Holbein in England
When he first arrived in England from Basel in 1526, Hans Holbein hoped “to scrape a few angels together”. Holbein had illustrated the satires of Erasmus, but found no one else in Basel interested in paying for art. In search of patrons, he crossed the Channel, and found the English court full of men and women eager to be painted and willing to pay in angel, those gold coins stamped with the Archangel Michael.
I imagine that Holbein learned English as he painted. He would have been silent much of the time, observing the inner lives reflected in the faces of his sitters. Undistracted by conversation he did not understand, he saw into people – strong, educated women, young, determined girls, headstrong men, corrupt, idealistic, or pragmatic servants of the King. Holbein’s hand captures them – particularly he captures their eyes.
Holbein’s pencil drawings are fresh and immediate, as if the sitter, absent an odd Tudor hat, were still alive and strolling in Hampton Court. The paintings with their smoldering velvets and caressable furs look of their period, but the faces are alive, and the quality of the painting is so vivid it is no wonder that Henry VIII ordered Holbein to paint his portrait.
The King had everything; Holbein had nothing except the tools of his trade and genius. Yet it is possible that Henry VIII owes the artist everything, for Holbein created an iconic image of Henry that blazes with power. I remember Henry for his lurid marital history and his break with Rome, but it is really Holbein’s painting that puts him in my mind’s eye, and keeps him there. The glaring white stockings on the King pull my eyes to his strong, planted legs, as if I approached him on my knees. My gaze travels up his bejeweled clothes and over an embellishment assuredly odd to modern eyes, and then up to Henry’s red-haired, commanding face where I meet his imperious, cold, and supremely confident eyes.
Holbein returned to Europe at Henry’s command to paint the portraits of a number of ladies. Henry was trying to select his fourth wife, and thought a portrait could help him choose. He was pleased with Holbein’s painting of Anne of Cleves, but not with the lady when he met her in person. Anne could not speak English, and struck Henry as dull and unappealing, but Holbein, who spoke her language, has painted her looking quietly serene with a slightly amused look in her right eye.
Obliged to marry her, Henry never consummated the marriage, and is supposed to have described her as “a Flanders mare”. This was a sardonic remark, as his Flanders mares were the best brood mares in his stable.
Henry ended the marriage, made Anne his “sister”, set her up in a fine home at Richmond, and married a lady more to his liking. A year after they had first met, on January 3, Anne rode over from Richmond. She had discarded the dowdy clothes she had worn when first meeting Henry, and had gifts for Henry’s new queen. For Henry she brought two horses with violet velvet trappings. I like to think they were Flanders mares.
All this is to say that Tate Britain’s Holbein in England showcases one of the world’s great artists, who was able to create due to the patronage of the English court. The sheer beauty of his paintings and drawings has always captured me, and biographies of his sitters add to the fascination. I hope Anne is there, and that I will be able to visit. The show, open now, runs at Tate Britain, London SW1 until Jan 7. Its sponsor is the British Land Company. For more details, TATE BRITAIN >
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