Demonic Possession in The Enlightenment PDF
Demonic Possession in The Enlightenment PDF
Demonic Possession in The Enlightenment PDF
G U Y TA L
Shenkar College of Engineering, Design and Art
I am indebted to Gal Ventura, Claire Fanger, and the anonymous reviewers for
Magic, Ritual, and Witchcraft for their invaluable suggestions. I would also like to thank
Mitchell Merback for his helpful insights on an early draft of this article.
1. Exhibition catalogues echo the dichotomous nature of Goya’s works: Juliet
Wilson-Bareau and Manuela B. Mena Marqués, Goya: Truth and Fantasy, The Small
Paintings, exh. cat. (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1994); José Man-
uel Matilla and Manuela B. Mena Marqués, eds., Goya: Luces y sombras, exh. cat.
(Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado; Barcelona: Obra Social “La Caixa,” 2012); and
Stephanie Stepanek, Frederick Ilchman, and Janis A. Tomlinson, eds., Goya: Order
and Disorder, exh. cat. (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 2014).
2. The payment document of June 27, 1798 reads: “Cuenta de seis quadros de
conposición de asuntos de Brujas, que están en la Alameda, seis mil reales vellón”
(Account for six paintings of Witches, which are in La Alameda, six thousand reales).
See Ángel Canellas López, ed., Francisco de Goya, Diplomatario (Zaragoza: Institución
Fernando el Católico, 1981), no. 209; and Sarah Symmons, Goya: A Life in Letters
(London: Pimlico, 2004), no. 254. For the entire series, see Folke Nordström, Goya,
Saturn and Melancholy: Studies in the Art of Goya (Stockholm, Goteborg, and Uppsala:
Almquist & Wiksell, 1962), 153–71; Pierre Gassier and Juliet Wilson, The Life and
Complete Work of Francisco Goya (New York: Reynal, 1971), cat. nos. 659–64; and
Wilson-Bareau and Mena Marqués, 212–21.
3. See the covers of José Guidol, Goya (Barcelona: Poligrafa, 2008); John Harvey,
The Story of Black (London: Reaktion, 2013); and Tzvetan Todorov, La peinture des
Lumières: de Watteau à Goya (Paris: Seuil, 2014). In addition to numerous exhibitions
dedicated to Goya, the painting was displayed in “Dark Romanticism: From Goya to
Max Ernst” in Musée d’Orsay, 2013. The plot of the film Trance, directed by Danny
Boyle in 2013, revolves around Flying Witches.
4. Robert Hughes, Goya (New York: Knopf, 2003), 154; and Wilson-Bareau and
Mena Marqués, 213, respectively.
5. For Goya’s witchcraft series as an example of the sublime, see Janis Tomlinson,
Francisco Goya y Lucientes, 1746–1828 (London: Phaidon, 1994), 102; Sarah Sym-
mons, Goya (London: Phaidon, 1998), 158–61; and especially Peter K. Klein, “Insan-
ity and the Sublime: Aesthetics and Theories of Mental Illness in Goya’s Yard with
Lunatics and Related Works,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 61 (1998):
240, 243.
has been pointed out that Flying Witches contains an eloquent gesture readily
decipherable by the viewers of the time. In thrusting both his thumbs
between the index and middle fingers of his clenched fists, the passerby per-
forms the higa (fig), a symbolic gesture popularly believed to ward off the evil
eye.9 There is, however, another figure whose bodily expressiveness merits
attention: the airborne victim. A cursory examination shows his stance and
gestures intermingled with those of his three aggressors, forming an indistinct
tangle of limbs. If his body is pondered in isolation from the other figures,
his movements may seem simply fortuitous and involuntary: writhing in the
grip of the witches, he simultaneously convulsively waves his arms, flails his
legs, heaves his chest, throws back his head, and opens his mouth. His posture
also seems coincidental, as it appears to be partly forced upon him: lacking
support, his head is thrown back, and the arm of a witch that is thrust
between his legs bends his right knee. The impression that his posture was
thoughtlessly arranged perhaps explains why it has hitherto escaped deeper
consideration.10 It is nevertheless my central contention that Goya premedi-
tated the bodily gestures of this figure according to a visual code deeply
entrenched in art historical traditions. Only by reading the victim’s posture
in this way can one decipher the main supernatural phenomenon portrayed
in the scene.
This argument will also offer insight into Goya’s potential sources of inspi-
ration. Attempts to identify textual sources for Flying Witches—perhaps
assuming that because two of the pictures in the series portray scenes from
Zamora’s plays, the entire series is literarily based—have not proven success-
ful.11 I argue that the pictorial tradition, though seldom discussed in relation
to the witchcraft series, was equally if not more valuable to Goya than textual
schrift für Kunstgeschichte, 61 (1998): 1–17; Antonio Gascón Ricao, “Las cifras de la
mano de Francisco de Goya,” Boletino del Museo e Instituto Camon Aznar 82 (2000):
273–84; and Guy Tal, “The Gestural Language in Francisco Goya’s Sleep of Reason
Produces Monsters,” Word & Image 26 (2010): 115–27.
9. Margarita Moreno de las Heras, “The Devil’s Lamp; The Witches’ Sabbath;
Witches in the Air,” in Goya and the Spirit of Enlightenment, ed. Alfonso E. Pérez Sán-
chez and Eleanor A. Sayre, exh. cat. (Boston: Little, Brown, 1989), 62–64; and
Wilson-Bareau and Mena Marqués, 213–14.
10. This figure is generally described as a terrified victim: Nordström, Goya,
Saturn and Melancholy, 168; Frank I. Heckes, “Supernatural Themes in the Art of
Francisco de Goya” (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 1985), 1:130; Moreno de
las Heras, 62; Manuela B. Mena Marqués, ed., Goya en tiempos de Guerra, exh. cat.
(Madrid: Museo del Prado, 2008), 161; and Hughes, 155.
11. Frank Heckes, in “Supernatural Themes,” 1:131–36, and “Goya y sus seis
‘Asuntos de brujas,’ ” Goya, 295–96 (2003): 198–200, suggests that Flying Witches
sources in conceiving the four other pictures in the series. Two pictures
exemplify this point. In The Witches’ Sabbath (Fig. 2), the Devil in the guise
of a he-goat is seated amid a circle of witches. This grouping is an adaptation
of a recurring image in witchcraft treatises (the particular likeness to Figure
10 will be discussed later).12 In the now-lost Witches’ Kitchen (Fig. 3), set in a
kitchen equipped with magic apparatuses, the congregation of witches
departing for the Sabbath through a chimney is arranged à la David Teniers
the Younger. Goya, who could have viewed Teniers’s cabinet pictures in the
collection of the Palacio Real and through printed copies, surely valued them
as intriguing models (Fig. 4). As if to underscore his indebtedness to the
Flemish artist, he augmented the fanciful rendezvous with a man urinating
against the back wall, a hallmark of Teniers’s peasant and tavern scenes.13
Flying Witches also engages with visual precedents, but tracing them requires
expanding the search beyond the visual repository of witchcraft.
As would have been fairly obvious to Goya’s intended audience, the
witchcraft series displays a satirical exposé of false beliefs in keeping with the
spirit of Enlightenment. This notion is lent credence by the numerous visual
and conceptual analogies between the witchcraft series and the Caprichos, a
series of eighty etchings ridiculing the follies of human behavior and beliefs
in witchcraft and superstition, which Goya conceived under the title Sueños
in 1796–99.14 The Osunas, who bought four sets of the Caprichos in January
1799, might have seen some of Goya’s preparatory drawings earlier and
recalled them when viewing the witchcraft series.15 At any rate, it will be
shown that Flying Witches satirizes belief in the supernatural and censures the
Inquisition by other means than analogies to the Sueños and Caprichos.16
THE CONVULSIVE BODY
When Goya painted Flying Witches, he had been preoccupied with the suffer-
ing human body for at least a decade. A horizontal body imbued with signs
of extreme emotion was first depicted in one of his early works commis-
sioned by the Osunas, Saint Francis Borgia at the Deathbed of an Impenitent,
which was painted in 1788 for their chapel in the Valencia Cathedral (Fig. 5).
Andrew Schulz considers the tormented impenitent, who moans, heaves his
torso, and stretches his foot, to represent a turning point in Goya’s oeuvre
“toward a more naturalistic mode of imitation and a greater emphasis on
extremes and accidents of expression.”17 This naturalistic depiction of the
rated with six paintings by Teniers reinforces this connection. See Mercedes Cerón,
“Goya’s Lost Snuffbox,” The Burlington Magazine 152 (October 2010): 675–77.
14. Goya proclaimed the goals of the Caprichos in an advertisement in the Diario
de Madrid: Canellas, no. 211; and Symmons, A Life in Letters, no. 258. Analogies
between the witchcraft series and the Caprichos are discussed in Wilson-Bareau and
Mena Marqués, 213–14.
15. Symmons, A Life in Letters, no. 257.
16. Analogous satirical features include the higa amulet dangling from the out-
moded dress of a childish man in Nanny’s Boy (El de la royona, plate 4); the figures
closing their eyes and covering their ears to evade the fantastic creatures hovering
above them in Blasts of Wind (Soplones, plate 48); and the witches wearing mitras and
serving as prelates in a diabolical ceremony in Devout Profession (Devota profesion, plate
70; formerly titled Sueño / De Brujas in the Sueños).
17. Andrew Schulz, “The Expressive Body in Goya’s Saint Francis Borgia at the
Deathbed of an Impenitent,” Art Bulletin 80 (1998): 678. Earlier works showing the
suffering human body naturalistically include an etching of the Garrotted Man
(c. 1778; Gassier and Wilson, cat. no. 122) and a painting of the Crucifixion (1780;
Gassier and Wilson, cat. no. 176).
Figure 2. Francisco Goya, The Witches’ Sabbath, 1797–98, oil on canvas. Museo
Lázaro Galdiano, Madrid (Photo: Art Resource, NY)
Figure 4. Jacques Aliamet, after David Teniers the Younger, Departure to the
Sabbath, engraving and etching, 1755. British Museum, London (Photo: !
Trustees of the British Museum)
PAGE 186
Tal ! Demonic Possession in the Enlightenment 187
Figure 6. Francisco Goya, Ensayos (Trials), plate 60 from Los Caprichos, 1799,
etching and aquatint. British Museum, London (Photo: ! Trustees of the
British Museum)
21. Laocoön’s right arm was erroneously restored by Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli
in 1532–33. His bent right arm was discovered in 1906 and attached to the statue in
1957.
22. Nigel Spivey, Enduring Creation: Art, Pain and Fortitude (London: Thames &
Hudson, 2001), 125.
23. For example, Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, Trattato dell’arte della pittura, book II,
chap. XVI, quoted in Salvatore Settis, Laocoonte: Fama e stile (Rome: Donzelli, 1999),
194: “De i moti del dolore, meraviglia, morte, pazzia, infingardagine, disperatione,
molestia, capriccio, patentia et epilepsia” (for pain, marvel, death, madness, depres-
sion, desperation, nervous tension, caprice, endurance, and epilepsy).
physiognomy, muscularity, and leg position and the reclining figure in his
back-tilted head, rolled eyes, and screaming mouth (Fig. 8).24 Goya was
familiar with the codified physiognomy and gestures of madness. It has been
noted that the inmates in his Yard with Lunatics (1793–94) reflect the institu-
tional codes of insanity (melancholic gestures, maniacal physiognomy, etc.)
rather than exhibiting actual behavior.25 While this precedent suggests a reas-
sessment of the victim in Flying Witches in such terms, identifying him as a
“lunatic” would defy the supernatural framework.
The supernatural framework does coincide with another abnormality
invoked by the Laocoön formula: demonic possession. The interior violation
of the body by a demon was thought to result in a loss of bodily control,
as manifested by a cluster of abnormal symptoms, both physiological and
behavioral.26 These symptoms were crystallized in a conventional set of
somatic signs (Figs. 9 and 10), all of which are shown in the convulsions of
Goya’s victim: the arched body, the heaving torso, the spastically writhing
limbs, the abrupt backward thrust of the head, and the mouth open in a
scream.27 Because these conventional signs are key in identifying a possessed
figure, it is reasonable that Goya resorted to the use of a formulaic body.
24. The resemblance of this statue to the Laocoön has been overlooked by Sander
L. Gilman, Seeing the Insane: A Cultural History of Madness and Art in the Western World
(Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1996 [1st ed. 1982]), 18–20; and
Jane Kromm, The Art of Frenzy: Public Madness in the Visual Culture of Europe, 1500–
1850 (London and New York: Continuum, 2002), 80–85.
25. The inmate standing on the left and the one squatting on the right are compa-
rable, in their frenzied facial expressions and the way that their arms are pressed to
their bodies as if transfixed, to illustrations in medical treatises of maniacs wearing
straitjackets. The two wrestlers in the center assume two melancholic gestures: the
intertwined fingers and the head laid on folded arms. Both anticipate the use of these
postures in The Sleep/Dream of Reason Produces Monsters (El sueño de la razon produce
monstruos, plate 43 of Los Caprichos), the former in the first preparatory study and the
latter in the second preparatory study and final print. Klein, 216–17, with elaboration
in his “ ‘La fantasia abandonada de la razón’: Zur Darstellung des Wahnsinns in Goyas
‘Hof der Irren,’ ” in Goya: Neue Forschungen. Das internationale Symposium 1991 in
Osnabrück, ed. Jutta Held (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1994), 161–94; and Tal, “The
Gestural Language,” 120–22.
26. Brian P. Levack, The Devil Within: Possession and Exorcism in the Christian West
(London and New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), 6–15.
27. For images of demoniacs, see Jean-Martin Charcot and Paul Richer, Les démon-
iaque dans l’art (Paris: Adrien Delahaye et Émile Lecrosnier, 1887); Gilman, 22–28;
Rebecca Zorach, “Despoiled at the Source,” Art History 22 (1999): 244–69; Kromm,
69–76; and Nancy Caciola, Discerning Spirits: Divine and Demonic Possession in the Mid-
dle Ages (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2003).
Figure 9. Johan Wierix, attr., after Gerard van Groeningen, Christ Healing a
Demoniac, in or before 1574, engraving. British Museum, London (Photo: !
Trustees of the British Museum)
Figure 10. Hieronymus Wierix, Saint Ignatius of Loyola Exorcising Demons, c. 1613,
engraving. British Museum, London (Photo: ! Trustees of the British Museum)
29. On the use of the higa in the eighteenth century and its censure by intellectu-
als, see Joseph Townsend, A Journey through Spain in the Years 1786 and 1787 (London:
C. Dilly, 1791), 3:166; W. L. Hildburgh, “Images of the Human Hand as Amulets in
Spain,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 18 (1955): 67–89; and Moreno
de las Heras, 64.
30. Schulz, “The Expressive Body,” 677, explains that the appearance of a fleeing
demon in Goya’s preparatory drawing for Saint Francis Borgia at the Deathbed of an
Impenitent indicates that, before deciding on a scene of damnation, he intended to
depict a scene of exorcism (or unction). The fleeing demon perhaps derived from a
print after Rubens’s St. Ignatius Loyola Healing a Demoniac (c. 1630). In a drawing of
c. 1817–20, titled Scene of Exorcism (Gassier and Wilson, cat. no. 1453), an afflicted
woman is elevated from the ground by two figures and a priest prays for her recovery.
However, as Michael Armstrong Roche argues (“Seeking a Cure,” in Goya and the
Spirit of Enlightenment, 326–28), with no signs of possession, she is more likely sick or
even dead.
31. I borrow the term “closed narrative” for an exorcism scene from James Clif-
ton, “The Face of a Fiend: Convulsion, Inversion, and the Horror of the Disempow-
ered Body,” Oxford Art Journal 34 (2011): 391.
32. Kay S. Wilkins, “Attitudes to Witchcraft and Demonic Possession in France
during the Eighteenth Century,” Journal of European Studies 3 (1973): 351–52; and
Kay S. Wilkins, “Some Aspects of the Irrational in 18th-Century France,” Studies on
Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century 115 (1975): 107–201.
33. One of his numerous Francophile friends could have introduced him to this
Figure 11. Jean Crépy (Crespy), Witches’ Sabbat, engraving, from Laurent
Bordelon, L’histoire des imaginations extravagantes de Monsieur Oufle, Paris, 1754
(Photo: Courtesy, The Lilly Library, Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana)
The parallels between Flying Witches and the Crespy illustration are strik-
ing. In both scenes, a horrid trio endowed with supernatural powers floats
high in the air while fiercely clasping a demoniac (Figs. 13 and 14). The two
aerial groups are similar, down to the arrangement of the aggressors (two
front views and one back view) and the aggressor who bends the demoniac’s
leg. Furthermore, both scenes include credulous bystanders responding to the
commotion above them.
By alluding to a blatantly skeptical treatise on the supernatural, Goya aligned
’tis in them that they rule with such an absolute Power that they equally dispose of
both Soul and Body [. . .] they delight to make use of these Distortions to affright the
Spectators, and intimidate those who endeavour to eject them. [. . .] [F]requently
several of them joyn together to take the faster hold, and resist with the greater Vigor.
All this is certain [. . .] our Religion does not allow us to doubt of it” (ibid., 182–84).
Noncrede responds: “I don’t easily give way to all that is related concerning Persons
who pretend to be Possess’d. How many Cheats have been discover’d amongst those
pretended Possessions! It has also been observ’d amongst those who undertake to cast
Devils out of the Bodies of Daemoniacs, that there have been some who thro’ Weak-
ness or Ignorance, believ’d they were possess’d, or only seem’d to belive [sic] so out
of Interest, Human Considerations, by Instigation, or other Motives which Discretion
obliges me to pass over in silence, lest I shou’d be thought to confound the honest
Exorcists with those whose only Aim is to seduce the Spectators” (ibid., 207–8).
Figure 12. Jean Crépy (Crespy), Oufle Witnessing an Airborne Possession, engraving,
from Laurent Bordelon, L’histoire des imaginations extravagantes de Monsieur Oufle,
Paris, 1754 (Photo: Courtesy, The Lilly Library, Indiana University,
Bloomington, Indiana)
Figure 14. Goya, detail of Fig. 1, showing the demoniac. (Photo: Museo Nacional
del Prado/Art Resource, NY)
his witchcraft series with Enlightenment ideas. Like Bordelon, most Enlighten-
ment intellectuals tended to be deeply skeptical about occult phenomena,
including demonic possession. Enlightenment physicians and philosophers dis-
missed the Devil’s supposed ability to physically interfere with the human brain,
and argued that apparent manifestations of demonic possession might rather be
symptoms of natural diseases, especially hysteria, epilepsy, or, to a lesser degree,
melancholy.36 The fallacy of possession was also proclaimed in Spain. One of
the fundamental texts of the Spanish Ilustración was the multivolume collection
of essays by the Benedictine Father Benito Jerónimo Feijoo, Teatro crı́tico univer-
sal (Madrid, 1726–39), which by 1780 had been reissued fifteen times. In his
essay “Demonı́acos,” he warns against false manifestations of possession, which
he divides into two types: those who feign possession with the intention of
eliciting alms and liberating themselves from social and moral restraints, and
those who imagine that they are possessed because of their ignorance of their
actual pathological state. He estimated that, for every five hundred cases of
possession, no more than twenty or thirty cases were authentic.37
Flying Witches contains no visual evidence that would allow the possession
depicted to be rationalized as fraud or disease. Rather, skepticism is expressed
through the signs of folly and absurdity conveyed by the image’s visual affin-
ities with the Crespy illustration. First among these signs is the group levita-
tion. If the unnatural aerial abduction or initiation was hitherto only observed
in the magical flight of witches, the Crespy illustration also associates it with
36. Roy Porter, “Witchcraft and Magic in Enlightenment, Romantic and Liberal
Thought,” in Witchcraft and Magic in Europe: The Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries,
ed. Bengt Ankarloo and Stuart Clark (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press,
1999), 227–35; Edward Bever, “Witchcraft Prosecutions and the Decline of Magic,”
Journal of Interdisciplinary History 40 (2009): 263–93; and Levack, 113–29.
37. Father Benito Jerónimo Feijoo, “Discurso sexto: Demonı́acos,” in Teatro crı́tico
universal, 8 vols (Madrid, 1726–39), VIII, in Proyecto Filosofı́a en español, http://www
.filosofia.org/bjf/bjft806.htm (accessed 22 October 2015). See also Marı́a Tausiet,
“From Illusion to Disenchantment: Feijoo versus the ‘Falsely Possessed’ in Eighteenth-
Century Spain,” in Beyond the Witch Trials: Witchcraft and Magic in Enlightenment Europe,
ed. Owen Davies and Willem de Blécourt (Manchester and New York: Manchester
University Press, 2004), 45–60. On the popularity of Feijoo in the late eighteenth
century, see Richard Herr, The Eighteenth-Century Revolution in Spain (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1958), 37–41. Similarities between texts related to the
Caprichos project and the Teatro suggest that Goya was familiar with Feijoo’s writings:
John Dowling, “The Crisis of the Spanish Enlightenment: Capricho 43 and Goya’s Sec-
ond Portrait of Jovellanos,” Eighteenth-Century Studies 18 (1985): 331–59 (esp. 346); and
Andre Stoll, “Goyas Illumionatio – Zum ästhetischen Genesisbericht der Caprichos,”
in Spanische Bilderwelten: Literatur, Kunst und Film im intermedialen Dialog, ed. Christoph
Strosetzki and Andre Stoll (Frankfurt a.M.: Vervuert, 1993), 31.
38. The famous case that involved levitation was the seventeenth-century posses-
sion in Loudun. It was evidently known to the Osunas through the Histoire des diables
de Loudun, which was listed in their library’s inventory; Hernández, “Análisis,” 9. For
additional cases, see Levack, 8, 218, 222.
39. Levack, 8.
40. Ibid., 21, 23.
41. Pérez Sánchez and Sayre, 101–9, 130–32.
42. It should be noted that Crespy’s scene of demonic possession also recalls Chris-
tian iconography, specifically images of Saint Anthony borne through the air by tor-
menting demons (the prints of Martin Schongauer and Lucas Cranach immediately
come to mind), except that the role of the devils has been changed from attacking
the body (obsessio) to penetrating it (possessio), that is, afflicting both body and soul.
For obsessio and possessio, see Levack, 16–17; and Harley, 310–11.
43. Mena Marqués, 161; Hughes, 155. Werner Hofmann, Goya: “To Every Story
There Belongs Another” (London: Thames & Hudson, 2003), 95, considers the scene
as an “anti-Heaven from which no message of salvation can be expected.”
44. Bédat, Appendix III, 85. Raphael’s Transfiguration was also known in Spain
through painted copies; for example, the 1571 fresco by Romulo Cincinato in the
principal cloister of the Escorial. See Juan Agustı́n Céan Bermúdez, Diccionario histórico
de los más ilustres profesores de las Bellas Artes en España (Madrid: Viuda de Ibarra, 1800),
332–33.
45. Translated with a Spanish transcription in Tomlinson, Goya in the Twilight of
Enlightenment, 191–94. According to an 1812 document, the duchess of Osuna deco-
rated the Alameda with several copies of Raphael’s paintings in the Vatican. See Isabel
Pérez Hernández, “Reconstrucción del emplazamiento de los cuadros realizados por
Francisco de Goya para la Casa de campo de la Alameda de la condesa duquesa de
Benavente,” AxA. Una Revista de Arte y Arquitectura (2012), 11, http://www.uax.es/
publicacion/reconstruccion-del-emplazamiento-de-los-cuadros-realizados-por-fran
cisco.pdf (accessed 22 October 2015). The popularity of Raphael in eighteenth-
century Spain was largely due to the Bohemian Neoclassicist Anton Raphael Mengs,
the first court painter of Charles III in 1761–79, who held the Italian master in high
esteem and valued the Transfiguration as his finest work. Anton Raphael Mengs, “Pen-
samientos sobre los grandes pintores Rafael, Corregio, Tiziano, y los antiguos,” in
Obras de D. Antonio Rafael Mengs, Primer Pintor de Cámara del Rey, trans. José Nicolás
de Azara (Madrid: Imprenta de la Gazeta, 1780), 108–14. Influenced by Mengs,
Spanish art theorists recommended that artists study the expressive bodies and physi-
ognomy of Raphael’s figures. See Schulz, Goya’s “Caprichos,” 27–28. Raphael’s
Transfiguration was among the numerous pieces of art that Napoleon confiscated from
Italy in 1797 and brought to Paris in a triumphal procession on 27 July 1798. Martin
Rosenberg, Raphael and France: The Artist as Paradigm and Symbol (University Park:
Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995); Martin Rosenberg, “Raphael’s Transfigu-
ration and Napoleon’s Cultural Politics,” Eighteenth-Century Studies 19 (1985–86),
180–205; and Giovanna Perini, “Raphael’s European Fame in the 17th and 18th
Centuries,” in The Cambridge Companion to Raphael, ed. Marcia B. Hall (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2005), 261–75.
46. Moreno de las Heras, 62. That the aerial grouping is a figment of the two
passersby’s imagination is seconded by Janis A. Tomlinson, “Superstition and Bad
Dreams,” in Goya: Order and Disorder, 250–52.
47. This vague demarcation between reality and fantasy is apparent in another
scene in the series, The Spell. In it, the plot of witches attacking the victim can be
read the other way round, as a victim whose melancholy (denoted by his gesture of
clasped hands with intertwined fingers) causes him to imagine witches. See Guy Tal,
“An ‘Enlightened’ View of Witches: Melancholy and Delusionary Experience in
Goya’s Spell,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 75 (2012): 33–50.
that, in the Caprichos, “the point of juncture between the real and the fantastic
is impossible to grasp; it is a vague frontier which not even the subtlest analyst
could trace.”48 In Flying Witches, this ambiguity effectively conveys the expe-
rience of the delusional passersby, who cannot distinguish their hallucinations
from reality and thereby fall prey to their own imaginations. Reinforcing
this ambiguity, a similar perceptual uncertainty between the sensory and the
imaginary is also experienced by the viewer. The passersby are smaller than
the levitating figures, who initially appear to hover above the head of the
walking passerby but are, in fact, closer to the picture plane. It is as if the
demoniac and his possessors are about to spill into the viewer’s space and
become real. A comparable strategy typifies the Caprichos plates that, accord-
ing to Schulz, “call into question not only the perceptual and cognitive facul-
ties of represented figures . . . but also those of the viewer.”49
Altogether, the web of thematic, formal, and compositional allusions to
Raphael’s Transfiguration and Crespy’s engraving that informs Flying Witches
provides compelling evidence that Goya conceived this painting as a scene of
demonic possession. Along with these two images, Flying Witches belongs to
an extremely limited corpus of works that focuses on an enduring possession
rather than on a scene of exorcism.
48. Charles Baudelaire, The Mirror of Art: Critical Studies by Baudelaire, trans. Jona-
than Mayne (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1956), 185–86. See also
Fred Licht, Goya: The Origins of the Modern Temper in Art (New York: Harper & Row,
1983), 188; and Hofmann, 135.
49. Schulz, Goya’s “Caprichos,” 186.
P O S S E S S E D B Y TH E I N Q U I S I T I O N
50. For Goya’s censure of the Inquisition, see Vance Holloway, “Goya’s
Caprichos, the Church, the Inquisition, Witchcraft, and Abjection,” Dieciocho 35
(2012): 21–48; and Gudrun Maurer, “Inquisition and Judgment,” in Goya: Order and
Disorder, 294–303.
51. Henry Charles Lea, A History of the Inquisition of Spain (New York and London:
Macmillan, 1907), 4:241, and 348–52.
52. Moreno de las Heras, 62; and Wilson-Bareau and Mena Marqués, 213. For
the two opposite meanings of the mitra, see Joseph Baretti, A Dictionary: Spanish and
English, and English and Spanish, 2nd ed. (London: Nourse, 1778), s.v. “mitra.”
53. Lea, 4:397–98.
54. Ibid., 4:394–95; Joseph Pérez, The Spanish Inquisition: A History (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 2005), 94–97.
55. For the letter to Martin Zapater and the payment for the portrait, see Sym-
mons, A Life in Letters, nos. 252 and 255. Whether or not Goya met Llorente before
portraying him in 1810 is unknown. See Margarita Moreno de las Heras, “Juan Anto-
nio Llorente,” in Goya and the Spirit of Enlightenment, 164–67.
56. Lea, 4:394–95; and Pérez, 94–97.
57. Marcelin Defourneaux, L’Inquisition espagnole et les livres français au XVIIIe siècle
(Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1963); Albert Boime, Art in the Age of Bona-
partism 1800–1815 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 253.
58. Boime, 258.
the Inquisition penetrates the souls of Spaniards and fills them with fear and
archaic ideas.
As ilustrados, the Osunas and their guests at the Alameda must have
appreciated this satirical commentary against the Inquisition and the other
artistic and intellectual references to demonic possession. Understanding
body language as the iconographic key of Flying Witches (especially after
noticing the higa gesture), they would have recognized the formulaic outline
of the victim’s convulsive body, and decoded it as a sign of extreme suffering
or demonic possession. The visual connections to images of possession, par-
ticularly those by Raphael and Crespy, would have engaged the cultured
audience in an intervisual game in which they could glean hints of Goya’s
refutation of the existence of possession. Eventually, however, they would
realize that Flying Witches is an inscrutable puzzle that leaves its viewers both
enchanted and frustrated. At any rate, the eccentric assembly of witches,
hobgoblins, devils, giants, apparitions, monsters, and chinchillas inhabiting
Goya’s fantastic works can now be augmented with a new member: the
demoniac.