monument which belonged to the history of the kingdom.' Krengan and Damaxenes Athletes.-These figures are of the natural size. They were dedicated to Cardinal Consalvi, and are now in the Vatican. Hebe pouring out the nectar. This figure is of the size of nature, and belongs to the Emperor of Russia. Hercules dashing Lycas against the rock. This colossal group is now at Rome in the palace of Torlonia Duke of Branciana. Napoleon, with the sceptre in his left hand, and in his right hand a globe, upon which is seen a genius holding a crown and a branch of palm. This statue, after the battle of Waterloo, became the property of the Duke of Wellington. The engraving of this statue by Racciani was dedicated by Canóva to the republic of St. Marino, in gratitude to the senate for having enrolled his name amongst their citizens. Mausoleum of Maria Christina, Arch-duchess of Austria.-This is esteemed one of the finest of Canóva's works, and is now in the church of the Augustins at Vienna-The figure of Beneficence was engraved separately, and dedicated to Count Verri, the author of Les Nuits Romaines, and of La Sapho Itali enne. The mother of Napoleon, of the natural size. This is an imitation of the celebrated statue of Agrippina at the capitol, and is now at Chatsworth, being the property of the Duke of Devonshire. Venus Victorious.-The goddess is lying down and holding the apple. At the sight of this beautiful statue, Lord Cawdor, to whom it is dedicated, engaged Canóva to execute another statue of a nymph lying in a different attitude; Canóva represented the nymph raising herself to listen to the lyre of love. The statue of Venus Victorious is a likeness of Pauline Buonaparte, Princess of Borghese. Venus rising from the bath. The form and position of the head are almost the same as in the Venus de Medicis. Theseus overcoming the Centaur. -This colossal group of two fi gures was carved out of two immense blocks, or rather rocks of marble, and was destined for the city of Milan. this The three Graces.-The figures of group are of the utmost beauty. It is now the property of the Duke of Bedford. Religion crowned and surrounded by rays of glory. The statue is holding a cross and a shield, on which are the figures of St. Paul, and St. Peter in relief. Canóva offered this colossal statue to the Pope, as a mark of his homage and gratitude. Difficulties having been raised as to the placing of this statue, Canóva sold his property, and withdrew himself from the Papal territories. In his native country, he built a temple for the reception of this figure of religion. building was a rotunda, with a fronThe tispiece of the exact dimensions of the parthenon at Athens, and resembling it in every respect, except that the materials of the copy are stone, the original being of marble. Mars and Venus.-A group designed for his Majesty. Canóva was very unfortunate with this statue, having successively found three blocks of marble defective within, after considerable progress had been made in the work. Peace and the Graces.-In sion of His Majesty. posses Hector holding a naked sword. A winged figure of Peace trampling upon a Serpent-In the right hand is a branch of olive, and in the left, a sceptre-Upon the pedestal is engraved Peace of Abo, 1803. Peace of Camadsgy, 1804. Peace of Frederickscham, 1809. The statue is the property of Count Romanzoff. Concord-a resemblance of Maria Louisa. The figure is seated, and holding a sceptre and a discus. Piety. A figure enveloped with veils, and her hands joined, but solely by the extremities of the fingers. Gentleness.-A female figure seat ed, the likeness of Leopoldina Peter- Paris presenting the Apple. Two Dancers (females) of the natural size, one holding the cymbals, and the other a crown. A Statue of Washington-designed for the hall of the senate of South Carolina. The individuality of this great man is lost by Canóva's attiring him in a roman costume. A Mausoleum ordered by the Marchioness of Santa Crux, for her daughter, but containing now both the parent and child. Inscribed upon the tomb is the simple and affecting epitaph mater infelicissima filia et sibi. The Mausoleum of Alfieri, with the figure of Italy weeping over the ashes of this celebrated genius. The Mausoleum of Volpato, with a representation of Canóva himself weeping at the loss of his friend. The Mausoleum of Count Souza, Portuguese Ambassador at Romeof Frederick Prince of Orange, and of Lord Nelson; and finally, a cenotaph to the memory of John Fallieri, a senator of Venice. Canóva likewise executed a colossal statue of himself, and a figure of a horse larger than any now extant. He had modelled for this horse a colossal figure of Napoleon, looking backwards, which, said the artist, "is a proof that he is the first of all." Murat appropriated this equestrian statue to himself; and Charles III. of Spain, subsequently designed it for his own figure, but it appears destined to bear a colossal statue of Ferdinand of Naples. We believe we have given a complete list of this artist's works. In 1798, and 1799, Canóva visited Austria and Prussia, and in 1802, he repaired to Paris, at the invitation of Buonaparte, then first Consul: at this time he executed the colossal bust of Napoleon. In 1815, he was sent to France with the title of Ambassador of the Pope, his sole object, however, was to superintend the restoration of the monuments of art to the different Italian states; an office which he executed strictly to the letter of his instructions. This work of restitution completed, he from the Prince Regent a snuff box, visited this country, and received richly set in diamonds. On his return to Rome, he was received with honour by the academy of St. Luke -the Pope constituted him prefect of the Fine Arts, conferred him the honor of knighthood, after upon wards created him Marquis d'Ischia, (roman) crowns. with an annual pension of 1000 5th of January, 1816, the Pope, in Finally, on the book of the capitol. council, enrolled his name in the On the evening of the 4th of October last, Canóva repaired to Venice, being extremely ill. He alighted at the house of his friend, Antonio Francesconi, but was so the staircase, In the course of the weak that he could scarcely ascend night he was seized with violent convulsions. His friend, Councelvomitings, which were succeeded by lor Aglietti, now thought it advisable to communicate to him the approach of death. He received the news with firmness-ordered that his body might be buried at his his heart might be deposited at the native town of Possagno, and that Imperial and Royal Academy of Fine Arts at Venice, of which he was the President. He lingered until the 12th of October, and, at morning of that day, he breathed forty-four minutes past eight on the his last. A cast was taken of his 14th his body was conveyed to the countenance, and on Wednesday the cathedral of St. Marks, attended by the Governor of Venice, and the Arts, the public authorities, and the President and Society of the Fine members of the University of Padua. The body was placed upon a temporary cenotaph; a funeral dirge was then performed, and, the body being removed to the hall of the Society of the Fine Arts, an oration was pronounced over it by his friend, Count Cicognara, President of the ried in the patriarchal church of St. Society. The next day he was buMark, at Venice, and the following inscription was engraved to his memory: In Front of the Cenotaph placed in the Nave. Qui Princeps Artium Solemniter Scalpri Sui Miracula Per Europam Qui a Magnis Regibus Quotquot Estis Pulchri Rectiq. Pias Preces ad Tumulum Fundite. On the Right-hand Side. Quod In Possanei Clivo Suæ In Religionem Observantiæ On the Left-hand Side.. Tanta In Eo Amplitudo Ingenii Ac Vis In Simulacris Effingendis Per Otium Excolendo Fere Assequeretum. Behind the Cenotaph. Et in Summo Gloria Fastigio Inopinato Funere Sublatum Nunc Veneti Tui Mox. Roma Et Universus Orbis Prosequerentur. Canova's fine talents were enhanced by his virtues, and the generosity of his disposition. He was modest and unassuming; candid and sincere; disinterested and benevolent, in the extreme. He was free from petty professional jealousies, and equally free from national vanity and prejudice. He had studied from the Italian models, and particularly from the works of Michael Angelo. -These he held up as the perfection of art; but when in the latter part of his life he had an opportunity of seeing the Elgin Marbles, his elevation of mind soared above all his former prepossessions, and national partialities; and, alive to the beauties of these surprising monuments of Greece, he at once pronounced that they would infallibly throw all other antique statuary and sculpture into comparative disrepute. Canova's attempts at painting are Isaid to have been abortive. As a sculptor, his genius reached the correct and beautiful rather than the sublime. He had not formed his early studies in the severe school of Grecian art; fancy and an elegant imagination pervade his works, and it is singular, that, although he was acutely sensible to all the softer emotions and tender sympathies of life, he never made any figure which can be cited as an example, or even an attempt at the pathetic. Canóva had no rival, and it is, at least, premature, to oppose to him an artist so little known to Europe in general, as Thorvaldsen, the sculptor of Copenhagen. All comparisons, between Canóva and our own celebrated artists, are rendered nugatory by the different schools in which they respectively excel. Canóva's genius was not precoce, and his first works not only did not afford any promise of future excellence, but they did not display any of that character of mind which is so decidedly stamped upon his maturer productions. His two baskets of fruit were certainly finished in an elaborate manner for a boy of fourteen; his next work, Eurydice, was without any decided character, and of little merit; and his Orpheus was by no means a happy production, even for a student. His Dædalus and Icarus was esteemed a tame imitation of a bad model injudiciously selected. The cast from this group was preserved by Canóva in his gallery, whether from any esteem for it we do not know, but it certainly may serve as a proof of the immeasurable superiority to which he afterwards attained. The composition of the Mausoleum of Pope Clement XIV. is but indifferent, but the fine head of the old man offering. the bust of the Pope was a decided ray of his awakened genius. His next work, Cupid and Psyche, was graceful, but it betrayed labour and study-faults from which all his subsequent works were free. Psyche standing, Venus and Adonis, and Mary Magdalen followed in succession; this last statue is one of the happiest productions of Canóva's chissel. His next work, Cupid and Psyche standing, had the unpardonable fault of Cupid's figure being more delicate than that of the female. His Perseus, with the head of Medusa, was always undervalued by its having been destined to replace the Apollo Belvidere, after that antique had been carried to Paris by Buonaparte. His Athletes, Krengan and Damaxenes, never produced much effect upon the public. His Hebe has been justly admired by all Europe. His statue of the Mother of Napoleon is a noble work; it carries in it a conviction of its being a correct likeness of the individual, and yet bears that stamp of mighty power which would lead the beholder to mistake it for a work of high imagination, were you not acquainted with the exalted mind and character of her whom it is designed to represent. It is beyond our limits, however, to indulge in criticism upon each individual work of this great man. If we cannot give him the fame of a Phidias, a Praxitiles, or even of a Michael Angelo, we must acknowledge, that he is destined to occupy a distinguished place in the line of great masters. He had beauties peculiarly his own; for grace of posture and of action, for that perfection of parts and harmony of union which produce the effect of loveliness, and for that animation which deludes us into a belief of reality, his nymphs are unrivalled; they create what may be called a chaste voluptuousness, and revive in the mind some of the fictions of the ancient poets. THE TRAGIC DRAMA. THE Drama, from its first appearance in the heroic days of ancient Greece, down to the present era, has occupied more attention than any other department of literature. The great productions of Hesiod, of Herodotus, of Thucydides, or even the Father of Poetry, the immortal Homer, attracted a less powerful attention than the tragedies of Eschylus and Sophocles, the effusions of the pathetic Euripides, or the comedies of the licentious Aristophanes, and the more chaste and elegant Menander. This was to be accounted for by their embodying feelings, which were at issue with the deepest sensations of the human soul, and the publicity of appeal to the passions of the assembled multitude on representation. History and poetry have to make their way in the solitude of leisure, and the silence of the closet; they form their impressions, not so much by striking on the senses, and acting on the passions, as by being approved by our judgment, and agreeing with our feelings. The Drama, though it demands to be censured in judgment, awakes the senses to judge. It addresses itself to thousands, who come with feelings too strongly excited for mere sober narration, or beautiful imagery, and which require to be sustained by powerful and continued incident and action. If the author flag, or the actor prove unequal, the spirits of the auditory become cold and languid; the tension of interest requires to be supported to the last, and the crowded audience to be dismissed with feelings too much warmed for discrimination, and too rapturous for the niceties of critical coldness or reproof. In Ancient Greece, the Drama had its commencement in religion: the Feast of the Goat, the Song of the Vintage, and the Hymns in Honour of Bacchus, sung by the rustic reyellers, who appeared with their faces stained with the lees of wine, shew the humility of its origin. It was enlarged by the dark genius of the terrible Eschylus, and the divine Sophocles, and those harrowing representations brought forward, Eur. Mag. Vol. 82. which appalled the audience, in the presages of fate, the presence of the furies, and the awful visitations of the gods. To them succeeded the mournful and tender Euripides, less terrible in his imagery, but with more of nature; lofty hymns, in honour of the gods, mixed with the chorus, which intimated the moral of the play, and instructed and warned the beholders. The Altar to the Divinity, which appeared upon the stage, supported the religious spirit of the performance, and gave solemnity to the representation.The interest excited in Greece by these exhibitions was intense; in this colder climate, and more advanced state of civilization, the appearance of actors on an immense stage, disguised with masks, formed at the mouth like trumpets for the enlargement of the voice, and elevated on the lofty buskin to supernatural stature, could, from their want of resemblance to any thing like human life, create neither interest nor effect; but in Greece, in those days of mythology and heroic daring, the impression was different.' In that delightful climate, the vast theatre, whose roof was the cloudless heavens, was crowded with spectators, who sate whole days at its lengthened representations. They were delighted to see embodied before them the resemblance of Hercules, of Theseus, of those victors and heroes who had become immortal by their valour, and lived in the songs and annals of their country. They looked on their attendance as a worship due to these, their great progenitors, and grateful to their divinities, as a sacrifice offered at their shrine. In Greece, the profession of an actor carried with it respect, and honour, and reward; the generals and warriors who commanded in their armies, and their fleets, often appeared after on their stage; it was consecrated by the incense of religion, and supported by the fervour of popular veneration. So enthusiastic and devoted was the attachment of the people to it, that one of their historians relates, that, on the fatal intelligence arriving at Athens of the disastrous 3 B |