I do not love him one whit the less for
having been President, nor for having done me the greatest good in his
power; a fact that speaks eloquently in his favor, and perhaps says a
little for myself. If he had been merely a benefactor, perhaps I might
not have borne it so well; but each did his best for the other as friend
for friend.
May 15th.--Yesterday afternoon we went to the Barberini picture-gallery
to take a farewell look at the Beatrice Cenci, which I have twice visited
before since our return from Florence. I attempted a description of it
at my first visit, more than a year ago, but the picture is quite
indescribable and unaccountable in its effect, for if you attempt to
analyze it you can never succeed in getting at the secret of its
fascination. Its peculiar expression eludes a straightforward glance,
and can only be caught by side glimpses, or when the eye falls upon it
casually, as it were, and without thinking to discover anything, as if
the picture had a life and consciousness of its own, and were resolved
not to betray its secret of grief or guilt, though it wears the full
expression of it when it imagines itself unseen.
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