refore, for the most part, nothing more than vast
sketches, made to produce, under a certain degree of shadow, the
effect of finished pictures. Their treatment is thus to be considered
as a kind of scene-painting; differing from ordinary scene-painting
only in this, that the effect aimed at is not _that of a natural
scene_ but _a perfect picture_. They differ in this respect from all
other existing works; for there is not, as far as I know, any other
instance in which a great master has consented to work for a room
plunged into almost total obscurity. It is probable that none but
Tintoret would have undertaken the task, and most fortunate that he
was forced to it. For in this magnificent scene-painting we have, of
course, more wonderful examples, both of his handling, and knowledge
of effect, than could ever have been exhibited in finished pictures;
while the necessity of doing much with few strokes keeps his mind so
completely on the stretch throughout the work (while yet the velocity
of production prevented his being wearied), that no other series of
his works exhibits powers so exalted. On the other hand, owing to the
velocity and coarseness of the painting, it is more liable to injury
through drought or damp; and, as the walls have been for years
continually running down with rain, and what little sun gets into the
place contrives to fall all day right on one or other of the pictures,
they are nothing but wrecks of what they were; and the ruins of
paintings originally coarse are not likely ever to be attractive to
the public mind. Twenty or thirty years ago they were taken down to be
retouched; but the man to whom the task was committed providentially
died, and only one of them was spoiled. I have found traces of his
work upon another, but not to an extent very seriously destructive.
The rest of the sixty-two, or, at any rate, all that are in the upper
room, appear entirely intact.

Although, as compared with his other works, they are all very scenic
in execution, there are great differences in their degrees of finish;
and, curiously enough, some on the ceilings and others in the darkest
places in the lower room are very nearly finished pictures, while the
"Agony in the Garden," which is in one of the best lights in the upper
room, appears to have been painted in a couple of hours with a broom
for a brush.

F