There were as many differing opinions in regard to Angelica Kauffman, the woman, as in regard to the quality of her art.  Some of her biographers believed her to be perfectly sincere and uninfluenced by flattery.  Nollekens takes another view; he calls her a coquette, and, among other stories, relates that when in Rome, “one evening she took her station in one of the most conspicuous boxes in the theatre, accompanied by two artists, both of whom, as well as many others, were desperately enamoured of her.  She had her place between her two adorers, and while her arms were folded before her in front of the box, over which she leaned, she managed to clasp a hand of both, so that each imagined himself the cavalier of her choice.”

When Angelica could rise above the unhappiness and mortification of her infatuation for the so-called De Horn, she devoted herself to her art, and during twelve years supported her father and herself and strengthened the friendships she had gained in her adopted land.  At length, in 1781, her father’s failing health demanded their return to Italy; and now, when forty years old, she married Antonio Zucchi, an artist who had long loved her and devoted himself to her and to her father with untiring affection.

The old Kauffman lived to visit his home in Schwarzenburg and to reach Southern Italy, but died soon after.

Signor Zucchi made his home in Rome.  He was a member of the Royal Academy, London, and was in full sympathy with his wife in intellectual and artistic pursuits and pleasures.  De Rossi says:  “It was interesting to see Angelica and her husband before a picture.  While Zucchi spoke with enthusiasm Angelica remained silent, fixing her eloquent glance on the finest portions of the work.  In her countenance one could read her emotions, while her observations were limited to a few brief words.  These, however, seldom expressed any blame—­only the praises of that which was worthy of praise.  It belonged to her nature to recognize the beauty alone—­as the bee draws honey only out of every flower.”

Her home in Rome was a centre of attraction to the artistic and literary society of the city, and few persons of note passed any time there without being presented to her.  Goethe and Herder were her friends, and the former wrote:  “The good Angelica has a most remarkable, and for a woman really unheard-of, talent; one must see and value what she does and not what she leaves undone.  There is much to learn from her, particularly as to work, for what she effects is really marvellous.”  In his work called “Winckelmann and His Century,” Goethe again said 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.”

In the midst of the social demands on her time in Rome, she continued to devote herself to her art, and Signor Zucchi, hoping to beguile her into idleness, purchased a charming villa at Castel Gondolfo; but in spite of its attractions she was never content to be long away from Rome and her studio.