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Laurent Baridon
, 
Frédérique Desbuissons
, 
Dominic Hardy

Intermédialités satiriques

Intermediality and Modernity

Cruikshank’s Murder of the Duke d’Enghien (1814) and Goya’s Third of May 1808 (1814)

Christina Smylitopoulos

Texte intégral

  • 1 Reminiscences of Henry Angelo, vol. 1, London, Henry Colburn, 1828, p. 392.

Satire, perhaps, is as old as society; but graphic satire is a modern invention.1
Henry Angelo (1756–1835)

  • 2 Neil Ramsey and Gillian Russell, “Introduction,” in Tracing War in British Enlightenment and Romant (...)
  • 3 Thomas Wynn, “Introduction,” in Representing Violence in France, 1760–1820, Oxford, Voltaire Founda (...)
  • 4 William Vaughan, “‘David’s Brickdust’ and the Rise of the British School,” in Alison Yarrington and (...)
  • 5 See Haywood 2006, cited n. 3, p. 92. In his more recent book, Haywood uses “imaginative space” to r (...)
  • 6 William Vaughan, “Britain and Europe c. 1600–c. 1900,” in David Bindman (ed.), The History of Briti (...)

1Forcefully portraying the realities of war that art previously sanitized or even suppressed has become a marker of modernity in studies of nineteenth-century art and visual culture.2 In the first decades of the century, violence was being examined, not solely in light of the brutal consequences of revolution and counter-revolution, but also the capacity violence afforded as a productive agent of regeneration.3 Although influenced by the Royal Academy, British graphic satire worked outside its realm of stylistic control and frequently portrayed scenes of violence, unmoderated by the “classicism of tradition” espoused by an institution eager to demonstrate its political reliability and resistance to aesthetic excesses.4 This trade in grotesque brutality was justified as a satirical device deployed to expose immorality, tyranny, or challenges to national defense. There is some discussion on this in the discourse, notably regarding the imaginative spaces graphic satire provided for critics to envision the consequences of, among other anxiety-producing phenomena, unchecked socio-political mobility, urban life, the bellicosity of colonial conquest, political radicalism, and (inadequate) imperial defense.5 On the interconnectivity of genres, there has even been the suggestion that the advancement of the “sublime” in history painting authorized a new form of hyperbole conducive to Georgian graphic satirists.6

  • 7 As quoted in Philip K. Lawrence, Modernity and War: The Creed of Absolute Violence, New York, St. M (...)
  • 8 Ibid.
  • 9 In discussing the convention of heroic death scenes, Moores quipped that “No history painting looks (...)

2The genre certainly provided a venue to portray the concerns of new goals and techniques in warfare, the crux of which military engineer Lazare Carnot (1753–1823) summed up neatly: “Use the bayonet at every opportunity. Fight great battles and pursue the enemy until he is utterly destroyed.”7 The anxiety of being defeated by enemies who were, as Philip K. Lawrence explains, actively engaged in “the pursuit of total victory through the tactic of annihilation”8 stimulated a period of unprecedented activity in British graphic satire. But the genre also offered stylistic counterpoints to the conventions of history painting, which were in this and subsequent periods, explored by artists for their aesthetic potential.9

  • 10 “Some Foreign Caricaturists: Hogarth, Cruikshank, Goyal, Pinelli, Bruegel,” Baudelaire: Selected Wr (...)
  • 11 “On the Essence of Laughter,” Baudelaire 1972, cited n. 10, p. 140. For a discussion regarding how (...)
  • 12 Baudelaire 1972, cited n. 10, p. 140–141.

3According to the poet and critic Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867), violence became a defining characteristic of British graphic satire, an attribute he first discerned in the work of William Hogarth (1697–1764) in whose engravings he identified “that mysterious essence, at once sinister, violent, and resolute, that informs almost all the works from the land of the spleen.”10 In theorizing “this strange genre,” Baudelaire advanced two categories of graphic satire. The first was akin to quotidian, ephemeral journalism, which can be used by historians as documents of the vicissitudes of modern life and are “blown away by the same gusts of wind that constantly bring us new ones.”11 But the second, he argued, “have in them a mysterious, a durable, an eternal element, which commends them to the attention of artists.”12

  • 13 Doctor Syntax (pseud.), The Life of Napoleon, A Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos, by Doctor Synta (...)
  • 14 This is taken from the title of Rose-Marie Hagen and Rainer Hagen’s Francisco Goya, 1746–1828: On t (...)

4This essay is concerned with the second category, a class of generative graphic satire that challenges the perception of the genre being, in essence, a derivative form of art subject to a conventional source. In examining the intermedial reverberations of compositional strategies, along with the aesthetic possibilities graphic satire afforded to those who portrayed the violence of the Napoleonic Wars, this essay finds a potentially influential work from a surprising source. In 1814, George Cruikshank (1792–1878) was commissioned by the publisher, print and bookseller Thomas Tegg (1776–1845) to design and engrave a series of aquatints satirizing the milestones in Bonaparte’s meteoric rise to power.13 Of the thirty prints, Murder of the Duke d’Enghien bears a striking resemblance to a history painting of profound significance—Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes’s (1746–1828) Third of May 1808 (figs. 1–2). Although both pieces are dated to 1814, there is enough ambiguity surrounding the production of these works to allow a dialogue between them to emerge. This essay asks if the modern spirit, so often discussed in relation to Goya’s painting, could be traced in part to the compositional strategies employed in graphic satire, the results of which suggest that the genre was not merely what fencing master, celebrity and, in his youth, occasional caricaturist Henry Angelo identified as a “modern invention,” but was, more significantly, at the very “threshold of modernity.”14

Fig. 1: George Cruikshank, Murder of the Duke d’Enghien, December 7, 1814, hand-colored etching, 13.8 × 21.8 cm, London, The British Museum.

© Trustees of the British Museum, BM 1865,1111.2294.

Fig. 2: Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, The 3rd of May 1808 or “The Executions,” 1814, oil on canvas, 268 × 347 cm, Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado.

© Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado.

5The objects of analysis considered here were executed by artists in significant political or professional transition and reveal that formal discourses can be found between the commissions of court painters and commercially motivated agents who aimed unapologetically to expand the market. In the discussion that follows, I will trace these two works of art through a number of contexts, beginning with Tegg’s publishing practice to suggest that the nature of the market for satirical prints may have enabled Goya to count Cruikshank’s Murder of the Duke d’Enghien among his many sources. My analysis is informed by the remarkable similarities shared by the compositions and Goya’s appreciation of British graphic satire, which I will examine in light of the unclear circumstances surrounding the production of Third of May 1808. The influence Goya’s painting has exerted over time demonstrates the aesthetic legacies of these violent confrontations. This essay seeks to learn what role graphic satire may have played in these artistic interventions.

Tegg’s Intervention in the Market

  • 15 Alexander identified Tegg’s entry into the market in 1803, but the dated prints in the British Muse (...)
  • 16 James J. Barnes and Patience P. Barnes, “Reassessing the Reputation of Thomas Tegg, London Publishe (...)
  • 17 San Marino, The Huntington Library, 123884: vol. 1, no. 1–15, 1806–1807.
  • 18 Alexander 1998, cited n. 15, p. 55.

6Primarily regarded as a “reprint publisher,” Thomas Tegg entered the market for graphic satire in 1806 when Piercy Roberts (fl. 1795–1824) of Middle Row, Holborn sold Tegg his stock of prints and plates.15 Tegg had established his diversified publishing practice by selling remainders of books, at first at auctions and then at his London shop in Cheapside. Over time, his gambles on inexpensive reprints of works of science, religion, history, literature, manuals on etiquette and comportment, as well as art and social commentary resulted in profits, and he became quite successful.16 Using a similar mode of testing the market before embarking on new works, Tegg’s initial strategies for selling graphic satire could be characterized as economical. For example, he repackaged printed satires in his Caricature Magazine; or Hudibrastic Mirror, a multi-volume series of hand-numbered issues comprised of two or three satires bound with string in blue paper wrappers and sold for 2 shillings, coloured.17 Presumably finding initial success, Tegg expanded this branch of his publishing firm and began to commission original works from established graphic satirists like George M. Woodward (1760–1809), Henry William Bunbury (1750–1811), Charles Williams (fl. 1796–1830) and Thomas Rowlandson (1756–1827), and also sold posthumous engravings, including prints after the designs of Richard Newton (1777–1798), a virtuoso satirist who died young just as his work was becoming more recognised.18 But Tegg also provided opportunities for emerging talents, including J. Lewis Marks (c. 1796–1855), William Heath (1794–1840), and George Cruikshank.

  • 19 John O. Jordan and Robert L. Patten, Literature in the Marketplace: Nineteenth-Century British Publ (...)

7Tegg’s intervention in this diverse and expansive market may have been more influential than previously appreciated, but a study on Tegg’s graphic satire faces its own difficulties, not least of which is his standing in the discourse as an opportunist with little to offer an industry increasingly tied to notions of national excellence. The concern that products of cultural industry could be addressed as “mere commodities” has influenced the study of British publishing, including graphic satire.19 Tegg’s repute, fuelled by confrontations between adversarial competitors played out in the advertising pages of the periodical press, has not helped his long-term position as a producer of important works. Making sense of Tegg’s involvement in the genre has nevertheless stimulated an interesting question. From an artist’s perspective, could the efficiencies Tegg developed in book publishing, which he seemed to apply to the production of graphic satire, generate swifter turnaround from design to publication, steady and frequent payment, a venue for experimental work, and most significant to the goals of this essay, a longer reach in the domestic and foreign markets Tegg aimed to encourage?

8Unfortunately, most of Tegg’s business documents have not survived, and those that do paint a picture of a cunning trader whose interests were located squarely on the bottom line. A close look at the work that he published, however, suggests that the consequences of Tegg’s keen understanding of the market and the industrial methods he employed were important in disseminating the ideas advanced by graphic satirists. Vital to the analysis that follows is that graphic satire did not merely reflect contemporary concerns, despite being characterized by Tegg as a satirical “Mirror;” rather, graphic satire had the ability to project and to do so at great distances.

Graphic satire’s realm of influence

  • 20 Meditations on a Hobby Horse and other Essays on the Theory of Art, London, Phaidon Press, 1963, p. (...)
  • 21 Ibid.
  • 22 R. D. Barnett, “Sir Robert Ker Porter: Regency Artist and Traveller,” British Institute of Persian (...)
  • 23 Gombrich first explored these works in his essay “Imagery and Art in the Romantic Period,” The Burl (...)
  • 24 London, Printed by C. Roworth, and sold by T. Egerton, 1802.
  • 25 Hillary L. Chute, Disaster Drawn: Visual Witness, Comics and Documentary Form, Cambridge, Harvard U (...)

9The art historian Ernst H. Gombrich understood graphic satire’s potential impact when he wrote of “the direct influence … [of] works of indifferent quality … on the creations of genius.”20 As his prime example, he cited the influence of the peripatetic Scottish painter, writer, and graphic satirist Sir Robert (Bob) Ker Porter (1777–1842) on Goya, called by Gombrich the “giant of the period.”21 Porter travelled to Spain in 1807 with Sir John Moore (1761–1809), who had the command of the British Army in Portugal, but who soon received orders to march into Spain to ally with forces against the French.22 Gombrich speculates that while there, Porter may have disseminated his own satire on the atrocities committed by Bonaparte against his enemies and toward his own troops at Jaffa.23 Buonaparte massacring three thousand eight hundred men at Jaffa, for example, was inspired by the defamatory accusations against Bonaparte written by the Lieutenant Colonel of the Cavalry Sir Robert Thomas Wilson (1777–1849) in History of the British Expedition to Egypt, which was first published in 1802 and was quickly reissued in many editions (fig. 3).24 The print, “From a design by M. R. K. Porter,” was published collaboratively on August 12, 1803 by three firms the dealer and auctioneer John Hatchard (fl. 1803–1843), the owner and publisher of the European Magazine James Asperne (1757–1820), and John Ginger (fl. 1798–1803), “stationer to the Prince of Wales” before he went bankrupt – and refers to events from Bonaparte’s Syrian campaign, pursued in the spring of 1799. We see the central figure, a Turkish prisoner, from the back, so as to bear witness to his bound wrists and the gruesome emergence from his body of the blood-stained point of a French soldier’s bayonet. Porter heightens the horror of the scene by bringing the beholder dangerously close to the action and rendering the teetering Turk’s body in a precarious diagonal, suspended at the tipping point between standing and falling, life and death. The pile of fallen comrades, which the Turk will quickly join, reveals the only possible outcome of this violent encounter, but also demonstrates graphic satire’s early influence on the culture of witnessing.25

10

Fig. 3: Sir Robert Ker Porter, Buonaparte massacring three thousand eight hundred men at Jaffa, August 12, 1803, hand-colored etching, 44.6 × 28.4 cm, London, The British Museum.

© Trustees of the British Museum, BM 1866,0407.983.

  • 26 Mary Pedley, “Gentlemen Abroad: Jeffreys and Sayer in Paris,” The Map Collector, 37, December 1986, (...)
  • 27 Lorraine Welling Lanmon, “American Caricature in the English Tradition: The Personal and Political (...)
  • 28 From an advertisement in Tegg’s Chesterfield Travestie; or, School for modern manners, London, Thom (...)
  • 29 Vic Gattrell, City of Laughter: Sex and Satire in Eighteenth-Century London, New York, Walker & Com (...)
  • 30 Hugh Thomas, Goya: The Third of May 1808, London, Penguin (“Art in Context”), 1972, p. 86.

11Gombrich’s theory, that Porter distributed his work while in Spain, is one way of understanding how British graphic satire might have travelled in this period, but there are others. Earlier in the century, Thomas Jeffreys and Robert Sayer sold satires out of their suitcases in France.26 The Scottish-born engraver William Charles (1776–1820) quit the London scene and brought satirical prints to America, and later, Tegg’s own sons took a range of material to Australia and had plans to expand Tegg’s business in North America.27 Furthermore, we know from advertisements that Tegg enthusiastically pursued new markets for his books and prints and encouraged ship captains with wholesale prices to stimulate an export market.28 Goya likely had access to British graphic satire through his friends: the treasurer of Cadiz, Sebastián Martínez y Pérez (1747–1800), who had a significant print collection, and the dramatist Leandro Fernández de Moratín (1760–1828), who travelled to London and wrote in letters home about “English caricatures,” which he may have brought back to Spain.29 Prints may have also travelled to Spain via British sailors and soldiers who were engaged in the blockading during what is now collectively known as the Anglo-Spanish War, a series of conflicts fought between 1796 and 1802, and then again from 1804 to 1807, followed by the Peninsular War, which was fought against the French between the newly allied Britain and Spain from 1807 to 1814, when British soldiers were stationed on the ground.30

  • 31 Reva Wolf, Goya and the Satirical Print in England and on the Continent, 1730–1850, Boston, David R (...)
  • 32 Sarah Symmons (ed.), Goya: A Life in Letters, trans. Philip Troutman, London, Pimlico, 2004, p. 276 (...)
  • 33 Mark Ledbury, “The Third of May 1808–1814: Painting by Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes,” in Chri (...)

12Reva Wolf has convincingly argued that British graphic satire held a seminal role in Goya’s work, his eighty-print series Los Caprichos (1799), in particular.31 Gombrich thought that Porter’s satirical works may have inspired the Third of May 1808, one of a series of four paintings (two of which were not painted, are lost, or have not survived) the subjects for which Goya described in a letter dated February 24, 1814 as “the most notable and heroic actions and scenes of our most glorious insurrection against the tyrant of Europe.”32 Proposed by the artist and accepted by the Regency government in 1814 – to curry favour with Fernando VII’s regime, to evade allegations of earlier collaboration with the French, and for the financial incentives that sometimes went along with royal commissions – this painting has long occupied a position as a “proto-modern” work, located at a pivot point marked by the critical Romantic reflections on the costly political experiments of the Enlightenment.33 The painting depicts the execution of Spanish rebels on a hillside in the outskirts of Madrid following an uprising: a series of violent encounters between French and French-allied troops and mercenaries, and the common people of Spain, who were disappointed when promises of political reform were left unfulfilled.

Goya’s Third of May 1808 and Cruikshank’s Murder of the Duke d’Enghien

  • 34 Gully was critical of scholars reading the impending victim as a “surrogate Christ” because of Goya (...)
  • 35 Thomas 1972, cited n. 30, p. 86; Ledbury 2004, cited n. 33, p. 1133–1134.
  • 36 George Cruikshank’s Life, Times, and Art, vol. 1, New Bruswick, Rutgers University Press, 1992, p.  (...)

13Christian iconography is commonly discussed in relation to Goya’s painting.34 In suggesting stigmata with a dimpled palm, Goya was not merely making a martyr of the Spanish rebel, but he was also referencing centuries of sanctioned violence in art. For constructing a fusillading scene, however, Goya looked to more contemporary sources. These include Miguel Gamborino’s (1760–1828) wood engraving, The Assassination of Five Monks from Valencia (1813), which may have been worked up from a previously published print that dates slightly earlier to c. 1812–13. A link between Goya’s painting and Paul Revere’s (1734–1818) The Bloody Massacre in King-Street, March 5, 1770, which Hugh Thomas noted are “closely related in composition and in intellectual intention,” has also been suggested (fig. 4).35 The painter was also indebted to Jacques Callot’s (1592–1635) eighteen-print series known as Miseries and Misfortunes of War (1633), which are small, intensely powerful scenes that collectively critique the violence captured at the mid-point of the Thirty Years War (1618–1648). Linking Goya and British print culture more generally, Robert L. Patten drew a connection between Goya’s painting and a steel cut illustration by George Cruikshank in John Murray’s abridgement of Sir Walter Scott’s nine-volume The Life of Napoleon Buonaparte, which had been published in 1829 (fig. 5). He wondered if “Cruikshank might have been indebted to Goya’s Third of May,”36 but Cruikshank’s earlier work with Tegg may provide the link between these pictures.

Fig. 4: Paul Revere, The Bloody Massacre Perpetrated in King-Street Boston on March 5th 1770 by a Party of the 29th Regt, 1770, hand-colored engraving, 29.2 × 24.2 cm, New Haven, Yale University Art Gallery.

© The Yale University Art Gallery.

Fig. 5: John Thompson after George Cruikshank, Death of d’Enghien, 1829, steel engraving, in J[ohn] G[ibson] Lockhart, The History of Napoleon Buonaparte, vol. 1, (London: John Murray, “Murray’s Family Library,” 1830), between pages 288 and 289.

© CC-BY.

  • 37 London, Rudolph Ackermann, 1812. For Ackermann’s complaint, see The Times, 9455, February 27, 1815, (...)
  • 38 The Morning Post, 14333, December 28, 1816, p. 1; The Morning Chronicle, 14884, January 14, 1817.
  • 39 Bohm-Duchen 2001 is confident that British anti-Napoleonic prints circulated in Spain as propaganda (...)

14Early in 1815, Tegg published The Life of Napoleon: A Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos, by Doctor Syntax (fig. 6). What is remembered about this episode of publishing history is Tegg’s mercenary appropriation of the title character of Thomas Rowlandson and William Combe’s blockbuster collaboration in The Tour of Doctor Syntax in Search of the Picturesque.37 What is forgotten is that The Life of Napoleon was evidently quite successful; it went into four editions and was reissued in 1817.38 Tegg had originally released this extended satire serially, before collating it and selling it as a book with additional images a few months later. In November and December of 1814, then, Cruikshank’s engravings had begun circulating in the market as single-sheet satires in coloured and uncoloured formats, without the accompanying Hudibrastic poetry. That the images were distributed as stand-alone satires, before Tegg repackaged the series, suggests that visual satire was the chief attraction of the volume. But it also implies the potential for a wider scope of dissemination. Satirical prints of Bonaparte’s exploits could have circulated as humorous reflections on the folly of French ambition even after the British withdrew from the Peninsula in April 1814.39

Fig. 6: Frontispiece, George Cruikshank, The Life of Napoleon: A Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos, by Doctor Syntax, hand-colored aquatint engraving, 22.1 × 13.6 cm, London, The British Museum.

© Trustees of the British Museum, BM 1865,1111.2278.

  • 40 Charles Ansell (fl. 1784–1796), known primarily for his work in book illustration, also designed a (...)
  • 41 Philip G. Dwyer, “The End of the Revolution,” in Citizen Emperor: Napoleon in Power, London/New Hav (...)
  • 42 Josephine was quoted as saying, “This is the first mistake Napoleon has made.” Jean Hanoteau (ed.), (...)
  • 43 Dwyer 2013, cited n. 41, p. 121.
  • 44 Of the many examples, see William Cobbett (ed.), “Public Papers: Note from Francis Drake, Esq. Engl (...)
  • 45 Review of Murray’s “The Revolutionary Plutarch, exhibiting the most distinguished Characters, liter (...)

15Cruikshank’s aquatint takes up the subject of the execution of Louis Antoine Henri de Bourbon, Duke of Enghien (1776–1804) on the night of 20 to 21 March 1804 (see fig. 1), when the Duke was put to death by a firing squad in the moat of the Château de Vincennes moments after a military commission found him guilty of intelligence with the enemy, high treason, and complicity in a plot.40 From a British perspective this episode in Bonaparte’s arc, from military hopeful to Emperor, is signficant. It was reported that Bonaparte, who was then First Consul of France, learned that the Duke was involved in what became known as the Cadoudal Affair, a conspiracy involving the royalists Jean-Charles Pichegru (17611804), who had fought in the Revolutionary Wars at the rank of General, and Georges Cadoudal (17711804), a politician who wished to overthrow Bonaparte’s regime and reinstate the monarchy.41 In secret, Bonaparte’s forces crossed the Rhine and seized the Duke from his home in Ettenheim, in the German territory of Baden. He was taken first over the river to Strasbourg and then on to Paris, where he was executed at around two o’clock in the morning.42 According to Philip Dwyer, Bonaparte was making the point with this execution that “there was nothing sacred about the Bourbons.”43 In the months that followed, reports from foreign envoys emphasizing the lawless seizure, which occurred on neutral ground, were published in the British periodical press.44 The “execution,” which was spun in France as a lawful outcome of a military trial for treason, was recast in the British press as criminal: “that gallant Prince so basely and barbarously murdered by the most execrable tyrant that ever disgraced humanity.”45

  • 46 Hanoteau 1927, cited n. 42, vol. 1, p. 114.
  • 47 Eamonn Carrabine, “Images of Torture: Culture, Politics and Power,” in Jason Hughes (ed.), Sage Vis (...)

16A comparison between Cruikshank’s Murder of the Duke d’Enghien and Goya’s Third of May 1808, reveals a number of intriguing formal elements. As both pictures are night scenes, the artists portrayed the victims lit by lanterns, dramatically emerging from a tenebrific background. The lantern that hangs from the Duke’s neck was, according to The Memoirs of Queen Hortense, one of the “loathsome details” disseminated by Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord (1754–1838) to avert blame from him to the Consul once news spread of the event, but may also reinforce the lawless and arbitrary nature of the Duke’s death.46 If a similar, legitimate event had taken place in (enlightened) Britain, the execution would have been carried out by hanging. Goya’s lantern, which the artist places on the ground in front of the soldiers, has also been interpreted as a symbol of the Enlightenment, deployed ironically.47 Instead of showing the path from the darkness of oppression toward freedom, French Enlightenment blinds the common people, to their peril.

  • 48 German-Nonchalence; – or – the Vexation of little-Boney. Vide. The Diplomatique’s late Journey thro (...)

17The requirement for comedy in Cruikshank’s print, which would square with the light and relieved tone of most of the satires in this collection – released as a retrospective in the months following Bonaparte’s exile to Elba in April of 1814 but before his escape – is satisfied by the diminutive figure of “Little Boney,” who needs to stand on an elevation in what appears to be the ocular cavity of an enormous skull, simply to be visible to the firing squad. In The Life of Napoleon, Cruikshank perpetuated the trend invented by Gillray in 1803 of depicting Bonaparte as short-statured, despite the fact that he was relatively tall for the period.48 The representation of a memento mori, however, complicates the tone of the satire, reinforcing the anxiety the print inspires. The nobleman has been stripped of the sartorial trappings of his position, which lie in a clump at his feet, as we wait, suspended forever, for Boney to give the order to fire. In Goya’s painting, the victim appears to cast light himself and, despite what we anticipate once the French soldiers fire their weapons, we are compelled to anxiously fix our gaze on the impending victim. This nameless quarry will soon join his comrades in the pile of dead rebels. There are also similarities between the print and the painting in the angle at which the soldiers are positioned, the way the shadow is drawn at a diagonal across the foreground, and even the way the formal elements of the top registers of the pictures form analogously a double-curve. Given Goya’s awareness of and attentiveness to visual satire, the influence between these compositions may have flowed from the satirical to the serious.

Context of an (eventual) masterpiece

  • 49 Janis A. Tomlinson, Francisco Goya y Lucientes 1746–1828, London, Phaidon, 1994, p. 181. Curators S (...)
  • 50 Tomlinson 1994, cited n. 49, p. 181.

18We know that Goya’s painting was accepted as a commission in March 1814 by the Regency government (1810–1814), which was in place before the accession of Fernando VII (1784–1833; second reign 1813–1833), but we do not know when it was completed. It has been speculated that the painting and its counterparts, including the surviving Second of May 1808, were used to embellish the triumphal arch for Fernando’s return to Madrid, which was planned for spring 1814.49 Another possibility advanced is that the painting was displayed during the first commemoration in May 1814 of the Dos de Mayo uprising, the rebellion of common Spaniards who fought in the streets and surrounding areas of Madrid, that was swiftly and violently crushed by French troops. The immediate aftermath was that hundreds of prisoners were executed the following day, but over a longer term, the event played a part in initiating the Peninsular War. Nonetheless, Janis Tomlinson’s extensive archival research demonstrates that there is no evidence that these paintings were ever seen outside the palace.50

  • 51 Symmons 2004, cited n. 32, p. 276–277.
  • 52 Ibid., p. 281.
  • 53 Ibid., p. 279.
  • 54 Ibid., n. 1.

19At the time, Goya was “reduced to absolute penury,” according to a letter written by the politician Juan Álvarez Guerra (1770–1845), and in the months to come the artist began to petition the crown for unpaid accounts for pictures he had completed before the French occupation began in 1808.51 During the period Goya was meant to be working on Third of May 1808, he was involved in completing other works, including a half-length portrait of the king (Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, Madrid) and a full-length equestrian portrait of José Rebolledo de Palafox y Melzi, Duke of Saragossa (1780–1847), known by the title General Palafox (Prado Museum, Madrid). For the duke’s portrait, Goya complained that he completed the work “with some difficulty on account of the scarcity of some materials.”52 For the Regency commission, Goya was supposed to receive supplies and also a monthly stipend, which may not have materialized. He may also have used any available materials to paint the Third of May 1808; however, despite the fact that it was technically a government commission, payment for this work was not yet guaranteed. In order to receive any outstanding money due to him, Goya would have to complete a process of political “purification.”53 When Fernando VII was restored to the throne, he struck a committee to investigate the wartime behaviour of royal personnel, including court painters. Goya’s purification took several months, finally concluding in April 1815.54

  • 55 Simon Lee, “King Ferdinand’s Veto: Goya’s the 2nd and 3rd of May 1808 as Patriotic Failures,” in Sa (...)
  • 56 Manuela Mena, Goya en Tiempos de Guerra, Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado, 2008, p. 357–361.
  • 57 Janis A. Tomlinson, Goya in the Twilight of Enlightenment, New Haven/London, Yale University Press, (...)
  • 58 There was a plan to raise the profile of Spanish painters in Europe by circulating etchings after p (...)
  • 59 Tomlinson 1994, cited n. 49, p. 295.
  • 60 Tomlinson 1992, cited n. 57, p. 139.

20Once the paintings had been completed, they may have in fact gone directly into storage at the Prado (Royal Museum) – so directly, the pictures might have been wet, as analysis has exposed residual paint from the Third of May 1808 on the surface of the Second of May 1808.55 According to Manuela Mena, there are documents dated to November of 1814 that refer to the construction, hardware, and finishing of frames for paintings referring to the 2 of May 1808, which suggest that the paintings were at the least anticipated at the Prado.56 It is curious that no contemporary accounts mentioning the paintings have survived, which suggests either a lukewarm response from a monarch who much preferred the neoclassical style used by Goya’s competitors, or that the paintings had not yet been completed.57 Also striking is that a monument, which had been commissioned in 1814 by the provisional government and dedicated to those who were killed in the uprising, was cancelled by Fernando VII. As a king who intended to rule as an absolute monarch, Fernando would have been concerned about drawing attention to fallen men who died fighting for political reform. Furthermore, despite Goya’s interest in print and his activities as an engraver, evidence that a contemporary engraving after Third of May 1808 existed to circulate in Spain or beyond remains elusive.58 The first printed version of Third of May 1808, it seems, appeared as a wood engraving in Charles Yriarte’s Goya, sa vie, son œuvre (1867).59 Furthermore, the first written account we have of someone viewing the paintings was in 1845, twelve years after the king had died, when the French writer, painter, and critic Théophile Gautier (1811–1872) claimed to see “Massacre du 2 mai, scène d’invasion.”60

  • 61 Symmons 2004, cited n. 32, p. 268.
  • 62 Nigel Glendinning “Goya and England in the Nineteenth Century,” The Burlington Magazine, 106, Janua (...)

21It is also unlikely that Cruikshank had access to Goya’s sources or to Goya’s work directly. Despite Goya’s claim in a letter offering all eighty Caprichos plates to the king that “Foreigners most of all want them,” they were not popular in Britain.61 The series could be ordered in 1814 from the London bookseller, Thomas Boosey, who seemed to have a single copy in his catalogue of foreign works, but, as it kept appearing in advertisements over the year, it is unlikely that it sold. Significantly, even if it had sold, the series did not include a fusillading scene. According to Nigel Glendinning, there is also little evidence that Goya “was much in the public eye in England at the time” and his death seemed to have passed in 1828 without much regard.62

  • 63 The series has been dated from 1810–1820, but this start date is an estimate based solely on the ge (...)
  • 64 Wolf discusses Goya’s interest in British print as part of a more general Anglomania experienced in (...)
  • 65 Los Caprichos is often cited as evidence that Goya was driven by “political ideals,” making his int (...)

22With respect to Goya’s other firing squad scenes, like those in the Disasters of War, this collection of works did not circulate in Britain when Cruikshank worked up the scene of the Duke’s execution. Remarkably, though dated from 1810 to 1820, the first edition of the series was not printed until 1868, forty years after Goya’s death.63 That Goya appreciated British graphic satire has been generally accepted. He signed a letter sent to his long-time friend and correspondent, Martín Zapater, which included a caricature of himself “from London,” which has been interpreted as Goya’s understanding of caricature being an English genre.64 But what precisely Goya found in this material is still up for debate.65

  • 66 A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms, New York/London, Methuen, 1985, p (...)
  • 67 Tomlinson 1994, cited n. 49, p. 293.
  • 68 Janis A. Tomlinson, Francisco Goya: The Tapestry Cartoons and Early Career at the Court of Madrid, (...)
  • 69 Tomlinson 1989, cited n. 68, p. 28–30.

23Linda Hutcheon’s attempts to account for the phenomenon of parody in modern and post-modern art has been helpful. In her work, she has addressed the widely held notion that parody was a deviant, even parasitic, critical response, the roots of which she finds in the aesthetic values of Romanticism, which advances genius, originality, and individuality over imitation and quotation.66 Goya’s genius has been discussed in precisely these terms: in 1868, Gauthier described Goya as a “fiery Spanish painter” of “inexhaustible invention.”67 Goya’s invention can also be supported by contemporary documents. In the invoices Goya writes to his patrons, he frequently points out when a work was “of [his] own invention.”68 But this was not Goya’s way to assert his unique artistic vision. Tomlinson tells us that “invention” needs to be understood within the context of salary payment strategies in Spain in this period. When Goya asserts that a work was of his “own invention,” he was indicating that he had executed the preparatory drawings for the finished work he was invoicing and should, therefore, be paid more.69

Conclusion

  • 70 Tomlinson 1992, cited n. 57, p. 144.
  • 71 Hannoosh 1992, cited n. 11, p. 22.
  • 72 Sanyal 2006, cited n. 2, p. 4.

24Due to the central role prints played in Goya’s artistic practice, Tomlinson wisely counsels that attempting to find precisely which works of print informed Goya’s painting is an exercise in futility; she writes, “their quantity suggests that the answer may well be ‘all of the above’.”70 Still, unearthing a dialogue between compositions and genres can lead to interesting questions. In a discussion of Werner Hoffman’s thoughts on caricature, Michele Hannoosh wrote that the genre “follows the pattern of all revolutionary forms and activity; it binds itself to the model it is dethroning, and is sustained by the system it attacks.”71 This, of course, assumes that the object of analysis would be a caricature in the traditional sense. But, if the generative nature of graphic satire is taken for granted, can we think of Goya’s Third of May 1808 in part as a caricature, sustained by, but also attacking, the system of British graphic satire? After all, irony was, Debarati Sanyal tells us, “one of modernity’s dominant modes of self-understanding.”72 Was Goya critical of Cruikshank for presenting a French aristocratic victim? In appropriating aspects of Cruikshank’s composition, could Goya be seen as reorienting the political importance of the print, from a French insider to the common man, who was swept up in the horrors of war? Did he replace the Duke’s finery, which lay in a pile at his feet, with the bodies of the common people of Spain, the real victims of revolution and counterrevolution?

  • 73 Thomas 1972, cited n. 30, p. 86.
  • 74 As quoted in Christopher Turner, “I’d like to have stepped on Goya’s toes, shouted in his ears and (...)

25One of the reasons Goya’s work has become so compelling to artists and critics over time is that it forcefully portrays a reality of war that the prevailing aesthetic of neoclassicism under-expressed or even censored.73 This legacy of honesty and violence in the face of academism is still being explored today, exemplified by the acclaim of Goya by the English artists known as the Chapman Brothers, Jake (1966) and Dinos (1962), who called Goya “the first Modernist artist; the first who had psychological and political depth.”74 However, it has taken time for people to recognize Goya’s innovation, including his appreciation of graphic satire as an expression of modernity.

Notes

1 Reminiscences of Henry Angelo, vol. 1, London, Henry Colburn, 1828, p. 392.

2 Neil Ramsey and Gillian Russell, “Introduction,” in Tracing War in British Enlightenment and Romantic Culture, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, p. 4. The position of violence in modernity has been well treated in literary studies, see Debarti Sanyal, The Violence of Modernity: Baudelaire, Irony, and the Politics of Form, New York, Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006. Also of interest is the emergence of war photography, see Bernd Hüppauf, “The Emergence of Modern War Imagery in Early Photography,” History and Memory, 5/1, Spring-Summer 1993, p. 130–151.

3 Thomas Wynn, “Introduction,” in Representing Violence in France, 1760–1820, Oxford, Voltaire Foundation, 2013, p. 10. For a discussion of the prevalence of violence in literature and visual culture, see also Ian Haywood, Bloody Romanticism: Spectacular Violence and the Politics of Representation, 1776–1832, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

4 William Vaughan, “‘David’s Brickdust’ and the Rise of the British School,” in Alison Yarrington and Kelvin Everest (eds.), Reflections of Revolutions: Images of Romanticism, London/New York, Routledge, 1993, p. 141–142. The issue of traditional versus extreme classicism and radical politics is also dealt with in Holger Hoock, The King’s Artists: The Royal Academy of Arts and the Politics of British Culture 1760–1840, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 2003, p. 108–123. For classicism in Royal Academy training, see David H. Solkin, Art in Britain, 1660–1815, New Haven/New York, Yale University Press (“Pelican History of Art”), 2015, p. 160–163. Although there is much evidence to suggest that there was a heterogeneity to Academy classicism in this period, to a degree that, according to Günter Leypoldt, “the so-called neoclassical positions often differed from one another more than they diverged from later romanticist stances,” there is nevertheless an ideal of “noble simplicity and sedate grandeur” that Winkelmann’s Reflections espoused that made the excess of violence, or “parenthryrsos,” discordant with classicism. See Günter Leypoldt, “A Neoclassical Dilemma in Sir Joshua Reyonlds’s Reflections on Art,” British Journal of Aesthetics, 39/4, October 1999, p. 332; Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Reflections on the Painting and Sculpture of The Greeks, trans. Henry Fusseli, London, Printed for the Translator, and Sold by A. Millar, 1765, p. 30 and 32. This was also happening in the German tradition. See Albert Boime’s example that the “exaggerated movements and horrifying features” in Phillipp Otto Runge’s Achilles and Skamandrow (1801) “were meant to do violence to the idea of neoclassicism itself,” is relevant to this intervention in academic art. See Albert Boime, Art in an Age of Bonapartism, 1800–1815, Chicago/London, University of Chicago Press, 1990, p. 439–440.

5 See Haywood 2006, cited n. 3, p. 92. In his more recent book, Haywood uses “imaginative space” to refer to the events on the Iberian Peninsula between 1808 and 1823, but the metaphor could extend to graphic satire itself, which also served as a plane upon which desires and anxieties could be inscribed. Ian Haywood, Romanticism and Caricature, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2013, p. 128.

6 William Vaughan, “Britain and Europe c. 1600–c. 1900,” in David Bindman (ed.), The History of British Art, 1600–1870, vol. 2, New Haven/London, Yale Center for British Art/Tate Britain, 2008, p. 70.

7 As quoted in Philip K. Lawrence, Modernity and War: The Creed of Absolute Violence, New York, St. Martin’s Press, 1997, p. 19.

8 Ibid.

9 In discussing the convention of heroic death scenes, Moores quipped that “No history painting looks quite like Isaac Cruikshank’s depiction of the death of General Theobald Dillon in 1792.” John Richard Moores, Representations of France in English Satirical Prints, 1740–1832, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, p. 115. For a discussion of this phenomenon in literature, see Paul Sheehan, Modernism and the Aesthetics of Violence, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2013, p. 1–21, and 25–44. In terms of theorization in aesthetics, Edmund Burke’s and William Hazlitt’s interest in Schadenfreude may also be relevant.

10 “Some Foreign Caricaturists: Hogarth, Cruikshank, Goyal, Pinelli, Bruegel,” Baudelaire: Selected Writings on Art and Artists, trans. P. E. Charvet, Harmondsworth, Penguin Books, 1972, p. 233.

11 “On the Essence of Laughter,” Baudelaire 1972, cited n. 10, p. 140. For a discussion regarding how Baudelaire was challenging the notion of using graphic satire “that was not considered an art,” as a historical document, see Michele Hannoosh, Baudelaire and Caricature: From the Comic to an Art of Modernity, University Park, Penn State University Press, 1992, p. 13.

12 Baudelaire 1972, cited n. 10, p. 140–141.

13 Doctor Syntax (pseud.), The Life of Napoleon, A Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos, by Doctor Syntax, Embellished with Thirty Engravings, by G. Cruikshank, London, Thomas Tegg, 1815.

14 This is taken from the title of Rose-Marie Hagen and Rainer Hagen’s Francisco Goya, 1746–1828: On the Threshold of Modernity, Cologne, Taschen, 2012, but the authors may also be referencing Foucault’s essay on the “Right of Death and Power over Life,” in which he wrote, “What might be called a society’s threshold of modernity has been reached when the life of the species is wagered on its own political strategies.” Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, trans. Robert Hurley, New York, Vintage Books, 2009, p. 143.

15 Alexander identified Tegg’s entry into the market in 1803, but the dated prints in the British Museum collection suggest that it may have happened later. David Alexander, Richard Newton and English Caricature in the 1790s, Manchester, The Whitworth Art Gallery/Manchester University Press, 1998, p. 55.

16 James J. Barnes and Patience P. Barnes, “Reassessing the Reputation of Thomas Tegg, London Publisher, 1776–1846,” Book History, 3, 2000, p. 45–60.

17 San Marino, The Huntington Library, 123884: vol. 1, no. 1–15, 1806–1807.

18 Alexander 1998, cited n. 15, p. 55.

19 John O. Jordan and Robert L. Patten, Literature in the Marketplace: Nineteenth-Century British Publishing and Reading Practices, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 3.

20 Meditations on a Hobby Horse and other Essays on the Theory of Art, London, Phaidon Press, 1963, p. 124.

21 Ibid.

22 R. D. Barnett, “Sir Robert Ker Porter: Regency Artist and Traveller,” British Institute of Persian Studies, 10, 1972, p. 19–24. Neil Ramsey, “Horrid Scenes and Marvellous Sights: The Citizen-Soldier and Sir Robert Ker Porter’s Spectacle of War,” Romanticism on the Net, 46, May 2007, n. p.

23 Gombrich first explored these works in his essay “Imagery and Art in the Romantic Period,” The Burlington Magazine, 91, June 1949, p. 153–159.

24 London, Printed by C. Roworth, and sold by T. Egerton, 1802.

25 Hillary L. Chute, Disaster Drawn: Visual Witness, Comics and Documentary Form, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2016, p. 58. See also the notion of “synthesis” in Susan Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others, New York, Picador, 2003, p. 46–47.

26 Mary Pedley, “Gentlemen Abroad: Jeffreys and Sayer in Paris,” The Map Collector, 37, December 1986, p. 20–23.

27 Lorraine Welling Lanmon, “American Caricature in the English Tradition: The Personal and Political Satires of William Charles,” Winterhur Porfolio, 11, 1976, p. 1–51; George Ferguson, Some Early Australian Bookmen, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1978, p. 11–12; Victor Crittenden, James Tegg, Early Sydney Publisher and Printer: The Tegg Brothers, the Australian Arm of the Book Empire of Thomas Tegg of London, Canberra, Mulini Press, 2000, p. 19.

28 From an advertisement in Tegg’s Chesterfield Travestie; or, School for modern manners, London, Thomas Tegg, 1809, n. p.: “Merchants and Captains of Ships supplied Wholesale for Exportation.”

29 Vic Gattrell, City of Laughter: Sex and Satire in Eighteenth-Century London, New York, Walker & Company, 2006, p. 241.

30 Hugh Thomas, Goya: The Third of May 1808, London, Penguin (“Art in Context”), 1972, p. 86.

31 Reva Wolf, Goya and the Satirical Print in England and on the Continent, 1730–1850, Boston, David R. Godine, Boston College Museum of Art, 1991, p. 1. See also Edward J. Olszewski, “Exorcising Goya’s ‘The Family of Charles IV’,” Artibus et Historiae, 20/40, 1999, p. 169–185.

32 Sarah Symmons (ed.), Goya: A Life in Letters, trans. Philip Troutman, London, Pimlico, 2004, p. 276. See Janis Tomlinson, Goya in the Twilight of Enlightenment, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1992, p. 139

33 Mark Ledbury, “The Third of May 1808–1814: Painting by Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes,” in Christopher John Murray (ed.), Encyclopedia of the Romantic Era, 1760–1850, New York, Fitzroy Dearborn, 2004, p. 1133. See also Monica Bohm-Duchen, The Private Life of a Masterpiece, Berkeley/Los Angeles, University of California Press, 2001, p. 89–93. See also Robert W. Greene, “When Apollinaire, Malraux and Bonnefoy Write About Art,” L’Esprit créateur, 36/3, Fall 1996, p. 98.

34 Gully was critical of scholars reading the impending victim as a “surrogate Christ” because of Goya’s well-documented mistrust of the Church. In light of Goya’s interest in graphic satire, perhaps Christ is being caricatured. Anthony Lacy Gully, “The Unexpected Source of Goya’s Painting ‘May 3, 1808’,” Studies in Iconography, 9, 1983, p. 100.

35 Thomas 1972, cited n. 30, p. 86; Ledbury 2004, cited n. 33, p. 1133–1134.

36 George Cruikshank’s Life, Times, and Art, vol. 1, New Bruswick, Rutgers University Press, 1992, p. 326. There is also a rather vague suggestion in Klingender’s study that Cruikshank’s work for Hone’s pamphlets from the 1820s is a “pictorial parallel” of Goya’s print work. F. D. Klingender, Goya in the Democratic Tradition, London, Sidgwick and Jackson Limited, 1948, p. 176.

37 London, Rudolph Ackermann, 1812. For Ackermann’s complaint, see The Times, 9455, February 27, 1815, p. 4.

38 The Morning Post, 14333, December 28, 1816, p. 1; The Morning Chronicle, 14884, January 14, 1817.

39 Bohm-Duchen 2001 is confident that British anti-Napoleonic prints circulated in Spain as propaganda, cited n. 33, p. 86–87.

40 Charles Ansell (fl. 1784–1796), known primarily for his work in book illustration, also designed a satire on the same subject in June of 1804, engraved by Charles Williams (fl. 1797–1830), but the composition bears no resemblance to those being discussed here. See The Cold Blooded Murder, or the Assassination of the Duc d’Enghien (BM Satires 10251).

41 Philip G. Dwyer, “The End of the Revolution,” in Citizen Emperor: Napoleon in Power, London/New Haven, Yale University Press, 2013, p. 116–137.

42 Josephine was quoted as saying, “This is the first mistake Napoleon has made.” Jean Hanoteau (ed.), The Memoirs of Queen Hortense: Published by Arrangement with Prince Napoleon, vol. 1, trans. Arthur K. Griggs, New York, Cosmopolitan Book Corporation, 1927, p. 111.

43 Dwyer 2013, cited n. 41, p. 121.

44 Of the many examples, see William Cobbett (ed.), “Public Papers: Note from Francis Drake, Esq. English Minister at Munich to Baron de Montgelas, the Bavarian Minister of State,” Cobbett’s Political Register, vols. 5–6, London, Bagshaw et al. including Ginger, 1804, p. 27–30.

45 Review of Murray’s “The Revolutionary Plutarch, exhibiting the most distinguished Characters, literary, military, and political in the recent Annals of the French Republic…” in The British Critic, 24, July–December 1804, p. 332.

46 Hanoteau 1927, cited n. 42, vol. 1, p. 114.

47 Eamonn Carrabine, “Images of Torture: Culture, Politics and Power,” in Jason Hughes (ed.), Sage Visual Methods, vol. 2: Documentation and Representation, London, Sage, 2012, p. 207.

48 German-Nonchalence; – or – the Vexation of little-Boney. Vide. The Diplomatique’s late Journey through Paris. Published by James Gillray, January 1, 1803, etching and aquatint with engraving, hand-coloured.

49 Janis A. Tomlinson, Francisco Goya y Lucientes 1746–1828, London, Phaidon, 1994, p. 181. Curators Stepanek and Ilchman suggest in their exhibition catalogue that Goya completed the painting in two months, but Tomlinson’s research suggests otherwise. Stephanie Loeb Stepanek and Frederick Ilchman, “Goya between order and disorder,” in Goya: Order and Disorder, Boston, MFA Publications, 2014, p. 29.

50 Tomlinson 1994, cited n. 49, p. 181.

51 Symmons 2004, cited n. 32, p. 276–277.

52 Ibid., p. 281.

53 Ibid., p. 279.

54 Ibid., n. 1.

55 Simon Lee, “King Ferdinand’s Veto: Goya’s the 2nd and 3rd of May 1808 as Patriotic Failures,” in Satish Padiyar et al. (eds.), Visual Culture and the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, London/New York, Routledge, 2016, p. 124.

56 Manuela Mena, Goya en Tiempos de Guerra, Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado, 2008, p. 357–361.

57 Janis A. Tomlinson, Goya in the Twilight of Enlightenment, New Haven/London, Yale University Press, 1992, p. 132, 137, and 142. Hughes claimed the painting was not on public view until 1872, but Manet, who was in Spain in 1862, would have had some sort of access to the work in order to inform his series depicting the execution of Emperor Maximilian of Mexico (c. 1867–1869). Robert Hughes, Goya, New York, Knopf, 2003, p. 308–309.

58 There was a plan to raise the profile of Spanish painters in Europe by circulating etchings after pictures in the royal palace, but this scheme folded in 1797. Nigel Glendinning and Hilary Macartney (eds.), Spanish Art in Britain and Ireland 1750–1920: Studies in Reception in Memory of Enriqueta Harris Frankfort, New York, Tamesis, 2010, p. 104.

59 Tomlinson 1994, cited n. 49, p. 295.

60 Tomlinson 1992, cited n. 57, p. 139.

61 Symmons 2004, cited n. 32, p. 268.

62 Nigel Glendinning “Goya and England in the Nineteenth Century,” The Burlington Magazine, 106, January 1964, p. 9–10.

63 The series has been dated from 1810–1820, but this start date is an estimate based solely on the general style of Goya’s renderings and has hitherto gone unchallenged. See Thomás Harris, Goya: Engravings and Lithographs, San Francisco, Alan Wofsy Fine Arts, 1983, p. 139. See also Tomlinson 1994, cited n. 49, p. 191.

64 Wolf discusses Goya’s interest in British print as part of a more general Anglomania experienced in Spain at the time. Wolf 1991, cited n. 31, p. 11–14.

65 Los Caprichos is often cited as evidence that Goya was driven by “political ideals,” making his interest in graphic satire uncomplicated. Janis A. Tomlinson, Graphic Evolutions: The Print Series of Francisco Goya, New York, Columbia University Press, 1989, p. 11.

66 A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms, New York/London, Methuen, 1985, p. 4.

67 Tomlinson 1994, cited n. 49, p. 293.

68 Janis A. Tomlinson, Francisco Goya: The Tapestry Cartoons and Early Career at the Court of Madrid, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989, p. 28–29. In 1870, the Scottish poet and painter, William Bell Scott wrote that “Goya was an inventor, a thinker in the modern manner, and gives us the most vivid and novel sensations, although he serves us with vinegar as well as wine.” As quoted in Nigel Glendinning 1964, cited n. 62, p. 13.

69 Tomlinson 1989, cited n. 68, p. 28–30.

70 Tomlinson 1992, cited n. 57, p. 144.

71 Hannoosh 1992, cited n. 11, p. 22.

72 Sanyal 2006, cited n. 2, p. 4.

73 Thomas 1972, cited n. 30, p. 86.

74 As quoted in Christopher Turner, “I’d like to have stepped on Goya’s toes, shouted in his ears and punched him in the face: Jake and Dinos Chapman,” Tate Etc., 8, Autumn 2006, [online] URL: www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/articles/id-have-stepped-on-goyas-toes-shouted-his-ears-and-punched-him-face.

Table des illustrations

Légende Fig. 1: George Cruikshank, Murder of the Duke d’Enghien, December 7, 1814, hand-colored etching, 13.8 × 21.8 cm, London, The British Museum.
URL http://books.openedition.org/inha/docannexe/image/8473/img-1.jpg
Fichier image/jpeg, 284k
Légende Fig. 2: Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, The 3rd of May 1808 or “The Executions,” 1814, oil on canvas, 268 × 347 cm, Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado.
URL http://books.openedition.org/inha/docannexe/image/8473/img-2.jpg
Fichier image/jpeg, 120k
Légende Fig. 3: Sir Robert Ker Porter, Buonaparte massacring three thousand eight hundred men at Jaffa, August 12, 1803, hand-colored etching, 44.6 × 28.4 cm, London, The British Museum.
URL http://books.openedition.org/inha/docannexe/image/8473/img-3.jpg
Fichier image/jpeg, 780k
Légende Fig. 4: Paul Revere, The Bloody Massacre Perpetrated in King-Street Boston on March 5th 1770 by a Party of the 29th Regt, 1770, hand-colored engraving, 29.2 × 24.2 cm, New Haven, Yale University Art Gallery.
URL http://books.openedition.org/inha/docannexe/image/8473/img-4.jpg
Fichier image/jpeg, 352k
Légende Fig. 5: John Thompson after George Cruikshank, Death of d’Enghien, 1829, steel engraving, in J[ohn] G[ibson] Lockhart, The History of Napoleon Buonaparte, vol. 1, (London: John Murray, “Murray’s Family Library,” 1830), between pages 288 and 289.
URL http://books.openedition.org/inha/docannexe/image/8473/img-5.png
Fichier image/png, 1,2M
Légende Fig. 6: Frontispiece, George Cruikshank, The Life of Napoleon: A Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos, by Doctor Syntax, hand-colored aquatint engraving, 22.1 × 13.6 cm, London, The British Museum.
URL http://books.openedition.org/inha/docannexe/image/8473/img-6.jpg
Fichier image/jpeg, 345k

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