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Introduction to “Thomas Howard, Second Count of Arundel”
Peter Paul Rubens’ portrait “Thomas Howard, Second Count of Arundel,” painted around 1630, captures one of the most powerful English aristocrats of the seventeenth century with a striking blend of dignity, introspection, and painterly bravura. The canvas shows Howard in three-quarter view, turned slightly toward the viewer, his head set against a deep, muted ground. A crisp white collar frames his face, while dark armor and a glimmering chain hint at his rank and responsibilities. The result is a rich psychological image that goes far beyond a simple record of appearance.
This portrait sits at the crossroads of politics, culture, and art. Howard was a central figure in the court of Charles I, a great collector of antiquities and paintings, and one of the key patrons who helped bring continental Baroque art to England. Rubens, meanwhile, was not only a celebrated painter but also a diplomat who moved comfortably among Europe’s rulers. Their meeting produced an image that reflects both men’s ambitions: a statesman concerned with his legacy and an artist eager to showcase his mastery of character and atmosphere.
Thomas Howard: The Man Behind the Portrait
To read the portrait properly, it is crucial to understand who Thomas Howard was. Born into one of the most distinguished families in England, Howard eventually held the title of Earl (or Count) of Arundel and served as a central advisor to King Charles I. He was renowned not only for his political influence but also for his enormous art collection, which included classical sculptures, Renaissance paintings, and rare drawings. Contemporaries called him the “Collector Earl,” and his holdings significantly shaped the early development of art collecting in England.
Howard’s reputation was complex. He could be haughty, proud of his lineage and sensitive to matters of honor. At the same time, he was deeply learned and cultivated, more at home among ancient marbles and scholarly discussions than in the rougher arenas of war and court intrigue. Rubens’ portrait registers this duality. The sitter wears armor that suggests martial prowess, yet his gaze and bearing point to an intellectual and reflective personality rather than a battlefield commander.
By choosing Rubens to paint his likeness, Howard aligned himself with the most sophisticated visual culture of his time. The portrait therefore becomes a statement piece, designed to project an image of aristocratic poise, cultural refinement, and enduring authority.
Rubens and England: Artistic and Diplomatic Context
Rubens visited England several times in the late 1620s and early 1630s in connection with diplomatic negotiations between the Spanish Netherlands and the English crown. During these stays he produced important decorative schemes for the royal palaces and painted portraits of key figures at court. The portrait of Thomas Howard belongs to this English chapter of his career.
Rubens’ English portraits differ somewhat from his depictions of Flemish or Spanish sitters. He subtly adapts his style to local expectations, tempering some of the flamboyant theatricality typical of his Antwerp works. In the Arundel portrait, the composition is relatively restrained, and the palette is sober. Yet the characteristic Rubensian elements are still present: vigorous brushwork, luminous flesh tones, and a sense that the sitter is alive and thinking in front of us.
At the same time, Rubens likely understood that Howard was no ordinary patron. As an expert collector, the earl would have appreciated the painterly handling and classical gravitas of the portrait. Rubens therefore calibrates the image to serve both as a flattering likeness and as a demonstration of artistic sophistication that would resonate with a connoisseur’s eye.
Composition and Pose: A Controlled Assertion of Presence
The composition is simple but highly effective. Howard occupies most of the vertical space, his torso turned slightly away from the viewer while his head pivots back, locking eyes with us. This twist of the body creates a subtle dynamic tension: he appears at once accessible and guarded, facing the world but keeping part of himself turned inward.
The three-quarter pose aligns with the standard of elite portraiture in the seventeenth century, yet Rubens uses it to suggest movement and inner life. The sitter’s shoulders angle gently downward, giving the impression that he has just turned toward an unseen interlocutor. This sense of motion imbues the portrait with a conversational intimacy, as if we have caught Howard mid-thought rather than frozen him into rigid formality.
The cropping is relatively tight. Little extraneous detail distracts from the figure; instead, the upper torso and head dominate the field. This closeness encourages us to focus on the nuances of expression and the textures of hair, skin, fabric, and steel. The absence of elaborate architectural backgrounds, allegorical motifs, or symbolic objects keeps the attention firmly on the man himself, suggesting confidence that his presence alone suffices to convey status.
Expression and Psychological Depth
Perhaps the most compelling aspect of the portrait is Howard’s face. Rubens paints it with careful modeling and a complex play of light and shadow that reveals both physical structure and psychological nuance. The sitter’s gaze is direct, even slightly challenging, yet not aggressive. His eyes are bright and clear, framed by heavy lids that lend him a contemplative air. One brow seems marginally raised, contributing to an impression of skeptical intelligence.
The mouth is set firmly but not harshly, the lips pressed in a way that hints at self-control and a certain reserve. The beard and mustache are rendered with loose, energetic strokes that follow the contours of the jaw, reinforcing the sense of rugged maturity. Overall, the expression combines authority with introspection. This is not a carefree courtier but a man who carries the weight of lineage, responsibilities, and cultivated taste.
Rubens’ gift lies in suggesting that behind the public mask of rank there is a private, thinking subject. The sitter appears to size up the viewer as much as we scrutinize him, establishing a relationship of mutual regard that makes the painting feel vivid and alive.
Costume and Armor: Symbols of Rank and Role
Howard’s clothing mixes courtly refinement with martial symbolism. He wears a dark, richly textured doublet partially covered by a gleaming piece of armor visible on his shoulder and chest. Over this is draped a chain or cord, perhaps indicating an order of chivalry or a sign of office. At his neck, a crisp white collar catches the light and frames the lower part of his face, providing a sharp contrast to the darker tones of his garments.
The armor serves several purposes. On a literal level, it identifies Howard as a nobleman with military responsibilities, someone who may lead forces or defend the realm. On a symbolic level, it evokes virtues traditionally associated with the aristocracy: courage, honor, and readiness to act. Yet Rubens does not emphasize the armor with excessive shine or detail. Instead, it is partially submerged in shadow, its reflective surfaces described with swift, broad strokes. This restrained treatment suggests that martial prowess is part of Howard’s identity but not its entirety.
The white collar, by contrast, is painted with exquisite care. Its folded edges and luminous highlights catch the light dramatically, drawing attention to the face and emphasizing the sitter’s refinement. The vivid whiteness also underscores his status as a member of the cultivated elite, someone who participates in the ceremonial life of the court rather than in the muddy realities of the battlefield.
Light, Color, and the Mood of the Portrait
The lighting in the painting is concentrated and directional, falling from the upper left onto the sitter’s face and collar while leaving much of the background and clothing in warm shadow. This creates a strong contrast that shapes the head and brings the features into sharp focus without resorting to harsh dramatics. The effect is contemplative rather than theatrical, befitting a sitter who is both a statesman and an intellectual.
Rubens’ palette is relatively limited yet rich. Deep browns, warm blacks, and subdued greens dominate the background and clothing, while the flesh tones glow with subtle mixtures of pink, ochre, and ivory. The white of the collar and the metallic glints on the armor introduce accents that animate the surface. The overall color harmony is one of muted opulence—nothing screams for attention, yet everything feels saturated with quiet density.
This chromatic restraint helps cultivate a mood of seriousness and gravitas. The painting does not rely on sumptuous reds, blues, or golds to signal luxury. Instead, it uses depth of tone and the interplay of warm and cool shades to create a sense of atmospheric richness that feels inner rather than ostentatious, much like the character of the sitter himself.
Brushwork and Texture: Painterly Bravura for a Connoisseur
One of the pleasures of studying this portrait closely is recognizing Rubens’ virtuoso brushwork. The hair and beard are rendered with lively, almost calligraphic strokes that suggest both texture and movement. The individual strands are not meticulously drawn; instead, flicks and swirls of paint capture the way light catches curls and tufts. This painterly approach gives the head a vitality that more literal depiction could never achieve.
In the flesh tones, Rubens modulates his handling. The cheeks and forehead show smoother transitions, as if gently blended with soft touches, while around the eyes and mouth he allows sharper accents. Tiny touches of brighter paint on the tip of the nose, the brow ridge, and the lower lip bring the face to life. The whiteness of the collar is built up with thicker, more opaque strokes, giving it a tactile presence that contrasts with the velvety shadows of the garment.
On the armor, Rubens uses quick, decisive touches to evoke reflections and metallic surfaces. Rather than meticulously tracing every rivet, he suggests the whole through a few strategic highlights and darker patches, trusting the viewer’s eye to complete the illusion. This combination of precision and economy would have appealed to a collector like Howard, who could appreciate the intelligence and confidence behind such brushwork.
Background and Space: The Power of Restraint
The background of the portrait is intentionally understated, consisting of a dark, tonally varied field that recedes without offering specific details. Swirls of deep green, brown, and nearly black paint create an atmospheric depth rather than a defined location. This vagueness focuses attention on the sitter and avoids anchoring him in any particular room or landscape, thereby elevating the image into a more timeless realm.
This choice also underscores Rubens’ interest in psychological rather than narrative portraiture. There are no props—no books, globes, or columns—to explicitly advertise Howard’s learning, travel, or nobility. The sitter’s personality, expression, and bearing must carry that message. The indistinct space around him functions like a stage scrim, neutral yet enveloping, allowing the figure to project forward toward the viewer.
The slight variations in tone behind the head subtly model the atmosphere. Darker areas fall behind the shoulders and torso, while a somewhat lighter halo surrounds the upper head, intensifying the focus on the face. This is a time-tested device in portraiture, but Rubens handles it with such ease that it feels entirely natural rather than calculated.
Comparison with Other Portraits of Thomas Howard
Thomas Howard was portrayed by several leading artists of his day, including Daniel Mytens, Anthony van Dyck, and others. Comparing Rubens’ version with these provides insight into his particular approach. Many other portraits show Howard in full-length poses, surrounded by architectural columns, draperies, or collections of antiquities that advertise his wealth and cultural interests. In those images he appears as a grand figure of state, sometimes almost aloof in his splendor.
Rubens, by contrast, concentrates on the bust and face, stripping away much of the ceremonial setting. This decision brings us closer to the man, exposing a more intimate, introspective side. Where van Dyck might emphasize elegance and aristocratic grace, Rubens stresses solidity and inner energy. Howard here seems more rugged and perhaps less polished, but also more vivid and human.
For a viewer familiar with the full-length state portraits, Rubens’ version can feel like a backstage glimpse: the powerful earl without his full regalia, still dignified but more approachable, caught in a quiet moment rather than during a formal presentation. This difference enriches our understanding of how portraiture can shape and modulate an individual’s public image.
What the Portrait Communicated to Seventeenth-Century Viewers
For contemporaries, this painting would have communicated several messages at once. First, it affirmed Howard’s status as a major nobleman and trusted counselor to the king. The armor and chain, combined with his confident bearing, signaled his role in the defense and governance of the realm. Second, the choice of Rubens as painter demonstrated his connection to the most sophisticated international artistic circles.
The portrait also quietly emphasized Howard’s intellectual and cultural qualities. His thoughtful gaze, restrained costume, and the absence of overtly luxurious props suggested a gentleman more interested in ideas and artworks than in ostentatious display. This would have aligned well with his reputation as a serious collector and patron of learning.
Finally, the painting functioned as a tool of legacy building. Portraits like this were intended to outlast the sitter, preserving his image for future generations and for the family line. Rubens’ emphasis on character rather than transitory fashion ensured that the portrait could continue to convey dignity and gravitas even as styles changed.
Modern Perspectives: Why the Portrait Still Matters
Today, “Thomas Howard, Second Count of Arundel” remains compelling for several reasons. It offers a window into the culture of collecting and courtly power in early seventeenth-century England, embodied in a single influential figure. It also showcases Rubens’ versatility: known widely for his large mythological and religious canvases, he here proves equally adept at intimate psychological portraiture.
For viewers interested in the history of portraiture, the painting reveals how artists balance likeness, symbolism, and style. The careful modeling of the face, the suggestive treatment of armor, and the atmospheric background all work together to construct an identity that is both individual and exemplary. The portrait reminds us that images of powerful people have always been crafted, negotiated, and strategically composed.
On a more human level, the work’s enduring appeal lies in its sense of lived personality. Despite the centuries that separate us from Thomas Howard, his guarded but intelligent gaze still meets ours across time. We sense his pride, his self-awareness, perhaps even his doubts. Rubens manages to preserve not only the features of a seventeenth-century nobleman but also the inner tension of a man navigating power, culture, and history.
Conclusion: A Meeting of Power and Painting
“Thomas Howard, Second Count of Arundel” stands as a memorable encounter between a great patron and a great artist. In this portrait, Rubens distills the earl’s complex identity—nobleman, collector, counselor, and sometime warrior—into a quietly intense image that emphasizes thoughtfulness over ostentation. The restrained composition, concentrated light, rich yet subdued color, and expressive brushwork all contribute to a mood of serious authority.
Beyond its historical interest, the painting demonstrates how portrait art can transcend mere documentation. Rubens does not simply tell us what Howard looked like; he invites us to consider what it felt like to be this man, burdened with heritage and taste, looking out at a world of political uncertainty and artistic possibility. That invitation remains open to every viewer who stands before the canvas, making the portrait not just a relic of the past but a living dialogue between person, paint, and perception.