The so-called Concert of the Pitti Palace, which depicts a young Augustinian monk as he plays on a keyed instrument, having on one side of him a youthful cavalier in a plumed hat, on the other a bareheaded clerk holding a bass-viol, was, until Morelli arose, almost universally looked upon as one of the most typical Giorgiones.[31] The most gifted of the purely aesthetic critics who have approached the Italian Renaissance, Walter Pater, actually built round this Concert his exquisite study on the School of Giorgione.  There can be little doubt, notwithstanding, that Morelli was right in denying the authorship of Barbarelli, and tentatively, for he does no more, assigning the so subtly attractive and pathetic Concert to the early time of Titian.  To express a definitive opinion on the latter point in the present state of the picture would be somewhat hazardous.  The portrait of the modish young cavalier and that of the staid elderly clerk, whose baldness renders tonsure impossible—­that is just those portions of the canvas which are least well preserved—­are also those that least conclusively suggest our master.  The passion-worn, ultra-sensitive physiognomy of the young Augustinian is, undoubtedly, in its very essence a Giorgionesque creation, for the fellows of which we must turn to the Castelfranco master’s just now cited Antonio Broccardo, to his male portraits in Berlin and at the Uffizi, to his figure of the youthful Pallas, son of Evander, in the Three Philosophers.  Closer to it, all the same, are the Raffo and the two portraits in the St. Mark of the Salute, and closer still is the supremely fine Jeune Homme au Gant of the Salon Carre, that later production of Vecelli’s early time.  The Concert of the Pitti, so far as it can be judged through the retouches that cover it, displays an art certainly not finer or more delicate, but yet in its technical processes broader, swifter, and more synthetic than anything that we can with certainty point to in the life-work of Barbarelli.  The large but handsome and flexible hands of the player are much nearer in type and treatment to Titian than they are to his master.  The beautiful motive—­music for one happy moment uniting by invisible bonds of sympathy three human beings—­is akin to that in the Three Ages, though there love steps in as the beautifier of rustic harmony.  It is to be found also in Giorgione’s Concert Champetre, in the Louvre, in which the thrumming of the lute is, however, one among many delights appealing to the senses.  This smouldering heat, this tragic passion in which youth revels, looking back already with discontent, yet forward also with unquenchable yearning, is the keynote of the Giorgionesque and the early Titianesque male portraiture.  It is summed up by the Antonio Broccardo of the first, by the Jeune Homme au Gant of the second.  Altogether other, and less due to a reaction from physical ardour, is