Tom Campbell’s excellent book delivers far more than its title promises, as the history of the royal collection is extended back to the early fourteenth century and forwards to the present day, charting the growth and subsequent loss of the tapestry collection inherited and vastly augmented by Henry viii. In 1547 there were 2,770 pieces of tapestry, of which less than five per cent survive. Small wonder then, that art historians have overlooked the medium on which more money was spent than any other and which supplied the narrative subjects that otherwise appear to be missing from the visual culture of the period. Campbell sets out to rectify this omission, arguing that it was on the walls of palaces that figurative art could readily be seen in Tudor England. The largest, most expensive sets could only be displayed in large halls and reception rooms where their audience was one of courtiers, foreign monarchs and ambassadors, but they were also on view to a wider audience on processional routes or in public spaces on ceremonial occasions.

Tapestries were frequently the subject of contemporary comment on the grounds of their dazzling magnificence, but most of the few surviving pieces are now faded and their gilt-metal thread tarnished. Given the lack of material evidence, how can the appearance and significance of these magnificent creations be conveyed to a modern audience? Sumptuous photographs certainly help and Campbell’s book is handsomely illustrated to convince the eye of his argument. It is in the text, however, that he produces the evidence that underpins and justifies his thesis. With meticulous scholarship he has studied not only English inventories but also archives in Europe to elucidate the processes of production and consumption of tapestries produced in the Netherlands for a European market, the source of most of Henry’s purchases. Changes in style and subject matter are charted, as Brussels responded to such Renaissance influences as the arrival from Rome of Raphael’s cartoons for the weaving of the ‘Acts of the Apostles’.

Campbell’s new approaches to the interpretation of the royal inventories have greatly increased our understanding of numerous aspects of the collection. For example, the terminology used became increasingly precise as an indicator of quality and of the materials used in the weaving. Most significant for Henry’s purchases was Campbell’s realization that ‘arras’ indicated the use of silk and gilt-metal thread to create hangings of the utmost magnificence, of which Henry possessed over 330 pieces.

The listing of subjects (with narratives chosen from biblical, mythological, classical and contemporary sources) provided the starting point for Campbell’s attempts to reconstruct some of Henry’s lost collection. Using the precise measurements given in the inventories, combined with the evidence of multiple weavings from some sets of cartoons, Campbell has been able to identify such survivals as the ten-piece set of the ‘Story of David’, now at the Musée de la Renaissance, Écouen. Partial reconstruction of sequences which are no longer extant can also be attempted, including the 1543–4 set of the ‘Story of Caesar’, by following a trail of clues involving a watercolour from Pyne’s Royal Residences, one surviving piece in the Vatican and later weavings from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

More speculative, but just as convincing, are the discussions of the personal and/or political contexts in which tapestry sets were purchased and displayed. The ‘Story of David’ was the single most popular subject in the Tudor collection, with sets at all the important palaces, but the particular circumstances of Henry’s divorce are shown to have influenced the choice of scenes for the set purchased in 1528. Many of the sets involving ever-popular Old Testament patriarchs, such as Abraham and Jacob, allowed Henry to associate himself with godly leaders of State and Church, a desirable connection following the Reformation. Such depictions were a much more powerful means of conveying Henry’s vision of his own role in relation to God than painting or sculpture. Inventories also indicated the subjects of the tapestries selected for each palace. Richmond and Windsor, it transpires, retained the older tapestries traditionally hung there, while the greatly enlarged Hampton Court and Whitehall were used to display the more recent acquisitions with stronger personal associations for Henry. Nonsuch had few tapestries in 1547 but there is not, as far as I know, any firm evidence for ‘interior plasterwork decorations’ that might have accounted for this.

Campbell’s persuasive, scholarly text and superb illustrations convince us that he is justified in describing tapestry as ‘the ubiquitous figurative art form’ of the Tudor court and that historians must now acknowledge the major contribution of tapestries to Tudor visual culture.