Eduardo Zamacois y Zabala

Eduardo Zamacois y Zabala
Bilbao, España
(1842 – 1871)

Born in Bilbao, Spain, Zamacois studied painting at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of San Fernando in Madrid starting in 1859. A year later, he studied in Paris with Jean-Louis-Ernest Meissonier. He died at the young age of 29 in Madrid.

The Career and Works of Spanish Artist Eduardo Zamacois

Madrid is a charming city. Its men and women stroll, laugh, and love more than in any other city in the world. On the warm and gentle winter nights, theaters are filled with spectators. The favorite actors are those who provoke laughter - the weary man wants to laugh. Among them is a young, slender, and short man, a former soldier, brother of a great painter and a famous singer. He has a knack for imitation: he reproduces the voices, gestures, and peculiarities of high society. If we don't take into account this ability for imitation, and despite his spontaneous naturalness, high-pitched voice, and striking eyes, one could say he is a very poor actor. But when you hear him parody the tones of known tragedians and comedians, or see him mimic the melancholic air of contemporary poets, joy bursts forth, and with loud applause, his extraordinary skill is recognized. Ridicule, like the sublime and the beautiful, has its peaks. Mocking imitation and the exaggerated portrayal of human eccentricities, although repugnant to superior minds, are useful and healthy. These are critiques that are not blinded by jealousy or hatred. This young actor, Zamacois, is an elephant in a china shop when he adorns his costume on stage to impersonate anyone. His wit is satire. He is a living caricature, without the superiority that characterized his brother, the painter. He has the same talent for parody and equal joy, but not the same depth. Where does his gift for imitation come from? He was a student at a military college - a nest of graceless men. He led a wandering life, in which talent, like an abandoned plant, withers and dies. This has undoubtedly influenced him since the young man is a spontaneous and keen observer. But probably his genius comes from the same source as that of his biting and sensitive brother, who left precise and vibrant paintings on canvas, more successful in reconstructing the past to serve the future than the laborious drawings of painters who seek isolated events in dead ages.
The ability to capture an era in a painting or on a few sheets of paper is not given to everyone. The genius of man is an tireless father; his children resemble him only in strength: they live in their originality. Variety pleases: tired eyes, accustomed to uniformity in color, tone, and form, light up with admiration at a new shade of sadness or joy; it just needs to be new. Young Englishmen with light beards go mad with happiness when dressed like bandits, eating Malaga grapes with those who want to be like them. It's something authentic and new to them. The same happens with Spanish painting, and this is the secret of its marvelous and enduring success in the artistic world. It is nothing more than a reflection of the sky in which it is created, but with the firmness of a gothic hand, it empties all the soul that shines in radiant faces and the light that warms it.
Now, let's look at two of the exceptional qualities of Eduardo Zamacois. When looking at the power of his satire, one might say he used a whip instead of a brush. Ask monks, courtiers, and kings; they would all say the same. His only means were the gothic hand and the comforting light of the spirit. He was a philosophical painter. There are fashionable women and courageous women who defy fashion. There are slaves who submit to the yoke and others who break it. The man who pleases the fickle tyrant of fashion without debasing himself must be happy. A superior man is one who knows how to use that power of pleasing and uses it to express solid and lasting thoughts. Zamacois rejected the unworthy like the merchants were expelled from the temple. He saw the wretched monks who did not understand the God of their sermons, who thrived on the fear of those who did not know how to die, who turned the souls of the people into stones in their churches, who sold indulgences for the sins they themselves caused and committed, and he raised the whip. He saw the fortunate men whose greatness was measured by the enemies killed in war and by the number of afflicted women they sent to the monarchs' harem - bedecked parasites who received sustenance from those they devoured; and these were also punished. Monks, nobles, and kings felt the whip. The paintings were solid, the drawing was steel, the color was fire; the strength of Cervantes, the satire of Molière, and the consistency of Meissonier. They are small paintings, but larger than many large paintings - vivid, brilliant, and fiery. They are eternalized ideas, rich in light, masterful in technique. They reveal the individuality of a true child of genius. They are the embodiment of grace, rest, fidelity, and strength.
He who exaggerates loses what he exaggerates in others. To be useful, one must be precise. To be strong, one must commit to the truth. In the beginning, one may lose some battles, but the decisive one must be won. To be invincible, one must become impregnable; to be a master, one must first master oneself, even in the heat of righteous anger. Zamacois was more prudent with color than many great writers with their pens. Caricature that degrades also diminishes the caricaturist; Zamacois never stooped to it. He loved beauty too much to paint ugliness. He knew that exaggerating the truth weakens it. However small, injustice is a powerful weapon in the hands of those who endure it.
Zamacois was serious and satirical. He attracted both the frivolous and the serious: he seduced even those he satirized; he was admirable through the clear reflection of his mockery and formidable through the bleeding wounds he exposed. His satire was experimental, suitable for an age in which conclusions are drawn from facts. It was also logical satire, in which, as in all good comedy, the moral lesson comes from the work itself without the painful effort that depresses the author's energy.
Studying his paintings reveals the penetrating vision of Rabelais and the healthy laughter of the creator of Sancho Panza. The poor and the ignorant never suffered at his hand; their problems were resolved by directing our attention to silk dresses and curly wigs. With method, persistence, and courage, he revealed the pernicious existence of courts and convents; but without hatred, without unrestrained imagination, and without searching for pitiful extremes. He exposed the sores of laziness, infamy, hypocrisy, fear, and falsehood. However true they may have been, he never sought isolated cases or accidental faults. He painted smiling nobles in their palaces; priests soliciting charity while happily eating; priests interrupting the intimacy of newlyweds to procure a cup of good chocolate, frolicking in churches, or rejoicing at the monastery gate. His paintings provoked disdain for clergy and courtiers; and it was they, not the painter, who were responsible. He painted them as they were: haughty, adorned in silk; robust and sensual, dressed in fine fabrics.
El artista que ha de sobrevivir en sus cuadros dibuja la verdad. El que se contenta con la mera copia y ornamentación de Lo perecedero está destinado a perecer. Hay que mostrar a los hombres que se les entiende para ganar su admiración. Zamacois pintó los defectos permanentes con un estilo brillante: ése fue el secreto de su éxito; muchos otros contribuían al encanto de una idea germinal. Corregía sin lastimar porque basaba la critica en una época pasada. Esto daba a su sátira hermosa fuerza. Con justicia Llamamos a algunos hombres grandes pintores; con respeto decimos de Zamacois. “He aquí un pensador”. El dominio, de si mismo era su energía – hasta la indignación generosa puede llevarnos muy lejos. Quizás una superioridad de la pintura sobre las letras es que aquélla obliga a la reflexión, al estudio, al mejoramiento y a los cambios. La pluma tiene alas y anda demasiado aprisa; el pincel pesa y no vuela tan ligero. Al igual que la pintura, escribir es un arte. Como el actor, un escritor escoge en silencio la forma más apropiada para expresar Lo que concibe al calor del afecto o de la indignación. Construye su obra como el carpintero la casa. ¡Y qué gran constructor era este español! Nació en un país donde los hombres son honrados y las mujeres hermosas, pero donde los hombres y las mujeres creen defender sus derechos naturales al morir por don Carlos, el monarca de los frailes. Una aversión viviente y honorable ha germinado en el alma generosa de los gentiles, orgullosos e ingenuos jóvenes de Vizcaya. Los curas encienden y vuelven a encender la antorcha de la guerra civil, Y la juventud cae como el maíz bajo la hoz en tiempo de cosecha. Los vizcaínos no pueden querer a esos curas.
The artist who is to survive in his paintings draws the truth. He who is content with mere copying and ornamentation of the ephemeral is destined to perish. It is necessary to show men that they are understood to win their admiration. Zamacois painted permanent flaws with brilliant style; that was the secret of his success; many others contributed to the charm of an embryonic idea. He corrected without hurting because he based criticism on a bygone era. This gave his satire beautiful strength. Justly, we call some men great painters; with respect, we say of Zamacois, "Here is a thinker." Self-mastery was his strength - even generous indignation can take us very far. Perhaps the superiority of painting over writing is that it compels reflection, study, improvement, and change. The pen has wings and moves too swiftly; the brush is heavy and does not fly as lightly. Like painting, writing is an art. Like an actor, a writer silently chooses the most appropriate form to express what he conceives in the heat of affection or indignation. He constructs his work as a carpenter builds a house. And what a great builder this Spaniard was! He was born in a land where men are honorable and women beautiful, but where men and women believe they defend their natural rights by dying for Don Carlos, the monarch of the friars. A living and honorable aversion has germinated in the generous souls of the proud and naive young people of Vizcaya. The priests ignite and reignite the torch of civil war, and youth falls like corn under the sickle at harvest time. The people of Vizcaya cannot love those priests.
A great test of talent is knowing how to escape the influence of great talents. Knowing how to rebel is a science. Zamacois showed this sign of genius. With a glance at his brilliantly finished paintings, painted with the same stroke in all their corners, one can say, "Here is the disciple of the painter of 1807." Yet, in his drawings with Meissonier's technique, one does not see Meissonier. The style is there, but his art has grown. In the disciple, we greet a great master.
Restfulness always dominates in Zamacois; although, unlike Fortuny, he did not hate noise. Educated in Paris, he learned to live with noise and listened to it with pleasure. When he was invited to see the great works of nature, he turned with a smile to study the nature of man. For him, nature was human. He could have said, "I follow the technique of my master, Meissonier, and my love of observation; in my palette, I carry the solidity, serenity, and color of my old land of Vizcaya. My mountains are moral heights, my rivers and seas are the passions of men, and my dream is to exterminate the infamous, punish the flatterer, improve humanity by holding up a faithful mirror before its eyes - one that reflects not only the body but also its accusing, bare, sick, and cold soul. Away with painters of the beautiful! You go copy clouds! I am a painter of the serious: I will paint men."
To know his models, he lived with them. He took his monks from monasteries, his courtiers from courts. There are still men who consider it an honor to kneel before a yawning sovereign and serve as his servant. However sharp the satire, it did not anger anyone. The French applauded his portly Spanish friars, but he did not displease the Spaniards because he ridiculed men of past centuries. This painter was shrewd. As they were cheerful, his paintings had enthusiastic buyers - he made them laugh and soon forgave him. He lived in an age of details, and his paintings were filled with them. The power to please was secure in his works. In the next century, artists will better illustrate what we have examined slowly in our days.
Zamacois had a strong character, as his talents demonstrated. He expressed grand ideas with brilliance, solidity, and prudence. He was already known and admired when one of his works attracted universal attention at the 1867 Paris Exhibition. This painting surpassed "El favorito, del rey" presented the following year and "El regreso al monasterio," which amused many in 1869. Everyone noticed that his painting was meticulous, well-conceived, and clear. Once he found his subject, he went straight to it. He didn't create isolated pages; each one was part of a vast, luminous, and profound book. The discovery of a subject is a sign of a strong character. "Los bufones del siglo XVI" is a marvelous painting. It depicts the antechamber of King Henry III. The painter's critical instinct is evident in the physical awkwardness of these intelligent men. Almost everyone has seen this work, and those who have seen it will not forget it. The faces speak. The eyes moisten before this painting where even the colors smile. The poor are there, full of strength, unfortunate and debased. The somewhat crazy courtiers gather in a corridor of the Royal Palace. It's a dark place, though not gloomy, sober in decorations so as not to distract from the event happening there. While they wait to be called by their cruel and vile masters, the courtiers pretend to have fun. One of them, whose apparent joy is portrayed so vividly that it involuntarily forces us to tip our hats, is Zamacois himself, with his prominent nose and enormous mouth. His eager eyes simulate having seen it all already. Despite his affected disdain for his surroundings, he gives the impression of still enjoying something. Another who appears as a statesman is squatting. It's Worms, a painter who, while staying true to the originality of the country that inspired him, brought French grace to Spanish themes. He exhibited "El romance de moda," depicting a delightful page from the Directory, alongside "El favorito del rey." What a face! The forehead is round as a hemisphere, the expression one of resigned despair, of a night with no end, of slow, constant, and inconsolable sorrow of a hunchback - Victor Hugo's heart beats in the deformed back of Quasimodo. There's yet another face; his mocking spirit gives extraordinary strength to his common features. It's the portrait of Raimundo Madrazo, the author of "La salida del baile." His black beard highlights a mouth full of cruel but just irony; his upturned nose sniffs out the shameful secrets of his enemies; his eyes sparkle like diamonds. Look at the jester in questionable disguise. The clothes accentuate the hatred in his features. How imposing is the suffering of that jester portrayed by Worms, and what desires for revenge and relentless hatred burn in that face for which Madrazo served as a model! They are two magnificent dwarves; we see them to never forget them.
There is a certain stiffness in this painting, and something excessive in the costumes. The green does not achieve a happy fusion with the yellow. Sometimes, Spanish fire surpasses French precision. Impatience of genius and excess of strength are noble faults - too much masculinity enhances the beauty of honorable youth. Zamacois was not overwhelmed by the indiscriminate use of his faculties; some great souls, however, burn in fireworks.
Let's look at "El favorito del rey." If we could lay out the body of a monarchy, in the light of the courts of the Regency, Philip IV, and Charles II, like the corpse of an unknown person exhibited in the morgue, completely naked, that body would show the wounds bleeding in this painting of the favorite. A thick and sturdy jester, followed by a wretched dog, climbs the palace steps of his master. It's the lesson taught by a monarchy painted without mercy. In tone, it recalls Gérome's "La eminencia gris." It's a valuable painting but lacks harmony. Zamacois was not yet the master of color he would become - it gave the impression of excessive repainting of the canvas. The exaggerated polish of a work often makes it appear unfinished. Here the theme is simple but eternal: courtiers and high dignitaries, in jest or fear, greet the king's jester; others mockingly greet the dog. The jester is a living denunciation proclaiming the guilt of indolent and cowardly nobles. What a painter he was who could accurately and extraordinarily clearly capture in so many faces such variety and life, and such surprising nuances of vice!
In the Salon of 1869, "El buen pastor" was next to "El regreso al monasterio." Like the rose, that painting has thorns next to its soft petals. A lean and stern priest, with thorn-like shapes, symbolizes brambles and severe penances; and the other, who smiles, gentle and fragrant, symbolizes the soft petal of a flower. To please women, the Lord must be dressed in rosy colors. Certainly, a procession of the faithful follows the priest with a smile, while an air of desolation surrounds the severe clergyman. The painting is good not because it's a parody of that valuable and well-known one by Heilbuth but because it's a plastic solution, and of the best humor, to a human problem. Everything, the scope of this method is shown in "El regreso al monasterio." A monk wrestles with his donkey at the abbey's gate while others laugh at him. It makes you laugh; you can't help it. In the struggle between the beast and the friar, the provisions have fallen to the ground. Here, he gives another profitable lesson: burdened with worries, men seek refuge in a monastery, but the animal resists entering. The donkey has a charming head with such a clear profile that many men would envy. The lay brother pulls the reins with all his strength while his amused companions try to unload the patient animal. Everyone who sees this painting wonders if the religious is clumsier than the donkey itself. The painting is beautifully executed with pleasing colors. It's also a naive yet sharp mockery. Even the friars laugh when they contemplate it - everyone knows a lay brother who reminds them of the donkey's brother.
The tireless painter suffered from tuberculosis. He lost color and weight but remained kind. He was a good friend: he introduced Fortuny to Goupil, paving the way for his success. I worked in Fortuny's studio when that great painter was in Paris. Zamacois began to falter while preparing his best work, "La educación de un príncipe." Despite the cheerful theme, it's an austere painting. Although everything in it smiles, it's a painting full of tears. In a cloud of vivid colors, hiding a storm, the artist achieved the best expression of his original talent - his ability to synthesize. Look at the scene: it combines the history of Europe with the history of humanity. Look at it again: it's the triumph of force flattered by man. It says that to rule is to kill. A little prince lies on a rich carpet and plays at war. They teach a child the art of crime. His toys - the men and the cannons - are terrible. The august infant is so skilled that with one shot, he takes down several soldiers. Granted, they're made of wood, but the men who kill and die for the pleasure and vanity of their masters are also wooden men. And how the court laughs, and how happy he seems to be! What a great king he must become! What an excellent assassin the boy will be! If some insolent subject dares to raise his head, he will crush him like his wooden soldiers. There's nothing to fear: under his command, civil, ecclesiastical, and military dignitaries will continue to possess the wealth squeezed from the sweat of the people. Look at the multitude of flatterers in that corner! The child dominates the painting, but he's not its master. Oh no! The true master is the painter, who in times of admiration for trivial things turned his noble art into a whip for the hands of justice, an accusation against criminal kings, a gentle voice for the complaints of man, and a shining vehicle for thought. The taste of the era may grant him little importance because it sometimes forces the artist to keep his best works in the dark, but it is an admirable painting.
Then came the war, the cruel war of France in which Henri Regnault, the generous painter of Prim, died. Zamacois loved his homeland and returned to Spain. The disease consuming his life quickly moved his brushes. It was a good year for Spanish painters. The young King Amadeo commissioned national-themed paintings: "La entrada del rey en Cartagena" to Gisbert, "La entrada en Madrid" to Rosales, "El juramento en la Corte" to Casado, "Una recepción de gala en el Palacio Real" to Paimaroli, and "El Salón de los Embajadores" to Eduardo Zamacois, who died in January 1871.
With time, the well-deserved tribute will be paid to this excellent painter. He was a great critic; he aimed high and hit the mark. Seeing the wounds of the human heart, he tried to heal them. He was a true son of art, and he defended his true mother: freedom.

José Martí
(The Sun, XLIX, 60 [New York, October 30 1881], p. 3, col. 1-3.)