Et tu Brute?
His life has been immortalized, unlike his bleeding body at the Theatre of Pompey. ‘Et tu Brute?’ is a Shakespearean-quip, the inspiration for which derived from the fall of this great man. Yet those words weren’t nearly as moving as the paint slathered onto Camuccini’s canvas.
Faithful to his neoclassical style, Camuccini depicts this sombre scene in primary colours, most illustrated in the clothing donned by its constituents. Whilst the heavy colourization in his second version of this work was broadly criticised, leading to him destroying it, the use here is appealing to the eye and strategically placed.
The murder itself is fleshed out a little left to the centre, yet onlookers will find their eyes pulled to it due to the pinched start, portrayed by two astounded observers, and subsequent spread outwards in the shape of a triangle. The triangle is deeply rooted in Greek-society and mythology, yet its representation is also of strong foundation and stability. Something that Camuccini appears to have ironically utilised to portray the scene which reveals the deep cracks in human-nature and lead to the fall of an empire.
Despite the mess this betrayal left behind, the scene is kept relatively clean with plenty of open space illuminated by angled natural light, unevenly dispersed, leaving a darker patch towards the far left. Here stand out two figures in apparent distress, albeit one that appears to be unrelated to the enfolding scene. Perhaps clever commentary on the ignorance of the Roman population to the build-up that lead to this historic betrayal, for where they saw a benevolent master, the senate a heinous-aspiring-king...
Just above the barbarity stands, in all its glorification, an unabashedly nude Pompei, a common feature amongst artists in the mid-18th century, heroic-male-nudity of course, not Pompei. As cruel as it may have been to perish at the feet of one’s enemy, most historians agree that the location of the assassination was purely owed to the recently burnt Senate. Nevertheless, the looming marble only adds to the melodramatic setting, along with the emerald drapes and open staging, that helps to convey the true implications of such a scene with only speechless figures.
Camuccini, drunk on the words of Winkelmann, had much of the naivety to attempt to embody the great Greeks and, painting during Napoleonic upheavals, knew all about the shaking of political roots in his own time. The finished product is an enthralling piece that speaks much about human futile attempts at stability. One never succeeding. Not for those in Ancient Rome, not during Camuccini’s time and certainly, not today.