Jen & Angel in Europe: London Day 12

10/23/2015

I went to the Wallace Collection today, which is quite possibly my favorite museum in all of Europe. I loved it and didn't want to leave! I loved it so much, I wanted to donate money. I went into the gift shop to look around, and found something I really liked so I guess I'm still supporting the cause. :)

The whole point of me going is the special exhibit on the armors of Agincourt, but I didn't even have time to see that before it was time to leave. So I'm going back tomorrow.

Portrait of George, Prince of Wales. A larger version of this painting also hangs in the National Portrait Gallery.

The Wallace Collection is housed in the Hertford House, which belonged to the Marquesses of Hertford. The mansion was built by the 1st Duke of Buckingham (incidentally, this is also the duke that built Buckingham Palace...because it was to be his palace. Buckingham set out to make the grandest estate in all of England for himself, and he succeeded so much, the king got pissed off. When Buckingham Palace was finally finished, the duke invited his pal, King George II or III, over to look at his new pad. The king said, "I really like this place." Preening, Buckingham said thanks, to which the king repeated, "No, I really like this place." As in, fork it over, Buster. So Buckingham had to give up the palace to placate the king. It wouldn't be until Queen Victoria's age that it began to be the official residence of the monarchy).

This colorful family was one of the wealthiest in England. The 3^rd Marquess of Hertford was best buddies with the Prince of Wales. His mother, the 2^nd Marchioness of Hertford, was reputed at one time to be the Prince of Wales’s mistress. The 1700s-early 1800s was a period of debauchery and the Marquess did not disappoint. Despite having such extreme wealth, the Hertfords never became politically active, preferring instead to indulge in excess. The 3^rd Marquess may have started the renowned art collection that we know today as the Wallace Collection, but during his time, he consorted with prostitutes and was reviled by some of his conservative contemporaries. He is said to be the model for the Marquess of Steyne in William Thackeray’s Vanity Fair. He married the illegitimate daughter of the 4^th Duke of Queensberry. This daughter not only had the duke’s affection, she also had her father-on-paper’s affection, so she inherited double the wealth, which was then promptly funneled into the Hertford coffers.

Their son, the 4^th Marquess, lived most of his life in Paris—he grew up in Paris and preferred it to London. From him, the Wallace Collection grew significantly. It was only later in his life that he moved back to London because the political situation in Paris grew unstable. He never married though did have an illegitimate son. He loved art so much, he preferred to spend his time poring over his art collection and acquiring more rather than procreate and "properly" continue the family lineage. Kind of sounds like Ludwig, doesn't it? Head in the clouds.

The 4^th Marquess was known as the Mad Marquess (there was inbreeding in this family, and his father died a bit mad). Since he lived in Paris, he had a solicitor tend to his affairs in England. Not only this, he would send letters to his solicitor telling him which paintings he wanted to buy when they came up for auction at Sotheby’s in London. He liked to possess things other people wanted. Baron de Rothschild wanted The Laughing Cavalier, the 4^th Marquess wanted The Laughing Cavalier. The curator for the National Gallery wanted Rubens’s Rainbow, the 4^th Marquess wanted the Rainbow. When The Laughing Cavalier came up for auction, nobody knew Frans Hals. He’d grown out of favor in place of Rembrandt and Van Dyck. But the bidding was fierce between the baron and the marquess and it went for 6 times the initial price! It was a fortune at the time (millions of pounds in today’s money), and set all the tongues a-tittering. The Marquess had deeper pockets, so obviously he prevailed. With the Rainbow, the National Gallery already had the other piece that Rubens painted which complements the Rainbow. So it made sense they wanted to reunite the pieces and complete the collection, keeping the paintings together. But nope, the marquess wanted it so he got it. He had it parceled up and sent to the Hertford House…and never even opened it! He never saw the painting in his lifetime! Talk about loaded.

When the 4th Marquess died, he left most of his un-entailed estates and possessions to his bastard, Sir Richard Wallace, while the entailed estates went to a distant cousin. The marquess never told Richard that he was his father and instead, employed Richard as an assistant. But a lot of people speculated that the Marquess was Richard's father during the time. It wasn't until the marquess had died and the will came out that Richard knew for certain who his father was--sounds like Daniel Deronda, no?

Richard Wallace added significantly to the collection, and it’s from his name that the current name of the collection is derived from. Sir Richard and his wife didn't have any children. Upon his widow's death, she bequeathed the entire estate to England, with the stipulation that no piece can ever be sold or borrowed.

The estate takes 5 million pounds to run per year, not including big renovations. Half comes from the National Heritage fund, the other half they have to raise themselves. Because nothing can be added or sold from the collection (and more importantly, nothing can be borrowed to other institutions), everything you see today is like a frozen time capsule of this family’s art collection.

There are free tours throughout the day which are superb. There's so much art here, but the tour guide will go through the highlights. Both tours I attended today were extremely good. Rupert was the first tour guide (he'd led the group into the room I was studying, so that's how I found out about it).

This collection has the largest collection of Sevres porcelain in the world:

Sevres

Partly because most of these pieces were commissioned by Catherine the Great. She ordered a set of 700 pieces and--I don't know how--many of them have found a home at the Wallace Collection. Sevres was and is the foremost French porcelain maker. Europe has long coveted Chinese porcelain, but couldn’t figure out how to do it. Sevres found a way to make soft porcelain but it was very fragile. So for Catherine the Great’s commission of 700 pieces, 7000 pieces were made. It took on average 10 times to make 1 piece. Louis XIV loved the porcelain so much, he bought the factory, moved it to Sevres and made it his royal factory.

There are Van Dycks, Rembrandt, Cannoletto, Velasquez. No Impressionist artists because the marquess lived in an age where Impressionist art was just emerging. Wealthy aristocrats hated Impressionism and thought it was too middle-class for their liking.

The Billiards Room used to be all tiled up with these gorgeous tiles so the copious amount of cigar smoke wouldn't damage the room (versus wood paneling, which would be damaged)

There's a pair of pistols that was owned by Louis XIV, the Sun King:

This bust is of Madame de Serilly. She was married to the Treasurer of the War Office during the French Revolution. She, her husband, and twenty others were accused of plotting to assist the King and as a result, they were all sentenced to death. They were all guillotined except her (she escaped by claiming she was pregnant):

This cabinet is the work of Boulle, who was a celebrated craftsman during Louis XIV's reign:

Louis XIV loved his work so much, he had Boulle installed at court and given the best materials to work with to create these lavish pieces.

Design on cabinet

Boulle's designs came about because Europeans really wanted Japanese woodwork pieces (like below):

Take a look at Boulle's versus the Japanese cabinet. You'll notice the woodwork is inlaid in the Japanese version, so the finish is completely smooth, but in Boulle's, the design is 3D and stands out if you were to run a finger over it. Europeans couldn't figure out how the Japanese were doing smooth inlay woodwork (much like Chinese porcelain), so they just made up their own version.

Louis XIV is sitting in this painting:

The two men standing are his son and grandson. The lady is Madame Ventadour and the child is Louis XIV's great-grandson. It's supposed to show Louis's hereditary might--he has three males over three generations in his family! But disaster struck as an illness swept over his court. Within a year, his son and grandson are dead, he's dying, and the toddler great-grandson is severely sick too. It was only Madame Ventadour's pluck that saved the dynasty from dying out completely. Doctors back in those days recommended the patient to be shut in a hot room so the fever can be burned out of the body--but for anyone who's sick, you'll know that fresh air is what's needed. Not being shut in a room with your own germs. That's just asking to get sick all over again. Madame Ventadour bucked the doctors' recommendations--and was heavily censored for it--but she won in the end, didn't she? She saved the kid and thus helped France avoid a succession crisis.

This chandelier was commissioned by Louis XIV for his daughter:

And this Boulle desk once sat in Louis XIV's bedchamber. The green marble you see now was once a red marble. It is said that as Louis XIV laid dying in his bed, he saw the light from the fire in the fireplace bounce off this desk (from the gilding and the red marble) and had a vision he was going to hell.

Remember Louis XIV's toddler great-grandson who survived? Since everyone had died off, he was just a wee babe when he ascended the throne. Louis XIV's nephew, Philippe, duc d'Orleans (a colorful figure in his own right) became regent for the boy king. Louis XIV's constant wars had drained the treasury coffers and the Crown was severely in debt. Philippe turned to John Law, a Scottish economist, to save the day. Law established the Bank of France, but his policies were iffy at best, as his basic policy was: Print money. Print money. Print money. That's a lovely recipe for boom and bust. So when the Bank of France went bust, everything had to be auctioned off, including their beautiful wrought-iron staircase. The Marquess of Hertford bought it, had it shipped over and re-installed in his house:

Instead of the cornucopia of fruit, it's a cornucopia of coins and bills!

These two paintings were commissioned by Madame Pompadour to give to her lover, Louis XIV, and is by her favorite artist, Boucher, the most famous painter in the French court at the time:

It depicts the rising of the sun on the right-hand side, and the setting of the sun on the left. On the right, Louis XIV is made up to be Apollo, giving light to the earth. On the left, it's Apollo (or Louis XIV) going back home after a long hard day at work, and who's waiting for him but Madame Pompadour. It's her way of telling Louis that she's always there for him, especially after a long day with his ministers, she'll be waiting for him at night *wink wink*.

A lot of the furniture here are from Marie-Antoinette and Madame Pompadour’s bedrooms because they went up for sale during the French Revolution. This bureau is from Marie-Antoinette's bedchamber:

Contrary to popular belief, the French Revolutionists did not pillage and burn everything; they were quite keen on keep everything in salable condition to raise money. They knew these pieces would fetch a pretty penny, so they had all the royal emblems and insignia stripped from the furniture, artwork, etc. before putting them up for auction. Wealthy people from all over Europe descended on the auction houses, bidding on these pieces. The Marquess was no different. Marie-Antoinette’s bureau: during her lifetime, the wood sourced would have been made into a beautiful parquet design in shades of pink, blue, green, and it would’ve matched the silk wallpaper in her bedroom. But over time, the wood changes colors so now it looks like just shades of brown.

Bill of Sale of French Revolutionary goods to be auctioned off

Canoletto's paintings of Venice:

He became very popular with English men on their Grand Tours, and he became such an "in" thing that everyone who went to Italy had to buy a Canoletto as a souvenir of their grand time abroad. He's popular even today--a painting of his went for $17.5 million at auction in 2005.

It's funny; on first pass of the museum, I noted the paintings I liked. I was pretty excited to see a painting here that I've seen in the past before (most probably online). Then, as I joined the tours, the guides would go from room to room introducing select paintings, and they point out the ones I like!

One of my favorites here happens to be the Wallace Collection's second-most famous painting: The Swing.

I'm sure you've seen this painting before. A woman is on the swing dressed in Marie-Antoinette-like garb while a man is pushing her to her right and another man is pointing at her from her left. At least, that's what modern day audience thinks. What really happened:

A wealthy French middle-class man asked a famous French painter to paint a scene of him watching his mistress on a swing that a bishop was pushing. The painter was offended and declined the commission because it's a bishop, for crying out loud! That's so immoral! The painter did suggest: go to Fraginaud. He's willing to paint anything. Fraginaud is a very astute painter who thinks like a businessman. There's pretty much nothing he'll turn down...for the right price. So he agrees to paint the man's vision, though along the way the bishop is turned into a cockolded husband. You can see this because the placement of the woman with respect to the men is a triangle. Get it?

The woman's shoe falls off high in the air, and this symbolizes lost of chastity. Her lover, the guy who wanted this painting done, is staring at her from underneath. His contemporaries would've gotten the joke: in those days, women didn't wear underwear. Which means he can see everything underneath her skirts. Everything. No wonder his expression is of rapt enjoyment. The background is cloudy, and while they look like they're having the time of their lives, it looks like a storm is coming their way. Though the French Revolution is still some few years off, one can take this into a historical context of the looming storm. Because while this style of painting of lascivious debauchery was popular during the Sun King's time, the poor are growing more discontent with the rich.

Across from The Swing is a painting of Madame Pompadour:

She commissioned this from Boucher (again). He was her favorite painter; he painted her at least 5-6 times. Though he was known to paint her to look younger than she actually was, which might explain why she liked him so much. This painting is also rife with symbolism. Behind her is the sculpture Friendship consoling Love. When this portrait was painted, Madame Pompadour was in her late 30s and no longer Louis XV's mistress, though they were good friends. This painting is to remind the king of her undying loyalty to him. She'll always be his friend. There's a dog next to her, the symbol of loyalty and fidelity. While the placement of her hand and fan looks like she's waving around her fan, she's actually pointing (not very subtly) to the dog, to drive the point home that she'll always be there for him. She was a very shrewd woman who took an active role in politics and it's said that she was the power behind the king. She did influence his decision on many matters.

My favorite painting happens to be the Wallace Collection's most famous painting: The Laughing Cavalier by Frans Hals. It is said that this is the male Mona Lisa because he has this enigmatic smile and he's looking directly at you. Seriously. I walked all around the painting and his eyes followed me everywhere! I love the gorgeous shading on this painting, and how vibrant, how human-like Hals painted him. It's almost as if he can walk out of the canvas, the flesh tones are so lifelike!

He is not laughing nor is he a cavalier, but for the longest time, scholars couldn't figure out who the subject in the painting was. It was up to much debate until someone narrowed it down to one man either last year or the year before. Frans Hals's career was almost all based in Harlem, which means the subject must be from Harlem. And it turns out another of Frans Hals's paintings surfaced with the name of the subject attached to the painting, and the guy looks very similar to The Laughing Cavalier. So now they think he was a rich textile merchant. This portrait was either painted as a betrothal present...but if it was, there should have been a portrait of his fiancee to accompany this one. Or the painting was commissioned so that he could send it out to prospective wives. Since photography had yet to be invented, portrait paintings were the only way to advertise yourself...think of it like eHarmony for back in the day. Scholars can tell that the painting has something to do with love because his doublet has many rich details symbolizing love. The rope of lovers symbolizing eternal love, the cornucopia, and there's even bees! Bees signify the agony of love. I just saw a painting at the National Gallery denoting bees and love, so I was excited to see more references on it!

It is said that the Marquesses of Hertford were n'er do wells that spent all their time on art. In the art circle, whatever the Mad Marquess (4th) wanted, he usually got. At auctions, he'd outbid everyone if it was a picture he really wanted.

Great Gallery

Another painting that went under fierce bidding at auction is Rubens's The Rainbow, this time the 4th Marquess was up against the National Gallery:

Rubens's The Rainbow

Rembrandt lived a very flamboyant lifestyle so he was constantly in debt:

Rembrandt's self-portrait

He painted his son, Titus, as a carefree young boy. Two years later, the painting now in the Wallace Collection, shows Titus very much grown up with the weight of the world on his shoulder. Titus and his mother had to go out and sell off all their possessions to cover the debts. Rembrandt paints his son wearing expensive clothes, to show off they are in a higher social stratosphere:

Titus

Mrs. Robinson was a famous actress who the Prince of Wales pursued:

She didn’t want to be his mistress, however, because it meant she’d have to give up her career on stage, and she very much loved the stage. Married to a Mr. Robinson, the man got himself thrown in debtor’s prison. She had a young daughter to take care of, so she took to the stage and made her name there.

It took 6-7 months for the Prince of Wales to succeed in wooing her, and they had a contract drawn up that for her services, he’d give her a million pounds in today’s money (he never gave it to her and she died penniless).

The 3 paintings of her on display were not commissioned by her:

But she was so famous for her beauty, artists wanted to paint her. Reynolds was the foremost portraitist and he could charge double the price of his contemporaries. But he wanted to paint her so badly, he didn't charge her for what would usually be a very expensive afternoon of his time. She sat for him, though she didn’t get to keep the painting.

You can see her in various phases of her life. The middle one is her at the peak of her fame, the painting the Prince of Wales commissioned. She’s holding a trinket he gave her, though no one knows where the pendant is now.

The right one by Reynolds is toward the end of her life and shows her melancholy. When she fell out of favor with the Prince of Wales, she became embroiled with a famous colonel from America (he fought in the revolutionary war). He’s actually British who went over to America to fight, and came back a hero. Though he got heavily in debt so he had to flee England lest he get thrown in debtor’s prison. Mrs. Robinson (pregnant with his baby), rode on an open carriage in pursuit of him with her money so she could pay off his debts. But the carriage drove into a ditch, she was thrown off it, and became half-paralyzed on one side of her body as a result and lost the baby.

I love this room!

...and this one:

And this one!

Let's just say I love the whole damn house!

There's a gorgeous display of snuff boxes:

In the Flemish/Danish rooms, there's a painting that was rather insignificant in bygone years until recent restoration brought things back to life. This painter was known as being something of a satirist, though no one saw why this particular painting was funny until the restoration work. X-ray imaging helped restore the natural colors of the painting, and brought some new details to the foreground that had been obscured by accumulated dirt, etc.

The painting depicts the birth of a child. The mother is inconsequential, in the background and in bed on the left. The proud father is holding the babe in his arms in the middle of the painting:

- The eggshells represent a broken home.

- All eyes are on the father...or so they thought. Now we know all eyes are on the guy behind the father:

...who is holding two fingers over the baby's head. We think of those as bunny ears, but in those days, anyone who saw the painting would laugh out loud. It's horns. As in, cockold. The baby's not the father's...indeed, the guy holding up his fingers might be the real biological father. So all the people in the room attending the joyful celebration know that this husband has been cheated on.

Baker Street is just a block away from the Wallace Collection: