UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT ARLINGTON ROMANTIC HISTORIOGRAPHY AND DEPICTIONS OF LANDSCAPE: A SEARCH FOR CONFLUENCES DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY BY JASON CARR ARLINGTON, TEXAS MAY 1993 History is not a work of philosophy, it is a painting . . . Fran‡ois Ren‚, Vicomte de Chateaubriand, Essai historique. The writing of classification of history is a problematic undertaking. Defining what is and what is not history is the stuff that has fueled all-night talk arguments and discussions. Straightforward and traditional histories are simple enough to pick out; simple history (like pornography) can be recognized on sight. There are other forms of history, though, to complicate matters. No one would deny oral histories are a form of history, no matter how inconstant or undocumented. These tales might in fact be more valuable to the culture's identity than a Western- style written text. Paintings may also be a form of historical text. During the Romantic period, especially, Romantic landscape painting often held the same priorities and style as Romantic historiography. On top of this a dab of Burkean aesthetic was thrown in which made landscape painting distinctive in presentation and not merely imitative of the historian's craft. Historiography and landscape painting run parallel courses during the period under discussion herein, roughly the end of the Age of Reason to mid- nineteenth-century close of Romanticism in the visual arts. The Enlightenment/Romantic Continuum There is no easy dividing point between the Enlightenment Historiography and that of the Romantic period, although several points of contention between the two can be picked out. The orthodox view of the Age of Reason was that the Medieval period was completely irrational, overly Christianized and generally unworthy of study, except as for a bad example for civilization. History, in this Voltairean mode, was in service of the "enlightenment creed of Nature, Reason, Progress and Humanity," all written for the intelligentsia.<1> Fortunately a few decidedly rational historians (or writers of history, if the two terms are not interchangeable) such as Montesquieu broke away from the rigid condemnation of the Medieval period enough to realize that "to apply the ideas of the present time to distant ages is the most fruitful source of error."<2> Still, Montesquieu held a minority position. It was terribly common to reap the harvest of that error of misjudging the environment in which a text was written or a piece of art produced. Cultural history of the time was largely in the mode of Johann Joachim Winckelmann. Winckelmann was convinced that there was a universal and eternal standard by which all cultures and artifacts could be judged: ancient Athens.<3> Winckelmann is, to be fair, credited with promoting an interest in multi- disciplinary history. And, if nothing else, he had a profound (although contrary) effect on the young Johann Herder.<4> The intellectual grip of this Enlightenment view of history manifests itself in another form: landscape painting. The classicism of Nicolas Poussin makes for a useful example (see Figure 1). Poussin obviously had bought into a Winckelmann- style classicism; here Poussin is advancing the idea of universals, of ideal beauty. "Everything," as Kenneth Clark has said in another context, "is in Keeping: there is never a false note."<5> The figures are perfect and poised, even when they are apparently perplexed about the meaning of the Latin inscription "Et in Arcadia Ego." Even death herself is noble. The figures, especially the female figure, look like pieces of antique statuary moved around a stage set to fit the needs of the painter. This reification, and ease with which the set pieces are positioned, is a little disconcerting given Sherman Barnes opinion that Enlightenment history was written "to instruct kings in the laws of reason and nature."<6> What was to stop the attentive king from treating his subjects with the same godlike omniscience as the artist did his models? This painterly quotation of classical models conjures up a faint irony: the perfect landscape (especially the smallish, distant tree near the center) and idealized figures are identical in function to the much-loathed Medieval stylized form. Both periods use symbolic (and perfected or reduced, respectively) forms to convey seemingly universal ideas. There is no sense of individuality or free will in either case. Just as the Medieval man was a servant to God, the classical ideas/figures are servants to the mind of the Enlightened viewer. Although there is no neatly catagorizable equivalent to Montesquieu as a transitional figure between the Age of Reason and Romanticism in painting, Giovanni Battista Piranesi and William Blake will serve as inexact models. Although most of Piranesi's work is strictly Romanist and antiquarian in choice of subject matter, there is a distortion of the ordered Classical world in some of the more nightmarish work of Piranesi (see Figure 2). This is still a world of surfaces, of forms, but the ideals have become perverted, mutated. This is like a syllogism based on a faulty premise. It has all of the necessary parts but is not grounded in reality. To craft a phrase in Camille Paglia style, the male desire to achieve definition and demarcation results in chaos, a system with its own internal logic, unusable and nonsensical in the real world.<7> William Blake's Pity (see Figure 3) introduces elements that are more evocative elements of Romantic painting. He is still engaged in the depiction of ideal subjects, in the sense of the Platonistic ideal (and in this case, the personification of the Idea of Pity) but the landscape is unreal, dreamlike, organically flowing.<8> Objective reality is denied; what is important is the internal experience of the artist, his subjective perception of his environment. The artist recognizes that "the worlds of dream and vision may provide more valid materials for the soul of the artist liberated from the rules of reason . . ."<9> This emphasis on subjectivity and the individual experience (and the attendant denial of the superiority of rationality) leads us to the Romantic period. The Romantic View of History It is not surprising that the foundations for Romanticism were laid in Germany. The Reformation (spawned, at least, in Germany) put forward the idea that one's internal life and relationship to God was more important to a healthy spiritual life than the ritual and good works advocated by the Roman Catholic church.<10> This left the door open for individuals to hold mutated forms of the religious systems inside themselves, a sort of micro-heresy. The Romantics thought the religious, almost ecstatic, fervor of the Medieval Christian was to be admired even if Christianity itself were deemed unacceptable to the Romantic. Indeed, the Medieval period was rehabilitated and studies in this area increased.<11> Medieval Europe was reconsidered as the crucible in which national identities were created or transformed. No longer would history be written for kings; instead the proper audience was a nation. The nation in question could look back on its geographical, linguistic, and cultural past as a major factor of their national identity. Hamann: the Definition of a People by Language With Johann Georg Hamann language began to be liberated from the harsh grammarian. Hamann saw the underlying inherent poetry in all language, even the most prosaic-seeming utterances. Strict rules of usage were unnecessary and even counterproductive. The straightjacketing of language by technicians and language purists (particularly the French Academy) was an emasculating process.<12> Manly, simple phrases were twisted and stuffed into ill-fitting constraints, not unlike an Oriental bound foot. Hamann saw a direct relationship between a nation's syntactical language constraints and the national character. The closer a language is related to the character of a people, the more freedom it will allow in its syntax. The Fact that French is more rigid than German or Latin Hamann obviously ascribes to the (historically conditioned) inclination of the French, hence their penchant for rules.<13> He also had radical ideas about the very nature of reality and communication that seem quite modern. He referred to the environment and history as "nothing but ciphers [and] hidden signs" on which national and human myths are founded.<14> In particular, he traced the origin of Scripture to a reinterpretation or reordering of existing codes. This opens up whole new worlds in the interpretation and writing of history as well. The interpretation could be emotive as well as rational. In fact, Goethe wrote of Hamann's own writing that " . . . one must completely renounce what is ordinarily called understanding . . ."<15> The feeling, the internal poetry must not be suppressed in a nation's language, or an individual's speech. The speech might not carry as much informational value, the human condition was bettered by the use of emotive and spontaneous speech. Herder: Geographic Tribalism Johann Gottfried Herder's philosophy of language came about in an unusual way: he was fortunate enough to travel widely and because of this picked up an appreciation for local customs and dialects (more to the point, he was frustrated and surprised by the cultural differentiation between even neighboring countries). Like Hamann, Herder preferred the spontaneity and poetry of unpretentious speech patterns to that of grammarians. He was especially interested in the homey wisdom of wive's tales and folk tales. He understood them to be the true repository of a nation's identity.<16> Herder's linguistic theories and emphasis on folk customs had a definite impact on historiography: "Under the impact of Herderian Romanticism, scholars, antiquarians, philologists, historians and literati in general embarked upon a feverish activity designed at first to salvage, collect and preserve for posterity . . .ancient and moribund national traditions."<17> His emphasis on the preservation of national traditions was not merely done for the sake of itself, although Herder probably would have considered that sufficient reason for the exertion. The knowledge of the cultural milieu was critical to the interpretation of texts. Although Herder is known to have called for a certain amount of critical thought in the interpretive process, he is remembered best as an empathetic (Romantic) interpreter.<18> Accurate and empathetic appraisal of past cultures and events was necessary because Herder thought that mankind (through civilization) was coming closer to the predetermined will of God.<19> To understand where others have been tells us in the present where we are along that path. Michelet: Teaching a People Their own Nationhood Jules Michelet was familiar and congenial with the ideas of Herder, and appeared to adopt them almost wholesale as his own. One main difference between Herder and Michelet is that Herder wanted to pin down the national identity in order to understand its texts, while Michelet wanted the same knowledge in order to retransmit the culture back to the people themselves.<20> Michelet's desire to personify the national character (or to provide a role model for the people) gave his historical texts sparkle and interesting detail: "everything is individualized, characters are brilliantly painted, but the people are the hero."<21> Here the limitations of the Romantic historical style come to the forefront. The text lives because of the personal involvement of the author and the enumeration of real- life detail. The danger here is that the history becomes too subjective, too sensitive to the situation; the organic whole is being seen from only one point of view, that of a Romantic author. "Nations, ages, classes were endowed with a soul, were depicted as driven by a destiny . . ."<22> To make excessive use of the personification of ideas and events is to create a type of Frankenstein's monster. This occasional excess did not invalidate the success of his method. The oversimplification of motives and the assignment of personalities to historical chunks of time yielded rich fruit for Michelet. His personal and allegorical style makes him a pleasure to read, a boon to any historian with aspirations towards immortality. And it was he who noticed and set apart the spirit of that age that we now call the Italian Renaissance.<23> The Romantic Landscape Romantic landscape depiction followed closely the developments of Romantic Historiography. The same motifs of geographical and cultural heritage will be found here, as well as some of the glorification of the simple life that Herder extolled. Before jumping into the mirroring of the Romantic Landscape to Romantic intellectual and histriographical currents a caveat is in order. It has been discussed that Herder saw all civilization as a progression towards a final goal (see page 13). If an art historian adopted a strict stance in this mode he might run into problems. For example, the painting of ruins pictured in Figure 4 is not at all related to that in Figure 5. At first glance they might appear to be contemporary and of the same style. After all, they are both paintings of ruins in a unpopulated landscape. The difference is this: the former is a somewhat classicized bucolic landscape. The gateway is pictured as it was and Ruisdael includes the ruined form as a literal detail. The Northern European tendency towards static compositions with dramatic chiaroscuro tonal contrast is certainly in character. The Friedrich painting, on the other hand, transports a crushing emotional load. The glorious period of the nationalist, Gothic civilization has passed, crumbled away. The Friedrich painting must have had even a more powerful resonance for contemporary viewers. Here in the wake of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars that followed it we have depicted an apse of an old cathedral. The painting (no longer extant) was a document of a ruin -- literally a part of a structure that remained somehow standing when the Whole had collapsed. Here the architecture has outlived its purpose, survived after its original significance had been lost. Perhaps it was reminiscent of the survival of the aristocracy in France after the feudal infrastructure had been largely dismantled. The apse and the aristocracy were bones of extinct dinosaurs. They would be, for Hamann, one more set of coded signs and ciphers to be read empathetically in the light of their own cultural environment. Burke's Aesthetics and the Romantic Landscape The painters of Romantic landscapes were intellectually influenced by those theoreticians of language, society and history mentioned above. They learned appreciation for indigenous customs and designs, and also adopted the Romantic's adoration of genre, of low or common subject matter. Their visual and emotional aesthetics , however, came from another source altogether. This source was a thin book , almost a pamphlet, published in the mid-eighteenth century. A Philosophical Enquiry in to the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful by Edmund Burke was not particularly groundbreaking cerebral work. Much of the book consists of a rehashing of Longinus and John Dennis.<24> Regardless, Burke's more-modern phrasing and examples made his work appealing to those who were interested in aesthetics. His theories on the appropriateness of muted earthtones and subject matter would exert profound influence on Romantic painters.<25> The Sublime Perhaps the most important aspect of his work is his amusingly lawyer-like opinion on the ascendancy of the sublime: Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.<26> After the idea sank in with the artist community, the idyllic landscape was banished. In its place is a tumultuous, violent depiction of nature (see Figure 6). Man is pitted in an almost existentially futile battle against the overwhelming raw force of nature. Although Nature is not necessarily hostile towards Mankind, she certainly holds the power to destroy her own. In contrast to a typical Enlightenment theme, the men on the raft in Figure 6 are not victims the wrath of an angry god; they just happened to be on the ocean at an unfortunate time. They are caught in a chance motion, a ruffling of the planet's watery skirts. The Beautiful The Romantic depictions of the Sublime tend to be somewhat over-the-top, but there were less extreme modes of expression. The Romanticists could also follow Burke's commandment to portray the beautiful (see Figure 7 ) in their work. Here we are treated again to a skeleton of sorts. The bones of an older civilization stick up and invite us to empathize with their past era of glory. As with the Medusa illustration, an earlier representation of this same subject would likely have shown the Temple in full Hellenic glory, peopled with physically perfect and undifferentiated citizens. The Romantic painter here stays true to his emotional stance. The temple here has long been abandoned, stripped of purpose. Nevertheless, she retains some of her former dignity, like an aging diva. The tragic mindset of the Romantic ensures this aura of majesty and mystery. The utter lack of human presence in this painting is evidence that all societies eventually fall, even that of the painter. Genre Inserted with the Beautiful Not all of the ruinscapes are devoid of human presence. In the tradition of Hamann and Herder's Romantic respect for ordinary folk and the simplicity of their lives, genre figures are sometimes part of the landscape composition (see Figure 8). Here the viewer is privy to one of the simple pleasures of rural life: the brief, sweet rest during hard labor (in this case, making haypiles). Our agricultural heroes, ironically, are likely unaware of the philosophical importance of the ruins that border their croplands. In true Romantic fashion, the joys of rural camaraderie transcend the need for canonical knowledge about dead cultures and events. Dry intellectualism is dismissed (if it was ever considered). The only important issue at hand here is the preservation of the rustic's own culture. This social solipsism may seem to be at odds with the Herder's ideas of the sanctity of different cultures. It is not, and the distinction hinges on the function of the philosopher/painter (even if not a major one). His objective viewpoint is a sacrifice, one made so that the individual cultures can be preserved on canvas or in print. Even a full- blown Romantic must, in case like this, maintain a sense of rationality if he is to help the Romantic culture perpetuate itself. Political Messages in Landscape Painting Romantic art is not necessarily apolitical. An extremely complex political painting is Old Heroes's Graves (see Figure 9). In order to demonstrate the sense of scale, two French Soldiers may be seen stand near the mouth of the cave (inside circle "a"). There is also another interesting detail which is unfortunately almost invisible, even in the large format print which was the source for this illustration. Within the boundaries of circle "b" is ". . . a dilapidated tomb on which can be seen the name 'Arminius.' Over it slithers a snake (in the colours of the tricolour) symbolizing evil. A tree is growing out of the grave and there are some flowering bushes representing the revival of national sentiment . . . several other tombstones also bear inscriptions referring to heroes who had died in the cause of freedom and justice."<27> Not all politically involved landscapes were as ideologically and visually complicated as Figure 9. Delacroix's Liberty might well be an illustration from one of Michelet's Revolutionary histories (see Figure 10). Here is an embodiment of an Idea allegorically leading the people in revolt towards freedom and Justice. Liberty steps over architectural and human debris with the confidence of those for whom "God is on their side." It is obvious that Delacroix has invested the main figure with moral and social force. Michelet would likely be very pleased. This resemblance leads to other, more unfortunate, ones. Delacroix is vulnerable to the same temptation as Michelet to give a soul to political movement or event (see page 14). This rational downfall is an emotional triumph; it is a superb piece of political propaganda. De La Croix (the art historian) states that: The Liberty, a document of the intimate union of revolution and Romanticism, conveys the political temper of revolutionary Europe more powerfully than any other early nineteenth-century painting.<28> The Later Eighteenth Century The Romantic candle could not keep its emotional fires stoked forever and so this period, like all others, came to an end. The reaction against seeming irrationality of the Romantics was the objective school of Leopold von Ranke. The introduction of the European seminar would compete side-by-side with the waning Romantic school until the end of the century.<29> One aspect of historiography which Ranke might grudgingly admit to cribbing from the Romantics (especially Michelet) is the sense of warring factions or ideas as having they're own life, their own volition, although this may also be a Hegelian influence.<30> The new and comparatively objective seminar would eventually become a paradigm for unbiased research at turn of the century. Post-Romantic Realism in Landscape Painting This hardedged view of history, plus the effect of the discerning cultural criticism of Jacob Burkhardt, served to disrupt the Romantic mood and mode of painting. The inherent antiquarianism of the Romantics was discarded for a style that addressed the immediate space and time. Realism not only ignored the past, but in a perverse way denies the past and perhaps even the future. Comparing realism to a form of Positivist aesthetic wherein "only the thing's of one's own times, the things one can say, are 'real.'"<31> (It was in this way that positivism denied the existence, or at least importance of anything that was not empirically verifiable. The Gleaners in Figure 11 are undeniably real and unidealized. The only real connection with Romanticism here is dreary earthtones use in the fields (and this a direct influence of Burke's color theory. Here the genre figures are front and center, and do not make up a part of the landscape as they had in Figure 8. They are the unashamed workers, cousins perhaps of the newly liberated/enslaved factory proletariat. On the other end of the realists are those who adopt the techniques of realism but retain fanciful or fantastic subject matter (see Figure 12). Ophelia is otherworldly to the extreme in her unawareness to her own drowning. The viewer seems to see more vegetation, and more vegetation-y vegetation than one would find in the "real" scene. This may be a nod to the old Romantic tradition of emotion and magic reaching where science (and the human eye) cannot. Conclusion: Congruities between History and Painting We can see that painting has mirrored (or maybe followed) the intellectual currents underlying Historiography, and most strikingly that of the Romantic period. Whether they share the same causation or one is the cause of the other, the two are bound together. They have shared the same delight in the people, and in ideals masquerading as people. They have both revelled in the theatric. Most importantly, historiography and painting are twin sisters who, combined, are able to bring us a taste of cultures no longer extant. WORKS CITED B”rsch-Supan, Helmut. Caspar David Friedrich. 2nd English edition. 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Sussex: Harvester Press, 1985. Sharp, Lesley. Schiller and the Historical Charactar. Oxford: Oxford University, 1982. Simo, Melanie Louise. Loudon and the landscape: from country seat to metropolis, 1783-1843. New Haven: Yale University Press, c1988. Springer, Carolyn. The Marble Wilderness: Ruins and Representation in Italian Romanticism, 1775-1850. Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1987. Stuart, David. The Garden Triumphant. New York: Harper and Row, 1988. Talmon, J. L. Romanticism and Revolt: Europe 1815 - 1848. 2nd American ed. Norwich, Great Britain: W. W. Norton and Sons, 1979. Turner, Roger. Capability Brown and the eighteenth century English landscape. New York: Rizzoli, 1985. Walford, E. John. Jacob van Ruisdael and the perception of landscape. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1991. Watkin, David. The English vision: the picturesque in architecture, landscape, and garden design. New York: Harper & Row, 1982. Walford, E. John. Jacob van Ruisdael and the Perception of Landscape. New Haven: Yale University, 1991. NOTES <1>Matthew A. Fitzsimons, Alfred G. Pundt, and Charles E. Nowell, eds, The Development of Historiography (Port Washington, New York: Kennikat Press, 1967), 148. <2>Ibid., 152. <3>Ibid., 159. <4>Ibid., 160. <5>Kenneth Clark, Landscape into Art, 3rd ed., (Great Britain: Icon Editions, 1991), 128. <6>Fitzsimons, et al, 147. <7>Consider the aberrant spiderwebs made by spiders who were fed amphetamines by the army. <8>Blake's curvilinear and organic forms lent themselves to production in ironwork a century in the future; hence, Art Nouveau. <9>Horst de la Croix and Richard G. Tansey, Gardner's Art Through the Ages, 8th ed., (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1986), 801. <10>Fitzsimons, et al, 163. <11>Also consider the emergence of the Gothic Revival in Architecture. <12>James C. O'Flaherty, Johann Georg Hamann (Boston: Twayne, 1979), 114-5. <13>Ibid. <14>Ibid., 73. <15>Goethe, Dichtung and Wahrheit. Quoted in O'Flaherty, page 100. <16>Talmon, 98. <17>Ibid., 101. <18>Marcia Bunge, "Text and Reader in Herder's Interpretations," in Johann Gottfried Herder: Language, History, and the Enlightenment, ed. Wulf Koepke (Columbia, South Carolina: Camden House, 1990), 139. <19>Fitzsimons, et al, 170. <20>Ibid., 191. <21>Ibid. <22>Talmon, 163. <23>Fitzsimons, et al, 192. <24>Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, 2nd ed, edited by James T. Boulton ( London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1987.), xv-xvi. <25>Renate Prochno, "Nationalism in British Eighteenth-Century Painting: Sir Joshua Reynolds and Benjamin West." In Nationalism in the Visual Arts, ed Richard A. Etlin (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1991), 40. <26>Ibid., 39. <27>Helmut B”rsch-Supan, Caspar David Friedrich, 2nd English ed., (Munich: Prestel-Verlag, 1990), 96. <28>de la Croix and Tansey, 822-3. <29>Fitzsimons, et al, 209. <30>Talmon, 163. <31>de la Croix and Tansey, 836. http://www.mousetrap.net/~mouse/uta/