Goya’s Maja, the Duchess of Alba, and Sherry from Andalucia

This painting seems rather tame for our day, though the look in the model’s eye has a bit of “come hither” to it. Many art historians propose Manuel de Godoy, 18th century Spain’s Prime Minister for King Charles IV, as the man who commissioned this work of his then mistress, Pepita Tudó. Given the dates of the work and the face of the woman, though not exactly Pepita but passable, that assumption seems to fit. However, there has always been a bit of a problem sustaining that theory completely when comparing this later work with the original maja, The Naked Maja, done between 1797-1800. For a good view of The Naked Maja, I shall send you to the Museo del Prado web page on that painting museodelprado.es.

While the face is the same and again not completely identifiable, the body of the naked version is smaller. The pose is relatively the same, but of course, the frontal nudity plus the direct gaze of the model were indeed shocking for that time. Frontal nudity was for those loose-living Venetians (Titian’s Venus of Urbino, 1534) and even still caused pearl clutching in 1863 when Manet’s Olympia was shown. Here is where the controversy lies. The heads of the majas seem to have been refashioned. Some say it was because Godoy married another woman, so wanted to hide the face of his former mistress. However, since the naked version was painted earlier, perhaps in 1797 during Goya’s stay at the estate of the Duchess of Alba, it is also speculated that the duchess had the face changed to conceal her identity. Years later in 1815, the Spanish Inquisition wanted to get to the bottom of the source of these naughty commissions, so Goya was called before the Inquisitors to tell all. However, his reply is unknown.

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So here they are, the artist and his most famous model, María Cayetana de Silva, Duquesa de Alba. Seeing them posed here in respectable postures, one still feels a bit uneasy. The duchess’ hair, which was quite a mane during her lifetime, is painted here with a few proper curls on top of the head and long uncurled straggles falling down her neck. This contrast continues with the tight-lipped mouth in relationship to the direct penetrating stare of the eyes. It looks as though she is holding back something. Goya gives us a side-eye, as if to say that he knows more than he will tell, or perhaps that he is up to something. Certainly that was probably the case, when in 1796, he left his wife behind in Madrid to go to the far southern area of Spain, Andalucía, to the Sanlúcar estate of the then newly widowed duchess.

For a closer view of this painting and the comments made by Goya, go to eeweems.com for “Goya: White Duchess.”

This painting shows the duchess in mourning, as her husband, a cousin to whom she had been married when she was 11 years old, had just died. However, her mourning outfit has a tale to tell also. Her dress is that of the flamboyant young women of the streets of Madrid, known as majas, a word that sometimes stood in for mistresses. The duchess, who was an only child, had always had a willfull nature and one not to be hindered by the high status coming from her title and extreme wealth. She was known to disquise herself in one of these maja outfits to go out among the ordinary people and become just someone in the crowd.

However, there is more to this picture. One sees the duchess pointing down to the ground at her feet. This part of the painting had been painted over, but in a cleaning of the painting in the 20th century, writing was revealed. She is pointing to words, traced in the sand, that say, “Solo Goya” or Only Goya. As well, the two rings she wears on the forefinger and middle finger of her right hand are inscribed with the names Alba and Goya. This painting was done in 1797, a date also given for The Naked Maja, and was painted during the time that Goya spent at Sanlúcar consoling the widow. It is obvious that The Black Duchess held special meaning for Goya since he kept the painting with him right up until his death in Bordeaux, France, in 1828.

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The two pieces above show that Goya had intimate knowledge of the household of the Duchess even before his long stay at Sanlúcar (1796-1797). In these two paintings we see the duchess’ dueña (an older woman chaperon) who was so religious she was called La Beata (the Blessed or the Pious One). The old lady is having the bejesus scared out of her by the duchess in one view. In the other, La Beata is holding on to someone for dear life as the duchess’ adopted daughter, María de la Luz, and a little playmate tug at her skirttails. (María de la Luz, whose parents had been slaves, was the only child of the duchess and inherited much of her adoptive mother’s personal wealth. While the family estates and titles went to other members of the Alba clan, María de la Luz and the duchess’ servants received generous amounts of money upon the duchess’ death.)

This all brings us back to who modeled for The Naked Maja. Goya may not have told anything noteworthy to the Holy Inquisition, hence the lack of any recorded response. However, there has been enough uncertainty circulating about that first painting, the naked one, to keep suspicions alive about the model being the duchess herself. There are other tales of waywardness involving the duchess and her relationship with Manuel de Godoy, who seems to have also been Queen María Teresa’s lover (see Goya’s painting of the Spanish royal family in 1800-1801, in which the face of the young infante (prince) bears a remarkable resemblance to that of Godoy museodelprado.es). One legend says that Queen María Teresa ordered Godoy to poison the duchess after Alba insulted the queen by arriving at the palace with her female entourage all wearing copies of a necklace that the queen was wearing the original of. The duchess died supposedly of tuberculosis in 1802 at the age of 40. The suddenness of it, though, seemed mysterious, hence the rumors of poison. This rumor was proved wrong when the duchess’ body was exhumed and tested in the 1940s, showing that she died of meningitis. The idea of poison lingered, however, and got incorporated in the 1958 movie about Goya and the duchess, The Naked Maja.

While the movie is good ’50s kitch (I must say that Ava Gardner does the duchess’ beauty justice), I have a more personal reaction to the film. One scene was particularly memorable because it had the royal court coming to see their court painter’s new creation for the royal chapel of San Antonio de la Florida. While all the swells were gathered below, they looked up into the cupola to see the saint dressed in humble brown ministering to the poor, some of whom were looking down on the wealthy gathered there below. I thought of that scene a few years ago when visiting the chapel in Madrid, along with my classmates and our art history teacher from Avignon, France. What a rabble-rouser Goya was, and the Duchess of Alba along with him. She must have been there when the court got the shock of looking up to see all those poor people up there, above them. However, as time passes, things fall into place, and someone in the Spanish government in the late 1800s had the wisdom to bring Goya’s remains back from France, and bury them there in San Antonio de la Florida, the scene of some of his great paintings, and one of his great controversies. How perfect. Eso es!

Paintings used in this article are in public domain. For more information on the paintings, follow the links given.

Other sources include “Goya: The White Duchess” see eeweems.com link above, and franciscogoya.com/naked-maja.jsp

For more on the life of Francisco Goya, visit The Art Blog at VernelleStudio.com for “Goya, the Other Spanish Bad Boy.”

Marjorie Vernelle is an artist, writer, college professor, and traveler. For more see the Pages at ofartandwine.com or her author page at amazon.com and her art at Vernelle Art Boutique vernellestudio.com.

The Sherry of Al-Andaluz (Andalucía)

The Spanish legend goes that Santa Lucía was sent off on a mission that led her to this part of Spain with the commanding words, “Anda Lucía!” or “Go forth, Lucía!” which then became the name of this land. Actually it comes from the Arabic version of a name the Vandals gave to southern Spain, Vandalusia, the Land of the Vandals. Al-Andalus was the Arabic used for the regions of Spain ruled by the Moors, descendants of that combination of Islamic warriors (Arab, North African, and Black African) who invaded Spain in 711 CE. Now it refers to a smaller region in the southwestern part of Spain and is known for its fine wine and fine foods.

The Montilla-Moriles region is particularly famous for its fortified dessert wines, most particularly sherry, though it also produces a fine Moscato and Moscato d’Asti. Sherry is a fortified wine made from white grapes grown in and around the city of Jerez in Spain, but in other parts of Andalucía as well. Jerez is southwest of the Montilla-Moriles region, which is in the most northernly part of Andalucía close to Córdoba. Spain is famous for its red wines from La Rioja but also for its sherry. While sherry is not as popular these days as it was in earlier times, the history of its development is long. The Phoenicians brought viticulture to southern Spain about 3,000 years ago. The Romans took that over 2,200 years ago. However, it was the Moorish invasion that brought with it the use a the distillation process that produced both brandy and fortified wine. The word sherry comes from the Moorish name for a village called Sherish. However, the name is also associated with the town of Jerez.

If you have been reading the posts on Of Art and Wine for a while, you know that any wine with an ancient past has a lot of variations that have been skillfully developed over the centuries. The same is true of sherry. While there are three grapes used in the making of sherry, the Palomino, the Pedro Ximénez, and the Moscatel, there must also be consideration for the special qualities of the terroir and micro-climates that can affect the taste of the wine, thus creating multiple versions of it. Sherrynotes.com does an excellent job of taking one through all these types and giving the significant features of each. I shall present two of them below.

Sherry was extremely popular in Victorian times. One of the most famous was Amontillado. Made from the Palomino grape, it can range in color from a deep golden to a deep amber. It even can come varigated (see the photo below). It is a dry wine with a complex blend of aromas, including hazel nuts, aromatic herbs and even dark tobacco. As you have probably guessed by now, Amontillado comes from Montilla, Spain. Of course, we know it is highly prized, just remember Edgar Allen Poe’s story, “A Casque of Amontillado.”

Sanlúcar de Barrameda, the area where Goya visited the Duchess of Alba on her estate, is known for making a sea-scented sherry called Manzanilla. Sanlúcar de Barrameda sits on the Atlantic coast, and its lands run east toward the Guadaquivir river. It is a unique micro-climate that gives a touch of salt to the flavor of this sherry. Manzanilla also makes a wonderful cocktail. The article, “The Veil of Sanlucar” gives the recipe, click here sherry.wine. Being a product influenced by the sea, Manzanilla quite naturally goes well with fish and seafood dishes. Since we are speaking of Spain, seafood paella comes to mind immediately. There are many recipes for this traditional Spanish dish, but in the recipe given on againstallgrain.com, Danielle Walker throws in everything. You can add the sherry.

If one is going to be eating tapas, those wonderful little appetizers full of cheese, olives, ham, mushrooms, etc., then follow the guidance of Fiona Beckett when she advises to consume those tapas with a good sherry. See the 6 wines she recommends at matchingfoodandwine.com.

Whether one is going to Spain or just wanting to watch that old movie, The Naked Maja, plan to enjoy some of the delicious treats that come from the area around where the Duchess of Alba lived. Raise a glass of Manzanilla to her memory and thank Goya for capturing that period in Spanish history so well. Olé!

Coming soon: Klee’s Colorful Operatic Painting and Tunisian Wine from the Vineyards of Cap Bon.

Paul Klee participated in many of the early 20th century’s art movements. Though he received art training in Munich, Germany, it was when he went to Tunisia in 1914 that his sense of color was sparked by the amazing light he found there. Klee’s transformation and his experiences in Tunisia influenced not only his art but that of so many others. Then, there is also Tunisia’s history of wine making, which is a very long one, dating back some 3,000 years.