Before I could make answer, a polite knock upon the door brought a “Pestilenza!” from the lips of Forli, but he promptly called out to enter. The stranger was a dapper little man all in black, with a black chin beard, and long, clawlike hands and fingers. “Pardon, a thousand pardons, for intruding upon my masters,” he began, almost ere he had straightened himself after a profound bow; “but knowing your excellencies’ admiration for all objects of virtue, I venture to intrude to tell you that the ‘Crucifixion,’ by Messere Raffaello, being completed, is now this instant on exhibition at the end of this gallery. No doubt you will be pleased to see it.” Not a cloud seemed to darken Forli’s face as he rose and signed to us to follow. “We thank you, Signor Primati; indeed we are not so busy but that we can give ourselves the pleasure of a hasty inspection.” Rocca and I could do nothing save accompany him, and of what followed I have no need to speak at great length, save how we all agreed that the distinguished artist had surpassed almost all his earlier triumphs in dealing with such themes.[1] Very happily he had grouped the weeping women before the cross; and in the face of the agonizing Madonna I recognized a most fortunate treatment of the features of the famous Fornarina, his mistress, the baker’s daughter from the Trastevere, while in St. Peter, St. John and others, I noticed well-known Roman ecclesiastics. I was especially pleased to see Forli’s daughter, my own beloved Marianna, portrayed as Mary Magdelene, although in so doing the artist had been obliged to depart from custom, and represent her with dark instead of golden hair. It was, in short, a masterpiece, even for the master, and well repaid the interruption. Rocca and I also were given a new opportunity to observe that just power of critical appreciation which made Forli so esteemed among the art patrons of Rome. “The foreshortening of the arms of the impenitent thief--how admirable! The reflection upon the helmet of the centurion to the left could hardly have been better. I could wish Messere Raffaello could have concentrated more light upon the cross. A mere trifle. He’s wise in avoiding over-theatrical effects. And notice the chiaroscuro of the background: that magnificent fork of lightning over Jerusalem! I congratulate you, Signore Primati, upon having the oversight of such a picture. Imagine the delight of His Holiness.” “I knew your excellencies would be repaid,” replied the custodian, rubbing his lean little hands. “Messere Raffaello will rejoice in your kind judgments. He was so fearful of your verdict, I could not induce him to remain. He has slipped away, not daring to await your august decision. Ah! New pleasure,--I see the most worthy Sanazzaro coming to bestow his approbation upon your Eminenza’s opinion.”