COURT IN THE ALCAZAR
"Velazquez is in art an eagle; Murillo is an angel. One admires
Velazquez and adores Murillo. By his canvasses we know him as if
he had lived among us. He was handsome, good and virtuous. Envy
knew not where to attack him; around his crown of glory he bore
a halo of love. He was born to paint the sky."
"Murillo could paint the sacred fervor of the devotee, or the ecstasy
of the religious enthusiast, as well as the raggedness of the mendicant,
or the abject suffering of Job."
MURILLO AND SPANISH ART
 SPAIN was not blessed as Italy was with one generation after another of
artists so great that all the world knows them even at this distant
day. Spain has only two unquestionably great painters that stand out
as world-artists. They are Velazquez and Murillo. The former painted
with unrivalled skill the world of noblemen among whom he lived. The
other, not surrounded by courtiers, looked into his own pure, religious
soul, and into the sky above, and gave us visions of heaven—its saints
and its angels.
It is impossible to study either of these men apart from the other, or
apart from the art records of Spain. To understand either, we must know
the land, teeming with rich and unique cities, we must have glimpses of
its history, and we must know something of the rules laid down by the
church to guide the painter in his work.
 The climate of Spain, except in the south, is rigorous. Elevated plains,
rounded by snow-capped mountains, and swept during a large part of the year
by chilling winds, are not adapted to inspire men to produce great works of
art. On such a plain Madrid is situated, and chilly indeed are its nature
pictures, even though they are over-arched by the bluest of skies and the
most transparent of atmospheres! In Andalusia, however, things were different.
Here were the olive, the orange, and the cypress, and here a sunny climate
encouraged the houseless beggar no less than the aspiring artist.
In speaking of Spain as a home of painting, we must not forget, either, how
very devoted the people were to their religion, for this, perhaps more than
anything else, gave a peculiar character to the art of Spain. The doctrines
of Luther, found no willing listeners in Spain. Indeed, the Spaniards clung
all the closer to the Church when they knew that there were those who wished
to change it, and so their paintings are full of sad-faced, suffering saints,
and rejoicing, holy men and women who gave their lives to religion. In
connection with this extreme religious zeal, the Church found it necessary
to impose rules on the artists who would paint these holy personages. The
Virgin, whom all profoundly reverenced, should, according to tradition,
have fair hair and blue eyes. Her robes must be of
 pure white and azure blue, and under no circumstances should her feet
be exposed. She should stand on the crescent moon with its horns pointing
downward. Many other similar rules were at that time thought necessary, and
they greatly limited the artists in their work, for however good a churchman
a man may be, it is impossible for him to properly prescribe colors and forms
for the artist, who, if he is any thing at all, is the see-er of his age. We
want such things as the artist sees them. We shall see how nearly Murillo got
into trouble by breaking some of these prescribed rules.
If we study the kings of Spain, Charles V. and the Philips, we shall
see two things that greatly influenced the art of Spain. First, they
were fond of art and spent great sums of money in buying fine paintings
by Italian and Flemish masters. Both Titian and Rubens were favorites in
Spain, and many of their pictures were painted expressly for Spanish
monarchs. Then, these rulers were vain and had a great liking for having
their portraits painted. This vanity extended to the Courtiers and even
to the dwarfs, several of whom were usually connected with the court as
a source of amusement. There are portraits of some of these diminutive
creatures so skillfully painted that we cannot help wishing that more
worthy subjects had been used. Thus the vanity of monarchs and their
courtiers gave a
 direction to Spanish art which can be accounted
for in no other way—their greatest artists are always great portrait
painters. So we see that, while genius in artists is indispensable, yet is
this same genius largely influenced by climate, by religious enthusiasm, and
even by the whims of kings and queens.
Although Murillo stands out a superlatively great and beautiful artist, yet
we must not forget that Velazquez, only eighteen years his senior, and like
himself a native of Seville, lived during the greater part of Murillo’s
lifetime and divided honors with him. As has already been indicated,
Velazquez’s art was of a very different sort from Murillo’s. He was
born into a home of plenty, and very soon went to Madrid as court
painter. We know how he gained renown for all time by the accuracy
of the portraits he painted of various members of the court of
Philip IV.—the king, the minister, Count Olivarez, the princes,
the dwarfs, and the buffoons. We remember, too, how he thought
that very ordinary personage, "The Water-Carrier of Seville," with
his wrinkles, his joy, and his beggarly customers, a subject worth
painting. Then we recall a goodly list of other commonplace subjects
which he treated so truthfully that they will always stand among the
great pictures of the world,—"The Spinners," where women labor in a
dingy room, "The Topers,"
 "The Lances," representing the great
surrender of Breda, and the "The Maids of Honor." Nor can we forget
his ideal portrait of "Æsop," with his book under his arm. How well
we know that book of fables! The rugged, good-natured face, homely
as can be, holds us, as by a spell, and if we have not already done
so, we read his book because we must, after looking into that dear
One of the loveliest things we remember of Velazquez was his kindness
to Murillo when he came to Madrid, a poor art student. Although Velazquez
was rich and his pictures in demand, he took a keen interest in the young
Murillo, who should one day stand beside him—they two the greatest artists
of Spain. By the duties of his office, he was obliged to take an active
part in the festivities attending the marriage of Louis XIV. and the
Infanta, Maria Theresa, in 1660. The fatigue and exposure caused his
death. We are reasonable in presuming that thus was Spain robbed of
ten years of a strong artist’s life and work. Incomparable loss when
we think of what his countrymen gained in watching a passing pageant.
Spain is a land of unique cities. Perhaps this is because in so many
of them the works of Christianity were grafted on to works originally
built or begun by the Moors. As we study the wonderful buildings of
 Spain, we cannot forget, however much we may abhor the religion of
the Arabs, that they were marvellous builders and profound scholars.
When the Spaniards sent them from their country, after they had lived
there for seven hundred years, they lost their best citizens, and the
most beautiful and highly cultivated part of Spain was henceforth to be
comparatively desolate. On all the great section of Andalusia, the most
southern part of Spain, the Moors left marks in buildings and in
cultivation, that it will take centuries yet to sweep away.
Of all the cities of this division, and it includes a goodly number
of Spain’s most important towns, Seville, "the pearl of cities," the
birthplace of both Velazquez and Murillo, appeals most strongly to
everyone. Many superlative adjectives rise to our lips as we think
of its whiteness, of its sunny vineyard slopes, its orange and olive
groves, its salubrious climate, and its ancient associations. We think
of its wondrous cathedral, next in size to St. Peter’s, of its storied
bell-tower, the Giralda, of that fairy palace, the home of generations
of Moorish kings, the Alcazar, of the Golden Tower by the river’s edge,
where Christian rulers stored their treasure. And then to our vision of
Seville the beautiful, we add the silver Guadalquivir which divides, and
yet encloses this dream city of Andalusia. If we are not interested
 art, still must we be enthusiastic over Seville, for its bewitching
little women with their lustrous eyes, their glossy dark hair, held by the
ever present single rose. If it be entertainment we seek, then Seville will
furnish us the national bull-fight in all its perfection. If the more refined
delights of music attract us, still more is this our chosen city, for here is
the scene of, Mozart’s "Don Juan" and "Figaro," of
Bizet’s "Carmen," and many
are the shops that claim to have belonged to the "Barber of Seville."
CATHEDRAL, SEVILLE, SHOWING THE GIRALDA TOWER.
It is most pleasing to our sense of appropriateness that out of this beautiful
white city of Andalusia, should have come, at about the same time, the two
greatest Spanish painters, the one to give us real scenes and people, the
other to give us ideals of loftiest type.
Here in the closing days of 1617, Murillo was born. His father and mother
were poor people. The house they lived in had formerly belonged to a convent,
and it was rented to them for a very small sum, on condition that they would
keep up the repairs. Even this Murillo’s father found to be a heavy burden.
He was a mechanic and his income very small.
Our artist’s full name was Bartolome Esteban Murillo. His last name seems to
have come from his father’s family, though it was even more common in those
days to take the mother’s name for a surname, as in the case
 of Velazquez.
We know almost nothing of his early years except that he was left an orphan
before he was eleven, under the guardianship of an uncle. Perhaps we should
mention that Murillo early showed his inclination to make pictures by
scribbling the margin of his school books with designs that in no wise
illustrated the text therein. With this as a guide his guardian early
apprenticed him to Juan del Castillo, another uncle, and an artist of
some repute. Here he learned to mix colors, to clean brushes, and to
draw with great accuracy.
When Murillo was about twenty-two, Castillo removed to Cadiz, down the
river from Seville, and the young artist was thrown wholly on his own
resources. Life with him in those days was merely a struggle for existence.
He took the method very generally taken by young artists. He painted for the
Feria or weekly market. Here all sorts of producers and hucksters gathered
with their wares. We can imagine that men of this sort were not very
particular about the art objects they purchased. They demanded two
things—bright colors and striking figures. Murillo, in common with
other struggling artists, turned out great numbers of these little
bits of painted canvas. Some of them have been discovered in Spanish
America, whither they were undoubtedly taken to assist in religious
If there was hardship in this painting for the feria,
 as people
slightingly spoke of such work, there were also immense advantages.
As he painted he could observe the people who came to buy and the
people who came to sell, and, mayhap, that other numerous class in
Seville who neither buy nor sell, but beg instead. From this very
observation of character must have come largely that skill which is
so marked in his pictures of beggar boys, who, with a few coppers, or
a melon, or some grapes, are kings of their surroundings. Then the
demand for striking figures cultivated a broad style in the artist
which added greatly to his later work.
A fellow pupil of Murillo’s had joined the army in Flanders. When he
returned he told such wonderful stories of the country and its art
works, that Murillo was more than ever inspired to go abroad to Rome
or to Flanders. He at once set about earning a little money to assist
him in the journey. Again he painted a great number of saints and bright
landscapes on small squares of linen, and sold them to eager customers.
Thus he provided himself with scant means for the journey. He placed his
sister in the care of a relative, and then started off afoot across the
Sierras to Madrid, without having told anyone of his intentions. His
little stock of money was soon exhausted, and he arrived in Madrid
exhausted and desperately lonesome. He at once searched out Velazquez,
his townsman, who
 was then rich, and honored in the position of court
painter to Philip IV. Velazquez received him kindly, and after some inquiry
about mutual acquaintances, he talked of the young painter’s plans for
himself. Murillo spoke freely of his ambition to be a great painter, and
of his desire to visit Rome and Flanders.
Velazquez took the young painter to his own house, and procured for him
the privilege of copying in the great galleries of the capitol and in the
Escurial. He advised him to copy carefully the masterpieces in his own
country. There were pictures by Titian, Van Dyck, and Rubens, and Murillo
began the work of copying them at once. When Velazquez returned after long
absence, he was surprised at the improvement in Murillo’s work. He now
advised the young painter to go to Rome, but he had been away from Seville
for three years, and he longed to be again at home in his beautiful native
city. During his absence he had learned much in art and in the ways of the
world. He had met many distinguished artists and statesmen in Velazquez’s
The first three years after his return to Seville, he busied himself with
a series of pictures for a small Franciscan convent near by. Although he
did the work without pay, the monks were loath to give him the commission
because he was an unknown artist. There were
 eleven in the series,
scenes from the life of St. Francis. They were admirably done, and though
the artist received no pay for them, they did him a greater service than
money could have bought—they established his reputation, so that he no
longer wanted for such work as he desired.
Among his earliest and best known pictures are those charming studies of
the beggar boys and flower girls of Seville. Several of the best of these
are in the gallery at Munich where they are justly prized. Here are some
of the names he gives these pictures, "The Melon Eaters,"
"The Grape Eaters," "The Fruit Venders,"
"The Flower Girl." They are true
to life—the happiest, most interesting, and self-sufficient set of young
beggars one could well imagine. Notice, too, the beauty of the faces,
especially in "The Fruit Venders," reproduced in this sketch. There are
other interesting things in this picture. With what eagerness the day’s
earnings are counted! There is a motherliness in the girl’s face that
makes us sure that she is at once mother and sister to the boy. What
luscious grapes—what a back-ground, unkempt like themselves, but
thoroughly in keeping with the rest of the picture! In his works
of this sort what broad sympathy he shows! so broad, indeed, that
they prove him as belonging to no particular nation, but to the world.
THE GRAPE EATERS
 From the painting of these scenes from real life, he passed gradually
to the painting of things purely imaginary—to those visible only to his own
A dainty picture which belongs half and half to each of these classes of
pictures, represents the Virgin a little girl, sweet and quaint as she
must have been, standing by St. Anne’s knee, apparently learning a lesson
from the open book. Both figures are beautiful in themselves and, besides,
they present the always interesting contrast of age and youth. This was one
of the pictures that well-nigh brought trouble on Murillo from some zealous
churchmen before referred to. They thought that the Virgin was gifted with
learning from her birth and never had to be taught. They merely criticized
the treatment of the subject, however. It was an innovation in church
THE MELON EATERS
By this time Murillo was wealthy. He had numerous commissions and, in
society, he mingled with the best in the land. He was now in a position
to marry, which he did in 1648. There is a story told of Murillo’s marriage
which one likes to repeat. He was painting an altar-piece for the church in
Pilas, a town near by; while he was working, wrapt in thoughts of his subject,
a lovely woman came into the church to pray. From his canvas, the artist’s
eyes wandered to the worshipper. He was deeply impressed with her beauty
devo-  tion. Wanting just then an angel to complete his picture,
he sketched the face and the form of the unsuspecting lady. By a pleasant
coincidence he afterwards made her the angel of his home—his good wife. The
painter doubtless proved the truth of Wordsworth’s beautiful lines—
"I saw her upon nearer view
A spirit yet a Woman too!
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright and good
For human nature’s daily food.
A perfect woman nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light."
However this may be, we know that she is often painted as the Virgin
in Murillo’s great pictures. Her liquid eyes and dark hair inspired him
to forget the rigid rules laid down regarding the Virgin’s having blue
eyes and fair hair or, at all events, to disregard them. We shall see
the Mary in some of his loveliest pictures with the dark hair and eyes
of his countrymen. Three children were born into Murillo’s home, two
boys and one girl. One boy for a time practised the art of his
but he later became a clergyman. The other son came to America, while the
daughter devoted herself to religion and entered a convent.
After Murillo’s marriage, his house was the gathering place for the most
distinguished people of Seville. What a change was this from Murillo’s
early condition, when he toiled at the weekly markets for bread and
shelter! His power in his work increased, so that every new picture
was an additional pledge of his greatness.
It was in middle life that Murillo began painting the subject that
more than any other distinguished him. It was to glorify a beautiful
idea, that Mary was as pure and spotless as her divine son. It is
called the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, and so much did it
appeal to Murillo that he painted it over and over again. He has left
us at least twenty different pictures embodying this doctrine. The one
most familiar is perhaps the greatest. It is the one that now graces the
gem-room of the Louvre. I so name this room, for in it, within a few feet
of one another, are pictures by Raphael, Da Vinci, Correggio, Rembrandt,
Veronese, in short, by the foremost masters of the world. Among all these
the vision of Murillo takes an equal rank. To many, the idea which the
picture represents is of secondary importance, save perhaps as giving a
reason for the name it bears. But all can see the exquisite loveliness of
 young woman in her blue mantle and her white robe, with her feet
concealed by the voluminous folds of her drapery, and with the crescent
moon, the symbol of all things earthly, in the midst of a throng of
child-angels "hovering in the sunny air, reposing on clouds, or sporting
among their silvery folds"—"the apotheosis of womanhood." It is as if an
unseen hand had suddenly drawn aside an invisible curtain and we, the
children of earth, were for a moment permitted to view the interior of
heaven itself. In this vision of a poet, so masterfully painted, the
lover of pictures rejoices.
THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION.
How did the Louvre come by this magnificent monument of Spanish art
when so much that is glorious has been kept within the boundaries of
Spain? We have but to turn to the wars of Napoleon and the campaigns
in the Spanish peninsula, when the marshals of the mighty warrior swept
everything before them. One of these, Marshal Soult, brought back, after
his victorious invasion, pictures enough to enrich a Czar. One of these
stolen treasures was the picture we are studying. In 1852, the French
government bought it of him for more than $120,000. There is but one
mitigating thought regarding this rapine of the French, and that is
that many art treasures, heretofore virtually locked to the public,
were opened to the world—were made easily accessible.
HEAD OF VIRGIN, FROM THE IMMACULATION CONCEPTION.
 From this fair vision of womanhood let us turn to another, fairer
still, where a little child is the central figure, "St. Anthony of
Padua." Although he did not repeat this subject so often as he did the
Conception, yet he has left us several representations of this beautiful
and much adored saint.
In the life of Raphael we saw how great an influence was exerted on
art by St. Francis of Assisi. His most devoted follower was St. Anthony
of Padua, from whose lips sweet words fell like drops of honey, and whose
ready hands ever dispensed deeds of love. Any man whose life abounds in
such acts must be devout. Such was the character of St. Anthony, and he
added to this a vivid imagination. Many were the beautiful visions that
rewarded and encouraged his deeds of mercy and kindness. One of the
loveliest is the one Murillo caught from the depths of his own pure soul,
and held long enough to transfer it to canvas to delight the people of his
own day, and us of this later time who no longer see visions. It is still
in the cathedral of Seville for which it was painted. It is merely
called "St. Anthony of Padua." Never was a more soul-thrilling vision
sent to man to illumine his earthly pathway. There is the kneeling saint
with outstretched arms reaching forward to embrace the Christ child, who
comes sliding down through the nebulous light from among a host of
 angels. From the ecstatic look on St. Anthony’s face we
know that the Child of God has been drawn to earth by the prayerful
love in the saint’s heart. We feel certain that the open book on the
table near by is none other than the best of all good books. The vision
has come to Saint Anthony on the earth, for that is common daylight that
streams in through the open door, and those are perishable lilies in the
vase there by the open book. By the painting of this picture Murillo
gained for himself the title of "The Painter of Heaven." The picture
has always been highly prized, and even the hardships of war did not
tempt the men of the Cathedral to accept the Duke of Wellington’s offer
to literally cover the canvas with gold to be given in exchange for the
precious picture. The English general was obliged to keep his money, and
in the cathedral still we may view Murillo’s masterpiece. Treasures tempt
thieves even when they are in the form of pictures. In 1874, the figure of
the Christ Child was cut from this painting. It was brought to New York,
where the thief, in trying to dispose of it, was caught. The figure was
returned to Seville, and carefully inserted in the injured painting.
ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA.
It may not be out of place to stop here and notice the wonderful variety
of holy children that Murillo has given us. His Madonnas invariably hold
very beautiful children, not so heavenly, perhaps, as Raphael’s in
 Sistine Madonna, but nevertheless, children that charm us into
loving them. From the holy babe, with all his lovely qualities, let us
turn to that dear little boy of older growth, that Joseph and Mary hold
so tenderly by either hand in the picture of the "Holy Family" in the
National Gallery in London, or to those other boys, "The Divine Shepherd"
and "St John." Better than all, however, are those beautiful children known
as "The Children of the Shell," where the little Christ offers to his
playfellow, John, the cooling draught from a conch shell they have picked
up in their play. They are children drawn from the sky quite as much as the
Jesus in the famous St. Anthony picture.
Among his children there are little girls, too. We have already noticed
the Virgin as a child, and there is that other, led by the guardian angel
sure and safe along life’s uncertain way. Even in our practical time we
all have more or less faith in the guardian spirit that watches over every
little child. If by some miracle these children could all come to life,
what a joyous yet thoughtful assembly it would be! Difficult indeed would
it be to select the one beyond all others precious. No more certain proof
exists of Murillo’s high appreciation of spiritual things, of the simplicity
and purity of his own life and thought than this selfsame throng of little
children that he has given us.
 Murillo had always thought that a public academy of painting was
very much needed in Seville. In his youth he had greatly felt the need
of such an institution. Finally, in 1660, the year of Velazquez’s death,
several of the artists united with Murillo in starting an academy. It lived
only as long as its founder and never produced a great artist.
In 1671 our artist seemed in the very prime of his power. In that year he
began the wonderful series of pictures for the Charity Hospital of Seville.
It was an old institution of the city, but it had been neglected until it was
almost in ruins. In Murillo’s time a wealthy and pious citizen set about
restoring it. For the beautifying of the restored hospital Murillo was
commissioned to paint eleven works. They are among his very best. Two of
them we must notice in particular, "Moses Striking the Rock" and "Elizabeth
of Hungary Tending the Sick."
In the first of these the artist shows himself in a new capacity, that of
illustrator. Nothing could better express the thirst of that vast assembly
in the wilderness than this picture. From a mighty, towering rock the
coveted water gushes forth in a generous, crystal stream, by its very
abundance making a pool beneath. All degrees of thirst are represented
in man and beast, from that which is not pressing to that which, in
 intensity, makes a mother seize the cup from the babe in her arms.
In the "St. Elizabeth" we admire the composition of the work, but the
subject rather repels than holds us. With the diadem of a queen upon her
head, with the delicate hands of a gentlewoman, and from a costly basin
St. Elizabeth bathes the scrofulous head of a beggar. Her ladies-in-waiting
turn from the loathsome object of her care, while other patients await their
turn. In the distance is the court feast that goes on joyously in the palace
while Elizabeth, the mistress of the feast, serves the diseased beggars at
I have said that we could not stop to notice more than two of this notable
series. Yet, as I run my photographs over, I cannot refrain from the mention
of one other, the noble and wonderfully beautiful "Liberation of St. Peter."
It is simply a magnificent angel awakening Peter who languishes in prison.
The suddenly aroused prisoner, the broken fetters, and above all, that
glorious angel, extending a helping hand—his presence making a light in
that dark cell—tell in no uncertain accents of the power of our beloved
Thus might we go on from picture to picture, and from year to year, for
the list ever strengthens as it lengthens. Two more, at least, should claim
our attention before this sketch is closed. They are "St. Thomas
Alms" and "The Madonna of the Napkin." The St. Thomas is rightly the
companion of that other great charity picture, "St. Elizabeth." The one
represents the abnegation of self in woman’s way—she gives service. The
other represents man’s way—he gives money. At the portal of the church
stands the pale-faced, spiritual St. Thomas, dispensing his alms to beggars
and cripples. In composition and drawing this is one of Murillo’s greatest
works. We are interested to know that it was his own favorite among his
"The Madonna of the Napkin" is both beautiful and curious. While Murillo
was painting a series of pictures for a Capuchin convent of Seville, the
cook became very much attached to him. When his work was done and he was
about to leave the convent, the cook begged a memento. But how could he
paint even a small picture with no canvas at hand? The cook, bent on
obtaining his wish, presented him with a table napkin and begged him to
use that instead of canvas. With his usual good nature, the artist complied,
and before evening he produced a beautiful Virgin holding the infant Christ.
Though done thus hastily, this Madonna is one of his best in design and
coloring. His other Madonnas we know well, the one holding a rosary, and
the other marked by nothing but its own surpassing
 grace and beauty,
and known simply as Murillo’s Madonna.
According to the subject he was painting, Murillo used three distinct
styles of work, known as the cold, the warm, and the aerial.
in which the line or drawing is marked by strength, he used in his studies
of peasant life. The second he used in his visions, while the third he
reserved for his Conceptions—his heavenly effects. So fine a colorist was
he, however, and so indispensable a part of his art did he consider the
coloring that even the pictures classed as cold are radiant with his
lovely, mellow colors.
VIRGIN OF THE MIRROR.
Through the greater part of Murillo’s life he painted for his beautiful
Seville. In 1680, however, he went to Cadiz to paint pictures for the
Capuchins at that place. He began on the largest one of the number. It
was to represent the marriage of St. Catherine, a favorite subject of the
time. Events proved that this was to be his last picture, for, while trying
to reach the upper part of it, he fell from the scaffolding, receiving
injuries from which he died two years later. Gradually his physical power
deserted him until he did not attempt to paint at all. Then he spent much
of his time in religious thought. In the church of Santa Cruz near by his
home, was a picture of the "Descent from the Cross" by Campana. Before
this picture he spent
 many hours, so much did he admire it. One evening
he remained later than usual. The Angelus had sounded, and the Sacristan
wished to close the church. He asked the painter why he lingered so long.
He responded, "I am waiting until those men have brought the body of our
blessed Lord down the ladder." When Murillo died he was buried, according
to his wish, immediately under this picture.
He died in April, 1682. His funeral was of the sort that draws all
classes—a beloved man and a profound genius had passed away. His grave
was covered with a stone slab on which were carved but few words beside
his name. The church was destroyed during the French wars, and the Plaza
of Santa Cruz occupies its place. In later years a statue of bronze was
erected in one of the squares of the city in honor of Murillo; there it
stands, through all changes, the very master spirit of the city.
If this sketch has implied anything, it has emphasized over and over again
the sweet and lovable character of Murillo. His religious zeal was great,
yet no one could ever justly write fanatic beside his name. There was too
much love in his soul for that. His pictures are indisputable proof of the
never-dying love that permeated his life.
He left a great number of pictures, and his habit of
 not signing
them made it easy to impose on unwary seekers after his paintings.
Passing by all the work the authorship of which is uncertain, yet is
there enough left to make us marvel at his productiveness.
SUBJECTS FOR LANGUAGE WORK.
1. Seville, the City of Music.
2. A Day in Seville.
3. Some Stories of the Alcazar.
4. The Giralda—Its History and Its Architecture.
5. The Children of Murillo’s Paintings.
6. Murillo and Velazquez.
7. Some Spanish Portraits.
8. My Favorite Picture by Murillo.
9. Some Visions Seen by Murillo.
10. The Escurial—Its History.
REFERENCES FOR THE STUDY OF "MURILLO AND SPANISH ART."
Stirling....Annals Spanish Art.
Washburn....Early Spanish Masters.