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Familiar Spanish Travels by William Dean Howells
page 111 of 311 (35%)


XI


One of the first errors of our search for the Archaeological Museum,
promoted by the mistaken kindness of people we asked the way, found us
in the Academy of Fine Arts, where in the company of a fat and flabby
Rubens (Susanna, of course, and those filthy Elders) we chanced on a
portrait of Goya by himself: a fine head most takingly shrewd. But there
was another portrait by him, of the ridiculous Godoy, Prince of the
Peace, a sort of handsome, foolish fleshy George Fourthish person
looking his character and history: one of the miost incredible parasites
who ever fattened on a nation. This impossible creature, hated more
than feared, and despised more than hated, who misruled a generous
people for twenty-five years, throughout the most heroic period of their
annals, the low-born paramour of their queen and the beloved friend of
the king her husband, who honored and trusted him with the most pathetic
single-hearted and simple-minded devotion, could not look all that he
was and was not; but in this portrait by Goya he suggested his
unutterable worthlessness: a worthlessness which you can only begin to
realize by successively excluding all the virtues, and contrasting it
with the sort of abandon of faith on the part of the king; this in the
common imbecility, the triune madness of the strange group, has its
sublimity. In the next room are two pieces of Goya's which recall in
their absolute realism another passage of Spanish history with
unparalleled effect. They represent, one the accused heretics receiving
sentence before a tribunal of the Inquisition, and the other the
execution of the sentence, where the victims are mocked by a sort of
fools' caps inscribed with the terms of their accusal. Their faces are
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