The Portland daily press., 1879-09-11
For the Press.
The Museum in Madrid.
Translated from Edmondo de Amicis.

ike marriage, VI llle pOSSOooioh VI ti
| heritage; and we feel its effects as long as we
| live. For this reason a Museum like that Of
| Madrid, Rome Florence is world a day
| passed between its wall is year of life, year
] of life agitated by all the passions which can
agitate us in real life-ove, the religious senti-
| ment love of country, ardor for glory; year
| of life of all the joys one cap experience, all
that can be learned, for all that one can think,
| and for all the force that can be accumulated
| for future use: year of life, in which one has
read q thousand volumes, experienced thous-
| and adventures.
| In the first room there are some large paint
| ings by Luca Giordano. In the second we find
the paintings of Goya, the last of the celebrated
| Spanish painters. In third as vast as a pub
| lie square, are the chefs d'@ucre of the great
| masters. Entering we find on one side the
| Virgins of Murillo, ON the other the Saints of
Ribera; little father on, portraits by Velas-
| quez, and in the centre the paintings of
| Raphael, Michael Angelo, Andrew del Sarto:
| at the farthest side, Titan, Sntoret Paul
| Veronese, Correggio Dominique and Guido
| Reni. Returning back, other pictures Of
| Raphael; left and right Velasquez, Titan and
| Ribera; near the door Rubens, Van Dyck, Fra
! Angelica and Murillo. In another room, the
| French school, Poussin Dugnet, Claude Lor-
raine In two others-very large--the walls
are covered with pictures by Breughal, Teniers,
| Jordaens, Rubens, Durer Schoens, Mengs,
| Rembrandt and Bosch
In three other rooms, not less grand, are
| mingled the works of Joanes Carbajal, de
| Herrera, Luca Giordano, Carducci, Salvador
| Rosa, Minendor Cano Ribera. During the
| first hour you see nothing. 1t is a battle-the
chefs d ceuUre strive with each other to capti-
| vate your soul. The Conception of Murillo
! covers with a flood of light Ribera's Martyr of
Saint Bartholomew. The Saint James of Ri
| bera eclpses the Saint Stephen of Joanes.
| The Charles " of Titan overwhelms the
| Court due dOlvans of Velasquez. Raphael S
spasm of Sicily throws into the shade all the
| pictures which surround it, The drunkards OF
| Velasquez disturb the faces of the saints and
neighboring princes by the reflection of their
bacchanalian joy. Rubens blots out Van.Dyck,
! Paul Veronese surpasses Tiepolo, Goya crushes
Madraso, and the vanquished revenge them
| selves upon others of less note. 1t is an as
semblage of the great miracles of art, in the
| midst of which your soul vacillates like a
flame agitated by thousand breaths, and the
| heart swells with sentiment of pride in the
| power of human genius.
| When the first enthusiasm has abated we
| commence to admire. In the midst of an ar
my of such artists, of which each one could fill
volume, will confine myself to the Spani
! ards, and of them the four who impressed me
with the most profound admiration, and left
| the clearest remembrance. The most modern
| is Goya, born near the middle of the last cen
| tury. Hei the painter the most Spanish OF
| Spain, the painter of toreros, the men OF the
| people, smugglers, socerers, thieves, OF the
| war of independence, and that ancient Spanish
| society which has faded out of sight. He
| was proud Arragonais with an iron constitu-
ton, and such a passionate lover of bull fights
that during the last years of his life while liv-
ing at Bordeaux, he ran once week to Mad
rid to see that spectacle, and returned like an
| arrow, without ever speaking to his friends.
| A hardy genius. satirical, imperious, stormy,
| who, in the heat of his powerful inspiration,
| covered with faces, in few moments, wall
1 or canvas, and gave his masterly touches to ev-
| erything which came to hand, sponges,
| brooms, or sticks. who in tracing the features
| of some one whom he hated, insulted him,
who painted picture as one would give battle
He was a hardy designer, an original and pow
erful colorist. His pictures are inimitabe
| pictures, frightful shadows, secret lights, of
distorted faces, true to nature, and an inimita-
| BILE master of all the extreme passions of wrath
hatred, despair and bloody rage painter ath-
letic, quarrelsome, indefatigable; natural as
| IL
Rembrandt, the last lightning flash of Spanish
| genius.
There are many of his pictures in the mu-
scum at Madrid. One, the greatest, represents
| all the family of Charles "; but the ones into
| which he put all his soul are: The French
| soldiers shooting Spanards the I'd Of May, and
| The struggle of the people of Madrid against
| the Mamelukes of Napoleon I. The figures
| are life size and fill one with horror. Nothing
more terrible can be imagined; it is impossible
| to give form more execrable to tyranny, to
| despair form more dreadful, to the fury of
| the fight an expression more ferocious In the
first, sky obscured, the light of lanterns, lake
of blood, "a heap pof dead bodies, group condemn
| ed to death, and squad of French soldiers ready
| to fire. In the other, dead horses, cavaliers un-
| horsed, stabbed, crushed under foot, lacerated
| what faces what attitudes we seem to hear
| the means and see the blood running. The
| reality could not inspire more horror. Goya
must have painted these pictures with staring
| eyes, foam on the lips and the fury of a demon.
| 1t is the last degree to which painting can
reach before it passes into action; past this
point he must throw down his brush and seize
/ a1-o i,n hopr Ia
than his pictures he must kill; after such col
| oring there remains only blood.
| Of Rbera whom we know under the name
| of the Espagnolet, there are enough paintings
| to make a museum; for the most part they
| represent forms of saints, life size. A Martyr
Saint Bartholomew, with many personages
| and colossal Prometheus chained to a rock.
1 We find his pictures in other museums for he
was very fruitful, laborious artist, like almost
| all Spanish painters We recognize them all
| at the first glance, one has no need of critical
| study. There are old emaciated saints with
| bald black heads on which one can count the
| veins, deep set eyes, feshless cheeks, wrinkled
| foreheads, hollow chests, where one can count
| the ribs, arms and hands covered only by the
| skin, the body, weak, deformed, clothed in
rags, yellow with the livid yellow of a corpse,
covered with bleeding wounds, which seem as
| if they would rise from the bier, and who bear
on their faces the imprint of convulsions, dis
| ease, torture, hunger and of sleeplessness-an-
atomoal figures upon which one could study
| all the secrets of the human organism. 1t is
| admirable, yes, for the boldness in design, vig-
or of eoloring, and thousand other qualities
which have made the fame of Ribera as pow
| erful painter-but true, grand art, no, it is not
there. Upon these visages one does not see
that celestial light, that immortal ray of the
| soul which reveals sublime grief sublime hope
| the inner flash of immortal desires. A light
which withdraws the eye from wounds, and
elevates the thoughts toward God; one sees
| there only brutal suffering which inspires dis
| gust and terror, only WEAKNESS of life and the
| presentiment of death, only the human life
| which is passing away without any reflection
| from the immortal lie which has already be-
| gun There is not one of his saints that we
love to recall we look at them and our hearts