Johann Gaspar Lavater: Physiognomische Fragmente (1774-1778)

More attempts at discerning the physiognomy of madness, here from the eighteenth century.

A madman,

Four male idiots,

Two melancholics,

Six female idiots,

Two cretins.

Extract from Phillipe Pinel's 'A Treatise on Insanity' (1801)

Here, Pinel compares the perceived physiognomies of an idiot and a maniac. These extracts are courtesy of Sander L. Gilman's Seeing the Insane. References to the 'proportions of Apollo' allude to the perceived ideal facial proportions as determined by classical sculpture.

On first view of this idiot (lowest image), what appears most striking is the extremely disproportionate extent of the face, compared with the diminutive size of the cranium. No traits of animation are visible in his physiognomy. Every line indicates the most absolute stupidity. Between the height of the head and that of the whole stature, there is a very great disproportion. The cranium is greatly depressed both at the crown and at the temples. His looks are heavy and his mouth wide open. The whole extent of his knowledge is confined to three or four confused ideas, and that of his speech to as many inarticulate sounds. His capacity is so defective, that he can scarcely guide the food to his mouth; and his insensibility so great, that he is incapable of attending to the common calls of nature. His step is feeble, heavy and tottering. His disinclination to motion is excessive. He is totally insensible to the natural propensity for reproduction - a passion so strong even in the Cretin, and which gives him a deep consciousness of his existence. This equivocal being, who seems to have been placed by nature on the very confines of humanity, is the son of a farmer, and was brought to the hospital de Bicetre about two years ago. He appears to have been impressed from his infancy with the above characters of fatuity...

... The ancient artists, who were equally remarkable for the delicacy of their touch and their acuteness of observation, could not fail to discover those proportions of the head which are the essential constituents of beauty. They have, consequently, divided those of Apollo into four parts by horizontal planes at equal distances. One of those parts begins at the roots of the hair on the forehead, and extends to the crown. The form of the head of the maniac (uppermost image) varies no more than well-proportioned heads in general from this standard, since the whole height of his head is twenty-three centimetres. Subtracting one from the other, we obtain a remainder of six centimetres, which, compared with the whole height, gives a proportion very nearly approaching that of one to four, as in the head of Apollo. The height of the head of the idiot, on the contrary, is eighteen centimetres, and his face fifteen. On subtraction we have a distance of three centimetres, which is only one sixth of the height, and which shews how much the vault of the cranium is flattened, and, consequently, its capacity diminished. This diminution is still more strikingly apparent if we examine the human skull in another point of view. In well formed heads, a horizontal section of the cranium made in the direction of the squamous margin of the temporal bones, gives an irregular ellipsis of such a form, that the double ordinate passing at the anterior portion of those bones, is much shorter than that passing through the posterior part. The head of the maniac approaches in those respects to the proper proportions, for the posterior double ordinate is longer by two centimetres than the anterior. On the contrary, those two lines are about equal in the head of the idiot, as I have ascertained by a caliber compass; so that the section of this cranium would give a figure very nearly approaching that of a regular ellipsis.

Disney Demonology

A while ago Michael Sporn posted the awe-inspiring drawings by Vladimir 'Bill' Tytla for the giant Devil atop Bald Mountain in Disney's 'Fantasia', varyingly referred to as 'Satan himself', 'Tchernobog' and 'Chernobog', but, most frequently known as Chernabog. This may be my favourite sequence in any Disney film.


The monster was based on a number of sources, but perhaps most famously, the look of the whole Night on Bald Mountain/Ave Maria sequence was defined by the great illustrator Kay Nielsen.


Nielsen's work in illustration suited him well to scenes of supernatural elegance; an illustration from 'Felicia' shares some characteristics with the swirling spirits Chernabog calls forth from their graves...

while another illustration for 'John and the Ghosts' demonstrates an interest in distorted shadow.

Credited with coming up with the idea for the sequence in the first place is the great Albert Hurter, whose nervous scribblings and fantastical doodles have been paid tribute to in John Canemaker's 'Before the Animation Begins', and the 1942 book 'He Drew as He Pleased'.




Hurter himself was inspired by Heinrich Kley, who depicted devils and giants in grotesque, surreal and sometimes comical sequences. Kley's devils, delighting in causing chaos, are part Gargantua, part Gulliver. For a time Disney attempted to introduce thios comical aspect to the Bald Mountain sequence, but decided against it.

Robin Allan ('Walt Disney and Europe') has remarked on the influence of Gustave Dore on much of the early work at Disney. Dore not only inspired Disney artists like Hurter, Joe Grant and Ferdinand Hovarth. His influence can also be found in Kley's work, with a bit of Honore Daumier thrown in. Most famous of Dore's devils is probably his Satan in 'Dante's Inferno'. Like Disney's Chernabog, Dore's Satan is titanic in size, but rooted from the waist up in a single place, and completely impotent. It almost seems that Dore really wants to design his own Devil, but grudgingly sketches in the characteristics Dante describes. Though his Satan has three heads, two are more or less hidden in shadow, and the two extra pairs of wings, described by Dante to move like the blades of a windmill, are vague enough to be taken almost as a motion blur. The devil Dore seems eager to depict is not Dante's but the more traditional version, with the satyr-like features traditionally attributed to him up to that point. Dore's Satan is nevertheless quite chilling, combining the awesome size of the likes of Giotto's Satan in his Last Judgement fresco with the quiet, brooding menace of the demon of Fuseli's The Nightmare.

Also in Dore's Dante illustrations can be found swirling seas of spirits similar to those seen in Night on Bald Mountain, and a similarly jagged, rocky landscape.

There may also be something of the Lucifer of Dore's Paradise Lost, who spends a lot of time angsting about on moody mountaintops. The above engraving is a highlight in a set of illustrations that tends to be rather samey.

The comical aspect of Kley's devils may also be in reference to Dore, who seems to have enjoyed the comedic situations between giants and humans in Rabelais' Gargantua and Pantagruel. The situations are at times grotesque, at times frightening, most of the time comical.

I don't know if Kley or the Disney artist would have seen the spectacular 1875 engravings - in my opinion Dore's best illustrations - as they were only published once, in a very expensive edition that now sells for thousands - though they have thankfully become more readily available recently through a cheap Dover paperback featuring all of the full-page illustrations and many of the vignettes - but the earlier illustrations of Dore's were in wide circulation and published many times.

The most well-known inspiration for the Night on Bald Mountain sequence is the scene in Murnau's Faust in which Mephisto, portrayed by Emil Jannings, appears as a giant, bat-like shadow over Faust's village, releasing poisonous smoke that spreads the plague. So iconic is this sequence that it even found its way into an episode of The Powerpuff Girls.

Not only is the idea and staging similar, but the architecture of village beneath Bald Mountain bears more than a passing resemblance to the crooked houses of Faust's hometown. The influence here is most prominently Der Golem, which the Disney artists may also have seen.

Dan Malan has also cited, as an influence on Murnau's Nosferatu and Faust (you guessed it) Gustave Dore. In the case of Faust he's probably thinking of a few full-page illustrations in Contes Drolatiques, which share a similar passion for Gothic Medievalism, in part inspired in turn by Dore's schoolboy years in Strasbourg.

Some appropriate images for the occasion

Some of my favourite 'gothic horror' images - by some of my favourite artists - to get you in the right mood for the occasion. In a sense this is a taster of things to come; I will soon try to do a few posts about Anderson, Delacroix and Clarke's Faust, Ernst's Une Semaine de Bonte, and (as always) Dore.

WAYNE ANDERSON

S. G. HULME BEAMAN

HARRY CLARKE

EUGENE DELACROIX

GUSTAVE DORE

MAX ERNST

FRANCISCO GOYA

KAY NIELSEN

SYDNEY PAGET

OTHERS

Richard Doyle's Illustrations for 'The King of the Golden River, or the Black Brothers'

Doyle's illustrations for Ruskin's fairy tale create a fantastical environment teeming with life. I particularly like his depiction of the personified wind, featured in the frontispiece below, and Gluck, the dwarf, who first appears in the fourth illustration.

Here are all of Ruskin's illustrations for this curious little book, though only the frontispiece and title page are full-page illustrations. Those interested in the story itself can read it on Wikipedia.