History painting came into its own in France during the period of , when it was recognized as a genre in its own right. A style that rose within the framework of academicism, it was the perfect vehicle for conveying moralizing messages through large-format works inspired by famous historical events or by ancient mythology. With the emergence and success of in the first half of the nineteenth century, the genre developed apace with the introduction of new nuances, such as the importance of investing a more dramatic, ideological and even revolutionary nature to episodes of a country’s past.

The genre spread throughout Europe, where it was well received. In Spain it was particularly popular in the mid-1800s, favoured by the enthusiastic support of political powers and the creation of the in Madrid, which set the official guidelines and patterns for art at the time, in which history painting was invariably the category most highly valued by the jury. The exhibition, held annually in Madrid since 1856, immediately became one of the most important cultural events in Spain and an absolutely essential step for any aspiring artist.

That is the case of Manuel Picolo y López, one of the most outstanding artists from Murcia at the time, who garnered considerable fame as a result of his success in official events. This painting, which illustrates an important episode in Spanish history, was presented at the 1887 National Exhibition, and gave Picolo one of his earliest triumphs: his name was shortlisted for a third class medal, for which he was given an honorary certificate. This distinction proves that, although he did not win the medal, he was considered a worthy candidate and was highly valued by the jury.

The work depicts the end of the Battle of Villalar (1521), that marked the victory of King Charles I of Spain against the Revolt of the Comuneros, an uprising by citizens of Castile led by Juan de Padilla, Juan Bravo and Francisco Maldonado, who were later executed in the square of the town now known as Villalar de los Comuneros, in the province of Valladolid. It is worth pointing out that the uprising, which took place in the early sixteenth century, had been largely ignored in the popular imaginary until the final decades of the nineteenth century. The painting Los Comuneros (The Comuneros) by Antonio Gisbert (1834-1901), painted in 1860, anticipated the boom in depictions of this particular historical event at the National Exhibition, and was a source of inspiration for many other artists. The battle is presented as an example of the fight against tyranny and as an allegory of freedom and dignity. As a result, the comuneros movement, which up until then had been associated solely with Castile, become part of Spain’s collective history and its visual imaginary.

The interpretations of this episode generally tended to view the losers of the battle as the heroes and central characters of the scene, who are placed in the middle of the composition, represented as prisoners surrounded by the royalist troops. Thanks to the chronicle published on 30 July 1887 in La Ilustración Española y Americana—which includes a description and print of the work as part of its coverage of the National Exhibition—we know that the man we see in front of the others is Juan Bravo who, conscious of having accomplished a great duty, looks the soldiers proudly in the eye; behind him stands Juan de Padilla, his forehead bandaged, sombre and crestfallen, with the bitterness of defeat visible on his face; and behind him, Francisco Maldonado, resigned and concerned.

Formally speaking, the work boasts all the characteristic features of nineteenth-century history painting, as decreed by academicism: precise drawing, technical mastery, a careful study of perspective and large format. In turn, the dramatic and theatrical narrative of the event indicates the influence of the romantic spirit, removing it from Naturalism. The artist goes beyond the depiction of a mere example of virtue and endows the characters with expressive features to individualize their faces and show their psychological state of mind, thus overcoming ’s usual lack of personalization. Worth underscoring is the prevailing sense of sadness as well as the melancholic tone of a painting which, far from eulogizing the victory of the royal troops, shows Picolo’s empathy with the victims, praising the courage they showed in their fight for freedom.