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When giraffes were a bigger deal than emperors
"Of Elephants and Roses' at the Philosophical Society (1st review)
"Of Elephants and Roses" is a something-for-everyone show in that it contains examples of fine art, decorative arts, natural history specimens, rare books and items of ephemera, all intended to offer visitors a snapshot of a particular period of a certain nation's history.
France in the time of the Emperor Napoleon and Bourbon Restoration (roughly the first three decades of the 19th Century) possessed an overseas empire that it viewed as something of a piggy bank. Colonies could provide wood to an increasingly deforested France; they could provide exotic (and consequently economically valuable) new forms of flora and fauna. The colonies were sending a stream of these novelties back to the mother country, and the citizenry responded with varying degrees of interest.
At the top of the heap, Napoleon's wife, the Empress Josephine, stocked her estate at Malmaison with the newest blossoms and brought in the famed Pierre Joseph Redoute to paint her prizes. She insisted upon absolutely accurate renditions, with no added embellishments. Other artists with less demanding patrons would provide the romantic flourishes, so desired by the emerging bourgeoisie, who decorated their homes with colorful floral china plates.
Exotic flora exerted less appeal than exotic fauna. What rose could ever hope to compete with an elephant?
Josephine's black swans
When Australian black swans— heretofore unknown to Europeans— appeared on the scene, Josephine snagged a pair for Malmaison. But they were most likely viewed by only a privileged few. The Indian elephants on view at the Paris Musée d'histoire naturelle, on the other hand, could be seen by any interested citizen. And as it turned out, plenty of citizens were interested in seeing the elephants.
Living in an age in which we can instantly Google up an image of anything we wish to see— from a black swan to Natalie Portman as The Black Swan— it's a bit of a stretch to realize that our ancestors actually had to invest time and shoe-leather to go and see an elephant. But they willingly did so. They needed to see the great beasts for themselves; they wanted that much of the marvelous to invade their everyday lives.
Celebrity giraffe
The success of the elephants was as nothing compared to the impact made by Zarafa the giraffe. Like the late Elizabeth Taylor, Zarafa was practically born a star.
Her journey from the port of Marseille to Paris was a veritable triumphal procession. Zarafa walked the entire way, accompanied by her keepers and a pair of cows to provide the young giraffe with milk. Working people paused in their labors to watch Zarafa pass by. Once installed at the Museum, she became an instant star, never to relinquish her celebrity status.
One entire module of the exhibition is given over to what I call "Zarafalia." There are plates, inkwells, fans, purses, statuettes, even a clothes iron— all graced by Zarafa'a lanky presence, rendered by itinerant artists with varying degrees of accuracy.
Even Balzac succumbed to the beast's charms: In a pseudonymous pamphlet, "The Art of Wearing One's Cravat in 1,001 Ways," he includes a cravat tied "Ó la Giraffe."
Zarafa's success was such that she soon stepped up from a zoological curiosity to the realm of caricaturists' model, in which guise she can be glimpsed sharing confidences with an equally lanky (but much less popular) King Charles X and cautioning a delegation of visiting Osage Indians against the duplicity of their smiling hosts. In harness to the very end, Zarafa in death was dissected and became the subject of the first anatomically exact drawings of her species— the very fate she had foretold for herself in her chat with the Osage.♦
To read another review by Marilyn MacGregor, click here.
France in the time of the Emperor Napoleon and Bourbon Restoration (roughly the first three decades of the 19th Century) possessed an overseas empire that it viewed as something of a piggy bank. Colonies could provide wood to an increasingly deforested France; they could provide exotic (and consequently economically valuable) new forms of flora and fauna. The colonies were sending a stream of these novelties back to the mother country, and the citizenry responded with varying degrees of interest.
At the top of the heap, Napoleon's wife, the Empress Josephine, stocked her estate at Malmaison with the newest blossoms and brought in the famed Pierre Joseph Redoute to paint her prizes. She insisted upon absolutely accurate renditions, with no added embellishments. Other artists with less demanding patrons would provide the romantic flourishes, so desired by the emerging bourgeoisie, who decorated their homes with colorful floral china plates.
Exotic flora exerted less appeal than exotic fauna. What rose could ever hope to compete with an elephant?
Josephine's black swans
When Australian black swans— heretofore unknown to Europeans— appeared on the scene, Josephine snagged a pair for Malmaison. But they were most likely viewed by only a privileged few. The Indian elephants on view at the Paris Musée d'histoire naturelle, on the other hand, could be seen by any interested citizen. And as it turned out, plenty of citizens were interested in seeing the elephants.
Living in an age in which we can instantly Google up an image of anything we wish to see— from a black swan to Natalie Portman as The Black Swan— it's a bit of a stretch to realize that our ancestors actually had to invest time and shoe-leather to go and see an elephant. But they willingly did so. They needed to see the great beasts for themselves; they wanted that much of the marvelous to invade their everyday lives.
Celebrity giraffe
The success of the elephants was as nothing compared to the impact made by Zarafa the giraffe. Like the late Elizabeth Taylor, Zarafa was practically born a star.
Her journey from the port of Marseille to Paris was a veritable triumphal procession. Zarafa walked the entire way, accompanied by her keepers and a pair of cows to provide the young giraffe with milk. Working people paused in their labors to watch Zarafa pass by. Once installed at the Museum, she became an instant star, never to relinquish her celebrity status.
One entire module of the exhibition is given over to what I call "Zarafalia." There are plates, inkwells, fans, purses, statuettes, even a clothes iron— all graced by Zarafa'a lanky presence, rendered by itinerant artists with varying degrees of accuracy.
Even Balzac succumbed to the beast's charms: In a pseudonymous pamphlet, "The Art of Wearing One's Cravat in 1,001 Ways," he includes a cravat tied "Ó la Giraffe."
Zarafa's success was such that she soon stepped up from a zoological curiosity to the realm of caricaturists' model, in which guise she can be glimpsed sharing confidences with an equally lanky (but much less popular) King Charles X and cautioning a delegation of visiting Osage Indians against the duplicity of their smiling hosts. In harness to the very end, Zarafa in death was dissected and became the subject of the first anatomically exact drawings of her species— the very fate she had foretold for herself in her chat with the Osage.♦
To read another review by Marilyn MacGregor, click here.
What, When, Where
"Of Elephants and Roses." Through December 31, 2011 at Museum of the American Philosophical Society, 104 S. Fifth Street. (215) 440-3440 or www.apsmuseum.org.
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