Velazquez was the son of Rodriguez de Silva, a lawyer in Seville, descended from a noble Portuguese family, and was baptized on 6th June 1599. Following a common Spanish usage, he is known by his mother’s name Velazquez. There has been considerable diversity of opinion as to his full name, but he was known to his contemporaries as Diego de Silva Velazquez, and signed his name thus. He was educated, says Palomino, by his parents in the fear of God, and was intended for a learned profession, for which he received a good training in languages and philosophy. But the bent of the boy was towards art, and he was placed under the elder Herrera, a vigorous painter who disregarded the Italian influence of the early Seville school. From his works in Seville we can see that Herrera was a bold and effective painter; but he was at the same time a man of unruly temper and his pupils could seldom stay long with him. Velazquez remained but one year, long enough, however, to influence his life. It was from Herrera that he learned to use long brushes, or, as Mr J. E. Hodgson, R.A., suggests, brushes with long bristles, by means of which his colours seem to be floated on the canvas by a light fluent touch, the envy and despair of his successors. From Herrera’s studio Velazquez betook himself to a very different master, the learned and pedantic Pacheco, the author of a heavy book on painting, and, as we see by his works at Madrid, a dull commonplace painter. In this school he remained for five years, studying proportion and perspective, and seeing all that was best in the literary and artistic circles of Seville. Here also—and this may explain much—he fell in love with his master’s daughter Juana, whom he married in 1618 with the hearty approval of Pacheco, who praises his hand and heart, claiming at the same time all the credit of having been his master. He must, however, have found Velazquez a wayward pupil; for, instead of looking to Raphael, according to orders, the young painter set himself to copy the commonest things about him,— earthenware jars of the country people, birds, fish, fruit, and flowers of the market-place. To paint well and thoroughly what he saw, to model with his brush, and to colour under the influence of light and shade were for him the vital purpose, the first lesson, in his art. It was with deliberate purpose that Velazquez painted these bodegones (tavern-pieces), as they were called; for we are told that he said he would rather be the first painter of common things than the second in higher art. Carrying out this idea still further, Velazquez felt that to master the subtlety of the human face he must make this a special study, and he accordingly engaged a peasant lad to be his servant and model, making innumerable studies in charcoal and chalk, and catching his every expression. We see this model in the laughing Peasant Boy of the Belvedere Gallery at Vienna. In such work as this, and in his studies by the wayside, Velazquez laid the foundation of his subsequent mastery of expression, of penetration into character, and of rendering the life of his sitter to the quick. He saw the world around him teeming with life and objects of interest to the painter, and he set himself to render these. His manner is as national as that of Cervantes. He lived and died racy of the soil. The position and reputation of Velazquez were now assured at Seville. There his wife bore him two daughters,—all his family so far as is known. The younger died in infancy, while the elder, Francisca, in due time married Bautista del Mazo, a painter, whose large family is probably that which is represented in the important picture of later years in Vienna, the so-called Family of Velazquez. Mr Curtis, however, is inclined to believe that this picture is by Mazo. In the gallery at Madrid there is at least one portrait of this daughter, painted in these early days at Seville, as also a portrait of Juana his wife, holding a drawing-tablet on her knee. There was formerly in the possession of Lord Dudley another portrait of his wife by Velazquez, painted, perhaps, in the first year of their happy marriage. Of this early Seville manner we have an excellent example in El Aguador (the Water-Carrier) at Apsley House (London). Firm almost to hardness, it displays close study of nature. One can see in it the youthful struggle to portray the effects of light stealing here and there over the prominent features of the face, groping after the effects which the painter was to master later on. The brushwork is bold and broad, and the outlines firmly marked. As is usual with Velazquez at this time, the harmony of colours is red, brown, and yellow, reminding one of Ribera. For sacred subjects we may turn to the Adoration of the Magi at Madrid, dated 1619, and the Adoration of the Shepherds in the London National Gallery, in both of which we have excellent examples of his realism. The peasants offering their gifts of poultry are the hard-featured women of the market-place of Seville, pre-Raphaelite in their uncompromising truthfulness. Thus also in the St John in the Desert we find his peasant boy transformed into the saint.

But Velazquez was now eager to see more of the world. Madrid, with its fine Titians, held out strong inducements. Accordingly in 1622, fortified with letters of introduction to Fonseca, who held a good position at court, he spent some months there, accompanied only by his servant. Here he painted the portrait of the poet Gongora, a commission from Pacheco, which now hangs in the gallery at Madrid. The impression which Velazquez made in the capital must have been very strong, for in the following year he was summoned to return by Olivares, the all-powerful minister of Philip IV., fifty ducats being allowed to defray his expenses. On this occasion he was accompanied by his father-in-law. Next year (1624) he received from the king three hundred ducats to pay the cost of the removal of his family to Madrid, which became his home for the remainder of his life. Weak and worthless as a king, Philip had inherited the art-loving propensities of his race, and was proud to be considered a poet and a painter. It is one of the best features of his character that he remained for a period of thirty-six years the faithful and attached friend of Velazquez, whose merit he soon recognized, declaring that no other painter should ever paint his portrait. By his equestrian portrait of the king, painted in 1623, Velazquez secured admission to the royal service with a salary of twenty ducats per month, besides medical attendance, lodgings, and payment for the pictures he might paint. The portrait was exhibited on the steps of San Felipe, and was received with enthusiasm, being vaunted by poets, among them Pacheco. It has unfortunately disappeared, having probably perished in one of the numerous fires which occurred in the royal palaces. The Prado, however, has two portraits (Nos. 1070 and 1071) which are most probably studies for this picture. In them the harshness of the Seville period has disappeared and the tones are more delicate. The modelling is firm, recalling that of Antonio Moro, the Dutch portrait-painter of Philip II., who exercised a considerable influence on the Spanish school. In the same year the prince of Wales (afterwards Charles I.) arrived at the court of Spain. We are told that he sat to Velazquez, but the picture has disappeared. It was during this period also that he painted the hunting-scenes of which examples are to be found in the collections of Sir Richard Wallace, Lord Clarendon, and others, and which served him in the production of the great Boar Hunt of the London National Gallery, painted, however, in the later years of his life,—a magnificent work in spite of some restorations. It was then too that he painted the groups of Court Gallants in their gay costumes, accompanied, as in the Boar Hunt, by their servants and dogs. The splendid Meeting of Artists (as it is absurdly named) in the Louvre was doubtless executed at a later time from studies taken in these early years, for it displays all the qualities of his finer work, space and air being thrown round the figures, which are touched with great mastery and ease.

In 1628 Rubens visited Madrid on a diplomatic mission for nine months, and Velazquez was appointed by the king to be his guide among the art treasures of Spain. Rubens was then at the height of his fame, and had undertaken as a commission from Olivares the large pictures which now adorn the great hall in Grosvenor House (London). These months might have been a new turning-point in the career of a weaker man than Velazquez, for Rubens added to his brilliant style as a painter the manner of a fascinating courtier. Rubens had a high opinion of the talent of Velazquez, as is attested by Fuensalida, but he effected no change in the style of the strong Spaniard. He impressed him, however, with the desire to see Italy and the works of her mighty painters. In 1627 the king had given for competition among the painters of Spain the subject of the Expulsion of the Moors. Velazquez bore off the palm; but his picture was destroyed in a fire at the palace in 1734. Palomino, however, describes it. Philip III. points with his baton to a crowd of men and women driven off under charge of soldiers, while Spain, a majestic female, sits looking calmly on. The triumph of Velazquez was rewarded by his being appointed gentleman usher. To this was shortly afterwards added a daily allowance of twelve reals, the same amount as was allowed to the court barbers, and ninety ducats a year for dress, which was also paid to the dwarfs, buffoons, and players about the king’s person—truly a curious estimate of talent at the court of Spain. As an extra payment he received (though it was not paid for five years) one hundred ducats for the picture of Bacchus, painted in 1629 (No. 485 of the Madrid gallery). The spirit and aim of this work are better understood from its Spanish name, Los Borrachos or Los Bebedores (the Topers), who are paying mock homage to a half-naked ivy-crowned young man seated on a wine barrel. It is like a story by Cervantes, and is brimful of jovial humour. One can easily see in this picture of national manners how Velazquez had reaped the benefit of his close study of peasant life. The painting is firm and solid, and the light and shade are more deftly handled than in former works. Altogether, this production may be taken as the most advanced example of the first style of Velazquez. It is usual to divide his artistic career by his two visits to Italy, his second style following the first visit and his third the second. Roughly speaking, this somewhat arbitrary division may be accepted, though it will not always apply, for, as is usual in the case of many great painters, his styles at times overlap each other. Velazquez rarely signed his pictures, and the royal archives only give the dates of his more important works. Internal evidence and history, as regards his portraits, supply to a certain extent the rest.

In 1629 Philip gave Velazquez permission to carry out his desire of visiting Italy, without loss of salary, making him besides a present of 400 ducats, to which Olivares added 200. He sailed from Barcelona in August in the company of the marquis De Spinola, the conqueror of Breda, then on his way to take command of the Spanish troops at Milan. It was during this voyage that Velazquez must have heard the details of the surrender of Breda from the lips of the victor, and he must have sketched his fine head, known to us also by the portrait by Van Dyck. But the great picture was not painted till many years later, for Spinola had fallen into disfavour at court. In Venice Velazquez made copies of the Crucifixion and the Last Supper of Tintoretto, which he sent to the king, and in Rome he copied Michelangelo and Raphael, lodging in the Villa Medici till fever compelled him to remove into the city. Here he painted the Forge of Vulcan (No. 1059 of the Madrid gallery), in which Apollo narrates to the astonished Vulcan, a village blacksmith, the news of the infidelity of Venus, while four Cyclops listen to the scandal. The mythological treatment is similar to that of the Bacchus: it is realistic and Spanish to the last degree, giving a picture of the interior of an Andalusian smithy, with Apollo thrown in to make the story tell. The conception is commonplace, yet the impression it produces is undoubted from the vividness of the representation and the power of expression. The modelling of the half-naked figures is excellent. Altogether this picture is much superior to the other work painted at the same time, Joseph’s Coat, which now hangs in the Escorial. This work has been much praised—overpraised in the opinion of the present writer—and this opinion is shared by Don Federico de Madrazo, the director of the Madrid museum, who looks on it as one of the weakest of the productions of Velazquez. Both these works are evidently painted from the same models. In looking at these two pictures what strikes one especially is that they betray no trace of the influence of the Italians. Velazquez remained true to himself. At Rome he also painted the two beautiful landscapes of the Gardens of the Medici, now in the Madrid museum, full of sparkle and charm. Landscape as a form of art never had attraction for the Spaniards; but Velazquez here, and in the silvery landscapes painted some years later at Aranjuez, shows how great a master he was in this branch of art. After a visit to Naples in 1631, where he worked with his countryman Ribera, and painted a charming portrait of the infanta Maria, sister of Philip, he returned early in the year to Madrid.

He then painted the first of many portraits of the young prince Don Baltasar Carlos, the heir to the throne, dignified and lordly even in his childhood, caracolling in the dress of a field-marshal on his prancing steed. Sir Richard Wallace owns a fine example; but the finest in the United Kingdom is the well-known picture at Grosvenor House, a masterly example of the second manner bf Velazquez. The colour is warm and bright, the workmanship solid and fused like enamel, while light and air pervade every corner. The scene is in the riding-school of the palace, the king and queen looking on from a balcony, while Olivares is in attendance as master of the horse to the prince. Don Baltasar died in 1646 at the age of seventeen, so that judging by his age this picture must have been painted about 1641, two years before the fall of Olivares. This powerful minister was the early and constant patron of the painter. His impassive saturnine face is familiar to us from the many portraits painted by Velazquez, a face which, like his royal master’s, seems never to have known a smile, and in which are written pride and disdain. Two must be named of surpassing excellence,—the full length belonging to Mr. Holford (exhibited at Burlington House in 1887), stately and dignified, in which he wears the green cross of Alcantara and holds a wand, the badge of his office as master of the horse; the other the great equestrian portrait of the Madrid gallery (No. 487), in which he is flatteringly represented as a field-marshal in all his pomp during an action. It is difficult to overpraise the excellence of this work, either as regards its dramatic power or its masterly execution. In these portraits Velazquez has well repaid the debt of gratitude which he. owed to his first patron, whom he stood by in his fall, thus exposing himself to the risk—and it was not a light one—of incurring the anger of the jealous Philip. The king, however, showed no sign of malice towards his favoured painter. Faithful in few things, Philip kept true to Velazquez, whom he visited daily in his studio in the palace, and to whom he stood in many attitudes and costumes, as a huntsman with his dogs, as a warrior in command of his troops, and even on his knees at prayer, wearing ever the same dull uninterested look. His pale face and lack-lustre eye, his fair flowing hair and moustaches curled up to his eyes, and his heavy projecting Austrian lip are known in many a portrait and nowhere more supremely than in the wonderful canvas of the London National Gallery (No. 745), where he seems to live and breathe. Few portraits in the whole range of art will compare with this work, in which the consummate handling of Velazquez is seen at its best, for it is in his late and most perfect manner. From one of the equestrian portraits of the king, painted in 1638, the sculptor Montanas modelled a statue which was cast in bronze by the Florentine sculptor Tacca, and which now stands in the Plaza del Oriente at Madrid, “a solid Velazquez,” as it has been well named by Ford. This portrait exists no more; but there is no lack of others, for Velazquez was in constant and close attendance on Philip, accompanying him...