The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1874-01-18
A STORY OF MURILLO.

1t was ON bright May morning in the year
1886. The old cathedral of Seville bathed her
numerous spires and crowns in the golden
Giralda announced only the tenth hour, but
already it was intensely hot, and every thing
living sought the shade.
In narrow street. not far from the cathe-
dral, there sat q YOUTH, about eighteen years
old, on the steps of one of tho better houses
bnsy with his pencil and palette. On his knees
he held little board, nearly square, that was
raised on the upper side by o strip two or three
three inches wide nailed to the edge. On the
board there was piece of canvas about the
in position by few tacks. This simple con-
trivance served the youth for an easel, and as
1T seemed. 30 perfect that, despite his uncom-
Portable position, he used his pencil with the
greatest facility.
The name oi the young artist wss Bartolome
Esteban Murillo. He was the son of q poor
artisan, who had died the previous year, leav-
ing his bereaved widow INDECENT and alone
with her Esteban. Sonora Murillo loved her
son with that tenderness and devotion that
affects iulpressionable natures as the dew does
the flowers. Esteban, when still but o child,
had learned something of the art of drawing,
from distant relative of his mother. He now
piled himself to turning his skill to practical
account. He painted cherubs' heads, Madon-
mas, flowers, aud fruit-pieces and sold his
hastily executed wares to the dealers of his
native city. 1t often grieved him that he could
this or that Magdalen, for his imagination
teemed with ideas that he could not find the
leisure to realize: Necessity compelled him to
york rapidly the dealers paid poorly, and it
vas only by improving every hour that he
'Ould provide for his ailing mothor.
As he sat busily engaged at his work, two
loted painters of Seville passed-Senores Val
lsz-Leal and Herrera
See there" said Valdez-Lea to his com.
,nnion who would have believed that we
iSould find colleague here in the open atreetY
Sh, comrade, what are you fabricating theref"
Valdez's ironical tone sent the hot blood in
profusion to young Murillo's temples. He
pushed his long, dark hair back from his fore
head, fixed his eyes on the strange and re- |
piled in an indignant tone:
am not 'fabricsting any thing-I am
painting"
cay, ay," cried Herrera, "that sounds pre- |
tensions. Let's SEQ what You are att"
AND, without further ceremony, he picked up |
the half finished canvas, and that, too, care
leHsly that he wiped out of the freshly |
painted eyes of the Archangel Michael.
Esteban, flushed with anger, sprang to his
"Who are you sir :" he cried, Tho presume
thus"
Come, come, my young FRIEND" remon-
strated Herrera, " the damage can be repaired
cite, and you shall see."
No, sir; paint my pictures myself, would
nave you know"
" Ho, no! you, don't know whom Won are
talking to-" interposed Valdez.L eal raising his
eyebrows This gentleman is the first painter
d Andalusia and does your dsub unmer- {
ted henor in condescending to put brush to
t. The name Herrera is certainly not unknown {
o you" I
Known or unknown, l want mono of Senior /
terreras assistance. If you had approached 9
politely" L
" Your lordsbip will pardon u.s." interrupted p
aidez- Leal, with low bow and an ironical
mile; but were not aware that great a
entlemen like yourself were in the habit
sitting in the public streets and making d
au bs for country fairs" K
Sir" replied Murillo, al know very we'll D
lat my pictures possess little merit that l d
almost wholly ignorant of true art that W
'st study long and diligently before can
I etc be named with your friend Herrera At
'ial that gives you no right to insult me. m
Gwiii make me fitting apology, or" ht
well, or asked Valdez-Leal, folding CT
YARNS calmly.
Or will call you a blackguard and ruf- III
S.srw al,
BY Heaven ~ cried the enraged painter.
Hsping the hilt of his sword stC
At this moment two ladies were seen coming DE-
wn the street from the neighboring corner