r
had but three hours in which to do it, he did make what Hutton described
as her "very perffight" image; besides which, said the envoy, the
portrait previously despatched, though painted in all her state finery,
"was but slobbered."

From this "perffight" painting, which could not have been more than one
of his portrait studies, he afterwards completed that full-length oil
painting which is worthy to rank with his great Morett portrait. By the
kindness of the Duke of Norfolk, who has lent it, this beautiful work
is now in the National Gallery (Plate 34). But unhappily for its best
appreciation, to my thinking at least, it hangs at one side and in too
close proximity to the bold colouring of "The Ambassadors"; so that its
own subtle, yet reticent superiority is well-nigh shouted down by its
lusty neighbour. It is a picture to be seen by itself; as it must stand
by itself in the usual inane gallery of women's portraits.

Hutton tells us that the painter who "slobbered" Christina's portrait
had painted her in full dress. But Holbein's eye was quick to recognise
the values of her everyday dress--the widow's costume of Italy--in
enhancing the distinction of her face and the stately slenderness of her
figure. And so he drew her as she stood, with a hint of bending
forward, her gloves being restlessly fingered in a shy yet proud
embarrassment, in the first moments when he saw her.

Illustration: PLATE 34
CHRISTINA OF DENMARK, DUCHESS OF MILAN
_Oils. National Gallery_
[_Lent by the Duke of Norfolk_]

The portrait is nearly life-size. Over a plain black satin dress she
wears a gown of the same material, lined with yellow sable. Her hair is
entirely concealed by a black hood. At her throat and wrists are plain
cambric frills. The ranging scale of tawny tones--in the floor, the
gloves, the fur, the golden glint in her brown eyes--and the one ruby,
on her hand, are the only colours, except those of her fresh young lips
and skin and the black and white of her costume. "She is not so white as
the late Queen," wrote Hutton, "but she hath a singular good countenance,
and when she chanceth to smile there appeareth two pits in her cheeks
and one in her chin, the which becometh her excellently well."

It is easy to believe that they did, but her dimples did not chance for
Henry VIII. Whether she really sent him, along with her picture, the
witty refusal credited to her--that she had but one head; had she two,
one should be