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.”