A Child’s Portrait in Different Views: Angel’s Heads

Sir Joshua Reynolds RA FRS FRSA (Plympton, Devon, England, 16th July 1723 – London, England, 23rd February 1792)

Regular visitors here will know that I hold something of a soft spot for Joshua Reynolds, the legendary portrait artist of the long 18th century. We have seen him here at the Guide on more than one occasion and it is a pleasure to feature him again,with a closer look at A Child’s Portrait in Different Views: Angel’s Heads, painted between 1786–7.

The unusual painting depicts five studies of the head of Lady Frances Isabella Keir Gordon, five year old daughter of Frances Ingram and her husband, Lord William Gordon. The work was begun in summer 1786 and that fifth study was added to the painting in March of the following year. The canvas was displayed at the Royal Academy and Reynolds took as his inspiration a drawing of cherubs' heads by Carlo Maratta.

The portrait is clearly very different to those works with which Reynolds has become better associated, a far from formal or traditional work. Instead, he has painted the same child five times and each of the heads shows a different expression, from wonder to concern to happiness. In only one part of the canvas does she look directly out of the painting, her attention briefly caught and held by the world beyond the frame.

It is a painting commissioned by parents who clearly adored their child and wanted to remember her in those early years as she grew into a woman. In fact, this picture would far outlast the little girl and when she died in 1831, her bereaved mother passed the work to the National Gallery.

The cherubic style and the unusual execution of the work is is not, in all honesty, one to which I am particularly attached. However, it is a work that I have never forgotten in the years since I first saw it and for that reason I present it to you today - after all, one can never have too much Reynolds!

The Scandalous Buttocks of La Frileuse

Jean-Antoine Houdon (Versailles, France, 25th March 1741 – Paris, France, 15th July 1828)

Today marks the anniversary of the death of Jean-Antoine Houdon. A sculptor of no small note, Houdon enjoyed enormous success both before and after the French Revolution, though he fell from favour during those turbulent intervening years. A graduate of the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture, Houdon became known for his busts of famed figures including monarchs, philosophers and even American Presidents!

Despite his fashionable popularity and renown, Houdon scandalised polite society in 1783 when he unveiled his work entitled, La Frileuse, or, Winter. The figure depicts a young, naked woman, draped only in a shawl that does little to cover her, posing before a classical urn and supported against the trunk of a tree. 

Initially worked out in terracotta and then carved in marble, in 1785, Houdon submitted the work to the Académie for its salon and found it rejected though there was a grudging suggestion that it might be placed in a corner somewhere, hopefully to hide the young lady's buttocks! It is certainly a unique depiction of the season even today and no less eye-catching, though perhaps we have grown a little more difficult to scandalise.

In 1787 Houdon returned to the subject and cast a bronze version of the work for the duc d'Orleans, this time removing the tree trunk and urn and leaving her even more starkly exposed. Houdon made several copies of the silvering, vulnerable figure, as did a number of other sculptors, much to his annoyance. However, the original, scandalous inspiration definitely belonged to Jean-Antoine Houdon.

A Salon Guest... Foreswearing your faith

Today it is my absolute pleasure to welcome the estimable Anna Belfrage to the salon; she discusses a matter of faith and shares an extract from her wonderful new book!

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Foreswearing your faith – an everyday occurrence for a 17^th century English Catholic

When Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to that church door in Wittenberg, he had no idea what he was unleashing on the world. Or maybe he had, hoping that his actions would cause an incendiary debate and reform in all things religious. Well, he succeeded in creating debate, all right, and when he died close to thirty years later, he was still under excommunication by the pope. By then, Martin Luther no longer recognised the pope’s authority – and neither did a growing number of people throughout Europe.

At a distance of five hundred years, we can’t comprehend just how cataclysmic the Reformation was. Over a couple of decades, God-given truths were turned upside down, one of the more controversial aspects being that the true believer had no need of priests in his communication with God. It sufficed to study the Bible and meditate on God’s truth as expressed in the Holy Book.

Where before the Bible was printed in Latin, now it was being translated into vernacular, making God’s word available to anyone who could read. Literacy exploded in Protestant regions, and these newly literate soon discovered other reading matter than the Bible, thereby starting an educational process that would culminate in our present day democratic society.

The Holy Roman Church responded forcefully to this new threat to its hegemony (and finances). Heretics were persecuted, arrested, tortured and burnt at the stake – nothing new, really.

As the Protestant factions grew stronger, they resorted to their own persecution, torture and execution – but of Catholics. A sort of tit for tat, one could say. In general, the assumption was that all Catholics were loyal to the pope, not to their king or queen. That, I would think, was in general a correct assumption. For people who still believed in the afterlife and for whom heaven and hell were realities rather than metaphors, protecting their eternal souls came first. But from there to assume all Catholics were nefarious traitors – well, it’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it?

In England, the authorities were taking no chances. James I introduced legislation aimed at Catholics who aspired to public office whereby any higher official should regularly receive communion as per the Church of England rites – anathema to a Catholic – but initially no one seems to have bothered with upholding it. In fact, James had several capable Catholic men in positions of trust. Things became somewhat trickier as per the reinforced Corporation Act of 1661, making it mandatory to partake of the sacraments as per the Church of England. However, not all Catholics were subject to the law – Catholic peers were generally exempt.    

In 1673, Parliament in its wisdom passed the Test Act. It no longer sufficed to receive the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper as per Anglican rites, now anyone aspiring to serve as officers of the court, parliament or the military, also had to reject the concept of transubstantiation (a central tenet in the Catholic faith). Further to this, any person aspiring to public office had to take an Oath of Supremacy and Allegiance, in effect placing their loyalty to the king of England before that to, for example, the pope.

Clearly all these measures were not enough. In 1678, Titus Oates revealed the so called Popish Plot to the shocked authorities, describing detailed plans to rid England of its present monarch. There was no Popish Plot – Titus was a narrow-minded worm of a man who saw his chance to fame and grabbed it, titillating his audience with one invented detail after the other. His ridiculous construction of lies could (and should) have been exposed immediately by the members of Parliament, but certain members were utterly thrilled by this development as it gave them an opportunity to further tighten up the Anti-Catholic legislation.

The reinforced Test Act required all peers and members of Parliament to declare against transubstantiation, the existence of saints and the sacraments of Mass, thereby effectively ousting all Catholics from Parliament. The Catholic lords fought back as well as they could and succeeded in delaying the act plus managed to weaken it substantially by sneaking in an exception for the Duke of York – the most Catholic heir to the English throne.

A consequence of all this legislation and badmouthing was to make life very difficult for Catholics in general. When Edmund Godfrey, a Protestant magistrate, was found dead, the anti-papists went wild. London seethed with anger, Catholics were beaten and hounded, and people were warned to be on their guard: there were evil Jesuits everywhere, there were nasty recusants hiding throughout the country, horrible Catholic people that wanted to overthrow the Anglican Church and reinstate the hegemony of the Pope in England. What can I say? A crowd gone wild is a hotbed of fevered imaginations – even more so when people in authority foment the flames of lunacy. 

England’s anti-Catholic legislation was to remain in place until 1829, when it was repealed by George IV. By then, the Test Act had long since played out its role, but for a number of decades in the 17^th century, Catholics did best in keeping a very low profile. Very low. Especially if you were a Catholic priest.

Religion plays an important part in my series The Graham Saga. My male protagonist, Matthew Graham, is a devout Presbyterian, a veteran of the Commonwealth armies and a man who, initially at least, tends to see the world as black or white. Which is why I gifted him with Alex Lind, an opinionated modern woman who had the misfortune (or not)  of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, thereby being dragged three centuries back in time to land concussed and badly singed at an astounded Matthew’s feet.

In Revenge and Retribution, the recently released sixth instalment of The Graham Saga, Matthew and Alex welcome an injured Catholic priest into their home. For Matthew, this is not an entirely easy thing to do, more than aware of the spiritual deficiency that characterises a papist. Alex doesn’t agree: to her the differences between a Catholic and a Protestant are very minor – probably reflecting the fact that she is a modern day woman. In the excerpt below, the Graham household has been augmented with yet another person, a Presbyterian minister, making things rather interesting.

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Conversation became somewhat livelier with two men of God in the house – maybe a bit too lively, Alex sighed, when Father Muñoz and Minister Allerton settled down for yet another intense religious debate, the minister seconded by Daniel, the priest fighting his corner alone.

Father Muñoz sat up straighter and looked at Minister Allerton.

“No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not. God allows our actions to speak for us.”

“Of course,” Minister Allerton said, “if we belong to the chosen few.” He gave the young priest a challenging look.

“Hmph!” Father Muñoz drank deeply from his mug of beer. “God is not that fickle. We live on this earth a short while, and it’s in many ways a testing ground for eternal life that comes later. God is merciful and forgives us our trespasses on behalf of His Son. He sees us labour and strive to be good, and He is pleased. He sees us fall into a life of evil, and He decides if the stay in purgatory will be long and painful or if we go to hell directly. But it’s the quality of our sins and the genuineness of our repentance that ultimately decide our eternal fate.”

Too right, Alex agreed, even if she sincerely hoped God was somewhat selective when it came to deathbed repentance. If not, heaven would be chock-full of some rather nasty types.

“Purgatory!” Minister Allerton waved dismissively. “Nowhere in the scriptures is that mentioned. It’s nothing but a figment of imagination that allows the dying sinners to hope they may still be saved.”

“Not to me,” Father Muñoz said, looking quite mulish. “To me, God is more prone to forgive than damn, and as such He has created one last opportunity for the lost soul to gain entry to heaven.”

The argument went on and on, the churchmen plunging deeper and deeper into the scriptures and the history of the Christian Church.

“Why be good?” Father Muñoz argued. “Why should we strive to lead exemplary lives if God has already preordained who goes to Heaven?”

“Why be good?” Minister Allerton replied mockingly. “Why strive to lead exemplary lives if all you have to do is beg forgiveness for your sins before you die?”

Most of the adults around the table nodded in agreement.

“Lewd and sinful,” Mrs Parson muttered to Alex. “All papists are, more or less. And then, on their deathbed, they recant. Not that it helps the misguided souls, bound for hell as they are. Pity on the wee priest who seems a good enough man – just like his father.”

“Hmm,” Alex said as neutrally as she could, and then brought the whole discussion to a halt by plonking down the pudding dish in the middle of the table.

Anna Belfrage

All of Anna’s books are available on Amazon US and Amazon UK

For more information about Anna Belfrage and her books, visit her website!

For a somewhat more visual presentation of The Graham Saga, why not watch the book trailer?

Written content of this post copyright © Anna Belfrage, 2014.

The Light of Life

Today the salon rings with the sound of cheer, as we celebrate another birthday for my rakish colonial gentlemen with good food, company and gifts. At some point in the not too distant future the colonial gent will hopefully be joining me here at the Guide for an occasional foray into cinematic depictions of the long 18th century but for now, I present a little something on an 18th century birthday tradition.

A few years ago I spent a lovely holiday in Germany, a country that I fell for almost instantly. One day I shall return to that lovely land, steeped in rich history and all manner of wonderful traditions. It is from Germany that we first derive the use of candles on birthday cakes, where they were in use during the 18th century as part of Kinderfest, a celebration held to mark the birthdays of children.

Unlike today, when each birthday is celebrated individually, all children who shared a birthday and their families gathered for one communal celebration in a local public space. Though no gifts were exchanged except in the most extraordinary circumstances, warm wishes, prayers and blessings were brought by all who attended. 

Candles were used to adorn the cakes at these parties, with a candle around the outside of the cake for each year of the person's age and one in the middle too, intended to represent the light of the life. Written evidence for this tradition exists from the middle of the 18th century and though our German ancestors didn't blow out the candles, they certainly embraced the warmth and love with which we celebrate birthdays today.