The eyes and flesh, they say,[102] were daubed over, the hair was new, the colour modern.  A good deal of this “restoration” has since been removed, but the present appearance of the panel bears witness to the harsh treatment suffered years ago.  Nevertheless, the original work is before us, and not a copy of a lost original, and Mr. Berenson’s enthusiastic praise ought to be lavished on the actual picture as it must have appeared in all its freshness and purity.  “Je n’hesiterais pas,” he declares,[103] “a le proclamer le plus important des portraits du maitre, un chef-d’oeuvre ne le cedant a aucun portrait d’aucun pays ou d’aucun temps.”

And certainly Giorgione has created a masterpiece.  The opulence of Rubens and the dignity of Titian are most happily combined with a delicacy and refinement such as Giorgione alone can impart.  The intense grasp of character here displayed, the exquisite intimite, places this wonderful creation of his on the highest level of portraiture.  There is far less of that moody abstraction which awakens our interest in most of his portraits, but much greater objective truth, arising from that perfect sympathy between artist and sitter, which is of the first importance in portrait-painting.  History tells us of the friendly encouragement the young Castelfrancan received at the hands of this gracious lady, and he doubtless painted this likeness of her in her country home at Asolo, near to Castelfranco, and we may well imagine with what eagerness he acquitted himself of so flattering a commission.  Vasari tells us that he saw a portrait of Caterina, Queen of Cyprus, painted by Giorgione from the life, in the possession of Messer Giovanni Cornaro.  I believe that picture to be the very one we are now discussing.[104] The documents quoted by Signor Venturi[105] do not go back beyond 1640, so that it is, of course, impossible to prove the identity, but the expression “from the life” (as opposed to Titian’s posthumous portrait of her) applies admirably to our likeness.  What a contrast to the formal presentation of the queenly lady, crown and jewels and all, that Gentile Bellini has left us in his portrait of her now at Buda-Pesth!—­and in that other picture of his where she is seen kneeling in royal robes, with her train of court ladies, as though attending a state function!  How Giorgione has penetrated through all outward show, and revealed the charm of manner, the delightful bonhomie of his royal patroness!

We are enabled, by a simple calculation of dates, to fix approximately the period when this portrait was painted.  Gentile Bellini’s picture of “The Miracle of the True Cross” is dated 1500—­that is, when Caterina Cornaro was forty-six years old (she was born in 1454).  In Signor Crespi’s picture she appears, if anything, younger in appearance, so that, at latest, Giorgione painted her portrait in 1500.  Thus, again, we arrive at the same conclusion, that the master distinguished himself very early in his career in the field of portraiture,