The marriage portraits at an exhibition in Bath not only capture a likeness, but contain much symbolism, says Katherine Cole.
Walk through the door of this sumptuous exhibition at the Holburne Museum in Bath and you will be greeted by Jakob Fugger and his young bride. Fugger was an extremely wealthy German merchant of Augsburg, banker to both the Habsburgs and the Roman Curia, but it was only through his marriage to Sybille Artzt that he became a Grand Burgher of Augsburg and gained his much-desired seat on the city council. In his marriage portrait by Hans Burgkmair the Elder (1498) he looks every inch the hard-nosed financier – yet lower the gaze slightly and you’ll notice his hand tucked around his wife’s elbow. A gesture of tenderness, or one of pride grasping at a new-found social status?
Painted Love: Renaissance Marr-iage Portraits starts off by presenting marriage as a political tool, a dynastic alliance between powerful families. Yet almost immediately we find a love match: Corneille de Lyon’s small image of Madeleine of France, the “Summer Queen” to James V of Scotland who broke off his betrothal to marry her despite her ill health. It is followed by a masterly pairing of Mary Tudor’s weary-looking first husband Louis XII (c.1510-14) who died only three months after they wed, and a marriage portrait of Mary with her second husband Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk (c.1533-5) whom she married six weeks later against the wishes of her brother Henry VIII. Having fulfilled her obligations as a political pawn, Mary clearly felt no compunction in secretly marrying her beloved in Paris. Their affection is clear in the closely clasped hands and the symbolism of the artichoke and winged caduceus – a uniting of opposites. It is also an early indication that these images are far more complex than they may at first appear. All are painted to make a statement just as much as to capture a likeness, yet the true message is often obscure, hidden behind the seeming clarity of symbols and text.
The Italian portraits are certainly full of symbolism. Leonello d’Este is painted in stark profile (1447), his long nose and mane of hair replicated on a medal by Pisanello (1444), overtly harnessing the status of the Roman Emperors. Baldovinetti’s Portrait of a Lady adopts the same format, but here her attributes signal purity (pearls) and possession, by way of her husband’s coat of arms embroidered on her sleeve. The Netherlandish influence brought about a change in the 1470s from tempera to oils and from the static profile to a more natural three-quarter pose with a landscape setting beyond. The inclusion of the sitter’s hands extends the suggestive possibilities using the language of flowers and jewels. Beauty, we are told, was held in high esteem as a sign of inner virtue, and Bartolomeo Veneto’s portrait of an unknown Italian girl (c.1500-10) is captivating. Around her neck – prominent against her plain black and white clothing – she wears an enamelled rosary, each bead decorated with the symbols of Christ’s passion, asserting her piety.
But of course religion holds a central place in any examination of marriage – it is not limited to the somewhat superficial signalling of personal piety. Among the humanists of Renaissance Italy the sacrament of marriage underwent a reaffirmation, with the advantages of the married state and healthy progeny promoted. A handful of objects are on display, giving an insight into how Renaissance marriages would have been celebrated: maiolica dishes depicting lovers or a “bella donna”; a silver-gilt double cup; a bronze marriage bowl. The sense of worldly extravagance and celebration is tempered by an equally forceful message of sacramental indissolubility. A necklace with links inscribed Ubi Amor Ibi Fedes spells out the importance of fidelity, while a “fede” ring is formed from two clasped hands.
Traditionally the primary purpose of marriage was the generation and nurturing of children; the marriage of William Brooke, 10th Lord Cobham must consequently be acknowledged a very successful one. His family portrait of 1567 is inscribed: “See here the noble father, here the most excellent mother. Seated around them spreads a throng worthy of their parents…” Six pairs of beady eyes surround the table on which a parrot sits, while one of the girls cradles a marmoset on her pewter plate. Lady Cobham, her dark dress covered in shining aiglets, wears the most tremendous jewel around her neck, a fitting reward for so many offspring.
Also on display is the stunning Gresley jewel which combines two miniature portraits by Nicholas Hilliard – of Sir Thomas Gresley and his wife Katherine Walsingham – enclosed within a jewelled and enamelled locket case. Rather than a grand statement miniatures were intended as an intimate keepsake, a token of love and fidelity.
At the opposite end of the scale, the large pair of portraits of Thomas How- ard, Duke of Norfolk and his second wife Margaret Audley by Hans Ew- orth (1562-3) form a spectacular cen- trepiece. The union of dynasties is depicted in their halved heraldic emb- lems; not an inch of the panel is left free of rich brocades, wall coverings and golden adornments. The Duke and Duchess of Norfolk were married in 1558 without waiting for papal disp-ensation (he had previously been married to her first cousin); Mary I had died that autumn and Elizabeth I was beginning to reintroduce Prot-estantism. Any mention of the impact of the Reformation, however, is conspicuously absent.
Coincidentally The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell, a fictional account of the marriage of Lucrezia de’ Medici to Alfonso d’Este, Duke of Ferrara, was published last year. Having recently read the novel I found myself wondering what was going on behind the meticulously rendered features of these sitters who guarded the secrets of long-ago lives. I imagined the two-year-old Austrian Archduchess, her soft unformed features in constant motion, questioning the enforced stillness; it was unsettling to recall that the port- rait was made with a view to marriage when this small child was hardly out of her cradle. In the final portrait, by Giovanni Battista Moroni, a young man stares out with such passionate intensity, accompanied by the Virgil-ianesque inscription Dum Spiritus Hos Reget Artus (so long as breath controls my being), that I left the exhibition longing to know the outcome of his mysterious private drama.
The only addition to this tightly cur- ated exhibition might have been a mar-riage chest – perhaps the Courtauld’s pair of cassoni, which were the centrepiece of a 2009 exhibition on marriage in Renaissance Florence. And I wish there had been a catalogue to accompany the exhibition; the brief explanations were tantalising and could have been expanded on, while the impact of the Reformation surely deserves a mention. But my magpie-like desire for more is a credit to the intellectually stimulating nature of this small but perfectly formed exhibition, sparkling with exquisite jewels.
Painted Love: Renaissance Marriage Portraits is at the Holburne Museum, Bath, until October 1.
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