Romantic Circles

Displaying picturesque conventions from English as well as Italian painting, this watercolor sketch by an informed tourist, Hannah Palmer, reveals the large extent of the famous excavations at Pompeii. Palmer painted the scene while honeymooning in Naples in 1838, exactly 100 years after the Kingdom of Naples (under Charles III) began sponsoring systematic excavations at Herculaneum and Pompeii, the ancient Roman towns buried in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE. In keeping with the pastoral foreground, Palmer’s Vesuvius is smoking peacefully, with the rim of the shattered ancient caldera, Monte Somma, clearly visible around it. The colorful regional costume of the goatherd in the foreground, together with Palmer’s use of gouache (bodycolor) for the highlights on the vegetation, recall the vedute of Pietro Fabris, who collaborated with Paul Sandby in London before returning to Italy in the 1760s. The geometrical city plan still clearly visible among the ruins serves to harmonize nature and culture while accentuating the vista that terminates dramatically with Vesuvius.

This dramatic watercolor by Paul Sandby, “the father of English water-colour,” became known as a capriccio, or playful improvisation, because it combines mountain scenery from Wales and Italy into one fanciful composition. Sandby thus gives us a double dose of the sublime. The rugged Welsh mountains—celebrated by William Wordsworth in his famous account of the ascent of Snowdon (1805 Prelude, Book XIII), among many others—epitomized the sublime experience for many British travelers, while Vesuvius played that role for “Grand Tourists” on the continent of Europe. Sandby capitalizes on this romantic situation to give us a glowing, smoking crater that is larger and more threatening (when perspective is taken into account) than those of Vesuvius or Etna. The fore- and middle ground portray a wide spectrum of human activity, from husbandry to both leisure travel and more economically-driven travel. Unlike the human figures, which could be either Welsh or Italian, the architecture is decidedly Italianate. The apparent age of the large castle and several other buildings suggests that this picturesque valley has been living on borrowed time for many centuries; the mist rolling down along the valley, from the volcano toward the town, suggests that the mountain stream could be converted to molten lava at any moment. [NH]

Column of Smoke is a scientific illustration of an erupting volcano, drawn for the purpose of studying Mount Vesuvius. However, because scientific studies of volcanoes were still not taken seriously, this image went unappreciated for decades. In the early Romantic period, still during the late 1700s, the drawing was seen by many to be just another depiction of Mount Vesuvius as awe-inspiring and sublime. The image does feature characteristics that invoke the sublime—intimidating smoke, a tall volcano, and darting lightning. When the image was republished in 1823, however, it took on a new significance for Romantic culture. The Atlas of Nature valued the smoke for its visually-descriptive commentary on the atmosphere, and the image soon became popular in the scientific community. Consequently, the image is significant for two reasons: first, because it seemed (for an early Romantic audience) to portray the sublime, and second, because it was seen as scientifically descriptive by scientists of the late Romantic period.

As a scientific explorer for King George III, Joseph Banks’ account of the volcano represents how information was recorded during expeditions of volcanoes. This excerpt from Banks’ journal shows how descriptive he is of the mountain. Banks speaks of what materials form the crater; however, unlike modern scientific accounts, the excerpt contains little measurements or precise data. Instead, Joseph Banks focuses on the emotions invoked by the volcano; he writes that “The scene of desolation all around is almost inconceivable.” His focus on the sublime suggests that scientific accounts of volcanoes remained concerned with awe-inspiring depictions, and that science in general was still fascinated by the might and immensity of an often mysterious nature.

This image of Mount Helena marks a turning point for volcanic depictions in Romantic culture. The fear and awe once evoked by images of rampant volcanoes is little more; instead, Mount Helena is seen as powerless and at rest. One could draw a political parallel to Napoleon as he is also “at rest,” lacking the power he once possessed. The volcano is distant and appears as an afterthought in the image. Because scientists knew that the volcano had become extinct, the image does not give any sense of anxiety that it will erupt. Instead, the knowledge gained by volcanologists of the time has contributed to a scenic—not fear-inducing—view of Mount Helena.

This portrayal of Mount Vesuvius’ previous lava flow hints that Romantic culture was cultivating a new interest in volcanism, bolstered by scientific advancements. The image’s significance is neither sublime nor picturesque, yet John Auldjo still drew, copied, and sold this map successfully. This suggests that Romantic culture no longer required the sublime in portrayals of volcanoes, and that the public was becoming more invested in a scientific understanding of volcanoes.

This depiction of Mount Vesuvius represents Romantic culture’s new, more scientific approach to volcanoes, which began to be seen as an attraction for volcanologists and tourists alike. As demonstrated by the human figure—who appears to be performing a hands-on investigation of sputtering lava—the image shows that one can successfully study volcanoes in action. Before this image, Romantic culture was primarily concerned with the volcanoe as an emblem of death and destruction. However, as this engraving suggests, a curiosity grounded in science and notions of the picturesque began to emerge regarding volcanoes and their eruptions.

This topographical portrayal of the Eifel mountain range suggests that Romantic culture was developing a more scientific interest in volcanism. The image evokes neither the sublime nor the picturesque, yet the book it illustrates—a scientific work concerning the origins of volcanoes—sells very successfully.

This portrayal of the Eifel mountain range further suggests that Romantic culture was developing an increasingly scientific interest in volcanism. The content of the image is neither sublime nor picturesque, yet the book it illustrates—a scientific work concerning the origins of volcanoes—sells very well and is consumed voraciously by the reading public.