___1500x1153pe1.JPG)
Painted in 1567 by the suspicious-sounding Master of the Countess of Warwick, it depicts William Brooke, the 10th Baron Cobham, his second wife Frances Newton (standing) and their offspring. The lady sitting is Frances’ sister Johanna. She’s holding Henry. The other children are Maximilian, William, twins Frances and Elizabeth, and Margaret.
They all, you will note, have the same face. Ageless, like Midwich Cuckoos the children gaze at the nothingness beyond the limits of our perception. Margaret on the right is clearly the leader, her dark artistry fathomless, the evil palpable in her smirk – it is no coincidence that her pet, or dæmon, is a black cat.* The twins are soulless automatons, their actions controlled by infant hound-master Maximilian (left).
Their mother, Frances Newton, is an empty husk, all colour drained from her features. The Baron himself prays ceaselessly and furiously for redemption. Only Johanna, the aunt, knows the true nature of the Cuckoos; they revealed themselves to her one black night and now command her wholly.
*Or possibly marmoset, which is just as sinister if you ask me.
Are you sure that the pet on the right isn't a marmoset? Not that this makes the situation any better, admittedly.
ReplyDeleteYours in art-historical pedantry (etc) ....
You know, Fugitiveink, I had a good look at that and eventually plumped for cat, but it does look rather simian, doesn't it?
ReplyDeleteI shall amend, you can't be too careful.
Either way, what a relaxed and informal upbringing young Elizabethan aristocrats must have enjoyed, though! I mean, I don't consider myself unduly fastidious when it comes to having domestic pets wandering around the surface of the dinner table, but I am not really sure I'd want my child to harbour a cat / marmoset / some combination on his or her actual plate - and doesn't that parrot appear to be settling down to a big dish of grubs? Truly, we live in a diminished age.
ReplyDeleteWasn't Longleat the first, the then incumbent owed the taxman more shekels than he had left at the back of the knife drawer, not surprising, someone once said that the Aristo's and Andy Cap had a lot in common, booze, horses, fags, wimmen. Then that common lot at Woburn joined in, ole 'enrietta Tiarks and her bloke. We will not even mention that old bugger down at Beaulieu, him being a boy scout fan etc. Went to visit Woburn when it first opened, first public viewing of massed masturbation. The real sideshow of course is the toffs themselves, like watching woolly mammoths grazing.
ReplyDeleteIt’s the saturnine 10th Baron that your eyes and thoughts come back to.
ReplyDeleteSince the death of his mistress, a Bohemian Jewess, he is said to have withdrawn from all human company except that of his fool, a redheaded dwarf named Leppin (not shown). He now spends his nights studying the meanderings of comets and writing a treatise on the language of the angels. His days are spent immured in his cabinet of curiosities, which includes a gold-inlaid narwhal tooth, two nails from Noah’s Ark, an unidentified vegetable that utters prophecies in Hebrew, and a vial containing the spittle of a hydrophobic werewolf.
More alarmingly, the young miss with the cat (?) looks very like our own George Osborne.
Jonathan - would you drop me an email at editorial@thedabbler.co.uk ?
ReplyDeleteMock him if you will, but do you think it was easy being Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports? Frenchies forever trying to sneak in, quangos demanding to be the sixth, local councils calling for non-competitive bear-baiting... He is clearly exhausted, maybe a little depressed and yearning to get away from the sitting for a good workout at the gym.
ReplyDeleteJonathan again - seem to be having problems with that email, so could you try britofengland@googlemail.com
ReplyDeleteThanks.
do you think the artist was somewhat over-anxious to prove the provenance of each of the offspring? makes them seem a bit insecure.
ReplyDeleteI'm a mother - I look like an empty husk, although my children don't have identical faces. That's what happens to you when you're a mother. It's very tough.
ReplyDeleteIt's their eating arrangements that fascinate. that, I assume, pigeon on the table, looking as if it can still give off the odd coo or two, are they eaten alive, do the snotty nosed little blighters sit there, a pigeon apiece, faces smeared in feather, crunching away. And what, one wonders, do they do with the claws.
ReplyDeleteThis really is art criticism of the highest calibre. Well done, all.
ReplyDelete