Of course lead has a half-life of only 20–30 years, so there is no scientific proof which remains in the bone of the skull for scientists to measure. And permission would have to be sought from the Spanish authorities for further tests to be carried out on Goya’s body. But the symptoms from which he suffered indicatethat Goya had been slowly and summarily poisoned.
The greatest painter Spain had ever produced was being murdered. And he knew it.
‘Jesus!’ Ben whispered, glancing over at the sleeping Abi.
She was breathing evenly, her hands resting on the blanket which covered her.
Ben thought about what he had just read. Francisco Goya had been poisoned. Someone had set out to kill one of the most famous artists who had ever lived. He could imagine the furore Leon’s theory would cause when it was published, the consternation which would follow the final, diabolical solution of the Black Paintings.
Breathing in deeply, Ben turned back to his brother’s writings.
But then we have to ask, who poisoned Goya? And why?
Goya was a patriot who loved his country, but he was also reckless. I believe that this great artist exiled himself at the Quinta del Sordo when the degenerate Ferdinand VII return to the throne. The King who hated Liberals – of which Goya was one. The King who suspected that Goya had colluded with the French when Napoleon was in power. The King who had tortured and exiled Goya’s friends and peers. Ferdinand – who suspected Goya of funding the Liberals in their attempt to form an alternative Government. Ferdinand, the King who lost the throne, and thenregained it. And with it, absolute and revengeful power.
Knowing he was under threat, Goya had been in terror of his life.
He wrote his fear in words:
For being a liberal, it’s better to die.
He was no longer young, no longer strong, and he was at the mercy of a tyrant bent on revenge.
Ferdinand VII knew that he could not go directly after Goya. The painter was too famous to kill outright. So the artist was killed drip by drip, poisoned steadily. I imagine that the court, with the help of the Inquisition, set Leocardia to kill the old man. They probably pressurised her into the act, using her child as leverage. She had no choice – murder her lover or sacrifice her daughter. So she set about her task, appearing to look after Goya while she was, in fact, slowly poisoning him. Leocardia was his killer-in-waiting.
Look back at the picture of The Fates – the Daughters of the Night. I believe that Leocardia was the goddess who was hired to cut Goya’s tie to the world. To sever his lifeline.
If you doubt this theory, more evidence is in Goya’s will. After all her years of apparent devotion, Leocardia was left nothing. That would suggest that Goya suspected her, and I believe he did. I also believe that for a time he was too ill and too old to fight for his survival. And so, in an act of creative genius, the dying Goya left the evidence on the walls of the Quinta del Sordo.
He could not write down the names of his persecutors, or their methods – such evidence would have been destroyed immediately. But under the cloak of madness, Goya could leave a trail of oblique images to tell his story.
Look to the paintings – The Witchy Brew, the last work. The feeding of the poison, the figure of death on the left. Goya spells it out for us. It cries out from the wall. It is there for anyone to see. This was no madman, driven by hallucinations and misogyny. This was a man who was dying, knowing that he was being killed. This is not the work of insanity. This was the only way open for Goya to record what was being done to him.
Perhaps he thought he would never leave the Quinta del Sordo and used its walls to depict the images of his tormenters, the poison in the glass, the murderess leaning on his tomb. With the face of Leocardia. How inspired – as his body was slowly poisoned – to leave the truth among the camouflage of insanity! To hide reality among complete and anarchic madness.
Yes, the Black Paintings are dark. They were painted out of darkness, under the threat of death. No works in history were created out of such terror.
I know people will doubt this theory. Of course. I know they will insist that Goya was ill or mad. That there is not – nor was there ever – any cohesive meaning to these images. But I ask you to do him the honour of thinking again. If there is any doubt I beg you to look at the figure of Saturn, the largest and most famous picture in the series of the Black Paintings. The most urgent, most disturbing and most direct. In fact, the very painting which faced anyone entering the Quinta del Sordo. The painting which Goya used to depict his own murder. Saturn.
For the word SATURNISM means lead poisoning …
‘Dear God!’ Ben said, staring at the picture then turning back to his brother’s words.
Despite everything Goya was a resilient man, mentally and physically. He realised what was happening, and although frail, fought to live. The Quinta del Sordo was not to become his tomb. Rallying what strength remained, Goya applied to visit France for the good of his health.
He wrote:
Six years ago my health broke down completely.
My hearing in particular has suffered and I have grown so deaf that without sign language I cannot understand what people are saying …
The King could not refuse. Goya had outsmarted his persecutors. And so, people believed, it was for the good of Goya’s health that he left the Quinta del Sordo for Bordeaux. Whereas in reality, he had tricked them into granting his escape.
In France he recovered. Lived a few years more and never returned to the theme of the Black Paintings. Why would he? Goya had left his testimony on the walls of his old home: the history and destruction of Spain, the tyrant Dog of Spain and Saturn, the poison which was meant to kill him …
No one in the history of art has ever recorded their own murder. In this, as in so much, Francisco Goya was extraordinary: as courageous as the bulls he had painted so often; as resilient as the Spanish people, as hard and formidable as the dry earth of Madrid. This is his story, and by this should history judge him.
Taking in a deep breath, Ben leaned back in his seat, glancing over at Abigail again. She was still sleeping, a little nervous colour in her cheeks, her wound hidden under a clean bandage. Her beauty, all the more toxic for its imperfection, pinched at his heart.
And then, slowly and reluctantly, he turned back to the last entries Leon had made.
In recording Goya’s death I realise that I am recording my own. There could only be one outcome.
And then a little scrawled after-note.
Ben, See to it that this is read.
See Goya is vindicated.
I am done.
You were the best of brothers.
Leon
I am done … I am done …
And then Ben knew. He might have denied it repeatedly, insisted that it wasn’t true, but in the end he had to accept that Leon had killed himself. And then he knew what had happened in that hotel bathroom in Madrid. Knew that all the running, all the fear, the struggle to handle his instability had come to a close. Twice before, Leon had tried to flee a life that was too much for him. Twice before, Ben had saved him.
That night, alone and afraid, Leon Golding had tried for the third time. And succeeded.
75
One year later, Madrid