1833. The “Dance” has also been rendered in photo-lithography for an

edition issued by H. Noel Humphreys in 1868, and for the Holbein Society in 1879. In 1886 Dr. F. Lippmann edited for Mr. Quaritch a set of reproductions of the engraver’s proofs in the Berlin Museum; and the _editio princeps_ has been facsimiled by one of the modern processes for Hirth of Munich, as vol. x. of the Liebhaber-Bibliothek, 1884.[481] [Sidenote: BEAUTY AND DRAMATIC FORCE] These woodcuts are among the finest manifestations of Holbein’s art. Small as they are, they have a largeness of design, a dramatic force and fertility of invention, and a brilliance of draughtsmanship which place them not only among the greatest achievements of the artist, but of the century in which he worked. Each little picture tells its tale and points its moral with the utmost clearness, and the interest never flags throughout the series, although each one is merely a variation on a single theme. Detail there is in plenty, but it does not confuse the main action of the play, but rather helps to make the meaning which underlies it still clearer. There is nowhere a line too much or too little. The space to be filled is so small that these details are minute, yet Holbein’s line is so broad, and his hand so unerring, that nothing is confused or meaningless. The spacing of each cut is masterly, so that they produce the effect of a great design set forth on some spacious canvas. Few as the touches of the pencil may be, they are sufficient to give each small figure its own individual appearance and character, as though it were an actual portrait studied from the life, while the action is natural and unexaggerated, and well expresses the particular emotion called forth in each separate case by the sudden and unexpected appearance of Death. Death is represented throughout the series as a skeleton, occasionally with scanty, tattered garments, and wearing the most characteristic portions of the dress of the particular mortal he is about to snatch from the world of the living. Thus, in the woodcut of the Pope, Death wears a cardinal’s hat; in the Abbot he has a mitre on his head, and carries a crosier across his shoulder; and in the Knight he is dressed in chain mail. In two of the pictures, the Empress and the Nun, Death is represented as a woman, and in several there are two skeletons who seize or attend the victim. In his representation of them Holbein displays little anatomical knowledge, but in spite of this the dead bones live, and in their movements, their expression, and their suggestion of the grim horror of death, produce an effect of vivid reality, which could not be bettered even though he had thought fit to give them greater scientific accuracy. In almost every case Death greets his prey with a mocking, ironical grin, and in most instances, too, he comes quietly, his presence unnoticed by those about to fall into his clutches; and with natural, unexaggerated movements and actions he assumes the principal part in the drama. In a few instances, however, he makes known his presence in a more aggressive manner, and seizes his victims with such violence that they cry aloud in terror or rage, and struggle to break away from his merciless grip. The victims whom he treats in this fashion are those who have themselves led violent lives. His action, in short, is always appropriate to the character and worldly position of those whose days he is about to cut short. He comes always as a mocker, and the prevailing note of the whole series is one of irony. The first four cuts form, as it were, a preface to the actual “Dance of Death” which follows. The first of all represents the Creation. The Almighty bends over Adam, who lies asleep on a small island amid the waters, and draws Eve from his side. Then comes one of Adam and Eve in Paradise. The serpent, with human head, is twined round the branches of the tree, beneath which Adam is reaching up to pluck the fruit, while Eve is seated below, leaning against a rock. All around them, as in the first sheet, are animals—a stag, a sheep, a goat, a dog, a monkey, a rabbit, a hedgehog, a lizard, and so on—while in the branches of the beautifully drawn tree are a number of birds. The third cut represents the Expulsion from Paradise, with the angel with the flaming sword flying in a cloud over the heads of the guilty couple. In this cut Death makes his first appearance. Playing upon his viol, he leads the way, dancing as he goes. This is one of the few instances throughout the set in which Holbein has so represented Death; in most of the illustrations he does not follow at all closely the earlier wall-paintings, in which the living and the dead are shown dancing together. In the next scene Adam is at work clearing the rough ground, with Death at his side helping him to uproot a tree, and Eve seated, half naked, in the background, suckling her child, her distaff held across one arm. This is followed by a design headed in the proof impressions “Gebeyn aller Menschen” (Bones of all Men), a crowd of skeletons in front of a charnel-house, with drums, trumpets, and other musical instruments, as though forming the orchestra which is to provide the music for the play which is about to follow. Some wear fantastic head-dresses, and their winding-sheets still hang around them in tatters. [Sidenote: THE EMPEROR, AND OTHERS] The Dance opens with the Pope upon his throne, whom Death seizes as he is about to place the crown upon the head of a king who kneels to kiss his foot. Round him stand high dignitaries of the Church, among whom is a second figure of Death, a mocking figure, wearing a cardinal’s hat surmounted with a cross, and holding another cross aloft. In the curtain over the throne lurks a small devil or demon, and a second, holding a bull with five seals, flies over the heads of the ecclesiastics. In this the satire is so bold that it was altered in some of the later editions of the book. The Emperor (Pl. 66 (1)), too, sits on his throne, underneath a baldachin supported by Renaissance pillars, the Golden Fleece across his shoulders, the sword of justice in his hand, and the orb on a cushion at his feet. He is surrounded by his counsellors, and on the right a poor man kneels demanding justice. The Emperor, who bears a recognisable likeness to Maximilian, turns from him with frowning face towards the rich oppressor, who attempts, with little success, to excuse himself. Death has sprung upon the throne behind the monarch, and is about to tear the imperial crown from his head. On the ground is the hour-glass, with the sand almost run out, which is introduced into nearly all the pictures. The King (Pl. 66 (2)), who sits at table within an open loggia, is evidently intended to represent Francis I. The face, small as it is, has a strong resemblance to his portraits, and the curtain behind his chair is patterned with the lilies of France. The table is crowded with dishes, among which stands the hour-glass. Death mingles with the serving-men, and pours wine from a jug into a bowl for the King to drink. Between the pillars of the room can be seen the houses of the city. The Cardinal (Pl. 66 (3)), a distinguished figure, sits among the vine-trees, and, just as he presents a letter of indulgence to a kneeling man, Death, a grisly figure with long wisps of hair hanging from skull and chin, tears his hat from his head. Next comes the Empress (Pl. 66 (4)), walking in the garden in front of her palace, with her ladies of honour around her, one of whom bears her train. Death, disguised as one of her women attendants, leads her by the arm to the brink of an open grave, of which she and those with her are quite unconscious. She is followed by the Queen, whom Death, in the motley of a court jester, seizes by one hand, and drags away, while in the other he holds his hour-glass aloft. She shrieks aloud in terror, while the cavalier who accompanies her attempts to set her free, and her maid-of-honour flings up her arms in despair. The scene takes place in front of a Renaissance loggia, with open country and a village in the distance. The woodcut of the Bishop is one of the most beautiful of the designs. Death takes the arm of the aged prelate and gently leads him away. It illustrates the text: “I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad.” Behind the two chief actors the sheep and their distracted shepherds are seen wandering in all directions. The background is a very picturesque landscape with high mountains, on one of which rises a castle, and the western sun, filling the sky with light, is just sinking behind their crests. Next comes the Duke with his retinue, of whom a poor woman with her child begs alms, and as he turns his head away in refusal, Death, crowned with a wreath of vine-leaves, reaches forward as though to pluck his ermine cape from his shoulders. Underneath a tree, in the branches of which is placed the hour-glass, the same grim skeleton, with mitre on head and crozier on shoulder, seizes the fat Abbot by the robes, and pulls him after him, his victim vainly protesting, and striving to hurl his breviary at his attacker’s head. In similar fashion he drags along the Abbess by her scapulary from the convent gateway with its little belfry. She cries aloud in her terror, clutching her beads in her clasped and trembling hands, while the porteress joins in her lamentations, raising her arms to heaven. The Nobleman shows less fear when his time comes. He flourishes his long sword over his head, and attempts at the same time to push away Death, who drags him towards a bier on the ground with the hour-glass resting upon it. In striking contrast to the violence of this scene is the following one of the Canon or Prebendary, who is entering a church, attended by his falconer, his jester, and his page. Death, wearing a hood, walks quietly by his side, holding his hour-glass in front of him, as though to show the worldly churchman, whose face is not visible, that the sands have nearly run out. The unjust Judge stretches out his hand to receive a bribe from the rich man, while the poor petitioner on the other side is ignored; but Death, unnoticed, stands on a ledge behind his chair and breaks in two the Judge’s staff. The next picture harps upon the same theme. The Advocate (Pl. 66 (5)) is receiving his fee from a wealthy citizen whom he has helped in despoiling a poor man, who stands with clasped hands in the background. Death thrusts himself between them, hour-glass held aloft, and drops into the Advocate’s open hand a few gold coins. The action takes place in a street of gabled houses and cobbled pavements, a transcript of a corner of Basel of Holbein’s own day. The Counsellor (Pl. 66 (6)), in his furred gown and cap, is also shown in the street, deep in consultation with a nobleman, and oblivious to the entreaties of a man clad in rags, who, hat in hand, touches him on the shoulder to attract his attention. Perched upon the Advocate’s back, a little winged devil with curly tail blows into his ear with a small pair of bellows; while Death, as a sexton, lies at his feet, with spade and hour-glass, ready to trip him up. VOL. I., PLATE 66. [Illustration: THE DANCE OF DEATH WOODCUTS