Graeco-Roman Antiquity and the Idea of Nationalism in the 19th Century: Case Studies 9783110473490, 9783110471786

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Graeco-Roman Antiquity and the Idea of Nationalism in the 19th Century

Graeco-Roman Antiquity and the Idea of Nationalism in the 19th Century ||

Case Studies

Edited by Thorsten Fögen and Richard Warren

ISBN 978-3-11-047178-6 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-047349-0 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-047303-2 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2016 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Cover image: statue of Boudicca (by Thomas Thornycroft), London © Richard Warren, photograph: courtesy of Peter Warren Data conversion: jürgen ullrich typosatz, 86720 Nördlingen Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Table of Contents | V

Table of Contents Table of Contents Table of Contents Copyright References | VII Thorsten Fögen & Richard Warren Graeco-Roman Antiquity and the Idea of Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century: Introduction | 1 Anthony D. Smith Classical Ideals and the Formation of Modern Nations in Europe | 19 Athena S. Leoussi Making Nations in the Image of Greece: Classical Greek Conceptions of the Body in the Construction of National Identity in Nineteenth-Century England, France and Germany | 45 Tim Rood ‘Je viens comme Thémistocle’: Napoleon and National Identity after Waterloo | 71 Edmund Richardson The Emperor’s Caesar: Napoleon III, Karl Marx and the History of Julius Caesar | 113 Rosemary Barrow Faithful unto Death: Militarism, Masculinity and National Identity in Victorian Britain | 131 Richard Hingley Constructing the Nation and Empire: Victorian and Edwardian Images of the Building of Roman Fortifications | 153 Richard Warren Henry Courteney Selous’ Boadicea and the Westminster Cartoon Competition | 175 Christopher B. Krebs A Nation Finds its People: Friedrich Kohlrausch, New Readers and Readings of Tacitus’ Germania and the Rise of a Popular German Nationalism | 199

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Michael Sommer Hermann the German: Nineteenth-Century Monuments and Histories | 219 Richard Warren Arminius in Bohemia: Two Uses of Tacitus in Czech Art | 235 Laurie O’Higgins Classical Translations and Strands of Irish Nationalism | 269 Contributors | 289 Index rerum | 293 Index nominum (personarum) | 299 Index locorum | 305

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Copyright References Copyright References Copyright References p. 112 (Figure 3): Reproduced by permission of the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts (ENSBA), Paris (through the Agence Photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux, France). p. 149 (Figure 1): Reproduced by permission of the National Museums Liverpool (UK). p. 150 (Figure 2): Reproduced by permission of the Royal Welch Fusiliers Regimental Museum, Caernarfon (UK). p. 150 (Figure 3): Reproduced by permission of the Highlanders Museum (Queen’s Own Highlanders Collection), Inverness (UK). p. 151 (Figure 4): Photograph courtesy of Rick Bauer, © Jackie and Bob Dunn (www.pompeiiinpictures.com). p. 173 (Figure 1): Reproduced by permission of the National Trust (UK). p. 173 (Figure 2): Reproduced by permission of the Manchester Libraries, Information and Archives, Manchester City Council (UK).

For all other illustrations used in this volume there are no copyright issues.

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Graeco-Roman Antiquity and the Idea of Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century | 1

___Thorsten Fögen & Richard Warren ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___Thorsten Fögen & Richard Warren Graeco-Roman Antiquity and the Idea of Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century ___ ___1 Preliminary remarks ___ ___To some extent, this collaborative volume originated from a conference organ___ised by the editors in Durham in June 2013. This event was generously spon___sored by Durham University and the Institute of Classical Studies (London). ___Bringing together scholars from both classical and non-classical specialisms, it ___sought to explore some of the ways in which the cultural heritage of the classi___cal world was used in the nationalist discourses of the nineteenth century. The ___collected essays that constitute the volume are based upon selected papers ___given at this conference (Rosemary Barrow, Richard Hingley, Christopher ___B. Krebs, Athena S. Leoussi, Edmund Richardson, and Richard Warren on ___Arminius), but also upon specifically solicited contributions (Laurie O’Higgins, ___Timothy Rood, Anthony D. Smith, Michael Sommer, and Richard Warren on ___Boadicea); they reflect the wide spectrum of countries and media that it ex___plored. ___ To make sense of the intricate patchwork of nineteenth-century national___isms, it was thought necessary to bring together scholars from different fields. ___The volume’s contributors have a background in classical philology, history and ___archaeology, but also in art history, reception studies, philosophy, sociology ___and the history of ideas. This has encouraged a broad approach to analysing the ___questions with which this volume concerns itself. In the studies presented here, ___no conscious disciplinary distinction has been made between classical recep___tion, nineteenth-century history, and art history; instead, an integrated ap___proach has been attempted. Furthermore, it is recognised that nineteenth___century literature – including that written by the statesmen, as well as by the ___novelists and historians, of the time – is an important window on classical re___ception in a nationalist context. However, as broad a range of source material as ___possible has been employed, and the volume seeks to engage wherever possible ___with visual material too. ___ Looking at nationalism through the prism of the classics inevitably provides ___but one angle on its uses during the period. For the sake of coherence, the scope ___of the studies published here largely restricts itself to Western and Central

Graeco-Roman Antiquity and the Idea of Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century: Introduction

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Europe. The omission of Southern Europe is recognised as significant, but is deliberate. In taking such a multidisciplinary approach, it has not been considered possible that such a volume could provide a truly representative or encyclopaedic picture of the diversity of all European receptions during the period (this is to say nothing of Russian and other Slavic receptions). Moreover, with the important exception of France (and occasionally Britain), it is considered that the nature of the predominant receptions of Rome and Greece in the nineteenth century in Western and Central Europe was fundamentally different from that of Southern Europe. Reception of Rome was often characterised by resistance, usually by ethnic forebears. While the widespread emulation of a Greek philosophical and aesthetic ideal (particularly in Germany) was always at one ethnic and cultural remove from Greece – even if traditions were sometimes invented to elide this –, Italy, with its nationalism rooted in the Renaissance, and Greece as heir to Christian Byzantium, had a different starting point. In addition, where classics had played a role in Portuguese and Spanish imperialism in previous centuries and would in Italian in the next, in the nineteenth century British, French (overseas) and German/Austrian (in Central and Eastern Europe) imperialism colour the nationalisms of Western and Central Europe in a particular way. It is beyond doubt that a still broader approach, taking account of (for example) American and colonial receptions of the classical world, may provide fruitful parallels to the material considered here and in other existing studies. Nor is any universal claim to the primacy of the importance of classics for understanding nationalism in this and other periods made; classics was just one, albeit an important, vehicle for nationalist expression, but there were many others.

2 Nationalism Once identified as such, the phenomenon of nationalism defies easy description. It would be a Herculean (and perhaps Sisyphean) task to try to describe what it is definitively, and this will not be attempted in this introduction. Nor is any attempt made in this volume as a whole to try to answer once and for all the vexed question of what nationalism is, beyond the recognition of its existence as a distinct phenomenon. Instead some existing attempts that have been made to do so will be considered here, by way of providing a brief theoretical framework for the individual studies that follow. An exhaustive analysis of all existing definitions of nationalism will not be endeavoured.

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___ Since its publication, a frequent reference point taken by studies of nation___alism has been Anderson’s Imagined Communities, first published in 1983 and ___revised in 2006. The starting point for Anderson’s (2006: 4) well-known thesis ___was that “nationality, or, as one might prefer to put it in view of that word’s ___multiple significations, nation-ness, as well as nationalism, are cultural arte___facts of a particular kind.” Anderson (2006: 6) described the nation as imagined ___primarily because “the members of even the smallest nation will never know ___most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds ___of each lives the image of their communion”. The continuity of this sense of ___communion depended upon the continued repetition of the cultural rituals that ___were seen by a nation’s members as constituting the essence of that nation. This ___is certainly one framework in which we might try to situate the phenomenon of ___nationalism in the nineteenth century: that in historical terms nations are a ___relatively recent and deliberate innovation, and that nationalisms were the ide___ology that underpinned this drive to forge an (ultimately artificial) sense of ___unity. ___ Several subsequent studies of nationalism have engaged with Anderson’s ___definition and analysed examples of its manifestations in specific historical con___texts. Anderson himself stressed that theoretical analysis of nationalism could ___not be divorced from historical enquiry into its various outward expressions. In ___the preface to his later revised edition, Anderson (2006: xiii) acknowledges his ___debt to the examples of South American nationalism, and his wish to avoid the ___pitfalls of considering nationalism from an overly Eurocentric perspective. This ___volume also wishes to avoid such a temptation. Equally, however, it recognises ___the centrality of Europe to nationalist classical receptions, given that modern ___Europe was the principal (though by no means only) inheritor of its own ancient ___culture. ___ Reflecting on the various historical forms of the national unit through his ___analysis of the development of agrarian and industrial societies, Gellner (1983: ___1) considered nationalism to be “primarily a political principle, which holds that ___the political and national unit should be congruent (…) a theory of political le___gitimacy, which requires that ethnic boundaries should not cut across political ___ones, and, in particular, that ethnic boundaries within a given state (…) should ___not separate the power-holders from the rest”. For Gellner, a primary aim of the ___nationalist was to defend the primacy of a national culture within the borders of ___the nation. This defensive aspect could be seen in its conception of what was ___illegitimate, a prime example of this occurring (of relevance to the essays in this ___collection) when the rulers of a political entity were seen to belong to a nation ___other than that of the majority of its membership. Gellner (1983: 57) made the ___important identification (which he described as its “self-deception”) that, at the

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level of its cultural manifestations, nationalism has often involved the imposition of a “high” culture on a society which is conceived of in its own terms as a representation of a majority (often defined as “folk”) “low” culture. In several works, Smith has also elaborated some important characteristics of nationalism and the nation. In his study entitled National Identity, Smith (1991: 7) offered the definition of a nation as “a named human population sharing an historic territory, common myths and historical memories, a mass, public culture, a common economy and common legal rights and duties for all members”.1 In examining the examples of political and cultural “nations” considered in this volume (for example France, Germany, Bohemia, England and Ireland, only some of which had the political status of a sovereign state during the period), this is a useful definition to return to. In attempting a definition here and elsewhere, Smith makes some important points about nationalism as a phenomenon. One very relevant to the concerns of this volume is that the difficulty of defining national identity definitively stems from the fact that nations are themselves fluid entities: “A national identity is fundamentally multi-dimensional; it can never be reduced to a single element, even by particular factions of nationalists, nor can it be easily or swiftly induced in a population by artificial means” (Smith 1991: 14). This is a question many others have engaged with (notably Hobsbawm 1990), and Smith offers further reflections in relation to this issue in this volume. In addition to trying to explain what nationalism is, attempts have also been made to define sub-categories of nationalism with varying degrees of success. Perhaps the most important of these for the purposes of this volume – a theory engaged with by its contributors – is Hans Kohn’s proposed division between “civic” and “ethnic”, or “Western” and “Eastern”, nationalisms (see Kohn 1944 [repr. 2005]). In the broadest sense, this might be characterised as the apparent distinction between the nation as based upon its institutions, and as based upon the ethnic homogeneity of its inhabitants. What we might understand as an “organicist” view of the nation understood nations as ethnic communities that had emerged over long periods, perhaps stretching back into prehistory. When Montesquieu, Fichte and Gobineau wrote of national and ethnic unities this may have been their starting point. As the essays in this volume re-

_____ 1 Cf. Smith’s (2008: 19) later definition of national identity: “the continuous reproduction and reinterpretation of the pattern of values, symbols, memories, myths and traditions that compose the distinctive heritage of nations, and the identification of individuals with that pattern and heritage.” See also Kunze (2005: 17–25), Breuilly (2012), Breuilly (2013) and Weichlein (22012: 1–5).

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___flect, such distinctions can be a helpful prism through which to understand the ___different currents present within the nationalist movements of the nineteenth ___century and the ways in which they used the classical world as a result. This ___distinction may have its roots in nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century ___debate itself, where the variant bases of the origins of nations were invoked. ___Friedrich Meinecke’s distinction in 1908 between the Kulturnation and the ___Staatsnation was one such example. These attempts to classify sub-streams of ___nationalism have been criticised by some, for example by Viroli (1995: 8) as ___tending “to approach nationalism as a single intellectual stream that originated ___in sixteenth-century England”. Ultimately, nations were not understood as arti___ficial creations in the nineteenth century, and are still not by many today. ___ In addition to the attempt to understand what nationalism is, others have ___also posed the equally important question of when nationalism came into exis___tence.2 There is debate between those who argue that nationalism only emerged ___as a distinctive phenomenon in the course of the eighteenth century, and those ___who trace an earlier origin for nationalism (often in the ancient world). Accord___ing to the first argument, it was the specific social and political conditions of the ___eighteenth century that led to the emergence of the national unit, and that fur___ther examples (e.g. the post-colonial nationalisms of South America and Africa) ___are ultimately descendants of these first nationalisms and conceived of in the ___same ideological terms. According to the second position, this is simplistic, ___overlooking apparent examples of proto-nationalisms in medieval Europe, and ___in ancient civilisations (chiefly Rome, Greece and ancient Israel). This is an im___portant debate and one relevant to the content of this volume, as it affects our ___understanding of how the classical world was used by proponents and oppo___nents of nationalism. Gellner (1983: 55) argued that “(i)t is nationalism which ___engenders nations, and not the other way round. Admittedly, nationalism used ___the pre-existing, historically inherited proliferation of cultures or cultural ___wealth, though it uses them very selectively, and it most often transforms them ___radically.” This volume considers examples of that process of selectivity in rela___tion to the inheritance of the classical world.3 ___ ___ ___ ___2 See e.g. Ichijo & Uzelac (2005). On the historical roots of the concept of the nation see further ___Kedourie (1960), Hobsbawm (1990), Roshwald (2006), Gat & Yakobson (2011), and Hirschi ___(2012). For another attempt to define nationalism, see Haas (1986). 3 Cf. Smith (2008: 16) on the question of how old nationalism is: “nationalism is a modern ___ doctrine, and the ideological hallmark of that modernity resides in the relatively modern as___sumptions about political autonomy and authenticity that underline the doctrine, and in the ___way these are combined with a political anthropology. But this is not to deny that some

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On the basis of this debate, many have argued that the study of nationalism cannot take place in the abstract, divorced from its specific historical manifestations, and that each example of nationalism is sufficiently different that a cautious approach needs to be taken to elaborating any of its generic characteristics. This entails many important considerations which are relevant to a study of this nature, but which it will not be possible to analyse in depth. The possible distinction between an “ethnic” and a “civic” nationalism has already been mentioned. The nature of the interaction between state-level (or imperial-level) nationalisms and sub-nationalisms also presents conceptual challenges, i.e. if we accept that “national” identity need not be coincident with a formal political entity, where does one draw the distinction between regional and national identities? On what basis do we decide what counts as a national identity? Moreover, if we allow that nationalism – as understood as the reified concept it has become since the eighteenth century – could have existed in the ancient world, how would this affect later nationalist receptions of the ancient world? Could, for example, Napoleonic France and imperial Britain’s emulation of the iconography of the Roman empire be understood as a nationalist reception of an ancient nationalism? This volume does not attempt to provide definitive answers to this and a range of other questions that might be raised about the nature of nationalism as a phenomenon. Instead, recognising that nationalism must be witnessed by its specific historical manifestations, it presents a range of such examples, in the hope that a clearer understanding may be attained. It does not presuppose that an overarching universal approach to the classification of such a complex phenomenon, that is by its nature “fundamentally multi-dimensional” (Smith 1991: 14), is necessarily possible at all. The chapters of this volume present a range of very different examples of how nationalist thought and ideology were projected during the nineteenth century, and consider a particular vehicle through which this was done, with varying success. Yet the question also remains of why people needed nationalism in the first place. This is something no less relevant today than in the period under discussion. The artists, historians, poets, politicians, diplomats, kings and emperors considered in this volume either felt an attraction to nationalism (and the classical world) themselves, or identified this need in their contemporary read-

_____ elements of the doctrine go back much further (...) This means that some conceptions of the nation, which may well differ from modern conceptions of the nation, antedate by several centuries the appearance of nationalism and its particular interpretations of the nation, and as a result the concept of the nation cannot simply be derived from the ideology of nationalism.”

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___ers, audiences, and subjects. Historians of nationalism have attempted answers ___to this question, including very simple ones. For Viroli (1995: 14), arguing for a ___revamped patriotism as a modern counterbalance to nationalism (this distinc___tion presenting another conceptual challenge), the answer is an uncomplicated ___one: “Socially humiliated and discontented people find in the membership of ___the nation a new sense of pride, a new sense of dignity: ‘I am poor, but at least I ___am American (or German or Italian)’.” ___ Yet as is reflected in the contributions to this volume, it is hoped that an ___elucidation of how nationalists turned towards the classical world may in it___self help to answer the above question. The use and transformation of the ___classical world was certainly part of Smith’s “continuous reproduction and ___reinterpretation” of particular nationalist values and a perceived national heri___tage. But ultimately this was a quest for legitimacy. This is not to oversimplify ___the process of nationalist receptions of the classical world which, as the range ___of contributions to this volume amply show, ran no predetermined course. It ___will be seen, for example, that the classical world could be used as a means to ___reject alien nationalisms as well as to promote one’s own. However, one en___during facet of nationalist receptions of the classics (as indeed of many other ___receptions of the classics) is the attempt to authenticate through reference to ___antiquity, origins, or simply to hold one’s modern nation to the standard of a ___golden age, and to find it worthy. Proponents of younger nations in particular ___could find in the classical world the ancient unity they lacked. Arminius ___served that role for many Germans, but we may also find a Czech nationalist ___using him to reject German nationalism. Nationalist transformations of the ___classics were as many and varied in the period as were those nationalisms ___themselves. ___ ___ ___ ___3 Classical reception and transformation ___ ___As well as being a study of the specific historical manifestations of nationalism, ___it is also intended that this project constitute a contribution to the field of clas___sical reception and transformation. It is not intended to be either one of these ___two alone. In addition to situating this volume within existing studies of nation___alism, it is also necessary to acknowledge the existing and growing contribution ___that has been made by classical historians and others to the study of the recep___tion of the classical world (including in the nineteenth century). There is insuf___ficient space here to include even a partial survey of the growing body of classi___cal reception studies, which range as broadly as education in the classics has

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extended since the end of antiquity.4 The subject is a large one, ranging from the employment of early classical texts by those that sought to comment on their own times in later classical antiquity, to the use of classical texts by totalitarian regimes in modern Europe. The key premise underlying the approach to these studies has been that the way the sources in question have been received by later cultures is as important as the message or content of the original source itself. Hardwick and Stray (2008: 3) outline methodological approaches to classical reception that have been taken in existing studies. The collected studies that make up this volume would fall under that of “charting the histories of particular texts, styles and ideas”. Three criticisms that have been made of this method are listed: firstly “privileging the influence of the ancient”, secondly “assuming that the meaning of the ancient is fixed or unproblematic”, and finally “replacing this with the ‘progress’ or ‘presentism’ of the modern”. There is no intention in this project to unduly privilege the influence of the classics on nationalism in the nineteenth century. It is recognised that this influence was partial, competing with other (at times stronger) influences, and that where there is evidence of classical reception this was often not direct but through a long intermediate tradition (itself often involving multiple transformations). No claim is made for the primacy of the ancient, even if this was at times the intention of nationalists that mediated the use of the classical world. On the second count, as the scope of the studies in this volume bear witness to, the meaning of the ancient material in each case was flexible and subject to change over time. On the final count, it is true that many of the nationalists considered here were steeped in an ideology of national progress, and considered that their own age was a pivotal one in the history of mankind. It is necessary to understand this to in turn understand how the classical age was used as a historical point of reference, but it is hoped that no such privilege is accorded without good reason to either the present day or to the period under consideration.

_____ 4 Material summarised here will focus largely on anglophone studies, but it is recognised that there have been several important German studies that have examined the uses of antiquity in later periods. The volume Übersetzung und Transformationen, edited by Hartmut Böhme, Christof Rapp and Wolfgang Rösler (Berlin & New York 2007), provides a theoretical framework for the transmission of texts. The proceedings Kontinuität und Transformation der Antike im Mittelalter, edited by Willi Erzgräber (Sigmaringen 1989), examines how the legacy of the classical world was mediated in medieval culture. The Festschrift Antike Mythen: Medien, Transformationen und Konstruktionen, edited by Ueli Dill and Christine Walde (Berlin & New York 2009), provides an analysis of how classical myth was transformed in different media in later culture. The contributors to the present volume seek to build upon both the legacy of German and anglophone reception studies.

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___ A key question in debates about reception has been consideration of the dif___ference between “reception” and “tradition”. Budelmann and Haubold discuss ___this in their essay, reaching the conclusion that “(t)radition and reception tend ___to overlap, though the precise relationship between the two terms, and their ___implications in any given area of study, is not always easy to pin down” (2008: ___14). This conclusion is followed here. Further attempts to hone the concept of ___“reception” through alternative definitions have also been made. One such sug___gestion for an alternative terminology, followed by the Berlin-based Sonderfor___schungsbereich on Transformationen der Antike, is “transformation”. It is argued ___that this captures the process of what happened to original classical source ma___terial in its usage in later history; that the subject matter is “transformed” and is ___not the same as the material in its original state. It is recognised that there is ___mutual influence between source material and reception context: “Das zentrale ___theoretische Konzept der Transformation ermöglicht es dabei, die Referenz zur ___Antike als wechselseitige Relation der voneinander abhängigen Fremd- und ___Selbstkonstruktion zu analysieren” (see the website http://www.sfb-antike.de/; ___further Böhme & al. 2011: 7–56). The research focus of this group examines how ___later generations used their source material for specific reasons, and how in ___doing so they changed the nature and meaning of that material. This is perhaps ___best captured by Budelmann and Haubold’s conclusion (2008: 25) that “(t)he ___important thing to understand (...) is that one of the most interesting questions ___about traditions is what they allow people to do. Traditions are enabling.” ___ From the perspective of the classical tradition, a seminal work for this study ___(as for all studies of the use of the classical world in later history) has been ___Highet’s The Classical Tradition. Greek and Roman Influences on Western Litera___ture. Highet’s masterful analysis of the reinterpretation – in literature alone – of ___the classical world by later ages shone an important light on the process of clas___sical reception, including in the period under scrutiny here. With regard to the ___nineteenth century, Highet (1949: 438) considered the reason why so many ___writers during the period turned back to the classical world. His conclusion was ___that, driven to despair by their contemporaries and the commercial age in which ___they lived, they turned back to an ideal of Greece and Rome: “There were other ___regions full of beauty and energy to which they could escape (...). But none of ___these provided such a large, consistent, and satisfying refuge as the culture of ___Greece and Rome. Nineteenth-century writers admired this culture for two rea___sons: because it was beautiful, and because it was not Christian.” ___ Yet as Highet (1949: 453) also made clear, this was not just a simple escap___ism towards the beauty of a golden age; these nineteenth-century writers were ___also trying by doing so to say something about the age in which they lived: ___“Greco-Roman subjects and figures were creatively used by many others who

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wished to create beautiful images and music as an offset to modern materialism and ugliness, and who felt bound to speak more clearly, more permanently, about their own problems and the problems of our civilisation.” The key word here, as Highet emphasised, is “permanently”. By appealing to, and speaking through the prism of, the classical world, the thinkers and ideologues of later ages were able to appropriate to their own thoughts and ideas the permanence and gravity of the classical world. This was also a signifier of the education of the writer or thinker and of the importance of his ideas, expressed to those willing to listen through a shared language, and conveyed through the conventional symbolism of a lost and better world. Considered in light of the essays that make up this volume, this has especial pertinence for nationalist uses of the classics. From the perspective of anglophone classical reception studies there have been several recent studies of relevance to the concerns of this volume, many of them with a pronounced focus on Victorian uses of Antiquity. Simon Goldhill’s Victorian Culture and Classical Antiquity: Art, Opera, Fiction and the Proclamation of Modernity (2011) might be identified as an important step in the direction of research looking at the influence of the classics in nineteenth-century culture, including in art. In his The Victorians and Ancient Greece (1980) and elsewhere, Richard Jenkyns had also demonstrated the debt of Victorian art to ancient Greece. Rosemary Barrow’s The Use of Classical Art and Literature by Victorian Painters 1869–1912 (2007) provides important context for several of the contributions to this volume. Saunders, Martindale, Pite and Skoie’s Romans and Romantics (2012) explores relationships with classical antiquity in the period immediately preceding that under consideration here, an important foundation for many of the nationalist receptions that came afterwards. A number of studies have also been made of the specific role of the classics in national, imperial and colonial contexts in different countries. A key work here is Stephens and Vasunia’s Classics and National Cultures (2010). This collection of essays presented an important range of examples of the role played by the classics in the process of the definition of national cultures, focusing particularly on twentieth-century receptions, both European and non-European (though with some reference to the nineteenth century). Mark Bradley’s edited volume Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire (2010) made an important contribution to understanding of how the heritage of the classical world was used by the imperial British government and others in supporting British hegemony. Other studies have focused more particularly on individual phenomena within the British Empire. Christopher A. Hagerman’s Britain’s Imperial Muse: The Classics, Imperialism, and the Indian Empire, 1784–1918 (2013) has looked at the role of the classics in influencing those that governed and justified

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___empire. Richard Hingley’s Roman Officers and English Gentlemen: The Imperial ___Origins of Roman Archaeology (2000) considered more specifically how the ex___perience of empire affected archaeologists’ approach to their field. And Sarah ___J. Butler’s Britain and Its Empire in the Shadow of Rome (2012) explored the use ___of Rome in the definition of empire, nation and city.5 While not focusing solely ___on nationalism (though often in a nationalist and/or imperialist context), Sam ___Smiles’ The Image of Antiquity: Ancient Britain and the Romantic Imagination ___(1994) has examined the portrayal of ancient Britain in nineteenth-century Brit___ish art. ___ Several (though not all) of these have had a largely exclusive focus on Brit___ish or non-European receptions rather than on the European context considered ___collectively, as is attempted in this book, subject to a certain delimitation of ___subject matter. Several separate (and often non-Anglophone) studies in differ___ent fields have looked at other continental nationalisms and the use of the Clas___sics during the period.6 To take but one illustrative example from art historical ___studies, Thomas Nipperdey’s extensive article “Nationalidee and National___denkmal in Deutschland im 19. Jahrhundert” (1968) represents an important ___contribution to the study of nationalism in nineteenth-century German monu___ments. Dirk Klose’s Klassizismus als idealistische Weltanschauung: Leo von ___Klenze als Kunstphilosoph (1999) considered the influence of the Classics on ___world views through the lens of one particularly important artist. Others have ___looked at France, for example Athena S. Leoussi’s Nationalism and Classicism ___(1998), and other “newer” nations, for example Marta Filipová’s The Construc___tion of National Identity in Czech Art (2009). Anthony Smith’s The Nation Made ___Real: Art and National Identity in Western Europe, 1600–1850 (2013) has been a ___recent example providing a broader overview. Many more examples from the ___fields of literature, theatre, music, and philosophy could be cited. ___ ___ ___ ___ 5 While an exhaustive list of other publications of relevance to classics in a national and im___ perial context cannot be provided here, other key works would include Liversidge and Ed___wards’ Imagining Rome (1996), and Edwards’ Roman Presences (1999). For a broader sense of ___Victorian Britain’s uses of the classics see Turner’s The Greek Heritage in Victorian Britain ___(1981), and Vance’s The Victorians and Ancient Rome (1997). Richardson’s Classical Victorians ___(2013) is also an interesting recent example of a study of Victorian uses of the classics. ___6 Some key studies for the German context have been Butler’s The Tyranny of Greece over Germany (originally published in 1935, reprinted 2012), Leonard’s Socrates and the Jews (2012), ___ which looked at the dual influences of Greek and Jewish culture on nineteenth-century German ___philosophy (with reference to Victorian Britain), and Marchand’s Down from Olympus (1996). ___Many further examples could be given here.

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Acknowledging the existing variety of such studies, the present volume seeks to combine a wide range of material from different European contexts, and to situate this within a framework of the theory of nationalism. It is intended that in doing so, as full as possible a picture of nationalist uses of the classical world in nineteenth-century Europe can be achieved. Individual studies of nations and of particular media have been undertaken in the past, and detailed studies of British imperialist uses of the Classics have been made. However it is considered that the breadth of material under scrutiny here, drawn from several different European nations during the period and situated within the history of ideas, will be an original contribution to both the fields of classical reception studies and the history of nationalism.

4 Key questions Whether we choose to understand nations as naturally emerging ethnic and cultural identities, or the modernist production of the deliberate efforts of nineteenth-century politicians, writers and artists, we need to keep several important questions about the phenomenon in mind. We are here concerned with how nationalists (and counter-nationalists) of the period used the classics and the legacy of the classical world to underpin their arguments, and as a mode of expression for them. In elucidating how the past was used we need to understand the contemporary aims of these figures. Beyond this we need to consider the role classics played as the educational staple of national and imperial elites, and how this affected the expression, philosophical, political and artistic, of their ideas. In this context the following are some of the key questions that the contributions in this volume deal with: What is nationalism? How was nationalism understood, expressed and considered during the nineteenth century? Can we detect any differences between private and public articulations of nationalism? What was the intersection of ideas of nation and empire in the nineteenth century? How was classical antiquity used to articulate contemporary conceptions of race, nation and empire? How were philosophers influenced by the classics in their attempts to articulate concepts of nationhood and ethnicity? How did rulers use the classics to express their values and national allegiances during the period? How did wars and the other events of the period affect the ways in which the classics were used? How were conflicting ethnic nationalisms resolved during the period? To what extent was classical antiquity used as a reference point in these debates?

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___ It is hoped that it may be possible to come close to an answer to at least ___some of these questions in this volume. And it is felt that where this is possible, ___this will most likely occur at the intersection of the study of nationalism and the ___study of classical reception. But it is unlikely to be possible to provide a defi___nitive answer in every case. Nor is it felt that this is in itself problematic. The ___complex phenomenon of nationalism has defied (and continues to defy) easy ___categorisation. Similarly, the field of classical reception studies remains as mul___tifarious as its almost endless manifestations in the rich post-classical history of ___Europe and the wider world. ___ It is an open question whether the role that classics played in the national___ist political and cultural movements of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries ___continues in the nationalisms of the twenty-first century, albeit in less explicit ___ways.7 The role of the classics, as it has been mediated through the nationalisms ___of preceding centuries, may itself now be in the process of being transformed in ___contemporary nationalisms, even if classics has ceased to play as explicit a role ___in the phenomenon as it has in the past. This is beyond the scope of this vol___ume, but it is hoped that this book may serve as a stimulus for other projects ___looking at different periods and different societies. The field of classical recep___tion remains wide open. To return to Gilbert Highet’s (1949: 459) conclusion: ___“Every age finds what it wants in the classics.”8 ___ ___ Berlin & London, March 2015 ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___7 Stephens & Vasunia (2010) provide a partial consideration of this question. 8 The editors are extremely grateful to the De Gruyter team in Berlin, in particular to Katharina ___ Legutke, Elisabeth Kempf and Katja Brockmann, for their highly professional support and ___the remarkable efficiency with which they saw the book through the publication process. ___Katharina Legutke deserves special thanks for giving this volume a home.

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A short research bibliography Alter, Peter (1985): Nationalismus, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Alter, Peter (ed.) (1994): Nationalismus. Dokumente zur Geschichte und Gegenwart eines Phänomens, München: Piper. Anderson, Benedict (1983): Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, London: Verso (revised ed. 2006). Atsuko, Ichijo (2013): Nationalism and Multiple Modernities. Europe and Beyond, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Baár, Monika (2010): Historians and Nationalism. East-Central Europe in the Nineteenth Century, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Balakrishnan, Gopal (ed.) (2012): Mapping the Nation, London & New York: Verso. Barrow, Rosemary J. (2007): Creating Continuity with the Traditions of High Art. The Use of Classical Art and Literature by Victorian Painters 1860–1912, Lampeter: Edwin Mellen Press. Berger, Stefan & Christoph Conrad (2015): The Past as History. National Identity and Historical Consciousness in Modern Europe, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Berger, Stefan, Linas Eriksonas & Andrew Mycock (eds.) (2008): Narrating the Nation. Representations in History, Media and the Arts, New York: Berghahn. Bjørn, Claus, Alexander Grant & Keith J. Stringer (eds.) (1994): Nations, Nationalism, and Patriotism in the European Past, Copenhagen: Academic Press. Böhme, Hartmut, Lutz Bergemann, Martin Dönike, Albert Schirrmeister, Georg Töpfer, Marco Walter & Julia Weitbrecht (eds.) (2011): Transformationen. Ein Konzept zur Erforschung kulturellen Wandels, München: Wilhelm Fink. Bosshart-Pfluger, Catherine, Joseph Jung & Franziska Metzger (eds.) (2002): Nation und Nationalismus in Europa: Kulturelle Konstruktion von Identitäten. Festschrift für Urs Altermatt, Frauenfeld, Stuttgart & Wien: Huber. Bradley, Mark (ed.) (2010): Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Breuilly, John (2012): Approaches to nationalism. In: Gopal Balakrishnan (ed.), Mapping the Nation, London & New York: Verso, 146–174. Breuilly, John (2013): Introduction. Concepts, approaches, theories. In: John Breuilly (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the History of Nationalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1–20. Breuilly, John (ed.) (2013): The Oxford Handbook of the History of Nationalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Budelmann, Felix & Johannes Haubold (2008): Reception and tradition. In: Lorna Hardwick & Christopher Stray (eds.), A Companion to Classical Reception, Malden, Mass. & Oxford: Blackwell, 13–25. Butler, Eliza M. (2012): The Tyranny of Greece over Germany. A Study of the Influence Exercised by Greek Art and Poetry over the Great German Writers of the Eighteenth, Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (first edition 1935). Butler, Sarah J. (2012): Britain and its Empire in the Shadow of Rome. The Reception of Rome in Socio-Political Debate from the 1850s to the 1920s, London: Bloomsbury. Cabanel, Patrick (21996): Nation, nationalités et nationalismes en Europe 1850–1920, Paris: Ophrys (first ed. 1995).

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___Caron, Jean-Claude & Michel Vernus (22011): L’Europe au 19e siècle. Des nations aux nationalismes (1815–1914), Paris: Colin (first ed. 1996). ___ Carretero, Mario, Mikel Asensio & María Rodríguez-Moneo (eds.) (2012): History Education and ___ the Construction of National Identities, Charlotte, North Carolina: Information Age Publish___ ing. ___Dann, Otto (31996): Nation und Nationalismus in Deutschland 1770–1990, München: Beck (first ed. 1993). ___ ___Delanty, Gerard & Krishan Kumar (eds.) (2006): The Sage Handbook of Nations and Nationalism, London: Sage. ___ Edwards, Catharine (ed.) (1999): Roman Presences. Receptions of Rome in European Culture, ___ 1789–1945, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ___Einfalt, Michael, Joseph Jurt, Daniel Mollenhauer & Erich Pelzer (eds.) (2002): Konstrukte na___ tionaler Identität. Deutschland, Frankreich und Großbritannien (19. und 20. Jahrhundert), Würzburg: Ergon-Verlag. ___ Filipová, Marta (2009): The Construction of National Identity in Czech Art, PhD thesis University ___ of Glasgow (published online at http://theses.gla.ac.uk/791/). ___ Gat, Azar, with Alexander Yakobson (2011): Nations. The Long History and Deep Roots of Politi___ cal Ethnicity and Nationalism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ___Gellner, Ernest (1983): Nations and Nationalism, Oxford: Blackwell. ___Gellner, Ernest (1994): Encounters with Nationalism, Oxford: Blackwell. ___Gellner, Ernest (1997): Nationalism, London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. ___Goldhill, Simon (2011): Victorian Culture and Classical Antiquity. Art, Opera, Fiction, and the Proclamation of Modernity, Princeton: Princeton University Press. ___Haagsma, Margriet, Pim den Boer & Eric M. Moormann (eds.) (2003): The Impact of Classical ___ Greece on European and National Identities. Proceedings of an International Collo___ quium, held at the Netherlands Institute at Athens (2–4 October 2000), Amsterdam: Gieben. ___ Haas, Ernst B. (1986): What is nationalism and why should we study it? In: International Or___ ganization 40, 707–744. ___ Hagendoorn, Louk, György Csepeli, Henk Dekker & Russell Farnen (eds.) (2000): Euro___ pean Nations and Nationalism. Theoretical and Historical Perspectives, Aldershot: Ash___ gate. ___Hagerman, Christopher A. (2013): Britain’s Imperial Muse. The Classics, Imperialism, and the Indian Empire 1784–1914, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. ___ Hamilakis, Yannis (2007): The Nation and Its Ruins. Antiquity, Archaeology, and National ___ Imagination, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ___Hardwick, Lorna (2003): Reception Studies (New Surveys in the Classics 33), Oxford: Oxford ___ University Press. ___Hardwick, Lorna & Christopher Stray (2008): Introduction. Making connections. In: Lorna Hardwick & Christopher Stray (eds.), A Companion to Classical Reception, Malden, Mass. ___ & Oxford: Blackwell, 1–10. ___ Hermand, Jost (2012): Verlorene Illusionen. Eine Geschichte des deutschen Nationalismus, ___ Köln: Böhlau. ___Highet, Gilbert (1949): The Classical Tradition. Greek and Roman Influences on Western Litera___ ture, Oxford: Clarendon. ___Hingley, Richard (2000): Roman Officers and English Gentlemen. The Imperial Origins of Roman Archaeology, London: Routledge. ___

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Hingley, Richard (ed.) (2001): Images of Rome. Perceptions of Ancient Rome in Europe and the United States in the Modern Age (Journal of Roman Archaeology. Supplementary Series 44), Portsmouth, Rhode Island: JRA. Hirschi, Caspar (2005): Wettkampf der Nationen. Konstruktionen einer deutschen Ehrgemeinschaft an der Wende vom Mittelalter zur Neuzeit, Göttingen: Wallstein. Hirschi, Caspar (2006): Germanenmythos. In: Friedrich Jaeger (ed.), Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit (vol. 4), Stuttgart: Metzler, 551–555. Hirschi, Caspar (2008): Nationalgeschichte. In: Friedrich Jaeger (ed.), Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit (vol. 8), Stuttgart: Metzler, 1084–1087. Hirschi, Caspar (2008): Nationalmythen. In: Friedrich Jaeger (ed.), Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit (vol. 8), Stuttgart: Metzler, 1097–1107. Hirschi, Caspar (2012): The Origins of Nationalism. An Alternative History from Ancient Rome to Early Modern Germany, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hobsbawm, Eric J. (1990): Nations and Nationalism since 1780. Programme, Myth, Reality, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hroch, Miroslav (1986): Evropská národní hnutí v 19. století. Společenské předpoklady vzniku novodobých národů, Praha: Svoboda. Hroch, Miroslav (1999): V národním zájmu. Požadavky a cíle evropských národních hnutí devatenáctého století ve srovnávací perspektivě, Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové Noviny (English translation by Robin Cassling: In the National Interest. Demands and Goals of European National Movements of the Nineteenth Century. A Comparative Perspective, Praha 2000: Karlova Univerzita). Hroch, Miroslav (2005): Das Europa der Nationen. Die moderne Nationsbildung im europäischen Vergleich (German translation by Eližka & Ralph Melville), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hroch, Miroslav (2009): Národy nejsou dílem náhody. Příčiny a předpoklady utváření moderních evropských národů, Praha: Sociologické Nakladatelství. Ichijo, Atsuko & Gordana Uzelac (eds.) (2005): When is the Nation? Towards an Understanding of Theories of Nationalism, London & New York: Routledge. Jackson, Jennifer & Lina Molokotos-Liederman (eds.) (2015): Nationalism, Ethnicity and Boundaries. Conceptualising and Understanding Identity Through Boundary Approaches, London & New York: Routledge. Jansen, Christian & Henning Borggräfe (2007): Nation – Nationalität – Nationalismus, Frankfurt am Main: Campus. Jenkyns, Richard (1980): The Victorians and Ancient Greece, Oxford: Blackwell. Karolewski, Ireneusz Paweł & Andrzej Marcin Suszycki (2011): The Nation and Nationalism in Europe. An Introduction, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Kedourie, Elie (1960): Nationalism, London: Hutchinson. Klose, Dirk (1999): Klassizismus als idealistische Weltanschauung. Leo von Klenze als Kunstphilosoph, München: UNI-Druck. Kohn, Hans (2005): The Idea of Nationalism. A Study in its Origins and Background. With a new introduction by Craig Calhoun, New Brunswick: Transaction (first edition New York 1944: Macmillan). Krüger, Christine G. & Martin Lindner (eds.) (2009): Nationalismus und Antikenrezeption, Oldenburg: BIS-Verlag. Kunze, Rolf-Ulrich (2005): Nation und Nationalismus, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft.

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___Langewiesche, Dieter (2000): Nation, Nationalismus, Nationalstaat in Deutschland und Europa, München: Beck. ___ Leerssen, Joep & Ann Rigney (eds.) (2014): Commemorating Writers in Nineteenth-Century ___ Europe. Nation-Building and Centenary Fever, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. ___Leonard, Miriam (2012): Socrates and the Jews. Hellenism and Hebraism from Moses Mendels___ sohn to Sigmund Freud, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ___Leoussi, Athena S. (1998): Nationalism and Classicism. The Classical Body as National Symbol in Nineteenth-Century England and France, Houndmills: Macmillan. ___ Liversidge, Michael & Catharine Edwards (eds.) (1996): Imagining Rome. British Artists and ___ Rome in the Nineteenth Century, London: Merrell Holberton. ___Llobera, Josep R. (1996): The God of Modernity. The Development of Nationalism in Western ___ Europe, Oxford: Berg. ___Llobera, Josep R. (2005): Foundations of National Identity. From Catalonia to Europe, New York: Berghahn. ___ Manias, Chris (2013): Race, Science, and the Nation. Reconstructing the Ancient Past in Britain, ___ France and Germany, London & New York: Routledge. ___ Marchand, Suzanne L. (1996): Down from Olympus. Archaeology and Philhellenism in Ger___ many, 1750–1970, Princeton: Princeton University Press. ___Mayer, Tilman (21987): Prinzip Nation. Dimensionen der nationalen Frage dargestellt am Beispiel Deutschlands, Opladen: Leske & Budrich. ___ ___Meinecke, Friedrich (1908): Weltbürgertum und Nationalstaat. Studien zur Genesis des deutschen Nationalstaates, München: Oldenbourg. ___ Moore, Margaret (2001): The Ethics of Nationalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ___Nipperdey, Thomas (1968): Nationalidee and Nationaldenkmal in Deutschland im 19. Jahrhun___ dert. In: Historische Zeitschrift 206, 529–585. ___Passini, Michela (2012): La fabrique de l’art national. Le nationalisme et les origines de l’histoire de l’art en France et en Allemagne 1870–1933, Paris: Maison des Sciences de ___ l’Homme. ___ Reinhold, Meyer (1984): Classica Americana. The Greek and Roman Heritage in the United ___ States, Detroit: Wayne State University Press. ___Richardson, Edmund (2013): Classical Victorians. Scholars, Scoundrels and Generals in Pursuit ___ of Antiquity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ___Rigaux, François (2004): Nations et nationalismes au cours des deux derniers siècles. In: Heinz-Peter Mansel, Rainer Hausmann, Christian Kohler, Herbert Kronke & Thomas Pfeif___ fer (eds.), Festschrift für Erik Jayme (vol. 2), München: Sellier, 1201–1214. ___ Roshwald, Aviel (2006): The Endurance of Nationalism. Ancient Roots and Modern Dilemmas, ___ Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ___Saunders, Timothy, Charles Martindale, Ralph Pite & Mathilde Skoie (eds.) (2012): Romans and ___ Romantics, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ___Schulze, Hagen (1994): Staat und Nation in der europäischen Geschichte, München: Beck. ___Smiles, Sam (1994): The Image of Antiquity. Britain and the Romantic Imagination, London: Yale University Press. ___ Smith, Anthony D. (1979): Nationalism in the Twentieth Century, Oxford: Robertson. ___Smith, Anthony D. (21983): Theories of Nationalism, London: Duckworth (first ed. 1971). ___Smith, Anthony D. (1986): The Ethnic Origins of Nations, Oxford: Blackwell. ___Smith, Anthony D. (1991): National Identity, London: Penguin. ___Smith, Anthony D. (1995): Nations and Nationalism in a Global Era, Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Smith, Anthony D. (1998): Nationalism and Modernism. A Critical Survey of Recent Theories of Nations and Nationalism, London & New York: Routledge. Smith, Anthony D. (1999): Myths and Memories of the Nation, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, Anthony D. (2000): The Nation in History. Historiographical Debates about Ethnicity and Nationalism, Hanover, New Hampshire: University Press of New England. Smith, Anthony D. (2003): Chosen Peoples. Sacred Sources of National Identity, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, Anthony D. (2004): The Antiquity of Nations, Cambridge: Polity Press. Smith, Anthony D. (2008): The Cultural Foundations of Nations. Hierarchy, Covenant and Republic, Oxford: Blackwell. Smith, Anthony D. (2009): Ethno-Symbolism and Nationalism. A Cultural Approach, London & New York: Routledge. Smith, Anthony D. (2010): Nationalism. Theory, Ideology, History, Cambridge: Polity Press. Smith, Anthony D. (2012): Nationalism and the historians. In: Gopal Balakrishnan (ed.), Mapping the Nation, London & New York: Verso, 175–197. Smith, Anthony D. (2013): The Nation Made Real. Art and National Identity in Western Europe, 1600–1850, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stephens, Susan A. & Phiroze Vasunia (eds.) (2010): Classics and National Cultures, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Teich, Mikuláš & Roy Porter (eds.) (1993): The National Question in Europe in Historical Context, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Timmermann, Heiner (ed.) (1993): Die Entstehung der Nationalbewegung in Europa 1750–1849, Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. Turner, Frank (1981): The Greek Heritage in Victorian Britain, New Haven & London: Yale University Press. Tzanelli, Rodanthi (2008): Nation-Building and Identity in Europe. The Dialogics of Reciprocity, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Van Ginderachter, Maarten & Marnix Beyen (eds.) (2012): Nationhood from Below. Europe in the Long Nineteenth Century, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Vance, Norman (1997): The Victorians and Ancient Rome, Oxford: Blackwell. Vasunia, Phiroze (2013): The Classics and Colonial India, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Viroli, Maurizio (1995): For Love of Country. An Essay on Patriotism and Nationalism, Oxford: Clarendon. Wehler, Hans-Ulrich (31996): Bibliographie zum Nationalismus, Bielefeld: Universität Bielefeld (Fakultät für Geschichtswissenschaft). Wehler, Hans-Ulrich (42011): Nationalismus. Geschichte – Formen – Folgen, München: Beck (first ed. 2001). Weichlein, Siegfried (22012): Nationalbewegungen und Nationalismus in Europa, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft (first ed. 2006). Winterer, Caroline (2002): The Culture of Classicism. Ancient Greece and Rome in American Intellectual Life, 1780–1910, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Woolf, Stuart (ed.) (1996): Nationalism in Europe: 1815 to the Present. A Reader, London & New York: Routledge. Wyke, Maria & Michael Biddiss (eds.) (1999): The Uses and Abuses of Antiquity, Bern: Lang. Yack, Bernard (2006): Nationalism and the Moral Psychology of Community, Chicago & London: Chicago University Press. neue rechte Seite weiter

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___Anthony D. Smith ___ ___ ___ ___Anthony D. Smith ___Classical Ideals and the Formation of Modern Nations in Europe ___Abstract: The view that nations and nationalism are modern European phenomena, and basi___cally nineteenth-century developments, closely linked to Romanticism and hence far removed ___from more earthbound, rational classical ideals and modes of representation, manifest in the classical revival of the eighteenth century, remains a widely held assumption. For many ob___ servers, this view ties in well with the fashionable distinction between a ‘civic’ nation and pa___triotism, which owes much to ancient classical ideals mediated by the Renaissance and ___Enlightenment, and a more radical and exclusive ‘ethnic’ nation and nationalism which draws ___from alternative religious sources. While these distinctions may be theoretically plausible, they oversimplify the complex re___ ___lationships between classical ideals, religious traditions (especially biblical traditions), neoclassicism, Romanticism, and the formations of nations and the role of nationalism. Not only ___are the contrasts overdrawn, the historical cases frequently manifest varying degrees of ‘Ro___manticism’ and ‘neo-classicism’, and of ‘civic’ and ‘ethnic’ nationalism. Without underrating ___religious traditions in the genesis of modern nations, I confine myself here to the pivotal role of ___the ‘neo-classical’ interpretations of classical ideals. Neo-classical interpretations of classical ideals extended to the modes of representation of ___ the nation. Neo-classical ‘nation-building’ can be seen in architecture and town planning in ___ cities like Paris, London, Liverpool, Berlin and Munich, where museums and galleries, national ___assemblies and law courts, libraries and conservatories, even banks and stations, were often ___ennobled through Greek forms and Roman monumentality, thereby raising the prestige of the ___nation. Cities of the emerging nations were filled with statues of indigenous geniuses and he___roes, and with sepulchral monuments, many of them harking back to classical prototypes; and ___in painting, too, the influence of Greece and Rome was felt profoundly in ‘history’ and ‘landscape painting’, and in art academies. It is difficult to imagine the landscape of the nation, or ___the content of its ideology, without recourse to the ideals of classical antiquity and the imagery ___of neo-classicism. ___ ___ ___ ___1 Introduction ___ ___Nations and nationalism are commonly regarded as nineteenth-century Euro___pean phenomena, closely linked to Romanticism, and therefore far removed ___from the more earthbound, rational ideals of classical antiquity and their modes ___of representation. At best, neo-classicism, the classical revival of the eighteenth ___century, is granted a subsidiary role in the creation of patriotism and ‘civic’ na___tions, whereas the term ‘nationalism’ is reserved for the ideology of a more full___blooded and exclusive ‘ethnic’ nation.

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While these distinctions are significant and plausible, they hardly do justice to the complex relations, conceptual and historical, between the rise of nations and nationalism, on the one hand, and neo-classicism and Romanticism, on the other hand, let alone to the originating biblical and classical traditions. The concepts themselves are often ill-defined and the distinctions between them overdrawn. Moreover, as scholars like Bernard Yack have shown, historical cases often manifest ‘ethnic’ and ‘civic’ nationalisms in varying degrees; and the same can be said of their degrees of ‘neo-classicism’ and ‘Romanticism’, both with regard to their ideals and to their modes of expression and representation. Here, my focus will be on the pivotal role of ‘neo-classicism’ in the formation of modern nations, without underrating the impact of biblical traditions in the complex of cultural and ideational factors (see Yack 2006: ch. 1).

2 Theoretical perspectives I start with ‘nationalism’ and ‘nation’. The concept of nationalism in modern Europe has several meanings, but it is most usefully understood as “an ideological movement aiming to attain or maintain autonomy, unity and identity for a social group which is deemed to constitute a nation” (Smith 1991: 51). This defines the modern type of nationalism, insofar as it refers to an activist ideological movement, to the pursuit of ‘identity’, and to the idea of a ‘nation’. Other pre-modern types of nationalism tend to be reactive and non-ideological, much less concerned with national ‘identity’, and for the most part aim to uphold the status quo against threats rather than ‘build a nation’. When it comes to definitions of the concept of the ‘nation’, there is a vast literature and choice. In fact, the concept of ‘nation’ connotes both a species of the generic category ‘cultural community’, and a historical form of territorialised human community, with the latter exhibiting variations in different areas and periods of history. Nevertheless, we can isolate their main common features, in ideal typical fashion, to define “a named human community residing in a perceived homeland, and having common myths and a shared history, a distinct public culture, and common laws and customs for all members” (Smith 2010: 13). As Azar Gat and others have argued, we can find instances of such national communities in all periods of human history, and across large areas, notably the ancient Near East, the Far East and south-east Asia, and pre-modern Europe, each exhibiting differences from each other and from the modern type with which we are most familiar (see Gat 2011; Grosby 2002; Smith 2010: ch. 1). It is with the latter that I am concerned here. The modern type of nation can already be found in seventeenth-century Netherlands, England and Scotland,

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___stimulated and shaped by a biblical ‘covenantal nationalism’ harking back to ___the Old Testament and the Exodus and Covenant of the Israelites. We meet it ___again in a secularising but covenantal France, especially during the Revolution, ___and thereafter in Poland, Germany, Greece, Russia, Switzerland, Italy and ___across most of Europe after 1848, often directed and shaped by a secular na___tionalist cult to form a sacred communion of citizens. It is this powerful cult and ___its pro-active ideology that marks out the modern form from earlier types of ___nations and their nationalisms (see Gorski 2000, Smith 2007, and Roshwald ___2006). ___ The causes of the emergence of modern nations and national states are ___many and varied. But, if we confine ourselves to the cultural and ideational as___pects of this great historical and sociological development, then a significant ___place must be reserved for the cults of ‘nature’, ‘authenticity’ and human ‘per___fectibility’ which emerged in the eighteenth century and came to pervade much ___of social and cultural life in the nineteenth century and beyond. Together, they ___provided the character and criteria for the shape and life of national communi___ties, or nations. Naturalism, whether in social relations, mores or the arts, the ___‘return to nature’, and the cultivation of the simple life, preached by Rousseau, ___amounted to much more than a call to forsake the corruption and luxury of ur___ban life; these ideals signalled a complete restructuring of society, culture and ___politics, and with it, the liberation of humanity from oppression and exploita___tion. The cult of ‘authenticity’, the quest for the pristine original spirit of things, ___was applied by Herder to communities and cultures, both new and old, in a bid ___to uncover their ‘true nature’ beneath the accretions of the ages and create a ___world of cultural diversity, individual self-expression and collective self-deter___mination. As for the cult of perfectibility, this was an ideal that sprang from the ___Enlightenment, especially in its later moralising phase, and was applied to poli___tics and the arts from the late eighteenth century as a vital part of the revolu___tionary reconstitution of society and culture (see Berlin 1976 and Kedourie ___1960). ___ If the criteria of ‘nature’, ‘authenticity’ and ‘perfectibility’ served to direct ___and shape the creation and course of modern nations, it is to the two great an___cient traditions of Graeco-Roman classicism and biblical Hebraism that we must ___look for much of the distinctive ideological content and character of modern ___nations and nationalism. Here I focus on the legacy of classical ideals and prac___tices, without minimising the role of the Bible and Judaeo-Christian traditions. ___The impact of classical ideals and practices was doubly mediated: first, by the ___longstanding revival of classical learning and knowledge of ancient, particu___larly Roman, art and letters during the Renaissance and the Baroque period, ___and second, by the more intense and widespread revival of classical antiquity –

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its thought, political morality, culture and arts – in the eighteenth century, in what contemporary critics and artists regarded as a risorgimento of the arts, achieved through the dissemination of the ‘true style’ across Europe. As the immediate antecedent of the culture and ideology of modern nations and nationalism, ‘neo-classicism’, the classical revival of the eighteenth century, was to play a significant role in their genesis and character. This was, in part, because of its proponents’ radicalism, the desire to dig down to the heroic past, and beyond, to the universal ground of nature, to discover its basic forms; and also to the fact that the intense and ardent classical revival of the eighteenth century was carried along, as it were, on the wave of radical subjectivity that characterised ‘Romanticism’, evincing a passionate yearning for individual human perfectibility and for the golden age of an ideal heroic past, in which neoclassicism became one of the paradigmatic varieties of a revolutionary ‘Romanticism’. In this vision of an ideal antiquity, the universal was united with the unique, as the elite of a newly educated European bourgeoisie sought to harmonise society and nature and discover the ‘genuine’, and hence the ideal, form of humanity and culture beneath its diversity in every age and continent. The link between neo-classicism and the many romanticisms of Europe was even closer, since the cults of ‘nature’, ‘authenticity’ and ‘perfectibility’ which were so strongly bound up with the quest for identity sought universal inward spiritual states; yet, at the same time, they were frequently translated into political symbolism and visual embodiments, and ultimately into specific national political styles, such as occurred during the French Revolution (see Honour 1968: ch. 1; Rosenblum 1967: ch. 1; Porter & Teich 1988).

3 Neo-classical ideals of the nation As an artistic, literary and philosophical revolution, neo-classicism emerged out of the ‘Augustan’ classicism and Enlightenment of the early eighteenth century, which had in turn developed from the Renaissance revival of classical antiquity. At first, the neo-classical revival was centred mainly in France, where around 1750 art critics and commentators urged artists to turn their backs on the prevalent Rococo forms and return to the heroic art of Poussin and the Grand Siècle. At the same time, debates about the authorship of the Homeric epics, and the discoveries at Herculaneum and Pompeii, triggered a series of artistic styles and fashions which, though often more decorative than radical, made possible a more profound revaluation of classical antiquity. But it was not till the writings of Winckelmann on Greek art and the prints of Roman ruins by Piranesi in the

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___1750s that a wholly new understanding and appreciation of antiquity became ___widespread. For Piranesi, Rome’s massive, heavy ruins still teemed with life and ___vitality (see Penny 1988), while for Winckelmann the sculpture of ancient ___Greece represented the acme of idealised youth, or, as he put it in respect of the ___Apollo Belvedere, “(a)n eternal springtime, like that which reigns in the happy ___fields of Elysium, clothes his body with the charms of youth and softly shines on ___the proud structure of his limbs (...). Like the soft tendrils of the vine, his beauti___ful hair flows round his head, as if gently brushed by the breath of the zephyr” ___(Winckelmann 1764: 392; translation from Honour 1968: 60). ___ It was in the spirit of Winckelmann’s ideal of ‘noble simplicity and calm ___grandeur’ that his friend, Anton Raphael Mengs, painted his Parnassus in 1761 ___for Cardinal Albani’s library in Rome, bringing together in a single horizontal ___composition images of classical sculpture and Raphael’s frescoes. Winckel___mann’s aestheticised and sometimes eroticised paeans of key Greek sculptures, ___linked to his view that classical sculpture, the most perfect in the world, could ___only have flourished in conditions of liberty, became widely influential, making ___the revolutionary naturalism and calm stoicism of the neo-classical ideal a ___unique standard and model of human perfectibility for which artists and others ___should yearn and strive – a quest which was to mark out modern nationalism ___and the new modes of representing the modern nation (see Honour 1968: ch. 1). ___ However, it was not classical ideals per se, even if these could be ade___quately recovered, but the selections and interpretations of those ideals by ex___ponents of the classical revival in search of the basic forms of nature that di___rected and shaped much of the character and contents of nations and ___nationalisms from the late eighteenth century onwards. The chief among the ___classical ideals that were selected in what was sometimes the reflecting mirror ___and at other times the refracting prism of neo-classicism included heroic virtue ___(3.1), patria and autonomia (3.2), and citizenship (3.3). ___ ___ ___3.1 Heroic virtue ___ ___Originally an ideal of the citizens of the Greek polis as they looked back with ___wonder to the heroes of the Homeric epics and of Romans of the later Republic ___nostalgically harking back to the heroes of the early Republic, like Brutus the ___consul, Mucius Scaevola, Cincinnatus, Regulus, Scipio and Cornelia, ‘heroic ___virtue’ became central to neo-classical preoccupations. The philosophes of the ___later, moralising Enlightenment, notably Diderot, d’Alembert and Rousseau, ___extolled the virtuous heroes and heroines of classical antiquity, in open opposi___tion to the corruption of ancien régime courts and the luxury of ‘frivolous’ Ro-

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coco arts. The Stoic morality of ‘The Choice of Heracles between Pleasure and Virtue’ became a symbol of this contrast, the prototype of the exemplum virtutis, in line with the virtues of rustic simplicity and the life of nature extolled by Rousseau. The hero or heroine was central to the ideals of the neo-classical revolution, because their exploits were deemed to be directed to the public good, especially the defence of the community. The heroic exemplum vitae was repeatedly recalled as the model for emulation by the citizens of the nation, especially during the course of the French Revolution, and their exemplars ranged from Achilles and Hector, Leonidas and Socrates, Brutus and Regulus, to later heroes like Arminius, Siegfried, Alfred, William Tell, and Alexander Nevsky (see Rosenblum 1967: chs. 1–2). Exceptional deeds of Stoic virtue were associated with heroic ‘golden ages’ through the mirror of neo-classicism, forming a ‘plateau of heroism’ which served as a testament and beacon of the ‘true’ or inner worth of the community, now in decline and fallen so low. In the political counterpart of neo-classicism, the plateau of heroic virtue came to form the high point of the cycle of national myths which chart the trajectory of the nation, in nationalist mythology. Hence the goals of nationalists throughout Europe became the restoration or renewal of the nation’s ‘true nature’ and its heroic past through civic education, public rituals and the cultivation of an ardent devotion to the patria, as Rousseau had recently recommended to the Poles in his Gouvernement de Pologne (1772) (see Watkins 1953: 163, 178; Smith 1999: 3–19).

3.2 Patria and autonomia The concept of patria had been applied since ancient times to all kinds of territorial communities and cultural and political units from districts and city-states to regions, provinces and finally nations. It traced its origins in Western thought from the writings of Cicero on the forms of government, especially in the early Roman res publica, to the Greek polis. This was the unit of devotion and selfsacrifice in classical antiquity, a territorial, cultural and political community whose members sought to attain and maintain their political autonomy; and, suitably adapted, it was taken over and applied to large states and national communities by the philosophes and their followers through the transforming prism of neo-classicism. Originating as a homeland of birth and nurture, the patria came to signify a spatial and a cultural unit, as well as a locus of independent jurisdiction. What was of particular significance for the development of nations and nationalism was the drive for autonomy of the community, its fierce attachment to its independence against competitors as well as rival allegiances,

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___and the concomitant willingness on the part of its most heroic members to sacri___fice their lives for the patria, after the manner of classical exemplars like Hector, ___Leonidas, Regulus and Germanicus (see Viroli 1995 and Hirschi 2012). ___ Patria was also linked to ‘nature’ through the unique qualities attributed to ___the homeland – its distinctive landscapes of rivers, fields, mountains and val___leys. This was a homeland of ideal beauty, but also rich in particular ethno___historical associations, whether of past battles and assemblies, or of present ___ruins of abbeys, shrines and temples. Through the naturalising prism of neo___classicism, the ideal homeland, with its poetic landscapes and its historic ___memories, became an intrinsic part of the cultural and political patria, as it had ___done for Vergil and Horace when they sang of the special beauties of Italia (see ___Highet 1955), and recently for poets like Thomson and Gray for whom the rich ___fields and estates of Georgian England seemed a latter-day Arcadia (see Rosen___thal 1983: 48–51). ___ ___ ___3.3 Citizenship ___ ___In the most influential city-states of the ancient classical world, the autonomy ___of the patria went hand in hand with that of its members and citizens, since ___free, independent members of the community could only exercise their moral ___autonomy within a free and independent polis or res publica. It was to these ___kinds of patria that the philosophes, notably Diderot, d’Alembert and Rousseau ___and their followers, looked for models of citizenship, fraternity and solidarity, ___attributes that seemed so lacking in contemporary France. Their perspective ___was adopted by the patriots during the Revolution, with Robespierre invoking ___the civic deeds of Socrates and Timoleon, and with a singular reverence being ___accorded to the consul Brutus who, at great personal cost, expelled the Tarquins ___from Rome and established the Roman Republic (see Rosenblum 1967 and Scurr ___2006). ___ In harking back to the classical world, radicals and democrats across ___Europe were united in demanding from their monarchs a ‘constitution’ on the ___early French Revolutionary model, one that would establish a ‘civil society’ on ___the English model, with its freedom of speech, press, assembly and religion, ___and security of life and property. Of particular importance in the neo-classical ___conception of citizenship was the role of law and the reverence accorded to an___cient law-givers like Moses, Lycurgus and Numa Pompilius, lauded by Rous___seau. This too harked back to the importance placed on the equality of all citi___zens before the law (isonomia) in ancient Athens, an important safeguard against ___any reversion to aristocratic oligarchy, and a legacy carried over through the

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neo-classical revival into the emerging national state (see Forrest 1966 and Watkins 1953: 163).

4 Fraternity and unification These ideals of nationalism and nations figured prominently in the neo-classical revival, especially that of fraternity. The philosophes, in particular, praised what they regarded as the ideal of citizen solidarity in the ancient polis, despite the reality of incessant conflict between factions and opposing orders, oligarchs versus democrats in ancient Greece and patricians versus plebeians in Rome. Fraternity was closely related to the ideal of unity and the politics of unification. The former signified the close attachment of the citizens and members of the national community and the strength of social relations and networks within the patria, whereas the ideal of unity was more concerned with territorial unification and coming together of the originally separate parts of the nation. According to neo-classical ideals, the autonomous nation must be self-determining and hence sovereign in respect of resources, culture and political direction. This in turn required both territorial unification and social unity, i.e. fraternity and solidarity of a compact, territorially delimited community of citizens, such as neo-classical intellectuals thought they discerned in ancient Sparta, Athens and Republican Rome, their models for the emergent modern nations, which they hoped to shape with neo-classical values. This was something that was much desired by Adamantios Korais who argued for a regenerated classical Greece at the beginning of the nineteenth century (see Kedourie 1971). Perhaps the most vivid expression of these ideals were the many oathswearing ceremonies of loyalty and devotion to the patria, when representatives of the nation’s provinces, cities and sections came together to swear to sacrifice themselves for the ‘nation’, a concept that was increasingly elided with that of the patria. We find oath-swearing ceremonies in Germany, at the Wartburg Castle in 1817 and again at Hambach in 1832, and there were various attempts to enact oath-swearing ceremonies in Italian cities under the aegis of Napoleonic rule (see Mosse 1975: chs. 3–4; Duggan 2008: 39–41). But the supreme expression of such ceremonies developed during the French Revolution and became an intrinsic part of its mass fêtes, starting with the Fête de la Fédération in 1790, finding further expression in the ceremony of interring Voltaire’s remains in the newly converted Pantheon in 1791, and culminating in the Fête de la Réunion in 1793 and the Fête de l’Être Suprême in June 1794, shortly before Thermidor. These great fêtes involved mass processions,

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___choral singing of hymns, chariots, statues and garlands, and even the release of ___white doves, culminating in the swearing of the national oath. Designed to unify ___the members of the nation, the sacred oath sealed the compact between its con___stituent parts, and as such became the centrepiece of a secular religion, the cult ___of the nation (see Reichardt & Kohle 2008; Herbert 1972; Smith 2013: 162–163). ___ Classical ideals played a central role in the cultural and ideational forma___tion of nations, but only through the reflective mirror and transforming prism of ___neo-classicism, the classical revival and revolution of late eighteenth-century ___Europe, with its romantic cults of human perfectibility, authenticity and sim___plicity in nature. Pre-eminent among neo-classical ideals were those of heroic ___virtue and citizenship, as well as cultural concepts of patria, autonomy, frater___nity and unification. These comprised the main, recurring interpretations and ___contributions of the neo-classical understandings of classical antiquity’s beliefs ___and practices; and they were to exercise a potent and widespread influence on ___the emerging world of modern European nations and nationalisms in the later ___eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. ___ ___ ___ ___5 ‘Neo-classical nation-building’ ___ ___It was not just in the aspirations and conceptions of nationalists and their fol___lowers across Europe that we must seek the political impact of classical ideals ___through the prism of neo-classicism, but in their modes of description, expres___sion and representation of the nation. Here I am concerned with ‘nation___building’ whose object is the social and symbolic features and attributes of the ___nation as a community and a reflexive cult. One could include many such fea___tures and attributes – I have touched on one, oath-swearing ceremonies. But ___here I shall confine myself to some aesthetic aspects – spatial, symbolic and ___moralistic-descriptive – focusing on the role of neo-classical architecture, sculp___ture and painting. ___ ___ ___5.1 Architecture ___ ___Neo-classical ideals were widely spread across Europe and America in the aes___thetics, design and symbolism of the environment, such that town planning in ___towns and cities came to display a profusion of broad avenues, squares and cir___cuses punctuated at key points by imposing public buildings, which reinforced ___the spatial structures and provided the landmarks of new or renewed capitals in

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many European national states. The leading locus of this revolution was Paris where, even before the Revolution, Ange-Jacques Gabriel had erected the two harmonious buildings facing the Place de la Concorde, as well as his masterpiece, the Petit Trianon in Versailles in 1761, and Jacques-Germain Soufflot had designed the church of St. Geneviève on Paris’ Left Bank in 1757. But it was the 1780s that witnessed the beginning of the radical phase of the neo-classical revival in architecture, with Claude-Nicolas Ledoux’ design of the Barrières round Paris, built to aid the collections of the tax-farmers. What was so novel in these structures was the use of massive plain blocks of masonry for the base and geometrical shapes – the cone, cylinder, square – for the upper stories. Here Ledoux strove to express in powerful architectonic dimensions the basic laws of nature and its ideal forms, stripped of all decorative accretions. Other neoclassical buildings of the beginning of the nineteenth century included the Chamber of Deputies, the church of the Madeleine (1807–1845) in the form of a Greek temple of great purity of line, and Chalgrin’s grand Arc de Triomphe (1806–1836), a massive Roman arch, designed for the procession of Napoleon and his Grande Armée, and commanding a view down the Champs Élysées to the Place de la Concorde, used to this day for the Bastille Day ceremonies (see Middleton & Watkin 1987: 211; Honour 1968). But perhaps the epitome of neo-classical ideals was the patriots’ conversion of Soufflot’s church of St. Genevieve into the Pantheon (1791–1793), a resting place for the mortal remains of the martyrs and great men of the Revolution and beyond. Transformed by Quatremère de Quincy, it retained the form of a Greek cross, but added domed halls, columns, pilasters, niches and tombs in an austere, pure neo-classical style, which nevertheless, despite Quatremère’s love of ancient Greece, owed more to the Roman architecture and decoration that he knew so well. To this temple of the dead, with its neo-classical conception of death as sleep requiring reverential meditation, was added an elaborately decorated pediment with the patriotic inscription “Aux grands hommes, la patrie reconnaissante”, underlining the secular nature of the Enlightenment and neoclassical ideals and cults of liberty, fraternity and heroic virtue (see Clarke 2007). Elsewhere, too, neo-classical ideals and practices transformed the face of great cities. London, of course, already possessed its great Baroque cathedral in Wren’s St. Paul’s, but the absence of further space for the erection of tombs in Westminster abbey meant that St. Paul’s had to accommodate the tombs of many great men, notably military figures, fallen for their nation in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, above all, the great funeral and monument to Nelson in 1806. But it was the West End of London that was to exhibit the new aesthetic of neo-classical town planning and architecture, notably in John

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___Nash’s avenues and buildings leading from St. James’ Palace through Regent ___Street to his new terraces and buildings around Regent’s Park (1812–1838). Per___haps the most radical and original British neo-classical architecture was de___signed by John Soane, in the materials and the proportions of Dulwich College ___Picture Gallery (1814), the spare vaulting over the Rotunda in the Bank of Eng___land, and the clever use of mirrors to enlarge the sense of space in his own ___house in Lincoln’s Inns’ Fields, now the Sir John Soane Museum (1812). The ___Greek revival had to wait some years, but Smirke’s British Museum (from 1823), ___with its colossal facade and fluted columns, and Inwood’s Church of St. Pancras ___(1819), with its replicas of the Caryatids on the Erechtheion, attest to its influ___ence. Across Britain, many of the great cities marked their coming of age by ___erecting stately town halls, libraries, banks and museums, notably the fine ___cultural assemblage of neo-classical buildings on a hill in Liverpool, which ___includes St. George’s Hall (1841), the Picton Reading Room (1875), and the ___Walker Art Gallery (see Hoock 2010; Honour 1968; Middleton & Watkin 1987: ___258, 261). ___ But it was in the renewed cities of Berlin and Munich that, following the ___Wars of Liberation and the first stirrings of German nationalism, neo-classical ___architects were given freest rein, in a period when after Wilhelm von Hum___boldt’s educational reforms, Hellenism was at its zenith among many German ___intellectuals and administrators (see Marchand 2003). Indeed, Karl Friedrich ___Schinkel served the Prussian king, Friedrich Wilhelm III and later his son, the ___Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm IV, as part of the state bureaucracy. This fact ___should remind us that so many of the neo-classical buildings, and not just in ___Prussia, were institutional, serving often practical functions and managed by ___civil servants intent on raising national prestige through great architecture. But ___that did not prevent Schinkel from seeking freedom of aesthetic ideas and a he___roic, ennobling virtue. This is certainly the case with his best known building, ___the Neue Wache (1818), which, apart from being the new Guards’ House for the ___palace, also became for Schinkel a memorial for the fallen in the Wars of Libera___tion. Built in a pure but severe style, it displayed a front wall ending in square, ___shallow projecting sections in a ‘Roman castrum’-like format, with a plain Doric ___portico in the middle. His other celebrated works were the Schauspielhaus ___(‘Playhouse’) (1818–1821), with its broad flight of stairs leading up to an Ionic ___portico, and a three-part division of cubes in the interior, one of which con___tained an elaborately decorated concert hall, and the Altes Museum (Museum ___on the Lustgarten) (1823–1830), which had four massive wings resting on an ___elevated podium, surrounded by a series of Ionic columns and containing a ___large rotunda with Corinthian columns supporting a gallery, designed to house ___the greatest treasures. For Schinkel, his buildings followed, as he said, “the path

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of nature, faithfully adhering to her laws and eschewing arbitrariness” (Betthausen 1985: 12). The second great German neo-classical architect, Leo von Klenze, worked for Ludwig I, king of Bavaria, and rebuilt much of the centre of Munich according to their joint neo-classical ideals. His major works there included the Glyptothek (1816–1834), the first Hall of Sculptures, designed to house the king’s sculptures from Aegina, and boasting a monumental portico of Ionic columns; and the Ruhmeshalle (‘Hall of Fame’, 1843), a plain Greek Doric temple to celebrate local Bavarian heroes around a colossal statue of ‘Bavaria’. Outside Munich, Klenze’s two most celebrated monuments were the Befreiungshalle (‘Hall of Liberation’, 1842–1863), near Kelheim, a vast circular, fortress-like temple, surrounded by statues on tall plinths beneath a gallery surmounted by a further set of smaller statues; and the Walhalla (1830–1842), a Greek Doric temple built on a podium high on a hill outside Regensburg overlooking the Danube. The temple’s eaves were decorated with motifs of German unity: on the south side, the German states gathered round a victorious Germania, and on the north side, Hermann the Cherusker (Arminius) fighting the Romans at the battle of the Teutoburg Forest. Ludwig’s favourite project, the Walhalla was planned as a ‘sacred monument’ for the worship of German unity in which Ludwig passionately believed, despite the fact that its surroundings and interior allowed no space for a throng of national pilgrims. The interior of this palace of Odin was more like a museum: it consisted of two large halls, decorated with symbols of German Nordic culture, the Germanic gods and their symbols of worship looking down from the walls and ceilings on the famous and patriotic Germans whom Ludwig had selected for admission to his sacred museum (see Mosse 1975: 53–56; Middleton & Watkin 1987: 277, 279–280).

5.2 Sculpture In the same period, hundreds of statues were erected in public places in the great cities, celebrating the great leaders and geniuses of the nation, past and present, many of which were modelled on the classical repertoire. This was a period in which the ‘Greek body’ became the standard and model for perfection in art. In France, the classical statue was identified with the figures of Liberty and the Republic, with examples ranging from Chinard’s La République (1792) to David d’Angers’ La République (1837), and Soitoux’ La République (1848), as well as The French Republic on the seals of the First and Second Republics. Outside France, too, neo-classical statuary became widely diffused. In Denmark, Bertel Thorvaldsen devoted himself to highly polished and idealised neo-clas-

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___sical works like his Jason (1802), while in Germany Johann Gottfried Schadow, ___in his monumental memorial to Count von der Mark (1788–1790), with its vision ___of death as sleep and its naturalistic evocation of the three Fates above, re___vealed the hold of neo-classical ideals and forms on late eighteenth-century ___sculpture (see Keisch 2005: no. 7; Agulhon 1981; Leoussi 1998: esp. chs. 4–5). ___ But perhaps the most perfect expression of neo-classical ideals is to be ___found in the sculptures of the Venetian Antonio Canova. Most of his works are ___calm and reflective, for example his Theseus and the Dead Minotaur (1781–1782) ___and his monument to Pope Clement XIV (1783–1787), a work which illustrates ___the clear division of its parts, uncluttered by Baroque draperies. The most cele___brated of his works, his Cupid and Psyche (1787–1793), is similarly focused on ___the concept of tender love and exhibits a feathery lightness, whereas his terrify___ing realisation of Hercules and Lichas (1795–1802), in which the deranged hero ___hurls the boy to his death over the castle walls, is a study in violent motion. ___Thereafter, Canova returned to calmer subjects, notably commemorative monu___ments and stelae, on the example of ancient Athenian memorial stelae, of which ___the most imposing was the Monument to Alfieri (1806–1810), the great Italian ___poet and patriot. In its radical, single-minded devotion to his varied subjects ___and desire to achieve a truthful expression, rather than any political goals, ___Canova’s sculpture embodied the neo-classical ideals of heroic virtue, auton___omy and perfectibility (see Johns 1998: 19–20, 44–45, 51–54, 124–126; Honour ___1968: 39–42). ___ The neo-classical revival in Britain was equally committed to perfectibility ___as exemplified by the cult of the ‘Greek body’, of which the arrival of the Elgin ___Marbles in Britain, ultimately purchased in 1816 by the British Government for ___the British Museum, was the artistic culmination. But, even before this revela___tion, the two great British sculptors, Thomas Banks and John Flaxman, showed ___in their works a strong and lasting commitment to the Greek ideal. Banks’ oeu___vre included Homeric as well as Roman revival subjects, the most important ___being the roundel of Thetis consoling Achilles (1778), a highly original free___standing sculpture of the Falling Titan (1786), and the marble relief of Carac___tacus before Claudius (1777), in which the defeated British leader, clad in rags ___and now brought captive to Rome, impressed the emperor seated on his throne ___in his finery, by the nobility of his demeanour and the eloquence with which he ___pleaded his cause. But perhaps the finest of these classical reliefs is The Death ___of Germanicus (1774), in which the beautiful flowing lines of the nude dying ___general, surrounded by his family and soldiers, adds an elegiac and meditative ___quality. This note of commemoration is, if anything, reinforced by the Roman ___attributes above the group, the bases of the thick Doric columns, the shields and ___the eagle, reminders of former triumphs (see Irwin 1966: 56).

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John Flaxman’s contribution to the neo-classical revival was twofold: line drawings and sculpture. In both, his gentle nature produced a quiet, reflective classical beauty, as in his delicate diploma work for the Royal Academy, Apollo and Marpessa (c. 1800), and his church monuments, such as that to Agnes Morley (1800) in Chichester Cathedral, where the pure, flowing lines of the draperies of the female figures seem to bear her soul on high. His other works included the Theocritus Cup (1812–1813), in the form of a Greek krater with scenes illustrating incidents from Theocritus’ first Idyll, and his monuments in St. Paul’s to Admiral Lord Howe (1803) and to Admiral Lord Nelson (1807–1818). Both of these take the basic form of a pyramid, but the former monument subordinates the dead man to a triumphant Britannia, whereas the latter places the admiral at the apex, with Britannia below pointing out the hero’s glories to two small boys, while round the base are mementoes of Nelson’s great exploits. The same calm purity and uncluttered clarity in the separate parts which is a mark of neoclassical sculpture can be found in both monuments, echoing in this respect Canova’s monument to Pope Clement XIV (see Irwin 1966: 64–67; Irwin 1979). In sculpture, as in architecture, the neo-classical revival witnessed a drive to marry Greek plastic forms with Roman grandeur and monumentality, to enhance national prestige. This was in turn driven by the quest for an ‘authentic’, genuine and direct representation of heroic virtue, autonomy and the patria, in a pure, spare style stripped of all unnecessary accessories.

5.3 Painting The starting point of the neo-classical revival in the arts is usually set around 1760, in the moralising phase of the Enlightenment, though it was preceded by a series of essays and exhortations, starting with Lord Shaftesbury’s exaltation of the ‘genius of the nation’ and Burke’s essay on the sublime. But it was in France, as we saw, that critics called for a return to the moral seriousness of Poussin’s art and away from the effete Rococo subjects and style (see Leith 1965 and Crow 1985). The ensuing rise of ‘history painting’ was heralded by a return to the Homeric epics in an age when their authorship was the subject of considerable discussion. Rome in the 1760s was the locus of the Homeric revival, spearheaded by the archaeologist, connoisseur and artist, Gavin Hamilton, whose large-scale paintings of key episodes in the final, climactic books of the Iliad, such as Andromache bewailing the corpse of Hector (1761), Achilles mourning the death of Patroclus (1763), Hector’s farewell to Andromache (1766), and Priam redeeming the body of Hector from Achilles (before 1766), were engraved by

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___Domenico Cunego and achieved considerable popularity across Europe, both ___for their subject-matter and their focused style, which enabled Hamilton to con___vey the message of heroic virtue and love of patria. Even greater acclaim greeted ___Flaxman’s pure, spare line drawings of episodes from the Iliad, Odyssey, and ___Aeschylus’ dramas, which attested to the neo-classical quest for simplicity and ___primitive roots in human nature. The fact that Flaxman was inspired by the out___lines of the ancient Greek vases at that time entering the collections of aristo___crats like Sir William Hamilton, only served to increase their appeal (see Irwin ___1966: 31–38; Irwin 1979: 67–85; Bindman 1979: 86–93; and Wickham 2010: ___1–18). ___ Homer inspired other artists in Britain. James Barry’s early Philoctetes (1771) ___is a memorable image of a hero deserted by his Greek colleagues and racked ___with pain in his wound; its calm, sad grandeur contrasts with the violent con___tortions of Abildgaard’s 1775 version of the same subject (for Barry, see Pressly ___1981: 20–26). Even more daring were Heinrich Füssli’s ‘primitivist’ drawings of ___Achilles at the pyre of Patroclus (1795–1800), in which, in a frieze-like, flattened ___space, the hero in shadow, at the height of his passion, towers above all others, ___while the object of his grief, the dead Patroclus on his bier, is brightly lit; and ___Thetis mourning the dead Achilles (c. 1800), the huge body of the hero sprawled ___across the rocks in a dark, bare, brooding landscape (for Füssli, see Irwin 1966: ___48; and Honour 1968: 66–67). And in France, Jacques Louis David also contrib___uted to the Homeric revival, with his Andromache mourning the dead Hector ___(1783), his corpse laid as if asleep on a finely carved neo-classical bed modelled ___on an antique sarcophagus, above his ornate but classically ‘authentic’ plumed ___helmet and sword, while his wife pours forth her grief and little Astyanax ___reaches up to his mother. In this commemorative drama, David has subordi___nated the verisimilitude of rich and ‘authentic’ archaeological details to a sim___ple, stark message of intense but contained grief (for David, see Cummings, ___Rosenberg & Rosenblum 1975: 366–367; and Rosenblum 1967: 29). ___ The Homeric revival was swiftly followed by a ‘Roman revival’, which was ___again pioneered by British artists, encouraged by the prizes for ‘history paint___ing’ offered by the Society of Arts in London. One of the earliest was Nathaniel ___Dance, whose chilling morality of The Death of Virginia (1761), taken from Livy, ___showed the moment when Virginia’s father kills her rather than allow her to be ___dishonoured as a slave to the decemvir Appius Claudius. The setting, a Roman ___road with temples with severe columns, and the grid-like structure of the com___position only reinforce the intensity of this terrifying tale. Hamilton’s contribu___tion to the Roman revival was his large-scale Oath of Brutus (1764), in which the ___conspirators who share the ‘stage’ with the dying Lucretia, swear to expel the ___Tarquins and institute a republic. Unlike earlier depictions, Lucretia’s death is

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presented as a moral drama, the first of many oath-swearing ceremonies, and a severe, uncluttered scene underlines its dramatic qualities and didactic message. But it was Benjamin West, the Quaker from America who settled in London, who did most to develop the ‘Roman revival’. His Departure of Regulus from Rome (1769) shows the grave hero amid a crowd of pleading senators advising them not to accept the dishonourable Carthaginian peace terms, in the certain knowledge of his terrible death under torture by his captors on his return to Carthage. Once again, the setting heightened the grandeur of the Stoic moral drama. The action takes place in a vast porticoed antechamber of the Senate, with gigantic Doric columns, pilasters and architrave, underlining the gravity of Regulus’ decision, and his heroic virtue and self-sacrifice. Even more affecting was West’s rendering of the aftermath of Germanicus’ death in Agrippina landing at Brundisium with the ashes of Germanicus (1768), who was determined to reveal the emperor’s suspected role in her husband’s nefarious death by poison. In this commemorative theatrical scene, Agrippina and her attendants pass along the quay in front of the vast portico of a temple with Corinthian columns, watched by sympathetic family friends and boatmen. The scene is pushed forward to the picture plane by closing off the rear with a long colonnade based on Robert Adam’s reconstruction of the ruins of Diocletian’s temple at Spalato, while the lighting owes much to recent reforms by David Garrick of the English theatre (see Rosenblum 1961; Rosenblum 1967; Abrams 1986: 134– 143, 146–153). But it was across the Channel that the ‘Roman revival’ reached its climax, and not only in the arts. Hamilton’s painting of Brutus was joined by JeanAntoine Beaufort’s The Oath of Brutus (1771) where, despite a lingering Rococo lightness in the figures, the didactic message of the painting, a solemn commemorative ritual enactment of the oath, is abundantly clear. But the most dramatic example of oath-swearing before the Revolution was undoubtedly Jacques Louis David’s iconic image of The Oath of the Horatii (1784), a scene which is not present in any ancient author or in Corneille’s play Horace (1640), but was invented by David for his own purposes. In a stark atrium of their house, screened at the rear by three Doric columns without base, the Horatii triplet brothers swear on the swords held aloft by their father to fight their cousins from Alba Longa, the three Curatii brothers, and triumph or die for their patria, or city-state. The close knit compact of the Horatii brothers, the electric charge of their taut outstretched arms, the sharp primary colours, the rectangular tiled floor, underline the prominence given to the stern resolve and martial purpose of the protagonists; while on a smaller scale on the recessive right side of this divided painting, their womenfolk, including Camilla who was betrothed to one of the Curatii, are consumed by grief, demonstrating the human costs of

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___self-sacrificing martial patriotism. Throughout, David emphasises the controlled ___violence and ardent determination of the brothers’ moral commitment, thereby ___paving the way for the later rituals of oath-swearing and covenant, so often at ___the centre of nationalist revolutions (see Bryson 1981: ch. 8; Crow 1985: 212–241; ___Crow 1995: chs. 2–3; Rosenblum 1967: 70–72; and Roshwald 2006). ___ Jacques Louis David’s next foray into classical antiquity was his The Death ___of Socrates (1787), which shows the calm and triumphant philosopher, stoi___cally obeying the will and death sentence of his patria, however unjust (as ___argued in Plato’s Crito), and holding aloft the fatal cup of hemlock, while all ___around his friends and disciples are shown in various poses of agitation and ___despair. The commemorative nature of the scene is highlighted by the pres___ence of an aged Plato at the foot of the bed; its neo-classical expression of the ___philosophes’, especially Diderot’s, Stoic morality, subordinates the quest for ___verisimilitude, the perfect depiction of ‘authentic’ Athenian objects like the ___kylix, lyre, and scroll, the inset relief of Athena’s owl, and the chips in the ___prison masonry blocks, to the single-minded pursuit of the moral drama of ___clear-eyed self-sacrifice (see Brookner 1980: 83–86; Cummings, Rosenberg & ___Rosenblum 1975: 367–368). ___ But in 1789, Jacques Louis David turned back to Rome to create one of his ___most disturbing works, Lictors returning to Brutus the Bodies of his Sons, whom ___as Roman consul Brutus had condemned to execution for treason in seeking to ___restore the Tarquins whom he had just managed to expel. The painting shows a ___radical divide between the figure of Brutus, seated in darkness beneath the ___statue of Roma, in a state of agonised internal conflict, and the impassioned ___grief of his wife and daughters across the emotional chasm, as the bodies of ___their sons and brothers are carried on litters into their house. The setting is grim ___and claustrophobic, a peristyle with simple Doric columns and draperies ___screening off the mourning women, heightening the tragedy and sombre cruelty ___of Brutus’ deed. For all that, it was felt at the time to give a true record of an ex___emplum of patriotic virtue that future revolutionaries like Plekhanov were to ___admire (see Rosenblum 1967: 76–78; Crow 1985; Herbert 1972). ___ During the Revolution, Jacques Louis David as a fervent Jacobin adherent ___created commemorative works on behalf of the Revolution, including his dra___matic reconstruction of the Oath of the Tennis Court (1791) which was left unfin___ished, and memorial portraits of Revolutionary martyrs, Le Peletier de Saint___Fargeau, the dying youth Bara, and above all the Death of Marat, Marat à son ___dernier soupir (1793), in a tradition of reportage which had been pioneered in ___Britain by, among others, Benjamin West in The Death of General Wolfe (1770), ___who was shown on the point of death in victory on the heights of Quebec. ___Though not on classical subjects, Jacques Louis David’s Revolutionary works

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were as imbued with the ideals and artistic practices of neo-classicism as his Greek or Roman paintings. The stark setting of the dying Marat in his bath, with the simple inscription on the packing case, “À Marat, l’an deux”, takes to its logical conclusion the neo-classical drive for pure forms, while retaining an air of ‘authenticity’ in the details of the scene, though in the interests of a higher truth David omitted many of the historical circumstances and effects of the assassination. Perhaps the most striking feature of the painting is not Marat’s beatific expression or the contested allusion to a Christian pietà, but the radicalism of the dark void above Marat’s head, an emptiness that takes up half the painted surface and suggests a patriotic act of ritual commemoration for someone who for David embodied heroic virtue, true citizenship, fraternity, self-sacrifice, and love of patria, shorn of all external considerations (see Vaughan & Weston 2000). After the Revolution, neo-classical ideals persisted in the Empire style and in paintings by Gros and Ingres. But an ambiguous note creeps into Ingres’ portrayal of Oedipus and the Sphinx (1808) or Thetis imploring Jupiter (1812); and it was only with the philhellenism during the Greek War of Independence that artists like Eugène Delacroix, in Greece expiring on the ruins of Missolonghi (1827) and in the figure of Liberty in his Liberty Guiding the People (1830), returned to the clear, radical focus and quest for basic forms of neo-classicism. The latter persisted in various ways throughout nineteenth-century France, as in Jean-François Millet’s The Sower (1850) and The Angelus (1859), which extol the dignity of manual labour among the devout, hard-worked peasants on the land (see Bretell & Bretell 1983: 34, 100). The contrast with Italy, where one might have expected a radical neoclassicism, given the Roman heritage, is instructive. In fact, the neo-classical revival there was short-lived and the allegories of its leading exponents, Andrea Appiani and Giuseppe Bossi, were designed for propaganda purposes on behalf of Napoleon and the Cisalpine Republic, only to be cast aside with the Restoration. As for the various civic festivals on the French model held in some of the cities of Italy, it was exactly their determined localism that militated against the possibility of neo-classical ideals helping to further and shape a pan-Italian sentiment and movement (see Duggan 2008: 39–41; see also Körner 2009). In Germany, neo-classical ideals had a powerful impact on architecture and a lesser influence on late eighteenth-century sculpture. But, in painting, after Anton Raphael Mengs, with a few exceptions such as Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein, Joseph Anton Koch and the Viennese Friedrich Heinrich Füger, the neo-classical ideal was less visible and it was soon swept away in an engulfing medievalist Romanticism. It was left to England after Flaxman and West, and there mainly in landscape art, to take the neo-classical ideals into new paths. At

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___the outset, two traditions of landscape painting vied for influence: that of ___Claude and Italian light, as purveyed by Richard Wilson and translated to ___places in England and his native Wales; and a native topographical tradition, of ___localism and accurate observation, taken up by watercolourists like Paul ___Sandby, and given firmer neo-classical structure in Italy by the likes of John ___Cozens, William Pars and Francis Towne. Turner, too, was trained in this latter ___tradition, and began his career by producing watercolours of exceptional as ___well as everyday places in England and Wales, in addition to some classically ___inspired, Claudean scenes, with literary associations, usually his own or others’ ___poetry, which he continued to append to his oil paintings all through his life. ___His large-scale oils included some classical subjects, notably a romanticised ___light-filled vision of Dido Building Carthage (1815). His later series of watercol___ours, done for engraving, culminated in the comprehensive and patriotic Pictur___esque Views of England and Wales (1825–1838), which aimed to depict the vari___ety and unity of Britain, in town and countryside. At the same time his visits to ___the Continent after 1819, especially to Italy, developed Turner’s poetic and ___imaginative vein through a much more radical and intensive focus on light, a ___light that would eventually dissolve the objects on which it fell. Not only did ___this development alter the purpose and nature of his watercolours, but it also ___affected his later oil paintings, notably the two versions of the Burning of the ___Houses of Lords and Commons, 16th October, 1834 (1835), in a fire which dwarfed ___the little boats on the river and whose dramatic blaze was translated into the ___reds and yellows of Turner’s heightened palette (see Solkin 2009; Hamilton ___2003: 139–140, 148–149; Daniels 1993: 130–144). ___ These rich colours were also at the centre of his later The Fighting ___‘Temeraire’: tugged to her last berth to be broken up, 1838 (1839), especially the ___magnificent sunset contrasted across the river with the black tug and the great ___man-o’-war with its three masts (which Turner reconstituted). The title suggests ___the passing of time, so this became Turner’s patriotic lament, not just for the ___passing of time, but for the demise of a heroic British past represented by a great ___ship that had fought at the battle of Trafalgar. Here, again, the neo-classical ___separation of parts and radical search for underlying natural forms expresses an ___underlying structure, on which Turner expended a splendid array of rich col___ours (see Hamilton 2003: 176–179). ___ Despite the usual contrast between Turner and Constable in their outlooks ___and oeuvre, both were equally indebted to literary sources. In Constable’s case ___this was primarily the ‘georgic’ nature poets like Thomson, Gray and Cowper ___with their ‘Arcadian’ vision of peace and harvest plenty in a pre-industrial rural ___England. The ‘return to nature’ was, however, even more palpable; Constable’s ___studies of skies and clouds, and his oil sketches of his native Suffolk, attest to

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his fundamental commitment to the “(...) light of nature – the Mother of all that is valuable in poetry, painting and anything else – where an appeal to the soul is required. The language of the heart is the only one that is universal (...)” (Rosenthal 1983: 154, citing John Constable’s Correspondence, vol. 6, ed. by Ronald B. Beckett, Ipswich 1968, 157). There was an equal commitment to ‘authentic’ descriptions of the Stour valley and the area round East Bergholt, Flatford and Dedham, which for him functioned as a patria and a synonym of the England (in fact, south England) that he knew and loved, and which he immortalised in such monumental paintings as Flatford Mill (1816–1817), The Hay Wain (1821) and The Lock (c. 1823–1824). In the course of the nineteenth century, his vision of ‘England’ expressed in these great paintings became increasingly part of the nostalgic image of the countryside held by members of the urban middle classes, with the Hay Wain, in particular, achieving iconic status (see Rosenthal 1983; Daniels 1993: ch. 7; Lyles 2006: no. 37, 140–145). Later, Constable moved to Hampstead in London and to Brighton for his wife Maria’s failing health, and painted scenes in Essex, Dorset and Wiltshire, above all, the classical, quintessentially ‘English’ depiction of Salisbury Cathedral (1823), for his friend, the bishop, its great buttresses, tower and spire framed by an arch of trees. But, in his final years, this Arcadian vision faded, to be replaced by a more elemental conception in monumental paintings. These included the sombre Hadleigh Castle (1828–1829) with its old ruined castle to the left and its wide expanse echoing the storm in the night, under a vast, cloudy sky, and the awe-inspiring Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows (1831) in the midst of an engulfing storm under a black, brooding sky, in which lightning strikes the cathedral, yet a rainbow brings a message of hope. This radical ‘elementalism’, typical of the neo-classical quest for the basic forms of nature, is taken to its prehistoric roots in Constable’s dramatic watercolour of Stonehenge (1836), itself a subject of growing Romantic interest, but in his vision a monument that seems to transcend all earthly concerns, and is illuminated by a great arc of a rainbow which swoops down to strike the central trilithons. That the real subject might be the transience of existence itself is suggested by an inscription on the mount of his earlier sketch there: “The mysterious monument of Stonehenge, standing on a bare and boundless heath, as much unconnected with the events of past ages as it is with the uses of the present, carries you back beyond all historical records into the obscurity of a totally unknown period” (Parris & Fleming-Williams 1991: no. 345, 490–491; see also Rosenthal 1983: 214–218, 224–230). Neo-classical ideals continued to inform British art, both in painting and watercolour, for several more decades, experiencing a renascence, first in the paintings of William Dyce, and later particularly in the work of Albert Moore,

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___Edward Burne-Jones and Frederick Lord Leighton. Not only were many classical ___mythologies illustrated, but a grandiose ‘Roman’ monumentality was revived to ___match Britain’s imperial grandeur. The radical neo-classical element was per___haps no longer dominant, but in the hands of Burne-Jones, even distinctly non___classical subjects like Launcelot at the Chapel of San Grael (1896) achieved a ___classical Greek formal perfection (see Poulson 1999: 77–78; Wilton & Upstone ___1997; Turner 1981: esp. ch. 2). ___ ___ ___ ___6 Conclusion ___ ___In what can only be a selective account of ideals and artefacts in this period, I ___have focused on the role of the neo-classical revival in shaping the culture of ___the nation. However, we should recall that throughout our period and beyond, ___another great tradition played a vital part, the tradition of the Hebrew Bible, as ___reinterpreted and mediated by medieval Christianity, with its ideals of divine ___election, covenant, the promised land, universal love and holiness. These ideals ___were again taken up after the Reformation by Protestantism, where a return to ___the Hebrew Bible, and notably the Pentateuch, became central to many Calvin___ists in the Netherlands and Puritans in England and Scotland. The ensuing He___braic Judaeo-Christian beliefs and practices were primarily carried by the writ___ten word of scripture, the church’s teachings, and to a lesser extent by artefacts ___in our period. Nevertheless, from the Romantic period on, a strong current of ___medievalism produced a desire to emulate the great age of Gothic art, culminat___ing in the ‘Gothic revival’. This neo-Gothic trend found expression, not only in ___churches, but also in the newly (re-)built parliaments in London and Budapest, ___in the Cluny Museum in Paris, as well as the completion of Cologne Cathedral ___(see Brooks 1999 and Smith 2008: ch. 5). But that is the subject of another essay, and here I have only been con___ ___cerned with the ways in which neo-classical writers and artists mediated the ___original Greek and Roman ideals, which advancing scholarship was beginning ___to understand. At the same time, we should not overemphasise the chasm be___tween what Matthew Arnold in Culture and Anarchy (1869) termed Hellenism ___and Hebraism. Although they originated in different universes of values, ideals ___and practices, the contrasts between neo-classicism and vernacular Judaeo___Christianity, or ‘Hebraism’, should not be exaggerated, at least as far as the arts ___are concerned: many artists like Canova, West, Füssli, Ingres, Turner and ___Burne-Jones were happy to turn their hand to subjects from both traditions. ___Schinkel even painted visions of a medieval world with a Gothic Cathedral, in

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Medieval City on a River (1815), and of classical antiquity, in A Glimpse of Greece’s Golden Age (1825), showing in both the harmony between human activity and nature, the symbol of a reformed and ordered world (see Turner 1981 and Keisch 2005: nos. 33, 34). In fact, as far as the widespread creation or reshaping of nations was concerned, both traditions were ‘required’, since increasingly this involved, if not democracy, the mobilisation of ‘the masses’, or more precisely, of the lower and upper middle classes. It was to the Bible-reading and -hearing ‘masses’, especially in Protestant nations, that the moral fervour of Judaeo-Christian ideals was directed, whereas neo-classicism tended to appeal more to secular intellectuals and other elites. Not that the latter was in any way ‘elitist’, given its exponents’ radical ambitions; rather that the revived classical discourse (and languages) necessarily appealed more to elites trained in German, and later British universities, and in French, British, German and Scandinavian academies and colleges of art. For all that, it would be impossible to imagine the distinctive character and ‘face’ of modern nations and nationalisms without the dynamic impact of the cults of nature, authenticity and perfectibility, the ideals of the exemplum vitae, heroic virtue and self-sacrifice, and the defining concepts of patria, autonomy, unity and fraternity, which led to the reshaping of the landscape and imagery of so many cities in Europe. This constituted the special contribution of neo-classical interpretations and representations of ancient classical ideals and practices. In these respects, the neo-classical revival supplied the elites and middle classes with a universal language and common artistic goals which inspired and guided them in their efforts to influence and shape the creation or renewal of modern nations.

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___Athena S. Leoussi ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___Athena S. Leoussi ___Making Nations in the Image of Greece Abstract: This paper examines the multiple revivals of the classical past which took place ___ across Europe in the context of nation-building in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. By ___using Hans Kohn’s distinction between ‘Western’ (civic) and ‘Eastern’ (ethnic) nations, it at___tempts to show how European movements for nation-building and national regeneration be___came attached to two distinct ancient Greek ideals: the ideal of freedom and that of physical ___strength and beauty. These ideals involved the re-making of European societies into new or revived nations. They were not elite movements, but involved wider society too – the masses ___ now incorporated into new (or renewed) national communities. As earlier revivals of ancient ___Greek ideals, the modern Hellenisms which marked eighteenth- and nineteenth-century ___Europe – and especially the form of Hellenism on which this paper focuses – were shaped by ___modern circumstances: Enlightenment positivism, industrialisation, and European national ___rivalries and nation-building. These circumstances led to the interpretation of the Greek body ___in ethnic and racial terms. At the same time, the European revival of the Greek physical ideal was justified for purely medical (i.e. health-related) and aesthetic reasons, detached from par___ ticularist racial theories. The Greek athletic body was pursued by means of gymnastics and ___athletic games. Gymnastics became more closely associated with militarism, whereas sport and ___athletic games became associated with health, and moral and aesthetic ends, being seen as ___part of a new balanced, modern life. European body-centred Hellenisms were also influenced ___by one another. The article shows how German, English and French Hellenisms became intertwined and, in the case of France and Germany, antagonistic. ___ ___ ___ ___1 Applying Hans Kohn’s typology of nations ___ to the nineteenth-century European revival ___ of ancient Greek ideals ___ ___ ___This paper explores the expansion of certain European movements in the course ___of the nineteenth century. These movements sought national regeneration ___through the cultivation of a Greek body by every member of the nation. In his ___famous book The Idea of Nationalism, first published in 1944, Hans Kohn (1891– ___1971), generally considered the founding father of modern Anglophone aca-

Making Nations in the Image of Greece: Classical Greek Conceptions of the Body in the Construction of National Identity in Nineteenth-Century England, France and Germany

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demic research on nationalism, distinguished between two different concepts of the nation: the ‘Western’ and the ‘Eastern’. We now refer to Kohn’s two types of nation as the civic and the ethnic. They became the basis of Anthony D. Smith’s own typology of nations and nationalist ideologies. Recognising the conceptual and analytical value of Kohn’s distinction, while rejecting its geopolitical labels (‘Western’ and ‘Eastern’), Smith used the terms ‘territorial’ and ‘ethnic’ to describe the two basic models of the nation which Kohn had identified (see Smith 1986 and Smith 1991: 82). These two concepts of community, each of which empowered the ‘people’ in different ways, emerged in Europe in the late eighteenth century. They were to mark the course of European and world history from the French Revolution until the end of the Second World War and beyond. They created a new age, “the age of nationalism” (Kohn 2005: 574). As Kohn wrote in The Idea of Nationalism, “(t)wo main concepts of nation and fatherland emerged in the intertwining of influences and conditions (...). The one was basically a rational and universal concept of political liberty and the rights of man, looking towards the city of the future”. This was the civic view of the nation. “The other was basically founded on history, on monuments and graveyards, even harking back to the mysteries of ancient times and of tribal solidarity. It stressed the past, the diversity and self-sufficiency of nations” (Kohn 2005: 574). This was the ethnic view of the nation. It saw nations as old, historical communities, based on ‘blood’ (in the sense of genealogical continuity) and the transmission of cultural traditions from one generation to the next. For Kohn, the two concepts of the nation had clear geographical locations, with the river Rhine, as if by destiny or Romantic natural determinism, acting as their natural boundary. West of the Rhine, in France, the Netherlands, and England, lay the civic concept; east of the Rhine, and especially in Germany, was the home of the ethnic concept. In his introduction to the 2005 edition of Kohn’s now classic book, Craig Calhoun remarked that Kohn saw the links between the age of nationalism and modernity clearly. For nationalism, as it first appeared in the revolutionary pursuit of the civic nation, set out to recreate political communities, in both the old and the new worlds, on the basis of modern, Enlightenment ideas. These ideas were reason, liberty, and democracy and were universal, applying to all humanity (Calhoun in Kohn 2005: xi).

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___ 2 Greek freedom and the Greek body in ___ nineteenth-century France, England and ___ ___ Germany ___ ___Kohn’s distinction is of particular interest to the concerns of the present volume, ___which considers the links between nineteenth-century nationalism and Graeco___Roman antiquity. This is because in the course of the nineteenth century both of ___Kohn’s concepts of the nation came to be connected, throughout Europe, but ___especially in Britain, France and Germany, with ancient Greece: both visions of ___community, the civic (individualist, rationalist and liberal) and the ethnic (ge___nealogical, collectivist and folkish) converged on ancient Greece. What is also ___interesting is that this convergence produced different outcomes: it produced ___different national identities. And these identities both produced and reproduced ___Kohn’s two types of nation. The divergence of outcomes may be explained as ___follows: Europeans searching for the spirit of their nation looked to ancient ___Greek civilisation believing it to be the repository of eternal, transhistorical val___ues. However, they found models of the modern nation in different aspects of ___Greece’s rich repertoire of ideas and values. Advocates of the civic nation mod___elled it on the Greek mind, and especially on the Athenian cult of freedom. Pro___ponents of the ethnic nation modelled it on the Greek body; they gave ethnic___genealogical identity a physical dimension and urged all members of the nation ___to cultivate in their own bodies what were seen to be the characteristics of the ___Greek body: its measured beauty, strength and health. It thus came to pass that ___becoming national involved, at least partly, becoming Greek. ___ Of further interest is the fact that the two ways of becoming Greek, the civic ___and the ethnic, could be found on both sides of the river Rhine, and that they ___could be combined. This fact might suggest that Kohn’s dichotomy is not valid. ___Indeed, many of Kohn’s critics have dismissed his dichotomy as invalid, or even ___as a ‘myth’, not only because of its geographical incorrectness, but also because ___it is not water-tight enough: it does not describe distinct and mutually exclusive ___phenomena (see Brubaker 1999 and Kuzio 2002). However, despite their geo___graphical and other limitations, Kohn’s analytical categories are especially use___ful for shedding light on the series of national revivals of the classical world ___which took place across Europe in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. ___These classical revivals shaped European national identities in decisive ways. ___They nationalised the masses, to use George Mosse’s phrase, by Hellenising ___them (Mosse 1975). ___ In this paper I shall concentrate, first, on the ways in which distinctively ___civic and ethnic-cum-physical conceptions of Greek identity were combined,

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and did so on the basis of Kohn’s classic formulation of the civic nation, in France and England – west of the river Rhine; and, second, how Greek genealogical and physical conceptions of English and French identity were incorporated into, rather than supplanted, the civic-democratic conceptions of French and English identity which had come before them. This synthesis built more open, tolerant and plural national identities around emerging or re-emerging ethnic cores – an Anglo-Saxon core in England and a Gallic or Gallo-Roman core in France (see Smith 1986). These local-historical ethnicities, these ethnic cores, gave English and French Hellenisms their local colour – and the cause of their variation (see Leoussi 1998 and Leoussi 2001) Kohn, who had preferred the civic, democratic concept of the nation, had certainly recognised its chief model in Athenian democracy. At the same time, for Kohn, the civic concept also built on the proto-democratic traditions of Judaism. In both Athens and Jerusalem individuals mattered, and they achieved national consciousness. Furthermore, both of these great civilisational traditions, Athens and Jerusalem, had combined ethnic bonds with individual freedoms. The civic concept of the modern nation produced parliamentary democracies whose classical roots were most visibly acknowledged in the neo-classical architecture of the buildings which housed the representatives of the people. According to this concept of the nation, it was all the people of the state who, transformed into citizens, constituted both the nation and the body politics. The attempt to revive democratic Athens in the Enlightened capitals of Europe began in Paris, with the transformation from the 1790s onwards of the Palais Bourbon, an aristocratic private palace, into a parliamentary building. In its neo-classical architectural style the Assemblée Nationale proclaims its Athenian roots. This is emphasised by its new pedimented portico, added in the 1830s by Jules de Joly, and in the reproduction, in a Gobelins tapestry, for the salle des séances (its debating hall) of Raphael’s famous fresco in the Vatican of ‘The School of Athens’. The tapestry shows Plato and Aristotle debating the origins of knowledge in a civil discussion between equals, thereby evoking the Greek origins of the democratic debate. In the second half of the nineteenth century, the civic Hellenism of the French Revolution, a Hellenism of individual human rights, freedom, reason and neo-classical parliamentary buildings, gave way to a new and different Hellenism which I call, following Kohn, ‘ethnic Hellenism’. And although the earlier, civic Hellenism was most successful in ‘Western’ Europe, west of the river Rhine, the new, ethnic Hellenism became more widely spread, both east and west of the river Rhine. Civic Hellenism had promised universal human emancipation regardless of gender, religion, ethnicity or social background. Ethnic Hellenism, however, produced tendencies which, as Kohn had noted for the

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___ethnic nation, did indeed threaten the humanism and pluralism of the commu___nity of citizens. ___ In a separate chapter in the present volume, Anthony D. Smith has explored ___more fully neo-classical, civic Hellenism in its varied artistic expressions, in ___architecture, painting, sculpture and national ritual. I shall here concentrate on ___the details of the later, European ethnic Hellenism. Ethnic Hellenism adopted as ___its focal theme the Greek body and the Greek cult of the body – the Greek con___cern for physical health, strength and beauty. The primary site of its cult was no ___longer the city, but the open air and the countryside. Like its predecessor, eth___nic Hellenism was another movement aimed at the creation or re-creation of ___nations through revival of ancient Greek values. ___ We cannot understand nineteenth-century European enthusiasm for the ___Greek body as the defining trait of a fully European nation, unless we see it as ___the result of three forces: ___a) Positivism: the desire for a scientifically-based understanding of human ___ nature. ___b) Industrialisation, whose introduction of a new urban and sedentary life___ style, and of the railway, was seen to weaken the muscles and cause general ___ physical degeneration (see Mosse 1993: 162). ___c) European national rivalries, and with them the desire to belong to sovereign ___ and prestigious collectivities. ___ ___In what follows, I shall try to show how these three forces came to be combined, ___giving rise to so many and novel body-centred Hellenisms – so many European ___national movements pursuing the Greek body as their own. As George Mosse ___has observed, the Greek physical ideal was entailed in all European nationalist ___movements, “whether German, Czech or Jewish” (Mosse 1993: 167). ___ What gave the Greek body its centrality as a core component of European ___national identities in the course of the nineteenth century was the new science ___of man, physical anthropology. The ‘father of physical anthropology’ was Jo___hann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840), the German anthropologist, physiolo___gist, and comparative anatomist of the University of Göttingen (see Bulmer & ___Solomos 1999). Physical anthropology was the offspring of Enlightenment posi___tivism, of the triumph of scientific thinking and knowledge. As the yardstick of ___all truth, the application of scientific thinking (empirical observation and meas___urement) spread to all things, including the exploration of human nature. With ___its focus on the human body, an empirically observable reality, physical an___thropology divided mankind into races. This new use of the term ‘race’ by scien___tists was an attempt to organise the wide diversity of human physical traits into ___a stable and finite system of more or less permanent physical types, whose

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characteristics were transmitted from one generation to the next through biological inheritance. The attempt to find patterns in human physical variation produced a large number of typologies or classifications, depending on the physical trait or traits each scientist chose to observe in its supposed variations from one people to another. Many of these classifications involved a hierarchical organisation of ‘races’, dividing them into superior and inferior races. These hierarchies were determined by subjective judgements (see Bindman 2002). Through the idea of race, physical anthropology tried to make ethnicity (i.e. genealogical continuity) visible by tracing, through anatomical comparisons of human specimens, physical similarities among peoples. It also tried to explain cultural diversity through the idea of racial determinism which claimed the co-variation of physical with cultural traits (see Banton 1990 and Challis 2013). The explanation of the causes of human physical variation was also an object of intense scientific concern. It divided scientists and other racial theorists into two camps: the monogenists, who claimed a single origin for all human varieties, interpreting variation as the result of either adaptation to different natural environments or as degenerations from an original type; and the polygenists, who explained differences in human physical appearance as the result of separate creations. Charles Darwin’s evolutionary explanation of human physical variation in On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (1859) and The Descent of Man (1871) gave weight to monogenism. However, it did not succeed in swaying general belief that deep, qualitative differences divided the varieties of man, until the second half of the twentieth century. Despite divergences in scientific opinion over racial classifications and even over the very idea of race, what united all scientists interested in human anatomy and physical health was their common appreciation of the Greek body. It was widely accepted that the Greek body was the fullest realisation of human physical perfection. The Greek body was also believed to be the fullest embodiment of the white, or Indo-European, or Indo-Atlantic, or Aryan or Caucasian race, also called homo europaeus. This was believed to be the superior human race, excelling in beauty, intelligence, morality and strength. These anthropological ideas, which saw in the Greek body the physical type of the European race, turned all Europeans into potential Greeks. And in the context of competition for power, wealth and prestige among the leading European nations (the British, French and German), there arose in Europe a new competition as to which nation was more Greek. European admiration of ancient Greece went back to the Renaissance, and even further back, to the Roman love of Greece. The specifically nineteenthcentury European enthusiasm for the Greek body owed much to Johann Joachim

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___Winckelmann (1717–1768), the German scholar and father of modern art history ___and archaeology. Winckelmann revived European appreciation of ancient Greek ___art, giving impetus to the neo-classical movement in painting and sculpture. In ___his first and most seminal book, Gedanken über die Nachahmung der Griechi___schen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst (1755), Winckelmann had advo___cated the imitation of the Greeks – not only their art, but also their political ___freedom and aesthetic education, which he argued had shaped Greek art itself. ___By reaffirming the perfect beauty of Greek art, Winckelmann also posited the ___supreme physical beauty of the Greeks, whose bodies, he claimed, had inspired ___Greek art. These beautiful bodies, especially those of young Greek men, had ___also provided the raw material for that formal abstraction which Winckelmann ___had called, following Plato, ideal beauty, also expressed in his principle of ___“edle Einfalt und stille Größe” (Winckelmann 1764; see also Potts 1994 and Jen___kins 1992). This had characterised a particular phase or style of Greek art which ___Winckelmann admired most, and whose masterpiece had been the Apollo Bel___vedere. Winckelmann had praised this statue in his other influential book, ___Geschichte der Kunst des Alterthums (1764–67: 392). ___ Taking their cue from Winckelmann, and even criticising Winckelmann’s ___idealist interpretation of Greek art, physical anthropologists claimed that the ___actual Greek body could be seen in Greek figural sculpture, and especially in ___sculptures from the fifth century B. C. Winckelmann had never seen this aston___ishingly naturalist art from the Pheidian or classical age of Greece (see e.g. Pater ___1986: 125). It was revealed in its full glory to nineteenth-century Western eyes ___through the Parthenon sculptures, on permanent display in the British Museum ___since 1817, and through Roman copies of the statues of athletes by Myron and ___Polycletus, which also came to light at that time (see Jenkins 1992, Leoussi 1998 ___and Leoussi 2001). ___ What this and other Greek art showed, however idealised, was a particular ___physical type and a particular physical ideal: the athletic ideal. Greek statues of ___both men and women showed healthy, robust, muscular, symmetrical and well___proportioned bodies. Their heads were also beautiful, shaped as perfect ovals, ___and their features were regular and symmetrical and their noses were perpen___dicular, continuing their foreheads. They were usually described as blond. ___ The European desire to look Greek was a desire to look like a Greek statue. ___This desire gave a new, aesthetic dimension to national identity. It set out to ___turn European nations into works of art. The desire to look Greek was pursued ___in two ways: first, through anatomical comparison and construction of national ___genealogies connecting directly modern European nations with the ancient ___Greeks, and second, through sport (especially in England) and gymnastics and, ___more generally, through programmes of physical education.

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3 The role of Germany in the European revival of the Greek cult of physical beauty This paper focuses on how the Greek body became an element of English and French national identities from around the middle of the nineteenth century onwards. However, these English and French philhellenisms cannot be considered without reference to German philhellenisms, i.e. to Hellenisms east of the river Rhine. German philhellenisms became closely associated with both English and French philhellenisms in three ways: first as sources of inspiration, second through perceived ethno-national affinity, and third as rivals. These connections between German national identifications with ancient Greece, and those of England and France, will become evident in the course of this paper. Lack of space, however, does not allow a separate and systematic analysis of German Hellenisms, and, indeed, of what Eliza M. Butler (1935) has described as the spiritual tyranny of Greece over Germany. I shall here only sketch out its bare outline, as the basic background to ancient Greek orientations in England and France. As noted above, it was eighteenth-century Germany, through the person and ideas of Winckelmann, that led Europe to admiration of Greek physical perfection. As Pater (1986: 114, 123) observed, following Hegel, Winckelmann initiated “a new organ for the human spirit” – the sense of beauty, and especially the sense, through the eye, of the beauty of the human form. Positing the Greek body as an absolute standard of beauty, Winckelmann had advocated this standard for his own time (see Butler 2012: 9–36). And as Nisbet (1985: 28) has remarked, “German classicism begins, then, with Winckelmann and culminates in Goethe”. This classicism was fought on an individual basis, on behalf of humanity (as part of the individual’s struggle to become human – to become civilised), not on behalf of a nation (see Kohn 2005: 391–417), for there was no single German nation or state yet. To the cultivation of aesthetic sensibilities, centred on Greek classical ideals of beauty, as part of becoming human, was added the idea of Bildung (‘education’) through the study of the Greek and Roman classics. Adopted by Goethe, Bildung became a central theme in the German Enlightenment. It meant self-education or self-perfection and was institutionalised in the Prussian high-school (‘Gymnasium’) as well as in the university, during Wilhelm von Humboldt’s brief year (1809–10) as Prussian minister of education (see Mosse 1993: 133). It was after 1806, with the German Wars of Liberation from Napoleon, that German nationalism emerged and harnessed ancient Greek ideals to shape a specifically German and, eventually, exclusive national identity (see Kohn 2005:

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___414). It was also in Germany that the Greek physical ideal found its first modern ___practical application as a national and liberal ideal in the Turnverein, the Ger___man gymnastics movement. Founded in 1809 by Friedrich Ludwig Jahn (1778– ___1862) as a patriotic organisation, the Turnverein involved rigorous physical ___training which was both Greek and innovative. Jahn’s exercises were Greek in ___that they were influenced by Johann Christoph Friedrich GutsMuths (1759– ___1839), who had led the slow rise of gymnastics, as a form of physical education ___and a method of individual self-perfection, in late eighteenth-century Germany. ___As Lempa (2007: 74) has observed, GutsMuths “created gymnastics largely from ___ancient exercise”. The core of his curriculum of exercises consisted of the Greek ___pentathlon (discus, javelin, jump, running, wrestling). While reviving the an___cient Greek pentathlon, GuthsMuths’ curriculum was also innovative in that he ___combined Greek exercise (the term ‘gymnastics’, meaning exercising or training ___in the nude, itself being Greek) with several new exercises that he himself had ___invented (see Lempa 2007: 75). However, it must be noted that GuthsMuths be___lieved that the exact replication of the Greek physical type was unattainable. ___Consequently, he urged his phlegmatic and overrefined contemporaries to emu___late the energy and robustness of both the ancient Greeks and the ancient Ger___manic tribes. ___ While retaining GuthsMuths’ repertoire of exercises, Jahn overturned ___GuthsMuths’ Greek man as the supreme example of modern German health and ___physical vigour, and replaced him with German tribal ancestors. Jahn was him___self innovative, introducing to GuthsMuths’ gymnastics the horizontal bar and ___parallel bars. Jahn’s gymnastics movement had a different point of reference to ___that of GuthsMuths. It was developed in the context of the Napoleonic Wars, ___and in the spirit of Fichte’s patriotism (see Lempa 2007: 85). Jahn’s aim was to ___build a strong, “soldierly” national body that could fight against French occu___pation of German lands (see Surak 2012: 175; Mosse 1993: 167). ___ Becoming part of regular school curricula after Napoleon’s defeat, gymnas___tics, as they had been developed by both GuthsMuths and Jahn, was seen, espe___cially in the prelude to German unification in 1871, as a way of becoming Ger___man: “Gymnastics our way, Germanness our aim” (Surak 2012: 175). German ___liberalism, and with it, civic conceptions of the German nation, receded after ___1815 (with only a brief interlude in 1848–49), and especially in the course and ___aftermath of German unification. German unification was accompanied by more ___authoritarian and culturally exclusive (e.g. anti-Catholic) concepts of the Ger___man nation. Some of these concepts developed an exclusive ethnic and racial ___Hellenism which became associated with anti-Semitism. ___ ___

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4 English identity and the ancient Greeks In Britain, Greek identification became centred on the English. However, links were also made between the Irish, as a Celtic nation, and the Greeks. Oscar Wilde, for example, believed that Hellenism “ran in his veins by way of the ramifications of heredity, from Aryan, to Greek to Celt” (Ross 2013: 4). It was the famous Scottish anatomist Robert Knox (1791–1862), “the real founder of British racism”, who produced one of the most influential genealogies which connected the English with the ancient Greeks (see Curtin 1973: 377; Challis 2010). In 1850, Knox published his major work, The Races of Men: A Fragment. This was followed by a second edition in 1862. It was illustrated with drawings of the Elgin Marbles, the Cnidian Venus, and other specimens of ancient Greek art. Knox believed in the naturalism of Greek art. He claimed that what he called the “classic” Greek type could be seen in European museums and in such famous statues as “the Apollo, the Venus, the Dian, the Hercules, the Niobe, the Bacchus” (Knox 1862: 400). And he referred to these works as “the immortal and transcendental Venus and Niobe”, which displayed “a real, not an ideal form” (Knox 1862: 419). On the basis of such sculptural evidence, Knox described Greek men as “large limbed” and “athletal”. As far as Greek women were concerned, “fair and flowing locks, full bosomed, fleshy, and large limbed, seem to have been the characters of Grecian women; look at the Niobe, the Venus of Gnidos [sic] and a hundred others” (Knox 1862: 403). Knox traced the genealogy of the “classic” Greeks to a north-European race which he called the Scandinavian or Saxon race. Members of this race were “early in Greece, say 3500 years ago” (Knox 1862: 46–47). This belief in the north-European roots of ancient Greece was quite common and, in fact, constitutes one of the dominant models of nineteenth-century historical thought (see Shanks 1996: 88; Birch 1989: 116). According to Knox, the Scandinavian or Saxon people were north-European aborigines from “Holland, Western Prussia, Holstein, the northern states of the ancient Rhenish Confederation, Saxony Proper, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark” (Knox 1862: 13). When these northern invaders arrived in Greece they mixed with “aboriginal Pelasgic hordes”, who inhabited Greece and Macedonia (Knox 1862: 14). Celtic and perhaps even Slavonian blood was also added. From the intermarriage of all these people “arose a new race of men (...) a mixed race”. It was this “mixed” race which produced Greek civilisation and which was “destined to cease at a given period” because “a mixed race [is] an anomaly on earth” (Knox 1862: 14). Knox claimed that Greece owed the beauty of her men and women and thus the beauty of her art to the Scandinavian or Saxon race. This “classic” type,

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___which, according to Knox, could no longer be found in Greece, could now be ___found in England (Knox 1862: 403): ___ “the streets of London abound with persons having this identical facial angle [the Greek ___ vertical profile]; and it is in England and in other countries inhabited by the Saxon or ___ Scandinavian race that women resembling the Niobe, and men the Hercules and Mars, are ___ chiefly to be found.” ___ ___The same belief in the physical and genealogical identity of the English and the ___Greeks was held and propagated by the followers of the theory of the Aryan ___race. This theory came to dominate anthropological debates and lay thought ___about the racial type of European nations well into the twentieth century, with ___disastrous consequences when Adolf Hitler came to power in Germany in 1933. ___ The idea of an Aryan people was initially a linguistic classification which ___made an important contribution to nineteenth-century philological studies by ___identifying two major language families, the Aryan or Indo-European (or Indo___Germanic) and the Semitic family. The term ‘Aryan’ to designate the Indo___European language family was used by the German philologist Friedrich Max ___Müller (1823–1900) in his lectures on language to English audiences in 1859–61 ___(Müller 41864: 246). Müller was a Sanskrit expert, who held a number of profes___sorships at Oxford, including a professorship in modern European languages ___and a professorship in comparative philology (see Masuzawa 2005). Müller ex___plained his use of the term ‘Aryan’ as the technical term for the family of lan___guages which was formerly designated as Indo-European, or Indo-Germanic ___(mostly by German scholars who thereby wished to describe this family of lan___guages by using the names of their westernmost and easternmost speakers), or ___Caucasian or Japhetic, because it was the “original title” that the ‘Aryans’ them___selves, i.e. the people who spoke the root language, assumed “before they left ___their common home” in India, eventually reaching Europe (Müller 41864: 259). ___However, Max Müller had specifically rejected the idea of an Aryan race. In___deed, as he himself emphasised in the 1889 edition of his lectures on the science ___of language, which he first published in 1861 as Lectures on the Science of Lan___guage, he “always warned against mixing up these two relationships, – the rela___tionship of language and the relationship of blood” (Müller 1889: 46; see also ___Poliakov 1971: 216). ___ The most influential advocate of the theory of the Aryan race was the ___Frenchman Arthur de Gobineau (1816–1882), the “father of racist ideology” ___(Biddiss 1970). Being close to Alexis de Tocqueville who was to disapprove of ___his friend’s illiberal racial theories on the grounds of their determinism, Go___bineau was appointed by Tocqueville chef de cabinet, when Tocqueville be___came, for a short time (June to October), Minister of Foreign Affairs in 1849. This

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appointment opened up for Gobineau a diplomatic career that enabled him to travel abroad, including to Athens and Tehran, and to develop his ethnographic interests, and with them his version of the theory of the Aryan race (see Mélonio & Diaz 2005: 167). In his Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines published in four volumes between 1853 and 1855, Gobineau followed the now established classification of humankind into three primary races: the white, the yellow and the black. However, he claimed the superiority of a particular branch of the white race, the Aryans. Members of this branch had conquered and colonised the world (Gobineau 1967: 30). To this branch belonged the Hellenes, as did the Scandinavian warriors and also the Brahmans of ancient India. Gobineau’s view of the Aryan Greeks was based on a variety of sources, including classical literary sources such as Homer and Greek sculpture. According to Gobineau, the Aryan peoples had the glory of providing the admirable models for the Venus, the Apollo, and the Farnese Hercules (Gobineau 1967: 124). The physical and moral characteristics of the Aryan Hellenes, both men and women, were the same as those of the other Aryan nations. They were white, blond, with a vigorous muscular development, regular features, great physical energy, love of freedom and a desire for continuous conquest (Gobineau 1967: 458). In England, the theory of the Aryan race found support among some of the most culturally creative figures of the age, who eagerly stressed its implications for the English. These included the artist Frederick Leighton. In his lectures or ‘Addresses’ to Royal Academy students, which he began in 1879 as president of the Royal Academy, Leighton (1896: 89) pointed out that models for Greek figural subjects could be “sometimes found in the women of another Aryan race – your own”. The politician and novelist Benjamin Disraeli was also an ardent supporter of the theory of race and of the Aryans as the “chosen race”, in which he included both the English and the Jews. In addition, he reportedly exchanged views with Gobineau on this subject (see Poliakov 1971: 239–241). However, having a Greek body did not just depend on inheritance. It was also the result of Greek education, and especially of Greek physical education. And it was this combination of arête mousike with arête gymnastike which Thomas Arnold introduced to English public school education during the 1840s, as headmaster of Rugby school. Indeed, Thomas Arnold’s educational principle was the classical Athenian principle, better known in its Latin version mens sana in corpore sano, a phrase that goes back to Juvenal (see Leoussi 1998: 120– 123). The Greek athletic ideal spread quickly from the public schools to the universities, becoming a characteristic feature of English middle- and upper-class society (see Holt 1990). English enthusiasm for Greek athletics involved rowing, swimming and boxing, and the invention of new ball games, such as rugby,

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___devised at Rugby school during Thomas Arnold’s headmanship. It also involved ___the assimilation of the traditional English game of cricket into the Greek canon. ___For example, Walter Pater, in his 1894 essay “The Age of Athletic Prizemen”, ___readily recognised in the English cricketer the Greek Discobolus (Pater 2011: ___282). In addition, Pater and others recognised Greek Discoboli among working___class young men, among “half-stripped navvies, and [in] the titanic forms of ___men employed in gas and other plutonic works” (Moody 1873: 18). The English ___had become Greek. ___ For some European intellectuals, Hellenism could not stand alone; it was ___inadequate for a rounded human personality, and, indeed, for the nation to be ___complete. In England, and in the writings of that most influential educational___ist, Matthew Arnold (1822–1888), son of Thomas Arnold, ‘Hellenism’ had to be ___combined with ‘Hebraism’. Arnold, along with other nineteenth-century Euro___pean thinkers, including Jacob Burckhardt, defined Hellenism as “sweetness ___and light”. ‘Sweetness’ was the pursuit of beauty as the Greeks had conceived ___and realised it in the form of the young athlete; ‘light’ was the pursuit of reason, ___the Greek imperative of “seeing things as they really are” (Arnold 1990: 134). ___Arnold had taken these crucial terms from Heinrich Heine (1797–1856), the rene___gade German poet and writer whom he greatly admired (see Leonard 2012: 120; ___DeLaura 1969). By ‘Hebraism’ Arnold and Heine meant both Judaic morality, ___and its extension and continuation in Christian, and especially Protestant mo___rality. Indeed, Heine stated clearly that he saw the terms ‘Jewish’ and ‘Christian’ ___as synonymous (see Leonard 2012: 121). ___ In his famous book, Culture and Anarchy (1869), Arnold, following Heine, ___emphasised the complementarity of ‘Hebraism’ and ‘Hellenism’. For both Heine ___and Arnold, ‘Hellenism’ and ‘Hebraism’ were not racially specific cultural prod___ucts. They were not the incommensurate products of two biologically distinct ___and antagonistic human races (the Aryan/Indo-European and the Semitic); in___stead, they were two aspects of a single, united humanity. They were natural ___human dispositions, the most supreme expressions of which had been provided ___by the Greek and Jewish peoples provided. As Arnold (1990: 130) famously put ___it: “Hellenism and Hebraism, – between these points of influence moves the ___world. At one time it feels more powerfully the attraction of one of them, at an___other time of the other; it ought to be, though it never is, evenly and happily ___balanced between them.” ___ ‘Hebraism and Hellenism’ expressed a new humanism – “the essential ___unity of man” (Arnold 1990: 141–142; DeLaura 1969). For Matthew Arnold, sci___ence had “made visible to everybody the great and pregnant elements of differ___ence which lie in race, and in how signal a manner they make the genius and ___history of an Indo-European people vary from those of a Semitic people”. How-

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ever, racial differences were less important than the affinities between the races which united them into a common humanity: “nothing more strongly marks the essential unity of man than the affinities we can perceive, in this point or that, between members of one family of peoples and members of another” (Arnold 1990: 141–142). For Walter Pater, that other great English humanist of the second half of the nineteenth century, the revival of Hellenism, as a religion of man, had a scientific justification. Pater pointed to the scientific proof, the “positive knowledge”, of the unity of human nature. From this he deduced the “unity of culture”, which, as he put it, “men’s ignorance had divided” (Pater 1986: 17, 32). And in his famous book The Renaissance (1873), Pater referred to the “scientific reconciliation of Christian sentiment with (...) pagan poetry and philosophy” (Pater 1986: 29). Here, Pater was probably referring to Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution of 1859, mentioned above. This had posited the essential unity and common origin (monogenism), not only of all mankind, but also of all living organisms. As the recognition and realisation of one side of man, Hellenism was seen as the perfect way of affirming and fulfilling essential human inclinations and capacities: the sensual and the rational. These inclinations applied to all nations and races. The adoption of Greek thinking and Greek sensuality was thus seen as a way of becoming, above all, human. And both Arnold and Pater advocated the pursuit of both Hellenic and Hebraic, or Christian, values not as a purely English ideal, but also as the desire of all nations. These values were a way of realising not only the national, but also the essential and more universal, human self. Furthermore, as Arnold remarked, modern life specifically needed these humanising values and concerns to balance modern worship of science and facts (see Stone 1998: 196).

5 French identity and the ancient Greeks French ethnic-genealogical and physical identification with the ancient Greeks emerges most potently as a dominant national narrative after French defeat in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870–71. The war resulted in the loss of the French territories of Alsace and of half of Lorraine to a coalition of German states led by Prussia. It also resulted in the ‘completion’ of the Prussian Prime Minister’s Otto von Bismarck’s plan to create a united Germany – the Second Empire (see Breuilly 1992: 12–13). This plan included the forced annexation of French territories (Alsace and part of Lorraine) which contained sizeable German-speaking populations.

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___ It was this bitter national experience that formed the background to Ernest ___Renan’s famous lecture “Qu’est-ce qu’une nation?”, held at the Sorbonne on 22 ___March 1882. In this lecture, Renan, now in his democratic phase, denounced ___Germany’s forced annexation of the French provinces on the basis of linguistic ___affinity, demanding that the principle of social and political belonging should ___be the individual will. This was what should be considered when establishing ___the frontiers of a community. Thus, for Renan (1996: 241–242), “(d)ans l’ordre ___d’idées que je vous soumets, une nation n’a pas plus qu’un roi le droit de dire ___à une province: ‘Tu m’appartiens, je te prends’. Une province, pour nous, ce ___sont ses habitants; si quelqu’un en cette affaire a droit d’être consulté, c’est ___l’habitant.” ___ In his 1882 lecture, Renan defined the nation, the type of human community ___that he considered to be ‘good and even necessary’ (“bonne, nécessaire même”) ___for his era, the nineteenth century, seeing the nation in both historical and re___publican terms as “la loi du siècle où nous vivons”. Nations were old, historical ___communities that were held together in the present and the future by the sheer ___will of their members: “L’existence d’une nation est (pardonnez-moi cette ___métaphore) un plébiscite de tous les jours”. For Renan, these ideas about the ___nation, which he knew would be condemned by an international audience as ___‘French ideas’ (“idées françaises”), were rooted in the French Revolution, with ___its universalism, voluntarism and humanism. They offered that conception of ___“le peuple” united into a nation, which Kohn had termed ‘Western’. This was ___the opposite of the German, ethno-cultural, conception, which had emphasised ___language and the linguistic community in defining the borders of the modern ___German state (see Brubaker 1992). ___ Renan explicitly rejected racial, linguistic, cultural and geographical defini___tions of the nation, which he found too deterministic. For him, as noted above, ___the nation was the result of the free will of a large aggregate of individual hu___man beings to live together: “L’homme n’est esclave ni de sa race, ni de sa ___langue, ni de sa religion, ni du cours des fleuves, ni de la direction des chaînes ___de montagnes” (Renan 1996: 242). ___ The old Republican, civic and multi-cultural/multi-ethnic conception of the ___French nation which Renan advocated in 1882 competed or co-existed with the ___new ethnic and racial conceptions of the French nation which grew under the ___Third Republic. This replaced Louis Napoleon III’s Second Empire, which had ___fallen after the disaster of the Franco-Prussian war. ___ At the centre of the new, militaristic, ethnic, and indeed ethno-racial, vi___sions of France was the Greek physical ideal. The French adoption of the Greek ___physical ideal as a national ideal served the same goal as Renan’s civic exhorta___tions: revanchisme, or the recovery of the lost territories of Alsace and Lorraine,

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as illegitimately German domains. Greek ethnic and physical identification gave the French a sense of status superiority over the Germans. It also provided a means whereby the French believed that they could become militarily superior to the Germans and thus defeat them en revanche: a Greek body would regenerate the French nation, giving them the physical strength which they needed. The new French body would replace the degenerate and feeble body of the soldiers who were defeated at Sédan on 1 September of l’année terrible, the year 1870. French hostility was to haunt Germany and threaten peace on the European continent, until the provinces were finally returned to France in 1918 (see Tombs 1992: 713–719). In post-1871 France, the idea that French men and women descended from the ancient Greeks and needed to exercise their bodies had a wide appeal. One of the most influential exponents of this idea was Hippolyte Taine (1828–1893), the historian, critic and admirer of England, and, until the Franco-Prussian war, of Germany, too. Taine had been appointed professor of aesthetics and of the history of art at the École des Beaux-Arts by Napoleon III, in 1864. He held this post for twenty years. During this time, Taine developed his theory regarding the determination of cultural production by “race, milieu et moment” (Lacombe 1906: 17; see also Taine 1905). This theory informed his analysis of Greek art, published in 1869 as Philosophie de l’art en Grèce. Taine believed in the theory of the Aryan race. This theory had set the typically blond, Germanic nations (including the Anglo-Saxon English and Americans), and, more generally, the north-European nations, apart from the other Indo-European or Aryan nations, as the perfect Aryans, and thus as the real descendants of the ancient Greeks (see Poliakov 1971). Aryanism had many followers in France, especially before the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war. As noted above, Gobineau was also one of its advocates. His admiration for the Germans is most evident in the dedication of the first edition of his major book on race, Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines (1853–55), to a German sovereign, “sa Majesté Georges V, Roi de Hanovre”. The war inevitably dampened French admiration for the Germans. It also produced new and negative accounts of the Germans, and especially the Prussians. For example, Armand de Quatrefages, the Aryanist doyen of French physical anthropology, described in 1871 what he called “la race prussienne”, not as Germans, but rather as belonging to the semi-barbarous ‘Finnish race’ which had inhabited Europe before the Aryan colonisation, or as mixed FinnoSlavs (see Poliakov 1971: 270; Manias 2009). Racial interpretations of the French defeat in the Franco-German war were widespread in both France and Germany. However, they did have their detractors. Georges Clémenceau, for example, a dominant figure in the Third Repub-

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___lic, French Premier (1906–09), and head of the war government (1917–20), de___nounced the very idea of race and racial hierarchy. This he did in his famous ___“débat colonial” with Jules Ferry, which took place in the Chambre des députés, ___on 31 July 1885 (quoted from Wieviorka & Prochasson 2004: 79): ___ “Races supérieures! races inférieures! c’est bientôt dit! Pour ma part, j’en rabats singuliè___ rement depuis que j’ai vu des savants allemands démontrer scientifiquement que la ___ France devait être vaincue dans la guerre franco-allemande parce que le Français est ___ d’une race inférieure à l’Allemand.” ___ ___Ethno-racial conceptions of the French nation would also threaten the liberal___ism and national unity of the Third Republic, by fuelling anti-Semitic senti___ments. These manifested themselves in connection with the Dreyfus Affair ___which also intensified anti-German feelings and anxieties. The Dreyfus Affair, ___which had its origin in 1894, divided the nation in complex ways over allega___tions that Captain Alfred Dreyfus, who was Jewish, had sold French military ___secrets to the Germans (see Harris 2011). Again, Clémenceau, together with the ___great writer and art critic, Émile Zola, became a champion of Captain Dreyfus ___who was finally acquitted. ___ Despite disagreements over the validity of racial ideas, the idea that France ___needed physical regeneration through adoption of Greek care for the body be___came widely accepted, giving rise to a veritable national crusade. Indeed, Clé___mencau himself was a member of “La Ligue Nationale de l’Education Physique” ___which, founded in 1888, campaigned for Greek-inspired athletics for French ___youth. Within the racial camp, and already before the Franco-Prussian war, Hip___polyte Taine had been a leading champion of the Greek athletic ideal. He had ___advocated “la culture musculaire” for modern France, in imitation of the an___cient Greeks. He continued to do so after the war, for the purpose of French ___physical regeneration (Taine 1872: 163). Taine explained the beauty of Greek ___youth as the result of race and athletics. Greek physical education – “la culture ___musculaire” – developed and perfected the innate, inherited characteristics of ___the race. On this basis, Taine, in his Notes sur l’Angleterre of 1872, had praised ___modern English public school and university education for its Greek-inspired ___emphasis on athletics and sport (Taine 1872: 148). For Taine, the transformation ___of French youth into Greek athletes, which the English seemed to him to have ___already achieved for themselves, was possible because the French, being a ___European nation, belonged to the same Indo-European or Aryan race as the ___Greeks, an identification which Taine (1905: 358) ardently advocated. ___ Another influential admirer of the Greek, athletic aims of English middle ___and upper-class education was Pierre de Coubertin (1863–1937). Specifically ___inspired by Thomas Arnold, Coubertin set out, in the 1880s, to revive the Olym-

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pic Games. This he did in 1896, thereby establishing the Greek athletic ideal as an international ideal and not one confined to specific national or racial groups. In fact, Coubertin initially accepted the idea of race and only rejected it after the First World War. Nevertheless, he campaigned for the participation of the peoples of all races in the revived modern Olympic Games. This cosmopolitanism was surprising for someone who believed in race. It was also contrary to the ancient Olympic Games, which were Panhellenic, involving only Greeks (see Charreton 1985: 45). At the same time, Coubertin, following the English example, tried to counter the official, German-inspired militaristic orientation of gymnastics in French schools. Instead, he promoted athletic games and physical exercise in the open air for the physical joys and freedom that they could give to the young men of the French lycées (see Charreton 1985: 34). Taine’s ideas were hugely influential in France well into the 1890s and beyond. We find them in the work of the distinguished French anatomists Mathias Duval and Édouard Cuyer. Writing in 1898, Duval and Cuyer would reiterate Taine’s belief that a healthy body was as important for modern societies as it had been for the ancient Greeks. Duval and Cuyer also emphasised the importance of a balanced development of both the mind and the body, in accordance with the classical formula mens sana in corpore sano. They thus criticised modern life as follows (Duval & Cuyer 1898: 9): “(...) au lieu de réaliser l’antique et classique formule qui demande une intelligence saine dans un corps robuste (mens sana in corpore sano), nous voyons trop souvent l’humanité dite civilisée tendre comme type vers un corps débile (...).”

Following Taine, Duval and Cuyer further emphasised “ces conditions du milieu”, the social institutions which had shaped the Greek body. The most crucial of these institutions was the system of open-air physical exercises that Greek teachers had developed. And they quoted Taine’s observation that “les maîtres, en véritables artistes, exerçaient le corps pour lui donner non seulement la vigueur, la résistance et la vitesse, mais aussi la symétrie et l’élégance” (Duval & Cuyer 1898: 15). Similar ideas regarding the importance for modern French men and women of physical exercise in imitation of the ancient Greeks can also be found in the writings of Charles Rochet (1815–1900), the anti-Darwinian, ardently Roman Catholic, and nationalist anthropologist-cum-artist, as well as teacher at the École des Beaux-Arts. In his immensely popular public lectures at the Sorbonne, delivered between 1869 and 1872, and in his book Traité d’anatomie d’anthropologie et d’ethnographie appliquées aux Beaux-Arts of 1886, Rochet claimed that the French were similar to the Greeks in that both nations were southern

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___(“Bruns méridionaux”). Rochet saw in art a powerful vehicle of the new Hel___lenic, physical vision of modern France. ___ Rochet contrasted the Germans with the French and the Greeks on account ___of their blond hair: “Le blond est avant tout Allemand, Scandinave, Anglo___Saxon”. And as original mankind had also had “les cheveux d’un beau noir”, ___the French were superior to the Germans because the latter’s blond hair was a ___deviation from original perfection: “le Brun (...) est l’homme supérieur” (Rochet ___1886: 222, 223, 222, 235). And here we find the adaptation of the Greek physical ___ideal to French national interests. For Rochet’s account of the Greek physical ___type as dark-haired is at odds with the more widely accepted classification and ___description of the ancient Greeks as blond, which can be found in the theory of ___the Aryan race. ___ As an ardent Catholic, Rochet also rejected Darwin’s accounts of the de___scent of mankind from the apes and considered the body of “la belle race des ___Hellènes” as the body which the biblical god had given to the primordial cou___ple, Adam and Eve. For Rochet, statues such as the Discobolus or the “beau ___torse de Ilissus de Phidias” exemplified the physically perfect Greek male adult, ___and the Venus de Milo and the Crouching Venus the female. On this basis, ___Rochet advocated the imitation of the Greek cult of physical health and beauty ___as the will of God, who had made original mankind perfect in his image, and ___which the Greeks had managed to preserve. Thus, for Rochet, by imitating “la ___vie naturelle” of “la belle race des Hellènes”, the French could also achieve the ___colour of perfect humanity, whose skin was “rouge” or “cuivré” – bronzed by ___the sun. For, according to Rochet, “les hommes du beau soleil” were the “vrais ___enfants de Dieu” (Rochet 1886: 246, 232). ___ Greek identification was justified not only morphologically, i.e. by similar___ity in physical appearance between the ancient Greeks and the modern French, ___but also historically and ethnically (genealogically). This was done through ref___erence to archaeological remains, and to historical, literary accounts of Greek ___Phocean settlements in Provence from the sixth century B.C. which also in___volved intermarriage between the local Gauls and the Greek colonists. This ___Mediterranean identity rejected the north with its centre in Paris. ___ Rejection of the north as the source and centre of French national life rein___forced the view that the majority of the French people were Gallo-Romans and ___thus distinct from the Frankish, German aristocracy, an idea that went back ___through Abbé Sieyès’ revolutionary pamphlet of January 1789 (“Qu’est-ce que le ___tiers état?”) to the sixteenth century (see Biddiss 1966: 256–257). To this Roman, ___and already classical, connection of the Gauls was now added a specifically ___Greek connection. Greek ethnicity was already cultivated in the 1850s and ___1860s, during the Second Empire, a regime which took the populist, Gallo-

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Roman line. Art, including public monuments, was a direct and visual way of propagating this national identity, based on ethnicity and the past. Greek genealogical connection was proclaimed, most emphatically, in the 1865 competition for the Prix de Rome, that major official competition which enabled the winning artists to study in Rome, the centre of ‘high art’. The subject of the competition was “La fondation de Marseille”. This was the story of the sixth-century-B.C. marriage of the Gallic princess Giptis to Protis, one of the Greek founders of Marseille. Protis and his men had come to the land of the Gauls as ‘colonists’ (in the sense of peaceful settlers, requesting permission to found a city) from Phocaea. Phocaea had been an Ionian city that lay on the coast of Asia Minor. Significantly, entries for this famous art competition were intended for public display at the 1867 Universal Exhibition in Paris (see Pingeot 1986: 50–52). This would enable the French to proclaim to the world their Greek ancestry through the power of the visual arts. The transformation of Southern France into the source and centre of modern French national life also strengthened the revivalist movement of the Provençal language, culture and lifestyle. This had been initiated in the 1850s by the prominent Méridional regionalist Frédéric Mistral (1830–1914). Mistral sought to stimulate a Renaissance of Provençal literature and culture. He attracted other Provençal poets such as Théodore Aubanel and Joseph Roumanille, and formed the literary movement known as the “Félibrige”. These poets emphasised in their poetic and philological works the equality of the Provençal and French languages. They also affirmed the Graeco-Latin ethno-racial and cultural roots of modern Provence (see Athanassoglou-Kallmyer 2003). As Joachim Gasquet, another Provençal poet, put it in his poem ‘Chant filial’ (1899), “(l)es hommes de ma race à leur sang sont liés. / Dans la Provence d’or flotte l’air de l’Hellade (...)” (quoted in Athanassoglou-Kallmyer 2003: 292). According to Athanassoglou-Kallmyer (2003: 216), the Méridional regionalists regarded a “historically Greco-Roman Provence as the region (and the race) destined to spearhead a cultural and national renewal for France”. She has located the origins of this new and ethnically justified classical revival in the wake of the Franco-Prussian War, becoming especially potent in the 1890s. This was a time of mounting French resentment against German imperialism. In this context, the Graeco-Latin ideal posited French supremacy over “inferior” and “barbaric” Anglo-Germanic cultures (see Athanassoglou-Kallmyer 2003: 216). Opposition to Germany and identification with the Mediterranean and classical civilisations of ancient Greece and Rome were also expressed in a new literary movement, Naturism, founded in 1894 and based in Paris. Its spiritual leader was Émile Zola (1840–1902), the eminent Parisian intellectual and ardent

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___Dreyfusard, who grew up in Aix-en-Provence. The Naturists were a new, young ___generation of French writers who were determined to revive Zola’s scientifically___based Naturalism “even if in a slightly modified form” (Christie 1972: 45). ___Joachim Gasquet, already mentioned above, was also part of the Naturist ___movement (see de Rosa 1910: 15). The ideals of Naturism consisted essentially of ___a rejection of Romanticism and symbolism as foreign, Anglo-Germanic imports: ___“L’esprit germanique ne nous séduit plus” (Bouhélier 1897: 1). Instead, the Na___turists advocated classicism, “la Renaissance classique”, and, indeed, “une ___renaissance française”, whose sense of order they viewed as the essence of ___Frenchness, “l’esprit national” (Bouhélier 1897: 9). And through this classicism, ___they advocated “un retour à la nature” and “une sorte de culte de la force”. ___They set out to make new men of the French (see de Rosa 1910: 14–18). ___ Greek identification had far-reaching and specifically practical conse___quences in post-war France. In order to regain their lost Greek body, the French ___had to change their way of life: they had to care for their body as their Greek ___ancestors had done. They should do gymnastics, and make trips to the Mediter___ranean south of France, and especially Provence, where the roots of France ___were supposed to lie. Contact with the Mediterranean sea, sunshine, open air ___and the way of life of Provence were expected to revive the nation. ___ Before 1871, and despite efforts by both the state – especially by Victor Du___ruy (1811–1894), Napoleon III’s minister of education – and individuals like Hip___polyte Taine, who, as noted above, was the arch-champion of classical Athenian ___notions of physical strength (“la force”), French opinion had resisted both the ___idea of race and the care for the body. Indeed, gymnastics were seen as “un___seemly or degrading activities” especially by Parisian Salon society, devoted to ___“mind gymnastics” (Holt 1981: 42). French Catholic opinion, on its part, had ___been either indifferent to modern science, or opposed to its rationalism and ___secularism (see Lacombe 1909: 240–262). ___ After the French defeat in 1871, and the explanation of this defeat as the re___sult primarily of national physical degeneration, all of this changed. The prolif___eration of voluntary gymnastic associations during the post-1871 period was a ___clear manifestation of the new physical concerns of the French, satirised by ___Gustave Flaubert in his Bouvard et Pécuchet (1881). In addition, the names of ___these associations bear witness to the patriotic and specifically revanchiste mo___tives that lay behind their formation: La Régénératrice, L’Alsace-Lorraine, La ___Revanche (see Holt 1981: 47). As Tamar Garb (1998: 55–57) has shown, journals ___such as La revue athlétique, founded in 1890, or La culture physique, founded in ___1904, with their illustrations of statues of ancient Greek athletes, indicate not ___only the spread of the cult of the body in France after the Franco-Prussian war, ___but also its Greek models.

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Gymnastics also acquired an official and, indeed, obligatory status on a national scale: they were introduced, by law, into French state schools. Jules Ferry’s law on education of 28 March 1882, which made primary education obligatory, free and ‘laïque’ (religiously neutral, rather than anti-clerical) for both boys and girls, also made gymnastics compulsory as part of this education. Military exercises, with which gymnastics could be combined, were added to this educational programme. This gave rise to a form of military gymnastics which was continued until 1890 (see Riordan & Krüger 2003: 106). Thus, after 1871, there was “broad agreement” in France that “the country must work to outstrip the Germans in the very areas in which Germany excelled: warfare, science, and the education of its citizens”. These were to a significant extent encompassed by gymnastics (Revel 1995: 5).

6 Conclusion This paper has explored the analytical utility of the distinction between civic and ethnic nations for understanding the various and successive revivals of the ancient Greek past which took place across Europe in the course of the nineteenth century. It has shown how this distinction, which was first developed by Hans Kohn, can help us organise and classify the tidal waves of Hellenism that became integral to European nation-building. Indeed, the paper has shown the correspondence of civic and ethnic conceptions of the nation with civic and ethnic types of Hellenism. We have found these two basic types of Hellenism in England, France and Germany both as pure types and as variations on the two types at different points in the course of the nineteenth century. Even more importantly, the paper has shown that in nineteenth-century Europe both civic and ethnic conceptions of the nation had a Greek dimension and Greek models. The civic conception of the nation was modelled on Athenian freedom, a point which Kohn strongly emphasised. This Greek connection manifested itself most clearly in the neo-classical forms and symbols which the nation, as a community of citizens, adopted, especially in France. The ethnic conception of the nation also had a Greek ideal: the beauty of the Greek ancestral body. Ethnic Hellenism severed the link between humanism and Hellenism, a link which had characterised civic, or neo-classical Hellenism. It made humankind unequal again, but on a new basis – not inherited social status, but inherited physique, through the scientific idea of race. Nineteenth-century European Hellenisms had a mass audience and set out to reshape and regenerate the mass of European societies – the collective nation as a whole. Consequently they were not elite movements, but involved wider

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___society – the populations which were now incorporated into new or renewed ___national communities. As earlier revivals of ancient Greek ideals, the Hellen___isms which marked late eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Europe were ___shaped by Enlightenment positivism, industrialisation, European national rival___ries and nation-building. These circumstances led to the interpretation of the ___Greek body in ethnic and racial terms, and as a genealogical inheritance of the ___modern European. At the same time, the European revival of the Greek cult of ___the body had broad support not only among racial thinkers, who were keen on ___the recovery of the lost athletic features of the race, but also among non- or anti___racial thinkers who saw its physical benefits as an antidote to a modern un___healthy urban lifestyle. ___ European body-centred Hellenisms were influenced by one another. This ___paper has demonstrated how German, English and French Hellenisms became ___intertwined, and, in the case of France and Germany, antagonistic. On the other ___hand, the French concern for the body, which was a result of the Franco___Prussian War, was inspired by both German and English practices whose aim ___was the development of a ‘Greek’ athletic body: German gymnastics and English ___sport. ___ The application of the distinction between civic and ethnic conceptions of ___the nation to European Hellenisms in the age of nationalism has made it pos___sible to discern two further processes: first, the combination of the two types ___as components of the same national identity – the combination of Greek free___dom with Greek physical beauty which was at least partly inherited; and sec___ond, the contingency of the connection between the pursuit of the Greek ath___letic ideal and its ethno-racial interpretation, which made its possession an ___inherited characteristic of particular human groups. In fact, as this paper has ___shown, the Greek body could be and often was detached from ethnic and racial ___appropriations and particularisms. It could thus be pursued as a universal ___ideal: a property of fully developed humanity, a part of what it meant to be ___fully human. The belief that the Greek physical type had universal signifi___cance, and that it could be combined with Greek ideas of freedom that applied ___to all mankind, found its clearest and finest exposition in the writings of ___Heinrich Heine, Matthew Arnold and Walter Pater. There, Greek reason, or ___freedom of thought, was combined with Greek physical beauty, in a single ___conception of Hellenism, as “sweetness and light”, to use Matthew Arnold’s ___definition (see above). ___ The final conclusion of this paper is that strands in modern European cul___tural thought renewed the European relationship with its two great cultural tra___ditions, the Greek and the Judaeo-Christian. These tendencies in modern Euro___pean thought set out to re-incorporate both ‘Hellenism’ and ‘Hebraism’ in a

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modern secular and humanistic culture, as “the desire of all nations” (Haggai 2:7), and as the common ground of freedom, beauty and morality out of which national cultures could grow. This combination of humanistic and national cultures was expected to stabilise and nurture modern societies in the new industrial and scientific age. However, civic humanistic Hellenism proved less powerful than ethnic Hellenism, thereby failing to secure peace in Europe and save the Jewish people from persecution.

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___Tim Rood ___ ___ ___ ___Tim Rood ‘Je viens comme Thémistocle’: Napoleon and National Identity after Waterloo ___ “At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender ___ Oh yeah (...) ___ The history book on the shelf ___ Is always repeating itself.” ___ (Abba) ___ ___ “When on the banks of the Sambre, the Emperor early one morning ___ approached a bivouac fire, accompanied only by his aide-de-camp on duty (...). Some potatoes were boiling on the fire, and the Emperor asked ___ for one, and began to eat it. Then, with a meditative and somewhat mel___ ancholy expression, he uttered the following broken sentences: ‘After ___ all, it is endurable (...). Man may live in any place, and in any way (...). ___ The moment perhaps is not far remote – Themistocles! (...)’” ___ (Las Cases, Le mémorial de Sainte-Hélène, vol. 4, 1823, 145–146) ___ ___ ___Abstract: On 14 July 1815, soon after his defeat at Waterloo, Napoleon Bonaparte submitted through his envoys a letter addressed to the Prince Regent in which he compared himself with ___ Themistocles. Napoleon’s allusion to Themistocles and its subsequent reception are analysed ___in this chapter. The chapter starts by discussing divergent readings of the allusion itself: some ___took it as reference to Themistocles’ supplication of the Molossian king Admetus, others to his ___later seeking refuge at the court of the Persian king Artaxerxes. The chapter then analyses how ___the status of classical allusions was disputed in the reception of Napoleon’s letter, with a frequent opposition being made between a French feeling for the sublime and British down-to___ earth pragmatism. The third section explores the images of national identity that were explic___itly or implicitly suggested in comparisons between Napoleon and Themistocles. Finally, the ___implications for national identity of the historicising approach prompted by Napoleon’s appeal ___to hospitality are discussed. ___ ___ ___1 Introduction ___ ___Four weeks after Waterloo, Napoleon Bonaparte found himself cornered on the ___French coast at Rochefort. He had fled to Paris after the battle in the hope that ___he could cling to power by drawing on popular support and the continued back___ing of the army. But when it became apparent that this goal would not be possi___ble, he had abdicated and travelled in secret to the coast, perhaps planning to ___make his way to America. He delayed too long, however, to have a chance: his

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way out was blocked by some British ships under the command of Captain Frederick Maitland, captain of the Bellerophon, who was under orders not to let Napoleon escape. Napoleon then crossed to the Île d’Aix and sent envoys to Maitland, raising the possibility of his seeking asylum in Britain. Though Maitland could make no promises, officially at least, about how the British government would respond to such an appeal, the hope of a good reception still seemed the best course now that the chance of America was gone and the Prussians were closing in by land. So it was that on 14 July 1815 Napoleon entrusted an officer in his entourage, Gaspard Gourgaud, with the task of delivering a letter he had written the previous evening addressed to the Prince Regent (now in the Royal archives at Windsor): “Altesse royale, En but aux factions qui divisent mon pays et à l’inimitié des plus grandes puissances de l’Europe, j’ai terminé ma carrière politique, et je viens, comme Thémistocle, m’asseoir sur le foyer du peuple Britannique. Je me mets sous la protection de ses lois, que je réclame de votre altesse royale, comme au plus puissant, au plus constant et au plus généreux de mes ennemis.”1

The following morning the letter was already on its way by boat to England when Napoleon sailed up to the Bellerophon under a white flag and handed himself over to Maitland. Napoleon’s letter proved useless in the short term. Far from being allowed to deliver it to the Prince Regent in person, Gourgaud was not even given permission to land. Napoleon himself was taken first to Torquay, and then to Plymouth, where, like Gourgaud, he was not allowed on shore. And it was at Plymouth that he learnt that he was to be sent to St. Helena. Though it did not help Napoleon himself, the letter increased the sensation created in Britain, France, and elsewhere by news of his surrender. An early source of news about the letter was Paris, where Maitland sent a copy of the letter.2 Another was Torquay harbour, where Napoleon was established as a tourist attraction, and enterprising locals could sail up and jot down his words from Maitland’s own copy (see Brunyee 2009: 53). Whatever the immediate sources, Napoleon’s words were widely reproduced over the coming months and years, in the original French and in English translation, in regional and national

_____ 1 For a photograph of the letter, see Figure 1; see also Thompson (1952: opposite p. 386). Citations vary owing to the difficulty of reading the letter (which was written not by Napoleon himself but by Bertrand). 2 See n. 30. The text of the letter was published in Paris by 22 July 1815, two days earlier than in London, though hints of its contents seem to have reached London by then (see n. 49).

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___newspapers, on a bilingual broadside printed in London for pasting in public ___spaces in Britain and France, and in numerous histories and memoirs – includ___ing a fake French ‘translation’ of the memoir of an invented surgeon in the Brit___ish navy that self-reflexively cast doubt on the letter’s authenticity.3 ___ The widespread reproduction of Napoleon’s letter was testimony to his care___ful literary composition. He presented himself as victim, acting for the good of ___his people (“en but aux factions ...”), without mentioning how his own decision ___to return from Elba had fomented those divisions. He retained a sense of his ___own agency (“j’ai terminé ma carrière politique ...”), obscuring the fact that his ___hand has been forced by the approach of the Prussians. And he flattered the ___Prince Regent with an elegant tricolon (“au plus puissant, au plus constant et ___au plus généreux de mes ennemis”). But it was the allusion to Themistocles that ___most secured the fame of Napoleon’s letter. ___ The stir caused by Napoleon’s use of Themistocles took many forms. The al___lusion was immediately debated in newspaper columns, with discussions circu___lating from paper to paper and between London and Paris. This debate was fol___lowed on the Bellerophon by Napoleon and his companions, who, as Maitland ___(1826: 114) reported, were “very anxious to see as many newspapers as possi___ble”. References to Napoleon’s use of Themistocles were also made in another ___popular genre, the satirical caricature. And the allusion continued to play a ma___jor part, both in his own lifetime and after his premature death on St. Helena in ___1821, in the controversy over the British refusal to grant him asylum and in the ___broader cultivation of the Napoleonic legend. A key work in the construction of ___this legend, Las Cases’ Le mémorial de Sainte-Hélène, even included an eerie ___anticipation of the letter by Napoleon himself, downcast but still charismatic in ___the days before Waterloo.4 ___ The aim of this chapter is to use Napoleon’s letter to the Prince Regent and ___its subsequent reception as a way of exploring the intersection of classical an___tiquity and national identity in the first half of the nineteenth century. A num___ber of aspects of both French and British identity were at stake in the debate ___over Napoleon and Themistocles. During the eighteenth century and through___out the Napoleonic Wars, parallels between modern political and military lead___ers and their Greek and Roman counterparts – many of them subjects of Plu___ ___ ___ ___3 For the fake, see Tyder (1816: 34) who adds that the letter was at least in Napoleon’s style and “bene trovato”, if not authentic. ___ 4 See second epigraph. The source claims that news of Napoleon’s letter fixed the incident ___in his mind, though one might rather suspect that the letter altered the memory. For the impor___tance of Le mémorial, see Hazareesingh (2004: 164–171).

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tarch’s Lives, the most important source for ancient history at this time – were frequently used in public discourse in France and Britain. In the case of Napoleon, Themistocles was but the latest in a range of ancient parallels (including Alexander, Julius Caesar, Hannibal, Lycurgus, and Cincinnatus) made by his contemporaries and fostered by Napoleon himself. Such parallels might seem to add lustre primarily to the individual rather than to the nation. But they were an important means of promoting and articulating national identity. While the figure of the king, the divinely ordained ruler, had earlier served as a focus for French identity, during the eighteenth century a sense of the French nation was increasingly promoted through the cult of great men, gathered together in works such as Turpin’s La France illustre, ou le Plutarque Français (1775–90) and presented as rivalling or surpassing the heroes of antiquity.5 The role of such ancient figures in defining national identity was enhanced by the fact that they were themselves known for their military or political achievements on behalf of their fatherlands. By evoking Themistocles, moreover, Napoleon cunningly ensured that the response of the British would be seen as a reflection of their national character and judged against ancient models of hospitality. Issues of national identity were also at stake in diverging views about the status of classical allusions as such. The reception of Napoleon’s letter drew on a long tradition of oppositional thought. Throughout the eighteenth century, the French and the English had tended to define themselves against one another: the English generally cast the French in a negative light, while the French looked to the English to express their aspirations for greater freedom of expression or to bemoan the effects of commerce.6 As we shall see, the debate over Themistocles played on a number of these national stereotypes. The interplay between classical antiquity and national identity that we shall explore in this chapter involves ideas of both continuity and rupture. The rhetorical force of Napoleon’s comparison of himself with Themistocles was based primarily on the idea of historical continuity. This idea goes against the arguments of some influential modern philosophers of history who posit a strong break in historical consciousness in the second half of the eighteenth century. Reinhart Koselleck, one of most influential exponents of this view, begins his collection Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time with a chapter that starts by looking at Albrecht Altdorfer’s 1529 painting Alexanderschlacht and

_____ 5 See Bell (2001: 107–139). On Plutarch’s French reception see Manzini (2004: 23–83). 6 See Colley (2009) for the importance of France to British identity. Diverging French views of England are explored in Acomb (1950), with reference to Anglophobia, and in Grieder (1985), with reference to Anglomania.

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___one nineteenth-century response to it. Koselleck notes the lack of temporal dis___tance in the painting itself: the Persians against whom Alexander fought are ___seemingly equated with the Turks, who were laying siege to Vienna at the time ___Altdorfer was painting. He then notes how Friedrich Schlegel three centuries ___later located Altdorfer’s painting in an age of chivalry. Schlegel thereby created ___a much greater sense of distance between himself and Altdorfer than the paint___ing creates between Altdorfer and the age of Alexander. Koselleck’s argument, ___while justified in its stress on Schlegel’s sensitivity to historical distance, is ___nonetheless undermined by an example that he quotes at the end of the chap___ter: he writes that Altdorfer’s painting was a favourite of Napoleon’s, explaining ___that “Napoleon saw himself as a parallel to the great Alexander” (Koselleck ___2004: 9–10, 24–25). The analysis of this chapter will suggest that Koselleck un___derplays the continuing power of the exemplary mode, but that the reception of ___Napoleon’s letter still provides some support for his stress on the increasing ___importance of historical difference. ___ Despite much excellent work on the Napoleon legend,7 the story of the re___ception of Napoleon’s allusion to Themistocles has been neglected in modern ___scholarship. In this chapter, we shall explore the various strands sketched ___above – the opposition of French and British identities, the significance of at___tempts to draw a synkrisis between the modern French emperor and the heroes ___of antiquity, the ideas of national narratives modelled on ancient paradigms, ___and the temporality latent in the appeal to an ancient example of hospitality. ___We start, however, by exploring the problem of the allusion itself. ___ ___ ___2 Artaxerxes and Admetus ___ ___Historical exempla have always tended to invite comparison and reflection as ___much as direct identification. Rather than being a matter of linking isolated in___dividuals or events in a historical vacuum, they are embedded in larger histori___cal narratives and necessarily open to a range of different interpretations. All ___uses of historical exempla, then, potentially give rise to difficulties. The difficul___ties of exemplarity are particularly clear, however, when it comes to matching ___Napoleon, the most famous and controversial figure of his age, against Themis___tocles, the most famous and controversial figure of his. For those of Napoleon’s ___ ___ ___ ___7 See e.g. Semmel (2004) on British and Petiteau (1999), Hazareesingh (2004), and Pagé (2013) ___on French receptions.

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contemporaries who were well versed in classical literature, Themistocles’ role in inspiring the Athenians to victory at Salamis against the vast Persian invasion led by Xerxes was familiar from Herodotus, from Plutarch and his other biographer Cornelius Nepos, and from numerous other allusions in classical authors. These ancient sources did not, however, present Themistocles’ success as a straightforward story of military and political glory. On the one hand they emphasised the power of his intellect, which was shown in his referring an oracle about ‘wooden walls’ to the Athenian fleet. But they also presented Themistocles as succeeding by manipulation of friends and foes alike: when it looked as if the Greek fleet at Salamis might disperse, he persuaded the Persian king Xerxes by a secret message to surround the Greeks and stop their departure; subsequently he sent another message to Xerxes falsely claiming credit for the Greeks’ decision not to destroy the Persian bridge across the Hellespont. While Themistocles’ first message to Xerxes could speak to his strategic prudence, the second was seen as motivated by a desire to store favour with the Persian king. Still more ambivalent were the qualities Themistocles displayed in the political life of Athens. His greed and personal ambition were much stressed by the biographers, and the controversy over his ambitions finally led to his being ostracised – though this fate was generally presented as a sign of the jealousy of the Athenian demos rather than as a reasonable response to his shifty and selfinterested behaviour.8 However his ostracism was perceived, Themistocles’ subsequent actions stoked the controversy still further: after being accused of medism (collaboration with the Persians), he sought refuge at the court of Xerxes’ successor Artaxerxes, and was rewarded with the gift of three (or more) cities. After winning favour in Persia, he either was asked or himself offered to help the Persians conquer Greece – but then, according to one version, committed suicide, either because he realised he would not be able to fulfil his promise or as a final act of patriotism.9 While any comparison with Themistocles was likely to be open to multiple readings, Napoleon’s invocation of Themistocles was particularly problematic because of the difficulty of determining which moment in Themistocles’ career Napoleon had in mind. Many contemporaries thought that Napoleon was alluding to Themistocles’ seeking asylum in Persia – the view also held by almost all

_____ 8 Ambition: Plutarch, Them. 3, 5.3–5 and 18.1. Greed: Plutarch, Them. 21. Ostracism: Plutarch, Them. 22 and Nepos, Them. 8.1. 9 For the suicide see Diodorus Siculus 11.58.2–3 and Plutarch, Them. 31.5–7.

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___modern historians.10 This episode is treated with lavish detail in Plutarch’s Life. ___After a dangerous crossing to Asia, Themistocles was brought up to the Persian ___court hidden in a litter, like a woman. Without revealing his identity, he gained ___an audience with the king (Plutarch, Them. 28.2–4, translation adapted from ___Perrin): ___ ἥκω σοι, βασιλεῦ, Θεμιστοκλῆς ὁ Ἀθηναῖος ἐγὼ φυγάς, ὑφ᾽ Ἑλλήνων διωχθείς, ᾧ πολλὰ ___ μὲν ὀφείλουσι Πέρσαι κακά, πλείω δ᾽ ἀγαθὰ κωλύσαντι τὴν δίωξιν, ὅτε τῆς Ἑλλάδος ἐν ___ ἀσφαλεῖ γεγενημένης παρέσχε τὰ οἰκεῖα σῳζόμενα χαρίσασθαί τι καὶ ὑμῖν. (...) σὺ δὲ τοὺς ___ ἐμοὺς ἐχθροὺς μάρτυρας θέμενος ὧν εὐεργέτησα Πέρσας, νῦν ἀπόχρησαι ταῖς ἐμαῖς τύχαις ___ πρὸς ἐπίδειξιν ἀρετῆς μᾶλλον ἢ πρὸς ἀποπλήρωσιν ὀργῆς. σώσεις μὲν γὰρ ἱκέτην σόν, ___ ἀπολεῖς δ᾽ Ἑλλήνων πολέμιον γενόμενον. ___ ___ “I come to you, O King, Themistocles the Athenian, an exile, pursued by the Hellenes; and to me the Persians are indebted for many ills, but for more blessings, since I hindered the ___ pursuit of the Hellenes, at a time when Hellas was brought into safety, and the salvation ___ of my own home gave me an opportunity for showing some favour also to you. (...) ___ But take my foes to witness for the good I wrought the Persians, and now use my misfor___ tunes for the display of your virtue rather than for the satisfaction of your anger. For it is ___ a suppliant of yours whom you will save, but an enemy of the Hellenes whom you will ___ destroy.” ___ ___Napoleon’s letter presents something of the same combination of self___justification and self-promotion found in Themistocles’ speech. The theatrical ___cadence of the start of his speech might be thought to be echoed in Napoleon’s ___“je viens (...)”.11 And the parallel with Themistocles is even closer if we follow the ___other main sources, Thucydides and Nepos, both of whom present Themistocles ___writing a letter to the king on arrival in Asia, with the same opening used in the ___speech in Plutarch.12 On the other hand, the parallel is disturbed by the fact that ___the ancient sources present Themistocles as claiming that he had done more ___good than harm to the Persians by persuading the Greeks not to pursue the Per___ ___ ___ ___10 Nineteenth century: Boyce (1816 [vol. 2]: 371), Clarke (1816 [vol. 3]: 354); see also nn. 15, 26, ___28, 50, 55 and 56. Modern scholarship: e.g. Nicolson (1946: 233), Pearson in Stendhal (1997: ___516), Herold (2002: 419), Cordingly (2004: 242), Gibson (2004: 147), Falk (2007: 430), Brunyee ___(2009: 41), Unwin (2013: 913), and Dwyer (2013: 561); see also nn. 13, 17 and 56. ___11 Cf. the use of ἥκω (‘I have come’) at the start of speeches by incoming characters in Greek tragedy, often in divine prologues (see Eric R. Dodds on Euripides, Bacch. 1). ‘Theatrical’ is the ___ apt description of Napoleon’s letter in Hume (1859: 704). ___12 ἥκω (...) Θεμιστοκλῆς. Cf. Thucydides, Hist. 1.137.4 (Θεμιστοκλῆς ἥκω) and Nepos, Them. 9.2 ___(veni).

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sians after Salamis, and that his enemies were now the Greeks from whom he was fleeing.13 While, as I have noted, the view that Napoleon was alluding to Themistocles’ journey to Persia was popular in the immediate aftermath of his surrender, an alternative interpretation was also available. Overtly taking issue with newspapers that had pushed the Persian line, the poet Leigh Hunt, a political radical who was editor of the weekly Examiner, proclaimed in his paper that “the truth is, as every school-boy knows, that the allusion is to THEMISTOCLES’s taking refuge at the Court of ADMETUS, King of the Molossians” (The Examiner, 30 July 1815, pp. 481–482). Hunt was referring to an episode earlier in Themistocles’ flight (Plutarch, Them. 24.2–4): ἐκεῖθεν δ᾽ εἰς ῎Ηπειρον ἔφυγε, καὶ διωκόμενος ὑπὸ τῶν Ἀθηναίων καὶ τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων, ἔρριψεν ἑαυτὸν εἰς ἐλπίδας χαλεπὰς καὶ ἀπόρους, καταφυγὼν πρὸς Ἄδμητον, ὃς βασιλεὺς μὲν ἦν Μολοσσῶν, δεηθεὶς δέ τι τῶν Ἀθηναίων καὶ προπηλακισθεὶς ὑπὸ τοῦ Θεμιστοκλέους, ὅτ᾽ ἤκμαζεν ἐν τῇ πολιτείᾳ, δι᾽ ὀργῆς εἶχεν αὐτὸν αἰεί, καὶ δῆλος ἦν εἰ λάβοι τιμωρησόμενος. ἐν δὲ τῇ τότε τύχῃ μᾶλλον ὁ Θεμιστοκλῆς φοβηθεὶς συγγενῆ καὶ πρόσφατον φθόνον ὀργῆς παλαιᾶς καὶ βασιλικῆς, ταύτῃ φέρων ὑπέθηκεν ἑαυτόν, ἱκέτης τοῦ Ἀδμήτου καταστὰς ἴδιόν τινα καὶ παρηλλαγμένον τρόπον. ἔχων γὰρ αὐτοῦ τὸν υἱὸν ὄντα παῖδα πρὸς τὴν ἑστίαν προσέπεσε, ταύτην μεγίστην καὶ μόνην σχεδὸν ἀναντίρρητον ἡγουμένων ἱκεσίαν τῶν Μολοσσῶν. “Themistocles fled to Epirus, and being pursued by the Athenians and Spartans, he threw himself upon grievous and desperate chances of escape by taking refuge with Admetus, who was king of the Molossians, and who, since he had once asked some favour of the Athenians and had been insultingly refused it by Themistocles, then at the height of his political influence, was angry with him ever after, and made it plain that he would take vengeance on him if he caught him. But in the desperate fortune of that time Themistocles was more afraid of kindred and recent jealousy than of an anger that was of long standing and royal, and promptly cast himself upon the king’s mercy, making himself the suppliant of Admetus in a way quite peculiar and extraordinary. That is to say, he took the young son of the king in his arms and threw himself down at the hearth; a form of supplication which the Molossians regarded as most sacred, and as almost the only one that might not be refused.”14

Here too, then, Themistocles found safety at the court of an enemy, though in this case the enmity was derived from a personal slight rather than a military defeat.

_____ 13 Plutarch, Them. 28.2 (quoted above); Thucydides, Hist. 1.137.4; Nepos, Them. 9.3. Roberts (2014: 775), accepting the Persian interpretation, writes that “for once, Napoleon’s classical education had failed him” (in that Napoleon was not proposing to help Britain against France). 14 Cf. Thucydides, Hist. 1.136.2–137.1 and Nepos, Them. 8.3–5.

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___ The view that Napoleon was referring to the Admetus episode was almost as ___common over the course of the nineteenth century as the Persian interpreta___tion.15 A number of discussions also avoided the problem by allowing for both ___possibilities.16 The Admetus solution has, however, been accepted only rarely in ___modern treatments, and the numerous modern scholars who refer the allusion ___to Artaxerxes seem unaware that the identification is at all problematic.17 ___ Can we tell whether Napoleon himself intended an allusion to Admetus or ___Artaxerxes? Private reports of his conversations raise some doubts about how ___extensive his knowledge of fifth-century Greek history actually was. According ___to Gourgaud (1904: 207), who accompanied Napoleon to St. Helena, Napoleon ___spoke there of how “the army of Xerxes was destroyed by ten thousand Greeks ___at Marathon” – though it was in fact an army sent by Xerxes’ predecessor Darius ___that was defeated at Marathon. But this mistake could easily be due to Gour___gaud. More to the point is an entry in Gourgaud’s journal on 13 July 1815, the ___day on which Napoleon wrote the letter. He wrote that Napoleon had said the ___previous night that he “had had an idea of going aboard the English cruiser, ___and as he did so exclaiming, ‘Like Themistocles, not being willing to take part in ___the dismemberment of my country, I come to ask an asylum from you’” (Gour___gaud 1904: 18). The problem here is that ancient accounts do not suggest that ___Themistocles took to flight to spare his country. Napoleon’s line fits much better ___the story that Themistocles committed suicide rather than help the Persians ___conquer Greece. ___ Gourgaud’s testimony can be set against plentiful evidence that Napoleon ___had a strong interest in ancient history and in Plutarch’s Lives in particular. A ___supposed incident from his youth mentioned in Le mémorial de Sainte-Hélène ___was when the Corsican resistance leader Pasquale Paoli addressed him with the ___words: “This young man is formed on the ancient model. He is one of Plutarch’s ___men” (Las Cases 1823 [vol. 1]: 125). There are many other signs that Napoleon ___cultivated this connection with Plutarch. A volume of Plutarch lies prominently ___on the floor in Jacques Louis David’s full-length 1812 painting of Napoleon in his ___ ___ ___15 E.g. Literary Panorama and National Register 2, August 1815, p. 838, Hare & Hare (1827: ___289), Hume (1859: 704) [reiterated by the continuator of Hume, F.R. Carroll, in Gentleman’s ___Magazine, February 1859, p. 184, against a reviewer in the same journal who favoured the Per___sian interpretation (January 1859, p. 49)], and Clare (1893: 1489); see also nn. 22 and 26. See ___further Granier (1831: 22), discussed below, and n. 65 for allusions to Admetus not explicitly tied to the letter. ___ 16 See e.g. The News, 6 August 1815 (cited below), Doin (1826 [vol. 2]: 356), and Beraud (1829: 464). ___17 An exception is Hutton (1952: 86), objecting to Highet (1949: 397). Later editions of Highet ___changed ‘Persia’ to ‘a foreign power’.

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study in the Tuileries (see Bordes 2005: 113–121). Napoleon is also said to have taken a copy of Plutarch with him on his expedition to Egypt and to have been inspired to protect Joseph Haydn’s house in Vienna by Plutarch’s account of Alexander’s saving Pindar’s house in Thebes (see Bernal 1991: 185; Manzini 2004: 59). Napoleon’s broader interest in classical antiquity is shown by his familiarity with Rollin’s Ancient History, a very popular work in the eighteenth century that itself did much to disseminate Plutarch’s stories of virtuous ancient heroes. In dealing with Themistocles’ flight, Rollin (1834–35 [vol. 8]: 64) generally paraphrased Plutarch’s narrative, offering detailed accounts both of his supplication at Admetus’ court (with a dramatic run of six consecutive verbs in the historic present) and of his trip up to the Persian court. The notes that survive of Napoleon’s reading of Rollin in the late 1780s do not include those scenes of supplication, but they do mention the towns Themistocles was granted by the Persian king (Napoleon 1967–68 [vol. 1]: 103–152). Napoleon’s early interest in Themistocles is best shown by an imaginary speech he composed in 1787 on the topic Love of Glory and Love of Country. In this speech Napoleon aligns the patriotism of the heroes of antiquity with the spirit still to be found in his native island, Corsica: “Aristides, the wisest of Athenians, Themistocles, the most ambitious, still the terror of the great king, were both savers and restorers of the country. They were rewarded with ignominious exile. (...) Themistocles preferred to drink of the fatal cup rather than to see himself at the head of the Oriental troops, in a position to avenge his particular outrage. He could have hoped to subjugate Greece. What glory he would have had in posterity, and what satisfaction for his ambition! But no, he lived in the middle of the plains of Persia, ever missing his country. ‘Oh my son! we should perish if we had not perished!’ – energetic phrase which should remain forever written in the heart of the true patriot.”18

That energetic saying “Oh my son ...”, which is also found in an epistolary history of Corsica that Napoleon wrote at around the same time, occurs a number of times in Plutarch’s works;19 it was also picked up by Rollin (1834–35 [vol. 8]: 95) and Rousseau (1993: 447). While the surviving evidence points to his knowledge of Themistocles’ reception by the Persian king, Napoleon’s use of the unusual word ‘foyer’ suggests that Hunt was right to refer the allusion to Themistocles’ supplication of Admetus. Napoleon’s draft (see Figure 2) shows that he gave some thought to

_____ 18 Quoted from Frayling (1972: 37). I have filled one ellipse. 19 Napoleon (1967–68 [vol. 2]: 104); Plutarch, Them. 29.10 and Mor. 185f, 328f, 602a.

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___his use of this word: he first wrote ‘cendres’ (‘ashes’), then crossed it out; and he ___emphasised ‘foyer’, along with ‘comme Thémistocle’, by underlining them ___(Anonymus 1969: 133). He also used the word in a letter of protest he wrote ___aboard the Bellerophon on 4 August in which he claimed that as soon as he was ___on board the ship he was ‘sur le foyer du peuple Britannique’ (Maitland 1826: ___174). Though ‘foyer’ could be used metonymically with the sense ‘home’, Napo___leon was clearly using it in its original meaning ‘hearth’ – and it is the hearth ___that is the location for the supplication of Admetus in both Thucydides and Plu___tarch.20 ___ Why, then, has the allusion so often been thought to be to Themistocles’ Per___sian asylum? One explanation lies in the greater seductiveness of the story___pattern of the great Athenian leader taking refuge with the son of the king he had ___defeated; in antiquity this romantic element was embellished to such an extent ___that some writers had Themistocles seek refuge with Xerxes himself rather than ___with Artaxerxes.21 Another possible explanation is that Admetus is less famous ___than Artaxerxes; a correspondent to an American periodical in 1815 (‘A Back___woods-man’ from near Lake Ontario) even suggested that the English editors ___were deliberately misleading their readers by taking Napoleon to be referring to ___Artaxerxes because the obscurity of Admetus detracted from the glory of the ___Prince Regent.22 But for Napoleon’s target audience, at least, the memorable ___manner of the supplication of the Molossian king made it a familiar part of the ___Themistocles legend: just four years earlier the scene had been the subject for the ___Royal Academy’s Premium for History Painting (see Hodgson & Eaton 1905: 384). ___Themistocles’ action of holding up a son to appeal to the father was also used in ___Christian writings as an image for communication with God the Father via Jesus.23 ___ The most plausible reason for the failure to understand Napoleon’s allusion ___lies paradoxically in his use of ‘foyer’. ‘Foyer’ alone or the whole phrase ___‘m’asseoir sur le foyer du peuple Britannique’ was often added in parentheses in ___the English translations offered in newspapers and elsewhere24 – a tendency ___ ___ ___ 20 Thucydides, Hist. 1.136.3 and Plutarch, Them. 24.4. Nepos, Them. 8.4 speaks more vaguely ___of sacrarium. ‘Foyer’ itself is derived from focus, the Latin word for ‘hearth’. ___21 Plutarch, Them. 27.1 lists some authors. Xerxes is accepted by e.g. Literary Panorama (see ___n. 15), ‘Back-woods-man’ (Niles’ Weekly Register 9, 28 October 1815, p. 139), Beraud (1829: 464), ___and Alison (1852–59 [vol. 2]: 365). ___22 Niles’ Weekly Register 9, 28 October 1815, p. 139. 23 See e.g. Taylor (1703 [vol. 1]: 372), Gouge (1751 [vol. 1]: 10), and McEwen (1767 [vol. 2]: 265). ___ 24 E.g. The Courier, 25 July 1815: “to seek an asylum upon the shores and homes (foyers is his ___expression)”. See also Scots Magazine 77 (August 1815, p. 623), Literary Panorama (see n. 15), ___Clarke (1816: 354), and Anonymus (1817: 162) – all translating ‘hospitality’.

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noted by Leigh Hunt, who commented that “these gentlemen were sadly puzzled with the mention of the hearths, evidently repeating the word foyers with owlish astonishment, and we dare say looking upon it as one of BONAPARTE’s affectations”.25 Hunt missed, however, one cause of the puzzlement – which was that the word was frequently translated as ‘hospitality’ rather than as ‘hearth’.26 The translation ‘hospitality’ opened the door to the Persian interpretation. That interpretation also suited well the circumstances of Napoleon’s appeal: he was, after all, seeking not the temporary protection Themistocles had found at Admetus’ court but a permanent home in the English countryside such as Themistocles had enjoyed in the Persian empire. A further reason for the Persian interpretation may lie in the rhetoric of Napoleon’s letter. In alluding to the Admetus scene (“Je viens comme Thémistocle”), Napoleon was himself adopting the grand manner in which Themistocles addressed the Persian king, whether in person (as in Plutarch) or by letter (as in Thucydides and Nepos).27 If ‘foyer’ pointed to Admetus, ‘je viens’ suggested the Persian court. Perhaps, then, it is not too fanciful to see the very uncertainty over the letter as a trap laid by Napoleon himself. The question of whether Napoleon was alluding to Admetus or Artaxerxes was not simply a historical game. As the final two sections of this chapter will show, issues of both French and British national identity were at stake in the different interpretations offered. But first we should look at the national stereotypes that were thought to be involved in his actual use of a classical allusion.

_____ 25 The Examiner, 30 July 1815, p. 481. ‘Foyer’ was not yet in regular use in English: the earliest Oxford English Dictionary citation is from 1799, in the sense of a ‘centre of activity’; the next (in the sense of an entrance hall) is from 1859. 26 See e.g. Monthly Magazine, or British Register, 1 August 1815, p. 72, Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine 74 (1 August 1815, p. 92), Quarterly Review 14, October 1815, p. 83 (cited below), Boyce (1816: 371), Gifford (1817: 1529), Belsham (1824: 167), and Maitland (1826: 57). See also n. 24; Literary Panorama and Clarke both add that the literal meaning is ‘hearth’, though the latter goes for the Persian interpretation while the former, translated into French in Anonymus (1815: 160 n. 1), follows Hunt in arguing explicitly against it. ‘Foyer’ is elided still further in the Morning Post, 26 July 1815 (‘to rest’), while Maitland (1826: 176) gives ‘shelter’ in his translation of Napoleon’s 4 August letter. ‘Hospitality’ is the translation offered by most modern historians (e.g. Brunyee 2009: 40; O’Keeffe 2014: 292); see also n. 44. 27 See n. 12.

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___ 3 From French sublime to British ridicule ___ ___When it was first received, the style of Napoleon’s letter played into some of the ___differences that were often seen between the national characters of the French ___and the British. On 29 July 1815, The Times printed a long letter from ‘Probus’ ___(‘Upright’) – his third since Napoleon’s surrender – arguing that the Themisto___cles allusion was not made in the expectation that the Prince Regent would treat ___Napoleon as the Persian king had treated Themistocles, but rather to save face ___before a French audience.28 In making that suggestion ‘Probus’ was conscious ___doubtless of Napoleon’s careful cultivation of his own reputation. But he was ___also implicitly appealing to a dismissive stereotype of French susceptibility to ___classical allusion – a stereotype that the Revolutionary cult of great men had ___done much to foster. Only the French, ‘Probus’ was implying, could be taken in ___by such an appeal – whereas the proper response for the British (as he had pro___posed in an earlier letter) was to execute Napoleon.29 ___ ‘Probus’’ instincts about the letter’s appeal to the French are confirmed by ___one account of its immediate reception in Paris. The politician and writer John ___Wilson Croker, who was in Paris after Waterloo as Secretary to the Admiralty, ___noted in his journal that when he read the letter and “came to ‘Thémistocle’, ___who certainly was the last person I expected to meet there”, he “could not help ___bursting out into a loud laugh, which astonished the French, who thought all ___beautiful, but ‘Thémistocle’ sublime and pathetic” – and this despite the fact ___that the French “all seemed to agree that he had no heart, either in the sense of ___magnanimity or feeling”. By removing the ‘comme’ and talking of ‘meeting’ ___Themistocles, Croker amusingly elides Napoleon’s use of a simile, thereby the ___more effectively exposing the gap between present and past and so suggesting ___the insubstantiality of Napoleon’s recourse to exemplarity. Croker nonetheless ___entered into the game by telling his interlocutors that Napoleon “preferred liv___ing like a Grecian, to dying like a Roman”.30 If he was forgetting rather than re___jecting Plutarch’s account of Themistocles’ eventual suicide, his lapse was cut___ting, given the prominence of Roman exempla and the broader use of Roman ___ ___ ___ ___ ___28 The Times, 29 July 1815, p. 2. His earlier letters were printed on 26 and 27 July 1815. ___29 The ‘Probus’ letters were among those published in French in Anonymus (1815), a collection designed to show “l’esprit du peuple” (1815: 193–194) published by a Royalist objecting to ___ the leniency of Napoleon’s treatment. ___30 Croker (1884 [vol. 1]: 68). The entry is for 20 July, before the contents were widely known in ___England.

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political and military emblems and nomenclature first in revolutionary France and then under the Empire.31 Many other compatriots of Napoleon responded at the time and over the coming years with the sympathy ‘Probus’ thought Napoleon was trying to extract. Gourgaud recorded in his journal that when Napoleon asked him what he thought of the letter, he replied that “it brought tears to my eyes”.32 Charles de Massas, in a note to a long poem Sainte-Hélène (1827), expressed the view that “none of those men who have made themselves famous by fine actions and great misfortunes has ever pronounced words more noble and more touching than those which were addressed by Napoleon”.33 And later French editors of Napoleonic writings described it as “immortal” and “known to everyone by heart”.34 The letter also served to recuperate Napoleon’s memory in public spaces. When Napoleon’s nephew Louis Napoleon toured France in 1852 following his coup at the end of the preceding year, he was greeted at Rochefort with the sentence “je viens, comme Thémistocle (...)” inscribed on an obelisk in the main public square (Anonymus 1853: 259). (If the report is correct, the obelisk must have been put up temporarily in memory of Napoleon’s Egyptian campaigns.) During Louis Napoleon’s reign, the house where Napoleon wrote the letter was adorned with a plaque with an imperial eagle and an inscription “dedicated to the immortal memory of our Emperor Napoleon 1st”: “all was sublime in him – his glory, his reverses”.35 And this house in turn became the setting for a Napoleonic museum founded by Gourgaud’s great-grandson (himself christened Napoleon) and including among the relics on display the draft of the letter which made Gourgaud weep. A further indication of the success of Napoleon’s allusion is the use of Themistocles’ supplication in the visual arts. The French neo-classical painter Jean-Baptiste Wicar painted the Admetus scene for an Italian count, Giulio

_____ 31 See e.g. Nicolet (2009) for Napoleon and Caesar, and Huet (1999) for Napoleon and Augustus. The imperial use of Rome was itself filtered through Charlemagne and the Holy Roman Empire. 32 Gourgaud (1904: 19), evoking the letter by the two words “Comme Thémistocle ...”. 33 Massas (1827: 194): “Je ne crois pas qu’aucun des hommes qui se sont rendus célèbres par de belles actions et de grands malheurs ait jamais prononcé des mots plus nobles et plus touchans, que ceux qui furent adressés par Napoléon”. 34 See Gourgaud (1898 [vol. 1]: 3): “la lettre immortelle”, and Guillon (1912: 154 n. 1): “que tout le monde sait par coeur”. 35 Original: “A la mémoire de notre immortel Empereur Napoléon Ier, 15 juillet 1815. Tout fut sublime en lui: sa gloire, ses revers.”

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___Rasponi, on the occasion of his marriage in October 1825.36 That the painting ___was meant to commemorate Napoleon is suggested by the identity of his bride – ___Louise Murat, daughter of Napoleon’s younger sister Caroline Bonaparte. The ___Napoleonic association would also have been congenial to the artist, who had ___been a member of Napoleon’s entourage, advising on the removal of artworks ___from the Netherlands and Italy. ___ The appeal of the Admetus scene had been acknowledged even before this ___by a leading public institution in France. In 1819, at a time when the restored ___Bourbon monarchy was suppressing images of Napoleon himself (see Hazarees___ingh 2004: 72–98), Themistocles’ supplication was chosen by lot from a shortlist ___of three as the subject for the Prix de Rome, an annual competition in history ___painting for young artists run by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris.37 The ___sensitivity of the topic at this time is perhaps reflected in the comments of a ___critic who found the scene “a very fine subject for a painting”, though “perhaps ___a bit too fine for students”, adding that “it is superfluous to mention that the ___main interest of such a scene is in the great vicissitudes of the victor of Salamis, ___and in the contrast between his present situation and the memory of his past ___grandeur” (cited by Grunchec 1984: 69). The failure to mention Napoleon in this ___“superfluous” explanation of the scene’s interest seems almost too pointed to ___be casual: perhaps it was that resonance rather than the scene’s visual demands ___that made it not altogether suitable for young artists. ___ The Napoleonic resonance of the scene is suggested by the winning entry, ___painted by an 18-year-old artist named François Dubois (see Figure 3). The set___ting is a palace ornamented with classical pillars and with mountains looming ___in the background through gaps in the portico. Dominating the left side of this ___fine scene is the figure of Themistocles, naked with helmet, as if he has stepped ___straight out of Jacques Louis David’s painting of Leonidas at Thermopylae ___(painted in 1814). Without making any attempt to face Admetus himself, he ___stares downwards at Admetus’ son, who raises his arms towards his father ___(though none of the ancient sources present the child playing an active role in ___the supplication). Admetus himself, wearing a regal red cloak, looks as if he is ___taking a startled step backwards, while his wife leans over to reassure him. The ___ ___ ___ ___ ___36 See Beaucamp (1939: 530), Caracciolo (2002: 196–198) and Caracciolo (2003–05 [vol. 1]: 96–102 and [vol. 2]: 22–23). These treatments do not note the connection with Napoleon’s ___ letter. ___37 For documentation of the contest and images of four entries see Grunchec (1986–89 ___[vol. 2]: 67–68), though he does not note the Napoleonic connection.

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moment chosen is suspenseful, as the success of the supplication is left open. But whatever the outcome, Themistocles has preserved his heroic grandeur.38 While Napoleon’s allusion to Themistocles was well-judged if he was primarily looking to shape his future memory in France, British responses were predictably more negative. The immediate mocking response of John Wilson Croker in Paris was followed in the Quarterly Review, which spoke of “the bad taste – the absurd and laughable introduction of ‘Thémistocle sur les foyers Britanniques’” (Quarterly Review 14, October 1815, p. 83), and by a historian the next year who called the allusion “puerile and absurd” (Boyce 1816: 371). ‘Probus’, by contrast, found the letter “laconic”, a rather surprising response that perhaps points to the gap between the brief allusion to Themistocles and the gains Napoleon hoped to reap from it (The Times, 29 July 1815, p. 2). The brevity of the allusion also seems to have annoyed an English advocate who concluded an account of a visit to Waterloo the month after the battle by boasting of how England had forced “the almost deified captain of the long invincible soldiery of France” to bow his head with “a scrap of sentiment about Themistocles in his mouth”.39 Sentiment here has the sense of an “appeal to the tender emotions in literature or art” – a usage that was associated with women in the eighteenth century but was becoming increasingly derisive, “conveying an imputation of either insincerity or mawkishness” (Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. ‘sentiment’, 9). It was a quality that could be associated with the French as well as with women: at the start of Laurence Sterne’s A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy (1768) the French are called a people “renown’d for sentiment and fine feelings” (Sterne 1986: 27). The term recurred in a poem Reliquiae Napoleonis, published anonymously in 1841, a year after Napoleon’s remains were returned to France: recalling his “famed letter”, the poet suggested that Napoleon would

_____ 38 The three other entries reproduced in Grunchec (see n. 37) show a more submissive Themistocles – in keeping with the competition’s own description of the scene, which stressed that Themistocles took the king’s son in his arms and went on his knees. Themistocles’ supplication was chosen again as subject for the Prix de Rome in 1885 (followed by Themistocles drinking poison two years later); the winning entry by Alexis Axilette shows a prostrate Themistocles in a much more ‘primitive’ setting (animal skin on the floor, weapons on the walls, an Admetus lacking royal ornaments) than the neoclassical palaces favoured in 1819. Another image of the Admetus scene appeared as a frontispiece in the seventh volume of Ségur (1823), while Themistocles at Artaxerxes’ court appeared as the frontispiece in the third volume; his book was a universal history for children written by an aristocrat who had had a high military rank in Napoleonic France. The scene was also painted by the Flemish artist Pierre Joseph François in 1832. 39 Simpson (1816: 146). Cf. Simpson (1853: 84), with ‘inapplicable’ before ‘scrap’.

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___have done well to die in battle rather than “try – hope forlorn – Themistocles ___and sentiment!” (Anonymus 1841: 107). ___ Assessments of Napoleon’s use of a classical exemplum did not of course ___divide neatly between French admiration and British mockery. Among the Brit___ish there were many who were impressed by it – including the history painter ___Benjamin Robert Haydon, a staunch patriot who saw himself as possessed of a ___Napoleonic energy and who thought his own ambitions had been thwarted by ___the failure of the British state to provide appropriate patronage. Haydon wrote ___in 1843 in a letter to Elizabeth Barrett Browning that Napoleon’s “romantic, ___‘Je viens comme Themistocle’ &c. &c. was too high a touch for the Court of ___George IV (...) there was not poetry enough in any Minister to relish or enter into ___Napoleon’s allusion to Themistocles” (Pope 1972: 56, 58). For Haydon, then, the ___ministerial failure to appreciate Napoleon’s letter matched the failures of his ___own grand artistic projects. ___ Another artist who responded to Napoleon’s allusion was Haydon’s friend ___Henry Fuseli (or Johann Heinrich Füssli), Swiss by birth but based in Britain. ___Fuseli himself was no admirer of Napoleon, but in the months after Napoleon’s ___surrender he produced an enigmatic drawing of the Admetus scene (see Fig___ure 4) that can be read as a complex reflection on Napoleon’s allusion.40 As in ___the prize-winning painting in the Prix de Rome, there is no eye contact between ___Themistocles and Admetus, and Admetus starts back, holding out his left hand. ___But Fuseli’s Admetus is an august figure, perhaps modelled on statues of Nep___tune (and so hinting at British naval power). And his Themistocles, with more ___than a hint of Napoleon in his profile, sits impassive and self-absorbed, ignoring ___not just Admetus but the child – here a girl of perhaps ten or eleven years – who ___pleads on his behalf. Behind him are visible the legs of two vast statues, pre___sumably gods, in a distant echo of Fuseli’s drawing from the late 1780s of an ___artist in despair at the grandeur of antique fragments. The drawing gives Them___istocles a rugged and awkward grandeur of his own, yet he is strangely de___tached from the drama of the supplication. It might be read as an indictment of ___Napoleon’s cynical manipulation of a classical precedent. But perhaps a more ___sympathetic reading is possible: at any rate the drawing was picked out in Fu___seli’s studio by the radical Liverpool banker William Roscoe, who had been a ___prominent opponent of the Napoleonic War.41 ___ ___ ___ 40 The only extensive discussion of the drawing is Ruzicka (1988), though his reading differs ___ from mine. ___41 See Weinglass (1982: 414–415): a letter written by Roscoe, noting Napoleon’s allusion to ___Themistocles, which he cites from Nepos – the only ancient source to make Admetus’ child a

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If Roscoe’s acquisition of Fuseli’s drawing reflects a positive view of the Themistocles allusion, then that response reflects the broader pattern whereby it was those who were most sympathetic to Napoleon politically who found his classical allusion most congenial. Thus Lady Holland, who together with her husband was among the most prominent Whig admirers of Napoleon, received a letter praising her for having “felt that appeal of our modern Themistocles which the British Court was too courtly to acknowledge”.42 And while Byron’s friend John Cam Hobhouse found the letter “very good”,43 Byron himself later wrote a letter to Hobhouse (who was in prison for writing a radical pamphlet) in which he compared their positions with those of Napoleon and Themistocles: “Brummell – at Calais – Buonaparte at St. Helena – you in – your new apartment – and I at Ravenna – only think so many great men! There has been nothing like it since Themistocles at Magnesia” (Marchand 1973–94 [vol. 7]: 50). A dose of irony was given by the presence in the list of the notorious dandy Beau Brummell, who had fled Britain in debt. Political concerns can also be seen in negative French responses to Napoleon’s letter. Napoleon had many opponents in France, and one of the most prominent of these, the aristocrat François-René de Chateaubriand, romantic traveller and writer, professed in his posthumously published memoirs to find the Themistocles allusion “banal” and “too much”. Even he prefaced this criticism with the comment that “the phrase setting out the situation of a fallen greatness addressing itself to an enemy is very fine”. But he went on to accuse Napoleon of “a want of consideration for France”: “the Emperor busied himself only with his individual catastrophe; when the fall came, we no longer counted for anything in his eyes.” Then he addressed Napoleon himself in his ancient guise: “Go, then, Themistocles, and sit quietly by the British hearth, whilst the soil has not yet finished drinking the French blood shed for you at Waterloo.”44 The critique is stronger for its adoption of a high classicising style (“ô Thémistocle”) and for its juxtaposition of imagery of supplication and libation. Chateau-

_____ girl, as in Fuseli’s drawing. The similarity with Dubois’ image is striking, given that there is no chance that Dubois could have known the drawing, though the supplication is more dramatic in Fuseli; perhaps he chose a girl as allegorical of the supplication itself. 42 See Semmel (2004: 219), citing an unpublished letter from Samuel Gower. 43 Hobhouse (1909 [vol. 1]: 322), a journal entry dated 30 July 1815. 44 Chateaubriand (2014: 295); ‘hearth’ here translates ‘foyer’, though earlier the translator uses ‘hospitality’ for Napoleon’s letter. In a work protesting at the imprisonment of the Duchess of Berry for plotting Bourbon restoration under Orleanist post-1830 monarchy, by contrast, Chateaubriand called the letter “noble and touching” (1833: 25). For a discussion of his shifting attitudes to Napoleon, see Descotes (1967: 59–112).

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___briand’s own tour de force of rhetoric seems to undermine his claim to find ___Napoleon’s invocation of Themistocles “banal”, but he succeeds in making it ___seem self-indulgent and altogether removed from the national self-definition of ___France. ___ While there were many diverse interests at stake in assessments of Napoleon, ___it is still likely that accounts of divergent responses to the letter were read against ___a template of distinct national characters. Such readings are particularly plausi___ble when different French and British responses were foregrounded, as in John ___Wilson Croker’s journal. And an overt concern with national character can be ___seen in two confrontations of Napoleon’s letter with one of the great English pa___triotic symbols – John Bull. Invented in 1712 by the Scottish satirist John Arbuth___not, John Bull became a common icon (often in animal form) over the course of ___the eighteenth century, and still more popular (but now generally in human ___form) during the Napoleonic Wars. Whereas earlier he had been used to highlight ___internal political issues, now he was often used in patriotic prints to represent the ___national traits of “honesty, good nature, frankness, and steadiness of purpose” ___together with a “reputation for bravery” (Hunt 2003: 166; cf. 143–169). ___ John Bull responded to Napoleon’s letter in two prints by George Cruik___shank, the leading satirical cartoonist of the day, published soon after Napo___leon’s surrender. Firstly, in August 1815, the second half of a diptych, Buona___parte on the 17th of June/Buonaparte on the 17th of July – 1815, shows a suppliant ___Napoleon on the Bellerophon, with ‘Letter to the Prince Regent’ at his feet, ___pleading with John Bull, who stands on land: “O good Mr Bull I wish you to ___know / (Although you are my greatest foe) / That my career is at an end: / And I ___wish you now to stand my friend.”45 Though there was no allusion to the Them___istocles comparison, the wording (“my greatest foe”, “my career is at an end”) ___closely echoes the letter, while deflating the panache of its rhetoric by means of ___the childish rhymes. ___ Themistocles does appear in the triptych Napoleon’s trip from Elba to Paris, ___& from Paris to St. Helena that Cruikshank produced the following month.46 The ___first panel of the print showed Napoleon flying from the battlefield of Waterloo ___on an eagle (“sauve qui peut”); then Napoleon was shown on board the Bel___lerophon addressing a portly John Bull figure sitting with a dog by his fireside, ___with busts of English military heroes on the wall; and finally Napoleon ap___peared in humiliating pose on St. Helena, trying to lure a rat into a trap. In the ___central image, Napoleon addresses himself to John Bull: “My most powerful and ___ ___ ___45 See Ashton (1884 [vol. 2]: 236–237) and George (1959 [vol. 2]: 165). ___46 See Ashton (1884 [vol. 2]: 254–256) and George (1959 [vol. 2]: 166).

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generous enemy, how do you do? I come like Themistocles, to seat myself upon your hearth – I am very glad to see you.” As in the earlier print, Cruikshank deflates Napoleon’s rhetoric, but here not by rhymes but by the juxtaposition of direct quotations from the letter with an everyday conversational register (“how do you do?”, “I am very glad to see you”). The mockery continues in John Bull’s riposte: “So am I glad to see you Mr Boney, but I’ll be d–d if you sit upon my hearth or any part of my house – it has cost me a pretty round sum to catch you, Mr Themistocles, as you call yourself, but now I have got you, I’ll take care of you.” This speech picks up the two most unusual elements of Napoleon’s letter. Firstly, the appellation “Mr Themistocles” stands in tension with the familiar “Mr Boney” while also reducing the Plutarchan hero of Napoleon’s imagination to the standing of a common Greek – perhaps a merchant (it may also convey a hint of Napoleon’s own Mediterranean origins). The phrasing “my hearth or any part of my house” then picks up Napoleon’s “sur le foyer”, inviting a rejection of the metonymical system underlying the ancient ritual of supplication. The rejection is reinforced by the words written on an open book on the floor – “John Bull with Englishman’s Fire Side”. Englishmen, that is to say, have firesides, not hearths; the phrase also evoked the title of a popular 1803 play John Bull; or, The Englishman’s Fireside.47 John Bull’s distaste for the classical label is also linked with his concern for money (“it has cost me a pretty round sum”), hinting at what we shall see was a tension frequently observed between English commercialism and Napoleon’s evocation of the code of hospitality. The opposition of John Bull and Napoleon’s Themistocles could be evaluated differently from a French perspective. It makes a brief appearance in a speech in one of the classic works of nineteenth-century French fiction, Stendhal’s Charterhouse of Parma (1839; passage quoted from Stendhal 1997: 181): “It’s because he was wildly misled by his imagination that Napoleon surrendered to the prudent John Bull instead of trying to reach America. Sitting in his bank, John Bull had a good laugh over Napoleon’s letter in which he quotes Themistocles. In the long run, the base Sancho Panzas will always get the better of the sublime Don Quixotes.”

As in John Wilson Croker’s journal, British laughter is here opposed to the French sublime. But the speaker subjects the British laughter to criticism by

_____ 47 For a less flattering association, see Hazlitt’s essay ‘Character of John Bull’ (1817 [vol. 2]: 71): “because he has no enjoyment in society, [he] seeks it, as he says, at his fireside, where he may be stupid as a matter of course, sullen as a matter of right, and as ridiculous as he chuses without being laughed at.”

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___aligning it with the pursuit of material wealth and with the lack of imagination ___displayed by the lowly Sancho Panza. ___ While much more could be said about how this passage relates to typical ___Stendhalian themes, we must be content here with a brief elucidation of the key ___contrast at play in this passage. The speaker is Count Mosca, a shrewd political ___operator in the court of Parma, and lover of the aunt of the young aristocratic ___hero Fabrice. Fabrice has been banned from his native state Milan for his Napo___leonic sympathies (he had run off to join Napoleon after his return from Elba ___and been present at the battle of Waterloo). He has secretly made a visit to his ___home, however, and then stolen a horse to help his escape across the border ___again. Once back in Parma, Mosca lectures him on his imprudence in not killing ___the man whose horse he had stolen. Fabrice in turn recounts the deed of an an___cestor who was bearing a letter which had instructions to kill him, but then, ___remembering “an old Greek story”, opened the letter and killed instead the man ___who was being asked to kill him. (The old Greek story is that of Bellerophon – ___also the name of the boat to which Napoleon surrendered.) Mosca admires the ___panache of that story, but repeats his warnings of everyday dangers: “A person ___who’s a bit stupid (...) very often has the pleasure of triumphing over men of ___imagination” (Stendhal 1997: 181). ___ Napoleon, as often in Stendhal’s work, stands in Mosca’s speech for passion ___and spontaneity.48 The contrast between his imagination and John Bull mirrors ___what Stendhal’s foreword has said of the contrast between the Italians and the ___contemporary French character, “which loves money above all else”. There ___Stendhal saw the difference as geographic: “every time one travels two hundred ___leagues from South to North, there is occasion both for a different setting, and a ___different novel” (Stendhal 1997: 4). But the contrast Stendhal was evoking can ___also be conceived in temporal rather than spatial terms: Napoleon stands for, ___and Fabrice tries to reclaim, qualities that have become debased in post___Waterloo France. As we shall see in the final section, it was common to see the ___Themistocles allusion as in some sense anachronistic. First, however, we must ___turn to look at the aspects of national identity that were involved in interpreta___tions of the Themistocles comparison. ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ 48 Stendhal’s view of Napoleon has been much discussed; see e.g. Reader (1974). In discuss___ing our passage, scholars have focused more on Don Quixote (e.g. Jefferson 1988: 164; Pearson ___1988: 246) than on Themistocles.

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4 Parallel Lives As we have already noted, Napoleon’s ‘Je viens comme Thémistocle’ was a mode of personal identification with antiquity that promoted at the same time the claims of the modern French nation to the status enjoyed by ancient Greece and Rome. This use of antiquity was not of course confined to the French. The British too were keen to seek parallels in antiquity – even if in the aftermath of Waterloo the search proved difficult because of the perceived magnitude of the nation’s recent achievements: thus ten days after the battle a leader in The Times (28 June 1815, p. 3) claimed that “nothing in ancient or modern history equals the effect of the victory of Waterloo”. Turning to antiquity in this way was a way of inviting a distanced future perspective on the present, thereby underlining the decisive historical significance of recent events. A few weeks later, when news of Napoleon’s surrender first arrived, antiquity was scoured in vain by The Courier, the paper which Napoleon and his entourage, according to Maitland (1826: 114), “considered the Ministerial paper, and most likely to contain the intentions of Government respecting them”. It tried to find an ancient example of a man “who, after having possessed sovereign power, sought an asylum in the country that had been the means of depriving him of that power”. But after mentioning the Roman general Coriolanus, who sought refuge with the Volscians, it concluded that he would not do: he had indeed beaten the Volscians, but it was the ungrateful rabble rather than the Volscians who had been responsible for his fall from power (The Courier, 22 July 1815). The initial response in The Courier points to the difficulties of as well as the desire for exemplarity. The difficulties sprang from the degree of discernment that was involved in this sort of engagement with ancient history. It was a matter both of knowing suitable ancient examples and of setting them in wider narrative contexts – because those contexts themselves reflected not just on the immediate modern comparandum, Napoleon, but also by extension on the British: thus Coriolanus was an inappropriate parallel because he did not sufficiently glorify the British achievement in defeating Napoleon. That possible parallels for Napoleon also reflected on the British was confirmed by the response in The Courier when news of the letter arrived. Two days after the discussion of Coriolanus, the paper embarked on a slightly different search in the annals of ancient history. It was now looking for “a man who had possessed sovereign power having thrown himself into the arms of his enemy” – and it found that the person who fitted the bill was none other than Themistocles. As it happened, the paper published the first news of Napoleon’s letter in an article in the very same edition but carrying a later time of day. It

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___was soon mocked by Leigh Hunt for pretending to have thought of Themistocles ___for itself.49 If, as seems plausible, Hunt’s accusation is right, it seems that The ___Courier went out of its way to take away any originality from the defeated Napo___leon. At any rate, no sooner had the paper invoked the parallel than it under___mined it: “no comparison can be instituted between the Saviour of Athens and ___the Tyrant of France.” The parallel act of seeking asylum with an enemy was ___undermined by consideration of their overall careers. This broader narrative in ___turn was used to dismiss Napoleon’s aspirations: it was not likely that “we shall ___imitate the conduct of ARTAXERXES, who made THEMISTOCLES one of his ___greatest favourites, and bestowed three rich cities upon him for his mainte___nance” (The Courier, 24 July 1815). ___ Similar hostility to the comparison with Themistocles was displayed in ___other newspapers following the publication of Napoleon’s plea. In The Times ___(29 July 1815, p. 2), for instance, ‘Probus’ framed a reply directly to Napoleon: ___“Your folly in comparing yourself to THEMISTOCLES is equal to your impu___dence. No man, much less so illustrious a character, ought to be degraded by a ___comparison with such a monster of wickedness as you.” The differences be___tween Napoleon and Themistocles were equally important after the decision to ___reject his appeal had been made. Hazlitt in his Life of Napoleon suggested that ___the letter had not deserved a reply because “Buonaparte had nothing in com___mon with Themistocles” (Hazlitt 1852 [vol. 4]: 189) – though he went on to slight ___the lack of generosity shown by the British. The Tory historian Archibald Alison, ___by contrast, professed in his multi-volume history of the Napoleonic Wars, that ___there “never was a more touching appeal made to the humanity of a hostile na___tion”, before continuing: “Would that the character of Napoleon had enabled ___the British government to act up to the noble feelings ascribed by the poet to ___Xerxes on the occasion referred to by Napoleon.”50 A long Italian quotation in a ___footnote showed that the poet Alison was referring to was Pietro Metastasio, ___whose 1736 libretto Temistocle was set to music by Antonio Caldara and later ___adapted for Johann Christian Bach. ___ More precise objections could be found to the parallel between Napoleon ___and Themistocles. One such objection lay in the circumstances under which the ___ ___ ___ ___49 The Examiner, 30 July 1815, p. 481. For possible early knowledge of the letter, cf. The Times, ___22 July 1815, p. 3: Napoleon went on board “not, as we have learned, till after he had (...) bestowed a great many treacherous praises on the magnanimity of the British nation. Such is ___ what we suppose we may call the termination of this man’s guilty career.” ___50 Alison (1855 [vol. 12]: 285). Similarly Alison (1852–59 [vol. 2]: 365), looking back from the ___perspective of 1821; however, the letter is not overtly mentioned here.

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two men sought hospitality. The British could be exculpated by denigrating Themistocles: “the Persian king (...) rewarded the past treachery of a bad citizen, and purchased the future service of a renegade” (Forsyth 1853 [vol. 1]: 10). But for the most part Themistocles enjoyed a good press. The 1841 poem Reliquiae Napoleonis contrasted the way Themistocles had been exiled by an ungrateful country with Napoleon’s exploitation of his country’s loyalty (Anonymus 1841: 108): Where was the parallel ’twixt him and thee? Themistocles! and what wast thou to him? His country forced him to her foes to flee, Thine periled all – e’en honor, life and limb, For thee and thine, to keep thy fortunes trim.

Particularly striking here is the overtness with which Napoleon’s Plutarchan mode of comparison is undermined. The same objection had been made in a long consideration of the parallel offered by Edmund Boyce in 1816 and subsequently quoted at length in several other works.51 Boyce also noted that Themistocles had shown “much courage in surrendering himself to an arbitrary monarch”, while Napoleon had “no outrage to fear from those whose (...) proudest characteristic it was to spare the fallen foe” – again showing how much debate over the allusion turned on questions of British national identity (here aligned with the Vergilian image of Rome).52 The most common objection to Napoleon’s claiming a likeness to Themistocles lay in what was thought to have happened to Themistocles subsequently. Themistocles’ suicide had played an important role in the eighteenth century in his reception as a patriotic hero: it was the culmination of a tragedy Themistocles, the Lover of his Country by Samuel Madden (1729) and also of Metastasio’s libretto (which also inspired a play The Patriot by Charles Hamilton, written in 1784). Whatever his self-seeking motives earlier in his career, however treacherous his promise to help the Persians, the Athenian was thought to have been redeemed by the manner of his death. Napoleon, by contrast, had failed either to die in battle or to commit suicide afterwards.

_____ 51 Boyce (1816: 371–373). Cf. Kelly (1817 [vol. 2]: 201–202) and Parker (1822: 203–204); see also, with trivial verbal changes but no acknowledgement, Clarke (1816: 354–355). 52 Boyce (1816: 372). Cf. Vergil, Aen. 6.851–853: tu (...) Romane, memento / (...) parcere subiectis et debellare superbos (‘you, Roman, remember to spare the conquered and to defeat the proud’).

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___ Already a subject of much comment in both France and Britain before his ___surrender, the fact that Napoleon survived the battle of Waterloo was still ___more strongly criticised after news of the Themistocles allusion emerged. In a ___withering follow-up to ‘Probus’’ letter to The Times (2 August 1815, p. 2), ‘Vin___dex’ (‘Champion’) remembered that Themistocles, though “deficient in integrity ___and fidelity”, had at least killed himself when the Persian king wanted his help ___in an expedition against Greece: “he comes amongst us like Themistocles! Poor ___Themistocles! (...) Napoleon is no more like Themistocles in his life, than he ___would dare resemble him in his death.” Similar allusions were made in French ___newspapers, for instance in the oldest French paper, the Gazette de France, in ___an article that was reprinted in the Examiner (30 July 1815, p. 483; referring to ___Plutarch, Aemil. 26.7): ___ “He is not Hannibal or Themistocles, nobly preferring death to slavery – but Perseus, the ___ last King of Macedonia, humbly begging his life, and giving the judicious Plutarch occa___ sion to say, ‘He clearly proved that he had other vices still more mean and based, namely, ___ the want of heart and fear of dying, in consequence of which he deprived himself of the ___ commiseration of others, the only thing of which fortune cannot deprive the wretched ___ when they have courage.’” ___ ___This rebuke was particularly pointed because it took in Hannibal, one of the ___great heroes of antiquity with whom Napoleon had often been paired (notably ___in Jacques Louis David’s painting of Napoleon crossing the Alps), and because ___Napoleon was linked with a negative rather than a positive exemplum from Plu___tarch. ___ The analogy between Napoleon and Themistocles did nonetheless find ___some support in Britain. This support was particularly common in radical politi___cal circles, where Napoleon was feted as a liberator from despotism; even if Na___poleon’s own turn to despotism had lost him much favour, he was still a good ___tool to use against the dominant British political classes. The broadside of Na___poleon’s letter with both French and English versions, for instance, was pro___duced by a radical publisher, William Hone; its fine production suggests that it ___was meant to ennoble, not to mock, Napoleon. Another radical publication, the ___Monthly Magazine, found that “Napoleon’s allusion to THEMISTOCLES is ___happy. The analogy is complete, both as to the war and to the relations of the ___parties.”53 There were also radicals who had lost some of their earlier enthusi___ ___ ___ ___53 Monthly Magazine, or British Register, 1 August 1815, p. 72. For this magazine’s Napoleonic ___sympathies, see Semmel (2004: index s.v.).

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asm for Napoleon, but were prepared to accept the comparison provided that negative elements in both characters were acknowledged. Thus Leigh Hunt thought that the magnitude of Napoleon’s reversal of fortune justified use of an ancient exemplum: “The introduction of THEMISTOCLES is very impressive, and on such an occasion completely does away with the common puerility of classical allusion. The proceeding that caused it, stands out visibly and prominently as one of those actions resembling and recalling to mind the fortunes of the great men of antiquity.” He then suggested that the particular example chosen was also apt because Napoleon and Themistocles were both ambitious leaders of obscure origins with a mixture of greatness and pettiness: had Themistocles lived in the present, “he would very likely have been just such another man as BONAPARTE, (...) have won and lost, have conquered and deceived, and finished with a courageous bearing of adversity and a compliment to the PRINCE REGENT.”54 Hunt’s sarcasm was understandable: he had just emerged from two years in prison for libelling the Prince Regent. A quite different strategy was to object to the analogy on the grounds that Napoleon was in fact superior to Themistocles. This strategy was adopted shortly after Napoleon’s death by ‘Un Ancien Secrétaire d’Armée’ in a short tract Les Perses et Thémistocle, les Anglais et Napoléon, which argued that Napoleon had a much better claim to good treatment from the English than Themistocles had from the Persians. This claim was supported by an account of Themistocles’ career and then a brief comparison with Napoleon’s. On every count Themistocles came out worse: he had tricked the Persians while Napoleon was an honest opponent; he became powerful by securing the banishment of the virtuous Aristides while Napoleon rose to power after being recalled from Egypt to save his country; he sought mastery of the seas while Napoleon sought to protect their freedom; no rulers enjoyed his clemency while Napoleon was a magnanimous victor. Once again a discussion of the allusion was an excuse for reflection on national character – in this case the lack of generosity shown by the English. And the response to the pamphlet shows that even after Napoleon’s death the Themistocles allusion was contentious: the pamphlet was suppressed by the Parisian police.55

_____ 54 The Examiner, 30 July 1815, pp. 481–482 (partly cited in Annual Gleanings of Wit and Humour in Prose & Verse 1, 1816, 183). Cf. similarly Boyce (1816: 372–373) on ambition and lowly origins. For the thought that Themistocles would not have imitated Napoleon, see Hare & Hare (1827 [vol. 1]: 289) – a passage copied by Emerson in his jotting book (1960–82 [vol. 3]: 298). 55 Anonymus (1821); cf. Beraud (1829: 464). Suppression: Morning Post, 24 September 1821, p. 2.

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___ The comparison between Napoleon and Themistocles could carry very dif___ferent implications for English identity depending on how the allusion was in___terpreted. Given that little else was known about Admetus other than that he ___had received Themistocles, he could not be integrated into a larger narrative in ___the way that the Persians could – though (as we shall see) the little that was ___known about him still gave Napoleonic sympathisers the chance to rail against ___the British. Taking Napoleon to be alluding to Themistocles’ seeking refuge ___in Persia, by contrast, easily led to comparisons of their military achievements. ___Thus the day after news of the content of the letter broke, The Courier opined ___(25 July 1815): ___ “Like THEMISTOCLES! In the act of throwing himself upon the generosity of his enemy, he ___ has imitated the noble Athenian. But there the comparison ends. THEMISTOCLES had not ___ only been the greatest enemy of the Persians, but he had been victorious over them. What ___ victories did BUONAPARTE ever gain over us. [sic] What THEMISTOCLES did to XERXES we effected against BUONAPARTE. (...) We hardly think that in the features of THEMISTO___ CLES’ character, and in the nature of his exploits, our readers will trace much resem___ blance to the character or the actions of BUONAPARTE – As little similitude exists be___ tween the character of the Persian action and that of the British.”56 ___ ___The problem with the comparison, then, was that Themistocles had defeated the ___Persians but Napoleon had not defeated the British. And what made the com___parison particularly offensive was not what it said about Napoleon and Themis___tocles but what it implied about the nation with whom Napoleon had sought ___refuge. It seemed that Napoleon by likening himself to the Athenian statesman ___was casting the British in the role of the imperialist Persians. ___ Aligning Britain with Persia ran against two particular British modes of ___thought. If any modern nation was to be identified with Persian aggression, it ___was France: comparisons with Persia had been drawn in a polemic by Words___worth praising the resistance of the Spanish patriots and in discussions of Na___poleon’s Russian expedition, which was inevitably read against Darius’ failed ___invasion of Scythia.57 The British, by contrast, had played against Napoleon the ___part Greece had played against Persia. They saw themselves as defenders of ___freedom, “the world’s Thermopylae” (Haygarth 1814: 114). In the aftermath of ___Waterloo, moreover, British identification with Athens in particular became a ___ ___ ___ ___56 Partly cited (without acknowledgement) in Gentleman’s Magazine 85 (July 1815), p. 76 and Anonymus (1816: 86–87). Englund (2004: 447) finds the use of Themistocles inapt for the same ___ reason. ___57 Spain: Wordsworth (1974 [vol. 1]: 229–230). Russia: e.g. Morning Chronicle, 27 July 1812; cf. ___Wes (1992: 126) for Russian responses.

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recurrent element in narratives of visits to the battlefield of Waterloo (where Marathon was a point of comparison) and in debates on plans to commemorate the victory with monuments which might rival the Stoa Poikile at Athens (which included a painting of Marathon) or the Parthenon (which was seen as a celebration of the Athenian victory over Persia).58 We have seen, then, that Napoleon’s allusion to Themistocles prompted much historical comparison, with a wide variety of viewpoints adopted depending on national and political sympathies. It is not that comparisons between the two figures were merely a means of reflecting on national identity: some writers were concerned, in proper Plutarchan mode, with the moral character of the men themselves. But while Plutarch’s comparisons involve reflection on Greek and Roman identity, debates on the Themistocles allusion were triangulated: they related to the British as well as the Greeks and French. Napoleon himself offered a reflection of sorts on these debates in a conversation on St. Helena the following year – while also perhaps making a wry admission of the self-seeking nature of his own invocation of Themistocles: “the English parliament had done, not what was just, but what was deemed to be expedient; it had imitated Themistocles, without hearing Aristides” (Las Cases 1823 [vol. 3]: 2). As our final section will show, concerns with British identity became still more pronounced when the debate turned to consider what was implied by Napoleon’s claim to a seat on the ‘hearth’ of the British people.

5 Hospitality and temporality When Napoleon threw himself on the generosity of the Prince Regent, he was paying “the highest compliment it was possible for man to do”, as he explained to Maitland when he was being moved from Bellerophon to the Northumberland, the ship that brought him to St. Helena (Maitland 1826: 187–188). It was, moreover, a compliment to Britain rather than to the Prince personally: Napoleon was reported as saying to Maitland that he would not have given himself up to any of the allied powers, since he would have been subject “to the caprice and will of an individual”, while “in submitting to the English I place myself at the mercy of a nation” (The News, 30 July 1815). Napoleon was appealing at the same time to a British stereotype of generosity to foreign visitors, many of whom came to enjoy the comparative freedom of expression found in Britain; he had

_____ 58 For details see Rood (2007).

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___himself written in 1789 a short story New Corsica in which a Corsican exiled on a ___small Mediterranean island speculates that a new arrival driven to shore by a ___storm may be “one of those virtuous Englishmen who still protect our exiled ___citizens” (see Frayling 1972: 68); he was doubtless thinking in particular of ___Pasquale Paoli. He would later lament on St. Helena to the surgeon Barry ___E. O’Meara that he had “a mistaken notion of your national character”: “I had ___formed a romantic idea of the English” (O’Meara 1822 [vol. 1]: 285). ___ Napoleon’s compliment to the British was complicated by his introduction of ___an ancient frame of reference. Maitland (1826: 188) wrote that Napoleon pro___tested after the decision to send him to St. Helena that he “wanted nothing of ___them but hospitality, or, as the ancients would express it, ‘air and water’”. Napo___leon was there casting hospitality as a modest request, but framing that request ___in terms of the standards of antiquity. If Maitland has reported him correctly, he ___was perhaps thinking of Roman law, where “air, flowing water, and the sea and ___its shores” are defined as “common to all by a natural right”59 – an allusion that ___gave an edge to his request, because the British had flagrantly breached the free___dom of the seas by blockading France during the recent war. For the British, ___however, Napoleon’s “nothing (...) but hospitality” was far from straightforward: ___the Quarterly Review protested that “he was not ashamed to describe himself as a ___voluntary exile, and with a swaggering air endeavour to bully us into what he ___called hospitality” (Quarterly Review 14, October 1815, p. 83). This protest arose ___from the realisation that Napoleon’s letter cast the response of the modern British ___nation against the idealised standards of antiquity. ___ French writers would later seize on Napoleon’s letter to complain that the ___British response revealed the inferior manners of modern times. Antoine ___Beraud, a former captain in the Imperial Guard, quoted the letter in his Histoire ___de Napoleon (published in Brussels in 1829) and then summarised Themistocles’ ___reception both at Admetus’ court and in Persia: “greater and more unfortunate ___than Themistocles, Napoleon found no Xerxes. The narrow and low politics of ___our days could understand nothing of these generous examples. The noble faith ___of the emperor was not of this century” (Beraud 1829: 464–465). Napoleon is ___portrayed as an anachronism, a hero who belongs to an earlier age and yet sur___passes one of the great heroes of antiquity. ___ There was widespread concern in Britain too about what the reception of ___Napoleon’s appeal revealed about the spirit of the times. The idea of a change of ___mores is implied by a John Bull print (attributed to C. Williams) published in ___ ___ ___59 Justinian, Inst. 2.1.1: et quidem naturali iure communia sunt omnium haec: aer et aqua ___profluens et mare et per hoc litora maris.

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October 1815. Boxiana or the Fancy (a term for boxing) shows a boxing match in which the Prince Regent has floored Napoleon and prepares to kick him while he lies on the ground. A number of the spectators comment on the Prince’s (lack of) sportsmanship. One of Napoleon’s supporters leans down to him, crying: “Foul! Foul! Why by all the rules of honor even Blackey cries shame” (alluding to a black man who holds a bell to the side of the fight). To the rear a man holds his hands up in alarm, proclaiming lines from a recent poem critical of the Prince (“Is this the new go? – kick a man, when he’s down?”). Three men stand on the left hand side. One of them defends the Prince, saying “He’s only kicking to try if there’s any honor there, Blackey”. Another comments: “Themistocles will be well treated if we can find any honor in him.” A third, holding a sheet with the words “Rules of the new Fancy. Kicking allowed”, adds: “Or we must send Themistocles to acquire honor at Botany”.60 The cartoon humorously equates Napoleon and Themistocles: by removing the comparative mode of Napoleon’s letter, it exposes its artificiality. But it also dramatises a shift in manners: the Prince Regent is fighting according to the rules of “the new fancy” rather than the old model of sportsmanship – but a question is also raised over whether Napoleon merits treatment according to the old rules. At the same time, there may be an attempt to explain that shift of manners. By showing the British treat honour as something material, as a substance that can be found, the cartoon may also be commenting on the British materialism that displaces the aristocratic code of honour. The temporality thought to be implicit in Napoleon’s appeal to hospitality was made particularly clear in comparisons with the age of chivalry. The Monthly Magazine – one of the journals to accept Napoleon’s claim to be compared with Themistocles – purported to “entertain little doubt” that “English hospitality will at least equal Persian, and that the SON of George the Third will rival ARTAXERXES”. A historical precedent was then added: “It cannot be forgotten how a Prince of Wales once glorified himself by waiting upon his royal prisoners at a feast; and it may be presumed that a Guelph will not prove himself unequal in the noble virtues to a Plantagenet” (Monthly Magazine, or British Register, 1 August 1815, p. 72). The reference was to the famous story, told for instance in Froissart’s Chronicles (1803–10 [vol. 1]: 313–314), that Edward the Black Prince after his victory at the Battle of Poitiers in 1356 served the captive

_____ 60 Ashton (1884 [vol. 2]: 257–258). Cf. Semmel (2004: 200–202), also George (1959 [vol. 2]: 166), who does not allow for the print’s different voices when she writes that “the Regent is blamed for allowing the exile, and so disregarding the Themistocles letter”, adding that “this is far from the general tenor of St Helena prints”.

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___French king in person. The notion that the Prince Regent might show a similar ___hospitality to Napoleon was deliberately perverse. The magazine, which was ___generally critical of the Prince Regent, was making political capital out of Napo___leon’s appeal to a mode of hospitality that it knew to be outworn.61 ___ A more explicit statement of this idea of temporality can be found in an___other London paper, The News, early in August 1815. It is worth quoting at some ___length (The News, 6 August 1815, p. 1): ___ “We live not in an age of philosophy. The days of chivalry are gone by. Barbarism itself ___ had its magnanimity; but we are dropped on an age of business, in which the meanness of ___ commerce has crept upon the heart, and absorbed all the nobleness of the national mind. ___ From the first moment that the person of BONAPARTE has been in our power, the general talk has been nothing but how much he was worth as a shew! (...) When this extraordinary ___ man supposed that the first personage of this State (...) possessed any trait of character ___ which could give him a resemblance to the heroes of that age to which the letter to his ___ Royal Highness recalls our attention: when it was conceived that the arena of our Court, or ___ Administration, offered to his circumstances, the bold and generous characters of the ___ days of THEMISTOCLES, – he woefully and fatally deceived himself. We have no Molossian Prince (...) we have no ARTAXERXES (...) It were more on a level with our state poli___ tics, rather to seize the opportunity of (...) farming out the keep of this THEMISTOCLES of ___ the age, by a contract with the crumbs of the gaoler’s table.” ___ ___Praise of “the noble enemies of the great ATHENIAN” highlights by contrast the ___debased qualities of the present. The writer proceeds to offer an explanation ___(The News, 6 August 1815, p. 1): ___ “The more our recollection is recalled to the wars of other times, the more are we destined ___ to lament an increasing departure from the true moral grandeur of the warriors of old (...). ___ Those were the days in which Princes and Governors were warriors also. There is some___ thing in danger which sublimes sentiment, and elevates principles of hostility. The feeling ___ of enmity terminates with the battle.” ___ ___The shift presented here between an idealised age of face-to-face combat and ___“the mercantile principle of making war by deputy” evokes one of the elements ___now seen by historians as involved in the formation of the modern state – the ___subordination of personal interactions to the impersonal forces of commerce.62 ___ ___ ___ ___61 Referring to the Prince Regent as a ‘Guelph’ was also an affectation that pointed the same ___way; cf. Las Cases (1823 [vol. 1]: 100 n.), who notes that an ancestor of Napoleon suffered at the hands of the Guelphs. The British royal family was normally referred to as the House of Hano___ ver at this time. ___62 Elizabeth Barrett Browning caught the same process in her poem ‘Crowned and Buried’, ___written after Napoleon’s remains were moved from St. Helena to Paris, where she wrote that

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Seen in this light, rather than boosting a sense of national identity, classical antiquity is viewed with nostalgia, as antithetical to the levelling effects of modernity. At the time of Waterloo, these historical developments would have been associated with the stadial theories of human development articulated in the Scottish Enlightenment. John Millar, for instance, at the start of his Historical View of the English Government drew on Tacitus’ account of Germany to portray “hospitality and generosity” as typical of pastoral societies, while later he offered a long analysis of the influence of commerce on manners, arguing that it promotes the idea of justice at the expense of generosity (Millar 1803 [vol. 1]: 55, 1803 [vol. 4]: 235–265). The sense of anachronism in Napoleon’s allusion was felt particularly strongly when he was taken to be referring to Themistocles’ supplication of the Molossian king Admetus. Living as they did in what was regarded as a remote region on the outskirts of the Greek world, the “barbarous Molossians” – as the Scottish eighteenth-century historian John Gillies (1790 [vol. 2]: 200) called them – were naturally regarded as much more ‘primitive’ than the Persians, and the custom Themistocles adopted of holding a child at the king’s hearth was itself seen as one sign of their primitivism. The nineteenth-century traveller William Leake, for instance, spoke of the “patriarchal simplicity” revealed by the Themistocles episode (Leake 1835 [vol. 4]: 178), while another eighteenthcentury historian, William Mitford, suggested that the incident “affords a curious specimen of the relics then still subsisting in that remote province of the ancient hospitality connected with religion, which, with some difference of ceremony perhaps in different places, appears to have prevailed in the days of Homer throughout Greece”.63 The Homeric association would have been encouraged further by the fact that the Molossian royal family later in antiquity claimed to be descended from Achilles. On Mitford’s reading, supplicating at a hearth could be thought anachronistic already in the age of Themistocles. Mitford’s account of the Molossians follows a common anthropological schema according to which certain modes of behaviour that were once widespread survive only in remote areas. This anthropological schema was typically reinforced by the use of comparative data gleaned from contemporary travellers. In the case of Themistocles’ supplication, this support would come with the publication of Chateaubriand’s Memoirs. In this work, besides offering reflec-

_____ Napoleon “trusting to his noblest foes / When earth was all too grey for chivalry, / Died of their mercies ’mid the desert sea” (1871: 319). 63 Mitford (1829 [vol. 2]: 223–224). Cf. Thirlwall (1835–44 [vol. 2]: 385): “practising the hospitality of the heroic ages” – a volume with Themistocles’ supplication as frontispiece.

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___tions on his own relationship with Napoleon (culminating in the scathing ___treatment of the Themistocles allusion quoted above), Chateaubriand looked ___back to adventures earlier in his life, including a voyage to America soon after ___the French Revolution. In this section he ponders on his reception at a settle___ment of American Indians that he encountered suddenly on a journey to the ___Niagara Falls: “Hospitality is the last virtue which the savages have retained in ___the midst of European civilization; it is well known what that hospitality was ___like in the past; the hearth was as sacred as the altar.” Describing how a ___stranger would enter the hut of an Indian chief under a child’s protection, he ___concludes that “these customs give the impression of having been borrowed ___from the Greeks: Themistocles, calling on Admetus, kisses the penates and his ___host’s young son (...) while Ulysses, visiting Alcinous, says to Arete: ‘Noble ___Arete, daughter of Rhexenor, after suffering cruel misfortunes, I throw myself at ___your feet.’ And having said this, the hero goes and sits among the ashes of the ___hearth (...)” (Chateaubriand 2014: 142). Chateaubriand’s comparison with Ho___meric and American Indian customs offers a further reason why Napoleon’s ci___tation of Themistocles should have been felt as outmoded. ___ The idea that Admetus’ kindly reception of Themistocles reflects an old ___form of virtue was used in protests against the British treatment of Napoleon. ___A French patriotic tract Cri du peuple published in 1831 recalled Admetus’ ac___tions and then asked whether “the English, of our days” could “pride them___selves on having followed such good examples” rather than being “ashamed of ___their conduct with regard to a second Themistocles”: “Since Napoleon can and ___should be compared with the greatest men of antiquity (...) this people (...) is ___covered in a shameful barbarism for which impartial posterity will eternally re___proach them” (Granier 1831: 22). The accusation of ‘barbarism’ was particularly ___pointed when the English were being contrasted with an ancient king himself ___regarded as barbarous.64 ___ A more elaborate expression of this idea had been advanced a few years ___earlier, when the Whig Thomas Coke, an admirer of Napoleon, planned to ___commission a statue by Francis Leggatt Chantrey to fill a vacant space in a gal___lery at his country seat, Holkham Hall. Another leading Whig, Henry Bathurst, ___Bishop of Norwich, proposed a statue of Napoleon on St. Helena, and proceeded ___to compose a Latin inscription – though in the event the statue was not made. ___ ___ ___ 64 Las Cases (1823 [vol. 1]: 30) enigmatically reports that it was agreed in Napoleon’s entou___ rage before his surrender that the English would “find themselves bound by the ties of hospi___tality, which are held sacred amongst the most barbarous nations”. Cf. Bell (2001: 84) for eight___eenth-century antecedents for the charge of British barbarism.

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The inscription started with Admetus’ reception of Themistocles, then turned to more recent events: Britanniarum Rex Napoleonem, Virum, temporum nostrorum facile principem, Incertos belli eventus expertum, Et in Angliam, quasi ad aram confugientem, (Prisca gentis fide heu! nequicquam confisum!) In remotam atque admodum horridam relegavit insulam. “The King of England banished Napoleon, by far the greatest hero of our times, to a remote and desolate island, when, after having experienced all the uncertain events of war, he had taken refuge in England, as it were at an altar (having in vain, alas! confided in the ancient integrity of our nation).”

Bathurst set out the obvious moral in a letter: “I mean only to assert (...) that a petty Prince, from motives of generosity, refused to betray a fallen hero, with a view to gratify two powerful neighbouring states; and that a great monarch pursued a line of conduct directly the reverse.”65 But by means of the Vergilian phrase “prisca (...) fide” (‘ancient integrity’) Bathurst was also suggesting – and lamenting – that the code Napoleon had been relying on no longer applied in modern Britain.

6 Conclusion This chapter has explored a number of ways in which Napoleon’s allusion to Themistocles was thought to reflect directly on French and British national identity in the course of the nineteenth century. As we have seen, contrasts were drawn between the French feeling for the sublime and the down-to-earth pragmatism of the British. Controversy over the allusion itself, interpreted as a reference either to Themistocles’ refuge at the court of the Persian king or to his earlier supplication of the Molossian king Admetus, raised more questions about national identity. Whatever the view taken of the allusion itself, the terms of Napoleon’s appeal provided an ancient frame through which the national character revealed by the British response could be assessed, and implicit in this

_____ 65 Thistlethwayte (1853: 335–337), with Bathurst’s own translation. His letter does not refer overtly to Napoleon’s letter, explaining instead that “a passage in Thucydides occurred to me”; his reticence may be a joke.

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___assessment was an important historical dimension that arose directly from the ___Enlightenment concern with the impact of commerce on manners. ___ Throughout this chapter we have seen a tension between distance and im___mediacy in the engagement of antiquity and modernity. Napoleon’s ‘je viens ___comme Thémistocle’ and his language of the hearth were attempts to close the ___gap between the two, motivated by a desire to gloss over the fine details involved ___in his appeal. John Wilson Croker’s amusement at ‘meeting’ Themistocles in ___the letter, and references in prints to Napoleon as “Themistocles” or “Mr Themis___tocles”, were attempts to force the gap open again. And while those mocking re___sponses played on a simple antithesis of now and then, historicist thinking about ___the ideas of generosity and hospitality involved a fine-grained awareness of his___torical texture. ___ The two registers of distance and immediacy can be found united in an arti___cle by Leigh Hunt in the Examiner soon after Napoleon’s fate was decided. Hunt ___wrote that he “never thought that any good would come of his compliments to ___the PRINCE REGENT” – which merely reflected the fact that Napoleon “had ___been reading his PLUTARCH too lately, and fancying that the ADMETUSES and ___ARTAXERXES were still alive”. He went on to expose and berate the hypocrisy ___of the modern cult of antiquity: “The talker about THEMISTOCLES is a mere ___Jonathan Wild” in the eyes of a writer in The Times – yet that same writer was ___prepared to express admiration for Alexander and Caesar, even though “BONA___PARTE is not a jot worse than many of the conquerors of antiquity whom the ___modern world agrees to admire”. He concluded with the observation that Napo___leon’s mention of Themistocles “contains a world of explanation as to his char___acter”: “the real origin of the evil” lay in “certain habits of custom and educa___tion” – so “the world, if it wishes to get rid of such men, (...) must get rid of ___Cæsar’s Commentaries, Xenophon’s Expedition, Plutarch’s Lives, and other such ___books taught in schools” (The Examiner, 6 August 1815, p. 499). ___ In dismissing Napoleon’s Plutarchan self-fashioning as a mere fancy, Hunt ___suggests that it involves a false collapsing of historical distance. His comment ___offers, then, striking support for Koselleck’s insight into the increasing focus on ___historical change at the time of the French Revolution. But Hunt suggests, too, ___that for Napoleon, and for many others, the sense of historical difference could ___easily be overridden by the identification fostered through a classical education. ___Their openness to the Plutarchan mode of exemplarity still allowed for the pos___sibility that the history book might repeat itself. ___ The exemplary mode continued even after the British rejection of the Them___istocles letter: Las Cases wrote in Le mémorial that the anchor cast from the ___Northumberland as it dropped Napoleon at St. Helena was “the first link in the ___chain that was to bind the modern Prometheus to his rock” (Las Cases 1823

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[vol. 1]: 241). In the long term, indeed, it was the very futility of Napoleon’s appeal to Themistocles’ memory that made possible his own elevation into an effective national symbol after the humiliation of Waterloo. As Chateaubriand (2014: 295) saw, the British “missed their final triumph”: “instead of humiliating their supplicant by admitting him to their fortresses or their banquets, they rendered more brilliant for posterity the crown which they imagined they had taken from him. He grew greater in his captivity.”

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___Bordes, Philippe (2005): Jacques-Louis David. Empire to Exile, New Haven & London: Yale University Press. ___ Boyce, Edmund (1816): The Second Usurpation of Buonaparte; or A History of the Causes, Pro___ gress and Termination of the Revolution in France in 1815 (2 vols.), London: S. Leigh. ___Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1871): The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, New York: ___ James Miller. ___Brunyee, Paul F. (2009): Napoleon’s Britons and the St Helena Decision, Stroud: History. ___Caracciolo, Maria Teresa (2002): Da Lille a Roma: Jean-Baptiste Wicar e l’Italia. Disegni dell’Accademia di Belle Arti di Perugia e del Museo di Lille, Milano: Electa. ___ Caracciolo, Maria Teresa (2003–05): Museo dell’Accademia di belle arti di Perugia. Disegni di ___ Jean-Baptiste Wicar (2 vols.), Perugia: Electa. ___Chateaubriand, François-René de (1833): Mémoire sur la captivité de Madame la duchesse de ___ Berry, Paris: Le Normant. ___Chateaubriand, François-René de (2014): Memoirs from Beyond the Tomb. Translated by Robert Baldick, London: Penguin. ___ Clare, Israel S. (1893): The Universal History of the World. Nineteenth Century, Chicago: Werner. ___ Clarke, Hewson (1816): The History of the War. From the Commencement of the French Revolu___ tion (3 vols.), London: T. Kinnersley. ___Colley, Linda (2009): Britons. Forging the Nation, 1707–1837, New Haven & London: Yale University Press (original edition 1992). ___ ___Cordingly, David (2004): Billy Ruffian. The Bellerophon and the Downfall of Napoleon, London: Bloomsbury. ___ Croker, John Wilson (1884): The Croker Papers. The Correspondence and Diaries of the Late ___ Right Honourable John Wilson Croker (3 vols.), London: John Murray. ___Descotes, Maurice (1967): La légende de Napoléon et les écrivains français du XIXe siècle, Paris: ___ Minard. ___Doin, Alexandre (1826): Napoléon et l’Europe, Paris: Baudouin Frères. ___Dwyer, Phillip G. (2013): Citizen Emperor. Napoleon in Power, 1799–1815, London: Bloomsbury. Emerson, Ralph Waldo (1960–82): Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks. Edited by William ___ H. Gilman (16 vols.), Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. ___Englund, Steven (2004): Napoleon. A Political Life, Cambridge, Mass. ___Falk, Avner (2007): Napoleon Against Himself. A Psychobiography, Charlottesville, Virginia: Pitchstone. ___ ___Frayling, Christopher (1972): Napoleon Wrote Fiction, Salisbury: Compton Press. ___Froissart, Jean (1803–10): Sir John Froissart’s Chronicles of England, France and the Adjoining Countries (5 vols.). Translated by Thomas Johnes, London: Hafod Press. ___George, M. Dorothy (1959): English Political Caricature. A Study of Opinion and Propaganda ___ (2 vols.), Oxford: Clarendon Press. ___Gibson, Robert (2004): Best of Enemies. Anglo-French Relations since the Norman Conquest, Exeter: Impress (original edition 1995). ___ ___Gifford, C.H. (1817): History of the Wars Occasioned by the French Revolution, London: W. Lewis. ___ Gillies, John (1790): The History of Ancient Greece: Its Colonies and Conquests. From the Earli___ est Accounts till the Division of the Macedonian Empire in the East (5 vols.), Basel: ___ J.J. Tourneisen & J.L. Legrand (originally published in 1786). ___Gouge, Thomas (1751): The Works of the Late Reverend and Pious Mr. Thomas Gouge (6 vols.), Glasgow: W. Duncan. ___

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Gourgaud, Gaspard (1904): Talks of Napoleon at St. Helena. Translated by Elizabeth W. Latimer, London: Grant Richard. Granier, F. (1831): Cri du peuple, ou Esprit du patriotisme français, et idée que la nation doit avoir d’un roi vraiment patriote, Lyons: Les marchands de nouveautés. Grieder, Josephine (1985): Anglomania in France, 1740–1789. Fact, Fiction, and Political Discourse, Geneva: Droz. Grunchec, Philippe (1984): The Grand Prix de Rome. Paintings from the École des Beaux-Arts, 1797–1863, Washington, D.C.: International Exhibitions Foundation. Grunchec, Philippe (1986–89): Les concours des Prix de Rome de 1797 à 1863 (2 vols.), Paris: École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts. Guillon, Edouard (ed.) (1912): Napoléon, Paris: Plon-Nourrit. Hare, Augustus W. & Julius C. Hare (1827): Guesses at Truth (2 vols.), London: John Taylor. Haygarth, William (1814): Greece. A Poem, London: G. & W. Nicol. Hazareesingh, Sudhir (2004): The Legend of Napoleon, London: Granta. Hazlitt, William (1817): The Round Table (2 vols.), Edinburgh: Archibald Constable. Hazlitt, William (1852): The Life of Napoleon Buonaparte (4 vols.), London: Illustrated London Library (originally published in 1830). Herold, J. Christopher (2002): The Age of Napoleon, London: Phoenix (originally published in 1964). Highet, Gilbert (1949): The Classical Tradition. Greek and Roman Influences on Western Literature, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hobhouse, John Cam (1909–11): Recollections of a Long Life (6 vols.), London: John Murray. Hodgson, John E. & Fred A. Eaton (1905): The Royal Academy and its Members 1768–1830, London: John Murray. Huet, Valérie (1999): Napoleon I. A new Augustus? In: Catharine Edwards (ed.), Roman Presences. Receptions of Rome in European Culture, 1789–1945, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 53–69. Hume, David (1859): The Student’s Hume. A History of England, abridged, and continued down to 1858, London: John Murray. Hunt, Tamara (2003): Defining John Bull. Political Caricature and National Identity in Late Georgian England, Aldershot: Ashgate. Hutton, James (1952): Review of Gilbert Highet, The Classical Tradition (1949). In: American Journal of Philology 73, 79–87. Jefferson, Ann (1988): Reading Realism in Stendhal, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kelly, Christopher (1817): History of the French Revolution and of the Wars Produced by that Memorable Event (2 vols.), London: Thomas Kelly. Koselleck, Reinhart (2004): Futures Past. On the Semantics of Historical Time. Translated by Keith Tribe, New York: Columbia University Press (German original: Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten, Frankfurt am Main 1979: Suhrkamp). Las Cases, Emmanuel-Auguste-Dieudonné de (1823): Mémorial de Sainte Helene. Journal of the Private Life and Conversations of the Emperor Napoleon at Saint Helena (4 vols.), London: Henry Colburn. Leake, William M. (1835): Travels in Northern Greece (4 vols.), London: J. Rodwell. Maitland, Frederick L. (1826): Narrative of the Surrender of Buonaparte and of his Residence on board H.M.S. Bellerophon, London: H. Colburn. Manzini, Francesco (2004): Stendhal’s Parallel Lives, Bern & Oxford: Lang. Marchand, Leslie A. (1973–94): Byron’s Letters and Journals (13 vols.), London: John Murray.

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___Massas, Charles de (1827): Les cent-jours et Sainte-Hélène, Paris: Ambroise Dupont. ___McEwen, William (1767): A Select Set of Essays, Doctrinal and Practical, upon a Variety of the Most Important and Interesting Subjects in Divinity (2 vols.), Edinburgh: John Gray and ___ Gavin Alston. ___Millar, John (1803): An Historical View of the English Government. From the Settlement of the ___ Saxons in Britain to the Revolution in 1688 (4 vols.), London: J. Mawman. ___Mitford, William (1829): The History of Greece (8 vols.), London: T. Cadell (originally published 1784–1818). ___ Napoleon (1967–68): Œuvres littéraires et écrits militaires. Edited by Jean Tulard (3 vols.), Pa___ ris: Société encyclopédique française. ___Nicolet, Claude (2009): Caesar and the two Napoleons. In: Miriam T. Griffin (ed.), A Companion ___ to Julius Caesar, Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 410–417. ___Nicolson, Harold (1946): The Congress of Vienna. A Study in Allied Unity 1812–1822, London: Constable. ___ O’Keeffe, Paul (2014): Waterloo. The Aftermath, London: Bodley Head. ___ O’Meara, Barry E. (1822): Napoleon in Exile; or, A Voice from St. Helena. The Opinions and Re___ flections of Napoleon on the Most Important Events of his Life and Government, in his own ___ Words (2 vols.), London: Simpkin & Marshall. ___Pagé, Sylvain (2013): Le mythe napoléonien. De Las Cases à Victor Hugo, Paris: CNRS. ___Parker, John (1822): A Concise Account of the Glorious Battle of Waterloo and Surrender of Paris, Berwick: W. Lochhead. ___ ___Pearson, Roger A. G. (1988): Stendhal’s Violin. A Novelist and his Reader, Oxford: Clarendon Press. ___Petiteau, Natalie (1999): Napoléon, de la mythologie à l’histoire, Paris: Éditions du Seuil. ___Pope, Willard B. (ed.) (1972): Invisible Friends. The Correspondence of Elizabeth Barrett Barrett ___ and Benjamin Robert Haydon, 1842–1845, Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press. ___Reader, Keith (1974): Stendhal and Napoleon, DPhil thesis Oxford. ___Roberts, Andrew (2014): Napoleon. A Life, New York: Viking Penguin. Rollin, Charles (1834–35): Histoire ancienne (15 vols.), Paris: Philippe (originally published in ___ 1730–38). ___Rood, Timothy C. B. (2007): From Marathon to Waterloo. Byron, battle monuments, and the ___ Persian Wars. In: Emma Bridges, Edith Hall & Peter J. Rhodes (eds.), Cultural Responses to the Persian Wars, Oxford, 267–297. ___ ___Rousseau, Jean-Jacques (1993): Julie ou La nouvelle Héloïse, Paris: Gallimard (originally published in 1761). ___ Ruzicka, Joseph (1988): Fuseli, Napoleon, and “Themistocles at the Court of Admetus”. In: ___ Master Drawings 26, 253–258. ___Ségur, Louis-Philippe de (1823): Abrégé de l’histoire universelle ancienne et moderne à l’usage ___ de la jeunesse, Paris: Alexis Eymery. ___Semmel, Stuart (2004): Napoleon and the British, New Haven: Yale University Press. ___Simpson, James (1816): A Visit to Flanders in July, 1815, being chiefly an Account of the Field of Waterloo, Edinburgh: W. Blackwood. ___ Simpson, James (1853): Paris after Waterloo, Edinburgh: W. Blackwood. ___Stendhal (1997): The Charterhouse of Parma. Translated by Margaret Mauldon, with notes by ___ Roger Pearson, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ___Sterne, Laurence (1986): A Sentimental Journey, Harmondsworth: Penguin (originally published in 1768). ___

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Taylor, Jeremy (1703): Antiquitates Christianæ: or, The History of the Life and Death of the Holy Jesus (2 vols.), London: John Meredith (originally published in 1675). Thirlwall, Connop (1835–1844): The History of Greece (8 vols.), London: Longman, Brown, Green & Longmans. Thistlethwayte, Tryphena (1853): Memoirs and Correspondence of Dr Henry Bathurst, London: Richard Bentley. Thompson, James M. (1952): Napoleon Bonaparte. His Rise and Fall, Oxford: Blackwell. Turpin, François-Henri (1775–90): La France illustre, ou le Plutarque Français (5 vols.), Paris: Lacombe. Tyder, James (1816): Bonaparte à Sainte-Hélène, Paris: Pierre Blanchard. Unwin, Brian (2013): Terrible Exile. The Last Days of Napoleon on St Helena, London: I.B. Tauris (originally published in 2010). Weinglass, David H. (ed.) (1982): The Collected English Letters of Henry Fuseli, Millwood, New York: Kraus International. Wes, Marinus A. (1992): Classics in Russia 1700–1855. Between Two Bronze Horsemen, Leiden: Brill. Wordsworth, William (1974): The Prose Works of William Wordsworth. Edited by Warwick J.B. Owen & Jane W. Smyser (3 vols.), Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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___Illustrations ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Figure 1: Napoleon, Letter to the Prince Regent ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Figure 2: Napoleon, Letter to the Prince Regent (draft) ___ ___ ___ ___

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Figure 3: François Dubois, Thémistocle se réfugie chez Admète, roi des Molosses (1819)

Figure 4: Henry Fuseli, Themistocles at the Court of Admetus (1815)

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___Edmund Richardson ___ ___ ___ ___Edmund Richardson ___The Emperor’s Caesar: Napoleon III, Karl Marx and the History of Julius Caesar ___Abstract: In 1865, Napoleon III, Emperor of the French, published his History of Julius Caesar. ___The book was a sweeping appropriation of the legacy of Caesar, who was conscripted in Napo___leon III’s battle to rebuild the glory of France. Napoleon’s Caesar attracted notice not so much as a narrative of the ancient past, but as a heavily symbolic statement of national and imperial ___ intent. It was designed to validate – to audiences around the world – Napoleon’s personal ___power, his imperial system, and his ambitions for France. Reactions to it were filtered through ___discourses of nationalism, from America to Germany. For Walter Bagehot (1889 [vol. 2]: 440), ___“Julius Caesar was the first who tried on an imperial scale the characteristic principles of the ___French Empire as the first Napoleon revived them, as the third Napoleon has consolidated ___them.” This chapter explores the grand ambitions of this unique history and its reception across the world – particularly in Karl Marx’s Der achtzehnte Brumaire des Louis Bonaparte. ___The legacy of Caesar became an intensely contested battleground, following the publication of ___Napoleon’s work – but the History of Julius Caesar ultimately became a marker of the limita___tions, rather than the extent, of the Emperor’s power. ___ ___ ___Early in 1865, a strange and remarkable book was being talked about across the ___world. The first volume of the History of Julius Caesar, written ostensibly by Na___poleon III, Emperor of the French,1 began to attract the attention of editors, ___scholars, politicians and revolutionaries, from Paris to Hawaii. Few works of ___ancient history have ever provoked such an outburst of fascination: Caesar was ___debated across a dozen nations, in five-column notices and impassioned pam___phlets.2 Napoleon’s work compelled, not just as a narrative of antiquity, but as a ___heavily symbolic statement of national and imperial intent. As Walter Bagehot ___(1889 [vol. 2]: 440) put it: “Julius Caesar was the first who tried on an imperial ___ ___ ___ 1 Napoleon III (1865, transl. Wright). The English-language edition of the work will be the one ___most frequently used here, since this article focuses principally on its reception in Britain and ___the United States. While fascinating, the question of the authorship of the History of Julius Cae___sar is not my key focus. Speculation, in some quarters, was certainly considerable, but there is ___little hard evidence. See The Pall Mall Gazette (11 March 1865, p. 3): “The Paris papers have not ___yet offered any serious criticism on the Emperor’s Life of Caesar. They have been content with paragraphs about the ‘latitude’ accorded to them; while rumour has been busily engaged tack___ ing the names of Renan and others to the august author’s literary labours.” ___2 Cf. Anonymus (1871), Marx (1898), Rogeard (1865a), and The Standard (London, 6 March ___1865, p. 3).

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scale the characteristic principles of the French Empire as the first Napoleon revived them, as the third Napoleon has consolidated them.” The ancient world and nineteenth-century nationalisms collide kaleidoscopically in the History of Julius Caesar – both in its ambitions, and in its receptions: from America using Caesar to come to terms with the assassination of Lincoln, to Marx concluding that “the social revolution of the nineteenth century cannot draw its poetry from the past but only from the future” (Marx 1898: 18), this work was read through webs of local discourses on nation, power and identity. In March 1865, the Emperor’s Caesar was quite simply a sensation (Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, London, 12 March 1865, p. 8): “The book [the first volume of the History of Julius Caesar] which has been so long and so eagerly looked for throughout Europe is at length before the world, and lies upon critics’ tables in every city where there is an organ of public opinion, or a vehicle for the diffusion of learning. Time after time has this work been announced – reports of its progress have been eagerly caught up. We have heard of the august author’s secretaries at work in various notable libraries. His aides-de-camp have studied Caesar’s battle grounds, and his learned ambassadors have laboriously examined Roman remains. Neither time nor money has been spared. Imperial Caesar has been treated in an imperial manner. (...) It is not too much to say that at this moment the volume lies on the table of every thoughtful man in Europe. The emperor has, in a day, brought his mind in direct contact with all the active intelligence of his age.”

As the Cleveland Morning Leader pointed out, “(f)or months – we might say for years – this work has been talked about, vaunted and extolled in Parisian circles” (Cleveland Morning Leader, Cleveland, Ohio, 22 January 1864, p. 3). In France, it was said that “the Emperor’s ‘History of Julius Caesar’ is the only topic of interest” (Berrow’s Worcester Journal, 4 March 1865, p. 3), while “most of the Paris and London papers give considerable prominence to (...) the Emperor’s ‘History of Julius Caesar’” (The Hampshire Advertiser, 4 March 1865, p. 7). From as far away as Ohio, it was reported that “Napoleon’s preface to the life of Julius Caesar was published in all the London journals. The Pope ordered its immediate examination when published” (Daily Ohio Statesman, Columbus, Ohio, 14 March 1865, p. 3). It was scrutinised as “the history by which the greatest man of his age has elected to be judged as a statesman, as a thinker, and a writer” (Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 12 March 1865, p. 8): “The men who look with jealousy and with mistrust at the awful power over the world’s destinies which lies in the hands of Louis Napoleon, have read this short preface [to Julius Caesar] with breathless impatience, in the hope of getting out of it something like a clue to the political system on which the writer has acted; and, more important still, to the system on which he is likely to act in the future.”

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___Napoleon III as historian was, by design, very difficult to separate from Napo___leon III as statesman; this was evident from the circumstances surrounding the ___publication of Julius Caesar. In London, The Standard remarked that the Em___peror had invested his work “with something of the dignity of a state paper, by ___selecting the columns of the Moniteur [Le moniteur universel, the official news___paper of the French government] for its first promulgation before the volume ___itself was given to the world” (The Standard, London, 6 March 1865, p. 3). The ___interest which his work had attracted had been fanned with no small care not ___only by the imperial author but also by the machinery of his state (Lloyd’s ___Weekly Newspaper, 12 March 1865, p. 8): ___ “That care which was given with ungrudging labour to the original French edition, has ___ been given under the eye of the emperor himself, who is master of our language, to the ___ sumptuous English edition. (...) The pains which have been bestowed on the production of ___ a fair English edition of Napoleon the Third’s great work, have been given, through the of___ fices of Napoleon’s ambassadors, on German and other foreign editions.” ___ ___The Emperor and his Caesar had the world’s attention. ___ Competing ideologies of nation and identity found passionate voice in the ___debates over Napoleon’s Julius Caesar. When this work was published, the leg___acy of Caesar became, across the world, an intensely contested battleground in ___contemporary politics. Most current work in classical reception studies takes a ___broad diachronic perspective, and a relatively limited geographical frame: for ___instance, Hall and Macintosh’s work (2005) on British encounters with Greek ___tragedy between 1660 and 1914, or Cook and Tatum’s recent study (2010) of Af___rican-American engagements with the ancient world over the last two hundred ___years. Here, that methodology is reversed: engagements with Julius Caesar from ___many different contexts, but from within a very tight temporal frame, will be ___examined. ___ Napoleon’s work offers a promising test-case for this approach, and its po___tential rewards: few works on the ancient world, in this period, appeared simul___taneously in several countries, let alone in several languages – or attracted such ___sustained scrutiny from such diverse quarters.3 Its receptions are inherently ___trans-national in their scope: British newspaper articles were reprinted in Amer___ica, reports from Le moniteur universel were dissected in Britain – while Louis ___ ___ ___ 3 For the purposes of this article, I am principally interested in engagements with the History ___ of Julius Caesar outside academic discourses – since the questions at the heart of this volume, ___on nationalism and the ancient world, come to the fore in more explicit and revealing ways ___here.

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Auguste Rogeard’s diatribe Les propos de Labienus which was banned in France was promptly reprinted and translated in the United States (Rogeard 1865b). National debates over Julius Caesar had many points of connection – and often contain very similar strains of enthusiasm and scepticism for Napoleon’s text. However, despite these similarities, Julius Caesar was received through multiple very different, specifically national frames: from the United States recovering from the Civil War, to Britain looking warily across the Channel at Napoleon’s power. Each had a very different perspective on the question of what was at stake in summoning Caesar. For Napoleon III, the legacy of Caesar was a key force in his battle to restore the glory of France. His reign was marked by the intensity of its nationalistic rhetoric – and the scale of his ambitions: through the campaigns of the Crimean War, and the diplomacy of the Paris peace conference of 1856, he rebuilt France’s power within Europe. Domestically, he spent heavily on infrastructure and education – authorising Haussmann to transform Paris, and encouraging large-scale industrial expansion. The ancient world was ever-present in his nationalism. After the Crimean War (October 1853 – February 1856), when addressing the returning French army in Paris, he cast himself in a classical role: “Soldiers, – I come to meet you, as the Roman Senate of old came to the gates of Rome to meet their victorious legions” (Illustrated London News, 12 January 1856, p. 42). Julius Caesar was, for Napoleon, an obvious figure to conjure with as part of this rhetoric. The place of Caesar in French political discourse had, of course, been assured during the first French Revolution – where amidst a rhetoric which drew heavily on Rome, Bonaparte channelled Caesar’s example time and again (The Standard, 6 March 1865, p. 3): “The motive [of Napoleon III for writing this History] was easily to be divined by any one who had given even a passing attention to the beginnings of the first French Revolution, and to the way in which the leaders in that portentous movement, whether the original fanatics, or the most ferocious of the subsequent tyrants, referred as their example to Gracchus or Brutus or Cato, as the champions of real liberty, and the personifications of honest patriotism. Rogues as some, monsters as others of the overthrowers of the ancient monarchy of France were, they fancied, or professed to fancy, that they were reproducing the events of early Roman history.”

Certainly, as Nicolet (2009) explores, Napoleon III’s relationship with Caesar was a long-standing one – as was his admiration of Roman imperial power. And Napoleon made no secret of it. “The present Emperor [Napoleon III], a quarter of a century ago”, remarked The Standard (6 March 1865, p. 3), “when certainly no one in the world but himself expected to see him in his present position –

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___showed his own sympathy (...) in his ‘Idées Napoléoniennes’, where he enumer___ates Caesar and Napoleon among the chief apostles of progress in the world’s ___history, and hints at more than one point of resemblance between the French ___and the Roman Revolution.” Reynolds’s Newspaper (London, 5 March 1865, p. 4) ___points out: “So far back as 1840 he was as ardent an admirer of Caesar and Im___perialism as he is now”; though when seeking to gain power in France, this ad___miration was carefully downplayed: “Louis Bonaparte did not insist on his ad___miration for the Caesars being proclaimed to the French people. An idea then ___prevailed that he admired Brutus as well as Caesar” (Reynolds’s Newspaper, ___5 March 1865, p. 4). ___ As Richter has argued, after Napoleon came to power in France – and par___ticularly after his coup in 1851 – there was an intense debate over what kind of ___regime this should be called: “contemporaries had to choose among such ne___ologisms as ‘Bonapartism’, ‘Caesarism’, ‘Napoleonism’, and ‘Imperialism’” ___(Richter 2004: 86). The question of what was at stake in these terms – even ___whether they should be seen as inherently positive or negative – was very much ___up for debate (Richter 2004: 87): ___ ___ “Concepts such as Bonapartism and Caesarism tended to be used pejoratively as denoting illegitimate forms of dominion by theorists of diverse views: royalist, reactionary, conser___ vative, republican, liberal, and anarchist. However, there were many others who used ___ Bonapartism and Caesarism in positive senses to characterise that mode of rule or type of ___ leader that, in their view, alone could resolve what they saw as the political and social di___ lemmas of the century. Among them was Auguste Romieu, who in 1850 wrote L’ere des ___ Césars. (...) Other positive characterisations of such regimes claimed that they represented ___ (...) the recognition by the masses that they need to be led by exceptional leaders or elites.” ___ ___ ___In 1865, the meaning of Caesar in contemporary French politics was vigorously ___contested by both supporters and opponents of Napoleon’s regime. Napoleon’s ___text should be seen as intervening in – and attempting to set the terms of – this ___existing debate. In Paris, indeed, even before Julius Caesar was published, Cae___sar seemed to be everywhere (Cleveland Morning Leader, 22 January 1864, p. 3): ___ ___ “There are persons who see in this self-imposed literary task [Napoleon’s Julius Caesar] a far-reaching ambition on the part of Napoleon III. (...) It is a great subject of much remark ___ in Paris that the busts of Caesar are counterparts of those of Napoleon the Great. In the ___ present Napoleon’s study there are two busts, the one of the Roman general Caesar, the ___ other of the great Corsican, and you cannot tell one from the other. (...) The Parisians say ___ that Napoleon III has placed the Caesar-like statue of Napoleon the Great upon the Co___ lonne Vendôme with an eye to business, as it will be a capital advertisement for his long promised ‘Life of Caesar.’” ___

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The statue in question – which sat high atop Place Vendôme, in the heart of Paris – was of Napoleon Bonaparte. It was in fact the third such statue which had sat atop the Colonne Vendôme: the first was melted down and turned into a statue of Henri IV during the Bourbon Restoration; the second, of Bonaparte in modern dress, was erected by Louis-Philippe; the third, this classicising statue of Bonaparte, was commissioned by Napoleon III to replace it. Yet Napoleon was nothing if not an intellectual magpie: while Caesar dominated the Place Vendôme, one of his old adversaries was also being resurrected to serve the Emperor’s regime. Vercingetorix, the leader of the Gauls against Caesar, was defeated in 52 B.C. at the Battle of Alesia. In the early 1860s, while Julius Caesar was taking shape, Napoleon sponsored a series of large-scale excavations on the site of the ancient battlefield. In 1865, the same year as Julius Caesar was published, a 35-foot tall statue of Vercingetorix was erected there. Vercingetorix bore – down to his flowing moustaches – a suspicious resemblance to Napoleon III himself.4 On the base of the statue were verses which could be understood far more easily in Napoleon’s France than they could in Vercingetorix’s Gaul: “La Gaule unie, formant une seule nation, animée d’un même esprit, peut défier l’univers.” The period between 1862 and 1865, when Napoleon wrote Julius Caesar, was close to the high-water mark of his power. By the time it was published, the cracks in his ambitions were beginning to show: McMillan argues that this was a period when Napoleon “discovered that he was less than ever able to shape events to his will” (McMillan 1991: 100), and that “(b)y 1865, Napoleon was also having to contend with a variety of domestic problems, notably the revival of political opposition in the country and in the Legislative Body” (McMillan 1991: 102). A few short years later, having embarked upon the disastrous FrancoPrussian War, the Emperor was captured at the Battle of Sedan, in July 1870. Two days later, he was deposed. Julius Caesar was written when all things seemed to be within his grasp. And it proved to be a work of almost limitless ambition. The History of Julius Caesar appropriated Caesar in the most sweeping manner possible. It was designed to validate – to audiences around the world – Napoleon’s personal power, his imperial system, and his ambitions for France (Napoleon III 1865 [vol. 1]: xv–xvi):

_____ 4 On this statue, see Endl (2003) who argues: “Diese Vercingetorix-Statue war mithin weniger Nationaldenkmal als vielmehr ein persönliches Projekt Napoléons III.” (Endl 2003: 58).

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“When provinces raise up such men as Caesar, Charlemagne, Napoleon [Bonaparte], it is ___ to trace for peoples the path they are to follow, to mark a new era with the stamp of ___ their genius and to accomplish the work of several centuries in a few years. Happy the ___ people that understand and follow them, woe to those who ignore and oppose them! (...) ___ In fact, neither the murder of Caesar nor the captivity [of Bonaparte] of St. Helena have ___ been able to destroy radically two popular causes overthrown by a league concealed beneath the mask of liberty. Brutus by killing Caesar plunged Rome into the horrors of ___ civil war; he did not prevent the reign of Augustus, but he rendered possible those of ___ Nero and Caligula. The ostracism of Napoleon by coalesced Europe has not prevented ___ the Empire from resuscitating; and yet, how far we are from the settlement of great ___ questions, from the appeasement of passions, from the legitimate satisfaction given to ___ peoples by the first Empire! Thus every day since 1815 has this prophecy of the captive ___ of St. Helena [Bonaparte] been verified: ‘How many struggles, how much blood, how many years will yet be required that all the blessings I wished to confer upon mankind ___ may be realised.’” ___ ___ ___Napoleon casts himself as the Augustus to Bonaparte’s Caesar – the master___builder who transformed Rome (Paris), the patron of the arts, the consolidator ___of Roman (French) power across the known world. Just as Caesar’s nephew ___assured the greatness of Rome, so Bonaparte’s nephew would assure the ___greatness of France. As his readers recognised, this work, ostensibly one of ___ancient history, was in fact a full-throated expression of Napoleon III’s be___lief “in a political system that confides the happiness of a whole generation ___of men to the genius of one, and at the same time entrusts to this single ___brain the progress of the world” (Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 12 March 1865, ___p. 8). ___ Julius Caesar’s defence of the imperial system – and its own author’s ___power – could hardly have been more vehement: “What can be more erroneous, ___than not to recognise the pre-eminence of those privileged beings who appear in ___history from time to time like luminous beacons, dissipating the darkness of ___their epoch, and throwing light into the future?” (Napoleon III 1865 [vol. 1]: xii). ___A few pages later, one reads: “When Providence raises up such men (...) it is to ___trace out for people the path they ought to follow; to stamp with the seal of their ___genius a new era; and to accomplish in a few years the labour of many centu___ries” (Napoleon III 1865 [vol. 1]: xv). The author’s agenda was unmistakable ___(The Standard, 6 March 1865, p. 3): ___ ___ “We see plainly enough the inference intended to be drawn, that all those who desire the ___ advance of civilization recognize the principle that it is to be secured by now following the doctrines of Napoleon, and that no professor can be as competent to enunciate and ex___ pound those doctrines as (...) the present French Emperor.” ___ ___

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Napoleon III sought to define the meaning of Caesar to the world – and to define himself as one whom the world should (or, rather, must) follow. But to what extent could this agenda, and this interpretation of the past, be imposed upon his readers – even with the resources of an empire at his disposal? Would his Julius Caesar find acceptance? Will this ultimately be the story of an imperial history, a narrative to rule all others, shaping past and present according to Napoleon’s will – or of an over-imperial claim upon the past, built upon unsteady foundations? In Britain, as elsewhere in Europe, much of the initial press coverage of Julius Caesar was doting. Not only did some correspondents embrace its intellectual project – the legitimation of Napoleon III’s power; they also embraced its appropriation of the ancient past (Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 12 March 1865, p. 8): “Both Caesar and Napoleon [Bonaparte] (...) cut the civil difficulties of a republic with their conquering swords. They were both, according to Napoleon the Third, the warriors for the ‘final triumph of good.’ They were the true soldiers of liberty, and the assassination of Caesar, and the banishment of Napoleon, were the work of a league that disguised itself with the mask of liberty. We cannot refuse to follow out this argument which the third Napoleon lays before us. (...) The second [French] empire we are bidden to regard as established to consummate all the good which Napoleon the First desired to do for mankind – in other words, Napoleon the Third is the fourth safe landing-stage humanity has had to rest upon. (...) We take this life of Caesar, moreover – this ripe fruit of a great mind – as something that will live to the writer’s lasting honour. It is its author’s explanation of the proper conduct of human affairs according to his light. It is his apology for himself, drawn from the lives of three heroes who have preceded him. After years of patient labour, he now sets forth, with his wonted courage, the standard by which the living generation and posterity are to judge him.”

That ‘judgement’ was not slow in coming, from other quarters. While Julius Caesar was greeted with respectful admiration by some, this was by no means universal. In Britain, for many, the parallels which Napoleon III drew between ancient and contemporary events did not stand up to scrutiny: “The spurious or superficial parallel by Caesar and Napoleon is one with which we were familiar in schoolboy themes, and does not need to be impressed upon us now. But we would advise the Imperial biographer not to push that parallel too far” (The Hampshire Advertiser, 11 March 1865, p. 7). Napoleon exhibited a relentless admiration for anything or anyone admired by Caesar himself – down to the reptilian young Roman Catiline, dubbed a man of “great and generous ideas” (Napoleon III 1865 [vol. 1]: 395). As The Standard (6 March 1865, p. 3) remarked, “Caesar’s present biographer is prepared to estimate every person and action of the time as good or bad, just as he or it was approved or opposed by his hero.”

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___For many, this simply turned his history into a hagiography. Others followed ___Napoleon’s historical parallels to their logical conclusion – and saw dark times ___ahead for France, if the later history of Rome was to be its guide (Reynolds’s ___Newspaper, 5 March 1865, p. 4): ___ “But, argues Louis Napoleon, though Brutus and Cassius killed Caesar, and though asso___ ciated Europe chained Napoleon to an ocean-girt rock, that did not prevent the empires ___ which these heroes founded from being restored. The Roman empire was restored by Au___ gustus, and the French empire by the nephew of Napoleon. This we admit; but, then, so ___ much the worse, we contend, for Rome, and probably for France. The Roman emperors ___ enslaved and demoralized the Roman people, so that Italy became the easy prey of the Northern barbarians. (...) Let us hope that the French empire is not destined to prepare for ___ France and the French people the fate which the Roman emperors prepared for Italy and ___ the Italians, though the historical parallel drawn by Louis Napoleon may lead us to expect ___ the counterparts of the Roman Neros, Caligulas, Domitians, and Heliogabili (sic) as rulers ___ for the French people, as well as the counterparts of the first Bonaparte and his cold___ blooded and politic nephew.” ___ ___Napoleon III’s decision to summon the ghost of ‘the first Bonaparte’ alongside ___that of Julius Caesar was understandable from the point of view of domestic ___French politics – where an appeal to the memory of France’s triumphs under ___Bonaparte had long been central to his political rhetoric. Bonaparte, of course, ___played very differently in Britain. A rather prickly patriotic pride cut through ___many British responses to Julius Caesar – with Napoleon’s statement of imperial ___intent calling forth an equally nationalistic response: “the Kelso Mail observes ___that the parallel between Julius Caesar and Napoleon Buonaparte, drawn by the ___Emperor of the French, is not so striking as the difference between them: for ___Caesar conquered Britain and Napoleon didn’t!” (Berrow’s Worcester Journal, ___18 March 1865, p. 6). Napoleon III’s providential model of history – where the ___fate of the world rested in the hands of a few exceptional men – came in for ___particular criticism. “He cannot but admit”, remarked Reynolds’s Newspaper ___(5 March 1865, p. 4), “that the Duke of Wellington was a product of Providence ___as well as Napoleon Bonaparte, and that the Isle of St. Helena [where Bonaparte ___was imprisoned] was raised up for a beneficent or divine purpose as well as the ___Isle of Corsica [where Bonaparte was born].” ___ Many in Britain read the Emperor’s Caesar as a troubling – even threaten___ing – statement of national intent. Aut Cæsar aut nullus, a pamphlet by Joseph ___Phillips published in 1865, saw in Napoleon III the appetites of a second Caesar ___(or perhaps a second Bonaparte) – and an ambition fixed on Britain. Affecting ___to listen in on the Emperor’s thoughts, Phillips (1865: 16) imagined Napoleon ___dreaming of conquest: “When all the world is nearly in my hands, I’ll bring it all ___to bear against Great Britain.” Napoleon III’s text did not succeed in dominating

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its readers – and his claim on Caesar, far from being received with universal respect, was turned back on the imperial author by many in Britain.5 In France, sceptical voices were soon equally loud: “with the exception, of course, of the semi-official organs, the French press is unanimous in protesting against the apotheosis of Caesarism in the Emperor’s Preface [to Julius Caesar]” (The Sheffield & Rotherham Independent, 9 March 1865, p. 3). And French doubts about Napoleon’s project were widely reported – commanding considerable attention in both Britain and America. The Sheffield & Rotherham Independent, for instance, translated and printed an extended article by M.E. Forcade, from the Revue des deux mondes, on Julius Caesar (The Sheffield & Rotherham Independent, 7 March 1865, p. 7): “We will make our confession boldly: this religious sentiment in politics and this worship of great men meet in us resolute Protestants and determined unbelievers. (...) In raising history to the height of a religion, and of an authoritative religion, having infallible organs in great men, was not the Emperor afraid of committing an anachronism? Is it not in an opposite direction that all the tendencies of our age tend? (...) This apotheosis of great men and these judgments launched against nations seem to us incompatible either with philosophy or historical justice. (...) Were the Romans who withstood Caesar guilty for remaining faithful to the best traditions of their country and for being ignorant of the secrets of the future? When Vercingetorix and his Gauls combated the conquering foreigner with that chivalrous perseverance which moves us even now – were they guilty for not having penetrated the decree of destiny against their race?”

One of the most notable French critiques of Julius Caesar was Les propos de Labienus, a pamphlet by Louis Auguste Rogeard, which purports to be a dialogue between Titus Labienus and a friend. Labienus was an orator and historian under Augustus, known for his outspoken views and inflammatory rhetoric. He committed suicide after his works were burned, by order of the Senate (another Titus Labienus was, conveniently, a lieutenant of Julius Caesar who turned against him – but this work is set under the reign of Augustus, after the death of

_____ 5 This was, however, by no means a new rhetorical strategy. An 1855 pamphlet by William Pinch on The Sufferings of Royalty; or Human Greatness a Fallacy argued that Julius Caesar, far from benefitting the people of Rome, actually did them untold harm: “There was not one Roman throughout the empire whom he did not injure in the highest degree, for he robbed him of his liberty, which is the greatest blessing to mankind” (Pinch 1855: 29). Addressing Napoleon III directly, Pinch urged him to look for a very different model for his new empire: “The decline and fall of the Roman empire, then mistress of the earth under tyranny, proves how soon a mighty empire established by freedom becomes a sodden trunk. (...) May you, Sire, in consolidating the throne of France, the throne of your Dynasty, found it on constitutional freedom” (Pinch 1855: 3).

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___this Titus Labienus).6 The French police seized the first edition of the pamphlet, ___but it was reprinted, copied and translated numerous times, as far afield as the ___United States. Rogeard’s Labienus appears to be discussing the memoirs of ‘Au___gustus’, but the actual target is clear (Rogeard 1865a: 16): ___ “L’effort impuissant et désespéré qu’il fait pour sauver quelques débris de sa réputation ___ naufragée, cet effort suprême pour raccrocher son honneur à une dernière branche qui va ___ casser, cette dernière lutte de César avec l’opinion qui l’écrase, a je ne sais quoi de lugubre ___ et de comique comme la dernière grimace d’un pendu. (...) César était si sale, que le bour___ reau n’en eût pas voulu; il se débarbouille un peu pour embrasser la mort. Et il demande ___ des lecteurs! l’insolent! des lecteurs pour César! à quoi bon!”7 ___ ___While responses such as Rogeard’s attracted trans-national interest, they were ___grounded in pre-existing national French discourses: in France, the figure of ___Caesar, while highly contested, was strongly associated with the regime of Na___poleon III and “the recognition by the masses that they need to be led by excep___tional leaders or elites”, as Richter (2004: 87) puts it. Many British authors ___sought to separate Caesar from Bonaparte and Napoleon III8 – maintaining Cae___sar as a positive model, while disassociating him from the two Napoleons. By ___contrast, in France, the connections between the three figures were far more ___strongly established – and firmly embedded in national discourse – due in great ___part to the rhetoric of the first French Revolution, and of the present regime. As ___Richter (2004: 100) argues, even so prominent a figure as Alexis de Tocqueville ___(1805–1859) avoided confronting this comparison head-on: “Apologists of the ___Second Empire followed the lead of Louis Napoleon, who wrote a book on Julius ___Caesar, in seeking to vindicate his regime. Their attempts to legitimate the re___gime were phrased for the most part as tendentious theories of Caesarism. (...) ___ ___ ___ ___6 On Labienus, see esp. Seneca, Contr. 10 praef. 4–8 and Quintilian, Inst. orat. 1.5.8 and 4.1.11. ___7 See Guthrie’s English translation (Rogeard 1865b: 20): “The impotent and desperate effort he makes to save some few morsels of his shipwrecked reputation, this supreme effort to hang his ___ honor on a last branch, which is about to fall, this last struggle of Caesar with public opinion, ___which is crushing him, has something lugubrious and comical about it, like the last grimace of ___a hanged man. (...) Caesar was so filthy that the executioner would not have liked to touch him, ___and he has scrubbed himself up a little to embrace death. And he asks for readers! the insolent ___wretch! Readers for Caesar! What for?” ___8 Cf. The Sheffield & Rotherham Independent (9 March 1865, p. 3): “There are in greatness and genius degrees; and Caesar in both was so many degrees above Bonaparte, that no parallel can ___ be instituted between the victim of Roman conspirators and the prisoner of St. Helena whom ___Napoleon III would put on as a high a pedestal, with the palpable object of taking a stand be___side him himself.”

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Tocqueville rejected such comparisons between contemporary France and late Republican Rome as intrinsically misleading and playing into the hands of Louis Napoleon and his apologists.” In France, rather than attempting to separate Napoleon III from Julius Caesar, critics of the Emperor’s work turned their fire, instead, on his Roman model. This can be seen not only in Rogeard’s pamphlet, but also in an article written by George Sand (1804–1876) for L’univers illustré of 11 March 1865.9 Sand, the celebrated and reviled French novelist and social critic, had an uncomfortable relationship with Napoleon’s regime – and used her response to Julius Caesar to speak of the failings of rulers both past and present. Sand’s Caesar represents power without morality, contempt for his fellow-men, and the end of all that was good in the Roman Republic (L’univers illustré, 11 March 1865, p. 1): “Quand Jules César apparut dans le monde, les grands jours de la république finissaient. La conquête avait corrompu les conquérants, l’anarchie régnait à Rome. (...) L’ambition de César c’était l’énergie politique, le développement de l’agitation sociale à tout prix; l’ordre et le désordre, la paix et la guerre, les réformes enchevêtrées aux abus, tous les biens et tous les maux, plutôt que la dissolution de la Rome matérielle et l’extinction de sa vitalité. (...) L’idéal moral lui manque absolument, il méprise profondément les hommes, et c’est pour cela qu’il est practique, il sait se servir d’eux.”

In America, responses to Julius Caesar were sharply different. They drew, once again, on a range of sources from across the world – with Rogeard’s pamphlet circulating widely in both French and English editions (Rogeard 1865a and 1865b), and British newspaper articles critiquing the Emperor’s Latin reprinted and annotated.10 But in April 1865, just a few days after Julius Caesar was published, Abraham Lincoln was assassinated – and the aftermath of that event, along with the chaos and hardship brought by the aftermath of the Civil War, shaped responses to Napoleon’s text. Some readers welcomed Napoleon’s reassurance that legacies did not die with leaders; that death did not prevent Caesar’s ideas from reshaping the world (The Pacific Commercial Advertiser, Honolulu, 27 May 1865, p. 4): “What will be the effect of Abraham Lincoln’s assassination upon the Nation? (...) When Brutus and his fellow-assassins smote down Caesar in the Senate at Rome, they supposed that with Caesar’s death Caesar’s influence would no longer be felt. They were disap-

_____ 9 Sand’s authorship is confirmed by The Pall Mall Gazette (11 March 1865, p. 3). 10 An article from The Pall Mall Gazette on Julius Caesar was reprinted in The Evening Telegraph (Phildadelphia, 11 July 1866, p. 7).

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pointed. Caesar disappeared, but, exclaims Cicero, ‘All the acts of Caesar’s life, his writ___ ings, his words, his promises, his thoughts, are more powerful after his death than if he ___ were still alive.’ So I trust, and doubt not, it will be with the life, writings, words, prom___ ises, thoughts of Abraham Lincoln.” ___ ___Napoleon’s work still received a frosty reception from most quarters in America. ___“The press of this country”, remarked the Virginia Daily Intelligencer, “loudly ___proclaims that the author of the ‘Life of Julius Caesar’ has tortured history for ___the purpose of producing false ideas, the monarchical idea, which is con___demned by the conclusive example of the Republic of the United States” (Daily ___Intelligencer, Wheeling, Virginia, 1 April 1865, p. 1). Some, however, stood up to ___defend Julius Caesar. One of the loudest voices in the press belonged to the ___Courrier des États Unis, a French-language newspaper published in New York. ___In an editorial translated by the English-language press, the editor of the Cour___rier defended Napoleon’s work and his imperial system – and asked whether, ___during the Civil War, the United States might not have fallen under the power of ___a Caesar-like figure (Courrier des États Unis, quoted in the Daily Intelligencer, ___1 April 1865, p. 1): ___ “Let us look back a few months, let us remember the time previous to the capture of At___ lanta. (...) Can we be sure that gradually and slowly the Constitution would not have fallen ___ under the heels of a successful military leader, who would have made a foot-stool of it to ___ reach the highest office in the land? (...) Because the American republic has lasted ninety ___ years, that is no reason why it should be better or more eternal than monarchies, which ___ have existed for more than ten centuries.” ___ ___The Emperor and his Caesar, in other words, hit literally close to home, for ___many in America. The impact of Napoleon’s text at a time of such deep national ___unease was certainly markedly different than it had been in Britain or France. ___Caesar, here, was not a character of the past, as in Britain, or a character of the ___present, as in France, but for some Americans, one potentially lying in wait in ___the future – a threat. As a Congressman – Mr Brooks of New York – later put it: ___“We are now repeating the history of Augustus and Julius Caesar, and the Gov___ernment is now passing from a republic to a despotism. (...) When we shall have ___lost all our liberties, some future Napoleon, yet unknown, will rise up from the ___chaos and rescue the country from anarchy through a military despotism” (The ___Charleston Daily News, 13 March 1867, p. 1). ___ The most revolutionary – and the most enduring – reading of this debate, ___however, came not from America, but from Karl Marx (1818–1883). Marx’s Der ___achtzehnte Brumaire des Louis Bonaparte (1852) has become so famous that ___Carver (2004: 103) could ask: “Would Louis Bonaparte be much remembered ___now if it weren’t for Karl Marx?” While Napoleon III saw the course of history as

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shaped by the actions of a few great men, Marx (1898: 15) took an antithetical view: “Men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by themselves, but under circumstances directly encountered, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living.” Where Napoleon sought to portray himself as Augustus reincarnate, Marx (1898: 15) only saw a small, undignified echo: “Hegel remarks somewhere that all great world-historic facts and personages appear, so to speak, twice. He forgot to add: the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.” Most significantly, for Marx, Napoleon’s project was inherently flawed: no valid comparison could be made between political circumstances in the ancient and contemporary worlds, because the economic structure of contemporary society was so different. As Carver (2004: 124) remarks, “(i)n Marx’s view, Caesarism is passé in the modern world. (...) It is finished because of the complications of class politics in a modern commercial age, and because of the complexities of the political structure of representative democracies.” Or as Marx (1898: 9) himself acidly put it: “With so complete a difference between the material, economic conditions of the ancient and the modern class struggles, the political figures produced by them can likewise have no more in common with one another than the Archbishop of Canterbury has with the High Priest Samuel.” The Emperor’s Caesar was a fevered fantasy: utterly disconnected from the realities of the contemporary world. France, haunted by the ghost of Caesar, was in danger of running entirely mad: “The nation feels like the mad Englishman in Bedlam who thinks he is living in the time of the old Pharaohs and daily bewails the hard labor he must perform in the Ethiopian mines” (Marx 1898: 17). Marx was far from alone in seeing bathos at the heart of Napoleon’s text. This grand narrative had been announced with such pride: “Imperial Caesar has been treated in an imperial manner”, as Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper (12 March 1865, p. 8) put it. Yet this was no imperial history. Its claims upon the ancient past were greeted, across the world, with little reverence and great scorn. Napoleon’s Caesar wore only the “guise of history” (The Sheffield & Rotherham Independent, 1 March 1865, p. 2) – and few were convinced. This is perhaps less surprising when the general fragility of nineteenth-century claims on the classical past is considered: whether we examine British officers portraying themselves as ancient heroes in the Crimean War (and being greeted with laughter), William Gladstone’s interpretations of Homer (which were roundly scorned),11 or

_____ 11 Cf. Richardson (2013: 174–176).

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___Napoleon III’s Caesar, it is clear that power and prestige offered little support in ___establishing a hold upon antiquity. Napoleon’s Caesar was, for some, a demon___stration not of the author’s claim on trans-historical greatness – but rather of ___the base, sad uses to which the past may be put. The Emperor’s Caesar cheap___ened both the Emperor and Caesar (Reynolds’s Newspaper, 5 March 1865, p. 4): ___ “The dust of Alexander serving as a barrel stopper, or imperious Caesar dead and turned ___ to clay, stopping a hole to keep the wind away, has been regarded as a pretty striking il___ lustration of the ‘base uses’ to which human greatness is liable. It is, however, by no ___ means certain that the character and exploits of the ‘great Julius,’ pressed into the service ___ of a modern mushroom dynasty, and employed to justify and act of matchless perfidy and ___ violence, is not an equally glaring example of the ignoble uses to which illustrious men may be put.” ___ ___ ___Napoleon’s claim on ancient ‘greatness’ only served to reinforce the distance ___between himself and his ancient model. As his power faded in subsequent ___years, a consensus grew that he was no Bonaparte – and no Augustus either ___(Anonymous 1871: 8, 12, 14): ___ “He at all times and seasons, was trying to fit on ___ And old pair of boots that his Uncle had made; ___ In which he intended to wade o’er to Britain, ___ Or some one’s (he cared not whose) garden invade. (...) ___ ___ He had purchased a second-hand statue of Caesar, And robed in a sheet, for a ‘Toga’ he’d stand; ___ And gaze on that classical, crack’d marble Kaiser – ___ And then in a mirror he’d hold in hand. (...) ___ ___ That eagle, all constant in peace or in quarrel, ___ Which in exile or empire had clung to his ship; ___ Just brought her poor master a morsel of laurel, Then turn’d up her talons, and ‘died of the pip’.” ___ ___ ___After Napoleon III was deposed in 1870, Caesar’s ghost soon fled Paris. Even the ___classicising statue of Bonaparte, which Napoleon III had erected in Place ___Vendôme, did not long survive: it was pulled down on 16 May 1871, during the ___Paris Commune, under the supervision of Gustave Courbet. For some time af___terwards, the broken statue lay in the centre of Place Vendôme among the rub___ble, its laurel wreath resting on the ground (see Figure 1). This Caesar’s end was ___not a dignified one. The History of Julius Caesar was a work of breathtaking ambition: through ___ ___it, Napoleon III desired to influence debates across the world, and to shape the

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legacy of the ancient world to his will. Its objectives, and its receptions, were equally bound up in nineteenth-century discourses on nation and identity: whether in Paris, London or New York, readers were acutely conscious of what was at stake in responding to this Caesar. However different the national debates over this text were, there was a growing consensus within them that Napoleon had failed to make Caesar his own. Caesar could not be seized and reinvented without consequences – or without limits. Across the nineteenth-century world, many too confident claims on antiquity, such as this one, ended as ingloriously as fading echoes (cf. Richardson 2013). Or as ingloriously as Napoleon III’s parrots, who had the misfortune to cross the Emperor’s path one day, a few months after his Caesar had met with the world (The Bradford Observer, 31 August 1865, p. 3): “Among the pheasants which were driven up to the muzzle of the Emperor’s [Napoleon III] gun at Ferrières, several trained parrots were mingled, which, when shot by Napoleon, fell at Caesar’s feet with the dying cry of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ Does not this seem like a parody on the classical ‘Morituri, te salutant, Caesar’?”

Such was the fate of the Emperor’s Caesar: an echo heard across the world, at first attended to, then dismissed, fading fast.

Bibliography Anonymous (1871): The Rise and Fall of “Cæsar”, London: H. Williams. Bagehot, Walter (1889): The Works of Walter Bagehot (5 vols.), Hartford, Connecticut: Travelers Insurance Co. Carver, Terrell (2004): Marx’s Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. Democracy, dictatorship, and the politics of class struggle. In: Peter Baehr & Melvin Richter (eds.), Dictatorship in History and Theory. Bonapartism, Caesarism and Totalitarianism, Washington, D.C. & Cambridge: German Historical Institute & Cambridge University Press, 103–128. Cook, William W. & James Tatum (2010): African American Writers and Classical Tradition, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Endl, Nadia (2003): Vercingetorix. Ein antiker Held im Frankreich des 19. Jahrhunderts. In: Kai Brodersen (ed.), Die Antike außerhalb des Hörsaals, Münster: LIT Verlag, 47–66. Hall, Edith & Fiona Macintosh (2005): Greek Tragedy and the British Theatre, 1660–1914, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Marx, Karl (1898): The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. Translated by Daniel de Leon, New York: General Publishing Company. McMillan, James F. (1991): Napoleon III, London & New York: Longman. Napoleon III, Emperor of the French (1865): History of Julius Caesar (2 vols.). Translated by Thomas Wright, London: Cassell. Nicolet, Claude (2009): Caesar and the two Napoleons. In: Miriam Griffin (ed.), A Companion to Julius Caesar, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 410–417.

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___Pinch, William (1855): The Sufferings of Royalty; or Human Greatness a Fallacy. Exemplified in the Lives and Death of the Three Great Historical Characters, Alexander the Great, Julius ___ Cæsar and Napoleon the First, London: Effingham Wilson. ___ Phillips, Joseph Scott (1865): Cæsar. “Aut Cæsar aut nullus.” The Sphinx, London: W. Macin___ tosh. ___Richardson, Edmund (2013): Classical Victorians. Scholars, Scoundrels and Generals in Pursuit of Antiquity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ___ ___Richter, Melvin (2004): Tocqueville and French nineteenth-century conceptualizations of the two Bonapartes and their Empires. In: Peter Baehr & Melvin Richter (eds.), Dictatorship in ___ History and Theory. Bonapartism, Caesarism and Totalitarianism, Washington, D.C. & ___ Cambridge: German Historical Institute & Cambridge University Press, 83–102. ___Rogeard, Auguste (1865a): Les propos de Labienus. La critique historique sous Auguste, New ___ York: de Mareil. ___Rogeard, Auguste (1865b): The Strictures of Labienus. The Historical Critic in the Time of Augustus. Translated by W.E. Guthrie, Philadelphia: T.B. Pugh. ___ ___ ___ ___Illustration ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Figure 1: Auguste Bruno Braquehais, ___ Statue de Napoléon 1er après la chute de la Colonne Vendôme (1871) ___

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___Rosemary Barrow ___ ___ ___ ___Rosemary Barrow ___Militarism, Masculinity and National Identity in Victorian Britain Abstract: Edward Poynter’s painting Faithful unto Death, of a Pompeian soldier remaining stead___ fast at his post while Vesuvius erupts in the background, illustrates a familiar correlation be___tween Roman and Victorian values. In displaying the type of steely determination required of a ___British soldier on duty, Poynter’s Roman sentry invites comparisons between past and present ___masculinity, militarism and national identity. Completed in 1865, the painting was produced at a ___time when Britain was entering a new phase of imperialism during which public attitudes to wars and the men who fought in them was undergoing significant revision. Based on the supposed ___ excavation of the skeleton of a soldier found at Pompeii’s Herculaneum gate, and already fiction___alised in Bulwer-Lytton’s novel The Last Days of Pompeii, Poynter’s scene valorises military obe___dience. The reputation of British soldiers, had, by the middle of the nineteenth century, trans___formed from ill-disciplined rabble to popular heroes. Press reports of the Crimean War and the ___Indian Mutiny, in particular, sympathised with ordinary soldiers and concentrated on their pri___vations and heroic exploits on the battlefield. Faithful unto Death recalls the celebrated heroism of rank-and-file soldiers, and, in doing so, reinforces the connection between a particular type of ___ militaristic masculinity that defines Britishness at a time when Victorian Britain had begun to ___look back to ancient Rome for its development of new national and imperial ideologies. ___ ___ ___In Edward Poynter’s painting Faithful unto Death from 1865 (see Figure 1), a ___Roman sentry stands at his post, bathed in an eerie red glow; behind him Vesu___vius erupts and is destroying the town of Pompeii in A.D. 79. In the background, ___panic-stricken townsfolk try and flee for their lives; some shield themselves ___from flaming rocks, others lie dead, having already succumbed to rock fall or ___poisonous gases. As people try to escape with their valuables, precious posses___sions of gold and silver lie scattered around corpses, while in the foreground is ___a smashed amphora with its contents of coins and jewellery. But the young sol___dier ignores the plunder and looks warily upwards towards the erupting vol___cano. His face reveals human emotion, but his body displays a resolve to stay at ___his post. Back and legs straight, and arms tensed, he grips his spear with steely ___determination. This is a painting that draws immediate comparison with Victo___rian imperial ideology.1 Indeed, here is just the kind of spirit and tenacity ex___pected of a British soldier in the face of the enemy. ___ ___ ___ ___1 The relationship between the painting and Victorian imperialism has been suggested by ___Landow (1984: 43), Morris (1996: 366 n. 8), Vance (2011: 246–247), and Lapatin & Seydl (2012: 151).

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That the Roman past helped define Victorian Britain, and, in particular, that it offered a paradigm of empire, is well documented, especially for the period towards the end of the nineteenth century,2 but in 1865, the date of Poynter’s painting, Britain was at the beginnings of its high-imperial phase. This article seeks to read Faithful unto Death in its mid-1860s historical context with the aim of exploring what the image says about concepts of militarism, masculinity and national identity at a time when a new imperialist agenda in the present sought positive role models in the ancient past. During the 1830s and ’40s Britain was consistently involved in campaigns abroad: the Cape Frontier Wars, Ashanti Wars, the Opium War, the conquest of the Sind and Sikh territories, the suppression of the Maori rebellion. But what brought the military closer to home was Louis Napoleon’s coup in 1851 and attempted re-establishment of the French empire. His adoption of the title Napoleon III recalled Britain’s old adversary Napoleon Bonaparte, and reminders of the Napoleonic Wars provoked in the nation a fear of French invasion.3 As a consequence the defence of the country became a topic of vigorous debate, and a volunteer movement called into being new battalions of concerned Britons poised to take up arms. One such volunteer corps, the Artist’s Rifles, was formed in 1859, with Frederic Leighton as its captain and Poynter himself one of its early members. Earlier in the century, Wellington’s defeat of Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo had fostered a new sense of patriotism through martial success. Hand in hand with military triumph went the heroism of individual soldiers on the battlefield. And visual imagery commemorated military triumph in exactly this way. The Duke of Wellington himself was honoured with a colossal statue of the Greek hero Achilles, produced from the bronze of melted-down captured enemy cannon. It is not in itself surprising that a Greek hero should have been chosen to represent martial success, but from the late eighteenth century to the midVictorian period, many visualisations of masculine courage, duty and honour were embodied, rather, in the legendary figures of Roman history.4 As Empire (paradoxically) was tainted with negative associations of Napoleonic France (along with evocations of a decadent imperial Rome), exempla were generally chosen from early Rome and the Republic to encapsulate values indicative of stoicism, integrity, and patriotic courage. By the 1840s large canvases of battle

_____ 2 See, for example, most recently Bradley (2010), Butler (2012), and Hagerman (2013). 3 On Napoleon III, see Richardson’s article in this volume. 4 In a wider perspective, compare the discussion of “the hero” and masculinity in Silk, Gildenhard & Barrow (2013: 263–275).

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___scenes were rejected in favour of single-figured depictions of heroic death (see ___Hichberger 1988: 5–6). A typical example is Benjamin Haydon’s Marcus Curtius ___Leaping the Gulf (1842), where, according to Livy (Hist. 7.6.1–6), a giant chasm ___opened up in the Roman forum, and an oracle declared that it would only be ___closed when the Romans sacrificed their most precious possession. A young ___soldier, Marcus Curtius, responded by declaring that military might and courage ___were the most precious possessions of Rome, and duly leapt into the gulf – in ___Haydon’s painting, complete with full armour and horse (see Prettejohn 1996a: ___57–58). ___ By the 1860s, fresh from the Crimean War (1854–56) and the Indian Mutiny ___(1857), Britain was on a clear imperialist trajectory. In an attempt to seek new ___role-models of government, negative imperial connotations of Napoleonic ___France were beginning to be replaced with positive constructions of imperialism ___based on Roman examples. In Faithful unto Death Poynter draws on the Haydon ___tradition, by uniting masculinity and militarism with virtues of unyielding ___courage and duty, but he departs from traditional History painting, first, by ___choosing his subject from the Roman Empire rather than the Republic or early ___Rome (Pompeii was destroyed under the reign of Titus), and second, by focus___ing on an anonymous soldier and not a named hero. ___ Faithful unto Death was first exhibited at London’s Royal Academy of Arts ___Summer Exhibition in 1865. The show heralded the beginnings of a new classi___cal revival in Victorian painting.5 Six Roman-subject pictures were displayed, all ___of which departed from traditional History painting and its depiction of familiar ___characters from Greek mythology or Roman in favour of genre scenes of anony___mous Romans. This picture’s Pompeian setting draws on a long tradition of the ___ancient town’s modern reception. Since the rediscovery of the sites of Pompeii ___and Herculaneum in the eighteenth century, their unprecedented examples of ___domestic art, architecture and material culture proved inspirational for creative ___work in the fields of literature, painting, ceramics and interior design.6 In the ___1800s, when the Roman towns became more accessible to tourists and their ___finds more widely published, they maintained a firm hold on the public imagi___nation. In the field of fine art, French artists began depicting Pompeian themes ___in the mid-nineteenth century, and British artists soon followed suit. Painters ___ ___ ___ ___5 Prettejohn (1996a: 65) pinpoints the emergence of British historical genre painting to the 1865 Royal Academy Exhibition in which six Roman-subject pictures appeared, and identifies ___ the way in which critical reception of British art encouraged this new artistic direction. ___6 Among recent publications on the rediscovery and reception of Pompeii and Herculaneum, ___see Gardner Coates & Seydl (2007), Hales & Paul (2011), and Mattusch (2013).

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such as Théodore Chassériau in France (see Betzer 2010 and Betzer 2011) and Lawrence Alma-Tadema in Britain (see Barrow 2001, Barrow 2007a, and Guardiola 2013) used Pompeian objects to recreate genre scenes of Roman life, while others were drawn to the drama of Vesuvius’ eruption. The Destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum (1822–26) by British artist John Martin shows fiery red seascape with Vesuvius in the background aglow in volcanic lightening. Here nature dwarfs the individuals. In other paintings, the human calamity is at the forefront of the scene. The huge multi-figured canvas, The Last Day of Pompeii (1830–33), by Russian painter Karl Briullov, focuses on the terror of the town’s inhabitants, shielding themselves from falling masonry as they try and flee with their belongings. Poynter follows both of these paintings in his emphasis on the fiery eruption: flaming rocks fall from the sky while the whole scene is lit by red volcanic light. Modern volcanology, drawing on scientific analysis from the evidence of Pliny the Younger’s eye-witness accounts (Epist. 6.16 and 6.20), concludes that the A.D. 79 eruption comprised a first phase of slow-falling tephra deposits of ash, pumice and stones and a second of a pyroclastic flow or avalanche of tephra and volcanic gas (see Sigurdsson, Cashdollar & Sparks 1982). If a grey tephra cloud was actually a main feature of the Roman eruption, more recent activity gave authority to the imagined conflagrations that had become popular in visual renderings of the disaster. Still an active volcano, Vesuvius emitted a series of small eruptions throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In 1766 and 1767 Sir William Hamilton, British Ambassador in Naples, was an enthusiastic witness to lava flow and the release of scorching volcanic stones. He wrote an account for the Royal Society of London which was subsequently published in the lavishly illustrated Campi Phlegraei: Observations of the Volcanos of the Two Sicilies (1776). Human reaction was documented by Italian naturalists Teodoro Monticelli and Nicola Covelli when they observed one of the larger eruptions in 1822 (quoted from Scarth 2009: 249): “Terror had spread throughout the regions around Vesuvius (...). The frequent earth tremors, the uninterrupted rain of red-hot stones, the continual explosions of thunderbolts hurled violently onto the highest points of the churches, the houses and the trees, and the widespread flashes of lightening that sprang as often from the ground as from the sky – all produced different effects upon the unfortunate people caught in their homes.”

Poynter’s burning rock-fall and fiery light look back to earlier paintings of the Roman disaster as well as to descriptions of more recent eruptions replete with red lava flow and dramatic effects of lightening. So familiar was the spectacle of volcanic eruption that it was emulated for entertainment in the form of pyrotechnic firework displays staged in London’s pleasure gardens, along with in-

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___door shows using dioramas, light and sound effects, from the eighteenth cen___tury onwards.7 Vesuvius and its destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum pro___vided a familiar disaster narrative in which to place these entertainments. ___ One of the most successful fictional accounts of Vesuvius’ eruption was ___Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s historical novel, The Last Days of Pompeii. Published in ___1834, his work combines archaeological detail with fanciful plot and colourful ___characters in its narration of the Roman town’s demise (see Harrison 2011). Bul___wer-Lytton anticipated Poynter with a portrayal of a soldier remaining steady at ___his post in the middle of Pompeii’s destruction. Nearing the end of the novel, ___and mid-eruption, Bulwer-Lytton describes the flight of his characters through a ___town devastated by volcanic ash and falling debris (Bulwer-Lytton 1835 [vol. 2]: ___180): ___ “The air was now still for a few minutes: the lamp from the gate streamed out far and ___ clear: the fugitives hurried on – they gained the gate – they passed by the Roman sentry, ___ the lightening flashed over his livid face and polished helmet, but his stern features were ___ composed even in their awe! He remained erect and motionless at his post. That hour it___ self had not animated the machine of the ruthless majesty of Rome, into the reasoning and ___ self-acting man. There he stood, amidst the crashing elements: he had not received the ___ permission to desert his station and escape.” ___ ___For those unfamiliar with the story, Poynter appended a long catalogue quota___tion to the painting at the Royal Academy exhibition (RA 1865, cat. 542): ___ “In carrying on the excavations near the Herculaneum gate of Pompeii, the skeleton of a ___ soldier in full armour was discovered. Forgotten in the terror and confusion that reigned ___ during the destruction of the city, the sentinel had received no order to quit his post, while ___ all sought safety in flight, he remained faithful to his duty, notwithstanding the certain ___ doom which awaited him.” ___ ___The soldier’s story derives from archaeological claims that a skeleton was dis___covered just outside the Herculaneum Gate at Pompeii in 1763. The location was ___a niche, thought to be a sentry box, and the skeleton was said to be holding a ___lance and surrounded by armour. Immediately translated into narrative, a sad ___but heroic tale of a soldier standing firm at his post to face certain death soon ___circulated in popular and scholarly publications alike.8 ___ ___ ___ 7 See Altick (1978: 80–82, 96, 321–323, 463, 485). For an overview of volcanic disasters in a ___ wide variety of creative and entertainment forms, see Daly (2011). ___8 For suggestions about the skeleton’s apparent discovery, see Behlman (2007: 160–161). For ___an account of its subsequent narrativisation, see Moorman (2003: 20–24).

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William Gell’s 1817 archaeological handbook, Pompeiana, reports on a skeleton of a soldier “who preferred dying at his post to quitting it for the more ignominious death which, in conformity with the severe discipline of his country, would have awaited him” (Gell 1817–19: 94). A more valiant tone is taken in Charlotte M. Yonge’s 1864 collection of inspiring historical stories for children, A Book of Golden Deeds (Yonge 1864: 16): “Duty kept the sentinel at his post at the gate of Pompeii, even when the stifling dust of ashes came thicker and thicker from the volcano, and the liquid mud streamed down, and the people fled and struggled on, and still the sentry stood at his post, unflinching till death had stiffened his limbs.”

Both Gell and Bulwer-Lytton imply that the soldier is an insensible product of the Roman war machine,9 but for Yonge, and arguably for Poynter too, he is a symbol of heroic self-mastery and resolve. Contemporary art commentators certainly stress the heroism of Poynter’s Roman guard. The critic of The Times (8 May 1865, p. 8) notes that it is the terror around him that “furnishes the measure of the heroism which nerves the limbs and looks out of the eyes of the steady soldier”. F.G. Stephens, writing in The Athenaeum (13 May 1865, p. 658), emphasises the anonymous status of this ordinary rank-and-file member of the Roman army who “sees the way of his duty, and stands unknown but glorious”. What had changed in the thirty-odd years between Bulwer-Lytton’s and Poynter’s accounts of the Pompeian sentry’s story was the transformation of the reputation of the common soldier from ne’er-do-well to popular hero. At the beginning of the Victorian period, rank-and-file British soldiers had a poor standing. Often enlisting as an alternative to prison or destitution, British troops were famously stigmatised by Wellington as “the scum of the earth” (Stanhope 1888: 14). If popular notions of a soldier’s lifestyle was that of brawling, drinking, gambling and whoring, actual conditions in the services were harsh: scant rations and severe discipline, and no hope of rising up the ranks without the money to buy an officer commission. In a soldier’s memoir, Sergeant J. M. MacMullen describes the British ranker as facing opposition on all sides: “He is looked on in every country as being of inferior species: as a paria[h] of the body politic; and thought to be almost incapable of moral or social improvement. His own officers despise him, and the public at large despises him” (MacMullen 1846: 41–42).

_____ 9 Prettejohn (1996b: 128) endorses the positive imperialist analogy but also suggests that the painting could be seen as a “criticism of authoritarianism”.

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___ After the death of Wellington in 1852, a public funeral and national mourn___ing helped to engender renewed press interest in the British military and its ___triumphs. But in the same year, another incident focused attention on the ordi___nary soldier. A troopship carrying army personnel and civilians, the HMS Bir___kenhead, was sunk off the coast of South Africa with considerable loss of life. ___Newspapers described the way ordinary soldiers had calmly awaited their ___deaths on the sinking ship, while, seemingly inventing the phrase “women and ___children first”, they allowed the too few lifeboats to rescue the civilians on ___board.10 For the first time the public were shown the British ranker as a para___digm of noble self-sacrifice. ___ Within a few years, the Crimean War consolidated attention onto soldiers’ ___actions and lives and, more generally, onto the organisation of the army along ___with Britain’s role in Europe and changing understandings of nationhood. This ___was the first conflict to receive extensive press coverage, including daily des___patches along with illustrations in the form of engravings and lithographs.11 ___Rather than war bulletins from generals, newspapers printed reports and ___sketches from war correspondents and artists situated at the front – and this, at ___a time when newspaper readership was on the increase, after prices fell with the ___repeal of the advertisement tax and abolition of stamp tax. A wide audience ___now read of British troops enduring typhus, dysentery, the cold Russian winter, ___and a series of military blunders by the officers in command. ___ The most infamous episode was the Charge of the Light Brigade, in which ___misunderstandings between commanders led to 600-odd cavalrymen charging ___to their deaths, into a valley heavily defended by Russian artillery. It was ___claimed that Lord Cardigan, who led the charge from the front, neglected to ___look back to see the plight of his men, and, once the battle was over, left the ___field for his yacht in Balaclava harbour for a champagne supper (see Woodham___Smith 1953: 258). Casualties were high: dead or wounded numbered 21 officers ___and 227 rank-and-file men (see Calthorpe 1857: 132). Published within six weeks ___of the event, Tennyson’s poem on the subject berated the folly of the manoeuvre ___and lauded the bravery of the common men involved. Criticism of Lord Raglan ___and his generals was led by war journalist W. H. Russell in The Times. In 1855 a ___leading article declared that “if Government (...) choose to sell themselves to the ___aristocracy, and through the aristocracy to their enemies, it is their own affair, ___we wipe our hands of the national suicide” (The Times, 15 January 1855, p. 6). ___ ___ ___ 10 Later the subject of a popular painting by Thomas Hemy, The Wreck of the Birkenhead ___(1892). See Hichberger (1988: 38). ___11 On the Crimean War in the illustrated popular press, see Lalumia (1984: esp. 53–74).

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The public rallied against an army system that privileged the elite purchase of commissions – Cardigan was said to have paid £ 40,000 to become lieutenantcolonel of the 11th Light Dragoons (see Farwell 1981: 56–57) – and sympathised with the ordinary soldiers, their privations and their heroism on the field of battle. Soldiers’ memoirs and military novels found a ready market after the Napoleonic campaigns, and now literature had a new war for its subject. In 1856 the fictional memoir of Crimean officer, Captain Hedley Vicars, by Catherine Marsh proved especially popular, selling 70,000 copies in its first year of publication, and remaining in print throughout the century (see Anderson 1971: 48). Vicars displays particular courage at the battle of Sebastopol in which “himself foremost in the conflict, he led on his gallant men to victory, charging two thousand with a force of barely two hundred. A bayonet wound in the breast only fired his courage the more” (Marsh 1856: 27). Vicars is an aristocratic officer, but the regular soldier was also given prominence. George W. M. Reynolds’ The Soldier’s Wife (1853) and Pierce Egan’s Clifton Grey: Or, Love and War (1854) both lauded the ranker and criticised the elite nature of the military system (see Reed 2008). Twenty years after the Crimean war, it was still being remembered for the ordeals of the ordinary soldier. Elizabeth Butler’s painting Balaclava, exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1876 to critical acclaim, depicts the exhausted, ragged and wounded survivors of the Light Brigade, all rank and file men. The art critic of The Times (2 May 1876, p. 4) lauded the painting for presenting war “shorn of its glitter” and yet, at the same time, equally for the way it shows “all the heart in a man rise to the godlikeness of self-sacrifice”. Along with the qualities of endurance and strength, understood as prerequisites of manly success in battle was a recognition of the willingness to accept war’s cost and even the sacrifice of one’s own life. Poynter’s painting too is about the price of sacrifice. His Roman soldier is not immune to the chaos surrounding him, and in the face of certain death his expression registers fear. But it is precisely his ability to master that fear that makes him all the more heroic and captures the very particular pathos of the scene. During the Crimean War, press reports of lived experiences created a demand for their visual realisation, and numerous prints and photographs comprising eye-witness accounts were produced for sale.12 William Simpson’s twovolume set of lithographs entitled The Seat of War in the East (sold by London print seller Colnaghi) was a commercial success. Art dealers Agnew and Sons

_____ 12 Photographs were not reproduced in the press until the 1890s.

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___commissioned photographer Roger Fenton to create marketable images for sale ___(see Lalumia 1984: 117–122). In a similar vein, Joseph Cundall and Robert ___Howlett produced a series of photographic studio portraits entitled “Crimean ___Heroes” commemorating soldiers who had distinguished themselves in battle, ___both officers and enlisted men. The photographs were sold as popular prints, ___thus disseminating images of ordinary soldiers. Among their most admired por___traits were Scottish soldiers, especially men of the Highland regiments in their ___distinctive battle dress of kilt, sporran and feather bonnet. ___ After the war, Cundall and Howlett concentrated on documentary images of ___wounded veterans, again recording the rank and file in their photographs from ___the military hospital at Brompton. Similar imagery is employed in high art with ___Joseph Noel Paton’s Home (1856), which features a wounded corporal returning ___to a modest but comfortable home. Greeted by his family, the soldier drops ex___hausted into a chair by the domestic hearth. On his uniform is displayed a ___medal, but the cost of his bravery is high, as shown by a bandaged head injury ___and a missing arm (see Lalumia 1983: 28–29). ___ A new national mindset in relation to the army during the Crimean War was ___actualised by the inauguration of the Victoria Cross, the first recognition of val___our for all ranks within the British armed forces. A visual commemoration of the ___men awarded the new honour was a series of paintings by British artist Louis ___Desange depicting award-holders’ acts of valour. In 1859 twenty-four of De___sange’s battle pictures were exhibited in Piccadilly with the full series of fifty___five on show at Crystal Palace in 1862. In Sergeant Luke O’Connor winning the ___Victoria Cross at the Battle of Alma (see Figure 2), O’Connor of the Welch Fusil___iers at the centre right picks up the regimental standard from a fallen comrade ___and carries it through battle. The War-Office report recorded that O’Connor car___ried the colour until the end of action despite a gunshot wound to his chest ___(Daily News, 26 February 1857). ___ A year after its introduction, the greatest number of Victoria Crosses won on ___a single day marked the Relief of Lucknow during the Indian Mutiny of 1857. ___Begun as a small-scale rebellion of Indian soldiers in British service, military ___and civil unrest soon spread throughout British India. At Lucknow the British ___Commissioner retreated to the Residency compound with forces and civilians to ___endure a long siege until the relief army arrived. That British civilians were ___caught up in the fighting shocked the public back home, and fabricated ac___counts of atrocities perpetrated on women and children abounded. Thus the ___soldiers who subdued the rebellion were hailed as heroes in a fervour of patri___otic pride. Another Desange painting, Private Henry Ward of the 78th Highland___ers at Lucknow (see Figure 3), illustrates the heroism of an ordinary soldier, this ___time a Highland regiment private. General Henry Havelock had led the first re-

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lief of Lucknow, but his force had remained trapped in the British Residency. A month later he was relieved by General Colin Campbell (Commander-in-Chief of British forces in India), whose Highlanders succeeded in rescuing and evacuating the British community. The action of the painting is described in detail by a catalogue note written for Desange’s 1862 exhibition (The Victoria Cross Gallery, British works of art painted by the Chevalier Louis W. Desanges, Crystal Palace, 1862, cat. no. 20): “For his gallant and devoted conduct in having, on the night of the 25th and morning of the 26th September, remained by the dooley of Sir H.M. Havelock, Bart., V.C., then Lieutenant, H.M.’s 10th Foot, Deputy-Assistant Adjutant-General Field Force, who was severely wounded, and, on the morning of the 26th, escorted that officer and Private Pilkington, 78th Highlanders, who receiving a wound, had flung himself into the dooley, thereby causing the bearers to drop their double load.”

Private Ward stands on the right of the picture in his distinguishing Highland uniform. Protecting the injured Havelock and Private Pilkington, he stands firm while the chaos of battle rages around him. The citation for Ward’s VC reads that he maintained under heavy fire “the same steadiness as if on parade” (The London Gazette, 18 June 1858, p. 2958). The Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny were kept at the forefront of the public imagination in poetry, plays, paintings, pageants and panoramas (see Mackenzie 1992: 41–42). Pyrotechnic effects had been used in staged battles from the turn of the century. At London’s Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, a Battle of Waterloo spectacle was advertised as “a superb display of FIREWORKS” (Altick 1978: 321). The techniques that produced the illusion of military firepower were the same as those used in the volcano spectacles, and the site in Vauxhall, which came to be called “Waterloo Grounds”, regularly featured pyrotechnic entertainments including the eruption of Vesuvius. With these heroic examples still fresh in the popular consciousness, Poynter’s Faithful unto Death calls to mind comparisons between Roman and British soldierly resolve. Indeed, Private Ward’s upright posture in Desange’s painting can even be compared with the taut body of Poynter’s soldier. In more general terms, Poynter recalls the celebrated heroism of rank and file VC holders, and, in doing so, reinforces the connection between the militaristic masculinity that defines both Romanness and Britishness at a time when Victorian Britain had begun to look back to ancient Rome for the development of new national and imperial ideologies. In the wake of the Indian Mutiny, British concerns in India, which had started out as having a commercial enterprise, with the establishment and expansion of the East Indian Company, turned to policies of reform and a mis-

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___sion of controlling (and civilising) the population under rule. Now that Britain ___was establishing an empire that was clearly maintained by military force, na___tional identity and militarism became more firmly intertwined with heroic mas___culinity at the centre of both.13 At the same time, ancient Rome played a key part ___in the development of British imperial and national ideologies. The teaching of ___Classics was widely accepted as a means of forging attitudes to empire on the ___part of military and government officials alike (see Symonds 1986). In India ad___ministrators of the new British Raj were expected to know their Classics. Quali___fying examinations for the Indian Civil Service allocated double the marks for ___Greek and Latin than for modern, far Eastern and Asian languages (see Vasunia ___2013: 193–227). A knowledge of the Classics had its practical uses – at the siege of ___Lucknow messages were sent out of the British Residency encoded in ancient ___Greek (see Hagerman 2013: 169) – and in a wider context, classical discourse ___united India’s imperialist rulers through a shared educational and cultural code. ___ Roman antiquity could offer an example for the governing of colonial popu___lations, and, through Roman Stoicism – as propounded by Seneca, Epictetus ___and Marcus Aurelius –, a model of living that emphasised commitment, deter___mination and self-control. In the actual Roman army, the military oath recorded ___in Vegetius’ fourth-century A.D. Epitome of Military Science (sworn on enlist___ment and during every year of service) called on soldiers “to carry out all the ___emperor’s commands energetically, never desert their military service or shirk ___death on behalf of the Roman state” (Vegetius, Epit. 2.5: iurant autem milites ___omnia se strenue facturos, quae praeceperit imperator, numquam deserturos ___militiam nec mortem recusaturos pro Romana republica; transl. Campbell 2002: ___38). The penalty for cowardice or desertion could in fact be death, but the words ___of the Roman military ‘sacramentum’ encapsulated a pattern of behaviour pro___pounded as the ideal of martial masculinity found in the men who served in the ___British army, and seen to be epitomised in Sergeant O’Connor, Private Ward and ___others like them. ___ Alongside a brand of imperial Britishness informed by Roman reception ___was a new tradition of Christian militarism or ‘muscular Christianity’ that de___veloped associations between Church and army. As popular support for the ___army and its mission grew, so did the equation of the military with morality, ___and, in particular, the notion of the fighting of a just war (see Anderson 1971, ___Watson 2000, and Hall 2006). Henry Havelock, known for his religious princi___ ___ ___ 13 Popular literature especially draws on and contributes to the construction of Victorian ___manliness as militaristic and imperialistic, especially towards the end of the century with the ___new genre of boys’ adventure stories. See Green (1979) and Dawson (1994).

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ples, kept his troops in line by maintaining sobriety and reading from the Bible (see Peck 1998: 19). Hand in hand with morality went what was perceived as military justice: during the Indian Mutiny, Havelock also charged his men to “restore the supremacy of British rule and avenge the fate of British men and women” (Hibbert 1978: 203). As early as the 1820s, Christianity had become associated with military values in war novels. One of the first and most successful exemplifications of this genre, George Robert Gleig’s The Subaltern (1825), which follows the fictional diaries of a soldier fighting the French in Spain, was written by a military man who became a Church of England minister and Chaplain-General of the Armed Forces (see Walton 2010: 32). By the 1850s ‘muscular Christianity’ was espoused by writers such as Charles Kingsley, whose novel Westward Ho (1855) united religion and warfare in a rousing adventure story set in Elizabethan England but clearly based on the Crimean War (see Watson 2000). In the same year, Catherine Marsh’s fictional memoir of a Crimean officer – A Sketch of the Life of Capt. Hedley Vicars, the Christian Soldier – is, as its title makes clear, both a war biography and a religious tract. After leading an idle and dissolute life as a young man, Marsh’s Captain Vicars becomes a Christian convert,14 whose religion is bound up with his sense of good, right and patriotic duty. Marsh’s work had a specific evangelical function; she had copies of Capt. Hedley Vicars sent out to the Mediterranean fleet and to soldiers in South Africa, as well as giving personal addresses to the troops.15 During the Crimean War, when public sympathy resulted in the creation of voluntary organisations like the Patriotic Fund that sent out provisions to the troops, religious organisations also sent Bibles and evangelical Christian missions accompanied their donations. Havelock, a middle-class Christian officer who made his way up the ranks through merit, was very much at odds with the old notions of common soldiers as drunken rabble and officers as incompetent aristocrats. When he died at Lucknow, Havelock became a national hero (see Dawson 1994: 79–154). In 1871 the Cardwell army reforms instituted shorter terms of service and higher wages and abolished the purchase system for commissions. With his VC,

_____ 14 A similar character development is seen in Glaucus, the hero of Bulwer-Lytton’s The Last Days of Pompeii who is introduced as an Athenian aristocrat enjoying the pleasures of Roman life and ends the novel as a Christian convert. Christianity was to become a major theme of Roman-subject novels in which a stock character is the decadent Roman protagonist who adopts a virtuous life following Christian conversion. For details, see Turner (1999). 15 See Anderson (1971: 48 n. 4). Marsh even sent copies to the troops fighting on both sides of the Franco-Prussian War.

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___Sergeant O’Connor had won a commission and went on to become a major___general. This type of non-purchased commission was the aim of the reforms, ___which some had been demanding for years. As early as 1855, The Times ___(8 March 1855, p. 6) had called for a place in the army to be “open to everyone ___whose bravery and intelligence qualify him to fill it”. The eventual reforms ___were, in part, a product of ‘muscular Christianity’ and opposition to class privi___lege which had brought about the entirely new conception of the soldier, ___charged now with upholding the moral well-being as well as the physical safety ___of the nation. ___ The title of Poynter’s painting has a biblical reference. It derives from the ___Book of Revelation, 2.10: “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown ___of life.” This is a line that was popularised in the 1830s by Felix Mendelssohn ___Bartholdy’s Paulus oratorio, where it entitles a poignant tenor aria in which ___Paul takes leave of his followers. Poynter was to use the line again for inscrip___tions accompanying his frescoes of the martyrdom of Saint Stephen at Saint ___Stephen’s Church in Dulwich (completed in 1873) in which two angels carry ___scrolls, each bearing parts of the text. By using these biblical words for the title ___of a Pompeian painting in Faithful unto Death, the artist makes a decisive con___nection not only between ancient and modern heroism, but also between pagan ___Rome and Christian Britain, and on both levels underscores the principle that ___the past still has relevance for the present. ___ Victorian classical-subject painting reflects and consolidates contemporary ___culture, but a key characteristic of the genre is also its close attention to ar___chaeological detail. For his authentic scenes of ancient life, Lawrence Alma___Tadema collected four-thousand photographs of Greek and Roman art and ar___chitecture. Poynter himself was a member of the Hellenic society. In 1886 he ___presented a paper at a general meeting of members, later published in the Jour___nal of Hellenic Studies, on a bronze leg recently acquired by the British Museum ___(Poynter 1886). ___ In Faithful unto Death historically accurate detail is represented by the sol___dier’s meticulously reconstructed Roman armour. Poynter has chosen to depict ___his soldier in legionary segmentata lorica, a Gallic style helmet with cheek ___pieces, a hasta spear and a studded balteus that holds a gladius (a short steel ___sword, of which one type was named after Pompeii following discovery of such ___weapons during excavation there).16 Interest in the Roman military machine was ___at a high during the period of Poynter’s painting as seen by the Victoria and Al___ ___ ___16 I am grateful to Ryan Cooper of the Institute of Classical Studies Library (London) for in___formation on Roman armour.

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bert Museum’s acquisition of a cast of Trajan’s Column.17 Although it may be implausible that a town watchman would be given full military equipment for rudimentary guard duty,18 Poynter’s use of armour worn by a Roman legionary has allowed him to produce an image of an ordinary soldier who has found himself in an extraordinary situation. On the left of the picture and next to the soldier’s right arm is a representation of a Roman graffito of another armoured Roman soldier holding a spear. Perhaps a “permanent record” of the soldier’s heroic stand, it will remain etched on the wall long after he has perished (see Kestner 1995: 99). Cut off at the edge of the canvas, the writing accompanying the figure can just be deciphered as referring to Legion IV. This is a common motif in Alma-Tadema’s work: objects and inscriptions abruptly cut off challenge the viewer into deciphering and then recognising their sources (see Barrow 2007b: 198–199). It is uncertain whether Poynter is referencing an actual Pompeian source, but in any event, real Roman soldier graffiti from Pompeii, with its allusion to sexual conquests rather than soldierly resolve,19 has more in common with Wellington’s army than with the heroes of Crimea and India that supplanted it. The soldier graffito and the actual warrior depicted wear similar armour. In this choice of armour Poynter is keen to mark status by identifying his man as an ordinary soldier. Evidence of military dress was available from material remains of arms and armour as well as sculptural examples of commemorative portrait statues and funerary monuments. One of the best-known soldier sculptures is a relief in the Louvre (LL.398), thought to be a representation of the Praetorian Guard from the mid first century A.D. Although some of the elaborate plumed helmets are Renaissance restorations, this is a recognisable image of the Roman military that is used in countless receptions from Renaissance painting onwards. From Pompeii itself is a portrait statue of Marcus Holconius Rufus in military dress in the National Museum in Naples (NM 6233), a figure known from electoral and other public inscriptions as an important local official and prominent benefactor. Of equestrian rank, Holconius imitates imperial and aris-

_____ 17 Although the cast was not on display until 1873, it was commissioned in 1864. 18 On the labour, time and cost of the production of Roman body armour, see Sims & Kaminski (2012). 19 See, for example, CIL IV 8767: Floronius benef(iciarius) ac miles leg(ionis) VII hic fuit, neque mulieres scierunt nisi paucae et seserunt (‘Floronius was here, soldier of the Seventh Legion [with special privileges]. But none of the women knew, except a few, and there were only six’). In this much-debated (and very variously read) text, the last Latin word (not Latin, as it stands) is here taken as ses erunt (= sex fuerunt); see de Abreu Funari (1995: 13).

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___tocratic imagery: moulded breast plate, voluminous cloak and heeled senatorial ___sandals. ___ Poynter’s soldier is much more modestly attired than either of these exam___ples with his simple chest armour, helmet and ordinary soldier’s boots. His ___knee-length military tunic, however, though properly Roman, bears comparison ___with the Highland soldier’s kilt. The most well-known and popular British regi___ment, the Highlanders, were not only conspicuous for their distinctive costume, ___but also for their notable bravery during the Crimean war and the Indian Mutiny ___(see Streets 2002: 213–220). Colin Campbell and the Highland Brigade distin___guished themselves at Alma and Balaclava and the second relief of Lucknow. ___Known for their unyielding attitude under fire, the men received from Campbell ___before battle the famous exhortation: “There is no retreat from here, men! You ___must die where you stand!” (see Spiers 2006: 5). ___ Repeatedly retold, the story of Poynter’s soldier himself was seemingly a ___product of archaeology. And yet, only two years after Poynter’s painting, the ___soldier’s existence came to be dismissed as ‘pure fable’ in Thomas Dyer’s Pom___peii: Its History, Buildings and Antiquities. Dyer (1867: 531) explains: ___ ___ “The Journals of Excavations know nothing of this soldier, although they always particularly record the discovery of skeletons because in most cases some coins or other property ___ were found near them.” ___ ___ ___He goes on to point out that the presumed sentry box is actually a tomb. The ___structure is a small vaulted niche with marble altar and statue base flanked by ___seats. Inscriptions on the statue base and altar (CIL X 994 and X 995) attest it to ___be the funerary monument of one Marcus Cerrinius Restitutus (see Figure 4). ___Subsequent publications, more interested in the tomb, began to ignore the sol___dier story altogether. Today’s scholars propose that the skeleton – if he ever ex___isted – may have been a fugitive looking for shelter in the tomb rather than ___guarding the entrance to the town (see Lazer 2009: 15 n. 47). How a tomb became a sentry box, and how an account of the soldier’s dis___ ___covery and identification came into being, is uncertain. It has been suggested ___that it originated with cicerones, Italian guides who offered tours of Pompeii to ___European travellers, along with embellished tales of the town and its inhabi___tants (see Moorman 2003: 24). And this soldier’s story is a good one: it was de___scribed by Mark Twain, in The Innocents Abroad (1869), as “perhaps the most ___poetical thing Pompeii has yielded to modern research” (Twain 2002: 97). In ___mid-Victorian Britain, this Roman soldier had particular contemporary reso___nances of modern military heroics, given further emphasis by Poynter’s choice ___of Christian title. Yonge’s Book of Golden Deeds even makes the contemporary

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analogy explicit by comparing the Pompeian soldier with one Dr Hay, a British surgeon who refused to leave his patients at Benares during the Indian Mutiny (Yonge 1864: 16). With its arresting combination of death, destruction, drama and sentiment, Faithful unto Death was well received when first exhibited and remains a popular painting at the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool to this day (see Morris 1996: 366). Poynter’s achievement is to have pictured a plausible (if not archaeologically accurate) past that resonated powerfully with his Victorian present. The scenario of a Roman soldier’s unyielding duty faced with the destruction of Pompeii may be fictional, but he stands as a powerful emblem of martial masculinity. Such a construction of heroic manhood appeals to a sense of burgeoning British imperialistic nationhood, tinged with ideals of ‘muscular Christianity’, and it is here that Victorian and Roman identities intersect. Faithful unto Death recalls the celebrated heroism of Sergeant O’Connor, Private Ward and many other rank-and-file British soldiers, and, in doing so, reinforces the interface between Britain and Rome, at a time when a new imperialist agenda in the present sought positive role models in the ancient past.

Bibliography Altick, Richard D. (1978): The Shows of London, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Anderson, Olive (1971): The growth of Christian militarism in mid-Victorian Britain. In: English Historical Review 86, 46–72. Barrow, Rosemary J. (2001): Lawrence Alma-Tadema, London: Phaidon. Barrow, Rosemary J. (2007a): Arte, archeologia e antichità. Alma-Tadema e Pompei. In: Eugenia Querci & Stefano De Caro (eds.), Alma-Tadema e la nostalgia dell’antico, Milan: Mondadori Electa, 41–53. Barrow, Rosemary J. (2007b): Creating Continuity with the Traditions of High Art. The Use of Classical Art and Literature by Victorian Painters 1860–1912, Lampeter: Edwin Mellen Press. Behlman, Lee (2007): The sentinel of Pompeii. An exemplum for the nineteenth century. In: Victoria C. Gardner Coates & Jon L. Seydl (eds.), Antiquity Recovered. The Legacy of Pompeii and Herculaneum, Los Angeles: Getty Museum, 157–170. Betzer, Sarah (2010): Afterimage of the eruption. An archaeology of Chassériau’s Tepidarium. In: Art History 33, 466–489. Betzer, Sarah (2011): Archaeology meets fantasy. Chassériau’s Pompeii in nineteenth-century Paris. In: Shelley Hales & Joanna Paul (eds.), Pompeii in the Public Imagination from its Rediscovery to Today, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 118–135. Bradley, Mark (ed.) (2010): Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bulwer-Lytton, Edward (1835): The Last Days of Pompeii (2 vols.), New York: Harper & Brothers.

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___Butler, Sarah J. (2012): Britain and its Empire in the Shadow of Rome. The Reception of Rome in Socio-Political Debate from the 1850s to the 1920s, London: Bloomsbury. ___ Calthorpe, Baron Somerset Gough (1857): Letters from Headquarters: Or, the Realities of the ___ War in the Crimea, by an Officer on the Staff, London: John Murray. ___Campbell, Brian (2002): War and Society in Imperial Rome 31 BC – AD 284, London: Routledge. ___Daly, Nicholas (2011): The volcanic disaster narrative. From pleasure garden to canvas, page, and stage. In: Victorian Studies 53, 255–285. ___ ___Dawson, Graham (1994): Soldier Heroes. British Adventure, Empire and the Imagining of Masculinity, London: Routledge. ___ De Abreu Funari, Pedro Paulo (1995): Apotropaic symbolism at Pompeii. A reading of the graffiti ___ evidence. In: Revista de História 132, 9–17. ___Dyer, Thomas H. (1867): Pompeii. Its History, Buildings and Antiquities, London: G. Bell & ___ Sons. ___Farwell, Byron (1981): Mr Kipling’s Army. All the Queen’s Men, New York: W.W. Norton & Company. ___ Gardner Coates, Victoria C. & Jon L. Seydl (eds.) (2007): Antiquity Recovered. The Legacy of ___ Pompeii and Herculaneum, Los Angeles: Getty Museum. ___Gell, William (1817–19): Pompeiana. The Topography, Edifices, and Ornaments of Pompeii, ___ London: Rodwell & Martin. ___Green, Martin (1979): Dreams of Adventure, Deeds of Empire, London: Routledge. ___Guardiola, Rosario (2013): Archaeology in Alma-Tadema’s paintings. The influence of Pompeii. In: Lenia Kouneni (ed.), The Legacy of Antiquity. New Perspectives in the Reception of the ___ Classical World, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 161–183. ___Hagerman, Christopher A. (2013): Britain’s Imperial Muse. The Classics, Imperialism, and the ___ Indian Empire 1784–1914, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. ___Hales, Shelley & Joanna Paul (eds.) (2011): Pompeii in the Public Imagination from its Rediscovery to Today, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ___ Hall, Donald E. (ed.) (2006): Muscular Christianity. Embodying the Victorian Age, Cambridge: ___ Cambridge University Press. ___ Harrison, Stephen (2011): Bulwer-Lytton’s The Last Days of Pompeii. Re-creating the city. In: ___ Shelley Hales & Joanna Paul (eds.), Pompeii in the Public Imagination from its Rediscovery ___ to Today, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 75–89. ___Hibbert, Christopher (1978): The Great Mutiny. India 1857, London: Allen Lane. ___Hichberger, Joan W. M. (1988): Images of the Army. The Military in British Art 1815–1914, Manchester: Manchester University Press. ___ Kestner, Joseph A. (1995): Masculinities in Victorian Painting, Aldershot: Scolar Press. ___Lalumia, Matthew P. (1983): Realism and anti-aristocratic sentiment in Victorian depictions of ___ the Crimean War. In: Victorian Studies 27, 25–51. ___Lalumia, Matthew P. (1984): Realism and Politics in Victorian Art of the Crimean War, Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press. ___ ___Landow, George P. (1984): Victorianized Romans. Images of Rome in Victorian painting. In: Browning Institute Studies 12, 29–51. ___ Lapatin, Kenneth & Jon S. Seydl (eds.) (2012): The Last Days of Pompeii. Decadence, Apoca___ lypse, Resurrection, Los Angeles: Getty Museum. ___Lazer, Estelle (2009): Resurrecting Pompeii, London: Routledge. ___Mackenzie John M. (ed.) (1992): Popular Imperialism and the Military 1850–1950, Manchester: Manchester University Press. ___

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MacMullen, John M. (1846): Camp and Barrack-Room or, the British Army as it is, by a Late Staff-Sergeant of the 13th Light Infantry, London: Chapman & Hall. Marsh, Catherine (1856): A Sketch of the Life of Capt. Hedley Vicars, the Christian Soldier, London: J. Nisbet & Co. Mattusch, Carol C. (ed.) (2013): Rediscovering the Ancient World on the Bay of Naples, 1710– 1890, New Haven: Yale University Press. Moorman, Eric M. (2003): Literary evocations of ancient Pompeii. In: Pier Giovanno Guzzo (ed.), Tales from an Eruption. Pompeii, Herculaneum, Oplontis, Milan: Mondadori Electa, 15–33. Morris, Edward (1996): Victorian and Edwardian Paintings in the Walker Art Galleries and Sudley House, London: HMSO. Peck, John (1998): War, the Army and Victorian Literature, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Poynter, Edward J. (1886): On a bronze leg from Italy. In: Journal of Hellenic Studies 7, 189– 195. Prettejohn, Elizabeth (1996a): Recreating Rome in Victorian painting. From history to genre. In: Michael Liversidge & Catharine Edwards (eds.), Imagining Rome. British Artists and Rome in the Nineteenth Century, London: Merrell Holberton, 54–69. Prettejohn, Elizabeth (1996b): Recreating Rome. In: Michael Liversidge & Catharine Edwards (eds.), Imagining Rome. British Artists and Rome in the Nineteenth Century, London: Merrell Holberton, 125–127. Reed, John R. (2008): Fighting words. Two proletarian military novels of the Crimean period. In: Victorian Literature and Culture 36, 331–342. Scarth, Alwyn (2009): Vesuvius. A Biography, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Sigurdsson, Haraldur, Stanford Cashdollar & Stephen R.J. Sparks (1982): The eruption of Vesuvius in A.D. 79. Reconstruction from historical and volcanological evidence. In: American Journal of Archaeology 86, 39–51. Silk, Michael, Ingo Gildenhard & Rosemary Barrow (2013): The Classical Tradition. Art, Literature, Thought, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Sims, David & Jaime Kaminski (2012): Roman Imperial Armour. The Production of Early Imperial Military Armour, Oxford: Oxbow Books. Spiers, Edward M. (2006): The Scottish Soldier and Empire, 1854–1902, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Stanhope, Earl Philip Henry (1888): Notes of Conversations with the Duke of Wellington, London: John Murray. Streets, Heather (2002): Identity in the Highland regiments in the nineteenth century. Soldier, religion, nation. In: Steve Murdoch & Andrew MacKillop (eds.), Fighting for Identity. Scottish Military Experience 1550–1900, Leiden: Brill, 213–236. Symonds, Richard (1986): Oxford and Empire. The Last Lost Cause?, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Turner, Frank M. (1999): Christians and pagans in Victorian novels. In: Catharine Edwards (ed.), Roman Presences. Receptions of Rome in European Culture, 1789–1945, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 172–187. Twain, Mark (2002): The Innocents Abroad, New York: Penguin. Vance, Norman (2011): Anxieties of empire and the moral tradition. Rome and Britain. In: International Journal of the Classical Tradition 18, 246–261. Vasunia, Phiroze (2013): The Classics and Colonial India, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Walton, Susan (2010): Imagining Soldiers and Fathers in the Mid-Victorian Era. Charlotte Yonge’s Models of Manliness, Farnham: Ashgate.

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___Watson, John R. (2000): Soldiers and saints. The fighting man and the Christian life. In: Andrew Bradstock, Sean Gill, Anne Hogan & Sue Morgan (eds.), Masculinity and Spirituality in Vic___ torian Culture, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 10–26. ___ Woodham-Smith, Cecil (1953): The Reason Why. Story of the Fatal Charge of the Light Brigade, ___ Harmondsworth: Penguin. ___Yonge, Charlotte M. (1864): A Book of Golden Deeds, London: Blackie & Son. ___ ___ ___ Illustrations ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Figure 1: Edward Poynter, Faithful unto Death (1865, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool) ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

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Figure 2: Louis Desanges, Sergeant Luke O’Connor winning the Victoria Cross at the Battle of Alma (1854, Royal Welch Fusiliers Regimental Museum)

Figure 3: Louis Desanges, Private Henry Ward of the 78th Highlanders at Lucknow (1857, The Highlanders Museum, Inverness)

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Figure 4: Tomb of Marcus Cerrinius Restitutus, Pompeii

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___Richard Hingley ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___Richard Hingley ___Constructing the Nation and Empire: Victorian and Edwardian Images Abstract: This paper explores four images that date to the late nineteenth and early twentieth ___ centuries that show building operations in Roman Britain. These include two paintings, an ___engraving and a book illustration. The images show scenes derived from the Roman northern ___frontiers in Britain and also the building of the Roman fort at Manchester. A series of human ___characters included in these scenes provide insight into the ways that the Roman past was ___envisaged in Victorian and Edwardian Britain. This paper seeks to relate these images of ancient scenes of building to the concerns of contemporary communities about national identity ___ and the imperial role of Britain at a time of heightening international insecurity. It is clear that ___Romans and ancient Britons represented powerful ancestor figures and the images show a ___variety of ways in which the past was received and communicated. ___ ___ ___ ___1 Introduction ___ ___This paper draws upon four contrasting images dating to the period between ___1857 and 1911 that show the building of Roman fortifications in Britain: a paint___ing by William Bell Scott (1857), a mural by Ford Madox Brown (1879–80), a ___book illustration by Henry Ford (1911), and an engraving by Richard Caton ___Woodville (1911). These images project a number of stock ideas about the pre___sent age into the Roman past and, as with all images that deal with historical ___subjects, it is helpful to consider the underlying rationales that lay behind their ___production: the commissioning, function, context and the intended audiences ___(see Moser and Smiles 2005: 1). The Roman occupation of Britain provided peo___ple at this time with a strong set of parallels and contrasts with which to explore ___and conceptualise issues of national origins and imperial purpose (cf. Hingley ___2000, Bradley 2010, and Vance 1997). These images seek to place episodes of ___ancestral empire building into the context of British nationhood and imperial___ism trough references to industry, imperial infrastructure, gender, race and ___class. In particular, the people that form a fundamental element in all these im___ages focus attention on the make-up of the population of the British Isles and ___also the relationship of the British to the indigenous peoples of their Empire. ___Looking to the way that ideas of ethnology and ancestry are made to operate in ___these images, the main categories of people include Romans and other colo-

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nised subjects, including black-skinned figures, Germanic and Celtic peoples. In Victorian and Edwardian society there was a deep interest that linked the historical roots of the British people to ideas of national fortitude, with some looking to the ancient populations of the British Isles – the ancient Britons or the Celts – for ancestral origins, and others looking to the Germanic settlers of the early medieval period or to the idea of the mixing of ancient populations (see Hingley 2000 and Young 2008). The analogy that was often drawn between Roman officers in Britain and British officers in India also played a significant role in life in Roman Britain (see Hingley 2008: 238–241; Mantena 2010). We shall see that the four images played with these identities in drawing imperial messages for the British. These are the only images of this date-range known to me that illustrate Roman military building works in Britannia; three feature Hadrian’s Wall and the fourth the Roman fort at Manchester. I have already addressed the images by Scott, Woodville and Ford (see Hingley 2012), but this article contains a substantial re-assessment of my previous observations and also a new assessment of Brown’s work. The illustration of scenes set in Roman Britain had appealed to a number of artists during the eighteenth and nineteenth century, with themes derived from a number of stock topics, including Caesar’s invasion, the resistance of Boudica and Caratacus, Druids and Christians and the eventual departure of the Britons (see Smiles 1994: 133–164). The use of Roman Britain as a source for artistic inspiration appears, however, to have declined during the later nineteenth century. The Roman fortification images span a key period in which ideas about ancient Britain and Rome were being transformed (see Vance 1997). Public attitudes to Roman imperialism underwent a deep transformation during the 1870s, as the British started to investigate more openly the classical roots of their imperial activities. Before this time, ideas of empire were tarnished by the activities of Napoleon and his successors, but there was an increasingly public following for the debate about the relevance of value of empire after Parliament debated whether Queen Victoria should take the title of Empress of India in 1876 (see McCoskey 2012: 189; Vance 1997: 228–230). Scholars, artists and politicians played their part in this empire-debate through the drawing of regular comparisons between the Roman and British empires, exploring ideas that drew upon the perception that the Romans introduced civilisation to Western Europe, which the British then used to justify imperial control of others across its empire (see Hingley 2000: 48; Vance 1997: 238–240). This imperial comparison may have led to a more focused interest in illustrating life at the core of the Roman Empire during the later nineteenth century. Lawrence Alma-Tadema’s considerable output of work focuses upon hedonistic scenes set in the classical Mediterranean (see Barrow 2001: 7; cf. Goldhill 2011:

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___69), with only one work set in Roman Britain (see below). However, at this time ___there was also a significant increase in the number of schoolbooks and novels ___for young people that featured British history and some of these contained illus___trations of scenes drawn from Roman Britain (see Bradley 2010: 151–157). As a ___result, the medium in which relevant images were produced appears to have ___been changing. The illustration of these four ancient acts of building convey an ___increasingly detailed archaeological understanding of the impact of classical ___Rome upon ancient Britain that was arising as a result of the excavations of the ___major frontier works (Hadrian’s Wall and the Antonine Wall), Roman forts, cit___ies and villas – activities that were drawing attention to the immediacy of the ___Roman past buried just below people’s feet (see Hingley 2008: 238–325). Ar___chaeological excavation and art formed part of the process through which impe___rial comparisons and contrasts were developed ___ The main argument here is that, by illustrating the building of Roman infra___structure and peopling these scenes with an assortment of co-operative and re___sistant Romans, Celts, Britons, Germans, Africans and Syrians, these four artists ___engaged with issues that brought the Roman past into a direct engagement with ___the imperial present. In conceptual terms, these art works illustrate the growing ___use of imperial Rome to provide an analogy for contemporary Britain and its ___empire, reflecting the opportunities and the growing pressures during the later ___part of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Illustrating Roman military ___building work reflected the growth of the use of the analogy of classical Rome ___in Britain to inform the maintenance of nation and empire (see Hingley 2000: ___21–27). ___ ___ ___ 2 William Bell Scott’s ‘Building of the Roman ___ Wall’ (1857) ___ ___ ___Scott (1811–1890) was born in Edinburgh and was the first master of the New___castle School of Design at the time this painting was commissioned (see Figure 1). ___He was a well-known artist, poet, and friend of a number of pre-Raphaelite ___painters, including Dante Gabriel Rosetti (see Batchelor 2004; Trevelyan 1994: ___56). The owner of Wallington Hall, Sir Walter Calverley Trevelyan and his wife, ___Paulina Jermyn Trevelyan, commissioned a sequence of eight paintings from ___Scott and evidently played a significant role in the design and content of the ___Roman Wall painting. Wallington Hall is a neoclassical country house several ___kilometres to the north of Hadrian’s Wall and the central hall is decorated with ___this sequence of paintings, portraying scenes from the history of the county of

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Northumberland. The ‘Building of the Roman Wall’ is the first in the chronological sequence, which ends with one of Scott’s best-known paintings, ‘Iron and Cole’ (1861; see Smiles 1994: 143–144). This sequence equates the construction of Hadrian’s Wall with the early stages of Britain’s progress towards contemporary Christian imperial order (see Batchelor 2006: 125; Smiles 1994: 144– 147). The industry portrayed in the building of the Wall is also equated with the growing industrial significance of Newcastle and Tyneside, reflected in ‘Iron and Cole’ (see Usherwood 1996: 153). The additional decoration in the hall includes a series of medallions of local worthies, beginning with the emperor Hadrian and ending with the railway engineer George Stephenson (see Vance 1997: 245). Scott painted the ‘Building of the Roman Wall’ between January and June 1857 (see Hingley 2012: 159). The letters that the artist sent to Lady Trevelyan indicate that he held several discussions with two of the antiquaries who were currently excavating and publicising the Wall, John Clayton and John Collingwood Bruce (see Hingley 2012: 159–160). Scott aimed for a certain degree of historical accuracy and must have visited the Wall to create his painting, although it is impossible to reconstruct his exact viewpoint since this painting includes a degree of artistic licence. However, Scott examined images of Trajan’s column in order to portray the Roman soldiers with as much accuracy as possible (see Scott 1857). He also borrowed a Roman stone from the Wall to help his composition and illustrated one of the Latin inscriptions that had been found near to the site of the painting in the face of the Roman curtain Wall (see Hingley 2012: 161– 163). Susan Greaney (2013: 32) identifies William Bell Scott’s painting as perhaps one of the “first true reconstruction paintings” of Roman Britain to have been created and this painting prefigured a tradition of reconstruction drawings and paintings that were produced during the twentieth century. Greaney (2013: 31) discusses the purpose of reconstructions as “to put flesh on the bare bones of the past by restoring (...) what time has taken away”. This concern with the accuracy of detail was evidently of interest to Scott but does not appear to have been shared too directly by the other three artists considered in this paper (see Greaney 2013: 37). The scene is set at the base of Hotbanks Crags in the central section of Hadrian’s Wall, looking west. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this painting relates to the variety of people that it portrays (see Hingley 2012: 164–171). ‘Building of the Roman Wall’ drew deeply upon Victorian concepts of the ethnology of the Romans and ancient Britons, although it is unfortunate that Scott did not reflect on these issues in his letters, which makes his motivation difficult to comprehend. The painting evidently reflects imperial concerns, drawing a message from the ethnologically mixed nature of the community that is build-

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___ing and manning the frontier. Sam Smiles (1994:144–146) suggests that prob___lematic military events in Afghanistan and India during the previous decade ___provide a context for the painting, while the recent conflict with Russia in the ___Crimea during the previous years is presumably also relevant. I have argued ___that the painting includes at least three groups of people: (1) a number of Ro___man soldiers in legionary and auxiliary dress, (2) romanticised lowland ancient ___Britons, and (3) a small band of lightly clothed barbarian Caledonians who are ___attacking the building work in progress from outside the empire (see Hingley ___2012: 164). The Roman soldiers are of particular interest since they include a ___figure in legionary dress with dark skin, presumably an African (see Usherwood ___1996: 162 n. 6; Hingley 2010: 234). Close by, other auxiliary soldiers include one ___with a bow and arrow, a member of the First Cohort of Hamian archers from ___Syria, while a third soldier wears a ‘Phrygian cap’ and is intently involved in ___building the curtain Wall (see Hingley 2012: 165–166). These figures drew upon ___contemporary knowledge of the Roman population of the Wall since Latin in___scriptions found in the ruins of the monument and a late Roman source that ___mentions military units (the Notitia dignitatum) indicated the widespread origin ___of the Wall soldiers. ___ The painting depicts ancient Britons and Roman soldiers from across the ___empire and casts a reflective gaze on Britain’s imperial concerns at a time of ___particular imperial pressure (see Hingley 2012: 157; cf. Smiles 1994: 143–144). ___Noting the dark, rainy stretch of land on the right (barbarian) side of the paint___ing, Paul Usherwood (2007: 251–252) has suggested that this represents the an___ticipation of trouble ahead, but he also saw the attack from the north by the ___Caledonians as desperate and futile (see Usherwood 1996: 153). The symbolism ___of the painting appears, however, to be particularly complex. Certain Victorians ___considered that Rome had successfully addressed issues of imperial incorpora___tion that the British were beginning to find problematic by the mid 1850s. I have ___suggested that Scott’s painting appears to be playing with ideas of military ___identity, crossing geographical boundaries in a search for a viable analogy for ___the defence of the frontiers of the British Empire (Hingley 2012: 167). The idea ___that certain colonised peoples represented ‘martial races’ had a growing impact ___in Britain during the nineteenth century (see Streets 2004: 1). In this painting, ___the Roman army, which includes a number of native soldiers (i.e. not entirely ___Roman nor British), are helping to organise and defend a number of ancient ___British men, women and children, depicted as behind the curtain Wall, from the ___attack by Caledonians. ___ Victorians inherited contrasting views of ancient Britons as both noble and ___ignorant savages (see Smiles 1994: 2). The works of antiquaries and artists often ___portrayed these contradictory images of the ancient population as either valiant

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upholders of British national freedom or primitive savages more akin to certain colonised people within the British Empire (see Hingley 2012: 170). Some people considered the ancient Britons to represent the ancestors of the current Scots, Irish and Welsh, while the English and lowland Scots often felt themselves descended from the Anglo-Saxon settlers who had replaced the Roman-period populations (see Young 2008). The three ancient Britons on top of the curtain Wall to the left of the painting are shown as peaceful but they are not really co-operating with their imperial masters. They do not have the demeanour or apparel of the Roman legionary soldiers, who stand upright and dominant.1 Together with a number of the native soldiers, presumably representing auxiliaries, the male figures retain the partly naked character of the Caledonians beyond the Wall. The figures on top of and inside the Wall are lowland Britons who have been subdued by their conquerors and put to work as labourers under the control of Roman officers. The two male Roman Britons in the foreground have put down their tools and are involved with cooking and gambling with dice (see Usherwood 1996: 153; Trevelyan 1994: 58–59). This indolence presumably recalls the sixth-century author Gildas’ comments (19.2) that the Britons during the collapse of Roman rule “sat about day and night, rotting away in their folly” when they should have been defending the Wall. Gildas’ comments retained a deep significance for antiquaries in Victorian times (see Hingley 2012: 191). ‘Building of the Roman Wall’ appears to contain an optimistic view about British imperial progress, since the Romans dominate both the barbarian Britons and Caledonians and also because the painting is part of a series that championed imperial progress and the triumph of Christianity. To the left of the painting, a soldier stands near an altar, conveying the pagan nature of local religion in the early second century, while later paintings in the series included images that portray the introduction and spread of Christianity to north-eastern England (see Smiles 1994: 143–144). A woman with a baby sits behind the curtain Wall, while two young women with clothes that may indicate that they are Roman bring food to the soldiers, illustrating the possibility of an eventual Romano-British civil life (see Vance 1997: 245). There are, however, also ele-

_____ 1 It has long been thought that the centurion in the foreground was based on a likeness of the local land-owner John Clayton, who lived on the line of the Wall at Chester (see e.g. Crow 2004, caption to colour figure 19; Vance 1997: 246). This is not certain, however, since Scott himself recalled later in life that the only likeness that he used in the image was of John Collingwood Bruce, who is the figure in profile just behind the centurion’s left knee (see Hingley 2012: 160– 162).

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___ments of insecurity. In contrast to these civilised figures, a bare-breasted female ___leads the Caledonians in their rush to attack the Wall. The representation of ___Britons as both attacking and defending the Wall demonstrates a considerable ___lack of unity among the ancient population, with the result that Roman soldiers ___must control the construction of the frontier and its defence. Those who viewed ___the painting immediately after its completion may have been particularly struck ___by these images. In May 1857, one month before the painting’s completion, the ___so-called ‘Indian Mutiny’ had broken out (see David 2002), raising issues about ___the relationship between the British and the native troops of the empire (see ___Streets 2004: 29–30). Prior to this, the British had been rapidly acquiring new ___territories but the events in India precipitated a significant psychological shock, ___leading to a reduction in confidence regarding the invincibility of Britain’s con___trol of its colonies (see Hall 2010: 33). ___ The siege of Cawnpore (Kanpur) during late May and early June 1857 led to ___the surrender of the British garrison to Nana Sahib, who ordered the execution ___of all of the prisoners (see Batchelor 2006: 194–195; David 2002: 198–199). Al___most all the Christian civilians were slaughtered, including Anna Halliday, the ___daughter of Walter Trevelyan’s sister, together with her husband and children ___(see Batchelor 2006: 194–195). Scott’s painting evidently was not a direct re___sponse to these events, since news of the tragedy took some time to arrive and ___the painting was completed by early June (for Scott’s letters of sympathy to the ___Trevelyans, see Hingley 2012: 168). However, the view that it expressed of impe___rial co-operation between the races of the empire must have appeared particu___larly apposite to those who viewed this painting (see Hingley 2012: 168). There ___was a sensation in the media about the security of British families in India ___around the time that the painting was completed (see Nagai 2005: 85). During ___this siege, a loyal band of Indian troops fought alongside the British until the ___final stages (see David 2002: 198). Native troops remained fundamental to the ___British imperial effort and parallels between the imperial policies of Britain and ___Roman continued to be drawn (see Hutchins 1967: 145; Hingley 2012: 168). The ___folly of allowing native troops to serve close to their homelands was empha___sised, to which the troubles in India were attributed and it was suggested that ___the Romans had followed a better example in posting soldiers to foreign areas ___(see Hutchins 1967: 145). From this perspective, the mixed character of the Ro___man soldiers portrayed on the Wallington painting would have appeared to rep___resent good practice for an imperial power under pressure. ___ Although this painting was produced for a private house, the impact of its ___message was felt across the North East and further into England. The eight ___paintings of the Wallington Hall sequence were exhibited at the French Gallery ___in Pall Mall at the end of June 1861 and also in Newcastle. The eight Wallington

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paintings were fairly widely reviewed in the national press and engravings produced for a number of publications, including a London newspaper (see Scott 1879). John Batchelor (2006: 200) has argued that this painting cycle represented an innovation of national significance and ‘The Building of the Roman Wall’ appears to have influenced the images discussed below.

3 Ford Madox Brown’s ‘The Romans Building a 2 Fort at Mancenion’ (1879–80) Brown (1821–1893) was a painter and designer, born in Calais of British parents (see Barringer 2004 and Treuherz 2011). He undertook a variety of historical paintings and had befriended the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood during the late 1840s and 1850s and was an acquaintance of William Bell Scott. His paintings included a range of works that addressed British history and the landscape. In 1878, Brown was asked to provide wall paintings for the Great Hall of Alfred Waterhouse’s Gothic Town Hall in Manchester, illustrating twelve subjects drawn from local history, a series that he completed by 1893 (see Treuherz 2011: 47–59). Tim Barringer (2004) notes that “(e)xaggerated postures and gestures characterise this triumphantly inventive though somewhat uneven series of compositions”. The first mural in the sequence shows the building of the wall of the Roman ‘camp’ at Manchester and was painted between April and September 1880 (Figure 2; see Hueffer 1896: 338–339; Treuherz 2011: 64). A copy of the design for the mural also survives as a one-quarter sized colour oil painting that was produced in 1879–80 and is now in Aberdeen Art Gallery and Museum (see Treuherz 2011: 284–285). This painting appears to depict at least four categories of people and these draw upon but differ somewhat from those in Scott’s painting: (1) Roman officers and a lady with a child, (2) Roman legionary soldiers involved in the work of masons, (3) British navvies doing the more laborious building work, and (4) two Black slaves carrying a covered chair. As in Scott’s image, the Romans are the dominant figures, placed above the Britons (see Treuherz 2011: 284). William Michael Rosetti sat for one of the labouring Roman soldiers, possibly the legionary soldier with the helmet and trowel on the left (see Treuherz 2011: 284). In keeping with the two legionary soldiers in Scott’s image, the three Roman

_____ 2 The Manchester mural names the Roman fort ‘Mancenion’, although it is now thought to have been named Mamucium (see Rivet & Smith 1979: 409).

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___officers in the middle of Brown’s mural are standing upright. The artist’s notes ___indicate that the main figure, with his back turned, was originally intended to ___represent Agricola, Roman governor of Britain during the later first century A.D. ___(see Hueffer 1896: 338), although Brown later abandoned this identification ___since it was pointed out that there was no evidence that Agricola ever visited ___Manchester (see Treuherz 2011: 284). Brown also noted that the female figure ___represented the general’s wife and she is shown, in the artist’s words, in a cloak ___with hair dyed yellow to indicate “the luxury of Roman living, even in a camp” ___(Hueffer 1896: 338). She has stepped out of her litter “to take the air on the half ___finished-ramparts”, with her “little son”, dressed in a soldier’s uniform and ___boots, close beside (Hueffer 1896: 339). ___ This fresco certainly seems to be influenced by William Bell Scott’s earlier ___painting (see Treuherz 2011: 285), although the direction of the mural is turned ___around with the interior of the fortified area to the left rather than to the right. ___Brown had met Scott in 1850 and visited him several times in Newcastle in sub___sequent years (see Hueffer 1896: 78, 115, 166). Several of the figures of builders ___in this image are in a comparable pose to those on the Wallington painting, al___though at Manchester there was evidently no need for the Roman builders to ___defend themselves in what is evidently a rather more civil and settled landscape ___than that of Scott’s Hadrian’s Wall. The governor’s wife represents one of the ___dominant figures, replacing the ancient British woman with the baby in the ___Wallington Hall painting. A second woman stands at the base of a ladder out___side and to the base of the rampart. ___ Brown observed a hierarchy of order in that “(t)he legionaries are doing the ___masons’ work; but the bearers of stone and cement are Britons” (Hueffer 1896: ___338). In the company of Scott, Brown clearly shows the ethnicity of some of ___those involved in the building works. The two figures on the bottom right of the ___painting show tattoos that illustrate that these are native British, indeed Man___cunian, workmen (see Treuherz 2011: 284). Unlike the situation at Wallington, ___these individuals are actively helping to build the rampart, if in a subservient ___role. Despite the co-operation of the locals in the work, Brown uses touches of ___comedy to illustrate the potential instability of the Roman imperial order. The ___Roman officers are uncomfortable as a result of the chilly northern climate and ___are looking at the plan of the camp upside down as a result of trying to hold it ___still in the powerful wind (see Treuherz 2011: 284; cf. Hueffer 1896: 338). The ___Nubian slaves are shown in a highly racist characterisation and they are carry___ing a sedan chair away from the scene. The governor’s son is kicking out at one ___of them, while the Nubian grins back insubordinately (see Treuherz 2011: 284). ___ Norman Vance (1997: 245) has observed that this mural drew upon the re___covery of information for the Roman fort at Manchester that had occurred dur-

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ing the dramatic industrial urban expansion of the 1830s and 1840s; indeed, the selection of a Roman building theme suggested that Manchester had always been a building site, “a place of expansion and consolidation”. As in the case of the series of paintings produced by Scott for Wallington Hall, a direct connection was being drawn between industry and empire, linking the Romans in Britain to contemporary times. Indeed, like the Wallington Hall series, the Manchester murals end with two scenes derived from the industrial history of Manchester (see Treuherz 2011: 47–59, 302–305). Connections were often made between the Victorian and Roman industrial activities in Britain, including the construction of canals and railways and urban development (see Vance 1997: 244). Four years after the completion of Brown’s Roman mural, Lawrence AlmaTadema painted a work that showed Hadrian in England: Visiting a RomanoBritish Pottery (1884). In Alma-Tadema’s painting, the emperor is shown taking an interest in ordinary life, reflecting Agricola’s role in Brown’s painting (cf. Barrow 2001: 116–119). Hadrian has the most prominent position in AlmaTadema’s painting and is accompanied by three Roman ladies, including his wife, Julia Sabina, together with number of pottery workers. Sam Smiles (1994: 146) has argued with regard to the Wallington Hall and Manchester paintings that “the Roman invaders’ superior intelligence and civilisation is in some contrast to the Celtic labourers toiling at their behest. Their faces are a neat demonstration of the impact of pseudo-sciences such as phrenology on Victorian attitudes to Celtic peoples. (...) Two concepts embedded in (...) mainstream phrenology have a particular bearing (...): the general idea that the lower classes of civilised nations correspond physiognomically to savages (...); and the specific identification of the lower classes in Victorian Britain with the dark complexion and temperament of the aboriginal Celt.”

My reading differs somewhat from this, since although the distinction between workers and their masters appears to be clearly exemplified, the ancient Britons (or Mancunians) do not appear particularly characteristic of the pseudoscientific racial characteristics supposed by many Victorians to characterise Celts and working people. It appears rather more likely that Brown at least was seeking to promote an alternative view of working classes in Manchester as noble through their labouring activities. Treuherz (2011: 285) observes that Brown’s “anti-heroic subtext favours the Mancunians, exemplified by the tattooed labourer lifting a heavy sack of cement, cut off by the bottom edge. Brown had pushed him to the front of the picture space and placed him on the same level as spectators in the Great Hall. Like the young navvy in Work (...), he is the real hero of the painting, and typifies the prominent, sometimes subversive role Brown gave to ordinary people throughout the series.”

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___Brown’s painting Work (1865) was one of his most famous compositions and ___again working people form the core theme, drawing on the writings of Thomas ___Carlyle (see Treuherz 2011: 188). In contrast to Scott’s image, the Britons at ___Mancenion are fully engaged in the work, if in rather subservient roles. Scott ___and Brown both appear to be making a point about class in their works, using ___the distinctions between Romans and Britons to support the idea. The Romans ___at Wallington Hall are upright and fully involved in building and defending, ___while the Britons are indolent. At Mancenion, the Romans, including the figure ___based on William Michael Rosetti, supervise and undertake the craftsmanship ___while the Mancunians carry the rocks. ___ In Brown’s Roman mural, as in Scott’s painting, the Romano-British past is ___directly related to contemporary English life, but the Romans in this image look ___rather less military than Scott’s Roman soldiers and the main female figure is ___the wife of a Roman governor rather than a Briton. Perhaps these distinctions ___should not be overstressed. Roman Britain was often used to provide an impe___rial parallel for British India (see Hingley 2008: 238–241). British officers were ___stationed in India and other parts of the Empire and their families often accom___panied them. The Roman general and his wife at Mancenion probably stand in ___for British families in colonised territories. Perhaps the Roman centurions in ___Scott’s painting represent a comparable connection with British officers over___seas. The downgrading of the dark-skinned characters from the role of a legion___ary soldier at Wallington to that of slaves at Mancenion characterises contrast___ing views to colonised peoples of non-Western origins, while also calling upon a ___Victorian fascination with the cosmopolitan character of Roman society. ___ ___ ___ 4 Henry Justice Ford’s book illustration ___ ‘The Building of the Roman Wall’ (1911) ___ ___ ___Henry Justice Ford (1860–1941) was a painter and illustrator of children’s books ___and his image of Hadrian’s Wall was printed as one of a number of illustrations ___in C.R.L. Fletcher and Rudyard Kipling’s A School History of England (1911). This ___was a very successful book, but Fletcher’s views of history were so extreme that ___Oxford University Press had serious misgivings with a view to publication; the ___involvement of Kipling, who wrote a number of poems for this small volume, ___made it irresistible (see Symonds 1986: 57–58). The text is racist, bigoted, anti___Irish and anti-Parliamentary (see Gilmour 2002: 176–177). In this image, a very ___high curtain Wall is portrayed with a milecastle that appears to be at least ten ___metres in elevation. The curtain Wall and milecastle appear close to completion

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but are viewed from a very different position, to the south of the Wall, from the two previous image. Ford portrays the Wall as largely rebuilt and the scale of the curtain Wall suggests that it was inspired by medieval town walls, the Great Wall of China, the Roman fort at Pevensey, or all three. The idea that Hadrian’s Wall had a significant national and imperial relevance was coming to the fore at this time and this appears to have resulted in an exaggeration of its scale and magnificence (see Hingley 2012: 223). Ford’s image is comparable to all the other three in showing both Britons and Romans, although no further class or racial sub-divisions are apparent in this case. The Roman officers are to be seen in the context of British officers across the empire and appear to be standing to attention. Forster and Kipling’s book drew upon Hadrian’s Wall to provide contemporary imperial guidance in the philosophy and practices of imperial frontier maintenance (see Hingley 2000: 32). They wrote (Fletcher & Kipling 1911: 22): “I fear that Roman Britain went to sleep behind her Wall [Hadrian’s Wall], recruiting fell off, the strength of the legions became largely a ‘paper strength’. And not only in Britain. The greatest empire that the world had ever seen was slowly dying at her the heart, dying of too much power, too much prosperity, too much luxury. What a lesson for us all today!”

The School History also included Kipling’s poem ‘The Roman Centurion Speaks’, which places distinctly imperial and pro-British sentiments into the mind of a late Roman soldier who has served from the Isle of Wight to the Wall and has just been ordered to return to Italy but wants to stay in Britain. This poem and the School History in general drew upon the powerfully imperial message about the Roman frontiers projected in Kipling’s earlier novel, Puck of Pook’s Hill (1906). A substantial section of Puck was based upon Hadrian’s Wall. Ford appears to have directly drawn upon this source since Kipling’s description of the curtain Wall dramatically exaggerated its scale and magnificence (Kipling 1906: 173–174). Kipling consciously recreated Hadrian’s Wall in this novel as an analogy for the British imperial north-west frontier in India and for concerns about the potential state of decadence in the British empire, that drew, in particular, on recent events in South Africa and India (see Ricketts 1999: 305–306; Roberts 2007: 114). Fletcher and Kipling’s contributions formed part of a substantial outpouring of literature and scholarly work during the first decade and a half of the twentieth century that addressed the nature and relevance of Roman frontier policy in the context of the problems that the British were facing in their own empire (see Hingley 2000: 56–59). The mass of Britons in Ford’s illustration is again carefully supervised by a handful of Roman officers, but the former are stooped and look primitive in

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___character, drawing a direct contrast to the very upright Roman officers. The ___Britons are certainly not comparable to the Mancunian navvies in Brown’s mu___ral; indeed, they look distinctly Palaeolithic in character (see Hingley 2012: 223). ___The figure at the bottom right is in chains and deeply stooping, although he ___does not appear to be carrying a Wall stone; the style of his hair and his general ___demeanour appears to draw upon Victorian and Edwardian representations of ___South Sea Islanders and, although his tattoos indicate his Celtic identity, he ___may well have been intended to draw imperial parallels for the schoolboy ___reader (see Smiles 1994: 15). This Briton is in a comparable location to the Nu___bian slaves in Brown’s Roman mural, although it is not certain that Ford drew ___upon Brown here. The stooping position of many of these Britons may be ex___plained by the very large stones that they carry on their backs and, perhaps, ___Ford was drawing here upon a popular image apparent in the writings of the ___Victorian Wall-expert John Collingwood Bruce (1875: xi–xii), who has observed: ___ “We cannot (...) view from the vicinity of BORCOVICUS [Housesteads on Hadrian’s Wall] ___ the thin lines of ways leading from the quarries on the opposite side of the valley, without ___ fancying we see moving along them a string of half-naked, half-famished savages, bearing ___ upon their galled shoulders the stones wherewith to construct the Wall intended to keep ___ them in perpetual subjection.” ___ ___These primitive figures represent unreconstructed Celts and it may be signifi___cant that the illustration appeared in Ford and Kipling’s School History, since ___these may have been produced as a result of Fletcher’s highly racist views of the ___Irish. For example, the book contained the following statement (Fletcher & ___Kipling 1911: 21): ___ “It was (...) a misfortune for Britain that Rome never conquered the whole island. The ___ great warrior, Agricola, did (...) penetrate far into Scotland; but he could leave no trace of ___ civilization behind him, and Ireland he never touched at all. So Ireland never went to ___ school, and has been a spoilt child ever since.” ___ ___Brown’s mural draws upon a directly contrasting concept in linking ancient ___Britons to contemporary Mancunian navvies, but the native Britons in Ford’s ___image may stand in as ancestors of the Irish or as highly racist portrayals of co___lonial subjects. The Victorians often portrayed Irish people and ‘Celts’ in very ___critical ways, making them seem childlike, unreasonable and violent (see Gib___son, Trower & Tregidga 2013: 7; Young 2007: 94–109). ___ ___ ___ ___

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5 R. Caton Woodville’s ‘The Building of Hadrian’s Great Wall’ (1911) An article published in the Illustrated London News in 1911 is entitled ‘The Making of the Modern Englishman. No. 1: England under the Roman Empire’ and this was illustrated with a black and white image ‘From a painting by R. Caton Woodville’ (see Figure 4).3 As a result, it is uncertain whether this painting was produced for a patron and the broader context of the work is unclear. Richard Caton Woodville (1856–1927) was a fairly well known Victorian and early twentieth-century war artist employed by the Illustrated London News (ILN) and resident in London (see Stearn 2004). He produced hundreds of illustrations of modern conflicts across the British Empire during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and these were reused in histories, encyclopaedias and on postcards. He also produced a number of historical images including one portraying the landing of Julius Caesar in Britain.4 Richard Stearn suggests that for many people, Woodville’s illustrations became their ‘images of historical reality’. Woodville was an enthusiastic imperialist and was convinced about the justice of British imperial rule, including the holding down of India (see Stearn 2004). The ILN had a wide readership and played a particularly powerful role in communicating new archaeological discoveries and ideas about the history of Britain to a wide audience (see Phillips 2005: 74–76). Part of the power of the publication related to the inspiring images that it contained and the associated articles that were often very well informed. The ILN image is illustrated across a double page spread and is captioned ‘Sign of the military genius of an emperor: the Building of Hadrian’s Great Wall across England from the Solway to the Tyne’ (ILN 1911). A description explains that the group figured in the foreground is on top of one of the milecastles along the Wall. It appears to contain at least four categories of men, in this case unaccompanied by women: (1) the emperor Hadrian and high-ranking Roman officers and officials, (2) Roman labourers and soldiers, (3) Celts and Druids, and (4) a black-skinned man of uncertain status. The ILN’s caption notes that the emperor Hadrian is shown seated and that the faces of most of the other people shown are of the ‘Northern type’, illustrating the men of the various provinces of

_____ 3 I am very grateful to Hella Eckardt for bringing this image to my attention. I have been unable to find any further information about this painting and discussion of this image of Roman frontier building relies on the information provided in the Illustrated London News article. 4 Many of these paintings, including the Caesar image, can be viewed on Google images.

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___the Roman empire incorporated into the frontier fighting force (ILN 1911). The ___most dominant of these figures is a Roman centurion who stands to attention ___just behind Hadrian. The labourers in the background are too small to make ___much sense of, but they do appear to include a number of Britons, indicated by ___their longer hair and flowing cloaks, in addition to the Roman soldiers. As at ___Mancenion, Romans and Britons are building the Wall, but there seems little ___distinction in the activities that they undertake, apart from the fact that some ___Roman soldiers appear to be superintending. The similarities to the Wallington ___painting and the Manchester mural are evident and once again Britons are pre___sent in the foreground, since there are two figures that are intended to represent ___Celts watching the emperor and also a standing figure to the right which may ___well represents a Druid (see Smiles 2006). ___ A black-skinned man with a ring in his ear and a torc or neckring is sitting ___on the left of Woodville’s image, just behind the emperor. He is in approxi___mately the same position as the two black slaves in Brown’s Mancenion mural, ___but in this case he may well not represent a slave; indeed, he is dressed in what ___appears to be opulent clothing and is a significant figure in the composition. ___There was a considerable emphasis in the late nineteenth and early twentieth ___centuries on the idea that the Romans had managed to assimilate and incorpo___rated native peoples far more effectively into their empire than had the British ___to date, although this view continued to be associated with highly racist over___tones (see Hingley 2000: 48–51). The African in Woodville’s image is observing ___the architect who, as in Brown’s mural, is showing a plan of the works that are ___underway to Hadrian and another the Roman military centurion. As at Man___chester and in Ford’s image, the Roman officers presumably stand here in the ___place of British officers in the colonial possessions of the British Empire, par___ticularly in India. Their upright stances recall the idea of standing to attention ___in the company of senior officers. They are comparable to various British mili___tary figures in other war paintings by Woodville. The reference in the ILN article ___to people of the ‘Northern type’ draws upon the nineteenth-century view that ___races could be defined through craniological considerations (see Young 2008: ___71–93). The reference here is to Germanic recruits to the Roman frontier force in ___Britain, which were known from inscriptions found along the Wall to have been ___stationed along the Wall in large numbers. These were supposedly representa___tives of an ethnological community who, according to the popular Victorian ___Teutonic myth of racial origin, had a genetic relationship to modern Englishmen ___(see Hingley 2012: 227; Young 2008: 16), as illustrated by the title of the article, ___the ‘Making of the Modern Englishman’. The Roman officers are Germanic and ___stand in lieu for British officers on the north western frontier of the British Em___pire in India.

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Woodville draws a clear visual distinction between these Roman-British officers and the Celtic figures; perhaps the latter are likely to have been thought to represent the ancestors of modern Welsh, Scots and Irish and the romanticised way in which they are illustrated contrasts directly with Ford but draws upon a long artistic tradition (see Smiles 1994: 75–112). In contrast to the Wallington painting, there are no signs of dissent in Woodville’s image of Wall building and also none of the satire present in Brown’s image. James Phillips (2005: 85) has noted that 1911 was a year of social unrest in Britain, with anarchists rioting in the capital and strikes and disputes in other areas. Later in 1911, the ILN featured an article that highlighted the comparatively nature of the ancient Britons at Glastonbury Lake Village, illustrated with images by Amédée Forestier (see Phillips 2005: 78).5 Forestier’s images aimed to portray ancient Britons as ‘civilised’ and to counter influential earlier ideas of woad-daubed savages and, indeed, the Britons in Woodville’s image appear comparable in that they are fully co-operating with the Romans in their empire-building activities. Woodville’s illustration appears comparable with Forestier’s images of life at Glastonbury Lake Village in that they show highly co-operative societies in which everyone is working happily for the greater good of the community. In Woodville’s image, the Roman soldiers, Celts, Druids and the dark-skinned figure are all working hard or attending to the building operations underway. There are no disengaged figures, attacking Caledonians, or children aiming kicks at black slaves. From an archaeological point of view, Woodville’s image is far less realistic than Scott’s, although perhaps slightly less fanciful than Brown’s.6 The curtain Wall in Woodville’s image is shown rather too wide and high, while the northern ditch is far too close to the Wall; the milecastle in the distance resembles a blockhouse and the turrets are incorrect in projecting beyond the curtain Wall (see Hingley 2012: 227). The reconstruction of Hadrian’s Wall appears to bear quite a resemblance to the Great Wall of China in terms of the size of the milecastles and turrets and the scale and width of the curtain Wall; along with Ford’s illustration, Woodville’s work forms part of an Edwardian tendency to exaggerate the scale and significance of the structure. The curtain Wall in Woodville’s image has a cart on top and this is running in ruts that may be in-

_____ 5 Woodville and Forestier both worked for the ILN and it is quite likely that they knew each other’s work. Indeed, Woodville’s article was in a series searching for the first Englishmen and Forestier appears to have picked up on this theme in producing his illustrations of Glastonbury (see Phillips 2005: 76). 6 For the archaeological fixation on accuracy in illustration, see Moser & Smiles (2005) and Greaney (2013).

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___tended to remind the viewer of railway tracks. It appears that Woodville may ___have been drawing on the industrial exploits of the railway builder George Ste___phenson. Robert Henry Forster had recently concluded his account of Hadrian’s ___Wall in The Amateur Antiquary by comparing Roman engineering works to ___modern and referring to George Stephenson, who had been born in 1781 at Wy___lam a few kilometres south of the Wall (see Forster 1899: 203). Remarking that a ___number of road engineers and industrialists were born close to Roman roads ___across this northern landscape, Forster observed (1899: 204): ___ “we might almost imagine that the spirit of the Roman engineers haunted the scenes of ___ their labours, and in some mysterious manner inspired their unconscious successors – ___ that the walls, roads and bridges of the Romans are in some fashion the parents of the ___ great engineering achievements of the present century.” ___ ___As in the case of Brown and Scott’s images of Roman Wall building, industry ___linked the Roman past to the present in Tyneside and Manchester. ___ ___ ___ ___6 Conclusion ___ ___The paintings discussed here appear to share a number of characteristics but ___also to differ in detail. Firstly, they all draw comparisons between the building ___of ancient imperial frontiers in Britain and contemporary concerns in the British ___Empire. The contrasts and similarities between the Roman and the British em___pires that are raised by these images will not have been lost on their patrons ___and viewers. A number of themes that derive from national and imperial unity ___and defence are projected through these works. One of the main issues to arise ___from all is the contribution of particular groups that made up the empires to ___their stability. Scott’s painting illustrates native soldiers fully involving them___selves in the construction and defence of the imperial frontier and partly civi___lised Britons lying around playing while barbarian Caledonians attack. The Ro___man officers and native soldiers are involved in earnest actions, but the ancient ___Britons are indolent, an image that draws upon Gildas’ observations on the end ___of Roman Britain. Scott was presumably also reflecting the troubled times with ___recent defeat in the Crimea War and the first unrest that resulted from the ‘In___dian Mutiny’. It is certainly interesting that Scott chose to draw so directly upon ___the idea of native soldiers, including an African, a Syrian and a man in a Phry___gian cap. This evidently reflected current antiquarian knowledge about the ___manning of the Roman Wall by units derived from all across the Roman Empire, ___but it also appears to be a comment on contemporary British frontier policy.

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This is not just a military landscape since two women behind the Wall are carrying food to the soldiers, while one has a baby on her back. From the north a savage female, perhaps a northern version of Boudica, leads the attacking Caledonians. The woman in Brown’s painting is again accompanied by her son and is the wife of the provincial governor, a high ranking Roman. This is a more settled scene and no Britons are shown attacking. The two black figures are involved in a joking altercation with the governor’s young son but are carrying a covered chair and not involved in the building or manning of this fortification. By contrast, Brown’s working men, based on Mancunian navvies, are energetically involved in building activity. Roman soldiers and also a number of officers, including the governor, who are planning the construction work and carry out the skilled masonry, superintend these Britons. There is a purpose to the efforts of all the people in this image that reflects Manchester recent rise as a major industrial and market centre and the efforts of working men and their employers to support this. Woodville’s engraving is comparable in the co-operative nature of the venture, but by 1911, the British were far more concerned about the potential fate of the empire as a result of the rise of Germany as a military, industrial and imperial rival. Despite this, the ILN article that accompanied Woodville’s illustration drew attention to the ethnological connections between the ancient Germanic soldiers involved in building the Wall and contemporary Britons. In the company of Brown, Woodville seems to draw upon the message of national and imperial unity, the idea that all should work together to assist build and maintain the defences, and Roman officers, Celts, Druids and a black-skinned man all co-operate in building a wall that resembles a really substantial engineering operation such as the building of a railway line. Despite the recent efforts of women to gain the right to vote, or perhaps as a result of this, there are no women shown in Woodville’s image. Ford’s image draws a very different conception of nationhood and empire. This image and the writings in the book that it helped to illustrate portray a far more concerned vision of the imperial present than the other three images. Romans and Britons are so strictly divided that there can be no imperial assimilation; the Britons will only co-operate if subject to armed force. In this image, the Roman officers stand in the place of British imperial officials and military men across the frontier regions of the British Empire, particularly in India. Ford and Kipling’s School History was partly successful, because it accompanied and supported the vision of imperial duty incorporated in Rudyard Kipling’s highly influential novel Puck of Pook’s Hill.

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___Bibliography ___ ___Barringer, Tim (2004): Brown, Ford Madox (1821–1893). In: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (vol. 8), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 23–28 (online edition, May 2005: http:// ___ www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/3604, accessed 3 January 2014). ___Barrow, Rosemary J. (2001): Lawrence Alma-Tadema, London: Phaidon. ___Batchelor, John (2004): Scott, William Bell (1811–1890). In: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (vol. 49), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 520–524 (online edition, May 2005: ___ http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/24938, accessed 6 January 2014). ___ Batchelor, John (2006): Lady Trevelyan and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, London: Chatto & ___ Windus. ___ Bradley, Mark (2010): Tacitus’ Agricola and the conquest of Britain. Representations of Empire ___ in Victorian and Edwardian England. In: Mark Bradley (ed.), Classics and Imperialism in ___ the British Empire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 123–157. ___Bruce, John Collingwood (1875): Lepidarium Septentrionale: or, a Description of the Monuments of Roman Rule in the North of England, Newcastle: William Dodd. ___ Crow, James (2004): Housteads. A Fort and Garrison on Hadrian’s Wall, Stroud: Tempus. ___ David, Saul (2002): The Indian Mutiny, London: Viking. ___Fletcher, Charles R.L. & Rudyard Kipling (1911): A School History of England, Oxford: Clarendon. ___Forster, Robert Henry (1899): The Amateur Antiquary. His Notes, Sketches, and Fancies concerning the ROMAN WALL in the Counties of Northumbria and Cumberland, London: Gay & Bird. ___ ___Gibson, Marion, Shelly Trower & Garry Tregidga (2013): Mysticism, myth and Celtic identity. In: Marion Gibson, Shelly Trower & Garry Tregidga (eds.), Mysticism, Myth and Celtic Identity, ___ Abingdon: Routledge, 1–20. ___ Gildas (1978): The Ruin of Britain and Other Works. Edited and translated by Michael Winter___ bottom, London: Phillimore. ___Gilmour, David (2002): The Long Recessional. The Imperial Life of Rudyard Kipling, London: John Murray. ___ Goldhill, Simon (2011): Victorian Culture and Classical Antiquity. Art, Opera, Fiction, and the ___ Proclamation of Modernity, Princeton: Princeton University Press. ___ Greaney, Susan (2013): Reconstruction drawings. Illustrating the evidence. In: Nigel Mills (ed.), ___ Presenting the Romans. Interpreting the Frontiers of the Roman Empire World Heritage ___ Site, Woodbridge: Boydell, 31–40. ___Hall, Edith (2010): British refractions of India and the 1857 ‘Mutiny’ through the prism of ancient Greece and Rome. In: Edith Hall & Phiroze Vasunia (eds.), India, Greece, & Rome ___ 1757–2007, London: Institute of Classical Studies, 33–49. ___ Hingley, Richard (2000): Roman Officers and English Gentlemen. The Imperial Origins of ___ Roman Archaeology, London: Routledge. ___Hingley, Richard (2008): The Recovery of Roman Britain 1586–1906. ‘A Colony so Fertile’, ___ Oxford: Oxford University Press. ___Hingley, Richard (2010): “The most ancient boundary between England and Scotland”. Genealogies of the Roman walls. In: Classical Receptions Journal 2, 24–43. ___ Hingley, Richard (2012): Hadrian’s Wall. A Life, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ___ Hueffer, Frans M. (1896): Ford Maddox Brown. A Record of his Life and Works, London: Long___ man, Green and Company. ___Hutchins, Francis G. (1967): The Illusion of Permanence. British Imperialism in India, Princeton: Princeton University Press. ___

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Kipling, Rudyard (1906): Puck of Pook’s Hill, London: Macmillan & Co. London Illustrated News (1911): The making of the modern Englishman. No. 1. England under the Roman Empire. In: London Illustrated News (April 1, 1911), 468–469. Mantena, Rama S. (2010): Imperial ideology and the uses of Rome in discourses on Britain’s Indian Empire. In: Mark Bradley (ed.), Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 54–75. McCoskey, Denise E. (2012): Race. Antiquity & its Legacy, London: I.B. Tauris. Moser, Stephanie & Sam Smiles (2005): Introduction. The image in question. In: Sam Smiles & Stephanie Moser (eds.), Envisioning the Past. Archaeology and the Image, Oxford: Blackwell, 1–12. Nagai, Kaori (2005): The writing on the wall. The commemoration of the Indian Mutiny in the Delhi Durbar and Rudyard Kipling’s “The Little House at Arrah”. In: Interventions 7, 84–96. Phillips, James E. (2005): “To make the dry bones live”. Amédée Forestier’s Glastonbury Lake village. In: Sam Smiles & Stephanie Moser (eds.), Envisioning the Past. Archaeology and the Image, Oxford: Blackwell, 72–91. Ricketts, Harry (1999): The Unforgiving Minute. A Life of Rudyard Kipling, London: Chatto & Windus. Rivet, Albert Lionel Fredrick & Colin Smith (1979): The Place Names of Roman Britain, London: Routledge. Roberts, Deborah H. (2007): Reconstructed pasts. Rome and Britain, child and adult in Kipling’s Puck of Pook’s Hill and Rosemary Sutcliffe’s historical fiction. In: Christopher Stray (ed.), Remaking the Classics. Literature, Genre and Media in Britain 1800–2000, London: Duckworth, 107–124. Scott, William Bell (1857): Untitled letter to Lady Trevelyan, May 26, 1857, Newcastle University Library, Special Collection, WCT 73. Scott, William Bell (1879): Untitled letter to Walter Trevelyan, August 3, 1879, Newcastle University Library, Special Collection, WCT 80. Smiles, Sam (1994): The Image of Antiquity. Britain and the Romantic Imagination, New Haven & London: Yale University Press. Smiles, Sam (2006): The image of the druid in British art. In: Sabine Rieckhoff (ed.), Celtes et Gaulois dans l’histoire, l’historiographie et l’idéologie moderne, Glux-en-Glenne: Bibracte, 111–122. Stearne, Roger T. (2004): Woodville, Richard Caton (1856–1927). In: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (vol. 60), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 229–230 (online edition, May 2005: http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/68891, accessed 6 January 2014). Streets, Heather (2004): Martial Races. The Military, Race and Masulinity in British Imperial Culture, 1857–1914, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Symonds, Richard (1986): Oxford and Empire. The Last Lost Cause? London: Macmillan. Treuherz, Julian (ed.) (2011): Ford Madox Brown. Pre-Raphaelite Pioneer, London: Philip Wilson. Trevelyan, Raleigh (1994): Wallington, Northumberland, London: National Trust. Usherwood, Paul (1996): Hadrian’s Wall and the new Romans. In: Tom E. Faulkner (ed.), Northumbrian Panorama. Studies in the History and Culture of North East England, London: Octavian Press, 151–162. Usherwood, Paul (2007): Myths of Northumberland. In: Robert Colls (ed.), Northumbria. History and Identity 574–2000, Chichester: Phillimore, 239–255. Vance, Norman (1997): The Victorians and Ancient Rome, Oxford: Blackwell. Young, Robert J. C. (2008): The Idea of English Ethnicity, Oxford: Blackwell.

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___ Illustrations ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Figure 1: The painting by William Bell Scott at Wellington Hall ___ entitled ‘Building of the Roman Wall’ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Figure 2: The mural by Ford Madox Brown at Manchester Town Hall ___ entitled ‘The Romans Building a Fort at Mancenion, A.D. 80’ ___ ___ ___

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Figure 3: Henry Ford’s image of ‘The Building of the Wall’. From Fletcher & Kipling (1911: 23)

Figure 4: An engraving taken from a painting by R. Caton Woodville (1911) entitled ‘The Building of Hadrian’s Great Wall’. Taken from the London Illustrated News (1 April 1911, 468–469)

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___Richard Warren ___ ___ ___ ___Richard Warren ___Henry Courtney Selous’ Boadicea and the Westminster Cartoon Competition ___Abstract: In 1843 a public competition was held for designs to decorate the interior of the new ___Houses of Parliament in London. Reflecting the intended function of the new buildings, the ___commissioners of the competition sought entries that would reflect their national character and the greatness of British history. This chapter considers one of the successful entries, that of ___ Henry Courtney Selous (1803–1890). As some of the other entrants, this artist turned to classi___cal literature and Britain’s ancient past for inspiration, choosing as his theme the ancient ___leader of the British Iceni tribe, Boadicea, and her resistance against Roman rule in Britain. ___Selous’ choice of subject matter is discussed within the national and artistic context of the ___competition. ___ ___ ___ 1 Selous’ cartoon design “Boadicea Haranguing ___ the Iceni” ___ ___ ___In 1834 the Palace of Westminster burned down. In its place the architect ___Charles Barry (1795–1860) designed and built a new Palace of Westminster in ___the neo-gothic style. Many saw in the accident of the fire a chance to revive the ___arts in Britain, which were held to be in a poor state at the time and lacking be___hind that of continental Europe. This attained official expression in 1843, when ___a public competition was held for designs for frescoes to decorate the new build___ings, still under construction at the time. ___ The British artist and illustrator Henry Courtney Selous chose to submit a ___cartoon design for a fresco in this competition (see Figure 1).1 Selous’ cartoon ___shows the call-to-arms of the ancient leader of the Iceni tribe, Boadicea,2 rous___ing her people to war against the Romans, as recorded in Tacitus (Ann. 14.34) ___and Cassius Dio (Hist. 62.12).3 Boadicea herself forms the centrepiece of the ___ ___ ___ ___1 Henry Courtney Selous, “Boadicea haranguing the Iceni”, 1843, pencil (location unknown). ___2 It should be noted that the spelling ‘Boadicea’, rather than ‘Boudicca’ or other variant spellings, is employed in this article. This is due to its conventional use during the period under ___ discussion. No claim is made that this spelling is more historically accurate. ___3 This article will not seek to engage with debate on the historicity of Boadicea and her rebel___lion; on this see Dudley & Webster (1962), Webster (1978), Trow & Trow (2003), and Waite

Henry Courtney Selous’ Boadicea and the Westminster Cartoon Competition

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composition, elevated above all its other figures. She is bare-breasted and wears white robes from the waist downwards. Her head is thrown backwards, and her long fair hair streams out behind her as she looks upwards. As her chariot leads her off to battle, led by two white horses, she raises her right arm summoning the figures around her to war, directing them with her spear. Seated at her feet on the chariot are her two daughters. One daughter, placed in the centre of the composition, faces the viewer with closed eyes, and rests her head on her hands in a gesture of suffering. Above, her sister sits facing away from the observer, with her head resting on her hand and knee, appearing traumatised by what she has experienced. The picture is a hectic tumult of many figures.4 Below Boadicea and to the left, we see a warrior kneeling, his right arm raised in a gesture of salutation and obeisance to his queen. He is likewise semi-naked. He carries a round shield in his left arm and we can see a short sword at his left side. Similarly to Boadicea, he wears a bracelet on his right arm, in addition to a floral crown. At his sides are two female figures. The figure to the warrior’s right is almost completely naked, and that to his left semi-naked like Boadicea. Selous chooses to include many other female figures in his composition, in the midst of the tumult of the summons to battle. Children can be seen clasping at another woman, who stretches out both her hands to Boadicea. This woman has two infant children, as Boadicea herself. In the foreground on the right, a warrior stands looking upwards to his right and holds a mace. He stoops slightly to the left as he puts his arm around a young fair-haired boy, who wears a fur around his waist, and looks towards Boadicea. By his side a woman, presumably his mother, also looks up at Boadicea, gesturing in her direction with her right hand. Three further female figures behind her also look up at Boadicea. Behind these figures an array of spears and swords can be seen raised to the sky. There are also several old men, as well as women and children, present in the scene.5 All of the Iceni

_____ (2007). Nor will it detail the broader reception history of Boadicea, on which the literature is also extensive; see, for example, Aldhouse-Green (2006), Williams (2009), and Johnson (2012). 4 See Vaughan (1979: 207): “a foreground arrangement of somewhat incongruous nude figures who lead up to a spotlit Boadicea.” 5 See Tacitus, Ann. 14.34, where Tacitus relates that the Britons had brought their wives with them to witness their victory, although he states that they were in wagons stationed on the very edge of the battlefield: et animo adeo feroci ut coniuges quoque testis victoriae secum traherent plaustrisque imponerent quae super extremum ambitum campi posuerant (“Indeed they were so headstrong as to bring their wives with them too, whom they had placed in chariots on the farthest boundary of the field, as witnesses to their victory”). Cassius Dio makes no mention of

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___appear to be implicated in the conflict with Rome. In his choice of iconography, ___heroic nudity, torques, headdresses, and bearded old men (as well as the stone ___circle that can be made out in the background to the left), Selous makes several ___conventional references to ancient Britain, depicting a typecast world which ___would have been readily familiar to his contemporary observer. ___ It is unclear how Selous wished that his design be executed as a mural, ___given that this never in fact happened. It should nonetheless be remembered ___that this work is a cartoon, rather than a colour fresco. Selous exploits the car___toon medium to achieve effects of light to emphasise elements of his composi___tion. Boadicea’s robes, arm, chest and forehead, as well as her daughters, are ___brought into greater prominence by their highlights, contrasting with the darker ___charcoal tones of the figure groups to her sides in the middle ground. The light ___of the rising sun seems to rise behind her as if heralding her coming victories. ___While her followers draw their inspiration from her, Boadicea herself appears to ___be animated by a higher force, perhaps a divine providence, represented by the ___morning sun. Through Boadicea, Selous allegorically represents a national des___tiny in which Britain rises up to avenge injustice and sweeps away the corrup___tion of Rome. ___ ___ ___ ___2 Her Majesty’s Commission on the Fine Arts ___ ___The architectural competition held in 1835, in which Charles Barry’s entry had ___been selected, had been prescriptive. As Strong (2004: 504) comments: “The ___1835 competition (...) stipulated from the outset that the new Houses of Parlia___ment must be Gothic or Elizabethan, a mandate which was decisive in dressing___up the new in the robes of past.” The choice of the Gothic style was more than ___an artistic statement. The new age beginning under Victoria was conceived of as ___part of a continuous progression from Britain’s medieval past and its values, not ___a severance from it. This was noted by foreign observers, as well as at home. The ___German art historian Gustav Friedrich Waagen (1854: 425) commented as fol___lows: “The Gothic style also corresponds with the increasing consciousness of ___their Germanic origin which I have remarked among the English, and with the ___increasing sense of the poetic greatness of their mediaeval history.” ___ ___ ___ ___women and children in his version of events, but comments that the Romans slaughtered many ___beside the wagons and forest (Cassius Dio, Hist. 62.12.5).

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From the outset the new Palace of Westminster was as much a clear statement about what Britain was meant to be as about what it once was. It is in this context that we must view the artistic commission set up a few years later. “Her Majesty’s Commission on the Fine Arts” was set up by Parliamentary appointment, consisting of several members appointed from both the upper and lower Houses and headed by Prince Albert, with the ostensible aim of investigating the state of art in Britain at the time. In 1842 the commission reported back its findings, and from their report in the Parliamentary Papers of that year we can gain some insight into the aims of the commission and those that appointed it. The queen’s commands are given in the preamble to the report: “We do hereby enjoin and command you, or any five or more of you, to inquire into the mode in which, by means of the interior decoration of Our said Palace at Westminster, the Fine Arts of this country can be most effectually encouraged” (H.M. Stationary Office 1842: 4). In the report itself, the painter (and commission member) Charles Eastlake6 discusses historical painting in some detail, lamenting its past neglect (H. M. Stationary Office 1842: 9): “And first it is to be observed that, although ‘all branches of art’ may be entitled to the consideration of the Commission, historical painting is not only generally fittest for decoration on a large scale, but is precisely the class of painting which, more than any other, requires ‘encouragement beyond the means of private patronage.’ The want of such encouragement has long been regretted, not by professors only, but by all who have turned their attention to the state of painting in England; – a proof that the promotion of historic art is of interest with a considerable portion of the public.”

The commission had settled on history painting early on as the preferred style, and evidently subscribed to the view that it had been neglected to date. We may also infer that the commission believed it possible to foster a domestic school of history painting through public patronage. However, later in the report we can see a different consideration come into play, arguably running counter to the very concept of public patronage. Eastlake comments as follows: “The proper and peculiar tendency, the physiognomy, so to speak, of national taste, is to be detected in more spontaneous aims; in the direction which the arts have taken, when their course has been

_____ 6 Charles Lock Eastlake (1793–1865), the painter, writer, collector and museum director, was recommended as Secretary of the Fine Arts commission in 1841 by the Prime Minister Robert Peel, impressed by his knowledge of contemporary German fresco painting.

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___unrestrained, save by the ordinary influence of the intellectual and moral habits ___of society” (H. M. Stationary Office 1842: 10). Eastlake is concerned with the no___tion of an idiosyncratic artistic style and taste, which by his own definition can___not be prescribed. There must unavoidably then be a tension here between the ___idea of spontaneous art and the sort of highly prescriptive public patronage that ___is implicit in a public cartoon competition to decorate buildings of national sig___nificance. The commission was perhaps aware that it could not attain what it ___wished to by articulating those wishes too precisely. ___ For Selous and the other artists who chose to submit their entries the fol___lowing year, it would have been clear that the commission had in mind histori___cal themes relating to national subjects. The medium of fresco could also have ___been conjectured. This was evident from the major source from which the com___mission drew its inspiration. As Eastlake comments in a footnote to his discus___sion of fresco technique: “The public spirit of the German artists is apparent in ___the circumstance of Cornelius himself now undertaking to superintend the exe___cution of Schinkel’s designs in Berlin, with scarcely any addition of his own” ___(H. M. Stationary Office 1842: 21). The commission had been impressed by the ___fresco work of German artists, particularly that of the Munich artists and the ___Nazarene group. It therefore sought to emulate the situation of artistic patron___age, whether real or imagined, obtaining in the German states. The best artists ___available would co-operate to produce the best art for the state. This was the ___optimistic hope in which the commission began its work in 1841. ___ The commission was headed by Prince Albert, who had been Prince Consort ___scarcely one year at the time of his appointment. He took up his role with en___thusiasm, beginning with a private project to test the merits of fresco in ad___vance. He experimented in a garden pavilion in Buckingham Palace, depicting ___themes from Milton, and brought in the artists William Dyce and Edwin Land___seer to assist (see Strong 2004: 518–519). Prince Albert, who could draw upon ___his knowledge of the arts and contacts in Germany, was an indispensable mem___ber of the commission. Yet despite this he had his misgivings about the project’s ___likely success. As Ames (1968: 51–52) comments: “Prince Albert, however con___vinced he may have been by testimony and by his own enthusiasm that fresco ___was the right sort of painting for the walls of capital structures, realized that ___most of the painters who would be called upon would be quite out of their ___depth.” ___ In the commission’s first report the conclusion is reached that the best way ___to achieve its aims is an open competition for cartoons. A draft notice is in___cluded in the report, specifying the requirements which the entrants are to work ___to, and the criteria by which submitted works would be judged. The most impor___tant of these requirements were as follows. Requirement 4 specified that “draw-

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ings are to be executed in chalk or charcoal, or in some similar material, but without colours” (H. M. Stationary Office 1842: 7). Requirement 5 detailed that the drawings were to be “not less than ten nor more than fifteen feet in their longest dimension”, and that “the figures are to be not less than the size of life” (H. M. Stationary Office 1842: 7). The works would have to be executed on a very large scale. In terms of subject matter, requirement 6 set out that “(e)ach artist is at liberty to select his subject from British History, or from the works of Spenser, Shakespeare, or Milton” (H. M. Stationary Office 1842: 7). It can be appreciated that in the event the commission’s requirements for competition entries were very prescriptive, rendering the phrase “at liberty” at least a little redundant. In addition, the competition was confined to British entrants (amended to include foreigners who had resided in Britain upwards of ten years) whose cartoons were completed in Britain.7 The commission was looking for works of history painting on British themes by British artists. Selous, one of the prize-winners in the competition, readily fitted the bill. The conditions that Selous would have been considered to have met can be seen in the commission’s specification of judgement criteria: “The judges to be appointed to decide on the relative merit of the drawings will, it is presumed, be disposed to mark their approbation of works, which, with a just conception of the subject, exhibit an attention to those qualities which are more especially the objects of study in a cartoon, namely, precision of drawing, founded on a knowledge of the structure of the human figure, a treatment of drapery uniting the imitation of nature with a reference to form, action and composition; and a style of composition less dependent on chiaro-scuro than on effective arrangement.”8

The deadline for artists to submit their cartoons was the first week of June 1843. A total of 140 cartoons were received on the specified themes. An exhibition of all of the cartoons was then held in Westminster Hall, which took the unusual step of opening its doors (after initial private showings) to the general public for an affordable price. We can see in this gesture an outward acknowledgement of the commission’s didactic view of art as morally improving for the general pub-

_____ 7 See H.M. Stationary Office (1842: 7) for requirements 4 and 9, and H.M. Stationary Office (1842: 48) for requirement 2 of the appended “Additional notice respecting the competition in cartoons”. 8 H.M. Stationary Office (1842: 8). Selous’ take on Boadicea was evidently considered “a just conception of the subject”, which met the requirements of good cartoon drawing and had a good compositional arrangement. Yet, hardly a masterpiece, we might question whether the judges subordinated technical skill to suitability of subject matter in his case.

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___lic. Accompanying catalogues were produced and attendance was very high ___while the exhibition ran. Six judges were appointed to choose the eleven prize ___winners: the Marquis of Landsdowne, the Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel, Sam___uel Rogers, Sir Robert Westmacott, Richard Cook, and William Etty, several of ___whom were also commissioners.9 ___ ___ ___ ___3 The entries ___ ___In an article in The Art Union that year, we find the complete list of prize win___ners chosen by the judges (see Anonymus 1843b: 207). The top three prizes of ___£300 were awarded to Edward Armitage for his “Caesar’s Invasion of Britain”, ___to Frederick Watts for his “Caractacus led in Triumph through the Streets of ___Rome”, and to Charles West for his “First Trial by Jury”, with the first prize go___ing to Armitage. Considering this, it is clear that the judges had a strong prefer___ence for historical subjects over literary ones. As Strong (2004: 518) comments: ___“Allegory was firmly rejected, pinpointing neatly the radical shift from the ___Grand Style and the commitment to subject-matter seen as uniting the new elec___torate in a common vision of the historic past and a common cultural heritage.” ___There is also a significant weighting towards themes that deal with Britain’s ___classical past. In the Armitage drawing Caesar stands valiantly amidst the fray ___as he orders his forces to attack the Britons, who fight in defence of their land ___equally valiantly. The Romans can be seen scrambling over a wall, attempting ___to gain a foothold on the island. Vaughan (1979: 207) refers to their depiction ___here as “monumentally dramatic” and “aided by dramatic lighting variations”. ___As Selous’ entry, Watts’ cartoon is a theme from Tacitus (Ann. 12.33), likewise ___representing British valour in the face of the might of Rome. Watts represents ___his British hero in the city of Rome, rather than in Britain itself, but the underly___ing idea is the same. Both Armitage and Watts’ depictions, as Selous’, show a ___ ___ ___ ___9 See Anonymus (1843b: 207). The third Marquis of Landsdowne, whose political career ___spanned many years, twice declined to become prime minister and was Lord President of the ___Council in 1841. Sir Robert Peel, the prime minister, was in the middle of his second term at the ___time of the commission. Samuel Rogers was a poet who had made his money through banking and was known as an art collector. Richard Cook and William Etty were both painters and ___ members of the Royal Academy. From the composition of the panel it can be readily appreci___ated both how prominently members of the establishment featured, and how many were not ___actually artists themselves.

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preoccupation with dealing with Britain’s relations with Rome in a fashion that does not downplay the glory of Rome, thereby enhancing that of the ancient Britons. There were of course many other entries and prize-winners in the competition that dealt with non-classical British historical subjects, yet it is notable that two of the chief prizes went to artists who chose to engage with Britain’s classical past specifically. The next three prizes, worth £200 each, were awarded to John Calcott Horsley for his “St. Augustine preaching to Ethelbert and Bertha, his Christian Queen”, to John Z. Bell for his “The Cardinal Bourchler urging the Dowager Queen of Edward IV. to give up from Sanctuary the Duke of York”, and to Henry J. Townsend for his “The Fight for Beacon”. Once again there is a preference for historical rather than literary subjects, although in this case not classical ones. The first two Christian subjects demonstrate the importance of religion in the commissioners’ favourable attitude towards historical allegories. Religion, here embodied in St. Augustine and Ethelbert, the first Anglo-Saxon king to convert to Christianity, takes second place after classical themes. This is a clear sign that Rome, and her relations with ancient Britain, were of paramount importance in the official early Victorian interpretation of Britain’s past. The ethnic composition of ancient Britain was often seen at the time as a determinant of the present and of Britain’s increasing power. Selous’ choice of subject matter fitted well with the judges’ preferences. Aside from his entry, the four other prizes of £100 were awarded to William Edward Frost for his “Una alarmed by the Fauns and Satyrs”, to Edmund Thomas Parris for “Joseph of Arimathea converting the Britons”, to John Bridges for “Alfred submitting his Code of Laws for the Approval of the Witan”, and to Joseph Severn for his “Eleanor saves the Life of her Husband (afterwards Edward I.) by sucking the Poison from the Wound in his Arm”. Again, save for a single entry, the prize winners’ entries treated historical subjects. Of the total of eleven prizes only one, that awarded to Frost, was for a literary subject. This suggests that the commission’s intentions from the start had most probably been to choose historical subjects, but that they wished to test the waters first. Yet in each case where the prize-winning entries depict historical subject matter this is of a decidedly allegorical or didactic nature. Parris’ entry is symbolic of Britain’s special Christian destiny, following the tradition of Joseph of Arimathea having journeyed to Britain after the death of Christ, bringing with it connotations of the grail legends and English national myth. Bridges’ drawing represents English democracy and law. Severn’s entry represents an ideal of wifely virtue and perhaps more generally loyalty as an English (and aristocratic) virtue. The choice of the judges predictably reflected a desire to choose historical subjects which could be seen to embody Britain’s virtues.

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___ Having looked at the other prize-winning entries and gained a clearer idea of ___what the judges were looking for in the competition, it is worth returning to ___Selous’ own entry and the function that it was seen to perform. It too has allegori___cal value as representing British valour in the face of Rome, and of righteousness ___and bravery. Beyond this it also represents an ideal of feminine virtue. Yet Selous’ ___entry does not shy away from depicting a Boadicea that is both warrior and noble ___savage. Male warriors salute her as commander and she leads in the midst of the ___tumult of arms, rather than (as often represented during the nineteenth century) ___her being a distanced orator.10 Arguably, this may reflect the fact that a female ___monarch had recently ascended the throne. While her daughters represent para___gons of woman’s innocence and weakness, Boadicea rather represents sovereign ___virtue. She is a queen who actively leads her people, as the young Victoria. Yet, ___considering the other entries, the choice of Watts as fellow prize winner with his ___Caractacus cartoon – and its associations of his betrayal by the queen Cartiman___dua (see Tacitus, Ann. 12.36) – perhaps suggests a narrative whereby female and ___British rule would have to be tempered by a masculine and Roman rule in order ___for Britain to eventually achieve its full glory. ___ The values that were attached to Boadicea in Selous’ portrayal are made ex___plicit in the official catalogue to the 1843 exhibition. Entry 78 in the catalogue, ___that for Selous’ painting, gives a brief account of Boadicea’s rebellion, its causes ___and its outcomes. Boadicea’s treatment at the hands of Nero’s centurions for ___refusing to hand over the wealth of her kingdom is described as involving “a ___cruelty well worthy of their ruthless master” (Anonymus 1843a: 15). Boadicea ___herself is described as rousing her army to vengeance, “maddened by her ___wrongs”, encouraging her people “to fight valiantly in the defence of the rights ___of their injured country”, exhorting them “to behave as men determined to con___quer or die” (Anonymus 1843a: 15). An excerpt is taken from Tacitus’ account of ___the episode, in which Boadicea says that she, though a woman, has resolved to ___die, even if they, though men, wish to live as slaves.11 The rest of the account ___given follows Tacitus very closely in describing the slaughter of the women,12 ___ ___ ___10 We might compare, for example, John Opie’s “Boadicea haranguing the Britons”, oil-on___canvas, 216 x 162.5 cm, 1792–1800 (private collection). ___11 Anonymus (1843a: 16). For Boadicea’s speech see Tacitus, Ann. 14.35: si copias armatorum, ___si causas belli secum expenderent, vincendum illa acie vel cadendum esse. id mulieri destinatum: ___viverent viri et servirent. (“If you weigh the strength of the armies, and the causes of the war, you will see that in this battle you must conquer or die. This is a woman’s resolve: as for men, ___ they may live and be slaves”). ___12 Tacitus, Ann. 14.37: et miles ne mulierum quidem neci temperabat (“the soldiery did not even ___spare the women from slaughter”). See Tacitus, Agr. 16 on Paullinus’ heavy-handed revenge.

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though perhaps greater emphasis is given to this aspect than in the original account. A comment that after the destruction of Verulamium “the complete expulsion of the invaders from the Island of Britain seemed impending”13 is deliberately exaggerated. The official attitude towards the Boadicea theme demonstrated in the catalogue is an apt example of Strong’s argument (2004: 512) about Victorian views on and uses of history: “The Industrial Revolution had cut the Victorians adrift from their own recent past with the result that they constantly reached back for it. They reached back further still, making journeys into imaginary historical worlds again in search of timeless verities.” In Selous’ cartoon the Boadicea legend has become just such an “imaginary historical world”.

4 Henry Courtney Selous’ background To further place his work in context, and to better understand his approach to a theme that is both classical and national, it is worth a brief consideration of Selous’ biography and other works. Selous is not a particularly well-known artist today, nor can it be said that he achieved any particular fame for his artistic work in his lifetime.14 Born at Deptford in 1803, the son of the Flemish miniature painter Gideon “George” Slous, he became a pupil of the Romanticist English painter and printmaker John Martin (1789–1854), and entered the Royal Academy as a student in 1818. Selous had two brothers, Frederick Lokes Slous (the father of the African explorer Frederick Courtney Selous), and Angiolo Robson Slous, who wrote a novel entitled True to the Core: A Story of the Armada (1866). As is evident from his father and brother’s names, we can see that he changed the spelling of his surname, perhaps to make it more anglicised. In his style as an illustrator and draughtsman Selous owes much to nineteenth-century German engravers, in particular Friedrich August Moritz Retzsch (1779–1857), painter, draughtsman and etcher, who had become well-known in Britain for his 1816 etchings for Goethe’s Faust.15 He also illustrated the works of

_____ 13 Anonymus (1843a: 15). Although it should be noted that in his account of the revolt in the Agricola (§ 16) Tacitus does concede that Britain would have been lost had not Paullinus reacted so swiftly, and Cassius Dio exaggeratedly states that Britain was actually lost to Rome in the revolt (Cassius Dio, Hist. 62.1). 14 It is telling that Samuel Redgrave’s Dictionary of Artists of the English School (1874) does not even give him an entry. 15 Goethe’s Faust (Part One) first appeared in English in 1821 in an abridged translation attributed to Samuel Taylor Coleridge (accompanied by Retzsch’s illustrations) and was thereafter widely circulated and reprinted.

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___Schiller and Shakespeare. Retzsch’s style, typified in his illustrations to Faust, ___consisted of a form of outline drawing particularly well suited to printing, in___volving no colour. In Britain, following the popularity of Faust his style soon ___became associated with the subject matter of German folklore that he typically ___illustrated, and as such this style was thought of as intrinsically “German”. ___Vaughan identifies Selous’ illustrations to Shakespeare’s Tempest (see Selous ___1836) and John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress (see Bunyan & Selous 1844) as ex___amples of his work which particularly evince this Retzschian influence. Of ___Selous’ Tempest illustrations Vaughan (1979: 142) comments: ___ “Not only is the format identical to Retzsch’s, with each plate accompanied by a text in ___ four languages, but Retzsch is specifically referred to in the introduction as a rival. Since ___ Retzsch had by this time already produced two of his outlines to Shakespeare plays, ___ Selous had a wide range of Retzschian material to draw from. He took over not only the ___ gestures and details of Retzsch’s figures, but also the inventions and elaboration of small ___ fantastic creatures.” ___ ___It appears that Selous was so greatly influenced by this German artist that he ___went beyond merely imitating his style but even copied the format of his works. ___Given the success of Retzsch’s illustrations in Britain, it is little wonder that the ___less well-known Selous thought it wise to imitate him. ___ This British interest in the “German” style may not ultimately have had any___thing to do with any particular fascination with German subjects or style per se. ___Discussing Selous’ 1850 picture “Gutenberg showing to his wife his first experi___ment in printing”, together with other contemporary illustrations of German ___subjects by English artists, Vaughan (1979: 121) argues that “(n)one of these re___curring themes – The Reformation, modern Prussian history, music and print___ing – appears to have emerged out of any direct interest in Germany. They seem, ___rather, to reflect those features of German life which – for quite separate rea___sons – related most to English interests.” However, this interest in German artis___tic style and themes might be considered within the broader context of the ___growing interest in the Gothic style at the time. As the above-cited quotation ___from Waagen makes clear, this was linked to a growing awareness of the Ger___manic origins of the English and may have been a factor in the choice of archi___tectural style for the new Palace of Westminster which Selous was decorating. ___Whatever public opinions of this “German” style were in 1840s and 1850s Brit___ain, it is clear that Selous was trying to appeal to popular taste – in particular by ___imitating Retzsch – and this was not something that went unnoticed. In a scath___ing review of Selous’ illustrations to Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, the Westmin___ster Review verged on accusations of plagiarism: “The work should have been ___called Reminiscences of Retzsch and Flaxman. The human figures are copied

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with scarcely the alteration of a feature, and without change of costume, from Retzsch’s illustrations of Schiller’s ‘Das Lied von der Glocke’; his angels and devils – the latter especially – are from Flaxman’s illustrations of the ‘Inferno’ of Dante” (Anonymus 1844: 520). This perceived lack of originality probably contributed in large part to Selous’ lack of success as an artist. Yet despite this, Selous did receive several commissions. One which is thematically and stylistically close to the Boadicea theme, and consequently worth considering in more detail, is his series of illustrations to Charles Kingsley’s Hereward the Wake (1870). The priest, novelist, and Christian Socialist Kingsley adhered to the historical narrative which saw in the Germanic invasions of ancient Rome an ethnic revivification of a degenerate civilisation. This is particularly clear in his book The Roman and the Teuton (1864), compiled from a series of lectures delivered in Cambridge.16 Kingsley and Selous’ depiction of the life of Hereward considers a later episode in Britain’s history, when the Saxon leader continued a resistance against the Norman invasion of England after the conquest of 1066. In Selous’ illustrated edition, Kingsley’s brief text consists of an introductory page summarising Hereward’s story. Each full-page illustration thereafter is headed by a single sentence of Kingsley’s explaining the scene. Kingsley’s approach to the story of Hereward is a straightforward one, in which a parallel can be seen with Armitage’s winning competition entry depicting Caesar’s invasion of Britain. He likewise wishes to praise the virtue of the native defenders, in this case the Anglo-Saxons, but at the same time refrains from too greatly assailing that of the Normans, since in his view, as with the Romans, it is ultimately through the combination of peoples that Britain’s peculiar strengths are ensured and the seeds of future glory are sown. This theme runs through all of the illustrations, but is summarised in the final illustration in which Hereward, after his rebellion, is reconciled with his new Norman king. It can also be seen in illustration 17, “How Hereward played the potter and cheated the king”, in which Hereward is able to enter William the Conqueror’s court in disguise but is subsequently cowed by the king’s majesty. Selous’ illustrations fit the tone of Kingsley’s narrative – and indeed of Kingley’s ideas in general. The portrayal of Hereward here, and his Saxons, could be labelled as “German”, at least as far as that would have been understood at the time. His depiction of Hereward on horseback, before he sets out to attempt to prevent Martin Lightfoot delivering the letter to Westminster by

_____ 16 In the first chapter, “The Forest Children”, Kingsley employs a thinly-veiled allegory of the Germanic tribes as children in a great forest attacking a castle full of gold and guarded by trolls (which, as he subsequently explains, represent Rome).

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___which he will be outlawed, is very reminiscent of nineteenth-century German ___Arminius iconography.17 Hereward is blond and well-built, with his hunting ___horn strung about his neck, his round shield and spear in hand. In another il___lustration in which Hereward slays a bear, he still carries this horn and wears a ___torque round his neck, as well as sporting strapped boots. By this stage he has ___also acquired a moustache to show that he has reached maturity. In further il___lustrations Selous goes beyond this to stress the Scandinavian origins of the ___Anglo-Saxons when he portrays Hereward on board his ship arriving in Flan___ders. The appearance of the boat draws heavily from the contemporary popular ___image of the Vikings, with its dragon-headed prow and line of round-shields ___along the starboard and port. Such a depiction again seeks to unite different ___elements in Britain’s ethnic make-up. Selous’ portrayal of the Normans is also in ___a similar vein, hinting at their shared Viking ancestry too. Hereward the Wake ___shows that in his later years Selous took to illustrating such British heroic___historic subject matter with ease (and was sufficiently well-known for depicting ___such to receive the commission in the first place). From this alone it cannot be ___argued that Selous held the same views and subscribed to the same historical ___narrative that Kingsley did. However, his choice of the theme of Boadicea, al___though this may have been informed rather by the commission’s interests than ___his own, does suggest a preference for illustrating ancient national heroes. At ___the time that he was preparing his entry for the 1843 competition Selous was ___also commissioned to illustrate one of the tales in Samuel Hall’s The Book of ___British Ballads (1842). As its name suggests, this compiled traditional British ___folk ballads, many of which describe battles and other legendary episodes in ___Britain’s history, and we may consider this too as symptomatic of this same type ___of work that Selous was engaged on. ___ Another medium in which Selous worked, also employed as a vehicle for ___the sort of patriotic art under consideration here, was the panoramic picture. ___Often in collaboration with another artist Selous undertook several projects in ___his earlier career on a large scale for the panorama display theatres in London. ___These tended to show large-scale battle or geographical scenes usually related ___in some way to new British imperial acquisitions overseas. One such was a ___scene of the Battle of Sobraon (1846), executed in the years after the cartoon ___competition, which illustrated the recent defeat of the Punjabi Sikh army by ___British forces. A guide to the battle scene and its various sections was written for ___ ___ ___ 17 Illustrative examples would be Johannes Gehrts’ “Armin verabschiedet sich von Thus___nelda”, 1884 (Lippisches Landesmuseum, Detmold), or Ludwig Schwanthaler’s Arminius in the ___Walhalla Monument north pediment.

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visitors to accompany the panorama scene, which was displayed at the Panorama in Leicester Square in London (see Burford & Selous 1846). The description praises the virtue of the British forces and demonises the Sikh leader in order to justify the annexation of the Punjab. Something of the tone can be gained from the praise given to the combined British forces on their victory (Burford & Selous 1846: 10): “All portions of the army, both British and Native, from the highest to the lowest in rank, vied with each other, not only in performing the usual service, but in the most unusual exploits, their courage and endurance were beyond praise, and they seemed to have a fixed determination that they would not be beaten. One temper, one will, one universal mutual confidence, cemented and animated the whole.”

What is emphasised here, aside from the virtues of courage and military valour, is the co-operation of British and Indian auxiliary forces (including Gurkha and other units). This was consistent with official contemporary ideology about empire, co-operation and partnership. In this interpretation, “native” valour was not considered problematic. As in the case of the Boadicea legend, post-revolt reconciliation and future partnership were instead emphasised. In the case of “native” Indians or Punjabis fighting for the British this is straightforward, their contribution to the British victory being acknowledged. As part of their characterisation, the enemy soldiery are in turn also represented as formidable, thereby enhancing the glory of British victory over such a foe. In the vein of Caesar’s Gallic War however, to a limited extent the enemy is also demonised, revealing their savagery and justifying the army’s actions at certain stages of the battle. The ultimate annexation of the Punjab would bring the civilisation necessary to the region to end this state of barbarity.18 The use of canon to annihilate the enemy is related as follows (Burford & Selous 1846: 10): “Hundreds fell under the cannonade, and hundreds upon hundreds in attempting the perilous passage; no compassion was felt or mercy shown, for the enemy had during the early part of the action sullied their gallantry, by slaughtering, or most barbarously mutilating, all prisoners whom the fortune of war placed at their disposal.” In the more general description of the Punjab after the description of the battle, an inhumane practice of the Sikhs is related (Burford & Selous 1846: 16): “After many years of unlimited authority and prosperity, their number in the whole of the Punjab

_____ 18 We might compare, for example, Caesar’s discussion of the Gallic practice of human sacrifice at Bellum Gallicum 6.16.

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___does not exceed a quarter of a million, which is scarcely one-fourth of the popu___lation; for from their roving and dissolute habits, few have families, none large ___ones, and they occasionally destroy their female children.” The implication is ___that, despite the natural prosperity of the territory and the opportunities afforded ___for progress, savage practices are literally preventing the growth of the popula___tion and that the only solution to this is the civilisation brought by empire. ___ While Selous’ other projects relate to classical and other historical allego___ries of national virtue, in this project we can link the artist directly with a repre___sentation of the contemporary imperial project. This does not make Selous an ___imperialist himself (we have little by way of material to establish Selous’ politi___cal views or nationalism).19 His engagement on this project does however cast ___his representation of Boadicea in an interesting light. Some of these themes will ___be explored further below. ___ ___ ___ ___5 Contemporary reception ___ ___The contemporary reception of both Selous’ Boadicea and the cartoons more ___generally was not universally positive. At the time feelings were mixed on the ___merit of the various entries made in the competition, with some seeing the re___sponse of artists to public patronage in a very positive light, while others ___thought that the whole project was an utter failure. Ultimately the work of the ___commissioners and the entire fresco project came to be seen retrospectively as ___unsuccessful, and today they are not known as artistic works of any great note. ___This should not blinker us to the fact that there were some in the 1840s who ___were very optimistic and believed that the outcome of the competition heralded ___a new great age in British public art. One such was the review of The Art Union, which responded positively to ___ ___Selous’ picture, reaching the conclusion that “(n)o competitor has better de___ ___ ___ ___19 It is interesting to note that as well as being an artist, Selous was also a writer of children’s ___novels under the pseudonyms “Aunt Kae” and “Kay Spen”. He wrote several books, including ___Our White Violet (1869) and Gerty and May (1867), stories about groups of children and their ___various adventures. He also wrote allegorical tales involving animals, such as The Grateful Sparrow (1869) and The Adventures of a Butterfly (1867), not unlike those Rudyard Kipling ___ would later write. The stories are intended to be morally improving and present ideals of virtu___ous behaviour, Our White Violet culminating in the heroic self-sacrifice of one of its protago___nists to save his younger sister’s life.

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served the prize than Mr. Selous” (Anonymus 1843b: 211). The entry on Selous in their article on the cartoon competition, while not without one or two suggestions for improvement, is full of praise for the artist. He is presented as “gifted with extraordinary facility of drawing”, and while the artist’s name is little known, it “deserves to be more so” (Anonymus 1843b: 211). The cartoon itself is “executed with great facility and mastery”, with skilful handling of the figures, whose “grouping is most skilfully managed, and with the expression of each character has been introduced exactly the natural and true feeling”. The reviewer of The Art Union evidently thought that Selous’ take on Boadicea was a fitting one: “Boadicea rises a column amid her people, and is habited sufficiently near to the description of Dion Cassius. The composition is full of the movement which would follow such a speech.” In addition to producing a fine drawing, Selous has also portrayed a Boadicea that is – and this appears to be an important criterion – historically accurate in following Cassius Dio’s account (Anonymus 1843b: 211).20 The Art Union’s praise was not so lavish for all of the artists about whom it had entries in its article. Yet its praise of Selous should be seen in the context of its positive attitude towards the competition as a whole. The article opens with the grand words: “It is glorious to see the new birth of British Art dated from the Old Hall at Westminster. The ‘ancient of days’ has never been devoted to a nobler or holier purpose” (Anonymus 1843b: 207). This tone is echoed again later on, when the collective quality of the entries is summarised as follows: “In a word, the issue has been entirely satisfactory – giving much at which to rejoice, and either literally nothing or next to nothing calculated to cause regret” (Anonymus 1843b: 207). Particular congratulations are meted out to Prince Albert, to whose initial vision and inspiration success is attributed. There is much reference to the “plan for frescoes” as having been successful (at least a little premature considering that no frescoes had actually been completed at the time). One may suspect that in its attitude towards the cartoon competition The Art Union had become something of an establishment mouthpiece. The Art Union’s take on Selous’ Boadicea and the cartoon competition does not reflect the entirety of public opinion at the time. In Clarke’s guide to the exhibition (Clarke 1843: 25), the entry on Selous’ picture is far more critical than that in The Art Union:

_____ 20 This refers to Cassius Dio, Hist. 62.2.4, where he relates that Boadicea wore a multicoloured tunic, over which was fastened a thick mantle with a brooch, and carried a spear in her hand.

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“The facility of execution in this cartoon is almost bewildering; violence of action and ___ dashing lights carry us away like the speech of a mob orator, and it requires a cool discre___ tion to examine further, beneath the splendid surface. We almost regret having done so, ___ for the result is disagreeable. The Queen lacks the indignation of offended pride and the ___ rankling of moral suffering: the daughters have not more than an outward show of can___ kering modesty: the crowd is too much made up of women and children, unfit avengers of a nation’s wrongs. Until competitions have reclaimed public taste from corruption, we ___ fear that clever artists will be induced to give up their better judgement for senseless ap___ probation.” ___ ___ ___Selous’ work is considered to be superficially attractive but ultimately flawed. It ___is interesting to note where Clarke’s criticism lies, for it does not appear to be so ___much in matters of style or technique, in which Selous is actually given some ___praise. It is rather in his treatment of subject matter that Clarke’s qualms lie. ___Boadicea is not indignant enough, nor are her daughters sufficiently modest, ___nor are there enough burly male warriors on display, for Clarke’s postulated ___observer to be convinced that the desire for vengeance shall in fact be fulfilled. ___There are clear expectations here of what the Boadicea legend is supposed to ___involve and how it is meant to be handled. It is evident that at least some of ___Selous’ contemporaries had a clear idea of what its significance was and how ___Boadicea should be correctly portrayed. As for what other contemporaries of Selous’ who attended the exhibition or ___ ___saw the cartoons thought, this can only be inferred, as the reviews and journal ___entries are our only real source on this. However, some things are clear. It is ___evident from their future reports that the commission itself approved of the out___come of the competition and was well pleased with the first efforts made by the ___artists who entered, and not just those that won prizes. This is best demon___strated by the fact that they later chose to award a further ten prizes of £100 ___each to artists that had not been chosen in the initial awards.21 It is also clear ___that Prince Albert was encouraged by the results of the competition. As Ames ___(1968: 52) comments in his book on Albert: “When the drawings began to be ___ ___ ___21 These went to F. Howard (“Una coming to seek the Assistance of Gloriana: An Allegory of ___the Reformed Religion seeking the Assistance of England”), G.V. Rippingille (“The Seven Acts ___of Mercy. Una and the Red Cross Knight led by Mercy to the Hospital of the Seven Virtues”), ___F.R. Pickersgill (“The Death of King Lear”), Sir W.C. Ross, R.A. (“The Angel Discoursing with ___Adam”), Henry Howard, R.A. (“Man beset by contending Passions”), F.R. Stephanhoff (“The Brothers releasing the Lady from the Enchanted Chair”), John Green Waller (“The Brothers ___ driving out Comus and his Rabble”), W.C. Thomas (“St. Augustine preaching to the Britons”), ___Marshall Claxton (“Alfred in the Disguise of a Harper in the Danish Camp”), and Edward Cor___bould (“The Plague of London, A.D. 1349”).

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delivered in late May 1843, the Prince was surprised to find as many as 150 entries, and pleased that ten of them seemed really good.” There was evidently a significant amount of interest from the general public, too. Eastlake produced a penny pamphlet guide to the exhibition for a wider audience as an alternative to the more expensive sixpenny one. Yet as Ames (1968: 52) points out, the penny pamphlet did not sell because visitors were buying the sixpenny ones instead. Returning to the issue of expectations of historical accuracy in portrayals of ancient subjects, this is something which we find throughout The Art Union’s reporting on the competition, and not only in relation to Selous’ cartoon. For example, in its entry on one of the other competitors, E. B. Morris, and his take on a classical subject in his “Caractacus before Claudius”, the artist receives particular praise for his historical research: “There is everywhere evidence of care and research. Claudius sits in state; he seems represented from authentic sources, and looks very like a Roman emperor” (Anonymus 1843b: 211). He is then criticised for his depiction of Caractacus himself on the same grounds, this time for not being historically convincing: “Caractacus is feeble – he wants dignity and presence: there is nothing in this version of him that would have induced the Romans to exhibit him in triumph” (Anonymus 1843b: 211). We have a concern both for accuracy in terms of source material, but also that the events portrayed should be historically convincing. There is a sense that there is a correct way of visually portraying history. In this instance there is a predetermined idea of what a Roman emperor should look like, and Morris’ work is judged against this standard. In Selous’ case, the criticism in Clarke’s guide indicates similarly that there was a preconceived idea of what the “indignation of offended pride” and “rankling of moral suffering” were supposed to look like in the case of Boadicea. This is echoed in The Art Union’s comment on another artist’s entry, namely Edward Matthew Ward’s portrayal of Boadicea: “The figure of Boadicea is admirable, an impassioned yet a dignified heroine” (Anonymus 1843b: 210). The remarks in The Art Union review and Clarke’s guide betray the fact that for critics such national illustrated history had a function, that of imparting a specific message, and that historical figures had to be suitably depicted for this purpose. What is this message in the case of Selous’ entry? Given Selous’ other national allegories and direct representations of imperial conquest, can his Boadicea be said to embody a contemporary imperial ideology? This cannot be answered definitively, but the analogy of his portrayal of invaders and invaded in Kingsley’s Hereward the Wake would suggest that he is not necessarily demonising either the Britons or the absent Romans. Considering the cartoon competition as a whole, the choice of Armitage’s drawing, with its heroic portrayal of the invading Caesar, would suggest that a rejection of Rome was not

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___the official take on Britain’s classical past. In his book on the image of ancient ___Britain, Sam Smiles engages with this question. Writing of the Boadicea legend ___in the context of the decorations for the new Palace of Westminster, he recog___nises that “the subjugation of Celtic Britain was an awkward episode in the na___tional history of a state currently pursuing expansionist foreign policy and the ___pictorial treatment of the subject is caught up in the problem” (Smiles 1994: ___148). As he succinctly recapitulates the essential question: “Are Caractacus and ___Boadicea national heroes or ignorant savages resisting civilisation?” (Smiles ___1994: 148). Smiles argues interestingly that even within the Westminster project ___there was a tension between two conflicting interpretations of ancient Britain, ___the programme of the central corridor suggesting that ancient Britain was “a ___place of ignorance and superstition requiring civilisation”, while the 1843 prize___winners and the sculptor Thomas Woolner in the following year’s competition ___“depicted Celtic leaders as heroic patriots and presented British resistance to ___Roman invasion as a noble defence of national freedom” (Smiles 1994: 148). For ___Smiles then this was essentially a conflict of interpretation, a legend that had ___become increasingly flexible and open to different interpretations: “Of all these ___images Selous’s shows the extent to which Boadicea’s character had been rein___terpreted by the 1840s. The dignity and disciplined anger of the earlier illustra___tions gives way here to a frenzied harangue whose histrionics are echoed in the ___writhing, plunging figures of her people” (Smiles 1994: 162). Smiles is unable to ___settle upon any definite answer to the question about imperial ideology, instead ___making a general and not invalid point about writing history (Smiles 1994: 148): ___ “Similarly, what sympathy could the Britons elicit if their cultural inferiority and resis___ tance to Roman rule was being mapped on to the cultural difference and resistance to Brit___ ish imperialism of contemporary subject peoples? In short, did the Victorian viewer pro___ ject him- or herself into the Roman or the Celtic character? Plainly such confusion over the ___ treatment of Celtic Britain is not just a question of historical truth, but a muddled response ___ to the problematics of writing a British history at all.” ___ ___Yet it could be argued that the Victorian viewer was able to project him- or her___self into both roles with equal facility. The overarching ideological take on both ___the Boadicea myth and contemporary imperial acquisitions was that of co___operation and partnership. Ancient Britain’s Celtic resistance and its Roman ___invasion were both ultimately important factors in its success, just as British ___civilisation and “native” strengths were conceived of as combining to the ulti___mate advancement of modern empire. ___ ___ ___

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6 Conclusion Whatever expectations were at the time the competition was held, and whatever opinions were about the quality and type of art that was yielded by it, in the aftermath and ensuing decades the entire project came to be viewed for the most part as a failure. This is best summed up by the later analysis of the commission and its activities in the 1840s by art historian Samuel Redgrave and his brother Richard Redgrave22 in their book A Century of Painters of the English School (1866).23 They express their frustration with virtually every aspect of the project – firstly with the composition of the commission, which they describe as “exceptional”, in that it “did not include one of the many distinguished men who were then devoted to the practice of art: not one man who professionally represented art” (Redgrave & Redgrave 1866: 546). Their greatest qualm with the project is the false hopes it raised in the young artists of the time, who “dreamed of heroic subjects and unlimited State commissions” (Redgrave & Redgrave 1866: 519), but were led into “disappointment founded on just expectations unfulfilled” (Redgrave & Redgrave 1866: 532). Then there was the commission’s prescription of subjects for the competition, on which the two authors comment: “They not only selected and prescribed the exact subjects (not merely the events) for illustration, leaving as little as possible to the inventive genius of the artist but they, a body of laymen, fruitlessly attempted to control and direct him, by requiring the repeated submission of his works to their judgement at every stage of his progress” (Redgrave & Redgrave 1866: 548). All of this, in the Redgraves’ opinion, ultimately meant a loss of public confidence in the commission as the 1840s wore on into the 1850s, with successive competitions and barely any frescoes successfully completed yet: “Meanwhile the public lost patience; they thought that little had been done, and that little unsuccessfully, and the failure of the whole scheme was already predicted” (Redgrave & Redgrave 1866: 539).

_____ 22 Richard Redgrave (1804–1888), the English art historian and Royal Academician, was Surveyor of Crown Pictures from 1856 until 1880, during which time he produced a catalogue of the pictures at Windsor, Buckingham Palace and the other royal residences. Very much part of the art establishment, he was an influential art critic during the period. 23 Strong (2004: 520) points out that Redgrave, a member of the Royal Society of Arts, was part of a faction within this which wished to see the application of science and art to industrial purposes for the cause of progress, a circle with which Prince Albert was also associated. This considered, we might better understand his frustrations with the commission and its perceived failure in regard to the Westminster decorations.

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___ The Redgraves’ analysis certainly fits Selous’ case. After the award of the ___initial prize, which one might think would have led to a commission for some ___work in fresco or another medium for the actual building, he was completely ___passed over. Indeed, it could be questioned whether it benefited Selous to have ___been in the competition at all, beyond the initial prize money and consequent ___limelight he briefly enjoyed. Yet as we have seen with Clarke’s guide to the ___Westminster Hall exhibition, this could worsen as well as improve an artist’s ___reputation. The other ten prize-winners cannot be discussed here, but in Selous’ ___case the award of the prize did nothing to enhance his artistic career in the long___term, and it seems that he continued to make his living from book illustration ___and writing children’s novels, neither of which he achieved any particular fame ___for. At the same time, later verdicts on the project of the sort we see in A Century ___of Painters of the English School may have had more to do with the change in ___public taste in the later nineteenth century than the actual failings of the com___mission. As the Redgraves are hinting at here, the essentially prescriptive na___ture of the subject matter for the competition limited the artist’s scope to the ___point of stagnation. It can be readily seen how, after Ruskin’s imprimatur had ___been given to the Pre-Raphaelites and newer styles, with a take on their subject ___matter refreshingly different to the old historicism, the sort of art produced for ___the competition was soon outmoded. Selous’ style would not have remained in ___vogue for long. ___ Were there any countervailing opinions to that of the Redgraves expressed ___about the fresco project subsequent to its completion? For the most part opinion ___seems to have been as the Redgraves would have us believe, but we find at least ___one dissenting voice in Gustav Friedrich Waagen’s book a decade after the car___toon competition. According to the author’s own account he was taken inside ___the Palace and shown some of the completed decorations, about which he ___seems greatly enthused (Waagen 1854: 426): “But I cannot join in the objection ___raised by many as to the over richness of the decorations; on the contrary, it ___appears to me only consistent with the great national character of the building ___that the richness of the decoration should be commensurate with the grandeur ___of the proportions.” As a German art historian, Waagen would have been more ___familiar with the use of fresco in such projects than British public opinion was, ___whose view of the decorations he was clearly apprised of. He welcomes the use ___of fresco, though the explanation for his doing so may have more to do with his ___earlier recommendations than their merit per se (Waagen 1854: 427): “It is a ___matter, also, of real natural congratulation, that the architect included in his ___plan the application of sculpture and fresco-painting, so that the rich field of ___monumental art, hitherto denied to the English artist, is now opened to him. I ___welcomed this the more as a fulfilment of an idea which I had expressed when

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called upon to give my opinion before a Parliamentary Committee in 1835.” It is perhaps noteworthy that one of the few later positive opinions expressed on the Westminster frescoes project was that of a foreigner and of someone with an interest in advocating its success. Did the fresco project have any impact on the artistic representation of historical and national themes in the long term? It is difficult to argue that the project had any lasting effect on British art. In the ensuing decades this was to move very far from the tradition of history painting, in the face of both domestic and foreign experimental developments. The Westminster cartoons clearly belonged to the tradition of history painting. Moreover the choice of national myth and legend represented in the cartoons was not destined for future prominence. Strong (2004: 519) settles for the view that the entire project was a failure, and puts this down to obfuscation in the subject matter of the artworks that were produced: “The whole exercise was in many ways a disaster, for the public failed even to recognise the subject-matter when it was exhibited. In all it was a throw-back to the Boydell Gallery and its successors in the previous century.” For Strong the public’s inability to recognise the themes in the pictures was a failure in the commission’s didactic aims. However it is clear that Boadicea did not disappear after Selous. She continued to exert her appeal for an age in which a female monarch reigned, and it has been argued by Smiles (1994: 162) that Selous’ portrayal may have been influential for others: “It is tempting to believe that Tennyson had seen Selous’ image and was inspired by it when drafting his own experimental poem Boadicea in 1859.” The Boadicea legend did not go away. Yet the popularity of historical allegories was most likely beginning to wane, to make way for the more contemporarily relevant themes of artists such as the Pre-Raphaelites, who engaged with issues such as the plight of women and the urban poor in Victorian Britain in their art. In contrast the sort of national historical art sponsored by the Westminster cartoon competition may soon have seemed cold and distant, and little in tune with the concerns of the age.

Bibliography Aldhouse-Green, Miranda (2006): Boudica Britannia. Rebel, War-Leader and Queen, Harlow: Pearson Longman. Ames, Winslow (1968): Prince Albert and Victorian Taste, London: Chapman & Hall. Anonymus (1843a): Catalogue of the Cartoons sent in, pursuant to the notices issued by Her Majesty’s Commissioners on the Fine Arts, for Exhibition in Westminster Hall, London: Clowes & Sons.

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___Anonymus (1843b): The Cartoons, Westminster Hall. In: The Art Union 5, 207–212. ___Anonymus (1844): Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, Illustrated by Henry C. Selous, Esq. Holloway, Bedford Street, Covent Garden. In: The Westminster Review 42, 520–521. ___ Anonymus (1861): Twelfth Report of the Commissioners on Fine Arts, London: George Edward ___ Eyre & William Spottiswoode. ___Bunyan, John & Henry Courtney Selous (1844): The Pilgrim’s Progress from this World to that which is to come. Edited by George Godwin & Lewis Pocock. Illustrated by engravings in ___ outline, and wood-cuts, from drawings from Henry C. Selous, London: Holloway. ___ Burford, Robert & Henry Courtney Selous (1846): Description of a View of the Battle of Sobraon, ___ with the Defeat of the Sikh Army of the Punjab, now exhibiting at the Panorama, Leicester ___ Square. Painted by the Proprietor Robert Burford, assisted by H.C. Selous, London: Nich___ ols. ___Clarke, Henry G. (1843): A Hand-Book Guide to the Cartoons now exhibiting in Westminster Hall, London: H.G. Clarke & Co. ___ Dudley, Donald R. & Graham Webster (1962): The Rebellion of Boudicca, London: Routledge & ___ Kegan Paul. ___ Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von (1821): Faustus: From the German of Goethe. The greater part of ___ Thl. 1 translated in verse, and connected by a prose narrative. With 27 illustrations in out___ line by M. Retzsch, London: Boosey and Sons. ___H.M. Stationary Office (1842): Parliamentary Papers, House of Commons and Command. Vol. 25: Report of the Commissioners on the Fine Arts, with Appendix, London: W. Clowes ___ and Sons. ___ Johnson, Marguerite (2012): Boudicca, London: Bristol Classical Press. ___Kingsley, Charles (1864): The Roman and the Teuton. A Series of Lectures delivered before the ___ University of Cambridge, Cambridge & London: Macmillan. ___Kingsley, Charles (1870): Hereward the Wake. Illustrations by H.C. Selous, London: Art-Union of London. ___ Redgrave, Richard & Samuel Redgrave (1866): A Century of Painters of the English School. With ___ Critical Notices of Their Works, and an Account of the Progress of Art in England (2 vols.), ___ London: Smith, Elder & Co. ___Redgrave, Samuel (1874): A Dictionary of Artists of the English School: Painters, Sculptors, ___ Architects, Engravers and Ornamentists. With notices of their lives and works, London: Longmans, Green & Co. ___ ___Selous, Henry Courtney (1836): Outlines of Shakespeare’s ‘Tempest’. A Series of Twelve Plates. With the text in English, German, French and Italian, London: A. Schloss. ___ Selous, Henry Courtney (1867): Gerty and May, London: Griffith and Farran. ___Slous, Angiolo Robson (1866): True to the Core. A Story of the Armada, London: Tinsley Bros. ___Smiles, Sam (1994): The Image of Antiquity. Ancient Britain and the Romantic Imagination, New ___ Haven & London: Yale University Press. ___Spen, Kay (1869): Our White Violet, London: Griffith and Farran. ___Strong, Roy (2004): The Arts in Britain. A History, London: Pimlico. Trow, Meirion J. & Taliesin Trow (2003): Boudicca. The Warrior Queen, Stroud: Sutton. ___ Vaughan, William (1979): German Romanticism and English Art, New Haven & London: Yale ___ University Press. ___Waagen, Gustav Friedrich (1854): Treasures of Art in Great Britain. Being an Account of the Chief Collections of Paintings, Drawings, Sculptures, Illuminated Mss. (vol. 1), London: ___ Murray. ___

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Waite, John (2007): Boudica’s Last Stand. Britain’s Revolt Against Rome, A.D. 60–61, Stroud: Tempus. Webster, Graham (1978): Boudica. The British Revolt Against Rome A.D. 60, London: Batsford. Williams, Carolyn D. (2009): Boudica and Her Stories. Narrative Transformations of a Warrior Queen, Newark, Delaware: University of Delaware Press.

Illustration

Figure 1: Henry Courtney Selous, Boadicea Haranguing the Iceni, 1843 (location unknown)

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___Christopher B. Krebs ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___Christopher B. Krebs ___A Nation Finds its People ___ “Aber wie spreche ich zu dir, deutsches Volk? Was bist du, und wo bist du? Ich suche und finde dich nicht.” ___ ___ (Ernst Moritz Arndt, Geist der Zeit. Zweiter Teil, 1809) ___ ___ Abstract: This article focuses on Friedrich Kohlrausch, a teacher and administrator first in ___Prussia and then the kingdom of Hanover, and his circle. It discusses his influential concept of ___history in the context of the rise of history as a ‘national discipline’ as well as the role that Taci___tus’ Germania played therein. It also reconstructs how the Germania not only came to be read ___as testimony to the German(ic) race but, arguably, helped to conceive of such a race. The con___clusion briefly outlines the print-run of Kohlrausch’s works and suggests that the German nation may indeed have found its people in the course of the nineteenth century and not least ___ because of Kohlrausch’s significant efforts. ___ ___ ___ ___1 Introduction ___ ___In the history of German nationalism, an object of considerable and highly dif___ferentiated attention over the last three decades, an understanding of the very ___early nineteenth century as a ‘watershed’ (as Harro Segeberg styled it back in ___1988) has given way to a wider view of the period from about 1740 to 1820 as an ___‘epochal period’ (Sattelzeit). 1 While various aspects of nationalism can be ___followed back to the early modern period,2 and the Middle Ages even, among ___ ___ ___ ___1 See Segeberg (1988: 156). For an overview of the discussion see Breuilly (1990) and Planert ___(2002: 26 n. 4), the latter also arguing for a Sattelzeit. Among the major recent contributions to ___the debate, catalysed by Kohn’s study of The Idea of Nationalism (1944), particular attention must be drawn to Echternkamp (1998). ___ 2 For an inspired investigation into nationalism in the early modern period see Hirschi (2012). ___For brief surveys of pre-nationalism(s) see Hardtwig (1994), Planert (2002: 34–42), and Jansen ___(2011: 252–254).

A Nation Finds its People: Friedrich Kohlrausch, New Readers and Readings of Tacitus’ Germania, and the Rise of a Popular German Nationalism

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the developments that distinguish the second half of the eighteenth and first decades of the nineteenth centuries is first and foremost the transformation of a nationalistic (elite) ideology into a popular social movement, or, to put it differently: it is in this period that the (idea of a) German nation, which had already existed in theory around 1500, was brought to its people. Second, the common people (the Volk) was concomitantly redefined, both culturally and then racially, and elevated to being the carrier of the national essence (Volkstum), the protection and promotion of which was now advanced as a form of substitute religion (Ersatzreligion).3 The proliferation of print-media is generally credited with a major role in the process of popularisation, as is the gymnastic movement (Turnerbewegung); less attention seems to have been paid to the contribution made by the teaching of history at school. Tacitus’ Germania had served as an ideological cornerstone in the nationalising debates about ‘Germany’ ever since its rediscovery in the fifteenth century, when self-declared German humanists, provoked by two Italian counterparts, formed ‘Germany’ as an ‘imagined community’, actively ‘inventing traditions’ set in the Germanic past.4 Subsequent generations followed their lead and, for the most part, merely modified those traditions in response to contemporary theories and debates. In the history of the reception of the Germania, the nationalistic Sattelzeit is also marked by two innovations: First, its description of the Germanic tribes, the alleged German ancestors,5 as “a peculiar, unadulterated people that resembles no one but itself” (propriam et sinceram et tantum sui similem gentem, quoted in full below) in the fourth chapter, was reinterpreted racially. Second, for the first time the Germania reached beyond the elite circle of intellectuals whom it had influenced for more than two and a half centuries; it found a much wider audience and became a household name.

_____ 3 For a convenient summary of the distinguishing characteristics of nationalism in the Sattelzeit see esp. Jansen (2011: 244–248). Hardtwig (1994) sketches “[den] endgültigen Übergang des Nationalismus von Elitebewegung zur Massenbewegung” (quotation on p. 46). 4 For the use of Tacitus’ Germania among humanists, see Ridé (1977), Krapf (1979), Mertens (2004), and Krebs (2005: 111–249), and for the following centuries Krebs (2012), on whose chapter 7 (“White Blood”) this essay elaborates. On the “imagined community”, see Anderson (1991: esp. chapters 2–3), and on “inventing traditions”, see Hobsbawm (1992: 6–7, 13– 14). Both concepts have been very influential in the debate about nation-building and nationalism. 5 On the history of the identification of the Germanic tribes with the German ancestors, see Beck, Geuenich, Steuer & Hakelberg (2004). More generally on the reception of the Germania in nineteenth-century Germany, esp. in the context of Deutsche Altertumskunde, see Mazza (1979). See also the next footnote.

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___ In both histories, the one of German nationalism as well as the one of the ___reception of the Germania, Ernst Moritz Arndt, Friedrich Ludwig Jahn (the fa___mous Turnvater), and Johann Gottlieb Fichte figure frequently. 6 Much less ___known but arguably of similar if not more influence (at least for the reception of ___the Germania) was Friedrich Kohlrausch, a teacher and administrator first in ___Prussia and then the kingdom of Hanover, who, varyingly acquainted with ___these three nationalists, wrote two of the nineteenth century’s most influential ___schoolbooks on German history: Die deutsche Geschichte für Schule und Haus ___(1816) and Kurze Darstellung der deutschen Geschichte (1822). In these history ___primers, widely and fervidly desired by contemporaries, he made ample use of ___Tacitus’ booklet, this “temple of honour to the German nation” (see below); and ___with them he, more than perhaps any other individual, helped to introduce the ___Germania to scores of new readers along with, embedded in it, a racial reinter___pretation of its fourth chapter. ___ The following pages will focus on Kohlrausch and his circle and, first, ___discuss his influential concept of history in the context of the rise of history as a ___‘national discipline’ as well as the role that Tacitus’ Germania played therein, ___and, second, reconstruct how the Germania not only came to be read as ___testimony to the German(ic) race but, arguably, helped to conceive of such a ___race; in the conclusion, I will briefly outline the print-run of Kohlrausch’s works ___and suggest that the German nation, addressed by Arndt in the epigraph (“But ___how am I supposed to address you, German people? What are you, and where ___are you? I seek and cannot find you!”), may indeed have found its people in the ___course of the nineteenth century and not least because of Kohlrausch’s ___significant efforts. ___ ___ ___ 2 History at school (and) as a national ___ inspirational discipline ___ ___ ___Heinrich Friedrich Theodor Kohlrausch (1780–1867) studied a wide assortment ___of subjects centering on theology at the universities of Göttingen, Berlin, Kiel, ___and Heidelberg, thus experiencing “Germany” as a cultural nation across its ___individual national states.7 Yielding to his “urge to teach” (den Trieb zu unter___ ___ ___ 6 See e.g. Fuhrmann (1972: 109–110), Binder (2004: 45), and Lund (1995: 19–20). ___7 All biographical information is first and foremost taken from Kohlrausch’s Erinnerungen aus ___meinem Leben, which appeared in 1863. A survey of the most important events in his life is

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richten; see Kohlrausch 1863: 130), he took up a position at the co-educational school in Barmen (now part of the city of Wuppertal in North RhineWestphalia). A few years later, in 1814, he shouldered greater administrative responsibilities at the derelict lyceum in Düsseldorf (equally in North RhineWestphalia), which he helped to rebuild. He then moved on to the city of Münster (in 1818), whence to Hanover (in 1830), to reform and institutionalise first the Prussian, then the Hanoverian school systems. His influential “Notes on the structure of history teaching at higher schools” (Bemerkungen über die Stufenfolge des Geschichtsunterrichts in den höheren Schulen) appeared in 1818. The nineteenth century has been called the “century of education”, wherein the German states, spearheaded by Prussia, seized the responsibility for education at long last.8 Kohlrausch played a leading role in this process for the subject of history, the standing of which rose in tune with a more generally heightened historical awareness.9 His concept of history as a subject at higher schools, set out in the Bemerkungen (and later updated as Instruktion des Provinzialschulkollegiums zu Münster, published in 1830 and in turn modified in 1859), set the standards for history teaching first in Westphalia, then all of Prussia.10 It included an unprecedented focus on German history and explicitly advocated an inspirational and ‘patriotic’ approach to the subject, as revealed by Kohlrausch’s insistence on the teaching of German history during the second unit of the curriculum – and thus before students might decide to leave school: for those among the students who decided to leave still deserved “a survey of the history of their fatherland to invigorate and inspire their souls for all times.”11 Realising that the best concept must fail if handled poorly, he oversaw the es-

_____ included in the Nekrolog by Schmalfuß (1867). Denig (1907) offers a summary of sorts of the Erinnerungen. For an excellent more recent discussion of Kohlrausch’s contributions see Jeismann (1978), and for a discussion of a contemporary’s experience of “Germany” across the state divisions, see La Vopa (1996). 8 See the introductory remarks in Jeismann & Lundgreen (1987: 1–9; quotation on p. 2), along with the contributions on “Schulpolitik, Schulverwaltung, Schulgesetzgebung” (1987: 105– 122), “Das niedere Schulwesen” (1987: 123–151) and “Das höhere Knabenschulwesen” (1987: 152–179). 9 See Jäger (1987: esp. 197): “Die Geschichte erfährt eine ungeheure Bedeutungssteigerung, die weit über das Fach Geschichte selbst hinausgeht.” See further the quotations by Fichte and Jahn on the next page. 10 See Jacobmeyer (2011: 79). For a discussion of Kohlrausch’s Bemerkungen, see Jeismann (1978: esp. 49–77). 11 See Kohlrausch (1818: 57; my emphasis), quoted from Jeismann (1978: 57): “Ihnen ist die Schule (...) wenigstens eine Übersicht der vaterländischen Geschichte schuldig, zur Belebung und Erwärmung ihres Gemütes für immer.”

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___tablishment of a corps of highly trained and tested teachers.12 To this day, Kohl___rausch is regarded as one of the greatest school reformers of the nineteenth cen___tury, credited with the foundation of the modern didactics of history and its or___ganisation as a subject at school.13 ___ Arguably greater even was his significance as a promoter of the con___temporary knowledge of history in general and of German history in particular ___in his capacity as a widely read author: his first major publication for a wider ___audience presented “Stories and Lessons from the Old and New Testament” ___(Geschichten und Lehren des Alten und Neuen Testaments); it came out in 1812 ___and met with rare success, as evinced by its twenty-ninth edition in 1880.14 He ___then published his instantaneously famous “Six Speeches concerning the Fu___ture of Germany” (Deutschlands Zukunft. In sechs Reden), before he turned to ___German history proper. Intellectuals and populists alike at the time desired a ___“vivid history of the fatherland which, in turn, leads back into life”, as Friedrich ___Jahn put it.15 Johann Gottlieb Fichte, in an Address to the German nation, re___quested that such a history serve as a “national and popular book, just like the ___Bible” in order to “raise the national spirit”.16 Kohlrausch, on friendly terms ___with Fichte during his time in Berlin (and maybe heeding the philosopher’s ___call), while also acquainted with Jahn (see below), lamented the absence of ___proper schoolbooks on German history too;17 but he then turned to remedying ___the situation. ___ Die deutsche Geschichte für Schule und Haus appeared in 1816 and was ___translated as A History of Germany. From the Earliest Period to the Present Time ___in 1844 (and then reprinted in 1880). Its preface was written in the month of ___April of the same year. Ten years after the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire ___ ___ ___12 See Denig (1907: 12) on how Kohlrausch “war überhaupt für Heranziehung tüchtiger Lehrer ___bemüht.” ___13 See Jeismann (1978: esp. 41, 75–76). See also Weymar’s (1961: 19) ranking of Kohlrausch ___among those “die den Geist des Geschichtsunterrichts im 19. Jahrhundert in hohem Maße bestimmten.” ___ 14 See Allgemeine deutsche Biographie (1907: 223). ___15 Jahn (1991 [1810]: 157), demanding “[e]ine lebendige Geschichte des Vaterlandes, die ins ___Leben wieder hineinführt.” ___16 See Fichte (2008: 83): “Of the individual and particular means of raising the German spirit ___once more, a very effective one would be the publication of an inspiring history of the Germans ___during this period, which would become a national book, a book for the people, such as the Bible or a hymn book are, until the day when we in turn accomplished something worthy of ___ being recorded.” On Kohlrausch and Fichte, see Kohlrausch (1863: 64–76), speaking of himself ___as a “geschworener Jünger Fichtes”. ___17 For the lament see Kohlrausch (1863: 167).

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of the German Nation, one year after the battle of Waterloo, it reviews the tumultuous present and envisions a more hopeful future. Resuming an idea Kohlrausch had already ventilated in his “Six Speeches”, he declares the present to be poised on the threshold of a new era and the reflection on German core values to be imperative (see e.g. Kohlrausch 1814: 5). The sensation of such a dawn was widely felt; but Kohlrausch might have found it expressed once again in Fichte’s First Address to the German Nation, wherein the philosopher promised to look to “the new age that can and should immediately follow the destruction of the realm of selfishness by an alien power” (Fichte 2008: 10). For such a meditation, Kohlrausch opined, no discipline (save for religion) was better suited than history.18 He hoped that his work would fulfil this purpose and instil in its readers love for their fatherland. He frankly acknowledged that it included details that would not withstand critical scrutiny; but he would willingly accept the charge of bias, insofar as he considered the primary purpose of his work to be the inspiration of its readers.19 Pupils turning to Kohlrausch’s pages on German history found therein a section on “Ancient Germany and its Inhabitants”, which preceded the account of the first period in German history “from the most ancient times to the conquests of the Franks under Clovis, 486 A.D.” For those roughly thirty pages – the single most important section of the whole history as it revealed the Germans in their “uncorrupted nature” (see below) – Tacitus’ Germania is the primary source. Kohlrausch followed it closely, paraphrasing it generously and occasionally slipping into mere translation. To enhance its significance and credibility, he expands on the credibility of Tacitus as a historian (Kohlrausch 1880: 17; the italics are mine):

_____ 18 See Kohlrausch (1816: iv): “Es ist an der Zeit, daß (...) sich in [unserem Volk] wiederum ein einfacher, fester Kern der Gesinnung bilde; und nächst der Religion greift kein Zweig des Unterrichts tiefer in die Gesinnung ein, als die Geschichte. Wiederum hat kein Augenblick unserer Geschichte hierzu so dringend aufgefordert, als der jetzige. Wir stehen an der Schwelle einer neuen Zeit.” Kurt Sprengel expresses similar thoughts and hopes in the preface to his translation and commentary on Tacitus’ Germania (Halle 1817: Schimmelpfennig). 19 See Kohlrausch (1816: vii): “Sollte es aber hier und da scheinen, als habe ich Dinge aufgenommen, deren Aechtheit noch kritischen Zweifeln unterliegt, so erwiedere ich, daß dieses absichtlich geschehen ist, wenn nemlich ein solcher Umstand für den Eindruck des Ganzen wohltätig, und dem Geiste teutscher Eigenthümlichkeit angemessen war.” The purpose of his work is “vorzüglich die Erhebung des Gemüths (...) und in diesem Sinne will ich mich gerne der Partheilichkeit für das Große unserer Geschichte zeihen lassen” (ibid.). Jeismann (1978: 46) observes: “Seine Geschichtsdarstellungen standen trotz aller Überarbeitungen nicht auf der Höhe der erst nach ihrer Entstehung aufblühenden kritischen Geschichtswissenschaft.”

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“We (...) acknowledge him [sc. Tacitus] to be by far the chief and most important author as ___ regards our earlier German history, and revere his elevated feeling for moral dignity, for ___ truth and justice, in what he also relates of the contests between the Romans and Germans ___ (...). But we value him for the treasure he has left us in his description of Germany and its ___ people, (“De Situ ac Moribus Germ.”). His deep feeling for simplicity of manners, and ___ healthy energy of nature, had made him a warm friend towards the German natives; and it appeared to him that a faithful description of the German nation would be a work worthy ___ of his pen, so that, when placed before his corrupted countrymen, it should present to their ___ view a picture which might bring many of those whose minds were as yet not quite ___ unsusceptible, to acknowledge their own unnatural condition. (...) Thus arose this invalu___ able book, which may be called a temple of honor to the German nation, and which illumi___ nates, like a bright star, the commencement of their otherwise obscure path. Some things, ___ indeed, through too great a predilection, may be placed by him in too favorable a light; but, even if much be deducted, still sufficient that is praiseworthy remains, and that the ___ material portion is true, we may be assured of by the incorruptible love of truth of the no___ ble Roman, which speaks so triumphantly in all his works.” ___ ___ ___The portrait Kohlrausch draws of the Germanic people, whom he calls “ancient ___Germans” or sometimes simply “Germans” and regards as the German forefa___thers (like most readers of the Germania ever since its rediscovery in the fif___teenth century), is highly traditional. Its central elements can all be traced back ___to the earliest reception of the Germania among Italian and German humanists. ___In short, they lived simple lives (cf. his remark on the “simplicity of manners”), ___were brave and honest, generally superior in morality and especially in com___parison with decadent Rome: ___ “‘There,’ says the noble Roman, who had preserved a mind capable of appreciating the ___ dignity of uncorrupted nature; ‘there no one smiles at vice, and to seduce or be seduced, is ___ not called fashionable; for among the Germans, good morals effect more than elsewhere ___ good laws.’”20 ___ ___This nuanced reading of the Germania is known as the Sittenspiegeltheorie: it ___focuses on the moral qualities of the “ancient Germans” and argues that Taci___tus, in portraying this allegedly pure and praiseworthy northern people, re___proached and reprimanded “his corrupted countrymen”.21 In spite of apparent ___ ___ ___ ___20 Kohlrausch (1880: 24), with italics as in the original text. On Kohlrausch’s traditional view ___and its representativeness, see Weymar (1961: 30): “Diese Deutung der germanischen Frühzeit bildete das ganze 19. Jahrhundert hindurch ein Kernstück des deutschen Selbstverständnis___ ses.” ___21 See Beck (1998: 11–13) for a brief history of this theory, and Krebs (2005: 81–110) for a more ___fundamental critique.

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shortcomings – the Germania makes mention of a number of negative Germanic habits (like excessive gambling), and the allegedly idealised values (simplicity, liberty, virtue) upon closer inspection appear to be highly ambivalent in themselves –, this reading enjoyed a large following prior and posterior to Kohlrausch. Ernst Moritz Arndt’s formulation even employs the metaphor: “In this book, [Tacitus] set up a mirror for his fellow Romans to have them recognise their perdition.”22 What such an interpretation lacked in accuracy it made up in appeal. In reading Tacitus’ account of the Germanic past, Kohlrausch’s students should learn for their own future: “[Die Römer] standen gleichsam neben dem Knabenalter unseres Volkes, und indem sie nicht unterlassen konnten, es mit stiller Bewunderung zu betrachten, haben sie uns, ohne es zu wollen, ein erhebendes Bild von ihnen zurückgelassen, welches für alle Jahrtausende unseres Stammes ein Spiegel der Ehre und des Stolzes, so wie der Nacheiferung seyn wird. Dieses Bild war es, was in unserer Einleitung aufgestellt wurde.”23

Just as Kohlrausch demanded of German history as a school subject that it inspire its students, and just as he hoped for his readers to reflect on their national core and then become themselves (again) upon reading his historical account, so he himself reads Tacitus’ Germania and recommends that it be read by his readers – as a mirror wherein contemporary Germans may glimpse their better selves. History as a national inspirational discipline, well on its way towards Gustaf Kossinna’s Die deutsche Vorgeschichte – eine hervorragend nationale Wissenschaft (first published in 1912), and Tacitus’ Germania are inextricably linked. As a pre-eminently national text the Germania also served in Latin class where Germanic stereotypes were indoctrinated via translation from German to Latin.24 Towards the end of the nineteenth century, Friedrich August Eckstein (1810–1885), a well-respected philologist, lexicographer, and teacher, surveyed the pedagogical debate about the suitability of the Germania as a school text and concluded that no German youth should leave the Gymnasium

_____ 22 For the original, see Arndt (1814: 77): “In diesem Büchlein stellte er seinem Volke den Römern einen Spiegel auf, worin sie ihr Verderben erkennen sollten.” 23 Kohlrausch (1816: 30; italics are mine). Translation: “[The Romans] witnessed the infancy of our people. And insofar as they could not but observe it with tacit admiration, they have left us, quite unintentionally, with [our ancestors’] elevating image, which for all millennia of our people will be a mirror of honour and pride as well as of imitation. This is the image that the introduction presented.” This quotation is from the second edition. It seems to have been omitted from later editions. 24 See Müller (1975) for thorough documentation.

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___without having studied the work; this, he added, lay in the interest of the father___land (see Eckstein 1887: 238–243). ___ ___ ___ ___3 Kohlrausch, Blumenbach, Arndt, and the ___ racial reinterpretation of the fourth chapter ___ of Tacitus’ Germania ___ ___ ___A commonplace of particular adaptability within the reception of the Germania ___was its fourth chapter (Germ. 4.1–2; my translation):25 ___ ___ Ipse eorum opinionibus accedo qui Germaniae populos nullis aliis aliarum nationum conubiis infectos propriam et sinceram et tantum sui similem gentem extitisse arbitrantur. unde ___ habitus quoque corporum, tamquam in tanto hominum numero, idem omnibus: truces et ___ caerulei oculi, rutilae comae, magna corpora et tantum ad impetum valida. ___ ___ “Personally, I follow the views of those who believe that the tribes in Germania, not ___ tainted by intermarriage with any other nations, exist as a peculiar, unadulterated people ___ that resembles no one but itself. Consequently, all of them even share the same physical appearance (to the extent possible with so great a number of people): fierce blue eyes, ___ tawny hair, huge bodies, the strength of which, however, is merely aggressive.” ___ ___ ___The German humanist Heinrich Bebel (1472/73–1518) held it in his mind when ___he asserted that the Germans were no “dregs of a people” (populi colluvies) but ___“free of the medley of outsiders” (sine advenarum mixtura), and still running ___through his veins was the blood of his forefathers (sumus illorum sanguis). In ___Bebel’s eyes, they thus differed advantageously from the Romans, who fa___mously claimed origin in an asylum.26 In the following seventeenth century, ___Justus Georg Schottelius (1612–1676), often referred to as the father of German ___grammar, was one among many linguists to transpose the Tacitean characteri___sation from the people to its language (even though Tacitus does not address ___ ___ ___ ___25 Often with parts of the second chapter interspersed, especially its opening sentence (Germ. ___2.1): ipsos Germanos indigenas crediderim minimeque aliarum gentium adventibus et hospitiis mixtos (“The Germani themselves I should consider to be indigenous and in no way mixed with ___ other peoples, be it through immigration or intercourse”). ___26 For these quotations from Bebel’s Oratio ad regem Maximilianum and their context, see ___Krebs (2005: 246–248). For the Roman asylum see, for example, Livy 1.8.5.

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Germanic linguistics at all).27 Kohlrausch, too, in the early nineteenth century, now harks back to this passage: “The Romans justly considered the German people as an ancient, pure, and unmixed original race (uraltes, reines, ungemischtes Stammvolk). It resembled itself alone; and like the identical plants of the field (gleichartigen Gewächse des Feldes), which spring from a pure seed and germinate not in the hotbed of a garden but in the healthy, free, unsheltered soil, do not differ from each other through degeneration (Ausartung), so also, among the thousands of the simple German race (einfachen deutschen Stammes), there was but one firm and identical form of body. Their chest was wide and strong; their hair yellow (...). Their skin was also white, their eyes blue, and their glance bold and piercing.”28

Kohlrausch, whose reference to “the Romans” nonetheless indicates that he had only one in mind, here offers an elaborate racial reinterpretation in which a biologistic simile and the anthropological concept of de-generation (see below) help to explain Germanic purity. He will express such a racial interpretation once again in his Deutsche Geschichte (1880: 56): “(...) our fatherland owes its freedom to this great victory in the Teutoburger forest, and we, the descendants of those races (und wir, die Enkel), are indebted to it for the unmixed German blood which flows in our veins (daß noch ungemischtes, deutsches Blut in unsern Adern fließt), and for the pure German sounds pronounced by our tongue.”

The comparison with the previous adaptations by Bebel and Schottelius is particularly apt: like Bebel, Kohlrausch feels his Germanic ancestors’ blood pulsing in his veins; like Schottelius, he credits his forefathers with the protection of the pure German tongue; but unlike either, he stresses the blood’s purity and inserts a biological simile. Where does this reinterpretation come from? Forms of racism, defined as an evaluative belief in inherent “racial” differences, which are visible in physical characteristics that correlate with intellectual or cultural traits and which elevate one “race” to superiority, have been

_____ 27 Schottelius (1967 [1647]: iiiv): “jhre alte Muttersprache/so wol fuer der Gewalt der Zeit/als der Auslaendischen einsleichenden Neugierigkeit unvermengt/und unverdorben bewahret/ und auf uns gebracht (...)”. For a discussion of this linguistic adaptation and the reception of the Germania in the seventeenth century more generally, see Krebs (2009). 28 I have here changed the English translation (1880: 19) substantially. Insertions of the German original here and in the following quotation are mine.

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___traced back to the late Middle Ages and the early modern period.29 Yet, it was in ___the late eighteenth century that decisive steps were taken towards what has ___been called a “scientific concept of race”.30 Natural historians attempted to ___“read nature’s book”, in the words of Carl Linnaeus, and studying and catego___rising the diversity of nature they also reflected on man’s place therein.31 The ___concomitant inquiry into human nature and its variety gave rise to anthropol___ogy but also craniometry, practitioners of which measured and classified skulls, ___phrenology, which concerned itself with the correlation between specific fea___tures of the skull and intellectual and moral qualities, and physiognomy, which ___understood man’s outer appearance as the expression of his inner character.32 ___Widespread was the belief in what Johann Caspar Lavater (1741–1801) referred ___to as the “harmony between moral and physical beauty” (Harmonie der mora___lischen und körperlichen Schönheit),33 widespread was the faith in numbers. But ___the self-proclaimed scientific outlook on the variety of human nature was tinged ___with aesthetic prejudice: “[w]hatever the physical measurements or compari___sons made, in the last resort the resemblance to ancient beauty and proportions ___determined the value of man.”34 ___ Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840), with whom Kohlrausch studied ___natural history at the University of Göttingen, is commonly credited with a ___foundational contribution to modern anthropology, but also with the solidifica___tion and promulgation of the notion of the Caucasian race.35 A professor of ___medicine, he had written his dissertation “On the Natural Variety of Mankind” ___(De generis humani varietate nativa), wherein he addressed the following ques___tion: “What is it which changes the course of generation, and now produces a ___worse and now a better progeny, at all events widely different from its original ___ ___ ___29 An overview is given by Fredrickson (2002: 17–47). On the relation between enlightenment ___and racism see the classic discussion in Poliakov (1974: 155–182). ___30 For a discussion of “who invented the concept of race”, see Bernasconi (2001: 11–36; with ___the quotation on p. 11). See also Mosse’s remark (1978: xvi) that in the eighteenth century “the structure of racial thought was consolidated and determined for the next one and three-quarter ___ centuries.” ___31 Linnaeus is quoted from Koerner (1999: 25). ___32 For the differences between Johann Caspar Lavater’s physiognomy, Franz Joseph Gall’s ___phrenology, and Pieter Camper’s craniometry, see Oehler-Klein (1990: 151–171). ___33 Lavater is quoted from von Arburg (1999: 48). ___34 See Mosse (1978: 2). See Poliakov (1974: 155–157) on the religious undercurrent. 35 On Kohlrausch’s studies, see Kohlrausch (1863: 48). On Blumenbach’s standing see the ___ near contemporary remark: “It is to M. Blumenbach that our age owes Anthropology” ___(Flourens 1865: 49); see also n. 40. For Blumenbach and the “Caucasian race”, see Baum (2006: ___esp. 59).

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progenitors?”36 To account for such “de-generation” (meant literally as “departure from an initial form of humanity at creation”),37 he adduces climate as a factor, and appends, as an example, the German present in comparison to its past, attempting thus to explain the inability “to find the huge bodies of our ancestors, powerful only for attack, their firm limbs, threatening countenances, and fierce eyes, in the Germans of our age” (Blumenbach 1865: 72). Blumenbach was “equipped with classical knowledge”, as an early biographer put it (he had also been a protégé of the classical archaeologist Christian Gottlob Heyne); and even though the reference in the footnote is to Hermann Conring (31727), the source for the ancient Germans’ “huge bodies, the strength of which, however, is merely aggressive” (magna corpora et tantum ad impetum valida), and their “fierce eyes” (truces ... oculi) is once again the fourth chapter of Tacitus’ Germania (see above), another sentence of which Blumenbach will quote later. For along with “mode of life” as a second factor, there is the “intercourse of different varieties (i.e. ‘races’) of the same species” as the third (Blumenbach 1865: 202); or, as he expresses it in his Handbuch der Naturgeschichte: “Der kürzeste Weg zur Ausartung ist die Begattung organisierter Körper verschiedener Art; wodurch Bastarde (hybrida) erzeugt werden (...).”38 In his “On the Variety of Mankind” he calls upon “the ancient Germans” as “instances of the unadulterated countenance of nations unaffected by any union with any other nation (...)”, and inserts a reference to Tacitus.39 In other words, the ancient Germans had not had intercourse with others than their own. Blumenbach was not a racist. A monogenist, he explicitly expressed his belief in the “unity of the human species” as well as his observation that “one variety of mankind does so sensibly pass into the other that you cannot mark out

_____ 36 It first appeared in 1775, in a revised edition in 1781, and then again in 1795 greatly enlarged. I am quoting from the translation in Anthropological Treatises (1865). The following quotation is from Blumenbach (1865: 71). 37 See Gould (1994: 68). Cf. Blumenbach (1865: 188): “We say that animals belong to one and the same species, if they agree so well in form and constitution, that those things in which they do differ may have arisen from degeneration.” On Buffon’s (maybe) original theory of degeneration see Poliakov (1974: 165–168). 38 See Blumenbach (41791: 16). Translation: “The shortest way towards degeneration consists in the breeding of organisations of varying kind; thereby bastards come into being.” 39 Blumenbach will quote Tacitus extensively once more (1865: 254): “It is very probably the case with them what Tacitus tells us about the ancient Germans, that they never mix with any other nation in marriage, and preserve their race peculiar, unadulterated, and always like itself.”

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___the limits between them”,40 and vociferously spoke out against allegedly innate ___intellectual deficits of the “Negroes”. However, he posited the Caucasian race ___not only as the original form,41 but also as aesthetically superior (Blumenbach ___1865: 265; my italics): ___ “Caucasian variety. Colour white, cheeks rosy; hair brown or chestnut-coloured; head ___ subglobular (...). In general, that kind of appearance which according to our opinion of ___ symmetry, we consider most handsome and becoming. To this first variety belong the ___ inhabitants of Europe (except the Lapps and the remaining descendants of the Finns) and ___ (...) I have taken the name of this variety from Mount Caucasus, both because its ___ neighborhood, and especially its southern slope, produces the most beautiful race of men, I mean the Georgian (...). That stock displays (...) the most beautiful form of the skull, from ___ which, as from a mean and primeval type, the others diverge (...). Besides, it is white in ___ colour, which we may fairly assume to be the primitive colour of mankind and because ___ (...) in that region, if anywhere, it seems we ought with the greatest probability to place ___ the autochthones of mankind.” ___ ___His notion of “de-generation” thus verges on degeneration, and he provoked as ___mere developments the racist thoughts he himself rejected.42 Tacitus’ Germani ___figure in this racialist treatise repeatedly as a pure and unadulterated people, ___and Blumenbach seems to imply that they were embodiments of the unadulter___ated Caucasian race, unlike the German present which did not compare to its ___German(ic) past (as quoted above). ___ It seems highly probable that Kohlrausch encountered these ideas as a stu___dent of Blumenbach’s at the University of Göttingen and that they influenced ___his reading of the fourth chapter of Tacitus’ Germania, as his reference to the ___theory of degeneration in particular suggests. But he would seem to have re___ceived further and more specific input from a different source. ___ Ernst Moritz Arndt (1769–1860), in a letter to Josua Hasenclever in the ___spring of 1819, requests the addressee to give his best to the “dear Kohlrausch” ___on his journey to Bremen (see Arndt 1972: 690). More than four decades later, ___ ___ ___ 40 Blumenbach (1865: 98–99). See Zammito (2006: 43–49) for discussion. ___41 Blumenbach (1865: 264): “I have allotted the first place to the Caucasian [race], for reasons ___given below, which make me esteem it the primeval one.” ___42 For this argument see Baum (2006: 80–81), along with his remark that Blumenbach was ___“one of the least racist of Enlightenment thinkers [who] nonetheless reinforced racist ideas ___(...)” (Baum 2006: 89). See also Zantop (1997: 22) on the irony that “it is in the anthropologicalphilosophical discourse on human races developed by Enlightenment philosophers that the ___ supposed links between skin color, physiognomy, and anatomy on the one hand, and moral ___stature, intelligence, or economic status on the other, were systematically explored and given ___‘scientific’ currency.”

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the latter fondly remembered his first encounter with the former: it was the summer of 1814, he writes, when “the splendid Ernst Moritz Arndt” came to Düsseldorf and along with Friedrich Ludwig Jahn and the transient Joseph von Görres frequented his wide circle of acquaintances. At the time Kohlrausch was working on his German History, to which these acquaintances are said to have contributed: “The stimulating suggestions (Anregungen) made by these men had a significant impact on my acts (Thätigkeit) as an administrator and a writer” (Kohlrausch 1863: 165). For Arndt the period from 1813 to 1815 was characterised by continuous travel (once again) and an increased literary production, evinced by a multitude of political pamphlets along with poems and songs, that followed Freiherr vom Stein’s request in aiming to “heighten and intensify [the patriotic] feeling of the [German] people.”43 It was during these final years of the Napoleonic Wars that Arndt, soon celebrated as the “father of Germany” (see Langenberg 1865: 2), incessantly propagated the idea of Germany. And, as is well known, he, too, had recourse to Tacitus (Arndt 1814: 78): “Wir wollen das Große, das Herzige, das Gemächliche des Volkes, wir wollen seine Seele und sein Leben erkennen: da ist Tacitus einzig, und deswegen soll er unser Führer bleiben.”44

The excerpt of the Germania that follows this statement in Arndt’s “Perspectives and Prospects of German History” (Ansichten und Aussichten der Teutschen Geschichte) is among the most extensive of numerous discussions of the Roman text, which Arndt called upon again and again in an effort to restore the spirit “of the old mighty Germans of antiquity”. In the pamphlets published during those years, there are at least three extended reflections on the fourth chapter of Tacitus’ Germania.45 But this one is particularly noticeable for its phrasing (Arndt 1814: 98):

_____ 43 Stein’s request is quoted from Pundt (1935: 92). 44 Translation: “We want to recognise the great, the genuine, the ease of the people; we want to recognise its soul and its life: Tacitus is alone [in providing this insight], and therefore he shall be our guide.” 45 In addition to the one I discuss above, there is a passage in his article “Ueber den deutschen Studentenstaat”, where he writes (Arndt 1815: 359–360): “Tacitus hat vielleicht nicht gewußt, wie sehr er die alten Germanen gelobt hat, als er sagte, sie seyen ein reines, mit keinen andern Völkern gemischtes und ihnen selbst nur gleiches Volk. Ohne fremde Reitze und Triebe, ohne viele Stacheln früher entwickelter Sinnlichkeit oder früher verdorbener Künstlichkeit (...) haben die späteren Enkel jener Germanen wachsen und blühen können, wie die Bäume des Waldes und die Blumen des Feldes wachsen und blühen, welche keines Gärtners Hand zu früh-

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“Die Germanen waren ein uraltes, reines, ungemischtes Volk, nicht aus einer Sündfluth ___ vieler Völker geworden (...). Sie waren nur ihnen selbst gleich: wie alles, was aus einfa___ chen Keimen entsprossen ist, aufrichtig, tüchtig, einfältig, mit treuem Sinn und hellem ___ Geist (...).”46 ___ ___The characterisation of the Germanen is the same as in Kohlrausch’s paraphrase ___of the fourth chapter – the only difference being his usage of Stammvolk instead ___of Volk. One should also note the inclusion of the (albeit different) biological ___simile. Whether or not this suggests that Kohlrausch was here indebted to Arndt ___for one of his Anregungen, it certainly shows that racial re-interpretations of ___Tacitus were ‘in the air’ at the time of Kohlrausch’s writing. And both Arndt and ___Kohlrausch – each in his way, one with pamphlets, the other one with history ___books – in turn contributed significantly to the popularisation of the Germania ___and a biological and racial reading of its fourth chapter: with their help, the ___idea of the German people, racially defined, reached the German people in the ___classrooms and on the streets. ___ ___ ___ ___4 Written in the heat of the moment to last ___ for more than half a century: Kohlrausch’s ___ influence ___ ___ ___In Kohlrausch’s case, there is solid evidence of his influence. When he ___published the first volume of his “German history” in 1816, it fulfilled, as one ___reader put it, a “deeply-felt need”.47 The author himself mentions “laudatory ___notes” received from a wide range of readers, including such eminent political ___figures as Baron Heinrich Friedrich Karl vom und zum Stein and Marshall ___August Neidhardt von Gneisenau, the professors of history Arnold Hermann ___Ludwig Heeren and Georg Friedrich Sartorius (both of the University of Göt___ ___ ___zeitiger Zierlichkeit erzog und verbog (...).” Also in 1815, he included a reference to Tacitus in ___his Fantasien zur Berichtigung der Urteile über künftige deutsche Verfassungen (see Arndt 1908: ___115). For a translation of this passage see Kohn (1944: 791–792), with whose interpretation Vick ___(2003) should be compared. ___46 Translation: “The Germanen were an ancient, pure, unmixed people, not the outcome of a flood of sin of numerous peoples (...). They were unlike any other: just like all else that grows ___ forth from a simple seed, sincere, able, un-wily, faithful in spirit and alert of mind (...).” ___47 Jenaische Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung vol. 1, no. 16 (1817): “(...) tiefgefühlten Bedürfnis”. ___Schmalfuß (1867: 8) praises it as “eines der trefflichsten echt deutschen Bücher”.

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tingen), and the Prussian Geheimräte Georg Heinrich Ludwig Nicolovius and Johann Wilhelm Süvern from Berlin (see Kohlrausch 1863: 168). Its sixteenth edition saw the light of day at Hanover in 1875, almost sixty years after the first edition.48 Its success is also attested by James D. Haas’s English translation from 1844 who says in his preface (Kohlrausch 1880: iii): “The high merits and distinguished character of the original German work by Professor Kohlrausch, of which this is a translation, have long been acknowledged. A work which during a period of thirty years has enjoyed so much popularity as to have gone through several editions, embracing a circulation of many thousands of copies; a production which has extended its good repute (...) far beyond its native clime, to England, France, Belgium, Italy, America, &c. (...), and has thus become a standard book of reference in almost all the universities and principal public, as well as private educational institutions (...).”

Excerpts of it were included in the Cours de littérature allemande (Paris 1831), which assembled “the best German authors for the instruction of the French youth” (den besten deutschen Schriftstellern, zum Gebrauche der französischen Jugend). Kohlrausch’s “Short Account” fared similarly well: after its original appearance in 1822, its fifteenth edition came out in 1894 more than seventy years later. In 1838 one of them was made obligatory reading at protestant Latin schools in the south of Germany, in Bavaria; years later, in the 1860s, all the way up in the north-east, a director of a Prussian Gymnasium (in modern Toruń) considered the German history the German history nonpareil; and as late as in the 1870s it was still used at schools in the North of Germany. Almost unsurprisingly, when three years after Kohlrausch’s death in 1870 the directors of higher schools in the Prussian province of Pomerania met at their triennial conference in Stettin (gatherings which Kohlrausch himself had instituted), they recommended two history books for “study at home” (häusliche Lektüre): Die deutsche Geschichte für Schule und Haus and the Kurze Darstellung der deutschen Geschichte. It is also worth mentioning that Kohlrausch would seem to have influenced other textbooks on German history, as the recurrence of “uraltes, reines, ungemischtes Stammvolk” might indicate.49

_____ 48 Information about publication and editions is taken from Weymar (1961: 22 nn. 21–22). But see the rightly critical remarks by Jeismann (1978: 58) that Kohlrausch’s history “ist mit seiner weiten Verbreitung, hohen Auflagenzahl und – in Überarbeitungen – langen Wirkungszeit ein hervorstechendes Beispiel für die Wirkung einer didaktisch-politisch bestimmten Geschichtsschreibung ohne Verbindung zur gleichzeitigen Geschichtswissenschaft.” 49 See, for example, Zitzlsperger (101893: 17) and Vormbaum (41837: 20).

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___ Based on a survey of editions of the Germania in the nineteenth century, ___Gerhard Binder (2004: 42) quipped that it was hard to escape the impression ___that, suddenly, all of Germany was reading the Germania. Taking into account ___the run and reach of Kohlrausch’s history only corroborates this impression: ___generations of teachers and students learned German history from those pages, ___and they read Tacitus’ account of their inspiring and racially pure ancestors. ___The German nation was an idea built to a significant extent with the help of the ___Germania around 1500 and had circulated among select intellectuals ever since. ___In the course of the nineteenth century it found its people, and Friedrich Kohl___rausch had a lot to do with it. ___ ___ ___ Bibliography ___ ___ Anderson, Benedict (1991): Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of ___ Nationalism, London & New York: Verso (orig. 1983). ___Arndt, Ernst Moritz (1814): Ansichten und Aussichten der Teutschen Geschichte, Leipzig: Rein. ___ ___Arndt, Ernst Moritz (1815): Ueber den teutschen Studentenstaat. In: Der Wächter. Eine Zeitschrift in zwanglosen Heften 1, 317–383. ___ Arndt, Ernst Moritz (1908): Ausgewählte Werke in 16 Bänden. Hrsg. und mit Einleitung und ___ Anmerkungen versehen von Heinrich Meisner und Robert Geerds (vol. 15), Leipzig: Hesse. ___Arndt, Ernst Moritz (1972): Briefe. Herausgegeben von Albrecht Dühr (vol. 1), Darmstadt: Wis___ senschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Baum, Bruce D. (2006): The Rise and Fall of the Caucasian Race. A Political History of Racial ___ Identity, New York: New York University Press. ___ Beck, Heinrich, Dieter Geuenich, Heiko Steuer & Dietrich Hakelberg (eds.) (2004): Zur Ge___ schichte der Gleichung „germanisch – deutsch“. Sprache und Namen, Geschichte und In___ stitutionen, Berlin & New York: de Gruyter. ___Beck, Jan-Wilhelm (1998): ‘Germania’ – ‘Agricola’. Zwei Kapitel zu Tacitus’ zwei kleinen Schriften, Hildesheim: Olms. ___ ___Bernasconi, Robert (ed.) (2001): Race, Malden, Mass. & Oxford: Blackwell. Binder, Gerhard (2004): Vom Schicksal einer Schicksalsschrift der Deutschen im 19. Jahrhun___ dert. Zur Germania des Tacitus. In: Manfred Jakubowski-Tiessen (ed.), Religion zwischen ___ Kunst und Politik. Aspekte der Säkularisierung im 19. Jahrhundert, Göttingen: Wallstein, ___ 26–47. ___Blumenbach, Johann Friedrich (41791): Handbuch der Naturgeschichte, Göttingen: Dieterich. ___Blumenbach, Johann Friedrich (1865): The Anthropological Treatises of Johann Friedrich Blumenbach. Translated and edited from the Latin, German and French originals by Thomas ___ Bendyshe, London: Longman. ___ Breuilly, John (1990): Nation and nationalism in modern German history. In: Historical Journal ___ 33, 659–675. ___Conring, Hermann (31727): De habitus corporum Germanicorum antiqui ac novi causis. Liber singularis, Frankfurt am Main: Stockius. ___

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Denig, Karl (1907): Aus den Lebenserinnerungen des Königlich Hannoverschen Generalschuldirektors Friedrich Kohlrausch (1780 bis 1867), Bingen am Rhein: E. Steinhäuser. Echternkamp, Jörg (1998): Der Aufstieg des deutschen Nationalismus (1770–1840), Frankfurt am Main & New York: Campus. Eckstein, Friedrich August (1887): Lateinischer und griechischer Unterricht, Leipzig: Fues. Fichte, Johann Gottlieb (2008): Addresses to the German Nation. Edited with an introduction and notes by Gregory Moore, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Flourens, Marie-Jean-Pierre (1865): Éloge historique de Jean-Frédéric Blumenbach. In: Thomas Bendyshe (ed.), The Anthropological Treatises of Johann Friedrich Blumenbach. Translated and edited from the Latin, German and French originals, London: Longman, 47–64. Fredrickson, George M. (2002): Racism. A Short History, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Fuhrmann, Manfred (ed.) (1972): Tacitus’ ‘Germania’. Übersetzt, erläutert und mit einem Nachwort versehen, Stuttgart: Reclam. Gould, Stephen Jay (1994): Geometer of race. In: Discover 15, 65–69. Hardtwig, Wolfgang (1994): Vom Elitebewußtsein zur Massenbewegung. Frühformen des Nationalismus in Deutschland 1500–1840. In: Wolfgang Hardtwig, Nationalismus und Bürgerkultur in Deutschland 1500–1914. Ausgewählte Aufsätze, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 34–54. Hirschi, Caspar (2012): The Origins of Nationalism. An Alternative History from Ancient Rome to Early Modern Germany, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Historische Kommission der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (ed.) (1907): Allgemeine deutsche Biographie (vol. 53), Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot. Hobsbawm, Eric J. (1992): Nations and Nationalism since 1780. Programme, Myth, Reality, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jacobmeyer, Wolfgang (2011): Das deutsche Schulgeschichtsbuch 1700–1945, Berlin: LITVerlag. Jäger, Georg (1987): Lehrplan und Fächerkanon der höheren Schulen. In: Karl-Ernst Jeismann & Peter Lundgreen (eds.), Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte (vol. 3), München: Beck, 191–203. Jahn, Friedrich Ludwig (1991): Deutsches Volkstum, Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag (reprint of the edition Frankfurt am Main 1890; based on first edition from 1810). Jansen, Christian (2011): The formation of German Nationalism, 1740–1850. In: Helmut W. Smith (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Modern German History, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 234–260. Jeismann, Karl-Ernst (1978): Friedrich Kohlrausch. In: Siegfried Quandt (ed.), Deutsche Geschichtsdidaktiker des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts, Paderborn: Schöningh, 41–83. Jeismann, Karl-Ernst & Peter Lundgreen (eds.) (1987): Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte. Vol. 3: 1800–1870. Von der Neuordnung Deutschlands bis zur Gründung des Deutschen Reiches, München: Beck. Koerner, Lisbet (1999): Linnaeus. Nature and Nation, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Kohlrausch, Frederick (1844): A History of Germany. From the Earliest Period to the Present Time. Translated by James D. Haas, London: Chapman and Hall. Kohlrausch, Frederick (1880): A History of Germany. From the Earliest Period to the Present Time. Translated by James D. Haas, New York: Appleton (originally published in 1844). Kohlrausch, Heinrich Friedrich Theodor (1814): Deutschlands Zukunft. In sechs Reden, Elberfeld: Büschler.

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___Kohlrausch, Heinrich Friedrich Theodor (1816): Die deutsche Geschichte für Schule und Haus, Elberfeld: Büschler. ___ Kohlrausch, Heinrich Friedrich Theodor (1818): Bemerkungen über die Stufenfolge des Ge___ schichtsunterrichts in den höheren Schulen, Halle & Berlin: Buchhandlung des Halleschen ___ Waisenhauses. ___Kohlrausch, Heinrich Friedrich Theodor (1863): Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben, Hannover: Hahnsche Hofbuchhandlung. ___ ___Kohn, Hans (2005): The Idea of Nationalism. A Study in its Origins and Background. With a new introduction by Craig Calhoun, New Brunswick: Transaction (first edition New York 1944: ___ Macmillan). ___Kossinna, Gustaf (1912): Die deutsche Vorgeschichte – eine hervorragend nationale Wissen___ schaft, Leipzig: Kabitzsch. ___Krapf, Ludwig (1979): Germanenmythus und Reichsideologie. Frühhumanistische Rezeptionsweisen der taciteischen ‘Germania’, Tübingen: Niemeyer. ___ Krebs, Christopher B. (2005): Negotiatio Germaniae. Tacitus’ Germania und Enea Silvio Picco___ lomini, Giannantonio Campano, Conrad Celtis und Heinrich Bebel, Göttingen: Vanden___ hoeck & Ruprecht. ___Krebs, Christopher B. (2009): ... jhre alte Muttersprache ... unvermengt und unverdorben. Zur ___ Rezeption der taciteischen Germania im 17. Jahrhundert. In: Philologus 153, 119–139. ___Krebs, Christopher B. (2012): A Most Dangerous Book. Tacitus’s Germania from the Roman Empire to the Third Reich, New York: W.W. Norton. ___ ___Langenberg, Eduard (1865): Ernst Moritz Arndt. Sein Leben und seine Schriften, Bonn: Weber. ___La Vopa, Anthony J. (1996): Herder’s Publikum. Language, print, and sociability in eighteenth___ century Germany. In: Eighteenth-Century Studies 29, 5–24. ___Lund, Allan A. (1995): Germanenideologie im Nationalsozialismus. Zur Rezeption der “Germania” des Tacitus im “Dritten Reich”, Heidelberg: Winter. ___ Mazza, Mario (1979): La ‘Germania’ di Tacito. Etnografia, storiografia e ideologia nella cultura ___ tedesca dell’ottocento. In: Studi Urbinati di Storia, Filosofia e Letteratura 53, 167–217. ___ Mertens, Dieter (2004): Die Instrumentalisierung der „Germania“ des Tacitus durch die deut___ schen Humanisten. In: Heinrich Beck, Dieter Geuenich, Heiko Steuer & Dietrich Hakelberg ___ (eds.), Zur Geschichte der Gleichung „germanisch – deutsch“. Sprache und Namen, Geschichte und Institutionen, Berlin & New York: de Gruyter, 37–101. ___ ___Mosse, George L. (1978): Toward the Final Solution. A History of European Racism, New York: Fertig. ___ Müller, Gisela (1975): Das lateinische Übungsbuch des 19. Jahrhunderts in Deutschland, Diss. ___ Konstanz. ___Oehler-Klein, Sigrid (1990): Die Schädellehre Franz Joseph Galls in Literatur und Kritik des 19. ___ Jahrhunderts. Zur Rezeptionsgeschichte einer medizinisch-biologisch begründeten Theorie der Physiognomik und Psychologie, Stuttgart & New York: G. Fischer. ___ ___Planert, Ute (2002): Wann beginnt der ‘moderne’ deutsche Nationalismus? Plädoyer für eine nationale Sattelzeit. In: Jörn Echternkamp & Sven O. Müller (eds.), Die Politik der Nation. ___ Deutscher Nationalismus in Krieg und Krisen 1760–1960, München: Oldenbourg, 25–60. ___Poliakov, Léon (1974): The Aryan Myth. A History of Racist and Nationalist Ideas in Europe, New ___ York: Basic Books. ___Pundt, Alfred G. (1935): Arndt and the Nationalist Awakening in Germany, New York: Columbia University Press. ___

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Ridé, Jacques (1977): L’image du Germain dans la pensée et la littérature allemandes de la redécouverte de Tacite à la fin du XVIe siècle, Lille & Paris: H. Champion. Schmalfuß, Constantin (1867): Friedrich Kohlrausch. Nekrolog, Hannover: Helwingsche Hofbuchhandlung. Schottelius, Justus Georg (1967): Fruchtbringender Lustgarte. Herausgegeben von Marianne Burkhard. Mit einem Nachwort von Max Wehrli, München: Kösel (reprint of the first edition of 1647). Segeberg, Harro (1988): Germany. In: Otto Dann & John Dinwiddy (eds.), Nationalism in the Age of the French Revolution, London: Hambledon Press, 137–156. Titzmann, Michael (1991): Die Konzeption der „Germanen“ in der deutschen Literatur des 19. Jahrhunderts. In: Jürgen Link & Wulf Wülfing (eds.), Nationale Mythen und Symbole in der zweiten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts. Strukturen und Funktionen von Konzepten nationaler Identität, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 120–145. Vick, Brian (2003): The origins of the German Volk. Cultural purity and national identity in nineteenth-century Germany. In: German Studies Review 26, 241–256. von Arburg, Hans-Georg (1999): Johann Caspar Lavaters Physiognomik. Geschichte – Wirkung – Methodik. In: Gerda Mraz & Uwe Schögl (eds.), Das Kunstkabinett des Johann Caspar Lavater, Wien: Böhlau, 40–59. Vormbaum, Friedrich (41837): Die brandenburgisch-preußische Geschichte. Für Lehrer an Stadt- und Landschulen, für die Schuljugend aller Religionsverwandten und auch für Vaterlandsfreunde, Leipzig: Crayen. Weymar, Ernst (1961): Das Selbstverständnis der Deutschen. Ein Bericht über den Geist des Geschichtsunterrichts der höheren Schulen im 19. Jahrhundert, Stuttgart: Klett. Zammito, John H. (2006): Policing polygeneticism in Germany, 1775. (Kames,) Kant, and Blumenbach. In: Sara Eigen & Mark Larrimore (eds.), The German Invention of Race, Albany, New York: State University of New York Press, 35–54. Zantop, Susanne (1997): The beautiful, the ugly, and the German. Race, gender, and nationality in eighteenth-century anthropological discourse. In: Patricia Herminghouse & Magda Mueller (eds.), Gender and Germanness. Cultural Productions of Nation, Providence, Rhode Island: Berghahn, 21–35. Zitzlsperger, Joseph (101893): Bayerische Geschichte für Mittelschulen im engen Zusammenhange mit der deutschen Geschichte, München: Pohl.

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___Michael Sommer ___ ___ ___ ___Michael Sommer ___Hermann the German: Nineteenth-Century Monuments and Histories ___Abstract: In A.D. 9, Arminius, a Roman auxiliary officer and member of the nobility of the ___Cherusci, revolted and defeated a Roman army in the Teutoburg Forest. The Roman mutineer ___was rediscovered in the Renaissance and remodelled, by German humanists and reformers, as “Hermann”: a figurehead of German(ic) unity and freedom from Rome which, in the sixteenth ___ century, meant the Roman Church. By the early nineteenth century, Rome had become Napo___leonic France from whose domination German intellectuals strove to break free. In the heat of ___the Wars of Liberation, Arminius-Hermann once again became a symbol for a better future in ___freedom and unity. This paper revisits two monuments built to commemorate the liberator Germaniae in the ___ ___nineteenth century: the Hermannsdenkmal at Detmold, where Ernst von Bandel, an artist and architect, promoted and, more or less single-handedly, was the impetus behind the project of a ___national monument; and the Hermann Heights Monument at New Ulm, Minnesota, where ___German immigrants to the United States clustered around the mythical figure, who stood for ___German and American freedom alike. The paper investigates the mutability of an “intentional ___history” that, once canonised, served as a blueprint for the monumentalisation of an imagined ___past – a past which, though far from real, contributed to shaping the collective identities of those involved. ___ ___ ___ ___1 Introduction ___ ___„In all likelihood, the Hermannsdenkmal near Detmold will remain forever in___complete. Only the giant platform has been finished. The erection of the statue, ___which lay scattered and in pieces around it, has failed due to lack of money.” ___Thus wrote, in 1853, the weekly magazine Die Gartenlaube (vol. 11, p. 120). “The ___German spends money on banquets, opera and other things that titillate the ___senses”, the anonymous author goes on, “but as soon as it comes to issues of ___national importance, the cash box is rarely open.” The project, first contemplated around 1800, designed by Karl Friedrich ___ ___Schinkel after the victory over Napoleon at Leipzig and finally initiated by Ernst ___von Bandel in 1838, was, by the middle of the century, obviously in dire straits. ___The revolution of 1848 had failed to create the political unification of Germany; ___on the contrary: through the kingdoms, duchies and petty principalities that ___formed Germany blew the icy wind of reactionism. Constitutions were revoked, ___parliaments dissolved, attempts at rebellion crushed. The notion that political ___unity could be achieved by idealism alone gave way to more stalwart ap-

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proaches: if at all, Germany had to be united top-down, by means of Realpolitik. Suddenly, the political myths underpinning the national project had gone out of fashion – and so had the idea of building a national monument to the greatest of such myths: Hermann.

2 From Arminius to Hermann: a champion of freedom Modern nations are prototypical imagined communities (see Anderson 71996). As such, they need symbols and narratives around which they can cluster, inspiring the notion in its members that they know, and belong to, each other. Such narratives have been labelled, by Hans-Joachim Gehrke, “intentional history”.1 While not true in an ‘objective’ sense, it is believed to be true. Intentional history, though an artificial construction, has a powerful impact on the real world. It often determines the political agenda of states, the political behaviour of individuals and the political orientations of large collectivities. Intentional history is written by people, but it is not necessarily the machination of sinister obscurantists. In most cases it evolves gradually, through, often contingent, additions by countless individuals. Intentional history is fluid, swiftly adapting to changing requirements and new challenges. As such, it could be described as the narrative dimension of a political myth, which usually precedes other manifestations: visual and practical.2 In the case of Arminius-Hermann, the creation of a political myth goes back to no other than Tacitus. In the famous disputation between the brothers Flavus and Arminius3 the Roman historiographer contrasts Roman civilisation with

_____ 1 ‘Intentional history’, as opposed to ‘real history’, is “(s)ocial knowledge of the past, in other words that which a society knows and holds for true about its past” (Gehrke 2001: 286). See also Gehrke (1994, 2003, 2004, 2005). 2 See Münkler (2009: 14–15). According to Münkler (2004: 221–222), it is only because of political myths creating meaning that individuals can act jointly and hence politically: “(Politische Mythen verbürgen) durch sinnhaft strukturierte Erzählungen Sinn (..., stiften) dadurch Vertrauen in die eigene Handlungsmächtigkeit (und ermöglichen somit erst) politisches Handeln im Sinne eines Zusammenhandelns von Menschen.” 3 Tacitus, Ann. 2.9–10, with Arminius invoking fas patriae, libertatem avitam, penetrales Germaniae deos, matrem precum sociam and Flavus citing the somewhat feeble rewards he received from Rome: aucta stipendia, torquem et coronam aliaque militaria dona. Flavus is also

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___Germanic tradition, freedom and sense of honour. As in the Germania, the Ger___manic barbaricum is used here as an antipode, epitomised by Arminius and ex___posing flaws and contradictions within Roman society. The Germania was piv___otal for the rise of the narrative that turned the Germanic peoples into the ___ancestors of modern Germans. Rediscovered by Enoch of Ascoli in the mid___fifteenth century, Tacitus’ opusculum rapidly spread throughout northern ___Europe and was eagerly read by humanists and religious reformers alike: men ___like Ulrich von Hutten, Heinrich Bebel and of course Martin Luther, who found ___plentiful ammunition in this text in his struggle against the Roman papacy.4 ___ But it was not before 1508 – when Tacitus’ Annals were discovered – that ___Arminius-Hermann became the champion of German assertiveness against Ro___man deceitfulness.5 In 1520, von Hutten wrote his Arminius Dialogus in the style ___of Lucian of Samosata, and thus established the cult of Arminius in Germany. A ___few years later, Arminius became Erman in Johannes Turmair’s Bayrische Ge___schichte (“History of Bavaria”). In his Colloquia, oder Christliche nützliche Tisch___reden Doctoris Martini Lutheri, published posthumously in 1566, Luther calls ___Arminius-Erman by his German name Hermann, asserting: “Ich hab in von ___hertzen lib” (‘I love him with all my heart’). A collection of twelve biographies of ___Germanic rulers in rhymes (Ursprung und Herkommen der zwölff ersten König ___und Fürsten deutscher Nation), modelled after Suetonius’ imperial biographies ___and published in 1543 by the poet Burkhard Waldis, irrevocably canonised ___Arminius as one of the ancient forebears of German political identity. ___ The Thirty Years’ War put different issues of – now chiefly confessional – ___identity on the agenda; new intentional histories had to be written. Arminius___Hermann duly disappeared from the centre stage of intellectual debate. He was ___not rediscovered before the end of the seventeenth century. In 1689 and 1690, ___the Breslau-based lawyer and playwright Casper von Lohenstein published, in ___two volumes, his novel Großmüthiger Feldherr Arminius, thus triggering the sec___ond wave of Arminius literature (see Kösters 2012: 227–230, and Wiegels 2009). ___Over the whole eighteenth century, enlightened German intellectuals were ___heavily imbued with Hellenomania. But alongside the admiration for classical ___ ___ ___ ___referring to the greatness and clemency of Rome: magnitudinem Romanam, opes Caesaris et ___victis graves poenas, in deditionem venienti paratam clementiam. ___4 The book’s career has recently been revisited by Krebs (2011). For a meticulous study into how the text was ‘instrumentalised’ by humanist intellectuals, see Mertens (2004). ___ 5 On the following see Kühnemund (1953), Fröhlich (1999), Bemmann (2002), Benario (2004), ___Dreyer (2009: 225–231), Kösters (2012), Märtin (2008: 283–312), Ottomeyer (2009), Wolters ___(2008: 174–185), and the contributions in Wiegels & Woesler (32003).

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Greece, and increasingly competing with it, there was a growing idealisation of the Germanic ancestors; their alleged love for simplicity, freedom and fairness was opposed to the alleged corruptness of the absolutist petty states eighteenthcentury Germany was divided into. In 1743, Johann Elias Schlegel, a poet from Meißen, composed a tragedy Hermann, which was designed as a German national drama. Six years later, the tragedy Arminius, written by a lawyer and civil servant from the prince-bishopric of Osnabrück, Justus Möser, celebrated Arminius as a champion of German unity and freedom against discord, a true hero, whom to have as progenitor flatters the sensible ambition of each nation (see Märtin 2008: 294). Ironically, this German hero was a re-importation from Latin Europe: France and Italy, where Arminius/Arminio had celebrated great successes as the protagonist of dramas and operas. Seminal for the reception of ArminiusHermann in the period of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars was Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock’s Hermann trilogy, a series of epic poems based on the battle songs of Celtic bards.6 Here, Hermann is portrayed as a prototypical hero, who ultimately sacrifices himself for the fatherland: for the sake of German freedom, culture and even language. After 1789, German intellectuals, welcoming the French Revolution as the long-desired liberation from the yoke of absolutism, duly associated Hermann with the ideals of the revolution. One German Jacobin, Carl Friedrich Cramer, who translated Klopstock’s Hermanns Schlacht into French, even called Hermann a “Bonaparte of Germany” (see Kösters 2012: 252). This changed with the beginning of the Napoleonic Wars in 1800, when Arminius-Hermann was no longer construed as a champion of freedom as such, but of freedom from foreign occupation. The new Hermann first emerged in 1805, when Ernst Moritz Arndt urged for a reborn Arminius, putting Napoleon on a level with the Roman general Varus. According to Arndt, the Battle in the Teutoburg Forest was an event of epoch-making importance, as it was here that the fate of the European nations was decided. In 1808, Johann Gottlieb Fichte, in his Reden an die deutsche Nation, took on Klopstock’s image of Arminius as the saviour of German culture, language and identity, but now with a distinct anti-French bias: while the Romance nations were linguistically corrupted by the influence of Latin and Greek, owing to Arminius only the Germans had preserved their language in its original purity (see Fichte 1808: 142).

_____ 6 Hermanns Schlacht. Ein Bardiet für die Schaubühne (1769), Hermann und die Fürsten. Ein Bardiet für die Schaubühne (1894), and Hermann und der Tod. Ein Bardiet für die Schaubühne (1787).

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___ Again in 1808, Heinrich von Kleist wrote his drama in five acts, Die Her___mannsschlacht. The play was not performed until 1860 and went into print ten ___years after the author’s death, in 1821. Here, Kleist celebrates the genius of ___Hermann who manages to instigate hatred among the Cherusci against Varus ___and the Roman occupying power. The more brutally the Romans oppress their ___Cherusci opponents, the more their endeavour to conquer Germany becomes a ___lost cause. The entire play was a call for the levée en masse, the great uprising, ___which Kleist hoped was underway. It was no accident that an intentional his___tory had come to coalesce around Arminius and taken a decisive turn in 1808: ___the year before, Napoleon had crushed the army of the Prusso-Russian coali___tion in the Battle of Friedland. Prussia had sought peace at Tilsit, effectively ___becoming a French satellite state. The French presence to the east of the river ___Rhine now seemed permanent; the Holy Empire, which had been a loose, but ___symbolically still powerful political frame for the German nation, had been ___defunct since the resignation of emperor Franz II in 1806. In this darkest hour ___of its young history, the awakening nation desperately needed a hero; the only ___historical character who, in the circumstances, qualified for such a role was ___Arminius. ___ ___ ___ 3 From history to monument: Ernst von Bandel ___ and the Hermann of Detmold ___ ___ ___Over the course of three centuries, the Hermann narrative had proved a re___markably flexible and versatile piece of intentional history. It had started its ___career as a tool in the hands of those in Germany challenging the religious and ___intellectual hegemony of the Roman Church and the papacy in particular. ___Arminius was then, by enlightened minds, turned into a martyr of freedom from ___oppressive regimes, namely the anciens régimes of pre-revolutionary Europe, ___only to become the liberator of Germany from foreign rule, this time from post___revolutionary French rule. According to circumstances, intentional history put ___emphasis on Hermann’s anti-imperial struggle or on his revolutionary fight with ___established authority. He was either the champion of the people as such or of ___the German people. Arminius’ capacity as a unifier of previously scattered ___hordes was a keynote of the narrative at all times, but it got a distinctly xeno___phobic bias in the wake of the French Revolution. Finally, the fatal equation ___‘Germanic = German’ added up: Arminius was the first German. ___ The whole narrative could be read like a roman à clef. In 1815, it seemed, ___Arndt’s vision of an Arminius reborn (Blücher?), shaking off the yoke of Varus’

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(Napoleon’s) rule over Germany, had become true.7 What better symbol could be imagined for German national identity to cluster around than this grand hero from the early days of the imagined nation’s history, the very man causing the historical big bang from which Germany was born? Arminius was now so closely associated with German unity and the liberation from Napoleon that reinterpreting the character once more was no longer an option. At last, the narrative had found its definite form. It had ceased to be fluid and was hence ripe for being translated into something more solid: an iconic creation, an image – a monument.8 Giving physical shape to the political myth of Arminius was first contemplated in the late eighteenth century, but such projects never got very far. Serious planning set in after the Battle of Leipzig in 1813, when Karl Friedrich Schinkel proposed a statue of the mounted Hermann piercing, in the pose of St. George the dragon slayer, a fallen Roman soldier with his lance. But from here, it took another twenty-five years for the idea to be turned into a practical plan for a monument on the supposed site of the battle near Detmold. As is so often the case, a coincidence of random circumstances facilitated the monument’s realisation: in 1837, William IV, King of Great Britain and Hanover, died. The art-minded king had been a cash cow for Ernst von Bandel, a Munich-born, Hanover-based architect, sculptor and painter, who had been a close associate of Christian Daniel Rauch und Johann Gottfried Schadow. William had commissioned von Bandel to decorate the Hanover palace and to plan a new assembly hall for the University of Göttingen. Once the king was dead, von Bandel’s future as an architect looked bleak.

_____ 7 The equation ‘Blücher = Arminius’ was as obvious as it was popular in post-1815 Germany. Ludwig Börne (31848: 61) criticised his contemporary, the poet and critic Wolfgang Menzel, for proposing an utterly anachronistic view of Arminius and the Germanic peoples of the first century A.D.: “Herr Menzel hat selbst eine Geschichte der Deutschen geschrieben, und zwar mit einem so feurigen Turner-Patriotismus, daß Arminius und Blücher sich wie zwei Brüder ähnlich sehen.” Börne then goes on: “Ich bitte ihn daher in seinem eigenen Werke die Kriege der Germanen mit den Römern nachzulesen, und mir dort eine Spur von Patriotismus aufzuzeigen. Die deutschen Völkerschaften kämpften damals weder für ihren Boden, noch für ihre Stammesgenossen, noch für ihren Nationalruhm, noch für ihre Freiheit. Sie kämpften nur für ihre Führer, und fochten mit gleicher Lust und Tapferkeit, in der Reihe der Römer gegen ihre Landesleute, wie in der Reihe ihrer Landesleute gegen die Römer.” Not everyone was convinced by the myth woven around Arminius and the ‘Germans’. 8 The work of reference for the following is Tacke (1995). See also the contributions in LuxAlthoff (2001) and Zelle (2014).

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___ However, the father of seven was a man of many resources. He talked Leo___pold II, prince of the tiny principality of Lippe-Detmold, into revisiting the plans ___for a Hermann monument near his capital Detmold, a town of 5,000 souls, pro___vided the funding was solid and the design ‘dignified’ (see Märtin 2008: 314). In ___1838, a Verein für das Hermannsdenkmal was established at Detmold; other ___German towns followed suit. The prince himself provided the plot on the Gro___tenburg, a 386 m high hilltop in the southeast Teutoburg Forest. Besides, he ___donated the substantial sum of 1,000 Reichstaler. By the end of the following ___year, the Verein had raised 11,000 Taler, one quarter of the monument’s esti___mated cost. This seemed a promising start. ___ By this time, von Bandel had also devised the monument’s physical form. ___The idea was to put the hero’s statue on top of a massive base to be built in the ___Gothic style, with pointed arches and pinnacles, crowned by a giant rock. Two ___German monarchs who took a keen interest in the project and had become its ___main sponsors, intervened. Ludwig I of Bavaria, for whom von Bandel had ___worked during his time in Munich, wanted to see the rock replaced by a dome, ___which made the base look like a classical monopteros. Nonetheless, von Bandel ___agreed, as he relied on the king’s financial support. In the meantime, Friedrich ___Wilhelm IV, the king of Prussia and the project’s second large-scale sponsor, had ___prompted Schinkel and Rauch to draft, on their part, an alternative design. The ___statue, on top of a classical Roman base, depicted a thoughtful Hermann, leaning ___on his sword and contemplating victory. Von Bandel’s reaction to the “chimney ___sweeper” was harsh. Successfully, he defended his own design: a statue of ___Hermann with his right arm raised, sword in hand. The architect wanted ___Hermann to be the symbol of “our eternally youthful strength (...), a signpost to ___the site of our fame and to illustrate our power and great glory.” According to von ___Bandel (1937: 268–269), the raised sword was emblematic for German unity. ___ Construction on the site made rapid progress. On 8 September 1841, the ___vault for the foundation stone was completed and the achievement marked with ___a ceremony. In his address, the Denkmalsverein’s president, Moritz Leopold ___Petri, emphasised the battle’s importance as a turning point in history. He put ___Arminius on a level with Christ: the Germanic hero and the Christian redeemer ___had been, according to Petri, the new stars eclipsing the light of the Roman em___pire. Petri’s speech was restrained and by no means anti-French: on the con___trary, it had been Arminius’ mission to establish the freedom of all nations on ___an equal footing. The Festschrift published to mark the day pointed out that the ___site of the monument should be a “rock of harmony, of German patriotism and ___of German strength and greatness” (Schwanke 1841: 37). Painstakingly, the ___Denkmalsverein had avoided any provocation of the ruling dynasties, including ___any allusion to the German democracy movement and its symbols.

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At this time, frictions between von Bandel and the Verein had become apparent. The architect was reluctant to comply with the association’s rules and procedures; more importantly, the enthusiasm for the monument had slowly but surely ebbed away. When, in 1846, the base was finally completed, a debt of 4,400 Taler had been piled up. Von Bandel blamed the Denkmalsverein for insufficient publicity; in return, the dignitaries in charge of the Verein accused the architect of wasting funds. The difficult economic situation in the second half of the 1840s and in particular the failure of the 1848 revolution put the final nail in the coffin of the Hermannsdenkmal. Many of the princely patrons had lost interest in the project, as they preferred their own prestige projects – like Bavaria’s Ludwig who, consecutively, commissioned the Walhalla near Regensburg, the Befreiungshalle at Kelheim, the Pompeianum, a reconstructed Roman villa, at Aschaffenburg and the Ruhmeshalle at Munich. Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia turned his interest to the completion of the Cologne Cathedral; Hermann and the Teutoburg Forest had gone out of fashion. In the meantime, the prince of Lippe had settled the Verein’s debts, but its financial situation was still desperate. Donations trickled in so slowly that Petri, the president, estimated completion could take another 90 to 100 years. Between 1846 and 1860, hardly any progress was made; von Bandel, however, revised his drafts and came up with an even taller statue, whose stability he had greatly improved. Towards the end of the 1850s, the issue of national unity returned to the intellectual agenda, and suddenly Hermann was back. National ‘feasts’ – the Turnfest in Coburg 1860, the Sängerfest in Nuremberg in 1861, and the Bundesschießen in 1862 – rallied people by the thousands. Renewed enthusiasm for the monument increased the cash flow into von Bandel’s workshop; but the profile of the donors had changed. While in the early 1840s the bulk of the money had come from individuals belonging to all classes, massive donations from the high nobility and the ruling dynasties prevailed in the 1860s. Von Bandel disassociated himself from the Verein and the state of Lippe-Detmold; he moved back to Hanover – which was to become Prussian in 1866 – declaring that “he should not, before Germany, be guided by the will of four men; he should not be forced to continuous sacrifice of time and money.”9 By the middle of the decade, the monument to Hermann had become the project of Germany’s kings and princes. It is symptomatic that in 1871, after the empire had been proclaimed at Versailles, 10,000 Taler were donated at once by the ruling houses of the German states; in 1874, the Prussian king and now German emperor,

_____ 9 Translation from Bericht an Fürstliche Regierung über das Hermannsdenkmal (1861: 1), written by the Verein für das Hermanns-Denkmal.

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___Wilhelm I, added a further 9,000 Taler – an amount sufficient to fund the ___monument’s completion. ___ On 16 August 1875, the monument was dedicated in a solemn ceremony. ___Present were, besides von Bandel, the emperor, the crown prince, Friedrich ___Wilhelm, and 30,000 spectators. The show was a display of Germany’s new self___confidence as a great European power, as monumental as the Hermannsdenk___mal itself: 57.4 metres tall, the monument overlooks Detmold and the Teutoburg ___Forest, the sword pointing westward. The sword alone, a donation by the Krupp ___Company, weighs 600 kilograms and is seven metres long. On one side, the ___words DEUTSCHE:EINIGKEIT:MEINE:STAERKE (“German unity my strength”) ___are engraved into the sword; on the other it reads MEINE:STAERKE:DEUTSCH ___LANDS:MACHT (“My strength Germany’s power”). On its head, Hermann wears ___a winged helmet – epitomising the German eagle, the symbol of the new em___pire, while, to his feet, lies crushed the Roman eagle along with a bunch of lic___tors’ fasces. The metal of a French canon had been fused to form a portrait of ___emperor Wilhelm to which the following lines were added: ___ ___ “Der lang getrennte Stämme vereint mit starker Hand, der welsche Macht und Tücke siegreich überwandt, ___ der längst verlorne Söhne heimführt zum deutschen Reich, ___ Armin, dem Retter, ist er gleich.” ___ ___ (‘The one who has united long-separated tribes with his strong hand, who has victoriously ___ overcome Walhaz [i.e. French] power and perfidy, who has repatriated long since lost sons into the German Reich, he is equal to Arminius, the saviour.’) ___ ___ ___Other inscriptions draw parallels between the victory over France in 1870/71 ___and the Napoleonic Wars, in which the German people had “become weak ___through discord”. ___ From such a perspective, a crescendo leads from Arminius, who cast off the ___Roman yoke, through the Wars of Liberation to Wilhelm I, the accomplisher of ___German unity. Since the early days of the monument’s planning, Arminius had ___maintained his role as the defender of Germany against welsche Macht und ___Tücke, as a champion of German unity and redeemer from discord. But as the ___project of German unity moved from embodying the democratic aspiration of ___the German people – or, rather, that of its bourgeoisie – to the mission of the ___Prussian dynasty, Arminius was no longer the figurehead of a popular uprising, ___but of a Reichsgründung top-down. ___ ___ ___

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4 Another history, another monument: Julius Berndt and the Hermann of New Ulm Ironically, Detmold’s Hermann has a little brother in the wide prairies of the northern United States.10 The Hermann Heights Monument at New Ulm, Minnesota, was completed in 1897. When the monument was dedicated, Governor David Marston Clough of Minnesota said, “We must tell our children and our children’s children the story of the heroes of every land and every time who have given their lives that liberty and fraternity and equality might survive among men.” Instrumental in the planning, funding and construction of the monument was a local architect and engineer of German roots, Julius Berndt. Born in Silesia in 1832, he immigrated to the United States around 1850. After, in 1851, the Treaty of Traverse de Sioux, struck between the US government and parts of the Sioux tribe, had opened the Minnesota plains to white settlement, Berndt moved from Chicago to the Minnesota River. Here, members of the Chicago Land Association founded the town of New Ulm. As the name suggests, the bulk of the settlers had German ancestors. Conflicts with neighbouring Indian tribes and the harshness of the prairie created strong bonds of solidarity among the newcomers, for whom their German heritage soon became a centrepiece of cultural identity. In 1881, Berndt was among the founding members of a local lodge of the “Sons of Hermann”, a fraternal society of German-Americans established in 1840. The society’s foundation responded to growing anti-German resentment while immigration from Germany was reaching a first peak in the late 1830s (see Adam 2005 [vol. 2]: 985–986). As in their native country, to the growing German immigrant community Arminius-Hermann was a figure of prime symbolic importance. He was an emblem of German unity and solidarity. Even more than in Germany, he was regarded among the German-Americans as a champion of freedom – the very freedom for which many of them had migrated to their new homeland. Not accidentally, a town in the so-called Missouri Rhineland chose Hermann as its namesake in 1842; German-Americans even projected a “Hermann University” in Austin County, Texas. Arminius-Hermann also resonated well with the Anglo-Saxon environment the German immigrants to America found themselves in. From the early nine-

_____ 10 For the following see Conzen (2003: 1–3 and 75–80), Lange (2013), and Pohlsander (2010: 99–102).

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___teenth century onwards, many English and an increasing number of American ___intellectuals had subscribed to the myth of a common ancestry of Germans, ___English and Americans. “Race” was identified as a pivotal factor in the growth ___of the British Empire and provided legitimacy to American manifest destiny. ___Eminent historians such as Charles Kingsley, John Richard Green, Edward Au___gustus Freeman and William Stubbs emphasised the “Teutonic” parentage of ___the modern English nation, inferring a genetic superiority over other “races”. ___According to the liberal critic Charles Wentworth Dilke (1868 [vol. 2]: 155), it was ___England’s mission to renew the greatness of Rome, but now based on its Teu___tonic heritage and “greater Saxondom which entails all that is best and wisest in ___the world.” To such intellectuals, the fall of Rome was the result of racial “cor___ruption, feebleness, decay”, as the historian John George Sheppard (1861: 172) ___put it, while the Germanic race embodied “development, progress and domin___ion”. ___ In this logic, the Battle in the Teutoburg Forest had all the qualities of a ___turning point in history. None other than Arminius was the saviour of Germanic ___freedom from Roman corruption and subjugation. Such a positive image of the ___victorious hero was soon popularised. English school children were told that ___Arminius “was our kinsman, our bone and our flesh. If he had not hindered the ___Romans from conquering Germany, we should not be talking English; perhaps ___we should not be a nation at all” (Freeman 1869: 22). The Teutoburg Forest was ___hence not only the birthplace of the German nation, even England owed its exis___tence to Arminius. In the US, “Teutonism” had become popular in the 1850s. ___Arminius was celebrated as the true founding father of American freedom and ___independence. The myth was further fuelled by Prussia’s victory over France ___and the foundation of the German empire, which, by some Germanophile ___Americans, was interpreted as one further step towards “Teutonic” world domi___nation. To them, the Hermannsdenkmal in the Teutoburg Forest soon became a ___place of intellectual pilgrimage, a true “cradle of the liberties of the English___speaking nations”.11 ___ The Reichsgründung in 1871 and the new empire’s swift rise to great power ___also inspired pride in many German-Americans. The idea to monumentalise the ___German presence in the United States and its – perceived – contribution to ___American values was by no means far-fetched. The architect Berndt who had ___become the founding president of New Ulm’s Hermann lodge, went public with ___the project and soon convinced the fraternity’s national organisation of the im___ ___ ___11 See Barrows (1897: 32–33). On the reception of Arminius-Hermann in Britain and the ___United States, see now the excellent study by Holsten (2012).

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portance of a Hermann monument. Money was raised, and the cornerstone was laid in June 1888. Berndt’s design for the statue closely followed the Detmold model, but the base, by contrast, looks rather classical. It is devised as a monopteros with ten slender, elegant columns and a spiral staircase in its interior. In contrast to the Detmold monument, the New Ulm Hermann faces east, towards the European homeland of German-Americans. Nine years after the cornerstone had been laid, the monument was completed. One of the speakers at the dedication ceremony emphasised the compatibility of German and American values for which Hermann stood: “In Hermann and his deed are embodied not only German virtues, but the civic virtues of every high-minded person.” And he continued: “Americans are a noble, industrious, progressive, public-spirited people, and we have become an integral part of that people” (quoted in Conzen 2003: 2). In the historical context of the pre-World War I United States, Hermann seemed the perfect role model allowing for the integration, or even total absorption, of the German newcomers into American society. Remnants of this spirit have survived the crises of two world wars and the almost residue-free amalgamation of the German immigrant community with the majority society of the United States. After a period of neglect, the monument was declared a Historic Site in 1973; in 2000, US Congress declared the monument and park a “National Symbol for all Americans of German descent”. In the following years, the Hermann Heights Monument was extensively refurbished, and in 2007 a Hermann Monument Society was established. To the present day, the town is the venue for various recurring festivals: a “Heritagefest” and assorted beer festivals, commemorating the place’s German traditions. When, in 2009, the 2000th anniversary of the battle was celebrated, New Ulm received almost as much attention as Detmold.

5 Conclusion The monuments at Detmold and New Ulm pay witness to the amazing mutability of Arminius-Hermann as the protagonist of various successive, and partly competing, political myths. While the protagonist set off as a local warlord and possibly a Roman mutineer, he became, during his long career, a spearhead of the Protestant Reformation against the Roman Church, an anti-absolutist liberator Germaniae, a symbol of German unity and of liberation from French occupation, an alter ego of the first German emperor, Wilhelm I, and finally a figurehead for the German immigrants’ community in the United States and its

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___struggle between assimilation and preservation of its group identity. Freedom, ___unity and identity are recurring themes in most of the stories involved, and not ___accidentally did the Hermann cult reach its apex while Germany was struggling ___to achieve freedom and unity. With monumentalisation, the political myth en___tered, as it were, its second, less fluid phase, but it was still sufficiently versatile ___to be instrumentalised for quite different agendas. Both monuments continue to ___attract people by the thousands, year by year. Hermann is now dead as a politi___cal symbol, but he is still very much alive as a folkloristic curiosity. ___ ___ ___ ___Bibliography ___ ___Adam, Thomas (ed.) (2005): Germany and the Americas: Culture, Politics, and History. A Multididisciplinary Encyclopedia (3 vols.), Santa Barbara: ABC-Clio. ___ Anderson, Benedict (71996): Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of ___ Nationalism, London: Verso. ___Bandel, Josef Ernst von (1937): Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben. Herausgegeben, mit Einleitung versehen und bis zum Tode des Meisters fortgeführt von Adolf Gregorius (Sonder___ veröffentlichungen des Naturwissenschaftlichen Vereins für das Land Lippe 4), Detmold: ___ Meyer. ___ Barrows, John Henry (1897): A World-Pilgrimage, Chicago: McClurg. ___Bemmann, Klaus (2002): Arminius und die Deutschen, Essen: Magnus-Verlag. ___Benario, Herbert W. (2004): Arminius into Hermann. History into legend. In: Greece & Rome 51, ___ 83–94. ___Börne, Ludwig (31848): Menzel der Franzosenfresser, Frankfurt am Main: Rütten. ___Conzen, Kathleen Neils (2003): Germans in Minnesota, St. Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press. ___ Dilke, Charles Wentworth (1868): Greater Britain. A Record of Travel in English-Speaking ___ Countries during 1866 and 1867 (2 vols.), London: Macmillan. ___Dreyer, Boris (2009): Arminius und der Untergang des Varus. Warum die Germanen keine Römer wurden, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. ___ ___Fichte, Johann Gottlieb (1808): Reden an die deutsche Nation, Berlin: Realschulbuchhandlung. ___Freeman, Edward A. (1869): Old English History for Children, London: Macmillan. Fröhlich, Harry (1999): Arminius und die Deutschen. In: Aurora. Jahrbuch der Eichendorff___ Gesellschaft 59, 173–188. ___Gehrke, Hans-Joachim (1994): Mythos, Geschichte, Politik – antik und modern. In: Saeculum ___ 45, 239–264. ___Gehrke, Hans-Joachim (2001): Myth, history, and collective identity. Uses of the past in ancient Greece and beyond. In: Nino Luraghi (ed.), The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus, ___ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 286–313. ___ Gehrke, Hans-Joachim (2003): Was ist Vergangenheit? oder: ‘Die Entstehung von Vergangen___ heit’. In: Christoph Ulf (ed.), Der neue Streit um Troja. Eine Bilanz, München: Beck, 62–81. ___Gehrke, Hans-Joachim (2004): Was heißt und zu welchem Ende studiert man intentionale Geschichte? Marathon und Troja als fundierende Mythen. In: Gert Melville & Karl-Siegbert ___

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Rehberg (eds.), Gründungsmythen, Genealogien, Memorialzeichen. Beiträge zur institutionellen Konstruktion von Kontinuität, Köln: Böhlau, 21–36. Gehrke, Hans-Joachim (2005): Die Bedeutung der (antiken) Historiographie für die Entwicklung des Geschichtsbewußtseins. In: Eve-Marie Becker (ed.), Die antike Historiographie und die Anfänge der christlichen Geschichtsschreibung, Berlin: De Gruyter, 29–51. Holsten, Henning (2012): Arminius the Anglo-Saxon. Hermannsmythos und politischer Germanismus in England und den USA. In: Ernst Baltrusch, Morten Hegewisch, Michael Meyer, Uwe Puscher & Christian Wendt (eds.), 2000 Jahre Varusschlacht. Geschichte – Archäologie – Legenden, Berlin: De Gruyter, 315–389. Kösters, Klaus (2012): Endlose Hermannsschlachten. In: Ernst Baltrusch, Morten Hegewisch, Michael Meyer, Uwe Puscher & Christian Wendt (eds.), 2000 Jahre Varusschlacht. Geschichte – Archäologie – Legenden, Berlin: De Gruyter, 213–256. Krebs, Christopher B. (2011): A Most Dangerous Book. Tacitus’s ‘Germania’ from the Roman Empire to the Third Reich, New York: W.W. Norton. Kühnemund, Richard (1953): Arminius, or the Rise of a National Symbol in Literature (From Hutten to Grabbe), Chapel Hill, North Carolina: University of North Carolina. Lange, Julia (2013): “Herman the German”. Das Hermann Monument in der deutsch-amerikanischen Erinnerungskultur, Berlin: LIT-Verlag. Lux-Althoff, Stefanie (ed.) (2001): 125 Jahre Hermannsdenkmal. Nationaldenkmale im historischen und politischen Kontext, Lemgo: Institut für Lippische Landeskunde. Märtin, Ralf-Peter (2008): Die Varusschlacht. Rom und die Germanen, Frankfurt am Main: S. Fischer. Mertens, Dieter (2004): Die Instrumentalisierung der Germania des Tacitus durch die deutschen Humanisten. In: Heinrich Beck (ed.), Zur Geschichte der Gleichung “germanisch – deutsch”. Sprache und Namen, Geschichte und Institutionen, Berlin: De Gruyter, 37–101. Münkler, Herfried (2004): Der Antifaschismus als Gründungsmythos der DDR. In: Reinhard Brandt & Steffen Schmidt (eds.), Mythos und Mythologie, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 221– 236. Münkler, Herfried (2009): Die Deutschen und ihre Mythen, Berlin: Rowohlt. Ottomeyer, Hans (2009): Die Erfindung der deutschen Nation. Eine europäische Geschichte. In: Landesverband Lippe (ed.), 2000 Jahre Varusschlacht. Mythos, Stuttgart: Theiss, 140– 148. Pohlsander, Hans A. (2010): German Monuments in the Americas. Bonds across the Atlantic, Oxford: Lang. Schwanke, Franz Josef (1841): Hermann der Cherusker, und sein Denkmal von Deutscher Nation im neunzehnten Jahrhundert ihm errichtet. Broschüre veranlaßt bei Gelegenheit der Feier der Schließung des Grundsteingewölbes am 8. September 1841, Lemgo: Meyer’sche Hofbuchdruckerei. Sheppard, John G. (1861): The Fall of Rome and the Rise of the New Nationalities. A Series of Lectures on the Connection between Ancient and Modern History, London: Routledge. Tacke, Charlotte (1995): Denkmal im sozialen Raum. Nationale Symbole in Deutschland und Frankreich im 19. Jahrhundert, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Verein für das Hermanns-Denkmal (1861): Bericht an Fürstliche Regierung über das Hermannsdenkmal, Detmold (manuscript). Wiegels, Rainer (2009): Arminius. [Un-]Vergessener Befreier Germaniens. In: Museum und Park Kalkriese (ed.), Varusschlacht im Osnabrücker Land, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 168–179.

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___Wiegels, Rainer & Winfried Woesler (eds.) (32003): Arminius und die Varusschlacht. Geschichte – Mythos – Literatur, Paderborn: Schöningh. ___ Wolters, Reinhard (2008): Die Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald. Arminius, Varus und das römi___ sche Germanien, München: Beck. ___Zelle, Michael (2014): Das Hermannsdenkmal, Detmold: Lippischer Heimatbund. ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

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___Richard Warren ___ ___ ___ ___Richard Warren ___Arminius in Bohemia: Two Uses of Tacitus in Czech Art ___Abstract: In his Annals the Roman historian Tacitus described an insurrection against Roman ___rule. He relates how the German (Cheruscan) leader Arminius led a confederation of German ___tribes to victory in battle against Roman forces in A.D. 9, destroying the three legions of the Roman general Quinctilius Varus in the Teutoburg Forest in Germany. This article looks at two ___ nineteenth-century Czech representations of Arminius. The first, from 1809, by the Austrian ___artist and first Director of the Prague Academy of Arts Joseph Bergler (1753–1829), depicts ___Arminius receiving the spoils of his victory. The second, from 1898, by the Czech Art Nouveau ___graphic artist and illustrator Alphonse Mucha (1860–1939), imagines a post-battle ritual in ___which Arminius sacrifices captured Roman enemies. The article compares the two representa___tions from either end of the century and considers the use of a figure from classical history, usually connected with German national identity, in a Czech context. ___ ___ ___ ___1 Introduction ___ ___In the nineteenth century the provinces of Bohemia, Moravia, and Czech Silesia, ___which now together constitute the Czech Republic, were part of the Austro___Hungarian empire. In neighbouring Germany the nineteenth century witnessed ___increasing movement towards national unification, coupled with an increasing ___focus on German cultural and ethnic identity. This led to a search for the origins ___of the German people, and the classics and Tacitus’ Germania in particular be___came the authoritative source for those who wished to understand, or to use for ___their own ends, the purported ancestors of the German people. In this search for ___origins, the figure of the ancient German leader Arminius, whose resistance ___against Rome was recorded by Tacitus in his Annals, became a typecast figure in ___artistic representations of Germany and its national identity. Given this, it is ___Germany, rather than the lands of the current Czech Republic, that we are most ___likely to associate with an ancient German tribal leader that defeated three Ro___man legions. During the course of the nineteenth century, what is today the Czech Re___ ___public witnessed a cultural, and later political, movement known as the Czech ___National Revival (České národní obrození). Ultimately leading to the formation ___of the Czechoslovak Republic after the First World War, in the nineteenth cen___tury many Bohemian, Moravian and Slovak writers and artists sought to de___fine – as their counterparts in neighbouring Germany – cultural and national

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identities distinct from that of the dominant culture of the Austrian ruling dynasty. As in Germany, an attempt was made to define national characteristics and traits peculiar to the Czech and Slovak peoples, and to represent these in poetry, literature, opera, on the stage, in painting, sculpture, and in architecture and architectural art. The use of Czech and Slavic myths was an important part of defining this national identity. However, whereas German national identity was frequently articulated through resistance to French (often read as Roman or Latin) aggression and oppression, Czech national identity often came to be defined in opposition to Austrian (or Germanic) domination. While in many cases Prussian and German nationalists intentionally promoted an idea of a militarily strong and dominant Germany, Czech nationalists often inverted this concept to portray the Czechs as a pacific people in deliberate contrast to their bellicose Germanic rulers, as a national virtue in and of itself. In this context it is interesting to note that we can find representations of Arminius created in the Czech provinces or by Czech artists. Given the backdrop of increasing Czech nationalism during the course of the nineteenth century, these representations bear closer examination for what they can reveal about Czech interpretations of a figure drawn from classical literature, more conventionally employed by German nationalists. Two examples are examined here which, drawn from either end of the nineteenth century, may demonstrate in small part something of the changing nature of this representation over time. Their two artists belong to either side of the Austro-Czech divide, and are representatives of two different artistic traditions, but both spent many years working in Prague – to which city neither was native. Both chose to illustrate the legend of Arminius. In this article we will ask why, and consider what the individual representations demonstrate both about the preoccupations of their creators and the uses to which Roman history could be put in the never-actually-Roman province of Bohemia.

2 Joseph Bergler’s ‘Hermann nach der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald’ The first painting (see Figure 1) that we will consider dates from 1809 and is by the Austrian neoclassical artist Joseph Bergler (1753–1829). 1 The painting

_____ 1 Joseph Bergler, ‘Hermann nach der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald’, oil-on-canvas, 241 × 304 cm, 1809 (Convent of St. Agnes of Bohemia, National Gallery, Prague).

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___stemmed from a contract of 1803 between the artist and the Society of the Patri___otic Friends of the Arts (Společnost vlasteneckých přátel umění), which governed ___the terms of the artist’s tenure as Director of the Prague Academy. The choice of ___subject was the artist’s own (see Vlnas 2002: 26). In addition to the painting it___self a sketch, compositionally very similar, survives.2 There is also a further ___drawing with a different composition, showing Hermann standing before his ___troops taking up arms before battle,3 as well as some studies of heads of ancient ___Germans executed by a copyist of Bergler’s works.4 ___ In the painting we see Arminius seated beneath some trees, his wife sat by ___his side, receiving the standards of the defeated Roman legions from his sol___diers. Arminius wears a long red cloak fastened with a black belt, and turns to ___his right at the approach of a soldier, who hands him the captured Roman ___standard. He rests his right arm by his side and in his left holds a short spear. ___His face is shown in profile. He has long blond hair and a blond beard. His red ___costume distinguishes him from the soldiers around him, and in addition, ___unlike them, his body is completely covered. He appears almost as a Roman ___general, while his soldiers don animal skins. Before him to his right two Ger___man soldiers present him with the Roman standard, which is topped with a ___golden eagle. They bend before him in obeisance and tilt the Roman standard ___downwards, symbolising the legions’ defeat. The nearer of the two soldiers ___wears a fur, his arms bare, and has his mouth open as if addressing Arminius ___and commending the standard to him. His right fist is clenched and his sword ___is slung across his arm, the black hilt of which Bergler has highlighted with a ___touch of white paint. The battle is clearly only recently won, despite Arminius’ ___composed and kempt appearance. The farther soldier wears an animal skin ___over his head and, together with the nearer soldier, grips the standard in his ___hands. Before their feet we can see many more symbols of the Roman military. ___Roman standards are strewn across the ground together with a set of fasces, ___the rods and axes symbolising Roman imperium, as well as other short swords ___and weaponry taken from the defeated Roman enemy. The butt of Arminius’ ___spear rests on a Roman shield, perhaps that which belonged to the defeated ___Varus. ___ ___ ___ ___2 Joseph Bergler, ‘Hermann nach der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald’, white and sepia pen ___drawing, 43.8 × 57.2 cm, 1800 (Prague Academy of Arts, Prague). 3 Joseph Bergler, ‘Hermann vor der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald’, white and ink wash, ___ 36.5 × 49.6 cm, 1801–1802 (National Gallery, Prague). ___4 Anonymous, after Joseph Bergler, ‘Germanen und Deutsche II’, etching, 20.5 × 23 cm, c. 1805 ___(National Gallery, Prague).

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Arminius’ wife sits beside him. Pale-skinned and dressed all in blue, in contrast to his red and the soldiers’ dark green clothes, she clings affectionately to his cloak and arms, over which she peers at the Roman standard that the German troops are presenting to her husband. Her dress and hair appear more contemporary than first-century German. But Bergler’s portrayal of the other figures in the composition, clustered around the central pair, reminds us that we are looking at the ancient Cherusci. Arminius’ soldiers wear the skins of various animals over their heads and look down disdainfully at the captured Roman standards. Other figures in the background, holding objects of religious worship, remind us of the context. One, with a wolfskin over his head, holds up a small wooden statue of an old man – presumably an ancient Germanic god (perhaps intended to be ‘Tuisto’).5 Another figure to his left carries a bright silver vessel in his hand. Behind these we see a druidic figure, his head alone emerging from the darkness of the wood. He has a large beard and wears a crown of foliage on his head. He observes what the other two figures are doing and will soon engage in some religious rite of thanksgiving for the German victory. Bergler picks out his foreground figures with touches of white, leaving the background of the painting dark. Above the figures we see a dark canopy of trees. In the distance beyond these are a mountain and a stormy sky. A similar view can be seen to the top left of the painting behind the bear-skinned soldier that stands at the far left of the painting. On the right side above his head and those of his counterparts, we see spears against the sky and trees, a sign that the rest of the victorious German army is also present. What is most striking about this portrayal of the Teutoburg theme is the contrast between the manner in which Arminius and Thusnelda (the name for Arminius’ wife in German literary tradition) are portrayed, and the way in which the rest of the German soldiery are shown. Arminius is an ideal neoclassical hero. Thusnelda wears long blue silk robes. Yet while some of the soldiers, in particular the one standing on the right of the painting beside Thusnelda, bear some of the hallmarks of classicism (posturing with weight on one foot and melancholic expression), most of the soldiers are otherwise closer to a generic image of an ancient German tribesman as used in the later nineteenth century. The animal skins, in particular those of bears and wolves (key animals in the iconography of northern barbarism), and the soldiers’ bearded and gruff faces,

_____ 5 Tacitus relates that the ancient Germans worshipped a god named ‘Tuisto’ (Tacitus, Germania 2.3).

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___have more in common with representations of the later depictions.6 Bergler ap___pears to celebrate his ancient Germans’ proximity to nature and the animal ___world. Nonetheless in Arminius’ and his wife’s case, Bergler follows neoclassi___cal convention, creating a marked and slightly unnatural contrast. ___ The setting of the painting is important. In using the natural setting of a ___dark, probably oak, wood, Bergler inherits the scheme of earlier artists that had ___portrayed the Arminius theme, in particular Angelika Kaufmann and Johann ___Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein.7 Together with the costume of the German soldiers ___it is an indication of the proximity of the ancient Germans to the natural land___scape and to their natural environment. There is perhaps an underlying idea of ___autochthony here. The mountains in the farther background remind us of the ___rugged natural environment from which Arminius’ people stem, and the dark ___woods may be emblematic of the ancient Germans’ ignorant but noble state. ___Bergler reminds us why his Germans are as they are. He also takes after his ar___tistic predecessors in choosing to include the druidic figure, giving expression ___to the pre-Christian religion of the Germans. The observer sees only a head, ___crowned with leaves and blending into the trees, the body faded and not visible. ___Fitting the autochthony of the other Germans, the druidic figure and his ancient ___German religion are also products of the land from which they came. Bergler ___elaborates upon the observer’s vague notions of ancient Germany and its in___habitants and romanticises these. ___ ___ ___ ___3 Joseph Bergler’s background ___ ___Bergler was born in Salzburg in 1753, in what was at the time the Austro___Hungarian empire.8 The son of a court sculptor to the bishopric of German Pas___sau, he received his first training from his father, working as an altar painter.9 ___ ___ ___ 6 For an illustrative example we might compare Karl Theodor Piloty’s ‘Thusnelda im Triumph___zug des Germanicus’, oil-on-canvas, 710 × 490 cm, 1869–1873 (Bayerische Staatsgemälde___sammlungen, Munich). ___7 Angelika Kauffmann, ‘Hermann and Thusnelda’, oil-on-canvas, 44.8 × 61.9 cm, 1786 (Kunst___geschichtliche Sammlungen, Vienna); Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein, ‘Hermann und ___Thusnelda’, oil-on-canvas, 68.3 × 84 cm, 1782 (Hessisches Landesmuseum, Darmstadt). 8 The volume of secondary literature on Bergler is very limited. There are only a few short ___ studies on the artist, mainly in Czech, with limited literature in German. ___9 Amongst the works of the artist’s father (1718–1788, of the same name), Feulner (1929: 74) ___lists the figural sculptures of the facade and stables of the Passau Residenz, the grave monu-

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Later, from 1776 to 1786, he studied at the Milan Academy where he learned drawing, painting, and fresco. This was followed by a period of study in Rome, after which he returned to Passau and, like his father, worked for the bishop there. However in 1800 he received an invitation from the Czech aristocratic art society, the Society of the Patriotic Friends of the Arts, to come to Prague to become the first director of the newly opened Prague Academy of Arts. Intending to spend a few years in the city, he ultimately remained there until his death in 1829, during which time he completed many neoclassical paintings on classical mythological and historical themes, collaborated with several Prague sculptors, and was a formative influence on Czech graphic art in the nineteenth century.10 It was as part of his duties as director of the Prague Academy that Bergler undertook the Arminius painting. As noted above, this was stipulated under a contract between the society and the artist signed at the inception of his tenure. The contract, originally involving the release of Bergler from the service of the bishop of Passau, Leopold Linhart von Thun-Hohenstein, and principally regulating the terms of his pay as director, was renewed in 1803 (although ultimately it was several more years before the painting was eventually finished). The contract left to the artist the choice of theme and medium for the painting to be supplied to the society (see Prahl 1995/96: 59). Bergler’s artistic style can be described as neoclassical. This can largely be attributed to his being the son of, and having been trained by, a neoclassical sculptor. Rome was also a strong formative influence. As Masaryková (1979: 78) comments on Bergler’s studies in Rome and of his general artistic orientation, “opětované zdůrazňování italského školení budoucího ředitele ukazuje jasně k tehdejšímu všeobecnému směrování k Římu jako k hlavnímu uměleckému centru i k severoitalské umělecké aktivitě, tj. k doznívajícím manýrismu, francouzsko-italskému klasicismu i praeromantismu.”11 In the Arminius painting and his other works we see the carefully posed composition of neoclassical art. All is

_____ ment of the Bishop of Rabatta and Lamberg in the cathedral, and other sculptural groups depicting Lazarus, Abraham and Hagar. 10 See further Blažíčková-Horová (1998: 28). It should be noted that Bergler’s repertoire was not limited to historical or mythological subject matter, as many of the engravings after his designs demonstrate. For Prahl (1995/96: 58) he was “ein ungewöhnlich sensibler Beobachter der Alltagswirklichkeit”. Prahl also highlights the important point that to construct an absolute distinction between his Passau and Prague periods would be artificial. 11 Translation: “The repeated emphasis of the Italian school of the future director points clearly towards the widespread contemporary orientation towards Rome as the chief artistic centre of the time and towards north-Italian artistic activity, i.e. to the fading mannerism, Franco-Italian classicism and proto-romanticism.”

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___part of a balanced and ordered whole: the German soldiery is arranged to focus ___attention as far as possible upon the hero at the centre of the canvas. ___ Within the broader context of artistic training and production it cannot be ___argued that Bergler was in any way especially influential in his time. However, ___within the narrower context of the Prague Academy, Bergler was influential as ___its founding director. He had many local followers and adherents. Many en___gravers reproduced copies of his works, a process which was in itself influen___tial – something examined by Roman Prahl in his volume of essays on this sub___ject (Prahl 2007). Bergler was influential for the direction of history painting in ___Bohemia during the thirty years that he spent there, and his Arminius painting ___played a role in this. As Prahl (1995/96: 64) comments, “Josef Bergler gebührt ___ein bedeutender Platz in der Entwicklungsgeschichte der tschechischen Histo___rien- und Figuralmalerei – und das auch dank seinem ‘Hermann’.” Prahl (2007: ___20) describes his arrival in Prague as follows: “podstatně přispěl k už probíhají___cím zásadním proměnám tradičního přístupu k umělecké grafice”.12 In many ___ways a set-piece, Bergler’s ‘Arminius’ imported the ideas of the neoclassical tra___dition of history painting to the new Prague Academy, and provided a basis for ___later stylistic imitation. ___ Bergler is most interesting in his choice of subjects, of which the conven___tionality of his style does not imply the same character. Even within the mytho___logical remit, many of the themes he portrays are unconventional, for example ___those drawn from Bohemian folklore. The way in which he handles his theme is ___inventive, as we see, for example, in a series of works depicting Cupid. As Prahl ___(2007: 25) comments, “(i)n mythology, the stylistic level of tragedy on the one ___hand and humour on the other is mostly spanned by Cupid who (besides genius ___and Saturn) is the most frequent ancient character with Bergler. The loose series ___of Bergler’s prints featuring Cupid is a narrative describing the troubles of ideal___ism in the mundane world.” Bergler’s choice of historical subjects evinces an ___interest in more local historical themes, rather than in the great events of ___broader classical or European history. He represented ‘Spytihněvs Gericht’ (c. ___875–915, Czech king), ‘Gericht der Libuše’ (legendary Czech prophetess-princess ___and founder of Prague), and ‘Karl IV’ (1316–1378, Czech king and Holy Roman ___Emperor). These are arguably unconventional choices of theme for a (non___Czech) neoclassical history painter, and reflect a particular local interest in the ___history of Bohemia. The choice of the Arminius theme might also be seen within ___this context. It was not a conventional choice for a history painter in Bergler’s ___ ___ ___12 Translation: “In essence he contributed to the fundamental changes in the approach to ___graphic art which were already underway at the time”.

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time; Angelika Kauffmann’s use of the theme two decades before had also been unusual.13 The body of literary illustrations completed by Bergler also provide an important source on Bergler’s choice of subject matter. After arriving in Prague he took an interest in prints, and published several books as part of an album, Erfindungen und Skizzen. These illustrations covered a wide range of topics and, as Prahl (2007: 11) comments, these books “symbolically and humorously commented on [the] modern world and both big and small events in it.” They demonstrate that Bergler’s art also had a satirical side, that his repertoire was not limited to grand historical subjects, and that he was also an observer of the society of his time. This is not to suggest that he was a Reynolds or a ToulouseLautrec, but simply to note that the tradition of grand historical painting does not represent the totality of his work, and that throughout all of his work there is a clear interest in less conventional themes. Reception of Bergler’s work has been mixed. He has not been the focus of extensive study by art historians. Some in the earlier twentieth century recognised his influence on his successors, at least in Prague. For example, Feulner (1929: 250) saw him as the transmitter of the style of Anton Mengs to the art circles of Prague. Yet Bergler was generally neglected by later art historians as a conventional exponent of neoclassicism, unworthy of further attention. With the exception of a few works by Czech art historians, not much was written about Bergler in subsequent decades. This is perhaps odd, given the admiration that he enjoyed in his own time. Recently however some art historians, for the most part Czech, have turned their attention to the artist. Prahl’s 2007 volume looking at his influence on later graphic art in Prague is the principal example. Prahl (1995/96: 53) suggests an interesting explanation for this neglect, based upon the nationalist preoccupations of earlier Czech art historians: “Für die tschechische Kunstgeschichte blieb Bergler darüber hinaus lange im großen und ganzen genauso uninteressant wie alles, was keinen unmittelbaren Bezug zum Prozeß der spezifisch tschechischen nationalen Wiedergeburt hatte.” Prahl’s point is a very relevant one. It hints at the possibility that Czech art historians may have considered Bergler’s art too ‘German’, as the logical opposition to the process of Czech national revival. We will return to this point after looking briefly first at the other painting we examine here.

_____ 13 Bergler also painted the portraits of some of his contemporaries. These included a portrait of General Ludwig Vogelsang (1748–1822), Austrian commander of the 47th infantry regiment, and of the fortress Josefov during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars. Vogelsang was a close associate of Bergler, and was also his first biographer.

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___ 4 Alphonse Mucha’s ‘Varrus brûlé après la ___ bataille de Teutbourg’ ___ ___ ___In this engraving (see Figure 2) by the Czech artist Alphonse Mucha, we see the ___burning of the Roman general Varus after the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest. It ___was produced for the French historian Charles Seignobos’ work Scènes et épi___sodes de l’histoire d’Allemagne (Seignobos 1898a), for which Mucha completed a ___series of illustrations of events in the history of Germany.14 The episode is not ___related, or referred to, by Tacitus. ___ The tall figure of Arminius dominates the composition with his bright ___winged helmet, holding a cup in his hand. Outstretched towards the viewer, his ___hands held up contortedly in the air in rigor mortis, lies the mangled and ___charred figure of the defeated Varus. His Roman armour, cuirass and shoulder ___guards are still identifiable. To Arminius’ right stand various figures cloaked in ___long white robes, drawn over their heads. The foremost of these is some sort of ___druid, who appears to have just administered in the ritual underway. Several ___sitting figures strum on harps behind. Mucha imagines the crematory rite of the ___defeated general, although it is unclear whether this took place while the latter ___was dead or alive. The gruesomely rigid and contorted hands of the general ___might suggest that Mucha has taken the imaginative approach of depicting this ___as a sacrifice.15 This conclusion is increasingly hard to avoid, the closer we come ___to inspect the rest of the painting. The heads of decapitated Romans, some hung ___together in baskets, are nailed to a large tree. The viewer can still see their dark ___beards and the terrified expressions on their faces.16 A font, whose use is un___certain but out of which blood appears to be pouring, is situated in the fore___ground. The straps attached to it appear to be used to restrain victims, ___ ___ ___ ___ 14 Mucha also turned some of the illustrations into oil paintings, which he exhibited in a solo ___ exhibition at the ‘La Bodinière’ gallery in 1897. See Sato (2009: 246): “Eine willkommene Gele___genheit für ihn, um seine an der Kunstakademie erworbenen Kenntnisse auszuweiten und sich ___auch als Maler einen Namen zu machen.” ___15 According to Tacitus (Ann. 1.61), Varus committed suicide: primum ubi vulnus Varo ___adactum, ubi infelici dextera et suo ictu mortem invenerit (“where Varus received his first ___wound, and where he met his end by his own unhappy hand”). 16 Tacitus (Ann. 1.61) relates how a few years later the Roman general Germanicus’ men came ___ across skulls of Varus’ defeated men nailed to tree trunks: Adiacebant fragmina telorum ___equorumque artus, simul truncis arborum antefixa ora (“Spear fragments and horse limbs were ___lying about, and skulls fixed to the tree trunks”).

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perhaps before their decapitation. There is much of both gruesome theatricality and religious spectacle to the scene. Ranged behind Arminius in the woods many Germans can be seen gathered, looking down intently on the scene – as the observer does too, placed as one of the throng who surround and wonder at this strange rite, although perhaps not immediately grasping its meaning. However Arminius himself – with his distinguishing costume, posture, set expression, and ceremonial holding of the cup – invites comparison with a priest. The prominent font in the foreground also suggests this function. Yet the charred figure of Varus, the druidic figures, the strange costumes and the decapitated heads, as well as the general woodland pagan setting, indicate that this is not a church. The painting derives drama from this tension between what is expected and what is actually happening. But the compositional and figure style also contributes to this dynamic. This is typical of Mucha’s work. Arminius is slender and elegant. The positioning of the tree, the staggered levelling of other figures in a continuous line with this, and the figures behind Arminius, form a fluid and harmonious curve together, the hallmark of Mucha’s style.17 Yet in most of Mucha’s other works the purpose of this harmony is to create a sense of divinity, levity and apotheosis.18 Here this grace and exaltation (principally in the figure of Arminius) is in awful contrast to the grim activity of the sacrifice and the writhing Varus. Mucha creates a barbaric picture of the early Germans, true to both Caesar and Tacitus’ accounts of the early Gauls and Germans and their apparently inhuman religious rites.19

5 Alphonse Mucha’s background Mucha’s interpretation of the Teutoburg episode is both original and informed by his own views and background, making his illustrations for this book far more noteworthy than has previously been acknowledged.20 Before moving to an assessment of the motivations of Mucha’s approach in the illustration, it would be helpful to briefly consider some biographical context.

_____ 17 For Mucha’s theory of design and harmonious forms, see Mucha (1975). 18 An illustrative example would be Alphonse Mucha, ‘The Seasons’, colour lithograph series, 1896 (Mucha Museum, Prague). 19 See Caesar, Bellum Gallicum 6.17.3–5, on the druids and human sacrifice. 20 Scholarship on Mucha’s illustrations for Seignobos’ book is very limited, receiving virtually no or minimal coverage in the main works cited in this chapter or in catalogues of past exhibitions on Mucha. For an exception, in which a brief chapter on Seignobos’ book is included, see Husslein-Arco, Gaillemin, Hilaire & Lange (2009).

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___ The artist Alponse Mucha, born in the Moravian town of Ivančice in 1860 in ___what was at that time part of the Czech crownlands of the Austro-Hungarian ___empire, was working in Paris in the 1890s when he completed this illustration. ___From an early spell in Brünn (Brno), Nikolsburg (Mikulov) and Vienna, he had ___moved to Munich for his schooling in painting, but had subsequently travelled ___to Paris when support from his patron Count Khuen-Belassi dried up.21 Later to ___achieve fame from 1894 onwards for his theatrical posters for the actress Sarah ___Bernhardt, and subsequently for a host of commercial advertisers, he was at this ___stage still a relatively unknown figure scraping out a living through book illus___trations and other small projects. He had already made the acquaintance of ___many prominent fin-de-siècle artists in Paris, including Paul Gauguin. Through___out his life Mucha was a prodigious worker and his output across the entirety of ___his career is considerable. At this time it seems that he was busy with many dif___ferent projects, even though he was not yet at the height of his fame. ___ At the end of the 1880s Mucha was undertaking small commissions for the ___magazine Le petit français illustré (work procured for him by the young editor ___Henri Bourrelier), and in this way came to the attention of a Parisian publisher, ___Armand Colin, which was at the time looking for an artist to illustrate the ___French historian Charles Seignobos’ Scènes et épisodes de l’histoire d’Allemagne. ___In 1891 the publisher approached Mucha and offered him the commission, ___which he accepted and began work on that year. Forty illustrations to accom___pany Seignobos’ text were to be completed by Mucha and the artist Georges ___Rochegrosse.22 The series contains illustrations by Mucha on, amongst others, ___the themes of the death of Wallenstein and Pierre des Vignes, the death of Jan ___Hus and Frederik II’s entrance into Jerusalem. All are scenes of high drama, in___cluding that examined here.23 ___ ___ ___ ___21 Mucha had met the count in the Czech town of Nikolsburg (Mikulov) in 1881, where he had ___been working as a portraitist, and had been commissioned by the count to decorate his castle at Emmahof. This in turn led to the count financing his studies in Munich. ___ 22 See Sylvestrová & Štembera (2009: 150). The artist Georges Rochegrosse (1859–1938) was a ___French history painter. ___23 This appears to have been an exceptionally busy period for the artist. In his biography of ___his father, the artist’s son Jiří Mucha (1966: 171) relates of this time: “Now that he had signed a ___contract with Champenois, he had four different jobs, each of which was enough for a full-time ___occupation. He had to continue with the illustrations for Seignobos’ History of Germany and prepare for a History of Spain, there was Ilsée, there was Champenois, and at the same time ___ there was Sarah and the many hours a week at the theatre.” ‘Sarah’ here refers to the actress ___Sarah Bernhardt, for whom Mucha undertook many commissions, and ‘Ilsée’ to Mucha’s illus___trations to Robert de Flers’ (1872–1927) Ilsée, Princesse de Tripoli (1897).

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Mucha is best known for his many figurative posters, completed from the later 1890s onwards, both theatrical (as in the case of the many commissions from Sarah Bernhardt) and allegorical. Mucha became known for a trademark style: depictions of typically the human, usually female, figure in compositions dominated by strong curvilinear forms, which lend them a great sense of motion and dynamism. Wittlich (2005: 8) comments that “(w)ithin the context of this movement [Art Nouveau], Alphonse Mucha developed his own style Mucha which had its own unique attributes, although it clearly fits within the general framework of the outlook of the fin-de-siècle.” An important formative influence on Mucha’s style – in evidence in the Arminius illustration – was his period as a theatrical set decorator in Vienna. Brabcová-Orlíková (1998: 16) argues of his illustrations: “Two fateful experiences influenced his future as an artist: his arrangement of the historical scenes of his illustrations was theatrical, and theatre posters and his friendship with the actress Sarah Bernhardt made him famous.” However while the bulk of his work follows predictable schemes, it is worth bearing in mind for our purposes that Mucha had not yet fully developed his characteristic style at the time of the illustration being considered here. His recent and formative training as a painter was still fresh. It may seem odd to find Mucha, considering the basis of his fame, illustrating historical themes, but we should remember that he had only actually arrived in Paris in 1888. Before then (from 1885) he had been attending the Academy in Munich, where he would have been exposed to contemporary history painting. Mucha had only come to Paris in the first place as a means of supporting himself through small commissions. Before this time Mucha had worked briefly as a painter of stage sets in Vienna. All of these influences had a bearing on his subsequent work. In Vienna Mucha was influenced in particular by the artist Hans Makart (1840–1884).24 As Sylvestrová and Štembera (2009: 13) comment, “(t)he ‘Makart style’ anticipated the arrival of the Wiener Secession. Makart was enchanting Vienna society with his allegorical and mythological paintings in the vein of historicism, rendered in strikingly rich colours.” Makart’s paintings were a break with the past and, while Mucha’s style ultimately differs from Makart’s, we can detect something of his influence in early works. Among art historians focusing on Mucha’s work,

_____ 24 Makart, an Austrian painter who studied in Munich under Karl Theodor von Piloty, was summoned to Vienna in 1869 by Emperor Franz Joseph. From then on he produced many largescale works, including theatrical sets, many of which met with controversy for their novel freer use of colour and their range of subjects. A highly influential figure for artists working in Vienna at the time, his historical subjects and increasingly fantastical works became unpopular after his death.

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___consensus is that Makart was an important formative influence for Mucha. ___Brabcová-Orlíková (1998: 16) similarly argues of Makart that “Makart’s fancy for ___flowers, his tendency to combine all fine art forms with decorative art, the over___size format of his paintings, and his distinctly feminine inspiration foretold ___some of the tendencies of Art Nouveau”. At an early stage Mucha was in contact ___with and was influenced by German and Austrian artists and historical painters ___(Makart had himself been influenced by Karl Theodor von Piloty in the early ___1860s). His acceptance of the commission from Armand Colin to illustrate his___torical themes only a few years after his arrival in Paris is not anomalous, and ___would have been consistent with his training to date. ___ Light is particularly important in this illustration, as in all the illustrations ___for Seignobos’ book. Mucha’s choice of setting of a dark grove enables him to ___make a very selective use of light to highlight Arminius in his sacrificial role, ___playing down other background elements and drawing special attention to his ___figure. The body of Varus, hidden in shade, is placed in direct contrast. Sato ___(2009: 246) comments on Mucha’s style in the Pierre de Vignes illustration for ___Seignobos’ volume: ___ “Mucha versteht es, die Beschränkung auf das schwarzweiße Medium geschickt zu nut___ zen, er spielt mit Kontrasten, Diagonalen, perspektivischen Verkürzungen, hebt anatomi___ sche Details wie das Kinn des Petrus de Vinea oder die Ferse des heiligen Adalbart hervor, ___ um den Blick des Betrachters auf das grauenvolle Sterben inmitten von Ratten oder von ___ Totenschädeln zu lenken.” ___ ___In the Arminius illustration Mucha makes use of powerful dark and light con___trasts to draw attention to Arminius first, then the druidic figures and the harp___ists, before finally highlighting the other more gruesome elements of the com___position. In so doing, he is clearly influenced by the organisation of stage sets, ___but also makes full use of the particular potentialities of engraving. Mucha ___would not have made the final engraving himself, but would have been aware ___of the effects that could be achieved. Lahoda (1998: 38) has highlighted the im___portant change in Mucha’s use of light here, and acknowledges that it is in the ___medium of illustration in the 1880s and early 1890s that this is first evident. ___ An interesting comparison to the Arminius illustration may be found in ___Mucha’s poster for Catulle Mendes’ 1898 Medea, in which Sarah Bernhardt per___formed the lead role.25 Compositionally the poster is in some ways similar. The ___rigidly upright figure of Medea stands knife in hand over her slain children, a ___ ___ ___ ___25 Alphonse Mucha, ‘Medea’, colour lithograph, 201.5 × 75 cm, 1898 (Moravská Galerie, Brno).

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terrifying apparition. The theme is similarly horrific, with the killer standing over their victim. In a certain sense though, this poster is less horrific than the illustration. Medea’s crazed expression offers some explanation for the horror. In contrast, what is disturbing about the Arminius illustration is his evident calm, and the conviction of what appears to be religious ritual. The horror cannot be rationalised away. In his biography of his father, the artist’s son Jiří Mucha (1966: 248) comments on horror and his father’s style in the illustrations for Seignobos: “Mucha suddenly blossomed forth as a remarkable historical painter. He has been accused of overgracefulness: yet he juggled with horror. He has been declared to be incapable of drawing human figures that were not virtually petrified: yet he launched into a bewildering debauch of movement. In his ‘Defenestration of Prague’ and especially in his ‘Victory of Julian over the Alemanni’ there is an intensity of life which no other artist has ever surpassed.”

Jiří Mucha appears to hint that the illustrations drew particular power and drama from their use of horror. This is perhaps one explanation for why Mucha chose to illustrate this imagined ceremony, rather than the battle itself or Arminius’ triumphant return. Mucha was also interested in mysticism and the occult. This should be seen in context, given that the Paris of this time was full of mystics and spiritualists. In an article discussing religion and superstition in France in the nineteenth century, Weber (1988: 405) comments on the ubiquity of the occult at this time: “The persistence of occultism and its appearance on all sides of the political spectrum suggest the widespread influence of what we too easily dismiss as simply silly. So do its recurrent themes: regeneration, social and individual; science and proto-science; conspiracy or counter-conspiracy; activities and forces acting below the surface, invisible to the uninitiated but fundamental to understanding and control of an increasingly opaque world.”

In artistic circles there was widespread fascination with the occult and with mysticism, and Mucha was no exception. As Sylvestrová and Štembera (2009: 43) comment of his preoccupations with freemasonry and mysticism, “(t)he Freemasonry movement (...) played a part in Mucha’s fading engagement with ornamentation and strengthened his resolve to endow his art with a profound moral message. Freemasonic, occult and spiritualistic symbols then started to spring up not only in the artist’s calligraphy, ornamentation and book illustrations but also in the decorative sections of his posters and panels.” We should not be surprised to find mystical elements in the Arminius illustration. As Sarah Mucha (2005: 12) has pointed out, his acquaintances included, amongst others,

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___Paul Gauguin, Paul Sérusier and the Nabis, as well as August Strindberg, the ___famous astronomer Camille Flammarion and Colonel de Rochas, with whom ___Mucha was involved in experiments in extrasensory perception, seances, and ___spiritual suggestion. ___ ___ ___ ___6 Nation and identity in Joseph Bergler’s painting ___ ___Having looked briefly at these two representations of Arminius, and the artists ___that made them, we will now consider national themes (if any) in the two works. ___In Bergler’s case a good starting point would be to consider why Bergler chose ___Arminius’ victory, given that his contract gave him an entirely free choice of ___subject matter. Vlnas, who has discussed the painting in several works, sug___gests that Bergler was well acquainted with Tacitus and would have known the ___story from its source (implying this from his education) as well as in subsequent ___literary interpretations: “Bergler přirozeně znal klasické zpracovaní tohoto pří___běhu u Tacita, bezprostřednictvím zdrojem se mu však stala Heřmanova bitva ___(1769), první díl básnické trilogie Friedricha Gottlieba Klopstocka” (Vlnas 1996: ___59).26 Gottfried Klopstock’s theatrical trilogy on Arminius of a few decades ear___lier, primarily its first part on the Teutoburg episode, had been an influential ___source for others who had represented Arminius in literature and art: “Z malířů ___zareagovali na tento klasicistní scénecký epos mimo jiné Angelika Kaufmanno___vá a Johann Heinrich Tischbein st. Druhého z uvedených umělců programově ___cituje ve svém díle i Bergler” (Vlnas 2002: 26).27 Blažíčková-Horová (1998: 29) ___argues that Tacitus is not the direct source, but that Bergler relied principally on ___Klopstock. It is unlikely that Bergler had not encountered at least one earlier ___interpretation of the Arminius theme, whether Klopstock’s play, Angelika ___Kauffmann’s painting, or a different source. Prahl (1995/96: 59) argues for the ___“ungewöhnlichen zeitgemäßen Universalität des Arminius-Themas” in Bergler’s ___time, with Klopstock as the main propagator of the legend. Yet we should not ___overstate the popularity of the Arminius theme at this time. Klopstock’s work ___ ___ ___ ___26 Translation: “Bergler naturally knew the classical rendition of this story from Tacitus, but ___an intermediary means of access was the Hermannsschlacht (1769), the first work in Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock’s poetic trilogy.” ___ 27 Translation: “Among these artists, Angelika Kauffmann and Johann Heinrich Tischbein the ___Elder, beside others, responded to this classically-set epic. Bergler also programmatically refer___ences the latter of these artists in his work.”

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did not enjoy the renown of a literary masterpiece and the Arminius theme is only represented in Germany and Austria in this period by a very few works. Bergler’s choice of the theme for an oil painting was comparatively unusual, and Klopstock alone does not explain it. Further characteristics in the legend must have appealed to Bergler for specific reasons. It is interesting to note that the scene is not just that of a triumphant warrior, but also that of a loving couple. Prahl (1995/96: 62) argues that it is ultimately a representation of a family. Vlnas (2002: 27) goes further in arguing that the painting itself is not really history painting at all, but in fact a kind of allegorical painting. The painting contains several motifs, which Bergler has chosen to convey particular messages. If there is a dimension of national representation here, it is transmitted through these motifs. One of these is an Enlightenment ideal, of the family and of the aristocrat.28 However, being a painting of ancient Germans and an ancient German hero, it also makes a claim to be a representation of ethnicity. This should be placed in the context in which Bergler was working and not seen in isolation. Being from Austria, but resident and working in Bohemia at the time of the painting, Bergler was effectively living on the geographical boundaries of German culture. This may seem unimportant, but it is not irrelevant when one considers that while a province of Austria-Hungary, Bohemia was not unambiguously ‘German’. The period that Bergler spent in Prague saw the beginnings of a subjective interest in Austrian, Czech and Slavic cultural identities, even if the ‘Czech National Revival’ had not yet begun. Furthermore the painting was paid for by the Czech Society of the Patriotic Friends of the Arts. This cannot be described as a patriotic society in the same sense as the Czech nationalist organisations of the later century. It was rather a group of Bohemian aristocrats interested in art, whose primary objective was to try to stop the further flight of artworks from Prague to the imperial capital of Vienna.29 This has little to do

_____ 28 Prahl (1995/96: 62) argues that this painting stands apart from the wider body of Bergler’s history painting: “Im Unterschied zu seinen späteren historischen Kompositionen hat Bergler hier keinen entschiedenen historischen Augenblick gewählt. Genauer noch: Er unterdrückt das in ihm enthaltene dramatische Moment, und so nähert sich die Atmosphäre der Szene seinen beliebten polyfiguralen Allegorien.” 29 The society aimed to build a public art gallery in Prague, incorporating the reduced Prague collection (what had not been sent to Vienna), and the private aristocratic collections of the Herrscher and Hof families. Masaryková (1979: 78) explains the society’s request to ThunHohenstein in terms of the voluntary basis on which it was constituted: “Vzhledem k tomu, že se majetkový fond Společnosti opíral jen o členské přispěvky, jak je vysvětleno v dopise, apeluje vlastenecká Společnost na patriotismus Thuna-Hohensteina a žádá jej, aby svého komorního

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___with the sort of ethnic Slav nationalism of the later nineteenth century (see dis___cussion below), but Bergler is nonetheless working within an intellectual and ___artistic milieu that is already engaged, at an incipient stage, with such issues of ___cultural nationalism.30 ___ Another motif in the painting is the natural world. It is interesting to note ___that many of the central European artists and writers who represented the ___Arminius theme – or those by whom they were influenced – demonstrated a ___particular fascination with the elemental force of nature, often depicting this ___allegorically.31 Some took an interest in primitivism, and Bergler is no exception ___to this. His largest cycle of prints, entitled Elements, depicts the four elements of ___ancient natural philosophy. Another set of prints, the Disasters, treats similar ___themes and focuses on human reactions to the natural world. Elsewhere Bergler ___also shows an interest in the animal world. As Prahl (2007: 25) comments: “Pas___toral environment, a child befriending animals or birds, the family of a satyr or ___Bacchus, family life in general, and the famous mythical children fed by ani___mals were among the recurrent themes of this artist.” In a certain sense we ___might see the painting of Arminius as a sort of primitive idyll too. Aside from the ___painting itself, we also have Bergler’s sketches of German heads, which demon___strate a broader interest in the ancient Germans. Such ethnographic studies ___have much in common with their seventeenth-century forebears, in their fasci___nation with the physiognomy and costume of ancient peoples. Examined along___side these sketches, the Arminius painting can be seen to show an interest in ___the ancient Germans themselves, beyond the simple allure of a dramatic histori___cal theme. The detail of the ancient bard and the costume of the soldiers (other ___than that of Arminius himself) betray an effort at primitivism absent in the artis___ ___ ___ ___ ___malíře prakticky Praze zapůjčil” (‘With a view to the fact that the ownership fund of the society ___drew alone on members’ donations, as is explained in a letter, the Patriotic Society appeals to the patriotism of Thun-Hohenstein and asks of him that he in effect lends his court painter to ___ Prague’). ___30 Masaryková (1979: 78) argues that the society’s formation was a reaction “po všech cen___tralizačních zákonech a germanizačních nařízeních z druhé poloviny osmnáctého století” ___(‘after all of the centralising laws and germanicising edicts of the second half of the eighteenth ___century’). However, the role of this society is still subject to debate, a topic which, as any___thing relating to the Czech ‘national revival’, continues to remain contentious in Czech scholarship. ___ 31 One obvious example of a contemporary is Caspar David Friedrich, who depicted an imag___ined natural rock tomb for Arminius situated in the German landscape: ‘Felsental (Das Grab ___des Arminius)’, oil-on-canvas, 49.5 x 70.5 cm, 1814 (Kunsthalle, Bremen).

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tic models upon which Bergler drew (for example Angelika Kauffmann’s painting of Arminius). Mythological history is also a motif in itself, through which we need to understand any representation of nature in this painting. As mentioned above, Bergler showed an interest in Bohemian history and folklore, and depicts themes from Czech legend in his paintings. Considering the broader context of literary inspiration and book illustration during the period, Machalíková places Bergler in the context of emerging attempts at revival of the Czech language from 1805, and links this to a widespread and growing interest in folklore at the time. As she comments, Bergler was inspired by old Czech chronicles of these stories, and one particular rendition of these (Machalíková 2007: 59): “According to contemporary literature, Joseph Bergler was inspired by reading Bohemian history and legends after his arrival in Prague. His principal model was the chronicle by Hájek, which inspired men of letters and artists, but was also a source of knowledge of the much discussed Czech history. Hájek is the source of the luxuriant and typical Bergler compositions from the years 1800 and 1801, out of which the two main ‘heroic’ ones – with Horymit and Bivoj – were soon published as independent prints and as book illustrations in smaller format.”

From this it is clear that although Bergler chose to represent Arminius, as other later German and Austrian nationalist painters would, unlike them Bergler’s repertoire also extended to Czech national myth. Yet the question remains of why an Austrian artist would choose to represent a German foundation myth shortly after becoming director of the Prague Academy of Arts. The Napoleonic wars are an important backdrop to the artistic and cultural context of the period; it is an obvious point that the wars had a profound impact throughout European society and art, whether this manifested itself in the sort of heroic valorisation of war to be found in David, or the hankering after a lost idyll of the peaceful past. Other artists who illustrated the Arminius theme (for example Caspar David Friedrich) were deeply affected by the invasions of the time. In this context it is interesting to note that Bergler was born in Passau which, at the time of his birth, as Prahl (1995/96: 60) points out, “existierte zwischen den Machtsphären von Österreich und Bayern”. He was an artist born in a border region open to cultural and military contestation. Bavaria had allied itself with Napoleon in the Rhine League against Austria in 1806 and the conflict spanned the early part of his years in Prague. One interpretation of the painting could be that it is a demonstration of Germanic cultural unity, its hero as progenitor of both the Austrians and the Bavarians, who had been at war. That the wars had a personal effect on Bergler is attested by an etching entitled ‘Allegory of the year 1813’, in which he portrays the ongoing European conflict

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___in a critical light.32 With the idyllic scenes that he portrayed, we can question ___whether Bergler falls into the category of those reacting to the wars by dreaming ___of a more peaceful past. Even the Arminius painting, despite its underlying ___theme of national heroic conquest, is more a representation of peace than a ___celebration of war. It is clear that though not directly affected by the events of ___war, he was no exponent of the conflict. This may be a reflection of the fact that ___his homeland was at its forefront. ___ This leads inevitably to the question of whether we can say that Bergler’s ___‘Arminius’ is an allegory for Germanic independence in the face of French (as ___represented by Roman) aggression? If so, there would be little to distinguish ___between Bergler’s use of Arminius and those of later German nationalists. The ___question is frequently posed in the literature about the painting. Prahl (1995/96: ___63) asks the question in a rather weighted manner: “Konnte der Künstler bei ___seinem ‘Hermann’ eher an jenen demokratisch-gemeinschaftsorientierten Cha___rakter gedacht haben, den einige dem germanischen Altertum damals zuspre___chen wollten?” Vlnas (2002: 26) also asks this question in his article on the ___painting and is representative of much scholarship in giving an affirmative res___ponse: “Byla to pohnutá léta napoleonských výbojů a není divu, že aktuální ___politické okolností naplnily novým obsahem i klasické arminovské téma.”33 It is ___certainly tempting to find a representation of contemporary events in Bergler’s ___Arminius. However we must not overlook the complexity of the historical con___text in which Bergler was working, nor retroject a later, more developed concept ___of German nationalism onto this period. ___ We must ask what it meant to portray the Arminius theme in early nine___teenth-century Bohemia. Bergler would have chosen his theme because he ___thought it would be pleasing to his patrons. Yet these patrons were a Czech aris___tocratic patriotic society. From this we can infer that the idea of being patriotic ___in Bohemia at this time, at least for the upper classes, did not necessarily mean ___a rejection of German culture. Indeed as much of the aristocracy in Bohemia ___was German or Austrian in this period, the idea of patriotism being espoused ___here was a world away from that of the later Czech national revivalist move___ment, rather presupposing political loyalty to Vienna. Turning now to look at ___the historical context of Mucha’s illustration, we will see that this dynamic had ___changed significantly by the later nineteenth century. ___ ___ ___ 32 See further on this Prahl (2007: 27). ___ 33 Translation: “It was the turbulent years of the Napoleonic wars and it is no wonder that ___contemporary political events dominated both new subject matter and classical depictions of ___Arminius.”

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7 Mucha and Charles Seignobos’ history Before we can examine the national dimension of Mucha’s illustration, we need first to understand something of the book for which it was commissioned and its author. It is probably fair to say that Charles Seignobos, the French historian of French, medieval and ancient European history, was more famous in his time than he is today. His method of historical enquiry was based primarily on an investigation of the institutions that make up any given society. Prost (1994: 103) recapitulates this as follows: “L’histoire a pour but de décrire, au moyen des documents, les sociétés passées et leurs métamorphoses. Cette définition, qu’il donne dans son premier article, résume à elle seule un projet.” The title of the book we are considering reflects this approach. Key turning points in German history are highlighted, of which Arminius’ victory over the Romans is given as one of the first. Sato (2009: 246) comments on the book’s organisation: “Die einzelnen ‘Episoden’ dieses Werkes, das in Einzellieferungen erschien, waren jeweils einer berühmten Person der deutschen Geschichte gewidmet – von den alten Germanen über das Heilige Römische Reich Deutscher Nation bis zu den napoleonischen Kriegen. Ereignisse und Themen aus jüngerer Zeit sparte Seignobos, der Quellenkritik und positivistische Methode zu einer Ereignisgeschichte verband, wohlweislich aus.”

Primary historical sources were evidently of key importance to Seignobos, so a natural question would be to ask what Seignobos’ attitude towards Tacitus was. This is uncommonly straightforward to determine in Seignobos’ case. In his Introduction aux études historiques, a methodological text for historical enquiry written in 1898, Seignobos makes extensive negative comments about Tacitus as a historian, often using him as a paragon of what the historian should avoid. This occurs at several different points in the work. Seignobos (1898b: 123) gives Tacitus’ comments in the Germania concerning German land ownership as a prime example of what he calls ‘la critique interne’: “Quand un zoologiste décrit la forme et la longeur d’un muscle, quand un physiologiste présente le tracé d’un mouvement, on peut accepter en bloc leurs résultats parce qu’on sait par quelle méthode, par quels instruments, par quel système de notation ils les ont obtenus. Mais quand Tacite dit des Germains: Arva per annos mutant, on ne sait d’avance ni s’il a correctement procédé pour se renseigner, ni même en quel sens il a pris les mots arva et mutant; il faut pour s’en assurer une opération préalable. Cette opération est la critique interne.”

Seignobos is clearly of the opinion that Tacitus’ methods are flawed. Criticising historians who overly dramatise their narratives to add colour to their writ-

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___ings,34 he labels Tacitus as an ‘artist historian’ together with certain other chief ___offenders (Seignobos 1898b: 144): ___ “La déformation dramatique consiste à grouper les faits pour en augmenter la puissance ___ dramatique en concentrant sur un seul moment ou un seul personnage ou un seul groupe ___ des faits qui ont été dispersés. C’est ce qu’on appelle faire ‘plus vrai que la vérité’. C’est la ___ déformation la plus dangereuse, celle des historiens artistes, d’Hérodote, de Tacite, des ___ Italiens de la Renaissance.” ___ ___Criticising extrapolation from a limited range of facts or circumstances, Seigno___bos (1898b: 149) singles out the Germania as example in the footnote to his com___ments: “Par exemple les chiffres sur la population, le commerce, la richesse des ___pays européens donnés par les ambassadeurs vénitiens du XVIe siècle, et les ___descriptions des usages des Germains dans la Germanie de Tacite.” He warns ___against the dangers of following Caesar’s or Tacitus’ descriptions of Gaul or ___Germany too literally (Seignobos 1898b: 161). Finally, he condemns Tacitus, ___together with Livy, as writers whose focuses are entirely dictated by their per___sonal curiosities (Seignobos 1898b: 191–192): ___ “Quant au triage des faits à mettre dans ces cadres, il s’est longtemps opéré sans aucun ___ principe fixe; les historiens prenaient, suivant leur fantaisie personnelle, parmi les faits ___ qui s’étaient produits dans une période, un pays ou une nation, tout ce qui leur semblait ___ intéressant ou curieux. Tite Live et Tacite, pêle-mêle avec les guerres et les révolutions, ra___ contaient les inondations, les épidémies et la naissance des monstres.” ___ ___It is clear from this that the text-based historian had a very low opinion of Taci___tus and his reliability. ___ However, the historian’s low opinion of Tacitus does not necessarily dic___tate his approach to, and interpretation of, the Teutoburg episode. In his His___toire du peuple romain, Seignobos gives a fairly factual account of events in ___the lead-up to the battle, which does not involve any particular bias. For ex___ample, he expresses his opinion of the origin of the resistance as follows: “The ___Germans were not yet accustomed to the Roman system of government, by ___which the governor toured the country to judge important cases. They were ___displeased with his court, where Latin was spoken and cases were conducted ___by foreign lawyers” (Seignobos 1902: 276). At the same time it is clear from ___certain elements in Seignobos’ description that he is nonetheless following the ___ ___ ___ 34 See Seignobos (1898b: 227 n. 1), in which he refers to Polybius and argues that discussion ___of the relative merits of approbatory or disapprobatory judgements in history has no place in ___his work.

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classical sources for the episode very closely. An example is his reporting of Augustus’ comments in response to the disaster: “Augustus was filled with consternation. There was a report that he was heard to cry when alone at night, ‘Varus, give me back my legions!’” (Seignobos 1902: 277; following Suetonius, Augustus 23). It is difficult to state definitively whether Seignobos sympathises more with the Romans or the Germans in his narrative, or whether with neither. This is a question of especial interest given that he was French, and that French identity in a nineteenth-century nationalist context variably engaged with concepts of a Gallo-Celtic nationalism and identification with Rome (see further Luce & Woodman 1993: 104). Later in the same book there is perhaps a clue in his description of the nature of German contributions in later antiquity (Seignobos 1902: 441): “The Germania of Tacitus gives us our best notion of what the German of the first century was. By the fifth century, most of them had made considerable progress from that primitive state, notably in the matter of religion. For many of them were now Christians, even though in the heretical and Arian form. But they had retained and they gave to their new surroundings certain marked qualities and customs which were of priceless value. They had their vices, notably drinking and gaming, but compared with the conquered Romans certain virtues were theirs also which count for much in the formation of communities. They were especially worthy on the side of the family life and the love of home, while in this regard the Romans had been lamentably lacking. We have already noticed this as one element of Rome’s weakness.”

We can see that Seignobos’ view was a nuanced one. He recognises the Germanic contribution to the Roman legacy, while considering the Romanisation of Gaul a necessary process in France’s full development as a nation. Commenting on the threat of Germanic invasion of Gaul, Seignobos (1902: 242–243) argues: “While these were to be ultimately the source of new life to a decadent world, it was well that west of the Alps a thoroughly Latinised state should be built up. As a result we shall see Gaul becoming France; a Romance nation with all its possibilities for a brilliant civilisation and splendid contributions to the world’s welfare.” He goes on to argue that it was only due to Caesar that later ‘Gallo-Frankish’ figures such as Clovis and Charlemagne could exist. In sum, Seignobos agreed with the contemporary belief that Germanic invasion was necessary to Rome’s regeneration with two qualifications: firstly, that in Arminius’ time the Germans were in too primitive a state for that to happen effectively, and secondly, that when the necessary invasions were eventually to occur, it was only the fusion of Roman civilisation with the dynamism brought by the conquerors that led to the true flowering of European medieval

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___civilisation. His epitomising this process in France reflects the national feeling ___of his time.35 ___ We might consider the degree to which Mucha followed Seignobos’ histori___cal approach in his illustrations to the latter’s work. In the case of the Arminius ___episode this is difficult to answer precisely. On Mucha’s general understanding ___of history, the format he later chose for the ‘Slav Epic’, for which he had much ___greater free rein than he had for the Seignobos commission, is indicative. His ___voluntarily choice to illustrate the history of the Slavs through a series of key ___events reflects a like understanding of history as a series of decisive turning ___points. It must be recognised though that this may have been dictated by quite ___different concerns. Mucha was, after all, an artist and one that revelled in drama ___(augmented by his background in theatre painting), and so in illustrating the ___history of the Slavs, he would wish to employ the most engaging and dramatic ___events. The scale of the work is also monumental, making it essential that the ___event portrayed retains the attention of the observer and that it is not lifeless ___and stultified. This work and its artistic requirements aside, it is also worth re___membering the conventions of Mucha’s artistic training. As Wittlich (2005: 8) ___comments on Mucha’s view of history: “His subsequent studies at the Academy ___of Art in Munich led him by way of the contemporary cult of historical painting ___to his own peculiar vision of history as a series of dramatic and fateful scenes.” ___Although Mucha’s work was unconventional and groundbreaking in many ___ways, we cannot see him in isolation from the world of historical painting in ___Munich in which he received his first training. ___ Having set the context of Mucha’s illustration, we will now move to a con___sideration of where we can identify national themes in the illustration, and how ___these might have been informed by Mucha’s ideas about the Czech nation. ___ ___ ___ ___8 Nation and identity in Mucha’s illustration ___ ___By Mucha’s time the Arminius theme had become a conventional motif of Ger___manic nationalism. We must ask both what Mucha’s relationship was with ___France, the country in which he worked during the apex of his career, and with ___ ___ ___ 35 Seignobos (1908: 3) follows contemporary racial divisions in grouping Europeans and ___ south Asians into an ‘Aryan’ category, to which he attributes the greatest achievements of civi___lisation. However, in neither case does this racial scheme form any particular foundation for ___his arguments.

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Germany and Austria. In the case of France the answer is uncomplicated. Mucha received great welcome and enjoyed great success in Paris, and was a friend of many of the famous French artists of the time.36 In addition to this it seems that Mucha felt there to be a certain kinship between France and his native land. This is most clearly manifest in a dramatic painting of his of 1918, at the time of the Czech struggle for independence, entitled ‘France embraces Bohemia’.37 The painting depicts a naked female personification of Bohemia on a cross, bearing a drape with the royal crest of the Czech crownlands. Leaning down from above the cross and kissing this woman is a male personification of France, with Phrygian cap, who loosens the bonds with which Bohemia had been bound. With her white head band and expression of spiritual release, she is greatly reminiscent of Jacques-Louis David’s ‘Marat’,38 suggesting connotations of the French revolution. Mucha here acknowledged the role played by French revolutionary thinkers in inspiring Czech nationalists. However, for Mucha German and Austrian culture was a different matter. Austria was the empire from which the Czechs, and many other Slavic peoples, were seeking their independence.39 Historically the large Sudeten and other German minorities in Bohemia had held most of the state offices and power, and continued to dominate public and private life in Mucha’s day. Much of the Czech nationalist movement throughout the nineteenth century was based upon a rebellion against this status quo and an attempt to secure greater rights for ethnic Czechs.40 The theme of the struggle against oppression is prominent in both Mucha’s work for the Bosnia-Herzegovina pavilion of the 1900 Paris World Exhibition, and in the episodes of the Slav epic which depict this Germanic-Slavic conflict.41

_____ 36 For example Auguste Rodin, who accompanied Mucha on a tour of his homeland on his return there. 37 Alphonse Mucha, ‘France embraces Bohemia’, oil-on-canvas, 105 × 122 cm, 1918 (Mucha Museum, Prague). 38 Jacques-Louis David, ‘La Mort de Marat’, oil-on-canvas, 162 × 128 cm, 1793 (Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Brussels). 39 Since the ‘Battle of the White Mountain’ in 1620, in which the Protestant Bohemian estates had been defeated by the Catholic forces of the Habsburgs and their allies, Bohemia, Moravia, Czech Silesia and Slovakia had been part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. 40 See, for example, Ján Kollár’s Dobré vlastnosti národu slovanského (‘The Noble Character of the Slavic Nation’, 1822). Josef Jungmann’s work on the Czech language, leading to the publication of his Slovník česko-německý (‘Czech-German dictionary’, 1834–1839), emphasised the qualities of the Czech language over the German. See further Filipová (2009: 67). 41 See further Mucha (2005: 16) on the difficulties of the Bosnia-Herzegovina commission for the artist. The first mural in the ‘Slav Epic’ depicts the first Slavs in terror in the wilderness,

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___ Seen in this light we may begin to appreciate the difficulties a nationalist ___such as Mucha would have had in illustrating a book which celebrated German ___history. In his biography Jiří Mucha (1966: 114) singles out the Seignobos com___mission for special comment, and his discussion of it is worth quoting in full: ___ “The offer put father, who was so intensely patriotic, into quite an embarrassing dilemma. ___ Was he to present himself for the first time to the public in connection with the German ___ nation? He worried over it for several days till he found a solution. He was no chauvinist. ___ He recognised the qualities of other nations, all he wanted was a fair share for his own ___ country. The Germans claimed there was no such thing as an independent Slavic culture ___ in central Europe. This was not true and made him want to constantly prove the contrary. After pondering over the offer for several days he finally signed, accepting an undertaking ___ that was to occupy him until 1898, and plunged into the painstaking work of historical ___ preparation. His plan was simple: He would illustrate such moments in German history ___ when the Czechs had played a decisive point or even influenced the whole of Europe’s ___ destiny. From the earliest period he chose scenes which summed up the German spirit, ___ such as Arminius’ victory over the Romans, Julian’s defeat of the Alemanni, and the death ___ of Barbarossa.” ___ ___Several important points emerge from the artist’s son’s comments. Firstly, there ___is evidence here that Mucha was for a brief time in doubt over whether to take ___up the commission, and this because of his nationalist feeling, which demon___strates that even at this early stage it was a major consideration in what he did. ___Secondly, there additionally seems to be evidence here that Mucha’s approach ___in these particular illustrations is coloured by dictates of ideology, rather than ___mere requirements of artistic form, and further that these relate specifically to ___Czech-German relations. Lastly, the passage indicates that the Arminius theme ___in particular may have served Mucha in a manner useful for demonstrating the ___German spirit as a Czech nationalist. ___ While these points are very useful for our purposes, there are problems with ___Jiří Mucha’s account here. We must remember that his interest is in portraying ___his father in the best light possible. Some reviewers have questioned aspects of ___the biography’s selectivity and approach (see, for example, Fern 1970). The ___principal problem is in the clarity of the argument. He states that his father’s ___way of reconciling himself to the fact that he was illustrating German history ___was to illustrate only those subjects which emphasised the Czech contribution ___to events. But he does not seem to give any examples of this from the work, in___stead citing examples (such as the illustration we are considering) which sum ___ ___ ___entitled ‘The Slavs in Their Original Homeland: Between the Turanian Whip and the Sword of ___the Goths’, tempera-on-canvas, 610 x 810 cm, 1912 (Veletržní Palace, National Gallery, Prague).

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up the German spirit. It is unclear what the connection between these points is, unless what he is implying – which would be very interesting – is that the inhuman quality and barbarism of the Arminius illustration reflects upon those qualities of German culture which wrongly held the Czechs in submission. However, while recognising that this is a possibility, the deduction cannot be clearly made out, and Jiří Mucha may in any case only be giving his father’s work the connotations he does so retrospectively. Nonetheless these comments shed an interesting light on the fact that this illustration and the book generally did engage Mucha’s nationalist feeling at some level. It is clear elsewhere in Mucha’s work and writings that he did have nationalist feelings. In later life Mucha reminisces about his activities as a youth in the patriotic association Sokol,42 in a letter sent in response to a poll organised by the local council on the occasion of a patriotic event: “Ovšem, že jsem byl jedním z nich! A abych dal průchod pravdě, musím dosvědčit, že to nebylo pouze pro sokolskou červenou košili, co jsme si tak rázně a hrdinsky vykracovali, ale bylo to v první řadě následkem vědomí nevyslovné cti, že my, kluci, nejsme pouzí nezbedové kluci, ale že už, jako ‘ti velcí’, máme na sobě košili červenou – a to, červenou proto, že je do ruda rozžhavena žárem naší lásky k národu, a také proto, aby na ní nebylo vidět, že je prosáklá naší krví, prolitou v boji za naši vlast.”43

We must make allowance for the fact that these are Mucha’s later reminiscences in a patriotic context. However it is clear that firstly Mucha was involved in such a patriotic organisation from an early age, and secondly that he imbibed many of its ideas before he left his homeland to study and work abroad. Particularly in the last part of this excerpt, in which he speaks of the red colour of the garb worn by members of the Sokol – and the notion of shedding one’s blood for one’s country –, we can see how fervent Mucha’s patriotism was. Lipp (2005: 12) argues that his early years in Ivančice were influential, where the struggles of the national revival were being played out at a local level: “In Ivančice the re-

_____ 42 The Sokol (meaning ‘Falcon’) was a youth organisation with the ostensible aim of promoting gymnastic activity, but was in reality a nationalist group with the aim of fomenting support for a free Czechoslovak state. 43 Cited in Bydžová & Srp (2005: 25), with origin given as “Národní politika XLIV, 1926, c. 182, 4.7., s. 2”. Translation: “Of course I was one of them! And to tell the truth I must witness that it was not only for the Falcon’s red shirt that we contended so fiercely and heroically, but it was foremost the result of our consciousness of an unvoiced feeling, that we boys were not only misbehaving youths but that we already donned the red shirt like the ‘grown-ups’ – which was red because it was hot with our love of our nation and also because, as was clear to see, it was soaked in the blood we spilled in the battle for our country.”

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___vival was a keenly felt passion: a struggle to maintain a Czech-speaking school, ___to hold a seat on the town council and to celebrate Moravian ethnic traditions, ___including their exotic folk tales, colourful native costumes and whitewashed ___cottages adorned with highly stylised floral and botanic motifs.” Lipp and Jack___son (1998: 14) argue that Ivančice “embedded in him a sense of religious cere___mony, of revered folk traditions, and of the hunger of a repressed nation for ___freedom and recognition (...). [Ivančice] impressed upon him the obligation of a ___true Czech artist to be both priest and patriot, to employ the direct emotive ___power of art to inform and uplift his people with a compelling vision of moral ___ideals.” Arguably we cannot say that at such an early stage Mucha had a fully ___formed idea of what art’s mission was and how he would attempt to use it to ___help his countrymen in their struggle. Undoubtedly though the environment in ___which he grew up did leave him with a strong love of his homeland which ___would be a powerful factor in his art throughout his life.44 ___ Mucha’s nationalism is clearest in his subsequent works. The series of large ___mural paintings of the ‘Slav Epic’ (some as large as 6 x 8 m), which Mucha com___pleted between 1912 and 1928, covers more than a thousand years of the history ___of the Slavs and includes both legendary and historical events. Commenting on ___this work Mucha said: “I am convinced that the development of every nation ___may proceed with success only if it grows organically and continuously from the ___nation’s own roots and that for the preservation of this continuity knowledge of ___its historical past is indispensable.”45 The work was conceived of by Mucha as a ___didactic history of the Slavs with the aim of inspiring those fighting for their ___freedom in the present.46 Its inspiration can be found in an earlier commission ___he received for the 1900 Paris World Exhibition, in which the Austro-Hungarian ___authorities asked Mucha to decorate the pavilion for the newly acquired prov___ince of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Mucha chose to use the opportunity as a means of ___portraying the history of the southern Slavs and their struggle against oppres___sion, and gave prominence to the display of Slavic folk traditions. This was not ___without a certain irony, considering that Mucha’s patron in that instance could ___ ___ ___44 However, we cannot argue from this that Mucha was an aggressive and expansionist na___tionalist as some of his German contemporaries. See Lipp (2005: 21): “Like his countryman and ___contemporary, Masaryk, Mucha believed in the destiny of nations and sought to spur his na___tion to fulfil its destiny by appealing to what he conceived of as its best and highest innate ___virtues. But this belief was only the specific application of a general principle.” 45 Cited in Mucha (2005: 21). See also Sayer (1998: 350). ___ 46 The ‘Slav Epic’ was intended by Mucha and his Slavophile American patron Charles Crane ___to be a gift to the city of Prague. However, Mucha stipulated that a fitting place be found for it ___to be displayed and, since this never happened, the work remained in storage for many years.

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be said to be the most recent oppressor. Yet this work was clearly a powerful inspiration for the artist. He later commented: “When conveying the famous or mournful history of a brotherly Slavic nation, I could feel deep within myself the joys and pains of my own country, and all Slavs in general. Before I finished the short southern-Slavic epic, I was completely absorbed in the idea of the Slav epic; I could visualise it all in my mind, glorious and great, radiating light into the souls of all people, posing both a shining ideal and a dire warning (...). And I made a solemn promise to devote the rest of my days to working for my nation.”47

These two works can be highlighted as most clearly demonstrating Mucha’s particular interest in nationalist themes relating to his homeland. For the Slav Epic, Sato (2009: 246) finds a stylistic predecessor in the Scènes et épisodes de l’histoire d’Allemagne and in a similar volume on the history of Spain: “In den großformatigen Gemälden des ‘Slawischen Epos’ konnte Mucha diese Erfahrungen im Genre der Historienmalerei nutzen.” It is likely that the experience of representing the national legends of other nations affected his later representation of those of his own culture. Mucha chose to return to his homeland in the 1900s after several successful years abroad. As Bergler a century before, he then spent a similar length of time there until his death. Mucha’s time in America (and in particular his collaboration with his patron Charles Crane) was likely a contributing factor to this revived interest in his homeland. Yet the artist’s writings of the time reveal that he envisioned this homecoming in an almost missionary fashion. Lamenting the fact that he had worked so hard for the causes of others, he writes that “I have been giving everything away to others while the requirements of my own nation have been left neglected. This is why now, on the threshold of a new century, I am contemplating how I could, in my own humble way, make a contribution to my people.”48 What is Mucha referring to when he laments his efforts spent on behalf of others? Given that the majority of his time had been spent in completing commercial commissions, it is most likely this that is meant. Could he also be referring more particularly to illustrated books such as the one we are looking at here? This cannot be established definitively, but the particular opposition he constructs between giving away to others and the needs of his own nation might suggest that this giving away was to other peoples. Despite the strength of his conviction, determination, and actual relocation to Bohemia, Mucha’s relationship with his homeland was not an easy one.

_____ 47 Cited in Sylvestrová & Štembera (2009: 61), from Mucha & Kadlečíková (1982: 237–238). 48 Cited in Bydžová & Srp (2005: 61), from Mucha & Kadlečíková (1982: 282).

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___While not understating Mucha’s contacts and connections in the Czechlands, ___Lahoda (1998: 89) hints at the lack of acknowledgement the artist received on ___his return: “I když Mucha nenašel ve své vlasti takový ohlas jako v Paříži a jeho ___umění bylo doma příjimáno částečně s obdivem a částečně polemicky, nelze ___přehlížet kontakty, které s domácím prostředím měl, i podíl kulturního s socio___psychologického dědictví pří jeho vstupu na scénu pařížské kultury před rokem ___1900.”49 Whether this had more to do with the artist or his country is hard to ___say; he has certainly not been the only famous Czech to have had a difficult re___lationship with his homeland. There was certainly, for example, some ill feeling ___from younger Czech artists towards Mucha’s award of the commission for the ___decoration of the Obecní Dům (Czech Municipal Hall) in Prague, who felt that it ___would have been fairer to have held an open competition. Yet on the other hand ___the financial remuneration Mucha asked for his work on this occasion was well ___below the norm.50 Whatever the origin of these difficulties, similarly to many ___artists and historians representing their national histories, these very difficulties ___may have been a contributing factor to his desire to represent his nation in the ___first place. ___ ___ ___9 Arminius and the Czech nation ___ ___In this chapter we have looked at two examples of how artists working in a ___Czech context at either end of the nineteenth century chose to represent a theme ___from classical history, and explored some of their motivations for doing so. It is ___important to emphasise that the artists did in fact choose to depict Arminius, ___both being given a free choice by their patrons. Our focus here has necessarily ___been a narrow one. There has not been space to consider other representations ___of Arminius or the broader use in the nineteenth century of national progenitors ___drawn from classical myth. However, the national context of the works of ___art considered here is very specific. The Czech case casts an interesting light on ___the relationship between art and the classics, and nationalism, during the pe___riod. ___ ___ ___ ___49 Translation: “Even though Mucha did not meet with such acclaim in his homeland as he ___had done in Paris, and at home his art was received in part with admiration and in part polemically, it is not possible to disregard the contacts he had with his home environment, and the ___ role of his cultural and psychological inheritance when he entered the Parisian cultural scene ___before 1900.” ___50 See Wittlich (2000) further on this.

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In terms of style and iconography both the painting and the illustration are atypical of their period for a representation of Arminius. In Bergler’s case this is not on account of Arminius himself, but because of the other details of the painting. These have much in common with later nineteenth-century paintings of Arminius and distinguish Bergler’s painting from those of his nearer contemporaries (Tischbein, Kauffmann, and Friedrich). We find many motifs of primitivism and an attempt to depict the ancient Germans as they might actually have been, wolfskins, bards and all. This would later become the standard hackneyed iconography for depicting Arminius and ancient Germany more generally. In Bergler’s case this interest is a personal one, common to his other work, but it distinguishes his representation from others of his time. Likewise Mucha’s illustration is also atypical in its style and iconography. Primarily this is because it is an Art Nouveau representation, and one heavily influenced by theatrical design, where this was not otherwise the favoured style for depicting Arminius (even very late German representations tend to stick to the outmoded style of history painting). To some degree, the iconography of the painting – bards, winged helmets, the dark woodland – do follow the works of contemporaries, but Mucha puts them to very different uses. We might also reconsider the role that Arminius is made to play in the painting and illustration. From this perspective Bergler’s painting is typical of its time: his Arminius is an idealised neoclassical hero, not an ancient Cheruscan. There is little to distinguish Bergler here from Kauffmann or Tischbein. Unlike his soldiery, Arminius is not the ancient German of the later nineteenth century. Conversely, Mucha’s Arminius is very much not the Arminius of his time. Other contemporary (German) depictions of Arminius tend towards a straightforward ideal of militaristic and nationalist masculinity on the field of battle.51 Mucha’s Arminius is less a soldier than a priest, a slight and almost demonic figure presiding over a horrific ritual. With Mucha we have moved a long way from both aristocratic and patriarchal representations (such as Bergler’s), and from muscular nationalist depictions, to something else. While an object of grim fascination – as so many of the other subjects of Mucha’s figurative art –, here Arminius is inevitably not a hero, but a villain. In both cases we are looking at the representation of a national culture. We cannot say that Bergler’s painting is ‘nationalist’, in the sense that it promotes a

_____ 51 We might compare, for example, the ‘Krefeld Cycle’ of Peter Janssen, a series of murals depicting the Varusschlacht, completed between 1870 and 1873. The murals are today housed in the Townhall of Krefeld.

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___contemporary idea of a German or Austrian nation or empire.52 But it does make ___a claim to represent the progenitors of a contemporary cultural and ethnic en___tity. And importantly for the geographical context in which Bergler was work___ing, this entity was demarked primarily culturally, rather than by means of na___tional borders (as it has been since the First World War). Beyond this we may ___conjecture a more subtle message about communal Germanic cultural origins in ___this painting, given the conflicts of the artist’s time – but we can only conjecture ___this, and this cannot be firmly established. Mucha’s illustration is also a repre___sentation of a national culture, in this case not the artist’s own. This would be ___insignificant if it were not for the fact that Mucha had a strong interest in repre___senting his own national culture, often seen through the prism of the oppres___sion inflicted upon it by the national culture he represents in this illustration. ___We cannot label the illustration ‘nationalist’ on this basis alone, but we are able ___to observe that this is the artist’s own conception of Arminius (not necessarily ___prescribed by the work of historical writing to which it was attached), and that it ___is not a favourable depiction of him. ___ More generally, stepping back from the specific Czech context, some obser___vations can be made about the use of the classics here. In both cases we are very ___far removed from the original context of the defeat of a Roman general by a ___German chieftain at the beginning of the first century. In their representations, ___Bergler and Mucha both transmit a tradition of Arminius that already exists as ___part of national legend. There is little interest here in the Romans or the Ger___mans as they actually were. Nor is there any real interest in historical accuracy. ___Subject to the artistic styles in which they worked and the expectations of their ___patrons, both artists use their imagination freely to recreate a past that has more ___interest in the present than in classical Rome. There are many more (and many ___more obviously nationalist) representations from the period that might be con___sidered, but these two Czech examples highlight the extent to which classical ___history could be stretched to be meaningful in a local and national context in ___the nineteenth century. ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___52 This does not mean that Bergler does not make allusions of a connection between ancient ___and contemporary Germanic societies. Vlnas (2002: 27) finds this in the presence of the eagle in the painting, although this is not definitive: “Prostřednictvím motivu orla malíř symbolicky ___ naznačil také přenesení tradic antického impéria na Svatou říši Římskou německého národa” ___(‘Through the motif of the eagle the artist also symbolically marks the carrying over of the tra___ditions of ancient empire to the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation’).

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Bibliography Blažíčková-Horová, Nadĕžda (1998): Czech 19th-Century Painting, Prague: National Gallery. Brabcová-Orlíková, Jana (1998): Bohemia and Paris. In: Victor Arwas, Jana Brabcová-Orlíková & Anna Dvořák (eds.), Alphonse Mucha. The Spirit of Art Nouveau, New Haven: Yale University Press, 16–29. Bydžová, Lenka & Karel Srp (eds.) (2005): Alfons Mucha. Slovanstvo Braterské, Prague: Galerie hlavního města Prahy. Fern, Alan (1970): Jiří Mucha, ‘Alphonse Mucha’. In: The Art Bulletin 52, 221–222. Feulner, Adolf (1929): Skulptur und Malerei des 18. Jahrhunderts in Deutschland, WildparkPotsdam: Akademische Verlagsgesellschaft Athenaion. Filipová, Marta (2009): The Construction of National Identity in Czech Art, PhD thesis University of Glasgow (published online at http://theses.gla.ac.uk/791/). Flers, Robert de (1897): Ilsée, Princesse de Tripoli, Paris: H. Piazza. Husslein-Arco, Agnes, Jean Louis Gaillemin, Michel Hilaire & Christian Lange (eds.) (2009): Alfons Mucha. Katalog zur Ausstellung in Wien, 2.2.–1.6.2009 und in München 25.9.2009– 10.1.2010, Munich: Hirmer. Jungmann, Josef (1834–1839): Slovník česko-německý (5 vols.), Prague: Fetterl. Kleist, Heinrich von (1821): Hinterlassene Schriften. Herausgegeben von Ludwig Tieck, Berlin: Reimer. Kleist, Heinrich von (1920): Kleists sämtliche Werke. Herausgegeben von Arthur Eloesser, Leipzig: Tempel-Verlag. Kollár, Ján (1822): Dobré vlastnosti národu slovanského, Peßt: Trattner. Lahoda, Vojtěch (1998): Dějiny českého vytvarného umění. Vol. 4.1: 1890–1938, Prague: Academia. Lipp, Ronald F. (2005): The message and the man. In: Sarah Mucha (ed.), Alphonse Mucha, London: Frances Lincoln, 10–22. Lipp, Ronald F. & Suzanne Jackson (1998): The spirit of Mucha. In: Victor Arwas, Jana BrabcováOrlíková & Anna Dvořák (eds.), Alphonse Mucha. The Spirit of Art Nouveau, New Haven: Yale University Press, 12–15. Luce, Torrey J. & Anthony J. Woodman (ed.) (1993): Tacitus and the Tacitean Tradition, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Machalíková, Pavla (2007): Inspiration found in literature and book illustration. In: Roman Prahl (ed.), Joseph Bergler and Graphic Art in Prague 1800–1830, Olomouc: Muzeum umění, 54–59. Masaryková, Anna (1979): Praha a Josef Bergler, první ředitel umělecké akademie. In: Umění 27, 77–79. Mucha, Alphonse (1975): Lectures on Art, London: Academy Editions. Mucha, Jiří (1966): Alphonse Mucha, London: Heinemann. Mucha, Jiří & Marta Kadlečíková (1982): Alfons Mucha, Prague: Mladá fronta. Mucha, Sarah (ed.) (2005): Alphonse Mucha, London: Frances Lincoln. Prahl, Roman (1995/96): Die Prager ‘Galerie lebender Maler’, Joseph Bergler und sein Hermann nach der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald. In: Bulletin of the National Gallery in Prague 5–6, 53–69. Prahl, Roman (ed.) (2007): Joseph Bergler and Graphic Art in Prague 1800–1830, Olomouc: Muzeum umění. Prost, Antoine (1994): Seignobos revisité. In: Vingtième Siècle. Revue d’histoire 43, 100–118.

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___Sato, Tomoko (2009): Photography. The other side of Mucha. In: Agnes Husslein-Arco, Jean Louis Gaillemin, Michel Hilaire & Christian Lange (eds.), Alfons Mucha. Katalog zur Ausstellung in ___ Wien, 2.2.–1.6.2009 und in München 25.9.2009–10.1.2010, Munich: Hirmer, 65–69. ___ Sayer, Derek (1998): The Coasts of Bohemia, Princeton: Princeton University Press. ___Seignobos, Charles (1898a): Scènes et épisodes de l’histoire d’Allemagne, Paris: A. Colin. ___Seignobos, Charles (1898b): Introduction aux études historiques, Paris: Hachette. ___Seignobos, Charles (1902): History of the Roman People. Translated and edited by William Farley, New York: Henry Holt & Co. ___ Seignobos, Charles (1907): History of Ancient Civilisation, London: T. Fisher Unwin. ___ Seignobos, Charles (1908): History of Medieval Civilisation, London: C. Scribner Sons. ___Sylvestrová, Marta & Petr Štembera (eds.) (2009): Alfons Mucha. Czech Master of the Belle ___ Epoque, Brno & Budapest: Moravská galerie & Szépművészeti Múzeum. ___Vlnas, Vít (2002): Heřman po bitvě v Teutoburském lese přijímá ukořištěné trofeje. In: Dějiny a současnost 24, 26–27. ___ Vlnas, Vít (ed.) (1996): Obrazárna v Čechách 1796–1918, Prague: Národní Galerie. ___ Weber, Eugen (1988): Religion and superstition in nineteenth-century France. In: Historical ___ Journal 31, 399–423. ___Wittlich, Petr (2000): Alfons Mucha in the Municipal House, Prague: Obecní dům. ___Wittlich, Petr (2005): A complete vision. In: Sarah Mucha (ed.), Alphonse Mucha, London: Frances Lincoln, 8–9. ___ ___ ___ ___Illustrations ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Figure 1: Joseph Bergler, Hermann nach der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald (1809) ___

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___Laurie O’Higgins ___ ___ ___ ___Laurie O’Higgins Classical Translations and Strands of Irish Nationalism ___Abstract: In the first half of the nineteenth century Irish men of different classes, and who hailed ___from diverse parts of the country, took a keen interest in older Irish texts and in the status of mod___ern Irish as a literary instrument. They also engaged in translations of classical texts into Irish. I suggest that this activity reflected a broader pattern of understanding. Articulating a relationship ___ between Irish and the classical languages and cultures was a practice of long standing. Addi___tionally, in the early nineteenth century, engaging in translation of other literatures into the ver___nacular was a widespread strategy to define and construct the ‘self’ vis à vis another. For these ___Irish translators, then, there is an interesting paradox in negotiating the relationship with classi___cal antiquity; it is both self and other, and engaging with the classical past harnesses and dis___plays the power of the Irish language to represent the nation in the fast-changing present. ___ ___1 Introduction ___ ___The Gaelic Revival of the late nineteenth century was not a sudden surge of in___terest. People of different walks of life had long concerned themselves with pre___serving Irish manuscripts. The living language also had motivated individuals ___and scattered groups especially since the beginning of the century. This paper ___discusses some of these people, and observes their efforts to link Irish with clas___sical Greek and Latin – a connection believed to be long-lived and deep. ___ In the years after 1500 European print capitalism had contributed to the de___velopment and “assembly” of various vernaculars, which over time displaced ___Latin’s privileged status in many fields (see Anderson 1983). Subsequently many ___translators throughout Europe brought the prestige and culture of the ancient ___languages down through time in a “vertical” transmission into the fledgling na___tional languages. Around 1800 there was “a reconfiguration of the link between ___translation and nation with the writings of Madame de Staël and the German ro___mantics” (Simon 2002: 124). National literatures needed one another, to engage in ___a process of reciprocal definition: understanding the self required interaction ___with, and understanding of, the other. Ireland’s literary and linguistic history was ___connected with that of the rest of Europe, of course, but also distinctive, not least ___in the relatively limited use of the printing press to disseminate Irish texts.1 ___ ___ ___ 1 The reception of classical texts into medieval Irish literature had been marked by robust ___innovation, the sign of a self-confident and spirited indigenous tradition. See, for example, ___Stanford (1976) and Miles (2011). On Irish and print see Ó Ciosáin (2004–2006).

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In nineteenth-century Ireland, English predominated in commercial, political and legal contexts. Long before the public education system began to be implemented in 1831, Irish speakers had been acquiring English in (mostly unofficial) schools at their own expense. Many people spoke both languages, although the ability to read and write Irish was confined to a relatively small minority. Given what might be termed the hegemonic status of English, it is understandable that nineteenth-century Irish scholars and language “activists” looked elsewhere for an intellectual context and community for Irish. I do not suggest that Irish intellectuals were necessarily hostile to English, but it was a freighted and sometimes prickly relationship. These nineteenth-century scholars did not have to cast about, since the first great writer of modern Irish prose, Geoffrey Keating, had paved a way, and others had travelled it as well. Like many others of Ireland’s traditional literary elites in the seventeenth century, Keating left Ireland and lived on the European continent while he trained for the priesthood. Here he encountered what he considered ill-informed or erroneous histories of Ireland, and texts describing the Irish as barbarians, in need of foreign intervention. Partially in response to these influential publications, he composed his famous history, which, drawing on indigenous learned traditions, placed Ireland securely in a context of the biblical and classical past. The theme of Ireland’s connection with antiquity, especially Greece, appeared in many subsequent works. It is a connection that was believed to be venerable, but, even more importantly, to be one of sympathy and intellectual kinship.

2 James Hardiman Let us begin with a vigorous nineteenth-century voice. In 1831 James Hardiman, a native speaker of Irish, published Irish Minstrelsy, dedicating it to a local Member of Parliament, who had supported Daniel O’Connell’s (recently successful) cause of Catholic Emancipation.2 Heir to a small estate in Galway, Hardiman trained as a lawyer and worked in the Dublin Record Office, but his real passion was Irish manuscripts and Irish literature. He was an active member of the Royal Irish Academy, and later in life served as librarian in Queen’s College, Galway. The Irish Minstrelsy was a two-volume collection of Irish poems and

_____ 2 Hardiman’s aspirations to the priesthood were thwarted by poor sight. The dedicatee is Thomas Spring Rice, First Baron Monteagle of Brandon, a liberal minded Whig politician, who represented Limerick City, and later Cambridge, following the Reform Act of 1832.

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___songs with English translations on facing pages.3 Its publication was an impor___tant event. With the exception of devotional literature, printing in Irish typeface ___was still rare and expensive. Hardiman’s book was printed in London. ___ Hardiman’s introduction to the second volume refers to the recent publica___tion of a collection of modern Greek songs, the Chants populaires de la Grèce ___moderne (see Fauriel 1824), as “one of the most remarkable events which have ___taken place in the literature of our days” (Hardiman 1831 [vol. 2]: 4–5). He con___tinues: ___ “Lord Byron emphatically called the Greeks ‘a kind of Eastern Irish Papists’ thereby in___ tending to convey in the strongest possible manner to an European mind, the idea of Turk___ ish despotism and Grecian slavery. The bards of these devoted nations have nearly in the ___ same manner embodied in their songs the feelings of the conquered and oppressed people ___ of both countries.” ___ ___In short, the Catholic Irish are a symbol and gauge of harsh oppression, as ex___perienced by the Greeks. Likewise, Hardiman notes, Greek and Irish bards faith___fully expressed their respective people’s feelings over time. He implies that the ___feelings of these “devoted nations” are born of long tradition in each case. ___ Hardiman’s most well-known predecessor in bilingual poetry publication ___was the Protestant writer and antiquarian Charlotte Brooke, whose Reliques of ___Irish Poetry (1789) celebrated the “enthusiastic starts of passion” and “irregular ___wildness” especially of older material. Brooke wished to foster concord between ___Britain and Ireland through sharing Ireland’s distinctive poetry with her “sister” ___Muse. Hardiman obviously had a less conciliatory, even separatist, vision, for ___which he took some criticism.4 He repudiated any suggestion that Irish poetry ___might be wild or unpolished. In Hardiman’s opinion, “(t)he simplicity of ex___pression, and dignity of thought, which characterise the Greek and Roman writ___ers of the purest period, pervade the productions of our bards” (Hardiman 1831 ___[vol. 1]: xvi). In short, Ireland had not required civilising interventions, be___cause it was classical, even before the Anglo-Norman invasion of the twelfth ___century. ___ ___ ___ ___3 Hardiman supplied the introduction and notes. Volume 1 comprises two sections: “Remains ___of Carolan” and “Sentimental Songs”. Volume 2 contains “Jacobite Relics” and “Odes and Ele___gies”. Translations were by Henry Grattan Curran, William Hamilton Drummond, John D’Alton and Edward Lawson. See Cronin (1996: 103). ___ 4 Samuel Ferguson, in a series of four reviews in the Dublin University Magazine of 1834, ___took Hardiman to task for his “politically malignant and religiously fanatical” views, while ___acknowledging his “pious labours” on behalf of Irish literature. See Cronin (1996: 108–109).

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Hardiman discusses eighteenth-century Irish language poets in his introduction to the first volume, noting that “several” had an “excellent classical education” and were not, therefore, to be dismissed as rude and unlettered rhymers like modern bards of the Scottish Highlands (Hardiman 1831 [vol. 1]: xxii–xxiv). The claim in itself is interesting, and not without merit. Obviously proficiency in classical letters brought cultural cachet to these modern poets, many of whom were not high in the social scale, and whose Irish language work might be dismissed as unsophisticated. As I have suggested, Hardiman’s classicising rhetoric and his claim about classical learning among Irish poets was not a novel trope in this ongoing debate about Ireland’s cultural standing. It reflected long-held opinion regarding sustained connection and sympathy between Ireland and the classical world. Of Hardiman’s predecessors in this view, I cite two of the most directly influential: seventeenth-century priests who trained in Ireland and France. Neither Geoffrey Keating nor John Lynch advocated full political independence for Ireland, but in their different ways each asserted political rights for the Irish within a Stuart monarchy.5 Their early efforts to assert Irish cultural identity informed the perspectives of Hardiman and others, whose ideas of nationhood flourished and multiplied in the very changed environment of the nineteenth century.

3 James Hardiman’s antecedents: Geoffrey Keating and John Lynch Geoffrey Keating’s Foras Feasa ar Éirinn (‘Basis for Knowledge about Ireland’), completed in 1634, shaped subsequent discourse around what it meant to be Irish. Hardiman calls him “our Irish Herodotus”, an expression he borrowed from Lynch, who also likened Keating to Livy and Sallust.6 Keating devoted careful attention to traditional origin tales of the Gaelic people and language, drawing on European scholarly works, Irish annalistic traditions and treatises, and tracing a distinctive path through them. This type of “identity tale” indeed was also characteristic of the histories of Herodotus and Livy. One of Keating’s objectives was to tether the events and people of Ireland to a larger world con-

_____ 5 Cunningham (2000a) discusses the differences between Keating and Lynch in this regard. 6 Hardiman (1831 [vol. 1]: 346). See Cunningham (2000b: 188–189). The expression occurs in a manuscript of the Foras Feasa ar Éirinn, which contains the only extant copy of Lynch’s “Interpres ad Lectorem”, in which he introduces the work to his intended (continental) audience.

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___text, including the biblical and classical Near East. The Irish race had ancient ___roots, descending from the eponymous Gaedhal Glas, son of Scota, Pharaoh’s ___daughter and Niúl, son of Fenius Farsaidh, king of Scythia. The Scythians, cul___tural innovators even before the Greeks and Egyptians, had never been subject ___to a higher temporal power – a significant point of pride for Keating, despite his ___acquiescence in continued Stuart rule (see Cunningham 2000a: 136). Other early ___bands of immigrants to Ireland hailed from Greece, which, Keating notes, suf___ficed to explain similarities in manners, customs and games between later gen___erations in Ireland and the Greeks, without insisting on racial Hellenism.7 In___deed, Gaelic was spoken in Ireland before the arrival of Gaedhal Glas, since it ___was the mother tongue of the Clann Neimhidh, the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha Dé ___Danann (see Keating 1902 [vol. 1]: 174–175). ___ Another Gaedhal, the son of Eathor, was one of three sages who presided ___over the earliest ordering of the world’s languages in Keating’s account. He ra___tionalised the Gaelic language, dividing it into its five registers, and became its ___earliest teacher (see Keating 1908 [vol. 2]: 10–11). This Gaedhal gave his name ___to the language. Keating discusses etymologies of Gaedhal’s name in this ___context, rejecting “all noble” and “great” in favour of “wisdom-loving”, just as ___the Greeks call a sage (saoidh) a φιλόσοφος. In short, aspiration or pursuit is ___key to the concept expressed in Gaedhal’s name: not a finished state of wisdom. ___And the etymology speaks its mystical “truth” in connection with the language ___hero. ___ Thus, although Keating respected and to an extent followed traditional ___modes of ascribing venerable origins to the Irish, he made a striking innovation. ___No one race in Ireland “owned” Gaelic, but the Gaelic language, in its antiquity ___and reach, drew together inhabitants of Ireland into a community and defined ___it, as did the Catholic faith, in Keating’s estimation. His vision of Ireland as a ___place apart thus depended upon a single, valid, culturally coherent community – ___Catholic and Irish speaking, which included both the so-called Old English (or ___assimilated Anglo-Norman), a group to which Keating himself belonged, and the ___native Irish. The New English, Protestant settlers, had no claim within this defi___nition of Irishness. ___ From our perspective, Keating’s analysis is noteworthy for the aspirational ___“drive” implicit in his etymology of the Gaelic language: a key to defining Irish ___ ___ ___ 7 See Keating (1902 [vol. 1]: 234–235). After the flood every incursion into Ireland came from ___ Greece, except that of Gaedhal and his followers, and the children of Neimheadh (who came ___from Scythia). Partholon and his followers came from Migdonia, near Thrace, the Fir Bolg from ___Thrace, and the Tuatha De Danann from Achaia, where Boeotia is.

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identity more powerful than blood. Diligent pursuit, not certified accomplishment, inheres in its core meaning, and the symmetry with φιλόσοφος underscores a comparable cultural kinship with Greece. John Lynch, another of Hardiman’s antecedents, and another Old English priest, picked up both points. He translated Keating’s work into Latin for continental readers, and also published a vigorous and lengthy defense of Irish civility in Cambrensis Eversus (1662),8 to which Hardiman refers in his Irish Minstrelsy (1831 [vol. 1]: 283). Lynch notes that, like the Greeks, the Irish traditionally passed down branches of learning within families. Now, since the mid seventeenth century in Ireland, patronage had collapsed, and disrupted this professional system. Yet even those born into traditional learned families and who had absorbed familial learning from childhood were not to be considered proficients, but “sons of learning” (mic léinn in Irish), akin to Greek φιλόσοφοι (‘lovers of learning’). Thus, like Keating, Lynch notes complications of genealogy – transmission through a bloodline can only be part of the story –, but reasserts the more important idea that, as did the classical Greeks, so also the Irish conceptualise learning as ongoing practice, not a finished state. It is a shared system of values, which is its own kind of kinship. This sense of connection remained alive over time, and permeated classes far less privileged than that of Keating and Lynch. Of the lively poetic traditions in the centuries after Keating and Lynch, and their many-sided connections with the classical world I say nothing here, beyond noting their existence. Instead I want to consider a particular thread within that complex weave: translation of classical material into Irish. In the case of the nineteenth-century individuals described here, the determination to translate Greek and Latin into Irish formed part of a larger set of initiatives and values deeply connected with Irish identity. These men, sometimes quite poor and struggling to support their ideas, imagined a community of educated Irish readers, whose interests would naturally extend beyond the borders of their own island. Such readers would of course appreciate the opportunity to enjoy classical Greek literature, and to recognise the natural affinities between ancient Ireland and classical Greece.

_____ 8 This work (like Keating’s, indeed) refuted popular works by Gerald of Wales, which had presented Ireland as a savage place, in need of foreign intervention. Giraldus Cambrensis wrote the Topographica Hibernica and Expugnatio Hiberniae in the twelfth century; the most influential printing of these works was issued in the early seventeenth century, although they had been printed previously. Keating (1902 [vol. 1]: 152–153) calls Cambrensis the “bull of the herd” of those writing false histories of Ireland.

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___4 Thomas Harney and John MacHale ___ ___The year after Irish Minstrelsy was published, Thomas Harney, of Waterford, ___wrote a letter to James Hardiman. Harney (Tomás Ó hAthairne) of Stradbally, ___Co. Waterford, was one of the most enterprising and ambitious scholars of his ___day.9 He worked as a schoolteacher in Stradbally, but there is no mention of ___him in the Commissioners of Education Reports for 1826 or 1835.10 Although ___described as “self-taught”, he seems to have acquired some informal instruc___tion in Irish manuscripts as well as in Greek and Latin.11 Here is his letter to ___Hardiman: ___ Gardenmorris May 25th 1832 ___ Dear Sir, ___ ___ I am just making Regulations for pursuing a plan suggested to me by that splendid exertion of Patriotism, your Irish Minstrelsy – I am about forming a Society of Irish Bards, who ___ shall hold regular quarterly meetings in imitation of the celebrated Seán Clárach and his ___ contemporary Bards.12 I have consulted several good Irish scholars both in this county and ___ in the county of Tipperary, and all have agreed as to the utility of establishing such a Soci___ ety, and expressed their willingness to do their utmost for the furtherance of its design. ___ The operations of the society are to be directed to the following points – 1st The collection revision and preservation of all the Irish Historical works, both in prose and verse, now ex___ tant; 2nd the collection revision and preservation of all the remains of Irish Minstrelsy; all ___ ___ ___ ___9 John Rylands Library, Manchester, Irish Ms. 134 Harney. See Ó Macháin (2003b) and ___Ó Macháin (2004). ___10 Ó Macháin (2003b: 153) notes the absence from the Education Reports. He cites an 1850 letter from Margaret E. Mackesy, the wife of William Mackesy, minister of Clashmore, Co. Waterford ___(1822–1847), to Seán Ó Dálaigh: “I learned Irish of a Co. Waterford man, a County School Master of ___remarkable attainments, and wholly self taught – perhaps you knew ‘Thomas Harney ...’.” ___11 One teacher with the requisite learning was Donnchadh Ruadh MacConmara, author of an ___Irish parody of the Aeneid. See John Fleming (1884: 202) on Donnchadh Ruadh’s Eachtra: “Dur___ing the last years of his life he [Donnchadh Ruadh] was a constant visitor at the house of the Clancys, gentlemen farmers, in Old Kill, in the parish of Kill, county of Waterford. At this house ___ too Thomas Harney, of Stradbally, then a youth, was also a visitor, and it is here he must have ___made the copy [of the Eachtra] from which I transcribe for the Journal.” This manuscript, long ___thought to be missing, is the ninth section of John Rylands Library Irish Ms. 134; see Ó Macháin ___(2003b: 154). ___12 Seán Clárach MacDomhnall (1691–1754) presided over a Cúirt Éigse, or court of poetry near ___the Cork/Limerick border. The range and power of his Irish poetry make all the more striking the classicising tributes to him after his death by his fellow poets, Éamonn de bhFál and Seán na ___ Raithíneach, the latter praising his competence in Latin, English and Greek His tombstone, ___which survives in Charleville, Co. Cork, also praises his linguistic competence: in Latin, Irish and ___Greek.

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the remaining songs and poems of each Bard to be contained in a separate volume. 3rd the collection and preservation of all the popular songs orally delivered and all the Irish Melodies yet recoverable. 4th The collection of all the miscellaneous Irish prose works, Romances, &c, 5th the inspection of all the Druidical temples and other remains of Irish Antiquity in the Kingdom, and the collection and preservation of all such relics as may be found, as ancient arms, armour, &c, 6th the collection of all the monumental inscriptions as may be found. 7th the collection and preservation of all the Genealogical Tables of the Irish Nobility and Gentry; and the keeping of their future pedigrees. 9th The translation of the principal works of the Classic Authors to Irish. I do intend to send a copy of each work, when revised before the assembly, to the Royal Irish Academy; and a copy shall be lodged in the Bards meeting house for the inspection of all that may be curious in such matters; and also a copy shall be given to each member of the society. Any person, who shall subscribe the sum of one pound, or upwards, annually, shall get a well-written copy of each document, to be forwarded to any part of the kingdom. I have a house newly finished which I intend for the Bardic session house; and I expect to have the pleasure of attending our first meeting on the 21st of June next. Sir, the intent of my writing this present letter, is to solicit your assistance; and I am certain, if you would be so kind as to take the trouble, that you could get their subscription from a few other patriotic Gentlemen in Dublin, such [as] Mr D’Alton, Mr Petrie, &c, and you might make the matter known to the leading Members of [the] Royal Irish Academy – If I had about six pounds I could get on at once; as all that is wanted at present is the finishing of the Session house, and a stock of paper for transcribing the first copies of such documents as are at hand – I shall in my next send you a copy of the 1st Book of Homers Iliad in Irish – I must beg to apologize for not post-paying this letter, all my future letters shall be punctually sent post-free – If you would be kind enough to write to me, please direct your letter to the care of John Power O’Shee Esqr Gardenmorris, Kilmacthomas – I have the honour to be Sir your ever faithful, humble servant Thomas Harney13

His broad literary and antiquarian interests informed a lively political intelligence. Harney served as editor of the Waterford Chronicle, owned since 1825 by Philip Barron, a member of a local Catholic gentry family interested in Catholic Emancipation, Irish nationalism, Irish language and music.14 Harney delivered a speech in March 1826, in the run-up to a by-election for a local Parliamentary seat (see British Library, Ms. Egerton 1782, pp. 13, 165–166; and Flower 1926 [vol. 2]: 608–612). This speech, delivered in Irish, was translated by another scribe, James Scurry, into English and survives in a composite manuscript assembled by James Hardiman.

_____ 13 Royal Irish Academy Ms. 12 N 20 (Letters to John Hardiman). See Ó Casaide (1934). 14 See Ni Mhurchú (1976). Barron was born c. 1801 at Durrow, near Stradbally. He studied at Trinity for three years, beginning in 1820, leaving without taking a degree. He took a keen interest in Irish music and language.

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___ The election pitted longstanding holders of the seat, the Beresford family, ___who opposed Catholic Emancipation, against William Villiers Stuart, who was ___in favour. The Catholic poor, mobilised by Daniel O’Connell’s Catholic As___sociation, hoped to shape the outcome, despite their inability to vote, and ___Villiers Stuart was their candidate, and the man for whom Harney spoke. He ___won. His victory was the first electoral success for O’Connell, demonstrating ___that the Catholic majority could wield political power through organisation ___and proxy. ___ Harney’s intellectual interests achieved temporary support from the same ___Philip Barron who owned the Waterford Chronicle. In January 1835 Barron ___opened a college, built on his own land, near Bunmahon, Co. Waterford, about ___three miles from Stradbally. In the Freeman’s Journal he advertised Irish lan___guage, writing, ciphering, mensuration, navigation, English, grammar, geogra___phy, history, Latin, Greek and Hebrew. He hired Harney and Thomas O’Hickey ___of Tipperary. Both men were Irish scribes, and both men knew classics.15 Barron ___also embarked on an ambitious scheme of publications in Irish, including prim___ers, catechisms, dictionaries, and a journal, Ancient Ireland, of which a few is___sues appeared. Both the journal and the college folded, probably for financial ___reasons, within a few months. Barron seems to have died in London in 1844 ___(see Ó Cléirigh 1997). ___ Part of Harney’s translation of Homer’s Iliad survives, in addition to transla___tions of Tibullus and of Vergil.16 It is an archaising version, using older spelling ___and rendering of case endings, and a metre based loosely on traditional Irish ___metre for tales of the Fianaíocht: a comparable epic tradition (see Ó Macháin ___2004: 170). For the Greek gods Harney chooses “Seathar” as the equivalent of ___Zeus, and “Grioth” for Apollo – both deriving from Irish tradition, “Seathar” ___being a name for god, as in the father (Sator), and grioth being an Irish word for ___the sun. Chryses is “Órgart”, an Irish equivalent for the “golden” Greek name of ___Apollo’s priest. In other words, Harney demonstrates correspondence between ___the epic worlds of Greece and Ireland. He intimates similarities of religious out___look between pagan Ireland and Greece, and his choice of feólmhach (‘meat’) ___in line 7, captures the brutality of the poem’s opening “feast” with a word ___ ___ ___ ___15 Royal Irish Academy Ms. 24 L 27 was written by Thomas O’Hickey. On 77A there is a trans___lation of Horace, Odes 3.4, and on 78 a translation of Horace, Odes 3.9. O’Hickey also translated the Roman missal into Irish. See Ó Macháin (2003a). ___ 16 The Iliad translation, amounting to over 900 lines of the first book, is in John Rylands ___Library Irish Ms. 134. The dates 1822 and 1824 are written in at the beginning. The manuscript ___includes original Irish poetry by Harney, including a poem on the Beresford-Stuart contest.

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from Irish tradition.17 Here are his opening lines (subsequent English translation mine): Can, a bhain-dia, fraech foghlach Aicil mhic Péil oll-mharbhthach Ró thug deich dhe mhíltibh mairg Air Chlainn Aichiatha chaemh-áird. Do thug íol-anma lach ttréan Roimh aois do’n adhbhaidh n-íseal, ’S d’fhágaibh iad mar fheólmhach fair Do bhadhbhaibh is do chonaibh. Saor-thoil Seathair Théarnoigh dhe: Ó gá trádh a ttúis, imne, A n-deachaidh air fhód fá leith, Iar ccoimheasgar, iar ccoinghleic, Triath na ttréan-fhear, Mac Átruaidh, Is Aicil diadha an árd-bhuaidh? Is cia de na déeibh sain Chuir iad a raon a n-iorghail? Mac Seathair is Léathain sain (...).

“Sing, Goddess, the ruinous fury of Achilles, son of Peleus, fatal to many that brought ten thousand woes on the race of fine noble Achaea. That gave many souls of strong heroes before their time to the abodes of those below, and that left them as carrion there for vultures and dogs. The free will of Seathar arose from it: Oh what time initially therefore did they go to a particular site, after fighting and contending,

_____ 17 The word feólmhach or feólbhach occurs in the Imtheachta Aeniasa, an Irish version of the Aeneid written probably in the twelfth century, in the Annals of the Four Masters and Keating’s Foras Feasa. In Irish literature it is used in the sense of animal flesh, as considered for human consumption. Thus Harney focuses attention on the brutal (anti-)“feast” of carrion dogs and birds on battlefield corpses: a major motif.

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the prince of heroes, son of Atreus, ___ and Achilles, god-like, of lofty victory? ___ And which of the gods ___ drove them together in conflict? ___ The son of Seathar and Leto (...).” ___ ___ ___John MacHale (Seán Mac Héil in Irish), Catholic Archbishop of Tuam, also trans___lated into Irish – and had printed – the first eight books of Homer’s Iliad begin___ning in 1844. He explains that many Irish people before him, especially ecclesi___astics, had the requisite expertise to engage in such a translation project, but the ___pressures of religious instruction and of preserving Irish literature had hereto___fore taken precedence over “foreign luxuries”. Despite this characterisation of ___Greek and Latin as imports, he notes the aptness of Irish to Greek (O’Reilly 1890 ___[vol. 2]: 636, citing the foreword to MacHale’s original edition of the first book of ___the Iliad):

___ “There exists no European language better adapted than ours to a full and perfect ver___ sion of Homer. It is true that in radical structure the Irish bears a stronger resemblance ___ to Hebrew than to the Greek language. But in the happy flexibility of the latter to the most varied and harmonious combinations there is such an analogy between it and the ___ Irish language as to render one the fittest medium for the transfusion of the other.” ___ ___ MacHale’s Irish also is archaising, but it belongs more securely to the nine___ teenth century and (not surprisingly) a Christian world. Throughout his long ___ life MacHale was a vigorous and uncompromising champion of the Catholic ___ church and its role in Irish education. Like Harney, MacHale supported Daniel ___ O’Connell’s cause, and like O’Connell, supported Repeal of the Act of Union, but ___ not separation from the British empire.18 Here is the beginning of his translation ___ (subsequent English translation mine): ___ ___ Bruth Aichill seinn, ’ógh neamhaí’s buanfhearg ___ Aichill mhic Pheil, an gaiscíoch tinteach garg A scaip trí slua na nGréag tromléan is ár, ___ ’S d’fhág mórán laochra tréan ró-luath ar lár, ___ ’Raibh a n-ablaigh fuilteach sractha ar an bhféar, ___ Ag madraí seanga, ’s fainge gortach’ géar’. ___ Bhí ’ndán ’réir tola Íobh go dtiocfadh an t-éag ___ Ó chuaigh chun imris Aichill’s flaith na nGréag. ’Cheolraí an bhinnis, craobhscaoil, de na Deá ___ ___ ___ ___18 Andrews (2001: 33, 81–82, 86) argues that their relationship was close, but that they did not ___see eye to eye on strategy.

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Cén neach a thionscain gleo ór shíolraigh an crá? Do scaoil mac lonrach Íobh a ghaethe teo. “The rage of Achilles sing, goddess, unrelenting, Achilles, son of Peleus, the bitter, fiery hero, that scattered through the Greek hosts heavy sorrow and slaughter that left low many strong heroes before their time whose bloody bodies were scattered on the grass for slender dogs and hungry cruel ravens. It was fated through the will of Jove, that death would come after Achilles and the prince of the Greeks came to a quarrel. Singer of sweetness, lay out in order, of the gods which one plotted the strife that sowed the suffering. The shining son of Jove released his hot shafts.”

MacHale produces Irish versions of the Greek names, although for Chryses he uses sagart naofa (‘holy priest’). He avoids pagan references to souls in the Underworld, and the Iliad’s opening theme of “men as prey” becomes “bloody bodies on grass for dogs and ravens”.19 Despite their differences, however, both the penurious schoolmaster and the church prelate wished to show compatibility between Irish and Greek heroic traditions, and, belatedly, to place Irish on a par with other European vernaculars in transmitting Homer to their countrymen. There is irony in the fact that Harney supported O’Connell, who spoke Irish, but who had no time for maintaining the spoken language or preserving the literature. Thomas Harney’s politics were dedicated to a different, more capacious vision of Irish people’s presence in the modern world. Learning was a core value. He and others like him exerted themselves on a broad cultural front, working towards an Ireland formed by its own literary traditions, past and ongoing, as well as those of the classical past.

_____ 19 The plain of Troy is not notably grassy in the Iliad although the Trojans are horse breeders. At Iliad 14.347 magic grass (or a mixture of plants) springs up during the seduction of Zeus by Hera. Hera’s horses graze on ambrosia at Iliad 5.778. The fifth line of Book 1 of the Iliad contains a famous crux. The reading δαῖτα (‘banquet’) offended some editors, because it transposes men (participants in orderly banquets) and beasts (dined upon). Thus they substituted πᾶσι (‘all’). MacHale follows the emended version, and so the bodies lie for “dogs and all birds”. Harney’s feolmhac (‘meat’) comes closer to the spirit of the original: men’s corpses as a monstrous ‘banquet’ for carrion birds. The crux is discussed in Samuel Clarke’s edition of the first twelve books (1729).

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___5 Nicholas O’Kearney ___ ___My last nineteenth-century example is Nicholas O’Kearney (Nioclás Ó Cear___naigh, 1802–c.1860), an Irish poet and intellectual active in Co. Louth, where ___there was a coterie of impecunious men devoted to Irish literature in the 1820s ___(see Duffy 1987). He was a talented man, with a wild imagination, which has ___rendered difficulties in sorting through his copious manuscript material.20 An___other Irish scribe, John Fleming, in a note pasted to the inside front cover of a ___manuscript discussed below (Royal Irish Academy Ms. 23 E 12) caustically ob___serves: “there are not in the whole book six songs or poems free from the cor___rupting taint of the transcriber, Nicholas O’Kearney; and in many pages he has ___made changes in almost every line.”21 Over this note there is the single word ___“jealousy” in another hand. O’Kearney’s work in both transcribing and in trans___lation certainly was prompted by interests beyond the purely scholarly; he felt ___free to embellish and enhance the texts in his hands, and this aroused the ire of ___more disciplined scribes. ___ O’Kearney’s energy and ambitions for Irish are visible throughout his work, ___together with his political opinions. He composed vehement essays and poems ___for the Nation, the vehicle for the Young Irelanders, a relatively early nationalist ___group that stressed the connection between language and cultural identity long ___before the Gaelic League, founded in 1893 (see Cronin 1996: 115). One may trace ___his capacious political interests through his publications and manuscripts. In ___“Bardic Remains of Louth”, a manuscript partially compiled by O’Kearney, we ___find poems of welcome to Daniel O’Connell, and to Bartholemew Callan, a for___mer United Irishman, returning from exile (University College Dublin, William ___Morris collection of Irish manuscripts, Ms. 17). The “Bardic Remains” was in___tended for publication in 1833, and was seen by its compilers as a counterpart to ___Hardiman’s Irish Minstrelsy, whose subtitle was Bardic Remains of Ireland (see ___Ó Dufaigh & Ó Doibhlin 1989: 16). ___ O’Kearney also had classical training, which clearly was both genuine, and ___acquired outside of formal institutions.22 This classical education contributed to ___ ___ ___ ___20 Among his more dubious accomplishments was the publication in 1856 of The Prophecies ___of SS Columbcille, Maeltamlacht, Ultan, Seadhna, Coireall, Bearcan etc. with literal translation ___and notes, a work that quickly was condemned as a forgery. 21 I am grateful to Dave McKeon of the Royal Irish Academy for sending me the image of this ___ note (see appendix). On Fleming, see Ó Macháin (2011) and Power (1937). ___22 In a recommendation letter written by Bernard Tumalty to Robert McAdam, a Presbyterian ___industrialist, antiquarian, and supporter of the Irish language, Tumalty describes Ó Cearnaigh

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his credibility in the eyes of patrons of Irish literature.23 A handsome and substantial miscellany in his hand survives (more than 450 pages), compiled in the late summer of 1846, which he planned to have published.24 It mingles poems in Latin and Greek with poems and songs in Irish, the latter strikingly disparate in range and tone. For example, it includes songs of Robert Burns, translated into Irish, and a lament on the death of Thomas Davis, the Young Irelander. There is a harrowing lament in the voice of a woman whose child has been killed by Cromwell’s troops. On p. 107, following an Irish translation of Thomas Davis’ “Lament” for Eoghan Ruadh O’Neill, a leader in the 1641 rebellion, O’Kearney writes an Irish translation of Horace’s Ode 4.3, an address to Melpomene, describing the poet’s devotion to his art.25 There is a distinctly piquant effect in this juxtaposition of a highly-wrought, emotional dirge for a dead soldier, and Horace’s famous poem describing the life of one chosen by the Muses: remote from turbulent ambition and its honours. A more unusual presence in the same volume – from the point of view of Irish manuscripts – are two Greek verse passages, written alongside Irish translations. One page (p. 48) features an elegiac quatrain by Anacreon (correctly identified), with its translation into Irish (subsequent literal English translations and transcription of the Irish rendering all mine):26

_____ as “a first rate writer, accountant and book-keeper (...) also one of the most eminent Irish scholars in the kingdom (...) a splendid Greek and Latin scholar.” The letter is in National Library of Ireland Ms. G702, and cited by Ó Buachalla (1968: 119–120). 23 See Ó Dufaigh & Ó Doibhlin (1989: 54–57), who describe a correspondence between O’Kearney and two Cork patrons of Irish literature, John Windele and William Hackett. O’Kearney embellishes a fanciful account of pagan Irish mythology with references to Vergil and Cicero. 24 Royal Irish Academy Ms. 23 E 12. It is dedicated to William Elliot Hudson (1796–1853) who gave financial support to numerous projects, including the texts published under the auspices of the Celtic Society. 25 See the photograph of this page in the appendix. O’Kearney includes this translation in another manuscript, amid translations of Burns’ songs; see Royal Irish Academy Ms. 3 C 8. 26 Royal Irish Academy Ms. 23 E 12 p. 48. The fragment is no. 2, as in Campbell (1988) and in West (1992).

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___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ “No friend of mine27 he who, drinking by the full mixing bowl, ___ talks of quarrels and tearful war. ___ But whoever, in mingling the shining gifts of the Muses and Aphrodite, is mindful of the lovely feast.” ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ Aig fleadh an ghráidh ’sna n-árd c-córn líonta d’fhíon ___ Is mairg do’n gháige thrachtas cath no cían! ___ Acht tabh’r air láimh dhamh’n dáimh go bráth le’r mían, ___ bheith measgadh gráidh a’s láith gan cáin go dían ___ “At feasts of love amidst the tall vessels filled with wine ___ woe to him who tells of battle or sadness! ___ But give me the bardic company which forever desires ___ to be mingling love and ale vigorously without penalty!” ___ ___Clearly O’Kearney, who omits the Greek poet’s reference to the Muses and Aph___rodite, is concerned less with literal fidelity than with a pleasing and credible ___poem in his target language, appealing to his Irish readers. Below on the same page is another quatrain, ascribed to “Euripedes” (sic), ___ but this passage comes from Iliad 6.146–149 (Glaucus replying to Diomedes),28 ___ ___although the sentiment was a commonplace in antiquity. The Greek, as before, ___is reasonably correct, and, I suggest, possibly transcribed from memory (subse29 ___quent literal English translation mine): ___ ___ ___27 O’Kearney writes οὐ φίλος for οὐ φιλέω here. ___28 Homer, Iliad 6.146–149: οἵη περ φύλλων γενεή, τοίη δὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν. / φύλλα τὰ μέν τ᾽ ___ἄνεμος χαμάδις χέει, ἄλλα δέ θ᾽ ὕλη / τηλεθόωσα, ἔαρος δ᾽ ἐπιγίγνεται ὥρη· / ὣς ἀνδρῶν γενεὴ ἣ μὲν φύει ἣ δ᾽ ἀπολήγει. ___ 29 There is a breathing (correct) and two accent marks (wrong) in the last line. He writes φύρε ___or φύγε (?) for φύει in line 3, ἀπαλήγει for ἀπολήγει in line 4, and χαμάδις in the second line ___has an inexplicable suffix.

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“Like the generations of leaves, so the generations of men. Some leaves the wind pours to the ground, others the wood grows in profusion, as spring comes in due course. Thus the generations of men, one grows and another ceases to be.”

O’Kearney renders as follows (transcription and English translation mine):

Mar dhuille ’s bládh súd fás ar n-díne teacht Mar dhuille trásg súd bás gach aoin go beacht; bheir earrach fás n-déis nás do’n choill go nuadh, Amhail díne tá gach lá iar n-dín go luath! “Like leaves and flowers that’s how growth comes upon people. Like leaves death unfailingly defeats every one. Spring brings growth after death, once again to the wood, Like people, every day speedily after people!”

As in the case of his contemporary Harney, O’Kearney is imagining an audience of readers who would find inspiration and pleasure in this collection. The Irish translations, in familiar amhrán (or song) metre, with its pleasing internal assonance, fully inhabit the modern Irish poetic tradition. His work speaks both to genteel middlebrow interest in ancient and modern literature and a nationalism more vigorous and uncompromising than that of the other men discussed here. While it may seem incongruous or unsettling to a modern reader, this manuscript’s heady mixture of political grievance and cultural aspiration nonetheless shows impressive range, and evinces a robustly literary vision of Ireland’s future self.

6 Conclusion Before the famine’s transformation of Irish society, with the death or emigration of many poor Irish speakers, there is evidence of serious interest, in different

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___parts of the country, in showing the Irish language, with all of its resources, to ___be capable of expressing the varied cultural and other needs of the modern na___tion. Some of the men who promoted this vision of Irish demonstrated its ability ___to render other European literatures.30 In the case of the classical languages, the ___linguistic entrepreneurs generally evince a sense of kinship and of long stand___ing familiarity; Greek and Latin are not, pace MacHale, quite luxury “imports”, ___but deeply embedded in Ireland’s own cultural traditions. This is not to say that ___a man like Harney imagined translation to be a simple or transparent act, or that ___he misapprehended the creative transformation invariably implied in it. Nicho___las O’Kearney embodied an ebulliently creative spirit in his dealings with Irish ___literature, and his classical translations, likewise, are not especially reverent ___towards the source text. In general, the translation work of these men shows ___self-confidence, and an appreciation for translation’s power to extend and con___nect fluid and overlapping communities, without implying or threatening ir___revocable loss of self.31 ___ ___ ___Bibliography ___ ___Anderson, Benedict (1983): Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism, London & New York: Verso. ___ Andrews, Hilary (2001): Lion of the West. A Biography of John MacHale, Dublin: Veritas. ___ Brooke, Charlotte (1789): Reliques of Irish Poetry, consisting of Heroic Poems, Odes, Elegies, ___ and Songs. Translated into English verse, with notes explanatory and historical, and the ___ originals in the Irish character, to which is subjoined an Irish tale, Dublin: Bonham. ___Campbell, David A. (ed. & tr.) (1988): Greek Lyric. Vol. 2: Anacreon, Anacreontea, Choral Lyric from Olympus to Alcman (Loeb Classical Library 143), Cambridge, Mass. & London: Har___ vard University Press. ___ Clarke, Samuel (ed.) (1729): Homeri Ilias Graece et Latine. Annotationes in usum Serenissimi ___ Principis Gulielmi Augusti, Ducis de Cumberland (vol. 1), London: Botham. ___Cronin, Michael (1996): Translating Ireland. Translation, Languages, Cultures, Cork: Cork Uni___ versity Press. ___Cunningham, Bernadette (2000a): Representations of king, parliament and the Irish people in Geoffrey Keating’s Foras Feasa ar Éirinn and John Lynch’s Cambrensis Eversus (1662). In: ___ Jane H. Ohlmeyer (ed.), Political Thought in Seventeenth-Century Ireland. Kingdom or Col___ ony, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 131–154. ___Cunningham, Bernadette (2000b): The World of Geoffrey Keating. History, Myth and Religion in ___ Seventeenth-Century Ireland, Dublin: Four Courts Press. ___ ___ ___ 30 See, for example, the translations of James Clarence Mangan from German into Irish (1836). ___31 I wish to thank Thorsten Fögen, Vincent Morley and Pádraig Ó Macháin for their generous ___help. The images are by permission of the Royal Irish Academy.

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Duffy, Seán (1987): Art Murphy and Gaelic literary activity in the Dundalk area in the 1820s. In: Journal of the County Louth Archaeological and Historical Society 21, 231–256. Fauriel, Claude Charles (ed.) (1824): Chants populaires de la Grèce moderne. Recueillis et publiés avec une traduction française, des éclaircissements et des notes (2 vols.), Paris: Didot. Fleming, John (1884): Eachtra Ghiolla an amaráin (‘The Adventures of a Luckless Wight’). In: Gaelic Journal 19, 193–203. Flower, Robin (1926): Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the British Museum (3 vols.), London: The Trustees of the British Museum. Hardiman, James (1831): Irish Minstrelsy, or Bardic Remains of Ireland. With English poetical translations. Collected and edited with notes and illustrations (2 vols.), London: Joseph Robins. Keating, Geoffrey (1902–1913): Foras Feasa ar Éirinn (The History of Ireland). Edited with translations and notes by David Comyn & Patrick S. Dinneen (4 vols.), London: Published for the Irish Texts Society by David Nutt. Mac Héil, Seán (1844): An t-Iliad air chogadh na tróighe ro chan Homear, ais-drighthe ò Ghréag-bhearla go ran gaoidhilge le Seághan, Árd easbog Thuama, Baile Átha Cliath (Dublin): Goodwin & Co. Mac Héil, Seán (1981): Hóiméar: Íliad. Leabhair I–VIII. Réamhaiste le Breandán Ó Doibhlin, Gaillimh (Galway): Officina typographica. Mangan, James Clarence (1836): Anthologia Germanica. In: Dublin University Magazine 7, 278–302. Ni Mhurchú, Dóirín (1976): Philip Barron. Man of mystery. In: Decies 2, 10–14. Miles, Brent (2011): Heroic Saga and Classical Epic in Medieval Ireland, Cambridge: Brewer. Ó Buachalla, Breandán (1968): I mBéal Feirste Cois Cuain, Baile Átha Cliath (Dublin): An Clóchomhar. Ó Casaide, Seamus (1934): Waterford Bardic Sessions; an 1832 proposal: quoting a letter of Thomas Harney of Gardenmorris. In: Irish Book Lover 22, 133–136. Ó Ciosáin, Niall (2004–06): Print and Irish, 1570–1900. An exception among the Celtic languages? In: Radharc 5–7, 73–106. Ó Cléirigh, Pádraig (1997): Ar thóir Philib Bharúin. In: Comhar 56, 13–15. Ó Conchúir, Breandán (1982): Scríobhaithe Chorcaí: 1700–1850, Baile Átha Cliath (Dublin): An Clóchomhar. Ó Dufaigh, Seán & Diarmaid Ó Doibhlin (1989): Nioclás O’Cearnaigh. Beatha agus saothar, Baile Átha Cliath (Dublin): An Clóchomhar. Ó Macháin, Pádraig (2003a): Tomás Ó Iceadha’s translation of the Roman Missal. In: Celtica 24, 264–269. Ó Macháin, Pádraig (2003b): Filíocht Athairneach I. In: An Linn Bhuí. Iris Ghaeltacht na nDéise 7, 152–164. Ó Macháin, Pádraig (2004): Filíocht Athairneach II. In: An Linn Bhuí. Iris Ghaeltacht na nDéise 8, 165–175. Ó Macháin, Pádraig (2011): Fr. Patrick Meany and the Dr Keating Society. In: Studia Hibernica 37, 163–194. O’Reilly, Bernard (1890): John MacHale, Archbishop of Tuam. His Life, Times, and Correspondence (2 vols.), New York & Cincinnati: Pustet. Power, Patrick (1937): John Fleming, Irish scribe and scholar. In: Irish Book Lover 25, 77–81.

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___Simon, Sherry (2002): Germaine de Staël and Gayatri Spivak. Culture brokers. In: Maria Tymoczko & Edwin Gentzler (eds.), Translation and Power, Amherst: University of Massa___ chusetts Press, 122–140. ___ Stanford, William B. (1976): Ireland and the Classical Tradition, Dublin: Figgis. ___West, Martin L. (ed.) (1992): Iambi et elegi Graeci (2 vols.), Oxford: Clarendon. ___ ___ ___ ___Appendix ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ John Fleming’s assessment of O’Kearney’s reliability ___ (Royal Irish Academy Ms. 23 E 12, flyleaf) ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

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Nicholas O’Kearney, Translation of Horace’s Ode 4.3 (Royal Irish Academy Ms. 23 E 12, p. 107)

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Contributors Contributors Contributors Rosemary Barrow is Reader in Classical Art & Reception at the University of Roehampton (UK). Her Ph.D. thesis (King’s College London, 1999) looked at classicism in Victorian painting. Besides articles on art history and the classical tradition, she has published two monographs on Victorian classical reception – Lawrence Alma-Tadema (London 2001) and The Use of Classical Art and Literature by Victorian Painters, 1860–1912 (Lewiston 2007) – and a co-authored book with Michael Silk and Ingo Gildenhard entitled The Classical Tradition: Art, Literature, Thought (Chichester 2014). Her next project is a monograph on gender and ancient sculpture for Cambridge University Press. Thorsten Fögen is Reader (Associate Professor) in Classics at Durham University (UK). He studied Classics and General Linguistics at the Universities of Freiburg im Breisgau (Germany), Oxford (UK) and Heidelberg (Germany). Ph.D. in 2000 (University of Heidelberg), “Habilitation” during Winter Term 2008/09 (Humboldt University of Berlin). He is the author of “Patrii sermonis egestas”: Einstellungen lateinischer Autoren zu ihrer Muttersprache (Munich & Leipzig 2000) and of Wissen, Kommunikation und Selbstdarstellung: Zur Struktur und Charakteristik römischer Fachtexte der frühen Kaiserzeit (Munich 2009). He has edited seven volumes, most recently Tears in the Graeco-Roman World (Berlin & New York 2009) and Bodies and Boundaries in Graeco-Roman Antiquity (Berlin & New York 2009, together with Mireille M. Lee). He is currently editing a book on Interactions between Animals and Humans in Graeco-Roman Antiquity (to appear in 2016 or 2017). Richard Hingley is Professor of Roman Archaeology at Durham University (UK). He undertook his degree in Archaeology at Durham and his Ph.D. (1983) on the Iron Age and Roman period in the Upper Thames Valley at Southampton. He is author of Rural Settlement in Roman Britain (London 1989), Roman Officers and English Gentlemen (London & New York 2000), Globalizing Roman Culture (London & New York 2005), The Recovery of Roman Britain 1586–1906 (Oxford 2008), Hadrian’s Wall: A Life (Oxford 2012), and co-author of Boudica: Iron Age Warrior Queen (London 2005). He is currently completing a major new study of Roman London and commencing a book on the frontiers of the Roman Empire. Christopher Krebs is Associate Professor in Classics and (by courtesy) German studies at Stanford University (US). He holds degrees from the Universities of Berlin (Freie Universität), Kiel, and Oxford. He is the author of Negotiatio Germaniae: Tacitus’ Germania und Enea Silvio Piccolomini, Giannantonio Campano, Conrad Celtis und Heinrich Bebel (Göttingen 2005) and A Most Dangerous Book: Tacitus’s Germania from the Roman Empire to the Third Reich (New York 2011), and the co-editor of Time and Narrative in Ancient Historiography: The ‘Plupast’ from Herodotus to Appian (Cambridge 2012) and of The Cambridge Companion to Julius Caesar (Cambridge, forthcoming). He is currently working on a commentary on Caesar’s Bellum Gallicum VII (for Cambridge University Press) and an intellectual biography of Caesar (for W.W. Norton).

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Athena S. Leoussi is Associate Professor and Director of European Studies at the University of Reading (UK). She studied Sociology and Linguistics at the Université des Sciences Sociales de Grenoble (France), and Art History at the Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London (UK). Ph.D. in 1992 (London School of Economics and Political Science). She is the author of Nationalism and Classicism: The Classical Body as National Symbol in Nineteenth-Century England and France (Basingstoke 1998) and Circles of Light: The Making of the Ionides Art Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum (London & Athens 2001). She has edited three volumes, as well as the set of four volumes entitled Nationality and Nationalism (London 2003). She is a founding editor of the journal Nations and Nationalism, and a contributor to the British Museum exhibition “Defining Beauty: The Body in Ancient Greek Art” (2015). She is currently co-editing a book on Great Battles and their Myths (to appear in 2017). Laurie O’Higgins is the Euterpe B. Dukakis Professor of Classical and Medieval Studies at Bates College (Maine, US). She studied Classics at Trinity College, Dublin, and Cornell University (spending one year also at the University of California, Berkeley). With Bruce Heiden, she co-edited a collection of essays on Greek tragedy (The Enigmatic Text: Approaches to Greek Tragedy; special issue of the journal Ramus, 1991). She is the author of Women and Humor in Classical Greece (Cambridge 2003). Her book on the reception of classics among non-elites in Ireland (The Irish Classical Self: Poets and Poor Scholars in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century) will be published by Oxford University Press. Edmund Richardson is Lecturer at Durham University (UK). He completed his Ph.D. at the University of Cambridge (2008), and was Hannah Seeger Davis Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Princeton, in the Program in Hellenic Studies (2009–10), Leverhulme Early Career Fellow at Durham (2010–12), and Lecturer at the University of Leeds (2012–13). He is the author of Classical Victorians (Cambridge 2013), and is currently working on an edited volume on Classics in Extremis (to appear in 2017) and on a monograph entitled Alexandrias (to appear in 2017 or 2018). Tim Rood is Professor of Greek Literature and Dorothea Gray Fellow and Tutor in Classics at St Hugh’s College, Oxford (UK). He was educated at Oriel College, Oxford, and was a Junior Research Fellow at Queen’s College, Oxford. In 2007/08 he was a Fellow at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study (Harvard University). He is the author of Thucydides: Narrative and Explanation (Oxford 1998), The Sea! The Sea! The Shout of the Ten Thousand in the Modern Imagination (London 2004), and American Anabasis: Xenophon and the Idea of America (London 2010). He has also written many articles on Greek historiography and its reception. Anthony D. Smith is Emeritus Professor of Nationalism and Ethnicity at the London School of Economics (UK), President of the Association for the Study of Ethnicity and Nationalism, and a Founder Editor and former Co-Chief Editor (with John Hutchinson) of the journal Nations and Nationalism. He has pioneered the academic and scholarly study of nations and nationalism and has published seventeen books translated into twenty-two languages, and over one hundred articles and chapters in books on nations, nationalism and ethnicity, in which he has developed his ethno-symbolic approach. His main publications include The Ethnic Revival (Cambridge 1981), The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford 1986), National Identity (London 1991), Nationalism and Modernism (London & New York 1998), Chosen Peoples (Oxford 2003), and The Cultural Foundations of Nations (Oxford 2008). He has recently completed a book on visual art and national identity in Western Europe, 1600-1850: The Nation Made Real (Oxford 2013).

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Michael Sommer is Professor of Ancient History at the Carl von Ossietzky University of Oldenburg (Germany). He studied Ancient History, History, Classics, Political Science and Near Eastern Archaeology at the Universities of Basle, Perugia, Bremen and Freiburg im Breisgau, where he took his Ph.D. in 2000. From 2002 to 2004, Sommer was a postdoctoral Visiting Fellow at Wolfson College, Oxford. He then taught at the University of Liverpool from 2005 to 2012. Recent publications include Syria: Geschichte einer zerstörten Welt (Stuttgart 2016), Wirtschaft: Geschichte in Quellen (Darmstadt 2016), Die Soldatenkaiser (Darmstadt 32014), Wirtschaftsgeschichte der Antike (Munich 2013), Römische Geschichte (2 vols., Stuttgart 22013–2014), and The Complete Roman Emperor (London & New York 2010). Richard Warren is an Honorary Research Associate at Royal Holloway, University of London (UK). He studied Classics (Literae Humaniores) at the University of Oxford and Latin at the University of Lund (Sweden). Ph.D. in 2014 (Durham University). He was also a Visiting Student at Charles University in Prague (CZ). He was the 2015 recipient of the London School of Economics Association for the Study and Ethnicity and Nationalism Prize in the Memory of Dominique Jacquin-Berdal for an article on Classics and nationalism in the work of the artist Charles Gleyre. He has also published articles on the artists Douglas Strachan and Caspar David Friedrich. He is currently working on a book on Art Nouveau and the Classical Tradition (to appear in 2017).

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Index rerum | 293

Index rerum Index rerum Index rerum Afghanistan: 157 Africa: 5, 115, 137, 142, 155, 157, 161, 163, 164, 167, 169, 170, 184 America: 2, 3, 5, 27, 34, 60, 71–72, 81, 90, 103, 113, 114–116, 122, 123, 124–125, 128, 214, 219, 228–230, 262 ancien régime: 23, 223 anthropology: 49–50, 51, 102–103 architecture: 27–30, 36, 48, 49, 116, 133, 143, 167, 170, 175, 177, 185, 195, 219, 224–226, 228–229, 236 Art Nouveau: 235, 246, 247, 264 Aryan: 50, 54, 55–56, 57, 60, 61, 63, 257 n. 35 Ashanti Wars: 132 athletics: 56–57, 61–62, 65, 67 (see also ‘gymnastics’) Aufklärung: see ‘Enlightenment’ Austro-Hungarian empire: 235, 239, 245, 250, 258 n. 39, 261 authenticity: 5 n. 3, 7, 21, 22, 27, 32, 33, 35, 36, 38, 40, 143 barbarism: 60, 64, 101, 102, 103, 121, 157, 158, 169, 188, 221, 238, 244, 260, 270 Baroque: 21, 28, 31 Battle of Waterloo: see ‘Waterloo’ Bavaria: 30, 214, 221, 225, 226, 252 beauty: 9, 25, 32, 47–68, 209 Befreiungshalle: 30, 226 Berlin: 19, 29, 179, 201, 203, 214 Bible: 19, 20, 21, 39, 40, 63, 141–142, 143, 203, 270, 273 Bildung: see ‘education’ bilingualism: 73, 270, 271 (see also ‘translation’) Bohemia: 4, 7, 11, 235–268 Bosnia-Herzegovina: 258, 261 Britain: 4, 5, 6, 10–11, 12, 20, 25, 28–29, 31, 32–34, 36–39, 40, 46, 47–48, 50, 51, 52, 54–58, 60, 66–67, 72–74, 75, 83– 106, 113–128, 131–174, 175–198, 229 Brno (Brünn): 245 Budapest: 39

calligraphy: 248 Cape Frontier Wars: 132 Catholicism: 53, 62, 63, 65, 258 n. 39, 270, 271, 273, 276, 277, 279 Caucasian (race): 50, 55, 209–211 České národní obrození: 235, 242, 250, 251 n. 30, 253, 260 Charge of the Light Brigade: 137 children: 86 n. 38, 136, 137, 139, 157, 159, 163, 168, 176, 186 n. 16, 189, 191, 195, 228, 229, 247, 251, 273 n. 7 China: 164, 168 citizenship: 21, 23, 24, 25–26, 27, 36, 48– 49, 66, 99 civic nationalism: 4, 6, 19, 20, 46, 47–49, 66–67 Cologne Cathedral: 39, 226 community: 3, 4, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 27, 45, 46, 47, 49, 59, 66, 67, 156–157, 167, 168, 200, 220, 228, 230, 256, 270, 273, 274, 285 (see also ‘imagined communities’) courage: 94, 95, 96, 120, 132, 133, 138, 188 cowardice: 141 Crimean War: 116, 126, 133, 137, 138–139, 140, 142, 145 Czech countries: see ‘Bohemia’, ‘Moravia’, ‘Silesia’ Czech National Revival: see ‘České národní obrození’ degeneration: 49, 50, 60, 65, 186, 208, 209–210, 210 n. 37, 211 (see also ‘purity’) desertion: 135, 141 Detmold: 219, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 230 (see also ‘Hermannsdenkmal’) Doktor Faustus: see ‘Faust’ Dreyfus Affair: 61 druids: 154, 166, 167, 168, 170, 238, 239, 243, 244, 247, 276 Dublin: 270, 271 n. 4, 276, 281 duty: 132, 133, 135, 136, 142, 144, 146, 170

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eagle: 31, 84, 89, 127, 227, 237, 265 n. 52 Eastern nationalism: 4, 46 education: 7–8, 10, 12, 22, 24, 29, 51, 52, 56–57, 61–62, 66, 105, 141, 163–165, 170, 199–215, 229, 261, 269–288 (see also ‘Gymnasium’) Egypt: 80, 84, 96, 273 Elgin Marbles: 31, 54 endurance: 138, 188 (see also ‘strength’) Enlightenment: 19, 21, 22, 23, 28, 32, 45, 46, 48, 49, 52, 67, 102, 105, 211 n. 42, 250 ethnic nationalism: 4, 6, 19, 20, 46, 47–49, 66–67 etymology: 273 Falcon: see ‘Sokol’ Faust (Goethe): 184–185 Félibrige: 64 fin de siècle: 245, 246 First World War: 62, 230, 235, 265 Flanders: 187 folklore: 185, 231, 241, 252 folk tale: 261 fortitude: 154 (see also ‘heroic virtue’) France: 4, 6, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26–27, 28, 30, 32, 33, 46, 47–48, 52, 55–56, 58–67, 71–112, 113–128, 132, 133, 214, 219, 222, 227, 229, 248, 256–258, 272 Franco-Prussian war: 58, 59, 60, 61, 64, 65, 67, 118, 142 n. 15, 229 fraternity: 26–27, 40 freedom: 25, 29, 45, 47, 48, 51, 56, 62, 66– 68, 74, 96, 97, 98, 99, 122 n. 5, 158, 193, 208, 219, 220–222, 223, 225, 228, 229, 231, 261 freemasonry: 248 French Revolution: 22, 24, 25, 26, 35–36, 46, 48, 59, 103, 105, 116, 123, 222, 242 n. 13, 258 Gaelic: 269–288 Germania (Tacitus’ work): 199–215, 221, 235, 254, 255, 256 Germany: 2, 4, 7, 11, 21, 26, 29–30, 31, 36, 40, 46, 47–48, 49–51, 52–53, 66–67, 102, 155, 199–215, 219–231, 235–247, 250–261, 264–265, 269

Göttingen: 49, 201, 209, 211, 213–214, 224 Gothic style: 39, 160, 175, 177, 185, 225 Great Wall of China: 164, 168 Greek body: 47–68 Gymnasium (German high-school): 52, 206– 207, 214, 229 (see also ‘education’) gymnastics: 53, 62, 65–66, 200, 224 n. 7, 226 (see also ‘athletics’) Hadrian’s Wall: 154, 155–156, 161, 163–165, 166–169, 174 health: 47–68, 205, 208 Hebraism: 21, 39, 57, 67 Hellenism: 29–30, 36, 39, 45–70, 221, 273 Herculaneum: 22, 133–135 Hermannsdenkmal: 219–233 (see also ‘Arminius’ in the Index nominum) heroic virtue: 22, 23–24, 25, 27, 28, 29, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, 40, 74, 75, 80, 94, 95, 99, 101, 104, 121, 126, 132–133, 135, 136, 138, 139, 140, 141, 143, 144, 146, 162, 177, 187, 222, 238, 252, 264, 278, 280 (see also ‘courage’, ‘duty’, ‘fortitude’, ‘integrity’, ‘masculinity’, ‘militarism’, ‘simplicity’, ‘strength’, ‘valour’) history as ‘national discipline’ (school subject): 199–215 Holy Roman Empire: 84 n. 31, 203–204, 265 n. 52 homo europaeus: 50 ideology: 3, 5, 6, 8, 19, 20–21, 22, 46, 55, 115, 131, 140, 141, 188, 192, 193, 200, 259 imagined communities: 3, 200, 220 immigration: 207 n. 25, 219, 228, 230–231, 273 imperialism: 2, 6, 10–11, 12, 64, 97, 117–121, 126, 131–133, 136, 140–141, 146, 153– 159, 163–166, 169–170, 187, 189, 192– 193, 223 India: 10, 55, 56, 139, 140–141, 144, 154, 157, 159, 163, 164, 166, 167, 170, 187–189 (see also ‘Indian Mutiny’) Indian Mutiny: 133, 139, 140, 142, 145, 146, 159, 169

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industrialisation: 3, 37, 45, 49, 67, 68, 116, 156, 162, 169, 170, 184, 194 n. 23 innocence: 183 integrity: 95, 104, 132 isonomia: 25 Ireland: 4, 54, 158, 163, 165, 168, 269–288 Ivančice: 245, 260–261 Kölner Dom: see ‘Cologne Cathedral’ Kulturnation: 5 Leipzig: 219, 224 Liverpool: 19, 29, 87, 146, 149 London: 19, 28, 33, 34, 38, 39, 55, 72 n. 2, 73, 101, 114, 115, 116, 117, 128, 133, 134, 138, 140, 160, 166, 174, 175, 187–188, 271, 277 Lucknow: 139–140, 141, 142, 145, 150 Manchester: 153, 154, 160, 161–162, 167, 169, 170, 173 Mancunians: 161, 162, 163, 165, 170 Maori rebellion: 132 Marathon: 79, 98 masculinity: 131–146, 183, 264 mens sana in corpore sano: 56, 62 Milan (Milano): 91, 240 militarism: 28, 45, 59, 60, 62, 66, 73–74, 76, 83–84, 89, 97, 125, 131–146, 154, 155, 157, 163, 166, 167, 170, 188, 236, 264 Moravia: 235, 245, 258 n. 39, 261 Mount Vesuvius: see ‘Vesuvius’ Munich (München): 19, 29, 30, 179, 224, 225, 226, 245, 246, 257 muscular Christianity: 141, 142, 143, 146 music: 10, 11, 93, 185, 276 mysticism: 248 myth, mythology: 4, 8 n. 4, 20, 24, 39, 47, 133, 167, 182, 193, 196, 219, 220, 224, 229, 230, 231, 236, 240, 241, 246, 251, 252, 263, 283 n. 23 Napoleonic Wars: 28, 53, 73, 87, 89, 93, 132, 212, 222, 227, 242 n. 13, 252, 253 nationalism, definitions of: 2–7, 20–22, 220 nationalism, emergence of: 5, 167

Naturism: 64–65 Nazarene group: 179 neo-classicism: 19, 20, 22–40, 48, 49, 51, 66, 84–85 Netherlands: 20, 39, 46, 85 Newcastle: 155, 156, 159, 161 New York: 125, 128 nobleness (noble character): 23, 84, 88 n. 44, 93, 97, 99, 100, 101, 137, 157, 162, 183, 190, 193, 205, 230, 239, 258 n. 40, 273, 278 Normans: 186, 187, 271, 273 Northumberland: 155–156 Notitia dignitatum: 157 Obecní Dům (Municipal Hall, Prague): 263 occultism: 248 Olympic Games: 62 opera: 10, 219, 222, 236 (see also ‘theatre’) Opium War: 132 painting: 19, 27, 32–39, 49, 51, 74–75, 79– 80, 81, 84–85, 87, 95, 98, 112, 131–146, 149–150, 153–170, 173–174, 235–265, 267–268 Paris (France): 19, 28, 39, 48, 63, 64–65, 71, 72, 73, 83, 85, 86, 89, 96, 101 n. 62, 113, 114, 116, 117–119, 127, 128, 245, 246, 247, 248, 258, 261, 263 Paris World Exhibition: 258, 261 Passau: 239–240, 252 patria: 24–25, 26, 32, 35, 38, 40, 220 n. 3 patriotism: 7, 19, 25, 28, 30, 31, 35, 36, 37, 53, 65, 76, 80, 87, 89, 94, 97, 103, 116, 121, 132, 139, 142, 187, 193, 202, 212, 224 n. 7, 225, 237, 240, 250, 250–251 n. 29, 253, 259, 260–261, 275, 276 Phrygian cap: 157, 169, 258 physical education: see ‘athletics’ and ‘gymnastics’ polis (Greek): 23, 24, 25, 26 Pompeianum: 226 Pompeii: 22, 131, 133–136, 143–146 Prague (Praha): 235, 236, 237, 240, 241, 242, 248, 250, 252, 261 n. 46, 263 Pre-Raphaelites: 155, 160, 195, 196

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primitivism: 33, 86 n. 38, 102, 158, 164–165, 211, 251–252, 256, 264 (see also ‘savage/savagery’) Protestantism: 39, 40, 57, 122, 214, 230, 258 n. 39, 271, 273 Prussia: 29, 52, 54, 58, 59, 60, 61, 64, 65, 67, 72, 73, 118, 142 n. 15, 185, 199, 201, 202, 214, 223, 225, 226, 227, 229, 236 purity: 28, 29, 32, 36, 58, 66, 200, 205, 207– 208, 210–211, 213, 214, 215, 222–223, 271 (see also ‘degeneration’) race: 12, 49–50, 53, 54–56, 57–58, 59, 60– 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 122, 153, 157, 159, 167, 199, 201, 208–211, 229, 273, 278 reception studies: 7–11, 13 reception vs. tradition: 9–10 Reformation: 39, 185, 230 Reinheit: see ‘purity’ Renaissance: 2, 21, 22, 50, 58, 65, 144, 219, 255 Rococo: 22, 32, 34 Romanticism: 10, 11, 19, 20, 22, 27, 36, 37, 38, 39, 65, 184, 239, 240, 269 Rugby School: 56–57 Ruhmeshalle: 30, 226 Russia: 2, 21, 97, 134, 137, 157, 223 Salamis: 76, 77–78, 85 Sattelzeit: 199–200 savage/savagery: 103, 157–158, 162, 165, 168, 170, 183, 188, 189, 193, 274 n. 8 (see also ‘primitivism’) Scandinavia: 40, 54–55, 56, 187 Scotland: 20, 39, 54, 89, 102, 139, 158, 165, 168, 272 sculpture: 23, 30–32, 36, 49, 51, 56, 144, 193, 195, 219–231, 236, 239–240 n. 9 Scythia: 97, 273 Second World War: 46, 230 Silesia: 228, 235, 258 n. 39 simplicity: 23, 24, 27, 33, 102, 205, 206, 222, 271 Sittenspiegeltheorie: 205–206 slavery: 33, 95, 121, 160, 161, 163, 165, 167, 168, 170, 183, 271

Slavic area/culture: 2, 54, 60, 235–268 Society of the Patriotic Friends of the Arts: see ‘Společnost vlasteneckých přátel umění’ Sokol (‘Falcon’): 260 Spain: 97 n. 57, 142, 245 n. 23, 262 Sparta: 26, 78 Společnost vlasteneckých přátel umění: 237, 240, 250 Staatsnation: 5 Stoics/Stoicism: 23, 24, 34, 35, 132, 141 strength: 44, 47–68, 138, 207, 210, 225, 227 style Mucha: 246 Sudeten(land): 258 Switzerland: 21, 87 Teutoburg Forest: 30, 208, 219, 222, 225, 226, 227, 229, 235, 236, 243, 244, 249, 255, 267 theatre: 11, 34, 187, 245–246, 257, 264 (see also ‘opera’) Trajan’s Column: 144, 156 transformation (vs. reception): 8–9 translation: 72–73, 81–82, 88 n. 44, 116, 122, 123, 125, 184 n. 15, 203, 204, 206– 207, 214, 222, 269–288 (see also ‘bilingualism’) Turnverein: 53, 200 United States of America: see ‘America’ unity: 3, 7, 20, 26, 30, 37, 40, 57–58, 61, 159, 169, 170, 210, 219, 222, 224, 225, 226, 227, 230–231, 252 valour: 139, 181, 183, 188 vengeance: 78, 183, 191 Versailles: 28, 226 Vesuvius: 131, 134–135, 140 Victorian age: 10, 11 n. 5, 11 n. 6, 131–146, 153–170, 182, 184, 193, 196 Vienna (Wien): 75, 80, 245, 246, 250, 253 Vikings: 187 Wales: 37, 100, 158, 168, 274 n. 8 Walhalla: 30, 187 n. 17, 226

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Wallington Hall: 155, 159, 161, 162, 163 Waterloo: 71, 73, 83, 86, 88, 89, 91, 92, 95, 97–98, 102, 106, 132, 140, 204 Western nationalism: 4, 46, 59

Wien: see ‘Vienna (Wien)’ Wiener Secession: 246 World War: see ‘First World War’ and ‘Second World War’

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Index nominum (personarum) | 299

Index nominum (personarum) Index nominum (personarum) Index nominum (personarum) Achilles: 24, 31, 32–33, 102, 132, 278–280 Adam, Robert: 34 Admetus: 78–79, 80–81, 82, 84–85, 87, 97, 99, 102, 103–104, 105 Agricola: 161, 162, 165 Albert, Prince: 178, 179, 190, 191, 194 n. 23 Alcinous: 103 Alexander the Great: 74, 75, 80, 105, 127 Alison, Archibald: 93 Alma-Tadema, Lawrence: 134, 143, 144, 154, 162 Altdorfer, Albrecht: 74–75 Anacreon: 282–283 Anderson, Benedict: 3 Aphrodite: 283 (see also ‘Venus’) Appiani, Andrea: 36 Arbuthnot, John: 89 Aristotle: 48 Arminius: 7, 24, 30, 187, 219–231, 235–268 Armitage, Edward: 181, 186, 192 Arndt, Ernst Moritz: 199, 201, 206, 207, 211– 213, 222, 223–224 Arnold, Matthew: 39, 57–58, 67 Arnold, Thomas: 56–57, 61 Artaxerxes: 76, 79, 81, 82, 93, 100, 101, 105 Aubanel, Théodore: 64 Augustine (Aurelius Augustinus): 182, 191 n. 21 Augustus (Roman emperor): 84 n. 31, 119, 121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 127, 256 Bach, Johann Christian: 93 Bagehot, Walter: 113–114 Bandel, Ernst von: 219, 223–227 Banks, Thomas: 31 Barbarossa (Friedrich I): 259 Barron, Philip: 276, 277 Barry, Charles: 175, 177 Barry, James: 33 Bathurst, Henry: 103–104 Beaufort, Jean-Antoine: 34 Bebel, Heinrich: 207, 208, 221 Bell, John Z.: 182 Beraud, Antoine: 99

Bergler, Joseph: 235, 236–242, 249–253, 262, 264–265, 267 Berndt, Julius: 228–230 Bernhardt, Sarah: 245, 246, 247 Bismarck, Otto von: 58 Blücher, Gebhard Leberecht von: 223, 224 n. 7 Blumenbach, Johann Friedrich: 49–50, 209– 211 Boadicea: 154, 170, 175–198 Börne, Ludwig: 224 n. 7 Bossi, Giuseppe: 36 Boudic(c)a: see ‘Boadicea’ Boyce, Edmund: 94 Braquehais, Auguste Bruno: 129 Bridges, John: 182 Briullov, Karl: 134 Brooke, Charlotte: 271 Brown, Ford Madox: 153, 154, 160–163, 165, 167, 168, 169, 170, 173 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett: 87, 101–102 n. 62 Bruce, John Collingwood: 156, 158 n. 1, 165 Brutus: 23, 24, 25, 33, 34, 35, 116, 119, 121 ‘Bull, John’: 89–90, 91, 99–100 Bulwer-Lytton, Edward: 135–136, 142 n. 14 Bunyan, John: 185 Burckhardt, Jacob: 57 Burke, Edmund: 32 Burne-Jones, Edward: 39 Burns, Robert: 282 Butler, Elizabeth: 138 Byron, George Gordon: 88, 271 Caesar: see ‘Julius Caesar’ Caldara, Antonio: 93 Caligula: 119, 121 Callan, Bartholomew: 281 Campbell, Colin: 145 Canova, Antonio: 31, 32, 39 Cara(c)tacus: 31, 154, 181, 183, 192, 193 Carlyle, Thomas: 163 Cassius Dio: 175, 176–177 n. 5, 184 n. 13, 190 Cato: 116

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Chantrey, Francis Leggatt: 103 Charlemagne: 84 n. 31, 119, 256 Chassériau, Théodore: 134 Chateaubriand, François-René de: 88–89, 102–103, 106 Cicero: 24, 125, 282 n. 23 Cincinnatus: 23, 74 Clarke, Henry G.: 190–191, 192, 195 Claudius (Roman emperor): 31, 192 Clayton, John: 156, 158 n. 1 Clémenceau, Georges: 60–61 Clough, David Marston: 228 Clovis: 204, 256 Coke, Thomas: 103 Colin, Armand: 245, 247 Conring, Hermann: 210 Constable, John: 37–38 Cook, Richard: 181 Coriolanus: 92 Cornelia: 23 Cornelius Nepos: 76, 82 Coubertin, Pierre de: 61–62 Courbet, Gustave: 127 Covelli, Nicola: 134 Cozens, John: 37 Cramer, Carl Friedrich: 222 Crane, Charles: 261 n. 46, 262 Croker, John Wilson: 83–84, 86, 89, 90, 105 Cromwell, Oliver: 282 Cruikshank, George: 89–90 Cundall, Joseph: 139 Cunego, Domenico: 32–33 Cupid: 31, 241 Cuyer, Édouard: 62 D’Alembert, Jean-Baptiste le Rond: 23, 25 Dance, Nathaniel: 33 Dante Alighieri: 186 Darius: 79, 97 Darwin, Charles: 50, 58, 63 David, Jacques Louis: 33, 34–36, 80, 85, 95, 258 Davis, Thomas: 282 Delacroix, Eugène: 36 Desange, Louis: 139–140, 150 Diderot, Denis: 23, 25, 35 Dilke, Charles Wentworth: 229

Dio Cassius: see ‘Cassius Dio’ Disraeli, Benjamin: 56 Domitian: 121 Dreyfus, Alfred: 61, 65 Dubois, François: 85, 112 Duruy, Victor: 65 Duval, Mathias: 62 Dyce, William: 38, 179 Dyer, Thomas: 145 Eastlake, Charles: 178–179, 192 Eckstein, Friedrich August: 206–207 Egan, Pierce: 138 Enoch of Ascoli: 221 Epictetus: 141 Ethelbert: 182 Etty, William: 181 Euripides: 77 n. 11, 283 Fenton, Roger: 139 Ferry, Jules: 61, 66 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb: 4, 53, 201, 202 n. 9, 203, 204, 222 Flammarion, Camille: 249 Flaubert, Gustave: 65 Flaxman, John: 31–33, 36, 185–186 Fleming, John: 275 n. 11, 281, 287 Fletcher, Charles R. L.: 163–165 Ford, Henry Justice: 153, 154, 163–165, 167, 168, 170, 174 Forestier, Amédée: 168 Forster, Robert Henry: 169 Freeman, Edward Augustus: 229 Friedrich I (Barbarossa): 259 Friedrich, Caspar David: 251 n. 31, 252 Friedrich Wilhelm III: 29 Friedrich Wilhelm IV: 29, 225, 226, 227 Frost, William Edward: 182 Füssli, Johann Heinrich: 33, 39, 87–88, 112 Fuseli, Henry: see ‘Füssli, Johann Heinrich’ Gabriel, Ange-Jacques: 28 Garrick, David: 34 Gasquet, Joachim: 64, 65 Gauguin, Paul: 245, 249 Gehrts, Johannes: 187 n. 17 Gell, William: 136

Index nominum (personarum) | 301

Gellner, Ernest: 3–4, 5 Gerald of Wales: 274 n. 8 Germanicus: 25, 31, 34 Gildas: 158, 169 Gillies, John: 102 Giptis: 64 Gladstone, William: 126 Gleig, George Robert: 142 Gneisenau, August Neidhardt von: 213 Gobineau, Arthur de: 4, 55–56, 60 Görres, Joseph von: 212 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang: 52, 184 Gourgaud, Gaspard: 72, 79, 84 Green, John Richard: 229 Gutenberg, Johannes: 185 GutsMuths, Johann Christoph Friedrich: 53 Haas, James D.: 214 Hadrian: 154, 155–156, 161, 162, 163–165, 166–169, 174 Hall, Samuel: 187 Halliday, Anna: 159 Hamilton, Charles: 94 Hamilton, Gavin: 32–33 Hamilton, William: 33, 134 Hannibal: 74, 95 Hardiman, James: 270–272, 274, 275–276, 281 Harney, Thomas: 275–279, 280, 284, 285 Hasenclever, Josua: 211 Haussmann, Georges-Eugène: 116 Havelock, Henry: 141–142 Haydn, Joseph: 80 Haydon, Benjamin Robert: 87, 133 Hazlitt, William: 93 Hector: 24, 25, 32, 33 Heeren, Arnold Hermann Ludwig: 213 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich: 52, 126 Heine, Heinrich: 57, 67 Hereward: 186–187, 192 Hermann: see ‘Arminius’ Herodotus: 76, 255, 272 Heyne, Christian Gottlob: 210 Highet, Gilbert: 9–10, 13 Hitler, Adolf: 55 Hobhouse, John Cam: 88 Hobsbawm, Eric J.: 4, 5, 200 n. 4

Homer: 22, 23, 31, 32–33, 56, 102, 103, 126, 277–280, 283–284 Hone, William: 95 Horace: 25, 277 n. 15, 282, 288 Horatii: 34 Horsley, John Calcott: 182 Howlett, Robert: 139 Humboldt, Wilhelm von: 29, 52 Hunt, Leigh: 78, 81–82, 93, 96, 105 Hus, Jan: 245 Hutten, Ulrich von: 221 Ingres, Jean-Auguste-Dominique: 36, 39 Jahn, Friedrich Ludwig: 53, 201, 202 n. 9, 203, 212 Janssen, Peter: 264 n. 51 Julius Caesar: 74, 84 n. 31, 105, 113–129, 154, 166, 181, 186, 188, 192, 244, 255, 256 Jungmann, Josef: 258 n. 40 Jupiter: 36 (see also ‘Zeus’) Juvenal: 56 Karl IV (Czech king): 241 Kauffmann, Angelika: 239, 242, 249, 252, 264 Keating, Geoffrey: 270, 272–274, 278 n. 17 Kingsley, Charles: 142, 186, 187, 192, 229 Kipling, Rudyard: 163–165, 170, 174, 189 n. 19 Kleist, Heinrich von: 223 Klenze, Leo von: 30 Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlieb: 222, 249–250 Knox, Robert: 54 Kohlrausch, Friedrich: 199–215 Kohn, Hans: 4, 45–49, 59, 66, 199 n. 1 Kollár, Ján: 258 n. 40 Koselleck, Reinhart: 74–75, 105 Kossinna, Gustaf: 206 Labienus, Titus: 122–123 Landseer, Edwin: 179 Lavater, Johann Caspar: 209 Leake, William: 102 Ledoux, Claude-Nicolas: 28 Leighton, Frederick: 39, 56, 132

302 | Index nominum (personarum)

Leonidas: 24, 25, 85 Libuše: 241 Lightfoot, Martin: 186 Lincoln, Abraham: 114, 124–125 Linnaeus, Carl: 209 Livy: 33, 133, 207 n. 26, 255, 272 Lohenstein, Casper von: 221 Lucian of Samosata: 221 Ludwig I (King of Bavaria): 30, 225, 226 Luther, Martin: 221 Lycurgus: 25, 74 Lynch, John: 272, 274 MacHale, John: 279–280, 285 Madden, Samuel: 94 Maitland, Frederick: 72–73, 98, 99 Makart, Hans: 246–247 Marat, Jean Paul: 35–36, 258 Marcus Aurelius: 141 Marcus Cerrinius Restitutus: 145, 151 Marcus Curtius: 133 Marcus Holconius Rufus: 144–145 Marsh, Catherine: 138, 142 Martin, John: 134, 184 Marx, Karl: 114, 125–126 Massas, Charles de: 84 Medea: 247–248 Meinecke, Friedrich: 5 Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Felix: 143 Mendes, Catulle: 247 Menzel, Wolfgang: 224 n. 7 Metastasio, Pietro: 93, 94 Millar, John: 102 Millet, Jean-François: 36 Milton, John: 179, 180 Mistral, Frédéric: 64 Mitford, William: 102 Möser, Justus: 222 Montesquieu, Charles-Louis de: 4 Monticelli, Teodoro: 134 Moore, Albert: 38 Morris, E.B.: 192 Moses: 25 Mosse, George: 47, 49, 52 Mucha, Alphonse: 235, 243–249, 253, 254, 257–263, 264–265, 268 Mucha, Jiří: 245 n. 23, 248, 259–260

Mucius Scaevola: 23 Müller, Max: 55 Murat, Louise: 85 Muses: 282, 283 Napoleon Bonaparte: 4, 26, 28, 36, 52, 53, 71–112, 114, 132, 154, 219, 222, 224 Napoleon III: 59, 60, 65, 84, 113–129, 132 Nash, John: 28–29 Nelson, Lord Horatio: 32 Nepos: see ‘Cornelius Nepos’ Nero: 119, 121, 183 Nevsky, Alexander: 24 Nicolovius, Georg Heinrich Ludwig: 214 Numa Pompilius: 25 Odysseus: 103 O’Connell, Daniel: 270, 277, 279, 280, 281 O’Hickey, Thomas: 277 O’Kearney, Nicholas: 281–284, 285, 287– 288 O’Meara, Barry E.: 99 Paoli, Pasquale: 79, 99 Parris, Edmund Thomas: 182 Pars, William: 37 Pater, Walter: 57, 58, 67 Paton, Joseph Noel: 139 Peel, Robert: 178, 181 Perseus: 95 Petri, Moritz Leopold: 225 Phillips, Joseph: 121 Philoctetes: 33 Piloty, Karl Theodor: 239 n. 6, 246 n. 24, 247 Pinch, William: 122 n. 5 Pindar: 80 Piranesi, Giovanni Battista: 22–23 Plato: 35, 48, 51 Pliny the Younger: 134 Plutarch: 73–74, 76, 77–78, 79–80, 81, 82, 95, 98, 105 Polybius: 255 n. 34 Pope Clement XIV: 32 Poussin, Nicolas: 22 Poynter, Edward: 131–136, 138, 140, 143– 146, 149

Index nominum (personarum) | 303

‘Probus’: 83, 84, 86, 93, 95 Protis: 64 Quatrefages, Armand de: 60 Quatremère de Quincy, Antoine Chrysostôme: 28 Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino): 23, 48 Rasponi, Giulio: 84–85 Rauch, Christian Daniel: 224 Redgrave, Richard: 194–195 Redgrave, Samuel: 194–195 Regulus: 23, 24, 25, 34 Renan, Ernest: 59–60 Retzsch, Friedrich August Moritz: 184–186 Reynolds, George W. M.: 138 Robespierre, Maximilien de: 25 Rochas, Colonel de: 249 Rochegrosse, Georges: 245 Rochet, Charles: 62–63 Rodin, Auguste: 258 n. 36 Rogeard, Auguste: 123–124 Rogers, Samuel: 181 Rollin, Charles: 80 Romieu, Auguste: 117 Roscoe, William: 87–88 Rosetti, Dante Gabriel: 155 Rosetti, William Michael: 160, 163 Roumanille, Joseph: 64 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques: 21, 23, 24, 25, 80 Sahib, Nana: 159 Sallust: 272 Sand, George: 124 Sandby, Paul: 37 Sartorius, Georg Friedrich: 213 Schadow, Johann Gottfried: 31, 224 Schiller, Friedrich: 184–185, 186 Schinkel, Karl Friedrich: 29–30, 39–40, 179, 219, 224, 225 Schlegel, Friedrich: 75 Schlegel, Johann Elias: 222 Schottelius, Justus Georg: 207, 208 Schwanthaler, Ludwig: 187 n. 17 Scipio: 23 Scott, William Bell: 153, 154, 155–160, 161, 162, 163, 169, 173

Seignobos, Charles: 243, 244 n. 20, 245, 247–248, 254–257, 259 Selous, Henry Courtney: 175–198 Seneca philosophus: 141 Seneca rhetor: 123 n. 6 Sérusier, Paul: 249 Severn, Joseph: 182 Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley-Cooper, Earl of: 32 Shakespeare, William: 180, 184–185 Sheppard, John George: 229 Sieyès, Abbé: 63 Simpson, William: 138 Smiles, Sam: 11, 157, 162, 193, 196 Smith, Anthony D.: 4, 5–6 n. 3, 6, 11, 19–43, 46, 49 Soane, John: 29 Socrates: 24, 25, 35 Spytihněv (Czech king): 241 Staël, Madame de: 269 Stein, Heinrich Freiherr vom: 212, 213 Stendhal: 90–91 Stephenson, George: 156, 169 Sterne, Laurence: 86–87 Strindberg, August: 249 Stuart, William Villiers: 277 Stubbs, William: 229 Suetonius: 221, 256 Süvern, Johann Wilhelm: 214 Tacitus: 102, 235–265, 199–215 Taine, Hippolyte: 60, 61, 65 Tarquinii: 25 Tell, Wilhelm: 24 Tennyson, Alfred: 137, 196 Themistocles: 73–112 Theocritus: 32 Thorvaldsen, Bertel: 30–31 Thun-Hohenstein, Leopold Linhart von: 240, 250–251 n. 29 Thusnelda: 187 n. 17, 237, 238, 239 n. 6, 239 n. 7 Tibullus: 277 Timoleon: 25 Tischbein, Johann Heinrich Wilhelm: 36, 239, 249, 264 Titus (Roman emperor): 133

304 | Index nominum (personarum)

Tocqueville, Alexis de: 55, 123–124 Towne, Francis: 37 Townsend, Henry J.: 182 Trajan: 144, 156 Trevelyan, Paulina Jermyn: 155, 156 Trevelyan, Walter Calverley: 155, 159 Tuisto: 238 Turner, William: 37, 39 Turpin, François-Henri: 74 Twain, Mark: 145 Ulysses: see ‘Odysseus’ Varus (Roman general): 222, 223–224, 235, 237, 243–244, 247, 256, 264 n. 51, 268 Vegetius: 141 Venus: 54, 56, 63 (see also ‘Aphrodite’) Vercingetorix: 118, 122 Vergil: 25, 94, 104, 277, 282 n. 23 Victoria, Queen: 154, 183 ‘Vindex’: 95 Viroli, Maurizio: 5, 7, 25 Voltaire: 26 Waagen, Gustav Friedrich: 177, 185, 195–196 Waldis, Burkhard: 221

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Wallenstein (Albrecht Wenzel Eusebius von Waldstein): 245 Ward, Edward Matthew: 192 Waterhouse, Alfred: 160 Watts, Frederick: 181, 183 Wellington, Duke of: 121, 132, 136, 137, 144 West, Benjamin: 34, 35, 36, 39 West, Charles: 181 Westmacott, Robert: 181 Wicar, Jean-Baptiste: 84–85 Wilde, Oscar: 54 Wilhelm I: 226–227, 230 Wilson, Richard: 37 Winckelmann, Johann Joachim: 22–23, 50– 51, 52 Woodville, Richard Caton: 153, 154, 166–169, 170, 174 Woolner, Thomas: 193 Wren, Christopher: 28 Xerxes: 76, 79, 81, 97, 99 Yonge, Charlotte M.: 136, 145–146 Zeus: 277, 280 n. 19 (see also ‘Jupiter’) Zola, Émile: 61, 64–65

Index locorum | 305

Index locorum Index locorum Index locorum Anacreon fr. 2 West: 282–283 Caesar Bell. Gall. 6.16: 188 n. 18; 6.17.3–5: 244 n. 19 Cassius Dio Hist. 62.1: 184 n. 13; 62.2.4: 190 n. 20; 62.12: 175, 176–177 n. 5 Cornelius Nepos Them. 8.1: 76 n. 8; 8.3–5: 78 n. 14; 8.4: 81 n. 20; 9.2: 77 n. 12; 9.3: 78 n. 13 Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum CIL IV 8767: 144 n. 19; X 994: 145; X 995: 145 Diodorus Siculus Hist. 11.58.2–3: 76 n. 9 Euripides Bacch. 1: 77 n. 11 Homer Il. 1.5: 280 n. 19; 5.778: 280 n. 19; 6.146–149: 283–284; 14.347: 280 n. 19

Pliny the Younger Epist. 6.16: 134; 6.20: 134 Plutarch Mor. 185f: 80 n. 19; 328f: 80 n. 19; 602a: 80 n. 19 Them. 3: 76 n. 8; 5.3–5: 76 n. 8; 18: 76 n. 8; 21: 76 n. 8; 22: 76 n. 8; 24.4: 81 n. 20; 27.1: 81 n. 21; 28.2–4: 77, 78 n. 13; 29.10: 80 n. 19; 31.5–7: 76 n. 9 Quintilian Inst. orat. 1.5.8: 123 n. 6; 4.1.11: 123 n. 6 Seneca rhetor Contr. 10 praef. 4–8: 123 n. 6 Suetonius Aug. 23: 256 Tacitus Agr. 16: 183 n. 12 Ann. 1.61: 243 n. 15, 243 n. 16; 2.9–10: 220 n. 3; 12.33: 181; 12.36: 183; 14.34: 175, 176 n. 5; 14.35: 183 n. 11; 14.37: 183 n. 12 Germ. 2.1: 207 n. 25; 2.3: 238 n. 5; 4.1–2: 207

Horace Od. 4.3: 282, 288

Thucydides Hist. 1.136.2–137.1: 78 n. 14; 1.136.3: 81 n. 20; 1.137.4: 77 n. 12, 78 n. 13

Justinian Inst. 2.1.1: 99 n. 59

Vegetius Epit. 2.5: 141

Livy Hist. 1.8.5: 207 n. 26; 7.6.1–6: 133

Vergil Aen. 6.851–853: 94 n. 52

306 | Index locorum

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