In amongst the beautiful works of early 17th century portraiture in the
Tate Britain is this fascinating group portrait painting. At first glance, it seems to be a slightly quirky family conversation piece with the members set around a sickbed rather than in a tea salon or in some bucolic scene, however all is not quite as it seems. Apparently painted by
David de Granges (1611-1672), a painter of portrait miniatures, this large work is thought to represent the Saltonstall family from Oxfordshire.
Unlike paintings that underline the wealth and status of their patrons and/or their religious faith, this gathering appears to be a testimony to the ties, responsibilities and commitments between the family members. It is believed that Elizabeth, Richard Saltonstall’s first wife, is the ashen-white figure lying on her deathbed, with Mary, his second spouse, by her side. Elizabeth died from an unknown cause in 1630, thus leaving her husband a widower and leaving their two small children without a mother. Richard married Mary some three years later in 1633 and they went on to have two sons of their own, one of whom is depicted here as a swaddled baby. In this manner, there is an overlap of life and death and the merging of different periods of time. Although the painting was initially dated as from 1636, the style of clothing indicates a later date; 1640.
The first Saltonstall children, Richard and Ann, are shown on the left of the painting, the son loosely clasping the wrist of his young sister whilst leaving his other hand in that of his father, gripping the adult index finger between his own tiny fingers, in a discreet act of tenderness. In this manner the family unit is bound together, even more so as the father/husband reaches out in the direction of Elizabeth, thus forming a triangle with his head at the apex. The clothes and accessories worn by father and children give no indication of mourning; they seem relatively bright and well embellished. Of course, it should be remembered that the colour black was popularized in the Victorian era, following the example set by the grieving Queen Victoria herself, until then white or purple were frequently used to express loss. The son Richard is clothed in a girl’s attire – unbreeched - as was the norm up to the age of 7 years over the centuries until the end of the Victorian period. In the painting he is presented at the same age as when his mother died as opposed to the date of the painting’s execution. Richard Saltonstall is dressed in accordance with his status; elegant and stylish – just looks at the fancy bows and tassles on his garters! He also wears his hat indoors...
His outstretched left hand reaches towards his supine wife, as if to deposit the right glove into her upturned, open palm. She lies slightly propped up on the bed, framed by the rich curtains that surround it. Her delicate white gown is fully embroidered, as is the veil that covers her hair. Her eyes gaze on in the direction of her family, but offer no sign of recognition. It seems that she is not wearing a wedding ring or any other jewellery. In the right-hand corner sits Mary with her baby, both in attire that recall those of the other Saltonstalls, namely a red gown with white embroidery for the infant and an ecru satin dress for his mother, with lavish lace embellishment. Although she does not wear a wedding ring either, she has a ring on her left thumb, possibly an indication of a certain independence of mind and autonomy in relation to others. Perhaps as a sign of her individuality, she also has impressive pearl earrings and an elaborate hairstyle with curls framing the face. In her arms is one of the two babies she would have with Richard; John, born in 1634 (died in infancy) or Philip born 1636.
The orange-red swathed material of the bed curtains finds an echo in the colour of all three children’s gowns and the upholstery of Mary’s chair, thus creating a certain unity. The two women are set apart with their pale clothing, their attire denoting death and matrimony. The rich floral details in the wall hanging on the left - with crimson tulips and white lilies- harmonizes the opposites; adult, child, the deceased and the living, past and present. An open door slightly behind the eldest child seems to lead onto a forest scene shown on a lavish tapestry. The focal point of the work is the glove about to be delivered into Elizabeth’s extended hand. Gloves were more than a mere accessory to differentiate one class from the lesser ones, and the offered glove gesture is obviously weighted with significance yet its meaning is sadly not obvious to us today.
Nevertheless, many works exist from this period with one gloved hand (usually the left), clutching the right glove, leaving the other hand bare. This is a symbol of faith, trust and honestly, often linked to a legal arrangement. In this way, rather like the humble handshake, a glove proffered would bind vows that a gentleman had sworn, oaths that were pledged. Below is a portrait of the lawyer William Style of Langley (1636) showing his rejection of all that is the wordly in order to turn towards the spiritual.
The Saltonstall portrait could be assumed to be a visual trace of the promise made by Richard to his dying/dead wife to respect the interests of their offspring regarding the inheritance of the family estate. Indeed, widowers remarrying would often relinquish the rights of their first-born children in order to pacify a demanding young bride. Disputes invariably arose in the recomposed family unit, often fuelled by jealousy – Snow White being a case in point! As we observe the scene, we are held witness to the husband’s pledge and are forced to acknowledge this as the eldest child stares out at us. Richard Saltonstall, meanwhile, looks across to his second wife as he prepares to drop the glove, obliging her to recognize the act.
The depiction of the writing and amendment of wills on the deathbed was not infrequent in art and therefore the Saltonstall portrait is perhaps a variation of this theme. Despite the nature of the scene shown here, the tone is not overly morbid and the participants are not given over to excess displays of grief and nor is sadness etched on their faces. Elizabeth does not weep for the children left behind and nor does Richard shed any visible tears over her loss; Mary looks on in a placid manner. In sculpted funerary monuments and tombs, it was often habitual to present women who had died in childbirth, and to show the deceased and the living gathered together. Seen in this light, the Saltonstall portrait appears to be a combination of commonplace aesthetic and social practices but what makes it more unusual is its intimate nature, set in the home.
