1841 Batissier – Géricault
Géricault Life
1812 Charging Chasseur (detail) Théodore Géricault Louvre.
Louis Batissier published the first major biographical study of Jean Louis André Théodore Géricault in the Revue du Dix-Neuvième Siècle in 1841. We provide here an extended extract from the first English translation of Batissier’s influential essay.
Géricault
“He touched you, we are sure, when you visited the studio of a painter, or of some modeller, and gazed upon a plaster mask stamped with the mark which death fixes upon the mortal face of man, and asked – was this the most handsome and noble visage of all? The expansive forehead reveals an extraordinary intelligence beneath the emaciation of death – the sunken cheeks, eyes straining in their sockets, the bony nose and unshaven beard, mouth twisting to form words we will never hear. Discerning these traces of such powerful features and an inspired mind you wonder – who was this soul so horribly disfigured by suffering? You discover that this is the death mask of Géricault, the painter of the Shipwreck of the Medusa, struck down in youth by a long, malignant illness. So, now you desire to know more of the life of this eminent artist. We have asked similar questions often, while gazing upon this eloquent plaster mask, and now offer to our readers all which we have been able to learn about this painter, about whom so little has been written, beyond short notices in volumes riddled with error.
There is nothing so very surprising in his tale. Géricault was misunderstood during his time, like most men of genius. It took his violent and premature death, uprooting him from the arts, to finally force his contemporaries to begin to recognize the scope and depth of his immense talent. The few works Géricault presented to the public, paintings which can be fairly called the glory of our school, passed unappreciated and largely unnoticed into the galleries of the Louvre. When a canvas did attract attention, it became the object of criticisms so bitter and so cruel that one is tempted to believe them formed by some extraordinary malevolent power.
If we announced to the world that Géricault, the painter who opened a new era in French art, and who gave to our country several great works worthy of the most celebrated masters, never had the consolation of selling even one painting, nor of a single biography telling of his art and life, not a solitary soul would want to believe it. Yet, this is the truth. Moreover, he was buried in the same rude manner as the poorest man in France, even though Géricault belonged to a wealthy family. No stone marks the resting place of the genius who produced the Shipwreck of the Medusa. Not even a grill prevents the curious who visit the cemeteries of our capital from walking upon his bones. It required a friend to finally step forward and render this sad honor to the remains of this great painter. In our own time, this friend and other artists have gathered to raise a monument worthy of such a talent. (This individual of whom we speak is Mr. Dedreux-Dorcy, [Pierre de Dreux d’Orcy] a skilled painter in his own right and an intimate friend of Géricault’s for many years. He furnished us with many invaluable details for our account. We can view the funeral monument, sculpted by Mr. Etex, at this year’s exhibition.)
We believe that the recollections we have gathered here about the life of Géricault, a life filled with many trials, may be read with some interest. To be clear, we make no attempt at rehabilitation; for no soul speaks today of Géricault with anything but just admiration for the work of this artist, whose too early death ended a career which promised fuller and greater glory.
Jean-Louis-André-Théodore Géricault was born on the 25th of September, 1791, in Rouen, that city which also gave us the great Corneille. His father worked as a lawyer, and spared no effort or expense in the education of his son. Géricault began his studies in Rouen and was then sent to Paris. In 1806, he entered the school of Mr. Castel, the author of the poem the Plants, and from there the youth went to the Imperial College, the institution which we know as the College Louis-le-Grand. Already, from an early age, the two passions that would fill his life were clear, if the term ‘passion’ suffices to describe his instinctual appetite for drawing, and the pleasure he derived from watching and studying fine horses. He copied with extraordinary facility everything he saw; and he saw so well that his young companions were stunned by the accuracy of his drawings. Perspective proved no hindrance; he gave it little thought and mastered the skill on his own. Without qualm or doubt, he presented himself as a great artist to his young friends, claiming this vocation to be his destiny.
He admired the most talented riders immensely and aspired to join their ranks. This desire so consumed him that he fashioned devices to develop the muscles of his legs, muscles which eventually rivaled those of the strongest horsemen. When Géricault was free in the evening, he raced to the Olympic Circus, where he eagerly assisted the grooms who cared for the horses there with infinite patience and devotion. He delighted in the performances re-creating the great battles of the French armies which captured the public imagination of the time. He believed that the easy victories performed for the audience accurately portrayed the hard-fought victories of our soldiers. Still, for him, the horses were always the most intelligent and marvelous performers in these spectacular dramas. It was they who captured all his interest and for whom he reserved all his applause. After these evenings, he returned spellbound to his school, dreaming of the time when he could experience the pleasures of dressage for himself and fully possess the noble animal which Buffon calls the friend of man.
The life of the scholar was not at all conducive to this burning imagination which struggled ceaselessly to rise in the world. Géricault sensed that he needed freedom, sunlight, sound, and movement. He had no appetite at all for studying classical authors. His natural instincts carried him to drawing and painting. Even then, he could declare, as Correggio did in the presence of a painting by Raphaël, “I, too, am a painter!”
Géricault left college on July 1st, 1808, having attained the fourth level in humanities and a capable grasp of mathematics. Henceforth, he gave himself completely to painting. As he desired above all to draw horses, he entered the studio of Carle Vernet. But he was not content to simply copy the paintings of his teacher; he also produced studies after the great masters, the Flemish especially. He did so with such ardor and perseverance that the elder Isabey said of Géricault that he consumed Rubens. Isabey’s teasing never discouraged the young artist, however, who devoted himself entirely to the works of the great painter. In France at this time one had to possess a certain self-confidence and courage to openly declare a preference for Rubens, for the imperial school proscribed the Flemish master. But Géricault sensed that he had much to gain in seeking inspiration from such works. If he did not find in these the elegance of form and the purity of style of the Italian school, he was seduced by the lifelike aspect of the bodies, the radiance of the colors, and the great charm and appeal of the many different individuals depicted. However, it was not the touch of the master which Géricault sought; he copied with the independence that was the foundation of his character, such that even today these copies retain their unique cachet.
He spent little time in the studio of Carle Vernet and soon left to study with Guérin. This was falling between Charybdis and Scylla. The instruction of Guérin offered less, if that was possible, than that of his first teacher. How could Guérin, for whom each painting cost all his effort, who meditated so long on the composition of his subject, who combined his lines with all care, and for whom the execution was so painstaking and so studied, and Géricault – soul on fire, lifted by inspiration, and who searched for drama and gripping effects, agree on the theory and practice of painting? Any agreement was impossible. In vain Guérin reprimanded his student, correcting his figures for him, and returning them to the great principles of antiquity. The student tried to embrace the precepts of his teacher, but could not. Instead, Géricault worked to reproduce movement and life on each canvas, such as these appeared to him in real life. A new Prometheus, he wanted to call down the fires of heaven to breathe life into the painted statues traced by the artists of the imperial school.
He would see the model posed before him, but Géricault could not compel himself to servilely produce a simple copy. His imagination immediately framed the model in some dramatic scene, and he drew that which his imagination offered him. We are told that Géricault had read Diderot’s spiritual critique of the rigors and practices of the studio: “All these academic postures, constraints, adornments, and arrangements – all these actions coldly demanded of some poor soul paid to come, disrobe, and perform as a mannequin for a teacher, what does this have in common with nature?” Diderot’s critique of the painters of his time applies as much to our own. We have progressed little. The education of artists always follows the same routines, and always follows the same course.
Géricault was a persistent disappointment to his teacher. Guerin had no understanding of the painting of his student. “Your colors are not true,” he informed him, “all your contrasts of light and dark lead me to believe you paint everything by the light of the moon. As for your formal studies of life, they are as close to nature as a violin case to a violin.” We question whether Guérin actually employed these remarks to dismiss the painting of Géricault. It seems more likely to us that this diatribe was directed at the unfortunate Prud’hon, another painter of immense talent, who was routinely treated by the artists of his time as the whipping boy of the French school.
Géricault had a great respect for his teacher, however. One day, he asked Guérin for permission to paint a copy of one of his paintings. Guérin believed the task to be beyond the talents of a student as unskilled and undeveloped as he. Guérin added much more, and with great sadness informed the youth that he would never be an artist. His teacher urged him to seek another path. Thus, from the very start, Géricault encountered obstacles and taxing humiliations capable of defeating a young man possessing less sense of his own power, or one who lacked a will as firm and unshakable. However, it may be that Guérin, in delivering this severe judgement of his student, was not expressing his own opinion, but rather complying with the requests of the young painter’s family, who were angered that Géricault insisted upon pursuing a risky career.
This explanation seems quite plausible when we recall that Guérin much later remarked that within Géricault was the “stuff of three or four painters.” Indeed, it must be stated clearly: Géricault’s family fought with him throughout his entire life and did everything they could to prevent him from following his vocation, despite his successes. Like most artists and writers, he was the victim of the hostile and absurd belief that those who wish to study that which is the most liberal and most noble, desire, at the same time, a life of suffering and misery. In the eyes of critics, the glory even of the souls who triumph does not excuse their temerity.
His mother loved him tenderly and seemed to divine the genius present in her child. His father was a man of honest character, but of the most ordinary sensibilities. His father understood nothing of Géricault’s youthful endeavors and ambitions, and it was said of him with some justification, that he was a chicken who sired an eagle.
Despite the blindness and the ill-wishes of his family, Géricault continued his studies as a painter. He left the studio of Guérin, who did not mourn the departure of a student he believed would never bring honor to his school, a school from whence emerged painters both eminent and diverse. We need mention just a few names here: Léon Cogniet, Champmartin, Eugène Delacroix, Henriquel Dupont, the Scheffers, artists who, in our view, left their master far behind them.
While the young painter could not accept the theories professed by the school of David, and followed a path quite different from the one taken by the most renowned artists of his time, Géricault understood, just the same, that inspiration must be guided by factual knowledge and be moderated by the fundamental precepts of design. He sensed his ability to soar on his own wings, but did not hide from himself the need to study more strenuously and more in the classical style than he ever had to date. He committed himself to this task with a perseverance incredible in a man of his character. To provide an idea of his approach to work, we have recorded here a note in which he organizes his time and which is written in his own hand.
“Draw and paint the great masters of antiquity.”
“Read and compose. – Anatomy. – Antiquity. – Music. – Italian.”
“Attend lessons on antiquity, Tuesdays and Saturdays, at two o’clock.”
“December. Paint nudes at Mr. Dorcy’s. – Draw in the style of antiquity and compose several subjects. – Occupy myself with music. ”
“January. – Go to Mr. Guérin’s to paint after nature.”
“February. – Occupy myself entirely with the style of masters and composition, inside and alone the entire time.”
We know that in this effort Géricault was not simply posing, or posturing. He courageously held fast to the course he set for himself. We can see clearly that Géricault took his art seriously, and that before he produced a work of substance he wanted to be as sure of his brush as he was of his imagination. He had no master in the strict sense, that is true; but he added to the education offered in the studio by studying nature, and by studiously examining the best works of the most celebrated painters. It was during this time that Géricault composed the Scene from the Deluge, inspired by Poussin. In this painting of a large and difficult sort, we discover a man already in firm control of the resources of his art and who renders powerfully the sentiments of his soul.
Géricault mixed his pursuit of painting with literary studies. His favorites were the poems of Tasso, of Milton, and of Lord Byron, the dramas of Schiller and the novels of Walter Scott. It was by meditating upon these great epics that he reinvigorated his imagination. He lived in spirit among heroes born from the pens of poets, and the grandeur of their descriptions impregnated his soul. These somber and picturesque images, rendered with such marvelous energy, became part of him and remained always before his eyes. Literary works exercised as much influence on Géricault’s development as the study of the most magnificent paintings of the Flemish and Italian schools.
Throughout his entire life he worked in this way to complete his education as an artist. In 1812, his intelligence and a heart nourished by the most beautiful productions of the genius of man allowed Géricault to attempt a great work of his own. He presented, under the modest title: Equestrian Portrait of M.D, a painting we know now as the Charging Chasseur and which is one of his finest compositions. Both the horse and the rider are impossible to forget – the one, eyes aflame and mane flying in the wind, scrambling across a blasted landscape – and the other, military jacket open, twisting in his saddle, waving his sabre to show his companions the path forward to battle. This canvas – one notes above all the independent style and execution – so original, was painted in a dozen days. Naturally, the painting attracted a great deal of attention at the Salon. A small number found it very remarkable; the rest thought it horrible. Nobody understood which school or tradition had produced such a painting. A stunned David, upon viewing the Portrait, inquired: “From whence did this appear? I do not recognize the brush.” David was correct. For there was nothing in the Chasseur to connect the work to the Greeks and the Romans which the master painter had worked so hard to make the style of that time. Few knew who this unknown young artist was, an artist who stepped onto the public stage with a painting conceived with such freshness and such audacity. Géricault received a gold medal for his first work. A few critics agreed that his composition shone with a vigor of expression and an invention of beautiful movement rarely seen. Nonetheless, they claimed the artist still possessed an incomplete understanding of the brush. The story circulating at the time was that the painter of the Charging Chasseur had been painting for less than eighteen months. As a consequence, some were disposed to accuse Géricault of inexperience. This claim was not strictly true, for Géricault had been working for four years without respite, ever since his departure from the Imperial College.
During the following year, Géricault went to Versailles…”