The History of Modern Painting, Volume 2 (of 4): Revised edition continued by the author to the end of the XIX century

In Short

This volume acts as a panoramic chronicle of the nineteenth century’s shift toward modernism. It maps the evolution of painting from the satirical, biting observations of English draughtsmen to the profound, atmospheric landscapes of the Barbizon school and the gritty, unadorned realism of Courbet. By examining the slow disintegration of academic traditions, the author illustrates how artists moved from the "falsehoods" of studio compositions toward a direct, honest engagement with light, nature, and the working human form. It remains a foundational text because it captures the period's struggle to define "truth" in art, documenting both the celebrated masters and the forgotten figures who paved the way for the modern eye.

The Story

The narrative begins with a necessary rebellion. During the early nineteenth century, painting was largely alienated from the genuine pulse of human life, retreating into neoclassical echoes and staged historical dramas. The first real cracks in this facade were made not by grand painters, but by the caricaturists—figures like George Cruikshank and the contributors to Punch. These draughtsmen performed the vital service of dragging art back to the streets, capturing contemporary costume, the manners of the bourgeoisie, and the innocence of childhood. They were the first to prove that the "modern" was a valid subject for the artist’s hand.

As the century progresses, the focus shifts to the slow arrival of modernity in larger-scale work. This transition was often clumsy, particularly in the realm of the "military picture," where artists struggled to reconcile the heroic, romanticized traditions of the past with the harsh reality of contemporary soldiers and battlefields. The story follows this friction across Europe. In England, painters like Edwin Landseer and James Ward bridged the gap between old-world technique and a newfound interest in animal and rural life, though their fame often succumbed to the very popularity of their own mass-produced engravings.

A significant portion of the arc is dedicated to the discovery of light and atmosphere. The reader is taken from the stiff, conventional landscapes of earlier masters to the radical, shimmering vision of John Constable. His work represents a fundamental shift: the realization that the "mood" of a scene, governed by the play of light and shadow, holds more artistic weight than the objects themselves. This breakthrough travels to France, fueling the Fontainebleau school. Here, the narrative dwells on the distinct temperaments of the Barbizon painters—Corot’s idyllic tenderness, Rousseau’s obsessive, sculptural precision, and Dupré’s stormy, tragic drama.

The climax of this movement arrives with the uncompromising vision of Jean-François Millet and Gustave Courbet. Millet, the "incorrigible Norman peasant," turns his back on the theatricality of Paris to focus on the silent, heavy labor of the earth. Courbet completes this transformation by stripping away all vestiges of poetic reverie. He paints the physical world with the directness of a laborer, focusing on the epidermis of reality rather than the psychical or the symbolic. By the end of the century, the book demonstrates that painting has fully arrived at a new maturity: the artist is no longer a teller of tales or a designer of myths, but a direct observer of the world as it exists—raw, light-bathed, and unadorned.

How It Unfolds

The draughtsmen as pioneers The book opens by asserting that political caricaturists were the first to bridge the gap between art and reality. By abandoning the stiff, classical models of the early century, these artists introduced a fresh, observant, and often satirical depiction of contemporary society.

The shift in military and genre painting The text moves into the struggle of military painters to depict contemporary uniforms and battlefield conditions without losing the dignity of the image. It then examines the transition in genre painting, where narrative anecdotes gradually give way to more sincere, atmospheric observations of daily life.

The evolution of the landscape A major turning point occurs with the introduction of John Constable, who teaches the world to see foliage and light for what they truly are. This leads into an exploration of the Barbizon school, where the landscape is transformed from a stage set into a living, breathing subject.

The triumph of realism The final arc focuses on the work of Millet and Courbet, who finalize the break from academicism. Their focus on the "cry of the earth" and the physical reality of the human animal marks the definitive arrival of the modern sensibility.

The People

George Cruikshank stands as the quintessential bridge between the biting, brutal satire of the old guard and the well-bred, observant humor of the modern illustrator. He moves from caricaturing politicians to depicting the intimate, shy life of children, setting a template for those who follow.

Jules Dupré is presented as the "tragic dramatist" of the Barbizon school, a man of intense, storm-tossed emotion whose work captures the "symphonic" quality of wind and light. In contrast, Théodore Rousseau is the disciplined, almost mathematical observer of nature, spending years on single trees to capture their individual souls, often at the risk of losing the spontaneity of his own work.

Jean-François Millet represents the stubborn integrity of the artist who refuses to conform. By rejecting the "bread and grease" of Parisian artistic circles, he finds his own path in the fields of Normandy, rendering the "cry of the earth" with a heavy, honest brush.

Finally, Gustave Courbet appears as the most resolute of the realists. He is a man with a "pipe in his mouth and a spade in his hand," viewing the world with the equanimity of a farmer. He denies the romantic, preferring the physical truth of raw hides, moss-grown rocks, and the healthy scent of the stable, cementing his place as an artist who sees nature not as a dream, but as a material fact.

In Its Own Voice

"The general alienation of painting from the interests of life during the first half of the nineteenth century" describes the artistic climate that the early draughtsmen and caricaturists sought to disrupt by bringing contemporary society into the sphere of art.

"In every work of art there is, in addition to what endures, a fine perfume that evaporates after a certain number of years, and is no longer perceptible to those who come afterwards" explains why the work of fashion-conscious illustrators like Gavarni often feels like "dried flowers" to later generations.

"What does my painting matter to you? I don't trouble my head about your bread and grease" serves as the defiant, dismissive response from Millet to those who attempted to impose the shallow, academic expectations of the city upon his work.

What It's Really About

The central argument is that modern painting was not a sudden invention, but a slow, arduous process of shedding "falsehoods." The book investigates how art gradually moved away from the "bookish" need to tell stories or lecture the viewer, toward the more essential task of capturing an optical truth. It probes the tension between the "poetic" or "anecdotic"—the desire to make art sentimental or narrative—and the "direct," which seeks to render the atmosphere and physical substance of the world. Underlying the history of these painters is the persistent question of the artist's integrity: can an artist remain true to their own vision when the public demands lollipops, anecdotes, or heroic illusions? The book argues that the masters were those who, like Courbet or Millet, possessed the courage to work with an unadorned, personal sincerity.

Why Read It Today

Reading this volume feels like opening a long-forgotten, encyclopedic journal from a scholar who has spent a lifetime in the galleries of Europe. The prose is precise, warm, and deeply opinionated, reflecting a time when art criticism was an exercise in rigorous, descriptive storytelling. You will find that the author does not shy away from the harsh judgments of his own era; his descriptions of "senile" artists or "tedious" painters are delivered with a refreshing, if occasionally biting, frankness.

This book is ideal for those who want to understand the why of modern art, rather than just the what. It provides a vital context for the Impressionists who follow, showing how the soil of realism was carefully tilled by the landscapists and peasants of the mid-century. While the length and the density of the names and titles may be daunting to the casual reader, the persistence of the author's voice—which genuinely loves the act of looking—carries the reader through. You will walk away with a much clearer understanding of why Constable’s green leaves or Courbet’s heavy, material touch were, in their time, revolutionary. It is a slow, thoughtful read that rewards the patient, offering a window into a century that was desperately trying to teach itself how to look at the world without wearing spectacles.