Belshazzar’s Feast is a painting of divine retribution meted out to a corrupt, self-indulgent, unworthy ruler. Martin’s depiction emphasizes the king’s impiety, as he boldly raises a toast in front of all his subjects using looted sacred vessels. At that moment, God writes in glowing, divine script on the walls of the hall in a language Belshazzar does not understand. The king turns to his courtiers to interpret the glowing words to him, but all fail except for the prophet Daniel. Daniel, who has been held against his will in Babylon, reads the script to reveal that God has sentenced Belshazzar to death. God also condemns all of Babylon to fall along with their vain King. Moments after the script is read, an enemy army bursts through their supposedly unbreakable walls.

Martin depicted motifs that likened Belshazzar to George IV and the palace to the Academy. He provides a panoramic view to reveal the expanse of the city, the banquet halls, the holy text, and the panicked people. This perspective allows the viewer to see the King, the people, and the iconic Tower of Babel in the background, emphasizing the large-scale effects of one man’s sins. The King and his court stand on a platform in the foreground above the large hall. The vast composition does nothing to quell the glittering luxury exhibited at Belshazzar’s feast. His attire, the concubines clinging to his side, the bright red throne, and the shining infamous vessels decorate the massive space. Belshazzar’s crown shines atop his head, matching the golden embroidery on his long yellow tunic. On his shoulders rests a deep red cloak that engulfs him. The cup that sealed his fate is sitting overturned on the floor in front of him, having just been dropped. On the other side of the throne is his queen, dressed in bright white with a child at her side, pulling her into a flow of red drapery that extends past the composition. In the center stands Daniel, gesturing to the writing of God on a secondary mezzanine surrounded by other onlookers and a long, glittering banquet table. The writing itself, large and glowing, off to the far left of the composition, shows no trace of God’s actual hand, implying that this is the moment after the writing was finished. The prophet seems to be speaking to them, likely revealing Belshazzar’s death sentence as well as the imminent downfall of Babylon. As creator of the scene, Martin becomes Daniel, gesturing to the public and communicating his work.

The perspective and detail of the composition create a feeling of hyper-reality, bringing the story of Belshazzar closer to the viewers. The painting as originally exhibited was exceptionally large, over eight feet long and over five feet tall. Its size allowed for the vast space that Martin ventured to portray on the canvas. The most striking aspect of this painting is the overwhelming presence of human infrastructure. The grand palace dominates the fore, middle, and background. The viewer gets lost exploring the intricate architecture before being brought back to the commotion when spotting the people fleeing in panic. Beyond the courtyard, monstrous buildings rise as the backdrop for Belshazzar’s opulence. These huge structures stand amidst a storm-filled sky, where a bolt of lightning cuts through the darkness.[68] Martin spreads a sense of impending danger throughout the work. It encourages a careful look, as the viewer identifies the bustle of the crowds, a woman collapsing in terror, and Belshazzar himself taking a step away from the heart of the composition. The miraculously bright light that emanates through the left side of the picture is the source of the panic. In contrast, Martin has provided a respite on the far right with a calm moon and singular star hovering over the chaos and establishing a calm and natural light while the story below unfolds.

Martin’s painting played on a well-established association between Belshazzar and George IV. At the time of the work’s creation, His father, George III, was often compared to Belshazzar’s predecessor, Nebuchadnezzar, since both kings had the reputation for having gone “mad.”[69] It was due to his father’s mental deterioration that George assumed the throne, and in celebration, he threw a party with 2,000 people in attendance, creating his reputation for outsized extravagance. His own table was 200 feet long, and only sat about one-tenth of the guests. The new Prince Regent wore a uniform that was deep red and gold, covered in golden embroidery supposedly weighing 200 pounds.[70]  At least one attendee analogized this event to Martin‘s painting: Melesina Trench wrote to a friend,

The show was all that Oriental pomp, feudal ceremonial, and British wealth could unite. The processions in The Curse of Kehama, and in Rimini, with the painting of Belshazzar’s Feast, were continually recalled to my memory. The conflict of the two lights from the blaze of artificial day mixing with a splendid sunshine, the position of the King’s table, the pomp of the banquet, with its vessels of gold and silver, the richness of the dresses, and a thousand other particulars, rendered the resemblance so perfect, it seemed as if the Feast had been in some degree copied from the picture. Thus does art seem to contain the germ of all that is developed in life.[71]

While this comment about the banquet’s grandiosity is seemingly positive, the author’s comparison of a King’s coronation to the banquet that led to the fall of Babylon cannot but render the associations between the two frivolous kings and the potential fall of his empire.

Such opulence provoked a great deal of public ire, expressed in caricatures published at this time that depicted George IV as similar to Belshazzar. He was often shown as bloated and gouty, in an opulent room, accompanied by his mistress. These images critiqued his sinful nature, the main issues of his character being dreadfully similar to Belshazzar’s sins.  In 1817, just three years before Martin began his work, a preacher named Neil Douglas was publicly charged with sedition for having made “wicked” and “slanderous” comparisons he made between George IV and Belshazzar in front of his congregation. As recorded by a witness, Douglas claimed “that as Belshazzar had drunk wine out of the forbidden vessels, so the Prince Regent was not taking a warning by his father, and was not lending an ear to the prayers and supplications of the people.[72] Douglas was found not guilty by a jury of his peers, made up mostly of farmers and merchants, who seemed to easily overlook the damning evidence against him.

The fact that Martin showed his work at the BI rather than the RA could also be taken as an indictment of the latter for its connections to the king: this decision, according to Pendred, “suggests that it was in this year his resentment against that body was at its height.”[76]  Importantly, the BI was located across the street from Carlton House, a palace residence of George IV. The long building had a façade of columns, similar to that of the interior walls of the courtyard in Belshazzar’s Feast. Visitors to the British Institution would therefore have seen that building just before entering the exhibition. The rows of columns and brick archways in Martin’s picture also resemble the design of Somerset House, a former royal palace that was adapted to house the Royal Academy.[77]  Each pillar on the ground floor of Somerset House curved into an arch using courses of bricks that increased in length as they rose to the ceiling, the same technique that Martin invented for his Babylonian palace.

Members of Martin’s professional circle, including Leslie, advised him against making Belshazzar’s Feast, although the reasons for this advice are unclear. Around 1820, Martin claims that Leslie, “who so entirely differed from my notions of the treatment, that he called on purpose, and spent part of a morning, in the vain endeavor of preventing my committing myself, and so injuring the reputation I was obtaining.” Martin goes on to say, “this opposition only confirmed my intentions.”[78] It is unlikely that Leslie was warning him against attempting Belshazzar’s Feast due to its size or ambitious composition: more likely, Leslie recognized the symbolic potential and knew it would stir up trouble with the Academy.[79] This is borne out in at least one contemporary reaction to the painting. Critic Charles Lamb expressed his distaste for Belshazzar’s Feast by comparing it to an incident at a party thrown by George IV:

He then proceeds to tell the story of a puerile trick played by the Prince Regent in his pavilion at Brighton, where, in the midst of a banquet, he had all the lights turned off, and illuminated writing cast upon the wall, with the words: “Brighton-Earthquake-Swallow up alive,” and declares that the figures in John Martin’s painting have no more tragedy or dignity than if they had been the victims of such “a paltry trick.”[80]

Lamb’s review recalls a scene at George IV’s banquet where he imitates the story of Belshazzar’s feast. The words he has cast on the wall are meant to frighten his guests with the promise of their doom, mimicking the people of Babylon. In doing so, George IV is placing himself in the role of Belshazzar.

A caption to the mezzotint makes pointed reference to the King: the wording at the base of the print reads, “To his most gracious majesty George the fourth, King of Great Britain. This engraving is humbly dedicated by his majesty’s faithful & devoted subject, John Martin.” The context of Martin’s distaste for the King, combined with the history of the King’s comparison to Belshazzar, suggests that this dedication should be read as sarcastic. Martin managed to compare the King to Belshazzar by relying on those who have made comparisons in the past, and in doing so, he maintained plausible deniability by not completely connecting the dots. His thinly veiled transgression saved him from being charged with sedition. Many people could have put together Martin’s insinuation at its exhibition at the British Institution, and regular readers of the paper would have confirmed in their minds the connection when the mezzotint reached the eyes of the public. Those in the Academy would have even more recognized exactly what Martin was saying since word spread of his hatred of the King just years before.

[68] In most of Martin’s compositions, he includes a singular, crisp lightning strike. This has become a characteristic of his work that he is known for.

[69] Dart, 150; According to periodicals, the public considered Nebuchadnezzar to be Belshazzar’s father, but there is a debate on the accuracy of this statement.

[70] E. A. Smith, “Prince Regent,” In George IV (Yale University Press, 1999), 133.

[71] Feaver, The Art of John Martin, 52; Melesina Chenevix St. George Trench, The remains of the late Mrs. Richard Trench, ed. Richard Chenevix Trench, (London: Parker, Son, and Bourn, 1862), 451.

[72] “High Court of Justiciary: Sedition,” The Caledonian Mercury, May 29, 1817, 2.

[73] Dart, “On Great and Little Things,” 149-150.

[74] Dart, “On Great and Little Things,” 153.

[75] Dart, 150.

[76] Pendered, 93.

[77] Caroline Knight, “The History of the Building,” The British Art Journal 2, no. 2 (2000): 6; Dart, 151.

[78] John Martin, The Athenaeum, 1834, 459.

[79] Pendered, John Martin, 103.

[80] Pendered, 105.