Before the end of the century, Carpaccio painted for the School of S. Giovanni Evangelista the Miracle of the healing of a Demoniac. The picture is now in the Academy. It is a marvellous panorama of contemporary Venice, with the bustle of eager crowds, the slipping of gondolas over the canal, and light flickering over and caressing the manifold colors of the gay scene. It has the fidelity of Gentile Bellini without his dryness. [Illustration: FIG. 246. Carpaccio. St. George and the Dragon.—_School of St. George of the Slavonians._ ] The most delightful if not the most important monument of Renaissance Venice is unquestionably the School of St. George of the Slavonians. It is the only school that retains its primitive paintings still set in the original carved and golded wainscoting. There one sees in the ground floor the legends of St. Jerome, an odd mixture of gravity, richness, and humor. Nothing more sumptuous than the Saint in his exquisitely appointed study, or more archly comic than the scene of consternation when the Saint brings home his lion from the desert. The series was painted about 1502. Upstairs we have the chivalric legend of St. George of Cappadocia, painted some eight years later. Nothing could be more romantically entrancing than the boyish champion charging intrepidly over the sun-dried shreds and tatters of his predecessors into the very jaws of the most confidently virulent of dragons, Figure 246, unless it be the scene where he leads his tame dragon into the astounded court, or that in which he proudly baptizes his future bride and her parents while a Turkish band plays a fanfare. About the blowing of these horns of elfland there is no faintness whatever. We are in the realm of most palpable adventure and romance, and the emphasis depends on splendid color and on drawing of a magical alertness.