n the wind, sometimes with a human body at the end of
it, sometimes without. It was the place, and that was the manner, of
executions that took place in the night. In Via di Monserrato stood the
old fortress of the Savelli, long ago converted into a prison, and
called the Corte Savella, the most terrible of all Roman dungeons for
the horror of damp darkness, for ever associated with Beatrice Cenci's
trial and death. Through those very streets she was taken in the cart to
the little open space before the bridge, where she laid down her life
upon the scaffold three hundred years ago, and left her story of
offended innocence, of revenge and of expiation, which will not be
forgotten while Rome is remembered.

Beatrice Cenci's story has been often told, but nowhere more clearly and
justly than in Shelley's famous letter, written to explain his play.
There are several manuscript accounts of the last scene at the Ponte
Sant' Angelo, and I myself have lately read one, written by a
contemporary and not elsewhere mentioned, but differing only from the
rest in the horrible realism with which the picture is presented. The
truth is plain enough; the unspeakable crimes of Francesco Cenci, his
more than inhuman cruelty to his children and his wives, his monstrous
lust and devilish nature, outdo anything to be found in any history of
the world, not excepting the private lives of Tiberius, Nero, or
Commodus. His daughter and his second wife killed him in his sleep. His
death was merciful and swift, in an age when far less crimes were
visited with tortures at the very name of which we shudder. They were
driven to absolute desperation, and the world has forgiven them their
one quick blow, struck for freedom, for woman's honour and for life
itself in the dim castle of Petrella. Tormented with rack and cord they
all confessed the deed, save Beatrice, whom no bodily pain could move;
and if Paolo Santacroce had not murdered his mother for her money before
their death was determined, Clement the Eighth would have pardoned them.
But the times were evil, an example was called for, Santacroce had
escaped to Brescia, and the Pope's heart was hardened against the Cenci.

[Illustration: BRIDGE OF SANT' ANGELO]

They died bravely, there at the head of the bridge, in the calm May
morning, in the midst of a vast and restless crowd, among whom more than
one person was killed by accident, as by the falling of a pot of flowers
from a high window, and by