But there is a fine Memling, glowing in pigment and of beautiful design, The Adoration of the Kings, a triptych, like the one at Bruges.  In the centre panel we see the kings adoring, one a black man; the two wings, or doors, respectively depict the birth of Christ (right) and the presentation in the temple (left).  There is a retablo (reredos) in four compartments, by Petrus Cristus, and two Jerome Patinirs, one, a Temptation of St. Anthony, being enjoyable.  The painter-persecuted saint sits in the foreground of a freshly painted landscape, harassed by the attentions of witches, several of them comely and clothed.  To be precise, the composition suggests a much-married man listening to the reproaches of his spouses.  Hanging in a doorway we found a Herri Met de Bles that is not marked doubtful.  It is a triptych, an Adoration, in which the three kings, the Queen of Sheba before Solomon, and Herod participate.  A brilliantly tinted work this, which once hung in the Escorial, and, mirabile dictu, attributed to Lucas van Leyden.  No need to speak of the later Dutch and Flemish school, Teniers, Ostade, Dou, Pourbus, and the minor masters.  There are Breughels and Bosches aplenty, and none too good.  But there are several Jordaens of quality, a family group, and three heads of street musicians.  We forgot to mention an attribution to Jan van Eyck, The Triumph of Religion, which is a curious affair no matter whose brain conceived it.  The attendant always points out its religious features with ill-concealed glee.  A group of ecclesiastics have confounded a group of rabbis at a fountain which is the foundation of an altar; the old fervour burns in the eyes of the gallery servitor as he shows you the discomfited Hebrew doctors of the law.  We may dismiss as harmless the Pinturicchio and other Italian attributions in these basement galleries.  There is the usual crew of Anonimos, and a lot of those fantastic painters who are nicknamed by critics without a sense of humour as “The Master of the Fiery Hencoop,” “The Master of the Eccentric Omelet,” or some such idiotic title.

Up-stairs familiar names such as Domenichino, Bassano, Cortona, Crespi, Bellino, Pietra della Vecchia, Allori, Veronese, Maratta, Guido Reni, Romano need not detain us.  The catalogue numbers of the Italian school go as high as 628.  The Titians, however, are the glory of the Prado.  The Spanish school begins at 629, ends at 1,029.  The German, Flemish, and Holland schools begin at 1,146, running to 1,852.  There are supplements to all of the foregoing.  The French school runs from 1,969 to 2,111.  But the examples in this section are not inspiring, the Watteaus excepted.  There is the usual Champagne, Coypel, Claude of Lorraine (10), Largilliere, Lebrun, Van Loo, Mignard (5); one of Le Nain—­by both brothers.  Nattier (4), Nicolas Poussin (20), Rigaud, and two delicious Watteaus; a rustic betrothal and a view of the garden of St. Cloud, the two exhaling melancholy grace and displaying subdued richness of tone.  Tiepolo has been called the last link in the chain of Venetian colourists, which began with the Bellini, followed by Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto, Palma Vecchio, Bonifazio, Veronese—­and to this list might be added the name of the Frenchman Watteau.  Chardin was also a colourist, and how many of the Poussins at this gallery might be spared to make room for one of his cool, charming paintings!