been very beautiful.  Christ stands at the edge of the water and the Baptist holds a little bowl—­very different scene from that mosaic version in S. Mark’s where Christ is half submerged.  It has a sky full of cherubs, delectable mountains and towns in the distance, and all Cima’s sweetness; and when the picture cleaning millionaire, of whom I speak elsewhere, has done his work it will be a joy.  There is also a fine Bartolommeo Vivarini here, and the sacristan insists on your admiring a very ornate font which he says is by Sansovino.

As you leave, ask him the way to S. Giorgio degli Schiavoni, which is close by, and prepare to be very happy.

I have said something about the most beautiful spacious places in Venice—­S.  Mark’s, the Doges’ Palace, the Scuola di S. Rocco, and so forth; we now come to what is, without question, the most fascinating small room in Venice.  It is no bigger than a billiard-room and unhappily very dark, with a wooden ceiling done in brown, gold, and blue; an altar with a blue and gold canopy; rich panels on the walls; and as a frieze a number of paintings by Vittore Carpaccio, which, in my opinion, transcend in interest the S. Ursula series at the Accademia.

The story of the little precious room is this.  In the multitude of seafaring men who in the course of their trade came to Venice with cargoes or for cargoes were a large number of Dalmatians, or Sclavonians, whose ships lay as a rule opposite that part of the city which is known as the Riva degli Schiavoni.  Their lot being somewhat noticeably hard, a few wealthy Dalmatian merchants decided in 1451 to make a kind of Seamen’s Institute (as we should now say), and a little building was the result of this effort, the patron saints of the altar in it being S. George and S. Tryphonius.  Fifty years later the original “Institute” was rebuilt and Carpaccio was called in to decorate it.

The most famous of the pictures are those on the left wall as you enter—­S.  George attacking the dragon, S. George subduing the dragon, and (on the end wall) S. George baptising the king and princess.  These are not only lovely autumnal schemes of colour, but they are perfect illustrations to a fairy tale, for no artist has ever equalled this Venetian in the art of being entertaining.  Look at the spirit of the first picture:  the onset of both antagonists; and then examine the detail—­the remains of the dragon’s victims, the half-consumed maidens; the princess in despair; the ships on the sea; the adorable city mounting up and up the hill, with spectators at every balcony. (I reproduce it opposite page 212).  And then in the next how Carpaccio must have enjoyed his work on the costumes!  Look at the crowds, the band in full blast, the restless horses which like dragons no more than they like bears.

The third, although the subject is less entertaining, shows no decrease of liveliness.  Carpaccio’s humour underlies every touch of colour.  The dog’s averted face is one of the funniest things in art—­a dog with sceptical views as to baptism!—­and the band is hard at it, even though the ceremony, which, from the size of the vase, promises to be very thorough, is beginning.