proportion between the simple solidity of the lower, and the airy— perhaps slightly fantastic—lightness of the upper of these arcades. Had what appears to have been the original design been carried out, the building would rank high with the Alhambra and the palaces of Persia and India; but in an evil hour, in 1480, it was discovered that larger rooms were required than had been originally contemplated, and the upper wall, which was intended to stand on the back wall of the arcades, was brought forward level with the front overpowering the part below by its ill-proportioned mass.[2] This upper storey too is far from being beautiful in itself: the windows in it are not only far too few, but they are badly spaced, squat, and ungraceful; while the introduction of smaller windows and circles mars its pretensions to simplicity without relieving its plainness. Its principal ornaments are two great windows, one in the centre of each face, which appear to have assumed their present form after the fire in 1578. These are not graceful objects in themselves, and having nothing in common with the others, they look too like insertions to produce an entirely satisfactory effect. The pierced parapet, too, is poor and flimsy when seen against the sky. Had it crowned the upper arcade, and been backed by the third storey, it would have been as pleasing as it is now poor. Had the upper storey been set back, as was probably originally designed, or had it been placed on the ground and the arcades over it; had, in short, any arrangement of the parts been adopted but the one that exists, this might have been a far more beautiful building than it is. One thing in this palace is worth remarking before leaving it—that almost all the beauty ascribed to its upper storey arises from the polychromatic mode of decoration introduced by disposing pieces of different coloured marbles in diaper patterns. This is better done here than in Florence; inasmuch as the slabs are built in, not stuck on. The admiration which it excites is one more testimony to the fact that when a building is coloured, ninety-nine people in a hundred are willing to overlook all its faults, and to extol that as beautiful, which without the adjunct of colour they would have unanimously agreed in condemning. [Illustration: 528. Cà d’Oro, Venice. (From Cicognara.)]