other arm is slipped under an open manuscript. Her hair, long and
blonde, according to legend--which she loves and still cares for because
it once wiped the feet of her Saviour--falls in thick curls, or strays
at will with a premeditated abandon. On the ground, to her right, stands
the vase of perfumes of her first adoration; to the left are the stones
of her supreme expiation.

What grace in her attitude! What beauty of form! She is thrown in with a
rare happiness and painted with an exquisite delicacy of touch and tint.
The blue drapery upon the green landscape defines her sufficiently
without making her stand out too much, leaving the figure and the
landscape to mingle without disturbing each other in skilful harmony.
All of this is in most finished execution, a little elaborate, perhaps,
and the expression of the face reflects the sweet, sad memory of the
Beloved, whose Gospels she is reading, just as one reads again tender
letters of the past.

This work was executed for the Dukes of Este, who kept it in a silver
frame studded with precious stones and used it as an ornament for their
bedrooms, and when they travelled, they took it with them in a casket.
When the King of Poland became its possessor, he gave it a second boxing
of glass with lock and key. In 1788, this masterpiece having been
stolen, 1,000 ducats were promised for its discovery, and, in
consideration of that sum, the thief denounced himself. Cristofano
Allori, the greatest Florentine painter of the Decadence, made a superb
copy for the Offices, I believe.

This Magdalen of Correggio's, "the least converted of sinners and the
most adorable of penitents," is she really, historically and
liturgically the Magdalen of the House of Bethany, of the grotto de la