A Tale Of Two Hameys: Part 2 (Matthew Snelling)

In which the portrait of the father is recycled for the son.

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These two pictures are oddly similar. As usual, that’s no coincidence. 

Last time on the Hamey Channel, we discussed a big-name painter, Cornelius Johnson. Today, we’ll focus on a small name: Matthew Snelling, a little-known miniaturist. 

Snelling is remembered for his portrait of Hamey and not much else. (The record of the picture cites the artist as “Matthew (?) Snelling,” granting him even less dignity.) “Baldvinus Hamey M.D.”, shown on the left, captures the good doctor at age 74, pictured with those timeless hallmarks of the medical profession: a dashing cap, several gigantic books, and the marble busts of his favorite ancient authors, which he strokes lovingly like a household pet. 

The other picture, on the right, is a Photoshopped combination of two doctors, both painted by the great 1600s portraitist Cornelius Johnson. The head, with its strong resemblance, belongs to the original Baldwin Hamey Senior, which I’ve already described on my blog at considerable length. (I hope you’ll read it, but you’re certainly forgiven if you don’t.) The resulting combination— Johnson squared? — is clearly the basis for Snelling’s Frankenstein Hamey composition. And luckily, I’m not the first person to say so. 

But let’s discuss the man himself before I try to prove it.

Baldwin Hamey, Junior, was an intriguing character:

By nature he was generous and pleasantly mild-mannered, in contrast to his father’s dogged tenacity, but they were equally dedicated to the pursuit of medicine. (Junior’s been described, rather insultingly to both, as Senior’s “more interesting son.”) In historical records, Baldwin Junior is remembered primarily for ensuring the survival of the Royal College of Physicians (RCP) after a series of local and national calamities, from turbulent civil upheaval to citywide disasters. Hamey donated to preserve the College during the threat of land confiscation in 1651, and financially supported the rebuilding after the catastrophic 1666 London fire. (In particular, he funded the wainscoting of the RCP’s dining room in the finest wood, and so, all the historical records relentlessly bring up Hamey's immaculate taste in interior decor.) 

Hamey had supported the monarchy, but was disillusioned by the airs of Charles II, and declined an offer of knighthood. He refused to accept the RCP’s prestigious presidency, though he frequently held lower offices. And his lifelong professional diligence was legendary: 

All in all, the younger Baldwin had certainly earned the right to be immortalized in portraiture. Snelling’s image, of dubious originality, is discussed alongside a Van Dyck, a far more renowned artist, in Hamey’s great-nephew Ralph Palmer’s flowery biography:

…where in the picture gallery [at Oxford] there is a head of him when he was 38 years old, after one of the finest Vandyke ever painted; as there is an half length of him too with the heads of Hippocrates & Aristophanes before him in the Royal College of Physicians at London, done by Snelling when he was seventy four years old, the one showing him to have been as graceful a young man as the other represents him to have been a most comely and venerable old one. 

Palmer’s high praise is arguably true. It’s not an unflattering picture. But it lacks the magic that comes from the paintbrush of the true greats. 

The painting appears on record in the RCP’s 1864 portraits catalog, generously shared with me by Elizabeth Douglas, interim senior curator at the RCP’s museum and archives:

I told you they kept mentioning that interior decor.

What Ralph Palmer failed to mention, in that whole “comely and venerable” passage, is that he owned the Snelling painting! That is, up until 1700, when he handed it over to the RCP for no particular reason. 

Ralph was both an avid art collector and a Baldwin Hamey aficionado, so it’s unlikely he’d have given away the picture if he felt it had great sentimental or artistic value. Meanwhile, Ralph kept the far superior Van Dyck Hamey for himself; he was so reluctant to part with it that he had a copy made, given to Oxford in 1732, rather than donating the real thing to Baldwin’s alma mater. (A wise choice, given that the Van Dyck Hamey was allegedly stolen, possibly from the RCP, after its donation!) It's a good thing Snelling’s work survived, so there would be at least one Hamey around. 

I was hoping to turn up a contemporary record of Palmer’s contribution, but a search through the 1700 RCP annals yielded nothing but records of inter-physician disputes, squabbles, and (usually justified) complaints.

Professional conflict springs eternal.

EDIT: Via Liz at the RCP:

Ah yes, quite a few squabbles in the 18th c. My fave print of an RCP ‘riot’: this fracas between Fellows & Licentiates (different levels of membership).

Average day in the office.

But the mere existence of the Snelling painting is more than slightly odd. Its creator was a miniaturist, so how did he land a commission for such a large portrait in oils? Who commissioned it at all, and why? It’s impossible to say. Information about Snelling is irritatingly elusive. The RCP’s record refers to him as “an obscure painter.” Robert Tittler’s data-set Early Modern British Painters (c. 1500-1640) only includes “Thomas Snelling, father of the painter Matthew Snelling (1621-1678).” The son didn’t even earn a square in the spreadsheet. 

Worse yet, on the rare occasions that Snelling’s portraits are discussed, it’s never flattering. At the hands of art historians, his rendition of Hamey receives a series of scathing roasts. Ellis Kirkham Waterhouse refers to it as a "very feeble portrait,” and David Piper brutally condemns the picture as "not nearly as competent.” 

The reviews are in, and the results aren't pretty.

The notion of Snelling as a copyist, proposed by David Piper in his Seventeenth-Century Catalogue, refers to a different picture: William Brouncker, 2nd Viscount Brouncker. Though clearly not by Lely, the work is executed with far more flair and panache than Snelling’s Hamey. So much so, actually, that I felt a bit bad about lining up the comparison.

But not bad enough to not include it. 

Snelling just can’t catch a break. But what's wrong with that Hamey picture, anyway? Artistically, it's not bad, but it’s not great, either. Snelling is no Van Dyck, and he's clearly struggling with the principles of realism. Nonetheless, as a representation of Baldwin Hamey, it gets the job done.

Labeled for your convenience.

It can’t be the subject matter. We know for a fact that Hippocrates and Aristotle were among Hamey Junior's all-time favorite authors. Various history records repeat that entertaining anecdote from his earlier biography: during times of controversy in the English civil war years, Hamey survived dull ordeals by bringing copies of the Greco-Roman classic works, bound to look like the Bible, and passed the time by writing notes in the margins!

There, there, Hippocrates.

But it seems the artistic license with the Greek busts was Snelling’s only true stroke of originality. As I mentioned, I’m not the first person to notice the likeness between Elderly Hamey Junior and a suspiciously similarly posed physician. 

Researcher Sietske Fransen astutely writes about the comparison, drawing the conclusion that I mentioned at the beginning of this article:

Even clearer are the similarities in position and composition to a 1674 portrait of Baldwin Hamey Jr by Matthew Snelling (bapt 1621, d 1678) (Pl 4). This portrait belongs to the RCP and hangs next to the Johnson portrait on the central staircase. The pose of the sitters, as well as the backgrounds with bookshelves, curtain, table and chair are remarkably similar… Another portrait of Hamey painted by Van Dyck in 1638 does not resemble the man in the 1637 Johnson picture at all. The Johnson portrait could nevertheless have served as a model for Snelling’s 1674 portrait of Hamey Jr.

Clearly, the likeness is only a reference, but it’s strikingly strong. The physician in the library remains unknown, though scholarship has narrowed down the options. It’s even been speculated that the man is Hamey himself. But, as Fransen points out, it looks nothing like him, which is a very slight obstacle. 

Luckily, the handlebar mustache wasn’t universal.

But why did Snelling rip off (or lovingly homage) Johnson in the first place? Why didn’t he simply capture Hamey as he was, instead of resorting to a reference image of his father?

At the time of the painting’s creation in 1674, Baldwin Hamey’s health was failing. 

Years earlier, in 1665, Baldwin Hamey Junior had retired to Little Chelsea after the 1660 death of his beloved wife, Anna. By the time Snelling arrived to paint him, Baldwin knew his time was limited. John Keevil, the Hamey biographer, explains in The Stranger’s Son: “For nine years he had not left his home, and in 1675 he must have realised that his long life was at last closing.” (p. 184). Hamey’s likeness was captured twice at that time, maybe with his mortality in mind; once by Snelling, and once by the sculptor Edward Pierce, at the behest of Hamey’s peers and admirers at the RCP. 

Keevil draws attention to the stark difference in the two portraits:

Between 1674 when his portrait was painted, and 1675 when he sat for the sculptor, there was a notable change in his appearance. In the painting even the indifferent artist, Snelling, was able to capture something of his youthful appearance. In spite of the white hair and small white pointed beard, Hamey’s expression was alert and somewhat mischievous. 

When Edward Pierce came to make the bust of Hamey for the college he found a face from which all animation had disappeared: the features were heavy and still. 

Keevil is harsh, but he’s right. Though Keevil skewers Snelling as “indifferent,” he also underhandedly praises him for his skill in capturing a sense of life and intelligence. Notably, Johnson’s lookalike portrait represents Baldwin Senior in his 50s, which would have provided a more youthful visual reference point. (The picture hung in Baldwin Junior’s home during his life, so Snelling couldn’t have missed it.) It’s hard to say whether Hamey instructed Snelling to reference his father’s portrait, or if the artist made the decision himself, in order to capture him more youthfully. Either way, Snelling’s lively version of Baldwin in his later years is a far cry from the old man seen in Pierce’s marble bust, who looks solemn, ailing, and sorrowful.

(image credit: David Bridgwater’s English 18th Century Portrait Sculpture blog, The Royal College of Physicians (part 2). Thank you David for the additional information!)

Noticeably, both artworks are wearing the same outfit, hat and all. In 1674/75, both Snelling and Pierce traveled separately to Hamey's home in Chelsea to take their impressions of his face, working with speed and efficiency in mind. Pierce would have only sculpted a rough draft in clay of his likeness, and probably referenced Snelling’s image of the elderly Hamey to finish the job. 

It is almost impossible to see Baldwin’s hat in the present-day darkened condition, but we can compare it with this oddly youthful sketch of Hamey Junior in old age, from the 1883 scrapbook of Frederic John Farre, (p. 76), which inexplicably labels the artist as “John”: 

He has some real flair here. A bit less wise old doctor, a bit more Three Musketeers. 

Meanwhile, Pierce’s sculpture sat incomplete for several years due to the RCP’s internal disorganization at the time. When the artist was finally paid, it would have been impossible to sculpt from life: Hamey had long since passed away. 

On 19 February 1674/5 [Hooke’s diary] records that he was ordered by Ent, Scarborough and others "to bespeak Dr. Hamey's head of Pierce"; on 4 September 1675, he notes "saw Dr. Hamey's head embossed at Mr. Pierces", and five years later it was still there; "saw Dr. Hameys head at Pierces. ..." (19 July 1680).

In the ms. Cash Book, 1684, is the entry: "payd April: 12 for Dr. Hamey's head of marble 50£; Palmer himself, in his life of his uncle, states that the bust stood more than seven years on the (unnamed) sculptor's hands. In the nineteenth century the bust was mistaken by Munk and others (including the D.N.B.) for an image of the Marquis of Dorchester (q.v.)

Unsurprisingly, Ralph Palmer was responsible for preserving the legacy of Hamey, again:

It would seem that neither the Snelling and Pierce portraits are an exact likeness, considering that accidental identity theft by the Marquis. But the statue was not forgotten: Munk’s “Roll of the Royal College of Physicians” declares “A bust of Hamey, executed at the expense of the College, was placed there in 1684, but has long disappeared.” And yet, there it sat, a “very fine bust” of the Marquis in the library. One would think he’d have noticed eventually.

Meanwhile, the author of “A new view of London” (1708), Edward Hatton, amusingly mis-recorded the item as one "Dr. Amy":

My friend Baldwin Hamey (the blogger) figured this one out:

The hearing mistake of Amy for Hamey is easily explained. The chap probably just heard the name when he was escorted past all the grandees of the RCP on his way up a meeting room. It proves that in 1708 the RCP already had the bust and a painting of Hamey. 

Over time, the marble Baldwin Junior's identity was eventually restored, and his likeness by Snelling remained at the RCP all along. That portrait’s apparent mediocrity might’ve done it a real favor — no one bothered to steal it, unlike Van Dyck’s 1638 version of Baldwin Junior, “one of the finest Vandyke ever painted” (flattering, but debatable). Incidentally, that one miraculously turned up in 2012, thanks in part to the Philip Mould Gallery, and young Baldwin Junior now hangs in the RCP once again, increasing the size and scope of their Hamey collection from young to old. 

Today, the wise old Baldwin Junior sits in residence among his peers at the College:

No doubt this rendition of Baldwin Jr. was based on Baldwin Sr., closely copying his father’s likeness, as well as that mysterious doctor beside him. But Snelling did ensure that Hamey would be remembered for posterity. And in that way, the much-maligned “indifferent artist” did his job admirably well.

See you next time.

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Postscript: Ironically, the RCP’s record of Snelling’s Baldwin Hamey confirms my research from Part 1 of the Tale of Two Hameys: 

Another portrait of Hamey, possibly by the same painter, and of about the same period, but of a different pattern, belongs to the Ellicombe family of Chudleigh.

(Cornelius Johnson’s Baldwin Hamey Senior isn't actually the same painter, the same period, or the same Hamey — but it is a lookalike, and it did belong to the Ellacombes. Thanks for that! Now, where is it?)