MEMOIR OF MURILLO.
A slight sketch of the life of Murillo, will not be considered an
unappropriate introduction to some notice of his principal works, yet to
be found in the Picture Gallery of Madrid; and in the churches,
convents, and hospitals of Seville.
ESTABAN MURILLO, the prince of painters, was born at Seville, on the 1st
of January, 1618. The small town of _Pilas_, in Andalusia, has disputed
this honour with Seville; but the claim of Pilas to this distinction has
probably arisen from the fact, that his mother was from Pilas, and that
he inherited, through her, some property in that neighbourhood. But it
is of little importance whether the courtly Seville, or the lowly Pilas,
gave birth to Murillo; they may feel equally honoured in his name, for
the name of Murillo belongs to his country. How he acquired the name of
_Estaban_, has also been matter of dispute: some say he derived it from
his father, who, it is said, was called Gaspar Estaban Murillo; and
others are of opinion, that he took the name of his maternal uncle; but
this dispute is of even less importance than that respecting the place
of his nativity. Neither of the Estabans are now alive, to claim the
honour of such a name-son; and Murillo’s honours are independent of his
kindred.
Great painters, more than any other class of eminent men, have given
intimation, during childhood, of the distinction to which they have
afterwards attained; and if the chronicles and traditions of Murillo
record truly, his infancy did not form an exception. This fact is not
difficult to account for; because, at the earliest age, the genius of
the painter finds facilities for displaying itself. The infant musician
to whom nature has denied a vocal talent, cannot, without an
acquaintance with some instrument, convey a knowledge of his powers;
still less can the infant poet embody poetic conceptions, without an
acquaintance with language: but the painter finds, every where around,
the means of giving expression to his thoughts: a dark and a light
substance are all he requires; and in Spain, where the walls of the
rooms are almost universally white-washed, the infant Murillo could find
no obstacle to the indulgence of his genius.
The parents of Murillo saw no good likely to arise from an inclination
for daubing the walls, and scratching the brick floors; and did all that
lay in their power to discourage it; but the boy knew his calling, and
still continued to disappoint the hopes of his father, who had destined
him for the church; and to exhaust the patience of his mother, who, as
it is said, returning one day from mass, found that her only picture,
which she prized highly--an infant Christ and a lamb--had suffered an
extraordinary transformation. Murillo had taken the glory from the head
of the Christ, and substituted his own little hat, intending to
represent himself; and the lamb he had converted into a dog--an animal
in which he took great delight. Murillo was then too young to be
conscious of any impiety in this transformation; the bent of his mind
through life, was wholly averse from this: but his parents, despairing
of a cure, thought it advisable to let him have his own way, and sent
him to the house of his kinsman, _Juan de Castillo_, who undertook to
teach the youthful Murillo the first principles of design and colouring.
This Castillo was no despicable hand; especially in the art of
colouring, for a knowledge of which, he was partly indebted to Luis de
Varjas, who had sometime before returned to Seville from Italy, bringing
along with him the knowledge which he had acquired in Florence. Besides
the youthful Murillo, Castillo could boast of several other disciples in
his school; particularly Pedro de Moya,--of whom, more hereafter,--and
Alonzo Cano, whose freedom of touch, natural design, and charming
colouring, afterwards secured for him a high rank among Spanish
painters. But Murillo, whose genius was of still a loftier kind, soon
supplanted his companions in the favour of his master, by the yet more
rapid progress which he made in the art; but he continued,
notwithstanding, to discharge the menial offices of grinding the
colours, cleaning the brushes, and preparing the canvas,--such being the
original conditions upon which he had been admitted into his relation’s
workshop.
There was at this time much rivalry among the masters in Seville, each
of whom had a school in his own house,--and this rivalry was fully
partaken by their pupils; for the reputation of the schools necessarily
depended, in a great measure, upon the proficiency of the pupils.
Murillo felt deeply interested in the honour of his kinsman’s school;
and he, probably perceiving in his young disciple, a promise of
excellence that might afterwards reflect honour upon himself, was the
more assiduous in his instructions; so that, after a few years, Murillo
had well nigh exhausted the information which his master was able to
communicate.
But at this time Castillo suddenly quitted Seville to reside in Cadiz;
his school was broken up, and Murillo was left without a master. It is
probable that the most important moment of his life,--that upon which
has hinged his future character,--was, when feeling the helplessness of
his condition, he meditated upon his future prospects, and present
necessities; and asked himself that plain question, which must be put
and answered by all who are situated like him, “What shall I do?” How
much depended upon this resolve! for often has genius been extinguished
because no friendly hand was by, to fan the flame yet struggling for
existence,--often discouraged, by being left to grope its way in
darkness. Some in Murillo’s condition, might have abandoned a profession
that held out no solid advantages; and others, would have sought a new
master. But Murillo, whether from a confidence in his own powers, or
from an unwillingness to enter any of those other schools which had been
rivals to Castillo’s, came to a resolution more fortunate for himself
and for the world: he determined to throw himself upon his own
resources, and to trust in his genius.
It happened, at this time, to be the fair at Seville, at which season
there was always a demand for devotional pictures, both for the uses of
the pious at home, and for exportation to America. But these pictures
were always of the most wretched description, and painted by the lowest
artists; and with so much haste, that it not unusually happened that
some favourite saint was painted during the time that the devout
purchaser bargained for the price; nor was it a rare occurrence that the
painter should be required to change a Magdalen into a Madonna; a Virgin
into St. Anthony of Padua; or a group of cherubs into the souls in
purgatory. Murillo took his place in the fair, and painted whatever was
required, at whatever price was offered; and there can be little doubt
that this varied and rapid practice gave a freedom to the pencil, and a
facility in the expression of ideas, which years of study under a master
might have failed to produce.
Murillo had now attained his twenty-third year; and at this time a
circumstance occurred, which had an important influence upon his future
career; this was, the arrival in Seville of Pedro de Moya. It will be
recollected, that Pedro de Moya was a co-disciple with Murillo, in the
school of Castillo; but he had, some years before, and while Murillo was
still a pupil, left it and Seville; and had subsequently gone to
Flanders as a soldier, with a greater disposition to see the world than
to paint. But his natural propensities had only been suspended by the
desire of novelty, so natural to youth: for meeting in Flanders with the
works of Van Dyk, and other eminent Flemish masters, he returned to his
profession, and became a disciple of that great painter, under whom he
acquired those graces, with which he returned to Seville, to excite the
admiration and the hopes of Murillo.
Murillo, struck with the improvement of his former companion, set
himself to imitate his style; but fortunately for Murillo, who might
otherwise have degenerated into a copyist, Moya soon quitted Seville,
and he was left to his aspirations and his difficulties. Conscious of
his own great imperfections, he had obtained a glimpse of what might be
the reward of courage and perseverance; and his desires suggested many
projects for their gratification. It is a trying, and yet a happy moment
for genius, that in which humility and pride arise together, bringing
with them the discovery, that the past has been a blank leaf in
existence; but begetting a desire to turn over another, and to fill it
with things that shall never be blotted out. Such was, doubtless, the
state of the young painter’s mind, when he resolved upon quitting his
native city, and seeking in Flanders, or Italy, the opportunities by
which he might hope to realise his dream of fame.
But Murillo was without money, and without friends; and how could he
travel to Flanders or Italy? His reputation in Seville, as a painter,
was small; for although his practice of working for the fair, had in
reality increased his powers, it was little likely to add to his
respectability; and it was a question, therefore, not easily solved, how
he should obtain the means of effecting his design. But even in this
extremity, courage did not desert him; and an expedient was found, by
which he might modestly replenish his purse. He purchased a large piece
of canvas; primed it himself; and dividing it into unequal parts,
painted upon it, every possible variety of subject,--saints, landscapes,
animals, flowers,--but particularly devotional pieces. With this
treasure, he went to Cadiz, to tempt the masters of the India vessels.
Among so many subjects, the taste of every one could find something to
gratify it, and he returned to Seville without any of his canvas, and
with a little stock of pistoles.
Murillo did not now delay a moment longer the execution of his purpose.
Communicating his design only to his brother, who lived at Seville in
the house of an uncle, he left his native city at the age of
twenty-four, to return, and afterwards enrich it with undying memorials
of that genius which is the glory of Spain, and the just pride of the
city where it was chiefly exercised.
It is a long and toilsome journey from Seville to Madrid; and many must
have been the anxious thoughts that filled the mind of the adventurer;
but the predominating feeling would doubtless be buoyant, for youth and
genius are fertile in hope. We think we see the young painter leave his
native town,--long visible in the majestic tower of the cathedral, at
which he often turns round to gaze. We follow his steps (for his journey
was performed on foot) up the banks of the _Guadalquivir_, flowing
towards his home; we see him with his scanty supplies toiling up the
defiles of the _Sierra Morena_, and looking upon the other side, over
the wide plain of _La Mancha_; and we see him with a quickened step,
hasten towards the capital, when he first descries its towers in the
midst of the desert that surrounds it.
Velasquez was, at this time, first painter to the king’s bed-chamber,
and highly esteemed at the court of Philip IV.; he was then past the
prime of life, and almost beyond its vicissitudes; and surrounded by
friends, and full of honours, he could feel no jealousy of the
friendless boy who came to him for advice and protection. Murillo no
sooner arrived in Madrid, than he bethought himself of waiting upon
Velasquez; and he found in this good man, and excellent painter, a
friend who instantly became his guide; and who never deserted him, even
when the progress of the pupil seemed to point out a rival of his own
immortality.
Velasquez questioned Murillo as to his family, his studies, his
knowledge, his motives, and his wishes; and, like a true lover of his
art, admiring the spirit and enthusiasm which were disclosed in the
answers of Murillo, and approving the motive of his journey,--and,
doubtless, discovering in his conversation, tokens by which a man of
Velasquez’s experience and knowledge, might draw a presage of his future
greatness, he took the young painter under his roof as a pupil, a
friend, and a countryman. Murillo did not accept the hospitality of
Velasquez without immediately proving himself worthy of it. The object
of his journey was uppermost in his thoughts; and Velasquez, without
delay, afforded him the requisite facilities for prosecuting his design.
He sent him to the different palaces, and to the convent of the
Escurial, that he might see, and study, the pictures of the great
masters; and directed him to select such as he might be ambitious of
copying; and by this, Velasquez could not fail to obtain farther insight
into the bent of his genius, and would even be able to judge better of
its extent. What a moment for Murillo, when, entering the sacristy of
the Escurial, he first beheld the works of Raphael, and Da Vinci, and
Titian, and Paul Veronese!
The three years that followed the arrival of Murillo in Madrid, afford
little incident for the biographer. During these years, he was no doubt
laying the foundation of his future eminence, by practising his pencil
and his eye among the excellent models to which he had access; among
whom, no one was a greater favourite with Murillo than his kind friend
and patron, Velasquez. It is certain, that he also highly esteemed the
genius of Titian; and although he adopted no exclusive model, his
admiration of that great head of the Venetian school is discernible in
many of his works.
It appears, however, that Murillo did not confine himself to the study
of these two masters, but that he also occupied himself with the works
of Van Dyk, and of Rebera (Españoletto); for when Velasquez accompanied
the king into Catalunia, Murillo, upon his return, shewed him three
copies from pictures of Van Dyk, Rebera, and himself. These were
presented to the king; and surprised equally the court and Velasquez, by
their fidelity, and the excellence of their execution; so much so, that
Murillo is said to have been advised to occupy himself henceforward
with the works of only these masters.
But the time now approached, when Murillo should no longer copy the
works of others; but when he should himself become a model for the
imitation of succeeding ages. At the return of Velasquez from a second
journey, in which he had accompanied the king to Saragossa, he was so
much struck with the progress of his _protégé_, that he told him he
could gain nothing more by a residence in Madrid; and advised him to
travel to Rome, to which city he offered to furnish him with letters of
recommendation, and other advantages; not the least of these, being the
command of his purse.
The true reason of Murillo’s rejection of this advice, it is impossible
to ascertain; but he had resolved upon returning to his native city. It
has been commonly said, that the importunities of a brother whom he
highly esteemed, and certain domestic causes, recalled him: but it seems
more probable, that his determination was the result of an internal
conviction, that he had already accomplished the end for which he left
the place of his nativity: and it is also possible, that a
disinclination to be a farther debtor for the good offices of Velasquez,
without which he could not have journeyed into Italy,--may have had its
influence. Velasquez, although not approving the determination of his
young friend, did not oppose his design; and Murillo returned to his
native city.
It chanced, that at this time the Franciscan friars desired to have
eleven historical pictures, to adorn the _Claustro Chico_ of their
convent; but, as the sum to be paid for these, arose solely from alms
which a devout person had collected for the purpose, it may be supposed
that the painter who might undertake to execute the order, could not
expect a very liberal remuneration. Accordingly, the principal painters
then in Seville, shewed no great disposition to engage in the work; and
the friars, failing to secure the talents of any of those who had the
reputation of being the first masters, found themselves obliged to be
contented with an inferior hand, and applied to Murillo, who, being then
more needy than his brethren, willingly undertook the commission, in
which he no doubt perceived other advantages than the paltry
remuneration proposed to him.
No sooner was this order executed, than Murillo found the reward of his
perseverance, and a repayment of all his anxieties and difficulties. The
utmost surprise was excited in Seville; he was universally courted; the
performances of his pencil were greedily sought after; and he at once
found himself the acknowledged head of the schools of Seville. This was
indeed an hour of pride for the friendless artist, who, a few years
before, had cast himself and his fortunes upon the wide world.
But another reward awaited Murillo,--the hand of Donna Beatrix de
Cabrera y Sotomayor, a lady of Pilas, possessing many virtues, great
sweetness of temper, and mistress of a considerable fortune. Her claims
to beauty have been doubted; for no picture of her is known to be
extant: the story, however, which is related respecting the manner in
which he won her, is rather at variance with this supposition. It is
said that Murillo, having occasion to visit Pilas, on account of some
property which had descended to him in right of his mother, saw the
Donna Beatrix; and struck with the sweetness of her countenance, and her
other graces, became enamoured of her. Her station in life, however, was
higher than his own; and despairing of a successful issue, he was trying
to efface the impression she had made, when a circumstance occurred that
renewed the recollection of her, by suggesting a means of advancing his
suit. He accepted an order to paint the altar-piece for the church of
St. Geronimo, at Pilas; and in the countenance of an angel, he painted
that of his mistress. This delicate gallantry is said to have won the
heart of the Donna Beatrix. The story may, or may not be true; but it is
chronicled in Pilas.
From the time of Murillo’s marriage, he appears to have run a constant
career of glory; advancing in true excellence, and in public estimation.
His style suffered some changes during this career; but always towards
perfection; improving in sweetness and delicacy, and in warmth and
richness of colouring. The earliest celebrated picture of Murillo, after
his first change in style, was _The Conception_, for the Franciscan
convent; from the archives of which, it appears that he received for it
the sum of 2500 reals (25_l._ sterling); a small sum even in those days;
but it is probable that Murillo might have taken into consideration, the
reputed poverty of the order; and this is the more probable, since
shortly after, in 1656, he painted the great picture of St. Anthony of
Padua, for the baptismal altar of the cathedral of Seville, for which he
received 10,000 reals (100_l._ sterling). But the most glorious epoch in
the career of Murillo, was later in life: it was between 1670 and 1680,
that he painted for the hospital _De la Caridad_, his Santa Isabella,
the Prodigal Son, the Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes, Moses Striking
the Rock, John of God, and others, that are looked upon as the most
excellent of his works. The twenty-five celebrated pictures also, that
adorn the Capuchin convent in Seville, were the production of his ripest
genius; but they were painted antecedently to the pictures of the
Caridad; and to those who are conversant with the works of Murillo,
there is a still more perfect charm in the latter. The highest price
that Murillo appears to have received for any picture, is 15,975
reals,--a little more than 150_l._ sterling. This he received for the
Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes.
In the year 1658, eleven years after his return to Seville, Murillo
projected the establishment of an academy of painting in his native
city. This project was warmly opposed by many, especially by Herrera,
who had newly returned from Italy, filled with high, and doubtless just
notions, of the greatness of the Italian schools; and looking with
suspicion upon a school, whose founder had never travelled beyond Spain.
But the genius of Murillo, at length conquered the prejudices of
Herrera; and the academy was opened on the 1st of January, 1660, with
Murillo at its head, as first president. It may be mentioned, as an
instance of the painter’s modesty, that in the list of members of the
institution, drawn out by himself, the name of Herrera appears at the
head of the list.
There is one passage in the life of Murillo, connected, too, with some
of the greatest efforts of his genius, upon which there appears to hang
a mystery. I allude to that period during which he painted the
twenty-five pictures that adorn the Capuchin convent. The usual version
of the story is, that Murillo, finding himself in some difficulty, took
refuge in the Capuchin convent; and in return for the protection
afforded him by the monks, dedicated his talents to the embellishment of
their church. But it is difficult to give credence to this. Murillo led
a blameless life; and ever after his marriage, his pecuniary
circumstances were flourishing. What, therefore, could be the necessity
that obliged Murillo to take refuge in a convent, it is impossible to
conjecture. At the same time, it is certain that in that convent there
are twenty-five of Murillo’s pictures; and in the archives of the
convent, there is no record of any sum having been paid for these. It is
certain, too, that the tradition is steadily maintained within the
convent, that Murillo was an inmate of it during two years. The monks
even relate little traits of his character and habits; and a picture of
St. John, the Virgin, and Child, is shewn by them,--painted upon a table
napkin; and it is certain that the picture is Murillo’s. The only
solution of these difficulties is, that upon the death of his wife,
which took place some time previous to the year 1670, he retired for a
time to the Capuchin convent; for it is impossible to believe that he
was never an inmate of it. The event which really took place in the life
of Herrera (_hermoso_) may perhaps have given rise to the false version
of the story of Murillo. Herrera was forced to take refuge in the church
of the Jesuits at Seville; and his genius has adorned its walls.
I must not omit the mention of an anecdote that is generally related of
Murillo. At the time that he lived near the church of Santa Cruz, it
contained, in one of its chapels, the well-known “Descent from the
Cross,” by Pedro Campaña, now adorning one of the altars in the
cathedral. It is said that Murillo was accustomed to spend much of his
time in that church, in admiration of this painting; and that one day,
the Sacristan being about to close the gates, and finding Murillo there,
asked him what detained him so long in that chapel; to which Murillo is
said to have answered, “_Estoy esperando que estos santos varones acaben
de baxar al Señor de la Cruz_.”--I am waiting until these holy men take
down the Lord from the Cross;--a compliment, perhaps, scarcely merited
by the picture of Campaña, and therefore probably never paid by Murillo.
The last picture that engaged the hand of Murillo, was one which he
undertook for the Altar Mayor of the Capuchin convent at Cadiz. This was
in the latter end of the year 1681; but he did not live to complete the
work. While engaged upon this picture, he fell from the scaffold, and
was so much injured, as to be obliged to return to Seville. But the
shock he had received, aided by declining years, produced disease; and
his illness increased until the evening of the third day of April in the
following year, when he expired in the arms of his friend and disciple,
Don Pedro Nuñez de Villavicencio.
From the will of Murillo, preserved in the Franciscan convent of
Seville, it appears that he left little property besides that which he
acquired by his marriage. This was bequeathed to his sons; for his only
daughter had taken the veil early in life. In this will, there is also
contained an inventory of his pictures, among which one of himself is
mentioned. This picture, now in the possession of Mr. Williams, of
Seville, represents Murillo about the age of thirty, nearly the time of
his marriage, and conveys a very pleasing idea of the appearance and
character of the painter. The proprietor, himself an excellent artist,
and an intelligent man, has made a masterly drawing from the original:
the drawing is in the possession of Mr. Brackenbury, his Britannic
majesty’s consul at Cadiz; and from that gentleman’s admiration of
Murillo, it may be hoped, that an engraving from it may soon enable
every admirer of that illustrious man to have the gratification of
possessing his likeness.
The character of Murillo, as a painter, can scarcely be separated from
his character as a man: humility, kindness, benevolence, were
conspicuous in him; and these are also seen in the choice of his
subjects. Undoubtedly one of the greatest among the many charms of
Murillo, consists in the beauty of his invention; his subjects seldom
fail to interest the benevolent feelings: we have affection in all its
varieties--charity under its many forms; and even in subjects purely
divine, he contrives to throw over them a human interest. Never was
affection more touchingly delineated, than in the picture of St. Felix,
the Virgin, and Child, in the Capuchin convent of Seville; in which the
virgin, after having put the infant into the arms of the holy man, that
he might bless him,--stretches out her own, that he may be restored to a
mother’s embrace. Nor were ever love and benevolence more beautifully
blended, than in the picture of “Santa Isabella, Queen of Portugal,
curing the sick and wounded,” wherein the old woman watches, with a
mother’s anxiety, the cure of her wounded son. And where shall we find
charity, and its reward--the favour of Heaven--more impressively
displayed, or more powerfully conceived, than in the picture of “John of
God.” This has always seemed to me, one of the happiest illustrations of
the genius of Murillo. “John of God” is supposed to have gone, as was
his usual practice during the night, to seek and succour objects of
distress. The picture represents the Saint, carrying on his back a
wretched being, whom he had found in his walk, and bending under the
weight of his burden; but suddenly, feeling himself relieved of a part
of his load, he looks round, and sees by the miraculous light that
encircles his heavenly visitant, that an angel has descended, to assist
him in his work of charity.
Innumerable examples might be given from the works of Murillo, of that
peculiar charm which consists in investing spiritual subjects with a
human interest. Murillo never painted a virgin and child without
blending a mother’s human love, and the pride of a mother in her human
child, with the expression of divinity, and with the loftier pride of
having given birth to the Son of God. Nor in any representation of
scenes in the life of Christ, did Murillo ever forget to unite the human
with the divine character. In the great painting, also, of “Moses
striking the Rock,” in the Hospital _de la Caridad_, there is a fine
exemplification of the excellence of which I have been speaking. This
miracle is not made a mere display of power; Murillo has introduced into
it many varieties of human feeling--the anxiety of those who wait for
the accomplishment of the miracle--the burning impatience, and eager
importunities of thirst, and its contrasted satisfaction.
This peculiar charm of Murillo, consisting in his choice of subjects,
has made him a painter for all men; for all, at least, who have human
emotions to be excited, and human affections to be touched. But this is
only one excellence of Murillo; and standing apart from others, it might
belong to any man of benevolence and fine imagination, however
indifferent a painter he might be. Murillo possesses, besides, that rare
union of high qualities, some of them pre-eminently his own, which has
made him one of the first of painters in the eye of the learned, and of
all those who have loved and studied the divine art.
The most striking excellence in the conception of Murillo’s figures is
Nature, accompanied by Grace; but never, as in some of the Italian
masters, grace running into affectation:--and what is there to desire
more in the conception of a picture, than perfect nature and perfect
grace, without any alloy of affectation? In the combination of these
excellences, Titian, among all the Italian masters, most nearly
resembles Murillo; but if a picture of this eminent master be placed
beside a picture of Murillo, executed in his ripest years, the former
appears feebler; this is probably owing to the unapproachable excellence
of Murillo’s colouring, which combines the brilliancy of the Flemish,
with the truth of the Venetian. Looking at the greatest efforts of
Murillo’s pencil, there seems nothing left to desire. An invention noble
and touching; a conception natural and graceful; a composition just,
elegant, correct; a colouring rich and true; and over all a delicacy, a
spirituality, a beauty,--arising from the blending of the whole,--that
leave the mind satisfied, but which never satiate the eye.
There are few painters so difficult to copy as Murillo; although,
perhaps, few masters have had more copies attributed to them. The
greater number of these are said to be pictures in Murillo’s early
style; but the colouring may always be detected; for it is that which
constitutes the chief difficulty to him who desires to copy this master.
The Italian masters are, almost without exception, easier to copy than
Murillo, because their colouring is more simple. Murillo’s colouring,
although appearing simple, is extremely artful; and this the copyist
speedily discovers. Many pictures of the Italian schools convey an idea
of a marbly surface; but the pictures of Murillo, executed at the epoch
of his greatest excellence, convey the idea of flesh and blood. This
effect cannot be produced by one colour, or one lay of colours; nor even
in perfection by the glazing, of which Titian used to avail himself: the
effect is produced by one colour shining through another; and by the
skilful use of these, Murillo has often given to his ground, or back
colour, the effect of air, in place of an opaque body; and the artist
who attempts to imitate Murillo by a mixture of colours, will find it
impossible to equal the effect of the original.
It is a common idea, that in Spain, the pictures of Murillo are scarce;
and that the galleries, churches, and convents, have been despoiled of
their greatest treasures. This idea is very erroneous. Spain has, no
doubt, been robbed of some of her choicest paintings, and some have
found their way into other countries as objects of traffic; but the
Peninsula is still rich in the works of Murillo. In the gallery of
Madrid, of which I shall presently speak, there are thirty pictures of
Murillo’s, two-thirds of them at least, undoubted originals. In the
Cabinet of Natural History, three of the greatest productions of his
pencil are found. In private collections in Madrid, particularly in
those of the Duke of Medina Cœli, the Duke of Liria, Sir John Meade, and
some other individuals, there may be nearly an equal number. In Seville,
the twenty-five pictures painted for the Capuchin convent, are all in
their places. In the hospital _de la Caridad_, there are four of
Murillo’s greatest productions. The collection of Mr. Williams of
Seville, is distinguished by twelve Murillos; and in other private
houses in Seville, perhaps as many more may be found. In the cathedral
there are six or eight; and in Cadiz, in the possession of Mr.
Brackenbury--in Murcia,--and particularly in Valencia, Murillos may be
discovered by any lover of the fine arts, whose inquiries are directed
towards that object.
The present government of Spain watches over the works of Murillo with a
jealousy, that is not shewn in any thing else that concerns the
prosperity or the honour of the country. By a late government order, the
works of Murillo are prevented from leaving Spain; but as bribery is
able to conquer many difficulties in that country, the exportation of
pictures is not impossible.