One of the strangest and best-known pictures in the National Portrait Gallery is that of Sir Henry Unton. He is depicted seated in a richly upholstered chair while around him there are grouped many extraordinary and wondrous scenes. We see him as a baby nursed by his mother; as a soldier accompanied by the panoply of war with tents, horse, armour, and attendant squires; on horseback, sun-shade in hand, riding through Italy, or escorted by trumpeters and servants into France. There are other scenes of banqueting, masquing, and revelry; but the mirth of festival gives way to counsel with learned divines and the solitude of study. There are also more sombre tableaux: a death-bed surrounded by weeping and praying ser-vants and a hearse draped in black being jogged through the bleak English countryside, while beggar women and children, the blind and lame, sit, grief-stricken, watching a gaunt procession of black-clad mourners. These are making their way towards a steepled church to the left, where a large congregation listens attentively to a sermon and before which there stands a splendid tomb, gaily tricked out in scarlet, black, and gold, on which there lies the recumbent effigy of a knight presided over by a lady attired in widow's weeds. All these relate in some way to the subject of the picture, Sir Henry Unton; in correct sequence they form a selective visual biography, and in this way the picture has value not only as a record of the sitter's features but as a unique historical document (pl. xxvi).