A Tale Of Two Hameys: Part 1 (Cornelius Johnson)
This is a cautionary tale. Not on my part, thankfully (at least not yet), but on the danger of leaping to conclusions.
The Baldwin Hamey portraits are an incredibly convoluted story involving at least five separate paintings (some lost, some found), which may or may not actually depict the same man and/or his extremely similar son. In fact, the prospect of untangling this whole thing is so spectacularly complex that it hasn’t been done yet. But let’s give it a shot anyway.
The portrait known as Baldwin Hamey, Senior (on the right), is an astoundingly high-quality painting. It stands head and shoulders above standard formulaic portraiture of the era (pun not intended). It’s so good for its time, in fact, that I initially wondered if it had been mislabeled on ArtUK, but it’s credibly inscribed as 1633 and bears the Hamey family coat of arms. Its artistic authorship is a tantalizing, compelling mystery.
This article isn’t about that one. Sorry.
Today we’re discussing the picture on the left. It’s interesting in its own way, too: it shows up once per century. Painted in the 1620s, written about in 1733, photographed in the 1860s, recorded in 1966, and here we are in 2024.
The sitter, Baldwin Hamey, Senior, was a Flemish-born London doctor, a diligent, tough and persevering man who carried on a successful medical practice despite the establishment’s prejudice against foreign-born doctors. He survived a risky appointment to the Czar of Russia, fought for his license at the Royal College of Physicians, and practiced for decades (42 years, according to his more famous doctor son, Baldwin Hamey Junior.) In Baldwin Junior’s writings, he speaks very highly of his father, and it’s not difficult to see why. Senior was a sensible, frugal man who insisted on giving his son the best life he could. He firmly guided him towards ambitions of being a doctor, and it paid off. Baldwin Hamey Junior was renowned in his time, and his lifelong generosity was essential to the success and survival of the Royal College of Physicians.
It seems appropriate, somehow, that Senior’s portrait ended up at the RCP. Despite the needless trouble that organization gave him, his portrait now hangs proudly on the wall, bringing him back into the collective memory.
Unfortunately, figuring out the Hamey paintings – any of them – is a massive challenge. We know from the RCP article that “[Senior’s] portrait, by Cornelius Johnson, was extant in 1733.” But the 1633 portrait doesn’t resemble Cornelius Johnson’s style at all. He always favored three-quarter view angles, not that arresting front-facing composition. He was talented, but he didn’t achieve that level of striking realism. So — in lack of the Johnson possibility — I immediately concluded there’s more than one Hamey. Which is true in multiple ways: his identically named son also practiced the exact same profession; the famous Van Dyck portrait of Junior exists in duplicate; another surviving portrait of Junior in old age was very obviously based on the Cornelius Johnson picture of Senior. It’s all terribly complicated, and please forgive me if this is hard to follow in some places. It’s a real mess.
Fortunately, there are bits and pieces of clues. The National Archives’s article on the Hamey Senior picture offers a small additional lead:
The oil of Hamey has been equated with the signed and dated Jonson, 1624, last heard of when lent to the R.A. 1879 (77) by J. F. Stanford.
You may be wondering who J. F. Stanford is. I’m pleased to inform you that he's completely irrelevant.
At least we know there are at least 2 paintings of Baldwin Hamey Senior. The first one is that magnificent front-facing portrait that captured my imagination. The second -- considered to be lost -- is the Johnson, painted in the early 1620s. (Spoiler alert: it’s probably that photo at the beginning of this article.) It would’ve been commissioned about a decade after Baldwin Senior finally got his license from the RCP (1609/10), when his practice would’ve been well-established, thriving, and most importantly, not illegal anymore.
When I started researching Baldwin and his portrait and his life, I wrote to the blogger who runs “London Details”: one Baldwin Hamey Senior. Turns out it’s a pseudonym (imagine that). But Baldwin the Blogger is tremendously well-informed about Real Baldwin. He’s offered various useful insights, which I’ll quote throughout:
“Having one’s portrait painted when one had arrived in the world was the thing to do after all… Keevil (P. 131) says "his wealth had increased by degrees and he could now afford such expenditure as the commissioning of portraits of himself and Sarah". And then Keevil goes on about Cornelius Johnson. Unfortunately, Keevil is not very good on referencing every statement he makes, so why Hamey had chosen Johnson is not made clear. (Johnson's parent were refugees from the Low Countries (and presumably wrote their name as Jansen or Janssen, which got anglicized to Johnson).”
The Keevil in question here is John J. Keevil, a biographer of the two Baldwins. His books are a recommended read, but incredibly dense; he was a doctor, and clearly a talented researcher, but not an art historian. That’ll be important later.
Let’s backtrack to the primary source. Johnson’s portraits of Hamey Senior and his wife Sara are first recorded by Senior’s great-grandson Ralph Palmer, who produced a wildly enthusiastic biography of Hamey Junior in 1733. The manuscript is accessible in digital form at the Royal College of Physicians, if one can survive the effort of deciphering the handwriting. I’m not sure I’d recommend it. Despite existing intact for several centuries, Palmer’s manuscript has never gone to print. One can see why. Palmer’s exaggeration, verbosity, and ridiculous flair is so over-the-top that it’s hard to process it with a straight face. But, since the Hameys lived in the 1600s and primary sources are scarce, this is the best it’s going to get.
I was going to spare you, but here, give it a try:
“As to his person he was but low of stature, yet of a comely mien, & his aspect engaging; He had full, beautiful, and black eyes, wherein sat majesty and gracefulness in cojunct dominion. His hair was black, which he always wore, nor long nor short, but not curling. He had a well-turned face, and a very graceful elevation in the carriage of his head, easy and free too without stiffness or affectation, and every feature of his countenance was good, which in symmetry altogether so pleased and charmed Sir Anthony Vandyke, that as a very eminent and judicious artist (Mr Jonathan Richardson) in 1730 said, he observed several touches and strokes in this picture of that painter’s pencil, which he never before met with in any that came from under his hand. So that on his face, the muses seem to have kept their court, as within, under the presidentship of Apollo…”
It's all like that. (But make note of that Vandyke and Richardson thing. It'll be relevant in another article.)
Elsewhere in the footnotes, Ralph helpfully adds: “[Baldwin Senior’s] Picture, a head by Cornelius Johnson, is in the hands of Ralph Palmer, Esquire of Little Chelsea, his great grandson, in the County of Midsex.” / “[Sara’s] Picture by Cornelius Johnson is in the hands of her Great Grandson Ralph Palmer Esquire of Little Chelsea, in the County of Middlesex.”
Ralph Palmer really enjoyed writing about Ralph Palmer in the third person.
Back to Baldwin the Blogger, who told me: “In a note Keevil (p. 179-180) says that the portrait was 50" x 40" and exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1879 by J.F. Stanford with the title 'Gentleman unknown’.”
So, Keevil actually found it, right? Keevil, the known Hamey expert?
Well. Looking up this particular portrait, we can find it in two places: the Royal Academy’s exhibition record (1879), and the Walpole Society’s catalog of Cornelius Johnson’s works (1922).
Note, for the record, that this doesn’t say “Baldwin Hamey” anywhere.
In fact, as it turns out, there's nothing to identify this painting as Hamey. Not one piece of my research came close to corroborating it. Quite the opposite. It seems Keevil took a totally random and unsuccessful shot in the dark, based on the inscribed year (1624) and age (56). It is conceivable — dare I even say, likely — that Cornelius Johnson did more than one portrait of a late middle-aged man in the early 1620s.
However, the historical context Keevil provides in Hamey the Stranger (p. 131) is still accurate and useful:
“Hamey’s practice had never permitted fees of that order, but his wealth had increased by degrees and he could now afford such expenditure as the commissioning of portraits of himself and Sarah. He chose a painter still in his thirties, whose parents had fled from Antwerp during the Duke of Alva’s persecution in the year that Hamey was born. This young painter, Cornelius Johnson (81) was, however, a Londoner and had been baptized in the Dutch Church at Austin Friars. At the age of 26 he had already painted portraits which received much favourable comment.”
But, turning to footnote 81, we find something a bit less accurate and useful:
“Cornelius Johnson (Jonson or Jansen) painted a portrait, the canvas of which is inscribed C. J. fecit Anno Do 1624, and on which the age of the sitter is also noted - Aetatis suae 56. This portrait is the only surviving one by this artist which could be the one of Baldwin Hamey the Stranger, to which Ralph Palmer refers in his biography as being in his house in Little Chelsea in 1732. It is 50’’ x 40’’ and was exhibited in the Royal Academy with other portraits by Cornelius Johnson in 1879 (no. 77) by J. F. Stanford, with the title ‘Gentleman Unknown.’”
There is one critical problem here: 50’’ x 40’’ is an inconveniently huge painting. That’s nothing like the “head” that Ralph Palmer describes. If the Baldwin Senior picture was so large, Ralph surely would have said so (probably in rapturous, glowing terms). This article, about an anonymous Cornelius Johnson portrait of a doctor, makes the same point: “But Palmer is certainly not speaking about a three-quarter length portrait of Hamey in his own possession, and he explicitly distinguishes portraits of heads only from three-quarter length portraits.”
Ralph Palmer may have liked an extravagant turn of the phrase, but we can at least trust him to be honest about his collection of Baldwin Hamey fan memorabilia.
Beyond that, based on all my knowledge of Baldwin Senior as a historical figure, it goes against his well-established frugal nature and sensible personality to commission such a lavish and large portrait — especially a pair of them! I requested Baldwin the Blogger’s thoughts on this as soon as I realized Keevil’s mistake, and he said the same:
“You are probably quite correct in assuming that Keevil jumped to the wrong conclusion when reading the description of that rather large portrait of an unknown man by CJ. Hamey was doing alright in 1624, but I cannot really imagine him going for such expensive portraits of himself and Sarah. After all, he was a physician, not an aristocrat or wealthy banker.
Another point against the 1624 identification is J.F. Stanford. What would his link be with the Hameys/Palmers to come into the possession of the portrait. The Palmers seem to have hung onto the Hamey memorabilia rather well, so why get rid of this portrait. Too big to hang on their wall?”
Unfortunately, I'm forced to conclude that Keevil’s mis-identification should be stricken from the record.
This is a testament to how the discipline of art historical provenance research involves more than just records, books, and transcripts. It’s important to know the character of the sitter, especially what they would or wouldn’t have wanted in a picture, and it’s equally crucial to understand portraits themselves — their dimensions, contents, and intended purpose. In this case, it’s far more believable that, instead of a grand and fancy indulgence, Hamey Senior would have preferred a simpler, smaller, and more straightforward representation of himself and his wife, painted by a fellow Flemish emigre.
So if he isn’t that long-lost Unknown Gentleman, where on earth is Baldwin Senior?
Well, he’s on record in the RCP archives, and I found him by mistake.
Additionally, as per “Stranger’s Son” (p.157), in 1666, Junior wrote, “Thus the glass can be used as a mirror, and we can see our image in it and meditate on it. And when we see our grey hair and wrinkled face we are less concerned about departure.” Grey hair — not white. Perhaps a trivial distinction, but it just might be worth putting on the record.
Fortunately, this portrait does look like a Johnson, and it surely must be that missing Johnson portrait of Hamey Senior, who, by all accounts, seems to have an awfully strong resemblance to Junior. Between the identical names and similar looks, there was probably a mix-up somewhere along the way. (Maybe a descendant wrote it down incorrectly.) Compare with this sample from the convenient assortment of black-and-white Johnson portraits in the Frick Digital Collections – easier, in this case, than comparing full-color pictures:
In absence of a better photo, this will have to do. The photographer W. G. Lewis was active from the 1860s to 1890s, so I can’t exactly go ask for the negatives.
I did, of course, have to verify that that style of collar would’ve been worn at that proper place and time. The collar is seen more frequently in later 1600s portraiture, to be sure, but it’s not absent from earlier 1600s images. Baldwin the Blogger asked along the same lines:
“Is there any way of dating it more precisely by looking at the fashion of the white collar? Hamey won't have been the most fashionable guy, but presumably Sarah made sure he did not look too old-fashioned when his portrait was painted - I presume. As a non-fashionable guy, I would guess it was rather more likely to be the fashion earlier in the 17th century. I know they did elaborate ruffs, as in the 1633 portrait, but this looks to be his everyday working outfit, rather than the party-piece of 1633. I cannot see a physician treating a patient with a ruff around his neck and a lace band on his cap. I would hazard a guess of 1609/1610 when Baldwin was granted the RCP-licence.”
It’s hard to grasp the enormous popularity of the enormous ruffs. I suppose you just had to be there.
At any rate, it does seem to be more in line with Baldwin’s personality to wear the simpler type of collar, unlike the special-occasion picture labeled 1633 (we'll get to that later). Scouring the ArtUK database for 1610-20 and 1620-30 was an informative exercise. Relevant examples of a similar flat collar turned up quickly, such as here, here, and here.
Interestingly, similar collars also appear often in the works of Van Dyck, such as here and here… and this British School example. I will say, regarding quality, it’s obvious why VD & co stood out from the crowd.
Returning to the Johnson portrait, its owner is labeled as “Canon St T Ellacombe of Britton.” That (typos and all) refers to Reverend Henry Thomas Ellacombe and/or his son Canon Henry Nicholson Ellacombe, of Bitton Vicarage. My first clue here – coincidentally – was a mention in the “Stranger’s Son” footnotes (p. 216): “The ring (Thomas Burwell’s ring) was presented to the College by the Rev. Henry Thomas Ellacombe, a descendant of the Palmers.” So, the Ellacombes probably inherited that portrait as a family heirloom, all the way back from its creation.
The RCP Museum’s post adds some more Hamey-related context: “This carved skull ring surrounded by amethysts belonged to the President of the Royal College of Physicians, Thomas Burwell (1626 – 1701). Burwell either wore this to his Uncle-in-law’s funeral, fellow physician Baldwin Hamey Jr in 1677, or commissioned it afterwards in his memory.”
Because nothing says love and devotion like a carved skull.
I had a hunch: if the Ellacombes had the ring, there must be proof that they had other family keepsakes. Further search of “Ellacombe” in the RCP record revealed a series of 1850s letters between Ellacombe Senior and William Munk, famed RCP historian. One in particular caught my eye:
Dr. Hamey’s portrait, you say?
Here, I must extend a special thanks to the long-suffering RCP archivist Felix, who graciously provided me with links to all of the digitized pages, sent the entire set of Ellacombe letters, and otherwise indulged my relentless research material requests. While I was reading those letters, more crucial information appeared, as well as learning some valuable lessons about the downsides of illegible penmanship.
More readably: “But I should very much like to see Dr Hameys Portrait - the one I have has ever been in the family, but then it is only he by tradition.” / “I saw the Contents of your Hall & Hamey’s Portrait ]?] exactly [into?] my own excepting that in mine he wears a cap…”
It “has ever been in the family” confirms my suspicions about the inheritance provenance. “It is only he by tradition” implies there are no decisive markings on it to determine his identity. If it’s any consolation to Keevil, he could never have identified it based on the inscription. There simply isn’t one.
(The “Dr Hameys Portrait” that Ellacombe wanted to see — and to which he refers here — is the Old Baldwin Hamey Junior picture, painted by somebody named Snelling. It is indeed almost identical. We’ll deal with that later.)
All of that valuable primary-source provenance solidly confirms that the portrait in the photo — the Cornelius Johnson, of Baldwin Hamey, in a cap — is the one belonging to the Ellacombes.
So where on earth is it now?
I’ll spare you the details of that excruciating search, but the last trail of records ends in the auction of Henry Nicholson Ellacombe’s estate in May 1916, following his death. Bitton Vicarage was auctioned by George Nichols, Young, Hunt, & co, and there is a surviving catalog, held by the Bristol Reference Library (many thanks to Dawn at the library for finding all of the auction information). In it, several pictures are mentioned, including the following:
Sale May 4th
Study
336 pair of pencil drawings and 6 other pictures.
356 pair of old oils on panel, in applied carved frames.
Provided that Sara and Baldwin’s portraits were kept together, this is probably the pair of pictures in question. (Johnson painted his earliest works on panel.) Ultimately, this is where the provenance trail ends.
I haven’t been able to find the current whereabouts of those pictures, despite my best efforts. There’s so many questions still unanswered. I don’t even know how the photograph in the RCP files got its 1966 label — perhaps it was donated then? — but I do intend to find out, hopefully without driving the archivists crazy.
It is ironic, somehow, that the provenance trail of that fancier Baldwin Hamey portrait, previously ending in 1967, now goes all the way back to 1918 (stay tuned) — but the provenance trail of the other Baldwin Hamey portrait extends from the 1600s, all the way up to 1916, where it ends. They’re just two years apart. One of them turned up after centuries of silence, but its origin is unknown and unrecorded. The other one was carefully preserved for centuries in the hands of Baldwin’s descendants, but just over a hundred years ago, it vanished.
So close, and yet so far.
- - - -
One extra bit of Hamey trivia to wrap it up:
Aside from my blogger friend carrying the torch for the Hamey name, information is a bit scarce. It’s mostly available via Keevil’s books, and he also wrote an article, “The Hameys In The Netherlands.” The only digital copy is in the possession of the Huguenot Society. It’s not publicly available, but the Huguenots sent it to me on request — which is an incredible sentence to type in the year 2024.
I’ll let Keevil tell it:
“Hamey came into official contact with the nobles when the Czar sent him to attend those whom he wished to single out for special honour during an illness… But Fedor had no cause to value the lives of [his rivals]… It was not long before Hamey understood what was expected of him: he 'was not deceived about the character of the Czar who . . . made it abundantly clear, in connection with the illnesses of certain notable men, that in his opinion medicine should have found some solution'. The nature of that solution in the mind of such a man was murder by poisoning.”
It’s not hard to grasp why Hamey Senior already looked so old in his 50s.
Fortunately, he did not do any poisoning on demand. He survived the risky trip to Russia, married his wife, and fled to London to build a new life.
And, eventually, he had his portrait painted… and then lost, and then found again, and lost again.
At least, for now.
Postscript:
I refrained from posting this article for several days after writing it, because I’d requested a RCP record, as follows: “Autograph letter from Randall Davies, historian of Chelsea Old Church, to Dr. Payne re Jansen portrait of Hamey and genealogy of Hamey & Palmer families.”
The Jansen portrait. That’s the one! Exciting stuff - it just might have the secret.
Or not. In it, Randall Davies, historian of Chelsea Old Church, says…
I find that I am unable to give you any satisfactory reply, as to the portrait by Jansen.
You and me both.
