This sentence was also written up over the central door of the Steelyard Guildhall, and has been ascribed, according to Walpole, to Sir Thomas More, but this appears to be a legend without any real foundation in fact.

Both compositions were of the same height, but the “Triumph of Riches” was much the longer of the two, so that they must have been painted to fill particular and prescribed wall-spaces in the Hall. Probably the “Riches” occupied the place of honour on one of the long walls, opposite the windows, with the “Poverty” at one of the ends of the room. The latter, according to Dr. Ganz, came first, as the heads of a number of the figures in the foreground are turned backwards as though looking across the room at the other procession following them. In the “Triumph of Poverty,” in which the procession moves in the same direction, from right to left, the central figure is Poverty, an old woman, lean, and bare to the waist, seated in a rough waggon with upright poles bearing a canopy of straw. Over her head is a label with the Greek title “Πενια.” Behind her sits Infortunium, striking with a rod at the heads of the crowd of poverty-stricken, half-naked figures following the cart, among whom are an old man, Mendicitas, and an old woman, Miseria. In front of Poverty sits Industria, distributing instruments of labour, hammers, chisels, flails, squares, and other tools to the poor workmen walking below, and she is supported by Usus and Memoria. The cart is driven by Spes, who looks up towards heaven, and is drawn by two oxen, Negligentia and Pigritia, in the shafts, and two asses, Stupiditas and Ignavia, as leaders. These steeds are led by four finely designed female figures, Moderatio, with a whip, Diligentia, Solicitudo, and Labor, the last carrying a heavy spade. Behind Labor walks a young man with a basket of carpenter’s tools, and a flail over his shoulder. On a tree in the left background hangs a large wooden tablet with a long Latin inscription, also attributed to Sir Thomas More, beginning:

From the Louvre sketch in particular, but also from the numerous more or less faithful copies, sufficient evidence of the fine decorative character of the originals, their sense of rhythmic movement, their creative power and imagination, and the nobility of their design, can be obtained. The allegories they set forth were plain enough to read. They pointed out the instability of fortune and glory, and the virtue to be found in honest poverty, and warned the merchants who daily looked upon them, and whose avocations were the making of money, against undue arrogance in prosperity or needless despondency in adversity. “Both pieces,” says Van Mander, who describes them with some care, “were excellently arranged, freely drawn, and well delineated.” The colour-scheme appears to have matched the fine decorative qualities of the design. The compositions were not carried out in natural colours as in a picture. They were painted in greyish monochrome, with colour sparingly used. The background was blue, green was used in the trees, and the horses which drew the chariot of Plutus were white. The flesh tints of the numerous figures were rendered naturally, but the garments they wore were in monochrome, ornamented at the borders with gold, which was also used in other parts of the canvas with excellent effect, so that the paintings, when in position on the walls, must have added to the rich and brilliant appearance of the room, with its sideboards covered with silver plate and pewter ware.

We have one other record of a commission given to Holbein by the Steelyard. This was the design for the triumphal arch which they erected on Saturday, May 31st, 1533, when Anne Boleyn rode in procession from the Tower through the City to Westminster for her coronation. From a letter written by Chapuys, the Imperial Ambassador in London, to Charles V, dated May 18th in that year, it is evident that the Germans were not anxious to incur the cost of this decoration; but the Londoners, who had contributed 5000 ducats towards the festivities, of which 3000 were for a present to the new Queen, were determined to make all the inhabitants, irrespective of nationality, pay their due share.

“The Easterlings,” says Chapuys, “as being subjects of your Majesty, would like to be excused, but the great privileges they enjoy here prevent them from objecting.”[66]

Having determined to do it, however, they did it well, as contemporary records bear witness. Stow tells us that Anne, after being greeted at Fenchurch Street by the children of the City Schools, was still more splendidly welcomed at the corner of Gracechurch Street, “where was a costly and marvellous cunning pageant made by the merchants of the Stilyard: therein was the Mount Parnassus, with the Fountaine of Helicon, which was of white marble, and four streames without pipe did rise an ell high, and mette together in a little cup above the fountaine, which fountaine ranne abundantly with Reynish wine till night. On the mountaine sat Apollo, and at his feete sate Caliope; and on every side of the mountaine sate four Muses, playing on severell sweet instruments, and all their jestes, epigrams, and poesies were wrytten in golden letters, in the which every Muse, according to her property, praysed the Queene.” Camusat, in his narrative, says: “In all open places were scaffolds, on which mysteries were played; and fountains poured forth wine. Along the streets all the merchants were stationed.”

This triumphal arch was designed by Holbein. His original sketch for it, formerly in the Crozat collection, and more recently in that of the late Herr Rudolph Weigel, of Leipzig, is now in the Berlin Print Room (#Pl. 8#).[67] In its details it corresponds almost exactly with Stow’s description. In the centre Apollo is seated on a rock, beneath a slight bower or baldachin consisting of thin pillars supporting slender arches wreathed with leaves, across which hangs a scroll-shaped tablet for an inscription, the whole surmounted by a two-headed Imperial eagle. Apollo holds a small harp on his left knee, and with his right hand directs the music of the attendant Muses, who are grouped beneath him, five on the left hand and four on the right, on either side of a fountain of fine Renaissance design, in which the wine is falling from the smaller upper basin into the larger one beneath. The two front figures, Calliope and Polyhymnia, are seated, with lute and viol. Four of the others are singing, and the remainder playing various musical instruments, one with both a trumpet and a small drum. Apollo, crowned with a wreath, is clad in classical costume, but the ladies are wearing dresses of Holbein’s day. On either side of the group rise two tall candelabra, with blank shields for coats of arms, surmounted with royal crowns. In the background rocky mountains are indicated. The whole composition is supported by a central arch, of rich Renaissance design, shown in perspective, with a large blank tablet, to contain words of welcome, at its crown, and there are indications of smaller arches on either side. Thus it is evident that the decoration was not a painted one, but was a solid structure built across the street, under which the royal carriage would pass, and that Apollo and the Muses were represented by living persons, who played their instruments as the procession went by, while the white marble fountain splashed its Rhenish wine.

The sketch is a very hasty one, but would be quite sufficient to indicate to the Steelyard the artist’s intentions. Holbein himself, no doubt, superintended the erection of the archway. Slight as it is, it is masterly in draughtsmanship, displaying Holbein’s delicacy and certainty of touch in every stroke. The two seated figures, more particularly the one on the right, are rapidly drawn with the greatest grace and charm. According to Woltmann the Imperial eagle on the summit has only one head; the drawing is rubbed at the top, but there seem to be indications that the split or two-headed bird, which was then customary, was intended. Mr. W. F. Dickes denies that this drawing was intended for the Steelyard arch; he considers it to be a sketch for one of the Apollo musical festivals of Holbein’s Guild “zum Himmel” at Basel, and uses it as a proof that the painter had returned to his adopted city in 1533.[68] He bases this on an entry in the Banner Book of the Guild, dated November 23rd, 1533, which he reads as a payment to Holbein for banners painted for some festivity.[69] The symbol of the Basel Painters’ Guild was a pigeon with outstretched wings, within a wreath or bower, and Mr. Dickes sees in the eagle of the Berlin drawing, which is not within a bower, the pigeon of the Guild. He states, too, that as the Hanseatic League included merchants of other than German nationality they would have been unwilling to use an emblem so limiting as the Imperial bird. This statement is, however, incorrect. No doubt exists as to the use of the eagle on this particular occasion. It was, indeed, viewed with extreme distaste by the new Queen. Eustace Chapuys, writing to Charles V on July 11th, less than six weeks after the event, says: “I understand the lady (i.e., Anne) complains daily of the Easterlings, who on the day of her entry had set the Imperial eagle predominant over the King’s arms and hers.... This may serve as an indication of her perverse and malicious nature.”[70] And again, on the 30th of the same month, he returns to the same subject: “... the Lady who, as I am told, was not at all pleased with the Easterlings and other Germans for bringing me to see their fleet, which is greater than any that has been seen here for a long time; or that, at a solemn banquet which they made, the ships did march with their artillery. She is in a still worse humour because this was done near Greenwich park; and this has renewed the regret she felt for the eagle which the Easterlings carried in triumph the day of her entry here.”[71] These letters afford additional evidence that Holbein made this drawing for the occasion of Anne’s coronation, and that it has nothing to do with Basel or the Zunft zum Himmel.

The Imperial two-headed eagle was also carved in stone over the principal entrance to the Steelyard. The old device had disappeared in the course of time, but in 1670 a new one was placed in position. The following item occurs in a series of accounts still extant in connection with the Steelyard buildings of that period: “December 31st, 1670. To Gabriel Cibbert, stone-cutter,—for the eagle put on over the gate from Thames Street, fixed on John Balls buildings, £5.” Caius Gabriel Cibber, a native of Holstein, and father of Colley Cibber, was a sculptor of some merit who practised in London. This sculptured shield-shaped stone, bearing an eagle displayed with a crowned collar and two heads, surrounded by an inscription, was also removed in course of time, and was recently found by Mr. Lawrence Weaver in the garden of Bickley Hall, Kent.[72]