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DOI: 10.1177/1470412910380343

2010 9: 370Journal of Visual CultureThierry Gervais

Witness to War: The Uses of Photography in the Illustrated Press, 1855-1904

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journal of visual culture [http://vcu.sagepub.com]SAGE Publications (Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, Singapore and Washington DC)Copyright © The Author(s), 2010. Reprints and permissions: http://www.sagepub.co.uk/journalspermissions.nav Vol 9(3): 370–384 DOI 10.1177/1470412910380343

AbstractAn analysis of war images in the 19th-century press reveals a certain resistance to the new medium of photography. First, printing techniques did not allow for the direct use of the photograph itself in newspaper layouts: as the photographs were reproduced through the work of an engraver, what was there to distinguish them from traditional representations? Second, at the turn of the century, the halftone process replaced engraving and allowed for the printing of images that were more faithful in tonal subtleties to the original photographs. When special correspondents began supplying war photographs, how did illustrated newspapers organize the dissemination of this new kind of image? A consideration of the use of war photographs in the illustrated press informs us both of the choices made regarding the documentation of the war and the nature of the images that circulated in the public sphere, shaping the visual culture of the era.

KeywordsCrimean War • illustrated press • news reporting • photojournalism • photoreportage • Russo–Japanese War • witnessing • wood engraving

Witness to War: The Uses of Photography in the Illustrated Press, 1855–1904

Thierry Gervais

In Les Figures de la Guerre, Hélène Puiseux (1997) reminds us that the Galerie des Batailles in the Palace of Versailles opened in 1837 to offer the public a visual narrative of a glorious, military history of France. This gallery and the Salons were the principal public spaces in which contemporary historical painting – specifically scenes of war – were exhibited. As such, they represented two very important pillars of the French visual art scene. The advent of the illustrated press at the beginning of the 1840s not only changed the way in which war was represented but also made these representations more accessible to the

Gervais WitnesstoWar 371

public. Important battles had always been scrupulously rendered, but they had previously been based upon sketches of the soldier’s daily life during the conflict. Images of war, from the 1840s, were viewed at home; readers sat comfortably in their chairs with The Illustrated London News or L’Illustration in hand (Von Dewitz and Lebeck, 2001). This regeneration of visual representation and the manner of its distribution were accompanied by the invention of a new medium: photography.

As a rule, recent general photographic histories dedicate one chapter to the connection between war and photography before the First World War.1 Other more specific works on war photography tend to favour the link between the subject and its form of representation (war and photography). Both general and specific studies analyze the creation and distribution of selected images (Brother, 1997; Taylor, 1998; Gervereau, 2001). Photography’s first records of war are often associated, in these studies, with the beginnings of news reporting as it was practiced in the second half of the 19th century. Photographic documents were seen as more faithful and authentic representations than drawings and were therefore more suited to an illustrated press that strove towards impartial reporting.2

Yet, however logical such narratives might appear, an analysis of war images in the 19th-century press actually reveals a certain resistance to the new medium of photography. First, printing techniques did not allow for the direct use of the photograph itself in newspaper layouts: as the photographs were reproduced through the work of an engraver, what was there to distinguish them from traditional representations? Second, at the turn of the century, the halftone process replaced engraving and allowed for the printing of images that were more faithful in tonal subtleties to the original photographs. When special correspondents began supplying war photographs, how did illustrated newspapers organize the dissemination of this new kind of image? A consideration of the use of war photographs in the illustrated press informs us of the choices made regarding the documentation of the war and the nature of the images that circulated in the public sphere, shaping the visual culture of the era. From the analysis of two particular conflicts, the Crimean War (1854–6) and the Russo–Japanese War (1904–5), I will review the modalities of war imagery in illustrated newspapers and, in particular, the role played by photography. This analysis will demonstrate that, despite the alleged authenticity of photographs, drawings appeared as more effective in bearing witness to the first conflict, and that, by 1900, photographs of the second conflict were intimately tied to precise newspaper layout in order to reveal meaning.

Crimean War

At the end of 1855, The Illustrated London News (ILN), a weekly publication, printed several illustrations that were directly inspired by the work of the English photographer Roger Fenton (Figure 1).3 The publication of these engravings ‘from photographs’ accompanied articles dedicated to a conflict between the Russian and the Ottoman Empire that had begun in 1853. Tsar Nicolas I sought to expand

372 journalofvisualculture 9(3)

his empire westward and, more importantly, create access to the Mediterranean, through which Western fleets crossed to the Orient. In fear of geopolitical movements that would restrain their commercial enterprises, England, and then France allied themselves with the Ottoman Empire and, in the spring of 1854, engaged in this conflict. From the time that Fenton’s images appeared in the ILN, the allied forces had suffered a series of brutal and poorly prepared, though important, battles – Alma, Sebastopol, Balaklava and Inkermann – giving them an advantage over Russia, which retreated from annexed territories. Several months later, the two sides began negotiations and, in March 1856 at the Congress of Paris, reached an agreement that put an end to the Crimean War.

War photographs before this period existed only in the form of several dozen daguerreotypes related to the Mexican–American War (1846–8) (Carlebach, 1992), but these did not have the same critical renown as the Fenton images. The name of the photographer, the aesthetic and material quality of the images, and even the wider dissemination afforded by the positive/negative process explained, in part, the celebrity of this English photographer. Moreover, Fenton’s photographic expedition appeared to be in the journalistic ‘reportage’ style that had first appeared in North America and was adopted in Europe in the 1880s (Palmer, 1983; Kalifa, 2000; Delporte, 1999). As reporters did at the time, Fenton placed himself in the field and was an eyewitness to the battles. He had arrived in the Crimea in March of 1855 and visited the ports, military camps, and even some of the battlefields, equipped with his photographic van, which allowed him to transport and prepare the heavy glass, wet collodion plates.4 In photography’s historical narrative, Fenton is generally believed to be the first important practitioner of photoreportage. However, an analysis of the purpose of his expedition and the manner in which the photographs were engraved and disseminated, shows this to be an untenable position, and that no radical shifts took place in the press due to the practice of photography on the battlefield.

The majority of Fenton’s images of the Crimea show groups of officers, various ranks and categories of soldiers (Figure 2), or views of villages and ports; they respond to the expectations of photography at the time. Fenton was not a special envoy of a newspaper sent to obtain a precise and unique image related to the conflict in order to enlighten readers; he was, instead, financed by Thomas Agnew & Sons, a well-established Manchester publisher and art dealer. The objective was to produce a topographical documentation of the theatre of war and a gallery of portraits showing the commanders-in-chief of the army. In sending Fenton to the Crimea, Agnew & Sons hoped to create a visual document that would serve as a reference for the painter Thomas Barker. In addition, the firm had engravings made based on Barker’s canvas, from which they profited greatly.5 In September 1855, more than 300 photographic prints were exhibited at London’s Water Colour Society in Pall Mall. At the same time, a further series of prints was also produced in the form of costly portfolios, published under the royal patronage of the Queen, and they sold like trophies (Gernsheim and Gernsheim, 1954: 23, 25).6 All these photographs bore undeniable visual witness to the Crimean War, but their distribution was limited to a small circle of collectors, alert to the novelty of the painting salons or aware of recent advances in photographic technology.7


Figure 1 ‘General Bosquet and Captain Dampiere’, The Illustrated London News no. 764, 6 October 1855.


Engravings based on Fenton’s photographs were also used by newspapers such as the ILN, but did these images betray their photographic origins and were they, therefore, perceived as a new kind of picture? By the 19th century, wood engraving had become the most popular technique used by the press to bring text and image together. Following the production process of all the illustrations published in the ILN, Fenton’s photographs were sent to the draughtsman and then to the engraver before being incorporated into the final layout. After the artist’s translation, what remained of the supposed authenticity of the photograph?

The original photographs could, in effect, contain ‘faults’ that were then ‘corrected’ by the illustrator. The picture of General Bosquet and Captain Dampierre, for example, had a short depth of field that reduced the background landscape to a blur in the upper right portion of the image (Figures 1 and 2). The draughtsman, however, took the initiative of defining the form of the hill by hand, carefully adding two figures and some tents to the background; neither element appeared in the original photograph. Such changes made by the artist, in addition to the work of the engraver, who transformed the levels of black and white into crosshatching, made the photographic origin of the image even more obscure.

Figure 2 Roger Fenton, General Bosquet and Captain Dampierre, salt paper print, 18.3 x 15.2 cm, 1855. © Patrice Schmidt, Musée d’Orsay, Paris.


The mode of reproduction and iconographic practice reduced the specifics of photography to the conventions of engraving. While the subject of the images is factual, the form relied on the rules of the picturesque perpetuated by the engraving studios. The illustrated press quickly took advantage of the variety of photographic genres available, but used them in a manner that rendered them indistinguishable from any other type of pictorial representation. The editors did not choose photographs over drawings or paintings for their ability to convey information: they were sent in by correspondents, eyewitnesses, or photographic portraitists. The ILN used Fenton’s photographs to illustrate articles related to the Crimean War but the photographs did not precipitate a change in the representation of news.

Although Fenton traveled throughout the Crimea with his photographic van, the newspapers relied on the illustrator for images of this war. There are several factors that explain this position: the status of drawing in the visual culture of the time was far more established than that of the new-born photograph; the technique of engraving from drawings was efficient and dominant; and pictures of war produced by draughtsmen met the iconographic expectations of readers. Thus, it was not Fenton’s photographs that provoked the indignation of the English when, in the pages of their newspapers, they discovered how their soldiers were being treated. Rather, the sketches by Constantin Guys published in the ILN gave rise to this emotion through their representation of unfamiliar scenes and the intensity of the lines in the drawings. Guys, deemed by Baudelaire (1964[1863]) to be a painter of modern life, created a credible picture of war, ignoring the glorious moments generally depicted and turning more towards English defeats or injured soldiers cared for in makeshift hospitals. Redefining traditional subjects and depictions, and using the startling aesthetic of the sketch, guaranteed the impact of the illustrator’s images on the English readers. If Guys’ rough sketches brought new life to the visual evidence of the war, Fenton’s photographs registered themselves within traditional iconography by conforming to the rules of the picturesque.

The goal of the first uses of photography in the illustrated press was thus not to confront the reader with a more authentic image but, like all other images, to present him or her with a visual representation of the subject of the article. Photographs, drawings, sketches, and paintings formed a cohesive genre: an image that appealed to the visual senses and was believed to be richer than traditional written communication. Two types of images reached the press from the Crimean War: drawings and photographs. However, the representations of the war that circulated in the public sphere were still primarily the business of painters and illustrators despite the audacious initiatives of some photographers.

The Russo–Japanese Conflict

Several decades later, at the beginning of the 20th century, the practice of photography was democratized. Printing techniques permitted faithful reproduction by means of the halftone process, and newspapers had definitively accepted photo-reportage as a mode of journalism. From this new departure,


photographers made inroads into the trade of illustrators. The reporting of the Russo–Japanese conflict is illustrative of this change, and also reveals that this new use of photographs gave rise to editorial problems for which novel graphic solutions had to be developed.

The dominant use of photographs in the French journal L’Illustration was the result of an editorial and financial decision made in 1904 by director René Baschet, who privileged the use of photographs over drawings (Gervais, 2007). Adopting photography as the primary illustrative form engendered a deep shift in the structures upon which the paper had functioned for decades. In contrast to the compositions created in the illustrator’s studio, photographic documentation implied the presence of the photographer in the field. The move to photography from illustration can be found in both the weekly and daily press, and it was tied to debates surrounding the legitimization of the use of pictures in newspapers, e.g. Gustave Babin (1905) arguing in L’Illustration that images of war were ‘faithfully recorded by the lens, incapable of lies or complacency’ – a fact which effectively permitted readers to ‘plainly see reality itself’ (p. 167). In the same way that the presence of journalists in the field was offered as a guarantee of the information conveyed, the recorded image acquired an aura of authenticity. But, an understanding of the use of photographic imagery and the problems that arose in the editorial process must be taken into consideration.

The Russo–Japanese War began on 8 February 1904 with an attack on Port Arthur by the Japanese army, and concluded on 8 October 1905 with the ratification of the Treaty of Portsmouth. The conflict was focused on Manchuria, whose mining resources were of great economic interest to both sides. Underestimated by the Russians, the Japanese army inflicted heavy losses on land and at sea. In the end, the Russians signed over the lease of Port Arthur to the Japanese and recognized their influence in Korea. For Western countries the Japanese Empire was, henceforth, among the powers most likely to intervene in the geopolitical order of the region.

In February 1904,8 L’Illustration informed its readers about the war, and the means that were put in place to cover the event:

Stories sent from Japan, Korea and Manchuria after the acts of war of the 8th and 9th of February (and the days that followed) soon brought us photographs, drawings and the written accounts of our correspondents.9

The newspaper exploited the services of independent photographers, often dispatched by the American illustrated press. From 7 January 1904, Collier’s Weekly sent a team of journalists to Tokyo in order to cover the conflict directly by following the Japanese army’s progress (Gould and Greffe, 1977; Carlebach, 1997).10 Among the special envoys, Richard L. Dunn and Jimmy Hare would supply photographs of the events they witnessed. The Japanese army exerted strict control over the movements of American journalists and delayed granting them the right to follow the regiments. The first images from this side of the front to appear at L’Illustration’s offices were those of Dunn.11 A more rigorous correspondence was initiated with the publication of the first Jimmy Hare photographs in June 1904.


In the 25 June 1904 issue of L’Illustration, a photograph of Jimmy Hare and his assistants in front of their tent-laboratory accompanied the article ‘Photography in War’, which introduced the photographer to readers. The paper allowed those readers to understand the changes in the representation of war resulting from the use of photographs in the illustration of news (Figure 3).12 It described the conditions in which the photographer was working and extolled the courage that he showed in hostile territory:

Without mentioning the serious risks to which the war correspondent is exposed, photographer or journalist, when we understand the conditions in which these results were obtained, with the rudimentary tools he must use to perform the sensitive manipulations of the photographic arts, all done in the field, we remain a bit surprised and we do not want to question our respect, or, even more, our admiration of these bold and resourceful collaborators.

Little by little, over the course of the description of the ‘photographic journalist’, the heroic figure who submits rough prints in order to supply the press with ‘moving or amusing scenes’ takes shape. The work of investigative journalism, assumed to be done on the spot in order to bear accurate witness, finds itself valorized and can, from this point of view, justify the appearance of images published by L’Illustration: ‘Think of all that this symbolizes: courage, socializing; oh amateurs, comfortably holed up in model laboratories, do not be too harsh if sometimes we show you a somewhat imperfect view’.13 Because of the working conditions, it seems, the photographs of Jimmy Hare are free of the aesthetic constraints that had prevailed in L’Illustration. Even before being published in the weekly paper, the images of the Japanese army were justified by the journalistic technique of which they were witness. The role of the photo-reporter was defined and the employment that endangered his very life served to legitimize the use of photographs in newspapers and led to a modification of representations of war.

Nevertheless, due to these new aesthetic specificities, photographs supplied to the newspapers could not, with rare exception, claim full or double pages, the most venerable placement in the publication.14 Hare’s views were, in general, formatted in a smaller size, and grouped together on the page. In the 27 August 1904 issue of L’Illustration, seven scenes were skillfully laid out as a double-page spread dedicated to ‘Scenes of War’ (Figure 4). The first sentences of the article described the images:

Among all of the photographs that documented the last dramatic days of the war, we chose a series, taken on the Japanese side and focused on several examples of life in battle, showing Japanese soldiers involved in the different tasks that occupied them.15

Among the photographs, the editors selected a ‘series’ that they arranged in a narrative sequence with a beginning and an end. The reader then passed from an image of the Japanese standard-bearer to views of the trenches, then to images


of the spoils of war and prisoners, to conclude with an image of ‘the injured and dead before the arrival of the stretchers’. The images and their order on the page conferred the status of war spectator upon the reader, and emphasized its ongoing process.

This sequential dimension suggested by editorial selection and the layout of the designer came to a climax with the arrangement of Jimmy Hare’s photographs in the 10 December 1904 issue (Figure 5). On the central double-page spread is a series of 16 images titled ‘A day of combat between Yen-Tai and the Cha-Ho, photographed hour by hour’.16 Displayed over four rows, the photographs follow one another in narrative succession. First, we come upon the Japanese military staff, followed by an image of ‘the photographer, Mr. Hare, advancing towards the line of fire’. Over a series of views of the battlefield taken ‘successively’ (views of ‘ambulances’, ‘ruins’, and ‘cadavers’), the story is traced through images that culminate with another photograph of Jimmy Hare, a genuine participant in the war who ‘stops photographing to care for the wounded’. To ensure that the reader is following the progression of the combat, L’Illustration numbered each image, thereby indicating the order of the visualization of the shots, following the sequence of the action itself.

Figure 3 ‘La tente de Jimmy Hare, photographe américain, correspondant du Collier’s Weekly et de L’Illustration, sur les bords du Yalou’, gelatine silver print retouched with white gouache, 18 x 24 cm, 1904. L’Illustration collection.


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Gustave Babin (1905) continued to write about this change in the representation of war and, in his paper published at the end of the war, compared paintings of the preceding century to recently produced photographs:

Where are the great battles painted by Wouwerman … Or the theatrical compositions in which Gérard or Gros immortalized the chapters of the imperial saga, according to the style decreed by the instructor … Our impressions of war were still based on the panoramas that multiplied after the war of 1870–1871 and on the picturesque scenes of Neuville or Detaille. (p. 167)

Then, Babin cuts to the chase:

War today is as this: several specks smoking in the sky in the distance, men sliding on their stomachs, cautious and taking advantage of each mound of dirt to shelter themselves. It’s part of a series of small incidents one next to the other that say – war. It’s in this way that we experience a battle where 100,000 soldiers disappear. (p. 167)

In this way, Babin described how the battle, that very noble subject of historical painting, was no longer represented in a single heroic composition, but in a sequence of details. In other words, during the Russo–Japanese War, the illustrator’s synthetic tableaux of battles made way for an analytical layout of Jimmy Hare’s photographs, one created by editors who took into consideration the methods and styles of the medium.

Between the Transvaal War (1899–1902) and the Russo–Japanese conflict (1904–5), the number of images of war increased in L’Illustration. From that time forward, the sheer number of images placed photography on an equal footing with the established aesthetic of drawings in the newspaper.17 The publication of narrative sequences of photographs corresponded to the revitalization of journalistic practices. The demonstrative character of Hare’s photographic series dovetailed with the reporters’ attempts at investigation,18 suggesting an analysis of conflict and the attempt to show, through images, the brutality of the battles. Further photographic spreads manifested the shifting narrative of news reporting from the image to the newspaper page: the story of war was no longer told through one large, dramatic, and well-composed drawing, but through a photographic sequence constructed on the page. Thus, editors of the journal allocated meaning to a body of work whose every element would otherwise have appeared merely as a detail – ‘a small incident’ to use Babin’s words – difficult for the readers to understand.

Images of the Crimean and the Russo–Japanese Wars exemplify the press’s concerns with the photographic medium. First, the formal characteristics of Fenton’s photographs were altered, in their engraved form, in order to bring them in line with the rules of the picturesque. Later, when the halftone process allowed photographs to be directly reproduced, editors did not find the alleged authenticity of the pictures a strong enough factor to publish them as individual images. At the beginning of the 20th century, L’Illustration layouts incorporating


Hare’s pictures certainly demonstrated how a single photograph was not considered adequate to convey the story of an event.

Since the 1850s, photography has been categorized as an intrinsically honest medium that has brought the reader closer to the news. In effect, before Babin, Adolphe Joanne (1850) described engravings from photographs published in L’Illustration in the 1850s as a ‘series of facts’ and ‘irrefutable evidence’ (p. 135). Later, in 1886, when his photographic interview with Eugène Chevreul was published, Nadar described this novel medium in these terms: ‘For the first time, the reader will effectively be the spectator, as though he witnessed the event’.19 These discourses, therefore, came together to define photography as a more reliable witness than journalistic texts. However, the manner in which the press used photographs revealed that the medium, on its own, was not deemed sufficient in transmitting the news, and that it needed to become a part of an elaborate graphic construction.

Hare’s photographs needed to be organized, arranged, and placed in a layout in order to be understood. The articulation of meaning that painters and illustrators took responsibility for, through the composition of their drawings, now required the intervention of editors and artistic directors. Meaning was expressed through the narrative layout of the photographs they presented to their readers. In accordance with the dissemination of these photographs by Roger Fenton and Jimmy Hare, it seems that the key change in the visual representation of war rested on the ambiguity of the photographic medium. Photography’s strength is also its weakness: an instant record of war credited with an inherent authenticity, but equally a mute visual detail with an obscure meaning that requires interpretation by editors.

Acknowledgement

This essay was translated from French by Alison Skyrme. The author would like to thank Vanessa Schwartz and Lynn Hunt for their advice in the writing of this article.

Notes

1. Hubertus von Amelunxen (1998) comments on a selection of images taken during different international conflicts, and builds his theory around the notion that the understanding of the event was completely transformed by the presence of the camera. Throughout Mary Warner Marien’s (2002) book Photography: A Cultural History, a recurring column entitled ‘War and Photography’ explains the change in the relationship between photography and war.

2. Some works oppose this view; see Barnhurst and Neron (2000) and Gervais (2003). 3. The Illustrated London News 764 (6 October 1855); The Illustrated London News

768 (3 November 1855); The Illustrated London News 769 (11 November 1855); The Illustrated London News 777 (29 December 1855).

4. Regarding Roger Fenton, see Baldwin et al. (2004), Hannavy (1974), Gernsheim and Gernsheim (1954), Keller (2001, 2007).

5. Ulrich Keller (2007: 40) notes that Thomas Agnew & Sons made a profit of £10,000. 6. Fenton and Agnew were both invited to present photographs to Napoléon III, see

Robichon (2001: 8–47).


7. On the commerce of images, see Renié (2007). 8. The 13 February 1904 edition of L’Illustration opens with an engraving of a

Cossack, titled for the first time in the interior pages ‘La guerre russo-japonaise’, L’Illustration no. 3181 (13 February 1904): 100–1; 104–5.

9. ‘La guerre russo-japonaise’, L’Illustration no. 3182 (20 February 1904): 114.10. It is relevant to note that the massive dispatch of journalists by Collier’s Weekly to

the front in the Far East followed the nomination of a new Editor in Chief, Norman Hapgood, by Robert J. Collier, head of the paper.

11. ‘Sur le théâtre de la guerre’, L’Illustration no. 3192 (30 April 1904): 302–3; ‘Marche de l’armée du general Kouroki’, L’Illustration no. 3195 (21 May 1904): 340–2.

12. ‘La photographie à la guerre’, L’Illustration no. 3200 (25 June 1904): 422–3.13. For four citations, ‘La photographie à la guerre’, L’Illustration no. 3200 (25 June

1904): 422–3.14. Except in this issue: ‘Concentration d’une division japonaise dans la plaine de

Feng-Hoang-Tcheng’, L’Illustration no. 3208 (20 August 1904): 120–1; about the use of the double-page spread in 19th-century newspapers, see Gretton (2000).

15. ‘Scènes de guerre’, L’Illustration no. 3209 (7 August 1904): 136–7.16. ‘Une journée de combat entre Yen-Tai et le Cha-Ho photographiée heure par heure’,

L’Illustration no. 3224 (10 December 1904): 412–13.17. L’Illustration no. 2975 (3 March 1900): 136–7.18. ‘Les soldats de l’instantané’, Je sais tout 23 (15 December 1906): 587.19. Nadar, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Mss, N.a.f, fol. 55.

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Thierry Gervais is a postdoctoral fellow at Ryerson University, Toronto, where he teaches history of photography. He is the editor of Études photographiques and the author of numerous papers and book chapters including ‘Les formes de l’information [Forms of Information],’ in L’art de la photographie [The Art of Photography], edited by A. Gunthert and M. Poivert (Citadelles & Mazenod, 2007) and ‘On Either Side of the “Gatekeeper”: Technical Experimentation with Photography at L’Illustration (1880–1900)’, Études photographiques 23 (May 2009). He is the co-author, with Gaëlle Morel, of the book La photographie. Histoire, techniques, presse, art [Photography. History, Technique, Press, Art] (Larousse, 2008) and the co-author, with Dominique de Font-Réaulx, of Léon Gimpel (1873–1948). Les audaces d’un photographe [The Innovations of a Photographer] (Musée d’Orsay/éditions des Cinq Continents, 2008). Thierry Gervais has curated exhibitions in France, including ‘Leon Gimpel. Les audaces d’un photographe’ (Musée d’Orsay, 2008). He is continuing his research into the use of photography in newspapers and the first photojournalists.

Address: Ryerson University, 350 Victoria Street, Toronto, Ontario, CA M5B 2K3, Canada. [email: [email protected]]

Documents

Journal of Visual Culture 2010 Gervais 370 84