Part 3
The picture _Las Lanzas_ (“The Lances”); the equestrian portraits of kings, princes and others, in which these personages appear dressed in hunting costume; those of the buffoons of the Court; the _Scenes of the Chase_ in the mountains of El Pardo; and some others of a different type, such as the _Christ on the Cross_, in the Prado Museum, make up the tale of his output after his brief stay in Italy, and compose what critics have called the second style of Velázquez, more ample and grand than that of his youth, and, as time advances, enriching all the works which come from his brush with those definite grey harmonies which are occasionally almost silvery in tone, so characteristic and so unmistakable.
The painter was for a second time in Italy in the period of his maturity. He then painted the portrait of _Pope Innocent X_, and executed a bust of _Juán de Pareja_, which was on view in the exhibition at Burlington House. Returning soon afterwards to Spain, he there addressed himself to the accomplishment of his greater works, which truly reveal a superior art, somewhat enigmatical in its very simplicity, a sublime style which at first sight does not seem to require much comprehension and the view-point of which has given to the Spanish School of all times, as well as to other schools, rich legacies, excellent examples and notable fruits. There belongs to this epoch of his artistry the portraits of kings and princes, the second series of the court dwarfs, even more rich and astonishing than those of the period of his middle years, some religious pictures, mythological works and, lastly, the two great works _Las Hilanderas_ (“The Spinners”) and _Las Meninas_ (“The Maids of Honour”) (Plates X. and XI.), supreme monuments of a school, models of synthetic art, of astonishing simplicity in their composition, of delicate harmony, eloquent of the study of values, masterpieces, in short, of sublime painting, which, of an apparent modesty, are, notwithstanding, magical works, spontaneous creations, which shew neither exertion, weakness, nor weariness, and which seem to us the result of an art serene and calm, contrary to the influences of great idealistic conceptions, but which, essentially objective, reproduce the natural with a truth which is unsurpassed.
In the exhibition at Burlington House Velázquez was not adequately represented. But there were reasons for this. The undoubted pictures from his brush which are privately owned in England, and to some of which we have already alluded, are well-known and have figured in recent exhibitions of Spanish art, so that it was not deemed necessary to expose them again; while of those in Spain, the greater part is housed in the Prado Museum (and could not of course be sent to England), and those belonging to private persons are very scarce.
The examples from English collections were the magnificent portrait of _Juán de Pareja, the Painter_, from Longford Castle; the bust of _A Spanish Gentleman_, the property of the Duke of Wellington; _Calabacillas_, _the Buffoon_ (Plate IX.) which has recently passed into Sir Herbert Cook’s collection; _The Kitchen Maid_, in Sir Otto Beit’s collection--all representative of a period of the artist--as well as the portrait of _Don Baltasar Carlos, Infante of Spain_, which His Majesty the King of England lent from Buckingham Palace.
Of this last special mention must be made. In our judgment it is an undoubted Velázquez and, moreover, a most beautiful example. Every part of the armour, of the legs, of the body, and, above all, the adjustment of the figure and the design are typical of Velázquez. How has it come to be regarded in England as a work of Mazo, where the master is so justly esteemed and where, owing, doubtless to enthusiasm for Velázquez, nearly all the pictures of Mazo are attributed to Velázquez? Or is it that some have arrived at false conclusions concerning Mazo and Velázquez, and when they are confronted by an original and undoubted Velázquez, are dubious of it because it does not appear sufficiently typical of Mazo? It has not, to the best of our belief, elsewhere been observed that the head of this portrait is somewhat faint and flat.
From Spain there were sent _The Hand of an Ecclesiastic_, lent by His Majesty the King of Spain, a fragment, without doubt, from a portrait of which the remainder was lost in the burning of the Alcazar of Madrid. The special interest of the said fragment is that the hand holds a paper on which is the signature of Velázquez, assuredly, one of the three authentic signatures of this artist which remain to us, the others being found on the portrait of _Philip IV_, in the National Gallery, London, and that of _Pope Innocent X_, in the Doria Gallery at Rome. Concerning the portrait of _Pulido Pareja_ in the National Gallery, London, we have already written at some length on another occasion, with the intention of proving that this portrait is by Mazo, and that the signature is consequently apocryphal. The _Portrait of the Artist_, from the Fine Art Museum, Valencia, is a beautiful example, if somewhat damaged and blackened, and the other three works shown have been more frequently exhibited and studied than those which are of undoubted authenticity. Among others of outstanding interest is the _Head of a Cleric_, the property of the Count of Fuenclara, which, although its attribution is not unquestioned, is remembered above all as a beautiful piece of work.
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We must now commence the rather complex study of those paintings which compose the Madrid School. We say complex, because, composed as it was of painters who came from one or the other part of the Peninsula, it does not possess a precise and regional character, but is the resultant of the work of many artists whose names we must not forget, as, for example, Carducho, Caxes and Nardi, of Italian origin, who, or perhaps their fathers, were brought to Spain as decorative painters. It seems natural that they should have had imitators or disciples, as it was precisely in the country of their adoption that artists of this genre were awanting. But, on the contrary, they were absorbed by the environment, and produced and achieved a sober and realistic style, forgetful of the circumstances of their apprenticeship, and, we may say, hispanicised.
Velázquez was the chief representative of the Madrid school, its creator, and, more, its prototype, marking the apogee of Spanish painting. His aim was always to simplify, a purpose which is clearly obvious from the methods he employed from his youth to his last work, constantly simplifying his technique and, consequently, his palette. To the study of his palette alone we have dedicated a work of a purely technical character (of which THE STUDIO of November 1920 printed an extract) which space does not permit us to reproduce here, but which we take occasion to refer to since the simplification of the palette of this artist, the creator of a school, must be regarded as of exceptional importance, as characteristic of almost all later Spanish artistic achievement, endowing it with great individuality and distinguishing it from all other schools. This circumstance is worthy of recognition by all who wish to arrive at the true significance of Spanish painting, so far as its outward manifestations are concerned.
Before dealing with the continuators of Velázquez, we must briefly refer to painting in Andalusia, where Murillo appears as a great force in Seville, years after Velázquez had been so in Madrid. Murillo, at first a disciple of his kinsman Castillo, was soon afterwards a follower of Pedro Moya. The painter passed during his youth through a whole gamut of influences, that of Van Dyck especially, alternating at times with that of Ribera. At twenty-four he was in Madrid, where Velázquez worked and taught, though only for a short time. When he returned to Seville he did not forget the lessons of Velázquez, and from this period date those popular figures, full of character, which began to bring him fame. Later, Murillo altered his methods, and for the rest of his life employed a style suave and soft as the Andalusian accent, graceful and suggestive. His religious works, his _Virgins_, and, above all, his _Conceptions_ were soon famous, and, an incessant worker, he left a multitude of paintings which bear a personal and unmistakable stamp, and reveal an adequate technique, ample in treatment, in a tonality of varying greys, warm and glowing and without exaggeration.
But in truth the art of Murillo is of less interest than formerly, owing to present-day preferences, which seek spirituality in art, a force and even a restlessness which we do not find in the work of this artist. But his fame in his own day was very great, and for a long time he was considered as the foremost of Spanish painters. What gave him such a great reputation? The illustrious Spanish critic, Señor Cossío, has asked the same question regarding the causes underlying a style so direct and simple. Murillo’s subject-matter, says Señor Cossío, in the background as in the thing portrayed, represents always the soft and agreeable side of life. In the sphere of spontaneous creation, in that which does not require profundity, nor reflection, Murillo always exerts an irresistible attraction. His _Conceptions_ are beautiful but superficial. There is in them no more skilful groundwork, dramatic impulse, nor exaltation than appears at first sight. To comprehend and enjoy them it is not necessary to think, their contemplation leaves the beholder tranquil, they do not possess the power to distract, they have no warmth, nor that distinction which makes a work unique, and as they hold just that degree of cultured mediocrity which in thought and feeling is the patrimony of the majority of people, they are able to please accordingly. If there be added to this a pious and poetic sentiment and the celestial and suave expression of his figures, it is easy to understand the great, indisputable and just popularity which Murillo has enjoyed. Velázquez thought profoundly, but with ideality; Murillo has not idealism, nor is he profound. Both are realists, and if one represents the masculine feeling in Spanish painting, the other shows at its highest the feminine tendency.
At the Royal Academy seven pictures of Murillo, some of real importance, were shown. Amongst these religious subjects predominated, _San Leandro_ and _San Buenaventura_, from the Museum of Seville, and _The Triumph of the Holy Eucharist_, lent by Lord Faringdon. Among the portraits were that of the artist, the property of Earl Spencer; _Gabriel Esteban Murillo_, sent by the Duke of Alba and Berwick; and _Don Diego Félix de Esquivel y Aldama_, from a private collection in Madrid.
In alluding to the Sevillean school, we must mention a contemporary of Murillo, though somewhat his junior, of singular talent. His name is little known outside of Spain, and this is doubtless the reason why so few of his pictures have left the country. We believe it a mistake to allude to him, as is sometimes done, as one of those Spanish painters whose work is no longer of interest, such is his expression, his distinctive note, his creative boldness and individuality. We refer to Valdes Leal. His harsh outlook, his frequent inaccuracies, his thought, profound and almost always obscure, and above all, his subjects, at times macabre and bizarre, at times graceful, provide reasons for his unpopularity, no less than the still scanty knowledge we possess regarding this singular man, the circumstances of whose work and life are presented to us almost in a legendary manner, as in the case of his friend and patron, Don Juán de Mañara, who has been incarnated in the popular imagination as the Don Juán of tradition.
In Granada, Alonso Cano, as great a sculptor as painter, maintained, with other artists of lesser note and standing, a flourishing school which had links with that of Seville.
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We turn again to Madrid, to the Court where Velázquez, as we have indicated, stamped such character on painting and informed it with such excellence that artists flocked from all parts of the Peninsula to the capital. This resulted in the flourishing period of art--ending with the seventeenth century--fruitful and various, which is associated with the School of Madrid. It is not precisely the school of Velázquez, although equivocally so called. Velázquez had disciples who followed him, imitating and copying him, as his servant Pareja, the mulatto, did. But this notwithstanding, other painters of talent worked during these years in the capital, helping to form the school, even if they did not follow him in any decided manner. Nevertheless, he is its greatest figure, for he it was who gained the title of a school for the work of his contemporaries, and for the generation which followed him. The impulse which he gave by his technique and the composition of his palette, simple and sober, are characteristic of all this period. His son-in-law, Mazo, followed him blindly, and, working in his studio, was constantly impressed by the productions of his master, making use of the same methods--the same canvas, colours, brushes, and, giving rein to an extraordinarily imitative talent, he tried to make, and occasionally produced, actual facsimiles of his master’s works. The study of this curious problem of painting, of the distinctive note, the inclination of the time, as shown in the art of father-in-law and son-in-law, has been the subject of several works from our pen. We have not insisted on the point in these, nor have we space to do so in this brief synthesis; but we flatter ourselves that several paintings, especially those which belong to museums, have come to be more correctly attributed to Mazo rather than to Velázquez, and that those who are interested in these problems have come to distinguish the external aspect of the work of the one from that of the other, substantial and inimitable. We must remark, however, that Mazo had, besides the mere qualities of an imitator, a talent of his own of singular excellence, that of a landscape painter, which represented a relative novelty in the art of Spain at that period.
After Velázquez the most important painter of the School of Madrid is, beyond dispute, Carreño. Though his religious canvases are numerous, Carreño was, above all, a portrait painter. The relative influence of the work of Van Dyck, which extended as far as Seville, also reached Madrid, and Carreño came under it at times and discreetly made use of it. We say discreetly, for he had lost his national qualities. He borrowed from Velázquez the basic colours of his palette, but sought to enrich them with certain warm, golden tones, and he was enamoured of russets and, above all, of carmines, generally those which approximate to the colouring of the Flemings, but which appear cloying beside the works of Van Dyck. The portraits by Carreño were represented at the exhibition by that of _A Young Lady_ (Plate XXII), belonging to the Duke of Medinaceli, which might almost be described as a black-and-white from its colouring and the evident purpose of the artist to preserve this tonality throughout the work; that of _The Queen of Spain, Doña Mariana de Austria_, the property of Don Ramón de la Sota, a most beautiful example, from which, without doubt, have been taken the many repetitions which are known of it besides other variants; and that of _The Marchioness of Santa Cruz_, which is of great importance and very characteristic. Of religious pictures it is necessary to mention _The Apparition of the Virgin to Saint Bernard_, sent from Bilbao by Don Antonio Plasencia.
The two brothers Rizi, Juan and Francisco, were of Italian origin; both were decorative painters and worked in the style of Carducho and Caxes. Juan, the elder, was a monk, and was one of the prototypes of the School of Madrid, following Velázquez in his work, soberly and simply. Francisco seems at times to display the qualities of his Italian origin, and though sufficiently Spanish, gave to his creations a certain quality which may have influenced the Spanish decorative painters of the time. It is a curious problem of influence. In any case this artist, who achieved fame in his time, is an interesting study to-day, and it would seem that the critic must scrutinize the beginnings of the question before he tries to explain its results. Pereda, Collantes and Leonardo are also notable, if lacking the character of their school, which clearly shows them to be among the disciples of Carreño, among whom, perhaps, the most notable were Cerezo and Cabezalero, who unfortunately died young. Cerezo seems to be the most striking figure of those years, and his brilliant colour and fine style initiated a tendency which made for the enrichment of the Spanish palette, the sobriety of which we admire in the masters, but which degenerates into a certain poverty at times in the hands of their disciples. With Cerezo we should mention Antolínez, who also died before he reached artistic maturity.
We now reach that era of painting which flourished at the Court of Spain during the remainder of the seventeenth century. A long list of names of artists could be made, all estimable and some remarkable, who exhibited the proverbial vigour and picturesque temperament of the race, which, skilfully directed, and having received a noble and traditional tendency, commenced its onward progress without faltering. We mention, however, only Claudio Coello, who seems to close this period. A disciple of Rizi, whose decorative tendency he followed, he was more an artist in a general sense than a portrait painter, and above all he produced many religious subjects. By his work _The Sacred Form_, which is kept in the Escurial, he seems to be sealed to the School of Madrid. This picture is obviously a result of the atmosphere and the taste of the period in its fidelity to character and its happy solution of problems of perspective and effects of light.
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For Spain the eighteenth century was a period of misfortune. The reasons for this are simple and evident. Grace and good taste--in the best sense of the term--lightness, came to be the characteristics of this century, and these qualities were displayed in a perfect manner in French art. And it was precisely these attributes which Spanish artists most lacked, and still lack. They are robust, strong and sincere, but without gracefulness, facility of expression or volatility. _A propos_ of this, it must be recalled that Spanish artistic expression appears to have been more or less influenced in its development by foreign tendencies which were allowed to work freely and with absolute spontaneity. The eighteenth century was a period in which the most powerful external influences, especially the French, the least adaptable to the Spanish temperament, had full play. These external influences were wholly ordained by the rule of the House of Bourbon, and incarnated in the first of its monarchs, Philip V, nephew of Louis XIV, who, doubtless meaning well, seemed to think it possible to transplant Versailles, with its marvellous spirit and exquisite culture, to the Castilian cities, which were still dominated by the sobriety and asceticism of the mystics of past centuries.
As regards painting, these influences commenced with the arrival at the Court of Lucas Jordán, who represented the influence of the great Italian decorative artists. Afterwards came Tiépolo, who left many marvellous works, quite inimitable by Spanish artists. The Bourbons introduced Van Loo, Ranc, Houasse and other French representatives of the art of the time; and lastly came Mengs, bringing with him a spirit wholly distinct from that of the French, a style erudite and academic which was not sufficiently powerful to create an artistic output of any importance in Spain, but which possessed much destructive power, although that was limited as regards time to about a century, during which period the national production was weak, despite the number of artists, of whom those most worthy to be mentioned are Maella, the Bayeus and Paret.
Such was the condition of Spanish painting when, without precedent, reason or motive, appeared in the province of Aragon, a region which years afterwards came to typify the resistance to foreign invasion, a figure of great significance in Spanish art, and worthy of comparison with the greatest masters of the preceding centuries--Francisco de Goya.
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The long life of Goya coincides with an epoch which divides two ages. The critic is somewhat at a loss how to place his work and personality, to conclude whether he is the last of the old masters or the first of the moderns. His greatness is so obvious, his performance so vast and its gradual evolution so manifest, that we may be justified in holding that the first portion of his effort belongs to the old order of things, while the second must be associated with the origins of modern painting. In his advance, in the manner and development of it, it is noticeable--as we have already said in certain of our works which deal with Goya--that he substituted for the picturesque, agreeable and suggestive note of his younger days, another more intense and more embracive. It would seem that the French invasion of the Peninsula, the horrors of which he experienced and depicted, influenced him profoundly in the alteration of his style. There is a Goya of the eighteenth century and a Goya of the nineteenth. But this is not entirely due to variation in technique, to mere artistic development, it is more justly to be traced to a change in creative outlook, in character, in view-point, which underwent a rude and violent transformation. Compare the subjects of his tapestries or of his festive canvases, joyful and gallant, facile in conception and at times almost trivial, with the tragic and macabre scenes of his old age, and with the drawings of this period and the compositions known as “The Disasters of War.”
His spirit was fortified and nourished by the warmth of his imagination, and assisted by an adequate technique, marvellously suited to the expression of his ideas, he produced the colossal art of his later years. If his performance is studied with reference to the vicissitudes and the adventures of which it is eloquent, the influence upon his works of the times in which they were created is obvious. The changes in his life, the transference from those gay and tranquil years to others full of the horrors of blood and fire, of shame and banishment, tended, without doubt, to discipline his spirit and excite his intelligence. His natural bias to the fantastic and his tendency to adapt the world to his visions seized upon the propitious occasion in a time of invasion and war to exalt itself, or, as he himself expressed it, “the dream of reason produces prodigies.”
An artist and creator more as regards expression than form, especially in the second phase of his work, unequal in achievement and at times inaccurate, he sacrificed much to divest himself of these faults. He deliberately set himself to discipline his ideas and develop that degree of boldness with which he longed to infuse them. But he was not quite able to subject himself to reality, and, as he was forgetful and indolent, that which naturally dominated him began to show itself in quite other productions of consummate mastery. This art, imaginative in expression and idea, is more striking as regards its individual and original qualities, than for any degree of discipline which it shows.