ath
in 1354, are both nearly alike in their treatment, and are, on the
whole, the best existing examples of Venetian monumental sculpture.

Sec. LXII. Of much ruder workmanship, though still most precious, and
singularly interesting from its quaintness, is a sarcophagus in the
northernmost chapel, beside the choir of St. John and Paul, charged with
two bas-reliefs and many figures, but which bears no inscription. It
has, however, a shield with three dolphins on its brackets; and as at
the feet of the Madonna in its centre there is a small kneeling figure
of a Doge, we know it to be the tomb of the Doge Giovanni Dolfino, who
came to the throne in 1356.

He was chosen Doge while, as provveditore, he was in Treviso, defending
the city against the King of Hungary. The Venetians sent to the
besiegers, praying that their newly elected Doge might be permitted to
pass the Hungarian lines. Their request was refused, the Hungarians
exulting that they held the Doge of Venice prisoner in Treviso. But
Dolfino, with a body of two hundred horse, cut his way through their
lines by night, and reached Mestre (Malghera) in safety, where he was
met by the Senate. His bravery could not avert the misfortunes which
were accumulating on the republic. The Hungarian war was ignominiously
terminated by the surrender of Dalmatia: the Doge's heart was broken,
his eyesight failed him, and he died of the plague four years after he
had ascended the throne.

Sec. LXIII. It is perhaps on this account, perhaps in consequence of later
injuries, that the tomb has neither effigy nor inscription: that it has
been subjected to some violence is evident from the dentil which once
crowned its leaf-cornice being now broken away, showing the whole front.
But, fortunately, the sculpture of the sarcophagus itself is little
injured.

There are two saints, male and female, at its angles, each in a little
niche; a Christ, enthroned in the centre, the Doge and Dogaressa
kneeling at his feet; in the two intermediate panels, on one side the
Epiphany, on the other the Death of the Virgin; the whole supported, as
well as crowned, by an elaborate leaf-plinth. The figures under the
niches are rudely cut, and of little interest. Not so the central group.
Instead of a niche, the Christ is seated under a square tent, or
tabernacle, formed by curtains running on rods; the idea, of course, as
usual, borrowed from the Pisan one, but here ingeniously applied. The
curtains are o