Deathbed Portraits – The Case of Venetia Digby
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[This] is the Master peece of all the excellent ones that ever Sir Anthony Vandike made, who drew her the second day after she was dead; and hath expressed with admirable art every circumstance about her, as well as the exact manner of her lying, as for the likenesse of her face; and hath altered or added nothing about it, excepting onely a rose lying upon the hemme of the sheete, whose leaves being pulled from the stalke in the full beauty of it, and seeming to wither apace, even whiles you looke upon it, is a fitt Embleme to express the state her bodie then was in.[1]
Sir Kenelm Digby, expressed this sentiment after seeing the portrait he commissioned from Anthony Van Dyke of his wife Lady Venetia Digby (nèe Stanley), painted from a sketch taken two days after her sudden death in 1633.
Deathbed portraits were rare in England, especially this early, although several exist. In northern Europe, especially in the Germanic-speaking states, and the Netherlands, they were far more common, and during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries grew in popularity. There is no particular social or religious pattern for the deathbed portrait across England and Europe, people of both Catholic and Protestant beliefs would occasionally use this form of commemoration.[2] The portrait of Venetia is unique as it has a substantial amount of documentary material dedicated to it, providing insight into the circumstances that led to its composition and its life in the aftermath of that commission. Attention to this one image can inform wider investigation and research.
Anthony van Dyck, Venetia, Lady Digby, on her Deathbed, 1633, oil on canvas, 74.3 x 81.8 cm, DPG194. Dulwich Picture Gallery, London. By kind permission.
When Venetia Digby died very suddenly in her sleep Kenelm went to great extremes to emphasise that she had been prepared. He highlighted her piety, that she had been a perfect wife, attended mass the Sunday past, had written a will and was at peace with everyone.[3] Venetia was not ill beforehand. Speculation about her death clearly caused Kenelm upset. Charles I ordered an autopsy where they found a decay of her brain, leading modern scholars to attribute her death to a possible cerebral haemorrhage.[4] At the time it was thought she died from taking viper wine for her complexion.[5] Kenelm was distraught by this accusation claiming that she had been taking viper wine for nine years, though at his insistence.[6]
It is possible that Kenelm commissioned Venetia’s deathbed portrait to highlight that he was not responsible for her death and to also monitor how her soul fared in the afterlife. He studied the portrait for any changes; and would write of his relief at not observing any terrible revisions in the painting as these were thought to reflect that her soul was in torment, or indeed indicate an accusation towards him of causing her death.[7]
The portrait was not the only form that Kenelm’s grief took. He sent for a caster to take casts of Venetia’s hands and face. He cut off her hair as a memento and commissioned a miniature from Peter Oliver based on Van Dyck’s painting, so he could have the image with him whenever he travelled. Kenelm also bound together all the letters he had written after Venetia’s death and published them in a book, In Praise of Venetia. He also commissioned a bronze bust of Venetia and an elaborate tomb in Christchurch, Newgate Street. Kenelm withdrew from society to Gresham College where he devoted much of his time to Venetia’s memory including producing an illuminated family tree to the cost of £1000, alongside continuing his scientific studies.[8] Despite his claims to the contrary, Kenelm did eventually fall in love with another woman but his devotion to Venetia continued until his own death in June 1665 and he was buried beside her.[9]
Even without all the context, the portrait is worthy of attention. The last sentence of the Dulwich Picture Gallery’s caption by the portrait explains that; ‘In the posture and the patterns of bedding Van Dyck offers two consoling visual suggestions: that death is but sleep and that Venetia (or her soul) is floating on clouds surrounded by the blue skies of Heaven’. Van Dyck’s style and tone were adapted depending on the societies he found himself in. In England he adopted a wider palette which included the range of blues used in this portrait, he favoured silks over heavy embroidery and adored lustrous strings of pearls and peal-drop earrings.[10] The rose was his favourite flower and its inclusion in the portrait was noted by Kenelm as the only added feature. The rose is interpreted as denoting the Virgin Mary and the pearls symbolise purity, oddly the miniature copy by Peter Oliver has a different necklace.[11] There is no known reason for the change of necklace, it is possible that Oliver’s own friendship with Venetia was a reason.
It is only with a close analysis that death can be seen. It is evident in the eyes; they are not fully closed, frozen slightly apart, a tiny morbid detail in an otherwise tranquil image.[12] Venetia is seen from above as if Kenelm was looking down at her. Philippe Ariès suggested that when portraying a man when dead, ‘it is as if death gave him an extra measure of personality’.[13] This can certainly be applied to the objects commissioned after Venetia’s death. The viewer's line of sight is one of intimacy and provides for contemplation, we are invited into a private setting, the bedchamber, to view an emotive scene which could be confrontational and morbid but instead retains a beauty and calm.
There is only one other deathbed portrait in England from a similar period depicting a dead woman. That of, Sir Thomas Aston at the Deathbed of his Wife, now in Manchester Art Gallery. The two works could not be more different. The Aston portrait is full of people and symbolism; the eye is drawn to the figure in the bed, but she lacks the sense of intimacy evoked when looking at Venetia.
The amount of material output in commemoration of Venetia by Kenelm is unique. His use of multiple media, from the casts, hair, the Van Dyck portrait, Oliver’s miniature, the bronze bust, elaborate tomb and his written material such as In Praise of Venetia, provide the researcher with a wealth of sources. Yet we only understand Venetia through Kenelm’s eyes. Kenelm’s material output for Venetia was often inscribed with the classical epigrams ‘uxorem vivam amare, voluptas est: defunctam, religio’ – ‘To love a living wife is a pleasure, to revere a dead one, a pious duty’.[14]
Artefacts related to death are bountiful. The material used to convey grief and commemoration of the dead should allow examination of this basic human characteristic that crosses time and cultures.
References and Resources:
Dulwich Picture Gallery, https://www.dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/
A. Sumner, ‘Art in Context: Venetia Digby on her Deathbed’, History Today (October 1995)
A. Sumner (ed.), Death, Passion and Politics Van Dyck’s Portraits of Venetia Stanley and George Digby (1995)
R. Blake, Anthony Van Dyck: A Life, 1599-1641 (1999)
P. Ariès, Images of Man and Death (1985)
[1] Venitia Lady Digby on her Deathbed, DPG194. Description from entry at Dulwich Picture Gallery.
[2] A. Sumner, ‘Art in Context: Venetia Digby on her Deathbed’ History Today Oct 1995; 45; C. Gittings, ‘Venetia’s Death and Kenelm’s Morning’ in A. Sumner (ed.), Death, Passion and Politics Van Dyck’s Portraits of Venetia Stanley and George Digby (1995), 55.
[3] Gittings, ‘Venetia’s Death’, 59.
[4] Sumner, ‘Art in Context’, 24.
[5] R. Blake, Anthony Van Dyck: A Life, 1599-1641 (1999), 279.
[6] Sumner, ‘Art in Context’, 2.
[7] Gittings, ‘Venetia’s Death’, 60.
[8] Sumner, ‘Art in Context’, 24; B. Southgate, ‘“Whimseys of…that great Virtuoso”: the thoughts of Sir Kenelm Digby’ Death, Passion and Politics, 45-53.
[9] Sumner, ‘Introduction’ Death, Passion and Politics, 20.
[10] M. Rogers, ‘Van Dyck’s Portrait of Lord George Stuart’ in Van Dyck 350 ed. A. K. Wheelock and S. J. Barnes (1994), 263.
[11] Sumner, ‘Art in Context’, 23-24 and Gittings, ‘Venetia’s Death’, 60.
[12] Blake, Anthony, 280.
[13] P. Ariès, Images of Man and Death (1985), 199.
[14] Gittings, ‘Venetia’s Death’, 64.
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fascinating column that helps us think about how we deal with death and the death of a loved one.