THE canvas was painted by Bartolome Esteban Murillo in 1675, in Sevilla. Today it hangs in the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC. 

Its title is Women at the Window (Mujeres en la Ventana), and it tells us a great deal about Spanish society and customs.

We can’t see much of the house’s interior, but it’s clearly the home of a wealthy family. Two young women lean out, gazing down into the street below.

The charm of the painting lies in the flirtatious attitude of the girls – they’re obviously enjoying the attention of some young man (or men), yet they’re also aware that what they’re doing is a little ‘naughty’. Murillo captures the ambiguous fun of youth and courtship – the smiles and the self-consciousness – without a hint of vulgarity.

We don’t know much about Murillo, and what we do know comes mainly from parish records. Born in 1617 in Sevilla, he died in his native city in 1682. He was a sevillano de pura cepa – a true Sevillian through and through.

He married a local girl and they had 12 children, though only three survived into adulthood. Bartolome was essentially a jobbing artist. In those days, painting portraits and landscapes wasn’t considered particularly ‘arty’ – it was simply work. Most of his commissions came from churches, who hired him to depict saints and miracles (which suited him perfectly, since the Church had the money).

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Murillo was also a sincere Christian. He belonged to two lay brotherhoods – a bit like masonic lodges – and devoted much of his free time to distributing food to the poor.

This painting seems to be a jeu d’esprit – a work he undertook for his own pleasure. Apart from its psychological insight, it also offers a fascinating glimpse into the role of women in Spanish society.

Until very recently, Spanish women were not supposed to leave the house. The ground floor was considered risky, as a woman might be tempted to open the front door and look into the street. However, since kitchens were always on the ground floor, women couldn’t be banned from going there entirely.

It was acceptable for a woman (or a girl who had reached puberty) to take the air at an upstairs window or sit on a balcony, but a female who stood on the house’s threshold was branded a  ‘hussy’ – especially if she chatted with passers-by. (These social rules were still in force as recently as the 1960s.)

Similarly, a woman who spoke to a man bare-faced – that is, without using a fan to cover her mouth – was considered a harlot. The fan wasn’t just for wafting air; its use in courtship was a vast and intricate language of its own.

Notice how, in the painting, the standing girl realises she’s doing something questionable and fashions her headdress into an improvised fan.

Murillo’s death was tragic. In his 70s, he won a commission to paint a monastery in Cadiz. There were no Health and Safety inspectors in those days, and the scaffold he used to reach the upper walls was probably less than ideal. Since he had to pay for it himself, it was likely wooden – and rickety.

In any event, he fell. It would have been kinder if he’d died outright, but he lingered for several months with terrible internal injuries. He asked to be taken back to Sevilla to die – the agony of that journey, by cart over rough dirt roads, is best not imagined.

Sevilla’s Museum of Fine Arts (Museo de Bellas Artes) is well worth a visit. Housed in a former convent and easily recognisable by the statue of The Master outside, it holds the finest collection of Murillo paintings in the world.

Address: 9 Plaza del Museo

Website: www.museosdeandalucia.es/web/museodebellasartesdesevilla
Opening hours: September to July, Tuesday to Saturday, 9am to 9pm. During August and on bank holidays, a special timetable operates.

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