Who’d have thought that so much mystery and misunderstanding would surround one of Australia’s most admired pioneering figures?

Undated, untitled portrait in oil, by unknown artist, assumed to be Elizabeth Macarthur, held in the Dixson Galleries, State Library of New South Wales.

Though often regarded as one of a pair, her portrait was painted by an unknown artist – possibly in England – in the 19th century, several years apart from its companion piece – the large oil of John Macarthur. At the time of being painted, the ‘subjects’ John and Elizabeth Macarthur were living in Australia. The paintings depict them at the age of about 30 – 40 years old, dating them roughly (if we are to assume they are in fact John and Elizabeth Macarthur) to the years 1810-1820. Its unlikely the Macarthurs ever saw these paintings or even knew of their existence. Both portraits are unsigned, undated and untitled and match neither in size, skill or style. As we’ll learn, the portrait of John might well look like him. Any resemblance to Elizabeth, however, is uncertain.

PART ONE

Its almost a truism though, or at least more common than not, that the more iconic someone’s story becomes, the more celebrated or treasured, the more likely that story is to become skewed and prone to invention. In becoming public property, they become tainted with all the expectations and ideals that public aspires to. And the more likely that story takes on the quality of fable. In my opinion, this, unfortunately, is what’s become of Elizabeth Macarthur. The impressions we have of her, like the portrait often used to qualify and lend visual weight to assumptions about her character – her courage and capability, her practical nature, her tactfulness and even her beauty – are highly unreliable – given all the evidence we have. She has become fabled and, along the way, her story has been co-opted by all manner of storytellers – historians, genealogists, curators, journalists, teachers, cultural planners, feminists, artists – to underline a myth, an important myth nonetheless. Its a well known, well worn ‘new world’ progress myth…that one person can make a difference…that courage, loyalty and grit will conquer ruthlessness, greed and, in the case of early colonial New South Wales, that taste and sophistication will rise above and dominate a barbaric, uncivilised world. That is what Elizabeth Macarthur has come to represent and this, in my opinion, is why Australians have become so protective of her. Her story reminds us that one person, one not so very special woman, can make a difference, despite all the odds.

PART TWO

Firstly a little background detail. When the young Elizabeth Veale, from Devon, married the young soldier John Macarthur, from Plymouth, in Bridgerule, Devon, in 1788, he was on unauthorised leave from his army regiment in Gibraltar, on stern orders to return. For the previous 5 years, he’d remained in the district, no doubt demoralised, on half-pay, where his regiment had been recalled and finally disbanded. He was around 16 when he enlisted in 1783, although wars in America had just ended and conflicts with France and Spain

were temporarily in limbo, leaving him probably frustrated and feeling left behind. The more lucrative postings to India typically went to officers with better connections and families. A military career, his only way up the English social ladder, was rapidly turning sour. There’s a possibility he’d been living above his means and may have fallen into debt… but that another tale.

So back to the alter…John aged 21, had met Elizabeth also 21, through his work as a teacher at a local Grammar school. Despite his predicament with the army, he was perhaps most anxious about becoming a father, as Elizabeth was at least 4 months pregnant, and neither knew what the next few months, or years, would hold. Relocating to Gibraltar appeared out of the question although the income was needed. It was at this stage he was possibly planning on leaving the army entirely to recoup the 400 pounds borrowed to purchase his original commission. On the horizon, was a dark cloud, with John’s reputation, and therefore the prospects of his young wife and child, in desperate straits.

In the months following their wedding the Macarthurs must have spent sleepless nights weighing up options, their lives in the hands of fate. John needed to either take up duties in Gibraltar or face court marshal. In late 1788, a series of complicated and taxing negotiations with the War Office eventually offered a way out – resulting in Macarthur taking up a new posting, as a trade off, with a regiment being hastily assembled for the prison settlement, here in Sydney. New South Wales, according to early reports, was an untapped Garden of Eden.

The first few months of 1789 were frantic with correspondence and travel between London and Devon. Elizabeth suffered a difficult coach ride, in her final days of pregnancy, giving birth to a son five months into their marriage, at a travellers’ pub in Bath. Its perhaps worth noting… there were no family or friends present at the birth of their first son Edward. As historian Alan Atkinson has suggested, their lives must have felt stripped bare at this point – outsiders with uncertain futures. Six months later (11 months into their marriage) the Macarthurs were on board the squalid Neptune, awaiting orders to pull out from Gravesend, along with a fleet of transports, the new colonial regiment and around 1000 prisoners locked below decks. And Elizabeth was again pregnant.

The 6 month voyage to Sydney left 278 prisoners dead, a quarter of those who boarded. On landing at Sydney Cove in 1790, the Macarthurs found a ramshackle settlement on the brink of collapse. Stores were almost totally gone. Governor Phillip’s vision of an orderly and planned agricultural settlement had crumbled due to an absence of farmers, appropriate crops, fertilisers and farming tools. The Marines were close to mutiny – they were reduced to sharing the same rations as convicts …and so was the Governor.

It was 1793 before a house was built; at Parramatta, west of Sydney Cove. Their first and only family home. And it had taken 5 long years before John was in a position to fully employ his skills in commerce, diplomacy, brinkmanship and wit. In coming decades the Macarthur’s trading and farming interests, along with John’s political affairs, came to dominate colonial society. From nine births, seven children grew to adulthood. The family’s landholdings, both in Parramatta and later in the fertile Camden district, expanded through grant and purchase. Speculative ventures with trading goods, agriculture and eventually the production and export of fine wool reaped huge returns for the Macarthurs in the early decades of the 19th century. While John made two visits to England to strengthen family business and patronage, Elizabeth remained in Australia for the rest of her life. Their family home, Elizabeth Farm, survives today as Australia’s oldest European dwelling.

PART THREE

So lets get back to the paintings. Here’s the short version – The pair were purchased by the benefactor Sir William Dixson for the State Library’s Dixson Galleries, passing into public ownership in 1935. Prior to their appearance on the London art market around 1930, the pair belonged to Sir James Lewis Knight-Bruce, a keen portrait collector and Lord Chief Justice of Appeal from 1851. His great grandson, a Mr Thomas Cathcart believed the paintings had hung continuously in his family’s (somewhat vast) collection until the time of sale. Any history other than this was unavailable. A slim provenance indeed.

Yet, as we’ll learn, doubts surrounding their authenticity appear to have dogged the paintings from the start. And this is where the story gets interesting – though somewhat more complicated. Shipped initially to Sydney in the early 1930s where they appeared to raise suspicion amongst collectors, the pair were sent south to the Victorian bookseller and dealer AH Spencer, with the hope they might find more interest in Melbourne. According to handwritten comments in the margin of a letter to the Library in 1935 regarding the paintings’ possible purchase, State Librarian William H. Ifould concedes … I thought there was a catch somewhere. They must have been knocking about for a very long time. Wymark (the Sydney dealer) would try to sell them to Mr Dixson and Mr Macarthur Onslow. G.R. Robertson evidently made up his mind they would not pass muster with us and would let Spencer see what he could do with them in Melbourne. WHI 7/3/35.

George Roberston had recently published Sibella Macarthur Onslow’s edited transcripts of Macarthur family papers, which included, notably, a photographic plate of a cameo miniature of John Macarthur, which almost certainly was copied to make the large oil, then up for sale. Both he and Denzil would have been well aware of this source. Both would have held and admired the miniature on many occasions yet strangely neither appeared to be interested. Even more curious still, later on when the paintings were eventually acquired for the Mitchell Library, there is no mention in meetings of any discussion whatsoever regarding provenance or authenticity. And according to library records, a search through correspondence from Spencer, Robertson, Wymark and Dixson in the Angus and Robertson papers has yet to locate any reference to the portraits.

Even more interesting, back in the late 1880s, another portrait copied from this cameo had been made by a colourful and influential Italian painter Girolamo Nerli, for the Macarthur Onslow family at Camden, which was also reproduced in the 1890s by the Library in an early compilation of historical records of New South Wales. Pieces of this particular puzzle have only recently fallen into place with the help of research conducted by Annette Macarthur Onslow. Apart from this, the interesting question remains…why is no portrait of Elizabeth mentioned or why was one never commissioned…?

PART FOUR

So what happened in Melbourne…? To gain interest the paintings needed names. And Spencer needed a story – a convincing connection between the paintings and known people. Now you’d expect in this situation to bring out the big guns …the biggest guns you could get away with – in this case the obvious association between the miniature (owned and cherished by the Macarthur descendents at Camden) and the likeness of John. For this in reality was (and remains) the only link. Why Spencer made no use of the miniature is unknown. Perhaps he was unaware – perhaps no one told him. Remarkably, given the apparent difficulties he faced in gaining interest, Spencer chose not to exploit strengths, but to build from weaknesses. We need only to look at his Provenance notes to realise how tenuous his story was…

So just to recap… His ‘vital’, or otherwise only, ‘key to identification’ consisted in a ‘casual reference’ made by Mr Cathcart, linking the portraits, by ‘family tradition’, to the name of Veale. Perhaps a ‘young bride’s family’ suggested Spencer, ‘would possess portraits of their exiled relatives who were away in the wilds of Botany Bay.’ And then with more certainty; ‘These portraits are the ones cherished by the family of the most famous woman pioneer settler in the commencement days of Australian history.’ It appears, remarkably, the provenance created by Spencer was not only tenuous, but flawed.

PART FIVE

So what do we know of this family? Who were these Veales, assumed to be pining for their famous kin across the seas? Unfortunately, it appears there were none. Elizabeth’s father died when she was 6 years old. Her mother remarried in 1778, becoming Mrs Leach, when Elizabeth was 12. Her only sibling, a sister, died at the age of 2. The last we hear of Elizabeth Veale was on her wedding day in 1788. Apart from John Veale, probably her uncle, who ran her father’s farm for a few years after his death in 1772 (when Elizabeth was 6), there is no record of contact between the Australian Macarthurs and English Veales. And while one of Elizabeth’s first letters to her mother after leaving England mentions a grandfather, he is almost certainly her mother’s father and, hence, not a Veale. Even if they existed, any portraits in their possession could not have been painted from life. Spencer’s ‘vital key’ – his painting’s only connection to the Macarthurs – is seriously flawed, with no basis in fact. And remember…no mention of the miniature.

PART SIX

As we can see, Spencer’s provenance, or his claim of authenticity, hung precariously on a tenuous, single thread. Whatever the motivation, his paper-thin provenance was not short on passion. To sweeten the sale, the paintings were discounted to 160 pounds, where others, he believed, ‘might easily think them worth 500 pounds’. So, as I mentioned earlier, having been offered for sale to George Roberston and Sir Denzil Macarthur Onslow and no doubt other Sydney collectors and institutions, all without success before being sent to Melbourne, the paintings were acquired by Dixson in 1935 and presented for donation to the State Library Committee on 8 March 1935. And as I also mentioned, it appears no explanation was given concerning doubts raised at the time of purchase. To let you in on a not so well kept secret, Dixson’s eye for detail has long been questioned by subsequent curators.

PART SEVEN

So lets cut forward to the 1970s, when interest in colonial history was again on the boil. Archaeological work was taking place at Elizabeth Farm and Denzil Macarthur Onslow was heavily involved in the repair and restoration of his ancestral farmhouse. Downstairs in the State Library, conservators were preparing the portrait of Elizabeth for her first public showing. Having been laid low since acquisition some 4 decades earlier, other twists were soon to appear. During cleaning, it was discovered that an earlier version of the female subject had been over-painted, altering its appearance and age. An original lace bodice had been infilled, making it solid black, her narrow sleeves were given more volume, while her fuller face had been thinned down, presumedly to reflect a more mature character. This patchy over-painting had been performed in a stiff, inelegant manner, probably several decades after the initial work.

Comparing the two portraits, conservators also noted stylistic similarities between the studio aging of ‘Elizabeth’ and the overall treatment of John. Perhaps the artist who modified and redressed ‘Elizabeth’, probably around 1820-30, also painted John from scratch? It might also be possible that several years after the portrait of ‘Elizabeth’ was painted (not from life, perhaps from a likeness), the work was sent to another artist – for changes or repairs – who also supplied a ‘companion piece’ of John, most likely from the old Macarthur watercolour. This fails to explain however, why the paintings differ in size.

PART EIGHT

Its also worth considering the semi-reversed state of ‘Elizabeth’. Whilst the clumsy over-painting of her clothing was undone, revealing the lacy bodice, her altered facial features were untouched – leaving her partly old/partly young. Her portrait might be described as a partially altered, artist’s impression of an unknown female subject. John’s portrait, by contrast, is less conjectural, having only ever been painted by a single hand.

Along with these technical anomalies lies a contradiction in imagery. The depiction of a prosperous, well bred 20-30 year old in stylish evening wear, heirloom rubies, pearls and gold, is inconsistent with the social and economic circumstances of Elizabeth Macarthur at the turn of the 18th century and for many years to come. Without inheritance, influence, self-confidence or support, Elizabeth moved amidst a harsh, violent, unpredictable and socially isolated world. Perhaps it was this obvious incongruity that persuaded Sydney patrons to pass on this particular offer.

PART NINE

So there you have it… The authenticity of Elizabeth’s portrait hangs by a thread. Unwittingly, Spencer’s intuition may have been spot on and only his argument was flawed. To be fair, there is actually, I think, a good likelihood that the pair are connected, somehow, and given the undeniable association between the miniature and John’s portrait, by default, its partner, or at least the painting historically linked to it, is likely to be a painting of Elizabeth, his wife.

So why, if its almost certain that neither painting ever hung in a Macarthur home, do the portraits play a central role in the current museum interpretation of Elizabeth Farm? Why not remove them until we have more evidence. Why, because history is a story unfolding and the role of a museum like Elizabeth Farm is to foster storytelling and involvement. What makes Elizabeth Farm unusual and why it works so well is that the story it tells doesn’t have to add up – as long as it continues to build connections and involve visitors in the conversation… then that’s more than enough.

I started this presentation with a few comments regarding the tendency of societies to embellish and sugar coat history to serve deeper cultural needs and in particular our treatment of Elizabeth Macarthur. Behind the myth and romance is, no doubt, an extraordinary person – but we need to get there first. We need to dig deeper. While pictures like this are taken at face value and used to support romantic allusions, we are not doing our job as historians. So, as I’ve said before, what secrets really do lie behind the reticent smile of this beguiling woman?