Casual Friday Video: Rita Hayworth Is Stayin' Alive

Isabella reporting,

It's no secret that we Nerdy History Girls have a serious weakness for old movies, especially old movies with dancing, but it's not as widely known that we have an equally serious admiration for actress Rita Hayworth. This fun little video features the divine Rita plus that famous ol' BeeGees song from Saturday Night Fever, brought together through some magical editing. What better way to begin the holiday weekend?

Video by YouTube user et7waage1. Thanks to @lucyinglis for sharing this on Twitter.

Norfolk House in St. James's Square

Loretta reports:

The other day we had a look at St. James’s Square, in 1812 and now.  Because I’d used Norfolk House in Don’t Tempt Me, I took advantage during my 2011 trip to London of an opportunity to photograph a part of it: the Music Room, whose panels and ceiling are on view at the Victorian and Albert Museum.

Though my pictures lack the professional polish of the V&A ones (I tried straightening, but things got fuzzy), they give you a better sense, I think, of the artistry and craftsmanship applied to these great London houses. 

You’ll find another photo of the music room as it looked when the house existed, here at British History Online.  The Survey of London calls this room “the finest and most remarkable interior feature of Norfolk House.”

This gives us an an idea of how dukes live(d), and of the surroundings we historical romance authors envision for our aristocratic heroes and heroines.

Intrepid Women: Scottish Artist Christina Robertson, Painter of Imperial Russia

Isabella reporting,

Portraitist Christina Sanders Robertson (1796-1854) may not be a household name today - or even a name that pops up in many art history classrooms - but in the early 19th c., she was not only one of the most popular artists in Britain, but also in France and in Russia, with travels that definitely qualify her as an Intrepid Woman.

Born in Fife, Scotland, Christina Sanders was the daughter of a coach painter. More importantly, her uncle was a successful miniaturist who taught her painting and helped launch her career; by 1819, she was already developing an aristocratic clientele for her portraits. She married fellow-artist James Robertson in 1822, and together they relocated to London. Within a year, her work was included in the annual exhibitions of the Royal Academy, and her society portraits were being engraved and reproduced in ladies's magazines and popular journals, right. Her affluent sitters liked her elegantly flattering portraits with their emphasis on jewels and rich clothing.  She was paid her well for her work, and her reputation soared.

Christina's success has a remarkably modern feel to it. While her career grew, far exceeding her husband's, she also bore eight children, four of whom survived to adulthood. During the 1830s, she left her children behind with her husband in London and travelled to Paris for several lucrative, prolonged stays, completing portrait after portrait of stylish aristocrats. In 1839, she traveled to St. Petersburg - not an easy journey, especially not for a solitary woman - to paint Empress Alexandra, Tsar Nicholas I, and other members of the imperial court. In recognition of her talent, she was named an honorary member of the Imperial Academy of Art.

She remained in Russia for two years before returning to London, where she continued to maintain a studio. She was made an honorary member of the Royal Scottish Academy, and exhibited there from 1829-1845. But St. Petersburg beckoned again, and in 1849, she once more left London and her family and returned to the Imperial Court, painting portraits like this one of Marie of Hess-Darmstadt, lower left. While tastes in formal oil portraits were changing, she still found both financial success and artistic freedom with her watercolors, and prospered even as the coming Crimean War made Russia an uneasy place for a British woman. Christina's health was faltering as well, and she died in St. Petersburg in 1854, not long after her husband died in London. She is buried in St. Petersburg in the Volkhov Lutheran cemetery, and the largest collection of her work remains in the Hermitage Museum.

But as impressive as Christina's achievements may be, they also raise some tantalizing questions. Exactly how understanding was her husband, left behind in London? What did her children think of having a mother in faraway St. Petersburg for most of their youth? And how much of Christina's independent career and traveling was based on her need to support her family, and how much was a desire for artistic and personal freedom? In her self-portrait, above left, she looks resolute and determined in her fur-trimmed pelisse, staring off to one side as if a little impatient at being interrupted at her work. At least that's how she seems to me. What do you think?

Click here for more examples of Christina Robertson's work.

Update: Since this post appeared, I've heard from several readers regarding this portrait of Maria Alexandrovna. Seems that while I found the painting on several sites online attributed to Christina Robertson, in other places it's credited to Franz Xaver Winterhalter, and I agree that it does look like his work. Ahh, the challenges of tracking down the works of a now-obscure artist via the internet! In any event, I've now replaced the painting in question with another portrait of Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna that is definitely by Christina Robertson, directly from the Hermitage Museum website.

Top left: Christina Sanders Robertson, self-portrait, c. 1822, watercolor on ivory. Victoria & Albert Museum.
Right: Charlotte Florentia Percy (nee Clive), Duchess of Northumberland, engraving by Thomas Anthony Dean after Christina Robertson (1825), published 1829. National Portrait Gallery.
Lower left: Detail, Marie of Hess-Darmstadt (Maria Alexandrovna), by Christina Robertson, 1849, Hermitage Museum.

St. James's Square in 1812 and Today

Loretta reports:

When I wrote Don’t Tempt Me, I stole Norfolk House, in St. James’s Square, for my fictional Duke of Marchmont.  Like so many other parts of London, St. James’s Square has changed quite a bit since Ackermann's August 1812 description, as this diagram indicates.
Norfolk House lasted until the late 1930s before being torn down and replaced, but the pool of water disappeared much earlier.  The statue of King William III, among other structures, remains.


                

Click here to read online

                                                                 

                       
The Wikipedia entry—today’s version of an Ackermann entry, perhaps—includes detailed information about the buildings in the square and a panoramic view.

For Royal Relaxing: The Prince of Wales Banyan, c. 1785

Isabella reporting,

While we were away from the blog, I had the great good fortune to see the exhibition Artist/Rebel/Dandy: Men of Fashion at the RISD Museum in Providence, RI.

Men's wear is often sadly under-represented in fashion collections, making this exhibition of historical and contemporary male clothing that made a bold personal statement for the wearer even more exciting (at least for Nerdy History People, anyway.) There was one room after another of fantastic clothes, from the beautiful linen shirts favored by Beau Brummell to Fred Astaire's tuxedo to Andy Warhol's paint-splattered Ferragamo oxfords.

While the exhibition has recently closed, highlights are still on line here, and the splendid hardcover companion book is available here.

One of the special pieces for me was this 18th c. banyan once worn by George IV (1762-1830) while he was Prince of Wales. (The banyan was making a rare appearance state-side, on loan from the Brighton Museum & Art Gallery.) Banyans were a kind of dressing-gown or robe worn by Georgian gentlemen as informal attire (for more information and other examples, see our blogs here, here, and here.) The elaborately patterned cotton chintz would not only have been comfortable - a welcome break from the formal silks of court life - but as a costly textile imported from India, the cotton would also have made a luxurious statement fit for a royal prince.

This banyan was quilted for extra warmth, and the braided closures and high collar, left, add to its exotic appeal. We tend to think of George IV in his later portly days as the Prince Regent, but this banyan, made between 1780-1790, proves that he cut a much less substantial figure as a young man in his twenties – although apparently there are interior panels that prove that the banyan was let out over time to accommodate his growing girth.

I particularly liked the quote that accompanied the banyan. Attributed to George "Beau" Brummell, it perfectly sums up the life around the Prince of Wales and his circle in late 18th c. Brighton, with young gentlemen elegantly lounging in banyans like this one: "Come to Brighton, my dear fellow. Let us be off tomorrow; we'll eat currant-tart, and live in chintz and salt-water."

Banyan, maker unrecorded, c. 1780-90. From the collection of Brighton Museum & Art Gallery. Top photo: RISD Museum. Lower photo: Brighton & Hove Museum.