The Spectacle of Science: the Art of Illusion in Prints of the French Revolution

Abstract

In this article, I will discuss prints from the French Revolution that utilize scientific instruments as political metaphors. France’s fascination with science during the Enlightenment has been well documented, notably by Bernadette Bensaude-Vincent and Christine Blondel in their recent investigation of its uses as a popular form of entertainment. Whether it was seen as an ally or a foe, the spectacle of science attracted Revolutionary artists. This pull reveals not only an understanding of scientific material thanks to the groundwork of the Enlightenment, but also a need to reposition science within a Revolutionary context. What the prints have in common is ‘spectacle’ in the sense that they are pre-occupied with the idea of illusion, not just as a negative act of deception but as a creative and potentially empowering process, allowing the viewer to see beyond reality into a brighter future.

[Keywords: Eighteenth-Century Science, Eighteenth-Century Prints, Eighteenth-Century France, French Revolutionary Prints]

‘Je ne suis ni prêtre ni magicien; je ne veux point vous tromper; mais je saurais vous étonner. Il ne tiendroit qu’à moi de faire illusion ; j’aime mieux servir à l’instruction’ (Philidor qtd. in La Feuille villageoise, 506).

The purpose of this article is to provide a cursory survey of Revolutionary prints involving scientific apparatus, in particular optical science in the early years of the Revolution. More than just sources in a history of science, these often naïve and quickly executed caricatures reveal wider French Revolutionary issues. Susan Maslan has defined theatricality as ‘the production of opaque, alienating relations between performers and spectators’, and points out that it is a concept at odds with the Revolution’s commitment to ‘building an entirely transparent society’ (Maslan, ix). This quest for a ‘transparent society’ can also be seen as a quest against falseness and deceit. Prints where masks feature prominently might be an obvious place to investigate the resonances of this quest, but I would like to draw attention to prints where the illusion of authority is emphasized, in particular scientific objects.

            Pre-Revolutionary France was infatuated with science and more particularly, experimental physics. Scientific instruments were built not just for investigative purposes but for entertainment too and displayed in a variety of spaces, from academies to fairs, shops and boulevards. Amongst the experiments taking place, a few objects or movements were particularly popular: the optical branch with its magic lanterns and shadow plays; Mesmer’s animal magnetism; hot air balloon flights and the discovery of electricity. The main concern, however, is how this pre-Revolutionary public interest translated during the Revolution. Did the addiction to science slow down, trumped by the experimental events taking place? Or was it so entrenched in the psyche that it fluidly adapted to the Revolution? Scholars are torn between portraying the Revolution as a scientist-devourer; an opportunity for science to interact with politics; or, as Joseph Fayet believes, of little impact on scientific life. I would like to shed further light on the debate by discussing how depictions of science transformed under the Revolution. The result includes a cursory study of prints featuring magic, electricity, and optical science such as magic lanterns, microscopes and the instruments of astronomy. Through these varied examples, one is able to chart the different waves of popularity that characterized science during the Revolution.

Between Magic and Science 1789-1790

The line between magic and science was still hazy in the eighteenth century.  Lankins and Silverman wrote that during the ancien régime ‘Natural magic and experimental physics blended completely in this love of spectacle’ (Lankins et al., 62). The blend was in part due to the emphasis on showmanship stressed by certain scientists but also due to ignorance of the techniques displayed. Yves Rifaux wrote in 1781, that the Magic Lantern was so-called because of the prodigious specters and monsters it showed which those not in the know would attribute to magic (65). I would therefore like to draw attention to two prints that toe the line between magic and science.

There are two supernatural prints that date to the early years of the Revolution that could be included in a discussion of science: ‘Magicienne consultée sur la Révolution de 1789’ and ‘La Fée patriote’ (figures 1 and 2). These allegorical prints represent a type of magic that conjures specters, banishes monsters and predicts the future. In ‘Magicienne consultée…’, a sorceress conjures visions out of smoke to the three Estates (Clergy, Nobility and Third Estate). The visions, generated on smoke, recall the fairly recent technique of projecting images from magic lanterns on smoke rather than sheets whilst hiding the source of the projection.

In both prints, the conjurers are benign witches who support a vision of the Revolution. In ‘La Fée patriote’ a fairy banishes a group of monsters with her medicines against the backdrop of the Bastille. In ‘Magicienne consultée…’ the witch has three spectators, of whom only the Third Estate welcomes the apparitions. The print therefore supports an accepted view of Magic as fascinating to the ‘lower classes’ of society (Stafford, 93) but also strongly suggests that the Third Estate’s open credulity is justified and it is the Nobility’s skepticism and Clergy’s fear that should be criticized. A similar approach is taken further in the 1791 print ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’ (figure 3), to be discussed in detail later, except that in that print, the lack of scientific instruments allows the Third Estate to see the truth – unlike the microscope and telescope addled Clergy and Nobility. This print supports therefore a growing idea that the good sense of the Third Estate trumps the educated attitudes of the other two.

Both ‘Magicienne consultée…’ and ‘La Fée patriote’ are allegorical pieces, a difficult genre to decipher since it represents a sort of ultra reality populated with symbols and fleshed-out metaphors. The Greek etymology of ‘allegory’ literally translates as ‘speaking otherwise than one seems to speak’ further pointing out the genre’s innate instability. This very quality also makes allegory adaptable to varied settings. ‘La Fée patriote’ for instance features the Bastille in the left hand corner in the process of being destroyed, encouraging the viewer to draw a link between the two performed acts: the one physical, the other belonging to an otherworldly realm. It suggests that these monsters exist below the surface, a sort of invisible made visible by the print’s performance. Matthew Pressly sees the banishment of monsters in ‘La Fée patriote’ as the expulsion of the ‘nightmarish world of the ancien régime. Witchcraft and revolution are no longer threats to the social order’ (Pressly, 86-87).  One might observe that in the print ‘Magicienne consultée…’ it is the apparition of light that banishes monsters to the darkness rather than the vision of the four united parts of the world. It is possible that the light symbolizes here the enlightened powers of reason, rather than supernatural powers. Plain sight here, as in ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’, is to be trusted, even if it appears illusionary.

These prints depict a more theatrical aspect of science and demonstrate how, in these early years of the Revolution, illusion was seen as a positive force. The allegorical genre of the prints comments on the instability of the act. Yet, the prints supersede expectations by promoting the showmanship of magic. There are no obvious scientific apparatus, a rational explanation for the magic is not obviously forthcoming, but the viewer is nevertheless expected to accept the visions as a benevolent act. As we will see, this theme of willful credulity is one that is further explored as the Revolution progresses but its relation to science is rather more unstable.

Spectator and Performer 1791-1792

This next section extends the sense of ‘spectacle’ in the sense of glasses: ‘spectacles’, as a way of seeing, in order to explore issues of spectatorship. This extension of meaning is made in reaction to a cluster of prints that explore the reliability of sight in contrast to scientific optical instruments. At the same time, ways of seeing also reflect back on the object viewed and its desire to deceive (or not). The increase in prints exploring these concepts exists in parallel to the rise of nearly forty newspapers in the first three years of the Revolution bearing such names as L’Observateur, L’Observateur français, Le Spectateur, Le Club des Observateurs, Le Surveillant (De Baecque, 268). The purpose of these papers was to expose disguised aristocrats and this is a theme that finds itself at the core of the prints, too.

The first example is a 1791 print called ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’. It depicts the Nation (in female form) presenting the Constitution to Louis XVI. The pose in which the king and Nation are depicted is as contrived as any politician’s photo-handshake today: both are confronted by the glare of optical lenses. Indeed, the scene is observed by the three Estates: whilst the Third estate observes the scene with his eyes alone, the Clergy uses a microscope and the Nobility a telescope. Maslan wrote in Revolutionary Acts of the difficult relationship theatricality had with politicians due to the ancien régime: ‘Kings, they believed, manipulated and oppressed their subjects with theatrical displays because they had everything to hide’ (Maslan, ix).    Yet, in this print, instead of giving the telescope or microscope to the Third Estate so that he can see what the theatricality of the event might conceal, he is depicted as the only one able to see the event for what it ‘truly’ is. The viewer who, like the Third Estate, is seeing the print with his bare eyes, has little choice but to side with this vision. The implications are bleak for science since the print denigrates two of its scientific instruments as incompatible with common sense and reason. It might be argued, however, that their scientific worth is not the focus of this print: the objects are simply there to illustrate the way the Clergy and Nobility have their view of the world distorted by Wrath and Pride (the scientific objects). Nevertheless, the choice of instruments reflects perhaps that on some level there is doubt as to their trustworthiness.[i]

The print’s strong argument in favour of the Third Estate’s vision is particularly important as the vision it willfully chooses to believe is the king’s trustworthiness in a post-Varennes situation. Indeed, the constitution of 3 September 1791 was accepted by a king in a situation of unpopularity following his attempted flight from Paris on 21 June 1791. Louis XVI found life after his flight complicated by suspicions, forcing him to accept the constitution if only to salvage some popularity. Michael P. Fitzsimmons wrote of the spontaneous celebrations taking place all over France demonstrating a readiness to ‘forgive Louis and to consider his acceptance of the constitution as a new beginning’ (243). This print appears to be of the same spirit, ready to forgive and trust the king whilst shifting the blame on the flawed and scheming Clergy and Nobility. Another print created in the same period ‘L’aveugle mal conduit’ (figure 4) depicts the king as blameless in the flight. In this print, Louis XVI is a blindfolded man pushed by a devil, led by the Comte de Provence and assisted by Marie-Antoinette. Indeed, depictions of Louis XVI as deprived of sight are not unusual, even pre-flight as is the case in Jacques-René Hébert’s 1790 pamphlet La lanterne magique, ou le fléau des aristocrates. In the pamphlet, the eyes of the monarch are still blindfolded by his enemies (Hébert, 24). The print ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’ is part therefore of a canon of works ready to forgive Louis XVI his errors as they were not his own. The print becomes a celebration of credulity.

A different print created in early 1792, ‘Découverte faite par le cousin Jaques [sic]’ (figure 5) also makes use of a telescope, but with a different end. Again, the print plays with the notion of ‘seeing’: with his telescope, Cousin Jacques can see not only the moon but also the future (the death of Bailly and Lafayette), and his vision is translated to us on a moon that resembles not just itself but also mimics the shape of the telescope lens. Just as with the previous print, one ‘point of view’ is strongly impressed on the viewer, in this case, Cousin Jacques’. Thomas L. Hankins and Robert J. Silverman have written that scientific instruments could be seen as a mediator between ‘the objective external world and the subjective mind’, so that the telescope is either ‘an extension of the sense of sight’ or ‘a revealer of “what is out there”’ (10). In this print the telescope exposes a sight that could not be seen with bare eyes and so acts in contradiction to the previous example.

Although Cousin Jacques is the nickname of Louis-Abel Beffroy de Reigny, the author of the very popular play Nicodème dans la lune, the print is not an elaborate reference to a play, but a satire of Bailly’s profession of astronomer. In 1793-4, Decremps wrote La Science sancullotisé in reaction to the prevailing type of astronomical works available in order to make astronomy useful and accessible to a layman (9). In the print, Cousin Jacques fulfills a similar function, he is a skilled astronomer reporting his findings to the viewer. The announcement of the print in the anti-Jacobin La Rocambole on 16 February 1792 is particularly taken with Cousin Jacques’ extraordinary vision that beats even that of the best scientists:

les savans ont prôné jusqu’au ciel les brillantes découvertes d’Herschel ; chacun s’extasie sur les volcans qu’il as vus dans la lune, c’est beaucoup voir, j’en conviens. Mais le Cousin Jacques, morbleu, a bien la vue plus perçante. (220)

The extract fits the tone that Beffroy de Reigny employs for his alter ego in his own writing to mock the use of a telescope. In his Les nouvelles lunes du cousin Jacques of March 1791 for instance, he describes Cousin Jacques spying something quite different from the moon:

A l’aide de cette lorgnette & de la clarté de l’astre favori du Cousin Jacques, il parvint à distinguer une bonne partie des femmes dont les chambres donnait sur le jardin (3).

The print is not only a slight on Bailly and Lafayette therefore but also a satire of astronomy as an elite science and its perverse use of instruments.

Whilst in ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’ telescopes and microscopes are derided as untrustworthy and easily trumped by common sense and plain sight, in ‘Découverte faite par le cousin Jaques’ the telescope allows the hero of the print to discover truths not otherwise possible. One could explain the difference in attitudes by dismissing the first print as Revolutionary and the latter as Counter-Revolutionary. However, the prints display surprisingly similar political messages: the emphasis on the Third Estate’s good sense in trusting the King’s acceptance of the constitution suggests that ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’ promotes a Revolutionary agenda still favourable to a monarchy. Meanwhile, it is worth noting that ‘Découverte faite par le cousin Jaques’ was published by Webert, a well-known royalist printer, and this print in consequence was announced in the equally Royalist Journal de la cour et de la ville and La Rocambole in February and March 1792. However, its message is not counter-Revolutionary per se. If anything it tries to side with Revolutionaries by mocking elitist science by promoting a layman, Cousin Jacques, and arguing that the denouncing of Bailly and Lafayette is good for the people.

In these prints we are also offered contrasting perceptions of spectatorship, in ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’, the staged nature of the scene is, surprisingly, not the object of criticism. Rather, it is the mode of seeing that is at fault, suggesting that spectators have a responsibility to see ‘naturally’, without prejudice. In ‘Découverte faite par le cousin Jaques’, the spectator has to be pro-active and find the equipment to enable him to see the truth. Whilst the first type of spectatorship is largely passive, requiring only an open mind, the second type requires cunning. If we were to simplify the prints into two clear political camps, we could say that Cousin Jacques is a transposition of the Nobility and Clergy characters of ‘L’Optique naturelle et artificielle’: which view are we to believe? Put together as a pair, these prints highlight the difficulties of the pre-Terror days to reconcile trust in fellow citizens with a fear of discovering enemies within.

Science as a Propaganda Tool (1794)

The next two prints date from the middle of the Terror when France was at war with the first coalition. These prints were both commissioned by the Comité de Salut Public to the same artist, a certain Dupuis, painter. As we have seen science was depicted with a certain guarded caution in the earlier years of the Revolution because of the reputation of scientists as elitists and a lack of trust in its instruments. In light of this, the commission of two prints by the Comité du Salut Public in 1794 involving respectively a magic lantern, and a machine conducting electricity, demonstrates a renewed interest in science as an ally of the Revolution. Several scholars have written of the reconciliation between scientists and the government during the war prompted by a need to create weapons and this might account for the endorsement (Dhombres, pp. 51-65). That the Comité du Salut Public commissioned Dupuis twice in the same year and that both times the result involved an ‘object of wonder’, demonstrates either a personal interest of the artist in scientific matters, or the Comité’s own interests.

These prints depict two scientific instruments that were curiously absent in the earlier years of the Revolution. I use ‘absent’ lightly where magic lanterns are concerned, since prior to 1794 there are three known Revolutionary prints making use of the magic lantern. The first is ‘Un petit génie’, a royalist 1792 print of a putto projecting on a wall the profiles of Louis XVI, Marie-Antoinette, Madame Elisabeth and the Dauphin (figure 6). The second print depicts a travelling Savoyard family and their magic lantern (figure 7). Traditionally, magic lanterns were associated with citizens originating from Savoy and the numerous reprints and versions of this particular image suggest interest in the folkloric aspect of the profession. The third is part of Jacques-René Hébert La lanterne magique, ou le fléau des aristocrates, a pamphlet that plays on the notion of verbalizing the projections accompanied by prints. Amongst these three the Dupuis print stills stands out by comparative rarity as well as its different usage of the lantern.^[ii]

The first of the two prints is ‘Lanterne Magique Républicaine’ (Figure 8). The print depicts King George III and his Prime Minister, William Pitt, looking at a magic lantern show about events in France that might be detrimental to England. The purpose of the print is propagandistic but the use of the magic lantern also suggests that George III and Pitt are blinded by a spectacle rather than reality. The spectacle is complete, with sound as well as vision, a young boy plays a hurdy-gurdy below the projection. A sheet with the words ‘Ça ira’ is coming out of his instrument, the name of a Revolutionary song that became increasingly anti-aristocratic as the Revolution progressed (Mason, 22-38).  Spectacle is to be found not just in the image but in the text too which features a stanza to be potentially sung or at least read, with its jovial crossed two-rhyme scheme inviting Pitt to the guillotine. The two rhyme schemes also near-rhyme with each other: ‘Suplice’ ‘surpris’ ‘amis’ ‘t’unisse’ ‘Paris’ ‘service’ alternating between a whistling slide and a sharp cry, not unlike an imagined guillotine:

Cet Instrument d’un rapide Suplice

Qui fixe tes regards surpris

Piteux Pitt, à détruit beaucoup de tes amis.

Si tu veux qu’aux enfers avec eux il t’unisse.

Fait un petit tour à Paris

Il sera fort à ton service.

On the other hand, the projection concerns itself with specific and unspecific events rather than ghostly apparitions to terrify its audience: victories against Spain and Austria, punishment of traitors at the guillotine, and the fabrication of saltpeter are amongst the boasts displayed. This is one of the few changes that differentiate this print from pre-Revolutionary magic lantern iconography: the focus is not on the special effects that the lantern can produce, instead, the machine takes a backseat to the contemporary events it projects. The other change is that the magic lantern here has been appropriated from the hands of its usual manipulators: religious figures, scientists, or, more commonly, Savoyards, and put into a sans-culotte’s hands. The traditional set-up of common people in awe at the magic of the lantern has been trumped: instead it is the foreign political elite that are held in thrall by its illusions.

In the second print, ‘Chûte en Masse’ (figure 9), a Republican (not a sans-culotte this time) creates an electric discharge that dethrones the crowned heads of the first Coalition: George III of England, Frederic-William of Prussia, Catherine II of Russia, Pope Pius VI, Charles IV of Spain, Victor-Amédée of Sardinia, William V of Holland and the Holy Roman Emperor Joseph II. The Republican virtues of electricity are made clear in the print, both in the image and text: the wheel turned by the Republican bears the text ‘Déclaration des droits de l’Homme’ whilst the chain through which the electricity travels to the crowned heads represents the Republican motto of ‘Liberté Egalité Fraternité Indivisibilté de la République’. The event is of course imaginary, a boastful flight of fancy, but it is an attractive illusion that depends on hope for the reality it refers to: victory. Science, represented by the machine, is the hope for victory over the Coalition. The dichotomy between the man of science, with his anatomically perfect body against the crowned and roughly-etched bodies is also a battle between reason and a superstitious and archaic system.

‘Chûte en Masse’ stands out from the other examples for not involving the idea of spectatorship and performance as blatantly. However, the set-up could be described as slapstick, involving as it does the ungracious toppling of dignitaries thanks to a clever device. The Republican could be described as playing the role of a Figaro or Scapin, a valet more cunning than his masters. Though text is present, the visual gag is enough to understand the message and it is we, the viewers outside the print, who are the spectators to its comedy. The print also has much in common with Sylvain Maréchal’s play Jugement Dernier des Rois, in which the same crowned heads of Europe are exiled to an island where a volcano annihilates them. The similarities, besides the characters, are in the respect awarded to both comedies by the Comité de Salut Public. Indeed, in the middle of an expensive war, a provision of gunpowder was saved to create the effects of a volcano on the stage (Rodmell, 166).

George Cuvier, a scientist during the Revolution, wrote that war was the occasion for the ‘applications de la science à la pratique’ (301). In light of this, we might wonder what these prints tell us about Revolutionary attitudes to electricity and magic lanterns in the context of the war. This concept of ‘usefulness’ is key to understanding the changes that operated on science during the Revolution. According to Lynn, J-A-C. Charles’ lectures on optics and electricity did not suffer from the Revolution; he ‘thrived during the 1790s’, but it is interesting to note that he combined his courses with government work. Lynn sees this as part of a wider shift to professionalize science and focus on its utility to the state (148, 152). Charles Gillispie wrote that exchanges between science and politics were nothing new, what was different was the ‘increase in the density and intensity of those exchanges’ during the war (Gillispie, 444). Nicole Dhombre has written of how the requisition of scientists saved the Republic with their innovations (53-60) the prints can therefore be seen as a symptom of this recognition.

These two prints are not the only ones from that period to reconcile science with Revolutionary ideals. Hot air balloons, in particular, enjoyed renewed popularity in prints thanks in large part to their use as a surveillance post in the battle of Fleurus. The sight of the balloon helped to elevate the moral of the troops as well as flabbergast enemy ranks. The two discussed prints however are representative enough to indicate how, in the middle of wartime, scientific inventions found themselves tangled with politics. The emphasis on usefulness of these scientific objects is particularly emphasized in these prints not just as a war tool but also a means of transmitting Republican ideals via the medium of propaganda. This suggests in turn that science evolved in those years from a potentially untrustworthy aristocratic tool, as was the case particularly in ‘l’Optique naturelle et artificielle’, to a fully revolutionary occupation. It might be argued war helped science find its place in the new order. Lynn argued that the Revolution may have had an ‘adverse effect on popular science’ with its emphasis on serving the state (152). The showmanship that permeates the print examples just discussed would imply otherwise – the fascination with the balloon’s role in the battle of Fleurus is, I would suggest, to do with its elements of wonder and the spectacular as well as its usefulness. The print ‘Chûte en Masse’ is still in touch with the popular origin of electricity demonstrations by emphasizing the comical powers of the invention over a more serious depiction. ‘Lanterne Magique Républicaine’ stresses the popular character of its print by emphasizing its accessibility thanks to the sans-culotte and the first widely popular Revolutionary tune of ‘Ça Ira’. Each of these prints has managed to maintain a balance between entertainment and a more serious reminder of the ongoing war – medicine is swallowed more easily if laced with sugar.

Conclusion

As this survey has demonstrated, a progression of attitudes towards science can only be charted with difficulty from the early days of the Revolution to the Terror through the prints. If some early prints represented Science as an enabler of pure spectacle to be enjoyed by the Third Estate, the pre-Terror years suggested that its instruments should be viewed with distrust by Revolutionaries. The Revolution never entirely resolved its stance towards science, caught between perceiving it as a popular instrument of the Revolution, or an elitist, aristocratic, and untrustworthy occupation. It found itself more positively depicted in prints created during wartime when its usage went beyond entertainment but at the same time never entirely lost its spectacle quality.

However, a trend has emerged from this discussion: that these prints demonstrate a clear understanding of the scientific objects they employ. Jessica Riskin’s article on ‘Amusing Physics’ has demonstrated how, during the Enlightenment, machines perceived as pure entertainment – such as the hot air balloon – were originally developed as an illustration of air’s properties, whilst a magic lantern could be used in class to illustrate the laws of geometrical optics, leading to the general public’s intuitive understanding of the principles that informed them (52, 55, 63). Similarly, prints created during the Revolution inherited the showmanship of Enlightenment demonstrators by entertainingly employing scientific objects as a metaphor to illustrate political messages. The groundwork of the Enlightenment’s infatuation with science allowed Revolutionary imaginations this freedom. What these prints have in common too is ‘spectacle’ in the sense that they are pre-occupied with the idea of illusion, not just as a negative act of deception but as a creative and potentially empowering process, allowing the viewer to see beyond reality into a brighter future.

 Notes