(Queenship and Power) Anna Riehl-The Face of Queenship - Early Modern Representations of Elizabeth I (Queenship and Power) - Palgrave Macmillan (2010)

T HE FACE OF QUEENSHIP
QUEENSHIP AND POWER
Series Editors: Carole Levin and Charles Beem
This series brings together monographs and edited volumes from scholars specializ-
ing in gender analysis, women’s studies, literary interpretation, and cultural, polit-
ical, constitutional, and diplomatic history. It aims to broaden our understanding of
the strategies that queens—both consorts and regnants, as well as female regents—
pursued in order to wield political power within the structures of male- dominant
societies. In addition to works describing European queenship, it also includes books
on queenship as it appeared in other parts of the world, such as East Asia, Sub-
Saharan Africa, and Islamic civilization.
Editorial Board
Linda Darling, University of Arizona (Ottoman Empire)

Theresa Earenfight, Seattle University (Spain)
Dorothy Ko, Barnard College (China)
Nancy Kollman, Stanford University (Russia)
John Thornton, Boston University (Africa and the Atlantic World)
John Watkins (France and Italy)
Published by Palgrave Macmillan
The Lioness Roared: The Problems of Female Rule in English History

By Charles Beem
Elizabeth of York
By Arlene Naylor Okerlund
Learned Queen: The Image of Elizabeth I in Politics and Poetry

By Linda Shenk
The Face of Queenship: Early Modern Representations of Elizabeth I

By Anna Riehl
Tudor Queenship: The Reigns of Mary and Elizabeth (forthcoming)

By Anna Whitelock and Alice Hunt
Renaissance Queens of France (forthcoming)

By Glenn Richardson
THE FACE OF QUEENSHIP
EARLY MODERN REPRESENTATIONS
OF ELIZABETH I
Anna Riehl
THE FACE OF QUEENSHIP
Copyright © Anna Riehl, 2010.
All rights reserved.
First published in 2010 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN®
in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world,
this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills,
Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS.
Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies
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Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States,
the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries.
ISBN: 978–0–230–61495–6
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Riehl, Anna, 1970–
The face of queenship : early modern representations
of Elizabeth I / Anna Riehl.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978–0–230–61495–6 (alk. paper)
1. Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 1533–1603—Public opinion.
2. Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 1533–1603—In literature.
3. Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 1533–1603—In art. 4. Facial
expression—Social aspects. 5. Facial expression—Political aspects.
6. Great Britain—History—Elizabeth, 1558–1603. 7. Monarchy—
Great Britain—Public opinion. 8. Queens—Great Britain—Public
opinion. I. Title.
DA356.R54 2010
942.05⬘5092—dc22 2009039973
A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.
Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India.
First edition: May 2010
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America.
To my mother and children
. . . her face and countenance every day
We changèd see, and sundry forms partake . . .
—Edmund Spenser, Two Cantos of Mutabilitie,
Canto VII, 50. 6–7
CONTENTS
List of Illustrations ix
Note on the Text xi
Acknowledgments xiii
List of Abbreviations xvii
Introduction 1
1 Plain Queen, Gorgeous King: Tudor Royal Faces 13
2 “Let nature paint your beauty’s glory”:
Beauty and Cosmetics 37
3 Meeting the Queen: Documentary Accounts 65
4 “Mirrors more than one”: Elizabeth’s Literary Faces 91
5 Portraiture: The Painted Texts of Elizabeth’s Faces 123
Part I: Elizabeth and Hilliard 127
Part II: Augmenting the Canon 151
Notes 173
Bibliography 209
Index 239
This page intentionally left blank
FIGURES
Cover Image The Rainbow portrait of Elizabeth I, circa 1603.

1 Queen Elizabeth I in Coronation Robes,
circa 1559–1600. 106
2 Royal arms of Queen Elizabeth I, from
Robert Cooke, “Armorial bearings of the kings and
noble families of Great Britain from the reign of
William the Conqueror to that of James I,” 1572. 107
3 Nicholas Hilliard. Chart from Treatise
Concerning the Arte of Limning. 130
4 Nicholas Hilliard. Queen Elizabeth I playing
the lute, circa 1576–1580. 140
5 Nicholas Hilliard. Queen Elizabeth I. 1572. 141
6 Anonymous. Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I,
circa 1575–1580. 146
7 Nicholas Hilliard. Portrait of Queen
Elizabeth I, 1588. 149
8 Elizabeth I, “The Hampden Portrait,”
circa 1563. 153
9 Anonymous, Elizabeth I, circa 1564–1567. 155
10 Portrait of Elizabeth I, circa 1575–1580. 159
11 Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, circa 1560. 161
12 Marcus Gheeraerts, the Younger.
Queen Elizabeth I (“The Ditchley Portrait”),
circa 1592. 164
13 Workshop of Marcus Gheeraerts, the Younger.
Queen Elizabeth I, circa 1592. 165
14 Marcus Gheeraerts. Portrait of Elizabeth I,
circa 1592. 166
15 Elizabethan three-pence coin, 1575. 167
NOTE ON THE TEXT
I
n the quotations from the primary unedited sources, the
original spelling is preserved except for the silent
changes, where appropriate, from u to v and vice versa,
and from i to j.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A
substantial part of research for and writing of this
book was made possible by the Dissertation Award
from the American Association of University Women;
the University Fellowship and Provost Award from the University
of Illinois at Chicago; the English-Speaking Union Scholarship
for research in England, and Summer Research Grant from the
College of Liberal Arts at Auburn University.
The research process repeatedly took me out of my office on
the journeys around the United States and England, and I am
grateful to the staff at the reading rooms of the Newberry Library,
Folger Shakespeare Library, British Library, and Heinz Archive
of the National Portrait Gallery in London, and to the audiences
of my conference presentations. I thank Karen Hearn at the Tate
Britain and Tarnya Cooper at the National Portrait Gallery in
London for conferring with me about my research. I am grateful
to Rab MacGibbon for his expert help in locating some of the
obscure portraits of Elizabeth.
This book would not be what it is without the assistance of
many scholars, and I feel very fortunate to be a recipient of their
enthusiastic support and expertise. I am especially grateful to
three of my colleagues at Auburn University who have read the
entire manuscript in the final stages of revision: Craig E. Bertolet,
who has been my invaluable resource for all things medieval and
who also made all translations from Latin quoted in this book;
Hilary Wyss, whose comments made me see the structure of this
project in a new light; and Paula Backscheider, whose good judg-
ment facilitated the finishing touches on this book and whose
generosity enabled me to include twice as many illustrations than
my budget would otherwise allow.
xiv Acknowledgments
I am also indebted to Thomas Herron, Hannibal Hamlin,

Margaret Hannay, Patricia Phillippy, Ilona Bell, Jane Donaweth,
Mary Villeponteaux, Constance Relihan, and Wiebke Kuhn, for
reading parts of the book and providing invaluable comments that
sharpened my focus and saved me from many errors. I am deeply
thankful to Michele Osherow, Donald Stump, Lynn Botelho,
Linda Shenk, and Catherine Howey, whose own work has created
a stimulating intellectual environment and whose enthusiasm
about my research has been unflagging over the years. For their
wisdom and support, I thank the members of the English
Department at the University of Illinois at Chicago, particularly
Clark Hulse, who introduced me to the delights of early modern
visual culture and forstered my interest in the English queen dur-
ing the work on my dissertation and “Elizabeth I: Ruler and
Legend,” a public humanities exhibition at the Newberry Library
in Chicago. I give my heartfelt thanks to John Huntington, whose
support and guidance, as well as an invariably upbeat disposition,
helped me to navigate some difficult stages of the research pro-
cess. At the UIC, I also thank Mary Beth Rose, Mark Canuel,
Lisa Freeman, and Judith Gardiner. Further thanks go out to
remarkable people of an extraordinary intellectual generosity,
Sander L. Gilman and John Watkins.
At Auburn University, I give special thanks to my bright
research assistants Rachel Reed and Mary Mechler and to my col-
leagues, especially Nancy Noe, Joanne Tong, Matt Zarnowiecki,
and Jeremy Downes.
I am also grateful to the individuals at Palgrave Macmillan who
worked on my book, especially Chris Chappell, general editor;
Carole Levin and Charles Beem, series editors and inspiring schol-
ars; and Samantha Hasey, editorial assistant.
I am additionally indebted to Carole Levin, who discerned the
seeds of a future book within my initial essay and supported its
growth with her outstanding expertise, enthusiasm, and wisdom.
My further gratitude goes out to Craig E. Bertolet whose know-
ledge, wit, and devotion helped me to steer this book through to
its completion.
I give my heartfelt thanks to the far-away-so-close friends
who regularly lent me their emotional and moral support as my
thinking and writing moved forward by leaps and bounds: Ann
Cheetham, Andrea Brillhart, Lydia Barnett Gastley, Kris Curtis,
John Divine, Cristin McConnaughay, Lia Brouwers, Judith
Acknowledgments xv
Bieberle Marks, and Anna Klatis. My great thanks go to Michael

for his steady support on a long journey and his patient belief
that often superseded my own self-confidence. This book is ded-
icated to my mother Yana, an extraordinary woman whose wis-
dom and love are at heart of all achievements of my life; to April
and Alexander, who put my scholarly challenges in perspective
and thus inspired me to persevere; and to the memory of
Rachel.
A BBREVIATIONS
CSP Foreign Calendar of State Papers, Foreign Series, from the

Reign of Elizabeth I
CSP Spain Calendar of the Letters and State Papers Relating to
English Affairs Preserved in, or originally Belonging
to, the Archives of Simancas
CSP Venice Calendar of State Papers and manuscripts relating to
English affairs, existing in the archives and collections
of Venice, and in other libraries of Northern Italy
CSP Domestic Calendar of State Papers, Domestic
CW Elizabeth I: Collected Works
DNB Dictionary of National Biography
FQ The Faerie Queene
Letters and Papers The Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the
Reign of Henry VIII. Preserved in the Public Record
Office, the British Museum, and Elsewhere in
England
NPG National Portrait Gallery, London
ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography
OED Oxford English Dictionary
INTRODUCTION
My Niece Is “far from beautiful”

In 1582, the Russian czar Ivan the Terrible appointed a secret
mission to his ambassador in England, Fyodor Pisemsky, to
secure Mary Hastings as the next consort for the czar.1 In add-
ition to determining Mary’s exact relationship to the queen,
Ivan’s instructions called for an inquiry into the potential bride’s
physical appearance.2 Instead of exploring Mary’s precise social
status and personal character, Pisemsky concentrated on a sur-
vey of her looks, a task not easily accomplished outside a formal
arrangement for an inspection that had to be sanctioned by the
queen.
On January 18, 1583, after a three-month wait for an audience,
Pisemsky was finally able to broach the issue in Elizabeth’s private
chamber at Richmond palace, beseeching Elizabeth to show him
the lady and order her portrait to be painted for delivery to Ivan.
The English queen responded diplomatically:
Although I love my brother, your czar, and would be pleased to

establish family ties with him, I have heard that he loves beautiful
maidens whereas my niece is not beautiful, and I expect she will
not suit him. I am also grateful to your czar for loving me so much
that he wants to be related to me, but I am ashamed to have her
face painted and sent to your lord because she is far from beautiful,
and she is unwell, and has had smallpox, and her face is red and
pock-marked.3
Pisemsky persisted until Elizabeth agreed, upon Mary’s recov-

ery, to allow the inspection and painting of her person. The
bride-show took place on May 17, 1583 in York House Garden. 4
Pisemsky’s orders were to “scrutinize the girl intensely: how tall
is she; how big? is her complexion white or dark?” 5 Ivan’s ques-
tions were only slightly vaguer than his representative’s answers.
Having finally seen Mary Hastings in person, Pisemsky described
her in a compact catalog of features: “tall of stature, slender, white
2 The Face of Queenship
of face, grey eyes, blonde of hair, straight nose, fingers slender

and long.” 6 This description is flanked by Pisemsky’s exchanges
with Thomas Randolph (one of Elizabeth’s chief diplomats) and
later with Elizabeth herself. Before they set off for the garden,
Randolph draws the ambassador’s attention to the fact that the
“queen ordered to show her niece to you neither in a dark place,
nor in a chamber—but in the open light.” 7 Elizabeth continues in
the same vein. After asking Pisemsky to keep the negotiations a
secret, she declares, “I deal with my brother truthfully, and not
by deceit: the portrait I will send will look the same as what you
have seen in person.” Pisemsky, as if not completely convinced,
assures the queen that he will supply his czar with an accurate ver-
bal description of the lady. Apparently perturbed by Pisemsky’s
insistence on honesty without letting her know what exactly he is
going to report to Ivan, Elizabeth, in her typical roundabout fash-
ion, attempts to extract Pisemsky’s opinion of Mary Hastings’
looks: “I expect your lord will not love my niece; moreover, you
did not love her either.” Pisemsky is thus forced to admit and com-
pliment her “niece’s” beauty.8
Having received Mary’s portrait in June 1593, the Russian
ambassador left England accompanied by Elizabeth’s messenger
Jerome Bowes. Bowes announced to Ivan that Mary was “sickly,
taken by a great disease” and also unlikely to change her religious
alliances.9 Moreover, he insisted, “her face is not the most beau-
tiful; but the queen has up to ten other nieces closer to her in
relation” and, although the queen did not give him permission
to disclose their names, Bowes was certain that they “had faces
more beautiful” than that of Mary Hastings.10 Even though Ivan
was frustrated, he might very well have intended to pursue the
negotiations, but his death on March 19, 1584 put an end to his
plans to engage an English-born lady to be his eighth wife. For
her part, Mary never married. The precise year of her death is
unknown.
This story highlights the issues that this book will address. The
persistent interest in a woman’s facial features shows the value
placed on female beauty and produces complex attitudes to facial
blemishes. Another set of problems is created by a continual need
to negotiate deception and honesty of display, both in real-life
situations (as in Mary Hastings’ bride-show) and in representa-
tion when both the author and the audience have to contend with
the difficulty of verbal description of faces and the unreliability
Introduction 3
of portraiture. Importantly, this account allows a glimpse of the

queen’s tactics in respect to the matter of female faces: we get to
witness Elizabeth’s behavior as a participant in an exchange about
scrutiny, evaluation, and representation (in a portrait as well as a
verbal report) of the appearance of a woman other than herself.
Elizabeth is positioned in this situation ambivalently. On the one
hand, she acts as a representative of the masculine power of the
gaze that objectifies a woman’s face through appraisal and criti-
cism; on the other, she identifies with the feminine subject who
is obliged to defend her facial perfections as well as flaws by mak-
ing claims to the integrity of display and eliciting compliments
in the very act of self-disparagement. In this unique illustration
of an early modern woman’s maneuvering in the world of men,
Elizabeth’s dual status as female subject and male objectifying
gazer is highlighted. She figures both as an object of scrutiny and
representation, but an object whose privileged position of power
lends her the awareness of the masculine values according to
which her own face is being regarded and figured.
The value placed on the face in the early modern society, as
much as in our own, is derived from a face’s ability to function
as an “instrument panel” 11 and its visual accessibility. Thus, John
Donne observes that because “the face be more precisely regarded
it concernes more. . . . the secret parts neede less respect; but of
the Face discovered to all Survayes and examinations there is not
too nice a jealousy.” 12 In the early modern period, this part of the
human body emerges from under the medieval veil and helmet. It
becomes less a formalized rhetorical trope and more an intersec-
tion of interpretive efforts of the onlookers. The controversial site
of dissimulation and revelation, it is forever suspended between
the potentials of truth and lie, art and nature.
Indeed, the society had a well-developed system of treating faces
as textual entities capable of communicating and hiding truths
about their owners’ inner disposition. While conduct manuals
teach how to properly compose the face to ensure social success,
the physiognomic treatises give detailed instructions on plumbing
the features for the practical insights into personality, character,
and health.13 While the doctor studies the patient’s face for the
signs of disease, and the suitor inspects the face of a woman, the
markings that nature had left in these faces may be concealed and
rewritten by cosmetics. Even as the early moderns search the faces
of their interlocutors for signs of their inward character, experience
confirms that “one may smile and smile and be a villain.” 14 It is a

slippery signifier that demands to be seen only in this capacity. It
invites interpretation, but makes impossible any certainty of this
signification. Yet one cannot help but read the face; its epistemo-
logical promise is too powerful to be resisted.
The heterogeneous system of attitudes toward the human faces
that Elizabeth had to reckon with was well in place in the early
modern England. In their introduction to The Body in Parts, David
Hillman and Carla Mazzio explain that a shift of interest from
the universal to particular has occurred in the course of the early
modern period. They call the period an “age of synecdoche” and
propose that early modern science and culture became interested
in body parts, making them “concentrated sites” of meaning in
their own right, without a subsequent reincorporation into the
body as a whole.15 The richness of meaning and function of such
a crucial body element as a face is explained not only by the peri-
od’s interest in partitioning and interrogation of each part in sep-
aration, but also by the prominence of faces in communication,
portraiture, rhetoric, professional activities, et cetera. A general
tendency in the early modern thought supports a dualistic exalt-
ation of invisible and immaterial mind/soul over visible and palp-
able body. However, when another hierarchy is mapped onto the
body itself, the face is invariably placed at the top, not only due to
its superior spatial position,16 but also as the site of the body where
the material flesh is most prominently joined with the mind, how-
ever complex and ambiguous these connections may be. As Lucy
Hutchinson eloquently put it in Order and Disorder,
The head which is the body’s chiefest grace,

The noble palace of the royal guest
Within by Fancy and Invention dressed,
With many pleasant useful ornaments
Which new Imagination still presents,
Adorned without by Majesty and Grace:
O who can tell the wonders of a face!17
The Face of Queenship

An inquiry into the subject of Elizabeth’s face, first and foremost,
must account for her dual status as a woman and a monarch. In
Shakespeare’s play Richard II, we find a perceptive account of the
Introduction 5
unique status of a royal face in the early modern period. After

Richard is dethroned, he orders a mirror “That it may show me
what a face I have, / Since it is bankrupt of his majesty”:
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck

So many blows upon the face of mine
And made no deeper wounds? O flatt’ring glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me! Was this face a face
That every day after his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face
That like the sun did make beholders wink?
Is this the face which faced so many follies,
That was at last outfaced by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face.
As brittle as the glory is the face,
[He shatters the glass]
For there it is, cracked in an hundred shivers.
Mark, silent King, the moral of this sport:
How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.18
Looking in the mirror, Richard registers the immediate unrespon-

siveness of his face, its failure to record the tremendous change
of meaning that has occurred in its owner’s existence. Frustrated
by this facial endurance, Richard imposes symbolic destruction
onto his countenance by shattering the mirror that reflects it. The
apparent stasis of his face would seem to underscore the profoundly
metaphysical nature of Richard’s lost kingship. Instead, this lack
of change frustrates him because it undermines the concept of
the king’s two bodies as Richard conceives it: literally. Prior to the
deposition, his notion of his monarchal face has followed the trad-
itional metaphors of kingship: he believes his face has dazzled the
beholders with its glory, “like the sun.” It is in the face where, for
Richard, the record of his sacred monarchy has been clearly writ-
ten and where he now searches, in vain, for a reciprocal transform-
ation of glory into sorrow. Instead, he discovers that even now a
“glory shineth in this face.” It is his knowledge that this enduring
glory is but an erroneous facial signification that causes him to
lash out in an attempt to crack his face “in an hundred shivers,” as
if to interject these symbolic cracks in place of the absent “deeper
wrinkles,” thus closing the gap between his two bodies that meet
in his mirrored countenance.
However qualified, a tenuous identification of Elizabeth and

Richard II has become a part of literary history.19 In addition,
Shakespeare’s text bears testimony to the supreme significance
of the face, especially the royal face, as a site of meaning, and an
almost desperate need to bring, if not the face itself, then at least
its representation, in agreement with meaning that one senses or
imagines lying beneath its surface. And insofar as Richard’s per-
spective is conditioned by his kingship, the uneasy relationship
between the king’s two bodies causes a necessity to bring his
natural face in line with this symbolic loss and thus reforge the
connection between the two bodies, even though he no longer
possesses the body politic.
In all aspects of early modern culture, the face emerges as a site
of power and means of empowerment: epistemological, political,
and even divine. The face is surrounded by a technology of inter-
pretation, training, and representation: a technology that grows
more elaborate as new voices join the discourse about the con-
trol of the body in social and political spheres as well as in art.
Cutting across various approaches to the human countenance in
the period, there is an underlying confidence that it is intrinsically
connected to the mind: that the face can express the mind, hide it,
or serve as an object of its inquiries, as a cognitive map that offers
a path to knowledge that lies beyond its physicality. For the early
moderns, the visible lines and delineations of the face, drawn by
a “pencil that never works in vain,” 20 retain their potential as the
signs of the invisible truths that are waiting to be revealed.
Fascination with faces in the early modern England is omni-
present: physiognomic theories of the Germans and the French
are imported in multiple editions; conduct books address the mat-
ters of proper facial behavior; artists process the faces in order to
translate them onto panels and canvases; citizens describe faces in
their letters and diaries; poets perpetuate the ideals of beauty or
sharpen their wits in the mockery of ugliness while women follow
cosmetic recipes to fashion their faces anew. The subject of many
of these reinventions in portraiture, private and public docu-
ments, and literature is the English queen’s countenance, and it is
this bundle of complex and contradictory modes of engagement
comprising the early modern concept of the face that Elizabeth
has to reckon with throughout her life.
This book’s title conveys a multitude of meanings: putting a
material face to the abstract notion of power, specifically royal and
Introduction 7
female authority; creating a face for the human beings, Elizabeth

among them, who happen to occupy positions of power, political,
sexual, or aesthetic; interpreting these kinds of faces in the early
modern context, as well as our own. Building on the debate of the
scholars dealing with literature and power, this book investigates
the multifaceted meanings inscribed in the queen’s face by her
contemporaries. In addition, because hair seems to be insepar-
able from the face in descriptions of Elizabeth, I attend to the cul-
tural meanings evoked by Elizabeth’s hair, along with those of her
proper facial features.
This study engages diverse fields of inquiry: from physiognomic
treatises to theories of art, poetic practice, portraiture, and polem-
ics dealing with face-painting. As a backdrop for Elizabeth’s par-
ticular case, these elements allow a reconstruction of the early
modern theory and practice of representation and interpretation
of faces. Early modern studies have recently been enriched by
a few analyses of face-painting and cosmetics,21 in addition to
Martin Porter much-needed inquiry into early modern physio-
gnomic treatises. An earlier study The English Face by David Piper
provides a survey of stylistic changes in representation of faces
in portraiture and sculpture. An emerging interest in the early
modern concept of the face is evident in these studies, and, most
recently, in the exciting book by Sibylle Baumbach, Shakespeare
and the Art of Physiognomy.22 Arguing for the necessity of attending
to the poetics and politics of meaning in verbal and visual render-
ings of the face of Elizabeth I, my own book seeks to establish
that, in early modern society, the natural properties of the face are
habitually translated into cultural terms as one’s countenance is
drawn into the process of projecting and deciphering of meaning.
The face thereby becomes a cultural construct and rhetorical tool
whose presence transpires in many aspects of thought and experi-
ence in the early modern period. In this respect, the notion of the
face in this book coincides with the neuropsychiatrist German E.
Berrios’s observation that the “face is not a ‘natural kind’ but a
‘cultural construct’ and hence its study requires a discipline that
may borrow from biology, theology, poetry, history, philosophy,
portraiture, and aesthetics.” 23 Because of its special focus on the
rhetorical possibilities realized in various representations of the
face, the scope of my study is limited to literature, history, and
portraiture; it also includes some elements of contemporary aes-
thetics and physiognomic thought. Elizabeth’s particular case,
indicative of how this rhetorical tool has been implemented in the

early modern context of female rulership, both elucidates and is
itself illuminated by the understanding of the conceptual view of
the face as a locus of aesthetic, political, ideological, and gender-
related meaning.
To a significant extent, this book incorporates the findings
and approaches of the New Historicist dimension of literary criti-
cism that was initiated by Stephen Greenblatt in his study of self-
fashioning and the complex relationships between literature and
power and developed and modified by other scholars and success-
fully adopted to reading both literary and nonliterary texts as well
as images. The New Historicist expansion of the field of evidence
from the established canon to less familiar and marginal works
is at heart of the selection of materials for this study. My inquiry
is also informed by feminist and cultural studies, as well as prac-
tice of close reading of verbal and visual evidence. In the inclu-
sion and analysis of visual imagery, I capitalize on Peter Burke’s
argument that “art can provide evidence for aspects of social
reality which texts pass over,” 24 pointedly reiterated in Stephen
Orgel’s assertion that images “always say more than they mean”:
“The image, unlike the word . . . also represents what does not sig-
nify, the unexplained, the unspeakable.” 25 My approach is also
aligned with Louis Montrose’s interest in the way Elizabeth and
her male subjects negotiated their agency and in awareness that
Elizabeth’s “power to shape her own strategies was itself shaped
(enabled or constrained) by repertoire of values, institutions, and
practices available to her for appropriation and innovation.” 26 I
am especially indebted to feminist scholars like Carole Levin,
Susan Frye, and Susan Doran, whose work has enabled my inquiry
into the effects of meaning-making in Elizabeth’s depictions and
sharpened my awareness of the extent to which these meanings
are implicated in cultural anxieties about the female monarch.
Scholarship engaged with Elizabeth I encompasses biography,
textual and literary analysis, iconography, and numerous interpret-
ive ventures that tend to favor the issues of Elizabeth’s self-fash-
ioning, virginity, attitude toward marriage, religious and political
choices, and negotiation of power. Investigations into Elizabeth’s
speeches and Ilona Bell’s brilliant analysis of the queen’s poetry,
in particular, have produced a consensus about Elizabeth’s rhet-
orical dexterity: a skill that, I would argue, extends its influence
beyond language and strives to control all representations of the
Introduction 9
queen regardless of their agency and medium.27 In this rhetorical

endeavor, representations of Elizabeth’s face are instrumental.
Used both in and against Elizabeth’s favor, they render multiple
meanings, some of which may no longer be readily accessible by
the modern audience.
The medieval concept of the king’s two bodies, examined in
detail by Ernst H. Kantorowicz, was still a valid currency dur-
ing Elizabeth’s lifetime. As expounded in Edmund Plowden’s
Commentaries or Reports, a monarch possesses two bodies, a body
natural (“mortal, subject to all Infirmities that come by Nature
or Accident, to the Imbecillity of Infancy or old Age”) and a
body politic (invisible and intangible, “consisting of Policy and
Governement” and “utterly void of Infancy, and old Age, and
other natural Defects and Imbecillities”).28 Many scholars find
this concept fascinating and, in light of the increasing interest in
material culture, research on the queen’s natural body has added
an important dimension to studies on Elizabeth. Attention paid to
Elizabeth’s face in current scholarship, however, is occasional and
cursory, a fact especially striking in this context of the ongoing
discourse on Elizabeth’s body.29 In fact, among the numerous
explorations of Elizabeth’s monarchical body, including those
addressing the concept of the king’s two bodies, there have been
no studies focused on the queen’s face.30 Her countenance never-
theless offers unique representational and interpretive challenges
that exceed those of the rest of her body: functions, meanings,
and interpretations of the face are distinctly different from what
the scholarship has been discovering in its treatment of the early
modern body as an integral unit or as it is metonymically repre-
sented by its various systems.31
Indeed, most recent inquiries into Elizabeth’s physicality all
but equate her body natural with her virginity, an interest that
has produced valuable discussions of anxiety and power associ-
ated with Elizabeth’s virginal state in various stages of her reign.
What is most intriguing about the issues of virginity is not only
its bearing on the issues of dynastic procreation, symbolic sug-
gestion of impenetrability of Elizabeth’s realm, and divine ordin-
ance of her rulership, but also the intangibility, uncertainty, a
visual and verbal invisibility of the physical groundings of her
virginal state.32 Her face, however, is the part of her body natural
most open to view, and the concreteness of its representation far
surpasses that of her virginity. In choosing the queen’s face as
the focal point of this study, therefore, I propose to turn atten-

tion away from the abstract figurations of her body as virginal,
aging, or sexualized, and explore instead the concrete aspects
of her physicality, made nowhere more tangible and visible than
in her face. Although in representations of Elizabeth’s face the
imagination, style, and political alliances of her writing and
painting contemporaries inevitably reconstitute the concrete
physicality of this face, this book seeks to ground these repre-
sentational difficulties in their starting point: the materiality
of the queen’s countenance. Renditions of Elizabeth’s face pro-
vide an opportunity to invest the monarch’s physiognomy with
meaning and, as such, function as loci for the expression of the
authors’ conflicting desires. By examining discourses on beauty
and cosmetics, documentary writings, poetry, and portraiture,
the chapters that follow reveal how the queen’s face functions
as an index of political contest that encompasses hopes, fears,
hatreds, mockeries, rivalries, and awe. Furthermore, I demon-
strate that the political investment generated in representations
of Elizabeth’s face is especially intense because of her feminine
gender.
Because royal faces were scrutinized in a peculiar way, with
additional, politically charged, interest and expectations, chapter
1 establishes the cultural and historical background for Elizabeth’s
specific case by tracing the concept of a Tudor royal face. To this
purpose, I consider poetic and documentary descriptions of her
royal predecessors, aiming to determine conceptual and local
tendencies in the treatments of their faces, while also identifying
the points of distinction between depictions of royal female and
male visages. This survey explains not only various attitudes to
the faces of the Tudor dynasty, but also provides a framework of
problems and solutions that Elizabeth inherited and modified.
To a significant extent, the policies of control of the monarch’s
image were determined by the vital issue of the queen’s appear-
ance, historical or legendary. Furthering the evidence discussed
in chapter 1 that the Tudor queens were judged according to the
degree of their gorgeousness, chapter 2 identifies and explores the
obstacles that stand between Elizabeth and beauty, and the ways
these obstacles are surmounted, undermined, or effaced. Building
on the scholarship of Frances Dolan, Annette Drew-Bear, Patricia
Phillippy, and Farah Karim-Cooper on face-painting polemics
and empowerment, I analyze the implications of Ben Jonson’s
Introduction 11
anecdote about the queen’s face-painting and situate the issue of

Elizabeth’s use of cosmetics within the period’s attitude toward
the practices of self-embellishment.
Chapter 3, in juxtaposition to Elizabeth’s efforts to control her
appearance, explores the documented effect of these efforts on
the onlookers. The authors’ political agendas as well as anxiety
surrounding the issue of Elizabeth’s changing appearance cause
inconsistencies within the written testimonies about the aging
queen. This rhetorical maneuvering suggests that onlookers, des-
pite their political differences, are caught in the same discursive
predicament generated by the imperfection of her face. The chap-
ter goes on to address the expressive life of Elizabeth’s face as a
key element in the politics of representing the queen’s inwardness
by means of external signification. As some scholars have noted,
Elizabeth’s self-representation contains a tension between the
tendency to disguise her meanings and her policy of self-display;
I demonstrate that this tension results in activation of, to use
Harry Berger’s term, “the credo of physiognomic skepticism.” 33 In
addition, her facial expressions allow the onlookers an interpret-
ive opportunity to advance their own representational purposes,
claiming to read in her face a silent comment on her integrity
or insincerity, kindness or ill disposition, stamina or weakness.
Through an analysis of documentary descriptions extant in let-
ters and diaries of Elizabeth’s contemporaries, chapter 3 estab-
lishes a base line for the study of interpretations of ostensibly
mediated depictions of the queen’s face in the last two chapters
of the book.
In chapter 4, as I examine a range of techniques favored in lit-
erary portrayals of the queen, I show that the metaphoric inscrip-
tions of Elizabeth’s face with her heraldic symbols are more potent
and successful than the poetic claims of her indescribability, on
one hand, and attempts at a full blazon detailing her features, on
the other. This analysis engages texts by Edmund Spenser, John
Lyly, Fulke Greville, and George Puttenham, as well as anonym-
ous poems recited in Elizabeth’s presence. In addition, I suggest
that these literary representations are governed by the “Medusa
principle” that seeks to avoid a direct, unmediated depiction.34
Each technique represents a particular response to the same set of
dilemmas, bound up with the issues of Elizabeth’s power and gen-
der: desire to compliment, fear to displease, secret hope of domin-
ation, and rivalry with other men over the queen’s favor.
Elizabeth’s portrait-painters responded to the same set of

problems reckoned with by writers. However, artists could not
avoid depiction of her face or obfuscate it with a clever metaphor;
instead, they put forth a prosthetic image of the queen, carefully
refashioning her imperfect physical visage.35 Because the number
of people who had seen the queen’s images far surpassed the num-
ber of people who had seen her in person, the faces in her portraits
frequently functioned as definitive statements of Elizabeth’s
looks. Therefore, chapter 5 investigates the meanings professed or
concealed in the queen’s painted faces, in light of expectations and
interpretive strategies the early moderns brought to creating and
viewing her portraiture. In the first part, I show that Nicholas
Hilliard’s adjustment and alteration of Elizabeth’s features as he
translates flesh into paint allow him to inscribe her face with
meaning that reflects his personal vision of his queen. The second
part of the chapter seeks to augment the canon of the queen’s por-
traits. I propose and explain the concept of the approach to these
images in “clusters” and explore the ways Elizabeth’s face is used
to accommodate the purpose of each portrait within one cluster
and create a particular effect on its viewer. The remaining part of
the chapter engages some lesser known images that uncharacter-
istically portray Elizabeth smiling, sad, or withered. My analysis
of these noncanonical depictions seeks not only to dislodge the
scholarly dismissal of Elizabeth’s face in portraiture, but also to
emphasize the complexity of early modern attitudes to the face of
this English queen.
CHAPTER 1
PLAIN QUEEN, GORGEOUS

KING: TUDOR ROYAL FACES
T
he fifth Tudor monarch and the second Tudor queen,
Elizabeth crafted her queenship with a wisdom derived
from historical hindsight, endeavoring to adopt, adapt,
or discard her predecessors’ policies and strategies for running
the complex business of a well-governed state. As the observers
gazed at this queen, her face was subject to the same expectations
and vulnerabilities as those of the faces of the earlier Tudors who
were observed with a scrutiny potentially leading to adoration or
assault. A logical response on the part of Elizabeth and her official
image-makers, who knew that crafting her royal image could bol-
ster her ability to rule, was to fulfill the positive expectations and
strengthen the vulnerable aspects pertaining to her appearance.
Yet, both the overt praises to the queen’s nonpareil beauty as well
as seemingly objective representations of this monarch inevitably
carried with them ambivalent tendencies inherited from the earl-
ier Tudors.
When Elizabeth’s face value is proposed, assessed, and modi-
fied to fit various rhetorical purposes, to what extent are these
practices inherited from the queen’s Tudor predecessors? What is
the measure of invention or refashioning of the ways to describe,
depict, and discuss Elizabeth’s countenance? Is representation
of the faces of other women who are incorporated in the Tudor
dynasty—Katherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Mary Tudor—more
akin to the construction of Elizabeth’s faces than those of the
Tudor men: Henry VII, Henry VIII, and Edward VI? Or does
the reign of the famously androgynous Elizabeth create a hybrid
of representational choices that at the same time implicate her
face in a host of various cross-gender issues? In order to answer
these questions, this chapter will consider the patterns of con-
tinuity and difference in the representations of royal faces from
the accession of the queen’s grandfather, Henry VII, to her own

accession in 1558.
In contrast to the medieval iconic representations of royalty
where the artists depicted a concept of monarchy per se rather
than the monarch as he or she appeared, the Tudor dynasty paid
close attention to the royal face and its idiosyncratic representa-
tions. No longer did the presence of crown and scepter denote a
monarch in royal portraiture. Instead, the individuality of the
face became recognizable as its features effectively pointed at
the monarch’s personal identity.1 Verbal accounts describing
the Tudors likewise testify to the increasing attention paid to
faces.
In the dynastic line before Elizabeth’s accession, the Tudor
concept of the royal face was shaped and elaborated by the joint
efforts of the observers, artists, and the monarchs themselves.
Representations of Henry VII set forth the humanist interest
in the individuality of kingship, and depictions of Henry VIII
continued this tendency, adding to it a careful assessment of the
king’s face as a reflection of his mind, a link that made the obser-
vers’ compliments to Henry’s beauty a crucial element of their
judgment on his character and competence as a ruler. It was at
this point in the English history that the juxtaposition of the male
and female royal faces began to measure a queen’s worth, to a sig-
nificant extent, by the degree of beauty in her face, while it also
allowed a handsome king to hijack one of the prized feminine
attributes, sporting a beautiful face more attractive than that of
his royal consort. This pattern continued in the reign of Mary I
whose face was disparaged for its plainness and whose inability to
compose her facial expressions had a direct bearing on her unsuit-
ability as a ruler. Elizabeth’s use of her face as a rhetorical tool is
a partly revisionist, partly adoptive response to these preceding
paradigms.
Henry VII
In his study of Henry VII’s iconography, Simon Thurley points
to the necessity of this king’s legitimization and proof of fit-
ness for kingship as the driving forces behind the creation of his
images. In particular, Thurley demonstrates that the legitimacy
of the first Tudor monarch was effected through references to
his descent, by “making connections with the past and stressing
Tudor Royal Faces 15
current dynastic ties” 2 as well as aligning Henry VII’s kingship

with the authority of the church. His fitness for the position of a
ruler, in the meantime, was conveyed through his magnificence.
These strategies were likewise employed by Elizabeth, who, more
than any other Tudor after Henry VII, struggled because of the
necessity to assert her legality and suitability for being a mon-
arch, due to her history of bastardization and her unmarried
status. In the multifaceted project that addressed Henry VII’s
monarchal credentials, his face is implicated primarily as a sign
of the identity and individuality of the first Tudor king. Thurley
points out, for instance, that a group of portraits of Henry VII
(c. 1490–1500), Elizabeth of York (c.1500), and their eldest son
Arthur (c. 1502) all follow the formula of the portrait of Elizabeth
of York’s father Edward IV.3 Indeed, the positioning of the sit-
ter with the hands prominently displayed on a ledge, looking to
the side, links the Tudors to Edward IV compositionally; Henry
VII’s facial features, however, are strikingly unique markers of
the new dynastic line, reflecting the developing humanist inter-
est in individuality. 4 Elizabeth’s portraits employ a similar retro-
spective legitimization, but her painted faces are an integral part
of this process. In particular, as will be discussed in chapter 5, the
most consistent feature of Elizabeth’s face represented in por-
traiture is her eyes whose shape she seems to have inherited from
her grandfather. In addition to Henry VII’s lowered and con-
vex upper lids, Elizabeth’s auburn hair, reminiscent of her father
Henry VIII, also functioned as proof of her paternal right to the
English throne.
A glimpse of Henry VII’s appearance may be additionally
caught in the anonymous The most pleasant Song of the Lady Bessy, the
eldest daughter of King Edward the Fourth; and how she married King
Henry the Seventh of the House of Lancaster (n.d.).5 The central figure
of this ballad, Henry’s bride-to-be Elizabeth of York, is described
quite generically as a “lady so fair and free, / With rudd as red as
rose in May.” 6 A quintessential signifier of redness, “rudd” (a vari-
ant spelling of “rud”) means complexion “of those parts of the face
which are naturally reddish or ruddy” (OED 2): cheeks and espe-
cially lips. Descriptions of one’s “rud” using words like “red” and
“rose” may sound tautological to our ear but were in fact almost
idiomatic in medieval and early modern England. In the context
of the princess’ determination to marry the Lancastrian Earl of
Richmond, the presence of a red rose in her “rud” argues both her
determination and the aptness of her marital choice. Such subtle

reinscription of a hackneyed floral trope into a politically charged
heraldic context will become, as demonstrated in chapter 4, more
aggressive in poetic descriptions of Elizabeth of York’s namesake
granddaughter.
In contrast to the generic appearance of Henry’s bride, the
ballad offers an almost idiosyncratically individualized por-
trayal of the Earl of Richmond. The porter at the gate of the
Beggrames (Begars) Abbey instructs Humphrey Brereton,
Elizabeth’s courageous letter-bearer and her father’s old ser-
vant, who has never seen the banished Earl of Richmond, the
future King Henry VII:
He weareth a gown of velvet black,

And it is cutted above the knee,
With a long visage and pale and black,—
There-by the Prince know may ye.
A wart he hath, the porter said,
A litle alsoe above the chinn,
His face is white, his wart is redd,
No more than a head of a small pinn:
You may know the Prince certain,
As soon as you look upon him truely.7
The future Henry VII’s own face is painted in the same colors as
that of his bride: pale and red, the ideal colors of the contempor-
ary standard of beautiful complexion. “His face is white, his wart
is redd”—the simplicity of this formula glosses over the poten-
tially disturbing ugliness of a red wart standing out on the future
king’s face. The means of recognizing him by a “long visage and
pale and black” are, of course, only slightly less generic than the
description of his bride as fair and rosy. Somewhat oddly placed on
the list of facial attributes, “black” may refer to Henry VII’s eyes
or hair, or could be a short recap of the two preceding lines pictur-
ing his black gown. What focuses the attention of the porter to
the earl’s face is the placement and appearance of the wart. As any
physical blemish, a wart is an unlikely peculiarity to receive such
representational emphasis on a royal face. In this ballad, of course,
the unusual wart provides a convenient way of identification of
the proper recipient of Bessy’s letters. Moreover, Henry’s red wart
echoes Elizabeth’s red “rud” and functions as a mark of the House
of Lancaster whose emblem is a red rose, thereby associating
Henry as a Lancastrian. Its significance as a blemish on his com-

plexion is carefully reduced by stressing the wart’s minuscule size,
“No more than a head of a small pin.” Yet regardless of its small
size it becomes the only distinguishing mark on the king’s face.
Whether the red wart was a poetic device or historical fact, it
is not mentioned in any known references to Henry VII’s face nor
does it seem to appear in any of this king’s portraits. In his post-
humous sketch of Henry VII’s person, Vergil Polydore describes
the king’s appearance as follows: “His body was slender but well
built and strong; his height above the average. His appearance
was remarkably attractive and his face was cheerful, especially
when speaking; his eyes were small and blue, his teeth few, poor
and blackish; his hair was thin and white; his complexion sallow.” 8
When one considers this description alongside of Henry VII’s
portrait attributed to Michael Sittow (1505),9 some discrepan-
cies become obvious: in the portrait, Henry VII’s eyes are dark
blue, but his hair is of chestnut color; his complexion seems hardly
sallow, and his teeth are hidden behind his enigmatic lips whose
cheerfulness is a matter of subjective opinion. These discrepan-
cies are explained easily enough by the conventions of formal
portraiture that would disallow a depiction of a cheerfully ani-
mated king; an inconsistency of the color of Henry VII’s hair, no
doubt, results from the difference in the king’s age at the time of
these visual and verbal portrayals. These differences will also be
the case with Henry VII’s granddaughter Elizabeth, especially
later in her reign: not only does her hair assume a variety of hues
both in her images and descriptions, but also the multiplicity of
colors shading her eyes in portraiture does not match their dark
hue reported by eyewitnesses. Such inconsistencies, as I argue in
chapter 5, create a variety of physiognomic meanings engendered
by each portrait.
As a verbal rendition of the face, Polydore’s description of
Henry VII exhibits the same tendencies as the personal accounts
of Elizabeth’s appearance discussed in chapter 3: even in this
seemingly neutral list of features, there is a registered tension
between what is attractive and what is imperfect. Remarkably, the
fixed physiognomy of the king offers little to praise; in contrast,
the attraction and cheerful disposition are most visible when his
face becomes animated. It is this ability to overwrite the fixed
text of her features by means of regulating her facial expressions
that allows Elizabeth to make a strategic use of her face in the

instances of public and private performance.
Henry VIII
While the Song of the Lady Bessy features the only known descrip-
tion of Henry VII’s appearance likely to have been composed in
his lifetime, the annals hold quite a few verbal portraits of his
successor to the throne. Even though most descriptions of Henry
VIII belong to the period between 1515 and 1531 when the sec-
ond Tudor was physically at his prime, the consistent praise of
his beauty is nevertheless striking. For many of us, mental images
of Henry VIII’s appearance are derived from Hans Holbein’s
iconic portrait of his formidable bulk and ruthless masculinity.
The impression of an overwhelming handsomeness is hardly what
comes to mind when one hears his name. However, witnesses not
only frequently remark on the exceptional attractiveness of Henry
VIII’s face, but even discern in this king a beauty so delicate that
it borders on the feminine. Moreover, Henry VIII’s handsome-
ness is further augmented by the noted superiority of his appear-
ance over the plain looks of his wife, Katherine of Aragon.
In Henry’s coronation eulogy, Thomas More praised “fiery
power in [Henry VIII’s] eyes, beauty in his face, and the colour
of twin roses in his cheeks.” 10 At the age of twenty-five, a foreign
visitor claimed, the king is “the handsomest potentate I ever set
eyes on . . . his complexion very fair and bright, with auburn hair
combed straight and short, in the French fashion, and a round face
so very beautiful that it would become a pretty woman . . .” 11 “The
personal beauty of the King is very great,” insisted a Venetian
ambassador.12 One of the earliest images of Henry VIII’s reign,
The King Processing to Parliament (1512), also defines his appearance
as refined and bordering on feminine. It is a depiction of the king
as an elegant young man, with delicate features and beardless jaw-
line, a face framed by fashionably long hair.13
Around the time leading to the Field of Cloth of Gold, a spec-
tacular month-long meeting of Henry VIII of England and Francis
I of France that took place in June 1520, the rivalry between the
two monarchs was at its height, and physical appearance was one
of the points of competition. Henry himself reportedly interro-
gated a French ambassador as to Francis’ physical endowments in
comparison to the English king, a dialogue that echoed later when
Elizabeth forced the Scottish ambassador to make comparative

statements about herself and Mary Queen of Scots.14 The onlook-
ers, too, weighed the aspects of the two kings against each other.
“King Henry was 29 years old, and much handsomer than any
other Sovereign in Christendom,—a great deal handsomer than
the King of France,” reported one observer. He continued with
admiration: “He was very fair, and his whole frame admirably pro-
portioned. Hearing that King Francis wore a beard, he allowed his
own to grow, and as it was reddish, he had then got a beard which
looked like gold.” 15 “He is a very handsome King, both in face and
figure, and has a red beard,” 16 testified one of the participants of
the Field of Cloth of Gold. Another partaker of the festivities
judged that, in comparison to the King of France, “the English
King has rather the handsomer face and more feminine . . .” 17 The
visual record, in contrast, carefully avoids an emphasis on beauty
and especially femininity. In a contemporaneous portrait, we
glean the features of Henry VIII still in his prime; the feminin-
ity of his face is particularly elusive in this static record: the face
is obscured by a beard.18 Such discrepancy between the admiring
remarks of the onlookers and the lasting testimony of the state
portraits indicates that the makers of Henry’s public image deem-
phasized the features that interfered with the king’s highly gen-
dered political persona.
About a decade later, another Venetian ambassador joins
the chorus of the admirers of the English king’s good looks and
describes the thirty-seven-year-old Henry VIII as follows: “He
wore a gown of gold brocade, lined with very beautiful lynx’s skins;
which apparel, combined with an excellently formed head and a
very well proportioned body of tall stature, gave him an air of royal
majesty, such as has not been witnessed in any other Sovereign
for many years.” 19 As will be explored in the next chapter, this
praise to the majestic bearing echoes repeatedly in descriptions
of Elizabeth. This impression is sometimes reinforced by praising
her good looks, but often (especially toward the end of her reign)
the powerful effect of her royal dignity will trump the visible
defects of her aging face.
Perhaps the most superlative expression of adoration of Henry
VIII’s beauty comes from Hironimo Moriano, a secretary to the
Venetian ambassador. Moriano exalts the “physical beauty and
perfection of his Majesty, for he can declare that never in his days
did he see any—he will not say sovereign, the number of whom
is small, but—man handsomer, more elegant, and better propor-

tioned than this King, who is pink and white, fair, tall, agile,
well formed, and graceful in all his movements and gestures.”
Astounded by the face of such perfection, Moriano declares that
he “[c]hooses to believe that nature, in producing this prince, did
her utmost to create a perfect model of manly beauty in these
times.” 20 In these descriptions, the Neoplatonic correspondences
between body and mind are deeply entrenched as Henry VIII’s
personal perfections seem to confirm these links in a spectacu-
lar combination of beauty, intelligence, and royal magnificence, a
tendency continued and nurtured throughout Elizabeth’s reign.
In this eighth Henry, God combined such corporal and mental

beauty, as not merely to surprise but to astound all men. Who could
fail to be struck with admiration on perceiving the lofty position
of so glorious a Prince to be in such accordance with his stature,
giving manifest proof of that intrinsic mental superiority which
is inherent to him? His face is angelic rather than handsome; his
head imperial and bald, and he wears a beard, contrary to English
custom. Who would not be amazed when contemplating such sin-
gular corporal beauty, coupled with such bold address, adapting
itself with the great ease to every manly exercise.21
Even at the age of forty, the beauty of Henry VIII’s face puts one
in the mind of an angel, and a happy conjunction of this perfection
of his appearance and the endowments of his mind seems to bor-
der on the supernatural.
Many an observer notes Henry VIII’s affability in the years
preceding his despotic marital and political behavior; certainly,
no one in these accounts couples the king’s good looks with an
accusation in tyranny or cruelty. There is only one account that
cautiously approaches criticism of Henry VIII’s marital decisions
in contrast to his essential goodness: “He is tall of stature, very
well formed, and of very handsome presence, beyond measure
affable, and I never saw a prince better disposed than this one.
He is also learned and accomplished, and most generous and kind,
and were it not that he now seeks to repudiate his wife, after hav-
ing lived with her for 22 years, he would be no less perfectly good,
and equally prudent.” 22
Curiously, after his divorce from Katherine, not only do praises
for Henry VIII’s gorgeousness evaporate, but also descriptions of
his face seem to disappear altogether. At the same time, with the
arrival of Hans Holbein in England in 1526, Henry VIII’s image in
portraiture completely and lastingly replaces these verbal praises

to beauty and refinement. What survives from the earlier por-
traits and becomes progressively more pronounced in the visual
images of the king is what I would call the “clutter syndrome”:
a tendency, in many portraits of Elizabeth’s father even before
he grew quite fat, to crowd his eyes, nose, and mouth in a small
space at the center of the face, leaving vast areas of flesh around
it. Henry VIII’s small clustered features on his large face create a
stark dissonance: he is, so to speak, larger than himself; his influ-
ence is not limited to the center where control apparently resides.
This cluttering is apparent, albeit to a lesser degree, with some
portraits of Elizabeth. The commanding effect of Henry VIII’s
later portraits is primarily due to Holbein’s portrayal in the king’s
face “power, pride, and gravity.” 23 This new face of ruthless mas-
culinity stands in sharp contrast to the earlier visual images and
verbal descriptions that reflect an almost ecstatic fascination with
the younger king’s perfect handsomeness that “would become a
pretty woman.”
Henry VIII’s face has been watched throughout the reign not
only for the signs of handsomeness, but also for its expressive cap-
acity. Several ambassadors supplement their reports about the
king’s reactions and statements with remarks about the accom-
panying changes in his face: “becoming rather pale in the face”;24
“the blood mounted to his face”;25 the “King made a wry face.” 26
Chapuys, a cunning Spanish ambassador, noted with satisfac-
tion that he saw “the King’s face expand . . . and his eyes glitter”
in response to the ambassador’s politic suggestion during a par-
ticularly difficult conversation.27 Most of these remarks occur
later in Henry VIII’s reign. The changing patterns in portraiture
and verbal descriptions suggest that the impression made by the
king’s face generally evolves from an emphasis on his good looks
to perception of maturity and power. Elizabeth will adopt and fos-
ter both of these models early in her reign, playing her power and
beauty concurrently until her very last hour on the throne.
Katherine of Aragon
The young Henry VIII’s beauty stands out even more sharply
when the observers contrast the king’s good looks to the relative
plainness of his queen. As an adolescent, Katherine of Aragon
presented a lovely sight: her “beauty” and “sweet face” at the age
of sixteen greatly pleased her groom, Prince Arthur.28 But as early
as 1515, when she was only thirty, Katherine was already rather
unceremoniously criticized by Nicolo Sagudino, secretary to
the Venetian Ambassador Sebastian Giustinian: in one breath,
Sagudino juxtaposes the “handsome” Henry VIII, who presents
“such a beautiful sight” and “looked like St. George on horseback,”
and his queen who is “rather ugly than otherwise” and “supposed
to be pregnant.” 29 Mario Savorgano, another Venetian, draws a
similar contrast sixteen years later when he admires the “hand-
some presence” of Henry VIII and attempts to show some gener-
osity in granting that his Majesty’s consort, “If not handsome . . . is
not ugly; she is somewhat stout, and has always a smile on her
countenance.” 30 Later that year, Savorgano’s compatriot Lodovico
Falier reports to the Venetian Senate that “The Queen is of low
stature, rather stout, with a modest countenance; she is virtu-
ous, just, replete with goodness and religion, she speaks Spanish,
Flemish, French, and English; she is beloved by the islanders more
than any Queen that ever reigned; she is about forty-five years old,
having lived thirty years in England, from the time of her first
marriage.” 31 These last two reports dating from 1531, during the
last stages of Henry’s divorce from his first wife, register, above
all, Katherine’s dignity in response to the ignominious circum-
stances. She is always smiling; her face is modest, and her virtues
and learning ensure the fondness of her subjects despite her unre-
markable looks.32
In all of these descriptions, the question of beauty is invariably
raised. Its repetition suggests that beauty constitutes an essential
aspect of judging the queen’s appearance. It is clear that, even as
early as 1515 when the marriage is still quite stable, Henry VIII is
looked to as an embodiment of the royal power while Katherine is
relegated to the secondary position and easily dismissed because
she lacks the striking looks of her husband. Falier’s more elabor-
ate reference, however, not only downplays Katherine’s plainness,
but also gives ample room to her accomplishments. The above
remarks make it clear, therefore, that the pressure to appear hand-
some was exerted on all royal personages, regardless of gender. In
the case of kings, however, this gorgeousness is remarked upon
as a surprising bonus, while for a queen, beauty is essential. For
many observers, a queen’s lack or possession of beauty defines her,
makes her worthy or unworthy of notice and even respect.
Anne Boleyn
Once Katherine is hastily ushered off the stage, Henry’s new
love interest Anne Boleyn is subjected to an intense scrutiny of
the ambassadors. Eventually, she is sharply criticized for her suc-
cess as an upstart, her replacement of the virtuous Katherine of
Aragon, and the part Anne plays in England’s break with Rome.
The ambassador’s initial reports make repeated mention of Anne
without, however, remarking on her appearance. It seems that
Anne stayed hidden from public view until her position as the
king’s consort became at least somewhat secure. The Venetian
ambassador penned the first account of her appearance just a
few months before Henry VIII and Anne tied the knot: “Madam
Anne is not one of the handsomest women in the world; she is
of middling stature, swarthy complexion, long neck, wide mouth,
bosom not much raised, and in fact has nothing but the King’s
great appetite, and her eyes, which are black and beautiful, and
take great effect on those who served the Queen when she was
on the throne.” 33 It is, for the most part, a disappointing picture
that seems to leave the writer puzzled and unsympathetic to the
“great appetite” of Henry VIII. To be fair, Anne is hardly the only
English woman seen as unattractive through the eyes of a for-
eigner. While there was a general conception of what constituted
feminine beauty in early modern Europe, specific tastes did vary
from one nation to the other; for instance, the Spanish consist-
ently disparaged English women for “being generally ugly, badly
dressed, and bold in their demeanour.” 34 The Venetians, however,
had a more benevolent attitude to the English beauty. In the year
previous to the aforementioned disappointment in Anne’s appear-
ance, another Venetian traveler remarks: “The women are all excel-
lently handsome, nor did I ever see the like, save at Augsburg . . .” 35
Two decades later, another Venetian makes a generous assessment
that the “English for the most part are of handsome stature and
sound constitution, with red or white complexions, their eyes also
being white.” 36 There is no doubt, nevertheless, that everyone
looked to Anne in hopes of discovering the apparent reason for
her unprecedented success with the king. When the onlooker is
a man, and a foreigner, the limitation of his inquiry to a clinical
inventory of her outward appearance leaves him with little chance
to probe the mystery of this woman’s personal charms. And yet,
at the end of his description, the Venetian arrives at Anne’s most
prominent feature and pays his due to what seems to be her most
potent weapon: her eyes.
Indeed, Anne’s eyes were one of the most notable aspects of
her appearance. Writing just a few days after Anne’s execution,
Lancelot de Carles, French poet and future Bishop of Riez, in his
Histoire de Anne Boleyn Jadis Royne d’Angleterre (1636), admiringly
remembered her eyes not so much for their beauty as for Anne’s
incomparable skill in using them to attract people:
eyes always most attractive

Which she knew well how to use with effect,
Sometimes leaving them at rest,
And at others, sending a message
To carry the secret witness to her heart,
And, truth to tell, such was their power,
That many surrendered to their obedience.37
These verses testify to the exact danger of the seductive powers

of women’s eyes warned against by the writers of many conduct
books. De Carles, of course, is not criticizing Anne’s superb abil-
ity to use her eyes for her purposes. Instead, he elaborates on the
versatility of Anne’s strategic composing of her face, a skill so
refined that even the knowledge of this woman’s intent to conquer
with her gaze does not preclude her audience from surrendering to
her power.
Long after Anne’s tragic death, Nicholas Sander introduces a
far less sanguine image of the late English Queen. In his venom-
ous portrait, he treats her as Protestant upstart responsible for
turning the king’s mind away from the Catholic religion of his
predecessors:
Anne Boleyn was rather tall of stature, with black hair, and an oval
face of a sallow complexion, as if troubled with jaundice. She had
a projecting tooth under her upper lip, and on her right hand six
fingers. There was a large wen under her chin, and therefore to
hide its ugliness she wore a high dress covering her throat. In this
she was followed by the ladies of the court, who also wore high
dresses, having before been in the habit of leaving their necks and
the upper portion of their persons uncovered. She was handsome
to look at, with a pretty mouth, amusing in her ways, playing well
on the lute, and was a good dancer. She was the model and the mir-
ror of those who were at court, for she was always well dressed, and
every day made some change in the fashion of her garments. But
as to the disposition of her mind, she was full of pride, ambition,
envy, and impurity.38
As Retha Warniecke has demonstrated, the unattractive physical

peculiarities of this image are the result of Sander’s recasting Anne
as a witch. Yet even here the tension between what is repelling and
what is compelling takes sway. The queen’s complexion is under-
mined by a tentative reference to a disease, and the description
progresses to pointing out her overt defects: a “projecting tooth,”
an ugliness of a “large wen under her chin.” Despite these blem-
ishes, she “was handsome to look at”—apparently because she hid
the ugliness so competently that even her imperfect tooth did not
mar her “pretty mouth.” As Sander expounds on Anne’s sophisti-
cation of dress and manners, he prepares the stage for a succinct
and ruthless destruction of all her apparent accomplishments. In
the quick dispatch of the last sentence, Sander not only contrasts
Anne’s prettified appearance and her corrupted mind; he also
throws in relief all of Anne’s defects listed above and temporarily
suspended, only to highlight the concealed ugliness of the queen’s
body and mind alike. This description, therefore, calls attention
to the invisible and peels off the queen’s beauty to reveal its super-
ficial nature. Penned by a staunch religious opponent, this vision
employs Anne’s appearance to make a rhetorical point that not
only links the body and the mind, but also draws attention to the
possibility that the visible body may deceive through covering and
masking the truth of that body: a lip may hide a projected tooth,
and a high collar may conceal an unsightly protrusion, thereby
erasing crucial physical signs from the legible text offered by one’s
face and body.
Edward VI
When he was crowned king Edward VI, Elizabeth’s brother was
not only a child replacing an accomplished father, but also a dir-
ect dynastic heir whose image was continuous with that of Henry
VIII. Possibly because he was a minor whose authority as king
was greatly restricted in the course of his short reign, and because
he was a child, and later an adolescent whose features were still
soft and changing, few comments were made on his appearance.
His looks are recorded mostly in the visual representations of this
boy king. Evidently, a great effort was made to create Edward in

the image of his father; this project is especially apparent in por-
traiture where the young prince is dressed and posed as a small
replica of Henry VIII.
Verbal testimonies about Edward’s appearance, however, give
a vague sense of handsomeness and attractiveness, with hardly
any individualized features discernible amidst the praise to his
learning and affability. During his lifetime Edward is simply
reported as “handsome, affable, of becoming stature . . . ” 39 In
fact, the most detailed, albeit unreliable, description of the new
king comes from the imaginative pen of John Hayward whose The
Life and Raigne of King Edward the Sixth was written and published
in the seventeenth century: “These his acquirements by industrie
were exceedingly both enriched and enlarged by many excellent
endowments of nature. For in disposition he was milde, gracious
and pleasant, of an heavenly wit, in body beautifull, but especially
in his eies, which seemed to haue a starrie liuelynes and lustre in
them, generally hee seemed to be as Cardane reported of him A
MIRACLE OF NATURE.” 40 Shortly after his death, the late Edward
was described as a “youth of very handsome presence, with which
his mental endowments corresponded,” a generalized praise that,
unlike Hayward’s portrayal quoted above, lacks focus on a par-
ticular feature and seems to dematerialize the young king’s face
and body by omitting direct references to them or using almost
impressionistic terms like “presence” instead.41
More eloquently, Edward was praised in an elegy by William
Baldwin, written upon the king’s demise:
The noble hart which feare could neuer moove,

Whereat a minde with vertue fraught did rest,
The face whose chere allured vnto loove,
All hartes, through eyes which pity whole possest,
The braine, which wit & wisedome made their chest,
Fullfyld with all good giftes that man may have,
Rest with a princely Carkas here in grave. 42
The poem gives an inventory of Edward’s body and mind, moving

from the heart to the face and brain—and, finally, to the entire
dead body left behind in a grave that now holds all these natural
organs and parts that used to encompass the superlative virtues
listed above. Edward’s face here is not a seat of handsomeness, but
is an alluring instrument, whose compelling attraction is exerted

through the boy’s eyes. Perhaps Hayward, describing the “star-
rie liuelynes and luster” of Edward’s eyes in his History, draws
inspiration from this elegy. Even so, these verses echo those of
the French poet who sang an elaborate praise to the eyes of young
Anne Boleyn. The echo is hardly deliberate, but this pattern of
highlighting the eyes grows even more complicated once Anne
Boleyn’s daughter Elizabeth becomes the object of description. In
the verbal portraits of both a disappointingly plain future queen
Anne and vaguely handsome prince Edward, the feature that
stands out and dazzles is the eyes. As we will see in Elizabeth’s
case, the habit of privileging the eyes will continue to enhance her
depictions and, in some cases, to cause description to turn upon
itself, as it happens in the Venetian’s report on Anne Boleyn when
the observer undermines his own disappointment as he dwells on
the power of her “black and beautiful” eyes.
Mary I
Princess Mary’s eyes, too, have merited poetic admiration, at
least on one occasion. John Heywood ventures a “much eloquent
praise” to “aduertis[e] her yeares, as face,” opening his poem with
a nudge to “ye ladyes” to make room for “one / Whose face yours
all blanke shall.”
In each of her two eyes

Ther smiles a naked boye.
It would you all suffice
Too see those lamps of ioye.
... ...
Her couler comes and goes
With such a goodly grace,
More ruddye than the rose
Within her liuely face. 43
Because Heywood identifies the poem’s subject, Henry VIII’s

eighteen-year-old daughter Mary, only in the end of the poem,
this poetic account of Mary’s countenance appears to be overtly,
and perhaps deliberately, generic, with its familiar Petrarchan
evocations of roses, smiling Cupids (remarkably coded in the
image of a “naked boye”), and “lamps of joy.” The poet’s note on
the ebbs and tides of Mary’s rosy color underlines the authenticity
of her complexion: her blush “comes and goes,” and, therefore, is
natural rather than painted. Although this poem offers a greater
descriptive detail than the elegy commemorating Mary’s brother
Edward, its conventionality is amplified by Heywood’s conceal-
ment of Mary’s identity until the very end.
Heywood was Mary’s loyal devotee throughout her life, and his
flattering poetic tribute comes as no surprise. She was watched,
however, by many less sympathetic eyes that saw this woman in
a more prosaic and down-to-earth light. The frequency of verbal
depictions of Mary by various ambassadors, for example, indicates
that they were expected regularly to touch upon the subject of her
appearance in their reports.44 As princess at the age of fifteen, she
was said to be “not very tall, has a pretty face, and is well propor-
tioned, with a very beautiful complexion”;45 at sixteen, a “hand-
some, amiable, and very accomplished Princess.” 46 But once the
glow of youth is gone, Mary presents a rather unremarkable pic-
ture: as a queen aged thirty-eight, she is of “low stature, with a
red and white complexion, and very thin; her eyes are white47 and
large, and her hair reddish; her face is round, with a nose rather
low and wide; and were not her age on the decline she might be
called handsome rather than contrary.” 48 Aging and unhealthy, 49
Mary garners little praise of her person: she “is not at all beauti-
ful, rather small and more skinny than stout, she is very white and
red; she has no eyebrows; she is a saint; her sight is very poor . . .” 50
Every item on this strange list begs elaboration, but, because of
the initial denial of beauty, even the subsequent remarks about
her being “white and red”—a coloration that, in the early modern
period, would typically merit a compliment, instead reads as criti-
cism: perhaps she is sickly pale or feverishly flushed.
The Spanish observers, ironically, prove to be the most unfor-
giving of Mary’s plainness. Throughout her life, she was regarded
as a natural ally to Spain. The daughter of Isabella I of Castile and
Ferdinand II of Aragon, Mary’s mother Katherine of Aragon was
an aunt to Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, and, therefore,
related to Charles V’s son Philip, who became a logical choice to
be Mary’s future husband. However, the marriage arrangements
took some time, and the wedding between Mary and Philip did
not take place until she completed the first year of her reign.
In these negotiations, the omission of any mention of Mary’s
appearance is striking. Unlike Elizabeth’s protracted marriage
negotiations where the queen’s beauty was played as an import-

ant bargaining chip, Mary’s negotiations stayed the course of
rhetorically unadventurous discussions where both sides were in
essential agreement about the proposed union.51 The situation, of
course, hardly presented a challenge for the prospective groom to
win Mary’s favor. The main concerns of correspondence related
to the marriage included the political instability in England that
threatened Mary’s sovereignty as well as Philip’s desired control
of the country.
If Mary was greatly impressed by the portrait of Philip, and
later by the sitter himself, her dashing consort-to-be refrained
from expressing any admiration of Mary’s beauty. In fact, as indi-
cated by the Spanish courtiers’ remarks after accompanying Philip
to his first meeting with Mary, very shortly before the wedding,
the Spanish were disappointed in Mary’s looks. Philip’s favorite,
Ruy Gómez de Silva, for instance, reports back to Spain that the
bride is “rather older than we had been told. But his Highness
is so tactful and attentive to her that I am sure they will be very
happy . . . ” 52 Two days later, de Silva continues to be optimistic:
“I believe that if she dressed in our fashions she would not look
so old and flabby.” 53 These hopes for happiness were not realized:
Philip quickly became an absentee husband. His courtiers obvi-
ously shared his disappointment. A few months into the marriage,
Simon Renard sympathized with Mary’s stoic spouse: “Although
it might be wished that the Queen were more gracious, your own
virtue, goodness, and intelligence leave nothing to be desired.” 54
Another Spanish gentleman observes that “[t]he Queen is well
served, with a household full of officials, great lords and gentle-
men, as well as many ladies, most of whom are so far from beau-
tiful as to be downright ugly, though I know not why this should
be so, for outside the palace I have seen plenty of beautiful women
with lovely faces.” 55 The last example is especially curious.
More often than not, observers at court use references to the
ladies-in-waiting in order to make oblique evaluations of the
queen whom they surround. Indeed, female sovereigns were care-
ful in their choice of companions. On the one hand, surround-
ing herself with unattractive women reflected unfavorably on
the queen, just as the reputation of a princess was bound to suf-
fer if her ladies showed loose morals.56 It is partially for this rea-
son that, during the marriage negotiations between Katherine of
Aragon and Prince Arthur, the parents of the groom wished “very
much that the ladies who are to accompany the Princess of Wales
should be of gentle birth and beautiful, or at least that none of
them should be ugly.” 57 On the other hand, the woman in charge
did not want to highlight her plain looks by populating her court
with gorgeous female specimens. It is apparent that Mary Tudor’s
entourage consisted of deliberately chosen women whose looks
did not surpass her own.
Oddly, and all the more suggestively, a reference to Mary’s sup-
posed beauty appears, at least once, in relation to her portrait by
Antonio Mor, painted, as Joanna Woodall argues, in November–
December 1554, and thus comes only a few months after the
unfavorable testimonies left by Philip’s companions. In his
Schilder-boeck (1603–1604), Karel van Mander narrates the story of
Mor’s quest for reimbursement from the Emperor. According to
van Mander, the artist “copied the face of this Queen, who was
a very beautiful woman, several times onto face-panels” and pre-
sented these portraits to various lords, Cardinal Granvelle, and the
Emperor. Because the latter avoided paying Mor for his copy, the
Cardinal interfered, “praised the portrait highly and the beauty
of this Princess, asking how he had rewarded the painter,” and
eventually convinced the Emperor to open his purse.58 Woodall
maintains that these two praises of Mary’s beauty are not only
a conventional “assumption that queens and princesses are by
definition beautiful,” but is excited specifically by Mor’s compos-
itional formula that portrays Mary in a seated pose favored by the
Hapsburg image-makers.59 Van Mander’s story, however, has an
overtly humorous purpose, illustrating the Emperor’s parsimony
and the Cardinal’s clever way of shaming the ruler into paying up.
Mary’s actual appearance is irrelevant; the Cardinal gives praise
to talk up the value of the portrait. The quality of the portrait and
the appearance of the sitter are the prime considerations deter-
mining the price of the artifact; significantly, the Cardinal does
not find it necessary to praise Mary’s accomplishments as queen,
her intelligence, or her piety. A portrait’s decorative purpose alone
is what determines its value.60 Whether or not the Emperor agrees
that Mary is beautiful, the Cardinal’s insistence on payment to
the artist produces the desired result.
Van Mander’s narrative published forty-five years after Mary’s
death is, of course, focused on Mor rather than Mary. His cas-
ual remark that this queen “was a very beautiful woman” bears
no factual weight borne out by any other testimony. As shown
above, Mary’s contemporaries, in varying degrees of tactfulness,

agreed that, as queen, she was quite plain. Likewise, the portraits
of this queen put forth a hard-favored, unrefined face, gazing at
the viewer with an unsympathetic sternness.61 The most elab-
orate, and once again mainly unflattering, verbal portrait of the
now forty-three-year-old Mary comes from Giovanni Michiel,
Venetian ambassador, whose political sympathies clearly lie with
Elizabeth rather than her Catholic sister:
She is of low rather than middling stature, but, although short, she
has no personal defect in her limbs, nor is any part of her body
deformed. She is of spare and delicate frame, quite unlike her
father, who was tall and stout; nor does she resemble her mother,
who, if not tall, was nevertheless bulky. Her face is well formed, as
shown by her features and lineaments, and as seen by her portraits.
When younger she was considered, not merely tolerably hand-
some, but of beauty exceeding mediocrity. At present, with the
exception of some wrinkles, caused more by anxieties than by age,
which make her appear some years older, her aspect, for the rest,
is very grave. Her eyes are so piercing that they inspire, not only
respect, but fear, in those on whom she fixes them, although she is
very short-sighted, being unable to read or do anything else unless
she has her sight quite close to what she wishes to peruse or to see
distinctly. Her voice is rough and loud, almost like a man’s, so that
when she speaks she is always heard a long way off. In short, she is
a seemly woman, and never to be loathed for ugliness, even at her
present age, without considering her degree of queen. But what-
ever may be the amount deducted from her physical endowments,
as much more may with truth, and without flattery, be added to
those of her mind . . . 62
In this detailed account of Mary’s person, Michiel hits upon a

number of issues typically raised in the early modern discussions
of royal appearances: an evaluation of the degree of resemblance
to one’s parents, which implicitly legitimizes or undermines the
monarch’s authority; an aesthetic assessment of the monarch’s
physical features, especially the face; and a note on the effect of
the monarch’s presence on others. Michiel’s elaboration on these
common points is consistently colored by a clear lack of enthusi-
asm about the current queen. It is strange, for instance, that so
much of his description is built from denial of the defects instead
of assertion of perfections or at least normalcy. The ambassador
finds it necessary to note, for instance, that Mary “has no personal
defect in her limbs, nor is any part of her body deformed,” and he
concludes that she is “never to be loathed for ugliness.” It seems
that, while Michiel is straining to deliver an accurate report to
the Venetian Senate, he is also addressing an audience who holds
a preconceived opinion about Mary’s unattractiveness, possibly
to the point of deformity. Having pointed out her wrinkles, her
short-sightedness (which seems to be the reason behind her pier-
cing stare), her unfeminine voice, Michiel reminds us, somewhat
ambiguously, that she is “never to be loathed for ugliness . . . with-
out considering her degree of queen.” The ambassador may have
been implying that monarchs should not be criticized for their
physical failings on account of their social position. Or Michiel’s
cautionary conclusion may have been a reminder that Mary’s
plainness, when pointed out, should be considered side by side with
her queenly status. If so, would her unattractiveness be amplified
because she is a queen? However we interpret Michiel’s statement,
it testifies to the intimate link between queenship and beauty, a
link that will be discussed at greater length in the next chapter.
Even while Elizabeth patiently awaited her turn on the English
throne, her appearance already began to contribute to the impres-
sion of her potential success as a future monarch. Michiel’s let-
ter tellingly juxtaposes the current queen—aging, unattractive,
unloved by her subjects—and her youthful sister—good-looking,
adored by the people, and ready to become the next queen of
England. He describes the twenty-three-year-old Elizabeth as “a
young woman, whose mind is considered no less excellent than
her person, although her face is comely rather than handsome, but
she is tall and well formed, with good skin, though swarthy; she
has fine eyes and above all a beautiful hand of which she makes
a display; and her intellect and understanding are wonderful, as
she showed very plainly by her conduct when in danger and under
suspicion.” The ambassador creates a sharp contrast between the
two sisters; he relates that Elizabeth exceeds the Queen as a lin-
guist, that “everybody [is] saying that she also resembles [Henry
VIII] more than the Queen does”; and that the “eyes and hearts
of the nation [are] already fixed on this lady as successor to the
Crown.” 63 The issue of physical resemblance included in the list
of Elizabeth’s superiorities is, in fact, an important aspect of the
contest for legitimacy that both sisters, bastardized and then rein-
stated, had to take into account in their monarchal aspirations. It
is telling that Mary openly attempted to undermine her sister’s
pronounced resemblance to their father: Mary “asserted on vari-

ous occasions that she could see a likeness between Elizabeth and
Smeaton,” one of the alleged lovers of Anne Boleyn, rather than
Henry VIII.64
Michiel’s letter likewise registers Mary’s painful awareness
of the threat presented by Elizabeth, whose accomplishments
and even physical attributes so clearly exceed Mary’s own. The
Venetian notes the queen’s “evil disposition towards her sister
my Lady Elizabeth, which although dissembled, it cannot be
denied that she displays in many ways the scorn and ill will she
bears her.” 65 To be fair, Michiel finds many commendable traits
in Mary’s character; for instance, her courage, piety, humility,
and intelligence. But as his remark on the queen’s veiled hatred
of Elizabeth suggests, Mary was somewhat naive in the art of dis-
simulation because she betrayed herself in her ill feelings.
Early in her reign, Mary confessed to her inability to control
her face in order to deceive. In September 1553, at an early stage of
her marriage negotiations with Spain, Mary’s Privy Council was
still unaware of Philip’s proposal, and the queen was anxious to
keep this business secret. She dissuaded the Spanish embassy from
bringing forward the “point of her marriage” at a public audience:
even if she kept her Council “at a distance,” they would become
suspicious by observing her facial expressions: Mary confessed
that she “could not feel sure of being able to keep an even coun-
tenance, and the nature of the communication made to her might
be conjectured and perceived (by those present).” 66 This acknow-
ledgment of her inability to control her face is only in part a testi-
mony to Mary’s honest simplicity. In this particular context, such
inability could lead to grave political consequences. The necessity
to control her face was a practical matter.
Her failure to compose her face convincingly exposed her to
the onlookers’ probing gazes in ways that reached farther than
scrutiny of the queen’s countenance for its aesthetic value. In
implicitly physiognomic terms, her observers also read her face in
order to determine her inner disposition and especially the degree
of her tractability. The Venetian Ambassador Giacomo Soranzo,
for instance, reaches conclusions about Mary’s character heavily
dependent on the meanings read in her face and behavior: “Her
Majesty’s countenance indicates great benignity and clemency,
which are not belied by her conduct, for although she has had many
enemies, and though so many of them were by law condemned to
death, yet had the executions depended solely on her Majesty’s

will, not one of them perhaps would have been enforced; but
deferring to her Council in everything, she in this matter likewise
complied with the wishes of others rather than with her own.” 67
This very gendered observation of Mary’s subservience echoes a
succinct note by the Imperial Ambassador Simon Renard, just
a month into Mary’s reign: “However that may be, I know the
Queen to be good, easily influenced, inexpert in worldly matters
and a novice all round . . . ” 68 This report curiously mirrors one of
the typical physiognomic concerns about the ease of manipulation
that can be assessed by reading one’s features. Mary’s authority, in
fact, and even the dignity of her position was in part a casualty of
her inability to hold her countenance.
Mary’s inability to forge and sustain a reputation of being a
beautiful queen undoubtedly played an important part in her
failures as a monarch. In this sense, as well as in other aspects of
her queenship, Mary produced an unsuccessful paradigm of the
Tudor queen. In shaping her own queenship, Elizabeth revised
her sister’s ruling style and adopted many crucial elements from
the paradigm established by her father, Henry VIII. Part of the
effect of his kingship, especially in the first decade of his reign,
was achieved by the beauty of his face and sumptuousness of his
court, qualities missing from Mary’s political persona. Elizabeth
watched her sister’s humiliation; it was all too clear that Elizabeth
herself could not afford to dismiss the political impact of her
looks. Even though she dressed modestly during the reigns of her
siblings, the natural attractiveness of her face, especially in con-
trast to Mary’s plainness, already began to help Elizabeth craft an
image of a future successful Tudor queen.
* * *
Mary’s case demonstrated that a queen’s appearance, and espe-

cially her face, was scrutinized in a variety of contexts, and the
conclusions drawn from such perusal resulted in very serious con-
sequences to her authority. When Elizabeth inherited the throne,
she moved to the center of this scrutiny and embraced it. Her per-
sonal ruling style, in this sense similar to that of her father, heavily
relied on monarchal self-display, and she was conscious of how she
controlled her face. “We princes,” she declared, “are set on stages in
the sight and view of all the world duly observed; the eyes of many
behold our actions; a spot is soon spied in our garments; a blemish

noted quickly in our doings.” 69 If Elizabeth’s clothes undoubtedly
attracted the attention of the onlookers, her face was a spectacle
even more compelling because it intensified the effect of her pres-
ence that set her apart from her older sister. Having inherited the
early Tudor commitment to faces as conduits and markers of the
monarch’s individuality, Elizabeth actively began to use her face
for legitimization of authority. Various representations of her
countenance emphasized her physical resemblance to her father
and grandfather. Simultaneously, the investment in the beautiful
appearance transpired both in Elizabeth’s extreme care to look
gorgeous and her encouragement of verbal and visual affirmations
of her beauty, creating and sustaining the legend that would pro-
tect her from the dismissive remarks that had been endured by her
female predecessors. But moving beyond her father’s and grand-
father’s models, her skill of influencing her audience not only by
her beauty and majestic bearing but also through an effective use
of her face as a rhetorical tool was uniquely Elizabeth’s own. The
contemporary testimonies to the cheerfulness of Henry VII’s
face, Henry VIII’s beauty, Katherine of Aragon’s invariable smile
in the face of humiliation, Anne Boleyn’s powerful use of her eyes,
and Mary I’s inability to control her face in order to dissemble
argue that the Tudor royal faces, in particular, were viewed as
potentially effective political and personal instruments of power.
Elizabeth learned this lesson long before she became queen, and
throughout her reign, she used her face to charm and threaten,
delight and terrify, and, more often than not, to leave the onlook-
ers guessing at the degree of her sincerity or dissimulation.
CHAPTER 2
“LET NATURE PAINT YOUR

BEAUTY’S GLORY”: BEAUTY
AND COSMETICS
It is her Beauty onely creates her Queen; ‘tis that which

adds a commanding power to every syllable.
Beauty is the Image of the Creator, and the Rhetorick of Heaven.1
A
s the epigraph above suggests, in the early modern
period, beauty and queenship are intimately con-
nected: beauty amplifies female power and, as “the
Image of the Creator,” reaffirms the monarch’s divine right. In
chapter 1, I demonstrated that even kings were sometimes meas-
ured by their handsomeness; the onlookers were most unforgiving
to plain and unattractive queens. It was crucial, therefore, that
Elizabeth create and maintain her reputation as a gorgeous queen.
In addition, as this chapter will show, Elizabeth’s claim to beauty
is itself validated by her presence on the throne. What emerges
then is a symbiotic, codependent relationship between beauty
and queenship, a relationship where challenges to one inevitably
threaten the other.
In the multifaceted process of forging and protecting Elizabeth’s
reputation for beauty, the poetic tributes stand as the most elab-
orate and hyperbolic body of praise. I will begin by exploring two
representative panegyrics to Elizabeth’s superlative good looks.
Although the rest of the chapter will focus on the cultural and
historical context of Elizabeth’s battle to be known as a beauti-
ful queen, these poetic affirmations, in their choices of metaphors
and rhetoric of submission, show that beauty is an empowering
asset that, for a queen, is both a requirement for and a guarantee
of power.
After a brief overview of contemporary concepts of beauty, I

will examine the circulation of social and diplomatic references to
Elizabeth’s beauty. The problematic aspects of the queen’s appear-
ance were downplayed, ignored, or converted to strengths. The
creation of the myth about Elizabeth’s miraculous escape from
the smallpox scarring is an integral part of forming the queen’s
public image during her lifetime. This myth is parallel to a post-
humous assumption about Elizabeth’s excessive face-painting, an
assumption that distorts the implications of the mentions and
omissions of her use of cosmetics.
Poetic Affirmations: Sidney and Gascoigne

In Philip Sidney’s Lady of May, 2 performed before Elizabeth in
1578, the queen’s beauty receives a peculiar praise. Before the word
“beauty” itself appears in the unfolding of this “dramatic inter-
lude,” 3 there ensues a great deal of hinting and vagueness as to the
reason for the powerful effect of the queen’s appearance on the
participants. After making a plea concerning her daughter’s suit-
ors, May-Lady’s mother confesses: “I dare stay here no longer, for
our men say in the country, the sight of you is infectious.” 4 She
leaves a formal supplication in Elizabeth’s hands:
Most gracious Soveraigne:

To one whose state is raised over all,
Whose face doth oft the bravest sort enchaunt,
Whose mind is suche as wisest mindes appall,
Who in one selfe these diverse gifts can plant;
How dare I, wretch, seek there my woes to rest,
Where ears be burnt, eyes dazled, hearts opprest?
Your state is great, your greatnesse is your shield,
Your face hurts oft, but still it doth delight,
Your mind is wise, but still it makes you milde,
Such planted gifts enrich even beggars sight:
So dare I, wretch, my bashful fear subdue,
And feede mine eares, mine eyes, my heart in you.5
The italicized phrases highlight the impact Elizabeth’s face has

on her onlookers, inspiring the disparate and contradictory reac-
tions of enchantment, pain, and delight. As discussed in the next
chapter, Elizabeth is a master of facial rhetoric, and this poem’s
apparent exaggerations register a mixture of rapture and fear
experienced in the queen’s presence when she chooses to put that

rhetoric to use. Although these verses do not articulate the pre-
cise ways in which Elizabeth’s face enchants, hurts, and delights,
phrases such as “eyes dazzled” and “feede mine . . . eyes” point to
beauty (frequently equated with radiance) as the queen’s main
instrument. The performance quickly moves in this direction:
Lalus the old Shepherd delivers a precise measurement of good
looks by assuring his royal audience that May-Lady is “of a minsi-
cal6 countenance, but . . . not three quarters so beauteous as your
self . . .” 7 May-Lady then takes over and addresses Elizabeth as
follows:
Do not think (sweet and gallant Lady) that I do abase my self thus
much unto you because of your gay apparel, for what is so brave as
the natural beauty of the flowers? nor becaus a certain Gentleman
hereby seeks to do you all the honor he can in his hous; that is not
the matter, he is but our neighbour, and these be our own groves;
nor yet because of your great estate, since no estate can be com-
pared to be the Lady of the whole month of May, as I am. So that
since both this place and this time are my servants, you may be
sure I would look for reverence at your hands, if I did not see some-
thing in your face which makes me yield to you. The truth is, you
excel me in that wherein I desire most to excel, and that makes
me give this homage unto you, as to the beautifullest Lady these
woods have ever received.8
In this bold speech, May-Lady asserts her preeminence over the

queen herself: she devalues the richness of Elizabeth’s clothes;
discounts Leicester’s supplication; and finally, declares that
Elizabeth’s estate cannot be compared to her own. From a vague
hint at “something” in her sovereign’s face that causes submission,
May-Lady slowly builds up to the disclosure of the true cause of
Elizabeth’s superiority: she is the “beautifullest Lady these woods
have ever received.” On one hand, the compliment is diluted by
the spatial limitation of the wood; on the other, it is augmented by
May-Lady’s admission that beauty is “that wherein [she] desire[s]
most to excel.” Apparel, favor, estate—all these advantages are
devalued next to one ultimate prize: beauty. Before she hands the
victory to the queen, however, May-Lady takes her time debunk-
ing the courtly value system. The inverted rhetoric of ownership
and submission resembles the interaction between Elizabeth and
the Lady of the Lake three years prior: in response to that Lady’s
offer of her lake to the queen, the latter thanked her, adding sar-
castically: “we had thought indeed the Lake had been oours, and
doo you call it yourz now?” 9 Therefore, another Lady tried this
rhetorical move before, and Elizabeth was not persuaded. The
Lady of the Lake, however, did not play the beauty card; instead,
she explained that it was Elizabeth’s symbolic third visit to
Killingworth that caused such supplication.10 In contrast, May-
Lady’s surrender to Elizabeth’s superlative beauty meets with no
reproach from the queen.
George Puttenham likewise chose wisely when, in The Arte of
English Poesie, he established a flattering association of his queen
and a principal figure of poetical ornament, “Exargasia, or the
Gorgious.” Puttenham cited Elizabeth’s poem “The doubt of
future foes” as an example of exargasia, introducing it as a “ditty
of her Maiesties owne making passing sweete and harmonicall,
which figure being as his very originall name purporteth the
most bewtifull of all others, it asketh in reason to be reserued
for a last complement, and desciphred by the arte of a ladies
penne, her selfe being the most gorgious and bewtifull, or rather
bewtie of Queenes . . .” 11 Even though Jennifer Summit rightly
questions Puttenham’s judgment of this poem’s sweetness and
gorgeousness,12 the compliment to the queen’s beauty in the con-
text of a theoretical treatise on poetry links Elizabeth’s looks
with the production of the “ladies penne.” This correlation
introduces a Neoplatonic twist suggesting that, at least for
Elizabeth, external beauty of the writer elicits beautiful poetry
from her pen.
But how is this proverbial beauty conveyed in verse? As
Elizabeth Cropper reminds us, Petrarch’s two sonnets on Laura’s
portrait claim that the “physical beauty is necessarily beyond rep-
resentation, that the representation of intrinsic beauty is specific-
ally beyond the painter’s reach, and finally, that the painting of a
beautiful woman, like the lyric poem, may become its own object,
the subject being necessarily absent.” 13 Cropper explains that in
following the Petrarchan tradition, poets not only dismember the
object of description, but even seek to divorce that description
from the woman’s physical presence; hence, “figurative and color-
istic metaphors consciously deny specific mimetic reference.” 14 As
I will argue in chapter 4, Elizabeth’s face escapes realistic poetic
description. Even more so, references to her beauty either dis-
solve in tautology, as in Edmund Spenser’s “so fair, and thousand
times more fair,” 15 or reach for metaphors, such as those examined

below.
However, if these metaphors, in Cropper’s terms, render
Elizabeth physically absent, these tropes, and the notion of the
queen’s beauty along them, are put to political uses. In his “Vanities
of Beauty,” George Gascoigne articulates Elizabeth’s fairness in
an allusion to angelic looks and in a metaphor of light:
My Queen herself comes foremost of them all,

And best deserves that place in m’eche degree,
Whose presence now must needs thy sprytes appall,
She is so faire, and Angell lyke to see.
Beholde her well (my Muse!) for this is she
Whose bewtie’s beams do spredd themselues full wide,
Both in this Realme, and all the worlde beside.16
The dazzling beams of the queen’s beauty proclaim her fairness at

home and abroad. Beauty itself evades description, but the meta-
phor nevertheless conflates Elizabeth’s magnificent appearance
with her fame and power: beauty is not limited to the queen’s
physical body, but emanates from it across the boundaries of her
realm. Her “bewtie’s beams” move centrifugally from her face to
claim for her places far beyond her physical reach.17 Gascoigne’s
verse, in its implicit conflation of beauty, fame, and authority, is
representative of the cultural and political contexts of the period.
Affirmations of the queen’s immaculate beauty, therefore, reach
beyond elegant compliments: in perpetuating the reputation of
a beautiful monarch, these constructions uphold and strengthen
her power.
“So faire, and thousand thousand times

more faire . . . ” 18
Early modern attitudes to beauty are informed by a variety of ideas
and sensibilities. Among them are formulas of ideal beauty, inher-
ited but slightly modified from medieval and Neoplatonic views
of beauty; various empirical notions that support or contradict a
semiotic view of beauty; Christian teaching; and finally, courtly
and misogynist treatments of female beauty.19
Thomas Aquinas summarizes the three constituents of beauty
as follows: “integrity or completeness—since things that lack
something are thereby ugly; right proportion or harmony; and

brightness—we call things bright in colour beautiful.” 20 By the
time John Donne writes, “Beauty, that’s colour, and proportion,” 21
the three aspects seem to be conveniently contracted to two.
These requirements applied to all physically beautiful objects.
More specifically, feminine beauty, as Sara F. Matthews Grieco
put it, “followed a formula” 22 that laid a heavy emphasis on color.
It seems that the “medieval ideal of a naturally white and red face
that does not need painting and of naturally long blond hair” con-
tinues into the early modern period.23 Meanwhile, the ideal of
“small neat features and pale grey eyes” so common in the Middle
Ages is modified mainly due to Petrarch’s praise of Laura’s dark
eyes.24 This is not to suggest that proportion (or harmony of the
parts) does not remain a necessary component of beauty in the
period. Proportions could be controlled only minimally, if at all;
color, however, was easy to adjust cosmetically.
The general attitude toward the meaning of beauty and espe-
cially beautiful women was heterogeneous: Neoplatonic admir-
ation was counterbalanced by suspicion expounded in Christian
thought and confirmed by experience. Neoplatonic notions
traveled to England, most significantly, by means of Baldesar
Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier (1528), translated by Thomas
Hoby in 1561, but read in England even earlier. In The Courtier,
Pietro Bembo expounds the doctrine of ascendance to the uni-
versal divine beauty that sublimates individual physical loveli-
ness.25 Although some of his interlocutors point out the negative
aspect of beauty, Bembo is steadfast in his celebration of beauty as
a “sacred thing” that
springs from God and is like a circle, the centre of which is good-
ness. And so just as one cannot have a circle without a center, so
one cannot have beauty without goodness. In consequence, only
rarely does an evil soul dwell in a beautiful body, and so outward
beauty is a true sign of inner goodness.26
It is Bembo’s pronouncement that “in some manner the good and

the beautiful are identical, especially in the human body,” 27 that,
for the Neoplatonists, makes the appreciation of beauty com-
mendable. It is, in turn, his general rule—“Therefore for the most
part the ugly are also evil, and the beautiful good”—that validates
the judgment of a person’s character based on her beauty.28 It is
not accidental that Bembo uses physiognomics as an example:

loveliness is a physical “token by which the soul can be recognized
for what it is,” in the way similar to that in which “physiognomists
often establish a man’s character and sometimes even his thoughts
from his countenance.” 29 This belief in the legibility of the body,
and particularly the face, forms the foundation of physiognomic
thought: without the link between the external and internal, not
only beauty and ugliness would be rendered meaningless, but also
all the intricate variations marked by the physiognomists would
become inconsequential for the discovery of the true nature of
one’s soul and mind.
Elizabeth’s admirers were wont to play with these Neoplatonic
notions without undermining them. “Her inward worth all out-
ward Show transcends,” proclaimed one poet, possibly Philip
Sidney himself.30 Similarly, at one tilt performance, “The Castle
or Fortress of Perfect Beautie” was attacked because Elizabeth
supposedly refused to “no longer exclude vertuous Desire from
perfect Beautie.” 31 A boy delivering the first defiance called her
a queen “in whome the whole storie of vertue is written, with the
language of Beautie . . .” 32
In contrast, Christian thought, with its emphasis on humility
and the afterlife, was less likely to exalt physical beauty as a sign
of the soul’s beauty. “Corruption in the skin, says Iob: In the outward
beauty, These be the Records of velim, these be the parchmins,
the endictments, and the evidences that shall condemn many of
us, at the last day, our skins; [because] we neglect book, and image,
and character, and seal, and all for the covering.” 33 Yet, because
Donne’s Neoplatonic sympathies were fused with Christian
beliefs, or because the ultimate Christian aspiration envisioned a
harmony between the outward show and inner essence, Donne,
in another sermon, sounded a familiar note of correspondence
brought on in consequence of a “daily polishing of the heart” by
divine love: “That thou maist see thy face in thy heart, and the
world may see thy heart in thy face; indeed, that to both, both
heart and face may be all one: Thou shalt be a Looking-glass to
thy self, and to others too.” 34 Donne, however, expresses the gen-
eral Christian attitude to earthly beauty most accurately when he
reminds his congregation, “But yet the body is but out-case, and
God lookes not for the gilding, or enamelling, or painting of that:
but requires the labour, and cost therein to be bestowed upon
the Tablet it selfe, in which this Image is immediately, that is
the soule.” 35 More often than not, in the early modern period the
discussion of outward beauty turned to cosmetics: the means by
which women (and men) could alter the faces given them by God.
Following Agrippa, men acknowledged nature’s general tendency
to endow women more generously than men.36 Courtly admiration
of women’s beauty, however, was countered by misogynist views
that satirized women’s preoccupation with their appearances, dis-
paraged beauty as inferior to masculine intellect, or indulged in
mocking blazons of ugly women.37
The suspicion of beauty’s unreliability and transience was
spread in the secular circles as well. John Lyly’s Euphues, for
instance, albeit with his habitual ironic disposition, put it thus:
How franticke are those louers which are carryed away with the
gaye glistering of the fine face? the beautie whereof is parched with
the Sommers blase, & chipped with the winters blast, which is of
so short continuance that it fadeth before one perceiue it flour-
ishe, of so small profit that it poysoneth those that possesse it, of
so little value with the wyse, that they accompt it a delicate bayte
with a deadly hooke, a sweete Panther with a deuouring paunch, a
sower poyson in a siluer potte.38
Despite what some scholars have termed the early modern cult
of beauty, the value of appearances was frequently undercut.
Shakespeare’s oeuvre, for instance, is replete with observations on
the dangers of trusting the correspondences between the essences
and appearances, nor were inverted links, implying that a beauti-
ful exterior invariably hides corruption within, more likely to be
true.39 Francis Bacon also attempts to break down the significa-
tion and substitute it by a cause and effect relationship: “it is good
to consider of Deformity, not as a Signe, which is more Deceiuable;
But as a Cause, which seldome faileth of the Effect.” 40 This substi-
tution allows Bacon to account for those cases when the “Starres
of Naturall Inclination are sometimes obscured, by the Sun of
Discipline, and Vertue”: again, a qualification familiar to the
readers of physiognomic treatises.41
Criticism of the naive expectation of a direct correspondence
indicated the persistence of that simpler view that apparently res-
onated on an almost instinctive level. Véronique Nahoum-Grappe
argues that beautiful women, especially in the lower classes, were
more likely to be taken advantage of and ruined. Beauty, however,
still remained a much valued currency for women throughout the
social strata. Particularly for a queen, beauty came with a unique

set of concerns that determined the policies of control of the mon-
arch’s image and became part of a paradigm of Renaissance con-
struction of physicality and identity.
“. . . but she was a queen, and therefore beautiful.”

Contemporary and posthumous writings about Elizabeth some-
times jest about her notorious vanity and desire for verbal and vis-
ual compliments. Horace Walpole’s witticism is typical: “There
is no evidence that Elizabeth had much taste for painting; but
she loved pictures of herself,” build on the contemporary stor-
ies of Elizabeth’s weakness for praise. Her vanity, however, is an
obverse of a very serious political necessity to sustain her reputa-
tion of beauty as well as to make every effort to actually appear
to be beautiful to her onlookers. Despite inevitable empirical
disappointments and frequent criticism by such sharp wits as
Shakespeare, the early modern period was deeply invested in read-
ing people’s faces for signs of their inner condition: a lovely face,
in Neoplatonic terms, signified inner goodness. For Elizabeth,
this tenacious philosophical link between beauty and virtue was
compounded by her royal authority: beauty enhanced the power
of a female monarch while her power reciprocally activated and
authenticated her beauty.42
This beauty, as much as her virginity, has been largely a matter
of gender-specific beliefs and mythical attributes. The meanings
of both terms, beauty and virginity, undergo modifications once
they are ascribed to a woman in power. As Sara Mendelson argues,
the popular assumption that a queen had to be gorgeous was
deeply ingrained in the minds of Elizabeth’s subjects.43 This belief
is most evident in tales that measured a queen’s authenticity by her
beautiful looks. Consider, for example, Marie de France’s “Lanval”
where a queen’s insufficient beauty undermines her royal power:
Guinevere, a vain queen, is defeated by a much more beautiful
fairy rival. By the early modern period, Guinevere was a familiar
poetic example of a gorgeous queen, thanks to Thomas Malory’s
Le Morte d’Arthur. According to Mendelson, “Neo-Platonic ideals
promoted by the queen’s courtly admirers thus found a corollary
among the masses, who were programmed to perceive Elizabeth
as an embodiment of ideal beauty.” 44 Beauty, therefore, was a
cultural requirement for a queen. Without being able to sustain
a reputation of being beautiful, a queen such as Elizabeth’s sis-

ter Mary Tudor was liable to lose her subjects’ loyalty. Upon her
accession to the throne, Elizabeth got something like a head start
on her looks because as a queen, she would be initially assumed to
be beautiful. Yet, she had to nurture and sustain the legend of her
beauty rather than let the common perception run its course. And
this maintenance was no mean task.
When she was still a princess of twenty-four, the Venetian
Ambassador Giovanni Michiel remarked that Elizabeth’s “face
[was] comely rather than handsome.” 45 Forty years later, Elizabeth
herself both confirmed and complicated the issue of her youthful
beauty. On one hand, she famously described her departed looks
in one of her poems, circa 1580s, “When I was fair and young, and
favor graced me, / Of many was I sought unto, their mistress for
to be.” 46 In contrast, as the French ambassador Andrè de Maisse
reported, “when anyone [spoke] of her beauty she [said] that she
was never beautiful, although she had that reputation thirty years
ago.” 47 Thus, even if she acknowledged never being beautiful, she
yet left those who were too young to have seen her in her twen-
ties and thirties wondering whether her reputation has been
based on flattery or truth. Frederic Gerschow, who was present
at court at Oatlands in 1602, found himself looking for evidence
in the queen’s portraiture in order to supplement the imperfect
reality set before his eyes: “To judge from portraits showing her
Majesty in her thirtieth year there cannot have lived many finer
women at the time; even in her old age she did not look ugly, when
seen from a distance.” 48 Gerschow’s word choice denies ugliness,
rather than affirming beauty, and immediately qualifies even this
denial, highlighting the alarming state of Elizabeth’s appearance
in the last years of her life.49
To be sure, many of her onlookers were not easily fooled, but
Elizabeth spared no remedies to appear handsome (at least “from
a distance”), and she certainly encouraged compliments. The
same French ambassador who remarked, “Whenever anyone
speaks of her beauty she says that she was never beautiful,” adds,
“Nevertheless, she speaks of her beauty as often as she can.” 50
Numerous poems and ditties extolling the queen’s unsurpassed
gorgeousness were recited and sung in her presence, presented
as gifts, or circulated in print or manuscript. As she grew older,
Elizabeth also seems to have rather coyly solicited compliments
by referring to herself as old and ugly. Francis Bacon mentions that
“very often, many years before her death, she would pleasantly call
herself an old woman.” 51 She even penned the following humble
words to her ardent suitor Alençon: “Monsieur, my dearest, grant
pardon to the poor old woman who honors you as much (I dare
say) as any young wench whom you ever will find.” 52 Francesco
Gradenigo, an Italian visitor, reports the queen’s gracious greet-
ing, “My brother, the King of France, writes to me that I am to
show you the most beautiful things in this kingdom, and the first
thing you have seen is the ugliest, myself,” to which Gradenigo
predictably assures Elizabeth, “now that I had satisfied my eyes
and fed my soul with the sight of her person, I cared to see naught
else,” the queen nostalgically retorting, “Once on a time, when I
was princess, I was more esteemed by your Lords than I am now
that I am Queen.” 53
Even when she was younger, Elizabeth’s desire for compliments
transpired in her conversations, and even then it was frequently
paired with strategic insecurity. James Melville, the Scottish
ambassador, preserved a detailed record of his exchange with the
English queen who attempted to make him admit that she was,
among other things, more beautiful than her cousin Mary Queen
of Scots:
Her hair was more reddish than yellow, curled in appearance nat-
urally. She desired to know of me, what color of hair was reputed
best; and whether my Queen’s hair or hers was best; and which of
the two was fairest. I answered, “The fairness of them both was
not their worst faults.” But she was earnest with me to declare
which of them I judged fairest. I said, “She was the fairest Queen
in England, and mine the fairest Queen in Scotland.” Yet she
appeared earnest. I answered, ‘They were both the fairest ladies
in their countries; that her Majesty was whiter, but my Queen was
very lovely.54
This episode makes particularly clear that the beauty contest is

part of the competition between queens, and Elizabeth repeatedly
disallows Melville’s diplomatic attempts to elide this tension by
allotting each woman a palm of superiority in her own country.
Along with the queen’s personal efforts to elicit regular affir-
mations of her good looks, Elizabeth’s reputation as a beauty was
diligently molded by careful dissemination of the queen’s beauti-
fied image on coins, woodcuts, engravings, and refined portraits.
To these visual proofs, Elizabeth’s courtiers and poets added
verbal affirmations varying in degree of artfulness and persua-

siveness. Her claim to beauty traveled by portraiture and word
of mouth across England and Europe. When visual proof failed
to uphold this claim, verbal testimony came to the rescue. When
Elizabeth’s portrait was sent to Alençon in 1571, it was accompan-
ied by a letter that referred to her “bewtie and favour.” 55 On one
occasion, instead of raising doubts about Elizabeth’s famed beauty,
Catherine de Medici diplomatically blamed the English painters:
“After what everyone tells me of her beauty, and after the paint-
ings that I have seen, I must declare that she did not have good
painters.” 56 Elizabeth’s repute, however, received occasional blows
when diplomatic politeness was deemed unnecessary. When the
earl of Essex sent Villars, the governor of Rouen, a challenge “to
meet him on horse or foot, and by personal encounter to decide
which was the better man, fought in the better cause, or served
the fairest mistress,” Villars declined, adding contemptuously, “as
to the beauty of their mistresses, it was scarcely worth his while to
put himself to much trouble about that . . .” 57
Even if Villars’ insult was primarily aimed at Elizabeth’s
advanced age, challenges to her looks surfaced throughout her
life. Indeed, her natural features were highly individual and did
not readily fit into a mold of an ideal feminine beauty. Some schol-
ars suggest that Elizabeth’s looks neatly accommodate the desired
image of a Petrarchan beauty. In his “A Collection of Prints in
Imitation of Drawings” (1778), Charles Rogers asserts that the
“Queen’s red hair and black eyes . . . call to our minds Petrarch’s
Laura, and Ariosto’s Angelica.” 58 Two centuries later, Leonard
Forster, who argues that Elizabeth was the “physical incorpor-
ation of the literary icon,” notes correctly that “the way in which
the Queen is presented in the literature and art of the time bears a
close resemblance to the descriptions of the ideal lady of petrarchis-
tic convention.” 59 Forster’s opinion that the Petrarchan mistress
gleaned from the early modern poetry resembles Elizabeth’s por-
traits, however, is problematic, both in its inaccuracy and reversal
of causality.60 For example, her eyes were sometimes described as
black, but most of her portraits do not opt for this color, and they
rarely sport Laura’s yellow locks. Assertions like that of Rogers
and Forster, along with Elkin Calhoun Wilson’s statement that
“the queen’s hair fortunately matched the hair of the conven-
tional sonnet mistress,” 61 overlook the fact that Petrarchan ideal
was a blonde beauty, whereas Elizabeth’s natural hair color was
probably strawberry blonde, auburn, or some other shade of red, a

problematic hue due to its negative cultural associations. As John
Liggett points out, as early as in the Middle Ages, women who
“experimented with precious hair dyes . . . were careful to avoid
auburn—the sign of the witch.” 62 Not only did the red hair point
to witchcraft, but it also had a direct connection to whoredom: all
prostitutes in London were compelled to wear red wigs. According
to the physiognomic pronouncements thought by the early mod-
erns to be penned by Aristotle, “reddish hair” was a sign of a “bad
character,” and, in the eyes, “excessively black color signifies cow-
ardice.” 63 The Kalendar & Compost of Shepherds (1508) lectures that
“They that have red hair be commonly ireful, and lack wit, and
be of little truth.” 64 As aptly summarized by Mendelson, “Early
modern physiological theories associated red hair and a fair com-
plexion with the ‘hot’ humoral characteristics of the choleric per-
sonality, characterized by aggressive behavior and sexual vigor.” 65
Hence, a popular ballad instructs that
. . . she that by nature’s compos’d

Of round cherry cheeks and red hair
If she be pink-ey’d and long-nos’d,
Believe me, ‘tis dangerous ware.66
The combination of red hair and long nose, Elizabeth’s sali-

ent features, makes this ballad’s warning faintly seditious. It was
also a common belief that Judas was a redhead.67 After Elizabeth’s
death, the humoral reading of red hair persisted. The Compleat
Midwifes Practice (1656), for example, cautioned that, in choosing a
nurse for your infant, “you must have a special care she be not red
hair’d, for their milk is extreamly hot.” 68
These views reached across Europe. Discussing whether it
was lawful for a woman to amend her unfortunate natural hair
color, Jean Liébault proposed that, “if she had red hair, and since
that color suggests a proud and haughty person, given to certain
grand vices, she could dye it blonde.” 69 Perhaps the only instance
of depicting reddish-orange hair in a fictionalized relation to
Elizabeth is Philip Sidney’s description of Queen Helen’s portrait
that is said to sport “jacinth hair.” 70 In fact, not only Elizabeth’s
reddish hair changes its hue when it is poeticized as “lockes like
wiers of beaten gold” 71 or “yellow lockes crisped, like golden
wyre,” 72 there also seems to be a competitive tension between red
and yellow hair in the Elizabethan culture. Julia in Two Gentlemen

of Verona, for instance, is prepared to address the issue by simply
wearing a reddish wig: “Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow./
If that be all the difference in his love, / I’ll get me such a coloured
periwig.” 73
Scholars such as Neville Williams and Liggett noted that
Elizabethan women imitated their queen’s auburn hair color.74
These judgments seem to be derived from portraiture of some
women with hair inclining to reddishness. No one, however,
seems to be concerned with the discrepancy between the color
of Elizabeth’s hair and the fair yellow of the medieval beauty
standard such as Laura’s hair of gold. Fenja Gunn comes close to
acknowledging the red-blonde rivalry created by this monarch’s
genuine coloring, yet Gunn simply ignores the resulting tension:
“Elizabeth’s own naturally red hair set the pattern for the rest of
female society, but golden hair was also popular due to the influ-
ence of the Italian court.” 75
The only scholar who draws attention to the potential disap-
proval to which Elizabeth was exposed is Mendelson, who points
to the common notions about the redheads but does not discuss
the issue at length. Although the physiognomic meaning of the
red hair, likely due to the queen’s natural hair color, occasionally
acquires positive tones and appears in a fair number of portraits
featuring Elizabethan women, the traditional distrust of red-
heads remains dominant. Indeed, if one of the English proverbs
recorded in a commonplace book says that red-haired people are
wise, this positive signification still shares the page with a chart
that suggests that “Redde” women are “Badde.” 76
For the makers of Elizabeth’s public image, therefore, red
hair was a challenging physical characteristic. While the queen
was up against the uneasy cultural connotations, her natural hair
color reinforced the genetic link to her auburn-haired father,
Henry VIII, and thus functioned as a visual confirmation of her
legitimacy.77 Her contemporaries were wont to consider phys-
ical resemblance as an ocular proof of their blood relationship.
Her own sister maintained that Elizabeth was fathered by a lute
player Mark Smeaton, who pleaded guilty at Anne Boleyn’s trial;
as queen, Mary remarked several times that Elizabeth resembled
Smeaton in appearance.78 At about the same time, however, a
Venetian ambassador countered this claim, registering that not
only princess Elizabeth “prides herself on her father and glories in
him,” but that “everybody say[s] that she also resembles him more
than the Queen does.” 79
As with so many other issues, Elizabeth needed to accentuate
the useful traits that served her interests while brushing off the
negative associations with red hair. The new queen begins her
reign with assertions of virginity as the kind of life most pleas-
ing to her; she keeps emphasizing her lack of carnal desires.80 On
one hand, these tactics allow her to control the marriage nego-
tiations, supplying a long-standing justification for tarrying. Her
council and parliament are thus warned in advance that they will
have to account for this important obstacle. On the other hand,
it works in tandem with other rhetorical elements that seek to
extricate Elizabeth from the traditional feminine mold: the pro-
ject of redefining her as a woman unlike any other. Elizabeth’s
red hair comes to mean something different from the red hair of
other women—and also, implicitly, at least one man, her father,
whose sexual escapades and choleric temperament were part of
the inheritance that Elizabeth had to embrace, however select-
ively. Elizabeth indeed had a hot temper that she and her courtiers
explicitly linked to her father. The element of his sexual vigor,
however, she chose to efface. Long before the time of her Rainbow
portrait, her red hair has been purged of the meanings of sexuality,
and room was made for metaphoric interpretations that recalled
a favored royal symbol: the sun. Curiously enough, the positive
associations of the red hair color linger after Elizabeth’s death. In
The art to please at court (1632), Nicolas Faret instructs an able court-
ier in the art of turning defects to objects of praise; in particular,
he suggests, “If she had red hayre, hee will allow of the iudgment
of the Italians and other Nations which loue them so, and that of
the most dainty and amorous Poets, who neuer brag of any hayre
but of this colour.” 81 Such statements create an additional confu-
sion among the shades of red and yellow; with the words designat-
ing various colors floating from Italian to French and English and
potentially losing the appellative accuracy. A look at a range of
early modern Italian portraits, however, confirms their consistent
preference of a blonde hue.82
As Elizabeth made more frequent use of wigs, she probably
enjoyed adorning her head with a variety of hues, from red to
blonde. In wearing wigs, she challenged the advocates of “keeping
it natural” to the same extent and with the same confidence as she
did by using cosmetics. “The Sermon Against Excess of Apparel,”

widely reprinted throughout Elizabeth’s reign, proclaimed:
Who can paint her face, and curl her hair, and change it to an
unnatural color, but therein work reproof to her maker, who made
her? As though she could make her self more comely, than GOD
hath appointed the measure of her beauty. What do these women,
but go about to reform what God hath made? not knowing that all
things natural, is the work of God: and things disguised, unnat-
ural be the works of the devil.83
Another prominent yet problematic feature that complicates

the queen’s claim to beauty is the shape of Elizabeth’s nose.
Although visual images of the queen often softened the aquiline
shape of her nose, her contemporaries described it as “somewhat
rising in the midst,” “high,” and “a little hooked.” 84 As discussed in
chapter 5, aquiline and hooked noses did not always attract posi-
tive cultural and physiognomic interpretations. The shape of the
queen’s nose falls short of the early modern standard that prefers
a straight, unassuming nose to Elizabeth’s remarkably distinctive
one. In the final analysis, therefore, if the queen’s features were
tallied next to those expected of an ideal beauty, her natural claim
to beauty would have been quite weak. Furthermore, disease and
aging marked Elizabeth’s face with new blemishes. The contem-
porary habits of thought, prone to seek correspondences between
essences and appearances, touched upon imperfections far more
subtle than the ostentatious deformities and monstrosities.
“Clear as the skie, withouten blame or blot . . .”

In Elizabeth’s time, one of the most widespread varieties of erup-
tive afflictions was smallpox, or variola major, a viral disease that
claimed lives, beauty, and sometimes eyesight of its numerous suf-
ferers. Although smallpox could be fatal, it was likely that some
of its victims feared less for their lives than for their complexions
because the survivors rarely escaped unscathed. In some cases,
people’s faces were horribly scarred and disfigured. For instance,
Mary Sidney, who contracted smallpox while devotedly nursing
her queen to health, was forced to retire from court and to spend
the rest of her days hiding her ruined looks from view.85 The tra-
gedy and injustice of such merciless undoing of beauty in a virtu-
ous woman was bewailed, for instance, in Henry Wotton’s “On
a woman deformed wth ye Pocke” that charged the disease with

leaving “prints on beauty” and making honeycombs of faces.86 As
a smallpox survivor herself, Elizabeth had an opportunity to see
the issue from both points of view, as a victim of disfigurement
and onlooker who passed judgment on the disfigurement of other
victims.
Elizabeth contracted smallpox in 1562. The detrimental effect
of the disease on her complexion is registered in a Spanish ambas-
sador’s letter to the Duchess of Parma on October 25: “She is
now out of bed and is only attending to the marks on her face to
avoid disfigurement,” and, on February 7, 1563, in his epistle to
Philip II where Elizabeth is reported to have assured the lords
“that the marks they saw on her face were not wrinkles, but pits
of smallpox.” 87 If indeed she still had pockmarks three and a half
months after her illness (the period of time indicated by the dates
of the ambassador’s letters), the subsequent assertions of her sup-
posed miraculous escape from the typical scarring are improb-
able. Those marks were not as horrific as the blemishes on Mary
Sidney’s face, and masking them by means of cosmetics was not
very difficult. Their complete disappearance, nevertheless, was a
case of wishful thinking.
The scare of further blemishes was upon the English court again
in 1572 when Elizabeth appeared to become sick with smallpox for
the second time, not an entirely unusual occurrence.88 This strain
was much weaker than her earlier infection. Upon recovery, she
wrote to the Earl of Shrewsbury assuring him that her suspected
relapse had left no marks on her face:
. . . after twoo or three daies, without any great inward sicknes,

ther began to appere certain red spotts in som part of our face,
likely to proove the small pox; but, thanked be God, contrary to
the expection our phisycians, & all others about us, the same so
vanished awaye as wtin foure or five dayes passed no token almost
appeered; and at this day, we thank God, we are so free from any
token or marke of any such disease that none can conjecture any
suche thing.89
A postscript in the queen’s own hand reiterates, “I assure you, if

my creadid were not greatar than my shewe, ther is no beholdar
wold beleve that ever I had bin touched with suche a malady.” 90
It appears from this letter that it is far more important for her
to assure the addressee of her immaculate complexion than to
verify that her health has been restored. Indeed, it seems that the
queen even prayed to God to protect her from pockmarks: “heal
my body, so that it may straightway be without any remains of
sickness, if it should seem thus to Thy mercy.” 91
And thus the fiction of Elizabeth’s pristine skin was created:
not only was she not terribly disfigured by disease, but she had
escaped smallpox altogether unmarred. This legend hinted at the
divine favor for God’s handmaiden, who had recovered from a par-
ticularly grave case of smallpox, followed by yet another assault
ten years later. The belief that the divine intervention has saved
her life and complexion is evidenced in the medal commemorat-
ing Elizabeth’s recovery (1562). On the obverse of the medal, “the
face of the queen appears free of any physical effects of the dis-
ease,” 92 and the image on the reverse is encircled by a legend, SI.
DEVS. NOBISCVM. QVIS. CONTRA. NOS, If God be with us, who can be
against us.93
Besides asserting Elizabeth’s singularity in the eyes of God,
the narrative that erased blemishes from her face also protected
her against seditious accusations of promiscuity. Smallpox was
contracted in no connection to any amoral or amorous activities,
and thus its disfigured victims were morally innocent. It was
the other variety of the pox, the “Great Pox,” or syphilis, that
resulted from sexual promiscuity and thus marked the sufferer as
a bawd and sinner, and there was a potential for confusion of the
two types of scars.94 Protection afforded by a claim to a pock-free
face, of course, was only partial: as Carole Levin has shown, the
fantasies of Elizabeth’s sexual life surfaced regularly; however,
none of these stories cited Elizabeth’s pockmarks in support of
her supposedly loose behavior, making any slander all the more
unsubstantiated.
Elizabeth’s supporters, in the meantime, adopted the official
story with enthusiasm. In keeping with the legend of the queen’s
unblemished complexion, she was greeted in 1578 in Norwich in
the following manner:
Who ever found on earth a constant friend,

That may compare with this my Virgin Queene?
Whoever found a body and a mynde
So free from staine, so perfect to be seene,
Oh heavenly hewe, that aptest is to soyle,
And yet doste live from blot of any foyle!95
Spenser likewise complimented his queen’s perfect face as he

painted her portrait as Belphoebe:
Her face so faire as flesh it seemed not,

But heauenly poutraict of bright Angels hew,
Clear as the skie, withouten blame or blot,
Through goodly mixture of complexions dew . . . 96
These passages emphasize that Elizabeth’s face, being “free from

staine,” “clear as the skie, withouten blame or blot,” remains
unmarred by the disease. Rather than serving as a testimony of
her perfect complexion, these lines combine flattery and desire
to conform to the queen’s public image perpetuated in portraits
that omit scars, complimentary writing praising her immaculate
beauty, and her own careful denial of blemishes.
Along with the fiction of Elizabeth’s pristine skin came her
license to despise other people’s pockmarked faces, but her harsh
judgment of others’ imperfections distanced her from and thus
denied her own concealed scarring. Some evidence indicates that
she shared her contemporaries’ view that pockmarks and scars
not only marred beauty, but could not coexist with it. Rather
than showing compassion towards Mary Sidney’s tragic disfig-
urement, Elizabeth seemed to give her harsh treatment.97 She also
made disparaging remarks about Mary Hastings’ pocked face.98
Perhaps more understandably, the queen was hesitant to pursue a
romantic relationship with a similarly disfigured man, the Duke
of Alençon.
The royal houses of England and France were engaged in mar-
riage negotiations for a good part of the 1570s and early 1580s. The
Duke of Alençon, one of the sons of Catherine de Medici, visited
England twice: in 1579 and 1582–1883, so the English queen had an
opportunity to form a personal opinion of his charms. Alençon
bore heavy signs of smallpox on his countenance, and, long before
she met him in person, Elizabeth was outspoken in her attitude
that these blemishes made the Duke a second-rate marriage
material. The queen probably feared, quite fairly, a reciprocal
scorn on the part of her much younger suitor—and she protected
herself carefully, as her postscript to the aforementioned letter
to Shrewsbury indicates. The queen was anxiously preoccupied
with her appearance not because she was merely vain, but because
she knew of its value as a possible trump card in the marriage
negotiations. Indeed, assertions of Elizabeth’s unmarred beauty

run as a counterpoint to the discussion of Alençon’s unfortunate
disfigurement. In 1579, for instance, the French ambassador writes
to Catherine de Medici that Elizabeth “has never been more
pretty or more beautiful. There is nothing old about her except
her years.” 99 In July 1579, Mendoza reports that, in anticipation
of Alençon’s arrival, Elizabeth “is largely influenced by the idea
that it should be known that her talents and beauty are so great
that they have sufficed to cause him to come and visit her without
any assurance that he will be her husband.” 100 Mendoza’s remark
suggests that Elizabeth herself consciously contributed to dissem-
ination of the narratives about her “talents and beauty.” Since it
was acknowledged that the potential groom was “void of any good
favour, besides the blemish of the smallpox,” the well-crafted
belief in the English queen’s beauty dramatically increased her
caché for these marital negotiations.101
When she met him in person, however, Alençon’s pockmarks
seemed to carry little importance in comparison to his delightful
personality. She nicknamed him her Frog and came very close to
marrying the French youngster. Whatever the obstacles and con-
siderations that prevented that marriage, his pockmarks seemed
to have contributed little to nothing to the outcome of those nego-
tiations. Elizabeth’s eventual readiness to overlook the blemishes
seems to undermine the sincerity of her earlier concern, making the
latter a political strategy rather than personal conviction. But the
inaccuracy of the official story of her unmarred complexion opens
a possibility that Elizabeth overplayed the importance of Alençon’s
pockmarks in order to make her own scars seem less significant.
“In either cheeke depeincten lively Chere”

As if in a mirror, Elizabeth’s attitude to her suitor’s disfigurement
reflects the anxiety about her own facial imperfections. It has
been frequently asserted that she tackled these blemishes with
the help of cosmetics, painting a mask-like face over her natural
features. In this final section, I will question the validity of this
posthumous belief and explore the implications of what seems
like deliberate silence on the matter of Elizabeth’s face-painting
during her time on the throne.
In order to understand what is at stake in Elizabeth’s use of
makeup, it is necessary to situate this issue within the period’s
attitude toward cosmetics. Powders, ointments, paints, and dyes

were used to achieve the brilliant colors of what was considered
the ideal Renaissance beauty: white and red face framed by blonde
hair. Unfortunately, many of these cosmetics contained harmful
ingredients that ruined skin and teeth while promising to beaut-
ify them. Relatively crude cosmetics available to the early mod-
ern women were probably responsible for such caustic remarks as
Thomas Tuke’s pronouncement that a “man might easily cut off a
curd of cheese-cake from either of their cheeks.” 102 While some-
times women flaunted their makeup by applying it quite liberally,
they also knew how to paint themselves with skill and subtlety
that deftly blended nature and art. Such skill of application caused
a great deal of anxiety among men who could not always readily
discern whether a woman’s beauty was natural or artificial.
The issue was especially important because face-painting
caused a lively debate in the early modern society. The opponents
of the use of cosmetics lined up a battery of arguments rooted in
the writings of the church fathers. The most important objection
concerned a woman’s appropriation of God’s right to creation: in
this view, a painting woman heretically altered the sacred work of
God, her face, and became “her own creatrisse.” 103 Further criti-
cism reminded women that, by painting themselves, they resem-
bled the notorious users of makeup: courtesans and prostitutes.
Meanwhile, the supporters of the new fashion published collec-
tions of recipes for homemade cosmetics as well as treatments for
the blemishes like freckles and acne. The prefaces to these books
encouraged women to take charge of their appearance, empha-
sized the repulsiveness of facial imperfections, and explained that
it was unfair to their souls to keep them imprisoned in the wither-
ing bodies that could be easily turned into palaces.104
The harmful nature of makeup and the impact of the contro-
versy about face-painting are two important issues relevant to the
discussion of Elizabeth’s use of cosmetics. First, even if she did use
cosmetics in moderation, the queen could have been caught in the
same vicious circle as the other women: attempting to amend the
facial imperfections by applying to her skin and teeth ingredients
so caustic and drying that, instead of slowing down the process
of aging, these efforts accelerated its progress. As will be dis-
cussed in the next chapter, a German visitor to the English court,
Paul Hentzner, and the French Ambassador André de Maisse
remarked on the queen’s profuse wrinkles and black and missing
teeth. However, by then she was in her late sixties, so it is difficult

to assess whether her wrinkles and discolored teeth were precipi-
tated by aging or by her use of unsavory cosmetics.
Second, whatever the extent of her face-painting, Elizabeth
clearly was not caught in between the anti- and procosmetic sides
of the polemics. If she indulged in ostentatious use of paint, taking
the general criticism personally would be tantamount to acknow-
ledging her potential culpability, altering her exalted status and
exposing her as a woman like any other. Such a nonengagement,
however, could equally indicate that Elizabeth used cosmetics
only sparingly rather than painting “an inch thick.”
Granted, Elizabeth could not afford to be dismissive of her
appearance: she was frequently in the public eye, and because her
power as a female ruler was supplemented by a gorgeous appear-
ance, she had to take great care of what she put on display. In
1586, Elizabeth herself declared in an address to Parliament: “We
princes, I tell you, are set on stages in the sight and view of all
the world duly observed; the eyes of many behold our actions;
a spot is soon spied in our garments; a blemish noted quickly in
our doings.” 105 Such open displays were deeply theatrical. John
Clapham, for instance, wrote that, “not long before her death,”
Elizabeth “would often show herself abroad at public spectacles,
even against her own liking, to no other end but that the people
might the better perceive her ability of body and good disposi-
tions, which otherwise in respect of her years they might perhaps
have doubted; so jealous was she to have her natural defects discovered
for diminishing her reputation.” 106 Clapham explains that Elizabeth
showed herself to the public as a means of reassuring her people
that their aging sovereign was still capable of ruling. However, the
highlighted addendum conveys the dissembling nature of such
spectacles: the discovery of “her natural defects” is deemed to be
detrimental to her reputation, and the queen herself is acutely
aware of the danger of letting the public in on the secret of her
imperfections. Clapham also remarks on Elizabeth’s method of
deflecting the onlookers’ attention away from the blemishes,
especially those that affected her good looks: “In her later time,
when she showed herself in public, she was always magnificent
in apparel, supposing haply thereby, that the eyes of her people,
being dazzled with the glittering aspect of those accidental orna-
ment would not so easily discern the marks of age and decay of
natural beauty.” 107
These retrospective insights ring true: as years passed,

Elizabeth’s facial imperfections inevitably multiplied. Smallpox
scars, wrinkles, tooth decay, and changes in color of complex-
ion demanded increasing attention. The queen and the ladies of
the bedchamber undoubtedly left no stone unturned to beaut-
ify her countenance. The drama continued to be exacerbated by
Elizabeth’s particular ruling style that demanded and capital-
ized upon the spectacle of her exposure to the public. Echoing
Clapham, Bacon quipped that “[s]he imagined that the people,
who are much influenced by externals, would be diverted, by
the glitter of her jewels, from noticing the decay of her personal
attractions.” 108 Yet, even Bacon, who knew Elizabeth personally,
did not use this opportunity to bring up the maintenance of “her
personal attractions” by cosmetic means. While she was alive,
the issue seems to have been taboo in court, outside the queen’s
bedchamber where her ladies ministered to her withering face.
Furthermore, although the proponents of face-painting hinted
that Elizabeth was on their side as they put her name on some
recipes, they still refrained from including Elizabeth directly in
their arguments, even as a positive example.
Neville Williams points out that no laws were passed against
face-painting during Elizabeth’s reign.109 Although the anticos-
metic attitudes were repeatedly expressed in print, there was no
apparent royal attempt to suppress them. In addition, it is unclear
whether Elizabeth had anything to do with the cosmetic recipes
attributed to her in various cookbooks that sought to empower
women to take charge of their looks.110 Importantly, these recipes
gave instructions for making perfumes and skin-whitening “cos-
metic water” rather than face-painting products.111 Some scholars
speculate that Elizabeth turned to the craft of cosmetic enhance-
ment after her near fatal bout with smallpox in 1562. The queen’s
extravagant use of face-paint, however, is a received opinion passed
from one scholar to the next: there is no reliable evidence extant
from Elizabeth’s lifetime to substantiate this belief. Most recently,
Karim-Cooper aptly summarizes the scholarly thinking on the
matter: “Of course, the queen is famous for her use of cosmetics
and it is understood that she had her face painted to distance her-
self from her subjects by carving herself out as a featureless icon
hidden behind a cosmetic mask . . .” 112 Such thinking, dramatized
in Shekhar Kapur’s film Elizabeth (1998), mistakenly conflates the
face of the living queen with a face put forth in her portraits.
Whereas the aesthetics of portraiture and cosmetically

enhanced body were related, reconstructing one with the help of
the other is still problematic. In the meantime, it is perplexing that,
in the multitude of testimonies that record Elizabeth’s features and
facial expressions, there seems to be only one contemporary men-
tion of Elizabeth’s face-painting in late 1600: “It was commonly
observed this Christmas that her Majesty, when she came to be
seen, was continuously painted not only all over her face, but on
her very neck and breast also, and that the same was in some places
near half an inch thick.” 113 But this story is hardly unbiased, nor
is it an eyewitness’ testimony. It is only a rumor picked up on the
streets of London by Father Rivers, a Jesuit in hiding. The same
informant who was obviously preoccupied with Elizabeth’s aging
reports that “her face showeth some decay, which to conceal when
she cometh in public, she putteth many fine cloths into her mouth
to bear out her cheeks.” 114 Karim-Cooper terms this behavior
“the older Queen’s open cosmetic practice,” 115 and yet one should
be wary of believing this report, given the danger of the author’s
position that could hardly allow him to see the queen in person,
much less discover information as intimate as precise content of
her supposedly stuffed cheeks. Father Rivers’ stories, however, are
extremely important. Even though their absolute truthfulness is
doubtful, his letters register an attempt to disparage Elizabeth on
various grounds, her use of cosmetics among them. These attempts
also suggest that Elizabeth used makeup even though they do not
prove that she did so in a garish way, painting “an inch thick,” as so
many modern scholars assume.
There exists, of course, a posthumous reference to Elizabeth’s
face-painting, in Ben Jonson’s Conversations with Drummond. As
Jonson sketches out a few pointed anecdotes about Elizabeth,
his frivolity seems to be unleashed by the fact of Elizabeth’s
death. In describing her idiosyncratic vanity, Jonson says: “Queen
Elizabeth never saw herself after she became old in a true glass;
they painted her, and sometimes would vermilion her nose.” 116
Here, Jonson returns to a scene from Volpone where Nano refers
to Lady Politic’s troubles that arise from trusting others to apply
her cosmetics, “anon, shee’ll beat her women, / Because her nose is
red.” 117 Vermilion, in fact, was normally applied to lips and cheeks,
so this story suggests that Elizabeth’s servants took advantage of
her refusal to look in the mirror and painted her in ridiculous
colors (and got away with it, too).
Not simply because of the anecdotal nature of this evidence,

but mainly because Elizabeth’s formidable personality made such
disrespectful treatment unthinkable, we can certainly discount
this scene of the vain queen being lampooned unawares by her
merry ladies. Like Father Rivers’ disparaging stories, this fantasy
points to the cultural uneasiness engendered by Elizabeth’s use of
cosmetics. Jonson’s sarcasm stands out in a particular contrast to
Colin’s intimation, in Henry Chettle’s Englands mourning garment
(1603), that the queen avoided mirrors out of humility rather than
self-delusion:
For quaffing as it was vnfitting her Sexe, so shee extreamely abhord

it: hating superfluitie as hell: and so farre was shee from all nice-
nesse, that I haue heard it credibly reported, and knowe it by many
instances to be true, that shee neuer could abide to gaze in a mir-
rour or looking-glasse: no not to behold one, while her head was
tyred and adorned, but simply trusted to her attendant Ladies for
the comelinesse of her attire: and that this is true, Thenot I am the
rather perswaded, for that when I was yong, almost thirtie yeares
agoe, courting it now and then: I haue seene the Ladies make great
shift to hide away their looking-glasses if her Maiestie had past by
their lodgings.
O humble Lady, how meeke a spirite hadst thou? How farre
from affecting beautie, or vaine pride: when thou desiredst not to
see that face, which all thy subiects longed dayly to behold, and
sundry Princes came from farre to wonder at.118
In Chettle’s interpretation, Elizabeth’s refusal to see herself in the

mirror offers an occasion for a compliment to her virtuous mod-
esty. Chettle thereby deftly bypasses an opportunity to criticize
the queen’s behavior.
Absence of any registered censure of Elizabeth’s face-painting in
her lifetime, therefore, not only pertains to the personal attitudes
and general polemics of the period, but also suggests a possibility
that Elizabeth used makeup quite sparingly. Of course, this lack
of criticism and, except for Rivers’ spurious report of the queen
painted “half an inch thick,” the nonexistence of any acknowledg-
ment of Elizabeth’s face-painting may also be due to censorship.
Even the inventories of the New Year gifts to the queen record no
creams, no paints, no dyes: items that come closest to cosmetics
are sweet waters and perfumed gloves.119 There seems to be a tact-
ful agreement not to draw attention to Elizabeth’s face-painting
by avoiding gifts of overtly cosmetic nature. Jonson’s anecdote,

therefore, opens a window onto the forbidden territory, albeit six-
teen years after Elizabeth’s death. Not only does it reflect a typical
misogynistic distrust of the perceived vulnerability and waning
power of the aged queen, but it also fantasizes about the possibility
of social transgression, the subordinate women having fun at the
monarch’s expense. It mocks the vanity of the woman; it mocks
her old age, and her power—all at once. Such multifold mockery
is possible, on the one hand, because of Elizabeth’s uniquely lay-
ered personal and political position of being an unmarried female
ruler. On the other hand, the pithy effectiveness of Jonson’s phras-
ing (he accomplishes everything in just one sentence) owes much
to its subject: the queen’s face. It is her face where so much of the
unspoken anxiety is centered. Through the fantasy of a helpless
queen being denigrated without her knowledge, figuratively and
literally under her very nose, this anecdote indulges the younger
generation’s frustration with an aged monarch, and even more, the
younger men’s reluctance to serve under a woman’s rule. This part
of the anecdote focuses on Elizabeth’s most vulnerable feature,
her physiognomy, whose obvious defects she could suppress only
to a limited extent. Hence the stories of Elizabeth’s refusal to look
in the mirror appear, as if a woman of her stature and intelligence
would reveal her feminine weakness by believing that averting her
eyes from the scars and wrinkles on her own face would prevent
them from existing.120
The issue of Elizabeth’s face-painting is all the more ambigu-
ous because the dynamics of attraction and repulsion, bonding
and distancing are continuously present in the fashioning of her
image. If her face was painted in order to hide the imperfections
of her skin, the motives for doing so were not purely aesthetic (to
secure the appeal of her public image), but also political (to assure
her subjects that their queen is properly and perpetually beau-
tiful), and perhaps personal (because she was vain, ashamed, or
insecure).
These justifications—an invitation for desire without a prom-
ise of fulfillment, indulgence of vanity while pleasuring the
onlookers’ gaze, upkeep of the myth of perpetual youthfulness
and beauty in order to secure her authority, and protection of her
private self—also apply to Elizabeth’s face rejuvenated in paint by
Nicholas Hilliard in the so-called mask of youth. In this mask,
the arts of cosmetic and portraiture prominently come together,
putting forth, to use Harry Berger’s term, a prosthetic image of

Elizabeth. Yet, as I will show in chapter 5, the idealized face of
the queen coexisted with harsher, less skillfully executed or seem-
ingly more realistic renditions of her physiognomy in paint. The
official project enacted in her portraiture and court poetry aimed
to refashion Elizabeth’s imperfect physical visage, but even the
images produced outside the idealized paradigm exude some
impression of gorgeousness. To this day, one may look at this
queen’s portraits, whatever their degree of quality and realism,
and admit, “She was a queen, and therefore beautiful.” Yet it must
be remembered that, for this extraordinary monarch, power was
beautifying while beauty, empowering.
CHAPTER 3
MEETING THE QUEEN:

DOCUMENTARY ACCOUNTS
She was the daughter of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn, and was
born on the 7th September 1533, so she is now about twenty-one
years old; her figure and face are very handsome, and such an air
of dignified majesty pervades all her actions that no one can fail to
suppose she is a queen.
T
he lines quoted above concern Lady Elizabeth Tudor,
sister of Queen Mary, who just entered the second year
of her reign at the time this report was penned by the
Venetian Ambassador Giacomo Soranzo.1 Married to Philip of
Spain for less than a month, Mary had every expectation of bear-
ing an heir to the throne and, therefore, thwarting Elizabeth’s
hopes for succession. Yet even in her precarious position, the young
Elizabeth’s demeanor projected the same “dignified majesty” that
would astound the onlookers in her advanced age. Instead of listing
Elizabeth’s physical characteristics, this account outlines a hand-
some presence, dignity, and charisma that allow the young woman
who was envied and harassed by her royal sister to carry herself
in a way that may convince the observers that it is Elizabeth who
is queen, and not Mary. The physical details in Soranzo’s descrip-
tion are hardly vivid, and yet the essential image of her person-
hood comes across in it. It becomes the earliest in what will be an
ensuing paradigm of describing the Queen in a manner that tran-
scended physicality.
In his essay on Fyodor Dostoevsky, Russian critic A. Chudakov
poses a distinction between writers oriented toward forms and
those who are primarily concerned with essences. Descriptions
of characters produced by writers of the first type, in their atten-
tion to “physical objects, customs, day to day existence,” place
the physical details at the center. A writer of the second type, in
contrast, creates an “essentialist portrait of his character, not a

direct description of appearance.” 2 In such description, the sense
of scarcity of the physical details is “emphasized by a constant
juxtaposition of the material and the ideal, the feeling and the
physical object,” and the verbal portrait is “pieced together by the
references to action, gesture . . . , movement, rhythm,” 3 rather than
a list of physical features.4
In marginalization of the physicality, writers such as Dostoevsky
wrestle with the problems inherent in the confrontation between
the body and language: no matter how detailed the description of
the features, the words remain at odds with the body they strive
to depict. Roland Barthes terms this incompatibility the “spiteful-
ness of language: once reassembled, in order to utter itself, the total
body must revert to the dust of words, to the listing of details, to
a monotonous inventory of parts, to crumbling: language undoes
the body, returns it to the fetish.” 5 This sense of fragmentation
and undoing of the body by descriptive language is already impli-
cit in the topos of indescribability, discussed in the next chapter,
and this sense likewise accounts for the way we read the contem-
porary descriptions of Elizabeth in the twenty-first century. The
overt concern in the early modern period lies with the imprecision
of language when wielded by an inferior writer. Yet the belief in
the possibility of an adequate description persists, and the num-
ber of verbal portraits of Elizabeth shows that many a witness did
not feel daunted by the undertaking. But in these portrayals of
Elizabeth’s facial features and expressions, the problems of lan-
guage and perspective, especially political perspective, preclude
any objective, “true” reading of her face.
Many of Elizabeth’s contemporaries attempted to put her coun-
tenance into words, and exact portrayals of the queen’s face wres-
tle with the techniques typical of the period. These methods were
derived primarily from the classical rhetorical concept of effictio in
Ciceronian rhetoric. The author of Rhetorica ad Herennium, attrib-
uted to Cicero in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, introduces
the concept of effictio, or the portrayal of physical appearance that
“consists in representing and depicting in words clearly enough
for recognition [sic] the bodily form of some person . . .” The main
purpose of such description is to “designate some person,” there-
fore, aiming at a list of physical attributes that would make the
individual easily recognizable.6 In De Inventione, Cicero suggests
that, in description of a person, “we take into consideration such
Documentary Accounts 67
advantages or disadvantages as are given to mind and body by

nature,” 7 and that the virtues of the body are “health, beauty,
strength, speed.” 8
Medieval writers followed Cicero’s rules and applied them
particularly to poetry. The twelfth and early thirteenth-century
rhetoricians considered effictio a crucial aspect of poetry. For
instance, Matthew of Vendôme, in his Ars versificatoria (c. 1175),
builds on Cicero’s prescription, suggesting more insistently that
“in any description of a person . . . one’s general appearance ought
to be fully delineated,” and gives two detailed poetic descriptions
of his own composition as models, proposing that “in praising a
woman one should stress heavily her physical beauty.” 9 Geoffrey
of Vinsauf’s Poetria Nova (c.1200–1215) not only offers an extended
description of a beautiful woman, but also points out that por-
trayal of appearance should move in a consistently downward
direction: “So let the radiant description descend from the top
of her head to her toe, and the whole be polished to perfection,”
and Geoffrey’s portrayal indeed begins with the hair and moves to
the forehead, eyebrows, nose, eyes, mouth, and chin.10 In the thir-
teenth century Alan of Lille wrote an entire treatise concerning
the description of the just man, Anticlaudianus. This system pro-
duces the poetic trope of the blazon, so plentiful in late medieval
love poetry. Yet, for all these writers, descriptions of one’s appear-
ance are secondary to the description of the character per se, the
“qualities of the inner man” as distinct from the “bodily graces”
constituting the “exterior man,” as Matthew terms them. The pat-
tern is replicated in the early modern period: Erasmus’ De Copia
(1534), a manual of virtuoso eloquence, and Thomas Wilson’s The
Arte of Rhetorique (1553) omit the instruction on describing phys-
ical appearance. Erasmus, for instance, explains that the “tech-
nical term for the realistic presentation of persons” is prosopopoia
(dramatization), a term closely related to prosopografia (delineation
of persons). Erasmus then outlines a variety of descriptive categor-
ies and remarks in passing that descriptions of physical appear-
ance are somewhat rare in oratory, the subject with which he was
most concerned.11 Wilson includes an example of such depiction in
his section on “Description of persons” that is otherwise occupied
with the rules of a believable portrayal of character and speech.
George Puttenham, in The Arte of English Poesie (1589), places his
flamboyant blazon of Elizabeth in his entry on the ornamental
figure “Icon, or Resemblance by imagerie,” explaining that the
term alludes to the art of painting that furnishes a “visible repre-

sentation of the thing.” 12 Presented to Elizabeth as a New Year’s
gift, Puttenham’s blazon, discussed in the next chapter, follows
the descending order prescribed by Geoffrey, moving from the
forehead to eyebrows to eyes and then down to the lips, and so
on. Printing it in The Arte, Puttenham truncates his poem and
changes the order so that the reader’s gaze moves down from the
forehead and brows to the lips and then upward to the eyes, a
movement less systematic than that advocated by Geoffrey; how-
ever, this change of order is less jarring than the Arte’s omissions
that result in a startling leap from Elizabeth’s eyes to her breasts, a
subject of discussion that makes a rare but not unheard of appear-
ance in the eyewitness descriptions of the queen.
The rhetorical methods clearly inherited from these guides
by most of Elizabeth’s verbal portraitists fall midway between
Cicero’s “brevity and clarity,” exemplified in his description of a
man, listing his physical features in a comprehensive yet succinct
inventory,13 and Matthew’s and Geoffrey’s florid poetic descrip-
tions of beautiful women. The genre of eyewitness reports entails
methods aiming at realism and moderation of portrayal; however,
a close look at the structure of these verbal portraits reveals ten-
dencies absent from the rules and examples handed down from
the antiquity and the Middle Ages.
Early modern descriptive habits, especially rhetorical
approaches to depicting faces of people familiar to the author
personally, are exemplified in Erasmus’ masterful description of
Thomas More, in a 1519 letter to Ulrich von Hutten. The letter
opens with a sketch of More’s appearance:
In truth, he has such symmetry in all his limbs that nothing desir-
able is lacking. He has fair skin with a complexion that is glowing,
rather than pale, and is far from ruddy, except for a faint rosiness
shining through everywhere. His hair is darkish blonde or rather,
somewhat yellowish brown, his beard scanty, his eyes bluish-grey
interspersed with flecks which is taken to mean a happy spirit.
Among the British, this is held to be attractive, while we are more
captivated by dark eyes. The British assert that this kind of eye is
not subject to defects. His countenance corresponds to his charac-
ter, always showing a pleasant and friendly cheerfulness and some-
what habitually composed toward laughter. And to speak honestly,
it approaches more toward pleasure, than gravity or solemnity, but
is greatly removed from absurdity and buffoonery.14
With remarkable precision, Erasmus layers his brushstrokes to

create a countenance alive with color and meaning. Yet Erasmus
qualifies his epithets in an attempt to pinpoint his friend’s appear-
ance as exactly as language would allow. To recreate the truthful
shade of More’s complexion, Erasmus considers several hues of
white and red, dabbing, mixing, and defining the chosen shade
in contrast to the ones passed over—a process so deliberate that
translations of this passage teem with synonyms: “he has a fair
skin” (corporis candida), “glowing, rather than pale” (facies magis ad
candorem vergit, quam ad pallorem), “far from ruddy” (a rubore procul
abest), “a faint rosiness shining through everywhere” (nisi quod ten-
uis admodum rubor ubique sublucet). The last masterful stroke makes
the white skin translucent and warm with a delicate rosy glow
underneath. Erasmus equivocally places More’s hair on the con-
tinuum from brown to blonde (capilli subnigro flavore, sive mavis,
sufflavo nigrore), and then his eyes, with fine speckles or spots on
their irises, whose color is poised on the spectrum somewhere
between blue and gray (subcaesii). The copia of fine details in this
description is infused with a loving feeling that employs the writ-
er’s rhetorical mastery to indulge the pleasure of a meticulous rec-
ollection of the face of his absent friend.
The indeterminacy of Erasmus’ colors is directly related to
his indeterminacy of character, possibly related to More’s being
Erasmus’ opponent on some issues, as well as friend. More’s coun-
tenance is pleasant but not grave or solemn. He is also not foolish.
Erasmus here finds difficulty in the precision needed to create a
rhetorical portrait. In so doing, he recognizes the problems other,
lesser writers would have describing the human face.
Erasmus engages More’s eyes as a transitional point in his
description as he prepares to conclude the sketch of his friend’s
physical appearance and proceed to characterize his personality.
The key statement follows: “His countenance corresponds to his
character.” This assertion is not a mere convenient transition in
Erasmus’ coherently flowing description: for the early moderns,
the acknowledgment of harmony between the appearance and
interiority is in itself a compliment. Harry Berger, Jr., locates the
inception of a new physiognomic attitude in a treatise authored by
Erasmus a decade after he wrote this letter; even here, his atten-
tiveness to what I call face-mind relationship is already evident.
There is one difficulty, however. By More’s “character,” Erasmus
does not necessarily mean his interiority; in fact, the subject here
is rather More’s behavior, his attitude, and disposition. Moreover,

Erasmus is describing a representative disposition (hence the
use of the overbearing “habitually” [habitum]), and he links it to
a representative expression on More’s face. It is understood that
neither one is static in More the living being, but Erasmus delib-
erately chooses only one facial expression because he likens his
descriptive activity to painting a portrait or drawing a sketch.15
Admittedly, the warmth and precision of Erasmus’ description
have no peer among the documentary accounts of Elizabeth’s coun-
tenance. Even the queen’s most intimate relationships did not yield
a single extensive verbal portrait, but her features glimpsed in the
extant descriptions are as fascinating as the rhetorical strategies
used to render her face in words. Her royal features were recorded
in an almost clinical manner. Interpretation of Elizabeth’s facial
expression was subject to its own limitations, yet social necessity
forced the onlookers to construe the queen’s expressive looks.
This chapter, therefore, employs different methodologies for the
two aspects of verbal descriptions of the queen by her contem-
poraries. In the first part, where I will examine the depictions
of Elizabeth’s features, the lack of interpretive judgment is com-
pensated for by implied or contextual meanings betrayed in the
rhetorical dynamics within the testimonies. The second part of
the chapter concerns the expressive life of the queen’s face and
engages not only some registered expressions, but also witnesses’
comments on their meaning and especially the speakers’ views on
Elizabeth’s deliberate use of her face for specific rhetorical pur-
poses. While this chapter concerns, in turn, the fixed and mobile
physiognomy, my emphasis is on the reading and interpretation
of Elizabeth’s face as reported by the witnesses. On occasion,
their reading is supplemented with the insights into the queen’s
composition of her features. In a way typical of Elizabeth’s style,
however, the intentionality of such composition is frequently
undetermined, even as the witnesses share their judgment as they
gauge the queen’s sincerity or dissimulation.
“ . . . a seeming seat for princely grace” 16: The Politics

of Describing
As Henri IV of France put it, one of the most vexing questions
that tormented Elizabeth’s contemporaries was whether she
“was a maid or no.”17 Perhaps the second most popular question
constantly asked during and after Elizabeth’s lifetime was what

she really looked like. The iconography of her most famous por-
traits has succeeded in forming a certain image in the collective
consciousness of later generations: the unmistakable “Elizabeth
look” that includes red hair, a Roman nose, and pearls in abun-
dance. The contemporary verbal descriptions of the queen, how-
ever, draw attention to a variety of her features, and these accounts
frequently contradict one another in ways that preclude an emer-
gence of a definitive physical portrait. As a group, these documen-
tary verbal portraits hardly exhibit a regularity.18 For this reason,
instead of discrediting their reliability as a truthful record of the
queen’s features, my approach highlights the usefulness of these
accounts for understanding the anxiety that surrounded the issue
of Elizabeth’s appearance, especially as her reign drew to a close.
The extant accounts are distributed rather unevenly through-
out Elizabeth’s lifetime, with a weightier group appearing in the
last decade of her reign. The descriptions of the aging queen, in
particular, show the logic of the inconsistencies within and among
these texts and point to the rhetorical betrayal of the authors’ own
representational agendas. These agendas affect the degrees of veri-
similitude, apparent accuracy, and the balance of praise and scorn
evident in these accounts as the writers address the imperfections
detected in the queen’s aging face. And yet, despite the difference
in the observers’ attitude, these descriptions share similar discur-
sive impulses: Elizabeth’s purposeful display of majesty affects
not only her own subjects, but even foreigners who have no vested
interest in “redeeming” the English queen from an unflatteringly
accurate portrayal of her face.
Among some of the late and posthumous descriptions are the
following accounts, in chronological order. Francesco Gradenigo
remarks that Elizabeth is “ruddy in complexion” (1596).19 André
Hurault de Maisse records that the queen’s face “is and appears to
be very aged. It is long and thin, and her teeth are very yellow and
unequal, compared with what people say they were formerly, so
they say, and on the left side less than on the right. Many of them
are missing so that one cannot understand her easily when she
speaks quickly” (1597).20 Paul Hentzner’s description is probably
one of the most severe: “her Face oblong, fair, but wrinkled; her
Eyes small, yet black and pleasant; her Nose a little hooked; her
Lips narrow, and her Teeth black . . . she wore false Hair, and that
red” (1598).21 John Hayward (d. 1627) observes that “her forehead
[was] large and fair, a seeming seat for princely grace; her eyes
lively and sweet, but short sighted, her nose somewhat rising
in the midst; the whole compass of her countenance somewhat
long, but yet of admirable beauty, not so much in that which is
termed the flower of youth, as in a most delightful composition
of majesty and modesty in equal mixture.” 22 Robert Naunton’s (d.
1635) portrayal is very compact: “of hair and complexion fair, and
therewithal well favored, but high-nosed.” 23 The last two descrip-
tions are by Englishmen and, notably, are posthumous, casting a
nostalgic look at the late queen. Indeed, almost all detailed testi-
monies depicting Elizabeth in her lifetime are penned by foreign-
ers (travelers and ambassadors). In other words, they are written
by people who were detached from the in-house games and polit-
ics, but instead were either sightseeing at their leisure or involved
in larger political games that did not have the English Queen as
the main center of power. The lack of similar extended portray-
als from the English may be explained by their preoccupation,
whether willingly or not, with the cult of Elizabeth as the Queen
of Love and Beauty. This fiction was easily accommodated by
verse but would call for an outright lie in a memoir, letter, or a
diary entry.
It is thus hardly surprising that most descriptions of Elizabeth
by her own subjects are either neutral or laudatory, whereas for-
eigners often report their observations in a seemingly objective,
unmitigated manner. The surprise is that, upon a close examin-
ation, the rhetoric of both foreign and domestic depictions of the
queen turns out to be swayed by similar discursive energies. They
spring from what Hannah Betts describes as Elizabeth’s “ambigu-
ous rhetorical status” caused by the “disparity in prestige between
her ‘two bodies’: the first a public symbol of nationhood, the second
merely a female body divested with an unusual degree of power.” 24
Moreover, in the last decade of Elizabeth’s reign, her natural body
causes even more anxiety because its visible decay challenges the
conception of the incorruptible body politic and raises issues of
succession. Apprehension and unease that result from this chal-
lenge are intensified by the courtly fiction of Elizabeth’s perpet-
ual beauty and youthfulness. Those facing her bodily inadequacies
find themselves suspended between the glaring truth and neces-
sary fiction, as well as between the acknowledgment of the nat-
ural decline and fear to admit that the monarch’s body natural is
actually failing. The Earl of Essex, for instance, once articulated
the resulting frustration in his private comment that Elizabeth’s

“conditions were as crooked as her carcase.” 25
The recorders of Elizabeth’s appearance do not always dare to
be so direct, and yet the signs of the queen’s physical shortcom-
ings appear in their writing. Her face in particular becomes a site
of the aforementioned mixed impulses. One rhetorical similarity
that stems from the conflicting pressures around the aging queen’s
body is the observers’ oscillation between the wish to skirt the
issue of Elizabeth’s facial imperfection and the opposing desire
to make this imperfection known. This tension is especially evi-
dent when Hayward’s and Hentzner’s descriptions are compared.
If, on one hand, her countenance is “somewhat long,” it is “yet of
admirable beauty”; on the other, “her Face oblong, fair, but wrin-
kled” (italics mine). The very rhetorical pattern of these descrip-
tions indicates the speaker’s delicate position: he either covers the
shortcomings of the queen’s facial structure with a greater merit
(these imperfections matter little; she is still breath-taking), or
pulls the fair appearance off to expose the signs of aging (her skin
may be of the right color, but it is all wrinkled). These qualifica-
tions are related to those we see in Erasmus’ struggle to make
language yield an accurate description of More (“glowing rather
than pale, and far from ruddy except for a faint rosiness shining
through everywhere” [magis ad candorem vergit, quàm ad pallorem,
quanquam à rubore procul abest, nisi quod tenuis admodum rubor ubiq]),
and yet, in Elizabeth’s case, rather than achieving precision, they
trace the clash of diplomacy with reality.
Interestingly, both Hayward and Hentzner reverse their own
formulas when they describe the queen’s eyes. Hayward mixes
flattery and criticism in portraying them as “lively and sweet, but
short sighted”; Hentzner points out that “her eyes [are] small, yet
black and pleasant”; this reversal seems to strengthen the cred-
ibility of these reports and also suggests that Elizabeth’s eyes are
a focal point of her face, perhaps in a way that, in one sense, con-
tradicts her public persona and reinforces it in another. If their
“sweet[ness]” contributes to the queen’s position as an eroticized
object, the figurative potential of “short sighted[ness]” under-
mines Elizabeth’s political competence: a short-sighted ruler is
a dangerous image to entertain. Elizabeth inherited her myopia
from her father; so did her sister Mary whose near-sightedness
was sometimes mistaken for an intensity of the gaze. As Hentzner
draws attention to her eyes “yet” being “black,” in another subtle
twist from a defect to an advantage, he acknowledges that, framed

by false hair, wrinkles, and black teeth, Elizabeth’s eyes remain
untouched by the discoloration and ugliness of aging. Hentzner’s
description is the only extant instance of Elizabeth’s eyes described
as black. As will be discussed in chapter 5, the color of her eyes in
portraiture is highly inconsistent, and both this variety of color
and avoiding the depiction of the queen’s eyes in black have curi-
ous physiognomic implications. Moreover, black is the color of
Anne Boleyn’s eyes, as well as those of Petrarch’s Laura, and con-
sequently any emphasis on Elizabeth’s black eyes is fraught with
both advantageous and disadvantageous associations as well as
historical and poetical antecedents.26
An Italian humanist Galeotto Marzio evokes a view prominent
in the period when he states that “[t]he eyes are the windows of the
soul: almost everyone knows what their colour, what their restless-
ness, what their sharpness indicates.” 27 This view imagines the eyes
as portals from the physical to the spiritual, from the externality
to interiority. The eyes are always in a privileged, most noticeable
position on a human face, but the way in which Elizabeth’s obser-
vers single them out through their rhetoric signals that her eyes are
perceived as a site of contest between her various personae, and also
a site of resistance: it is as if the language itself stumbles at their
description that refuses to fit into the surrounding rhetorical pat-
tern. In the 1590s, Elizabeth’s face may have especially warranted
this phenomenon because the skin was probably painted (perhaps
that is why we get contradictory descriptions of her complexion as
“fair” or “ruddy”), leaving the eyes to be the only part of her face
that was not covered up and thus remained strikingly different
from the rest of her appearance.
This brief step back in both descriptions, however, does not
influence the main course of each. The Englishman is determined
to recreate the “mask of beauty” that urges both contemporary
audiences and posterity to first imagine her as beautiful and
then to remember her as such; the foreigner cares, and probably
knows, little about the fiction of eternal youthfulness surround-
ing the queen and is determined to speak the truth. As a rule,
the English tend to use a softer language in their portrayal of the
queen: “her nose somewhat rising in the midst” rather than, as a
foreigner puts it, “a little hooked.” In Hayward’s case, rhetorical
choices are especially important. Having been in serious trouble
when his History of Henry IV alarmed Elizabeth with its potential
seditiousness, Hayward had learned his lesson about the risks of

poor phrasing.28
Whatever are the main paths of describing in Elizabeth’s many
verbal portraits, the rhetoric of these descriptions points to the
essential imperfection in her face. As a genre, the contemporary
reports are entirely different from the flattering verses and paint-
ings, particularly from the last decade of her reign. Nevertheless,
even the harshest observers, such as Monsieur de Maisse, miti-
gate the inadequacy of the queen’s features: either, as we have
seen, through qualifying turns in describing her face, or nostalgic
recapturing of her beauty (or at least grandeur) by counterbalan-
cing the shortcomings of her face with the virtues of her body and
mind.
The Venetian Ambassador Giovanni Michiel offers an early
instance of such recovery: “although her face is comely rather than
handsome, but she is tall and well formed, with good skin, though
swarthy; she has fine eyes and above all a beautiful hand of which
she makes a great display, and her intellect and understanding are
wonderful.” 29 Along the same lines, Gradenigo sees Elizabeth
as “short, and ruddy in complexion; very strongly built.” 30 Even
de Maisse, who comments on the poor condition of her teeth,
remarks later in his journal, “As for her natural form and propor-
tion, she is very beautiful,” and goes on to comment on her tall
stature.31 He is fascinated with her long hands and marvels “how
lively she is in body and mind and nimble in everything she does.” 32
No matter how unenthusiastic is the beginning of a description,
the end is invariably stamped with admiration. The air of royal
dignity that Elizabeth projected so successfully impressed even
those observers who remained aware of her facial (and political)
imperfections.
The ultimate approval of the queen’s person does not neces-
sarily coincide with the writer’s opinion of her political persona.
The two are at odds in the testimonies of ambassadors, this most
biased group of observers. Unlike Elizabeth’s subjects or travel-
ing foreigners, they view Elizabeth less on their own behalf than
on the behalf of their prince. De Maisse, for instance, frequently
criticizes Elizabeth’s political choices. Foreign travelers, on the
other hand, show little interest in Elizabeth’s political habits and
instead revel in the exotic splendor of the English court. Despite
their potential impartiality, however, the resulting testimonies are
sometimes inaccurate, either because some foreigners apparently
have found it amusing to play along with the cult of the Queen of
Love and Beauty, or because they failed to see Elizabeth closely
enough to discern the details of her physiognomy. The Duke of
Wirtemberg, for instance, testified that, in 1592, “she need not
indeed—to judge both from her person and appearance—yield
much to a young girl of 16.” 33 The queen was a year shy of sixty
at the time. If one is to believe Thomas Platter, Elizabeth was,
even seven years later, still “very youthful in appearance, seem-
ing no more than twenty years of age.” 34 Such striking impres-
sion of Elizabeth’s youthfulness may be a consequence of viewing
the queen from a considerable distance. Platter’s testimony is
especially suspect because his narrative largely repeats that of
Wirtemberg.35
It is, therefore, not only the writers’ political agendas or pos-
sible playfulness, but also the irregularity of subjective impres-
sions that make searching these testimonies for reliable facts
about Elizabeth’s looks a precarious matter. Even in the sampling
of descriptions above, there are some serious factual discrepan-
cies. Is the queen’s skin smooth or wrinkled; swarthy, ruddy, or
fair? Is she tall or short? If Elizabeth’s complexion could have
changed with age, surely her height could not fluctuate between
being tall and short? Most contemporaries agree that Elizabeth
was tall; although, according to Melville, she herself once claimed
to be “neither too high nor too low.” 36 Some of these consistencies
may point toward the truth of what Elizabeth actually looked like,
but I suggest that the scrutiny of her verbal portraits should be
directed toward another aim: not a reconstruction of the queen’s
body natural, but an awareness of the rhetorical methods used in
dealing with the imperfection of her aging face and body that were
decaying in accordance with natural laws even as they continued
to be invested with the awe-inspiring power of a sovereign.37
It is, after all, this power that urges and enables the ultim-
ate redeeming of Elizabeth’s physical shortcomings. Virtually
all descriptions converge on one inevitable point: whatever one
can say about the details of Elizabeth’s face and body, everyone
reports her, to rephrase Lear, every inch a queen. She is “stately,”
“majestic,” “dignified, serious, and royal,” 38 has “a dignified and
regal bearing,” 39 and is “of stately and majestic comportment.” 40
A great deal of this majesty emanates from her face. Bacon praises
Elizabeth’s “countenance in the highest degree majestic and yet
sweet.” 41 Hentzner dramatizes an almost Medusa-like effect
of Elizabeth’s features on everyone around her: “Wherever she

turned her Face, as she was going along, everybody fell down on
their knees.” 42 If the scrutiny of the queen’s face yields results
often disappointing, the impulse to compensate for this imperfec-
tion culminates in admiration of her regal bearing. It is her majes-
tic demeanor that redeems the plainness or even unattractiveness
of her face and creates a queenly countenance, one independent of
the vicissitudes of age. With a subtle turn of a phrase, her ordinary
features are transformed into majesty. Once Elizabeth is granted
her “stately and majestic comportment,” the magnificence of her
body politic veils and redeems the imperfections of her body
natural.
The process of this consistent redeeming of the queen’s imper-
fect features, however, is interesting not only in its pervasiveness
among both foreign and domestic descriptions of the queen, but
even more in its employment of reverse psychology that Elizabeth
herself habitually used in her promptings for compliments. In
this process, both the verbal portrait and the actual sight of her
wrinkled face and bosom, hooked nose, and yellow teeth cease
to be dangerous to her public identity. Instead, her appearance is
absorbed by the system of the collective fashioning of the aging
queen. Thus, Elizabeth seems to be paving the way for her own
descriptions with her regal comportment and clever conversation,
helping her observers to reconcile the discrepancy between her
two bodies. As I will discuss in the next two chapters, a similar
process of redeeming and neutralizing of her aging appearance
takes place in literature and portraiture representing the queen.
Despite their apparent unreliability, descriptions of Elizabeth
by her contemporaries constitute important documentary evi-
dence of how she appeared in life. However, as we have seen,
these accounts are far from objective attestation of Elizabeth’s
looks; instead, they register the mixed signals whirling around
the queen’s physical and metaphorical person, and thus should
be read with an eye for politically charged signs that transpire in
their rhetoric. In the end, it is the edge and proportion of positive
and negative remarks that allow estimating each writer’s political
position. Meanwhile, the rhetorical maneuvering evident in these
descriptions suggests that the observers, regardless of their polit-
ical differences, are caught in the same discursive predicaments.
As the paucity of Elizabeth’s domestic descriptions may teach us,
some things are better left untold.
“When she smiled, it was a pure sunshine” 43: The

Expressive Life of Elizabeth’s Face
Qui nescit dissimulare, nescit regnare.
Elizabeth’s visage was looked to not only for the shape and color
of its particular features (a highly unstable method that engaged
either personal taste or possibly even the pseudo-scientific pos-
tulates such as those offered by physiognomic treatises) but also
for the information that required a highly intuitive and yet cul-
turally determined reading: its expression. The dynamic life of
Elizabeth’s face is what escapes us in most of her state portraits.
Her commanding expression forever pins the viewer down in a
motionless silence. Looking at these portraits, we may sympa-
thize with one of Mary I’s ladies-in-waiting, Jane Dormer, who
noted that, even at thirteen, Elizabeth’s “proud and disdainful”
expression “much blemished the handsomeness and beauty of her
person.” 44 Her contemporaries, however, frequently commented
on their queen’s “gracious and gentle” demeanor45 and her smiles
that warmed the hearts of the onlookers. Sadness, joy, anger:
these and many other emotions were not only detected in her vis-
age, but noted in various accounts of personal encounters with the
monarch. On the basic human level, Elizabeth’s facial expressions
afforded her interlocutors and onlookers an opportunity to read
her current state of mind, a possibility that to us may seem more
reliable than physiognomic or aesthetic probing of her features
and complexion for hidden meanings. Yet, Elizabeth was hardly
“so simple” (one of her favorite phrases in her letters and speeches)
as to let her face function as an immediate index of her mind.46
The remainder of this chapter deals with the queen’s face as a
living entity whose motions and expressions transmit a wide var-
iety of signals. Following the example of Erasmus in his descrip-
tion of More, my method blurs the distinction between disposition
and interiority; I will additionally conflate the categories of “feel-
ing” (the early modern term for emotion) and mind, thereby con-
structing interiority as inclusive of both thoughts and emotions.47
As discussed in the introduction, a face has two prominent states,
stasis and motion, and it is in the latter state that a face is to some
degree trainable, susceptible to its owner’s control and fashioning.
One cannot change the shape of one’s lips, but one can choose to
grant or withhold a smile. Then again, one may choose to let the
smile play on one’s face not because it is strategic, but because it
came from genuine joy within. Yet, allowing a genuine smile to

remain can be a strategic decision itself. How could then a facial
expression be trusted for a glimpse of the hidden emotions, inner-
most thoughts and intentions?
In his book Pictures of the Body, James Elkins succinctly sum-
marizes the dissimilar ways the above issue was approached in the
Middle Ages and Renaissance. In the earlier period, the doctrine
of the occulta cordis postulates that the heart is obscured from view;
facial expressions are perceived as a sign of the symbolic connec-
tion of body and soul. The Renaissance, by contrast, brings about
the awareness that homo interior and homo exterior are essentially
separate from each other. 48 As Berger demonstrates, the ancient
credo of physiognomy, “the face is the index of the mind,” survives
well into the early modern period despite “a historical record in
which . . . the highly evolved skills of homo hypocriticus have been
documented from the beginning.” 49 Berger observes that, in early
modern Europe, this old formula is finally challenged50 by what he
calls “the credo of physiognomic skepticism” 51 that revises the old
assumption as follows, “the face is the index of the mind’s ability to
make the face (appear to be) the index of the mind.”52 The turning
point, according to Berger, is registered in De civilitate morum puer-
lium (1530), Erasmus’ treatise that provides schoolboys with some
useful advice on manners. It is here that the relationship between
the referent (mind) and sign (face) begins to be seen as a two-way
exchange: the face no longer has to be a passive reflection of one’s
thoughts and emotions, but, with due skill, may actually be com-
posed in a particular way that will, in turn, reconfigure one’s inner
disposition. Although Erasmus’ supposition is mostly ethical (one’s
inner character may actually be shaped by the external signs that
one is able to manipulate), the prescriptive character of his work
points to the new understanding that the face not just is but should
be a reflection of the mind (and sometimes the mind may actually
change to accommodate the facial expression). The wistfulness
of this should be dislodges the dated reliability of the mind-face
relationship. The predicament, however, lies in the ambivalence
of this correspondence: however inconsistent, the connection still
continues to be possible; the new credo does not assure us that “the
outward man always conceal[s] or misrepresent[s] the inner; the
problem is that sometimes it doesn’t and sometimes it does.” 53
Of course, the belief that the soul sometimes manifests
itself in the face has been quite common at the time: William
Shakespeare’s Hamlet, for example, resolves to “rivet” his eyes to

King Claudius’ face in order to perceive his uncle’s reaction to the
performance of The Mousetrap.54 Richard III’s outward deform-
ity reflects and betrays his warped soul. Nevertheless, distrust of
appearances permeates Elizabethan culture. Hamlet refers, among
other outward signs of grief, to the “dejected haviour of the vis-
age,” when he dismisses these signs as insufficient manifestations
of his inwardness: “But I have that within which passeth show.” 55
This failing link becomes outright sinister when facial activity is
purposefully forged to convey a disposition opposite to what lies
within; one, like Claudius, “may smile and smile and be a villain.” 56
In the mid-seventeenth century, a commonplace book records the
same sentiment with proverbial directness: “some there are can
smile without friendship and weep without charity.” 57
The culture of Elizabeth’s court in particular invited the use
of strategic deceit that, in turn, necessitated awareness of wide-
spread dissimulation. In The Arte of English Poesie, for instance,
George Puttenham expounds the principles of courtly dissem-
blance and advocates their use for would-be poets.58 An experi-
enced courtier, Francis Bacon records practical advice for reading
the faces of one’s interlocutors and manipulating the conversation
by carefully controlling one’s own facial expressions.59 Addressing
the challenges of social interactions, Bacon counsels:
It is a point of cunning to wait upon him with whom you speak,

with your eye, as the Jesuits give it in precept; for there be many
wise men that have secret hearts and transparent countenances.
Yet this would be done with a demure abasing of your eye some-
times, as the Jesuits also do use.60
In his discussion of dissimulation, Bacon argues that a “habit

of secrecy is both politic and moral.” He adds, “And in this part
it is good that a man’s face give his tongue leave to speak. For
the discovery of a man’s self by the tracts of his countenance is
a great weakness and betraying, by how much it is many times
more marked and believed than a man’s words.” 61 It is especially
important that Bacon raises the issue of facial dissimulation in
both essays explicitly concerned with the tactics of veiling and
concealment. His prescriptions and observations make it clear
that the face is considered a tool suitable for conscious rhetorical
maneuvering in social and political situations. Furthermore, it is
not simply an instrument that one may choose to use or let it rest
in the toolbox of communicative opportunities. A face is always
in use, and it is up to its owner to remember to use it responsibly.
For Bacon, a face is not to be left alone to transmit signals invol-
untarily; to do so is a “great weakness and betraying.” And because
people often trust a person’s face more than words, one must strive
to bring one’s facial expression to accord with one’s speech, so as
not to undermine the meaning of his or her verbal signification. A
face, therefore, must be subordinate to language. Its own system
of signification must be either neutralized so as not to betray one’s
mind, or rearranged so as to project the emotional content proper
to one’s utterances.
Contemporary accounts confirm that Elizabeth was an expert
in using her face to gain advantage in social situations. Although
at times she professed her integrity while accusing others of
dissimulation,62 her credo was that of “physiognomic skepticism”
not only in relation to the others, but also, albeit covertly, in her
own facial dynamics.
At age fifteen, she disbelieved that, in the portrait she was send-
ing to her brother, her “inward good mind toward [Edward VI]
might as well be declared as the outward face and countenance
shall be seen.” Her famous remark in the same letter seemingly
reiterates this credo: “For the face, I grant, I might well blush to
offer, but the mind I shall never be ashamed to present.” 63 While
reasserting the face-mind duality, however, the young Elizabeth
seeks to reverse the outward and the inward, the visible face and
the invisible mind. She declares her readiness to lay her mind open
to view and indicates her embarrassment and even reluctance to
“offer” her countenance for Edward’s perusal. Because Elizabeth
chooses a verb so tightly associated with the face, blush, to describe
her attitude to displaying her visage, it is impossible to pinpoint
the precise nature of her position. According to the OED, the
figurative meaning of the verb blush is “to be ashamed,” but its
colorful evocation of facial blushing, especially in Elizabeth’s
phrasing where it appears in proximity to the very word face, is
almost inseparable from the primary meaning “to become red
in the face, (usually) from shame or modesty.” Although the syn-
tactic parallel balances “blushing” with “being ashamed,” there
remains a component of blushing as a sign of modesty and shame-
fastness. Elizabeth, therefore, may be reluctant to show her face
out of modesty while thinking her face to be good-looking, or out
of shame because she is aware of its imperfections. The reference

to blushing, this praised sign of maidenly honor, much discussed
in early modern texts, serves to bring color to the girl’s face, mak-
ing her visage momentarily alive and visible even as it asserts
Elizabeth’s shamefastness and desire to withhold her counten-
ance from perusal.
Elizabeth’s reference to her face, therefore, is a pithy epitome of
the complex and contradictory attitudes and meaning-making for
which her face becomes a focal point: self-display and self-with-
drawal, compliance with (in communicating her modesty) and
subversion of gender-driven expectations (by using blush figura-
tively), and the necessity to account for the fragility of treacherous
mind-face relationship. In the elegant writing by the adolescent
Elizabeth, the game promising to conceal while actually reveal-
ing and vice versa, so characteristic of Elizabeth the monarch, has
already begun.
As queen, she lived under the scrutinizing gaze of her subjects
and, knowing that her “life [was] in the open,” 64 chose to embrace
this circumstance as a part of her royal personality. The politics
of representation of Elizabeth’s “inner man” through the exter-
nal signification became a vital channel in the support system
that sustained her growing success as a monarch. Her supposed
inwardness that was signified in this process, however, was again
a construction engineered to play into the same support system:
a construction that sometimes was and sometimes was not the
truth.
Elizabeth’s realization of the outright necessity to compose her-
self found a unique outlet in her poem “On Monsieur’s Departure”
(c. 1582) that, among other issues, ponders the separation of her
public and private selves or, more precisely, the intentional rup-
ture between the external signifiers and the inward signified.
I grieve and dare not show my discontent;

I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate;
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant;
I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate.
I am and not; I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.65
Likely influenced by the description of the contradictory feelings

in Gaius Vaelrius Catullus’ “Carmen 85” (“I hate and I love . . .”), the
speaker in Elizabeth’s poem separates the inwardly experienced

emotion and outwardly performed attitude. This poem reads as a
confession of Elizabeth’s hidden discomposure and a disclosure of
the speaker’s deliberate dissimulation that is, in turn, presented
as forced rather than voluntary (“dare not show,” “forced to seem,”
“dare not say”). The reverse side of courtly necessity of mak-
ing up appearances was the attitude of suspicion, and Elizabeth
repeatedly found herself on either side of distrust: suspecting the
others or being suspected by them. The double-edged suspicion
figures prominently in two of Elizabeth’s early poems written in
Woodstock and Windsor: “Much suspected by me . . .” and “No
crooked leg.” 66 In these texts as well as in their contexts, suspi-
cion underlines the anxiety of interpretation of appearances and
protects the essences from discovery.67 The dissimulation attested
to in “On Monsieur’s Departure” is presented as an imposition
from without rather than the speaker’s personal choice, and the
ultimate aim of her pretense appears to be clear: she must pro-
tect her reputation from suspicion. However, when the speaker
confesses (presumably, to Monsieur) that she “shows” passions
opposite to the ones felt and “seems” to be hateful while hiding
her love, she may be rewriting the situation to protect herself
from being accused by her beloved: in the culture permeated by
physiognomic skepticism, how would one know for sure whether
the queen is in love and hiding it by means of outward show of
hatred, or indeed cannot wait to be rid of her tiresome suitor? The
history of Elizabeth’s bewildering relationship with Alençon (the
Monsieur) certainly has room for both explanations.
This poem’s appeal, however, lies in the apparent intimacy
of its contents. In fact, it constitutes a private counterpart to
Elizabeth’s public declaration that princes “are set on stages.” As
she put herself on display, the queen was aware of being watched at
all times by inquisitive eyes that were often suspicious. Similarly
to the eyewitness descriptions of her features, the surviving testi-
monies about Elizabeth’s facial expression seem to be conditioned
by the political agenda of the witnesses, especially when the
reports are written by foreign ambassadors. Although Elizabeth’s
visitors looked closely at her facial expression, the issue of dis-
simulation was never far from their minds. Not surprisingly, the
distrustful viewers expected to be deceived by the queen and thus
were prepared to see any facial expression as suspect. We will
probably never know whether James Melville, the ambassador of
Mary Queen of Scots in the early 1560s, had real or only imagin-
ary friends who informed him of Elizabeth’s supposed insincer-
ity: it is not certain whether the reported event had taken place
or the yarn has been crafted by Melville to make a point about
the English queen’s duplicity. Yet he chose to record the following
story (and probably reported it to Mary Stuart), complete with the
behind-the-scenes details that exposed Elizabeth’s facial expres-
sions as grossly counterfeit.
According to Melville’s memoirs, he initially shared the news of
Prince James’ birth with William Cecil, bidding the latter to keep
it a secret: Melville preferred to deliver the report to the queen
personally. Impatient, Cecil, however, whispered the news to the
merrily dancing Elizabeth, whose “mirth was laid aside for that
night; all present marveling whence proceeded such a change; for
the Queen did sit down, putting her hand under her cheek, burst-
ing out to some of her ladies, that the Queen of Scots was mother
of a fair son, while she was but barren stock.” Next morning, on
his way to see Elizabeth in Greenwich, Melville
met by some friends who told . . . how sorrowful her Majesty was at
my news; but that she had been advised to show a glad and cheerful
countenance: which she did, in her best apparel, saying, that the
joyful news of the Queen her sister’s delivery of a fair son, which
I had sent her by secretary Cecil, had recovered her out of heavy
sickness which she had lyen under for fifteen days.68
This is the perspective of an ambassador who, after his previous

visit to the English court, reported to Mary Stuart that “there was
neither plain dealing, nor upright meaning; but great dissimula-
tion, emulation and fear.” 69 In this narrative and his other stor-
ies, Melville’s mindset is invariably tuned to distrust Elizabeth’s
words and actions; here, however, the ambassador places a specific
emphasis upon Elizabeth’s deceitfully “glad and cheerful counten-
ance.” Moreover, according to this narration, the devious English
queen not only faked her joy but also needed advice to do so.
Likewise, the French Ambassador la Mothe Fenelon reported
that, upon being informed of the death of Charles IX, Elizabeth
“composed her face very strongly to grief and dolor” and immedi-
ately hinted that another marriage proposal from Henri III, the
new king, was not unexpected.70 Inferences in this group of tes-
timonies, unlike Melville’s narrative, rely on the assumption that
Elizabeth is fully in control of her face: she purposefully composes

it in certain ways. In consequence of political tension, “physio-
gnomic skepticism” becomes a favored approach to imagining the
English queen’s inwardness: her facial expression is not believed to
alter in accordance with her disposition, and thus the relationship
between face and state of mind/emotion is presumably severed.
Biased reports of this kind discount the value of Elizabeth’s
facial demeanor as a window to her heart, reducing observations
of her expressions to those of an insincere theatrical performance.
Even though these ambassadors are determined to remain uncon-
vinced by the queen’s facial rhetoric, their testimonies demon-
strate that she controls her countenance and can “compose” and
“show” it at her will. These accounts also suggest, however, that
Elizabeth’s facial performances are not completely naturalized,
but instead draw attention to their theatricality.
When she was an adolescent princess, she apparently was not
yet adroit in composing her face as a text she intended for others
to read. Sir Robert Tyrwhit, who repeatedly examined Elizabeth
on the charges of her conspiracy with Thomas Seymour, wrote
in exasperation: “I see by her face she is guilty, yet she will abide
more storms ere she will accuse Mrs. Ashley.” 71 A little later, in
1554, the Spanish Ambassador Simon Renard ventured to decipher
Elizabeth’s real emotions, also presuming with confidence that
her face was nothing but a mask: “She had her litter open to show
herself to the people, and her pale face kept a proud, haughty
expression in order to mask her vexation.” 72 Elizabeth’s haughti-
ness, however, was noted by many observers. It could have been
a part of her personality, but the fact that the queen chose not to
conceal it points to the use of her demeanor as a strategic dispos-
ition calculated to emphasize her royal status.73
Perhaps the best performance of indignation and sorrow that
Elizabeth put on was her famed reaction to the execution of Mary
Queen of Scots in 1587, and, even if Elizabeth was sincere, it is as
performance that her behavior on that occasion came to be remem-
bered in history. Elizabeth’s devoted biographer William Camden
described her dramatic response as follows: “her Countenance
altered, her Speech faultered and failed her; and through exces-
sive Sorrow she stood in a manner astonished; insomuch that she
gave herself over to passionate Grief, putting herself into mourn-
ing Habit, and shedding abundance of Tears.” 74 This scene of
the queen’s distress was apparently well known. Robert Carey,
relating Elizabeth’s indisposition shortly before death, compared

it to her grief over Mary Stuart’s beheading: “. . . in her discourse
she fetched not so few as forty or fifty great sighes. I was grieved
at the first to see her in this plight; for in all my lifetime before I
never knew her fetch a sigh, but when the Queene of Scottes was
beheaded. Then upon my knowledge she shedd many tears and
sighes, manifesting her innocence that she never gave consent to
the death of that Queene.” 75 Whether he witnessed the 1587 scene
himself or heard others’ renditions of it, Carey has absorbed both
the depth of Elizabeth’s reaction and the overtones of theatrical-
ity that subtly bring her sincerity to question: the signs of her grief
are said to “manifest[ . . . ] her innocence” instead of confirming
that her reasons for grieving were humane rather than legal or
political.
Elizabeth’s face was watched for the signs of her reaction both in
private and in public. Her first major public performance as queen
took place in the procession through London the day before her
coronation. While she was listening to the welcoming oration,
[h]ere was noted in the Queen’s Majesty’s countenance, during

the time that the child spoke, besides a perpetual attentiveness in
her face, a marvelous change in look, as the child’s words touched
either her person or the people’s tongues and hearts. So that she
with rejoicing visage did evidently declare that the words took no
less place in her mind than they were most heartily pronounced by
the child, as from all the hearts of her most hearty citizens.76
Although the “marvelous change in look” escapes words, it

appears that Elizabeth lit up and showed a “rejoicing visage.” The
occasion indeed was a happy one, and the young queen spared
no good cheer and benevolence as the city hailed her in ador-
ation. Admittedly, as Judith Richards points out, the account in
The Passage is a crafted record of the actual event, “devised as an
important preface of the new queen to all her subjects, not just the
people lining the streets of the City of London,” and, therefore,
Elizabeth’s reactions described in this record, whether accurately
or not, serve political purposes in perpetuating a royal persona
she wished to project.77
Even a single smile was noted, and its meaning was pondered
by the onlookers. “In Cheapside her Grace smiled, and being
thereof demanded the cause, answered for that she had heard
one say, ‘Remember old king Henry the Eighth.’ A natural child,
which at the very remembrance of her father’s name took so great

a joy, that all men may well think that as she rejoiced at his name
whom this realm doth hold of so worthy memory: so in her doings
she will resemble the same.” 78 From her first step on the road of
rulership, Elizabeth knew how to turn a fleeting smile into a last-
ing political statement. Her eager subjects appeared all too ready
to assist her.
Foreigners, on the other hand, were skeptical about the pro-
priety of Elizabeth’s expressiveness. Il Schifanoya,79 upon see-
ing Elizabeth on January 15, 1559, directly after her coronation,
remarked: “She returned very cheerfully with a most smiling
countenance for every one, giving them all a thousand greet-
ings, so that in my opinion she exceeded the bounds of gravity
and decorum.” 80 The same smile that gladdened the crowd ready
to greet the newly anointed queen caused resentment and even a
charge of impropriety from the outsider.
Elizabeth was generous with her smiles in public, and many
times witnesses rejoiced to see her “cheerful countenance.” 81 It
was indeed the most effective way to assure the people of her wel-
coming disposition, and her smiles and friendly gestures could be
seen at a greater distance than her voice could be heard. She held
up “her hands and merry countenance to such as stood far off, and
most tender and gentle language to those that stood nigh to her
grace.” 82 Elizabeth’s smile was, as John Harington put it, a “pure
sun-shine, that everyone did chuse to baske in, if they could,” 83
but these smiles were granted strategically, and frequently served
the queen’s purposes in ways known only to those close to her.
Christopher Hatton understood that she used her smiles as “so
sweet a bait, that no one could escape her network,” and John
Harington recalled that he had “seen her smile, soothe with great
semblance of good liking to all around, and cause every one to
open his most inward thought to her; when, on a sudden, she would
ponder in private on what had passed, write down all their opin-
ions, draw them out as occasion required, and sometime disprove
to their faces what had been delivered a month before.” 84 Hatton’s
and Harington’s remarks about the concealed significance of
Elizabeth’s smile are not reproving because they do not suggest a
hidden evil disposition. Instead, they testify to the subtlety of her
use of smiling to political ends, particularly for gathering infor-
mation: she fishes for people’s inward thoughts, using her smile to
create “great semblance of good liking” and put the others at ease.
Hatton’s metaphor of fish- or game-catching and Harington’s

remarks on Elizabeth’s act of soul-fishing communicate the
queen’s underlying purpose that extends beyond merely charm-
ing those who meet her in person, but leads instead to a potential
entrapment. Though “sweet,” her smile is a “bait.” These glimpses
in Elizabeth’s everyday behavior throw into relief Bacon’s famous
statement about the queen “not liking . . . to make windows into
men’s hearts and secret thoughts, except the abundance of them
did overflow into overt and express acts and affirmations.” 85
However vigilant the queen had been in strategic use of her
facial rhetoric, there have certainly been many occurrences of
permitted sincerity: the privileged few who spent a significant
amount of time in Elizabeth’s presence record instances of the
apparent agreement between her face and mind. Her behavior
on one important occasion was recorded in the private notes of
Harington who accompanied the Earl of Essex on the latter’s
unsanctioned return from Ireland in 1599. Essex disobeyed orders
to suppress rebellion in Ireland and came back to London, burst-
ing unexpected into Elizabeth’s bedchamber at Nonsuch Palace;
charges were brought against him in June 1600, the rift between
the Earl and the Queen leading to Essex’ ill-fated rebellion on
February 8, 1601. In the days following Essex’ return from Ireland,
Harington described the indignant and restless Elizabeth walking
about improperly attired, stamping her feet, keeping her sword
close by, and looking “with discomposure in her visage.” 86 “Every
message from the city does disturb her, and she frowns on all the
Ladies.” 87 Harington himself was sent away with a frown, and only
a few days later called back, rebuked, and pardoned.88 Similarly,
two months after Essex’s return from Ireland, Harington wrote
to his wife that he found his queen “in most pitiable state:” “She
lookede up with much choler and greife in her countenance, and
saide, ‘Oh, nowe it mindeth me that you was one who saw this
manne [Essex] elsewhere’:—and hereat, she droppede a teare, and
smote her bosome.” 89 For this courtier, it would seem, her face
was a fairly reliable indicator of her mood.
The most metaphoric and intimate description of the eloquence
of this countenance comes from Harington as well: “When she
smiled, it was pure sunshine, that everyone chuse to baske in, if
they could; but anon came a storm from a sudden gathering of
clouds, and the thunder fell in wondrous manner on all alike.” 90
Such statement suggests Elizabeth’s ability to communicate her
disposition in no uncertain terms. Harington’s weather metaphors

evoking his queen’s smiles and frowns and eventually her thun-
dering voice are reminiscent of the Ditchley portrait of Elizabeth
(figure 12). Posed atop the map of England, she towers over the
world, the sun shining behind her right shoulder, lightning raging
in the darkened sky over her left. Elizabeth’s face is fully lit and
placed off the center of the line dividing the light and darkness,
the sunshine and storm. Her face seems to belong almost entirely
to the sunny portion of the painting, and there is just a hint of a
smile in the left corner of her mouth. Yet, her raised brows and
inquisitive gaze communicate the readiness and power to com-
mand the storm just as surely as this face can bring the sun from
behind the clouds.
These glimpses of Elizabeth’s personality through the depic-
tions of her facial expressions are dramatically different from the
startling account of the queen’s condition in the last days of her
life. This account by a French ambassador, Count de Beaumont,
pictures a face void of consciousness, still but not restful: she
“appeared in a manner insensible . . . holding her finger almost con-
tinually in her mouth, with her eyes open and fix’d on the ground,
where she sat upon cushions without rising or resting herself, and
was greatly emaciated by her long watching and fasting.”91 This
staring countenance, in which the mind-face connection seems to
be completely severed, almost paradoxically transcends the need
for “physiognomic skepticism.”
* * *
Whether it is her physical self-display, frequent enigmatic

expression of her thoughts in her speeches and poems, or a wit-
ness’s account of her appearance and actions, both verbal and
physical modes of Elizabeth’s self-representation contain a ten-
sion between her tendency to veil her meanings through obfus-
cation and her policy of displaying herself. Concealment and
display are intertwined in virtually all of her moves; at times,
the concealment itself is deliberately exhibited while at others
it is only implicitly present in the apparently sincere show. For
this reason, the politics of veiling and masking in various rep-
resentations of Elizabeth as she appeared in person are always
infused with the possibility that the mask, at least partially, may
be truthful. Because of its high visibility and expressiveness, a
face consistently attracts the eye and invites interpretation. For

the same reasons, it becomes a site of potential dissimulation.
Tension and uncertainty in Elizabeth’s representations stem both
from the empirical plausibility of mind-face correspondence and
the credo of physiognomic skepticism that destabilizes this link
and yet puts its possibility to practical use.
Except for Elizabeth’s remark in the letter to her brother
Edward, the evidence examined in this chapter mediates
Elizabeth’s self-representation. She appears, in the testimonies of
those who encountered her in person, as a woman put willingly
on display. By offering her face to be viewed without mediation,
Elizabeth becomes paradoxically both vulnerable and empow-
ered. The onlookers are free to objectify her in their observations,
evaluating and judging her features; they are equally free to be
skeptical in interpretation of her smiles and frowns, even though
every written account is molded by its own constrictions and obli-
gations. Yet Elizabeth’s undeniable charisma is inseparable, in
the social context, from her skill of using the power of her face
to maneuver her way on both solemn and routine occasions: the
queen’s majesty shields her imperfect face from severe criticism or
ridicule; her expressions put nonverbal communication to precise
political ends. This skill is reflected in the testimonies that docu-
ment, if not exactly what Elizabeth looked like, at least the ways
her face impressed and affected those in her personal presence.
In other words, they show not how she was in reality, but how she
wished herself to appear.
In the personal descriptions discussed in this chapter docu-
menting Elizabeth’s face proves to be a task fraught with ambi-
guity. Erasmus turned his phrases and changed his emphases in
search for the precise words to describe More’s looks and per-
sonality traits so as not to misrepresent his friend’s character.
Similarly, those who described Elizabeth attempted to interpret
and verbalize her countenance and disposition. At the site where
language met the body in order to create a document of the queen’s
appearance, the rhetorical moves in these documents show the
writers’ awareness of the difficulty of this task. The next chap-
ter will examine descriptions and nondescriptions of Elizabeth in
literature, by poets and fiction writers fully aware of a potential
inadequacy of language and the dangers of a poor description of
a sovereign.
CHAPTER 4
“MIRRORS MORE THAN ONE”:

ELIZABETH’S LITERARY FACES
. . . All wisdome, beautie, maiestie and dread,

Wrought in the speaking pourtrait of thy face . . .
—George Chapman, Hymnvs in Cynthiam [8–9]1
She shall haue no defect, but hee shall disguise it with some terme of
sweetning. If her complexion bee blacke, hee shall say it is browne,
and that such was the greatest part of the beauties which antiquity
did admire. If she had red hayre, hee will allow of the iudgment of
the Italians and other Nations which loue them so, and that of the
most dainty and amorous Poets, who neuer brag of any hayre but of
this colour. If shee be too leane or too little, she will be so much the
more actiue and nimble; if too fat, it will be gracefull: the excesse
in height will passe for the stature of a Queen or Amazon; and in
that end hee will couer euery imperfection with the perfection that
is nearest vnto it.
—Nicolas Faret, The honest man: or, The art to please at
court 2
H
ow does an early modern subject describe the face
of a living queen? Classical rhetoric advises that, as
a part of the body, the face may be praised under
the rubric of the “gifts of the body”3 or omitted altogether, espe-
cially if the writer subscribes to Cicero’s belief that “the external
or personal gifts of fortune do not in themselves contain any true
ground for praise, which is held to be due to virtue alone.”4 Yet, in
attempting a description of one’s queen, it might not be entirely
politic to reduce her to abstractions. As Edmund Spenser famously
expounded in the apparatus of The Faerie Queene, Elizabeth was
both a “most royall Queene or Empresse” and a “most vertuous and
beautifull Lady.”5 The most effective eulogy for Elizabeth, there-

fore, would join praise to the beautiful woman and tribute to the
accomplished queen, thereby issuing a combined compliment to
the two bodies of a monarch.6 A poet had a wide variety of tropes
to complete the first task, but giving praise to the monarch with-
out losing sight of her femininity was a trickier business. One had
to find a symbol of political power that would also possess a cache
as a symbol of beauty, such as the lion or dragon, images tradition-
ally associated with the masculine power of the English throne.
For sixteenth-century writers, the Tudor rose proved to be ideal
for this purpose. In tropes drawn from heraldry, Elizabeth’s poets
found an effective means of conveying both her personal and royal
essences through a singular fusion of description and symbolism,
in Elizabeth’s face, of her body politic and her body natural. The
instances of this heraldic metaphor, however, are few. In address-
ing the subject of Elizabeth’s appearance, however, a writer was less
likely to offer a detailed description of her features in a blazon than
take an elaborate recourse to the topos of poetic indescribability.
Radical polarity of these solutions accentuates the seriousness of
the challenge and hints at its inherent problems. While refusal to
describe Elizabeth’s face suggests, among other things, the pre-
eminence of her body politic, a full blazon, despite its rhetorical
potency, also ends up avoiding the portrayal of her body natural.7
“No pen can paint thy commendation due” :8 The

Limits of Representation
Epideictic recourse to the topos of poetic indescribability is a
popular remedy in early modern literature of praise. In William
Shakespeare’s Othello, Cassio’s nondescription of Desdemona is an
elegant example that belittles the efforts of “blazoning pens” and
rings the familiar bell of competition between nature and art.
. . . a maid
That paragons description and wild fame,
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
And in th’essential vesture of creation
Does tire the engineer.9
Likewise, in The Twelfth Night, Olivia refuses to hear Orsino’s

poetical praises of her beauty because she suspects such praise “is
Elizabeth’s Literary Faces 93
the more like to be feigned”10 (and the epigraph to this chapter

from Nicolas Faret confirms her suspicions); Olivia then takes
her skepticism even further by mocking what Cassio terms the
“quirks of blazoning pens” in a mundane inventory of her beauty.
In this sense, refusal to portray a woman is located at the oppos-
ite end of the representational spectrum from composition of an
elaborately descriptive “five-fold blazon.”11 Pleading indescrib-
ability, however, does not automatically relieve a writer of the set
of concerns that have necessitated such a plea.
Compounding this difficulty for writers in the case of
Elizabeth, early modern society inherited the late medieval view of
an anointed monarch as God’s representative on earth, and some
degree of attribution of divine qualities to a sovereign permeated
the contemporary discourse of rulership. In particular, there lay
an extension of two theological precepts: the Pauline concept that
God’s face cannot be seen by the living12 and the Protestant icono-
clastic belief that the face and body of God is a visual taboo.
Professions of inadequacy are also transparent instances of
sprezzatura: a writer’s conventional self-dismissal and apology for
his lack of skill, a rhetorical strategy reaching beyond Castiglione’s
rules of courtly conduct and grounded in the classic rhetoric of
praise. Rather than diminish the writer’s reputation, such dis-
avowal aims to augment suggestively the subject’s excellence.13
However, while the impulse to avoid describing Elizabeth’s face
altogether is evident in many writers of the period, the causes of
such impulse are not limited to a male writer’s desire to create a
compliment at the expense of his medium, but are often rooted in
a genuine concern about the inadequacy of the author’s personal
verbal skill and an equally authentic fear of Elizabeth’s reaction if
his attempted description should fail to please.
The scruples of John Lyly, who left the most eloquent statement
on his difficulty in representing his queen in words, are especially
pertinent to the examination of this issue, not least because of the
convenience afforded by Lyly’s other musings (even if tongue-in-
cheek) on the matter of faithful representation, including that of
monarchs. From the very first line of his dedication to Sir William
West of his Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit (1578), Lyly flaunts his art-
istic integrity in a lecture on “perfect” portrayal:
Parrhasius drawing the coũterfait of Helen (right honourable)

made the attire of hir head loose, who being demanded why he
did so, he aunswered, she was loose. Vulcan was painted curiously,
yet with a polt foote. Læda cũningly, yet with hir blacke haire.
Alexander having a scar in his cheeke, held his finger upon it, that
Appelles might not paint it, Appelles painted him with his finger
cleaving to his face, why quod Alexander, I laid my finger on my
scarre bicause I would not have thee see it, (yea sayd Appelles) and
I drew it there bicause none els should perceive it, for if thy finger
had ben away, either thy scarre would have been seene, or my art
misliked: whereby I gather, that in all perfect workes, as well the fault
as the face is to be showen. . . . in every counterfaite as well the blemish as
the beautie is coloured . . . 14
Lyly’s commentators have noted that the stories of Parrhasius

and, even more significantly, Appelles, are Lyly’s own invention,
among a host of other pseudofactual exempla concocted by the
author in support of his numerous witty pronouncements. For
Arthur Kinney, this untruth entails an “implied duplicity” in
Lyly’s narrative, especially because it is from this made-up story
that the author derives the artistic principle of “perfect works”:
“as well the fault as the face is to be shown.” As Kinney points
out, Lyly’s choice “for good art is neither strategic nor even vol-
untary but ‘the necessity of the history.’ ”15 Certain circularity is
then built in Lyly’s argument. His choice to support an argument
for perfect representation with fake or fictional examples implies
that the mimetic element may be irrelevant, that the relationship
between subject and representation is less important than the
resulting image itself. Lyly’s demand for accuracy in artistic rep-
resentation, however, is no less important than the fraudulence of
his argumentation. For it is one thing to assume the pose of brutal
honesty in imitation of the faithful artists who depicted famous
rulers, philosophers, and beauties of the past—and quite another
to exercise such frankness in respect of the flaws of a living prince
who holds an all too real power over the author’s fortunes.
There is no direct mention of Elizabeth so far. Instead, Lyly
discourses on the scar on Alexander’s cheek and Cyrus’s hooked
nose that, in contrast to his high forehead, is apparently an
undesirable feature, even in a man. This image nevertheless has
been disseminated by his loving people: “The Persians, who above
all their kings most honoured Cyrus, caused him to be engravē
aswel with his hoked nose, as his high forehead.”16 Scars, hooked
nose, high forehead: all these are subtle references to Elizabeth’s
individual face. The nature of these references is not necessarily
positive, but neither is it unquestionably disapproving. Lyly may

have seen the traces of smallpox on Elizabeth’s cheeks, or he may
be paying a compliment to the queen’s miraculously unmarred
complexion. Likewise, the admiring nod to Elizabeth’s high
forehead carefully accentuated by a receding hairline, in the
context of an implicit comparison to another “most honoured”
king Cyrus, may be made in order to counterbalance her hooked
nose, or it may be given as an additional praise to the ruler whose
nose is so imperceptibly hooked that it does not merit such harsh
description.
Whether, at the time Lyly composed this dedication in 1578,
he anticipated the ultimate task of describing his own queen in
a “counterfaite [where] as well the blemish as the beautie is col-
oured,” or whether the thought did not occur to him until the
success of Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit gave Lyly an incentive
to write a sequel, Euphues and his England (1580), he undoubtedly
left here the principles to be reckoned with in such a precarious
endeavor. However, with only two years separating Lyly’s two
books, chances are that he did have an inkling that he would soon
dare to step into Apelles’ shoes and immortalize his Alexander;
except when the time came, Lyly shifted gears and opted rather to
play a Zeuxis to his Venus:
Touching the beautie of this Prince, hir countenaunce, hir per-

sonage, hir maiestie, I can-not thinke that it may be sufficiently
commended, when it can-not be too much meruailed at: So that I
am constrayned to saye as Praxitiles did when he beganne to paint
Venus and hir sonne, who doubted, whether the worlde coulde
affoorde coulours good enough for two such fayre faces, and I
whether our tongue canne yielde woordes to blase that beautie,
the perfection where-of none canne imagine, which seeing it is so,
I must do like those that want a cleere sight, who being not able
to discerne the Sunne in the Skye, are inforced to beholde it in
the water, Zeuxis having before him fiftie fayre virgins of Sparta
where-by to drawe one amiable Venus, sayde, that fiftie more fay-
rer then those could not minister sufficient beautie to shewe the
godesse of beautie, therefore being in dispayre either by Arte to
shadowe hir, or by immagination to comprehende hir, he drewe
in a table a fayre Temple, the gates open, and Venus going in, so as
nothing coulde be perceiued but hir backe, wherein he used such
cunning, that Appelles himselfe seeing this worke, wished that
Venus woulde turne hir face, saying, that if it were in all partes
agreeable to the backe, hee would become apprentice to Zeuxis,
and slaue to Venus. In the like manner fareth it with mee, for hau-
ing all the Ladies in Italye more then fiftie hundred, whereby to
coulour Elizabeth, I must saye with Zeuxis, that as many more will
not suffice, and therefore in as great an agonie paint hir court with
hir backe towards you, for that I cannot by art portray hir beautie,
wherein though I want the skill to doe it as Zeuxis did, yet vewing
it narowly and comparing it wisely, you al[l] will say that if hir face
be aunswerable to hir backe, you will like my handi-crafte, and
become hir handmaides. In the meane season I leaue you gasing,
untill she turne hir face, imagining hir to bee such a one as nature
framed, to that ende that no arte should imitate, wherein shee
hath proved hir selfe to bee exquisite, and Painters to bee Apes.17
What has become of the rule of good art advocated so cunningly

in the opening lines of Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit? Where is the
“blemish” colored to counterbalance the “beauty?” Where is the
“fault” shown that was promised to us as well as the “face”? And,
for that matter, where is the face? Does Lyly not only go against
his own tenet, but simultaneously modify and exploit the mean-
ing of his earlier words? If, in 1578, he means “face” as an antonym
to “fault,” does he now, in reckoning with the “face” in its primary
sense, omit it in hopes to justify (or conceal?) his reluctance to
show the “fault”? A simple reading between the lines produces
just such explanation. Yet the lines themselves are cautious in
their immaculate praise of Elizabeth’s perfections. In this some-
what understated example, phrasing and conceptualizing are deli-
cately blended together so as to make the tracing of any unseemly
implications a choice taken at the reader’s own risk. Put in
G.K. Hunter’s terms, Lyly manages to protect the conscience of
the humanist even as the courtier flatters his way to survival.18
The obverse of the matter, however, is flattery rather than
reservation. In Euphues and his England, Elizabeth is consistently
compared to Venus, and this choice is becoming conventional
by the time Lyly ventures to expound it for his purpose. Indeed,
I suggest that the emerging association of Elizabeth with the god-
dess of love and beauty is a direct cause of an amendment of the
first Euphues. Namely, the text of the very first printing (issued
at Christmas, 1578) makes a fault-finding reference to Venus that
disappears without a trace in all subsequent printings and edi-
tions.19 Initially, Venus follows Vulcan in the list of examples of
truthful portrayals: Lyly intimates that she was painted “cũningly,
yet with hir Mole.”20 While the recollection of Venus side by side
with her husband Vulcan seems natural enough, it is curious that

Lyly has decided to substitute Leda for Venus, and use not a mole,
but black hair as an example of a blemish. In addition, the mole
may also connect this reference to Elizabeth, and it would seem
that Lyly realized that an unflattering allusion to Venus and her
mole might jeopardize his quest for Elizabeth’s favor. A certain
seditious text by Nicholas Sander viciously described Elizabeth’s
own mother Anne Boleyn as “handsome to look at,” and yet con-
cealing an ugly mole under her chin.21 Whether the mole, along
with a sixth finger on her right hand and “projecting tooth under
her upper lip” was a part of the public image of Henry’s unfor-
tunate second wife or Sander’s personal invention, it would seem
that Lyly, in planting an unsightly mole on the goddess of impec-
cable beauty, was besmirching an ideal subject for future flatter-
ing comparisons.
Yet there exists another reference to Venus’ mark that survives
in subsequent editions of Euphues. It is a complimentary allusion
that helpfully converts the blemish into a point of attraction.
Lyly’s previous demand to show the “fault” seems to be mitigated
by the suggestion that visual imperfections in beautiful women
are actually quite charming:
And true it is that some men write and most men beleeue, that
in all perfect shapes, a blemmish bringeth rather a lyking euery
way to the eyes, then a loathing any way to the minde. Venus had
hir Mole in hir cheeke which made hir more amiable: Helen hir
scarre on hir chinne, which Paris called Cos Amoris, the whetstone
of loue.22
When Lyly broaches the task of depicting Elizabeth, the discus-

sion is placed outside his own prescription to show “as well the
blemish as the beauty,” even more so than his image of Venus
whose perfection is undermined, although her beauty is given an
intriguing twist. However, while Lyly seems to maneuver around
his earlier requirement of a truthful portrayal, even with the
qualification that blemishes may often be endearing, how is he to
depict his queen’s face and yet save his own? In his answer to this
dilemma, Lyly is in numerous company: he refuses to paint.23
Lyly’s solution is an indirect gaze that mitigates the impact of
the spectacle presented by the powerful woman’s face: “I must do
like those that want a cleere sight, who being not able to discerne
the Sunne in the Skye, are inforced to beholde it in the water.”

The implied danger is that the writer is bedazzled into blindness,
and, to avoid this caveat, Lyly decides to follow a clever painter
in suggesting Elizabeth’s face by showing her from the back.
Why, however, would Lyly choose to imitate Zeuxis, whose fam-
ous achievement is known to be a trompe l’oeil: in other words, a
superb accuracy of representation rather than clever avoidance of
it?24 Moreover, the story of Venus painted with her back to the
viewer is a volte-face to Lyly’s own avowal in the preface, “To the
Ladies and Gentlewoemen of England”: “When Venus is paynted,
we can-not see hir backe, but hir face, so that all other thinges
that are to be recounted in loue, Euphues thinketh them to hang
at Venus backe in a budget, which bicause hee can-not see, hee
will not set downe.”25 Lyly is witty here to use an ordinary tech-
nique of portraiture: he will cleverly call the shots as to what parts
are placed out of view and thus excused from being addressed.
Whereas Zeuxis’ supposed way of depicting the goddess appears
to be unique, it still remains in compliance with the commonsense
necessity that the unseen part be left out, as well as the artist’s
agency in designation of that concealed area. It is clear that Lyly
is attracted to Zeuxis’ artistic solution because it allows him both
to compliment the queen and save himself from a major artistic
exertion and, more importantly, responsibility.
Although this trick may not be Lyly’s own invention,26 he
solves the dilemma of representing the queen and by so doing
brings together two previously mentioned biblical taboos and
translates them into the language of courtly compliment. Indeed,
the prohibition of gazing at God is twofold: it is both experien-
tial and representational. Most notably, God allows Moses to see
his back and not his face,27 even as he hands the prophet a com-
mandment against the worship of graven images. Lyly’s promise
to depict Elizabeth’s back in order to suggest her face is likewise
related not only to representational difficulties, but also to the cir-
cumstances of personal experience. The “Glass,” after all, comes
from Euphues’ pen. He does not report any personal interaction
with the queen of England. As he dwells on his qualms about the
impossibility of depicting her, it becomes more doubtful that
this traveler has had the privilege of an audience. While Lyly had
waited on Elizabeth at court, Euphues may never have enjoyed a
good look at the brilliance he is so eager to praise. Taking this pos-
sibility into account throws a new light on all representations of
Elizabeth: specifically, it may illuminate the different intentions

behind the use of convention and help to separate fantasy and pol-
itical prudence. The texts opting for indescribability often turn to
imagination as an alternative. This turn seems to be necessitated
by the author’s unfamiliarity with the queen’s exact appearance.
It is also Zeuxis’ predicament: he has never seen Venus, and his
trick is caused by his “dispayre either by Arte to shadowe hir, or by
immagination to comprehende hir.” Although everyone has seen
the regal profile stamped on a coin, not many of the poets bidding
for Elizabeth’s favor have seen her. Hence their hyperbolic praise
results in part from the vagueness of its subject.
It would appear that Euphues, after an unsuccessful attempt to
persuade the old man to disclose more visual data about Elizabeth,
presumably gets to see her well enough from behind to describe
her back. Yet some other characters—and writers—have not even
this opportunity. For instance, the painter, whose visit to the
English court is related in Thomas Churchyard’s lengthy poem,
never reaches the queen and is forced to deduce the magnitude
of her unseen “sweetness” from the more accessible beauty of her
ladies-in-waiting:
Where then stood five faire flowers, whose beauty bred disdaine,
Who came at certain houres, as nymphs of Dian’s traine.
Those goodly Nimphes most gay, like Goddesses divine,
In darkest night or day, made all the chamber shine.
Dame kinde with collours new, gave them such lively grace,
As they had tooke theyr hue, from faire bright Phœbus’ face,
If such fair flowrs quoth he, in Presence men may find.
In Privey-chamber sure, some faire sweet saints are shrind.
The Painter as he might, with that did him content,
And wondering at the sight, amazed he homeward went.
Where he is drawing still, some works of stranger kind,
If this may gaine good-will, for plaine true meaning mind.28
As the painter peeps through the door of the Presence Chamber,

the glamor of the five ladies hidden within satisfies his curiosity.
His social status prevents him from entering that room, much less
the queen’s Privy Chamber, but his artistic imagination completes
the leap to the ultimate vision, and he walks away “content” to
explore this image in “some works of stranger kind.” To reflect his
amazement, the painter’s language is already permeated with the
evocation of sainthood and divinity. To the deeply religious men-

talities of Elizabeth’s contemporaries, the leap from the indescrib-
able to the divine, saintly, or angelic comes only too naturally.29
Has the author actually seen Elizabeth? Elizabethan cul-
ture teems with hopefuls, such as Churchyard’s painter, covet-
ing the sight of the English queen. From the ambassadors who
rightly expect a private audience and become infuriated when
their expectations are not fulfilled, to the commoners crowding
along the road during the royal progress, to travelers and subjects
attempting to find their way to court, many eyes seek her, and
many succeed only briefly or not at all. What is left, then, to those
who desire to view Elizabeth’s face? An indirect vision that comes
in many varieties: through the eyes of others, one perceives the
elusive features in a word of mouth or a portrait, but it is by means
of a dream or apprehension by association that an oblique vision
takes most intimate shape.30 Dreams and fantasies about the
queen were only one step away from poetic descriptions by those
who never saw her in person, and those imaginings were the alter-
native for those who simply refused to paint her face in words.
Thus, at the entertainment at Bisham in 1592, a Wilde Man
greets Elizabeth with a confession that the local satyrs have seen
her in their dreams:
Every one has tolde his dreame, and described your person; all
agree in one, and set downe your virtues: in this onely did wee dif-
fer, that some thought your Pourtraiture might be drawen, other
saide impossible: some thought your vertues might be numbered,
most saide they were infinite: infinite and impossible, of that side
was I: and first in humility to salute you most happy I: my untamed
thoughts waxe gentle, and I feele in myselfe civility; a thing hated,
because not knowen; and unknowen, because I knew not you.
Thus Vertue tameth fiercenesse; Beauty, madnesse.31
The recourse to a dream vision is reminiscent of Arthur’s encoun-

ter with the Faerie Queen whose appearance in Arthur’s dream is
limited to a mention of her “daintie limbes.”32 In the Wilde Man’s
speech, likewise, the queen’s “person” is perceived indirectly,
through the dream glass darkly, and it is only at the moment the
speech is delivered that he sees the queen in the flesh. And yet
Elizabeth perceived in a dream seems to be readily described by
the satyrs, and their debate about the feasibility of representation
only in part concerns the medium of painting. In a conversation
held by the dreamers, it is likely a disputation about any represen-

tation of the “real” rather than “dream” queen. This example is
unusual in its direct admission that the speaker has been engaged
in describing Elizabeth’s looks prior to seeing her properly. The
fictional crowd of visionary satyrs debating the limits of represen-
tation of the queen of England resembles writers and poets who
ponder the same abstract questions at a distance from their sov-
ereign’s physical person. The topos of indescribability, therefore,
serves complex purposes, political as well as practical. In contrast,
a metaphor that superimposes heraldic imagery onto Elizabeth’s
features (resulting in part from this predicament), compensates
for the lack of personal visual experience. As we shall see, this
trope engages familiar political iconography as well as Petrarchan
convention. By fusing these two modes, heraldic descriptions of
Elizabeth’s face offer imagery more tangible than a dream and
more specific than a claim to indescribability would allow.
“The red, and white rose quarter’d in her face”:

Elizabeth’s Physiognomic Heraldry
Before William Shakespeare penned his famous phrase, the
“Herauldry in Lvcrece face,”33 at least three other Elizabethan
poets—Philip Sidney, Edmund Spenser, and Fulke Greville—
composed lines of poetry that drew a female face powerfully into
the symbolic field of heraldry. In the first case, the visage belonged
to Stella; in the other two, to Queen Elizabeth. In early modern
culture, heraldry and facial beauty were readily linked, respect-
ively, to the categories of power and femininity. While many
poets aspired to separate the monarch and the woman, formu-
lated in Spenser’s Faerie Queene as “the one of a most royall Queene
or Empresse, the other of a most vertuous and beautifull Lady,”34
others endeavored to embrace both personae. One of the most
effective amalgamations of these two personae was achieved in
the metaphoric conflation of Elizabeth’s face and the Tudor rose
or her royal coat of arms. The heraldic metaphor is not exclusive
to the descriptions of Elizabeth, yet its distinctive use in her case
results in an array of meanings specific to this queen.35
Heraldic significations played an important part in early mod-
ern social structure. Inherently connected to the society’s dis-
tinction “betweene the Gentle and the ungentle,”36 heraldry was
concerned with coats of arms and badges whose specific details
identified their owners’ genealogical lineage, symbolizing their

virtues and proclaiming their place in the social hierarchy by
means of strictly delineated and thus easily legible iconography.37
Heraldry equipped the queen and her supporters with a readily
recognized symbolic affirmation of her authority. For this rea-
son, the poetic technique of inscribing heraldry onto the mon-
arch’s physiognomy lent support to Elizabeth’s lifelong project
of defending her genealogical claim to the throne. Allusions to
the Tudor rose and to Elizabeth’s royal coat of arms in poetic
descriptions of her face, therefore, served predominantly as
celebrations of her sovereignty. Although the heraldic meta-
phor comes with its own set of representational complications,
it provides a poetic outlet for the male writer’s desire to invest
his queen’s face with meaning. The heraldic metaphorization of
her face is not only a poetical matter; it is also fraught with pol-
itical undertones. As I will show, this process of investment is
complicated by an undercurrent of hidden anxiety and harmful
metaphoric associations. Because heraldry itself is a symbolic
practice, the superimposition of heraldic and poetic significa-
tions results in images whose meaning goes beyond their super-
ficial visual suggestiveness.
Edmund Spenser’s “Aprill” Eclogue from The Shepheardes
Calender includes Hobbinoll’s recitation of Colin’s epideictic trib-
ute to “fayre Elisa, Queene of shepheardes all.”38 Colin announces
his intention to “blaze / Her worthy praise” and then directs our
gaze to Elisa herself:
See, where she sits vpon the grassie greene,

(O seemely sight)
Yclad in scarlot like a mayden Queene,
And Ermines white.
.................
Tell me, haue ye seene her angelick face,
Like Phœbe fayre?
Her Heauenly haueour, her princely grace
can you well compare?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten liuely chere.
Her modest eye,
Her Maiestie,
Where haue you seene the like, but there?39
E. K., in his “Glosse” on the line “The Redde rose medled with
the White yfere,” reveals the heraldic intention of this apparently
conventional image of Elizabeth’s beauty. He provides the follow-
ing observations:
By the mingling of the Redde rose and the White, it meant the
vniting of the two principall houses of Lancaster and of Yorke: by
whose longe discord and deadly debate, this realm many yeares
was sore traueiled, and almost cleane decayed. Til the famous
Henry the seuenth, of the line of Lancaster, taking to wife the
most vertuous Princesse Elisabeth, daughter to the fourth Edward
of the house of Yorke, begat the most royal Henry the eyght afore-
sayde, in whom was the firste vnion of the Whyte Rose and the
Redde.40
Although E.K.’s commentary suggests that Spenser has metaphor-

ically inscribed the Tudor rose onto Elizabeth’s face, the preceding
stanza of the poem has already used the same heraldic colors, red
and white, to describe the queen’s robes—and thus has created a
larger representational field that expresses heraldry that literally
covers her body: “Yclad in Scarlot like a mayden Queene, / And
Ermines white.”41 Heraldic symbols routinely appeared as fab-
ric patterns in the clothing; in this light, Spenser’s treatment of
Elizabeth’s face as a type of fabric or canvas that may be custom-
patterned is emphatic. While the red and white of Elizabeth’s face
and attire echo and reinforce each other, however, the concep-
tual difference causes some tensions. For instance, are the colors
of the face intrinsic to the skin, or can they be put on and off,
like the robes? A question arises about how much of the queen’s
legitimate heraldry is imprinted onto her face naturally—and how
much of it is painted onto her skin cosmetically. Spenser’s word
choice in the following line—“In either cheek depeincten liuely
chere”—gestures to the art of cosmetics, a site of many polemical
battles of the time. This suggestion, of course, is suitably veiled
in doubleness.42 As a result of this suggestive line, the image of
Elizabeth’s cheeks painted in the colors of Tudor roses simultan-
eously acknowledges and questions her political authority. The
image additionally betrays the male poet’s suppressed anxiety
about praising a female monarch: Spenser imagines that her very
face bears the symbolic confirmation of her power, and yet he
leaves it up to his reader to contend with the possibility that these
roses may be washed off her cheeks.
Although it is difficult to determine the exact chronological

relationship of Fulke Greville’s Sonnet 81 about Elizabeth to
Spenser’s “Aprill,”43 the iconographic resemblance between the
two depictions (the awe-inspiring sovereign sitting motionlessly
on display44) allows consideration of them as companion pieces:
Vnder a Throne I saw a virgin sit,

The red, and white Rose quarter’d in her face;
Starre of the North, and for true guards to it,
Princes, Church, States, all pointing out her Grace.
The homage done her was not borne of Wit,
Wisdome admir’d, Zeale tooke Ambitions place,
State in her eyes taught Order how to fit,
And fixe Confusions vnobservuing race.
Fortune can here claime nothing truly great,
But that this Princely Creature is her seat.
Helen Hackett rightly sees the second line as “explicitly linking

the blazon of a courtly mistress with the heraldic blazon.”45 Indeed,
the metaphor of a quartered rose draws on the heraldic practice of
dividing the field of a coat of arms into four sections (the technical
term is a “quarterly” partition). As explained by Nancy Vickers,
the two objects of description—shield and body—are historically
connected through the two early modern meanings of the term
blazon: “first, a codified heraldic description of a shield, and, sec-
ond, a codified poetic description of an object praised or blamed
by a rhetorician-poet.”46 However, scholars have not addressed the
significance of the face as the site of this linkage.
To begin with, the face lends itself to the heraldic metaphor on
a purely geometric level: consider, for example, Elizabeth’s armor-
ial bearings (figure 2) and the shape of her face in the best known
full face portrait in coronation robes (figure 1). The outline of a
typical “heater” shield, with its elegant curves swooping from the
wide top and meeting at the bottom point, resembles a mask that
could be fitted onto a human face.47 As a piece of functional armor,
however, long before its emblematic and symbolic roles became an
end in themselves, a painted shield was meant both for an easy
identification of the bearer and for protection of his body. 48 In
response to the development of full-body armor, the early mod-
erns have substituted the shield’s primary protective function
with a declarative one, and thus endowed the shield with a purely
rhetorical power.49In addition, both Elizabeth’s coat of arms
and the Tudor rose frequently include the royal crown that sits
atop the shield or the flower in the same fashion as it appears
above the queen’s visage, thereby suggesting the treatment of
heraldic images as a kind of face. Furthermore, the symmetrical
quartering of a coat of arms is compatible with the partition of the
face: both natural, following the line of the nose and the imagin-
ary line connecting the eyes, and artistic, often performed in the
preparatory sketches for drawing a portrait.50
The natural map of the “quartered” face, however, stands in
contrast with the traditionally diagonal mirroring of the design
of the quartered coat of arms (the imagery and colors of the bot-
tom left segment, for instance, correspond to those in the top
right). An imposition of the heraldic pattern onto a face inevit-
ably reorganizes natural facial elements. Even more importantly,
it inscribes the face with a new meaning. If a physiognomy serves
as a marker of individuality, the metaphoric stamping of a face
with a heraldic emblem, itself an important expression of early
modern identity, leads either to veiling of the natural features
(and thus closing up of their own meaning) or superimposition of
one pattern upon the other. The naturally and culturally encap-
sulated identity and meaning of one’s face, therefore, are either
replaced or conjoined with those recorded in one’s coat of arms.
In England, a similar replacement was already happening in the
name of Reformation: Elizabeth’s arms, for instance, were habit-
ually used to designate her “absent/presence”; her emblem hung
in the churches in place of religious imagery washed away by the
iconoclastic wave.51
Consequently, the imposition of heraldry on the queen’s face
activates a complex interplay of three kinds of power: that of a
shield, that of royalty/nobility, and that of a face. When Sidney’s
Cupid wins the competition for the fairest armor because Stella’s
“face he makes his shield,” he conjoins the two powers by cleverly
exploiting Stella’s beauty.52 The face, however, exerts its own kind
of command—and the queen’s face, in particular, is immensely
powerful, as confirmed by the records of Elizabeth’s social inter-
action discussed in the previous chapter. For this reason, the
convergence of her shield and face has a potential to increase
Elizabeth’s power symbolically or alter it. This convergence can
combine the expressive and aesthetic power of the face and the
inherent protective and rhetorical power of the shield—or replace
the former with the latter, thereby deactivating the queen’s ability
Figure 1. Queen Elizabeth I in Coronation Robes, c.1559–1600. Oil on

panel. English School. Sixteenth century. National Portrait Gallery,
London, UK/The Bridgeman Art Library
to exercise her authority through the conventional use of her face.

And insofar as, for a woman, that use is traditionally predicated on
her beauty, while heraldry is predominantly a masculine domain,53
the superimposition of the two inevitably causes a gender-related
shift in meaning. In this sense, the ambivalent potential of the
Figure 2. Royal arms of Queen Elizabeth I, from Robert Cooke,
“Armorial bearings of the kings and noble families of Great Britain
from the reign of William the Conqueror to that of James I,” 1572.
Detail. Case MS F 0745.1915. Photo Courtesy of the Newberry Library,
Chicago.
complimentary imagery employed by Spenser and Greville mirrors

the instability of numerous rhetorical moves made by Elizabeth
herself and those who dared to represent her, aiming to redeem
the queen’s female gender by either strengthening or replacing her
gender identity with masculine characteristics.
Although heraldry, like genealogy, is said by some scholars to be
gender-biased, the practice of quartering the arms often purports to
represent heraldic inheritance without making distinction of gen-
der. However, the arms of a queen regnant constitute an exception
to the rules for the display of the arms of ladies. Elizabeth’s royal
coat of arms was that of her male predecessors. Passed down to
her from Edward III,54 it reflected the marital union of Edward II
and Isabella of France in the emblematic representation of the two
countries, pictured respectively on the four segments of her shield
as lions on the red field (derived from Edward I’s arms) and fleur-
de-lis on the blue field (historically deriving from Charlemagne).
This union, however, was about a dozen generations away from
that of Elizabeth’s natural parents. Much closer to her was the
nodal marriage of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York—the foun-
dation of the Tudor dynasty that united the houses of Lancaster
(with its red rose badge) and York (with its white rose), symbolic-
ally represented by the superimposed red and white roses, white
petals contained within red ones.
While it was not featured on the shield itself, the Tudor rose
badge was a crucial dynastic signifier and was frequently incorpo-
rated in Elizabeth’s arms. As noted by Simon Thurley, the Tudor
rose “was most visible architecturally, in badges, mottoes and her-
aldry which formed an outer crust of propaganda upon the shell
of the building” as well as the interior of the royal palaces where
the “Tudor badge appears in stained glass, tapestry, stone and
terracotta.”55 A substantial number of Elizabeth’s own portraits
sport the Tudor roses as props, background, or fabric patterns.56
Variations of this floral symbol move from the corner of the por-
trait to the queen’s person or hand and to the pattern on her dress.
The Tudor rose was stamped on coins next to the face of the queen
(figure 15).
Spenser’s reading of the rose onto Elizabeth’s face and, for
instance, William Roger’s depiction of the queen as Rosa Electa
exemplify two metaphoric applications of the Tudor rose onto the
queen. In images such as the one by Roger, the rose is implied to
mean Elizabeth’s entire political body, often represented by her
red attire trimmed in white fur. Spenser’s metaphor, on the other

hand, depicts the rose as an explicit part of Elizabeth’s face. Even
though red and white are the traditional colors of ideal Renaissance
beauty, visual representations may only hint at the use of heral-
dic metaphor of the queen’s face: coloring of Elizabeth’s face in
a precise Tudor rose-like fashion would appear grotesque. Not
only does Spenser use the two colors of the Tudor rose to suggest
Elizabeth’s beauty, but also makes a point of reminding us about
the flower’s historic significance. It is this choice that points to
the political implications of the heraldic inscription.
The importance of this coexistence of the two roses in the
queen’s face is thrown into an even greater relief when, in Henry
VI, part 3 (1595), Shakespeare traces the deathly floral symbolism
on the face of a young man mistakenly killed by his own father in
one of the hectic battles between the Yorkists and Lancastrians:
The red rose and the white are on his face,

The fatal colours of our striving houses;
The one his purple blood right well resembles,
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish—
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.57
As King Henry’s comment links the red and white roses with
the morbidity of blood and paleness, it marks both with fatal-
ity. Yet, Henry sees only one solution to the deadly contention:
one rose must “wither” so the remaining one could “flourish.” He
is blind to the possibility of a “fair conjunction,” a floral hybrid
effected later in Shakespeare’s Richard III by the newly crowned
Henry VII.58
Viewed apart from its dynastic significance, metaphorical
treatment of the queen’s face as a rose is deeply traditional. As an
emblem of virginity in general, and the Virgin Mary in particu-
lar, it evokes Elizabeth’s sacred virtues; as a flower of Venus,59 it
carries conventional Petrarchan connotations. In fact, Spenser’s
praise of Elizabeth’s cheeks—“The Redde rose medled with
the White yfere, / In either cheeke depeincten liuely chere”—is
in itself completely conventional.60 It is E.K.’s annotation that
makes Spenser’s metaphor truly heraldic. Greville, however,
makes use of heraldic terminology and thus eliminates the need
for a gloss: “The red, and white Rose quarter’d in her face.” These
explicit demarcations of both poets’ heraldic intentions, however,

are accompanied by a curious choice of verbs loaded with hidden
ambivalence. If “meddled” suggests mixing, it also recalls conten-
tion, not in the fatal militant sense suggested by King Henry VI,
but perhaps referring to the ongoing turmoil at court generated
by and around the queen. If to “quarter” may mean to “station,
place, or lodge in a particular place,” according to the OED, the
application of this verb to the Tudor badge signals a necessarily
heraldic signification and thus seems to refer to the partition of
a coat of arms. However, this division also evokes the horrendous
method of execution by quartering the body, still popular during
Elizabethan age and sanctioned by the queen in cases of treason.
Even though the context constrains these disturbing connota-
tions, they cannot be entirely effaced.
Both of these latent meanings echo within the early modern
mentality. When Shakespeare arrives at the subject, he fam-
ously stages a struggle between “beauty’s red and virtue’s white”
in Lucrece’ face: “their ambition makes them still to fight . . .”61
Likewise, Greville’s allusion to quartering evokes partitioning
associated with the genre in which some scholars see an artistic
expression of a man’s violent impulses in relation to a woman: the
poetic practice of blazon discussed later in this chapter, a method
of description that catalogues the parts of a woman’s body.
Vickers argues that this approach, as exemplified in the poetry
of Petrarch, is rooted in the myth of Diana and Actaeon: the male
poet finds himself in the position of a voyeur who stands in danger
of punishment by dismembering, and “hence he projects scatter-
ing onto [the female he attempts to describe] through the process
of fetishistic overdetermination.”62
Enumeration of parts, however, is what emphatically does not
happen in Spenser’s and Greville’s descriptions of their female sov-
ereign. The vision of Elizabeth’s face is limited, except for a brief
reference to her eyes, to naming of the two colors, red and white,
and an indication of their, perhaps somewhat uneasy, arrangement
on her countenance. We are meant to see a few vibrantly red or
pink configurations—scarlet lips and rosy cheeks—on the delicate
pale background of Elizabeth’s complexion. In other words, unlike
a blazon proper, this vision is not created by division. And yet,
the heraldic metaphor implies certain restrictions: if Elizabeth’s
face is a shield, as Greville’s sonnet suggests, the field must be
marked by the lines of partition; if her cheeks are Tudor roses, as
in Spenser’s eclogue, their shape and distribution of colors must

conform to the badge whose iconography is evoked in E.K.’s com-
mentary. Greville, in particular, is eager to allude to the royal coat
of arms rather than stop at the floral badge, like Spenser does.
In effect, Greville repaints Elizabeth’s arms, substituting for the
French and English quarters those of the Plantagenet Houses of
Lancaster and York.
Cultural connotations of quartering and reinscription of the
face in these poems imply an intrusion. Admittedly, figurative
language makes it seem like a very mild sort of violence, inso-
far as a prudent reader stops short of literalizing the metaphors.
Nonetheless, these tropes convey the poets’ desire to inscribe
meaning onto the monarch’s face, and in their zeal to conflate a
compliment to a woman and a tribute to a sovereign, they brand
her countenance with imagery that exceeds the bounds of harm-
less flattery and spills over into infringement. Greville was hardly
evoking the horrific wounds that could be inflicted on the queen’s
face by quartering, but both he and Spenser could have imagined
a milder violation of Elizabeth’s visage: repainting it cosmetically
or even tattooing it in the fashion of the Picts whose habits of self-
decoration fascinated the Elizabethans.63 However, this codified
violence is not only hidden, but even naturalized because both
poets sensibly focus their heraldic allusions on a flower whose
symbolic meanings pertain both to power and beauty.
Furthermore, even as it flatters Elizabeth’s complexion, histor-
ical and cultural extensions of the image of the Tudor rose com-
plicate its use as a metaphor for the queen’s face. In both texts,
besides the poetic convenience, the focus on this flower empha-
sizes Elizabeth’s Englishness. Although she never gave up on her
inherited claim to France, including it in her formal title and
persistently incorporating fleur-de-lis in her iconography, it was
the Tudor rose that symbolized her personal genealogical his-
tory. Contrasting herself to her predecessor Mary Tudor, whose
mother was Spanish, Elizabeth took pride in being “mere English”
and derived much of her popularity from such “pure” origins. The
iconographic use of bicolor roses, therefore, boosted national
pride, the composite badge of the Tudor dynasty standing as an
additional reminder of Henry Tudor’s accomplishment: ending
the Wars of the Roses and uniting England under the banner of
peace that his granddaughter managed to preserve for over four
decades. At the same time, the enclosure of the white petals by the
red ones asserted predominance of the masculine over the femin-

ine, a union realized through containment of a woman’s political
value (the white rose of the Yorkist Elizabeth married by Henry
VII) as a means of buttressing a man’s claim to the throne.
The heraldic stamp itself, therefore, is an encoded statement
on the interplay of the royal gender and power. As this stamp
is imprinted on the queen’s face, her visage emerges as a site of
ambivalence and contention between her womanhood and author-
ity, between the feeble flattery to her fleeting beauty and the
acute awareness of her ever-present political identity. Elizabeth’s
contemporaries treated faces as texts, capable of being composed
and written without any recourse to figurative language. In other
words, facial features have meaning without metaphor, and meta-
phor is not required to give them significance. Every transform-
ation of Elizabeth’s features into an even conventional metaphor,
therefore, rewrites their meaning and is thus in some way intru-
sive. Even more importantly, the epideictic words that mean to
put the woman’s beauty in service of her dynastic magnificence
nevertheless force a symbolic political pattern onto her natural
features. The resulting empowerment of the face, however flat-
tering to Elizabeth the queen, divests it of its multiple rhetorical
uses. Quartering of the face implies a simplification, a reduction
of its inherent potential to mean: her quartered shield, after all,
contains only two distinct parts, mirrored diagonally in the other
two. Rewriting Elizabeth’s features in heraldic terms also curbs
the queen’s personal and symbolic control of her face. It closes up
all of its meanings except two: her rose-like beauty and, even more
insistently, the dynastic legitimacy of her power.
“To blazon foorth the Brytton mayden Queene”64

The rhetorical maneuvering described above gets a great deal of
expressive mileage from one colorful metaphor. Yet, for all its
aesthetic and political potency, heraldic metaphor does not pack
much of a descriptive punch. Readiness or reluctance to give a
detailed description of Elizabeth’s appearance depends not only
on the writer’s aesthetic sensibilities, but also on the extent of his
boldness, both social and poetical. If heraldic metaphors of neces-
sity limit the number of depicted parts, more general and thus
less restricted descriptions may be expected to put Elizabeth’s
features in a full blazon, a method of depicting beauty through
enumeration of its elements. The intrinsic difficulty of blazoning

the monarch’s face, however, is evident even in the fact that there
are far more writers who plead indescribability than those who
dare to describe. Spenser, it would seem, embraces both alterna-
tives in The Faerie Queene. As I already mentioned, he splits the
two aspects of his sovereign, avoiding description of the “most
royall Queene and Empresse,” yet portraying at length the “most
vertuous and beautifull Lady.” If Gloriana’s correspondence to
Elizabeth’s political persona allows Spenser to leave the queen’s
features appropriately indistinct, Belphoebe, in contrast, is sub-
jected to a well-developed blazon:
Her face so faire as flesh it seemed not,

But heavenly pourtraict of bright Angels hew,
Cleare as the skie, withouten blame or blot,
Through goodly mixture of complexions dew;
And in her cheekes the vermeill red did shew
Like roses in a bed of lillies shed,
The which ambrosiall odours from them threw,
And gazers sense with double pleasure fed,
Hable to heale the sicke, and to reuiue the ded.
In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame,
Kindled above at th’heavenly makers light,
And darted fyrie beames out of the same,
So passing persant, and so wondrous bright,
That quite bereav’d the rash beholders sight:
In them the blinded god his lustfull fire
To kindle oft assayd, but had no might;
For with dredd Maiestie, and awfull ire,
She broke his wanton darts, and quenched base desire.
Her ivorie forhead, full of bountie brave,
Like a broad table did it selfe dispred,
For Loue his loftie triumphes to engrave,
And write the battels of his great godhed:
All good and honour might therein be red:
For there their dwelling was. And when she spake,
Sweet words, like dropping honny she did shed,
And twixt the perles and rubins softly brake
A siluer sound, that heavenly musicke seemd to make.
Vpon her eyelids many Graces sate,
Vnder the shadow of her even browes,
Working belgards, and amorous retrate,
And every one her with a grace endowes:
And every one with meekenesse to her bowes.
So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace,

And soveraine moniment of mortall vowes,
How shall fraile pen descrive her heavenly face,
For feare through want of skill her beautie to disgrace?65
Paradoxically, however, the huntress is blazoned to such an extent

that, after peeling off the metaphors, the reader is left with little
doubt about her not looking like Elizabeth.
Spenser’s representational moves in respect to Elizabeth’s body
politic offer an apt example of a masterful poetic application of
the Medusa/Yahweh principle of indirect representation sug-
gested by John Lyly as the only feasible technique for describing
Elizabeth’s face: “I must doe like those that want a cleere sight,
who being not able to discerne the Sunne in the Skie are inforced
to beholde it in the water.” In The Faerie Queene, the indescribabil-
ity of the queen’s face is omnipresent. It lies in the poet’s refusal
to “tell” even the brightness of princess Una’s face, much less her
exact features. Arthur, who has seen Gloriana only in his dream,
“From that day forth . . . lou’d that face diuine.”66 But the view of
her face is locked in his memory without retelling, and even artis-
tic renditions of the queen’s appearance—her diamond head inset
in Arthur’s armor, her portrait on Guyon’s shield—are not trans-
lated into a proper ekphrasis that would allow us to see beyond the
glow of her mystical face. The blazon of Belphoebe is so fictitious
and conventional that it may suggest Elizabeth’s face only con-
ceptually: as a typical Petrarchan mistress. In the later reflection
of Elizabeth in Mercilla, the description is simply faceless.67 Yet
Spenser’s primary solution to the problem of describing the queen
is his promise to show Elizabeth “in mirrors more than one.”68
The technique of cumulative mirroring is an attempt to overcome
the difficulty of representing Elizabeth through an optical trick:
while the direct description is withheld, a composite of several
representations is offered to the reader instead.
As I mentioned above, when Spenser splits Elizabeth’s twofold
persona between Gloriana and Belphoebe, he makes Gloriana
stand for the queen’s body politic, and Belphoebe for her body
natural. Because she does not directly participate in the unfold-
ing events of Spenser’s narrative, Gloriana’s face remains physic-
ally absent and also invisible to the reader. The only description
of her countenance is sounded by Guyon when he tells Medina
about his queen’s appearance in terms of brilliance, peace, and
mercy: “As morning Sunne her beames dispredden cleare, / And

in her face faire peace, and mercy doth appeare.”69 Gloriana’s face
within the narrative is confined to representation within repre-
sentation, vague and impressionistic. Moreover, Elizabeth herself
is invited to look at these receding mirror images in order to see
her own face.70
Even the most carefully blazoned of these mirror images, how-
ever, is but a fictional fragment of idealized beauty. The essential
conventionality of the description of Belphoebe’s face sets her
appearance apart from the “most beautiful lady” she supposedly
figures forth. Belphoebe’s visage is that of a generic Petrarchan
and Elizabethan mistress: fair and unblemished complexion,
rosy cheeks, shiny eyes, broad ivory forehead, all that beauty sur-
rounded by Amazonian yellow locks.71 With the exception of her
hair that was actually auburn rather than blonde, one may argue
that none of these flattering traits is at blatant variance with
the queen’s actual features, much less so with the cosmetically
enhanced face she had been offering to public view. However, nei-
ther are these rather generic facial characteristics unmistakably
Elizabeth’s own.
It is perhaps because of conformity of Belphoebe’s features
to a commonplace ideal that Spenser takes care to sprinkle this
“pourtraict” with some indications that evoke his queen rhetoric-
ally rather than descriptively. The very first lines seek to stabil-
ize the entire structure of the subsequent blazon with the help of
the angelic trope that, as I argue elsewhere, has been consistently
associated with the queen. The colorful floral simile of “roses in a
bed of lillies shed” is a reworking of Spenser’s own earlier admir-
ation of the “Redde rose medled with the White” in the queen’s
cheeks, now with a supplementary allusion to the French fleur-
de-lei’. Likewise, the goings-on in the various parts of Belphoebe’s
well-populated face contain many a reference to Elizabeth’s vari-
ous virtues exalted in countless panegyrics and now made appar-
ent, almost literally, in this visage alive with metaphorical activity.
Despite these somewhat individualized markers, the descriptive
contents of the blazon remain fully derivative and thus distanced
from the real person Elizabeth. Spenser opts instead for Elizabeth
the fictionally beautiful woman, passing over the opportunity
to represent her actual body natural with the same grace with
which he elided the representation, in physical terms, of her body
politic.
The faces of Gloriana and Belphoebe are the two extreme

responses to the challenge of articulation of Elizabeth’s features:
either the suggestive nondescription, or the blazon so predictable
that the description cancels itself and the individual escapes once
again. It should, therefore, come as no surprise when a poet as sen-
sitive as Spenser interrupts his own elaborate blazon to exclaim in
rhetorical frustration: “How shall fraile pen descriue her heauenly
face, / For feare through want of skill her beautie to disgrace?” The
full-blown description momentarily dissolves in the circuitous
babbling of redundant praise: “So faire, and thousand thousand
times more faire . . .” (II.III.25.8–II.III.26.1). At moments like this
one, indescribability and blazon flash as the two sides of the same
medal, the two possibilities always present, the two choices that
a poet must face. Typically, when Lyly’s Euphues doubts “whether
our tongue canne yeelde wordes to blase that beautie,” he defines
the indescribability of the glorious Elizabeth as her beauty’s
resistance to language. Roland Barthes argues the innate futility
of blazon as a method to capture the subject’s appearance. What
transpires in the critic’s objection, however, is that the fault lies
not with the method, but with the medium of language itself, and
hence using the blazon dooms the writer to strive for a “totality
impossible because linguistic, written.” Barthes calls this phe-
nomenon the “spitefulness of language: once reassembled, in order
to utter itself, the total body must revert to the dust of words,
to the listing of details, to a monotonous inventory of parts, to
crumbling: language undoes the body, returns it to the fetish.
This return is coded under the term blazon. The blazon consists
of predicating a single subject, beauty, upon a certain number of
anatomical attributes . . .” Blazon is “constructed like sentence[..]”
and “refer[s] to the very destiny of the sentence . . . which consists
in this (doomed thereto by its structure): the sentence can never
constitute a total; meanings can be listed, not admixed: the total,
the sum are for language the promised lands, glimpsed at the end
of enumeration, but once this enumeration has been completed,
no feature can reassemble it—or, if this feature is produced, it
too can only be added to the others.” Barthes concludes that “As
a genre, the blazon expresses the belief that a complete inventory
can reproduce a total body, as if the extremity of enumeration is
then subject to a kind of enumerative erethism: it accumulates
in order to totalize, multiplies fetishes in order to obtain a total,
defetishised body; thereby, description represents no beauty at
all.”72 Elizabeth’s contemporaries may not have seen the inherent

problems of any verbal description quite in Barthes’ terms, but,
as evident in the popular topos of indescribability, they neverthe-
less sensed the limited capacity of language to render accurately
their object of admiration. Still, for the Elizabethan mind, blazon
was not only the main alternative to silence, but also the method
of description par excellence and an opportunity to flaunt one’s
superior poetic skills. Although early modern poets produced
a great number of blazons, however, there seems to be only one
elaborate description of the queen in verse.
Perhaps realizing the extent of his audacity, George Puttenham
begins his Partheniades with a careful promise that he will “bla-
zon foorthe the Briton mayden Queene,” executing his catalog
“in chast style.”73 Ironically, it is equally possible that his note is
meant to set his poems apart from the so-called pornographic
blazons or guard his boldness from a charge of overstepping the
mark. Indeed, the Parthe containing an extensive blazon of the
queen’s body bears the title “Euterpe” (the Muse whose name
means “giver of pleasure”) and contains at its very center rather
risqué musings about Elizabeth’s breasts and nipples. These refer-
ences are couched, however, in the reasonably respectful enumer-
ation of the queen’s parts “From toppe to toe,” describing her face
as follows:
Of silver was her forehead hye,

Her browes twoo bowes of hebenie;
Her tresses troust were to beholde,
Frizeld and fine as frenge of golde;
Her eyes, God wott, what stuffe they arre,
I durst be sworne eche ys a starre:
As cleere and brighte as to guide
The pilot in his winter tide.
Twoo lippes wrought out of rubye rocke,
Like leaves to shutt, and to unlocke,
As portall doore in prince’s chamber;
A golden toonge in mouth of amber,
That oft ys hard, but none yt seethe
Without a garde of yvorye teethe,
Even arrayed and richelye all,
In skarlett or in fine corrall:
Her cheeke, her chinne, her neck, her nose;
This was a lillye, that was a rose;
Her hande so white as whale’s bone,

He finger tipt with cassidone,
Her bosome sleeke as Paris plaster,
Held upp two bowles of alabaster:
Ech byas was a little cherrye,
Or, as I thinke, a strawberrye;
A slender greve swifter than roe,
A pretye foote to trippe and goe,
But of a solemne pace perdye,
And marchinge with a maiestye:
Her body shapte as strayghte as shafte,
Disclosed eche limbe withouten craft;
Save shadowed all, as I could gesse,
Under a vayle of silke cypresse,
From toppe to toe yee might her see,
Timber’d and tall as cedar tree,
Whose statelye turfe exceedeth farre
All that in frithe and forrest arre.74
Elkin Wilson calls this string of images “barbarous conceits . . . .

authorized by the orthodox Petrarchan tradition.”75 Indeed,
Puttenham reaches for the chest filled with silver, gold, crystal,
rubies, ivory, amber, and coral (he does get stumped, however,
unable to identify of “what stuffe” her eyes are), not forgetting the
perennially popular lilies and roses.
In this somewhat clumsy attempt at description, the most
meaningful element is Puttenham’s architectural metaphor76
glimpsed in the comparison of Elizabeth’s lips to a “portall doore
in prince’s chamber.” Admittedly, many contemporary verses
hail their addressees as “queens,” whether they are dealing with
a commoner, aristocrat, or the actual queen herself. Yet such
metaphoric elevation to royal status collapses in descriptions of
Elizabeth. What does it mean to imagine Elizabeth’s lips “As por-
tal doore in princes chamber?” Is this phrase simply a “barbarous
conceit,” or does it capture the author’s longing (or fantasy, in the
sense discussed by Louis Montrose) to penetrate the privy cham-
ber or even the bed chamber?77 The admixture of erotic desire and
longing for social privilege is certainly less visible in Puttenham’s
blazon of Elizabeth’s face than in his daring admiration of her
bosom.78 His “chast style,” however, falters even before he arrives
at that delicate region. It may be that his dwelling on the queen’s
lips and tongue urges the poet to wrap up the description of the
face, hastily rolling together “Her cheeke, her chinne, her neck,
her nose,” and trusting the reader to figure out which “was a lil-
lye” and which “was a rose.” He eventually recovers to praise
Elizabeth’s majestic gait, stature, and chaste marble heart, but the
striking images describing her outward appearance linger with
the reader, and their conventionality (or barbarity)79 fades when
we fully realize that they describe the living queen.
In fact, Puttenham’s blazon is unique in that it is the most
encompassing poetical description of the “real” Elizabeth (in con-
trast to a fictional character, like Belphoebe, said to represent
Elizabeth). Insofar as it belongs to the pen of the author of The
Arte of English Poesie, this poem, however predictable its elements,
is especially significant. It is likely that Puttenham has seen his
queen in person; it is, nonetheless, highly unlikely that his poetic
description matches that spectacle. Either some or all seventeen
of the Partheniades were destined for Elizabeth’s eyes, presumably
as a New Year’s gift, and yet it is uncertain whether the queen ever
read this collection.80 In addition, Puttenham felt sufficiently con-
fident about poetic merit of Parthe VII to quote parts of his dar-
ing blazon in The Arte. If this information does not provide a sure
footing, it at least confirms that Parthe VII is not, for example,
a private meditation or dream, and thus its “barbarous conceits”
were expected to impress Elizabeth. As the boldest and most
detailed blazon of the queen, this poem testifies as much to the
descriptive tastes of the period as to the unwillingness of poets to
use these techniques in order to broach the subject of Elizabeth’s
physiognomy.
If subjecting the queen to an extensive blazon or keeping
silent on the subject are two extreme alternatives available to
Elizabethan poets, the views of twentieth-century scholarship on
the method of blazon may suggest another reason for withdrawal
from representation. As I mentioned earlier, Barthes points out
the impossibility of faithful description through an accumulation
of features while Vickers argues that Petrarch’s imaging of Laura
as a “collection of exquisitely beautiful disassociated objects”81 and
his followers’ perpetuation of this “poetics of fragmentation”82
can be understood as the male poet’s preventive measure to neu-
tralize the threat of dismemberment for unsanctioned looking at
a female, a predicament modeled in the lamentable (though, one
may note, hardly identical) cases of Actaeon and Orpheus.83 The
peculiarities of Petrarch’s poetry should not be extrapolated to
serve as general underpinnings of all blazons written in the period

(after all, sometimes women blazoned men, and many blazons lack
even oblique references to Ovid). However contestable this dip
into the Renaissance psychology of blazon may be, the circum-
stances of Elizabethan period did make punishment by dismem-
berment a literal rather than simply literary possibility. It is in
connection to this method of execution that Greville’s use of the
word “quartered” is potentially sinister. Furthermore, Jonathan
Sawday proposes that Elizabeth herself
was the ideal subject for the poetic blazon, a vehicle for the dem-
onstration of a male wit which encircled the queen’s body in a fet-
ishistic adoration of her power, her virtue, her attraction, and (of
course) her sexual allure, made all the more potent through her
unavailability. The queen provided the perfect vehicle for initi-
ating a complex linguistic interchange, uniting partition and div-
ision with the emerging, and determinedly expansionist language
of colonization.84
Sawday’s interest in partition, however, is primarily anatomically

driven. Hence, his (and Vickers’) account of blazon encompasses
the entire female body, with a sharp focus on sex and coloniza-
tion.85 For Sawday, as much as for Vickers, the method of blazon
reveals the struggle among men that treat the woman’s body as a
territory to be conquered through language.
Both Vickers and Sawday perceive blazon as a weapon, or an
aggressive strategy fully in service to the writer (most frequently
male) who employs it, whether for the purposes of self-defense,
offense, or proclamation of ownership.86 Sawday neatly relates his
theory to the queen. However, his examples are not sufficient to
support the weight of his propositions in Elizabeth’s particular
case.87 The very scarcity of blazons directly depicting the queen
shows that, rather than lending her body to the rhetorical compe-
tition among men, she was more likely to be admired by a vague
affirmation of her beauty than depicted in detail in a list of her fea-
tures. It is for this reason that, in each case a poet has the courage
to take up even a brief enumeration, the resulting image is always
a generic Petrarchan mistress, and not the real queen. Why, one
may ask, is her hair always said to be “gold” and “yellow” when it
was often perceived as auburn or red by those who have seen her
in person? Why do the writers chose not to weave any conceits
in praise of the color of her eyes? Why does no one invent a way
to depict the queen’s noble nose (a feature thoroughly avoided in
poetic descriptions, and even all-encompassing Puttenham seems
to throw it in merely as a convenient rhyme to “rose”)? And what
of Elizabeth’s languidly heavy eyelids? Is Spenser hinting at their
peculiar shape by planting a few Graces on their surface? Surely
there are more precise ways to pay tribute to the queen’s actual
features! The predicament may be as simple as a lack of unmedi-
ated personal experience.
But there must be a reason why none of Elizabeth’s courtiers
who dabbled in poetry produced a recognizable depiction of her
face: neither Raleigh, to whom Spenser directed his reader for a
perfect portrait of the queen; nor Sidney, whose talent in praising
a woman’s face, feature by feature, shines in several sonnets and
even more so in his Arcadia; nor even Essex, who spent much of
his time in close parlance with his royal lady. It would seem that
such a lacuna would result not from the writers’ explicit fear to
“mar” her perfect visage, but from a possible hidden fear to incur
their queen’s displeasure by accentuating the undesirable features
of her actual face. Whereas it is common sense that admiring any
imperfections in her complexion would be unacceptable, features
like heavy eyelids or slightly hooked nose have been aberrant to
the Elizabethan stereotype of properly blazoned beauty, if only
because Petrarch made no record of those when he created Laura’s
poetic face.88
In the context of these factual and linguistic difficulties, mar-
shalling the queen’s features in a full blazon or, alternatively,
avoiding description prove to be less dialectic opposites than two
radical responses intrinsically bound together by exactly the same
challenge: the limits of representation imposed by language and
restricted further by the stakes inherent in Elizabeth’s face as the
subject of depiction. Paradoxically, it is heraldic inscription that
stands out as the most ingenious and meaningful image in this
host of attempts and refusals to describe the queen’s actual face.
In its succinct recovery of the blazon’s original function, that of
recording the demarcations of a shield, the heraldic metaphor
charts the symbolic lineaments of monarchy onto the natural face
of a woman.
CHAPTER 5
PORTRAITURE: THE PAINTED

TEXTS OF ELIZABETH’S FACES
Importance of Faces in Early Modern Portraiture

The unstable relationship between the “real” face and its painted
counterpart entails a formative influence on the conception, in
the viewers’ minds, of how Elizabeth’s actual face appeared. Along
with mass-produced images featured on coins, cheap prints, and
broadside sheets, the faces of her portraits functioned as definitive
public statements of Elizabeth’s looks. The interpretations and
judgments passed upon Elizabeth’s faces in her portraits became
interpretations and judgments upon the queen herself, and it is on
these faces, belonging essentially to an elitist and higher quality
genre of portraiture, that this chapter is focused.
There exists a pervasive notion in scholarship that the
Elizabethans viewed portraiture as a means to assert various
aspects of the sitter’s identity mainly through the setting, leav-
ing the face essentially outside the system of signification. To
the modern eye, faces in Elizabethan portraiture generally seem
to suggest little concern with verisimilitude or resemblance as
they seem to carry less realistic emphasis than the surrounding
material and symbolic objects. This view is derived partly from
the elaborate symbolic and allegoric network surrounding many
faces in the English portraits in the period, and partly from the
stylistic choices in depiction of faces: a flat, two-dimensional
appearance that, in comparison to the extensive use of light and
shadow in the contemporaneous Italian art, seems to be delib-
erately unnatural and mask-like, a result of the insular prefer-
ence of the line over color/chiaroscuro.1 For instance, the portraits
of Elizabeth often dazzle the viewers with a spectacular array
of scrupulously depicted clothing, jewelry, and allegorical
paraphernalia that surround her face, thus incorporating the

face into an impressive setting, although detracting attention
from the face itself.
Nevertheless, faces were very important to the early mod-
erns. Portraits were often treated as substitutes for the people
they represented, and the viewers scrutinized the painted faces
intently, commenting on the degree of lifelikeness and resem-
blance to those they depicted.2 The artists, too, placed an
emphasis on the depiction of the face. As we shall see in this
chapter, for Nicholas Hilliard, the sitter’s visage was undisput-
edly a focal point of a portrait. Earlier in the century, Erasmus’
portraitist issued a similar painstaking demand for precision
when he refused to proceed with painting “saying that Erasmus’
face was no longer the same” after his bile was purged by a phys-
ician. The painting was delayed presumably until the sitter’s face
returned to its former state.3
Not only did portraits endeavor to record the sitter’s identity,
they also served as a means of providing and soliciting the crucial
information in matters of diplomacy and marriage negotiations. 4
Looking for wives in the foreign countries, Henry VI, Henry VII,
and most famously Henry VIII sent their artists to produce like-
nesses of the faces of the potential royal brides. Henry VI’s orders
in 1442, for instance, encouraged Hans the painter to focus on
the faces of the Count of Armagnac’s daughters, “with all manner
of features,” 5 and, in 1505, Henry VII demanded a precise pic-
ture of the “veray visage countenaunce and semblance” of Joanna
of Aragon.6 Not only did such portraits allow one to appraise a
potential spouse, but they were also used to gauge the viewer’s
reaction. French Ambassador Castillon, for example, kept a close
eye on Henry VIII’s facial expression and reported to Francis I
that Henry has received the “portrait of Mademoiselle de Guise,
whom this King does not think ugly, as I know by his face.” 7
Castillon’s remark encapsulates a layered reading that frequently
took place during the consumption of portraits in diplomatic
contexts: the viewer’s face is being observed and read while the
viewer is studying a countenance depicted in the portrait.
Likewise, the face was particularly significant to the con-
sumers of the portraits of Elizabeth. Two poetic meditations on
her pictures addressed below allow us to determine the early mod-
ern interest in representation of Elizabeth’s royal countenance,
both at the opening and closing of her reign. A Latin poem “On
The Painted Texts of Elizabeth’s Faces 125
the picture of the Queen” (1566) focuses explicitly and entirely on

Elizabeth’s face in the portrait:
Your ivory brow conquers your primrose countenance with

shining whiteness:
How does your charming beauty shine through your
delicate cheeks?
What neck with gold hair is more pure than gold?
Does any rosy beauty shine in a snowy mouth?
And will no woman begrudge you such a face
So long as you always wish to live as a maiden?8
Tellingly, the painted depiction of Elizabeth and the living queen,

who may live on as a virgin and thus preserve the beauty captured
in that picture, merge in the address of the poet to the portrait.
The familiar Petrarchan metaphors of roses, ivory, and gold, there-
fore, praise both the living and the painted face, and the prom-
inence of the color in this description particularizes the viewer’s
lingering on the queen’s face captured in the poetically appropri-
ate colors of the paint. As a consumer of the visual representation,
the speaker optimistically believes that the congruency of the
image and the face it depicts may continue because this beauty is
a function of Elizabeth’s maidenhood. In Shakespeare’s Measure
for Measure, Lucio similarly implies that virginity is manifested in
the colors of the face when he greets Isabella in Act 1: “Hail, vir-
gin, if you be—as those cheek-roses / Proclaim you are no less.” 9
The Latin poem’s last line draws a link between talem vultum (such
a face) and Elizabeth’s living viuere virgo (as a maiden), and thus
ostensibly ascribes meaning to the face that heretofore seemed to
be merely an object of aesthetic admiration.
Later poetic testimony to the high expectations placed onto
the royal faces in portraits is John Davies’ poem “To Her Picture”
(1599) that conveys his disappointment with the inadequacy of an
artist’s representation of the queen. In his comparison of Elizabeth
to her portrait, he singles out her face as the site of liveliness and
majesty:
But here are colours red and white,

Each lyne, and each proportion right;
These Lynes, this red, and whitenesse,
Have wanting yet a life and light,
A Majestie, and brightnesse.10
The speaker maintains that the physical aspect of the painted

face is present (color and line), but the portrait lacks suggestion of
character (life, light, or majesty). The poem hints that the possible
reason for the artist’s failure to capture Elizabeth’s glory is her
physical absence from the creation of the picture: the artist, there-
fore, “was not bold; / Nor durst his eyes her eyes behold; / And this
made him mistake her.” In other words, the image-maker never
saw the queen in person, was too inhibited to scrutinize her, or
drew her “mistakenly” from memory, failing to grasp the essence
of her glory, a predicament similar to the one often thwarting
poetic descriptions of the queen discussed in the previous chap-
ter. Davies issues a familiar complaint about the inadequacy of
representation: “Little his skill that finisht thee, / . . . So dull her
counterfait should be, / And she so full of glory.” Of course, the
disparagement of the medium here is a way to glorify the subject
of representation: by the end of the century, Davies had an oppor-
tunity to see some of her portraits that hardly lacked splendor.
Or so it seems when one recalls the gorgeous fabrics, the massive
jewelry, and the commanding settings of these late portraits. A
catch, however, in this particular poem is that Davies seems to be
talking only about the representation of Elizabeth’s face, and it is
specifically in the face that he finds a disappointing dullness and
lack of glory.
This attention to the painted face indicates that, even for
Elizabeth’s contemporaries, the effect of her portraits was not
entirely a function of the paraphernalia around her counten-
ance: her face was construed to be an essential element of rep-
resentation that was scrutinized for a confirmation of her glory.
Viewers such as Davies, however, expected from her portrayed
face not a similitude of features but a rendition of her royal mag-
nificence. Other viewers, as I discuss in the end of the chapter,
voiced a persistent interest in the degree of a portrait’s resem-
blance to the English queen. These viewers, however, had to
rely on the eyewitnesses, who were not always truthful, for
this information. For this reason, the inquiry that follows sus-
pends the question of accuracy of representation, that is, the
reciprocity between the depicted and living faces, and pursues
instead the tangible meaning in the painted face itself, or more
precisely, in the variations within the multitude of faces created
in Elizabeth’s portraiture. Although this analysis will inevitably
produce some suggestions as to Elizabeth’s “real” facial features,
the main strategy in this chapter is to explain the possible sig-

nifications professed or concealed in the queen’s painted faces.
As a contribution to the study of the royal portraits, this chap-
ter will show how an analysis of Nicholas Hilliard’s theory of
portraying faces illuminates his depictions of Elizabeth. In the
second part of the chapter, I will demonstrate that an examin-
ation of well-known and marginalized portraits of the queen in
conjunction with each other yields more complete insights into
the peculiarities of her portraiture.
Part I: Elizabeth and Hilliard
Nicholas Hilliard and the Craft of Life,

Favor, and Likeness
One of the crucial principles of depicting faces in the period is
what Berger calls “mimetic idealism”: a particular combination of
accuracy, and thus individuality, of portrayal and exemplarity that
necessarily involves an idealization of the face.11 The sitters’ social
status is of utmost importance for the artistic decisions: ideal-
ization is necessary to assert the beauty of the sitters’ souls and/
or competence of their minds. In Neoplatonic terms, the artist
is called upon to make the invisible visible: he depicts the sitters’
essential qualities through the modification of their accidental
physical features, erasing the incongruities by means of idealiza-
tion. As a method of representation, “mimetic idealism” is pre-
sent both in visual and verbal arts of the period. In literary and
documentary descriptions of Elizabeth, the balance between the
mimetic and idealist aspects of representation is constantly shift-
ing. Both in visual and verbal depictions, this process of ideal-
ization is further complicated by the heightened investment in
spectacularity of Elizabeth’s monarchal style that foregrounds the
disparity of her body natural and body politic even as it attempts
to merge them.
If Berger insists on the portraiture’s relative preservation of
individuality, Elizabeth Cropper argues that, when viewed in
the context of early modern gender economy, individuality in
representation of the face is less desirable in portraits of women
than men. Idealization of female beauty takes precedence over
recording her specific personality: the identity of the sitter is less
important than the generalized beauty of the painted face that, in
the patriarchal world, possesses primarily a decorative value.12 In

Elizabeth’s case, however, this tendency is undoubtedly reconfig-
ured: anonymity is unavailable to the monarch. Yet the faces that
her portraits figure forth are often disassociated from her natural
visage in ways that, rather than negating her identity, recreate it
anew. The politics of representation of the queen’s face, therefore,
are deeply embedded in social, aesthetic, and gender economies of
depiction of faces in paint and language.
Considerations related to the early modern professional gaze
employed for the scrutiny of the sitters’ faces, Elizabeth’s visage
among them, are discussed by Hilliard in his Treatise Concerning the
Arte of Limning (c. 1600).13 Hilliard produced most of Elizabeth’s
miniatures, and at least three full-size portraits are attributed to
this artist. His treatise not only gives an insight into his individual
approach to portraying the queen, but also provides an important
theoretical framework for the painting of faces in early modern
England.
According to Hilliard, a miniaturist’s skill of portrayal is
revealed, first and foremost, in the depicting of faces:
of all things the perfection is to imitate the face of man kind, or

the hardest part of it, and which carieth most prayesse and comen-
dations, and which indeed one should not attempt untill he weare
metly good in story worke, soe neare and so weel after the life, as
that not only the party, in all liknes for favor and complection is
or may be very well resembled but even his best graces and coun-
tenance notabelly expressed, for ther is no person but hath var-
iety of looks, and countenance, as well ilbecoming as pleasing and
delighting . . . 14
To a modern reader familiar with Elizabethan images, Hilliard’s

outspoken and unmistakable delight in faces may come as a sur-
prise: en masse, the composed English faces seem to bespeak a
clinical, dispassionate approach on the part of the artist. The
expressiveness of Hilliard’s faces, however, is of a different variety
than that found in the creations of the Italian masters.15 Once the
English painter’s vocabulary becomes familiar, the lingering on
the visages in his miniatures brings out the subtle signs of expres-
sion that give life to the face in exquisite yet understated ways.
Hilliard’s confession of not only aesthetic but also emotional
pleasure of observing the faces communicates the delight and
affection that permeate the scene of production of his portraits.
As he admires the “comlynes and beauty of the face, therfor which

giveth us such pleasinge, and feedeth soe wonderful ower afection,
mor then all the worlds treasure,” Hilliard poses a requirement of
restrained amorousness toward the sitter. Although “wee are all
generally commanded to turne awaye ouer eyes frome beauty of
humayne shape, least it inflame the mind,” an artist is obliged to
look lest he fails to observe the subtlest shapes and motions of the
face, and, therefore, “it behoveth that he be in hart wisse, as it will
hardly faill that he shalbe amorous . . .” The artist, then, works in
constant tension with his own erotic impulses, observing and tak-
ing down the features—“thosse lovely graces wittye smilings, and
thosse stolne glances which sudainely like light[n]ing passe and
another Countenance taketh place”—even as he worries about
“blasting his younge and simpel hart.” 16
The explicit combination of the eroticism and beauty permeates
Hilliard’s discussion of the face. For this reason, the technicality
of his highly detailed description of the fleeting transformations
rippling across the surface of a face is warmed by his affection,
very much like the features recorded in his miniatures. In a cer-
tain sense, these specialized descriptions, articulated by a master
of the brush rather than pen, may in their wonder at the smallest
changes in the human face vie with some vague and conventional
poetic sketches left by his contemporaries. It takes a keen eye of
an artist or lover to register a smile in the following way:
. . . in smilling howe the eye changeth and narroweth, houlding

the sight just between the lides as a center, howe the mouth alit-
tel extendeth, both ends of the line upwards, the Cheekes rayse
themselves to the eyewards, the nosterels play and are more open,
the vaines in the tempel appeare more and the cullour by degrees
increaseth, the necke commonly erecteth it selfe, the eye browes
make the straighter arches, and the forhead casteth it selfe in to a
plaine as it wear for peace and love to walke upon . . . 17
Even as this itemized record of the birth of a smile, in an appar-

ently dispassionate way, registers the subtle changes in shape and
color in every visible part of the face, it bursts through the clin-
ical style into an emotional metaphor in the end that throws the
entire description into poetic relief. Portraits that we are likely to
see produced by such a writer will endeavor to record every subtle
configuration of a living face, and do it so affectionately that each
face will bear a stamp of the artist’s fascination.
Hilliard’s theoretical approach to the face includes an excur-

sion into three components of beauty and a tripartite quality of
a properly painted face. Listing the components in his treatise,
Hilliard draws a distinct division between the judgment about
a face in life and representation of the same face in a portrait
(figure 3). Hilliard charts the evaluation of living and painted faces
as follows:
“the goodness or ilnes of the living face”:

1 Complection
2 Proportion Being the favore
3 Countenan[c]e
“the goodness of a picture after the life”:
1 Liffe Eye
2 favor which chiefly consist in nose
3 Liknes these three features mouth
Figure 3. Nicholas Hilliard, A Treatise Concerning the Arte of Limning,

25. University Press of New England, Hanover, NH. Reprinted with
permission.
The terminology in these classifications is distinctly early

modern. The word “favor,” for instance, refers to facial appear-
ance. Moreover, the artist destabilizes the term “favor” as he
moves along. Thus, according to his chart, Hilliard seems to use
“favor” as a general synonym to “comlynes and beauty of the face”
(two terms themselves not entirely synonymous in early modern
usage); however, earlier in the treatise he also points out more spe-
cifically, that the “good proportion [is] somtime called favore . . .”
While “complexion” refers to the color of the skin, the “counten-
ance” denotes facial expression: the “greatest of all is the grace in
countenance, by which the afections apeare, which can neither be
weel ussed nor well Juged of but of the wisser sort . . .” All together,
“faire and beautiful” complexion, “good proportion,” and “grace in
countenance” constitute the three parts of beauty.18 The inference
is that the qualities of complexion, proportion, and countenance
are the main points of reference for the early moderns, forming
a judgment about facial beauty.19 We shall see that some of these

elements may be downplayed in favor of others. Importantly,
Hilliard esteems countenance as the “princepall part of the beauty”
and also the chief trigger of “amorousness” in a beholder; the
faces of his miniatures, therefore, should be examined accord-
ingly. With this emphasis in mind, the two major ramifications of
Hilliard’s preference relate to the long-standing issues of agency
and idealization in early modern thought.
Hilliard himself did not leave his opinion on the use of cos-
metic products, but his friend Richard Haydock voiced his pro-
test to face-painting.20 Leaving aside the availability of cosmetic
aides, discussed in chapter 2, with contemporary plastic surgery
limited to the reconstruction of the noses ruined by syphilis,21 the
only component of beauty that could be swayed by the owner of
any particular face was the countenance: that is, one could train
the features to assume a pleasing expression or refrain from show-
ing emotion if the resulting expressions could not be altered. In
this respect, Hilliard’s hierarchy speaks of his generosity toward
his sitters, admittance that all “goodness” of the face is not lost
even if one’s complexion and proportion are not ideal. It is on
these grounds that Hilliard may proceed to dispute the previ-
ously mentioned link between proportion and favor, arguing that
many well-proportioned faces are ill-favored and unpleasant to
view. As Hilliard’s account develops, therefore, the term “favor”
ceases to be synonymous with “proportion,” and the coexistence
of both qualities becomes unstable. However, Hilliard notes that
“very rarly doth nature or hardly can Art make a good favor that
shall not howld that true proportion”; hence the good fortune of
Sir Christopher Hatton, whose ill-proportioned features did not
hinder his reputation “amongst the best favours,” is a wondrous
exception to the rule.22
At the same time as Hilliard’s exaltation of the countenance
opens an opportunity for self-fashioning through control of one’s
facial expressions, it bears upon the art of a portrait painter and
his likely choices among the possibilities for idealization. Would
Hilliard be more or less disposed to idealize his sitter’s complex-
ion, proportion, or expression? This question is tricky because
an answer must account for two other major issues addressed by
Hilliard in relation to the portrayal of faces: first, his tripartite
evaluation of a face in a portrait is inclusive of, but not identical to,
the three components of a judgment about a living face; second,
Hilliard’s position in the controversy about the superiority of line

or color, line or shadow bears a great importance upon all his art-
istic choices, his approach to idealization among them.
To start with, Hilliard outlines the requirements for a success-
ful portrait as both encompassing and outgrowing the excellence
of a beautiful living face. In particular, the aspects of a painted
face consist of the living face’s three components of beauty (favor),
but also include life and likeness. The latter additions are obvi-
ously a function of a portrait as an artifact; its representational
nature entails a further challenge of imitating those qualities that
are already present by default in a living being. From this point
of view, the task of managing the face in a portrait, therefore, is
ostensibly more complex than in life.
Moreover, encoded in Hilliard’s requirements are not only the
early modern expectations that surround a successful portrait, but
also rules that address the predicament of painting an ill-looking
sitter. For the purposes of portraiture, the artist seems to advo-
cate, so to speak, a most favorable likeness: so that “not only the
party, in all liknes for favor and complection is or may be very well
resembled but even his best graces and countenance notabelly
expressed, for ther is no person but hath a variety of looks, and
countenance, as well ilbecoming as pleassing and delighting . . .” 23
The artist is urged to “espy” and capture the moment of beauty,
but the possibility that such moment may never come is optimis-
tically veiled by Hilliard.
Indeed, the assumption in Hilliard’s charts only seems to be that
all sitters are as likely to possess “favor” as they are to have “liffe.”
The presence of “liknes” ’ on the list seems to ensure, but instead
undermines, the genuineness of painted “favor,” while together
the two requirements create a balance that grounds idealiza-
tion. Even here, however, Hilliard is struggling with the terms:
“favor and liknes are both one in some sence, as one would say of
a picture after the liffe, that it hath the very favore of the party
or the very liknes of the party, both is one thinge, but when one
sayeth it is a welfavored picture, and a well like picture, theese
differ . . .” 24
Hilliard’s lack of precision in his attempt at theorizing the
painted face is but a symptom of the larger confusion surrounding
the terms of painting in the sixteenth-century England. Writing
the first treatise on art in the English language, Hilliard encoun-
ters numerous problems in his task of expressing the theoretical
assertions that have not yet acquired stability in either profes-

sional or everyday language.25 For example, in the distinction that
Hilliard points out in the passage quoted above, the synonymy of
favor and likeness ceases to exist once the terms refer to the painted
face per se rather than the painted face only in relation to the liv-
ing face of the sitter (“the party”). In the latter case, the portrait
that has the “very favore of the party or the very liknes of the
party” is evaluated on the grounds of likeness, be it likeness to
the sitters’ features or their comeliness. When the focus shifts to
the representation, the two terms are split: a “welfavored picture”
commends the comeliness of a painted face regardless of the sit-
ter’s actual demeanor, whereas a “well like picture” comments on
likeness apart from the correspondence between the living and
pictured faces in terms of beauty or lack thereof. In effect, the two
comments together constitute a compliment both to the sitter
and the artist whereas, in separation, they praise the artist alone
(excluding, of course, the unlikely situation when an “ill-favored”
portrait is desirable).
These confusing subtleties, so evident in Hilliard’s meandering
writing style, testify to the complexity of concerns surrounding
the production and consumption of a painted face in early modern
portraiture. Hilliard’s admiring contemporary George Chapman
left a judgment that does not diminish the importance of likeness
in a portrait, but certainly places it below the evanescent qualities
of “motion, spirit, and life” achieved only by a master and appre-
ciated only by a connoisseur: “. . . it serves not a skilfull Painters
turne, to draw the figure of a face onely to make knowne who it
represents; but hee must lymn, give luster, shaddow, and heighten-
ing; which though ignorants will esteeme spic’d, and too curious,
yet such as have the judiciall perspective, will see it hath, motion,
spirit, and life.” 26
Coming back to the earlier question of whether Hilliard is more
or less disposed to idealize his sitter’s complexion, proportion, or
expression, it is necessary to consider what has become, for art
historians, a trademark of Hilliard’s artistic credo: his opinion on
the use of color, line, and shadow in art. The terms “color,” “line,”
and “shadow,” as they appear in Hilliard’s treatise, are in continu-
ous tension with each other. Hilliard begins by educating the
“common eys” of his reader about the true artistic mastery. In the
absence of proportion and perspective, “neatnes and well coullor-
ing” may give an impression of perfection, but only to an untrained
eye. There is an obvious urgency in Hilliard’s desire to correct this

misconception: “knowe it you for a truth that the cheefest mas-
tery and skill consisteth in the true proportion and line . . . forget
not therfore that the principal parte of painting or drawing after
the life, consiste[t]h in the truth of the lyne . . .” Line and propor-
tion, in this view, share the same nature: they circumscribe the
figure and thus both stand in contrast to color and shadow, the
two amorphous fillers of space, incapable of defining the shapes
on their own: “the lyne with out shadowe showeth all to a good
Jugment, but the shadowe without lyne showeth nothing . . .” 27
However, Hilliard’s radical pronouncements in favor of line
are soon modified by his articulated admission of both color
and shadow into the art of portraiture. He advocates shadowing
“sweetly,” suggesting that to “shadowe as if it weare not at all shad-
owed, is best shadowed,” 28 and then goes on to give the detailed
instructions as to the choice and processing of paints suitable
for use in making miniatures. In the midst of these instructions,
Hilliard inserts a dictum that brackets his preceding distribution
of value among color, line, and shadow: “Take this for a generall
rule, that Lymning must excell all Painting in that point, in that
it must give evry thing his proper lustre as weel as his true cullor
light and shadowe.” 29 This statement turns the focus away from
the hierarchy of line versus color/shadow, concentrating instead
on the issue of accuracy of imitation.
These theoretical convictions hold utmost importance in the
assessment of Hilliard’s practical choices in his depiction of faces.
His own skill of the “truth of the line” has been acknowledged
in John Harington’s testimony about Hilliard’s minimalist ability
to delineate the face of the queen, capturing her likeness in four
lines: “. . . among other things of his doing, my selfe have seene
him in white and black in foure lines only set downe the feature
of the Queenes Majesties countenance, that it was even thereby
to be knowne, and he is so perfect therein (as I have heard others
tell) that he can set it downe by the Idea he hath without any pat-
terne . . .” 30 Harington’s deposition refers to an accomplishment in
which Hilliard himself took no small pride, as the latter includes
an oddly disguised self-reference in his treatise, mentioning the
same incident: “. . . as one sayeth in a place, that he hath seene the
picture of her majestie in fower [four] lynes very like, meaning by
fower lynes but the playne lynes, as he might as well have sayd in
one lyne, but best in plaine lines without shadowing . . .” 31 What
these two accounts emphasize is not the scarceness of lines, but

their ability to convey likeness in the absolute absence of color and
shadowing.
However, one must not confuse the admiration for the artist’s
skill manifested in a casual trick and the serious artistic convictions
that transpire in the miniaturist’s carefully managed creations. To
start with, there is an established place for color in Hilliard’s the-
ory of depicting faces, and this place is assigned in accordance to
the conditions that, in his view, make for an accomplished por-
trait. Likeness and liveliness of a picture, it turns out, depend on
line and color: “. . . may if it be a faire face, have sweet countenance
even in the lyne, for the line only giveth the countenance, but both
lyne and colour giveth the lively likness . . .” 32 The sum total of line
and color, in effect, produces all three elements that comprise “the
goodness of a picture after the life”:33 favor, inclusive of proportion
and countenance (line), life and likeness (color). One may add that
color is obviously used to render the sitter’s complexion (the third
constituent of favor), but Hilliard leaves this out. In fact, his ren-
dition of complexion is the least detailed and the most generic:
after making the initial decision as to what shade to use to paint
the skin, a miniaturist lays the ground pigment of that shade. As
the image is created and colors applied, the ground layer is left
intact in the areas that represent the skin.
Moreover, shadow makes an auxiliary contribution to the por-
trait’s success. Hilliard continues: “. . . and shadows showe the
roundnes, and the effect or defect of the light wherin the picture
was drawne . . .” 34 Shadow, unlike line and color, belongs more to
the setting than the sitter: even though it helps to show relief of
the face, shadow is essentially a “defect of light” and attribute of
place.35 If so, how may the technique of shadowing affect the rep-
resentation of a face in a portrait? In his answer, Hilliard continu-
ously appeals to the necessity of representing the truth. Here, an
ethical requirement is implied, but not charted as a part of judging
a portrait.
Indeed, prompted by Elizabeth’s famous question about “shad-
owing,” Hilliard theorizes his stylistic preference for presenting
faces in full frontal light in terms that start out as purely optical,
but soon become distinctly moral.
. . . when first I came in her highnes presence to drawe, whoe after

showing me howe shee noti[c]ed great difference of shadowing in
the works, and diversity of Drawers of sundry nations, and that

the Italians who had the name to be cunningest, and to drawe best,
shadowed not, Requiring of me the reason of it, seeing that best to
showe ones selfe, nedeth no shadow of place but rather the oppen
light.36
In Hilliard’s opinion, shadows cause obscurity. They act as a

cover-up for the artist’s incompetence or indolence (because then
he can draw “a grosser lyne”) or of the sitter’s defects (“to palle, too
red, or frekled [fa]ce”); in either case, shadows conceal what should
be visible: the truth. Even if beauty may still show in a shadowed
picture, it appears muted because shadows act like a veil whereas
“beauty and good favor is like cleare truth, which is not shamed
with the light, nor neede to bee obscured.” 37
Two questions immediately arise from this reasoning:
(1) what should the artist do if his sitter is devoid of “beauty and
good favor” and (2) what can be inferred about a woman’s “real”
appearance from her portrait? Both of these questions lead into
the territory inhabited by Hilliard’s numerous clients, Elizabeth
in particular—a client whose depiction carried a significance of
singular magnitude. Despite his admiration for common English
beauties,38 Hilliard acknowledges that not all faces are perfect,
and those lacking in complexion (but not in proportion) can be
remedied by being shown in a shadow. Heavy shadowing, there-
fore, may indicate not only the painter’s ineptitude or badly lit
setting, but also an attempt to camouflage the defects of the sit-
ter’s complexion. Actually, the shadow in setting and shadowing
in portraiture do the same for a face covered in freckles (or exces-
sively red or pale) as what cosmetics do for it in life. Hilliard seems
to disapprove of such complacencies in painting, concluding that
“great shadowe is a good signe in a pictur after the life of an ill
cause . . .” 39 It is interesting that the artist is careful to point out
that the woman in his example possesses a good proportion even
though her defective complexion is an “ill cause.” Irregular pro-
portion, he implies, can be helped neither by a trick of light and
shade in life nor by chiaroscuro in painting. The possible inadequa-
cies in the third element of beauty, countenance (the one Hilliard
has pronounced to be the most important), are silently omitted in
this statement.
It is this complex and at times contradictory set of valua-
tions, techniques, and correspondences that surrounds Hilliard’s
famous account of the queen’s sitting for her portrait. As Hilliard

prepares to paint her picture, Elizabeth makes a point of using
the occasion to show herself in “the oppen light,” allowing the art-
ist to view and record her looks. The queen’s choice of the “open
ally of a goodly garden, where no tree was neere, nor anye shad-
owe at all” 40 is an eloquent follow-up to her own observation that
“best to showe ones selfe, nedeth no shadow of place but rather
the oppen light.” 41 Such willingness to display herself without res-
ervation, in the context of recognized moral connotations of light
and shadow, says less about Elizabeth’s vanity than confidence in
her moral goodness and eagerness to make this confidence known
to the artist as well as viewers of his work.
For the reputation and authority of the writer of this treatise,
however, the effect of this narrative is twofold. First of all, this
story allows Hilliard to assert obliquely his position of being in
charge of the sitting. Elizabeth’s decision, though it is often cited
as an expression of her personal taste in portraiture, is in com-
plete agreement with Hilliard’s own convictions. In his prescrip-
tion for a proper setting, he expounds the rule “conserning the
light and place wher you worke in” as follows: “on[e] only light
great and faire let it be, and without impeachment, or reflections,
of walls, or trees, a free sky light the dieper the window and farer,
the better, and no by window, but a cleare story . . .” 42 Moreover,
Hilliard overtly connects Elizabeth’s choice to his persuasive
answer to her question about shadowing: she arrives to the sitting
with an understanding that an “oppen light” is needed “best to
showe ones selfe”; but she chooses to sit in the open ally because she
“conseved the reason” as Hilliard explained it.43 Likewise, when
Hilliard admits that “this her Majestie curiouse d[e]maūnd hath
greatly bettered my Jugment besids divers other like questions
in Art by her most excelent Majestie which to speake or writ of,
weare fitter for some better clarke,” 44 he juxtaposes the queen’s
questions and his own judgment: her demands stimulate the art-
ist’s articulation of his views and observations rather than fash-
ion them. Although it is tempting to see in this unique account
Elizabeth’s agency and management of her own portraiture, 45 the
context hardly justifies such optimistic view. In the absence of
Hilliard’s remark that it is the conversation with Elizabeth and
her choice of the place for the sitting that prompted him to form
the above rule that the sitter always has to be placed in the open
light, this story testifies more to Hilliard’s skillful management
of Elizabeth’s inclination than the queen’s unbridled control of

the ensuing portrait.
Second, in recording this account more than twenty years after
the event, Hilliard lays a retrospective claim on the truthfulness
of his portrayal of Elizabeth: at least, in one portrait that was cre-
ated as Elizabeth sat in “the open ally of a goodly garden.” 46 The
truthfulness of all his portraits, however, is qualified by his the-
oretical concepts of the face as well as the social situation where a
degree of idealization is a necessity. In addition, one may exploit
the affinities of Hilliard’s portrait production to his craft as a
goldsmith and connect his views on artistic bettering of natural
gems to his likely position on idealization in portraiture. Hilliard
notes that the cutting and setting of a stone doubles its value, and
“proportion g[i]ven to a Stone by Arte, by the cuning Artificer hel-
peth nature, and addeth beautye as well as nature doeth, to the
great commendations of that Misterye or Sience.” 47 For today’s
viewers of Hilliard’s Elizabeth, therefore, his credo of truthful-
ness has to be accepted in the sense he seems to have assigned to
it: the “truth of the line” had little to do with likeness to the liv-
ing face, and everything with life and favor emanating from the
painted visage.
Hilliard’s Elizabeth: “the truth of the lyne”

Hilliard’s uniqueness among those who painted images of Queen
Elizabeth lies both in continuity and undisputed authorship of his
creations. Hilliard’s portraits span three decades of Elizabeth’s
reign and form a line of visages that record a history of their own.
It is this history of the queen’s face, “writ by N Hilliard” 48 that I
would like to examine in this section, based on some representa-
tive portraits that record the variety of possible facial features, a
variety that even one and the same artist has not failed to capture
in his creation of the royal image.
In order to interpret the faces Hilliard gives to Elizabeth in his
miniatures, we need to superimpose onto them the network of cri-
teria, values, and requirements announced in his treatise. Needless
to say, some, if not all, correspondences of his practical decisions
to the theoretical aspects on his chart are beyond solid verifica-
tion. With all caution, however, we can still get at some principles
of Hilliard’s portrayal of the queen’s face. The objective is not to
evaluate the quality of each portrait according to the directions in
Hilliard’s second chart, but to discover the meaning of Hilliard’s

artistic choices by deducing the correspondences among the fea-
tures in the portraits. These findings will be used to reconstruct
the transformation of the facial qualities listed in the first chart,
dedicated to the judgment of the living face, into the painted faces
of the miniatures. My task, unlike that of a conscientious restorer
of paintings, is to discern the additives and alterations not in order
to clean them off, but to make sense of the meaning produced as a
result of translation of flesh into paint.
Despite his previously mentioned claim of truthfulness (via
his credo of portrayal in the “oppen light”), the manipulation of
the face is overtly inscribed in Hilliard’s principles of endowing a
portrait with life, favor, and likeness: respectively, life is conveyed
by the depiction of the eyes; favor, by the shape of the nose; and
the secret for capturing likeness lies in a skillful rendition of the
mouth.49 Besides assigning meaning and purpose to specific fea-
tures, these correspondences imply that parts of the face may and
should be adjusted in accordance to the artist’s and sitter’s wishes.
We may discern the distribution of Hilliard’s priorities by noting
that he gives no instructions as to the painting of a mouth; empha-
sizes a well-proportioned nose as a chief trait of a well-favored
face;50 and gives a great number of techniques for the proper por-
trayal of the eyes.51
If Hilliard’s focus as a writer is indicative of his artistic prefer-
ences, it would seem that he is likely to spend his greatest effort
on achieving liveliness. To be sure, the unevenness of his instruc-
tions may also indicate the difficulty of producing universal
rules for the rendition of a mouth, a feature whose painting, in
this view, would require the most individualization. The depic-
tion of a nose, however, is another matter. Natural noses fall in
far more categories than simply well- or ill-proportioned, and the
early modern physiognomists indefatigably document their vari-
ous shapes in their treatises. The fact that Hilliard is willing to be
satisfied with a generally well-proportioned nose carries a great
importance because his royal sitter quite certainly possessed an
adequately proportioned but aquiline nose.
The noses in three early portraits of Hilliard’s Elizabeth are
certainly well-proportioned in regards to the rest of the face (fig-
ures 4 and 5; Miniature Portrait of Elizabeth I, Royal Collection
[c. 1580]52). The classic formula calls for the length of the nose being
a third of the distance between the chin and top of the forehead.
Figure 4. Nicholas Hilliard. Queen Elizabeth I playing the lute, circa

1576–1580. Miniature Portrait. Berkeley Castle, Gloucestershire,
UK/The Bridgeman Art Library
Hilliard’s own preference, in the matter of proportion, for intu-

ition over calculation53 is suitable for the challenge of proportion-
ing Elizabeth’s face, artificially elongated due to the fashionably
receding hairline that purposefully accentuated the broad fore-
head, a sign of beauty at the time. The shape of each nose, how-
ever, differs: the 1572 (figure 5) miniature hints at a possible slight
Figure 5. Nicholas Hilliard. Queen Elizabeth I, 1572. Miniature portrait.

National Portrait Gallery, London, Great Britain. Photo Credit: V&A
Images, London/Art Resource, NY
hump on the nose, with a more pronounced elongation and dip-

ping toward the tip. The face in this miniature, in all its delicacy, is
vague and evasive, but not because Elizabeth or Hilliard preferred
it to be so. This vagueness is the result of a restorer’s cautionary
repainting.54 Nevertheless, this portrait presents a relatively rare
case of ambiguous aquilinity in the shape of the nose: it is thin and
long, with a delicate tendency to hook and an even subtler hint at
crookedness in the upper middle. The nose in the Lute miniature
(figure 4) is thicker and straighter, and the angle of its tip suggests
no dipping. The miniature in the Royal Collection is transitional
between Hilliard’s early vision of the younger queen and his even
less realistic adjustment of her face into a settled “mask of youth,”
a term proposed by Roy Strong in reference to the rejuvenation of
Elizabeth’s features in many portraits created in the later part of
her reign. It is here that the evasion begins: the outline of the nose
grows thinner so as to almost disappear in the middle section; as
a result, the lower part of the nose (quite exquisitely sculpted) is
emphasized while the possibility of crookedness in the middle is
bypassed.
The mouths in these three miniatures—a site where, according
to Hilliard, the artist must take chief care to convey likeness—are
surprisingly dissimilar. Not only does the thickness of the upper
and lower lips vary, but also the delineation of the lips shows no
similarity whatsoever. Even as the upper lip grows thinner in the
two later portraits, its line is quite straight in the Lute miniature
whereas in the third depiction the two corners at the center of the
upper lip are unmistakable. This last mouth is also repeated in the
Phoenix and Pelican portraits. This inconsistency is especially sig-
nificant because, on one hand, the shape of the mouth is unlikely
to undergo such dramatic changes over one decade of a person’s
life, and, on the other hand, the first two miniatures, traditionally
thought to be painted in the queen’s presence, may be expected to
record likeness with considerable precision.55 The features in the
1572 miniature have been completely repainted, although ultravio-
let light still reveals the underdrawing similar to the features of
the Pelican portrait, a full-scale painting attributed to Hilliard. In
the latter portrait, the elegant points in the middle of the upper
lip are fully defined, opening the possibility that the mouth in
the 1572 miniature was originally quite shapely. What follows is
that the Lute miniature has either undergone some paint loss or
it depicts a mouth altered by the facial expression of the sitter.
The latter is more likely. First, Strong finds the condition of this
miniature sufficiently good to suggest a sitting associated with it;
and second, this portrait exhibits other signs of animated coun-
tenance, especially in comparison with the other two miniatures
under discussion.
In particular, the eyes (especially, Elizabeth’s left eye that is
closer to the viewer) in the Lute miniature are not fully open; their
slightly elongated shape suggests a hint of an attentive squint, a
tease, or even a hidden smile (Hilliard asserts, “in smilling . . . the

eye changeth and naroweth”).56 Again, unlike in the other two
miniatures, the queen’s gaze here is engaged with the viewer’s
eyes: she is not playing the lute in solitude, and her awareness of
the onlooker’s presence accounts for her facial expression as much
as her sentiment toward the music that her hands are ready to
elicit from the lute.
Hilliard’s skill in depicting the eyes as the loci of life is espe-
cially evident if the three sets of eyes in these miniatures are
compared. While Elizabeth’s gaze in the 1572 portrait is averted
from the viewer in a frozen moment of inwardness, the third
miniature depicts the queen’s stare in an intermediary pos-
ition: she seems to be looking toward the viewer, but her sight
is unfocused, and her mind seems to be remote. In addition,
let us mark that the color of Elizabeth’s eyes in the Lute mini-
ature is much darker than in the other two depictions (and thus
probably closer to the truth), and such inconsistency in eye color
extends to all the portraits of the queen. Partly, these varia-
tions are explained by discoloration caused by the passing time,
but, because black is unlikely to fade to a very light bluish grey
hue, the fact remains that many times visual representations of
Elizabeth feature lighter eyes.
As discussed in chapters 3 and 4, Elizabeth’s eyes were described
as black by an eyewitness, but not in the literary portraits of the
queen. One may turn to the early modern physiognomic treatises
for an explanation. A somewhat unstable set of meanings is asso-
ciated with each eye color. In particular, a treatise attributed at
the time to Aristotle pronounces “black lack-lustre eyes” as a sign
of an “orderly man,” but only if they open and close slowly and
are “neither very wide open nor half closed”; otherwise, “exces-
sively black” eyes are a sure sign of cowardice.57 Thomas Hill,
claiming to follow Aristotle and Avicenna, declares “very blacke”
eyes an unfailing indicator of fearfulness and continues to explain
“eyes blacke, notable in brightnesse” as a mark of an “evill con-
ditioned, deceytfull, and wicked” person58 while “eyes appearing
much blacke in colour” belong to a person “of a harde nature, and
fraudulent.” 59 According to Richard Roussat, very black eyes sig-
nify not only fearfulness, but also “desyre to scrape together good-
des” while “eyes not altogether Browne” show “good courage and
mynde.” 60 In contrast, “eyes not very gray in colour, but to a seemly
maner, like the colour of the Lions eies” are thought to signify an
“honest nature and good minde”;61 whereas brown eyes, if they

are shiny and sanguine, are a “signe of rasheness and privation of
witte: But yf they be well proporcioned, they betoken good state
of the wytte”; however, “tremblyng eyes and browne” belong to a
“man withoute shame, unfaythfull and unjuste.”62 Physiognomic
writings allow, therefore, a considerable wiggle room in the range
of the positive and negative meanings of eye color, and no color is
linked exclusively to good qualities.
In this context, for Elizabeth’s contemporaries, the variations
of eye color from one portrait to another augmented the mystery
of the queen’s personality, as if to suggest that her essence could
not be pinned down and defined. In addition, Elizabeth appears
with lighter eyes most frequently in her miniatures, while the full-
scale portraits tend to hold to coloring her eyes darker shades of
brown. This lightness in the eyes of the miniatures may indicate
Hilliard’s attempt to depict her sunlit eyes as transparent (and thus
truthful), as well as underscore the romantic appeal of a miniature
as a private genre.
Whereas Hilliard was first and foremost a painter of minia-
tures, three full-scale portraits of Elizabeth are attributed to this
artist on the grounds of characteristic handling of line and color:
the Pelican and Phoenix portraits and Queen Elizabeth I (c. 1580).63
Setting aside the lack of intense shadowing (a technique that
Hilliard, in his treatise, actually allows in “great pictures placed
high ore farr of”),64 the delineation of the face in these three por-
traits is not a simple enlargement of the features in Hilliard’s min-
iatures. In the first two portraits, Phoenix and Pelican, the affinity
to the 1572 miniature (figure 5) is certainly visible in position and
setting of the face as well as in its general proportions, but each
face is nevertheless unique in its subtle details. The face in the
third large portrait is a not too distant relative of the Pelican and
Phoenix; however, it sports an unusual degree of idealization that
decisively transforms the meaning of the queen’s face.
The differences in the linear features of the first two faces sug-
gest that, although these two portraits are reversed versions of
each other, they are not identical. The composition of the face in
the Phoenix portrait has undergone some early corrections. After
the first draft on the priming, the features were adjusted upward
and the face was narrowed. In particular, Elizabeth’s eyes, mouth,
and nose were drawn higher, with her right eye drawn completely
anew over the first version.65 These adjustments have extended
the chin and perhaps are responsible for the difference in the
depiction of the eyes.
The enlarged chin is common to the Pelican and Phoenix por-
traits, to the probably related the 1572 miniature, and to some
other portraits of Elizabeth as a young queen. The readers of
Roussat were instructed that a long chin was much preferred to
short chin: the latter was thought to signify that a person was
filled with vices, “full of impietye and wyckednes and are spyes,”
while the former belonged to a person “verye lyttle subjecte to
anger, and of a good complexion: and yet he be somewhat a bab-
bler and a boaster.” 66 Hill also pronounced a “large & bigge” chin
to be a mostly positive sign of being “quiet, of a mean capacitie,
dull of witte: yet faithfull, secret, and convertible, eyther unto the
good or evill.” 67 In Elizabeth’s later portraits, the mouth is placed
considerably lower, and the area occupied by the chin is thereby
shortened. While her chin is thus brought closer to a proportional
mean rather than made short (again, according to the physiogno-
mists, the most desirable solution of a happy medium), this trans-
formation in the later portraits seems to be, to some extent, a
neutralization of the suggestions of “babbling,” “boasting,” and
susceptibility to easy manipulation, qualities associated with the
longer and larger chins.
Because this correction accompanies Elizabeth’s coming into
her own as her power stabilizes despite the low expectations
earlier in her reign, this small detail of the depiction of her face
may be seen as a testimony to the rhetoric of Elizabeth’s mar-
riageability: is she, or is she not, merely a vain woman who can
be easily controlled?68 Elizabeth, however, could not efface her
gender nor was she willing to do so, and her womanhood survives
in many distinct features of her state portraits. For example, all
Elizabeth’s portraits consistently exhibit a round chin, a physio-
gnomic marker of femininity and a feature that curbs, in certain
overtly charismatic portraits, the unsettling effect of her inquisi-
tive stare, aquiline nose, and unsmiling lips.69 The Darnley por-
trait of Elizabeth is one of the most well-known examples of such
charismatic portraits (figure 6).
If Hilliard’s 1572 miniature (figure 5) and the large portraits
attributed to him endeavor to present a calm and somewhat remote
countenance imbued with intelligence, this intelligence and will
are asserted emphatically in the Darnley portrait where Elizabeth
is shown unsympathetically reciprocating the viewer’s gaze. It is
Figure 6. Anonymous, sixteenth century. Portrait of Elizabeth I,
Queen of England. Detail. Circa 1575–1580. Oil on wood. National
Portrait Gallery, London, Great Britain. Photo Credit: Bildarchiv
Preussischer Kulturbesitz/Art Resource, NY
this face that became a pattern for numerous paintings that dif-
fer most noticeably in the choices of Elizabeth’s dress and jewelry,
but preserve the stern countenance with its alert and distrusting
stare. This was obviously a welcome rendition of the face of a ruler
who would not only protect her country from the encroachment
of other sovereigns, but would also tolerate no sedition of the sub-
jects in her realm. It is a stance that will be inverted at the end of
the reign when the loving bond with subjects will be emphasized
instead, both in the queen’s speeches and her portraits.70
The face depicted in this portrait provided a pattern for a vast
group of other paintings, making the Darnley cluster the most
populous among several sets of Elizabeth’s portraits produced in
her lifetime.71 Strong asserts that the “compositional source” of the
third full-size portrait of the queen attributed to Hilliard is the
Darnley portrait.72 If so, the face in the former painting, despite
its superficial similarity to the Darnley pattern, recalls the faces of
the Pelican and Phoenix portraits in preserving, with some moder-
ation, the larger chin, the small mouth, and especially the exquis-
itely sculpted curls framing the forehead and temples. Unlike the
curved nose in the Darnley portrait, as aquiline as it will ever get
in paint,73 the middle of the nose in Hilliard’s depiction is softly
straightened, characteristically, by the lack of emphasis on the
particulars of its delineation. The oval of the face is also softened
and smoothed in an idealized curve, effectively rejuvenating the
face. As in the Pelican and Phoenix portraits, Elizabeth’s mouth is
very small (another physiognomic sign of femininity),74 notably
delineated in the Darnley portrait and its many descendants. No
less significant is Hilliard’s preference, in all three large portraits,
for a gaze that avoids the viewer’s eyes rather than meets them,
especially as decisively as the commanding stare of the Darnley
portrait. Hilliard’s Elizabeth is never imposing, and her viewers
are moved to admire her “grace of countenance,” delicacy, and
splendor, as well as her essential mystery.
The regal dress and sumptuous jewelry leave no doubts as to
the identity portrayed in this highly idealized full-scale portrait.
These elements seem at once to justify, validate, and stabilize the
refashioning of Elizabeth’s face. In other words, this new face not
only continues to signify the queen, but, in doing so, becomes one
of her legitimized faces, capturing an aspect of her identity that,
if not readily visible in her body natural, is nevertheless deemed to
be a necessary element of her public image.
It is perhaps for this reason that Hilliard usually softens, in his

early miniatures of the queen, the lineaments of Elizabeth’s char-
acteristically deeply set eyes, erasing the prominent curves of the
eye sockets and thus relaxing her facial expression. To be sure,
the limner’s refusal to propagate a sharp stare in his sovereign’s
images could have been a consequence of his somewhat roman-
ticized attitude toward his sitters, as well as the conventions of
intimacy associated with the genre of miniature. The cultural
attitude to such a commanding stare was, however, fraught with
meaning that went farther than that of a disturbed intimacy. “The
eyes that beholde sharpelye, and wyth the eye lyddes studyouslye
declining” were thought to betray a malicious, deceitful, secret-
ive, wicked, and “fayntly faythfull” person.75
The shape of Elizabeth’s eyes seems to have been especially
problematic. Judging by the frequency of their occurrence in
portraits, we can conclude that she possessed hooded eyes whose
lids became very prominent by the 1570s. Even when a princess,
Elizabeth was described alternatively as modest or haughty, to
some extent because of her eyes, and she was equally capable of
juggling these contradictory impressions when she became queen.
Interestingly, Hill teaches that “the upper eie lidde bearing out,
rather blowne up: then full appearing, and somewhat declin-
ing ouer the eie” declare a “hawtie and disdainfull” person.76
Whether the correspondence between her pride and the shape of
her eyes is an accident of physiognomic accuracy, or perhaps, for
her observers, Elizabeth’s wide upper lids intensified the expres-
sion of haughtiness on her face, it is these hooded, emphatically
convex eyes that have become Elizabeth’s most consistent trait
in her portraits.77 It is also, quite surprisingly, the feature that
Hilliard chose to retain when he composed the so-called mask
of youth, a vision of Elizabeth seemingly untouched by the rav-
ages of age. Even though Hilliard postulates that the likeness of
a portrait resides in the mouth, Elizabeth’s identity seems to be
captured by the artists most consistently in their representation
of her eyes.
An early example of the “mask of youth” is found in Hilliard’s
miniature (figure 7); a moon jewel and arrows in the queen’s hair
refer to the cult of Elizabeth as Diana/Cynthia, and the smooth
round shape of her face is evocative of the moon, with the lines
of her ruff accentuating the radiance of the face and drawing
the gaze of the viewer toward her countenance. This radiant
Figure 7. Nicholas Hilliard. Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, 1588.

P. 23–1975. Victoria and Albert Museum, London, Great Britain.
Photo Credit: V&A Images, London/Art Resource, NY
moon-like shape of the face becomes a recurrent feature in

Elizabeth’s later portraits, in disagreement with the surviving tes-
timonials that her face was very lean and wrinkled in the last years
of her life.78
The invention and establishment of the “mask of youth” were
so radical that the new image affected the meaning of a range of
Elizabeth’s portraits that came into being well before this innova-
tion. With the introduction of the rejuvenated face of the older
queen, the linear sequence of portraits turned in upon itself as
Elizabeth’s youth was reinvented in new, masculinized terms.
When Elizabeth was a princess, the possibility of her inheriting
the throne was so remote that she, unlike her younger brother,
was never depicted on a threshold of gaining power. She was rep-
resented instead in accordance with conventional portrayal of
young women’s “constrained chastity.”79 At the same time, as Mary
Hazard reminds us, the early modern understanding of youth fig-
ured it, above all, as “the period when the male members of society
were cultivating their talents and refining their skills in posi-

tions that prepared for the exercise of power.” Even as Elizabeth
became queen, almost all her early portraits continued to be con-
ventionally feminine. The aspect of her coming into power was
not addressed explicitly. Not until the mid-1570s and 1580s do
these images begin to acquire and surpass all the attributes usu-
ally granted to portraits of adult men, those indicative of full
authority and responsibility. The process of maturation reflected
in Elizabeth’s portraiture thus not only lags behind Elizabeth’s
actual coming of age, but also yields little in terms of representa-
tion of her youth as “the time of power and increasing responsibil-
ity,” a concept normally reserved for males.80 The “mask of youth,”
then, is as much a return to this underrepresented stage as it is an
idealization of still being youthful and at the same time already
fully empowered.
Even in the 1590s, Elizabeth still remembered the uncertainties
and hardships she experienced prior to ascending the throne.81
The cloud of illegitimacy was continuously hanging over the young
Elizabeth’s head, and the retrospective revision of her early por-
trayals effectively legitimized the queen’s power, strengthening at
the same time the least stable periods of her reign: the end and
the beginning. The “mask of youth” then, even as it looks noth-
ing like the young Elizabeth, rewrites both the beginning and the
end of her life, compensating for the shortcomings of the earlier
representations as it simultaneously fictionalizes her appearance
in the later ones.
In this sense, the trajectory of Elizabeth’s portraiture is cir-
cular rather than linear, with a return to youthfulness that sim-
ultaneously rewrites the decaying visage of the aging ruler, and
the immature malleability of the young queen whose ability to
sustain her power was still in question. In the later portraits that
utilized “the mask of youth,” the face is the only element that
conveys the queen’s youthfulness, and the multifaceted effect of
the later portraits results from the reconciliation of the logical
tension between this face and allegorical apparatus of a fully
mature power scattered around it. The rejuvenated face sur-
rounded by splendor is repeated even in the portraits of the queen
not associated with Hilliard (see cover image and figure 14 for an
example). The miniaturist, therefore, has discovered an effect-
ive formula of representation, one that conjoins the end and the
beginning.
Part II: Augmenting the Canon
Clusters of Elizabeth’s Portraits: Purposes

and Execution
The flattering images created by Hilliard, however, were con-
temporaneous with more realistic representations that depicted
Elizabeth aged and withered, images largely forgotten in discus-
sions of the queen’s portraiture. This omission is symptomatic of
a larger situation. In the course of the studies on Elizabeth in the
past century, certain portraits have emerged not only as reliable
and authentic, but also as artistically superior and even “paren-
tal” to others, in the sense that some portraits are deemed to be
the “originals” that served as models for production of copies. I
propose the term “clusters” to designate these groups of related
portraits. My goal is less to dispute the status of these privileged
images as higher quality portrayals of the queen than to coun-
teract their monopoly as the safe favorites of scholarly investiga-
tion.82 Because it is not always clear which images are normative
and which are the variants, clusters do not simply consist of the
“originals” surrounded by their “offspring.” All portraits in a clus-
ter were versions of a particular iconographic concept, and these
versions were often produced by utilizing the same face pattern.
The tracing of the changes and fluctuations of Elizabeth’s face
within these clusters calls for a reconfiguration and complication
of the trajectory of her representation in paint.83 In particular, the
path proves to be no mere linear progression from conventional,
unexciting portrayal of the young woman to an austere ruler to
a divinely immortal Virgin Queen. Instead of a uniform trans-
formation, we find diachronic changes marked by synchronic
internal tensions at each point, particularly within the clusters
of portraits united by the same face pattern. These pressures are
evident in the representations of Elizabeth’s face that simultan-
eously connects and differentiates the portraits derived from the
same blueprint.
It appears, on the one hand, that the royal portraits were cre-
ated, multiplied, and distributed less for the queen than for her
subjects clamoring, as the 1563 draft of Royal Proclamation about
the production of her images puts it, “to procure [her] portrait
and picture”; at the same time, many of these portraits seem to
be designed to please the queen as well as impress her subjects.84
Speaking of a variety of the visual images of the queen, including

portraits, Louis Montrose points out that
Elizabethan royal images were employed in a wide range of cul-

tural work, which included enhancing and subverting the cha-
risma of the Queen; legitimating and resisting the authority of her
regime; seeking to influence royal sympathies and policies in mat-
ters religious, civic, and military; and pursuing personal advantage
by means of royal courtship and celebration.85
Although the very genre of Elizabeth’s portraits, as essentially elit-

ist, was less suitable for expressions of subversion and resistance
than printed images, multiple motives were likewise associated
with production and reproduction of these portraits: for instance,
some of them were created to be sent abroad in the course of mar-
riage negotiations; others were commissioned by the courtiers
in order to flaunt their connection to the queen as well as pro-
fess their loyalty; yet others, as the royal documents show, were
meant to produce an official pattern to be followed in mass pro-
duction for the wealthy subjects wishing to own a portrait of their
sovereign.
A brief consideration of the cluster of portraits formed around
the Hampden portrait of Elizabeth, attributed to Steven van der
Meulen (figure 8), reveals a range of meanings inscribed in the
queen’s faces as the various versions of this cluster reinvent her
visage. At least six versions of this portrait were produced in this
cluster, and at least two of them are also attributed to Steven. As I
explained above, there is no clear hierarchical relationship within
the group nor is there a certainty about the chronological order
of their production: this group dates to the period around 1563–
1570. For convenience of reference, I chose the Hampden portrait
as the central image and will number the versions in this cluster
arbitrarily.
The representation of the face in the Hampden portrait (ver-
sion one, figure 8) is considerably invested in Elizabeth’s femin-
inity, likely because it was created in the context of the “marriage
negotiations with the imperial court on behalf of the Archduke
Charles.”86 Versions two and three, also attributable to Steven,
share the facial features of the Hampden portrait but slightly elong-
ate the nose; the face in these versions is more heavily shadowed,
making the areas around the eyes and mouth appear somewhat
swollen and creating a somber if not saddened look.87 The fourth
Figure 8. Elizabeth I, “The Hampden Portrait,” circa 1563. Detail.

Oil on panel transferred onto canvas. Anglo-Flemish School. Private
Collection/Philip Mould, London/The Bridgeman Art Library
version offers a rather unflattering variation.88 The face here

appears to be older and more resolute: the lips are drawn tighter,
and the direction of the gaze is changed to engage the viewer in
a piercing look. The meaning of this variation is uninterpretable.
On the one hand, its emphasis on the queen’s aging is unflattering.

On the other hand, the gaze signals power, authority, and confi-
dence and, along with the wrinkles and stern expression, substi-
tute the claim, evident in the other versions, that Elizabeth is
in need of marital support and guidance with a new claim of her
maturity and earnest ability to rule on her own.
There is, however, another possible purpose of such represen-
tation: to protect the queen’s reputation. In the 1560s, the court
was horrified by Elizabeth’s flirtations with Robert Dudley, and
fears that she would rashly marry him were rampant both at home
and abroad. Carole Levin points out that these speculations car-
ried an implicit sense that “Elizabeth, this unmarried woman of
questionable morals, had no business ruling.” 89 All versions in
this cluster show Elizabeth as somber and trustworthy, but this
version in particular prefigures her future image as the Virgin
Queen. She may not look like an attractive maiden in this depic-
tion, but the maturity and austerity of her face may well refute the
charge of wantonness and loose behavior. This portrait captures
in the queen’s face her willful personality and acute awareness of
her own authority.
In contrast, version five is a result of some significant idealizing
changes that cosmetically subtract unbecoming elements from
the Hampden portrait.90 In comparison with the depictions that
emphasize the queen’s somberness, Elizabeth’s facial appearance
in this version is not exactly softened as will be the case later in her
reign, with some versions of the Ditchley portrait (figure 14). Her
features are refined instead: there is more definition to the lips;
the puffiness around the eyes and mouth is erased, and the con-
tour of the face is almost imperceptibly slenderized. The radiance
of her visage and its subtle smile testify to the queen’s robust health
and readiness to produce the coveted heir. Finally, the sixth mem-
ber of this cluster (figure 9) is a small anonymous portrait of the
young queen, possibly depicting her in the presence chamber. The
face comes from the same pattern, but this depiction is overtly
androgynous. Elizabeth’s hair is pulled tightly under the hood
absent from the Hampden portrait, minimizing the framing of the
face and leaving it completely open; her features are reserved; yet,
Elizabeth retains the delicacy of complexion as well as feminine
gestures typical of this cluster of portraits.
Although the contrast among the six versions within the
Hampden cluster may reflect the different uses intended for these
Figure 9. Anonymous, Elizabeth I, circa 1564–1567. Oil on panel. Used

by permission from the collection of John H. Bryan, Jr.
paintings, the fact that the beautified version was enlarged while
less enticing variants were painted on a smaller scale91 may suggest
that, in the first decade of Elizabeth’s reign, feminine vulnerabil-
ity, youth, and beauty were deemed favorable in portrayal of the
still marriageable queen and were preferred to representation of
her as a mature and shrewd ruler. Version six that combines the
signs of feminine delicacy and masculine gravity of power is the
smallest one of the group. Even so, its existence shows that the
way has been open for the new royal iconography, an iconography
that grants Elizabeth an ability to wield power while retaining
her femininity. It is this androgynous iconography that resonates

in the rhetoric of Elizabeth’s speeches, culminating in her fam-
ous proclamation at Tilbury in 1588 that her “body of a weak and
feeble woman” was empowered by “the heart and stomach of a
king.” 92
This instance of the reworking of Elizabeth’s face additionally
indicates that the manufacture of a countenance in portraiture was
often quite autonomous from the queen’s body natural for which
this face was invented as a prosthetic substitution. Here and later
in Elizabeth’s reign, the manipulation of facial features and the
gaze modified the sitter’s apparent age, making her look older or
more youthful, depending on the purpose of the painting. These
changes in depiction also alter the representation of her person-
ality, rendering her either vulnerable or stern and thus implicitly
undermining or strengthening her royal authority. Moreover, the
images in this cluster and others present the queen as a woman
who, in her attractiveness or plainness, invites or discourages the
viewers to perceive her as a possible object of desire or figure in
unapproachable majesty. As Elizabeth’s reign continued, these
tendencies coexisted and vied for dominance. The less attractive
face of version four, for instance, looks forward to the intractable
will and acumen that reappears about a decade later in the Darnley
portrait (figure 6) and even later in the Ditchley portrait (figure 12);
likewise, the rejuvenating technique of idealization is echoed in
the end of the century in the invention of “mask of youth” (cover
image and figure 7).
The Nose, the Smile, and the Wrinkle:

Elizabeth’s Odd Faces
An examination of Elizabeth’s portraiture, cluster by cluster,
reveals that “odd” faces that differed from the “norm” either in style
or quality coexisted with the canonical ones throughout her reign.
Such a wide range of the royal images resulted from the fact that
their dissemination and multiplication in Elizabeth’s England was
less sporadic than purposeful, even when the initiative came from
the viewers and artisans instead of the royal authority.93 The faces
of the queen in many portraits are strikingly different from the
visages to which we are accustomed on the basis of her well-known
depictions. Nonetheless, these painted faces of the queen gazed
from the walls of various houses inhabited by her contemporaries
in England and abroad. Insofar as people in portraits displayed in

places of habitation become a distinctive part of the household,
the marginalized depictions of Elizabeth’s face formed multiple
centers of attention in the houses outside the court. To the owners
of these images, the value of these paintings was considerable even
if their quality may have been lacking. The resemblance to the
queen in these portraits was measured in juxtaposition to the
memories of the queen’s appearance if one had them; otherwise,
the face in the portrait was substituted for the face of the living
queen. Lucy Gent notes that, for the Elizabethans, the import-
ance of an idea in a painting compensated for the shortcomings of
its execution. “Portraits of the Queen were to be portraits of true
majesty”; it is this property, according to Gent, that “her royal sub-
jects were prepared to find, regardless of the quality of the paint-
ing they saw.” 94 This mindset indeed is an important factor in the
viewers’ perception of Elizabeth’s portraits. However, in a culture
that exhibited a heightened interest in the meaning conveyed by
faces, it is hardly possible that the faces in the queen’s painted por-
traits were seen as mere generic tokens of majesty. In this sense,
there is hardly such a thing as a peculiar face of Elizabeth. The
“odd” faces were as powerful as the “regular” ones. In the project
of recovery of these lesser known images, therefore, no contem-
porary portrait of Elizabeth should be dismissed on the grounds
of its poor quality, lack of resemblance to better known images,
or obscurity.
The queen’s lesser known faces, nevertheless, rarely appear as
visual points of reference in academic studies. Some of these images
are marginalized as inferior versions of canonical portraits; many
are hidden away from public view in private collections and are
unfamiliar to nonspecialists. If we welcome Elizabeth’s odd faces
into the field of study, the received standard applied to her fea-
tures will stand in need of qualification. In these odd faces, we see
Elizabeth smiling, rather than looking remote and expressionless,
and we also see her aged and sorrowful rather than forever youth-
ful. Moreover, it is the oddness of these portraits that educates the
modern eye. Read against these atypical images, the famous por-
traits reveal the subtlety of expression that is often unnoticed on
its own. Mary Hazard explains, “The image of Queen Elizabeth
I as she appears in her portraits is well known: the stiff posture,
the expressionless and ageless mask, the elaborate clothing, the
panoply of jewels and fabrics.” 95 In fact, this description is not
invariably true even for all of the better known portraits of the
queen although it does capture the tendencies in her depictions
during the last decade or two of her reign. The concept of “the
expressionless and ageless mask,” however, has become nearly a
cliché in thinking about the subject, and Hazard quickly points
out that Elizabeth’s “portraits are unsmiling.” Indeed, when asked
to recall Elizabeth’s smile (an event, according to John Harington,
which was “pure sunshine” 96 and a joy to behold), most of us will
come up empty. Elizabeth’s smiles, however, appear in her por-
traits with a surprising frequency: for example, in the Garter por-
trait (figure 10), the Rainbow portrait (cover image), Elizabeth’s
portrait in Saint John’s College at Cambridge, and in the Dover
portrait discussed below.
One of the reasons for eschewing a grinning countenance in
early modern portraiture had to do with the culture’s suspicion
of smiles as signs of moral looseness. A “cheerefull and smyling
countinaunce” typically signified a person to “be gyven unto
myrth, and to be lybidinous after nature”;97 likewise, “lippes faire,
and cheerefull, and the countenaunce chearefull and smylinge
also” put one in danger of appearing lecherous or libidinous, “but
sume suche be deceavers, theves, and full of gieles or cavetous.” 98
Elizabeth herself was reproached, albeit by a foreigner, for show-
ing excessive cheerfulness after her coronation.99 Nevertheless,
as Harington’s testimony illustrates, smiles were also an object
of admiration and social relief. If laughter was often considered
lascivious, especially for women, a composed, subtle smile was a
safer option and it had an advantage of adding expression without
distorting the face.
While the restrictions of formal portraiture created an inten-
tional discrepancy between the expressions acceptable in one’s
social behavior and those captured on canvas, the end of the six-
teenth century seems to mark a gradual acceptance of depicting
of smiling faces. It is likely, for instance, that Isaac Oliver’s mini-
ature portrait of his wife was painted at about that time.100 The
cheerful portraits of Elizabeth and of a smiling lady by Marcus
Gheeraerts101 suggest that smiles, at least in some instances, were
becoming welcome in the large-scale portraits, and beholding
them was no longer a privilege of private viewers of miniatures:
those “lovely graces wittye smilings” so adored by Hilliard.
Indeed, at least one of the portraits of the smiling queen was
specifically created for a very public place: the Portrait of Elizabeth
I with the Cardinal and Theological Virtues was commissioned “to be
Figure 10. Portrait of Elizabeth I, circa 1575–1580. Detail. Oil on

panel. English School. National Portrait Gallery, London, UK/The
Bridgeman Art Library
displayed as an emblem of monarchy in the town hall at Dover in

Kent.” 102 The pillar on Elizabeth’s right is populated with women
representing Faith, Hope, Charity, Justice, Prudence, Temperance,
and Fortitude, an assembly that encompasses virtues of the queen
as a pious virgin as well as a shrewd ruler. In this context of her

multifold virtues, the queen’s smile was safe from reproach.
Although one may argue that the smile of a ruler would be exempt
of any negative connotations, this confidence was always unstable
because this ruler was a female and thus susceptible to the usual
charges of lasciviousness. The installation of the various virtues
behind her shoulder not only served an allegorical purpose, but
also protected her smile from misinterpretation: an arrangement
especially significant in a portrait meant to be displayed in a civic
setting. The artist’s choices in representation of the queen’s face
are indicative of what features were found appropriate for a pub-
lic display. Elizabeth’s nose in this portrait is thick and hooked;
the eyes are brown and wide-lidded; the face is distinctly heart-
shaped, with the hair arranged to echo the shapely upper lip that
makes Elizabeth’s smiling mouth reminiscent of a heart slightly
stretched sideways. Unlike the uniform austerity of the Darnley
portrait, the temporary facial expression here is at odds with the
permanent facial features: the shape of the eyes and nose carry the
meaning of shrewdness and strong will while the smile projects
benevolence. The two coexist, complicating the queen’s multi-
fold personality even as her many virtues range from Fortitude to
Charity, strength and kindness enriching rather than annihilat-
ing each other.
Another category of “odd” portraits shows Elizabeth with a
disproportioned face. One of the most striking examples is found
in an early cluster that adopts a full frontal view: a traditional
medieval pose that presents the ruler confronting the viewer
face to face, the symmetry and openness of the visage evoking
the perfection and integrity of power, such as in the Westminster
portrait of Richard II. Version one (figure 11) and version two
date from around 1560. Both show a relatively full face, the prox-
imity of nose and mouth reminiscent of Henry VIII’s “clutter
syndrome,” described in chapter 1, the ruff and hair framing the
face on all sides. In the first portrait (figure 11), the features are
so generic and symmetrical that they look like a model image
mathematically calculated to represent a human face; if it were
not for particularity in the outline of the face and some individu-
ality conveyed by the placement of the nose and lips, this face
would hardly have any personality. As a matter of fact, the claim
of impersonality has been promoted in many modern references
to Elizabeth’s portraits; however, even the expressiveness of the
Figure 11. Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, circa 1560. Detail. Panel.
English School. Private Collection/Richard Philp, London/The
Bridgeman Art Library
seemingly impassive visage of the Coronation portrait (figure 2)

becomes more evident in comparison with this smooth early
representation.
It is version two, however, that is clearly an odd one: whereas
the clothes and the setting (the ruff, the ermine collar, even the
Tudor rose and book in the queen’s hands) are convincing markers
of Elizabeth’s identity, the face is positioned unusually low, and
the eyes look uncharacteristically droopy and asymmetrical.103 In
the Heinz Archive, the back of the photograph of this portrait
bears a value statement “horrible.” Something indeed has gone
wrong with the representation of the face in this picture.
It is likely that this portrait originated from the workshop of
Hans Eworth.104 In the workshops, the master artist normally
painted the face, but it is unclear to what extent Eworth has con-
tributed to the creation of this particular face. Obviously, the body
proportion has been miscalculated: no space has been left for the
sitter’s neck that causes the chin to dive lower than the shoulder
line and the ruff to go as high as the temples. However, the mis-
hap with the eyelids seems to have resulted from an unsuccessful
attempt at a correction. Elizabeth’s prominent upper lids were not
actually droopy. They looked convex more because of the hollow-
ness of the bone structure above the eye than because they pro-
truded down to the middle of the pupil. This portrait may be an
early effort to represent the queen’s eyes more accurately, but the
inexact placement of the lid and especially the pupil has produced
a somewhat sleepy look; the uneven spacing of the pupils may
be due to the same miscalculation. In the early modern period,
droopy eyes indeed signified sleepiness or, alternatively, drunk-
enness; pseudo-Aristotle, for instance, says that “projections like
bulges over the eyes” signaled somnolence “because when men are
aroused from sleep the upper lids do hang down”;105 Hill warns
that eyelids that “decline downewards, full and very thicke, espe-
cially when they be covered with a rednesse” are likely to belong to
a “ruinous and wastefull drunkard.” 106 Given these connotations,
even the Elizabethans who have never seen their queen would
hardly find much appeal in this portrait. Still it is no less import-
ant that this face was accepted by some viewers as representation
of the queen.
In addition to the smiling and disproportioned portraits of
Elizabeth, there exists a third group of unusual portraits of the
queen. This group includes a few rare and lesser known examples
of Elizabeth’s face ravaged by time and sorrow. We are far more

familiar with the famous Rainbow portrait, for instance, which
depicts the queen’s preternaturally youthful face ready to bloom
into a smile of happiness, even as her time on the throne is about to
expire (cover image). Because the revealing visages stand in frank
contrast to the host of such counterparts hidden under the “mask
of youth” of the last decade of her life, it is especially striking that
two atypical portraits I am going to discuss are directly associ-
ated with the same artists who have fashioned some of the most
celebrated icons of the queen: Hilliard and Marcus Gheeraerts,
the Younger.
One of Hilliard’s later miniatures of Elizabeth readily calls to
memory his numerous starburst images of an ageless queen, but
the sitter’s expression differs greatly from the youthful content-
ment emanating from most of these images.107 All the elements
of the setting are still there: the sumptuous jewels, gorgeous ruff,
carefully arranged hair. Her face greatly resembles that in the
moon miniature (figure 7), but seems to convert peaceful accept-
ance into an expression of weariness and sadness. The corners of
the mouth, the hooked tip of the nose, and the hints of wrinkles
on the tired lids: everything seems to be tending downward. It is
an unusual image, indeed, and a philosophical one at that, with its
suggestion of unhappiness surrounded by splendor. Coming from
Hilliard, it is less likely to be subversive than sympathetic, both
for social and professional reasons, but also because of Hilliard’s
singular ability to recognize and empathize with his sitters’ moods
and expressions. Only the private nature of a miniature as a genre
would admit a portrait like this one, encapsulating the quiet sor-
row of the aging queen. Elizabeth’s melancholic disposition late
in her life was frequently remarked upon by her courtiers, due
in large part to the dying off of many of her closest friends and
trusted advisors.
Likewise, the Manteo portrait (figure 13), one of the variants
of the celebrated Ditchley portrait (figure 12), is even more unfor-
giving about Elizabeth’s aging. It stands in striking contrast to
the rejuvenated features in idealized versions of the same image,
better known to scholars than the unforgiving depictions of the
queen’s withering visage (figure 14). Folds and wrinkles abound on
the face in the Manteo portrait. It is probably an unflattering por-
trait of this kind that Hazard has in mind as a rare exception to
the overwhelming trend of covering up Elizabeth’s facial flaws:
Figure 12. Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger. Queen Elizabeth I (“The

Ditchley Portrait”), circa 1592. Detail. Oil on canvas. NPG 2561.
Courtesy of National Portrait Gallery, London.
Descriptions by her contemporaries, on the other hand, put a dif-

ferent face upon the image, one that appears on only a couple of
graphic images of the queen, one corresponding more closely to
the wicked witch of stereotypical tale, and one that perhaps rep-
resents the image of Elizabeth as she is imagined by unsympa-
thetic readers of early modern history. She is described as having
a hooked nose, but she does not appear in profile on canvas. She is
described as having blackened teeth, but her portraits are unsmil-
ing. She was reputed to wear a wig, so not even the color of her hair
as it appears on the portraits would be of help in identifying her if
observed in dishabille.108
In chapter 3, I have addressed the complexity of the rhetoric

of describing the old queen. The observers noted her decaying
appearance but remarked on Elizabeth’s dignified and benevo-
lent disposition. Likewise, neither of the two portraits of an aging
Elizabeth imagines her unequivocally as a “wicked witch.” In
Hilliard’s miniature, the woman looks mournful rather than evil,
and in the Manteo portrait, she gazes at the viewer with acceptance
of her ravaged state, her dignity unshaken, and a smile hidden in
the corner of her mouth. Hazard’s summation, in fact, exemplifies
Figure 13. Workshop of Marcus Gheeraerts, the Younger. Queen

Elizabeth I, circa 1592. Detail. The Elizabethan Gardens, Manteo, NC.
Reproduced by permission.
the interpretive tendencies brought by even the most sensitive

modern viewers to the representations of Elizabeth’s face. The
hooked nose, blackened teeth, and a wig constitute the negative
bits of reality that, as Hazard elegantly observes, are bypassed or
hidden in the portraits.
However, in the early modern period, these elements were not
invariably negative; they were neither always absent nor consist-
ently covered up, nor were their absence and concealment exclu-
sive to the portraits of the queen. As we have seen, Elizabeth was
depicted smiling, but not grinning widely; but neither did any
Figure 14. Marcus Gheeraerts. Portrait of Elizabeth I. Detail. Oil on

canvas. Galleria Palatine, Palazzo Pitti, Florence, Italy. Photo Credit:
Alinari/Art Resource, NY
other women in their portraits, even if their teeth, as many lovers

claimed, could rival the whitest of pearls. No portraits could con-
vey whether the sitter was sporting a well-made wig or her nat-
ural (or dyed) hair; therefore, Elizabeth’s portraits can hardly be
resolved of this ambiguity. Finally, the hooked nose (a feature that
came to epitomize Elizabeth’s individuality although it appeared
on canvas with less regularity than on coins and medals) was

hardly a shape that conveyed an inflexible negative connotation
to the early modern eye.
To begin with, visual representations of Elizabeth’s noses are
many; they come in a range of shapes and sizes. Even on coins and
medals, where the queen’s face is molded in profile, her nose some-
times appears to be long and straight (figure 15), while in other
instances, it is distinctly raised in the middle and almost always
ends in a longish, although not necessarily hooked, tip.
As we have seen, the variety of Elizabeth’s noses in portraits is
even wider: from an idealized fairly straight and neat nose of some
miniatures to the bold aquiline contour in the Darnley portrait to
a thick and curved nose on the smiling portrait at the Dover City
Hall.109
A hooked nose, like so many other features, is a generic term
for a wide variety of noses that had a corresponding range of
meaning in early modern physiognomy. However, even when
sorted into two broad groups of likely positive and negative signi-
fications, these meanings may change their value in response to
the specifics of each interpretive situation. Physiognomic think-
ing about aquiline noses is already in place long before Elizabeth
inherits the English throne, and the positive connotations are
rooted in the representations of the emperors of antiquity. The
variants of this shape are frequently compared to birds’ beaks: in
particular, to those of the eagle, raven, and hawk, with the physio-
gnomic meanings linked to the cultural notions about each bird.
Pseudo-Aristotle’s treatise, for example, connects the raven-like
nose (“nose [that is] somewhat hooked and rises straight from the
forehead”) to shamelessness,110 whereas a person whose nose is
reminiscent of an eagle’s beak (“aquiline nose with a marked sep-
aration from the forehead”) is said to be magnanimous.111 Johannes
Indagine makes extensive remarks about the controversy as to the
Figure 15. Elizabethan three-pence coin, 1575. Private Collection.

correct meaning of a crooked nose: a feature that, he points out,

often gets an unfair treatment:
it will not be vaine to declare such adages as the common people

do use uppon the noose, the whyche above all other membres they
do moste abuse, as for so much as suche as are croked nosed are
naturallye geven to deride and mocke other: thys proverbe is gro-
wen, to hange by the croked noose. Likewise a Rhinoceron his
nose, whiche is an obiection against suche at or scorne other.
Nowe be it amongste the Persians it was counted great comli-
nesse to be crooked nosed [ . . . ] And even unto this day they preferre
no man unto that dignity, excepte he be well nosed, for it is saide
that Xerxes was bolde and stoute, and a great mocker and scorner
of men, whereby suche menne are judged scornefull and boulde,
deceeitfull, trayterous, geven to rapine and Covetousnesse.112
In opposition to this popular opinion, Indagine rehabilitates

the noses that are only slightly crooked, with “a certaine risinge
upwarde, the crokednesse somwhat abated.” People with such
moderately crooked noses “are to be judged liberal, stoute, elo-
quente, and proude.” Maximilian the Emperor is recalled as a
noble owner of such a nose. However, even for the open-minded
Indagine, the territory of aquiline noses remains unstable, as he
hurries to add a contingency even to this already qualified physio-
gnomic rule: “excepte the tippe of the nose be copped and sharppe,
the whiche the more sharpe it is, it sheweth the more angry, sev-
erie, and froward persons.” 113 In the first edition of Hill’s trans-
lation of Bartolommeo Cocles’ physiognomy, published just two
years before Elizabeth became queen, he writes that a “nose very
highe elevated in the middle which we name a copped nose” is
pronounced to be a sign of an “often lyar, vayne, unstable, leach-
erouse, sone or lightly credytyng, importunate, havyng a good
wytte, grosse in feadyng, more simple then wyse, and malycyouse”
person.114 He adds that a “nose that croketh, lyke to the byl of the
Egle” signifies a “cholerick, couragyous, bold” person, who is also
“a gredy ravener and cruel.” 115
Within these characterizations, we discern the polysemic pos-
sibilities of an aquiline nose in the early modern culture. This view
is echoed in other physiognomic treatises. Roussat sees a “hawke
nose” as a sign of “magnanimytye and courage, cruellty, rapacitye,
and boldnes whych thyng commeth of heate. And therefore they
that have thys hawke nose are commonlye angrye and full [of]
revenge and gyve themselves to unlawefull things.” 116 Likewise,

the degree of crookedness may intensify the nose’s negative poten-
tial: the harder the curve, the more dishonest and shameless the
person is proclaimed to be.117
For Elizabeth, therefore, and for those who endeavored to por-
tray her, her aquiline nose was a feature fraught with difficulty. If
an aquiline nose remains outside of the early modern standard of
feminine beauty, it is nevertheless admitted in the royal portrait-
ure, perhaps as a part of Elizabeth’s androgynous public image.
Her hooked nose may not always be a prominent feature. Beyond
doubt, its appearance in the state portraits such as the Darnley
was meant to accentuate her magnanimity, nobility of wit, and
courage. When its crookedness was not erased completely, it was
always “abated” so as to suppress the negative connotations of
deceit and cruelty. In contrast, the shape of Elizabeth’s nose was
glossed over in the portraits emphasizing her role as a “beautiful
lady,” rather than that of a powerful queen.
The odd faces of Elizabeth throw into relief the concept of
likeness, noted by scholars as a primary expectation imposed on a
portrait in the early modern period. It would seem that the odd-
ity of these faces may contribute to the theory that one’s identity
lay in one’s dress, regalia, books, and other markers of occupation
and status separate from one’s physical being and appearance.
However, likeness is not equivalent to identity, precisely because
likeness is grounded in the body. It reflects the mind and soul
insofar as they show themselves in one’s pose, and even more in
one’s facial expression rather than in a crown displayed nearby or
a book in one’s hand.
Physiognomic likeness in the early modern portraits, however,
is hardly ever painstakingly accurate, especially in the images of
rulers. Marianna Jenkins postulates that at the heart of the state
portrait in sixteenth century lies the “act of transforming the like-
ness of a given individual into a personification of certain abstract
concepts,” and that the state portrait evolved with the premise
that “the symbolic character of the work should exact a note of
abstraction and impassivity in the rendering of the face of the sit-
ter [in order to stress] the remoteness of a superior being.” 118 As
we have seen, many depictions of Elizabeth exhibit an emotional
expressiveness whose subtlety is consistent with the stylistic pref-
erences of contemporary English portraiture. For the early mod-
ern audience, such subtle expressiveness must have contributed
to the effect of lifelikeness of Elizabeth’s portraits, a quality

that increasingly gained admiration among the viewers, even as
the hopes for (or at least assumption of ) likeness in portraiture
remained in place.119
Strong emphasizes that in the “Elizabethan mind the record-
ing of human likeness was connected with [the] concept of fame
and social rank.” 120 If this observation is true, then, for the
Elizabethans, likeness (the body) and identity (the social position)
are virtually indistinguishable. However, the viewers’ remarks
about an individual likeness often refer to the face and thus occur
outside the discourse of social rank.121 Instead of attempting to
separate the two, I would like to point out that Elizabeth’s faces
in her portraits, however odd many may seem to us, conveyed her
potential likenesses to the early modern spectators. Whether
such potential was or was not disproved by reliable witnesses, the
display of these portraits in frequented places probably led to the
viewers’ eventual acceptance of the face as likeness. It is often
noted that portraits, in early modern culture, served as substitutes
for their sitters. In Elizabeth’s case, such substitutions occurred
on an increasingly larger scale as the number of her portraits
multiplied throughout her reign. In this process, the odd copies,
variants, and new compositions painted outside the production of
the authorized images, took upon themselves not only to substi-
tute for the queen, but also to rewrite her face simply by virtue of
their representational status.
Reading the Painted Faces of the Queen

The intricacies of interpreting the queen’s faces are then con-
tingent upon a greater number of irrecoverable factors than has
been recognized so far. The viewers brought to her portraits a set
of expectations contingent upon their individual status, profes-
sional as well as cultural. An artist such as Hilliard, for instance,
evaluated a portrait with specific criteria in mind: lifelikeness,
comeliness, and resemblance to the sitter. His own emphasis on
“sweetness,” in his theory and his miniatures, suggests that he
would place the primary value on comeliness, or “favor,” of the
portrayed face. Other viewers, such as George Chapman, were
more concerned with lifelikeness whereas observers such as John
Davies searched the queen’s face for her intangible glory. Those
who met the queen viewed the portrayed face as a prop to their
memories of her personal presence. Those who saw her briefly

or from a distance would find that the painted face effectively
replaced the visage captured in their memory. Finally, a great
majority of viewers, at home and abroad, were left with no choice
but to accept the face offered by the portrait as a truthful docu-
ment of the queen’s real face.
For this reason, the anxiety of some distant viewers manifested
itself in their repeated questions about likeness. For instance,
Margaret of Parma cajoled the Earl of Sussex into showing her
a picture of Elizabeth, and Monsieur de Maldingham helped
Margaret to evaluate the image when he “affirmed it to be so like
unto [Elizabeth] as ther lacked but speche.” 122 Likewise, while at
the French Court in 1580, Lady Cobham engaged Henri III and
his wife Queen Louise in various conversations and maneuvers
focused on a miniature of Elizabeth in Lady Cobham’s possession.
Notably, the French queen asked Lady Cobham “if she [Elizabeth]
were like it.” The fact that Lady Cobham confirmed this likeness
is as important as the placement, in the French queen’s phrasing,
of likeness as the quality that emanates from the image toward
the person it represents, rather than the other way around. This
example argues that the picture, in the immediacy of the act
of viewing, readily assumed priority over the absent sitter, and
confirmed likeness was transposed onto the sitter’s imaginary
features.123
To an extent, witnesses such as the earl of Sussex and Lady
Cobham become the ambassadors in whose power lies not only
the assertion of the truthfulness of the image, but also the very
formation of the concept of Elizabeth’s real face in the viewers’
minds. While the earl of Sussex may dismiss the portraits of the
queen seen as marginal from his privileged position at court (he
tells Margaret of Parma that the “picture commonly made to be
solde did nothinge resemble Your Majestie”), the English subjects
who bought and owned those paintings did so despite their lack of
knowledge of Elizabeth’s real appearance.
In addition, the queen’s portraits afforded an opportunity for
a viewer to send a message separate from and more positive than
those transpiring in the course of often difficult political negoti-
ations. Used as props in the diplomatic setting, both miniature
and full-length portraits depicting Elizabeth frequently elicited
an exaggerated reaction. Recall, for instance, somewhat gro-
tesque stories of Anjou’s rapture upon receiving the fifty-year-old
Elizabeth’s portraits, or Henri IV’s refusal, after his interception

of her picture sent to Catherine of Navarre, to part with the beau-
tiful portrait of the sixty-year-old queen.124 A year or two later,
Henri IV readily took Henry Unton’s bait when Unton declared
that he had in his possession a picture of a mistress so excellent that
her painted image came “farr short of her Perfection of Beauty.”
After kissing it “twice or thrice,” the French king once again
appropriated a portrait that did not belong to him, almost prying
the miniature of the English queen out of the ambassador’s hand.
Unton, who heretofore was having difficulty in his attempts to
remove the king’s “ill Impressions” and “add Dulceness to his hard
Conceipt,” concluded that the “dombe Picture did drawe on more
Speache and Affection from him then all my best Argumentes and
Eloquence.” 125
Even the queen’s faces depicted in Hilliard’s miniatures, there-
fore, were read differently by the English courtiers and ambassa-
dors, who commissioned these images or received them as gifts
from Elizabeth herself, and by the viewers abroad, with whom
these courtiers and ambassadors shared the experience of gazing
at these treasured possessions. Whereas both sets of viewers could
assess the lifelikeness and favor of these faces, one group had to
rely on the other group’s honesty as to the degree and nature of
idealization and likeness. Likewise, the viewers’ subjective convic-
tions of what constitutes a beautiful face, personal experience of
the facial characteristics of one’s friends and enemies, and know-
ledge of the popular physiognomies endowed each of the queen’s
painted faces with a variety of possible meanings. For the early
moderns, the problem of authenticity mattered insofar as they
questioned each portrait’s likeness to the real queen. Once they
trusted in that likeness, the painted face became fair game for
interpretation, both in the case of the portraits that in the later
centuries became a part of the canon and the images that were
relegated to relative obscurity.
NOTES
Introduction
1. The title quotation comes from by Pisemsky’s “The Secret
Addendum Presented to the Czar by Fyodor Pisemsky,” 150. Mary
Hastings was a sister to Henry Hastings, the Earl of Huntington.
Elizabeth’s reluctance to promote Ivan’s suit stems from her over-
all lack of interest in forming a political alliance with the Russian
czar. For a survey of the correspondence between Ivan IV and
Elizabeth I, emphasizing the diplomatic rather than purely
commercial relationship between Russia and England, see Inna
Lubimenko, “The Correspondence of Queen Elizabeth with
the Russian Czars.” A brief story of these marital negotiations,
with approximate details, may be found in Cross, The Puritan
Earl, 29–30; and in Lynn Emerson, Wives and Daughters, 106. I
continue discussion of the correspondence between Ivan and
Elizabeth in my forthcoming book chapter in Elizabeth and the
Foreign Relations, ed. Charles Beem.
2. Wagner, ed., Historical Dictionary of Elizabethan World, 144–45.
Ivan was mistakenly led to believe that, on her mother’s side,
Mary was Elizabeth’s niece. In actuality, Mary’s relation to
Elizabeth was somewhat distant: the Hastings inherited the
Yorkist claim to the English throne through Margaret Pole,
Countess of Salisbury, who was niece of Edward IV and Mary’s
great-grandmother. Ivan’s ambassador, however, was unaware
of the particulars and even remained under the impression that
the current Earl of Huntington was Mary’s father rather than
brother.
3. Pisemsky, “Addendum,” 150. All translations from Russian are
mine.
4. This meeting is also described in Horsey’s “Observations in sev-
enteene yeeres travels and experience in Russia,” in Purchas his
pilgrimage. Or Relations of the vvorld and the religions obserued in all
ages and places discouered, 969–92, esp. 982. Horsey, who spent a
significant period at the court of Ivan IV, was not present at the
bride-show and must have constructed his somewhat mocking
account by hearsay.
174 Notes
5. Ivan IV of Russia, “Memorandum for the Ambassador Nobleman

and Shatsky Representative Fyodor Andreevich Pisemsky,” in
Sbornik Imperatorskago Russkago Istoricheskago Obschestva, vol. 38,
5.
6. Pisemsky, “Addendum,” 154.
7. Ibid., 153–54.
8. Ibid., 154.
9. Mary’s brother was a staunch Puritan so this excuse actually
rings true.
10. Ivan IV of Russia, “Memorandum for the Ambassador Nobleman
and Shatsky Representative Fyodor Andreevich Pisemsky,”
Collection of Russian Historical Society, vol. 38, 104.
11. In The Unbearable Lightness of Being, 40, Milan Kundera sum-
marizes the views of the body informed by science: “The face is
nothing but an instrument panel registering all the body mecha-
nisms” in contrast to the ancient belief that, in the face, one’s soul
becomes visible. These contrasting views on the significance of
the face share the same concept: the face bears a text that com-
municates truths either about the body or the soul. The early
moderns likewise read the face both for the signs of physical ail-
ment and mental disposition. In this book, I focus on the latter in
order to pursue the inflections of the belief in the face being an
index of the mind.
12. Donne, Selected Prose, 38.
13. For the concept of faces as texts to be composed and read, see my
forthcoming article, “Early Modern Face as Text: Conduct Books
and Physiognomic Treatises.”
14. Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1.5.109. All quotations from Shakespeare
follow The Norton Shakespeare, ed. Stephen Greenblatt et al.
15. Hillman and Mazzio, eds., The Body in Parts, xiv, xii.
16. In the hierarchy of spatial positioning, the early moderns fol-
lowed Aristotle, who maintained that “the upper part [of the
body] points in the direction of the upper part of the universe,”
and that the “superior and most noble, considering high and low,
tends to be up high; considering front and back, front; consider-
ing right and left, right” (cited in Patrizia Magli, “The Face and
the Soul,” in Zone 4, 93). This topology, applied to the human
body, privileges the face as the “superior and most noble” part.
17. Hutchinson, Order and Disorder, 30, 3.64–70. I am grateful to
Jeremy Downes for bringing this reference to my attention.
18. Shakespeare, Richard II, 4.1.256–57; 4.1.267–80.
19. Late in Elizabeth’s reign, we find significant evidence of the ner-
vous regard of Richard’s deposition by Bolingbroke as a prece-
dent some subjects may attempt to repeat. In particular, John
Hayward’s publication of The First Part of the Life and Raigne of
Notes 175
Henri IIII in the early 1599, with a lavish dedication to the Earl
of Essex, evoked major suspicion on the part of Elizabeth, who
had Edward Coke peruse the books and take notes early next
year, apparently looking for the parallels between Elizabeth and
Richard. Essex’s admiration for the frequently performed play
Richard II was brought up against him at his early trial, and the
infamous attendance of the Globe performance of the play by
his supporters the day before the Essex rebellion on February 8,
1601, all but cemented the link. The analogy between Elizabeth
and Richard II is most famously celebrated in the queen’s alleged
rhetorical question put to William Lambarde as she poured over
the Tower inventory of manuscripts, “I am Richard II. know ye
not that?” See Clegg, “Archival Poetics and Politics of Literature:
Essex and Hayward Revisited,” 115–32, esp. 122, and Barroll, “A
New History for Shakespeare and His Time,” 441–64, esp. 453,
447.
20. Browne, Religio Medici, 137.
21. I refer here to the books by Drew-Bear, Painted Faces on the
Renaissance Stage; Phillippy, Painting Women; and Karim-Cooper,
Cosmetics in Shakespearean and Renaissance Drama.
22. Baumbach, Shakespeare and the Art of Physiognomy.
23. Berrios, “The Face in Medicine and Psychology: A Conceptual
History,” in The Human Face: Measurement and Meaning, 57–8.
24. Burke, Eyewitnessing, 30.
25. Orgel, “Gendering the Crown,” in Subject and Object in Renaissance
Culture, 148–9.
26. Montrose, The Subject of Elizabeth, 2.
27. See, for instance, the insightful analyses of Elizabeth’s speeches
by Frances Teague and Mary Beth Rose.
28. Plowden, The commentaries, or reports of Edmund Plowden . . .
29. Some of the studies that touch upon Elizabeth’s body in par-
ticular are typically concerned with her sexuality and virginity.
See, for instance, Levin, “Wanton and Whore,” in The Heart and
Stomach of a King, 65–90; Doran, “Virginity, Divinity, and Power:
The Portraits of Elizabeth I,” in The Myth of Elizabeth, 171–99;
Montrose, “Purity and Danger,” in The Subject of Elizabeth,
144–66; and “Elizabeth through the Looking Glass: Picturing
the Queen’s Two Bodies,” in The Body of the Queen: Gender and Rule
in the Courtly World 1500–2000, 61–87.
30. Although not exclusively concerned with the queen, Phillippy’s
and Karim-Cooper’s books touch upon Elizabeth’s case and
thus begin to pay closer attention to the complexity surrounding
Elizabeth’s use of makeup, an important aspect in the study of the
queen’s face. See, in particular, Phillippy, “Colors and Essence”
(133–61), and Karim-Cooper, “Painting the Queen” (58–63).
176 Notes
31. The study of early modern body is a rapidly growing field. To

name just a few key texts, some of the representative publica-
tions include Barkan, Nature’s Work of Art; Calbi, Approximate
Bodies; Egmond and Zwijnenberg, eds., Bodily Extremities; Gent
and Llewellyn, eds., Renaissance Bodies; Grantley and Taunton,
The Body in Late Medieval and Early Modern Culture; Healy,
Fictions of Disease in Early Modern England; Hillman and Mazzio,
eds., The Body in Parts; Paster, The Body Embarrassed; Sawday, The
Body Emblazoned; Schoenfeldt, Bodies and Selves in Early Modern
England.
32. The interest in the politics of Elizabeth’s virginity is omni-
present. See, for instance, the works of Louis Montrose, Helen
Hackett, and Philippa Berry. See also Amster, “Frances Howard
and Middleton and Rowley’s The Changeling,” for the early mod-
ern views on the ways female bodies were presented or read as
virginal.
33. Berger Jr., Fictions of the Pose, 127.
34. I define this term in chapter 4, in connection to John Lyly’s sug-
gestion that, like a blinding sun, Elizabeth may be viewed and
represented only indirectly, by means of a reflection.
35. In my use of the term “prosthetic,” I follow Harry Berger, Jr.’s
notion of representational prosthetics in his essay, “Second-World
Prosthetics: Supplying Deficiencies of Nature in Renaissance
Italy,” in Early Modern Visual Culture, 98–147. Karim-Cooper
talks about the prosthetic function of cosmetics in the early
modern construction of femininity as well as their use as the
stage props. See, in particular, “ ‘Pieced beauty’: Cosmetics as
Prostetics,” 112–18.
Chapter 1 Plain Queen, Gorgeous King:

Tudor Royal Faces
1. In English royal portraiture, a famous early example of the idio-
syncratic face is the portrait of Richard II that appears in the
Wilton Diptych and Westminster Abbey. In the Abbey portrait,
the king is depicted in his royal state with throne, crown, orb,
and scepter, but his forked beard and his heavy-lidded eyes would
not have been standard iconographic markings of a king. These
features may be a result of later repainting; their individuality
stands out as an aberration in the medieval paradigm of depicting
monarchs. For the history of overpainting and restoration of this
portrait, see Hepburn, Portraits of the Later Plantagenets, 13–14 and
figure 12.
2. Thurley, “Henry VIII: The Tudor Dynasty and the Church,” in
Henry VIII: Images of a Tudor King, 20.
Notes 177
3. Lloyd and Thurley, Henry VIII, 16. See, in particular, figures 5,

6, and 7.
4. In Henry VII’s portrait attributed to Michael Sittow (1505, NPG
416), the king’s gaze is turned to the viewer, and his features are
even more painstakingly individualized (see Lloyd and Thurley,
Henry VIII, figure 4). For a perceptive account of the main images
of Henry VII, see Piper, The English Face, 36–45.
5. For dating and authorship of the extant manuscripts of the ballad,
see Kingsford, English Historical Literature in the Fifteenth Century,
esp. 250–52; Firth, “The Ballad History of the Reigns of Henry
VII. and Henry VIII,” 21–50, esp. 26; Churchill, Richard the Third
up to Shakespeare, 231.
6. The most pleasant Song of the Lady Bessy, 13.
7. The most pleasant Song of the Lady Bessy, 33–34.
8. Vergil, The Anglica Historia of Polydore Vergil,, 145.
9. See note 4.
10. Quoted in Weir, Henry VIII, 5.
11. Pet. Pasqualigo to ——–, April 30, 1515, Letters and Papers, vol. 2,
part 1, item 395, p. 116.
12. “Nicolo Sagudino, secretary of Sebastian Giustinian, Ambassador
in England, to Alvise Foscari,” May 3, 1515, CSP Venice, vol. 4, June
6, 1515, p. 247 (item 624).
13. See Lloyd and Thurley, Henry VIII, figure 12.
14. Cited in Neville Williams, Henry VIII and His Court (New
York: Macmillan, 1971), 70–71. See chapter 3 for a discussion of
Elizabeth’s conversation with Melville.
15. “Report of England by Sebastian Giustinian,” September 10, 1519,
CSP Venice, vol. 3, January 2, 1519, p. 559 (item 1287).
16. “Letter from the Court of France to the Magnifico Pietro
Montemerlo, Royal Senator,” June 7, 1520, CSP Venice, vol. 3, p.
50 (item 68).
17. “Letter from the French Court, dated 11th June, sent to the
College by the Signory’s Governor Triulzi,” June 11, 1520, CSP
Venice, vol. 4, p. 61 (item 80).
18. See Lloyd and Thurley, Henry VIII, figure 18.
19. “Lodovico Falier, Venetian Ambassador in England, to his
brother Lorenzo ‘and the others,’ ” January 2, 1529, CSP Venice,
vol. 4, p. 184 (item 385).
20. “Hironimo Moriano, Secretary to Lodovico Falier, Venetian
Ambassador in England, to ——–,” January 2, 1529, CSP Venice, vol.
4, p. 185 (item 386).
21. “Report of England, made to the Senate by Lodovico Falier,”
November 10, 1531, CSP Venice, vol. 4, p. 293 (item 694).
22. “A Tour in England.—Mario Savorgano to ——–,” August 25, 1531,
CSP Venice, vol. 4, p. 287 (item 682).
178 Notes
23. Piper, 51. For an analysis of the progression of Henry VIII’s vis-
ages in portraiture, see Piper, 46–51; Lloyd and Thurley, Henry
VIII: Images of a Tudor King.
24. “Seb. Giustinian to the Council of Ten,” March 11, 1516, Letters
and Papers, vol. 4, part 2, entry 4206, State Papers Online [Accessed:
February 27, 2009].
25. “Du Bellay to Montmorency,” April 25, 1528, Letters and Papers,
entry 1653, State Papers Online [Accessed: February 27, 2009].
26. “Van der Delft to Charles V,” February 13, 1545, Letters and Papers,
vol. 20, part 1, entry 188, State Papers Online [Accessed: February
27, 2009].
27. “Chapuys to Charles V,” April 16, 1542, Letters and Papers, vol. 17,
entry 251. State Papers Online [Accessed: February 27, 2009].
28. “Henry VII to Ferdinand and Isabella,” November 28, 1501,
CSP Spain, vol. 1, p. 264 (item 311). “Arthur, Prince of Wales, to
Ferdinand and Isabella,” November 30, 1501, CSP Spain, vol. 1,
p. 265 (item 312).
29. Nic. Sagudino to Al. Foscari, May 3, 1515, Letters and Papers, vol.
2, part 1, pp. 119–20 (item 410). Katherine indeed may have been
expecting; Mary was born just over nine months after Sagudino’s
report.
November 10, 1531, CSP Venice, vol. 4, p. 292 (item 694).
32. There is a possibility, of course, that the meaning of Katherine’s
smiles is not as positive as the witnesses seem to assume.
Anthropologists have linked smiling to oppressed people trying
to win favor. In any case, Katherine used her smiles strategically,
and she succeeded in making their persistence noticed.
33. “Summary of the Interview between the kings of England and
France,” October 31, 1532, CSP Venice, vol. 4, p. 365 (item 824).
34. Loades, Mary Tudor, 225, fn. 4.
36. “Report of England made to the Senate by Giacomo Soranzo, late
Ambassador to Edward VI. and Queen Mary,” August 18, 1554,
37. Lancelot de Carles, “De la royne d’Angleterre,” quoted in Loades,
Elizabeth I, 5. On de Carles’ account of Anne’s execution, see also
Eric William Ives, The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn (Malden,
MA: Blackwell, 2004), 60–61.
38. Sander, Rise and Growth of the Anglican Schism, 25.
39. “Report by the most noble Messer Daniel Barbaro (afterwards
Patriarch elect of Aquileia) of his Legation in England, delivered
by the Senate in the month of May 1551,” CSP Venice, vol. 5, p. 339.
Notes 179
40. Hayward, The life, and raigne of King Edward the Sixt Written by
Sr. Iohn Hayward Kt. Dr. of Lawe, 4.
42. William Baldwin, “The Death playnt or life prayse of the most
noble and vertuous Prince, King Edward the syxt,” in The funer-
alles of King Edward the sixt. VVherin are declared the causers and
causes of his death (London: In Fletestrete nere to saynct Dunstons
church by Thomas Marshe, 1560), A3r.
43. John Heywood, “A discripton of a most noble Ladye, aduewed by
Iohn Heywoode: presently, who aduertisinge her yeares, as face,
saith of her thus, in much eloquent phrase,” in John Heywood’s
Works and Miscellaneous Short Poems, ed. Burton A. Milligan
(Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1956), 250.
44. A somewhat humorous report comes from Marillac, who appar-
ently went out of his way collecting information on Mary’s appear-
ance, using her chamber lady, portraits, and hearsay. “Marillac to
Francis I,” October 12, 1541, Letters and Papers, vol. 16, entry 1253,
State Papers Online [Accessed: February 27, 2009].
45. “A Tour in England. ——–Mario Savorgano to ——–,” August 25,
1531, CPS Venice, vol. 4, p. 288 (item 682).
November 10, 1531, CPS Venice, vol. 4, p. 293 (item 694).
47. “Biahchi” is a reference to the whites of the eyes rather than the
color of the retina.
CPS Venice, vol. 5, p. 532 (item 934).
49. Giacomo Soranzo continues, “She is not of a strong constitution,
and of late she suffers from headache and serious affection of the
heart, so that she is often obliged to take medicine, and also to
be blooded.”
50. “An account of what has befallen in the realm of England since
Prince Philip landed there, written by a gentleman who accom-
panied the prince to England,” August 17, 1554, CSP Spain,
vol. 13, p. 31.
51. In his report following the wedding, De Silva notes that the
“King fully realises that the marriage was concluded for no fleshly
consideration, but in order to remedy the disorders of this king-
dom and preserve the Low Countries” (“Ruy Gómez de Silva to
Francisco de Eraso,” July 29, 1554, CSP Spain, vol. 13, p. 6 [item 7]).
About nine months after the wedding, Simon Renard enumerated
the reasons for the marriage between Mary and Philip. None of
them concerned Mary’s person (“Simon Renard to Philip,” March
or April 1555, CSP Spain, vol. 13, p. 150 [item 164]).
180 Notes
52. “Ruy Gómez de Silva to Francisco de Eraso,” July 27, 1554, CSP
Spain, vol. 13, pp. 2–3 (item 2).
53. “Ruy Gómez de Silva to Francisco de Eraso,” July 29, 1554, CSP
Spain, vol. 13, p. 6 (item 7).
54. “Simon Renard to Philip,” March or April 1555, CSP Spain, vol. 13,
p. 150 (item 164).
55. “A second letter from a Spanish gentleman who accompanied
Philip to England, also addressed to a gentleman of Salamanca,”
October 2, 1554, CSP Spain, vol. 13, p. 61 (item 72).
56. See, for instance, Christine de Pizan’s instructions on “how the
wise princess will keep the women of her court in good order”
(50–52).
57. “De Puebla to Ferdinand and Isabella,” June 16, 1500, CSP, Spain,
vol. 1, p. 226 (item 268).
58. Mander, The Lives of the Illustrious Netherlandish and German
Painters, vol. 1, fol. 231r, pp. 182–83. Woodall, “An Exemplary
Consort: Antonis Mor’s Portrait of Mary Tudor,” 192–224.
59. Woodall, “An Exemplary Consort,” 206–7.
60. For the discussion of the early modern treatment of portraits in
terms of their ornamental value, see Cropper, “The Beauty of
Woman: Problems in the Rhetoric of Renaissance Portraiture,”
in Rewriting the Renaissance, 175–90.
61. See, for instance, portraits of Mary in the National Portrait
Gallery (NPG 4174) and her portrait by Antonius Mor in Museo
del Prado at Madrid. A portrait of Mary by Hans Eworth (c. 1555)
shows a more pleasant and somewhat softened face, a result of
Eworth’s skillful alteration of the underdrawing. See Elizabeth
Ann Drey, “The Portraits of Mary I, Queen of England,” unpub-
lished MA report, Courtauld Institute 1990, pp. 35–50, cited in
Hearn, Dynasties, 66–67.
62. “Report of England made by Giovanni Michiel, late Ambassador
of Queen Mary and King Philip, to the Venetian Senate, on the
13th May 1557,” CPS Venice, vol. 6, part 2 p. 1054 (item 884).
63. “Giovanni Michiel’s report to the Venetian Senate,” May 13, 1557,
CPS Venice, vol. 6, part 2, pp. 1058–59.
64. Johnson, Elizabeth I, 11.
65. “Report of England made by Giovanni Michiel, late Ambassador
of Queen Mary and King Philip, to the Venetian Senate,” May 13,
1557, CPS Venice, vol. 6, part 2, p. 1058 (item 884).
66. “A Report made by Ambassador Scheyfve’s Secretary,” from “The
Ambassadors in England to the Emperor,” September 4, 1553, CSP
Spain, vol. 11, p. 205.
Notes 181
68. “Simon Renard to the Bishop of Arras,” September 9, 1553, CSP

Spain, vol. 11, p. 228.
69. “Elizabeth’s Address to Parliament,” November 12, 1586, in CW,
194.
Chapter 2 “Let nature paint your beauty’s

glory”: Beauty and Cosmetics
1. Elder, Pearls of Eloquence, or, The School of Complements, 28, 29. The
epigraph comes from the “Speech to the Queen at Sudeley, 1592,”
printed in Nichols, The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen
Elizabeth, vol. 3, 140.
2. Nichols, Progresses, vol. 2, 94–103. The Lady of May was per-
formed during Elizabeth’s visit to Leicester at Wanstead House,
1578 or 79, and printed in the end of Philip Sidney’s Arcadia, 1598.
3. Ibid., vol. 2, 94.
4. Ibid., vol. 2, 95.
5. Ibid. Italics mine.
6. OED: “Prob.: mincing, dainty.”
7. Nichols, Progresses, vol. 2, 96.
8. Ibid., vol. 2, 97.
9. Ibid., vol. 1, 431.
10. For the full speech of the Lady of the Lake, see: Ibid., vol. 1,
491–92.
11. Puttenham, The Arte of English Poesie [by] Lord Lumley, 207.
12. Ibid., 86–88.
13. Cropper, “The Beauty of Woman: Problems in the Rhetoric of
Renaissance Portraiture,” 181.
14. Ibid., 182–83.
15. Spenser, The Faerie Queene, II.III.25.1. All references to The Faerie
Queene follow this edition.
16. George Gascoigne, “Vanities of Beauty”; 2nd song (MSS in BL 18
A.61), printed in Nichols, Progresses, vol. 1, xliv, fn. 4.
17. For a discussion of the associations of Elizabeth with angels and
the relationship between the cultural notions of beauty and the
angelic, see Anna Riehl, “ ‘Shine like an Angel with thy starry
crown’: Queen Elizabeth the Angelic,” in Queens and Power in
Medieval and Early Modern England, 158–86.
18. For the description of Belphoebe, see Spenser, The Faerie Queene,
II.III.26.1.
19. For the concept of beauty in Renaissance art theory, see
Panofsky, “The Renaissance,” in Idea: A Concept in Art Theory,
47–99. For a history of thinking about beauty and its sociological
implications, see Synnott, “Truth and Goodness, Mirrors and
182 Notes
Masks—Part I: A Sociology of Beauty and the Face,” 607–36;

and “Truth and Goodness, Mirrors and Masks—Part II: A
Sociology of Beauty and the Face,” 55–76. For an informative
survey of early modern definitions of beauty, see Farah Karim-
Cooper, “Defining Beauty in Renaissance Culture,” in Cosmetics
in Shakespearean and Renaissance Drama, 1–33. Karim-Cooper’s
work was published after this chapter was written; our accounts
of the attitudes to beauty in the period are essentially in agree-
ment. For a collection of primary sources, see Hofstadter and
Kuhns, Philosophies of Art & Beauty: Selected Readings in Aesthetics
from Plato to Heidegger.
20. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae (Ia.39, 8), vol. 7, 133.
21. Donne, “An Anatomy of the World: The First Anniversary,” in
The Complete English Poems, 250. References to Donne’s poetry fol-
low this edition.
22. Grieco, “The Body, Appearance, and Sexuality,” in History of
Women in the West: Renaissance and Enlightenment Paradoxes, 58.
23. Drew-Bear, Painted Faces on the Renaissance Stage, 23.
24. Gunn, The Artificial Face: A History of Cosmetics, 64.
25. Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, 338–40.
26. Ibid., 330.
27. Ibid., 332.
28. Ibid., 330.
29. Ibid., 330.
30. Sidney, “To Queen Elizabeth,” The Complete Poems of Sir Philip
Sidney, vol. 2, 72–73.
32. Ibid., vol. 2, 315.
33. Donne, “Sermon XIIII,” Fifty sermons, preached by that learned and
reverend divine, John Donne.
34. Donne, Selected Prose, 142.
35. Donne, “Sermon XXXII,” Fifty sermons.
36. Henricus Cornelius Agrippa, “The Superior Beauty of Women,”
in Declamation on the Nobility and Preeminence of the Female Sex,
trans. and ed. Elbert Rabil, Jr. (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1996), 50–54.
37. For the hypotheses of the reasons for women’s beauty, see Buoni,
Problemes of beavtie and all humane affections, 4–5. A compensa-
tory view of female beauty is also recorded in Geffrey Whitney’s
Choice of Emblems: “no defence was lefte for woman kind. / But,
to supplie that wante, shee gave her suche a face: / Which makes
the boulde, the fierce, the swifte, to stoope, and pleade for grace”
(182b, “Pulchritudo vincit. To the fairest”).
38. Lyly, Euphues. The anatomy of Wyt, 12r.
Notes 183
39. See, for instance, Twelfth Night, 1.2.43–47 and 4.1.331; 334–35;
Merchant of Venice, 3.2.73–74; 81–82; 88–101.
40. Bacon, Essayes, 254–55.
41. Ibid., 254.
42. Karim-Cooper suggests a view of Elizabeth’s self-beautifica-
tion similar to my argument that it was, to a significant extent,
driven by a political necessity. Karim-Cooper’s conclusions,
in Cosmetics in Shakespearean and Renaissance Drama, 61–63,
are limited to Elizabeth’s use of cosmetics whereas I address
a variety of rhetorical practices that were employed to fash-
ion the queen’s reputation as a beauty. The title of this section
comes from Philip Sidney, The New Arcadia, in Selected Prose
and Poetry, 354.
43. Mendelson, “Popular Perceptions of Elizabeth,” in Elizabeth I:
Always Her Own Free Woman, 192–214.
44. Ibid., 196.
45. CSP Foreign, vol. 6, part 2, 1058.
46. Elizabeth I: Collected Works, 303.
47. De Maisse, A Journal of all that was accomplished by Monsieur de
Maisse, 38.
48. The Duke of Stettin’s visit to Oatlands on September 26, 1602.
“Diary of Journey of Philip Julius, Duke of Stettin-Pomerana,
through England in the Year 1602,” ed. Bülow, Transactions of the
Royal Historical Society, 53.
49. See chapter 3 for the descriptions of Elizabeth’s appearance in the
last few years of her reign.
50. De Maisse, A Journal, 38.
51. Bacon, “On the Fortunate Memory of Elizabeth Queen of
England” (In Felicem Memoriam Elizabethae), in The Works of Francis
Bacon, vol. 6, 453.
52. Elizabeth I: Collected Works, 251.
53. “Gradenigo’s Report to Piero Duodo, Venetian Ambassador in
France,” CSP Venice, vol. 6: 1556–57; vol. 9, p. 238 (item 505).
54. Melville, Memoirs of His Own Life, 55. This exchange seems to be
mirrored in Two Gentlemen of Verona, 4.4.
55. Cited in Strong, Gloriana: The Portraits of Queen Elizabeth I, 23.
56. Cited in ffolliott, “Portraying Queens: The International
Language of Court Portraiture in the Sixteenth Century,” in
Elizabeth I: Then and Now, 171.
57. Cited in Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England, from the Norman
Conquest, vol. 4, 638.
58. Cited in Nichols, Progresses, vol. 1, xiii, fn. 1.
59. Forster, The Icy Fire. Five Studies in European Petrarchism, 127, 125.
60. Ibid., 127.
184 Notes
61. Wilson, England’s Eliza, 258–59.

62. Liggett, The Human Face, 85.
63. Aristotle, Physiognomics, in Minor Works, 127.
64. The Kalendar and Compost of Shepherds, 152.
65. Mendelson, “Popular Perceptions of Elizabeth,” 200.
66. “The English Fortune-Teller,” in Roxburghe Ballads, vol. 4, 488–91,
esp. 490.
67. See Gubar, Judas: A Biography, 8, 116, 182 and Mellinkoff, “Judas’s
Red Hair and the Jews,” 31–46.
68. T[homas] C[hamberlain], I. D., M. S., T. B., T. C., The Compleat
midwifes practice, 135.
69. Cited in Phillippy, Painting Women, 104.
70. Sidney, Selected Prose and Poetry, 354. Queen Helen is commonly
considered to be Elizabeth’s counterpart in Arcadia.
71. A “Dittie” to Elizabeth on her visit to Lord Montague [sp.
Montecute] at Cowdray (1591), attributed to Lyly by R. Warwick
Bond in his The Complete Works of John Lyly, vol. 1, 423.
72. Spenser, The Faerie Queene, II.III.30.1, description of Belphoebe.
73. Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona, 4.4.181–83.
74. Williams, Powder and Paint: A History of the Englishwoman’s Toilet.
Elizabeth I –Elizabeth II, 23. Liggett, The Human Face, 87.
75. Gunn, The Artificial Face, 83.
76. Anon., “The Redde ys wise, the Browne trustye, The Pale pee-
vishe, the Black lustye,” in Commonplace book.
77. See chapter 1 for discussion of Henry VIII’s appearance.
78. Johnson, Elizabeth I, 11.
79. CSP Venice, vol. 6, part 2, 1058–59.
80. Elizabeth I: Collected Works, 56–58.
81. Faret, The art to please at court, 265–67.
82. As I explain in chapter 5, the English queen was depicted alter-
natively as a blonde and a redhead, and the choice of color was
strongly connected to the purpose of each image as well as its
generic association.
83. “The Sermon Against Excess of Apparel,” in The second tome of
homelyes of such matters as were promised and intituled in the former
part of homelyes set out by the aucthoritie of the Quenes Maiestie, and to
be read in euery paryshe churche agreablye, 117v.
84. See chapter 3 for these descriptions.
85. “Sir Henry Sidney to Sir Francis Walsyngham,” March 1, 1583,
CSP Domestic, ed. R. Lemon (London: Longman, 1865), 1581–90,
entry vol. 159, 1; State Papers Online. [Accessed: February 27, 2009.]
For an argument about Sidney’s compensatory treatment of his
mother’s defacement in Arcadia, see Kay’s essay, “ ‘She was a
queen, and therefore beautiful’: Sidney, His Mother, and Queen
Notes 185
Elizabeth,” 18–39. The title of this section comes from Spenser,

The Faerie Queene, II.III.22.3.
86. Henry Wotton, Commonplace book, composed about 1630, p. 6.
[Folger V.a. 345].
87. Chamberlin, The Sayings of Queen Elizabeth, 52, 54.
88. According to Chamberlin, it was “probably only the varioloid”
(The Sayings of Queen Elizabeth, 88).
90. October 22, 1572. Also in Elizabeth I, Elizabeth I: Collected Works,
214; the manuscript is reproduced on page 213. Post script from
queen, 323.
91. “Thanksgiving for Recovered Health,” CW, 140. This may be a
reference to the 1562 bout with smallpox.
92. See Elizabeth: The Exhibition at the National Maritime Museum, 85,
no. 63.
93. See Edward Hawkins, Augustus W. Franks, and Herbert A.
Grueber, Medallic Illustrations of the History of Great Britain and
Ireland to the Death of George II (British Museum, London, 1885),
vol. 1. Hawkins dates the medal 1572 (the “7” is flipped on the
obverse). David Starkey and Susan Doran catalogue it as 1562, the
year of Elizabeth’s first, significantly more dangerous bout, with
the smallpox. The queen’s recovery from a near death experience
in 1562 seems to be a likely event for commemoration.
94. Although the scars caused by smallpox and syphilis have a some-
what different appearance (the former are “circular pits”; the lat-
ter are “larger, circular, or oval in shape”), the distinction was not
always readily apparent. The presence of any circular scars on the
face, therefore, could cause a suspicion of syphilis. See Musser,
A Practical Treatise on Medical Diagnosis for Students and Physicians,
146.
96. Spenser, The Faerie Queene, II.III.22.1–2.
97. Kay, “ ‘She was a queen, and therefore beautiful,’ ” 27. Hannay,
Lady Mary Wroth: A Sidney Though Unnamed.
98. For the story of Mary Hastings, see the Introduction.
99. Cited in Weir, Elizabeth the Queen, 321.
100. Ibid., 323.
101. Ibid., 285.
102. Tuke, A discourse against painting and tincturing of women, B3v.
The title of this section comes from Spenser, “The Shepheardes
Calendar,” in The Shorter Poems,69.
103. 57 [Kr ].
104. This section follows in part my entry, “Cosmetics and Makeup” in
Women in the Renaissance. See also Williams, “The Englishwoman’s
186 Notes
Toilet,” in Powder and Paint, 1–32; Carney, “ ‘God hath given you
one face, and you make yourselves another’: Face Painting in the
Renaissance,” 21–34; Phillippy, Painting Women; Dolan, “Taking
the Pencil out of God’s Hand: Art, Nature, and the Face-Painting
Debate in Early Modern England,” 224–39; Karim-Cooper, “Early
Modern Cosmetic Culture,” in Cosmetics, 34–66.
105. “Elizabeth’s Address to Parliament,” November 12, 1586, CW, 194.
The fact that facial blemishes of the monarchs were particularly
noticeable and, even more importantly, that the visibility of the
face in comparison to the body is analogous to the prominence of
a monarch to a commoner, is illustrated in the emblem represent-
ing moles on the face, accompanied by the following inscription:
“A small stain or mole on the face is sooner seen than a large one
on the body: The face is open in all places, the body hidden and
only seen from the outside. By this emblem we can remember,
that we make more of the smallest of vices noted in a Prince, than
a large one in the thin man” (cited in Porter, 6).
106. Clapham, Elizabeth of England, 90, italics mine.
107. Ibid., 86.
108. Cited in Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England, vol. 4, 717.
109. Williams, Powder and Paint, 7.
110. Carney, “ ‘God hath given you one face,’ ” 28.
111. See, for example, Neville Williams’ record of Elizabeth’s cleans-
ing lotion, in Powder and Paint, 28.
112. Karim-Cooper, Cosmetics, 59.
113. Father Rivers, “Letter of 13 January, 1601,” in Records of the English
Province of the Society of Jesus, vol. 1, 8.
114. Foley, Records of the English province of the Society of Jesus, vol. 1, 24.
115. Karim-Cooper, Cosmetics, 62.
116. Ben Jonson, Conversations with William Drummond of Hawthornden,
in Ben Jonson, 602.
117. Reference to Volpone follows The workes of Beniamin Ionson,
3.4.15–16.
118. Chettle, Englands Mourning Garment, Er.
119. In Painting Women, 135, Phillippy points to “apothecary’s records,
inventories of mirrors, and surviving mortars and pestles, used to
grind and mix makeup” as additional evidence of the queen’s use
of cosmetics.
120. For stories about Elizabeth’s attitude to mirrors, see Jonson’s
anecdote, see Clapham’s narrative in Elizabeth of England, 96,
and Elizabeth Southwell’s “True Relation of What Succeeded
at the Sickness and Death of Queen Elizabeth,” transcribed in
Catherine Loomis, “Elizabeth Southwell’s Manuscript Account
of the Death of Queen Elizabeth,” 492–509. For the interpret-
ation of these stories, see Phillippy, Painting Women, 142–43.
Notes 187
Chapter 3 Meeting the Queen:

Documentary Accounts
Ambassador to Edward VI. and Queen Mary,” August 18, 1554.
2. A. P. Chudakov [А. П. Чудаков], Slovo—veshch’—mir: ot Pushkina
do Tolstogo: ocherki russkikh klassikov [Слово—вещь—мир: от
Пушкина до Толстого: очерки русских классиков. Word—
Thing—World: From Pushkin to Tolstoy], 94–104. 103; 101.
3. Ibid., 101.
4. For an example of an essentialist description of a face, see
Myshkin’s speeches about Nastasya Phillipovna’s face in
Dostoevsky’s The Idiot.
5. Barthes, S/Z, 113.
6. [Cicero], Ad C. Herennium: De Ratione Dicendi, vol. 4, xlix.63.
7. Cicero, De Inventione; De Optimo Genere Oratorum; Topica,
vol. 1.xxiv.35.
8. Ibid., II.LIX.177.
9. Vendôme, The Art of Versification, vol. 1, 75; I.67.
10. Vinsauf, Poetria Nova, ll. 598–99, p. 37; 36.
11. Erasmus, Copia: Foundations of the Abundant Style (De duplici copia
verborum ac rerum commentarii duo), in Collected Works of Erasmus:
Literary and Educational Writings 2, 582, 586.
12. Puttenham, The Arte of English Poesie, Book III, 204.
13. [Cicero], Ad C. Herennium, IV.xlix.63.
14. Epistolarum D. Erasmi Roterodami libri XXXI, Book X, Epistle 30,
534. I am grateful to Craig E. Bertolet for his translation from the
original Latin.
15. In the beginning of the letter, Erasmus acknowledges von
Hutten’s request to paint a “portrait” of More and promises to
attempt only a “sketch” of the man.
16. Hayward, Annals of the first four years of the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, 7.
17. Osborne, Historical memoires on the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and
King James, 61. According to Henri IV, the other two unsolvable
mysteries were “how valiant was Maurice of Orange . . . who had
never fought a battle” and that of the nature of Henri’s religious
beliefs. Henri famously converted to Catholicism because “Paris
was well worth a mass.”
18. My concern here is only with the depictions of Elizabeth’s face
and body. Nevertheless, picturesque stories about her jewels and
attire are also a part of the politics of describing. The opulence
of Elizabeth’s extravagant clothes and jewels performs a redeem-
ing function similar to the one I describe here. That she herself
188 Notes
may have intended these riches for this purpose is suggested in a

pointed remark ascribed to Bacon by Agnes Strickland, 708: “She
imagined that the people, who are much influenced by externals,
would be diverted, by the glitter of her jewels, from noticing the
decay of her personal attractions.”
19. CSP Venice, vol. 9, 239.
20. De Maisse, Journal, 25–26.
21. Hentzner, A Journey into England in the Year M.D.XC.VIII, in
Fugitive Pieces, on Various Subjects, vol. 2, 233–311, esp. 273.
22. Hayward, Annals of the first four years of the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, 7.
23. Naunton, Fragmenta Regalia, or Observations on Queen Elizabeth,
Her Times & Favorites, 38.
24. Betts, “ ‘The Image of this Queene so quaynt’: The Pornographic
Blazon 1588–1603,” in Dissing Elizabeth, 153–84, esp. 159.
25. Walter Raleigh reported that, around July 1598, Essex said these
words to the queen and was consequently boxed on the ear during
their argument concerning the appointment of a lord deputy in
Ireland (DNB, “Devereux, Robert, second Earl of Essex,” 881).
26. See chapter 1 for a discussion of Anne Boleyn’s eyes.
27. Galeotto Marzio, De homine (Milan, 1490), quoted in Martin
Porter, Windows of the Soul, 13.
28. See Introduction, note 19.
29. CPS Venice, vol. 6, part 2, 1058.
30. Ibid ., vol. 9, 239.
31. De Maisse, Journal, 38.
32. Ibid., 59, 61.
33. Frederick, Duke of Wirtemberg’s Travel to England (1592), in England
as seen by Foreigners in the days of Elizabeth and James the First, 12.
34. Platter, Travels in England in 1599, 192. Platter refers to the Duke
of Wirtemberg’s narrative (218) and even copies several pages ver-
batim. Platter’s narrative is plagued with inaccuracies.
35. In “Popular Perceptions of Elizabeth,” 196, Sara Mendelson
points that, due to Elizabeth’s use of cosmetics, she probably
appeared quite beautiful when she was viewed from far away. See
chapter 2 for the discussion of this issue.
36. Melville, Memoirs, 55.
37. In Reading Shakespeare Historically, 23–25, Lisa Jardine reminds
us that de Maisse’ notorious story about Elizabeth exposing her
belly does not give us access to Elizabeth as actual historical sub-
ject, but she adds that his text’s actuality is limited to “the sense
that Elizabethan male subjects expressed (and therefore con-
sciously experienced) their selfhood in those (explicitly sexual
and desirous) terms.”
38. Bacon, “On the Fortunate Memory,” 12.
Notes 189
39. Platter, Travels, 192.

40. Naunton, Fragmenta Regalia, 38.
41. Bacon, “On the Fortunate Memory,” 451.
42. Hentzner, Journey, 274.
43. Harington, Nugæ Antiquæ: being a miscellaneous collection of original
papers in prose and verse, vol. 1, 362.
44. Jane Dormer, quoted in Erickson, The First Elizabeth, 59.
45. Von Klarwill, Queen Elizabeth and Some Foreigners, 323.
46. This nonverbal behavior is analogous to verbal figuration of
‘allegoria,’ as explained by George Puttenham: “when we speake
one thing and thinke another, and that our wordes and our mean-
ings meete not.” Puttenham remarks that “the most noble and
wisest Prince of them all are many times enforced to use it, by
example (say they) of the great Emperour who had it usually in his
mouth to say, Qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare,” 155.
47. Inwardness, or interiority, is variously referred to as “essence,”
“truth,” and “private self”; I conflate these terms as well. “Steven
Mullaney has observed that the word ‘emotion’ did not become a
term for feeling until about 1660, around the time that ‘individ-
ual’ took ‘on its modern meaning.’ The Renaissance words that
most closely approximated what we call emotion were ‘passion’
and ‘affection’ ” (Paster, Rowe, and Floyd-Wilson, Reading the
Early Modern Passions, 2). In the debate about the sense of inter-
iority in the early modern period, my position is similar to that of
Katherine Eisaman Maus, whose book Inwardness and Theater in
the English Renaissance is a persuasive statement on the issue.
48. Elkins, Pictures of the Body, 84.
49. Berger, Fictions, 125.
50. In Pictures of the Body, 84, James Elkins likewise remarks on the
early modern shift in trust in a “systematic connections between
mind and face.” In medieval epic the “gesture meant the pas-
sion,” and “symbolical connection remained between the body
and soul, and facial expressions were a sign of this connection”;
whereas, since the Renaissance, the “inner man” (homo interior)
and the “outer man” (homo exterior) were no longer perceived as
undivided from each other.
51. Berger, Fictions, 127.
52. Ibid., 131.
53. Hulse, “Shakespeare’s Sonnets and the Art of the Face,” 3. Recent
research on the relation between facial activity and emotions reg-
isters the same pitfalls of shimmering correspondences: “the rela-
tionship between facial actions and their multiple determinants
can be described as being of the many-to-many type” (as opposed
to a simple one-to-one). Among other considerations, psychologists
are forced to take into account that “facial behavior as well as
190 Notes
other nonverbal behaviors are not only assumed to be influenced

by emotion but also by a host of other factors, including motiv-
ations, social context and cultural conventions.” Most import-
antly for the study of Elizabeth’s facial activity as reported by the
onlookers is the qualification confirmed by careful behavioral
experiments: “it cannot be assumed that the moment character-
ized by the highest level of facial activity is also the ‘most genuine’
moment.” Kappas, “What Facial Activity Can and Cannot Tell
Us About Emotions,” in The Human Face, 228, 226, 218.
54. Shakespeare, Hamlet, 3.2.78.
55. Ibid., 1.2.81; 1.2.85.
56. Ibid., 1.5.109
57. Evans, Hesperites or the Muses Garden.
58. See, in particular, Puttenham’s definition of allegory. On
Puttenham’s treatment of courtly dissimulation, see Javitch, The
Poetry of Courtliness in Renaissance England, and Kegl, “ ‘Those ter-
rible approches’: Sexuality, Social Mobility, and Resisting the
Courtliness of Puttenham’s The Arte of English Poesie,” in The
Rhetoric of Concealment: Figuring Gender and Class in Renaissance
Literature, 11–42.
59. In order to create interest in information without volunteering
its disclosure, for example, Bacon suggests, in “Of Cunning,”
The Essayes, 129, that “you may lay a bait for a question by show-
ing another visage and countenance than you are wont,” that is,
assume a facial expression that would provoke a question from
the interlocutor, allowing one to speak.
60. Bacon, The Essayes, 128.
61. Bacon finds both advantages and disadvantages in employ-
ment of dissimulation, and justifies its use in light of his estab-
lished “three degrees of this hiding and veiling of a man’s self.”
The three degrees explained by Bacon in “Of Simulation and
Dissimulation,” The Essayes, 27–30, are secrecy, dissimulation,
and simulation/false profession. As a realist, he admits that
one cannot avoid dissimulation by necessity, at least to some
extent.
62. “I have in this assembly found so much dissimulation, having
always professed plainness, that I marvel thereat—yea, two faces
under one hood, and the body rotten, being covered with two
visors: succession and liberty” (“Queen Elizabeth’s speech dis-
solving Parliament, January 2, 1567” [Speech 10, version 2], CW,
107). An even more emphatic variant appears in D’Ewes, The
journals of all the Parliaments during the reign of Queen Elizabeth
both of the House of Lords and House of Commons, 116–17: “where I
always professed plainness.” Twenty years later, Elizabeth wrote
to James: “. . . as not to disguise fits most a king, so will I never
Notes 191
dissemble my actions but cause them show even as I meant them”

(“Elizabeth to James, February 14, 1587,” CW, 296).
63. CW, 35.
64. CPS Foreign, vol. 1, 387.
65. CW, 302.
66. Ibid., 46, 132.
67. According to Harry Berger’s classification of various types of
sprezzatura in Fictions, 98, this tactics fall into the category of
“sprezzatura of suspicion” that “involves not deceit tout court but
rather the menace of deceit, the display of the ability to deceive,”
that is, the “ability to show that one is not showing what one really
desires, feels, thinks, and means or intends.” Scholars like Javitch,
Whigham (100–101), and, following them, Berger (97–99), point
to sprezzatura as a strategy utilized by courtiers in competition for
their prince’s favor. On concealment and revelation in Elizabeth’s
poem “The Doubt of Future Foes” and in Puttenham’s comments
on Elizabeth’s dealings with Mary Queen of Scots, see Summit,
“ ‘The Arte of a Ladies Penne’: Elizabeth I and the Poetics of
Queenship,” in Reading Monarch’s Writing: The Poetry of Henry VII,
Mary Stuart, Elizabeth I, and James VI/I, 79–108. For a detailed
and perceptive analysis of “Much suspected by me . . .” and “No
crooked leg . . .” see Bell, “Elizabeth Tudor: The Poet,” in Images of
Elizabeth I: A Quadricentennial Celebration, 1–22.
68. Melville, Memoirs, 77.
69. Ibid., 58.
70. Cited in Strickland, The Lives of the Queens of England, 410.
71. Cited in Loades, Elizabeth I: A Life, 67.
72. CPS Spain, vol. 12, 125.
73. For example, Michiel, a Venetian ambassador, describes princess
Elizabeth as “proud and haughty,” May 13, 1557, CSP Venice, vol. 6,
part 2, 1058–59. Likewise, de Maisse reports in his Journal, 3, that
Elizabeth is a “haughty woman.”
74. Camden, The History of the Most Renowned and Victorious Princess
Elizabeth, 388.
75. Memoirs of the Life of Robert Carey, Baron of Leppington, and Earl
of Monmouth: Baron of Leppington, and Earl of Monmouth, 137.
76. Warkentin, The Queen’s Majesty’s Passage & Related Documents,
77.
77. Richards, “Love and a Female Monarch: The Case of Elizabeth
Tudor,” 145–46.
78. Warkentin, The Queen’s Majesty’s Passage, 97.
79. Don Aloisio Schivenoglia, an Italian.
80. CSP Venice, vol. 7: 12
81. Cited in Strickland, The Lives of the Queens of England, 733.
82. CW, 53.
192 Notes
83. Harington, Nugæ Antiquæ, 362.

84. Ibid., 358–59.
85. Bacon, Letters and Life of Francis Bacon, vol. 1, 178.
87. Ibid., 317.
88. In his recollections of that highly agitated behavior, Harington
found in them a manifestation of his late queen’s occasional
“strange temperament,” and mused on “what strange humors do
conspire to patch up the natures of some mynds.” Ibid., 355.
89. Ibid., 322.
90. Ibid., 362.
91. Cited in Birch, Memoirs of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth, From the
Year 1581 till her Death, vol. 2, 507.
Chapter 4 “Mirrors more than one”:

Elizabeth’s Literary Faces
1. Chapman, The Poems of George Chapman. Title quotation is from
Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene (3.Proem.5.6).
2. Faret, The honest man, Folger STC 10686.
3. Wilson, The Arte of Rhetorique, 12.
4. Cicero, De Oratore, II.84.342, 459. For further discussion of the
epideictic formulae, see Hardison, Jr., The Enduring Monument,
30.
5. Spenser, Faerie Queene, p. 16.
6. For a discussion of the concept of the king’s two bodies, see the
Introduction.
7. Mary Villeponteaux, writing about Spenser’s Amazon Queen
Radigund, suggests that “in Elizabethan England in general it was
much easier to think of the queen in terms of her body natural.”
“ ‘Not as women wonted be’: Spenser’s Amazon Queen,” in Dissing
Elizabeth, 209–25, esp. 210. Whatever its hold over the popular
imagination, I contend that Elizabeth’s body natural does not
readily lend itself to description.
8. Barnfield, “Cassandra,” (1595), in The Poems of Richard Barnfield,
79.
9. Shakespeare, Othello, 2.1. 62–66. The Norton edition glosses the
last two lines as follows: “whose natural beauty exhausts the
poet’s capacity to invent praise” (p. 2117).
10. Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, 1.5.172–73.
11. Ibid., 1.5.263.
12. See, for example, Exodus, 33:19–23. See also Paul’s famous dicta
whose meaning is not limited to being allegorical: “For now we
see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know
Notes 193
in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known” (1 Cor.,

13:12).
13. Harry Berger terms this version of modesty topos a particular
variety of sprezzatura, a “sprezzatura of conspicuously false mod-
esty.” Fictions of the Pose, 97. For the use of this figure in classical
rhetoric of praise, see Hardison: the “prefatory profession of
inadequacy” was one of the features of the encomium (endnote
8, 205).
14. Lyly, Euphues. The Anatomy of Wit, A2r. Italics mine.
15. Kinney, “ ‘Singuler Eloquence and Braue Composition’: Lyly,
“Euphues, and Its Sequel,” in Humanist Poetics, 147.
16. Lyly, Euphues. The Anatomy of Wit, A2r.
17. Lyly, Euphues and his England, 121v–122r.
18. See Hunter, John Lyly.
19. According to Warwick Bond’s note, Venus is replaced by Leda
starting with the printing in midsummer of 1579.
20. Lyly, Euphues. The Anatomy of Wyt, A2r. Interestingly, Bond pub-
lished this early variant in his key edition of Lyly’s works. The ori-
gins of Venus’ mole are unclear. It is not mentioned in Ovid, but
Erasmus makes a reference to this goddess’ “blemishing mole” in
The Praise of Folly (Witt against Wisdom, or A Panegyrick upon Folly
[Oxford: Printed by L. Lichfield, for Anthony Stephens, 1683],
B4r). An extended inquiry into this attribute is necessary, both
in literary and visual representations. In my preliminary search,
I have found no early modern paintings of Venus with a mole.
Lyly’s reference seems to be the first one after Erasmus, and the
only other mention of Venus’ blemish in the 1580s is found in
Robert Greene’s Morando: The Tritameron of Loue ([London: For
Edward White, 1584], B1r–B1v). Greene specifies that the mole
was “in her face.”
21. The appearance and supposed deformities of Anne Boleyn are
discussed in chapter 1.
22. Lyly, Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit, 1r–1v.
23. In his famous “Proem” to Book III of The Faerie Queene, Spenser
explains that the option to forgo description altogether is moti-
vated by “fear through want of words her excellence to marre,”
and yet the poet must forge forth, asking pardon of Elizabeth for
his inevitable inadequacy (III.Proem. II.1–3.9).
24. Legend has it that, in competition with Parrhasius (the very same
painter whose artistic honesty was praised in the dedication to
Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit), Zeuxis painted grapes so life-like
that the birds pecked at them. It is Parrhasius, however, who won
the contest by deceiving the eye of his competitor with a realis-
tically painted veil that appeared to cover the painting. Thus the
trick of suggestive substitution akin to that of painting Venus’
194 Notes
back in order to hint at her face belongs to Parrhasius rather than

Zeuxis.
25. Lyly, Euphues and his England, B1r.
26. Lyly may have adapted this tale from Sannazarro’s description, in
his Arcadia, of the technique in the painting of the Judgment of
Paris (Bond, II, 480).
27. See Exodus, 33:19–23, esp. 33:20: “But, he said, ‘you cannot see
my face, for no one may see me and live’ ” (33:20) and “you will see
my back; but my face must not be seen” (33:23). This narrative is
especially interesting because this literal reference to God’s face
clarifies the idiomatic meaning of the previous reference that the
“Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks with his
friend” (Exodus, 33:11).
28. “A Pleasant Conceite” (1593), New Year’s gift from Thomas
Chuchyard (verses “counterfeiting to sette foorth the workes of
an extraordinarie Painter”) (printed in Nichols, III, 238); italics
mine. For an insightful discussion of this poem, see Lawrence
Green, “ ‘Talkest thou nothing but of ladies?’: Courtly Love and
the Aged Muse in Thomas Churchyard’s Pleasant Conceite (1593),”
19–35.
29. For a discussion of issues associated with the use of the angelic
trope in relation to Elizabeth I, see my essay, “ ‘Shine like an Angel
with thy starry crown’: Queen Elizabeth the Angelic,” in Queens
and Power in Medieval and Early Modern England, 158–86.
30. See, for example, Montrose, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream and
the Shaping Fantasies of Elizabethan Culture: Gender, Power,
Form,” for a discussion of Simon Forman’s intimate dream about
Elizabeth in 1597 (in Rewriting the Renaissance, 65–87). From the
Bible to Macrobius, Langland, and Chaucer, and to Spenser and
Shakespeare, the dream vision was an established literary genre
by the early modern period. For an extensive study of the con-
struction of Elizabeth through dreams, see Levin, Dreaming the
English Renaissance.
31. Nichols, III, 131–32.
32. Spenser, Faerie Queene, I.IX.13–15.
33. Shakespeare, Rape of Lucrece, l. 64.
34. Spenser, Faerie Queene, p. 16. For an interesting application of the
concept of the king’s two bodies to Spenser’s representation of
Elizabeth, see Miller, The Poem’s Two Bodies: The Poetics of the 1590
Faerie Queene.
35. In “ ‘The blazon of sweet beauty’s best’: Shakespeare’s Lucrece,” in
Shakespeare and the Question of Theory, 104, Nancy Vickers points
out that the body/shield metaphor makes a frequent appearance
in the Blasons anatomiques du corps fémenin (1543). These examples,
however, do not include a specific figuration of a face as a coat of
Notes 195
arms; this metaphor may very well originate in the poetic descrip-
tions of Elizabeth.
36. Legh, The Accedens of Armory, A2r. For a survey of the early modern
heraldic treatises, see J. F. R. Day, “Primers of Honor: Heraldry,
Heraldry Books, and English Renaissance Literature,” 93–103.
37. For studies addressing the history of English heraldic practices,
see Rodney Dennys, The Heraldic Imagination; Wagner, Heraldry
in England, and an illustrated volume by Thomas Woodcock and
Robinson, Heraldry in Historic Houses of Great Britain.
38. Spenser, The Shorter Poems, 34.
39. Ibid., 43–44; 55–58; 64–77.
40. Ibid., 68.
41. In recent criticism, there has been a distinct tendency to unfold
eroticized subtext of these descriptions. For example, in her dis-
cussion of “Aprill” in Of Chastity and Power: Elizabethan Literature
and the Unmarried Queen, 80, Philippa Berry compares Spenser’s
description of Eliza to that of Diana in Ovid’s Metamorphoses:
Berry suggests that “Eliza is naked, clad in the ‘Scarlot’ and
‘Ermines white’ of her own skin.” Similarly, in “The Elizabethan
Subject and the Spenserian Text,” 326–27, Montrose cites the line
depicting Belphoebe’s cheeks as “roses in a bed of lillies shed”
as an example of a “rhetorical play between the prohibition and
provocation of desire”: for Montrose, “the internal rhyme on ‘bed’
and ‘shed’ imparts to the description of her maidenly modesty a
subliminal suggestion of her defloration.”
42. Ambiguity in anticipation of censorship is explored in Patterson’s
Censorship and Interpretation.
43. Almost all of Fulke Greville’s works, including the sonnet-
sequence Caelica, were published posthumously.
44. This iconographic mode is itself heraldic in the sense that, as
Ellen Chirelstein emphasizes, the essentially heraldic images are
“flat, schematised and immobile” (“Lady Elizabeth Pope: The
Heraldic Body,” in Renaissance Bodies: The Human Figure in English
Culture c.1540–1660, 39).
45. Hackett, Virgin Mother, Maiden Queen: Elizabeth I and the Cult of
the Virgin Mary, 168.
46. Vickers, “This Heraldry,” 175.
47. This particular shape is that of a classic “heater,” the basic and
most practical shape for a shield in a battle. On the evolution
of the shapes of shields, see Dennys, The Heraldic Imagination,
43–44.
48. See Vickers’ summary of the place accorded to the coats of arms
in the Tudor England, “ ‘The blazon of sweet beauty’s best’:
Shakespeare’s Lucrece,” in Shakespeare and the Question of Theory,
104–5.
196 Notes
49. The collateral existence of both the protective and rhetorical

functions is evident, for instance, in the description of Sir
Gawain’s shield that bears imagery both on the inside and out-
side in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The painted shields of the
multiple characters of Spenser’s pseudo-medieval Faerie Queene
look back to the same tradition.
50. Albrecht Dürer, for instance, makes such partitioning in his draw-
ings of human faces in his Dresden Sketchbook (Strauss, No. 110).
Dürer’s sketches were familiar to the Elizabethans from Richard
Haydock’s translation of Lomazzo’s treatise on painting.
51. In my use of this concept, I follow Mary Hazard who, in Elizabethan
Silent Language, 236, adapted a phrase “absented presence” from
Philip Sidney’s New Arcadia to explore the politics and dynamics
of presence and absence at Elizabeth’s court. “Present/absence”
refers to the “physical presence of one who signals personal sep-
aration from foregrounded action,” while “absent/presence” indi-
cated the “felt presence of one physically absent.” For the effect
of iconoclasm on religious imagery in England, see Duffy, The
Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, 1400–1580,
esp. Part II, and Margaret Aston, England’s Iconoclasts.
52. Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 13.10.
53. In The Crisis of the Aristocracy 1558–1641, Lawrence Stone main-
tains that, in the patrilinear English family, attention was focused
“upon the origins of the father rather than those of the mother”
(23). For Stone, the “inclusion of maternal coats going back
many generations was not in itself symptomatic of any increas-
ing respect for matrilinear descent” (25). There have been cases,
however, when one’s genealogical claims depended heavily on the
mother’s origins, as illustrated, for instance, in the discussion of
Henry V’s claim to France in Act One of Shakespeare’s Henry V.
54. Strictly speaking, Elizabeth’s coat of arms is that of Henry IV,
who modified the French quarters of Edward III’s shield from
fleur-de-lis semé to France Modern (i.e., reduced the number of
fleur-de-lis to three).
55. Thurley, “Henry VIII: The Tudor Dynasty and the Church,” in
Henry VIII: Images of a Tudor King, 13–14.
56. For a survey of the imagery of roses (especially eglantine roses)
associated with Elizabeth, see Strong, The Cult of Elizabeth:
Elizabethan Portraiture and Pageantry, 68–73. For the history and
use of Tudor rose, see Anglo, “The Rose Both Red and White,” in
Images of Tudor Kingship, 74–97.
57. Shakespeare, Henry VI.3, 2.5. 97–102.
58. Shakespeare, Richard III, 5.8.20.
59. Strong, Cult of Elizabeth, 68.
Notes 197
60. Spenser’s friend Philip Sidney, however, while drawing on the

same tradition, uses an unmistakably heraldic terminology that
doubles up as a conventional metaphor (“gules,” “field”) when he
depicts Stella’s rosy cheeks: “roses gules [red] are borne in silver
field” (Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 13. 11).
61. Shakespeare, Rape of Lucrece, 65, 68.
62. Nancy Vickers, “Diana Described: Scattered Woman and
Scattered Rhyme,” in Writing and Sexual Difference, esp. 104.
63. In The Artificial Face, 53–54, Fenja Gunn writes that the Picts “cov-
ered themselves in coloured images of birds and animals . . . [as] a
means of establishing a tribal identity and, within the tribal unit,
of distinguishing social rank. . . . During the Roman occupation,
when the ancient Britons adopted conventional clothes, they
transferred the painted designs of birds and animals from their
bodies to their shields, and eventually these images formed the
basis for heraldic devices.” In this sense, a suggestion of the Tudor
rose inscribed on the face is a regression to the tribal habits of the
Picts.
64. Puttenham, Arte, 151. Also in: Partheniades, Parthe II, “Clio”
Nichols, III, 470.
65. Spenser, Faerie Queene, II.III.22–25. In The Body Emblazoned,
200, Jonathan Sawday draws a parallel between Spenser’s later
blazon of his bride Elizabeth Boyle in “Epithalamion” (1595) and
more detailed description of Belphoebe (1590). Sawday makes an
interesting remark about Spenser’s imagining of “the possibility
of partitioning his bride so that she could be re-created as a sec-
ond Belphoebe / Elizabeth, and what greater compliment could
the old queen have enjoyed?” Sawday compares this fantasy to
Simon Foreman’s dream of dalliance with Elizabeth (endnote 41,
303), explored at length by Louis Montrose in “Shaping Fantasies,”
65–69. Sawday’s interest is focused especially on the nexus of the
sexual and political.
66. Faerie Queene, 1.9.15.5.
67. Likewise, Spenser resorts to the topos of indescribability of Una’s
“heauenly beautie” through disparaging his poetic dexterity
(I.XII.22.4; I.XII.23.1–5). In the case of Mercilla (one of the many
mirrors that reflect Elizabeth in Spenser’s epic), the poet does
not even attempt to describe—it is a depiction by proximity.
68. III.Proem.5.7. This technique is borrowed from Zeuxis and
alluded to in the last prefatory sonnet.
69. II.II.40.8–9.
70. II.Proem. 4.6–9. On the issues of mimetic representation in Faerie
Queene and implications of the technique of making a composite
image as announced in the last prefatory sonnet, see Clark Hulse,
198 Notes
“ ‘Painted Forgery’: Visual Approaches to The Faerie Queene,” in

Approaches to Teaching Spenser’s Faerie Queene.
71. In 1940, Rosemond Tuve argued that Belphoebe’s yellow hair
is less a function of Petrarchan stereotype than the pictorial
tradition of the depiction of the Amazons (“Spenser and Some
Pictorial Conventions: With Particular Reference to Illuminated
Manuscripts,” in Essays by Rosemond Tuve, 112–38).
72. Barthes, S/Z, 113–14.
73. Partheniades, Parthe II, “Clio.” Printed in Nichols, III, 470.
Hannah Betts addresses the matter of bawdy descriptions in
her fascinating essay, “ ‘The Image of this Queene so quaynt’: The
Pornographic Blazon 1588–1603,” in Dissing Elizabeth, 153–84.
74. Puttenham, Partheniades, Parthe VII, “Euterpe: A Ryddle of the
Princesse Paragon,” printed in Nichols, III, 474–75; italics mine.
This poem is a part of Puttenham’s New Year’s gift to Elizabeth.
Lines in italics were publicized when Puttenham quoted the
excerpts in The Arte as examples of the figure of icon (204–5).
75. Wilson, England’s Eliza, 243.
76. Spenser follows the same path in his fantasy of Alma’s Castle, but
his is a portrait of a man’s face (see 2.9, particularly 23–27).
77. The method of blazon is derived from the Song of Songs, and
Puttenham’s figurative language in this poem is especially
reminiscent of this source (especially, Song 4: 1–7, 5: 4–5, and 5:
10–16). For this type of biblical language that was commonplace
in early modern England, see, for example, Krier, “Generations
of Blazons: Psychoanalysis and the Song of Songs in the Amoretti,”
293–327.
78. Montrose, “Midsummer Night’s Dream and the Shaping Fantasies,”
For readings of this poem, see Betts’s essay and Lisa Gim’s
“Blasoning ‘the Princesse Paragon’: The Workings of George
Puttenham’s ‘False Semblant’ in his Partheniades to Queen
Elizabeth,” 75–92.
79. “Every document of civilization is also a document of barbar-
ism” is Walter Benjamin’s famous adage that first appeared in his
“Theses on the Philosophy of History.”
80. While John Nichols prints it as “New Year’s Gift, addressed
to the queen, 1600,” scholars agree that the work dates to
c. 1579–81. ODNB notes that “the work’s absence among the
Royal manuscripts in the British Library argues that it was
either not delivered or not accepted . . .” (604). For a summary of
scholarship concerning the dating of this manuscript, see Gim,
esp. 85, note 3.
81. Vickers, “Diana Described,” 96.
82. Ibid, 102.
83. Ibid., 103.
Notes 199
84. Sawday, The Body Emblazoned, 197.

85. Ibid., 197, 198.
86. Vickers pursues the implications of men describing women to
each other in her essay, “ ‘This Heraldry in Lucrece’ Face’ ” in The
Female Body in Western Culture, 209–22.
87. Sawday, The Body Emblazoned, 198–99. I disagree with Sawday’s
substantiation of his concept (in itself intriguing and certainly
applicable to the face) of Elizabeth’s self-blazon. By “self-blazon-
ing,” Sawday here seems to mean something like “striptease” as
his evidence consists of stating that Elizabeth put herself on pub-
lic display “bare-breasted” (arguably a misleading reference to the
low neck line of her dresses late in the reign) and sends us to de
Maisse’s story of the queen revealing “her belly” to him (again, a
unique story about a private incident that may hardly be deemed
evidence of Elizabeth’s supposed habit of self-exhibitionism).
88. Elkins, in “What Is a Face?” The Object Stares Back, 164–65,
makes a perceptive argument that “written descriptions of faces
cannot conjure pictures of faces . . . they can only help us recall
what it’s like to try to remember a face.” Elkins approaches the
issue from the point of subjective perception, explaining, for
instance, how a biblical simile of parted lips and “pomegranate
cut open” evokes disturbing image in the author’s mind unless he
takes the description “loosely and nonvisually.” This argument in
part supports my point about the lack of individuality and con-
creteness in poetic descriptions of Elizabeth’s facial attributes.
On the other hand, I argue here that this lack is caused less by the
inherent impossibility of language to “conjure up” a face than by
the writers’ conscious reluctance to do so.
Chapter 5 Portraiture: The Painted Texts of

Elizabeth’s Faces
1. Possible reasons and implications of the acceptance of this stylistic
choice of facial representation have received various explanations.
In Images of Rule, 107, David Howarth suggests that the naturalis-
tic depiction of the face was devalued by virtue of belonging to the
shady realm of external appearances whereas the Elizabethans
sought an expression of their inner selves through more sophisti-
cated means of the emblematic and symbolic. In Elizabethan Silent
Language, 34, Mary Hazard maintains that naturalness and even
liveliness in a portrait had little to do with “mimetic representa-
tion of physical appearance” and was conveyed in “representation
of spiritual essence of the subjects.” Unlike Howarth and Hazard,
who are interested in conceptual and intellectual rationale of the
200 Notes
stylistic choice in question, Strong, in The English Icon, seeks to

connect this choice to a long-standing tradition. In fact, his con-
cept of the cult of Queen Elizabeth stems from his initial observa-
tion that “an isolated, strange, exotic and anti-naturalistic style”
of Elizabethan painting is “akin to the aesthetic of Byzantine art”
(3). In this sense, the Elizabethan aesthetic draws on the two-
dimensional medieval portrayal of kings’ faces as divina majestas,
“the remote and expressionless mask with its calm and never-end-
ing vision” (Strong, Gloriana, 38). More recently, Miguel Falomir
points out that Elizabeth’s rivalry with Philip II leads to rejection
of Hapsburg’s masterful three-dimensional models in England
(Campbell, Falomir, Fletcher, and Syson, Renaissance Faces, 78).
This partiality to line rather than “shadow” is in itself meaning-
ful, especially because the sheer number of commissioned por-
traits attests to the patrons’ apparent satisfaction with this style.
The viewers wanted their portraits above all to be a documenta-
tion of the sitters’ social position; a picture’s value as a record of
identity lay primarily in gender-class documentation rather than
in individual facial resemblance or its realistic execution. The
viewers probably recognized the artificiality of an unshadowed
look, but it seems that some hints of resemblance made these por-
traits sufficiently convincing: obviously, an image does not have
to be naturalistic to capture likeness effectively. Moreover, while
the modern critical insights quoted above emphasize the lack of
naturalness and expressiveness of Elizabethan painted faces, an
accomplished painter Nicholas Hilliard by no means considers
himself a producer of “expressionless masks.” As discussed later
in the chapter, although Hilliard is skeptical about chiaroscuro, he
advocates just the opposite of blankness in the countenance.
2. Mary I, for example, reportedly vented her frustration with her
absentee husband Philip of Spain by scratching at his portraits
and kicking them from her privy chamber (Campbell et al.,
Renaissance Faces, 282). See also Luke Syson, “Witnessing Faces,
Remembering Souls,” in Renaissance Faces, 18–19.
3. Erasmus to More, June 28, 1517. Letters and Papers, vol. 2, part 2:
1517–18; entry 3413. State Papers Online. [Accessed: February 26,
2009].
4. See Jennifer Fletcher, “The Renaissance Portrait: Functions,
Uses and Display,” in Renaissance Faces, 48–51.
5. Lorne Campbell, “The Making of Portraits,” in Renaissance Faces,
35–36.
6. Instructions given by King Henry the Seventh, to his Embassadors, 17.
7. “Castillon to Francis I,” July 25, 1538, Letters and Papers, vol. 13,
part 1: 1538, entry 1451. State Papers Online. [Accessed: February
27, 2009].
Notes 201
8. CPS Domestic, vol. 13, 57. State Papers Online, document ref. SP
15/13 f.118. [Accessed: February 27, 2009]. I am grateful to Craig
E. Bertolet for his transcription and translation from the original
Latin, and to Heather Wolfe at the Folger Shakespeare Library
for the corroboration of the transcription.
9. Measure for Measure, 1.4.16–17.
10. Davies, Hymnes of Astraea, in acrosticke verse, 12.
11. Berger, Fictions of the Pose, 93–94.
12. Cropper, “Beauty of Woman: Problems in the Rhetoric of
Renaissance Portraiture,” in Rewriting the Renaissance, 175–90.
13. See Arthur F. Kinney’s explanation of dating this treatise in
Hilliard, A Treatise Concerning the Arte of Limning, 8.
14. Ibid., 22.
15. Alpers’ correction, in The Art of Describing, of the Italian-biased
approach to the Northern Art, applies also to the modern
expectations in regard to the expressivity of the faces in English
portraiture.
16. Hilliard, A Treatise Concerning the Arte of Limning, 23.
17. Ibid., 23–24.
18. Ibid., 23.
19. See chapter 2 for Aquinas’ three components of beauty.
20. See Richard Haydock’s insertions in his translation of Paolo
Giovanni Lomazzo’s treatise on painting, “Brief Censure of
the Book of Colours,” in A Tracte Containing the Artes of Curious
Paintinge Caruinge & Buildinge, 125–33.
21. Sander L. Gilman, in Making the Body Beautiful, 10, points out
that it were the stigmatizing effects of syphilis that necessitated
the “rise of aesthetic surgery at the end of the sixteenth century.”
23. Ibid., 22.
24. Ibid., 25.
25. On the issues surrounding the confusion of terminology of art
in England, see Gent, Picture and Poetry 1560–1620.
26. George Chapman, Ovids Banquet of Sence, “Epistle to Royden,”
in The Poems of George Chapman, ed. Phyllis Brooks Bartlett (New
York: Russell & Russell, 1962), 49.
28. Ibid., 30.
29. Ibid., 32.
30. John Harington, in Lodovico Ariosto, Orlando furioso in English
heroical verse, by Sr Iohn Haringto[n] of Bathe Knight (London: By
Richard Field, for Iohn Norton and Simon VVaterson, 1607), 278.
The first edition of Harington’s translation and his testimony on
Hilliard’s skill appeared in 1591.
202 Notes
32. Ibid.
33. Ibid., 25.
34. Ibid., 28.
35. Hilliard refers to the “shadow of the place” twice (28, 29), and
voices his agreement with Lomazzo’s definition of shadow as the
“defect of light” (30).
36. Ibid., 28–29.
37. Ibid., 29.
38. Ibid., 21.
39. Ibid., 29.
40. Ibid., 29.
41. Ibid., 28–29.
42. Ibid., 22.
43. The dynamics of Hilliard’s handling of conversations about
art with the social elite have a distinct tone of very subtle conde-
scendence of a professional educating a lay person. For an analysis
of Hilliard’s managements of a question posed by Philip Sidney,
see Hulse, “Sidney and Hilliard,” in The Rule of Art, 115–56.
45. For instance, Patricia Phillippy cleverly refers to this instance
as “Elizabeth’s Stage Management,” in Painting Women, 139.
46. Traditionally, the portrait in question is considered to be the
miniature now at the National Portrait Gallery in London (fig-
ure 5), in turn thought to be the earliest portrait of Elizabeth by
Hilliard. See Hilliard, A Treatise Concerning the Arte of Limning, 9;
Strong, Portraits of Queen Elizabeth I, 89.
48. Ibid., title page. The title of this section is from Ibid., 28.
49. Hilliard, A Treatise Concerning the Arte of Limning,24.
50. Ibid., 25.
51. Ibid., 24.
52. An image of this miniature is available online at http://www.
royalcollection.org.uk/eGallery/object.asp?imgbuttonsearch=
&radioAll=0&startYear=&searchText=&title=&rccode=&maker
Name=hilliard&category=&collector=&endYear=&pagesize=
20&object=422026&row=1 [Accessed: May 28, 2009]
54. The “Conservation report on NPG 108” in Archive of the
National Portrait Gallery, London reveals the extent to which
this miniature differs from its original condition: “features
extensively repainted”; “Because of extensive damage and res-
toration it is impossible to speculate on the original technique
used in the features of this miniature”; “The face has been com-
pletely restored”; “The face has been almost entirely repainted.” A
glimpse of the original is reserved only for a professional equipped
Notes 203
with advanced technology: “Under ultraviolet light it is possible

to discern the remains of a tougher drawing of the features, com-
parable to some extent, to that of the ‘Pelican’ portrait.”
55. See Strong, Gloriana, 109.
57. Pseudo-Aristotle, Physiognomica, 101, 127.
58. Hill, The contemplation of mankinde contayning a singuler discourse
after the art of phisiognomie . . . , 82r–82v [M2r–M2v].
59. Ibid., 69r [K5r].
60. Roussat, The most excellent, profitable, and pleasant booke . . . , P8r.
61. Hill, Contemplation, 82v [M2v].
62. Roussat, The most excellent, profitable, and pleasant booke . . . ,
P6v–P7r.
63. Reproduced in Strong, Gloriana, figure 64, 65, 99.
65. For a detailed technical report on this painting, see Rica Jones,
“The Methods and Materials of Three Tudor Artists: Bettes,
Hilliard, and Ketel,” in Dynasties, 235–37.
66. Roussat, The most excellent, profitable, and pleasant
booke . . . ,Q7v–Q8r.
67. Hill, Contemplation, 144v–145r [L8v–M1r].
68. In Gloriana, 79, Strong situates the Pelican and Phoenix portraits
in the context of “demands from abroad” for full-scale depictions
of the queen, thus implying that these portraits were probably
produced to be sent to Elizabeth’s suitors.
69. According to Hill’s Contemplation, 143v [L7v], round chin in a man
was thought to manifest his “effeminate conditions, and a feeble
courage,” “for the mans chinne (after nature) ought to be formed,
in a square maner, and not round.”
70. See Rose, “Gender and the Construction of Royal Authority
in the Speeches of Elizabeth I,” in Gender and Heroism in Early
Modern English Literature, 26–54.
71. The face of the Darnley portrait, in its commanding presence and
incessant recurrence in an impressively large cluster of portraits,
dominates the queen’s iconography of the 1570s and 1580s. There
are at least three additional versions of this portrait, a subgroup
of the Sieve portraits, the Ermine portrait, and at least six paint-
ings that Strong attributes to John Bettes the Younger. For a dis-
cussion of these portraits, see Strong, Gloriana, 94–95, 100–101,
112–13, 116–19).
72. Ibid., 109.
73. Elizabeth’s nose is truly and indisputably aquiline in her depic-
tions on many medals, coins, and some engravings.
74. Hill, Contemplation, 117v [Q5v].
75. Cocles/Hill, B3r.
204 Notes
76. Hill, Contemplation, 57v [ J1v].

77. Heavy-lidded eyes are also a prominent feature in some depic-
tions of Richard II (his tomb effigy in Westminster Abbey and
his seal). This characteristic is a clear rhetorical device for dem-
onstrating this king’s haughtiness and distance from the obser-
ver. See Saul, Richard II, 450–51.
78. See chapter 3 for the documentary descriptions of Elizabeth. For
instance, John Clapham relates that the queen’s face was said to
be “lean and full of wrinkles,” and Andre de Maisse describes it
as “long and thin”; likewise, Paul Hentzner reports that it was
“oblong, fair, but wrinkled.”
79. Hazard, Silent Language, 15.
80. Ibid., 14.
81. See Platter, Travels in England in 1599, 221.
82. This task has proved to be complicated by the difficulty of tra-
cing the lesser known portraits of the queen and the challenges
associated with obtaining permissions for reproduction of such
portraits in this book. For the readers’ convenience, whenever
possible, I provide the information about the last known loca-
tion of each portrait under discussion. Also whenever possible,
bibliographic references to the images published elsewhere are
included. For trajectories of Elizabeth’s visual representation, see
Strong, Gloriana; Frye, Elizabeth I; Cerasano and Wynne-Davies,
“ ‘From Myself, My Other Self I Turned’: An Introduction,” in
Gloriana’s Face, 1–24; Howarth, Images of Rule; Andrew and Belsey,
“Icons of Divinity: Portraits of Elizabeth I,” in Renaissance Bodies,
11–35. For trajectories of verbal representations of Elizabeth, see
also King, “Queen Elizabeth I: Representations of the Virgin
Queen,” 30–74, and Rose, “Gender and the Construction of
Royal Authority.”
83. Tudor Royal Proclamations, vol. 2, # 516, p. 240.
84. Montrose, “Idols of the Queen: Policy, Gender, and the Picturing
of Elizabeth I,” 109.
85. Strong, Gloriana, 59.
86. Ibid., figures 47 and 49.
87. Ibid., figure 48.
88. See Levin, The Heart and Stomach of a King, 75–77.
89. Strong, Gloriana, figure 46.
90. Ibid., 60–61; see also Strong’s information on these portraits,
175–76.
91. CW, 326.
92. The two documents that allow a possible glimpse into Elizabeth’s
feelings about her portraits are the 1563 draft of Royal Pro-
clamation and the 1596 order of the Privy Council, both meant to
Notes 205
regulate the production and circulation of the queen’s portraits.

The latter ordered public officers “to aid the Queen’s Sergeant
Painter in seeking out unseemly portraits which were to her ‘great
offence’ and therefore to be defaced and no more portraits pro-
duced except as approved by Sergeant Painter” (cited in Strong,
Gloriana, 14). The wording of the order suggests with some ambi-
guity that Elizabeth was offended by “unseemly portraits”—or
that the Privy Council found such images offensive. The agency
of Sergeant Painter, George Gower, is expressed clearly while
the extent of the queen’s interest in the matter is rather implicit.
This rhetoric looks back to the draft of a proclamation in 1563 in
which the intervention with the production of royal portraits is
presented Elizabeth’s behalf rather than by her own initiative. It
is “her loving subjects” that complain that “hitherto none hath
sufficiently expressed the natural representation of her majesty’s
person, favor, or grace, but that most have so far erred therein,”
and it is “for satisfaction of her loving subjects” that Elizabeth
is said to agree to let “some special person” take her likeness,
making it a “perfect patron [pattern] and example” for others to
follow (Tudor Royal Proclamations, 240–41). Elizabeth’s own reluc-
tance to sit for a portrait is emphasized (to do so “she hath been
always of her own disposition very unwilling”), and her indiffer-
ence to her portraits, be they of high or low quality, is implied
in the draft’s rendition of the queen’s order not as a response to
“the errors and deformities” of her portraiture, but as an action
meant to please her “grieved” subjects that “take great offense”
with these defects. Any mention of possible defects of Elizabeth’s
actual face is characteristically absent from these documents; nor
does Nicholas Hilliard make any references to blemishes on her
skin although it was scarred when she was ill with smallpox in
1562. Hilliard painted his first miniature of Elizabeth I in 1572.
See chapter 4 for the discussion of Elizabeth’s pockmarks.
93. Gent, Picture and Poetry, 30–31.
94. Hazard, Silent Language, 1–2.
96. Hill, Contemplation, 90r–90v [N1r–N1v]
97. Cocles/Hill, C1r.
98. CSP Venetian, 7, 12. See chapter 3 for a discussion of the testi-
monies about Elizabeth’s smile.
99. Isaac Oliver, Elizabeth Harding, Mrs. Oliver (c. 1610–15), Private
Collection.
100. Marcus Gheeraerts II, Portrait of an Unknown Lady (c. 1595), Tate
Britain.
101. Doran, Exhibition, 197–98.
206 Notes
102. English School, possibly workshop of Eworth, c. 1560, sold at

Sotheby’s, December 4, 2008, Lot 2, sale L08123. http://www.
sothebys.com/app/live/lot/LotDetail.jsp?lot_id=159479985.
[Accessed: March 26, 2009].
103. In 1978, John Fletcher has conducted a tree-ring analysis that
pointed to the likelihood that one or two of the panels came from
the same tree as those used in the portrait of Richard Wakeman
painted by Eworth. See the “Catalogue Note” in the Sotherby’s
entry for this portrait at http://www.sothebys.com/app/live/lot/
LotDetail.jsp?lot_id=159479985. [Accessed: March 3, 2009].
104. Pseudo-Aristotle, Physiognomica, 123.
105. Hill, Contemplation, 57v [ J1v].
106. This miniature is reproduced in Strong, Gloriana, figure 162.
107. Hazard, Silent Language, 1–2.
108. This portrait is reproduced in Doran, Exhibition, figure 200.
109. Pseudo-Aristotle, Physiognomica, 121.
110. Ibid., 123.
111. Indagine, Briefe introductions, both naturall, pleasaunte, and also
delectable . . . , H1r–H1v.
112. Ibid., H3r.
113. Ibid., B7r.
114. Ibid., B7v.
115. Ibid., Q3r.
116. Hill, in the 2nd edition of 1571, 97–100, introduces examples of
the bad princes with aquiline noses: an almost seditious, although
discreet, move, especially in conjunction with the dedication to
the treacherous Duke of Norfolk.
117. Jenkins, The State Portrait, 77.
118. For a discussion of lifelikeness and likeness as the prevalent
values of the early modern English portraiture, see Gent, Picture
and Poetry, 28, 54. See also Woodall, Portraiture, 3, and ffolli-
ott, “Portraying Queens: The International Language of Court
Portraiture in the Sixteenth Century,” in Elizabeth I, 164–75,
esp. 171.
119. Strong, English Icon, 29.
120. Consider, for instance, Catherine de Medicis’ famous remark
about the portraits of Elizabeth, cited in ffolliott, 171: “After
what everyone tells me of her beauty, and after the paintings I
have seen, I must declare that she did not have good painters.”
121. CPS Foreign, 1566–8, 272.
122. CPS Foreign, 1579–80, #189.
123. Strong, Gloriana, 24.
124. “Sir H. Unton to her Majesty, from Coucy,” February 3, 1595–96,
in A Collection of State Papers, Relating to Affairs in the Reigns of King
Henry VIII, King Edward VI, Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth,
Notes 207
Transcribed from Original letters and Other Authentick Memorials,

Left by William Cecill Lord Burghley, ed. William Murdin (London:
William Bowyer, 1759), vol. 2: 1571–96, entry 448, transcrip-
tion page number 717. State Papers Online. [Accessed: February
27, 2009]. For a study of miniatures and privacy, see Fumerton,
“Secret Arts: Elizabethan Miniatures and Sonnets,” in Cultural
Aesthetics, 67–110.
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INDEX
Agrippa, Henricus Cornelius, 44 Arthur, Prince of Wales, 15, 21,

Alençon, Duke of, 47, 48, 55–6 29–30
Alpers, Svetlana, 201n15 Astrophil and Stella (Sidney),
ambassadors and visitors to 197n60
England, 72, 75–6
French, 18, 46, 56, 57–8, 71, 75, Bacon, Sir Francis, 44, 46, 59, 76,
84, 89, 124, 188n37, 191n73, 80–1, 88, 188n18, 190n59, n61
199n87, 204n78 Baldwin, William, 26–7
German, 46, 57–8, 71, 73–4, 76–7, Barthes, Roland, 66, 116–17, 119
188n34, 204n78 Baumbach, Sibylle, 7
Italian, 47, 71, 75 beauty, 6, 7
Russian, 1–2, 173n1, n2 concepts of, 41–5, 130, 182n37
Scottish, 19, 47, 76, 83–4 as expression of majesty, 41
Spanish, 21, 29–30, 33, 34, 53, 85, and heraldry, 103
179n51 ideal of, 6, 16, 41–2, 45, 48, 52, 57,
Venetian, 18, 19, 22, 23–4, 27, 109, 115, 127–8
31–3, 46, 50–1, 65, 75, 179n49, of the king, 14, 18–21, 22, 23, 26
191n73 of the queen, 14, 21, 22–3, 28–35,
Amster, Mara, 176n32 37–41, 45–63
androgyny, 13, 154–6, 169 and writing, 40
Anglo, Sydney, 196n56 Bell, Ilona, 8, 191n67
Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, 13, Benjamin, Walter, 198n79
23–5, 27, 33, 35, 50, 65, 178n37 Berger, Jr., Harry, 11, 63, 69, 79, 127,
appearance of, 23–5, 27, 74, 97 176n35, 191n67, 193n13
Anticlaudianus (Lille), 67 Berrios, German E., 7
Aquinas, Thomas, 41–2 Berry, Philippa, 176n32, 195n41
Aristotle, 174n16 Bertolet, Craig E., 187n14, 201n8
see also Pseudo-Aristotle Betts, Hannah, 72, 198n73, n78
Armagnac, Count of, 124 Biblical references, 194n30
Ars versificatoria (Vendôme), 67 Corinthians, 192–3n12
Art to please at court, The ( Faret), 51, Exodus, 192n12, 194n27
91, 93 Song of Songs, 198n77
Arte of English Poesie, The blazon, 11, 44, 67–8, 92–3, 104, 110,
(Puttenham), 40, 67–8, 80, 112–21, 197n65, 198n73, n77,
119, 189n46, 190n58 199n87
Arte of Rhetorique, The (Wilson), 67 blushing, 27–28, 81–2
240 Index
body, 176n31 Conversations with Drummond

and king’s two bodies, 5–6, 9, ( Jonson), 60–2
72, 77 cosmetics, 3, 6, 10–11, 28, 42, 44,
and language, 66, see also blazon 57–62, 131, 136
and mind/soul, 4, 6, 20, 25, 26, 31, studies of, 7, 10
43–4, 67, 69, 73, 169, see also see also Elizabeth I, Queen of
Neoplatonism England, cosmetics, use of
parts of, 4 Council, Privy, 33, 204–5n92
Bond, Warwick, 193n19, n20 Cropper, Elizabeth, 40–1, 127,
Book of the Courtier, The 180n60
(Castiglione), 42–3, 93
Bowes, Jerome, 2 Davies, John, 125–6, 170
Buoni, Thommaso, 182n37 Day, J.F.R., 195n36
Burke, Peter, 8 de Beaumont, Count, 89
de Carles, Lancelot, 24, 27
Camden, William, 85 De civilitate morum puerlium
Carey, Robert, 85–6 (Erasmus), 79
Castiglione, Baldesar, 42–3, 93 De Copia (Erasmus), 67
Catherine de Medici, Queen of de France, Marie, 45
France, 48, 55, 56, 206n120 De Inventione (Cicero), 66–7
Catherine of Navarre, Duchess of de Maisse, André Hurault, 46, 57–8,
Lorraine, 172 71, 75, 188n37, 191n73, 199n87,
Catholicism, 24, 31, 187n17 204n78
Catullus, Gaius Vaelrius, 82 de Maldingham, Monsieur, 171
Cecil, William (Lord Burghley), 84 de Pizan, Christine, 180n56
chamber, privy, 99, 118, 200n2 de Silva, Ruy Gómez, 29, 179n51
Chapman, George, 91, 133, 170 deception, 3, 4, 33, 35, 58, 80–90,
Chapuys, Eustace, 21 189n46, 190n61, 190–1n62,
Charlemagne, 108 191 fn 67
Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, 28 deformity, 24–5, 31–2, 52, 80, 97
Charles IX, King of France, 84 see also disfigurement
Chettle, Henry, 61 “Description of most noble Ladye,
Chirelstein, Ellen, 195n44 A” (Heywood), 27–8
Chudakov, A. P., 65–6 Deveraux, Robert, second Earl
Churchyard, Thomas, 99–100 of Essex, 48, 72–3, 88, 121,
Cicero, 66–7, 68, 91 174–75n19, 188n25
Clapham, John, 58–9, 186n120, 204n78 disfigurement, 52–6
Cobham, Lady (Frances Brooke), 171 dismemberment, 40, 66, 110, 119–20
Cocles, Bartolommeo, 168 Dolan, Frances, 10
Coke, Edward, 174–5n19 Donne, John, 3, 42, 43
color, 17, 42, 69, 74, 103, 108–9, 123, Doran, Susan, 8, 175n29, 185n93
129, 133–5, 143 Dormer, Jane, 78
Commentaries or Reports (Plowden), 9 Dostoevsky, Fyodor, 65–6, 187n4
Compleat Midwifes Practice, The dreams, 100–1, 114, 119, 194n30,
(C[hamberlain]), 49 197n65
Index 241
Drew-Bear, Annette, 10 eroticism in representation of, 49,

Drey, Ann Elizabeth, 180n61 51, 117–19, 120, 156, 188n37,
Dudley, Robert, 154 194n30, 195n41, 197n65,
Dürer, Albrecht, 196n50 199n87
face of
Edward I, 108 aging of, 19, 52, 58, 71–7, 153–4,
Edward II, 108 162–6
Edward III, 108, 196n54 beauty of, 10, 21, 35, 37–41,
Edward IV, 15, 103, 173n2 45–63, 74, 78, 170–1
Edward VI, King of England, 13, 28, chin, 145, 147, 162
81, 90 as coat of arms, 104–12, 121
appearance of, 25–7 complexion, 32, 73, 76, 111
Edward, Prince of Wales, see control of, 34, 78–90
Edward VI, King of England eroticism of, 73, 117–19
effictio (physical description), expressions of, 17–18, 70, 78–89,
66–70 142–3, 154, 157–60, 162, 163,
Elizabeth I, Queen of England 164, 169–70
aging of, 11, 48, 57–9, 60, 71–7, eyes, 15, 17, 27, 32, 48, 71, 72,
150, 163 73–4, 120–21, 142–4, 146–47,
bedchamber of, 59, 88, 118 148, 153–4, 160, 162
body of, 75, 76, 117–19, 188n37, forehead, 71–2, 94–5, 117,
192n7, 199n87 140, 147
two bodies of, 72, 77, 91–2, individuality of, 35, 48, 49, 52,
101, 112, 114–15, 121, 127, 169, 94–5, 115, 121, 166–7, 170,
194n34 199n88, see also portraits, as
coat of arms of, 101, 102, 104–12, records of individuality
195n48 and majesty, 76–7, 125–6
cosmetics, use of, 38, 56–62, 74, and mind, 78, 81–90, 143, 169
103, 183n42, 186n119, mouth, 71, 142, 144–5, 147,
188 fn 35 153, 163
court of, 110 nose, 52, 71, 72, 73, 77, 94–5, 121,
accessibility of the queen in, 139–42, 147, 152, 160, 163, 165,
98–101 166–9, 203n73, 206n116
culture of, 80, 82–9, 96, 191n67 rhetorical use of, 9, 14, 17–18,
ladies-in-waiting, 59, 60–1, 62, 34–5, 38–39, 70, 76, 78–9,
84, 88, 99, 171 81–90, see also rhetoric
descriptions of, 66, 68, 70 scars / pockmarks, 38, 53–6, 62,
in documentary accounts, 11, 94–5
32, 46, 57–8, 60, 65, 71–90, teeth, 57–8, 71, 74, 75, 77, 117, 165
148, 149, 187–88n18 and Tudor royal faces, 13, 34–5
in literature, 11, 91–121 wrinkles, 53, 57–8, 59, 62, 74, 77,
in scholarship, 48, 50, 59–60 154, 163, 154, 163, 204n78
dignified majesty of, 19, 35, 65, hair of, 7, 15, 17, 48–51, 71, 120, 147,
71–2, 76–7, 90, 119, 125–6, 160, 184n82
156, 157, 164, 200n2 hairline, 95, 140, see also wigs
242 Index
Elizabeth I, Queen of to Henry VIII, 15, 32, 35, 50–1,

England—Continued 87, 160
indescribability of, 92–101, to Mark Smeaton, 33, 50–1
113–14, 116–17, 197n67 as sacred monarch, 54, 100
reasons for, 93, 98–9, 121, self-representation, 8, 11, 34–5, 47,
193n23 53–4, 56, 58, 81–2, 137, 191n62
see also body, and language; and smallpox, 38, 53–6, 59, 185n93
face, and language theatricality, 34–5, 58–9, 82–90
intellect of, 32, 75, 145, 156, 160 as Tudor Rose, 92, 101, 108–12
inwardness of, 82–90 virginity of, 8, 9, 45, 51, 70, 109,
see also inwardness 125, 176n32
and legitimization of power of, 15, visits of
32–3, 35, 50–1, 102, 150, 152, to Bisham, 100–1
154, 156 to Wanstead House, 38–40
marriage negotiations of, 48, 51, to Norwich, 54
55–6, 152, 154 wigs, 51, 71, 165, 166
mockery of, 48, 60–2 works of
and Petrarchan ideal, 48–9 “The doubt of future foes,” 40,
portraits and images of, 12, 45, 46, 191n67
48, 78, 123–8, 134, 138–72 Letter to Edward VI, May 15,
canonic and marginalized, 71, 1549, 81–2
127, 151–2, 156–66 “On Monsieur’s Departure,”
“clusters” of, 12, 147, 151–6, 82–3
203n71 “When I was fair and
on coins, 99, 167 young,” 46
condition of, 202–3n54 Elizabeth of York, Queen of
and cosmetics, 62–3 England, 15–16, 103, 108, 112
and descriptions of Elizabeth, 89 Elkins, James, 79, 189n50, 199n88
drawings, 134–5 Englands mourning garment
importance of face in, 123–7, 151 (Chettle), 61
and living face, 52, 59–60, 123, Erasmus, Desiderius, 67, 68–70,
125–6, 139, 142, 144, 147, 148, 73, 78, 79, 90, 124, 187n15,
156, 157, 164–5, 170–1, 172 193n20
“mask of youth” in, 62–3, 142, Essex, Earl of, see Deveraux, Robert,
148–50, 156, 163 second Earl of Essex
purposes of, 152 Euphues and His England (Lyly),
regulation of, 204–5n92 95–6, 97–9
sitting for Hilliard’s portrait, Venus in, 95–6, 98–9, 193–4n24
136–8 Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit (Lyly),
and smallpox, 54, 55, 185n93 44, 93–5, 96–7
trajectory of, 149–51 Venus in, 96–7, 193n20
and Tudor rose, 108–12 Eworth, Hans, 162, 180n61, 206n103
resemblance in physical
appearance of face
to Henry VII, 15, 35 angelic, 20, 41
Index 243
blemishes of, 11, 25, 57 Arthur’s dream in, 101, 114

moles, 95–6, 186n105, 193n20 Falier, Lodovico, 22
pockmarks and scars, 1, 52–6, 62 Falomir, Miguel, 199–200n1
warts, 16–17 Faret, Nicolas, 51, 91, 93
blushing, see blushing femininity, 3, 10, 18, 19, 51, 147
complexion, 16, 18, 28, 130, 135, of beauty, 42, 44, 48
136, see also face, blemishes of of the gaze, 24
composing, 3–4, 6, 24–5, 33–4, 70, in portraits, 145, 149–50, 152–5,
80, 174n13, 178n32 160
expressions of, 17, 21, 70, 158, Fenelon, Bernard de Salignac de la
178n32, see also, Elizabeth I, Mothe, 84
Queen of England, face of, Ferdinand II of Aragon, King of
expressions of Spain, 28
eyes, 16, 17, 18, 21, 23, 24, 26–7, 31, ffolliott, Sheila, 206n118
42, 69, 139, 143–4, 204n77, Field of Cloth of Gold, the, 18–19
see also Elizabeth I, Queen of Firth, C. H., 177n5
England, face of, eyes Fletcher, John, 206n103
of God, 93, 98, 192–3n12, 194n27 Forman, Simon, 194n30
importance in early modern Forster, Leonard, 48
period of, 3–4, 6–7, 15, France
174n16 England, relations with, 18–19,
and language, 80–1, 112, 116, 121, 55–6, 111, 171
see also body, and language poets, 24, 27
and mind, 3, 6, 11, 14, 20, 43–4, see also ambassadors and visitors
45, 69, 78–90, 174n11, to, French
189n50, 189–90n53, see also Francis I, King of France, 18, 19, 12
Neoplatonism Frye, Susan, 8
as object of interpretation, 3–4, 6, Fumerton, Patricia, 207n124
7, 9, 11, 78–90, 174n11
painting, see cosmetics gender, 4, 8, 10, 13, 14, 19, 33–4,
reading of, 3–4, 25, 33–3, 38, 66, 62, 92
70, 80, 174n11, n13, see also and heraldry, 106, 108, 111–12,
physiognomic treatises 196n53
rhetoric of, 7, 24, 38–9, 109n59, see also androgyny; femininity;
see also Elizabeth I, Queen of masculinity; misogyny
England, face of, rhetorical Gent, Lucy, 157, 201n25, 106 fn 118,
use of 201n25, 206n118
royal, peculiarity of, 5–6, 10, 16, Geoffrey of Vinsauf, see Vinsauf,
31, 35, 91–2, 93, 100, 113, 121, Geoffrey of
126, 169, 186n105 Gerschow, Frederic, 46
as signifier, 4, 5, 11 Gheeraerts, Marcus, the Younger,
Faerie Queene, The (Spenser), 91–2, 158, 163–6
113–16, 119, 121, 192n7, 193n23, Gilman, Sander L., 201n21
194n30, 196n49, 197n65, n67, Gim, Lisa, 198n78, n80
n70, 198n71, n76 Giustinian, Sebastian, 22
244 Index
Gradenigo, Francesco, 47, 71, 75 portraits and images of, 18, 19,
Granvelle, Cardinal, 30 20–1, 31
Green, Lawrence, 194n28 Hentzner, Paul, 57, 71, 73–4, 76–7,
Greenblatt, Stephen, 8 204n78
Greenwich Palace, 84 heraldry, 11, 15–16, 92, 101–12, 121,
Greville, Fulke, 11, 101, 104, 108, 195n36, n44, n47, n48
109–11, 120 Heywood, John, 27–8
Gunn, Fenja, 50, 197n63 Hill, Thomas, 143, 145, 148, 162, 168,
203n69, 206n116
Hackett, Helen, 104, 176n32 Hilliard, Nicholas, 12, 62, 124,
Hamlet (Shakespeare), 8, 80 127–51, 158, 163, 164, 170, 172,
Hardison, O.B., Jr., 192n4, 193n13 200n1, 201n13, n30, 202n35,
Harington, Sir John, 87–9, 134–5, n43, n46, n52, 205n92
158, 192n88 and facial expressiveness, 128–9
Hastings, Henry, the Earl of Hillman, David, 4
Huntington, 173n1,n 2, 174n9 Histoire de Anne Boleyn (de Carles),
Hastings, Mary, 1, 2, 55, 173n1, n2 24, 27
Hatton, Sir Christopher, 87–8, 131 History of Henry IV (Hayward),
Hawkins, Edward, 185n93 74–5, 174–75n19
Haydock, Richard, 131, 196n50, Hoby, Thomas, 42
201n20 Holbein, Hans, the Younger, 20–1
Hayward, John, 26, 27, 71–5, 174–5n19 Horsey, Jerome, 173n4
Hazard, Mary, 149–50, 157–8, 163–5, Howarth, David, 199–200n1
196n51, 199–200n1 Hulse, Clark, 197–8n70, 202n43
Henri III, King of France, 84 humanism, 96
Henri IV, King of France, 172, 187n17 and interest in individuality, 14, 15
Henry IV, King of England, 196n53 Hunter, G. K., 96
Henry V, King of England, 196n53 Hutchinson, Lucy, 4
Henry V (Shakespeare), 196n53
Henry VI, King of England, 124 Indagine, Johannes, 167–8
Henry VI, part 2 (Shakespeare), 109 inwardness, 3, 11, 74, 78; 189n47,
Henry VII, King of England, 13, 18, n50, 189–90n53
103, 108, 109, 111, 112, 124, see also body, and mind; face, and
177n4 mind
appearance of, 14–17, 35 Ireland, 88, 188n25
and legitimization of power, Isabella I of Castile, Queen of
14–15 Spain, 28
portraits of, 14, 15, 17, 177n4, Isabella of France, 108
178n23 Ivan IV, Czar of Russia, 1, 2, 173n1,
Henry VIII, King of England, 13, n2, n4, 174n5
22, 23, 25, 26, 27, 34, 65, 85–6, Ives, Eric William, 178n37
97, 103, 124, 160
appearance of, 14, 18–21, 22, 31, 32, James I, King of England, 84,
33, 35, 50 190n62
marriages of, 20, 22, 23 Jardine, Lisa, 188n37
Index 245
Jenkins, Marianna, 169 Malory, Thomas, 45

Joanna of Aragon, 124 Mary I, Queen of England, 13, 14,
Jonson, Ben, 10, 60–2 46, 50, 65, 78, 111, 179n49,
200n2
Kalendar & Compost of Shepherds, The appearance of, 14, 27–35, 73,
(anon.), 49 179n44, n51
Kantorowicz, Ernst H., 9 and control of her face, 14, 33–4
Kapur, Shekhar, 59 and marriage to Philip, II, 28–9,
Karim-Cooper, Farah, 10, 59, 60, 33, 65, 179n51, 200n2
175n30, 176n35, 182n19, portraits of, 30–1, 180n61
183n42 Mary Queen of Scots, see Mary
Katherine of Aragon, Queen of Stuart, Queen of Scotland
England, 20, 23, 28, 29, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, 19,
178n29, n32 47, 84, 85, 86, 191n67
appearance of, 13, 18, 21–2, 31, Mary Tudor, Princess of Wales, see
35 Mary I, Queen of England
Kay, Dennis, 184–5n85 Marzio, Galeotto, 74
Kinney, Arthur, 94, 201n13 masculinity, of gaze, 3
Kinsgford, Charles Lethbridge, in portraits, 18, 21, 149–50,
177n5 155, 156
Kudera, Milan, 174n11 Matthew of Vendôme, see Vendôme,
Matthew of
Lady of May, The (Sidney), 38–40, Maus, Katherine Eisaman, 189n47
181n2 Mazzio, Carla, 4
ladies-in-waiting, 29–30, 59, 60–1, Measure for Measure
62, 78 (Shakespeare), 125
see also Elizabeth I, Queen of Melville, James, 19, 47, 76, 83–4
England, court of Mendelson, Sara, 45, 49, 50, 188n35
Lambarde, William, 175n19 Mendoza, Inigo de, Imperial
“Lanval” (de France), 45 ambassador, 56
Levin, Carole, 8, 54, 154, 175n29, Michiel, Giovanni, 31–3, 46, 75,
194n30 191n73
Liébault, Jean, 49 Middle Ages, 3, 9, 14, 15, 49, 50,
Life and Raigne of King Edward the 176n1, 189n50, 200n1
Sixth (Hayward), 26, 27 body and soul, concept of, 79
Liggett, John, 49, 50 idea of monarchy in, 93
Lille, Alan of, 67 ideal of beauty in, 41, 42
Lomazzo, Paolo Giovanni, 196n50, method of description in, 66–8
201n20, 202n35 royal iconography in, 14, 160,
London, 49, 60, 86, 88 176n1, 204n77
Louise, Queen of France, 171 Miller, David Lee, 194n30
Lubimenko, Inna, 173n1 mirrors, 5, 60–1, 62, 91, 114–15,
Lyly, John, 11, 44, 93–9, 114, 116, 186n119, 186n120
176n34, 184n71, 193n20, n24 misogyny, 41, 44, 62
246 Index
Montrose, Louis, 8, 118, 152, 175n29, Pisemsky, Fyodor 1–2, 173n1

176n32, 194n30, 195n41, Platter, Thomas, 76, 188n34
197n65 Plowden, Edmund, 9
Mor, Antonio, 30, 180n61 pock-marks, see face, blemishes
More, Sir Thomas, Lord Poetria Nova (Vinsauf ), 67
Chancellor, 18 Pole, Margaret, Countess of
description of (Erasmus), 68–70, Salisbury, 173n2
73, 78, 90, 187n15 Porter, Martin, 7
Moriano, Hironimo, 19 portraits, 6, 50, 51
Morte d’Arthur, De (Malory), 45 as decorative objects, 30, 127–8,
Mullaney, Steven, 189n47 180n60
Musser, John Herr, 185n94 and diplomacy, 171–2
eroticism in production of,
Nahoum-Grappe, Véronique, 44 128–9, 131
Naunton, Robert, 72 and gender, 127
Neoplatonism, 20, 40, 41, 42–3, 45 as historic and cultural
New Arcadia, The (Sidney), 49, 121, evidence, 8
184n70, 196n51 idealization in, 63, 127, 131–3, 136,
Nonsuch Palace, 88 138, 144, 147, 154, 156, 172
importance of face in, 123–7, 169
Oliver, Isaac, 158 and living faces, 129–33
Order and Disorder (Hutchinson), 4 marriage negotiations, use in, 1,
Orgel, Stephen, 8 2, 124, 152, 203n68
Othello (Shakespeare), 92 Mary Hastings, of, 1, 2
Ovid, 110, 119–20, 193n19, 195n41 realism in, 63
as records of individuality, 14, 15,
Panofsky, Erwin, 181n19 16, 35, 127, 139, 160, 166, 169,
parliament, 18, 51, 58 170, 176n1, 177n4, 200n1
Parma, Duchess of, 53, 171 resemblance to sitters of, 127,
Partheniades (Puttenham), 117–19, 132–5, 138, 157, 169, 170–1, 172
121, 198n73, n74, n77 royal
Petrarch, Francesco, 27, 40, 42, 48, early modern, 14, 17
74, 101, 109, 110, 114, 115, 118, Henry VII, 17
119, 120, 121, 125, 198n71 Henry VIII, 18, 19, 20–1, 31
Philip II, King of Spain, 28–30, 33, Mary I, 30–1
53, 65, 179n51, 200n1, n2 medieval, 14
Phillippy, Patricia, 10, 175n30, Philip II, 29, 200n2
186n119, n120, 202n45 see also Elizabeth I, Queen
physiognomic skepticism, 11, 79, 81, of England, portraits and
83, 85, 89–90 images of
physiognomic treatises, 6, 7, 17, style of, 199–200n1, 201n15
33–4, 43, 49, 52, 74, 78, 79, unreliability of, 2–3, 40, 125–6
139, 143–4, 145, 147, 148, 158, privy chamber, see Elizabeth I,
162, 167–9 Queen of England, court of
Piper, David, 7, 177n4, 178n23 Privy Council, 33, 204–592
Index 247
proportion, 42, 75, 130, 131, 133–5, Schifanoya, Il, 87

136, 139–40, 144, 160, 162 Schilder-boeck (van Mander), 30
Pseudo-Aristotle, 49, 143, 162, 167 Seymour, Thomas, 85
Puttenham, George, 11, 40, 67–8, Shakespeare, William, 4–6, 8, 44,
80, 117–19, 121, 189n46, 45, 50, 80, 92–3, 101, 109, 110,
190n58, 198n74, n77 125, 183n54, 194n30, 196n53
Shepheardes Calender, The (Spenser),
Queen’s Majesty’s Passage, The 102–4, 108–9, 110–11, 195n41
(Mulcaster), 86–7 Shrewsbury, Earl of (George
Talbot), 53, 55
Raleigh, Sir Walter, 121, 188n25 Sidney, Mary, 52, 53, 55, 184–5n85
Randolph, Thomas, 2 Sidney, Sir Philip, 38–40, 43, 49, 101,
Rape of Lucrece, The 105, 121, 181n2, 184n70, n85,
(Shakespeare), 110 196n51, 197n60, 202n43
religion, 2, 22, 24, 25, 100, 105, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,
187n17, 196n51 196n49
Renard, Simon, 29, 34, 85, 179n51 Sittow, Michael, 17, 177n4
rhetoric, 3, 4, 8, 11, 39 smallpox, 38, 52–6, 59, 185n94
of describing appearances, see also Elizabeth I, and smallpox
66–70, 73–7 Smeaton, Mark, 33, 50
Rhetorica ad Herennium Song of the Lady Bessy, The (anon.),
([Cicero]), 66 15–17, 18
Richard II, 6, 160, 174–5n19, 176n1, Soranzo, Giacomo, 33, 65, 179n49
204n77 Southwell, Elizabeth, 186n120
Richard II (Shakespeare), 4–6 Spain, 28, 29, 30, 33
Richard III (Shakespeare), 80, 109 see also ambassadors and visitors
Richards, Judith, 86 to England, Spanish; Philip
Richmond, Earl of, see Henry VII, II, King of Spain
King of England Spenser, Edmund, 11, 40, 55,
Richmond Palace, 1 101–4, 121
Riehl, Anna, 174n13, 181n17 see also Faerie Queene, The,
Rivers, Father Anthony, 60, 61 Shepheardes Calender, The
Roger, William, 108 sprezzatura, 93, 191n67, 193n13
Rogers, Charles, 48 Starkey, David, 185n93
Rose, Mary Beth, 175n27, 204n82 Steven van der Meulen, see van der
Roussat, Richard, 143, 145, 168–9 Meulen, Steven
royal majesty, 5, 15, 19, 20, 58, 65, Stone, Lawrence, 196n53
71–2, 76–7, 156, 157 Strickland, Agnes, 188n18
Strong, Roy, 142, 147, 170, 196n56,
Sagudino, Nicolo, 22 199–200n1, 202n46, 203n68,
Sander, Nicholas, 24–5, 97 n71, 204n82, n90, 204–5n93
Savorgano, Mario, 22 subversion, 82, 152, 163
Sawday, Jonathan, 120, 197n65, see also Elizabeth I, mockery of
199n87 Summit, Jennifer, 40, 191n67
scars, see face, blemishes Sussex, Earl of, 171
248 Index
Synnott, Anthony, 181–2n19 “Vanities of Beauty” (Gascoigne), 40

syphilis, 54, 131, 185n94, 201n21 Vendôme, Matthew of, 67, 68
Vergil, Polydore, 17
Teague, Frances, 175n27 Vickers, Nancy, 104, 110, 119, 120,
Thurley, Simon, 14, 15, 108, 178n23 194–5n35, 195n48, 199n86
Treatise Concerning the Arte of Villars, Marquis of, 48
Limning, A (Hilliard), 128–39 Villeponteaux, Mary, 192n7
beauty, 130–1 Vinsauf, Geoffrey of, 67, 68
and Elizabeth I’s sitting, 136–8 Virgin Mary, 109
facial expressiveness, 128–9 Volpone ( Jonson), 60
“goodness of the face,” 130–1 von Hutten, Ulrich, 68
Tudor rose, 103–112, 162
see also, Elizabeth I, face of, as Walpole, Horace, 45
Tudor rose, heradlry Warniecke, Retha, 25
Tuke, Thomas, 57 warts, see face, blemishes
Tuve, Rosemond, 198n71 West, Sir William, 93
Twelfth Night, The (Shakespeare), Whigham, Frank, 191n67
92–3 Whitney, Geffrey, 182n37
Two Gentlemen of Verona Williams, Neville, 50, 59, 186n11
(Shakespeare), 50, 183n54 Wilson, Elkin Calhoun, 48, 118
Tyrwhit, Sir Robert, 85 Wilson, Thomas, 67
Wirtemberg, Duke of, 76, 188n34
ugliness, 6, 16, 22, 23, 24–5, 29–30, witchcraft, 25, 49, 164
31–2, 42, 43, 44, 46, 74, 97, Wolfe, Heather, 201n8
124 Woodall, Joanna, 30, 206n118
Unton, Henry, 172 Wotton, Henry, 52
van der Meulen, Steven, 152 York House Garden, 1

van Mander, Karel, 30 youth, 28, 72, 76, 149–50, 156, 163

(Queenship and Power) Anna Riehl-The Face of Queenship - Early Modern Representations of Elizabeth I (Queenship and Power) - Palgrave Macmillan (2010)

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T HE FACE OF QUEENSHIP

QUEENSHIP AND POWER

Series Editors: Carole Levin and Charles Beem

Linda Darling, University of Arizona (Ottoman Empire)

Published by Palgrave Macmillan

The Lioness Roared: The Problems of Female Rule in English History

Learned Queen: The Image of Elizabeth I in Politics and Poetry

The Face of Queenship: Early Modern Representations of Elizabeth I

Tudor Queenship: The Reigns of Mary and Elizabeth (forthcoming)

Renaissance Queens of France (forthcoming)

Cover Image The Rainbow portrait of Elizabeth I, circa 1603.

I am also indebted to Thomas Herron, Hannibal Hamlin,

Bieberle Marks, and Anna Klatis. My great thanks go to Michael

CSP Foreign Calendar of State Papers, Foreign Series, from the

My Niece Is “far from beautiful”

Although I love my brother, your czar, and would be pleased to

Pisemsky persisted until Elizabeth agreed, upon Mary’s recov-

of face, grey eyes, blonde of hair, straight nose, fingers slender

of portraiture. Importantly, this account allows a glimpse of the

confirms that “one may smile and smile and be a villain.” 14 It is a

The head which is the body’s chiefest grace,

The Face of Queenship

unique status of a royal face in the early modern period. After

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck

Looking in the mirror, Richard registers the immediate unrespon-

However qualified, a tenuous identification of Elizabeth and

female authority; creating a face for the human beings, Elizabeth

indicative of how this rhetorical tool has been implemented in the

queen regardless of their agency and medium.27 In this rhetorical

the focal point of this study, therefore, I propose to turn atten-

anecdote about the queen’s face-painting and situate the issue of

Elizabeth’s portrait-painters responded to the same set of

PLAIN QUEEN, GORGEOUS

the accession of the queen’s grandfather, Henry VII, to her own

current dynastic ties” 2 as well as aligning Henry VII’s kingship

determination and the aptness of her marital choice. Such subtle

He weareth a gown of velvet black,

Henry as a Lancastrian. Its significance as a blemish on his com-

that allows Elizabeth to make a strategic use of her face in the

Elizabeth forced the Scottish ambassador to make comparative

is small, but—man handsomer, more elegant, and better propor-

In this eighth Henry, God combined such corporal and mental

portraiture completely and lastingly replaces these verbal praises

eyes always most attractive

These verses testify to the exact danger of the seductive powers

As Retha Warniecke has demonstrated, the unattractive physical

boy king. Evidently, a great effort was made to create Edward in

The noble hart which feare could neuer moove,

The poem gives an inventory of Edward’s body and mind, moving

is an alluring instrument, whose compelling attraction is exerted

In each of her two eyes

Because Heywood identifies the poem’s subject, Henry VIII’s

negotiations where the queen’s beauty was played as an import-

above, Mary’s contemporaries, in varying degrees of tactfulness,

In this detailed account of Mary’s person, Michiel hits upon a

pronounced resemblance to their father: Mary “asserted on vari-

death, yet had the executions depended solely on her Majesty’s

Mary’s case demonstrated that a queen’s appearance, and espe-

behold our actions; a spot is soon spied in our garments; a blemish

“LET NATURE PAINT YOUR

It is her Beauty onely creates her Queen; ‘tis that which

After a brief overview of contemporary concepts of beauty, I

Poetic Affirmations: Sidney and Gascoigne