Category Archives: Art

Goya’s Madhouse

By Nabeela Ahmad (Vanderbilt University)

In 1789, the French National Assembly proposed a radical document, “The Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen,” which delineated what would later become the basis of the French Constitution. In 1790, the Assembly released several decrees to ensure provisions within the declaration. The following decree provides a startling but insightful glimpse into the state of psychological treatment in Europe during the late eighteenth century:  

Within six weeks of the present decree, all persons detained in castles, religious houses, gaols, police houses or prisons of any other description…unless they have also been sentenced or charged or are awaiting trial for a serious crime, have been stripped of their civil rights, or have been locked up on account of madness, are to be set free.2

Despite its intellectual radicalism, the French Revolution considered the mentally ill on the same plane as common criminals.

Completed by Spanish artist Francisco Goya in 1794, Yard with Lunatics consummately portrays the situation in the above decree. Following an episode of personal mental and physical breakdown, Goya created a set of works he called caprichos, images displaying Spanish cultural spectacles (e.g. bullfights), which he sent to the Royal Academy of Arts of San Fernando.4 The Royal Academicians referred to this series as “various scenes of national diversions.” In a rather dark twist, however, Goya followed by sending the Royal Academy Yard with Lunatics as a conclusion to the caprichos. Goya’s letters to Bernardo Iriarte, Vice-protector of the Royal Academy during that time, capture how The Yard with Lunatics is dually representational of Goya’s inner torment and the outward treatment of the mad during the late eighteenth century.3

In a letter to Iriarte, Goya indicates, “I have managed to make observations for which there is no opportunity in commissioned works which give no scope for fantasy and invention.”3  Yard with Lunatics captures a fantastical, yet grotesquely realistic image of desolation. The painting is dark and muted within the courtyard; the bright sunlight at the top does not enter the courtyard. One man in the center seems to be looking upward in desperation.  In a second letter to Iriarte, Goya says the painting “ represents a yard with lunatics and two of them fighting completely naked while their warder beats them, and others in sacks; (it is a scene which I saw in Saragossa).”3 Goya’s inclusion of Yard with Lunatics within the series of “national diversions,” shows, like the French decree, how widely accepted the punitive treatment of the mad and their experience of desolation had become.

Sources:

1. “A Goya Biography.” Goya. Museo del Prado, 1961. Web. 17 Nov 2011. <http://www.eeweems.com/goya/1961_prado_bio.html>.

2. Foucault, Michel. History of Madness. Abingdon: Routledge, 2006. Print.

3. Gassier, Pierre and Juliet Wilson. The Life and Complete Work of Francisco Goya. New York:  Reynal & Co., 1971. 109-111.

4. Hilton, Tim. “Something wicked this way comes: Two shows, one of small works by Goya, the other a series of religious paintings by Francisco de Zurbaran, reveal Spain’s darkest artists in a new light.” Independent 20 Mar 1994. Web. 30

5. “Yard with Lunatics.” Graphic. Francisco Goya. 1794. Painting.

 

A Marvelous Dinner Party

 

Footed plate for Louis XV’s “service bleu céleste.” Vincennes Manufactory. 1754-5. Boughton House.

Madame de Pompadour, mistress of Louis XV, had a serious passion for porcelain. She took a leading role in patronage and artistic influence at the French manufactory at Vincennes, which produced the finest objects in the realm in the 1750s. The king provided the economic support to ensure that Pompadour and his court could overindulge in these luxuries. He purchased the manufactory, restricted the movement of workers, and entrusted direction to the head chemist at the Académie des Sciences, Jean Hellot. In return, the manufactory lavished the monarch and mistress with exquisite wares designed in their honor.

One innovation that charmed the court hailed from Europe’s leading porcelain manufactory at Meissen in Saxony. Meissen’s chemists had perfected a new form in porcelain—the plate—and hatched the novel idea of an entire service of cups, plates, and servers painted with the same pattern. Louis XV asked Vincennes to copy the new form and produce the first French dinner service. For the occasion, Hellot, who was a specialist in paint, experimented with a color never before seen on porcelain wares. He wanted an underglaze rich enough to cover a whole area of the vessel—color had formerly been too thin to coat a large area well and was reserved for small designs or trim. “Celestial blue” (bleu céleste) formed a bright heavenly orb in the center of the plate and proved worthy of special presentation.

Anecdote has it that one evening in February, 1755 the service sat waiting in boxes around the royal dining room. The king planned to unveil it ceremoniously by involving guests in the ritual. He gathered the nobility before the group of crates. Everyone in attendance was asked to open one and unwrap a celestial “masterpiece.” This spectacle of the marvelous dinner plate nicely captures the excitement around the art of the table when the full porcelain service first became the must of the fashionable dinner party.

 

Christine A. Jones teaches French 17th/18th-century literature and culture at the University of Utah. She writes on fairy tales, porcelain, dance, and, most recently, wine.

Mozart and Machine Guns

By Matt Rees

The last time someone shot a machine-gun at me, I remember listening to the ricochets off the nearby rocks and thinking: Mozart sounds a lot better than this. I was crouching behind a concrete block on the edge of the West Bank town of Ramallah and I still don’t know if the bullets zinging past were Palestinian or Israeli. I was covering the intifada for Time Magazine and I had taken to soothing my traumatized mind with Mozart’s compositions. (Scientific studies have shown that it’s good for many other ailments, including attention deficit disorder and epilepsy.)

As I drove home that day, I played his final Jupiter symphony extra-loud on my car stereo to counter the jitters. I suggested to my wife that we take a break to travel to Austria. I wanted the mountains, beautiful cities, and lovely music.

But I stumbled across something that brought me to life creatively in the tiny village in the mountains near Salzburg where Mozart’s sister Nannerl lived as the wife of a boring functionary. Nannerl had been almost as talented as her brother, but was cooped up in the mountains while he grew famous in Vienna. As a crime fiction writer, I started to think about her response to his sudden death.

Later, I was dining with Maestro Zubin Mehta, formerly the musical director of the New York Philharmonic. I asked him which of all the great composers he valued most highly. “I’d find it hard to live without Mozart,” he said. That started me thinking about those people who had lived with Mozart. After his death at only 35, what had it been like to live without him. To have lost one of the greatest geniuses in the history of the world.

In MOZART’S LAST ARIA I answer Maestro Mehta’s question through Nannerl and the music of his last great opera The Magic Flute. The music showed me the great composer’s dangerous ideals and the risks he took for them. His sister gave me a character who might uncover them.

Matt Rees is the award-winning author of five crime novels, including MOZART’S LAST ARIA, published Nov. 1 by HarperCollins. A former foreign correspondent, he lives in Jerusalem.

The woman who almost married Mozart

MARRYING MOZART

by Stephanie Cowell (Wonders & Marvels contributor)

Mozart almost didn’t marry his lovely wife; he almost married her older sister. And if he had married the sister, I believe we’d be missing a great deal of his music today.

When Mozart was twenty-one and unemployed, he was invited to the home of a violinist Fridolin Weber who had four musical daughters, ages fourteen through nineteen. Aloysia was sixteen: she was gifted with a gorgeous voice and quite ravishing. The other three Weber sisters could not come close to her and she knew it.

Mozart was so much in love that he wanted to turn over his own struggling career to promote her singing. (Again, think what music we may have lost!) But there were several obstacles in his path. Her mother was a bit crazy; she thought Mozart would never make a penny and wanted her beautiful daughter to marry a wealthy man. His father was controlling; he didn’t want his son to marry anyone but to send all his money home (if Mozart ever made any).

Mozart had to travel in search of earnings, and when he finally found his love again in Vienna, she had forgotten him and was now pregnant by a tall and handsome actor. Mozart was not very tall and not very handsome. When his heart healed a little, he found himself as a boarder in the house of the three remaining Weber sisters. He could have married any of then, but that is a complicated story, so complicated that I wrote a novel about it called Marrying Mozart. He settled on the third sister and had a happy life. He also began to make a good deal of money now and then.

Mozart died at the age of thirty-five and his wife spent the remaining fifty years of her life preserving and sharing her husband’s music. By the time Aloysia was quite old, Mozart’s name was famous throughout Europe. One of his admirers came to visit the aging prima donna in Salzburg and Aloysia swore to them that Mozart had never ceased to love her. “But why did you refuse him so many years ago?” the admirer asked bewildered and she replied that at that time she was not capable of appreciating his talent and character…” Hmm.

So he didn’t get the first girl he loved but he got the right one for him and the right one to save his work for posterity. And if it were not for the music Mozart wrote for Aloysia Weber Lange, history would scare remember her name.

About the author: Historical novelist Stephanie Cowell is the author of Nicholas Cooke, The Physician of London, The Players: a novel of the young Shakespeare, Claude & Camille: a novel of Monet and Marrying Mozart. She is the recipient of the American Book Award. Her work has been translated into nine languages. Her website is http://www.stephaniecowell.com.

 

The Lost Wife

By Alyson Richman

Alyson Richman“The Lost Wife”, began as a personal journey for me. I wanted to write about artists during the Holocaust because I wanted to explore how the creative spirit couldn’t be suppressed, even in the most horrific circumstances.

The initial seed of inspiration originated after reading in The New York Times about an artist and Holocaust survivor named Dina Gottliebova. Dina was an art student in Czechoslovakia at the onset of the war, but she and her mother were sent to Terezin, the Nazi-created ghetto outside Prague. While there, she painted postcards that were shipped back to be sold in Germany.

Eventually, she and her mother were transported to Auschwitz. Soon after her arrival, a fellow Czech asked her if she could paint a mural for the children’s barrack. She painted “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves” on a single, bleak wall, to give the children a sliver of make-believe in an otherwise ghastly place.

Ironically, the mural ended up saving Dina’s life. Josef Mengele saw it and offered to spare Dina and her mother from the gas chamber if she would make portraits of the Gypsies he was “studying.”

Dina is depicted in “The Lost Wife” as a historic character, along with several other actual artists who took great risk to document their experiences. Although, Lenka, my main character is fictitious, she shares many of Ms. Gottleibova’s qualities. Like Dina, she has a strong spirit, an inextinguishable desire to create, and, miraculously, she survives the war because of her artistic gift.

About the author: Alyson Richman is the author of The Mask Carver’s Son, Swedish Tango, The Last Van Gogh, and The Lost Wife. She lives in Long Island, New York with her husband and two children. Visit her online at www.alysonrichman.com.

The Lost Wife

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Louis XIV and his Marvelous Legs

Raoul-Auger Feuillet, Chorégraphie, 1700

By Christine A. Jones (Wonders & Marvels contributor)
The young Dauphin loved the stage. He famously danced the role of the Sun to the delight of the court at the age of 13. Later, when he began his personal reign at the age of 21, he adopted this allegory as his legendary alter-ego. Louis XIV understood that through dance, as through legislation, he could command the aristocracy to move to the beat of his singular drum. He asked dancing masters to create movement for his body and involved his courtiers in spectacles performed at court in which he played the central role—a most creative way to remind them of their place in his universe.

If you pay attention to portraits of Louis XIV and compare them to those of his descendants you’ll notice a striking feature of his poses: his legs in tights are often visible. And this is no accident. Gifted with a capacity to learn complicated movements that set him apart from most in the 1680s, Louis used the ability to be steady, strong, and graceful on his feet to his advantage. Dance helped him craft the identity that he sought to project to his people as their absolute monarch.

Hyacinth Rigaud, Louis XIV, 1701

Most importantly, as with everything else he did, the Sun King documented his dancing. Not only did his official dance master, Pierre Beauchamps, codify the kinds of steps he designed for the king on stage, he also named the five basic positions—“first position,” “second position,” etc.—and charted their succession in primitive notations on paper. In 1700, a student of Beauchamp’s named Raoul-Auger Feuillet made history by publishing a book that contained the steps to some of the court’s most famous ballroom dances. He called this conceptualization “chorégraphie”: Choreography, or the art of describing dance steps in characters, figures, and symbols. Modern dance notation, and with it the ballet, was born.

Conisbrough Castle, Yorkshire

By Charles Stephenson

Conisbrough Castle - The Keep

By the second half of the 12th century, great towers were becoming ever more architecturally exuberant. One famous example is the whimsical keep built in the 1160s by King Henry II (1154-89) on the Suffolk coast at Orford. Another is the tower built a decade or so later at Conisbrough by the king’s illegitimate brother, Hamelin. Conisbrough had been established soon after the Norman Conquest by William de Warenne. It had come to Hamelin, probably in 1164, by virtue of his marriage to Warenne’s great-granddaughter, Isabel, along with the rest of the Warenne inheritance and the title of Earl of Surrey.

Henry’s tower at Orford is polygonal, with round rooms on the inside, and is supported on the outside by three great buttressing towers. Hamelin’s keep at Conisbrough has similar round rooms and six exterior buttresses, while its exterior is completely cylindrical.

Historians were once inclined to interpret these features as experiments in military science, intended either to deflect missiles or to provide more angles from which to launch them. More recently, Orford has been shown as something altogether different: a playful exercise in geometry. Conisbrough would seem to be a building in much the same mold. Such towers, because of the thickness of their walls, had an inherent resilience, and therefore were of military value. But they were also homes for the super-rich, designed by masons who prized inventiveness for its own sake.

Excerpt from Castles - pages 74-75

Castles

About the author: Consulting editor CHARLES STEPHENSON is a historian and writer, whose recent military titles include: Servant to the King for His Fortifications; Paul Ive and the Practise of Fortification; The Admiral’s Secret Weapon; Fortifications of the Channel islands, 1941-45: Hitler’s Impregnably Fortress; and The Fortifications of Malta, 1530–1945. He is currently working on a history of the Italo-Ottoman War of 1911–12.

The Architecture of Romance

La Maison de Trianon, 1671-1687 (reconstruction)

By Christine A. Jones (W&M Contributor)

Not long after the construction of the legendary Taj Mahal, Louis XIV built a monument to passion, but it was not for his wife, Queen Maria Theresa. Over the course of his reign, he fell in love with other women who came to live at Versailles. His second paramour, the Marquise de Montespan, was a stunning social climber who caught his eye in 1666. Montespan’s penchant for excess was striking and earned her a dubious reputation at court. The king’s sister-in-law, the Duchesse d’Orléans, registered her distain in scathing descriptions. “[...] Montespan was a very capricious creature, who could never restrain herself in any way,” and “her ambition exceeded her debauchery.” Little wonder that Louis XIV adored her.

The king celebrated their passion in 1670 with an extravagant getaway built at one end of Versailles’ Grand Canal. Inspired by the Marquise’s taste for luxury, the King commissioned a richly exotic pavilion the likes of which Europe had never seen: its roof was covered in thousands of sparkling ceramic tiles and vessels done in the style of “blue and white” Ming china. Entering the “Trianon de porcelaine” was like walking into a porcelain universe. Inside, tiles covered the floors, painters finished white walls with cobalt blue motifs, and woodworkers contributed identically patterned furniture. Gardens were planted in such abundance that sometimes the scents were overwhelming. Architectural historian, André Félibien, recorded in 1673 that, “everyone found the palace enchanting.” It was a fairy-tale castle for a storybook romance.

But don’t look for it at Versailles today. During the 1680s, the aging king fell for the devoutly religious Madame de Maintenon, who turned him away from the wanton passions he had shared with the Marquise. Louis demolished the porcelain love shack in 1687 and built the Grand Trianon in marble to immortalize the glory of his reign, which, unlike his love, stood the test of time.

Christine A. Jones teaches French 17th/18th-century literature and culture at the University of Utah. She writes on fairy tales, porcelain, dance, and, most recently, wine.

An Old Man and His Garden: The Story Behind Giverny

By Stephanie Cowell

The Water Lily Gardens at Giverny

The Water Lily Gardens at Giverny

Claude Monet always wanted a garden, but his years as a struggling artist had seldom allowed it. He was forty-three years old and still rather poor when he first rented the house at Giverny. He had recently lost his beloved wife Camille. He moved in with his two sons, his new sweetheart Alice, and her children. Many years later he purchased additional land to create his water lily gardens. By then he had six gardeners and a great deal of money.

In the last twenty years of his life, Claude Monet cloistered himself inside Giverny and painted almost nothing else but his flower gardens. The deaths of his stepdaughter, Alice, and his older son Jean had wounded him; he had seen the horrors of the Great War and his eyesight was failing. I think he sought to find some peace and eternal truth in the reflections of clouds and willow tree branches in the water. Though he was a man who did not believe in God, many people find his paintings deeply spiritual.

He was eighty-six when he finished the last great paintings and died a few months later.

Slowly the gardens began to fall apart. His devoted stepdaughter Blanche remained in the house, retaining only one gardener. However, when she died in 1946, the property was inherited by Monet’s younger son Michel who neglected it. Rats infested the gardens; the lily pond shrank to a fetid pool, closing around the broken remains of the rotted Japanese bridge. The windows of the house were broken and three large trees grew in the studio. The earth took back everything.

It was only on Michel’s death that the Académie des Beaux-Arts began to restore the gardens as Monet had planned them. After several years of work, they were opened to the public; the directors expected perhaps a few thousand visitors a year. Today that number exceeds half a million.

When I visited there to research my Monet novel, I could almost imagine the old painter himself pushing through the crowds of tourists, murmuring, “Don’t trample the flowers, don’t trample the flowers.”

About the author: Historical novelist Stephanie Cowell is the author of Nicholas Cooke, The Physician of London, The Players: a novel of the young Shakespeare, Marrying Mozart and Claude & Camille: a novel of Monet. She is the recipient of the American Book Award. Her work has been translated into nine languages. Her website is http://www.stephaniecowell.com.

Claude & Camille: a novel of Monet

Machiavelli: A Biography

By Miles Unger

Machiavelli: A BiographyDuring the years I lived in Florence, it was hard to escape the shadow of Niccolò Machiavelli. His presence is not as immediately obvious as that of his near contemporaries: Brunelleschi, Donatello, Leonardo, and Michelangelo. These artists represent the sunny side of the Renaissance, the chamber-of-commerce approved representatives of the city. Their brilliant creations have made Florence synonymous with the highest achievements of civilization.

But if you look closer you can feel just as strongly the imprint of the cynical Second Chancellor of the Republic. It can be experienced most directly in the massive Palazzo della Signoria, his workplace for the decade-and-a-half he was employed in government service. The fortress-like structure, with its crenellations and defensive tower, embodies the violent side of medieval and Renaissance Florence and goes a long way toward explaining Machiavelli’s dark view of politics. This same paranoia is visible in most of the city’s Renaissance palaces, from the Medici to the Pitti to the Pazzi – these last rivals of the Medici who murdered the brother of the city’s unofficial ruler and were almost destroyed in turn.

Machiavelli’s city house near the Ponte Vecchio no longer stands, but it is still possible to visit his country farmhouse, ten miles west of Florence in the village of Sant’ Andrea in Percussina, where, looking down on the rooftops of his beloved hometown, he wrote The Prince. Here, communing with the ghosts of the great political heroes of the past and contemplating the violent folly of his own contemporaries, Machiavelli gave birth to a revolution in human thought, contemplating the frightening prospect that men and women were doomed to live with no guidance from a benevolent God.

About the author: Miles Unger is a writer and historian based in Massachusetts. He is the author of Magnifico: The Brilliant Life and Violent Times of Lorenzo de’ Medici and Machiavelli: A Biography.

Machiavelli: A Biography