Painting Caroline Bonaparte’s portrait, by Madame Vigée-Lebrun
Louise-Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun is best remembered today for being Marie-Antoinette’s favorite portraitist. In fact her career went on for decades, with unabated success, after she left France in October 1789, at the very beginning of the French Revolution. For years Madame Lebrun traveled to Italy, Germany, England and Russia, where she enjoyed the patronage of the imperial family and much of the aristocracy.
She returned to France after Napoléon Bonaparte crowned himself Emperor. Bonaparte meant to recreate around himself and Joséphine a new court, no less brilliant than that of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette. Naturally the idea came to him to secure the services of the late Queen’s portraitist for the newly minted Imperial Highnesses of his own family. Let us listen to Madame Lebrun, who recalls the experience in her Memoirs:
My journey to England had displeased the Emperor, who had curtly remarked, “Madame Lebrun went to see her friends.” But Bonaparte’s resentment against me could not have been violent since, a few days after speaking thus, he sent Monsieur Denon [director of the Musée Napoléon, as the Louvre was then known] to me with an order to paint his sister, Madame Murat [née Caroline Bonaparte]. I thought I could not refuse, although I was only to be paid 1,800 Francs – less than half of what I usually charged for portraits of the same size. This sum was the more moderate that, for the sake of pleasing myself as to the composition of the picture, I painted Madame Murat’s pretty little girl beside her, and that without raising the price.
I could not conceivably describe all the annoyances, all the torments I underwent in painting this picture. To begin with, at the first sitting, Madame Murat brought two lady’s maids, who were to do her hair while I was painting her. However, upon my remark that I could not under such circumstances do justice to her features, she agreed to send her servants away.
Then she repeatedly failed to keep the appointments she made with me, so that, in my desire to finish, I was kept in Paris nearly the whole summer, as a rule waiting for her in vain, which angered me unspeakably. Moreover, the intervals between the sittings were so long that she sometimes changed her hairstyle. In the beginning, for instance, she wore curls hanging over her cheeks, and I painted them accordingly; but some time after, this having gone out of fashion, she came back with her hair dressed in a totally different manner, so that I was forced to scrape off the hair I had painted on the face, and was likewise compelled to blot out a pearl diadem and put one of cameos in its place.
The same thing happened with her gown. The one I had painted at first was cut rather open, as dresses were then so worn, and adorned with wide embroidery. The fashion having changed, I was obliged to close in the dress and do the embroidery anew. All the annoyances that Madame Murat subjected me to at last put me so much out of temper that one day, when she was in my studio, I said to Monsieur Denon, loudly enough for her to overhear me, “I have painted real princesses who never worried me, and never made me wait.” The fact is, Madame Murat did not know that “punctuality is the politeness of kings,” as Louis XIV had so aptly said.