“...the real is always interesting“ Naturalism in Painting 1870-1905

“...the real is always interesting“ Naturalism in Painting 1870-1905

“...the real is always interesting“ Naturalism in Painting 1870-1905

CONTENTS

Introduction

5

ESZTER FÖLDI Different Interpretations of Naturalist Painting Reality, Mentality, Style: The Forms of Naturalist Visual Representation

7

ORSOLYA HESSKY The Emergence of Naturalism in Contemporary Press

18

GYÖRGY SZÜCS A Few Words about Naturalism on the Pretext of Béla Lázár

28

ZSÓFIA SEPSEY Émile Zola and French Literary Naturalism

40

AGNIESZKA KLUCZEWSKA-WOJCIK La Peinture à l’épreuve de la vérité. Stanisław Witkiewicz et les débats sur le naturalisme en Pologne

47

DOMINIQUE LOBSTEIN L’Apprentissage et la diffusion du naturalisme : le cas de Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret

57

ALAIN BONNET L’Académie frappée par le naturalisme

67

ANNA ZSÓFIA KOVÁCS L’exposition rétrospective de Bastien-Lepage à l’École des Beaux-Arts en 1885

et son rôle dans la réception européenne de l’artiste

76

BENJAMIN FOUDRAL Les « Petits Bastiens » belges : la « jeune » Belgique artistique face au naturalisme français

90

ÁGNES KOVÁCS Eternal Anachronism or the Phoenix Rising from the Ashes?

The Munich Academy and the Teachableness of Arts

100

FERENC TÓTH Centres and Poles of Gravity International Naturalist Tendencies in Exhibitions in Budapest and Munich

108

KATARÍNA BEŇOVÁ Dominik Skutezky: From Venice to the Copper Smelters

120

ZSUZSA FARKAS The Effects of Photography on Visual Culture in the Period between 1880–1900

129

LUCA ANNA DSUPIN Goupil and his Clients: Delaroche, Gérôme, Breton, and Munkácsy

142

ÉVA SOMOS Notes and Observations on the Naturalist Painting Technique

153

List of Illustrations

164

Index of Artists Illustrations

175

Introduction This volume of studies contains the texts of presentations given at the international conference titled Naturalism 2022, which was held in June 2022 as part of the OTKA research project (K128381) supported by the National Research, Development and Innovation Office of Hungary (NKFIH). In 2018, a research group consisting of colleagues from the painting and graphic arts department of the Hungarian National Gallery, who are experts in 19th-century Hungarian painting and drawing, applied for the OTKA grant. The evaluation of this period has been evolving for several decades, and research on its theory, auxiliary sciences, and works of art has been enriched with new perspectives both in Hungary and abroad, making it almost mandatory to re-evaluate the second half of the 19th century. International literature is available, and the Hungarian National Gallery preserves the most outstanding and crucial works of this period, so the task was clear. The research group undertook no less than resolving the question of the relationship between realism and naturalism during the four (due to the pandemic, five) years of the grant, exploring and collecting Hungarian works and placing them in an international context. At three-quarters of the project’s completion, the conference addresses some of the problems that have been observed and felt so far. We continue to search for satisfactory answers to theoretical questions, while the solution to the practical, art-object phenomena of realism/naturalism appears to be more promising with the study of international literature.

Neglected questions and overlooked works of art due to various reasons await repositioning, and we hope that the texts published in this volume will bring us closer to a better understanding of the period and its works.

Budapest, September 2022.

Eszter Földi Orsolya Hessky Réka Krasznai András Zwickl // 5

ESZTER FÖLDI

Different Interpretations of Naturalist Painting Reality, Mentality, Style: The Forms of Naturalist Visual Representation

The fundamental premise of the research1 that serves as the basis for the Naturalism 2022 conference is that the Hungarian painting production of the third quarter of the nineteenth century requires a thorough revision. After separating the outstanding oeuvres, the vast amount of remaining artworks can only be partially – if at all – grasped with conventional stylistic concepts. The progressive tendencies of the nineteenth century, such as realism, impressionism, and symbolism, are only sporadically present in Hungarian art of the era in their original form.2 The mainstream artistic product, due to its overabundance at the biannual exhibitions of the Budapest Kunsthalle, has been relegated to the negatively connoted category of “Kunsthalle painting” without a precise definition.3 If we attempt to define it, we can easily understand that it refers to scenes taken from urban or rural peasant life, often with anecdotal content, painted in the style of academically trained painters, which were considered outdated by later art-historical narratives – honest artisanal work. Of course, I do not deny that many of them

Naturalism and Realism, supported by the NKFIH OTKA grant (K128381).

Recently, some members of this research group have shown, for example, the difficulties of incorporating the impressionist vision into Szinyei’s oeuvre. Orsolya Hessky and Réka Krasznai, eds., Canvas and Cult. The Art of Pál Szinyei Merse (1845–1920) (Budapest: Hungarian National Gallery, 2021).

3 I will not go into the many studies, exhibitions, and publications aimed at nuancing our understanding of nineteenth-century art concepts from the mid-1990s here, as despite their significant results, they have not been able to change this stubbornly persistent view. The most important ones are still worth mentioning: Györgyi Imre, ed., Aranyérmek, ezüstkoszorúk.

Művészkultusz és műpártolás a 19. században [Gold medals, silver wreaths. Artist cult and art patronage in the 19th century]. Concept by Katalin Sinkó (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Galéria, 1995); Erzsébet Király, Enikő Róka, and Nóra Veszprémi, eds., XIX. Nemzet és művészet. Kép és önkép [XIX. Art and nation. Image and self-image] (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Galéria, 2010).

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are not exceptional works, but among them can also be found paintings that, when examined from the appropriate perspectives, can be revealed as dealing with relevant and timely themes of their era, painted in a modern way that represented modernity at the time. By “appropriate perspectives”, I mean naturalism, which has been at the forefront of international research in recent decades, perhaps for similar reasons. Gabriel P. Weisberg initiated the inclusion of a fragment of the Hungarian artworks into naturalism, providing a key to the examination of the main works of Hungarian art that cannot be classified into other styles of the era.4 The art of the last quarter of the nineteenth century poses challenges even for international research, and in recent decades, monographs have been published on painters who were popular in their own time but are now forgotten, as well as on the era itself.5 In my presentation, I will introduce some of them, hoping that the complex and nuanced methods described therein may help us to better understand Hungarian artistic life and visual arts.

Realism versus naturalism The concepts of naturalism and the often-paired realism have been known and used for several centuries as categories for the conceptual definition of visual representation.6 However, nineteenth-century realism and naturalism manifested as a specific, time-bound phenomenon – as a style, a creative attitude.

In Linda Nochlin’s 1971 classic (Realism), she defined the philosophical, historical, social, and painterly context of nineteenth-century realism and its

Gabriel P. Weisberg et al., Illusions of Reality. Naturalist Painting, Photography, Theatre and Cinema, 1875–1918 (Amsterdam: Van Gogh Museum, Helsinki: Ateneum Art Museum, Finnish National Gallery, Brussels: Mercatorfonds, 2010. The exhibition organised by Weisberg included naturalistic paintings by István Csók, Károly Ferenczy, and László Pataky.

5 In addition to the book edited by Weisberg mentioned so far, I only mention a few: Herwig Todts, ed., Tranches de vie. Le naturalisme en Europe 1875–1915 (Antwerp: Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, 1996); Richard Thomson, Art of the Actual: Naturalism and Style in the Earls Third Republic France (1880–1900) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012); Marnin Young, Realism in the Age of Impressionism – Painting and Politics of Time (New Haven–London: Yale University Press, 2014). Monographies: Serge Lemoine et al., Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848–1884) (Paris: Musée d’Orsay, 2007); Olivier Le Bihan, Alfred Roll 1846–1919. Le naturalisme en question (Paris: Somogy editions d’art, 2007); Charles Villeneuve de Janti dir., Émile Friant 1863–1932 le dernier naturaliste? (Paris: Somogy éditions d’art, 2016); Michael Marrinan, Gustave Caillebotte.

Painting the Paris of Naturalism, 1872–1887 (Los Angeles: The Getty Research Institute, 2016).

6 See Boris Röhrl, Kunsttheorie des Naturalismus und Realismus. Historische Entwicklung, Terminologie und Definitionen (Hildesheim–Zürich–New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 2003).

Thanks to Orsolya Hessky for drawing my attention to the book.

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possible manifestations.7 She defined realism as a postromantic, pre-symbolist trend that emerged between the 1840s and the late 1870s. She examined it not as a concept of style, but as a representational strategy and attitude that was, in a way, a continuation of the modern industrial society, the unique political and social conditions, and the positivist scientific theory that emerged in the early nineteenth century. Realism gave new meaning to the slogan il faut être de son temps inherited from romanticism and emphasised the requirement for contemporariness.8 Starting from the late 1860s, the race, milieu, temps theory, expounded by Hyppolite Taine in his work Philosophie de l’art (Philosophy of Art, 1865), linked art to contemporary culture. As a result of this theory, the depiction of contemporary life became the most important task of art.9 This passionate interest in the representation of daily experience and lived reality brought radically new themes into painting. Any segment of everyday life became representable, everything was seen as a part of the real and the whole. To achieve the “truthful” and “honest” portrayal, key concepts, such as meticulous observation and objective representation, drawn from positivist science, were applied, free from bias and emotions. After 1848, social themes, such as the life of the lower classes, were frequently depicted without earlier pathos or sentimentality, in their reality.10 However, contemporary truth also included the urban lifestyle of the bourgeoisie, the entertainment of city life, or the intimacy of family life. From the above, it follows that Nochlin’s interpretation of realism does not separate stylistic characteristics within the realist attitude (as it is not easy to do so). In her book, Courbet’s realism, impressionism, and naturalist painters, such as Jules Bastien-Lepage or Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret – who she does not address much – are all classified under this concept on the principle that they all paint the visible, comprehensible, and experiential reality.

In doing so, Nochlin was closely monitoring the critical literature of the period under examination, in which the concepts of realism and naturalism did not become distinct from each other, and critics often used them Linda Nochlin, Realism (London: Penguin Books, 1990), 1st ed.: 1971.

Ibid., p. 103.

9 Marrinan 2016, op. cit., p. 28.

10 Regarding the tradition of depicting misery, see Linda Nochlin, Misère. The Visual Representation of Misery in the 19th Century (London: Thames and Hudson, 2018). The misery of the lower social classes has been depicted in the nineteenth century and before, and social reforms were also associated with these documentary-style “report images”. Examples include the Irish famine or the housing problem in London. These depictions were created as newspaper illustrations, series, typically in graphic genres. Nochlin considers them as predecessors of documentary photography. However, such topics did not appear in painting before, and the depiction of prostitution, for example, was completely new.

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as synonyms. Let me give you just one example: Jules Castagnary already used the naturalist adjective in his famous Salon critique of 1863: “The naturalist school declares that art is the expression of every mode and layer of life, and its sole aim is to reproduce nature in its maximum intensity and power, it is the truth, balanced with science.”11 Gabriel P. Weisberg initiated the theoretical definition and differentiation of naturalism from realism in the early 1990s12 and summarised his findings in a major exhibition and its related catalogue in 2010.13 Weisberg started from the unified painting and visual style that emerged in the late 1870s, coupled with specific themes that appeared throughout almost all of Europe between 1875 and the end of World War I.14 He captured the characteristics of naturalism in several aspects.

Firstly, naturalism is the official form of realism, supported by the French Third Republic and thus follows and replaces realism in time. The “officialisation” is reflected in the art-supporting activities of the Third Republic, the mass of winning works in competitions intended for decorating public buildings, which, due to their large size, are suitable for the comprehensive representation of social phenomena or society itself in an understandable form.

Secondly, the main theme of naturalist painting is the life of lower social classes, depicted objectively without pathos or genre elements: “naturalist compositions capture their characters in a specific, characteristic moment, frozen, with their posture similar to the photographs of the time, … the life they testify to is etched in memory ...”15 (figs. 1–3). At the same time, Weisberg emphasises that while realism described the external, physical appearance of human phenomena in an emotionless way, naturalists were also interested in the functioning and psychological aspects of these phenomena.16 The captured moment, the ephemerality is the third characteristic of naturalism, which Weisberg examines and explains in the context of photography, It is cited, among others, in Edwin Becker and Gabriel P. Weisberg, “Introducing Naturalism,” in Weisberg 2010, op. cit., p. 15, n. 9.

12 Gabriel P. Weisberg, The Realist Tradition: French Painting and Drawing 1830–1900 (Cleveland: Cleveland Museum of Art, 1980); Gabriel P. Weisberg, ed., The European Realist Tradition (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982); Gabriel P. Weisberg, Beyond Impressionism.

The Naturalist Impulse in European Art 1870–1905 (New York: Harry N. Abrams Publishing, 1992).

13 Weisberg 2010, op. cit.

14 Becker and Weisberg 2010, op. cit., p. 13–16 (13). This is also the introductory statement of the catalogue. Axel Rügen and Maija Tanninen-Mattila, Foreword to Weisberg 2010, op. cit., p. 11.

15 Geneviève Lacambre, “Toward an Emerging Definition of Naturalism in French NineteenthCentury Painting,” in Weisberg 1982, op. cit.. Quoted by Becker and Weisberg 2010, op. cit., p. 14.

16 Gabriel P. Weisberg, “Reframing Naturalism,” in Weisberg 2010, op. cit., 20. Naturalist paintings often evoke empathy in the viewer, which may be aided by the compositional technique of having the characters often appear to be looking out of the picture.

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which was prevalent at the time. Photography captures the moment and depicts a slice of the world with scientific accuracy and objectivity, which thus becomes synonymous with “truth”.17 The photographic perspective derives from this and is inherent in naturalistic painting.

In summary, “naturalistic works are characterised by combining largescale painting narrative and technique with photographic accuracy, thereby producing the complete illusion of reality. The fusion of illusion and reality irreversibly inscribes the painting into collective memory.”18

“Modern” painting The criteria recorded by Weisberg are useful for some works that appear to be naturalist (offering the illusion of reality). But what about works (fig.

30) that do not deal with themes of societal significance?

It is worth taking a look at Richard Thomson’s book, Art of the Actual, to resolve this issue.19 In the book, Thomson examines the ideological background of naturalism and traces its French manifestations to the functioning of the Third Republic, its political and social characteristics. He argues that naturalist aesthetics and republican ideology operated in a closely related system in France in the 1880s and 1890s, both in the artistic structures of the state and in the activities of painters and critics. The Third Republic, established after the Commune, defined itself as the heir of the Enlightenment and the ideas of the French Revolution of 1789, as a fundamentally democratic, egalitarian, social reformist and progressive system committed to scientific progress. According to Thomson’s thesis, art was an opportunity for the republic to articulate its own ideas, values, and achievements, to showcase them widely, to educate, and to develop a national identity based on republican values. Naturalist aesthetics offered a means: “The fundamental commitment of naturalism to the physical, visible world, to every form of actual experience, brought art out of daily experience, creating something that was a common experience for everyone, and as such, egalitarian. The depiction of our common fate – in painting or sculpture, on stage, or in the pages of a novel – made naturalist forms of representation readable and understandable, everyone could understand what everyone knew about their fellow’s daily life. The attentive examination and faithful description of bodies, Ibid.

Ibid., p. 19.

19 Thomson 2012, op. cit.

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surroundings, and social phenomena formed the basis of naturalist aesthetics, in complete harmony with the scientific character of modern existence.”20 Naturalist art documented life during the Third Republic.21 The image conveyed information in a clear, “realistic” form, as explained above. Thomson argues that naturalist paintings must be read and interpreted: what appears to us today as an uninteresting genre painting is actually a relevant example of life during the Third Republic, depicting progress, modernity, and prosperity (Alfred Bramtot, Universal Suffrage [Le Suffrage universel], 1889– 1891, Les Lilas, Mairie; Émile Friant, The Rowers, fig. 4), or reflecting social issues that needed to be addressed. The paintings depict urban and rural lifestyles (Jean Béraud, In the Monte Carlo Casino [Rien ne va plus!], 1890, private collection; Léon Lhermitte, The Harvest [La Moisson], 1883, Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam), or the apotheosis of work (Alfred Roll, Work, Railway Construction at Suresnes, fig. 5), the achievements of medical science (Ferdinand-Joseph Gueldry, The Municipal Laboratory, Police Station [La Laboratoire municipale, prefecture de police], 1887, Musée Carnavalet, Paris), the development of public education (Jean Geoffroy, The First Elementary School [En Classe, le travail des petits], 1889, Ministry of National Education, Paris), or even public events (Jean Béraud, Victor Hugo’s Funeral [Les Funérailles de Victor Hugo], 1885, Musée Carnavalet, Paris). It is not about propaganda or manipulation; painters, critics, and politicians believed in the blessings of modern life, social achievements, and the democratic nature of art, and that recording the current state of society was in the interest of every citizen. Thomson’s thesis is that naturalism is a way of thinking, a mentality, a way of perceiving the world, and as such, it can have many faces. He argues that the naturalist perspective was fundamentally modern and contemporary, and this perspective characterised mainstream artistic production in the 1880s and 1890s.22 But what makes it modern and contemporary, beyond depicting modern subjects?

Ibid., XI. Thomson dedicates a subsection to the question of “document”. As the naturalist aesthetics were based on scientific accuracy, scientific investigation seemed necessary for artistic creation. The results of these investigations were considered “documents”. The term was frequently used in artistic discourse as well as in art criticism regarding works of art. Thomson 2012, op. cit., 53–66.

22 According to Thomson, symbolism, which emerged as the antithesis of impressionism or naturalism, was only accessible to a few, a narrow elite. Thomson 2012, op. cit., p. XIII., 3.

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The “time” of naturalist painting Thomson considers it evident and attributes it to ideological reasons that the earlier realist tradition slowly disappeared and was replaced by naturalism.

In contrast, Marnin Young demonstrates in his 2015 book23 the modernity and the tangible shift in the changed perception and structure of time, and separates the realism, naturalism, and impressionism that merged in the late 1870s and early 1880s based on their relationship to time and their pictorial temporality. Young’s theory is based on Michael Fried’s concept of temporality24 and it seems more like an attempt to apply conceptual thinking different from previous approaches to naturalism, but it is worth considering as a possible approach and perspective for examination. Comparing Young Fried’s theory with the critical literature of the third quarter of the nineteenth century, he distinguishes three temporalities: the first is the internal time of the image, that is, the time of the events depicted therein, the second is the apparent time of the image’s creation, that is, the time it took for the painter to paint it, and the third is the time of the viewer, that is, the time dedicated to interpreting and contemplating the image.25 Fried argues that since the seventeenth century, the realist tradition has been fundamentally slow in terms of the depicted subject, the time of creation, and the viewer’s perspective. The image suggests durability and repetition in a way that the characters delve into their activities, ignoring the viewer. It creates the feeling that we are watching an unscripted scene that was there before us and will continue after us, existing independently of the viewer.

Absorption is a key concept in representation. The viewer follows this slow temporality, so the viewer’s time is prolonged, and the image prompts prolonged and contemplative observation.26 In Fried’s interpretation, the slow pictorial temporality is replaced by the fast pictorial time of impressionism,

Young 2014, op. cit.

Ibid., p. 4–6.

25 Ibid., p. 4–13.

26 Fried developed the concept, tradition, and significance of absorption in Western painting for the first time in his book Absorption and Theatricality: Painting and Beholder in the Age of Diderot (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), and then applied it to the work of some artists: Realism, Writing, Disfiguration: On Thomas Eakins and Stephen Crane (Chicago– London: The University of Chicago Press, 1989); Courbet’s Realism (Chicago–London: University of Chicago Press, 1990); Manet’s Modernism: Or the Face of Painting in the 1860s (Chicago– London: The University of Chicago Press, 1996). According to Fried, the use of the absorption technique made it possible for painters to distance themselves from compositions that seemed staged and theatrical (theatricality), which was a significant shift towards artistic modernism in painting.

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capturing the fleeting moment (instantaneousness), presence (presentness), and the transience (fugitive) of momentum. In impressionist paintings, time is fleeting, and the viewer captures this quickly passing moment in a single glance, and the painting style itself adapts to this with fast brushstrokes, creating an impression of incompleteness and transience, while also creating the impression that the painting was created quickly.

Young is interested in the reason behind this transition from slowness to speed. He attributes the pioneering role to Fried Manet,27 but Young digs deeper. His theory is based on the appearance of momentariness as a norm in painting in the last decade of the nineteenth century, fitting into a broader cultural shift in the perception of time. In this period, Western European time was coordinated and synchronised by the Prime Meridian Conference, introducing 24 time zones and creating a universal, clock-regulated time.

As a result, a radically new temporality emerged, replacing the earlier local time measured by the sun’s movement with universal, structured, regulated standard time.28 The old and new temporalities were manifested in the opposition between the slow, contemplative time of the realist tradition and the impressionistic momentariness, and according to Young, these two attitudes towards the changed time also indicated a relationship to wider economic and social structures arising from the capitalist reorganisation of time. Young examines the temporality expressed in five different paintings based on their characteristics and critical reception29 and argues that realism, impressionism, and naturalism can be distinguished based on this.

He defines naturalism as the direction that seeks to reconcile the two ways of perceiving time. The naturalistic painting depicts the moment but with the detail of realism. The subject is comprehensible at a glance but also allows for profound contemplation. The naturalistic technique does not capture the moment as a sketchy, fleeting image, but with a greater level of detail than realism, creating a complete illusion of reality. Thus, naturalistic painting is also suitable for depicting the wider economic or social consequences generated by modern, regulated, capitalist time. The analysis thus includes the depiction of the capitalist work process (Adolph Menzel, The Iron Rolling Mill, fig. 61), the impact of modernisation and industrialisation on peasant work

Fried 1996, op. cit.

Young 2014, op. cit., p. 6–9.

29 Jules Bastien-Lepage, Les Foins, 1877, Musée d’Orsay, Paris; Gustave Caillebotte, Triptyque décoratif: Pêche à la ligne; Baigneurs; Périssoires, all three paintings 1878, private collection; Alfred Roll, La Grêve des mineurs, 1880, destroyed; Jean-François Raffaëlli, Les Buveurs d’absinthe (Les Déclassés), 1881, Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco; James Ensor, Musique russe Chez Miss, 1880–1881, Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels.

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(Jules Bastien-Lepage, Haymakers, fig. 6), social movements, strikes as a reaction to capitalist time organisation (Alfred Roll, The Miners’ Strike, 1880),30 or the incomplete, fragmented nature of impressionist paintings, which can be recognised as reflecting the speed of modern life, or even the denial of accelerated, capitalist time, such as Jean-François Raffaëlli’s The Absinthe Drinkers (1881), which portrays elements outside of time, excluded from this system.

According to this explanation, realism was no longer suitable for describing the modern world due to the changed temporality. Only naturalism was able to transform the fragmentary nature of the modern world into a visible and tangible form that met the requirements of realism, by faithfully reproducing the photographic image of the moment. However, with a few exceptions, it is difficult to identify the direct connections between photography and the naturalist style of painting.31 Painters, and not just naturalists, were interested in the new technique and incorporated it into their other tools, such as sketches and studies, with photography helping them to remember.32 In his comprehensive monograph about Gustave Caillebotte, Michael Marrinan makes an interesting observation that could be the key to understanding the photographic vision of naturalists. He believes that the photograph itself did not give the painters many new perspectives that were not already present in their toolbox, and perhaps capturing the moment was not the most important innovation of photography, but rather that it provided a clear, easily comprehensible image of a particular appearance with clear spatial relationships and small details shown with equal weight. Therefore, photography served as a scientific, data-rich document.33 However, it is worth adding to this thought that the surface of a naturalistic painting is reminiscent of a contemporary photograph, despite the former being in colour. None of the authors I have read, however, address this similarity.

30 On the relationship between social movements and painting arising from modern industrial society: Alex Potts, “Social Theory and the Realist Impulse in the 19th Century Art,” NONSite.org, no. 27 (11 February 2019), https://nonsite.org/social-theory-and-the-realist-impulse-in-nineteenth-century-art/ (accessed: 20 May 2022).

31 For example, Émile Friant’s painting La Petite barque (1895, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Nancy), whose specific photographic source we know. (Unknown photographer, La Petite barque, ca.

1895, silver gelatine glass plate, private collection; Valérie Thomas, “La Photographie chez Émile Friant,” in Villeneuve de Janti dir. 2016, op. cit., p. 31.) Weisberg cites numerous similar examples. Weisberg 2010, op. cit. At the same time, Weisberg’s conclusions have been disputed by many, questioning the special attachment of naturalism to this medium due to the widespread use of photography. Marrinan 2016, op. cit., p. 71. Further literature: ibid., n. 45.

32 Marrinan 2016, op. cit., p. 71.

33 Ibid., p. 72. It also adds that the fast shutter snapshot only became widespread in 1883 thanks to the George Eastman Kodak camera, so it could not have been considered in his examination of Caillebotte’s paintings from the 1870s.

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This brings us to the question of style. The recurring criticism of the period was that precisely because of their photographic fidelity, these images were stylistically devoid of personality; the painter’s individuality did not appear in them.34 The young naturalist painters of the 1880s and 1890s came out of the studios of the academy, Gérôme, Cabanel, and Bonnat, and their desire was precisely to achieve modernity in contrast to the academic tradition. The way from the academy towards modernity could be through the ‘style-less’, photographic naturalism. In his frequently quoted 1880 review (Le Naturalisme au Salon), Zola explained this by the fact that the naturalist style of painting, which was a revolutionary innovation of the impressionists and especially Édouard Manet, had by then become widespread among the young artists who were leaving the studios of the Academy, i.e., that their painting was based on the meticulous observation of nature, with the representation of light as the primary problem.35 However, according to Zola: “Nature must be captured in a single moment, but this moment must be forever fixed on the canvas with carefully studied technique”36 – according to Marnin Young, this was the definition of naturalism in 1880.37 Returning to the problem raised at the beginning of my study, which concerns our research: of course, I do not think that every piece of Hungarian heritage can be classified as part of naturalism, nor that each of them is outstandingly modern or “relevant” according to Thomson’s concepts. It is also clear that the theories above cannot be applied one-to-one to Hungarian heritage or international examples. In the case of Hungarian painters living in a monarchic state, it would take careful research and critical examination to demonstrate their Republican ideas, questions raised by the modern capitalist society, and changing temporalities. However, considering the above can provide new perspectives and attitudes for re-examining these works, 34 Zola’s objection to Caillebotte’s painting The Floor Scrapers: “... bourgeois, transparent painting, clear as glass, violently accurate. The photograph of reality. When it is not enhanced by the original imprint of artistic talent, it is a pitiful thing.” (“Une peinture claire comme le verre, bougeoise, à force d’exactitude. La photographie de la réalité. Lorsqu’elle n’est pas rehaussée par l’empreinte originale du talent artistique est une chose pitoyable.”) Quoted in Marrinan 2016, op. cit., p. 59. Originally published: Émile Zola, “Le Salon de 1876 [1876],” in Idem, Écrits sur l’art, ed. and notes Jean-Pierre Leduc-Adine. Université de la Sorbonne nouvelle (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1991), p. 353. Richard Thomson dedicated a chapter to the question of style/lessness: Thomson 2012, op. cit., p. 117–41.

35 Émile Zola, “Le naturalisme au Salon [1880],” in Zola 1991, op. cit., p. 407–38.

36 “On doit bien saisir la nature dans l’impression d’une minute, seulement il faut fixer à jamais cette minute sur la toile par une facture largement étudiée.” The author’s translation. Émile Zola, “Le naturalisme au Salon [1880],” in Zola 1991, op. cit., p. 420. Quoted in Young 2014, op. cit., p. 99.

37 Young 2014, op. cit., p. 99.

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which could lead to surprising results that some of them have captured the everyday reality of their time with modern, naturalist techniques (figs.

7–8). Such research would offer an opportunity for a new interpretation of Hungarian art at the end of the nineteenth century.

DIFFERENT INTERPRETATIONS OF NATURALIST PAINTING / / 17

ORSOLYA HESSKY

The Emergence of Naturalism in Contemporary Press The research of the second half of the nineteenth century was completely redefined in the last decades of the twentieth century, as is now almost a cliché to say. Long-lasting moments shaped the evaluation of nineteenth-century art, such as the peculiar temporal stagnation of academicism, the appearance and adventurous spatial conquest of impressionist painting; the emergence of American art trade in Europe; the tumultuous advent of the avant-garde; and the development of disciplines referred to as “auxiliary sciences” of art history, not to mention historical and political events. It is noteworthy that the Propyläen series, which is still a manual of art history to this day and began writing its volumes after World War II, was only completed in the nineteenth century in 1976,1 and the author not only calls the period an “unknown” century but also gave this title to the extensive introductory study.2 However, Werner Hofmann, to whom we likely owe the idea of rethinking the entire era, diversified the phenomena of the nineteenth century in his book Das Irdische Paradise,3 published in 1960, and set out new perspectives for decades to come. Hungarian art history research began to sense the signs of change in the 1980s. The two curators of the Hungarian National Gallery’s renovated permanent exhibition in 1987, Zsuzsanna Bakó and Anna Szinyei Merse, included works in the exhibition – and therefore in the canon – that had been relegated to the depths of storage until then. Their concept reflected the recognition that it was no longer sustainable to maintain the elitist aesthetic judgment system of the first half of the century and the post-World

Die Kunst des 19. Jahrhunderts. Propyläen Kunstgeschichte in zwölf Bänden (Berlin: Propyläen Verlag, 1976).

2 Rudolf Zeitler, “Das unbekannte Jahrhundert,” in Die Kunst des 19. Jahrhunderts, 1976, op. cit., p. 15–128.

3 Werner Hofmann, Das Irdische Paradies (Munich: Prestel-Verlag, 1960).

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War II Hungarian art historical perspective, which, bizarrely, was in line with the previous judgment promoting “modern Hungarian art”. The latter also rejected and despised the “bourgeois” painting of the last decades of the nineteenth century, and based on this, it essentially left out the artists and paintings from Hungarian art history. This rejection, reinforced by these two sources, almost entirely detached the creative art quantity of the main body from the few highlighted works, and caused Hungarian art history to speak of almost the same few artworks for decades in relation to nineteenth-century art. The number of works that were smuggled into the dominant canon in 1987 was still negligible, but it drew attention to the fact that the Hungarian National Gallery has works that must be dealt with.4 Fortunately for the newer generations, they are not burdened by any ideological tradition that must be taken into account when viewing works, especially those from the second half of the nineteenth century. Alongside earlier French-centred research, the examination of German influences began,5 inevitably bringing the problem of expanding the canon to the surface. However, looking at pictures behind the earlier artworks from a different perspective was the result of a long learning process. An extraordinary debt must be paid by designating what we can talk about in addition to the phenomena of Hungarian historical painting and Nagybánya art, which were referred to as realism and naturalism in twentieth-century criticism. In addition to the latest sources and methods of nineteenth-century research, it is primarily the long series of works that now prompts a revision and repositioning of the era, which the Hungarian National Gallery preserves and which without exaggeration belong to the finest works of Hungarian painting history, and more and more of which are being displayed in permanent or temporary exhibitions for the public.

In her study,6 Eszter Földi outlines the contemporary interpretative possibilities of the trend now known as naturalism for various reasons,7 and 4 It is worth mentioning that in the early 1990s, the author of Beyond Impressionism, Gabriel P. Weisberg, personally visited the Hungarian National Gallery to view this collection of artworks; he specifically thanks his colleagues for their assistance in his book.

5 Ágnes Kovács has been studying the impact of Munich on Hungarian art for decades, and her summary work is currently only available in manuscript form. There is also a manuscript text by Katalin Sinkó, which was presented at a conference in the early 1990s, titled Magyar művészek Münchenben [Hungarian Artists in Munich], which was the first comprehensive overview of artists who studied in the Bavarian capital and their widespread influence.

Additionally, cf. München magyarul [Munich in Hungarian], ed. Orsolya Hessky (Budapest: Hungarian National Gallery, 2009).

6 In this volume: Eszter Földi, “Different Interpretations of Naturalist Painting”, p. 7–17.

7 See Gabriel P. Weisberg, The Realist Tradition: French Painting and Drawing, 1830–1900 (Cleveland: Cleveland Museum of Art and Indiana University Press, 1980); Gabriel P. Weisberg,

THE EMERGENCE OF NATURALISM IN CONTEMPORARY PRESS / / 19

thereby roughly determines the criteria by which works can be associated with this movement. In recent times, there have also been several attempts to separate realism and naturalism on a theoretical basis, but there is by no means a clear situation, as different perspectives help to clarify the issue.

But it is primarily the examination of individual artists and, even more so, individual works that move the discussion forward. Nevertheless, it is very important to clarify what we mean by naturalism based on contemporary scientific findings, what the starting point was, and how we define works.

The current definition – however imprecise because the works are extremely diverse both visually and in subject matter – is important precisely, because reading contemporary sources and critiques, it is primarily apparent that every author uses the term naturalism through their own “temperament”, i.e., it means something different in almost every case. In my study, I seek to answer in what contexts the term appeared in the decades known as naturalism, roughly from the 1870s to a few years after the turn of the century – which is also the period in which Hungarian professional art criticism emerged –, and generally how opinions were formed about this trend in the public and in writings that influenced public taste, while it was by no means clear how “naturalism” – among other things – was used as a technical term.

“The reckless throwing around of the concept of style, which can be observed among art writers at the turn of the century, led to the greatest possible carelessness in public debates”, writes Rudolf Zeitler in his aforementioned study.8 This was a general phenomenon throughout Europe.

The first “important” period of Hungarian art criticism is placed by Géza Perneczky’s 1965 study9 in the period between the Millennium and the start of the periodical Nyugat when writing about contemporary art became an adequate and equal companion to contemporary works.10 Previously, there were hardly any relevant texts that contextualised Hungarian fine arts beyond mere description and subjective aesthetic judgment. The only lasting witness to these early times is the work of Gusztáv Keleti, “a critic who worked with skill, integrity, and artistic style for more than thirty years”,11 whose work

Beyond Impressionism. The Naturalist Impulse in European Art 1870–1905 (New York: Harry N. Abrams Publishing, 1992).

8 Zeitler 1976, op. cit., p. 26.

9 Géza Perneczky, Tíz esztendő a magyar képzőművészeti kritika hőskorából. Portré Lyka Károlyról és Fülep Lajosról. [A Decade from the Heroic Age of Hungarian Art Criticism: Portraits of Károly Lyka and Lajos Fülep] in Művészettörténeti Értesítő (1965): p. 179–186.

10 Ibid., p. 179.

11 Gusztáv Keleti, Bevezetés. Művészeti dolgozatok [Introduction. Essays on art] (Budapest: Kisfaludy-Társaság, 1910), p. 9.

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and motivations during this period were completely different from those of later critics; they were much more artistic reflections with perspectives that seem almost impossible today. The naturalism movement or even just as an expressive form had not yet emerged in his writings.

During this period without professional art critics, with the slow start of domestic exhibitions, fine arts began to become an important part of cultural life; however, their events received relatively little coverage in the press alongside reports of literary or theatrical life. In the 1980s, the term naturalism regularly appeared mainly in connection with literature. The terminology for naturalism in painting had not yet emerged, only appearing in the second half of the 1990s.12 Naturalism in literature was discussed multiple times, in more sensitive approaches, although sometimes in a rather tabloid tone, poking fun at it. In texts written in French or other languages, typically about Scandinavian literature, naturalism appeared as a movement, but in critiques of domestic novellas or novels, it was considered as some sort of degeneracy.

For example, in a review of Adolf Ágai’s new novel in 1892, Ignotus wrote: “They protected him from falling into the degenerate fads of our age, and he owes his virginity to avoiding the touch of the vegetable-green naturalism and the symbolism smelling of death”.13 Literary examples from this period could still be plentifully listed; however, instead, a longer quote from an unnamed, likely editorial article from Budapesti Hírlap in 1886 follows, which relatively precisely defines the essence of naturalism in both literature and fine arts: “… what suddenly seizes peoples is the spirit of the age. We are its prisoners. … More tyrannical than fashion, because it wages wars and makes revolutions and fanatizes people. … And what is the spirit of the age now? It is taste, it is style, it is science, naturalism. … Edison’s inventions, Pasteur’s humanism, Munkácsy’s paintings of Christ, and Zola’s naturalistic literature.

The terribly bloody wars are the outcome of this. Nihilism and anti-semitism also belong here. Here is dynamite as the most powerful and most ruthless weapon, which does not consider who it kills. And the long series of suicides and many cases of madness are caused by this spirit of the age, as the characteristic of naturalism is extremism and the belittling of gentle moral motifs. … naturalism, although not very beautiful and least ethical, is a very strong direction and pushed humanity far forward.”14 The phenomenon of naturalism

The only exception is Tamás Szana, who inexplicably used the appropriate term for these works in the sense that is used today. See the study by Ferenc Tóth in this volume. In terms of the history of this terminology in Hungary, this deserves much more attention.

13 Ignotus, “Ágai,” in A Hét, 1892, p. 837–38.

14 n. n., Naturalizmus, in Budapesti Hírlap, 13 June 1886, p. 1.

12

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also reached Hungary, and contemporaries understood that a new era had begun. For a long time, analytical writings were produced about its character, which primarily linked naturalism not to the elevated moments of real life, but to the portrayal of perverse and repulsive events and phenomena. “… naturalism comes and proclaims that what is interesting is mostly improper, but what is real is always interesting.”15 In this era, this meaning took root, so Hungarian works that demonstrated a radical “realistic portrayal” (such as Ottó Baditz’s Angel-Maker, fig. 9) were not consensually linked by critics to the now widely accepted meaning of naturalism.

As the turn of the century approached, more and more authors took on the task of writing about phenomena in Hungarian fine arts, but the use of the term was not consistent even within the work of individual publicists.

The generation following Gusztáv Keleti published their critiques in rapidly multiplying daily newspapers, weeklies, and magazines,16 but the group publishing in these papers consisted more of self-appointed art lovers than of professional writers; they were mostly less successful painters, teachers, museum employees, or even ministry advisers.17 From these amateur art writers, it was unnecessary to expect familiarity with specialised terms or consistent language use. The creation of legitimate art criticism that took into account contemporary phenomena in other countries and reflected on them, and thus was capable of seeing Hungarian works in their context, can be attributed to the weekly magazine Hét and to Károly Lyka, who published in various places. Hét was published under the editorship of József Kiss starting in 1890, and its main contributing critics primarily dealt with literature, only occasionally venturing into the field of fine arts, but they were already familiar with naturalism as a literary trend. As an official journalist and an informed, educated person, József Nyitray’s18 critical activity most resembled the work of today’s art critics and aesthetes, which is capable of judging contemporary fine arts beyond aestheticisation. In the 1890s, alongside Károly Lyka, he wrote the most about the exhibitions in the Kunsthalle; the term naturalism rarely appeared in his texts, and when it did, it was almost

Lajos Dóczi, A naturalizmusról, in Budapesti Hírlap, 20 May 1888 (Whitsun supplement), p. 17–20.

16 Fővárosi Lapok, Budapesti Szemle, Pester Lloyd / Budapesti Hírlap, A Hét, Pesti Hírlap, Pesti Napló, etc.

17 Perneczky 1965, op. cit., p. 179–86.

18 József Nyitray (1857–1946) was a journalist, art critic, and painter who played an essential role in the development of Hungarian art criticism before the turn of the century. His writings appeared in A Hét (under the pseudonym Yartin or occasionally Pamacs), Művészet, and Lázár Béla’s journal, Modern művészet.

15

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always discussed as an outdated phenomenon, but rather in terms of the “spirit of the age” mentioned above than as the contemporary style of painting. Nyitray may have realised that taking the term from the literary context and applying it to art criticism was not feasible, and therefore he did not use it substantially. He was succeeded by László Márkus,19 one of the most exciting journalists of the turn of the century, a young author who showed no mercy in cultural issues and who, along with Fülep Lajos, struck a radically new note in the assessment of Hungarian fine arts, primarily painting. Their writings are fundamental to preparing and purifying the path of “modern Hungarian painting”, but their radicalism prevented them from perceiving the painting of their own time in a differentiated way.

Below, I would like to draw attention to three longer texts that best illustrate their author’s ideas about naturalism. In 1892, at the age of twenty-three, Károly Lyka wrote A modern művészet bölcselete, followed a year later by a longer study titled A legújabb művészeti törekvések, both of which were published in the Athenaeum.20 It was in the latter, in 1893, that he first described the style categories used in contemporary art. In the first volume of his collection of historical essays, Emberek, és nem frakkok21 György Szücs describes the history and content of these two studies. The writings reveal that, for Lyka, naturalism was ultimately a manifestation of a timeless “cult of nature”.22 This is essentially a completely different interpretation from literary naturalism and refers back to the original meaning of the word, namely the portrayal of nature, and thus is connected with the meaning of naturalism that, according to recent research, does not refer to a specific style of a particular era, but rather to a principle of representation that spans across eras;23 naturalism in this sense can be described relatively accurately

19 László Márkus (1881–1948) was an art critic, journalist, playwright, and theatre director.

At the beginning of his career, in 1900, he began writing art criticism for A Hét, followed by Művészet, and then, from 1906, the journal Magyar Szemle. The latter provided him and Lajos Fülep a completely free forum for their radical and harsh critiques. Later, he became a prominent figure in Hungarian theatre life.

20 A modern művészet bölcselete I–II. [The Philosophy of Modern Art I–II] in Athenaeum (1892): p. 282–98 and p. 447–66; A legújabb művészeti törekvések [The Latest Artistic Endeavors], in Athenaeum (1893): p. 244–55.

21 György Szücs, “Károly Lyka (1869–1965),” in “Emberek és nem frakkok” A magyar művészettörténet-írás nagy alakjai. [“People, Not Frocks”. The Great Figures of Hungarian Art History], eds. Csilla Markója and István Bardoly, Enigma, no. 47 (2006): p. 131–42.

22 Ibid., p. 137.

23 Cf. Boris Röhrl, Realismus in der bildenden Kunst, Europa und Nord-Amerika 1830 bis 2000 (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 2012); also Idem., Kunsttheorie des Naturalismus und Realismus.

Historische Entwicklung, Terminologie und Definitionen (Hildesheim–Zurich–New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 2014).

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and traced through centuries, from Caravaggio to the mid-nineteenth century. From the moment the term began to refer to a particular style – for example, due to the activities of Émile Zola – it took on a different meaning.

However, Lyka returned to its use as a principle of representation rather than a style. From the second half of the 1890s, for many years, his critiques on the winter and international exhibitions at the Museum of Fine Arts were regularly published, among others. In these critiques, he relatively consistently but not often used the term naturalism in the context of Hungarian art, for example: “... nature painting, which began to transform Hungarian art in the late 1880s and 1890s. This is simple naturalism ...”24 “The works are rooted in a nature perspective, so we are dealing with naturalism in a broad sense ...”25 One of the most famous instances of the expression naturalism appears in Károly Ferenczy’s 1903 article, which has become widely known through the study of Ferenc Gosztonyi.26 The compound term “colouristic naturalism on a synthetic basis” suggests that “naturalism” also primarily pertains to nature depiction. Ferenczy’s paintings from 1892 are essentially landscapes, and the “real naturalistic paintings” cool, “grey-toned” “fine naturalism” of the preceding Szentendre period with hard photographic contours gradually melted and soaked in colour, becoming more colouristic. The text is particularly interesting because it defines the naturalism that is the subject of our research, namely the “fine naturalism” that developed and was used in the Hungarian language precisely after Jules Bastien-Lepage’s French style, which Ferenczy himself practised. This is essentially the only formulation from this period that is almost entirely identical to what we understand today. Although Ferenczy distanced himself from this painting style, this distancing only holds in the momentary context of his later works; it remains a timeless and eternal work of art for visual arts.

Thirdly, let us discuss an article published in 1907, on the occasion of the establishment of MIÉNK (Circle of Hungarian Impressionists and Naturalists) written by Ödön Gerő27 under the pseudonym Viharos. In a relatively long meditation published in the pages of Pesti Napló, he elaborates on the essence of the group’s name. In his interpretation, impressionism and naturalism correspond to “modern painting”, with the former being what we know today,

Károly Lyka, “The Winter Exhibition of the Műcsarnok,” in Új Idők (1907): p. 526–27.

Károly Lyka, “Kéve,” in Új Idők (1908): p. 139.

26 Ferenc Gosztonyi, Periphrasis, “Coloristic naturalism on a synthetic basis,” in Ferenczy.

Ferenczy Károly (1862–1917) Collection Exhibition, exh. cat., eds. Judit Boros and Edit Plesznivy (Budapest: Hungarian National Gallery, 2011), p. 102–9.

27 Viharos [Ödön Gerő], “New Artists Association,” in Pesti Napló, 31 October 1907, p. 7–8.

24

25

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and the latter applying to any other type of art for art’s sake. He identifies nature as the main subject of art, but Gerő does not call nature painting naturalism; rather, he understands it as the depiction of reality. This makes it understandable why literature could be cited as a precedent in connection with the rise of modern painting. “The new formation – the camp of all convincing modernity – is the work of long preparation. And not only the painters took part in this preparation. Literature was also part of it.”28 MIÉNK probably did indeed cover contemporary modern painters in this division, while representation had become significantly more differentiated in these years. However, at this point, the terminology shaping narrative was still entirely lacking insight and primarily relied on the two expressions that had already been established as terms. Naturalism, while the compulsion to present reality could always be traced back to literature, primarily applied to landscape representation, not least as the ultimate validation of Károly Lyka’s consistent use of the word over many years.

However, what do we experience when we turn the question around: what were the critics’ opinions about those works which we now call naturalist, the ones that belonged to the aforementioned main force, and which are now mostly lined up in the deep storage rooms? The Hungarian press wrote very little about them since these are the works that the critics did not consider worth reporting on in their writings, demanding the creation of modern Hungarian art. We witness an unexpected turn: in 1903, József Nyitray wrote a partly positive review in A Hét about Tihamér Margitay’s collection exhibition in Budapest. He praised his new “things” while portraying the old ones – those we consider naturalists today – in an extremely negative light: “There are also distressingly bleak routine old works in his exhibition, either in original or in a photograph. For example, his figures include the ‘famous’ Ellenállhatatlan [Irresisitible], which is still a favourite of many butchers and other middle-class citizens, and there is also A kosár [The Basket], once ‘one of the best works of Hungarian art’, now an offensive anachronism among the artist’s latest works, which already breathe a completely modern spirit. Mostly small pictures [i.e., the new ones], they already differ in size from the artist’s older giant canvases, not to mention quality, because compared to these new small works, the great compositions created 15–20 years ago, the artist’s famous salon genre scenes, which the audience once admired as a revelation, are far superior in terms of quality.”29

28 29

Ibid., p. 7.

József Nyitray, “Margitay,” in A Hét, 1903, p. 623–24.

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So the critics rejected Margitay’s and his colleagues’ genre paintings retrospectively, and even joked about the large number of images created using the “white”, “blonde” technique. They eventually grew tired of the uniform style, in a sense, the “lack of individuality”, by attaching it to the “short story” genre theme, which the audience had enthusiastically received. “The people of Kremserweiss factory build palaces”,30 Nyitray wrote in 1899, referring to the fact that the foundation paint of fine naturalism is called Kremser Weiss, the Krems white, which is the primer for all canvases and the most frequently used paint for bright contours and sunlight. The fact that most of the paintings are based on this colour is not for the artists, but primarily for the benefit of the paint manufacturers. This seemingly minor technical issue, however, directs attention to a key moment that we can only touch on here, but which is one of the fundamental questions of the contemporary criticism of naturalism. “Modern art is beginning to become cosmopolitan and only carries the stamp of its nation in very insignificant matters in which it flourishes”, Lyka wrote as early as 1892.31 Therefore, the charge of cosmopolitanism or stylistic incoherence arises,32 which touches on the same issue from different perspectives. These two issues primarily gained meaning in the context of the development of national painting: while critics did not see the development of national painting as secure, they fought against the cosmopolitan, uniform – often French – or at other times, styleless method of painting. Their protest and criticism were fundamentally political, even if this is not explicitly stated in their writings, and not based on aesthetic or content-related grounds. The desire to establish modern Hungarian painting weighed heavily on the first half of the 1890s, and critics barely tolerated works that did not meet their expectations.33 They were increasingly surrounded by the products of naturalism, not only in Budapest but also in major cities, primarily Paris and Munich. What they were looking for in this country was a distinctively Hungarian art, emphasising the Hungarian character, whatever they thought that meant.34 In contrast, one of the main characteristics of the material under review is precisely that it is entirely comparable

József Nyitray, “A nagybányaiak,” in A Hét, 1899, p. 12–13.

Lyka 1892, op. cit., p. 463.

32 Cf. the study by Eszter Földi in this volume, p. 7–17.

33 The same phenomenon can be observed in the history of Belgian art at the end of the nineteenth century, see the study by Benjamin Foudral in this volume, xx–xx.

34 Cf. Enikő Róka, “The Question of National Character and the Reception of ‘Foreign’ Influences at the Turn of the Century,” in XIX. Nemzet és művészet. Kép és önkép [XIX. Art and nation.

Image and self-image], eds. Erzsébet Király, Enikő Róka, and Nóra Veszprémi (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Galéria, 2010), p. 201–26.

30 31

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to contemporary mainstream European painting in its content, expressive means, and painting techniques. Although we may not call it cosmopolitan, it represents mainstream images that show previously unseen European parallels and contemporaneity. At the same time, this mainstream merges with academicism, Munich, and gallery painting in art criticism – and this opposing weight confronts modern “Hungarian” art. Its stormy appearance and spread, which was due in no small part to the press, retroactively justified the passionate aversion to the “kremzerweiss” paintings. We must slowly face the underlying causes of this passion.

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GYÖRGY SZÜCS

A Few Words about Naturalism on the Pretext of Béla Lázár Béla Lázár, or rather Dr Béla Lázár by this time, was a substitute teacher in 1893 and a regular teacher from 1896, teaching Hungarian and German at the Hungarian Royal State Gymnasium on Barcsay Street in the 7th district of Budapest.1 There was an incident at this institution, which was brought up again at the time, where in 1884, one of the students was expelled “for reading one of Zola’s infamous novels during the lecture”.2 When perusing the mentioned annual school report, we can read the following: “Morally, there can be no objection to our students; any trouble that may have emerged has already been suppressed by the faculty when Ödön Gellmann, a third-grade student who was caught reading a forbidden book, was expelled from all high schools in the capital.”3 Most likely, the reason for the removal was not solely the intimidating example of Émile Zola, but rather the violation of the age-restricted work “for 18 and over”. This symbolic episode could mark the beginning of a rebellious adolescent’s promising literary career, but let us not hope too much, as in the next year or two, the name Gellmann only appears in school yearbooks before sinking into obscurity.

For Béla Lázár’s career, see György Szücs, “Lázár Béla (1869–1950). A bennfentes kívülálló” [Béla Lázár (1869–1950). The insider outsider], in “Emberek és nem frakkok” A magyar művészettörténet-írás nagy alakjai. [“People, Not Frocks”. The Great Figures of Hungarian Art History], eds. Csilla Markója and István Bardoly, Enigma (forthcoming).

2 A budapesti VII. kerületi Magyar Királyi Állami Gymnasium tizennegyedik évi értesítője az 1894–1895-ik iskolai évről [The 14th Annual Report of the Hungarian Royal State Gymnasium in the 7th district of Budapest in the 1894–1895 school year], ed. Dr Flóris Cheven (Budapest: Fritz Ármin Könyvnyomdája [1895]), p. 24. The original spelling has been preserved in the text to convey the transitional, not yet fixed state of individual expressions in the mood of the time.

3 A budapesti VII. kerületi Magyar Királyi Állami Gymnasium negyedik évi értesítője 1884– 85-ről [The 4th Annual Report of the Hungarian Royal State Gymnasium in the 7th district of Budapest in the 1884–1885 school year], ed. Sándor Köpesdy (Budapest: Fanda József Könyvnyomdája, 1885), p. 19.

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Unfortunately, we cannot report any further romantic or naturalistic turns in his life. However, the little episode provides an opportunity to shed light on the period when a twenty-one-year-old, recently-doctored fresh from the old literature A Fortunatus-mese az irodalomban [The Fortunatus Story in Literature], self-assured young man, who had published his study, previously serialised in Egyetemi Lapok [University Papers], on the perhaps most controversial term of the time, naturalism, as a separate publication in 1890.

The repeated address of “Gentlemen!” in the text, as well as the pamphlet-like nature of the original title, Ki az átabotából! (Egy-két szó a naturalismus kérdéséhez), suggest that it may have been spoken in a university self-education group or gathering.4 Perhaps on the recommendation of the Singer and Wolfner Publishing House, they decided to use the unambiguous – or at least intended to be unambiguous – title A naturalizmusról on the cover without changing the text.5 Lázár Béla, the promising young man, saw nothing less than the task of bringing order to the tangled wilderness of literary “Schlagwort”. “The concepts of romanticism, idealism, and naturalism are becoming increasingly confused, and everyone uses them as they want, leading to such conceptual confusion in public life and literature that it is finally time to take a closer look! Ibsen’s name is mentioned everywhere, with or without epithets, calling him a pessimist, idealist, moral hero, romantic, and naturalist. So what is he really? What is naturalism to Ibsen and Zola?

What is naturalism primarily? What are its aims and methods?”6 This paragraph – I would like to point out – could be a message for us, the future generations. Lázár’s text occasionally evokes the dynamic statements and goal-oriented style of twentieth-century manifestos. His approach, influenced by Hippolyte Taine (primarily the milieu theory), the novelist Émile Zola, and the playwright Henrik Ibsen, also includes criticism of the romanticism that has outlived itself, and considers the “true” naturalism that goes beyond mere copying of nature as the trend of his time: “The spirit of our age has changed, and this changed spirit has given rise to naturalism, which faithfully expresses this spirit and therefore its existence is justified! It contains a certain degree of pessimism because it denies that the old direction – which has become stereotyped – can produce vital nourishment. It also contains a certain degree of idealism, because it believes in changing conditions!”7 Béla Lázár, “Ki az átabotából! (Egy-két szó a naturalismus kérdéséhez)” [Leave Confusion Behind! (A Few Words on the Dilemma of Naturalism)], in Egyetemi Lapok no. 14 (6 April 1890): p. 103–4; no. 15 (13 April 1890): p. 110–13; no. 16 (20 April 1890): p. 120–22.

5 Béla Lázár, A naturalismusról [On Naturalism], (Budapest: Singer and Wolfner, 1890).

6 Ibid., p. 5.

7 Ibid., p. 6.

4

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The text essentially elaborates on this thesis statement, taking stock of its literary representatives and key concepts. We do not have the opportunity at present to trace the line and branches of his thinking or to evaluate its elements from a contemporary perspective, but Lázár’s article is certainly far more than mere casual café agitprop, yet less than a true theoretical exposition. The book naturally presents additional figures, including famous authors and those more commonly recognised only by experts, such as Alexandre Dumas, Leo Tolstoy, Ivan Turgenev, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Gerhart Hauptmann, as well as Victorien Sardou, Antoine Augier, Paul Bourget, José Echegaray, and Jens Peter Jacobsen.

The paragraph describes Lázár’s clear sympathy for Henrik Ibsen, who was the first to bring “psychological analysis to the stage based on the principles of naturalism”.8 It is no coincidence that Lázár was drawn to Ibsen, as they met personally in Berlin in 1888, and prior to that, Lázár began studying Norwegian so that he could translate Ibsen’s play Samfundets Støtter [The Pillars of Society] to Hungarian, which was then premiered at the National Theatre in 1890. During the Norwegian playwright’s visit to Budapest in the spring of 1891, Lázár published an article in Vasárnapi Ujság, in which he held up his work as an example for Hungarian dramatists to learn from: “The Hungarian drama could learn a lot from Ibsen. We are not talking about imitation but learning. It could learn how to comprehend the universally prevailing ideas from a national perspective. It could learn that observation of life should manifest not only in genre sketches but also in the depiction of the inner life. It should bring to the stage not iambic verse, not Greek fire, but the great problems of modern Hungarian life ...”9 The article detailed Ibsen’s program, which included visits to the studios of Gyula Benczúr, Alajos Strobl, József Róna, and Gusztáv Magyar-Mannheimer, as well as a meeting with Mór Jókai. Finally, the article published Ibsen’s poem A magyarokhoz [To the Hungarians], which was translated from Norwegian to Hungarian by none other than Béla Lázár.10 Returning to Lázár’s polemic: one of his unnamed targets may have been the Catholic periodical Magyar Szemle, which precisely defined its editorial direction in the programmatic article of its first issue: “And today, when naturalism and materialism are increasingly widespread and destructive in public life and literature, it is a hundred times more necessary to cultivate religiosity.

Because religion spreads the worship of idealism and provides humanity’s Ibid., p. 22.

Dr. Béla Lázár, “Ibsen Henrik,” in Vasárnapi Ujság, 26 April 1891, p. 266.

10 “Ibsen Budapesten” [Ibsen in Budapest], in Vasárnapi Ujság, 26 April 1891, p. 277.

8

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most reliable compass in its earthly wanderings toward idealism.”11 At the beginning of the second year, the editor reaffirmed: “Magyar Szemle never wavers from the truth, proudly waving its banner, fighting against tastelessness, naturalism, and literary flattery.”12 Lázár’s closing sentence and use of language may refer to this opposition: “But I would like those ‘friends’ of naturalism who keep stirring up the nasty hype of materialism with this tastelessness and groundless accusations to finally stop. The worldview of naturalism is certainly clearer and more idealistic than the narrow-mindedness that characterizes them!”13 In Fővárosi Lapok, Lázár’s university colleague, Ödön Weszely, wrote a review that was overall positive but disputed some smaller details.14 Looking back on his youthful work several decades later, Lázár evaluated it as follows: “I read through my treatise and saw what a reading echo it had! But at the same time, I am surprised that there are many propositions in it that I still accept today. The method too. Analysing naturalist technique, I was essentially doing nothing other than seeking essence in artistic form, for every art expresses itself through form. But of course, it is full of confusion. I, in discussing the question of imagination, oppose the organization of ideas and the visualisation, and call the latter intuition. This is incorrect – but I was a twenty-one-year-old, well-read young man, and my question was already causing me agitation. I am surprised in the Ibsen chapter that I am already attacking the criticism, because I see a lot of romanticism and allegory in it, which, of course, the young, convinced naturalist condemns.”15 The italicisation of the word “question”, which refers to the question of imagination, is a crucial moment because it forms the backbone of Lázár’s entire later art historical approach, the characterisation of artists, and the analysis of works through the grouping of creators with “abstract” or “concrete” imaginations.

He developed these fragments further and wrote his final, unpublished, comprehensive aesthetic work, titled A művészi képzelés lélektana, in the last decade of his life.16 We do nothing else but attempt, from a distance of one and a half centuries,

Gyula Rudnyánszky: “Zászlóbontás” [Flag Unfurling], in Magyar Szemle, 2 December 1888, p. 1.

Gyula Rudnyánszky: “Egy év” [One Year], in Magyar Szemle, 29 December 1889, p. 647.

13 Ibid., p. 28.

14 Ödön Weszely, “A naturalizmusról. (Egy új dolgozat alkalmából)” [On Naturalism. (On the Occasion of a New Work)], in Fővárosi Lapok, 6 May 1890, p. 913–15.

15 Dr. Lázár Béla önéletrajza [Dr Béla Lázár’s autobiography] (typed version). Lázár Bélahagyaték, MTA MKI Adattár, MKCs-C-I-44/217. Emphasis in the original.

16 Dr. Béla Lázár, A művészi képzelés lélektana [The Psychology of Artistic Imagination]. Lázár Béla-hagyaték, MTA MKI Adattár, MKCs-C-I-44/309.

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to unravel the era’s various names and trends associated with or rejecting naturalism and to put together some sort of useful category system. As a first step, let’s see in which main areas the term appeared during the period.

The twelfth volume of the Magyar Lexikon, published in 1883, summarises the newer, accepted meanings of naturalism precisely. In general, in everyday usage, it refers to the activity of “guiding natural talent” by skipping systematic study in the sciences or arts, for example, in the case of singers, dancers and fencers. In religion (philosophy), it professes that, in contrast to supranaturalism, man is capable of understanding religious truths through natural development alone, without supernatural influences, and also rejects dogmas that cannot be understood purely by reason. It is not identical to religious rationalism because it does not deny revelation but maintains the right to reflect and research it. However, for us, the definitions in painting and literature are important. “In painting, naturalism is the direction that seeks the art’s main task in the faithful imitation, or rather, copy of nature, and deliberately rejects everything idealistic as purely imagined and unattainable.” Among the old masters, Caravaggio and Rembrandt are given as examples, although it is leniently noted that “there is always an effort to dress their pure imitation with certain higher poetic inspiration, especially by seeking to achieve it through lighting.” Naturalism already appears in ancient poetry, and like in painting, it manifests as “unconscious imitation of nature”. “The naturalism, as a conscious and purposeful direction, is new in modern literature, especially in French literature. Here, naturalism represents a reaction to the sickly sentimentalism (oversensitivity) adopted by the Germans. The characteristic of this direction is to present the sins and mistakes of humanity along with the dreadful social retribution that accompanies them. This serves to influence individuals indirectly and to sow the seeds of theoretical reform in societies that are often overly harsh.” The article also notes that there are those, like George Sand or Flaubert, who work with historical stories, unlike Zola, who is only interested in the present. “From a material standpoint, the naturalist approach deals with social figures in the manner of scientific experiments (as set out in his novel Le roman experimental), but its irreparable flaw is that it only pays attention to the filth and dirt of life.”17 In Lázár’s 1903 monograph on László Paál, the artist’s “racial” background as a Székely is presented using the primary meaning of innate talent: “[The Székelys] are fundamentally inclined towards art. They are born master craftsmen, almost naturalist

Magyar Lexikon. Az egyetemes ismeretek encyklopaediája [The Encyclopedia of Universal Knowledge], vol. XII (Budapest: Wilckens and Waidl, 1883), p. 516–17.

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artists, and their manual dexterity is astonishing.”18 However, later, a passage from one of Paál’s letters from 1868 is quoted on the subject of naturalism in a nature study: “The main characteristic of our age’s artistic endeavours is naturalism ...” Nevertheless, this can hardly be considered a reflection of Courbet’s understanding of nature, but rather refers to the cautious plein air practice of the Viennese Academy.19 Lázár’s naturalistic research methodology, so to speak, also defines his own observer-analytical position when he tries to uncover the artist’s imaginative processes, which are difficult to grasp: “The artist’s imagination is a psychological process, a common trait of all of us, and its mode of operation follows the same laws, but in individual variations. It depends on our senses, inclinations, and temperament, and to understand its mechanism, let us do as the clockmaker, and break it down to its constituent parts.”20 Sándor Hoffmann’s observations, made in 1893, remain valid to this day.

He noticed the lack of a unified literary direction in the midst of social changes, the disappearance of positive ideals, and the spread of pessimism and individualism, both in philosophy and in everyday life, as well as the inadequacy of national literature. “Contemporary literature is most commonly referred to as transitional literature. It is transitional because its entire body of work is negative. It has overthrown the false ideals created by romanticism but is unable to establish new ideals on the ruins.” Navigating the turmoil of terms is almost impossible: “They speak of naturalism as the child of realism, verism, and impressionism, of occultism, symbolism, and mysticism, and we even hear about psychologists. These various names, usually associated with less dizzying works, only prove that they are unable to find the real, proper expression and that they continue to add to the confusion with new names.”21 Hoffmann’s study continues with a more thorough examination of literary naturalism and impressionism. He cites the painter William Hogarth, who tells stories in his paintings, as a negative example: “This transition of painting into the realm of poetry can only create a mongrel species.” Naturalism, on the other hand, does the exact opposite: “Naturalism, mocking the eternal

Dr. Béla Lázár, Paál László (Budapest: Róbert Lampel, Wodianer F. and Sons, 1903), p. 24.

Ibid., p. 71–75. The French version does not make a distinction: “Il a des penchants foncièrement artistiques. Il est né artisan, presque artiste naturaliste, doué d’une surprenante dextérité. ... Le trait principal des efforts artistiques de notre époque, c’est le naturalisme ....”

Béla Lázár, Ladislas de Paál. Un peintre hongrois de l’école de Barbizon (Paris: Librairie de l’art ancien et moderne, 1904), p. 10, p. 72.

20 Ibid., p. 52.

21 Sándor Hoffmann, “Vázlatok a modern irodalomról. I. Uj irányok” [Sketches on modern literature. I. New directions], in Magyar Szemle, 11 June 1893, p. 278. Emphasis in the original.

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rules of art, has crossed over into the realm of painting. It depicts every tiny object in minute detail. Every blade of grass that can exist in a park, every type of cheese that can be sold in a store, and every embellishment on a piece of furniture. All of these wonderful descriptions are done under the pretext that we can only truly understand human character if we know the world surrounding it, all the objects of the world because all of this has an effect on it.”22 The quote emphasises the use of words to create paintings, however, it is easy to recall Jules Bastien-Lepage’s 1877 painting Hay Gatherers (Les Foins, fig. 6) or István Csók’s painting of the same title, painted in 1890 (fig.

76). In 1904, Sándor Hoffmann, now known as Sándor Hevesi and working as a theatre director, was among the founders of the Thália Society, during the next wave of modernism. Henrik Ibsen’s The Master Builder, The Wild Duck, and Ghosts were featured in the society’s program, which ran until 1908 and was positively portrayed in the Hoffmann-Hevesi series of articles.

The practice of blurring the boundaries between poetry and science, literature and visual art that was slowly becoming accepted was previously mentioned by Menyhért Palágyi, one of the original thinkers of the era, who was discussing Taine’s historical method: “But no matter where we take the similes and images from, the main thing is not to make doctrines out of them. Similes and images mostly come from the poet’s workshop. What is appropriate in poetry may cause confusion in science, and vice versa. Taine is sometimes very much a poet, just as Zola is very much a scientist. Taine sometimes paints landscapes as if he were writing a novel, while Zola scientifically discusses in his novels, as if he were a doctor. Modern people are such that they do not want to do anything in its proper place.”23 Hoffmann-Hevesi’s study was published in the above-mentioned Magyar Szemle, which did not shy away from presenting modern literature and art, albeit sometimes with a sharper critical edge. It is interesting to note a decade later, in a spring issue of 1898, the context in which the word naturalism appears. In the report of Kornél Divald, who is best known as a monument topographer, on the average artistic life in Paris, he states: “Artists in Paris often draw inspiration from literature, but not from Zola and the modern naturalists or the works of analytical writers, but rather we see the themes of Victor

22 Sándor Hoffmann, “Vázlatok a modern irodalomról. II. Naturalizmus és impresszionizmus” [Sketches on modern literature. II. Naturalism and Impressionism], in Magyar Szemle, 18 June 1893, p. 290.

23 Menyhért Palágyi, “Taine történeti módszere II.” [Taine’s Historical Method II], in Koszoru, 25 January 1885, p. 51.

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Hugo, Dante, and other romantics on their canvases or carved in marble.”24 In analysing Dezső Malonyay’s monograph Munkácsy Mihály élete és munkái [The Life and Works of Mihály Munkácsy], the author’s method is exposed

by Lajos Cenner, a church writer: “A naturalistic novelist could not imagine a more starkly barren childhood for his hero than that which Munkácsy’s biographer portrays. We can read about it in six printed volumes in his book, although it is obvious that it has little impact on Munkácsy’s artistic career; however, our author needed it for his scientific method, so he details it here and there, sometimes veering into sentimentality and always dealing more extensively with the externals of the master’s career than with his development as an artistic individual.”25 Gyula Kozáry, also a theologist, dealt with Béla Lázár’s collection of short stories, Hangulatok: “He draws most of his subjects from modern life, but his moral philosophy is not of the turn of the century. To his credit, he does not stray into the disgusting portrayal and detailing of sensual love, the immorality of turn-of-the-century and decadent literature, and naturalism (except for a single sleazy adjective).”26 (The task of finding the “sleazy adjective” is left for further research.)

Kozáry appears to be fighting against various harmful tendencies in defence of Catholic spirituality in the interest of restoring the lost unity of religious beliefs. In his 1897 overview of literary theories, Zsolt Beöthy, who presents the dominance of the national idea, refers to Béla Lázár as well, whose collection of essays titled A tegnap, ma és holnap (Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow) was published the previous year. Beöthy acknowledges Lázár’s extensive knowledge and awareness, but he does not accept that escaping to the “misty world of mysticism” as a countermeasure to the “dullness of materialism” would be equivalent to the advent of a new idealism. “We consider the struggles, doubts, and Hamletism of modern man and their yearning for ideals as human documents and opportunities for conversion. The pure idealist worldview is emerging, disgusted by the unpleasantness of naturalism and positivism.” (With some modesty, he directs the reader to his own work, Ideálizmus az irodalomban [Idealism in Literature]).27 From an art historical perspective, it could be instructive to compare the

Kornél Divald, “A müvészi Páris. (Mükritikai tanulmányok) X.” [Artistic Paris. (Studies in Art Criticism) X], in Magyar Szemle, 27 March 1898, p. 146.

25 C–s. [Lajos Cenner], “Zichy és Munkácsy III.” [Zichy and Munkácsy III], in Magyar Szemle, 27 March 1898, p. 154.

26 Gyula Kozáry, “Hangulatok. Elbeszélések. Irta Lázár Béla” [Moods. Prose. Written by Béla Lázár], in Magyar Szemle, 27 March 1897, p. 156.

27 Gyula Kozáry, “Irodalomtörténeti elméletek” [Theories of literary history], in Magyar Szemle, 24 October 1897, p. 505.

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literary ambitions of the defining art critics of the turn of the twentieth century, along with Lázár, such as Dezső Malonyay, Károly Lyka, Ödön Gerő, and Miklós Rózsa, and their works of fiction, particularly with respect to foreign inspirations, especially in terms of naturalism. As an example that is merely illustrative of this, we can cite an editorial message from one of the editors of the satirical newspaper Borsszem Jankó, which targeted Ödön Gerő’s collection of short stories, Egyének [Individuals]: “These are the works of a young writer of rare substance, which urge the reader to uncover interesting psychological problems. It is almost a continuation of what the writer left unfinished in some places, intentionally of course. Béla Lázár is paired with him.

The former builds an altar for Bourget, while the latter professes to Ibsen.

And even the idol contains divine power, if we believe in it.”28 The setting of Lázár’s early short stories is easily recognisable as his hometown, Nagyvárad, and the text contains small references that draw on his direct experiences during his foreign travels to describe the environment.

In his 1895 short story Myria29 – which, according to the introduction, was inspired by the Danish critic and literary scholar Georg Brandes – we read about a teacher who is critiquing Zola’s latest novel at the university,30 while at a café people are discussing Nietzsche,31 and elsewhere they are referring to the fashionable Bourget psychology.32 Despite this, it can be read primarily as a romantic short story – the characters regularly cry and sob – in which scattered naturalistic motifs can be found. In the final scene, the protagonist, Gejza Sávor, who has just come from an art history lecture, is discussing his book with his friend at the café: “Your book is all colour, emotion, and knowledge, mainly the latter. Indeed, your strength is not in the form, nor in the analysis of feelings, but in observation, grouping, and description.

In short, you are a poetic-spirited scholar. The career you are now pursuing is perfectly suited to your personality.”33 Here we can detect Lázár’s self-positioning – and appropriately, he later refers to his style in 1912 as “belles-lettres aesthetics” – in the book of the Pécsi Napló, titled Tizenhárom magyar festő , which contains art portraits.34 Unfortunately, we cannot consider Lázár’s entry as pioneering, since as early Borsszem Jankó, 27 October 1895, p. 11.

Béla Lázár, Myria – Anya. Két elbeszélés [Myria – Mother. Two stories] (Budapest: Grill Károly, 1895).

30 Ibid., p. 10.

31 Ibid., p. 15.

32 Ibid., p. 37.

33 Ibid., p. 123–24.

34 “Tizenhárom magyar festő” [Thirteen Hungarian Painters], in Pécsi Napló, 26 May 1912, p. 16.

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as 1886, Gyula Haraszti, the pioneer of French philology, published a weighty and detailed book, A naturalista regényről. (Jókai also knew the work and in one of his writings he objected to the „idealist” classification since he himself identified as a “realist”.35) Haraszti considered naturalism as the form of appearance of “contemporary realism”, and based on his wide-ranging knowledge, he explored the truthfulness and origins of the texts that criticized or appreciated the movement (Hippolyte Taine, Ferdinand Brunetière, Émile Montégut, Émile Zola), and discussed in detail the work of predecessors such as Stendhal, Prosper Mérimée, Honoré de Balzac, and Gustave Flaubert, their relationship to each other and, of course, to the “notorious legal expert and debater of the naturalistic novel”, Zola. In addition to Zola, he highlighted the role of the Goncourt brothers and Alphonse Daudet, and finally devoted a separate chapter to the art of the Russian realists.36 In her study titled A francia naturalista regény első visszhangjai a magyar sajtóban 1873 és 1880 között [), published in 2000, literary historian and translator Mónika Burján included an appendix that contains a bibliography of more than a hundred items (from 1873 to 1900) about Émile Zola and the reception of naturalist novels in Hungary. This bibliography lists about seventy items up to Béla Lázár’s book from 1890, which is not included in the list.37 Imre Bori, a comparative literary historian who has written about Dezső Kosztolányi, Ivo Andrić, and Lajos Kassák, among others, evaluates representatives of the movement in his study Öten a naturalizmusról.

In this work, he compares the works of Jenő Péterfy, Gyula Haraszti, Béla Lázár, Zoltán Ambrus, and the relatively unknown Irén Zoltvány. About Lázár, he writes: “He does not speak as a scholar here, although he is capable of doing so, as we can see from his essay The Fortunatus Story in Literature, also published in 1890. Rather, he is an intellectual who loves impressions and fresh information, who is hungry for such things and finds joy in reading everything he can get his hands on, using his knowledge and wandering imagination to do so.”38 However, this kind of enthusiasm does not last long: “As soon as Béla Lázár’s little work on naturalism was born, we see the Ferenc Zsigmond, Jókai (Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia, 1927), p. 272.

Gyula Haraszti, A naturalista regényről [On the Naturalist Novel], (Budapest: Athenaeum, 1886).

37 Mónika Burján, “A francia naturalista regény első visszhangjai a magyar sajtóban 1873 és 1880 között” [The First Echoes of French Naturalist Novels in Hungarian Press Between 1873 and 1880], in Filológiai Közlöny nos. 1–2 (2000): p. 34–49.

38 Imre Bori, “Öten a naturalizmusról” [Five People on Naturalism], in Létünk no. 6 (1988): p. 847. The study also appeared as a separate chapter in Imre Bori’s book, A magyar irodalom modern irányai II. Naturalizmus [The Modern Trends of Hungarian Literature II. Naturalism] (Újvidék: Fórum, 1989).

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author as a connoisseur and advocate of symbolism in most of those studies that appeared in the collection Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow (1896). Here we can read a major study on Jacobsen and Baudelaire, and in the extensive and multipartite study Miszticizmus és modernség [Mysticism and Modernity], he gives an account of symbolism in philosophy, painting, poetry, the novel, and the drama. He embeds the works of Lamennais and Guyau, Ruskin and the Pre-Raphaelite movement, Mallarmé and Verlaine, Morice and Huysmans, Ibsen and Maeterlinck in the new and fresh artistic outlook of the end of the century – after naturalism, as an advocate of symbolism.”39 Indeed, Lázár quickly transcended the role of a spokesperson for naturalism and considered it a necessary but surpassable and surpassing stage of modernism. He was likely influenced by Hermann Bahr’s enthusiastic attitude towards all novelties and his book Die Überwindung des Naturalismus published in 1891.40 On Christmas of the same year, Lázár responded to a statement by the deceased ophthalmology professor and academic, Ignác Hirschler, who despised naturalist writers so much that he had not read a single line from them. The typical attitude of “readers” who adopted the judgments of angry critics gave Lázár an opportunity to shed light on concepts. “Today we see clearly. We see that naturalism was also a transitional period. Their theory is false, but they have great poets in practice. We feel that in Zola’s novels, a true, powerful talent’s individual emotional world runs through. We sense that this emotion is not that of indifference. However, we also know that they do not seek routine, but draw it because it is also a part of life, and we know that there is also poetry in truth: the artistic reflection of reality in the mirror of an individual personality! Zola is an individual, Ibsen is too, Tolstoy, Daudet, Turgenev, Gontscharow, etc. We respect the power and authority of their individuality, and even those who were against naturalism now acknowledge this.”41 From the 1900s, the focus of Lázár’s activity clearly shifted to the field of fine arts. His essays and studies on favourite painters provided an opportunity for him to write about the necessary stage of their careers, the naturalist period, in personal terms. He described István Csók’s departure in Paris and his search for style as follows: “There came one, above all, for whom every artistic movement’s followers were united in their enthusiasm: Bastien-Lepage and his followers, especially L’Hermitte, Dagnan-Bouveret, and his suite of German, Ibid., 850.

Hermann Bahr, Die Überwindung des Naturalismus (Dresden–Leipzig: E. Pierson’s Verlag, 1891).

41 Dr. Béla Lázár, “Egy megjegyzés” in Egyenlőség, 25 December 1891, p. 15–16.

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English, and Italian artists. Because it was a compromise, because it meant a middle ground, because there was a bit of everything in it, because it meant staying and advancing at the same time. It was truly an interesting age, the flesh of our flesh, the blood of our blood. Intoxicating, inspiring, fanatically transformative. We all remember it! He found some of us in the Lohengrin Café in Munich, others on Rue Jacob in Paris – he caught one of us in Café Keck in Berlin, but he caught up with, impressed, and fascinated everyone.

And he pursued everyone as well. He was able to make us his apostles – we gave up our past for him, gave up our present and sacrificed our future.”42 Meanwhile, over the decades, where did naturalism, which created faithful fanatics and fierce enemies, disappear? In 1922, the fashionable novelist and editor, Miklós Surányi, mentioned Gyula Haraszti’s book on naturalist literature in his inaugural lecture at the Kisfaludy Society, stating that it had a great influence on his literary career. After World War I, he rightfully observed the once highly influential movement: “Today, Naturalism has aged and is too compromised, hiding with timid uncertainty in the obscure groves of literature, amidst classical circular temples, symbolist decorations, Chinese pagodas, decadent, perverse-smelling flower arrangements, Pre-Raphaelite tapestries, and stuccoed historical reconstructions.”43

42 Dr. Béla Lázár, “Csók István” Művészet no. 5 (1910): p. 194. In volume: Idem, Tizenhárom magyar festő (Budapest: Singer and Wolfner, 1912), p. 16–17.

43 Miklós Surányi, “A pesszimista regény – Székfoglaló a Kisfaludy Társaságban” [The Pessimist Novel – Inaugural in the Kisfaludy Society], in Budapesti Szemle no. 552 (1922): p. 99.

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ZSÓFIA SEPSEY

Émile Zola and French Literary Naturalism Among the defining movements of 19th century French literature, naturalism plays a significant role. Its roots can be traced back to realism, which emerged in the mid-century following Romanticism. The most significant representative and theorist of naturalism was Émile Zola (1840-1902), who established the principles of the movement in his novels and critical, theoretical works. As naturalism was in many ways a further development and extension of realism, we can find many similar literary approaches among naturalists. Just as styles in the visual arts cannot be neatly separated from one another, literary movements coexisted and influenced one another.

In the first part of my essay, I outline the historical and philosophical background of naturalism, emphasizing the role of Auguste Comte and Hippolyte Taine. I also present the antecedents of naturalism, that is, the literary method of the realist writers who had the greatest influence on the movement, Honoré de Balzac and Gustave Flaubert. Next, I examine the ideas of Émile Zola, as the theorist of naturalism, highlighting the characteristics of naturalism, pointing out the differences and similarities with realism.

Intellectual-historical background: the emergence of positivism as a philosophical movement The 19th century history of France presents a highly diverse picture.

Between 1800 and 1900, seven different forms of government succeeded each other: the Consulate, followed by the First Empire led by Napoleon Bonaparte, the Bourbon Restoration, the constitutional monarchy of the July Monarchy, the Second Republic, the Second Empire, and finally the Third Republic.1 The period was no less fascinating in terms of intellectual

1

Georges Duby szerk., Franciaország története I–II. [History of France I–II]. Budapest : Osiris,

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history. Alongside the rapid development of natural sciences, new philosophical movements emerged as a result of their influence. The most influential of these on literature was positivism. The historical philosophy associated primarily with Auguste Comte (1798–1857)2 emerged in the first half of the 19th century, with roots going back to the French Enlightenment, particularly to Denis Diderot. According to Comte’s theses,3 which he expounded in his work A Discourse on the Positive Spirit (1844), human development has three stages. The first two stages - the theological, which explained the phenomena of the world through transcendental forces, and the metaphysical, which examined the permanence and regularity of these phenomena - have already been surpassed by humanity. It has reached the third, the positive stage, which is based on rationality and scientific knowledge. For the sake of understanding truth, humans can only observe and systematize facts, and can only understand and record the symptomatic correlations of natural and social phenomena.

Another important figure of positivist thinking and the one who had a great impact on the literature of novels of the second half of the 19th century, particularly on realists and naturalists, was Hippolyte Taine (1828–1893).

He is also associated with the development of the so-called milieu or determination theory. According to the theory, three factors fundamentally influence human and cultural development: race, i.e. genetic makeup, time, i.e. history and its events, and finally, the given social environment that surrounds the individual. These three variables determine the individual, who has no chance of moving away from their own environment. This mechanical deterministic philosophy served as a starting point for naturalist artists.4

2005–2007.

2 The philosophical trend that emerged in the first half of the 19th century in France was propagated by Saint-Simon and Comte, who worked closely with him as his secretary. In Angele Kremer-Marietti, Le Positivism. Coll. “Que sais-je?” PUF, Paris, 1982.

3 Annie Petit, Le Systeme d’Auguste Comte. De la science a la religion par la philosophie, Paris: Vrin, 2016.

4 Pascale Seys, „Hippolyte Taine et l’avénement du naturalisme: Un intellectuel sous le Second Empire” in L’Harmattan, Paris, 2000. ÉMILE ZOLA AND FRENCH LITERARY NATURALISM / / 41

Realism: Balzac and Flaubert5 French Realism emerged in the mid-19th century with the aim of depicting reality as accurately as possible, abandoning the Romantic tradition of idealizing reality for aesthetic and sentimental reasons. The novel was its most important genre, with Balzac, Stendhal, and Flaubert, the movement’s most significant representatives, all writing in this genre.

Honore de Balzac (1799–1850) most influential work is La Comédie humaine (The Human Comedy), which he wrote from 1834 until his death. The universe he created consists of recurring characters and places, making the nearly one hundred novels that make up the series a coherent whole, dealing with numerous social, philosophical, political, and economic issues. In the preface of The Human Comedy, Balzac summarizes all of this as follows: „My work has its geography, as it has its genealogy and its families, its places and things, its persons and their deeds; as it has its heraldry, its nobles and commonalty, its artisans and peasants, its politicians and dandies, its army – in short, a whole world of its own.”6 For Balzac, it is crucial to observe the environment and the characters, which later also appears in Flaubert and the naturalists. He places great emphasis on presenting the environment, which contains the development of the narrative and the behavior and fate of the characters. As stated in the Preface,7 his starting point is a kind of comparison between humanity and the animal world. From this perspective, he followed the theses of the period’s scholar, Geoffroy Saint Hilaire, which stated that the cause of the differences between species is to be found in the different environments.8 Following Hilaire’s idea, Balzac focuses on the interaction between humans and their environment.

He categorized his novels based on the milieu in which their narratives take place, such as in the French capital, Paris, in the countryside, or in a village.

In this regard, the role of food and meals is essential, and what and how the characters eat, whether at home or in a restaurant, is emphasized. Beyond strict facts, Balzac also relied on imagination, primarily in creating characters,

My study focuses on naturalism and Zola, therefore I chose to present the two authors who had the greatest influence on him among the representatives of realism. Their presentation primarily focuses on their relationship with naturalism, and the parallels in their methods and literary behavior.

6 Honoré de Balzac, Preface to the Human Comedy.

7 Ibid.

8 Jean-Louis Fischer, “Le Concept experimental dans l’œuvre tératologique d’Etienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire” in Revue d’histoire des sciences, 25th year, 1972, p. 347–64.

5

ÉMILE ZOLA AND FRENCH LITERARY NATURALISM / / 42

including romantic heroes and heroines who have the opportunity to shape their own destiny.9 Gustave Flaubert (1821–1880) is another emblematic figure of realism, the most important inspiration for the naturalists, especially for Zola. The scientific, almost medical approach to analysis and data collection was part of Flaubert’s life from childhood, and he chose this for his writing method: very thorough, detailed data collection and observation. This huge amount of strictly reality-based data is the basis for creating the narrative and characters, which Flaubert transforms from dry factual descriptions to literary works with his unique style. The essence of his writing method is called «impassibilité» (dispassion), meaning that the writer should not allow himself to get too close to his characters, but rather present them objectively from their own perspective. As a writer, Flaubert’s goal is to stay as far away as possible from the narrative and characters, effectively excluding himself from the novel. The thoroughness and attention to detail is also evident in the language of Flaubert’s novels. Each word has a carefully considered role in the individual sentences, which he rewrote and changed countless times until the final form was achieved.

The Emergence of Naturalism In this primarily realistic environment, naturalism emerged after such precedents, with Émile Zola as its sole theoretician and most important representative.10

NATURALISM AS A TERMINUS TECHNICUS Literary naturalism was first described by Zola in his study Mes Haines, which was published in 1866, although he only used the term a few weeks later in an article in the newspaper L’Événement.11 About two years later, in the preface to the second edition of his first significant novel, Thérèse Raquin (1868), Zola formulated the methods of the naturalistic writer, based on observation and analysis following Flaubert’s lead. «In Thérèse Raquin, I wanted to study not the characters, but the various temperaments. That’s

9 In contrast to Balzac’s conception, Zola creates characters who have no possibility of avoiding their fate, and therefore do not appear as heroes in the novels.

10 Henri Mitterrand, Zola et le naturalisme „Que sais-je?” PUF, Paris, p. 267.

11 Zola’s writing, in which he first used the term „naturalist” in the context of the „naturalist of the moral world”, was published on July 25, 1866. See ibid., p. 298.

ÉMILE ZOLA AND FRENCH LITERARY NATURALISM / / 43

what the whole book is about. I chose characters who are completely at the mercy of their nerves and blood, who have no free will, and whose every action is determined by their physicality. Thérèse and Laurent are wild human beings, nothing more. [...] The soul is completely absent, I admit it, because that is exactly what I wanted. I hope you are beginning to understand that my aim was primarily scientific.»12 Following this, in his Rougon-Macquart series and in his other theoretical works such as Le Roman expérimental (The Experimental Novel, 1880), Le Naturalisme au théâtre (Naturalism in the Theatre, 1881), and Les Romanciers Naturalistes (Naturalist Novelists, 1881), Zola formulates the doctrine of naturalism.

THE TERM NATURALISM However, the term «naturalism» was not Zola’s invention. In scientific, philosophical, and artistic texts, it had already appeared well before the 19th century. In a scientific context, since the 17th century, naturalism referred to a scientist who primarily dealt with natural phenomena and their possible explanations. In a philosophical context, Diderot referred to naturalists in the Encyclopédie as those who believe only in the material world, seeing the world and society’s development as a result of natural processes, excluding any transcendental force.13 In the context of visual arts, since the 17th century, the naturalist referred to a painter and sculptor who aimed for the most perfect and accurate representation and imitation of nature and reality. In the 19th century, Baudelaire called certain painters of the 1846 Salon «naturalists and colorists,» praising their rich and overflowing colors, bright and transparent skies, and their exceptional acceptance of everything that nature provides with great sincerity.14 Later, Jules-Antoine Castagnary used the term «école naturaliste» or naturalistic school in his report on the 1863 Salon to refer to landscape painters for whom the most important aim was the most perfect and comprehensive representation of nature.15

ZOLA AND NATURALISM Zola considered literature to be a science that, like the natural sciences, should be studied through experimentation, observation, and the discovery

Émile Zola, Préface de la deuxieme édition–Thérèse Raquin, Paris, 1868.

Ibid. p. 322.

14 „Une couleur riche et abondante, des ciels transparents et lumineux, une sincérité particulière qui leur fait accepter tout ce que donne la nature.” Charles Baudelaire, Salon de 1846.

15 Jules-Antoine Castagnary, Salon de 1863, I. vol. p. 104–05.

12 13

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of laws. His most important space for this experimental method was his twenty-volume novel cycle, the Rougon-Macquart series, which presents the story of a family during the time of the Second Empire, as indicated by its subtitle. The plan for the cycle was already prepared in 1868, but the first volume The Fortune of the Rougons, was only published in 1870. The work, which marks the beginning of the family’s history, introduces an elderly woman named Adélaide, whose husband is the rational and ambitious Rougon, while her lover is the morally loose and alcoholic Macquart. Both men father children, who become the main characters of the novel cycle and perfectly illustrate Zola’s theory of the determining role of genetics and environment in people’s lives.

Zola was influenced by the positivist theories of Comte and Taine, as well as the theses of biologist Claude Bernard.16 Bernard assigned a prominent role to experimentation in biology as a science, i.e., the possibility of testing hypotheses through experiments. Based on these experiments, intentionally induced observations, Bernard established biological laws. Zola, following Bernard’s example, created an experimental environment in his novels in which he examined and analyzed his characters in different situations, and then looked for laws and drew conclusions. As he wrote in the preface to the cycle in 1871, «possessing all the pieces, with the whole social group in my hands, I present the group as a historical character in action.»17 According to Zola’s definition, the essence of the naturalist writers’ method is thorough, detailed, objective, almost scientific observation, continuing the doctrine developed by the realists. Naturalist writers also aimed to present reality in an unvarnished manner, while going beyond the reality of Balzac and Flaubert to uncover the truth. The unvarnished presentation of reality introduced several topics into literature that were previously taboo. For example, in Zola’s novel The Bright Side of Life (1883), he describes several cruel and shocking details, such as the protagonist Pauline’s first menstruation or the details of a premature birth at the end of the novel. In their language, his novels also seek to depict reality, so when presenting different social groups, Zola uses original slang.

The naturalists were primarily interested in the poor and those living on the periphery of society who had no opportunities for upward mobility and did not desire it. According to Taine’s theory, their fate was determined, meaning they could not go beyond the opportunities provided by their genetics,

16 17

Claude Bernard, Introduction a l’étude de la médecine expérimentale, Paris, 1865. Émile Zola, „Preface to the Rougon-Maquart cycle” in Naturalism. ÉMILE ZOLA AND FRENCH LITERARY NATURALISM / / 45

environment, and historical circumstances. Zola examines these characters taken from the lower strata of society as participants in an experiment in his novels, studying the role of environment and origin in the life journey of each character. His objectivity, exact description of events and characters, does not leave room for imagination or emotion and judgment on the part of the author. Zola believed that through this method, the workings of passion in a given social environment can be revealed and harmful passions can be overcome by understanding their mechanisms. In this sense, his intention was to change society, which he articulated in his work Experimental Novel.

From the seventh volume of the Rougon-Macquart novel series, L’Assommoir (1877), which was both a great success and a huge scandal, naturalism became a widely recognized movement, while Germinal (1885) brought Zola the greatest success. During this period, the so-called Médan Youth group was formed around the writer, who gathered every Thursday at Zola’s Médan apartment. The name comes from the six young writers themselves, including Guy de Maupassant and Joris-Karl Huysmans. Zola edited their joint work, which they published in 1880 under the title Les Soirées de Médan (Evenings at Médan), as a milestone of naturalism.

The phenomenon of naturalism spread rapidly throughout European art, both in literature and the visual arts. The term was adopted everywhere, although its meaning was clarified by Zola and almost no one else outside of literature. As clear as it seems in French literature, it is uncertain in other areas, primarily in relation to the visual arts. Some content-related parallels can be found, such as the depiction of poverty or work, as well as the analytical, conscious perception of the visual elements and the fundamentally objective approach to reality, which may have roots in Zola’s method, but the term’s meaning in the visual arts, which was partly already occupied earlier, disturbs the simple pairing with literature.

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AGNIESZKA KLUCZEWSKA-WOJCIK

La Peinture à l’épreuve de la vérité Stanisław Witkiewicz et les débats sur le naturalisme en Pologne

« Toutes les renaissances dans l’art commençaient par un nouveau pas vers la reconnaissance et une meilleure reconstitution de la vérité de la vie »,1 écrit Stanisław Witkiewicz (1851–1915) (fig. 10) dans un article polémique adressé à ses principaux adversaires lors de la discussion qui suit la publication de son livre-manifeste L’art et la critique chez nous.2 Bien que cette déclaration date de la fin des années 1890, la question de la vérité en – et de la – peinture préoccupe Witkiewicz pratiquement dès le début de sa carrière de critique, comme en témoigne le mieux son article consacré aux qualités visuelles de la poésie d’Adam Mickiewicz, considéré comme l’une de ses plus grandes réussites littéraires, publié dans la revue Wędrowiec (Voyageur) en 1885.3 Le choix de Mickiewicz, le plus éminent représentant du romantisme polonais, semble au prime abord surprenant, étant donné que Witkiewicz est considéré comme la figure de proue du mouvement pour le renouveau de l’art en Pologne et la revue Wędrowiec, comme la principale tribune du

Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Jeszcze o krytyce », Sztuka i krytyka u nas, 3ème édition, Lwów, Towarzystwo Wydawnicze, 1899, p. 149 [129–212].

2 Stanisław Witkiewicz, Sztuka i krytyka u nas, Warszawa, 1891, 1ère édition. La littérature sur Witkiewicz est abondante, nous utiliserons notamment : Wanda Nowakowska, Stanisław Witkiewicz – teoretyk sztuki, Wrocław, Ossolineum, 1970 ; Stanisław Witkiewicz, Pisma zebrane, réédité par Jan Z. Jakubowski – Marta Olszaniecka, Sztuka i krytyka u nas, vol. 1, op. cit., avec l’introduction critique de Marta Olszaniecka; Kraków, Wydawnictwo Literackie, 1971 ; Monografie artystyczne, vol. 2, avec l’introduction critique de Marta Olszaniecka, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Literackie, 1974 ; Marta Olszaniecka, Dziwny człowiek. O Stanisławie Witkiewiczu, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Literackie, 1984 ; Stanisław Witkiewicz, Wybór pism estetycznych, rédaction et introduction de Józef Tarnowski, Kraków, Universitas, 2009.

3 Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Mickiewicz jako kolorysta », Wędrowiec, 1885, nº 49–53 ; édition critique in Stanisław Witkiewicz, Monografie artystyczne, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 277–456.

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naturalisme. Pourtant, à la fin des années 1870, parmi les peintres, membres de la « colonie » polonaise de Munich, à laquelle il est associé, une importante radicalisation des opinions a lieu, qui transforme l’opposition : réalisme – romantisme, dominante dans les débats artistiques, en une confrontation entre le naturalisme et l’idéalisme. La figure de « Mickiewicz – coloriste », comme Witkiewicz titre son article, qui « en termes de précision d’observation et de clarté de présentation des phénomènes de couleur, ainsi que d’autres, est un naturaliste [souligné par S.W.] dont les réalistes même du rang de Zola pourraient apprendre beaucoup »4, devient en quelque sorte un symbole de ce changement. Le changement, qui plus est, constitue la première étape de la lutte pour l’autonomie des arts plastiques en Pologne.

La révolution industrielle, plus tardive en Pologne qu’à l’Ouest de l’Europe, transforme, à la fin du XIXe siècle, le paysage social et économique du pays.

Ces modifications, liée aux facteurs géopolitiques, ont pour cette raison une dynamique et un rythme différents dans chacun des territoires annexés.

Le Royaume de Pologne (ou Royaume du Congrès), qui après l’échec de l’insurrection de janvier 1863 perd tout ce qui lui restait d’autonomie politique, accède, grâce à la suppression de la douane, au rôle de support industriel de l’Empire russe, avec deux grands centres d’industrie légère, l’un à Varsovie et l’autre à Łódź. Varsovie est également la base des activités des compagnies ferroviaires et de la finance. La Galicie autrichienne, jouissant à partir des années 1860 d’une plus grande autonomie politique et culturelle, est moins développée économiquement. Lwów (aujourd’hui Lviv, en Ukraine), sa capitale administrative, et Cracovie, sa capitale spirituelle, gardent pourtant leur rôle des centres de la vie intellectuelle pour toute la nation polonaise. La Grande Pologne (Wielkopolska), sous le joug prussien (puis de l’Empire allemand), majoritairement agricole reste quelque peu à l’écart de la scène artistique nationale. Il n’est donc pas étonnant que ce soit Varsovie qui sera le berceau du naturalisme – d’une lutte pour la littérature et l’art nouveaux, comme le définissent les fondateurs du mouvement eux-mêmes.

La presse est un des facteurs décisifs des changements sociaux, d’autant plus important que, dans la partition russe, elle est pratiquement la seule voix de l’opinion publique polonaise, et ceci malgré la censure préventive particulièrement tenace. Le nombre toujours croissant des lecteurs la renforce encore dans sa position de « meneur d’esprits ». Quelques uns parmi ces journaux et revues, tels que Tygodnik Ilustrowany (L’Hebdomadaire illustré), fondé en 1859, ou Kłosy (Les Épis), fondé en 1865, deviennent non seulement

4

Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Mickiewicz jako kolorysta », Wędrowiec, 1885, nº 53, p. 626.

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un moyen d’éducation de la société mais surtout le principal champ de bataille pour le renouveau culturel. Cette révolution artistique, débute à Varsovie, dans les colonnes du magazine d’obédience naturaliste Wędrowiec, en 1883, se poursuit à Cracovie, entre 1897 et 1900, dans celles de Życie ( la Vie), dirigé par Stanisław Przybyszewski, représentant du décadentisme, et trouve son apogée avec la fondation de la revue symboliste Chimera (la Chimère) par Zenon Przesmycki, à Varsovie en 1901.

En effet, en 1883 Artur Gruszecki (1852–1929) rachète Wędrowiec (fondée en 1863), hebdomadaire illustré en déclin, et nomme Witkiewicz, peintre de formation, son directeur artistique. Soutenu dans sa démarche par l’écrivain Antoni Sygietyński (1850-1923), directeur littéraire, et le peintre Aleksander Gierymski (1850–1901), Witkiewicz va transformer cette revue, publiant surtout des articles concernant la géographie et la nature, en tribune de la nouvelle critique. (fig. 11) Avec le mot d’ordre « peu importe quoi [on peint], il importe comment », il lance, dans une série d’articles, rassemblés ensuite dans L’art et la critique chez nous, une lutte contre la peinture d’histoire, à caractère idéologique et littéraire – dont l’incarnation reste pour ses contemporains l’œuvre de Jan Matejko (1838–1893) – au nom de celle basée sur des valeurs strictement picturales (formelles).5 Ennemi juré de toutes les écoles, il prône l’individualisme et la totale liberté de création. Selon lui, le talent ne se perfectionne que par l’étude de la nature. A la critique artistique, il demande surtout du professionnalisme et de l’objectivité.

Wędrowiec ouvre ses colonnes aux représentants des courants littéraires et artistiques progressistes, aussi bien polonais qu’européens. Gruszecki luimême est d’ailleurs partisant du naturalisme et dans son œuvre littéraire s’inspire d’Émile Zola. Dans la revue paraissent notamment des articles sur ou de : Herbert Spencer, Ernest Renan, Zola, Alphonse Daudet, Guy de Maupassant ou Paul Bourget – importants pour la réception de la pensée critique française en Pologne.6 Parmi ses collaborateurs se trouvent les écrivains Adolf Dygasiński (1839–1902) et Bolesław Prus (1847–1912), dont la première nouvelle naturaliste intitulé Placówka (l’Avant-poste), dont l’action se déroule dans le monde rural, est publiée (en tant que roman feuilleton) dans la revue entre 1885 et 1886. Ainsi, le naturalisme littéraire polonais débute-il par la thématique paysanne ce qui n’est pas surprenant puisque la Pologne,

5 La bataille pour l’autonomie de l’art lancée par Wędrowiec est d’autant plus importante que l’impressionnisme est connu en Pologne plutôt tardivement et sa réception critique ne commence que dans les années 1890.

6 Pour l’analyse du contenu de Wędrowiec voir Michał Kabata, Warszawska batalia o nową sztukę (Wędrowiec 1884–1887), Warszawa, PIW, 1978, p. 117–170.

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dans son ensemble, reste essentiellement agricole. Ce n’est que quelques années plus tard que le thème de la grande ville fait son apparition dans la production romanesque : Varsovie, dans Lalka (La Poupée) de Prus, publiée entre 1887 et 1889, et Łódź dans Ziemia Obiecana (La Terre promise) de Władysław Reymont (1867–1925), parue une décennie plus tard (1897–1898).

Contrairement aux écrivains polonais, les rédacteurs de Wędrowiec s’intéressent très tôt au fonctionnement de l’organisme urbaine et la structure sociale de Varsovie. L’exploration de la laideur et de caractéristiques particulières de ses habitants est, d’ailleurs, l’un des objectifs de la revue.

Dans la série « La ville », composée surtout de gravures, publiée entre 1884 et 1886, Witkiewicz, son initiateur, entend donner « une image complète de cette chose étrange et monstrueuse qu’est la grande ville [...] montrer des êtres vivants de toutes sortes, des riches qui mangent jusqu’à l’excès aux plus démunis qui cherchent des restes dans les tas d’ordures. [...] En un mot, montrer une Varsovie vivante, changeante, agitée, frémissante d’un tempérament si frénétique, si digne et sublime par moments, et si scabreuse et banale à d’autres. »7 Autour de la revue se regroupent d’autres peintres : Antoni Piotrowski (1853–1924), Stanisław Masłowski (1853–1926), Józef Chełmoński (1849–1914), ou plus jeunes Władysław Podkowiński (1866–1895) et Józef Pankiewicz (1866–1940). C’est justement à eux que Witkiewicz fait appel pour mettre en images ce récit sur la vie de la metropôle qui débute avec les dessins et ses propres articles : Les rats, « La Porte de fer », puis Les chevaux de Varsovie.8 En 1886, aux éditions de Wędrowiec, paraît Album Maksa i Aleksandra Gierymskich (L’Album de Maks [Maksymilian, 1846–1874] et Aleksander Gierymski). Le texte de la publication est de Sygietyński, l’idée, de Witkiewicz.

Mettant en valeur des talents « d’une enorme valeur artistique » des deux frères, il vise à « changer l’opinion du public sur l’art et prôner la reconnaissance de l’élément strictement artistique comme sa composante la plus importante, qui ne doit pas être subordonnée à aucun contenu anecdotique ou slogans éthiques ou intellectuels actuels ».9 Les Gierymski, comme le souligne Sygietyński, « occupent une position exceptionnelle dans la peinture polonaise. Partant du désir de reproduire la vie contemporaine au plus près de la vérité [...] ils se placent à divers égards sur le même plan que les plus

7 Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Aleksander Gierymski », Monografie artystyczne, op. cit., p. 381 (1ère édition : Biblioteka Warszawska, 1901, vol. I–IV. 8 Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Szczury », « Żelazna Brama », « Konie warszawskie », Wędrowiec, 1884, n° 26, 27, 44.

9 Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Aleksander Gierymski », op. cit., p. 364.

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grands maîtres hollandais en les dépassant sur un point : le naturel de la composition qui est [...] un acquis de notre temps. »10 Pour interroger la définition de l’art, Witkiewicz et Sygietyński choisissent le prisme de la vérité et reprennent le terme naturalisme – en l’utilisant parfois de manière interchangeable avec le terme réalisme – apparu dans les débats artistiques au milieu des années 1870, mais cette foi-ci avec la connotation positive.

Sygietyński, musicien, critique et écrivain qui a fait ses études à Leipzig et à Paris (1875 –1882), connait très bien le naturalisme français, surtout Zola et Flaubert.11 Il compare l’artiste à un scientifique, un expérimentateur, et définit la vérité comme l’objet d’une recherche visant à saisir la totalité de la richesse et du dynamisme de la vie. Il exige l’objectivité dans la description du monde, l’abandon du parti pris dans l’art et de son influence morale sur le spectateur. En reconnaissant que le monde – la nature et l’homme – est régi par des lois fixes, il s’attends à la reproduction logique de sa structure dans une œuvre d’art. Il met l’accent sur la continuité du développement de l’art, estimant que chaque époque successive fait tomber les barrières qui séparent le peintre de la nature. Résultat de cette évolution, c’est le naturalisme qui a pour la première fois pleinement integré l’art à la vie. Outre le retour ultime à la nature, cela a pour conséquence la recherche de thèmes contemporains et l’utilisation de moyens d’expression appropriés. Selon lui, c’est la situation politique spécifique de la Pologne qui est à l’origine du développement discontinu et anormal de l’art national. La « régularisation » de ce développement, permettant à conférer à l’art polonais la portée européenne, n’est devenue possible que grâce à Maksymilian et Aleksander Gierymski, « les premiers peintres en Pologne que la génération à venir va vénérer pour leur peinture. »12 (fig. 12) Witkiewicz, détenteur, comme Maksymilian Gierymski, des souvenirs de l’insurection anti-russe du 1863 – enfant, il accompagne ses parents, déportés en Sibérie après la défaite de celle-ci – appartient par sa formation artistique à la génération des réalistes. Pendant ses études à l’Académie des Beaux-Arts de Munich (1872–1875), il s’est lié d’amitié avec Adam Chmielowski (1845– 1916), dont l’œuvre est considérée comme une anticipation du symbolisme, Maks et – surtout – Aleksander Gierymski et Józef Chełmoński – tenus pour les principaux représentants du naturalisme. Outre Gustave Courbet qui expose Antoni Sygietyński, Album Maksa i Aleksandra Gierymskich, Warszawa, 1885, p. 79.

Sur l’œuvre critique de Sygietyński voir Jan Detko, Antoni Sygietyński estetyk i krytyk, Warszawa, PIW, 1971.

12 Antoni Sygietyński, Album Maksa i Aleksandra Gierymskich, Warszawa, 1885, p. 79.

10 11

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à Munich, il ne connait pas l’art contemporain français. Les commentateurs de son œuvre critique soulignent pourtant l’influence possible, ou du moins de nombreux parallèles entre sa pensée et celle de Eugène Véron, de JeanMarie Guyau et de Zola.13 Tout comme Sygietyński, il interprète la célèbre formule de Zola en constatant : « les artistes en général sont une race très subjective (...) chacun [d’entre eux] de ce qu’il est capable de percevoir dans la nature à travers un tempérament forme la sphère unique et distincte de l’art véritable ».14 Il considère que la vérité et la beauté de l’oeuvre d’art sont indissociables mais réalisables seulement à condition d’une originalité totale de l’artiste qui doit chercher son inspiration dans la plénitude des formes de la nature.

La campagne pour l’autonomie de l’art, dont Witkiewicz est la figure de proue, concernant les choix de sujets et des techniques artistiques, ainsi que les critères de jugement d’une œuvre d‘art, suscite une vive réaction de la part des critiques polonais, tels que Stanisław Tarnowski (1837–1917), chef de file des conservateurs de Cracovie – à qui Witkiewicz adresse l’article polémique cité plus haut – et surtout Henryk Struve (1840–1912), philosophe-esthéticien, représentant de l’idéalisme, son adversaire le plus influent. Professeur à l’Université de Varsovie (russe) et collaborateur notamment de Tygodnik Ilustrowany et Kłosy, où il dirige la section « Revue artistique », Struve est l’auteur de nombreuses publications, dont Estetyka barw (Esthétique des couleurs, 1886) et Sztuka i piękno (Art et beauté, 1892). Leur celèbre polémique, qui va marquer l’histoire de l’art polonais, commence déjà en 1875, coïncidant avec les premières présentation des tableaux d’Aleksander Gierymski, Chełmoński (fig. 13) et Witkiewicz lui-même, son apogée se situe, cependant, dans la seconde moitié des années 1880, à l’époque de Wędrowiec et Sztuka i krytyka u nas. Le raisonnement de Struve se fonde sur la conviction que le grand art est un art des idées et non celui qui imite l’apparence de la réalité.

Le naturalisme, qui, en imitant strictement la nature, ne se limite, selon lui, qu’à la « technique picturale » et donc à la forme, ne devait cependant pas exclure l’idéalisme du contenu. Witkiewicz, au contraire, considère la peinture qui transmet la « vérité de la nature » comme du grand art, tandis qu’il conteste à la fois la valeur et le sens de la peinture qui exprime des idées au détriment d’une vision artistique réaliste.

L’exaltation du principe de « la technique pour la technique » revient comme une accusation dans presque toutes les critiques du naturalisme, Cf. notamment Wanda Nowakowska, Stanisław Witkiewicz, op. cit.

Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Malarstwo i krytyka u nas », Sztuka i krytyka u nas, 3ème édition, Lwów, Towarzystwo Wydawnicze, 1899, p. 3–4.

13 14

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également celles avancées par les représentants de la jeune génération de modernistes, tenants de la théorie de « l’art pour l’art », tels que Przesmycki, rédacteur de la revue symboliste Chimera. Przesmycki désavoue la perception sensorielle, limitée à la « surface phénoménologique de la nature », se référant à « l’émotion intérieure de l’artiste », la seule qui lui permette d’atteindre l’essence de la nature, sans la copier, « pour apprendre à créer comme la nature crée ».15 Au milieu de la critique générale du naturalisme/réalisme rejeté au nom du triomphe de l’individualité de l’artiste sur la tyrannie de la vérité de la nature il y a aussi quelques voix qui se levent pour souligner l’importance de Witkiewicz en tant que co-créateur de la révolution artistique déterminant pour le développement de l’art polonais moderne. Parmi eux celle de Feliks Jasieński (1861–1929), collectionneur-japonisant, futur donateur du Musée national de Cracovie, critique artistique et musical – collaborateur notamment de Chimera – engagé dans le mouvement du renouvau artistique en Pologne, considéré par ses contemporains comme le continuateur de l’œuvre de Witkiewicz.16 Leur rencontre remonte à la fin des années 1880 quand Jasieński cherche à acquérir un tableau de Witkiewicz pour sa collection. Dans ses lettres, le collectionneur questionne le peintre-critique sur des problèmes relatifs à ses écrits et sur l’art en général. Ils échangent aussi des opinions sur des questions soulevées par Hyppolite Taine ou Struve. Pleins d’admiration pour les valeurs littéraires de l’œuvre de Taine, ils n’en voient pas moins les limites théoriques.

Le point-clé de la discussion reste le problème du réalisme/naturalisme dans la peinture. Attaqué par Jasieński, Witkiewicz défend sa définition de la vérité artistique, selon laquelle en respectant les règles « techniques » – la logique du clair-obscur, l’harmonie des couleurs et l’exactitude des formes – l’artiste transmet au spectateur sa vision subjective de la nature où seule « l’impression » de la vérité de l’ensemble compte.17 Comme il souligne dans son article sur Mickiewicz « l’art n’est pas la nature : Les moyens par lesquels elle produit des impressions dans l’esprit humain doivent souvent être différents

Z. P.[Przesmycki], « Kilka słów o krytyce », Chimera, 1901, vol. 1, cahier 1, p. 157–161.

Sur Jasieński cf. Agnieszka Kluczewska-Wójcik, Feliks „Manggha” Jasieński i jego kolekcja w Muzeum Narodowym w Krakowie / Feliks „Manggha” Jasieński and his Collection at the National Museum in Krakow, Korpus daru Feliksa Jasieńskiego / Corpus of Feliks Jasieński’s Donation, vol.

1, Kraków, Muzeum Narodowe, 2014.

17 Lettre de Stanisław Witkiewicz à Feliks Jasieński du 23 février [1889] ; Musée national de Cracovie, MNK, no d’inventaire Rkps, 633/1.

15 16

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de ceux de la nature, mais l’impression de l’œuvre d’art elle-même doit être aussi vraie que l’impression reçue de la nature ».18 Bien que la différence d’âge entre les deux interlocuteurs ne soit pas grande – Jasieński étant cadet de Witkiewicz de dix années – ils n’appartiennent pas à la même génération. La carrière de Witkiewicz est liée au mouvement de la défense de l’autonomie de la forme plastique dans la peinture, celle de Jasieński à la réaction anti-naturaliste. De ce fait, leurs visions de la critique ne peuvent pas, non plus, être les mêmes. Cette différence, Witkiewicz l’explique lui-même dans sa lettre concernant l’article de Jasieński sur Max Klinger (1901)19 : « Ce qui me frappe le plus [dans votre article sur Klinger] c’est le manque d’analyse de son talent plastique. Si le côté intellectuel de son œuvre est clairement et bien défini, son côté pictural est omis. On ne sait rien ni sur ses moyens artistiques : la composition, la forme, la lumière ; ni sur ses moyens techniques si importants dans tout ce que Klinger fait. Par conséquent [votre] analyse est très partielle. » A cet « oubli » du côté technique de l’œuvre analysée s’ajoute, selon lui, un certain manque de précision terminologique. « Il me semble – écrit-il à propos de la notion de goût proposée par Jasieński pour caractériser la sculpture de Klinger – que le goût est une notion si relative qu’on ne peut absolument pas la formuler en une règle générale avec laquelle nous pourrions mesurer la valeur ou définir le caractère d’œuvre d’art. »20 Witkiewicz ne nie pas le rôle du beau dans l’art, mais le considère comme un élément subjectif. Le beau est un phénomène changeant, il peut donc être jugé du point de vue de la forme et non du contenu. Il est conditionné par une disposition particulière des éléments structurels de l’œuvre, qui eux, sont soumis à une évaluation objective. Même si l’impression créée par la vision d’un tableau est subjective et ne peut constituer la mesure de sa valeur artistique, du point de vue de la critique objective, il est nécessaire d’expliquer les raisons pour lesquelles l’artiste a obtenu l’effet recherché : l’illusion de la vérité. « Quant à la théorie : si quelqu’un peint un chien, mais un chien obligatoirement, et fait des oreilles sur la queue, ce sera mauvais ; par contre, si quelqu’un peint un animal avec des oreilles même sur le dos, alors en préservant la couleur, la lumière et la matière, il fera un tableau tout à fait réaliste, tout comme

18 Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Mickiewicz jako kolorysta », in Stanisław Witkiewicz, Monografie artystyczne, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 282.

19 Félix [F. Jasieński], « Max Klinger (Ustęp z Mangghi) », Czas, 1901, nº 211–213.

20 Lettre de Stanisław Witkiewicz à Féliks Jasieński du 18 septembre 1901, Zakopane ; MNK, Rkps, 633/1.

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les anges de Rubens ou les tritons et centaures de Böcklin sont réalistes. [...]

Vous avez tort de penser qu’il s’agit d’une théorie qui resserre les limites - au contraire! En cherchant une mesure qui puisse servir à mesurer tous les phénomènes artistiques, j’ai dû ouvrir un horizon si large à l’individualité, sinon il faudrait placer la moitié des œuvres d’art parmi les travaux des fous... »21 La vérité d’un tableau ne consiste donc pas dans la vérité des objets représentés, mais dans la vérité de leur représentation. L’homme peut apprendre à connaître la réalité à travers la science aussi bien qu’à travers l’art et, malgré les différences de méthodes et de résultats de cet apprentissage, il existe des points de contact entre ces deux domaines. C’est justement ce « principe de vérité » qui donne à chaque œuvre sa valeur intemporelle. (fig. 14) Grâce à ses publications, Witkiewicz a déplacé l’attention des critiques et du public du sujet de la peinture vers ses moyens artistiques. Sa déclaration « qu’il s’agisse de [chancelier de la Couronne] Zamoyski à [la bataille de] Byczyna ou de Kaśka (Cathy) ramassant des navets, ni dans le premier ni dans le second cas il n’y aura une seule ombre ou un seul réflexe de plus si les deux sont regardés à la même heure du jour » reste l’un des propos les plus célèbres de l’histoire de la critique d’art polonaise.22 L’accent mis sur les questions formelles et sur la fidélité de l’art à la nature permettrait d’inclure Witkiewicz parmi les théoriciens du naturalisme. Cependant, le postulat d’une approche individuelle de cette nature, dépendant non seulement des propriétés de « l’œil », mais surtout du type de talent, des expériences et des objectifs de l’artiste, diverge du modèle naturaliste. Selon lui, recréer l’apparence des choses n’est pas encore un grand art. Le grand art consiste à créer une vision parfaite de la réalité, mais d’une manière créative et individualisée, imprégnée de l’expression de la personnalité de l’artiste. Sa théorie « formaliste » comporte donc également un aspect psychologique. C’est pourquoi, défenseur du naturalisme, ou considéré comme tel, Witkiewicz accueille avec compréhension le symbolisme, la peinture de Arnold Böcklin (1821–1901) ou celle de Jacek Malczewski (1851–1924).23 En re-interprétant l’expression polémique de Witkiewicz, Jasieński n’a donc pas tort en ajoutant une conclusion qui semble presque contredire le propos original du critique : « Pourtant, encore une fois – et surtout chez nous, malgré l’existence du livre [de Witkiewicz] Sztuka i krytyka u nas –, il faut

Lettre de Stanisław Witkiewicz à Féliks Jasieński du 23 février 1889, MNK, Rkps, 633/1.

Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Malarstwo i krytyka u nas », Sztuka i krytyka u nas, 3ème édition, Lwów, Towarzystwo Wydawnicze, 1899, p. 19.

23 Stanisław Witkiewicz, « Arnold Böcklin », Wędrowiec, 1884, nº 41–42 ; « Jacek Malczewski », Krytyka, t. 1, 1903.

21

22

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souligner que le navet bien peint vaut plus qu’une méditation sur l’immortalité de l’âme mal peinte. Outre le navet, il y a, bien évidemment, des milliers de lumières dignes d’être étudiées, aimées et reproduites. »24 En effet, la réalisation artistique des intentions du créateur, l’expression de ses sentiments et ses conceptions intellectuelles ne pouvaient devenir réalisable que par l’autonomie de la forme plastique acquise grâce au naturalisme. Fidèle aux idéaux romantiques, adepte de la démarche scientifique positiviste, Witkiewicz, pour ainsi dire, jette un pont entre deux époques en ouvrant l’art polonais au modernisme naissant.

Féliks Jasieński, « Wystawa akwafort Goyi (Urywek z polskiej „Mangghi”) », Wędrowiec, 1903, nº 14, p. 275.

24

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DOMINIQUE LOBSTEIN

L’apprentissage et la diffusion du naturalisme: le cas de Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret Bien que presque quatre années séparent les naissances de Jules Lepage1 et de Pascal Adolphe Jean Dagnan2, les deux jeunes hommes se côtoyèrent très tôt, concurrents avant de devenir des amis. Le but de cette conférence est, dans un premier temps, de retracer les vies parallèles de ces jeunes gens et leurs conceptions artistiques. Dans un second temps, après le décès précoce de Jules Lepage, en 1884, je m’intéresserai à la manière dont Pascal – de son prénom le plus ordinaire – entretint le souvenir de leurs relations.

Origines sociales et apprentissages Tout, au moment de leur naissance sépare les deux jeunes hommes : Jules naît le 1er novembre 1848, à Damvillers, dans la Meuse, c’est-à-dire dans l’Est de la France, région principalement agricole. Il est le fils de Claude Bastien (1816–1877) et de Catherine Adèle Lepage (1824–1895), propriétaires terriens et paysans. Au foyer familial, il faut ajouter la personnalité de son grand-père maternel, Charles Nicolas Lepage (1797–1883) (fig. 16), receveur des contributions indirectes à Damvillers, veuf, depuis quelques mois de Marie Adam

1 Dominique Lobstein, « Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848–1884) », in Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848– 1884), cat. expo par Dominique Lobstein (éd.), Musée d’Orsay, Paris, Centre mondial de la Paix, Verdun, 2007, Paris, Musée d’Orsay, p. 14–51.

2 Gabriel P. Weisberg, Against the Modern. Dagnan-Bouveret and the Transformation of the Academic Tradition, Dahesh Museum of Art, New York, Rutgers University Press, 2002.

/ / 57

(1802–1848). Jules voit donc le jour au sein d’une petite bourgeoisie de province et s’inscrit dans le cadre d’une probable promotion sociale.

Pascal naît le 7 janvier 1852, à Paris. Il est le fils de Bertrand Dagnan (1803– date inconnue), considéré comme négociant, et de Louise Adèle Bouveret (1824–vers 1858). Quelques mois après la naissance de Pascal, la famille émigre au Brésil où son père se consacre au commerce. Pascal a six ans lorsque sa mère disparait ; son père le renvoie en France, à Melun, en région parisienne.

Il y est pris en charge par son grand-père maternel, Pierre Gabriel Bouveret (1793–date inconnue), ancien militaire, et son épouse Adèle Hautecourt Dehaye (1801–1872). Ses grands-parents sans être riches sont aisés et son père envoie régulièrement de l’argent ce qui place Pascal dans une situation économique sensiblement équivalente à celle de Jules.

L’ainé fait ses études à partir de 1859, à Verdun, la grande ville proche de Damvillers puis à Nancy, à partir de 1867, où il passe un « baccalauréat ès-sciences ». Muni de son diplôme, il avoue à ses parents son désir de devenir peintre et ceux-ci acceptent. Pascal l’a cependant devancé puisque c’est à partir de 1858 qu’il est inscrit au collège de Melun, à soixante kilomètres au sud-est de Paris, où il étudie jusqu’en 1868. Alors qu’il est âgé de seize ans, son père lui propose de revenir au Brésil pour l’assister. Pascal refuse et, dès lors, son père renonce à l’entretenir financièrement ; ses grands-parents se substituent alors à leur gendre et acceptent de voir leur petit-fils entamer des études artistiques.

Jules arrive à Paris, en 1867, tout de suite après avoir obtenu son baccalauréat et connait quelques mois difficiles avant d’intégrer l’École des Beaux-Arts.

Ainsi, écrit-il à ses parents, le 17 octobre 1867 : « Je n’ai pas de pantalon d’hiver pour m’habiller – je n’en ai qu’un seul –, et encore, il n’a pas de fond. Je vous le renvoie par ma cousine Berteaux pour que vous le raccommodiez.3 » Grâce à l’intervention d’un de ses anciens professeurs de dessin verdunois, il est néanmoins admis comme aspirant, fin 1867 et rejoindra l’atelier d’Alexandre Cabanel au début de 1868, avant d’y être officiellement admis en première place, le 20 octobre 1868. Tout semble avoir été plus simple pour Pascal qui est considéré, dès 1869, comme élève de l’atelier de Jean-Léon Gérôme.

Tous deux sont désormais engagés dans la course aux concours (fig. 17) qui scandent la vie de l’école et qui doivent les mener jusqu’au but suprême qui est le concours pour le prix de Rome. Tous deux vont se retrouver à plusieurs reprises sur les rangs des candidats.

Jules le tente pour la première fois en 1870, mais il faut attendre 1875 pour

3

Henri Amic, Jules Bastien-Lepage. Lettres et souvenirs, Paris, Imprimé pour l’auteur, 1896, p. 10.

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le voir échouer à la troisième et dernière épreuve dont le sujet est l’Annonce aux bergers. Il le tente à nouveau l’année suivante, en 1876, et abandonne la compétition avant d’avoir terminé le tableau de la troisième épreuve sur le thème Priam aux pieds d’Achille. Pascal fait aussi partie, cette année-là, des dix reçus à la dernière épreuve et offre ainsi sa version du même sujet dont nous ne connaissons plus que le dessin qui avait été remis après une journée de travail en loges et auquel devait correspondre l’œuvre finale réalisée sur plus de soixante-dix jours. Il obtient à cette occasion le second Grand Prix qui, malgré son titre glorieux, ne lui vaut aucune vraie récompense. Il tente à nouveau le concours, en 1877, sur le thème La Prise de Rome par les Gaulois, puis, en 1878, Auguste au tombeau d’Alexandre, sans succès.

Dagnan-Bouveret cesse, à son tour, de tenter le Prix de Rome et c’est, en dehors des cercles amicaux qu’ils fréquentent et que nous évoquerons bientôt, sur un terrain beaucoup plus consensuel que les deux jeunes hommes vont désormais se rencontrer, celui du Salon.

Carrières artistiques officielles Le premier à s’y faire recevoir est Jules qui, pour la première fois se présente sous le double nom de Bastien-Lepage, ajoutant le patronyme de sa mère à celui de son père, probablement pour se distinguer d’un peintre nommé Denis Ernest Bastien, né à Metz, élève d’Hippolyte Flandrin qui exposait régulièrement au Salon depuis 1861. Son premier envoi, Portrait de M. M… (n° 148, Montmédy, Musée Bastien-Lepage) est celui d’un de ses congénères architecte de l’école des Beaux-Arts. Vont lui succéder : en 1873, Au printemps (n° 62, localisation inconnue) ; en 1874 : La Chanson du printemps (n° 83, Verdun, Musée de la Princerie), assez mal reçue : « C’est une fantaisie veule et fade et ce n’est point pour cette composition enfantine que M. BastienLepage a obtenu une médaille4 », tandis que les louanges sont associées à son Portrait de « mon grand-père », déjà cité. S’il est évident que la juxtaposition, dans la Chanson du printemps, de cette enfant impavide et des garnements à ailes de son maître parait étrange, quelques détails méritent néanmoins d’être remarqués : en particulier, un traitement du paysage meusien révélant une connaissance des principes réalistes du paysage.

Au même moment, Pascal débutait au Salon avec trois œuvres : la première, sa seule peinture, intitulée Atalante s’inscrivait dans le droit

4

Paul Mantz, « Le Salon. IV », Le Temps, 3 juin 1874, non pag. [p. 2].

L’APPRENTISSAGE ET LA DIFFUSION DU NATURALISME / / 59

fil de l’enseignement reçu de son maître, Gérôme, et lui valut son acquisition par l’État pour la modique somme de 1 800 francs, ainsi que sa présentation lors de l’Exposition Universelle de 1878.

En 1876, le livret cite, sous le nom de Bastien-Lepage – tandis que DagnanBouveret est absent de la manifestation – La Communiante (n° 96, Tournai, Musée des Beaux-Arts) (fig. 18) et le Portrait de M. H. [le commerçant Simon Hayem] (n°97, Hazebrouck, Musée municipal) qui soulèvent l’enthousiasme pour la modernité de leur composition, leur dessin et l’économie de leurs couleurs. Au milieu des centaines de portraits de la manifestation officielle, cette enfant et ce vieillard renouvellent le genre classique du portrait.

En 1877, nous retrouvons les deux artistes. Bastien-Lepage, réunit après coup en une seule toile, les portraits de ses parents, déjà cités – afin de respecter le nouveau règlement qui n’acceptait que deux envois par artiste et par technique – qui s’inscrivaient dans la droite ligne du portrait de son aïeul et furent admirés, et adjoint un Portrait de lady L… (n° 117, localisation inconnue) à peine cité. Cette même année, Dagnan-Bouveret apparaissait pour la première fois sur les cimaises avec un Bacchus enfant (n° 596) et un Orphée et les Bacchantes qui n’est plus l’œuvre originale puisque le peintre en a fait disparaitre les bacchantes et a retravaillé la représentation de la nature d’une manière plus réaliste.

En 1878, Bastien-Lepage est présent avec le Portrait de M. André Theuriet (n° 120, Tournai, Musée des Beaux-Arts), le poète qui a écrit les vers ayant inspiré le second de ses envois de cette année-là : ses Foins (fig. 6). Là encore, l’accueil est unanime et lui vaut bientôt ces mots d’Émile Zola : « Voici, par exemple, Bastien-Lepage qui s’est acquis très vite une grande célébrité en s’affranchissant des entraves de l’École et en se tournant vers l’étude de la nature.

L’année dernière, il a exposé les Foins, une scène de vie à la campagne, un paysan et une paysanne se reposant à midi parmi le foin fauché. Cette année, il donne un pendant à son tableau. Une toile qu’il appelle Saison d’octobre (fig. 19) nous montre deux paysannes récoltant des pommes de terre dans un paysage formé par les raies d’un champ labouré. Nous reconnaissons évidemment le petit-fils de Courbet et de Millet. Mais l’influence des peintres impressionnistes saute aussi aux yeux.5 » A cette citation j’ajouterai ces phrases écrites un peu plus loin dans le même article : « Sa [celle de BastienLepage] supériorité sur les peintres impressionnistes se résume dans ceci, qu’il sait réaliser ses impressions. Il a compris fort sagacement qu’une simple question de technique divisait le public et les novateurs. Il a donc gardé leur

5

Émile Zola, Écrits sur l’art, Paris, Gallimard, 1991, p. 401.

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souffle, leur méthode analytique, mais il a porté son attention sur l’expression et la perfection du métier. On ne saurait trouver d’artisan plus adroit, ce qui aide à faire accepter sujet et tendance.6 » Cette conférence n’est pas le lieu de revenir sur la technique de ces tableaux, néanmoins, puisque sa connaissance nous aidera dans la suite de cette recherche, je voudrais en peu de mots, la définir : le naturalisme traite de la vie moderne – mais aussi, bien souvent, d’une modernité déjà dépassée, sorte d’âge d’or disparu qui séduisait particulièrement les nouvelles catégories de collectionneurs. Je n’en voudrais pour exemple que ces Foins qu’on coupait mécaniquement depuis l’invention de la moissonneuse-batteuse par McCormick, en 1834 – sur de grands formats où il est aisé de trouver les influences diversement mêlées de la tradition, de l’impressionnisme, du japonisme et de la photographie.

Mais revenons maintenant à notre encore bien académique DagnanBouveret. En, 1878, il expose le Portrait de M. Rochetaillée (n° 621, anc.

Collection Joey and Toby Tenenbaum) qui a tout d’un portrait d’apparat.

Puis il représente Manon Lescaut (fig. 20) d’après les dernières pages du roman éponyme de l’abbé Prévost, publié en 1731, dans lequel on retrouve le goût pour le XVIIIème siècle qui a animé nombre d’artistes de la fin de ce siècle, qui lui vaut une médaille de bronze. Mais tout change l’année suivante, en 1879, lorsque Dagnan-Bouveret présente au Salon un portrait mais surtout : sa Noce chez le photographe (fig. 21) où l’œuvre romanesque de Zola se trouve mise en scène.

L’héritage naturaliste de Dagnan-Bouveret Désormais, le monde contemporain et son adhésion au naturalisme seront le fonds commun des nouveaux envois parmi lesquels on peut citer, en 1880, L’Accident (fig. 22) qui lui vaut une médaille d’or ; en 1882, la Bénédiction des jeunes époux avant le mariage ; coutume de Franche-Comté (fig. 23) ; en 1885, Chevaux à l’abreuvoir; en 1886, Le Pardon en Bretagne (fig. 24), avec lequel je terminerai la présentation des tableaux naturalistes précoces de Dagnan-Bouveret.

A partir du moment où, et les images le prouvent, le plus jeune de nos artistes, Dagnan-Bouveret, a mis ses pas dans ceux de son aîné, Bastien-Lepage, il me faut tenter d’aborder les raisons de cette proximité et les effets de cette

6

Ibid.

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relation que je peux déjà qualifier d’amicale. La correspondance échangée entre les deux artistes n’est pas suffisante pour nous permettre de préciser le moment de leur rencontre et la chronologie de leurs échanges. Ce qui peut être avancé sans risque d’erreur, c’est qu’ils se connurent sur les bancs de l’École des Beaux-Arts et, au plus tard, en 1876, lorsque tous deux firent partie des candidats retenus pour la troisième et dernière épreuve du Grand Prix de Rome. Si Bastien-Lepage avait rompu avec les sujets et la tradition académique, Dagnan-Bouveret s’y soumit plus longtemps. Ses participations à la manifestation officielle, qui s’inscrivaient dans la tradition de son maître Gérôme, ne furent pas mal accueillies et il aurait pu poursuivre dans cette voie. Cependant, très vite, il se rendit compte de l’intérêt des critiques mais aussi des amateurs pour les sujets de la vie contemporaine.

Lui qui avait été élevé en région parisienne n’avait aucune raison de représenter la campagne et ce sont les sujets urbains traités à la manière, ou selon les préceptes, naturalistes qui retiennent l’attention. Sa Noce chez le photographe de 1879, par exemple, séduit mais surprend comme l’exprime Louis de Fourcaud : « Sa Noce chez un photographe est un spirituel et charmant tableautin, de l’observation la plus juste, de l’exécution la plus curieuse. Le jour tombe du plafond par un grand vitrage. Le marié, très fier, son chapeau noir à la main, pose devant l’objectif. Sa jeune femme, heureuse et confiante, se serre contre lui. Autour de l’atelier sont rangés les invités en fête. On fume, on cause à voix basse, on admire la belle mine des époux. Un groupe heureusement trouvé est celui du père qui souffle la fumée de sa pipe à la figure de son petit garçon. Plus loin, un autre enfant, plaqué contre une cloison, regarde de tous ses yeux, sans trop comprendre ce qui se passe. Le tableau n’est pas d’un art bien élevé, mais il est d’un artiste.7 » Les choses semblent changer avec Un accident, de 1880, sur lequel est inscrit un lieu à la suite de la signature et de la date, comme le faisait BastienLepage. L’événement a eu lieu à Passavant-sur-Corre, dans la Haute-Saône, région d’origine d’Anne-Marie Walter avec laquelle Pascal est fiancé depuis 1878 et qui, rapidement, va l’inciter à s’installer à Quincey, toujours en HauteSaône qui deviendra, avec la Bretagne, la source majeure de ses scènes de genre.

Un autre rapprochement thématique doit être établi avec Bastien-Lepage.

Celui-ci n’avait jamais oublié sa culture classique et, au grand dam de Zola, avait voulu illustrer l’histoire de Jeanne d’Arc (n° 17, 1880, New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art) ; de son côté, Dagnan-Bouveret représentera la Vierge (n° 668, 1885, localisation inconnue). Mais cette culture était aussi

7

« Le Salon du Gaulois. Scènes parisiennes », Le Gaulois, 11 juin 1879, p. 2.

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littéraire et je voudrais l’illustrer avec deux œuvres d’inspiration shakespearienne des deux artistes : l’Ophélia inachevée de Bastien-Lepage et le Hamlet et les fossoyeurs de Dagnan-Bouveret du Salon de 1884.

Ainsi, Dagnan-Bouveret a quitté les sujets académiques pour les sujets naturalistes, suivant en cela l’exemple de Bastien-Lepage. Sa technique aussi a évolué. On en trouve un exemple dans cette évocation d’un Campement gitan, de 1883, où on peut repérer un sens du dessin et de la composition, traditionnel ; une touche impressionniste au premier plan ; une vision d’ensemble photographique (et les archives de la Haute-Saône conservent de nombreuses plaques de verre réalisées et utilisées par l’artiste), seul le japonisme laissant peu de traces de sa connaissance.

Amitiés Tous ces éléments justifient les liens qui ont pu unir les deux hommes, il nous faut maintenant tenter d’en trouver d’autres preuves. La correspondance des deux hommes ne nous aide guère et ce sont de brèves notes dans des articles ou des journaux intimes qui complètent ce qui précède. La plus ancienne référence nous confirme que cette relation n’était pas récente et bien plus même que nous ne l’imaginions : « A l’automne de 1873, plusieurs peintres – Dagnan-Bouveret, Wencker, Émile Lepage, Courtois, Edelfelt, Bastien-Lepage et Baude, le graveur –, avaient l’habitude de dîner ensemble chaque soir au restaurant de Mme Anna, dans la rue Saint-Benoît, et c’est là que je rencontrai pour la première fois Bastien-Lepage.8 » Très vite, ensuite, ils seront associés quasiment à égalité, comme représentants d’un courant nouveau : « La tendance malheureuse des artistes à copier les toiles à succès des Salons précédents s’accentue déplorablement. Je ne veux pas vous compter par le menu tous les Bastien-Lepage, les Dagnan-Bouveret, les Bonnat, les Henner que l’on rencontre chemin faisant.9 » L’amitié des deux hommes s’exprime encore au grand jour au lendemain du décès de Bastien-Lepage, le 10 décembre 1884, tel que le raconte Henri Amic : « Dagnan-Bouveret et lui [Gustave Courtois] désirent comme moi [Henri Amic] veiller la nuit suivante le corps de Bastien. A 10 heures, ils arrivent tous les deux : nous nous saluons. Le même sentiment nous rapproche, nous

8 Jules Bastien-Lepage, in Modern French Masters, a series of biographical ans critical review by American artists. John C. Van Dyke et J. Alden Weir (éd.), New York, The Century Co, 1896, p. 227.

9 J.-J. Clouet, « Le Salon », La Semaine illustrée et le Messager de la semaine, 25 novembre 1882, p. 557.

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avions tous les trois pour Jules Bastien-Lepage une amitié vraie.10 » DagnanBouveret sera encore là pour un dernier adieu, au moment de l’inauguration du monument funéraire de Rodin érigé à Damvillers, le 29 septembre 1889, dans un discours dont voici les premiers mots : « Cher ami, Le jour que nous attendions avec tant d’impatience, nous, tes amis, tes admirateurs, nous réunit enfin pour fêter ta gloire. Nous avions besoin de ce pèlerinage à Damvillers ; nous étions restés sous la trop pénible impression de ton départ ; toujours nous songions avec tristesse à cette sombre journée de décembre, à Paris, où, nous acheminant vers la gare de l’Est, nous escortions ton cercueil. Ce jour-là, tous pressés autour du wagon qui allait t’emporter, nous regardant les uns les autres, nous restions muets d’émotion et nous nous étions séparés sans qu’une voix amie se fut élevée pour te dire un dernier adieu, pour t’exprimer ce que nous sentions tous si profondément. Enfin, nous avions besoin de parler de toi d’un cœur moins attristé, de rendre un éclatant hommage à ta mémoire.

Aujourd’hui, nous voulons nous réjouir en ton honneur, reporter toutes nos pensées vers ton souvenir.11 » La tendance n’ira qu’en augmentant et, après la disparition de BastienLepage, les deux amis seront encore réunis dans de nombreuses publications comme modèles de la nouvelle génération comme le révèlent, par exemple, les trois extraits qui suivent : « L’influence de Bastien-Lepage et de M. DagnanBouveret se montre visiblement dans les ouvrages de MM. Muenier, Dinet, La Touche, Prinet, Rosset-Granger, qui, s’ils ne sont pas encore des maîtres, possèdent toutes les qualités nécessaires pour le devenir : la finesse d’observation, la vision juste et précise et la conscience d’artistes qui, se connaissant eux-mêmes, travaillent à se compléter avec patience et volonté.12 » « Émile Friant s’est fait une place dans sa génération, dans la voie tracée par Bastien-Lepage et à côté de Dagnan-Bouveret, dans sa première manière, par des sujets sur la vie contemporaine.13 » « [Parlant d’Eugène Burnand] La première partie de sa carrière comprend plus particulièrement des scènes rurales où il montre des facultés d’observation et d’analyse, dans le sentiment de Bastien-Lepage et surtout de Dagnan-Bouveret.14 »

Henri Amic, op. cit., p. 36.

Id., p. 38.

12 Paul Lefort, La Peinture française actuelle, Paris, Librairie illustrée, 1891, p. 70.

13 Léonce Bénédite, Les Chefs-d’œuvre du musée du Luxembourg, Paris, Lapina, s. d., non pag.

14 Ibid.

10 11

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Dagnan-Bouveret, diffuseur du naturalisme Bastien-Lepage disparu, Dagnan-Bouveret reste pour quelques années le représentant du naturalisme, son « passeur ». Bien qu’il réside surtout hors de Paris, il entretient des liens d’amitié avec de nombreux artistes comme le peintre finlandais Albert Edelfelt, à peine plus jeune que lui avec lequel il partage son admiration pour l’ami disparu. Il conseille aussi certains de ses confrères, plus jeunes que lui, parmi lesquels beaucoup d’étrangers de passage dans la capitale. Ainsi dans les livrets des Salons des années 1885–1889 il est associé à plusieurs artistes étrangers en tant que professeur.15 Après leurs études parisiennes, la plupart retourneront faire carrière dans leur pays d’origine et ils y rapporteront les leçons naturalistes apprises auprès de Dagnan-Bouveret. Pour certains, quelques images suffisent à le démontrer.

Ainsi pour l’allemand Carl von Stetten dont nous connaissons exceptionnellement ses envois des Salons de 1888 à 1890 : Italiens à Paris; Les Lutteurs, scène de la foire de Neuilly et : La Sœur ainée dont on retrouve les sujets – ainsi que les variations thématiques – et la technique dans les œuvres postérieures.

D’autres transmettront ce qu’ils ont appris de manière plus étonnante ; ainsi en va-t-il de Charles Adrian Scott Stokes qui, avec son épouse Marianne, vont être parmi les fondateurs de l’école de Newlin, en Cornouailles et participer à l’activité de la colonie des artistes danois de Skagen où ils feront connaissance d’un des plus grands admirateurs et des suiveurs de Jules Bastien-Lepage, Peder Severin Krøyer16 (fig. 25).

Tous les artistes liés avec la capitale française ne rencontreront pas DagnanBouveret, mais nombreux seront ceux qui s’en souviendront dans leurs sujets et leurs manières de peindre, c’est ainsi qu’une foule d’artistes exposant Mlle Anne Béatrice Atkinson, née en Angleterre, en 1889 ; Ernesto Colarossi, né à Paris, de parents italiens, en 1889 ; Mlle Marie Espego, née en Espagne, en 1886 ; Stéphane Farneti, né à Pise (Italie), en 1887 ; en 1888 ; en 1889 ; Mlle Ida Haskell, née en Californie (États-Unis d’Amérique), en 1889 ; Mlle Alice Havers, née en Angleterre, en 1889 ; Mlle Hanna Hirsch, née à Stockholm, en 1887 ; Mlle Alice D. Kellogg, née à Chicago États-Unis d’Amérique), en 1889 ; Stanley Middleton, né à Brooklyn (États-Unis d’Amérique), en 1886 ; Jacob Kielland Somme, né à Stavanger (Norvège), en 1888 ; Mlle Ellen Starbuck, né à New York, en 1888 et en 1889 ; Charles Adrian Scott Stokes, né en Angleterre, en 1888 ; Mlle Hora Maddalena Stark, née à Florence, de parents anglais, en 1889 ; Joseph Stickers, né en Allemagne, en 1889 ; Mlle Georgina Emma Swayne, née à Saint-Hélier (Angleterre), en 1888 ; Eugène Laurent Vail, né à Saint-Malo (Ille-etVilaine), de parents américains, en 1886 ; Angelino Verrecchia, né à Cardito (Italie), en 1888 ; Carl von Stetten, né à Augsbourg (Bavière), en 1885 ; en 1886 ; en 1887.

16 Dominique Lobstein, « Jules Bastien-Lepage and Naturalism », Krøyer and Paris. French Connections and Nordic Colours, Skagen, Skagens Kunstmuseer, May 13 – September 18 2022, Aarhus Universitetsforlag, p. 73–82.

15

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à Paris ont été considérés comme ayant subi son influence. Ainsi en va-t-il du peintre hongrois István Csók qui, exposant au Salon parisien de la Société des Artistes français de 1891, son Faites ceci en mémoire de moi (fig. 26) se voit ainsi commenté : « Ce dernier peintre [M. Kowalsky] est hongrois ; et c’est à un autre de ses compatriotes, M. Csók, que nous devons une des meilleures scènes de genre de l’exposition, les plus sincèrement et délicatement peintes.

On n’aurait qu’à louer sans restriction Faites ceci en mémoire de moi, si l’on y sentait de trop évidentes réminiscences de M. Dagnan-Bouveret et même de MM. Buland et Friant.17 »

17

Robert Vallier, « Le Salon des Champs-Elysées », L’Univers illustré, 2 mai 1891, p. 220.

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ALAIN BONNET

L’Académie frappée par le naturalisme Je voudrais dire en introduction un mot sur le titre retenu pour mon intervention, L’Académie frappée par le Naturalisme. Titre, je le reconnais volontiers, obscur et sans doute déroutant. Mon propos dans ce texte sera de revenir sur toute une cohorte de peintres français, actifs dans le dernier tiers du XIXe siècle, qui n’ont pas eu la chance d’être inscrits dans les annales de l’histoire de l’art de cette période, bien qu’ils aient eu de leur vivant une réputation certaine, s’étendant au-delà des frontières nationales, bien qu’ils aient régulièrement participé aux grandes expositions, bien qu’ils aient reçu des commandes prestigieuses et de nombreuses distinctions. Léon Lhermitte, Jules Bastien-Lepage, Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret, Émile Friant, Eugène Buland, Jules Adler, Fernand Pelez, Jean Geoffroy... (fig. 27) Leur gloire a été, dans les récits des critiques et des historiens de l’art, éclipsée par celle d’artistes qualifiés d’indépendants puis d’avant-garde, les impressionnistes évidemment, puis la suite des mouvements qui ont participé à la modernité artistique. Elle l’a été également par les artistes qualifiés de pompiers, d’officiels ou d’académiques, Bouguereau, Cabanel, Gérôme, Baudry, pour citer les plus importants, d’une génération plus jeune, qui bénéficient depuis quelques années maintenant d’un intérêt soutenu des historiens de l’art à cause de leur situation institutionnelle dans le monde de l’art de cette période. La question que je développerai ici portera donc sur les raisons de cet oubli, ou de ce rejet, question qui relève de la façon dont l’histoire de la peinture a longtemps été écrite. Je reviendrai également sur les caractéristiques thématiques et stylistiques de ce courant pictural, le naturalisme, ou pour reprendre la qualification la plus utilisée par la critique à la fin du XIXe siècle dans le domaine artistique, le réalisme scientifique1.

La notion de réalisme scientifique, d’abord définie dans le champ des sciences sociales et appliquée aux doctrines philosophiques d’Auguste Comte et d’Hyppolite Taine (voir par exemple Gabriel Monod, Hyppolite Taine – 1828–1893, Nogent-le-Rotrou, 1893, p. 45.) a rapidement été reprise, en concurrence avec celle de naturalisme, par la critique littéraire et artistique (Georges

1

/ / 67

Mon hypothèse, si je dois la formuler dès l’abord, sera la suivante : dans la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle, l’Académie des Beaux-Arts et son bras armé, l’École des Beaux-Arts de Paris, ont peu à peu abandonné les principes esthétiques qui définissaient le grand art, principes qui, pour aller vite, pourraient être résumés à deux exigences. La première exigence, d’ordre formel, tenait à la nécessité de corriger les imperfections physiques pour atteindre le type idéal, imité des exemples antiques. La seconde, d’ordre thématique ou générique, supposait que l’art ne pouvait se réduire à un simple divertissement, mais devait mettre en image des exemples de vertu, empruntés pour l’essentiel à l’histoire ancienne ou à la mythologie, afin d’élever la conscience éthique du spectateur. Léonidas aux Thermopyles de Jacques-Louis David pourrait constituer le modèle le plus accompli de cette conception de la peinture d’histoire, telle qu’elle était défendue par l’Académie et telle qu’elle était enseignée à l’École : un sujet noble emprunté à l’histoire ancienne, la figuration de la nudité idéale, une composition équilibrée s’appuyant sur les exemples de l’art antique2. La peinture d’histoire, également nommée grand genre ou genre héroïque, va être peu à peu délaissée dans la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle. Après 1870 et avec l’instauration de la IIIe République, les principes artistiques défendus par l’Académie et imposés à l’École seront tenus pour surannés, voire même rétrogrades ou réactionnaires. Seul demeurera vivace l’enseignement des techniques de représentation picturale, appuyé sur des exercices routiniers qui donnaient aux élèves fréquentant l’École des BeauxArts une maîtrise particulière. Si nous reprenons la liste des peintres évoqués ci-dessus, il est remarquable que seuls Léon Lhermitte et Jean Geoffroy ne soient pas passés par l’École des Beaux-Arts. Bastien-Lepage a été élève Pellissier, Essai de littérature contemporaine, Paris, 1893.) pour qualifier le mouvement réaliste du dernier tiers du XIXe siècle. Il est employé par exemple par Georges Lafenestre pour décrire la Femme enlevée par un gorille de Frémiet (Dix années du Salon de peinture et de sculpture – 1879–1888, Paris, 1889, p. 112.).

2 Sur ce tableau, voir mon étude, « Le Léonidas aux Thermopyles de Jacques-Louis David : la fin de la peinture d’histoire ? », Subversion des hiérarchies et séduction des genres mineurs, Cécile Gauthier, Emmanuelle Hénin, Virginie Leroux (dir.), La République des Lettres, nº 66, Louvain, Peeters, 2016, p. 171–182. Voir également Ian Macgregor Morris, « To Make a New Thermopylae: Hellenism, Greek Liberation, and the Battle of Thermopylae », Greece & Rome, nº 47–2, octobre 2000, p. 211–230 ; Antoine Schnapper, « Léonidas aux Thermopyles », catalogue de l’exposition Jacques-Louis David 1748–1825, Paris, Réunion des Musées nationaux, 1989, p. 486–497 ; Martin Kemp, « J.-L. David and the Prelude to a Moral Victory for Sparta », The Art Bulletin, nº 51–2, juin 1969, p. 178–183 ; Steven A. Nash, « The Compositional Evolution of David’s Leonidas at Thermopylae », Metropolitan Museum Journal, 13, 1978, p. 101–112 ; Nina Athanassoglou, « Under the Sign of Leonidas : the Political and Ideological Fortune of David’s Leonidas at Thermopylae under the Restoration », The Art Bulletin, nº 63–64, décembre 1981, p. 633–649.

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de Cabanel à l’École et second Grand Prix de Rome en 1874 ; Dagnan-Bouveret a également fréquenté l’établissement, lui aussi dans l’atelier de Cabanel, obtenant diverses récompenses et le second Grand Prix en 1876 ; Émile Friant a été de la même façon second Grand Prix en 1883 et terminera sa carrière en devenant professeur à l’École des Beaux-Arts (fig. 28) ; Buland, encore un élève de Cabanel, obtiendra lui le second Grand Prix à deux reprises, en 1878 et 1879. Ces élèves de l’École, qui auraient pu envisager une carrière au service des idéaux académiques, vont se détourner des traditions enseignées à l’École pour embrasser la cause du naturalisme. Ils vont mettre au service de la représentation des réalités de la vie contemporaine les techniques apprises dans les ateliers académiques.

Les raisons de cet abandon des préceptes académiques et de cette adhésion aux valeurs du réalisme scientifique sont nombreuses, et ne peuvent être évoquées que très rapidement. La première, sans doute, tient à l’évolution des mentalités. En 1894, Gabriel Monod, fondateur de la Revue historique qui encourageait une approche moderne de la discipline fondée sur les archives et les sources, nota : « Les générations qui sont arrivées à l’âge adulte vers 1850 [...] tout en acceptant [...] l’héritage du romantisme et en rejetant les règles surannées du classicisme au nom de la liberté de l’art [...] se sont séparés de lui. Au lieu de laisser le champ libre à l’imagination et au sentiment individuel [...], elles ont eu ce principe commun d’art et de vie : la recherche du vrai [...] dans tous les ordres de la production intellectuelle [...] On chercha dans les arts plastiques [...] à perfectionner la technique, à serrer de plus près la nature, à donner plus de précision au style, à observer la vérité historique [...]3. » Cette proclamation en faveur de ce que Monod appelait le Réalisme scientifique était, de façon significative, insérée dans une biographie d’Hyppolite Taine. Taine avait succédé à Viollet-le-Duc à l’École des Beaux-Arts, après la réforme de 1863 de cet établissement, à la chaire de professeur d’histoire de l’art et d’esthétique. Et dans la salle de l’Hémicycle, le saint des saints de l’École orné de la réunion imaginaire des grands artistes du passé réalisée par Delaroche, Taine affirma que son rôle n’était pas d’enseigner les articles d’un dogme esthétique, mais d’engager les jeunes artistes à imiter consciencieusement la nature, sans la corriger et sans la déformer (fig. 29).

La seconde raison, expliquant ce renoncement des élèves aux principes académiques du Beau idéal et des modèles antiques et leur attrait pour la représentation des scènes contemporaines traitées avec exactitude, tient

Gabriel Monod, Les Maîtres de l’histoire. Renan – Taine – Michelet, Paris, Calmann Lévy, 1894, p. 137–138.

3

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aux évolutions politiques. Louis Dimier, historien de l’art français et fondateur de l’Action française, consacra dans son Histoire de la peinture française au XIXe siècle, publiée à la veille de la Première Guerre mondiale, un chapitre au « Naturalisme en peinture après 1870 ». Il attribuait le développement de ce courant pictural, dont il écrivait qu’il n’était que la reprise affaiblie du réalisme de 1848, au messianisme humanitaire et aux idéaux politiques du républicanisme : « Ne peindre que ce qu’on voit d’une part, de l’autre donner la première place dans l’art aux spectacles les plus répétés, partant les plus vulgaires, apparut soudain à la jeunesse comme un principe incontestable [...] Des peintres se mirent à peindre avec tout l’attirail de majesté des grands ouvrages, le train de la vie commune et populaire [...] Ces sujets étaient déclarés augustes ; l’art de les représenter prit une allure biblique et importante.

Ainsi poussé et avancé, l’ancien réalisme changea de nom. En peinture comme dans les romans, on ne le connut plus que sous celui de naturalisme4. » Au premier rang de ces élèves dévoyés, Dimier citait Bastien-Lepage pour qui il n’avait pas de mots assez durs, « de la boue, du fumier, des loques paysannes, des semelles trempées dans le purin, des visages suants et idiots » représentés dans une exécution de miniature d’une débilité absolue. Zola, tout au contraire, salua le peintre en soulignant qu’il avait su s’affranchir « des entraves de l’École » et se tourner « vers l’étude de la Nature5 ».

Une troisième raison pourrait également être avancée pour expliquer le succès du naturalisme pictural. Ce courant bénéficia du développement des décors muraux, municipaux ou nationaux, dans les dernières décennies du XIXe siècle. Ces grands décors accompagnèrent la construction de bâtiments officiels, mairies, hôtel-de-ville, préfectures, gares, etc. La ville de Paris, délaissant les commandes de peinture religieuse pour l’ornement des lieux de culte, entreprit de couvrir les murailles des mairies d’arrondissement de décors peints confiés à des artistes selon le procédé égalitaire et républicain du concours. Henri Gervex obtint la décoration de la mairie de la Villette, qu’il décora en illustrant l’activité industrielle de l’arrondissement. Il réalisa le décor, pour le même bâtiment, de la salle des mariages. Le Mariage civil fut exposé au Salon de 1881 et eut à subir le feu de la critique. René Ménard déplora dans son compte rendu que « le réalisme [a] fait irruption dans le domaine de la peinture murale, qui jusqu’à ce jour avait été préservé de ses

4 Louis Dimier, Histoire de la peinture française au XIXe siècle (1793–1903), Paris, Delagrave, 1914, p. 231–232.

5 Émile Zola, « Lettres de Paris. Nouvelles artistiques et littéraires (Le Salon de 1879) », Le Messager de l’Europe, juillet 1879. Cité par Dominique Lobstein, Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848– 1884), Paris, Nicolas Chaudun, Musée d’Orsay, 2007, p. 116.

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atteintes et semblait se prêter à des ouvrages d’un tout autre caractère6. » Gervex, renonçant au langage de l’allégorie ou à la figuration d’une scène historique, pourtant suggérés par Cabanel et Hébert, membres de la commission, se plut à dépeindre une scène contemporaine. Il représenta le mariage du fils de Mathurin Moreau, sculpteur et maire de l’arrondissement, en incluant dans la composition, sous forme de portrait, outre le maire et les époux, Zola, Manet, Valtesse de la Bigne et lui-même, de profil derrière la mariée (fig. 30).

Cette célébration naturaliste du mariage laïc fut soutenue par les critiques républicains radicaux qui crurent déceler, dans le titre même, une proclamation politique, et dans le traitement du sujet une condamnation des traditions académiques qu’avait respecté Gustave Boulanger en peignant pour la salle des mariages de la mairie des Gobelins une cérémonie se déroulant dans l’antiquité. Charles Flor affirma que Gervex avait brillamment démontré ses capacités de peintre décorateur et qu’il possédait « plus qu’aucun autre, le sentiment de son époque et de ses mœurs », qu’il venait de prouver « que l’art n’a que faire de chercher dans le passé ses inspirations et ses modèles et que l’art décoratif même trouve dans la vie moderne assez de ressources7. » Un autre prétendit que les admirateurs d’Ingres et de Cabanel ne pouvaient que s’offusquer du réalisme bourgeois du décor de Gervex qui avait « secoué le joug des bonzes de la rue Bonaparte8. » Les critiques attachés aux traditions, tout au contraire, rejetèrent le naturalisme de ce décor en l’assimilant à un trompe-l’œil, en le réduisant à une simple gravure de mode démesurément agrandie et en soutenant qu’une scène aussi moralement significative qu’un mariage ne pouvait être traitée aussi frivolement. Dans l’esprit de ces critiques traditionnalistes, ce type de décors représentant des anecdotes triviales ou familières convenaient plus certainement aux salles de spectacle, comme l’Opéra-Comique, ou au restaurant du Train bleu, à la gare de Lyon.

Albert Maignan, qui n’avait pas été formé à l’École des Beaux-Arts mais qui accumula les distinctions académiques au Salon, illustra dans un esprit comparable au Mariage civil de Gervex, Les Fêtes d’Orange, en multipliant les portraits de personnalités contemporaines.

La politique de décoration murale avait été encouragée par le personnel en charge des beaux-arts et s’inscrivait dans une stratégie plus large en faveur du réalisme pictural. Jules Ferry, s’adressant aux artistes à l’issue du Salon

René Ménard, « Le Salon de 1881 », L’Art, 1881, t. 2, p. 213–214.

Charles Flor, « Le Salon de 1881 », Le National, 1er mai 1881.

8 Anatole Leroy, « Le Salon de 1881 », Le Mot d’ordre, 16 juin 1881. Les trois citations sont empruntées à Jean-Pierre Sanchez, « Un mariage réaliste : Gervex et la critique du Salon de 1881 », Henri Gervex – 1852–1929, Paris-Musées, 1992, p. 152–161.

6

7

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de 1879, proclama le soutien du gouvernement au naturalisme pictural après avoir vivement attaqué l’Académie des Beaux-Arts, accusée d’avoir voulu « soumettre à sa discipline la France artistique et de lui dicter ses règles. » Le ministre poursuivait en célébrant la liberté artistique qu’il assimilait à l’école du plein air et au naturalisme : « Nous assistons [...] à la recherche la plus patiente, la plus acharnée de la vérité naturelle [...] Nous avons toute une école nouvelle, toute une génération d’artistes, qui, non contente de rechercher la vérité comme on l’entendait autrefois, la vérité dans l’atelier, poursuit une vérité plus fugitive, mais aussi plus intime, plus difficile à saisir mais par-là même plus saisissante, ce qu’on appelle aujourd’hui la vérité du plein-air [...] Le naturalisme obligé qui est entré dans les habitudes du public et dans les traditions des artistes nous garantit par ses salutaires exigences contre tout retour aux formules conventionnelles9. » La création d’un ministère des arts, en 1881, confié à Antonin Proust, un ami de Manet, accompagna ce soutien au naturalisme. Le ministre voulut renouveler les sujets mis au concours à l’École des Beaux-Arts, les thèmes choisis traditionnellement pour le Prix de Rome dans le fonds des récits mythologiques ou tirés de l’histoire de la Grèce et de Rome, en les empruntant « au spectacle de la vie contemporaine » afin de représenter « l’expression de l’époque dans laquelle nous vivons10. » De tels projets ne pouvaient bien sûr que susciter la désapprobation des critiques attachés à l’ancien ordre des choses. Henry Houssaye écrivit dans la Revue des Deux-Mondes que les commandes de l’État allaient désormais se borner à des « Distribution des drapeaux, [des] Prises de la Bastille, [des] scènes naturalistes peintes par des impressionnistes [...]11. » Alfred Roll pourrait être le peintre qui incarna le mieux ce tournant naturaliste dans la peinture contemporaine, en représentant les idéaux républicains dans un format traditionnellement réservé à la peinture d’histoire. Né en 1846, il appartenait à la génération de Bastien-Lepage, Friant, Lhermitte, Buland, Pelez, etc. Èlève à l’École des Beaux-Arts dans les ateliers de Gérôme puis de Cabanel, il abandonna rapidement les scènes historiques et mythologiques pour traiter de la réalité contemporaine et bénéficia de nombreuses commandes de l’État pour des tableaux mettant en scène les grandes cérémonies de la République. Son 14 juillet, commandé par l’État pour commémorer la fête nationale et qui mesure presque 10 mètres de longueur, fut salué par un

9 Jules Ferry, « Distribution des récompenses aux artistes exposants au Salon de 1879 », Journal officiel du 28 juillet 1879.

10 Antonin Proust, « Le ministère des arts », La Revue politique et littéraire, 25 février 1882, p. 237–238.

11 Henry Houssaye, « Le ministère des arts », La Revue des Deux-Mondes, 1er février 1882, p. 627.

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critique comme un « manifeste en faveur de la peinture de plein air, de même qu’elle est la plus vaillante revendication des droits de la réalité contemporaine12 ». Cette toile gigantesque valut à son auteur la réputation de peintre officiel de la IIIème République. Il obtint par la suite diverses commandes, dans des formats toujours imposants. Le critique Joris-Karl Huysmans écrivit en 1885 que Roll « faisait partie d’un trio qui représentait, aux yeux des bourgeois, l’art moderne, le trio Bastien-Lepage, Gervex et Roll, l’École normale de la peinture entrée dans le journalisme de l’art13. » Ces trois peintres avaient en commun d’avoir été formés selon les traditions classiques, à l’École des Beaux-Arts et dans les ateliers de artistes académiques, d’avoir renoncé à ces traditions pour traiter la réalité contemporaine et d’avoir été tenus pour des représentants d’une certaine forme de modernité artistique, sans doute moins radicale que celle que proposaient les peintres impressionnistes, mais une modernité qui renouvelait le langage classique et les sujets traditionnels.

Cette position médiane entre la tradition de l’École et la modernité des artistes indépendants suscita une certaine suspicion, faisant peser sur eux l’idée qu’ils avaient obtenu le succès public et la faveur officielle en affadissant les innovations stylistiques des peintres novateurs. Cette critique pouvait émaner aussi bien des tenants des traditions académiques que des partisans d’une modernité formelle plus affirmée. Émile Zola fit paraître en 1886 un roman, très richement documenté, qui mettait en scène les aventures d’un peintre indépendant en butte aux vexations de la critique, à l’incompréhension du public et à la tyrannie de l’Académie. Le personnage de Claude, le héros malheureux de L’Œuvre, avait été largement modelé sur les exemples de Manet, de Cézanne et de Monet14. Zola, par opposition à l’artiste intègre que représente Claude, dessine la figure de Fagerolles, un élève de l’École des Beaux-Arts qui va s’immiscer dans l’intimité de l’artiste de génie pour mieux lui dérober ses inventions plastiques, les édulcorer et gagner ainsi les faveurs que le public refuse à Claude. On le sait grâce aux notes rassemblées par l’écrivain pour l’élaboration de son roman, Fagerolles a été inspiré à Zola par Gervex « un peintre très académique, d’abord élève de l’École ; puis volant à Claude son idée, et y appliquant un faire mou et bourgeois qui

Louis de Fourcaud, L’Œuvre de Alfred Philippe Roll, Paris, Armand Guérinet, 1896, p. 8–9.

Joris-Karl Huysmans, « Le Salon de 1885 (suite) », L’Evolution sociale, 23 mai 1885. L’auteur, en évoquant l’École normale, faisait ironiquement allusion à l’École normale supérieure qui formait (et forme toujours) les professeurs des lycées et était réputée fournir l’essentiel du personnel politique. Albert Thibaudet (La République des professeurs) popularisera en 1927 ce préjugé.

14 Patrick Brady , « L›Œuvre » de Émile Zola: roman sur les arts, Paris, Droz, 1967.

12 13

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emporte le succès15 ». Elève de Cabanel, Gervex avait exposé au Salon de 1874, l’année de la première exposition commune du futur groupe des impressionnistes, un tableau qui reflétait sa formation traditionnelle et l’influence de son maître (fig. 31). Satyre jouant avec une bacchante est une scène classique qui évoque aussi bien la Nymphe enlevée par un faune de Cabanel que les Nymphes et Satyre, exposé l’année précédente par William Bouguereau.

Rompant avec les traditions académiques, Gervex exposa, au Salon de 1879, le Portait de Mme V. (fig. 32). Le modèle en était Valtesse de la Bigne, une célèbre demi-mondaine qui inspira à Zola les personnages de Nana et d’Irma Bécot et posa également pour Manet. Le tableau illustre l’art de compromis que sut développer Gervex. Il fit poser la figure en plein air, dans un décor qui évoque le tableau que Monet avait réalisé en 1866, Femmes au jardin. Mais, alors que le peintre impressionniste avait cherché dans sa toile à traduire les vibrations de la lumière et avait fait des quatre figures féminines, assez peu individualisées, de simples éléments qui se fondent dans le paysage, Gervex respecta les conditions du portrait d’apparat en les accommodant au goût du jour. Le modèle est fermement campé au centre de la composition et fixe coquettement le spectateur en esquissant un léger sourire. Une facture plus libre est utilisée à l’arrière-plan, dans la construction du massif de fleurs et du sous-bois en touches larges et esquissées qui mettent en valeur le dessin délicat de la figure.

Pour conclure : la juxtaposition sur une même toile de deux traitements stylistiques opposés n’était pas le fait du seul Gervex. Beaucoup de peintres classés parmi les officiels ou les académiques firent preuve d’une ouverture comparable aux innovations formelles. La longue cohorte des peintres naturalistes du dernier tiers du XIXe siècle que je viens d’évoquer, Bastien-Lepage, Dagnan-Bouveret, Debat-Ponsan, Roll, Lhermitte, « on multiplierait sans se lasser les exemples, car l’école tout entière, ou peu s’en faut, se ressentit de cet idéal nouveau de préoccupations atmosphériques, de valeurs claires, de « plein air » et de lumière16 », pratiquèrent comme Gervex un art moderne en acclimatant les transformations stylistiques des peintres indépendants aux techniques apprises dans les ateliers de l’École des Beaux-Arts. L’influence du naturalisme se manifesta, en dehors du groupe des impressionnistes, « sous une forme particulière qui a pris une extension considérable dans notre école.

C’est le compromis qui est resté célèbre dans l’histoire sous la dénomination Cité par Bruno Foucart, « Gervex le maudit ou l’ombre de Fagerolles », in catalogue d’exposition Henri Gervex 1852–1929, Paris-Musées, 1992, p. 15.

16 Léonce Bénédite, Rapports du jury international, introduction générale, t. 1, Paris, Imprimerie nationale, 1905, p. 436.

15

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d’école du plein air, transaction entre les doctrines scolaires et les audaces des novateurs, que les discussions passionnées dont ils étaient l’objet mettaient en évidence près de la jeunesse, volontiers prête à les écouter. Elle se produisit exactement à la même heure que le groupement des impressionnistes et forma dans l’art un juste milieu auquel furent heureux de s’attacher ceux qui voulaient se donner des apparences libérales sans fréquenter avec les révolutionnaires17. »

17

Bénédite, op. cit., p. 285.

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ANNA ZSÓFIA KOVÁCS

L’exposition rétrospective de Bastien-Lepage à l’École des Beaux-Arts en 1885 et son rôle dans la réception européenne de l’artiste Jules Bastien-Lepage meurt d’une longue maladie le 10 décembre 1884.

L’artiste, âgé de 36 ans, laisse derrière lui une œuvre innovante, riche et complexe, fruit d’une dizaine d’années de travail intense. La nouvelle de son décès est largement relayée au-delà des frontières françaises et l’événement est vécu comme un choc par l’ensemble du monde artistique européen. Si l’œuvre, resté en suspens, est à jamais clos, un nouveau chapitre s’ouvre alors dans la réception de l’artiste.

Dans ce contexte, 1885 se démarque comme une année à part : l’exposition posthume organisée à l’École des Beaux-Arts s’inscrit dans une série d’hommages officiels, alors que tout un dispositif mémoriel se met en place autour de l’artiste. Tout au long de l’année, ces événements maintiennent le peintre au cœur de l’actualité et renouvellent l’intérêt pour sa peinture.

Tout d’abord, des cérémonies d’adieu se tiennent à Paris le 13 décembre 1884, avant le départ du corps pour Damvillers et l’enterrement dans le village natal de l’artiste. Dès le mois de mars 1885, on annonce le lancement de la souscription pour un monument confié à Auguste Rodin, finalement installé en 18891. La rétrospective, présentée au public au cours des mois de mars et d’avril, est suivie de la vente du fonds d’atelier de Bastien-Lepage, qui se tient les 11 et 12 mai à la galerie Georges Petit, et qui contribuera très

Marie Lecasseur, « Jules Bastien-Lepage : l’hommage de la Meuse », in Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848–1884), cat. expo par Dominique Lobstein (éd.), Musée d’Orsay, Paris, Centre mondial de la Paix, Verdun, 2007, Paris, Musée d’Orsay, p. 52–59.

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largement à la dispersion des travaux de l’artiste2. Pour finir, une rue du 16e arrondissement de Paris prend le nom du peintre en novembre 1885. C’est aussi à cette période que se forge la légende d’un artiste mort au faîte de sa gloire, fauché au sommet de sa force créatrice.

Pour bien comprendre l’impact de la rétrospective dédiée à Bastien-Lepage, il convient tout d’abord de replacer l’événement dans une série d’expositions qui se succèdent à l’École des Beaux-Arts au cours des années 1880.

Face à face rétrospectifs Organisée à l’Hôtel de Chimay, bâtiment du XVIIe siècle nouvellement intégré à l’École des Beaux-Arts (fig. 33), l’exposition est très remarquée. Face à la tradition du Salon qui réunit des milliers d’œuvres et d’artistes chaque année, la rétrospective est alors un mode d’exposition relativement exceptionnel.

Le public et les critiques ne sont pas encore habitués aux expositions personnelles qui proposent de nouvelles possibilités d’appréhension de l’œuvre d’un seul et unique artiste, offrant un large panorama d’une carrière entière en mêlant chefs d’œuvre, études préparatoires et travaux plus confidentiels3.

Force est de constater que les peintres affiliés aux tendances réaliste et naturaliste sont alors à l’honneur. Tout d’abord, l’École des Beaux-Arts accueille au mois de mai 1882 une grande exposition qui réhabilite la mémoire de Gustave Courbet. Manet est célébré en janvier 1884. Presque deux ans exactement après Bastien-Lepage, c’est Millet qui bénéficiera d’une rétrospective en maijuin 1887. Ces artistes, dont les carrières se sont souvent construites en opposition à l’École des Beaux-Arts, à l’Académie ou au Salon, sont ainsi récupérés par les institutions. Cette tendance ne passera d’ailleurs pas inaperçue chez les contemporains : « N’est-il point vraiment fort curieux d’observer les appropriations récentes de cette salle célèbre de l’École des Beaux-Arts ? Il semble que par une ironie piquante des circonstances, elle serve, presque exclusivement, depuis quelques années, d’asile posthume à tous les peintres qui ont été les adversaires passionnés de l’école et que celle-ci le plus souvent, leur vie durant, a traités en pires ennemis. Delacroix, Courbet, Manet et Bastien-Lepage. Oui, ce dernier lui-même devint l’adversaire de cette

2 Catalogue des tableaux, études, esquisses, aquarelles & dessins laissés dans son atelier par feu J. Bastien-Lepage, Paris, Galerie Georges Petit, Imprimerie de l’art, 1885.

3 Robert Jensen revient sur l’importance de Bastien-Lepage au sein des artistes du « juste milieu » et sur le phénomène nouveau de la rétrospective : Marketing Modernism in Fin-deSiècle Europe, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994.

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école où il avait été élevé. [...] L’auteur des Foins (fig. 6) et de la Jeanne d’Arc, de Damvillers disait ‘J’ai appris mon métier à Paris, et je ne veux pas l’oublier mais, réellement, je n’y ai pas appris mon art’. »4 Bastien-Lepage, s’il ne fut pas complètement à la marge dans son apprentissage et sa pratique artistique, fit effectivement cette déclaration, prônant le retour à la terre natale, aux thèmes de la vie paysanne contemporaine face au poids de la tradition et des sujets classiques5.

Quoi qu’il en soit, nul doute que ces expositions ont joué un rôle non négligeable dans la légitimation du naturalisme par les instances officielles et qu’elles ont largement contribué à faire connaître les grandes figures du mouvement. Richard Thomson voit dans ce cycle une entreprise visant à établir une nouvelle tradition, une généalogie de l’art réaliste, naturaliste et républicain6. En outre, cette omniprésence du réalisme et du naturalisme est amplifiée par d’autres expositions personnelles, organisées en dehors de l’École des Beaux-Arts, comme celles de Jean-François Raffaëlli, qui se tient avenue de l’Opéra au printemps 18847 ou encore celle de l’artiste allemand Adolph Menzel, montrée peu après l’exposition Bastien-Lepage au Pavillon de la Ville de Paris8.

Par le hasard de ce calendrier, Bastien-Lepage s’inscrit donc dans une constellation d’événements qui le feront se confronter à ses contemporains.

Dans cet ensemble de face à face rétrospectifs, Manet « en lequel [lui-même] saluait ouvertement, son initiateur »9 occupe une place à part.

Manet / Bastien-Lepage Décédé en avril 1883, Manet est mis à l’honneur moins d’un an plus tard avec une exposition présentant environ cent-soixante peintures10. Figure « Au jour le jour. Bastien-Lepage à l’École des Beaux-Arts », Le Temps, 8 mars 1885. Des arguments similaires sont développés dans : Henry Havard, « Beaux-Arts. L’exposition de BastienLepage », Le Siècle, 18 mars 1885.

5 Louis de Fourcaud, « Exposition des œuvres de Bastien-Lepage », Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 31 mars 1885, p. 256.

6 Richard Thomson, Art of the Actual : Naturalism and Style in Early Third Republic France, 1880–1900, New Haven London, Yale University Press, 2012, p. 103.

7 Catalogue illustré des œuvres de Jean-François Raffaëlli : suivi d’une Étude du beau caractériste, Paris, 1884.

8 Vue comme « la plus intense représentation […] de la lutte de l’homme moderne contre la matière », La Forge marque alors fortement les esprits : Exposition des œuvres de A. Menzel, catalogue illustré, Galerie des Artistes Modernes, Paris, Baschet, 1885, p. 9.

9 Louis de Fourcaud, Bastien-Lepage, sa vie, ses œuvres, 1848–1884, Paris, Baschet, 1885, n. p.

10 École nationale des Beaux-Arts. Exposition des œuvres de Édouard Manet. Catalogue, Paris, 4

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incontournable, mais contestée, il est alors moins largement compris comme un prédécesseur, un compagnon de route des impressionnistes que comme le représentant d’une nouvelle peinture de plein-air. Émile Zola, dans la virulente préface qui introduit le catalogue de l’exposition, écrit : « Les maîtres, à la vérité, se jugent autant à leur influence qu’à leurs œuvres [...]. Il faudrait écrire l’histoire de notre école de peinture pendant ces vingt dernières années pour montrer le rôle tout-puissant que Manet y a joué. Il a été un des instigateurs les plus énergiques de la peinture claire, étudiée sur nature, prise dans le plein jour du milieu contemporain, qui peu à peu a tiré nos Salons de leur noire cuisine au bitume, et les a égayés d’un coup de vrai soleil. »11 Mitigé, émettant des opinions parfois contradictoires vis-à-vis de BastienLepage, Zola se positionne ici à mots couverts face à ce dernier, multipliant les allusions : « Ce qu’il faut noter avec soin, c’est l’action exercée par l’artiste [Manet] sur les habiles du moment. Tandis que son originalité sans concession possible le faisait huer, tous les malins du pinceau glanaient derrière lui, prenaient à sa formule ce que le public pouvait en supporter, accommodaient le plein air à des sauces bourgeoises. […] Les choses en vinrent même au point que l’École des Beaux-Arts fut débauchée. Les plus intelligents des élèves, gagnés par la contagion, rompirent avec les recettes enseignées, se jetèrent, eux aussi, dans l’étude du plein air. »12 Il ne fait nul doute que Zola classait Bastien-Lepage parmi ces peintres habiles. L’enjeu est ici est d’établir la primauté et l’influence de Manet sur les peintres de son temps13, alors que le titre de chef de file de la nouvelle génération avait été octroyé à BastienLepage par de nombreux critiques, notamment par Roger Marx, qui mentionne en marge de l’exposition Bastien-Lepage « cette action si puissante qu’on n’en rencontre pas de plus décisive dans l’histoire de notre art national, cette influence si considérable qu’elle a réussi à forcer nos frontières. »14 Dans cette lutte pour la position dominante au sein de la nouvelle école française, les attaques des défenseurs les plus intransigeants de l’avant-garde, qui se multiplient à l’occasion de la rétrospective Bastien-Lepage, auront finalement raison de la réputation de ce dernier.

A. Quantin, 1884. Les enjeux institutionnels de cette exposition sont étudiés dans : Michael Orwicz, « La vie posthume d’Edouard Manet : l’art national et la biographie artistique au début de la IIIe République », Romantisme, n° 93, 1996, p. 51–63.

11 Zola, Exposition des œuvres de Édouard Manet, op. cit., p. 9.

12 Id., p. 26–27.

13 Avec plus de nuance, le « Discours prononcé par M. Antonin Proust sur la tombe de Manet », publié en fin du catalogue, indique également que le peintre « a exercé une influence incontestable sur les tendances de l’art contemporain » : Exposition des œuvres de Édouard Manet, op. cit., p. 72.

14 Roger Marx, « J. Bastien-Lepage », La Nouvelle revue, mai-juin 1885, p. 194–200.

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Delacroix / Bastien-Lepage Un autre face à face, plus surprenant, est celui qui opposa Bastien-Lepage à Eugène Delacroix. Ce dernier bénéficie la même année, et presque au même moment, d’une l’exposition dont les bénéfices sont destinés à financer un monument en mémoire de l’artiste, et qui lui offre enfin une revanche tardive. Ouverte du 6 mars au 15 avril 1885 au sein même de l’École des Beaux-Arts, la rétrospective Delacroix est, avec son catalogue comportant 570 numéros, embrassant plusieurs décennies, extraordinairement ambitieuse15. À ce moment, « le réprouvé d’autrefois, le révolutionnaire, le proscrit du Salon prend d’assaut l’École et entre triomphalement dans la citadelle de la tradition »16.

Présentées en parallèle, les deux expositions offrent l’opportunité de comparer deux peintres que tout oppose. Deux époques, deux manières, deux visions de l’art se mesurent l’une à l’autre. Le maître, décédé une vingtaine d’années auparavant au terme d’une longue carrière, fait face au jeune chef de file d’une peinture nouvelle emporté en pleine jeunesse quelques mois plus tôt. Comme le résume un critique : « ces deux antithèses se touchent : le romantisme et l’école moderne ; la pensée d’un côté, le fait matériel, précis, de l’autre ; l’âme et le corps ; l’idéal rêvé, cherché, voulu, sans souci de la réalité, et le document humain fouillé, reproduit fidèlement sans souci de l’idéal […] Là-bas l’ensemble, ici le détail. »17 Si de nombreux critiques voient en cet hommage à Delacroix la célébration méritée d’un maître trop longtemps resté incompris, leur enthousiasme n’est pas partagé par tous. Un chroniqueur constate le jour de la fermeture de l’exposition que celle-ci « n›a pas fait prime. Il y a des pinceaux qui ne se survivent pas ; celui-là serait-il du nombre ? La foule, en revanche, roule et se précipite du côté de Bastien-Lepage ; c’est qu’elle se sent là chez elle, dans son milieu, en plein mouvement contemporain. »18 Plusieurs jeunes artistes privilégient également Bastien-Lepage face à son aïeul. Albert Edelfelt, ami finlandais du peintre, a laissé des souvenirs de ses visites dans sa correspondance : « Pour ce qui est des expositions, que j’ai revues une nouvelle fois, Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, « Cézanne and Delacroix’s Posthumous Reputation », The Art Bulletin, 2005, p. 115.

16 Auguste Vacquerie, « Eugène Delacroix à l’École des Beaux-Arts », Exposition Eugène Delacroix, accompagnée d’une souscription publique pour élever un monument à la mémoire de ce dernier, Paris, Imprimerie Pillet et Dumoulin, 1885, p. 5.

17 Meurville, « Exposition des œuvres de J. Bastien-Lepage », La Gazette de France, 19 mars 1885.

18 « Propos de coulisses », Express, 16 avril 1885.

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j’ai trouvé Delacroix plus mauvais et Bastien meilleur que ce à quoi je m’attendais. Bastien est une personnalité artistique absolument supérieure, c’est maintenant que cela se voit le mieux. »19 Un autre artiste finlandais, Akseli Gallen-Kallela, fut lui aussi profondément impressionné par l’art de BastienLepage, qu’il découvre véritablement à l’occasion de cette rétrospective. Pour lui aussi, la balance penche du côté de l’artiste récemment décédé : « J’ai vu l’exposition Delacroix. Pour être honnête, j’ai du mal à voir pourquoi il est considéré comme un génie. J’ai aussi vu quelques fois l’exposition BastienLepage. Voilà un véritable et authentique artiste. »20 Bien que ces témoignages puissent surprendre, ils n’en sont pas moins aisément compréhensibles : Delacroix est alors un peintre du passé, dont les préoccupations sont bien éloignées de celles de ces jeunes peintres étrangers, attirés par l’art de leur temps, éblouis par les avancées nouvelles du plein-air et du naturalisme qu’ils découvrent à Paris.

Comité d’exposition L’annonce des membres du comité d’organisation de la rétrospective BastienLepage, constitué au mois de janvier 1885, confirme l’ancrage du peintre dans la vie artistique française. Si les informations sont parfois contradictoires concernant les fonctions occupées par les différents membres21, la liste des noms publiés dans les articles de presse sur le sujet reste sensiblement la même. Émile Bastien-Lepage, architecte et frère cadet du peintre, joue un rôle essentiel dans l’organisation de l’événement. Antonin Proust, ancien ministre des Beaux-Arts, qui a activement soutenu Bastien-Lepage durant sa carrière, est nommé président.

Le comité regroupe des critiques d’art importants, tels que Louis de Fourcaud, Philippe Burty, Louis Gonse, Paul Mantz, Roger-Marx ou encore Albert Wolff. S’ajoutent à cette liste Henri Amic et André Theuriet, hommes de lettres et amis, qui publieront leurs souvenirs et leur correspondance avec l’artiste. Participent également quelques collectionneurs et marchands, notamment Georges Petit. La liste mentionne de nombreux artistes, camarades

Lettre d’Edelfelt à sa mère, Paris, 16 avril 1885. Disponible en ligne : https://edelfelt.fi/ brev/35368/paris-16-april-1885/, URN: NBN: fi: sls-3198-1403107528600.

20 A Self-Portrait in Words. The letters of Akseli Gallen-Kallela, Ilvas Juha (éd.), Helsinki, Valtion Taidemuseo, 1996, p. 102. Toutes les traductions de l’anglais sont de l’auteur.

21 Voir à ce propos : « Chronique des expositions », Le Courrier de l’Art, 2 janvier 1885, p. 63–64; « Plat du jour », Le Radical, 31 janvier 1885 ; « Beaux-Arts », L’Intransigeant, 31 janvier 1885.

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de la première heure, comme le graveur Charles Baude, Gustave Courtois ou Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret, qui sera vu comme l’héritier de Bastien-Lepage22.

Le maître du peintre, Alexandre Cabanel est également membre. On retrouve aussi d’autres peintres, pour la plupart proches du naturalisme : Jean Béraud, Carolus Duran, Jean-Charles Cazin, Édouard Detaille, Ernest Ange Duez, Henri Gervex, Léon Lhermitte, Ernest Meissonnier, Alphonse de Neuville, Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, Théodule Ribot, Auguste Rodin, Alfred Roll. Lawrence Alma-Tadema, que Bastien-Lepage a rencontré à Londres et dont il a peint l’épouse23, est le seul artiste étranger à être inclus dans le groupe.

Il est également important de noter la participation de Léon Leenhoff, fils putatif d’Édouard Manet, à l’organisation et à l’accrochage de l’exposition.

Très actif autour de 1885, Leenhoff fut responsable de rétrospective Manet (secrétaire du comité, il est souvent mentionné dans la presse contemporaine comme son beau-frère). Il prit également part à l’organisation de l’exposition dédiée à la mémoire d’Éva Gonzalez, élève de Manet, au début de l’année 1885 dans les salons de la Vie moderne24. Si Leenhoff semble s’être retiré par la suite du monde de l’art, son rôle n’est certainement pas anecdotique ici, car son association avec l’exposition Bastien-Lepage est aussi un moyen de faire endosser à ce dernier l’héritage de Manet à un moment où la question de la direction de l’école contemporaine de peinture se pose avec acuité25.

Catalogue Le catalogue (fig. 34)26, introduit par une étude du critique d’art Louis de Fourcaud, qui fut un proche et un grand défenseur de Bastien-Lepage, réunit pas moins de 208 peintures, 36 aquarelles et 81 dessins, réalisés entre 1868 et 1884. L’exposition retrace donc l’intégralité de la carrière de Bastien-Lepage, des tous débuts de l’artiste aux dernières œuvres. Toutes les périodes, tous les genres sont représentés, et, pour la première fois, les visiteurs peuvent 22 L’importance de l’exposition dans ce contexte est soulignée par Gabriel P. Weisberg : Against the Modern. Dagnan-Bouveret and the Transformation of the Academic Tradition, Dahesh Museum of Art, New York, Rutgers University Press, 2002, p. 61, 75–76.

23 Portrait datant de 1878, aujourd’hui conservé à Oxford, The Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology.

24 L’Intransigeant, 21 janvier 1885.

25 Il est à noter que les comités en charge des expositions rétrospectives de Manet et BastienLepage ont un certain nombre de membres en commun, notamment Antonin Proust, Philippe Burty, Louis de Fourcaud, Henri Gervex, Georges Petit, Alfred Roll ou encore Albert Wolff.

26 Exposition des œuvres de Jules Bastien-Lepage : École nationale des Beaux-Arts, Hôtel de Chimay, Paris, 1885.

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mesurer d’un coup d’œil toute la versatilité de son talent. Y figurent les chefs d’œuvre, les coups d’éclat qui ont fait le succès de l’artiste au Salon.

Les grandes compositions rustiques telles que Les Foins (fig. 6), Saison d’octobre (fig. 19), Le Père Jacques (fig. 35), L’Amour au village sont une nouvelle fois mises à l’honneur. La peinture d’histoire est représentée par des toiles à thèmes religieux (L’Annonce aux bergers, Job), ou adaptant un sujet littéraire (Ophélie).

Au-delà des toiles célèbres, l’exposition montre aussi tout un ensemble de scènes de genre plus intimistes, mettant notamment en scène le thème de l’enfance, qu’elle se déroule à la campagne ou dans le mouvement incessant des rues de Londres. L’esquisse intitulée Au cimetière, aujourd’hui conservée au musée des Beaux-Arts de Budapest27, fait également partie de l’accrochage (fig. 36). Le public découvre aussi un Bastien-Lepage paysagiste, qui déploie dans ses vues de Damvillers, de Venise ou de Londres toute la délicatesse de ses talents de coloriste. Rarement montrées, ces œuvres seront très appréciées.

Pour finir, l’accrochage laisse une large place aux portraits, parmi lesquels se distinguent la simplicité franche de l’effigie du grand-père de l’artiste (fig.

16), qui lui valut de se faire remarquer au Salon de 1874, la sophistication et le subtil camaïeu de blancs du profil de Sarah Bernhardt, ou encore la fragilité poignante de Juliette Drouet, compagne de Victor Hugo, qui montrent toute la variété et la souplesse de son approche du genre, adaptée à chaque fois à la personnalité du modèle. L’abondance des portraits, fortement mise en avant par la critique, relance un débat qui perdurera longtemps dans l’appréciation du peintre : Bastien-Lepage fut-il avant tout un peintre de grandes scènes de genre ambitieuses ou un portraitiste virtuose et fin psychologue ?

Le catalogue nous renseigne également, du moins en partie, sur la provenance des œuvres et leur place dans les collections françaises et internationales28. En plus du fonds d’atelier, mis à disposition par la famille de l’artiste, l’exposition bénéficie de prêts d’origines diverses. Les Foins sont déjà mentionnés dans le catalogue comme étant la propriété de l’État français. Certaines œuvres appartiennent aux galeries parisiennes Boussod et Valadon et Georges Petit. Mais l’on constate également que quelques toiles, et pas des moindres, ont déjà quitté la France. Deux tableaux, Pas mèche et Le père Jacques, viennent de la galerie Tooth and Sons de Londres. Le collectionneur belge Henri van

27 Jules Bastien-Lepage, Au cimetière, esquisse, 1878, huile sur toile, musée des Beaux-Arts de Budapest, inv. 408. B. 28 Quelques prêteurs sont mentionnés, mais l’on peut s’interroger sur la précision du catalogue sur ce point, notamment en ce qui concerne les portraits.

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Cutsem, futur donateur du musée des Beaux-Arts de Tournai, envoie quant à lui Le Petit colporteur endormi et La Communiante (fig. 18).

La rétrospective, quasi-exhaustive, comporte cependant une importante lacune. En effet, bien que promise à l’exposition et incluse dans le catalogue, Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix ne rejoindra jamais les cimaises. Succès mitigé du Salon de 1880, cette œuvre phare a très rapidement intégré la collection de l’amateur d’art new yorkais Erwin Davis. Le 16 mars 1885, un article du Matin détaille « pourquoi Jeanne d’Arc ne sera pas exposée »29. L’encart reprend la lettre envoyée par Davis à Antonin Proust, expliquant son renoncement au prêt du tableau par les droits de douane prohibitifs appliqués aux États-Unis aux œuvres étrangères.

De nombreux témoignages notent cette absence, qui n’est pas anodine.

Montrant « le réalisme le plus absolu aux prises avec la légende la plus mystique »30, cette œuvre fut la plus débattue et la plus contestée de BastienLepage. Si elle hante encore les mémoires de ceux qui ont pu la découvrir au Salon, Jeanne d’Arc restera cachée aux yeux des jeunes artistes nouvellement arrivés à Paris. Quelques années plus tard, la présence du tableau à l’Exposition centennale, organisée dans le cadre de l’Exposition universelle en 1889, infléchira fortement l’image de Bastien-Lepage. Après près de dix ans d’absence en France, l’aura mystique du tableau, en synergie avec les tendances de l’époque, aura un impact inédit sur une nouvelle génération d’admirateurs proches de tendances plus spirituelles, voire symbolistes. Quoi qu’il en soit, l’absence de Jeanne d’Arc renforcera en 1885 l’image d’un Bastien-Lepage plus strictement naturaliste et focalisé sur le réel.

Visiteurs L’exposition ouvre le 16 mars pour la presse, et le lendemain pour le grand public. Prévue initialement jusqu’au 15 avril, elle fermera finalement le 19 du mois. Le vernissage, où se presse la foule, est un événement artistique et mondain31. Jules Ferry, alors président du Conseil, « reçu par M. Antonin Proust, président du comité, Émile Bastien-Lepage et Léon Leenhoff »32, et Jules Grévy, président de la République33, font partie des premiers visiteurs, « À l’hôtel de Chimay. Pourquoi Jeanne d’Arc ne sera pas exposée », Le Matin, 16 mars 1885.

Carmen, « Les heures parisiennes. Exposition de Jules Bastien-Lepage », La Presse, 17 mars 1885.

31 Ibid. L’article témoigne de la présence d’Henri Gervex et Louise Abbéma.

32 « L’exposition Bastien-Lepage », Le Matin, 19 mars 1885.

33 Le Figaro, 17 mars 1885 29

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ce qui laisse supposer un certain soutien politique en faveur du projet. La presse relate que l’on a « compté plus de 2500 entrées le premier jour »34.

La rétrospective Delacroix ayant attiré environ 80 000 visiteurs en un peu plus d’un mois35, l’on peut supposer que celle de Bastien-Lepage a bénéficié d’une affluence comparable.

Les admirateurs du peintre arrivent en nombre ; on note dès l’ouverture que « dans la cour de l’hôtel, des groupes stationnent, devisant de celui qui n’est plus. Ce sont de jeunes peintres dont l’admiration est presque systématique, et, par cela même, très exagérée. »36 Si l’article ne donne pas davantage de renseignements concernant ces « jeunes artistes », on peut établir que l’exposition a été vue par des artistes aux profils aussi divers que l’allemand Lovis Corinth37, le hollandais Willem Witsen, l’américain Howard Russell Butler, ou encore le britannique John William Waterhouse. L’espagnol Joaquin Sorolla, alors de passage à Paris, sera fortement marqué par cette rétrospective et celle d’Adolph Menzel. Son art prend alors un tournant décisif, et il abandonne la peinture d’histoire pour se consacrer au monde contemporain et au plein-air38. Il est à noter que de très nombreux artistes nordiques sont alors présents à Paris, comme les finlandais Akseli Gallen-Kallela et Albert Edelfelt, déjà cités, ou les norvégiens Edvard Munch et Asta Nørregaard39. Les danois sont eux aussi nombreux : Peder Severin Krøyer, présent à Paris au printemps 1885 avec Viggo Johansen, Michael et Anna Ancher, fait un court séjour dans la capitale spécifiquement dans le but de visiter l’exposition. Son rôle dans le lancement d’une souscription danoise pour le monument à Bastien-Lepage, à laquelle pas moins de 127 de ses compatriotes participeront, est bien connu40. « Échos du jour », Paris, 18 mars 1885.

Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, op. cit., p. 5.

36 Carmen, op. cit.

37 Lovis Corinth évoque succinctement dans ses mémoires sa visite à l’exposition avec ses camarades d’atelier : Lovis Corinth, « Un étudiant allemand à Paris à l’Académie Julian (1884– 1887) », Gazette des Beaux-Arts, mai–juin 1981, p. 222–223. Il est à noter qu’il ne fait aucune référence à l’exposition Delacroix.

38 María López Fernández, « La genèse d’un artiste international. Sorolla et les peintres parisiens », Sorolla : Un peintre espagnol à Paris, cat. expo, musée des Impressionnismes, Giverny, 2016, p. 51–52.

39 S’il est impossible d’établir une liste exhaustive des artistes étrangers susceptibles d’avoir visité l’exposition, on note également la présence de nombreux admirateurs de Bastien-Lepage à Grez-sur-Loing. Il est probable qu’une partie d’entre eux ait pu faire l’aller-retour à Paris pour l’occasion : William Blair Bruce, Willard Metcalf, Ernst Josephsson, Nils Kreuger, Carl Larsson, Emma Chadwick, Karl Nordström, Georg Pauli. Voir le tableau chronologique établi dans : Alexandra Herlitz, Grez-sur-Loing Revisited. The International artists’ colony in a different light, Göteborg, Makadam, 2013, p. 387.

40 Marianne Saabye, « Krøyer and Bastien-Lepage », Krøyer : An International Perspective, cat. expo. Skagens Museum, Skagen, Hirschsprung Collection, Copenhague, 2011, p. 30–31.

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Nombre d’entre eux laisseront dans leurs mémoires ou leur correspondance des traces de leur visite. Les témoignages des jeunes artistes étrangers qui découvrent alors la peinture de Bastien-Lepage, et dont la plupart ont entre vingt et trente ans, sont souvent dithyrambiques. Véritablement ébloui, Gallen-Kallela visite l’exposition à plusieurs reprises, détaillant ses impressions dans plusieurs lettres : « C’était magnifique, j’en reste sans voix, toute la ville en parle. »41 Il voit en Bastien-Lepage l’égal des grands maîtres du passé. Selon lui, ce dernier partage avec eux « la même passion pour la nature […]. Son originalité vient de ce qu’il aspirait à peindre la nature exactement comme il la percevait. Un art comme celui-ci ne sera jamais moderne, ni ne vieillira jamais. »42 Sous l’effet de ces visites, il réalisera plusieurs toiles dans la veine de Bastien-Lepage, dont une variante poignante des Foins, Perdue43.

La suédoise Eva Bonnier est pareillement impressionnée : « C’était merveilleux, la plus grande expérience artistique que j’ai eue depuis longtemps. Tant que l’on n’a pas vu toutes ses œuvres réunies en un seul endroit, on ne peut pas imaginer sa grandeur et son originalité »44. L’américain Howard Russell Butler voit dans l’œuvre de Bastien-Lepage une « révélation »45.

S’il est plus connu pour ses photographies ou ses vues des canaux d’Amsterdam et Dordrecht, le peintre hollandais Willem Witsen connut au milieu des années 1880 une courte période naturaliste, placée sous le signe de BastienLepage46. Visiteur assidu de l’exposition, il la mentionne à de multiples reprises dans sa correspondance, jugeant les œuvres « magnifiques »,47. Il exécute en 1885 avec ses Ramasseuses de branches une œuvre qui témoigne de son admiration (fig. 37)48. Prenant Bastien-Lepage, et par dessus tout son Père Jacques, comme modèle, il en adapte le thème, le mode de composition, la palette, la démarche artistique. Il se confronte directement à Bastien-Lepage Lettre de Gallen-Kallela à son ami Samuel Bell, 24 mars 1885. Arja Karivieri, « Lost. An analysis of one of Akseli Gallen-Kallela’s early realist works », Helsinki, Ateneumin Taidemuseo vol. 31, 1989, p. 22.

42 A Self-Portrait in Words. The letters of Akseli Gallen-Kallela, op. cit., p. 102.

43 Akseli Gallen-Kallela, Perdue, 1886, huile sur toile, 85×74 cm, Ateneumin Taidemuseo, Helsinki.

44 Lettre citée dans : Øystein Sjåstad, Christian Krohg’s Naturalism, University of Washington Press, Seattle and London, 2017, p. 99.

45 Lettre de l’artiste à sa sœur, 13 mai 1885, citée dans Michael Jacobs, The Good and Simple Life. Artist Colonies in Europe and America, Phaidon, Oxford, 1985, p. 73. Butler achètera également une petite esquisse peinte de Bastien-Lepage à la vente de son fonds d’atelier.

46 Maartje de Haan revient en détail sur cette phase de sa carrière dans son article « Naturalism and Dutch painting », Illusions of Reality, cat. expo, Musée Van Gogh, Amsterdam, 2010, p.

155–156.

47 Bien que plus sensible à la peinture de Delacroix que les artistes déjà cités, il est mitigé sur les qualités de coloristes du peintre.

48 Willem Witsen, Les ramasseuses de branches, 1885, huile sur toile, 98,5×78,5 cm, collection privée.

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dans ses lettres également, se jugeant incapable d’atteindre la même perfection dans la technique et l’émotion49.

Son compatriote Jacobus van Looy, avec qui il a partagé plusieurs lettres enflammées sur Bastien-Lepage, est lui aussi marqué par l’exposition. Il écrit en parlant des Foins : « C’est tout ce dont il est besoin – une inspiration puissante et instantanée, que l’impression vienne de l’extérieur ou de l’intérieur.

Pour ma part, j’essaierai de faire de cela le programme de ma vie. »50 Il est intéressant de noter que si van Looy fut assez peu marqué par Bastien-Lepage dans son art, son éthique basée sur l’observation du monde réel (qu’il semble ici confondre avec la démarche impressionniste), fut pour lui un modèle.

Les témoignages se suivent et se ressemblent souvent dans leur enthousiasme presque sans nuance. Bastien-Lepage, par son style, ses thèmes, son attitude face à l’art et au monde, devient pour toute une génération d’artistes européens un exemple à suivre.

Postérité de l’exposition S’il serait impossible d’aborder la réception critique de l’exposition dans toute sa complexité, il est important de mentionner qu’elle fut largement couverte en France par la presse, et que quelques revues étrangères publient également leur compte-rendu51. C’est aussi l’année où paraissent les principales monographies de référence, dues à Louis de Fourcaud et André Theuriet, ainsi que de très nombreuses nécrologies, récits et souvenirs sur l’artiste qui contribueront à populariser sa peinture et à faire connaître ses déclarations sur l’art. S’il est difficile de dire à quel point ces textes ont pu être lus par les artistes, ces publications deviendront néanmoins des relais importants pour les idées de Bastien-Lepage.

Mais c’est aussi le moment où un ensemble d’articles d’une extraordinaire virulence vient s’attaquer au peintre. Si Zola s’en prend à lui de façon détournée, d’autres critiques sont plus directs. Octave Mirbeau, Félix Fénéon et Joris-Karl Huysmans prennent avec véhémence le parti de Delacroix face à Bastien-Lepage. Mirbeau, le plus nuancé des trois, reconnaît de nombreuses

Lettre de Willem Witsen à Jacobus van Looy, 23 avril 1885. Cité dans Illusions of Reality, op. cit., p. 155–156.

50 Lettre de Jacobus van Looy à Willem Witsen, 6 avril 1885. Cité dans Illusions of Reality, op. cit., p. 157.

51 Voir notamment Claude Philips, « The Delacroix and Bastien-Lepage exhibitions », The Academy, 18 avril 1885.

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qualités à ce dernier, mais donne sans hésiter l’avantage à Delacroix. Pour lui, les louanges adressées au jeune artiste sont exagérées, car il considère que « Bastien-Lepage n’a vu dans toute la nature qu’une série d’anecdotes, d’idylles rétrécies ; même ses tristesses gardent je ne sais quoi d’apprêté et de joli qui les glace et qui n’émeut pas »52. Regrettant son goût de la précision et du détail, il conclut : « Malheureusement, le naturalisme, aussi bien dans la peinture que dans la littérature, est un rapetissant qui réduit toutes choses et tous êtres à de pauvres constatations »53.

Félix Fénéon oppose « l’exposition d’Eugène Delacroix, qui emplit d’un rouge orage les salles de l’École des Beaux-Arts, à celle de Bastien-Lepage, opportuniste de la peinture, qui de sa mince fourche mit un réalisme factice au ratelier des badauds ».54 Huysmans voit quant à lui dans cette confrontation « l’incroyable coudoiement d’un laquais et d’un maître » et fustige « les dames qui […] passaient, sans sourciller, de l’exposition des Beaux- Arts à l’exhibition de la maison Chimay, et regardaient avec une admiration égale l’entrée des Croisés à Constantinople de Delacroix et les bouvières d’opérettes costumées par le Grévin de cabaret, par le Siraudin de banlieue, qu’était M. Lepage »55. Si ces critiques sont contrebalancées à l’époque par un torrent d’éloges, il ne fait aucun doute que les invectives de ce genre auront dans les décennies à venir un effet dévastateur.

Avant sa dernière visite à l’exposition, Edelfelt écrivait : « Bastien Lepage sera considéré comme l’un des plus grands artistes de ce siècle »56. L’avenir en décida autrement : si la rétrospective relance l’intérêt pour la peinture de Bastien-Lepage et influe sur le culte de l’artiste dans les années suivant sa mort, l’événement ne suffira pas à asseoir sa position sur le long terme57.

Dans sa recension de l’exposition Bastien-Lepage organisée au musée d’Orsay en 2007, James Beechey mentionnait que sa célébrité « n’a pas survécu longtemps à l’exposition organisée en sa mémoire à l’Hôtel de Chimay en 1885 »58, citant une déclaration de George Moore en 1892 dans la revue anglaise

Octave Mirbeau, « Bastien-Lepage », Des artistes. 1ère série, Paris, Flammarion, 1922, p. 29.

Mirbeau, op. cit., p. 32.

54 « Chronique d’avril », Revue indépendante, 1er mai 1885, p. 81 55 Joris-Karl Huysmans, « Du dilettantisme », Certains, Paris, Plon, 1908, p. 10–11.

56 Lettre du 22 avril 1885, disponible en ligne : https://edelfelt.fi/brev/35371/paris-d-22-april-85/, URN: NBN: fi: sls-3201-1403107528630 57 Force est de constater que cette vision est encore d’actualité. En 2016, Béatrice JoyeuxPrunel parlait encore de l’exposition comme d’une « consécration de l’art moderne assagi ». Béatrice Joyeux-Prunel, Les avant-gardes artistiques 1848–1918. Une histoire transnationale, Paris, Gallimard, 2016, p. 121.

58 James Beechey, « Jules Bastien-Lepage. Paris and Verdun », The Burlington Magazine, vol.

149, 2007, p. 503–505.

52

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The Speaker. Sept ans seulement après la rétrospective, ce dernier écrivait : « Pauvre Bastien ! Le temps n’a pas été tendre avec toi. Il y a quelques années à peine, ton nom était sur toutes les lèvres, et maintenant – du moins parmi les artistes – il est presque oublié »59. Si les propos de l’homme de lettres, détracteur acharné de Bastien-Lepage, sont à nuancer, il faut admettre que ce dernier perd définitivement sa place de maître de la jeune peinture en Europe au milieu des années 1890.

L’exposition de 2007 s’inscrivait dans un long processus de réévaluation de la peinture de Bastien-Lepage et du naturalisme en général. Gageons que le rôle que l’artiste, et l’importance d’événements tels que la rétrospective qui lui fut consacrée en 1885, pourront être appréhendés à l’avenir dans toute leur signification et leur complexité.

59

G. M., « A Book about Bastien-Lepage », The Speaker, 20 février 1892, p. 226.

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BENJAMIN FOUDRAL

Les « Petits Bastiens » belges: la « jeune » Belgique artistique face au naturalisme français A l’occasion du Salon triennal de Bruxelles1 en 1881 et de l’exposition des Foins de Bastien-Lepage (fig. 6), la nouvelle revue belge L’Art moderne, fondée la même année, proclame la déshérence de la peinture d’histoire et la disparition de la peinture religieuse, au profit de l’art du paysage et du plein air qui marcherait « en tête du mouvement » moderne, « transform[ant] peu à peu le goût du public2. » D’après le critique, ces artistes auraient « inauguré un art sain, vivace, plein de sève, qui a brusquement renversé l’édifice des formules3. » A ce titre, les deux peintres français Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848–1884) et Ernest Duez (1843–1896), associés à la dite « école de Manet4 », apparaissent comme les deux figures tutélaires de cette modernité. Quelques mois plus tard, un jeune peintre bruxellois, Léon Frederic (1856–1940) présente au Salon triennal de 1882 une Légende de saint François (fig. 38), sorte d’hybridation entre Bastien-Lepage et Duez, oubliant dès lors ses premiers essais académiques et témoignant de l’appropriation de la formule française par une nouvelle génération. Intronisé comme l’« une des espérances de l’école [belge] » par L’Art moderne grâce à l’envoi d’une peinture religieuse, déclarée pourtant morte quelques mois plus tôt, Frederic incarnerait cette quête commune de la modernité partagée par une

Les Expositions générales des Beaux-Arts sont aussi appelées en Belgique « salons triennaux », du fait de leur organisation annuelle par le gouvernement belge en alternance à Bruxelles, Anvers ou Gand, les trois capitales artistiques historiques belges.

2 Anonyme, « Le Salon de Bruxelles. 5ème article », L’Art moderne, Bruxelles, 1ère année, n° 29, 18 septembre 1881, p. 226.

3 Ibid.

4 Ibid.

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Les « Petits Bastiens » belges

grande partie de la jeune scène culturelle belge5. Le tournant des années 1880 connait une effervescence intellectuelle autour de la reconfiguration des valeurs picturales en dehors du milieu officiel de l’Académie et voit l’émergence d’une génération nouvelle autour de revues L’Art moderne, La Jeune Belgique, ou d’associations d’artiste comme La Chrysalide ou L’Essor pronant un art « moderne », « jeune », « nouveau » et « indépendant ». L’ensemble de ces hommes sortis des académies royales de Belgique ont en commun de se positionner en faveur d’une expression libre de leur propre tempérament et une même aspiration vers la représentation de la nature : le naturalisme.

L’Éclosion fulgurante des « petits Bastiens » belge Ces nouvelles revues intronisent très vite Bastien-Lepage comme l’un des rénovateurs naturalistes de la peinture de figure, par l’intégration du plein air à ses œuvres et par le fait de prendre ses modèles dans le « peuple ». L’homme des arts Lucien Solvay (1851–1950), dans son ouvrage L’Art et la liberté, fait du naturalisme le stade ultime de la modernité, l’« abolition des poncifs et des recettes d’écoles ; […] l’art libre, dégagé des lisières académiques et ne relevant que de lui-même6 », et Bastien-Lepage, avec qui il conclut ses pages, en est la figure de proue des jeunes belges, « leur force dans l’avenir7 ».

L’unanime consécration de Bastien-Lepage auprès des cercles modernes belges montre aux jeunes artistes une formule gagnante capable de leur donner une visibilité suffisante au sein des expositions officielles, comme des jeunes revues progressistes, tout en laissant entrevoir la possibilité d’un nouveau marché à l’échelle internationale. De plus, l’art de Bastien-Lepage avait pour intérêt de porter un nouveau regard vers le peuple et les classes défavorisées de la société, rurale ou urbaine, s’inscrivant dans une théorisation de l’art social, orientation fondamentale pour ces jeunes gens en proie aux questions sociales et politiques d’une société en profonde mutation. Le critique de La Jeune Revue littéraire avait d’ailleurs, à la fin de l’année 1881, soulevé l’« importance capitale » de cette orientation en parlant des Foins : « Nous ne croyons pas nous tromper beaucoup en avançant que le succès de ce tableau est dû, appelez-le comme vous voudrez, à ce fait que les personnages sont pris en plein peuple. L’introduction dans l’art du peuple tel qu’il est, voilà 5 Anonyme, « L’Exposition du Cercle artistique à Bruxelles (Troisième article.) », L’Art moderne, Bruxelles, 2ème année, n° 19, 7 mai 1882, p. 145.

6 Lucien Solvay, L’Art et la liberté, Bruxelles, 1881, p. 233.

7 Id., p. 240–241.

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peut-être la seule nouveauté dont nous soyons redevables au naturalisme8. » Les faubourgs de Bruxelles deviennent en ce sens le lieu privilégié de cette vérité moderne, espace de prédilection et de pérégrination de ces peintres en quête de sujets impactants pour le public des salons artistiques.

A titre d’exemple, Le Bénédicité de Léon Frederic, panneau central du futur triptyque Les Marchands de craie (fig. 39), inscrit définitivement la nouvelle orientation du jeune peintre en lui apportant ses « galons d’or9 » au Salon triennal d’Anvers de 1882. Le tableau décrit la journée type d’une famille de marchands de craie, des colporteurs, dont le père de famille, Bernard Scié, avait servi de modèle à de nombreuses reprises à Frederic. Toutes les caractéristiques de l’art de Bastien-Lepage sont ici reprises et réinterprétées, y compris dans le choix de représenter le quotidien des indigents de la société que le peintre français avait introduit depuis l’envoi de son Mendiant (fig.

40). La retranscription de la misère urbaine et du labeur harassant de ces classes défavorisées chez Frederic renvoie à une étude approfondie des Foins dont il réinterprète la pose et le visage hagard de la paysanne, et la transpose à sa marchande de craie. Cet instantané de la vie laborieuse de cette famille se veut pris sur le vif, dépeint dans la lumière du plein air et dans l’atmosphère des faubourgs d’une grande cité industrielle dont les usines fumantes, servant de ligne d’horizon, rappellent le poids symbolique sur la destinée de cette famille. Frederic revendique une filiation avec le naturalisme social du peintre français, exprimant, comme le souligne un critique, « la misère et la souffrance […] avec une intensité révélant presque un artiste fait et dénotant un esprit profond et observateur10. » L’œuvre « sera le succès artistique du salon », comme le prédit l’influent critique d’art Alphonse-Jules Wauters : « Cette toile est une énorme promesse pour l’école et c’est à ce titre que, dans mon premier article d’ensemble, je l’ai considérée comme l’œuvre la plus intéressante du salon. Ce qu’il importe, à l’heure actuelle, ce n’est pas de constater la plus ou moins grande réussite de tel ou de tel artiste arrivé et qui continue avec le plus ou moins de variantes à répéter des œuvres qui lui ont déjà valu quelque succès, mais de signaler, de suivre et d’encourager les efforts, les débuts qui promettent, les tendances nouvelles, les chercheurs,

M. V., « Notes sur le Salon de Bruxelles », La Jeune Revue littéraire, Bruxelles, 1ère année, n° 11, 15 octobre 1881, p. 227.

9 Pierre Gervais, « Les Jeunes de l’Essor », Journal des Beaux-Arts et de la littérature, Bruxelles, 25ème année, n° 2, 31 janvier 1883, p. 9.

10 Anonyme, « Exposition triennale des Beaux-Arts à Anvers », Le Journal de Bruxelles, Bruxelles, 62ème année, n° 233, 21 août 1882, p. 2.

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les oseurs, tout, en un mot, ce qui peut secouer l’école, qui s’endort, ce qui peut fortifier ses rangs, qui se dégarnissent11. » Grâce au succès de l’œuvre rencontré au Salon triennal d’Anvers, Frederic débute une tournée triomphale, s’exportant à l’international. Le tableau, alors complété en triptyque, est présenté à l’exposition internationale d’Amsterdam au printemps de l’année 1883, au Salon triennal de Gand, au Salon parisien, du 15 septembre au 31 octobre, à l’Exposition internationale des Beaux-Arts de Nice et enfin à la Worlds industrial and cotton centenal exposition de la Nouvelle-Orléans en 1885. Frederic acquiert à cette occasion de nombreuses médailles, propulsant son nom, pour la première fois, sur la scène artistique internationale et l’imposant comme un représentant de la jeune garde belge. Les formules en vogue de Bastien-Lepage était bien un modèle à suivre pour se promouvoir au début des années 1880 pour les jeunes peintres désirant percer, comme l’ambitionnait Frederic. Aux côtés de Frederic, nous pourrions citer tour à tour les jeunes James Ensor, Émile Claus, Van Rysselberghe, Franz Charlet, Théodore Verstraete, etc, dessinant ainsi une même génération de jeunes artistes en devenir tous issus de L’Essor ou proche des milieux modernistes bruxellois.

Au-delà des qualités picturales intrinsèques des œuvres, de l’orientation moderniste et sociale, l’exemple de Bastien-Lepage en est d’autant plus facilement accepté qu’il rappelait par son « retour à la vérité et à la vie12 » l’art flamand et hollandais du XVIIe siècle, et par sa précision la manière des gothiques des pays du Nord. Le critique de L’Art moderne souligne, à propos du Mendiant, qu’ « à l’exemple d’Holbein, Bastien-Lepage démontre qu’il est un fini qui grandit aux proportions du sublime », ou, à propos du Portrait d’Albert Wolff (fig. 41) les liens avec la peinture de Memling et Metsu13. Le naturalisme apparaît dès lors comme l’alpha et l’oméga du progressisme en Belgique.

Ces caractéristiques – l’intérêt pour l’observation et la vérité, le traitement vériste de la vie contemporaine, ainsi que la sincérité d’exécution –, rappelaient aux critiques l’art des gothiques flamands et étaient de fait mis en exergue dans les comptes rendus de salon. La voie des nouvelles générations d’artistes belges est ainsi toute tracée par ces critiques : s’inscrire dans

Alphonse-Jules Wauters, « Le Salon d’Anvers. IV. Le Genre », L’Echo du parlement, Bruxelles.

25ème année, n° 250, 7 septembre 1882, p. 2.

12 Solvay, op. cit., p. 45.

13 Anonyme,, « Peinture. Les Peintres belges au Salon de Paris (Second article.), L’Art moderne, Bruxelles, 1ère année, n° 11, 15 mai 1881, p. 86 ; Anonyme, « L’incident Van Beers », L’Art moderne, Bruxelles, 1ère année, n° 31, 2 octobre 1881, p. 245.

11

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les pas de Bastien-Lepage, et d’un art « sous l’inspiration directe de la nature, et ramené ainsi peu à peu aux sources pures du vieil art flamand14 ».

Comme en témoigne ces différentes critiques, l’adhésion de la « jeune Belgique » doit beaucoup à la question de la définition d’une identité esthétique nationale, problématique majeure du champ artistique belge de la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle. Jeune pays né en 1830, la Belgique est en quête de légitimation et de consolidation d’un roman national. Comme l’a très justement analysé Laurence Brogniez, la peinture a constitué dès l’indépendance du pays « un enjeu stratégique pour les autorités politiques soucieuses de légitimer l’existence du jeune État15 […] ». Les « ancêtres picturaux » universellement réputés tels que Pierre-Paul Rubens, Jacob Jordaens et Antoine van Dyck sont alors présentés comme les meilleurs représentants d’un héritage commun. La peinture pouvait ainsi fournir des signes identitaires forts et susceptibles de combler ce que Christian Berg nomme un « déficit symbolique », tout en affirmant la singularité de ces glorieux ancêtres et en misant sur leur reconnaissance à l’étranger16. Il s’agissait pour les autorités comme pour les intellectuels de démontrer la puissance culturelle historique de leur territoire. Ce phénomène est largement décrit par Michela Passini dans son étude sur l’Allemagne et la France. Elle y rend compte de la position de l’art ancien « conçu comme le témoignage de l’authenticité et de la grandeur de la tradition nationalemand17 ». Ce puissant investissement identitaire est le même en Belgique. C’est « à cette fin que les critiques d’art conçoivent ce qui est appelé l’art flamand » ou l’école flamande18. Ce terme, à l’époque strictement culturel, comptait englober les diverses expressions artistiques autour de dénominateurs communs rattachés à la tradition picturale du pays : le culte du réel et la picturalité. Dans ce contexte, deux ouvrages apparaissent comme les pierres angulaires de cette édification d’un discours artistique national. L’ouvrage d’Alfred Michiels, critique de l’art belge pour la revue L’Artiste, publié en 1845 à Bruxelles et intitulé Histoire de la peinture

Solvay, op. cit., p. 78–79.

Laurence Brogniez, « Nés peintres : la „prédestination merveilleuse” des écrivains belges », in Nathalie Aubert, Pierre-Philippe Fraiture, Patrick McGuiness (éd.), La Belgique entre deux siècles : Laboratoire de la Modernité, 1880–1914 [actes du colloque, Brookes University à la Maison française d’Oxford, 21–22 janvier 2004, Oxford], Bern, Peter Lang, 2007, p. 88.

16 Christian Berg, « Le déficit symbolique : la littérature française face au mouvement flamand en Belgique au XIXe siècle », Hans Felten, Hans-Joachim Lope (dir.), Literatur im französischsprachigen Belgien. Akten der Belgiensektion des Deutschen Romanistentages Aachen, Berne et Paris, Peter Lang, 1990, p. 161–172.

17 Michela Passini, La Fabrique de l’art national. Le nationalisme et les origines de l’histoire de l’art en France et en Allemagne 1870–1933, Paris, Maison des sciences de l’homme, 2012, p. 3.

18 Sébastien Clerbois, L’Ésotérisme et le symbolisme belge, Wijnegem, Pandora, 2012, p. 146.

14

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flamande et hollandaise, constitue l’élément premier de cette quête identitaire et culturelle19. Michiels enracine l’idée d’une nation historique belge, jusque-là niée ou aux contours encore flous, en retraçant une tradition artistique cohérente, un « génie flamand » qui aurait choisi la voie de la vérité et du réel dans l’art. Peu après, la théorie positiviste de la race, du moment et du milieu que formule Hippolyte Taine dans sa célèbre Philosophie de l’art connait un écho important en Belgique, et vient renforcer l’édification d’une tradition réaliste flamande20. A ce moment-là, une grande partie de la critique d’art belge n’aura qu’un objectif, celui de trouver les nouveaux hérauts nationaux, s’inscrivant dans la modernité, tout en étant capable de participer à cette quête nationale. S’inscrivant dans le sillage de Taine et Michiels, le critique d’art et écrivain Camille Lemonnier impose et diffuse ce discours au cours des années 1870 dans les milieux modernes et d’avant-garde, cherchant à consolider l’orientation prise par La Société libre des Beaux-Arts, société réunissant la génération réaliste belge, à laquelle il était lié. A ce titre, le sulfureux Gustave Courbet, fait membre d’honneur de la Société, devient celui qui a « révélé l’art belge à lui-même ». Au réalisme suit bientôt le naturalisme dont il théorise l’apport au renouveau de l’école belge à l’occasion du Cinquantenaire du pays21. A l’image de Courbet qui est sensé avoir « révél[é] l’art belge à lui-même22 », trente ans plus tard, lors du Salon triennal de Bruxelles de 1881, Jules-Bastien-Lepage devient la figure tutélaire d’une partie de la jeune génération par l’exposition des Foins. Cette trop belle coïncidence que l’histoire de l’art sait si bien fabriquer dit beaucoup de la place occupée par les artistes français en Belgique en tant que valeur référentielle et promotionnelle.

De l’hégémonie du « bastienisme » au rejet identitaire Le milieu artistique belge, autant la critique que les artistes eux-mêmes, a dans un premier temps perçu favorablement les œuvres de Bastien-Lepage, comme il l’avait fait auparavant pour Courbet ; appuyant une hégémonie française sur la scène artistique. Pourtant dès 1883, comme le souligne la sentence du poète Alfred Michiels, Histoire de la peinture flamande et hollandaise, Paris, Jules Renouard, 1845– 1849, vol. 4.

20 Les cours dispensés par Taine à l’École des Beaux-Arts ont été progressivement édités puis réunis sous le titre de Philosophie de l’art, dont le premier volume parut en 1865.

21 Camille Lemonnier, Adolphe Samuel, Cinquante ans de liberté, tome 3 : Histoire des BeauxArts en Belgique, Bruxelles, 1881.

22 Camille Lemonnier, Félicien Rops. L’Homme et l’artiste, Paris, H. Floury, 1908, p. 32.

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et critique d’art Émile Verhaeren, favorable à la modernité, l’impact de son art est devenu un problème : « qui nous débarrassera, je ne dis pas de l’influence, mais de l’imitation de Bastien-Lepage23 ? » Les salons de Bruxelles, Anvers et Gand ne témoignerait que d’une seule chose : la suprématie et l’influence française auprès des jeunes belges. Antoine van Fletteren résume ainsi les expositions de L’Essor, jeune « secte » devenue « Église » : « Les « Essoriens » ne se sont pas faits tout seuls, ils n’ont pas poussé comme des champignons.

Ils sont le produit d’une évolution régulière de l’école moderne française – rien de la glorieuse école flamande. Nature non facit saltum – laquelle eut pour leaders Corot, Courbet, Manet, Bastien Lepage24. » Au sujet des Marchands de craie de Léon Frederic, Théodore Hannon, défenseur et promoteur du naturalisme depuis les années 1870, regrette les exagérations et « les facultés décolorantes de l’air ambiant » dans l’œuvre de Frederic. Hannon encourage « ce jeune peintre doué par lui-même des plus sérieuses qualités » de se débarrasser : « de cette hantise néfaste, qu’il contemple la nature avec ses yeux à lui sans chausser plus longtemps les lunettes du peintre des Foins. Lunettes – ou plutôt microscope, car tout paraît détaillé au verre grossissant dans ces toiles déconcertantes, les brins du gazon, les poils des barbes, la trame des étoffes… et ici le peintre emploi des trucs spéciaux qui sortent du domaine de l’art pur et rentrent plutôt dans la catégorie des trompe-l’œil25. » Dans un même sens, Édouard Isart affirme que Frederic « rêve de BastienLepage26 ». Charles Tardieu, dans le Courrier de l’art de Paris, évoque, quant à lui, la « préoccupation de faire du Bastien-Lepage », tout en reconnaissant « beaucoup d’étoffe dans ce jeune talent27 ». Ce reproche fréquent sous la plume des critiques n’est pas seulement adressé à Frederic, confirmant l’impact de Bastien-Lepage sur les jeunes peintres émergents du début des années 1880, et l’émulation interne à L’Essor. Régulièrement, au travers de leurs compte-rendus, les observateurs belges ont eu à cœur de souligner cette influence, jugée par beaucoup comme néfaste car imitative, surnommant les jeunes peintres belges, « nos petit Bastiens » : « Il y a longtemps

23 Émile Verhaeren, « Chronique artistique », La Jeune Belgique, Bruxelles, 3ème année, n° 6, 28 avril 1883, p. 232.

24 Antoine van Fletteren, « L’Essor. Quatorzième exposition publique », Journal des BeauxArts et de la littérature, Bruxelles, 27ème année, n° 2, 31 janvier 1885, p. 10.

25 Théodore Hannon, « Chronique artistique. I. Exposition de l’Essor. », Revue moderne, Bruxelles, 2ème année, n° 2, 20 janvier 1883, p. 124.

26 Édouard Isart, « Lettre sur le Salon d’Anvers. Deuxième. », Journal des Beaux-Arts et de la littérature, Bruxelles, 24ème année, n° 16, 31 août 1882, p. 124.

27 Charles Tardieu, « Le Salon d’Anvers », Courrier de l’art, Paris, tome 2, 5 octobre 1882, p. 475.

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qu’on leur [aux artistes belges de la jeune génération] recommande de veiller sur eux, de ne pas sacrifier à la modernité, de ne pas s’évertuer à des imitations serviles qui tuent l’inspiration […] si rien n’y fait, eh bien, alors c’est le naufrage de l’art belge. […] [M]on patriotisme à moi crie aux Belges : l’ennemi est entré dans la maison, garde à vous28 ! » L’Art moderne, commentant le Salon de Bruxelles de 1881, s’interroge sur La Source de Théo van Rysselberghe, « pastiche de Bastien-Lepage […] flagrant »29. Tout comme le critique du Journal des Beaux-Arts et de la littérature, L’Art moderne reproche surtout la perpétuation des défauts liés à l’art du peintre français, notamment la perspective naïve de ses compositions, perçue comme une simple superposition des plans. Pierre Gervais s’emporte sur la tonalité de l’œuvre, imputable également à Bastien-Lepage et sa volonté de retranscrire une lumière de plein air vraisemblante : « Et puis, quelle couleur ! Plein air ! plein-air ! nous criet-on à pleins poumons. Mystification et engouement !30 » Quelques mois plus tard, à l’exposition annuelle de L’Essor, c’est au tour du jeune Frantz Charlet de se voir brocarder au titre d’imitateur de Bastien-Lepage. Pour La Jeune Belgique, Charlet « fait de la peinture naturaliste, tout comme BastienLepage31 ». Le poète et critique d’art Émile Verhaeren souligne, quant à lui, que L’Eplucheuse de pommes de terre de Charlet, « par le ton général, le vert des plantes, la couleur du sol, la facture et le dessin […] rappelle, moins le génie, les Foins de Bastien-Lepage32. » L’écueil unanimement relevé par la critique d’art belge manifeste le malaise d’une presse progressiste en adéquation avec les valeurs artistiques véhiculées par Bastien-Lepage face à la trop importante hégémonie, malgré tout, française sur l’éclosion de la nouvelle génération de peintres belges modernes. Cette domination affaiblissait « la tradition flamande » et « l’originalité nationale ». Dans son compte rendu de l’exposition de l’Essor de 1883, Ernest Verlant dénonce ce qu’il définit être un « système […] appelé à tuer le génie des différentes écoles en les confondant toutes 33». L’école belge serait « malade » et l’exposition des jeunes Essoriens 28 P. G. [Pierre Gervais], « Le Salon de Gand », Journal des Beaux-Arts et de la littérature, Bruxelles, 25ème année, n° 17, 17 septembre 1883, p. 133.

29 Nous ne connaissons aucune information, en dehors des critiques d’époque, sur cette œuvre de jeunesse de van Rysselberghe ; Anonyme, « Le Salon de Bruxelles », L’Art moderne, Bruxelles, 1ère année, n° 33, 16 octobre 1881, p. 250.

30 Pierre Gervais, « Lettres sur le Salon de Bruxelles. Troisième lettre. », Journal des BeauxArts et de la littérature, Bruxelles, 23ème année, n° 18, 30 septembre 1881, p. 137.

31 M. V., « L’Exposition de l’Essor », La Jeune Belgique, Bruxelles, 2ème année, n° 4, 15 janvier 1882, p. 56.

32 Émile Verhaeren, « L’Exposition annuelle de l’Essor », Journal des Beaux-Arts et de la littérature, Bruxelles, 24ème année, n° 1, 15 janvier 1882, p. 4.

33 Ernest Verlant, cité dans Jules Dujardin, L’Art flamand : les artistes contemporains, t. 6, Bruxelles, A. Boitte, 1900, p. 150.

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en indiquerait la cause. Pour obtenir guérison, rien de plus simple. En réaction au naturalisme international (trop français), les intellectuels belges dénoncent le manque de « picturalité » des œuvres étrangères, valeur intrinsèquement liée à l’art flamand et capable, selon eux, de contrer l’école française sans décrédibiliser l’orientation de la nouvelle école.

Après la prétendue impulsion donnée par le réalisme de Courbet à l’école belge, cette nouvelle suprématie française ne pouvait être défendue par Lemonnier, car elle aurait signé l’échec de son entreprise personnelle, celle de donner une identité propre à l’art belge. Cet apparent malaise se ressent fortement dans la réédition complétée de l’ouvrage de 1887, en particulier dans les mots employés par Lemonnier pour décrire l’œuvre Les Marchands de craie de Léon Frederic. Lemonnier rappelle combien le tableau fut au centre des polémiques sur l’orientation esthétique de la nouvelle génération dont faisait partie Frederic et sur ses rapports trop proches avec l’art de Bastien-Lepage, en particulier « sa pénétration du détail physionomique », son « atténuation voulue de ses gammes coloristes », son « réalisme de demi-caractère34 ». Sans s’y arrêter, Lemonnier se rappelle l’épisode du Salon de Gand de 1883 au cours duquel des œuvres comme l’Enterrement qui passe de Frantz Charlet, le Soir de van Rysselberghe, le Grand Père de Frédéric et le Saint Liévain de van Aise ont enflammé la critique belge à cause de leur supposée imitation du peintre français. Lemonnier ne dit pas autre chose dans sa conclusion de l’épisode : « Tous quatre montraient des dons remarquables, bien qu’on pût leur reprocher de paralyser, au profit d’une distinction un peu superficielle, le bel instinct robuste de la race35. » Perçue comme stade ultime de la modernité par Solvay et, dans un premier temps, par Lemonnier, défendue par de nombreuses revues ou cercles artistiques comme L’Essor, la nouvelle école naturaliste a été favorablement accueillie dans sa définition même, la revendication d’un art réaliste amélioré par l’observation précise et scientiste de la nature et du quotidien. Cependant, la nouvelle suprématie française sur la scène internationale est venue perturber la réception positive de ce mouvement. Jules Dujardin, dans son ouvrage synthèse écrivant une histoire de l’art nationale, L’Art flamand, choisit de retranscrire les mots que le critique influent Ernest Verlant écrit en 1883. Autant Dujardin que Verlant mettent en avant la tradition, celle qui est nécessaire à l’école « parce qu’il faut que le nationalisme la distingue ».

Ernest Verlant n’est pas le seul critique à tenir de tels propos et à prodiguer 34 Camille Lemonnier, Histoire des Beaux-Arts en Belgique (1830–1887) Peinture, sculpture, gravure et architecture, Bruxelles, P. Weissenbruch, 1887, p. 319.

35 Ibid.

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ses conseils à une jeune génération de peintre perçue comme soumise à la « suprématie française » dans l’art. L’art de Bastien-Lepage et de ses suiveurs belges se retrouvait ainsi critiqué dans sa facture trop lisse, trop sèche, trop terne, a contrario de la véritable identité esthétique de l’art flamand décrit par Taine puis Lemonnier : une peinture sensible à la matière dans laquelle prédomine la couleur et le souvenir des maîtres du passé. Ces reproches maintes fois répétés par les critiques modernistes ont participé aux orientations nouvelles de ces jeunes peintres.

Essentiellement attribué à l’art de Bastien-Lepage et ses émules internationaux, le terme naturalisme a peu à peu disparu des articles de presse ou des ouvrages d’art décrivant l’école belge contemporaine. La question identitaire inhérente au monde culturel et intellectuel belge semble en être l’une des raisons. En 1891, le jeune critique et universitaire Edgar Baes n’hésite pas à proclamer dans les colonnes de La Fédération artistique « La Chute du naturalisme36 ». Défenseur en son temps d’une « poésie » capable dans des travaux « sincères » d’approcher la « Nature et la Vérité », Baes dénonce « les gens sans âme, sans valeur » qui ont « fait dégénérer la licence la liberté ». La faute en revient, selon lui, à la mode d’un nouveau public composé de femmes, de snobs et de « Prud’hommes ». L’auteur regrette dans son article le pervertissement du naturalisme par un système marchand qui en dicterait les codes pour se conformer aux attentes de nouveaux publics et le condamnerait au déclin. Si Baes n’évoque à aucun moment la problématique nationaliste dans la chute de ce mouvement en Belgique, ou du moins dans l’utilisation de cette bannière au sein du discours, le commentateur et acteur de la scène artistique belge en profite pour annoncer sa supplantation par un nouvel étendard : le symbolisme.

36

Edgar Baes, « La Chute du naturalisme », La Fédération artistique, Bruxelles, 18ème année, n° 52, 18 octobre 1891, p. 619.

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ÁGNES KOVÁCS

Eternal Anachronism or the Phoenix Rising from the Ashes? The Munich Academy and the Teachableness of Arts We can only regret that the long-lasting and heated debates that took place around art education have come to an end. It is a fact that art academies suffered constant defeat on the battlefield of the dissonance arising from the internal dynamics of art, that is, the clash between the old and the new. However, the dilemma of how to defend the traditional, historically established education against the contemporary spirit has arisen very early, whether it should be defended at all or one should unconditionally bow down to the experiments of contemporary art. And what if art changes faster than the institution intended to teach the foundations of art education can keep up with? What can be done with traditional genre and style designations when the tools and exhibition forms of contemporary art with which it experiments can no longer fit into the framework of classical academic education?1 To resolve the above contradictions, academies have always tried to make compromises. They maintained the genres according to the classical canon, but the professors who wanted to establish themselves in these genres on the market increasingly began to define what counts as legitimate in art.

Realism and naturalism were often used as interchangeable concepts in 19th-century art criticism, and the same applies to literary criticism as well. In an 1887 article published in the art magazine Kunst für Alle, Hermann Helferich wrote that naturalism is only manifested through naturalistic impressionism, as if it were a mirror of the face of nature. The first manifesto of naturalism was Jules Antoine Castagnary’s writing, Philosophie du Salon de 1858, which was connected to Émile Zola’s literary activity and which Castagnary tried to find in contemporary painting as well. In the 20th century, Georg Schmidt, among others, dealt with the topic in his book Naturalismus und Realismus (Pfullingen: Neske Verlag, 1959). Horst Bredekamp presents the social implications of realism in his comprehensive work: Kunst als Medium sozialer Konflikte. Bilderkämpfe von der Spätantike bis zur Hussitenrevolution (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1975).

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This was not the case at the turn of the 19th–20th century, when „forces” outside the academies were crucial in the changes that occurred in the arts: aesthetes and art critics with their writings, and in practice, counter-academies created in opposition to the academies or art groups created for the purpose of achieving market success, rather than the institutions officially issuing artists.2 In the 18th century, academies served as the guardians of both high art and craft education, but this changed radically from the mid-19th century when faculties teaching industrial design and architecture split from the academies, becoming independent educational institutions. Even so, art academies continued to see and present themselves in their classical role - that is, they exercise control over questions of art and taste, but in doing so, they took on criticism from all sides, not only from the state or the public, but primarily from their own students. The teachability of art became a matter of debate in the years of the founding of the Munich Academy. Supporters of the cult of genius did not recognize the legitimacy of the academies, as they believed that they supported mediocre talent and suppressed geniuses.3 Anti-academia movements date back to the first half of the 19th century: for example, the Nazarenes considered simple drawing in nature to be more important than academic recipes and fled to Italy from the academic drill in Vienna.4 At that time, the academic educational system was on a kind of path of compulsion, as students had to literally put together a picture, idealizing facial expressions, limb positions, and even body types.5 Although this method did change over the decades, the quality of education depended on the availability of teachers, which was difficult to change since professorial appointments were usually lifelong. Therefore, the reputation of an academy often depended on the appointment of a single, exceptionally talented art teacher. This happened with the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Munich, which, since its founding in 1808 until the turn of the century, was characterized either by anachronism or by playing the role of the phoenix bird6 (fig. 42).

That is, it either became disillusioned with the transmission of prescribed 2 Tradition und Wiederspruch 175 Jahre Kunstakademie, ed. Thomas Zacharias (München: Prestel Verlag, 1985).

3 Edgar Zilsel, Die Entstehung des Geniebegriffes: Ein Beitrag zur Ideengeschichte der Antike und des Frühkapitalismus (Tübingen: Verlag J. C. B. Mohr, 1922).

4 Cornelia Reiter, Suche nach dem Unendlichen (München: Prestel Verlag, 2001).

5 In his essay “Aphorisms on Art”, Caspar David Friedrich warned art teachers not to impose their teachings and rules on their students. See László Beke, Caspar David Friedrich (Budapest: Corvina, 1986), p. 76.

6 Ekkehard Mai, Die deutschen Kunstakademien im 19. Jahrhundert. Künstlerausbildung zwischen Tradition und Avantgarde (Stuttgart: Böhlau Verlag, 2010).

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teaching methods and the fulfillment of the expectations of the Wittelsbach rulers, or, out of fear of losing its influence, sought to embrace modern trends and comply with the times by appointing new professors. Between 1809 and 1920, a total of thirteen thousand students enrolled in the art academy in Munich, including Swiss, Austrians, Poles, Croats, Slovenes, Italians, Greeks, Scandinavians, Americans, and about fifty Hungarians. Munich was therefore the center, the „port” of international artistic life, as King Louis I of Bavaria (1825–1849), a great admirer and follower of Greek and Italian culture, decided in the first decades of the 19th century.

In Isar-side Athens, the later large-scale art production developed gradually. The all-powerful role of the academy in terms of art exhibitions and the sale of artworks was gradually overshadowed by the establishment of the Kunstverein, followed by international and annual exhibitions organized by the Künstlergenossenschaft, and later by the exhibitions of the Secession, but a painter who graduated from the academy had very high social recognition for a long time. According to Walter Grasskamp, an academic artist refers to a type of artist who attended or taught at the academy, and of course, can also be a court artist like Peter von Cornelius, or an exhibiting artist like the multitalented Franz von Stuck.7 In the emergence of the latest art trends, it initially played a role that, with the intervention of the rulers, one or more famous masters were invited as academic instructors. During the reign of Louis I, the Nazarene masters represented modernism, and during the reign of King Maximilian II (1849– 1864), Wilhelm von Kaulbach (1805–1874)8 and Carl von Piloty (1826–1886),9 much admired by Munkácsy, were the defining figures of the academy; especially the latter, to whom contemporary painting students flocked, including Hungarian students who later created outstanding works of Hungarian historical painting (figs. 43–44).

During the reign of Louis II (1864–1886), although a new academic reform was introduced, all his talents were devoted to the completion of his dream castles, and was not interested in the internal affairs of the academy of fine

7 Walter Grasskamp, “Academy Artists” in München magyarul [Munich in Hungarian], ed.

Orsolya Hessky (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Galéria, 2010), p. 11–18.

8 Wilhelm von Kaulbach, a historical painter, was the director of the Munich Academy from 1849 to 1874.

9 Carl (Karl) Theodor von Piloty, a historical painter, was the director of the Academy from 1874 to 1886. His most well-known Hungarian students include Gyula Benczúr, Bertalan Székely, Pál Szinyei Merse, Sándor Wagner, and Sándor Liezen-Mayer. See Das grosse Auftritt.

Piloty und die Historienmalerei, eds. Reinhold Baumstark und Frank Büttner (München: Neue Pinakothek–DuMont Verlag, 2003).

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arts. Under the reign of Prince Regent Luitpold (1886–1911), there was a great explosion in the art scene, the Secession was established (1892), and thus the greatest freedom was achieved in terms of both the art market and for artistic endeavours that are always looking for something new. However, most of the teaching staff at the academy, at least in the lower classes, consisted of the same artists. Plein air, various shades of secessionist movements, and the distinctive Jugendstil represented by Franz von Stuck (1863–1928)10 all appeared at the academy, although the „fan-like” offering of teachers had already been in place earlier, which meant that a student could freely choose a master if they accepted them as their student. Of course, the academy never taught the current isms, and relatively little was said about them in the studies.

Therefore, the true artistic changes were best reflected in the international exhibitions held every four years, which were increasingly monumental in both appearance and the number of artworks and audiences (fig. 45).

Among these, I would highlight the first international exhibition, which marked the first appearance of realism as a style and also gave new impetus to the first anti-academic movements. The main protagonist of the exhibition organized by the Münchener Künstlergenossenschaft in the Glaspalast in 1869 was the French artist Gustave Courbet. Although Courbet had already stated during his 1855 Parisian protest that the „realist” label was forced upon him because, in his view, such labels never expressed the true meaning of things and, if they did, the works would be unnecessary,11 the term „realism” was irrevocably engraved in the dictionary of the narrative discussing the style of the following decades.

The exhibition, held with the participation of numerous countries, represented an unspoken challenge to the contemporary French Schwarzmalerei style, at least in the eyes of influential German artists and art critics of the time, who were defenders of either the beauty of antiquity or German idealism against the French, who they believed broke every artistic rule. The works exhibited by Courbet, in particular, aroused strong emotions in the critics,12 especially The Stone Breakers (Les Casseurs de pierres, 1849), a large-scale work depicting a young and an old man performing hard and fruitless work while living in miserable conditions without any visible way out (fig. 46).

In other words, such a base subject - the brutality and vulgarity of poverty

Franz von Stuck was one of the most well-known and popular artists of his time. He was a professor at the Academy and his students included Wassily Kandinsky and Paul Klee.

11 Gustave Courbet, “Preface to the Exhibition Catalogue” 1855, in A naturalizmus (Budapest: Gondolat, 1967), p. 161.

12 The committee provided a separate room for seven of Courbet’s paintings.

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- appeared on the canvas, which was later depicted in experimental novels by Émile Zola, the pontifex maximus of naturalism. Although Jean-François Millet and Honoré Daumier also dealt with similar subjects, Courbet’s painting led to the greatest resistance, as its radicalism seemed to threaten not only the foundations of German aesthetics but also the order of society. Nevertheless, despite the fact that some critics regarded his work as an apotheosis of ugliness and vulgarity, the jury honored it, and the young international artistic community in Munich celebrated the artist who arrived to receive his award in the local pubs for weeks. However, the realistic depiction of contemporary social problems, which Friedrich Pecht interpreted as the advance of plebeian spirit, only became common in German art much later, in the 1880s.13 At the 1869 exhibition, a young German painter appeared with his delicate portrait of Frau Gedon14 (fig. 47). The small-scale composition, a portrait of a bourgeois woman expecting a child, was too human amidst the enormous canvases that recorded world-historical moments, and signaled the revolutionary change that questioned the primacy of historical painting.

From the late 1860s, the resentment towards the Academy, which had faded after the victory of the Nazarenes, gained new impetus when Wilhelm Leibl (1844-1900)15 and his friends rejected all the overused methods that could be learned at the Academy. They even deviated from the academic practice in selecting their subjects, so that they could render the mythological and symbolic presence of nature as realistically as possible. In this regard, one of Leibl’s most famous works, Three Women in a Church (1881),16 the allegory of life stages, is similar to his French friend Courbet’s painting The Studio (1855).17 Carl Schuch (1846-1903), who was also a member of the Leibl circle and its most important theoretician,18 believed that „art is precisely not the Andrea Grösslein, Die internationalen Kunstausstellungen der Münchener Künstlergenossenschaft im Glaspalast in München von 1869 bis 1888. Miscellanea Bavarica Monacensia Stadtarchiv, Band 137, München, 1987. p. 29–68; Ágnes Kovács, “International Exhibitions and their Hungarian Participants in Munich” in München magyarul 2010, op. cit. p. 87–98.

14 Wilhelm Leibl: Porträt der Frau Gedon, 1869, oil on canvas, 119,5 × 95,7 cm. Munich, Neue Pinakothek, inv. no. 8708.

15 Wilhelm Leibl created the most significant German art movement that was opposed to the prevailing salon and genre painting of the time. He did not consider the subject of the painting to be important, but rather the manner of painting. In addition, he tried to paint the „emotional” relationship between nature, landscape, and people.

16 Wilhelm Leibl: Drei Frauen in der Kirche, 1881, oil on canvas, 113 × 77 cm. Hamburg, Kunsthalle, inv. no. HK-1534.

17 Gustave Courbet: L’Atelier du peintre, 1855, oil on canvas, 361 × 598 cm. Paris, musée d’Orsay, inv. no. RF 2257.

18 On his large canvases, he primarily experimented with various color effects in order to create „pure painting” (reine Malerei). See Eberhard Ruhmer, Der Leibl-Kreis und die reine Malerei (Rosenheim: Rosenheimer Verlagshaus, 1986).

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thing that can be done or learned after others. Everyone has to bring it out of themselves, and artistic instinct does this most of all. What the teacher can do is to liberate the qualities in the person, everything else is dilettantism.”19 And although Piloty, as a teacher, acted in this way, that is, he allowed his students to unfold according to their own talent, the historical painting he represented provoked resistance against the Academy under his leadership. Leibl was also consistent in rejecting the principle of teachability in art.

When he was invited to teach at the Academy, he declared, „I am not a professor and never will be, I have no students, everyone must see nature for themselves and learn painting.”20 Meanwhile, at the Munich Academy, preliminary drawing skills became mandatory, leading to a proliferation of private schools21 that prepared students for the academy entrance exam. Renowned painters also emerged in education outside of the academy, such as Simon Hollósy, who followed Leibl’s example not only in requiring a commitment to nature, but also in his opposition to the academy (fig. 48). In the Hollósy circle, naturalism did not necessarily entail strict social criticism as in contemporary literary works; rather, they aimed for an intimate relationship with nature. The French painter Jules Bastien-Lepage, whom the Hungarian artist considered a role model, also impressed Hollósy and his pupils more with his painting technique than with the subject matter of his works. For example, István Réti thoroughly analyzed Bastien-Lepage’s supposedly new naturalist painting, The Beggar (fig. 40), at the 1883 Munich exhibition. According to Réti, the Nagybánya school was perceived as a school of naturalism in terms of its educational practice. However, there was a duality in the implementation of the curriculum from the beginning, due to the fact that the students spent more time working in nature than in the studio. „The new field of studying nature and the model, forced by the constantly changing natural lighting, led even those

Eberhard Ruhmer, „Leibl als Vorbild” in Wilhelm Leibl zum 150. Geburtstag. eds. Götz Czymmek–Christian Lenz (München: Edition Braus, 1995). p. 159. The most recent publication on Leibl: Wilhelm Leibl: Gut sehen ist alles! eds. Marianne von Mannstein–Bernhard von Waldkirch (München: Hirmer Verlag, 2019). About the influence of Wilhelm Leibl’s painting on Hungarian art, we can read in Ilona Sármány-Parsons’ excellent study: „The role of Munich in the establishment of modern Hungarian painting perception and style” in München magyarul 2010. op. cit. p. 149–70. (151–54).

20 Leibl 1995, op. cit.

21 In Munich, the number of private art schools increased as the turn of the century approached.

The most famous was the studio of Slovenian Anton Ažbe, partly because Wassily Kandinsky was among his students. There were also the schools of Hungarian-born artists Henrik Knirr (1862–1944) and Simon Hollósy, but many less significant studios operated in the city, preparing students for the academy or the women’s school (Damenschule).

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who did not think about this artistic movement to the impressionist mode of vision and expression...”22 However, „technically, they were no better than other modern European painters. Pursuing the ever-changing visual reality, they could not afford to devote much attention to the technical preparation of painting, and they too did not undergo a slow, systematic development, which often came at the expense of the constancy of their paintings.”23 In Réti’s excellent book, we can read important observations about the relationship between academies and 19th-century free schools, from which it becomes clear that although the academies had fewer connections to „living” art, they tried to monetize the experiences of private schools, and this was also the case in Munich. The most significant artist of the Nagybánya school, Károly Ferenczy, or the „St. Mókus” as named by László Mednyánszky, did not attend the Munich Academy or Hollósy’s school. However, like Courbet, he could have claimed to have „swam” through the European painting tradition and, so to speak, independently became one of the most significant creators of Hungarian painting.24 Can art be taught? This question is as old as the academies themselves, which at least believed that the basics of visual representation and various drawing and technical techniques could be taught. But this alone does not make anyone an artist. Art history is unable to answer this question, since like all historical sciences, it is unable to perceive what is too close, although insight into all artistic activities would be necessary for understanding.

Therefore, artists have taken control of their own education for a long time.

The history of art education, which spans several hundred years, has become the subject of institutional research in recent decades, but the results of this research have no real impact on current art events, especially not on actual education.25 Finally, I would draw attention to a short essay written by the poet and art writer Arno Holz (1863–1929) in 1891, which is thought-provoking in two respects. One is about the possibility of the development of art, and the other is his assertion that Art = nature minus x, that is, matter. Therefore, he believes that art is developing towards being nature again, according to the degree of current reproduction conditions and their treatment.26 This essentially István Réti, A nagybányai művésztelep (Budapest: Vince Kiadó, 1994), p. 7–13.

Ibid. p. 52–53.

24 Ágnes Kovács, A Szent Mókus, a Dakszli és a Spiritusz Rektor. A Nagybányai iskola megalakulásának müncheni előzménye [„The Szent Mókus, Dakszli, and Spiritusz Rektor: The Munich Precedents of the Establishment of the Nagybánya School”], manuscript.

25 See Nicolaus Pevsner, Academies of Art, Past and Present (Cambridge: University Press, 1940).

26 Arno Holz, „The Essence and Laws of Art” 1891, in A naturalizmus 1967, op. cit. p. 199–246.

22 23

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romantic idea was also realized by the German Joseph Beuys (1921–1986), who also became an anti-academic, and whose thoughts on the harmony of nature and art reappear like a babbling brook in the works of today’s artists.

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FERENC TÓTH

Centres and Poles of Gravity International Naturalist Tendencies in Exhibitions in Budapest and Munich

The nineteenth century witnessed a spectacular artistic reform that brought about radical changes in the following century, yet there are still blank spots or established agreements to be reconsidered in evaluating the nature and course of this transformation. For instance, can we designate a single centre, Paris, as the cultural capital of Europe, the melting pot of talent, or was it necessary for the local representatives of the new tendencies to fight their own battles across the continent? How much and what kind of role did the French connection play in this? To nuance these interconnections, it may be instructive to examine what direct impressions the Hungarian art scene could gain from international exhibitions held in Budapest. Those who wished to keep abreast of European developments had to travel at least as far as Munich. Therefore, those who already studied or worked there – a significant number of Hungarian artists – were in a privileged position.1 Since the development of Hungarian art in the last two decades of the century cannot be separated from Munich, it is worth treating the two places together and comparing their opportunities for direct confrontation with European changes.

The emergence of new French art The Hungarian National Association of Fine Arts played a leading role in the domestic art scene as the sole provider of exhibition opportunities and the art market, and as the most important institution for state purchases and public collection acquisitions.2 In the first decade of its operation, its See München magyarul [Munich in Hungarian], ed. Orsolya Hessky (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Galéria, 2010).

2 For state purchases from exhibitions of the National Hungarian Association of Fine Arts,

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international exhibitions were dominated by representatives of landscape and genre painting from Vienna, Munich, and Düsseldorf, which had achieved success in European Kunstvereines, alongside invited idols of historical painting and their domestic followers. In 1877, the association’s new exhibition space, the building of the Műcsarnok (Kunsthalle) on Andrássy Avenue, was inaugurated. At the international exhibition held that winter following the opening, the public was introduced to representatives of the new French art, from romanticism to plein air painting, including many figures from the Barbizon school.3 The younger representatives of French plein air and realism did not exhibit in Budapest for a long time after that, and the international aspirations of French painting were limited to Munich for years.

The Munich Künstlergenossenschaft had already showcased the best of French painting. The public was given a historical overview of art from romanticism to the newest art of the time, including realism and plein air represented by the Barbizon painters, at the association’s first major international exhibition held at the Glaspalast in the year following its establishment in 1869. At the subsequent international exhibitions in 1879 and particularly in 1883, the representatives of naturalism also appeared.4 On this latter occasion, among nearly three hundred French paintings, we can find the most famous painters alongside the anonymous “small masters” who popularised the style: Jules Bastien-Lepage, Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret, Jean Béraud, Fernand Pelez, Victor Gilbert, and Jean-Eugène Buland.5 In the later Munich exhibitions, the naturalist trend characterised French participation.

However, Bastien-Lepage’s paintings, which were particularly popular among the young painters’ circle yearning for renewal in Central Europe, could only be seen here twice more, in 1888 and 1891, while Dagnan-Bouveret appeared at the Glaspalast in 1888.6 Although some other characteristic and well-known see Ferenc Tóth, Donátorok és képtárépítők. A Szépművészeti Múzeum modern külföldi gyűjteményének kialakulása [Donors and Gallery Builders. The formation of the Museum of Fine Arts’ modern foreign collection] (Budapest: Szépművészeti Múzeum, 2012).

3 Az Országos Magyar Képzőművészeti Társulat Műcsarnokának megnyitása alkalmával kiállított művek sorozata 1877-ik évi november hó 8-án [Series of works exhibited at the opening of the National Hungarian Association of Fine Arts’s Kunsthalle on 8 November] (Budapest: Műcsarnok, 1877).

4 For French naturalism, see Richard Thomson, Art of the Actual: Naturalism and Style in the Earls Third Republic France (1880–1900) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012).

5 Illustrirter Katalog der internationalen Kunstausstellung im Königl. Glaspalaste in München 1883 (München, 1883).

6 Illustrierter Katalog der III. internationalen Kunstausstellung (Münchener Jubiläumsausstellung) im Königl. Glaspalaste zu München 1883 (München, 1883); Illustrierter Katalog der Münchener Jahres-Ausstellung von Kunstwerken aller Nationen im kgl. Glaspalaste 1891 (München, 1891).

Dagnan-Bouveret exhibited once again in the century in Munich, at the First International CENTRES AND POLES OF GRAVITY / / 109

Parisian representatives of naturalism were presented (Jean-Charles Cazin, Alfred Roll, Julien Dupré, Marie Bashkirtscheff, Émile Friant), usually it was the typical salon painters who represented French painting (figs. 1., 4–6., 18–24).

After the establishment of the Verein bildender Künstler Münchens (Secession), naturalism continued to dominate the exhibitions organised from 1893 until the end of the decade, but the selection criteria of the organisers were more rigorously enforced. The leading figures of French representatives of the movement appeared with greater emphasis than their fellow associates, and alongside them, the new generation also emerged (Lucien Simon, Jacques-Émile Blanche, Charles Cottet, Jules-Alexis Muenier, Jules Adler) (fig.

49). Works by Édouard Manet and the impressionist group (Claude Monet, Alfred Sisley, Camille Pissarro) also occasionally appeared in the Glaspalast and Secession exhibition halls7 during the 1890s, but they could not be articulated as a group or artistic movement. Manet’s works were classified among the realists, while the others were classified among the plein air painters who were ontologically aligned with them. Edgar Degas, who had a close relationship with the impressionists, but whose artistic tools were more aligned with naturalism, was invited by the Secession in 1899, and Jean-François Raffaëlli was invited every year from 1893 to 1899.

However, the Association of Fine Arts in Budapest still failed to establish a relationship with the Parisian Association des Artistes Français that would allow the Budapest audience to meet other prominent French artists besides the official figures, which had to wait until the beginning of the next century.

Although Jules Breton, Alfred Roll, Raffaëlli, or Dagnan-Bouveret occasionally appeared with one of their works, it was not with the same regularity and variety as in Munich. In 1885, at the international exhibition of the Budapest Kunsthalle, some more interesting names appeared – Charles François Daubigny, Auguste Feyen-Perrin, Jules Lefebvre, Tony Robert-Fleury – but the names of the other artists are now unknown.8 Tamás Szana raved about their works: “Just like French literature, modern French art has hoisted the banner of truth as its motto, and even if they stubbornly resist, truth must ultimately triumph. French naturalist painters did not conquer rapidly, but the result of the fight against the old, so-called classical direction was that

Exhibition of the Secession in 1893. Offizieller Katalog der Internationalen Kunst-Ausstellung des Vereins bildender Künstler Münchens (A. V.) „Secession” 1893 (München, 1893).

7 The first exhibition building of the Secession was built on Prinzregentenstrasse in 1893, then they moved to Königsplatz in 1897.

8 See the catalogue prepared for the second part of the exhibition series consisting of three consecutive selections at the Kunsthalle, which opened on 10 June.

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painted lies lose their credibility more and more, and the audience increasingly finds greater pleasure in the products of the fine arts that consider the faithful and poetic reflection of nature as their task.”9 It is suspected that he made these remarks more about what he saw during his trips to Paris or his visits to international exhibitions in Munich. He categorised the lesser-known followers who visited Budapest in 1885 into the trend he encountered there.

The conclusion that can be drawn from his summary of what he experienced at various locations is: “The influence of French naturalists can now be felt in almost every cultured nation’s art; the Spanish and Italians have both learned a lot from them, not to mention the Belgians, who always swear by the words of the new French masters.”10

The rise of continental naturalism in the two cultural centres In the 1880s and the first half of the following decade, images that can now be classified as naturalists increasingly gained ground in the exhibitions of both artistic centres.11 Generally speaking, in Budapest, the success of the Viennese school (Friedrich von Amerling, Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller, Carl Rahl, Hans Canon, Rudolf von Alt), which relied on the precedents of Biedermeier, and in Munich, that of the German realist painters (Franz von Lenbach, Adolph Menzel, Wilhelm Leibl) made the audience more receptive to the works of the new generation belonging to the mainstream of naturalism. The pictorial concepts of the latter were closely related to those of the older generation, and for the contemporary visitor, the boundaries were just as difficult to draw as they are in today’s interpretations, but they can be discerned, although within uncertain conceptual frameworks. Through these, the audience began to recognise and also to accept the new visuality that was gaining ground everywhere abroad. Alongside the always-respected Austrian, German, or

Tamás Szana, “A Műcsarnokból” [From the Kunsthalle], Ország-Világ, 19 December 1885, p. 830.

Ibid.

11 Gabriel Weisberg’s book provided a starting point for interpreting the concept of naturalism and for evaluating artists who could be classified within the naturalist movement at the end of the nineteenth century. Gabriel P. Weisberg, Beyond Impressionism. The Naturalist Impulse in European Art 1870–1905 (New York: Harry N. Abrams Publishing, 1992). Other literature includes, among others: Tranches de vie. Le naturalisme en Europe 1875–1915, (Antwerpen: Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, 1996); Boris Röhrl, Kunsttheorie des Naturalismus und Realismus. Historische Entwicklung, Terminologie und Definitionen (Hildesheim–Zürich– New York [NY]: Georg Olms Verlag, 2003).

9

10

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French official figures, they increasingly became the new favourites of exhibition visitors and art critics, both in Munich and Budapest.

Corresponding to the general decentralisation observed in salons and galleries throughout Europe, the artists from geographic areas that had hitherto been less in the spotlight increasingly gained more space in both locations.

Tamás Szana’s observation regarding the spread of naturalism did not only apply to the 1885 exhibition in the Kunsthalle. The leadership of the Budapest Association of Fine Arts reached the decision at the turn of the 1870s and 1880s to end their dependency on shipments from the Viennese art association and art dealers and to take steps to broaden their institutional connections.12 Their primary partner was the Münchener Künstlergenossenschaft, but they also sought direct contact with other partner organisations and even with the selected artists themselves. As a result, the international horizon expanded in the exhibitions of the following years, mainly manifested in the significant increase and regular appearance of Belgian and Dutch artists who had also become sought after in other countries. In addition to Josef Israëls, Alfred Stevens, Jan Verhas, and representatives of the Hague School, the new generation, such as the Dutch Albert Neuhuys and the Belgian Émile Claus, Frans van Leemputten, Theodoor Verstraete, Franz Courtens, and Léon Abry also appeared. Italian artists (Pio Joris, Giacomo Favretto, Ettore Tito, Silvio Rotta) and Germans, including Hans Thoma, Wilhelm Trübner, Max Liebermann, Walter Firle, and Gotthard Kuehl, also exhibited regularly.13 The awards presented at the exhibitions in Munich14 and Budapest15 also testify to the triumph of European naturalism (figs. 50–53).

Ferenc Tóth, “The international exhibitions of the National Hungarian Association of Fine Arts,” in Az első aranykor, 2016, op. cit., p. 202.

13 A particularly strong selection was brought to the summer compilation of the exhibition series mentioned at the Kunsthalle 1885, when there were hardly any top artists among the French, but the Belgian and Dutch material was excellent. At the same time, the exhibition featured Paul Gabriël and Willem Bastiaan Tholen from The Hague; Jean-François Portaels, Alfred Stevens, and Jan Verhas, who belonged to the generation of realism in Belgium; as well as Émile Claus, Frans van Leemputten, Theodoor Verstraete and Léon Abry, who were considered the champions of Belgian naturalism; Xavier Mellery, who was still strongly associated with naturalism but later became a symbolist; Constantin Meunier, who introduced himself as a painter; and Wilhelm Trübner from Germany. Az Országos Magyar Képzőművészeti Társulat Műcsarnokában az 1885. junius hó 10-én megnyílt nemzetközi műkiállítás II. sorozatának tárgymutatója [The subject index of the second series of the international art exhibition at the Kunsthalle, organised by the National Hungarian Association of Fine Arts, which opened on June 10, 1885] (Budapest: Műcsarnok, 1885).

14 Offizieller Katalog der VIII. Internationalen Kunstausstellung im Kgl. Glaspalast zu München 1901 (München, 1901).

15 The recipients of the state grand gold medal awarded to foreigners at the international exhibitions held at the Kunsthalle of the National Hungarian Association of Fine Arts, considered 12

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As the new artistic developments of the era spread across Europe and the nature of change was characterised by the parallel directions of local reforms with the emergence of multiple local centres instead of centralised points, the role of the institutional network providing the operation of international exhibitions and the transportation of artworks became increasingly important, which mainly meant the cooperation of local art associations in different countries. Just as the Budapest Kunsthalle hosted a wide spectrum of artists from other parts of Europe, the participants of the Hungarian art scene could regularly present themselves in Munich – if not farther.16 Hungarian artists – most of whom were then living and creating in Munich as their way of life – repeatedly had the opportunity to exhibit at the Glaspalast, including Pál Szinyei Merse three times, István Csók, Károly Ferenczy and Béla Iványi-Grünwald four times each.17 In the case of three Hungarian artists, their participation was raised to a higher rank by the awarding of jury prizes.

Géza Mészöly was awarded the second prize in 1883, Frigyes Strobentz was also awarded the second prize in 1892, and István Csók was awarded the first prize in 1897. Károly Ferenczy also participated in the annual exhibition of the Secession in 1895, and his painting titled Ádám (fig. 54) was exhibited in the central dome hall along with works by the extremely popular portrait painter Hubert von Herkomer, Max Liebermann, one of the leading figures of German naturalism, and representatives of the Viennese secession of the turn of the century – Jugendstil – such as the Parisian Albert Besnard and Raphaël Collin, the Munich Julius Exter and Fritz Hass, or the Viennese Josef Auchenthaler.18 While there is relative consensus on the definition of naturalism as an artistic movement that aims for objective accuracy in the depiction of people and their environment, in order to understand the European influence of this phenomenon, it is worth taking a slight detour towards the landscape aspects

today as naturalists, between 1886 and 1903 were: Jan Verhas (1887), Silvio Rotta (1888), Hans Bartels (1892), Walter Firle (1893), Frans Courtens (1894), Albert Baertsoen (1898), Thomas Austen-Brown (1903), Carl Marr (1903), Lucien Simon (1903). Miklós Szmrecsányi, “Visszapillantás az Országos Magyar Képzőművészeti Társulat 50 éves múltjára” [Retrospective on the 50-year history of the Hungarian Association of Fine Arts], Művészet (1911): p. 99–156.

16 Ágnes Kovács, “Nemzetközi kiállítások Münchenben és magyar résztvevőik” [International exhibitions in Munich and their Hungarian participants], in München magyarul 2009, op. cit., p. 87–99.

17 Szinyei 1869, 1883, 1897; Ferenczy 1890, 1892, 1893, 1894; Csók 1891, 1892, 1893, 1897; IványiGrünwald 1892, 1893, 1894, 1898. The largest number of opportunities for Hungarian painters to introduce themselves at the Glaspalast was in 1883 (28) and 1892 (32).

18 Offizieller Katalog der Internationalen Kunst-Ausstellung des Vereins bildender Künstler Münchens (A. V.) „Secession” (München, 1895).

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of this relationship. The audiences of the two locations under discussion were able to directly experience the Barbizon school’s outdoor landscape depictions, sometimes with figures, but generally without any human presence.

The spread of this artistic method in later exhibitions was shaped by the plein air painters of the Hague School (such as Paul Gabriël, Hendrik Willem Mesdag, and Anton Mauve) and their Belgian contemporaries (Frans van Leemputten and Theodoor Verstraete) who shared similar ideas.19 However, the German painting tradition, which has always served as an example to aspiring Central European artists (such as Adolf Heinrich Lier, Josef and Ludwig Willroider, Hermann Baisch, and Joseph Wenglein), and the Austrian landscape painters who captured the plain air of the Szolnok region (such as August von Pettenkofen, Gualbert Raffalt, and Otto von Thoren) also played a prominent role. The works of the mentioned Antwerp artists place greater emphasis on human action and their relationship with the natural environment. Perhaps this is why we read about them in chapters on Belgian naturalism today, while others are less frequently listed as representatives of the movement in many textbooks, often without justification.20

Changes of the 1890s, the mutation of naturalism By the 1890s, the Münchener Künstlergenossenschaft had lost its monopoly position. The exhibitions organised by the Secession, founded in 1892, were mainly innovative in that they filtered out representatives of conservative academicism from among the participants, and instead gave ample space to the works of their members as well as domestic and foreign works representing all kinds of fresh ideas. (The Budapest National Salon, founded in 1894 with similar slogans, only organised international exhibitions from 1901

At the 1877 Winter Exhibition at the Budapest Kunsthalle, which he directly won, and based on the experience he later gained in Munich, domestic art criticism could rightly draw parallels between the Barbizon school and the newly fashionable naturalism. In the announcement of the Association of Fine Arts, the detailed report on the 1881 Autumn International Exhibition also highlights that “France, primarily, Belgium and Germany are at the forefront of modern art, and our adolescent art is behind them.” It draws attention to the artistic liberalism that derives from “the freshness of direct observation of nature”, which has been experienced in France lately, and the same spirit prevails in Brussels and Antwerp. H. K. [presumably Károly Horváth, Society Secretary], “The Autumn Exhibition,” Az Országos Magyar Képzőművészeti Társulat Közleményei [Communication of the National Hungarian Association of Fine Arts] (1882), p. 5.

20 For example, Richard Thomson calls Charles-François Daubigny, a member of the Barbizon group, one of the pioneers of naturalist landscape painting. Thomson 2012, op. cit., p. 285.

19

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onwards.) Unlike the official rival organisation’s exhibitions, the Secession did not separate works from different countries. Thus, the development of French painting was not shown as an independent unit but embedded in a European context. The emphases of the changes that took place in the 1890s only became articulated retrospectively.

Based on the experiences of the exhibitions, the shift in one direction took place on the borderline characterised by the saturation of nature with “soul” and “spirit”. A group of Central European followers of the plein air painting trend joined increasingly successful directions in technique with their nature depictions relying on similar but mood-based effects. In the 1950s, the term Stimmungsimpressionismus or Stimmungsrealismus spread to describe this circle (Emil Jakob Schindler, Tina Blau, Eugen Jettel, Robert Russ, Rudolf Ribarz, Carl Moll), whose paintings emphasised the magic of the landscape’s mood, studied the plein air techniques of the Barbizon and Hague Schools21 and showed no connection to the optical analysis-based ideas of impressionism except for the lightening and vivid purity of colours, which, however, had become a general tendency independently of the French artists by this time.

In terms of technical means, this phenomenon can be much more appropriately classified as part of naturalism (fig. 55).

The Stimmungsimpressionismus, or in a broader context, Stimmungsmalerei – as well as its translations – is used in the wider geographical context of international literature, and can be encountered in characterisations of turn-of-thecentury German, Hungarian, British, and Scandinavian painting.22 The name is telling: the adjective “mood” aptly illustrates the inherent possibility of naturalistic landscape representation to form the basis of the artistic renewal of the 1890s, preparing the way for the symbolist aim. Their popularity played a major role in making the Central European audience receptive to symbolist or similarly spiritualised nature concepts and prepared the way for the soon-to-be cult of Scandinavian landscape mysticism, facilitating the reception of works by Belgian Franz Courtens and Fernand Khnopff (fig. 56), the Glasgow Boys, or László Mednyánszky.23 21 “Hangulat” [Mood], Enigma 9, no. 34 (2002); Gerbert Frodl and Verena Traeger, Stimmungsimpressionismus, (Vienna: Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, 2004).

22 In her study, Csilla Markója also places the painting of László Mednyánszky into the category of “Stimmungsmalerei” and later designates him as one of the greatest masters of the movement.

Csilla Markója, “László Mednyánszky. Ein Genius der ungarischen Jahrhundertwende und die ungarische Stimmungsmalerei.” Acta Historiae Artium 45 (2004). Kirk Varnedoe, who played a key role in the rediscovery of Scandinavian painting at the end of the nineteenth century, identifies their naturalistic roots and distinctive character as “mood painting”. Kirk Varnedoe, Northern Light. Nordic Art at the Turn of the Century (London: Yale University Press, 1988).

23 Varnedoe 1988, op. cit., p. 13–37.

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Through the retrospective reconstruction of the exhibited works, the process that took place in all genres of painting becomes perceptible. The typical feature of naturalistic genre paintings – the detailed examination of human behaviour observed in everyday environments – was expanded with new possibilities of content expression by a group of painters in the 1890s. The new artistic ideology of the era, the spiritualisation of the directly depicted subject, and the unfolding of hidden contents often found their way using the widely accepted painting technique of naturalism. The rise of symbolism, with its at times mysticism-saturated movements, can also be attributed to the blurred boundaries, and the close stylistic connections rooted in naturalism.24 It is enough to consider some of Böcklin’s paintings that confront extreme situations and characters placed in a lifelike environment, or the meticulousness preserved in the details of Fernand Khnopff and Léon Frederic’s25 (figs.

38–39) more mature paintings following their naturalist origins. This is also why in the mid-1890s, a change in taste occurred in the exhibitions of the Kunsthalle, bringing success to symbolist painters.26 The material presented at the international exhibitions in Budapest and Munich confirms the initial assertion: it is worth re-examining the French influence and its impact on the development of European art. As a refinement of the deeply ingrained values in public consciousness, it is important to emphasise that the impressionist group’s exhibitions organised by art dealers and private galleries were only visited by a relatively small group in Paris until the end of the century. Due to the moderate response, few people saw the first presentations intended for the potential buyer circle – the new generation of art dealers and wealthy art collectors.27 From the perspective See Judit Szabadi, A magyar szecesszió művészete. Festészet, grafika, szobrászat [The Art of Hungarian Secession. Painting, Graphics, Sculpture] (Budapest: Corvina, 1979), p. 9–16.

25 Benjamin Foudral, “Du naturalisme au naturisme: mutations idéaliste et identitaire à travers l’œuvre du peintre belge Léon Frederic (1856–1940). The Nature of Naturalism: A TransHistorical Examination / La nature du naturalisme: un questionnement transhistorique,” Canadian Art Review 41, no. 2 (2016): p. 62–76.

26 In 1886, Arnold Böcklin was the first to receive the newly established state gold medal, and in 1888 he had a solo exhibition at the Kunsthalle. Franz von Stuck and the founding members of the Munich Secession were regular participants in international exhibitions from 1890 onwards. Walter Crane successfully presented 125 of his drawings and paintings in 1895, and in 1900 he had a solo exhibition at the Museum of Applied Arts, Budapest. In 1898, Alfons Mucha exhibited seventy watercolours and drawings at the Kunsthalle. In 1901, Giovanni Segantini participated in the Spring International Exhibition with a larger collection. Fernand Khnopff exhibited seven paintings in the spring exhibition in 1902, and his works were also well received on other occasions. The state regularly purchased works from these artists.

27 Oskar Bätschmann characterises the first three exhibitions of the Impressionist group as reflecting a kind of studio and home environment, deliberately targeting a specific group of potential buyers from a marketing perspective. Thus, the driving force was not to win over 24

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of the European audience, the circle that had direct contact with the group’s work seems negligible. The activity of the later generation, which played a cultic role with its radical innovations, also became known in Europe only from the first decade of the following century.28 However, representatives of other changes in France who exhibited continuously in Paris during the 1890s were known to many throughout Europe, even in easily accessible centres such as Munich.

What appears to future generations as a historically successive process of artistic movements was actually a complex interweaving of perceptible modifications and transitions alongside each other; in terms of developments, however, it seems that by breaking down the category of naturalism, we can understand the changes more easily. Naturalism as a typical artistic manifestation of the end of the nineteenth century cannot be avoided. Moreover, it seems justified to state that the main element of the progression of the 1890s is the continental spread of this painting style. Regarding the inspirations influencing the Central European art scene – but this holds true for a wider circle of European centres –, whose role is much more embedded than that of impressionism, about which the active participants of the art world in this period had hardly any concrete experience. Symbolism, a distinctive movement of this painting style, is layered on its stylistic elements, conveying mysteries through perceptibility and experience.29 The audience

the general public and critics, as it was at the Salon: “The intimate character of presenting the pictures showed visitors and potential buyers what the pictures would look like in their own homes, and the studio-like atmosphere made them forget the shock of the sketchiness of the paintings.” Oskar Bätschmann, Kiállító művészek. Kultusz és karrier a modern művészeti rendszerben [Exhibiting artists. Cult and career in the modern artistic system] (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2012), p. 164–65. Ilona Sármány expresses an even more radical view: “At this time, the impressionists primarily depicted scenes of carefree life, entertainment, and prosperity, with a bright and cheerful palette for a narrow but wealthy cultural elite.” Ilona SármányParsons, Bécs művészeti élete Ferenc József korában, ahogy Hevesi Lajos látta [Vienna’s artistic life in the age of Franz Joseph, as seen by Lajos Hevesi] (Budapest: Balassi Kiadó, 2019), p. 130.

28 Robert Jensen, Marketing Modernism in Fin-de-Siècle Europe (Princeton, 1994). The foreign contacts of the insular Parisian art market, which was based on the circulation of Impressionist works, were long represented only by overseas art dealers. The 1897 McKinley Tariff Act (Dingley Act) temporarily hindered these contacts and the American expansion of the impressionists by imposing severe regulations and taxes on the import of foreign goods into the United States, which also extended to works of art. With the temporary withdrawal of the Americans, the Parisian art dealers had to look for new opportunities and introduce the unknown works of the impressionists to Europe. Ferenc Tóth, “Párizs vonzásában. Tretyakov, Scsukin, Morozov” [The Allure of Paris. Tretyakov, Shchukin, Morozov.], Műértő, April 2010, p. 7.

29 Among the various stylistic and methodological components of symbolism, another distinctive direction is the subordination of the painterly means to the service of expression, while also achieving a sensory representation of the imagination’s world. Its representatives, mostly French and Belgian, rooted in romanticism and exemplified by Gustave Moreau’s CENTRES AND POLES OF GRAVITY / / 117

of Munich and – to a slightly narrower cross-section – Budapest could have received a relatively nuanced picture of the change that played a decisive role in the development of Central European art in the 1890s. How the continuation of Central European reform took shape and how it prepared for the avant-garde of the following decades is a different story.

With the transformation of the art historical orientation and the broadening of the spectrum of exhibitions over the past decades, the developments of nineteenth-century art and especially its last decade have been re-evaluated.30 The main lesson is that it is now difficult to maintain the belief that the radiation of the art of that era spread from a centre towards the periphery. In the European map of the 1890s, several centres were operating, and their attraction cannot be regarded as peripheral, but rather as international gathering places or “charging stations” from where information flowed further. The reformers of art had to adapt their own secessionism everywhere to local conditions and traditions.31 Paris served as a model in that it was the first to undergo a reform that provided an example. This example manifested itself primarily in education, in the progressive changes in art criticism, in the development of new forms of art trade, in the sometimes-mysterious world of private salons, and mainly in the general excitement, which provided the framework for everything. The reformist approach, which included the intention of radically changing the institutional system, gained ground

painting, achieve the eerie, mystical power of their works by intensifying the expressive power of colours and lines, the basic elements of painting.

30 Among others, cf. Kirk Varnedoe, Northern Light. Realism and Symbolism in Scandinavian Painting, 1880–1910, (New York: Brooklyn Museum, 1982); Robert Rosenblum and H. W. Janson, Art of the Nineteenth Century. Painting and Sculpture (London: Thames & Hudson, 1984); Michael Jacobs, The Good and Simple Life. Artist Colonies in Europe and America (Oxford: Phaidon, 1985); Maria Makela, The Munich Secession. Art and Artists in Turn-of-the-Century Munich (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990); 1900: Art at the Crossroads, Royal Academy of Arts, London–Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 2000; Robert Jensen, “Measuring Canons. Reflections on Innovation and the Nineteenth-century Canon of European Art,” in Anna Brzyski, ed., Partisan Canons. (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007), p. 27–54; Gabriel P. Weisberg, Illusions of reality. Naturalist painting, photography, theatre and cinema, 1875–1918, Van Gogh Museum–Ateneum Art Museum (Amsterdam: Mercatorfonds, 2010).

31 The beginnings of the reform movement in England can be traced back to the establishment of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in 1848, which later became widely popular throughout Europe with the Arts and Crafts movement. In Scandinavia, the new wave of painting started in the mid-1870s with the functioning of the Skagen Painters’ colony in Skagen, Denmark.

In Brussels, the internationally renowned Les XX artists’ group was founded in 1883, which continued its work under the name La Libre Esthétique from 1893. In the German-speaking territories, the organisations founded under the name Secession detached themselves from the official frameworks of exhibitions and patronage, in Munich in 1892, Vienna in 1897, and Berlin in 1898. In Hungary, the two key dates are the establishment of the Nagybánya Artists’ Colony in 1896 and the Gödöllő Artists’ Colony in 1901.

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in parallel in different centres. For the international circle of artists studying and working in Munich, London, Glasgow, the Aesthetic Movement, and The Studio magazine with its graphic appearance and artistic content became just as significant as Paris. The artists paid attention to events in Brussels and Antwerp, the performances combining all branches of art there,32 and their intellectual influence was felt everywhere in the new Scandinavian literature and art. What brought this cultural diversity together was the continental spread of universal forms of expression. If we designate these two characteristic forms as “naturalism” and “symbolism”, it is only a forced solution. It only serves as a conceptual reduction of the diversity of phenomena as a tool for communication, but it obscures the colourfulness and diversity of things.

Therefore, it is not important to clarify the meanings of concepts but rather to perceive and communicate the nuances and motivations they cover.

32 Michel Draguet, Le Symbolisme en Belgique, (Bruxelles: Musée royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, 2010), Decadence and Dark Dreams. Belgian Symbolism, (Berlin: Alte Nationalgalerie, 2020).

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KATARÍNA BEŇOVÁ

Dominik Skutezky: From Venice to the Copper Smelters Naturalism had many representatives in France, as well as in the Austro– Hungarian Monarchy. Among the most important artists related to the Upper Hungary region were, to mention a few, László Mednyánszky and Dominik Skutetzky (Skutecký). After Skutezky’s long stay in Vienna and Venice, in the first half of his career, his work was influenced by old Italian painting and, in the late nineteenth century, by his approach to capture light in a naturalistic (luministic)1 manner. In 1889, Skutezky moved to Banská Bystrica (Besztercebánya), where he discovered the copper smelters that operated in the neighbourhood of the city. This spectacular motif occupied his artistic imagination in his later years; the special light conditions at the smelter and the daily efforts of the workers there captured his imagination.

Skutezky’s work is currently presented in a permanent collection at the Skutezky villa in Banská Bystrica as a part of the Central Slovakian Gallery.2 The majority of the works are scattered in Slovak collections, such as the Slovak National Gallery, the Central Slovakian Gallery and various others.3 An important source of the artist’s destroyed estate is a dissertation (1939) and monograph (1954) by the art historian Vojtech Tilkovský,4 who had an opportunity to be in contact with Skutezky’s wife before World War II.5

Ján Abelovský–Katarína Bajcurová, eds., Výtvarná moderna Slovenska (Bratislava: Slovart, 1997).

Katarína Baraníková–Katarína Beňová, eds., Dominik Skutezky: Ars et Amor – Labor et Gloria (Banská Bystrica: Stredoslovenská galéria, 2014).

3 For the works held in Slovak public collections, see www.webumenia.sk.

4 Vojtech Tilkovský, Dominik Skutezky, doba, život a dielo, diss. Comenius University, Bratislava, 1939; Vojtech Tilkovský, Dominik Skutecký. Život a dielo (Bratislava: Tvar, 1954). For more to the personality of Tilkovský, see Katarína Beňová, “Historik Vojtech Tilkovský (1902–1978) a jeho pôsobenie na Univerzite Komenského,” in Ars 54, no. 1 (2021): p. 55–72. Older source: Tamás Szana, Magyar művészek (Budapest: Révai Testvérek, 1887), p. 129–44.

5 The villa was taken by Nazis and the members of the Skutezky and Karvaš families were 1

2

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Dominik Skutezky was born in 1849 in the village of Gajar (now Gajary, Bratislava county, Slovakia) as a Jewish boy and was supported by his relatives after his father died in 1859. His first name was Dávid, and the family called him by the nickname Menike (“the youngest”). Later, during his stay in Venice, he changed his name to Domenico (Döme). He spent most of his teen years in Vienna, where he began his studies at the Academy of Fine Arts in 1865, along with Karl Wunzinger (1818–1883), Eduard von Engerth (1818–1897), and Carl Blaas (1815–1894). Thanks to the financial support from the Jewish community and the letter of recommendation from Blaas, he was able to continue his studies from 1867 at the Accademia di Belle Arti in Venice, where he attended the class of historical painting of Professor Pompeo Molmenti.6 During 1868–1869 he was probably living in Florence, where he began painting a historical composition of Savonarola, which he finished a year after.7 During the 1870s, he tried to attend the class of Karl von Piloty at the Munich Academy, but without any success. He spent most of his time in Vienna, where he exhibited at the Wiener Künstlerhaus in 1876.8 As we know from Skutezky’s passport, he settled down in Venice in the same year, where, apart from a three-year stay in Vienna (1883–1886), he lived for almost fifteen years.

In Skutezky’s work, the initial historical compositions were exchanged for more vivid genre pictures in this period. Skutezky maintained good relations with his colleagues – for example, with painters such as Pietro Fragiacomo, Ettore Tito, Silvio Rotta, Luigi Nono, Adolf Böhm from Weimar, Ludwig von Langenmantel from Munich, as well as with August von Pettenkofen, Anselm Feuerbach, and from the Hungarians, with Sándor Bihari and Arpád Feszty.9 During his Venice years, from about 1876 to 1889, he elaborated popular genre motifs with a great sense for catchy storytelling and narrative scenes, in a style according to the local themes of the time and contemporary painting. During his stay in Venice, he was associated with several European art dealers, for example, Goupil and Co. from Paris,10 Olaf Wijk and Co. from

deported to near the village of Nemecká and killed there. Unfortunately, the artist’s entire estate held in the house was destroyed.

6 At the school year 1867–1868, he attended Scuola del Nudo e Pittura in Venice.

7 Dominik Skutezky, Arresting of Savonarola [Zatknutie Savonarolu], 1870, location unknown.

Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 20, 145, fot. 13.

8 Katalog der VII. Grossen Jahres-Ausstellung in Wien, 1876, Wien Genossenschaft der bildenden Künstler Wiens; Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 26. Skutezky exhibited in Vienna in 1875/1876, 1877, 1880, 1886, 1887, 1889, 1890, 1892, 1897, 1902.

9 Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 37. According to the memoirs of the artist’s wife, Skutezky supported Feszty financially at the beginning of his career. Later, their relationship deteriorated.

10 I thank Luca Dsupin for bringing this information to my attention. See her study in this volume, p. 140–50. Entry in Goupil Stock Book from 23 October 1879. Goupil DOMINIK SKUTEZKY: FROM VENICE TO THE COPPER SMELTERS / / 121

Gothenburg,11 and also with the French Gallery12 in London, represented by Thomas Wallis and his son Harry. Skutezky’s wife, Cecilia (neé Löwy), was his assistant for the financial and exhibition tasks, which allowed the artist to concentrate on his work.

In 1889, Skutezky decided to move to Banská Bystrica, a town with a long tradition in the mining industry. It was not least thanks to his wife Cecília, that they settled there because her family had good relations with the local Jewish community. They acquired a new house, in which they set up his studio; it is also this villa where a permanent collection of Skutezky’s work can be seen today, established by the Central Slovakian Gallery. Skutezky was also active as a private teacher not only to his daughter Karola but also to the local painter Jozef Murgaš, architects Adolf Holesch13 and Ladislav Hudec, also Elza Rechnitz, Miklós Bánovszky and others. His close friend was the artist Lipót Horovitz, whom he painted around 1909.14 Skutezky’s main works in Banská Bystrica were based on urban motifs or were commissioned by members of the local community. Besides these traditional themes, plein air landscapes, and the nearby copper smelter, which was a quite rarely depicted motif then, also appeared in his painting. From the late 1880s, he was trying to capture in his paintings various local social themes, but he also explored how to depict different lighting. From the late 1890s, he spent some time on the outskirts of the city, for example, at Špania Dolina, Tajov, or Staré Hory, where he painted outside (At the Summer Apartment, Špania Dolina; Evening at Staré Hory).15 In some of his more traditional canvases with figurative motifs, the background – the city park Stock Book 10, page 63, row 10, stock no. 13856, https://rosettaapp.getty.edu/delivery/ DeliveryManagerServlet?dps_pid=FL1682412.

11 Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 146, fot. 25.

12 Harry Wallis, son of Thomas Wallis (1837–1916) worked at the French Gallery (120 Pall Mall, London). From the Skutezky archive, published by Tilkovský, there are some paintings sold by this company: New Model [Nový Model], 1883 (Szana 1887, op. cit., p. 135), now at the collection of Russel-Cotes Art Gallery: https://russellcotes.com/collection-piece/the-new-model/; Devotion [Pobožnost], before 1884 (Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 41); To the Most Beautiful, Village Paris [Najkrajšej], 1885 (Szana 1887, op. cit., 135).

13 Adolf Holesch built the villa in 1896. Cf. Klára Kubičková, “Vlastná vila Dominika Skutezkého,” in Baraniková–Beňová 2014, op. cit., 32–35.

14 Dominik Skutecký, Portrait of Leopold Horovitz at work [Maliar Horovitz pri práci], ca. 1909– 1910, oil on canvas, 52.5 × 38.8 cm, Slovak National Gallery, Bratislava, inv. no. O 1612. See Jana Švantnerová (ed.), Leopold Horovitz 1838–1917. Stratený – nájdený (Kosice: Východoslovenské múzeum, 2017).

15 Dominik Skutecký, At the Summer Apartment, Špania Dolina [Na letnom byte. Špania Dolina], ca. 1895, oil on canvas, Central Slovakian Museum, Banská Bystrica, inv. no. Vu 2256; Evening at Staré Hory [Večer na Starých Horách], before 1898, oil on canvas, Central Slovakian Museum, Banská Bystrica, inv. no. Vu 2389.

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– is depicted with loose brushwork – as we can observe in Modern Odysseus.

Idyll from the Park in Banská Bystrica or the Alley.16 In 1903 he visited Istria, where he spent the summer and made some plein air paintings on the coast.17 Regarding naturalistic motifs in Skutezky’s oeuvre, the most important group of paintings are the ones made in the copper smelter near Banská Bystrica. The copper smelter was built as a part of the Thurzo-Fugger Copperworks and was a centre of scientific and technical development of the entire region for centuries.18 Skutezky painted his first picture of workers at the copper smelter in 1887 when the Skutezky family spent the summer in Banská Bystrica. When living in Venice, the artist visited the town during the summer and made a painting depicting the workers in the yard, which was exhibited in the same year at the exhibition of the National Hungarian Artists’ Association (Országos Magyar Képzőművészeti Társulat). (fig. 57) At the same exhibition, he showed a picture with typical Venetian motifs, and both works were published in the Vasárnapi Ujság on 27 November.19 The picture shows a few workers and the architecture of the smelter in detail, with the tools necessary for the work.

In 1890, after he had settled down in Banská Bystrica, Skutezky presented new works to the Budapest public and exhibited his famous work Market in Banská Bystrica (fig. 58) together with another painting of workers, which was later shown at the posthumous Skutezky exhibition in Prague in 1922.

The Czech art historian František Žákavec, who had seen the painting wrote in his critique: “Everything in this painting is a search for the subtle transition of tones, from the copper smelter in the background to the shimmering of the pots and metal pieces.”20 At the millennial exhibition in Budapest in 1896, Skutezky showed his

Dominik Skutecký, Modern Odysseus. Idyll from the Park in Banská Bystrica [Moderný Odyseus. Idyla v parku Banskej Bystrici], 1902, oil on canvas, Central Slovakian Gallery, Banská Bystrica, inv. no. O 37; Alley [Aleja], 1900, oil on canvas, Central Slovakian Gallery, Banská Bystrica, inv. no. O 1423.

17 Dominik Skutecký, Building the Fisher Boats. Capo d’Istria [Stavba rybárskych člnov], 1903, oil on canvas, 56 × 48 cm, Slovak National Gallery, inv. no. O 1542; Dockyard at Capo d’Istria [Lodenica v Capo d’Istria], 1903, oil on canvas, 48 × 65.8 cm, Slovak National Gallery, inv. no.

O 777; Fisherman at the Sea [Rybári na mori], ca. 1903, oil on plywood, 11 × 21 cm, Central Slovakian Gallery, inv. no. O 1104.

18 Vladimír Husák, Esej o medenom hámri. Dominik Skutecký, Ján Kekeli, ed. Zuzana L. Majlingová (Banská Bystrica: Villa Dominika Skutechého, 2022–2023).

19 Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 48, 171, cat. no. 67. Published: Vasárnapi Ujság XXXIV, no. 48 (27 November 1887): p. 793. (A Beszterczebányai rézhámorból).

20 Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., 48, 171. See František Žákavec, “Dominik Skutezky (1848 – 1921),” in Národní listy, no. 157 (11 June 1922): p. 4.

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painting Copper Smelter at Staré Hory (fig. 59).21 The painter chooses the view of looking out from the interior through the entrance of the studio to emphasise the contrast between the outside plein air situation – the walking woman with a child – and the light of the fire lit indoors.22 In contrast, in the picture Copper Smelter23 from 1897, he concentrates his attention fully on the fireplace and its radiance, which is reflected in the standing figures of the workers. There is a significant change in Skutezky’s work around 1900, a shift from studio work towards plein air after he had started working directly in the copper smelter. Of course, his studio, as a part of his family villa, continued to be the centre of his work. We know his method of creation not only from published documents and memoirs but also from his works, such as the subject of After Work,24 where the earlier sketch and the painting made around 1920 can be compared. The work is mentioned in a letter to the artist’s friend Emil Edgar, which is about thinking in series: “... I can tell you without any shame, that I am painting two repetitions, or as I hope, corrections of older motifs. You know both of them. The painting of a man carrying the cauldron was presented in Rome, but I am not satisfied with it, there is a lack of movement. … I am painting the same motif in a small format, in a very simplified environment, so that I can focus more on the figure in the centre and its movement.”25 From the 1890s onwards, Skutezky painted a series of works related to Banská Bystrica. He gradually detached himself from his Venetian way of painting and the depiction of light (as it can be observed in some of his landscapes) became his main interest. In particular the series of workers in the copper smelter stands out in the artist’s oeuvre, capturing in detail not only the reality of labour but also the form and organisation of work in industrial environment at the beginning of the twentieth century. Some paintings show the different phases of the working process, but there are also quite many showing lunch breaks and rest during the shifts. In some of them, the contrast between the extreme brightness from the fire spot and the dark parts of the workshop is also apparent (fig. 60).

Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 71. Probably the same as cat. no. 124, repr. p. 69.

Probably Dominik Skutezky, Copper Smelter in Staré Hory [Vnútro kovácskej dielne], ca.

1897, oil on canvas, 75 × 110 cm, Liptov Gallery of Peter Michal Bohúň, Liptovský Mikuláš, inv. no. O 298.

23 Dominik Skutezky, Copper Smelter [Medený hámor], 1897, oil on canvas, 28 × 21 cm, private collection.

24 Dominik Skutezky, After Work [Po práci], 1910–1913, charcoal on paper, 72 × 53 cm, Central Slovakian Gallery, Banská Bystrica, inv. no. K 361; After Work [Po práci], 1920, oil on canvas, 75 × 58 cm, Slovak National Gallery, Bratislava, inv. no. O 453.

25 Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 111, 149. Letter from 5 February 1911.

21

22

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Vojtech Tilkovský, Skutezky’s first monographer had an opportunity to meet some of the painter’s models before World War II, during his research at the Skutezky villa. Most of the photographs and documents were destroyed during the war. Painters usually gave a fee to their models for the hours they spent as “sitters” for them instead of working.26 Skutezky was spending many hours during a day at the copper smelter, he was familiar with the production and befriended some of the workers. There are numerous recollections in the monograph by Tilkovský, by workers for example, which illustrates the painter’s way of working: “Skutecky showed up in the copper smelter early in the morning, he was watching the workers, observing their habits and movements, doing sketches. After that, he chose the motif to be painted and asked the worker to stand in the composition and paid him a financial allowance for the hours he missed at work. Sometimes the model was standing for hours, but the workers were very enthusiastic and cooperative because they liked him and his paintings.”27 In one of Skutezky’s letters to his daughter Karola Skutezka, the painter expressed the following: “I am working on three paintings at the same time, one of them is Vozniak. He is working in the smelter daily from eight to half past one, I have almost completed two paintings, but for the third one I have to wait until the workshop gets more coal.”28 There were not many workers and they endured hard labour. They also brought their lunch with them, which they ate during a short break. These motifs also fascinated Skutezky, as it shows in the monograph by Tilkovský: “During the lunch break, they were smoking or talking, but mostly sat around the furnace in silence to rest their lungs, which were attacked day after day by the poisonous gases. In the winter, when the wind blew unpleasantly through the vents, it was best to sit close to the fire.”29 He made oil sketches and drawings, which he later elaborated on in his studio in the city. Skutezky rented a small space at the copper smelter, where he could store his canvases and other painting supplies.

The painter was also using photography, as a tool for planning his compositions, as we know from the research of Vojtech Tilkovský. Artists from the 1880s and 1890s were quite educated in photography, as there were many articles on how to use it and produce it. Painters used the tools of professional photographers more often. During this time, there were several active photographers in Banská Bystrica, such as József Gutkaiss and Ottó Tilkovský 1954, op. cit., p. 103.

Ibid.

28 Ibid., p. 104, 149.

29 Ibid., p. 102.

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Lechnitzky.30 There is one photograph preserved in Skutezky’s estate, which documents the artists sitting in the copper smelter on a small chair, observing the industrial environment. Skutezky spent a lot of time in copper smelters, making oil sketches, which he then completed in his studio. There are two paintings known from 1906: the Raftsmen at River Hron and WellDeserved Bread.31 By comparing the two, there is a similar diagonal line around which the composition is built, that is Skutezky’s traditional style of working. The elaboration of light and the nature of rafters shows the naturalistic side of his work. After 1910, some of his works became simplified, even compared to the impressionists, but Skutezky’s focus was never on colour, but rather on light.32 It was quite important to show these paintings to a broader audience and not only at the small exhibitions in Banská Bystrica. Skutezky exhibited his Venetian motifs or some of his similar genre paintings in Vienna, Prague, and especially in Budapest.33 The first painting depicting the motif of workers, as I have mentioned earlier, was exhibited in 1887. Then, with few exceptions, there was a gap regarding this theme until 1902, but after that, and especially from 1906, Skutezky was a regular artist at the Budapest Kunsthalle.34 In 1910 he presented his pictures of the copper smelter at the Venice Biennale, and in 1911 at the Galleria nazionale d’arte moderna in Rome.35 The interest in the special working environment that we can see in Skutezky’s paintings, was also common among other painters of his generation. In my opinion, Skutezky’s main inspiration was Adolph Menzel, not only in his innovative choice of themes but also in the depiction of light (for example, Knife-Grinder’s Workshop in Hofgastein, 188136); and was inspired Margit Szakács, Fényképészek és fényképésműtermek Magyarországon (1840–1945) (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum, 1997), p. 150–51.

31 Dominik Skutezky, Raftsmen at River Hron [Pltníci na rieke Hron], ca. 1906, oil on canvas, 90 × 140 cm, Zoya Gallery; Well-Deserved Bread (Brave Work) [Statočná práca], 1906, private collection. Published in Vasárnapi Ujság (18 November 1906): p. 1. Exhibited at the winter exhibition of Kunsthalle, 1906, cat. no. 451.

32 Dominik Skutezky, Silent [Ticho], ca. 1913, oil on canvas, 69 × 94 cm, Slovak National Gallery, Bratislava, inv. no. O 1139.

33 One important task of the research on Skutezky is to study the reflection on Skutezky’s work in the local press, which I am currently researching in Hungarian and Austrian publications.

34 Skutezky participation at the exhibitions of the Kunsthalle in Budapest: 1887, 1895, 1896, 1899, 1902, 1903, 1905, 1907, 1910–1916, 1917/1918. Around twenty-nine paintings depict the occurrences in the copper mill.

35 The painting After Work entered the collection of the Galleria nazionale d’arte moderna in Rome. Exhibited in 1911 at the international exhibition. Katarína Baraníková, “Ars et Amor – Labor et Gloria,” in Baraníková–Beňová 2014, op. cit., p. 8.

36 Adolph Menzel, Knife-Grinder’s Workshop in Hofgastein [Schleiferei in der Schmiede zu Hofgastein], 1881, oil on canvas, 31.4 × 41.5 cm. Hamburger Kunsthalle, inv. no. HK – 1272.

30

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especially by his earlier work, entitled Iron Rolling Mill from 1872–1875 (fig.

61).37 The man at work is at the centre of the composition, which reflects on modern industrial production, especially iron mining. At the same time, as a contrast to the labour, we can see at the corners of the composition the figures resting or eating lunch. Menzel, just like later Skutezky, depicted the workers without any pathos of modern heroes or social criticism, focusing instead on the uniqueness of light and atmosphere.

From the 1880s, the motif of labour was quite common among other painters in that period.38 One example is the series entitled Life History of a Locomotive by Menzel’s fellow painter, Paul Friedrich Meyerheim (1842– 1915), which was commissioned by the businessman Albert Borsig, owner of the Borsing Werke factory.39 The seven large compositions, painted on copper plates, were executed between 1873 and 1876 and were one of the major attractions at the Great Berlin Art Exhibition in 1912. Thomas Anshutz’s painting The Ironworker’s Noontime40 from 1880, which is similar to Skutezky’s resting motifs, is also worthy of mention. It was painted directly in situ and the inspiration for Anshutz was his experience from the factories in West Virginia. Labour as a theme became an important means of representation for the new bourgeois, the factory owners. The painting by Jean-André Rixens (1846–1925) entitled Steel-Rolling, Loading and Unloading of Ingots from 1887, the Grinders (1888) by Ferdinand-Joseph Gueldry (1858–1945), and the Steam Hammer (1889) by Joseph-Fortuné Layraud were all painted in the Le Creusot area.41 Such large industrial scenes were popular with

Adolph Menzel, Iron Rolling Mill [Eisenwalzwerk], 1872–1875, oil on canvas, 158 × 254 cm. Alte Nationalgalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, inv. no. A I 201. Malika Maskarinec, “Allegory and analogy in Menzel’s ‘The Iron Rolling Mill’,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 84 (2021): p. 58–77; T.J. Clark, “From Menzel to Burtynsky: Episodes from an Imagery of Capitalism,” in Malcolm Baker and Andrew Hemingway, (eds.), Art as Worldmaking. Critical Essays on Realism and Naturalism. (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2018), p. 198–210.

38 Gabriel P. Weisberg et al., Illusions of Reality. Naturalist Painting, Photography, Theatre and Cinema, 1875–1918 (Amsterdam: Van Gogh Museum, Helsinki: Ateneum Art Museum, Finnish National Gallery, Brussels: Mercatorfonds, 2010).

39 Some of the panels are now in the collection of the Märkisches Museum in Berlin-Mitte and the Deutsches Technikmuseum.

40 Thomas Anshutz, The Ironworker’s Noontime, 1880. Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco, inv. no. 1979.7.4.

41 Jean-André Rixens, Steel-Rolling, Loading and Unloading of Ingots [Laminage de l’acier, enfournement et défournement des lingots], 1887, oil on canvas, 259 × 359 cm (with frame), inv. no. d77.1.1; COa-dBap595; Ferdinand-Joseph Gueldry, The Grinders [Les Meuleurs], 1888, oil on canvas, 126 × 186 cm (with frame), inv. no. d77.1.2; CMP 637; Joseph-Fortuné Layraud, Steam Hammer [Marteau-pilon], 1889, oil on canvas, 151 × 254 cm (with frame), iv. no. 88.7.1, Communauté urbaine Creusot-Montceau, Ecomusée Creusot Montceau.

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French painters, and they were commissioned by industrial magnates from the region of Le Creusot.

Many artists emphasised the poor social conditions or the heroism of industrial production, but for Skutezky, capturing the light conditions at the copper smelter, and depicting the portraits of workers painted with different tools were the interesting aspects. What is quite interesting about these pictures is that the copper smelter in Banská Bystrica was situated in a beautiful landscape, it still remained an industrial environment. The artist’s brushwork loosened and he began to focus on motifs in the open air in these special environments. Between 1880 and 1910, Skutezky created an important series of works, opting for a subject that was recognisable and had a general appeal.

The themes were drawn from contemporary urban, or sometimes rural life, mostly from the simple work of mill workers. From the subjects taken on the spot he later elaborated on the pictures, which can partly be categorised as plein air painting. Thanks to oil sketches, motifs collected in the factory, and photographs, he finished his works in his studio. Skutezky reflected the pressing social issues of the era in the progressive style of naturalism.

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ZSUZSA FARKAS

The Effects of Photography on Visual Culture in the Period between 1880-1900 In my study, which concerns the complex interrelation between fine art and photography, I draw attention to three facts related to photographs: the popularisation of stereo photographs at the turn of the century enabled people to become familiar with the world’s cities and their inhabitants; the visual lexicon expanded the knowledge of the bourgeoisie while establishing anthropological patterns and canons; chromophotographs, that is, early picture postcards, brought monuments and life situations closer in colour, in a form that could be sent and hung on walls. These three important components led to the birth of cinema in 1895. Considering all of this, I searched for Hungarian photographs that represent all of this sufficiently. These visual creations raised the level of general culture. The bourgeoisie evaluated the newer artistic movements based on this knowledge. Fine artists possessed much broader knowledge, aided greatly by the visual imagery collected in academies. Through fine art photographs, model photographs, and “artistic” shots, visual culture was taught in academies, making the differentiation of the genre of photography easy to understand.

As an introduction, it is necessary to mention a few words about so-called naturalist photographs. The excellent photographer, Peter Henry Emerson (1856–1936), spoke out against the fashion of composite pictures, previously considered “artistic” and popular in England, in the 1880s. He rebelled against the trend dominating the walls of photography exhibition spaces, which consisted of pictures composed of multiple shots. He publicised, practised, and published his views in two books, directly influenced by French naturalist painting (he knew the works of Jules Bastien-Lepage), idealising the ordinary themes of peasant life and their “real” representation. In addition to two

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The Effects of Photography on Visual Culture

theoretical books,1 he also published albums2 with platinum-type pictorial supplements, based on the models of French naturalistic painting, depicting rural, simple, and natural lifestyles, both in the countryside and on water.

Referring to H. L. von Helmholtz’s (1821–1894) theory, he developed a way of representation in which the centre of photographs should be sharp, taking the optics of the eye into account, while the edges should be blurred. His attraction to naturalist art is evident in his representation of everyday rural life, which he presented in a distinctive, pictorialist style. In 1891, Emerson withdrew his views in an article titled The Death of Naturalistic Photography and developed a new concept, likely due to the influence of painter J. A. McNeill Whistler (1834–1903), as his previous views limited the artist’s uniqueness (fig. 62).

Those who practised artistic photography misunderstood Emerson’s writings, and instead of realistic depictions, they created images that only evoke reality with so-called noble techniques. The international photographic movement initially preferred the subject selection designated by Emerson, but everything became shrouded in mist and shadows while striving for complex tonalities. An international network emerged, in which poetic, artistic, naturalist, and impressionist descriptors meant the same as pictorialist photography up until the 1920s.3 In the 1860s, Henry Mayhew focused on London workers, John Thomson in the 1870s on street life in London, while in the 1880s, Emerson formulated his theory on the depiction of simple, everyday life,4 and the works of other Scottish and Irish photographers also helped popularise depictions of poor, mainly peasant labour. Due to the discourse surrounding them, they also acquired the rank of “artists”, and their influence was significant since their works and theories were published in books.

These processes can be discussed as fundamental parts of photographic history in a Central European context, but based on our current research, we see that the Hungarian bourgeois society primarily learned about the latest trends through Viennese movements. Emerson’s name was not mentioned in any Hungarian newspaper. As a result, so-called naturalistic photographs were not made in Hungary. In 1889, Fényképészeti Közlöny (Photography Photography: A Pictorial Art (1886) and Naturalistic Photography for Students of the Art (1889) that sparked great controversy. In 1886, Emerson published his picture Gathering Waterlilies, which was an example of his science-based theory of art.

2 Life and Landscape on the Norfolk Broads (1886), Pictures of East Anglian Life (1888).

3 Mary Warner Marien, A fotográfia nagykönvye [Great book of photography] (Budapest: Typotex, 2019), p. 188.

4 Henry Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor (London, 1851); John Thomson, Street Life in London (London, 1876–1877).

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Journal) complained that there were no photo collections and those interested could only encounter the “conceptional direction” of major photographers in shop windows.5 The initiative to open up to pictorialist images was started in 1893 by a wealthy aristocratic and bourgeois group calling themselves amateurs, and it rapidly spread among professional photographers as well.

By the early twentieth century, the general public could already see German modernist photographs at exhibitions in Budapest.6 As an introduction, it is also worth mentioning another approach that has recently gained prominence in connection with two significant exhibitions.

The exhibition held in Madrid in 20197 presented the works of excellent French impressionist painters and outstanding photographers of the era.

Alongside impressionist painters, they divided the photographs of Gustave Le Gray, Eugène Cuvelier, Henri Le Secq, Olympe Aguado, Charles Marville, and Félix Nadar into nine themes. The individual units examined the influence of the new visual culture through photography. They did not reveal direct connections, merely indicating the similarity of themes to compare works with a difference of twenty to thirty years.

The other exhibition opened in February 2022 at the Museum Barberini in Potsdam. Ulrich Pohlmann, a photo historian and curator, emphasised once again that photography is a new art form.8 His exhibition9 examined the interaction of images based on approximately 120 original works10 and showed the process through which photography became an independent art form. The phenomenon was documented and illustrated by more than forty photographers until World War I, including Edouard Baldus, Heinrich Beck, Alvin Langdon Coburn, Eugène Cuvelier, Robert Demachy, Heinrich Kühn, Gustave Le Gray, Henri Le Secq, Albert Londe, Charles Marville, Henri Rivière, Henry Peach Robinson, Edward Steichen, and Alfred Stieglitz. The comparison 5 A. Gortva, “Néhány szó a fényképészet széptani részéhez” [A few words on the aestherics of photography], Fényképészeti Közlöny no. II (1889): p. 41.

6 Péter Baki, A fotóművészet születése. A piktorializmustól a modern fotográfiáig (1889–1929) [The Birth of Photographic Art. From pictorialism to modern photography. (Budapest: Szépművészeti Múzeum, 2012); Emőke Tomsics, “Művészet-e a fotográfia? (A fotográfia művészetként való meghatározása Magyarországon a kezdetektől az 1930-as évekig)” [Is photography art? (The definition of photography as art in Hungary from the beginnings until the 1930s.)], in Zsolt Péter Barta, ed., Fotóművészeti konferencia [Conference on Photographic Art] (Budapest: Magyar Művészeti Akadémia, 2019), p. 11–35.

7

Impressionists and Photography (Madrid: Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, 2020).

Ulrich Pohlmann, Eine neue Kunst? Eine andere Natur! (Munich: Schirmer/Mosel, 2004).

Eine neue Kunst. Fotografie und Impressionismus (Potsdam: Museum Barberini, 2022).

10 Refers to two significant exhibitions: Les Paysages des impressionnistes (Paris: Musée d’Orsay, 1986), In the Forest of Fontainebleau. Painters and Photographers from Corot to Monet (Washington: National Gallery of Art, 2008).

8

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of the history of impressionist painting from 1874 to 1886 and the rising pictorialist photography from the turn of the century fit into the history of the medium’s embedding.

How did photography influence visual culture, culture, the knowledge of the world’s fine arts archives (old images), and the knowledge of changing, modern styles? The history of Central European photography in the last quarter of the nineteenth century is less studied because, on the one hand, it is obscured by the mass of tourist images and albums made with the spread of tourism, and on the other hand, today’s photographic literature does not take into account portraits made in studios, because photo historians prefer the amateur movement. With the spread of Kodak cameras, amateurs took snapshots that showed a much friendlier, more entertaining, and more common side of life. In many ways, these works are close to the spirit of impressionism.

We have little information about Hungarian artists’ personal feelings related to photographs, nor do we have sufficient information about how often they used photographs as a source. The main reason for this is that the circumstances of a work’s creation and the discovery of such sources did not interest analysts. “How it was made” is a question for today, as analysing the themes of images and researching their visual precedents have overshadowed the examination of cultural impacts, including changes in vision and perception.

I would like to draw attention to three general visual sources, which have a special technique: the photogravure can be approached from the perspective of special photomechanical processes, the stereo image can be explored through publishers’ archives, and the photochrom makes up about 4% of the large collection of postcard pictures.

Photomechanical reproduction processes (photogravures, heliogravure, heliography, photolithography, spitzertype, Woodburytype, autotype) determined this period from the perspective of knowledge acquisition. On the one hand, they are important because from the 1880s they made it possible to promote and familiarise artworks in large quantities, good quality, large size, and at a low cost. Thanks to the print artwork photographs, there was no longer any obstacle to the accelerated style change processes and the recognition of novelties on a European scale. In terms of the Hungarian perspective, this was greatly facilitated by the passion young Hungarian painters studying in Paris had for photographs. The books of Károly Divald and later Kornél Divald11 defined the knowledge of fine arts with their accompanying A képzőművészet remekei [The Masterpieces of Fine Arts]. Edited and published by Károly Divald, text by János Szendrei., 4 vols. (Budapest–Eperjes: Divald kiadása, 1882–1884); Zsolt

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supplements. Tamás Szana’s two-volume work titled Magyar művészek (Hungarian Artists) was published with photogravures (fig. 63).12 In addition to numerous reproductions, fifteen supplements were published in the first volume, and in the second volume – where the terms photogravure and photolithography are constantly interchanged – we can also admire Richard Paulussen’s and Ferenc Kozmata’s photogravures.13 These processes brought significant changes to science and book art, according to Emerson, as photogravure was more suitable for photographic work than the original print.14 In fine arts, the nature of topics and changes in depictions were also influenced by scenes in photographs. In one analysis of the Édouard Manet painting Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe, the contemporary influence was thought to be found in the stereophotographs, in addition to the analogy of earlier similar compositions among the sources.15 This view reinforces that we also treat stereo photographs as contemporary until the end of the century. Artists who composed historical scenes or genre themes used similar working methods due to their shared academic education. Every painter could study preparatory works (artwork photographs) and real, arranged model photographs, or they could take photographs of the models for their paintings themselves or hire professional masters. Many artists, from Eugène Delacroix to James Abbott McNeill Whistler,16 used, ordered, or took photographs themselves.

Therefore, we consider stereographs as contemporary sources that depicted simple, suggestive, often humorous, erotic, or even pornographic scenes from life. Stereographs were a very popular form of photography in the nineteenth century.17 The earliest stereoscopes, which had reflecting mirrors and refracting prisms, were invented by Sir Charles Wheatstone and constructed by R. Murray, an optician, in 1832. Wheatstone observed that if two pictures were

Beöthy ed.: A művészetek története a legrégibb időktől a XIX. század végéig I–III. [History of the arts from the earliest times to the end of the 19th century I–III] (Budapest: Lampel (Kornél Divald), 1906–1912).

12 Tamás Szana, Magyar művészek [Hungarian artists], 2 vols. (Budapest: Révai testvérek, 1887–1889).

13 Besides the sixteen appendixes, it was only twice indicated that they were based on Victor Angerer’s photographs.

14 Michel Frizot, ed., A New History of Photography (Paris: Könemann, 1994), p. 228.

15 Carl Chiesa, “Manet’s use of Photography in the Creation of a Drawing,” Master Drawings 7, no. 1 (Spring 1969): p. 38–45. Some analysts believe that Manet’s realism in depicting the posture of moving figures preceded the technical possibilities of photography. https://www. theguardian.com/artanddesign/2013/jan/12/manet-portraits-artist-photography-royal-academy.

16 Hiroko Suda, James Abbott McNeill Whistler: Photographs of His Paintings and the Art of Photography (New York: CUNY City College, 2008), p. 117.

17 Károly Kincses, Hogyan (ne) bánjunk (el) régi fényképeinkkel [How (not) to handle old photographs] (Kecskemét: Magyar Fotográfiai Múzeum, 2000), p. 116–20.

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drawn of something from slightly different angles, the brain would combine them into a three-dimensional view. Sir David Brewster further developed the stereoscope in 1849. To create a stereograph, two pictures were taken of the same subject, usually using two lenses, sic centimetres apart. The paired images were viewed through a lens-equipped viewer placed side by side.

By the end of the century, several million stereocards had been produced and sold in the United States. The stereoscope remained an important entertainment medium in civilian salons for decades, and even furniture was manufactured for storing the special-shaped images. The images ranged from portraits of well-known politicians and popular figures to comic genre scenes and spectacular landscapes.18 Several large archives existed, including the Underwood & Underwood company, founded by the Underwood brothers in Ottawa in 1882, which moved its headquarters to New York. In 1904, they established their own image agency. Their invention was a box resembling a book for publishing series showcasing different countries, with storage for a hundred images. Collectors could create multi-volume stereoscopic libraries with multilingual captions and detailed explanations on the back.19 The Budapest Agricultural Museum houses two hundred Underwood & Underwood stereographs from 1907 representing the world’s agriculture.20 In 1920, Underwood & Underwood ceased production and sold their images and rights to the Keystone View Company (fig. 64).21 Keystone View Company had series from all around the world, which were built around beautiful landscapes, unique structures, street and market scenes, and also featured peasants in peculiar situations, mainly while working (fig. 65). The Keystone View Company was founded by Benjamin L. Singley in 1892. It grew quickly and eventually became the world’s largest distributor of stereographs. Initially, Singley himself took the pictures, but later dozens of staff photographers worked for him. In the early 1900s, when stereograph sales began to decline and some companies went bankrupt, Keystone bought their works and incorporated them into their own archive, including the vast and diverse collection of Underwood & Underwood. As a result, the company reportedly had two million negatives by the mid-1930s. They continuously produced clean, sharp prints on initially brown cardboard, and later their During World War I, thousands of stereoscopic images depicted the war, and then the cinema stopped the interest in them.

19 William Welling, Photography in America. The Formative Years 1839–1900 (New York: Thomas Y Crowell Company, 1978).

20 I thank Éva Vörös, head of the Original Photo Collection at the Hungarian Agricultural Museum, for her assistance.

21 The republished images contained the prefix V for the original Underwood source.

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trademark dark grey cardstock.22 The company also printed informative texts on the back of the cards and promoted the concept of boxed sets renewed

by Underwood Brothers.23 Similarly important is Neue Photographische Gesellschaft, founded by Artur Schwartz in Berlin in 1894, which established numerous branch stores in major European cities. They purchased pictures from local photographers to distribute them.24 The Hungarian series of fifty-nine images was sold by Károly Pejtsik, a photographic equipment merchant in Budapest.25 These inexpensive, interesting, and high-quality images that flowed in boundless quantities from all over the world served as a sensitive source of interest for people of that era. Among them, one lesser-known group stands out, which fundamentally shaped this period, simply referred to as early picture postcards. The world of colourised cards made using the photochrome process brought about a huge shift in vision at the time, with a significant impact on the visual arts and even on culture as a whole. The colouring of black and white photographs with vivid and lifelike colours was invented in the 1880s by Hans Jakob Schmid (1856–1924), an employee of the Swiss company Orell Gessner Füssli. From the mid-1890s, other companies also used the process, including the Detroit Photography Company (producing seven million photochrome prints per year) and the London-based Photochrom Company. It was most popular in the 1890s when colour photography did not yet exist.26 After 1900, however, it went out of fashion, as a new visual revolution began with printed postcards, which in Hungary began to be dated from 1905.

Publishers produced several thousand photogravures, usually of cities and landscapes. In the process, a lithographic stone was coated with The educational aids had the greatest success, the Sztereoszkopikus Enciklopédia [Stereoscopic Encyclopedia] had ten editions between 1906 and 1923. After 1920, it was the only company that sold stereoscopic images.

23 To my great pleasure, I found material that is not known to the Ethnographic Museum, the Hungarian Agricultural Museum, and the Hungarian National Museum. The Hungarian creator of the images has not yet been identified, and the Hortobágy photograph cannot be found at the Déri Museum in Debrecen either. I thank Viola Anna Szabó for her help, who keeps a reproduction of a kneeling version of the figure wearing a cloak in the Photo Archive of the Déri Museum.

24 Katalin Bognár and Sándor Felvinczi, Térbe zárt pillanat – Epizódok a sztereófényképezés történetéből [Enclosed moment in space – Episodes from the history of stereoscopic photography] (Budapest: Helikon Publishing, 2006), p. 13.

25 Previously, opticians sold photographs in Pest, Stefano Calderoni in Váci Street in the 1860s, Hatsek in Dorottya Street in the 1870s. Vasárnapi Ujság, 27 January 1861, p. 48. (advertisement).

26 In 1898, the United States Congress passed the Private Mailing Card Act, which allowed private publishers to produce postcards. These could be mailed for one cent, while the letter postage rate was two cents.

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photosensitive emulsion and then exposed to sunlight with a negative for several hours. The emulsion then solidified with the tones of the negative, resulting in a fixed lithographic image. Photogravures are not photographs but actual prints made with 6–15 colours using a lithographic printing process. The photographer usually noted the colours of the image they had created. This served as a colour guide for the lithographic stone’s colourist and enabled painters to create accurate images. Each colour required a separate lithographic stone with an asphalt coating, typically at least six, often more than ten stones. The photographer’s preparation was essential to the quality, but the success of the colour print also depended on the skill of the craftspeople who created the image.

Photogravures could be printed as inexpensive postcards or produced as high-resolution prints in frames. This process allowed for the mass production of vibrant colour prints. These included various types of people from around the world, such as peasants who occasionally dressed up in festive attire for the cameras, or were depicted while working, with their simple clothing indicating their occupation. In the United States, the Detroit Photography Company obtained the rights to the technique and began colouring their collection of forty thousand negatives using the process.27 Today they are considered unique because the technique was relatively quickly replaced by autochrome processes, which produced colour results much more easily. Photogravures were not created for documentary purposes, but they are historical documents since they present a unique image of everyday life at the turn of the century. The photographers of the Detroit Photography Company travelled the country with developing wagons, capturing not only sunset landscapes but also everything they thought could be sold, such as everyday street scenes, indigenous people, modes of transportation, and picturesque landscapes.

The second part of my study reflects on Gabriel Weisberg’s seminal work,28 whose second chapter deals with the impact of photography on naturalist paintings. Among the characteristics, spontaneity is highlighted: this concept became accepted as a result of the vision within the amateur photography movement. Impressionists and primarily photographers belonging to their Levente Hernádi, “Az első előtti színes fotók a századfordulós Amerikából” [The first pre-colour photos from turn-of-the-century America], Index blogs., 7 May 2014, https://index.hu/ nagykep/2014/05/07/amerika_szinesben/.

28 Gabriel P. Weisberg, Beyond Impressionism. The Naturalist Impulse in European Art 1870–1905 (New York: Harry N. Abrams Publishing, 1992). p. 303. The Hungarian section, written with the help of Júlia Szabó, includes the following artists: Simon Hollósy, István Csók, Károly Ferenczy, Béla Iványi Grünwald, László Pataki, Sándor Bihari, János Thorma.

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circle dealt with the illusion of spontaneity. This problem is not reflected in the images of fine naturalism, as they were created without movement, based on arranged, sustained, and settings requiring preparations. They mostly functioned as theatrical action scenes, built on gestures that match those historical scenes where models dressed in costumes of previous ages, acting as characters in imagined scenes set up in the studio. Naturalist painters mostly featured poor rural people in outdoor spaces. They generally used peasants of different nationalities living around them as models. Simple, everyday scenes, some of which are poignant and filled with emotions, make up some of the works. The works of naturalist painters show a kinship with those photographs that depict a staged reality, portraying scenes of everyday life.

Another observation made by Gabriel Weisberg is that naturalist images were popular and easily marketed because of their comprehensibility. This is important because attention can be directed towards the photographed sources through the accurate exploration of the painting subjects. We often see the tragic life events or difficult labour of the poor in the paintings.

The dramatic stories of rural people could arouse the interest and even sympathy of the wealthier citizens, but most of the pictures were not intended for the bourgeois salons because it was uncomfortable to look at them and live with them. When it comes to pictures dealing with mourning beside a cradle and with funerals, it was also obvious that the aim was to evoke general human empathy, and in this way, the painters could demonstrate their general humanitarian side at exhibitions.

In 1889, László Pataky exhibited his work titled In Front of the Church (Templom előtt, fig. 66.) at the Kunsthalle, about which the press wrote, “It would be a great digression to ponder over whether the poet or the figurative artist follows realism to what extent, how much is concealed, whether everything, as it is, can be the subject of poetry and painting, or whether it should be polished and refined for the higher goal and ideal of artistic effect?”29 In 1894, Pataky presented another excellent picture, which was praised, but it was quickly added that his picture showed what potato harvesting was like in France because the artist had lived there for a long time.30 A strict critic who criticised Mihály Munkácsy’s picture Ecce Homo wrote in 1896, “... the naturalist painter must work like a camera, and if he

29 “The fidelity with which they paint is honest in its severity. Their desolation, their poverty, depicted thus, makes them seem repellent. This sad group is so worn out that neither the face nor the clothes can offer any relieving colours to a painting. Everything is grey, the desolation of barrenness.” Vasárnapi Ujság, 24 November 1889, p. 765.

30 Vasárnapi Ujság, 9 December 1894, p. 820.

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should not change the object of his work voluntarily from an aesthetic point of view, he is even less excusable for accidental, erroneous changes.”31 In 1897, László Pataky exhibited his picture entitled Interrogation (Vallatás, Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery) at the Kunsthalle, which was determined to be “a rural drama, presented with impact and meaning, powerfully painted, with speaking characters and good colours”.32 These remarks reflect well the limits within which each artist had to operate for their pictures to reach the walls.

Similarly to Weisberg, I believe that it is difficult to define the impact of photographs on paintings, as it is a very complex process. Painters could use contemporary sources to improve their vision and expand their knowledge.

Despite the diversity of artistic directions, there is no difference in recognising the value of photography. Random photographic materials remained in the legacy of the painters, which only allow for conclusions on a basic level of interest. The absence of photographs in today’s art legacies raises the question of what this might mean.33 The lack of photographs is not necessarily explained by the fact that the artists did not know, collect, or use them, perhaps they simply did not survive, or in fortunate cases, they still exist somewhere.

In conclusion, it can be stated that the mentioned subject matters in painting led to the beginnings of ethnographic photography. The photos of Tivadar Glatz from Nagyszeben (today Sibiu, Romania) in the 1860s and the Borsos–Doctor–Varságh company’s photos from Békéscsaba in the 1870s are already well known. An exhibition of the work of Antal Pribék, a master from Székesfehérvár, is expected at the Székesfehérvár Museum in the coming years. The recording of the nationalities of the Hungarian Crown gradually took place in some studios, but outdoor photography began later. The pictures of Gypsies, Ruthenians, and Bukovina Székelys were featured in Vasárnapi Ujság weekly until 1885. At the National General Industrial Exhibition held in 1885 in Budapest City Park, the fifteen ethnographic rooms and the photographs taken there were linked to the old tradition. Ferenc Kozmata captured the exhibition rooms, which were also published as engravings in Vasárnapi Ujság. The 1880s and 1890s are determined by significant source material, but from our perspective, it has not been sufficiently explored yet.

The engravings in the publication Az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchia írásban és képben (The Austro–Hungarian Monarchy in Words and Pictures), initiated

by Prince Rudolf, can already be included in the new thematic revolution. z., “Ecce Homo,” Építészeti Szemle V, no. 12 (1896): p. 267–69.

“A Műcsarnokból” [From the Kunsthalle], Vasárnapi Ujság, 25 April 1897, p. 265–66.

33 Thank you to András Zwickl for presenting this question.

31

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At the beginning of the enterprise, the possibility of multiplying photographs by photomechanical means appeared, but direct printing of photographs would have been a more expensive method. Illustrated magazines, keeping up with the development, transformed. Publications focusing on images had to choose the photomechanical path to remain competitive.

Woodcutting, as a simplified printing option, seemed outdated because it had only a limited impact on the audience accustomed to photographic appearances.

During an exhibition held in 2011 at the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek in Vienna, it was determined that the engraving radiated static force in contrast to the “imperfect” photograph.34 The library also houses the yet-to-beprocessed source material.35 The exhibition showcased photographs used as preliminary studies for the Austrian and Bukovinian chapters:36 depicting people in their natural environments, standing in front of their houses, dancing, as well as horsemen and Gypsies.

In 1894, Bertalan Vágó, the chief railway officer of the Hungarian State Railways, was commissioned to take photographs along the domestic railway lines for the millennial exhibition. Although the resulting images had many viewers at the train stations in Budapest, the photographer complained of difficulties he faced in many places due to peasants still harbouring a distrust of photographic apparatus. Vágó believed that he could only compensate for the shortcomings of his ethnographic collection with the support of rural intellectuals.37 His well-known album, Máramaros szigeti-körösmező határszéli vasút (The Borderlands Railway of Máramaros Island-Körösmező), contains ninety-nine railway construction photos taken between 1892 and 1895.

He also created a series of photographs of business premises in Budapest.38 However, his life and relevant images remain unprocessed.39 Returning to the problem of pictorialism: the Viennese amateur CameraClub held the first photography exhibition in 1888 featuring the aristocratic members’ photographs, with the legendary Alfred Stieglitz also participating.

For the club’s next exhibition in 1891, six hundred images were selected

34 Hans Petschar, Altösterreich. Menschen, Länder und Völker in der Habsburgermonarchie, (Vienna: Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, 2001), p. 16.

35 Hans Pauer, ed., Länder und Menschen vor der Jahrhundertwende, (Vienna: Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, 1969).

36 Petschar 2011, op. cit., p.164–65, 178–79, 224–25.

37 Vasárnapi Ujság, 12 August 1894, p. 533.

Margit Szakács, “Pesti üzletek a századfordulón” [Shops in Budapest at the turn of the century], Folia Archeologica XVII (1965): p. 271–84.

39 Some of the recently surfaced pictures have a stamp on them with a name and a location.

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from four thousand. As a result of the society’s influence, similar groups formed in the empire’s cities, including Graz, Salzburg, Innsbruck, Linz, and then Ljubljana, Prague, Lviv, and Budapest in the German-speaking regions.

The Viennese Camera-Club’s influence was also aided by publications such as Wiener Photographische Blätter and Photographische Rundschau between 1894 and 1898.40 In 1890, the first exhibition in Budapest featuring amateur photographers was held,41 with thirty-four participants, including Loránd Eötvös.42 The pictures published in Vasárnapi Ujság, which were selected by the leading aristocrats and scientists, demonstrated a significant improvement in quality.43 This research relied on pictorial magazines, the collection of the Museum of Ethnography, and the estates of artists. Among the Hungarian works, I will only mention Mihály Munkácsy’s known relationship with photographs, as well as the processing of Gyula Benczúr’s pictorial legacy, which is still awaited. The excellent photographs taken by Gyula Aggházy in the vicinity of Szolnok (fig. 68) and the outstanding horse and sheep photographs preserved in Béla Pállik’s legacy also deserve attention, which were taken by the artists themselves (fig. 69). In addition to the oil sketches made by János Tornyai for his painting entitled Heritage, his photographic arrangements are also intriguing, which were taken for him by József Plohn, a master from Hódmezővásárhely.44 A significant photograph is also related to Sándor Bihari’s painting entitled Crossing the Tisza. Another noteworthy collection with a different approach is the photographic collection acquired by Sándor Nagy during his student years in Paris between 1892 and 1900, which includes both art object photographs and Parisian street scenes and is now preserved at the City Museum of Gödöllő. The mentioned painters do not belong to the naturalist painters according to current definitions, therefore, we only mention the facts and hope that they will serve further research in other contexts.

Monika Faber, ed., Liebhaberei der Millionäre. Der Wiener Camera-Club um 1900, Geschichte der Fotografie in Österreich, vol. 18. (Salzburg–Wien: Fotohof Edition, 2019), p. 144.

41 Műkedvelő Fényképészek kiállítása [Exhibition of Amateur Photographers], Budapest, 1890; A Fényképészek Köre kiállítása [Exhibition of the Circle of Photographers], Budapest, 1896; A Fényképészek Köre II. kiállítása [Second Exhibition of the Circle of Photographers], Budapest, 1898.

42 Tárgymutató a Magyarországi Kárpát-Egyesület Budapesti osztályának az Országos Képzőművészeti Társulat Műcsarnokában 1890-ben rendezett Műkedvelő-fotográfiai kiállításához [Subject Index to the Exhibition of Amateur Photography organised by the Budapest branch of the Hungarian Carpathian Association at the Art Hall of the National Fine Arts Association in 1890] (Budapest: Pesti Lloyd-Társulat Könyvnyomdája, 1890).

43 Vasárnapi Ujság, 20 April 1890, p. 262; 11 May 1890, p. 300–1; 25 May 1890, p. 339–40.

44 For more information, see: Károly Tóth, A hódmezővásárhelyi művészcsoport 1900–1914 [The Hódmezővásárhely artistic group 1900–1914] (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2015), p. 150–53, 264–70.

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At the end of the nineteenth century, there was a period of “ism-rage”45 in the fine arts. In 1898, Kornél Divald visited exhibitions in Paris, where he saw eccentrics and artists suffering from artistic madness. He considered the works of Joseph Laferriére, Édouard Manet, Edmund Eugène Valton, Edvard Munch, and the postimpressionists to be frenzied expressions.46 However, the culture of visual perception was most significantly influenced by Edison’s invention of the kinetoscope in April 1894,47 and then by the kinematograph invented in 1895. The latter was an improved version of Edison’s machine, and the Lumière brothers’ device was capable of both capturing and projecting moving images at the same time. Their 49-second work titled Arrival of a Train, which frightened the first viewers, illustrates that from this point on, the role of images was enriched with perceptual realism.

Viharos- [Ödön Gerő]), “Az izmus-düh” [The ism-rage], Magyar Géniusz, 23 February 1896, p. 138–39.

46 Kornél Divald, “A művészi Páris. XIX. századvégi festőművészet” [Artistic Paris. Late 19th-century painting], Magyar Szemle 14, no. 1 (1898): p. 158–59.

47 Thomas Edison’s kinetoscope played back the images captured by the camera at the same speed as the recording. In April 1894, he set up ten devices on Broadway, and within two years, they conquered the whole world. The only cabinet that a viewer could use would play a 10–15metre filmstrip after inserting a coin, which had to be viewed by leaning over it. The one-minute attractions of the Edison company toured all of Europe after America, and also reached Budapest.

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LUCA ANNA DSUPIN

Goupil and his Clients: Delaroche, Gérôme, Breton, and Munkácsy On 20 May 1870, the jury of the Paris Salon awarded the painting The Condemned Cell (Siralomház, fig. 70) by Mihály Munkácsy (1844– 1900) a gold medal,1 which enabled the twenty-six-year-old painter, who had left the painting schools in Vienna and later in Düsseldorf, to gain international popularity in one fell swoop. To maintain his success and professional development, Munkácsy soon moved his studio to Paris. It was during the first decade of his stay in France that he created his perhaps most iconic Hungarian-themed works, in collaboration with Parisian art dealer Adolphe Goupil (1806–1893). Their relationship began thanks to the Salon, as the dealer visited the artist in his Düsseldorf studio a few days before the award ceremony: he commissioned paintings from him and also claimed reproduction rights to his works (fig. 71).

In my research on Munkácsy’s artistic career, specifically his “Goupil period” between 1870 and 1878, I have examined his professional relationships to gain insight into the artistic and organisational activities of the 1870s. By including the works of other artists who were also distributed by Goupil in my research, I am able to shed light on the influence of patron demand on artistic creation. This includes considerations of the selection of subject matter as well as the printmaking techniques used, such as photography which was invented in the nineteenth century. The interplay between the patron, available techniques, and the works themselves constantly influenced each other, ultimately shaping the aesthetic trends of the era. Despite appearing to represent a conservative direction, the paintings of these artists contributed to the birth of modernism. The research on this period has gone beyond this decade to provide a more comprehensive understanding

1

The jury awarded 40 gold medals out of 5,434 exhibited works.

/ / 142

of Munkácsy’s art. Seen as case studies, the career trajectories of the artists discussed in this study, their relationships with the art market, and the connections to reproductions and photography, can provide a foundation for a more precise understanding of the naturalist movement that emerged in the following decade.

The Goupil Company The enterprise was founded in 1829 in Paris by Adolphe Goupil (1806–1893) and his printing colleague Henry Rittner (1802–1840), and their first branch opened on 19 boulevard Montmartre in the same year.2 The publisher, initially specialising in the production and sale of reproductions, used traditional intaglio printing techniques. From the 1830s, they reproduced works of old masters such as Raphael, Michelangelo, Titian, Veronese, Rembrandt, and Murillo3 and from the 1840s, they also reproduced contemporary painters’ works. The publisher began art dealing and the sale of original drawings and paintings from 1846, expanding their reproduction offerings with works by artists such as Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Paul Delaroche, Ary Scheffer, Horace Vernet, Gérôme, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Franz Xaver Winterhalter, Ernest Meissonier, and Alexandre Cabanel. They often purchased the paintings they intended to reproduce from the artists.4 From 1860, Goupil also provided studio and housing opportunities for contracted artists in the company’s newly built, multi-story Parisian headquarters at 9 rue Chaptal,5 which at least 117 artists visited.6 As the technology of the reproduction process developed, the company

2 For more information on the company’s history in Hungarian, see Luca Dsupin, Munkácsy Mihály és a Goupil cég [Mihály Munkácsy and the Goupil company], MA thesis, PPKE–BTK, 2018, p. 5–31.

3 The works made using traditional graphic techniques were created by the most excellent engravers of the era for Goupil, including Louis-Pierre Henriquel-Dupont, Luigi Calamatta, Jean Pierre Marie Jazet, Jules François, Eugène Cottin, Amédéé and Eugène Varin, Paolo Mercuri, and Charles Albert Waltner.

4 For example: “[Jazet] based on Horace Vernet’s paintings, the company purchases the painting from which the reproduction is made. This is the origin of this gallery ...”. Philippe Burty, “L’hôtel des ventes et le commerce des tableaux,” in Paris Guide, par les principaux écrivains et artistes de la France, vol. 2 (Paris: Librairie Internationale, 1867), p. 961.

5 Agnès Penot, The Goupil & Cie Stock Books: A Lesson on Gaining Prosperity through Networking (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2010), p. 2.

6 Geraldine David, Christian Huemer, and Kim Oosterlinck, Art Dealers Strategy. The case of Goupil, Boussod & Valadon from 1860 to 1914 (London: Centre for Economic Policy Research, 2014), p. 4.

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shifted to more modern, advanced techniques. From 1853, the daguerreotype, a photographic process invented in 1839, became the leading reproduction process at Goupil’s. In 1867, the company purchased the rights to use the recently invented Woodburytype7 process.8 From the 1870s, they began using the company’s developed photogravure technique.9 From 1858, La Galerie Photographique albums were released,10 followed by the Le Musée Goupil series from 1860, which contained framed photos suitable for decoration.

Reproductions made it possible for all sections of society to access works that had previously only been seen in their original form. People could purchase them, take them home, and study them there. Émile Zola wrote in a slightly mocking tone about Jean-Léon Gérôme, one of Goupil’s most popular and reproduced painters: “There is no rural living room without The Duel After the Masquerade or a Louis XIV and Moliere print hanging on the wall. While bachelors’ apartments will most likely be decorated with The Dance of the Almeh and Phryne before the Areopagus – piquant scenes about men’s pleasures. Among the more serious topics that appeal to the people, Ave Ceasar or The Death of Ceasar are the most popular. As we can see, Monsieur Gérôme satisfies every taste.”11 The changing role of the Paris Salon can be seen as one of the reasons for the success of Goupil. The Salon, which was held annually or biennially, was once the largest event in the European art world, showcasing the latest works of contemporary artists. However, from the mid-nineteenth century, the significance of the Salon as an institution gradually declined,12 and it was Photomechanical reproduction process patented by Walter Bentley Woodbury in 1864.

The industrial-scale reproduction of artworks is indicated by the fact that in 1869, the company opened a separate plant in Asnières for producing prints.

9 However, the production process was kept secret, leaving behind competitors such as Braun, Lemercier, or Dujardin photographic firms. For more information about them, see John Hannavy, Encyclopedia of 19th Century Photography (London: Routledge, 2007).

10 In 1904, the last edition of the series contained about 1800 sheets. Robert Verhoogt, Art in Reproduction: Nineteenth-Century Prints after Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Jozef Israëls and Ary Scheffer (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2007), p. 313.

11 Pierre-Lin Renié, “Gérôme ou l’oeuvre à l’épreuve de la reproduction industrielle,” in JeanLéon Gêrome (1824–1904). L’Histoire en spectacle, ed. Laurence des Cars, Dominique de FontRéaulx, and Édouard Papet, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 2010; Musée d’Orsay, Paris, 2010–2011; Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid, 2011 (Paris: ESFP, 2010), p. 175. For the original, see Émile Zola “Nos peintres au Champs de Mars, 1867,” in Ibid., Écrits sur l’art (Paris: Gallimard, 1991), p. 184.

12 The reason for this was partly that the artists competing for the Salon saw the jury’s awards as politically biased (which they voiced their opinion about, hence from 1868 they were given a two-thirds voting right in the judging of Salon awards, and from 1870 the artists themselves elected the members of the jury). On the other hand, from 1880, nearly seven thousand works were selected, which was unacceptable for visitors, so the Salon was removed from the jurisdiction of the Académie and the organisation was completely handed over to the artists.

7

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replaced by galleries and art dealers who were quicker to respond to the changing tastes and demands of the time. Nevertheless, these galleries and dealers still relied on the Salon as a kind of filter, using its taste as a basis for their business. Their choices influenced the tastes of both European and American art collectors, and thus they played a role in shaping taste.

The relationship between Salon painting and modernism has been discussed for the past thirty years.13 The literature on this topic often examines the permeability between the Salon and the art world outside it, focusing on what styles were considered outdated and what were considered progressive.

The crisis that the Salon faced in the 1870s marked the upheaval of centuries-old academic traditions, as the art world was no longer primarily shaped by the paintings shown in official exhibitions, but rather by the innovations of Courbet or the shift towards impressionism. The events of the past were portrayed on canvas to meet the demands of the present, which naturally interacted with the tastes of the contemporary buying public – as the number of works exhibited in the Salon grew, so did the audience’s interest in them.

Therefore, the priority given to contemporary themes can be interpreted both as an expression of artistic intent and as a response to societal needs.

The Goupil company brought the trade of fine arts to an industrial level, not only focusing on maintaining a successful business profile but also smartly and continuously monitoring the movements of the contemporary art scene and providing complex support for the contracted painters: managing them, as their clients’ success was also a guarantee of the business success of the trade. The Goupil publisher and art dealer was unique in its genre, and their achievements led to the company’s internationalisation.14 Taking the above into consideration, Munkácsy’s work becomes more understandable in the artistic environment in which he arrived in the early For example, in the works of art historians Patricia Mainardi, Robert Verhoogt, and Stephen Bann.

14 Between 1841 and 1877, numerous branches were opened by the company: until 1861, three were located in Paris, and abroad they worked together with the Van Gogh Gallery in The Hague (from 1846), New York (1848), Berlin (1852), London (1857), Brussels, Vienna, Dresden, Geneva, Athens, Barcelona, Copenhagen, Florence, Sydney and Warsaw. The company’s ship operated between The Hague, London, and New York. In addition to transporting the works, Goupil’s knowledgeable employees travelled on these ships and promoted trade in various cities while searching for local talent. The publications also helped communication between the units of the international network. David, Huemer, and Oosterlinck 2014, op. cit. (n. 6), p. 4–5; Penot 2010, op. cit. (n. 5), p. 2; Hélène Lafont-Couturier, “La maison Goupil ou la notion d’œuvre originale remise en question,” Revue de L’Art 112, no. 60 (1996): p. 68. Goupil purchased paintings from Hungarian painters such as Gyula Aggházy, Lajos Bruck, Lajos Deák Ébner, Géza Mészöly, Döme Skuteczky, and László Paál. The Hungarian press of the time frequently wrote about Goupil and emphasised its role in shaping taste. Dsupin 2018, op. cit., p. 110–16.

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1870s.15 Munkácsy’s undeniable talent and peculiarity lay in bringing to life the everyday scenes of Hungarian people in his artworks. After his success at the Salon, he probably continued to paint Hungarian-themed paintings partly at Goupil’s request, as the transformation in his artistic style occurred after the retirement of the art dealer and his 1878 contract with Charles Sedelmeyer (1837–1925). This transformation can be noticed in both his interior scenes and larger, more universal themes such as Milton or the Christ Trilogy – while certain motifs in the painting styles of Goupil-affiliated painters (such as the use of photographs or theatricality) inevitably influenced his artistic thinking and had an impact on his work even after the “Goupil era”.

Although Goupil had already visited Munkácsy in Düsseldorf before the awarding of the Gold Medal for The Condemned Cell in 1870, and thus their cooperation began,16 it was not until Munkácsy’s letter dated 26 April 1871 that he first mentioned being “contractually obliged” to Goupil.17 From their Munkácsy learned about the success of The Condemned Cell in Düsseldorf and celebrated the award in Hungary. According to his recollections, his move to Paris was delayed by the Franco–Prussian War, the end of which he waited for in Düsseldorf. According to Dezső Malonyai (Munkácsy Mihály élete és munkái [The life and works of Mihály Munkácsy] (Budapest: Singer és Wolfner, 1898), p. 130.) Munkácsy moved to Paris in January of 1871, this contradicts the fact that the war ended in May. In March 1871, he held a reception in his studio in Düsseldorf, for which he wrote the invitation in French and drew it by hand. According to Imre Czeglédi, he permanently moved to Paris at the end of 1871 (Imre Czeglédi, Munkácsy Békés megyében [Munkácsy in Békés County] (Debrecen: Békés Megyei Múzeumok Igazgatósága, 2004)], p.

129). According to Katalin Sz. Kürti (Munkácsy relics and documents in the Békéscsaba Museum.

Second revised and corrected edition (Békéscsaba: Békés Megyei Múzeumok Igazgatósága, 2006)], p. 10), Munkácsy moved his headquarters in November 1871. Other sources state that Munkácsy permanently moved to the French capital at the end of January 1872, although he wrote letters from there as early as 1871. In Paris, the painter, who became uncertain of his own talent due to his success, initially enjoyed the support of Baron Édouard de Marches and Mihály Zichy. He first rented a studio apartment on rue Perrée, then moved to rue Lisbonne.

Finally, he permanently relocated his headquarters from rue Légendre to avenue Villiers. For more information on this, see Dsupin 2018, op. cit., p. 16–17.

16 In his letter dated 20 May 1870, from Düsseldorf, Munkácsy writes to Antal Ligeti: “I have just received a telegram from Paris informing me that my painting has been awarded one of the gold medals by the jury. ... Besides, I can tell you that Goupil came here from Paris to get to know me personally and place orders, which has resulted for the time being in my undertaking to paint two pictures for 10,000 francs, on the condition that we share the profits above cost price. ... Furthermore, I have the advantage that the two pictures I have been commissioned to paint will be reproduced as engravings ...” Munkácsy Mihály válogatott levelei [Selected letters of Mihály Munkácsy], ed. Zoltán Farkas (Budapest: Művelt Nép Kiadó, 1952), p. 64. According to Malonyai, the etching was made by Armand-Emile Mathey-Doret (Malonyai 1898, op. cit., p. 116). The Hungarian press also reported on their cooperation: on 24 October 1870, the editor of Borsszem Jankó, Adolf Ágai, inquired in a letter addressed to Munkácsy whether “the rumour is true that he has given his word and handshake that Hungary has the exclusive right to reproduce his paintings”. Museum of fine Arts – Central European Institute for Art History (SZM–KEMKI), Archive and Documentation Center (ADK), Budapest, inv. no. 3138/1931.

17 In his letter to Károly Telepy dated 26 April 1871, from Paris, Munkácsy wrote: “I will finish 15

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correspondence, we know that intensive negotiations took place between them in 1870 and 1871.18 Goupil’s sales records also reveal that his company purchased sixteen paintings from Munkácsy between 1870 and 1900. The most intense period was between 1870 and 1874, during which nine Munkácsy paintings were bought, and between 1875 and 1900, seven were acquired.

Goupil and his clients – “modernism or modernity”?19 The art dealership of Goupil and its associated circle of artists presents an aesthetic image that fully conveys the changes that have taken place in the art world. In examining the life’s work of the artists he contracted, I primarily searched for career patterns that can be found in the case of Munkácsy. It became clear that realism (and its various shades), theatre, and photography all played a key role in their art.

In general, art history agrees that realism roots itself in the shift in romanticism’s outlook, meaning that instead of typically academic depictions of the past, painters turn to motifs of everyday life, thus conveying their individual messages through their choices of subject matter. In Goupil’s publication, Grands peintres français et étrangers, there are artists featured who created during the period of the appearance and triumph of mechanical reproduction. A compositional revolution took place: the images had to look good even in smaller reproductions, and painters became increasingly conscious of leaving space for the viewer’s imagination. The roots of this are in the aesthetic world of theatre, and the result was the birth of film. Painting students became photographers, and painters used photographs instead of models and also as study aids. Reflecting on the studies of Patricia Mainardi and Stephen Bann on painting and photography,20 I came to the conclusion that to gain

the painting in eight to ten days. I can send a photograph by the end of this month or next month, but whether I can give up the engraving rights is now in question because Goupil has spoken again, and I am contractually obligated to him, but it may be that since I cannot give the painting itself to Goupil, as it is ordered by an Englishman, it is possible that I will waive the reproduction rights, in which case I would gladly give it to you.” Farkas ed. 1952, op. cit., p. 68.

18 Relevant excerpts from the correspondence published in: Dsupin 2018, op. cit. p. 100–6.

19 Modernism represents a technical renewal of an existing process, while modernity signifies a new, different approach in a given field – in this case, referring to the style and artistic method of painters. This is explored in the catalog of the exhibition Modernisme ou modernité held at the Petit Palais in 2012. Anne de Mondenard and Marc Pagneux, Modernisme ou modernité: les photographes du cercle de Gustave Le Gray (Paris: Petit Palais, 2012).

20 Cf., for example, Stephen Bann, Art and the Early Photographic Album (New Haven–London: Yale University Press, 2011; Idem, “Reassessing Repetition in Nineteenth-Century Academic GOUPIL AND HIS CLIENTS / / 147

a deeper understanding of Munkácsy’s “Goupil era”, it is worth examining Goupil’s successful activities and the starting point of the aesthetics he popularised through his collaboration with Paul Delaroche, who, along with his pupil Jean-Léon Gérôme, was the most popular figure in the art dealership.

Paul Delaroche (1797–1856), who is considered a pioneer in the renewal of historical painting, was the first painter to live with the documenting possibilities of photography. He photographed his works in order to preserve them in their most perfect form, while his famous phrase “From today painting is dead!”21 implies that the criteria of realism in painting became obsolete with the invention of photography. During his teaching career at École des Beaux-Arts, Delaroche taught not only his most talented student, Gérôme, but also Gustave Le Gray (1820–1884), Charles Nègres (1820–1880), and Henri Le Secq (1818–1882). What these three have in common is that after studying painting, they chose the profession of photography and became influential creators of early photography, while Gérôme used photographs as an auxiliary tool for his painting.

Delaroche’s acquaintance with Goupil began around 1830, and their collaboration lasted more than twenty years until the painter’s death. In the 1850s, Goupil began purchasing his paintings and acquired almost a hundred of them by 1889.22 His works were included in numerous publications, indicating his unwavering popularity. After Delaroche’s death in 1856, a retrospective exhibition of his works was opened in 1857 at the Palais des Beaux-Arts in Paris.23 The exhibition was a milestone, not only because it was the first retrospective exhibition in art history, but also because the album of Delaroche’s paintings published by the Goupil company in 1858 became a prototype for monographs.24 Painting. Delaroche, Gérôme, Ingres,” in The Repeating Image: multiples in French painting from David to Matisse (Baltimore: The Walters Art Museum, 2007), p. 44–52.

21 Delaroche said this in 1839 when he saw the first daguerreotype. Stephen Bann, Paul Delaroche: History Painted (London: Reaktion books, 1997), p. 9.

22 Pierre-Lin Renié, “Delaroche par Goupil: portrait du peintre en artiste populaire,” in Paul Delaroche: Un peintre dans l’histoire, ed. Claude Allemand-Cosneau (Montpellier: Musée Fabre, 1999), p. 176.

23 Ary Scheffer also had a retrospective exhibition in 1858, but it was not accompanied by a catalogue. Delaroche’s retrospective exhibition was organised by art dealers, friends, and painters, including Ingres and Delacroix. The works (61 paintings and 46 drawings) were all loaned from private collections and galleries for the exhibition.

24 Œuvre de Paul Delaroche reproduit en photographie par Bingham. Accompagné d’une notice sur la vie et l’ouvrage de Paul Delaroche par Henri Delaborde et du catalogue raisonné de l’œuvre par Jules Goddé (Paris: Goupil & Cie, éditeurs, 1858), p. 20. Quoted in Bann 2011, op. cit., p. 20.

Jules Goddé (1812–1876) was Delaroche’s pupil and an art writer. Robert Jefferson Bingham (1824–1870) was one of the first photographers and worked in France. He is also associated with the photography of the Galerie Photographique series.

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Delaroche, in his artistic innovation, approached romantic themes in a proselike manner, without pathos, and in the most human way possible, capturing the dramatic moments of historical events on canvas. During the romantic period of academic art, he was often mentioned together with Horace Vernet and Ary Scheffer due to their similar style, which characterised the modernisation of historical genre painting. His meticulously crafted interior settings, carefully selected costumes, and theatrical poses made his paintings some of the most popular among audiences.

Delaroche had a genuine connection to the theatre as well. He designed sets for his friends Eugéne Lami and Edouard Bertin for the operatic ballet La Tentation (1832) and Gaetano Donizetti’s opera Marino Faliero (1834).

Many of his paintings inspired plays, and his painting Assassination of the Duke of Guise (L’Assassinat du duc de Guise, 1834, Chantilly, Musée Condé) was even made into a film.25 Although Delaroche adhered to the academic painting style, he used the perspective of the second golden age of historical painting in shaping the scene and telling the story of his chosen subject matter. As a result, his art was both traditional and modern, making it one of the main starting points for the development of the visual world.

Delaroche’s painting The Execution of Lady Jane Grey (Le Supplice de Jane Grey, fig. 72) from 1833 depicts the moment just before the beheading of Henry VII’s condemned daughter, capturing the tense moment leading up to the climax of the drama. Delaroche typically portrayed his scenes in closed, dark, schematic spaces. The viewer is not involved: there is a well-defined space between the painted scene (the event) and the viewer (observer) – as if the event were placed on stage. Munkácsy also used this pictorial structure, which further features artificial lights and a few “props”. The figures in the painting have a strong emotional charge, and only the dramatic weight of the execution, the theme of the painting, holds the composition together. This can also be interpreted as an effect that reaches the level of Munkácsy’s art (such as The Condemned Cell [fig. 70], Women Making Lint (Tépéscsinálók, 1871), The Pawnbroker’s Workshop (Zálogház, 1874), Tramps at Night (Éjjeli csavargók, 1873, all in Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery), although it is not just a continuation of a painterly vision. These characteristics in Munkácsy’s Including Princes in the Tower (1831), which inspired the play The Children of Edward (Les Enfants d’Édouard) by Casimir Delavigne and can be interpreted as a precursor to its adaptation for film. Cf. L’Assasinat du duc de Guise, directed by Georges Hato and Alexandre Pomio, approx. 1 minute runtime, black and white silent film. Roland Cosandey, “Le plan de l’escalier, L’Assassinat du duc de Guise (Film d’art, 1908): Espace, temps, corps,” Iichiko: A journal for transdisciplinary studies of pratiques no. 64 (Autumn 1999): 50, https://www.cinematheque. ch/fileadmin/user_upload/Expo/Duc_de_Guise/iichiko.pdf.

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work can also be explained by the fact that he used photographs to create his paintings, so the models’ posture and tone and light values were given, he just had to copy them onto his various paintings.26 The art of Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824–1904) was shaped during the first wave of painting defined by reproductions, as a student of Delaroche. He used photography as a preferred tool for creating his paintings, and the motifs he captured during his travels later appeared in multiple works.27 As early as 1848, before signing a contract with Goupil, Gérôme asked one of his fellow students, the aforementioned Le Gray, to photograph his painting Anacréon (1848) to document it.28 Goupil bought 337 original paintings from him and reproduced them nearly four hundred times in various publications or albums showcasing the painter’s art.29 His themes ranged widely, and his eclectic art catered to every segment of public taste.

In his life’s work, it can be observed that the process of creation is determined by the later appearance of his works in the form of prints. In 1858, Goupil specifically commissioned Gérôme to create the painting Death of Caesar (Mort de César) as a print prototype. The painting was sold at a very high price shortly thereafter by Michel Knoedler, who led the American Goupil branch.30 Théophile Gautier was impressed, saying, “If photography had existed in Caesar’s time, we might think that the painting was painted based on a picture taken at that time and place, in the moment of the drama.”31 The perfection of the composition of an original work was demonstrated if it worked in the form of small black-and-white reproductions.32 Émile Zola noted that Gérôme not only created his art for its own sake but also in light of the reproductions. However, the presence of reproductions had an impact beyond the creative process: the value of the painting as a unique For more information on this, see Luca Dsupin, “Munkácsy Goupil-korszaka. Gondolatok a modernizmus, a fotográfia, a színház és a festészet összefüggéseinek tükrében [Munkácsy’s Goupil period. Thoughts on the connections between modernism, photography, theatre, and painting],” in Opus Mixtum VI. Yearbook of the Centrart Association, eds. Emese Isó M., Gabriella Juhász, Kristóf Zoltán Kelecsényi, and Ágnes Anna Sebestyén (Budapest, 2020).

27 The same hanging drapery can be observed, for example, in the paintings The Chess Match and A Street Scene in Cairo. Renié 2010, op. cit., p. 177–78.

28 Dominique De Font-Réaulx, “Le désir de faire vrai, Gérôme et la photographie,” in Renié 2010, op. cit., p. 220.

29 For example, in one of the albums of the Galérie Photographique or in the publication titled Œuvres choisis de Jean-Léon Gérôme, published in 1877–1878. Renié 2010, op. cit., p. 174.

30 Judit Boros, “A Hungarian Painter in Paris,” in Munkácsy in the World. Mihály Munkácsy’s Works in Private and Public Collections at Home and Abroad, (Budapest: Hungarian National Gallery, 2005), p. 44–45.

31 Dominique Païni, “Peindre l’instant après ou Gérôme cinéaste,” in Rénie 2010, op. cit., p. 333.

32 Pierre-Lin Renié also notes this in connection with Delaroche’s oeuvre. Renié 2010, op. cit, p. 194.

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and unrepeatable work of art disappeared.33 The quantity of reproductions was determined by the demand for the paintings, so the more popular a painting was, the more times it was reproduced. Overall, it can be said that the business model developed and successfully maintained by the “Goupil Empire” fundamentally changed the creative attitude of painters.

Jules Breton (1836–1912), who had a good relationship with Munkácsy, was a highly successful painter at the Salon, along with Bouguereau, Cabanel, and Gérôme since 1866. His main subject was the representation of French peasant life, which was popular in the 1880s and 1890s and praised by the Salon, and he belonged to the circle of naturalists. Out of the aforementioned artists, he perhaps stood closest to Munkácsy’s painting in terms of aesthetics, as he chose to depict lower-class society and rural life as his artistic subjects.

Goupil bought approximately 120 paintings from him.

Breton has several paintings depicting young women from the peasant world. He typically depicted them in nature, during work or resting from work. Although his painting style was idealised, the chosen themes were characteristics of realism, as can be seen by comparing his 1860 painting, Young Girl Feeding Hens (Jeune femme nourissant ses volailles, fig. 73) or his 1865 painting, Britanny Washerwoman (Lavandière-en-Bretagne), with Munkácsy’s 1873 painting, Woman Carrying Brushwood (Rőzsehordó nő, Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery) or his 1874 work, Girl at the Well (Lány a kútnál, fig. 74). Each painting’s central figure is a female working in nature, and their postures sometimes seem to be similar. Breton’s painting Monday (Le Lundi, 1858) also shows the theatricality that can be seen in Munkácsy’s The Village Hero. The two paintings share a common genre scene organised around a table with the involvement of the common workers of society, as is typical of Munkácsy’s larger paintings from the 1870s. The young woman with the scarf in Breton’s work, standing in the centre and pointing into the distance, has become a popular figure in Munkácsy’s paintings.

Through the exhibited career highlights, it is perhaps clearer to see that a group of artists who created outside of the canonised modern movements formed a circle. They were preoccupied with different themes but remained committed to the visual style rooted in academicism, utilised the possibilities provided by photography, and kept up with the reproductive revolution.

The realism of each of them can be found in something different: their life experiences, origins, and depictions of the events surrounding them.

Gérôme, the best student of Delaroche, the nineteenth-century innovator

33

Renié 2010, op. cit., p. 178, and also Zola 1991, op. cit., p. 183–84.

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of academic painting, sent his congratulations to Munkácsy on 20 May 1871, while Breton moved in the same social circles as him. Goupil mentioned all of them in his 1886 publication (Grands peintres français et étrangers) and referred to them as the best of their time. Similar aspirations emerged in the paintings of each of them, and they were created with Goupil’s aesthetic preferences in mind, perhaps proving that the subjects and modes of representation of artists developing in similar environments can be distinctly related to one another.

The aforementioned moments of art organisation – the impact of the art market on artists and the specific works, the importance of duplication in achieving popularity, and the significance of photography in creation – remained characteristic even in the 1880s and 1890s. These perspectives can provide guidance for a deeper understanding of naturalistic painting and examination of its internal motivations.

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ÉVA SOMOS

Notes and Observations on the Naturalist Painting Technique „Art is not handicraft, not knowledge, but a spiritual process, the communication of which is only possible through technical means. But one is not yet an artist who acquires all the learnt technical procedures in some branch of visual arts. Someone may be the most skillful juggler of the brush and still, if only technical knowledge and skill are available, never make a good painting, a quality artistic work, a masterpiece. So-called talent alone is not enough. It is crucial what kind of deep, humane, rich inner world, valuable personality the artist has [...] The technique should always play a subordinate role, but the artist must acquire the long practice requiring, difficult and complicated technique, because he needs it to express his message, to turn his creative instinct into active work and to find joy in this creative work.”1 As evident from István Szőnyi’s writing, technique is merely a tool for conveying content, creating harmony between forms and colors. The painting techniques of the Naturalism movement essentially did not differ from the use of material of works with a different spirit born in the second half of the 19th century. Compounds discovered in the early 1800s were introduced as new colors by paint factories thirty to forty years later. Chrome yellow was produced in Paris from 1815, chrome oxide green from 1838, and chrome oxide hydrate green from 1860. Cadmium yellows, oranges, and reds were available in commerce from 1846, while cobalt oxide and cobalt violet, also known as smalt, were available to painters from 1860. Notes on the technique in the information of the paintings consist of one-word definitions of the binder and the base or support, such as oil, canvas. Taking the subordinate

István Szőnyi, Kép (Megjegyzések a művészetről) [Picture. (Notes on art)] (Budapest: Dr. Vajna és Bokor Kiadó, 1943), p. 78–81.

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role of technique into consideration, what can be said about the creative method of artists working in the spirit of Naturalism?

As an academic teacher, István Szőnyi was confronted with the connection between acquiring technical skills and nurturing artists daily, a question that has arisen for centuries among those who have been involved in educating future generations. While medieval recipe books provided precise descriptions of the production and use of materials needed for painting, Renaissance masters conveyed their own methods to their students, deviating from the rules. The subjects taught at the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno in Florence, established in 1562, included drawing of ancient artistic monuments, study sketches made after live models, and perspective. Similarly, in the 19th century, the acquisition of technical skills was possible in major painting schools and academies. Drawing accurately and well, transferring the visual image onto the two-dimensional plane, has been a requirement for painters since time immemorial. The ideology of naturalism, therefore, was much more than just the desire to record what is seen in nature, as it is part of every fine art study.

The image-capturing technique that was born in 1839, the camera obscura, evolved into photography (daguerreotype), significantly influencing people’s perceptions of visual art, the development of fine art, and societal demands.

The recording of individual features became accessible even to representatives of social classes who could hardly afford to commission portraits from famous painters. The first photo studios were often opened by fine artists who separated themselves from their peers who followed the traditional path of artistic expression through the new technique, and who always aimed to do more than just represent reality. However, they also occasionally used the new invention as a tool to embody their artistic ideas. In these instances, photos were valued as „second nature,” helping with pencil drawing; John Ruskin also recommended this in his 1857 work, The Elements of Drawing.

Charles Baudelaire spoke out for the true appreciation of art and the new invention after the 1859 Salon exhibition: „In these gloomy days, a new industry has been born, which strives to strengthen the faith of fools and to completely eradicate the little divine that remains in the French spirit. It is understandable that the idolatrous masses demand ideas that are just right for them and most suitable to their nature. Regarding painting and sculpture, throughout the world, especially in France (I don’t think anyone would dare to say the opposite), the fashionable Credo sounds like this: I believe in nature and only in nature (there is good reason for this). I believe that the aim of art is the exact imitation of nature and that it cannot have any other aim. [...]

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Since photography has become the refuge of unfinished, untalented painters, or those who lacked the diligence to complete their studies, in this universal enthusiasm, not only blindness and foolishness but also the taste of revenge could be felt. I do not believe, or at least I do not want to believe, that such a dark conspiracy, in which - as usual - there are agitators and dupes, could achieve complete success, but I am convinced that the misunderstood progress in photography - like all exclusively material development - played a large part in the destruction of the already greatly diminished genius in France.”2 Starting out as an art critic, the pessimistic worldview of the poet did not anticipate that his later volume of poetry, Les Fleurs du Mal, containing brilliant poems, would become the cornerstone of modern French literature, and although he was aware of the greatness of Gustave Courbet’s realism, he was not exposed to the values of plein air painting that began in the 1860s, and for him, Eugène Delacroix remained the most wonderful painter. The later heyday of French painting and the 20th-century triumph of photography were not witnessed by the author of this text. However, he recognized the role of photography in the visual arts of his time: „If we allow the profession of photography to replace art in some respects, through the ignorance of the masses, in which it has found a natural ally, it will soon consume or expel it.

Therefore, it must be pushed back into its proper channel, that is, to serve the sciences and the arts, but as the most humble servant, like printing or shorthand to literature...”3 In 1854, Julien Vallou de Villeneuve created a photographic compilation of female nudes, titled Étude d›après nature, which Gustave Courbet used as a „servant” in his grandiose painting The Painter’s Studio in 1855 (Musée du Louvre, Paris). Courbet not only employed a photograph of a lady holding drapery in front of her body, but also utilized photographs of many of his friends, primarily those taken by Félix Nadar, who appear in the painting. The work is both a summary and a demonstration, preceded by numerous portraits. These are not study paintings, but rather preparations or antecedents. A small, fresh impression of Baudelaire depicted in feverish work (1848, Musée Fabre, Montpellier) stands out.

The „material development” of photographic technology led to the use of photosensitive emulsion on canvases from 1865 onwards, allowing the projected image on canvas to be further painted. This solution was primarily

2 Géza Csorba ed., transl. Charles Baudelaire válogatott művészeti írásai. [Selected artistic writings of Charles Baudelaire], (Budapest: Képzőművészeti Alap, 1964), p. 108–13. Original edition: Charles Baudelaire: Salon de 1859. II. Le public moderne et la photographie, in Revue française, 1859. 5th year. 17. vol. p. 264.

3 Ibid.

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taken up by photographers, but sometimes also by artists. The photographic base was always developed in such a way that their brushwork predominantly corresponded to the style of their other works. Franz von Lenbach was perhaps the most active user of modern techniques, with an archive of 6,500 photographs in his estate. He used photographs in three ways: for black tracing with overprinting, as transparencies for projection, and as images fixed on photosensitive canvas.4 Correspondence between photography and painting can be found in the works of many artists, but I could not find an example in the naturalism movement.

From the mid-19th century, the precise representation of reality through photographs became a possible tool, so both the public and the artists had to relate to this possibility. Since there is no substantial information about the image-making methods of the creators of naturalism in the literature on the history of technology, it can be assumed solely on the basis of the appearance of their works that they may have used photographs, but relying on nature, faithful observation of nature, they did not use the soulless tool to aid representation. They may have found inspiration in terms of cropping and capturing the moment. The fine tones of the paper copies made from plates of early non-studio photographs may have had an impact with their restraint and precision. The fact that the move from realism towards the meticulous phrasing of naturalism could be a reaction to the realistic depiction of photography. In this way, painters proved that only the artist is capable of the most faithful reproduction of nature, who does not copy but filters the vibrations of the seen world through themselves.

Let’s take a look at the precedents of painting! Image-making starts from the idea and the artist’s internal desire. The selection of the subject determines what preparatory actions precede the actual painting. The drawing can be a study sketch, set up according to demand, it can be a sudden capturing of a scene or movement, but it is more than that when the artist makes a picture plan. Jean-François Millet withdrew to the field, to the farmland, where rural life and work were his chosen subjects. He observed the common people in their natural environment, and his own state of mind is also reflected in his works. He made wonderful chalk drawings, then worked meticulously on his large, full-length paintings. In the early period of Franz von Lenbach, he eagerly collected motifs in the open air. He was charmed by the liveliness 4 Manfred Koller: Das Staffeleibild der Neuzeit, in Hermann Kühn–Heinz Roosen-Runge– Rolf E. Straub–Manfred Koller, Farbmittel Buchmalerei, Tafel- und Leinwandmalerei. Reclams Handbuch der künstlerischen Techniken. (Stuttgart:Verlag Reclam, 1984), p. 267–434. On Franz Lenbach’s technique: ibid. p. 393.

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of the boys playing on the bridge, and he created a sparkling, light-filled painting based on his sketch. Just as Millet style favored the dawn’s light and the calm of the sunset, Lenbach’s vital medium became the southern sunshine. In his early period, he always used bright bases and elementary powerful colors; later, he often used dark bases with varied, deep tones. In his letters from his Italian journey in 1859, he reports that painting was easier in Venice, and of Rome, he writes that every color that exists there is more colorful. He asked his friend to send him pale cobalt - cobalt oxide, also known as coelin blue - and promised him that he would see some brighter pictures from him.5 The thematic parallels mentioned so far, telling stories about peasants and shepherd boys, all show their subjects in distinctive lighting conditions. In contrast, the idyll of a mother resting with her children on a hillside is presented in a cheerful, homogeneous lighting in Pál Szinyei Merse’s painting from 1869. He approaches naturalism not with the subject of depiction but with the finely crafted visual elements. Some of the composition’s elements maintain their own color, there is hardly any plasticity in the forms, and shadows are almost imperceptible. The landscape is barely indicated, and silver air and harmony flow in the picture. The green of the meadow shows the shades of chrome oxide hydrate green produced from the 1860s. We see the same color scheme and material usage in his friend Gabriel Max’s composition titled A Spring Fairy Tale (Ein Frühlingsmärchen, 1872, Vienna, Österreichische Galerie, Belvedere).

Wilhelm Leibl, who was a pupil of Piloty in Munich, visited Paris in 18691870 and, inspired by French painting, also chose the path of rural seclusion. It became widely known that he perhaps devoted the most time to the precise and thorough observation of his chosen subjects. In 1872, planning his first multi-figure composition, The Dinner Party (Die Tischgesellschaft, 1872/73, Cologne, Wallraf-Richartz-Museum), he estimated in a letter to his mother that he would need a whole year of intense work to create his masterpiece.6 The time factor for the fine, linear drawing required a model to be present. Leibl’s naturalism is characterized by the precision of the outlines, the almost anatomical rendering of detail, and the clear boundaries of form.

Siegfried Wichmann, Franz von Lenbach und seine Zeit. (Köln: DuMont Schauberg, 1973), p.

159. The quoted part of the letter to Hoffner: „Schicke mir eine Balze Kobalt, da ich jetzt, wie auch schon früher, die Blaue des Himmels so sehr schätze. Alle Farben, die hier sind, sind färbiger. Ich glaube, dass Du ein paar helle Bilder von mir sehen wirst.” The letter written in Rome is in a private collection.

6 Eberhard Ruhmer, Der Leibl-Kreis und die reine Malerei. (Rosenheim: Rosenheimer Verlagshaus, 1984), p. 16–20. The source of the letter excerpts quoted by the author is a handwritten collection of 80 letters, still unpublished, kept in the Münchener Staatsgemäldesammlungen.

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A notable work destroyed during the war was The Hunter (Der Jäger, 1876, Berlin, Alte Nationalgalerie). Leibl accompanied his friend, Anton Perfallt, on his daily travels in Sonderdorf. According to an anecdote, he suddenly saw an interesting pose, and this strange turning inspired him. The hunter’s pose is hardly natural; it rather recalls a moment observed by an amateur photographer. Leibl built his composition around this pose and then worked for several weeks on the elaboration of details. The product of that same year, 1876, was the strikingly fresh Peasant Girl in a White Headcloth (Mädchen mit weißem Kopftuch, 1876/77, Munich, Neue Pinakothek). The rural environment suited his artistic program: „Here, in the open countryside, among natural people, one can paint naturally.”7 In 1878, he began working on the work that would bring him the greatest fame. Three Women in Church (Drei Frauen in der Kirche, 1881, Hamburg, Kunsthalle) is a carefully crafted composition, and the extreme naturalism of the female figures and their clothing amazed his contemporaries. In France, it was criticized as no longer being painting, but rather the very appearance of nature. His work on panel from 1880, The Girl with Carnation (Mädchen mit der Nelke, now in three separate pieces, the head: Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum; the torso: Cologne, Wallraf-Richartz-Museum; the right hand holding the carnation: Karlsruhe, Staatliche Kunsthalle), shows the same calligraphic style, the clear, bright forms, the intricate decorative details of the embroidered blouse, and the balance of contrasts led connoisseurs to compare him to Hans Holbein.8 It is possible that he later divided up the work because he felt he had nowhere else to go in this painterly direction.

In the same years, in France, the naturalistic painting was born under the brush of Jules Bastien-Lepage, which is conventionally called naturalism today. The 1877 painting Haymaking (Les Foins, Paris, Musée d’Orsay) shows the same precision in every detail, as if the figures and the landscape were captured in the same moment through a narrow aperture. (The narrower the aperture, the more time is needed, and the sharper the captured image.)

Wilhelm Leibl’s earlier quoted statement that „one can paint naturally in the free nature of natural people” cannot be exactly reconciled with what we see in his main works mentioned above, because these works, except for Der Jäger, show their subject in a closed space. Bastien-Lepage presents the wide field and the narrow horizon in the purity of the open air with almost flauntingly bright colors. His drawing style is different from that of the German

7 8

„Hier in der freien Natur unter Naturmenschen kann man natürlich malen.” Ibid.

A. Wolff published his comparative analysis in Figaro, quoted in Ruhmer 1984, op. cit. p. 17. n. 16.

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painter, and the simple canvas clothing and worn shoes of the people have a serious plasticity. I had the opportunity to closely observe his 1877 portrait of his mother (Nice, Musée des Beaux-Arts Jules Chéret) at the 2021 Szinyei exhibition in Budapest. The plastic formation of the face is characteristic, and the soft transitions of the shapes suggest that the slightly open mouth and fluttering eyelashes are in gentle motion. The continuous emotional communication is reflected in the loving presentation. Compared to other areas of the painting, there are more exploratory, interlaced brushstrokes on the face, which is particularly natural when it comes to the portrait of such an important person to us. The painting of the clothing is light, and the flora surrounding the figure is patchy and loose. The lighting is uniform and filtered. Similar atmosphere and color range, with shades of greens, grays, browns, blues, and whites, characterize his other works as well. His larger canvas painted the following year, October (Saison d’octobre, 1878, Melbourne, National Gallery of Victoria), shows the ideal environment for him created by the lighting conditions. The opal lights shining through the varied steel gray and pigeon gray clouds show the form without shadows, but in a tangible way. The floral elements appear in all his paintings in a natural way, but they are not meticulously detailed. Instead, they spread a uniform, skillfully treated fabric under the scene. In 1883, his painting The Beggar (Le Mendiant, 1880, Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek) was exhibited at the Glaspalast, and all of his significant paintings exhibited in the halls of the 1889 Paris Universal Exposition could be seen by young Hungarian painting students with a Munich education, but longing for the fresh air of French novelties.

The impact was inevitable, but I am not here to speak about the rich, naturalism-inspired artworks of our Hungarian artists. Since my topic is solely technique, I have selected a few significant paintings by a few artists that, for me, as someone who has studied painting myself, can be approached from the perspective of the method of image creation.

Simon Hollósy’s intimate portrait, titled The Daydreamer (Merengő, figs.

75–76), was painted on an oil-primed wooden panel. In its preparatory phase, it probably showed an asphalt, burnt umber glaze. The outlining brushstrokes in the lower right corner reveal the method of drawing. Based on the lighting of the figure, we assume a narrow, direct light source, definitely a studio-like arranged situation. The varied, colorful darks, the velvety surface of the pansies are a worthy counterbalance to the fine white skin’s ashenness and the translucent pink earlobe. Examining the surface up close, we see a wrinkled paint layer, which confirms the theory made by mere observation that the artist expertly and effortlessly blended the colors together. He worked quickly,

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with plenty of paint, and easily. His main work, Corn Husking (Tengerihántás, fig. 77), was painted just as easily, but its color, theme, and mood further demonstrate the impact of the new impulses. The canvas is thickly primed, and the wall section treated with white paint is artistically solved, even though it is an empty surface. The lighting is calm, with saturated light, and there is no need for shadows. The textures of the garments are precise, the woolen surface of the coat, the girl’s skirt balanced, not overdrawn. The bride’s smile and gesture are lyrical, finely detailed. The painting of the cornstalks and their dry husks is precisely formed and artistically non-detailed. „There is no brown or black color in nature. The natural base tone is gray, and the image must be light,” Hollósy writes in a letter to Páll Manó about the new guidelines.9 This painting excellently exemplifies his endeavors, with every detail painted with love and pleasure. The boots are of course decoratively black, and their size is just as important in the composition as in Szinyei’s Mother and Children (Anya gyermekeivel, 1869, private collection) or István Csók’s brilliant work, The Hay Gatherers (Szénagyűjtők, fig. 78).

The use of black as a local color for certain elements, such as the ravenblack hair of the female figure in Bastien-Lepage’s paintings, enhances the colorfulness of other elements in the same tone. In 1890, István Csók presented two large paintings, Lord’s Supper – Do this in Remembrance of Me (Úrvacsora – Ezt cselekedjétek az én emlékezetemre, fig. 26) and The Hay Gatherers, at the Műcsarnok, which are thematically and formally close to those of French painters, but convey deeper and more credible emotions in my opinion. Csók’s brushwork is somewhat more rugged than Hollósy’s, and he applies oil paint more pasty. The form boundaries are not sharp, and the paint application is patchy. The use of the painter’s knife can also be detected in the depiction of the tiled floor of the church. Observing nature does not only involve a painfully precise drawing but also reflects the soul.

The young people resting among the hay are fresh, innocent, but their hands are a little dirty from working all day. The drying grass’s silvery green here is the aforementioned cold-toned chromium oxide hydrate green, and the lines of the strands are light, applied with a thin but dense brushstroke by the artist.

We can see a similar ash-like quality balanced with black in Károly Ferenczy’s In Front of the Posters (Plakátumok előtt, fig. 79). Most of the paintings discussed so far showed the naturalistic depiction of the meadow, the horizon,

István Réti, A nagybányai művésztelep [The Nagybánya Artist Center] (Budapest: Képzőművészeti Alap Kiadó Vállalat, 1954), p. 26.

9

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or the interior of the church, rural settings, and the people living in them.

This 1891 piece shows a moment of urban everyday life without any real natural elements. There is something casual about the composition, as if the figures could move on at any moment. We cannot be sure, but it is likely that the subject matter was inspired by a photograph. The small pencil drawing made for the work shows fewer figures and different proportions. This could be either a sketch based on a real experience or a picture plan inspired by a photograph.10 The paint layer is unusually smooth, and the texture of the canvas occasionally appears. The figures are precisely drawn. There may have been many shades of white in the background during the preparation phase, on which very fine, purple, blue, green, brown, and gray glazes were painted, most of which surround the figures. Hence why the street is surprisingly clean, without any shadows. The space and the people moving in it are not equally emphasized.

The particular gray light and precise drawing of Bastien-Lepage’s works seen at the 1889 Universal Exposition was undoubtedly attractive to Ferenczy.

The clear harmony of the Portrait of Ede Kallós (Kallós Ede portréja, 1889, Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery) made in Paris and the picture depicting his father already painted in Szentendre (1889, Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery) is much more than faithful observation of nature. The carrier of both pictures is a dense textured, so-called pearl canvas. The painting technique is so thin that the act of painting can hardly be detected on the surface because the structure of the canvas is visible everywhere. András Mikola, his later student, wrote about the method of forming the image: „Painters may be interested to know that his early works were created with detailed meticulousness according to Jules Bastien-Lepage, with a summarizing method, he was using thinly applied paint and a developed technique...”11 The ability of thin painting is even more evident in the large, wide-angle canvas of Boys Throwing Pebbles into the River (Kavicsot hajigáló fiúk, 1890,

Edit Plesznivy, Ferenczy Károly grafikai munkássága [The Graphic Work of Károly Ferenczy], in Ferenczy Károly (1862–1917) gyűjteményes kiállítása. [Károly Ferenczy’s (1862–1917) collected exhibition] (Budapest: Hungarian National Gallery, 2011), p. 69–83. The author quotes an excerpt from Ferenczy’s letter to István Réti, dated 1904: „...I sit and read the newspapers here in Abbazia - this is where I get most of my inspiration to paint - when I look through the illustrated pages - not the pictures, but the photographs inspire me, they evoke memories of nature in me.” Although this statement comes from a later period, it suggests that he was originally attracted to photographs.

11 In the catalog of the 2011 Ferenczy exhibition at the Hungarian National Gallery, György Szücs’ essay, “Ferenczy ± Nagybánya”, (op. cit. n. 10. p. 33–46) contains many interesting observations and thoughts on Károly Ferenczy’s use of materials. I borrowed András Mikola’s observations on Ferenczy’s early period from here.

10

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Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery). From this and the painting Girls Tending Flowers (Leányok virágokat gondoznak a verandán, 1889, private collection), one could believe that they were made with watercolors based on reproductions. The essence of this watery technique is that the whiteness of the paper illuminates the delicate, intangible watercolor. The boys standing on the banks of the Danube fit most aptly into the much-mentioned pearly atmosphere, painted in pale grays. White, intense, directionless light floods the barren shore, and here the realistic relationship between the ground and those standing on it is lacking the most. In the uniform stillness of the subtly shaded sand and the motionless river, the boys stand in hesitant contemplation. Their figures are drawn with fine precision, and the artist was able to shape the creases of their worn, torn pants with careful study, so subtle yet so perfectly. Mikola’s expression that Ferenczy painted „with a summarizing method” and „developed technique” at this time is appropriate in every way.

We can assume from the way the image is formed that the artist matured the picture, thinking about it more than actually moving his brush. This work already reveals what his son Valér wrote about his father’s use of tools: „He had a passion for large brushes, as he always urged me, almost begged me, not to use small brushes. Despite watching him work countless times, it still remained somewhat of a mystery to me how he was able to paint with such large brushes.”12 The same image-building method can be seen in another large composition made in Szentendre, Gardeners (Kertészek, 1891, Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery). It depicts the faces, hands, worn jackets, and vivacity of those occupied with flowers in meticulous yet grandiose detail.

The space that surrounds them is similarly subtle, and the composition is masterful. Two sketches belonging to the painting, one made with chalk and one with charcoal, confirm Valér Ferenczy’s personal experience that his father prepared for every work he produced before starting to work on canvas. During careful preparation, he not only made drawings but also took photographs, and when all the studies were completed, he began to process the subject matter. Concerning painting, he „remained faithful to the principle that every stroke should be made in front of nature, a model, of course, in the appropriate lighting and with the landscape or room background depicted in the painting.”13 The momentary portrayal of everyday activities of those living in the environment differs thematically from the emphasis on depicting rural agricultural

12 13

Valér Ferenczy, Ferenczy Károly, in Nyugat, Budapest (1934) p. 141–47.

Ibid.

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labor in the naturalism movement. The heroes of these images are familiar, perhaps conveying a quieter, more poetic milieu, due to Ferenczy’s personality. The model for The Garden Boy (Kertészfiú, fig. 80) may be the same as the child protagonist in the large painting. The artist painted this fresh color harmony picture on a smaller sized wooden panel, and, in my assumption, created the thick chalk base himself. If we observe the surface in proper lighting, it immediately becomes apparent that the strong texture does not correspond with the painting’s gesture. The painting is loose and almost imperceptible. István Réti also mentions the importance of the base and its effect on the appearance when evaluating early works: „... the gray tone that was considered weak later in the higher development of Nagybánya painting was not only an incidental aspect of the gloomy plein-air views, but also related to the general use of chalk-based canvas. Ferenczy’s Szentendre paintings are all painted on such an absorbing base canvas, as are many of his later, more advanced Munich works.”14 Finally, let’s take a look at two great portraits. Ferenczy Ferenc’s strictly fine naturalistic portrait (1892, Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery) and the one-year-later Munich self-portrait (1893, Budapest, Hungarian National Gallery), which was an introduction to the artist’s „acceptable,” conceptually describable, unique picture („coloristic naturalism on a synthetic basis”).

The facing pose, elegant attire, green background, and similar features are all matching formal elements; however, the color scheme, application of paint, lighting, and perspective are different, yet the spirit and painterly quality are the same.

In this brief overview, we have seen how paintings classified in the same movement are formulated based on similar principles and aspirations, but the oil painting technique, composition, and elaboration can still differ according to the artists’ individual, inner world.

14

Réti 1954, op. cit. p. 167–68.

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 1. Fernand Pelez Homeless, 1883.

Oil on canvas, 147.5 × 248.5 cm.

Paris, Petit Palais – musée des Beauxarts de la Ville de Paris, inv. no. PPP591 © Petit Palais, musée des Beaux-arts de la Ville de Paris 2. István Csók At a Maid Agency, 1892.

Oil on canvas, 116 × 150.5 cm.

Kovács Gábor Art Collection, inv. no. 000104 © Kovács Gábor Art Collection 3. László Pataky Interrogation, 1897.

Oil on canvas, 225 × 300 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 1539 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 4. Émile Friant The Rowers, 1887.

Oil on canvas, 116 × 170 cm.

Nancy, Musée de l’École de Nancy, inv. no. 766 © RMN 5. Alfred Roll Work, Railway Construction at Suresnes, 1885.

Oil on canvas, Cognac, Hôtel de Ville © RMN 6. Jules Bastien-Lepage Haymakers, 1877.

Oil on canvas, 180 × 195 cm.

Paris, musée d’Orsay, inv. no. RF

2748 Photo © RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) – © Hervé Lewandowski 7. Artúr Halmi After the Exam, 1890.

Oil on canvas, 125 × 186.5 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 2825 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 8. Sándor Bihari Sunday Afternoon, 1893.

Oil on panel, 15.5 × 22 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. FK 3109 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 9. Ottó Baditz Angel-Maker, 1884–1885.

Oil on canvas, 128 × 176 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. FK 805 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 10. Jacek Malczewski Portrait de Stanisław Witkiewicz, 1902.

Huile sur toile, 61 × 49 cm.

Krakow, Muzeum Narodowe w Krakowie, inv. no. MNK II-b-108 © The National Museum in Krakow.

Copyright: CC0 – Public domain

/ / 164

11. Stanisław Witkiewicz, Antoni Sygietyński, Aleksander Gierymski, photographié par Jan Mieczkowski, 1884–1885 12. Aleksander Gierymski Convoyeurs de sable, 1887.

Huile sur toile, 50 × 66 cm.

Warsaw, Muzeum Narodowe w Warszawie, inv. no. MP 962 © Collection of the National Museum in Warsaw 13. Józef Chełmoński L’Été indien, 1875.

Huile sur toile, 119,7 × 156,5 cm.

Warsaw, Muzeum Narodowe w Warszawie, inv. no. MP 423 © Collection of the National Museum in Warsaw 14. Stanisław Witkiewicz Le Vent dans le Tatras, 1895.

Huile sur toile, 93 × 142 cm.

Krakow, Muzeum Narodowe w Krakowie, inv. no. MNK II-a-490 © Album/Scala, Florence 15. Aleksander Gierymski Le Jour de la sonnerie, 1884.

Huile sur toile, 47 × 64,5 cm.

Warsaw, Muzeum Narodowe w Warszawie, inv. no. MP 124 © Collection of the National Museum in Warsaw 16. Jules Bastien-Lepage Son grand-père, 1874.

Huile sur toile, 103 × 77 cm.

Nice, musée des Beaux-Arts, deposit of the musée d’Orsay, inv. no. F 3984 A © RMN 17. Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret Figure peinte, 1876.

Huile sur toile. Paris, École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts Photo ©Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist.

RMN-Grand Palais

18. Jules Bastien-Lepage La Communiante, 1875.

Huile sur toile, 53 × 37,7 cm.

Tournai, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Tournai, inv. no. 33. © RMN 19. Jules Bastien-Lepage Octobre, 1878.

Huile sur toile, 180,7 × 196 cm.

Melbourne, National Gallery of Victoria, inv. no. 3678-3. ©Felton Bequest, 1928, Photo: National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne 20. Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret Manon Lescaut, 1878.

Huile sur toile, 70 x 99 cm.

Privat collection © Image courtesy of Stair Sainty Gallery 21. Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret Une noce chez le photographe, 1878–1879.

Huile sur toile, 85 × 122 cm.

Lyon, Musée des Beaux-Arts, inv. no. H 715 © RMN-Grand Palais – © RenéGabriel Ojeda 22. Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret Un accident, 1879.

Huile sur toile, 90,7 × 130,8 cm.

Baltimore (Maryland), Walters Art Museum, inv. no. 37.49 © Acquired by Henry Walters, 1898 23. Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret Bénédiction des jeunes époux avant le mariage; coutume de Franche-Comté, 1880–1881.

Huile sur toile, 99 × 143 cm.

Moscow, Pushkin Museum, inv. no. Ж 3481 © Album/Scala, Florence 24. Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret Le Pardon en Bretagne, 1886.

Huile sur toile, 114,6 × 84,8 cm.

New York, The Metropolitan Museum

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of Art, inv. no. 31.132.34 © The Metropolitan Museum of Art/ Art Resource/Scala, Florence 25. Peder Severin Kroyer Hip hip hourra!, 1888.

Huile sur toile, 134,5 × 166,5 cm.

Göteborgs Konstmuseum, inv. no. F 62 ©Photo: Gothenburg Museum of Art / Hossein Sehatlou 26. István Csók Faites ceci en mémoire de moi, 1890.

Huile sur toile, 137,5 × 111 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 1653 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 27. Léon Augustin Lhermitte La Paye des moissonneurs, 1882.

Huile sur toile, 215 × 272 cm.

Paris, Musée d’Orsay, inv. no. RF 333. © RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) – © Hervé Lewandowski 28. Émile Friant Œdipe maudit son fils Polynice, 1883.

Huile sur toile, 145 × 115 cm.

Rennes, musée des Beaux-Arts, inv. no. FNAC 57.

Photo © MBA, Rennes, Dist.

RMN-Grand Palais – © JeanManuel Salingue 29. Le cours de M. Taine à l’Ecole des beaux-arts.

Reproducted in La Vie parisienne, February 18, 1865 30. Henri Gervex Le Mariage civil, 1881.

Huile sur toile. Paris, Hôtel de Ville du 19eme arrondissement, salle des mariage © Photo © Peter Willi / Bridgeman Images

31. Henri Gervex Satyre jouant avec une bacchante, 1874.

Huile sur toile, 159 × 193 cm.

Paris, Musée d’Orsay inv. no. LUX 116. © Musée d’Orsay, Dist. RMN-Grand Palais – © Patrice Schmidt 32. Henri Gervex Madame Valtesse de la Bigne, 1879.

Huile sur toile, 205 × 120,2 cm.

Paris, Musée d’Orsay, inv. no. 20059. © RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) – © Hervé Lewandowski 33. Eugène Atget L’ancien Hôtel de Chimay a abrité l’École des Beaux-Arts, entre 1885 et 1925.

Photo, albumine paper, 17,5 × 22,4 cm.

Paris, Musée Carnavalet, inv. no. PH33078 © Musée Carnavalet, Histoire de Paris 34. Exposition des œuvres de Jules Bastien-Lepage, Paris, 1885.

Page de couverture du catalogue 35. Jules Bastien-Lepage Le Père Jacques 1881.

Huile sur toile, 196,8 × 181,6 cm.

Milwaukee, Milwaukee Art Museum, inv. no. L102 © The Layton Art Collection, Inc. at the Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. E. P. Allis and her daughters in memory of Edward Phelps Allis L102 © Photographer credit: John R. Glembin 36. Jules Bastien-Lepage Au cimetière, esquisse, 1878.

Huile sur toile, 46 × 55 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, inv. no. 408. B. © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, 2023 37. Willem Witsen Les Ramasseuses de bois, 1885 Huile sur toile, 98,5 × 78,5 cm.

Photo: ©Artepics / Alamy Stock Photo

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 166

38. Léon Frederic Le Légende de Saint François, 1882.

Triptyque, huile sur toile, 135 × 202 cm.

Lille, Palais des Beaux-arts, inv. no.

2016.1.1 © RMN-Grand Palais (PBA, Lille) – © Stéphane Maréchalle

no. WAF 770 © bpk / Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen 45. Exhibition interior from the Glaspalast, 1890s

39. Léon Frederic Les Marchands de craie, 1882–1883.

Triptyque, huile sur toile, 200 × 115 cm (volets gauche et droit); 200 × 267 cm (volet central).

Brussels, musées royaux des Beauxarts de Belgique, inv. no. 3263 © photo: J. Geleyns

46. Gustave Courbet The Stone Breakers, 1849.

Oil on canvas, 165 × 257 cm.

Destroyed in 1945 © https HYPERLINK “https:// commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/ File:Gustave_Courbet_018.jpg”:// commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/ File:Gustave_Courbet_018.jpg (accessed: 27 October 2022)

40. Jules Bastien-Lepage Le Mendiant, 1880.

Huile sur toile, 193 × 181 cm.

Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, inv. no. MIN 3653 ©RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) – © image RMN-GP

47. Wilhelm Leibl Frau Gedon, 1869.

Oil on canvas, 119.5 × 95.5 cm.

Munich, Neue Pinakothek, inv. no. 8708 ©bpk / Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen

41. Jules Bastien-Lepage Portrait d’Albert Wolff, 1881.

Huile sur toile, 32 × 27 cm.

Cleveland, Museum of Art, inv. no. 2010.22 ©Albert Wolff in His Study https://clevelandart.org/ art/2010.22|author=Jules BastienLepage|year=1881|access-date=30 September 2022|publisher=Cleveland Museum of Art}

48. Simon Hollósy’s School in Munich, 1890s

42. The Building of the Munich Academy, 1870s 43. Wilhelm von Kaulbach Battle of Salamis, 1868.

Oil on canvas, 53.35 m2.

Munich, Bayerischer Landtag 44. Karl von Piloty Seni at the Dead Body of Wallenstein, 1855.

Oil on canvas, 312 × 365 cm.

Munich, Neue Pinakothek, inv.

49. Jules Adler Old Sailor, 1900.

Oil on canvas, 91.8 × 73 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, inv. no. 22.B © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, 2023 50. Frans van Leemputten Landscape with Curricle and Bunch of Sheep, 1889.

Oil on canvas, 50 × 88 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, inv. no. 86.B © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, 2023 51. Pio Joris The Via Flaminia in Rome, ca. 1870.

Oil on canvas, 62.5 × 135 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, inv.

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 167

52. Max Liebermann Dutch Village Street, 1885.

Oil on canvas, 90 × 117 cm.

Hannover, Landesmuseum Hannover, inv. no. KA 266/1967 © Landesmuseum Hannover – ARTOTHEK

katalog?gallery=Slovenská%20 národná%20galéria,%20SNG” HYPERLINK “https://www.webumenia.sk/katalog?gallery=Slovenská%20 národná%20galéria,%20SNG”národná HYPERLINK “https://www.webumenia.sk/katalog?gallery=Slovenská%20 národná%20galéria,%20SNG” galéria, SNG, inv. no. O 1532 © From the collection of Stredoslovenska galeria

53. Gotthard Kuehl Orphans Knitting, ca. 1890.

Oil on panel 75.7 x 59.3 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, inv. no. 56.B © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, 2023

58. Dominik Skuteczky Market in Banská Bystrica, 1889.

Oil on canvas, 83.3 × 113.5 cm.

Banská Bystrica, Stredoslovenská galéria, inv. no. O 1289. © From the collection of Stredoslovenska galeria

54. Károly Ferenczy Adam, 1894–1895.

Oil on canvas, 259 × 164 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 4400 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023

59. Dominik Skuteczky Copper Smelter at Staré Hory, ca. 1897.

Oil on canvas, 75 × 110 cm.

Liptovský Mikuláš, Liptov galéria Peter Michal Bohúň, inv. no. O 298. © From the collection of Stredoslovenska galeria

no. 132.B © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, 2023

55. Carl Moll Winter Courtyard, 1905.

Oil on canvas, 100 × 100 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, inv. no. 83.69.B © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, 2023 56. Fernand Khnopff Portrait of Jeanne Kéfer, 1885.

Oil on canvas, 80 cm × 80 cm.

Los Angeles, J. Paul Getty Museum, inv. no. 97.PA.35 © The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 57. Dominik Skuteczky Mechanical Hammering out of Cauldrons, 1890s.

Oil on canvas, 103 × 80 cm.

Bratislava, Slovenská HYPERLINK “https://www.webumenia.sk/

60. Dominik Skuteczky After Work I., around 1918.

Oil on canvas, 48.5 × 69 cm.

Bratislava, Slovenská HYPERLINK “https://www.webumenia.sk/katalog?gallery=Slovenská%20národná%20 galéria,%20SNG” HYPERLINK “https://www.webumenia.sk/katalog?gallery=Slovenská%20národná%20 galéria,%20SNG”národná HYPERLINK “https://www.webumenia.sk/katalog?gallery=Slovenská%20národná%20 galéria,%20SNG” galéria, SNG, inv. no. O 476 © From the collection of Stredoslovenska galeria 61. Adolph Menzel The Iron Rolling Mill, 1872–1875.

Oil on canvas, 158 × 254 cm.

Berlin, Alte Nationalgalerie, inv.

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 168

no. A I 201 ©bpk / Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen 62. Henry Peter Emerson, Scene of Country Life in East Anglia, England, 1887. British Library 63. Tamás Szana, Hungarian Artists. Budapest, 1889. Cover page of the volume 64. Underwood-Underwood Travelling by the Underwood Travel System, 1908.

Albumen print, stereo.

Keystone View Co., Art Institute of Chicago 65. Keyston View Company Hungarian Shepherd and his Flock on the Hortobágy, 1890–1930.

Albumen print, stereo, Washington, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division 66. László Pataky In front of The Church, 1888.

Reproduced in Vasárnapi Ujság (1889): 767.

67. Lajos Karcsay Apple Harvest, ca. 1885.

Oil on canvas, 141.5 × 182 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 66.13T © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 68. Gyula Aggházy On the Way Home, 1890s.

Today’s scan from an original negative. Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Central European Research Institute for Art History, Archive and Documentation Center (ADK), Photo Library, inv. no. adf_aggh_125 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, Central European Research Institute for Art History (KEMKI), 2023

69. Béla Pállik Marketplace, 1890s.

Photo, 9 × 12 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Central European Research Institute for Art History, Archive and Documentation Center (ADK), Photo Library, inv. no. 13977_1960_27 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, Central European Research Institute for Art History (KEMKI), 2023 70. Mihály Munkácsy The Condemned Cell, 1870.

Oil on panel, 139 × 193.5 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 65.54T © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, Central European Research Institute for Art History (KEMKI), 2023 71. Mihály Munkácsy The Pawnbroker’s Shop on a reproduction of Goupil.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Central European Research Institute for Art History, Archive and Documentation Center (ADK), Photo Library, without inv. no. © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts, Central European Research Institute for Art History (KEMKI), 2023 72. Paul Delaroche The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, 1833.

Oil on canvas, 246 × 297 cm.

London, National Gallery, inv. no. NG 1909 © The National Gallery, London 73. Jules Breton Young Girl Feeding Hens, 1860.

Oil on canvas, 55.8 × 46 cm.

Los Angeles, Galerie Michael 74. Mihály Munkácsy Girl at the Well, 1874.

Oil on canvas, 73.2 × 59.5 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery,

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 169

inv. no. 2560 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 75. Simon Hollósy The Daydreamer, 1886.

Oil on panel, 80 × 64.5 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 4934 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no.

8761 (detail) © Photo: Éva Somos

Detail of fig. 75. © Photo: Éva Somos Detail of fig. 75 in harsh lighting. © Photo: Éva Somos 76. István Csók The Hay Gatherers, 1890.

Oil on canvas, 115.8 × 136.8 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no. 51.49 © Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023 Detail of fig. 76. © Photo: Éva Somos 77. Simon Hollósy Corn Husking, 1885.

Oil on canvas, 151 × 100.5 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no.

4868 (detail) © Photo: Éva Somos 78. Károly Ferenczy In Front of the Posters, 1891.

Oil on canvas, 90 × 90.5 cm.

Budapest, Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, inv. no.

94.6 T (detail) © Photo: Éva Somos 79. Károly Ferenczy The Garden Boy, 1891.

Oil on panel, 47.5 × 33 cm.

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 170

INDEX OF ARTISTS Abbéma, Louise 84 Abry, Léon 112 Aise, Gustaaf van 98 Adler, Jules 67, 110 Aggházy, Gyula 140, 145 Aguado, Olympe 131 Alma-Tadema, Lawrence 82, 144 Alt, Rudolf von 111 Ambrus, Zoltán 37 Amerling, Friedrich von 111 Ancher, Anna 85 Ancher, Michael 85 Andić, Ivo 37 Anshutz, Thomas 127 Auchenthaler, Josef 113 Augier, Antoine 30 Austen-Brown, Thomas 113 Ažbe, Anton 105 Ágai, Adolf 21, 146 Baditz, Ottó 22 Baertsoen, Albert 113 Baisch, Hermann 114 Baldus, Edouard 131 Balzac, Honoré de 37, 40, 42, 45 Bartels, Hans 113 Bashkirtscheff, Marie 110 Bastien, Denis Ernest 59 Bastien-Lepage, Émile 81, 84 Bastien-Lepage, Jules 8, 9, 14, 15, 24, 34, 38, 57–65, 67, 68, 70, 72, 73, 74, 76–89, 90–99, 105, 109, 129, 158, 160, 161

Baude, Charles 63, 82 Baudelaire, Charles 38, 44, 154, 155 Baudry, PaulJacques-Aimé 67 Bánovszky, Miklós 122 Beck, Heinrich 131 Benczúr, Gyula 30, 102, 140 Bernhardt, Sarah 83 Bertin, Edouard 149 Besnard, Albert 113 Beuys, Joseph 107 Béraud, Jean 12, 82, 109 Bihari, Sándor 121, 136, 140 Blaas, Carl 121 Blanche, Jacques-Émile 110 Blau, Tina 115 Bonnat, Léon 16, 63 Bonnier, Eva 86 Bouguereau, WilliamAdolphe 67, 74, 143, 151 Boulanger, Gustave 71 Bourget, Paul 30, 36, 49 Böcklin, Arnold 55, 116 Böhm, Adolf 121 Bramtot, Alfred 12 Breton, Jules 110, 142, 151, 152 Bruck Lajos 145 Bruce, William Blair 85 Buland, Jean-Eugène 66, 67, 69, 72, 109 Burnand, Eugène 64 Butler, Howard Russel 85, 86

Cabanel, Alexandre 16, 58, 67, 69, 71, 72, 74, 82, 143, 151 Caillebotte, Gustave 8, 14, 15, 16 Canon, Hans 111 Caravaggio 24, 32 Castagnary, Jules Antoine 10, 44, 100 Cazin, JeanCharles 82, 110 Cézanne, Paul 73, 80 Chadwick, Emma 85 Charlet, Frantz 93, 97, 98 Chełmoński, Józef 50, 51, 52 Chmielowski, Adam 51 Claus, Émile 93, 112 Coburn, Alvin Langdon 131 Collin, Raphaël 113 Comte, Auguste 40, 41, 45, 67 Corinth, Lovis 85 Cornelius, Peter von 102 Corot, Camille 96 Cottet, Charles 110 Courbet, Gustave 9, 13, 33, 51, 60, 77, 95, 96, 98, 103, 104, 106, 145, 155 Courtens, Franz 112, 113, 115 Courtois, GustaveClaude-Etienne 63, 82 Crane, Stephen 13 Crane, Walter 116 Cuvelier, Eugène 131 Csók, István 8, 34, 38, 39, 66, 113, 136, 160

/ / 171

Dagnan-Bouveret, Pascal 9, 38, 57–66, 67, 69, 74, 82, 109, 110 Dante, Alighieri 35 Daubigny, Charles François 110, 114 Daudet, Alphonse 37, 38, 49 Daumier, Honoré 104 David, JacquesLouis 68, 148 Deák Ébner, Lajos 145 Debat-Ponsan, Édouard 74 Degas, Edgar 110 Delaroche, Paul 69, 140, 141, 142–152 Delacroix, Eugène 77, 80, 81, 85, 86, 87, 88, 133, 148, 155 Demachy, Robert 131 Detaille, Édouard 82 Diderot, Denis 13, 41, 44 Divald, Károly 132 Divald, Kornél 133, 141 Dostoevsky, Fyodor 30 Drouet, Juliette 83 Duez, Ernest Ange 82, 90 Dumas, Alexandre 30 Dupré, Julien 110 Duran, Carolus 82 Dyck, Anthoine van 94 Dygasiński, Adolf 49 Eakins, Thomas 13 Echegaray, José 30 Edelfelt, Albert 63, 65, 80, 81, 85, 88 Edison, Thomas Alva 141 Emerson, Peter Henry 129, 130, 133 Engert, Eduard von 121 Ensor, James 14, 93 Eötvös, Loránd 140 Exter, Julius 113 Favretto, Giacomo 112 Ferenczy, Károly 8, 24, 106, 113, 136, 160, 161, 162, 163 Ferenczy, Valér 162 Feszty, Árpád 121 Feuerbach, Anselm 121

Feyen-Perrin, Auguste 110 Féneon, Félix 87, 88 Firle, Walter 112, 113 Flandrin, Hippolyte 59 Flaubert, Gustave 32, 37, 40, 42–43, 45, 51 Fourcaud, Louis de 62, 73, 78, 81, 82, 87 Fragiacomo, Pietro 121 Frederic, Léon 90, 92–93, 96, 98, 116 Friant, Émile 8, 12, 15, 64, 66, 67, 69, 72, 110 Friedrich, Caspar David 101 Gabriël, Paul 112, 114 Gallen-Kallela, Akseli 81, 85, 86 Gautier, Théophile 150 Geoffroy, Jean 12, 67, 68 Gérôme, Jean-Léon 16, 58, 60, 62, 67, 72, 142, 143, 144, 148, 150, 151 Gervex, Henri 70–71, 73–74, 82, 84 Gierymski, Aleksander 49, 50, 51, 52 Gierymski, Maksymilian 50, 51, 52 Gilbert, Victor 109 Glasgow Boys 115 Goncourt, brothers 37 Gontscharow, Ivan 38 Gonzalez, Éva 82 Goupil, Adolphe 121, 142–152 Gruszecki, Artur 49 Gueldry, FerdinandJoseph 12, 127 Gutkaiss, József 125 Guyau, Jean-Marie 38, 52 Haraszti, Gyula 37, 39 Hauptmann, Gerhart 30 Henner, Jean-Jacques 63 Herkomer, Hubert von 113 Hogarth, William 33 Holbein, Hans 93, 158 Holesch, Adolf 122

Hollósy, Simon 105, 136, 160 Holz, Arno 106 Horovitz, Lipót 122 Hudec, Ladsilav 122 Hugo, Victor 12, 35, 83 Huysmans, Joris-Karl 38, 46, 73, 87, 88 Ibsen, Henrik 29, 30, 31, 34, 36, 38 Ingres, Jean Auguste Dominique 71, 143, 148 Israëls, Jozef 112, 142 IványiGrünwald, Béla 113 Jacobsen, Jens Peter 30, 38 Jettel, Eugen115 Johansen, Viggo 85 Jordaens, Jacob 94 Joris, Pio 112 Josephsson, Ernst 85 Jókai, Mór 30, 37 Kandinsky, Vasily 103, 105 Kassák, Lajos 40 Kaulbach, Wilhelm von 102 Keleti, Gusztáv 24, 25 Khnopff, Fernand 115, 116 Kiss, József 26 Klee, Paul 103 Klinger, Max 55, 56 Knirr, Henrik/ Heinrich 105 Kosztolányi, Dezső 40 Kozmata, Ferenc 131, 136 Kreuger, Nils 85 Krøyer, Peder Severin 66, 85 Kuehl, Gotthard 112 Kühn, Heinrich 130 Laferrière, Joseph 139 Lamennais, Robert de 40 Lami, Eugène 147 Langenmantel, Ludwig von 121 Larsson, Carl 85 La Touche, Gaston 65

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 172

Layraud, JosephFortuné 127 Lázár, Béla 5, 26, 31–41 Le Gray, Gustave 130, 146, 148 Le Secq, Henri 130, 146 Lechnitzky, Ottó 125 Leemputten, Frans van 112, 113 Leenhoff, Léon 82, 84 Lefebvre, Jules 110 Leibl, Wilhelm 104, 105, 111 Lenbach, Franz von 111 Lhermitte, Léon 16, 67, 68, 72, 74, 82 Liebermann, Max 112, 113 Lier, Adolf Heinrich 114 Liezen-Mayer, Sándor 102 Londe, Albert 130 Looy, Jacobus van 87 Lumière, brothers 139 Lyka, Károly 24, 26, 27, 29, 30, 38 Maeterlinck, Maurice 40 Magyar-Mannheimer, Gusztáv 33 Maignan, Albert 71 Malczewski, Jacek 57 Mallarmé, Stéphane 40 Manet, Edouard 17, 18, 20, 71, 72, 73, 74, 77, 78, 79, 82, 90, 96, 110, 132 Margittay, Tihamér 29 Marr, Carl 112 Marville, Charles 130 Masłowski, Stanisław 52 Matejko, Jan 51 Matisse, Henri 145 Maupassant, Guy de 48, 51 Mauve, Anton 113 Mayhew, Henry 129 Mednyánszky, László 106, 115, 120 Meissonier, Ernest 82, 141 Mellery, Xavier 112

Memling, Hans 93 Menzel, Adolf 18, 78, 85, 111, 126 Mérimée, Prosper 39 Mesdag, Hendrik Willem 113 Metcalf, Willard 85 Metsu, Gabriel 93 Meunier, Constantin 65, 112 Meyerheim, Paul Friedrich 126 Mészöly, Géza 113, 143 Michelangelo Bounarotti 141 Miczkiewicz, Adam 49, 50, 55 Millet, Jean-François 61, 77, 104 Mirbeau, Octave 87 Moll, Carl 115 Molmenti, Pompeo 121 Monet, Claude 73, 74, 110 Moreau, Gustave 117 Moreau, Mathurin 71 Mucha, Alfons 116 Muenier, Jules-Alexis 110 Munch, Edvard 85, 139 Munkácsy, Mihály 6, 25, 37, 102, 136, 138, 140, 143–145, 147, 148, 149 Murgaš, Jozef 122 Murillo, Bartolomé Esteban 141 Nadar, Félix 130 Nagy, Sándor 139 Nègres, Charles 146 Neuhuys, Albert 112 Neuville, Alphonse de 82 Nono, Luigi 121 Nordström, Karl 85 Nørregaard, Asta 85 Nyitray, József 26, 29 Paál, László 35, 143 Pankiewicz, Józef 52 Pataky, László 12, 135, 136 Pauli, Georg 85 Paulussen, Richard 131 Pállik, Béla 138 Pelez, Fernand 67, 72

Pettenkofen, August von 114, 121 Péterfy, Jenő 40 Piloty, Karl von 102, 105, 121 Piotrowski, Antoni 52 Pissarro, Camille 110 Plohn, József 139 Podkowiński, Władysław 52 Portaels, JeanFrançois 112 Prinet, René-Xavier 65 Proust, Antonin 72, 82, 84 Prus, Bolesław 51 Puvis de Chavannes, Pierre 82 Raffaello Santi 141 Raffaëlli, Jean-François 18, 19, 78, 110 Raffalt, Gualbert 114 Rahl, Carl 111 Rechnitz, Elza 122 Rembrandt Hermensz van Rijn 35, 141 Renan, Ernest 51 Reymont, Łódź Władisław 51 Réti, István 105, 106 Ribarz, Rudolf 115 Ribot, Théodule 82 Rivière, Henri 130 Rixens, Jean-André 127 Robert-Fleury, Tony 110 Robinson, Henry Peach 130 Rodin, Auguste 64, 76, 82 Roll, Alfred 12, 16, 18, 19, 72–73, 74, 82, 110 Róna, József 33 Rops, Félicien 95 Rosset-Granger, Édouard 65 Rotta, Silvio 112, 121 Russ, Robert 115 Rubens, Peter Paul 56, 94 Ruskin, John 40 Rysselberghe, Théo van 93, 96, 98

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 173

Sand, George 35 Sardou, Victorien 33 Scheffer, Ary 141, 146 Schindler, Emil Jakob 115 Schuch, Carl 104 Segantini, Giovanni 116 Simon, Lucien 110, 112 Sisley, Alfred 110 Skuteczky, Döme 6, 120–127, 143 Sorolla, Joaquin 85 Spencer, Herbert 51 Steichen, Edward 130 Stendhal 39, 44 Stetten, Carl von 66 Stevens, Alfred 112 Stieglitz, Alfred 130, 138 Stokes, Charles Adrian Scott 66 Stokes, Marianne 66 Strobentz, Frigyes 113 Strobl, Alajos 33 Stuck, Franz von 102, 103, 116 Sygietyński, Antoni 51, 52, 53 Szana, Tamás 110, 112, 131 Székely, Bertalan 102 Szinyei, Merse Pál 11, 102, 113 Taine, Hippolyte 12, 32, 37, 39, 42, 43, 47, 55, 67, 69, 94, 95 Telepy, Károly 144 Theuriet, André 61 Tholen, Willem Bastiaan 112 Thoma, Hans 112 Thomson, John 129 Thoren, Otto von 114 Thorma, János 135 Tito, Ettore 112, 121 Tiziano Vecellio 141 Tolstoy, Leo 33, 41 Tornyai, János 139 Trübner, Wilhelm 112 Turgenev, Ivan 33, 41 Valton, Eugène 139 Verhaeren, Émile 95

Verhas, Jan 112 Verlaine, Paul 40 Vernet, Horace 146 Véron, Eugène 53 Veronese, Paolo 141 Verstraete, Theodoor/ Théodore 93, 112, 113 Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène 69 Wagner, Sándor 102 Waldmüller, Ferdinand Georg 111 Waterhouse, John William 85 Wencker, Joseph 64 Wenglein, Joseph 114 Whistler, J. A. McNeill 129, 132 Willroider, Josef 114 Willroider, Ludwig 114 Winterhalter, Franz Xaver 141 Witkiewicz, Stanisław 5, 49–57 Witsen, Willem 85, 86, 87 Wurzinger, Karl 121 Zichy, Mihály 37 Zola, Émile 5, 20, 25, 27, 31, 32, 37, 39, 40, 41, 42–48, 50, 51, 53, 61, 62, 63, 70, 71, 73, 74, 79, 87, 100, 104, 142, 148 Zoltvány, Irén 40

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 174

ILLUSTRATIONS

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE NATURALIST PAINTING TECHNIQUE / / 175

1 | Fernand Pelez: Homeless, 1883 176

2 | István Csók: At a Maid Agency, 1892 177

3 | László Pataky: Interrogation, 1897 178

4 | Émile Friant: The Rowers, 1887 179

5 | Alfred Roll: Work, Railway Construction at Suresnes, 1885 180

6 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: Haymakers, 1877 181

7 | Artúr Halmi: After the Exam, 1890 182

8 | Sándor Bihari: Sunday Afternoon, 1893 183

9 | Ottó Baditz: Angel-Maker, 1884–1885 184

10 | Jacek Malczewski: Portrait de Stanisław Witkiewicz, 1902 185

11 | Stanisław Witkiewicz, Antoni Sygietyński, Aleksander Gierymski, photographié par 11. Jan Mieczkowski, 1884–1885 186

12 | Aleksander Gierymski: Convoyeurs de sable, 1887 187

13 | Józef Chełmoński: L’Été indien: 1875 188

14 | Stanisław Witkiewicz: Le Vent dans le Tatras, 1895 189

15 | Aleksander Gierymski: Le Jour de la sonnerie, 1884 190

16 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: Son grand-père, 1874 191

17 | Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret: Figure peinte, 1876 192

18 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: La Communiante, 1875 193

19 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: Octobre, 1878 194

20 | Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret: Manon Lescaut, 1878 195

21 | Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret: Une Noce chez le photographe, 1878–1879 196

22 | Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret: Un Accident, 1879 197

23 | Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret: Bénédiction des jeunes époux avant le mariage; coutume de Franche-Comté, 1880–1881 198

24 | Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret: Le Pardon en Bretagne, 1886 199

25 | Peder Severin Kroyer: Hip hip hourra!, 1888 200

26 | István Csók: Faites ceci en mémoire de moi, 1890 201

27 | Léon Augustin Lhermitte: La Paye des moissonneurs, 1882 202

28 | Émile Friant: Œdipe maudit son fils Polynice, 1883 203

29 | Le cours de M. Taine à l’École des Beaux-Arts. Reproduced in La Vie parisienne, February 18, 1865 204

30 | Henri Gervex: Le Mariage civil, 1881 205

31 | Henri Gervex: Satyre jouant avec une bacchante, 1874 206

32 | Henri Gervex: Madame Valtesse de la Bigne, 1879 207

33 | Eugène Atget: L’Ancien Hôtel de Chimay a abrité l’École des BeauxArts, entre 885 et 1925 208

34 | Exposition des œuvres de Jules Bastien-Lepage, Paris, 1885 209

35 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: Le Père Jacques, 1881 210

36 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: Au cimetière, esquisse, 1878 211

37 | Willem Witsen: Les Ramasseuses de bois, 1885 212

38 | Léon Frederic: Le Légende de Saint François, 1882 213

39 | Léon Frederic: Les Marchands de craie, 1882–1883 214

40 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: Le Mendiant, 1880 215

41 | Jules Bastien-Lepage: Portrait d’ Albert Wolff, 1881 216

42 | The Building of the Munich Academy, 1870s 217

43 | Wilhelm von Kaulbach: Battle of Salamis, 1868 218

44 | Karl von Piloty: Seni at the Dead Body of Wallenstein, 1855 219

45 | Exhibition interior from the Glaspalast, 1890s 220

46 | Gustave Courbet: The Stone Breakers, 1849 221

47 | Wilhelm Leibl: Frau Gedon, 1869 222

48 | Simon Hollósy’s School in Munich, 1890s 223

49 | Jules Adler: Old Sailor, 1900 224

50 | Frans van Leemputten: Landscape with Curricle and Bunch of Sheep, 1889 225

51 | Pio Joris: The Via Flaminia in Rome, around 1870 226

52 | Max Liebermann: Dutch Village Street, 1885 227

53 | Gotthard Kuehl: Orphans Knitting, around 1890 228

54 | Károly Ferenczy: Adam, 1894–1895 229

55 | Carl Moll: Winter Courtyard, 1905 230

56 | Fernand Khnopff: Portrait of Jeanne Kéfer, 1885 231

57 | Dominik Skuteczky: Mechanical Hammering out of Cauldrons, 1890s 232

58 | Dominik Skuteczky: Market in Banská Bystrica, 1889 233

59 | Dominik Skuteczky: Copper Smelter at Staré Hory, around 1897 234

60 | Dominik Skuteczky: After Work I., around 1918 235

61 | Adolph Menzel: The Iron Rolling Mill, 1872–1875 236

62 | Henry Peter Emerson: Scene of Country Life in East Anglia, England, 1887 237

63 | Tamás Szana: Hungarian Artists (Budapest, 1889). Cover page of the volume 238

64 | Underwood-Underwood, Travelling by the Underwood Travel System, 1908 239

65 | Keyston View Company, Hungarian Shepherd and his Flock on the Hortobágy, 1890–1930 240

66 | László Pataky: In front of The Church, 1888. Reproduced in Vasárnapi Ujság, 1889 241

67 | Lajos Karcsay: Apple Harvest, around 1885 242

68 | Gyula Aggházy: On the Way Home, 1890s 243

69 | Béla Pállik: Marketplace, 1890s 244

70 | Mihály Munkácsy: The Condemned Cell, 1870 245

71 | Mihály Munkácsy: The Pawnbroker’s Shop on a reproduction of Goupil 246

72 | Paul Delaroche: The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, 1833 247

73 | Jules Breton: Young Girl Feeding Hens, 1860 248

74 | Mihály Munkácsy: Girl at the Well, 1874 249

75 | Simon Hollósy: The Daydreamer, 1886 250

Detail of fig. 75 251

Detail of fig. 75 on harsh lighting.

252

76 | István Csók: The Hay Gatherers, 1890 253

Detail of fig. 76 254

77 | Detail of Simon Hollósy’s Corn Husking, 1885 255

78 | Detail of Károly Ferenczy’s In Front of the Posters, 1891 256

79 | Detail of Károly Ferenczy’s The Garden Boy, 1891 257

“... the real is always interesting.” Naturalism in Painting, 1870–1905

A companion volume to the conference intitled Naturalism 2022 held in Budapest, 16–17 June 2022

Concept by the members of research group “Realism and Naturalism

in Hungary and Europe” of the Hungarian National Gallery: Eszter Földi,

Orsolya Hessky, Réka Krasznai, András Zwickl

Editors: Eszter Földi, Orsolya Hessky, Orsolya Radványi

Copy editors: Judit Borus, Noémi Böröczki, Marcell Szabó

Authors: Katarina Beňová, Alain Bonnet, Luca Dsupin,

Zsuzsa Farkas, Eszter Földi, Benjamin Foudral, Orsolya Hessky,

Agnieszka Kluczewska-Wojcik, Ágnes Kovács, Anna Zsófia Kovács,

Dominique Lobstein, Zsófia Sepsey, Éva Somos, György Szücs, Ferenc Tóth

Translated by Veronika Vecsernyés Reproduction administration: Szilvia Cseh Layout: Balázs Czeizel

Graphic design: Léna Müller Published by dr László Baán, General Director

Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery, 2023

Sponsored by: NKFI Alap

© Authors, 2023 ISBN