Gustave Courbet, Le hamac (The Hammock), 1844, oil on canvas, 70.5 × 97 cm, Oskar Reinhart Collection “Am Römerholz,” Winterthur

      Gustave Courbet’s Le hamac (The Hammock) from 1844 is a masterpiece, a dreamlike vision in every sense of the word. But what does the painting depict? Is it Courbet’s dream or the sleeping girl’s? One sees a forest clearing; a hammock is stretched over a path that leads in turn to another clearing in the background. A girl lies in it and sleeps, half in sunshine, half in shade. She wears a garland of flowers in her loose blond hair. The weather is apparently very warm because she has removed her blue silk shawl and opened her bodice, lined in yellow, underneath which her breasts are just visible through transparent gauze. The girl’s legs hang down from the hammock, feet crossed, her skirt hiked up to reveal calves clad in white stockings. She holds firmly onto the edge of the hammock with her right hand, while her left hand extends over her head in a gesture typical of sleeping persons. Her chin rests on her chest and the expression on her face has something equally lascivious and innocent about it. And in general she seems virginal and a little wicked at the same time. The dream she is presently dreaming is surely very pleasant. It is a pity that it will soon come to an end, because she is about to fall off the hammock. Her hair, which resembles a waterfall, presages her imminent plunge to the ground. She will not fall onto the path itself but rather into shallow, dark water, which will wrench her from her reverie.

      This painting often reminds me of two verses from “Frühlingstraum” [Dream of Spring], a poem from Wilhelm Müller’s Winterreise [Winter Journey] cycle published in 1823 and set to music by Franz Schubert. They concern the abrupt shift from the world of dreams to that of reality, which for Müller was a sign of the difference between the idea of freedom and the reality of suppression during the Restoration and the period leading up to the March Revolution of 1848:

      Ich träumte von Lieb’ um Liebe,

      Von einer schönen Maid,

      Von Herzen und von Küssen,

      Von Wonne und Seligkeit.

      Und als die Hähne krähten,

      Da ward mein Herze wach;

      Nun sitz’ ich hier alleine

      Und denke dem Traume nach.

      [I dreamt of mutual love,

      Of a lovely maiden,

      Of embracing and kissing,

      Of joy and rapture.

      And when the cocks crowed

      My heart awoke;

      Now I sit here alone

      And reflect upon my dream.]1

      Does Courbet’s Hammock depict the transition from an idealized world to a harsh reality? Is this image of sleep shortly before it comes to an abrupt end also about the end of an era that can be designated “Romantic”? The fact that this painting might unexpectedly contain concealed messages still occupies me today. The garland the young woman wears in her hair is not an ivy wreath, as has frequently been claimed.2 It is in fact made from black bryony, a medicinal plant with heart-shaped leaves and red berries that, as the French name unmistakably indicates, is traditionally used to treat bruises: “herbe aux femmes battues” (herb of battered women).3 Other vernacular names include “racine vierge” (maiden root) or “sceau de Notre Dame,” which can be translated as “seal of Our Lady.” Both names indicate a further function: the plant seems to have been employed as a contraceptive.4 If Courbet was aware of this, which is likely, then the rude awakening that will follow upon sleep would take on a very different meaning here.

      The year before completing this painting, Courbet depicted himself in a self-portrait that was selected in 1844 for the annual public Salon exhibition in Paris—his debut. The Portrait de l’artiste, known as Courbet au chien noir (Portrait of the Artist, known as Courbet with a Black Dog, front cover) shows him as a fashionably dressed Romantic wearing plaid trousers, a dapper frock coat, and a hat adorning his magnificently curly head of hair like some murky halo. The artist is seen resting during a walk; he holds a pipe in his hand, while his walking stick and sketchbook lean against the rocks behind him. It appears as if he has given himself over to melancholy, and his glance, looking down his nose at the viewer, seems to underscore the distance between himself and his audience, as if the latter will never be in a position to understand him. And the glance of the dog seated next to the painter also seems to say: “I am the only one who is faithful to you.” The background, freely painted—probably with a palette knife—and left unfinished, is conspicuous. The painting depicts Courbet in the mood he was in when he imagined the women of his dreams in forest clearings, yet not without recalling the unwanted consequences of sexual exuberance.