A PANORAMIC VIEW
_Part II: Seventeenth Century to the Present Day._
The seventeenth century was the golden age of Spanish art, as it was of
the art of Holland; product in the one case of national decline, in the
other of national growth. While Spain was neglecting her national
resources, losing her morale and wasting money and men on a vain effort
to enslave the Dutch, the latter, in their fight for liberty, built up
their national character and developed the resources of their country.
Yet, under conditions so different, the genius of each people was
liberated, threw off the shackles of foreign influence and discovered
its own racial expression in painting. Each of the great schools had its
protagonist: Valencia, José Ribera (1588-1656); Andalusia, Murillo
(1618-1682); Castile, Velasquez, (1599-1660). Meanwhile, as we have
noted, the early part of the century was occupied by the great artist,
El Greco.
As these will be discussed in separate chapters, it remains to note the
most important of the lesser painters of the period under their
respective schools.
In the School of Castile the vogue of portraiture at Court was
perpetuated by Coello’s pupil, Juan Pantoja de la Cruz (1551-1610) and
by Bartolomé Gonzáles (1564-1627). The former’s portraits are hard and
dry in treatment and shallow in expression, while the latter’s, despite
a tightness and triviality of detail, have a certain grandiose dignity
of design. Witness the equestrian portraits of Philip III and his wife,
Doña Margarita of Austria and that of Philip IV’s first wife, Doña
Isabel de Borbón. In the Prado catalogue these are still assigned to
Velasquez, but latest criticism confines the latter’s share in them to
retouching of certain parts, particularly the horses, while giving the
originals to Gonzáles. It is further believed that the landscapes in the
Philip III and Queen Margarita were worked over by Velasquez’s pupil and
son-in-law, Mazo. The handling of the figures is so different from that
of the rest of the compositions, so evidently the reverse of Velasquez’s
broad and pregnant style, that it is strange the canvases should ever
have been assigned in their entirety to him; except for the reason that
until recently it has been the custom, both in Madrid and elsewhere, to
attribute to this master anything, however mediocre, which approached
the appearance of his method.
We recall among the Italian painters invited to the Court of Philip II,
Bartolomeo Carducho and Patricio Caxés. Each had a son who became a
painter; Vicente Carducho (1585-1638) born in Italy, but educated and
naturalised in Spain, and Eugenio Caxés (1577-1642), whose birthplace
was Madrid. They were employed in decorating the palaces of the Prado
and the Escoriál. Their work is mannered, with much technical
proficiency and little inspiration. It is, however, handsome in design;
wherein lies its chief interest to the student of Spanish painting,
since it helped to foster that skill in the filling of a space which was
brought to such perfection by Velasquez. In this connection we may
mention Fray Juan Bautista Mayno (1594-1690), a Dominican monk, who had
been drawing master to Philip IV before his accession and was retained
by him afterwards as an adviser in matters of art. There is an
“allegory” by him in the entrance hall of the Prado, representing _The
Pacification of the States of Flanders_ which in qualities of painting
is quite uninteresting, yet, regarded as a decoration, has considerable
merit, reminding one of Puvis de Chavannes’ flat patterns of full and
empty spaces. Indeed, one may be disposed to feel that from the point of
view of mural decoration it is even superior to Velasquez’s _Surrender
of Breda_, which by comparison is a historical picture. It is
interesting to note that Mayno was a native of Toledo and in consequence
familiar with the work of El Greco, who, we shall find, was a master of
decorative space-filling.
In 1603, during the reign of Philip III, Rubens, on a mission from the
Duke of Mantua, visited the Spanish Court. One of the Duke’s intentions
was that his emissary should copy some of the masterpieces of the Royal
collection. Rubens’ copy of Titian’s _Temptation of Adam and Eve_ now
hangs in the Prado, not far from the original, and it is interesting to
note how the young Flemish artist has corrected and improved the
composition of the old Venetian. The orders given to Rubens included a
provision that he should forward his work by employing the assistance
of some of the Spanish painters. He writes, saying that he will adhere
to these instructions, but, he adds, “I do not approve of it,
considering the short time we have at our disposal, and the incredible
inadequacy and idleness of these painters and their manners, (from which
may God preserve me from any resemblance!) so absolutely different to
mine.”
Such was Rubens impression of art in Madrid, preceding the appearance of
Velasquez. In 1628 at the zenith of his fame, he paid another diplomatic
visit. Philip IV was now king and appointed his favorite, Velasquez,
escort to the Flemish artist. Of the latter’s impression of the younger
man unfortunately no records exist.
* * * * *
Velasquez maintained no regular studio for pupils, yet he naturally
exercised an influence on many of the younger painters of the day, and
actually gave instruction to some. Among the latter the best known are
Juan Bautista Martinez del Mazo and Juan Carreño, who will be considered
later, and Juan de Pareja. The last mentioned was a mulatto, born in
Seville about 1608, who came to Madrid with Velasquez in the capacity of
a servant and remained with him all his life. Being constantly employed
in the studio, he was himself inspired to become an artist; but as no
slave might practise the free art of painting he worked in secret,
copying his master’s works. At last by a stratagem he revealed his
talent. Having painted a picture with special care, he placed it in his
master’s studio with its face to the wall. The king, on his next visit,
ordered the picture to be turned and enquired who had painted it.
Whereupon Pareja went down on his knees, and implored the royal
protection. The king, turning to Velasquez, said--“you will have no say
in this matter and I warn you that he who possesses so much talent
cannot remain a slave.” At least such is the story, though it is
considered more probable that Velasquez, whose generosity was marked,
actually connived at the slave’s education and procured his
enfranchisement. But, although a free man, he continued to serve his
beloved master, and after the latter’s death in 1660 continued in the
service of his son-in-law, Mazo, until his own death in 1670. He is
represented in the Prado by the _Vocation of S. Matthew_. Christ,
arrayed in the conventional draperies, is standing beside a table at
which is seated Matthew, in Oriental clothes, surrounded by others in
Spanish costume of the period. It is an ambitious and rather tedious
picture.
Three painters of this period which call for brief notice are Antonio
Pereda, Francisco Collantes and José Leonardo. Pereda (1599-1669) was
born in Valladolid, but moved to Madrid to study art and remained there.
In the Academy of San Fernando is an “allegory” by him, entitled _The
Dream of Life_. It represents a young man of heavy, rather Dutch aspect,
handsomely dressed, seated asleep before a table. The latter is strewn
with a variety of objects--jewels, flowers, coins, weapons, music, a
mask, a book--which contribute to the joy and fulness of life.
Meanwhile, on the book rests a skull, while an angel in the background,
gazing at the youth, holds a scroll inscribed--“Æterne pungit, cito
volat et occidet.” The picture is blackened and murky, but the
still-life is rendered with remarkable naturalness. Indeed, naturalistic
veracity and a taste for ascetic or moral suggestion characterises
Pereda’s art. Note, for example, the _S. Jerome_ of the Prado where the
aged saint, stripped to the waist, sits in a spiritual daze, grasping a
cross of rudely joined sticks, which lies upon a book. The latter
contains an engraved illustration, represented with extraordinary
_vraisemblance_, and the same quality is carried to a disgusting pitch
in the rendering of the withered, flabby flesh. Even more revolting and
commonplace in its excessive naturalism is an adjoining _Ecce
Homo_--blood that looks like blood, a rope unmistakably a rope, and a
cross made out of a tree, the bark of which is realised with
ridiculously ineffectual exactness. The two pictures have neither the
vigor of handling nor the dignity of conception to be found in Ribera’s
corresponding subjects. They represent naturalism for the sake of
naturalism; and anticipate the general decadence which settled down on
the School of Castile toward the end of the seventeenth century.
Collantes (1599-1656), a pupil of Vincente Carducho, is represented in
the Prado by a _Vision of Ezekiel_. In the foreground is confusion of
opened tombs and risen bodies and skeletons; in the background the ruins
of a stately classic city, and in the center, raised on an eminence, the
prophet preaching to the awakened dead. The scene both in composition
and chiaroscuro is quite impressive. Collantes is also represented in
the Louvre by _The Burning Bush_.
José Leonardo (1616-1656) is of chief interest to the student because of
his large canvas in the Prado, in which he has represented the same
subject that was immortalised by Velasquez--_The Surrender of Breda_.
Leonardo’s composition is divided diagonally, the left foreground being
occupied by the principal group, while the upper right triangle includes
the background: a plain in which troops are deploying, and a distant
view of the city. It is noticeable that the younger man, whose short
life, clouded by mental trouble, scarcely permitted him to reach his own
maturity, has, like Velasquez, made a decorative use of the lances. His
conception, also, of the scene is one that probably commended itself to
Spanish feeling, for he has represented the conquered Justin of Nassau
submissively kneeling, as he presents the keys to his conqueror, who is
on horseback. Another example by Leonardo in the Prado is the _Taking of
Acqui_. It is, with the group reversed, similarly composed to the
previous picture, of which it is a companion piece, both having been
painted for the “Hall of the Kings” in the Palace of Buen Retiro.
Notable, again, is the device of lances, while the mounted figure of the
Duke de Feria, as he leads the attack, bears an unmistakable general
resemblance to the equestrian portrait of the Count Olivarez by
Velasquez.
Among the Italian painters summoned to Madrid by Philip II, had been a
native of Bologna, Antonio Rizi. He had two sons, Juan and Francisco.
Fray Juan Rizi, for he entered the Benedictine order and spent the
latter part of his life in a monastery at Rome, was the pupil of Fray
Juan Bautista Mayno. His portraits, bearing some resemblance to those of
Velasquez, have been at times attributed to Mazo. Such was the case with
the _Portrait of Don Tiburcio de Redin_ in the Prado, which represents a
man with curls falling to his shoulders, dressed in a handsome cavalier
costume, standing beside a table. He rests one hand on it and with the
other holds a large felt hat. It is a straightforward presentation of a
virile personality, but painted with little verve. Far more interesting
is a _Saint Benedict Celebrating Mass_, in the Academy of San Fernando.
With the sacred wafer in his hand, the saint bends his strong head, with
its black hair and beard, over the white altar-cloth. Over his alb is a
gold embroidered white chasuble, supported by a monk in black. These
figures are seen against a grey-drab wall, meanwhile a third figure, an
acolyte, is in white. It is thus a very handsome tonality of grey, white
and black, which gives an air of grandiose distinction to the very
naturalistic way in which the whole is painted. The brother, Francisco
Rizi, was a pupil of Carducho, and enjoyed reputation as a painter in
fresco, decorating among other sacred edifices the Cathedral of Toledo.
He was also employed as a director of scenery and stage effects in the
dramatic performances given in the Palace of Buen Retiro. Apropos of
these experiences, he executed a curious picture, now in the Prado, in
which he has represented in an ensemble the successive stages of an
auto-de-fé. It commemorates one that actually took place in the Plaza
Mayor of Madrid on June 30, 1680, lasting from eight in the morning
until half-past nine at night. The function had afforded a spasm of zest
to the wretched religious maniac, Charles II, who commanded the
painting. It contains some three thousand figures, and, considering that
Rizi was seventy-five years old when he executed it, is an achievement
as surprising as unnecessary.
One of Francisco Rizi’s pupils was José Antolinez (1639-1676), a native
of Seville. Something of southern sweetness of sentiment pervades his
pictures as may be seen in _The Assumption_ of the Munich Pinakothek,
_The Glorification of the Virgin_ in the Ryks Museum, Amsterdam and the
_Ecstasy of the Magdalen_, of the Prado. The last named represents the
penitent floating in a seated posture, upborne by angels. Two others
hold above her the jar of ointment, while an older angel plays the lute.
The drapery is of ashy purple silk brocaded with mauve arabesques, a
fine passage of color suggestive of the influence of Van Dyke, which at
this period began to find its way into Spain. One may discover it again
in the elegantly sentimental style of Mateo Cerezo, who was originally a
pupil of Carreño. Examples that may be quoted are the _Penitent
Magdalen_ in the Gallery of the Hague, and the _S. John the Baptist_ of
the Cassel Gallery, both of them characterised by affectation. A more
important example, because of its decorative composition, is the
_Assumption of the Virgin_ in the Prado. Down below, the faithful are
peering into a sarcophagus, filled
[Illustration:
PRESENTATION OF JESUS IN THE TEMPLE LUIS MORALES
THE PRADO]
with flowers, while overhead the Virgin and her supporting angels make
an elegant mass of white and blue silk and fluttering wings. But the
picture is fatally pretty, characteristic of the decline of devotional
feeling and artistic taste.
This allusion to the decadence of the School of Castile which marks the
end of the seventeenth century may be closed by a reference to Claudio
Coello (d. 1693). The work which brought him greatest fame in his own
day is the altar-piece of _La Santa Forma_ at the south end of the
sacristry of the Escoriál. It represents a perspective view of the room
in which you are standing as you look at the picture. Thus the great
school of Spanish naturalism passes out in the meretricious glamour of a
looking-glass picture.
SCHOOL OF VALENCIA, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
In the School of Valencia the connecting link between the period of
mannerism, represented by Juan de Juanes, and the highest development of
the naturalistic motive in the person of Ribera is supplied by Francisco
Ribalta. He was born in Castellón de la Plana, between the years 1550
and 1560 and died in 1628. After studying with an unknown painter in
Valencia, he spent three years in Italy, where he was particularly
attracted by the works of Raphael, Sebastian del Piombo and the Caracci.
Returning to Valencia, he executed a _Last Supper_ for the high altar of
the Church of Corpus Christi. The picture, which is still in the place
for which it was painted, aroused so much enthusiasm that he was kept
employed in providing works for the churches, monasteries and hospitals
in and around Valencia. Some of these are distinguished by grandiose
compositions and figures of noble character. But in other works
Ribalta’s coloring is attenuated and his handling thin; while on other
occasions he exhibits a mingling of Italian “idealism” with Spanish
naturalism. Examples of his poor color and technique are Nos. 946 and
949 in the Prado, which, moreover, are disfigured by their
sentimentality. His particular talent, however, appears at its best in
an adjacent canvas, _S. Francis d’Assisi_. The monk, clad in a brown
habit, is lying on a pallet covered with a blanket. His parched yellow
face and strong, nervous hands are raised in ecstacy toward an angel,
playing a lute, who floats above him in well-disposed draperies of dull
green and rose. Contrasted with the grace of this figure is the severely
naturalistic way in which the monk and the accessories, such as an iron
lamp and missal, are represented. It is a picture both of charm and
force and is characteristic of the kind of influence that Ribalta
exerted over his pupil, Ribera.
SCHOOL OF ANDALUSIA OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
The transition period in the School of Andalusia is filled by two men.
These were Juan de las Roelas, who painted in a broad and yet seductive
manner with soft, warm chiaroscuro, and the eccentric Francisco Herrera,
who adapted these qualities to a “furioso” style. For this reason he has
been credited with the chief influence in developing the naturalistic
methods of the Andalusian School. But the credit is now assigned to
Ribera, whose pictures, introduced into Seville, helped materially to
shape the studies of a group of young artists which included Alonso
Cano, Zurbarán, Murillo and Velasquez.
In the eighteenth century native painting declined to a condition that
renders it negligible to the student. The names which occur are those of
foreigners such as Luca Giordano, Tiepolo, and Raphael Mengs. Suddenly,
however, toward the last quarter it sprang again to life in the genius
of Goya. The latter died in 1826, and of the few names which break the
monotony of Spanish painting during the nineteenth century it may be
sufficient to mention those of Mariano Fortuny, Francisco Pradilla,
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida and Ignacio Zuloaga. These are to be
considered later.