Original subtitles

Hans Holbein has claims to be the greatest portrait painter who ever wielded a brush,

a central figure in the spread of the Renaissance in Northern Europe,

whose deftness and pinpoint accuracy captured the spirit and the faces of his age,

an artist whose roots were continental, but who became the father of English painting.

Hans Holbein the Younger was born in Germany in the imperial capital of Augsburg in 1498.

He came from an artistic family.

His father, Hans Holbein the Elder, was one of the leading artists of his generation in southern Germany,

and his elder brother, Ambrosius, was already shown a precocious talent for drawing.

So, as soon as the two boys could be made use of, they joined their father's workshop.

But Augsburg was a lot more limited artistically.

But further afield, particularly along the Rhine to the south, things looked a lot more promising.

And so, in 1515, Hans, together with his older brother,

came here to the city that he effectively put on the European artistic map, Basel.

Basel was an attractive place for a young artist on the make, a thriving commercial city on the Rhine.

It boasted a newly established university and a flourishing collection of printing presses.

Books, pamphlets and title pages all need illustration, which Holbein was eager to supply.

He was quickly accepted into Basel's intellectual circles, led by the humanist scholar Desiderius Erasmus.

And it was a version of Erasmus' In Praise of Folly, which gave the young artist an opportunity to show his skills,

with a commission to provide illustrations in the margin of the celebrated satirical text which analysed human behaviour and weakness.

When he was 18, Holbein got his first illustrious portrait commission to do a picture of the newly elected mayor of Basel,

Jakob Meyer von Haasen, and his wife Dorothea.

Now this is a very inventive picture.

For a start, it's official, he's just been elected mayor, but the two figures are dressed relatively informally.

But also, it's a double portrait that has two distinct images who are separated,

and yet they're bound together by the same architectural detail in the background

and a consistent light source that casts a shadow in here from the right,

that casts shadows on the architectural detail there and there.

So what we have is two figures who are unified, but at the same time their own individuality is proclaimed.

With Holbein, even from this stage, the detailing is extraordinary.

And you look at the rings, numerous rings, on the mayor's fingers.

It looks like a knuckle duster to our eyes, but actually it's a sign of his own prosperity.

He's a financier, he clutches a coin as a symbol of that,

but also symbolising the fact that Basel has just been given permission to mint coins.

He also points towards his wife in a gesture of love.

In a way, it's a rather unglamorous portrait.

The background and the detailing is lavish,

but these two figures are certainly not made to look particularly attractive.

It's as if Holbein is painting them as they are or as they were.

But Holbein's also making his own mark, and for the first time, he signs his work,

his initials, HH and the date, 1516,

in a shield or a scroll surrounded by acanthus leaves,

as if he's throwing off the shackles of his apprenticeship

and emerging for the first time as a fully-fledged artist.

And in fact, from this moment on, his career takes off.

He gets a commission from the mayor to decorate the Basel council chamber,

which is subsequently destroyed.

But from then on in, other portrait commissions also roll in.

Including this one, of Bonifacius Ammerbach,

a professor of law at Basel University.

This was an important commission for Holbein,

for not only was Ammerbach a close friend of Erasmus,

but he became an important collector of Holbein's works.

Here it's clear that his approach was evolving.

A rare square format, with a landscape adding depth to the image,

and the painting containing an inscribed panel,

proclaiming its own merits.

It reads,

Holbein's growing confidence stemmed in part

from his growing acceptance in Basel,

where he was made a master of the Guild of Painters.

He was also granted citizenship two years later,

after his marriage to a local woman, Elspeth Schmidt,

with whom he would have four children.

Holbein also began to turn his attention to religious images,

both for public and private devotion.

This altarpiece, showing eight episodes of Christ's passion,

was begun by Holbein in 1524,

some seven years after an Augustinian monk and scholar

called Martin Luther had nailed his 95 theses

to the door of the castle church in Wittenberg,

railing against the sale of indulgences,

or pardons from sin, by the Catholic church,

and triggering a movement which began with the proposed reform of the papacy

and ended up splitting the church,

otherwise known as the Protestant Reformation,

whose impact throughout Europe was huge.

One of the most eloquent examples of painting inspired by the ideas of the Reformation,

as well as being one of the most powerful works in the entire history of religious art,

is this one, Holbein's image of the dead Christ, painted in 1521.

What he does is a paradox,

because in a way he's trying to affirm the idea of the Bible and Christ's life

as a living force by painting it as graphically as possible,

but through showing an image of Christ at his lowest ebb,

when he's died and his flesh is beginning to rot and decay.

There's all sorts of speculation about the fact that Holbein might have had a body

that he found in the Rhine, put in his studio and used directly as a model for this work.

But whether that's true or not,

dead bodies were much more in evidence in late medieval or early modern Europe,

and unlike our world, theirs was not sanitised from the idea and the image of death.

What we see is something that's very curious

and had art historians speculating for the last few centuries.

Is this a commission? Is it the bottom part of an altarpiece?

Well, there's no evidence to suggest that it is.

And in the end, no records prove that the work was commissioned at all.

And what we're left now is the thought that this may be a personal image

of private devotion by Holbein.

It's a painting that almost smells as you get close up to it,

such as its power as a trigger for the imagination.

Look at the eyes, how the sockets have become rigid.

Rigor mortis is setting in.

And what Holbein, I think, is trying to say, and I think achieves,

is by showing Christ in this putrefied form,

Christ, remember, is the Word made flesh.

He's also emphasising the miracle of the resurrection.

He's showing Christ as no artist has done before at his lowest ebb.

And in a way, it's an affirmation of Holbein's own personal faith.

It's also a work which establishes him as one of the great talents of 16th-century European painting.

Of all Holbein's patrons in Basel during his early years,

by far and away the most important for his subsequent career was Erasmus,

one of the most celebrated scholars of the time.

Erasmus's studies in Latin and Greek

enabled him to translate the New Testament,

which was eventually published in Basel in 1516,

where he first came into contact with Holbein,

whose intense scrutiny of his subjects

seemed to strike a chord with the equally thorough scholar,

who commissioned Holbein to produce half a dozen or so portraits of him

over the next decade or so.

I love these portraits that Holbein does of Erasmus.

They have a detachment in their scrutiny and in their intense observation,

but they're also so intimate.

And it's as if Holbein, and by extension us, the viewer,

has somehow crept into Erasmus's study

and is peeking over the shoulder of the great scholar

as he's wrapped up in his fur-lined cloak to keep the draughts away.

And we're watching as he writes his commentary to St Mark's Gospel

that we can read there, but we've caught him unawares.

And in a way, there's a parallel between what the young artist is trying to do

and what his intellectual mentor is doing.

As Erasmus scrolls away, so Holbein has his intense control,

and in a way, he's trying to produce some kind of parallel in a visual form

to what Erasmus is doing in intellectual and written form.

But the intellectual and religious turmoil in Middle Europe

had certain negative spin-offs for artists,

not least because religious commissions were suddenly frowned upon.

And in addition, Holbein's portrait business here in Basel had all but dried up.

So, he looked further afield, starting in 1524 by a trip to France

where he tried to get work at the court of Francis I, but that was unsuccessful.

And then, two years later, probably with a recommendation from Erasmus himself,

he set sail for Tudor England to try and get work at the court of Henry VIII.

And it was during the early part of Henry VIII's reign that the Renaissance was established in England.

Architects, craftsmen, sculptors, painters and poets

were all encouraged to make the journey across the Channel

so that the king and his ministers might harness their talents

to proclaim the power and sophistication of the Tudor monarchy.

It was Erasmus's links with England that provided Holbein with his first introduction to the English court.

Chief amongst Erasmus's friends, on the first port of call for Holbein,

was Thomas More, a fellow scholar and soon to become Lord Chancellor of England.

More welcomed Holbein to his Chelsea home

and commissioned him to paint a number of portraits of his household.

Most of these no longer survive,

but we have this delicate study for an elaborate family portrait.

What does survive, however,

is one of Holbein's most direct and precise portraits,

that of Sir Thomas More himself, painted in 1527.

More stares off into space,

a man whose thoughts were on this world and the next,

wearing the rich gold chain of a privy counsellor.

What really grabs the viewer's attention, though,

and perhaps makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck,

are the hairs on More's chin

and the extraordinary detail rendered through hundreds,

maybe thousands, of tiny brushstrokes,

which creates an image that seems almost photographic.

In spite of his success here in England,

Holbein had to return to Basel in 1528

because he was in danger of losing his citizenship.

And, over the next few years,

in both Switzerland and then again here in England,

he was to witness the full onslaught of the Reformation

and its political consequences.

During Holbein's absence,

the Reformation had begun to take serious root here in Basel,

and the implications were political as well as religious,

with a small Catholic oligarchy being threatened

by a Protestant democracy.

But things turned ugly at the beginning of 1529,

on Trove Tuesday,

when the whole city was supposed to be celebrating.

And suddenly, an angry mob came up the hill here to the cathedral,

broke in, tore down statues,

smashed stained-glass windows

and triggered off a wave of iconoclasm throughout the city.

It's difficult to know

what Holbein's religious views were at the time.

He was born and brought up a Catholic,

and he'd painted many religious works

for Catholic patrons and churches.

It's almost certain that many of Holbein's works

were destroyed in the rioting,

as very few still survive.

But what he did out of economic necessity

and what he did from conviction

will never fully know.

There's a clue, though,

to his developing religious inclinations

during the turbulent decade of the 20s

in this woodcut,

Christ as the true light,

which shows Christ pointing to a candle

which illuminates the entire image

and shows the way to the poor

and the ordinary on the left,

whilst to the right,

the Pope and other church dignitaries

follow Plato and Aristotle,

the philosophers of the ancient classical pagan world,

into the abyss,

an image of clear and strong Protestant sentiment,

challenging the authority of the Catholic church

and its arcane teachings.

During his time back in Basel,

Holbein found time to paint a portrait

that wasn't a commission,

and in fact, for many,

was the most intimate work of his life.

It shows his wife, Elspeth,

and two of his four children,

Philip, who's about six,

and Katharina, who's two.

In fact, Elspeth is pregnant

with the third child when this was made.

And it's a very curious work,

not least because the background seems so bleak.

It's black,

it enhances the figures,

it makes them stand out in relief,

and it also emphasises the fact

that the composition

mirrors the traditional image

of the mother and child,

or in fact, Leonardo's image

of St Anne and Madonna and child.

But in fact,

there's something more practical here,

or impractical,

because somewhere down the line,

after Holbein finished this work,

and he did the portraits on paper,

they've been cut out

and then mounted on a panel,

and so this isn't quite

how they're intended to be seen.

But it's a very, very sad work.

His son looks up,

I think, more in hope

than in expectation,

and the daughter,

the young Katharina,

doesn't seem to know

the figure that's painting her.

But look at the face of the wife.

She's red-eyed.

Her face looks slightly puffy,

and it's almost as if

she knows that the whole

Holbein is not going to be around

for much longer,

and in fact, he isn't.

He can't find work in Basel,

and so in the end,

in 1532,

he goes back to England

and never returns,

leaving the family,

effectively,

to fend for themselves.

But the England of 1532

was dramatically different

from the country

that Holbein had left in 1528.

In fact,

it was on the edge of revolution,

with Henry VIII

in the middle of trying

to secure a divorce

from Catherine of Aragon.

The divorce scandalised Europe,

and led to a split

with the papacy,

with Henry VIII

proclaiming himself

head of the church in England.

Holbein's patron,

Sir Thomas More,

opposed the divorce,

resigned,

and was eventually executed,

but it doesn't seem

to have had a detrimental effect

on the painter's prospects,

because very soon,

he was moving in the circle

surrounding the future queen,

Anne Boleyn,

including More's rival,

and later Chancellor

of the Exchequer,

Thomas Cromwell.

Cromwell became the architect

of the English Reformation,

supporting the break with Rome

and cementing it

through the dissolution

of the monasteries.

He was depicted

in both oil paint

and even more tellingly

in this preparatory drawing

by Holbein

as a man of ruthless,

single-minded ambition.

And in the midst

of all these troubles,

and directly connected to them,

Holbein is commissioned

to paint what becomes

his most celebrated,

famous,

and complex work.

This one,

The Ambassadors,

painted in 1533,

showing two men,

a rare example,

a very early example

in European art,

of a double,

full-length portrait.

Jean de Dantville,

he's the ambassador

from the French court

in London,

and Georges de Sèvres,

he's the bishop of Laveur,

who comes over

because his friend Jean

is having problems

negotiating with Henry VIII

on behalf of the King of France

because Henry

is antagonistically involved

in an argument

with the Pope.

Now, Jean de Dantville

commissions the portrait

and that might explain

why he seems to be

the most prominent figure.

He dominates,

certainly in terms

of surface area.

As always with Holbein,

the details give us

a much greater sense

of knowledge

of these two men

and their world.

George leans on a book

that gives us his age,

25.

And then we realise

that in the centre

of the picture

between the two men

is a celebration

of the Renaissance world

and scholarship

that the two of them practise.

So starting at the top,

Holbein gives us

a celestial globe

of the stars

and the heavens

and also recently invented

navigational tools.

And then down below,

there's a terrestrial globe

with France clearly visible.

Then there's an odd textbook.

Next to it

is a hymn book open

on the page of a hymn

written by Martin Luther

of all people.

And then some musical instruments,

a lute

and a collection of flutes.

So what do we make

of all this?

Well, certain scholars

have put forward the view

and it seems perfectly

credible to me

that this mathematical book

is about the process

of division

and that Luther himself

as well as being a reformer

is also a divider

of the church

and that the lute

with its broken string

is a symbol of frailty

but also it means

that the hymn

can't be fully realised.

And so what is happening here

is that there's a comment

by Holbein

on the religious situation

specifically in England

and also more broadly

in Europe.

But I think the key

to these paintings

are in two details

that are not here

in the centre

but they're found

first of all

in the top left-hand corner

which is the crucifix

which is barely in view

but it's making

its presence felt.

But secondly

and much more curious

is this form here

in the foreground

that you can only see

when you start

to walk

and look

from another perspective.

And then you see

clearly

from this angle

that it's a skull

through a process

known as animalphosis

or stretching

or distorting the image.

And it's clear

that there's this great symbol

thrust across the surface

of the painting

that is a memento mori

a reminder of death

and the frailty

of human life.

And I think the broader point

is being made

by Holbein here

that in fact

conflict obscures the truth.

The truth is up there

in the top left-hand corner

of the painting

for Holbein.

Christ himself

crucified on the cross.

That's the redemptive

hope for mankind.

But I think also

Holbein is making

an even more interesting point

with this work

and it's to do

with the whole process

of painting

what Holbein

has devoted his life to.

Because no one

in European art

up to this point

has scrutinized

the natural world

as closely as Holbein

and rendered it

with such extraordinary care

and attention

and detail.

And what he's managing

to show us

in this painting

is that you can have

scholarship

you can have diplomacy

you can have an expanded

new culture of learning

but that you will never

grasp the bigger picture

you'll never understand

the world totally

from one fixed viewpoint

and that you have to

see the world

from a number

of different perspectives

and that I think

is a very profound point.

Within three years

of painting the Ambassadors

Holbein got the position

he really wanted

painter to the king

and began a series

of portraits

that have defined

how that most familiar

of English monarchs

has been seen

down the ages.

This is the quintessential image

of an overbearing

and tyrannical monarch.

Holbein depicts the king

seemingly at face value

emphasising the small

humourless eyes and mouth

the curiously flat cheeks

and chin

but his authority

is clear

formidable even

amplified by opulent

jewellery depicted

in real gold leaf

and helping to create

a domineering presence

even though the work

itself is small.

Consequently

Henry approved

of the painting

as did Thomas Cromwell

who was cleverly

encouraging the use

of the painter

to promote the power

of the monarch.

An idea which was reinforced

when Holbein was commissioned

to paint a group portrait

of the Tudor dynasty

for Henry's Whitehall Palace.

The picture

subsequently destroyed

in the palace fire

of 1698

showed Henry

and his now third wife

Jane Seymour

together with his parents

Elizabeth of York

and Henry VII.

The image

of the two Henrys

which survive

in this preparatory drawing

affirms the idea

of dynastic progression

and increasing power

from lean father

to vast son.

But the queen

Jane Seymour

was to die

giving birth

to Henry's

long-awaited heir

but the king

didn't spend

much time mourning.

Together with the assistance

of his chancellor

Cromwell

he decided

to try and find

a new wife

preferably one

who would combine

political advantage

with the physical beauty

that Henry sought

and so Holbein

was dispatched

to Europe

to paint suitable

candidates

from which Henry

could then make

his matrimonial choice.

Holbein's first port of call

is to Brussels

to paint this young woman

Christina of Denmark

the Duchess of Milan.

Now she's the younger daughter

of the king of Denmark

who's a Lutheran

and who's been deposed.

She's also married

to the duke of Milan

but is a widow

by the age of 12.

Four years later

when she's 16

she's ready

to sit for this portrait

because

the king of England

wants to marry her.

Now Holbein gets

three hours with her

in the date in March

and he sketches

her face

and her hands

and makes intricate studies

which is reflected

in the finished oil

and when Henry

sees the results

rumour has it

that he falls in love.

Certainly

he wants to marry her.

He sees

if not a ravishing beauty

someone who's young

and will give him

more airs

perhaps a healthy air.

But politically

there are machinations.

She's very well connected.

She's also

the niece

of the emperor

Charles V

who doesn't want

the wedding

doesn't take place.

Her response

though is a bit

more diplomatic.

She says

if I had two heads

I'd happily place one

at the disposal

of the king of England.

Henry finally settled

on marrying

Anne of Cleves

but Holbein

was placed

in an impossible position.

He was dispatched

to the Rhineland

with orders

to produce

an instant likeness

of Henry's

next intended

but he needed

to exercise

diplomacy and tact.

Anne's dress

seems to have

fascinated Holbein

more than the strangely

lifeless symmetry

of her features

and Henry's displeasure

at finding Anne of Cleves

more as he put it

like a flat Flanders mare

when she arrived

for the marriage ceremony

in January 1540

cost Holbein

dear in prestige.

In fact

he received

no further significant work

from Henry.

Three years later

having completed

his last portrait

that of himself

Holbein fell seriously ill

and died

probably the victim

of the plague

which had spread

through London

in 1543.

He was 45 years old.

Holbein's influence

on British painting

is enormous.

He made the human

individual

seem more real

and more exposed

than any artist

before him

and is the father

of a tradition

of portraiture

which continues

to this day.

But he also created

images of a king

and his court

which has lived on

in the popular imagination

bringing to life

one of the most

dramatic periods

in English history.

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