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Piotr Krasny

Jagiellonian University, Kraków


Many consider François René de Chateaubriand as the thinker primarily responsible for consolidating radically conservative and fideistic attitudes after the French Revolution. It was allegedly under his influence that French sacred art of the 19th century plunged into an era of barren historicism, which identified religious significance with allusions to the artistic tradition of the pre-revolutionary state. The origins of this idea are commonly traced back to Chateaubriand’s statements on art in his apologetic treatise entitled The Genius of Christianity [Génie du Christianisme] It is should be noted, however, that these reflections are limited to but a dozen pages in the book, and it would be a futile attempt to use them as specific guidance on how sacred art should be created. Evident in these pages is Chateaubriand’s admiration for the architecture of Gothic cathedrals, which evoke in him “a kind of awe and a vague sentiment of the Divinity”; he is clearly awed by their solemn ambience, reverberating with echoes of past ages, which “raise their venerable voices from the bosom of the stones, and are heard in every corner of the vast cathedral.” These statements may indeed be easily read as an encouragement to build churches in a neo-Gothic style, which will always appeal to the common folk. It should be borne in mind, however, that the neo-Gothic rose to prominence in French art thirty years after the publication of The Genius of Christianity. If we assume that the book was treated as an inspiration for reviving past architectural solutions, it may strike us as surprising that the motifs chosen often went directly against Chateaubriand’s actual recommendations. At the beginning of the 19th century, French religious art returned to the forms of classicizing baroque and early classicism, which were criticized by Chateaubriand for their pagan origins and their inability to inspire true Christian piety. Therefore, it seems unlikely that the choice of “retrospective” solutions was influenced by the The Genius of Christianity; rather, it was informed by specific academic tastes dominant in the French artistic milieu at the time and the ideal of “restoring” French religious art to what it used to be before the iconoclasm and de-christianization championed by the French Revolution.

Keywords: religious art, art theory, France, 19th century, the French Revolution, François René de Chateaubriand


Among various notoriously bufoonish acts of Jean Paul Sartre urinating on the grave of François René de Chateaubriand (1768–1848) at Saint-Malo was a particularly meaningful one. The famous French philosopher wanted to punish in this symbolic way the remnants of the thinker, whom he called with some degree of respect “a dead lion”, for strengthening the extreme conservatism and fideism in the modern French culture.[1] Similar charges were levelled against Chateubriand by a number of specialists in the history of art of the 19th century. They claimed that the aesthetic and theoretical art concepts of this thinker had a negative influence on the French sacred art at least until 1830, making it conservative and immune to the influence of the great and innovative concepts developing dynamically in Paris.[2] The thinker was seen as the main cause of the enduring attachment of the French Catholics to “a decorative style that was intended to revive… [the] past and define the identity of the nation in its [pre-Revolutionary] state”[3]. It was the influence of Chateubriand’s theoretical thinking which created in France a closed circle of conservative artists, who turned back towards “a golden age of Christianity conceived as a retrospective utopia to which one had to return”.[4]

The separation and marginalization of the sacred art was certainly one of the most important events in the art of the 19th century. If Chateaubriand had indeed started this process, it would make him one of the most influential art writers of this century,[5] and a key figure in the decline of the sacred art.[6] However, it is difficult to find in his writings even a sketch of the programme visible and convincing enough to provoke such a dramatic split. Firstly, it seems doubtful that less than twenty page devoted by Chateaubriand to his thoughts on art, formulated with Romantic latitude and without any unambiguous normative commands,[7] would have been able per ipso to initiate and direct the basic changes in the attitudes of the sponsors, artists and the audience. More probably, Chateaubriand became mixed with his doctrine in the quite complicated processes in the French art life, not so much influencing them as providing an attractive explanation of them, both for his contemporaries and for art historians. It is worth considering not only what Chateaubriand actually claimed but also in what historic circumstances his ideas were presented and in what way they could be interpreted.


The French thinker included most of his views on the theory of art in Génie du Christianisme, published in 1802,[8] devoting to them a chapter titled Des églises gotiques. The books was a peculiar apology for Christianity, written in defence of the French Catholic Church, weakened by the secular Enlightenment philosophy and well-nigh destroyed by the Jacobin revolutionary terror. Chateaubriand knew Napoleon’s view that “a society without religion is like a ship without a compass”, thus he decided to portray Christianity as the only doctrine capable of introducing the axiological order to the nation demoralized by the revolutionary chaos,[9] as indicated by the book’s original title De la religion chrétienne par raport à la morale et aux beaux-arts.[10] While wary about the judgement of reason, “which never dried a tear”,[11] he summoned “all the charms of the imagination, and all the interests of the heart to the assistance of that religion against which they had been set in array”.[12] He spent a great deal of time on the role of the Christian faith in inspiring the most wonderful works of philosophy, homiletics, literature, music, architecture, painting and sculpture, which “lent her their terrestrial charms, and she conferred on them her divinity”.[13] Recalling the grandeur of these works, he called for loving Christianity because of the beauty of its liturgy, the genius of its orators, the wisdom of its scientists and because of all the riches of the religious era of France collected in its churches.[14] He also wanted the French, while looking back into the past with regret, to explore new ways for the future of their culture, worthy of its great Christian heritage.

His reflections on the sacred architecture start with the claim that “[e]very thing ought to be in its proper place”, thus the buildings which would have changed their places in the cultural space “would have lost their principal beauty; that is to say, their relations with the institutions and habits of the people”. These relations, as he claimed, were broken in the churches built in France shortly before the revolution, when people started to “build Grecian temples, ever so elegant and well-lighted, for the purpose of assembling the good people of St. Louis […], and making them adore a metaphysical God”. The believers entering the “Grecian” churches (e.g. the classicist buildings of Saint-Philippe-du-Roule and Sainte-Geneviève in Paris) sensed, according to Chateaubriand, strongly that these buildings had nothing to do with the tradition of French Catholicism, and for that reason their piety and the feeling of participation in the Christian community diminished.[15]

Having criticised the emotional emptiness of the 18th-century churches, Chateaubriand wrote emphatically that “[y]ou could not enter a Gothic church without feeling a kind of awe and a vague sentiment of the Divinity”.[16] This sentiment was to arise from the fact that these churches were built in the particularly pious age and the solemn religious mood was created in them by “[p]ast ages [which] raise their verable voices from the bosom of the stones, and are heard in every corner of the vast cathedral”.[17] Within these buildings not only the spirit of the eternal religion was preserved, but also “ancient France seemed to revive altogether”. Naturally enough, the simple folk “would still regret those Notre Dames of Rheims and Paris, – those venerable cathedrals, overgrown with moss, full of generations of the dead and the ashes of their forefathers”.[18]

Chateaubriand’s traditionalist approach to the sacred art was most clearly visible in the declaration that “[a] monument is not venerable, unless a long history of the past be, as it were, inscribed beneath its vaulted canopy, black with age. For this reason, also, there is nothing marvellous in a temple whose erection we have witnessed, whose echoes and whose domes were formed before our eyes.” This thesis was supported by his statement that “only ancient art brings closer the essence of God, who is the eternal law; his origin, and whatever relates to his worship, ought to be enveloped in the night of time”.[19]

The most logical conclusion of these preachings would be the belief that it is not worth building new churches, since it is impossible to grant them the dignity which could be provided only by a long pedigree. In the times when Chateaubriand was working on this text, the efforts of the revolutionary government and mad mob[20] turned many churches and monasteries into ruins whose destruction was just reaching its end and taking walks among these ruins was a popular pastime.[21] Obviously, the rebirth of faith in France had to be accompanied with a wide-ranging restoration of the sacred art. The author of Génie du Christianisme proposed a programme for this restoration, based on the faithful imitation of tradition-honoured forms and solutions of the French sacred art preserved in the form of the Gothic cathedrals. The remnants of the Gothic sacred art which had survived the revolutionary massacre, required from the 19th-century artists, in his opinion, to tame their exaggerated invention and the thirst for novelties. If the modern art had not shown such a restraint, it would mingle with the ancient heritage, creating “a very strange mixture” [effroyable bigarrure], naturally disfigured by the ungainly and conceited novelties.[22]

As Chateaubriand himself noticed, Génie du Christianisme “appeared at the right moment” and for that reason it gained incredible popularity. The book reached both the general audience which “tired of the chaos and violence […] was ready to accept willingly anything which could increase stabilization and decrease passions”,[23] as well as Napoleon himself, who, having just signed the concordat with the Holy See, wanted to use the religious rebirth of the nation in order to integrate it under his rule.[24] The First Consul asked for a fragment of Chateaubriand to be read to him every night, and reading the book thoroughly and praising it was the height of the fashion in Parisian and provincial salons.[25] The incredible popularity of this book continued through the first three decades of the 19th century[26], making its numerous readers admire the beauty and the deeply religious climate of the medieval cathedrals. Surprisingly enough, the admiration neither influenced the architecture of the churches built in France at that time, nor their interior furnishings, including altars, sculptures and paintings. The Gothic Revival, dynamically expanding in England and German-speaking countries from the late 18th century, appeared in France very belatedly. The first neo-Gothic church in Paris, dedicated to St Clotilde, was designed as late as in 1827, and its construction did not start until 1846.[27] The imitation of Gothic forms spread in painting and sculpture with even more difficulty, showing it first faint signs in the mid 1830s in the interior furnishings of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.[28]

Instead, the first decades of the 19th century in the sacred French art were dominated by academic classicism, preserving the much younger tradition of the 17th and 18th century. This stylistic formula did not appeal at all to Chateaubriand, who rebuked it for its pagan origins.[29] The popularity of this style, which in the times of Louis XVI “at the command of an atheistical age […] has been made to grovel upon the earth”,[30] was considered by Chateaubriand to be one of the symptoms of the decline of the Church, paving the way to the anti-Christian revolution.[31] To all appearances, Chateaubriand’s work was much more popular than influential, at least regarding the propagation of the formula for “the proper beauty” of the churches and their furnishings. It was caused probably by the obstacles encountered by Chateaubriand’s programme for the restoration of the sacred art, both serious and at the same time quite prosaic, which made the French sacred art assume an even more conservative character than the one postulated by the author of Génie du Christianisme. The intellectual tenuousness of its restoration could have irritated Sartre’s subtle intellect and bladder, but the reasons behind had their origins rather in the disdain than in the acceptance of Chateaubriand’s theoretical and artistic concepts.

The proliferation of “cathedral” forms in the French sacred architecture of the first quarter of the 19th century was made impossible simply by the fact that at that time practically no new churches were built in France.[32] The revolutionaries destroyed many churches, including some so important as Saint-Pierre in Cluny and Saint-Martin in Tours. Contrary to Chateaubriand’s dramatic descriptions, most of the sacred buildings survived the Terror in acceptable condition and were quickly restored to use, satisfying the initial demands of the parish ministry. These churches were being very slowly filled by the worshippers, which was well exemplified by the situation of the church in Ars in the times when Jean-Marie Vianney was its parish priest.[33] Thus the problem of finding a form for the new churches appeared in practice only after many decades, and the French restoration of the sacred art for a long time was limited to the furnishings of church interiors destroyed during the iconoclastic riots and Jacobin requisitions.

According to the concordat of 1801 these works were financed by the state under the direct supervision of lay clerks, who often had been holding their posts since the Revolution. They were mostly religiously indifferent, not given to much pondering about finding the artists with the proper sensibility for sacred art, and for the work in churches they commissioned the artists known and tried at state service for the previous regime.[34] The figures of saints happened quite often to be made by the same sculptors who had made monuments of the revolutionary heroes, famous for their persecution of the Church. For their new commissions they used Christian attributes and modified slightly costumes, but they still used classicist forms widely used earlier for patriotic monuments,[35] destroying in this way, according to Jack J. Spector, Chateaubriand’s dream about the rebirth of real Christian art right at the start.[36]

After the outbreak of the French Revolution a number of sculptors had to limit drastically the output of their studios, since having lost the commissions from aristocracy and the Church, they could count almost only on the commissions for occasional decorations. The post-concordat restoration of the church interiors helped them to return to their former activity,[37] and to the artistic solutions used by them over ten years ago. These artists brought to Parisian churches a number of sculptures in classical baroque style, characteristic for Clodion and Jean Antoine Houdon. A great example of this current are figures by James Pradier at Saint-Roch [fig. 1], looking as if they had been made in the reign of Louis XVI, though dated for 1827. One could search in vain in the French sculpture of the first quarter of the 19th century statues similar to The Smiling Angel, particularly admired by Chateaubriand.[38] The thinker himself, when erecting the tombstone for Pauline de Beaumont at San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome (1803), did not try to imitate the Gothic monuments he admired at Saint-Denis, but was satisfied with a typical classical monument by Joseph Charles Marin.[39]

It is difficult to say whether introducing “pre-revolutionary” sculptures to the Parisian churches was connected with any ideological message. However, it is obvious that it was clearly harmonised with the main task of art as envisaged by French conservatives. According to Albert Boime, it should encourage the audience “to return to pre-revolutionary conditions, to erase from the collective historical memory the momentous events of the epoch”[40] or to reduce it to an insignificant episode.

The restoration of paintings to churches was conducted in an even more conservative way, basing mostly on the chaotic restitution of the pictures confiscated by the revolutionary government under the decree of 2 December 1789. After signing the concordat, Napoleon’s representative, a sculptor named Desein informed the chapter of Notre-Dame that the government was unable to return many particular works which used to be their property. Due to the fact that the government confiscations were made without detailed documentation, after a few years in many cases nobody was able to identify the churches which were the original owners of the pictures. In case of many works sent to remote museums their provenance was lost as well. It was agreed that the churches restored for worship would be, if necessary, provided with “unclaimed” pictures or paintings from the destroyed churches.[41]

The pictures were mostly taken from the magazine established in the former church Petits-Augustins and supervised by Gabriel François Doyen and Alexandre Lenoir, who secured there works appealing to their tastes, that is mostly the classicizing ones from the 17th and 18th century, leaving the others to the prey of iconoclasts and peddlers. Thus, the restored church interiors were much more unified stylistically then before the revolution.[42] It created a very biased image of the old sacred painting in France, which served as the basis for ideas about its traditional features, necessary for its recreation.

Such state of things was more than welcome both to the artists trained at Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture just before the outbreak of the Revolution and the painters educated at École des Beaux-Arts in its first years. Both school educated their students in the tradition of Poussin’s classicism and therefore the skills of their graduates were particularly appropriate for the artistic “context” of the sacred interiors which they were going to fill with their paintings.[43] At the church of Saint-Roch the pictures by Doyen and Joseph Marie Vien from 1761[44] and the ones by François Delorme and Antoine Thomas from 1817–1819[45] [fig. 2] look practically as if they had been painted at the same time. The pressure of the classicist formula in the reborn sacred art had to be very strong if even The Baptism of Christ by Jeana Baptiste Camille Corot at Saint-Nicolas du Chardonnet in Paris (1847, fig. 3)[46] is much more reminiscent of the classicizing, linear and very muted paintings of Charles Le Brun, preserved in this church[47] than Corot’s lyrical landscapes, painted with the freely applied spots of lively colours.

In the late 1820s critics’ complaints that the constant imitation of classical or classical-baroque forms did not fit Chateaubriand’s idea of the rebirth of the “authentic” sacred art were becoming more and more pronounced. Étienne Jean Delécluze claimed that “[t]he epoch of the Restoration […] was a great mishap for the arts. [The government] tried to employ the talents of artists to make paintings for the Church. This attempt succeeded neither for the government nor for the artists. The traditions of figural types and of costumes for the sacred characters were lost. One no longer knew the Christian religion save through the intermediary of Chateaubriand’s writings.”[48] In the mid-19th century Abbé Gereiso appealed to parish priests not to introduce into their churches “drawing-room” paintings “which are expensive and often worthless both from the artistic and religious point of view. The paintings made by good painters in a style appropriate for the church are much better.”[49] An attempt to invent such a style was to be made soon by Eugène Delacroix painting his murals in the chapel of Angels at Saint-Sulpice in Paris (1855–1861, fig. 4), who, however, looked for inspiration in the works of Titian and Rubens as well as other masters who formed the classical academic canon, not in the interiors of medieval French cathedrals,[50] held by Gereiso as “the paradigmatic example” of the proper Christian art.[51]

Chateaubriand’s admiration of the beauty of Gothic churches as the artistic embodiment of the Genius of Christianity included a loud and clear call for the restoration of sacred art in France in medieval spirit. This postulate, however, missed completely the then conditions of artistic life, overlooking artists’ own skills and preferences. Striving to recreate medieval forms did not mean for academic artists continuation but a radical revolution, founded, as Desiré Raoul Rochette stated bluntly – on the rejection of the “living” classical model for “the resurrecting of dead architecture”.[52] The majority of worshippers, for whom the time-honoured tradition meant the things they used to see in churches a few years or decades earlier, may have shared this view. In this situation the only option was the trivialization of Chateaubriand’s thought, which was reduced to the conclusion that in French sacred art the best had already been accomplished and for that reason in post-revolutionary times it should be as conservative as possible to promote the eternal genius of Christianity.

This radical simplification harmonized with a not particularly fortunate attitude, easily visible in the life of the Church in the 19th century. Eminent Christian thinkers were conscious of the inevitability of social changes, and because of that, while affirming the permanence and immutability of the key elements of the Church tradition, they aimed to interpret it in such a way as to make it – as Tomáš Malý put it – “compatible with modernity”. Their less subtle readers perceived it as a simple (or even simplistic) dichotomy based on the straightforward identification of modernity with radical progress and tradition with fundamental conservatism. The conclusion they reached was that the defence of Christianity against secularization meant the deliberate avoidance of even smallest changes of the current state, since all of them undermine “the structure of holy Tradition”.[53]

Such thinking was very strongly grounded in the French apologetics, influenced strongly since the 17th century by the thesis of Jean-Baptiste Massillon (held by Chateaubriand in high esteem), that in religious life “[n]ovelty is the most stubborn attribute of error, which always goes hand in hand with it”.[54] The experience of the 16th and 17th-century wars with hugenouts, who justified their reforms by the “renewal of Christian tradition”, made the defenders of the Catholic faith wary about the postulate of the “return to the sources”, suspecting it of masking dangerous novelties.[55] In view of such statements, Chateaubriand’s theory of sacred art could be considered “orthodox” only if it was interpreted as teaching that the preserving status quo ante in church art is unequivocally a good thing, as opposed to the stimulating search for the authentic church tradition, by its very nature requiring the rejection of some time-honoured solutions. Such a lesson was certainly contrary to Chateaubriand’s intentions, which does not change the fact that it made the writer the main patron of the conservative ossification of French sacred art, cultivating paradoxically mostly these forms which were strongly criticised by the author of Génie du Christianisme.


Translated by Monika Mazurek

[1] B.H. Levý, Sartre: The Philosopher of the Twentieth Century, transl. A. Brown, Cambridge 2003, pp. 99–100.

[2] B. Foucart, Le renouveau de peinture religieuse en France (1800–1860), Paris 1987, p. 21; M.P. Driskel,Representing Belief. Religion, Art and Society in Nineteenth Century France, University Park 1992, pp. 59–60.

[3] S.A. Glaser, “Deutsche Baukunst“, “Architecture Française“. The Use of the Gothic Cathedral in the Creation of National Memory in Nineteenth-Century Germany and France, in: Orientations. Space, Time, Image, Word, eds. C. Clüver, V. Plesch, L.H. Hoek, Amsterdam 2008, p. 85.

[4] A. Besançon, The Forbidden Image: an Intellectual History of Iconoclasm, transl. J.M. Todd, Chicago 2000, p. 270.

[5] Art historians do not express such a strong view, but it is quite prevalent in the works on the history of aesthetics and history of ideas. Cf. e.g.: B. Menczer, Tensions of Order and Freedom. Critical Political Thought 1789–1848,  New Brunswick 1994, p. 97 (“Chateaubriand revolutionised European taste and European art almost more than any other writer contemporary with the Revolution”).

[6] J. De Maeyer, The Space, the Wound, the Body and the (Im)possibility of Religious Art, in: Fluid Flash. The Body, Religion and the Visual Arts, Leuven 2010, p. 29.

[7] R. Gildea, Children of Revolution. The French 1799–1914, Cambridge 2008, p. 132.

[8] F.-R. de Chateaubriand, Le Génie du Christianisme, ou beautés de la religion chrétienne, Paris 1802. Writing this article I used the Polish translation: F.-R. Chateaubriand, Geniusz chrześcijaństwa, transl. A. Loba, Poznań 2003. The book is an abridged version of the French original, including all the most important statements on the Christian art. [English quotations after the translation by Charles I. White, Baltimore 1856. The numbers in square brackets refer to the page numbers of this translation].

[9] A. Maurois, Chateaubriand. Poet, Statesman, Lover, New York 2008, pp. 90–91, 101–109.

[10] P. Griener, Chateaubriand, François René, in: The Dictionary of Art, ed. J. Turner, vol. 6, New York 1998, p. 510.

[11] Chateaubriand (ft. 8), p. 53 [65].

[12] Ibidem, p. 31 [49].

[13] Ibidem, p. 18 [370].

[14] Ibidem, p. 227.

[15] Ibidem, p. 248 [384–385]

[16] Ibidem, p. 248 [385].

[17] Ibidem, p. 251 [387].

[18] Ibidem, p. 248–249 [385].

[19] Ibidem, p. 249 [385].

[20] The destruction of the sacred art during the Revolution was described fully by L. Réau, Histoire du vandalisme. Les monuments détruits de l’art français, Paris 1959.

[21] Chateaubriand (ft. 8), p. 249.

[22] Ibidem, p. 248 [384].

[23] A. Loba, Wstęp, in: Chateaubriand (ft. 8), p. 11.

[24] Gildea (ft. 7), p. 132.

[25] Loba (ft. 23), pp. 7–8.

[26] Foucart (ft. 2), p. 21.

[27] D. van Zanten, Building Paris. Architectural Institutions and the Transformations of the French Capitol 1830–1870, Cambridge 1994, p. 263; J.M. Leniaud, La visibilité de l’église dans l’espace parisien au XIXe siècle. “Tours de Babel”, catholiques pour la moderne Babylone, in: Capitales culturelles. Capitales symboliques. Paris et expériences européennes, eds. Ch. Charle, D. Roche, Paris 2002, p. 221.

[28] Foucart (ft. 2), pp. 167–179,

[29] F.-R. de Chateaubriand, Analyse raisonnée de l’histoire de France, Paris 1859, p. 49.

[30] Chateaubriand (ft. 8), p. 382

[31] F.-R. de Chateaubriand, Essai historique, politique et moral sur les révolutions anciennes et modernes, Paris 1826, passim, especially p. 348.

[32] Van Zanten (ft. 27), pp. 256–263; Leniaud (ft. 27), pp. 208–211.

[33] Gildea (ft. 7), pp. 118–120; Leniaud (ft. 27), pp. 208–221.

[34] J.J. Spector, The Murals of Eugène Delacroix at Saint-Sulpice, Chapel Hill 1985, p. 15.

[35] N.M. Heimann, “The Miracle of French Genius”. Napoleon and the Gois’s Jeanne d’Arc au combat, in: eadem, Joan of Arc and Culture 1700–1855. From Satire to Sanctity, Aldershot 2005, pp. 73–98.

[36] Spector (ft. 34), p. 15.

[37] D. Candy Eaton, A Handbook of Modern French Sculpture, London 1918, p. 154.

[38] Maurais (ft. 9), p. 106.

[39] Griener (ft. 10), pp. 510–511.

[40] A. Boime, The Art in the Age of Counterrevolution 1815–1848, Chicago 2004, p. 26.

[41] D. Imbert, Un changement de regard. Le tableau d’églises à l’épreuve de la Révolution, in: “Dossier de l’Art”, 2008, no. 149, p. 12.

[42] Ibidem, p. 8.

[43] Spector (ft. 34), p. 15.

[44] Cf. M. Schieder, Jenseits der Aufklärung. Die religiöse Malerei im ausgehenden Ancien régime, Berlin 1997, pp. 39–40, 70, ill. IV, V.

[45] Foucart (ft. 2), pp. 174–175, ill. 18; Driskel (ft. 2), p. 63, ill. 27.

[46] Foucart (ft. 2), p. 308, tabl. 18.

[47] G. Kazerouni, Peintures françaises du XVIIe siècle des églises de Paris, in: “Dossier de l’Art”, 2008, no. 149, p. 58.

[48] Quoted after: Spector (ft. 34), pp. 16–17.

[49] Quoted after: Foucart (ft. 2), p. 56.

[50] Spector (ft. 34), pp. 154–159.

[51] Boime (ft. 40), p. 26.

[52] A. Coste, L’architecture gotique. Lectures et interprétations d’un modèle, Saint-Ètienne 1997, pp. 82–83, and also pp. 15–24, 44–45.

[53] T. Malý, Sekularizace: nové perspektivy starého konceptu, in: Od barokní piety k interiorizaci viry? Problémy katolického osvícenství, eds. D. Tinková, J. Lorman, Praha 2009, p. 25.

[54] D. Schmál, “Whose Center is Everywhere”. The Experience of Time in the Baroque, in: Time in the Baroque, eds. D. Schmál, S. Terdik, Pannohalma 2009, p. 33.

[55] R. Wellek, A History of Modern Criticism 1750–1950, vol. 2: The Romantic Era, Cambridge 1981, p. 232.

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