is an admirable picture by Paul Veronese—the Family of Darius at the feet of Alexander. It rises above his usual style of mere portraiture into the ideal. There is the true chivalrous expression in the mien and countenance of the youthful victor—the grandeur of habitual command, the dignity resulting from noble ambition; at the same time, you see that his very soul is touched by compassion for the fallen princesses, and the ingenuous shame which a generous mind feels on beholding those lately placed so high humiliate themselves before him, mantles in his face.
In the Barberigo Palace is the Maddalena Scapiglata of Titian. Her eyes, swollen and red, are raised to heaven, and her face is disfigured by much weeping. Her remorse, her vehemence of grief, differs wholly from the tender sorrow, chastened and supported by faith, of Correggio’s Magdalen. At first sight, the deformity of her features produced by violent weeping, is almost repulsive; but the picture gains on you; the real beauty of the countenance—a something of noble and soft, in spite of passionate sorrow and self-abasement—is perceptible through her tears.
We were taken to-day to see a modern picture painting for the Emperor. It is on a large scale—Foscari taking leave of his Father; his mother is fainting; the Doge, struggling with contending
