Day 224 - Cabinet and bust

 November 23, 2020

I'd walked through gallery 516, the last of the British galleries, several times previously and, to be honest, was not looking forward to this visit. The space, although bisected by a large display cabinet, appeared to be enormous and forbiddingly crammed with furniture and ceramics. The latter include three enormous ceramic birds - a peacock, a stork, and a heron - two of which, as I learned, were designed to hold walking sticks!  These seemed the height of Victorian excess.

In fact, today's visit was highly enjoyable.   Probably a variety of factors account for this: the sun finally broke out after a day and a half of rain and gray skies; I'd done a good workout and then an online yoga class and was feeling energized; I allowed myself to take the crosstown bus both ways. But I think that a major reason is that the space is well-lit and - a wonderful surprise -  the large majority of items bear explanatory captions at more or less eye level, making for a much more pleasurable viewing experience. The signage drew my eye to things I might not otherwise have noticed - for example, a chess set hand-carved in India in which the chess figures are opposed Indian armies (including the king and queen seated on howdahs atop elephants),  and a Staffordshire statuette of a British army officer being attacked by a tiger far larger than the hapless soldier.

A few of the pieces are indeed  pretty kitschy, including faux Chinese ceramics that are graceless imitations of their originals. But I emerge with a new appreciation of the variety and vitality of Britain's economic and artistic endeavors. 

This is - finally, and amazingly - the last of the European Decorative Arts and Sculpture galleries, or the last I can view until the pandemic is over, anyway.  I know that I have repeatedly expressed my distaste for the fanciness and fussiness of so many of the items, so it seems paradoxical that the second to the last object I want to write about is a highly elaborate cabinet attributed to Robert Hughes and made about 1825.   The way it's displayed, topped by a pair of gilded bronze candelabras that are, to my mind, just plain ugly, detracts from the beauty of the cabinet.  

But the cabinet, by itself, is utterly spectacular.  About 60" long, 36" wide, and 20" deep, it's made of oak veneered with ebony, with hardstone panels taken from 17th century French and Italian furnishings and then reassembled into this lovely piece. Indeed, once the candelabra are out of the picture - quite literally, in my second photograph - the eye immediately goes to these panels, which use lapis lazuli, jasper, agate, and other stones to depict urns filled with delicately shaded and modeled flowers and fruits. Gilded frames surround the panels, and four Corinthian columns dividing the cabinet into separate zones are also gilded. But these frames and panels are relatively simple and don't draw attention from the lovely panels.  The cabinet is opulent, yes, but not fussy - maybe that's why I like it so much. 

In rereading my blogs, I also realize that I like the cabinet because, in its use of hardstone panels, it is very similar to the Barberini cabinet, which I described on Day 174, shortly after I began visiting this set of galleries! I guess my taste has remained consistent over time. 

I read that the cabinet was owned by a very rich  sugar plantation owner, so slavery almost certainly enabled its acquisition. But the plantation owner declared bankruptcy, and when his furnishings were put on the market, the cabinet was immediately snapped up by the Duke of Hamilton, whom the placard describes as "one of the most discerning collectors of his time." I would say that he had good taste!

Finally, I can't resist closing this entry with the image of another handsome man - in this case, a marble portrait bust about 26 inches high of Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington. It was executed by Sir Francis Chantrey in 1823, when Wellington was 54. He aged well, it appears! That said, it's hard not to think of the portrait as idealized: the Duke's head emerges nobly from classical drapery, and he has romantic curly locks. By contrast, a portrait of Wellington by Goya that I found on the internet shows a man with thinning hair! Chantrey's image is far more befitting of the national hero who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo.   Still, how fast heroes fade - I find myself confusing the Duke of Wellington with Lord Nelson.