The Last Painter of Kings: He Captured an Era Doomed to Disappear ht
These are the faces of kings, queens, emperors, and popes. Rulers of a bygone era, captured by an artist so skilled that his name became a whisper of prestige in every palace on the continent. His portraits were not just likenesses—they were declarations of power and legacy. But the man who managed to convey their grandeur was not born into a world of silk and silver.
He was the son of a humble tailor from Budapest. This is the story of how Philip de László, armed with a brush and an almost supernatural talent, conquered the courts of Europe. He was born Fülöp Laub in 1869 in Pest, Hungary, to a family of limited means. His world was one of fabrics and threads, not oil and canvas.
From these modest beginnings, no one could have predicted where his life would lead. But from an early age, the young Fülöp felt an undeniable artistic urge. He did not start in a grand studio, but as a photographer’s apprentice, studying light and shadow. He worked as a set designer, a painter of porcelain and majolica, and a sign painter.
Simultaneously, he underwent a grueling artistic education at the National Academy of Arts in Budapest, and later in the art centers of Munich and Paris. In 1891, as a patriotic young man, he and his brother changed their German surname “Laub” to the more Hungarian “László.” At first, he focused on large historical canvases, prized by the academies, but his true calling was to capture the human soul.
His career in portraiture began in earnest in 1894 with his first royal commission—a portrait of Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria and his wife. This was his first taste of the world that would soon become his domain. The real breakthrough came in 1900. De László traveled to Rome to paint a portrait of Pope Leo XIII.
The final work was a stunning psychological portrait: the aging pontiff depicted not just as a symbol, but as a man of profound intellect and quiet contemplation. The portrait caused a sensation. It was exhibited at the Paris International Exhibition, where it received the Grand Gold Medal, the highest award in the art world. Suddenly, the tailor’s son from Budapest became the most talked-about artist in Europe.
This award opened the doors to every royal court on the continent. Queen Victoria herself saw his work and wished for him to paint a portrait of one of her favorite generals, Sir George White. In 1900, he took another step that solidified his social status: he married Lucy Guinness, a member of the famous Anglo-Irish banking family.
Their union brought him personal happiness and easy access to the top of British society. In 1907, the family settled in London, which would become his home and primary studio for the rest of his life. From his London studio, de László began an unprecedented career, painting the cream of European nobility. He announced his arrival loudly—with a solo exhibition at the prestigious Fine Art Society on Bond Street.
King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra themselves attended the exhibition. The King, known for his taste and love of luxury, was impressed. They became some of his first significant patrons. László was soon invited to Buckingham Palace to paint a portrait of Princess Victoria, and then of the King and Queen themselves.
A commission from the British monarch was the ultimate seal of approval, and for his work, the King personally made him a member of the Royal Victorian Order in 1909. Everyone was impressed and wanted their portrait done. Philip de László received a commission to create a series of portraits of the Greek royal family. The portraits were painted at different times, starting in 1907 and over a period of almost 20 years.
His works not only captured their images but also became a testament to their status, their connection with the great powers, and, of course, their personal traits in turbulent times. It all began with the younger generation; the first were Prince Andrew of Greece and Denmark and his wife, Princess Alice of Battenberg.
These works, created in 1907 and 1913, hold a special value, as they show us not only members of the royal family but also the parents of the future Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Philip – the husband of Elizabeth II. In 1907, László captured the future wife of Prince Andrew, Princess Alice of Battenberg, who would later become one of the most unusual and inspiring figures of the royal house.
Princess Alice’s portrait by László, painted before her most difficult trials, likely showcases her natural beauty, refinement, and youth. László undoubtedly emphasized her grace and gentle charm, as well as her noble origins. Perhaps the portrait conveys her quiet but strong character, which would later be so important for her.
Princess Alice was known for her kindness, intellect, and deep spirituality. László’s gaze must have caught these qualities, creating an image that not only shows her appearance but also hints at a rich inner world. László painted the portrait of Prince Andrew in 1913. By this time, Prince Andrew was already an established officer and a member of the royal house, actively involved in the life of Greece.
László’s portrait likely depicts him in military uniform, emphasizing his connection to the army and his state service. In László’s work, Prince Andrew appears not just as a young man, but as a representative of a dynasty, aware of his role and responsibility. His gaze reveals a combination of aristocracy and, perhaps, a certain pensiveness, characteristic of a man living in an era of change.
But one of the most significant portraits was that of King Constantine I of Greece. Constantine was a complex and controversial figure: he was the commander-in-chief of the Greek army during the Balkan Wars and was later embroiled in the tumultuous events of the First World War, which led to his abdication.
In his portrait, László managed to convey not only royal dignity but also, perhaps, a hint of the inner struggle or determination characteristic of a ruler in an era of upheaval. His gaze in the portrait is typically piercing and thoughtful, reflecting the weight of the responsibility placed upon him.
László depicted him in full dress uniform, highlighting his military achievements and his position as head of state. László was then invited to Spain to paint the Spanish royal family, including King Alfonso XIII and Queen Victoria Eugenie. These portraits became a stunning chronicle of a dynasty, each canvas filled with Spanish grandeur.
The main characters of this Spanish chronicle were, of course, King Alfonso XIII and his wife, Queen Victoria Eugenie of Battenberg. Their reign coincided with a difficult period for Spain – a time of internal turmoil and the loss of its last colonies. László, as always, did not just paint faces; he captured the spirit of the age and the character of his subjects.
King Alfonso XIII was a charismatic but also tragic ruler, the last reigning king of Spain before the establishment of the Second Republic. László painted several portraits of him, and in each one, the monarch’s authority and dynamism are palpable. He often depicted Alfonso XIII in military uniform, emphasizing his role as commander-in-chief.
The king’s eyes in László’s portraits appear perceptive, sometimes even with a hint of melancholy, which perhaps foreshadowed his difficult fate. László also painted several portraits of Queen Victoria Eugenie of Battenberg, or Ena, as she was known to her close circle. Each of them seems to radiate her elegance and sophistication.
The artist often emphasized her fair hair and blue eyes, which distinguished her from traditional Spanish beauties. In the portraits, she appears in luxurious dresses adorned with jewels – symbols of royal power and femininity. However, behind this external beauty, László was able to capture the shadows of the queen’s personal tragedies, including the hemophilia she passed on to her children.
In her gaze, one can detect a certain restraint and even sadness, which adds depth and humanity to the portraits. In addition to the ruling couple, László also painted other members of the Spanish royal family, including their children, such as Infante Jaime, Duke of Segovia, and Infanta Beatriz. Yet he did not forget his roots.
De László also painted the ruler of the empire in which he was born—the aging Emperor Franz Joseph I of Austria-Hungary. László painted several portraits, but the first was not a commission from the royal court. In 1896 the National Land Credit Institute (Országos Földhitelintézet) decided to commission a portrait of the King of Hungary, probably as part of the millennial celebrations.
Initially, de László planned to depict the emperor seated, with light falling on his head and hands, but he changed his mind and portrayed him standing at full length in a uniform with orders on his chest. Later, in 1907, Philip de László created his triumphal portrait of Emperor Franz Joseph I.
This was not just a recognition of his talent, but a sign of deep trust from one of Europe’s oldest monarchs. László opened the doors to the Viennese court, becoming a welcome guest in the highest circles. Despite the success of the emperor’s portrait, a name shrouded in legend and deep sorrow lingered in the air of the Austrian court – the name of Elisabeth of Bavaria, the famous Empress Sisi.
Her tragic death in 1898 left a deep wound in the heart of Franz Joseph and the entire empire. It was then, experiencing immense personal loss and respect for the memory of his late wife, that Emperor Franz Joseph approached László with an unusual and very personal request. The actual study portrait, painted posthumously about six months after the empress’s assassination, was intended as a preparation for a full-length portrait, for which László painted Her Majesty from photographs taken when she was still in the full bloom of her beauty. The state portrait in Hungarian dress, which has not been traced, was only completed in 1904, but the artist made other sketches for the full-length portrait that were destroyed after his death in 1937. In gratitude for his work on the portrait, Emperor Franz Joseph ennobled László in 1912. Now, Fülöp Laub, the tailor’s son, became Philip László de Lombos, a member of the Hungarian nobility.
His list of sitters read like an encyclopedia of the pre-war world: German Kaiser Wilhelm II, American President Theodore Roosevelt, and many others. It was said that to be painted by de László was to be truly seen, to have one’s status and character immortalized forever. Work on the pompous portrait of the German Kaiser Wilhelm II did not begin until August 1909.
De László began the official state portrait of the German Emperor Wilhelm II, King of Prussia, at his summer residence, in the full-dress uniform of the Commander-in-Chief of the Guard Cuirassiers, with a black horse and a greyhound. Although László was already acquainted with other members of the Kaiser’s family.
Between 1899 and 1913, de László painted about twenty portraits of members of the German imperial family. 1908 was a critical year for Wilhelm, when a series of personal and political crises seriously shook his previously unshakeable self-confidence. At the end of November, he suffered a nervous breakdown. And starting in December 1908, when de László finished other portraits of the imperial family, Wilhelm agreed to pose for de László only for a study of his head.
Work on the portrait progressed slowly and with difficulty, all due to Wilhelm’s unstable political position. By the summer of 1909, when Wilhelm had appointed a new chancellor and his own position in the government had been clarified, he summoned László to his summer residence to continue work on his official portrait. During that period, László only managed to make a few sketches and a series of photographs to record the composition in the courtyard, in order to get the best pose for his restless subjects. For several hours, His Imperial Highness stood under the scorching August sun in the large, semi-dark courtyard of the palace, holding the horse’s head, while de László worked on his canvas, and a groom shooed flies away from both of them. De László was allowed to take the imperial uniform back to England to refine the details.
The portrait of Kaiser Wilhelm II was completed in March 1911. The emperor saw the finished work only in May 1911, when he opened the artist’s exhibition at the Agnew’s gallery on Bond Street during a short visit to London for the unveiling of the Queen Victoria Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace.
What made de László’s portraits so desirable? Why did the most powerful people in the world seek him out? The answer lies in his unique style and mastery. De László inherited the Grand Manner style from masters like Van Dyck, but he gave it a modern, almost spontaneous sense of life.
He could perfectly capture the weight of royal robes while simultaneously revealing the fleeting, intimate truth of a personality. When he painted a king, one could feel the weight of the crown. When a scholar, the depth of intellect. This was evident in the entire composition: the posing was light and elegant. But the secret to de László’s success was laid in the early period of his work—in a technique he perfected.
Unlike many colleagues who painted slowly, layer by layer, he preferred the alla prima method—”wet-on-wet.” He painted with poppy oil, rather than the more common linseed oil. Poppy oil dries more slowly, allowing him to work with colors directly on the canvas for longer without them turning to mud, which required incredible speed, confidence, and precision.
He kept his palette as simple as possible—rarely mixing more than two colors to preserve the brightness and purity of the hues. He said that he “drew with the brush,” capturing the likeness and spirit of the model with swift, lively movements. Philip de László’s career was dizzying; his brush wrote history, and his talent opened any door.
But even the most talented people are not immune to the whirlwinds of world events. The outbreak of the First World War in 1914 was a turning point for all of Europe, and for László personally. During this period, his studio was never empty. Officers came to him—many just before leaving for the front—as well as families who wanted a final portrait of a loved one.
De László lowered his prices, considering it his patriotic duty. After the war, these paintings became priceless relics for many families. But his success and origins made him a target. Despite his British citizenship, English wife, and five sons, his Hungarian background aroused suspicion during a time of war hysteria. In 1917, he was arrested under the Defence of the Realm Act, accused of corresponding with the enemy.
The basis for this was letters and money transfers to his elderly mother and family in Austria-Hungary—an act of filial care that was slandered as treason. László was taken into custody without formal charges, first at a police station, then at Brixworth, and later at Holloway Prison in London. He spent several months in confinement, which was a huge blow to him—both psychologically and for his health.
His family fought for him, and influential friends from high society and politics tried to secure his release. In December 1917, László was released on health grounds, but his case continued to be reviewed. It was not until February 1919 that he was fully exonerated and cleared of all charges.
A special committee concluded that “there is not the slightest reason to believe that László ever acted as a spy or was disloyal to his adopted country.” Restoring the artist’s reputation was a long and painstaking process. For a time after the war, it was difficult for him to return to full-time work. The severe ordeal had undermined his health, and he keenly felt the injustice of the accusations.
However, his talent and undeniable skill ultimately prevailed. Gradually, with the support of old patrons and new clients who valued his art above political prejudices, László returned to work. He continued to paint portraits of European monarchs, aristocrats, and prominent figures, including members of the British royal family.
His brush was once again in demand, and his name was cleared of the stain of suspicion. And one of the most vivid testaments to his return to the circle of trusted artists of the British monarchy was a portrait created in 1925. It was then that a young woman destined to become one of the most beloved and iconic figures of the British royal family entrusted herself to László’s brush – Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, then the Duchess of York.
The portrait was created just two years after her marriage to Prince Albert, Duke of York (the future George VI). During this period, Lady Elizabeth had already begun to actively participate in public life, but her role as future queen was not yet determined. In László’s portrait, we see Elizabeth at the age of 25.
This is not just an image; it is a subtle psychological study. László managed to capture her charm, her famous radiant smile that so endeared her to the British people, and the strength of character that would become her trademark during the darkest times of the Second World War. This 1925 portrait is particularly valuable because it captures Elizabeth before the weight of the royal crown and the responsibility for a nation fell upon her shoulders. We see her in the bloom of youth, filled with hope and elegance.
This is one of the most striking testaments to how László, even after all his personal hardships, continued to be the leading portraitist of his time, capable of capturing not just a likeness, but also anticipating the destiny of his great subjects. He showed us the future Queen Mother in all her charming youth.
However, among the thousands of de László’s portraits, few resonate as strongly today as the 1933 portrait of a seven-year-old girl. We know her as Queen Elizabeth II, but then she was simply Princess Elizabeth of York. De László had first met the young princess a few years earlier when he was painting her parents, and noted that she showed no shyness and was very interested in his work.
And when it was her turn, he captured something truly special: the portrait shows a girl with a thoughtful, almost serious gaze and a quiet confidence. The painting is notable for its lack of overt royal pomp: apart from a symbolic statue in the background, there are no crowns or thrones. Just the girl.
But de László managed to imbue the portrait with a sense of dignity that now seems prophetic. He conveyed the gentle, determined spirit that the world would admire for her seven decades on the throne. The portrait was commissioned by her parents and immediately became a public favorite, remaining one of the most iconic images of the future queen.
László’s last commission took him to the Balkans, to one of the youngest, yet most vibrant and ambitious monarchies – the Royal Family of Romania. The Romanian royal dynasty of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, though not as ancient as some of its European counterparts, quickly carved out its place on the political map.
It is worth noting that despite numerous requests, de László flatly refused to visit Romania, which he considered an enemy of Hungary. In 1919, Hungary invaded Hungary, and under the Treaty of Trianon in 1920, Romania secured significant Hungarian territories. But in 1924, Queen Marie of Romania arrived in London on an official state visit and paid a visit to his studio herself.
László himself noted that he was filled with mixed feelings, as he described it: At first I felt rather uncomfortable in her presence, as I despise the cowardly Romanian people, who owe their present position to the Treaty of Trianon, which treated Hungary in the most unjust way. But I will not go into politics. The Queen knows her duty, and I am an artist of the world and paint history, not just individuals… De László painted a portrait that stood out among the great variety of portraits he had made.
Marie herself noted that this portrait was unusually beautiful and vibrant; she wrote in her diary: Of course he wants to produce something that would stand out from everything he has done…he wants to get her for his June exhibition. So he asked me to wear my Russian tiara of sapphires and diamonds, he dressed me in gold, with something like a golden veil on my head, a wonderful harmony of gold with gold, and only the eyes and the sapphires in the whole were blue.
He works astonishingly fast, and it is a pleasure to watch him work, he is so full of delight when he begins a picture that fascinates him that he seems to want to shout for joy and excitement. The Queen was a legendary beauty, and in February 1925, this portrait was reproduced by the Pond’s Extract company in a magazine that was probably published for their shareholders.
It was not until January 1936 that de László could finally persuade himself to “cast aside his political prejudices” when King Carol II commissioned portraits of himself and his mother for the National Bank of Romania. Queen Marie sat before him first, resulting in an official portrait in which she is depicted seated at full length in a dark dress, which is in the collection of the National Museum of Art in Bucharest, along with a posthumous portrait of her husband, King Ferdinand I, who died in 1927. In Bucharest, De László completed eleven portraits and six preliminary oil sketches of the Romanian royal family. In recognition of this work, De László was awarded the Romanian Order “For Cultural Merit.” And what is particularly significant is that it was the work on the portraits of the Romanian royal family that became one of Philip de László’s last major royal projects.
This commission, which included images of Queen Marie and other members of the dynasty, concluded his long and incredibly productive career as a painter of monarchs. Even at the end of his life, despite his deteriorating health, László remained true to his calling and was in demand in the highest circles, leaving his last great royal chord in Romania.
In October 1937, the artist suffered a heart attack, and a month later he died at his home in London. He was 68 years old. In his lifetime, he created about 2,700 portraits, each one a window into the soul of the person sitting before him. Philip de László lived a life worthy of his subjects—monarchs, queens, and emperors.
He witnessed the fall of dynasties, the change of empires, and the disappearance of the very idea of greatness. But while crowns fell, his brush preserved the faces of those who wore them with pride. His portraits are not just paintings. They are a memory of a time when the world still believed in the splendor of power, in elegance, and in the strength of human will.
De László left behind a gallery of an era, captured with the respect and insight that only a man standing slightly apart from power, but seeing it with rare honesty, can possess. He was the last great portraitist of the monarchical world, an artist who turned the fleeting into the eternal.