Читать книгу Gustave Courbet - Georges Riat - Страница 4

However excited Courbet must have been on his arrival in Paris, one can easily imagine that it was not long before pangs of homesickness set in. He tried to improve his spirits by visiting compatriots from Franche-Comté, either relatives or friends, who consoled him as best they could. Relations with his cousin Oudot, the professor at the School of Law, soon became strained; he was no doubt disappointed that the young man should so quickly give up a career in the law for painting. Courbet’s life was humble and uncomplicated. He seems to have taken lodgings for quite some time in a hotel, located at number 28 in the rue de Bucy, but the place was short on creature comforts, and Courbet wrote urgently to ask that sheets, a blanket, a pad and a mattress be sent from Ornans.

Soon, in a letter of the 24th of December 1842, he announced to his parents that he had finally found a studio, at 89, rue de la Harpe; “It is a fine room with a wooden floor and a high ceiling, which will be warm in winter; the studio is upstairs, on the courtyard, and has two windows, one looking out on the courtyard, and the other in the roof.”

From then on he spent long and fruitful hours visiting the galleries of the Louvre. Francis Wey relates in his Mémoires inédits (Unpublished Memoirs) that the fine fellow of a painter, François Bonvin, whose conscientious talent has not yet been properly appreciated, acted as a guide for his young friend.

Courbet was instinctively drawn to the masters who best exemplified the as yet unfocused ideas developing within him. He had no use for the Italian school. Later, Théophile Silvestre, recording a conversation that he had just had with the master, said that Courbet called Titian and Leonardo da Vinci “frauds”. As for Raphael, he conceded that he might have done a “few portraits that were interesting,” the works nevertheless “show no thought,” and that is why, no doubt, continued Courbet, “our so-called idealists adore them.” It is quite likely that he did actually say these things. But one must not give too much importance to these witticisms, which smack of an artist out to shock the critics, who were always the painter’s bête noir, and the bourgeoisie for whom he showed a profound scorn, as did many artists of his time.

In his disapproval of the Italian school, he made an exception for the Venetians; Veronese, and among others, Domenico Feti and Canaletto. Did he study the techniques of the Bolognese artists: the Carracci, Caravaggio or Guercino? Everything points to their influence on him having been exaggerated. He particularly admired, and studied, the great realists such as Ribera, Zurbarán, Velázquez, Van Ostade, Holbein, and, first and foremost, Rembrandt, who “beguiles the intelligent, but bewilders and overwhelms the slow-witted.”

5. Portrait of the Artist, known as The Desperate Man, 1844–1845.

Oil on canvas, 45 × 54 cm.

Private collection.

From this period and these preoccupations date Head of a Young Girl, Florentine Pastiche, executed in the Florentine manner; a Fantastical Landscape with Anthropomorphic Rocks, after the Flemish; a Portrait of the Artist, in the manner of the Venetians and copies of the works of Rembrandt, Franz Hals, Van Dyck, and Velázquez.

When not at the Louvre, Courbet was hard at work in his studio, painting studies or portraits. He also went frequently to the atelier de Suisse, where he drew from life models without supervision, and where he did a great many studies which he used later in his paintings of nudes.

It has been said that Courbet was a student of the very academic Baron von Steuben and Auguste Hesse. In fact, he went only three or four times to the former’s studio, and then only to make fun of what was being done there. As for the latter, Courbet himself refused to admit such a relationship; fundamentally, he had had only himself for a teacher, and the most abiding effort in his life was devoted to preserving his independence.

His production during these first four years in Paris is varied and contradictory, revealing the conflict of ideas going on in his mind, and through which slowly and unconsciously his individual aesthetic was being developed. In the “classical” style, there is Ruins Beside a Lake (1839), Monk in a Cloister (1840), both of which are fairly mediocre compositions; Man Saved from Love by Death, an allegorical composition showing Death carrying off a woman whom Courbet himself, on the other side, is trying to hold back, an “amorous whimsy” which the author made fun of and later painted over, and a very affected Odalisque, which he painted after reading Victor Hugo. There are also landscapes, which already reveal qualities of observation and colour. These include Landscape with the Roche Founèche, with the Salins road at the bottom, and Ornans huddled on the bank of the river Loue; Views of the Forest of Fontainebleau, executed after a brief visit there in 1841; Wooded Landscape in Winter (1842) and Hunting Blind, “a studio landscape,” as he himself called this canvas, to ridicule this illogical practice (1843).

But it was his portraits that most clearly foretold the great artist to come. In particular, the portraits of his sisters. From this period on, he also used himself as a model. He has been much derided in this regard, and Théophile Silvestre, in the Catalogue de la Galerie Bruyas, went so far as to say that the soul of Narcissus lived on in Courbet. To be sure he viewed himself favourably, but was he not naturally led to doing his own portrait to save the expense of a paid model, particularly since he did not yet have commissions for paid portraits? His Small Portrait of the Artist with a Black Dog of 1842 earned him the honour of being accepted for the salon of 1844, an important date which, although not quite the end of his early period, nevertheless marked the end of his first step towards fame.

“I have finally been accepted at the Exhibition,” Courbet wrote to his parents in March of 1844, “which makes me most happy.” In a letter to his grandfather he announced that his painting was displayed in the salon d’honneur, “a placement reserved for the best paintings of the Exhibition.” He added that if it had been larger, he would have won a medal. When it was displayed again at the “Centennale” Exhibition in 1900, the precision, assurance, and skill in the brushstrokes, qualities not often found in the early works of artists, were there for all to admire. He started back to work with renewed vigour and produced a great deal.

6. Portrait of Grandfather Oudot, 1843.

Oil on canvas, 55 × 46 cm.

Musée Gustave-Courbet, Ornans.

7. Portrait of Paul Ansout, 1844.

Oil on canvas, 81 × 65.2 cm.

Château-Musée, Dieppe.

In February of 1845 he wrote that he had not stopped for a single hour, including Sundays and holidays; consequently he was exhausted in body and mind, and unable to go on for the time being. He had just sent five paintings to the Exhibition. A letter received in Ornans on the 22nd of March 1845 states that he had only one painting accepted: Guittarrero. This portrait, in spite of its real merit, is inferior to that of the previous Salon. It is less realistic and an obvious compromise between what was happening around Courbet and what he himself was feeling vaguely and was soon to bring forth without ambiguity or hesitation. Several canvases from this period (1844–1845) are as worthy of attention as Guittarrero. Lovers in the Country, Sentiment of Youth is a highly poetic painting. The artist has put himself in the picture from the shoulders up in left profile, his long hair blowing in the wind. Against him leans a very pretty girl, with a delicate and poetic profile tilted toward her right shoulder, her pale skin emphasised by her blonde hair cascading over her temples and ears. It would appear that the young woman is the Joséphine who was for so long the painter’s model and mistress. Having seen this painting it is impossible to maintain the idea that Courbet was incapable of sentimentality. This work, as well as the painting entitled The Hammock, foretold the great master that Courbet would later become.

Another painting, entitled The Prisoner of the Dey of Algiers but sometimes incorrectly called Job, is another example of Courbet’s hesitations during this period. An old man with a long beard sits in his prison half-naked, a blanket thrown over his head and body. Near him is a jug, and he is pulling the blanket down over his legs in a pose that the classical painters would not have disowned.

Is The Wounded Man from this period? The painter is shown full face, with a bloody wound in his chest. His face is pale and bloodless, his lips without colour, as if he were on the point of dying. The dark landscape increases the horror of this tragic moment. The catalogue from Courbet’s private exhibition, at the Pont de l’Alma in 1867, included this notation after the title; “(Paris. 1844). Rejected for the salons of 1844, 1845, 1846 and 1847 by the jury made up of members of the Institut.” However the catalogue from the Courbet exhibition at the École des Beaux-Arts in 1882, written by Castagnary, disagreed strongly with this date. According to him, “The free and supple technique of this painting shows that it is not the work of the artist’s early years; it is from 1854. The catalogue of the painter’s first private exhibition, in 1855, attests to that; to accept 1844 would be to accept that it was painted at the same time as Lovers in the Country, Sentiment of Youth and Man with a Leather Belt, Portrait of the Artist, which would be a step backward.” However, this opinion by Castagnary may not be entirely correct; it is quite possible that The Wounded Man is the “portrait of a man, life size,” mentioned in the letter of February, 1845. Nor is it proven that the Lovers in the Country, Sentiment of Youth and Man with a Leather Belt, Portrait of the Artist are in any way inferior to The Wounded Man. This latter work is very close to the other two in terms of inspiration, and it suffices to compare the two faces in Lovers in the Country and in The Wounded Man to see that they are similar. What may have led Castagnary astray is that the artist probably revised his work about 1854, in view of the 1855 Exhibition, possibly touching it up a bit. There seems little doubt that it was composed in 1844.

All these paintings indicate a difficult struggle, one which was becoming bolder and bolder. “In the coming year,” he wrote on the 10th of March 1845, “I must do a large painting which will definitely get me recognised for what I truly am, for I want all or nothing. All those little paintings are not the only thing that I can do… I want to do large-scale painting. One thing is certain, that within five years, I must have a name in Paris; that is what I strive for. It’s hard to get there, I know; there are not many, and out of thousands there may be only one who breaks through. To move faster, I only lack one thing, and that’s money in order to boldly execute what I have in mind.”

So he was very pleased when a dealer from Amsterdam, who liked his work very much, declared that he had found nothing in the various studios of Paris better than what Courbet was doing. He bought two of his paintings for 420 francs, commissioned another, and assured him that he would make him famous in Holland. At last he was free, for the moment, from the “boring portraits, and women who insist on fair complexions, in spite of everything.”

Audaciously, to show that he could paint in the grand manner, he attacked a canvas that was “eight feet high by ten wide”. This was a “mighty work”, because he wanted to finish it before leaving for Ornans, or at least to be well enough along for it to be dry and easy to paint over after the vacation.

However, his own enthusiasm wore him out fairly quickly, and he decided to return home. The little town provided the happier company of his childhood friends, the musician Promayet and the jolly Urbain Cuenot. One can only imagine the good times had by this band of hearty fellows, whether they set out to go hunting, fishing, hiking, or wooing the ladies.

Back in Paris, Courbet briefly set aside his grand ideas. In those winter days, in fact, he had neither enough time nor enough light “to work seriously at it”. Moreover, he would have had to be more certain of selling this type of painting; what could one do with it otherwise? However, he took up his work again with his “usual determination; come what may, double or nothing!”

He began to show signs of discouragement. In January 1846, he stated that “there’s nothing harder in the world than making art, particularly when no one understands it. Women want portraits without shadows, men want to be dressed up in their Sunday best; there’s no way out. To earn money with things like that, you’d be better off walking on a treadmill. At least then you would not be abdicating your convictions.”

In March, he sent eight paintings to the Salon that had “already received much praise,” and he awaited the opening with great impatience. He would care very little, he said, about the opinion of the members of the jury “if that weren’t so important for one’s reputation”. Otherwise, rejection of his works would merely have proved that he did not think like them, and that would have been a compliment to him. Here we have another glimpse of the rebel that had emerged at school, and which he would become as an artist. His judges, through excessive haste, self-centredness or lack of caring, missed the opportunity to recognise his efforts, and themselves encouraged him to become their own formidable enemy.

Once again, the tide was against him and only his portrait was accepted. Obviously there was “ill will” against him. The judges were “a bunch of old fools who had never been capable of anything and were out to stifle the younger generation who could walk all over them”. Being rejected by them was therefore an honour.

8. Small Portrait of the Artist with a Black Dog, 1842.

Oil on canvas, 27.5 × 22 cm.

Musée municipal de Pontarlier, Pontarlier.

9. Portrait of the Artist, known as Courbet with the Black Dog, 1842. Oil on canvas, 46.5 × 55.5 cm.

Petit Palais – Musée des beaux-arts de la ville de Paris, Paris.

10. The Sculptor, 1845.

Oil on canvas, 55 × 41 cm.

Private collection.

Courbet, who had extended his summer holiday in Ornans, did not return to Paris until December. He worked on a portrait of his friend Urbain Cuenot, which his friends, and Monsieur Hesse in particular, declared marvellous. However, he doubted that this work would be accepted for the Salon, because “it is entirely over the examiners’ heads.” He consoled himself with the thought that there was beginning to be talk of a coalition of painters who were rejected every year at the Louvre, and who would exhibit somewhere else in protest.

His predictions weren’t wrong. The three paintings that he submitted were refused. It was prejudice; the jurors rejected all those who weren’t of their school except a few “against whom they were powerless, such as Delacroix, Decamps, and Diaz.” Although their opinion mattered little to him as far as his reputation was concerned one had to exhibit, and, unfortunately, there was only that exhibition. “In previous years, when I had less of my own manner and so was still doing a bit like them, they accepted me; but now that I am myself, I mustn’t hope for it.” The frustrated artists reacted; there was talk of a petition to the king, or the Chamber of Deputies, and of a counter-exhibition in private rooms. Courbet was of the latter opinion, and he went on to set out his ideas in several articles for the Corsaire. It is known that this plan took shape and that a number of artists, including some very important ones such as Scheffer, Decamps, Dupré, Delacroix, Rousseau, Barye, Charles Jacque and Daumier amongst others, gathered at Barye’s place on the 15th of April 1847 and drafted a document, later registered with a notary in Paris named Monsieur Faisceau-Lavanne, in which they decided to establish an exhibition independent from the official Salon. The Revolution of 1848 kept them from going ahead with their plan.

Somewhat discouraged and beginning to doubt seriously of ever succeeding in his own country, Courbet thought of seeking a following abroad, particularly in Holland, where he had received his earliest and most faithful support. He announced in August 1847 that he was leaving for that country, the only one where he had any hope of earning any money quickly. He already knew a dealer and besides, he had been recommended “to a certain Van den Bogaert, the ‘high cupbearer’ to the king of Holland, a very influential man and one of the leading citizens of Amsterdam.” He would spend his time looking at what art lovers liked, studying the old masters and getting acquainted with art dealers, so he would be unable to arrive in Ornans until the first of September. During this trip, Courbet became familiar with the work of the old Dutch masters, particularly Rembrandt’s, for which he always had the greatest admiration, and to which his own portraits were related in an irrefutable way. He studied them in The Hague and Amsterdam, and described what a revelation they were for him, saying that this trip, “truly indispensable for an artist,” had taught him more than three years of work. Unfortunately, the living there was very expensive, and he announced his departure for the following week.

A letter of the 21st of December 1847 shows that he is very busy with a painting that he intended for the Salon. It was a painting that would cost him dear.

The Revolution of 1848 doesn’t seem to have taken him by surprise, nor diverted him from his work. He paid very little attention to politics, “as usual,” as he found “nothing more hollow than that.” He helped out a bit in “destroying former errors” and he was still ready to do so if there were new ones; but he was a painter above all, and the proof of that was that he had been painting again for a fortnight, “in spite of the Republic, which is not the kind of government most favourable for artists, historically, at least.”

The six paintings (Young Girl Sleeping, Evening, Midday, Morning, The Cellist, and Portrait of Urbain Cuenot) and three drawings (Classical Walpurgis Night) that he submitted to the Salon were accepted, but since there were 5,500 works accepted that year, and that moreover they were poorly placed, he had little hope of being noticed. However, Courbet’s apprehensions were unfounded; critical opinion began to support him. Champfleury exclaimed, “people have not sufficiently noted, this year, at the Salon, a large and striking work, Classical Walpurgis Night, a painting inspired by the theme of Faust. I say it here, and let it be remembered! He, the unknown artist who painted this Classical Walpurgis Night, will be a great painter…” We must conclude, however, that the artist himself did not place too great an importance on this work, since he painted The Wrestlers over it. Prosper Haussard wrote:

“At the last three Salons, Monsieur Courbet has gone unnoticed. Is it our fault or his? Certainly in 1848 he qualifies as an artist, he makes his début as a painter. His Cellist in particular has the makings of style and manner, a handling of brushwork and chiaroscuro which stand out with brilliance; it’s like a reappearance of Caravaggio and Rembrandt.”

Briefly, Courbet thought of entering the contest for the picture of the Republic, which was to replace the portrait of the king, Louis-Philippe. He decided against it, however. In the meantime, his poverty was increasing; he had no money at all. His clothes were in tatters and to save the expense of a tailor, he had himself dressed in the uniform of the National Guard; “I will be splendid in that, and people will take me for a rabid Republican.”

A letter of the 26th of June was written during the influence of the revolutionary fervour which followed the closing of the ateliers nationaux (state-sponsored work program under the Second Republic). It was just after the bloody days in June, with the deaths of Generals Négrier and Regnault and of the Archbishop of Paris and the terrible repression by General Cavaignac. “It is the most distressing spectacle that you could possibly imagine,” he exclaimed, “I think that nothing like it has ever happened in France, not even the Saint Bartholomew’s Day Massacre.” To his parents, who begged him to stay out of it, he answered; “There are two reasons I am not fighting; first, because I don’t believe in war with guns and canons, and it’s not part of my creed. For ten years I’ve been fighting a war of wits. I would not be true to myself if I acted otherwise. The second reason is that I don’t have any weapons and cannot be tempted. So you have nothing to fear where I am concerned.”

The Courbet of the years to come, even the Courbet of the Commune, was already entirely present in this very interesting letter; Republican in his soul, utopian, humanitarian, and rejecting violence. The painter barely appears in it, but we mustn’t let this silence deceive us. There was a third cause for the artist’s abstention. The fact was that in spite of civil war, barricades, the revolution which rumbled in the streets, the roar of the crowd, the fervour and the carnage, Courbet was obsessed with his dream of fame and went on working with all of his might. And in the end, fame would begin to reward his labours.

11. The Game of Draughts, 1844.

Oil on canvas, 25 × 34 cm.

Private collection.

12. The Wounded Man, 1844.

Oil on canvas, 81.5 × 97.5 cm.

Musée d’Orsay, Paris.

13. Lovers in the Country, 1844.

Oil on canvas, 78 × 60 cm.

Petit Palais – Musée des beaux-arts de la ville de Paris, Paris.