ and if he does not fib, the artists there 
 were ' struck all in a heap,' — if such is the fact, my 
 'Bandit' will soon despatch them. The baby of 
 the bandit is considered a litde the best baby done 
 in Rome this season! I to-day exhibited it to my 
 congregated acquaintance, at my studio, and received 
 from them htde else than praise,— perhaps stuffing! 
 You will be candid when you write, and make one 
 
 welcome exception to the general practice. 
 
 ***** 
 
 ' The Bandit at home,' in the possession of J. S. 
 Preston, Esq., is a noble work. The conception is 
 fine, — a sweet and lovely child is brought by the 
 fond mother, to win from his rugged life the fierce 
 Brigand, — his innocent gambols have touched the 
 heart of the bold oudaw, and a gentle and mournful 
 interest exhibits itself in his countenance as he sports 
 with his boy. The calm and softening influence of 
 an Italian sky on the hard features of the rocky land- 
 scape, and the soothing effect of twilight like the 
 mother's anxious love, are admirably arranged in 
 keeping with the character of the scene. The gen- 
 tler feelings of the father have displaced for the time 
 the influence of ' hatred and malice and all unchar-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 141 
 
 itableness/ and the parent feels the power of inno- 
 cence over his heart, and of conscious g-uilt on his 
 mind. The fig-ures are all the size of life, and con- 
 sidering* the difficulty of drawing" the larg-e figure 
 correctly, this will be considered his g'reatest work. 
 The drawing" is admirably correct, — the colouring" 
 elaborately rich, and the g^eneral effect very striking"; 
 the story is well and pleasing-ly told, and as a work 
 of art, this picture will bear comparison with any 
 that we know as the offspring" of American g-enius. 
 The finish in detail of ' Christ and the Angels,'' is only 
 here surpassed by the boldness in composition and 
 completeness of effect of the full sized figures. These 
 two originals are all the memorials of any size, of 
 that gifted spirit, which has gained, we hope, instead 
 of the immortality of earth, that which is eternal in 
 the heavens ! 
 
 The picture of the litUe ^Beggar Girl,^ as well as 
 the ^ Bandit^ and the ^Pilgrims,' was noticed by an 
 artist friend, in the American Journal of Fine Arts ; 
 and the following extract is worthy of preservation 
 here : 
 
 ^'■^ The Roman Beggar GirV is rich and sunny as 
 her own native clime; he found the original of this 
 picture in a state of great destitution on the steps of 
 a church: from his own scanty store he clothed and 
 placed her above immediate want, and greatly la- 
 mented that he had not the means to send her to the
 
 142 MEMOIR OF 
 
 United States to be educated. His soul teemed with 
 p-oodness and the kindhest affections, and I never 
 knew a man who had so httle of self in his nature. 
 '■The Pilgrim to Rome'' is a pretty little picture, in 
 which the Italian costume is touched with a masterly 
 pencil. ^The Brigand at home^ was his last and 
 finest production ; it is a picture full of power, unit- 
 ing- g-reat brilliancy and depth of colour with truth 
 of imitation. For beauty nothing can surpass the 
 child, and the affectionate regard of the father and 
 mother are feelingly expressed. From this we may 
 easily imagine what his mature efforts would have 
 been. He lived long enough to assert his title to a 
 high place amongst the painters of America, for he 
 has produced works that will rank permanently with 
 the foremost. A copy too from Rubens, in the pos- 
 session of the writer, is acknowledged by competent 
 judges to be one of the finest ever painted by a 
 modern artist." 
 
 The Journal is again resumed: 
 
 June 25. Months have passed away since I have 
 added a line to my Journal. Kept constantly at 
 work, I have seen nothing hwi festal of Easter, which 
 were fac-similes of those of Christmas, with the 
 exception of the grand illumination of St. Peters ! 
 That is indeed a wonder ! — for one hour the illumi-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 143 
 
 nation was indeed partial, but at a certain hour (Ave 
 Maria,) the whole flashed out upon the beholder, 
 and startled me with its sudden blaze of splendor. 
 How many lamps it requires to cover this temple in 
 a way to exhibit it as one mass of fire, I cannot tell, 
 — the expense is said to be fifteen hundred dollars. 
 After all, it costs the head of the church something- 
 to keep the bowels amused ! The Mausoleum of Au- 
 gustus I have attended, to witness the antics of a cir- 
 cus company, and the performances of " Miss Baba," 
 an elephant; — poor Augustus! when he reared this 
 huge casement for the protection of his perishing 
 body, he dreamed not of the vile uses to which it 
 might come! The pyramid tomb of Caius Cestus, 
 built in three hundred and thirty days, — entirely 
 covered with white marble, is one hundred and sixty- 
 four palms in height, and one hundred and thirty in 
 breadth, — he was one of the Septemvirs in the time 
 of Augustus. 
 
 The theatre of Marcellus is a splendid remnant, — 
 was large enough to contain 30,000 spectators, is 
 covered with large blocks of travertin^ — Doric and 
 Ionic architecture. The remains of the gate of Oc- 
 tavius are a magnificent array of Corinthian columns, 
 hemmed in and partially hidden by the surrounding 
 houses. 
 
 H. E of Washington, and myself, have seen 
 
 together the house of Rienzi, — the temple of Vesta, —
 
 144 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the arch of Janus, — and the Cloaca Maxima or larg-e 
 drain, built two thousand three hundred years since, 
 and still serving- its purpose. Near it gushed a stream 
 of water, around which we saw soldiers and civihans 
 loitering-, as if it had heahng- virtues. 
 
 We visited St. Lorenzo, outside the g-ate of the 
 same name, and the "Potter's field" adjoining-, where, 
 in 1837, the cholera victims, fifteen thousand, were 
 interred, — it is well worth a visit. The church is a 
 rich old vestig-e, containing- three or four g-ood pic- 
 tures of the Bolog-nese school, — some heads equal to 
 Domenichino. There are three hundred and seventy- 
 pits in the burying- g-round, each about five feet 
 square, covered over with one larg-e flag- of stone, 
 easily removed. 
 
 On the 15th of this month, I witnessed in the Pi- 
 azza of St. Peter, the ^'Augustissimo sacramento della 
 Corpus Do7nini" instituted by Urbin IV. in 1264, 
 The Pope, borne on the shoulders of six or eig-hi 
 officials, seems to be kneehng-, (but is in reality sit- 
 ting-, as the fatig-ue is too g-reat for the old man,) and 
 bears the body of the Lord. The procession moves 
 from the church, passes under the colonnade, and a 
 temporary covering- where it ceases, and round back 
 ag-ain to the church. This has outdone all the dis- 
 plays of the sort that I have seen, (and all the g-reat 
 ones I have enjoyed the full benefit of,) — the crowd- 
 ed place, the brilliant costumes of soldiers and conta-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 145 
 
 dini, with the solemnity of the scene, and the beauty of 
 
 ■ the atmosphere, rendered the whole impression ma- 
 
 I gical, and satisfies completely the beholder. There 
 
 i are no strang*ers, or but few, (painters chiefly,) and 
 
 the natives turn out in mass, — they seem to hide 
 
 themselves at the fetes of winter, which really seem 
 
 got up to amuse strangers, as all the most favourable 
 
 posts are dealt out to the English, French^ Russians, 
 
 &c., but at this season all is Italian^ and the amount 
 
 of beauty displayed on this occasion, convinces one 
 
 of the superiority of the women over the English, 
 
 French or Americans. 
 
 The procession of St. JViccolo ought to have taken 
 place yesterday, but was postponed. I must remem- 
 ber it next year, (if I am here,) as it is said to out- 
 vie all others, — the Church of the Apostles is the 
 point to witness it. 
 
 I took my studio the middle of February, and have 
 given it up after four months close work ; — the three 
 months previous I was pretty well engaged at the 
 Colonna palace, copying '^Rebecca at the fountain" — 
 at my studio I have painted the "Bandit," three 
 figures the size of life, — the ^^Beggar Girl" and the 
 " Young Pilgrim" and the "Head of a Pilgrim." All 
 are left to be sent to their homes. For this season 
 my labours are closed at Rome. I hope nothing will 
 prevent my return here, — all my future hopes are 
 
 pending upon the use I make of next winter, — to 
 19
 
 146 MEMOIR OF 
 
 draw incessantly is my fixed, firmly-rooted determi- 
 nation, which nothing- ought to dislodge. May I be 
 firm in obeying the dictates of reason and pure con- 
 viction ! 
 
 June 27, 1843. The Academy of St. Luke inter- 
 ested me very much. ^'■St. Luke paintijig the Virgin" 
 by Raphael, is valuable for the portrait of Raphael, 
 — he has painted himself looking over the shoulder 
 of the Saint, — the head of Luke is inspiration's self; 
 — Guido's ^'•Fortune " is a lovely female figure, beau- 
 tiful throughout, — the most graceful form by that 
 master I ever beheld, — ^^ZfUcretia and Tarquin" by 
 Guido, for colour, is equal to Titian. Harlowe's pic- 
 ture of Cardinal Wolsey delighted me, — the two 
 Salvators and the Claude are fine. 
 
 June 28. — The Vigil of St. Peter and St. Paul, — 
 to-day was a splendid illumination throughout the 
 city, — St. Peters did not make so splendid a show 
 as at Easter, owing to a strong wind which discom- 
 posed the lamps, still it was superb, and cannot be 
 seen elsewhere. 
 
 At 10 o'clock went to St. Peters, — saw the sta- 
 tue of bronze decked out in all the paraphernalia of 
 Pope! — looked exactly like a huge blackey giving 
 instruction to a set of dummies. He makes the 
 letter H of the dumb alphabet with his right fist, the 
 fingers of which were covered with rings ; — the Pope 
 and Cardinals and other worthies of the church,
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 147 
 
 passed before it in solemn procession, all saluting* it 
 as they came near. Saw here to-day the loveliest g-irl 
 I have seen these ten years, — would rather have her 
 for a painter's wife, than any other larg-e prize, — 
 even the Benedict of us Americans at Rome, was 
 ready to worship her ; — of course I shall never see 
 her more, as I leave Rome after to-morrow, — per- 
 haps forever! — adieu, sweet lady, a strang-er, brief 
 sojourner in your land, will think of you and your 
 heavenly smile when a broad ocean lies betwixt 
 you and him ! Went to see the girandola, — fire- 
 works, — not so beautiful as the last display, — the 
 representation of the interior of the castle on fire, 
 surpassed all other shows of this sort I ever saw. 
 
 June 30. Arrang-ed my passport, — six pauls to 
 the police, and two dollars to the American Consul ; 
 — went to the Borg-hese villa, (the day before, Craw- 
 ford the sculptor and myself could not find the 
 custode,) and saw Canova's Pauline. This statue 
 is very much draped, and I see nothing- surprising- 
 in a French woman having- served as a model,* — the 
 arrangement of the hands and feet is horribly affect- 
 ed, — the body is fine, and the head a portrait of a 
 court beauty, — nothing- more. The splendid saloons, 
 — antique alabaster Vi ses, — yellow antique columns, 
 the painting-s of the ceiling-s, — and the " Venus and 
 
 * When Pauline was asked how she could consent to sit for her statue, with 
 the utmost " sang froid" she replied, " it was not cold, there was a fire in the
 
 148 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Satyr ^^ of a French artist named Gagneau, are to 
 me more attractive than the sister of Napoleon. 
 
 July 1, — My last hours in Rome! at 10 o'clock I 
 start for Florence. There have been forty days of 
 uninterrupted sunsets, as well as clear blue skies all 
 the day long- ! — my reg"ret is allayed at the strong- 
 hope of returning" here in six months or less. I have 
 tried to use my seven months well, and that is an- 
 other consolation ; — ^before I leave thee forever, thou 
 " Niobe of nations," I hope to have extracted much 
 that will serve me in my far off home, — where else 
 can a painter live more contentedly than among" thy 
 treasures? 
 
 T , C , and E were at the office back 
 
 of the " Piazza Colonna," to see me off, — gave my 
 old hat to a poor cripple, and put my cap on my pate, 
 — shook my friends cordially by the hand, and rolled 
 off for the "Piazza Popolo." We had a fat g"ood na- 
 tured Italian among our passeng"ers, — from Montepul- 
 ciana, — he loved to run me about the want of refine- 
 ment, etc. in the United States, but all in g"ood humor, 
 — a real republican at heart, and prays for our long life. 
 The Frenchman and wife were g-ood companions, — 
 as loving" and lively as twenty-one and eighteen, in- 
 stead of forty and thirty-seven. In forty-two hours, 
 day and night, we accomplished our distance, (about 
 two hundred miles,) and I found myself at five o'clock 
 in the morning" trying" to find my way into Mr. Graz-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 149 
 
 zini's house, but in vain, — the servants were all abed, 
 — at last one fat female opened ihe door, but could 
 not answer me as to empty rooms, etc. — so I left my 
 bag-g-ag-e and went to the " Caffe," — after two hours 
 returned, and had my things taken up stairs and found 
 an empty chamber. I dressed and went out before 
 the landlady had risen, and it was not till night that 
 I saw her, — she had guessed who it was. 
 
 I saw Powers and Brown, the painter, on the 3d 
 of July, and dined with Brown on the " g-lorious 
 fourth !" Poor Cleveng-er was off to Leghorn for his 
 health, but returned looking- very badly, — the doctor 
 pronounces it livei' complaint, — poor fellow ! what a 
 terrible blow to his wife and litde ones, as well as 
 the loss to art and his many friends! I sincerely 
 hope he may g^et through, and live to add to his fame 
 and fortune. 
 
 Brown, the sculptor, and H , a painter, are here 
 
 and talk of g'oing- to Rome for the winter. Tivoli 
 shewed me a "e/b/m of Bologna,^^ and g-ave me proofs 
 of it, — had a nice chat with an old sick monk in the 
 cloister of the Capuchins in Borg-o og-ni santii, — he 
 shewed me the iron g-rape vine frame in the garden, 
 about two hundred yards long, supported by about 
 one hundred and fifty pillars, thirty feet high, — a 
 Medici work. 
 
 Six o^clock, Sunday. After a pleasant week at 
 Florence, started for Bologna, sixty two miles, and
 
 150 MEMOIR OP 
 
 "did it" in eighteen hours, — had a cool mountain air 
 all nig-ht, — slept well with my dull companions. The 
 road is one continual ascent, and is not as beautiful 
 as one is accustomed to in " these parts." How very 
 dull this journalizing is! — I love to talk over these 
 matters, but writing- is dull work; — however, I must 
 make these trifling notes to refer to and talk about. 
 
 My padrona and husband at Rome cheated me up 
 to the last moment, — that last caper about backing 
 the expenses, oil, boots, etc., one month, was U)o 
 good, — it caught me, but in Florence, looking over 
 the bills, I found out how complete a villain her hus- 
 band is, — he is sure of the gallows, that fellow. 
 
 Bologna, June 10, 1843. Rome must answer for 
 all my sins. My sojourn there has caused a revolu- 
 tion in me as regards «7t. Reynolds has always been 
 a favourite with me, and this morning, with his Lec- 
 tures under my arm, I entered the Academy of Fine 
 Arts in this city, where the finest works of his fa- 
 vourite Ludovico Caracci, are collected together. In 
 their presence I read his eulogium, and as I turned 
 from the book to each picture he mentions, nothing 
 but sad disappointment met me at every turn. I really 
 dislike the manner of colouring, and think Domeni- 
 chino, Guercino, and even his own brother Annibale 
 far preferable. His ''Matthew" where Christ calls 
 him, is a fine figure, and his ''John preaching" a sol- 
 emn, impressive scene, but dingy and indistinct to
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 151 
 
 assist in making* out that effect. Guiclo's ^^Miirder of 
 the Innocents ^^ and Domenichino's ^^ St. Peter Martyr 
 Inquisitore" are my favourites in this g-allery. The 
 fig-ure of St. Paul is noble, — there is a bad copy of it 
 in St. Louis at Rome, called Guido. If I had the 
 disposal of the g-allery, the earth should soon cease 
 to g-roan under the weight of such trash as ^'■Magda- 
 /en at the feet of Jesus,^^ by Vasari, etc. etc. In all 
 my life (except at the Barberini palace at Rome,) I 
 have never been so completely frustrated in my 
 hopes and expectations, — I left the g-allery sorry that 
 I ever entered it. 
 
 I went to the Sampled palace, and there old Sir 
 Joshua is rig-ht, — the frescoes of the three Caracci 
 are superb, and the two last chambers by Guercino 
 
 are unrivalled. '■^Hercules and ," — but such a 
 
 start at the sight of a picture I never expected to 
 g-ive! — there is in the figure of Hercules not the 
 slightest distortion or theatrical effect, — but the calm, 
 powerful god, conscious of his ability to destroy his 
 enemy, seems almost unconsciously to have twined 
 his arms around him, — the last wild cry and crack- 
 ling" of bones is terrific! the colour is beautiful, — the 
 only defect I thought I saw in the drawing", is the 
 right hand of Hercules, — it comes too far round 
 upon his left arm. " The infant Hercules " in the next 
 chamber, is a gem. "^ storm^''^ by Salvator Rosa, or
 
 152 MEMOIR OF 
 
 some other able painter, is very fine, — the figures 
 make no doubt it is a Rosa, 
 
 July II. The Cemetery is the chief beauty and 
 charm of Bolog-na, — at least so it has proved to me. 
 All the works of the Caracci have failed to interest 
 me as much as this place of burial ; it was commen- 
 ced only forty-two years since, and the least of the 
 wonder is, that in so short a space of time so much 
 that is beautiful and finished should have been as- 
 sembled. I doubted that a sufficient number of as 
 capable artists could be found in Italy to accomplish 
 so much. The entrance to it has four mourning' 
 fig-ures over the gate ; — it is a good mile and a half 
 from the city walls, passing out of the gate St. Isaiah. 
 The painted or fresco tombs are no longer permitted, 
 as they have faded rapidly, — nothing but marble 
 hereafter, — the designs of many of the monuments 
 are in plaster as yet, the marbles being unfinished. 
 A figure of Eternity veiled, with a snake in a circle in 
 her hand, and a child leading a female to the tomb to 
 deposite an urn, struck me as being a chef d^ouvre. 
 The principal divisions are like immense cloisters, — 
 some parts appropriated for adults, others to children 
 and some to whole families, — the poor are buried in 
 the centre of the vast enclosure, — safely hemmed in 
 are the plebeians, by a wahed marble casement, and 
 pure patrician dust, A splendid portico of six hun-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 153 
 
 dred and forty arches, and about a mile in leng-th, 
 winds its serpentine leng-th along' from near the Cem- 
 etery up to the temple of St. Luke on Mount of the 
 Guards — a most remarkable and beautiful thing- to 
 behold. The Church at the Cemetery, {St. Michael^ 
 
 T think,) has some fine frescoes by , from whom 
 
 it is apparent Guido borrowed largely, — the ^^ Christ 
 of the MounV^ and ^^ Crucifixion^^^ are especially 
 g"ood; — a picture by Elizabeth Savani, dated 1658, 
 outstrips all the female competitors in art. She was 
 the daug-hter of a painter, and poisoned by one of 
 the g-allant male aspirants to the honors which she 
 won. ^^ John baptizing Christ^' is the subject, — - 
 figures full size of life, and fifty of them ! It pleases 
 me better than any other picture of the same subject 
 I know,— the artist's portrait is painted in the group 
 to the right of the spectator, — a child is taking milk 
 from the bosom, a sweet face and I suppose a young 
 mother, — she was twenty-seven years old when 
 poisoned. 
 
 The Church of St. Domenic I went to see, as in 
 duty bound, — how wearied I am of churches ! — the 
 tomb of its titulary saint is overloaded with sculpture, 
 but much good work and some beautiful figures. 
 St. Peter has a rich Corinthian front, and contains 
 the last frescoes of L. Caracci. St. Paul and St. 
 Nicholas, are worth a visit from the curious in archi- 
 tecture. The two leaning towers, — AsineUi, three 
 20
 
 154 MEMOIR OF 
 
 hundred and seven feet high, indines five feet, but it 
 does not seem to lean at all, — the other called Gares- 
 endi, (after the persons who caused them to be built,) 
 is only one hundred and forty-four feet, and leans like 
 a g-ood one, — they are humbugs after seeing the 
 one at Pisa. The fountain of Neptune in the grand 
 ''Place," with its bronze figures by John of Bologna, 
 is to me a stiff, formal, monstrous and vulgar thing. 
 
 Thursday^ 13th July. I quitted Bologna at mid- 
 day, and in five hours the diligence had borne me to 
 Ferrara ; — the road is a perfect level, and scarcely a 
 pebble jarred the monotony of the journey. Two 
 rows of poplar trees lined the road on either side 
 for ten miles, and thus shut out from our view, for 
 that space, the groves of olives festooned with vines. 
 I strolled about the grass grown streets a couple of 
 hours, and in the venerable Cathedral, saw a good 
 copy of part of Angelo's '^Last Judgment" The 
 former ducal palace, now inhabited by the legate, is 
 a severe old strong-hold, — surrounded by its moat, it 
 looks a miniature Venice. I ate a bad dinner at 
 "The three Crowns," where it appears from the in- 
 scriptions and painted coat of arms, that many of the 
 European crowned heads have passed a night here; 
 among them Maria Louisa, the Duke and Duchess 
 of Tuscany and Christina. 
 
 Friday^ July 14. At four o'clock this morning, I 
 stepped into the diligence and resumed my journey, —
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 155 
 
 after three hours arrived at the river Po and crossed 
 its famous flood, which took us about twenty minutes. 
 We were now in the power of the Austrian, and he 
 immediately set about to prove the fact, — we were 
 "brought to" in a douane office, our effects exam- 
 ined, and we were detained at least one hour, and 
 all hands as hungry as jackalls. Found breakfast at 
 nine o'clock and went on till one, when the famous 
 town of Padua took and held us for an hour, — in that 
 time we saw nothing but its grand "caffe" and fine 
 piazza, but will trip it there some day from Venice. 
 From Padua we came through a beautiful country, 
 passing villages and villas at every mile, — a complete 
 garden for the rest of the road to Venice, passing by 
 Fusina. About five miles from the city we took a 
 bark and soon stopped at the custom house, for a few 
 minutes; — then we followed up the windings of the 
 tortuous canal. About seven o'clock, (dusk,) the city 
 was discernible seated on the waters, and lookinsf 
 in the twilight like a streak of fight in the horizon 
 dividing the water from the sky, — but its towers and 
 mosque-like domes soon rose above the marshes, and 
 "the city of the sea," the wonder of aU wonders that 
 I have yet seen, came fuU upon me. At nine o'clock 
 I was at the "Leone Bianco," No. 50, and at ten was 
 seated with my fellow travellers at a snug dinner. 
 Saturday^ July 15. Started from my bed at seven 
 o'clock, and threw open the window of my chamber
 
 156 MEMOIR OP 
 
 to look upon Venice. The Grand Canal dotted with 
 g-ondolas, and a portion of the bridg-e of Rialto, first 
 struck my eye, — this was enough, — I knew from that 
 moment that I was not to be disappointed, — painting's 
 and engraving's have so familiarized me with the city, 
 that I feel as though I had sojourned here for years, 
 besides, Venice, seen at any one spot, is Venice in 
 every place. Though the palaces on the Grand Ca- 
 nal are the finest sights, still those in the smaller 
 canals rise as majestically, if not as gaily from the 
 water, and even more picturesquely, as in most pla- 
 ces the darkness of the lesser canals, and the accu- 
 mulation of sea weed assists in the effect. I dressed 
 and descending, met, acting as head waiter in the 
 hotel, a negro from Newbern, N. C, who has been 
 sixteen years in Europe. Walked over the Rialto 
 bridge, took coffee and was cheated out of a Zwan- 
 ziger and a half in changing a Napoleon. Took a 
 gondola for the ^'■Belle Arti,^^ — went bounding in, and 
 found L — — in a minute. Poor R— — is sick at 
 home. I took a gondola, went for my baggage and 
 am installed with them,— the rest of the day passed 
 in chatting, etc. 
 
 Sunday, July 16. To Place of St. Mark and the 
 pictures of the Ducal palace. The magnificent group 
 of buildings that surround this antique pile I can- 
 not and will not attempt to describe, — my memory 
 must serve me ; — the profusion of marbles, columns.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUJC. 
 
 157 
 
 bronzes furnished by the East, when conquered by 
 the Venetians, are here cong-regated tog-ether to form 
 one beautiful thing. There are five hundred columns 
 of Verde antique among the precious ornaments, 
 and in the church, all that one sees is Mosaic, gilt, 
 bronze or eastern marbles! The architecture is 
 the Arabian Greek, — its buildings occupied near one 
 hundred years, from 976 to 1071, — the ceiling is Mo- 
 saic, worked from designs of many artists, Titian and 
 Pordenone among others. In the evening, from half 
 past seven to half past nine, the piazza was crowded 
 with promenaders, to listen to the music of fifty-six 
 of the best musicians in the world, — a feast enjoyed 
 three times a week, — what more can a man desire 7 
 — an unequalled climate, — the most splendid Piazza, 
 bounded by the richest architecture, — lovely women 
 passing to and fro, with music to throw its melting 
 sweetness over all. 
 
 Mondmj, Tuesday^ Wednesday. Was engaged 
 sight-seeing, — floated away through many a dark 
 winding passage to the Churches of St. Francesco 
 della Vigna, where there is little to see, St. John and 
 St. Paul, where there is much, very much. The 
 monuments of some of the Doges are the chief at- 
 tractions, — to me, the picture of ''Peter Martyr^' by 
 Titian.* This is the grandest in fines and has more 
 
 * Northcote, in his Life of Titian, says: — "This composition is the most 
 celebrated of any he ever painted, being the best understood of all his works ; 
 and I think that it is justly deserving of the name given to it, and by which it 
 is universally known, "The Picture imthouta fault."
 
 158 MEMOIR OP 
 
 of the larg-eness or greatness of Ang'elo, than any 
 thing- of Titian I ever saw, — the whole picture is 
 desig-ned, drawn, and painted in the feehng of the 
 g-reat Tuscan, and the effect is terribly and wonder- 
 fully wrought out, — paint can do no more. The 
 flying figure is a triumph in art, and the foreshort- 
 ened one is worthy of M. Angelo, — the back ground 
 nothing can surpass, — mighty, vast, over-spreading 
 branches, winding out against the blue sky, give a 
 fulness to this part of the picture, in my opinion with- 
 out a parallel. "jT/ie Crucifixion ^^^ by Tintoretto, is 
 a finished specimen by that great master. 
 
 Maria Gloriosa de Frari. Here are Doges again, 
 — one monument seventy feet high and five wide, six 
 stories, nineteen figures larger that life, by Nicolo 
 Tron (1472.) Canova's is also here, a huge white 
 marble pyramid, with open door, and a line of figures 
 marching in Indian file to deposite his ashes, which 
 the foremost figure carries in an urn, — a poor affair, 
 except for the mechanism, and proportions of some 
 of the figures. Titian lies buried here, and a splen- 
 did monument is now being erected over his remains. 
 His superb votive picture over the altar of the Pa- 
 saro is here, and is one of his best works, — there are 
 parts of it more beautiful in execution than any of his 
 other pictures, — more finished in its details it cer- 
 tainly is, and I am sure was a favorite with him. 
 
 Scuola san Bocco, — all the ceilings and walls by 
 Tintoretto, who was eighteen years engaged here, —
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 159 
 
 the ^^ Annunciation^^^ and ^^The Resurrection ^^^ are the 
 best; — they all seem hurried in execution and too 
 scenic in touch. Feeling- and poetry are always pre- 
 sent in this master, but the rude boldness of his 
 manner makes him appear careless. His ''Crucijix- 
 ion,^^ considered his chef d^ouvre, is not equal to his 
 '^St. Mark" at the academy. 
 
 Went with R and L to St. Sebastian, to 
 
 see the P. Veronese, i. e. the picture of ^^Two Martyi^s" 
 led to execution encourag-ed by St. Sebastian, and 
 for splendid effect of colour and light and shade, P. 
 Veronese is here even better than in his other g^org-e- 
 ous works at the Academy, — it is the very libidinous- 
 ness of colour ! — a weary drowsy languor, a delicious 
 repose creeps over one in gazing upon it, so sweet 
 and entirely harmonious is this picture. The altar 
 piece is exquisite, — the angels lovely. 
 
 Went alone in the evening to the Piazza of ^S*^. 
 Mark, — sat down at the base of the winged lion to 
 enjoy the sea breeze, and think over the casualties of 
 life, but lulled by the sweetness of night and the soft 
 sea air, I dozed my time away, and 'twixt waking 
 and sleeping, thought more of my past time and dis- 
 tant friends, than of subdued cities and their buried 
 heroes. 
 
 Thursday, July 20. Picture hunting for my copies, 
 — there are two pictures in the Academy, but that 
 institution closes to-morrow, and does not re-open
 
 160 MEMOIR OF 
 
 till September, to g"ive room for a modern exhibition. 
 I cannot lose five weeks, so must paint elsewhere. 
 
 Friday J 21. Went in the evening- to the palace of 
 
 St. Mark, and met K , and with him and H , 
 
 and an Italian painter, went to the Theatre, — the 
 performance was pleasing", and the prima donna 
 lovely ; — at twelve it was over, — we retired to take 
 beer, and sat till one o'clock discussing- art. At half 
 past one, in the stillness of nig-ht, slid in the gondola 
 to the door of my dwelhng, and g-ently crept to bed. 
 
 Sunday, July 23, — night. What a gorg-eous city ! 
 — a more than fairy dream, — the palaces that spring- 
 from the water on either side, all differ in their archi- 
 tectural forms, and each a study for the artist ! What 
 pictures might be formed by this dim Hg-ht, from the 
 quaint and rich carvings on the beautiful facades ! 
 The green sea laving the old and venerable bases 
 with its soft flow, and hanging its rank weed upon 
 their sides !— the silent gondola gliding over the glassy 
 surface, leaves you to the thought that you are borne 
 by zephyrs, — no steeled horses' hoof nor jaunting car 
 to mar the sweet delusion, — naught but the music 
 that nighdy floats across the dark canals, or the hap- 
 py laugh of some Venetian beauty, ever disturbs the 
 harmony of this enchanting abode. 
 
 July 24 and 25. Still undecided between the Du- 
 cal palace and St. Sebastian, — visited both separately, 
 and each so beautiful that I cannot as yet choose be-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 161 
 
 tween them. I met the captain of a barque lying- here, 
 — went to a garden and sate an hour with him, — had 
 cheese and bread and g"ood beer. He is a Virg-inian, 
 
 an old school-mate of Mr. G , of Charleston, — 
 
 talked of home and the neg^ro servants, and how 
 favourably they contrast with whites in the same 
 capacity. 
 
 Wednesday, Jidy 26. Began to-day to work at the 
 altar piece in the church of St. Sebastian, by Paul 
 Veronese, — the upper part composed of the Virg-in 
 and child, listening- to the concert of three ang-els, 
 whilst two others support the easy flowing robes of 
 the holy mother. It is for W. H — — , Jr. I received 
 
 to-day two letters, — one from W ■, the other from 
 
 Dr. G , telling me of the success of my original 
 
 picture of " Christ fed by Angels,^^ painted in Florence 
 last year, — sent home eight months ago, — time has 
 flown rapidly by, and I am passing with it, — sic tran- 
 sit gloria mundi t 
 
 July 27. Worked to-day at St. Sebastian, and got 
 in the drawing of my picture to begin colouring to- 
 morrow ; — read a little of the " Marino Faliero" of 
 Byron, — the soliloquy of Lioni after the ball, gives 
 the most complete portrait of Venice. 
 
 " The high moon sails upon her beauteous way, 
 Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls 
 Of those t^ll piles and sea-girt palaces, 
 Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts, 
 Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles, 
 
 21
 
 162 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Like altars ranged along the broad canal, 
 
 Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed 
 
 Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely 
 
 Than those more massy and mysterious giants 
 
 Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics 
 
 Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have 
 
 No other record. All is gentle : nought 
 
 Stirs rudely ; but congenial with the night, 
 
 Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit. 
 
 The tinklings of some vigilant guitars 
 
 Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress, 
 
 And cautious opening of the casement, shewing 
 
 That he is not unheard ; while her young hand, 
 
 Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part. 
 
 So delicately white, it trembles in 
 
 The act of opening the forbidden lattice, 
 
 To let in love through music, makes his heart 
 
 Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight ;— the dash 
 
 Phosphoric of the car, or rapid twinkle 
 
 Of the far lights of skimming gondolas, 
 
 And the responsive voices of the choir 
 
 Of boatmen answering back with verse for verse ; 
 
 Some dusky shadow chequering the Realto ; 
 
 Some glimmering palace roof, or tapering spire, 
 
 Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade 
 
 The ocean-bom and earth-comcmanding city. 
 
 How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm ! 
 
 I thank thee, night."— Act IV. 
 
 To-day I met K at the Piazza, who told me 
 
 he had seen in GaHg-nani mention of the death of 
 Hugh S. Legare, of Charleston, S. C. It is but three 
 months since he was appointed Secretary of State, 
 after many years of labor, which, with his great na- 
 tural talents, made him perhaps the most finished and 
 chastest orator of the day. Requiescat in pace ! 
 
 July 28 and 29. — Work — work — work, at St. Se- 
 bastian. The church is opened for our accommoda- 
 tion at six o'clock, and kept open until Jive, thus giving
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 163 
 
 US eleven hours ; — these Catholics are certainly very- 
 amiable tovv^ards us painters. The only interruption 
 to our labour is one minute during the daily service 
 of mass, vv^hen the bell tinkles in indication of the 
 holy presence, — we withhold our hand from the can- 
 vass, and bow our heads, — even this is not expected 
 from us, but we have adopted it as something- that 
 would please the congregation. All this looks like 
 tolerance, and is. 
 
 I have just paid my breakfast bill for eight days, 
 — (coffee one tumbler, — four breads, — two to eat at 
 the church,) — three hundred and eighty-four centesi- 
 mi, — seventy-five cents! — and this is luxurious! — I 
 might do it for less ! 
 
 July 30. Took a gondola at two o'clock, and ac- 
 companied by Rossiter and Mr. B , went to the 
 
 Lido, — took provisions along, and chose a shady spot 
 in the ancient (now proscribed) Jews' burying-ground, 
 and made our pic-nic among sculptured tombs! We 
 ran over to the beach and saw about two hundred 
 men frolicking naked in the surf, and women and 
 children of both sexes standing around enjoying the 
 sport, — what a thing is custom ! 
 
 July 31. Worked hard at St. Sebastian.
 
 164 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ,/ B to 
 
 ''August 1, 1843. 
 What creatures of circumstance or accident are 
 we poor anatomies! In 1836, when through the 
 kindness of that noble fellow, W. H., I first left the 
 shores of my native country, to partake in the picto- 
 rial feast of Europe, who could have foretold, that on 
 that day seven years, (after various ' hairbreadth ac- 
 cidents by flood and field,') I should concoct, indite, 
 sig-n seal and direct a letter to you from Venice'? 
 The 1st of July 1 left Rome for safety sake, — I love 
 it too well to leave its old time-worn sides for any 
 lesser cause, — and stopping- a few days at Florence 
 and Bologna to inspect and re-inspect their treasures, 
 I hastened for this ' city of the sea.' The country I 
 have traversed is Itahj^ — in that one word you have 
 pictured to your imagination nothing but beauty, — 
 mountains, lakes, cascades, vineyards, and ' last but 
 not least,' Heaven's best gift to man, — the girls ! If 
 life is not felt and enjoyed, and nature worshipped 
 and art adored, in this glorious clime, it were better 
 to divide the carotid and try that change,— for so long 
 as it8 functions are performed, nothing can be found 
 so like Paradise as Italy. As for my old heart, there 
 is enough here to satisfy all its longings, and nothing 
 but sharp-toothed penury shall bite it and its love
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 165 
 
 (Italy) asunder. In sober truth, no other country 
 contains a tenth part of its advantag-es for the painter, 
 — poor me ! — I have had my eyes opened, and know 
 how much too fast I have travelled, — to retrace my 
 steps, — to unlearn or undo much that I have acquired 
 at home, where all that leads in art misleads, is now 
 my task. I hope I have made the discovery in time 
 to correct the error, — before your answer to this let- 
 ter reaches Europe I hope to be again in Rome, 
 engaged in drmcing, and after devoting a year to it, 
 I shall be a candidate for historical pictures. The 
 two copies I have here commenced, are the last I 
 shall make for nearly a year. I shall not be idle 
 however, — my labour will be greater than ever, and 
 the length of time I devote to drawing will depend 
 upon my success in picking up orders for pictures 
 next winter in Rome. Those who give orders, pay 
 half in advance, and that will give me a sure crite- 
 rion for regulating my drawing term. I am, I know, 
 a very poor electioneerer, but I must now learn that 
 nice art, and so hurra ! for Rome, and the arts, and 
 the patrons of art ! 
 
 I have received your letter of May 8th. The first 
 line is as brief as some of Napoleon's edicts, and 
 fully as effective : ' Your picture is a successful ef- 
 fort,' — to which I make the startling response, ' you 
 don't say so!' Three or four days before I received 
 yours, I Gfot W 's critique upon it, and, but for
 
 166 MEMOIR OP 
 
 his healthy check, your sudden declaration of its 
 merits would have quite upset me. He does not like 
 the misty looking- ang-el on the right of Christ, nor 
 the little one 'in the blue silk smock,' — now the Httle 
 blue one is clever, but the misty fellow every body 
 dislikes, so I calls him one of the damned. I am 
 all pins to know how the Brigand will please. 
 If this and the Rebecca please as well as you and 
 
 W tell me the first did, I shall be a happy dog- 
 
 for a year, — and then when I shew you '•Hagar and 
 Ishmael^ and '■Lieutenant Manning taking a Britisher 
 prisoner at Eutaw,^ you will say, 'if this is the way 
 thing's are done up in Rome, the young" man had 
 better remain there until he has numbered his forti- 
 eth summer, and return estabhshed in reputation, 
 adorned with the evidences of hard thinking (deeply 
 cut wrinkles,) and a sconce bald, and polished, — 
 (externally!) My hair is cut off in the hope of res- 
 toring it to its original luxuriance, (am I not too old?) 
 and I am now all moustache and beard, — the tuft on 
 my chin looks Vandykish. I must stay, at least, 
 another year here, — ten years would not suffice me ; 
 there is so much to do ! Huntingdon and Leutze are 
 both in Italy. Leutze painted in Philadelphia when 
 I studied there, — a German by birth, — he is about 
 thirty-two years of age, and an able fellow. 
 
 I thank you for those few lines, where you tell me 
 to stay as long as I can, — / loill. If I can be here
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 167 
 
 for four or five years, I will come to New York and 
 feel like a well armed warrior, bold and confident 
 enough to front the best of the opposing- ranks, and 
 be a champion for my country's art! That's poetical," 
 
 This was the last letter from him before his illness. 
 How mournfully interesting* the bright fond hopes of 
 hig-h excellence, and anxious devotion to the oppor- 
 tunities around him ! But the rich and promising- 
 buddings of his fine g-enius, which needed but a 
 suitable soil and careful cultivation, to expand into 
 the briUiant flower, pregnant with germs to scatter 
 widely its beauties, was doomed, like that of the field, 
 to be cut down and wither away ! 
 
 ^^Avjg. 5. Since July I have been constantly at 
 work. To-day we have a fixed storm, — the clouds 
 seem immoveable, and let down ' the fast descend- 
 ing rain' in torrents. We in our dark chambers 
 are forced to stay at home, and write letters to 
 friends, or sketch compositions for future historicals. 
 
 Titian, — Paul Veronese, — Tintoretto ! ! ! How 
 utterly impossible to judge of the strength of these 
 men, until Venice has been visited ! Color' and chi- 
 aro oscwo carried to the climax! This is made the 
 one grand requisite in art by the force and genius of 
 this great triumvirate. Composition, sentiment (sa- 
 cred or profane,) is pressed down into a subordinate
 
 168 MEMOIR OF 
 
 post; — these wonderful necromancers make a man 
 forg"et for a time that there are higher aims in art, 
 than their own great quahties. Their rich florid 
 eloquence enchants us at once, and we are disposed 
 to give it our credence, and disbeheve all the other 
 schools. Many a struggle with self, — many a grave 
 caution and sage reflection have I called up from 
 memory's seat, to save me in moments of temptation, 
 when I have felt myself yielding to the spells of 
 these old hoys. The purity of thought and feeling, 
 and poetic conceptions of Raphael and Domenichino 
 have been for days entirely forgotten, whilst medita- 
 ting before the splendid flashes of the Venetians. 
 Nothing but a view of his works can convey an idea 
 of Paul Veronese; — countless square feet of canvass, 
 crowded with figures, and rich in architectural de- 
 sign, and painted with a truth of out-door sunshine 
 effect unequalled, — heaven's broad glare at mid-day, 
 painted as no other man ever has, or ever will paint 
 again. If management of paint, mere mechanical 
 dexterity, with a wondrous knowledge of the sci- 
 ence and just equilibrium of colour, constituted the 
 essence of our art, and gave it its place among the 
 liberal professions, Paul Veronese, would stand pre- 
 eminent, — but ornamental work is not our grade, — 
 it rises to the dignity to which M. Angelo and Raphael 
 ascended, and sits on high, clothed in intellectual 
 majesty.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 169 
 
 Monday^ Aug. 14. Upwards of a week and noth- 
 ing* added to my Journal, — like other duties, it has 
 been neglected. I have worked steadily the day-light 
 through, and enjoyed the moonlight each evening* 
 from our balcony, — one effect, the moon behind 
 the Salute^ looking- like a lamp in the dome, I must 
 paint. 
 
 I took a gondola one lovely night with R 
 
 and L and B , and with the guitar and their 
 
 science and my appreciation of their united skill, the 
 time passed g-loriously. Diana undid her cold smile, 
 and looked as warmly as thoug-h her own Eudymion 
 had made one among* our crew. 
 
 Last night we enjoyed the Chand Passeggiata in 
 gondolas on the Grand Canal, in honour of the Duke 
 of Modena. He seems to be a man of fifty-five or 
 sixty, — was seated in the same gondola with the 
 Arch Duke, a handsome young* fellow of twenty-two, 
 and two ladies, one the Arch-duchess. The fun and 
 frolic was uproarious, — the hundreds of g*ondolas 
 afloat caused a swell among the waters of the canal, 
 and the unruly movements of the boats. The swing- 
 ing* to and fro in the air of the thousand g*ondoliers, 
 and their shouts and hallos, as they grazed each 
 others' sides or dreaded a concussion, made the 
 scene, particularly after dark, when various coloured 
 lights were burning and rockets filled the heavens, 
 
 splendidly brilliant. 
 
 22
 
 170 MEMOIR OF 
 
 A sudden storm of rain drove us to the snug shel- 
 ter of our houses two hours sooner than we bar- 
 gained for. 
 
 It was very dark at the Church, so I made a sketch 
 from P. Veronese on the ceihng-, ^^Esther coming out 
 from being chosen by the KingT 
 
 Tuesday^ Aug. 15. Festa of the Virg-in, — no work, 
 the churches being- closed against us. I passed the 
 day reading", and at the Ducal Palace. I also went 
 to the bath, where the Arch Duke was among- the 
 swimmers. 
 
 Aug. 16. Made a sketch of ^^Ahasuei'us crowning 
 Esther, ^^ at St. Sebastian, by Veronese, — quick work 
 for a day, but I feared I had lost my rapidity of hand, 
 and this I did for a trial, — it is also a g-ood "bit of 
 color" for a painter to refer to. 
 
 Sunday. Last night the Piazza St. Marco, was 
 for the first time illuminated with g-as, — it was a 
 brilliant display, the whole populace crowded to 
 witness something- new in this old world. The Arch 
 Duke Charles with a numerous corteg-e of g-entlemen 
 and ladies, promenaded for an hour; — three bands 
 of music kept the echos awake for three successive 
 hours. These Venetian girls seen by gas light out- 
 shine all "creation;" — the effect of this light is to me 
 painful, — the appearance of the buildings by a light, 
 neither day nor night is disagreeable. I love the old 
 place by day, and by night I love it no less, but this
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 171 
 
 usurpation of night time I dislike. To see the domes, 
 minarets and columns losing" themselves in the dark- 
 ness, and the point of the campanile reaching- beyond 
 the vision, had something wonderfully g-rand in it, — 
 now gas has broug"ht all into full blaze, and it is to be 
 always day about these g"lorious old skies. 
 
 I took a g-ondola this morning with R and 
 
 went to see churches for three hours. Saw a ^'■Mar- 
 riage of St. Catharine" by P. Veronese, — silvery in 
 colour, — nothing more remarkable about it, than 
 one usually finds in this master, — there is always 
 much to admire and more to blame, no story told, no 
 passion expressed, but a rich and harmonious assem- 
 blage of colour always presented to the eye. The 
 Catharine has a pretty face and is richly draped, — 
 two angels singing are graceful conceptions. 
 
 At St. Guiseppe, an obscene Veronese, and tombs, 
 huge piles of unmeaning marble of Rimini and his 
 consort; — at St. Niccolo nothing. At St. Peter's 
 place, formerly the Cathedral of Venice till St. Mark 
 took its place in 1807, I saw a gorgeous show of 
 chapels and monuments, — a Veronese with three 
 figures and flying angel, good. Went to ^S*^. Gio- 
 vanni and St. Paul, and saw the '■'■Peter Martyr" of 
 Titian again. It and the votive altar piece at the 
 Frari, are the two gems of the Venetian school, — the 
 landscape, angels, and flying figure, nothing in art 
 can ever excel, — who will ever equal them 7
 
 172 MEMOIR OF 
 
 The exhibition of modern works closed to-day at 
 the Academy of the Fine Arts; — it has been opened J 
 two weeks and caused the ejection of us copyists 
 from the presence of the old masters. The whole 
 affair has been poor enough, — a picture of "^ poor 
 icoman offering her breast to a tired soldier" possesses 
 fine drawing- and modelling-. The ^' Charity'^ has 
 two pelicans well painted, — the picture of ^^JVight," 
 by the same artist, and only exposed this last day, is 
 ''the crack," — it is hig-hly poetic. The fig-ure of 
 Night, is a beautiful female, (naked to the waist,) 
 with bat's wings and green tunic, and a dark cloak, 
 ■ — under her dusky wings crime and murder are con- 
 cealed, and the whole group, skilfully shaded by the 
 large flowing folds of Night's sombre mantle. Mur- 
 der is depicted under the figure of a child, heedless, 
 thoughtless and mischievous, brandishing from right 
 to left, the sword of death, — the other figure, a fe- 
 male wrapped in a dark robe, and concealing her 
 face in its folds ; — the owl hoots through the dark fir- 
 mament making night hideous with his fearful croak, 
 — a dark line of richly swelhng mountains bounds 
 the horizon, and floating in the faint glimmerings of 
 departed day, the figures of fiends and devils and 
 the whole catalogue of vices are seen bounding on 
 their various courses. The sable hues of midnight 
 are happily caught, and the artist (Buzato) has reason 
 to be proud of his production.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 173 
 
 Tuesday^ Aug. 22. At St. Sebastian, I met an 
 Eng-lish lady and her beautiful daughter, — talked art 
 and other nonsense for an hour, — clever woman on 
 the tongue, but only gave the custode one cent ! for 
 showing- Paul Veronese's chef cVouvre ! — and all my 
 chat thrown in. What can I make of her, a smart 
 g-overness, or a poor poetess 1 If we meet again I'll 
 try my skill in pumping, — my curiosity is excited, — 
 " Pistol's blood is up." 
 
 Friday, Aug. 25. A lady seated herself at my 
 side, and began drawing a small statue. I offered 
 her some attentions, etc. in Italian, but as she spoke 
 French to her maid, I gave her a French dash, — 
 after a while, she talked English for practice, and I 
 was regularly installed as teacher of drawing and 
 English, and have heard since, that she is a Russian 
 princess. Hope she may come again, — one day's 
 interview with such a little gem of a brunette, and 
 that northern too, is just the thing- for me, and I must 
 be more agreeable at our next meeting. 
 
 Sunday, Aug. 27. I went with T in a g-on- 
 
 dola to the Church of the Madonna del Orto, the 
 most splendid church of the Gothic order in Venice. 
 Tintoretto has several works here of g-reat beauty in 
 his way, — the '•'• Lojst JudgmenV gave free scope to 
 his wild fantasies and he has revelled to the full. 
 The Father, Son and Virgin on high, — the last trump 
 is sounding- above them, and beneath are the angels
 
 174 MEMOIR OF 
 
 with sword and scales, — then follows the terrific 
 hurly burly of the damned, — men and women (mostly || 
 the latter,) are tumbling- by myriads into the " inferno," 
 — a rapid river receives them ; — the centre of the 
 picture is cut throug"h by a deep fall in the river, 
 which pours impetuously on, bearing* all before it 
 down, down to hell. All strugghng and hope seems 
 vain, when this point is once past, — many are roUing 
 over the cascade, and are lost forever, whilst a group 
 of angels snatch one soul from the brink and are 
 floatinof off towards heaven ! 
 
 " The iDorship of the Golden Calf^'' I did not like so 
 much, — (a real calf decked with golden ornaments,) 
 — though there are fine points; but what mean those 
 chains of gold as large as a seventy-four's cable? 
 For what were they originally intended? These 
 unmeaning whims make a great defect in this master. 
 " The Martyrdom of St. Agnes,^^ is good again, — the 
 Saint and her little lamb make as perfect a picture 
 of innocence as any canvass exhibits. Thence we 
 went to St. Catharine's again, — I like the P. Vero- 
 nese better. 
 
 Again we went to the JFrari, — that Titian is the 
 pattern for depth and richness and brilliancy of tone 
 and color, — I must have a sketch of that. Went to 
 the ^^Belle Ay^ti" and saw a fat Englishman break a 
 chair and have a tumble, whilst seated in admiration 
 before the ^^ Ascension,''^ of Titian, — had it been an
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 175 
 
 Italian, he would have cried, " per Bacco," but John 
 Bull bellowed out a more sinful national oath. 
 
 Sept. 2, 1843. Yesterday two years since I sailed 
 for Liverpool ! How many sad changes have occur- 
 red! And yesterday, I learned that Washington 
 Allston, the g-reatest of American painters, has been 
 taken from earth to join his God ! Even in my small, 
 small circle has Death been busy, — and some doubt- 
 less there are, for whom I shall seek in vain when I 
 return, — (should that privileg-e be allowed me,) of 
 whose decease, I shall never hear by letter. And 
 in the midst of this mortality among my friends, have 
 I ffrown more serious or more wise ? Have the 
 thoughts that rise so aptly when we hear that the 
 hand of death hath grasped forever one who was 
 dear to us, been profitable to me 1 Or have I shud- 
 dered for a moment, and then in the busy hum of 
 life's pastimes, forgotten that they ever lived ? How 
 cold and callous do we become, as the sun of our 
 lives declines ! Intelligence, that, in the tender years 
 of youth, started the gushing fountains of the heart 
 and eyes, in maturer age falls dull and listlessly on 
 the ear, or if it moves us, it is only for a moment and 
 then is forgotten forever ! 
 
 September 7. Yesterday was my birth-day, — alas ! 
 
 and alack the day ! Went with T and K 
 
 to the Palazzo Reale in front of Santo Marco, — " Ve- 
 nice throned, suppo7'ted by Force and Plenty,^' with a
 
 176 MEMOIR OF 
 
 beautiful female head in one corner, (that face per- 
 fect,) painted on the ceihng, is a master-piece ; — 
 " Christ in the Garden,^^ supported by an angel, by the 
 same artist, is very fine, — besides several Bassanos. 
 In the large room formerly the library, fronting- on 
 the Piazzetta, the ceihng is choked with painting's, — 
 some ^'■philosophers'''' by Tintoretto and Schiavone, and 
 three of the compartments by P. Veronese. The 
 other eig"hteen by Salviati, — J. Baptiste Franco, — 
 Zelotti, — Padovanino, — Strozzi, — Schiavone, — Luci- 
 nius, — all this part of the Palais Royal is called the 
 Procuratie JVuove. At St. Maria Formosa saw a 
 St. Barnaba, — it is a portrait, full leng-th, by Palma 
 Vecchio, of his daughter, (Titian's wife,) superior to 
 any thing Titian ever made of her, — its beauty is 
 maddening ! and as a work of art unsurpassed for a 
 single figure. To several other churches, — St. Lio, 
 — Pantaleone, — and others, and found something cle- 
 ver in all. Finished off* at three o'clock at the Belle 
 Arti, then went home, and painted an angel in my 
 copy of Paul Veronese. In the evening, went to 
 
 the Piazza, and strolled with R and T till 
 
 ten, and then at home read Reynolds till twelve 
 o'clock. So endeth the — year of my being. Should 
 it please the Almighty disposer to give me as many 
 more years as I have already lived, through what 
 variety of untried scenes am I to pass, — dangers by 
 land and sea, — death of friends and relatives, — ill
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 177 
 
 succeeding- ill, till time in its rapid flig-ht bring-s me 
 to the door of death. A well spent life and entire 
 confidence in the g'oodness and mercy of God, will 
 be the only support under such accumulating evils, — 
 may my life be a preparation for death ! 
 
 Sunday, September 11. I received a letter from 
 
 B , in answer to the money I sent for poor Cle- 
 
 venger. Poor fellow ! — he is indeed miserable in 
 mind and body, — the sea voyage may save him, but 
 I fear the result will be fatal. Mrs. GrifRn, wife of 
 Lieut. Griffin, and daughter of Commodore Lawrence, 
 died in Florence on Sunday last. I met her mother 
 and herself at a Hotel at Marseilles two years ago, 
 when we were all coming to Italy, — here I am, — 
 and she a saint in heaven ! 
 
 Wrote last night a letter of condolence and cheer- 
 ing to Clevenger, — to-day I was to start with T 
 
 for Padua, but the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Huntingdon 
 
 and Mr. C , prevented it. Met Mr. H. and lady 
 
 and Mr. C. in the Piazza St. Marco, and was intro- 
 duced by Mr. T. amid the tuneful soundings of thirty- 
 six musicians, — chatted for two hours, and found them 
 amiable and pleasing. Mr. H. mentioned having 
 
 seen my " Christ and Angels " in New York. * * 
 
 ******* 
 
 Quite complimentary, — but is this an equivalent for 
 the half year of harrassing toil that it cost me to pro- 
 duce itl Monsieur Tyrrell, (a pupil of Delaroche,) 
 23
 
 178 MEMOIR OP 
 
 whom I have known for eig-hteen months, is on his 
 way to France, — called to see me, with his wife, — 
 he has laboured hard and will take quite a respecta- 
 ble stand in art, — his copies are admirable, and he 
 has a church to paint on his arrival in his native pro- 
 vince. Here we part to meet no more perhaps, — 
 thoug"h in my old age I may cross the water, and 
 stumble on him in Paris, — may we both prosper ! 
 
 Sunday^ llth September. Heard from Mr. Hoit 
 that Cleveng-er and family have sailed from Leg-horn 
 for home. At eight this morning- bargained for a 
 
 gondola to take R and myself to Torricello, eight 
 
 miles distant, to await our commands and return, for 
 seven zwanzigers, (one doUarand twenty-five cents.) 
 Every thing favoured our excursion, — the weather a 
 fair sample of that soft pellucid mildness known best 
 by the word drowsy^ — all nature seemed to languish 
 with sweetness, and our own bodies partook the 
 infection. Two stout gondohers plied the oars, and 
 we skimmed the main like martins on the wing. At 
 Mazzorbo, (one of the twenty-five islands that lie 
 around Venice,) we were asked for our passports, — 
 knew not that such a caution was needed, and were 
 without them, — shewed ourselves before the chief 
 cook, and as we looked like harmless or distinguished 
 strangers, were permitted to pass on, and landed a 
 halfmile farther at our destination. The Guide-book, 
 (Murray's,) published last year, told us of " magnifi- 
 
 I
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 179 
 
 cent remains of palaces, rising- from their grassy 
 couches," — we found the latter, but not the slightest 
 vestige of the former ; — there are eight or ten fish- 
 ermen's hovels; the Duomo, and the adjoining church, 
 however, fully repaid our disappointment. The Mo- 
 saic, worked before the tenth century, are as good 
 as Giotto's first pictures, — the pulpit is a gem of 
 Greek sculpture, and the perfect preservation of 
 parts of it surprised and charmed us, — the floor beau- 
 tifully inlaid with Mosaic also. Back of the choir, 
 the semi-circle of seats, with the chair of the presi- 
 ding bishop in the centre, gives one a complete idea 
 of an ancient Roman theatre, — one thing is unique 
 in its way, — the window shutters are each composed 
 of one solid slab of stone, and turn on huge iron 
 hinges, — an enormous mass of rock, cut into a chair, 
 and planted in the centre of a meadow, (piazza,) is 
 called the seat of Attila, — was used, it is supposed, 
 at the inauguration of a new ruler. We strolled 
 about the vineyards, ate grapes and figs at will, and 
 " without money or price," — soliloquized and talked 
 sentiment, and watched boys at play, and being satis- 
 fied with a three hours stay, took to our gondola, — 
 touched at the island of Burano, sailed by Murano, 
 and St. Michaele, and returned to our homes light 
 hearted and joyous, — may many such days attend 
 us in life's weary pilgrimage ! So fleeting and un- 
 certain are all hopes and calculations for the future,
 
 180 MEMOIR OF 
 
 that the wise man will dwell only with the present, 
 learning" while it is passing- from his g"rasp, how to 
 value the hom's that are coming-, — so onward we go, 
 improving- by experience, and attain at last the meth- 
 od of using- our time with profit as well as pleasure. 
 
 Monday, September 18. R , L and myself 
 
 went to the Lido to be witnesses of an Italian fete : 
 g-roups of men, women and children were scattered 
 about the grounds, dancing- and romping- to the music 
 of two or three minstrels. In another part tables 
 were spread and crowded with amateurs of g-ood 
 cheer, — wine, bread, cheese and fruits, oiled down 
 by plump looking- fritters, formed the chief supplies. 
 The dancing- was really Italian, — old age and buoy- 
 ant youth tripped it side by side, and the echoes of 
 the Lido rang with the hilarity of this gay and 
 strangely sorted medley. We floated home in our 
 gondola at one o'clock, — no sound broke over our 
 silent journey, — a spotless sky, winking stars, and 
 St. Marks looking like a fairy city! Shall I not suffer 
 long and much, before I re-visit again this loved 
 land? In a few days more we part, — perhaps for- 
 ever! 
 
 Tuesday. Saw to-day a funeral : a wealthy citizen 
 having passed three score and ten, has been called 
 away, — the palace is next but one to ours, (Quirini,) 
 and the family Contarini. The gondolas of the ac- 
 quaintances and friends of the defunct, gathered in
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 181 
 
 great numbers around the palace, — some of them 
 having- small flags with the armorial bearings of the 
 family painted on them, — most of the gondoliers in 
 livery ; — the corpse was taken from the back of the 
 palace, and borne to the landing in front of the 
 " Belle Arti," accompanied by chanting priests, and 
 protected by a file of soldiers; — the poor people of 
 this ward were all present, — to each of them, the 
 old man had left one dollar, and a candle to be burnt 
 before the shrine of the Madonna, accompanied in 
 orisons for his soul. The payment of the dollar does 
 not always ensure the rightful application of the can- 
 dle, — it is often sold to the grocer for less than its 
 value, (twenty-five cents,) and the proceeds used in 
 nourishing living bodies, instead of helping dead 
 ones through purgatory. It was Francois Contarini, 
 (Ambassador from the Venetian republic in 1541, to 
 Charles V.,) who discovered at Brussels the manu- 
 script account of the taking of Constantinople in 
 1203, under Dondolo, — written by Ville Hardouin, 
 one of the commanders of the expedition. 
 
 Sundmj, Sept. 24. Saw the Churches of ^S*^. Luke 
 and the Scalzi, — in the first, nothing but doubtful 
 Tintorettos, in the latter, a surfeit of rich marbles. 
 At St. Niccolo del Tolentmo, a beautiful interior, — a 
 picture very like Rubens', and two splendid paintings 
 by Bonafazio, — one, ^^Herod^s daughter taking the 
 head of John on a platter into the palace of her fa-
 
 182 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ^/ie?'," — the pendant is a supper, the table cloth and a 
 boy with his back to the spectator, and a dog jumping- 
 against him are prodigies of color. At St. Giacomo 
 del'Orio, are four heads by Paul, — nothing for him^ 
 — ^'■St John preachitig in the Wilderness,^' by Bassano, 
 is fine,-^and another by the same, "^n old Canon 
 reading,^'' attended by John the Baptist (very fine 
 figure,) and another saint, the landscape glorious. 
 Went to the Palazzo Reale, — that landscape in the 
 first room by Bonafazio, is my landscape in Venice. 
 And poor Clevenger is on his westward way, — 
 how changed his hopes, how well founded all his 
 fears! He came three short years since, accom- 
 panied with the flattery of friends, and the buoyancy 
 of spirits it inspires, — now sad, dejected, disappointed 
 and dying, he turns towards his native shore, per- 
 haps never to reach it, — and if he should, it will only 
 be to tell his tale of sorrows to heedless ears, and 
 experience the maddening truth, that he has been 
 forgotten, as the idol of an hour! Whilst he was 
 new, he attracted, but now, other than he fills his 
 former post, — in prosperity he was sought, in this 
 the day of his adversity, he will be shunned ; — that 
 he has escaped the fangs of cruel creditors, and the 
 slanderous tongue of his Florentine co-labourers I 
 am glad, — I fear though, he is pursued by one, who 
 is never cheated of his prey, — Death is in his wake I 
 May God avert the destroyer ! How well I recall
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 183 
 
 him. ten months ag-o in my room at Florence, hale 
 and hearty, — how uncertain is life ! How frail mor- 
 tality ! To-day flourishing-, to-morrow cut off and 
 g"one forever, — the place that once knew us, know- 
 ing" us no more ! His poor wife too ! At this mo- 
 ment, who can feel her situation ? Three young- 
 children and a sick husband, — lonely, unhappy, deso- 
 late, — traversing- the mig-hty deep, without hope for 
 the future, or a sympathetic friend to cheer the drea- 
 riness of her solitude, — God help her in her distress ! 
 
 Sunday^ Oct. 1. All the last week I have been 
 making- a study of Tintoretto's picture of the ^'■As- 
 cension of the Virgin," — one day more will com- 
 plete it, — in the afternoon I painted at home on the 
 copy of a Paul Veronese for Columbia. Unwell 
 to-day, I walked along- the quai to the public gardens 
 in the " impregnating- sun," and was benefitted, — 
 saw a lady the imag-e of one of my departed friends. 
 
 At St. Marks there were scores of travellers, (this 
 is their season,) — saw the treasures, candlesticks and 
 roods of solid gold, and splendid workmanship, — 
 besides many sainted relics. 
 
 Sunday, Oct. 8. The past week made a sketch of 
 Titian's St. John, — worked on my portrait of myself* 
 for Col. J. L. Manning-, and my copy of P. Ver- 
 
 ♦ This was the last work of De Veaux and admirably finished; the engra- 
 ving from it for this Memoir, was kindly cind liberally presented to the author 
 by Col. Manning. It is a faithful copy, and adds to the reputation of the en- 
 graver, Mr. T. B. Welch, another son of South Carolina.
 
 184 MEMOIR OF 
 
 onese, — spent several evenings in the Piazza with 
 R and L , looking- first seaward, then turn- 
 ing to gaze upon the only fairy scene I know, — 
 St, Mark and its happy populace ! What regrets is 
 the memory of this enchanting city to occasion 7 I 
 feel it even here, how much more when I shall be 
 immured in my contracted chamber this winter at 
 Rome, — but oh ! still worse, when the broad ocean 
 divides it and me, — when cotton beds and potatoe 
 patches hem me in, then will I weep for the days of 
 St. Mark, and long once more to be bounded by the 
 classic lines of Palladio and Sansovino. 
 
 I received a letter to-day from Healy, — he is doing 
 well, — the King is pleased with his Washington, 
 which is in Versailles, and talks of Healy's going 
 again to America to copy other revolutionary heroes 
 for him, — he painted Webster for Lord Ashburton, 
 and vice versa, — also Lady Ashburton for her lady- 
 ship, — noble fellow! he deserves all his good fortune, 
 and more. 
 
 Monday^ Oct. 9. Visited the "Bridge of Sighs," — 
 much more picturesque and romantic from without; 
 nothing has disappointed me more than this, and the 
 custode, a matter-of-fact sensible man, corrected all 
 our romance with his facts; — the bridge has no rea- 
 son in its name, as it was the only private commu- 
 nication betwixt the palace and the prison, — but 
 many who passed it for trial were found innocent
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 185 
 
 and liberated, — all the stones to the contrary are 
 poetic. There are two passag-es, — one leading" to 
 the cells of political disturbers, the other for prisoners 
 of less importance, — so, " I too have stood in Venice 
 on the bridg-e of sig-hs." 
 
 Cooper's bravo was arrested here; that g'ave a 
 
 litde dash of interest to my visit. L brought off 
 
 a pound or two of the icall that he found loose, — 
 I a scrap from the room in which the doomed 
 were privately put to death. After our descent from 
 the bridg-e, we went into the prisons, — there are 
 twenty-four apartments, not one belmo icater^ — they 
 were all boarded, but the French burnt the panelling- 
 (which ensured dryness,) in many of the rooms, — 
 some escaped in the chamber where political offend- 
 ers were confined;— the ceiling- was never boarded, 
 and many an enthusiastic sentiment is cut in its rude 
 material, one by a preacher dated 1606. The doors 
 to the cells are all removed, but it appears that they 
 were all double doors, — I expected my visit to be 
 more exciting, but it has been the reverse, — owing- 
 perhaps to my being unwell. In another week I 
 must be off, — Mantua, Padua, Modena and Florence 
 I hope will receive me well. 
 
 Tuesdaij, Oct. 10. Three months have I sojourned 
 
 here, — nothing in that time has transpired to change 
 
 the old course of events, — the flow and reflux of the 
 
 Adriatic into the broad and narrow canals is still 
 24
 
 186 MEMOIR OF 
 
 uninterrupted. Austria rules us yet, and her splen- 
 did soldiery parading- every spot of terra firma, keeps 
 us awed into subjection, — the morning" and evening" 
 g^uns peal it at the arsenal, — men and women, with 
 the hopes and fears of selfish mortals, are active in 
 pursuit of their own profit, — the dark swift g'ondola 
 is by sun beams and moonlig"ht always on its silent 
 way, — the piazza and piazzetta of St. Marco have 
 their crowd of busy bodies by day, and a brilliant 
 collection of beauty and fashion at night, who g"ather 
 to court, intrigue, and play each other false or fair, to 
 the sound of the loveliest music that ever waked the 
 echoes of Italy; — and I have been the willing" parti- 
 cipator in this pleasing", exciting' life-preserving" jos- 
 tle, — a few days more and I leave it to reg"ret it 
 alway, — our long" sombre episodes upon the uncer- 
 tain tenure of an artist's hopes shall then be hushed; 
 our various speculations regarding" marriage and its 
 cameleon hues will be finished, — Venice and the 
 peculiar train of thought conjured by its poetic pres- 
 ence will slumber in our memories for a season, and 
 
 be numbered with things dimly recalled. R and 
 
 I will part to pursue our various chances,~to battle 
 and be baffled, — to struggle against the fluctuating 
 caprices of a heardess world, — to be raised by hope 
 to the pinnacle of our aspirings, and then by the 
 rough voice of envy, calumny or criticism, thrown 
 back into the crowd unnoticed, — perhaps degraded.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 187 
 
 Thursday, Oct. 12. Finished my copy to-day, and 
 painted on my portrait. I saw in the g-allery this 
 morning" '■'■Death on the pale Hor^se,^^ by Palma Gio- 
 vene, a g'org'eous conception, and poetic in chiar 
 oscuro and colour. 
 
 October 13. Visited the Arsenal, — commenced in 
 1304, it has been continually added to since, — its 
 circumference is more than two miles, and is sur- 
 rounded by strong- walls and towers, — the principal 
 g-ate is its chief beauty, — sculpture by pupils of San- 
 sovino, and a commanding* fig^ure of St. Justiana by 
 Jerome Campagna crowns it ; — they were executed 
 in 1517 in commemoration of a victory of the Turks; 
 four lions in marble, said to be Grecian, but very 
 shapeless, — the one to the left as you approach is 
 supposed to have been made to commemorate the 
 batUe of Marathon. The armour of Henry the Fourth 
 which he presented when he asked to be made 
 patrician, — the gold keys presented to Napoleon, — 
 the monument to Angelo Erno, — the gondolas of 
 Napoleon and Maria Louisa, and the model of the 
 Bucentaur interested me most; — the different imple- 
 ments of Turkish and Persian warfare interspersed 
 with conquered banners are stale things. 
 
 The Bucentaur (the orig-inal,) was one hundred 
 feet long, — had one hundred and sixty-eig"ht rowers, 
 four to each oar. 
 
 T took a g-ondola for two hours and went to the
 
 188 MEMOIR OF 
 
 island of Murano to visit the g-lass works, — small fry. 
 Passing- St. Marks the treasures were exposed, — 
 went in and saw the g-orgeous "pala," presented 
 by Doge Orseolo I., under whose reign in 976 the 
 church was commenced, — finished in 1071, under 
 Silvio. 
 
 Su7iday, Oct. 15. My last Sabbath in Venice, — 
 a sky that seems the true pathway to heaven, so 
 pure and transparent, has been these three months 
 mildly bending o'er us its sweet face rarely wreathed 
 in clouds. The sun's "magnetic ray" has put new 
 life and spirit into me, — the morning has found me 
 prepared for labour, and at the evening's approach I 
 have been rife for the cheap pleasures of the city ; — 
 to start a gondola with two or three musical friends, 
 and glide through the canals of Venice, lighted only 
 by the artistic moon, who gives such light and shade 
 to the splendid facades of the sea girt palaces, as to 
 present a picture that nothing but moonlight and 
 Venice can make us realize. We help to waken the 
 echoes of the night by our song, and when we hush 
 our dulcet sounds, 'tis only to catch those more plain- 
 tive and harmonious, coming to us from out the 
 shadow of some tall pile, — a light glimmers in the 
 casement, — the tuneful compliment is acknowledged, 
 and the happy lover scudding o'er the wave goes 
 home to golden dreams! — or if not disposed for 
 water's witching sights, terra firma has her charms.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 189 
 
 Nightly in the Piazza of St. Mark the fashion of the 
 city is congreg-ated, — the Arch-duke proudly strut- 
 ting- with some lady of the court is jostled by his 
 dandy tailor, who is in turn brought into collision 
 with his cobbler, — o;-as lio;-ht and moonlight are there 
 and every face distincdy seen. Poets and painters 
 are there, and find food, poor wretches! for their 
 pens and pencils, — the fat and greasy citizen soap 
 boiler with his plump wife and rosy girls inhale the 
 breeze of the piazzetta as it comes fresh from the 
 sea. What a happy people are we ! talking, laugh- 
 ing and floating along life's weary road, we rob it of 
 its rou2"her edo^e. 
 
 Wednesday, Oct. 18. A beautiful day, — the sun 
 has risen gloriously, and I shall have his beams to 
 cheer me as I leave the city. Venice adieu! — joyous 
 and happy have the hours flown since I came within 
 thy watery walls. I may some day re-visit thy sweet 
 charms, but the pleasures of my stay can never 
 again be what they have been; — youth is passing 
 and with it the keen relish for joys that are present; 
 the memory of the past, however, can never be ef- 
 faced, and Venice shall ever be cherished as one of 
 the greenest spots in my recollection. It has sud- 
 denly clouded and stormed at such a furious rate as 
 to prevent my departure. About eleven o'clock it 
 cleared and I went to the Foscari Palace to visit the 
 last of that noble race, — an old lady eighty-two years
 
 190 MEMOIR OP 
 
 of age, seated in an old fashioned chair, very plainly 
 dressed and her litde white satin cap trimmed with 
 lace, received me. She was chatdng* with one as 
 old or older than herself, in a little corner of the 
 palace which once sent forth edicts that moved the 
 world to war or peace, — here, decrepid and almost 
 childish, sat the last descendant of the past greatness 
 of the proud Foscari ! With the name of Chistoforo 
 Colombo, I roused her memory to the recollection of 
 my home, and she sounded his name often, as though 
 it recalled some long forgotten story ; — when I told 
 her of the country far off that her countryman had 
 discovered, and the millions that had sprung up there, 
 and our splendid cities, and the interests we occu- 
 pants of a new country felt in the past history of the 
 old world, — and mentioned how the name of her 
 own family was often sounded as being among' the 
 greatest in history, she seemed amazed and delight- 
 ed. All the other apartments of the palace (which 
 is rapidly falling to decay,) are occupied by trades- 
 men and their families; — thus passeth the glory of 
 the world ! 
 
 Went afterward to the Piazza of St. Mark and 
 mounted the campanile, — the wind was fresh, the 
 clouds had dispersed and left a clear atmosphere, — 
 snow fell the night before and the mountains look 
 magnificent. 
 
 Thursday. A glorious day, — surely I am not again
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 191 
 
 to be balked to-day. Venice, addio ! — " the memory 
 of joys that are past, is pleasant but mournful to the 
 soul !" 
 
 Padua, Priday, October 20. I arrived here (twen- 
 ty-three miles,) yesterday in three hours from Venice. 
 At three o'clock I was sauntering- about this vener- 
 able town. The rail road made a mile in fifty-eig-ht 
 seconds by my watch, — the country is flat and unin- 
 teresting-. The Palace of Reason is a rich old struc- 
 ture standing- in the middle of a great Piazza, — it 
 contains the lonsfest sins'le room in the world, — three 
 hundred feet long-, one hundred wide, and one hun- 
 dred hig-h, — lotteries are drawn there. The church 
 of ^S*^. Justina is a wonder, — it strikes one at first 
 entrance as being- larger than St. Peters ! — the sym- 
 metry of its parts, and the harmony of the ensemble, is 
 superior in my opinion to any thing- 1 ever saw, — the 
 mere foundation to all the material was orig-inally 
 intended for its entire construction ! Paul Veronese 
 has a good picture of the martyrdom of the saint. 
 St. Antonio is a brilliant of the first water, — built in 
 the ancient gothic style, it has six cupolas, flanked 
 by two bell towers, — the interior is wonderful ! — 
 the sculptures, bronzes, bas-reliefs, are all in keep- 
 ing with the architecture of the church, and is the 
 only entire specimen of Gothic to my conception I 
 know of, — it satisfies one entirely. The Chapel of 
 St. Felice, said to have been painted in fresco before 
 Giotto, is superior in execution to Giotto, — there is
 
 192 MEMOIR OF 
 
 much by Donatello, beside the splendid equistrian 
 statue of Ei'asmus cli JVani^ in front of the building. 
 The tomb of St. Antonio is the great attraction, and 
 devotees flock around it all the day, — it is by Sanso- 
 vino, and worthy of him, though the original burying 
 place at its side, painted in fresco in 1075, is much 
 more suited for a grave house. The University, as 
 you stand in the yard, presents nothing to the eye 
 but " coats of arms " and heads of men, — both the 
 lower and upper stories are literally lined, — there is 
 no room for after-comers ; — the obsei'vatory, a former 
 prison of Ezzelino da Romana, rises above it alL 
 La prato della Valle has no rival, — an island in the 
 city, — it is of an elliptical form, five hundred and 
 twenty-eight feet long, and three hundred and twen- 
 ty-four broad, and is surrounded by water brought in 
 from the Brenta, — four beautiful litde bridges cross 
 the canal, and inside and outside the canal, and en- 
 tirely around this green spot, are splendid statues of 
 Paduan favourites, — some strangers, two of Canova's 
 are among them. Pyramids, etruscan vases, etc., are 
 placed all over the grounds. It is a perfect gem, — 
 the races are run around it. 
 
 At the Stella d'oro I had a quarrel with the fat 
 omnibus driver that brought me to the Hotel ; — it 
 helps to circulate the blood, these storms in a strange 
 language, so much is done by the raising of shoul- 
 ders and eye brows ! 
 
 Started at two o'clock for Vicenza and Verona
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 193 
 
 with the smoothest faced villain I ever had the ill 
 luck to ride with, — bargained with him to g-o to Ve- 
 rona for ten zwanzig-ers, at Vicenza ; however, at 
 night he came to my room to beg for tlie half, five 
 francs, — I denied the justice of the claim, — we both 
 warmed up, and for twenty minutes boiled with 
 wrath, — as usual nothing was settled then, but at the 
 end of the journey I had the ten francs to pay. Ar- 
 rived at Vicenza (eighteen miles,) at five o'clock. I 
 strolled around it, — went to see the Palazzo Vecchio, 
 and many of the churches. Started at five next 
 morning for Verona, (thirty miles off',) — I remained 
 two hours at Verona, — first went to Juliet's grave! — • 
 quoted Shakspeare over it, picked a tuft of grass, etc ; 
 thence to the Olympic Circus, — thence to the splendid 
 tombs of the Scaglieri, — then took a seat for Mantua, 
 (twenty-five miles distant,) — rode part of the way 
 with a clever, chatty gentleman, and arrived at Man- 
 tua at seven, p. m. Rose in the morning early, and 
 walked about the wide streets of the city, — took cof- 
 fee, and struck a bargain to be off* at nine o'clock for 
 Guastalla, eighteen miles farther. A splendid road, 
 but a horse that heeded not his guide, nor the bur- 
 then he bore, — however, by dint of whipping we 
 reached our post at two o'clock, and engaged a fellow 
 to take me to Parma, twenty-two miles, for five francs. 
 Before we started, however, the police sent word 
 
 that my passport had not been seen and stamped at 
 25
 
 194 MEMOIR OP 
 
 Mantua, — confound these little possessions ! I only 
 stopped twelve hours in the place, and besides, it was 
 not asked for at the Hotel, a thing- I never knew 
 them before fail to do, when necessary, (and often 
 when quite unnecessary, as they make money by it). 
 
 So here was I paraded about the town by a sol- 
 dier, followed by the driver of the coach I was to 
 start with, who was quarrelling" with me about de- 
 taining- his other passengers, — what a fig-ure I cut 
 here to be sure, — Sunday, — every body in the street, 
 and I " the observed of all observers," sputtering a 
 foreig-n lang-uag-e, and looking- as fiercely as I could 
 at my opponent, — what a farce ! After an hour and 
 a half's detention, I was sped on my way, instead of 
 being sent back to Mantua, which I assuredly would 
 have been, but for the kind interference of a fellow 
 passenger, a man some fifty years of age, a resi- 
 dent in Parma, — had served many a gay Frenchman 
 during the wars of Napoleon, — talked French well, 
 and was so kind and useful to me, as to. win my 
 heart entirely, — he argued my case so well before 
 the authorities that they gave in, and I got out of 
 Guastalla. Blessings on the old gentleman ! At 
 eight o'clock arrived at Parma, dined and went to 
 bed fagged. 
 
 Monday^ Oct. 23. Rose early, — read my guide 
 book, and started to find my way about, — my organ 
 of locality is improving, — first fell in with the Stic-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 195 
 
 cato^ a beautiful church in the form of a Greek cross, 
 — the cupola well painted, — strolled about the grand 
 place, and passed Maria Louisa's residence, (she is 
 in the country,) and found the Cathedrale, which is 
 the chief attraction to the artist. The grand cupola 
 was painted by Correggio, and places him by the 
 side of M. Angelo and Raphael, — time and damp- 
 ness have almost obliterated many parts, but there is 
 enough left in a complete form to stamp the charac- 
 ter of the artist's mind, — sublime and grand in con- 
 ception, and marvellously wrought out, — some of his 
 prophets and sybils are next kin to M. Angelo's 1 
 The graceful movements of his angels superior to 
 any save Raphael ! At St. John's Church there are 
 earlier works with the same feeling, — his ^^Hunt of 
 Diana" in an old convent, (strange subject for a 
 holy residence !) is very various and exquisite, — the 
 small figures in black and white especially, — the 
 '■^Satyr blowing a Conch,^^ is inimitable. I went 
 thence to the Academy of Fine Arts, where I staid 
 the rest of the day, before the two pictures of Cor- 
 reggio, ^^St. Jerome" and the ^^ Return from Egypt" 
 I have been pleased, delighted, charmed, whilst 
 standing in the presence of Titian, Paul Veronese 
 and Tintoretto, — but I have never been spell-bound 
 before, as I was by St. Jerome, — I could not tear 
 myself away from this fac simile of nature's own 
 self, in her loveliest moment, — color can do no more,
 
 196 MEMOIR OF 
 
 — by some mysterious manag'emenl, tint floats into 
 tint, and lig-ht and shade mingle so softly tog-ether, as 
 to form a globe of light that the eye is never willing 
 to turn from, — there are no lines, — no clue, — one sur- 
 face of floating vehicle that cannot be caught, plays 
 before the vision and eludes enquiry. To copy such 
 a work is impossible, — it is the oflfspring of a pecuHar 
 mind, and none other can produce it wnth the same 
 felicity, — one thing is strange, — I have never liked 
 the picture, though I have often seen the copy by 
 Baroccio, in the Pitti at Florence, and engravings of 
 it, but the first view of the original changed all my 
 ideas. The Virgin and the kneeUng Saint are lovely 
 female heads, — the Angels and the Saviour are not 
 handsome, but almost appear so, from the effect of 
 the surprising quality of color, — and the colors so 
 simple ! Naples yellow, Venetian red in flesh, and 
 Vermillion in St. Jerome's drapery, and ultra marine, 
 — the sleeve and leg of the Saint kneeling are pale 
 neutral lilac, very faint, almost lead color, — the cur- 
 tain a deep orange. "T/ie Return from Egypt" has 
 the same simplicity, — burnt umber and asphaltum 
 for fore-ground shadows, over raw umber and white, 
 and other cool colors. 
 
 A very fine '^Entombment, " by Tintoretto, is here. 
 
 I have dined and written up my journal, and must 
 now prepare for the diligence at five in the morning. 
 Well, Parma and Correggio have been seen ! How
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 197 
 
 many facilities have I possessed, — it is time to shew 
 what use I can and will make of them. To Rome, 
 to Rome ! Nous verrons ! Parma Locanda delle 
 Tedeschi. 
 
 Here closes this ag-reeable Journal, — the record of 
 the influences of the beauties of nature and of the 
 works of art upon his poetic mind. And what more 
 fitting- work, had he made a choice, could he have 
 selected for the climax of his enjoyment in art? — ^S*^. 
 Jerome of Parma ! — one of the three finest pictures 
 in the world, — by many thought the greatest ! 
 
 In a letter to an artist friend* in New York, he 
 thus writes of this visit to Parma : 
 
 '■'■ At Mantua I stopped a night, and at Parma staid 
 a day. Correggio is there in all his glory. His 
 church ceilings remind me of M. Angelo ; his picture 
 of ^'St. Jerome^^ in the Academy, is the most splendid 
 picture for color in the world ! I was fresh from 
 Venice, yet this picture in an instant took possession 
 of me, and chased away the memory of those splen- 
 did things, with which for three months, I had been 
 familiar. It cannot be copied. Correggio himself, 
 never equalled it again. For my own pleasure, I 
 would rather possess it than the Transfiguration of 
 Raphael, which I have seen fifty times, but have 
 never been so fascinated by its beauties. I sat before 
 
 J. H. Shegogue, Esq., N. A.
 
 198 MEMOIR OP 
 
 this Corregg-io from eleven o'clock till five in the 
 afternoon, only glancing- at the things about me, 
 to relieve my eye occasionally from its dazzling 
 richness. I left Parma for Bologna, where I had 
 previously spent some time, — and now comes an 
 epoch in my hfe. Arrived within fifteen miles of 
 Bologna, my passport was carefully examined and 
 found to be wanting the signature of the Pope's rep- 
 resentative at Venice, to pass through this part of 
 his dominions, (at present in a state of insurrection). 
 I was suspected of being some wild repubhcan spirit, 
 hastening to join the revolutionists, and was not only 
 not allowed to proceed, but not permitted to remain 
 at the point I had already reached ; the police ordered 
 me immediately out of town; there was nothing left 
 for me but obedience. I was then but one day's 
 journey from my destination, Florence ; by this sad 
 misfortune, I was obliged to take a one horse con- 
 veyance, and to avoid the Pope's possessions, was 
 forced to cross one of the worst ranges of the Ap- 
 pennines, at this season a terrible undertaking, and 
 for four days amidst rain, wind, snow and hail 
 I plied my way ; it lost me so many precious days, 
 and the exposure has fixed a cold upon my lungs, 
 which I fear will cost me more. This is a small 
 inkling of the sweets of this form of government, 
 and the Poetry of Italy."
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 199 
 
 Too true was his worst foreboding"! Here was 
 contracted the fell disease which g-radually and pro- 
 gfressively sapped his fine constitution, and after a 
 protracted and painful illness brought him to the cold 
 and silent g-rave. From a letter on "The Consular 
 System," by C. Edwards Lester, late Consul at 
 Genoa, I find among- his notices of the violation of 
 the rig-hts of our citizens in foreig^n countries, men- 
 tion of this outrag-e : 
 
 "During- the recent disturbances in the Pontifical 
 States, an American artist was arrested in his journey 
 from Venice to Bolog-na, on suspicion of being- con- 
 cerned in some movement hostile to the Court of 
 Rome. Not the slig-htest evidence existed of any 
 such connection, nor was any charg-e preferred 
 ag-ainst him. He was ordered by the police to leave 
 Bolog-na within one hour, or his head would pay the 
 forfeit. He could not g-o forward without the safe 
 conduct of the local authorities and he could not g-o 
 back. He fled from Bolog-na with all haste, and 
 abandoning- the roads, where he might have easily 
 fallen a prey to the barbarity of the carrabinieri, he 
 escaped to the mountains, and made his way, as best 
 he could, to Rome. It was in the coldest winter 
 season, and exposure, hung-er and fatig-ue sowed the 
 seeds of pulmonary consumption in his system, which 
 brought him to the grave in a few weeks! A wretch- 
 ed and innocent victim of tyranny ! "
 
 200 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " This promising young- artist's name was De Veaux 
 from South Carohna. I am astonished that chivalric 
 State has not before now laid the case before the 
 President, insisting- that satisfaction be demanded 
 from the Court of Rome. I was informed that the 
 g-entleman who was then our Consul at Rome, nei- 
 ther asked any explanation of the matter, from the 
 government of his holiness, nor even communicated 
 any information on the subject to his own govern- 
 ment at home!"* 
 
 Soon after his return to Rome, he was attacked 
 with spitting of blood, which he neglected for several 
 days, — until a more severe hemorrhage alarmed both 
 himself and friends, and required the call of a phy- 
 sician. To the affectionate interest and devoted 
 friendship of W. B. Chambers, Esq., of Carlisle, Pa., 
 was he indebted for all that the warmest sympathy 
 and most untiring attention could do for him. To 
 that kind friend am I deeply obligated for weekly 
 advices of the condition of De Veaux. The progress 
 of his case is so well described in one of these com- 
 munications, that I cannot avoid transcribing a portion 
 of it here ; I trust he will pardon the liberty I have 
 taken with his affectionate letters. 
 
 * The Artist, the Merchant and the Statesman, vol. 1, p. 224.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 201 
 
 "SUBIACO, 
 
 My Dear Sir: — You had surmised the truth in 
 supposing- that poor De Veaux's course was finished 
 ere you wrote. He was then indeed we trust with 
 his God forever and ever. I supposed at times 
 during- the last two months of his illness that he 
 might survive a few days, but all who saw him could 
 only desire that it mig"ht be so, his suffering-s were so 
 g-reat. 
 
 My acquaintance commenced a year and a half 
 since with him, on my first arrival in Rome. I had 
 
 no letter to him, but on mentioning- Mrs. C 's 
 
 name to him, he welcomed me as an old acquaint- 
 ance. Mrs. C. had often spoken of him in the 
 highest terms to me, and he had many questions to 
 ask about her and her family, so that I soon felt at 
 home with him. We did not then become very in- 
 timate, he had already formed an intimate acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Brown and Mr. Rossiter, American 
 artists, then living- in Florence, long- before I had the 
 pleasure of seeing him; still, though we were not 
 intimate, I always went to him for counsel and ad- 
 vice, — no one I considered so capable of giving it. 
 Last fall after his unfortunate journey from Venice, 
 we met in Florence and returned to Rome together, ,, 
 took lodgings in the same house and were together 
 
 during the month of November. He then found a 
 26
 
 202 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Studio, but was oblig^ed to take the chamber with it, — 
 this we regretted as it separated us, and we had l| 
 passed a month dehg-htfully tog-ether. Two days 
 after moving- he had his first spitting- of blood, — he 
 told me it came on whilst he was sitting- at his table, 
 writing- in the evening, and was evidently much 
 alarmed. He then no longer delayed calling- on a 
 physician, which I had urg'ed him to do before. The 
 physician recommended leeches' to be applied. He 
 left a note at my room requesting- me to come and 
 see them applied the next morning-. I went, and as 
 I entered the room he had another raising- of blood; 
 he was exceedingly agitated and walking up and 
 down his room said, 'oh dear Chambers, what does 
 this mean? Can death be very near?' I said all I 
 could to soothe him, and that there was no immedi- 
 ate danger, etc. The bleedings returned almost 
 every day for a week, and his friends were with him 
 constantly day and night. Mr. R. and myself spent 
 the first two weeks with him, and as he seemed on 
 the recovery, we engaged a woman to stay with him 
 constantly night and day, — his friends seeing him 
 during the day and evening. I was able to be with 
 him more than the others, not having a studio, but 
 drawing from plaister and copying in the galleries, 
 whilst the others had their commissions to execute, 
 and not so much time at their command. De Veaux 
 also expressed to me his wish that I should be with
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 203 
 
 him as much as possible; — this I did during- his 
 illness, seeing- him every day, several times, some- 
 times spending- the last part of the day with him. 
 For any attention I shewed him I was amply repaid 
 by the g-rateful manner in which he received it. 
 One reason of our intimacy was the inability of most 
 of his friends to have any conversation with him on 
 religious subjects, owing to some having- had no re- 
 lig-ious education, and a disinclination in others to 
 converse on such subjects. I myself had been 
 brought up in a religious manner, and although I 
 have often acted contrarv to the dictates of a sound 
 conscience, I feel the restraining influence of a moth- 
 er's early counsels and prayers. Our friend eaily in 
 his illness, expressed the wish, as soon as he was 
 able, to connect himself with the church, but God 
 ordered it otherwise, — he did indeed by partaking* 
 the communion with some o( his friends, sig-nify to 
 all his intentions on this subject. Nor did his inter- 
 est end on himself, — he loved to converse with all 
 his acquaintances and urge on them the importance 
 of preparing- for a dying bed whilst in health, as few 
 would probably have the same time afforded them, 
 with which he was favoured. The last week of his 
 illness he sent for two of his American friends who 
 were about returning home, — they feared agitatii^g- 
 him, but he said he must see them, — they came, — he 
 talked long- and earnestly to them on the subject of
 
 204 MEMOIR OF 
 
 religion, — they were both overcome. One threw 
 himself on the bed and kissing- and bathing- poor 
 De Veaux's hands with his tears, assured him he 
 should never forg-et his counsels. When he first 
 realized his disease had taken a turn that would in 
 all probability end fatajjy, he set calmly about pre- 
 paring for that great event. A week previously I 
 had begun to fear the worst, — it alarmed me to see 
 him declining and apparently losing strength every 
 day. Such a week I hope never to pass again. In 
 the midst of these symptoms he would talk to me 
 about his future plans for the summer and winter. I 
 listened but could scarcely make any reply, nor did I 
 dare to tell him my opinion ; his physician not hav- 
 ing stated yet what he thought of his case. I entered 
 the room soon after the physician had told him some- 
 thing of his condition. He had already written a 
 memorandum of all that he wished done after his 
 death, — handing it to me he desired me to read it 
 and be guided by it in arranging his affairs. It was 
 a solemn and affecting scene, such as I had never 
 witnessed, — he called me to his side, and said " now 
 I have nothing to do but to prepare for my death." 
 This calmness did not always continue, — in speak- 
 ing of yourself one day, he burst into tears, and said 
 "oh! that I could see Dr. Gibbes once more, it is 
 so hard to part and not see him again," — of yourself, 
 his mother, and Mr. W. H. jr., he spoke constantly, —
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 205 
 
 of Col. H., Mr. P. and Mrs. H. and Mr. M., he said 
 gfreater kindness had no one received, than he from 
 you all, particularly yourself Of his kind friends 
 here, I must not forg^et to mention particularly Mr. 
 Huntingdon, from New York, to whom De Veaux 
 was very much attached ; — sometimes he would send 
 for Mr. H's. pictures, admiring- his talents very much, 
 — a few days before his death he sent for one, — after 
 looking* at it some time, and expressing his plea- 
 sure at seeing it, he said, ' take it away, I wish to 
 see no more paintings, I am going to a better place,' 
 pointing to the blue sky, ' my home will soon be be- 
 yond that.' " 
 
 *4A, M, aL. ^ -u- .^t 
 
 •Ir TT TT tP "Tr 'TV* 
 
 In the month of February, 1844, he seemed to im- 
 prove for a short time, and to give hopes to his friends 
 of recovery. At this time he was able to write two 
 letters, one to his mother, the other to myself. From 
 the latter is the following extract : 
 
 " From my friend Chambers you have had several 
 letters, and I suppose full accounts of my misfortune, 
 — a burstinof blood-vessel and the loss of eio"ht or ten 
 pounds of blood in as many days, carried me down 
 to death's door, — God heard my cries for help, and 
 from the long terrible night which threatened to en- 
 gulph me, he drew me back to give me time for prayer 
 and repentence, — a warning so frightful how can I
 
 206 MEMOIR OP 
 
 ever forg-et? May all my hours be spent in the ser- 
 vice of Him who has borne with me so long, and at 
 last chastened me severely, that I mig-ht know the 
 extent of his fatherly love, and search hereafter with 
 heart, mind and body, 'to work out my soul's salva- 
 tion with fear and trembling*,' 
 
 " To-day is the sixty-fourth day of my confinement 
 to my chamber, — the weather has for one month and 
 more been rainy and windy and cold, and there are 
 now no signs of its breaking". I am promised a ride 
 the first fine day, and shall rejoice to see St. Peter's 
 Dome ag"ain. I hope to mend faster when I g'et a 
 little fresh air, and soon be able to work, — thoug-h it 
 will be a long" time before I can do much, — this to 
 me is a source of much grief, — but who can resist 
 the hand of the Almighty? Two days work was 
 all I did in my studio before I sickened." 
 
 Mr. Chambers, in one of his kind letters, mentions 
 the progress of his case from this time : 
 
 " Two days after writing you, he rode out for the 
 first time, and enjoyed it exceedingly, — that evening 
 a diarrhoea came on, which lasted two days, and 
 made him very weak, — after two days he rode out 
 again, by the Doctor's advice, and again it returned 
 and weakened him so much that he never recovered, 
 and now his cough troubles him at night, and tears 
 his poor body very much. For the last four weeks he
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 207 
 
 has been declining gradually, — and you cannot im- 
 agine my feelings, my dear sir, when the truth flashed 
 across my mind, that he was sinking to rise no more. 
 The Doctor examined his chest with the Stethoscope, 
 and has given certainty to our fears, and thinks it im- 
 possible for our poor friend to live long. He has 
 himself remarked his loss of flesh and strength, and 
 is evidently more emaciated than he was a week 
 since, — his only cause of suffering now is the cough, 
 which sometimes almost takes the breath from him. 
 His friends are often with him, and he wants for no- 
 thing to make him as comfortable as he can be away 
 from his friends. Whilst we lament his case, we 
 have great cause for comfort and thankfulness, as he 
 seems fully prepared for his last change. It is plea- 
 sant to be with him, he is so calm, and looks to the 
 future with no dread. He is perfectly resigned to 
 God's will, and expects to enter a better and brighter 
 world, when it shall please God to call him hence. 
 He is anxious to tell his friends his hopes, and advises 
 them continually to seek preparation for a dying bed 
 before they are laid there. Sometimes he is sad and 
 and depressed, but nothing else can be expected. 
 Every day he talks of you and his friends, but says 
 he cannot hope to see you, and ' God's will be done.' 
 He has received your letter giving him an account of 
 the success of his ' Bandit,' which gave him great 
 pleasure, and your bright anticipations of his high
 
 208 MEMOIR OF 
 
 promise in art affected him very deeply. Last week 
 he expressed a desire to partake of the communion, 
 and as there was an American clerg-yman here, 
 (Mr. Storrs, of Whitestown, N. Y.) he officiated, and 
 Mr. De Veaux enjoyed it very much. The Rev. Mr, 
 Storrs visits our friend daily, and his visits are always 
 most ag-reeable to him. 
 
 He sits up daily, and I suppose it impossible to speak 
 with any certainty of the duration of his illness. His 
 lustrous black eye is now sunken, but as brilliant as 
 ever, but he is so weak and emaciated, and his coug-h 
 so tears his poor frame, that I am compelled to join in 
 his own prayer, that death may speedily relieve his 
 suffering's. He said to me this morning-, ' oh ! I wish, 
 if it is not wrong-, that I may be speedily released 
 from these sufferings.' He has but little appetite, yet 
 that is constantly supplied by the kindness of his fe- 
 male American friends, who send him jelly, custard, 
 etc., or whatever he fancies. Our dear friend is one 
 that made friends wherever he went, — no one is 
 his enemy, and all seek to alleviate his affliction. 
 While I reg-ret that one with his talents, and who 
 promised to do honor to his country is thus early 
 called away, yet I thank God that he departs to be 
 with Christ forever." 
 
 The next letter is his last, and one of a touching* 
 and mournful character, — his farewell ! to myself, —
 
 t 
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 209 
 
 the friend of his early youth, — the admirer of his 
 maturer years. I feel that I would do injusUce to 
 the memory of the departed, were I to withhold it. 
 
 " Rome, March — , 1844. 
 From my dear and faithful friend, Chambers,* who 
 I has been with me in all my sickness, and helped me 
 by his relig'ious counsels, you will receive full ac- 
 counts of my condition, — do lorite fully to iny poor 
 mothe?', as there is none other I wish to do it, and do it 
 as kindly as possible. When I wrote you a month 
 ag'o, I hoped myself out of danger, and had been 
 improving". Since then all has changed, — and now 
 physician and friends seem to think me past recove- 
 ry. I have resigned myself to God, who in His 
 goodness has given me three months for prayer and 
 
 *Frotn Mr. D. Huntingdon, the most distinguished of our younger artists, I 
 take pleasure in acknowledging the receipt of a sketch of De Veaux a few 
 days before his death. An extract from his letter having a special reference to 
 the excellent Mr. Chambers, I think deserves to be here given. 
 
 "About the time of my making the sketch, being alone M'ith our dear friend, 
 he called me to his bed-side, and expressed his deep gratitude for the kindness 
 and never-failing watchfulness of Mr. Chambers, — and his thankfulness to 
 God for having provided for him so true a Christian friend in the time of need. 
 He desired me to write to you and say how much Chambers had done for him. 
 ' Tell him,' he said, with tears in his eyes, ' how he has watched over me, — bow 
 he has sacrificed his time, studies and heahh, to be my comforter, companion 
 and nurse,— how he has been almost a mother and sister to me, and should he 
 at a future time be established as a painter in Philadelphia, Dr. Gibbes must 
 for my sake bear him in mind.' I have given you, as nearly as I can recollect, 
 the words of our beloved friend. He died full of deep penitence and lively 
 Christian hope, and conversed in the most affectionate manner with all his fel- 
 low students on the hopes of another life, and the necessity of a preparation 
 for it." 
 
 27
 
 210 MEMOIR OF 
 
 repentance, and feel a strong* hope that when life is 
 past I shall go to dwell with Christ forever. 
 
 Whilst I have the strength, I must attend to a 
 worldly matter. My gold watch and chain will be 
 sent to you, — you must let your sons take them, — 
 let R wear one and J the other, as memen- 
 toes of me. 
 
 Beg Mr. to forgive me all I owe him. I had 
 
 hoped this winter to make my best effort for him, 
 but all is past, — pray him for me not to let the world 
 draw him off from God, but to prepare for death and 
 judgment, which is the only value of life, — thank 
 him for all his kindness to me, and beg him to say 
 farewell to his kind mother and brother, — to my other 
 friends say as much. 
 
 And to you, my dear friend, I must now bid adieu. 
 God's will be done. May God bless you for your 
 brotherly conduct always towards me, enabling me to 
 do much for my poor family. I always hoped to be 
 able to make some small return, but who can say what 
 a day may bring forth 7 Let me beseech you, my 
 dear friend, with wife and children, to devote your- 
 selves to the service of God, taking no peace, night 
 or day, until your sins are all washed, and you are 
 sure that God has blessed you, — live for Heaven only, 
 and after a few years of toil and pain, I trust you 
 and I and all of us may meet around God's throne, 
 never to part again ; — shut in with Christ forever, we
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 211 
 
 will spend tog^ether the long- ag-es of eternity, — fare- 
 well I I pray to God to spare me to see you all 
 again, — but still, not my will, but His be done. It 
 appears from my reg-ular decline that hope is past, — 
 and so I say to you and Mrs. G. and the dear chil- 
 dren, farewell for this world, — in the next may we 
 have a blessed meeting-, — farewell! God prosper 
 you and prepare you for heaven, is my prayer, — 
 farewell ! 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 James De Veaux. 
 Farewell till heaven unites us, which God in His 
 mercy g-rant! — I have received the sacrament from 
 the hands of Rev. Mr. Storrs, of New York. Mr. 
 Huntingdon and his wife, and Mr. Chambers as- 
 sisted. Farewell !" 
 
 The following- from Mr. Chambers was not long 
 ere it arrived, and gives the closing scene of the 
 labours and sufferings and heavenly hopes of James 
 De Veaux : 
 
 ''Rome, May 4, 1844. 
 Dear Sir : At length I have the sad intelligence 
 to communicate of our dear friend Mr. De Veaux's 
 death, which occurred at five o'clock on Sabbath 
 morning last, April 28th. On Saturday he had been 
 suffering in the morning, but towards noon grew
 
 212 MEMOIR OP 
 
 easier, — this continued all the afternoon, — at sunset 
 I left him sleeping". I left him supposing" he might 
 perhaps have many days of suffering" yet to pass 
 throug"h, as his streng-th at times appeared considera- 
 ble. He continued quiet until an hour after mid- 
 night, when he began to breathe with difficulty, — 
 this continued to increase, and at two in the morning* 
 he sent for me. I went immediately, and found him 
 suffering" not only with a stoppage in his chest, but 
 also with a sharp pain near his left arm pit and 
 between his shoulders, — it was very violent, and he 
 begged me to do something" for his relief. I tried to 
 calm him and soothe his mind, saying- it would soon 
 g-row easier, — he frequently had before had such 
 attacks, though not so violent. The thoug-ht of his 
 dying- immediately did not occur to me, having" never 
 witnessed, a death bed in my life before. After sit- 
 ting by his bedside an hour, during- which time he 
 had g-rown much quieter, and dozed occasionally, I 
 left the seat and tried to sleep a litde, but could not; 
 — ^his breathing- continued difficult and quick; occa- 
 sionally he spoke to the nurse in his usual tone of 
 voice, asking for water, etc. Between four and five 
 she went to the window, and he observing" the day 
 breaking, told her to open the shutter wide; — this all 
 passed whilst I was sitting- at a little distance from 
 him. After some time I heard his breathing become 
 more regular, not so quick, and soon after slower. I
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 213 
 
 rose to g-o to his bedside, but the servant told me to 
 keep quiet, lest I should disturb him, — however I 
 went merely to g-lance at him. As I stood looking- 
 at him, apparently sleeping-, I remarked the perspira- 
 tion on his forehead, and on applying- my hand found 
 it chilly, — it was the damp of death ! I quickly felt 
 his hands and pulse, — the latter was just expiring-, — 
 he g-ave one long- breath, — we both were startled, 
 the servant saying-, ' Grazia a Dio, adesso sta in Para- 
 diso.' Thank God ! he is now in Heaven ! 
 
 So finished the course of our dear friend, — he 
 seemed to have suffered no pain for an hour or more 
 before his death, but peacefully breathed his last. I 
 am rejoiced that he sent for me, and that I had the 
 opportunity of being- with him in his last moments. 
 That he is gone to be with his God and his Saviour 
 forever and ever, is our full hope. It was his ex- 
 pectation as he clearly stated in his conversation with 
 the English minister, the day before his death. This 
 hope came to him not suddenly, but after many long 
 days of anxiety and regret for his past life of neglect 
 of God, as he himself expressed. The entire week 
 before his death, he looked for it constantly, saying 
 to me frequently as I entered his chamber in the 
 
 morning, ' well my dear C ■, I had hoped this 
 
 morning to have been in heaven,' — his thoughts and 
 conversation were almost entirely on these subjects, 
 the fear of death being quite taken away. This it
 
 214 
 
 MEMOIR OP 
 
 was that enabled me to see him die, and scarcely 
 wish to call him back, had it been in my power. I 
 had seen him go through so much suffering, and could 
 only look on death as a welcome release from all 
 his woes; but independently of that, his perfect rea- 
 diness to go and preparation for it, could we call him 
 back to our world of sin and temptation 7 True, we 
 (his fellow artists here,) have sustained a heavy loss, 
 all feel it, no one I can say truly was more universal- 
 ly loved and respected than Mr. De Veaux, — but our 
 loss can be nothing in comparison with that of his 
 his friends and relatives at home, — with his poor mo- 
 ther I do sympathize most sincerely, — but her loss 
 has been his gain, yes, his eternal gain ! 
 
 A few days before his death, an American sculp- 
 tor, Mr. H. K. Brown, modelled Mr. D's. profile in 
 clay, and made a cast of it. It was executed under 
 the greatest disadvantages of his illness and emacia- 
 tion, but is very like him. Mr. De Veaux was much 
 interested in it while it was going on, and he told 
 me I should let you know if it was good. It will be 
 cut on his tombstone, as is frequently done here." 
 
 Subsequendy to his death, at my request, Mr. 
 Brown modelled his features anew for a Bust to be 
 executed in marble. This he has done successfully, 
 and the Bust has arrived safely at its destination. 
 
 The marble is almost fauUless, — the mechanical
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 215 
 
 execution skilful, and the likeness cannot be mista- 
 ken by any of his acquaintances. There is in it an 
 air of classic eleg-ance that adds g"reatly to the ex- 
 pression of his fine Grecian features, and as a speci- 
 men of sculpture, it would g-race any gallery. Mr. 
 Brown is a man of rare genius, who is just appearing* 
 above the horizon of American art. His " David re- 
 turning from battle triumphant, ^^ '^ButJi gleaning in the 
 field of Boaz,^^ and "^ hoy arid a dog,^^ have attracted 
 much attention in Rome, and placed him in the front 
 rank with the sculptors of the day. His Bust of 
 De Veaux is a superb specimen of his ability and 
 taste. 
 
 From the intimate friend and companion of De 
 Veax, who was with him during his residence in 
 Florence and Venice, and part of the time in Rome, 
 Mr. Thomas P. Rossiter, I have received a graphic 
 and full memorial of his friendship. The poetic 
 language and spirited style of this sketch by the 
 pen of a brother artist claim for it an insertion here, 
 — and although there is necessarily some repetition 
 of incidents previously noticed, still its truthful view 
 of the character of De Veaux,* and the just estimate 
 of his genius and feelings, which Mr. R. had the 
 
 ♦ In the spring of 1844, the National Academy of Design of New York, 
 conferred on De Veaux the honor of membership, which they had previously 
 accorded to Fkaser, White and Cogdell, of South Carolina. It would have 
 been highly gratifying to him to have heard of the compliment, but his day.s 
 had been numbered before the information reached Rome.
 
 216 MEMOIR OF 
 
 opportunity of forming-, renders it more worthy of 
 preservation. I might well have abbreviated my 
 own narrative, and trusted the latter portion of it to 
 this tribute of a cong-enial spirit to departed worth. 
 
 "Rome, Nov. — , 1844. 
 
 My Dear Sir: — At the sohcitation of Mr. Cham- 
 bers, I am induced to address you in relation to a 
 departed and deeply deplored friend, Mr. De Veaux ; 
 contributing- as far as it is in my power such intelli- 
 g-ence to yourself and his many bereaved friends at 
 home, as came under my observation during- the lat- 
 ter part of his residence in Europe, or more properly 
 speaking-, the period of his sojourn in Italy. Often 
 in the progress of his last illness, I volunteered to 
 communicate with his connexions in America, but 
 the kindness and watchfulness of Mr. Chambers, 
 with the frequent advices he sent yourself, of his 
 disease, rendered any additional expressions of his 
 situation on my part superfluous. 
 
 After his decease however, I proposed to myself 
 with mournful pleasure the task of writing- a sketch 
 of that portion of the life of one, who had become 
 endeared to me by every tie that characterizes a 
 warm intercourse, and the incidents of whose career, 
 the noble qualities of whose heart, and the enthu- 
 siasm of whose nature were familiar to me from con- 
 stant and intimate communion.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 217 
 
 As I left Rome two weeks after I had seen his 
 remains consigned to their last abiding" place, the 
 interval did not permit me to put my wish into exe- 
 cution, — yet contemplated, when established in the 
 country to draw up a slight testimonial to his memory 
 more at my leisure, — but I found without the aid of 
 my journal and memorandums v/hich I had left be- 
 hind me, that I should be at a loss for dates and the 
 regular chain of events which seemed necessary. I 
 was therefore compelled, much against my inclination 
 and the desire of Mr. Chambers, to defer writing you 
 until I should be again in Rome, 
 
 Once more here, my first pleasure is to send you 
 such an imperfect memoir of our mutually lamented 
 friend, as comes within the limit of my abilities, — 
 trusting it may contribute to enlighten those who 
 mourn his untimely fate, respecting the occupation of 
 his last years. I can but hope that a worthier pen 
 than mine will inscribe his eulogium. 
 
 Long before I made the acquaintance of Mr. De 
 Veaux, I had heard him spoken of in the highest 
 terms of consideration and esteem by brother artists 
 and those who knew him in a more social capacity. 
 All were loud in their commendations, but more 
 especially Mr. Healy, with whom he lived on the 
 most intimate terms during his residence at Paris 
 some years since, — and Mr. Sherwood, his state-room 
 
 companion on his last voyage to Europe. Their 
 
 28
 
 218 MEMOIR OF 
 
 exalted expressions of regard naturally led me to 
 desire the acquaintance of one, who possessed such 
 an array of high and enviable qualities as were con- 
 ceded to him from every source, — and well did my 
 subsequent knowledge of his character justify the 
 praises that were lavished upon it. 
 
 It was on Sunday, the 19th of June, 1842, that I 
 arrived at Florence from Rome, where meeting with 
 my old friend Sherwood, he proposed at once intro- 
 ducing me to Mr, De Veaux. With this object in 
 our view, we were pursuing our course toward his 
 residence in Via Maggia, when we encountered 
 him crossing the Arno on Ponte Trinita. After 
 passing the usual compliments he joined us, and as I 
 was a stranger in the place, proposed with his pe- 
 culiar urbanity and kindness of manner to shew me 
 the principal features of the city so celebrated for its 
 objects of interest and beauty. His gentlemanly 
 bearing and warm enthusiastic nature impressed me 
 at once, and from that moment we became close and 
 ardent friends. Never shall I forget the delight we 
 experienced as we coursed the narrow and palace 
 hned streets under his guidance, listening to his in- 
 telligent descriptions or comments. How, in passing 
 the feudal edifice of a Strozzi, a Ricardi, or a Corsini, 
 his mind deeply imbued with the romantic or poetical 
 character of each, and conversant with their legends, 
 recounted an appropriate passage of their history.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 219 
 
 How, treading- the sombre aisles of the gig"antic 
 Cathedral, — pausing- ever and anon before a shrine 
 or sculptured monument, to note the living- g-roups at 
 their devotions, or those hewn vig-orously from the 
 marble, — and as perusing- the epitaphs to Italia's 
 noble dead, which the sculptured forms illustrated, 
 he pointed to each beauty, and remarked upon their 
 individuality with the feeling- of a true artist. How, 
 before the bronze gates of the Baptistry he bid us 
 with him recog-nize the truth of Michael Ang-elo's as- 
 sertion, that ''they were even worthy the portals of 
 Paradise ;" — how, seated on a stone, the favourite 
 resting" place of Dante, he impressed us with a sense 
 of the homage he was disposed to yield to genius 
 under all its modifications, — whether in the poet and 
 his associations with the stone, — the architect Brun- 
 eleschi and his connection with the pile that towered 
 far above us, surmounted by the "wondrous dome," — 
 or Giotto, the painter and author of the lofty Campa- 
 nile, — the pride of Florence which rises stamped 
 with the more delicate tracery of beauty, emulating" 
 the elevation of the soaring dome. How, before 
 each fountain, beneath the loggia of Piazza Vecchio, 
 at each new point of interest in our rambles, he 
 dwelt with the eloquence and enthusiasm of one who 
 appreciated to their full extent the treasures of mind 
 that were so profusely scattered on every hand. 
 The afternoon was lovely, and having- shewn the
 
 220 MEMOIR OP 
 
 most prominent objects, he chang-ed the channel of 
 our thoughts by a stroll along- the Arno, where on 
 the quais skirting- the river between Ponte Vecchio 
 and Ponte alia Carraja, we found the g-ay Floren- 
 tines enjoying- their festa promenade. Joining- in 
 the crowd we g-azed on Itahan beauty, and conver- 
 sing on the characteristics of the people, derived 
 much information from Mr. De Veaux, who had be- 
 come now in a measure famihar with the habits and 
 customs of the Tuscans, toward whom he inclined as 
 one of a warm and ardent temperament is disposed 
 to feel for those of a hke kind and g-enerous nature. 
 During this walk he evinced an artistic love for the 
 clime and attractions of Italy, which led from a con- 
 g-eniality of taste to the forming- of a friendship which 
 continued to increase until his death. The next day, 
 calling- at his studio, I fouud h m eng-aged upon his 
 picture of ^Ckrist administered to by Arigels,^ and 
 was hig-hly pleased with the composition, — though at 
 that time he had scarcely more than commenced it. 
 Then it was that he told me of the disappointments 
 he had experienced in not having- been able to copy 
 in the Pitti Gallery, as he had anticipated, and the 
 saddening-, discourag-ing effect it had had on him. 
 For months he had been calculating- on the advanta- 
 g-es he should derive from studying- and copying the 
 works in this renowned collection, — but the morning 
 of his arrival, on selecting the pictui'es that he most
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 221 
 
 wished to execute for his friends in America, he was 
 told that it was impossible to procure an admission 
 for six or eig'ht months, and possibly not before a 
 year, as there were many applicants and the number 
 limited. Unprepared for such an obstacle to his 
 plans, the disappointment was so great to his suscep- 
 tible nature that it depressed and dispirited him to 
 such a deg-ree, as to prevent him from adopting- any 
 settled course for a long- time. Being- unable to copy 
 and not feeling- sufficient confidence in himself to 
 attempt an orig-inal composition without more prepare 
 atory study, he was for a season undetermined as to 
 the plan best for him to pursue. At last however, 
 he resolved, after having- made two copies of heads 
 in the Ufizi Gallery, to attempt the subject he had 
 long- had in his mind, of the Saviour ministered to 
 after his temptation. It was a bold effort for one 
 who had possessed so few opportunities for studying" 
 composition, and in the whole rang-e of the New 
 Testament there is scarcely a subject that requires 
 as delicate treatment as this, — or one that embraces 
 so much exquisite poetry. His illustration of the 
 text therefore was considered highly praiseworthy 
 by his brother artists, while the sentiment of some of 
 the heads and figures displayed a pathos of feeling 
 and gentleness of thought that argued well for his 
 future productions, when time should have matured 
 his taste, and given precision to his pencil.
 
 222 MEMOIR OP 
 
 Upon this composition he labored during" most of 
 the smumer, interrupted occasionally by times devo- 
 ted to making- studies and sketches from the abundant 
 material Florence and its environs afford for the 
 port-folio, that magazine from whence the artist 
 draws the elements of his compositions. But while 
 he was thus giving- pleasure and gratification to his 
 friends, by his labors in the studio, it was when 
 away from the palette and easel, that his high quali- 
 ties of heart, the nobleness of his nature, and his 
 lofty tone of honor, which endeared him to all who 
 knew him, were shewn. Among his countrymen 
 and Enghsh acquaintances, he was known as 4he 
 noble fellow De Veaux,' and from the Italians and 
 others, he received the epithet of ' il Grazioso Amer- 
 icano.^ Those only however, who have been his 
 companion in the lengthened walk, or oft repeated 
 tete-a-tete, could appreciate him, — for although kind 
 and courteous to all, — yet with a few only, was he 
 on those terms of close intimacy which show the 
 depths of character, — the lights, shadows and grada- 
 tions of disposition. Fortunate do I consider myself, 
 for having been one of that number, and grateful am 
 I for many of the precepts and lessons he taught me. 
 In our first rambles about the city, we endeavored 
 to seek out and visit the studios of the native and 
 foreign artists, resident at Florence, and in each he 
 displayed that just criticism, that wilhngness to ac-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 223 
 
 knowledg"e merit and excellence, however humble, 
 — that appreciation of each man's abilities, which 
 shewed his mind to be far above those jealousies and 
 conventionalities, which too often accompany the pro- 
 fession. After visiting- the more eminent artists, and 
 contemplating- the g-reat works that filled their stu- 
 dios, he would return home dissatisfied with his own 
 attempts, and desponding- to think that his youth had 
 passed, without having- been able to possess the ad- 
 vantag-es that the students of art in Europe enjoy, — 
 and that so many years of his life had flown without 
 his having- accomplished more. It was in vain that 
 his friends endeavoured to cheer him, — he would ex- 
 claim, — ' oh g-ive me back my youth ag-ain,' — I see 
 what I require, but the boy should commence a pro- 
 fession like ours. Still these seasons of depression 
 had a salutary effect upon him, for they led him to 
 renewed exertions and spurred him to the attainment^ 
 of a high position in Art at home. 
 
 Shordy after my arrival in Florence, Mr. De 
 Veaux, G. L. Brown, the landscape painter and my- 
 self met alternately at each other's rooms, once a 
 week, for the purpose of sketching-. This ag-reeable 
 re-union continued during- the summer, and happily 
 did the evening-s pass, as round the well lighted table 
 the time g-lided away, as we illustrated some subject 
 proposed in sitting- down, — conversing the while on 
 art and its connections. Here I learned more of
 
 224 MEMOIR OF 
 
 De Veaux's ideas on art, and found them high and 
 liberal in the extreme. His great desire was to have 
 a school in America that should be exclusively na- 
 tional, and long-ed for the day when it should rival 
 those of Europe for design, character and impor- 
 tance. Like a true artist, he wished to see the prom- 
 inent points of our history illustrated by competent 
 artists, and was looking* forward to the day, when he 
 could contribute toward so glorious an achievment. 
 
 Next to high historic painting he was fond of sub- 
 jects that displayed the social virtues, and upon these 
 as initiatory to the more elevated walks he turned 
 his thoughts, — always selecting those of a pure and 
 exalting quality. Alive to the mechanical dexterity 
 of the art, and appreciation of individual nature, no 
 matter how lowly, yet he considered these as subor- 
 dinate to thought and sentiment, and was willing to 
 forego such excellencies for an intellectual meaning, 
 — or such motives as carried instruction and gratifi- 
 cation to the heart, rather than the eye. Having a 
 just appreciation of the poetical capacity of art, le- 
 gends and those more mystical texts of Scripture 
 that permitted a full embodiment of the artist's 
 thoughts, delighted him more than simple narrative, 
 though such subjects, even if the text was pure and 
 touching, had for him an inexpressible charm. In 
 thought therefore, he was a poetic artist, and had he 
 lived, would have carried the tender sentiment of his
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 225 
 
 own character into all his works. His love for Italy 
 and its artistic advantag-es wedded him to this g-enial 
 clime, rendering- him enthusiasdc upon all its associa- 
 dons. Taking- up his first residence at Florence, his 
 mind became imbued with the works of the earlier 
 masters of that school, which he studied with feeling 
 and discretion. Drawing from the same sources as 
 Raffaele and Michael Angelo, in the fresco and 
 chaste designs of Massaccio and Angelico Fiesole, 
 he felt that at last he was in the right path of study. 
 Thus in contemplating- these venerable masters, he 
 trusted time would mature the principles he was 
 drawing- from so pure a fountain. The intimate con- 
 nexion between the revivers and perfecters of art 
 and Florence, gave the city to his mind almost as 
 much charm as Mecca to the devout mussulman, and 
 at any time through her Piazzas, or along her streets 
 he felt still the pervading vivifying genius of Giotto, 
 Donnatelli, M. Angelo, Benvenuto Cellini, their wor- 
 thy cotemporaries and followers. Now an antiquated 
 cloister would arrest his steps, and for hours he would 
 gaze at the half obliterated frescoes that adorned its 
 walls. Now straying- into a venerable church, he 
 would make pause after pause before some glowing- 
 canvass that led the soul to heaven, or a powerfully 
 wrought g-roup called into existence by the men who 
 had been his early divinities, long- before he had 
 
 crossed the Atlantic. At another time, he would 
 29
 
 226 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Stand to contemplate the architect's skill in rearing- 
 the proud piles that every where surrounded him, — 
 or in the public garden of the Boboli and Cascina, 
 g-ive vent to ejaculations of praise, at the refining- 
 intellectual spirit that pervaded every nook and cor- 
 ner of the fair land. 
 
 With an eye for the beautiful, no spot was indiffer- 
 ent to him, and a place so teeming with historical 
 incidents gave at all times food to his reflecting mind. 
 
 After the labours of the day, or on a Sunday after- 
 noon, he was ever proposing a stroll through the city, 
 or to some favourite point in the environs. At one 
 time we would wend our way through the beautiful 
 grounds of the Pitti palace, halting at every few 
 steps, to gaze along a rich vista of statue-lined paths 
 with fountains at different intervals sparkUng merrily 
 in the sun, — or a group of children frolicking in glee 
 beneath the shade of cypress and pine,— each turn 
 presenting a new picture of elegance and refinement. 
 At another, we would climb to the heights of San 
 Miniato, and stretched upon the grass, peer on the 
 luxuriant Val d'Arno till the eye, fatigued by distance, 
 rested on the bold peaks of the Carraras, bounding 
 the western horizon, — or dwell with renewed charm 
 after every visit, upon the domes and towers beneath 
 us, that mark the sites where reposed the treasures 
 of Florence. Again, and we saw the sun dechne 
 from the heights of Fiesole or Belle Guardia, with
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 227 
 
 the fervour and brilliancy known only in this land ; 
 and at each locality he would g-ive way to an en- 
 thusiasm such as none but an artist could manifest 
 before another, — an enthusiasm prompted by the ef- 
 fervescense of a hig-hly poetic temperament. 
 
 I was fortunate in procuring- rooms on the Arno, 
 with a larg-e balcony overhang-ing- the river, and 
 here, during- the long- summer twilights and balmy 
 evening-s, it was his delig-ht to come and converse 
 upon art and the associations with Florence, and 
 the poetry of existence in such a land, — or sit mu- 
 singly and g-aze into the western sky as the gloamin 
 set in, — speculating- upon the spiritual essences of 
 being-, — seeking- as it were to derive a solution to 
 his conjectures in each star that came up in the track 
 of day to take its place in the darkening firmament. 
 The evening hues of light, — the shades of evening 
 falling over the city and distant mountains, — the 
 sweeping of the river's tide to the ocean, — the gay 
 song of the Florentines sweeping here and there 
 on the breeze, — the solemn tones of the vesper bells 
 chiming from many a dome or convent tower, — all 
 had a voice and meaning to him. Now, awakening 
 a pleasing train of reflection, — now, weighing on 
 his spirits with a despondency it was difficult for 
 him to shake off. On these evenings, to me full of 
 delightful reminiscences, he would recur to the scenes 
 of his earlier youth, and the many warm and devoted
 
 228 MEMOIR OP 
 
 friends he had left in America, — then would he weave 
 bright schemes for the future, in which those he 
 separated himself from in his native land were to 
 be partakers, — and he dwelt on his sojourn in Italy, — 
 thoug-h surrounded with every thing- to fascinate and 
 charm the artist, as only a self-exilement from those 
 endearing sympathies of the heart, — that yearning 
 solicitude for those bound to us by long and strongly 
 woven ties of affection and blood which is the sum- 
 ming up of the happiness of existence. 
 
 In recounting the incidents of his earher years, he 
 would fall into a melancholy mood, especially when 
 dwelling upon his mother and family, to whom never 
 was son more attached ; — and it was only by present- 
 ing the ambitious and calculating reasons for the 
 necessity of a residence in a strange land in their 
 most attractive hues, that his depressed spirits could 
 be wrought upon to assume their wonted hghtness. 
 One of the great atoning features to living in Italy, 
 and depriving himself of the tender communings of 
 home friends, was the higher appreciation of artistic 
 talent here than in America, and the consequent 
 respect paid to the profession, whereas, beyond the 
 Atlantic, his sensitiveness was constantly experien- 
 cing wounds and mortifications, — here he felt a con- 
 fidence in his position as an artist, and proud of an 
 occupation considered as next to divine, — capable of 
 so much that is enhghtening, elevating and refining,
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX, 229 
 
 and numbering* so many lofty intellects among- its 
 professors. This, therefore, was the chief compen- 
 sation for denying- himself the comforts of the social 
 circle at home, and the enjoyment of the warm quiet 
 hearths of his devoted friends. 
 
 Occupied with his pictures throug"h the long* sum- 
 mer's day, he cared little for making- acquaintances, 
 — in fact rather shunned forming- a large circle, — 
 which would only consume his time without yielding' 
 an equivalent. He therefore sought out and associ- 
 ated with but three or four choice spirits, who could 
 sympathize and feel with him, whether for sadness 
 or for mirth. Among those, the lamented Clevenger 
 and Mr. Brown were his favourites, thousfh with his 
 countrymen and brother artists at Florence, he was 
 at all times on cordial terms. 
 
 Thus passed the warm months until October, when 
 a pedestrian excursion into the Appenines was pro- 
 posed, and a small party formed, consisting of Mr. 
 
 S , from Virginia, Mr. M , from Boston, Mr. 
 
 De Veaux and myself, — all beginners in art and de- 
 sirous of worshipping at the shrine of nature, remote 
 from cities' haunts. With light hearts and joyous 
 spirits we shouldered our knapsacks and portfolios, — 
 bade a brief adieu to Florence and commenced our 
 tour by following the course of the Arno towards its 
 source. 
 
 For a day or two we loitered along the valley.
 
 230 MEMOIR OF 
 
 making- sketches and memorandums of the scenery, — 
 then clambered the mountains to the convent of Val- 
 lambrosa, where we remained two or three days, — 
 studying- the broad landscape that lay spread hke a 
 map beneath us, — adding to our stock of drawings 
 from the wild rocks and glens in the immediate vicin- 
 ity of the convent, and partaking the cheer of the 
 hospitable monks. 
 
 From this we crossed a lofty range of the Apen- 
 nines, and descended to the valley of the Arno again, 
 halting at night at a small hamlet by the way side. 
 The next morning we resumed our route, and not- 
 withstanding a drenching rain had set in, we con- 
 tinued our way across the country, nothing daunted 
 by the obstacles we encountered in our blind path, — 
 for in our enthusiastic mood, no undertaking seemed 
 too formidable for novices in search of the picturesque 
 and beautiful. 
 
 With spirits, as quiet people would say, strongly 
 tinctured by the romantic, we went singing on our 
 way, waking the echoes of the frowning Appennines 
 with songs and choruses we had heard, along- the 
 wild track we were passing- over. After climbing- 
 ruins, crossing- brooks, and being carried over a wide 
 rapid stream on the back of a modern Hercules, — we 
 found ourselves toward the close of the day at the 
 foot of the mountain on which the Convent of La 
 Verna is situated. Although we had been v/alking
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 231 
 
 since early morning" the convent whitlier we tended 
 was still five miles distant, but with stout hearts we 
 commenced the ascent and ere long- were enveloped 
 in clouds which saturated the few dry threads we 
 had remaining". Still we kept our spirits up, — we 
 sang" our ditties, — and thus at nig"ht-fall reached with 
 g-lad hearts and weary hmbs the Convent. Ere long- 
 and the kind monks had a roaring" fire in the wide 
 arched hall, and a supper table spread before it wor- 
 thy a king". Never was any thing" more acceptable, 
 and none among" the party enjoyed as much as 
 De Veaux the termination of the day, and the 
 quaintness of our position sheltered from the storms 
 without, on a high peak of the Appennines buried 
 amid clouds, — in a word within the Convent of La 
 Verna! After the bountiful supper we were hon- 
 oured by a visit from the father of the Convent, who 
 conversed long upon the history and legends of the 
 place, and the character of its founder St. Francis. 
 On learning" that we were Americans, he manifested 
 great interest and curiosity, — never having" seen but 
 two or three of our countrymen before, though with 
 the state of our country and its institutions he was 
 intimately acquainted. Retiring" he bade us make 
 the Convent our home as long" as it pleased us to 
 remain. The next day, as it was Sunday, and the 
 weather stormy, we confined ourselves within doors, 
 conversing with such of the monks as favoured us
 
 232 MEMOIR OF 
 
 with a visit, who impressed us deeply with the sim- 
 plicity of their characters and the pm-eness of their 
 minds. 
 
 On the following- morning- not a vapour was to be 
 seen, — and on going- out we found ourselves sur- 
 rounded by some of the most stupendous scenery 
 Italy can boast of. On the summit of the mountain a 
 circular palisade of perpendicular rocks rises, — vary- 
 ing- from five to twelve hundred feet, embracing- a 
 circuit of a mile, — on this elevation the Convent is 
 placed, — surrounded by the most wild and sublime 
 combinations of rocks, caverns and g-ig-antic trees 
 imaginable, and embracing as you walk around the 
 edge of the palisades, views of the mountains and 
 plains of Italy extending from the Mediterranean to 
 the Adantic. 
 
 Here then was a spot for a mind like De Veaux's 
 to feast itself, — accordingly we remained, enchanted 
 and exhilarated beyond expression for three or four 
 days, visiting among other things with artistic ven- 
 eration the ruined castle of Cusii where Michael 
 Angelo was born. It was with pain we parted from 
 the benevolent monks, who had lavished so much 
 kindness and attention upon us ; — while poor De 
 Veaux could talk of nothing else for miles after we 
 had left them, but their disinterested civilities, — their 
 warm natures. 
 
 After two or three days farther wandering we
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 233 
 
 were compelled to return to Florence, owing- to the 
 lateness of the season, thoug-h we did so with great 
 reluctance. I am induced thus to particularize this 
 jaunt, as it made so g-reat an impression on De Veaux, 
 that until his death, he never ceased to speak of it 
 but with the most lively pleasure, always contempla- 
 ting- a return to the sanctuaries of Vallambrosa and 
 La Verna. 
 
 Ag'ain in Florence, and he applied himself closely 
 to his picture, — but having' g-iven up his studio, he 
 worked at my rooms until October 26th, when 
 he packed and accompanied it to Leghorn, — from 
 whence he returned in a few days, and commenced 
 a series of costume drawings from the cloisters until 
 November 10th. Then he was interrupted for a 
 few days by a cold, from which he probably never 
 recovered entirely, — though he recommenced his la- 
 bours at the cloisters until the 22d, on which day we 
 started for Rome by Vetturino, and notwithstanding- 
 the exceeding-ly disagreeable weather that followed 
 us nearly to this city, De Veaux was in high glee 
 and the life of our party. 
 
 At Siena and Viterbo we saw all worthy of note; 
 and along the whole route, dwelt upon the themes 
 each few miles awaken in the student travelling in 
 Italy. The sites of battle ground.s, where the free- 
 dom or thraldom of the republic's cities were decided; 
 
 Feudal castles here and there with their associations 
 30
 
 234 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of violence, — the haunts of modern banditti. The 
 pestiferous lake of Bolsena, and as we approached 
 the Eternal city the frequent localities that carried 
 thoug-ht back to the earher incidents of history, and 
 events with more extensive connections, — furnished 
 never ending" subjects of discourse. 
 
 Thus we journeyed, and on the fifth nig-ht slept 
 within fifteen miles of Rome. The next day proving 
 cloudless, awakened, from the near proximity to the 
 city of the soul, all the latent enthusiasm of our fellow 
 passeng-ers. Excitement and joy pervaded every 
 breast except that of poor De Veaux, In vain I 
 endeavoured to rally him, — and as we g-ained some 
 eminence, pointed out the boundaries of the wide 
 spread and deserted Campagna, — the Sabine moun- 
 tains soaring" into the clear blue sky, — the Alban 
 hills, — the far off" Mediterranean, — the ruined towers 
 dotting" the broad plain, — the sites of Veil, — all illu- 
 mined by the morning" sun. And, when nearer we 
 caug"ht our first glimpse of the Dome of St. Peters, I 
 gave the accustomed shout of '■ Eco Roma!^ and 
 directed his attention to the seven hills and their 
 enduring structures, — he exclaimed, 'my dear fellow, 
 'tis useless, — would to God I could feel as you do, 
 but it is now too late. My eyes should have beheld 
 this years ago, when the warm springs of my being 
 were flowing freely, — when I had the energy of 
 younger years to battle with what those walls con-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 235 
 
 tain, — when I knew no bounds to my ambition, and 
 no undertaking- was too great for me, — then I should 
 have hailed Rome with extacy, but now, when I look 
 at the years devoted to a wrong* channel of study, 
 and contemplate what there is to be accomplished 
 by me in our profession, — it strikes a chill to my 
 heart that nothing" can dispel, and the sight of Rome 
 only ag"g"ravates. What is yon soaring- dome to me, 
 and the poetry of this widely extended landscape 
 now 1 I tell you it is too late.' 
 
 In vain I reasoned with him against g-iving way to 
 such morbid feelings, — in vain by every power of 
 persuasion, I endeavoured to shake the gloom from 
 his spirits, and bade him draw his augury for the 
 future from the brightness of the day which ushered 
 him to the Eternal city, — but no, — his mind took the 
 hue of desolation around him, and he found the type 
 of his own sad thoughts whichever way he turned 
 his eyes. My appeals were therefore idle, and it 
 was not until after we had left the country and 
 whirled through the Porta del Popolo, exchanging 
 instantaneously the somberness of the Campagna for 
 the bustle and gaiety of the lively Piazza, — startled 
 by the transition from a dead world to a space teem- 
 ing with life on every side, in the equipages dashing 
 up and down the Pincean promenade, or past him 
 into the gardens of the Borghese, — he ran his eye up 
 the long vista of the Corso lined with lofty palaces, —
 
 236 MEMOIR OF 
 
 saw the statues reposing-, and fountains sparkling- in 
 the sun, — glanced at the pointed obelisks, the church- 
 es, hotels and cypresses encircling- the Piazza, — that 
 he became himself once more, exclaiming- '■ and this 
 then is Rome.'' In spite of himself, the cloud was 
 gone from his mind, and he could not but fain ac- 
 knowledge the power of the noontide scene, so full 
 of interest and beauty. The prepossession was for- 
 tunate and favourable beyond his expectations, — from 
 that moment Florence was forgotten, and he became 
 wedded to Rome by a more lofty and intense feeling. 
 Independendy of its artistic attractions, he loved it 
 for all its exalted associadons and soul imposing 
 treasures, with an affection that grew upon him more 
 and more every day, until he would say, ' would that 
 my American friends were all here, to participate 
 with me in the enjoyment of this choice spot of the 
 earth!' 
 
 He immediately took lodgings in Via Rassella, and 
 in a few days had his plans laid for the winter, which 
 were to copy two or three pictures for those friends 
 at home who had commissioned him, then turn his 
 attention to original works. Upon going the rounds 
 of the galleries and churches, and beholding the im- 
 mense collections of high works of art, that at every 
 step arrested his attention, he became desponding 
 again, exclaiming, — 'how useless to attempt anything 
 when such master productions are staring and mock-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 237 
 
 ing scornfully at your feeble efforts. I endeavoured 
 to encourag-e him by citing- the self-humiliating- im- 
 pression Rome had produce^! on all foreig-n artists, 
 from Reynolds to the comer of yesterday, and led 
 him to contemplate other thing's, such as the Coli- 
 seum, the Forums, Pantheon, &c. These and the 
 other prominent objects of interest, occupied and 
 delig-hted him for a few days. At St. Peters' he 
 gazed reverentially, seeming as though he would 
 never finish studying its materials and dimensions. 
 Having satisfied his curiosity with the localities of 
 Rome, the desire for labor returned strong again, 
 and we looked through the galleries of the different 
 palaces, with the object of selecting something to 
 copy. At the Corsini palace he found two or three 
 compositions that pleased him, but on enquiry, learn- 
 ed that the difficulties of procuring admission to copy 
 were nearly as great as at Florence, the same result 
 attended his efforts at the Vatican, and he again 
 began to censure his ill luck, and despair of attaining 
 his purposes. I insisted on his accompanying me to 
 other galleries, till at last, after much consideration 
 and some detention, he determined to copy ' Rebecca 
 at the Fountain,^ in the Colonna Palace. The per- 
 mission once obtained, he worked steadily at this 
 copy for one or two months, setting apart an after- 
 noon in each week for visiting the halls of the Vati- 
 can, Capitol, or Sistine Chapel.
 
 238 MEMOIR OP 
 
 Through the kindness and Hberality of some Ame- 
 rican g-entlemen, a fund had been raised to form 
 an American drawing" academy, for the benefit of 
 American students at Rome, and intended to be the 
 nucleus of an institution that should afford permanent 
 advantages to all our young countrymen visiting Italy 
 with the purpose of studying art, but by mismanage- 
 ment, the intention of the founders w^as thwarted, 
 and after the second winter the embryo academy 
 ceased to exist. None of the students however, 
 valued the advantages and opportunities for studying 
 under a competent master of drawing more than 
 De Veaux, and during the whole season, never miss- 
 ed a night unless by illness. Here he much improved 
 himself, and was loud in his praise of those who 
 regarded art with such interest, as to propose a 
 gratuitous academy, with advantages superior to the 
 other national institutions at Rome, and deplored its 
 extinction as a universal loss to American artists 
 coming abroad. 
 
 Constantly occupied, the winter passed rapidly, 
 and with a better acquaintance he became more and 
 more attached to Rome. He liked the reunion of 
 his brother artists, both countrymen and foreigners, 
 forming that republic of art, which is known only 
 at this its great treasury, and whose place of assem- 
 bly, discussion and council is the Cafe Greco. He 
 liked the feasts that a stroll at any time brought his
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 239 
 
 mind, — loved the poetry of association, tliat wraps 
 every thing within the circumference of the seven 
 hills, and he delighted in the mild genial climate. 
 
 During the carnival, he was the life of the Ameri- 
 can revellers, and enjoyed the pleasantries of the 
 season with infinite rehsh. My rooms being on the 
 Corso that winter, they were the rendezvous and 
 attiring place for many of the young men, and here 
 to the great merriment of those assembled, his hu- 
 mor displayed itself in the character of a portly 
 planter, a facetious negro, or a genuine Jonathan, 
 before personifying those characters in the crowded 
 streets. The Americans at the Carnival that year, 
 will long remember ' de ole nigger what come to see 
 how de berry young missus do, and spell dere mam- 
 mas a long piece of adwice as to de excrutiating 
 manner dey was to bring 'em up.' 
 
 The Carnival past, and having finished his copy, 
 he took a studio in the Via Olmo near St. Maria 
 Maggiore, and commenced his composition of the 
 Brigand about the first of March. At this he worked 
 assiduously, until spring was far advanced, though 
 never pleasing himself. 
 
 When comins- to Rome in the autumn, Mr. De 
 Veaux and myself had laid our plans to visit Naples 
 together in the spring, making a pedestrian excursion 
 through the Abruzzi, and from thence to proceed to 
 Venice and make a few copies, — then return to Rome
 
 240 MEMOIR OF 
 
 again for the ensuing- winter ; but as the season ad- 
 vanced, and he progressed with his picture so httle 
 to his satisfaction, and being determined not to send 
 home careless works, he began to entertain fears 
 that he should not be able to leave until the middle 
 of summer. I accordingly made my arrangements 
 at his request to start without him, and on the 20th 
 
 of May proceeded into the Abruzzi with Mr. L , 
 
 a brother artist. 
 
 As soon as we were established in the ' city of the 
 sea,' I wrote for Mr. De Veaux to come on and join 
 us, representing the advantages he would enjoy for 
 copying, the charms of the city, — in truth proffering 
 all the inducements in my power for him to hasten 
 from the heats of Rome and meet me at Venice. 
 The letter he wrote in answer to my request, is 
 full of joyous anticipations, — as here he thought he 
 might be able to execute his rem&,ining commissions, 
 and then study in the manner he had long proposed 
 to himself 
 
 As soon as his pictures were completed, he left 
 Rome and travelled with all diligence to Venice. 
 Pausing a day or two at Florence, and one day at 
 Bologna, he arrived on the 15th of July, — and as I 
 had engaged rooms in the Palazzo Q^uirini, where 
 Mr. L. and myself were hving, he at once felt him- 
 self at home, and anxious to commence his studies. 
 Our location was delightful for an artist, being in a
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 241 
 
 palace on the Grand Canal, adjoining- the Academy 
 of Fine Arts, and having- the first floor to ourselves, 
 we were as independent as nabobs and happy as 
 the day was long-. The wide apartments, the bustle 
 of the Grand Canal, with its barg-es and gondolas 
 g-liding- beneath our windows, — the sumptuous piles 
 of architecture rising- around us, — the refreshing sea 
 breezes tempering- the summer's atmosphere, and the 
 close proximity almost under the same roof with the 
 master pieces of Venetian art, — inhaling the spirit of 
 Titian, Paul Veronese and Tintoretto, — what more 
 could an artist desire in the way of his profession and 
 its comforts? To De Veaux it seemed a Paradise, 
 and the realization of his youthful dreams. Here, 
 as at Rome, I played his Cicerone, in return for the 
 same office he had bestowed upon me at Florence, — 
 and the day after his arrival being- afesta, we called 
 the g-ondola and proceeded across the wide canal of 
 the Giudecca to the church of the Redentore, where 
 hig-h mass was being- performed, and whither all 
 Venice was flocking- over a bridg-e of boats tempo- 
 rarily constructed. The beauty of the day, the no- 
 velty of the scene, the mysterious motion of the 
 gondola, the gaily dressed dames, awoke all De 
 Veaux's enthusiasm again, and he gave way to his 
 feelings until every eulogistic epithet was exhausted. 
 From this church we rowed to the Cathedral and 
 
 Piazza of St. Mark, which we visited in turn with 
 31
 
 242 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the Ducal Palace, where De Veaux pronounced him- 
 self gratified beyond his wildest imag-inings, and 
 desirous of seizing* the spirit of art while it swayed 
 him so tumultuously. 
 
 Accordingly, as Mr. L and myself were copy- 
 ing in the church of >S'^. Sebastian during the recess I 
 of the Academy, he selected the altar picture as the 
 most appropriate subject for one of his commissions, 
 and commenced at once his labours in unison with 
 us. And for many a long day, how happy were we 
 together over the tomb of Paul Veronese, who is 
 buried in the church which he decorated with the 
 finest specimens of his pencil, insomuch that the 
 whole edifice may be called his Mausoleum. 
 
 Here then would we repair after our social break- 
 fast at seven, and continue unremittingly in our 
 painting until six p. m., when we returned home and 
 dined in the wide hall of the Palace, which would 
 ring again with our mirth and enjoyment. After this 
 meal the chairs would be transported to the balcony 
 overhanging the grand canal, and here, while smo- 
 king our cigars, would we watch the throng of gondo- 
 las filled with the beauty of Venice, — the rays of the 
 declining sun, as they illumined the fairy piles of 
 Madonna Saluta, or lit the stained and time-worn 
 palaces of the Foscari, Moncerrigo and Contarini, — 
 and speculate upon the proud histories till evening 
 came on. Then a row in the gondola, or a stroll
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 243 
 
 throug-h the Piazza, enlivened by the witching strains 
 of Dfiusic from a German band, or the fair Venetian 
 promenaders, closed the day. But how many days 
 of delig-htful reminiscence could I recall of our so- 
 journ at Venice, — recollections peculiar to the Queen 
 of the Adriatic, — such as wanderings amid the nar- 
 row passages of that ocean city, in search of the 
 picturesque, or works of art in its multitude of church- 
 es, — the moonhght sails through the dim canals or in 
 the open lagunes, — and the excursions to the neigh- 
 bouring islands, — all these to me are connected with 
 poor De Veaux, my constant companion, the sharer 
 of my joys, the reciprocator of my thoughts. 
 
 We were all so much occupied there that we had 
 httle time to form acquaintances, consequently knew 
 only a few artists who had come from Rome, like 
 ourselves, to make studies ; — this kept us so much 
 together, that De Veaux applied to our trio the tide 
 of ' council of three.' The many pleasurable excite- 
 ments incident to a life at Venice, — the comforta- 
 bleness of our situation, with the constant gaieiy and 
 flow of spirits that characterized our intercourse, had 
 a tendency to dispel the melancholy of De Veaux's 
 temperament, and render his seasons of depression 
 more rare than elsewhere. Pecuharly a nature of 
 sympathy, he took the hue of whatever was about 
 him, and here there was seldom occasion for gloom. 
 Still, at intervals he would dwell upon the ills of life
 
 244 MEMOIR OP 
 
 and his own prospects, — but never with more bitter- 
 ness than on his birth-day, the 6th of September, — 
 then he g"ave way to a flood of bitter saddening" 
 reflections, that aU our rallying-s could not drive 
 from him. In vain we jested him and proposed his 
 heahh, — in vain we joked him on his accumulated 
 years and honors. 'My good friends,' he rephed, 
 ' this growing" old is no theme for mirth, — once I 
 could laugh at time, but as we advance, time laughs 
 at us, — my mood is any thing but joyous.' Little did 
 we think as we strove against the demon that beset 
 him, that the anniversary of his last birth-day was 
 numbered, and that the w^eight and darkness upon 
 his mind was the shadow of the future, the black 
 presentiment of death ! In a day or two he recover- 
 ed and was himself again, though I find on referring 
 to my Journal, that his thoughts tended often towards 
 his boyhood's home and his friends in America, while 
 his sad moods became now more frequent. I re- 
 member, a week or ten days after his birth-day, we 
 went to the Lido, where a festa or Villegiatura was 
 held every Monday in September by the Venetians, 
 who upon these occasions revive in a measure the 
 festivities for which they were so celebrated. It was 
 on a beautiful afternoon, and on arriving at the island, 
 we amused ourselves by strolling beneath the trees, 
 listening to the music, or watching the groups at 
 their sports, tripping a hght measure, singing a chorus
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 245 
 
 or gazing" at a mountebank. The sun sank behind 
 the distant Alps, and for an hour or two we went 
 from tent to tent, and from fire to fire, contemplating- 
 the exhilarating- scene, and commenting upon the 
 personag-es and shades of character assembled. As 
 the evening" waned, we rowed slowly home in com- 
 pany with many a gondola of revellers, bound to- 
 ward the city. The lig-hts of Venice came trickling- 
 over the waters of the broad lag-une, — beyond the 
 moon was declining- below the horizon, while behind 
 us the noise and din of the multitude lessened at each 
 stroke of the oar, g-iving- place to songs and choruses 
 that were wafted on the breeze of evening- from 
 many a g-ondola. The sentiment of the scene was 
 impressive, — disposing- us all to pensiveness and si- 
 lence. At last De Veaux broke the channel of our 
 thoughts, exclaiming ' what a night ! and is it possible 
 that we must leave all this 1 — will it not endure for- 
 ever? — truly 'tis a bitter thought, and at this time is 
 particularly solemn to me, I know not why,' — and in 
 this strain he conversed until we reached the city, 
 giving way to the conviction that death would ere 
 long end all his earthly enjoyment. Though he did 
 not allude to any presentiment of his own approach- 
 ing end, yet from the pecuUar manner in which he 
 spoke, and the sombre tones of his thoughts, I have 
 thouoht since that there was more in his mind than 
 he cared about acknowledging.
 
 246 MEMOIR OF 
 
 He had not been long- at Venice, when we re- 
 ceived intelligence of the hopeless illness and afflict- 
 ing* circumstances of Mr. Clevenger. De Veaux 
 was greatly affected by it, and although at that time 
 his purse was limited, yet with his accustomed gene- 
 rosity, he sent to Florence quite an acceptable sum, 
 and until he heard that Mr. Clevenger had sailed 
 for America, the tidings preyed upon him. 
 
 His copy being finished, he made a few sketches 
 and painted a portrait of himself, — and then, as the 
 autumn was advancing, he made his plans for leav- 
 ing. At first I proposed accompanying him to Rome, 
 but found I could not complete the pictures I had 
 commenced until about the 1st of November. De 
 Veaux, however, was anxious to be in Rome, and 
 at work again, having accomplished so little that 
 gratified him at Venice. He accordingly appointed 
 Wednesday, the 18th October, for leaving. I wished 
 him to wait two weeks longer for me, but in vain, — 
 
 on the day he had proposed, he bade Mr. L and 
 
 myself adieu in the morning, and as we supposed, 
 started, — but a letter arriving from his banker as he 
 was on the point of embarking prevented his going, 
 and a few hours after he walked into the gallery 
 where we were painting, somewhat annoyed at the 
 detention which he regarded as ominous. The next 
 morning, the 19th, however, he left us in a violent 
 storm, and lonely enough did the time pass with us
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 247 
 
 after his departure. To me it seemed as though all 
 that was joyous in Venice had accompanied him, 
 and our only thoughts now were how long it would 
 be ere we followed. 
 
 As we were on the point of leaving, I received a 
 letter from him, dated at Pestoza, and a postscript 
 afterwards added at Florence, wherein he related 
 the misfortune that had befallen him, and how, upon 
 arriving at the frontier of the Papal states, between 
 Modena and Bologna, he had been prohibited passing 
 from not having the signature of the Pope's nuncio 
 at Venice, — consequently was obliged to cross the 
 Appennines by an unfrequented pass into Tuscany. 
 As the route was seldom travelled, he was obliged 
 to take up with a miserable conveyance, and start 
 alone over the mountains. The weather proved 
 boisterous and stormy, and the road almost impass- 
 able, — on one day a snow storm raged so violently 
 that he could make but twelve miles, and one of the 
 horses falling down, he was compelled to walk two 
 miles drenched to the skin, and send persons back 
 to assist his Vetturino. At night he was miserably 
 provided, and upon his arrival at Florence, he found 
 himself worn down with fatigue and anxiety, and 
 suffering from a severe cold that had fastened itself 
 upon his constitution. This exposure and cold was 
 the origin of his illness. So much for the passport 
 system. It may be said to have been the cause of
 
 248 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the death of one good fellow, and in doing so has 
 produced more evil than counterbalances all its good. 
 
 He wrote me to be particular with regard to my 
 passport at Venice. We followed in the same route, 
 and at Mantua the book appended to the passport 
 containing all my signatures was lost at the police sta- 
 tion, and as we left before light, it was not missed until 
 we reached the frontier, — then here was a dilemma 
 for me precisely similar to that of poor De Veaux, — 
 with the conviction of what I was to suffer, in cross- 
 ing the mountains, from his experience. At Parma 
 and Modena, as the loss was acknowledged by the 
 frontier of Lombardy, I endeavoured to procure a 
 permission to pass into the States of the Church, but 
 in vain. At Mantua I discovered fortunately on the 
 back of the passport, a signature of the Pope's nuncio 
 at Paris, dated October, 1841, two years previously, 
 and as the time was such as to warrant my having 
 come from Paris, I took the liberty of altering the 
 one into a three, and thus saved myself from follow- 
 ing in the steps of De Veaux, — though not having 
 had the signature of the Venice nuncio caused me 
 much difficulty, and at Bologna they would only 
 permit me to pass out of the States of the Church 
 again. I mention this circumstance as rather a sin- 
 gular coincidence, and the different results that at 
 times follow from the like causes. 
 
 After pausing only a day or two at Florence, 
 
 ^^
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 249 
 
 Mr. De Veaux accompanied Mr. Chambers to Rome ; 
 though on leaving- Venice he had proposed remain- 
 ing long enough at Florence to copy a picture; — 
 but he found on reaching there that the picture he 
 wished was engaged by another artist, — consequent- 
 ly he hastened to the Eternal city, by diligence. On 
 his passage he complained of a pain in his side, but 
 thought it nothing serious. Arriving at Rojiie, he 
 employed himself for a number of days in looking for 
 a studio, and as the weather was rainy and the 
 streets wet,, he took an addition to his cold which 
 increased the pain in his breast and side, — thus he 
 allowed it to linger on without consulting a physician^ 
 as his friends advised him. 
 
 On the 2d. December, I again took up my quarters 
 here, and the first person who welcomed me was 
 De Veaux, — he had that day found a studio in Piazza 
 Barberini, and I went into the rooms he was leaving. 
 When he alluded to his cold I begged him to consult 
 a physician immediately, but he commenced painting 
 without doing so, and we saw each other only at 
 dinner. On the next Saturday evening, I was told 
 by a friend that De Veaux had just had an attack of 
 spitting of blood, — I could scarcely credit it, but hast- 
 ened to his rooms and found him sitting at a table 
 writing without a fire. He alluded to the attack, 
 thought it came from his stomach and was slight. I 
 
 censured him for not being more prudent, and in- 
 32
 
 250 MEMOIR OF 
 
 sisted upon his going- immediately to bed, — and 
 promised to see him in the morning-, and apply some 
 leeches that had been prescribed for him. The next 
 morning- on entering- the room, I found Mr. Chambers 
 there before me, and Mr. De Veaux pacing- back- 
 ward and forward spitting- blood here and there in a 
 hig-hly excited state. He had just been attacked a 
 second time, — Mr. C. went instantly for the Doctor, 
 while I endeavoured to calm him and g-et him to bed. 
 For ten days Mr. Chambers and myself watched with 
 him alternately day and nig-ht. A g-ood nurse was 
 then procured, and during- his illness I saw him once 
 or twice nearly every day. My eng-ag-ements would 
 not permit me to be in such constant attendance as 
 Mr. Chambers, to whom the highest praise is due for 
 his unceasing- devotion during- .all his long and painful 
 illness. No brother could have performed the kind 
 offices with more real and deep-felt interest, while 
 his fervent religious character was a great source of 
 consolation to the suffering invalid. Previously to his 
 confinement he commenced a small costume picture, 
 and a composition of Hagar and Ishmael in the wil- 
 derness, which however he had but just begun to 
 paint upon when he was so fatally seized. 
 
 As Mr. Chambers notified you from time to time of 
 the progress of his disease, and the happy state of 
 his mind towards its close, it will be useless for me 
 to recount the weary months that passed, — the en-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 251 
 
 courag-ement of himself and friends that he would 
 recover, — with the hopes and plans for the future, — 
 the subsequent despair, and final resignation to the 
 decrees of our All-wise Creator. To his friends in 
 America however, it will be a great gratification to 
 know that during the whole of his sickness, every 
 care and attention was paid him by numerous friends, 
 who were ever solicitous to administer to his neces- 
 sities. 
 
 His sad state threw a gloom over the spirits of all 
 his brother artists, by whom he was universally be- 
 loved, and the first salutation at meeting- was, — how 
 is poor De Veaux? — is there any thing encouraging? 
 
 About the first of March he was removed into Via 
 Baberino, a more central situation. Here he first 
 learned that there was no hope for his recovery, — 
 and all his thoughts were turned toward preparing 
 himself for the last great change. The house in Via 
 Baberino was found to be too noisy for him, and we 
 removed him into Via St. Sebastianella, a small street 
 leading from the Piazza di Spagna; — here he en- 
 joyed quiet and the frequent visits of his friends, and 
 among them two or three clergymen, who became 
 interested in his situation. But he soon became so 
 feeble, that he could converse with them but little. 
 From these apartments he never went out until he 
 was carried to his last abiding place, — but lingered 
 on, taking no heed of the world without, or the
 
 252 MEMOIR OF 
 
 chang-es of the advancing* spring-. The fragrance of 
 early flowers, — the sing-ing- of the birds had now no 
 charm for him, — his mind was dwelling" constantly 
 upon that clime ' where there is no more snow, no 
 scorching" noon-tide heat,' — and his fanciful imag"ery 
 was forming" visions of a perfect paradise, pure, 
 unsullied, uncontaminated. His dreams of earthly 
 excellence were blig-hted, — the yearning- and aspira- 
 tions of early years for a worldly renown, blasted, 
 — the long" cherished hopes of his life, dashed out! 
 But with the faith and confidence of a true Chris- 
 tian, he raised himself above the disappointments of 
 this existence, and plumed his pinions for a flig-ht to 
 those happy realms, — where the storms of passion, 
 the strug-g-les ag-ainst adverse circumstance, — the 
 neg"lect of worth, and human, frailties are unknown. 
 As his dissolution approached his constant prayer 
 was that God would hasten his end, and not delay 
 the joys that were awaiting" him, — though while it 
 pleased his Maker to keep him upon earth, to endow 
 him with patience to bear his chastening" rod. — 
 ^ Purge me, purge me, oh! God, and make me clean,' 
 was ever his prayer and suppHcation. Thus he hn- 
 gered on until Saturday night, April 27th, 1844, 
 when he sent for Mr. Chambers at one o'clock, en- 
 quired why all his friends v/ere not called, addressed 
 a few words to Mr. Chambers, and at five o'clock, 
 A. M. on Sunday, breathed his last.
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 253 
 
 On referring- to my Journal of that date I find I 
 made the following" remarks: 
 
 'As the day was dawning he desired the woman 
 to open the blinds and admit more light, — after asking- 
 for his friends he became quiet, murmuring- to him- 
 self from time to time, and the last words Chambers 
 heard him utter, were ' Jesus, blessed Jesus,' — thus 
 his soul wing-ed its way, sounding- the watch-word of 
 Heaven, — and his g-entle spirit sought that peace for 
 which he had been so ardently praying- the last two 
 weeks. It was near day-break when the silver 
 chord was broken, and the early light was stealing 
 as a precursor of the sun, over Monte Trinita, and 
 shedding- its faint influence in the room of the sick 
 man. The nig-ht taper like the invalid on his couch 
 had sunk to its socket, and the feebleness of both 
 were about to be exchanged for a hght unceasing- 
 and full of glory. As if to g-aze once more upon the 
 blue sky, and recall a ling-ering* thought of earth, the 
 sick man desired the window should be opened ; — 
 who can tell the thoug-hts that rushed throug-h his 
 mind as his feeble vision soug-ht the narrow aperture, 
 and the g-rey dawn without'? From the state of his 
 mind however, we can easily suppose he was think- 
 ing- of the clime where no night usurped the hues 
 of day, where every thing- was fresh as bursting 
 morning-, — and with a murmuring- prayer to the Great 
 Author of light his freed spirit sped its way from a
 
 254 MEMOIR OP 
 
 frail perishing- tenement into the efFulg"ent glory sur- 
 rounding- Jehovah's throne.' * * * * 
 
 It was on Monday, April the 29th, that his friends 
 and all the Americans at Rome, assembled to pay 
 the last tribute of reg-ard to all that this world claimed 
 of poor De Veaux. Towards the close of the after- 
 noon the hearse, followed by a hne of carriag-es, took 
 its mournful course through the crowded streets to 
 the Protestant burial g-round. The g-enial tempera- 
 ture of early spring- was awakening- in the trees, 
 herbage and flowers a renewed existence, reminding- 
 us of the new state of being* into which our friend 
 had passed, — and after the solemn service of the 
 church had been read over his remains, we con- 
 sig-ned them to their narrow house, as the sun was 
 sinking- below the Mediterranean horizon. The hour 
 was impressive, and the place where we laid him is 
 fitting- for the long- sleep of death. About him are 
 the clustering- mounds of others of his countrymen, 
 cut off like himself in the pride of their youth or 
 manhood, — ^fresh flowers were blooming over their 
 g-raves, — above, the tall cypress and pines moan in 
 the evening- wind, and the venerable walls of Rome 
 and the lofty pyramidal mausoleum of Caius Sex- 
 tus throw their deep shadows over the sacred en- 
 closure. Shelley, Keats, and many a g-ifted mind 
 from other nations slumber here ; — the multitude of 
 the dead, the crumbling- mould of centuries, the de-
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 255 
 
 caying" particles of the earliest ag-es of the world, 
 mingle alone with his dust, and are the only spirits 
 that pervade the spot. Rome with its living" pulsa- 
 tions is far removed. And here let him repose, — 
 like the spring" and summer flowers that wave over 
 his g'rave, his memory will ever bloom in the hearts 
 of those who knew him, — who, cut off in the youth 
 of a promising" career, left a name for nobleness of 
 character, g-entleness of heart, and streng"th of feeling", 
 more to be envied than the renown of g"ifted talents 
 alone, — or the proud blazonry of professional ele- 
 vation. 
 
 The pleasurable task I proposed to myself, my 
 dear sir, is finished ; — would it were worthier the 
 dear friend whose loss we mourn; but if the peru- 
 sal of this slight sketch affords his friends at home 
 the gratification I have derived from writing" it, my 
 object will have been accompHshed. If the materials 
 are of service to you, in your contemplated memoir 
 of our lamented friend, they are entirely at your 
 command, to do with them as you think proper. 
 
 With the assurance of the hig"hest esteem and con- 
 sideration beheve me, 
 
 My dear sir, most truly yours, 
 
 Thomas P. Rossiter." 
 
 A plain marble slab erected by artist friends, now 
 marks the spot where lie his remains, far from his
 
 256 MEMOIR OF 
 
 home and country. It is placed upright, and under 
 his profile, which is cut in high relief, is the following 
 inscription : 
 
 SACRED 
 
 To the memory of 
 JAMES DE VEAUX, 
 
 PAINTER, 
 
 Who was born in Charleston, S. C, America, 
 
 And died in Rome, April 28, 1844, 
 
 Aged 31 years and 6 months. 
 
 This monument has been erected to the 
 
 Deceased by his friends, as a token of their 
 
 High regard and esteem 
 
 For him. 
 
 After what I have already written of the character 
 and course of the subject of these pages, it were 
 needless to review his history. The partiality of 
 friendship may be allowed to say, that his natural 
 talents were of a high order, and his personal quali- 
 fications those of a gentleman of noble and refined 
 feelings. To his family, his loss is irreparable, — to 
 his friends who mourn his early fall their privation 
 is a painful one, — to his native State, his premature 
 dissolution is another example of her misfortune in 
 her sons of genius ; * — and his country and the Fine 
 
 ♦ " South Carolina has had the honor of producing one of our greatest 'lights 
 of fame,' who but recently died at Cambridge, full of years and of honors; and
 
 JAMES DE VEAUX. 257 
 
 Arts have cause to lament a worthy and promising" 
 Artist, whose aims at hig-h excellence, with g-eniiis 
 and judgment and mechanical abiUty, would have 
 given him a proud position in his profession. His 
 portraits, of which he painted a large number, were 
 remarkable for their truthfulness in likeness, and a 
 gentility which is always pleasing. He was apt to 
 improve upon his subject, but this was Sir Thomas 
 Lawrence's failings which made him so popular. — 
 '' The difference between Hogarth and Michael An- 
 gelo was in the former representing men as they 
 really are, which gratifies our curiosity, but the latter 
 soothed our pride by lifdng them higher and making 
 them better. Raphael shows the perfection of the 
 human form, while Hogarth illustrates its lowest de- 
 gradation or perversion." * De Veaux was pecu- 
 liarly happy in giving the characteristic air of his 
 subject, which was a valuable acquirement. North- 
 cote observes of this : 
 
 " The greatest history painters have always been 
 able portrait painters. How should a man paint a 
 thing in motion, if he cannot paint it still 1 But the 
 great point is to catch the prevailing look and char- 
 acter ; if you are' master of this, you can make what 
 
 well might she also mourn the untimely fate of another less fortunate son, cut 
 off piematurely, at the very dawning of his fame, who, had he lived, would 
 have earned a name in the annals of his art as proud as that of Allston; the 
 gifted, generous, lost De Veaux !" — De Leon's Address. 
 
 * Northcote. 
 
 33
 
 258 MEMOIR. 
 
 use of it you please. If a portrait has force, it will 
 do for history ; and if history is well painted it will 
 do for portrait. If you can give the look^ you need 
 not fear painting- history." 
 
 In the only two original compositions which De 
 Veaux has left, ^'Christ and the Angels" and '^The 
 Bandit and Fmnily," the stories are well told, — the 
 expression of the sentiment is successful, and they 
 are admirable specimens of that fine genius which has 
 passed away in its youth. The bright anticipations 
 of hope, the briUiant prospect of earthly success, the 
 rich rewards of years of toil, the gratification of in- 
 terested friends, the fond anxiety of the widowed 
 parent in the pride and prop of her declining years, 
 have all been " as a tale that is told." But in the 
 regret of friends, " they sorrow not as those without 
 hope," — they feel that '' he died the death of the 
 righteous," and has changed the aspirations of earth 
 for the gain of Heaven, — the vain glory of the world 
 that passeth away, for that which endureth forever 
 in Eternity. It is a pleasing consolation to them to 
 know that his last end was peace. 
 
 " How calm his exit, 
 Night dews fall not more gently to the ground, 
 Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft." 
 
 THE END, 
 
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