mind not ripened to its fullest powers. In
other words, I should call it "a poor, flat thing."

We approach the far-famed MAGDALEN. Immediately opposite the boudoir, where
the last mentioned treasures are deposited, you observe a door, or
aperture, half covered with silken drapery of a greyish brown tint. There
was something mysterious in the appearance, and equally so in the approach.
I had no intimation of what it led to; for, as I told you, not a creature
besides myself was in the rooms. With a gently raised hand I drew the
drapery aside, entered ... and looked before me. There stood the MAGDALEN.
There she was, (more correctly speaking) kneeling; in anguish and
wretchedness of soul--her head hanging down--contemplating a scull and
cross, which were supported by her knees. Her dishevelled hair flowed
profusely over her back and shoulders. Her cheeks were sunk. Her eyes were
hollow. Her attitude was lowly and submissive. You could not look at her
without feeling pity and compassion.

Such, in few words, is the Magdalen of Canova. For the first five minutes I
was lost in surprise and admiration. The windows are hid by white curtains;
and the interior is hung all over with the same grey silk drapery, before
noticed. A glass, placed behind the figure, affords you a view of the back
while you are contemplating the front. This is very ingenious; but it is
probably too artificial. The effect of the room, however--from the silken
drapery with which it is entirely covered--is, although studied, upon the
whole excellent. Of course the minutes flew away quickly in such a place,
and before such an object; and I think I viewed the figure, in every
possible direction, for full three quarters of an hour. The result of that
view--after the first feelings of admiration had subsided--I proceeded
forthwith to impart: and shall be most happy to be set right if I have
erred, in the conclusion which I draw. In truth, there can be only one or
two little supposed impeachments of the artist's judgment, in the
contemplation of this extraordinary figure. The Magdalen has probably too
much of the abject expression of _mendicity_ in her attitude; and, for a
creature thus poor and prostrate, one is surprised to find her gazing upon
a _golden_ cross. It is a piece of finery ill placed in the midst of such
wretchedness. But Canova is fond of gilt; yet what is appropriate in _Hebe_
may be discordant in the _Magdalen_. This penitent creature, here so