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After leaving Canova's studio, I stepped into the church of San Luigi de'
Francesi, in the Via di Ripetta. It was built, I believe, by Catherine
de' Medici, and is under the protection of the French government, and a
most shamefully dirty place of worship, the beautiful marble columns
looking dingy, for the want of loving and pious care. There are many
tombs and monuments of French people, both of the past and present,--
artists, soldiers, priests, and others, who have died in Rome. It was so
dusky within the church that I could hardly distinguish the pictures in
the chapels and over the altar, nor did I know that there were any worth
looking for. Nevertheless, there were frescos by Domenichino, and
oil-paintings by Guido and others. I found it peculiarly touching to
read the records, in Latin or French, of persons who had died in this
foreign laud, though they were not my own country-people, and though I
was even less akin to them than they to Italy. Still, there was a sort
of relationship in the fact that neither they nor I belonged here.


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