In 1891, Mariano de Cavia, the most famous Spanish journalist of his time, published an article in the newspaper El Liberal chronicling a terrible event: A fire in the early hours of the morning had completely devoured the Prado Museum in Madrid. The article spared no detail, describing how the fire burned “on all four sides” and how several citizens were injured while trying to save the remains of works by Velázquez, Raphael, Rubens, Titian, and Goya. The chilling news spread throughout Madrid within hours, causing a huge sensation. But it was a lie. All the author wanted was to publish an experimental article that would draw the government’s attention to the museum’s poor maintenance and the risk of a major fire after two small fires had occurred in the preceding months — and he succeeded. The government remodeled the museum.
I just experienced my own “Prado Museum fire” — something experimental, and similarly illusory — and it has left me thoughtful. A month ago, I received a message from a friend, a Spanish musician. He sent me a Spotify link to a young artist who had just released her first album. He told me he was her producer. The music sounded relaxing, and the girl’s voice was perfect — whispering, full of character, delicate. The album was the perfect accompaniment to a bath or a glass of wine at home in dim light on a rainy afternoon. The girl happened to be very beautiful.
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