"three comely ladies in a green meadow," and so forth of
the professional Italian story-teller--the same Carpaccio, who was also,
and much more than the more solemn Giovanni Bellini, the first Venetian
to handle oil paints like Titian and Giorgione, painted the fairy tale
of St. George, with quite the most dreadful dragon's walk, a piece of
sea sand embedded with bones and half-gnawed limbs, and crawled over
by horrid insects, that any one could wish to see; and quite the most
comical dragon, particularly when led out for execution among the
minarets and cupolas and camels and turbans and symbols of a kind of
small Constantinople.

One of the funniest of all such series of stories, and which shows that
when the Renaissance men were driven to it they could still invent,
though (apparently) when they had to invent in this fashion, they ceased
to be able to paint, is the tale of Griseldis, attributed in our National
Gallery to Pinturicchio, but certainly by a very inferior painter of his
school. The Marquis, after hunting deer on a steep little hill, shaded
by elm trees, sees Griseldis going to a well, a pitcher on her head. He
reins in his white horse, and cranes over in his red cloak, the young
parti-coloured lords-in-waiting pressing forwards to see her, but only
as much as politeness warrants. Scene II.--A stubbly landscape. The
Marquis, in red and gold cloak and well-combed yellow head of hair,
approaches on foot to the little pink farm-house. Surprise of old
Giannucole, who is coming down the exterior steps. "Bless my soul! the
Lord Marquis!" "Where is your daughter?" asks the Marquis, with pointing
finger. But the daughter, hearing voices, has come on to the balcony and
throws up her arms astonished. "Dear me! the cavalier who accosted me in
the wood!" The Marquis and Grizel walk off, he deferentially dapper, she
hanging back a little in her black smock. Scene III.--The Marquis, still
in purple and gold, and red stockings and Hessian boots, says with some
timidity and much grace, pointing to the magnificent clothes brought by
his courtiers, "Would you mind, dear Grizel, putting on these clothes
to please me?" But Griseldis is extremely modest. She tightens her white
shift about her, and doesn't dare look at the cloth of gold dress which
is so pretty. Scene IV.--A triumphal arch, with four gilt figures. The
Marquis daintily, with much wrist-twisting, offers to put the ring on
Griseldis' hand, who obediently accepts,