Chapter VI (2)

Of the eleven additional cuts inserted in the edition of 1547, there are four of children, which, as has already been observed in page 334, have not the slightest connexion with the Dance of Death. The following is a copy of one of them. The editor seems to have found no difficulty in providing the subject with a text; and it serves as a peg to hang a quatrain on as well as the others which contain personifications of Death.

_EXOD. XIX._

[Figure]

L’eage du sens, du sang l’ardeur
Est legier dard, & foible escu
Contre MORT, qui un tel dardeur
De son propre dard rend vaincu.]

In the edition of 1562 five more cuts are inserted; but two of them only--the Bridegroom and the Bride--have relation to the Dance of Death; the other three are of a similar character to the four cuts of children first inserted in the edition of 1547. All the seven cuts of children have been evidently designed by the same person. They are well engraved, but not in so masterly a style as the forty-one cuts of the original edition. The following is a copy of one of the three which were inserted in the edition of 1562.

_ISAIE LIII._

[Figure]

Pour les victoires triumphées
Sur les plus forts des humains cœurs,
Les despoilles dresse en trophées
La MORT vaincresse des vainqueurs.]

Having now given what, perhaps, may be considered a sufficiently ample account of the Lyons Dance of Death, it next appears necessary to make some enquiries respecting the designer of the cuts. Until the publication of Mr. Douce’s observations, prefixed to the edition of Hollar’s etchings from those cuts, by Edwards, about 1794, scarcely any writer who mentions them seems to entertain a doubt of their having been designed by Holbein; and Papillon, in his usual manner, claims him as a wood engraver, and unhesitatingly declares that not only the cuts of the Lyons Dance of Death, but all the other cuts which are generally supposed to have been of his designing, were engraved by himself. Mr. Douce’s arguments are almost entirely negative,--for he produces no satisfactory evidence to show that those cuts were certainly designed by some other artist,--and they are chiefly founded on the passage in the first Lyons edition, where the writer speaks of the death of the person “qui nous en a icy imaginé si elegantes figures.”

The sum of Mr. Douce’s objections to Holbein being the designer of the cuts in question is as follows. “The singularity of this curious and interesting dedication is deserving of the utmost attention. It seems very strongly, if not decisively, to point out the edition to which it is prefixed, as the first; and what is of still more importance, to deprive Holbein of any claim to the invention of the work. It most certainly uses such terms of art as can scarcely be mistaken as conveying any other sense than that of originality of design. There cannot be words of plainer import than those which describe the painter, as he is expressly called, _delineating_ the subjects and leaving several of them unfinished: and whoever the artist might have been, it clearly appears that he was not living in 1538. Now, it is well known that Holbein’s death did not take place before the year 1554, during the plague which ravaged London at that time. If then the expressions used in this dedication signify anything, it may surely be asked what becomes of any claim on the part of Holbein to the designs of the work in question, or does it not _at least_ remain in a situation of doubt and difficulty?”[VI-22] With respect to the true import of the passage referred to, my opinion is almost directly the reverse of that expressed by Mr. Douce.

[Footnote VI-22: Dance of Death, p. 88. Edit. 1833 (Bohn’s edit.
1858, p. 77.)]

What the writer of the address to Madame Jehanne de Touszele, in the Lyons edition of 1538, says respecting the unfinished cuts, taken all together, seems to relate more properly to the engraver than the designer; more especially when we find that a cut--that of the Waggoner,--expressly noticed by him as being then unfinished, was given with others of a similar character in a subsequent edition.

From the incorrect manner in which the cut of the Waggoner is described, I am very much inclined to think that the writer had neither seen the original nor the other subjects already traced--the “_plusieurs aultres figures jà par luy trassées_”--of whose “bold drawing, perspectives, and shadows,” he speaks in such terms of admiration. If the writer knew little of the process of wood engraving, he would be very likely to commit the mistake of supposing that the engraver was also the designer of the cuts. Though I consider it by no means unlikely that the engraver might have been dead before the publication of the first edition, yet I am very much inclined to believe that the passage in which the cuts are mentioned is purposely involved in obscurity: the writer, while he speaks of the deceased artist in terms of the highest commendation, at the same time carefully conceals his name. If the account in the preface be admitted as correct, it would appear that the cuts were both designed and engraved by the same person, and that those already drawn on the block[VI-23] remained unfinished in consequence of his decease; for if he were _not_ the engraver, what prevented the execution of the other subjects already traced, and of which the bold drawing, perspective, and shadows, all so gracefully delineated, are distinctly mentioned? The engraver, whoever he might be, was certainly not only the best of his age, but continues unsurpassed to the present day, and I am satisfied that such precision of line as is seen in the heads could only be acquired by great practice. The designs are so excellent in drawing and composition, and so admirably are the different characters represented,--with such spirit, humour, and appropriate expression,--that to have produced them would confer additional honour on even the greatest painters of that or any other period. Are we then to suppose that those excellencies of design and of engraving were combined in an obscure individual whose name is not to be found in the roll of fame, who lived comparatively unknown, and whose death is only incidentally noticed in an ambiguous preface written by a nameless pedant, and professedly addressed to an abbess whose very existence is questionable?[VI-24] Such a supposition I conceive to be in the highest degree improbable; and, on the contrary, I am perfectly satisfied that the cuts in question were _not_ designed and engraved by the same person. Furthermore, admitting the address to Madame Jehanne de Touszele to be written in good faith, I am firmly of opinion that the person whose death is there mentioned, was the engraver, and not the designer of the cuts of the first edition.

[Footnote VI-23: The words “_jà par luy trassées_” will apply more
properly to drawings already made on the block, but unengraved,
than to unfinished drawings on paper. It is indeed almost certain
that the writer meant the former, for their “_audacieux traicts,
perspectives, et umbrages_” are mentioned; they were moreover
“_gracieusement deliniées_.” These expressions will apply
correctly to a finished, though unengraved design on the block,
but scarcely to an unfinished drawing on paper.]

[Footnote VI-24: I am very much inclined to think that Madame
Jehanne de Touszele is a fictitious character. I have had no
opportunities of learning if such a person were really abbess of
the Convent of St. Peter at Lyons in 1538, and must therefore
leave this point to be decided by some other enquirer.]

The mark [[HL]] in the cut of the Duchess, is certainly not Holbein’s; and Mr. Douce says, “that it was intended to express the name of the designer, cannot be supported by evidence of any kind.” That it is not the mark of the designer, I agree with Mr. Douce, but my conclusion is drawn from premises directly the reverse of his; for had I not found evidence elsewhere to convince me that this mark can only be that of the engraver, I should most certainly have concluded that it was intended for the mark of the designer. In direct opposition to what Mr. Douce here says, up to the time of the publication of the Lyons Dance of Death, the mark on wood-cuts is most frequently that of the designer, and whenever that of the engraver appears, it is as an exception to the general custom. It is, in fact, upon the evidence of the mark alone that the greater part of the wood-cut designs of Durer, Cranach, Burgmair, Behaim, Baldung, Grün, and other old masters, are respectively ascribed to them. The cuts of the Triumphal Procession of Maximilian with Hans Burgmair’s mark in front, and the names of the engravers written at the back of the blocks, may serve as an illustration of the general practice, which is directly the reverse of Mr. Douce’s opinion. If the weight of probability be not on the opposite side, the mark in question ought certainly, according to the usual practice of the period, to be considered as that of the designer.

In a subsequent page of the same chapter, Mr. Douce most inconsistently says, “There is an unfortunate ambiguity connected with the marks that are found on ancient engravings on wood, and it has been a _very great error_ on the part of all the writers who treat on such engravings, in referring the marks that accompany them to the block-cutters, or as the Germans properly denominate them the _formschneiders_, whilst, perhaps, the greatest part of them really belong to the designers.” He commits in the early part of the chapter the very error which he ascribes to others. According to his own principles, as expressed in the last extract, he was bound to allow the mark [[HL]] to be that of the designer until he could show on probable grounds that it was not. But though Mr. Douce might deny that Holbein were the designer of those cuts, it seems that he durst not venture to follow up the line of his argument, and declare that Hans Lutzelburger _was_ the designer, which he certainly might have done with at least as much reason as has led him to decide that Holbein _was not_. But he prudently abstained from venturing on such an affirmation, the improbability of which, notwithstanding the mark, might have led his readers to inquire, how it happened that so talented an artist should have remained so long undiscovered, and that even his contemporaries should not have known him as the designer of those subjects.

Though I am satisfied that the mark [[HL]] is that of the _engraver_ of the cuts in the first edition of the Lyons Dance of Death, I by no means pretend to account for its appearing alone--thus forming an exception to the general rule--without the mark of the designer, and without any mention of his name either in the title or preface to the book. We have no knowledge of the connexion in the way of business between the working wood engravers and the designers of that period; but there seems reason to believe that the former sometimes got drawings made at their own expense and risk, and, when engraved, either published them on their own account, or disposed of them to booksellers and printers. It is also to be observed that about the time of the publication of the first Lyons edition of the Dance of Death, or a few years before, wood engravers began to occasionally introduce their name or mark into the cut, in addition to that of the designer. A cut, in a German translation of Cicero de Officiis, Frankfort, 1538, contains two marks; one of them being that of Hans Sebald Behaim, and the other, the letters H. W., which I take to be that of the engraver. At a later period this practice became more frequent, and a considerable number of wood-cuts executed between 1540 and 1580 contain two marks; one of the designer, and the other of the engraver: in wood-cuts designed by Virgil Solis in particular, double marks are of frequent occurrence. As it seems evident that the publishers of the Lyons Dance of Death were desirous of concealing the name of the designer, and as it appears likely that they had purchased the cuts ready engraved from a Swiss or a German,--for the designs are certainly not French,--it surely cannot be surprising that he should wish to affix his mark to those most admirable specimens of art. Moreover, if those cuts were not executed under the personal superintendence of the designer, but when he was chiefly resident in a distant country, the engraver would thus have the uncontrolled liberty of inserting his own mark; and more especially, if those cuts were a private speculation of his own, and not executed for a publisher who had employed an artist to make the designs. Another reason, perhaps equally us good as any of the foregoing, might be suggested; as those cuts are decidedly the best executed of any of that period, the designer--even if he had opportunities of seeing the proofs--might have permitted the mark of the engraver to appear on one of them, in approbation of his talent.

This mark, [[HL]], was first assigned to a wood engraver named Hans Lutzelburger, by M. Christian von Mechel, a celebrated engraver of Basle, who in 1780 published forty-five copper-plate engravings of a Dance of Death from drawings said to be by Holbein, and which almost in every respect agree with the corresponding cuts in the Lyons work, though of greater size.[VI-25] M. Mechel’s conjecture respecting the engraver of those cuts appears to have been first published in the sixteenth volume of Von Murr’s Journal; but though I am inclined to think that he is correct, it has not been satisfactorily shown that Hans Lutzelburger ever used the mark [[HL]]. He, however, lived at that period, and it is almost certain that he executed an alphabet of small initial letters representing a Dance of Death, which appear to have been first used at Basle by the printers Bebelius and Cratander about 1530. We give (on the following page) the entire series. He is also supposed to have engraved two other alphabets of ornamental initial letters, one representing a dance of peasants, “intermixed,” says Mr. Douce, “with other subjects, some of which are not of the most delicate nature;” the other representing groups of children in various playful attitudes. All those three alphabets are generally described by German and Swiss writers on art as having been designed by Holbein; and few impartial persons I conceive can have much doubt on the subject, if almost perfect identity between most of the figures and those in his known productions be allowed to have any weight.

[Footnote VI-25: Mechel’s work is in folio, with four subjects on
each full page, and is entitled “Oeuvre de Jean Holbein, ou
Receuil de Gravures d’après ses plus beaux ouvrages, &c. Première
Partie. La Triomphe de Mort.” It is dedicated to George III, and
the presentation copy is in the King’s Library at the British
Museum. The first part contains, besides forty-five subjects of
the Dance of Death, the design for the sheath of a dagger from a
drawing ascribed to Holbein, which has been re-engraved in the
work of Mr. Douce. It is extremely doubtful if the drawings of the
Dance, from which Mechel’s engravings are copied, be really by
Holbein. They were purchased by M. Fleischmann of Strasburg, at
Crozat’s sale at Paris in 1741. It was stated in the catalogue
that they had formed part of the Arundelian collection, and that
they had afterwards come into the possession of Jan Bockhorst,
commonly called Lang Jan, a contemporary of Vandyke. This piece of
information, however, can only be received as an auctioneer’s
puff. M. Mechel himself, according to Mr. Douce, had not been able
to trace those drawings previously to their falling into the hands
of Monsieur Crozat. They were purchased of M. Fleischmann by
Prince Gallitzin, a Russian nobleman, by whom they were lent to
M. Mechel. They are now in the Imperial Library at Petersburg.
According to Mr. Coxe, who saw them when in M. Mechel’s
possession, they were drawn with a pen, and slightly shaded with
Indian ink. Hegner, in his Life of Holbein, speaks slightingly of
Mechel’s engravings, which he says were executed by one of his
workmen from copies of the pretended original drawings made by an
artist named Rudolph Schellenburg of Winterthur. Those
copper-plates certainly appear feeble when compared with the
wood-cut in the Lyons work, and Hegner’s criticism on the figure
of Eve seems just, though Mr. Douce does not approve of it. Hegner
says, “Let any one compare the figure of Eve under the tree in
Mechel’s second plate with the second wood-cut; in the former she
is sitting in as elegant an attitude as if she belonged to a
French family by Boucher.”--Boucher, a French painter, who died in
1770, was famous in his time for the pretty women introduced into
his landscapes.]

There is a set of proofs of the alphabet of the Dance of Death, printed on one sheet, preserved in the Public Library at Basle, and underneath is printed in moveable letters the name +HAnns Lützelburger formschnider, genannt Franck+,--that is, “Hanns Lutzelburger, wood engraver, named Franck.” The first H is an ornamented Roman capital; the other letters of the name are in the German character. The size of the cuts in this alphabet of the Dance of Death is one inch by seven-eighths. The reason for supposing that Hans Lutzelburger was the engraver of the cuts in the first edition of the Lyons Dance of Death are: 1. The similarity of style between the latter and those of the Basle alphabet of the same subject; and 2. The correspondence of the mark in the cut of the Duchess with the initial letters of the name H[ans] L[utzelburger], and the fact of his being a wood engraver of that period. Mr. Douce, in the seventh chapter of his work, professes to examine the “claim of Hans Lutzelburger as to the design or execution of the Lyons engravings of the Dance of Death,” but his investigations seem very unsatisfactory; and his chapter is one of those “in which,” as Fielding says, “nothing is concluded.” He gives no opinion as to whether Lutzelburger was the designer of the Lyons cuts or not, though this is one of the professed topics of his investigation; and even his opinion, for the time being, as to the engraver, only appears in the heading of the following chapter, where it is thus announced: “_List of several editions of the Lyons work on the Dance of Death, with the mark of Lutzenburger_.”[VI-26] His mind, however, does not appear to have been finally made up on this point; for in a subsequent page, 215, speaking of the mark [[HL]] in the cut of the Duchess, which he had previously mentioned as that of Hans Lutzelburger, he says, “_but to whomsoever this mark may turn out to belong_, certain it is that Holbein never made use of it.” His only unalterable decision appears to be that Holbein did not design the cuts of the Lyons Dance of Death, and in support of it he puts forth sundry arguments which are at once absurd and inconsistent; rejects unquestionable evidence which makes for the contrary opinion; and admits the most improbable that seems to favour his own.

[Footnote VI-26: Mr. Douce in every instance spells the name thus.
In the proofs of the alphabet of the Dance of Death it is
_Lützelburger_, and below the cut with the date 1522,
_Leuczellburger_.]

Mr. Douce, in his seventh chapter, also gives a list of cuts, which he says were executed by Hans Lutzelburger; but out of the seven single cuts and three alphabets which he enumerates, I am inclined to think that Lutzelburger’s name is only to be found attached to one single cut and to one alphabet,--the latter being that of the initial letters representing a Dance of Death. The single cut to which I allude--and which, I believe, is the only one of the kind that has his name underneath it,--represents a combat in a wood between some naked men and a body of peasants. Within the cut, to the left, is the mark, probably of the designer, on a reversed tablet, [Symbol] thus; and underneath is the following inscription, from a separate block: HANNS . LEUCZELLBURGER . FURMSCHNIDER × 1.5.2.2. An impression of this cut is preserved in the Public Library at Basle; and an alphabet of Roman capitals, engraved on wood, is printed on the same folio, below Lutzelburger’s name. In not one of the other single cuts does this engraver’s name occur, nor in fact any mark that can be fairly ascribed to him. The seventh cut, described by Mr. Douce,--a copy of Albert Durer’s Decollation of John the Baptist,--is ascribed to Lutzelburger on the authority of Zani. According to this writer,--for I have not seen the cut myself any more than Mr. Douce,--it has “the mark H. L. reversed,” which perhaps may prove to be L. H. “In the index of names,” says Mr. Douce, “he (Zani) finds his name thus written, HANS LUTZELBURGER FORMSCHNIDER GENANT (chiamato) FRANCK, and calls him the true prince of engravers on wood.” In what index Zani found the reversed mark thus expounded does not appear; I, however, am decidedly of opinion that there is no wood-cut in existence with the mark H. L. which can be ascribed with anything like certainty to Lutzelburger; and his name is only to be found at length _under_ the cut of the Fight above mentioned, and printed in moveable characters on the sheet containing the proofs of the alphabet of the Dance of Death.[VI-27] The title of “true prince of engravers on wood,” given by Zani to Lutzelburger, can only be admitted on the supposition of his being the engraver of the cuts in the first edition of the Lyons Dance of Death; but it yet remains to be proved that he ever used the mark [[HL]] or the separate letters H. L. on any previous or subsequent cut. Though, from his name appearing on the page containing the alphabet of the Dance of Death, and from the correspondence of his initials with the mark in the cut of the Duchess in the Lyons Dance of Death, I am inclined to think that he was the engraver of the cuts in the latter work, yet I have thought it necessary to enter thus fully into the grounds of his pretensions to the execution of those, and other wood engravings, in order that the reader may judge for himself.

[Footnote VI-27: There are proofs of this alphabet in the Royal
Collection at Dresden, as well as in the Public Library at Basle.]

Hegner, in his Life of Holbein, treats the claims that have been advanced on behalf of Lutzelburger too lightly. He not only denies that he was the engraver of the cuts in the first edition of the Lyons work, but also that he executed the cuts of the alphabet of the Dance of Death, although his name with the addition of “wood engraver”-- _formschnider_--be printed on the sheet of proofs. If we cannot admit the inscription in question as evidence of Lutzelburger being the engraver of this alphabet, we may with equal reason question if any wood engraver actually executed the cut or cuts under which his name only appears printed in type, or which may be ascribed to him in the title of a book. Mr. Douce, speaking of the three alphabets,--of peasants, boys, and a Dance of Death,--all of which he supposes to have been engraved by Lutzelburger, says that the proofs “may have been deposited by him in his _native_ city,” meaning Basle. Hegner, however, says that there is no trace of him to be found either in registers of baptism or burger-lists of Basle. He further adds, though I by no means concur with him in this opinion, “It is indeed likely that, as a travelling dealer in works of art--who, according to the custom of that period, took up their temporary residence sometimes in one place, sometimes in another,--he had obtained possession of those blocks, [of the alphabet of Death’s Dance, and the Fight, with his name,] and that he sold impressions from them in the way of trade.”[VI-28] Mr. Douce says that it may admit of a doubt whether the alphabets ascribed to Lutzelburger were cut on metal or on wood. It may admit of a doubt, certainly, with one who knows very little of the practice of wood engraving, but none with a person who is accustomed to see cuts executed in a much more delicate style by wood engravers of very moderate abilities. To engrave them on wood, would be comparatively easy, so far as relates to the mere delicacy of the lines; but it would be a task of great difficulty to engrave them in relief in any metal which should be much harder than that of which types are composed. To suppose that they might have been executed in type-metal, on account of the delicacy of the lines, would involve a contradiction; for not only can finer lines be cut on box-wood than on type-metal, but also with much greater facility.

[Footnote VI-28: Hans Holbein der Jüngere, S. 332.]

It perhaps may not be unnecessary to give here two instances of the many vague and absurd conjectures which have been propounded respecting the designer or the engraver of the cuts in the Lyons editions of the Dance of Death. In a copy of this work of the edition 1545 now in the British Museum, but formerly belonging to the Reverend C. M. Cracherode, a portrait of a painter or engraver named Hans Ladenspelder is inserted opposite to the cut of the Duchess, as if in support of the conjecture that _he_ might be the designer of those cuts, merely from the circumstance of the initial letters of his name corresponding with the mark [[HL]]. The portrait is a small oval engraved on copper, with an ornamental border, round which is the following inscription: “Imago Joannis Ladenspelder, Essendiensis, Anno ætatis suæ xxviii. 1540.”[VI-29] The mark [[L]] is perceived on this portrait, and underneath is written the following MS. note, referring to the mark in the cut of the Duchess: “[[HL]] the mark of the designer of these designs of Death’s Dance, not H. Holbein. By several persons that have seen Holbein’s Death Dance at Basil, it is not like these, nor in the same manner.” This note, so far as relates to the implied conjecture about Ladenspelder, may be allowed to pass without remark for what it is worth; but it seems necessary to remind the reader that the painting of the Dance of Death at Basle, here evidently alluded to, _was not_ the work of Holbein, and to observe that this note is not in the handwriting of Mr. Cracherode, but that it has apparently been written by a former owner of the volume.

[Footnote VI-29: Hans Ladenspelder was a native of Essen, a
frontier town in the duchy of Berg. The following mark is to be
found on his engravings [Symbol], which Bartsch thinks may be
intended for the single letters I. L. V. E. S.,--representing the
words _Joannes Ladenspelder Von Essen Sculpsit_.]

In a copy of the first edition, now lying before me, a former owner has written on the fly-leaf the following verses from page 158 of the Nugæ--Lyons, 1540,--of Nicholas Borbonius, a French poet:

“Videre qui vult Parrhasium cum Zeuxide,
Accersat a Britannia
Hansum Ulbium, et Georgium Reperdium
Lugduno ab urbe Galliæ.”

The meaning of these verses may be thus expressed in English:

Whoever wishes to behold,
Painters like to those of old,
To England straightway let him send,
And summon Holbein to attend;
Reperdius,[VI-30] too, from Lyons bring,
A city of the Gallic King.

[Footnote VI-30: Of this George Reperdius, or his works, nothing,
I believe, is known beyond the brief mention of his name in
conjunction with that of Holbein in the verses of Bourbon.]

To the extract from Borbonius,--or Bourbon, as he is more frequently called, without the Latin termination,--the writer has added a note: “_An Reperdius harum Iconum sculptor fuerit?_” That is: “Query, if Reperdius were the engraver of these cuts?”--meaning the cuts contained in the Lyons Dance of Death. Mr. Douce also cites the preceding verses from Nicholas Bourbon; and upon so slight and unstable a foundation he, _more solito_, raises a ponderous superstructure. He, in fact, says, that “it is _extremely probable_ that he might have begun the work in question [the designs for the Dance of Death], and have died before he could complete it, and that the Lyons publishers might have afterwards employed Holbein to finish what was left undone, as well as to make designs for additional subjects which appeared in the subsequent editions. Thus would Holbein be so connected with the work as to obtain in future such notice as would constitute him by general report the real inventor of it.”

Perhaps in the whole of the discussion on this subject a more tortuous piece of argument is not to be found. It strikingly exemplifies Mr. Douce’s eagerness to avail himself of the most trifling circumstance which seemed to favour his own views; and his manner of twisting and twining it is sufficient to excite a suspicion even in the mind of the most careless inquirer, that the chain of argument which consists of a series of such links must be little better than a rope of sand. Mr. Douce must have had singular notions of probability, when, upon the mere mention of the name of Reperdius, by Bourbon, as a painter then residing at Lyons, he asserts that it is _extremely probable_ that he, Reperdius, might have begun the work: it is evident that he does not employ the term in its usual and proper sense. If for “_extremely probable_” the words “_barely possible_” be substituted, the passage will be unobjectionable; and will then fairly represent the value of the conjecture of Reperdius having designed any of the cuts in question. If it be _extremely probable_ that the cuts of the first edition of the Lyons Dance of Death were designed by Reperdius, from the mere occurrence of his name in Bourbon, the evidence in favour of their being designed by Holbein ought with equal reason to be considered as _plusquam-perfect_; for the voices of his contemporaries are expressly in his favour, the cuts themselves bear a strong general resemblance to those which are known to be of his designing, and some of the figures and details in the cuts of the Dance of Death correspond so nearly with others in the Bible-cuts designed by Holbein, and also printed at Lyons by the brothers Trechsel, and in the same year, that there cannot be a doubt in the mind of any impartial inquirer who shall compare them, that either both series must have been designed by the same person, or that Holbein had servilely copied the works of an unknown artist greater than himself. Upon one of the horns of this dilemma, Mr. Douce, and all who assert that the cuts of the Lyons Dance of Death _were not designed by Holbein_, must inevitably be fixed.

One of the earliest evidences in favour of Holbein being the designer of the cuts in the Lyons Dance of Death is Nicholas Bourbon, the author of the epigram previously cited. In an edition of his Nugæ, published at Basle in 1540, are the following verses:[VI-31]

[Footnote VI-31: Neither these verses, nor those previously cited,
occur in the first edition of the Nugæ, Paris, 1533.]

_De morte picta à Hanso pictore nobili._

Dum mortis Hansus pictor imaginem exprimit,
Tanta arte mortem retulit ut mors vivere
Videatur ipsa: et ipse se immortalibus
Parem Diis fecerit operis hujus gloria.

Now,--after premising that the term _picta_ was applied to designs engraved on wood, as well as to paintings in oil or water-colours,[VI-32]--it may be asked to what work of Holbein’s do these lines refer? The painting in the church-court at Basle was not executed by Holbein; neither was it ascribed to him by his contemporaries; for the popular error which assigns it to him appears to have originated with certain travellers who visited Basle upwards of a hundred years after Holbein’s decease. It indeed may be answered that Bourbon might allude to the _alphabet_ of the Dance of Death which has been ascribed to Holbein. A mere supposition of this kind, however, would be untenable in this instance; for there is no direct evidence to show that Holbein was the designer of this alphabet, and the principal reason for supposing it to have been designed by him rests upon the previous assumption of his being the designer of the cuts of the Lyons Dance of Death. Deny him the honour of this work, and assert that the last quoted verses of Bourbon must relate to some other, and the difficulty of showing by anything like credible evidence, that he was the designer of any other series of cuts, or even of a single cut, or painting, of the same subject, becomes increased tenfold. Mr. Douce, with the gross inconsistency that distinguishes the whole of his arguments on this subject, ascribes the alphabet of the Dance of Peasants to Holbein, and yet cautiously avoids mentioning him as the designer of the alphabet of the Dance of Death, though the reasons for this conclusion are precisely the same as those on which he rests the former assertion. Nay, so confused and contradictory are his opinions on this point, that in another part of his book he actually describes both alphabets as being the work of the same designer and the same engraver.

[Footnote VI-32: At that period a wood-cut, as well as a painting,
was termed _pictura_.--On the title-page of an edition of the New
Testament, with wood-cuts, Zurich, 1554, by Froschover, we find
the following: “Novi Testamenti Editio postrema per Des. Erasmum
Roterodamum. Omnia _picturis_ illustrata.”]

“Some of the writers on engraving,” says Mr. Douce, “have manifested their usual inaccuracy on the subject of Holbein’s Dance of Peasants. . . . . . . There is, however, _no doubt_ that his beautiful pencil was employed on this subject in various ways, of which the following specimens are worthy of being recorded. In a set of initial letters frequently used in books printed at Basle and elsewhere,” &c. After thus having unhesitatingly ascribed the Dance of Peasants to Holbein, Mr. Douce, in a subsequent page,--when giving a list of cuts which he ascribes to Hans Lutzelburger,--writes as follows: “8. An alphabet with a Dance of Death, the subjects of which, with a few exceptions, are the same as those in the other Dance; the designs, however, occasionally vary,” &c. On concluding his description of this alphabet, he thus notices the alphabet of the Dance of Peasants, having apparently forgot that he had previously ascribed the latter to Holbein. “9. Another alphabet _by the same artists_. It is a Dance of Peasants, intermixed with other subjects, some of which are not of the most delicate nature.”[VI-33]

[Footnote VI-33: Douce’s Dance of Death, pp. 80, 100, and 101.]

It is, however, uncertain if Mr. Douce really did believe Holbein to be the designer of the alphabet of the Dance of Death, though from the preceding extracts it is plainly, though indirectly asserted, that he _was_. In his wish to claim the engraving of the Dance of Peasants for Lutzelburger, Mr. Douce does not seem to have been aware that from the words “by the same artists,” coupled with his previous assertion, of Holbein being the designer of that alphabet, it followed as a direct consequence that he was also the designer of the alphabet of the Dance of Death. Putting this charitable construction on Mr. Douce’s words, it follows that _his_ assertion of Lutzelburger being the engraver of the Dance of Peasants is purely gratuitous. If Mr. Douce really believed that Holbein was the designer of the alphabet of the Dance of Death, he ought in fairness to have expressly declared his opinion; although such declaration would have caused his arguments, against Holbein being the designer of the cuts in the Lyons Dance of Death, to appear more paradoxical and absurd than they are when unconnected with such an opinion; for what person, with the slightest pretensions to rationality, could assert that Holbein was the designer of the alphabet of the Dance of Death executed in 1530, the subjects, with few exceptions, the same as those in the Dance of Death published at Lyons in 1538, and yet in direct opposition to contemporary testimony, and the internal evidence of the subjects themselves, deny that he was the designer of the cuts in the latter work, on the sole authority of the nameless writer of a preface which only appeared in the first edition of the book, and which, there seems reason to suspect, was addressed to an imaginary personage? Was Madame Jehanne de Touszele likely to feel herself highly complimented by having dedicated to her a work which contains undeniable evidences of the artist’s having been no friend to popery? In one cut a couple of fiends appear to be ridiculing his “Holiness” the pope; and in another is a young gallant with a guitar, entertaining a nun in her bed-chamber. If a pious abbess of St. Peter’s, Lyons, in 1538, should have considered that such cuts “tended to edification,” she must have been an extremely liberal woman for her age. It is exceedingly amusing, in looking over the cuts of the Lyons Dance of Death, to contrast the drollery and satire of the designer with the endeavours of the textuary and versifier to give them a devout and spiritual turn.

As it is certain from the verses of Bourbon, in praise of Holbein as the painter or designer of a subject, or a series of subjects, representing “Death as if he were alive,”--ut mors vivere videatur,--that this celebrated artist _had designed_ a Dance of Death, Mr. Douce, being unable to deny the evidence thus afforded, paradoxically proceeds to fit those verses to his own theory; and after quoting them, at page 139, proceeds as follows: “It has already been demonstrated that these lines could not refer to the old painting of the Macaber Dance at the Dominican convent, whilst from the important dedication to the edition of the wood-cuts first published at Lyons in 1538, it is next to impossible that that work could then have been in Borbonius’s contemplation. It appears from several places in his Nugæ that he was in England in 1535, at which time Holbein drew his portrait in such a manner as to excite his gratitude and admiration in another copy of verses . . . . . . He returned to Lyons in 1536, and it is known that he was there in 1538, when he probably wrote the complimentary lines in Holbein’s Biblical designs a short time before their publication, either out of friendship to the painter, or at the instance of the Lyons publisher, with whom he was certainly connected.--Now, if Borbonius, during his residence at Lyons, had been assured that the designs in the wood-cuts of the Dance of Death were the production of Holbein, would not his before-mentioned lines on that subject have been likewise introduced into the Lyons edition of it, or at least into some subsequent editions, in none of which is any mention whatever made of Holbein, although the work was continued even after the death of that artist? The application, therefore, of Borbonius’s lines must be sought for elsewhere; but it is greatly to be regretted that he has not adverted to the place where the painting,[VI-34] as he seems to call it, was made.”

[Footnote VI-34: Mr. Douce here seems to lay some weight on the
word _picta_, which, as has been previously observed, was applied
equally to wood engravings and paintings.]

Mr. Douce next proceeds in his search after the “painting,” and he is not long in finding what he wishes for. According to his statement, “_very soon after_ the calamitous fire at Whitehall, 1697, which consumed nearly the whole of that palace, a person, calling himself T. Nieuhoff Piccard, probably belonging to the household of William III, and a man who appears to have been an amateur artist,” made etchings after nineteen of the cuts in the Lyons Dance of Death. Impressions of those etchings, accompanied with manuscript dedications, appear to have been presented by this T. Nieuhoff Piccard to his friends or patrons, and among others to a Mynheer Heymans, and to “the high, noble, and well-born Lord William Denting, Lord of Rhoon, Pendraght,” &c. The address to Mynheer Heymans contains the following important piece of information respecting a work of Holbein’s, which appears most singularly to have escaped the notice of every other writer, whether English or foreign. “Sir,--The costly palace of Whitehall, erected by Cardinal Wolsey, and the residence of King Henry VIII, contains, among other performances of art, a Dance of Death, _painted by Holbein_, in its galleries, which, through an unfortunate conflagration, has been reduced to ashes.”[VI-35] In the dedication to the “high, noble, and well-born Lord William Benting,” the information respecting this curious work of art,--all memory of which would have perished had it not been for the said T. Nieuhoff Piccard,--is rather more precise. “Sir, [not My Lord,]--In the course of my constant love and pursuit of works of art, it has been my good fortune to meet with that scarce little work of Hans Holbein, neatly engraved on wood, and which he himself had _painted as large as life_, in fresco, on the walls of Whitehall.” Who Mynheer Heymans was will probably never be discovered, but he seems to have been a person of some consequence in his day, though unfortunately never mentioned in any history or memoirs of the period, for it appears that the court thought proper, in consideration of his singular deserts, to cause a dwelling to be built for him at Whitehall. My Lord William Benting,[VI-36]--though from his name and titles he might be mistaken for a member of the Bentinck family,--appears to have been actually born in the palace. It is, however, very unfortunate that his name does not occur in the peerage of that time; and as neither Rhoon nor Pendraght are to be found in Flanders or Holland, it is not unlikely that these may be the names of two of his lordship’s _castles in Spain_.

[Footnote VI-35: Douce, Dance of Death, p. 141.]

[Footnote VI-36: “The identification of William Benting,” says Mr.
Douce with exquisite bon-hommie, “must be left to the sagacity of
others. He _could not have been_ the Earl of Portland created in
1689, or he would have been addressed accordingly. He is,
moreover, described as a youth born at Whitehall, and then
residing there, and whose dwelling consisted of nearly the whole
of the palace that remained after the fire.”--Dance of Death,
p. 244. It appears that these addresses of Piccard were written in
a foreign language, though, whether Dutch, French, German, or
Latin, Mr. Douce most unaccountably neglects to say: he merely
mentions that his extracts are translated.]

T. Nieuhoff Piccard’s express testimony of Holbein having painted a Dance of Death in fresco, at Whitehall, is, in Mr. Douce’s opinion, further corroborated by the following circumstances: 1. “In one of Vanderdort’s manuscript catalogues of the pictures and rarities transported from St. James’s to Whitehall, and placed there in the newly erected cabinet room of Charles I, and in which several works by Holbein are mentioned, there is the following article: ‘A little piece, where Death with a green garland about his head, stretching both his arms to apprehend a Pilate in the habit of one of the spiritual Prince-Electors of Germany. Copied by Isaac Oliver from Holbein.’ There cannot be a doubt that this refers to the subject of the Elector as painted by Holbein in the Dance of Death at Whitehall, proving at the same time the identity of the painting with the wood-cuts, whatever may be the inference. 2. Sandrart, after noticing a remarkable portrait of Henry VIII. at Whitehall, states ‘that there yet remains at that palace _another work_, by Holbein, that constitutes him the Apelles of his time.’ This is certainly _very like an allusion_ to a Dance of Death. 3. It is _by no means improbable_ that Matthew Prior may have alluded to Holbein’s painting at Whitehall, as it is not likely that he would be acquainted with any other.

‘Our term of life depends not on our deed,
Before our birth our funeral was decreed;
Nor aw’d by foresight, nor misled by chance,
Imperious Death directs the ebon lance,
Peoples great Henry’s tombs, and leads up Holbein’s Dance.’

_Prior, Ode to the Memory of George Villiers._”[VI-37]

[Footnote VI-37: Douce’s Dance of Death, pp. 144, 145.]

Mr. Douce having previously _proved_ that Holbein was _not_ the designer of the cuts in the Lyons Dance of Death, thus, in a manner _equally satisfactory_, accounts for the verses of Bourbon, by showing, on the _unexceptionable_ evidence of “a person, calling himself T. Nieuhoff Piccard, _probably_ belonging to the household of William III,” that the great work of Holbein--by the fame of which he had made himself equal with the immortal gods--was painted as large as life, in fresco, on the walls of Whitehall. The ingenuity displayed in depriving Holbein of the honour of the Lyons cuts is no less exemplified in proving him to be the painter of a similar subject in Whitehall. The key-stone is worthy of the arch.

Though the _facts_ and _arguments_ put forth by Mr. Douce, in proof of Holbein having painted a Dance of Death on the walls of the old palace of Whitehall, and of this having been the identical Dance of Death alluded to by Bourbon, might be summarily dismissed as being of that kind which no objection could render more absurd, yet it seems necessary to direct the especial attention of the reader to one or two points; and first to the assertion that “it is next to impossible that the Lyons Dance of Death of 1538 could then have been in Borbonius’s contemplation.” Now, in direct opposition to what is here said, it appears to me highly probable that _this_ was the very work on account of which he addressed his epigram to Holbein; and it is moreover evident that Bourbon expresses in Latin verse almost precisely the same ideas as those which had previously been expressed in French by the writer of the address to Madame Jehanne de Touszele, when speaking of the merits of the nameless artist who is there alluded to as the designer or engraver of the cuts.[VI-38] As Holbein is not certainly known to be the painter or designer of any other Dance of Death which might merit the high praise conveyed in Bourbon’s verses, to what other work of his will they apply? Even supposing, as I do, that the alphabet of the Dance of Death was designed by Holbein, I conceive it “next to impossible,” to use the words of Mr. Douce, that Bourbon should have described Holbein as having attained immortality through the fame of those twenty-four small letters, a perfect set of which I believe is not to be found in any single volume. That Bourbon _did_ know who was the designer of the cuts of the Lyons Dance of Death there can scarcely be the shadow of a doubt; he was at Lyons in the year in which the work was published; he was connected with the printers; and another work, the Icones Historiarum Veteris Testamenti, also published by them in 1538, has at the commencement a copy of verses written by Bourbon, from which alone we learn that Holbein was the designer of the cuts,--the first four of which cuts, be it observed, being from the same blocks as the first four in the Dance of Death, published by the same printers, in the same year. What might be the motives of the printers for not inserting Bourbon’s epigram in praise of Holbein in the subsequent editions of the Dance of Death, supposing him to be the designer of the cuts, I cannot tell, nor will I venture to _guess_. They certainly must have had some reason for concealing the designer’s name, for the writer of the prefatory address to Madame Jehanne de Touszele takes care not to mention it even when speaking in so laudatory a style of the excellence of the designs. Among the other unaccountable things connected with this work, I may mention the fact of the French prefatory address to the abbess of St. Peter’s appearing only in the first, and being omitted in every subsequent edition.

[Footnote VI-38: That the reader may judge for himself of the
similarity of thought in the passages referred to, they are here
given in juxta-position.

“Car ses histoires funebres, avec leurs descriptions severement
rithmées, aux advisans donnent telle admiration, qu’ilz en _jugent
les mortz y apparoistre tresvivement_, et les vifs tresmortement
representer. Qui me faict penser, que la Mort craignant que ce
excellent painctre ne la paignist tant vifve qu’elle ne fut plus
crainte pour Mort, _et que pour cela luy mesme n’en devint
immortel_, que a ceste cause,” &c.--_Epistre des Faces de la
Mort._

“Dum mortis Hansus pictor imaginem exprimit,
Tanta arte mortem retulit, ut mors vivere
Videatur ipsa: et ipse se immortalibus
Parem Diis fecerit, operis hujus gloria.”
_Borbonius._]

With respect to T. Nieuhoff Piccard, whose manuscript addresses to “Mynheer Heymans” and “Lord William Benting” are cited to _prove_ that Bourbon’s verses must relate to a painting of the Dance of Death by Holbein in the old palace of Whitehall, nothing whatever is known; and there is not the slightest reason to believe that a Lord William Benting, born in the old palace of Whitehall, “Lord of Rhoon, Pendraght,” &c. ever existed. I am of opinion that the addresses of the person calling himself T. Nieuhoff Piccard are a clumsy attempt at imposition.[VI-39] Though Mr. Douce had seen both those addresses, and also another of the same kind, he does not appear to have made any attempt to trace their former owners, nor does he mention the names of the parties in whose possession they were at the time that he saw them. He had seen the address to “Lord William Benting” previous to the publication of his observations on the Dance of Death in 1794, when, if he had felt inclined, he might have ascertained from whom the then possessor had received it, and thus obtained a clue to guide him in his inquiries respecting the personal identity of the Lord of Rhoon and Pendraght. But this would not have suited his purpose; for he seems to have been conscious that any inquiry respecting such a person would only have tended to confirm the doubts respecting the paper addressed to him by Piccard. It is also uncertain at what time those pretended addresses were written, but there are impressions of the etchings which accompanied them with the date 1720; and I am inclined to think that if the paper and handwriting were closely examined, it would be found that those pretended presentation addresses were manufactured about the same, or perhaps at a later period. Whoever the person calling himself T. Nieuhoff Piccard may have been, or at whatever time the addresses to Mynheer Heymans and others may have been written, the only evidence of there having been a painting of the Dance by Holbein at Whitehall rests on his unsupported statement. Such a painting is not mentioned by any foreign traveller who had visited this country, nor is it noticed by any English writer prior to 1697; it is not alluded to in any tragedy, comedy, farce, or masque, in which we might expect that such a painting would have been incidentally mentioned had it ever existed. Evelyn, who must have frequently been in the old palace of Whitehall, says not a word of such a painting, though he mentions the Lyons Dance of Death under the title of Mortis Imago, and ascribes the cuts to Holbein;[VI-40] and not the slightest notice of it is to be found in Vertue or Walpole.

[Footnote VI-39: Hegner, in his Life of Holbein, speaking of the
Nieuhoff discovery, says: “Of this fable no notice would have been
taken here had not Mr. Douce ascribed undeserved authority to it,
and had not his superficial investigations found undeserved credit
with English and other compilers.” Hans Holbein der Jüngere,
S. 338.

Mr. Douce, at page 240 of his Dance of Death, complains of
Hegner’s want of urbanity and politeness; and in return calls his
account of Holbein’s works _superficial_, and moreover says that
“his arguments, if worthy of the name, are, generally speaking, of
a most weak and flimsy texture.” He also gives him a sharp rebuff
by alluding to him as the “above _gentleman_,” the last word, to
give it point, being printed in Italics. Mr. Douce, when he was
thus pelting Hegner, does not seem to have been aware that his own
anti-Holbenian superstructure was a house of glass.

“Cedimus, inque vicem dedimus crura sagittis.”]