rough
the window. Over the door, No. 124, is an Annunciation by Andrea,
with a slight variation in it, for two angels accompany that one who
brings the news, and the announcement is made from the right instead
of the left, while the incident is being watched by some people on the
terrace over a classical portico. A greater Andrea hangs next: No. 123,
the Madonna in Glory, fine but rather formal, and, like all Andrea's
work, hall-marked by its woman type. The other notable pictures are
Raphael's Fornarina, No. 245, which is far more Venetian than the
"Madonna della Sedia," and has been given to Sebastian del Piombo;
and the Venetian group on the right of the door, which is not only
interesting for its own charm but as being a foretaste of the superb
and glorious Giorgione in the Sala di Marte, which we now enter.

Here we find a Rembrandt, No. 16, an old man: age and dignity emerging
golden from the gloom; and as a pendant a portrait, with somewhat
similar characteristics, but softer, by Tintoretto, No. 83. Between
them is a prosperous, ruddy group of scholars by Rubens, who has
placed a vase of tulips before the bust of Seneca. And we find Rubens
again with a sprawling, brilliant feat entitled "The Consequences
of War," but what those consequences are, beyond nakedness, one
has difficulty in discerning. Raphael's Holy Family, No. 94 (also
known as the "Madonna dell' Impannata"), next it might be called the
perfection of drawing without feeling. The authorities consider it a
school piece: that is to say, chiefly the work of his imitators. The
vivacity of the Child's face is very remarkable. The best Andrea is
in this room--a Holy Family, No. 81, which gets sweeter and simpler
and richer with every glance. Other Andreas are here too, notably on
the right of the further door a sweet mother and sprawling, vigorous
Child. But every Andrea that I see makes me think more highly of the
"Madonna della Sacco," in the cloisters of SS. Annunziata. Van Dyck,
who painted much in Italy before settling down at the English court,
we find in this room with a masterly full-length seated portrait of
an astute cardinal. But the room's greatest glory, as I have said,
is the Giorgione on the easel.

In the Sala di Apollo, at the right of the door as we enter, is
Andrea's portrait of himself, a serious and mysterious face shining
out of darkness, and below it is Titian's golden Magdalen, No. 67,
the same ripe creature that we saw at the Uffi