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Home , Jean Chalgrin, John Nash (architect), Louis Janmot, The Apotheosis of Homer, The Rescue (painting), The Voyage of Life

ART HISTORY Journey Through a Thousand Years

“O Dread and Silent Mount!” Week Ten:

Into the World of Mystery – “The Sleep of Reason” – “Monk by the Sea” – John Nash, The Pavilion - Francois Rude’s “La Marseillaise” and the “Arc of Triumph” – A Beginner’s Guide to the Pre-Raphaelites – “Apotheosis of ” – “Rain, Steam & Speed”

Francesco Hayez, Crusaders Thirsting near Jerusalem

Brett & Kate McKay: “Into the World of Mystery” From “The Basics of Art – The Romantic Period”

Time Period: 1800-1860 Background: The Industrial Revolution got into swing in the latter part of the 18th century, starting in England and spreading to France and America. This revolution brought with it a new market economy, based on new technology—machine tools and machine power instead of human tools and animal power. Villages exploded into urban centers and people moved to them from farms and the countryside to take jobs in newly opened factories. With little to no regulations in place, these jobs could be brutal. Men, women, and children worked 14 hour shifts; where they had once told time by the sun, now they could go weeks without seeing the light of day. Rapid growth produced cities that were dirty and crowded, the working poor often lived in squalor, and smokestacks darkened the air with soot. While industrialization made consumer goods cheaper and increased the production of food, there were those who looked back on the past longingly, seeing it as a romantic period before people were commodified and nature blighted and destroyed. At the same time, there was a growing reaction against the philosophy of the Enlightenment, which emphasized science, empirical evidence, and rational thought above all. Romantics challenged the idea that reason was the one path to truth, judging it inadequate in understanding the great mysteries of life. These mysteries could be uncovered with emotion, imagination, and intuition. Nature was especially celebrated as a classroom for self-discovery and spiritual learning, the place in which mysteries could be revealed to the mind of man. Romantics emphasized a life filled with deep feeling, spirituality, and free expression, seeing such virtues as a bulwark against the dehumanizing effects of industrialization. They also extolled the value of human beings, which they believed to have infinite, godlike potential. Artists of the Romantic Period tried to capture these ideals in their work. They rejected the rationalism and rules-driven orderliness that characterized the Neoclassical style of the Enlightenment. Like Baroque artists, Romantic artists hoped to inspire an emotional response in those who viewed their art; but instead of seeking to inspire faith as their predecessors had, most sought to evoke a nostalgic yearning for rural, pastoral life, the stirrings of life’s mysteries, and a sense of the power and grandeur of nature. Art of this period also depicted the romantic ideal of nationalism, but for reasons of length, we will focus on landscapes in this post. Examples of Romantic Art:

“The Chancel and Crossing of Tintern Abbey, Looking Towards the East Window,” by JMW Turner, 1794. Tintern Abbey was a monastery founded in 1131 and rebuilt in the 13th century. Abandoned in 1536, it was left to decay for two centuries. Artist Joseph Mallord William Turner paid two visits to the site, and it inspired him to paint this piece which juxtaposes the smallness of man alongside and wildness of nature, the unstoppable power of which has reclaimed this man-made edifice. The haunting abbey was a popular muse for many Romantics; it also inspired ’s famous poem “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey.”

“Fishermen at Sea,” by JMW Turner, 1794. Turner was fascinated by the mood of nature, her ever changing effects. He was always sketching the clouds, the sky, and his natural surroundings. Turner was particularly fascinated with the power of the ocean and said that he had once asked to be lashed to the mast of a ship in order to “experience the drama” of a mighty storm at sea. Romantics believed that God’s presence was embodied in nature and evidence of His existence. Turner saw light as a divine emanation and played with it in pictures to evoke that truth.

“Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog,” by , 1818. German artist Caspar David Friedrich was a quintessential Romantic artist, and this is a quintessential Romantic painting. It conveys both the infinite potential and possibilities of man and the awesome, mysterious grandeur of nature. The popular Romantic theme of the greatness of man contrasted with the sublimity and power of nature is on display. The man has climbed high and conquered much, only to see that there are infinite vistas still out there, shrouded in a fog that hides what lies beyond. […]

“Abbey in an Oak Forest,” by Caspar David Friedrich, 1810. Another captivating painting by Friedrich depicting the ruins of an abbey church which has become a graveyard. It captures several different Romantic elements at once. Like in Turner’s abbey piece, nature has reclaimed man’s handiwork. Friedrich loved to depict scenes in wintertime; the stark leafless trees and gray pall evoked that sense of melancholy, yearning, and mystery that Romantics so prized. The Inspired by the rugged, wild terrain of their (often adopted) nation and by the philosophy of Transcendentalism, American Romantic artists painted vivid, detailed, and sometimes idealized landscapes of the natural scenes by which they were surrounded. Painters of this style were said to be members of the so-called Hudson River School. The founder of this “school” was , who captured the first landscapes of the Hudson River Valley when he took a steamboat into the area in 1825 and journeyed into the Catskill mountains. The second generation of these landscape artists ventured out of New York state to capture the sweeping landscapes of the West. What the Hudson River School artists had in common was a desire to convey both the sublimity and majesty of nature and the energy of exploration and discovery that pulsed throughout the new nation. The awe-inspiring vistas of the frontier were seen not just as manifestations of the hand of God upon the land, and also as a source of national pride; while Europe had its old ruins and architecture in which to glory, America had its natural monuments.

“The Clove Catskills,” by Thomas Cole, 1827. Thomas Cole, an Englishman used to more muted fall colors, was awestruck by the fall foliage he took in on his trip into the Catskill Mountains of New York.

“Looking Down Yosemite Valley,” by , 1865. German-American artist Albert Bierstadt left New York to capture the rugged beauty of the American West. As with other Hudson River Valley artists, he would sketch the areas he explored, as painting on site was impractical, and then turn the sketches into paintings upon returning home. The resulting landscapes were often a combination of different features seen in various locations, and the colors and especially the lighting were played with and intensified to heighten the awe- inducing effect of the scene.

“Heart of the Andes,” , 1859. Church traveled outside the country to paint the landscapes of South America. Like many of the Hudson River School artists, Church painted this scene on a huge canvas, nearly five feet high and ten feet long. For those who had not the means to travel west or leave the country, viewing these paintings was a way to be transported to new places, and people would line up for a chance to pay admission to see them. When Heart of the Andes was unveiled, it was bordered by curtains to give the feel of looking out a window, and viewers were given opera glasses so that they might get a closer look at the painting’s details. ”Aurora Borealis,” by Frederic Edwin Church, 1865. In a time before advanced photography, Romantic paintings provided ordinary people a chance to see natural phenomena they would never have an opportunity to witness themselves.

“Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone,” Thomas Moran, 1827. American landscape painters helped inspire the movement to preserve the most beautiful parts of the country’s wilderness and to create a national system in order to do so. The sketches made by Thomas Moran when he accompanied a geological survey team into the then unknown Yellowstone area were later used to convince Congress to turn Yellowstone into a national park. Two Series by Thomas Cole To me, some of the most interesting paintings of the Romantic period are part of two series done by Thomas Cole: The Course of Empire and The Voyage of Life. In these series Cole depicts the different stages of life, both on the large scale level of civilization and the personal scale of a man’s life. The Course of Empire Painted by Cole in 1833-36, The Course of Empire depicts five phases of civilization; a city builds to grandeur and then decays. These paintings represented the Romantic fear that the advancements of modern life were encroaching on the idyllic ways of the past and would end up deteriorating the fabric of civilization.

The Savage State. Nature in its wild, untamed state. People are low-tech; a tribal man hunts with bow and arrow. The great mysteries of nature are untrammeled and swirl about. The sun is rising on the day. Look closely and you’ll see wigwams and a campfire, the seeds of a city.

The Arcadian or Pastoral State. The skies have cleared and lightened, civilization has advanced. A temple has been erected. An old philosopher-looking man writes with a stick. In the distance, a man is plowing and women are dancing. The setting is idyllic. It’s a brilliant morning, and the people live in peace, happiness, and harmony with nature.

The Consummation of Empire. Civilization has reached its peak. The population has grown and erected great buildings and built great ships. It is late in the day. Besides the water and a hint of vegetation here and there, nature has disappeared and been completely covered over.

The Destruction. The civilization crumbles. While an enemy army attacks the city, a tempest rages. The great man-made monuments fall to pieces, the edifices ransacked, the people killed.

Desolation. The sun has set on this civilization. Humans are nowhere to be found. Nature has reclaimed the monuments of man. Sic transit gloria mundi. [“Thus pass the glories of the world.]

The Voyage of Life Painted by Cole in 1840, the Voyage of Life series depicts four stages of a man’s life and serves as a Christian allegory set in a Romantic backdrop.

Childhood. The baby exits the dark canal and begins his new life. The water is calm and smooth, the surroundings innocent and Edenic. The boy’s guardian angel grasps the tiller and controls the boat.

Youth. The water is still smooth, the surroundings still peaceful and lush. But now the angel leaves the boy, who eagerly takes the tiller himself and sets off on his own towards his lofty dreams and ambitions. It is hard to tell from this image of the painting, but around the bend of the river the water begins to get choppy and rough; journeying to the castle of his dreams will not be as easy as it now seems.

Manhood. The boy is now a man. The vegetation is gone; the waters are choppy; the skies have darkened. The tiller of the boat is gone; the man is no longer entirely in control, and he prays for help. The angel still watches over him, but now from afar. The man cannot see the angel and must have faith that she is there. Cole wanted to convey the way the dreams and idealism of youth crash into the “realities of the world.” The ocean symbolizes the end of the man’s life; he can begin to see it, and the warmth of the sunset hints of hope in the midst of his trials.

Old Age. The man is now old and the angel returns to his side. His boat has made it to the ocean. The waters are once more calm. The light is breaking through the dark clouds. The man’s faith has sustained him throughout the trials of life and now the beauty of eternity stretches out before him. […]

No art is meant to be seen as small images on a computer, but this is especially true of Romantic art. It was designed by the artists to convey grand, sweeping landscapes that expanded the spirit of man when viewed. So if there’s a museum in your town that has such paintings on display, be sure to go and visit. Sarah C. Schaffer: “The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters” From smARThistory (2015)

Francisco Goya, Plate 43, The sleep of reason produces monsters from Los Caprichos, 1799, etching, aquatint, drypoint, and burin, plate: 21.2 x 15.1 cm (The Metropolitan Museum of Art) A dark vision In this ominous image, we see the dark vision of humanity that characterizes Goya’s work for the rest of his life. A man sleeps, apparently peacefully, even as bats and owls threaten from all sides and a lynx lays quiet, but wide-eyed and alert. Another creature sits at the center of the composition, staring not at the sleeping figure, but at us. Goya forces the viewer to become an active participant in the image––the monsters of his dreams even threaten us. […] On 6 February 1799, put an advertisement in the Diario de Madrid. “A Collection of Prints of Capricious Subjects,” he tells the reader, “Invented and Etched by Don Francisco Goya,” is available through subscription. We know this series of eighty prints as Los Caprichos (caprices, or follies). Los Caprichos was a significant departure from the subjects that had occupied Goya up to that point––tapestry cartoons for the Spanish royal residences, portraits of monarchs and aristocrats, and a few commissions for church ceilings and altars. Many of the prints in the Caprichos series express disdain for the pre-Enlightenment practices still popular in Spain at the end of the Eighteenth century (a powerful clergy, arranged marriages, superstition, etc.). Goya uses the series to critique contemporary Spanish society. As he explained in the advertisement, he chose subjects “from the multitude of follies and blunders common in every civil society, as well as from the vulgar prejudices and lies authorized by custom, ignorance or interest, those that he has thought most suitable matter for ridicule.” The Caprichos was Goya’s most biting critique to date, and would eventually be censored. Of the eighty aquatints, number 43, “The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters,” can essentially be seen as Goya’s manifesto and it should be noted that many observers believe he intended it as a self-portrait. Imagination united with reason In the image, an artist, asleep at his drawing table, is besieged by creatures associated in Spanish folk tradition with mystery and evil. The title of the print, emblazoned on the front of the desk, is often read as a proclamation of Goya’s adherence to the values of the Enlightenment—without Reason, evil and corruption prevail. However, Goya wrote a caption for the print that complicates its message, “Imagination abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters; united with her, she is the mother of the arts and source of their wonders.” In other words, Goya believed that imagination should never be completely renounced in favor of the strictly rational. For Goya, art is the child of reason in combination with imagination.

Figure asleep (detail), Francisco Goya, Plate 43, The sleep of reason produces monsters from Los Caprichos, 1799, etching, aquatint, drypoint, and burin, plate: 21.2 x 15.1 cm (The Metropolitan Museum of Art) […] Goya’s caption for “The Sleep of Reason,” warns that we should not be governed by reason alone—an idea central to Romanticism’s reaction against Enlightenment doctrine. Romantic artists and writers valued nature which was closely associated with emotion and imagination in opposition to the rationalism of Enlightenment philosophy. But “The Sleep of Reason” also anticipates the dark and haunting art Goya later created in reaction to the atrocities he witnessed—and carried out by the standard-bearers of the Enlightenment—the Napoleonic Guard. Goya brilliantly exploited the atmospheric quality of aquatint to create this fantastical image. This printing process creates the grainy, dream-like tonality visible in the background of “The Sleep of Reason.” Aquatint

Birds (detail), Francisco Goya, Plate 43, The sleep of reason produces monsters from Los Caprichos, 1799, etching, aquatint, drypoint, and burin, plate: 21.2 x 15.1 cm (The Metropolitan Museum of Art) Although the aquatint process was invented in 17th century by the Dutch printmaker, Jan van de Velde, many consider the Caprichos to be the first prints to fully exploit this process. Aquatint is a variation of etching. Like etching, it uses a metal plate (often copper or zinc) that is covered with a waxy, acid-resistant resin. The artist draws an image directly into the resin with a needle so that the wax is removed exposing the metal plate below. When the scratch drawing is complete, the plate is submerged in an acid bath. The acid eats into the metal where lines have been etched. When the acid has bitten deeply enough, the plate is removed, rinsed and heated so that the remaining resin can be wiped away. Aquatint requires an additional process, the artist sprinkles layers of powdery resin on the surface of the plate, heats it to harden the powder and dips it in an acid bath. The acid eats around the resin powder creating a rich and varied surface. Ink is then pressed into the pits and linear recesses created by the acid and the flat surface of the plate is once again wiped clean. Finally, a piece of paper is pressed firmly against the inked plate and then pulled away, resulting in the finished image. Dr. Beth Harris & Dr. Stephen Zucker: “Monk by the Sea” From smARThistory (2015)

Caspar David Friedrich’s “Monk by the Sea” is on of his most mysterious paintings. Despite simply being a picture of devoted many looking out to sea, the painting has inspired many a viewer with questions. Follow the link to the video to get further insight. (Please watch the video, but the article below is only optional.)

Link to the Video: https://smarthistory.org/friedrich-monk-by-the-sea/

Michael john Partington: “John Nash, , Brighton” From smARThistory (2015)

“How can one describe such a piece of architecture? The style is a mixture of Moorish, Tartar, Gothic, and Chinese and all in stone and iron. It is a whim which has already cost £700,000, and it is still not fit to live in.”¹ Such was the verdict of the Austrian statesman Klemens von Metternich on the eclectic, exotic and sensuous Royal Pavilion at Brighton. While not all the contemporary reactions to the Pavilion were critical, John Evans, for example, admired it for both its “beauty” and “grandeur,”² it was a building which provoked a predominantly critical response in Regency England (in political terms the period from 1811 to 1820 when George, Prince of —future George IV—ruled in place of his ailing father George III; and in cultural terms up until the death of George IV in 1830). The New Brighton Guide called it a “masterpiece of bad taste” while the Comtesse de Boigne declared it a “mad-house.”³ And when first visited the Royal Pavilion in 1837, she noted, “The Pavilion is a strange, odd, Chinese looking place, both outside and inside. Most of the rooms are low, and I can see a morsel of the sea, from one of my sitting room windows.”4

John Nash, Royal Pavilion, Brighton, 1815-23 (photo (edited): Jim Linwood, CC BY 2.0) The patron: The The ostensible aesthetic randomness of the Pavilion is best comprehended as the material expression of the profligate and rebellious life of its extraordinary benefactor, the Prince Regent, the future George IV, undoubtedly the greatest royal patron of the arts since King Charles I. A man of easy wit and charm, as well as political indolence and questionable morals, the Prince was the touchstone of style for the fashion-conscious Georgian elite of the day. He first visited the seaside resort of Brighton in 1783 to benefit from its reputedly medicinal waters. Captivated by the picturesque promise of the area, the Prince purchased a “superior farmhouse” in 1786 and engaged the royal architect Henry Holland to convert this modest building into a Neo-Classical “marine pavilion” fit for a royal personage at play. Under the influence of the Prince Regent, William Porden, Nash’s assistant, added a large stables and riding school in the Indian style which would be the decorative prototype for the “Oriental” incarnation of the Royal Pavilion by its principal architect, John Nash.

Undated print of Henry Holland’s Brighton Marine Pavilion of 1786-87 The architect: John Nash John Nash was the perfect professional partner for the Pavilion’s colorful patron. Subsequently criticized for an overly fashionable and reckless approach to architectural practice, and a resultant lack of purity in the finished product, Nash had planned Regent’s Street and Regent’s Park in as a celebration of the rise of the new consumer classes.

John Nash, PLAN, presented to the House of Commons, of a STREET proposed from CHARING CROSS to , leading to the Crown Estate in Park,” 1813. Nash’s vision for Brighton was informed by the Prince’s aesthetic sensibilities and colorful personality and the architect’s own experiences of the Picturesque (the beauty inherent in unspoiled nature, as first outlined by the artist William Gilpin), as well as the aquatints of “hindoo” architecture which appeared in the six-volume Oriental Scenery by the landscape painters Thomas and William Daniell at the end of the 18th century. The result was the so- called “Eastern” style, comprised of an assortment of architectural and design forms and motifs taken from Britain’s colonial experience of the “Orient.”

John Nash, Royal Pavilion, Brighton, 1815-23 (photo (edited): Karen Roe, CC BY 2.0) The “Eastern” style Without denying the central agency of both the bold-thinking Nash and fashion-conscious Prince Regent in the design of the Royal Pavilion, the range and variety of architectural styles should be viewed within the context of a wider cultural tradition just then emerging. This exotic mad-house was a response to the early British Empire and its East India Company (a trading company established in 1600 with a fleet of ships and an army 200,000 strong) that facilitated the rule of the Indian sub-continent for some two hundred years and which shaped the British Empire. Here was trade from the East, a rich complex of cultural interchange, and a fascination for the “Orient” in its widest, and loosest, colonial meaning. As the architectural historian Ian Sutton has written, in the nineteenth century, “Both [architects] and their patrons were assailed by new temptations which they found difficult to resist.”5

William Chambers, Great Pagoda, 1762, Kew Gardens, London (photo: Targeman, public domain) The Pavilion was not in fact the first building in England to respond to the exotic world of the nabobs (officials who had acquired great wealth) of the East India Company (see for example William Chambers’ Great Pagoda, 1762, at Kew Gardens above, and C.P. Cockerell’s Sezincote, 1810 in Gloucestershire below).

C.P. Cockerell, Sezincote, 1810 (photo (edited): Pradeep Sanders, CC BY 2.0)

Both buildings predate the Pavilion. Moreover, juxtaposing a culturally alien interior to the exterior was not a new idea, and was in some sense a colonial interpretation of the cultures of the lands of Empire. Henry Holland’s French Neo-Classical , 1783–96 in London, for example, boasted a fine Chinese drawing room. As such, Brighton Pavilion could be seen as the culmination of years of experimentation, rather than a one-off, stand- alone enterprise.

John Nash, Royal Pavilion, Brighton, 1815-23 (photo (edited): Tony Hisgett, CC BY 2.0) What does mark Brighton Pavilion out from the above examples, however, is its fundamental expression of Regency England Romanticism derived from the world of letters. ’s opium-fueled poem “Kubla Khan,” a classic of Romantic literature, published in 1816, famously speaks of the “stately pleasure-dome” of the Mongol ruler. One of the confidants of the Prince Regent was William Beckford, notorious hedonist and author of Vathek: An Arabian Tale (1786), whose earlier story of the outrageous ninth Caliph of Abassides was inspired by both The Arabian Nights and Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Oltranto (1764), the latter being the novel that ushered in the Gothic genre in English literature. Indeed, the only true architectural precursor to the Pavilion in this Romantic Gothic tradition is probably Walpole’s own Strawberry Hill (see image below), an early example of Gothic Revival architecture, which applies “Gothick” forms and motifs in a similarly imaginative way as the Pavilion.

Strawberry Hill House from garden in 2012 after restoration (photo: Chiswick Chap, CC BY-SA 3.0) The “Indian” exterior Architecturally, the “Indian” exterior owes much to C.P. Cockerell’s Sezincote; however, there is in reality a significant difference which speaks of the changing fashions and the further development of exotic eclecticism in this period. Sezincote is hybridic: it retains a Neo-Classical facade (the windows and bays), whilst sporting a turquoise onion-shaped Mughul dome and minarets, typical of Islamic architecture of the Indian sub-continent, such as the Taj Mahal, and features a Hindu-inspired garden, including a temple.

John Nash. The Royal Pavilion at Brighton (detail), 1827 © British Library Board

The Pavilion’s exterior, on the other hand, is more uniformly Mughal-flavored, albeit shot through with a generic sense of the “Orient”: namely the arabesque profusion of ten domes and ten minarets, supported by a cast iron frame, and the vertical thrust of the building, giving it a sense of lightness and airiness, an almost dream-like temporary tent-like quality, in opposition to the permanent horizontal-axised stout square-blockedness of Sezincote.

John Nash, “Chinese Gallery As It Was [Long Gallery],” Plate XV in Illustrations of Her Majesty’s Palace at Brighton, J. B. Nichols and Son, London, 1838, etching and aquatint, brush and watercolor, letterpress on white wove paper mounted on heavy tan board, ruled lines in color and gold paint (Cooper–Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum) The “Chinese” interior As for the interior of the Pavilion, while England’s curiosity for Chinese culture predates that of its interest in Indian civilization by almost a century, the former’s application to the inside of Nash’s building is complex, for we have in fact the Neo-Classical, Chinese and Gothic at work together. The Entrance Hall (see image below), for instance, is symmetrically arranged, as per the Neo-Classical; while the Long Gallery (see image above) contains a multitude of generic Chinese/Asian features (“Chinoiserie”), including the hexagonal lanterns, the silk tassels and the motif of bamboo and birds on the wallpaper, the work of interior decorator Frederick Crace.

John Nash, “Entrance Hall,” Illustrations of Her Majesty’s Palace at Brighton, J. B. Nichols and Son, London, 1838 Finally, the decoration along the cornice in the Entrance Hall, and in the Banqueting Room Gallery, is clearly related to fan-vaulting found in English medieval churches.

Music Room, Brighton Pavilion (photo (edited): Richard Rutter, CC BY 2.0) Making sense of a ‘mad-house’ The Royal Pavilion at Brighton in all its apparent kaleidoscopic silliness, brashness, vitality, phantasmagoric contradictions and oppositions, references, and tries—though not always succeeds—to respond to the tastes of a new fashionable elite at home and to make sense (or not) of a new world of empire abroad. Indeed, in all its range and variety, as well as in its playful eccentricities, it is quite possibly the ultimate architectural manifestation of early nineteenth-century eclecticism, as well as being the material personification of a powerful Regency personality and his private architect. The history of architecture in Britain is all the richer as a result.

Ben Pollitt: “François Rude’s La Marseillaise and The Arc of Triumph” From smARThistory.org (2015)

François Rude, La Marseillaise (The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792), 1833-6, limestone, c. 12.8 m high, de l’Etoile, [Photo By Jebulon - Own work, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=28305582)] Rude before The Departure François Rude had revolution in his blood. At eight years-old, he watched his father, a stovemaker, join the volunteer army to defend the new French Republic (this is shortly after the ) from the threat of foreign invasion. Fiercely loyal himself, as a young man he was a Bonapartist (a follower of the emperor Bonaparte). His support for the Emperor during the Cent Jours of 1814, when Napoleon returned to France from exile and tried to seize power from the newly restored monarch Louis XVIII, meant that Rude was forced to leave the country when Napoleon was finally defeated in 1815. Like the painter David, another ardent Bonapartist, he lived for some years in Belgium, returning to his native country in 1827. His reputation grew over the next ten years, reaching its peak with the justly famous La Marseillaise (The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792) [ It depicts the angry French Revolutionaries rising up against the king and aristocrats, led by the Genius (spirit) of Liberty. There is wild fervour in their eyes, and a love both for a newfound freedom they envision, and the lust for blood that would result in the Reign of Terror and the Guillotine…] The Arc de Triomphe The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792, also known as La Marseillaise, is a different work entirely, more in keeping with what one now thinks of as Romantic; like a Beethoven symphony: intense, rousing, full of drama and movement.

Jean Chalgrin: “Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile,” 1806-1836, h. 50 x w. 45 x d. 22 m, Paris It is Rude’s masterpiece and one of the best-known sculptures in the world. Its location has obviously contributed to its fame, attached as a bas-relief to the right foot of the façade of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris—on the Champs-Elysées facing side. An enormous fifty meters high structure, designed to celebrate France’s military achievements in 1806 by Jean Chalgrin, the arch’s construction was begun under Napoleon’s orders but remained unfinished when finally he was defeated in 1815. […] The project was picked up again during the Constitutional Monarchy of Louis- Philippe (1830-48). The arch’s sculptural programme, seen by the king and his ministers as an ideal opportunity to promote national reconciliation, aimed to offer something that would please every segment of the French political spectrum. […] On the opposite side of the arch is Antoine Étex’s war and peace pendant group, The Resistance of 1814 and Peace—the former a stirring image of Napoleon’s supporters who continued to fight after his return from exile, the latter, appealing to the monarchists, an allegorical depiction of the Treaty of Paris that saw the restoration of the Bourbon royal dynasty.

Left: Antoine Étex, Peace, 1833–36, Limestone, Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile, Paris; Right: Antoine Étex, The Resistance, 1833–36, Limestone, Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile, Paris (photos: Wally Gobetz, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0) When the arch was officially unveiled in 1836, there was unanimous agreement that Rude’s group made the other three pale into insignificance. The sculpture and the song The subject of Rude’s La Marseillaise (The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792) com memorates the Battle of Valmy when the French defended the Republic against an attack from the Austro-Prussian army. The popular title for the work, La Marseillaise, is the name of the French national anthem, which was written in 1792 by the army officer Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle as part of a recruitment campaign. It was sung by a young volunteer, later to become a general under Napoleon, at a patriotic gathering in Marseille, the city from which the song gets its name, and was subsequently adopted as the army’s rallying cry.

Allons enfants de la Patrie, Arise, children of the Fatherland, Le jour de gloire est arrivé ! The day of glory has arrived! Contre nous de la tyrannie Against us, tyranny's L'étendard sanglant est levé, (bis) Bloody standard is raised, (repeat) Entendez-vous dans les campagnes Do you hear, in the countryside, Mugir ces féroces soldats ? The roar of those ferocious soldiers? Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras They're coming right into your arms Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes ! To cut the throats of your sons, your women!

Aux armes, citoyens, To arms, citizens, Formez vos bataillons, Form your battalions, Marchons, marchons ! Let's march, let's march! Qu'un sang impur Let their impure blood Abreuve nos sillons ! Water our furrows!

Que veut cette horde d'esclaves, What does this horde of slaves, De traîtres, de rois conjurés ? Of traitors and conspiring kings want? Pour qui ces ignobles entraves, For whom have these vile chains, Ces fers dès longtemps préparés ? (bis) These irons, been long prepared? (repeat) Français, pour nous, ah! quel outrage Frenchmen, for us, ah! What outrage Quels transports il doit exciter ! What furious action it must arouse! C'est nous qu'on ose méditer It is to us they dare plan De rendre à l'antique esclavage ! A return to the old slavery!

“Genius of Liberty” (detail), François Rude, La Marseillaise (The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792), 1833-6, limestone, c. 12.8 m high, Arc de Triomphe de l’Etoile, Paris Banned under the Bourbon administration, [the song] was sounded by the crowds on the barricades in the July Revolution of 1830 and in the following years grew in popularity, the Romantic composer Berlioz, for instance, giving it an orchestral arrangement. Having lodged itself so deeply in the public consciousness, evoking the spirit of republican defiance in the face of tyranny, the song must surely have been in Rude’s mind when drawing his designs for the sculpture. The surge of the volunteers, inspired by the great sweeping movement of the Genius of Liberty above them, effectively illustrates in limestone the penultimate verse of the song: Sacred love of the Fatherland, Lead, support our avenging arms Liberty, cherished Liberty, Fight with thy defenders! Under our flags, shall victory Hurry to thy manly accents, See thy triumph and our glory! […] Rude’s sculpture effectively captures the energy of the new republic, more so perhaps than anything to be found in the art of the 1792 generation. It was their children, it seems, imbued with tales of heroic sacrifice, who, employing this epic, revolutionary style, known as Romanticism, brought to light the passion and the glory and, in the case of Delacroix, the hideous spectacle of death, too, that went into forging the new France. Dr. Beth Harris & Dr. Steven Zucker: “The Apotheosis of Homer” From smARThistory (2015)

Though romantics were not much interested in recapturing the style of ancient classical times, they did love to portray the ancient world in their art. One painter, Ingres, took as his subject the legendary poet Homer, known as author of The and The , the epic poems telling the story of the ten year long siege of the City and the adventures of the Greek heroes who faced monsters and trials returning home from the war. It has been posited that no one person other than Jesus had a greater influence on the world after his death. Greek civilization formed itself around the myths, heroes, ideals, and themes in Homer’s work – mortals like wrathful general , clever but deceptive king , bold yet conflicted Hector, cowardly and ridiculous Paris, faithful wife Penelope, and young, inexperienced Telemachus, as well as gods like thunderous , wise , warlike , vengeful , and all the rest, captured the hearts of all Greece and later Rome. Homer’s work influenced law, religion, politics, and of course, every form of the arts. In this famous work of art by the great painter Ingres, homer is crowned king of the arts. Follow the link to discover more about this painting.

Link to the article: https://smarthistory.org/ingres-apotheosis-of-homer/ Dr. Beth Harris & Dr. Stephen Zucker: “The Hay Wain” From smARThistory (2018)

In the early nineteenth century, the face of England was completely changing. The Industrial Revolution, with its bold leaps in machinery, engineering, inventions, and the factory system, transformed not only the means of production, but the entire way people lived. Many country folks found their livelihoods threatened, at the new machines could far outdo them in their crafts at least in terms of speed, making a quicker profit for the factory masters. The country folk, in many places had to abandon their rural lives and seek employment in the cities if they wanted to eat. As communities urbanized, the landscape changed radically. But the great painter hung on fiercely to the beautiful landscape of the England he knew before the Industrial Revolution. Watch this video to learn more about one of his most famous paintings, “The Hay Wain,” and how it challenged people’s perceptions of what made a worthy subject or technique for a painting.

Link to the video: https://smarthistory.org/hay-wain/ Dr. Rebecca Jeffrey Easby: “A Beginner’s Guide to the Pre-Raphaelites” From smARThistory (2015)

William Holman Hunt, The flight of Madeline and Porphyro during the drunkenness attending the revelry (The Eve of St. Agnes), smaller version of the painting exhibited at the Royal Academy, begun as a sketch, 1847-57, oil on panel, 355 x 252 cm (Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool) At first they were three During a visit to the Royal Academy exhibition of 1848, the young artist and poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti was drawn to a painting entitled The Eve of Saint Agnes by William Holman Hunt. As a subject taken from the poetry of was a rarity at the time, Rossetti sought out Hunt, and the two quickly became friends. Hunt then introduced Rossetti to his friend , and the rest, as they say, is history. The trio went on to form the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, a group determined to reform the artistic establishment of Victorian England. Looking back to look forward The name “Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood” (PRB) hints at the vaguely medieval subject matter for which the group is known. The young artists appreciated the simplicity of line and large flat areas of brilliant color found in the early Italian painters before Raphael, as well as in 15th century Flemish art. [They also despised Raphael, because he had brought into fashion the more stiff and stylized type of portrait rather than one that portrayed natural pose and movement.] These were not qualities favored by the more academic approach taught at the Royal Academy during the mid 19th century, which stressed the strong light and dark shading of the Old Masters. Another source of inspiration for the young artists was the writing of art critic , particularly the famous passage from Modern Painters telling artists: [“From young artists, in landscape, nothing ought to be tolerated but simple bona fide imitation of nature. They have no business to ape the execution of masters,—to utter weak and disjointed repetitions of other men's words[…]. We do not want their crude ideas of composition, their unformed conceptions of the Beautiful, their unsystematized experiments upon the Sublime. […]. Their duty is neither to choose, nor compose, nor imagine, nor experimentalize; but to be humble and earnest in following the steps of nature, and tracing the finger of God. Nothing is so bad a symptom, in the work of young artists, as too much dexterity of handling; for it is a sign that they are .satisfied with their work, and have tried to do nothing more than they were able to do. Their work should be full of failures; for these are the signs of efforts. They should keep to quiet colors—grays and browns; and, making the early works of Turner their example, as his latest are to be their object of emulation, should go to nature in all singleness of heart, and walk with her laboriously and trustingly, having no other thoughts but how best to penetrate her meaning, and remember her instruction, rejecting nothing, selecting nothing, and scorning nothing; believing all things to be right and good, and rejoicing always in the truth. Then, when their memories are stored, and their imaginations fed, and their hands firm, let them take up the scarlet and the gold, give the reins to their fancy, and show us what their heads are made of. We will follow them wherever they choose to lead; we will check at nothing; they are then our masters, and are fit to be so. They have placed themselves above our criticism, and we will listen to their words in all faith and humility; but not unless they themselves have before bowed, in the same submission, to a higher Authority and Master.” – John Ruskin, Modern Painters, 1843] This combination of influences contributed to the group’s extreme attention to detail, and the development of the wet white ground technique that produced the brilliant color for which they are known. The artists even became some of the first to complete sections of their canvases outdoors in an effort to capture the minute detail of every leaf and blade of grass.

And then they were seven It was decided that seven was the appropriate number for a rebellious group and four others were added to form the initial Brotherhood. The selection of additional members has long mystified art historians. James Collinson, a painter, seems to have been added due to his short-lived engagement to Rossetti’s sister Christina rather than his sympathy with the cause. Another member, Thomas Woolner, was a sculptor rather than a painter. The final two members, William Michael Rossetti and Frederic George Stephens, both of whom went on to become art critics, were not practicing artists. However, other young artists such as Walter Howell Deverell and Charles Collins embraced the ideals of the PRB even though they were never formally elected as members.

John Everett Millais, Isabella, 1848-49, oil on canvas, 103 x 142.8 cm (Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool) The P.R.B. goes public The Pre-Raphaelites decided to make their debut by sending a group of paintings, all bearing the initials “PRB”, to the Royal Academy in 1849. However, Rossetti, who was nervous about the reception of his painting The Girlhood of Mary Virgin, changed his mind and instead sent his painting to the earlier Free Exhibition (meaning there was no jury as there was at the Royal Academy). At the Royal Academy, Hunt exhibited Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes, a scene from an historical novel of the same name by Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Millais exhibited Isabella, another subject from Keats, created with such attention to detail that one can actually see the beheading scene on the plate nearest the edge of the table, which echoes the ultimate fate of the young lover Lorenzo in the story. In both paintings, the accurately designed medieval costumes, bright colors and attention to detail produced criticism that the paintings mimicked a “mediaeval illumination of the chronicle or the romance” (Athenaeum, 2 June 1849, p. 575). Interestingly, no mention was made of the mysterious “PRB” inscription. Critical reaction In 1850, however, the reaction to the PRB was very different. By this time, many people knew about the existence of the supposedly secret society, in part because the group had published many of their ideas in a short-lived literary magazine entitled The Germ. Rossetti’s Ecce Ancilla Domini appeared at the Free Exhibition along with a painting by his friend Deverell entitled Twelfth Night. At the Royal Academy, Hunt’s A Converted British Family Sheltering a Christian Priest from the Persecution of the Druids and Millais’s Christ in the House of his Parents, famously abused by Charles Dickens, received the brunt of the criticism. In the aftermath of the humiliating reception of their work, Collinson resigned from the group and Rossetti decided never again to exhibit publicly. Ruskin to the rescue

Charles Allston Collins, Convent Thoughts, 1851, oil on canvas, 84 x 59 cm (Ashmolean Museum of Art) Undeterred, Millais and Hunt again continued to exhibit paintings demonstrating the beautiful colors and detail orientation of the mature style of the PRB. The Royal Academy of 1851 included Hunt’s Valentine Rescuing Sylvia, and three pictures by Millais, , The Woodman’s Daughter, and The Return of the Dove to the Ark as well as Convent Thoughts by Millais’s friend Charles Collins. Although many were still dubious about the new style, the critic John Ruskin came to the rescue of the group, publishing two letters in The Times newspaper in which he praised the relationship of the PRB to early Italian art. Although Ruskin was suspicious of what he termed the group’s “Catholic tendencies,” he liked the attention to detail and the color of the PRB paintings. Ruskin’s praise helped catapult the young artists to a new level. The dissolution of the PRB The Brotherhood, however, was slowly dissolving. Woolner emigrated to Australia in 1852. Hunt decided in January 1854 to visit the Holy Land in order to better paint religious pictures. And, in an event Rossetti described as the formal end of the PRB, Millais was elected as an Associate of the Royal Academy in 1853, joining the art establishment he had fought hard to change. Lasting impact

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Bocca Baciata (Lips That Have Been Kissed), 1859, oil on panel, 32.1 x 27 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston) Despite the fact that the Brotherhood lasted only a few short years, its impact was immense. Millais and Hunt both went on to establish important places for themselves in the Victorian art world. Millais was to go on to become an extremely popular artist, selling his art works for vast sums of money, and ultimately being elected as the President of the Royal Academy. Hunt, who perhaps stayed most true to the Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic, became a well-known artist and wrote many articles and books on the formation of the Brotherhood. Rossetti became a mentor to a group of younger artists including Edward Burne- Jones and William Morris, founder of the Arts and Crafts Movement. Rossetti’s paintings of beautiful women also helped inaugurate the new Aesthetic Movement, or the taste for Art for Art’s Sake, in the later .

Edward Burne-Jones, The Adoration of the Magi, 1904, tapestry, 101.57 x 148.42″ (Musée d’Orsay) To a contemporary audience, the Pre-Raphaelites may appear less than modern. However, in their own time the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood accomplished something revolutionary. They were one of the first groups to value painting out-of-doors for its “truth to nature,” and their concept of banding together to take on the art establishment helped to pave the way for later groups. The distinctive elements of their paintings, such as the extreme attention to detail, the brilliant colors and the beautiful rendition of literary subjects set them apart from other Victorian painters.

Robert Lacey: “Rain, Steam & Speed,” From Great Tales from English History (2007)

JMW Turner: “Rain, Steam & Speed,” 1844, , London One June evening in 1843 a young woman, Jane O’Meara, was travelling to London on the recently constructed Great Western Railway through a terrifying storm. Thunder roared and lightning flashed across the countryside, while torrents of sheeting rain attacked the window – so Jane was surprised when one of the elderly gentleman travelling in her First Class carriage asked if she would mind him putting down the rain-blurred window. He wanted to take a look outside. Politely consenting, Jane was still more surprised when her travelling companion thrust his head and shoulders out into the storm and kept them resolutely there for nearly nine minutes. The old man was evidently engrossed with what he saw, and when he finally drew back in, drenched, the young woman could not resist the temptation to put her own head out of the window – to be astonished by a blurred cacophony of sound and brightness. The train was standing at that moment in Bristol Temple Meads Station, and the mingled impression of steam, sulphurous smoke and the flickering glow from the engine’s firebox overwhelmed her – ‘such a chaos of elemental and artificial lights and noises,’ she later wrote, ‘I never saw or heard, or expect to see or hear.’ Almost a year later, going to look at the new pictures being hung in the summer’s Royal Academy exhibition, Jane O’Meara suddenly realised who the eccentric traveller must have been. For hanging on the gallery wall, depicted in swirling and unconventional swathes of paint, was the same scary yet compelling vortex of light and turbulence that she had seen from her GWR carriage window – “Rain, Steam & Speed” by J.M.W. Turner. By 1844 Joseph Mallord William Turner was a renowned, controversial and highly successful artist. He was born sixty-nine years earlier to a poor barber-wigmaker near London’s Covent Garden fruit and vegetable market, and a mentally fragile mother who ended her days in the Bethlehem Hospital for Lunatics – ‘Bedlam.’ Turner retained his gruff Cockney accent all his life, along with a shrewd commercial spirit that dated back to the days when he exhibited his first paintings in his father’s shop at one shilling (5p) each.

JMW Turner: “Self Portrait,” 1799, Tate Gallery, London Turner’s wild, tumultuous and almost abstract paintings were denounced as “mad” by many Victorians. But the French painters Monet, Renoir, Pissarro and Degas would later pay tribute to ‘the illustrious Turner’ as the artist whose interest in ‘the fugitive effects of light’ inspired their own great revolution in ways of seeing – Impressionism. Monet came to London as a young artist to study “Rain, Steam and Speed” which, from the moment of its first hanging in the Royal Academy, was acknowledged by both its admirers and its detractors to be an extraordinary creation. ‘The world has never seen anything like this picture,’ declared the novelist William Thackery.

Joseph Mallord William Turner, The Fighting Temeraire, 1839, oil on canvas, 90.7 x 121.6 cm (The National Gallery, London) The central feature of the picture was the glowing ‘chaos’ of light and energy that has shocked Jane O’Meara in Temple Meads Station – transposed by Turner to Brunel’s famous bridge at Maidenhead in the Thames Valley, one of the artist’s favourite locales for sketching. Enveloped in smoke and mist, the dark and sinister funnel of the locomotive is dashing forwards out of the canvas, a black stovepipe cutting ferociously through the slanting rain, while in front of the careering train- only visible if you step up to the canvas and peer closely – runs a terrified little brown hare, the creature that used to symbolise speed in the age before machines. “Rain, Steam and Speed” now hangs in the National Gallery in London’s . Standing back from the foaming confusion of colour and textures, you cannot help but be struck by the majesty of the world’s first great railway painting. You can also recapture the excitement of Jane O’Meara, putting her head out into the storm to see what had caught the visionary eye of Joseph Mallord William Turner.

Dennis Malone Carter: Oil painting of “Decatur Boarding the Tripolitan Gunboat during the bombardment of Tripoli”, 3 August 1804. Lieutenant Stephen Decatur (lower right center) in mortal combat with the Tripolitan Captain.

Louis Janmot: “The Poem of the Soul: The Grain of Wheat”, 1854

ATTRIBUTIONS p. 1, Brett and Kate MacKay, “The Basics of Art – The Romantic Period” from “The Art of Manliness,”

March 3, 2011, Accessed October 2, 2020, Sarah C. Schaefer, "Francisco Goya, The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters," in Smarthistory, August 9, 2015, accessed September 7, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/goya-the-sleep-of-reason-produces-monsters/. p. 21, Sarah C. Schaefer, "Francisco Goya, The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters," in Smarthistory,

August 9, 2015, accessed October 2, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/goya-the-sleep-of-reason- produces-monsters/. p. 25, Michael John Partington, "John Nash, Royal Pavilion, Brighton," in Smarthistory, August 9, 2015,

accessed October 2, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/john-nash-royal-pavilion-brighton/. p.34, Ben Pollitt, "François Rude, La Marseillaise," in Smarthistory, August 9, 2015, accessed September 7, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/rude-la-marseillaise/.

Dr. Rebecca Jeffrey Easby, "A beginner’s guide to the Pre-Raphaelites," in Smarthistory, August 9, 2015,

accessed September 7, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/a-beginners-guide-to-the-pre-raphaelites/.

Robert Lacey, “Rain, Steam & Speed,” from Great Tales from English History, Back Bay Books, New York, NY: 2007, p. 36.

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