The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1884-06-07
"MURILLO'S BOY"

One fine spring morning, a great
many years ago, five or six young men
were assembled in a large painting
room in one of the great Spanish cities,
while a grave, dark-haired, rather sad
looking man, in a rich dress OF purple
velvet, was going from picture to pict-
ure, and saying few words upon each.
to which his pupils listened very re-
spectfully.-And well they might; for
this man was himself one of the great
est painters living, and his name was
Esteban (Stephen) Murillo.
But it was plain, that the pupils had
not been working as well as usual that
day; for Murillo had great deal of
fault-fnding to do. One student had
painted an arm wrong; another had
spoiled the effect of his sunset; third
had made bad fault in the shading of
his sky; and so on, and so on, till atlast
the master lost patience altogether, and
cried angrily:
REALLY, gentlemen, this is too bad!
You don't seem to remember anything
that l tell you. If you can't do better
than this, that poor little monkey of a
Sebastian, yonder, has as good q chance
of becoming painter as any of you!''
The poor little monkey was a
Moorish lad of fourteen, one of Murillo's
servants, who had to sweep out the
painting room, grind the students col
ors for them, and do other Jobs about
the house. His face flushed as he heard
his master speak so contemptuouslv of
him; but he said nothing, and the lect-
ure went on.
When the pupils came in the next
morning one or two of them noticed
that their pictures were not where they
had left them, and Manuel Suarez, a
little black-eyed fellow with a pretty
hot temper of his own, found his brushes
all smeared with paint, and few into a
passion at once.
The ZOmbi'' Ga mischieyous fairy of
the ''Robin Goodfellow' sort, supposed
to play tricks at nigh) ''must have been
at work here!;' shouted he, shaking his
fist; 81 cleaned these brushes myself
last night, and look at them now''
'And he seems to have been at me,
too," cried another, "for here's
childs head on my canvas, which is
none of nly doingn'
"Well," yawned Jose Villavicemio,
the LATEST of the whole school, ''if it is
the Zombi l wish he'd just put in the
face of my st. Catherine while he is
about it, for I'm sure l can't. Hollon'
Well might he cry ''hollo"' There,
on his canvas, instead Of the blurred,
unfinished head that he had left there
the night before, was a face so beauti-
full, so admirably painted, and vet so
1iprbt apI Ialinato tbat +ba xubnlo s,i1
stared at it in silent astonishment.
At that moment the door opened and
in came Murillo.
"Ha, Villavicemior' cried be, look
ing from the picture to his lazy pupil.
this is better than expected of yoW"
''But it wasn't | who did it, master
more's the pityn'
"Not you? Who was it, thens'
''Thats just what none of US can tell,
Senior Don Esteban; we found it here
when we came"
Hum" said Murillo. "Well, we can
talk of that again. let us go to work
now"
But, from that day forth, it really
seemed as if some mischievous fairy
had taken Murillo's studio for his play
ground. Half-completed pictures were
finished no one knew how-loose strips
of canvas were covered with admira-
bic portraits of the various pupils-and
one morning there appeared on the wall
a capital likeness of Murillo. at which
the great master himself smiled approx
iugly. But all these paintings were so
much better than anything which the
students themselves could do, that they
were completely puzzled.
However, Murillo was not the man to
let such pranks be played upon him for
nothing; and one evening he said to his
class:
Its time to put stop to these
tricks, gentlemen. Whoever this invis-
ible painter may be, he's a man like
ourselves; and our best way is to come
an hour earlier tomorrow, and try if
we can't catch him at work. >"
And so they did, sure enough; for
when they came next morning, there,
seated before one of the pictures, and
so intent upon his work that he did not
even hear the door open, was the poor
little monkey, Sebastiann'
1t would be hard to say which was
the more astounded-Sebastian to find
himself caught, or Murillo and his pu-
pills to see who their fairy really was.
''Who taught you to paint, boy?"
asked Murillo at length.
"You, MASTER" replied Sebastian,
timidly.
"Why, 1 never gave you lesson in
my life!"
mo, master; but l listened to what
you told these gentlemen, and remem-
bered it, .'....
'And you've fairly beaten us all!''
burst out Suarez, in his headlong way.
bravo, Sebastianr'
bravo, Sebastian echoed all the
rest.
"God bless thee, my boy" said NIu-
rillo, laying his hand tenderly on the
boys head. II have made something
far better than a picture this time-I
have made a painter! Henceforth thou
shalt be called no more Sebastian Go
mez, but 'El Mucacho de Murillo' :"
(Murillo's Boy.