Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE; A LEGEND OF SPAIN, by JOHN GODFREY SAXE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE; A LEGEND OF SPAIN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Whose work is this?' murillo said
Last Line: And learn how well his son could paint.
Subject(s): Murillo, Bartolome Esteban (1617-1682); Slavery; Serfs


"WHOSE work is this?" Murillo said,
The while he bent his eager gaze
Upon a sketch (a Virgin's head)
That filled the painter with amaze.

Of all his pupils, -- not a few, --
Marveling, 't would seem, no less than he;
Each answered that he nothing knew
As touching whose the sketch might be.

This much appeared, and nothing more:
The piece was painted in the night.
"And yet, by Jove!" Murillo swore,
"He has no cause to fear the light.

"'Tis something crude, and lacks, I own,
That finer finish time will teach;
But genius here is plainly shown,
And art beyond the common reach.

"Sebastian!" (turning to his slave,)
"Who keeps this room when I'm in bed?"
"'T is I, Senor." "Now, mark you, knave!
Keep better watch," the master said;

"For if this painter comes again,
And you, while dozing, let him slip,
Excuses will be all in vain, --
Remember, you shall feel the whip!"

Now while Sebastian slept, he dreamed
That to his dazzled vision came
The Blessed Lady -- so she seemed --
And crowned him with the wreath of Fame.

Whereat the startled slave awoke,
And at his picture wrought away
So rapt that ere the spell was broke,
The dark was fading into day.

"My beautiful!" the artist cried;
"Thank God, I have not lived in vain!"
Hark! 'T is Murillo at his side;
The man has grown a slave again.

"Who is your master? -- answer me!"
"'T is you," replied the faltering lad.
"Nay, 't is not that, I mean," said he;
"Tell me, what teacher have you had?"

"Yourself, Senor. When you have taught
These gentlemen, I too have heard
The daily lesson, and have sought
To treasure every golden word."

"What say you, boys?" Murillo cried,
Smiling in sign of fond regard,
"Is this a case -- pray you decide --
For punishment, or for reward?"

"Reward, Senor!" they all exclaimed,
And each proposed some costly toy;
But still, whatever gift was named,
Sebastian showed no gleam of joy.

Whereat one said: "He's kind to-day;
Ask him your Freedom." With a groan
The boy fell on his knees: "Nay, nay!
My father's freedom, -- not my own!"

"Take both!" the painter cried. "Henceforth
A slave no more, -- be thou my son.
Thy Art had failed, with all its worth,
Of what thy Heart this day has won!"

L'ENVOI.

The traveler, loitering in Seville,
And gazing at each pictured saint,
May see Murillo's genius still,
And learn how well his son could paint.





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