at St. Peter's, where we arrived in time for
the anthem.

* * * * *

23.--Our visit to the Barberini palace to-day was solely to view the
famous portrait of Beatrice Cenci. Her appalling story is still as
fresh in remembrance here, and her name and fate as familiar in the
mouths of every class, as if instead of two centuries, she had lived
two days ago. In spite of the innumerable copies and prints I have
seen, I was more struck than I can express by the dying beauty of the
Cenci. In the face the expression of heart-sinking anguish and terror
is just not _too_ strong, leaving the loveliness of the countenance
unimpaired; and there is a woe-begone negligence in the streaming hair
and loose drapery which adds to its deep pathos. It is consistent too
with the circumstances under which the picture is traditionally said
to have been painted--that is, in the interval between her torture and
her execution.

A little daughter of the Princess Barberini was seated in the same
room, knitting. She was a beautiful little creature; and as my eye
glanced from her to the picture and back again, I fancied I could
trace a strong family resemblance; particularly about the eyes, and
the very peculiar mouth. I turned back to ask her whether she had ever
been told that she was like _that_ picture? pointing to Cenci. She
shook back her long curls, and answered with a blush and a smile,
"Yes, often."[H]

The Barberini Palace contains other treasures beside the Cenci.
Poussin's celebrated picture of the Death of Germanicus, Raffaelle's
Fornarina, inferior I thought to the one at Florence, and a St. Andrew
by Guido, in his very best style of heads, "mild, pale, and
penetrating;" besides others which I cannot at this moment recall.

* * * * *

24.--Yesterday, after chapel, I walked through part of the Vatican;
and then, about vesper-time, entered St. Peter's, expecting to hear
the anthem: but I was disappointed. I found the church as usual
crowded with English, who every Sunday convert St. Peter's into a kind
of Hyde Park, where they promenade arm in arm, show off their finery,
laugh, and talk aloud: as if the size and splendour of the edifice
detracted in any degree from its sacred character. I was struck with a
feeling of disgust; and shocked to see this most glorious temple of
the Deity metamorphosed into a mere theatre. Mr. W. told me this
morning, that in consequence of t