This painting, by the French artist Charles Meynier (1768-1832), depicts the Muse of history from ancient Greek mythology. Named Clio (or variants such as Cleio or Kleio), she was one of nine godly sisters who gave divine patronage to the arts, sciences and academia. Their names are believed to have first been written down by the Greek poet, Hesiod (c. 8th century BCE), who stated, “the Muses sang, who dwell in Olympus, the nine daughters born of great Zeus, Clio and Euterpe and Thaleia and Melpomene, Terpsichore and Erato and Polyhymnia and Urania, and Calliope, who is chief among them all” (Hesiod, Theogony, approximately lines 76-79). Although the goddesses were first seen as a collective supporting all the arts and sciences, each Muse was eventually given an area of expertise where her patronage was focused. Ancient scholars believed that the wordplay and allusions involved in the names of the Muses shaped the goddesses’ spheres of influence. One such scholar, Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE), wrote, “To each of the Muses men assign her special aptitude for one of the branches of the liberal arts, such as poetry, song, pantomimic dancing, the round dance with music, the study of the stars, and the other liberal arts…For the name of each Muse, they say, men have found a reason appropriate to her: Cleio is so named because the praise which poets sing in their encomia bestows great glory (kleos) upon those who are praised” (Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, 4.7). The Greek verb kleô could also be translated as “to make famous” or “celebrate,” and such commemoration was an early goal of the earliest historical records. Clio was also associated with poetry that detailed historical people and events. It was only after Herodotus (c. 490-425/420 BCE) and Thucydides (c. 460-400 BCE) trailblazed the genre of history books that Clio’s patronage began to shift from poetry to prose.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Sources:
Theogony and Works and Days by Hesiod, translated by M. L. West. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 1999, 2008.
The Library of History, by Diodorus Siculus, edited by Giles Laurén (Sophron Editor, 2014).
The Oxford Dictionary of Classical Myth and Religion, edited by Simon Price and Emily Kearns. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.
“The authorities work on the fundamental principle that no allowance whatsoever is made for error…Of course, they are not meant to detect errors in the crude sense of the word, for errors are not made, and even if one is made, as in your case for instance, who can say for certain that it is an error?”
From The Castle (chapter 5) by Franz Kafka. The translation used here is by John R. Williams (Wordsworth Editions, 2009).
Rulers of ancient Rome found that the Roman masses could be contained and pacified through a state-sponsored supply of food and entertainment—Rome’s proverbial bread and circus. The so-called bread largely consisted of imported grain that the government doled out to the populace of Rome. Circuses, on the other hand, had more variety. These forms of public entertainment included athletic events, races, and blood sports, with chariot races and gladiator contests being two of the more famous and popular Roman pastimes. Yet, while these spectacles were effective at placating most Romans, not everyone was enthusiastic about the raucous events and the boisterous crowds. Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113), a wealthy lawyer, financial advisor, and administrative official of the Roman Empire, was one such person who was not fond of Rome’s spectator sports.
Pliny was a prolific writer of letters, which were preserved and later published. Through these letters, a reader can obtain an interesting glimpse into Pliny’s life and that of the affluent, scholarly, and legal circles of Roman society to which Pliny belonged. A talkative fellow with well-rounded interests, Pliny’s letters covered all sorts of goings-on in the empire, from law to literature, ghosts to gardening, agriculture to architecture, and science to sports, he had something to say about everything. In regard to the aforementioned sporting events, what he had to say was rarely positive.
For Pliny, a perfect day would likely be spent in an idyllic landscape environment at one of his countryside villas near Lake Como. He would probably use the time on that ideal day to read the latest writings produced by Roman authors, or otherwise pen down a speech, poem, or letter of his own to send to his many pen pals. If exercise or physical exertion occurred on that perfect day, it would likely be in the form of a hunting trip. Yet, even so, the hunt would likely not be the primary goal of the expedition. As Pliny told the famous historian Tacitus (c. 56/57-117):
“I was sitting by the hunting nets with writing materials by my side instead of hunting spears, thinking something out and making notes, so that even if I came home empty-handed I should have my notebooks filled. Don’t look down on my mental activity of this kind, for it is remarkable how one’s wits are sharpened by physical exercise; the mere fact of being alone in the depths of the woods in the silence necessary for hunting is a positive stimulus to thought. So next time you hunt yourself, follow my example and take your note-books along with your lunch-basket and flask; you will find that Minerva walks the hills no less than Diana” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 1.6).
Suffice it to say, Pliny was a person drawn to tranquil environments and academic interests. Loud and brutish sporting events, in contrast, clashed with his tastes and sensibilities. He was dismissive, if not hostile, to public games and gladiator contests, and he was even involved to some extent in shutting down the Gymnastic Games in Vienna. On this, Pliny wrote, “I have just answered a summons to act as assessor to our noble Emperor during an inquiry he is holding on the gymnastic games at Vienna…It was decided to abolish the games at Vienna, for they had long been a corrupting influence in the town” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 4.22). And don’t get Pliny started on chariot races—he had little regard for the racers, the fans, and the color-coded team factions involved in the sport. Pliny grumbled his complaints about Rome’s exuberant enthusiasm for chariot racing and its color factions in a letter to a certain Calvisius Rufus. Pliny vented:
“The races were on, a type of spectacle which has never had the slightest attraction for me. I can find nothing new or different in them: once seen is enough, so it surprises me all the more that so many thousands of adult men should have such a childish passion for watching galloping horses and drivers standing in chariots, over and over again. If they were attracted by the speed of the horses or the drivers’ skill one could account for it, but in fact it is the racing-colours they really support and care about, and if the colours were to be exchanged in mid-course during a race, they would transfer their favour and enthusiasm and rapidly desert the famous drivers and horses whose names they shout as they recognize them from afar. Such is the popularity and importance of a worthless shirt—I don’t mean with the crowd, which is worth less than the shirt, but with certain serious individuals. When I think how this futile, tedious, monotonous business can keep them sitting endlessly in their seats, I take pleasure in the fact that their pleasure is not mine. And I have been very glad to fill my idle hours with literary work during these days which others have wasted in the idlest of occupations” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 9.6).
Pliny was more restrained when talking about gladiator contests. He did not criticize friends of his who funded gladiatorial shows. In fact, he complimented and encouraged some of them, as happened in the case of a certain pen pal named Maximus. Pliny told him, “You did well to put on a show of gladiators for our people of Verona…this kind of spectacle is particularly suitable for a funeral tribute. Moreover, the request came from so many people that a refusal would have been judged churlish rather than strong-minded on your part” (Letters, 6.34). Support for his friends’ decisions aside, Pliny personally would have spent his own money on something other than a gladiator contest. In particular, Pliny was proud that, rather than funding entertainment, he was instead using his wealth on altruistic projects like a public library for his home region of Comum, as well as funds and programs for people in need. This was explained in a letter to his friend, Pompeius Saturninus. Pliny wrote, “I had also to consider the fact that I was not paying for public games or a show of gladiators but making an annual contribution towards the maintenance of free-born children” (Letters, 1.8). Pliny, therefore, backed up his criticisms with actions. Instead of circus, Pliny’s vision of giving back to the community was one of libraries and charities.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Figure Study, possibly for The Grove of Academe, by Edwin Austin Abbey (1852-1911), [Public Domain, no known restrictions] via the Yale University Art Gallery and a terracotta plaque with Pelops, Hippodamia and a four-horse chariot, by a 1st century BCE-1st century CE Roman artist, [Public Domain] via the MET).
Sources:
The Letters of Pliny the Younger, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1963, 1969.
This unsigned illustration, printed by Johann Schöffer (approximately 1468-1531), was inspired by a dramatic and tragic legend from the early history of Rome. In particular, it depicts a Roman warrior named Publius Horatius returning to Rome after surviving a three-vs-three duel in which his brothers (known collectively as the Horatii) fought a rival trio of siblings (called the Curiatii). The Curiatii hailed from Alba Longa, a rival of Rome, and the duel between the two sets of brothers, as the story goes, was meant to settle a war between Rome and Alba Longa that had started over a cattle dispute. In the dramatic showdown that ensued, Publius Horatius was the only Horatii to survive, and all of the Curiatii were slain in the fight. Publius Horatius’ triumph, however, would become the catalyst for further tragedy in the Horatii family.
Horatius’ sister, in a sad twist of fate, had been engaged to marry one of the Curiatii brothers before the war broke out. And the engagement had been one prompted by genuine love and affection. Therefore, the Horatii sister was in a horrific no-win situation where she would lose loved ones, no matter the result of the duel. Consequently, it should be no surprise that she was distraught and emotional on the day that the duel occurred. When she subsequently heard a triumphal parade being thrown in honor of the victorious Horatii, she hesitantly went out to see the return of the duelists. Seeing Publius Horatius alone, she would have realized that two of her brothers had been killed—which is tragedy enough to warrant crying. Yet, what really pushed her into a grief-ridden panic attack was the sight a bloodied hand-made cloak that she had made for her fiancé. The cloak was now being worn by her brother, Publius Horatius, as a looted trophy from the field of combat. Sight of the cloak caused Horatius’ sister to weep openly, provoking annoyance among the other nearby Roman revelers. Publius Horatius, too, heard the crying, and he broke himself free from the celebration to address his sister.
At this point, unfortunately, the narrative of the ancient legend took an incredibly dark turn. Instead of consoling his distraught sister, Horatius did the unthinkable. He grabbed a sword, angrily marched over to his sobbing sibling and plunged the blade deep into her chest, piercing her heart. As she bled to death, Horatius growled: “’Take your girl’s love…and give it to your lover in hell. What is Rome to such as you, or your brothers, living or dead? So perish all Roman women who mourn for an enemy!’” (Livy, History of Rome, Book I, section 26). It is this unexpected murder that Johann Schöffer’s print captures, albeit with the figures dressed in medieval garb.
After the bizarre killing, Publius Horatius was put on trial by the Romans. Yet, the murdered sister was not given justice by the court. The Roman populace cried out for Horatius to be spared, and even the father of the Horatii (who had lost two sons and one daughter that day) spoke in defense of his son. Horatius was said to have been acquitted with almost no punishment. The only repercussion, according to the historian Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), involved a mysterious wooden gateway, called the Tigillum Sororium (Sister’s Beam), under which members of Horatius’ family had to regularly pass as a sort of obscure penance for the murder.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Sources:
The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
Do you dislike AI art? And are you disappointed with the search engine results you see when you search for photographs and artworks? If so, this is the video for you. In this narrated video essay, you will be walked through the process of searching for free, reusable, merchandisable Public Domain art that can be used in your projects. In a step-by-step process, we will go through tips, tricks, and best practices about finding and safely downloading Public Domain Art. A general overview of the search process will be given, as will several specific examples. These include searching for ancient Greek pottery art on the Metropolitan Museum of Art website, browsing for images of Plato in the Rijksmuseum collection, obtaining a painting of cavalry from the National Museum in Warsaw, finding a saga illustration from the National Museum in Stockholm, and selecting a kingly scene from the Art Institute of Chicago. Enjoy the art journey!
Video Chapters
00:00 AI, Search Engines & Aggregators
01:32 Museum, Gallery & Library Websites
07:01 MET example
08:02 Rijksmuseum example
09:09 MNW example
10:00 National Museum Stockholm example
11:01 ARTIC example
11:55 Europeana
13:28 The Historian’s Hut example
15:03 Outro
[Video Script] So, you’re working on a project and need some free, reusable, merchandisable or monetizable art. What do you do? These days, people may be tempted to ask their favorite AI app to find what they need. Or, they may even ask AI to generate an image of what they have in mind. Yet, the AI search results and the generated image will likely be less than satisfactory, and the use of AI art is a topic rife with ethical concerns. A few years back, before the AI boom, you might have just attempted to Google the subject you were looking for, maybe toggling on the Creative Commons license filter option on the search engine and browsing through the results. You could, indeed, find decent art options that way, but still not the best. In the results, you would see Wikimedia entries, but the rights and licensing can be dubious there. You could also find options from image aggregators, like Picryl and Alamy, that collect licensable images from the internet and try to resell them to you in exchange for payment or donations. But their details are often sparse, and the pictures you are looking for may be covered in watermarks or locked behind a paywall. Yet, there is a secret that the aggregators don’t want you to know. The secret is that many of the paintings, prints, old photographs and other antique artworks that the aggregator sites try to sell you are actually in the public domain and can be found freely available for download, without watermarks or paywalls, on other reputable sites of the internet. The key is to skip the aggregators, cutting out the middleman, and head straight to the museum websites.
As a historian who has been posting content on the internet for years, I frequently browse the online collections of museums, libraries, archives, and other similar institutions from all over the world. For every Article I post, any Quote Picture I release, every History Picture I describe, and each YouTube video I publish, I delve into the collections hosted by institutions of art and history and find applicable public domain artworks for my projects. Suffice it to say, after doing this for years, I have become very familiar with these kinds of websites.
Almost all major art museums have accessible public websites, and most have some sort of browsable art collection or gallery that is available online. Though some museum webpages are more user-friendly than others, and their layouts can differ greatly, you can generally find their galleries by locating the museum website’s art section and clicking on an option that makes some reference to searching their collection. If the museum site you are browsing is not in your native language, many museum websites have built-in language settings, where it will auto-translate the site into your language of choice. For example, let’s look at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. By default, it’s an English language website, but in the top right corner, there is an option to switch the site to a different language. The same is true for many other regional museums, such as the Rijksmuseum of the Netherlands, which also has a language selection option, including English. In both of these examples, to find their art galleries, you just navigate to their collection pages. The Rijksmuseum website is straightforward—just click “Collection” and start searching away. On the MET museum site, select “Art” on their menu, and then click on “The MET Collection,” then you can start searching for artworks from there. That is the general pathway to search for art on most museum websites. You can also Google the specific page you are looking for, using search phrases like “MET collection,” or “Rijksmuseum collection,” and the right page should be one of the first options presented.
Now, arriving at the museum collection page and actually browsing it are two separate matters. If you are looking for public domain art that can be reused, monetized or marketed, you need to take a few extra steps. First and foremost, you will want to select options and filters that will make the museum site display public domain or non-copyrighted images. You will also want to familiarize yourself with the locations on the site where each artwork’s copyright designation is clearly written out and defined. In the case of the MET and the Rijksmuseum, they plainly state which of their artworks are public domain. On Rijksmuseum, select an artwork and scroll down to “view all data.” Then, keep scrolling to the section labeled “Acquisition and rights” and then “copyright.” On Rijksmuseum, you want to see that the copyright line states that the artwork is “Public Domain.” As for the MET, that website has some easier browsing options. The collection homepage has a “Public Domain Images” section that you can click, and if you happened to skip that step you can toggle on the option, “Has Open Access image,” after you begin searching the collection on their website. These Open Access images are generally public domain, but after selecting an artwork on the MET website, look under the picture of the artwork and double-check to make sure the artwork is listed as “Public Domain.” There should be a symbol in front of the Public Domain text to designate that the artwork falls under the MET’s “Open Access policy,” which allows copying, modification and distribution of designated images, even for commercial purposes. Museums like the MET, the Rijksmuseum, and other similarly-minded institutions will usually provide a free, no-hassle download option for the public domain artworks on their museum collection pages. Sometimes, an artwork listing on a museum website will have multiple photographs, and in that grouping of photos, some images will be public domain while others may still be in copyright. In those cases, just pay attention to the fine print, and download the specific image that is labeled as Public Domain and that has a download option presented by the museum.
In addition to providing clear rights information and download options, many museum websites have fairly in-depth filtering capabilities that you can use while searching the collections. For the copyright concern, many websites allow you to easily search for only public domain art, similarly to how the MET allows you to filter for its Open Access images. You can also tell many museum collection pages that you want to search only for a specific type of art, such as paintings, photographs, prints, sculptures, etcetera. These options are usually listed under selectable categories labeled as “object types,” or some similar designation. Additionally, most museums allow you to narrow down your search to specific time periods, geographical regions, or specialty departments. All you have to do is select the filter options that will provide the best results for the type of art you want to find, and then start scrolling through what the museums have to offer.
Here are a few examples:
Let’s say I want to find ancient Greek pottery art for an article I’m working on. This is how I would search for it on the Metropolitan Museum of Art Website. First, go to the Met Museum website, click the Art menu and select the The Met Collection option. Next, scroll down and click Public Domain Images. Then, on the search page, type in the keyword Greek (or some other applicable word for ancient Greek pottery art, such as amphora or Attic). This will already generate some good results, but maybe I’ll throw on an Object Type or Material filter. How about clay? And with that, the Met website will present me with a list of public domain clay artworks related to Greece. Click on something you like, and a page will appear where a picture of the art will be prominent. Under the picture is the public domain designation, and on the opposite side of the picture is the download button.
For another example, maybe I want an illustration of Plato from the Rijksmuseum. Just go to the museum website, make sure you toggle on your preferred language, then click “collection” and type in the name Plato at the search bar. With the results loaded, select an image that looks good, scroll down to click on the “View all data” option, and double-check down at the “Acquisition and rights” section to make sure that the art is public domain. There is a download option in the data section, and you can also go back up to the “+” button on the main display area to find a second download method. Backtracking to the search page, maybe you want a specific type of art. Perhaps a sculpture? Then click on the button beside the search bar and select the “OBJECT TYPE” option. In this case, sculpture is not listed by default, but I can type it in manually, click the sculpture tag that appears, and that will make the site only show me sculptures relating to Plato. From there, just do the previous steps of checking to make sure your chosen sculpture is public domain.
If, per se, I want a painting of cavalry from the National Museum in Warsaw, I would go to their website, click the MENU button and choose the CATALOG option. From there I’d select “more filters,” go to the copyrights dropdown menu, and scroll down to find Public domain. If I search the term, cavalry, the site should keep those filter options and present me with search results that are public domain. With the results showing, I can then go to the “object type” option and select something like “painting” or one of the oil or pastel options. I’ll choose painting for now, and select an option that looks good. If you hover over the “c” symbol, it should tell you that the artwork is public domain, and right above that symbol is the download button.
For the next hypothetical, how about using the National Museum in Stockholm to find an illustration or painting relating to an Icelandic saga. In that case, I would go to their website, click on the search button, then choose their “Search the collections” option. From there, make sure your preferred language is selected, then enter your search in the search area. I’ll type in saga as the keyword. Some decent options will already be presented as is, but if you want to narrow it down to paintings, I can click “Advanced search,” then go to “Technique” and choose painting. With the results provided, click the preferred painting, and check the fine print underneath the image. If it says “Public Domain,” you should be able to click on the picture and a download option should be available. Another way to browse their site is to go back to the home page, choose “Explore art and design” and select the “Get images” section. There, they have links to their media portal and their Wikimedia page, though these are not as easy to navigate.
For my last example, perhaps the Art Institute of Chicago can provide me an artwork for a kingly scene. I’ll go to the museum website, click the “Art & Artists” option, then type in my king keyword. From there, I’ll click “Show Filters” and scroll down to check the “Public domain” option. With that, it should reload the page and only show public domain artworks relating to kings. The results should be fair as is, but I could also go over and choose “ARTWORK TYPE” and “Painting” for a more narrow list of results. Click your favorite artwork and you should see wording saying “CC0 Public Domain Designation,” and on the opposite side there should be a download option.
By utilizing open and accessible museums such as these, you can find all the free, re-usable, public domain art you could need. But there are some additional options that can help you search faster. Rather than use aggregators with watermarked or paywalled images, or those sites that provide public domain pictures without any information about the artwork’s origin, I would instead suggest using official archives and databases that work with museums. One great example is the European Union’s Europeana website. This helpful site combines the collections of many European museums and institutions, presenting a great bulk of European art in a single searchable database. Unfortunately, the filtering options on the site are not as easy to use as many of the individual museum websites, but you can still do the essential basics, such as filtering for only public domain results. To do this, you enter your search on Europeana, then click on “ADDITIONAL FILTERS” and scroll down to “RIGHTS STATEMENT,” then select “Public Domain Mark” as your option. It is also good to know that Europeana supports Boolean operators (like capitalized AND, OR, and NOT), which helps focus in on specific searches; like, for example, using the search phrase, “Painting AND Roman,” which will produce results with both keywords. Europeana clearly lists where each artwork on the site originated and you can go directly to that museum’s website by clicking on the option that says “View on the providing institution’s website.” Sites like Europeana, therefore, are also a good way to find individual museums that host freely-usable public domain art.
It would also be remiss of me to not give my own website a shoutout. As I said earlier, every single one of my posts uses public domain or re-usable art. Every quote features a public domain image—you can find the art attribution on the quote picture, itself, written as fine print at the bottom of the image. Each Article and Did You Know is headed by a public domain artwork, and you can scroll down to the end of the piece to find the “Picture Attribution,” that lists out what the artwork is and where it came from. Of particular note for art is my History Pictures section, a gallery of various artworks, where you can read descriptions about the historical inspirations for each piece of art. If you click History Pictures on the main menu, you will see my disclaimer that “All images featured on our History Pictures page are in the Public Domain or have no known rights restrictions, unless specified in the accompanying article.” The providing institution of each History Picture artwork is always listed last in the respective article sources section. To filter your search results on my website, just enter your query into the search bar, and after you obtain your initial results, find the “Filter Options” section (which is right under the search bar on computer and at the bottom of your search results on mobile), and click on a category, such as History Pictures. Using this method, you could search the term “Rome” and then toggle on the filter for the “History Pictures” category, and that would give you a list of History Pictures on the subject of Rome. Just give a shout-out to The Historian’s Hut if you decide to download a picture from the website.
Through means such as these, you can obtain free, reusable, monetizable, and merchandisable real art without any need for AI or AI generation. By obtaining your art and assets in this way, you will be supporting the legacy of real art, and real artists, while giving some traffic to the prestigious art institutions that go out of their way to give us access to their digitized masterpieces. It should also be mentioned that, if you have the resources, you can also commission art directly from a modern artist, who would probably appreciate the patronage. Whatever your choice, enjoy the real art that humans have created.
Video music info:
Josef Suk, Serenade, Op 6 – A Far Cry
All of the artworks used in the video were labeled as Public Domain, Open Access, Free Use, Creative Commons or subject to Fair Use at the time of the video’s creation.
In 1892, a short man named Engelbert Dollfuss (later belittlingly nicknamed Millimetternich) was born in the town of Texing, Austria. His young adulthood was dominated by the ravages of WWI (1914-1918) and the fragmentation of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the final days of the war. During all of that chaos and change, Dollfuss gained an education in economics and agriculture, which influenced his early career path in Austria’s Farmers’ Association and the Chamber of Agriculture. Politically, he joined the conservative Christian Social Party, which dominated Austria’s rural provinces in the post-war parliamentary system. For most of Engelbert Dollfuss’ formative years in politics, the Christian Social Party’s Ignaz Seipel was chancellor of Austria (r. 1922–24, 1926–29). The main rival political organization was the Social Democrat Party, which was entrenched in the capital of Vienna and other urban and industrial regions. Both sides were distrustful of the other and had extremists willing to resort to violence. Notably, each party had affiliated paramilitaries—namely the right-wing Heimwehren and the leftist Schutzbund, which began skirmishing against each other in the 1920s. A boiling point occurred in 1927, when a riot erupted in Vienna after Heimwehren gunmen were found not guilty by a jury for the killing of Schutzbund demonstrators. Chancellor Ignaz Seipel unleashed Johannes Schober, his president of police, against the unruly masses in Vienna. Schober’s officers used lethal live ammunition to suppress the riot, and nearly a hundred people died—of which four of were police. This same Johannes Schober briefly became the Chancellor of Austria in 1930, and his immediate successors as chancellor, Carl Vaugoin (r. 1930) and Otto Ender (r. 1930-1931), appointed Engelbert Dollfuss as the President of the Federal Railways and then the Minister of Agriculture, respectively, in 1930 and 1931.
Engelbert Dollfuss, as he advanced through the offices of the parliamentary government, cultivated an initial reputation as an amenable and agreeable figure who was potentially positioned to work across party lines. His small stature did not take away from his folksy charisma, and he ultimately became quite popular. He was also noticeably less intertwined with the right-wing Heimwehren paramilitary than other Christian Social Party leaders at the time. This was politically important for Dollfuss, as a branch of the Heimwehren militants had unsuccessfully tried to launch a coup against the Austrian parliament in 1931. This was the same year that Austria’s leading bank, Credit Anstalt, collapsed amid the economic devastation of the Great Depression era. It was in this socio-economic environment that Austria elected Engelbert Dollfuss as chancellor in the year 1932. His coalition in parliament primarily consisted of his own party, the Christian Social Party, as well as his agricultural allies in the Agrarian League. Another block of supporters that would begin to have an increasing role in his government was the Heimatbloc, the political party of the Heimwehren paramilitary group. Despite the backing of the paramilitary, Dollfuss initially made some overtures to the rival Social Democrat party, floating the idea of cooperation in government. This overture was looked upon favorably by certain leading Social Democrat figures, such as Karl Renner, yet the party as a whole—largely due to the influence of the Austromarxist firebrand Otto Bauer—was convinced to reject Dollfuss’ olive branch. In the absence of cooperation, Dollfuss quickly began closely aligning with right-wing extremists and paramilitaries. Perhaps, under better circumstances, a collaborative government could have been revisited later. Yet, the rise of Adolf Hitler as the German chancellor and Führer in 1933 would forever change Engelbert Dollfuss’ politics.
It was no secret that Adolf Hitler dreamed of bringing Austria under German control—after all, he had written in his 1924 manifesto that Germany would only be safe if the parliamentary state of Austria was destroyed. Even before Hitler became chancellor, Nazis were already becoming a problem in Austria. Within the first year of Dollfuss government rule in 1932, Nazi terrorist attacks provoked the regime into banning political parades and demonstrations in Austria by both the right-wing Nazis and the leftist Schutzbund. Austria’s own nationalist Heimwehren paramilitary group, however, was allowed to continue operating openly. Upon Hitler’s subsequent rise to complete power in 1933, Engelbert Dollfuss immediately recognized the threat posed to Austria by the Nazis, and he scrambled for allies and advice to thwart the hostile Führer’s ambitions. Dollfuss’ foreign confidants included Hungary’s strongman leader, Miklós Horthy (r. 1920-1944), as well as Pope Pius XI (r. 1922-1939)—or at least the Vatican’s representative in Vienna—and, most importantly, the Italian Fascist dictator, Benito Mussolini (r. 1922–1943). These men, as well as Dollfuss himself, became convinced that Austria could only prevent a Nazi invasion by appeasing Hitler through the implementation of an authoritarian state in Austria that would address Hitler’s qualms about the Austrian parliament and the Social Democrat Party. Mussolini, who was not yet an ally of Hitler, funded and armed the Austrian right-wing Heimwehren paramilitary and promised to support Dollfuss’ regime against Germany if the chancellor could overthrow the parliament and set up a totalitarian government in the Fascist model.
While Dollfuss pondered the situation, the Austrian Nazis’ spree of terrorism continued, prompting Dollfuss to ban the Nazi Party in Austria. This, in turn, provoked an economic retaliation by Hitler, who imposed travel visa fees on Germans who wished to visit Austria. Tragically, while Dollfuss was undergoing his existential crisis in geopolitical politics, a tempting opportunity was unfortunately placed right on his platter by the Austrian parliament. In 1933, a minor procedural voting dispute in the parliament, caused by a man accidentally voting twice, ultimately spiraled into a scandal that resulted in the resignations of the president and vice presidents of the parliament, as well as the temporary suspension of the parliament, itself. Engelbert Dollfuss leapt at the opportunity presented to him; he used police to forcibly keep the parliament closed and insisted that from then on he would rule Austria by authoritarian decrees empowered by a vague and untested Emergency Powers Act meant for wartimes. The army, meanwhile, would not save the parliament, as it had become dominated by the Christian Social Party, to which Dollfuss belonged.
Austria’s Social Democrat Party, caught off guard by the totalitarian takeover of government, hoped for a diplomatic resolution to the crisis. Leftist leaders told their aligned paramilitary organizations to stand down while the leadership attempted to negotiate a reopening of the parliament. Even the aforementioned firebrand Otto Bauer joined the diplomatic overtures that urged a new coalition government that included both the Social Democrats and Dollfuss’ own Christian Social Party. Even though notable members of the Christian Social Party, such as Leopold Kunschak, approved and supported the compromise, Engelbert Dollfuss refused to take this provided off-ramp and instead continued to march down the path of authoritarianism, starting by outlawing the leftist Schutzbund paramilitary organization that the Social Democrat Party leaders had chosen not to mobilize.
Benito Mussolini and Engelbert Dollfuss met three times in 1933, and after the latter’s authoritarian takeover of the Austrian government, Mussolini officially guaranteed Austria’s independence in a meeting at Riccione. Yet, for Mussolini, Dollfuss’ authoritarian government was not totalitarian enough. Vestiges of the Austrian parliament remained, and opposition Social Democrat Party members remained in office in positions such as mayor. Therefore, prodded on by Mussolini’s insistence and encouraged by the bloodlust of the Austrian army and the Heimwehren paramilitary, Dollfuss planned to destroy what remained of the Social Democrat Party through the use of a nationwide military campaign.
On February 12, 1934, Engelbert Dollfuss unleashed the army, the Heimwehren, and the police on Social Democrat strongholds in the regions of Linz, Steyr, Styria, and Vienna. In all of those regions, Dollfuss’ forces encountered resistance from Schutzbund paramilitary fighters who had been laying low since the 1933 ban on their organization. The surprised Schutzbund members had pistols, rifles, and heavy machine guns, which they used effectively from entrenched positions in their urban and industrial environments. Nevertheless, Dollfuss’ forces had an overwhelming advantage in grenades and artillery. Over the next few days, most of the battles in the brief civil war were decided by artillery shelling of Schutzbund positions, which were reduced to rubble. Most of the Social Democrat Party leaders and Schutzbund commanders had been captured or fled by February 15. Hundreds died in the conflict, itself, and more would follow due to the trials and executions of opposition figures that occurred in the days after the civil war. Active Schutzbund militants were not the only ones tried and executed—a notable execution was that of the Social Democrat Mayor, Kolomon Wallisch, of Bruck an der Mur, who was cruelly left to strangle for twelve minutes in his disastrous hanging. Opposition party members who survived the war and tribunals found their party outlawed, their funds frozen, and their political and labor organizations disbanded. The regime’s executions and repressiveness after the civil war destroyed any remaining relationship that the Dollfuss regime had with the Western Democracies, ensuring that the regime would continue to interact with other fascist states. In May of 1934, Dollfuss’ regime drew up a replacement constitution for the new totalitarian Austria. Dollfuss also introduced the curious Fatherland Front, a nationalistic and Catholic inspired organization that was meant to transcend the old parliamentary party system while still promoting Austrian independence.
Ironically, the scheme by Dollfuss and Mussolini to thwart Hitler by creating a Fascist regime in Austria was ineffective at best, and counterproductive at worst. For Hitler, his ambition in Austria was more territorial than political, so an authoritarian leader in Austria was irrelevant—Hitler wanted to annex it into Germany regardless. Even with the left-wing Social Democrats and the Schutzbund defeated, the right-wing Nazis in Austria continued their terrorist activity and sedition. In a bizarre, sudden, and anticlimactic end to Engelbert Dollfuss’ ironic saga, he was ultimately assassinated by Austrian Nazis on July 25, 1934. Dollfuss’ successor, Kurt von Schuschnigg, attempted to continue the repressive regime in Austria. Ineffective and disliked, his weak authoritarian regime suffered sabotage both from Communists and Nazis until the exasperated strongman weakly signed away Austria’s sovereignty to Hitler’s Germany in 1938. Mussolini, who had by that time become Hitler’s ally, then pretended he had never guaranteed Austria’s independence.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Engelbert Dollfuss photographed at the Turkish liberation ceremony of the Heimatschutzes in Schönbrunn, dated 14.05.1933, [Public Domain/no known copyright] via the Österreichische Lichtbildstelle Archive and the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek. https://viewer.onb.ac.at/10BDB4FF).
Sources:
Between Two Fires: Europe’s Path in the 1930s, by David Clay Large. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1990, 1991.
This painting, attributed to an anonymous artist from the workshop of Filippino Lippi (c. 1457-1504), depicts two Muses—patron goddesses of arts, sciences and creativity—from ancient Greek and Roman mythology. The Minneapolis Institute of Art, which houses the artwork, identifies the Muse on the right as likely being Melpomene, whereas the institution more tentatively proposes that the other Muse may be Thalia or Erato. Their names, and those of their godly sisters, are believed to have first been written down by the Greek poet, Hesiod (c. 8th century BCE), who stated, “the Muses sang, who dwell in Olympus, the nine daughters born of great Zeus, Clio and Euterpe and Thaleia and Melpomene, Terpsichore and Erato and Polyhymnia and Urania, and Calliope, who is chief among them all” (Hesiod, Theogony, approximately lines 76-79). Despite the 8th century BCE (or earlier) coinage of the names, it took longer for each Muse to gain a specific area of expertise. This evolution was described by the scholar, Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE), who wrote, “To each of the Muses men assign her special aptitude for one of the branches of the liberal arts, such as poetry, song, pantomimic dancing, the round dance with music, the study of the stars, and the other liberal arts” (Library of History, 4.7). Melpomene was the Muse of tragic art, whereas Thalia was the Muse of comedy, and Erato was the Muse of lyric and erotic poetry, and also mimes. Calliope, meanwhile, was the Muse of epic poetry; Terpsichore was patron of song and dance; Polyhymnia of hymns and works of praise; Clio of history; Urania of astronomy, and Euterpe of flute-playing.
Refocusing on the painting and its use of symbolism, the masks of comedy and tragedy are key identifying features included in the artwork. The Muse on the right can be seen carrying the frowning mask of tragedy in her hand, which is evidence enough for many observers to label her as Melpomene without any further inquiry. Yet, the Muse on the left is trickier because the mask of comedy is depicted under her foot—which is not a common pose for Thalia, the Muse of comedy. Given the problems with the comedy mask’s location, significance is instead placed on the mystery Muse’s positioning of her hand on the lyre seen in the center of the painting. Unfortunately, the lyre does not single out any one Muse. Calliope, Terpsichore and Erato could all be depicted with lyres in ancient art. Erato, however, arguably had the closest association with the instrument. Additionally, given Erato’s curious connection to the theatrical practice of mimicry, it would make sense that, after Thalia, she could be the next most likely Muse to be paired with Melpomene, the Muse of tragedy.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Sources:
Theogony and Works and Days by Hesiod, translated by M. L. West. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 1999, 2008.
The Library of History, by Diodorus Siculus, edited by Giles Laurén (Sophron Editor, 2014).
Metamorphoses by Ovid. Translated by David Raeburn. Penguin Classics; Revised Edition, 2004.
The Oxford Dictionary of Classical Myth and Religion, edited by Simon Price and Emily Kearns. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.
“I didn’t want just to look at cities and mountains as in paintings, but at men themselves and what they are saying and doing.”
From Charon or The Observers (section 6) by Lucian of Samosata, translated by C. D. N. Costa in Lucian:Selected Dialogues (Oxford University Press / Oxford World Classics, 2005, 2006, 2009).
