A portrait of Mary Hamilton Beckford, painted in 1799 by Benjamin West. This graceful portrait is a formidable testament to the good breeding, aristocratic heritage and excellent taste of the sitter. The eye is drawn to the elegant house in the background and to the book of music on Mrs Beckford’s lap, both carefully placed to ensure that any onlookers are made fully aware that they are in the presence of a lady who is both talented and well heeled.
My final painting today is this wonderful work by the great French master Nicolas de Largillierre, whose works are so magnificently over the top that I often find myself thinking of them as a form of eighteenth century surrealism. This painting has been tentatively identified as Madame Claude Lambert de Thorigny, painted in 1696.
I love everything about it but I think that I am particularly enamoured with the splendid parrot in the foreground who has a very world weary look about his eye.
As a mother myself, I find myself drawn to portraits of women with their children and find them both charming and also absolutely fascinating as a record of the changing attitudes of society towards the family and the role of children in the world.
I adore this work, by an unknown French artist (possibly Mosnier or François-André Vincent, the husband of Adélaïde Labille-Guiard) in around 1796 although the precarious positioning of the sleepy looking small child on a balcony is somewhat heartstopping. It seems to have been in the possession of the De Boissard family for quite some time so may well depict a family connection or ancestress.
I could look for hours at the painted draperies, the way that the mauve tassels of Madame’s cashmere shawl drop over the child’s muslin dress and the silky softness of the ribbon in her hair. I find family portraits of this era truly fascinating because of the way that they marry the intimacy of parenthood with the almost Roman austerity of French Revolutionary art. One should almost certainly stifle the other but instead the starkness of style only serves to reinforce the bond between the sitters and puts it at centre stage without any distractions – rendering the image both touching and true.
This work, in contrast owes much to the influence of the great David and is a painting of Madame Philippe Desbassayns de Richemont (Jeanne Eglé Mourgue, 1778–1855) and Her Son, Eugène (1800–1859) by Marie-Guillelmine Benoist. In fact during its history, it has been attributed several times to David, which is understandable although I think that there is a softness and detailing here that is markedly missing from his portraits from this period. I think it is likely that he had a hand in the work but that the majority was painted by Mademoiselle Benoist.
I’m actually preparing a post about something quite big right now, but keep being distracted by other paintings in the meantime. I hope you don’t mind all the posts!
This exquisite piece is a portrait by Jean Honoré Fragonard of Gabrielle de Riquet de Caraman, the Marquise de la Fare, probably painted in 1775 at the time of her marriage to the Comte de la Fare. Gabrielle-Françoise-Victoire de Caraman was born on 28th June 1755 the daughter of the Marquis de Caraman and his wife, Marie-Anne de Hénin Liétard, a daughter of the Prince de Chimay.
Fragonard isn’t best known for his portraits, as he tended more towards genre pieces or softly lascivious private commissions for the aristocracy. It’s a shame that he didn’t produce more likenesses really as the portraits that do survive are quite lovely.
A sumptuous portrait by George Romney of the wife of a Director of the Royal Bank of England, painted between 1770 and 1773 and very much in the Grand Manner.
Romney’s work is very similar to that of Gainsborough in theme and approach as both favoured rather windswept, romantic paintings of sumptuously dressed ladies standing outside. However, Romney’s brushwork is very different to that of Gainsborough and lacks the latter’s freedom and lightness of touch.
Mrs Thomas Scott Jackson wasn’t as pretty as Mrs Graham but was clearly very comely nonetheless. I think that Romney was probably a very middle of the road choice for a sitter who didn’t want the heavy handed grandeur of Reynolds and wasn’t sure about the almost impressionistic effects produced by Gainsborough.
Just look at the wonderful way that he has painted the rich silk of his sitter’s gown and the intricate folds and layers of her ‘Turkish’ styled bodice.
The trees in the background have a very Gainsborough feel to them, and are painted with great deftness and lightness, probably from a distance to give a feathery, soft appearance.
Ah, I love eighteenth century shoes!
The Hon. Mary Cathcart, Mrs Graham (1757-1792) was the sitter for what is possibly the most famous of Thomas Gainsborough’s paintings, the one that usually leaps to mind when people are asking to think of a ‘Gainsborough lady’ and yet I think I prefer this less well known and more subtle portrait from 1775. It’s obvious really that Gainsborough had a bit of a thing for his sitter as he clearly really adored painting her.
Mrs Graham was a renowned beauty, who had additional bonus exotic points for having been raised in Russia where her father, Baron Cathcart was Ambassador to the court of Catherine the Great. Her arrival back in England must have been akin to the return from Paris of Anne Boleyn two centuries earlier and it is no surprise that her husband was passionately in love with her. It is said that he once rode ninety miles in pouring rain to their country seat to fetch her a necklace that she wanted to wear to a ball in Edinburgh that night. No mean feat.
Sadly for her husband and dozens of ardent admirers, poor Mary was stricken with tuberculosis and began to waste away, becoming extremely frail and weak in the process although her beauty was apparently very little diminished. It was during a restorative holiday in Brighton that she was to be introduced to today’s other great beauty, Georgiana of Devonshire and the two became the best of friends, in fact some might say that they were more than friends.
It’s hard to say for certain what happened between Mary and Georgiana as most of their friendship was necessarily conducted by letter and the languishing, affectionate language used between women of the time may well seem laden with significance and innuendo to twentieth first century eyes but was just conventional in the eighteenth century and nothing out of the ordinary in a culture where sensibility and sincere friendship, amité were much admired and considered to be the ideal.
Desperate to improve his wife’s failing health, her husband took her to Nice in Spring 1792, where it was hoped that the more salubrious climate would help her recover or at least be more comfortable. Sadly she was to die on the 26th June and he would be faced with the difficulties of transporting her corpse back through a France that was ravaged by revolution and insurrection. Horribly, her coffin was opened in Toulouse by a group of French soldiers and mistreated, which must have added terribly to her widower’s grief.
The beautiful Mrs Graham was buried in a mausoleum in Methven and, unable to deal with his grief, her husband first covered her portrait with a length of white cloth then decided to give it to her sister as he just couldn’t bear to look upon her face. The painting was later given to the National Gallery of Scotland, on condition that it was never allowed to leave the country. In contrast to her other portrait by Gainsborough, which now resides in Washington.
Mr Graham would initially try to cope with the loss of his adorable wife with a lot of foreign travel but the incident at Toulouse appears to have preyed on his mind, leading him to a great loathing and hatred of the French in general and French soldiers in particular which in turn seems to have influenced his decision to join the army and take part in the war against them. This could have ended badly but on the contrary he became well known for his gallantry and heroism.
A beautiful portrait of the Duchess by Thomas Gainsborough, painted in 1783.
This sumptuous work was commissioned by Georgiana’s mother, Countess Spencer and hung at the family seat, Althorp in Northamptonshire until it was sold in 1924, which must surely have been a sad day for the family.
I think this work really shows off Georgiana’s famous winsome charm. She was clearly very pretty but I think most of her attractiveness was based more on expression, personality and charisma than actual beauty.
I love looking closely at Gainsborough paintings. He worked in oils on canvas but handled them very lightly, giving an ethereal effect that is similar to watercolours or even pastels. It’s really distinctive and a big contrast to the heavier works of his nearest rival, Sir Joshua Reynolds. I know which one I would rather have had painting my likeness!
The Archduchess Maria Amalia of Austria was born on the 26th February 1746, the eighth child of the Empress Maria Theresa and her consort, Franz Stephen. Amongst her siblings were Joseph II, Leopold II, Maria Carolina of Naples and Marie Antoinette. The two latter were much younger but it is clear from the letters and presents that were exchanged by the trio, that Amalia and her little sisters were very fond of each other and that it might be said that Amalia bridged a gap in what must seems to have been a very uneasy family dynamic where the older children were old enough to be the parents of the youngest.
Lovely Amalia was known to be the ‘socialite’ of the Imperial family; the daughter most likely to be seen out having fun in the Viennese capital, especially when it was Carnival time. As well as being pretty and sociable, she was also, like most of the Imperial children, very gifted in the arts (thanks in part to tuition from the finest teachers) and was both an excellent artist and a noted singer.
It was probably no surprise then when Amalia fell madly in love with one of the young men at the court and in line with her tempestuous, headstrong nature insisted upon marrying him. The object of her affection was the young Karl Augustus of Zweibrücken, who was a few months her junior and who seemed to ardently return her affection.
The match was not actually a bad one: Karl was the eldest son and heir of the Duke of Zweibrücken, the elder brother of the Queen of Saxony (also called Maria Amalia) and, most crucially, heir to the Kingdom of Bavaria. However, typically for royal parents of the day, Maria Theresa had other plans for her daughter.
At the time, there were three great matrimonial prizes available to Catholic princesses in Europe: the three Bourbon cousins, Ferdinand of Naples, Ferdinand of Parma and the Dauphin Louis of France and Maria Theresa was determined that each would marry one of her daughters. It was Amalia’s fate to be matched with Ferdinand of Parma, the brother of Joseph’s beloved and much mourned dead wife, Isabella and grandson of Louis XV of France.
Amalia protested, of course but in the end had to bow her head to her family’s will and the betrothal was announced in 1769. Karl, heartbroken, left Vienna forever and would always be embittered towards the Austrian royal family as a result. Later, in a twist of fate he would be married to Maria Amalia of Saxony, the daughter of the Elector of Saxony and first cousin of the Dauphin Louis, whose mother had planned and schemed to marry the two. He would, of course, ultimately end up married to Marie Antoinette, the sister of the other Maria Amalia.
We don’t know what happened between Karl and Amalia after her marriage on 19th July 1769 to the Duke of Parma. It’s possible that they continued to correspond and perhaps they even ‘found each other in society’ as the Duc de Richelieu recommended that his daughter do when she was in the exact same situation. Certainly, Amalia is believed to have had several lovers during her time in Palma so it isn’t inconcievable.
Amalia’s marriage turned out very well in the end, producing nine children, four of whom survived infancy. She and her husband were both relatively eccentric sorts who seem to have decided at the outset to live and let live and treat each other with tolerance and friendship, even if they would never be madly in love.
"You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair," said Anne reproachfully. "People who haven't red hair don't know what trouble is." - Anne of Green Gables.
I am a middle class housewife, History geek, Versailles obsessive, Paris lover, historical fiction writer, Victorian Prostitute re-enactor, Art History graduate, committed vegetarian, GIN taster, curry lover and Pimms addict living in the deepest darkest West Country with my family.
I'm a member of the Romantic Novelists' Association, Whitechapel Society and London Historians and also a reviewer for the Historical Novel Society.
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