Marie-Antoinette “en gaulle” by Vigee-Lebrun

Truth be told, Marie-Antoinette as a teenager and young woman very much enjoyed the outrageous hairstyles of her time, and during all of her years at Versailles she had to wear the court dress for all formal occasions.

But it is true that, as her taste matured, she came to appreciate the freedom of simple linen dresses. She even had her portrait painted in one of those by her favorite artist, Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun (left.)

Alas, that painting, to our modern eye far more modest than the low-cut court gowns, created a full-blown scandal: the Queen had herself painted in her chemise!

Imagine, to have an idea of the uproar at the time, the stunned reaction if we were to behold a portrait of the First Lady in her undergarments. It was much worse then, of course, because the royal person was in itself sacred. It was all right, and indeed required, for the Queen to change her chemise in front of the courtiers, or to give birth in public, but being painted in a linen dress was going where no other Queen of France had tread before.

Here is a link to a preview and presentation of the Marie-Antoinette program, to be broadcast on History on Thursday, April 25th at 9 pm ET/PT on HISTORY® (Canada), and another link to the preview of Secrets of Versailles.

Enjoy!

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The Paris Affair by Teresa Grant

The battle of Waterloo may have ended the major fighting in the Napoleonic Wars, but it was far from bringing an end to the simmering tensions of the past quarter century. When Napoleon escaped from the field at Waterloo, Louis XVIII was still in exile in Ghent. it was by no means a foregone conclusion that he would return to power. Much of the negotiating for France in the immediate aftermath of the battle was done by two men whose careers had been closely intertwined with that of Napoleon Bonaparte and with the Revolution – Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord and Joseph Fouché.

Prince Talleyrand, Napoleon’s former foreign minister (though he had left office well before Napoleon’s exile) had survived in the first Bourbon restoration to represent France at the Congress of Vienna and had not rejoined Napoleon when Bonaparte escaped from Elba.

Fouché, Napoleon’s minister of police for much of his rule, had worked with the Allies against Napoleon in 1814 but then rejoined Napoleon after his escape from Elba and served as his minister of police during the Hundred Days. After Napoleon’s resignation was demanded by the Chamber of Deputies following Waterloo, Fouché became head of the provisional government and negotiated with the victorious Allies (whom Talleyrand had joined).

Louis XVIII was a weak king and the Allies saw the need to keep both Talleyrand and Fouché to fill the power vacuum, at least temporarily. In fact it was Talleyrand, the former revolutionary, who argued strenuously for that a restored monarchy would, in his mind, offer the most stability. Talleyrand became Prime Minister and asked Fouché to stay on as Minister of Police.

Emboldened by Napoleon’s second defeat, the Ultra Royalist faction, led by Louis XVIII’s brother the Comte d’Artois, wanted vengeance on those who had gone over to Napoleon during the Hundred Days (and really for everything since the Revolution). Though the Ultra Royalists despised Fouché as a regicide who had voted for the execution of Louis XVI, it was Fouché who recieved denunciations against former Bonapartists.

Teresa Grant

Fouché, expert at using terror to maintain control (and preserve his own position) played a key role in carrying out the White Terror against Bonapartists (and suspected Bonapartists) who were proscribed from the amnesty, though the Ultra Royalists went too far even for him. Talleyrand advocated a more temperate approach and made the best of a weak hand as he negotiated with the Allies. He exerted his influence to keep his illegitimate son, Charles de Flahaut (also the lover of Hortense Bonaparte), who had fought for Napoleon at Waterloo, off the proscribed list. Charles de la Bédoyère, who had taken his regiment over to Napoleon after his escape from Elba and been one of the last to leave the field after Waterloo, slipped back into Paris to say goodbye to his wife and baby son before going into exile and was arrested and later executed.

Ultra Royalist gangs attacked Bonapartists in the south. Allied soldiers – British, Prussian, Dutch-Belgian, Bavarian – thronged the boulevards and quais of Paris and were encamped in the Bois de Boulogne, leading to frequent tension with the French populace. Many Parisians were far from eager for a return of the Bourbon monarchy, and even those who hadn’t supported Napoleon were not necessarily sanguine about foreign troops thronging the city. Royalist émigrés, many of whom had fled France two decades ago, returned seeking to have their estates restored.

Talleyrand meanwhile faced personal turmoil as well. His nephew’s young wife Dorothée, who had served as Talleyrand’s hostess at the Congress of Vienna, had returned to Paris but had taken up residence with Talleyrand rather than her husband Edmond q. Count Karl Clam-Martinitz, who had become her lover in Vienna, was in Paris as well. But Talleyrand had strong feelings for Dorothée himself and was arguably in love with her. Dorothée’s sister Wilhelmine, the Duchess of Sagan, was also in Paris. The twice-divorced duchess was involved in a liaison with Lord Stewart, the hot-tempered half-brother of Lord Castlereagh, the British foreign secretary. Castlereagh was handling the negotiations for the British, in concert with the Duke of Wellington. .

Malcolm and Suzanne Rannoch step into this glittering, simmering cauldron in The Paris Affair. The mystery they investigate twists through the glamorous veneer of Restoration Paris and the smoldering tensions beneath. Talleyrand, Fouché, Dorothée, Wilhelmine, Stewart, Castlereagh, and Wellington are all major characters. I loved writing about Waterloo in Imperial Scandal but I found its aftermath every bit as intriguing to explore.

English-versus-French-fashion

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Why? Because, unlike grand portraits meant to be displayed in the galleries and salons of great houses, miniatures were designed as personal mementoes, much as photographs are now. They were also far more affordable, well within the means of the middle classes.

Why not simply go back to the novels of our favourite authoress, Jane Austen?

For instance, in Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth visits Pemberley with her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners:

“She approached and saw the likeness of Mr. Wickham suspended, amongst several other miniatures, over the mantlepiece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how she liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was the picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master’s steward, who had been brought up by him at his own expence. “He is now gone into the army,” she added; “but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.”

Miniature portrait of unknown lady, Tansen Collection

Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not return it.

“And that,” said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures, “is my master — and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other — about eight years ago.”

“I have heard much of your master’s fine person,” said Mrs. Gardiner, looking at the picture; “it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.”

Mrs. Reynolds’s respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this intimation of her knowing her master.

“Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth coloured, and said — “A little.”

“And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma’am?”

“Yes, very handsome.”

“I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery up stairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late master’s favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them.”

This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham’s being among them.”

A crucial passage in that it prompts Elizabeth to ponder her past and present feelings for each of the gentlemen in question. I also believe it is meant as a clue to the true relationship between Darcy and Wickham. Note that in the world of miniatures (and old Mr. Darcy’s affections) they are equals, but only Darcy’s larger picture makes it to the gallery up stairs, as Mrs. Reynolds is careful to point out…

In Emma, the artistic though half-hearted heroine has of course tried her hand at painting miniature portraits of her family: “Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon, and water-colours had been all tried in turn.”

In Sense and Sensibility, Marianne wears round her neck a miniature of her late great uncle, which her younger sister Margaret, clever child, mistakes for a portrait of the rakish Willoughby. Wait, was it a mistake? Children are often more clear-sighted than adults, aren’t they?

Later in the novel, Lucy wishes to torment Elinor by providing tangible proof of her secret engagement to Edward. She takes from her pocket -what else?- a miniature portrait of the gentleman.

“To prevent the possibility of mistake,” says Lucy, “be so good as to look at this face. It does not do him justice to be sure, but yet I think you cannot be deceived as to the person it was drew of. — I have had it above these three years.”

More poignantly, in Persuasion, the miniature portrait of a naval officer, who has recovered a bit too swiftly from the sorrow of his fiancee’s sudden death, prompts the denouement. It allows the heroine, in the novel’s most personal and moving passage, to claim the constancy of her affections for Captain Wentworth.

Austen’s miniatures are tokens of love, and they also signify fickleness and betrayal.

So, while gazing at the miniatures at the exhibition, I caught myself trying to recognize Jane’s family members and fictional characters in the faces of long departed uniformed gentlemen and fine ladies painted on bits of ivory.

For more information on miniatures (and many other artifacts) in Jane’s novels, I cannot recommend too highly Austen’s Unbecoming Conjunctions, by Jill Heydt-Stevenson.

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Miniature of Marie Antoinette naked?

Would this miniature represent the young Queen of France, only dressed in a sheer veil? This is the intriguing question begged by the superb exhibition of late 18th century miniatures at Philip Mould Gallery in London.

The exhibition Miniatures from the Time of Marie Antoinette offers an exceptional opportunity to view the delicate treasures of Tansey Collection, kept in Germany and usually closed to the public.

So by all means if you happen to be in London, and have any interest in 18th century art and history, pay the Philip Mould gallery a visit. Be prompt too, because the show closes very soon, on 13 November!

To go back to the alleged Marie Antoinette miniature, what are the grounds for the identification of the sitter with the Queen? For one thing, it is the work of court miniaturist Ignazio Pio Vittoriano Campana, known to have painted portraits of ladies of Marie Antoinette’s close circle.

More to the point, the nautical character of the work is obvious: the branch of coral and bunch of rushes held by the lady, the seascape in the background, and the fish on which she rests her arm. All quite unusual for a miniature. This one is dated as of 1781, the year when Marie Antoinette gave birth to the heir to the throne, the Dauphin Louis-Joseph. “Dauphin” in French was the title given to the heir to the throne, and also the name of the dolphin. So here the “fish” wouldn’t be a fish at all, but a dolphin, and the allegory of the long-awaited achievement of the royal couple: the birth of a male heir. Some artifacts around the time of Louis-Joseph’s birth reflect the form of a dolphin to celebrate the momentous event.

What about the resemblance? The portrait does recall other idealized images of the Queen. The eyes are blue, and the blonde hair consistent with the “cheveux de la Reine” colour.

Some may be surprised that the young Queen (she was then 26) allowed herself to be painted naked. However, it was not unusual in the 18th century for aristocratic ladies to be painted in various states of undress, under cover, so to speak, of an allegory or a mythological character. Well, this even happened to Gabrielle, the heroine of my first novel, Mistress of the Revolution. In the great Marie-Antoinette exhibition at the Grand Palais in Paris a few years ago, a nude statuette of a young Marie Antoinette as the goddess Venus was on display. We should be careful not to project our own concepts of nudity and modesty onto our 18th century ancestors.

Let us not forget that it was the French Revolution that forbade skinny-dipping in the Seine River…

Philip Mould & Company 

29 Dover Street, London

Until 13 November 2012

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A pink silk fragment, from one of Marie-Antoinette’s last gowns before she was jailed at the temple (that would have been worn at the Tuileries in 1792) went for 6,121 euros ($8,000).

Likewise a white cotton cuff worn by the Queen at the Temple sold for 6,870 euros ($9,000.) More pictures of these objects here.

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Let’s get started.

1. If you could go back in time and be any figure from history, who would it be?

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Queen Victoria in her wedding dress by Winterhalter

“In this the year of my Diamond Jubilee,” writes Queen Elizabeth II, “I am delighted to be able to present, for the first time, the complete on-line collection of Queen Victoria’s journals from the Royal Archives.

These diaries cover the period from Queen Victoria’s childhood days to her Accession to the Throne, marriage to Prince Albert, and later, her Golden and Diamond Jubilees.

Thirteen volumes in Victoria’s own hand survive, and the majority of the remaining volumes were transcribed after Queen Victoria’s death by her youngest daughter, Princess Beatrice, on her mother’s instructions
.

It seems fitting that the subject of the first major public release of material from the Royal Archives is Queen Victoria, who was the first Monarch to celebrate a Diamond Jubilee.

It is hoped that this historic collection will make a valuable addition to the unique material already held by the Bodleian Libraries at Oxford University, and will be used to enhance our knowledge and understanding of the past.”

So true, and a beautiful jubilee gift from the monarch to those interested in her ancestor. Victoria was an excellent, lively writer. And what better way to know her than to listen to her voice? Various illustrations in Victoria’s hand are also available.

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Anne Boleyn

Though I don’t write Tudor fiction, I am fascinated by Anne Boleyn. This anniversary gives me an opportunity to return to Gareth Russell’s gripping recounting of the downfall of the young Queen at Confessions of A Ci-Devant.

“Archbishops had knelt before her, foreign rulers had showered her with gifts, evangelicals had celebrated her as God’s Chosen Nymph and for a moment, all too brief, the world had been hers. Then, with a gradient of catastrophe so unparalleled it still has the power to boggle the imagination, she was dragged from her throne and a one thousand-roomed palace, to be left here, kneeling, alone, in the sawdust, waiting for the sword to strike at a neck that had once inspired poetry and glittered with diamonds,” writes Gareth.

And speaking of Tudor fiction, I have begun reading Hilary Mantel’s Bring Up the Bodies, where Anne is, of course, a prominent though not very likable character.

I will publish a full review when I am done with it. Suffice to say that I have my reservations but find it quite an engaging read.

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Beau Sancy diamond

And sadly gone out of sight too. This week an anonymous bidder paid $9.7 million, several times the pre-auction estimate, for the historic stone, sold by Sotheby’s at its Magnificent Jewels and Noble Jewels auction in Geneva. Which means we will probably never see it again.

A few decades ago, the Louvre purchased its almost namesake, the Sancy. So I was hoping this would happen again. But no… The two diamonds are named after the same adventurer, Nicolas Harlay de Sancy. I did not find any evidence that both diamonds came from the same rough (but would welcome information to that effect.) They were both part of the French crown jewels, albeit at different dates and under different circumstances.

The Beau Sancy was purchased by King Henri IV as a gift for his second wife, Marie de Medicis. The Queen wore it as a finial to her crown during her coronation, as seen in this portrait by Frans Pourbus the Younger. An event that took place one day before the beloved King’s assassination. After Queen Marie’s drawn-out battle for power with her son, Louis XIII, her exile and dire financial difficulties, she sold the exceptional stone, which then passed successively to the Dutch, English and Prussian reigning families.

So indeed I would have loved for it to join its larger brother in the Galerie d’Apollon in the Louvre, or failing that, to be displayed for all to see in a museum.

Marie de Medicis, by Frans Pourbus the Younger

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The Virgin and Child with St Anne, by Leonardo Da Vinci

To celebrate Mother’s Day, a Leonardo, The Virgin and Child, with Saint Anne. So here we have two mothers: the Blessed Virgin, of course, and her own mother, Saint Anne. You may admire the masterpiece at Le Louvre. At Leonardo’s death, the painting (oil on wood) was purchased by his last and most devoted patron, King François I. It then left the royal collections at some point, but was later reacquired by Louis XIII. It has remained part of the French royal, then national collections, ever since.

The composition is triangular, with Saint Ann as the summit. To the left, the Virgin is leaning towards the Child, himself preoccupied by the lamb, symbolizing the passion of Easter. Leonardo, as often, chooses an unusual image: Mary is sitting in her own mother’s lap. What better way to describe the bond of maternal love uniting three generations?

Two further notes: Sigmund Freud devoted an essay to this painting, where he discerned an upside-down vulture, supposedly linked to a childhood memory of Leonardo (not one of Freud’s most convincing theories.) Also a recent restoration triggered a heated controversy.

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