Sir Kenelm Digby by Sir Anthony van Dyck, National Maritime Museum, London
Read part 1, part 2.
The story continues….
As the barman at the Fox poured another pint of best, I wondered where this discussion with Phineas LaTouche was leading. Could it be true that Ruskin had solved the mystery of Venetia Digby’s untimely death? Had she been poisoned? If so, by what?
When I returned with a fresh pint, Phineas had changed the subject:
‘There are the other portraits. Sir Kenelm Digby and Van Dyck himself, each with a single giant sunflower. And John Parkinson, apothecary and herbalist to the king: the title page of his Paradisi in Sole, published just three years before Venetia died, carries that same single eye that you see in the painting of Venetia’s deathbed, now hanging in Dulwich Picture Gallery; and again the sunflower.’
‘Signifying?’
‘Ruskin said it was a connection. They were all three close friends. Dabbled together in arcane arts. Venetia was terrified of smallpox. Digby used Parkinson’s dangerous potion against smallpox. Venetia died. Van Dyck knew the whole story and recorded it in his paintings. One, Venetia, Lady Digby as Prudence hangs in the National Portrait Gallery’
Sir Anthony Van Dyck Self Portrait with a Sunflower
‘Help me,’ I said, ‘Snake and dove, Janus chained to a rock and child with torch. Now Sunflowers. What do they all mean?’
Phineas took his time. Took a deep thoughtful drink.
‘Janus represents deceit. The child with the torch is Lucifer or temptation. Venetia has conquered them both. The snake is the agent of rejuvenation: the potion-maker, Digby himself. The dove is the unintended sacrifice, Venetia. The sunflower is doting adoration. In Digby’s portrait he is convulsed with grief: he pines after his dead wife. In Van Dyck’s case he points to the sunflower, waves a gold chain and smiles as if to say ‘Hey, Ken, cheer up..’
‘Hey, Ken, cheer up?‘ I was finding it difficult to keep up.
‘Some said it was viper soup or wine that did it. Except that cooked snake is harmless and lots of people were consuming it without dying. And Parkinson’s herbal spells it out: a certain cure for plague, pestilence and pox. But also a rapid and deadly poison’
‘What was it?’ I asked.
‘Digby’s metheglin: wine, honey and almost certainly: angelica, holy thistle, celadine and the sacred poison.’
Which was?’
Phineas brushed my question aside:
‘Ruskin wrote up his theory with all the details, the evidence and the arguments and sent it to a famous professor of medicine for his opinion. The doctor was deeply impressed, of course. He used the case in disguised form to lecture his students on forensics. But for fear of upsetting the Digbys, Ruskin felt unable to publish.’
‘Not published? Again? Let me guess, it was called…’
‘The Aesthetics of Death and the Vital Herb’ Phineas replied.
Engraving of John Parkinson from Theatrum Botanicum (1640)
‘And what was the Vital Herb?’
‘The same herb that was used by the Greeks, the Romans, the Chinese…’
‘Which was?’
‘Used by the Borgias and by the professional poisoners of the middle ages…’
‘And?’
‘In ancient Rome, just cultivating the plant was a capital offence…’
‘Phineas….’
‘On the Aegean island of Chios it was used to dispatch useless old men.’ he said.
And added:
‘That’s a tradition we can say good riddance to….’
‘Phineas, please…’
‘I can only suggest that you go to the National PortraitGallery and look for yourself. And ask yourself, why was a second painting made of Venetia as Prudence and why was it changed?’
‘Why don’t you just tell me?’ I said
Phineas was slowly getting up.
‘Where can we meet?’ I asked.
‘The Greyhound, lunch next Friday.’ he replied promptly
Somehow I was not surprised.
To be continued….
Loading ...