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Monday, April 30, 2012

A Princess And Stolen Gold


She was a real princess, an infanta of Spain, and I’d come thousands of miles to pay her homage. She wasn’t exactly pretty; she possessed those unfortunate characteristics that, had she lived a long life, would have twisted her sweetness into the grotesqueness so characteristic of her family. She was a Habsburg, and no one would remember her today were it not for the sublime brush of Velàzquez, her father’s famous painter. As I gazed upon her, I felt something peculiar happening…deep in my pants, a downward motion completely beyond my control. Princess or no princess, I was about to let loose!


I’d come to Madrid to fulfill a childhood fantasy: I’d grown up in California and had been raised on tales of Spanish chivalry and pirates of the Spanish Main. As an artist, Spain loomed large in my imagination for another reason: in Madrid, The Prado Museum contained the greatest collection of Italian and Spanish paintings on Earth. Velàzquez was one of the most accomplished painters who ever lived, and in my opinion the best portrait painter. His painting, Las Meninas (The Maids of Honor) was arguably the greatest picture ever painted. I’d come to check it out with my own eyes. But greed came between me and Velàzquez’ masterpiece.


I entered the Prado and stood in line to purchase my ticket. It was a chilly day in late winter and the queue in front of the ticket counter was uncharacteristically short. After handing over a dozen pesetas for my ticket (this was before Spain went on the Euro) I passed into a chamber with hooks on the walls for coats. An attendant, nose buried in a newspaper, was doing a poor job of guarding the coats. I noticed that one of my shoelaces had come undone. Plunking down on one of the empty benches, I leaned down to retie the shoelace and my eyes widened at what I saw—Spanish treasure.


Projecting from beneath my bench was a thick rubber mat with slots in it. These slots were filled with glinting Spanish coins, like a giant coin tray in a bank. Some of these coins were worth as much as five or ten US dollars. Thousands of tourists must have dropped them while struggling out of their coats. For a moment I felt like Edmond Dantès discovering the treasure of Monte Cristo.


I looked up. I could hear snoring coming from behind the attendant’s newspaper. I wish I could report that my Catholic upbringing had immunized me from such temptations but, unfortunately, this wasn’t the case. Before yielding to temptation, I glanced around the room for security cameras. When I saw none, I began plucking coins and shoving them into my pockets. I figured I’d stop in a minute or two when other tourists arrived, but none did. When my pockets could hold no more, I waddled out of the chamber, feeling rich as Midas as I sought out the little princess.


The coat chamber may have been empty, but there was a crowd gathered in front of Las Meninas. I pushed my way forward and got my first clear glimpse of her. The critics hadn’t lied. She was a miracle: Velàzquez had created Infanta Margarita and her entourage from a loose salad of brushstrokes that at a certain distance, like perfect pitch in music, transmogrified into the semblance of a living breathing person.


For those who haven’t looked closely at this painting, it’s worth the effort. Hundreds of years before the invention of the camera, Velàsquez defied convention by painting nearly everything slightly out of focus. The dog in the foreground being kicked by the dwarf is blurry up close, as is everything except for the face drawing the viewer’s eye to the center of the composition, the face of the little princess. And over on the left, Velàzquez has depicted himself standing before an enormous painting (Las Meninas?) palette in hand. But what is he painting? The little princess’ back is to him. And hanging on the wall in the background; is that a mirror? Reflected in it are the images of the princess’ parents, the King and Queen. Are they the subject of this painting, or are they standing in the doorway, an impromptu visit to their favorite painter’s studio as the artist prepares to paint their daughter? Art experts have been staring at this remarkable painting for hundreds of years, asking themselves the question: What the hell is going on here? What is this magical portal to seventeen century Spain all about?


I had come a great distance to study this painting, to take my turn at solving this mystery, but I was thwarted by greed, the sort that had roiled the blood of Spanish conquistadors. The princess’ eyes seemed to lock on me, and I was suddenly filled with unbearable shame. The ill-gotten treasure in my pockets seemed to burn through the fabric of my pants, branding my skin—a short-lived agony because at that moment the stitching in both pockets tore open and coins rained down my pant legs, a symphony of clinking and clattering on the marble floor as coins piled up at my feet.


Before bolting from the room as fast as I could, I caught one last glimpse of the little princess. Three hundred year old paint is brittle yet hard as cement, unchangeable, but in that fleeting moment I swear that long-dead little girl’s face had changed. She was laughing at me.


27 comments:

  1. Did you escape with your ill-gotten booty? Or did Interpol track you down later and demand you return the money?

    Looking at that scene it makes me think of that "Toddlers and Tiaras" show on TLC or whatever. Royalty I guess are the ultimate stage parents.

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  2. PT:

    This true story happened in 1991. I left my ill-gotten treasure in a heap on the floor in front of the painting.

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  3. Does your wife ever dare take you anywhere?! :) Thanks for the brief art lesson. Very fascinating! I love learning things like this.

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  4. Oh, dear, you poor darling! Sounds like 'magic' to me!! A couple of years ago I was fortunate enough to be able to see the exhibition of Velazquez mounted by the National Gallery in London. It really was fabulous.

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  5. What Felt Family asked? Bwahahahahahaha. I'm sure you left the coins where they landed. Okay, I'm pretty sure.

    Have a terrific day. :)

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  6. Felt Family & Sandee:

    Admittedly, there are places Mrs. C. just won't take me, but we do enjoy museums together. I spend a lot of time in museums and Mrs. C. tends to drift off and leave me to my adventures. Perhaps I'm deluding myself, but I think museum guards like me because I talk to them and this can be tedious work. Another museum mishap you might enjoy involves me crashing a private event at the Met in New York. Check it out (Archives 10/14/2011)

    CC

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  7. You are always hilarious my friend. I plan to travel to Madrid next year. And while I am not the biggest art fan... I feel if I read your blog long enough I might become one... and find some treasure maybe even for myself? Nicely written as always!

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  8. Well done, Stephen. "Ill gotten gains found in gallery. Americano flees."

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  9. Great tale. I was pulling for you in liberating those coins from their purgatory. Wonderful history of the Velazquez painting as well.

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  10. THAT. Was a riot. lol! So glad you visited my blog today. (I'm Random Ninja - Writer of Wrongs, btw.)
    That had me rolling and your descriptions are fabulous! Thank you, Stephen.

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  11. The money probably would have brought you bad luck anyways. Ill gotten gains, as they were.
    So strange that they thwarted your life's dream of being able to really examine the painting, though.
    People must have thought you such a strange man to leave all his money on the floor like that and run away like you did. They probably tell tales about you to this day. ;)

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  12. Your story is hilarious Mr. Chatterbox. I wonder though how long the coins had been stuck where you found them? Does no one in Spain's museums scrub the floor? I'd love to have seen the faces of the other visitors as the pile of loot kept tumbling out of your pants. What a hoot! Smiles - Astrid

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  13. She looks disgusted and annoyed. I doubt if it was because of your lost El Dorado.

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  14. Just as well you lost the coins. Too much Monet in your pocket might weigh you down and not let the Van Gogh. Wrong art era and category, I know but I still couldn't resist. Your story-telling is marvelous. Too funny.

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  15. see you knew it was wrong and just wanted verification..they used to call it Catholic guilt.

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  16. I would love to see you analyze my favorite Spanish painter, Salvatore Dali. Please say you will do so soon. I love your artistic insight.

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  17. I was not thinking money in that first paragraph... Somehow, I had Montezuma in mind, not money... But it was an excellent tale!

    Cat

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  18. Great story, great information about the picture. While the story was entertaining, I especially enjoyed your dissection of the picture -- you caused me to notice details I'd glossed over when I first looked at it, and now the painting is stuck in my mind. In a good way, unlike that jingle for the shoe store I heard on the radio this morning. "Trust your feet..."

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  19. Great tale, but I would have had to squat down and recapture the treasure. You are either made of better stuff than me or inferior stuff. I haven't decided which it is yet. :-)

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  20. I've seen this picture before and I've always liked it. To me, it calls out for a caption: "Why is this weird chick on my right staring at me? Does she suspect that a couple of midgets are hiding under my skirt?"
    Oh, and that girl next to the dog? That is one ugly little broad. I've seen mud fences which were more attractive.
    Spain is one of my favorite countries, although I never made it to Madrid. Maybe because, after four years of high school Spanish, I could order two beers and ask where the toilet was.

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  21. oh hahahah instant karma? You have such great stories!

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  22. You're a great storyteller. It must be interesting to have you on a tour of the great museums in Europe.

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  23. You had me scared for a minutes in teh beginning...."surely he's not going to write about some horrible intestinal distress, is he?" but alas, you NEVER disappoint! Have a great day. Laurel

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