ere pleased to represent the Magi;
the "Purification of the Virgin," a nice scene with one of his vividly
natural children in it; a "Deposition," rich and glowing and very like
Rubens; and the "Crucifixion," painted as an altar-piece for SS.
Giovanni e Paolo before his sublime picture of the same subject--his
masterpiece--was begun for the Scuola of S. Rocco. If one see this, the
earlier version, first, one is the more impressed; to come to it after
that other is to be too conscious of a huddle. But it has most of the
great painter's virtues, and the soldiers throwing dice are peculiarly
his own.

Room X is notable for a fine Giorgionesque Palma Vecchio: a Holy family,
rich and strong and sweet; but the favourite work is Paris Bordone's
representation of the famous story of the Fisherman and the Doge, full
of gracious light and animation. It seems that on a night in 1340 so
violent a storm broke that even the inner waters of the lagoon were
perilously rough. A fisherman chanced to be anchoring his boat off the
Riva when a man appeared and bade him row him to the island of S.
Giorgio Maggiore. Very unwillingly he did so, and there they took on
board another man who was in armour, and orders were given to proceed to
S. Niccolo on the Lido. There a third man joined them, and the fisherman
was told to put out to sea. They had not gone far when they met a ship
laden with devils which was on her way to unload this cargo at Venice
and overwhelm the city. But on the three men rising and making the sign
of the cross, the vessel instantly vanished. The fisherman thus knew
that his passengers were S. Mark, S. George, and S. Nicholas. S. Mark
gave him a ring in token of their sanctity and the deliverance of
Venice, and this, in the picture, he is handing to the Doge.

Here, too, is the last picture that Titian painted--a "Deposition". It
was intended for the aged artist's tomb in the Frari, but that purpose
was not fulfilled. Palma the younger finished it. With what feelings,
one wonders, did Titian approach what he knew was his last work? He
painted it in 1576, when he was either ninety-nine or eighty-nine; he
died in the same year. To me it is one of his most beautiful things: not
perhaps at first, but after one has returned to it again and again, and
then for ever. It has a quality that his earlier works lack, both of
simplicity and pathos. The very weakness of the picture engages and
convinces.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ACC