Titian is cold compared to him; his
colour, however effective, is calculated, whereas Tintoretto's seems to
permeate every object and to soak the whole composition. To quote a
recent critic: "He chose to begin, if possible, with a subject charged
with emotion. He then proceeded to treat it according to its nature,
that is to say, he toned down and obscured the outlines of form and
mapped out the subject instead in pale or sombre masses of light and
shade. Under the control of this powerful scheme of chiaroscuro, the
colouring of the composition was placed, but its own character, its
degree of richness and sobriety, was determined by the kind of emotion
belonging to the subject. To use colour in this way, not only with
emotional force, but with emotional truth, is to use it to perform one
of the greatest functions of art."[5]

[5] "Venice and the Renaissance," _Edinburgh Review_, 1909.

So in the Crucifixion it is not so much the aspect of the groups, the
pathos of the faces or gestures, that tells, but it is the mystery and
gloom in which the whole scene is muffled, the atmosphere into which we
are absorbed, the sense of livid terror conveyed by the brooding light
and shadow, that makes us feel how different the rendering is from any
other. In the "Christ before Pilate" the head and figure of Christ are
not particularly impressive in themselves, but the brilliant light
falling on the white robes and coursing down the steps supplies dignity
and poetry; the slender white figure stands out like a shaft of light
against the lurid and troubled background. Again, in the "Way to
Golgotha" the falling evening gleam, the wild sky, the deep shadow of
the ravine, throw into relief the quiet form, detached in look and
feeling, as of one upborne by the spirit far above the brutal throng.
Nowhere does that spiritual emotion find deeper expression than in the
"Visitation." The passion of thanksgiving, the poignancy of mother-love,
throb through the two women, who have been travelling towards one
another, with a great secret between them, and who at length reach the
haven of each other's love and knowledge. Here, too, the dying light,
the waving tree, the obliteration of form, and the feeling of mystery
make a deep appeal to the sensuous apprehension. We find it again and
again; the great trees sway and whisper in the gathering darkness as the
Virgin rides through the falling evening shadows, clasping her Babe, and
in that most movin