earning of Michael Angelo, or the simplicity of
Raffaelle, we can no longer dwell on the comparison. Even in colouring,
if we compare the quietness and chastity of the Bolognese pencil to the
bustle and tumult that fills every part of, a Venetian picture, without
the least attempt to interest the passions, their boasted art will appear
a mere struggle without effect; an empty tale told by an idiot, full of
sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Such as suppose that the great style might happily be blended with the
ornamental, that the simple, grave, and majestic dignity of Raffaelle
could unite with the glow and bustle of a Paulo or Tintoret, are totally
mistaken. The principles by which each are attained are so contrary to
each other, that they seem, in my opinion, incompatible, and as
impossible to exist together, as to unite in the mind at the same time
the most sublime ideas and the lowest sensuality.

The subjects of the Venetian painters are mostly such as give them an
opportunity of introducing a great number of figures, such as feasts,
marriages, and processions, public martyrdoms, or miracles. I can easily
conceive that Paul Veronese, if he were asked, would say that no subject
was proper for an historical picture but such as admitted at least forty
figures; for in a less number, he would assert, there could be no
opportunity of the painter's showing his art in composition, his
dexterity of managing and disposing the masses of light, and groups of
figures, and of introducing a variety of Eastern dresses and characters
in their rich stuffs.

But the thing is very different with a pupil of the greater schools.
Annibale Caracci thought twelve figures sufficient for any story: he
conceived that more would contribute to no end but to fill space; that
they would, be but cold spectators of the general action, or, to use his
own expression, that they would be figures to be let. Besides, it is
impossible for a picture composed of so many parts to have that effect,
so indispensably necessary to grandeur, of one complete whole. However
contradictory it may be in geometry, it is true in taste, that many
little things will not make a great one. The sublime impresses the mind
at once with one great idea; it is a single blow: the elegant indeed may
be produced by a repetition, by an accumulation of many minute
circumstances.

However great the difference is between the composition of the Venetian
and the rest of the I