George P.A. Healy: A Start

"Sanford Robinson Gifford" by George Healy

"In the autumn of 1831 I ventured to hire a painting room, or what could pass for such, in  Federal Street, Boston. I was then eighteen, and very determined to make my way in the world. I was the happy possessor of an easel, paintbrushes and canvases, and I nailed outside my door a board with my name and profession printed in very big letters. 

All I needed to make me perfectly happy was a sitter. Unfortunately the big sin failed to attract one, adn though I painted my own portrait with a student's cap jauntily perched on one side and my beardless face treated as spiritedly as possible, I was not much richer when rent day came around than if I had remained idly twirling my thembs. Having no money to give Mr. Tucker, I went frankly to him and told him about my trouble. I felt sure that some day I should have sitters, but unluckily that day had not come. Mr. Tucker smiled and said kindly: 'You shall at least have a fair chance; paint me a portrait of my son Charles, and one of my son-in-law John H. Gray. Who knows? This first commission may bring others in its wake. Till then, don't let the rent trouble you!' 

I do not know whether I was more fortunate than other beginners, but I seemed always, when things were turning against me, to find some kind hand stretched out to help me. These two portraits are the first I ever exhibited, and they attracted some attention."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Reminiscences of a Portrait Painter" by G.P.A. Healy.) 

George P.A. Healy: Thomas Sully

"The Torn Hat" by Thomas Sully

George Healy wrote: "The first serious encouragement which I received came to me from Thomas Sully, who, when I was about eighteen, was called to Boston to paint a portrait of Colonel Perkins for the Athenaeum. Miss Jane Stuart, daughter of the great painter, spoke to him of 'little Healy's' attempts, and he sent word to me that if I would make a sketch from Nature and a copy of one of Stuart's heads, he would be glad to give me some advice. When I showed him what I had done, he looked at the canvases and exclaimed heartily: 'My young friend, I advise you to make painting your profession!'

Seven years later, Sully was in London to paint a portrait of the Queen. I was also there, engaged on the portrait of the celebrated naturalist, Audubon. I showed him my work as I had shown him my sketches, and after looking a long time in silence at the portrait, he said, with the courtly politeness for which he was noted: 'Mr. Healy, you have no reason to regret having followed the advice I gave you some years ago.'

It is a pleasure to me to pay my debt of gratitude to this good painter, who was also so kindly a man and so thorough a gentleman. His portraits of women were peculiarly sweet and delicate, and in his day he was very popular. But an artist's reputation is a thing of fashion, of caprice also. Sully lived to be an old man. Younger artists with different ideas and aspirations had sprung up by his side. Little by little the popular painter grew to be less admired. His studio was nearly deserted. He was not a rich man, having through bad investments, I believe, lost a part of his earnings.

Every time I went to Philadelphia I never failed to visit my old friend, and each time I found the same courteous and gentle-mannered man who first encouraged me; never complaining, glad that I had succeeded in life, as free from envy as though his own popularity had not waned - a living proof that if some artists in the struggle to the front forget at times not only charity but even simple courtesy. Others remain gentlemen even in the distress neglect brings with it. The noble and simple old man preached a lesson by his very silence and dignity, which I have endeavored never to forget."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Reminiscences of a Portrait Painter" by G.P.A. Healy.)

George P.A. Healy: First Artistic Efforts

"Jeanette Ovington" by George Healy

George Healy wrote: "Nothing seemed to predestine the Boston boy to an artistic career. He was soon old enough to realize that his mother had difficulty in making ends meet. His one aim was to fine some means of helping her. He despised no job that came in his way, from holding a gentleman's horse to the sweeping of snow off door steps. Meanwhile he attended the public school. His only artistic achievement was the drawing of maps, in which he surpassed all the other pupils. 

The revelation of his talent came in quite an unexpected way. He was spending the afternoon, a rainy one, with some friends who were amusing themselves with coloring prints. One of the little girls said: 'You could not do as much, could you, George?' "I cannot know until I have tried.' So he took up a brush and went to work. The others accused him of having already painted, but he had not. Only then and there he determined that paint he would, in the future.

In those far-off days there were no art schools in America, no drawing classes, no collections of fine plaster casts and very few pictures on exhibition. But the boy never wavered. He drew everything he saw. When he had no money to buy paper and pencils, he drew with charcoal on walls, on the floor, everywhere. But he drew perpetually. 

Then with the presumption of youth he induced a friendly bookseller to exhibit a copy he had made from a print of Guido Reni's 'Ecce Homo.' It so happened that a Catholic priest passed that way and inquired whether it was for sale. 'But,' said the priest, 'I am poor. I could only offer ten dollars for it.' Ten dollars - a fortune! Many years afterwards an old man, wearing a Roman collar, stopped him and asked, 'Are you Mr. Healy, the artist?' "I am.' 'Then, Mr. Healy, I think I must have been the first, or one of the first, of your patrons. Do you remember an 'Ecce Homo' you exhibited in Boston when you were a mere boy? That picture still hangs in my village church.' This chance meeting was a great joy to the artist."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Life of George P.A. Healy" by Marie Healy Bigot.)

George P.A. Healy: Roots

"George Peter Alexander Healy" by the artist

American portrait artist George Peter Alexander Healy (1813-1894) wrote:

"It would be a good thing, perhaps, if every man who had lived many years, who had been thrown in contact with interesting people, and had seen many phases of public and private life, would tell his story as simply as possible, and especially the story of his youth. The story of a life made up of struggles of hopes and fears, of defeats and victories, may be of some use in so far as it teaches a lesson of hope and courage.

My grandfather was an Irishman who was ruined by the rebellion of 1798. Being poor, naturally, he had a large family. All he could do for his sons was to give fifty pounds to each of them, to wish them well, and to bid them henceforth provide for their own wants. My father went to London, and was lucky enough to become a midshipman in the East India Company's navy. When his captain died, he went over to Boston, and was appointed captain of a merchant vessel, putting into the venture all his small earnings, and becoming before long a thorough American.

I was the eldest of five children and was born in Boston, July 15, 1813. In those early days there was but little encouragement to artistic vocations and certainly I should have been much surprised had anyone predicted my future career. However, one of my early remembrances is of having caught a glimpse of our great painter [Gilbert] Stuart. He had painted a portrait of my father before his marriage, so that the name was familiar to me. One day, as I was playing at marbles with some other boys of my age, one of them exclaimed: 'There goes old Stuart!' I looked up, but all I saw of 'old Stuart' was his back."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Reminiscences of a Portrait Painter" by George Peter Alexander Healy.)

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: The Final Chapter

"Self-Portrait with her Daughter, Julie, 1786"
by Elisabeth-Louise Vigee Lebrun

 

Accomplished French artist Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun finishes her autobiography with these final words:

"I must now speak of the sad years of my life during which, in a brief space, I saw the beings dearest to me depart this world. First, I lost M. Lebrun. True that for a long time I had entertained no relations whatever with him, yet I was none the less mournfully affected by his death. You cannot without regret be separated forever from one to whom so close a tie as marriage has bound you. 

This blow, however, was far less than the cruel grief I experienced at the death of my daughter. I hastened to her as soon as I heard of her illness, but the disease progressed rapidly, and I cannot tell what I felt when all hope of saving her was gone. When, going to see her the last day, my eyes fell upon that dreadfully sunken face, I fainted away. My old friend Mme. de Noisville rescued me from that bed of sorrow; she supported me, for my legs would not carry me, and took me home. The next day I was childless! Mme. de Verdun came with the news, and vainly tried to soften my despair. All the wrong-doing of the poor little one vanished – I saw her again, I still see her, in the days of her childhood. Alas! she was so young! Why did she not survive me?

It was in 1819 that I was bereft of my daughter, and in 1820 I lost my brother. So many successive shocks plunged me into such deep dejection that my friends, grieving for my state, urged me to try the distraction of a journey. I therefore decided to visit Bordeaux. I did not know that town, and hence the anticipation changed the current of my thoughts. Nor was I disappointed. My health benefited by the journey, and I returned to Paris less dark in spirit.

From that day to this I have travelled no more. After my return from Bordeaux I resumed my daily habits and my work, which of all distractions I have always found the best. Although having had the misfortune to lose so many dear ones, I did not remain forsaken. I have mentioned Mme. de Rivière, my niece, who, through her affection and her ministrations, is the blessing of my life. I must also speak of my other niece, Eugenia Lebrun, now Mme. Tripier Le Franc. Her studies at first prevented me from seeing her as often as I should have liked to, for since her earliest youth her disposition, her mental qualities, and her great gift for painting had promised to be a joy to me. I took pleasure in guiding her, in lavishing my counsels upon her, and in watching her progress. I am well rewarded to-day, when she has realised all my hopes by her lovely character and her very remarkable talent for painting. She has followed the same course as myself in the adoption of portrait painting, and is earning success merited by fine colouring, by great sincerity, and, particularly, by perfect resemblance. Still young, she can but add to a reputation which in her diffidence and modesty she has scarcely ventured to foresee. Mme. Tripier Le Franc and Mme. de Rivière have become my daughters. They bring back all of a mother's feelings to me, and their tender devotion spreads a beautiful charm over my existence. It is among these two dear creatures and the friends who have been spared me that I hope to end peacefully a wandering and even a laborious but honest life."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Persevering

"Marquise de Puysegur" by Vigee-Lebrun

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun continues the story of her stay in France after enduring much unrest in its governance: 

"As soon as the peace of my country seemed assured, I abandoned all thoughts of leaving it again, and divided my time between Paris and the country. I spent eight months of the year in my pretty house at Louveciennes, and in those surroundings my life flowed as smoothly as possible. I painted, I busied myself about my garden, I took long, solitary walks, and on Sundays I received my friends. So fond was I of Louveciennes that, wishing to bequeath the place something to remember me by, I painted a picture of Saint Genoveva for the church. Mme. de Genlis was good enough to dedicate a poem to me in acknowledgment. 

If I gave away pictures, some were given me, and that in the heartiest manner. I had frequently expressed a desire that my friends should commemorate themselves on the panels of my drawing-room at Louveciennes. One fine summer's morning, at four o'clock, while I was asleep, the Prince de Crespy, the Baron de Feisthamel, M. de Rivière and my niece, Eugenia Lebrun, set silently to work. By ten o'clock each frame was filled. My surprise may be imagined when, upon coming down to breakfast, I entered the room and found it adorned with these delightful paintings as well as with garlands of flowers. It was my birthday. Tears came into my eyes – the only thanks I was able to offer.

In 1819 His Highness the Duke de Berri signified his wish to buy my "Sibyl," which he had seen in my studio at London, and although I perhaps prized this most of all my works, I speedily complied with his request. Some years later I painted Her Highness the Duchess de Berri, who gave me sittings at the Tuileries with the politest punctuality, and besides showed me a friendliness than which none could have been greater. I shall never forget how, while I was painting her one day, she said, "Wait a moment." Then, getting up, she went to her library for a book containing an article in my praise, which she was obliging enough to read aloud from beginning to end.

While the Duchess sat for me I would become irritated at the number of people who came to make calls. She took note of this and was so considerate as to say, "Why did you not ask me to pose at your house?" Which she did for the two final sittings. I confess that I never could think of such affecting warmth of heart without comparing the time I devoted to this genial Princess with the melancholy hours Mme. Murat had made me spend. I painted two portraits of the Duchess de Berri. In the first she is wearing a red velvet dress, and in the other one of blue velvet. I have no idea what has become of these pictures."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.")

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Back to France

"Caroline Murat, later Queen of Naples
and Her Daughter" by Vigee-Lebrun

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun wrote: "I had come to England with the intention of remaining but five or six months, I had now stayed nearly three years, held, not solely by my interests as a painter, but also by the kind treatment bestowed upon me. I should, therefore, not have decided to return to France so soon had I not learned that my daughter had arrived at Paris. I keenly longed to see her again. It surely needed a deep motive to resist the appeals which friends and even acquaintances were kind enough to make.

It was a great joy to me to see my friends once more, and especially my daughter. Her husband, whom she had accompanied to France, was charged by Prince Narischkin with the mission of engaging musical artists for St. Petersburg. He left a few months later, but alone – for love, alas! had long since vanished – and my daughter remained, to my great satisfaction. Her power over my mind was great, and I had none over hers, and it will be understood how she sometimes made me shed bitter tears. Still, she was my daughter. Her beauty, her gifts, her cleverness rendered her as fascinating as possible, and, though I mourned because I could not persuade her to come to live with me, since she persisted in seeing certain people I would not receive, I at any rate saw her every day, and that in itself was a great blessing. 

One day Napoleon gave me an order to paint his sister, Mme. Murat. I thought I could not refuse, although I was only to be paid 1,800 francs – that is to say, less than half of what I usually asked for portraits of the same size. This sum was the more moderate, too, because, for the sake of satisfying myself as to the composition of the picture, I painted Mme. Murat's pretty little girl beside her, and that without raising the price.

I could not conceivably describe all the annoyances, all the torments I underwent in painting this picture. To begin with, at the first sitting, Mme. Murat brought two lady's maids, who were to do her hair while I was painting her. However, upon my remark that I could not under such circumstances do justice to her features, she vouchsafed to send her servants away. Then she perpetually failed to keep the appointments she made with me, so that, in my desire to finish, I was kept in Paris nearly the whole summer, as a rule waiting for her in vain, which angered me unspeakably. Moreover, the intervals between the sittings were so long that she sometimes changed her mode of doing her hair. In the beginning, for instance, she wore curls hanging over her cheeks, and I painted them accordingly; but some time after, this having gone out of fashion, she came back with her hair dressed in a totally different manner, so that I was forced to scrape off the hair I had painted on the face, and was likewise compelled to blot out a brow-band of pearls and put cameos in its place. 

The same thing happened with her dress. One I had painted at first was cut rather open, as dresses were then so worn, and furnished with wide embroidering. The fashion having changed, I was obliged to close in the dress and do the embroidering anew. All the annoyances that Mme. Murat subjected me to at last put me so much out of temper that one day, when she was in my studio, I said to M. Denon, loudly enough for her to hear, 'I have painted real princesses who never worried me, and never made me wait.' The fact is, Mme. Murat was unaware that punctuality is the politeness of kings, as Louis XIV so well said."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Portrait of the Prince of Wales

"Stanislaw August Poniatowski,
Former King of Poland" by Vigee-Lebrun

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun recounts her interaction with the Prince of Wales and the hostile reaction of some English artists. 

"Not long after my arrival in London, the Treaty of Amiens was abrogated, and all French who had not lived in England over a year were compelled to leave the country at once. The Prince of Wales, to whom I was presented, assured me that I was not to be included in this edict, that he would oppose my expulsion, and that he would immediately ask his father, the King, for a permit allowing me to remain. The permit, stating all necessary particulars, was granted me. It mentioned that I was at liberty to travel anywhere within the kingdom, that I might sojourn wherever I pleased, and also that I must be protected in the seaport towns I might elect to stop at – a favour which old French residents of England had great difficulty in securing at this juncture. The Prince of Wales went to the limit of politeness by bringing the document to me in person.

The Prince of Wales might then have been about forty, but he looked older, which was to be accounted for by his stoutness. Tall and well-built, he had a handsome face; his features were all regular and distinguished. He wore a wig very artistically disposed, the hair parted on the forehead like the Apollo di Belvedere's, and this suited him to perfection. He was proficient in all the bodily exercises, and spoke French very well and with the greatest fluency. He was elaborately elegant – magnificently so, to the extent of prodigality. At one time he was reputed to have debts to the amount of £300,000 – which were finally paid by his father and Parliament. As he was one of the handsomest men in the United Kingdom, he was the idol of the women.

It was but a little while before my departure that I did his portrait. I painted him at almost full length, in uniform. Several English painters became enraged against me on hearing that I had begun this picture and that the Prince allowed me all the time I asked to finish it, for they had long and vainly been waiting for the same concession. I was aware that the Queen-mother said her son was making love to me, and that he often came to lunch at my house. Never did the Prince of Wales enter my door in the forenoon except for his sittings.

As soon as his likeness was done the Prince gave it to Mme. Fitzherbert. She had it put in a rolling frame, like a large bedroom mirror, so as to move it into any of her rooms – something which I thought highly ingenious."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: London

"Portrait of the Baroness of Crussol"
by Vigee-Lebrun

French artist Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun wrote of her decision to visit London:

"Among all the amusements that residence in Paris afforded me, I was none the less pursued by innumerable black thoughts, which assailed me even in the midst of pleasures. To put an end to such a painful state of mind, I determined to take a journey to London. I had never seen that city, and accordingly, I resolved to go there.

I started for London on the 15th of April, 1802. I knew not a word of English. Luckily I had brought along with me a charming person to whom ill-fortune made the home she had found under my roof very precious. This was my faithful Adelaide, who lived with me on the footing of a friend, and whose attentions and counsels have always been most valuable to me. 

Vast and handsome though London may be, that city affords less food for the artist's interest than Paris or the Italian towns. Not that you do not find a great number of rare works of art in England. But most of them are owned by wealthy private persons, whose country houses and provincial seats they adorn. At the period I mention, London had no picture gallery, that now existing being the result of legacies and gifts to the nation made within a few years. 

In default of pictures, I went to look at the public edifices. I returned several times to Westminster Abbey, where the tombs of the kings and queens are superb. As they belong to different ages they offer great attractions to artists and fanciers. I spent much time in that part of the church devoted to the sepulchre of the great poets, Milton, Pope, and Chatterton.

At London I saw many pictures by the renowned Reynolds; their colouring is excellent, resembling that of Titian, but they are mostly unfinished, except as to the head. I, however, admired a "Child Samuel" by him, whose completeness and colouring both pleased me. Reynolds was as modest as he was talented. When my portrait of M. de Calonne arrived at the London customhouse, Reynolds, who had been apprised of the fact, went to look at it. When the box was opened he stood absorbed in the picture for a long space and praised it warmly. Thereupon some nincompoop ejaculated, "That must be a fine portrait; Mme. Lebrun was paid eighty thousand francs for it!" "I am sure," replied Reynolds, " I could not do it as well for a hundred thousand."

The London climate was the despair of this artist because of the difficulty it offers to drying pictures, and he had invented, I heard, a way of mixing wax with his colours, which made them dull. In truth, the dampness in London was such that, to dry the pictures I painted there, I had a fire constantly burning in my studio until the moment I went to bed. I would set my pictures at a certain distance from the fireplace, and often would leave a rout to go and ascertain whether they wanted moving nearer the grate or farther away. This slavery was unavoidable and unendurable."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Back in Paris

"Woman's Head" by Vigee-Lebrun

After a twelve year exile, Elisabeth-Louise Vigee Lebrun alights from her carriage in Paris and writes:

"On my arrival in Paris at our house in the Rue Gros Chenet, M. Lebrun, my brother, my sister-in-law, and her daughter were awaiting me when I alighted from my carriage; they were all weeping for joy, and I, too, was deeply moved. I found the staircase lined with flowers, and my apartment in complete readiness. The hangings and curtains of my bedroom were in green cloth, the curtains edged with yellow watered silk. M. Lebrun had had a crown of gilt stars put over the bedstead, the furniture was all convenient and in good taste, and I felt altogether comfortably installed. Although M. Lebrun made me pay dearly enough for all this, I nevertheless appreciated the pains he had taken to make my place of abode agreeable.

The first artist I went to see was M. Vien, who had formerly been created first painter to the King, and whom Bonaparte had recently nominated Senator. He was then eighty-two years old. M. Vien may be regarded as heading the restoration of the French school. After this visit I went to M. Gérard's, already famous for his pictures, "Belisarius" and "Psyche." He had just finished a fine portrait of Mme. Bonaparte reclining on a sofa, which was to add yet more to his reputation in this style of painting.

My first visitor, next day, was Greuze, whom I found unchanged. I was grateful for his attention, and very glad to see him again. After Greuze came my good friend, Mme. de Bonneuil, as pretty as ever; the dear creature was preserved in a truly wonderful manner. She told me that her daughter, Mme. Regnault de Saint-Jean-d'Angély, was to give a ball the following night, and that I must come unfailingly. I answered that I had no ball dress, and then showed her that famous piece of Indian stuff given me by Mme. Du Barry, which had gone through such great adventures since being in my possession. Mme. de Bonneuil declared it admirable, and sent it to Mme. Germain, the celebrated dressmaker, who immediately made me a fashionable gown, which she brought me that very evening. So I went to Mme. Regnault de Saint-Jean-d'Angély's ball.

 I was taken to see a great review by the First Consul in the square of the Louvre. I stood at a window in the museum, and recollect that I refused to acknowledge the tiny man I saw to be Bonaparte; the Duke de Crillon, who was beside me, had all the difficulty in the world to convince me. Here, as in the case of Catherine II., I had depicted such a famous man in the shape of a giant. Not long after my arrival Bonaparte's brothers came to view my works; they were very civil toward me, and said the most flattering things. Lucien, especially, inspected my "Sibyl" quite minutely, and proffered me a thousand praises on account of it. 

In general, Paris had a less lively appearance to me. The streets seemed so narrow that I was tempted to believe double rows of houses had been built. This was no doubt due to my recent impressions of St. Petersburg and Berlin, where the streets, for the most part, are very wide. But what displeased me far more was still to see "liberty, fraternity or death" written on the walls. These words, sanctified by the Terror, aroused the saddest thoughts in me touching the past, and inspired me with some fears for the future."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.)

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Prussia

"Princess Louise of Prussia"
by Vigee-Lebrun

Leaving Russia Madame Vigee-Lebrun first stops in Prussia where her fame has evidently preceded her. She writes:

"I left St. Petersburg sad, sick and alone in my carriage, having been unable to keep my Russian maid. I had nobody but a very old man who wanted to go to Prussia, and whom I had given a servant's place through pity, which I had cause to regret, because he got so drunk at every stage that he had to be carried back to the box.

My first stop I made at Narva, a well-fortified but ugly, ill-paved little town. The road there is edged with pretty houses and English gardens, and in the distance is the sea, covered with ships. The women of Narva wear the dress of ancient times. They are good-looking, for the people of Livonia in general are splendid. Nearly all the heads of the old men reminded me of Raphael's heads of Christ, and the young men, their long hair falling on their shoulders, might have been models to that great painter.

I took the post as far as Berlin, where I arrived about the end of July, 1801 at ten in the evening. Three days sufficed to rest me from the fatigues of my journey, and I was feeling much better when the Queen of Prussia, who was then absent from Berlin, was kind enough to request my presence at Potsdam, where she desired me to do her portrait. I went. But my pen is incapable of rendering the impression which the first sight of that Princess made upon me. The beauty of her heavenly face, that expressed benevolence and goodness, and whose features were so regular and delicate, the loveliness of her figure, neck, and arms, the exquisite freshness of her complexion – all was enchanting beyond anything imaginable.

She seemed to wish to see the studies I had made of the Emperor Alexander and the Empress Elizabeth; I promptly brought them to her, as well as my 'Sibyl,' which I had stretched. I cannot say how graciously she praised this picture. She was so friendly and so kind that the feeling she inspired was altogether one of affection. I look back with pleasure upon all the marks of favour that Her Majesty showered upon me, even in the slightest matters. For instance: I was in the habit of taking coffee of a morning, and in my hotel it was always atrocious. Somehow I told the Queen about this, and the next day she sent me some that was excellent. 

Another time, when I complimented her on her bracelets, which were in the antique style, she at once removed them from her arms and put them on mine. This gift was more welcome to me than a fortune would have been; from that day forth those bracelets have travelled with me everywhere. She was also obliging enough to give me a box at the theatre quite near hers. From this place of vantage I enjoyed, above all, looking at Her Majesty, whose lovely face was like that of a sixteen-year-old girl. During one of our sittings the Queen sent for her children. To my great surprise I found that they were ugly. In showing them to me she said, "They are not pretty." I confess I had not the courage to deny it. I contented myself with replying that their faces had a great deal of character.  

Besides the two pastels I made of Her Majesty, I did two others of Prince Ferdinand's family. One of the young princesses, Louise, who had married Prince Radziwill, was pretty and very genial. For some time I had a delightful correspondence with her; I count her as one of the people one can never forget."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: A Sad Decision

"Son of the Actor Caillot"
by Vigee-Lebrun

Most unfortunately Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun became ill enough that she wished to leave Russia in search of a cure. She also determined to return to France and writes about her departure in this way:

"[The Emperor] Paul's death occasioned none of the upheavals which too often follow upon the departure of a ruler. All those who had participated in his favour continued to keep the emoluments they owed to his patronage. His valet Kutaisoff, that barber whom he made so rich, whom he had decorated with the highest orders in Russia, remained peacefully in the enjoyment of his master's benefactions. If there was no change in the lot of Paul's friends, it was otherwise with his victims. Exiles were called back, and their property was restored to them; justice was done to all who had been sacrificed to caprices without number. In fact, a golden era began for Russia. It was impossible to deny this at witnessing the love, the regard and the enthusiasm of the Russians for their new Emperor Alexander. 

In the midst of the universal elation I was myself fortunate enough to meet the Emperor on one of the St. Petersburg quays a few days after my arrival. He was on horseback, and although Paul's regulations had of course been abolished, I had my carriage stopped for the pleasure of seeing Alexander pass. He rode up to me at once, asked me how I like Moscow, and whether the roads had given me any trouble. I replied that I regretted having been unable to stay long enough in that glorious city to see all its splendors; as for the roads, I acknowledged they were abominable. He agreed with me, saying he hoped to have them mended. Then, after paying me a thousand compliments, he left me.

Next day Count Strogonoff came to me on the Emperor's behalf, with a command to paint him at half length, and also on horseback. No sooner was this news spread than numbers of court people rushed to my house, asking for a copy of either portrait, they cared not which, so long as they had one of Alexander. At any other time of my life this would have been an opportunity to make a fortune, but alas! my physical condition, to say nothing of the mental sufferings still besetting me, prohibited me from taking advantage of it. Feeling unfit to work at a full-length picture, I did a pastel bust-portrait of the Emperor, and one of the Empress; these I intended to enlarge at Dresden or Berlin, in case I should be obliged to leave St. Petersburg. It was not long, in fact, before my ailments became unbearable; the doctor I consulted ordered me to take the waters at Carlsbad [in Bohemia]. 

I cannot describe the regrets I experienced at leaving St. Petersburg, where I had spent such happy years. It was not without an aching heart that I bade my daughter good-by, bitter though it was to see her estranged from me. Other separations I likewise found most painful. I remember how the dear Count Stroganoff came to see me as soon as he heard I was going. He was so perturbed that he walked up and down the studio where I was painting, muttering to himself, "No, no; she won't go away; it is impossible!" My daughter, who was present, thought he was turning mad. To all the kindly proferred demonstrations of attachment I could not answer except by a promise to return to St. Petersburg. And such was then my firm intention.

On crossing the Russian border I burst into tears. I wanted to retrace my journey, and I vowed I would come back to those who had for so long heaped tokens of friendship and devotion upon me, and whose memory is ever in my heart. But one must believe in fate, for I never again saw the country which I still look upon as a second motherland." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Departure from Moscow

"Prince Ivan Ivanovich Bariatinsky"
by Vigee-Lebrun

Madame Vigee-Lebrun recalls the fondness Moscow's residents had for her artwork and also the death of the Emperor Paul:

"The request made to me for portraits and my agreeable social circle ought to have kept me longer in Moscow, where I stayed but five months, of which I spent six weeks in my room. But I was melancholy and ailing; I felt a need of rest, especially of breathing in a warmer climate. I therefore resolved upon returning to St. Petersburg to see my daughter and then quitting Russia.

When I was sufficiently restored I announced my departure and made my adieus. Everything was done to induce me to stay. People offered to pay more for my portraits than I had received in St. Petersburg – to allow me all the time I required to finish them without fatiguing myself. I call to mind now, the very day prior to my leaving, while I was engaged in packing up on the ground floor of my house, there suddenly appeared before me, unannounced, a man of colossal stature in a white cloak, at whose sight I was nearly frightened to death. I breathed freely only when I heard him beseeching me not to leave Moscow, and begging me to do a large likeness of his whole family. Upon my refusal, which I made as polite as possible, the good gentleman asked me fervently at least to give my own portrait to the town. I acknowledge that this last request so touched my heart as to leave me an enduring regret that my affairs and the state of my health prevented me from complying.

It was on the 12th of March, 1801, when I was halfway between Moscow and St. Petersburg, that I heard the news of the Emperor Paul's death. I found in front of the posthouse a number of couriers, who were about to spread the news in the different towns of the empire, and, since they took all the horses, I could obtain none for myself. I was obliged to remain in my carriage, which had been put by the roadside on the bank of a river. I was compelled to pass the night there. At last I contrived to hire some horses, and I reached St. Petersburg only at eight or nine on the morning of the following day.

I found that city in a delirium of joy; people were singing and dancing and kissing one another in the streets; acquaintances of mine ran up to my carriage and squeezed my hands, exclaiming "What a blessing!" They told me that the houses had been illuminated the evening before. In short, the death of the unhappy Prince gave rise to general rejoicings. 

Five conspirators had undertook his assassination, one of them being Plato Zuboff, a former pet of Catherine, whom Paul had loaded with favours after recalling him from exile. The five penetrated into Paul's sleeping apartment after he had gone to bed. The two guards at the door defended it valiantly, but their resistance was fruitless, and one of them was killed. At the sight of the infuriated men rushing in upon him, Paul rose from his couch. As he was very powerful he made a long fight against his murderers, who finally managed to strangle him in an armchair. The unhappy man's last words were, "You, too, Zuboff! I thought you were my friend!"  

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.")

 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Moscow

"Portrait of Madame Nakharovna, nee Hitrova"
by Vigee-Lebrun

Needing a break from her concerns in St. Petersburg, Elisabeth-Louise Vigee Lebrun describes her five-month visit to Moscow:

"No more dreadful fatigue can be imagined than that which awaited me in the journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow. The roads I counted upon as being frozen – as I had been led to believe – were not yet in that condition. The logs, which rendered them almost impracticable in severe weather, not being as yet fixed by the frost, rolled incessantly under the wheels, and produced the same effect as waves of the sea. 

At length I arrived in the former immense capital of Russia. I seemed to be entering Ispahan, of which place I had seen several drawings, so much does the aspect of Moscow differ from everything else in Europe. Nor will I attempt to describe the effect of those thousands of gilded cupolas surmounted with huge gold crosses, those broad streets, those superb palaces, for the most part situated so far asunder that villages intervened. To obtain a right idea of Moscow, you must see it. 

I called on the Countess Strogonoff, the wife of my good old friend. She at once told me she had a pretty house that was not occupied, and begged me to accept it, but because she would hear nothing of my paying a rent, I positively declined the offer. Seeing that her efforts were in vain, she sent for her daughter, who was very pretty, and asked me to paint this young person's portrait in payment of rent, to which I agreed with pleasure. Thus, a few days later, I settled in a house where I hoped to find quiet, since I was to live there alone.

So soon as I was established in my new dwelling, I visited the town as often as the rigours of the season would permit. For during the five months I spent at Moscow, the snow never melted; it deprived me of the pleasure of seeing the environments, said to be admirable. 

Mme. Soltikoff kept one of the best houses in Moscow. I had paid her a call upon arrival. She and her husband, who was then Governor of the town, showed me great kindness. She asked me to paint the Marshal's portrait, and her daughter's, who had married Count Gregory Orloff, son of Count Vladimir. At this time I was doing a picture of Countess Strogonoff's daughter, so that by the end of ten or twelve days I had begun six portraits, without counting the likeness of the good and genial Mme. Ducrest de Villeneuve, whom I was charmed to meet again in Moscow, and who was so pretty that I insisted on painting her."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.")

 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: An Unfortunate Marriage

"Self-Portrait with Her Daughter"
by Vigee-Lebrun

One of the greatest griefs Elisabeth-Louise Vigee Lebrun suffered was the unfortunate marriage of her daughter. In the following excerpt from her autobiography, she explains what happened:

"My daughter had attained the age of seventeen. She was charming in every respect. Her large blue eyes, sparkling with spirit, her slightly tip-tilted nose, her pretty mouth, magnificent teeth, a dazzling fresh complexion – all went to make up one of the sweetest faces to be seen. Her figure was not very tall; she was lithe without, however, being lean. A natural dignity reigned in all her person, although she had as much vivacity of manner as of mind. Her memory was prodigious: everything remained that she had learned in her lessons or in the course of her reading. She had a delightful voice, and sang exquisitely in Italian, for at Naples and St. Petersburg I had given her the best singing masters, as well as instructors of English and German. Moreover, she could accompany herself on the piano or the guitar. 

But what enraptured me above everything else was her happy disposition for painting, so that I cannot say how proud and satisfied I was over the many advantages she commanded. I saw in my daughter the happiness of my life, the future joy of my old age.

Since I could but very rarely leave my studio of a morning, I sometimes consented to confide my daughter to the Countess Czernicheff. There she met a certain Nigris, Count Czernicheff's secretary. This M. Nigris had a fairly good face and figure; he might have been about thirty. As for his abilities, he drew a little, and wrote a beautiful hand. His soft ways, his melancholy look, and even his yellowish paleness, gave him an interesting and romantic air, which so far affected my daughter that she fell in love with him. My grief was deep, as may well be imagined; but unhappy as I was at the thought of giving my daughter, my only child, to a man without talents, without fortune, without a name, I made inquiries about this M. Nigris. Some spoke well of him, but others reported badly, so that the days went by without my being able to fix upon any decision.

In vain did I attempt to make my daughter understand how unlikely in every way this marriage was to make her happy. Her head was so far turned that she would take nothing from my affection and experience. At last my daughter, who had become thin and changed, fell ill altogether. I was then, of course, obliged to surrender, and wrote to M. Lebrun, so that he might send his approval.

The letter gone, I had the satisfaction of seeing my daughter recover; but alas! that satisfaction was the only one she gave me. Owing to the distance, her father's answer was long delayed, and some one convinced her that I had only written to M. Lebrun to prevent him from assenting to what she called her felicity. The suspicion hurt me cruelly; nevertheless, I wrote again several times, and, after letting her read my letters, gave them to her, so that she might post them herself. Even this great condescension on my part was not enough to undeceive her. With the distrust toward me that was incessantly being poured into her, she said to me one day, "I post your letters, but I am sure you write others to the contrary." I was stunned and heartbroken, when at that very moment the postman arrived with a letter from M. Lebrun giving his consent. But the cruel child showed not the least gratitude.

The wedding was nevertheless enacted a few days later. I gave my daughter a very fine wedding outfit and some jewellery, including a bracelet, mounted with some large diamonds, on which was her father's likeness. Her marriage portion, the product of the portraits I had painted at St. Petersburg, I deposited with the banker Livio.

The day after my daughter's wedding I went to see her. I found her placid and unelated over her bliss. Being at her house again a fortnight later, I made the inquiry, "You are very happy, I trust, now that you are married to him?" M. Nigris, who was talking with some one else, had his back turned to us, and, since he was afflicted with a severe cold, had a heavy great coat on his shoulders. She replied, "I confess that fur coat is disenchanting; how could you expect me to be smitten with such a figure as that?" Thus a fortnight had sufficed for love to evaporate. Hoping, then, to obtain relief from so much sorrow through distraction and a change of scene, I hastened the life-sized portrait I was then doing of the Empress Maria, as well as several half-length portraits, and left for Moscow on the 15th of October, 1800." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Member of the Academy of St. Petersburg

"Self-Portrait," 1800, by Vigee-Lebrun

"One of the pleasantest reminiscences of my travels is that of my reception as a member of the Academy of St. Petersburg. Count Strogonoff, then Director of the Fine Arts, apprised me of the appointed day for my installation. I ordered a uniform of the Academy, in the shape of an Amazonian dress: a little violet bodice, a yellow skirt, and a black hat and feathers. 

At one o'clock I arrived in a room leading to a long gallery, at the end of which I perceived Count Strogonoff at a table. I was requested to go up to him. For this purpose I was obliged to traverse the long gallery in question, where tiers of benches had been placed which were full of spectators. But as I luckily recognised a number of friends and acquaintances in the crowd, I reached the other end of the gallery without feeling too much confusion. The Count addressed me in a very flattering little speech, and then presented me, on behalf of the Emperor, with a diploma nominating me a member of the Academy. 

Everybody thereupon burst into such applause that I was moved to tears, and I shall never forget that touching moment. That evening I met several persons who had witnessed the affair. They mentioned my courage in passing through that gallery so full of people. "You must suppose," I answered, "that I had guessed from their faces how kindly they were prepared to greet me." Very soon after I did my own portrait for the Academy of St. Petersburg. I represented myself painting, palette in hand."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee Lebrun: Portrait of An Empress

"Portrait of Empress Maria Feodorovna"
by Vigee-Lebrun

Elisabeth-Louis Vigee-Lebrun reminisced about painting Emperor Paul's wife, Maria Feodorovna:

"The Emperor ordered me to make a portrait of his wife. I represented her standing, wearing a court dress, and a diamond crown on her head. I do not like painting diamonds; the brush cannot render their brilliancy. Nevertheless, in taking for a background a large crimson velvet curtain, I succeeded in making the crown shine as much as possible. When I sent for the picture to finish the details at home, the Empress wanted to lend me the court dress and all the jewels belonging to it, but they were so valuable that I declined to accept the trust, which would have given me too much anxiety. I preferred to finish my painting at the palace, whither I had the picture taken back. 

The Empress Maria was a very handsome woman; her plumpness kept her fresh. She had a tall figure, full of dignity, and magnificent fair hair. I recollect having seen her at a great ball with her beautiful locks falling at each side of her shoulders and a diamond tiara on the top of her head. This tall and handsome woman walked majestically next to Paul, on his arm, and a striking contrast was thus presented. To all her loveliness was added a sweet character. The Empress Maria was truly the woman of the Gospel; her virtues were so universally known that she perhaps affords the only example of a woman never attacked by slander. I confess I was proud to find myself honoured with her favour, and that I set great store by the good-will she showed me on all occasions.

Our sittings took place immediately after the court dinner, so that the Emperor and his two sons, Alexander and Constantine, were habitually present. These august spectators did not annoy me in the least, especially as the Emperor, who alone could have made me feel any diffidence, was exceedingly polite to me. One day, when coffee was being served, as I was already at my easel, he brought me a cup himself, and then waited until I had drunk the coffee to take back the cup and put it away. Another time, it is true, he made me witness a rather comical scene. I was having a screen put behind the Empress in order to obtain a quiet background. In this moment of intermission Paul began cutting up a thousand antics, exactly like a monkey, scratching the screen and pretending to climb up it. Alexander and Constantine seemed pained at their father's grotesque behaviour before a stranger, and I myself felt sorry on their account."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Emperor Paul of Russia

"Prince Bariatinsky" by Vigee-Lebrun

 "The Emperor Paul, born October 1, 1754, ascended the throne of Russia on the 12th of December, 1796, following his mother Catherine II's death. In this unhappy Prince generous emotions were often followed by outbreaks of ferocity. Approval or anger, favour or resentment, were with him altogether a matter of caprice.

It would take a long time to recount to what futilities Paul practised his tyranny. He ordered, for instance, that every one should make obeisance to his palace, even when he was absent. He forebade the wearing of round hats, which he looked upon as a symbol of Jacobinism. The police knocked off with their sticks all the round hats they saw, to the great annoyance of people whose ignorance of the regulation exposed them to being thus unhatted. On the other hand, every one was obliged to wear powder. At the time when this regulation was made I was painting young Prince Bariatinski's portrait, and he had acceded to my request that he come without powder. One day he arrived pale as death. "What is the matter with you?" I asked him. "I have just met the Emperor," he replied, all a-tremble, "I barely had time to hide in a doorway, but I am terribly afraid that he recognised me." There was nothing surprising in Prince Bariatinski's fright. All classes were likewise affected, for no inhabitant of St. Petersburg was sure one night that he would sleep in his bed the next. 

But all I have said did not hinder St. Petersburg from being a pleasant as well as profitable place of sojourn for a painter. The Emperor Paul loved and patronised the arts. Doyen, my father's friend and the historical painter I have already mentioned, was distinguished by Paul as he had been by Catherine II. Though very old at the time, Doyen, who had imposed a simple and frugal manner of living upon himself, had accepted but a portion of the Empress's generous offers. The Emperor continued in the path of Catherine, and ordered a ceiling for the new palace of St. Michael, as yet unfurnished. The room where Doyen was working was close to the Hermitage. Paul and all the court passed through it on their way to mass, and the Emperor rarely returned without stopping to chat for more or less time with the painter in quite amiable fashion. 

I am hereby reminded how, one day, one of the Emperor's gentlemen-in-waiting stepped up to Doyen and said: "Permit me, sir, to make a slight observation. You are painting the hours dancing round the chariot of the sun. I see one there, in the distance, smaller than the rest; the hours, however, are all exactly alike." "Sir," replied Doyen with cool self-possession, "you are perfectly right, but what you point out is only a half-hour." The first speaker nodded in assent, and went off greatly pleased with himself. I must not forget to record that the Emperor, wishing to pay the price of painting the ceiling before it was finished, sent to Doyen a bank-note for a large sum – how much I do not now remember. But the bank-note was enclosed in a wrapper, upon which Paul had written with his own hand, "Here is something to buy colours with; as for oil, there is a lot left in the lamp."

If my father's old friend was pleased with his life at St. Petersburg, I was none the less pleased with mine. I worked without relaxing from morning till evening. Only on Sundays I lost two hours, which I was obliged to grant people wishing to see my studio, and among these there were frequently grand dukes and grand duchesses. Besides the pictures I have already spoken of, and an endless succession of portraits, I had sent to Paris for my large portrait of Queen Marie Antoinette, one in which I had painted her in a blue velvet dress, and the general interest it provoked yielded me the sweetest delight. The Prince de Condé, then at St. Petersburg, on coming to see it, uttered not a word, but burst into tears." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee-Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: The Death of Catherine II

"Portrait of Princess Anna Ivanonva
Bariatinsky, Later Countess Nikolai
Alexandrovich Tolstoy" by Vigee Lebrun

In her autobiography, Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun sorrows over the death of Catherine II, Empress of Russia:

"Many persons have attributed Catherine's death to the keen sorrow brought her by the failure of the marriage arranged between her granddaughter, the Duchess Alexandrina, and the King of Sweden. That Prince arrived at St. Petersburg, with his uncle, the Duke of Sudermania, in August, 1796. He was only seventeen years old, but his tall figure and his proud and noble bearing made him respected in spite of his youth. Having been very carefully brought up, he showed a most unusual politeness. The Princess whom he had come to marry, and who was fourteen, was lovely as an angel, and he speedily fell deeply in love with her. I remember that when he came to my house to see the portrait I had done of his bride elect, he looked at it with such rapt attention that his hat fell from his hand.

The Empress wished for this marriage more than anything, but she insisted that her granddaughter should have a chapel and clergy of her own religion in the palace at Stockholm, but the young King, all his love for the young Duchess Alexandrina notwithstanding, would not consent to anything that would violate the laws of his country. Knowing that Catherine had sent for the patriarch to pronounce the betrothal after a ball in the evening, the King remained absent from the ball despite M. de Markoff's repeated calls urging him to come. I was then doing the portrait of Count Diedrichstein. We went to my window several times to see if the young King would yield and go to the ball, but he did not. In the end, according to what Princess Dolgoruki told me, when every one was assembled, the Empress half opened the door of her room and said in a very subdued voice, "Ladies, there will be no ball to-night." The King of Sweden and the Duke of Sudermania left St. Petersburg the next morning.

Whether or no it was the grief arising from this occurrence that cut short the days of Catherine, Russia was soon to lose her. The Sunday preceding her death, I went to Her Majesty after church to present her with the portrait that I had made of the Grand Duchess Elisabeth. She congratulated me upon my work and then said: "They insist that you must take my portrait. I am very old, but still, as they all wish it, I will give you the first sitting this day week." The following Thursday she did not ring at nine o'clock as was her wont. The servants waited until ten o'clock, and even a little later. At last the head maid went in. Not seeing the Empress in her room, she went to the clothes-closet, and no sooner did she open the door than Catherine's body fell upon the floor. It was impossible to discover at what hour the apoplectic shock had touched her; however, her pulse was still beating, and hope was not entirely given up. Never in my days did I see such lively alarm spread so generally. For my part I was so seized with pain and terror when apprised of the dreadful tidings that my convalescing daughter, perceiving my state of prostration, became again ill.

After dinner I hastened to Princess Dolgoruki's, whither Count Cobentzel brought us the news every ten minutes from the palace. Our anxiety continued to grow, and was unbearable for everybody, since not only did the nation worship Catherine, but it had an awful dread of being governed by Paul. Toward evening Paul arrived from a place near St. Petersburg, where he lived most of the time. When he saw his mother lying senseless, nature for a moment asserted her rights; he approached the Empress, kissed her hand, and shed some tears. Catherine II. finally expired at nine o'clock on the evening of November 17, 1796. Count Cobentzel who saw her breathe her last sigh, at once came to inform us that she had ceased to live."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs of Madame Vigee Lebrun.")

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Painting Russian Royalities

"Alexandra and Elena Pavlovna of Russia" by Vigee-Lebrun

"Upon Her Majesty's return from Czarskoiesielo Count Strogonoff came to me with her command to paint the two Grand Duchesses, Alexandrina and Helen. These Princesses might have been thirteen or fourteen years old, and their faces were angelic, though of entirely different expression. Their complexions especially were so tender and delicate that one might have supposed they lived on ambrosia. The eldest, Alexandrina, was of the Greek type of beauty, and very much resembled Alexander, but the face of the younger, Helen, was far more subtle. I grouped them together, holding and looking at the Empress's portrait; their dress was somewhat Greek in style, quite simple and modest. 

"Elizabeta Alexeevna with Roses"
by Vigee-Lebrun

As soon as I had done their pictures the Empress ordered me to paint the Grand Duchess Elisabeth, not long married to Alexander. I have already said what a ravishing person this Princess was; I should very much have liked not to represent such a heavenly figure in common dress, and I have always wanted to paint an historical picture of her and Alexander, so regular were the features of both. I painted her standing, in full court dress, arranging some flowers near a basketful of others.

When I had done her large portrait she had another done for her mother, in which I painted her leaning on a cushion, with a diaphanous violet wrap. I can say that the more sittings the Grand Duchess Elisabeth gave me, the kinder and more affectionate did she become. One morning, while she was posing, I was seized with a giddy fit and grew so dazed that I had to close my eyes. She took alarm, and herself quickly ran for water, bathed my eyes, tended me with inexpressible kindness, and sent to inquire after me as soon as I had got home.

"La Grande Duchesse Anna Feodorovna"
by Vigee-Lebrun

About this time, too, I did a portrait of the Grand Duchess Anne, the wife of the Grand Duke Constantine. She, born as Princess of Coburg, without having a celestial face like her sister-in-law, was nevertheless sweetly pretty. She was probably sixteen, and her features were all life and mirth. Not that this young Princess ever knew much happiness in Russia. If it can be said that Alexander inherited his good looks and his character from his mother, it is equally true that this was not the case with Constantine, who strongly resembled his father, without, however, being quite as ugly, but like him endowed with a marvellously quick temper."

To be continued

(Excerpts from the artist's autobiography "Memoirs of Madame Vigee Lebrun.") 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Princess Dolgoruki

"Princess Ecaterina Feodorovna Dolgorouk"
by Vigee-Lebrun

When in Russia, Elisabeth Louise Vigee Lebrun was introduced to many memorable members of the upper class. She wrote of Princess Dolgoruki in this way: 

"Count Cobentzel very much wished me to make the acquaintance of a woman whose cleverness and beauty I had often heard vaunted – the Princess Dolgoruki. I received an invitation from her to dine at Alexandrovski, where she had a country house. The beauty of Princess Dolgoruki struck me very much. Her features had the Greek character mixed with something Jewish, especially in profile. Her long, dark chestnut hair, carelessly taken up, touched her shoulders. Her figure was perfect, and in her whole person she exhibited at once nobility and grace without the least affectation. She received me with so much amiability and civility that I willingly acceded to her request that I might stay a week with her.

Count Cobentzel was passionately devoted to the Princess Dolgoruki, without her responding in the least to his importunities; but the coolness she showed toward his intentions by no means drove him away. His sole object was the happiness of being in her presence; whether in the country or in town, he scarcely ever left her for a moment.

What made the Princess Dolgoruki indifferent to the sighs of Count Cobentzel and to those of many other admirers was the fact that from one of them she had received attentions more brilliant than ever woman had had lavished upon her by any lovelorn king. The famous Potemkin – he who had said the word 'impossible' should be ruled out of the dictionary – had testified his adoration for her with a magnificence surpassing all that we read of in the 'Thousand and One Nights.'

Her name, too, was Catherine, and the Prince made a great banquet for her, nominally in honour of the Empress. At table the Princess was seated by his side. At dessert, on the table were put crystal goblets full of diamonds, which were served to the ladies by the spoonful. The queen of the festival observing this luxury, Potemkin whispered to her, 'Since this celebration is for you, why should you be astonished at anything?' He would spare no sacrifice to satisfy a wish or a whim of that charming woman. Learning one day that she was in want of ball slippers of a kind she usually sent for to France, Potemkin dispatched an express messenger to Paris, who hastened day and night to bring back these slippers.

No woman, it seems so me, had greater dignity of mien and manner than Princess Dolgoruki. Having seen my 'Sibyl,' about which she was very enthusiastic, she wished me to make her portrait in this style, and I had the pleasure of doing her bidding to her entire satisfaction. The portrait done, she sent me a very handsome carriage, and put on my arm a bracelet made of a tress of her hair with a diamond inscription reading, 'Adorn her who adorns her century.' I was deeply touched by the graciousness and delicacy of such a gift." 

To be continued

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Russia

"Varvara Ladormirsky" by Vigee Lebrun

Having been invited to visit Russia and to meet Queen Catherine II, Vigee Lebrun recalls her time there:

"At Vienna I was as happy as any one possibly could be away from her kin and country. In the winter the city offered one of the most agreeable and brilliant societies of Europe, and when the fine weather returned I delightedly sought my little country retreat. Not thinking of leaving Austria before I could safely return to France, the Russian Ambassador and some of his compatriots urged me strongly to go to St. Petersburg, where, they assured me, the Empress would be pleased to see me. Everything that the Prince de Ligne had told me about Catherine II inspired me with an irrepressible desire to get a glance at that potentate. Moreover I reasoned correctly that even a short stay in Russia would complete the fortune I had decided to make before resuming residence in Paris. So I made up my mind to go. 

I entered St. Petersburg on the 25th of July, 1795, and was far from recovered from all my fatigue when a visitor was announced in the person of the French Ambassador, Count Esterhazy. He congratulated me on my arrival at St. Petersburg, telling me that he was about to inform the Empress of it and at the same time to take her orders for my presentation.

The same evening Count Esterhazy came to tell me that Her Majesty would receive me the next day at one o'clock. The Ambassador had told me I must kiss her hand, in accordance with which custom she drew off one of her gloves, and this ought to have reminded me what to do. But I forgot all about it. The truth is, that the sight of this famous woman made such an impression upon me that I could not possibly think of anything else but to look at her. I was at first extremely surprised to find her short; I had imagined her a great height – something like her renown. She was very stout, but still had a handsome face, which her white hair framed to perfection. Genius seemed to have its seat on her broad, high forehead. Her eyes were soft and small, her nose was quite Greek, her complexion lively, and her features very mobile. 

She at once said in a voice that was soft though rather thick: "I am delighted, madame, to see you here; your reputation had preceded you. I am fond of the arts and especially of painting. I am not an adept, but a fancier." Everything else she said during this interview bore the stamp of such great amiability that my shyness vanished, and by the time I took leave of Her Majesty I was entirely reassured. Only I could not forgive myself for not having kissed her hand, which was very beautiful and very white, and I deplored that oversight the more as Count Esterhazy reproached me with it.

I cannot say how eagerly and with what kind-hearted affability a stranger is sought after in this country, especially if possessing some talent. My letters of introduction became quite superfluous; not only was I at once invited to live with the best and pleasantest families, but I found several former acquaintances in St. Petersburg, and even some old friends."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memoirs de Madame Vigee Lebrun.")

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Vienna

"The Princess von und zu Liechtenstein
as Iris" by Vigee Lebrun

Having seen a great influx of people fleeing France, Elisabeth Louise Vigee Lebrun abandoned her plans to return there and went to Vienna instead. She writes in her autobiography:

"Vienna is of considerable extent, if you count its thirty-two suburbs. It is full of very fine palaces. The Imperial Museum boasts pictures by the greatest masters, and I often went to admire them, as well as those belonging to Prince Lichtenstein. His gallery comprises seven rooms, of which one contains only pictures by Van Dyck and the others some fine Titians, Caravaggios, Rubens, Canalettos, and so on. There are also several masterpieces by the last-named painter in the Imperial Museum. 

In Vienna I went to several balls, especially to those given by the Russian Ambassador, Count Rasomovski. They danced the waltz there with such fury that I could not imagine how all these people, spinning round at such a rate, did not fall down from giddiness; but men and women were so accustomed to this violent exercise that they never rested a single moment while a ball lasted. The "polonaise" was often danced, too, and was much less fatiguing, for this dance is nothing more than a procession in which you quietly walk two by two. It suits pretty women to perfection, as there is time to look their faces and figures all over.  

I also made frequent visits at the house of the Countess de Rombec, who gathered about her the most distinguished society of Vienna. I there met again the amiable Prince de Ligne; he told us about the delightful journey he had made in the Crimea with the Empress Catherine II, and inspired me with a wish to see that great ruler. In the same house I encountered the Duchess de Guiche, whose lovely face had not changed in the least. Her mother, the Duchess de Polignac, lived permanently at a place near Vienna. It was there that she heard of the death of Louis XVI., which affected her health very seriously, but when she heard the dreadful news of the Queen's death she succumbed altogether. Her grief changed her to such an extent that her pretty face became unrecognisable, and every one foresaw that she had not much longer to live. She did, in fact, die in a little while, leaving her family and some friends who would not leave her disconsolate at their loss.

I had learned nothing of this from the newspapers, for I had read them no more since the day when, having opened one at Mme. de Rombec's, I had found the names of nine persons of my acquaintance who had been guillotined. People even took care to hide all political pamphlets from me. I thus heard of the horrible occurrence through my brother, who wrote it down and sent the letter without giving any further particulars whatever. His heart broken, he simply wrote that Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette had perished on the scaffold. Afterward, from compassion toward myself, I always abstained from putting the least question concerning what accompanied or preceded that awful murder, so that I should have known nothing about it to this very day had it not been for a certain fact to which I may possibly refer in the future.

As soon as spring came I took a little house in a village near Vienna and went to settle there. This village, called Huitzing, was adjacent to the park of Schoenbrunn. I took with me to Huitzing the large portrait I was then doing of the Princess Lichtenstein, to finish it. This young Princess was very well built; her pretty face had a sweet, angelic expression, which gave me the idea of representing her as Iris. I painted her standing, as if about to fly into the air. She had about her a fluttering, rainbow-coloured scarf. Of course I painted her with naked feet, but when the picture was hung in her husband's gallery the heads of the family were greatly scandalised at seeing the Princess exhibited without shoes, and the Prince told me that he had had a pair of nice, little slippers placed under the portrait, which slippers, so he had informed the grandparents, had slipped off her feet and fallen on the ground."

To be continued

Elisabeth-Louise Vigee-Lebrun: Restlessness

"Marie Antoinette with a Rose"
by Vigee-Lebrun

"Meanwhile, it being my desire to see France again, I reached Turin with this end in view. The two aunts of Louis XVI had been kind enough to give me letters to Clotilda, Queen of Sardinia, their niece. They sent word that they very much wished to have a portrait done by me, and consequently, as soon as I was settled, I presented myself before Her Majesty. She received me very well after reading the letters of Princess Adelaide and Princess Victoria. She told me that she regretted having to refuse her aunts, but that, having renounced the world altogether, she must decline being painted. What I saw indeed seemed quite in accord with her statement and her resolve. The Queen of Sardinia had her hair cut short and wore on her head a little cap, which, like the rest of her garb, was the simplest conceivable. The King joined her in the room where she received me. He was likewise so pale and thin that it was painful to look at them together.

I lost no time in going to see Madame, the wife of Louis XVIII. She not only accorded me a warm welcome, but arranged picturesque drives for me in the neighbourhood of Turin, which I took with her lady-in-waiting, Mme. de Gourbillon, and her son. Said surroundings are very beautiful, but our first expedition was not very auspicious. We set out in the heat of the day to visit a monastery situated high up on a mountain. As the mountain was very steep, we were obliged to get out of the carriage when we had gone half way and then climb on foot. I remember passing a spring of the clearest water, whose drops sparkled like diamonds, and which peasants declared to be a cure for sundry diseases. After climbing so long that we were exhausted, we at length arrived at the monastery dying with heat and hunger. The table was already laid for the monks and for travellers, which filled us with joy, since it may be imagined how impatient we were for dinner. As there was some delay, we thought that something special was being done for us, seeing that Madame had recommended us to the monks in a letter she had given us addressed to them. At last a dish of frogs' breasts was served, which I took for a chicken stew. But as soon as I tasted it I found it impossible to eat another morsel, hungry as I was. Then three other dishes were brought on, boiled, fried and grilled, and I set great hopes on each in turn. Alas! they were only frogs again! So we ate nothing but dry bread, and drank water, these monks never drinking nor offering wine. My heart's desire was then an omelet – but there were no eggs in the house.

After my visit to the monastery I met Porporati, who wanted me to live with him. He proposed occupying a farm he owned two miles from Turin, where he had some plain but comfortable rooms. I gladly accepted this offer, as I hated living in town, and at once went to establish myself with my daughter and her governess in this retreat. The farm stood in the open country, surrounded with fields, and little streams edged by trees high enough to form delightful bowers. From morning till night I took rapturous walks in these enchanting solitudes. My child enjoyed the pure air as much as I did the quiet, peaceful life that we led. Alas! it was in this peaceful place, while I was in such a happy state of mind, that I was struck a most cruel blow. The cart which brought our letters having come one evening, the carter handed me one from my friend M. de Rivière, my sister-in-law's brother, who apprised me of the dreadful events of the 10th of August* and supplied me with some horrible details. I was quite overcome, and made up my mind to go back to Turin immediately.

On entering the town, great heavens! what did I behold! Streets, squares, were all filled with men and women of all ages who had fled from French towns and come to Turin in search of a home. They were coming in by thousands, and the sight broke my heart. Most of them brought neither baggage, nor money, nor even food, for they had had no time to do anything but think been of saving their lives. The children were crying with hunger in lamentable fashion. In fact, I never saw anything more pitiful.

It may well be imagined that I abandoned the plan of going to Paris. I decided to leave for Vienna instead."

To be continued

* The insurrection of 10 August 1792 was a defining event of the French Revolution, when armed revolutionaries in Paris, increasingly in conflict with the French monarchy, stormed the Tuileries Palace. The conflict led France to abolish the monarchy and establish a republic. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Insurrection_of_10_August_1792)