its rival is a replica.
The former was purchased in Milan, in 1796 by Gavin Hamilton, who sold
it to Lord Suffolk, in whose collection at Charlton Park it was long an
ornament. It was purchased from him in 1880 for L9,000. The Louvre
picture is first mentioned as belonging to Francis I. Designs for it are
in Turin and Windsor, and in these the outstretched hand of the angel
appears. This does not occur in the London _Madonna of the Rocks_, which
differs in several details; for example, there are halos above the heads
of the figures and John the Baptist carries a cross.--E.S.

BEATRICE CENCI

(_GUIDO RENI_)

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

On my arrival at Rome I found that the story of the Cenci was a subject
not to be mentioned in Italian society without awakening a deep and
breathless interest: and that the feelings of the company never failed
to incline to a romantic pity for the wrongs, and a passionate
exculpation of the horrible deed to which they urged her who has been
mingled two centuries with the common dust. All ranks of people knew the
outlines of this history, and participated in the overwhelming interest
which it seems to have the magic of exciting in the human heart. I had a
copy of Guido's picture of Beatrice, which is preserved in the Colonna
Palace, and my servant instantly recognized it as the portrait of _La
Cenci_....

The portrait of Beatrice at the Colonna Palace is most admirable as a
work of art: it was taken by Guido during her confinement in prison. But
it is most interesting as a just representation of one of the loveliest
specimens of the workmanship of Nature. There is a fixed and pale
composure upon the features; she seems sad and stricken-down in spirit,
yet the despair thus expressed is lightened by the patience of
gentleness. Her head is bound with folds of white drapery, from which
the yellow strings of her golden hair escape, and fall about her neck.
The moulding of her face is exquisitely delicate; the eyebrows are
distinct and arched; the lips have that permanent meaning of imagination
and sensibility which suffering has not repressed, and which it seems as
if death scarcely could extinguish. Her forehead is large and clear; her
eyes, which we are told were remarkable for their vivacity, are swollen
with weeping, and lustreless, but beautifully tender and serene. In the
whole mien there is a simplicity and dignity which, united with her
exquisite loveliness and deep sorrow, are