1845 Charles Blanc – Géricault
Géricault Life
Battle of Eylau (Detail) Jean-Antoine Gros.
Charles Blanc’s 1845 biography of Théodore Géricault marks another important milestone in Géricault scholarship. Read the first excerpt of Blanc’s essay translated in English.
Géricault
“The artist who employed his brush to signal to the world that the practice of painting had to change emerged from the studio of Pierre Guérin. How strange! The most committed advocate of the virtues of classical art witnessed this violent reaction grow within the bosom of his own school, a reaction soon known as “Romanticism;”and which was, in Géricault, less a reaction than a return to a strong and simple realism. Thus, the first to protest against the depiction of Greek nudes and the race of Agamemnon was formed by the painter of Phaedra, of Clytemnestra, and of the Sacrifice to Asclepius !
Gros had already bestowed heroic sentiment upon the truth of ordinary action; he had discovered the human side of the nobility which David taught. Géricault would continue this movement. But by pursuing that which is real still farther, and by daring more, he discovered a profound poetry. Most important, whilst doing so the painter freed himself from the chains of the antique tradition which had been the bane of French genius. The son of an advocate in Rouen, Géricault was born in that city in 1791. Unfortunately for him, his birth was as premature as his death. Had Géricault entered the world fifteen years later, he would have been able to enjoy during his own life all the glory which has been heaped upon his works. But his genius arrived too early. He died at the age of thirty-three still poorly appreciated, understood by just a few, and disdained by the oracles of taste of that time. We have since witnessed the disappearance of these fevered dissents directed at the works of Géricault, the sterile quibbles from critics utterly lacking the fire and tenacity needed to measure the valor of this immense talent – unable even to describe a life so short, and a career too soon interrupted.
Géricault initially embarked upon a literary education of the first rank. His father ensured that at the age of fifteen he enter the Imperial College, today the College Louis-le-Grand. Géricault there experienced that which befalls all finely tempered souls – he entered a world of torment. His dominant traits rose irresistibly to the surface. He could not succeed in his classical studies, so impatient was he to paint, and to paint horses, because horses were his passion from his infancy. On the days when Géricault could leave the college, he went to watch dressage, or else ran to the circus of Franconi, an individual Géricault believed to be one of the greatest of men. He worshiped Franconi and never approached him with anything but respect, so content was he to be in the company of a man of such character! Naïve in his youth, Géricault would loiter at the doors of the great houses waiting for the departure of the duchesses. Mr. Dorcy [Pierre de Dreux d’Orcy] recounted to me that Géricault was so thrilled to see the Mecklembourgeois pulling the luxurious carriages in high harness that he followed them the way the street boys of Paris follow the drums.
When he was seventeen Géricault left college to enter the studio of Carle Vernet, where he found the double satisfaction of painting, and of painting the horses he so loved. Yet, the breeds he found chez Vernet were only the slim and delicate varieties, horses bred for the park and for racing. It was at this point that Géricault discovered his preference for more vigorous breeds, recalling no doubt his sturdy Normans, and the robust, cavorting mounts of Poussin. Leaving the studio of Vernet, he joined the school of Guérin. But there the young student demonstrated inclinations as a colorist which appeared ridiculous to the austere academician. Géricault was already making his own studies at the Museum at this point, where he immediately began preparing copies of Rubens, an audacious move for those times. Thus, with his pink tones, mannered forms, and his great boldness, Géricault entered the inner temple of academic tradition, of sculptured figures, sages, heroes and gods. The young man naturally felt out of place amidst the crowd gathered in Guérin’s studio. He entered with the hope of becoming an illustrious painter someday; yet his master affected not to believe it possible, and even counseled Géricault to renounce painting. We do not know if Guérin did so because this was actually his judgment, or because he wanted to comply with the wishes of Géricault’s father who detested art. All this hurt the young painter, but did not discourage him in the slightest. Upon leaving the studio of Guérin, Géricault completed his education by reading the English poets, by the study of Italian and music, and by his assiduous commitment to the study of antiquities. He also painted after the masters, seeking through this practice to apprehend their inspiration, and to excel in each style. In the studio of Guérin he came to know several of our great artists today: Léon Cogniet, Eugène Delacroix, the two Scheffers, Henriquel Dupont, and Champmartin; he was particularly close to Mr. Dedreux Dorcy, an excellent man, a widely-recognized practitioner, and the most skilled in the class of Guérin at that time. Like Géricault, Mr. Dorcy had a fortune to deploy largely as he pleased, possibly to the detriment of his art.
Géricault was at this point a handsome young man of above average height – elegant and well built, a lover of women and loved by them, remarked upon at the races of the Champ-de-Mars. Géricault today would have been a member of the Jockey Club, a friend of Lord Seymour, and one of the heroes of Chantilly and the steeplechase. He was a lion in every sense of the word. But these pleasures and these excesses did not interfere with Géricault’s work…Can I say this? Rather, the experiences furnished him with material for his favorite observations, and it was the painter within him who led him into his various pursuits.
For the rest, his father and his family were so opposed to his love of painting that Géricault did not even have his own studio. Sometimes he painted in the home of Mr. Dorcy and sometimes at the homes of other friends. In 1812 he rented a vacant space on the boulevard Montmartre opposite the Panoramas. And it was there that Géricault painted the Charging Chasseur, the equestrian portrait of Mr. Dieudonne in his uniform of a lieutenant in the Emperor’s Guides. I do not know of a more gripping painting, nor one bursting with more pride. The cavalier wears a colback and breeches of light leather. Turning back towards the viewer, he carries a curved saber and seems to command the charge. The terrain is difficult, stony and very steep, the horse makes a sharp, bold stop, and of course his iron hooves ringing on the rock might spark fire at any moment. The wind pulls at the plumes of his colback and fill the flying sleeves of his jacket, which serve to stabilize the vacant area on this side of the canvas, for the composition can be viewed as a diagonal. The rider is solid, perfectly in control, and calm upon his mount – which strains and rears. To the right – beneath the hooves of the horse, we perceive a melee which recalls the hottest combats of Bourguignon – the broken artillery pieces, the hussars charging at breakneck speed, projected against the flame of a bursting shell. To their left are other fiery riders who fill this space. The sky above roils, befitting a composition filled with movement; the painting makes a profound impression of unity upon us which is impossible to forget. The grey horse is dappled on the hindquarters; his proud head breathes fire, his tail is wild – and floats as a golden banner in the breeze.
Can we imagine the impact this audacious work had upon the older painters; or the impetuosity of the disciple mixed with the gravity of the master? “From whence did this appear?” cried David, disconcerted, “I do not recognize the touch.” For, in fact, one could detect a measured sobriety in this painting from an artist so full of the fire of youth, and who was not yet more than twenty. The buttons, all the heavy embroidery of his vest and trim are unencumbered by coquetry; the rich uniform is rendered free of tinsel. If the pale and noble figure of this cavalier is not sufficiently detached from his surroundings, or elaborately modeled, it is because one finds the same controlled taste in the detailing and trim of his uniform. And also in the power and poetry of this composition, the motif of which is so simple! This then is a portait like those of Van Dyck and Velasquez, always with an accent of originality, a new movement, a particular harmony, something never seen before. The hand is as masculine as the action, and the brush as fiery as the subject. This is an equestrian portrait that is, in itself, an entire epic. And for this reason we truly become part of this battle when viewing this canvas; our souls are seized by the great tumult reigning across the canvas from the sun unto the clouds.
These were the beginnings for Géricault. The Charging Chasseur, which today adorns the red hall of the Palais-Royal, caused more shock than admiration then. But Gericault had justly claimed his place. Gérard, Gros, Guérin, himself, were certain of this fact. The painting which serves as the pendant to the Chasseur, in the same salon of the Palais-Royal, is the Wounded Cuirassier, a work Géricault completed in mere days in order to be able to present it at the Salon of 1814. In this canvas, the artist depicts a dismounted soldier leading his mount by the bridle over a steep, slippery terrain. The horse is bay-brown, and his head is of a type which recalls those of Gros. The narrowness of the canvas seems to have had some effect on the rigor of the proportions, the rump of the horse almost touches the neckline; the unfortunate cuirassier raises his eyes to heaven and sees there nothing but black clouds, heavy, metallic – bordered by a thin band of sinister light. Ashamed to be on foot whilst wearing the boots of a rider, enfeebled by his wound, he stumbles beneath the burden of his distress. In one hand he holds the bit of his animated horse, with the other he rests his weight upon his sabre. His head expresses energy, but also despair, and is entirely of a sentiment of certain figures in the Battle of Eylau. All the rest is depicted in colossal proportions. The countryside is no doubt that of Russia, for the landscape is sad, vague, and sombre. One senses that there is an allusion here to some great misfortune, and there is also something beautiful which is implied, rather than stated explicitly. One intuits the disaster of an entire army behind this solitary soldier who calls for death in cursing fortune. Once this common event passed through the mind of Géricault, it was transformed into a drama alive with poetic history. To fashion a hero the painter needs no more than a single cavalryman.
It was in 1813 during the interval between these two exhibitions that Géricault completed his two superb studies of horses’ chests and hindquarters at Versailles, which are today in the collection of Lord Seymour, where we viewed them. The Study of Hindquarters is a masterpiece in the natural style. The different attitudes adopted by the horses at their hay-racks appears accidental, yet without a trace of coquetry; weight sometimes on one foot, sometimes upon the other, sometimes dragging a hoof across the floor, these capricious poses, these nervous twitches of the tail, all these nuances so sensible and so fine. Géricault has rendered them with an uncommon delight. They are standards of all species, in all sizes, in all tones: gray, speckled, chestnut, bay-brown, milk soup. Collectors study all these different coats with pleasure. He also captures the hot and oily atmosphere common around studs, and even the cleanliness of the straw, which we find only in the very best stables. As for the Study of Forequarters, it is a series of seven horses each about a meter apart ranged upon an oblong space, and all admirable for their pride and their elegance. These horses, viewed from the front and therefore foreshortened, presented a host of difficulties, the most arduous which could challenge an artist. Géricault did wonderfully well, without any apparent effort and without any changes to the initial composition. Obviously, the painter who had so studied these horses already knew them very well. Note especially, towards the center, the inimitable depiction of the horse Isabelle. We cannot recall a more faithful rendering, or the effect the canvas has upon all who find joy at the sight of a beautiful horse.
But our long contemplation of this invaluable study suggests to us one more remarkable feature. Up to this point, painters who painted horses did not appear to have been much concerned with the coats of the horses. Gros, himself, did not deviate on this point from the generally adopted convention. The coats of his horses do not differ from the grain of the canvas, or layers of paint. Géricault believed himself bound by the highest scruples. Upon the canvas we speak of now it is easy to recognize the natural depiction of the horses’ hair. One distinguishes the areas where the hair is lying flat from those where it seems to change direction. For example, upon a brown horse whose muzzle is lit by a long white trail, one can see, rendered by a rare and charming artifice of the brush, the movement of hair between the two eyebrows, which separates and forms a star upon the head…”
Read Part II here.