Art History ISSN 0141-6790 Vol. 23 No. 5 December 2000 pp.

726±742

Ingres versus Delacroix

Andrew Carrington Shelton

In October 1855 the satirical newspaper Le Charivari published a humorous

monologue in which Monsieur Prudhomme, the veritable embodiment of
bourgeois pedantry and pretence, attempts to come to terms with what was
undoubtedly the year's most momentous artistic event: the confrontation on the
walls of the Exposition universelle of the works of the two leading lights of the
contemporary French school ± Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (plate 38) and
EugeÁne Delacroix (plate 39). `I begin by making my profession of faith,' M.
Prudhomme pompously proclaims:

M. Delacroix and M. Ingres, M. Ingres and M. Delacroix. M. Delacroix

is not M. Ingres, but, on the other hand, M. Ingres is not M. Delacroix.
That's certainly clear! Ah! if only M. Delacroix could be M. Ingres, if only
M. Ingres could be M. Delacroix! But M. Delacroix is not M. Ingres and
M. Ingres is not M. Delacroix.1

In the intervening century and a half since Monsieur Prudhomme uttered his
pronouncement, countless other critics and historians have revisited the issue of the
seemingly epochal conflict between Ingres and Delacroix; the alleged rivalry between
the two artists has, in fact, come to represent metonymically what is generally
regarded as the key duality around which histories of early nineteenth-century
French painting must inevitably be structured ± the conflict between an officially
sanctioned and institutionally entrenched neoclassicism, on the one hand, and a
wilfully oppositional, irreverent and stridently non-conformist Romanticism, on the
other. What I aim to do in this essay is not to re-evaluate the validity of this
conventional polarization ± to assess, once again, the extent to which Ingres can
legitimately be conceived of as the incarnation of a kind of an arch-traditionalist,
rule-bound classicism in opposition to the wildly innovative, Romantic free-for-all
epitomized by Delacroix. Rather, I propose to investigate the early history of what I
will call the Ingres/Delacroix dichotomy as a function of discourse ± a particular
mode of conceiving ± of understanding and articulating ± the two painters' achieve-
ment which arose at a precise historical moment and which, rightly or wrongly, has
continued to inform the critical and historical assessment of their art ever since.
My argument will hinge on what I believe is a rather surprising fact of
chronology. For even though, as all scholars agree, the polarity between classicism

726 ß Association of Art Historians 2000. Published by Blackwell Publishers,

108 Cowley Road, Oxford OX4 1JF, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA.
 38 Ingres installation, 1855 Exposition universelle. Photo: courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum
of Art.
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39 Delacroix installation, 1855 Exposition universelle. Photo: BibliotheÁque nationale.

INGRES VERSUS DELACROIX

40 (left) EugeÁne
Delacroix, Massacre at
Chios, 1824. Oil on canvas.
MuseÂe du Louvre, Paris.
Photo: Agence
photographique de la
reÂunion des museÂes
nationaux.
41 (opposite above) Jean-
Auguste-Dominique Ingres,
The Apotheosis of Homer.
Oil on canvas. MuseÂe du
Louvre, Paris. Photo:
Agence photographique de
la reÂunion des museÂes
nationaux.
42 (opposite below)
EugeÁne Delacroix, Death
of Sardanapalus, 1827. Oil
on canvas. MuseÂe du
Louvre, Paris. Photo:
Agence photographique de
la reÂunion des museÂes
nationaux.

and Romanticism was established as a dominant feature of the critical discourse

on French painting in the 1820s,2 it was not until almost two decades later, in the
mid to late 1840s, that the controversy began to be consistently represented in the
form of a highly personalized rivalry between Ingres and Delacroix. It is this
twenty-year lag-time that I will attempt to account for in this paper; but first,
a few art-historical myths must be dismantled.
Traditionally, the conflict between Ingres and Delacroix has been configured
around two red-letter dates in the history of early nineteenth-century French
painting: 1824 and 1827±28. For it was at the Salons of these years that the rivalry
between the two artists is presumed to have been ignited by the violent clash of
their most paradigmatic statements of aesthetic faith. Yet, it occurred to no one,
as far as I know, actually to compare Ingres's reputation-making Le Voeu de
Louis XIII (see plate 30, page 713) with Delacroix's equally celebrated Massacre at
Chios (plate 40) in 1824; similarly, and perhaps even more surprisingly, not a
single critic in 1827±28 thought to contrast Ingres's great neoclassical manifesto,
The Apotheosis of Homer (plate 41), with Delacroix's no less programmatically
Romantic Death of Sardanapalus (plate 42). The failure of reviewers to undertake
what seems to most of us today to be such an obvious and illuminating exercise in
comparative analysis can be explained in part by the circumstances under which
these works were exhibited. In 1824 Ingres's Voeu entered the Salon late, well

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43 Paul Delaroche, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey. Oil on canvas. National Gallery,
London. By kind permission of the Trustees of the National Gallery.

after most of the critics had already had their say on Delacroix's Chios.3 In 1827 it
was not only a temporal gap but also a spatial disjunction that blinded critics to
the comparative potential between the two artists' works. For whereas
Delacroix's Sardanapalus was part of the Salon proper, Ingres's Homer was
stuck on a ceiling in the MuseÂe Charles X in another part of the Louvre.4
Such near-misses continued to characterize the exhibition histories of the two
artists over the next several years. In 1831, when Delacroix unveiled his momentous
28th of July: Liberty Leading the People (Paris, MuseÂe du Louvre), Ingres abstained
from the Salon altogether; similarly, in 1833, when Ingres created a sensation with
his celebrated portrait of Jean-FrancËois Bertin (Paris, Muse e du Louvre), Delacroix
attracted only sparse critical attention with several minor portraits and subject
paintings.5 Finally, in 1834, the last year in which Ingres participated in the official
exhibition, the centrality of the battle between his ill-fated Martyrdom of Saint
Symphorien (Autun, Cathe drale de Saint-Lazare) and The Execution of Lady Jane
Grey (plate 43) by Paul Delaroche (London, National Gallery) precluded anyone
considering the comparative potential between Ingres's work and Delacroix's major
contributions to that year's Salon: The Women of Algiers (Paris, MuseÂe du Louvre)
and The Battle of Nancy (Nancy, MuseÂe des Beaux-Arts).6

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While the failure of a clear Ingres/Delacroix dichotomy to emerge over the

course of the seminal decade between 1824 and 1834 can be attributed in part to
the vagaries of the two artists' exhibition histories, it is also indicative of the still
somewhat ambiguous positions occupied by the two painters within contem-
porary critical discourse. For even though it was immediately clear to everyone
that Delacroix was an important representative of the so-called `nouvelle eÂcole',
he had not yet emerged as its unambiguous leader ± rather, in the mid- to late
1820s such artists as Xavier Sigalon, EugeÁne DeveÂria, Alexandre Decamps, Ary
Scheffer and most especially Horace Vernet were just as likely to be identified as
the standard-bearers of the new aesthetic. Thus, in 1824, when Etienne DeleÂcluze
initiated the Salonniers' debate over Romanticism and classicism by dividing the
contemporary school into proponents of the `Homeric' and `Shakespearean'
modes, it was not Ingres and Delacroix whom he used to exemplify this
dichotomy but rather Ingres and Vernet.7
Ingres's position in the 1820s and early 1830s was perhaps even more ambiguous
than that of Delacroix; for while no one doubted his affiliation with a rather
vaguely conceived camp of traditionalists, he was simultaneously regarded as
enacting a radical break with Davidian orthodoxy that was then most closely
identified with the Academy.8 As a result, Ingres's principal antagonists in the late
1820s and early 1830s were as likely to be culled from within the Institut as without.
It was, for instance, Gros that Ingres was seen as displacing as chef d'eÂcole when his
teaching atelier first began to flourish in the early 1830s.9 Similarly, in 1833, when
rumours began to circulate that the new OrleÂanist monarch Louis-Philippe was
about to appoint a Premier peintre du roi, a rivalry developed in the press between
Ingres and Vernet, who were deemed the two leading candidates for the post.10 And
finally, as we have already seen, it was a showdown between Ingres and the newly
elected Academician Paul Delaroche that dominated the Salon of 1834, provoking
Ingres, who as usual felt himself to have been slighted by the critics, to renounce
exhibiting at the official exhibition altogether.11
It was on the sidelines of these skirmishes between Ingres and his Academic
colleagues that the rivalry with Delacroix slowly began to emerge. Significantly,
the earliest instance I have found in which much is made of the nascent
competition between the two artists was provoked not by an actual confrontation
of their works on the walls of the Salon but rather in anticipation of just such an
event. In an article that appeared in L'Artiste in 1832, an anonymous writer argues
for the necessity of continuing the tradition of having periodic re-installations at
the Salon as a means of avoiding startling and potentially injurious juxtapositions
of violently clashing works. To illustrate his point, this critic explains that the
pictures of Ingres and Delacroix ± `the two men who presently dominate painting'
± should never be viewed simultaneously because their radically contrasting styles
would effectively cancel out one another:

It's the battle between antique and modern genius. M. Ingres belongs in
many respects to the heroic age of the Greeks; he is perhaps more of a
sculptor than a painter; he occupies himself exclusively with line and form,
purposefully neglecting animation and colour [. . .] M. Delacroix, in
contrast, wilfully sacrifices the rigours of drawing to the demands of the

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drama he depicts; his manner, less chaste and reserved, more ardent and
animated, emphasizes the brilliance of colour over the purity of line.12

Six years later the Republican critic TheÂophile ThoreÂ, in a review of an exhibition
of the works of the pensionnaires labouring under Ingres's supervision at the
French Academy in Rome, characterized the rivalry in a similar fashion: `On one
side [Ingres], the severity of line, dryness of modelling, sobriety of colour and
placidity of composition; on the other side [Delacroix], the impetuosity of
execution, the brilliance of lighting, the verve of invention, the restlessness of
innovation, and the excitement of contemporary passions.'13 Unlike the critic of
1832, Thore believed that these contrasting manners were not mutually exclusive
but could ± indeed should ± be joined together into one harmonious whole.
What is striking about these very early articulations of the Ingres/Delacroix
dichotomy is how utterly complete they are with regard to the subsequent history
of the rivalry. Few critics ± or historians for that matter ± have ventured beyond
the kinds of pat oppositions stated here: antiquity versus modernity, form versus
expression, tradition versus innovation, repose versus animation, etc., etc. That
the basic terms of the rivalry were established so quickly can be attributed to the
simple fact that nothing the critics encountered in the contrasting manners of the
two artists was new, at least not from a conceptual standpoint. For the kinds of
oppositions enumerated by Thore and the critic for L'Artiste were all variations
upon that most fundamental of dualities within traditional aesthetic discourse: le
dessin versus la couleur. This well-worn dichotomy, which had stood at the very
centre of French Academic theory since the great battle of the Rubenistes and the
Poussinistes at end of the seventeenth century,14 provided a ready-made template
for what must ultimately be characterized as the highly conventionalized ± and at
times positively rote and unthinking ± polarizations of Ingres and Delacroix. Some
writers basically admitted as much. `This is the eternal antagonism between the
spirit and the flesh, between the ideal and the real, between dogma and fact,'
Louis de LomeÂnie asserted in his biography of Ingres published in 1840, `It is as
present between Plato and Epicurus, Lamartine and Horace, Montesquieu and
Bentham as it is between the Roman and the Flemish schools, between Raphael
and Rubens, between Ingres and Delacroix.'15
By 1845 such casting of the rivalry between Ingres and Delacroix as the latest
re-enactment of the age-old battle between the purity (or coldness) of line and the
sensuality (or vulgarity) of colour had become a critical commonplace16 ± a
development that can be read as both cause and effect of the somewhat belated
solidification of the two artists' reputations as the undisputed leaders of the
classical and Romantic camps. By the mid-1840s the sexagenarian Ingres was
universally regarded as the pre-eminent keeper of the classical flame, while
Delacroix had emerged as the veritable embodiment of pictorial Romanticism ±
even if, as critics often noted, this was not necessarily the status to which he
himself consciously aspired.17
If the antithetical pairing of Ingres and Delacroix became a critical convention
only around 1845, it was not until the middle of the following decade that this
duality was supported by the kinds of titanic clashes that historians have tended to
situate in the 1820s and early 1830s. The first major confrontation between the

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two artists' works occurred in the Spring of 1854 with the unveiling of the new
decorations in the refurbished HoÃtel-de-Ville.18 In what must have been a
conscious effort on the part of municipal authorities to showcase the talents of the
rival chefs d'eÂcole, Ingres and Delacroix were commissioned to decorate pendant
rooms on the back of the building's main block. The unveiling of these
decorations, which perished in the conflagrations of the Commune in May 1871,
sparked a new round of critical comparisons of the two artist's contrasting styles ±
the first to be based on the direct physical juxtaposition of newly completed
works.19 Exactly one year later, the ultimate demonstration of the Ingres/
Delacroix dichotomy was staged on the walls of the 1855 Exposition universelle in
the form of the large retrospective displays accorded the two artists (plates 38 and
39).20 On this occasion critical comparisons between Ingres and Delacroix became
absolutely de rigueur,21 although there were more than a few reviewers who
expressed disdain for what they regarded as a totally exhausted exercise. `The
differences which separate these Messieurs are known a hundred times over,'
NoeÂmie Cadiot complained ± `their reciprocal tendencies have been compared,
appreciated and discussed thousands of times.'22
In order fully to appreciate the very hackneyed nature that Cadiot and others
came to ascribe to the rivalry between Ingres and Delacroix we must abandon the
art-historical solemnities of Salon criticism and Academic theory for the more
popular and decidedly low-brow forms of cultural discourse that began to flourish
at mid-century. For it is not in the writings of the great critical thinkers of the age
(the Baudelaires, the ThoreÂs and the Gautiers)23 that the duality received its
boldest and most iconic expression, but rather in the works of gossip mongers and
satirists, of society columnists and, most especially, of cultural caricaturists.
One of the most potent means through which the rivalry between Ingres and
Delacroix came to be promulgated was the biographical anecdote ± both the
seemingly authentic and the wilfully fictitious. By the mid-1850s narrative accounts
illustrating the animosity between the two artists were regularly reported in the
press. Thus, in 1855 the art critic Louis Enault became the first to recount the
famous episode in which Ingres allegedly complained of smelling sulphur
immediately after Delacroix exited his gallery in the Exposition universelle;24 a
year later EugeÁne de Mirecourt included in his light-hearted biography of Ingres a
secondhand account of Delacroix having an apoplectic fit when one of the visitors
to his studio dared to proclaim the merits of his bitter rival;25 and in 1857 we are
informed by a certain AlbeÂric Second, society columnist for La ComeÂdie
parisienne, that Ingres showed up at the Institut dressed completely in grey on
the day that Delacroix was finally elected to the Academy.26 Such anecdotes, the
majority of which are almost certainly spurious, continued to multiply throughout
the second half of the century and still today find their way into historical writing
on the artists with surprising regularity. Their ultimate value lies less in what they
purport to tell us about the two artists' actual feelings towards one another27 than
in their documentation of the extent to which their legendary animosity had
entered the burgeoning domain of a media-driven cult of celebrity.28 For it was not
the public's interest in the line-versus-colour controversy that the authors of these
anecdotes wanted to tap into, but rather its fascination with childish displays of
personal pique on the part of two of the nation's most vaunted cultural luminaries.

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Even more potent in popularizing (and, of course, vulgarizing) the Ingres/

Delacroix dichotomy were the caricaturists. Indeed, I think it is not accidental that
the actual consolidation of the rivalry in the mid-1840s coincided with the
invention of that most popular and irreverent brand of art criticism ± the `Salons
caricaturaux.'29 The first of these compendia of humorous recreations of
individual works, interspersed with equally hilarious send-ups of the characters
who produced and consumed them, appeared in 1843; within a decade, the `Salons
caricaturaux' had become a standard component of the critical repertoire, with
the most popular specimens of the genre encompassing dozens of individual
images. These caricatures have tended to enter the art-historical discourse as
piquant demonstrations of just how poorly the innovations of the beleaguered
avant garde were understood by their philistine publics. Yet the makers of these
images were equal-opportunity detractors and were just as likely to ridicule the
productions of the most-honoured Academic as those of the most outrageous
young Turk.30 Indeed, the principal aim of these caricaturists was not to articulate
any particular aesthetic position ± they wanted to be able to ridicule them all ± but
rather to thumb their noses at the pretence of the art world across the board. Thus
here again, it was the public's delight in seeing the mighty laid low that was
principally at work in this form of critique.
The earliest cartoon I have found that features a direct, head-to-head
confrontation between Ingres and Delacroix is not from a `Salon caricatural' but,
certainly not incidentally, was produced by one of the inventors of this genre,
Charles-Albert, Vicomte d'Arnoux, better known as Bertall. In this print (plate
44), a sort of caricatural group portrait of artistic and musical luminaries which
appeared in the second volume of Le Diable aÁ Paris in 1846, the rivalry assumes its
standard form as a dispute between line and colour. Delacroix, planted defiantly
beside a shaggy tipped paint brush with a placard proclaiming line to be a myth,
dangles before his antagonist a bulging sack labelled `law of colours'. Ingres
counters with a banner suspended from a finely tipped porte-crayon declaring
himself the prophet of greyness (`Il n'y a de gris que de gris et M. Ingres est son
propheÁte'). He also points with authority to a wiry, serpentine line drawn on the
ground at his feet inscribed `ligne de RaphaeÈl revue, corrigeÂe et suppleÂmenteÂe par
Monsieur Ingres.' This stand-off is witnessed by various other artistic celebrities
of the day, most notably Paul Delaroche, the popular but critically disparaged
painter who, by the mid-1840s, had emerged as the leading proponent of the so-
called juste milieu ± a median, conciliatory position that sought to strike a balance
between the extremes of classicism and Romanticism, just as the constitutional
regime of the reigning monarch, Louis-Philippe, sought to forge an ideological
compromise between the despotism of divine-right monarchy, on the one hand,
and the anarchy of a democratic republic, on the other.31 Like many of his
contemporaries, Bertall characterizes this position as one of weakness and
indecision, representing Delaroche scratching his head in bewilderment over
which option to choose ± the ligne of Monsieur Ingres or the couleur of Delacroix.
What I find most striking about this caricature is less its thoroughly clicheÂed
characterization of the individual artists than how methodically it manages to
categorize the contemporary art world ± to break it down into a series of discreet
aesthetic positions, each with its own standard-bearer or figurehead. Indeed, what

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44 Bertall, La Musique. La
Peinture. La Sculpture, from Le
Diable aÁ Paris, vol. 2, 1846.
Photo: Brown University Library,
Providence Rhode Island.

seems to be at work here is what Arnold Hauser, in his long-neglected but recently
resurrected Social History of Art, posits as one of the principal sociological
developments in French art of the Romantic era ± the radical fragmentation of
aesthetic discourse through the politicization of art.32 By this, Hauser means not
simply (or even primarily) the affiliation of various literary or artistic trends with
specific ideological movements but rather the imposition onto both the practice
and theoretical conceptualization of art of a distinctively modern mode of
political partisanship. Hauser posits the post-Napoleonic era of constitutional
monarchy (1814±48) as the period in which artistic orthodoxy lost its authority in
France; what he perceives as succeeding the demise of the traditional power
structure centred on the twin authorities of Academy and King, however, is not
the triumph of a renegade Romanticism, but rather the emergence of a
conglomerate of mutually antagonistic movements or groups ± `schools' in

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45 Bertall, ReÂpublique des arts,

from Le Journal pour rire, 28
July, 1849. Photo: courtesy of the
Metropolitan Museum of Art.

conventional art-historical parlance ± none of which was capable of claiming

hegemonic authority over its rivals. And here we might note that the antagonism
between Ingres and Delacroix was very much a combat among equals. For even
though Ingres had the authority of the Institut on his side, it was Delacroix who
enjoyed the more illustrious career as an official artist. It was he, for instance, who
had more pictures hanging in prestigious public collections and who had garnered
the reputation of being the only real monumental decorator of his age.33 Ingres, in
contrast, was rapidly degenerating into a mere talker ± someone who professed to
be a peintre d'histoire in the most traditional sense but who, in actuality, spent
most of his time meticulously recording the extravagant toilettes of rich socialites
or painting naked women.34
That the radical fragmentation of the post-Napoleonic artistic discourse
exemplified by the Ingres/Delacroix dichotomy was at least partly modelled upon,
if not necessarily inspired by, contemporary political developments is rendered
explicit in a second and far more celebrated caricature by Bertall which appeared
in the Journal pour rire on 28 July 1849 (plate 45). This ultra-famous image,
which was probably prompted by Delacroix's frustrated attempts to win election
to the Academy (he was thwarted twice in 1849),35 presents the two rivals in the
guise of medieval jousters charging towards one another at full tilt in the
courtyard before the Palais de l'Institut, or according to Bertall's witty inscription,
the `HoÃtel des Invalides de l'Art'. Here again, Ingres is configured as the veritable
embodiment of drawing and seeks to inflict his damage with a lethally sharpened
porte-crayon. Delacroix, the equally intractable champion of colour, counters
with a bucket of paint, a palette and a thick, bushy brush.

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As ubiquitous as this image has become, it has never, as far as I know, been the
subject of sustained art-historical analysis. Indeed, the immense appeal of the print
lies for most of us, I think, in how perfectly it encapsulates the conflict between
classicism and Romanticism, succinctly reducing the complex phenomenon down
to an iconic encounter between the two warring chefs d'eÂcole. Such simplicity is
misleading, however, for the caricature is embedded in a series of texts which
position the battle within a semantic field extending far beyond the purely
aesthetic debate over the relative merits of line versus colour. Among the various
slogans alternately vaunting and denigrating the dessinateurs and couleuristes
scrawled onto the arms of the two warriors are several maxims that are derived
directly from the realm of contemporary political discourse. Inscribed across the
top of Ingres's shield, for example, is the device `La Couleur est une Utopie', while
emblazoned along the bottom edge of his horse's skirt is the slogan `Rubens est un
rouge'. Both accusations are modelled upon the rhetoric of conservative forces
within the newly established Second Republic who were engaged in a pitched
battle against the `Red' menace of socialism, which was just then emerging as a
formidable political force in France.36 Should any one have missed the point,
Bertall's analogy between political and artistic extremism is stated most
unequivocally in the long caption that accompanies the print:

The Republic of Art. Duel to the death between M. Ingres, the Thiers of
line, and M. Delacroix, the Proudhon of colour. It's a no-win situation.
If M. Ingres triumphs, colour will be banned from every line, and any
insurgent found with the tiniest bladder of paint will be subjected to the
ultimate punishment. If Delacroix is the victor, line will be outlawed with
such rigour that people found fishing under the Pont-Neuf will be
immediately arrested. Some people have dared speak of a fusion of line
and colour, but this project seems so ridiculous and extravagant that we
mention it here just as a reminder.37

Now what is to be made of all this? Most particularly, what is the significance
of Bertall's wilfully ridiculous and mutually deflating association of Ingres and
Delacroix with the prominent statesmen Adolphe Thiers and Pierre Proudhon?
Former Prime Minister to Louis-Philippe and future president of the Third
Republic, Thiers had been elected to the National Assembly in June 1848 and
quickly emerged as the leader of the conservative `Party of Order'. Among his
chief antagonists across the aisle was Proudhon, the reigning figurehead of French
socialism who also entered the Assembly in June 1848.38 One's initial reaction is
undoubtedly to read Bertall's unlikely comparison as a particularly poignant
demonstration of the ideological alignment of the two aesthetic factions ± to
regard it as evidence of just how thoroughly Delacroix and the Romantics were
perceived as being allied with the radical Left, while Ingres and the neoclassicists
functioned as the artistic representatives of reaction. And indeed, since at least the
late 1820s there had been a general tendency to politicize the two movements in
precisely this manner.39 This is not, however, the point of Bertall's caricature. For
again, it is not so much the ideals of the two warring factions that are being
ridiculed here as their rabidly uncompromising, self-righteous partisanship. It is,

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in other words, the form of contemporary artistic and political discourse that is
being mocked here, as much as ± if not more than ± its content.
By the time the epochal confrontation imagined in this print finally took shape
on the walls of the 1855 Exposition universelle, Bertall's peculiarly political model
for representing the antagonism between Ingres and Delacroix had become
commonplace. In his review for L'Illustration, for instance, A.J. Du Pays, a
remarkably perspicacious if under-appreciated critic, attributed the persistence of
the duality to the public's insistence on clearly defined aesthetic categories drawn
along the lines of political parties. `VoilaÁ une situation bien trancheÂe,' the critic
declared with resignation, `it is like the Left and the Right of the old Chamber of
Deputies.'40
Thus, even though the Ingres/Delacroix dichotomy was squarely centred on
the age-old polarity of line versus colour, its significance within the cultural
discourse of mid-nineteenth-century France extended far beyond this rather
arcane and exhausted Academic debate. Indeed, as I hope this essay has shown, it
was not on the rarefied plane of aesthetics that the rivalry between the two artists
operated most effectively, but rather as a means of articulating a diverse set of
interests and desires of a decidedly less lofty sort.

Andrew Carrington Shelton

Ohio State University

Notes
The material in this paper is based in part on my unpublished PhD thesis, `From Making History to Living
Legend: The Mystification of Monsieur Ingres (1834±1855)', Institute of Fine Arts, New York University,
1997. I would like to thank the members of my committee, Professors Robert Rosenblum, Linda Nochlin and
Donald Posner, for their insightful comments on my original manuscript and for their subsequent support
and encouragement. I would also like to thank Adrian Rifkin and Susan Siegfried for the opportunity to
present this material in their session on `Fingering Ingres' at College Art in February 2000.

1 Arnould Fremy, `M. Prudhomme aÁ l'exposition.
La peinture francËaise', Le Charivari, 23 October
1855, as quoted in Patricia Mainardi, Art and
Politics of the Second Empire: The Universal
Expositions of 1855 and 1867, New Haven and
London, 1987, p. 73.
2 See, for example, Pontus Grate, `La Critique
d'art et la bataille romantique', Gazette des
beaux-arts, vol. 54, no. 1088, September 1959,
pp. 129±48 and J.J.L. Whiteley, `The Origin and
the Concept of ``Classique'' in French Art
Criticism', Journal of the Warburg and
Courtauld Institutes, vol. 39, 1976, pp. 268±75.
3 The Voeu de Louis XIII was featured in the final
re-hanging of the 1824 Salon, which opened on
12 November. It was thereby featured ± if at all
± only in the very last instalments of serialized
reviews. Delacroix's Chios had been on view
since the opening of the exhibition on 25 August
and was thus typically treated in reviews that
appeared in September or October.
4 The Apotheosis of Homer, which originally
decorated the ceiling of room number 9 in the
MuseÂe Charles X, was publicly unveiled on 15
December; Delacroix's Sardanapalus was part of
the re-installation of the Salon that opened in
February 1828.
5 One of only two reviews of the 1833 Salon to
discuss Delacroix's portraits did make reference
to Ingres, but in a manner suggesting that the
rivalry between the two artists was still very
much in-the-making. Laviron and Galbacio
accuse Delacroix of attempting (unsuccessfully)
to `se mettre mesquinement aÁ la suite de l'eÂcole
de M. Ingres' with his realistic but colourless
portrait of the schoolboy Auguste Edmond Petit
de Beauverger (private collection). See Gabriel
Laviron and Bruno Galbacio, Salon de 1833,
Paris, 1833, p. 98, as quoted in Lee Johnson, The
Paintings of EugeÁne Delacroix: A Critical
Catalogue (1832±1863), Oxford, 1986, vol. 3,
p. 33.
6 See Andrew Carrington Shelton, `From Making
History to Living Legend: The Mystification of

738 ß Association of Art Historians 2000


Monsieur Ingres (1834±55)' unpublished PhD
thesis, New York University, pp. 32±104, for a
detailed analysis of the critical reception of Saint
Symphorien and the rivalry that was established
between Ingres and Delaroche in 1834. At the
end of his review of the Salon of that year,
Gustave Planche famously divided the
contemporary school into three camps: `La
ReÂnovation, La Conciliation et L'Invention',
tendencies which correspond to the modern art
historical categories of Neoclassicism
(Renovation), Romanticism (Invention) and the
much-discussed, much-disputed `juste milieu'
(Conciliation). While Planche identifies Ingres
and Delaroche as the leaders of the renovatory
and conciliatory camps respectively, he divides
the command of the third party between
Delacroix, the genre painter Alexandre Decamps
and the landscapist Paul Huet, suggesting here
again that the fragmentation of the contemporary
school had not yet been reduced down to the
iconic simplicity of a clash between Ingres and
Delacroix. See Gustave Planche, `Salon de 1834',
in Gustave Planche, Etudes sur l'eÂcole francËaise
(1831±1852), Paris, 1855, p. 279.
7 Although DeleÂcluze first introduces the notion of
`la poeÂtique shakesperienne' after an extended
discussion of Delacroix's Chios, it is only via a
comparison of Ingres's portrait of the Baron de
Montbreton de Norvins (London, National
Gallery) with Vernet's equestrian portrait of King
Charles X (Versailles, MuseÂe national du chaÃteau)
that he reaches the definitive polarization of `le
style homeÂrique' and `le genre shakespearien'. See
Etienne DeleÂcluze, `Exposition du Louvre 1824',
Journal des DeÂbats, 5 October 1824 (Delacroix)
and 12 December 1824 (Ingres and Vernet). For
the translation of DeleÂcluze's Homeric and
Shakespearean modes into the more familiar
categories of classicism and Romanticism see
Stendhal's `Salon of 1824', reprinted in Stendhal,
MeÂlanges d'art, Paris, 1867, pp. 143±254.
8 By 1833 the notion of Ingres having rejected the
stiff artificialities of David's classicism for a more
naturalistic, neo-Renaissance style based on
Raphael was firmly entrenched in the critical
discourse on the artist. See, for instance, Etienne
DeleÂcluze, `Salon de 1833', Journal des DeÂbats,
22 March 1833, and Anonymous, `Salon de 1833',
Le Constitutionnel, 9 March 1833.
9 Pupils of Gros, who had inherited David's
teaching atelier upon his exile in 1815, won the
Grand Prix six times between 1820 and 1831.
This near-monopoly seemed to have been broken
in 1832 when Ingres's favourite student,
Hippolyte Flandrin, captured the prize. (The
following year Ingres's students swept the awards
in the most prestigious category of history
painting.) See Philippe Grunchec, Le Grand Prix
de peinture: Les concours des Prix de Rome de
1797 aÁ 1862, Paris, 1983. On the ascendancy of
Ingres as a teacher in the early 1830s, see Pierre
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INGRES VERSUS DELACROIX
Angrand, `Le premier atelier de M. Ingres',
Bulletin du MuseÂe Ingres, no. 49, December 1982,
pp. 19±58.
10 On the buzz about this alleged appointment ±
which never, in fact, was made ± see
Anonymous, `Salon de 1833', op. cit. (note 8),
and Louis de Maynard, `Etat actuel de la
peinture en France. Salon de 1833', L'Europe
litteÂraire, 1833, p. 58, where Vernet is promoted
for the post. The rivalry between Ingres and
Vernet was re-ignited in 1841 when it was
rumored (again falsely) that Louis-Philippe was
about to elevate an artist to the peerage; see
Shelton, `Making History,' op. cit. (note 6), pp.
239±45.
11 On Ingres's histrionic reaction to the negative
criticism generated by Saint Symphorien, see
Andrew Carrington Shelton, `Un SeÂjour ignoreÂ
d'Ingres sur la coÃte normande en mars 1834',
Bulletin du MuseÂe Ingres, no. 71, 1998, pp. 51±9.
12 Anonymous, `De la neÂcessite des renouvellements
au Salon prochain', L'Artiste, vol. 3, no. 4, 1832,
p. 38: `les deux hommes qui dominent
aujourd'hui la peinture'; `c'est la lutte du geÂnie
antique et du geÂnie moderne. M. Ingres teint par
plusieurs coÃteÂs aux temps de la GreÁce heÂroõÈque; il
est peut-eÃtre et plutoÃt sculpteur que peintre; il se
preÂoccupe exclusivement des lignes et des formes,
et neÂglige volontiers l'animation et la couleur
[. . .] M. Delacroix, au contraire, sacrifie sans
reÂpugance les rigueurs et les exigences du dessin
au neÂcessiteÂs du drame qu'il compose et qu'il
exprime; sa manieÁre, moins chaste et moins
recueillie, plus ardente et plus animeÂe, preÂfeÁre
souvent l'eÂclat de la couleur aÁ la purete des
lignes.' Periodic re-installations of the Salon was
a long-standing tradition designed to allow
prominent Academic and/or government-
sponsored artists to make a splash with
spectacular late entries (Ingres had benefitted
from this policy in 1824); the practice was
suppressed under Louis-Philippe as being
undemocratic.
13 T. ThoreÂ, `Des envois de Rome', L'Artiste,
ser. 2, vol. 1, no. 26, 1838, p. 377: `D'un coÃteÂ, la
seÂveÂrite de la ligne, la seÂcheresse du modeleÂ, la
sobrieÂte de la couleur, le calme de la
composition; de l'autre coÃteÂ, la fougue de la
pratique, l'eÂclat de la lumieÁre, la verve de
l'invention, l'inquieÂtude de la nouveauteÂ, l'eÂlan
des passions contemporaines.'
14 The fundamental study of this conflict remains
Bernard TeysseÁdre, Roger de Piles et les deÂbats
sur le colouris au sieÁcle de Louis XIV, Paris, 1957.
For a more recent, theoretically informed
discussion, see Jacqueline Lichtenstein, The
Eloquence of Color: Rhetoric and Painting in the
French Classical Age, trans. Emily McVarish,
Berkeley, 1993, especially pp. 138±68.
15 Louis de LomeÂnie, `M. Ingres', Galerie des
contemporains illustres par un homme de rien,
vol. 2, Paris, 1840, p. 7: `C'est l'antagonisme
739
INGRES VERSUS DELACROIX
eÂternel de l'esprit et de la chair, de l'ideÂal et du
reÂel, du dogme et du fait; il existe aussi bien
entre Platon et Epicure, Lamartine et Horace,
Montesquieu et Bentham, qu'entre l'Ecole
romaine et l'Ecole flamande, RaphaeÈl et Rubens,
M. Ingres and M. Delacroix' (emphasis added).
See also Charles Blanc, `La Stratonice de M.
Ingres', Revue du ProgreÁs, ser. 2, vol. 2, no. 4,
November 1840, pp. 292±3, where Ingres and
Delacroix are likewise regarded as representatives
of `deux eÂcoles biens trancheÂes' that have always
existed ± `les dessinateurs et les couleuristes'.
16 See, for instance, TheÂnot, `Revue des beaux-arts.
Peintures de l'Eglise Saint-Vincent-de-Paul. M.
Ingres', Echo de la litteÂrature et des beaux-arts,
30 July 1845, pp. 228±32, and Anonymous,
`Eglise de Saint-Merry ± Chapelles de MM.
Amaury-Duval et Lehmann', Le Charivari, 16
September 1845 (two assessments of the relative
merits of Ingres and Delacroix as monumental
decorative painters prompted by the controversial
commissioning of Ingres to decorate the newly
erected church of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul).
17 See, for instance, TheÂophile Gautier, Les Beaux-
Arts en Europe, Paris, 1855, p. 169, where
Delacroix is identified as the unrivalled leader
of the Romantic school `peut-eÃtre un peu malgreÂ
lui'. On the artist's own ambivalence over this
status, see BartheÂleÂmy Jobert, Delacroix, trans.
Terry Grabar and Alexandra Bonfante-Warren,
Princeton, 1998, p. 92.
18 This project and the critical responses it elicited
are discussed in Johnson, Paintings of Delacroix,
vol. 5, 1989, pp. 133±42, and Shelton, `Making
History,' op. cit. (note 6), pp. 444±76.
19 I have argued elsewhere that Ingres's decision to
unveil the centrepiece of his decoration, a vast
ceiling painting representing The Apotheosis of
Napoleon I, in his studio as opposed to the
HoÃtel-de-Ville, worked to frustrate attempts to
strike comparisons between his painting and
those of other artists; see Shelton, `Making
History,' op. cit. (note 6), pp. 453±56. This ruse
was only partially successful, however, as many
important critics insisted on reviewing the
contributions of Ingres and Delacroix together;
see, for instance, Gustave Planche, `L'ApotheÂose
de NapoleÂon et le Salon de la Paix. Les deux
eÂcoles de peinture aÁ l'HoÃtel-de-ville', Revue des
deux mondes, new per., ser. 2, vol. 6, part 1,
15 April 1854, pp. 305±321; and A.J. Du Pays,
`DeÂcorations de l'HoÃtel-de-ville. Plafond de M. E.
Delacroix ± Plafond de M. Ingres', L'Illustration,
vol. 23, no. 583, 29 April 1854, pp. 267±8.
20 As a condition for participating in the Exposition
universelle, Ingres, who had not presented any
works at an official exhibition since 1834,
demanded the prerogative of selecting and
arranging his pictures in an isolated section of
the Palais des Beaux-Arts. He was eventually
granted a separate gallery in which he displayed
a total of 69 paintings. Delacroix, who was
740
initially unaware of the extraordinary prerogative
extended his rival ± as well as to Horace Vernet,
who was likewise granted his own gallery but
who, unlike Ingres, magnanimously allowed
other artists to exhibit there as well ± had to
settle for grouping his 35 pictures at one end of a
communal gallery. On the machinations leading
up to the exhibition, see Mainardi, Art and
Politics, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 39±65, and Shelton,
`Making History', op. cit. (note 6), pp. 476±82.
21 A list of reviews of the 1855 Exposition
universelle which feature comparisons on the
two artists is far too long to enumerate here; for
a comprehensive list of critical responses to the
exhibition, see Christopher Parsons and Martha
Ward, A Bibliography of Salon Criticism in
Second Empire Paris, Cambridge, 1986, pp.
25±37.
22 Claude Vignon [NoeÂmie Cadiot], Exposition
universelle de 1855: Beaux-Arts (Paris, 1955),
p. 184: `les diffeÂrences qui seÂparent ces Messieurs
sont cent fois connues; leurs tendances
reÂciproques ont eÂte mille fois compareÂes,
appreÂcieÂes, discuteÂes.'
23 All three critics wrote at some length on the
Ingres/Delacroix dichotomy but in ways that
added little to the standard assessments that were
constantly repeated elsewhere in the press.
Despite some interesting riffs on the two artists,
Gautier, who was more or less equally
enthusiastic about them both, never really
challenged the line-versus-colour foundation of
their rivalry; see, for instance, Gautier, Les
Beaux-Arts en Europe, op. cit. (note 17), vol. 1,
pp. 142±92. I have already quoted ThoreÂ's
stereotypical formulation of the antagonism
between the two artists in 1838 (see above pp.
732); later in 1846, he attempted to complicate
things a bit by claiming that Ingres, as an
uncompromising proponent of l'art pour l'art,
was the real Romantic, whereas Delacroix
deserved to be considered the rightful heir to the
Davidian tradition of a politically engaged art;
see T. ThoreÂ, Salon de 1846, Paris, 1846, pp.
41±6. Baudelaire, who hated but was nevertheless
enthralled by Ingres, indicted the lifelessness and
general irrelevance of his art while exonerating
him of such platitudinous charges as disdaining
colour; Delacroix was, of course, the very
embodiment of Romantic genius for the critic.
See Charles Baudelaire, `Le MuseÂe classique du
bazar Bonne-Nouvelle' (on Ingres's colour), and
Charles Baudelaire, `Exposition Universelle' (on
Ingres and Delacroix more generally), in Charles
Baudelaire, CuriositeÂs estheÂtiques, Paris, 1990,
pp. 92±4 and 222±40.
24 Louis Enault, `Palais des Beaux-Arts', La Presse
litteÂraire, 25 May 1855, p. 418.
25 EugeÁne de Mirecourt, Les Contemporains: Ingres,
Paris, 1856, pp. 33±4.
26 AlbeÂric Second, La ComeÂdie parisenne, 11
January 1857, p. 221.
ß Association of Art Historians 2000

27 The unsubstantiated anecdotal evidence aside,
it is clear that the two artists genuinely disliked
one another. Delacroix's famous journal and
voluminous correspondence is peppered with
references to Ingres, almost all of them
disparaging; see Andre Joubin (ed.), Journal de
EugeÁne Delacroix, 3 vols, Paris, 1931±32 and
Andre Joubin (ed.), Correspondance geÂneÂrale de
EugeÁne Delacroix, 5 vols, Paris, 1936±38
(references to Ingres can be found by consulting
the indices in both works). I know of only two
direct references to Delacroix in Ingres's
published correspondence. In a letter to an
unnamed addressee in 1855 the artist explodes
with indignation at having been placed on the
same level as `l'apoÃtre du laid' by the awards
jury of the Exposition universelle, who had voted
to bestow upon Ingres and Delacroix (along with
eight other artists) identical Grand Medals of
Honour; see Charles Blanc, Ingres, sa vie et ses
oeuvre, Paris, 1870, p. 183. Similarly, in a letter
to the engraver Luigi Calamatta dated 10
January 1857, Ingres refers to Delacroix's latest
candidacy for an academic fauteuil as `la fatale
nomination aÁ l'institut'. Only nine days earlier he
had received a brief but perfectly cordial note
from Delacroix excusing himself from paying the
customary visit to solicit his vote because of a
lingering illness. See Daniel Ternois, `Lettres
d'Ingres aÁ Calamatta', Actes du colloque
international Ingres et son influence, Montauban,
1980, p. 93, and, for Delacroix's letter, Joubin,
Correspondance, op. cit. (note 27), vol. 3, p. 354.
28 The history of the evolution of the concept of
celebrity in nineteenth-century France has yet to
be written. I have relied on the informative but
general account in Leo Braudy, The Frenzy of
Renown: Fame and Its History, New York and
Oxford, 1986, pp. 390±491. The rapid expansion
of the print media during the July Monarchy is
abundantly documented; for a sample of the
most recent research, see the relevant essays in
Dean de la Motte and Jeannene M. Przyblyski
(eds), Making the News: Modernity and the
Mass Press in Nineteenth-Century France,
Amherst, 1999, with references to earlier
literature.
29 On the history of the Salons caricaturaux see
Thierry Chabanne, Les Salons caricaturaux, Les
Dossiers du MuseÂe d'Orsay, no. 41, Paris, 1990.
30 Monsieur Ingres himself was a favourite target
of the caricaturists; see GenevieÁve and Jean
Lacambre, `Ingres et la critique satirique',
Bulletin du MuseÂe Ingres, no. 21, July 1967,
pp. 21±5.
31 That Delaroche and other like-minded artists
were widely considered representative of an
essentially gutless, conciliatory artistic juste
milieu in the 1830s and 1840s is beyond dispute;
whether or not this category continues to provide
a legitimate framework for the historical analysis
of the art of the July Monarchy is, however, the
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INGRES VERSUS DELACROIX
subject of considerable debate; see Michael
Marrinan, `The Modernity of Middleness:
Rethinking the Juste Milieu', Porticus, 12/13,
1989±90, pp. 42±63.
32 Arnold Hauser, The Social History of Art, 3rd
edn, London, 1999, vol. 3, pp. 173±86.
33 By 1850 the following works by Delacroix were
on permanent display in public collections in and
around Paris: at the museum of contemporary art
in the Luxembourg ± Dante and Virgil (Paris,
MuseÂe du Louvre; purchased by Louis XVIII from
the 1822 Salon), Massacre at Chios (Paris, MuseÂe
du Louvre; purchased by Charles X from the
1824 Salon), Women of Algiers (Paris, MuseÂe du
Louvre; purchased by Louis-Philippe from the
1834 Salon), Jewish Wedding (Paris, MuseÂe du
Louvre; purchased by the Duc d'OrleÂans and
presented as a gift to the Luxembourg); in Paris
churches ± Christ in the Garden of Olives (Eglise
Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis, commissioned by the
Prefect of the Seine in 1824), The Lamentation
(Eglise Saint-Denis du Saint-Sacrement,
commissioned by the Prefect of the Seine in
1840); at Versailles ± The Battle of Taillebourg
(Versailles, MuseÂe national du chaÃteau;
commissioned by Louis-Philippe in 1834), Entry
of the Crusaders into Constantinople (Paris,
MuseÂe du Louvre; commissioned by Louis-
Philippe in 1838 for the Salle des croisades). In
addition, by 1850 Delacroix had completed major
decorative cycles in the Salon du roi and the
library of the Palais Bourbon as well as in the
library of the Palais du Luxembourg. During the
same period, only four works by Ingres were on
permanent display in public collections in Paris:
at the Luxembourg ± Roger Freeing Angelica
(Paris, MuseÂe du Louvre; commissioned by Louis
XVIII for the Throne Room at Versailles in 1817),
Christ Giving the Keys of Heaven to St Peter
(Montauban, MuseÂe Ingres; transferred from the
Church of San Trinita dei Monti in Rome to the
Luxembourg in 1841), Cherubini and the Muse
of Lyric Poetry (Paris, MuseÂe du Louvre;
purchased by Louis-Philippe in 1842); in the
Chapelle de la Compassion-Saint Ferdinand ±
Portrait of the Duc d'OrleÂans (Versailles, MuseÂe
national du chaÃteau; commissioned by the state
in 1843). Although Ingres had been offered a
string of prestigious decorative commissions, he
managed to complete only two: that for room
number 9 in the Louvre's MuseÂe Charles X
(featuring The Apotheosis of Homer) and the
designs for the stained-glass windows in the
Chapelle de la Compassion-Saint Ferdinand.
34 In was in response to Ingres's retrospective
displays on the Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle in
1846 and at the Exposition universelle in 1855
that his particular expertise as a portraitist and
painter of the female nude began to dominate
the critical discussion of the artist; see Shelton,
`Making History', op. cit. (note 6), pp. 367±81
and 522±5.
741
INGRES VERSUS DELACROIX
35 See Louis Hautecoeur, `Delacroix et l'AcadeÂmie
des beaux-arts', Gazette des beaux-arts, per. 6,
vol. 62, no. 1139, December 1963, pp. 351±2.
36 See Maurice Agulhon, The Republican
Experiment, 1848±1852, trans. Janet Lloyd,
Cambridge, 1983, especially pp. 22±48.
37 `ReÂpublique des arts. Duel aÁ outrance entre M.
Ingres, le Thiers de la ligne, et M. Delacroix, le
Proudhon de la couleur. Il n'y a point quartier aÁ
espeÂrer; si M. Ingres triomphe, la couleur sera
proscrite sur toute la ligne, et l'insurge que l'on
trouverait muni de la moindre vessie sera livreÂ
aux derniers supplices. Si Delacroix est
vainqueur, on interdira la ligne avec tant de
rigueur que les gens surpris aÁ peÁcher aÁ la ligne
sous le Pont-Neuf seront immeÂdiatement passeÂs
par les armes. Quelques personnes ont bien oseÂ
parler de fusion entre la ligne et la couleur; mais
ce projet a paru si ridicule et si extravagant, que
nous n'en parlons ici que pour meÂmoire.'
38 On the activities of Thiers and Proudhon during
the Second Republic, see J.P.T. Bury and R.P.
Tombs, Thiers (1797±1877): A Political Life,
London, 1986, pp. 101±137 and K. Steven
Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon and the Rise of
French Republican Socialism, New York and
Oxford, 1984, pp. 166±208. The most famous
confrontation between the two politicians
occurred on 26 July 1848 when Thiers delivered
a withering attack on Proudhon's proposed
reconfiguration of the nation's system of credit in
742
order to alleviate the debt of the poor. Following
Thiers's speech, Proudhon's bill, which had been
portrayed as an assault on private property, was
rejected by the overwhelming majority of 691 to
2; see Bury and Tombs, Thiers, op. cit. (note 38),
p. 105.
39 On the extremely complex issue of the evolving
political associations of classicism and
Romanticism in the early nineteenth century, see
Hauser, Social History of Art, op. cit. (note 32),
vol. 3, pp. 180±6. Here it might be appropriate to
confirm that, Bertall's caricature aside, the
political allegiances of Ingres and Delacroix were
virtually identical. Both were centrists who
seemed most comfortable with the kind of
middle-of-the-road solution epitomized by the
constitutional monarchy of Louis-Philippe. Thus,
both artists welcomed the revolution of 1830 but
were repulsed by that of 1848; see Jobert,
Delacroix, op. cit. (note 17), p. 130, and Pierre
Angrand, Monsieur Ingres et son eÂpoque,
Lausanne, 1967, pp. 74±9 and 222±6.
40 A.J. Du Pays, `Exposition Universelle des beaux-
arts', L'Illustration, vol. 25, no. 644, 30 June
1855, p. 419: `c'est comme la droite et la gauche
des anciennes chambres des deÂputeÂs.' For a
(perhaps slightly over-determined) analysis of the
political nature of the reviews of the 1855
Exposition universelle, see Mainardi, Art and
Politics, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 73±96.
ß Association of Art Historians 2000