Emblems of Monarchy
Royal Portraiture in Yorkist & Early Tudor England
Frederick Hepburn
Emblems of Monarchy
Royal Portraiture in Yorkist and Early Tudor England
Frederick Hepburn
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Lady Margaret Beaufort: the king’s mother at prayer; Wewyck and Torrigiani
Margaret and Mary Rose
Part 3: Henry VIII
From prince to king: paired images of the young Henry and his father
A European ruler: Henry in rivalry with Francis I of France, and as a loyal son of the Catholic Church
Henry in other media: with and without a beard
Head of church and state: workshop portraits of Henry for popular consumption, and two masterpieces by Hans Holbein
Fig. 2. Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy, from the workshop of Rogier van der Weyden. Oil on oak panel, 50.9 x 33.6 cm. c. 1460. Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Gemäldegalerie (545).
For most of the fifteenth century, however, it was not usual for portraits painted on wooden supports to be enriched in this way, and the question must be asked: what advantages did they have to offer? Most obviously, of course, a portrait rendered in oil-based pigments can provide a vivid illusion of reality. The well-known portrait of Charles the Bold from the workshop of Rogier van der Weyden, now in Berlin, is the only one among a number of similar paintings that is certainly contemporary with the sitter. On the basis of Charles’s apparent age (he was born in 1433), it is datable to c. 1460 and was therefore painted before he became duke.7 Looking at this painting (Fig. 2), one can readily believe that it brings us close to seeing Charles as
7. For this portrait (Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Gemäldegalerie, No. 545), see Borchert 2009; Frankfurt am Main and Berlin 2009, pp. 371–73, No. 42 (entry by Stephan Kemperdick); Leuven 2009, pp. 300–302, No. 16 (entry by Lorne Campbell). All of these also list previous literature.
he really appeared in life. The colours are naturalistic, and the different textures of the sitter’s hair and skin, the metal of his neck-chain and on the pommel of his dagger and the velvet of his gown are all carefully depicted. Together with this, the highlights and shadows on his face give both luminosity and depth to the image, persuading us that we might be looking at a three-dimensional form. Only the sitter’s eyes and his right hand seem rather schematized in this version of Rogier’s work, lacking a sense of direct engagement with reality. Nonetheless, there can be no doubt that a painting of this kind would have provided a lively symbol of Charles’s presence in any space in which it was displayed.
The mention of the word “symbol” leads to another, rather more subtle point about painted portraits of rulers. In commenting on the origins of such portraits in the second half of the fourteenth century, Michel Pastoureau has linked the adoption of portraiture by members of the ruling elite with the proliferation of personal badges that took place at the same time. Both phenomena, he suggests, can be seen as a response to a “crisis” in the system of heraldry. Earlier in the fourteenth century traditional coats of arms had reached a stage at which they ceased to have any connection with the personality of those who bore them: they served now simply to indicate the bearer’s identity within a particular family. In order, therefore, to have a more personal form of cognizance that could be used as a mark of ownership or, in troubled times, as a rallying-sign for their supporters, powerful individuals chose badges for themselves. These took the form of various animals, birds, plants or objects, often accompanied by a motto, which had some kind of significance for the individual in question. Although Pastoureau fully acknowledges that the reasons for the emergence of the painted portrait at this time were more complex than this, he makes a convincing case for portraiture being used as another form of personal emblem. The profile view favoured by the royal princes of France in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries lent itself particularly well to a quasi-heraldic stylization in which the primary aim was to present an instantly recognizable image.8
An instructive example of this can be seen in the portraits of John the Fearless. An early sixteenth-century painting now in the Louvre (Fig. 3a) records the appearance of a portrait of John that was probably painted at about the time he succeeded to the dukedom. Judging from this copy, the painter of the original likeness made no attempt to disguise the sitter’s long, pointed nose; in fact he seems if anything to have exaggerated it in order to emphasize John’s distinctive profile. This is complemented by the tall hat, folded over so that its main bulk is at the front, in order to give the duke’s head as a whole a characteristic and easily recognizable silhouette. Exactly this image is found in manuscript illuminations dating from John’s lifetime (the one shown in Fig. 3b also has the same gesture of the hands) and, more surprisingly, in the form of a cameo on a jewelled ring (Fig. 3c).9 The latter two items also include representations of John’s most commonly used badge, a carpenter’s plane: in the miniature it is seen embroidered repeatedly among other emblems (a carpenter’s level and sprigs of the hop plant) on
8. Pastoureau 1985; see also De Mérindol 1995.
9. For the three items illustrated here, see Dijon and Cleveland 2004, respectively p. 34, No. 2 (entry by Sophie Jugie), pp. 24, 119, No. 47 (entry by Marie-Thérèse Gousset) and p. 134, No. 55 (entry by Élisabeth Taburet-Delahaye). For further contemporary manuscript illuminations in which the same image of John the Fearless appears, see ibid., p. 43, Fig. 1, and p. 45, No. 10.
THREE IMAGES OF JOHN THE FEARLESS, DUKE OF BURGUNDY
Fig 3a. (left) Oil on oak panel, 29 x 21 cm. Copy, c. 1500, of a lost original painted in c. 1404. Paris, Musée du Louvre (Inv. MI 831).
Fig 3b. (right) Presentation miniature, attributed to the “Maître de la Mazarine,” from Le Livre des merveilles (detail). 1410–1412. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 2810, fol. 226.
Fig 3c. Gold ring with agate(?), jet, emerald, ruby and enamel; diameter 2.3 cm. c. 1410. Paris, Musée du Louvre, Département des Objets d’art (Inv. OA 9524).
Fig. 11. Richard III. Oil on oak panel, arch-topped and with integral frame, 40 x 28 cm. Copy, c. 1510–1520, of a lost original painted probably in 1483. Society of Antiquaries of London (LDSAL 321).
or after he returned to the capital in November having crushed a series of rebellions across the south and west of England, that Richard commissioned the portraits showing himself as Edward’s successor.
Considering the portrait of Richard more closely, the likeliest explanation of his gesture with the ring would seem to be that it was intended to show him putting on the coronation ring in Edward’s presence. Technically, the coronation ring was placed on the fourth finger of the monarch’s right hand, but the artist may have found it easier to show this on the hand nearer to the viewer, and in this pairing Richard needed to face towards his right. The expression on Richard’s face is more difficult to interpret. Bearing in mind that this painting is a copy, one recognizes the need to be wary of reading too much into the face; and yet, if there was an intentional contrast between Edward’s and Richard’s expressions, this would have chimed remarkably well with Richard’s publicly-expressed attitude towards his brother after the latter’s death. I would also suggest that there was again a link with the king’s motto, which in Richard’s case was loyaulte me lie (“loyalty binds me”).
All of the occurrences of this motto of Richard’s are datable to 1483–1485, and this inevitably raises the question: in what sense did he regard himself as being bound by loyalty? Any notion that he felt under obligation to the memory or wishes of his elder brother is quickly dispelled when one considers his behaviour as king. Quite apart from the disinheriting of Edward’s sons, and also perhaps their murder, there is the fact that Richard was highly critical of his brother’s regime. This emerges clearly from the text of a document that was incorporated into the act of parliament by which Richard’s title to the throne was ratified in January 1484. Here we find not only a statement of the grounds on which Edward’s sons were declared illegitimate but also a scathing attack on his government. The document describes those who ruled the land (chiefly, of course, the king himself) as “delighting in adulation and flattery and led by sensuality and concupiscence,” as a result of which they “followed the counsel of insolent, vicious people of inordinate avarice”—an obvious reference to the numerous relatives of Elizabeth Woodville who had been promoted to high positions at court. Good government had collapsed and all kinds of evil proliferated. In stark contrast, Richard’s claim to the throne as the “true inheritor” was further justified by his “great prudence, justice, princely courage and excellent virtue.” In the enrolled act of parliament this extraordinary document is described as a roll of parchment that had been presented to Richard the previous year, in the name of the three estates of the realm, as a petition asking him to become king; while this is probably true as far as it goes, there is little doubt that the contents of the “petition” were determined by Richard himself.6 The emphasis on the moral corruption of Edward’s court, which is such a striking feature of the petition document, is reflected in the strong professions of concern for morality that were made by Richard in other contexts. In an open letter to the bishops in 1484, for example, he wrote:
6. The enrolled acts of the parliament of January 1484 are printed, together with an introduction and a translation into modern English (from which my quotations are taken), in Given-Wilson 2005, XV (ed. Rosemary Horrox), pp. 1–79. For the act, headed Titulus regius, which incorporates the petition document, see pp. 13–18, and for comment on it, pp. 3, 4–5. See further Ross 1999, pp. 90–93; Pollard A. J. 1991, pp. 101, 153–54; Hicks 2000, pp. 102–106; Hipshon 2011, pp. 164–66 (the latter attributing the criticism of Edward IV’s government to a revision of the text made at the time of the 1484 parliament).
… our principal intent and fervent desire is to see virtue and cleanness of living to be advanced, increased and multiplied, and all other things repugnant to virtue, provoking the high indignation and fearful displeasure of God, to be repressed and annulled.7
From this and other similar evidence it is clear that Richard’s presentation of himself as a champion of moral rectitude was a crucially important aspect of his public persona as king, and that he wished to be seen as reforming the lax morals of his brother’s regime. Here, it seems reasonable to suggest, would lie an explanation for the contrast between the portraits of Edward and Richard. On the one hand, it was vital for Richard to be accepted as Edward’s rightful successor, but on the other, he would justify his seizure of power by offering a better model of kingship than Edward’s—and better, too, than would have been that of a young and inexperienced Edward V under the tutelage of his decadent Woodville relatives. It is for historians to debate the intriguing questions that arise from this, as to how far Richard privately believed the criticism he levelled at Edward and the Woodvilles, and whether his stance on the moral high ground was anything more than a ploy, adopted out of political expediency at the time of the usurpation in order to discredit his opponents and convince the people of his own worthiness to rule. The business of royal and princely portraiture, as we have seen, was to present the ruler’s own chosen image of himself.
How, then, might Richard’s motto be related to this? The point has been made by Anne F. Sutton and Livia Visser-Fuchs that the words “loyalty” and “loyal” are quite frequently found in medieval mottoes; they were evidently in common use as expressions of approval, and Loyalty occurs in other fifteenth-century contexts in company with Truth, Reason and Justice. From a variety of sources it appears that the essence of this virtue was seen as lying in the proper fulfilment of one’s obligations to all classes of people. Thus, in the case of a knight or a nobleman, loyalty meant not only giving steadfast support to the king but also defending one’s dependants and not taking advantage of them. It was a quality that involved treating others with due respect, and in this way it served to enable the right working of the social order. A popular proverb, known in many different forms from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, runs
Parlons bas, car Loyaulté dort.
Las! en quoy est elle endormie?
Par son dormir fait on maint tort, …
(Speak softly, for Loyalty is asleep. Alas! Why did she fall asleep?
Because she sleeps much wrong is done, …)8
7. Quoted by Ross 1999, p. 138, amid other evidence on this point, pp. 136–38.
8. Quoted and translated by Sutton and Visser-Fuchs 1997a, p. 273. I am greatly indebted to the wide-ranging and helpful collection of material presented there on pp. 271–74. See also Hipshon 2011, pp. 179–80, suggesting that Richard’s loyalty may have been directed above all to the concept of strong government that “gave to all subjects the best hope of prosperity and justice,” and emphasizing that this was the ideal for which Richard’s father, the duke of York, had stood in the days of Henry VI.
[Size given as 10 x 7½ inches]
Charls Magnus in a furrd capp with a glorie aboute his heade [Size not given]8
Thus we have at least some idea of the appearance of these two paintings; also, the description of the Charlemagne suggests that it may have been of the same type as a portrait now belonging to the Society of Antiquaries of London. The latter painting (Fig. 15) has been dated by dendrochronology to the first quarter of the sixteenth century. It was undoubtedly copied from an earlier work, and its immediate source was quite possibly in fact the painting in Henry VIII’s collection. The image itself, unsurprisingly, has no claim to authenticity as a likeness of Charlemagne: a closely comparable version now in Vienna, attributed to an unknown South German artist working c. 1500, is called St Maurice; and a later sixteenth-century copy, also now in Vienna, bears the vague inscription BOHEMIÆ REX (“King of Bohemia”). When, and how widely, this type came into use as an image of Charlemagne remains a matter for speculation.9 It is impossible to say at what date any of these portraits of ancient heroes had been painted, and of course they may not all have been painted at the same time, though all four “sitters” belonged to the group traditionally known as the Nine Worthies. Clearly Arthur was regarded as a real, rather than merely mythical, predecessor by all the English kings of this period. As we saw earlier, he was included in the series of royal figures at Coventry, Oxford and Richmond Palace. It could be that Henry VII, having named his first-born son Arthur, was the one who commissioned a “portrait” image of the child’s illustrious namesake.10 Also, because the French kings claimed to be descended from Charlemagne, so too could the Tudors: Henry VII’s grandmother on his father’s side was Katherine of Valois, daughter of Charles VI of France.11 Seemingly, however, there was only one occasion during the early Tudor period when anything very much was made of this. During the emperor Charles V’s visit to England in the summer of 1522, Henry VIII and his imperial guest were welcomed into the city of London with a series of pageants. The main themes were the friendship of the two rulers, their shared family connections and the greatness of their joint power. Two of the pageants took the form of genealogical trees showing respectively the descent of both Charles and Henry from John
8. Millar 1960, p. 31, Nos 52 (Charlemagne), 54 (Julius Caesar). Interestingly, they are still listed on either side of a portrait of Philip the Bold (see note 6 above).
9. See the in-depth discussion of this image by Jill Franklin and Pamela Tudor-Craig in Franklin, Nurse and Tudor-Craig 2015, pp. 130–39 (No. 19); note 12 below.
10. For Arthurianism during the reign of Henry VII, see Anglo 1961, pp. 28–33; idem 1997, pp. 46–47, 54–56, 61–62; Gunn and Monckton 2009, pp. 1–2, 9–10, 12. Anglo seems to undervalue the evidence that he himself cites, dismissing it as a matter of a “simple name parallel.” But surely the name was the important thing: as the 16th-century chronicler Edward Hall wrote in connection with the christening of Prince Arthur, “Englishmen nomore reioysed then [than] outwarde nacions and foreyne prynces trymbled and quaked, so muche was that name to all nacions terrible and formidable” (quoted Anglo 1961, pp. 28–29; italics mine). According to the “British History,” as enshrined in the work of Geoffrey of Monmouth, King Arthur’s bloodline had been lost amid the chaos that followed his death; consequently neither Plantagenets nor Tudors could claim that they were actually descended from him.
11. For Charlemagne as an ancestor of the kings of France, see Beaune 1989, pp. 47–53. Louis XI in particular had done much during his reign (1461–1483) to promote the cult of Charlemagne as a French royal saint: Cassagnes-Brouquet 2007, pp. 227–28.
of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, and King Alphonso the Wise of Castile, and another consisted of three scenes featuring Charlemagne. While a boy recited some Latin verses proclaiming the emperor’s descent from Charlemagne, the central scene showed this exalted forebear wearing an imperial crown and presenting swords “to the emperor as heir apparent, and to the king’s grace as heir and governor generall.” Presumably the sheer length of the alleged pedigrees going back to so distant an ancestor, involving numerous characters whose names would have meant little or nothing to the viewing audience, was sufficient reason for no actual genealogy to be represented; nevertheless, the message was clear enough that the status of both rulers as heirs of Charlemagne was another aspect of their kinship.12
It is also worth noting that another of the pageants in the same series showed King Arthur. Imperially crowned and dressed in full armour with a sword in his hand, he presided over the Round Table, at which were sitting all the rulers who owed him allegiance; these included the kings of Wales, Scotland and Ireland, Denmark, Norway and Iceland.13 Moreover, earlier during his English visit Charles had been lodged at Dover Castle, a place with notable Arthurian associations, and later, as Henry accompanied him to Southampton, he was taken to the great hall of Winchester Castle to see what was believed to be the original Round Table itself.14 In 1522, therefore, both Charlemagne and Arthur had important roles to play in substantiating Henry VIII’s claim to be the equal of Charles V as an imperial ruler. Here was a context that might well have provided the occasion for the production of more intimate painted images of the two significant predecessors, to be displayed in the privy lodging of one or other of the royal houses in which Charles was entertained.15
Another, more general possibility is raised by a consideration of Henry VIII’s view of himself as an imperial ruler. As will be seen in the next section, the English kings had worn a closed or arched crown as a sign of their imperial status since the time of Henry V. England, of itself, was regarded as an empire. When Henry VIII invaded northern France in 1513, he did so with the aim of expanding that empire. And along with his successes in capturing Thérouanne and Tournai he soon found his ambitions being encouraged in an altogether grander direction by his ally, Emperor Maximilian I. Probably in 1513, and then again in 1516 and 1517, Maximilian offered no less than to stand down and resign the empire to Henry. Although the proposal received only a cautious response from the English side, it was inevitably flattering to Henry’s
12. Anglo 1997, pp. 186–202, esp. 193–94, with quotation from the draft plan of the pageant series. The sources differ as to whether Charlemagne also presented the figures of Charles and Henry each with an imperial crown. For Charles V’s claim to be descended from Charlemagne (principally through the dukes of Burgundy, and hence, like Henry VIII, through the French royal line), and references to him as the “new Charlemagne,” see Tanner 1993, pp. 98–116, 128. Among the paintings recorded in the residence of Charles’s aunt, Margaret of Austria, at Mechelen in 1516 was a “small picture of the head of Charlemagne” (Petit tableaul du chief de Charlemagne): Checa Cremades 2010, III, p. 2393. This was displayed in the library as one of a number of portraits of ancestors and family members (see Eichberger and Beaven 1995, pp. 241, 243). It had evidently left the collection by the time of the 1523–1524 inventory, and unfortunately there is no further information about its appearance.
13. Anglo 1997, pp. 195–96; Biddle et al. 2000, p. 427.
14. Biddle et al. 2000, pp. 448–49 (Dover), 429–31 (Winchester). It has now been shown that the Round Table at Winchester was in fact made during the reign of Edward I, most probably in 1289–1290: ibid., pp. 337–92 (Chapter 10: Martin Biddle, “The making of the Round Table”).
15. For Charles V’s entertainment at the English court and the itinerary of his visit, see Anglo 1997, pp. 184–86, 202–205; Biddle et al. 2000, pp. 428–32.
Fig. 16 “King Arthur’s Round Table.” Oak; diameter 5.49 m. approx. Made probably in 1289–1290; painted probably in 1516; repainted, but without changing the design, in 1789. Great Hall, Winchester Castle.
imperialist aspirations; and when Maximilian died in 1519, Henry did in fact make a bid to become Holy Roman Emperor. The electors’ preference for Maximilian’s grandson Charles, while by no means a foregone conclusion, was hardly an unexpected result, and any disappointment felt by Henry would have been offset by the knowledge that his arch-rival Francis I had also failed to obtain the position.16 Also, by that time Henry had been able to strike an impressive pose as the peacemaker of Europe. By the terms of the treaty of London (1518) all the significant European powers, both greater and lesser, bound themselves in perpetuity to a policy of mutual non-aggression. This remarkable “treaty of universal peace,” the first of its kind, was very largely the achievement of Cardinal Wolsey and it greatly enhanced the international prestige of his royal master.17 Thus, when Henry subsequently met with Charles (in 1520 and 1522) and Francis (at the Field of Cloth of Gold in 1520), he could present himself in pageantry and every other form of display as their brother and equal.
16. Scarisbrick 1997, pp. 97–105.
17. Ibid., pp. 70–74.
Figs 22a and 22b. Gold ryal of Henry VII. Diameter 35 mm. 1492. London, British Museum, Department of Coins and Medals.
preparation of new coinage dies. The result was the introduction later in that year of a design with a king enthroned and imperially crowned on the obverse and a shield of the royal arms (Quarterly France Modern and England) on the reverse. This new design appeared on the silver pence and, more importantly, on a new gold coin, the sovereign. This was the first time that a coin with the value of twenty shillings (one pound) had been minted in England. Weighing 15.55 grams, it was impressively heavy, and this together with its large size and the high quality of its execution made it a truly magnificent object (Fig. 21). A suggestion proposed by D. M. Metcalf is that the new sovereign was directly inspired by the large gold coins that had been minted under Enrique IV of Castile (reigned 1454–1474) and were still in use in Spain. These were “the prestige currency of a powerful state,” and in imitating them Henry would have been advertising the fact that England had now also become a significant player on the European stage.21 Undoubtedly this was the import of the treaty of Medina del Campo: the agreement with Ferdinand and Isabella signalled their recognition of England’s importance, and the proposed marriage between Prince Arthur (then only two and a half years old) and the infanta Catalina (Katherine of Aragon) opened up the prospect of “a matrimonial alliance of far greater significance than had befallen the English monarchy since the far-off days when Henry V had married the daughter of the king of France.”22
21. Metcalf 1976, pp. xxvii–xxviii. As Metcalf points out, Maximilian, King of the Romans, had adopted a very similar gold coin, the real d’or, for use in the Burgundian Netherlands (of which he was regent) in 1487; although Henry may well have been influenced by this, it seems that Maximilian was also imitating the Spanish enriques
22. Chrimes 1999, p. 281, quoted by C. E. Challis in his own discussion of Henry’s introduction of the gold sovereign (Challis 1978, pp. 46–52). See also Hoak 1995, pp. 69–70.
The second innovation was related in its design to the gold sovereign. It was not a new coin but a revival of an earlier one, the gold ryal, with a value of ten shillings. On the obverse was a figure of a king, sword in hand, wearing armour and the imperial crown and standing within a ship; the reverse showed a large heraldic rose, as on the sovereign, but this time the shield in the centre bore the royal arms of France (Fig. 22). This coin was evidently minted for only a very brief period and it seems entirely reasonable to assume that it was produced in connection with Henry’s invasion of France in 1492.23 Here, if any further proof were needed, is evidence indicating that Henry VII was a most unusual king in terms of his deployment of the royal image and his belief in its potency.
23. Metcalf 1976, p. xxxvii; Challis 1978, p. 52; Currin 2002, p. 110.
The Limits of Likeness: The Royal Family in Other Media
During this period of transition from the cultural forms of the Middle Ages to those of the Renaissance, examples of portraiture being employed in royal images more generally are not always easy to identify. Sometimes it is obvious that the facial features are conventional and there is no question at all of portraiture being used. In other cases the matter is less clear-cut: the features appear generalized, but at the same time it seems possible that the influence of some kind of authentic portrait is also present. Such questions have not received very much attention, partly no doubt because of the subjective element involved in discussing them, but partly perhaps also because they have been obscured by the existence of two impressive instances of portraiture from early on in the period. These are the stained-glass figures of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville, dating from the early 1480s, in the “Royal window” at Canterbury Cathedral (Fig. 60), and it is with them that this section must begin.
Both of these figures suffered damage during a ferocious campaign of Puritan iconoclasm in 1642, when the main lights of the window, with their religious subject-matter, were smashed. (It is for this reason that the heads of the two “Princes in the Tower,” who are shown kneeling behind Edward, and of the five princesses kneeling behind Elizabeth, are either eighteenthcentury or more modern replacements.)1 In Edward’s face the area of glass between the two diagonal cracks is a piece of expert eighteenth-century repair work, as also is the area of glass in roughly the same position in Elizabeth’s face.2 Nonetheless, it can be seen that these faces are depicted in a naturalistic style that was without parallel in stained-glass painting elsewhere in England. With its subtle stippled shading and delicate stickwork highlights, it relates the appearance of the faces to contemporary Netherlandish panel painting. In this respect Madeline Caviness has noted a particular affinity with the work of Hugo van der Goes and
1. An extensive account of the glass in this window can be found in Caviness 1981, pp. 251–73 with Figs 436–510a. This is usefully complemented by the colour photographs of the royal figures in Michael 2004, pp. 176–83, and supplemented now by Dent 2012. Uniquely, the original head and upper body of the princess at the far right survives and is now in the Burrell Collection, Glasgow: see London 2003, pp. 176–78, No. 38 (entry by Sarah Brown).
2. Caviness 1981, p. 262 and Figs 446a, 453a. As noted by Caviness, Elizabeth’s upper lip was repainted by the glazier Frederick Cole in 1974. In fact Cole reinvented this feature: see Dent 2012, pp. 58–60 and Pl. 88.
Figs 60a and 60b. Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville. Stained-glass figures in the north (“Royal”) window in the north-west transept of Canterbury Cathedral. 1482–1483, completed perhaps c. 1486–1487.
Figs 60c and 60d. Details of Figs 60a and 60b: heads of the two figures.
his associates, and has also suggested that the faces of Edward and Elizabeth may have been based on paintings taken from life.3
Certainly it is evident that the stained-glass painter had some knowledge of the individual physiognomies of the king and queen. Comparing Edward’s face with the arch-topped Society of Antiquaries portrait (Fig. 10), one notices a marked similarity in the eyes and in the deep, rounded chin; and Elizabeth has the same large eyes, straight nose and small, pointed chin as appear in the portrait at Hever Castle (Fig. 7). Although both faces are turned slightly further away from us, this does not rule out the possibility that they were derived from the panel portrait images: a competent artist could easily have managed this small adaptation. At the same time, however, it is noticeable that Edward’s nose is different in shape, lacking the distinctive pointed end that occurs in the copies of panel portraits and in the related early engraving (see Figs 6 and 8). Thus it is also possible that these likenesses may have resulted from some kind of independent observation on the part of the stained-glass painter. Whatever the truth of the matter, the faces at Canterbury seem to mark a new departure in that, while they are undoubtedly likenesses, they have broken away from the emblematic portrait types of Edward and Elizabeth with their distinctive costumes. The figure of Edward might be seen as going a stage
3. Caviness 1981, p. 257.
EDWARD IV, RICHARD III, HENRY VII AND HENRY VIII: four kings whose reigns spanned a pivotal period in English history, from the Wars of the Roses to the Reformation. It is well recognized that, in this era of personal monarchy, kings used visual means, chiefly heraldry and pageantry, to represent themselves in the eyes of their subjects. This book focuses on the use of portraits as ‘emblems’ designed to function in a similar way in the elite circles of court and government. Frederick Hepburn explores the distinctive iconography of the portrait images that were devised to represent each of these four kings. In so doing he adds a fascinating new dimension to the study of these monarchs, and in particular sheds unexpected light on the character of the first of the Tudors, Henry VII. Here too is in-depth consideration of the portraits of other members of the early Tudor royal family — Prince Arthur and his sisters the princesses Margaret and Mary, Lady Margaret Beaufort and Katherine of Aragon. The author also looks at the occurrence of royal portraits in media other than painting in order to present as complete a picture as possible of the role played by such images during this period of transition from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance.