Ragged, dirty, and unkempt; untrained in all the pretty graces of refinement; deprived of all the fostering care of the home, how can the children of the street afford the artist any subjects for his canvas? Because, in spite of deprivation and poverty, they possess the imperishable treasure of a happy heart; and happiness is the true secret of the beauty of childhood. The child’s buoyant vitality is proof against any disadvantages in his external surroundings; for his horizon is limited to the present. Yesterday’s hunger is quickly forgotten in to-day’s plenty; the fatigue of the morning’s toil vanishes in the evening’s frolic; even the wounds of a cruel blow are readily healed by a friendly word. Unconscious of any disparity between himself and others, he is equally contented with his lot, whether his clothing be velvet or rags, whether his play-ground be a royal park or the streets of a great city.

The artistic possibilities of street material lay long undiscovered through the first centuries of the Art Renaissance, when the subjects were chiefly religious and mythological. It is then to Murillo and his matchless pictures of the beggar boys of Seville that we may attribute the real origin of this department of genre painting. Murillo had himself known something of poverty and homelessness. Left an orphan at the age of eleven, he was thrown entirely upon his own resources at nineteen, his equipment for life being a few years’ apprenticeship in the studio of his uncle, Juan del Castillo. In the years of hard work that followed, he laid the foundations of a career destined to be one of the most notable in the history of art.

[beggar boys.—murillo.]

There was held one day every week, in a large public square of Seville, an open-air market called the Feria, at which meat and fish, fruit and vegetables, old clothes and old iron, were heaped upon stalls or piled upon the pavement for the examination of customers. Last but not least of all the commodities here displayed were paintings, offered for sale by the artists themselves, who were supplied with brushes and colors to adapt the details to the purchasers’ taste. It may be imagined that these pictures of the Feria were not works of high art, nor was there much stimulus to artistic talent in their production. Nevertheless, it was in this business that the young Murillo began his career; and it was in this way, doubtless, that he came to observe closely, and to store up in his artist’s memory the picturesque effects among the children who swarmed in the sunny square. Perfect types of glowing health were these nut-brown sons and daughters of Andalusia, enjoying life with the indolence and simple merriment characteristic of a southern race. It was Murillo’s delight to portray them in their happiest moods. Sometimes they are playing games on the pavement, as in the Dice Players; again, they are feasting upon the luscious native fruits, as in the celebrated pictures of the Munich Gallery. With what delicious enjoyment do the little vagabonds poise above their open mouths a cluster of purple grapes or a slice of rich melon! Their ragged garments scarcely suffice to cover them; their arms and legs are bare; their abundant dark curls have known no combing, and they are undeniably dirty. And yet they are perfectly charming. The rich tints of their sunburned skin; the dark liquid eyes of the Spanish race; the beautiful curves of their plump necks and shoulders; the free grace of their attitudes,—all combine to make them picturesque and attractive.

The dirt is rendered with an unsparing realism which, in a few instances, is carried beyond the limits of good taste. Such is the case with El Piojoso of the Louvre, which represents a little beggar removing vermin from his body, and which Mr. Ruskin has severely denounced. Another picture in Munich, and one at St. Petersburg, belong to the same class; but these may be considered exceptions to the rule. The general statement holds true, that the real motif of Murillo’s beggar-boy pictures is the simple, natural enjoyment which may render attractive, and even beautiful, the most unlovely surroundings.

The artist shows a fine insight into human nature in his appreciation of the companionship between the street boy and the small dog. The famous Beggar-boy of the Hermitage Gallery at St. Petersburg is a capital example. The boy, standing by a wall, with a basket of fruit in his hand, turns to smile at his dog, with a perfect expression of good comradeship. In several other paintings, where the boys are eating, a little dog stands by, watching the tempting morsels enviously, with the hope of getting a share in due time.

England is especially rich in examples of Murillo’s street scenes. Besides the well-known picture in the National Gallery, there are three fine works at Dulwich College,[15] and many others scattered through the galleries of private collectors. This fact may be the reason that Murillo was first popularly known in England for this class of subjects, rather than for his religious art.

One of Murillo’s most ardent admirers among modern English artists is Mrs. Henry M. Stanley, first known in the art world as Dorothy Tennant. She gayly avers that the most interesting object to her, when as a small girl she was taken for her daily walk, was “some dear little child in tatters.” The small young lady’s interest in street children was something more than philanthropic; it was intensely artistic. As soon as she could wield a pencil, she began to make ragamuffin pictures, and to dream of a career as the “champion painter of the poor.” Gifted with a keen sense of humor, she was quick to see the happy side of a life whose exterior is apparently one of misery; and it was this side which she determined to portray. Murillo’s happy beggar boys were her ideal; Hogarth’s work also commanded her admiration. Following in the footsteps of these great predecessors, she sought for her models “the merry, reckless, happy-go-lucky urchin; the tomboy girl; and the plump, untidy mother, dancing and tossing her ragged baby.”