“‘It is wretched to see how these invaluable jewels of pictures are preserved! Uncleaned’ (this is at least some comfort), ‘without the necessary varnish, sometimes without frames, they lean against the walls, or stand unprotected in the passages where they are copied. Every dauber may mark his squares upon them, to facilitate his drawing; and since these squares are permanent in some pictures in order to spare these admirable artists the trouble of renewing them, the threads have, in certain cases, begun to leave their impression on the picture. The proof of this negligence is the fact that we found to-day the mark of a finger-nail on the St. Augustine, which was not there on the first day that we saw it. We can only thank God if nothing worse than a finger-nail make a scar on the picture! It stands there on the ground, without a frame, leaning against the wall. One might knock it over, or kick one’s foot through it! There is to be sure a kind of ragged custode sitting by, but if one were to give him a couple of dollars he would hold his tongue; he is, moreover, always sleeping, and yawns as if he would put his jaws out. He does not forget, however, on these occasions to make the sign of the cross with his thumb, opposite his open mouth, for fear the devils should fly in--such is the common belief. You see clearly that with this amount of neglect and want of order, the same fate awaits all the Murillos here as has already befallen Leonardo’s Last Supper at Milan. These are all collected in two public buildings, in the church of the Caridad and in the Museum. ‘The Caridad was a hospital or charitable institution. The pictures were brought thither from Murillo’s own studio; there are five--Moses, the Feeding of the Five Thousand, the St. Juan de Dios, a little Salvator Mundi, and a small John the Baptist; the sixth, the pendant to the St. Juan de Dios, the St. Elizabeth with the Sick, has been carried to the Museum at Madrid. It is very questionable whether these fine pictures will be still in the Caridad in ten years’ time. Nothing would be easier than to smuggle out the two small pictures! A painter comes--copies them--does not stand upon a few dollars more or less--takes off the originals and leaves the copies behind in their places, which are high up and badly lighted--the pictures are gone for ever! This sort of proceeding is not impossible here, and Baron Taylor’s purchases for Paris prove the fact. It cannot of course be done without corruption and connivance on the part of the official guardians; and after all one has hardly the courage to lament it. The pictures are, in fact, saved--they are protected and duly valued; whilst to me it is completely a matter of indifference whether a custode, on account of this sort of sin, suffer a little more or a little less in Purgatory.’”--Reisebriefe, ii. s. 126-8. Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: