Luminaries Illuminated: Lady Sithmaith NicAoidh (art and writing by Baron Bardulf) National Galleries of Scotland

National Galleries of Scotland
Edinburgh

Catalog of the Northern Renaissance Art Collection  1350 to 1600

“Portrait of Lady Sithmaith NicAoidh” Utrecht - Circa 1574  
by Anthonis Mor van Dashorst (1516? - 1577) 

Catalog # NGSE 4168  
Source: Rijksmuseum/Amsterdam  
Date of Acquisition: 2/31/92

Anthonis Mor van Dashorst, Dutch portrait painter, a pupil of Jan van Scorel in his native Utrecht.  He was the most successful court portraitist of his day, leading to an international career that  took him to England, Germany, Italy, Portugal, and Spain. In England he painted a portrait  of Mary Tudor (Prado, Madrid, 1554) for which he was said to have been knighted. He is  sometimes known as Sir Anthony More and the Spanish version of his name, Antonio Moro, also  is commonly used. Master at Antwerp in 1547. In Rome from 1550 to 1551. Active at the Court  of Portugal in 1552. England in 1554. Spain in 1559. Mor often returned to his native Utrecht  and spent his final years in Antwerp.

His work shows little variation throughout his career; sitters are shown life-size or a little larger,  half, three-quarter, or full-length, turned slightly to the side with an air of unruffled dignity. His  composition is simple and strong and his grasp of character firm but undemonstrative. He owed  much to Titian, but his surfaces are much more detailed and polished in the northern manner.  Mor had great influence on the development of royal and aristocratic portraiture, particularly in  Spain, where his ceremonious but austere style ideally suited the rigorous etiquette of the court.

The portrait probably was executed during the winter of 1574-75 when the artist was in declining  health. Because Mor’s eyesight was failing, it lacks the detail and vibrancy of his earlier portraits  and was therefore regarded as one of his lesser works.

The artistic merits to one side, the identity of the subject remained a tantalizing enigma for  over four hundred years. A striking characteristic of this portrait is the absence of an outsized  collar, lace cuffs and other sartorial excesses that were typical of the Elizabethan Age. Thus  the unnamed woman, although obviously a person of aristocratic bearing, displayed an  iconoclastically less flamboyant taste and sensibility than Mor’s usual clientele.

For much of its history, the painting passed from collector to collector with little appreciation in  value. The nadir occurred in 1923 when it was purchased for a pittance, then blatantly over-  appraised and “donated” to the Rijksmuseum as part of a thinly disguised tax avoidance. It also  is noteworthy that during World War II, when the Nazis plundered virtually all the portable art in  Continental Europe, this painting was deemed unworthy and was left behind in Holland.

Against this background, the anonymous portrait languished out of sight for decades in  the “Basement Collection” of the Rijksmuseum.

All that changed in 1990 when a graduate student found a heretofore overlooked reference to this  portrait amongst Mor’s estate inventory papers. Subsequent research led him to conclude in his  doctoral thesis that the subject of the portrait was none other than Lady Sithmaith NicAoidh.

If his premise is correct, then the portrait is the only known likeness of one of the more “colorful”  and yet shadowy personages of sixteenth century Scotland. Needless to say, this assertion has  generated considerable scholarly debate and markedly increased the value of this painting.

Lady Sithmaith NicAoidh was born sometime around 1530 in the County of Argyll, the third  daughter of a minor Scottish Nobleman. She was married and subsequently widowed early in  life.

Precious little reliable documentation is linked directly to Lady Sithmaith and most of what  is “known” is based largely upon conjecture, inference, and outright hearsay. In retrospect this is  hardly surprising, since the Lady was of necessity most adroit at covering her tracks.

Although largely self-educated, Lady NicAoidh was nevertheless fluent in several languages and  was reputed to have been an accomplished (and formidable) courtier.

As the third daughter and a widow, her dowry was gone and she was bereft of whatever modest  estate or endowment her title might bestow. Thus she earned her bread as an itinerant painter  of illuminated manuscripts and portraiture. Her artistic abilities apparently were quite creditable,  as they found favor not only in the Court of Saint James, but even amongst the notoriously elitist  cognoscenti of the Venetian Court.

Publicly, Sithmaith was avowedly apolitical and unusually adept at concealing both her Scottish  nationalist sympathies and her heartfelt antipathy toward the English in general and Queen  Elizabeth in particular.

Thus, Lady Sithmaith was viewed as innocuous and was allowed to travel freely throughout  Europe, ostensibly seeking commissions for her artwork - without arousing suspicions as to  her true mission: She covertly wreaked havoc upon English diplomacy abroad while soliciting  support for the Scottish cause.

Despite that, scholars have noted that certain cryptic references in English diplomatic  correspondence suggest that Lady NicAoidh provided Queen Elizabeth with critical information  regarding the Spanish military presence in Flanders. One may surmise that as much as  Sithmaith chafed under the English subjugation of Scotland, the prospect of Spanish hegemony  over all of Europe was even more repugnant.

Sithmaith’s career as an agent provocateur came to an abrupt end when an ambassador of the  English Crown intercepted one of her less circumspect letters to a cohort. Alerted to the danger  by someone within Elizabeth’s own Court, Lady Sithmaith was forced to flee northwards into  Scotland. Even though the Scottish Nobility pledged their fealty to the English Crown, in the latter  half of the sixteenth century there still were a few highland districts where this loyalty was entirely  theoretical.

During her flight, she narrowly avoided capture and certain execution on at least two occasions.  The first instance resulted in the defenestration of a Lancaster constable, while the other back-alley escape was made good in the chaotic aftermath of an exceptionally well-flung chamber pot.

Despite that some historians (invariably British) dismiss Lady Sithmaith NicAoidh as nothing more than an opportunist who sold information to any ready buyer, her effectiveness on behalf  of Scottish independence should not be underestimated. Queen Elizabeth’s failure to secure  reliable alliances with other northern European nations (most notably France and Holland) meant  that England could not devote sufficient military resources to subdue the ever-rebellious Scots  decisively.

What is known of Lady Sithmaith’s story ends on a somewhat humorous note. When safely  ensconced in the remote Scottish Highlands, she could not resist thumbing her nose at her  would-be executioner. In 1580, a letter was posted to the Court of Saint James in which  Sithmaith protested that the price upon her head (50 Pounds Sterling) was “insultingly paltry and  unworthy”.

In what was certainly an unintended “left-handed” compliment, Elizabeth apparently agreed and  doubled the bounty. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Curator’s Note:  The following is an excerpt from a recently discovered page of what was apparently Lady Sithmaith NicAoidh diary:

“Seventeenth May -

I sought a night's respite in a tavern near the river. That it was disreputable enough of an establishment that no person of good name, breeding, or influence would be found there made it all the better for my purpose.  

As t'was my habit, I took supper in my room. When the kitchen wench delivered, I paid her a copper and bid her what news might be had from the public room below. Her report that a Queen's bounty-man was presently making inquiries as to any woman that traveled alone quite ruined my appetite.  

When she left, I gathered my possessions and tarried a moment that I might leave unobserved. Such was not to be. When I arrived at the top of the stairs I encountered three armed ruffians below me. Near at hand, there were four or so chamber pots that had been left for the wench to empty. Lacking any other inspiration, I kicked the lot of them down the stairs.  

In his haste to avoid my sallade, the foremost rogue planted his foot in a pot, quite firmly wedged it therein and thus fell backwards upon his companions.  

It is altogether quite remarkable what insights may be gained about one's own character, manner, morals, and virtue when they are loudly discoursed upon in the most appalling language.  

Having won a moment's grace, I fled the opposite direction and down the servant's stairway. In the kitchen I espied a cat and seized it, then kicked the door open and threw the beast into the midst of the dogs that invariably gather there to gain what kitchen scraps they may. The cat, being no fool, beat a hasty retreat. The dogs, perceiving a bit of sport and a ready meal, followed close behind. I turned and took refuge under the stairs.  

The Queen's men having sorted themselves out at this point, thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen. There they saw the open door and heard the dogs loudly giving pursuit down the alley, and assuming that I led the chase, followed suit.”