ing
on the Arno, extends along both sides of an avenue running back to the
Palazzo Vecchio. We entered the portico which passes around under the
great building, and after ascending three or four flights of steps, came
into a long hall, filled with paintings and ancient statuary. Towards
the end of this, a door opened into the Tribune--that celebrated room,
unsurpassed by any in the world for the number and value of the gems it
contains. I pushed aside a crimson curtain and stood in the presence of
the Venus.

It may be considered heresy, but I confess I did not at first go into
raptures, nor perceive any traces of superhuman beauty. The predominant
feeling, if I may so express it, was satisfaction; the eye dwells on its
faultless outline with a gratified sense, that nothing is wanting to
render it perfect. It is the ideal of a woman's form--a faultless
standard by which all beauty may be measured, but without striking
expression, except in the modest and graceful position of the limbs. The
face, though regular, is not handsome, and the body appears small, being
but five feet in height, which, I think, is a little below the average
stature of women. On each side, as if to heighten its elegance by
contrast with rude and unrefined nature, are the statues of the
Wrestlers, and the slave listening to the conspiracy of Catiline, called
also The Whetter.

As if to correspond with the value of the works it holds, the Tribune is
paved with precious marbles and the ceiling studded with polished
mother-of-pearl. A dim and subdued light fills the hall, which throws
over the mind that half-dreamy tone necessary to the full enjoyment of
such objects. On each side of the Venus de Medici hangs a Venus by
Titian, the size of life, and painted in that rich and gorgeous style of
coloring which has been so often and vainly attempted since his time.

Here are six of Raphael's best preserved paintings. I prefer the "St.
John in the Desert" to any other picture in the Tribune. His glorious
form, in the fair proportions of ripening boyhood--the grace of his
attitude, with the arm lifted eloquently on high--the divine inspiration
which illumines his young features--chain the step irresistibly before
it. It is one of those triumphs of the pencil which few but Raphael have
accomplished--the painting of _spirit_ in its loftiest and purest form.
Near it hangs the Fornarina, which he seems to have painted in as deep a
love as he entertained for t