SCHOOL OF SPAIN
“How much of my young heart, oh Spain,
Went out to thee in days of yore!
What dreams romantic filled my brain
And summoned back to life again
The paladins of Charlemagne
The Cid Campeador!”
And now we enter the room dedicated to the art of Spain, an art that
flourished for a century. Some painters came before the great ones, but
they were poor heralds of the splendour that was to be—the glory then
faded away. Ribera, Zurbaran, Velazquez, Murillo were all painting
between 1588 and 1682. Long years of sterility passed, and then Goya
appeared, bringing some touch of the brightness of art into the early
years of the nineteenth century.
Looking round the room we see the grave spirit of the Spaniards
reflected in these pictures. Kings and monks, warriors and peasants,
children of the people—all are here represented with wonderful
naturalism. It is an art of truth to nature. The fervid piety, often
verging upon superstition, of the Spaniards is imprinted upon every
work. The Inquisition ruled the country. No taint was allowed to sully
the purity of its art; it bade that angels should always have wings, and
that the glorified Madonna should always wear blue and white, the
colours she had worn when she appeared to the Portuguese nun.
Ribera (1588–1656) is the first glorious ray of the dawn of Spanish
genius. He was a born artist, although his parents wished to devote him
to the career of letters. His whole heart was in the studio of Francisco
Ribalta. At last he was allowed to study there; and when he was still
quite a youth the passion for art possessed him, and he ran away to
Italy, the mother of beauty. He made his way to Rome, and began to study
the frescoes there and to sketch from nature; always out in the open
air, he endured privations of every description. A cardinal, it is said,
discovered him absorbed in work, dressed in rags; dry crusts by his side
that were given to him in charity. He took Ribera home, took care of
him, made him one of his retinue; but the boy soon broke loose, and set
to work once more in his own way. He became a powerful artist, studying
effects of light and shade, caring only for strange and wild effects. He
went through a phase of admiring the gentle Correggio, and set off to
Parma to study his work. But Correggio’s happy spirit did not suit the
Spaniard’s gloomy temperament, and he returned to his own dark and
striking methods. Little by little he climbed to fortune and to fame. He
remained a Spaniard at heart, although he worked in Italy. He was a
realist with nothing of Italian idealism. There was no fancifulness or
sweetness, no gaiety in his spirit.
“The Dead Christ” (235). We see the Virgin accompanied by Mary Magdalene
and St. John, weeping over the body of her Son, now rigid in death. The
cadaverous colours, the horror of the details, the angular lines of the
figure emphasise the terror of the subject. It creeps into our hearts in
all its darkness and gloom. There is no hope of the Resurrection. How
different is this _Pietà_ from the one by Francia, where the angels weep
with the mother over the body of the Saviour, beautiful in the lassitude
of death. Ruskin calls Ribera “the black slave of painting.” He was
impelled by a ferocity of jealousy. He settled in Naples, married the
daughter of a rich picture dealer, founded a society, the meetings of
which were held in his studio, whose object was by intimidation and
intrigue to drive from Naples, by the use of the poignard if necessary,
painters who might become his rivals.
Before approaching Velazquez, the incomparable master of the Spanish
school, I shall say a few words of Zurbaran. Lord Leighton has said that
“in Velazquez all was Spanish, but Zurbaran was all Spain.” In his
works, beyond those of other painters, is the very genius of the
nation—a genius that was so subservient to the Church that it has been
said that in other nations art was the handmaid of the Church, but in
Spain it was its bondslave. The Spaniards are a fiery race, indifferent
to beauty, full of dramatic instincts; their artists care for truth to
nature beyond all things, and give with extraordinary vivacity the
effects of light and shade. Realistic in their methods, they are
strangely idealistic in their thoughts; they were hampered by
superstition to a strange degree. In Zurbaran’s time it was said that
they would buy the cast-off cowls of monks in which to bury the dead, so
that St. Peter would mistake their ghosts for those of holy men.
Zurbaran’s parents were simple labourers of Estramadura. They early
discovered their son’s genius and sent him to Seville to study under the
painter-priest, Las Rodas. He seldom stirred from Seville, haunting the
aisles and the cloisters of the cathedral. Velazquez met him and brought
him to Madrid, but he soon returned to the Seville he loved.
“A Franciscan Monk” (230) is of all Spanish pictures in the Gallery the
most characteristic. We cannot look at that kneeling monk in his brown
and darned habit, his face hidden in the deep shadow of the hood, his
emaciated hands clasping a skull, without seeming to see all
priest-ridden Spain around us.
“The Nativity, or Adoration of the Shepherds” (232) is by common consent
the finest picture by Zurbaran. It was long believed to be the work of
Velazquez, but research has at last given its authorship to Zurbaran. I
want you to look at this beautiful painting so realistic and so holy.
The Virgin, the adoring shepherds, are simple peasant folk; there is no
attempt made to idealise them. The rustic offerings of lambs and fowls
and other commodities are gifts according to the means of the shepherds.
In the distance we see hovering above the guiding angel of the Epiphany—
“See the kinder shepherds round Him
Telling wonders from the sky!
Where they sought Him, there they found Him
With His Virgin-mother by.”
It is a picture full of reverence and of worship. The genius of the
Spanish school is fully expressed therein—extreme realism mingled with
extreme idealism.
Now we come to Velazquez, one of the greatest painters of all times and
of all nations. His colour is silvery; he sings with his brush; his art
reveals the sunniness of his nature. His marvellous facility was
expressed by Sir Joshua Reynolds when he said, “What other artists tried
to do with great labour Velazquez did at once.”