Reading Visual Art: 186 Poison B

In this second article looking at how difficult it is to depict the purpose or intent of an inanimate object, specifically here a poisonous liquid, I show some more classical history paintings before ending with modern retellings of Arthurian legend.

Felix Boisselier (1776-1811), The Death of Demosthenes (1805), oil on canvas, 113 x 145 cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris. Wikimedia Commons.

The jury of the Prix de Rome chose another grim subject for 1805, the suicide of the great Athenian statesman Demosthenes, who had incited the Athenians to seek independence from the Macedonian Empire. He escaped to a sanctuary on the island of Kalaureia (modern Poros), where he was discovered by the Macedonians. To avoid capture, he drank poison from a reed pen.

Felix Boisselier shows Demosthenes looking up at a statue of Poseidon, clinging onto the altar as he weakens. His pen has fallen to the ground, and his left arm is outstretched towards Archias as he approaches to arrest him.

Alfred-Henri Bramtot (1852-1894), The Death of Demosthenes (1879), oil on canvas, dimensions not known, Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris. Image by VladoubidoOo, via Wikimedia Commons.

When the jury again chose the suicide of Demosthenes as the subject in 1879, Alfred-Henri Bramtot’s successful painting shows Demosthenes’ limp body being supported from falling in front of the altar, with Archias angry and frustrated at the far right. The altar tripod is at the left edge, and the orator’s pen and writing materials are behind it.

Without knowing this story in detail, you’d spend a long time guessing that it was the original poison pen.

Henri-Camille Danger (1857–1937), Themistocles Drinking Poison (1887), oil on canvas, dimensions not known, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris. Image by VladoubidoOo, via Wikimedia Commons.

Last in this succession of suicides set as subjects for the Prix de Rome is that for 1887, the suicide of Themistocles. Henri-Camille Danger recreates the moment of great drama as Themistocles, visibly aged, raises a goblet ready to drink to his death. Although the goblet is of obvious significance, there’s little to suggest that it’s about to end the life of Themistocles.

Alexandre Cabanel (1823–1889), Cleopatra Testing Poisons on Condemned Prisoners (1887), oil on canvas, 162.6 × 287.6 cm, Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten Antwerpen, Antwerp, Belgium. Wikimedia Commons.

Just a couple of years before his death in 1889, Alexandre Cabanel found a tragic heroine in Cleopatra Testing Poisons on Condemned Prisoners (1887). Known for her ruthless pursuit of power and her alleged beauty, Cleopatra spent much of her life as co-ruler of Egypt with one of her brothers, including Ptolemy XIV. A few months after the assassination of Julius Caesar in Rome, in 44 BCE, Cleopatra had returned to Egypt, where she had her brother killed by poison, making her co-ruler her son by Caesar, Caesarion. It’s likely that this painting refers to an apocryphal story that Cleopatra had candidate poisons tested out on prisoners to help her select the one to be used to kill her younger brother. The clues are here, if you know what you’re looking for.

Frederick Sandys (1829–1904), Isolda with the Love Potion (1870), oil on panel, 45 × 35 cm, Museo de Arte de Ponce, Ponce, Puerto Rico. Wikimedia Commons.

In Arthurian legend, King Mark and Sir Tristram fell out over their love for another knight’s wife. The king then devised a way to destroy Tristram, by sending him to Ireland to bring La Beale Isode back for Mark to marry. The Queen of Ireland sent Tristram back with her daughter and her lady-in-waiting. As they were sailing back to Cornwall, Tristram and Isode drank together from a golden flask containing a potion that ensured their love for one another would never end, setting up the love triangle.

Isolda with the Love Potion (1870) is one of Frederick Sandys’ late Pre-Raphaelite or Aesthetic paintings, and shows as femme fatale Isolde of the legend and Wagner’s opera Tristan and Isolde. The opera had only received its première five years earlier, although its next production didn’t occur until 1874. In the operatic version, the couple drink what they believe is a poisonous potion, which instead of killing them both, makes them fall in relentless love with one another. Sandys shows only Isolde, the cup of poison in her right hand, looking into the distance. The floral language, red roses in particular, is symbolic of love.

Herbert James Draper (1863–1920), Tristan and Isolde (1901), further details not known. Wikimedia Commons.

Herbert James Draper’s Tristan and Isolde from 1901 shows the couple on the deck of the ship as they return to Cornwall. The golden goblet is empty as he looks in desperation into her half-closed eyes. Behind them the crew are rowing through the choppy waters.

John Duncan (1866–1945), Tristan and Isolde (1912), tempera on canvas, 76.6 x 76.6 cm, Edinburgh City Art Centre, Edinburgh, Scotland. Wikimedia Commons.

John Duncan’s ornate tempera painting of Tristan and Isolde from 1912 shows them holding a crystal glass in their hands, staring into one another’s eyes just before they drink, although by now it’s impossible to tell whether they think the potion will kill them, or make them fall in love.

Koloman Moser (1868–1918), Tristan and Isolde (c 1915), oil on canvas, 210 x 195 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.

Koloman Moser’s Tristan and Isolde from about 1915 shows Isolde persuading Tristan to drink the potion, as his sword rests at their feet.

John William Waterhouse (1849–1917), Tristan and Isolde (1916), oil on canvas, 107.5 x 81.5 cm, Private collection. Wikimedia Commons.

In his painting of the couple from 1916, John William Waterhouse gives a faithful pictorial account of them drinking the potion from a golden chalice, while on the ship carrying them back to King Mark. Is it poison, though? Without knowing the literary reference, I doubt whether we’d ever guess.