1314. THE AMBASSADORS.
Hans Holbein, the Younger (German: 1497-1543).
Hans Holbein—"the greatest master," says Ruskin, "of the German, or any northern school"—is closely identified with England, and at least seventy important works by him are, it is calculated, in this country. He is called "the younger," to distinguish him from his father of the same name, who was also a celebrated painter.[238] The son was born at Augsburg, but migrated early in life to Basle—then a centre of literary and artistic activity. There he formed a friendship with Erasmus, a portrait of whom from his hand is now one of the treasures of the Basle Museum. Both at Basle and at Lucerne Holbein was engaged in portraiture, house-decorating, and designs for goldsmiths' work. Ruskin traces to Holbein's surroundings at Basle the serious temper which characterises much of his art. "A grave man, knowing what steps of men keep truest time to the chanting of Death. Having grave friends also;—the same singing heard far off, it seems to me, or, perhaps even low in the room, by that family of Sir Thomas More; or mingling with the hum of bees in the meadows outside the towered wall of Basle; or making the words of the book more tuneable, which meditative Erasmus looks upon. Nay, that same soft death-music is on the lips even of Holbein's Madonna." The reference here is to the famous "Darmstadt Madonna," which was painted about 1526. In that year, leaving his wife and child behind him, Holbein set out for England, with letters from Erasmus to Sir Thomas More, who received him with honour. From 1528 to 1532 he was again in Basle. In the latter year he returned to England to find More in disgrace, and no longer able to assist him. Holbein, however, met with a warm reception from the German merchants of the Steelyard, and painted portraits of many of them. To this same period also the present picture belongs. Gradually he became known at court, and from 1536 onwards he was in the service of Henry VIII., whose high opinion of Holbein is recorded in the King's rebuke to one of his courtiers for insulting the painter: "You have not to do with Holbein, but with me; and I tell you that of seven peasants I can make seven lords, but not one Holbein." The portrait of Christina of Denmark, lent by the Duke of Norfolk, was one of those painted for the King. He paid during these years several visits to the Continent, but died in this country—being carried off by the plague—in 1543.
It is as a portrait-painter that Holbein is best known. His work in this kind is, says Ruskin, "true and thorough; accomplished in the highest as the most literary sense, with a calm entireness of unaffected resolution, which sacrifices nothing, forgets nothing, and fears nothing." Of his fidelity in portraiture and his fine perfection in accessories, we have a magnificent example in the picture before us, to which what Ruskin says of Holbein's "George Gyzen" (at Berlin) equally applies. "In some qualities of force and grace it is inferior. But it is inexhaustible. Every detail of it wins, retains, rewards the attention with a continually increasing sense of wonderfulness. So far as it reaches, it contains the absolute facts of colour, form, and character rendered with an inaccessible faithfulness. There is no question respecting things which it is best worth while to know, or things which it is unnecessary to state, or which might be overlooked with advantage. What were visible to Holbein, are visible to us; we may despise if we will; deny or doubt, we shall not; if we care to know anything concerning them, great or small, so much as may by the eye be known is for ever knowable, reliable, and indisputable." But Holbein, as we have seen, was much more than a portrait-painter. Few artists, indeed, have excelled him in "majestic range of capacity." His "Madonna" at Darmstadt, referred to above (the better known copy of which is at Dresden), is one of the great religious pictures of the world. (A copy of it is in the Arundel Society's Collection.) He was also a fresco-painter, a designer for glass painting, and a draughtsman for woodcuts; his designs for the "Dance of Death" being the typical expression in Northern art of the spirit of the Reformation. (For Ruskin's estimate of Holbein, see further Sir Joshua & Holbein, reprinted in On the Old Road, vol. i., and Ariadne Florentina, passim.)
This celebrated picture is, says Mr. Sidney Colvin, the most important among Holbein's works—after the Darmstadt Madonna—that are extant in good preservation, important alike as to scale, and as to richness and multiplicity of accessories and costumes. It is also one of those most characteristic of the master, both in his excellences and in his faults. "There are more completely satisfying works among his single-figure portraits, in some of which we find a greater artistic unity—as, for instance, in the portrait of 'Christina, Duchess of Milan.' Among the faults in the present work may be noticed the short proportions of the figures in relation to the heads—an effect exaggerated in the case of the personage on our left by the fashion of the broad surcoat with its great puffed sleeves. It must further be admitted that Holbein, who in decorative and ornamental design was one of the most inventive, adroit, and powerful composers that ever lived, has in this instance seemed to let his composition take care of itself.[239] The figures are placed at either end of the desk, with a certain naïf stiffness almost recalling the pose of a photographic group. Moreover, masterly and energetic as are the heads in modelling, in expression they are somewhat rigid, harsh, and staring. Yet, all deductions made, with what an effective and potent grasp does the picture hold us! The colouring is richer and more varied than in any other painting of the master." The accessories are painted with "such strong minuteness of reality and diligent, though never paltry, emphasis of detail, that their due subordination to the whole and to the personages would seem impossible. But the subordination is there all the same, and how it comes is Holbein's secret. The total effect is one of singularly rich, if somewhat rigid grandeur;[240] the persons dominating as they should; the faces and hands remaining the master features of the picture. The heads, with their hard gaze, lay hold on the spectator masterfully, so that he cannot forget them after he has passed away" (Art Journal, January 1890). The brilliance of the picture, now that the discoloured varnish which formerly concealed many of its beauties has been removed, is very remarkable.[241] Every colour appears to have stood; and after 370 years the picture remains in its pristine freshness.
The identity of the personages portrayed in the picture had long been a subject for critical conjecture among the ingenious. The picture was traditionally known as "The Ambassadors," and the name of almost every ambassador of the period had at one time or another been suggested; while other critics, maintaining that the traditional title rested on no good authority, went further afield and sought to identify the personages with various poets and men of letters, to whom the accessories in the picture seemed appropriate.[242] The matter has now, however, been finally set at rest by the discovery of a seventeenth-century manuscript, which gives a description of the picture and records its history during the first 120 years of its existence.[243] This manuscript, presented by Miss Mary Hervey (who discovered it), is now hung in another part of the Gallery (in the small room marked A on our plan). The traditional title of the picture is confirmed, for the portraits are of Jean de Dinteville (on the left), French Ambassador in England, and George de Selve (on the right), Bishop of Lavaur, and subsequently Ambassador at Venice. The two men, we learn from the MS., were friends; and in 1533, the year in which the picture was painted, George de Selve came to England, by permission of the French king, on a visit to Jean de Dinteville: "and the two, having there met with an excellent painter of Holland, employed him to make this picture, which has been carefully preserved in the same place at Polizy up to the year 1653."
The document itself is convincing, and its identification of the personages agrees with what may be learnt from an examination of the picture. There are three inscriptions on it. One is on the sheath of the dagger which hangs from the girdle of the personage on the spectator's left. This inscription is: "ÆT. SVÆ 29." On the edges of a clasped book, upon which the second personage leans, is another inscription: "ÆTATIS SVÆ 25." Thirdly, in the shadow cast on the floor by the chief personage is the inscription: "Iohannes Holbein Pingebat, 1533." Jean de Dinteville, Seigneur of Polizy, Bailly of Troyes, Chevalier de l'Ordre du Roi,—the order of St. Michael, which he wears in the picture,—was born September 21, 1504, and was, therefore, in his 29th year, or just the age required by the picture, at the time of his first Embassy to England in 1533. He remained in this country from February to November of that year, returning again as Ambassador in 1536. At a later period of his life he became paralysed and retired to his estate at Polizy, where he occupied the enforced leisure of his ill-health in building and embellishing the château, of which a vaulted undercroft and a few other striking fragments, including an inscription and some dates, yet remain as a monument to his tastes. He died in 1555. On the globe, which stands on the lower shelf of the what-not, the names are all of continents, countries, or great cities,—Paris, Lyons, Bayonne, Genoa, Rome, Nuremberg,—with the single exception that, in the east of France, we find the name of what is little more than a village. This name is Polizy.
George de Selve, Bishop of Lavaur, was one of six brothers, nearly all of whom attained distinction as Ambassadors. In 1526, at the early age of 18, he was appointed to the See of Lavaur, but he was not consecrated until 1534, when he was 26. It follows from these dates that in 1533, the year in which he sat to Holbein, he was 25 years old, or precisely of the age recorded in the picture. His non-episcopal dress is explained by the fact that he was only consecrated in the following year, the same in which he was appointed Ambassador at Venice. In 1536 he was transferred to Rome, where he remained two years, and in 1540 we find him intrusted with an important mission to Charles V. Having voluntarily returned to his diocese when at the zenith of his career, in order to devote himself completely to his episcopal duties, he died in 1542 (N.S.) at the early age of 34. His profound learning, his piety, his keen interest in all intellectual pursuits, make him one of the remarkable figures of his day.
Some further description of the details may assist the spectator in his examination of the picture. The background is hung with green damask, which in the upper left-hand corner reveals a silver crucifix. Jean de Dinteville, the figure on the left, habited in the rich costume of the period of Henry VIII. and Francis I., wears a heavy gold chain with the badge (as already explained) of the French Order of St. Michael. In his right hand he holds a richly-chased gold dagger, "the design of which is manifestly Holbein's own; and beside it hangs a large green and gold silk tassel, in itself a miracle of painting." In his black bonnet is a jewel formed of a silver skull set in gold. The other personage is more soberly attired. He wears a loose, long-sleeved gown of mulberry and black brocade, lined with sable, and the four-cornered black cap, "which was in that age the common headgear of scholars, university doctors, and ecclesiastics in undress." "The contrast between the swordsman on one side and the gownsman on the other is characteristic of the era and profession of the two ambassadors." The upper shelf of the stand, or what-not, between the two figures is covered with a Turkish rug, very beautifully painted, and on this are several mathematical and astronomical instruments, and, close to the principal personage, a celestial globe. Conspicuous on the lower shelf is a lute, of which one of the strings was broken and curled up over the unbroken one. On the lower shelf also are a case of flutes; an open music-book, containing part of the score and words of the Lutheran hymn, "Komm, heiliger Geist";[245] a smaller book on arithmetic, kept partly open by a small square, a pair of compasses, and a terrestrial hand-globe (in direct line below the other globe). On this globe the famous line drawn by Pope Alexander VI. in 1493 between the spheres of influence of Spain and Portugal is marked. Underneath the what-not is the lute-case; and a fine mosaic adorns the floor. The design of this is (as Miss Hervey points out) an accurate copy of the well-known mosaic pavement in the Sanctuary of Westminster Abbey, for the construction of which marbles and workmen were brought from Italy by Abbot Richard Ware in the reign of Henry III. "Nothing brings the English sojourn of the great painter more closely home to us than to fancy him wandering through the aisles of the venerable Abbey—venerable even then—to sketch the outlines of the historic pavement trodden by so many generations before and since that time."
On the floor is a mysterious-looking object, which puzzled the connoisseurs for centuries. Even the late Mr. Wornum could make nothing of it; and in his book on Holbein (1867) dismissed it as "a singular object which looks like the bones of some fish." The puzzle was first solved by Dr. Woodward in 1873, when the picture was hung in the "Old Masters" Exhibition. The curious fish-like object is simply the anamorphosis—the distorted projection—of a human skull. It was probably drawn from the reflection in a cylindrical mirror; and it is seen to be an accurate representation when viewed from the proper point. If the spectator cannot discover this for himself, the attendant will readily assist him. One must stand at a little distance off and look in the direction of the length of the object from the right hand in order to "find the skull." Pictorial puzzles such as the skull were at the time not uncommon. Allusions to such things are to be found in old inventories of pictures; and Shakespeare in Richard II. says:
Like pérspectives, which, rightly gazed upon,
Show nothing but confusion: eyed awry
Distinguish form.—Act II. Sc. 2.
Similarly, Canon Ainger has pointed out that in Twelfth Night, when the Duke first becomes aware that Viola and Sebastian, who had up to that time from their exact likeness been thought the same person, are really two, he cries out that here is a puzzle in nature corresponding to those in art, where an object varies according to the point of view from which it is regarded:
A natural perspective—that is and is not!
As to the interpretation and significance of the puzzle, authorities differ. Some see in the skull only a punning signature of the painter's name (hohl bein, hollow bone, holbein). Others discover in it a recondite allusion to Cranmer (crâne-mère). Others again, when the identity of the personages was still in dispute, sought to connect the skull with the death of one or other of them; most ingenious and far-fetched theories were elaborated by Sir F. Burton and others with this object. Probably, however, the distorted skull is only a variant on the memento mori, which occurs very frequently in portraits of the time (see, for instance, No. 1036). It may be (as Miss Hervey suggests) that Dinteville had adopted the death's-head as his personal badge or devise. He suffered from ill-health, and in a letter to his brother describes himself as "the most melancholy ambassador that ever was seen."
There is still a field open to conjecture with regard to the elaborate accessories described above. Mr. Sidney Colvin thinks, indeed, that the globes, quadrant, music-book, etc., are probably simply introduced by the painter to show his skill of hand for the satisfaction of his patrons, the choice of objects having been made partly in compliment to them as persons interested in music and the sciences, partly because they were the properties readiest to hand in the society of such men as Kratzer, the astronomer, and the German merchant goldsmiths of the Steelyard, among whom Holbein lived (Times, Dec. 10, 1895). Miss Hervey sees in the accessories "a record, probably unique in the domain of art, of the thoughts and studies, the hopes and fears, which swayed the country and generation of Jean de Dinteville. The objects selected for illustration precisely represent the pursuits and occupations most in vogue at the time in France. Geometry and Mechanics, the foundations of the builder's art, just then attaining classical expression in the lovely creations of the French Renaissance; Music, especially that of the lute, which was so fashionable that every Frenchman of exalted position carried a lutist in his train; the ingeniously contrived and artistically rendered devise; these, as the literature of the period abundantly testifies, were among the favourite studies and pastimes of the Court of France." Dinteville "must have devoted many an hour to thinking out with the painter the elaborate details." A different contention has been argued with much ability by Mr. Alfred Marks:—
The scheme of the picture is very unusual. At either end of a table of two stages stands a figure in a ceremonious attitude. Between these figures, the two stages of the table, occupying the middle and most prominent portion of the picture, are loaded with numerous accessories. The method of their display forbids us to suppose that, as suggested by Mr. Colvin, they are here merely to show the painter's skill of hand. Indeed, the whole scheme of the picture—pose of figures and arrangement of accessories—tells of some occasion which the picture is designed to commemorate, or, let us say, perhaps, some occasion of which advantage has been taken to place the personages in a situation of more than ordinary interest. What this occasion was the picture, as we shall find, declares with sufficient plainness. Holbein's symbolism was simple and direct. Does he desire to convey that his sitter is a merchant? The figure is represented as holding a bond; other bonds lie on a table, together with a seal and a pen. Or, if he is portraying an astronomer, he introduces a quadrant, dials, compasses, and other instruments of the craft. In the "Two Ambassadors" the symbolism is, from the nature of the case, not personal to each of the two figures, but applicable to the occasion. The lute, instrument of harmony, was already, as has been shown by Mr. Dickes [see Magazine of Art, December 1891 and June 1892], the accepted symbol of a treaty; the suggestion is strengthened by the introduction of a case of flutes. The occasion commemorated is, therefore, a treaty. Nor are we left in doubt as to the nature of this treaty; the globes celestial and terrestrial, the compasses, dials, quadrants, merchants' calculating book, clearly indicate that the treaty was one relating to commerce or navigation.
Mr. Marks discovers in support of his theory that in 1533 (the date of the picture) some agreement was arrived at between King Henry VIII. and the French Ambassador with regard to certain grievances of French merchants. George de Selve, as we have seen, came over to England with the French King's permission and assisted Dinteville, it is suggested, in the arrangement, the conclusion of which is celebrated by Holbein's picture (Times, Dec. 7, 12, 23, 1895).
With regard to the provenance of the picture, in the year 1653 it was still, as we have seen, at the château of Polizy. The next known notices of it occur in a Rouen catalogue of 1787, and in the Galerie des Peintres (1792) of J. R. P. Lebrun (husband of the artist Vigée-Lebrun), who had the picture in his possession, and states that he had sold it, and that it was then in England. It seems probable that it came into the hands of the dealer Vandergutsch, and that from him it was purchased by the second Earl of Radnor about 1808 or 1809, in whose family it became an heirloom. In 1891 it was purchased from the present earl for the nation.[246]