denote a charlatan; yet withal, Goya has fairly
won his place amid the great painters of the world. Perhaps no better
example could be found of the essential difference between the outward
and visible actions of a man and the inward and spiritual grace of an
artist than in this instance; and the Latin standpoint, always more
intellectually liberal than our own Anglo-Saxon appreciation of the
same problem furnishes the reason why Goya was left free to pursue his
artistic career instead of languishing in prison. His illogical brush
filled the cathedrals of Saragossa, Seville, Toledo, and Valencia
with masterly frescoes, while with the etching needle he produced
many plates. Some of these, like the "Caprices," a series of eighty
etchings, are filled with imagination alternately tragical and
grotesque; while another series, representing bull-fights, throughout
its thirty-three plates depicts the incidents of the game with intense
realism. The "Disasters of War," another series of eighty, were
inspired by the French invasion; and never, perhaps, were the
cruelties of war more strenuously realized in art than in these.
Probably these etchings, executed, like all his works, by methods
peculiar to himself, constitute his best title to remembrance. But
his painting, replete though it be with the defects of his qualities,
stands as a precursor of the great coloristic school of which
Delacroix was the head and front. This is notably to be felt in his
portraits, and in some of the rapidly executed single figures of
which the Louvre has a specimen and the Metropolitan Museum, New York,
another--the latter, "A Jewess of Tangiers."

[Illustration: GOYA. FROM A PORTRAIT ETCHED BY HIMSELF.

This portrait is the frontispiece to a series of etchings by Goya.]

Before leaving Goya for men whose works are their only history,
a characteristic incident, which caused his flight from Spain to
Bordeaux in France, must be told. In 1814 Wellington was in Madrid
and sat for his portrait to Goya. After the first sitting, the soldier
presumed to criticise the work; whereat Goya, seizing a cutlass,
attacked him, causing the future hero of Waterloo to flee for his life
from the maniacal fury of the painter. It is said that, later, peace
was made between the two men, and that the portrait was achieved;
but for the moment Goya found safety in France, together with his
long-suffering wife, who had incidentally borne him twenty children.
At the green ol