IN THE circumstance, Rachel de Ruvigny knew she had to be firm.
Yes, the Countess of Southampton was very keen to continue to cooperate with Anthony Van Dyck over his unfolding portrayal of her as the goddess Fortune, complete with shining globe and sunbeams hinting at the dispelling of a glowering cloudscape.
And, yes, she was not going to be deterred from proceeding with this, a most fitting fantasy, by the approach, so she was informed, of a particularly nasty plague. Thus, she decided, she would agree to wear a protective mask fashioned from the same shimmering, metallic blue, faintly ethereal, material as her dress, with its moderately and casually scooped neckline. It is 1638, four years before the beginning of the English civil war.
Leg delicately crossed, one hand on globe, a swathe of the same blue stuff draped around one shoulder, she was ready once more for the attentions of the artist. Wherein lay a potential, rather delicate, problem.
Resolutely, but with suitable dignity, she addresses the celebrated court painter: “Mr van Dyck, it appears to me appropriate to make clear that, at this unusual time, you must forgo your painterly custom, evident during your carrying out of this commission, of making what you clearly regard as necessary, if somewhat bold, adjustments to the neckline of my costume…I know you will understand that, while such a restriction will no doubt be an interference with the expression of your flawless and admirable artistic judgment, it must be a necessity for as long as this wretched infection remains in the air.”
History does not record how, or even whether, van Dyck responded.
The painting that emerged, however, is now, for the first time, there for all to see. Never before given a public showing, it is included in a marvellous series of masked portraits by various artists – all painted at times of public distress over rampaging infections – at The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.
John Everett Millais’s Bridesmaid wears a delicate floral mask to match her silken gown, while The Twins, Kate and Grace Hoare, prepare for an outing with their faithful hound. In Jan van Meyer’s portrait of The daughters of Sir Matthew Decker, the girls play safely and ensure their little doll also follows social-distancing measures, and the subject of Rembrandt’s 1650 Portrait of a man in military costume appears for the first time in disguise.
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