Photo editing programs have long been a part of our lives, so you can rarely see a photo that hasn’t been retouched. However, it’s wrong to think that Photoshop belongs only to the modern world. People have been improving the looks of their portraits for centuries. That means there were specialists in photo retouching that date all the way back to the nineteenth century. Even painters have worked hard to make models look more beautiful than they really were.
At Bright Side, we searched the archives and found photos of royalty from the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century, and we compared them to their portrait paintings. At the end of the article, we’ll show you what Vincent van Gogh really looked like.
Isabella II of Spain (1830 — 1904)
Mary of Teck, the spouse of George V (1867 — 1953)
Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, the mother of Queen Elizabeth II (1900 — 2002)
Princess Helena of the United Kingdom (1846 — 1923)
Victoria, Princess Royal, German Empress (1840 — 1901)
Charlotte of Belgium (1840 — 1927)
Sophie of Württemberg, Queen of the Netherlands (1818 — 1877)
Queen Victoria (1819 — 1901)
Maria Christina of Austria, Queen-consort of Spain (1858 — 1929)
Maria Luisa of Bourbon-Parma, Princess-consort of Bulgaria (1870 — 1899)
Grand Duchess Elena Vladimirovna of Russia (1882 — 1957)
Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom, Queen Victoria’s fifth daughter (1857 — 1944)
Alexandra Feodorovna, the spouse of Nicholas II of Russia (1872 — 1918)
Princess Alice of Battenberg, the mother-in-law of Queen Elizabeth II (1885 — 1969)
Alexandra of Denmark, the spouse of Edward VII (1844 — 1925)
onus: Vincent van Gogh (1853 — 1890)
What do you think about Photoshop? Do you use it often? Tell us in the comments below.
My husband wanted a divorce because I couldn’t give him a son. What happened next changed our lives forever.
Marriage had always been a partnership of love and support, or at least that’s what I believed when Steve and I first tied the knot 16 years ago. Over time, we were blessed with five beautiful daughters, each one a joy and a challenge in her own way. Yet, in Steve’s eyes, our family lacked something crucial: a son.
Steve’s desire for a male heir became an obsession, overshadowing every happy moment we had. His traditional mindset dictated that a man’s legacy could only be carried on by a son, and our daughters, no matter how wonderful, were seen as inadequate. This belief had eaten away at the fabric of our marriage, turning our once joyous union into a battleground of unmet expectations and silent resentment.
Steve’s job kept him away most of the time, leaving me to juggle the responsibilities of raising our daughters, maintaining the household, and managing a part-time online job. His absence wasn’t just physical; it was emotional too. He was a shadow in our home, present yet distant, and his discontent seeped into every corner of our lives.
The Breaking Point
One late night, a seemingly innocent conversation spiraled into a full-blown argument. I had suggested trying one more time for a son, even though I was already forty. Steve’s response was brutal and laced with years of pent-up frustration.
“Shut up already,” he snapped. “We’ve been together for 16 years and you couldn’t bring me a son. What makes you think you will do it this time?”
I tried to reason with him, “But Steve, only God…”
“ONLY GOD DECIDED TO PUNISH ME WITH YOU AND ANOTHER 5 FEMALES,” he yelled, his face contorted with anger. “I wish I could go back in time and change everything.”
The venom in his words was palpable, and it stung more than any physical blow could. Our daughters, our life together, everything we had built was being torn down in this moment of raw emotion. Suddenly, we heard a noise behind the door. When we checked, there was no one there, and we dismissed it as the creaking of an old house. Little did we know, that sound was a harbinger of the events that would soon unfold.
The Missing Child
The next day, our lives took an unexpected turn. It was 6 pm, and Lisa, our 12-year-old, was always home by this time. Panic set in when she didn’t show up. As worry gnawed at us, Sara, our second-born, came running with tears streaming down her face, clutching a letter.
Steve snatched the letter from her hand and began reading. His face went ashen, his eyes widened with fear. He turned to me, his voice trembling, “This is serious.”
The letter was a ransom note. It claimed that Lisa had been kidnapped and demanded an exorbitant amount of money for her safe return. The instructions were clear: no police, no tricks, or we’d never see her again.
The Race Against Time
Our world was shattered. The next hours were a blur of frantic phone calls, desperate plans, and heart-wrenching decisions. Steve, usually stoic and composed, was a mess. His obsession with having a son seemed insignificant now compared to the possibility of losing his daughter.
The experience taught us that the value of family isn’t determined by gender but by the love, respect, and support we give each other. Steve learned to cherish his daughters and our marriage, realizing that true happiness comes from within and is nurtured by the bonds we share.
Our lives were forever changed by that harrowing experience, but it also brought us closer, forging a stronger, more resilient family. The past year had been incredibly tough, but it led to a new beginning, one where we could all be truly happy together.
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