With the fourth addition on Morelli’s list we pass into a totally different sphere of art—­the decoration of cassoni, and other pieces of furniture.  We have seen Giorgione at work on legendary stories or classic myths, creating out of these materials pages of beauty and romance in the form of easel paintings, and now we have the same thing as applied art—­that is, art used for purely decorative purposes.  The “Apollo and Daphne” in the Seminario at Venice was probably a panel of a cassone; but although intended for so humble a place, it is instinct with rare poetic feeling and beauty.  Unfortunately it is in such a bad state that little remains of the original work, and Giorgione’s touch is scarcely to be recognised in the damaged parts.  Nevertheless, his spirit breathes amidst the ruin, and modern critics have recognised the justice of Morelli’s view, rather than that of Crowe and Cavalcaselle, who suggested Schiavone as the “author."[42] And, indeed, a comparison with the “Adrastus and Hypsipyle” is enough to show a common origin, although, as we might expect, the same consummate skill is scarcely to be found in the cassone panel as in the easel picture.  There is a rare daintiness, however, in these graceful figures, so essentially Giorgionesque in their fanciful presentation, the young Apollo, a lovely, fair-haired boy, pursuing a maiden with flowing tresses, whose identity with Daphne is only to be recognised by the laurel springing from her fingers.  The story is but an episode in a sylvan scene, where other figures, in quaint costumes, seem to be leading an idyllic existence, untroubled by the cares of life, and utterly unconcerned at the strange event passing before their eyes.

From the “Apollo and Daphne” it is an easy transition to the “Venus,” that great discovery which we owe to Morelli, and now universally recognised by modern critics.  The one point on which Morelli did not, perhaps, lay sufficient stress, is the co-operation in this work of Titian with Giorgione, for here we have an additional proof that the latter left some of his work unfinished.  It is a fair inference that Titian completed the Cupid (now removed), and that he had a hand in finishing the landscape; the Anonimo, indeed, states as much, and Ridolfi confirms it, and this view is officially adopted in the latest edition of the Dresden Catalogue.  The style points to Giorgione’s maturity, though scarcely to the last years of his life; for, in spite of the freedom and breadth of treatment in the landscape, there is a restraint in the figure, and a delicacy of form which points to a period preceding, rather than contemporary with, the Louvre “Concert” and kindred works, where the forms become fuller and rounder, and the feeling more exuberant.