DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61284#0231
LADY HAMILTON
113
but she made a poor use of her wealth. Her favourite way of passing the
time was to lie at full length on a sofa, wrapped in a big black pelisse, and
“ without her stays.” Boxes full of the “ latest creations ” came to her
from Mademoiselle Rose Bertin, the principal dressmaker in Paris, but
she scarcely troubled to look at them, nor did she wear the wondrous
diamonds that she possessed. “ A quoi bon ? Pour qui ? pour quoi ? ”
she asked, when any one suggested that she should put on her fine dresses
or her jewels. She told Madame Lebrun that, in Russia, she had a woman
serf under her bed every night, whose duty it was to send her to sleep
by telling her a story. Unlike Scheherazade of the Arabian Nights, this
serf told the same story every time, no doubt a more efficacious method
of inducing sleep.
After this indolent Russian beauty, Madame’s next sitter was a woman
more accustomed to posing than any other who had ever been shown on
a Vigee-Lebrun canvas. This was Emma Hart, or Lyon, soon to be Lady
Hamilton. The artist painted four portraits of the “ professional beauty.”
The first was a “ Bacchante ” lying beneath an arched rock near the sea.
Sir William Hamilton paid £96 for it, and sold it for £315, thus making
a big profit out of his wife’s portrait, according to his habit. Another of
the four pictures, composed somewhat in the Romney manner, showed
the lovely Emma again as a “ Bacchante,” running, with bare arms out-
stretched to play a tambourine held high before her, vine-leaves in her
flowing chestnut hair, and Vesuvius in eruption in the distance. Yet
another was the “ Sibyl,” which the artist took about Europe with her,
rolled up in transit, as a specimen of her best work ; and the fourth was
another “ Sibyl ” painted for the Due de Brissac. Sir William Hamilton
and his mistress were pleased with Madame Lebrun’s society, and the
undignified British ambassador endeavoured to entertain her with stories
of the most prominent ladies of the Neapolitan Court, so scandalous that
she could not repeat them. He declared that some of these ladies could not
read, that a good many “ did not know there was any other country than
Naples,” and that their only occupation was “V amour,” with frequent
change of the objects of their affection.
Assuredly the King of Naples gave little encouragement to learning
or virtue. He left the trouble of government—such as it was—to the
Queen, and generally resided at Caserta, much interested with a factory
there, the work-girls of which, as Madame was told (perhaps by Sir William
Hamilton), made his seraglio.
8
113
but she made a poor use of her wealth. Her favourite way of passing the
time was to lie at full length on a sofa, wrapped in a big black pelisse, and
“ without her stays.” Boxes full of the “ latest creations ” came to her
from Mademoiselle Rose Bertin, the principal dressmaker in Paris, but
she scarcely troubled to look at them, nor did she wear the wondrous
diamonds that she possessed. “ A quoi bon ? Pour qui ? pour quoi ? ”
she asked, when any one suggested that she should put on her fine dresses
or her jewels. She told Madame Lebrun that, in Russia, she had a woman
serf under her bed every night, whose duty it was to send her to sleep
by telling her a story. Unlike Scheherazade of the Arabian Nights, this
serf told the same story every time, no doubt a more efficacious method
of inducing sleep.
After this indolent Russian beauty, Madame’s next sitter was a woman
more accustomed to posing than any other who had ever been shown on
a Vigee-Lebrun canvas. This was Emma Hart, or Lyon, soon to be Lady
Hamilton. The artist painted four portraits of the “ professional beauty.”
The first was a “ Bacchante ” lying beneath an arched rock near the sea.
Sir William Hamilton paid £96 for it, and sold it for £315, thus making
a big profit out of his wife’s portrait, according to his habit. Another of
the four pictures, composed somewhat in the Romney manner, showed
the lovely Emma again as a “ Bacchante,” running, with bare arms out-
stretched to play a tambourine held high before her, vine-leaves in her
flowing chestnut hair, and Vesuvius in eruption in the distance. Yet
another was the “ Sibyl,” which the artist took about Europe with her,
rolled up in transit, as a specimen of her best work ; and the fourth was
another “ Sibyl ” painted for the Due de Brissac. Sir William Hamilton
and his mistress were pleased with Madame Lebrun’s society, and the
undignified British ambassador endeavoured to entertain her with stories
of the most prominent ladies of the Neapolitan Court, so scandalous that
she could not repeat them. He declared that some of these ladies could not
read, that a good many “ did not know there was any other country than
Naples,” and that their only occupation was “V amour,” with frequent
change of the objects of their affection.
Assuredly the King of Naples gave little encouragement to learning
or virtue. He left the trouble of government—such as it was—to the
Queen, and generally resided at Caserta, much interested with a factory
there, the work-girls of which, as Madame was told (perhaps by Sir William
Hamilton), made his seraglio.
8