When you think of a 17th-century king, you probably picture a stiff guy in a dusty frame. Boring, right? Well, the portrait of King Charles II of England is anything but.
Honestly, it’s basically the ultimate PR stunt. Imagine coming back from exile after your dad was beheaded and your country decided to try out being a republic for a decade (spoiler: it didn't go great). You’ve got no money, a lot of enemies, and a crown that literally had to be remade because the old one was melted down.
How do you tell everyone you’re the boss? You hire the best painters in Europe to make you look like a god.
The "Bling" King: John Michael Wright’s Coronation Masterpiece
If there is one image that defines the Restoration, it’s the portrait of King Charles II of England painted by John Michael Wright around 1671–1676.
Look at the details. He’s not just sitting there; he’s drowning in velvet and ermine. He’s wearing the St. Edward’s Crown—which, fun fact, was actually new because the original medieval crown was destroyed by Oliver Cromwell. He’s holding the orb and the scepter, the ultimate "I'm in charge" accessories.
But here’s the thing people miss. This wasn't painted at his coronation in 1661. It was likely commissioned much later, possibly by the royal goldsmith Robert Vyner.
Why the delay?
Timing is everything in politics. In the 1670s, Charles was dealing with a lot of heat from Parliament and religious tension. He needed a visual reminder of his divine right to rule. The portrait wasn't just art; it was a weapon.
Why the high heels?
You’ve probably noticed the shoes. Those red-heeled beauties look a bit... feminine by today's standards.
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Kinda funny, isn't it?
In the 1600s, those heels were the height of masculinity. They were a symbol of power, wealth, and the fact that you didn't have to walk in the mud like a peasant. Charles was heavily influenced by the French court (he spent a lot of time there while hiding out), and King Louis XIV was the one who really popularized the red-heel look.
The Samuel Cooper Sketch: The King Without the Mask
While Wright’s portrait is all about the "State," Samuel Cooper’s work is about the man.
Cooper was a miniaturist, and his chalk sketch of Charles II—made around 1660—is haunting. No crown. No wig. Just a man with thinning, prematurely grey hair and a tired expression.
He was only 30.
You’ve got to remember what this guy had been through. He’d spent years running for his life, sleeping in oak trees (the famous Boscobel Oak), and begging foreign monarchs for cash. Cooper catches that "saturnine" look—that mixture of humor and cynicism that earned him the nickname "The Merry Monarch."
It’s a stark contrast to the oil paintings. In the formal portrait of King Charles II of England, he’s an icon. In the Cooper sketch, he’s just a guy who’s seen too much.
Mistresses and Power: Lely’s "Windsor Beauties"
You can’t talk about Charles II without talking about the women.
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Sir Peter Lely was the guy who really defined the "look" of the Restoration court. He didn't just paint the King; he painted the King’s world. This included the "Windsor Beauties," a series of portraits of the most famous women at court, including several of Charles’s mistresses like Barbara Villiers and Nell Gwyn.
These paintings are sensual. They’re lazy. They have this "just woke up" vibe that reflected the hedonism of the era.
When you see a portrait of King Charles II of England by Lely, he often looks like he’s part of that same world—extravagant, slightly bored, and very much in control of the party.
The Weird Side: Anamorphic Portraits
There’s a really bizarre piece of art at Tabley House. It’s an anamorphic portrait of the King.
If you look at it straight on, it looks like a chaotic mess of smeared colors. But, if you place a cylindrical mirror in the center, a perfect image of the King appears in the reflection.
Why go to all that trouble?
Safety. During the Interregnum (when being a Royalist could get you killed), these "hidden" portraits allowed loyal subjects to toast to their King in secret. It was the 17th-century version of an encrypted message.
Common Misconceptions
People often get a few things wrong about these portraits:
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- "The hair is real." Nope. That’s a massive periwig. Charles actually went grey early (likely from the stress of being an exiled fugitive) and wore the dark, curly wigs to maintain his youthful, powerful image.
- "The armor means he was a warrior." Charles II was the last British monarch to be painted in a full suit of armor for state portraits, but he rarely wore it in actual battle after the Restoration. It was symbolic of his role as head of the military, not a reflection of his daily life.
- "Every portrait was a sitting." High-ranking artists like Godfrey Kneller or Peter Lely had huge studios. The King might sit for the face once, and then assistants would spend weeks finishing the robes, the background, and the hands.
How to View These Portraits Today
If you want to see these in person, you’ve got options.
- The Royal Collection: This is the big one. They hold the Wright coronation portrait.
- National Portrait Gallery (London): They have a massive range of Charles II images, from the formal to the casual.
- Westminster Abbey: You can actually see his wax funeral effigy. It’s 6 feet 2 inches tall—his actual height—and the face is believed to be based on a life cast. It’s arguably the most "real" version of him we have.
Key Insights for Art Lovers
If you’re studying these works, look for the symbols. The portrait of King Charles II of England isn't just a picture; it's a map of his political priorities.
Look for the Royal Oak (a nod to his escape from Cromwell), the Garter Robes (signaling his ancient right to rule), and even the red-heeled shoes (showing his alignment with the sophisticated French court).
To truly understand the Restoration, you have to look at the art that built it. These portraits weren't just about vanity; they were about stability after a decade of chaos.
Next time you’re in a museum, don't just walk past the guy in the big wig. Look at the eyes. There’s a lot of history hiding in that "saturnine" stare.
Compare the coronation portraits to the later works by Kneller from 1685. You’ll see a king who went from a desperate exile to a man who successfully navigated one of the most volatile periods in British history, all while looking incredibly stylish.
Visit the Royal Collection Trust website to see high-resolution digital versions of these works. They allow you to zoom in on the lace and the jewelry in ways you can't always do in a crowded gallery. Use those digital tools to see the brushwork of the studio assistants versus the master himself.