The Angelus

In the twilight glow, two silhouettes pause their farm work on a vast plain to offer a quiet prayer. On the left stands a man, holding his removed hat in both hands and bowing his head deeply. On the right, a woman presses her hands tightly together in front of her chest. Between them sits a small basket filled with freshly harvested potatoes. Behind the man, a three-pronged pitchfork is stuck into the soil, while behind the woman stands a wheelbarrow loaded with sacks of potatoes. Devout peasants praying to the sound of a distant church bell. It is often thought that this painting was created as an instant masterpiece to praise the sanctity of Catholic faith. Or that its perfect composition was meticulously calculated from the very beginning. In reality, however, that was not the case. At first, there was no church steeple in the picture—it was simply a scene of a potato harvest. This masterpiece was born out of the painter's unexpected despair.

In 1857, in his studio in Barbizon. Jean-François Millet was supporting a large family with his common-law wife, Catherine Lemaire, living in extreme financial hardship. The Gleaners, his major work exhibited at the Salon that same year, faced fierce condemnation from conservative critics who denounced it as a radical painting inciting peasant discontent. With his pictures unsold, he struggled daily even to pay rent or buy food. Amidst this hardship, an order for a painting arrived from Thomas Gold Appleton, an American collector. For Millet, it was a lifeline to feed his family. He set to work under the working title Prayer for the Potato Crop. By the summer of 1857, he had completed the basic composition.

In 1859, however, when the painting was finished, an unexpected turn of events occurred. The buyer refused delivery. The reason was never recorded. The patron would not accept the painting, and no payment was made. A painting without a buyer. On the brink of despair, Millet kept this small canvas in his hands. And he touched his brush to the distant horizon. The small bell tower of the Church of Saint-Paul, a real church in the neighboring village of Chailly-en-Bière. That is what he added to the scene.

Why a bell tower? What rose in Millet's mind was a memory from his childhood. Long ago, while working in the fields, whenever the church bell tolled at dusk, his grandmother would make them stop their work. It was to recite a prayer for the poor souls of the departed. This was no dogmatic religious propaganda. It was a warm, poignant nostalgia for his early years with his grandmother.