usted and sickened
from the cold, obtrusive, _painted_ representation of the same object;
for the truth of this I appeal to men. I can only see with woman's
eyes, and think and feel as I believe every woman _must_, whatever may
be her love for the arts. I remember that in one of the palaces at
Milan--(I think it was in the collection of the Duca Litti)--we were
led up to a picture defended from the air by a plate of glass, and
which being considered as the gem of the collection, was reserved for
the last as a kind of _bonne bouche_. I gave but one glance, and
turned away loathing, shuddering, sickening. The cicerone looked
amazed at my bad taste, he assured me it was _un vero Correggio_
(which by the way I can never believe), and that the duke had refused
for it I know not how many thousand scudi. It would be difficult to
say what was most execrable in this picture, the appalling nature of
the subject, the depravity of mind evinced in its conception, or the
horrible truth and skill with which it was delineated. I ought to add
that it hung up in the family dining-room and in full view of the
dinner-table.

There is as picture among the chefs-d'oeuvres in the Vatican, which,
if I were pope (or Pope Joan) for a single day, should be burnt by the
common hangman, "with the smoke of its ashes to poison the air," as it
now poisons the sight by its unutterable horrors. There is another in
the Palazzo Pitti, at which I shiver still, and unfortunately there is
no avoiding it, as they have hung it close to Guido's lovely
Cleopatra. In the gallery there is a Judith and Holofernes which
irresistibly strikes the attention--if any thing would add to the
horror inspired by the sanguinary subject, and the atrocious fidelity
and talent with which it is expressed, it is that the artist was a
_woman_. I must confess that Judith is not one of my favourite
heroines; but I can more easily conceive how a woman inspired by
vengeance and patriotism could execute such a deed, than that she
could coolly sit down, and day after day, hour after hour, touch after
touch, dwell upon and almost realize to the eye such an abomination as
this.

We can study anatomy, if (like a certain princess) we have a taste
that way, in the surgeon's dissecting-room; we do not look upon
pictures to have our minds agonized and contaminated by the sight of
human turpitude and barbarity, streaming blood, quivering flesh,
wounds, tortures, death, and horrors in every sh