_The Pictures in the Museo_
'The office of art is to educate the perception of beauty.'
EMERSON.
In the south-western quarter of Seville, in the midst of a palm-shaded
_plaza_, stands the Museo Provincial, a picturesque structure, whose
history dates back to the thirteenth century. It was originally a
monastery, founded by the pious San Fernando, in the year 1249, for the
monks of the order of the Merced, whose duty it was to redeem the
Christian captives taken from the Infidel. Sumptuously rebuilt by Carlos
V., it was a religious house of great wealth during the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries.
Little of the former glory now remains. The convent was destroyed, and
the monks expelled in the year 1835. New uses were found for the ancient
edifice. The Roman and Visigothic relics were brought from Italica, and
stored within the quiet cloisters. Numerous pictures, rescued from the
convents and churches by the efforts of Dean Manuel López Cepero, were
hung upon the walls of the old convent church. The sole relic of the
banished order of the Merceds are the emblazoned arms of the
brotherhood, which may still be seen upon the rich and curiously-panelled
doors.
The majority of the pictures hang in the Salón de Murillo, the name now
given to the convent church. The collection cannot be taken as
representative of the genius of Seville. There are numerous examples of
the work of Murillo, more than half of the room is occupied by the
canvases of the Sevillian favourite. There are some fine instances of
the work of Zurbaran. The elder Herrera and Valdés Leal are also well
represented. But there are only two specimens of Luis de Vargas and Juan
de las Roelas, while the works of Velazquez, Alonso Cano, Nuñez, Campaña
and several other artists are entirely absent. The space which the
compositions of these masters might have occupied is filled with
comparatively worthless pictures, painted by the decadent artists, who
lived during the eighteenth century.
The pictures[D] are well lighted, in a tolerable state of preservation,
and are arranged with some method.
The compositions of Murillo immediately attract attention. There are
more than twenty in number, almost all of which are ranged in the nave
of the Salón. The seventeen pictures, painted for the Capuchin Convent,
are the most important. The finest is Santo Tomás de Villanueva
socorrierdo á los pobres[E] (rendering succour to the poor). Murillo
esteemed this picture above all his works, and was wont to call it _su
lienzo_ (his own picture). In literary conception the work has much
merit. It is executed in the misty, _vaporoso_ manner. The light is
skilfully handled and the figure of the saint is well realised. Robed in
black, and bearing a white mitre in his hand, he stands at the door of
his Cathedral, ministering to the needs of a beggar; whose feeble form,
clad in filthy rags, affords a fine contrast with the calm beauty of
the saint. Penurious men and women, waiting to be relieved, stand
grouped in the foreground. The little urchin, who exultingly exhibits
the _maravedis_ which have fallen to his share, is a typical Murillo
beggar-boy.
The two fine pictures of San Antonio with the infant Jesus are both
instances of Murillo's latest manner. A similar picture is the Virgin
revealing herself to San Félix de Cantalicio. The outlines in all three
pictures are obliterated, lost in a haze of misty vapour. The deposition
of the drapery in St. Leander and St. Buenaventura is admirable. The
picture of Santas Justas y Rufina, supporting the famous Giralda Tower,
to guard it from the ravages of the tempest, should be compared with the
picture of the same saints by Francisco Goya, in the _Sacristía de los
Cálices_, in the Cathedral. In the composition of Goya we have an
instance of a saintly subject treated in a realistic manner; Murillo
follows the accustomed mode and depicts the maidens as holy saints,
crowned with halos of glory.
The fable that the picture of La Virgen con el Niño Jesús was painted
upon a serviette has no foundation, as can readily be seen by examining
the panel upon which the study is painted. The story, which is very
widely credited, says that the cook at the Capuchin Convent, having
rendered Murillo some service, was asked by him what recompense he
desired. He at once craved a sketch from the hand of the great master.
Murillo, according to the fable, took the serviette which the cook was
carrying, and with a few rapid touches of his brush created the picture,
which is still noteworthy for the brilliancy of its tints.
[Illustration: THE CONCEPTION
_Murillo_]
One of the sweetest of Murillo's Madonnas may be seen in El Nacimiento
de Jesucristo (The Nativity). Cean Bermudez praises this picture very
highly, while Antonio Ponz, a later Spanish critic, says that the stream
of light which floods the picture is worthy of Correggio. There are four
Immaculate Conceptions. In one the Virgin is supposed to be a portrait
of the daughter of Murillo. Possibly the finest is the one termed 'la
Grande,' although the difference between the pictures is very slight.
At the farther end of the nave, close to the works of Murillo, is El
Martirio de San Andres, by Juan de las Roelas, a huge composition,
crowded with numberless figures. In spite of this defect the picture has
power. The expression of the faces is individual and life-like, and the
form of the martyr, bound to his double-cross, is well drawn. The chief
merit of the work rests in its colour, which is Venetian in many of its
tones. Very beautiful is the picture of Santa Ana teaching the Virgin to
read. The drawing, especially of the hands, is defective, but the flesh
tints are full of rich warmth, indeed, the colouring of the whole
picture can hardly be too highly praised.
Near to the Martyrdom of St. Andrew hang the Visión de San Basilio and
the Apotéosis of San Hermenegildo, two works of great size, by Herrera
el Viego. The latter is the finer composition as the canvas of the
Vision is overcrowded and the interest of the work is not sufficiently
centralised. San Hermenegildo is a noteworthy instance of the power of
Herrera, and exemplifies his vigorous individual style. The favoured
saint of Seville ascends to heaven in a flood of yellow glory, which
reveals the steel blue of his cuirass, and the rich crimson of his
flowing mantle. Two angels bear the axe and chain, the trophies of his
triumph; while all around cherubs hover, waiting to crown with flowers
the newly-martyred saint. Beneath are three figures--a fair-haired,
kneeling boy, the son of San Hermenegildo, St. Isidore, robed and
mitred, and King Leovigild, the Visigoth, who imprisoned and killed his
brother for his defection from the Arian faith.
Upon the same wall as the Santa Ana are the works of Juan de Valdés
Leal. They are of uneven merit, and traces of hurry and lack of careful
completion may be discerned in almost all of them. One of the most
interesting is, La Virgen, las tres Marías y San Juan, en busca (search)
de Jesús. The figures convey the idea of motion, while eager expectancy
finds expression in look and gesture. The series of pictures
illustrative of the life of San Jerónimo are also interesting,
notwithstanding the lack of harmony which mars several of the
compositions. Entirely distinct are, La Concepción, and La Asunción.
They are poor, both in drawing and colour; distinctly mannered, and
devoid of simplicity and deep religious feeling.
The works of Francisco de Zurbaran are collected in the old convent
choir. In the centre is, La Apotéosis de Santo Tomás de Aquino,
considered by some critics the masterpiece of Zurbaran. It is a triple
altar-piece, allegorically representing the death of the patron of the
College of St. Thomas. The saint is ascending to heaven to join the
blessed Trinity, the Virgin, St. Paul, and the hosts of glory. Below sit
the venerable figures of the Doctors of the Church; on the right kneels
the Bishop Diego de Dega, the founder of the college, while the Emperor,
Charles V., with a train of ecclesiastics, stands upon the left. The
dark, mild face of the figure immediately behind the Emperor is supposed
to be the portrait of Zurbaran. As a work of art the picture is
defective; it lacks charm, and the literary interest of the composition
is too diffused. The execution is excellent, the colour, though sombre,
is rich with a splendid mellowness of tone, while each of the heads
bears the imprint of being a separate study.
[Illustration: THE ROAD TO CALVARY
_Valdes Leal_]
The three studies of Carthusian monks amply manifest the charm which
this allegorical composition lacks. La Virgen de las Cuevas, and San
Hugo en el refectorio will be found on either side of the choir, while
the third of the series, Confrencia de San Bruno con Urban II. hangs
close to the St. Thomas. The genius of Zurbaran is disclosed in these
scenes of monastic life. All three pictures are executed with remarkable
fidelity, but the finest of the three is St. Hugo visiting the monks in
their refectory. It is painted with realistic and individual truth. The
monks, clad in the white robes of the Carthusians, sit around a table at
their mid-day repast. In the foreground stands the aged figure of St.
Hugo, attended by a young page. The saint has come to reprove the order
for unlawfully dining upon flesh meat. His purple vestments supply an
effect of fine colour, which contrasts with the dull white cowls and
frocks of the brothers. What cold, passionless faces! Zurbaran has
embodied the very spirit of asceticism. Each monk is a portrait,
probably drawn from life. It is a perfect realisation of a monastic
scene from the life of ancient Spain.
We can only touch briefly upon the remaining pictures of Zurbaran. They
are all worthy of study. Signs of weak drawing can often be detected,
but the effort after truthful expression, and the entire absence of a
desire to please by any special trick of manner will commend his work to
every student. Note the simple, yet powerful, sincerity of his
Crucifixion. Consider the manner in which he has depicted the boy Jesus
in the picture, El Niño Jesús. A boy clad in a simple gown of darkest
grey; no halo surrounds his head, and upon his knees rests a twisted
crown of thorns. One of the prickly spines has pierced the boy's
finger, and with the verity of life Zurbaran depicts him pressing the
finger to extract the thorn. The drawing of the figure is faulty and the
execution of the little sketch is not equal to many of the other
pictures, but the mode of treatment illustrates very convincingly the
sincerity of the artist's purpose. Many of the studies of monkish
figures are very fine. San Luis Beltrán is a work of wonderful power.
The careful painting of the hands, and the way in which every detail of
the picture is subordinated to the whole effect deserve high praise.
To turn from the works of Zurbaran to the pictures of Francisco Pacheco
and Juan de Castillo is somewhat difficult. The hard, flat, lifeless
portraits of the one, and the dull, faultily drawn, religious
composition of the other, offer little inducement to linger. Were it not
for the interest which attaches to these artists from the illustrious
fame of their pupils, their very names would hardly be remembered.
Equally disappointing are the majority of the remaining canvases, which
hang in the nave of the Museo. The modern pictures appear out of place.
The chief idea they convey is one of intense crudity of colour. Among
the numerous pupils and imitators of Murillo not one is worthy of
attention. The work of the pupils of Zurbaran reaches a somewhat higher
level. The pictures of the Apostles, by the brothers Miguel and
Francisco Polancos are good studies.
[Illustration: SAINT HUGO IN THE REFECTORY
_Zurbarán_]
In the nave are two pictures, both good and one of fine merit, executed
by artists not belonging to the Sevillian school. La Sagrada Cena (The
Last Supper), by Pablo de Céspedes, the artist of Córdoba, 1538-1608,
hangs upon the end wall of the nave, near to the Martyrdom of St.
Andrew. The colour is good, there is a slight confusion of detail, but
the picture is not without charm. The portrait of himself, by
Doménico Theotocópuli,[F] 1548-1625, better known as El Greco, the
genius of Toledo, will be found near the door. It is a magnificent study
and testifies to the power of the hand which executed it. Composition
and technique alike, are above praise. The portrait is life-like in its
reality; we grow to know the dark face of the artist, as he stands, with
his brush and palette in his hand.
Three other rooms, of small size, complete the Museo. The pictures they
contain are not of great importance, but there are a few interesting
canvases in the old sacristy, leading from the south transept of the
Salón. Among them are several compositions of the early fifteenth
century, classified as belonging to the _Escuela Flamenca_, by artists
whose names have not been preserved. The tones in many of these antique
pictures are wonderful, and they are all painted with a naïve
simplicity. The colour in the two compositions, El Señor Coronado de
espinas (thorns), and La Anunciación de Nuestra Señora is especially
good. The long lean figures and conventional grief depicted in El
enterramiento del Señor, strongly resemble the similar picture by
Sanchez de Castro, in the house of Murillo.
The works of Francisco Frutet will be found in this room. The finest, a
grand triptych, entitled, Jesús en el camino (road) del Calvario, is a
work of much beauty. The central picture of the Crucifixion is finely
conceived, and Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell thinks that several of the
figures bear a resemblance to the Spasimo de Sicilia of Raphael.
El Juicio Final, by Martin Vos, a Flemish painter, who worked in
Seville during the early years of the sixteenth century, is a
quaintly-conceived allegorical picture. This finest portion represents
the hosts of the wicked. The drawing of the figures is good, but the
canvas is much crowded.
_The Statuary in the Museo._
Before studying Spanish statuary, it is well to remember that this
branch of art never attained to the same level in the Peninsula as the
sister art of painting. The reason of this lack of development is not
difficult to appreciate, when we remember that statuary was executed,
almost without exception, for the religious uses of the Catholic Church.
The images were needed to increase the pious fervour of the populace;
they were carried in the religious processions, and often they were
credited with miracle-working powers. The one necessity for a Spanish
statue was that it should be an exact imitation of life. The more
realistic the illusion, the greater was the power of the statue to
conform to the requirements of the Church.
It will readily be seen that marble--the substance most fitting for the
artistic rendering of form, would not comply with these demands. Thus,
in Spain, the classic marble was discarded, while wood and plaster were
employed in its place. These substances could be readily coloured, or
even covered with a canvas, like a skin, and then painted to counterfeit
life. This barbaric custom--a relic of heathen days, did much to seal
the doom of the art of sculpture in Spain. In seeking to imitate life
the artists frequently rendered their statues grotesque. The ambition of
art is not to be a deceptive imitation of nature. The true purpose of
sculpture is to depict pure form; when it departs from this limitation
it loses its distinguishing motive, the representation of repose, and
becomes a degraded intermingling of the two arts of sculpture and
painting.
Yet, in spite of these limitations, there are several Spanish sculptors
whose works deserve praise, and two of the most famous lived and worked
in Seville.
Pietro Torriggiano, of Florence, a roving soldier-sculptor, came to
Spain, in the year 1520. He had journeyed in many lands, and to his
skill we owe the fine tomb of Henry VII., in Westminster Abbey. He
settled in Seville, and soon completed his great work, San Jerónimo
penitente, now in the north transept of the Museo.
It is impossible to rightly estimate the value of this work in its
present position. The bright colours of the modern picture, which forms
its background, are entirely unharmonious. The penitent saint, with his
sinewy, attenuated form, frowning brow and shaggy locks, needs to be
seen alone. Its original home was a lonely grotto in the gardens of the
Jeronimite Convent; and in such a place of quiet solitude we must
picture it, before we can appraise its worth. Cean Bermudez twice
visited it in company with Francisco Goya. It excited their unbounded
admiration, and Goya pronounced it 'the finest piece of work of modern
sculpture in Spain, and perhaps in the world.' Torriggiano fell under
the ban of the Inquisition, and died in the prison of the Holy Office.
Facing the San Jerónimo, in the south transept, rests the Santo Domingo,
of Martinez Montañes, the most eminent sculptor of Seville, if not of
the whole of Spain. The date of his birth is not recorded, but we know
he was working in Seville in the year 1607; he died in 1649. Like its
companion work of art the Santo Domingo suffers from its situation. Such
works are utterly unsuited to the crowded gallery; they need the silent
cloister, or quiet corner in some convent church. The saint kneels and
scourges himself. The figure is of wood and of great dignity. The
colouring is subdued, so as not to interfere with the fineness of the
conception. The statue is a powerful study of asceticism.
Finer than the Santo Domingo is the Crucifixion, by Montañes, in the
_Sacristía de los Cálices_, in the Cathedral. It is unrivalled among the
statues of Spain. The anatomy is excellent, the sufferings of the Christ
are portrayed with powerful reality.
[Illustration: THE CRUCIFIXION
_Montañes_]