The result is an Ionic temple, backed by woods rising gently from the plain. It is approached by a stiff stone avenue of statues, balustrades, sculptured flowers and fountains dividing trim squares of vines. and turf, and flanked on either side by a portico, ending in a circular pavilion. On a summer day the general effect is almost as dazzling as that of a quarry or chalk pit, and the tropical foliage of palms and bamboos by the doorway only intensify the impression of heat. A big, white fountain faces the entrance in the white road below, and a little farther on stands a white church in the likeness of a Roman temple, formerly the Barbaro Chapel. The view from Maser is inferior to that from Asolo. The same luxuriant plain stretches before us, but we are too near its level to appreciate its charms, and a scrubby, flat-faced ridge to the left blocks out the undulating land in the direction of Belluno. But doubtless the builders of this Renaissance house were quite satisfied with the prospect. With the towers of Venice faintly visible on the horizon, what more could be desired? They were

in the country, yet all vulgar details of country life were masked by trim ranges of arcades.

We know that Marc Antonio's fingers sought relief from penning official papers in modelling some of the adornments of his monumental avenue, and probably the rockwork grotto and fountain behind the house satisfied any craving for the romantic in his highlycultured soul. Given the artificial tastes of Renaissance grandees, Maser must have proved an ideal retreat. And, as a shrine of art, it is worth a pilgrimage from any part of Europe, much less from neighbouring Asolo. Lovers of Venetian painting owe gratitude to the magnificent amateur who called Veronese to enrich his walls with those splendid frescoes. The master plied his task con amore, and inspired perhaps by the wide horizon and rural landscape, has introduced open-air effects into his mythological scenes, and treated his divinities in a light-hearted manner, as if they too had fled the constraints of court life, and were taking their ease in the country.

The interior of this Palladian temple is ingeniously

adapted to the needs of Venetian domesticity. It is in the shape of a cross, its length forming a sala running from back to front, just as in a palace on the Grand Canal. The sole decorations here are allegorical figures en grisaille, placed in false niches and surrounded by frescoed trophies of arms. The vault of the central cupola is peopled with colossal divinities, Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, &c., all in unconventional, unstudied attitudes. Beneath, arranged over and against a frieze or balustrade, are some charming figures; a fair girl, a boy with one of the painter's favourite hounds, a page reading, a monkey, parrot and child. But best of all are the frescoes in the side rooms. Here Pagan goddesses face Virgins and Saints, and Bacchus peeps forth beside Venetian dames through a trellis of grape-laden vines. In the daintiest of these chambers, above a carved mantel-piece-too huge for the room one ventures to think-there is a group of musicians so living and fresh that one almost hopes to hear the sound of their lutes. Veronese has turned

every inch of space to account, seemingly bent on leaving no corner unfilled, and surprising his patrons by delicate freaks of fancy. One can imagine him quitting his work to greet the Barbaro brothers just arrived from Venice, and guiding them through a litter of paint-pots and plaster to inspect his newest achievements, while his pupils ceased from grinding colours or preparing surfaces to hear their master praised. Then would come supper, enlivened by much art talk and the latest news from the capital, and a stroll on the hillside in the summer dusk when fire-flies were flashing over the fields and a breath of sea air drifting across the plain.*

Another lovely drive leads to Possagno, Canova's birthplace, at the foot of Monte Grappa; and although the progress of art has lessened this sculptor's renown, it is interesting to find so many of his works in the gallery annexed to his abode. Also, noting the power and individuality of his portrait busts, it seems amazing

* For a detailed account of the Maser frescoes, vide Vriarte's "Un Patricien de Vénise."

that his talent should shrink to mere Academic prettiness in all imaginative designs. He proved his love for his native village by building a church there at his own expense on the model of the Pantheon. But dying in Venice in 1822, three years after laying the first stone, he missed the joy of seeing it completed. The labour of love was carried on by his brother, according to the terms of his will, and consecrated in 1830. Canova's remains were then brought to Possagno, and buried in the Rotonda opposite his famous Pietà. The building is a fine thing of its kind, a great white temple against the mountain side, at the head of an imposing flight of steps, and faced by a huge portico, supported on sixteen Doric columns. of native marble. We had the luck to see it on a festival day; a musical Mass was in course of performance, the vast area of the church was thronged, and many worshippers had overflowed among the shafts of the atrium. Presently, as the last organ notes pealed, a most picturesque crowd poured forth into the sunlight, streaming down the steps in cascades of colour. Women