Jules Michelet: Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France by Michèle Hannoosh
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Beth S. Wright book review of Jules Michelet: Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France by Michèle Hannoosh Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 19, no. 1 (Spring 2020) Citation: Beth S. Wright, book review of “Jules Michelet: Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France by Michèle Hannoosh,” Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 19, no. 1 (Spring 2020), https://doi.org/10.29411/ncaw.2020.19.1.12. Published by: Association of Historians of Nineteenth-Century Art Notes: This PDF is provided for reference purposes only and may not contain all the functionality or features of the original, online publication. License: This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License Creative Commons License. Wright: Jules Michelet: Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 19, no. 1 (Spring 2020) Michèle Hannoosh, Jules Michelet: Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2019. 248 pp.; 31 b&w illus.; bibliography; index. $94.95 (hardcover) ISBN: 978–0–271–08356–8 In 1845, Jules Michelet (1798–1874), planning his famous book Le Peuple (The People, 1846), wrote in his journal that he had sought inspiration not in archives or texts but in art works: Instead of the Institute, I went, with Le Peuple in mind, to the Louvre. Saw my Dutch painters again. In the French, little or nothing of the people. It is as though [the people] were not born progressively, but all at once, with the Revolution. Philippe de Champaigne and the others are bourgeois. Valentin is a little gentleman. Poussin and Claude were made “noble” by Italy. Ferocious emergence of the people in the Raft. How noble they are, after the Revolution and the Empire, gesturing to the future! (121). His 1846 lectures at the Collège de France on the living ideals of the French Revolution, national spirit, and the people, were filled with references to Géricault, “our eminently national artist and the foremost French painter” (141). Michelet, a prolific Liberal and Romantic historian, is best known today for his history of France from the Middle Ages to modern times, published in seventeen volumes between 1833 and 1867. [1] Political favor during the July Monarchy allowed his influence to permeate French institutions. [2] In 1830 he was named head of the historical section of the Archives Royales (earlier and later the Archives Nationales). In 1838 he was elected to the Académie des Sciences Morales et Politiques and appointed to the chair of History and Moral Philosophy at the Collège de France; his lectures were published on the days they were delivered. But the political turbulence in 1848 that eventually led to the rise of Louis- Napoléon damaged Michelet’s career. Already in December 31, 1847, the Ministry of Public Instruction had suspended his course. Although he resumed it in March 1848, it was suspended again in 1851, and he was officially removed from his position in 1852. After the loss of his position at the Collège de France, and paying the costs of publication of his multi- 145 Wright: Jules Michelet: Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 19, no. 1 (Spring 2020) volume history of the French Revolution himself, he began to publish works on natural science for the lay audience, including L’Oiseau (1856), L’Insecte (1857), L’Amour (1858), La Femme (1860), and La Mer (1861). [3] Throughout his life he kept a journal which ran to thousands of pages. In Jules Michelet. Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France, Michèle Hannoosh demonstrates the profound importance that the visual arts had for Michelet’s innovative conception of history and his historiographic methodology: [A]n experience of the visual arts, along with its interpretation and elaboration in writing, accompanies, and often is at the origin of, Michelet’s most important and original historical concepts, and it allows us to see these concepts in their greatest depth and complexity. In the main periods that, for him, marked out the course of France’s history—the Middle Ages, the Renaissance and Reformation, and the Revolution, with the long, dark interlude of the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century wars of religion between the latter two—works of art were crucial to his understanding of their dominant ideas: the gothic, the Renaissance, civil war, nation, and the people (3). Like many of his colleagues who had survived history as it was made during the French Revolution and the Empire, Michelet saw the task of the modern historian as that of preserving “the vital chain that, from a past seemingly dead, carries the life force toward the future” (16–7). [4] He heard the voices of the past weeping and lamenting, imploring him to speak for them, as he recorded in an entry in his journal in 1842: Let there be someone who knows us better than we ourselves did, someone to whom God may have given a heart and an ear to hear, from the depths of the earth, our poor feeble voice and our faint breathing, someone who loves the dead, someone who discovers and tells them the very words that they never spoke [. .] who can inform them of what their words and their actions, which they did not understand, meant. [Y]ou must hear the words that were never said, which remained deep in their hearts (delve into your own, they are there); you must make the silences of history speak, those terrible pauses in which history no longer says anything and which are actually its most tragic tones. Only then will the dead resign themselves to the grave (25). Michelet described his methodological approach as “resurrection,” establishing a direct and personal connection with the past in what he called a “violent moral chemistry [. .] in which my individual passions become general ones, my general feelings become personal passions, my people become me, my self returns to bring different peoples to life” (30). In such an endeavor, art works were uniquely valuable. Art works were able, Michelet insisted, to reveal the very essence of the past: “One thing cannot lie: art. While science can prune and neuter itself, and literature can turn a different face and pretend, art, in a period that is morally ugly, is itself decidedly ugly too” (158). Michelet urged that art, history, and the historian’s ability to comprehend and reveal the past should be integrated in a functional relationship. Studying art works would permit the historian to deduce the cultural institutions which had influenced the art work’s forms, 146 Wright: Jules Michelet: Writing Art and History in Nineteenth-Century France Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 19, no. 1 (Spring 2020) technical aspects, and expressive power. In an 1842 lecture to his students at the Collège de France Michelet said: I would like to enter with you into an understanding of art and of human activity, to see how each, in its various manifestations, has influenced the other. That is, when I analyze a statue, I will show the part that religion or the laws of the society had in it; and when I analyze a set of laws, I will say [. .] how the idea of the beautiful, of genius, and of art current at the time affected not just its form but its content (3). Given Michelet’s political views, he was particularly interested in a history that revealed the essence of the past not evident in texts, since they were dependent on the permission of those in power (monarchy or clergy). The French people’s emerging sense of the nation could not be found in the archives of the Institut. In the visual arts, Hannoosh explains, Michelet found the “witness to a history that had frequently gone unnoticed and untold; it expressed key ideas standing behind events; it stated concepts that would come to fruition in history only later; in its power to attract and enchant, it paradoxically brought out the truth” (3). Furthermore, Michelet appreciated that art work revealed not only the past but the unique perspective of the artist-creator, just as a portrait reveals the artist who painted it as well as the sitter: “There is no portrait so exact, so consistent with the model, that does not have something of the artist” (35). As the art work reveals the past, in Michelet’s view, it impresses and transforms the modern spectator, and thus he felt that his history should also impress and transform the reader. Since art works had this potent effect on Michelet’s senses, emotions, and intellect, he himself was scrupulously attentive to the qualities of the work and rendered his responses to it as dynamically and eloquently as possible so that the reader, unable to see the work while reading Michelet’s text, could also enter into the dialogue which he is having with the subject and with the artist’s rendition of the subject. Michelet’s writing is passionate, performative, verbally ornate, and temporally fluid. Not only does he repeatedly summon the voices of the dead and converse with them, he makes the art works themselves come to life and enter into dialogue with him, changing his viewpoint in the process. The performative aspect of Michelet’s lyrical, stylized prose was recognized in his own day, as Hannoosh points out: Many of his contemporaries found it at best distracting, at worst disturbing, even sadistic in the pleasure with which it “painted” the violent or disreputable moments, forces, characters, and motivations that it described: reviewing the Guerres de religion volume in 1856, Athanase Coquerel fils criticized “that excessive color and movement, even in subjects that are terrifying or shocking, which make these violent pages resemble a little too much certain paintings by M.