There is a certain feeling I get every time I look at this piece by Leighton, the one he first showed at the Royal Academy under the title Vox Populi 'The Voice of the People'. It's a massive, almost seven-foot-wide canvas, and it drops you right into the middle of a moment that matters.

So, picture this. We're in England, sometime in the late 1400s, during the thick of the Wars of the Roses. The country has been torn apart by a long, bloody struggle between the houses of Lancaster and York for the crown. It's a time of shifting loyalties and deep uncertainty. And here, in the middle of all that tension, a young woman has lifted her little boy onto the stone ledge of a castle parapet. She's Margaret Beaufort, and the toddler she's holding up for everyone to see is her son, Henry Tudor. He's maybe two or three years old, looking out at a crowd we can't fully see but can certainly feel. What's so clever, is where Leighton has placed us. We're not standing in the crowd looking up at the prince. We're up on that parapet with them, almost as if we're a member of the royal household. We're seeing the moment from behind. You see the way Margaret's hands support her son.

In front of them, forming a wall of color and steel, is a row of soldiers. They're planted firmly, their long lances topped with fluttering pennants creating a kind of moving barrier. They are the present strength, and literally the physical power that keeps order. Behind them, we can see the tops of heads, and distant figures of people watching from balconies, the suggestion of a crowd that has gathered to see this heir. 

There's a deeper layer to it, something Leighton carefully imbued into the very heart of the painting. Look at the colors. Red is everywhere; it's the dominant color of the soldiers' banners, a symbol of the House of Lancaster, Margaret's own house. But if you look closely, you'll see touches of white too, the emblem of the House of York. The artist is showing us something that hasn't happened yet but that this little boy will one day make real. By marrying Elizabeth of York, this toddler will one day unite the two warring houses. The red and white will combine to create the Tudor Rose, a symbol of peace after so much bloodshed. It's a promise of harmony painted right into the scene.

The title itself comes from Shakespeare's Henry VI, Part II, a play written long after these events but which captured the imagination of Leighton's time. In the play, the imprisoned King Henry, a Lancastrian, sees the young Henry Tudor and speaks a kind of prophecy over him, saying:

"His looks are full of peaceful majesty,

His head by nature framed to wear a crown,

His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself

Likely in time to bless a regal throne".

That's the heart of it, isn't it? The painting isn't about a coronation or a battle. It's about that powerful moment of potential. It's the voice of the people, the Vox Populi, seeing their hope for peace and stability in the form of an innocent child. It's about the weight of a dynasty resting on such small, unassuming shoulders, and the fierce love of a mother presenting her son to the world and to his destiny.

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EDMUND BLAIR LEIGHTON - A LITTLE PRINCE LIKELY IN TIME TO BLESS A ROYAL THRONE (OR VOX POPULI), 1904