While artists steadily produced images aggrandizing the accomplishments of Napoleon HYHQEH\RQGKLVÀQDOGHIHDWE\FRDOLWLRQIRUFHVOHGE\:HOOLQJWRQDQG*HEKDUGYRQ
Blücher in 1815, Théodore Géricault (1791–1824) turned to a purposefully neglected, unglamorous aspect of war in Wounded Cuirassier Leaving the Field of Battle (Figure 3.10), exhibited at the 1814 Salon. Géricault differs from artists discussed thus far because KHZDVERWKÀQDQFLDOO\LQGHSHQGHQWDQGPRVWO\VHOIWDXJKW+HVWXGLHGEULHÁ\ZLWK
several artists, but learned most from copying looted masterpieces in the Musée Napoléon. Géricault’s free-spirited individualism predisposed him to the modernist innovation for which he is remembered.
Intended as a pendant (companion) to the optimistic Charging Chasseur (1812, /RXYUH ÀUVWH[KLELWHGDWWKH6DORQMXVWPRQWKVEHIRUH1DSROHRQ·VKXPLOLDWLQJ
retreat from Russia, Wounded Cuirassier symbolized a defeated emperor and nation.
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1814 Salon opened, shortly after the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty to France’s throne. Géricault’s wealth enabled him to register disapproval of the monarchy and ULVNRIÀFLDOGLVDSSURYDO,QWKLVLQQRYDWLYHDQGXQSUHFHGHQWHGZRUN*pULFDXOWVHHPV
to have isolated and monumentalized one of the anonymous sufferers in a Gros battle painting. Academic convention stipulated that historical paintings of individuals represent famous people and important deeds, but Géricault did neither. Not only did
Figure 3.10
Théodore Géricault, Wounded Cuirassier Leaving the Field of Battle, 1814. Oil on canvas, 353
× 294 cm (11 ft 7 in × 9 ft 8 in).
Musée du Louvre, Paris.
he undermine the heroic intentions of history painting, but he utilized them to elevate LQGLYLGXDOVXIIHULQJWRXQLYHUVDOVLJQLÀFDQFH
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Battle of the Nations near Leipzig (October 1813), where 130,000 combatants were killed in one day, as the combined armies of Austria, Prussia, and Russia engaged WKH ZHDU\ )UHQFK VXUYLYRUV IURP WKH 5XVVLDQ FDPSDLJQ 7KH RIÀFHU·V ZHDNQHVV
uncertainty, and anxious over-the-shoulder glance contrasts with his robust, prancing horse, which, deprived of human dominance, loses its footing. In contrast to David’s Napoleon, man no longer commands the forces of nature; Géricault signals the soldier’s GLVLQWHJUDWLQJFRQWUROE\GHSLFWLQJKLPKROGLQJRQO\KDOI RI WKHUHLQV³LQVXIÀFLHQWWR
restrain the animal should it decide to bolt. While Géricault portrayed a believable if imaginary situation, the calvaryman’s anonymity enabled him to function as a symbol IRUWKHLQGLYLGXDOVXIIHULQJRI WKRXVDQGVRQWKHEDWWOHÀHOGDQGIRUWKHGHPRUDOL]HG
and weakened state of Napoleon’s military machine following steady defeats beginning with the disastrous Russian campaign of 1812–13.
Géricault transgressed academic boundaries in other ways as well. As David did in Marat, Géricault concentrated on a moment of individual suffering, but with the crucial difference that his subject was anonymous. This was an important issue at the time, and throughout the nineteenth century, because audiences expected clarity—they expected to understand who they were looking at (at least in an artwork consisting of a single person) and what the actor was doing. Viewers judged an artist’s skill partly on his ability to successfully communicate; confusion was tantamount to failure. Neoclassical painting expressed order and stability through action occurring parallel to the picture plane and to the lower edge of the canvas; here, diagonal ground DQGDFWLRQVXJJHVWVPRYHPHQWOLWHUDOO\DQGÀJXUDWLYHO\GRZQDVOLSSHU\VORSH7KLV
contrasts with David’s Napoleon, in which diagonal movement indicates dynamism and progress. Napoleon appears to have nature and his own emotions under the strict control of a rational intellect, whereas the cavalryman seems fearful and confused, IDFWRUVFRQWULEXWLQJWRRUUHVXOWLQJIURPKLVGHIHDW$QRWKHUVHHPLQJO\LQVLJQLÀFDQW
element, but one which had important implications, is the cavalryman’s gaze beyond the parameters of the picture. At what is he looking? Is he being pursued? Is he deserting his comrades? Unlike many earlier academic, and all true Neoclassical, paintings, the narrative is not self-contained. To answer these questions viewers must look beyond the picture frame, an act implying continuity between pictorial space and real space. Here, Géricault boldly integrated the spaces of art and life, an achievement ZKRVHIXOOVLJQLÀFDQFHZRXOGQRWEHUHDOL]HGXQWLOWKHWZHQWLHWKFHQWXU\
Géricault seemed fascinated by the role of anonymous individuals in historical events, a subject academies considered unworthy of artistic attention. Géricault exhibited his masterpiece, Raft of the Medusa (Figure 3.11), at the 1819 Salon with the title Scene of Shipwreck. In it he explored on a monumental scale one of the most KRUULÀFVFDQGDOVRI KLVWLPH WKHUHFNOHVVJURXQGLQJE\DQLQFRPSHWHQWDQGDUURJDQW
captain of a ship carrying almost 400 passengers. The details of the event were well known because the ship’s engineer and doctor wrote an account, published in 1817:
Shipwreck of the Frigate Medusa, part of the Expedition to Senegal in 1816. The Medusa was one of four ships en route to the new colony of Senegal (acquired from Britain at the 1815 Congress of Vienna), along with 200 settlers and the governor, Julien-Désiré Schmaltz. The ship’s captain, Hugues Duroy de Chaumereys, was politically
DSSRLQWHGDQGKDGQHYHUFRPPDQGHGDVKLSPXFKOHVVDÁHHW+LVVKLSMedusa, ran aground four miles off the African coast, and the captain and governor were among WKHÀUVWHVFDSLQJRQWKHLQVXIÀFLHQWQXPEHURI OLIHERDWVLQVWHDGRI JRLQJGRZQZLWK
the ship, as was expected. The engineer designed a large raft (20 × 7 meters.) to hold the remaining 150 passengers. They had no compass, oars, rudder, blankets, or food, and stood up to their waists in seawater. Fighting broke out on the overburdened raft RQWKHÀUVWQLJKWDQGE\PRUQLQJVXUYLYRUVUHPDLQHG)LJKWLQJDQGVWDUYDWLRQ
led to death and cannibalism. When the raft was serendipitously discovered by the Argus on its way to retrieve the gold aboard the Medusa two weeks later, there were 15 VXUYLYRUVÀYHRI ZKRPGLHGVKRUWO\DIWHUWKHLUUHVFXH
The diligence with which Géricault proceeded in truthfully depicting the terrible event complied with academic procedure. He read all available accounts of the tragedy, made numerous compositional and portrait sketches, hired the engineer Alexandre Corréard to draw a plan and make a scale model of the raft, and interviewed both him and Henri Savigny, the ship’s physician. Géricault considered a number of possible events to represent, including the mutiny (the earliest bloodbath on the raft), cannibalism, and the raft sighted by the Argus, ÀQDOO\VHWWOLQJIRUWKHYHU\ÀUVWVLJKWLQJ
of the Argus. Rather than choosing an episode of bestial violence or prayers answered, he settled on the most ambiguous and psychologically distressing moment—when the shipwrecked strain to attract the attention of their sister ship on the distant horizon, but are unsure whether anyone from the ship sees them. Count O’Mahoney, writing for Le Conservateur, expressed the opinion of many when he exclaimed “What a hideous spectacle, but what a beautiful picture!” Another critic offered encouragement to the young artist: “Courage, M. Géricault! Try to moderate an enthusiasm which might carry you too far. Being a colorist by instinct, try to become one in practice; being still an imperfect draughtsman, study the art of David and Girodet” (Eitner 1972: 58–9).
French visitors to the 1819 Salon also judged the painting according to their political sympathies. Supporters of Bourbon King Louis XVIII (the brother of Louis XVI) found the painting a disgusting and pointless aggrandizement of human suffering. Those either loyal to Napoleon or to revolutionary republican ideals
What did Ingres think about Raft of the Medusa? Find out at www.routledge.com/
textbooks/facos Figure 3.11
Théodore Géricault, Raft of the Medusa, 1818–19. Oil on canvas, 491 × 716 cm (16 ft 13/8 in × 23 ft 5 in). Musée du Louvre, Paris.
praised its honest unmasking of the dangerous consequences of political nepotism.
Géricault’s impressive achievement was recognized by the Raft’s being awarded a gold PHGDOEXWLQWKHFDWHJRU\RI JHQUHSDLQWLQJQRWKLVWRU\SDLQWLQJ7KLVUHÁHFWHGWKH
return of a more conservative attitude about appropriate criteria for history painting following the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy in 1814. In an effort to recoup his expenses, the entrepreneurial Géricault took Raft to London in 1820 and exhibited the enormous (5 × 7 meter) painting in Egyptian Hall. More than 40,000 visitors paid admission to see it. In a 12 June 1820 review, The Globe critic commented: “It is the very countenance of Ugolino’s despair, which Reynolds portrayed” (Figure 1.19), referring SHUKDSVWRWKHVHOIHQWZLQHGÀJXUHRQWKHORZHUOHIWZKRP*pULFDXOWERUURZHGIURP
Michelangelo’s despairing self-portrait in the Sistine Chapel Last Judgment (1536–41).
Géricault conformed to tradition in his working method, aspiration to produce a large-scale history painting, choice of subject (shipwrecks had been popular subjects since the seventeenth century), and quoting from old masters: he included a compositional pyramid recalling the Madonnas of Raphael. At the same time, Géricault violated tradition by monumentalizing an ignoble episode of human suffering that was not intended to inspire virtuous behavior. In his effort to effectively express his ideas Géricault experimented with materials, adding bitumen (the main ingredient in asphalt) to his paint. A chemically unstable substance, bitumen had the unforeseen and unfortunate effect of darkening the entire canvas in a gradual process that cannot be reversed. This strategy of combining elements of tradition (motivated partly by aesthetic choice, partly by a desire for critical acceptance) with innovation VRPHWLPHVDOLHQDWLQJFULWLFVDQGSXEOLFLQWKHSURFHVV H[HPSOLÀHGDQLQGHSHQGHQW
modernist outlook characteristic of the nineteenth century’s great artists.