spicuously, and in my life I never saw (or smelt)
anything so abominable and disgusting.

The rest of the morning was spent in the Vatican.

I stood to-day for some time between those two great masterpieces, the
Transfiguration of Raffaelle, and Domenichino's Communion of St.
Jerome. I studied them, I examined them figure by figure, and then in
the ensemble, and mused upon the different effects they produce, and
were designed to produce, until I thought I could decide to my own
satisfaction on their respective merits. I am not ignorant that the
Transfiguration is pronounced the "grandest picture in the world," nor
so insensible to excellence as to regard this glorious composition
without all the admiration due to it. I am dazzled by the flood of
light which bursts from the opening heavens above, and affected by the
dramatic interest of the group below. What splendour of colour! What
variety of expression! What masterly grouping of the heads! I see all
this--but to me Raffaelle's picture wants unity of interest: it is two
pictures in one: the demoniac boy in the foreground always shocks me;
and thus from my peculiarity of taste the pleasure it gives me is not
so perfect as it ought to be.

On the other hand, I never can turn to the Domenichino without being
thrilled with emotion, and touched with awe. The story is told with
the most admirable skill, and with the most exquisite truth and
simplicity: the interest is one and the same; it all centres in the
person of the expiring saint; and the calm benignity of the
officiating priest is finely contrasted with the countenances of the
group who support the dying form of St. Jerome: anxious tenderness,
grief, hope, and fear, are expressed with such deep pathos and
reality, that the spectator forgets admiration in sympathy; and I have
gazed, till I could almost have fancied myself one of the assistants.
The colouring is as admirable as the composition--gorgeously rich in
effect, but subdued to a tone which harmonizes with the solemnity of
the subject.

There is a curious anecdote connected with this picture, which I wish
I had noted down at length as it was related to me, and at the time I
heard it: it is briefly this. The picture was painted by Domenichino
for the church of San Girolamo della Carita. At that time the factions
between the different schools of painting ran so high at Rome, that
the followers of Domenichino and Guido absolutely stabbed and poisoned
each othe