mself to her and to her father with
untiring affection, and when the old man died he was happy in the thought
that his beloved daughter had so true a friend as Zucchi.

From this time their home was in Rome, where Angelica was the centre of an
artistic and literary society of a high order. Among her visitors were
such men as Herder and Goethe. The latter wrote of her: "The light and
pleasing in form and color, in design and execution, distinguish the
numerous works of our artist. No living painter excels her in dignity or
in the delicate taste with which she handles the pencil." She was very
industrious, and her life seems to have been divided between two
pleasures, her work and the society of her friends, until the death of her
husband, which occurred in 1795. She lived twelve years longer, but they
were years of great sadness. She made journeys in order to regain her
spirits. She visited the scenes of her childhood, and remained some time
in Venice with the family of Signor Zucchi.

Even after her last return to Rome she worked as much as her strength
would permit, but her life was not long. She was mourned sincerely in
Rome; her funeral was attended by the members of the Academy of St. Luke;
and her latest works were borne in the procession. She was buried beside
her husband in the Church of St. Andrea dei Frati. Her bust was placed in
the Pantheon.

Various critics have praised her works in the most liberal manner; others
can say nothing good of them. For myself, I cannot find the extreme of
praise or blame a just estimate of her. No one can deny the grace of her
design, which was also creditably correct. Her portraits were good; her
poetical subjects are very pleasing; her historical pictures are not
strong; her color was as harmonious and mellow as that of the best
Italians, excepting a few of the greatest masters, and in all her pictures
there is something which wins for her a certain fondness and praise, even
while her faults are plainly seen. Her pictures are to be found in
galleries in Rome, Florence, Vienna, Munich, and England; many are also in
private collections. She painted several portraits of herself; one in the
Uffizi, at Florence, is very pleasing. She represents herself seated in a
solitary landscape, with a portfolio in one hand and a pencil in the
other. She has an air of perfect unconsciousness, as if she thought of her
work only. Her etchings are much valued, and sell for large prices. Many
of