"The Reception of the Persian Ambassadors by the Doge" is noteworthy, because it is the work of Carl (or {342} Carletto) Cagliari, the son of Paul Veronese. His father, not wishing the son to be merely his own imitator, had placed him in the studio of Jacopo Bassano; and at one time the young man spent some months on his father's Trevisan estate, sketching from Nature, and introducing animals and shepherds into his landscapes. He was but sixteen when his father died, and he lived but eight years after, having overworked, and dying from the consequent exhaustion. His pictures display a feeling for the picturesque, and some of his heads are admirable; but the inimitable grace, brilliancy, and gayety of his father are not his, while his composition is much colder. This is impressed on us when in the next Sala, the Anticollegio, we come upon the "Rape of Europa," which Gautier calls "the marvel of this sanctuary of Art" And finally he exclaims: "What beautiful white shoulders, what round and charming arms! What a smile of eternal youth is in this marvellous canvas where Paul Veronese seems to have said his last word! The heavens, clouds, trees, flowers, the earth, the sea, the carnations, draperies, all seem to be steeped in the light of an unknown Elysium." In the Sala del Collegio, Veronese appears in a far different manner. Above the throne where sat the Doge and the Privy Councillors when receiving foreign ambassadors, is a representation of Venice triumphant after the Victory of Lepanto in 1571. The portraits of the hero of the battle, the Doge Sebastiano Venier, and of Agostino Barbarigo, who perished there, are introduced. It is a grand picture, but confused; for besides the figures we have mentioned are those of the Saviour in glory, Faith, Saints Mark and Justine, and other subordinate personages, and these are massed in the centre of the canvas. He certainly was an astounding painter. We must not think of his curious mingling of people who would {343} seemingly never be associated either on earth or in heaven; we must not note his improprieties of chronology, costume, and place; we must but feast on his dignified and splendid crowds,--his light, his color, and, on the whole, in its general effect, now so mellowed and harmonized by time. Who can resist his charm?