The German Steelyard in London, and Holbein’s connection with its members—Portraits of Georg Gisze—Hans of Antwerp—The Wedighs—Derich Born—Derich Tybis—Cyriacus Fallen—Derich Berck—“The Triumph of Riches”—“The Triumph of Poverty”—Triumphal arch designed by Holbein for the Steelyard on the occasion of Queen Anne Boleyn’s coronation.

THERE is no record to show in what part of London Holbein took up his residence upon his return to England. Possibly he may have settled in the house in the parish of St. Andrew Undershaft, in Aldgate Ward, in which he was residing in 1541; or there may be some truth in the tradition recorded by Walpole[1] that he lived for a time in a house on London Bridge, in close proximity to the Steelyard, where he was much occupied in painting various members of that colony of German merchants for the next year or two. There is nothing to indicate that he returned to Chelsea, for the purpose of finishing the More family picture, or that he received further commissions from Sir Thomas and his immediate circle of friends. During Holbein’s absence in Basel More had been made Lord Chancellor, but had resigned that office on May 16th, 1532, which was about the time of Holbein’s return to London. More, a generous man, had not amassed wealth in the public service, and on relinquishing office and the salary it carried with it, retired into private life on a modest income, not sufficient to permit a lavish patronage of art. Two other members of the More circle, and good friends to Holbein, Sir Henry Guldeford, and Archbishop Warham, died in the same year, the former in May and the latter in August, and thus the painter lost two other patrons immediately after his return. A certain John Wolf was the painter employed to provide the escutcheons, banners, and other decorations for Guldeford’s funeral.[2]

Whether Holbein’s appearance amid entirely new surroundings was due to these events is doubtful. It is natural to suppose that he would turn instinctively towards a society of fellow-countrymen, speaking the same language, and of similar habits and modes of thought, with whom he would feel most at home, men of comfortable fortunes, well able to afford the luxury of sitting for their portraits, and with the means also of finding him other remunerative work.

These merchants of the Hanseatic League in London formed a rich corporation of considerable numerical strength, whose beginnings went back to the very early days of English history. Some of its most valuable privileges and trading monopolies were granted it by Richard I and Edward III, in return for moneys lent, monopolies which hampered English trade for centuries afterwards. This colony had always occupied a part of the river bank above London Bridge, on the site of what is now the South-Eastern Railway Station in Cannon Street.[3] Their buildings were surrounded by a turreted wall, which stretched from the river northward to Thames Street, and from Allhallows Street on the east to Cosin (Cousins) Lane on the west, their property extending towards Dowgate. Entrance in the principal front in Thames Street was by three fortified gateways, above which the Imperial double-eagle floated, and within stood their old stone Guildhall, with a pleasant garden planted on one side with fruit trees and vines after the fashion of their fatherland, and, to the west of the main gate, vaults where Rhenish wine and other foreign delicacies were sold, a favourite place of resort for English citizens as well as foreigners. It has been generally supposed that its name, the Steelyard, or Stahlhof, arose from the great weighing-machine or steelyard which stood within its entrance.[4] The Guildhall and Council Chamber were situated in the western corner on Thames Street, and several passages, including Windgoose Alley, ran from that street to the river, giving access to the shops and small houses, the latter usually consisting of a bedroom and sitting-room for the merchant, and, at the back, stores and apartments for clerks and workmen. The corporation was a close one, and the rules by which its members were bound were as strict as those of a monastery. Within its precincts women were strictly forbidden; all married members had to live outside the walls, nor were guests allowed to lodge there unless also of the Hanseatic community. Each night at nine the gates were shut, and the Steelyard was then like a small walled German town in the midst of London. The breaking of its laws, or the practice of any bad habits, was followed by severe punishment. Its members, too, were obliged to take their share in the wider civic life of London. The Steelyard was represented by an Alderman and a Deputy, and, among other duties, each merchant had his allotted post in case of war, and was obliged to keep the necessary arms ready for the defence of the city.

Their privileges were so great that they had always been unpopular, and this dislike grew in strength until the reign of Henry VIII, when the first attempts were made to break up their monopolies, which ended, some sixty years later, in their complete overthrow. When Holbein first came among them, however, they still occupied the foremost place in the commercial life of London, and were an exceedingly rich and prosperous community. They served the King and Court in more ways than one, for they were constantly made use of for the despatch of letters abroad and for the translation of communications received from foreign countries. They made arrangements with their agents in Europe for the payment of the diets and other expenses of Henry’s ambassadors and special messengers, and much confidential continental news was received through their business houses. Books, prints, and various rare and artistic objects were also forwarded to them for delivery to the English court. Thomas Cromwell, in particular, made much use of them in the sending and receiving of foreign correspondence. They also entertained all important visitors, artists, craftsmen, and others of their own countrymen who visited England.

Holbein, however, does not appear to have come into contact with them during his first visit to England; no portrait, at least, of a Steelyard merchant of that date has survived, though he painted Niklaus Kratzer, who must have known many of them intimately. Possibly his introduction to them in 1532 was due to his friendship with the German astronomer. In any case, between 1532 and 1536, he painted a considerable number of them, chiefly small half-length portraits, in which the sitter is shown in his own room or office, dressed in sober black, with the accessories of his work scattered round him, and with letters in front of him containing his name and his address at the Steelyard. These portraits were most probably painted for presentation by the sitters to the League of which they were leading members, to be hung on the walls of the Council Chamber of their Guildhall, rather than for the purpose of sending them to family relations abroad. This would account for the presence of several of them in England to-day, for when the Guild was finally broken up in 1598 and much of its property scattered far and wide, some of the portraits remained in this country while others found their way abroad.

The portrait of Georg Gisze, now in the Berlin Museum (No. 586) (Pl. 1),[5] was one of the first, if not the first, of these likenesses of Steelyard merchants to be painted by Holbein. This portrait is not only the most elaborate work of the whole series, but the sitter was also one of the most important members of the League then in London. His name is spelt in more than one way on the picture itself, and other versions of it are to be found in the English State Papers. In the letter from his brother, which he holds in his hand, he is addressed, according to the Berlin Catalogue, as Jerg Gisze. The full address is “Dem erszamen Jergen Gisze to lunden in engelant mynen broder to handen.” Below the motto on the wall, beneath the shelf on the left—“Nulla sine merore voluptas”—in the sitter’s own handwriting, is the signature G. Gisze or Gyze. It has been read both ways, for the second letter may be taken either as an i followed by a long s, or, as two connected strokes representing the letter y. On other letters from foreign correspondents, tucked behind the wall-rails on the right, his name is also spelt Gisse and Ghisse, while in the distich inscribed on a cartellino fastened to the wall over his head it appears in its Latinised form of Gysen. This distich, which also contains the date and the sitter’s age, runs as follows:—

In days when spelling was largely phonetic it is not surprising to find proper names spelt in a variety of ways, and the Hanse merchants, in particular, received letters from correspondents in all parts of the world, speaking a variety of languages and dialects. According to the Berlin Catalogue, Georg Gisze was born on 2nd April 1497, so that he was of Holbein’s own age, and died in February 1562, and was a member of a leading Danzig family. Woltmann regarded him as a Swiss, and states that there was a family called Gysin settled in the neighbourhood of Basel, and that the name is still to be seen on numerous sign-boards in the adjacent small town of Liestall.[6] Miss Hervey, on the other hand, suggests that, however the name may be spelt, it was probably a variation of that of Gueiss, which was one of the most distinguished in the annals of the Steelyard.[7] The family belonged to Cologne, and Albert von Gueiss was a representative of the Steelyard at the Conference held at Bruges in 1520. In at least one entry in the Steelyard records this name is spelt Gisse. She suggests, therefore, that Georg Gisze may have been a younger brother or a son of this Albert von Gueiss. In his book on Holbein’s “Ambassadors” picture, Mr. W. F. Dickes, who, in his anxiety to prove that Holbein was not in England in 1532, conveniently ignores the evidence of the letter which Gisze holds in his hand, addressed to him “in London,” conclusive proof that the portrait was produced in this country, is of opinion that it was painted in Basel.[8] Little is known of its history since it left the walls of the Guildhall in Thames Street. It was in the Orleans Collection in 1727, and was purchased at the sale of that collection by Christian von Mechel.[9] Various attempts to induce the Basel Library to buy it proved unavailing. It was afterwards for a time in Basel, and in 1821 was added to the Solly Collection, passing later into the Berlin Gallery.

The first time the name of Georg Gisze occurs in the English State Papers is in 1522,[10] when he was twenty-four years of age. The paper is an English translation of a protection, dated Lyon, 26 June 1522, granted by Francis I to Gerrard van Werden, George Hasse, Henry Melman, Geo. Gyse, Geo. Strowse, Elard Smetyng, Hans Colynbrowgh, and Perpoynt Deovanter, merchants of the Hanse, during the war between him, the Emperor, and England. They are forbidden to deal in wheat, salt, “ollrons,” harness, and weapons of war. Deovanter appears to have been one of the leading merchants. At this period he went as a representative of the Steelyard on several missions to Francis for the purpose of the recovery of goods taken from their ships by the Captain of Boulogne. During his absence he gave power of attorney in a suit of his against George Byrom, of Salford, to several friends and fellow-merchants, among them “George Guyse,” and, it is interesting to note, “Th. Crumwell, of London, gent.”[11]

The next reference to Gisze is at Michaelmas, 1533, in a letter from Thomas Houth to the Earl of Kildare in Ireland,[12] respecting the death of a certain John Wolff, in which, speaking of some bills, he says,—“I ascertained at the Steelyard that the handwriting was his, by the evidence of Geo. Gyes, the alderman’s deputy, and others.” This letter proves that Gisze held an important position in the Steelyard, as Deputy to the Alderman, who was probably Barthold Beckman, of Hamburg.[13] Possibly his appointment to this position occasioned the painting of his portrait.

The portrait is life-size, and half-length, the sitter being turned to the right, the face towards the spectator, and the eyes turned slightly to the left. He is wearing a flat black cap over his fair hair, which is cut straight across the forehead and covers the ears; and a dress of rose-coloured silk with a sleeveless overcoat of black, and a fine white linen shirt. He is seated behind a table covered with a cloth of Eastern design, and is in the act of opening his brother’s letter. By him, on the table, stands a tall vase of Venetian glass with twisted handles, filled with carnations, and scattered in front of him are various objects used in his business, a seal, inkstand, scissors, quill pens, a leather case with metal bands and clasps, and a box containing money. From the shelves on the walls hang scales for weighing gold, a seal attached to a long chain, and a metal ball for string, with a damascened design and a band with the words “HEER EN” repeated round it.[14] Books and a box are upon the shelves, and tucked within the narrow wooden bars which run round the walls are parchment tags for seals and several letters with addresses in High German. On these occur the dates 1528 and 1531, while the names of the correspondents with which they are endorsed can be more or less clearly discerned, as well as the word “England.” Woltmann reads the names as “Tomas Bandz,” “Jergen ze Basel,” and “Hans Stolten.” This last letter is marked with the writer’s particular device, which also occurs on a second letter, and is very similar to the device on the letter in the picture of Derich Tybis in Vienna. The walls of his room are painted in greyish green, the paint shown as rubbed and discoloured here and there, and along the bars and shelves, which have been worn by constant use.

The painting of the numerous details is wonderful in its accurate realism, showing the closest observation and an evident delight in their perfect rendering. It has been suggested, as the picture contains many more accessories than in his other portraits of members of the Steelyard, that Holbein took particular pains with it as the first of a possible series, and that it was a kind of “show-piece,” in order that his clients might see of what he was capable. This superb portrait, which is in a better state of preservation than most of Holbein’s existing works, is finer in its clear, luminous colour and more delicate in its drawing than any other of his pictures of this period. It is almost Flemish in the minuteness and care of its finish and in its cool, clear tones. All the objects of still-life which surround the sitter, which are placed about him as naturally as though the artist had come upon him suddenly when engaged upon his daily business, and had there and then painted him, without arranging or posing, whether of silk, or linen, or gold, or steel, or glass, are painted with a fidelity to nature never excelled by the Dutchmen or Flemings of the following century, who devoted their whole career to the rendering of still-life. In Holbein’s portrait, however, all these carefully-wrought minor details, beautiful in themselves as they may be, in no way force themselves on the attention to the detriment of the portrait itself, which stands out as a vivid representation of the sitter’s personality, in which the essentials of his character have been seen with an unerring eye, and set down upon the panel with an unerring hand. We get here the young German merchant to the very life, precise, deliberate and orderly in the transaction of his affairs, with strongly-marked German features, long nose, and determined chin, a living presentment which only a master could have produced.

Ruskin’s glowing description of the picture is well known, but it is so true and so eloquent that a sentence from it may be quoted:—

“Every accessory is perfect with a fine perfection; the carnations in the glass by his side; the ball of gold, chased with blue enamel, suspended on the wall; the books, the steelyard, the papers on the table, the seal ring with its quartered bearings—all intensely there, and there in beauty of which no one could have dreamed that even flowers or gold were capable, far less parchment or steel. But every change of shade is felt, every rich and rubied line of petal followed, every subdued gleam in the soft blue of the enamel and bending of the gold touched with a hand whose patience of regard creates rather than paints. The jewel itself was not so precious as the rays of enduring light which form it, beneath that errorless hand. The man himself what he was—not more; but to all conceivable proof of sight, in all aspect of life or thought—not less. He sits alone in his accustomed room, his common work laid out before him; he is conscious of no presence, assumes no dignity, bears no sudden or superficial look of care or interest, lives only as he lived—but for ever. It is inexhaustible. Every detail of it wins, retains, rewards the attention with a continually increasing sense of wonderfulness. It is also wholly true. So far as it reaches, it contains the absolute facts of colour, form, and character, rendered with an unaccusable faithfulness.”[15]

The portrait of Hans of Antwerp, in Windsor Castle (Pl. 2),[16] belongs to the summer of the same year, 1532, and was one of the earliest of the Steelyard series. It is in oil on panel, and has darkened with age, and has suffered to some extent from repaintings. It represents the half-length figure of a middle-aged man, about three-quarters the size of life. He is turned to the right, seated at a table, upon which his elbows rest, and he is about to cut the string of a letter with a long knife. He has thick bushy hair and beard, brown in colour, and brown eyes, and is wearing a dark overcoat, which may have been originally dark green in colour, edged with a broad band of brown fur, and beneath it a brown dress and a white shirt with the collar embroidered with black Spanish work. On his head is a flat black cap. The table is covered with a dark green cloth, and upon it, in front of him, are placed a pad of paper with a quill pen resting on it, some coins and a seal engraved with the letter W. The head, strongly lightened, stands out against a background of grey-brown wall, with a strip of darker colour on the right-hand side of the panel. He wears a signet ring on the first finger of his left hand, and a smaller ring on the little finger of the right.

The letter which he holds in his hand has a superscription in crabbed Teutonic writing, which Woltmann, after careful examination, deciphered as follows:—

The parts in brackets are hidden in the original by the knife, and have been added conjecturally by him, so that the whole inscription would run in English: “To the honourable Hans of Antwerp in London, in the Steelyard, these to hand.” The words “ersamen” and “Stallhoff” are distinct, but the “Anwerpen” is less clear, and only the first letter of the Christian name is certain.

The brown under-dress the sitter is wearing certainly has some appearance of the leather apron worn by goldsmiths which Woltmann declared it to be;[17] and this, together with the gold coins on the table, such as goldsmiths were in the habit of exhibiting in their shops, he regarded as additional proof that the portrait represents the goldsmith, Hans of Antwerp, Holbein’s close friend and one of his executors.[18] There is considerable probability that this ascription is correct, though it is by no means absolutely certain. On the paper-pad lying on the table there is an inscription, evidently in the sitter’s handwriting, giving his age and the date. Even this inscription is not absolutely clear. Woltmann reads it:—

The second “A.D.,” however, is evidently wrong. Mr. Law[19] reads it as a possible “Aug.” for August, and is doubtful about the word “Julii.” Both these writers fail to decipher the sitter’s age, but it appears to be “53,” or, perhaps, “33,” the latter agreeing better with the apparent age of the sitter.

The W. on the seal affords some evidence against the portrait being that of John of Antwerp. Woltmann calls it “the device of his trading house,” and in this Mr. Law follows him. It is much more probable, however, that it is the initial of his surname. The seal is of a similar shape to those in the portraits of Georg Gisze and Derich Tybis. In the former the lettering is illegible, but in the latter it is plainly “D. T.” Before Hans of Antwerp’s surname was known, Woltmann’s suggestion was not out of place, but Mr. Lionel Cust[20] has recently discovered it to have been Van der Gow, which does not accord with the letter on the seal. Among the numerous references to John of Antwerp in the State Papers and elsewhere he is never once spoken of as belonging to the Steelyard, whereas the picture in question is in all probability a portrait of some merchant of the Hanseatic League. More than one German merchant of the Steelyard whose surname began with W is mentioned in the records, such as Gerard van Werden and Ulric Wise, while one of the leading jewellers of Henry’s reign was Morgan Wolf, though he was almost certainly a Welshman. However, until further evidence is forthcoming, the name Hans of Antwerp must stand as the sitter for this portrait, and it has much in its favour.

As the friend and witness and administrator of Holbein’s will, the question of the true portrait of John of Antwerp is of unusual interest. The two men appear to have been closely associated, and there is no doubt that Holbein supplied him with designs. One such design is well known—the drawing for a beautiful drinking-cup in the Basel Gallery upon which is inscribed the name “Hans Von Ant....” (Pl. 42).[21] Mr. Lionel Cust conjectures that the cup given by Cromwell to the King on New Year’s Day, 1539, made by John of Antwerp, was this identical cup; but it hardly appears probable that an object made for such a purpose would have the maker’s name placed upon it so prominently on a broad band running round its centre. It may be suggested that it is more likely to have been intended by the maker for presentation to the Hanseatic League to form part of the corporation plate of that body kept in the Guildhall of the Steelyard.

John of Antwerp’s name occurs frequently in the private accounts of Thomas Cromwell for the years 1537-39, and Mr. Lionel Cust has gathered together much interesting information about him. In a letter from Cromwell to the Goldsmiths’ Company we learn that he had been settled in London since 1515, but the first reference to him Mr. Cust finds is in March 1537, in the Privy Purse Expenses of the Princess Mary, which runs: “Item payed for goldsmythes workes for my ladies grace to John of Andwarpe iiij li, xvij s, vij d.” There is, however, an earlier reference, and one of considerable interest, in the State Papers, in a letter from one Richard Cavendish to the Duke of Suffolk, dated Norton, 5th June 1534, which shows that John Van Andwerp was at that time employed with a certain Hans De Fromont in searching for a gold mine at Norton. “They are,” says Cavendish, “applying themselves with diligence to find the mine. Here is the greatest diversity of earth and stones, for the stones in the gravel in most places appear to be very gold. Many assays have been made to prove it, but nothing found as yet, and it is believed the glitter ‘is but the scum of the metal which groweth beneath the ground.’ They have now begun to dig pits to get at the principal vein. The people are as glad as ever he saw to further the matter, for in old evidences the place is called Golden Norton, which proves that gold may be found there. He sees no great forwardness as yet, but prays God they may find some.”[22]

Cromwell employed him in a number of ways. In December 1537[23] he received 15s. for setting a great ruby, and 29s. for the gold in the ring. In November 1538[24] he was at work on the cup already mentioned for a New Year’s Gift to Henry, for which purpose he received 52 oz. of gold, and was paid nearly £20. Other work during these years consisted in making a George, setting stones in rings, making chains and trenchers, and repairing various Georges, Garters, and other jewellery belonging to the Lord Privy Seal, full details of which will be found in Mr. Cust’s paper, the last entry being dated 15th December 1539.[25]

An entry in the Book of Payments of the Treasurer of the Chamber for April 1539[26] shows him in another capacity, one, as already noted, in which the foreign traders in England were frequently employed by the Court. He received one shilling from the King’s purse for forwarding letters of importance to Christopher Mount and Thomas Panell, “his gracis servauntes and oratours in Jarmayne.”[27]

In 1537 Hans of Antwerp’s name occurs in the return for Subsidies of Aliens in England, among foreigners dwelling in the parish of St. Nicholas Acon, as “John Andwarpe, straunger, xxx li., xxx s.” In a similar list for the same parish in 1541 he is given for the first time his proper name: “John Vander Gow, alias John Andwerp, in goodes, xxx li., xxx s.” Mr. Cust suggests that his name may have been Van der Goes. This assessment of his goods at £30 and the tax on it of thirty shillings was the customary rate for foreigners. Nicholas Lyzarde, Elizabeth’s serjeant-painter,[28] was assessed to the same amount—but Holbein was taxed at the higher rate of £3 on his salary of £30, as it was the custom to tax “lands, fees and annuities” at double the rate of goods.

In April of the same year Van der Gow was anxious to obtain the freedom of the Goldsmiths’ Company as a step towards being admitted to the right of citizenship in London. Cromwell’s letter, recommending him to the Company “most hartely,” states that he had already lived twenty-six years in London, had married an Englishwoman, by whom he had many children, and purposed continuing in London for the rest of his life. This desire to become a naturalised Englishman might be taken as some evidence that he was not a member of the Steelyard confraternity.

From the register of the church of St. Nicholas Acon, in Lombard Street, where the goldsmiths have always congregated, we learn that he had a son, Augustine Anwarpe, baptized on 27th November 1542, and a second son, Roger, on 10th December 1547; that on three successive days in September 1543 three of his servants, John Ducheman, Jane, his maid, and Richard, were buried; that a fourth servant was buried on the 10th August 1548; and that his son Augustine was buried on 1st July 1550.[29] There can be little doubt that the three servants died of the plague which was raging in London in September 1543. Holbein was almost certainly another of its victims, and Mr. Cust suggests that he may very probably have caught the infection in John Van der Gow’s house.

The portrait, it is to be supposed, like Holbein’s other representations of Steelyard merchants, was very possibly presented to the Guild, and would remain hanging in their Guildhall until they were expelled by Elizabeth in 1598. “When in 1606,” says Woltmann, quoting from Lappenberg, “under James I, the Steelyard was given back to its possessors, the rooms were found in an evil condition, and all movables, such as tables, seats, bedsteads, and even panels and glass windows, were almost entirely stolen. That under such circumstances a sparing hand watched over the pictures is scarcely to be expected.”[30] The portrait of Hans of Antwerp, whatever its earlier adventures may have been, was in the collection of Charles I, in which it was No. 29, and is described in his catalogue as: “Done by Holbein. Item. Upon a cracked board, the picture of a merchant, in a black cap and habit having a letter with a knife in his hand cutting the seal thread of the letter; a seal lying by on a green table; bought by Sir Harry Vane and given to the King.” The crack in the panel is still plainly visible. It was valued by the Commonwealth Commissioners at £100, and sold for that sum. It reappears, however, in James II’s catalogue, No. 499: “By Holbein. A man’s head, in a black cap, with a letter and penknife in his hand.” It is possible that it is the picture by “Holbin” of “a Dutchman sealing a letter,” which was in the Duke of Buckingham’s collection at York House in 1635,[31] from which it may have passed into that of Charles I. The picture, though it has not the richness and transparency of colour of the “Gisze,” or its extreme delicacy of execution and luxuriance of detail, is a vigorous and life-like representation of a somewhat stolid German, painted with the truth and sincerity which Holbein brought to everything he touched.

The two small roundels, which hitherto have always been regarded as likenesses of Holbein himself, undoubtedly represent, as Dr. Ganz has recently pointed out, the same individual as the sitter in the Windsor picture, who, until his identity is finally settled, it is most convenient to call Hans of Antwerp. The first is the beautiful little painting on oak in the Salting collection,[32] in which the sitter is shown in full-face, with a flat black cap, a gown lined with light-coloured fur, and a dark under-coat or vest, cut straight across the top, as in most of Holbein’s other Steelyard portraits. The left hand only is shown, with a ring on the first finger. On the background on either side of the head is the faded inscription “ETATIS SVÆ 35.” It was possibly painted a year or two later than the Windsor portrait, to which the likeness is very marked. If, however, the sitter really represents Hans of Antwerp, and he was painted a second time by Holbein about 1534-5, when 35 years of age, he must have been only a boy when he settled in London in 1515. The second roundel is in Lord Spencer’s collection at Althorp,[33] and this, too, has always been regarded as a portrait of Holbein by himself. Here again the likeness to the Windsor picture is a strong one, though the opposite side of the face is seen, as he is shown in three-quarters profile to the spectator’s left. There are slight variations in the dress, the undervest being lower, and disclosing more of the white shirt. Some critics regard it as a genuine work by Holbein, but Dr. Ganz places it among the doubtful and wrongly-attributed pictures. He suggests that it is probably one of the two roundels considered to be self-portraits by Holbein which C. van Mander saw in Amsterdam in 1604, and was engraved by A. Stock as such in 1612 and published by H. Hondius. There is a replica of it in the Provinzial Museum in Hanover.[34] All three works evidently represent the same man, and at about the same age.