Architecture as profession: The origins of architectural practice in the Low Countries in the fifteenth century (Architectura Moderna) (Architectura ... Exchanges in Europe, 16th-17th Centuries, 13) 9782503568256, 2503568254

Citation preview

Architecture The Origins

of

as

Profession

Architectural Practice in the Low Countries in the Fifteenth Century

ARCHITECTURA MODERNA Architectural Exchanges in Europe, 16th-17th Centuries Vol. 13

Series Editors: Krista De Jonge (Leuven) Piet Lombaerde (Antwerp)

Advisory Board: Barbara Arciszewska (Warsaw) Gordon Higgott (London) Stephan Hoppe (München) Werner Oechslin (Zurich) Konrad Ottenheym (Utrecht) Charles van den Heuvel (Amsterdam/The Hague) Honorary Members: Howard Burns (Vicenza/Pisa) Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann (Princeton) Jean Guillaume (Paris)

Architecture

as

Profession

The Origins of Architectural Practice in the Low Countries in the Fifteenth Century

Merlijn Hurx

H

F

This publication has received the financial support of the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO).

© 2018, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. D/2017/0095/208 ISBN 978-2-503-56825-6 e-ISBN 978-2-503-56826-3 DOI 10.1484/M.ARCHMOD-EB.5.110498 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper

Table

of

Contents

Table of Contents

5

Editor’s Preface

7

Acknowledgements 

9

Introduction11 Chapter 1: The Liberty to Design

31

Chapter 2: Urban Building Boom

57

Chapter 3: The Stone Trade

127

Chapter 4: Quarrying at Brussels

169

Chapter 5: Profession of the Architect

207

Chapter 6: Communicating the Design

241

Chapter 7: Strategies for ‘Prefab’ Architecture

313

Conclusion361 Appendices377 Abbreviations383 Bibliography385 Photo Credits

431

Index of Places and Buildings

433

Index of Persons

439

Colour Plates

443

5

Editor’s Preface What is an architect? It seems strange that this fundamental question is raised only in the thirteenth volume of the series Architectura Moderna, which focuses on phenomena of architectural exchange in early modern Europe. Indeed, some of its volumes have painterarchitects as their subject, some of them well-known such as Hans Vredeman de Vries, or even famous, such as Peter Paul Rubens. One volume addresses the professional shift of a noted family of stone-traders and builders away from architecture – the Neurembergs – while another charts the complex process by which the architect as ­gentleman – Nicodemus Tessin the Elder – created a place for himself at court. Its overview volumes – Unity and Discontinuity, and The Low Countries at the Crossroads – tangentially touch upon the ­problematic status of architecture and its practitioners, especially the ­sculptor-architects, in the early modern Low Countries. The term “architect”, with its vaguely Latin etymology, was assimilated into many European languages between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries. But was there an architect’s profession with all that such a term entails, from training to regulation and deontology? And what is the difference between the architect and the builder, the mason, and the carpenter? “Architecture” itself is newly defined as a science in the nascent treatise tradition of the late fifteenth and sixteenth century: how does this impact upon the “profession”? To a complex question, only a sufficiently complex answer can be given. The Low Countries offer a prime case-study in that perspective: highly urbanized, but also ­ referred seat of one of the most splendid courts of the time, first Burgundian, then the p Habsburg; home to a flourishing gothic which keeps renewing itself during a true ­building boom, but also welcoming the new all’antica architecture from various points south – Italy, Spain and Northern France; a hub in exchanges spanning the whole continent. The author’s answers are based upon the rich source material he found during his doctoral research, and are reframed anew in this book. They offer an extremely relevant methodological perspective, warning us not to apply concepts which only came into being at the close of the eighteenth and in the nineteenth century. One of the strongest part of the book is its detailed analysis of the building process through the minutiae of many cases culled from the archives. The book also discusses the design process, an extremely ­difficult phenomenon to reconstruct, as it can be understood through contemporary contracts, specifications and drawings, many of those hitherto unknown. It finally also enables us to cross out the lines drawn between “Middle Ages” and “Renaissance” on this point: in such a complex process of change, there can be no simple “transition”. Krista De Jonge, Series Editor

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Acknowledgements This publication is the product of more than a decade of research and is based on my PhD thesis defended at the Faculty of Architecture at TU Delft in 2010, which previously resulted in a book published in Dutch under the title Architect en Aannemer (Vantilt) in 2012. The present study, which was written with the generous support of the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO), differs from the Dutch edition in a number of respects. The entire text has been revised, incorporating many improvements and also taking advantage of the great wealth of recently published studies. Furthermore, prompted by new archival findings, several topics have been expanded into chapters of their own. During the long process that preceded the completion of this book, I received the support of many people. Constraints of space make it impossible to name them all here, for which I offer my sincere apologies. First of all, I would like to thank my supervisors, Leen van Duin, Henk Engel, Reinout Rutte and Konrad Ottenheym, who have been a great support and gave me the confidence and encouragement to pursue my research interests. My research has also benefited greatly from the many colleagues and friends who exchanged ideas with me, shared literature references, read the manuscript of the Dutch edition or allowed me to use their unpublished data. They include Herman van Bergeijk, Inge Bertels, Lex Bosman, Nikki Brand, Heidi Deneweth, Monika Chao Duivis, Marleen De Ceuckelaire, Laurence Ciavaldini Rivière, Flor De Smedt, Patrick Devos, Frans Doperé, Michiel Dusar, Jan Dröge, Ronald Glaudemans, Esther Gramsbergen, Thalina den Haring, Rob van Hees, Stephan Hoppe, Ethan Matt Kavaler, Oliver Kik, Sascha Köhl, Piet Lombaerde, Maren Lüpnitz, Petra Maclot, Pieter Martens, Ruud Meischke, Hessel Miedema, Timo Nijland, Maarten Prak, Wido Quist, Carolien Roozendaal, Jörg Soentgerath, Hendrik Jan Tolboom, Gabri van Tussenbroek, Andrew van Valen, Dirk Van de Vijver, Linda Van Langendonck, Bram Vannieuwenhuyze, John Veerman, Hugo van der Velden, Gerrit Verhoeven, Ester Vink, Dirk-Jan de Vries, Wim Vroom, Jeroen Westerman and Kim Zweerink. Otto Diesfeldt, who created several of the maps for this book, also deserves my thanks. In addition, I would like to express my gratitude to the sextons and boards of directors of the churches of St Lawrence in Alkmaar, St Catharine in Brielle, St James in The Hague, Our Lady in Dordrecht, St John in Gouda, St Bavo in Haarlem, St Peter in Leiden and Our Lady in Tholen and to the Department of Monuments (gemeentelijke Monumentenzorg) in Bergen op Zoom for providing me with access to their church and allowing me to perform research there. The assistance of archivists and curators Jeannine Baldewijns, Marc Carnier, Wim Hüsken, Jos van den Nieuwenhuizen, Robert Ooms, Leo Peeters, Kurt Priem and Goran Proot were immensely helpful in my research. For this English edition, there are several people who deserve special mention. Henkjan Sprokholt very kindly helped me with the translation of some of the obscure medieval Latin sources. Elisa Goudriaan rigorously organised the index, and Elizabeth Manton has thoroughly edited the entire manuscript with an eye for detail. I am grateful to the NWO for its financial support, and to series editor Krista De Jonge, with whom I had the great privilege to discuss the manuscript for two full days at ‘her’ Arenberg Castle – home of the Department of Architecture of KU Leuven – while relishing the thought that Rombout Keldermans might have discussed his designs with his patron William of Croy in the very same chambers. Last but not least, I wish to thank two special women. Firstly La Madonnucia, whose kind hospitality I enjoyed whilst writing this book, and secondly my wife, Martine Zoeteman, who read the entire manuscript, helped me with several of the illustrations and has been a great source of support all of these years.

9

Fig. 0.1 Antwerp, Jef Lambeaux, tribute to master Pieter Appelmans (d. 1434) and his stonemasons, officially revealed by King Leopold III in 1935.

Introduction At the foot of Our Lady in Antwerp stands a monument that offers a romantic picture of the running of a medieval building site (fig. 0.1): compass and drawing in hand, the m ­ aster builder instructs his stonemasons on how to lay the walls of the structure (fig. 0.2). It is one of many such monuments erected throughout Europe from the nineteenth century onwards in patriotic tribute to native artists of bygone days. In this case, the statue commemorates Pieter Appelmans (d. 1434), a Brabantine architect, unveiled by the Belgian King Leopold III in 1935. What makes it unusual is that it is not only an homage to the master himself, but also to his fellow craftsmen, as is evident when we compare it to the statue of Appelmans’ contemporary Filippo Brunelleschi (1377–1446), erected on the Piazza del Duomo in front of the Palazzo dei Canonici in Florence in 1830 and attesting to a wholly different spirit (fig. 0.3). Brunelleschi is shown seated and gazing skyward towards the cathedral, absorbed in thought as he traces the vault of the dome with his compass (fig. 0.4). If the monument in Antwerp presents an architect who was actively involved in construction, the Florentine statue captures the designer’s flash of inspiration. This divergence offers a striking illustration of two very different perspectives on the historical role of the architect that developed in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In his review of Martin Briggs’ book The architect in history, Nikolaus Pevsner aptly encapsulated these two views in 1931–1932 in the concepts of the ‘craftsman-architect’ (Handwerker-Architekt) and the ‘artist-architect’ (Künstler-Architekt).1 The former was an artisan involved in the building process itself; the latter was a theoretician and an artist and, as such, interested primarily in the conceptualisation.2 The emancipation of this artist was thought to have started in the Renaissance, sparked off by humanism and the growing importance of the individual.3 And it was assumed, in turn, to have triggered a rift in design practice that persists in the terminological distinction still drawn today between the master builder of the Middle Ages and the architect of the Renaissance.4 Brunelleschi, in this view, is considered the father of the modern architect, credited with a pioneering role not only because he was among the first to revive the antique idiom and systems of proportion but also owing to his lack of any training in the building trades and his invention of linear perspective.5 These qualities enabled him to carve out a new, more autonomous position as an artist.6 It is further assumed that this liberation of the architect as an artist also opened the way for other masters not trained in the building   Pevsner 1931–1932.  “The actual separation of the architect-conceiver from the reality of the building process did not occur until the Italian Renaissance”. Kostof 1977, 93. See also: Ettlinger 1977, 97. Indicative of this view is the remark of Binding in his overview of the development of the profession of the architect and engineer: “Der Wandel von dem handwerklich ausgebildeten Steinmetz-Baumeister zum nur entwerfenden Architekten hatte sich in der Renaissance vollzogen und war im 16. Jh. voll ausgeformt. Der Architekt der Renaissance, umfassend gebildet, war sich voll bewußt, eine begehrte Tätigkeit auszuüben; er strebte nach künstlerischer Anerkennung und kommerziellem Nutzen…” Binding 2004, 146. Other recent studies that present the same cliché, are: Pauwels 1998; Amt 2009, 20; Schnier 2009, 92–93. 1 2

 For instance, Binding wrote in his overview from 2004: “Das Aufkommen des Individualismus bestimmte die Renaissance. Die Bedeutung einer höheren Bildung für die Emanzipation des Künstlers hat schon Ghiberti gesehen”. Binding 2004, 145– 46. A similar view on the emancipation of the Renaissance artist in general, can be found in: AmesLewis 2000. 4   On this problem of terminology see: Toker 1985a, 67–68. 5   Recent study by Matthew Cohen on the proportions of Brunelleschi’s buildings has revealed that he did not introduce a complete new system of proportion, but that he was very much relying on existing, medieval proportional systems. Cohen 2013. 6   Ettlinger 1977, 105; Pauwels 1998, 64–65; Binding 2004, 95. 3

11

The Origins

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Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

trades to offer their services as architects, for whereas in the period before the fifteenth century most prominent buildings were designed by master stonemasons or master carpenters, after this, and especially in Italy, a growing share of designs were supplied by goldsmiths, painters and sculptors.7 This focus on the ideal image of the architect as first propagated by architectural theorists in fifteenth-century Italy has caused the contrast between these periods to be frequently overstated in the art historical literature. As well as overshadowing the continuity of practice, it also served to obscure other developments that were of vital significance in shaping the architect’s profession. Economic and organisational aspects, in particular, have received too little attention to this day. This book assumes that the profession of the architect had already evolved well before the advent of a written discourse on architectural theory. Rather than engendering a new profession, it emerged in parallel with contemporary shifts in design practice. In this book, it will be argued that changes in the production of architecture in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries heralded a crucial phase in the development of the architect’s profession. It centres on the Low Countries in particular because this region’s rapid commercial development provided a demonstrable impulse for architects to specialise even before the spread of Italian architectural theory.  rofessionalisation in the Nineteenth P and Early Twentieth Centuries and the Ideal of the Architect Pevsner’s emphasis on the architect as a product of Renaissance theory fits a long art historical tradition; however it should also be viewed against the backdrop of the profession’s tumultuous development in his own day. From the latter half of the nineteenth century industrialisation quickly transformed design practice. This was due not only to an explosion in construction projects relative to previous centuries, but also to the increasing complexity of buildings themselves.8 Designers had to keep pace with a rapidly c­ hanging society, new buildings types, new construction ­materials and new transport systems. At the same time, the dissolution of the craft guilds following the French Revolution and scaling up of building enterprises changed the ­building process

Fig. 0.2 Antwerp, Our Lady, west front with only the north tower completed, 1422–1518.

  Pevsner 1931–1932.

7

12

  Wilton-Ely 1977, 193–95; Amt 2009, 32–34.

8

Introduction itself.9 As a consequence, construction projects increasingly tended to be awarded by public tender to only a single building contractor, while the architect became more of an intermediary between the client and the contractor. Of equal importance for the formation of the profession, particularly in France, was the changing role of the state in the commissioning of public works and in the r­egulation of architectural production.10 During the nineteenth century, the number of architects employed in public works at the state, provincial and city level increased significantly. The shift towards greater stratification of labour affected architectural practice. Whereas in the past producing designs had often been only one facet of the architect’s work, commonly coupled with other activities and rarely a sole occupation, now a separate class of ­professional architectural designers emerged. These profound changes created a need among clients and designers alike for greater transparency in the construction market. Clients wanted to be certain in advance of hiring competent and conscientious professionals, while designers were eager to distinguish themselves from ‘cowboy ­ operators’.11 Even more importantly, Fig. 0.3 Florence, Luigi Pampaloni, Filippo Brunelleschi (d. 1446), 1830. this led to the development of standardised theoretical schooling for architects and the f­ormulation of professional codes of conduct imposed by professional organisations such as the Architekten Verein zu Berlin (1824) in Germany, the Royal Institute of British Architects (1834) in the United Kingdom, the Société centrale des architectes français (1840) in France, the Maatschappij tot Bevordering der Bouwkunst (1842) in the Netherlands and the Société Centrale d’Architecture de   In the Netherlands, the emergence of the profession of the building contractor is assumed to have coincided with the increased use of public tenders after the guilds were dissolved in 1795–1798. van der Wal 1940, 32–33. However, as this book will show, the origins of the building contractor go back much farther. In the construction trade, public tenders were

9

already common practice even before the nineteenth century. Many such tenders were partial and were split up between the various trades, but this was by no means always the case; see: van Essen & Hurx 2009; van Tussenbroek 2009; Kolman 1993, 273–87. 10   Loyer & Picon 1998; Van de Vijver 2003. 11   Saint 1983, 57–66.

13

The Origins

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Architectural Practice

in the

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in the

Fifteenth Century

Belgique (1872) in Belgium.12 Besides the appearance of these institutions, this period also saw the development of a shared professional ideology – what sociologists call a ‘professional belief system’ – that forged an identity for designers as a group.13 Yet even around 1900 the idea of what qualified someone as an architect and what the occupation really involved had not yet fully crystallised. In various countries studies were conducted regarding the architect’s legal status, centring on whether his role was that of purely a designer or also a contractor and what his statutory obligations should be.14 Legislation clearly lagged behind actual practice in this respect, drawing no distinction between the two professions, whereas architects pointed out that because their work was solely intellectual in nature, unlike that of contractors and engineers who also supplied designs, their profession should be classed among the fine arts.15 Given this situation, the determined emphasis on tracing the architect’s origins back to the Renaissance Fig. 0.4 Florence, Filippo Brunelleschi, dome of the cathedral, 1419–1461. is hardly surprising. Luminaries from the past were held up as examples to substantiate the new image of the professional architect as an autonomous designer, whose historical emancipation fed into the notion of progress underpinning the modern ideal of the architect. Contemporary ideas were projected onto Renaissance designers, crediting them with a drive for independence and self-actualisation while at the same time setting up an opposition between manual work – craft – and architecture.16 This gap between design and construction as first posited in fifteenth-century ­architectural theory has been a focus of scholarship ever since. In defining the architect’s new status one of the main sources was the Roman architect Vitruvius’ treatise De architectura (written in the first century BCE and ‘rediscovered’ in 1416), in which he states that an architect should not only be knowledgeable about his craft, but also educated in a constellation of ‘sciences’; he should be a man of letters and well-versed in drafting, 12   On the United Kingdom see: Kaye 1960; Muthesius 2013, 182–83 on Germany: Clark 1990; Dolgner 2013, 147–48; on the Netherlands: Krabbe 1998; on the United States: Cuff 1992, 22–28. 13   Cuff 1992, 23–24. 14  For example, in France, the Société centrale des architectes français strove for a clear-cut

14

distinction between the role of the architect and the contractor by adopting the Code Gaudet as late as 1895. Loyer & Picon 1998; Bruynzeel 1900; Minvielle 1921. 15  Cuff 1992, 28–35; Loyer & Picon 1998; Krabbe 1998; Pisani 2013, 169–71; Dolgner 2013, 148–50. 16   Oechslin 2009.

Introduction geometry, history, philosophy, music, medicine, law and astronomy. Even more influential in the development of fifteenth-century thinking about architecture was the manner in which Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472) formulated the distinction between design ­(‘science’) and construction (craft).17 In the opening of his De re aedificatoria (c. 1450) he explains that an architect is not a craftsman, since a craftsman is merely an instrument for the architect.18 In the nineteenth century, the Albertian definition was seen as heralding a new type of designer, one not involved in the construction process. Theoretical concepts from Renaissance treatises were invoked to provide historical legitimacy for the architect’s position in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, effectively obscuring other factors that had been fundamental to the specialisation of architectural designers up to the present. This is rather curious given the increasing tendency in recent scholarship on a­ rchitectural history to situate the nineteenth-century professionalisation of architectural practice in the context of the Industrial Revolution – and especially in the attendant economic and organisational metamorphosis of the building sector precipitated by the advent of the general contractor and growing share of competitive biddings.19 In the historiography of the architectural profession, recognition of the influence of the commercialisation of building practice has mostly been limited to the late modern period, while the strong emphasis on the role of written architectural theory in the genesis of the profession has contributed to polarised views of ‘medieval’ versus ‘Renaissance’ design practice. Historians of medieval architecture generally feel compelled to explain the differences between medieval designers and modern-day architects, whereas historians of the early modern period often tend to stress the continuity with current practice, or occasionally disregard such questions altogether. Yet, Brunelleschi’s practice was unquestionably in many ways more in keeping with that of Appelmans than with architects from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. One of the arguments put forward in this book is that to frame a more complete picture of the evolution of the architectural profession in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, we must also take account of economic circumstances – of conditions on the construction market and contemporary innovations in the building industry that triggered the changes leading up to the divergence between design and construction.20 After all, for an architect to specialise as a designer there first had to be sufficient demand for his skills and an advanced building industry that could do the construction work. To date, too little research has been done on regions where the building sector was already highly stratified in the fifteenth century but which produced no written discourse on architectural theory.21 The Low Countries are an excellent example, where the appearance of specialised architects went hand in hand with the emergence of a

  Tota res aedificatoria lineamentis (design) et structura (construction) constituta est. Leon Battista Alberti 1966, vol. 1, 19. 18   Sed antequam ultra progrediar, explicandum mihi censeo, quemnam haberi velim architectum. Non enim tignarium adducam fabrum, quem tu summis caeterarum disciplinarum viris compares: fabri enim manus architecto pro instrumento est. Leon Battista Alberti 1966, vol. 1, 8. 19   Davis 1999, 180–97. For instance, Wilton-Ely argued that: “The formation of the architectural profession in England is intimately bound up with major intellectual and social changes over the past four 17

centuries – the transition from medieval to modern processes of thought and the shift from agrarian to a capitalism-based society through the Industrial Revolution. The inter-disciplinary character of the modern architectural designer is the product of the first change; the professional organization through which he fulfills an increasingly specialist role is the result of the second…” Wilton-Ely 1977, 180. For a similar reasoning see: Amt 2009, 32–34. 20  Such an economic approach has also been proposed by: Fassbinder 1975; Kadatz 1983, 64–67; Bernardi & Vaquero Piñeiro 2007. 21   A notable exception is: Bischoff 1999.

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in the

Fifteenth Century

sophisticated construction market.22 Just as in the nineteenth century, the position of the fifteenth and sixteenth-century architect revolved largely around his role as an intermediary between patrons and contractors. Increasing commercialisation and a segmentation of the building process during the fifteenth century further led to a proliferation of building documents (drawings and written instructions). Though it was not formally an independent profession in the Low Countries until the nineteenth century, conditions on the construction market, production resources, price competition, the division of labour and communication and transportation were already helping to shape the architect’s trade in the fifteenth century. Economics and the Position of the Architect The present study is partly modelled on the work of the Richard Goldthwaite, whose magnificent book The building of renaissance Florence. An economic and social history (1980) looks to economic factors to explain the accelerated development of art and architecture in fifteenth-century Florence. It makes a convincing argument that the Renaissance was not only an intellectual phenomenon but also entailed an economic dimension, owing to the increased consumption of luxury goods.23 Architecture fits this pattern as well. It puts a distinctive stamp on the city and the resulting edifices could certainly be characterised as luxury products. Vast sums of money were spent on the erection of prestigious new buildings.24 In Florence, the development of the building sector was a direct result of urbanisation and the rise of an urban elite, who commissioned a broad array of public buildings and private city palaces. The large number of patrons and generous construction budgets made it possible for the designing of buildings to grow into a separate specialisation, while patrons’ changing tastes required architects to be not only innovative and original but also familiar with antique models.25 Moreover, the Florentine market was unique in that unlike the large courts elsewhere in Italy and northern Europe, few patrons were able to maintain an architect on their building staff full time.26 As such, the impetus for the increasingly specialised role of architects came not from the scale of individual commissions but from their sum total. Crucially, the city’s building sector was also so far advanced that patrons did not have to manage works personally, but could rely on a well-developed commercial system for the supply of building materials and construction work. According to Goldthwaite, this had the practical effect of releasing the architect from having to direct activities at the building site full time, as had been customary up through the Middle Ages. In seeking explanations for Florence’s exceptional artistic climate, Goldthwaite ultimately arrived at the complexity of its building sector, which he decided had probably been unequalled in all of fifteenth-century Europe. In the north, building works were 22  Meischke 1987c; Meischke 1988c; Philipp 1989; Hurx 2012. 23   Goldthwaite 1980; Goldthwaite 1993. 24   Nevertheless, compared to other types of conspicuous consumption, sums were generally fairly modest. For instance, Chatenet has estimated that even an avid builder as François I, spent just 2% of the total royal revenue on construction, which was not much more than the expenditure on hunting and falconry. Chatenet 1991, 119. 25  “Developments in Renaissance Italy, therefore, generated both a rise in the level of demand for

16

architecture and a refinement of the particular requirements, both aesthetic and technical, of that demand. Ideas about architecture arose independently of the building process. These were the conditions that permitted the architect finally to come into his own as an artist and as a professional. The story begins in Florence”. Goldthwaite 1980, 355–56. 26  Goldthwaite believed the Opera del Duomo to be an important exception to the rule in Florence. Goldthwaite 1980, 355, 387.

Introduction usually organised locally, though materials did occasionally have to travel long distances. Such organisations were usually established for the purpose of a sole specific project. Goldthwaite assumed that these one-off projects did not offer sufficient incentives for technical and organisational advances in the building sector as the enterprises were mostly small in scale, with patrons having to set up their own project organisation each time.27 According to Goldthwaite, this applied particularly to the stone trade, because although northern Europe had a number of active stone quarries, none of those quarry zones ever became a major centre of ‘industrial’ exploitation.28 Rather, their exploitation depended on sporadic demand arising from occasional large-scale building projects, usually churches or cathedrals. Unlike the situation in Florence, demand in northern Europe was so scattered that there was often no existing or effective commercial system to supply a patron with ­construction materials and labour. Most rulers and churches therefore quarried their own stone, making the extraction and working of stone part of the overall building enterprise.29 This led to the formation of ‘masons’ lodges’ (in Dutch bouwloodsen; in German Bauhütten), a term derived from the site hut in which stonemasons worked but also used as a pars pro toto for the administrative organisation as a whole.30 In the case of longterm building projects such as cathedrals, these organisations could develop into semipermanent institutions. By contrast, royal building enterprises such as the ‘King’s Works’ in England managed numerous construction projects simultaneously.31 Organised around a central administration responsible for the planning and accounts, the construction itself was usually organised locally and could vary from one project to another. In both situations, the patron usually arranged for the supply of construction materials and labour himself, while the architect fulfilled an official role that could encompass both the management of the works and the supply of designs. Design and Construction Various studies have addressed the apparent rupture between the medieval master builder and the Renaissance architect. In his 1927 book, Martin Briggs identified nine nineteenthcentury fallacies, a number of which he was able to disprove, among them the beliefs that there was no such thing in the Middle Ages as an individual or ‘architect’ entrusted with overall responsibility for the design of buildings, that architects were simple craftsmen, that drawings were rarely made, that architects were only involved in one project at a time and that medieval designers preferred to remain anonymous.32 Nonetheless, many later studies continued to stress the disparity between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, among them Pevsner’s critique of Briggs, cited above. In his review, in reality more of a position paper, Pevsner criticised Briggs’ attempt to provide a more nuanced view, maintaining that there was in fact a world of difference between the medieval ‘craftsman-architect’ and the autonomous ‘artist-architect’ of the Renaissance.

  Goldthwaite 1980, 116–23.  Goldthwaite pointed to the absence of good documentary sources as evidence for this assumption, with the sole exception of the quarries at Carrara in southern Europe, where growing international demand and intensive commercial exploration spurred production. This leap in the scale of production was linked more to demand

27 28

from brokers than to direct orders. Goldthwaite 1980, 216–18. 29   Goldthwaite 1980, 219. 30   Binding 1993, 101; Schock-Werner 1978b. 31   Brown, Colvin & Taylor 1963. 32  Briggs 1974, 54 ff. Such beliefs have also been disputed more in detail by John Harvey. See: Harvey 1972.

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The Origins

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in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Ultimately, it was Pevsner, not Briggs, whose ideas attained a greater following.33 However, research conducted by Dieter Kimpel and Franklin Toker in the 1980s showed that the division between design and construction, considered a defining feature of the Renaissance, had actually set in much earlier. In his discussion of the construction of the large cathedrals in northern France, Kimpel proposed that with the increasing use of stone that was pre-cut at the quarries, thirteenth-century designers grew progressively removed from the manual crafts. This caused a fragmentation of the building process that led to the need for a more systematic approach and, therefore, for designers capable of conceptualising and planning a building in advance. It was no coincidence, Kimpel argued, that the earliest architectural drawings date from this very period.34 In his work on fourteenth-century Tuscany, Toker’s analysis of an illustrated building contract from 1340 for the Sansedoni Palace in Siena proved the emergence of specialised designers who were not involved in the construction process on the site but instead focused on creating designs and managing the works remotely. The introduction of the combination of building specifications and drawings as a building guide therefore offered architects a new tool that freed them from the need to be personally present at a site.35 These changes in architectural production enabled designers to supervise multiple building enterprises at once. This also opened the way for the rise of so-called ‘star architects’ whose supraregional activities won them great acclaim in the fourteenth century.36 The most famous were active in the Holy Roman Empire and included Peter Parler (d. 1399), Ulrich von Ensingen (d. 1419), Hans Niesenberger (d. 1493) and Burckhard Engelberg (d. 1512), whilst important examples in France were Raymond Du Temple (d. 1404) and Martin Chambiges (d. 1532).37 But the Low Countries were particularly notable in this respect, with several architects who directed a large number of building projects at once, of whom Evert Spoorwater (d. 1474), Anthonis I (d. 1512), Anthonis II (d. 1515) and Rombout II Keldermans (d. 1531) were the most prominent.38 Because they coordinated building activities remotely, they were no longer directly involved in actual work on the site. From the thirteenth century onwards, changes in building practice coincided with a shift in the architect’s social position. According to Martin Warnke, the appointment of court architects played a crucial role in individual designers’ rise in social rank.39 As a member of the court, an architect enjoyed not only an elevated status but was also exempt from guild regulations. At the same time, we see signs of a developing ‘discourse’ that distinguished between theory and practice, as attested for example by the Parisian architect Jean Mignot’s famous statement in 1400, recorded in the annals of Milan’s cathedral fabric: ‘art without 33   For instance, Wilkinson wrote on the development of the profession in the Renaissance: “By the early sixteenth century, however, the master was often absent on other projects, leaving the building in the hands of his supervisor – an indication of the weakening of the system [of the craft guilds] as well as of a more varied practice. By this time, the master of the works was beginning to estrange himself from the rest of his trade and to become an architect in the full sense of the word”. Wilkinson 1977, 131–32. See also: Goldthwaite 1980, 353. 34   Kimpel 1986; Kimpel 1989. 35   Toker 1985a.

18

36  The concept of the Stararchitekt was recently introduced by Kurmann to describe a small group of fourteenth-century designers who were in high demand with many important patrons and whose designs enjoyed a wide geographic following. Kurmann 2006. 37   On Parler see: Legner 1978, on Ulrich von Ensingen: Schock-Werner 1983, on Hans Niesenberger: Brehm 2013, on Burckhard Engelberg: Bischoff 1999, on Raymond du Temple: Taveau-Launay 2001, on Martin de Chambiges: Cailleaux 1999; Meunier 2015. 38  van Mosselveld et al. 1987; Meischke 1988a; Philipp 1989; Hurx 2007. 39   Warnke 1976, 143.

Introduction science is nothing’ (ars sine scientia nihil est).40 This statement suggests the existence of a clear distinction between the well-educated architect and an ordinary craftsman. This is also apparent from Lorenz Lechler’s 1516 treatise Unterweisungen, in which he warns his son Moritz not to reveal the khunst (principles of geometric design) to just anyone – not even to stonemasons who were not yet experienced in the art – as it should be reserved for the artists who understood it properly. Nor, he continues, is the art suited for just any peasant: …darumb solstu diese khunst, nicht für Jederman legen, auch nicht für einem Jedem Steinmetzen, der, der khunst, nicht erfahren ist dan dise khunst gehert nuer fur khünstler die es Verstehn. Und wisen, wozue sie es brauchen sollen den dises nicht ein khunst ist, die für einem Jedem bauern taugt…41 Apart from earlier developments that had contributed to the greater specialisation of architects as from the thirteenth century, there is actually a notable continuity in the ­ ­profession during the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance. In Florence, renewed interest in Classical Antiquity – as demonstrated by Michael Lingohr – had no major impact on the organisational structure of the Florentine building sector.42 The image of the architect as an intellectual polymath (the Vitruvian uomo universale) was hardly borne out in contemporary reality.43 Yet Alberti’s definition of the architect was actually more in keeping with in fourteenth-century practice than is often thought.44 It is not at all certain that his famous statement that the architect is not an ordinary craftsman was meant as an attack on a historical, medieval practice. Nor is there anything in his treatise to indicate that he was thinking of fourteenth-century capomaestri of the Opera del Duomo such as Francesco Talenti (d. 1369) and Neri di Fioravante (d. 1374). In fact, it was more likely intended to warn patrons and attend them to the difference between cowboy operators and ‘true’ experts. His definition also fits well with the statements made by Mignot and, later, Lechler, who likewise argued that an architect could not be compared to any mere craftsman. In fifteenth-century Florence, it was only rarely that design activities formed the exclusive occupation of an architect. In keeping with late medieval tradition, the title continued to be used to refer to the supervisor of a building project, and even up into the sixteenth century prominent Italian ‘artist-architects’ could still regularly be found at the building site on a daily basis.45 During the construction of the Villa Farnese in Caprarola, for example, Vignola (1507–1573) had his own chamber in one of the towers, and in 1521 Michele Sanmicheli (1484–1559) reached an agreement with Orvieto’s cathedral fabric to become a resident of the city for seven years while serving as Capo Maestro of the construction of the Cappella dei Magi.46 Depending on the commission, Andrea Palladio (1508–1580) sometimes also supervised work at the building site, such as during the construction of the Basilica in Vicenza.47 Such site management mostly still took place orally in the sixteenth century. Furthermore, Renaissance architects were quite often appointed to an administrative post in which they bore responsibility for part of the ­building accounts and the procurement of construction materials as well.48  Ackermann 1949. Another interesting source which is a strong indication of the development of a theoretical architectural discourse in the Gothic period, is the report on the debate concerning the design of the nave of Girona Cathedral in 1386 and 1416–1417. See: Freigang 1999. For the Low Countries see: De Jonge 2011. 41   Shelby 1971, 152–53, note 63. Also noticed in: De Jonge 2010a, 121. 40

  Lingohr 2005; Martindale 1972.   Günther 2013, 95–96. 44   Toker 1985b. 46   Lingohr 2006; Günther 2009, 229–31. 46   Bilancia 1996, 107; Toker 1985b, 672, note 7. 47   Burns 1991. 48  Ackerman 1954; Toker 1985b, 669; Günther 2009, 229–31. 42 43

19

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Though architects certainly aspired to work as autonomous designers, few ever achieved it. The actual designing of buildings continued to be the product of collaboration between patrons, architects, in some cases advisory councils, and the workforce of craftsmen and building labourers.49 The dissemination of architectural theory and the antique idiom did not effect an immediate shift in the building sector outside Italy either. Up until now, traditional historiographical explanations for the breach between design and construction often concentrated on stylistic changes, based on the presumption that the artist-architect did not make an appearance in other parts of Europe until the introduction of the antique idiom.50 However, recent research has demonstrated that the organisation of building in the Holy Roman Empire remained largely unchanged until up into the seventeenth century. Indeed, throughout the early modern period it was quite customary for designers to act in the capacity of contractors as well.51 The new aesthetic did not necessarily pose insurmountable challenges for designers from the building trades. Several, of whom Benedikt Ried (appointed court architect in Prague, d. 1534) may be the best known, had already acquired a perfect mastery of both ancient architectural forms and the latest Gothic inventions early on.52 Scholarship on the Low Countries has likewise tended to apply a historical model in which exposure to Italian architectural theory as transmitted by Italian engineers and architectural treatises paved the way for a new type of architectural designer in the sixteenth century.53 As this book will show, this assumption has the effect of obscuring the actual continuity of design practice. Different Sources, Methods and Approaches The rift separating the medieval master builder from the Renaissance architect is partly attributable to an absence of sources: north of the Alps, few building accounts or drawings from before the mid-fourteenth century have survived.54 Yet perhaps even more important than the dearth of sources is their wide variation in character and quality. Thanks to the wealth of fifteenth and sixteenth-century Italian architectural treatises and artists’ bio­ graphies, we know a great deal more about fifteenth-century architects in Italy than we do about northern masters in the same period. Outside Italy, and well into the sixteenth century, descriptive sources are mostly limited to brief entries in chronicles or documents linked to specific commissions.55 However, these sources, belonging to a literary genre, usually do not afford a good reconstruction of design practice as the activities of artisans are scarcely mentioned. Instead, they focus on the building patrons. The most striking example is of course the work of Suger (d. 1151), abbot of Saint-Denis near Paris and long regarded as the ‘inventor’ of the Gothic style. It is generally accepted in current scholarship that his actual role in the design process was much less prominent than he would have his readers believe. Suger deliberately downplayed the contributions of building experts in order to emphasise the idea that Saint-Denis was not the creation of human hands but

  Hollingsworth 1984.   Pevsner 1931–1932, 100–01; Wilkinson 1977, 157; Wilton-Ely 1977, 182–83; Pauwels 1998, 77–78; Amt 2009, 23–26. 51   Bartetzky 2004. 52   Kavaler 2008, 145–46; Bürger 2009, 20–23. 49 50

20

 Meischke 1988d, 178; Baudouin 2002; Borggrefe 2005. 54   Briggs 1974, 115–16; Claussen 1993–1994. 55   Exceptions are the fifteenth and sixteenth-century Werkmeisterbücher from southern Germany, though these texts were more limited in scope than the Italian treatises. Coenen 1980; Coenen 2009; Günther 1988. 53

Introduction rather the product of a miracle.56 Thus he wrote that the church had been erected by grace of the building patron’s divine inspiration and the miraculous aid of the pious faithful, and in spite of the problems foreseen by experts. The scant number of written architectural sources has been regarded as an ­important indicator of the limited degree to which the architectural profession had developed beyond Italy. Yet it can also be argued that this polarised view has arisen partly as a result of several methodological inconsistencies. Up until the 1980s there was little interest in fourteenth and fifteenth-century developments outside Italy, which fell outside the canonical categories of art history such as the High Gothic and Renaissance. Surveys on the history of the architectural profession are usually ordered around traditional stylistic categories. Chapters on the Middle Ages predominantly discuss the construction of the great cathedrals in the thirteenth century, while those on the Renaissance centre on Italian developments.57 Consequently, the idea of a breach in design practice was largely based on a comparison of the thirteenth-century situation in northern Europe with that in ­fifteenth-century central Italy.58 Though this deficit has since been amply rectified and numerous studies on late medieval design practice have now been published, this has not led to any systematic comparison of developments north and south of the Alps.59 In fact, although recent studies have demonstrated real innovations in design practice in northern Europe, it is still the continuity of tradition – versus the changes in Italy – that is emphasised. Another methodological issue is the comparison of disparate sources. Due to the almost complete lack of other written sources, research into medieval design practice has tended to focus mainly on building accounts. But these play a much less important role when looking at the Renaissance given the wealth of information proffered by architectural treatises and artists’ biographies.60 Yet if architects’ positions and duties in the construction process were to be compared purely on the basis of construction accounts, contracts and specifications north and south of the Alps, we would probably see many similarities.61 Further contributing to this skewed image is that most research on the north has predominantly focused on the prominent cathedral masons’ lodges.62 Architects occupied a very different position in permanent institutional building operations of this scale than they did in short-term commissions. Such close involvement in work on the building site is not unique to architects of the medieval period and can be observed in similar long-term projects in other periods as well. As mentioned above, sixteenth-century architects like Vignola and Palladio also supervised daily activities when the building projects were very important. The number of surveys that consider production-related changes in the fourteenth and fifteenth-century building trade remain few and far between.63 Publications like Ruud Meischke’s 1987 and 1988 works on the Low Countries continue to occupy only a modest

  Claussen 1993–1994, 151–52.  Klein 2009, 14; Bürger 2009, 18–20; Chapelot 2001. 58  Johannes 2009; Callebat 1998a; Kostof 1977. A similar division can be found in Renn & Osthues & Schlimme 2014 and Nerdinger 2013, although the latter contains several diachronic chapters focusing on a specific geographic area. 59  For recent studies on architectural practice north of the Alps in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, see in particular: Meunier 2015; Brehm 56 57

2013; Bürger & Klein 2009; Bürger & Klein 2010a; Chapelot 2001. 60  Notable exceptions are: Schlimme & Holste & Niebaum 2014; Guillaume 1991. 61   Bernardi & Vaquero Piñeiro 2007. 62   Colombier 1953; Booz 1956; Grote 1959; SchockWerner 1978b; Schock-Werner 1983; Binding 1993; Cailleaux 1999. 63   Salzman 1952; Knoop & Jones 1967; Kimpel 1996; Chapelot 2001; Salamagne 2001; Sosson 2005. For the sixteenth century: Guillaume 1991.

21

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Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

position in the field of international architectural history.64 More recently, the Werkmeister der Spätgotik conference organised by TU Dresden in 2007 provided an important impetus for a new approach, with the publication of two volumes of case studies by various scholars about masters of the works in the Holy Roman Empire.65 They proposed an ‘intermediate category’ between the thirteenth-century master builder and the Renaissance architect. Though the books contain mostly monographic studies, in their introductory articles Bruno Klein and Stefan Bürger pose a number of crucial questions about the practical organisation of design and construction processes, with Bürger presuming that the gradual division of labour and increasing efficiency in the building trades effected a shift in the position of the architect during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.66 The shortage of research on the relationship between the fifteenth century’s emerging construction markets and the appearance of the architectural professional north of the Alps as yet makes it impossible to undertake a detailed comparison with Italy in the same period, even if by now it is certainly apparent that various regions saw a marked commercialisation of the building sector (see Chapter 3).67 At present, however, it is still too early to draw parallels between the development and function of building documents (drawings and specifications) across different parts of Europe. Approach and Structure of the Book The Low Countries occupy a unique position in this discussion because the development of the architect’s profession and the evolution of the construction market actually manifest various similarities with the situation in Italy. Rapid urbanisation led to a veritable building boom in the Low Countries after the mid-fourteenth century, leading to permanent demand for design services. This was particularly true in the counties of Holland and Flanders and the duchy of Brabant, which ranked alongside Italy as the most urbanised regions of Europe, where numerous large-scale building works were commissioned.68 These prestige projects spanned a broad spectrum of building types including city gates, churches, town halls, trade halls, guild halls, hospitals, city palaces and monasteries and convents. Among these structures, churches stand out for sheer size. Though many were just parish churches, their immense scale nonetheless invested them with a cathedral-like monumentality. Even so, they were all smaller than the largest cathedrals of northern France; at 123 metres, the longest city church in the Low Countries – St John’s in Gouda – fell considerably short of Amiens Cathedral’s 145 metres (fig. 0.5). Similarly, Amiens’ soaring 42-metre vault rose well beyond the 31.5 metres of the Northern Netherlands’ sole medieval cathedral in Utrecht (fig. 0.6) Nevertheless, the total number of churches built in the Low Countries is impressive, with more than forty large city churches built in the period between 1350 and 1530 in Brabant, Flanders and Holland alone. Whereas Goldthwaite identified Florentine residential construction as a stimulus for the burgeoning stone market, in the Low Countries the use of luxury construction materials such as stone remained largely reserved for public building projects. Though intermittent, commissions for churches and town halls nonetheless provided a major impetus for new organisational developments in Netherlandish design and building practice. This was due not only to the scale of demand, but also to the limited possibilities for stone extraction which made it difficult to take full control of all building operations. Most building projects  Meischke 1987c; Meischke 1988c; Philipp 1989; van Tussenbroek 2001; Janse & de Vries 1991; de Vries 1994; Janse 1965; Van de Walle 1959. 65   Bürger & Klein 2009; Bürger & Klein 2010a. 66   Bürger 2009, 20. 64

22

  Bernardi & Vaquero Piñeiro 2007.   At the end of the fifteenth century, the degree of urbanisation in Flanders was 16%, in Brabant 33% and in Holland 31%. See: Klep 1992; van Bavel & van Zanden 2004.

67 68

Introduction

Fig. 0.5 Gouda, St John, largely rebuilt after the city fire of 1552.

in the Low Countries did not have the benefit of a large, permanent masons’ lodge; as in Florence, few patrons wanted or could afford to employ an architect full time, nor was it necessary for an architect to be continuously present at the building site given that private contractors performed a large share of the work. Changes in the building industry also went hand in hand with an increasing consumption of luxury goods. With their affluent trading hubs and the presence of the Burgundian court, the Low Countries were the main economic, political and cultural centre of fifteenth-century northern Europe.69 The pomp and splendour of Burgundian court culture and the wealth of the cities contributed to a boom in art production and to several major stylistic and technical innovations that included, most notably, the invention of oil paint. The Netherlandish painters Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden, the sculptor Claus Sluter, the goldsmith Gerard Loyet and the musicians Guillaume Dufay and Gilles Binchois were among the most acclaimed artists of their day. But also other luxury products such as illuminated manuscripts, tapestries, wooden altarpieces and armour were famed for their exceptional refinement and collected all across Europe.70

  Blockmans 2010.  Though partly attributable to its strong trade relations with other parts of Europe, demand for goods from the Low Countries was also animated by the

69 70

glamour of the Burgundian court, whose culture was emulated by Europe’s most illustrious royal houses and which led to the collection of Netherlandish art throughout Europe. Belozerskaya 2002.

23

The Origins

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Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Compared to Florence, the export market for art played a considerably greater role in the Low Countries.71 Artists worked not only on commission, but also to sell their products on an export market that was fairly generalised and remote. Paintings were shipped to Spain, Portugal and Italy en masse, and wooden altarpieces were exported across an area that extended from Spain all the way to Scandinavia and the Baltic Sea region.72 Economic incentives engendered a certain degree of standardisation and serial production, more so than in Italy, which in turn made it possible for production costs to be reduced and production speed accelerated, and consequently to claim a leading position in a myriad of market segments. Long-distance trade also had important implications for architecture. With stone in short supply across much of the Low Countries, the need to import it led to a cross-regional trade in stone – what Meischke termed Handelsgotiek.73 Starting from the latter half of the fourteenth century, the quarries around Brussels, in particular, came to occupy a key position in the stone trade, supplying not only raw, unworked blocks but also dressed stone. Many of the north’s expanding cities depended on the south not only for construction materials, but also for crucial architectural expertise, as the local experience of managing large-scale building enterprises was limited. Increasing competition in both artistic production and building were part of the singular economic climate of the Low Countries, often characterised as one of the precursors of capitalism.74 The building market did differ from the art Fig. 0.6 Utrecht, cathedral, choir, second half of the ­thirteenth market in character however, in that it did not century–c. 1400. produce ‘for the market’ (with the exception of residential construction and the supply of basic prefabricated building components). Major public building enterprises were always commissioned and were made to the patron’s specific requirements. In spite of the numerous similarities in production methods, art historical research all too often still assigns architecture and art to separate worlds.75 Nowadays, the image of  Vermeylen situated this expansion of the art market (particularly as regards Antwerp) in the sixteenth century, but in fact the groundwork had been laid in the fifteenth century. See also: Campbell 1976; Ewing 1990; Jacobs 1998; Martens 1998; De Marchi & Van Miegroet 2006.

71

24

  Nuttall 2004; Jacobs 1998.   Meischke 1987c. 74  de Vries & van der Woude 1997; van Bavel & Luiten van Zanden 2004; Lis & Soly 2006. 75  Notable exceptions are: Hörsch 1997; Coomans 2003b. 72 73

Introduction fifteenth-century art as ‘backwards’ in relation to the Renaissance has been revised, with the work of ‘Flemish primitives’ such as Jan van Eyck and Claus Sluter having undergone a clear revaluation in recent decades. It is accepted that these artworks did not mark the end of an era (the ‘autumn of the Middle Ages’), as posited by Johan Huizinga, but heralded the beginning of new developments.76 Curiously, this revision has quite categorically ignored contemporaneous architecture. One possible reason for this incongruity is the view taken in the older literature of the traditional character of fifteenth-century Netherlandish architecture.77 Indicative of this negative image is the discussion of churches in Holland in the most recent historical survey of Dutch architecture (2007), which calls them ‘provincial’ because they did not emulate the architecture of the great Gothic cathedrals.78 This assumption has caused innovations in church building to remain obscured. A case in point is the development of a new spatial concept in a variant on the hall church (so-called Haagse hallentype) whose wider bays freed up space for larger stained glass windows (fig. 0.5).79 Due to this focus on ‘traditional’ church architecture, important advances in secular architecture have also long gone ignored. In fact this period saw a number of major typological innovations in civic architecture, including the development of the typologies of the town hall and of trade buildings such as the exchange (beurs) in Antwerp (1531–1533) (fig. 0.7).80 Court architecture also launched new trends, among them the combination of the apartment system with galleries in the residences of the dukes of Burgundy.81 Also notable was the decorative juxtaposition of brick and natural stone. And the sheer inventive creativity of late fifteenth-century ornamentation, which spawned a wholly new style of ‘Renaissance Gothic’ also known as the ‘Keldermans style’, likewise long failed to be fully appreciated.82 This ‘negative’ reception of fifteenth-century architectonic design probably contributed to the view that design and building practice of the period were equally tradition-bound. Though Meischke’s and Klaus Jan Philipp’s studies from 1988 and 1989, respectively, demonstrated a clear division between design and construction, even they persisted in the belief that there could not have been any ‘true architects’ working in the Low Countries this early on, given that designers were all trained in the building trades.83 However, as will be argued in this study, the period between around 1350 and 1530 witnessed fundamental modernisations in design and building practice. The early commercialisation of the building sector in the Low Countries laid the basis for organisational structures that would endure right up into the nineteenth century, with the emergence of a construction market dominated by wealthy, supraregionally active contractors and   Belozerskaya 2002.   Ozinga & Meischke 1953. 78  Mekking & Helten & Burger 2007. Also Hörsch characterized ecclesiastical architecture in the Low Countries to be conservative: “Man war und blieb in diesen Dingen bis weit ins 16. Jahrhundert konservativ. Der sprühende Ehrgeiz süddeutscher oder sächsischer Architekten, der sich in immer neuen Varianten der Pfeiler und Gewölbe, in der Halle wie in der Basilika auslebte, war den Niederlanden fremd”. Hörsch 1997, 52. 79   van den Berg 2008. 80   Meseure 1987; De Jonge 2010c. 76 77

  De Jonge 2010d; De Jonge 2003; De Jonge 1994b. On early experiments with defence works in the Low Countries, see: Martens 2009. 82   Kavaler 2000; Coomans 2011; De Jonge 2011. 83  “Der Übergang zum neuzeitlichen Architekten vollzog sich nicht in einem plötzlichen Bruch, vielmehr gab es ihn schon vor der Renaissance. Der wichtigste Unterscheidungspunkt ist, daß die Ausbildung des mittelalterlichen Werkmeisters vom Handwerk zur Theorie (Entwurf, Konstruktion) führte, die des neuzeitlichen Architekten jedoch weitgehend von der Theorie bestimmt war”. Philipp 1989, 95. Meischke remarked that Rombout II Keldermans was probably the first architect in the Low Countries working most of his time at the drawing board. Meischke 1997, 46. 81

25

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Fig. 0.7 Pieter van der Borcht, view of the Exchange of Antwerp in the second half of the sixteenth century, engraving 23.5 × 31.4, 1545–1608. The Exchange was designed by Dominicus de Waghemakere in 1531. In 1858 the building was gutted by fire. (Antwerp, Rockoxhuis)

in which commissions were awarded through a sophisticated system of public tenders. Against the backdrop of this commercial marketplace, patrons demanded architects who could supply fully articulated designs in advance and direct the works from off-site. These conditions, in turn, led to a progressive stratification of labour in which design became increasingly independent of construction.84 Because fifteenth-century sources often do not allow for detailed case studies as few are preserved wholly intact, the present study takes a broad approach. This has the advantage that a great variety of sources can be investigated in both qualitative and ­quantitative terms. Key sources have included building accounts, building specifications, drawings and employment contracts, alongside government ordinances, toll accounts, guild regulations, court documents and chronicles. Buildings themselves are also important sources of information, and precise measurements of the profiles of column bases and arcade arches

 Schlimme, Holste and Niebaum have pointed out that similar developments played a vital role in the division of labour in architectural practice 84

26

in sixteenth-century Italy. Schlimme & Holste & Niebaum 2014, 325. See also: Bernardi & Vaquero Piñeiro 2007.

Introduction in church interiors were therefore taken using a template former (or ‘moulding comb’) to ascertain to what extent organisational structures influenced designs. Geographically, the research has been delimited by the distribution radius of stone from the environs of Brussels, a material that was of pivotal importance in the evolution of the construction market. This distribution area largely corresponds to the most urbanised parts of Flanders, Holland and Brabant. Many of the buildings discussed have typically been assigned in the literature to the ‘Brabantine Gothic’ style, though this term will not be used here since its application has never been strictly defined and in any case is restricted to ecclesiastical architecture.85 By and large, stylistic trends have also been excluded from consideration. The period under investigation begins around 1350 with the building boom in the coastal regions, where the construction material was stone from Brussels. It ends in around 1530, with the dawn of a new era sparked by changes in the building sector, including the collapse of church building, the rise of municipal building companies (stadsbouwbedrijf) in the Northern Netherlands, the popularity of new construction materials and lastly the introduction of architectural theory and building experts from Italy. These changes will be discussed in the epilogue. This study is divided into seven chapters that successively explore different levels of the organisational structures involved in design and building practice, tracing the development of the construction market and the architect’s trade within a broad framework of urbanisation and economic changes, but, where relevant, also examining specific sources in greater detail. By zooming in on these various levels it is possible to piece together a more nuanced view of the development of the architectural profession. The first chapter lays the foundation for approaching the problem outlined above by highlighting the continuity of design practice over the Middle Ages and Renaissance. It tests the existing historiographical understanding of the rise of the architect in the sixteenth century on the basis of (1) terminology, (2) the duties of the master of the works and (3) his position in relation to the craft guilds, and consequently demonstrates that instead of pointing to Italian architectural theory as having caused a breach in Netherlandish design practice, we must understand contemporary developments in their economic context. Indeed, this rift between design and construction manifestly began before the introduction of all’antica architecture. This study does not apply modern-day distinctions in the definitions of the terms ‘master builder’, ‘master of the works’ and ‘architect’, based on the assumption that the scope of these jobs was essentially the same. Thus, the term ‘architect’ is also used when referring to the fifteenth century, even though, strictly speaking, it was not introduced in the Low Countries until a century later. Even in the sixteenth century, however, ‘master of the works’ and ‘architect’ were often used interchangeably and their application in contemporary sources never designated two different categories of designers. The circumstances that triggered changes in building production are analysed in Chapter 2. In the most urbanised parts of the Low Countries – Flanders, Brabant and Holland – the expansion of cities created a burgeoning market for large-scale building projects from the mid-fourteenth century onwards, and this had practical implications for building operations. The proliferation of new prestige projects galvanised the construction market and was a catalyst for an increasing division of labour. Chapters 3 and 4 take a closer look at some key changes in production. Chapter 3 focuses on organisational changes in the building industry and in particular on the growth of the cross-regional stone trade, discussing the significance, scale and development of 85

  On the use of the term ‘Brabantse gotiek’ in historiography see: Coomans 2003a.

27

The Origins

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Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

this trade. Chapter 4 delves into the production side of the commercial stone trade around Brussels, providing an illustration of the increased scale of building enterprises with a description of the operations of two leading stone suppliers. In Chapter 5 these developments are linked to the increasingly specialised role of the architect. It will be argued that the building boom and the commercialisation of the building industry led to a pervasive stratification of labour that widened the gap between construction work on the one hand and design and coordination activities on the other. We find evidence for this in a redefinition of the terms of the architect’s employment and an attendant shift in his activities and responsibilities. Chapters 6 and 7, finally, reflect on the impact that these changes had on communication between designers and workmen on the site, beginning with a discussion of the increasing importance of drawings and written building documents, which gave rise to – among other things – defining experiments in the two-dimensional representation of architecture and laid the basis for a number of modern drafting conventions. The final chapter considers the strategies used to prevent the types of communication problems that inherently arose as a result of the gap between designers and site workers. Analysis of archival sources and specific buildings will show how designers and patrons actively sought less complex building systems that were flexible enough to accommodate prefabricated components. At the same time, architects can be seen to have adapted their planning strategies to enable them to effectively supervise the works remotely. This book concludes with a summary of the topics and main research themes discussed and considers what light these finding can shed on the development of the architectural profession in general. The epilogue takes a brief look ahead at the changes that took place after 1530, which led to a number of key transformations in existing organisational structures in the building industry.

28

Fig. 1.2 Brou (Bourg-en-Bresse), Lodewijk van Boghem, St Nicolas of Tolentino, 1513–1532.

Chapter 1 The Liberty

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Design

The historiography of the profession of the architect in the Low Countries has ­predominantly focused on sixteenth-century architects, who received no training in the building trades. Since the publication of Meischke’s defining article in 1952 it has been supposed that the modern concept of the architect first arose in the second quarter of the sixteenth century.1 Meischke believed that architectural practice changed profoundly in this period as a result. Traditionally, designs for prestigious buildings had been made by master masons with their origins in the building trades, but from the 1530s onwards painters, goldsmiths and sculptors became increasingly involved in designing architecture, due to their greater knowledge of antique architecture (fig. 1.1). Meischke posited that this change conferred a new status on the architectural designer, lifting him from the ranks of craftsman to the position of intellectual artist. In the Low Countries, the first impulse for this emancipation is thought to have come from the introduction of architectural treatises and designers from Italy. Italian engineers such as Donato de’ Boni Pellizuoli da Bergamo, who was employed by Charles V, and the painter Tommaso Vincidor da Bologna, who supervised work on the famous Raphael tapestries in Brussels, were among the first to design architecture in the antique manner in the Low Countries.2 At the same time, they are also perceived in the literature as the epitome of the well-educated architect described by Vitruvius and Alberti. Therefore, they are not only credited with introducing a new architectural style, but their presence is assumed to have stirred a fundamental debate on the status of the architect. Clear evidence for such a shift in the architectural profession can be found in the many lawsuits concerning the monopoly of the masons’ guilds. Master masons were usually members of a guild, but the notion that architecture could be classed as a liberal art afforded designers with other backgrounds a powerful argument for not having to join a carpenters’ or masons’ guild. Italy had already witnessed similar conflicts between the new breed of designers and the guilds a century earlier, such as in the famous clash between Brunelleschi and the Florentine masons’ and woodworkers’ guild, L’arte dei maestri di pietra e legname.3 It is

 Meischke 1988d, 127–207. First published in Meischke 1952, 161–230. See also: Hurx 2009. 2   On the Italian engineers, see: van den Heuvel 1991; Martens 2009. Their importance for the introduction of the antique manner has been overstated; of much greater consequence were the designs of Jean Mone and Jacques Du Broeucq. See: De Jonge 2007. 3  Because Brunelleschi refused to pay his dues to the masons’ guild he was imprisoned by the deans 1

of the guild, to be freed only after the intervention of the Opera del Duomo. Ettlinger interpreted this clash as evidence for the emancipating artist. Ettlinger 1977, 108. Recently, Günther rightly stated that this conflict was not the result of any emancipation, but concerned the question of which craft guild Brunelleschi was to become member. Günther 2009, 257.

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Fig. 1.1 Breda, Tomasso Vincidor da Bologna and Andries Seron, palace of Hendrik III of Nassau, from 1536.

often believed that the introduction of a new style was bound to spark conflicts between the traditional guilds and the emancipated artist in the rest of Europe, too.4 In the Low Countries, several well-documented court cases between artists’ and masons’ guilds have likewise been interpreted as evidence for a changing status of the a­ rchitect.5 Yet these lawsuits have not, thus far, been understood in their proper legal and e­ conomic context. Such conflicts were by no means new in the sixteenth century, and when more cases are analysed, there is revealed to be a clear continuity with earlier practice.   Wilkinson 1977, 131–33. In art historical literature the craft guilds have often been viewed in a negative light, having been depicted as conservative medieval institutions that were incapable of adapting to new circumstances in the Renaissance. The conservatism of masons’ guilds has been assumed to explain why master masons lost ground to other architectural designers upon the introduction of ‘Renaissance’ architecture. In 2002, Frans Baudouin wrote: “But the stonecutters and masons in the Netherlands, who learned their profession in their master’s workshops and were bound to the regulations and traditions of their corporations, could not comply with the new prerequisites”. Baudouin 2002, 23. Likewise, Heiner Borggrefe assumed that the craft

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guilds impeded new architectural developments: “In the guise of a force of regulatory order, the guilds attempted to preserve their existing privileges through protectionist measures, and were willing to accept new professions only on condition that they could share in their booming prosperity”. Borggrefe 2005, 13. More recently, socio-economic historicians have offered a more positive view on the impact of crafts guilds on innovation in the early modern period, demonstrating that the Dutch Golden Age, known for its economic prosperity and innovative climate, was also a period in which craft guilds flourished. Epstein & Prak 2008; Prak et al. 2006. 5  For a recent discussion of this issue, see: Lombaerde 2009.

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­ he sixteenth-century discussion about the liberty of the architect was in fact related to the T architect’s gradual development of overarching responsibility for a variety of crafts in the Middle Ages. In addition, the claim of exercising a liberal art as a means to evade guild membership has its roots in the appeal to exceptional expertise, also used before this as an argument in comparable situations. Therefore, the Vitruvian and Albertian concept of the architect was more in keeping with existing notions on the position and the duties of the architect than has previously been thought. Drawing on new archival sources, ­sixteenth-century developments in architectural practice in the Low Countries can now be placed in a wider context to show that stylistic changes did not necessarily coincide with any f­undamental rupture in practice. Defining the Architect The advent of new architectural experts coincided with the emergence of a written architectural discourse in the vernacular language in the Low Countries. In 1539, the painter Pieter Coecke van Aelst published two architectural treatises: a pirate translation of Serlio’s fourth book, Regole generali di architettura (Venice, 1537), titled Generale Reglen, and an excerpt of Vitruvius’ De Architectura (Die Inventie der colommen).6 For the first time, the word ‘architect’ entered the Dutch language and a definition of the profession was communicated to a wider audience.7 The concept must have been relatively new to Coecke’s readers, since he deemed it necessary to introduce his excerpt from Vitruvius with a definition of the term. Echoing Vitruvius and Alberti, he said that the knowledge required of the architect afforded him an elevated status, above the ordinary craftsman. It has long been thought that Coecke’s new terminology marked a clear division between the master mason, working in the Gothic style, and the new intellectual architect with a knowledge of antique architecture.8 However, it is doubtful that Coecke intended a historical categorisation of the medieval ‘building master’ and Renaissance ‘architect’ – a terminological distinction often made in modern architectural history. Instead, it is likely that his neologism was more in keeping with the customary titles of werkmeester (‘master of the works’), opperwerkmeester (‘chief master of the works’) and opperregeerder (‘chief supervisor’), since Coecke translated the Latin architectus not only as ‘architect’, but also used timmermeester, meaning ‘building master’, as an equivalent.9 In Die Inventie of 1539, Coecke used the term overboumeesterie for the abstract concept of architectura, which remains close to the term   Pieter Coecke van Aelst 1978. In the court milieu, architectural treatises were probably already circulating as from the 1520s. De Jonge 2010a, 118–19. 7  Pieter Coecke van Aelst 1978. See: Miedema 1980, 72; De Jonge 2007, 26; De Jonge 1998. 8  Meischke believed that the term ‘architect’ was reserved for the new breed of intellectual architect only. Meischke 1988d, 178. In contemporary literature the master of the works is often referred to as the master builder (bouwmeester); however, the use of bouwmeester for medieval masters seems anachronistic in the Netherlandish context. The term was quite rare in the Low Countries. Only in Groningen was the word bûmeister more common, yet there, as in German lands, it referred to the patron or official responsible for the administration 6

and organisation of a building project. Verdam & Verwijs 1885–1971. A case in point is Caspar van Beyersdorf, castellan of Medemblik Castle, who in 1522 was called boumeester of the blockhouse of Stavoren in Friesland. Roosens 2005, 234. Use of bouwmeester became more widespread in the seventeenth century, and possibly Pieter Coecke van Aelst was the first to use the term to mean architect. For the international medieval context, see: Binding 1999. 9  Pieter Coecke van Aelst 1978, f. 4r. The word timmeringhe can refer to a finished building, but also to construction works. In the Low Countries, various alternatives were used to designate the master of works, such as in the accounts of Utrecht Cathedral, which use the Latin archilathomus. Tenhaeff 1946, vol. 2, part 1, XXXIV–XXXV; Philipp 1989, 72–75.

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opperregeerder and seems to refer primarily to supervision of construction works. Probably Coecke enjoyed inventing a new Latinised word, a common pastime in humanist circles, but the term did not necessarily convey a completely new meaning or imply a new standing of the architect. This intellectual game was certainly not fully understood, nor appreciated, by all of his audience, and it is telling that in the Flemish edition of Serlio’s Book IV of 1549 Coecke replaced architecture on the title page with metselrije (masonry), which was likely easier to comprehend.10 Divergent Meanings Apart from his audience’s lack of familiarity with the Vitruvian concept, an important reason for Coecke to define the words architect and timmermeester was the diverging meaning of the words architectus and werkmeester in contemporary usage.11 In the oldest surviving Middle Dutch dictionary, the Glossarium Harlemense (c. 1440), the word arcitectus [sic] was erroneously translated as deckere (‘roofer’), deriving from the common etymological confusion between the Latin word for roof, tectus, and the Greek τεκτων, meaning craftsman or carpenter.12 As in the rest of Europe, this word was also used to signify the Creator, the founders of the Christian church, and the founder of a new church building.13 Architectus was used several times in this last meaning in Originale Coenobii Rubeaevallis, the chronicle of the history of Rouge-Cloître Abbey (Rooklooster) in the Sonian Forest (Zoniënwoud) near Brussels, by Gaspar Ofhuys (d. 1523).14 Best known to art historians for its account of the melancholic moods of the painter Hugo van der Goes, who retreated to this monastery at the end of his life, the chronicle contains a passage on the initial phase of the construction of the new church in 1511.15 Following old convention, Ofhuys referred to the prior of Rouge-Cloître, Johannes Rampaert, as a ‘wise architect’ who was responsible for the foundation of the church.16 This formulation derives from the Apostle Paul’s first letter to the inhabitants of Corinth: “…as a wise architect I will lay the foundations” (ut sapiens architectus fundamentum posui. I Corinthians 3, 9–17). This phrasing, which referred to the foundation of the Ecclesia spiritualis, was frequently cited by ecclesiastical patrons during the early and high Middle Ages when founding a new church.17 However, in Ofhuys’ chronicle it not only carried symbolic meaning but underlined the technical knowledge of the prior as well, with Ofhuys stressing Rampaert’s expertise in ‘laying foundations’. Like a wise architect, he wrote, “the prior considered all possible methods to overcome the problem of laying solid foundations in the soggy soil”.18 In this passage, the word architectus was used not to describe a clear-cut profession, but rather to indicate a specific competence and, at the same time, the elevated hierarchical

  De Jonge 2007, 44.  See Fuchs & Weijers 1970–2005, part 1. For a comprehensive discussion of the meaning of architectus, see: Lingohr 2009; Lingohr 2005; Binding 1999; Callebat 1998b; Binding 1996, 241–69. See also the ground-breaking, albeit somewhat outdated, article by Pevsner on this: Pevsner 1942, 549–62. 12   Glossarium Harlemense 1973. This erroneous translation was common until the sixteenth century. Pevsner 1942, 557. 13   Binding 1996, 241–69; Surdèl 1998; Lingohr 2005; Lingohr 2006. 10 11

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 Gaspar Ofhuys s.d. (Royal Library Brussels, Manuscripts, II 480). Printed in: Johannes Gielemans 1961. See also: Wauters 1885, 42–43. 15   Midelfort 1999, 26–32. 16  …dominus prior, ut sapiens architectus, debitum fundamentum ponere cupiens. Johannes Gielemans 1961, 395. 17   Binding 1996, 237–39. 18  …et ideo prior noster, ut sapiens architectus, omnibus modis optans stabile et immobile fundamentum ponere in nostris tam limosis et infirmis locis. Johannes Gielemans 1961, 397. 14

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position of the planner. This meaning aligns with the old Greek άρχιτεκτων (architecton), which was a compound of αρχι-, chief, or αρχω, oversee, and τεκτων, craftsman/­ carpenter, literally meaning: ‘master of the workmen’.19 Given their rather generic meaning of supervisor, architectus and werkmeester were used also outside the building context. In German-speaking areas, for example, Werkmeister could signify a master who supervised the building process, but also a master gun-maker.20 Similarly, in the Low Countries the three terms, architectus, ‘architect’ and ‘master of the works’ had no unequivocal meaning, but were used well into the seventeenth century primarily – and frequently – to refer to the supervisor of building works, and only secondarily to the designer.21 In the Vocabularius copiosus, printed in Leuven between 1477 and 1480, architectus was translated as ‘master roofer’, but also as ‘chief master of building works’: meester van deckene ocht een meester wercman van timmeren ocht van anderen ghestichte [= building, edificium], dicitur qui tecta facit vel potius principalis artifex qui preest edificus construendis.22 Crucially, the definition of architectura makes clear that the term concerned the theoretical knowledge (scientia) and skill to conduct a large undertaking: meesterie van eenighen groten werke dicitur architecti scientia dignitas vel officium ab architectus. The Teuthonista of Duytschlender (1477) by Gerard van der Schueren from Cleve gives the same double definition of master roofer and master of the works: Architector ∙ Et architectus ∙ eyn meister van daecke to decken of eyn tymmermeister. Important here is the distinction made between the master of the works, Tymmermeister, which is translated into Latin as ∙ Architectus ∙ Architectoris, and a master carpenter, Tymmerman, translated as Carpentator ∙ Carpentarius lignarius. The definitions set forth in both the Vocabularius and the Teuthonista derived from the first printed lexicon in Europe (1460), the Catholicon, originally written by the Dominican John Balbi of Genua in 1286.23 The Catholicon, in turn, traces its roots back to encyclopaedic texts by eminent thirteenth-century Dominican theologians such as Vincent of Beauvais, Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas. Their definition of ‘architect’ seems not far removed from Vitruvius, and although Aristotle was the main source for all three theologians, it seems clear that certainly Vincent of Beauvais made use of Vitruvius’ De Architectura for his monumental Speculum Doctrinale.24 Significantly, they did not ­characterise the architect as a manual operative, but described him as the planner and supervisor of building works. In Aquinas’ writings the term architector is not restricted to the discipline of architecture but used in a general sense to signal a hierarchy in the   Lingohr 2005, 51; Callebat 1998b, 12–13.   Bürger & Klein 2010b, 8. 21   It was only in the second half of the seventeenth century that the word ‘architect’ actually came into use in the Low Countries to refer to those responsible for the design of buildings. Krabbe 1998, 18; Gerritsen 2006; Ottenheym 2009; van Essen & Hurx 2009, 6. ‘Architect’ was used in a similar way in Italy and southern Germany in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Hollingsworth 1984; Bischoff 1999, 58–60; Lingohr 2005; Rüffer 2014, 105. According to Aubert, the term architectus was used in fifteenthcentury France several times to indicate the master mason. Aubert 1961, 8. Recently, Meunier has furthermore shown that the early sixteenth-century archival records of the cathedrals of Beauvais and Troyes used the titles architectus and architector to distinguish Martin and Pierre Chambiges from other master masons. Most likely this reflects the 19 20

two masters’ prominent position as designers and supervisors of the construction works. In Troyes, however, use of these terms was not limited to the masonry supervisors, but applied equally to the joiners who led work on the choir stalls. Meunier 2015, 71–75. 22   Vocabularius copiosus 1477–1480; Gerard van der Schueren 1477. See also: Gerard van der Schueren 1896. 23  The explanation of the word architector in the Catholicon was: principalis artifex qui praeest aedificiis construendis qui architectus dicitur. Schuler 1999, 292 and du Colombier 1953, 52–53. On the distinction between architectus, architecton and architector, see: Rüffer 2014, 92–101; Binding 1996, 241–69; Binding 1999; Binding 2004, 21; Callebat 1998b. 24   Schuler 1999, 291; Callebat 1998b, 13.

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knowledge of planners and workmen, such that it could also be applied to other disciplines, such as shipbuilding.25 Nevertheless, he did often have building in mind when referring to architects. In his commentary on Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, he elaborates on the latter’s reference to the ‘wise architect’ as follows: Here it should be noted that an architect, especially of a building, is called the chief artisan, inasmuch as it is his duty to comprehend the entire arrangement of the whole work, which is brought to completion by the activities of the manual labourers.26 The architect’s hierarchical position arose from his understanding of underlying principles that furnished overall insight into the product and production process.27 Aquinas asserted that what set the architect apart from ordinary craftsmen was his body of knowledge and foresight, which enabled him to conceive of the building beforehand and to direct workers in cutting the right shapes and preparing the building materials.28 According to Aquinas, the architect was due more praise than the workman because he provided the plans that guided the builders in their work: “So, too, in matters of the crafts, an architect who plans a building is more highly esteemed and paid a higher wage than the builder who does the manual labour under his direction”.29 Interestingly, like Alberti two centuries later, Aquinas made clear that architects did not perform manual labour themselves, but only disposed and ordered what others were to do: However, we must consider that in any art the one who arranges the art and is called the architect is absolutely better than any manual labourer who carries out what is arranged for him by another. So also in constructing buildings, the one who arranges the building although he does no work with his hands is contracted for greater pay than the manual workers who hew the wood and cut the stones.30 Though he was using the position of the architect metaphorically, Aquinas certainly had contemporary architectural practice in mind, and his descriptions recall the Dominican Nicolas de Biard’s famous complaint in 1261 that architects did not work themselves, but only told others what to do: “The master masons, holding measuring rods and gloves in their hands, say to the other, ‘Cut it here!’ and they themselves do nothing; but yet they get the greater fees…”31   Senger 1993, 210–11.   Ubi considerandum est quod architectus dicitur principalis artifex, et maxime aedificii, ad quem pertinet comprehendere summam dispositionem totius operis, quae perficitur per operationem manualium artificum. Thomas Aquinas 2012, 55. 27   Binksi 2010. 28   Architector dicitur principalis artifex, qui praecipit artificibus inducere formam et praeparare materiam, secundum considerationem finis cuius scientiam habet in usu vel ratione. Schuler 1999, 297. 29   In artificiis etiam maius existimatur maiorique conducitur pretio architector, qui aedificium disponit, quam artifex, qui secundum eius dispositionem manualiter operatur. Schuler 1999, 297. 30   Est autem considerandum, quod in quolibet artificio simpliciter melior est qui disponit de artificio, et dicitur architector, quam aliquis manualis qui opera exequitur secundum quod ei ab alio disponitur; unde 25 26

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et aedificiis construendis maiori mercede conducitur qui disponit de aedificio, licet nihil manibus operetur, quam manuales artifices, qui dolant ligna et incidunt lapides. Thomas Aquinas 1983, 57–58. See also: Binksi 2010, 41; Schuler 1999, 294. In his Liber contra impugnantes Dei cultum et religionem, Aquinas further reiterated that architects did not perform manual labour, but directed others in what to do: “We see that in mechanical trades, it is not they only who work with their hands who live by the trade, but the architect who directs their labour profits by it likewise”. (In artibus mechanicis videmus quod non solum illi qui manibus operantur, licite de artificio vivunt, sed sapiens architectus, qui manibus non laborans alios dirigit.) Thomas Aquinas 1902, 221. 31   Magistri cementariorum, virgam et cyrothecas in manibus habentes, aliis dicunt: Par ci me taille, et nihil laborant… Kostof 1977, 76. See also: Mortet & Deschamps 1929, 291; Binding 1993, 238.

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‘Werkmeester’, ‘Architectus’ and ‘Architect’ as Supervisor of Construction The translations cited in the Vocabularius and Theutonista suggest that, thanks to the encyclopaedic works published in the thirteenth century, the Vitruvian definition of the architect was not completely forgotten in fifteenth-century northern Europe, at least among the learned. In practice, too, the term architectus was often used to designate the planner and supervisor of construction works. The earliest record of the word’s use in the Low Countries to refer to a stonemason stems from 1358, when Lauwereins van Bodeghem, possibly an ancestor of the famous architect Lodewijk van Boghem, was described as an architectus-latomus.32 Another example that clearly shows the interchangeability of the terms architectus and werkmeester concerns the master of the masons’ lodge of St Gudula’s (Sint-Goedele-en-Michiel) in Brussels, Gilles Vanden Bossche, called Joes. In the church’s building accounts, written in Dutch, he is called the meester werckman van Sinte-Goedelen kerke.33 Yet the title he is given in the chronicle of the Herne Charterhouse in Hainaut (written before 1489), is architectus fabricae sanctae Gudilae Bruxellis.34 As an important benefactor of the Carthusians of Herne, Joes is recorded in the monastery’s chronicle (together with more illustrious benefactors such as Rogier van der Weyden and Margaret of York), where he is remembered for his role in the construction of a new complex for which he served as ‘architect and supervisor’ (architector, rector et gubernator). Joes had drawn up the plans for the church, chapter house, refectory and cells and arranged everything that concerned the ‘art of architecture’ (artem architectoriam).35 Several other Latin texts also use the term architectus to designate a master of the works, for example Johannes von Langenberg, appointed architectus ecclesiae of Sankt-Viktor in Xanten in 1492, and the prominent Mechelen stonemason Johannes van Werchtere, called ‘master of architecture’ (Magistrum Jo. Van Werchtere architectorem) in a lawsuit in Mechelen in 1499.36 A later and more famous example is Lodewijk van Boghem, who served as court architect to Margaret of Austria between 1512 and 1532. During his tenure he was engaged mainly with the construction of St Nicholas of Tolentino, the m ­ ausoleum church for Margaret’s deceased third husband, Duke Philibert of Savoy, in Brou, near Bourg-en-Bresse in the northwestern part of the duchy of Savoy (fig. 1.2). In the building accounts, Van Boghem is recorded as ‘master stonemason and architect of Brou’ (magister lathomus et architector de Brou) and described with great esteem as ‘architect of the complete building’ (nobilis magister Ludovicus Van-Bogen,

 Duverger 1933, 35 note 3. However, the oldest use concerns several master carpenters (architectos), who were called to the abbey of Oudenburg in order to repair its wooden tower in 1091. Aubert 1961, 7. 33  Wauters 1968, vol. 3, 252–53. Joes worked as master mason on many buildings in Brussels and its surroundings, including Philip the Good’s (1431– 1436) Coudenberg Palace, the Scheut Charterhouse (1455) and the collegiate church of Anderlecht (1433–1434). See: Wauters 1885, 27–28; Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 5, 20–26; Lefèvre 1942, 38, 50; Henne & Wauters 1968, vol. 1, 255 and vol. 3, 252– 53; Wauters 1968, vol. 1, 45, 195. 34  Arnold Beeltsens & Jean Ammonius 1932, 62; Wauters 1885, 27–28. The original manuscript has been lost, but two transcripts remain from 32

the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Arnold Beeltsens & Jean Ammonius 1932, xxix. 35   Magister Egidius Ioes, civis bruxellensis, singularis amicus et fautor totius ordinis nostri et singularissime domus nostrae, in omnibus aedificiis nostris videlicet ecclesiae, capituli, refectorii, utriusque gallileae et cellarum architector, rector et gubernator fuit, nedum sine lucro omnia gratis agens et dirigens quantum ad artem architectoriam et opus manuum suarum. Arnold Beeltsens & Jean Ammonius 1932, 227. 36  Beissel 1883, 189; Meischke 1988c, 94. His predecessor Willem van Backerweerdt was still referred to as archilapicida in the building accounts of 1489. On Van Werchtere, see: Coninckx 1922, 62–63.

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architector totius aedifici).37 Van Boghem was also praised by the humanist Antoine du Saix from Bourg-en-Bresse in his funeral oration for Margaret in 1532, specifically for his abilities as preeminent geometer and architect: praestantissimo illi geometrae nec inferiori architecto Ludovico.38 Another sixteenth-century example is Philip Lammekens, master of the works of Our Lady in Antwerp and of Tongerlo Abbey, and who is called architectus in abbey’s documents of 1544. The same title is used in the Tongerlo accounts for his successor, the master mason Hendrik Lambart, in 1549.39 The terms werkmeester, architectus and architect were used interchangeably in the Low Countries throughout the sixteenth century. During the 1530s and 1540s, Italian architects were variously referred to as architect or werkmeester. For example, the Italian engineer Donato de’ Boni and the painter-architect Alessandro Pasqualini are repeatedly called both ‘architect’ and werkmeester in the same sources.40 Contemporary dictionaries seem to confirm that there was no essential difference between the terms. In the trilingual dictionary compiled by Johannes Servilius, Dictionarium Triglotton (Antwerp 1552), the entry for architectus is translated with the Dutch for ‘master of the works’ (een werckmeester, een timmermeester).41 The same is true of the inverse translation in Christophe Plantin’s thesaurus (Antwerp 1573), in which both ‘master of the works’ (werckmeester) and ‘master mason or master carpenter’ (meester metser/ oft timmerman) are translated as architectus.42 Plantin’s Dictionarium tetraglotton (Antwerp 1562) provided not only a translation of architectus but also a short description of the work of the architect. Plantin offers a twofold meaning for the word architéctor, which was used as noun within the meaning of architectus and as a verb for ‘building’, and more specifically for the creation of a building plan (timmeraedsie) and coordination of the building process (beschicken ende ordineren).43 Though the words architectuer and the Latin architectura in the sense that Coecke used them became widely accepted in humanist and craftsmen’s circles in the second half of the sixteenth century,44 his newly coined ‘architect’ remained absent from mainstream publications and sixteenth-century dictionaries, and it was not until the seventeenth century that its use became widespread enough to be included in lexicons.45 The term   Baux 1862, 204.   Oratio funebris in exequiis illustrissimae principis Margaritae Austriae… Baux 1862, 197. Also in Hörsch 1994, 121. 39  Duverger 1964, 182. See: Van Spilbeeck 1883, 8; Van Spilbeeck 1888, 345–46. 40   Donato was called Werckmeyster van de keyserlicke maiesteit in 1546, and Pasqualini meester werkman in 1534, and in 1543 he was referred to as werkmeester and architect. Ottenheym 2003, 220; van Wezel 1999, 121. See also: Martens 2016, 116– 18, 122. Also in Germany, the titles Baumeister, Werkmeister and Architekt remained synonymous until the eighteenth century. Erben 2013, 106. 41   Johannes Servilius 1557. 42   Christophe Plantin 1972a. 43   Idem quod architectus. Deviser & bailler l’ordonn­ ance de quelque bâtiment, Bâtir & edifier. Eenige timmeraedsie aengheven/ beschicken ende ordineren/ Timmeren/ Bouwen. Christophe Plantin 1972b. 44   De Jonge 2013, 228–29. 45  At the turn of the century Kiliaan still translated Werckmeester as Architectus. Cornelis Kiliaan 1599. 37 38

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Interestingly, sixteenth and seventeenth-century dictionaries translating French and English into Dutch contain the word ‘architect’, but DutchFrench and Dutch-English dictionaries do not. For example, the dictionaire francois-flameng (1574) by Gabriel Meurier translates the French Architecte as wercmeester, constich meester van eenighe timmeragie, while his Dictionaire flamen-francois (1563) contains the entry Meester vander timmeragien, which is translated as architecteur, architect. Gabriel Meurier 1563 and 1574. The seventeenth-century A copious English and Netterdutch dictionary by Henry Hexham contains the two entries: ‘Werckmeester, Architect or Workmaster’ and ‘Meestertimmerman, architect, or master-carpenter’, while the English entry ‘Architect’ refers to ‘Chief builder’, which is translated as bouwmeester. Henry Hexham 1675. Although ‘architect’ does not appear in Dutch until well into the seventeenth century, the entry Architecture is found as early as 1553 in Jan van den Werve’s Tresoor, where it is translated as: een bouwinghe, tymmeringe, makinghe, oft tesamen settinge. Jan van den Werve 1553.

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werkmeester persisted into the seventeenth century, as is apparent from the Dutch translation of Ludovico Guicciardini’s Descrittione di tutti i Paesi Bassi… from 1612, in which the military engineer Sebastiaan van Noyen is described as “the very ingenious master of the works to Emperor Charles V and King Philip [II]”.46 Designs for Different Media No fundamental changes occurred in the use of the term architectus and its translations in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Likewise, there was more continuity in architects’ role in the building process than has hitherto been accepted in the historiography. It has been assumed that the plans produced by medieval ‘masters of the works’ were usually limited to the masonry, given that guild monopoly prevented master masons from extending their responsibility to other media.47 Thus, it was believed that a building’s roof and sections of woodwork could only be designed by a member of the carpenters’ and joiners’ guild. This would mean that up until the advent of a new type of architect in the sixteenth century, only patrons would have had a complete overview of building plans. Even though master masons and master carpenters usually worked side by side at building sites, such a view is contested by several sources indicating that, in many cases, the master of the works was responsible for the design of the building as a whole. Aquinas already wrote that the craftsmen all had to work according to the architect’s instructions: Omnes artifices inferiores operantur secundum imperium supremi architectoris.48 But even before this we find that the master of the works’ expertise might also encompass carpentry. A well-known example is William of Sens, the twelfth-century French master mason of Canterbury Cathedral, who is called an expert in the crafts of carpentry and masonry (in ligno et lapide artifex subtilissimus) in Gervase of Canterbury’s chronicle of the abbey.49 One of the earliest detailed sources on the position of the architect in the Low Countries is found in the legal treatise Statuta ecclesiae Trajectensis, written by Hugo Wstinc, a canon of Utrecht Cathedral, in 1342. Alongside the rules and regulations of the chapter, it also describes the offices of the church fabric – the organisation responsible for the construction and upkeep of the cathedral. Amongst the offices of which Wstinc gives a detailed description is the master of the works, in Utrecht called the archilathomus (literally ‘chief stonecutter’). Wstinc leaves no doubt as to the architect’s overarching responsibility. He was to oversee all of the workmen, whether they worked in stone or in wood (tam ligneos quam lapideos).50 Similarly, the contract designating Godijn van Dormael as master of the works of Utrecht Cathedral in 1356 clearly articulates his duty to design and supervise “all works in stone, wood, gold, silver, lead, iron and any other material” for the cathedral.51 The mention of precious metals indicates that Van Dormael 46   Sebastiaen van Oye van Utrecht/Seer constich werckmeester van Keyser Karel Vijffte ende van Koninck Philips… Ludovico Guicciardini 1612. Noticed by van den Heuvel 1991, 183 note 37. 47  Meischke 1988c, 56. On the German lands see: Booz 1956, 34–35. 48   Schuler 1999, 293. 49   Aubert 1961, 9. 50   Iste habet omnes lathomos et operarios, tam ligneos quam lapideos, regere, et ad nutum et instructionem ipsius operarii [sic.] secundum ordinacionem ipsius. Muller Fz. 1895, 114. The manuscript also contains an addendum from 1415, Ordinatio de officio fabrice, revealing that the master of the works

(archilatomus) shared the responsibility for the purchase of stone, mortar and wood with the fabric masters: Item magistri fabrice pro tempore unacum archilatomo nostro iurato, quotiens opus fuit, possint facere [?] provisionem de calce et lateribus ac lapidibus parvis, necnon de lignis… van den Berg 1947, 22. 51  …alle werk, steenen, houten, gouden zulveren, loden ende yseren, van wat manieren tsi, dat den goodshuze ten Doem voerseit nu toebehoert of namaels toebehoren sel, na des capittels goetdunken trouwelike ende wel vizieren, meysteren, berechten ende maken sel… Muller Fz. 1905, 150. Also in: Meischke 1987c, 184.

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also designed goldwork. Indeed, throughout Europe the expertise of goldsmiths and architects was closely linked, as both drew on the same geometric design principles.52 For instance, Alard Duhamel, architect of the church of St John in ’s-Hertogenbosch, is known to have designed metal reliquaries and micro-architecture including a monstrance and the copper uprights of the choir screen for the church’s chapel of the Confraternity of Our Lady.53 And Joos Metsys, master of the works of St Peter’s in Leuven, and responsible for the design of the great west façade with its striking three towers, was originally trained as a silversmith.54 It was quite common for werkmeesters to provide designs for artists working in different materials and areas from their own; the master of the works of St Peter’s in Leuven, Matthijs III Keldermans, is known to have furnished the design for a carved wooden altarpiece for the chapel of the brewers’ guild in the same church in 1507, which was executed by the cabinetmaker Jan Petercels and the woodcarver and sculptor Jan Borreman.55 In working out his design, Matthijs could easily have consulted his kinsman Laureys Keldermans, an architect who directed one of the most successful workshops for wooden altarpieces in Antwerp. For the abbey of Tongerlo, Philip Lammekens made designs for a wooden rood screen, a stone sacrament house and a holy sepulchre representing Christ laid out in his tomb, which were executed by famous sculptors working in the antique manner such as Conrad Meyt, Willem van der Borcht, Claudius Floris and Rombout de Drijvere.56 For the sacrament house, Lammekens furthermore instructed the painter and decorator (stoffeerder) Peeter de Cortte on the painted decoration of the architecture and the polychromy of the statues. The shutters of the corpus in which the consecrated Host was preserved were to be painted and gilded “according to the requirements of the work and also to the instructions of the prior and master Philip”.57 Another example of an architect designing for other media is Lodewijk van Boghem, who at Brou was architector totius aedifici (‘architect of the complete building’). From a report made by the prior to Margaret of Austria it appears that he was directing the full building team in Brou, which included masons, carpenters, sculptors and stained glass painters. To guide them, he had drawn up written instructions: “… Et sont les ouvriers tant massons, chapuis [carpenters] que verriers, après les tailles tant des sepultures que autres ouvrages comme le dit maistre Loys a laissé en son ordonnance par escript…”.58 Nor was his task limited to overseeing the masonry work; he also designed the roof structure of the church and was involved in the church’s decoration, including the jubé, the tombs of Margaret of Austria, her husband Philibert of Savoy and her mother-in-law Margaret of Bourbon, several altars and even the glass paintings.59 Brou was an exceptional commission, however, and as such Van Boghem’s allencompassing involvement there may not have been typical. Yet in the chapel of the Holy Sacrament at St Gudula’s in Brussels, Van Boghem’s work again extended beyond the   Kik 2014.   Verreyt 1894; Peeters 1985, 40; De Jonge 2011, 205; Kik 2014, 77–78. 54   Van Even 1895, 136. 55   Helmus 2010, 111–12. 56   Duverger 1964, 183. 57  …gelyck dat het werck eysschen sal ende alsooc myn heere den prelaet ende meester philips dat ordineren zullen. AAT, IV, 199, 51, 91r. 52 53

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 Louis de Gleyrens, prior of Brou, to Margaret of Austria, Brou, 3 December 1526. Brou 1996, 82. 59   Hörsch 1994, 123–24; Brou 1996, 16. The painter Jan van Roome delivered the patrons for the tombs, while Conrad Meyt was responsible for the statues, however it seems that Van Boghem had a say in the design as well, because he made a pourtraict of the tomb for Meyt. Ciavaldini Rivière 2014, 193–94. On his involvement in the design of the altarpiece of the Seven Joys of the Virgin, see: de Suduiraut 2009. 58

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masons’ craft. There, he was commissioned in 1537–1538 to prepare a drawing and specifications to instruct the carpenters on a method to support the piers of the chapel using a wooden construction.60 Other sources also confirm that a master of the works’ responsibilities frequently extended to other crafts. When Philip Lammekens was consulted about repairs to the tower of Our Lady in Antwerp in 1544–1545, he referred in his report to his predecessor Dominicus de Waghemakere, with whom Lammekens had closely worked as foreman of the masons’ lodge from 1536 until Dominicus’ death in 1541 (fig. 1.3).61 According to Lammekens, Dominicus used to summon the workmen of Our Lady to teach them how to remedy problems, no matter if they were stonemasons, plumbers, carpenters or smiths.62 The elevated hierarchical position of the master of the works at Our Lady is also reflected in what he was paid by the church in comparison to the other master craftsmen there. Aside from Dominicus, the church also employed a master carpenter, a master mason and a master of the stonemasons. However, only the master of the works received a daily wage that remained constant over the year, whereas the other masters earned different wages in summer and winter, as was also customary for ordinary workmen. This suggests that, unlike everybody else, the master of the works did not perform manual labour that was dependent on seasonal weather conditions. Surviving drawings furnish further proof that masters of the works were charged with overall responsibility. For example, the eminent architects Dominicus de Waghemakere and Rombout Keldermans drew meticulous elevations that included the designs for the roofs of the Ghent’s town hall and palace of the Grote Raad (Great Fig. 1.3 Antwerp, Dominicus de Waghemakere, Council) in Mechelen. The roofs were depicted with all their Our Lady, north tower, completed 1518. details, including dormers, slating and ornamental cresting on the apexes, which were probably made of wood with a lead cladding (fig. 6.16, 6.17 and 6.21). But whereas the design of the roof was often made by the master of the works, it seems that working out the roof construction was a separate specialism usually charged to the master carpenter. Although the master carpenter was often not directly

 RAA, SG, 8674, Rekeningen van het Sacrament van Mirakel 1537–1538, f. 41r.-v. See also: Lefèvre 1956–1957, 69. 61   On Dominicus de Waghemakere, see: Génard 1870; Van Cauwenberghs 1889; Philipp 1989. Supervision of a crew of craftsmen of diverse specialisations by a single master craftsman was not uncommon in the building of houses. Kolman 1993, 124. 60

 …zoo ontboot hij de verseijde werckman ende wees hem hoe dat men alsulke ghebreken remederen ende te hulpen comen souden, wast aen metsselrie oft aen de loij en solders [loodgieters] oft aen de tymerman oft aen de smet sulcx alst was daer af ontboot de vors. meester Dominicus de werckman ende wees hem dat te beteren ende te maken ghelijc dat behoorde… SAA, KK 212. 62

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subordinate to the architect, he did consult with him. For instance, the roof of the castle of Hoogstraten, called Gelmelslot, was built by the master carpenter following Rombout Keldermans’ instructions. Because Rombout resided in Antwerp, both the master mason and the master carpenter of Hoogstraten regularly travelled to Antwerp to consult with him on the drawings for the castle.63 At Gorinchem Castle, called the ‘Blue Tower’, Rombout advised on the contract and building specifications for the carpentry of the roof structure and joinery for the interior, but the execution of the work lay in the hands two master carpenters from Holland.64 In this case, the master carpenter was probably responsible for working out the structure, while Rombout coordinated the process and conceived the general appearance of the roof. Such an allocation of tasks is also confirmed by a letter from Rombout to the emperor’s master carpenter, Willem Zeghers. In it, the architect instructs Willem to draw up the building specifications for the attic of the Maison du Roi in Brussels and urges him to send the document to the Hainaut contractor Eustache Le Prince, who needed to know the thickness of the wooden beams in order to carve stone corbels for the frame joists of the roof structure.65 Liberal Arts and the Guilds’ Monopoly Architects’ responsibility for overall supervision in the fifteenth century opened the door in the sixteenth for painters, carpenters and sculptors to design architectural works without joining a masons’ guild. The increase in the number of architectural designers without a mason’s training instigated debate about who was actually authorised to work as a designer and to supervise architectural works. The conflicting views are recorded in several lawsuits on the masons’ monopoly, the best known of which in the Low Countries is a lawsuit brought in Utrecht in 1542, between Jacob van der Borch, master of the works (archilathomus) of Utrecht Cathedral, and the stonemason Willem van Noort, who later became master bricklayer to the city of Utrecht.66 Though it originated in a financial disagreement between the two former business partners, as the trial progressed one of the key disputes became the question whether designers of buildings were subject to the regulations of the stonemasons’ guild. Both the complainant, Van der Borch, and the defendant, Van Noort, were allowed to call in expert witnesses from other cities on this issue. Van Noort found his witnesses in Antwerp; Van der Borch is recorded as having only one witness, from Kampen. All of the experts from Antwerp testified that the design of buildings had never – since time immemorial – been a monopoly of the masons’ guilds. Not only master masons and sculptors of ornamental works, called cleynsteekers, made architectural designs, they said, but other masters did as well. As contemporary examples of such practice they cited Italian architects; namely, the painter Tommaso Vincidor da Bologna and the engineer Donato de’ Boni, as well as a ‘master Alexander’ – probably referring to either Alessandro Pasqualini or the goldsmith Alexander van Bruchsal.67 One of the witnesses was the aforementioned Philip Lammekens, who declared that a distinction was to be made between ordinary craftsman (werckgesel) and the ‘perfect master mason’. Whereas the ordinary craftsman was content to perform manual labour

63   Mr. Geert den timmerman ende mr. Henric den metser van dat sy tsdiverse reysen na Antweerpen omme meester Romboult te spreken omme de patrone vander timmeringe te visenteren… SAH, 180, Gelmelslot rekeningen 1525–1529 14, 1529, f. 33v.

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  NA, GRK, 5008, f. 66r.   ARA, KWI, 5537. 66   Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 227–45. 67   van Wezel 1999, 121. 64 65

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(haren handtwercke), the ‘perfect master’ had to have a thorough knowledge of the art of geometry and to be able to produce architectural drawings and building specifications. These skills were essential to the craft of the stonemason, because without drawings and specifications no building could be erected: …it is true and well known, that the art of geometry, and the making of building specifications, patterns [= drawing] and designs for all sorts of buildings, such as ramparts, walls, bulwarks and other fortifications and ornaments to cities, castles, churches and palaces, principally concern the craft of the stonemason, because one cannot erect such a construction, unless there is devised some sort of design or pattern, after which the work can be made…68 Nevertheless, Lammekens explained, architects were not subject to guild regulations, because making designs did not fall under the guild’s monopoly: …however, the ingenious masters – not being members of a masons’ guild – who make such drawings and specifications, are not subject to the masons’ monopoly, because, following old customs observed and practised to this day, their art is not subject to the masons’ craft…69 Though all of the Antwerp experts agreed that there were no restrictions on the design of architecture, their opinions differed when it came to stonecutters’ templates. According to Lammekens, the making of stonecutters’ templates fell within the masons’ monopoly. However, Peter Theels, master carpenter of the city of Antwerp, declared he had been sued by the Antwerp masons’ guild for producing designs and templates, but added that he had eventually been acquitted of the charges.70 The experts also disagreed about who had authority to supervise workmen. Lammekens held that when directing workmen at the building site, membership of the masons’ guild was compulsory. But another expert, Peter de Bruijne, testified that the Italian engineer Donato de’ Boni had supervised work on the fortifications of Ghent on a daily basis.71 However, their seemingly contradictory statements may be explained by the fact that they had different levels of supervision in mind: Lammekens was probably referring to the position of the foreman at the construction site, while De Bruijne was thinking of the overarching supervision of the architect. The expert witnesses’ views on the elevated position of the architect were reinforced by two short quotations submitted by the eminent Antwerp humanist Cornelis Grapheus, freely borrowed from the treatises of Vitruvius and Alberti. Grapheus explained that the work of the architect did not belong to any particular craft, but drew on all other arts:

68   Inden yersten dat wel waerachtich is, dat de conste van geometrien, ordinantien, patroonen ende beworpen te makene ende te ordinerene tot alderande edificien, ende oock wallen, vesten, bollewercken ende andere fortificatien ende ornamenten tot steden, casteelen, kercken ende pallaisen dienende, wel eensdeels grootelicx aengaet den ambachte van steenhouwen ende cleynsteken, overmidts dien datmen egheene sulcke wercken gemaken en can, ten sy datter yerst ennich beworp oft patroon af geordineert sij, daer na men die wercken mach… Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 241.

69  …maer en sijn daeromme [na oude costuymen tot desen dage toe geobserveert ende gepractizeert] de ingenieuse meesters van sulcken ordinancien ende patroonen te makene [int voers. ambacht nyet wesende] nyet gehouden den selven ambachte subiect te zijne, so oock de selve haer conste den selven ambachte [hunnen persoonen aengaende] nijt subiect en is… Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 241. 70   Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 233. 71   Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 234–35.

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Architecture, which is the art of devising buildings, and the art belonging to the chief master of the works – as he is called in our language – is an arbiter and supervisor of all other ingenious works, and therefore it should be understood that it neither belongs to any particular craft, nor that it is subjected to one, but that it, like a governor [‘mistress’], puts all other arts to its use…72 Not surprisingly, the opinion expressed by Van der Borch’s expert from Kampen, Reyner Lambrechts, was diametrically opposed to that of the Antwerp experts. He declared that making designs for a masonry building belonged to the craft of the stonemason and sculptor of architectural ornaments (cleyn steekers), and supported this view by pointing out that he had collaborated with distinguished masters such as Anthonis I and Rombout II Keldermans, who were both cleynsteekers.73 The diverging opinions of the experts from Antwerp and Reyner Lambrechts have usually been understood in the historiography as signalling the rapid acceptance of the architect’s new intellectual status in the Brabantine metropolis, whereas in the provincial town of Kampen, old medieval guild regulations were still held in high esteem. Herman de la Fontaine Verwey believed that the Antwerp testimonies offer clear evidence of the emancipation of the autonomous, intellectual artist and collapse of the old medieval guild monopoly.74 This interpretation has since been nuanced by several scholars, who have questioned the intellectual profile of the Italian designers and drawn attention to the fact that architectural designers continued to be trained in the building trades until well into the seventeenth century.75 Nevertheless, the advent of Italian architects and architectural theory is still commonly believed to have caused a rupture with medieval architectural practice, which was dominated by the traditional guilds, and it is thought that with these newcomers from Italy, the transition from the master builder to the m ­ odern architect set in.76 This interpretation needs serious reconsideration. Although Italian architects certainly attracted attention in Antwerp, to credit them for a complete rupture with earlier practice seems rather an overstatement. On the contrary, the arguments put forward by the Antwerp experts show a marked continuity with earlier ideas about the role of the architect as supervisor of all the craftsmen. Furthermore, the experts themselves emphasised the long tradition of autonomous architectural designers who, they asserted, had always been free from guild regulation for as long as any of them could remember. Because the oldest witness, Peter Theels, was around 77 years old, this practice must have existed long before the first Italian masters were invited to the Low Countries by Charles V. Hessel Miedema already doubted whether the Utrecht court case could be taken as evidence for the emancipation of the artist. Instead, he pointed out that the experts’ testimonies should be understood in their legal context, and not so much as a theoretical 72   Alsoe dan architectura, te weten die const van allen wercken ende tymmeragien te ordineren, ofte die een opperste tymmermeyster toebehoort [hoemense in onser tale namen wyl], een oerdelaersche ende opsicht hebbende is over allen anderen constigen wercken, soe ist goet te verstaen, datse onder geen particulaer consten begrepen noch onderworpen is, mer dat sy als een meysterssche van als anderen consten tot haer gebruyck te werck stelt… Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 244. 73   Nanninga Uitterdijk 1907, 363. 74   de la Fontaine Verwey 1976, 58–59. 75  It remains uncertain whether Italian engineers had their roots in Italian building practice, but they

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certainly were acquainted with building practice in the Low Countries. Roosens 2005, vol. 1, 388–402. Meischke points out that Italian architects also had many organisational tasks. Meischke 2000b. Van den Heuvel furthermore argues that only the painter Tommaso Vincidor worked in multiple disciplines: van den Heuvel 1991, 47. In the Netherlands it remained common up until the beginning of the twentieth century for contractors to also deliver designs. Bruynzeel 1900; Gerritsen 2006; Krabbe 1998. 76   Lombaerde 2009; De Jonge 2007, 25–26; Gerritsen 2006; Borggrefe 2005; Roosens 2005; Ottenheym 2003; Baudouin 2002; De Jonge 2002a; De Jonge 2002b; De Jonge 1994a; van den Heuvel 1991.

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discourse. The references to the architectural treatises of Vitruvius and Alberti offered, Miedema argued, a welcome and well-formulated complement to arguments previously used in similar court cases.77 Their appeal to the liberal arts was not a call for laissez-faire for the sake of artistic freedom, but was rooted in economic interests. In point of fact, the new professional groups already belonged to other guilds and wished to avoid having to fulfil obligations to multiple guilds simultaneously. Rivalry Between Professional Groups Other sixteenth-century court cases in which architecture was declared a liberal art likewise never questioned the fundaments of the guild system. In 1595 the deans of the masons’ guild of Antwerp came into conflict with the celebrated sculptors Raphael Paludanus (1559– 1599), Cornelis Floris III (1551–1615), Hans de Nole (before 1570–1624) and his brother Robert de Nole (before 1570–1636), all members of St Luke’s guild as was customary for sculptors and woodcarvers.78 The dispute concerned the compulsory fees that the sculptors had to pay the masons’ guild for their apprentices who worked in stone. According to the sculptors, this obligation put them in an unfavourable position because their apprentices generated no financial gain, whereas the masons’ apprentices were more rapidly of value to their masters as their craft was easier to learn. Apprentice sculptors faced many years of hard training, they maintained, and only a few would eventually master the art. To support their claim, the sculptors further argued that their knowledge belonged to one of the seven liberal arts, and added that they were better architects.79 Their remarks elicited a fierce reaction from the deans of the masons’ guild. They rebutted that, contrary to the sculptors’ claim, the art of the masons was more difficult to master, and that whereas sculpting consisted mainly of manual labour, it was they who practised a liberal art. Furthermore, they believed their art to be superior to that of the sculptors, because it only pleased the eye by representing nature, while the art of the masons also served the needs of man.80 The masons boasted that they were far better than sculptors at making designs, and that they were the more deserving of the title of architect. These statements about the importance and complexity of their art were then put forward to support the masons’ claim that they needed more intelligent apprentices than did the sculptors. To these insults the sculptors made an equally haughty response, arguing that they were always teaching the masons how to work, because “the latter were unable to even lay one brick upon the other without the instructions of architects”. To substantiate their claim, they cited the new town hall in Antwerp, which, they said, had been designed by the sculptors Cornelis Floris II and Willem Paludanus (fig. 1.4).81 Though the masons had to admit that Cornelis Floris and Paludanus had indeed drawn the elevations, they pointed   Miedema 1980, 84.   Casteels & Rylant, 1940. 79  …mits de groote differentie en onderscheid tusschen hen, remonstranten [beeldhouwers] en de metsers, leerjongens wezende, want alzoo der remonstranten wetenschap en scientie een van de zeven vrije kunsten was, en met grooten arbeid en lankheid van tijde moest geleerd worden, zoo waren alle leerjongens daartoe niet bekwaam, maar moesten mettertijd geproefd worden of zij daartoe niet bekwaam zouden wezen en moesten drij of vier jaren leeren aleer zij, remonstranten, daar af eenigen bijzonderen dienst of profijt konden hebben… Casteels & Rylant 1940, 188. 77 78

  SAA, GA 4267, f. 264r.-v. This passage differs from Casteels & Rylant 1940, 196. 81   Zoo dat de beeldsnijders en architecten in effecte de leeraars en schoolmeesters van de metsers zijn, dewelke in zulke werken niet éénen steen zouden leggen, dan bij ordonnantie van de architecten, hetwelk metterdaad is gebleken, niet alleen in het bouwen en maken van het Raadhuis deser stad, hetwelk naar uitwijzen en patronen daaraf gemaakt bij wijlen Cornelis Floris en Guilliaum Paludanus en meer andere architecten, is geordonneerd geweest… Casteels & Rylant 1940, 200. 80

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Fig. 1.4 Antwerp, Cornelis Floris II and Willem Paludanus, town hall, 1561–1565.

out that the sculptors had not made the ground plans for the town hall, as this had been done by the master masons Hendrik van Paesschen and Jan Daems. This passage of the court report has always been seen as crystallising the heart of the matter. Here was proof that by the second half of the sixteenth century architects from outside the building trades had reached an autonomous position as designers of architecture, because they were claiming to practise a liberal art, even as they remained dependent on the assistance of traditional craftsmen for complicated technical matters.82 However, this interpretation does not take into account the fact that both parties were claiming to practise a liberal art, and that neither the masons nor the sculptors were arguing that their arts should be freely practised by everyone.83 The sculptors actually underlined the importance of the guilds in training young sculptors, explaining that their apprentices had to train for at least three to four years, after which they had to deliver a master piece to prove that they were worthy of becoming a master. What is more, the idea of a fundamental rejection of the guild system does not accord with the election of the De Nole brothers only a few years later as deans of the guild of St Luke, with Hans appointed in 1603 and 1604 and Robert succeeding him in 1605 and 1606.84 Indeed, craft guilds continued to be important   Baudouin 2002, 27; De Jonge 2010a, 123; Gerritsen 2006, 19–20. 83  Like masons’ guilds, St Luke’s guilds also defended their economic interests by attempting to prohibit other craftsmen from executing works that they considered their preserve. An interesting example concerns a dispute in Bergen op Zoom in 1517, in which painters petitioned the town council 82

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to forbid carpenters and stonecutters to make statues. However, as the carpenters and stonecutters declared that they been making statues since time immemorial, the council declined the request. RHCH, SA, 3022, f. 104v.-105r. 84   Rombouts & Van Lerius 1868–1874, vol. 2, 421, 425, 429, 434.

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to artists throughout the early modern period as they played a key role in regulating the market and training young craftsmen.85 The invocation of the liberal arts by both sides in the 1595 lawsuit was rooted in a profound rivalry between different professional groups. Such questions about the primacy of individual crafts were no new phenomenon. As early as 1513 the joiner and woodcarver Jan van Dickele declared in a lawsuit against the Ghent carpenters’ guild that the “ingenious art and knowledge of the sculptor” (de conste ende wete van den beeldsnijdere, die zeer ingenieulx es) would fall to ruin if it were to be made subject to that guild.86 While Van Dickele’s argument may have been inspired by Italian art theory, based on the early date it more likely reflects a well-established debate among artists and craftsmen on the hierarchy and ingenuity of the arts. With the dissemination of Italian treatises after the 1530s, this debate was furnished with a new idiom and more persuasive argumentation. Patrons and Guild Authority The reference to Pasqualini and De’ Boni in the Utrecht lawsuit of 1542 demonstrates that their independence from the craft guilds must have been quite unusual. However, they attained their autonomy not so much because they were embodiments of the intellectual architect as advocated by Vitruvius and Alberti, but because they were in the service of Charles V and his military commanders. It was their authority that freed them of guild obligations. Such a position was not completely unique.87 In general, the court and the high nobility were able to employ the most highly skilled craftsmen and artists without needing guild permission. These powerful patrons wanted freedom of choice, and when local expertise fell short they expected to be free to contract non-citizen craftsmen. A good early example concerns the construction of the stone enclosure of the forecourt of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels (fig. 1.5), called the Bailles. In 1520 the Bailles accounts mention that many architects and artists (meester werckluden ende consteners) from Brussels and elsewhere had been employed for its construction because it was such an “excellent and exceptionally large undertaking”.88 Similarly, when the local workforce proved insufficient, the prince could decide to recruit non-citizen craftsmen, as happened in 1548 when problems arose with the construction of new defence works for Antwerp. To prevent further delay, Charles V decreed that non-citizen masons and carpenters were free to work in Antwerp if they paid a small annuity to the guild; in addition, he decided that the supply of building materials was no longer the privilege of the guild.89 Several earlier examples also show that artists working for the court were free from guild obligations. In 1472 there arose a widely cited conflict between Pierre Coustain and his assistant Jan de Hervy with the painters’ guild in Bruges. Both painters normally worked   Prak 2008; Stabel 2006; Prak 2003; Miedema 1987.   Bij welcken dat de temmerman daermede niet te doene en mach hebben, want anders zoude de conste ende wete van den beeldsnijdere, die zeer ingenieulx es, in huer selven moeten commen onder den temmerman ende also gheheel ende al te nieten ende ruine gaen. Van der Haeghen 1906, 163. 87   Sosson 1998. Miedema also supposed that the Italians’ independent position was not unique, citing the miniaturist Lieven van Lathem who, in as early as 1458–1459, had refused to pay his dues 85 86

to the St Luke’s guild in Ghent because he worked for Duke Philip the Good. Miedema 1980, 78, note 13; Duverger 1969, 97–98. Similar situations are found elsewhere in Europe. A well-documented case study is offered by Eric Husson’s article on the building works of Philip the Good in Dijon, which shows that the ducal organisation acted independently of the guilds even in the city. Husson 1994. 88   ARA, ARK, 27397, f. 58r. 89   Soly 1977, 216.

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Fig. 1.5 Abraham Dircksz Santvoort after a design by Nicolaas van der Horst, view of Coudenberg Palace with its forecourt, etching 15.8 × 15.6, 1640 (detail). Works began on the stone enclosing, the bailles, in 1509 after the design of Anthonis I Keldermans and were finished in 1521 under the supervision of Rombout Keldermans, however only a handful of statues were realised. (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

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for members of the court of the duke of Burgundy, but the guild accused De Hervy of having accepted commissions from other patrons, and therefore demanded that he become a guild member.90 Masons also usually did not have to obey guild regulations if they worked for the court. Interesting evidence for this is provided by the testimony of Marcelis Keldermans, the military engineer of Charles V, who in 1535 swore an oath before the city counjourneyman Jan cil of Utrecht that the ­ Machielszn did not work independently in the city except when working for the emperor.91 Sometimes the court had more difficulty upholding its independence from guild regulations. In 1456, Philip the Good had to bargain with the carpenters’ guild of Dordrecht for the right to employ his own carpenters for his artillery in that city. A consensus was finally reached under which the duke could continue to employ his own carpenters, provided that he promised the situation would not set a precedent.92

Apart from the court and the high nobility, other patrons, such as city governments, were similarly not bound by guild regulations.93 Guilds depended on city governments to obtain and maintain privileges.94 They needed the official endorsement of city authorities for their claims, and when approving guilds statutes cities took care that their own interests were protected by including a provision under which the city government was allowed to make alterations.95 Cities could also contravene guild regulations if the common interest of citizens was threatened. In 1544, for instance, the city of Antwerp allowed burghers to hire non-citizen masons after citizens had complained that the Antwerp masons were taking advantage of flourishing building activity by demanding excessive wages.96 And if a city was struck by a ravaging fire or other disaster, the city council could temporarily suspend the privilege of guild monopoly to facilitate reconstruction.97  Document in Martens 1994, 22 and 207–08 doc. 21. See also: Sosson 1998, 128–29; Peeters & Martens 2007, 43. 91   Dodt van Flensburg 1848, 162. 92   Pieter Hendrik van de Wall 1790, vol. 1, 603–04. 93   Kocken 2004, 61–62. 94   Kolman 1993, 81. 95   For example, the Mechelen statutes of the masons’ guild from 1539 contain the provision that the city always had the authority to “expand, reduce, alter, interpret and revoke” the stipulations: Behoudelyck 90

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altyt den voers. mynen heeren daerinne huer meerderen minderen veranderen interpreteren ende wederroepen so hen dat goetduncken ende gelieven sal. SAM, MGS, 1, f. 2r. 96  SAA, GA, 4267, f. 21r. In Leiden, the city government stipulated in 1450 that non-citizen masons and carpenters were allowed to work in the city. Hamaker 1873, 240. 97  This occurred in Arnemuiden in 1566. Unger 1923–1931, vol. 1, 656.

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Apart from the freedom to act in emergency situations, city authorities also wanted to be able to hire the best workmen for their own building works. A rare and interesting example is offered by the 1518 contract appointing the Antwerp masters Dominicus de Waghemakere and Rombout Keldermans as architects of Ghent’s new town hall (fig. 1.6). The contract explicitly states that the city would keep Dominicus and Rombout ‘free’ from any future obligations to the Ghent masons’ guild.98 To prevent such obligation, cities would include a clause in guild statutes allowing them to hire building experts of their own choice. The statutes of the Antwerp masons’ and carpenters’ guild from 1423 and 1458, respectively, include a provision that the city and the church of Our Lady were allowed to hire non-citizen workmen under the condition that they paid a small annuity (keersghelde) to the guild.99 A similar clause is found in the statutes of the masons’ guild of Leuven in 1508, which states that non-citizen masons were not allowed to work in the city, unless they were working for a guild member or were in the service of the duke or the city government.100 Such provisions limiting guild monopolies for cities’ benefit were common in the Low Countries throughout the early modern period.101 A third group of patrons that could employ craftsmen without needing guild permission was church authorities.102 The statutes of the masons’ and carpenters’ guild of ’s-Hertogenbosch from 1560, for instance, provided that works carried out by the city and by the church of St John were “free and exempt” from guild regulations.103 In other cities, however, the rights and privileges of churches and guilds were not always so clear cut. Opposing claims could easily lead to conflicts. An early example is the confrontation between the abbot of the powerful abbey of St Michael’s in Antwerp and the Antwerp masons’ and carpenters’ guild.104 The abbot claimed that because of the abbey’s ancient privileges, he was free to hire any carpenter he liked. The masons’ and carpenters’ guild held an opposing view, as their recently adopted statutes prohibited all monasteries in Antwerp from hiring their own workmen. When the conflict was brought before the city council, it sided with the masons’ guild; however the abbot managed to obtain the support of Duke Philip the Good. In 1431, the duke addressed a letter to the city of Antwerp expressing annoyance that his earlier requests to invalidate the new statutes of the masons’ and carpenters’ guild had not been honoured. As the protector of the church in his domains, he had the duty to restore the rights of the abbey, he wrote, and therefore was nullifying the guild statutes.105 Even with the duke’s arbitration, the conflict continued to drag on, and was only ended in 1437 through a c­ ompromise under which the city council allowed the abbey to hire three carpenters to work on the church without the guild’s interference for a period of twelve years.106 That ecclesiastical patrons valued their freedom in choosing craftsmen is attested by other documents as well. Clear evidence for this is found in a contract drawn up by the churchwardens of the collegiate church of St Peter in Anderlecht in 1518 for the completion of their church tower (fig. 1.7). The statutes of the masons’ guild of Brussels forbade

 Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 390, doc. 27; Philipp 1989, 87. 99   SAA, GA, 4267, f. 4v. and f. 45r. 100   Crab 1977, 299, appendix 1. 101   For example, in 1636 the city of Gouda laid down its right to employ as many non-citizen masons as necessary in the statutes of the masons’ guild, with no the protest from the guild. Hulshof 1996, 122. 98

  On the autonomy of ecclesiastical patrons in an international context, see: Bischoff 1999, 86–92 and 95–104. 103   van den Heuvel 1946, vol. 2, 622; van Tussenbroek 2001, 473. 104   See also: De Meester 2012, 38. 105   Godding 2005, 98. 106   Bisschops s.d., 174–75. 102

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Fig. 1.6 Ghent, Rombout II Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere, town hall, 1517–1539.

the employment of ‘foreign’ (non-citizen) stonemasons in the Ammanie of Brussels, one of the six jurisdictions of the duchy of Brabant, to which Anderlecht belonged. The churchwardens did not want to exclude stonemasons from outside the Ammanie from competing for their contract, however, but they also wished to avert lawsuits. Upon finally engaging Matthijs III Keldermans, the architect to the city of Leuven, and his companions Jan Looman and Jan Ooge, both stonemasons from Leuven, the wardens declared that because the chapter was independent from Brussels, the church did not belong the city’s jurisdiction and therefore could legitimately employ foreign masters.107 A conflict between the collegiate church of Breda and the joiners’ guild in 1528 concerned a similar issue. The guild protested the employment of certain craftsmen by the church because they were not guild members. However, the city government judged that the churchwardens were free to employ any craftsman, “as if they were masters in the craft guild themselves”. The church only had to ensure that non-member workmen paid an annuity to the guild.108 107   Wauters 1968, vol. 1, 45–46. This statement was possibly included because the church had been involved in an earlier conflict between the masons’

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guild and Pierre Huyge in 1475–1476. See: De Waha 1979, 77. 108   van Hooydonk 1995, 68 and 169, appendix 2.

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Prominent patrons such as courts, city governments and the Church were usually not bound by guild regulations, but some craft guilds successfully defended their monopoly even against the most powerful building patrons. Several cases demonstrate that both secular and ecclesiastical authorities sometimes had no choice but to respect guild privileges. The situation differed from one city to another and often depended on existing power relations between the local guilds and authorities.109 In Dordrecht, even the duke of Burgundy had to negotiate to employ his own craftsmen. Similarly, Peter of Luxembourg, the count of Saint-Pol, was forced to obtain permission from the masons’ guild when he wanted to employ foreign workmen in Bruges. As in Dordrecht, the masons’ guild was only willing to consent to an exemption under the condition that the instance would not create a precedent.110 However, cities like Dordrecht and Bruges were in strong position to negotiate with the court on such privileges in the fifteenth century, because the duke regularly needed their financial and political support. Similarly, guilds sometimes triumphed in court cases against mighty abbeys. City governments occasionally rallied with the guilds to curtail the rights of monasteries within the city proper, such as in Antwerp, where the Fig. 1.7 Anderlecht, Matthijs III Keldermans, Jan Looman and masons’ and carpenters’ guild succeeded in Jan Ooge, St Peter (Sint-Pieter-en-Guido), tower, begun 1517. preventing abbeys from employing non-citizen workmen. To evade the guild monopoly, abbeys depended on privileges granted by the ruler. In a prolonged conflict between the abbey of Vorst in the Ammanie of Brussels and the carpenters’ guild of Brussels regarding the employment of non-freemen (i.e. nonguild members), the prior claimed that the abbey had been granted the privilege to employ craftsmen of its own choosing by Duchess Joanna of Brabant (1322–1406). However, in 1558 the Brussels court of aldermen (schepenbank) decided that the abbey was not allowed to hire any non-freemen until the prior could provide the document affirming this right.111 Because the administration of parish churches usually came under the responsibility of city governments, churchwardens normally had little difficulty hiring non-freemen. Nonetheless, there were differences between cities and over time. For instance, upon accepting the position of master of the works of Our Lady in Dordrecht in 1422, the stonemason Andries Morre had to become a member of the masons’ guild of Dordrecht, though he was granted an exemption from performing military duties.112 By contrast, his successor,   See: De Meester 2012.  The conflict is known from a 1560 court case between the masons Joost Aerts and Jan de Smet 109 110

and the deans of the masons’ guild of Bruges. Parmentier 1948, 41. 111   RAA, KAB, 7079. 112   Jensma & Molendijk 1987, 121, doc. 38.

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the celebrated Evert Spoorwater, never became a member of the guild in Dordrecht because he remained a resident of Antwerp, where he simultaneously led the works at the church of Our Lady. Constelyk Gemaickt, Artistic Quality as a Licence The conflicts cited above appear to reflect a recurring struggle between craft guilds and prominent patrons. Yet, the sources may give a somewhat distorted image. Overall, the freedom of prominent patrons to recruit non-citizen artists and workmen did not pose a major threat for the guilds. They were more concerned with regular building works such as the construction of houses. Indeed, specialised commissions from the court, the Church and city governments required a level of expertise not always available in a city. A shortage of specialised workmen was a common argument for authorities and burghers to employ non-citizen artists. Some guild statutes, like those of the masons’ and carpenters’ guild in ’s-Hertogenbosch from 1560, even provided for such situations by allowing any patron to commission works from unfree craftsmen if they desired design skills or workmanship that no guild member could offer: Item: if it happens that some burgher of this city, cleric or layman, wishes to have conceived, executed and finished an exceptional, precious and excellent work, whether it be in wood, stone or any other material, for which guild members lack the necessary knowledge and competence or qualifications to design, execute and finish the said work in a praiseworthy manner, the burgher, cleric or layman will in that case be allowed to invite and employ as many non-citizen artists and workmen as necessary, without the interference of the guild.113 In Kampen, where conditions for non-freemen became increasingly strict at the beginning of the sixteenth century, probably as a consequence of declining economic conditions, the protectionism of the masons’ guild nonetheless remained limited to the works commonly produced by its members. For instance, although the new guild statutes offered to the town council for approval in 1520 banned the import of finished building materials, an exception was made for special products that guild members were unable to make themselves. Likewise, there was no restriction on the use of imported window frames, probably because the guild expected a complete ban would not be approved by the town council since it impinged on the common interest of the people of Kampen.114 The guild’s   Item oft gebeurden dat yemant van bourgeren ende ingesetenen deser stadt, gheestelijck oft weerlijck, begeerden in ennigen toecomende tyden te concipieren, aen te leggen, ende volmaeckt te hebben ennich vreempt, costelijck ende exellent werck, het waere van houte, steenen, oft andere materie, waeraff nyemandt van den natien, onder desen oft andere charten begrepen, behoirlijck kennise noch verstandt en hadden noch gequalificeert en waer om tselve te concipieren, aen te leggen, behoirlijck ende loffbaerlijck op te maecken, zall dieselve ingeseten, geestelick oft weerlick, in alsulcke gevalle oft anderssins oock sonder becroon van denselven bynnengeseten werckluyden daartoe wel mogen suecken nemen ende te werck stellen alsulcken buytengeseten constenaers ende werckluyden, als hun daertoe nootelijck ende behoeffelijck zijn sall. van den Heuvel 1946, 623. 113

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 “And that no one would order any work that concerns our guild to be made outside the town and be used here [in Kampen] if any of our guild brothers would be able to make such a work. And no guild brother would be allowed to use such work that was made outside the town, upon the punishment of losing his membership, with the exception of window frames, to the burgher’s benefit”. Ende dat oick nyemant enich werck onsser ghilden anroerende buten sal laten maken, dat men hier setten sal, so veer enych van onsser ghildebroeders sulck werck maken conde. Ende sulcken wercke dat butren gemaecket is, sal ghien van onsser ghildebroeders moegen settten bij verlies zijnre ghilden, beholtelycken cruyswerck ende gheseems, ende dat totten burger beste. Kolman 1993, 135. 114

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expectations proved accurate, because the town council deemed even a proposed limitation on the import of finished pieces too great an inconvenience for its burghers, and the statutes were adopted without any restrictive rules on imports whatsoever. Comparable reasoning is found in many court cases. Both patrons and artists legitimated their disregard of guild obligations by arguing that the expertise needed for the execution of a specific work could not be found among guild members. Several such cases are known for artists working in the ‘antique manner’. In 1533, for instance, two sculptors of architectural ornaments (kleinstekers), Claudius Floris and Cornelis Yman, were accused by the Antwerp masons’ guild of employing non-freemen in their workshops. The sculptors defended themselves by pointing out that they had no choice but to hire non-citizen labour because their works required such a great artistic skill and exactitude (zeere constelyck ende pynschlyck gemaect) that no other guildsmen could execute them.115 Several years later, in 1537, the same Claudius Floris and his partner Willem van der Borcht were sued by the Antwerp masons’ guild for a similar violation of guild regulations. In response, the two sculptors explained that they needed foreign experts for their ‘antique works’ because other craftsmen lacked the expertise. And since no other artists in Antwerp were capable of making such works, the two sculptors contended that they were not actually competing with other guild members. Although the city council recognised the guild’s rights in this case, it was swayed by the sculptors’ arguments and sought to accommodate them by stipulating that in the future all sculptors of architectural ornaments would be permitted to hire a single non-citizen craftsman.116 In Bruges, too, sculptors defended their employment of foreigners by playing the expertise card. In 1547, two assistants of the sculptor Michiel Scherrier were imprisoned because they were not guild members. In his defence, Scherrier claimed that no freeman had been willing to assist him on his ‘elaborate work’ (costelick werck), and to finish it in time he had been compelled to hire non-citizen craftsmen. The deans settled the matter with Scherrier by agreeing that he would pay an annuity to the guild for each year that he employed non-freemen.117 A second lawsuit, from 1560, concerned two stonemasons, Joost Aerts and Jan de Smet, who likewise wished to employ as many craftsmen as necessary, freeman or not, for the production of the tomb of Charles the Bold in Our Lady in Bruges. They argued that because many costly types of imported stone, including marble and alabaster, were to be used for the tomb, they needed the expertise of foreign craftsmen: …those foreign journeymen were needed by the suppliants to work with the aforesaid types of stone, because they have more experience than any workman from the region (herrewaerts overe), as they have been accustomed to working with those materials since their youth…118 The introduction of the antique manner and increasing use of costly coloured marbles in the Low Countries made foreign expertise more critical. Yet, the hiring of expert craftsmen was not restricted to such works, and neither was the appeal to exceptional expertise.  …seggende dat de wercken die zy maekende ende die aen hen besteedt wardden waren wercken zeere constelyck ende pynschlyck gemaect ende gewrocht dewelcke een yegelyck al waren zy oick goede verstandige wercklieden hen eenderen gemeyne metselryen wel verstaende nyet en souden connen maken oft wercken… SAA, GA, 4268. See also: Duverger & Onghena & Van Daalen 1953. 116   SAA, GA, 4267, f. 254v. 115

  Parmentier 1948, 14, appendix 9.  …welcke vremde ghezellen hemlieden supplianten van noode waren omme inde voorn. sorte van steenen te werckene, als daerof beter experiëntie hebbende dan eeneghe werclieden van herrewaerts overe, by dat zy van joncx daerinne gevrocht hadden. Parmentier 1948, 50, appendix 36. Their request was approved by way of an exemption granted by the city council in 1561. 117 118

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During the construction of the Maison du Roi in Brussels, for example, craftsmen from the quarries of Arquennes in Hainaut were invited to the building site in 1517 on account of the fact that they were better trained to work with blue limestone than the Brussels stonemasons: “…because they were better experts in assembling and fitting together the blue limestone blocks than the stonemasons of our city Brussels”.119 The oldest known lawsuit in which expertise was put forward as an argument to avoid guild membership dates from 1488, when the Mechelen master joiner Florys van Dunghenen was sued by the ­joiners’ guild of Leuven because he had carved the organ case for St Peter’s (the city’s main parish church) without becoming a guild member. In his defence, Florys stated that he had hoped to be granted an exemption because he made such an extraordinary work, which no one in Leuven could have been able to make: “And because parts of the work that he would make, so he declared, could not be so excellently made by the workmen from this city…”120 Yet another good example is a dispute that arose within the masons’ guild of Leuven in 1526. Three sculptors charged the officials of their own guild with ordering statues for the guild’s altar in St Peter’s from a master outside Leuven. The guild governors defended their actions by stating that the statues were made with such artistic skill (constelyk gemaickt) that no one in Leuven could equal the work. The three sculptors replied that plenty of masters in Leuven were capable of making such excellent works, therefore the statues should have been commissioned in Leuven. The governors maintained that in their view no one in Leuven would have been able to make the statues so well and for such a good price. The city council, which arbitrated in the matter, thereupon asked each individual guild member if he approved the guild’s decision to commission the works from a foreign master. As it happened, the majority of the masons, stonecutters and sculptors supported the guild’s governors.121 As the foregoing examples demonstrate, sixteenth-century conflicts concerning guild monopolies should not be read simply as a sign of fundamental change in architectural practice. Instead, as this chapter has argued, there was great continuity between the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, both in the terminology used and in the status and duties of designers. As such, a better understanding of the position of the architect clearly requires consideration of the economic and organisational developments that helped to shape architectural practice.

119  …mits dat zy experte waeren int setten ende opmetsen vanden blauwen steene van de metsers dan deser stadt van Bruessel. ARA, ARK, 27484, part 4, f. 14v. 120   En want hij daer inne stucken doen en maken soude die de wercklieden van hier bynnen, alsoe hij seyt, alsoe sunderling niet en souden maken,

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soe hoopte hij dat dit soude moegen gescieden met wederstaende sgheens des wederpartie gealligeert mocht hebben met meer woirden in wedersyden gealligeert… Crab 1977, 315–16, appendix 13. 121   Crab 1977, 310, appendix 9.

Fig. 2.9 Brussels, St Gudula (Sint-Goedele-en-Michiel), choir, begun 1226.

Chapter 2 Urban Building Boom The previous chapter demonstrated that the introduction of the new all’antica style and architectural treatises did not necessarily cause a fundamental change in the position of architectural designers. Instead, it was argued, the architect’s specialisation as a designer and coordinator of the building process had clearly already commenced during the fifteenth century. Before analysing this increasing division of labour, however, it is necessary to look first at the circumstances that prepared the ground for this development. One of the key factors behind the changing conditions of employment was the exceptional rise in demand for prestige buildings. With the rapid urbanisation of the Low Countries, the late fourteenth century saw the start of large-scale civic building programmes. Cities’ expansion necessitated the construction of new city walls, for example, which served a military purpose but also had a representative function. Furthermore, all towns and cities of consequence began building large parish churches during this period, and the more prosperous cities also erected prestigious commercial and government buildings such as trade halls and town halls. This enthusiasm for building was fed by an increasingly competitive architectural climate, in which public buildings became an important expression of civic pride and played a central role in rivalry between urban centres. This chapter will first briefly consider the rapid urban growth of this period, focusing on Brabant and Holland. It continues with a concise overview of new civic architectural projects, in particular the great churches, town halls and grand urban palaces, which contributed significantly to a transformation of the urban landscape. The chapter concludes with some observations regarding the architectural rivalry that propelled construction on this monumental scale. The reasons for this chapter’s focus on the duchy of Brabant and the county of Holland are twofold. First, the most important centres of urban development in the second half of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries lay along the Brussels-Mechelen-AntwerpHolland axis, and it was these cities that formed the stage for the grandest architectural projects undertaken in the Low Countries during this period. Second, building activities in these regions coincided with a decisive transformation of the building trade, as will be discussed in subsequent chapters. Urbanisation in the Low Countries In the late Middle Ages the Low Countries belonged to the most densely populated and urbanised regions in Europe (fig. 2.1 and 2.2).1 By 1500 there were nine large cities with more than 20,000 inhabitants and twelve mid-sized cities with populations between 10,000 and 20,000 in the area corresponding to the present-day Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg and the French Départment du Nord.2 Around 445,000 people lived in these 21 cities, comprising roughly nineteen per cent of the total estimated population of 2.3 million.3 In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the largest concentration of urban centres was to be found in the county of Flanders, but by the fifteenth century the economic balance was   van Bavel 2010, 278–94; Blockmans 2010, 540–45.  de Vries 1984, 271–72. See also: Lesger 1993, 34 and 36. On the size of urban centres in the Low Countries, see: Blockmans et al. 1980; Klep 1981;

1 2

Prevenier 1983; Klep 1988; Klep 1992; Stabel 1995; Lourens & Lucassen 1997; Brüning 1924, 172. 3   Lesger 1993.

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Fig. 2.1 The largest cities and towns in the Low Countries around 1400.

gradually shifting to the duchy of Brabant and county of Holland. With the exception of the commercial and industrial metropolises of Bruges and Ghent, most cities were relatively modest in size. In the thirteenth century these two Flemish cities were among the largest in northern Europe, with populations that are thought to have peaked in the mid-fourteenth century at around 46,000 and 64,000 inhabitants, respectively.4 North of the Alps, only Paris was notably larger, with an estimated population of over 200,000 at the outbreak of the Hundred Years’ War. Besides the two great centres, there were two other sizeable cities in the Flanders – Ypres and Lille – which at the beginning of the fifteenth century had respective populations of 15,000 and 20,000. Close behind in size was the nearby episcopal city 4

  Blockmans et al. 1980, 51; Deneweth 2010.

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Fig. 2.2 The largest cities and towns in the Low Countries around 1500.

of Tournai. Few other regions in the Low Countries had cities of a similar size at this time, and probably only Brussels and Liège had populations exceeding 20,000. In Flanders, the powerful metropolises of Bruges and Ghent impeded the development of other towns in the vicinity, but in Brabant and Holland no single city reached such a dominant position. Instead, a dense network of large and mid-sized cities developed, separated by distances of no more than fifteen to 25 kilometres. Their spectacular growth after 1350 is remarkable, certainly in comparison with most other parts of western Europe, which experienced sharp population declines due to the devastating effects of the Black Death and continuous wars. The Flemish cities followed what was more or less the general European pattern, and their growth eventually stagnated. Some cities in the county even suffered dramatic depopulation. Ypres was the most disastrous example, estimated to have

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lost one-half of its inhabitants in the latter half of the fourteenth century – a tragedy from which it would never recover.5 Despite these troubles, Bruges and Ghent remained the largest cities in the Low Countries until the end of the fifteenth century, but their economic supremacy was seriously challenged by the Brabantine network.6 The cities of Brabant grew in tandem with those of Flanders, and in late thirteenth century they became important players in the thriving cloth trade. In the second half of the fourteenth century they were hit by the wave of devastating plagues, but this did not significantly impede their growth.7 In fact, they recovered remarkably quickly, and several launched vast urban expansions less than a decade after the bubonic plague struck the region. The fourteenth-century misfortunes were soon followed by a period of considerable prosperity: Brussels became the preferred residence of the dukes of Burgundy, and Antwerp developed into the main port city of the Low Countries, overtaking Bruges as the leading commercial hub in northern Europe as from the 1480s. Only Leuven lagged somewhat behind in its development; having once been the seat of the dukes of Brabant, in the fourteenth century it lost its privileged position to Brussels. To compensate, the duke supported the founding in Leuven of the only university in the Low Countries in 1425, but the city was nonetheless unable to keep up with Brussels and Antwerp. At the same time, Leuven experienced increasing competition from the nearby manufacturing centre of Mechelen. A seigneury, Mechelen was an independent enclave within the territory of the duchy, but economically it belonged to the Brabantine network. Its strategic geographic position between Antwerp and Brussels gave it control of the Rupel basin and therefore an important competitive advantage over Leuven. In the fifteenth century, Mechelen overtook Leuven in size to become the third largest city in the region. Margaret of Austria’s subsequent removal of the court from Brussels to Mechelen in the early sixteenth century contributed even further to its flourishing economy. The east and the north of Brabant were significantly less densely populated and had few large urban centres. One of those few was the city of ’s-Hertogenbosch, which had around 15,000 inhabitants in the early fifteenth century. A thriving river port along the Meuse, it was strategically situated near the Guelders border and served as a military outpost and administrative centre of the Meierij, the bailiwick of ‘s-Hertogenbosch. Together with Brussels, Antwerp and Leuven, it formed one of the ‘four capitals of Brabant’. In relative figures, the urbanisation of Holland in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was even more exceptional than the Brabantine boom.8 Compared to Flanders and Brabant, the towns of Holland developed fairly late, and until the end of the thirteenth century the county was still sparsely populated. The oldest city, Dordrecht, was established around the middle of the twelfth century, followed in the thirteenth by the chain of towns behind Holland’s coastal dunes: Alkmaar, Haarlem, Leiden, The Hague and Delft.9 The ports of Gouda, Rotterdam and Amsterdam gained importance from around 1300, for which a significant impetus was provided by the linking of several watercourses dug for the excavation of peat in the thirteenth century, which opened up a new connection between the Scheldt Estuary and the Zuiderzee. For traffic between Flanders and the Hanseatic cities in the Baltic, these new Hollandic waterways were increasingly preferred to the long-established routes through Utrecht and along the IJssel river. Meanwhile, several towns were also developing into major manufacturing centres, mostly serving markets in the Southern Netherlands. Leiden became famous for its cloth; Haarlem, Delft and Gouda for their breweries.   Blockmans et al. 1980, 49.   Stabel 1997, 65–66. 7  Blockmans et al. 1980, 49; Klep 1981, 354, table B-6; Klep 1988, 266–67. 5

8

6

9

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  van Bavel & van Zanden 2004.   Rutte 2005.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 Though Holland had its share of pandemics and political upheavals in the second half of the fourteenth century – most notably the Hook and Cod wars – the vast urban expansions of this period are indicative of an explosive growth of the urban population. Many towns even doubled in geographic size.10 Thus, around 1400, five towns (Haarlem, Dordrecht, Leiden, Gouda and Delft) exceeded 5,000 inhabitants. This demographic and economic development accelerated in the fifteenth century, when most towns doubled or even tripled in size.11 By 1500, six cities (Haarlem, Amsterdam, Leiden, Gouda, Delft and Dordrecht) had between 10,000 and 15,000 inhabitants, and four towns (Alkmaar, Hoorn, The Hague and Rotterdam) numbered more than 5,000. The emerging cities of Holland posed serious competition to the nearby episcopal city of Utrecht, which had long dominated the urban hierarchy of the north. An ancient trading crossroads on the Rhine, Utrecht was the main religious centre in the northern Low Countries, enclosing the cathedral and old and wealthy chapters and monasteries within its walls. As such, it also functioned as the administrative centre of the episcopal principality of Utrecht. Though it would remain the largest urban centre in the north throughout the Middle Ages, home to some 20,000 souls by the end of the fifteenth century, the cities of Holland were rapidly catching up. City Walls In the wake of the second wave of urbanisation in Antwerp, Brussels, Leuven and Mechelen and the first wave of urbanisation in Holland, many cities initiated grand new building programmes.12 Among the most expensive undertakings were defence works. The second half of the fourteenth century was a period in which many cities erected extensive fortifications, usually consisting of a combination of earthworks or brick walls and a moat. Directly after the War of the Brabant Succession (1355–1357), Brussels and Leuven both began construction of a second defence ring, the area within the thirteenth-century walls having become too small for their growing populations. With a circumference of nearly eight kilometres, the new enceinte of Brussels was double the length of the old walls and was amongst the longest city walls in Europe (fig. 2.3).13 Leuven also began raising a new ring of walls in 1357, eventually extending more than seven kilometres.14 The plans were overly ambitious, however, and large tracts of land within the walled precincts would remain undeveloped until the end of the nineteenth century (fig. 2.4). The extraordinary length of the walls of both Brussels and Leuven cannot be explained by pure necessity, and may well have been inspired by rivalry between the two cities in their struggle for supremacy in Brabant. With neither willing to cede to the other, the construction of the new walls offered a manifest way to display each city’s military power and prosperity. Even two centuries later, Brussels and Leuven would still be compared on this point, with Guicciardini erroneously remarking in his Descrittione di tutti I Paesi Bassi, first published 1567, that the walls of Brussels were two hundred footsteps shorter than those of Leuven.15 In the Dutch translation from 1612, Petrus Montanus included an addendum recounting a wager on the length of the walls of Leuven between three barons of Brabant, which was settled in 1427 at the duke’s command by measuring the walls of all the largest cities in northern Europe. According to Montanus’ narrative, the measurements revealed that the enceinte of Leuven had a circumference of 3,691 rods,   Rutte 2006.   Lourens & Lucassen, 1997. 12   Coomans 2003b; Blockmans 2010, 422–29. 10 11

 Dickstein-Bernard 1995–1996; Vannieuwenhuyze 2008, 329–40. 14   Van Uytven 1961, 169–70. 15   Ludovico Guicciardini 1612, 53. 13

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which was believed to be longer than those of Ghent, Liège, and even Cologne and Paris.16 The fourteenth-century fortifications of Antwerp likewise anticipated further growth and enclosed enough space for the next century and a half.17 Defence works on this scale were not erected in a single campaign, but were continuously expanded and improved. Thus, while the new perimeter of Brussels is believed to have been finished in 1379, large ­sections were still defended by earthworks and a wooden palisade at that time, and it would take until the mid-fifteenth century to upgrade the defences and build the wall’s seventy-four towers and seven fortified gates. During the same period, several cities in Holland, including Leiden, Haarlem and Gouda, started the construction of new ramparts and city walls.18 These would take more than a century to finish: in Leiden, large-scale work on the walls continued into the fifteenth century, and the walls of Gouda were completed at the century’s end.19 Other cities followed suit much later and relied on defensive moats with earthworks for their protection, such as Amsterdam, which only began the construction of brick walls in 1481.20 Though it Fig. 2.3 Jacob van Deventer, map of Brussels, 81 × 67, seems likely that parts of the city’s defences were c. 1550 (detail). (Brussels, Royal Library) (Plate 1) already brick before this date, the new works were extensive and furthermore progressed with remarkable speed, completed in only a few decades. Apart from improving a city’s defensibility, the building of stone or brick walls and towers also contributed to its prestige, serving to convey its autonomy and ­economic power. Special attention was paid to the embellishment of city gates. Often, they were crowned with tall corner turrets and soaring roof structures, and usually they were clad with stone, which offered a contrast with the brick defensive walls.21 In Brabant and Holland most gates were demolished in the course of the nineteenth century, but s­ everal impressive examples do remain, such as the Obbrusselpoort (present Hallepoort) in Brussels (fig. 2.5), built after 1360 but modified by a nineteenth-century restoration, the Our Lady gate in Bergen op Zoom (fig. 2.6), dating from the second half of the fourteenth century, and the Spaarnwouderpoort in Haarlem (fig. 2.7), which was c­ onstructed in the second quarter of the fifteenth century (the barbican was added around 1482).

  Ludovico Guicciardini 1612, 49.   The first expansion came with the new bastioned defence system built in 1543. Soly 1977. 18   Janse & van Straalen 2000.

  de Boer 1990; Akkerman 2001.   van Tussenbroek 2007a. 21   Janse & van Straalen 2000, 17–18.

16

19

17

20

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Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 City Churches Another category of grand building programme was the erection of the great parish churches. In many urban centres in Brabant and Holland these new structures replaced small Romanesque churches or chapels that had endured into the fourteenth century. Often there was just a single main church that formed the spiritual nexus of the entire city, at the same time providing an important setting for urban life. It was the place where most citizens were baptised, received the sacraments and were buried (fig. 2.8). Moreover, in the fifteenth century they increasingly became the site of a proliferation of altars maintained by local craft guilds and confraternities. Such churches also regularly fulfilled specific secular functions for the city, most notably the church towers, which afforded secure storage for the city archives and served as a clock tower and fire watch.22 Because of their i­mportance to the city, they are usually referred to as ‘city churches’ (stadskerken) in the current Fig. 2.4 Jacob van Deventer, map of Leuven, 56.5 × 47.9, literature. c. 1550 (detail). (Brussels, Royal Library) (Plate 2) Brabant took the lead in the construction of monumental churches, but Holland was not far behind.23 The choir of St Gudula’s in Brussels, begun in 1226, was one of the earliest great ecclesiastical undertakings in urban Brabant. Modelled after the French cathedrals, especially Cambrai and Reims, it had a spacious plan with an ambulatory and radial chapels (fig. 2.9) and a main vessel with a ­classical threefold elevation of arcade, triforium and ­clerestory.24 The church was long an exception in the duchy; apart from the nave and transept of St Rumbold’s in Mechelen, no other project on such an ambitious scale was undertaken in the thirteenth century.25 That changed in the fourteenth century. First with the construction of the new choir in Diest in 1321, but more important for future developments was the new choir of St Rumbold’s in Mechelen, built after a fire devastated the city in 1342 (fig. 2.10). The choir of St Rumbold’s is usually seen as marking the beginning of a series of great church building programmes in the Low Countries. Next in line was nearby Antwerp, where work on a new choir for the church of Our Lady began in 1352, followed a few   Kuys 2006b.  For an overview of fifteenth-century church building in the Low Countries, see: Hörsch & De Jonge 2009; Helten 2005; Coomans 2003b; Bangs

22 23

1997; Buyle 1997; van den Berg 1987; Ozinga & Meischke 1953. 24   Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 20–21. 25   Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 29–31.

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Fig. 2.5 Brussels, Obbrusselpoort (Hallepoort), begun c. 1360. The gate is the only surviving ­remnant of the fourteenth-century city walls, but it was somewhat modified in the nineteenth c­ entury. The battlements and roofs were ‘restored’ by Hendrik Beyaert between 1866 and 1870.

years later by the choir of St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch (c. 1360–1400) (fig. 2.11).26 In Holland, the construction boom began two decades later, where the earliest examples are the choir of St Bavo’s in Haarlem (begun c. 1380–1390) (fig. 2.12), Our Lady in Dordrecht (c. 1380–1390) and St Peter’s in Leiden (begun 1391) (fig. 2.13).27 All of  these churches copied the basic layout of the French cathedrals, with a single ­ambulatory and radial chapels, though in Haarlem and Leiden the design was simplified by ­omitting the chapels. The large number of great parish churches built in the Low Countries during the late Middle Ages has few parallels in northern Europe. Every town of consequence ­constructed  Aerts 1993; Van Damme 1994; Peeters 1985; Glaudemans 2009; Boekwijt & Glaudemans & Hagemans 2010. 26

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 Janssen 1985; Stades-Vischer 1989; Jensma & Molendijk 1987; Meischke 1962; van Tussenbroek 2011; van den Berg 1992; Dröge & Veerman 2011.

27

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.6 Bergen op Zoom, Lievevrouwepoort (Our Lady gate), second half of the fourteenth century.

a new parish church with dimensions befitting a cathedral. In some cities, such as Antwerp, Brussels, Mechelen, Amsterdam, Delft and Leiden, two or even three vast parish churches were built.28 The acceleration of church building during this period is well illustrated by the maps and ground plans of a selection of the 39 largest extant churches in the w ­ estern Low Countries at fifty-year intervals from 1250 to 1550 (fig. 2.14 and Plate 4).29 This s­ election is  On the division of parishes in the diocese of Utrecht, see: Kuys 2004, 43. 29  To allow easy comparison of the plans, the colour codes roughly indicate the main phases of construction, though they do not correspond exactly to the specific dates of building campaigns. Works before 1250 and after 1550 are left out. The plans are based on the series Bouwen door de eeuwen heen and Monumenten in Nederland, but in several 28

cases more recent literature has been used: for St Rumbold’s in Mechelen, Hörsch & De Jonge 2009; for Gouda, van den Berg 2008; for ’s-Hertogenbosch, Boekwijt & Glaudemans & Hagemans 2010; for the Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam, van Tussenbroek 2011. For Bergen op Zoom, the plan of the early sixteenthcentury expansion known as the Nieuwe Werk (‘new works’), which was demolished in the eighteenth century, is projected onto the plan of St Gertrude’s,

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Fig. 2.7 Haarlem, Spaarnwouderpoort, second quarter of the ­fifteenth century. The barbican was added around 1482.

limited to buildings in which substantial quantities of white limestone from the ­quarries of Brussels were used, because, as we shall see in the next two chapters, the trade in this building material was to play a key role in transforming the building industry. In the f­ourteenth and fifteenth centuries, white limestone became the preferred stone for all ­important building projects west of Leuven, ’s-Hertogenbosch and Utrecht. Prior to this, other types of stone had been used in the coastal areas, such as Tournai limestone for various thirteenthcentury churches in Flanders, including Tournai Cathedral (c. 1150–1160, choir 1243–1255) following Peeters 1987. My thanks to Ronald Glaudemans and Jörg Soentgerath for sharing their

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research on St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch and St Bavo’s in Haarlem.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.8 Rogier van der Weyden, Sacramentsaltaar, 1440–1445. (Antwerp, Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten) (Plate 3)

(fig. 2.15), the church of Our Lady (c. 1225–1250) and St Salvator’s (Church of Our Saviour) in Bruges (begun c. 1275), and St Bavo’s (originally dedicated to St John; circa 1300) and St Nicholas’ in Ghent (c. 1250–1300).30 Utrecht Cathedral (begun 1256) (fig. 0.6) and St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch used mainly tufa or trachyte from the Eifel in Germany. These churches attest to a major shift in preferred building materials in the fifteenth century. In Ghent, white limestone replaced Tournai limestone as from the beginning of the fifteenth century, while in Bruges white limestone was used in large quantities for the ambulatory and radial chapels of St Salvator’s at the end of the century.31 In Utrecht and ’s-Hertogenbosch, too, white limestone was imported in increasing quantities as from the second half of the century.32 The maps and plans show that the boom in church building coincided with a ­rapidly expanding market for white limestone. These developments more or less follow the pattern of advancing urbanisation. Before 1350, extensive ecclesiastical building operations were confined to Utrecht, Brussels, Mechelen, Ghent and Bruges, and the use of white limestone was restricted to cities near the quarries (Mechelen, Brussels). After 1350, church building genuinely took off and the use of white limestone became widespread in the coastal areas. Following in the footsteps of Brabant’s larger cities (Antwerp, Mechelen, ’s-Hertogenbosch), new projects were initiated around 1400 in the duchy’s smaller centres   Two other thirteenth-century churches in southern Flanders, St Martin’s in Ypres and St Walburga’s in Veurne, have not been included here; neither have churches in eastern Brabant and Hainaut such as St Sulpicius’ in Diest, St Leonard’s in Zoutleeuw, Onze-Lieve-Vrouw-ten-Poelkerk in Tienen and

30

St Waltrude’s in Mons, because they were built using mostly local stones. 31   Devliegher 1981; De Smidt 1962. 32  Haslinghuis & Peeters 1965; de Kam & Kipp & Claessen 2014; Peeters 1985; Boekwijt & Glaudemans & Hagemans 2010.

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Fig. 2.10 Mechelen, St Rumbold, nave and choir, begun second half of the thirteenth century and largely rebuilt after 1342.

(Breda and Lier), in Holland (Amsterdam, Delft, Dordrecht, Haarlem, Leiden, The Hague) and in the county of Zeeland (Brouwershaven). This period also saw works start on a second monumental parish church in the cities of Brussels, Mechelen, Delft and Amsterdam. An important exception to this surge was the old city of Leuven, where construction of the new St Peter’s did not begin until as late as the first quarter of the fifteenth century.33 The intensity of church building reached its apex in the period between 1450 and 1550. Numerous new projects were undertaken in smaller towns and cities in Flanders (Aalst, Oudenaarde, Hulst), Zeeland (Goes, Tholen, Veere), Brabant (Bergen op Zoom, Hoogstraten) and Holland (Rotterdam, Brielle, Alkmaar, Edam, Enkhuizen). In several larger centres, such as Antwerp and Leiden, work started on a second large parish church. Existing projects also advanced significantly faster in this period than ever before, of which the vast naves of Our Lady in Antwerp, Utrecht Cathedral and St Bavo’s in Haarlem are examples. The start of work on many new churches together with the acceleration of existing programmes meant that there was more construction activity between 1450 and 1550 than at any time in the two previous centuries.   Maesschalck & Viaene 2005.

33

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Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.11 ’s-Hertogenbosch, St John, choir, c. 1360–1400.

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Fig. 2.12 Haarlem, St Bavo, choir, c. 1380–1400.

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Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.13 Leiden, St Peter, choir, 1391–1415.

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Amsterdam

Haarlem Leiden

Utrecht

Delft Dordrecht

Antwerp

Bruges

Dendermonde

Mechelen Aalst

Mechelen

Aalst Brussels

Brussels

Fig. 2.14 A. 1350

Fig. 2.14 B. 1400

Alkmaar

Enkhuizen Edam

Haarlem

Amsterdam

Leiden The Hague

Leiden Utrecht

Delft

The Hague Brielle

Dordrecht Brouwershaven

Veere

Bruges

Antwerp

Ghent Dendermonde Aalst

Lier

Mechelen

Leuven

Goes

Sluis Damme Bruges

Fig. 2.14 C. 1450

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Rotterdam Schoonhoven Dordrecht Breda Bergen op Zoom

Antwerp

Hulst

Ghent Dendermonde Aalst

Brussels

Lier

Mechelen Leuven Brussels

Fig. 2.14 D. 1500

Utrecht

’s-Hertogenbosch Tholen

Middelburg

Gouda

Delft

Brouwershaven Breda

Sluis

Amsterdam

Haarlem

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 The largest churches in Brabant and Holland surpassed the splendour of the older parish churches of Bruges and Ghent and rivalled the thirteenth-century cathedrals of Tournai (choir, 1243–1255) and Utrecht (choir, 1265–1360).34 Some of the new parish churches were even among the largest ecclesiastical projects in all fifteenth-century Europe. At Our Lady in Antwerp, the annual building expenses of the church fabric over the long period from 1431 to 1540 equalled around 112 annual wages of an unskilled worker (fig. 2.16).35 This is a considerable amount considering that at Utrecht Cathedral an average of not even 90 annual wages was spent yearly between 1395 and 1527.36 Many other extensive ecclesiastical building programmes in northern ­ Europe had significantly smaller budgets: the building accounts of Rouen Cathedral record only half the outlays of Antwerp in 1457–1507, while Sens Cathedral spent a mere 33 annual wages per year for construction of the transept between 1490 and 1517.37

Alkmaar

Enkhuizen Edam

Haarlem

Amsterdam

Leiden The Hague Brielle

’s-Hertogenbosch Tholen

Middelburg

Goes

Ghent Kortrijk

Breda Bergen op Zoom Hoogstraten

Sluis Damme Bruges

Utrecht

Schoonhoven Rotterdam Dordrecht

Brouwershaven Veere

Gouda

Delft

Hulst

Antwerp

Dendermonde Mechelen Aalst

Oudenaarde

Lier Leuven

Brussels

Fig. 2.14 E. 1550

Architectural Patronage: Ecclesiastical Institutions

Fig. 2.14 A–E Churches and town halls in the Low Countries for which white limestone from the quarries of Brussels was used at intervals of fifty years (A to E). Several older buildings appear on the map only from the date that white limestone was first applied. For instance, Utrecht Cathedral was begun in the second half of the thirteenth century, but is indicated here only after 1350, when large quantities of white limestone were used for the construction of the nave.

The remarkable prominence of parish churches in church building projects in the Low Countries owed to a lack of higher ecclesiastical institutions in the region. The Low Countries had only five dioceses in total. The bishoprics of Thérouanne, Arras and Tournai comprised the west of Flanders, Artois and the Tournaisis (fig. 2.17). The see of Cambrai extended from Hainaut in the south to Antwerp in the north, cutting through Flanders and Brabant. The north and east of Brabant belonged to the vast diocese of Liège, while that of Utrecht encompassed almost the entire Northern Netherlands. This episcopal map had been formed over the course of the fifth to the seventh centuries, when the coastal areas were still sparsely populated and economically backward. The diocesan borders did not coincide with those of the principalities, nor with linguistic boundaries, which developed later, and neither did they accommodate the shift of economic power to the coastal areas after the twelfth century. This resulted in a concentration of episcopal cities in the far south of the Low Countries, far removed from the largest urban centres of the late Middle Ages.

 Westerman 2005; Déléhouzée & Westerman 2013; Haslinghuis & Peeters 1965; de Kam & Kipp & Claessen 2014. 34

  Vroom 1983, 104–09.   Vroom 2010, 400. 37   Vroom 2010, 435. 35 36

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Fig. 2.15 Tournai, cathedral, choir, 1243–1255.

Like the map of the dioceses, the division of parishes lagged behind demographic developments. Up until the sixteenth century, the boundaries of parishes in the diocese of Utrecht were based on the pre-thirteenth-century situation. More than two-thirds of its thousand parishes were located in the much less urbanised interior, whereas in the west large parishes could easily encompass an entire city and its surrounding villages.38 Though long overdue, an ecclesiastical reorganisation did not come until 1559–1570 with King Philip II’s efforts to combat the spread of Protestantism. Fourteen new dioceses were inaugurated during this period, with many of the largest city churches promoted to the rank of cathedral, among them the churches of St Bavo in Haarlem, St John in ’­ s-Hertogenbosch, St Rumbold in Mechelen and Our Lady in Antwerp.39 Unlike the great urban centres of Italy, where huge mendicant churches often dominate the cityscape, few monastery or convent churches in Brabant and Holland left a strong mark on the urban skyline. This was not due to a lack of religious foundations; on the contrary, they proliferated in the highly urbanised Low Countries. A first wave of foundations swept across the region in the second half of the thirteenth century, followed by a second wave in the fifteenth century under the influence of the devotio moderna. With 116 mendicant communities 38

  Kuys 2004, 43.

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  Israel 1995, 74–76; Vroom 2010, 288–90.

39

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.16 Antwerp, Our Lady, begun 1352.

in the Low Countries, many large cities such as Bruges, Ghent, Haarlem, Leuven, Antwerp, Brussels, Mechelen and Utrecht had at least three mendicant orders within their walls.40 A 1544 woodcut of Amsterdam by Cornelis Anthoniszn (fig. 2.18) shows a bird’s eye view of a city teeming with monasteries and convents. Altogether, the city’s nineteen foundations occupied almost 25 per cent of the area intra muros.41 Particularly numerous were the ­semi-religious communities of the third order. Though they had an important impact on the urban fabric, ­ ecoration. In the their churches and chapels were rather humble structures with minimal d woodcut, they are dwarfed by Amsterdam’s Oude Kerk (Old Church) and Nieuwe Kerk (New Church). The absence of imposing monastic churches is partly attributable to the preference of many reformed orders for an architecture that conformed to their ideal of poverty. 40

  Coomans 2001, 11.

41

  Vermeer & van den Bos 1997.

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Fig. 2.17 Bishoprics in the Low Countries before 1559.

Mendicant churches are characterised by their relative austerity; sparsely decorated, they usually lacked towers, transepts, ambulatories and radial chapels.42 But besides the mendicant principles, civic policy may also have curtailed high-flown ambitions. City authorities usually welcomed the foundation of friaries, but generally took care to prevent encroachment upon parish revenues.43 Also, collegiate chapters saw the friars as rivals, and in Antwerp the canons of Our Lady actively opposed the establishment of mendicant houses and took pains to deny their right to exercise pastoral offices such as baptism, confession and burial.44   Coomans 2001; Coomans 2002.   Parker 1998, 46–48.

42 43

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44

  van den Nieuwenhuizen 1993, 32.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.18 Cornelis Anthonisz, bird’s eye view of Amsterdam, woodcut 100.7 × 109.3, 1544 (detail). The circles indicate the monasteries, convents and beguinage, whereas the two parish churches are marked with circles with dotted lines. (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

The loss of many churches and resulting fragmentary picture that remains means we must take care in drawing any general conclusions about mendicant architecture in the Low Countries. Nevertheless, the churches erected during the first wave of foundations were generally more imposing than those built in the fifteenth century, especially when compared to contemporary parish church architecture.45 The mendicant orders were the first to introduce the Gothic style in many urban centres, and in this early period their churches often dwarfed parish churches, which in many towns were still modest Romanesque structures. A good early example of a prestigious building is the preserved church of the Dominicans in Leuven, started around 1251 with the support of the dukes of Brabant, who intended to use it as their mausoleum (fig. 2.19). In the fifteenth century there was a second wave of foundations, but now mendicant architecture could no longer keep up with the proliferation of grand urban projects.  Only twenty mendicant churches remain, but archaeological evidence has enabled Thomas

45

Coomans to document at least 29 additional churches. Coomans 2001; Coomans 2002.

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Fifteenth Century

Only a few large mendicant churches were built, such as the church of the Franciscans in Utrecht. The early sixteenth century provided better opportunities for the mendicant orders to build on a bigger scale; the Carmelites in Utrecht, for instance, began a prestigious church with a large choir and transept in 1518. The project was taken over by the Knights Hospitaller in 1529, who finished the church with a three-aisled nave in around 1550.46 In Leuven, the Franciscans replaced their small thirteenth-century choir with a grand new structure in 1534–1536, possibly to compete with the larger thirteenth-century Dominican church that stood nearby.47 The largest mendicant churches rose in Antwerp, where ­ growing architectural competition and abundant resources in the metropolis encouraged the Franciscan and Dominican friars to erect vast houses of worship. The Dominican church of St Paul in Antwerp, constructed between 1517 and 1571, was by far the most ambitious mendicant church in the Low Countries (fig. 2.20). Fig. 2.19 Leuven, Dominican church (Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe ter Predikheren), started around 1251. It served as the Unlike most of its predecessors, it was lavmausoleum of the dukes of Brabant. ishly decorated and had a nave with side aisles, a wide transept and a tall tower.48 Two other churches belonging to the mighty Premonstratensian abbeys of St Michael in Antwerp and Middelburg also deserve ­ imensions and rich decorative programmes, mention here.49 With their high towers, large d they were the only urban monastic churches on a par with the great parish churches. Most other important abbeys such as Affligem, Villers and Tongerlo were located in the countryside. Until it was demolished in the nineteenth century, the church of St Michael was one of the marvels of Antwerp (fig. 2.21). During his journey through the Low Countries in 1521, the famous painter Albrecht Dürer praised the fine tracery work of its gallery, remarking in his diary that he had never seen anything like it.50 The most important ecclesiastical church-building institutions in the Low Countries were secular chapters. In Brabant, many parish churches were also collegiate churches: the old and wealthy chapters of St Gudula’s in Brussels, St Rumbold’s in Mechelen, Our Lady in Antwerp, St Peter’s in Leuven and St Gommarus’ in Lier, established in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, were responsible for the church fabric and had an important say in new construction plans.51 Canons usually did not provide funds for the construction of the church   Coomans 2001, 102–03.   Coomans 2011b. 48   Coomans 2001, 63–64. 49   Dekker 2006. 46 47

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  Auch bin ich gewesen in der reichen abtei zu St Michael; die haben von stein maßwerck die kostlichste porkirchen, alß jch nie gesehen habe… Albrecht Dürer 1970, 60–61. 51   Coomans 2009, 14–17. 50

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.20 Antwerp, Dominican church (St Paul), 1517–1571. After 1578, the transept and choir were destroyed by Calvinists, but they were rebuilt in the early seventeenth century.

directly, but occasionally their indirect contributions formed an important source of income.52 For instance, in Antwerp, the chapter of Our Lady designated revenues from the lease of houses and shops in the church immunity to the church fabric, and these monies came to play a major role in the church’s finances as from the third quarter of the fifteenth century. On more than one occasion the appropriation of a parish church by a chapter coincided with the construction of a new church. Such clear ties exist for ’s-Hertogenbosch, Bergen op Zoom, Hoogstraten, Dordrecht and Veere, where construction of the new building started in the same period as the chapter’s foundation (table 2.1).53 In a few cases the building of a great church seems to have been a measure to acquire collegiate status, as in Aalst, where in 1495 the chapter of the nearby village of Haaltert was transferred to St Martin’s approximately fourteen years after the start of construction. Another example is St Pancras in Leiden (also called Hooglandse Kerk). Its chapter had already been established in 1366, but in 1470, ten years after work started on a new church, Pope Paul II fulfilled the canons’ long-held wish for greater autonomy by granting the chapter an exemption from the episcopal jurisdiction of Utrecht and placing it under papal protection.

  Vroom 1983, 43–45.  On the foundation of chapters in the diocese of Utrecht, see: Kuys 2014; Kuys 2004, 277–80,

52 53

appendix 3; Leverland 2000, 36–37. On the Southern Netherlands, see: Wendehorst & Benz 1994; Claessens 1884; De Jonge 2009b, 129.

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City Authorities and the Nobility Apart from chapters, city authorities were the primary driving force behind new ecclesiastical building programmes. In the fourteenth century many cities had obtained the exclusive right to appoint churchwardens – officers who took care of the day-to-day administration of the church fabric.54 At parish churches that were also collegiate churches, responsibility for construction and upkeep was usually shared between the chapter and the city authorities. For example, at Our Lady in Antwerp, the city elected half of the total number of churchwardens, the chapter the other half.55 At several other collegiate churches, however, such as the church of St John in ’s-Hertogenbosch, the right of appointment belonged to the city alone.56 Parish churches with no chapter were usually under the sole control of city authorities.57 In Holland, the city authorities commonly appointed all churchwardens.58 Well documented is the case of Delft, where the Fig. 2.21 Unknown draftsman, view on the harbour of magistrate elected the churchwardens of the Antwerp, in: Jan de Gheet, Unio pro conservatione rei Nieuwe Kerk (New Church), and after 1458 of ­publice, woodcut, Antwerp 1515. In the centre the unfinthe Oude Kerk (Old Church) as well.59 ished towers of Our Lady are depicted, whereas on the Many of the large churches built in right the tower of St Michael, crowned with a bulbous the Low Countries had no chapter, or were spire, can be seen. (KU Leuven) only conferred collegiate status many decades after the start of construction. For example, St James’ in Antwerp was not promoted to collegiate church until the seventeenth century. A similar sequence is found at St Leonard’s in Zoutleeuw, St Sulpicius’ in Diest and Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-de-Dijle in Mechelen. In Holland, only three great churches had a chapter: Our Lady in Dordrecht, St Catherine’s in Brielle and St Pancras’ in Leiden. Other city churches depended on a Zeven-getijdencollege, a college of the singers of the seven hours, for their choir services. These colleges were financed and governed by city authorities, who wished to boost the prestige of their parish church. Unlike the chapters, these colleges seem not to have been concerned with building activities; telling in this respect is the fact that the earliest known colleges date to the middle of the fifteenth century, long after the start of the church construction boom.60

  Kuys 2006a, 109–33; Kuys 2004, 74–75.   Vroom 1983, 23–26. The wardens of St Peter’s in Leuven were also selected by the chapter and the city magistrate. Maesschalck & Viaene 2005, 31–33. 56   Peeters 1985, 2. 57  A good example is St James’, which was the second parish church in Antwerp. Vroom 1983, 159, appendix 5. 54 55

80

  Kuys 2006a, 113. In the diocese of Utrecht, several cities are known to have had the right to appoint wardens. On Kampen, see: Kolman 1993, 175. On the Buurkerk in Utrecht, see: Vroom 1981, 345. 59  Verhoeven 1992, 25–28. In Leiden the city authorities also appointed the churchwardens of both St Pancras’ and St Peter’s. de Vries 1994, 241. 60   Jas 1997, 2–4; Kuys 2014, 30. 58

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 Table 2.1 Chapter foundations and the start of construction of the church. collegiate churches

start construction church

chapter’s foundation

brabant

Aarschot, Our Lady Antwerp, Our Lady Antwerp, St James Bergen op Zoom, St Gertrude Breda, Our Lady Brussels, St Gudula Diest, St Sulpicius ’s-Hertogenbosch, St John Hoogstraten, St Catherine Leuven, St Peter Mechelen, St Rumbold Mechelen, Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-de-Dijle Zoutleeuw, St Leonard

1337 1352 1491 1444 c. 1410 1226 1321 c. 1360 1524 c. 1425 c. 1250 c. 1451 1231

1462 1116-1119 1665 1428, approval 1442 1303 1047 1457 1366 1534 1015, chapter university 1443 996-1000 1643 1308

1462 c. 1400 c. 1380 c. 1460 c. 1380

1332 1367 1367 1366, 1560

c. 1481 c. 1275 c. 1225-1250

1495 1501 1091 1203

1452 1470

1404 1452

holland

Brielle, St Catherine The Hague, Our Lady Dordrecht, Our Lady Leiden, St Pancras Haarlem, St Bavo

under papal protection

1470

flanders

Aalst, St Martin Bruges, St Salvator Bruges, Our Lady Kortrijk, Our Lady zeeland

Tholen, Our Lady Veere, Our Lady

The close involvement of the city authorities in church administration is also attested by the elected wardens themselves, who were commonly recruited from the same elite as the city council. Sometimes an alderman (schepen) or burgomaster even combined his office with that of churchwarden.61 In any case, the fabric’s administration always remained under the strict surveillance of the city. The accounts were usually checked by the city every year. In Antwerp and Hulst, for instance, the accounts were signed by the churchwardens and city aldermen after a public audit.62 City governments, like church chapters, rarely sponsored the fabric directly, but they could allocate shares of the revenues from fines, leases or excise duties for the fabric’s use.63 One specific way in which cities subsidised construction was through the allocation of steenboeten, fines reckoned in a certain number of bricks.

 Examples of burgomasters and aldermen who also held the office of churchwarden are found at St James’ in Antwerp, the three parish churches of Utrecht, St Lawrence’s in Rotterdam and St Willibrord’s in Hulst. Kuys 2006a, 114–15; de Vries

61

1994, 247–48. On the close ties between cities and church fabrics, see: Bangs 1997, 174. 62   Kuys 2006a, 117–21. 63   Kuys 2004, 60, 75; Van Uytven 2005, 670–71.

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City supervision was not restricted to bookkeeping, but also extended to major decisions such as the drawing up of building contracts and the appointment of new architects, for which the consent of the city authorities was needed.64 A well-documented example concerns the rebuilding of St John’s in Gouda after the city fire of 1552, for which the magistrate concluded contracts with the master of the works and building contractors.65 In other cases, the magistrate acted as an independent third party alongside the churchwardens and the contractor.66 In Haarlem, a contract from 1470 between the Brabantine stone merchants Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere and the wardens of St Bavo’s explicitly states that it was concluded “by the will and consent of the council of the city”.67 Cities usually also appointed the church’s master of the works.68 An early example is a 1369 contract naming Rutger (later called Van Kampen) master at both St Nicholas’ (Bovenkerk) and Our Lady (Buitenkerk) in Kampen, which was drawn up not by the churchwardens but by the aldermen and town council.69 Often, the office of master of the church works was combined with that of master mason to the city. In 1386–1387 the mason Aernd Keyser was engaged as master mason to the city of Dordrecht and master of the church of Our Lady. His contract stipulated that half of his salary was to be paid by the church fabric and the other half by the city.70 Similar arrangements are found in Bergen op Zoom, Diest, Leuven and Mechelen.71 In Lier, the town even contributed to the salary of Jan II Keldermans as master of the works of St Gommarus’, paying him a yearly pension until his death in 1445.72 City authorities are likely to have intervened in major design decisions, but sources are mostly silent on such matters. A rare documented example survives from Bergen op Zoom. In 1539, the town council convened in the palace of the margraves of Bergen op Zoom, the Markiezenhof, to discuss ongoing works on the new choir. The council had to choose between two designs, one of which would cost half as much as the other.73 Possibly the council was mainly interested in the cost of the building campaign, however, and not so much in the spatial arrangement or architectural decorations. An interesting case showing that city councils could have a clear opinion on design matters is the stipulation in 1455 by the bailiff, burgomasters and aldermen of Goes, a small town in Zeeland, that the new choir of the parish church was to be erected with a three-sided polygonal apse “as in the church in Gouda”.74 64  Kuys 2006a, 115–16. For example, in Kampen the churchwardens regularly met with the town council to discuss new building campaigns. Kolman 1993, 179. 65   van den Berg 2008, 96. 66   Kuys 2006a, 115–16. 67   NHA, SA, box 67 I-1183. See also: Janssen 1985, appendix 10. Another documented example comes from a contract drawn up in 1510 between the churchwardens of St Walburga’s in Oudenaarde and the stone merchant Willem de Ronde from Vilvoorde, which was approved by the aldermen. Van Lerberghe & Ronsse, 1845–1855, vol. 2, 31. 68  An exception is Utrecht Cathedral, where the chapter administered the church fabric without the interference of city authorities. Muller Fz. 1905. 69  Helten 1994, 141, doc. 2. Comparable examples are the appointments of Evert Spoorwater as master of the works at Our Lady in Dordrecht in 1439 and of Anthonis I Keldermans in 1505 as master for the crossing tower of St Bavo’s in Haarlem, which were approved by the city authorities. For Dordrecht:

82

GAD, SA, arch. no. 1, inv. 14, f. 178v., no. 2063; van Dalen 1927, 168, doc. 19. For Haarlem: NHA, SA, box 67 I-1187a. 70   GAD, SA, arch. no. 1, inv. 4, f. 4v., no. 17; Jensma & Molendijk 1987, 28. 71  van Wylick-Westermann 1987, 13, 16 and 20. In Diest, Jan van Kessel was appointed master of the works of St Sulpicius’ and to the town in 1469. The cost of his yearly pension was shared equally between the church and the town. Halflants 1992–1996, vol. 2, 17, 81–82. See also: Van Uytven 2005, 671; Kuys 2006a, 116. 72   Leemans 1972, 30–31. 73   Juten 1924c, 73–74. See also: Peeters 1987. 74   Item, is overgedragen by bailiu, burgermeysteren ende scepenen der stede van der Goes dat men ordineren, fonderen ende maken sal een chore an der kerken ter Goes met drie upgaende gevelen met sijn eyssche ende toebehoren in alre manieren, als binnen der stede van der Goude an de prochiekerke staet. Unger 1944, 2. See also: Kuys 2006a, 116.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 Besides chapters and city authorities, members of the aristocracy could also be involved in church-building, though they were usually more inclined to commission the decoration of church interiors or chapels with altars, tombs and glazed windows than to provide funding for construction works.75 The court and nobility systematically sponsored tombs and large cycles of stained glass windows to serve as dynastic memorials, and some magnificent windows still remain, at St Gudula’s in Brussels (fig. 8.3), for example, St Waltrude’s in Mons and St John’s in Gouda.76 In general, the Burgundian and Habsburg princes preferred the construction of monasteries to the sponsorship of city churches.77 An exceptional case was Charles V’s pledge to provide 15,000 crowns to build the nave of St Bavo’s in Ghent in 1533.78 Nevertheless, some of their forebears do seem to have been more involved in the construction of city churches. For example, the thirteenth-century choir of St Gudula’s in Brussels is thought to have been erected with the support of the dukes of Brabant, and particularly Henry I of Brabant.79 High nobles at court could be more active sponsors. An early example is Willem Eggert, financier of Count William VI of Holland, who in 1410 was rewarded for his services by being made lord of Purmerend and is recorded as having donated large sums of money during the early years of construction of the Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam.80 Most other cases concern smaller towns where the territorial lord had a much stronger presence. To arrange for a suitable dynastic burial place, such lords usually founded a chapter and attached their own family chapel to an existing parish church. In the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, several prominent courtiers had higher ambitions, however, and undertook to rebuild local parish churches on a much grander scale. Their close ties with the court allowed them to engage the best architects of their time. A fine example is the church of Our Lady in the port town of Veere in Zeeland, which was built as prestige project for the wealthy lords of Veere of the House of Borssele. They endowed the church with a chapter in 1467–1469 and initiated the construction of a church that reflected their high aspirations, resulting in a building whose large dimensions make it seem out of place in the small community it served (fig. 2.22). Thanks to Van Borssele’s efforts, the celebrated masters Evert Spoorwater, Anthonis I Keldermans and Rombout Keldermans could be attracted to lead the work. It is telling that the contract appointing Anthonis Keldermans as master of the works in 1479 does not mention the town magistrate, but only the lord of Veere, Wolfert van Borssele (fig. 8.5), as signatory, along with the churchwardens.81 Another example of a parish church that was mostly a private project is St Catherine’s in Hoogstraten (fig. 2.23). Its rebuilding was part of a large-scale transformation of the town of Hoogstraten in honour of Anthonis I de Lalaing’s newly acquired status as count. Lalaing was an important figure at the court of Margaret of Austria and held several key offices, including chef de finances and stadtholder of Holland. His deep pockets allowed him to start work on a new church as well as a new town hall and to undertake largescale modernisation of the old castle, for which he engaged the court architect Rombout Keldermans.82 The church was built as a mausoleum for Lalaing and his wife Elisabeth of Culemborg, whose all’antica tomb, designed by the court sculptor Jean Mone, is still

  Hörsch 1997, 50.   De Jonge 2005a. 77  Kuys 2006a, 121–22. For example, Margaret of Austria founded the monastery of Brou in Savoy (1506–1532) and Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-van-ZevenSmartenklooster near Bruges (1518–c. 1532). 75 76

  Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 20, 59.   De Jonge 2007. 80   van Tussenbroek 2011, 24–25. 81   Vermeulen 1936, 48. 82  Meischke 1987b, 97–99; Leys 1987, 161–62; Mertens 2006–2007. 78 79

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in the

Fifteenth Century

Fig. 2.22 Veere, Anthonis I Keldermans and Rombout II Keldermans, Our Lady, 1470–1520.

preserved in the choir. Construction started in 1525, a few years after Lalaing was made count of Hoogstraten, under an arrangement whereby Lalaing would bear two thirds of the construction costs, while the remainder would be financed by the town.83 The preserved correspondence with Lalaing’s receiver at Hoogstraten reveals his profound interest in the project. Though often away, he closely monitored the progress of his church’s construction. The building rose rapidly, and when it was promoted to collegiate church in 1534 the choir and transept were already finished. In larger centres, such as Breda and Bergen op Zoom, the territorial lords had to cooperate with town magistrates. In Bergen op Zoom the city administered the church fabric, but in the background the lords played an important role in the ambitious new

83

  van den Berg 1987, 81–84.

84

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 plans. It can be no coincidence that the installation of Jan II of Glymes as lord of the seigneury in 1440 was immediately followed by intense building activity at his residence, the Markiezenhof, and at the church of St Gertrude. His father had already taken the initiative to establish a collegiate chapter at St Gertrude’s, and in 1442 permission was finally obtained from the pope. Work on the new choir started two years later, and the church was completed in the 1470s.84 By then, however, the sizeable building was already deemed too small, and in 1489 plans were made to enlarge the church with a huge new choir that would double its size (fig. 2.24). It is likely that these remarkably ambitious plans were propelled by the increasing economic importance of the annual Brabant fairs in Bergen op Zoom. More in particular, however, they also reflected the rising status of the Glymes at court, which ultimately led to their promotion to the rank of margrave by Charles V in 1533. As members of an emerging elite, these high courtiers vied to outdo each other in the foundation of magnificent family mausoleums in their seigneurial towns, including Lalaing’s funeral church in Hoogstraten, Henry III of Nassau’s rebuilding of the lavish ‘Princes’ Chapel’ (Prinsenkapel) at Our Lady in Breda in 1520–1525 (fig. 2.25) and William of Croy founding the Celestine priory in Heverlee.85

Fig. 2.23 Hoogstraten, Rombout II Keldermans, St Catherine, 1525–1550

Accommodating the City’s Needs With the explosive growth of urban populations came an increasing need for space to accommodate graves and tombs and the altars of private founders, craft guilds and corporations within city churches. From the second half of the fifteenth century there was a rapid proliferation of such altars. The largest parish churches had as many as Utrecht Cathedral, which boasted forty altars at the beginning of the sixteenth century.86 In comparison, St Peter’s in Leiden and both the Oude Kerk and Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam had some 30 to 35 altars.87 St John’s in Gouda, the largest church in the Northern Netherlands, had 45

  Peeters et al. 1987, 135–36.   van Wezel 2003; Derez 2005. 86   de Groot 2011, 213. 84 85

 den Hartog 2011, 164; Vroom 2010, 308; Petrus Montanus 1614, 359.

87

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in the

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Fig. 2.24 Albrecht Dürer, view on the new choir and transept of St Gertrude in Bergen op Zoom, 14.2 × 18.2, c. 1520–1521. The drawing made by Dürer on his journey to the Low Countries in 1520–1521 shows the new transept and choir under construction. Works started in 1489 by Anthonis I Keldermans, however due to the changing religious climate in the 1520s, the project would never reach completion. Visible on the left is the roof of the choir by Evert Spoorwater, which had been completed just a decade before the expansion of the church with a new choir. (Städel Museum Frankfurt am Main).

altars around 1500, probably more than any other in the diocese of Utrecht.88 Even greater numbers of altars are known to have furnished the churches of Brabant. At St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch there were at least 48 in the early the sixteenth century, where their placement in the nave was dictated by altar supports that protruded from the base of the piers.89 As such, the architectural design accommodated the rapid increase in demand for altar foundations. This development is well documented at the church of Our Lady in Antwerp: from 31 altars in 1477, the total grew to 57 in 1533 and 70 in 1566. This great influx of altars could not have been anticipated when the nave was first planned in the 1420s, and by the 1450s it was already necessary to enlarge the three-aisled nave. The lateral chapels along the nave were transformed into additional side aisles and more aisles were added, resulting in a seven-aisled nave (three on either side of the main vessel).90 Curiously, urban expansion hardly led to the construction of additional parish churches. Instead, growth often prompted the enlargement of the existing parish church, which

88 89

  Goudriaan 2002, 181.   Peeters 1985, 335.

86

90 91

  Vroom 1983, 17–18.   Vroom 1985, 66.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 continued to serve the city’s whole population. Even sizeable cities such as Antwerp (until 1477), ’s-Hertogenbosch, Haarlem and Gouda had only one parish church that was attended by all of the inhabitants of the city and its immediate surroundings. In the document proclaiming the Portiuncula indulgence in 1470, issued to pay for the construction of St Bavo’s in Haarlem, the growing number of parishioners is referred to explicitly as the reason for building a new spacious nave.91 Some churches, such as the Oude Kerk in Delft, the Grote Kerk (Great Church) in The Hague and the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam, underwent gradual expansions that kept pace with population growth (fig. 2.26 and 2.55).92 New sections were added when the building no longer met the city’s needs or when sufficient funds became available. Consecutive additions and enlargements resulting in aisles that were even wider than the nave transformed both Amsterdam’s Oude Kerk and Delft’s Oude Kerk into hybrids of basilica and hall church. The inquiry of the Habsburg authorities into the potential tax yield of cities and villages of Holland (and West Frisia) in 1514 shows a strong correlation between the size of a parish and that of its parish church: the largest parishes recorded in the tax survey also had the largest churches (Table 2.2).93 This connection was understood in the fifteenth century, and chapters and city governments actively opposed the establishment of new parishes and religious institutions within their city. For example, an attempt by the Carmelites Fig. 2.25 Breda, Our Lady, Prinsenkapel, 1520–1525. to settle in Antwerp in 1480 met with opposition from the city authorities, who decided that all funds were needed to finish the construction of Our Lady and therefore suspended the friary’s foundation.94 Several years later, in 1493, the chapter of Our Lady sent a petition to Philip the Fair against the Carmelites’ persisting attempts to found a friary in Antwerp. One of their main concerns was that competition for alms would divert funds from the church fabric: the work on such a vast building as Our Lady would never have advanced so well, they said, had there been other large simultaneous ecclesiastical building projects in the city.95 A comparable line of argumentation was used by the wardens of St James’ church in Antwerp when they appealed to Charles V to hold a lottery for the construction of the new church in 1519. They stated

 Berends & Meischke 1981; Boissevain & Nigten 1987; Janse 2004. 93   Fruin 1866a and Fruin 1866b. 92

 Mertens & Torfs 1847, 370–71. The chapter also curtailed the rights of other religious institutions. van den Nieuwenhuizen 1993, 32. 95   Vroom 1983, 38. 94

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Fig. 2.26 Amsterdam, Oude Kerk/St Nicolas, nave, southern side-aisle. The hall church was completed by the end of the fourteenth century, but in the late fifteenth century large side-chapels were added to the nave, while in 1510–1512 the main vessel was expanded with a clerestory.

that the church had depended solely on alms given by the citizens, but because many new churches were being built in the city, their income had declined rapidly in recent years.96 Though churches in the Low Countries never reached the soaring heights of the French cathedrals, their surface areas fully equalled many a cathedral. For instance, the nave of the largest church in the Low Countries, Our Lady in Antwerp, has a height of only 27.5 metres – far lower than most of the great cathedrals; however, in surface area it was one of the largest in northern Europe, the seven-aisled nave spanning 53.6 metres and therefore significantly wider than those of the cathedrals at Amiens (40.4 metres) and Cologne (45.19 metres). The church as a whole equals the entire surface area of the Notre-Dame in Paris, but if construction of the vast new choir that was started in 1521 had been completed, it would have ranked (in terms of surface area) among the largest Gothic churches ever built. In fact, nineteenth-century archaeological research suggests that it would have quadrupled the surface area of the old choir.97 Following an energetic start, however, the project

  Vroom 1983, 108.   Recently initiated archaeological and geophysical research is hoped to provide better insight into the 96 97

88

original layout of the new choir. See: Vander Ginst & Smeets 2013; De Smaele et al. 2013.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 Table 2.2 Number of communicants according to the tax survey of 1514, the so-called ‘Informacie’, in the county of Holland. parishes in cities and villages of

number of communicants in the

holland

‘informacie’ of 1514

Alkmaar Amsterdam, Oude Kerk Amsterdam, Nieuwe Kerk Delft, Oude Kerk Delft, Nieuwe kerk The Hague Dordrecht, Our Lady Dordrecht, Nieuwkerk Edam Enkhuizen, St Gommarus Enkhuizen, St Pancras Gouda Gorinchem Haarlem Hoorn Leiden, St Peter Leiden, Hooglandse Kerk Leiden, Our Lady Monnikendam Naarden Rotterdam Schiedam

2,800 4,000 5,000 5,000 3,600 3,800-3,900 6,000-7,000 750 1,400-1,500 1,800 500 10,000 2,700-3,000 10,000-14,000 3,300-3,600 5,000 4,000-5,000 550 1,500-2,000 1,800-2,200 3,500 1,600

experienced serious financial difficulties due to the changing religious climate. In 1525, the churchwardens complained about the “Lutheran heresy” (Lutheriaensche heresien) sprouting in the city, but they remained remarkably optimistic and hoped that the new choir would be completed within six to eight years.98 A disastrous fire in 1533 dashed these hopes, as their dwindling funds were completely consumed by the huge cost of repairs to the nave. The famous Bononiensis map of Antwerp (1565) shows that when the work was finally abandoned in 1537 (fig. 2.27), the piers and walls of the outer envelope had been erected just above the level of the lower window sills. The church’s massive dimensions were admired by contemporaries like Dürer, who praised it in his diary for being so vast that many masses could be sung there simultaneously without interfering with each other: Jtem unser Frauen kirchen zu Antorff ist übergroß, also das man viel ampt auf einmal darinnen singt, das keins das ander jrt.99 His account is affirmed by the chapter’s petition to Philip the Fair, which related that at least a hundred masses were said each day.100   ARA, ARK, 637, f. 194r.-v.   Albrecht Dürer 1970, 60. 100   Mertens & Torfs 1847, 93. Surface area must have had priority at other churches as well. For instance, 98 99

the main vessel of the choir of St Bavo's in Haarlem has an impressive length of 45 metres, surpassing that at Amiens and at Notre-Dame in Paris, which extend ‘only’ 39 and 37 metres. Janssen 1985, 28.

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Fig. 2.27 Virgilius Bononiensis, map of Antwerp, woodcut 141.5 × 275, 1565 (detail). (Antwerp, Museum Plantin-Moretus)

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Fig. 2.28 Bruges, cloth hall, 1280–1300, lantern 1483–1487.

Trade Halls and Town Halls In addition to the impressive city churches, a significant number of commercial and government buildings were erected in the cities and towns of Brabant and Holland. The earliest were multifunctional mercantile trade halls modelled on the famous cloth halls of Flanders, such as in Ypres (1260–1304) and Bruges (1280–1300) (fig. 2.28).101 During the heyday of the Brabantine cloth trade around 1300, a series of imposing halls was erected in the duchy. Mechelen was once more in the vanguard, with the rebuilding of its thirteenth-century hall in 1311–1326 (fig. 2.29). The building’s design, with an inner courtyard and a belfry above the entrance on the market square, was clearly inspired by the hall in Bruges. The tower was never finished, probably because funds were needed for major repairs after a fire swept the city in 1342.102 Other important centres of cloth production soon followed in Mechelen’s footsteps. In Leuven, a design quite different to the Bruges and Mechelen type was begun in 1317, comprised on the ground floor of a large rectangular two-aisled hall that served as covered marketplace, while the first floor offered space to store goods (fig. 2.30).   Coomans 2007.

101

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  De Jonge 2009b, 133.

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Fig. 2.29 Mechelen, cloth hall, 1311–1326. The left wing of the complex was transformed between 1526–1547 into the palace of the Grote Raad (Great Council) after designs by Rombout II Keldermans. The building was never finished and was reconstructed by Philippe Van Boxmeer and Pierre Langerock in 1901–1911.

New cloth halls were subsequently also built in Lier in 1326, Diest in 1346 and Brussels in 1355.103 Holland did not share in this development, with the exception of what is known as the Flemish merchants’ hall in Dordrecht. A sizeable hall, measuring 40 by 12 metres, it was constructed over the water of the Voorstraathaven between 1383 and 1388 by cloth merchants from Flanders who had fled the turmoil of the Revolt of Ghent in 1379–1385.104 Changing economic conditions, and in particular the decline of the Brabantine cloth trade after the mid-fourteenth century, made most halls redundant only a few d ­ ecades after they were built. These halls were quickly adapted to new functions, such as in Leuven, where the building became the main hall of the newly founded university in 1425. Earlier examples of reuse are the cloth hall in Lier and that in Dendermonde in Flanders (1337– 1350), which were converted into town halls in 1367–1383 and 1395–1405, respectively.105 Town Halls Town halls accommodated a diversity of government functions that had previously been scattered across cloth halls, patrician homes and inns. As multifunctional complexes that housed council halls for the burgomasters and aldermen and the court of justice, town halls often also incorporated commercial functions such as a city meat hall, cloth hall and public   De Jonge 2009b, 133.   Stades-Vischer 1985.

103 104

105   Coomans 2007, 190. On Dendermonde, see: De Pauw 1894.

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Fig. 2.30 Leuven, cloth hall, 1317. The first storey was added in the late seventeenth century. The building was heavily damaged in the First World War.

weigh house.106 The growing political importance of town halls over cloth halls owes not only to the collapse of the cloth trade, but also reflects a shift towards a more ­professional form of government, leading cloth merchants to be gradually supplanted by other groups, ­especially university-educated professionals, in the civic administration.107 As the original locus of government, the oldest surviving alderman’s house (schepenhuis) in the Low Countries, in Aalst, dates from the thirteenth century.108 Several other towns and c­ ities had similar buildings for their local government in this period (e.g. Vilvoorde before 1266, Mechelen 1285), though civic authorities still often ­gathered in p ­ rivate residences.109 As town halls became the prime architectural expression of urban prestige in the last quarter of the fourteenth century, most early aldermans’ houses were replaced by more magnificent edifices. An early example of the sudden fervour for erecting government buildings is the new aldermen’s house in Mechelen, begun in 1374 (fig. 2.31).110 Its freestanding position on the market square gives it a monumental presence, but ­architecturally it still harks back to the design of private residences, with its stepped gables, corner turrets and crenellations all characteristic of contemporary patrician houses. Another early example, in Haarlem (fig. 2.32), follows a different model. Comprising a single large hall spanning roughly 27 by 10 metres, it is reminiscent of Floris V’s ‘Knights’ Hall’ (Ridderzaal), (1286–1296) in The Hague. This choice may well have been prompted by the fact that Haarlem’s town hall was built on the remains of the residence of the count of Holland, who donated the palace to the city after a large fire in 1351. Finished around 1370, the hall was later expanded with two additions that projected onto the market square, known as the vierschaar   Ottenheym 2010.   Van Uytven 1998, 153. 108  The town hall was partially rebuilt in the early fifteenth century. Devos 1982, vol. 1, 24–73. 106

109

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  Van Uytven 1998, 149.   De Jonge 2009b, 122.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 (1385 and 1460), and which housed the high court of justice – a public court where death sentences were pronounced. A last addition was made in the fifteenth century in the form of the slender octagonal tower constructed between 1465 and 1468.111 In Bruges, there developed a new and influential architectural model for late Gothic town halls in the Low Countries. Begun two years after that in Mechelen (1376– 1421), the design of Bruges’ town hall iterates several conventional features such as corner turrets and crenellations, but joins them with a lavishly decorated façade featuring alternating tall windows and strips of superimposed pairs of monumental statues (fig. 2.33). The overall effect has often been compared to a metalwork reliquary shrine.112 This sculptural screen provided a fitting ceremonial background for official public events, and particularly for ‘Joyous Entries’, when the new prince stood in front of the town hall on Burg square and confirmed the city’s privileges, and the citizenry swore an oath of fealty to their sovereign in return. The iconographic programme of the façade well expresses Fig. 2.31 Mechelen, aldermen’s house, begun in the magistrate’s loyalty to the rightful ruler, but at the 1374. same time conveys its legitimate authority as the deputy of the count of Flanders.113 The town hall of Bruges was to serve as an example for the town halls of both Brussels (fig. 2.34) and Leuven. The former was constructed in two campaigns between 1401 and 1455 and surpassed every other civic building in the Low Countries in terms of sheer size, ornate façades and number of statues (more than two hundred).114 The design introduces several features that were new in secular architecture, such as the ground level arcade that spans the entire length of the façade (interrupted only by the base of the tower), the blind tracery patterns above the windows and the openwork parapet crowning the façade. The conspicuous tower is another new feature that reappears at several later town halls, although the one in Brussels is exceptional for its lofty height of 96 metres and its pierced tracery spire.115 Designed by Jan van Ruysbroeck in 1449–1455, it remains one of the very few examples of an openwork spire in the Low Countries.116 Brussels’ vast new town hall provoked an immediate enthusiastic reaction from the oldest city of Brabant. In the very first year of construction, the city of Leuven sent its workmen to visit the building site.117 It would take until 1438, however, before the first stone of   Cerutti 2001, 47–83.   Köhl 2013, 192 113   Köhl 2013; Van Uytven 1998, 154; Van Uytven 1995. 114   Maesschalck & Viaene 1960. 115  Earlier and contemporary examples of town halls with a tower in Flanders include those in Dendermonde (1377–1395), Sluis (1390–1396 and 1423–1427) and Aalst (tower, early fifteenth century). 111 112

However, their fortified character belongs more to the Flemish tradition of robust belfry towers. 116  Another example is the spire of the small parish church of St Gertrude in Leuven (1452– 1453), generally also attributed to Van Ruysbroeck. Maesschalck & Viaene 1985, 65. 117  Maesschalck & Viaene 1977, 57–58; Maesschalk & Viaene & Viaene 2000.

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Fig. 2.32 Haarlem, town hall, 1351–1370. The two projecting additions for the vierschaar, the high court of justice, were made in 1385 and 1460, the tower was added in 1465–1468. The classical details of the façades date from the early seventeenth century.

Leuven’s own new town hall was laid (fig. 2.35). Documents show that it was originally planned to have a large tower, “just as in Brussels” (gelijc te Bruxele),118 but in 1448 this design was abandoned, probably due to problems with the foundation, and instead six lower octagonal turrets came to crown the building. The work progressed rapidly, and by 1468 the new town hall was finished. In its architectural competition with Brussels, the smaller dimensions of Leuven’s town hall were more or less compensated by its even more lavishly decorated façades, which were completely covered with statues in ornate canopied niches. Ultimately, the result looks more like an emulation of Bruges, resembling even more closely the features of a blown-up reliquary shrine. Both the Brussels and Leuven town halls prompted civic authorities in a ­number of smaller centres to undertake the construction of new monumental government ­buildings of their own. The designer of that in Leuven, Matheus de Layens, was engaged by Mons, in Hainaut (1458–1477), while in Flanders, near Bruges, the Brussels stone ­merchant Godevaert

 …groten thorne, gelijc te Bruxele in middel vander stat huys aldaer steet… Maesschalck & Viaene 1977, 79.

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Fig. 2.33 Bruges, town hall, 1376–1421.

de Bosschere supplied designs for the more modest town hall of Damme (1461–1470) (fig. 3.6).119 Further north, Gouda (1448–1459) and Schoonhoven (1452–1454) picked up the trend.120 Gouda erected a freestanding structure in the centre of a triangular market square (fig. 2.36). The front façade combines several conventional elements such as corner turrets and a stepped gable, but the pinnacles and crowning turret at the top of the gable clearly distinguish it from residential architecture. Construction of a new town hall likewise started in this period in Middelburg, in Zeeland (1452–1521).121 There, the elaborate sculptural programme and central tower (on the rear façade) are reminiscent of Brussels, but it also introduced a prominent new feature in the form of highly ornate gables that

119   De Jonge 2009b, Devliegher 1965.

123;

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120 121

  Pot 1950; Meischke 1987b.   Meischke 1987b.

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Fig. 2.34 Brussels, Jacob van Tienen and Jan van Ruysbroek, town hall, 1401–1455.

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Fig. 2.35 Leuven, Matheus de Layens, town hall, 1438–1468.

were added in the early sixteenth century (fig. 2.37), and which marked the position of the entrance to the meat hall on the market side and the main entrance to the council halls on Noordstraat. With their growing economic i­mportance as outports of Antwerp, even small centres in the Scheldt estuary such as Tholen (c. 1475) and Veere could afford to build lavish edifices for their governments.122 In Veere, the enterprise was undertaken with the ­support of the lord of Veere (fig. 2.38).123 The façade’s a­ lternating scheme of windows and statues (1474–1477) resembles Bruges, but in this case the seven figures represent the House of Borssele and their successors of ­Burgundy-Beveren (1517–1520) (fig. 8.5), underlining the town’s dependence on the lords of Veere for its privileges, in particular those relating to governance and justice.124 The largest city in the Low Countries, Ghent had long lagged behind in the civic architectural contest. In the early sixteenth century, however, it too began work on a ­magnificent town hall that clearly aimed to surpass Bruges, Brussels and Leuven in size and

  Meischke 1987b.   Unger 1934, 9–11.

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  Matthijssen 2013, 17.

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Fig. 2.37 Middelburg, Anthonis I Keldermans and Rombout II Keldermans, town hall, 1452–1521. Situation before bombing in 1940.

Fig. 2.36 Gouda, town hall, c. 1448–1459.

ornamental abundance (fig. 1.6).125 Construction began in 1517 based on plans ­supplied by Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere, but work slowed in the 1530s and was finally abandoned with the Revolt of Ghent in 1539. Altogether, fifteen of the 21 bays on the Hoogpoort side were built, and only four out of the seventeen bays along Botermarkt; the planned upper storey and tall gables, similar to those in Middelburg, were never realised. Ghent’s plans seem to have incited several other Flemish towns to erect grand new town halls, most notably Kortrijk in the 1520s (fig. 2.39), Oudenaarde in 1525–1536 (fig. 2.40) and Hulst in 1527–1530.126 In the early sixteenth century, small centres in Brabant such as Zoutleeuw (1530– 1539) and Hoogstraten (1530–1534) also built new town halls (fig. 2.41).127 Remarkably, however, the capitals of ’s-Hertogenbosch and Antwerp undertook no major remodelling of their town halls. Instead, in ’s-Hertogenbosch a patrician house on the market square was bought in 1366 and successively expanded with the purchase of adjacent houses over the course of the f­ifteenth century.128 This complex would serve as the magistrate’s   Van Tyghem 1978; Van Tyghem 1987.   Meischke 1987b; Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845– 1855, vol. 3, 310–467; Despriet 1990, 278–84. 125

127

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  Meischke 1987b.   van Drunen 2006, 39–42.

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Fig. 2.38 Veere, Evert Spoorwater, town hall, begun 1474.

headquarters until the town hall was renovated in the Dutch Classicist style in the 1670s.129 In Antwerp, plans for a prestigious new town hall likewise took shape fairly late. In 1541 the aged Dominicus de Waghemakere won a design competition for the building, but due to the raid on Antwerp by the Guelderian ­warlord Maarten van Rossum in 1542, the ­project never got underway. When construction of the new town hall finally started in 1561, a completely new all’antica design was furnished by Cornelis Floris II and Willem Paludanus.130 Further north, it was yet again small towns such as Alkmaar (1509–1520) (fig. 2.42) and Culemborg (begun 1534) (fig. 2.43) that ­constructed new halls, whereas larger ­cities, among which Utrecht and Amsterdam, ­continued to reuse a conglomerate of existing ­buildings.131 Until it was replaced in 1648 by Jacob van Campen’s magnificent edifice, Amsterdam’s town hall consisted of a complex of a purpose-built fifteenth-century arcaded high court of justice (vierschaar), a former residence, a tower and a one-time hospital.132   Hurx 2007b.   Bevers 1985.

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  van der Hoeve & Wevers 2004; Sillevis & Beltjes 1939; Meischke 1987b; Ross 1989. 132   van de Poll & Bakker, 23–33. 131

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Fig. 2.39 Kortrijk, town hall, begun c. 1520.

The prominence of smaller centres in town hall construction testifies that these buildings should not be understood as simply the ultimate expression of civic autonomy. On the contrary, their sculptural programmes usually exalted a city’s loyalty to the rightful prince.133 In several cases, the erection of a new town hall was even undertaken jointly by the civic authorities and the territorial lord. In smaller places like Veere, Hoogstraten, and Culemborg, it was probably the local lords – Borssele and Lalaing – who initiated the construction of a prestigious new building for the civic administration. New Building Types By the beginning of the sixteenth century, government and commercial architecture began to develop a greater differentiation, and various princely institutions now also came to be housed in stately buildings. The two most important examples are the Maison du Roi in Brussels and the palace of the Great Council (Grote Raad) in Mechelen. The Maison du Roi, located on the market square and opposite Brussels’ town hall, served as an administrative and judicial building for the Habsburg princes and was where market tolls were collected. It was a richly decorated edifice, three storeys high, with a rectangular ground   Köhl 2013; Van Uytven 1998.

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plan (fig. 2.44).134 To help finance the building, the ground floor accommodated small shops that were leased to merchants. Construction started in 1515 and came to an end around 1536, but the project was never completely finished. By the nineteenth century it had fallen to ruin and in 1873–1895 ­ was replaced by a ‘reconstruction’ that ­borrowed several distinctive elements from the town hall of Oudenaarde (fig. 2.45). The palace of the Great Council in Mechelen suffered a similar fate; left incomplete in the sixteenth century, it was reconstructed in 1900–1911 (fig. 2.29). In this case, however, the architects based their design on a preserved elevation drawing probably made by Rombout Keldermans around 1526 (fig. 6.21). Founded in 1473 by Charles the Bold as the sovereign parlement of the Burgundian Low Countries, the Great Council formed part of Charles’ centralisation policy and underscored Burgundy’s independence from the Parlement de Paris, which had hitherto been the highest court of appeal for Flanders. Charles’ attempts to centralise government were not fully appreciated by his subjects, and the Fig. 2.40 Oudenaarde, Hendrik van Pede, town parliament was dismantled immediately after his death, leaving only an ambulant tribunal. In 1504 hall, 1525–1536. Philip the Fair re-established Mechelen’s Great Council. Initially, it convened in the city’s schepenhuis (aldermen’s house), but around 1526 a more fitting premises was conceived, entailing the transformation of the north wing of the cloth hall. The preserved elevation drawing from around 1526 shows two façades: a main façade on the market with a balcony, and another on Befferstraat with an arcaded ground floor gallery running along the full length. Although it was a princely project, the construction costs were to be shared by the city of Mechelen and Charles V. The project ran aground in financial problems, however, as the emperor disbursed only one fifth of the promised support. As a consequence, only a few bays of the arcade were ever finished and the first storey was never realised at all. In the second half of the sixteenth century the unfinished structure was rented to private owners, who converted the arcade into dwellings.135 Antwerp is well known to have played a central role in the development of commercial building types in the mid-sixteenth century. At its economic zenith in the 1550s and 1560s, specialised buildings sprang up all over the city, including the weigh house (1547–1548), the tapestry warehouse (Tapissierspand, 1551–1552), a freight terminal for carters from Hesse (Hessenhuis, 1564–1566) and the warehouse of the Hanseatic League (Oostershuis, 1564–1569).136 This development had a prequel in the first half of the century, which saw the construction of the city’s earliest large purpose-built structures for commerce: the meat

  Van Tyghem 1987.   Van Tyghem 1987; van Caster 1899.

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  Soly 1977; De Jonge 2010c.

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Fig. 2.41 Hoogstraten, Rombout II Keldermans, town hall, 1530–1534. The building was largely reconstructed after the damages of the Second World War.

hall (1501–1504) and the Antwerp Exchange (1531–1533).137 Though often integrated in the town halls, several mono-functional meat halls were built in the fifteenth century. The earliest one to be built on a grand scale in the Low Countries was the Great Meat Hall in Ghent, dating from 1407–1419. Smaller examples later followed in Lier (1418, 1451–1454) and Dendermonde (1460–1462). Antwerp’s meat hall breaks with the older tradition by virtue of its towering height and architectural refinement (fig. 2.46). The tall structure was not only meant to impress, but also allowed various functions to be superposed. The abattoir was situated in the basement, while on the ground floor a spacious rib-vaulted hall two aisles wide and seven bays long accommodated sixty-two counters for the butchers. The upper floor provided space for meeting rooms that were also used for ceremonial occasions, and the huge attic was used to store goods.138   De Jonge 2010c.

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  Ottenheym 2010, 279–80.

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Fig. 2.43 Culemborg, Rombout II Keldermans, town hall, begun 1534.

Fig. 2.42 Alkmaar, Anthonis I Keldermans (attributed), town hall, 1509–1520. Situation in 1936.

The Antwerp Exchange (1531–1533) is usually considered the first modern exchange building, establishing a type that directly influenced its counterparts in London (1565), Seville (1593), Amsterdam (1611) and Lille (1652–1653).139 Initially, in 1485, the exchange was first housed in a former merchant’s residence. Growing international mercantile activities soon prompted the city to build a new exchange on a prominent site close to its main artery, the Meir. The new building essentially comprised a spacious open courtyard measuring 40 by 52 metres and surrounded on all four sides by an arcade (fig. 0.7).140 The open space and ornate galleries were used as a meeting place for merchants, while shops were leased along the galleries. On the upper floor surmounting these arcades were more shops, a public art gallery and storerooms. In contrast to the richly decorated courtyard, the exterior of the building had a relatively reserved character; apart from the ornate entrances and the two towers, it had no distinctive architectural features. Princely Residences The fifteenth century also saw the city emerge as a locus of aristocratic residential building. Today, the dukes of Burgundy are better remembered as patrons of the pictorial arts and music, but they were also avid builders. This distorted image is partly due to the ­unfortunate loss of their main palaces. That in Brussels burned down in 1731 and was later   De Jonge 2010c; Meseure 1987.

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  De Jonge 2010c.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 demolished, and only the excavated cellars of Philip the Good’s Aula Magna and Charles V’s sixteenthcentury chapel are preserved beneath the present Place Royale.141 Of the former Palais Rihour in Lille, only the large staircase turret and chapel have survived, while in Bruges and Ghent virtually nothing of the Burgundian residences remains. Nevertheless, accounts and excavations show that the dukes embarked on major building campaigns. Philip the Good, in particular, greatly favoured his urban residences in the Low Countries and spent a large share of his time there, often residing in Brussels (22%), Bruges (10%) and Lille (11%), and after 1455 mostly at Coudenberg Palace in Brussels.142 However, apart from the Palais Rihour, the origins of all the Burgundian residences go back to the fourteenth century. In Bruges, for instance, the nucleus Fig. 2.44 Abraham Dircksz Santvoort after a design of the Prinsenhof was constructed by Louis II, ‘of by Nicolaas van der Horst, view of the Maison du Male’, count of Flanders, later to be transformed Roi (Broodhuis) in Brussels, etching 36.1 × 33.4, 1640 (detail). The Maison du Roi was built between 1515–1536 and expanded by Philip the Bold.143 The dukes of after designs by Anthonis I Keldermans, Rombout II Brabant also had important residences in Leuven Keldermans, Lodewijk van Boghem, Hendrik van and Brussels. Though they often returned to their Pede and Dominicus de Waghemakere. (Amsterdam, castles at Tervuren and Turnhout owing to the Rijksmuseum) ­excellent hunting grounds, Coudenberg in Brussels became an important mainstay after the mid-fourteenth century.144 Ideally situated at the outskirts of Brussels and near the Sonian forest, it fortuitously combined the comforts of the city with ample opportunities for hunting. As it grew in importance, the old Coudenberg Castle was gradually transformed. In 1362–1368 Joanna of Brabant added a new main wing, and in 1375 a chapel, giving the building a more residential character.145 Soon after Philip the Good’s Joyous Entry into Brussels, he had the palace’s main wing rebuilt (1431–1436). The duke’s Warande Park was enlarged around the same time at the city’s expense, in hopes of encouraging Philip to take up residence in Brussels. A similar strategy had previously been pursued by Leuven in its bid to remain the central seat of the dukes of Brabant. In 1375, the city authorities promised to rebuild the ducal castle at Leuven, the Keizersberg, on the condition that Joanna of Brabant and Wenceslaus of Luxembourg would reside there for at least six years. Unfortunately for Leuven, the renovations did not have the desired effect: the couple never stayed there for long, and neither did their successors. Civic authorities were generally keen to retain the court within their walls, because its presence was an honour for the city and brought economic profit as well. Furthermore, in return for its hospitality, a city could hope to obtain certain privileges. Philip was aware of this and when seeking to obtain financial support for the embellishment of his residences did not hesitate to play cities off one another with threatens to move his

  Heymans 2014.   Paravicini 1991; Blockmans et al. 1998. 143   De Jonge 2000; De Jonge 1991.

  Uyttebrouck 1991.   De Jonge 2009a, 70; Smolar-Meynart 1991, 20–26.

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court elsewhere. Brussels, Lille and Valenciennes were all urged to contribute generously to the construction of his palaces.146 In his negotiations with the magistrate of Valenciennes in 1459, for example, Philip asserted that the city’s proposed contribution to his new seat was far too meagre, and reminded them of Brussels’ pledge to support the construction of his palace there with 40,000 écus, a sum ten times higher.147 In Brussels, Philip had already successfully pressured the city into building the great hall of Coudenberg Palace, the Aula Magna (1451–1461) (fig. 2.47).148 Measuring 45 by 17 metres, the large and impressive space belonged to an old tradition in the Low Countries of grand palatine halls, of which the late thirteenth-century hall in Tervuren Castle (48 by 18 metres), built by Jan II of Brabant, and Floris V’s Aula in The Hague (38 by 18 metres) are the most magnificent examples. Its exterior, however, repeated some of the characteristics of Brussels’ town hall, including octagonal corner turrets and tall stepped gables. This resemblance is not surprising, for the work was directed by the city’s master mason, Willem de Voghel, who had likely also been involved in the construction of the Fig. 2.45 Brussels, Maison du Roi after the recon- town hall. struction by Pierre-Victor Jamaer in 1873–1895. A further important extension to Coudenberg Palace was made by Charles the Bold in 1468–1469, with the addition of a new ceremonial staircase turret to the corps de logis. Crowned by an openwork spire, the stairs gave access to the duke’s main rooms on the first floor.149 After Charles the Bold, no major construction work was undertaken at Coudenberg Palace until the early sixteenth century, when Margaret of Austria had a semi-regular square laid out in front of the palace. The square was enclosed by a richly decorated stone barrier, or Bailles, to be adorned with bronze statues of heraldic animals and the dukes and duchesses of Brabant (fig. 1.5). Work began in 1509, with Anthonis I Keldermans supplying the designs, and concluded in 1521 under the supervision of Rombout Keldermans, although only a handful of the statues were realised. During the same period Charles V also commissioned the replacement of the old fourteenth-century chapel at Coudenberg Palace with a monumental structure designed by Rombout II Keldermans. Intended as a memorial to Charles’ parents, the church was built in accordance with the wishes expressed in his father’s will. Construction proceded in two successive campaigns, in 1522–1538 and 1548–1553. The plan consisted of a nave with side aisles and a polygonal apse with an ambulatory. In a view of the interior by the eighteenthcentury architect Jan-Pieter van Baurscheit, made a decade before fire razed Coudenberg Palace (fig. 2.48), we see the nave with compound piers and – exceptional for the Low Countries – a high, complex net vault.

  Paravicini 1991, 239–42.   Paravicini 1991, 239; Dickstein-Bernard 1977, 412; Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 58. 146

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Fig. 2.46 Antwerp, Herman de Waghemakere, meat hall, 1501–1504.

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Fig. 2.47 Jacobus Harrewijn, view on the Coudenberg Palace from the south around 1650. On the left on the foreground is the fifteenth-century Aula Magna depicted and behind lies in its axis the early sixteenth-century chapel (detail), in: Christophorus Butkens, Supplement aux trophées tant sacrès que profanes du Duché de Brabant, The Hague 1726.

As at Coudenberg, construction of the other main Burgundian residences in the Low Countries, such as Hof Ten Walle in Ghent and Prinsenhof in Bruges, progressed in piecemeal fashion. Only the Palais Rihour in Lille was built ex novo between 1453 and 1473, after a fire damaged the old Hôtel de la Salle in 1451.150 The new building introduced several novel features that were soon copied at other noble residences, such as its uniform quadrangled courtyard and emphatic staircase turret opening out to the main reception rooms (fig. 2.49). Of particular note is the brick-and-stone masonry in a style referred to in the early sixteenth century as the ‘Brabantine manner’ (up die manier van Brabant).151 This polychrome play of alternating courses of brick and white limestone would become standard in Burgundian residential architecture. Mansions for Courtiers in Brussels With Brussels evolving as the principal seat of the Burgundian dukes and their Habsburg successors, many high courtiers built their own family mansions near Coudenberg Palace, providing a pied-à-terre for their ever-expanding retinues whenever they were at court. The nobility had quickly gained prominence, first during the reign of Philip the Good but especially after the 1480s, when Maximilian of Austria subdued the power of the   De Jonge 2000; De Jonge 1991.

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151  De Jonge 2009a 92–99; De Jonge 2007, 56; De Jonge 2003; Meischke 2000a, 75–77.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 cities. An elite group of noble families emerged, most notably Croy, Glymes van Bergen, Lalaing, Nassau, Egmond and Kleve-Ravenstein. They supplied important military commanders and held key offices in the administration of the Low Countries, allowing them to accumulate great wealth. For their loyalty and services at court, they were generously rewarded with seigneuries and titles.152 All sought to outdo each other in the construction of magnificent mansions commensurate with their newly acquired high rank. Situated directly facing the forecourt of Coudenberg Palace, for example, was the mansion of the powerful Croy ­ family.153 Opposite the Aula Magna stood the ‘hôtel d’Hoogstraten’, the ­residence of Anthonis de Lalaing, who probably acquired the property in 1516 and commissioned its renovation around 1517 to Rombout Keldermans’ design. The existing houses were transformed into a luxurious mansion with a large private garden. Lalaing’s prominent position at court as a favourite of Margaret’s furthermore ­ enabled him to ­ construct a gallery that bridged Inghelant street and gave him direct access to Coudenberg Palace.154 Like Coudenberg Palace itself, all of these surrounding mansions were largely destroyed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; only of the hôtel d’Hoogstraten has a substantial section survived.155 Another remnant that may afford a glimpse of the richness of these mansions is the chapel of the Nassau Palace, now part of the Royal Library of Belgium. Located somewhat further down the Coudenberg hill, this palace was almost as large as Coudenberg itself and was praised by Dürer for its lavish decorations (fig. 2.50).156 The original palace having been damaged during the revolt following Charles the Bold’s death in 1477, it was subsequently rebuilt by Engelbrecht II of Nassau (1451–1504). Engelbrecht had risen to prominence under Charles the Bold and saw his loyalty rewarded by Maximilian and later Philip the Fair. In 1482 he became first chamberlain to Maximilian, and

  Cools 2001.   Charruadas & Guri & Meganck 2014. 154   Cnockaert & Modrie 2014. 152

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Fig. 2.48 Jan Pieter van Baurscheit de Oude, interior view of the Coudenberg chapel in Brussels, 1720. The chapel was designed by Rombout II Keldermans, but after his death the project was somewhat simplified under the lead of Lodewijk van Boghem. The chapel was completed by Pieter van Wyenhove and Jan van den Gheere between 1548–1552. (Brussels, Museum of the city of Brussels–Maison du Roi)   Letor & Loir & Rossilon 2002.   Albrecht Dürer 1970, 65.

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Fig. 2.49 Jacobus Harrewijn, view on Palais Rihour in Lille, in: Christophorus Butkens, Supplement aux trophées tant sacrès que profanes du Duché de Brabant, The Hague 1726.

in 1496 Philip appointed him stadtholder of the Low Countries. To help pay for the reconstruction of his residence, he was granted generous funds by the city of Brussels in 1481 and 1486.157 The money was probably intended to compensate Engelbrecht for his loss four years ­earlier, but it also fit into the city’s policy to curry favour with high courtiers in order to persuade them to settle in Brussels. The project took until well into the early sixteenth century, and the chapel was finished by Engelbrecht’s nephew Henry III around 1524. The Court at Mechelen, Family Seats and Antwerp Patricians Another city that found itself the scene of many impressive noble residential building projects during this period was Mechelen. The institution of the new parliament and central Chamber of Accounts (Chambre des Comptes) by Charles the Bold in 1473 made it the leading administrative and legal centre in the Low Countries. The decision to promote Mechelen to ‘capital’ of the Burgundian Netherlands was likely motivated by its central position between Flanders and Brabant, but by choosing an independent seigneury

 The Croy and Kleef families also received substantial funds from the city of Brussels for their residences. Charruadas & Guri & Meganck 2014, 231; 157

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Fig. 2.50 Claes Jansz Visscher after a design by Jan van de Velde, the Aula Magna of the Coudenberg Palace with the Nassau palace in the background, detail of the view of the Coudenberg Palace (Curia Brabantiae in celebri et populosa urbe Bruxellis), etching 43.3 × 54.3, 1610–1640. (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

Charles was also able to avoid rivalry between his main territories, most notably Flanders and Brabant. A number of the high officers who moved to Mechelen erected impressive mansions. Among them was Jean I Carondelet, the first chairman of the parliament and Maximilian’s chamberlain. In 1476 he built a mansion near the market square, called Hof van Palermo. Like Brussels, Mechelen pursued a policy of luring the elite to settle within its walls, and Carondelet received a considerable sum of 600 guilders to buy a property in Mechelen.158 By far the most imposing mansion erected by a member of the Great Council is Hof van Busleyden, built in the first decades of the sixteenth century for the renowned humanist Jerome Busleyden, a friend of Desiderius Erasmus and Thomas More.159 The building still stands today, though it was expanded several times in the ­sixteenth and ­seventeenth centuries and in its present incarnation is largely a ­reconstruction owing to   Van Uytven 1991, 95.  Installé 1997, 232–34; Apers 2013. Thomas More is likely to have been Busleyden’s guest in Mechelen, and it was probably after his stay that 158 159

he dedicated a poem to his friend praising his magnificent residence: Ad Buslidianum de aedibus magnificis Mechliniae.

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Fig. 2.51 Mechelen, Anthonis I, Anthonis II and Rombout II Keldermans (attributed), Hof van Busleyden, first decades of the sixteenth century. The building was largely reconstructed after the damages of the First World War.

heavy damage during the First World War (fig. 2.51). It displays the typical characteristics of early sixteenth-century Burgundian residential architecture, such as brick-and-stone masonry, a tall staircase turret crowned with a bulbous spire, and an arcaded courtyard. An innovation to the Brabantine scheme is the design’s superposition of arcaded galleries overlooking the garden, a feature once shared by the Court of Hoogstraten in the same city. Whereas under Burgundian rule the dukes had rarely visited Mechelen, at the end of the fifteenth century the city became the main seat of the dowager Margaret of York, and later Margaret of Austria settled there too. Following her husband Charles the Bold’s death on the battlefield, in 1477 Margaret of York took up residence at the Hof van Kamerijk, or ‘Court of Cambrai’ (later called Keizershof). She purchased the patrician house from the bishop of Cambrai with a large grant from the city of Mechelen. The city also bore the expense of major renovations to the palace and its incorporation of the surrounding houses. One of the most prominent new-built sections was a 45-metre arcaded gallery that ran parallel to the street (fig. 2.52).160 Finished in 1482, only four years later Margaret sold the residence to the city to be donated to Philip the Fair. The young prince and his sister Margaret of Austria

  De Jonge 2010d, 76–77; De Jonge 2005b.

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Fig. 2.52 Mechelen, Anthonis I Keldermans, gallery of the Court of Cambrai, 1477–1482.

were raised there by their stepmother, and Philip’s children – Eleanor, Charles, Isabella and Mary – would also spend their youth at the Court of Cambrai, first under the care of the dowager duchess, and subsequently under the watchful eye of Margaret of Austria. After Philip the Fair’s marriage to Joanna of Castile, Margaret of York moved across the street into a patrician house that would later form the core of the Court of Savoy, the main residence of Margaret of Austria after she was appointed regent of the Netherlands in 1507. She moved to Mechelen in that very same year, and to offer her fitting accommodation, the city began an ambitious campaign to expand the Court of Savoy in the ­following year. Though constructed in the same piecemeal fashion as the Court of Cambrai, the palace’s spatial arrangement is less haphazard. Its principal wings were organised around a courtyard (fig. 2.53), with the west wing containing the logis of Margaret and in the south wing a library that also functioned as a gallery. In the corner where these wings met a ceremonial staircase was added in 1517–1518. Ten years later, the courtyard was remodelled with the addition of an arcaded gallery running along the courtyard’s southern wing.161 With Margaret of Austria’s move to Mechelen, many high nobles also settled in the city. And, as at Coudenberg in Brussels, they preferred to build their mansions in proximity to her residence. Only a few dozen metres from Margaret’s palace was the Court of   De Jonge 2005b; Eichberger 2002.

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Fig. 2.53 Mechelen, Anthonis I, Anthonis II and Rombout II Keldermans, central courtyard of the Court of Savoy, 1507–1527.

Hoogstraten, commissioned in 1516–1525 by her favourite, Anthonis de Lalaing. The plan by Rombout Keldermans features a large arcaded rectangular courtyard around which the wings of the building are organised.162 The Nassau family also had a residence nearby, called Huis Berthout and acquired by Engelbrecht II of Nassau in 1494. This patrician house was remodelled by Henry III, who in 1514 received a generous grant from the city to fund the works.163 Other courtiers’ mansions were situated slightly further from Margaret’s palace. The Cortenbach mansion, for example, was built on the south side of the river Dijle by Ywein Cortenbach, chamberlain to Maximilian and bailiff of Mechelen (1493–1503), and his son Jan, who held several offices in the civic government (1526–1548).164 In addition to these mansions built in the vicinity of the court, several high courtiers also renovated and expanded their main residence in their own fiefdoms. Lalaing’s large-scale programme for the town of Hoogstraten, already mentioned above, comprised a new church, a town hall and the complete remodelling of the old castle. His peers, including William of Croy, lord of Chièvres and Heverlee, and Floris of Egmond, count of Buren and Leerdam, and the Glymes of Bergen op Zoom, likewise modernised theirs castles at Heverlee, IJsselstein,   Installé 1997, 245–48.   Installé 1997, 129–30; van Wezel 1999, 77.

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  Breckpot 1984.

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Fig. 2.54 Bergen op Zoom, Anthonis I Keldermans, large courtyard with gallery wing of the Markiezenhof, 1504–1514.

Leerdam and Wouw in the first decades of the sixteenth century.165 These castles were comfortable residences that had many characteristics in common with their urban mansions: brick-stone masonry, grand ceremonial staircases, blue limestone arcaded galleries and high towers crowned with wooden slate-clad ‘onion’ spires. Besides their main castle at Wouw, the lords of Bergen op Zoom also maintained a residence in the town of Bergen op Zoom, called Markiezenhof after the seigneury was recognised as a margraviate in 1533. Here, construction of a new great hall in 1485 marked the beginning of a series of building campaigns that would ultimately transform the old complex into one of the largest early sixteenth-century urban residences in the Low Countries. The complex is fairly well preserved and presents an architectural synthesis of the main components of Brabantine palace architecture. The plan is organised around two courtyards separated by the great hall. The older, smaller, courtyard was built in several consecutive phases between 1480 and 1506. Subsequently the residence was expanded with a larger courtyard in 1504–1514 (fig. 2.54), which contains the main entrance to the complex and a turret crowned with a bulbous spire, whose stairs give access to a long gallery in the north wing.166 The nobility’s new building projects inspired urban elites, and in particular patricians in the wealthy merchant milieu of Antwerp, to build comparable residences. Examples include financier Jacob Fugger’s mansion, the Court of Immerseel and the Court of Liere, which became known as ‘English house’ after the city magistrate gave it to the local English merchants in 1550. Built by burgomaster Aert van Liere in 1516–1520, it was probably   De Jonge 2004; Meischke & Van Tyghem 1987.

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  Meischke 1987a; van Ham 1986.

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intended to offer suitable lodgings for Charles V when he visited the city.167 The mansion could easily compare with the largest urban residences of the high nobility, and clearly incorporates the latest architectural developments at court, with its brick-and-stone masonry, arcaded courtyards, and slender tower with an onion-shaped spire. According to Dürer, who visited the house in 1520, it was “…a newly built and wellordered building, large beyond measure, with spacious and exuberantly beautiful rooms, a richly ornamented tower and an exceptionally large garden, altogether a true nobleman’s residence, the like of which I have never seen in all the German lands”.168 Urban Architectural Rivalry The spike in civic building was to a great extent spurred by inter-urban competition. Architecture became a matter of urban prestige and a measure by which cities and towns were compared with each other. There are many examples of grand building programmes that sprang from a desire to compete with new projects in other cities. The lavishly ornamented town hall in Leuven, for instance, was clearly intended to outdo Brussels, and it seems likely that the exceedingly long city walls were also inspired by rivalry between the two cities.169 Short travel distances, good waterway connections and intensive trade meant that urban centres were in close contact with each other. Not surprisingly, when plans took shape to build or extend a church or civic building in one city, others nearby soon followed suit, and it was common for city authorities and other patrons to look to other places for grand buildings worthy of imitation.170 A good example is the 1455 stipulation, discussed above, by the town authorities of Goes that their church should follow the layout of the chevet in Gouda. In some cases, patrons actively travelled around to study other buildings for themselves, such as the prior Johannes Rampaert, who, when planning the new church of Rouge-Cloître Abbey in the Sonian Forest in 1511, visited three nearby monasteries of the Congregation of Windesheim. Accompanied by the lay brother and mason Aegidius de Beckere, he returned with drawings and measurements of the churches that could inform the brethren’s discussion of their own new church.171 More ambitious were the canonesses of St Waltrude (Sainte-Waudru) in Mons. To gather ideas for their new church, in 1450 several of them set out in the company of the master of the works Jan Spyskin, master carpenter Helin de Sars and the priest Henri de Jauche to the nearby abbey of Bonne-Espérance to study the church there. But the canonesses also looked for models across a much wider geographical area. A year earlier, they had acquired a drawing of the ground plan of Amiens (see Chapter 6), and after visiting the abbey sent a delegation of Spyskin, De Sars and De Jauche to inspect several prominent churches in an eighty-kilometre radius. Over nine days, the party travelled to Tournai, Lille, Geraardsbergen, Brussels, Mechelen and Leuven.172 Later in the sixteenth century, the canonesses took a similarly exhaustive approach to planning the construction of the new tower. Another delegation was formed and in 1547 travelled to Antwerp, Mechelen and Leuven to document their church towers in drawings. Three years later, upon inspection of drawings of the towers at St Rumbold   Brouwers 1976.  …in des burgermeisters hauß zu Antorff, neu gebauet, vnd über die maß groß und fast wol geordnet, mit über schwenklichen schönen grosen kammern, und der viel, ein cöstlich gezierten thurn, ein über großen garten, in summa ein solch herlich Hauß, dergleichen jch in allen teutschen landen nie gesehen hab. Albrecht Dürer 1970, 597–58. 167 168

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  Vannieuwenhuyze 2008, 332.  Meischke 1988d, 169–72; Philipp 1989, 69–71. In general: du Colombier 1953, 60–61; Aubert 1961, 101–07; Coppola 1998, 53–55. 171   Johannes Gielemans 1961, 394. 172   Philipp 1988, 393–403. 169 170

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 in Mechelen, Arras and the abbey church of Marchiennes (between Valenciennes and Lille, demolished after 1817), the canonesses decided that the tower of Mechelen would serve as the best model for Mons. This drawing still survives and is now known as the ‘Chalon plan’ (fig. 6.13).173 There are numerous other cases of city authorities who sent their workmen to distant cities to draw studies of buildings there. It was not uncommon for such research trips to visit buildings more than 100 kilometres away. The town of Aalst, for instance, despatched one Adriaan van de Velde to Valenciennes, Bethune “and other places” in 1460 to make drawings for new the belfry tower.174 Various patrons also asked peers to send drawings of their buildings to furnish inspiration for their own projects. In 1531, for example, the wardens of the chapel of the Holy Sacrament at St Gudula’s in Brussels recorded receipt of a drawing of the chapel of the Confraternity of Our Lady at St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch.175 In some cases, patrons seem to have collected drawings from even more distant places. The oldest surviving description of the city of Amsterdam, written around 1500, proudly states that the original plan of the new parish church – that is, the Nieuwe Kerk – was based on “a drawing of the mother church of Amiens in Picardy”. This plan was ultimately discarded due to several setbacks following the church’s foundation. The current church bears little resemblance to Amiens, making it questionable whether the early fifteenth-century builders really did take the great cathedral as a model.176 In Mons, however, a preserved fifteenth-century copy of the floor plan of Amiens made for the canonesses of St Waltrude’s provides evidence that, at least in the Southern Netherlands, the great French cathedrals were indeed carefully studied.177 Whether or not there is any truth to the claim in the description of the Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam, the document provides an interesting testimony to the competitive climate in which churches were conceived in Holland; the anonymous author proudly states that “…the new parish church can be compared with the most beautiful churches in Christendom” (de nieuwe prochie kercke te verghelijcken by de schoonste kercken van Christenrijc).178 The importance of this rivalry between cities also echoes in other written sources. The funding of parish churches depended primarily on donations from parishioners. Their generosity was not merely a sign of piety, but equally was roused by appeals to the pride of the community. An interesting account is provided by a proclamation issued by the town authorities of Bergen op Zoom in 1526. To speed up construction of the new choir of St Gertrude’s, the lord, burgomasters and aldermen of Bergen op Zoom endeavoured to persuade the burghers to contribute to the church fabric not by promising salvation, but instead by appealing to their civic pride. They asserted that it would be an embarrassment to such a prosperous trading town if the church were not brought to completion, particularly when other places that were poorer and divided up into multiple parishes did succeed in finishing their churches.179   Philipp 1988, 404; Van Langendonck 1987, 42.   De Potter & Broeckaert 1874–1876, vol. 2, 57. 175  Meischke 1988d, 170. On Brussels, see: Lefèvre 1956–1957, 34; Peeters 1985, 396. 176   …Welcke voorsz. Kercke [the Nieuwe Kerk] overmits desselfs ontijdighe doot [Count William VI of Holland] / ende partialiteyten cort daer nae opghestaen / niet en heeft tot alsulcke perfectie ghebracht ende opghebouwt connen worden / als van aenbegin begrepen was / t’ welck soude hebben gheweest: naer het patroon ofte model vande hooftkercke van Amiens in Picardie. The description was added as an appendix to the first description in 173 174

Dutch of the city of Amsterdam by Petrus Montanus in 1614: Petrus Montanus 1614, 357. Montanus wrote that the description was approximately one hundred years old, and it does seem likely that it was written around 1500. See: Carasso-Kok 2004, 408; Hurx 2013, 182. The most up-to-date publication on the building chronology of the Nieuwe Kerk is: van Tussenbroek 2011, 22–37. 177   Philipp 1988. See also Chapter 6. 178   Petrus Montanus 1614, 359. 179  …te meer behoort men hiertoe hertelick geneycht te zyne, want hier binnen dese merckelycke coopstadt maer een parochie en is, ende men siet in allen

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Fig. 2.55 Delft, Oude Kerk/St Hippolytus, the church was expanded and enlarged in several campaigns from the early fourteenth century onwards.

The ambition to elevate the status of parish churches to a level equal to cathedrals is well expressed in a papal bull issued by Pius II in 1459 in response to a supplication from Delft to obtain the remains of saints for the Oude Kerk (fig. 2.55). Pius II granted permission to collect relics, considering that the church had very few of its own, despite being “renowned, large, imposing and adorned as a cathedral”: insignis, ampla, speciosa et plurimum etiam ad instar cathedralis ecclesie adornata existit.180 This description was doubtless prompted by the Delft churchwardens themselves, and its competitive tone anderen plaetsen, steden ende dorpen, hoe arm ende ongevallich die zijn, dat de parochiekercken volgetymmert ende volbracht worden. Juten 1924b, 48.

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  Verhoeven 1992, 34.

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Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2 was not lost on the bishop of Utrecht. His letter approving the proclamation of an indulgence for future worshippers of the new relics repeats the papal bull’s reference to the Oude Kerk almost verbatim, but punctiliously avoids comparison with a cathedral. Doubtless the growing competition from huge new churches in urban Holland was felt in Utrecht, and it could hardly have gone unnoticed that Delft was building a massive tower at the Nieuwe Kerk (begun 1396) (fig. 2.56). Upon its completion in 1496 the tower soared 108.5 metres, almost as tall as the tower of Utrecht Cathedral itself (112 metres) (fig. 2.57). Prodigy Towers Monumental towers became the ultimate expression of civic pride in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Several years before the completion of Utrecht’s Dom tower (1321–1382), the cathedral’s preacher and canon Geert Groote penned a protest against its construction, ‘contra turrim Trajectensem’. His treatise condemned the expensive project as not only a waste of money, but also an impetus for all manner of vices. In particular, he wrote, it would feed the vanity of the citizens of Utrecht, because the tall tower would fill visitors with awe and make them desirous to know its height. The burghers surely welcomed the praise of foreigners and prided themselves on the construction of this marvel in their city.181 Groote’s account testifies that even though the Dom tower was commissioned not by the city but by the bishop and cathedral chapter, Utrecht’s inhabitants identified with the building. His warning that the tower would attract admiration throughout the Low Countries is borne out by its frequent portrayal by fifteenth-century painters, most famously Jan van Eyck in the Ghent Altarpiece (completed 1432) and Madonna of Chancellor Rolin (1435). The Dom tower also inspired other ecclesiastical patrons to build colossal west towers, and in the second half of the fifteenth century it became a model for several church towers in the diocese of Utrecht. Those at the churches of Our Lady in Amersfoort (begun c. 1457) (fig. 2.58), St John the Baptist in Wijk bij Duurstede (begun 1486) and St Cunera in Rhenen 181   Omnis ergo vanus appropinquans civitati vel eam pertransiens hac altitudine et magnitudine visa ammirabitur et intuitu turris subsistet, oculos curiose girabit ad singula, altitudinis quantitatem nitetur perpendere et que apprehendere curiositate non potuerit, ab

incolis vestigabit. Consurgent laudes turris male mirande, gloriantur cives quamvis inaniter, superbit vulgus de turri, in glora iactant structores ad mala scioli, similiter et provisores ad superbiam construendam archetectonici. Geert Groote 1967, 26.

Fig. 2.56 Delft, tower of Nieuwe Kerk/ St Ursula, completed in 1496.

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Fig. 2.57 Utrecht, tower of the cathedral (Domtoren), completed 1382. On the foreground stands the smaller Buurkerk, which was one of the four parish churches in Utrecht.

(1492–1531) are all closely modelled on the Dom, with two distinctive blocky storeys and a tall, open octagonal lantern.182 In nearby Holland, several centres likewise began construction of a tall west tower soon after the Dom tower’s completion – at the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft (1396–1496), for example, and St Peter’s in Leiden (before 1398–c. 1440, destroyed by fire in 1512). Some 182   Meischke 1988c, 89–91; Mekking 1992. Mekking has proposed that these towers were part of a political propaganda campaign by the bishop of Utrecht and his allies to assert his worldly authority; however, this view has been contested by several

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authors, because it seems questionable that the city authorities, who were responsible for the towers’ construction, would have wanted to contribute to symbols of the bishop’s secular power. de Vries 1994, 344–60; van der Eerden 2008, 33–43.

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Fig. 2.58 Amersfoort, tower of Our Lady, started c. 1457.

Fig. 2.59 Dordrecht, tower of Our Lady, first half of the fourteenth century.

had begun work on towers even earlier, such as at the Oude Kerk in Delft (fig. 2.55), which dates from the first half of the fourteenth century, and the church of Our Lady in Dordrecht, where work began in 1339. The latter was one of the most ambitious early projects in Holland, with the dimensions of its base (roughly 15 by 15 metres) suggesting that it was originally intended to rise some 100 metres (fig. 2.59). By the second half of the fourteenth century, however, the focus had shifted to the main body of the church, and around 1480 work on the base of the octagonal lantern was halted at a height of approximately 60 metres.183 Curiously, Holland was slightly ahead of Brabant in the wave of church ­tower-building. Among the earliest projects in the duchy was the bulky west tower of St Gommarus’ in Lier (begun 1378), whose ground plan is comparable in size to that in Dordrecht.184 More ambitious were Our Lady in Antwerp (fig. 0.2 and 1.3), started in 1422, and St Gudula’s in Brussels, built between 1415 and 1480 (fig. 2.60). These are the only two great parish churches in the Low Countries to follow the French model of a twin-towered west front.   Jensma & Molendijk 1987.

183

184

  Leemans 1972, 45–54.

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Fig. 2.60 Brussels, façade of St Gudula, 1415–1480.

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Fig. 2.61 Mechelen, tower of St Rumbold, 1452– c. 1465, 1482–c. 1530.

In Antwerp, only the north tower was actually finished, in 1518, with a spectacular and intricate openwork spire soaring to a height of 123 metres – taller than both the Dom in Utrecht and the bulky tower of Our Lady in Bruges (120 metres), finished in the late fourteenth century. The second half of the fifteenth century saw this civic rivalry culminate in an outand-out race to erect prodigy towers, some intended to be more than 150 metres tall.185 Most would never be completed, but their massive unfinished trunks testify to the overly ambitious spirit in which they were conceived. The tower of St Rumbold’s in Mechelen (1452–c. 1520), for example, all but dwarfs the main body of the church (fig. 2.61). Measuring 25 by 25 metres at its base (including the buttresses), the tower spans nearly the entire width of the nave (by comparison, Utrecht Cathedral’s tower is 19 by 19 metres). The structure rises to a height of 97 metres, but the heavy buttresses indicate that a much taller tower was intended. The original design for this upper section is also known from the surviving ‘Chalon plan’ (fig. 6.13) and an engraving by Wenceslas Hollar from 1649. They reveal that less than two thirds of the tower was completed: the base was meant to be surmounted by a lantern with an intricate star-shaped ground plan and a complex openwork spire, and would probably have reached a daring height of 167 metres.186 Soon, even the small towns of Zierikzee (1454–c. 1529) and Veere (1479–1520) undertook to build towers on a   Van Langendonck 1987; Coomans 2011a.

185

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  Van Langendonck 1987.

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Fig. 2.62 Zierikzee, Anthonis I Keldermans and Rombout II Keldermans, Sint-Lievensmonstertoren, 1454–c. 1529.

Fig. 2.63 Leuven, Joes Metsys, St Peter, west front, started early sixteenth century.

s­ imilarly massive scale (fig. 2.62 and 2.22). The foundations of the Sint-Lievensmonstertoren in Zierikzee were laid only two years after work began on the tower of St Rombuld’s, and its design was manifestly inspired by Mechelen: a particular feature copied in Zierikzee is the division of each face of the trunk into two bays. The work ceased upon reaching a height of 62 metres, but the 24.5 by 24.5-metre ground plan and a seventeenth-century ­engraving of the envisioned upper storeys allow us to estimate that, had it been completed, the tower would have streched more than 130 metres. Even more conspicuous was the projected west front of the church of St Peter in Leuven (fig. 2.63). Two ­preserved elevation drawings and an eight-metre model (1525–1530) reveal that it was to have three towers ascending to heights of approximately 150 metres (fig. 6.19 and 6.55).187 The bold project was aborted in 1541 just below the level of the octagonal base of the flanking towers. After several ­subsequent collapses in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, less than a quarter of the originally planned elevation stands today.188 As well as rivalry between cities, the fervour for tower-building was also fired by competition between churches in the same city. The wardens of the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft were probably not only thinking of Utrecht when they erected their tower, but also wanted to outstrip the 75-metre tower of the Oude Kerk. And the patrons of the heavy unfinished base of the tower of St James’ in Antwerp (1491–c. 1533) likely wished to vie with the towers of Our Lady and abbey of St Michael (fig. 2.64). 187  Meischke 1988d, 142; Doperé 1998, 323–26; Böker & Hurx & Sauvé 2013, 354–64.

188

  Mellaerts 1998, 47.

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The last attempt in this series of prodigy towers was to be at St Waltrude’s in Mons. Work on the foundations started in 1547, but progress was slow and most of the base was not built until the seventeenth century.189 In the end, the tower never rose beyond the main body of the church (fig. 2.65). With the exception of Antwerp, all the largest towerbuilding projects in Brabant failed. By contrast, the slightly more modest structures in Breda and Hoogstraten did reach completion. In Breda it took just over forty years (1468–1509) to complete the 97-metre tower (fig. 2.66), and Hoogstraten’s tower (105 metres) was built in an astonishingly short timeframe of less than fifteen years (1536–1550).190 The rapid building pace in Hoogstraten (fig. 2.67) owed to the patronage of the extremely wealthy Lalaing family, but the sensible choice of brick as the main building material must also have helped to speed the process. Both towers were moreover crowned by onion spires, which, far from being economical, Fig. 2.64 Antwerp, Rombout II Keldermans were complex and expensive to build and de rigeur for the and Dominicus de Waghemakere, tower of most prestigious noble residences. St James, 1491–c. 1533. Though most churches had a west tower, some patrons preferred a tall crossing tower. In Haarlem, a splendid wooden crossing tower clad in lead was constructed between 1518 and 1520, rising a ‘mere’ 75 metres from the ground (fig. 2.68). In 1501 work started on a stone tower, but on discovering signs of structural distress it was taken down and replaced with the lighter wooden specimen.191 In ’s-Hertogenbosch, a tall wooden structure was built between 1523 and 1529 on top of the early sixteenth-century masonry lantern of the crossing. It seems possible that the tower was originally conceived to be built entirely of stone, but that after news spread of the problems in Haarlem the patrons opted for a lightweight alternative. The superstructure burned down in 1584, but from a reliable drawing by Anton van den Wyngaerde preserved in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford we know that it had a tall, slender spire that must have been almost 100 metres tall (fig. 2.69).192 Many of these towers sought to rival not only those of the cathedral in Utrecht and church of Our Lady in Bruges, but even to compete with the largest projects in Europe. After climbing the north tower of Our Lady in Antwerp, Dürer noted in his diary that it was said to be taller still than that of Strasbourg Cathedral.193 Though this claim was false, given that the tower at Strasbourg measures 142 metres, the exaggeration speaks to the lofty ambitions of the citizens of the fast-growing metropolis, the prestige of whose parish churches mirrored the rising status of Antwerp as the commercial hub of northern Europe.

  Bavay & Doperé & Tourneur 2008.   Burger 2003; Van Langendonck 1987. 191   Emmens et al. 2002. 192  Boekwijt & Glaudemans & Hagemans 2010, 195–207. 189 190

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193   Jch had 1 stüber geben, das man mich zu Antorff auff den thurn gelassen, der soll höher sein dann der zu Straßburg. Albrecht Dürer 1970, 87.

Urban Building Boom   Chapter 2

Fig. 2.65 Mons, Jean Repu and Jean de Thuin, tower of St Waltrude (Sainte-Waudru), begun 1547.

Demographic and economic developments, alongside growing architectural rivalry between cities, were key catalysts for the building boom that swept the Low Countries after the ­mid-fourteenth century and reached its zenith in the fast-growing urban centres of Brabant and Holland. If the number of grand public building enterprises was limited within each individual city, the aggregate of prestige buildings throughout the Low Countries caused a quantitative leap in architectural demand. In the next chapter, we will consider how such ‘incidental’ building programmes created a permanent demand for architecture, and eventually led to a fundamental transformation of the building industry.

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Fig. 2.66 Breda, Our Lady, tower, 1468–1509.

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Fig. 2.67 Hoogstraten, Rombout II Keldermans, St Catherine, tower, 1536–1550. The tower was largely reconstructed after the damages of the Second World War.

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Fig. 2.68 Haarlem, Jacob Symonsz (attributed), St Bavo, crossing tower, 1518–1520.

Fig. 2.69 Anthonis van den Wyngaerde, panoramic view of ’s-Hertogenbosch showing the crossing tower of St John before it was razed by fire in 1584, 1548–1558 (detail). (Oxford, Ashmolean Museum)

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Fig. 3.14 Breda, Our Lady, choir, assembly marks in black chalk on the shafts of the ­column, first half of the fifteenth century.

Chapter 3 The Stone Trade In the Middle Ages, patrons who wanted to build on a monumental scale were usually compelled to organise the work themselves. Demand for architecture was largely restricted to such specific projects, which gave the building trade little opportunity to develop beyond the artisan stage.1 Furthermore, as local entrepreneurs often lacked the necessary knowledge and capacity, patrons had to set up their own administrative organisation for the procurement of building materials and mobilisation of labour. Arrangements for the supply and transport of building materials and their manufacture and assembly were commonly made by the patron’s administration. In the case of long-term construction enterprises, such as cathedrals, these organisations could develop into semi-permanent institutions, nowadays known pars pro toto as masons’ lodges. It was here, near the building site, that most of the design and production work was carried out under the direct management of the patron. By the late Middle Ages, however, patrons in parts of northern Europe such as the Paris Basin, the Low Countries and southern England increasingly had recourse to a marketplace for the construction of public buildings. Private firms emerged that supplied building materials or carried out extensive construction works. In this development, the Low Countries stand out both for the large number of entrepreneurs active in public building works and the large scale of their enterprises. This chapter traces the commercialisation of the building trade in the Low Countries and the factors that contributed to its expansion, and looks at organisational characteristics of the new private firms. The Need for Stone The many prestigious new buildings erected in the Low Countries during this period required huge quantities of building materials. Masonry structures were usually brick, and in most parts of the Low Countries the raw material, clay, could be found in proximity to the building site.2 For prestigious public buildings, however, stone was considered a more appropriate material, as attested by Philip the Good’s instructions that the walls of his palace in Lille should to be dressed with white stone, because the building was too ‘sumptuous’ to have brick walls.3 Generally, decorative elements such as mouldings, traceries and ornaments were made of stone, and frequently the exterior walls of the most prominent buildings were given a stone cladding to mask the structure’s brick core. As there were no quarries to be found in the coastal areas of the Low Countries, where the largest and wealthiest cities were located, stone had to be procured elsewhere (fig. 3.1). In the late Middle Ages, the chief quarry zones that served the Low Countries were situated in Germany and the Southern Netherlands. Tufa and Drachenfels trachyte were imported from   Goldthwaite 1980, 116, 153.  Hollestelle 1976; Sosnowska 2014. Apart from churches and public buildings, infrastructural and defence works used mainly brick. The huge demand for brick prompted the development of a nearly industrial scale of brick production early on. Cities often operated their own brick kilns, but churches usually purchased their bricks from merchants. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the market

1 2

for bricks expanded rapidly, and producers even exported their goods to England. Salzman 1952, 140–43; Coomans 2007, 196. It is important to note that although it was not uncommon for stone merchants to contract the supply of brick and lime together with stone, brick suppliers’ networks usually differed from those of stone merchants. 3   De Jonge 2007, 55–56; Sosson 2008, 350–51.

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Fig. 3.1 Chief quarry zones for the Low Countries in the fifteenth and sixteenth century.

the Eifel region via the Rhine river, while the Scheldt was an important trade route for Tournai limestone. After the mid-fourteenth century these types of stone were increasingly replaced by white limestone (grès of Lede and Brussels grès) from east Flanders and Brabant, quarried in the environs of Brussels. This would become the material of choice for architecture in the western part of the Low Countries, though in the second half of the fifteenth century the use of blue limestone from Hainaut and Bentheimer sandstone from the county of Bentheim (along the modern-day Dutch-German border) gradually also became widespread.4   Demand for Bentheimer sandstone probably increased only after Zwolle obtained the staple right on the Vecht river in 1438. de Vries 1994, 52. At the beginning of the sixteenth century this sandstone found markets even as far south as Mechelen and

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Antwerp, where it was used for the churches of St Rumbold and Our Lady. Janse 1987, 181. In the fifteenth century, other types of stone were imported on a smaller scale in the coastal areas of the Low Countries, specifically Namur limestone, and

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 The large distance that building materials had to travel to building sites made stone an expensive commodity. Not surprisingly, its use at buildings close to quarries was often more liberal than at those located far away. Prestigious churches in western Flanders, such as St Salvator’s (fig. 3.2) and Our Lady in Bruges, and many in the northern reaches of Holland, such as in Edam and Enkhuizen, had plain brick walls, with stone used only sparingly for window tracery and other decorative elements. By contrast, near the quarries around Brussels, limestone was so inexpensive that even small village churches could afford to have their exterior walls dressed entirely with stone (fig. 3.3).5 Organising the supply and cutting of stone Fig. 3.2 Bruges, St Salvator (Church of Our Saviour), begun c. 1275. was usually a major concern for building patrons. In many parts of Europe that had quarries, they often undertook the procurement of stone themselves. Among the scant written sources for the twelfth and thirteenth-century French cathedrals, several show that quarries were opened close to the building site and maintained for as long as the work continued. In his De Consecratione, for example, Abbot Suger recounts the miraculous discovery of a quarry containing good-quality stone just as construction of St-Denis started.6 The fabric of Metz Cathedral is similarly documented as opening a quarry of Jaumont yellow limestone in 1240.7 In other cases, chapters could secure quarries for their use from other landowners, as the chapter at Amiens did in 1235, buying the right to extract stone from the quarries of Beaumetz – conveniently located twelve kilometres from the building site – from the chapter of St Martin’s in Picquigny for a period of eleven years.8 Little infrastructure for the supply of stone existed in this period, but even where it did, as in fourteenth-century Lombardy, the vast amounts needed for prestigious building projects compelled church fabrics to manage the work themselves. The fabbrica of the Duomo in Milan preferred to contract out the provision of lime, brick and sand, because this was thought to be more convenient than procuring raw materials directly. Initially, it also attempted to allocate the exploitation of its marble quarries near Lago Maggiore to private contractors, but because they proved unable to provide the huge quantities needed, and moreover were suspected of forcing up prices, quarrying was also brought under the Baumbergen stone and Obernkirchen sandstone from Germany. Nijland & Dubelaar & Tolboom 2007, 33. Some types of stone were used mainly in the region where they were quarried, such as iron sandstone from Diest and marl from South Limburg and Zichem in Belgium. Nijland & Dubelaar & Tolboom 2007, 87-90; Dreesen & Dusar & Doperé 2003. 5   The sparing use of stone in most parts of the Low Countries was mainly economically motivated, but in the fifteenth century the interplay of brick and stone became popular as a decorative feature. Particularly in the last decades of the century, regular alternating

horizontal layers of reddish-brown brick and white stone, known as up die maniere van Brabant, came into fashion among noble patrons. De Jonge 2009a 92–99; De Jonge 2007, 56; De Jonge 2003; Meischke 2000a, 75–77. 6   Panofsky 1979, 90–91. 7   Brachmann 2000, 57. 8  Murray 1996, 135. Sources for Beauvais Cathedral show that most of the stone used to build the transept in the sixteenth century came from the nearby quarry of St Peter, which was owned by the cathedral chapter. Meunier 2015, 113.

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fabric’s control.9 Under its watchful eye, the blocks were cut to the desired shape and then sent to the masons’ lodge at the cathedral building site.10 Direct management of quarries was common in most parts of northern Europe. Many church fabrics either owned land that contained quarries or leased them when necessary. Documentation is comparatively rich for the German areas.11 The accounts of Strasbourg Cathedral show that the church fabric owned two quarries, though they were not in p ­ ermanent operation.12 Quarry workmen were employed by the church fabric and received their instructions from the cathedral’s master of the works. Another well-documented example is Regensburg Cathedral, which managed its own supply of stone and had quarries conveniently situated along the banks of the Danube, only fifteen kilometres from the city.13 As in Strasbourg, the quarrymen were employed by the cathedral fabric and the master of works was charged with ensuring that quarriers performed their labour “to the benefit” of the cathedral.14 The fabrics of Halberstadt Cathedral, Vienna Minster and Prague Cathedral likewise procured stone under their own direct management.15 Other churches, such Fig. 3.3 Sint-Martens-Bodeghem, St Martin, late as Cologne Cathedral and the collegiate church of St Victor fifteenth century. in Xanten, were less fortunate, having no quarries nearby. The cathedral chapter of Cologne ensured a steady supply of stone by leasing quarries near Drachenfels (south of Bonn) from the count of Drachenfels. The lease contracts stipulated that a limited number of quarrymen would be allowed to work in the Domkaule.16 St Victor’s did not have the means to lease quarries, however, so its fabric purchased stone from suppliers in Wesel and Cologne or directly at the Drachenfels quarries.17 In the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, transport was arranged by the fabric and stone was mostly cut at the masons’ lodge.18 These few examples serve to show that quarrying was generally part of a patron’s overall building enterprise, and only at the end of the Middle Ages did several German church fabrics begin to rely on contractors for the supply and cutting of stone. At Ulm Minster, the traditional processing of stone at the lodge gave way in the early sixteenth century to the greater involvement of contractors. Apart from supplying rough blocks, these entrepreneurs were contracted to produce great quantities of arches and ribs.19 A similar development is found in Xanten, where, as from the 1480s, the supply of ready-made pieces from the quarries became common.20 More exceptional is the contract of master Martin Alde, who in 1481 agreed to construct one of the piers for a side aisle of the nave “finished in full” (ganz vollkommen bereit) within a period of two years.21 The document stipulates that it was his responsibility to source

  Welch 1995, 76–83.   Braunstein 1985. 11   Binding 1993, 312, 360–61. 12   Schock-Werner 1983, 27 and 42. 13   Hubel 1989, 169–70. 14   Morsbach 2009, 22 and 27. 15   Binding 1993, 312. 16   Scheuren 2004, 23–26; Binding 1993, 112 and 361. 17   Beissel 1889, II, 37–40. 9

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  Beissel 1889, I, 133–34, II, 37–40.   Böker et al. 2011, 23–24. 20   Beissel 1889, I, 201–05, 217–20. 21   Beissel 1889, I, 172–75. In Xanten, building works were already being contracted in the fourteenth century, but not on such a large scale. Beissel 1889, I, 174. It seems that contracting became more common in the 1540s, when the vaulting of the cloister was contracted out for a lump sum. Beissel 1889, I, 224–25. 18 19

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 Drachenfels trachyte and arrange its shipment, while the chapter would provide carts to bring the stone from the barges up to the building site, along with scaffolds and mortar. Stone Trade Not only did many patrons in the Low Countries lack nearby quarries, they also had neither the authority nor the finances to secure quarries elsewhere. Even the largest ecclesiastical projects, such as Utrecht Cathedral, St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch and Our Lady in Antwerp, had no access to quarries of their own. Instead, the church fabrics purchased stone from suppliers, who usually provided rough ashlars for the masons’ lodge at the building site.22 By the fifteenth century their services had become so effective that even patrons who did own quarries, such as the dukes of Burgundy and the chapter of St Gudula’s in Brussels, rarely operated quarries themselves, preferring to lease them to commercial parties. Private workshops at the quarries supplied raw materials, but also offered finished building components. Their products ranged in scale and complexity from rough blocks, ready-made ashlars and other basic products to decorative elements such as capitals and consoles to complete configurations for windows, baldachins and portals. The largest stoneworkers’ shops were even able to furnish building kits containing a full set of columns for a church (fig. 3.4) or the entire masonry for a town hall. The very earliest records relating to the stone trade in the Low Countries go back to the thirteenth century, when workshops at the quarries of Tournai delivered stone to order for buildings in the county of Flanders.23 The first written sources for the trade in blue limestone quarried from Arquennes (Hainaut) date from somewhat later, in the early fourteenth century.24 From the mid-fourteenth century onwards, written evidence becomes more abundant. An early documented example of stone suppliers’ involvement in church construction is found in the building accounts of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-ten-Poel in Tienen, east of Leuven, for which the brothers Hendrik and Jacob of Gobbertingen (later called Van Tienen in the sources) supplied ashlars and ‘corner stones’ (egstene).25 From 1374–1375 on, the accounts also record payments for more complex pieces for the arches and columns.26 Around 1400 it must already have been customary for patrons of prestigious buildings to order many architectural elements at shops near the quarries. The surviving building accounts for Brussels town hall from the year 1405 show that stone suppliers were able to supply all manner of building components. The prominent Brussels stonemason Art der Voesteren, who was contracted for the lion’s share of the masonry, provided window frames, buttresses and complete niches ready-made with baldachins. The scope of his work is revealed by the huge sum of 301 Flemish pounds that he was paid – the equivalent of almost 86 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer.27 Up until the second half of the fourteenth century, the stone trade was largely limited to regions where quarries were located. From the 1350s, however, the market for stone began to expand rapidly both in scale and geographical scope, propelled in large part by the launch of many new prestigious building projects in the towns and cities of Zeeland,   Meischke 1988c, 50–55.   One of the oldest documents on the export of precut limestone from Tournai is a contract from 1272 between the abbot of Cambron and two Tournai stonecutters for finished elements for a building in Bruges. Van Tyghem 1961–1966, 69. In the fifteenth century the export of Tournai limestone mainly comprised micro-architecture, such as baptismal fonts and tombstones. Nys 1993. 24   Van Belle 1990, 53. 22 23

  They would later switch from supplying stone to become masters of the works at Tienen, Brussels, Antwerp and Diest. Roggen & Withof 1944, 88; Doperé 2000, 111. 26   Roggen & Withof 1944, 93. 27   Maesschalck & Viaene 1960, 151–52. Art der Voesteren was one of the most prominent stonemasons in Brussels, and was five times elected dean of the masons’ guild, in 1388, 1392, 1400, 1403 and 1408. Maesschalck & Viaene 1960, 157. 25

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Fig. 3.4 Alkmaar, Anthonis I Keldermans, St Lawrence, choir, c. 1495–1512. The twelve columns and arcade arches were supplied by Maerten Gheertsz van Afflighem between 1497–1503.

Holland and Flanders.28 Among the earliest written accounts documenting shipments of stone to Holland from suppliers in Brabant concerns the delivery of two column bases for the choir of St Peter’s church in Leiden in 1400 by the “children of Claes”. The columns arrived ready-made in Leiden and were installed by local masons.29 In fact, St Peter’s (fig. 2.13) was one of the first churches in Holland to make extensive use of finished building components from the Brabantine workshops, but as the fifteenth century progressed this practice became standard throughout Holland. An animated account attesting to the immense capacity of Brabantine suppliers is provided by the chronicle of the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft (fig. 2.56). According to the unknown author, a Brabant stonemason was contracted to supply all of the stone needed to raise the lantern of the tower by one rod (3.6–3.8 metres).30 In 1484, only one or two years after placing the order, the stone arrived at the harbour of Delft and was brought to the main square in front of the tower. Seeing the huge quantity of stone procured for the lantern, the 28  The remoteness of the quarries prevented the establishment of large private stone workshops in the Northern Netherlands. Utrecht was an exception. Thanks to the cathedral’s masons’ lodge and wellestablished ties with the stone trade in the Rhineland, Utrecht became the main centre of expertise for the stone industry in the north. Meischke 1988c, 50–55 and 84–89 (note 2). See also: Nijland & Dubelaar & Tolboom 2007. In the fifteenth century, private

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stonecutters’ workshops also developed in Kampen and Zwolle, though on a smaller scale. de Vries 1994; Kolman 1993. 29   In Leiden, masons’ marks and the building accounts show that several elements, such as the arcade arches, were still carved at the building site. van den Berg 1992, 14–15. 30   Meischke 2002, 211.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 churchwardens began to fear that the tower might collapse under its weight and decided to postpone construction in order to consult experts about the tower’s load-bearing capacity: And a year or two later, when the ready-made stone arrived and a large pile of stones was made, the churchwardens changed their minds, being worried that the tower could not bear the weight of the stone, since it appeared a very large quantity when spread out on the ground, and there were many who shared their opinion. Therefore they regretted ordering the work.31 North of the Alps, few other regions developed stone industries as rapidly as the Low Countries, though parallels can be found in the late Middle Ages in, for instance, northern France and southern England.32 There, ecclesiastical patrons increasingly began to prefer contracting suppliers to organising the extraction of stone themselves. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, many French cathedrals probably owned quarries, but the preserved accounts of the cathedrals of Sens and Troyes show that by the end of the fifteenth century their masons’ lodges were relying almost entirely on stone sourced from independent contractors.33 At Sens, stone was purchased from quarries near Paris and in the valley of the Oise, especially at Saint-Leu-d’Esserent, where a thriving stone industry developed. Paris had been an active quarrying centre since the eleventh century, yet the market for Parisian stone remained geographically limited compared to that from the Oise, which in the fifteenth century supplanted Paris as one of the most important quarry zones in northern France and supplied stone to as far away as Sens in the south and the Normandy coast (Dieppe) in the west.34 The trade in the Oise seems to have been dominated by a handful of affluent quarry masters. Some were involved in the most important building projects in the Paris Basin, such as Jean de Sous-Saint-Leu, an independent contractor who supplied stone for Sens Cathedral, the Château de Gaillon, Saint-Aspais de Melun, and SaintGermain-l’Auxerrois and Saint-Étienne-du-Mont in Paris.35 It is unclear whether quarriers from Paris and the Oise provided as broad a range of products as their Brabantine counterparts, but their work for Sens and the Parisian parish churches seems to have been limited mostly to the preparation of ashlar blocks, which were then chiselled into shape at the masons’ lodge on-site.36 The well-preserved building accounts of Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais in Gisors likewise show that stone from the nearby quarries of Serans and Nucourt was acquired mainly from suppliers. They primarily supplied ashlar blocks, although the accounts also contain numerous payments for specific elements such as ribs for the vaults and stairsteps.37 The accounts of Troyes Cathedral trace a similar increasing reliance on the stone trade. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the fabric had operated various quarries itself, but by the fifteenth it purchased most of its stone from the quarries of Tonnerre (fifty kilometres south of Troyes) and, to a lesser extent, from those at Aulnois and Savonnières (eighty kilometres to the northeast). In both cases the quarriers produced ashlar blocks in various sizes, but as in Sens and Paris, the availability of ready-made building components and mouldings seems to have been limited.38 This may have changed towards the end of   Oosterbaan 1958, 234.   Binding 1993, 112 and 361. As in the Low Countries, stone was lacking in large parts of northern Germany. A thriving market for building materials developed, though many cities preferred to procure their own building materials. Sander-Berke 1995. See also: Ber­ nardi & Vaquero Piñeiro 2007, 526–30. 33   Cailleaux 2008; Cailleaux 1999, 271–328; Chapelot 1999. As mentioned above, there are few extant written 31 32

sources on the building of the French cathedrals in the thirteenth century, and therefore little is known about how quarries were organised in this period. 34   Gély 2008; Lardin 2010; Pagazani 2014, 131–32. 35   Bos 2003, 90. 36  Cailleaux 2008; Cailleaux 1999, 271–328; Bos 2003, 90–91; 37   Hamon 2011, 192–211. 38   Piétresson de Saint-Aubin 1928–1929.

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the fifteenth century, when quarries were sent templates and increasingly detailed instructions for the final chiselling of the stone to be supplied.39 Probably one of the most highly developed regions of commercial quarry exploitation in northern Europe was Normandy.40 After the Hundred Years’ War, the quarry at Vernon, owned by the French king, experienced particularly rapid development. Its exploitation was likely farmed out to quarriers, who supplied large quantities of stone to the lower valley of the Seine (Rouen, Evreux and Paris) and up along the Normandy coast (Fécamp, Dieppe).41 Even more famous were the quarries at Caen, already an important quarry zone in the eleventh century. Initially, they were mostly operated by monasteries, but from the fourteenth century onwards private contractors became more and more prevalent.42 They supplied not only raw materials but also ashlars and a wide variety of ready-made pieces. Thanks to the homogeneous quality of the stone and its easy handling, and the proximity of the quarries to the sea, stone was soon also being exported to England in great quantities, mainly for elements with finely carved decorations.43 In England, the stone trade developed early on. Although many prominent patrons ran their own quarries, they often had to purchase additional stone, from Caen for example, as that from their own quarries had limited applications.44 Demand for good quality stone for sculpture and ornamentation, such as Purbeck marble, gave rise to a supra-regional trade. By the fourteenth century, quarrying had attained a distinctly commercial character in England. A new class of entrepreneurs emerged, of whom the most famous was the king’s chief mason, Henry Yevele (d. 1400). He combined this important office with his activities as a stone supplier, amassing considerable wealth.45 Douglas Knoop, Gwilym Jones and Louis Salzman supposed that as well as the supply on demand market, an impersonal commodity market for building components also developed in England in the late Middle Ages. The recurrent use of certain technical terms in building accounts suggests that specific products were standardised and produced to stock.46 The terms used varied in spelling from place to place, but probably denoted more or less identical parts. Salzman assumed that such products were not made according to customers’ specifications but could be used by any buyer. He substantiated his theory by citing the increasing use of the term ‘ready-made’ in the sources.47 Furthermore, Salzman believed that standard dimensioning also became common for ashlars and ready-made components in the second half of the fourteenth century. Production to stock was almost certainly limited to simple building components that were suited to diverse types of buildings. Complex configurations and large building kits were mostly site-specific, and the high financial risk entailed made producing to stock disadvantageous for entrepreneurs.

  Murray 1987, 8.   Dujardin 2008; Coppola 1997; Tatton-Brown 1997. 41   Lardin 2010. 42  Dujardin 2008, 325–26; Musset 1985. 43  Dujardin 2008; Tatton-Brown 1997; Knoop & Jones 1967. The importance of Caen limestone in England dates back to the eleventh century, but the trade declined after the mid-fourteenth century due to increasing use of stone from Brinstead. Knoop & Jones 1967, 10. 39 40

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  Knoop & Jones 1938–1939, 26–28; Knoop & Jones 1967, 41–42; Jones 1952, 501. 45   Knoop & Jones 1967, 21. 46  “On the other hand, the establishment of recognised standard sizes in roughly-dressed and finished stone, which would be prepared either at the quarries or in masons’ workshops for distribution over a wide area, appears to have made considerable headway during the Middle Ages, more particularly after the Black Death.” Knoop & Jones 1967, 70. 47   Salzman 1952, 123. 44

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 Contracting Building Works Apart from the supply of ready-made components, construction work could also be contracted to private operators. Hiring labour for a job rate (i.e. a flat fee), called taswerken in the Low Countries, was widespread in Europe during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Early documented examples can be found in southern Italy, England, Bohemia, Burgundy, southern France and Catalonia.48 Nevertheless, contracting out the construction of an entire building, or a section, seems to have remained fairly rare in large ecclesiastical commissions.49 It is thought that contracting in gross did not become standard practice until the second half of the sixteenth century, even in Italy.50 The share of private contractors engaged for the construction of public buildings, and the scale of their works, appears to have been quite exceptional in the Low Countries, and the proportion of building works put out to tender in the Low Countries was likewise considerable. Jean-Pierre Sosson calculated that in Bruges between 1388 and 1399, almost forty per cent of public works were contracted out, and as much as 58 per cent in the period of 1400–1410. These figures include the supply of stone, bricklaying and carpentry. Also noteworthy is that the projects contracted in Bruges were assigned to only a small group of prosperous entrepreneurs: two master masons and four master carpenters acquired more than eighty per cent of all tendered public works. Together, they earned an enormous sum of money that was almost equal to the average annual income of the city itself in that period.51 Not only cities, but the dukes of Burgundy, too, preferred putting building works out to competitive tender over managing the enterprise themselves. In 1431 and 1451, Philip the Good ordained that all of his large building projects in the duchy of Brabant, which included the construction of castles, palaces, mills, ponds and watercourses, had to be put out to public tender.52 He appointed an official court master carpenter and master mason whose duty was to prepare the plans and documents needed for competitive tenders, and made the Chamber of Accounts responsible for administering the works. To ensure strict control, public tenders for large projects had to be held at the office of the Chamber of Accounts in Brussels. The main motives for contracting out such works, the duke explicitly stated in his decree, were efficiency and price competition.53 In the Low Countries it was not unusual for the entire construction of a sizeable public building to be contracted out to a few independent parties who provided labour   Binding 1993, 152–68; Bernardi & Vaquero Piñeiro 2007, 521–25; Freigang 1996; Husson 1994; Freigang 1989b; Pitz 1986; Aubert 1961, 98–101; Salzman 1952, 50–52. 49  Kimpel 1996, 49–50. Janssen assumed that no large building firms developed in England before the seventeenth century. Janssen 2006, 1715. Although royal building works were increasingly contracted out in fourteenth and fifteenth-century England, many of the most prestigious buildings, for example King’s College in Cambridge, were constructed under direct management. Brown & Colvin & Taylor 1963, 186–87. Often, as in Northumberland, contracts for large-scale building works included labour only; the patron remained responsible for the building materials. Woodward 1995, 35. 48

 Schlimme & Holste & Niebaum 2014, 242. For example, in Milan, contracting a tutta spesa became current only in the seventeenth century. Giacomini 2006, 1235–1336. However, in other Italian cities lump sum building contracts were more common, as in Venice, where the procurement of stonework in this manner was quite normal. Goy 2006, 90–93. Another interesting example is southern Italy, where royal works were already being contracted out in the thirteenth century. Pitz 1986. 51   Sosson 1977, 173–75; Sosson 1972, 139. 52   Godding 2005, 62–63 and 315. On the development of the building administration of the dukes of Burgundy, see: Hurx 2015; De Jonge, 2010b; Roosens 2005, 217–25; Domínguez Casas 2001; Vanrie 1994; De Bock-Doehaerd 1991. 53   Hurx 2015. 50

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and procured building materials.54 A remarkable example of a large building built under an ‘all-inclusive’ contract was the Exchange of Antwerp (fig. 0.7). In 1531 the carpenters and brothers Adriaen and Peter Spillemans were hired by the city of Antwerp to build the Exchange for the enormous sum of 19,399 gulden (guilders), comparable to 567 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer.55 The contract stated that they would be paid for the labour and for the supply of all building materials: “…including brick, lime, blue limestone, white limestone and also [the materials for] the carpentry, iron, plumb, [the materials for] the cabinetmaking, [the materials for] the vaults and so on, as well as all the labour [needed].”56 Although the arrangements for the Exchange were not unique, in the fifteenth century it was still more common to draw up contracts in gross per individual craft. An early well-documented example of a project organised in this way concerns the erection of a new belfry in the Flemish town of Dendermonde (fig. 3.5). In 1377–1378, the town council of Dendermonde approached the contractor Machiel van Melbroec from Vilvoorde (near Brussels) for the job, because he was known “to be a good workman, who was able to supply large quantities of stone”.57 In the contract, it was agreed that Machiel would lay the foundations, supply all the building materials and put up the walls for a sum of 190 Flemish pounds.58 Not all patrons favoured contracting out construction. The largest ecclesiastical commissions, including Utrecht Cathedral, St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch and Our Lady in Antwerp, mostly employed workmen by the day, although as the fifteenth century progressed more pieces were ordered ready-made from the quarries. Neither did the dukes of Burgundy and their successors always follow their stated policy of putting building works out to tender. The more complex and grand projects were built partly under their direct management and partly on contract. Temporary masons’ lodges were established at Coudenberg Palace and the Maison du Roi in Brussels, for example, but stonework was largely contracted.59 A discussion between Philip the Good and the Chamber of Accounts of Lille (fig. 2.49) regarding the construction of the Palais Rihour reveals that, although the duke was in principle in favour of tendering, he had doubts as to the quality of contracted work. For his own palace, he preferred the work to be done by day labourers as he believed this 54  Outside the Low Countries it seems to have been more common to contract only the necessary labour, while patrons supplied the building materials themselves. Knoop & Jones 1938–1939, 28. Nevertheless, Salzman cites several examples of contractors who supplied both materials and labour. Salzman 1952, 52. See also: Shelby 1964, 398–99. On the Netherlands, see: van Tussenbroek 2013, 71–105. 55   Soly 1977, 121. To put this sum into perspective, it is interesting to compare it to calculations made by Goldthwaite for the costs of building in Florence. He calculated that between 1419 and 1443, roughly 350 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer were spent on construction of the Ospedale degli Innocenti. Expenditures for Santo Spirito (1477–1491) totalled 554 years’ wages, while the Palazzo Strozzi (before 1506) cost an equivalent of 1,333 years’ wages. However, a significant difference with the Exchange in Antwerp is that these buildings were largely constructed under direct management, and only parts of the work were contracted to various

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stonemasons. It is supposed that the Florentine contractors were not capable of undertaking works of such a magnitude. Goldthwaite 1980, 230–35, 399. 56   Soly 1977, 121. 57  …ende men vernam van eenen meester Machielle van Melbrouc, woenende te Vilvoorden, als dat hi een goet wercman was ende veerdich van grooter leveringhen van metselrien. De Pauw 1894, 279. 58   De Pauw 1894, 279–81. 59   De Jonge 2010b. Defence works, which consisted chiefly of groundwork and bricklaying, were usually also carried out under direct management. Being very extensive, such works tended to exceed the capacity of contractors, particularly as fortifications had to be finished within a short space of time. Roosens 2005, 226–301. The sheer magnitude of such projects is attested by a sixteenth-century description of the building of Vredenburg Castle in Utrecht, which relates that in the year 1529 more than a thousand workers were active at the building site. Hoekstra 1997, 120.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3

Fig. 3.5 Dendermonde, cloth hall from 1337–1350, which was converted into a town hall in 1377–1395.

would ensure better masonry. However, the Chamber of Accounts, which was charged with administering the works, was in favour of putting the work out to tender. In 1462 the Chamber drew up a document outlining the project’s administration with a view to convincing the duke of the benefits of contracting out the work.60 The document reads as something of a modern-day consultancy report on outsourcing, listing arguments in support of the Chamber’s preference. It reassured the duke that no disadvantages were to be expected, as contracting the work would speed up the pace of building and cut costs without affecting the final quality. To bolster its arguments, the Chamber pointed out that churches, abbeys and cities often preferred to tender construction works: “…it is wellknown and common that all major building works at churches, abbeys and the good cities, be it masonry or carpentry, are usually and most often done by contract…”61 To illustrate its previous positive experiences with contracting building works in gross, the Chamber cited a “large and spacious” artillery house that had recently been completed at Lille Castle;  Bruchet 1922, 255–59, appendix 7. See also: Sosson 1998, 130–31. 61  …il est notoire et commun que tous grans ouvrages d’eglise, d’abbeyes et de bonnes villes 60

tant de maçonnerie comme de charpenterie se font communement et le plus souvent en tasche… Bruchet 1922, 257.

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according to the Chamber, it was well built and its masonry nicely finished, despite its rapid construction in only four months.62 Diverse Ways of Organising Construction: Leuven, Damme and Ghent The preference for direct management versus contracting out works differed from one patron and one occasion to another. Patrons had various options when it came to the organisation of the building process. With direct management, labour was usually hired by the day, but could also be paid by piece or linear or square measure. Contracting out work also offered multiple options: patrons could choose to contract only the labour or also include the procurement of building materials, for example, and in the case of a labour-and-supply contract they could decide to split up the work by craft or assign the entire project to a single contractor.63 Combinations of these different arrangements are also found, as is best illustrated by a comparison of the construction of the town halls of Leuven (1448–1460), Damme (1461–1470) and Ghent (1517–1534), where well-preserved archival sources offer a detailed view of the diverse ways in which the work could be organised. In the case of the town hall of Leuven (Fig, 2.35), designed by Matheus de Layens, most of the stonecutting and assembly of the masonry were done by contractors.64 Rather than contracting out all the work at once, a single storey was put out to tender each year. To ensure price competition, the work was divided into smaller sections, called percelen, encompassing a single bay or corner turret, which allowed smaller contractors to participate in the tenders as well.65 The city announced the tenders well in advance and invited stonemasons from Leuven and elsewhere to participate. For the first public tender in 1448, Matheus de Layens was sent to Brussels to generate interest among its stonemasons and quarry masters. Back in Leuven, the tender itself entailed two rounds, in which contractors were encouraged to offer competitive bids by means of a small bonus.66 Two rounds of bidding were common in competitive tenders in the Low Countries in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, though it is not clear how and when the practice started.67 In Leuven, the procedure was organised in the form of a ‘candle auction’, in which the bidding time was indicated by a burning candle. In the first round, contractors had to make their bid before the candle went out. The lowest offer was awarded the palmslach (‘handclasp’), which gave that contractor the right to choose at the very end of the procedure whether he wished to accept the contract or leave it to the winner of the second round. Perhaps more importantly, he was also given a considerable bonus amounting to as much as 2 Flemish pounds (almost half a year’s wages of an unskilled labourer).   Bruchet 1922, 258.  In the seventeenth century Christopher Wren summarised these differences in the organisation of construction works as follows: “There are three ways of working: by the Day [day labour], by Measure [payment based on quantity supplied], by Great [contracting in gross].” Woodward 1995, 35. 64   Maesschalck & Viaene 1977, 74–86; Maesschalck & Viaene 1997. 65  Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, no. 302. This practice was common in the fifteenth century. In Kampen, construction works were likewise subdivided into smaller commissions, often called vacken (compartments), percken (within limits) or percelen (parcels). Kolman 1993, 261.

  Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, no. 301.   The staircase of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels was tendered in 1538–1539 in a similar way. ARA, ARK, 4227, f. 131v. Candle auctions of building works are recorded in Kampen and Zwolle in the Northern Netherlands in the middle of the sixteenth century, however it seems probable that this practice came into use much earlier. Kolman 1993, 275–80; de Vries 1994, 152–53. Goldthwaite mentions that in Florence competitive tenders were conducted through the submission of written bids instead of by auction. Goldthwaite 1980, 139–40.

62

66

63

67

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The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 The second round resembled the first, except that now a fixed minimum price advance of 0.5 Flemish pound for the piers and 1 Flemish pound for the corner turrets was determined by which the building sum could be reduced. All contractors, including the winner of the first round, were again invited to participate. The lowest bidder could win a bonus equal to half the difference between his bid and the second lowest bid. After the lowest building sum was determined, the winner of the first round was offered the choice of whether or not to accept the contract. If he declined, it went to the winner of the second round. In 1448 Leuven contracted work on the town hall to various stonemasons from Leuven, Brussels and the quarries at Steenokkerzeel.68 The city provided three fully equipped workshops in Leuven for each contractor’s team of stonecutters. They were contracted for labour only; stone and basic equipment were provided by the city. The stonemasons did have to supply their own chisels, but the city offered all other tools needed at the building site, including buckets, wheelbarrows, cranes, tackles, ladders, scaffoldings, ropes and so forth.69 Different types of stone were procured for the building; for the sculpture, soft white limestone from Avesnes-le-Sec (near Valenciennes) was used, while architectural ornaments, mouldings and the stone cladding of the walls were made of white limestone from Dilbeek (near Brussels).70 Hard and durable blue limestone from Hainaut was used for gutters and window tracery. Stone was mainly procured in simple blocks, though some pieces were delivered fully dressed by stonemasons from Brussels. Remarkably, these suppliers were not involved in the stonecutting workshops in Leuven. The one exception was Reynier van Impeghem, a prominent stonemason from Brussels who succeeded in obtaining the commission to both supply stone and cut it in the Leuven workshops in 1451. Reynier soon became intensively involved in the work. Whereas the tenders for the first and second storeys had been awarded to multiple stonemasons, Reynier monopolised that for the third storey. This was probably due not only to his own efforts, but also the city council’s realisation that contracting the work to fewer parties would be more convenient, making the work less fragmented and therefore easier to supervise by the architect and the city. Thus, after the first tender in 1448 the council decided not to divide up the work any longer, but to tender multiple piers together as one lot.71 The smaller town hall of Damme was contracted in an entirely different way (fig. 3.6). The town council decided to issue two tenders: one for the complete masonry and one for the roof structure. The leading Brussels contractor Godevaert de Bosschere was commissioned to supply designs for the masonry, the Brussels master carpenter Willem van Noebrouc designs and cost estimates for the roof structure. Both were asked to propose different variants from which the town council would be able to choose, “the one costlier than the other”.72 It was agreed that De Bosschere and Van Noebrouc would be paid for the designs only if they were not commissioned for the building works.73 After choosing the least expensive design, the council sent the drawings and cost estimate to masters in various cities in Flanders and Brabant with a developed building industry   Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, no. 302.   Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, no. 29. 70   Limestone from Avesnes-le-Sec in Hainaut was a preferred material for sculpture in the Low Countries. Tolboom & Dubelaar 2009 and Tolboom et al. 2009. 71   Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, no. 302. 72   costeliker d’een dan d’andere elc in ’t zijne. Devliegher 1964, 159–66. 68 69

  In the event that the work was contracted to other masters, De Bosschere would receive 2 Flemish pounds and Van Noebrouc 1 Flemish pound for their designs. If the work were to be terminated by the town council, each designer would receive 1 Flemish pound.

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Fig. 3.6 Damme, Godevaert de Bosschere, town hall, 1461–1470.

(Bruges, Ghent, Brussels, Mechelen, Antwerp and Sluis) to invite them to take part in the tender.74 The competitive bidding procedure in Damme, held in 1463–1464, was comparable to that in Leuven. When the candle went out, the lowest bid had been submitted by Godevaert’s son, Willem de Bosschere. For a sum of 425 Flemish pounds he would demolish the old walls on the site, supply all the necessary stone, bricks and lime, and erect the new masonry structure. Willem’s participation in the tender alongside his father was   Devliegher 1964, 160.

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The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 probably calculated to boost the family’s chances of securing the building contract and obtain the additional payment for the design at the same time. It seems somewhat peculiar that Willem was selected, as he is not known to have produced any other works on such a scale. More likely is that although the contract was awarded to Willem, Godevaert directed the work behind the scenes and was responsible for important decisions. This also explains why in 1464–1465 the town sent a messenger to Godevaert to ask about the progress of the work, and upon the building’s completion in 1466–1467 he stood in for his son at the final inspection.75 Because almost all of the construction costs were included in the tender sum, few specific payments for the stonework are recorded in the Damme building accounts, with the exception of unforeseen expenditures and additional work. A similar all-inclusive contract was concluded for the roof works, thus reducing the town council’s supervisory duties. If the council in Damme sought to relieve itself of organisational worries, the aldermen of Ghent wished to be more involved in the building process (fig. 1.6). Instead of contracting the work in gross, they established a masons’ lodge near the building site. Calculations show that although the accounts contain many payments to contractors for ready-made architectural components, most of the stonecutting was carried out at the masons’ lodge (Table 3.1). The first year of construction, 1517–1518, was the only one in which costs for the supply of undressed stone and ready-mades (68 per cent) exceeded the salary of the stonemasons (32 per cent). Over the years 1517–1534, by contrast, payments for the masons’ wages were on average 20 per cent higher than outlays for stone, even though the supply costs included the wages of the stonecutters at the quarries and the cost of transport. The difference between labour and stone supply costs was greatest in 1520–1521, when expenditure for the masons’ lodge comprised 72 per cent of the total masonry budget. This ratio may well have been exceptional; considering the building’s richly decorated façade, the work must have been very labour-intensive and could only been executed by skilled stonemasons. Nevertheless, these figures demonstrate that, contrary to modern assumptions, the costs of labour far exceeded those of building materials.76 Comparison of the commissions for these three town halls illustrates that the amount of work put out to tender could differ greatly from one building to the next. Ghent and Damme present two opposing models for organising construction, with in Ghent the greater part of the work contracted as day labour, whereas in Damme a single contractor provided all of the masonry. In all three cases, however, construction work was not carried out solely at the building site. Indeed, cities undertaking such prestigious building projects had to employ suppliers and builders from multiple places. Benefits of the Market Cutting stone at the quarries had two distinct advantages for transportation and quality control. The prime motivation for having stone pre-cut at the quarry was to reduce costs, since excess material was removed before transport. This could make a substantial difference, particularly with overland carriage, as a large number of carts, draught animals and labourers were needed to haul the heavy cargo.77 In the Low Countries, the levy of tolls may also have influenced the preference for ready-made pieces, since tolls were reckoned   Devliegher 1965, 156, 158, 187–88.  Cost calculations for the very ornate transept of Sens Cathedral show a comparable ratio between 75 76

material and labour. Cailleaux 1999, 452–55. On this, see also: Goldthwaite 1980, 288; Binding 1993, 168. 77   Russell 2013, 215.

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100%

80%

60%

40%

20%

0

’17-’18

’18-’19

Stone supply (lb.gr.Vls.) Labour (lb.gr.Vls.)

’19-’20

’20-’21

’21-’22

’28-’29

’33-’34

242

316.8

318.1

239.6

72

188.3

84.1

114.6

423.3

429.7

605.7

80.3

426

113.7

Table 3.1 Ratio of the cost of supply of stone and labour of stonemasons at the construction of Ghent town hall.

by weight.78 The fifteenth-century building accounts of Utrecht Cathedral show that the costs of transporting stone from Koblenz to Utrecht on the Rhine constituted 47 per cent of the purchase price, of which 27 per cent was spent on tolls.79 However, it is unclear how much could be saved by ordering ready-mades, because tollkeepers levied much higher rates for dressed stone than for raw materials. At the Scheldt toll of Yersekeroord in Zeeland, for instance, the levy on finished stone was six times higher than on unwrought stone.80 Furthermore, it is difficult to assess the significance of tolls for prominent builders, because city governments and religious institutions regularly obtained toll exemptions from local rulers. A second benefit of cutting stone at the quarry was that flaws and poor-quality stone could be identified early on.81 This was especially important in the case of white sandy limestone from Brabant and eastern Flanders. Its extraction produced a great deal of waste because the sedimentary rock had to be mined from superimposed beds separated by several metres of sand. Also, the quality of the quarried stone was not at all consistent. Composed of skeletal fragments of marine organisms and sand, the ratio of its main components, lime and sand, could vary greatly, even within beds in the same quarry. Also, large clusters of fossils, cemented by silica, could detract from the quality of the stone (fig. 3.7).82 The advantages of cutting stone at the quarries had been an important factor in the development of ‘prefabrication’ at quarries elsewhere in Europe, regardless of whether they were managed directly by the owners or by contractors. Indeed, Kimpel has argued that after the fall of the Roman Empire, the large-scale use of ready-made pieces first redeveloped in the twelfth and thirteenth-century French cathedral workshops, which managed

  Meischke 1987c.   Alberts 1954. 80   Unger 1939, 93. See also: Van Uytven 2005, 675.

  See also: van Tussenbroek 2001, 478.  Nijs 1980; Herman & Steurbaut & Vandenberghe 2000.

78

81

79

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Fig. 3.7 A piece of white limestone from Meldert (near Affligem Abbey) showing clusters of fossils, cemented by silica.

their own quarries.83 In the Low Countries, the increasing use of ready-mades was tied to a growing preference for contracting out building works, which offered patrons several definite advantages to direct management. “Ommen Den Minsten Penningen”: Price Competition Contemporary sources are quite explicit about the benefits of contracting out construction work. Patrons hoped to achieve a substantial reduction of building costs through price competition.84 Public tendering was considered an effective method to do this, as clearly articulated by, for instance, Anthonis de Lalaing, count of Hoogstraten. In 1536, he advised his receiver at Hoogstraten to organise a tender for the roof structure of the nave of St Catherine’s in Hoogstraten. Anthonis believed that the cost estimate provided by the master carpenter working in his service at the castle of Hoogstraten was far too high, as he noted in a letter of 22 December: “…it seems to us that the cost estimate of the carpenter is excessive and therefore we agree with your opinion to make [the commission] publicly known, and to settle it by the candle for the best bargain.”85 Lalaing explained that he   It has been suggested that the Romans produced marble columns in various standardised sizes on stock on a nearly industrial scale, which were imported from all over the empire and stockpiled on the banks of the Tiber at Ostia. Ward-Perkins 1980; Bosman 2004, 39–46. However, recent research has questioned the importance of intentional stockpiling of architectural elements and demonstrated that production-to-order was more common. Russell 2013, 201–55. The cutting of stone blocks to standardised sizes became current again starting from the eleventh century. In the region of the Loire (Anjou-Touraine) and in southeastern France, the height of the blocks was fixed beforehand to achieve perfectly continuous 83

horizontal joints. Pirgent 2008; Hartmann-Virnich 2004; Pirgent 2003. 84   In his study on the town hall of Zoutleeuw (Leau), Verleysen assumed that construction was carried out under direct management to save costs, considering that contractors’ profit margins would have inflated the building costs considerably. Verleysen 2003, 339– 40. By contrast, all of the contemporary sources consulted for this study affirm the cost-saving effects of contracting out work. 85  …ons dunct mede dat den eysch van den timmerman te excessif es ende zyn van uwer opinie de publicatien daer van te laten geschien ende des te conveneren mitter keersen ten beste coope… Lauwerys 1956, 204.

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wished “to spend as little as possible” (ommen den minsten penningen daeraf te geven), and reminded the receiver that the competitive tender held for the choir’s roof structure had successfully reduced the cost of the work.86 Similar reasoning was used in an ordinance issued by Philip the Good in 1451 decreeing that all building works in Brabant had to be contracted out. Tenders were to be proclaimed in public places, and on the announced date the work would be tendered “…by way of the burning candle, to obtain the lowest price for the same work when the candle flame expires”.87 Another source from the court administration that provides clear insight into the considerations for putting a work out to tender is the aforementioned Lille Chamber of Accounts report from 1462 on the construction of the Palais Rihour. Philip the Good was advised not to have the bricklaying done by day labour but to contact the work as this would accelerate the building pace enormously. The Chamber supposed that the contracted work would be done in a third of the time and at half the cost as if it were done by day labour: “…Item, if the said work would be put out to tender and made on contract, as is advised, one could in this way save half, as stated, [and the work] will advance faster in a season, [because if] done by day labour only a third will be ready.”88 Several sources seem to confirm that public tendering could be effective at cutting building costs. A fine example is the previously mentioned tender for the town hall of Damme. The first bid for the masonry work by Michiel Ghoetghebuer from Bruges was 460 Flemish pounds. This amount was lowered several times, until the final offer of 404 Flemish pounds was made by Willem de Bosschere (which excluded the cost of demolishing the existing walls), thus lowering the building sum by twelve per cent.89 Patrons were keen to keep a close eye on the tendering process. In a decree promulgated by Charles the Bold in 1472, it was ordained that the surveyor, or controlleur, had to call all those tendering building works in Brabant to report to the Chamber of Accounts in Brussels regarding the course of the bidding. He had to carefully record the bids made by each contractor, the name of the contractor who won the first round (palmslag) and the amounts by which the building sum went down.90 Various building specifications have been preserved to which reports on the tendering procedure were later appended. One example from around 1545 consists of a note enumerating bids (Innesetten) for carpentry work for a new kitchen at Tervuren Castle. Listing the names of all the contractors who participated in the tender together with their proposed building sums (fig. 3.8), it shows a diminution of the total sum by 32 per cent. Though this seems a large amount, it is difficult to estimate the actual financial gain for the patron as bidding was of course a tactical game and it seems improbable that opening

  …doen publiceren ghelycken dede de cappe van der choor… Lauwerys 1956, 190. 87  …ierst, dat van nu voertaen, alle onse wercken, beyde van nuwen gestichten ende refectien, hoedanich die sijn, die meynelic sijn in tasse te bestaeden, bij onsen rentmeester vander plaetsen daer onder dat geboert, ende onsen voirs. geswoeren meester wercluden samentlic in tasse bestaedt ende verdingt selen wesen mit openbaeren voergaenden kercgeboden ten openbaeren genuempden plaetsen mit nedernissen ende mit bernenden keerssen, om den mynsten prijs daer op die selve wercken alsoe ten uutgange vanden keersen selen bliven. Godding 2005, 315. 88   Item, que se ledit ouvrage est fait et baillié en tasche comme il a esté avisé, avec ce que l’on en aura 86

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meilleur marchié de la moitié comme dit est, il sera plus avancié en une saison qu’il ne sera au tiers pres s’il se fait a journée. Bruchet 1922, 256. 89   Sosson 1977, 169–70. The bids for the roof structure of the Damme town hall are also mentioned in the accounts. The Ghent carpenters Janne van der Haghe and Jan de Rop made the first bid of 406 Flemish pounds. The final bid of 350 pounds was made by Andries Centurion, treasurer of the town of Damme, thereby lowering the building sum by almost fourteen per cent. Devliegher 1965. Larger reductions of the building sum are also known, for example in Kampen by as much as forty per cent. Kolman 1993, 277. See also: van Tussenbroek 2013, 93–95. 90   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 751/2.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 bids were very competitive.91 Tenders did not always have the effect intended by the patron, however. As Sosson has shown, public works tendered by the city of Bruges were won by a very select group of masters who possessed the means to undertake large-scale building projects. Because they knew each other well, they could easily have agreed to fix prices. To avoid the risk of contractors forcing prices up, patrons could opt to invite artisans from several different cities or to subdivide the work, thereby enabling masters with lesser means to take part in the tender as well. This was the strategy initially adopted for the town hall in Leuven, but apportioning the work among many contractors had the drawback of making it difficult to supervise the progress of the work.92 “…Except to Provide the Money”: Organisational Advantages Apart from the desire to lower building costs, contracting out construction work offered multiple organisational advantages. Some patrons wished to be freed from the hassle of management altogether. This desire is probably best expressed by the patron of Huis te Rumpt (approximately 25 kilometres south of Utrecht) in a building contract of 1553, in which he declares that he wants no involvement in the construction of his manor house and that the contractor has promised to provide all building materials and necessary labour so that he himself “…would not have to do anything, except provide the money…”.93 According to the report of the Lille Chamber of Accounts, contracting works fur- Fig. 3.8 Note containing the bids (Innesetten) for the carpenthermore reduced the risk of unforeseen costs try of a new kitchen of Tervuren Castle, c. 1545. (ARA, ARK, arising from faults or miscommunication. If Administratieve dossiers, 132/1) the work were carried out by day labour, all repairs would be for the duke’s account, whereas otherwise the contractor would bear the costs: “…because that which is done badly by day labour would be rebuilt or repaired at

91 92

  ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/1.   Van Uytven 2005, 688–89.

93  …nergens mede te doen hebben sall, dan alleen gelt te geven… Beelaerts van Blokland 1932; van Tussenbroek 2013, 71.

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the expense of our lord, and that what is done badly on contract would be repaired and renewed at the expense of the merchants.”94 Another advantage of using finished or near-finished materials was that it allowed a considerable reduction of the workforce at the building site. If a large share of the architectural components were already cut into the desired shape by suppliers’ workshops at the quarries, patrons could do without a large masons’ lodge. And with only a skeleton workforce needed to assemble the work, it was unnecessary for patrons to employ a permanent staff of specialists. This was especially advantageous in the case of building projects that experienced regular lulls, as is well illustrated by a comparison of the construction of St Peter’s in Leiden and Utrecht Cathedral. In Leiden, work on the new parish church started with the choir in 1391 and advanced so well that by 1430 the new nave had reached completion (fig. 2.13). The fourteen preserved building accounts over the period 1398–1428 show that, on average, as few as nine stonecutters were employed annually. All together they were paid for a total of only 2.7 years’ work (based on a 250-day working year). The intensity of the work in Leiden saw large fluctuations: in the years 1398 and 1427, four stonemasons jointly worked less than one year, whereas in 1417 28 stonemasons were paid a sum total of 9.7 years’ wages.95 At Utrecht Cathedral during this period, work was underway on the transept. Whereas Leiden preferred to source ready-made pieces from the quarries of Brussels, Utrecht maintained a permanent masons’ lodge that employed a constant total of fifteen stonecutters (not counting masons) between 1395 and 1425. They worked nearly full time at the lodge, and together were paid for a total of almost twelve years’ work. In Leiden, no single stonemason worked at St Peter’s full time; most were local craftsmen who combined their work at the church with other commissions in the city and region. For example, several stonemasons are recorded as having worked on the Ridderzaal in The Hague and Teylingen Castle at Sassenheim in the same period.96 Because they worked for a local market, they did not depend on the church for employment. For the church fabric, this had the advantage that insufficient funds leading to brief interruptions in operations would not cause the stonemasons to leave the city. When finances allowed building to recommence, the church fabric could easily find capable workmen. By contrast, the specialised stonecutters at the masons’ lodge in Utrecht sought employment at projects that required their expertise. They were prepared to travel long distances, and their names indicate that many came from cities as far afield as Essen, Munster, Cologne and Aachen.97 When the supply of building materials stagnated or financial troubles arose, skilled stonemasons might easily set off for another project. Their departure could seriously delay the progress of construction, because work could not resume until the patron had attracted new specialised workmen. At Leiden and many other parish churches, unstable finances were an important reason why churchwardens preferred to contract their construction work. Utrecht Cathedral and other churches with important miracle-working statues or relics, such as St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch, enjoyed higher and more stable incomes that rarely dropped to a level where much of the workforce had to be  …car ce qui est mal fait a journée se refait et repare aux despens de mondit seigneur, et ce qui est mal fait en tasche se repare et amende aux despens des marchans. Bruchet 1922, 257. 95   On the calculations of the number of stonemasons and the working hours in the masons’ lodge in Leiden and Utrecht, see: Hurx 2011. 94

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  Meerkamp van Embden 1914, vol. 2, 111–12 and 204–05; van den Berg 1992, 26. 97   Hurx 2014, 32. 96

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 dismissed.98 Only with such more or less continuous revenues was it possible to establish a permanent masons’ lodge. Several sources demonstrate that the recruitment of a large and highly skilled labour force could at times be difficult and that, once workmen had been hired, patrons took care not to lose them. The accounts of St Catherine’s church in Hoogstraten show that a messenger was sent out twice in 1527 to visit the building sites of the abbeys of Tongerlo, Leuven and Herentals to recruit masons.99 The count of Hoogstraten was well aware of the importance of keeping masons at work on the church, advising his receiver at Hoogstraten in 1536: “…As for the work on the church, endeavour to retain our masons so that they do not leave; indeed, prefer to hire some more if you can recruit them…”100 The Lille Chamber of Accounts report on the Palais Rihour also acknowledged the problem of finding enough qualified masons. In the absence of well-trained workmen, the Chamber had been forced to employ many apprentices and incompetent masons (pluiseurs maçons de petite façon). However, these difficulties could be overcome, it argued, by contracting the work, based on the assumption that the most able artisans preferred to work on contract: “…given that the majority of good workmen prefer to work in gross…”101 The problem of finding highly skilled masons could be solved in part by contracting the supply of ready-mades, as the supply of fully dressed pieces reduced the complexity of work onsite. The masons had only to put the blocks in place, which also reduced the risk of errors: Item, regarding the doubt one might have as to whether the said works could not be done as well on contract as they would be by day [labour], to this one could answer that, considering that all the windows and other stone parts in blue and white limestone are cut and supplied fully dressed and ready to be used and to be put into place at the expense of our said lord, and the said masons will not have other duties than to put them into place, there cannot be any fault in the said masonry work.102 Recruitment of workmen may have been troublesome at times, but discipline could prove problematic as well. Usually, daily supervision of the masons was the responsibility of the master of the works or his deputy, called the appelleerder. Several contracts explicitly mention the need to take care that masons were working as required. For instance, in 1494 the contract appointing Pouwels Janszoon as foreman (appelleerder) of the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft stipulated that he should: “…make sure that, both for the stonecutting and the bricklaying, the journeymen attend their work and continue to work properly.”103 Directing the workmen was not always an easy task. An amusing anecdote is recounted in the Chamber   Vroom 2010, 405–18.  SAH, 179, Kerkrekeningen Sint-Catharina, f. 54v. Also see: Lauwerys 1960, 38. 100   Aengaende twerck van der kercken laet onse metsers best dat men can onderhouden dat se emmers niet en vertrecken, ja liever noch meer annemen indien ghy se becomen condt… Lauwerys 1956, 198. 101  …obstant que la pluspart des bons ouvriers quierent les taches et grans marchiez… Bruchet 1922, 258. 102   Item, au regart de la doubte que l’on pourroit faire que lesdicts ouvrages ne seroient pas si bien faiz en tasche comme a journée, a ce l’en peut respondre que, consideré que toutes les fenestres et autres estoffes de grez et de blanc se taillent et delivrent 98 99

toutes taillées et prester pour asseoir et mettre en euvre aux despens de nostredit seigneur et n’auront lesdits maçons autre charge fors de les asseroir et mettre en eure, il ne’y peut avoir faulte en ladite maçonnerie… Bruchet 1922, 256. 103   Ende alle die sorge dragen in stienhouden ende int metselen dat die gesellen wercken ende op hair werck syn… van der Kloot Meyburg 1941, 63–64. The contract appointing Aernt van Aken and Aelbert van Palenen as masters of the works of St Walburga’s in Zutphen in 1392 likewise specifies the duty to ensure the stonemasons do their work: Alsoe dat die Meysters zuelen ghezellen zetten die des werckes order sijn in den wercke. Helten 1994, 143, doc. 4.

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of Accounts report on the Palais Rihour, lamenting the laziness of bricklayers at the building site. According to the report, the bricklayers showed no inclination to press on with the work, because they were paid by the day. Instead of laying the intended 1,000 to 1,200 bricks a day, most did not even reach 200 to 300.104 The hodmen were even worse, lounging around or playing games for most of the day. Their idleness had even caught the attention of the citizens of Lille, who became steadily more infuriated with the situation, because they were paying for the works.105 Stonemasons were often not much better. For instance, in 1520–1521 the supervisors of the masons’ lodge at the town hall of Ghent, Wouter Soetmans, Lodewyc de Ronne and Lauwereins de Vaddere, were paid to prevent quarrels among the workmen and put the stonemasons to work according to the lodge’s regulations.106 These regulations have been preserved and allow a rare insight in the daily rules and working conditions within a masons’ lodge. Apart from stipulations regarding working hours and the use of building materials and tools, they contain many general dictates on conduct. It was prohibited, for example, to carry weapons in the lodge, to pick a fight, to tell lies, gamble, drink alcohol or admit prostitutes.107 Keeping the peace was especially difficult at large building sites. At Vredenburg Castle in Utrecht, where at times almost 1,000 workmen were employed, drastic measures were taken to discipline the workmen, with the erection of a whipping post and gallows.108 In some cases, a neglectful master of the works led to problems. At the church of St Sulpicius in Diest, for example, master Hendrik van Tienen left the site to work elsewhere in 1396 without the churchwardens’ consent, and during his absence a quarrel broke out among stonemasons at the lodge. To guard against such situations in future, the churchwardens obliged Hendrik to sign a document on his return in which he promised to be heedful of keeping the men at work and to never again leave the lodge without the wardens’ permission.109 Where patrons decided to contract their building works, keeping the stonemasons motivated to work was chiefly the concern of the contractor. The prospect of not having to worry about supervising the works on a daily basis must have been an appealing argument for patrons to put work out to tender. Logistics Another argument in favour of contracting out work was the possibility of assigning logistical responsibility to the contractor. The logistics of having both the necessary building materials and a skilled workforce ready at the building site simultaneously was a major concern for patrons. Supply was vulnerable to delays, especially given the long distance that most building materials had to travel before arriving at the building site. The assurance of a steady supply was essential, because an interruption could force the patron to choose between letting idle stonemasons go or continuing to pay them while awaiting the arrival of the next shipment of materials. Relying on finished or near-finished components 104  …qui en ouvrage assez plain ne mettoient pas al la foiz en euvre en ung jour deux ou trois cens de bricque ou ilz en deussent avoir emploié mille ou XII c. Bruchet 1922, 258. 105   Item, au regart des mannouvriers servans lesdits maçons, l’en les veoit journelement chommer et estre oiseux et jouer et deviser par les chambres dudict hostel par ce que lesdits maçons ouvroient si

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laschement et que ilz mettoient si peu d’estoffes en euvre. Bruchet 1922, 258. 106   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 201. 107   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 398–400. 108   Hoekstra 1997, 120. 109  …dat hi altoes de ghesellen van der logien alsulc bereetscap van wercke laten sal, dat zyns in gheen ghebrec en zyn, zy en hebben altoes te wercken. Roggen & Withof 1944, 205.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 produced by contractors reduced this risk as it diminished the amount of specialist work carried out at the building site, and therefore made the enterprise less vulnerable to delays. To ensure the steady progress of construction, agreements about delivery times were included in most contracts. Agreed deadlines did not always offer a guarantee, however. Several letters written by Anthonis de Lalaing evince his anxiety over late deliveries of stone that were delaying progress on his castle and the church in Hoogstraten. In a letter of early 1539, Lalaing urged his suppliers to do their utmost to supply the stone for the church portal in time (…afin de les furnir en toute extreme diligence).110 The suppliers imputed the delay to the difficulty of accessing Hoogstraten. Since the town could only be reached overland, they had to charter numerous wagoners to transport the stone.111 During the summer they claimed they were still encountering problems finding sufficient wagoners, to which Lalaing angrily responded that he would order the receiver of Hoogstraten to collect the stone in his own wagons at the suppliers’ expense.112 When the stone had still not arrived by September, the count threated to recoup the additional costs from the suppliers if the works were delayed any further: “…and if through their fault my building works are delayed, this I will recover from them…”113 Long delays sometimes led patrons to cancel orders, as happened to the prominent Brussels contractor Lodewijk van Boghem. He had promised to deliver stone gutters for the church of St Gommarus in Lier, but because he was unable to supply the work on time, the churchwardens decided in 1504–1505 to take back the stonecutters’ templates previously sent to Van Boghem and contract the work to stonemasons at the blue limestone quarries of Écaussinnes.114 In an attempt to prevent severe delays, contracts additionally formulated penalties for exceeding the agreed time. Such provisions were included when building speed was of the essence. A good example is offered by a preserved extract of a contract for the construction of the Celestine priory of Heverlee (1522–1527), near Leuven, designed by Rombout Keldermans. Maria-Magdalena of Hamal commissioned the complex as the mausoleum for her deceased husband, William of Croy, lord of Chièvres and Heverlee, who had expressed a wish to be buried in the new monastery in his will in 1521.115 Apparently, Maria was in a hurry to fulfil her husband’s wishes. The contracts with suppliers at quarries in the environs of Brussels (Humelgem, Steenokkerzeel, Erps, Woluwe and Dielegem) stipulated that for each day their delivery exceeded the agreed deadline, they would have to pay a fine of four stuivers, equal to almost a day’s wage of a stonemason.116 A comparable example is found in the records of the construction of St Walburga’s in Oudenaarde in Flanders. In 1498 work on the tower was delayed because the stone suppliers Willem de Ronde from Vilvoorde and Lodewijk van Boghem and his brother Dierick from Brussels were late with their deliveries (fig. 3.9).117 To press them to finish the job, a messenger was sent to Brussels. When he returned with nothing achieved, one of   Lauwerys 1956, 216.   From Mechelen there were two possible routes, the shortest being the land route and the longest being by ship to Breda and the rest overland. 112   Et craindant leur negligence en cest endroit leur escrips de rechief par cedit porteur afin quilz y furnissent et que ne soiez en digeste de pierres, si cela ne vous peult ayder, vous vous ayderez de mes chariotz comme a mon partement je vous dis, mettant par escript la despense diceulx chariotz pour 110 111

la rabatre ausdits livreurs attendu que la faute vient deulx. Lauwerys 1956, 217. 113  … Sil y a faute esdits livreurs envoiez incontinent vers eulx, leur escripvant dy furnir et que par leur deffaulte mes ouvraiges ne soient redartez ce que jentendroy recouvrer sur eulx… Lauwerys 1956, 218. 114   Leemans 1972, 36. 115   Van Uytven 1974, 177. 116   SAL, 8182, f. 42r. See also: Van Uytven 1974, 185– 86; Derez: 2005, 49. 117   Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 2, 20.

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Fig. 3.9 Oudenaarde, St Walburga, tower and nave, second half of the fifteenth century–early ­sixteenth century.

the churchwardens, Jan van Seclyn, went to meet with the stone suppliers himself. Upon arriving in Brussels he discovered that the masters were unable or unwilling to supply the stone in the near term, so he threatened to charge them at the alderman’s court of Brussels. The suppliers wasted no time and countered the threat by imprisoning their customer for ­several days.118 Curiously, the churchwardens of Oudenaarde continued to do business with Willem de Ronde after this conflict, though the wardens had clearly learned their ­lesson. In a subsequent contract of 1510, it was stipulated that if Willem de Ronde were late with deliveries, his remuneration would be cut by a quarter.119 In another contract from the same year, the fine was pegged to the labour costs of masons at the building site. If the work were interrupted due to a late delivery, Willem would be accountable for the ­workmen’s wages: “…in the event that he should fail to make his delivery [in time], such that the workmen and masons are unable to continue the work, he will in that case be liable to pay for the hours that the workmen are idle.”120 A comparable penalty clause was incorporated in a contract with Godevaert de Bosschere and Steven Elen for the ­supply of r­eady-made pieces for St Gommarus’ in Lier. If ever the masons were to leave the   Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 2, 21–22.   Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 2, 30. 120  …ende indien hy in ghebrekc waert de selve leveringhe te doene, zoe dat de weerclieden ende 118 119

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metsers niet voert weercken en saude moghen int selve weerck, so sal hy in dien ghevalle schuldich zyn de weerclieden van den verlette huere te betaelene… Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 2, 31.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 building site on account of a late delivery, the two suppliers would have to send their own ­workmen to finish the job.121 Expanding Markets The emergence of a flourishing building market in the fifteenth-century Low Countries owes to a number of factors. A principal impetus was the rapid urbanisation of Brabant and Holland and concomitant building boom, discussed in Chapter 2, coupled to a lack of quarries near the building sites. The advantages of prefabrication at quarries and the contracting of works were also instrumental in speeding market growth. Yet, there were other conditions more specific to the Low Countries that also contributed significantly to the surge in the building market. Of indispensable value were the plentiful waterways, which facilitated carriage over long distances and enabled building entrepreneurs to serve a large area. Other factors of consequence were the region’s established commercial infrastructure and the development of land and labour markets. Waterways and Trade Routes Until the development of rail networks in the nineteenth century, the long-distance transportation of building materials was restricted by the availability of waterway connections. The costs and effort entailed in conveying heavy cargo by horse and cart greatly limited possibilities for overland transport. Knoop and Jones have calculated that carriage costs put heavy pressure on the budgets of building works in England, occasionally inflating the price of stone to six times the amount paid at the quarries.122 In the Low Countries, these costs were equally high.123 Jean-Louis Van Belle has estimated that costs for the transport of blue limestone from the quarries at Arquennes to Antwerp constituted between 20 and 33 per cent of total expenditure on stone. These quarries were located some ninety kilometres from the building site, the first forty of which, to Brussels, were overland. Using eighteenth-century data, it is possible to estimate the relative costs of this waterway and overland transport. Carriage to Brussels accounted for 78 per cent, while shipment over the remaining distance of approximately fifty kilometres from Brussels to Antwerp comprised only 13 per cent of the total transportation cost.124 The expense of overland carriage was primarily due to bad road conditions. According to Van Belle, rainfall made the unpaved roads all but impassable for heavy carts during six to eight months a year. When the roads were not too muddy, two or three horses were needed to draw a regular cartload of stone weighing up to two tonnes. A large wagon with two axles took at least four horses and had a load capacity of three tonnes.125 Taking the construction of Leuven town hall as an example, works on this scale required at least 275 tonnes of white limestone each year, quarried from the environs of Brussels. Transported overland, it would have taken at least 90 to 140 wagons to bring all the stone from Brussels to Leuven. Shipping the building materials by water was not only less costly, but the logistical difficulties of hiring such a large number of  “…and in the event that the delivery of stones should have any defects, causing the workmen to leave, then the aforementioned Steven will have to erect it” …ende waert dat zake dat enich ghebrec in stenen voers. ware aen die leveringhe dat die weercliede leech moesten gaen dat soude Steeven voerscreven moeten op rechten. KAL, 17/a. 121

 Knoop & Jones 1967, 45; Jones 1952, 500. See also: Binding 1993, 363; Russell 2013, 95–96. 123  Van Uytven 2005, 675; Maesschalck & Viaene 1999. 124   The remaining nine per cent of the transportation costs was made up of diverse expenses, including the cost of correspondence. Van Belle 1990, 266. 125   Van Belle 1990, 256; Van Uytven 2005, 677. 122

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wagoners, as discussed above in relation to Hoogstraten, could be problematic as well. By comparison, the tow barges (trekschuiten) that transported goods to Leuven over the Dijle river had a capacity of 25 to 40 tonnes on average, corresponding to approximately 12 to 20 cartloads.126 This means only between seven and eleven shipments a year were needed to provide the workshops at Leuven with sufficient building material. The success of the white limestone quarries near Brussels in the fifteenth century owed in part to their convenient position near the Zenne river, which was a major waterway connecting Brussels with the Scheldt river (via the Rupel). Most quarries were situated within five to ten kilometres of the river banks, providing easy access for boat transport (see Chapter 4). This topographical advantage made the distribution of white limestone considerably cheaper compared to other types of stone found at quarries less proximate to navigable waterways. The geographic area in which stone from the environs of Brussels was distributed ranged from Calais in the southwest to Enkhuizen in the north. Stone shipments were sent by tow barge from Brussels downstream on the Zenne and Rupel to the Scheldt, from where almost all major cities could be easily reached by ship. Cities in Flanders could be supplied upstream via the Scheldt and the Leie (Ghent, Kortrijk and Oudenaarde), or via the Scheldt estuary and the North Sea (Sluis, Bruges and Ostend). In the north, cities in the counties of Zeeland and Holland were connected by the Rhine-Meuse-Scheldt delta and the internal waterways of Holland. The Brussels stone trade was mostly limited to the coastal regions, and white limestone from Brussels was rarely used in great quantities east of Utrecht, ’s-Hertogenbosch and Leuven.127 Transport upstream by tow boat was possible, but considerably more laborious; the eastern provinces therefore relied on other quarry zones with better links via the Rhine and Meuse rivers. Good waterways were a requisite for transport over long distances, but equally important was the commercial infrastructure that developed in the fourteenth century. The expansion of the Brabantine stone trade to the north was probably encouraged by the intensification of international trade routes via Holland. In the second half of the thirteenth century, the route through the interior of Holland (Binnen dunen) became an increasingly popular alternative to the traditional trade route through Utrecht and the Hanseatic cities over the IJssel river.128 By the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, the trade route between the Flemish cities and the Baltic had definitively shifted to the cities of Holland.129 The increasing use in Holland of white limestone from the Southern Netherlands during this period suggests that Brabantine stone suppliers keenly exploited the opportunities provided by the new commercial connections.130 Also fostering the Brabantine stone trade was the growing importance of the Brabant fairs, which offered a perfect venue for merchants and customers to meet and do business, as will be discussed below.

  Van Uytven 2005, 677.  On the Netherlands, see: Slinger & Janse & Berends 1980, 41. 128  On the importance of waterways for trade contacts in the Low Countries, see: Blockmans 2010, 275–82 and 293–95. 129   de Neve & van Heezik 2007; Rutte 2009. 130  Some early examples of ecclesiastical buildings in Holland where Brussels limestone was used 126 127

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are the choirs of St Bavo’s in Haarlem (c. 1380–c. 1400), St Peter’s in Leiden (1390–1415) and the Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam (begun c. 1400). In the sixteenth century, the trade in Namur limestone via the Meuse would benefit from existing trade connections and infrastructure in an analogous way. van Tussenbroek 2003; van Tussenbroek 2006.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 Land and Labour Markets A third factor that was instrumental in the rise of the stone trade was the unusually welldeveloped land lease and labour markets. The Low Countries had an active marketplace for land and labour, more so than other parts of Europe.131 By 1400, rulers, the nobility and abbeys were already showing a preference for leasing out their properties for cultivation instead of administering the land themselves.132 The same applied to the operation of quarries (see Chapter 4), offering opportunities for entrepreneurs to procure their own raw materials. Leases could comprise an annual fee, a set amount of stone or a share of the profits. Labour was traded on the marketplace as well. Major contractors were able to undertake extensive construction works because they could easily expand their workshops when and as needed, since most masons’ guilds did not restrict the size of stoneworkers’ shops. Such workshops were usually formed around a nucleus of family members and a few permanent apprentices and journeymen, as was customary for most crafts, but additional day labourers could be hired on the market if necessary. Often, masters recruited labourers at designated central gathering places, as in Ghent where masons were enlisted in front of the town hall and belfry.133 In towns and cities, masters were usually not limited in the number of workmen they could hire, though they were obliged to give precedence to guild members. At quarries in the countryside, however, guild regulations were frequently disregarded as many fell outside guild jurisdiction or the regulations were simply too difficult to enforce. Though there was a considerable economic advantage to employing low-wage labourers in the countryside, proximity to the city was essential for the industrial development of the quarry zone around Brussels. Urban markets provided entrepreneurs with the necessary credit, while the city’s harbour with its quays and storehouses furnished the infrastructure for transportation. Suppliers also profited from the concentration of knowledge within the Brussels stonemasons’ guild, which was vital for the training of young stonecutters.134 The guild was furthermore important for establishing commercial contacts and regulating access to the supra-regional market for stone.135 Innovations in the Production Process The commercialisation of the building trade fits with the overall economic development of the Low Countries during the late Middle Ages, a region generally regarded as one of the early centres of capitalism.136 A market-driven industry began to emerge as early as the fourteenth century, and the increase of exports in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries led workshops in several sectors to scale up their activities.137 At the same time, more and more luxury commodities that previously had been made to order, such as illuminated ­manuscripts, paintings and wooden altarpieces, were being produced for an export market 131  van Bavel 2010, 162–81 and 200–42; van Bavel 2008. 132   van Bavel 2010, 172–73. 133   UBG, Manuscript 58, Ordonnancien der neeringen van Gent, 410. Dambruyne 2002, 79. 134  A list of the names of members of the Brussels masons’ guild (Steenbickelerenambacht) has been preserved that dates back to 1306, though the guild was only fully established in 1388. RAA, AG, 897. See: Duverger 1933; De Stobbeleir 1965.

135  On the importance of the guilds for regulating the art market in the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries, see: Stabel 2006; Prak 2003; Prak 2008. 136   de Vries & van der Woude 1997; van Bavel & van Zanden 2004; Lis & Soly 2006; Lis & Soly 1997. 137   A well-documented example of the scaling up of businesses at the beginning of the sixteenth century is beer production in the cities of Holland (particularly Delft and Haarlem). Ibelings & Smit 2002.

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that was fairly generalised and remote.138 The trade in these items even expanded to overseas markets. Wooden altarpieces are a prime example, which by the end of the fifteenth century were finding their way to markets from the Baltic to Spain.139 Such luxury commodities were often sold at the Brabant fairs, which attracted an international mix of traders, and at the panden – the courtyards of urban monasteries where luxury manufactures were sold. Originally, artisans displayed their wares here only intermittently, but some panden evolved to become semi-permanent markets specialising in specific goods, such as the Pand of Our Lady in Antwerp, a renowned spot to buy paintings by Antwerp artists.140 The market for luxury commodities differed from that for ready-made building components, because in the construction industry customers and producers usually had direct contact. Pre-cut blocks for prestigious buildings were certainly too specific to be made on stock and were therefore almost always produced to order. Nevertheless, surviving documents show that suppliers occasionally produced wares for an export market of anonymous buyers. Clear evidence can be found in the Ordonnantie van den Tourte, an ordinance regulating the transport of stone on the Zenne river issued by Charles the Bold in 1468 (discussed in greater detail in Chapter 4). It decreed that the destination port of each shipment of stone had to be registered with Vilvoorde’s harbour clerk, as the bargemen’s pay was fixed on the basis of destination. An exception was made for suppliers who did not yet have a delivery location because they had yet to sell their wares: Item, regarding the wrought stone that a stone master who desires to sell a shipload of stone or to convey it to a market somewhere and who swears he has not sold it already, that stone master will be allowed to register the said ship, though it be not yet sold.141 The vending of prefabricated components en route at undefined markets most likely concerned standardised pieces intended for the construction of houses. Given the sizable investments, suppliers probably preferred products that could be sold easily in any market. The risk of being left with unsaleables was fairly limited for ashlars, which could be used for many purposes, and likewise for millstones which were easily modified to buyers’ wishes. The high demand for ready-made components for houses, such as thresholds, gutters, windows, floor tiles, stairs and small columns, typically called ‘general house work’ (gemeyn huyswerck), opened up a new opportunity for quarriers to expand their offering with a diversified range of products.142 It is unknown whether this production was a specialised niche or served to bridge lulls in specific commissions and keep labourers at work.143 The increasing importance of export markets for luxury commodities is supposed to have led to important changes in artistic production. Growing demand and fierce competition gave rise to the clustering of expertise in cities like Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, Mechelen and Brussels.144 The concentration of expertise in these centres not only served to elevate   On the early development of the art market, see: Campbell 1976; Ewing 1990; Vermeylen 2003. On the trade in wooden altarpieces, see: Jacobs 1998. On illuminated manuscripts, see: van Bergen 2007. 139   Jacobs 1998. 140  Ewing 1990; Vermeylen 2003, 15–34. More in general, see: Gelderblom 2004. 141   Item aengaende den gehouwen steen dat de steenmeesters die een scip gehouwen steens wilt venten oft ergens ter merct vueren ende op zijnen eedt neempt dat hij dat nyet vercocht en heeft, dat 138

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dien steenmeester wel geoerloeft wesen sal tselve scip te doen scriven, hoe wel dat noch ter tijt niet vercocht en es… RAL, SGVB 9937, part 3, f. 32r. 142   RAA, RB, 533, f. 3r. 143  According to Russell, the absence of specific commissions led some Roman marble quarriers to produce architectural elements to stock; however, this was mostly limited to simple blocks that could be put to a range of uses. Russell 2013, 234. 144   Blockmans 1995.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 artistic quality, but also provided an important impetus for innovations in the production process. Because not all artisans could compete for prime court and church commissions, some began to diversify by targeting patrons who did not want or could not afford the most expensive and exclusive products. John Michael Montias, who was the first to take an interest in this development, believed that artistic production was influenced by artisans’ desire to accelerate the production process.145 He assumed that certain stylistic changes in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were the consequence of the introduction of faster painting techniques. A similar development has been proposed in respect of wooden altarpieces made for the export market. To save costs, the carving process was increasingly standardised until the manufacture of altarpieces took on several characteristics of mass production.146 More recently, it has been argued that the role of price competition in the innovation of artistic production processes should not be overestimated. Harald Deceulaer and Ann Diels maintain that possibilities for mass production of painted and carved altarpieces were limited by the high quality, changing tastes, desire for stylistic innovations and diversity of commissions.147 The building industry, by contrast, is often thought to have experienced few innovations, because entrepreneurs had few opportunities to produce standardised products for export markets with an anonymous clientele.148 The customised nature of architectural production would have prevented large-scale changes in organisation or streamlined processes. Nevertheless, the labour-intensive production process may in some ways have been better suited than that of painted and carved altarpieces to cost-saving innovations. What is more, economising the production of building materials was highly profitable, because compared to painting and sculpture, the work consisted largely of simple and repetitive activities. One pivotal innovation in the building industry was the prefabrication of building materials.149 In the Middle Ages, the large-scale use of ready-mades was first introduced in the cathedral workshops at Soissons, Reims and Amiens in the thirteenth century. At the quarries operated by these cathedrals, blocks were increasingly simplified to facilitate repeated production, and clever configurations allowed for architectural members such as piers to be assembled from only a few different types of blocks. The use of standard blocks then made it possible to quickly process large quantities of stone and economise the use of building material at the same time.150 The streamlining of the building process in northern France was probably spurred by patrons’ desire to both accelerate the pace of construction and improve the quality of work, given that mass production could achieve greater uniformity. In the Low Countries, on the other hand, efforts to cut building costs seem to have been prompted in part by the long distances between the quarries and building sites, but also, crucially, by the comparatively limited financial means of many patrons. At the same time, cost-effectiveness was also becoming a concern for private contractors, who were compelled to economise on   Montias 1982.   Efficient production methods were also developed for other art forms, such as terracotta altarpieces, paintings, tapestries and manuscripts. Jacobs 1998, 236–37. 147   Deceulaer & Diels 2007. A similar critical view on the notion of the widespread use of mass-produced stone objects in the Roman Empire can be found in Russell’s study on the Roman stone trade. Russell 2013. 148   Goldthwaite 1980, 116. 145 146

 It has been assumed that the building industry saw few technical innovations in the production process because the incentive to standardise production was largely absent: patrons’ wishes and specific circumstances varied to such an extent that buildings were usually custom-made. Goldthwaite 1980, 116–17. This notwithstanding, Kimpel argued that more efficient working methods were introduced in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Kimpel 1989; Kimpel 1977. 150   Kimpel 1977; Kimpel 1983; Kimpel 1989. 149

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expenses in order to offer competitive prices in public tenders. More effective ­organisation of labour could give them a competitive edge in the market. The calculations for Ghent town hall show that labour costs represented a large share of the building expenses. Suppliers therefore probably sought new options for hiring cheap labour in the countryside, but equally for accelerating the processing of materials. An important clue to the acceleration of stonecutting in the Low Countries is found in the increasingly irregular finishing of stone in the fifteenth century. Frans Doperé discovered that three periods can be distinguished in the surface treatment of white limestone.151 Before the fifteenth century, the drafted margins of ashlars were chiselled in delicate parallel, narrow strokes, while the centre was given a more rugged finish (fig. 3.10). From around 1410, the margin strokes become more robust and are applied at greater intervals, probably as a result of a reduction in the number of strokes. In the third period, from 1430–1450 onwards, the margins disappear and the direction of the strokes becomes less regular (fig. 3.11). Though these changes could be explained by an evolution in stonechiselling tools, the more rugged finish also saved time. It can be no coincidence that this development followed fast on the heels of the boom in demand for stone from Brussels, and went hand in hand with the fifteenth-century commercialisation of the building trade. Another way to economise on the cutting of stone was to simplify the work of the stonecutters: larger and complex architectural members could be composed from smaller standardised blocks that were easier to make and disseminate by means of stonecutters’ templates. Building accounts frequently record blocks such as gutters and cornerstones.152 Though efficiency increases could be achieved by cutting blocks to fixed dimensions, the production of building elements was never completely standardised due to the diversity of demand and the difficulty of cutting blocks to homogeneous dimensions, given the diverging and restricted heights of quarry beds. As such, rigid standardisation of blocks would have meant the waste of the precious material.153 The different contexts in northern France and the Low Countries led to different approaches to streamlining the building process. In France, standardisation focused mainly on the blocks of stone themselves, whereas in the Low Countries the whole design was simplified and modified to facilitate working with finished components, as we shall see in Chapter 7. Managing the Stone Trade Thus far, this chapter has discussed the general character of the stone trade in the Low Countries, yet to gain real insight into the stoneworkers’ shops it is necessary to turn to the question how stone suppliers managed their business. The first scholar to study Brabantine stone exports was Meischke. Though he painted a compelling picture of the dynamics of the “Brabantine wholesale trade in stone”, as he called it, knowledge of the workshops and how they were managed by suppliers has remained fragmented.154 Archival sources that have recently come to light afford a more detailed view of the stone trade out of Brussels. These sources indiscriminately refer to masters as ‘stonemason’, stone master’, ‘supplier’

151  Doperé 1999, 113–16. The differences in the finishing of stone blocks allowed Doperé to develop a method to more precisely date subsequent building campaigns. For a critical discussion of the merits of Doperé’s new method, see: Maesschalck & Viaene 2005, 69–71.

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  Philipp 1996.   Doperé 2002. 154  Meischke 1988c, 75; van Essen & Hurx 2009; Hurx 2007a. 152 153

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Fig. 3.10 Before 1410 the drafted margins of ashlars were chiselled with delicate parallel, narrow strokes, while the centre was handled with a more rugged finish.

Fig. 3.11 From 1430–1450 onwards, the margins of ashlars disappear and the direction of the strokes becomes less regular than before.

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(leveraer) and ‘merchant’ (coepluden).155 From the beginning of the sixteenth century the term ‘contractor’ (aannemer) is also used, though this is a more general term that could also apply to other master craftsmen who supplied work in gross.156 Managers of commercial stone workshops all had backgrounds as stonemasons, but in practice the most successful masters had little in common with ordinary craftsmen. They probably performed little to no manual labour, as running a large workshop and conducting business with customers from all over the Low Countries left them little time to wield a chisel. Acquisition The acquisition and coordination of multiple commissions in several cities at once must have presented a real challenge. Where a contractor’s activities were limited to his own city and its hinterland, however, meeting prospective customers posed no major difficulties. Personal relations and word of mouth were probably sufficient, and the deans of the masons’ guild could also act as intermediaries between customers and suppliers. Furthermore, stone merchants were not difficult for patrons to locate since they usually all lived and worked in the same street or neighbourhood. In Antwerp, for instance, many master masons lived in Steenhouwersvest, a street that was conveniently located near the quays of the Scheldt where stone was stockpiled.157 As soon as the distance between customers and suppliers grew, communication became more complicated. In the fifteenth-century supra-regional stone market there were several ways to establish trade relations. Perhaps the most obvious way for patrons to reach stone merchants was to announce a public tender. To protect the interests of prospect contractors, messengers could be sent to multiple cities with an invitation to tender that included a standard copy of the building specifications.158 Often the errand boy of the masons’ guild was enlisted to go around to announce the tender to all guild members. Invitations to tender were particularly effective when the building project was relatively near a city with a strong building industry or a quarry. This was the case in the tenders for the town halls of Leuven and Damme, discussed above.159 Some cities  These terms are used interchangeably in several sources. In the accounts for 1498 from St Walburga’s in Oudenaarde, Willem de Ronde, Diederick and Lodewijk van Boghem are called coeplieden (merchants), whereas in Willem de Ronde’s 1510 contract with the church he is referred to as a “stonecutter from Brussels”. Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 2, 20–22 and 29–32. The use of the terms coopluden and steenmeester is found in the town archives of Vilvoorde (1512), RAL, SGVB, 9937, part 3, f. 28r., 31v.-32r. The term leveraer is found in: NA, GRK, 5008, f. 51r.-v. and AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 33r., 36r., 37r.-v. In the French-speaking part of the Low Countries, the terms marchand de pierre, maître de carrière, maître tailleur de pierre and quaireleur were also used to mean the same thing. Van Belle 1990, 31. 156  The term nemer was used in 1517 in a contract appointing Matthijs III Keldermans, Jan Looman and Jan Ooge for the construction of the tower of St Peter’s in Anderlecht. Wauters 1968, vol. 1, 47–48. The word aennemer (contractor) occurs in several documents relating to the construction of Tongerlo Abbey (1522) 155

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and the Celestine priory of Heverlee (1522–1523). AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 53r. and SAL, 8182, f. 43v. 157   Van Cauwenberghs 1889, 14, note 4. 158   Salamagne 2001, 135–36. 159   Another well-documented example is the call for tenders for the masonry of the choir of St Peter’s in Anderlecht (1473–1474 and 1475–1476). RAA, KAB, 229, Kerkrekeningen Anderlecht 1473–1474, 10r. and Kerkrekeningen Anderlecht 1475–1476, 10r. Each year, a new call was prepared for the next construction season by the master of works. The call was written and copied out a several times, and the copies given to the ‘boy’ of the Steenbickelerenambacht in Brussels, who announced the tender to its members. Another interesting example is the call for tenders for the renovation of Vilvoorde Castle in 1538–1539. The court architect Lodewijk van Boghem and his assistants prepared the drawings for the tender (patroonen), which were sent to the nearby cities of Brussels and Mechelen and to the quarries at Diegem, Melsbroek and Zaventem. ARA, ARK, 26476, f. 21v.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 opted to advertise the call directly at the quarries, such as Mechelen. In 1514–1515, copies of the city’s building specifications were posted in villages near the quarries and two Mechelen stonemasons were dispatched to present the templates to be used for the work to quarriers.160 Patrons who wanted to be certain that a large number of suppliers would submit bids could also tender the work at the quarries themselves. In 1487, the churchwardens of Our Lady in Antwerp organised a drinking party for stonemasons and quarriers at the important Affligem quarries. The event was a great success: the building accounts explicitly state that more than 25 masons and an equal number of quarriers attended.161 To acquire stone, patrons could also instruct the master of the works to find capable suppliers. Mediating between patrons and suppliers of building materials was one of the main duties of an architect.162 A letter of 1536 from Anthonis de Lalaing to the receiver of Hoogstraten gives a clear sense of the master’s mediating role. Anthonis wrote that he had sent his master mason Hendrik Lambart to Vilvoorde, north of Brussels, to negotiate with some other masters on the provision of stone. Lalaing was satisfied with the cost estimate that Lambart provided on his return: “We have also seen the cost estimate that Hendrik made with several suppliers of white stone from Vilvoorde, and it seems to me that he did reasonably well in the matter…”163 The building accounts of Middelburg town hall furnish another interesting example. In 1452, before construction commenced, the town council summoned Gilles Pauwels, master mason of the castle of Sluis and to the court of Brabant, to ask his advice on how best to procure stone.164 Pauwels may have suggested consulting the famous Keldermans family in Mechelen, because several years later Andries Keldermans and two messengers from the town were paid to go to the Affligem quarries to purchase stone. Instead of organising a public tender, the town appears to have purchased the necessary building materials directly at the quarries.165 One reason for this may have been that few quarriers were expected to be interested in travelling all the way to Middelburg, were a tender to be held there. When a building project was located far away from the quarries, sending the master of the works or a messenger to the quarries to purchase stone was fairly customary. For instance, in 1497 the churchwardens of St Lawrence’s in Alkmaar travelled with the celebrated architect Anthonis I Keldermans to the town of Dendermonde, which was near the quarries of Affligem and formed an important harbour for the transhipment of stone, where they contracted the stone merchant Maerten Gheertsz van Affligem for the supply of four columns and the corresponding arcade arches for their new church’s choir (fig. 3.4).166 Architects’ networks often included family members who were also in the building trade, and it was quite common to refer patrons to a relative. It was precisely by passing on commissions to each other in this way that members of the Keldermans family forged one of the most successful stonemasons’ dynasties in the Low Countries.167 Another example is the master of the works of the town hall in Oudenaarde, Hendrik van Pede, who was probably responsible for getting his nephew engaged as the supplier of stone for   SAM, SR 1514–1515, f. 222r.-v.   KAA OLV, KR 1487, f. 41r. 162   Meischke 2002. 163   Wy hebben oic gesien het billet van den pris gemaekt by meester Henric met eenigen leveraers van witten steene van Vilvoirden ende dunct my dat hem redelicken daerinne gequeten heeft… Lauwerys 1956, 195. 164   Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 340. 160 161

165  Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 341–42. In 1507 the city’s master mason was sent to Brussels to buy stone for the tower of the new town hall. Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 425. Probably the supply of stone was not tendered publicly but awarded to the master of the works, Anthonis I Keldermans. Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 433–40. 166   RHCA, PA, inv. no. 3. 167   Meischke 1987c, 188–89.

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the project.168 Outside the family circle, architects often had enduring trade relationships with a fixed number of suppliers.169 Mutual financial profit may have formed the basis for these informal alliances, but likely architects’ preference for working with a small number of contractors was also premised on confidence in their reliability and the quality of their products. Maintaining effective, long-term working alliances furthermore facilitated coordination of the work, because their shared experience meant all parties knew what was required of them. This is well illustrated by the architect Evert Spoorwater and his church commissions, where we find the same Brussels stone suppliers turning up again and again in the building accounts.170 That these contractors were recommended by Spoorwater is supported by a payment recorded in the building accounts of the church of St Willibrord in Hulst. When the architect travelled to Hulst in 1462–1463, he brought along the leading Brussels stone merchant Reynier van Impeghem to inspect the new choir.171 Spoorwater’s close ties with suppliers in Brussels is further illustrated by a letter from the prominent Brussels stone merchant Jan Trappaert to the churchwardens of St Bavo’s in Haarlem.172 The letter itself provides instructions to pay the bargeman who delivered Trappaert’s shipment of stone to Haarlem, but in an addendum he relates that he had gone to see Spoorwater in Antwerp but found the architect not at home, therefore he promises to appear with Spoorwater in Haarlem on the first Sunday after Easter. Another good opportunity for patrons to find prospective stone suppliers were the Brabant fairs held twice a year in Antwerp (at Whitsuntide and on St Bavis’ Day on 1 October) and in Bergen op Zoom (Easter and All Saints). These fairs attracted merchants from all over northern Europe to sell their goods without the interference of any craft guild. To encourage buyers and sellers to attend, the dukes of Burgundy gave merchants guarantees of safe passage and sojourn.173 Furthermore, they were promised indemnity from reprisals for the debts of their fellow townsfolk. The fairs offered an ideal setting for patrons and stone suppliers to meet and conduct business. At the Antwerp fair on St Bavis’ Day in 1483, for example, the churchwardens of St Bavo’s drew up a contract with the Brussels stone merchant Lieven van Boghem for the supply of several windows.174 It stated that Van Boghem would receive the first payment for his work at the next fair in Bergen op Zoom at Easter and a second instalment at the St Bavis’ fair in Antwerp.175 That orders were placed at such fairs is evident from a letter written by the Antwerp stone merchant Jan   Van Lerberghe & Ronsse, 1845–1855, vol. 3, 391– 462. Another example is the prominent stone merchant Michiel Yselwijns, who supplied stone for several building projects conducted by Rombout Keldermans, including Tongerlo Abbey, Hoogstraten Castle and the Blauwe Toren (Blue Tower) in Gorinchem. Michiel was married to Rombout’s sister, Catharina Keldermans, and their close relationship is further evidenced by the fact that at Rombout’s death in 1533 Yselwijns paid his debt to the Oude Voetbooggilde in Mechelen. Coene 1897, 238, note 2; van Caster 1899, 116, note 1. 169  It has been assumed that Gillis Moreel of Écaussinnes was able to monopolise the supply of blue limestone for Leuven town hall because he was a friend of the architect Matheus de Layens. Maesschalck & Viaene, 1997, 321–23. 170   Meischke 2002, 204–05; Hurx 2007a, 126–27. 168

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 GAH, KR 1462–1463, 378, f. 28r. Spoorwater also brought with him to Hulst the master mason Jan de Metsere from Brussels, KR 1462–1463, 398, f. 28r. Rombout Keldermans proposed stonecutters to his patrons, as is documented by a payment to Adriaen de Steenhouwer and Jeronimus van Mechelen, who were hired on Rombout’s advice to work on the Blauwe Toren in Gorinchem in 1524–1525. NA, GRK, 5008, f. 7r. 172   NHA, SA, box 67 I-1185. 173   Gelderblom 2004. 174   NH, KR, inv. no. 191. 175   Other contracts show that the fairs were also used to settle payments. For instance, in 1473 the stone merchants Godevaert de Bosschere and Steven Elen received two payment instalments from the churchwardens of St Bavo’s in Haarlem at the Antwerp fair and that in Bergen op Zoom for the supply of columns and arcade arches for the nave of the church. NHA, KR 1473–1474, inv. no. 312, f. 22v. 171

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 Terwaert on 23 June 1499. Having previously sold two shipments of stone to the wardens of St Lawrence’s church in Alkmaar, he wrote to remind them that if they wished to order an additional shipment they were to let him know at the next St Bavis’ fair in Antwerp.176 Contract Provisions Orders of stone were usually recorded in written contracts drawn up in the presence of the patron, the stone merchant and often also the master of the works, as well as a clerk who committed the agreement to paper. Such contracts generally contained a brief description of the product, including measurements, quantities and the quality of the materials and finish, and possibly also provisions for the delivery period, transportation and payment instalments. In some cases, penalty clauses and sureties were also included.177 Because contracts served primarily as legal documents, descriptions of the formal characteristics of architectural members were mostly brief; often, the designs provided by the architect – generally called ‘patterns’ – and the stonecutters’ templates were mentioned only in passing. Contracts could also refer to more detailed building specifications, drafted as separate documents.178 Frequently, the quality and finish of stone were laid down with reference to samples provided by the supplier or to similar work done before. The quality had to be equal to or better than the sample, as the Antwerp stone merchant Jan Terwaert affirmed in a letter: “better and not worse than what I supplied earlier.”179 To ensure good quality stone, the exact quarry could also be specified. Patrons were aware that some wily quarriers tried to supply cheaper blocks of smaller dimensions. The contract of 1470 between the churchwardens of St Bavo’s in Haarlem and Godevaert de Bosschere and Steven Elen therefore explicitly states that the drums for the columns in the nave should consist of no more than five blocks per layer (fig. 3.12).180 Apart from specifications regarding quality, many contracts also stipulate a delivery period. Naturally, the progress of work depended on the timely delivery of building materials. Some patrons sought to ensure speedy service by providing that a fine would be payable if the time limit were exceeded, of which the contracts for St Walburga’s in Oudenaarde and the Celestine priory of Heverlee have already been cited as examples. Transportation was a further factor that had to be arranged in the contract. The costs and responsibility for coordination were usually open to negotiation between the patron and supplier.181 In the 1536 letter in which Lalaing expresses his satisfaction with the cost estimate provided by Hendrik Lambart (see above), he also notes that the master mason had nevertheless forgotten to settle the freight costs. Because the stone had to be shipped all the way to the harbour of Breda, he expected the sum would be considerable and therefore that it still had to be negotiated.182

 RHCA, PA, inv. no. 3. The eight columns and nine arcade arches needed to complete the choir of St Lawrence’s were likewise ordered from Maerten Gheertz at the Antwerp fairs of 1499 and 1503. RHCA, SE, inv. no. 16, 1156. 177   van Tussenbroek 2013, 170–76. 178  Building specifications themselves sometimes also served as a contract. van Tussenbroek 2009, 20. 179   beter ende niet argher – dan ick hem luy ghelevert hebbe. RHCA, PA, inv. no. 3. 176

  Janssen 1985, appendix 10.  The Ordonnantie van den Tourte of 1468 forbade stone merchants from combining their profession with that of bargeman (see Chapter 4). 182  …maer meester Henric en scryft niet wie de vracht betalen zal, daer oic groot regard op genomen behoirt te werden, zedert hebben wy gesien dat se die te Breda behoiren te leveren. Lauwerys 1956, 195–96. 180 181

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Fig. 3.12 Haarlem, Evert Spoorwater, St Bavo, nave, 1456–c. 1480. Godevaert de Bosschere and Steven Elen supplied all columns for the nave and crossing between 1470–1478.

There seems to have been no general rule governing who was responsible for the costs of carriage. In a 1535 contract for the columns of St Martin’s in Aalst, it was agreed that the churchwardens would provide horses and wagons, or else enough money, for the supplier Willem Vrominck to transport the stone from his nearby quarries at Hekelgem and Lede to the churchyard.183 By contrast, Willem de Ronde was obliged to deliver and unload a stone shipment on his own account in the harbour of Oudenaarde in 1510. In still other cases, the costs were shared by the supplier and patron. The supplier could be responsible for funding the first leg of the journey, for example, while the patron paid for the second. Such an arrangement is found in Godevaert de Bosschere and Steven Elen’s contract for the supply of columns for the nave of St Bavo’s in Haarlem. They had to transport the stone “at their own cost, peril and risk” (op haren cost, anxt ende aventuere) to Antwerp, from where the churchwardens would take over.184

  De Potter & Broeckaert 1874–1876, vol. 3, 174.   NHA, SA, box 67 I-1183. Janssen 1985, appendix 10. The 1502 contract between Lodewijk van Boghem and the churchwardens of St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch for the piers of the south side aisles contained a similar stipulation that Van Boghem would be responsible for 183 184

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the transport to Antwerp. KA SJ, 1365c. See: Peeters 1985, 43–44. In his 1499 contract with the wardens of St Lawrence’s church, Jan Terwaert agreed to deliver the stone shipment one mile north of Antwerp for his own account. RHCA, PA, inv. no. 3.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3 Communication After the contract was drawn up, work at the quarry could begin. Because busy stone suppliers worked on many commissions in multiple cities simultaneously, they only visited building sites on specific occasions, for instance to take a new order or when the work supplied was inspected before final payment. During the production process, the supplier and patron communicated mainly by way of messengers. Patrons frequently sent their messengers to the quarries to check on the progress of the work.185 When more important issues had to be discussed, or a dispute arose, the master of the works or the patron himself went to see the contractor. The visit by one of the churchwardens of St Walburga’s in Oudenaarde to Lodewijk van Boghem and Willem de Ronde in Brussels, mentioned above, and those of the treasurer and mayor of Damme to Godevaert de Bosschere in Brussels, offer good illustrations of patrons travelling to meet with suppliers.186 Like patrons, suppliers also regularly sent messengers to the building site to stay apprised of the works. In many cases their motive was to spur the patron to make advance or overdue payments.187 Yet, financial problems were not the only reason for visiting a patron. In 1486–1487, the stone merchants Maerten Gheertsz and Steven Pauwels sent their errand boy to the churchwardens of St Willibrord’s in Hulst regarding an unsettled payment, but also to enquire about the amount of work for the coming year.188 Apart from sending messengers, patrons and suppliers also communicated through letters sent along with shippers who transported the stone. Little of this correspondence has survived, but what has been preserved in archives concerns matters so basic that it is safe to assume suppliers commonly communicated with customers by letter. Those written by Jan Trappaert and Jan Terwaert have already been mentioned, but examples also survive in other archives, as at the church of St John in ’s-Hertogenbosch, which contains four letters from Lodewijk van Boghem.189 Those written by Lodewijk himself in 1503 and 1504 were addressed to the master of the works at the church, Jan Heyns, and concern the supply of compound piers for the south side aisles of the nave, for which a contract dating from 1502 is also preserved (fig. 3.13).190 Like Trappaert’s and Terwaert’s letters, they discuss ordinary business matters: Van Boghem informs Jan Heyns about the progress of the work and asks whether he might receive payments in advance.191 The extent to which communication was required depended on the character of the products to be supplied. Stone merchants could supply products to various degrees of finish and complexity, ranging from small quantities of ashlars to complete building kits. When delivering raw building materials or ashlars, little communication was needed, but 185  For instance, in 1483–1484 the churchwardens in Hulst twice sent their messenger to the quarries of Dilbeek (near Brussels) to visit Mattheus II Keldermans regarding their church portal. GAH, KR 1483–1484, 387, f. 34r. and 37r. 186   Devliegher 1965, 156, 158. 187  The accounts of St Willibrord’s in Hulst from 1486–1487 contain a note that the Brussels stone merchant Wouter van Reynighem’s messenger had been sent home with the message that he would receive payment for his work only after delivery of remaining components of the spiral stairs. GAH, KR 1486–1487, 389, f. 21v. 188   GAH, KR 1486–1487, 389, f. 21v.

189   KA SJ, 1379, 1405 and 1408. Noticed by Hezenmans 1866, 144. Several more letters have been preserved. For St Bavo’s, there remains a letter on the supply of Bentheimer sandstone written by Jan Rugher from Zwolle (1476), and the archive of Tongerlo Abbey contains two letters from Jan Darkennes, stonecutter from Antwerp (1550). NHA, SA, box 67 I-1185 and AAT, II, 113, f. 119v. Jan Darkennes may have been a relative of Jan I Darkennes, who was the master of the works at St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch. For Jan I Darkennes, see: van Tussenbroek 2001. 190   KA SJ, 1365c. Published in: Peeters 1985, 43–44. 191  These letters will be discussed in more detail in the discussion of Van Boghem’s business in Chapter 4.

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Fig. 3.13 ’s-Hertogenbosch, Jan Heyns, St John, nave, southern side-aisles. The piers were supplied by Lodewijk van Boghem from 1502 onwards.

in the case of large building kits containing many different types of mouldings in various sizes, thorough coordination with workers at the building site was crucial. To prevent miscommunication, each block was given an assembly or setting mark, cut or drawn in red or black chalk (fig. 3.14). Much research has been done on such masons’ marks in the Low Countries, and several notation systems have been identified that were used to instruct masons at the site.192 Doperé distinguished eight different types of marks used in the Low Countries for the arrangement of blocks. The least sophisticated are pair marks, consisting of two matching marks identifying two blocks that belong together. Combinations of these marks with other types (fig. 3.15), such as so-called position marks indicating left and right, offered advanced systems to direct the exact placement of each component in the building kit.193

 Janse & de Vries 1991. On the limitations of the study of masons’ marks for the attribution and dating of specific blocks, see: Soentgerath 2003. On the categorisation of masons’ marks in general, see: Bianchi 1997. 193   Doperé 1997. Assembly marks do not necessarily indicate the use of finished components from the 192

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quarries, because these marks were also used for blocks cut at the building site. More research is needed to understand whether there was a relationship between the increasing use of readymades and the development of more refined systems of assembly marks. See also: van Tussenbroek 2006, 31–33.

The Stone Trade   Chapter 3

Fig. 3.15 Oudenaarde, St Walburga, combination of assembly marks indicating the order of the l­ayers and the orientation of the blocks for the base of the crossing piers, second half of the fifteenth century-early sixteenth century.

A second way to ensure blocks were properly assembled was to dispatch ­workshop members to accompany shipments of near-finished stone to the building site. These building teams could be tasked with assembling the building kit as well as finishing ­delicate mouldings and ornaments, which was preferably done at the building site due to the risk of damage during travel. Work of this sort was probably often included in ­contractors’ bids, and in consequence such teams of workers are not well documented. Only when they were employed for additional work can they be traced in building accounts.194 One of the rare examples testifying to this practice is found in the accounts of the Maison du Roi in Brussels. In 1517, a messenger was paid to go to the stone merchants Pieter and Eustache Le Prince in Écaussinnes to entreat them to come to Brussels to sort and adjust arches they had ­previously supplied “so that the blocks will fit properly”.195 This seems to indicate that onsite assistance might be included with the delivery of a building kit, even if the actual place­­ ment of the blocks was left to the patron’s own masons. Merchants’ building teams are also documented at building sites to do the finishing work on pieces too delicate to cut before transport. This explains why, when Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere supplied the   An example is Jan Quaywante, who was Willem and Godevaert de Bosschere’s deputy in the construction of Damme’s town hall and received 194

several payments for additional work performed for the town. Devliegher 1965, 154, 169, 174, 185, 195. 195   ARA, ARK, 27484, part 5, f. 11r.

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columns of the nave of St Bavo’s in Haarlem between 1471 and 1478, three of Elen’s sons make several appearances in the building accounts.196 In 1472 one of Elen’s sons again turns up at the church of St Gommarus’ in Lier, where he was paid to cut the foliage on two capitals, which undoubtedly were supplied by his father.197 Elsewhere, the accidental omission of foliage confirms that the finishing work was performed in situ. One extraordinary example is a capital in the nave of the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam, where the stems of the foliage have been left unchiselled (fig. 3.16).198 Who was responsible for sculp­­ Fig. 3.16 Amsterdam, Oude Kerk/St Nicolas, foliage of a capital with ting ornamental sculpture is not always unchiselled stems, second half of the fourteenth century. clear from the sources. In Lier, most of the sculpture was probably carved by stonemasons working in the small masons’ lodge at the building site, as stone merchants supplied the less fragile pieces ready-made and it was agreed they would not cut foliage on the capitals of the columns they supplied.199 Other cases evidence that suppliers could be responsible for ornamental carving, as in Haarlem, where the contract with Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere clearly states that they were to execute the capitals with a double ring of superimposed rows of carved foliage.200 This chapter has explored several factors that contributed to the rise of an advanced building market in which contractors could take charge of large-scale construction works. Of particular importance was the development of workshops at the quarries near Brussels, which supplied a wide diversity of products ranging in complexity and quantity from simple ashlars to complete building kits. Their products found markets all over the western and most urbanised parts of the Low Countries. The next chapter will analyse the economic significance of production at these quarries in greater depth.

 Payments are recorded to Hannekijn “Stevens zoen” and his assistant in 1471–1472, Michiel “Stevens van Put sijn soen tot Afflicom” in 1473–1474 and Jan Eelen Stevensz in 1478–1479. NHA, KR 1471–1472, inv. no. 311, f. 54r.; KR 1473–1474, inv. no. 312, f. 15v; KR 1478–1479, inv. no. 314, f. 33r. 197   Doperé 1999, 148. A similar practice is documented at St John’s in Gouda. Romen and Maerten de Coninck, two sons of the Ghent stone merchant Lieven de 196

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Coninck, came to the building site to finish columns supplied by their father. They were paid in 1559 and 1561 for carving the foliage of the capitals and bases of the columns. van den Berg 2008, 84, 113. 198   Janse 2004, 36–37. Another example is found at Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-ten-Poel in Tienen; see: Doperé 2000, 107–08. 199   Doperé 1999, 157 and 160. 200   NHA, SA, box 67 I-1183. Janssen 1985, appendix 10.

Fig. 4.16 Unknown artist, medallion with the initials L and A conjoined with a love knot, in: book of hours of Lodewijk van Boghem, Lyon, c. 1520–1530.

Chapter 4 Quarrying

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In the fifteenth century, the most productive quarry centre in the Low Countries was situated in the environs of Brussels. Its limestone was the preferred building material in the great cities of the coastal areas and its finished products were distributed as far and wide as Calais in the southeast and Enkhuizen in the northeast. Though there is a well-established tradition of scholarship on the history of quarrying in Belgium, the quarries around Brussels have received comparatively little attention. Better studied are those in Wallonia, where publications on Écaussinnes, Arquennes and Feluy in Hainaut and on Gobertange, between Hoegaarden and Jodoigne, have contributed to a much greater understanding of quarrying in the late Middle Ages and early modern period.1 Such extensive studies are lacking for the Brussels quarry zone. Existing publications by local historians and geologists concern mostly the location of specific quarries and the composition of the beds and material.2 Remarkably, historical studies on Brussels have also barely touched on the trade in white limestone. A notable exception is the work of Jos Viaene and Alphonsine Maesschalck, who have attempted to provide a broader picture of commercial quarrying in the fifteenth century by relating the stone business of the prominent Brussels architect and stone supplier Jan van Ruysbroeck to the operation of quarries.3 Nevertheless, our view of the development of these operations remains fragmented. Because sources on the quarries, the transport of stone and the practices of quarry masters have hardly been studied in relation to each other, questions regarding the scale of commercial stone extraction and near-industrial character of these enterprises have never been answered in any depth. Stones and Quarries Contracts and building accounts generally made a point of specifying the origin of the stone supplied for building works.4 This provides an indication of the importance of good quality stone for builders and makes it possible to identify which were the leading quarries in the fifteenth century. The contract agreed between Philip the Good and the city of Brussels for the Aula Magna of Coudenberg Palace in 1452, for example, makes explicit reference to the different qualities of stone needed. Philip required the city to use white limestone from Diegem for the ashlars, ‘Brussels stone’ – meaning white limestone from Dilbeek or Laken – for the mouldings, and blue limestone from Écaussinnes in Hainaut for the mullions and tracery of the windows (fig. 4.1).5 Another document, for the imperial prison of Het Steen in Antwerp,  On the quarries at Écaussinnes, Arquennes and Feluy, see: Van Belle 1976; Van Belle 1990. For those at Gobertange: Tordoir et al. 2000. 2  The two most important publications, which contain a wealth of information about the quarries around Brussels, are Van den Haute 1979 and Wauters Histoire des environs de Bruxelles from 1855. In the eighteenth century, the authors FrançoisXavier Burtin and Abbot Théodore-Auguste Mann wrote about stone extraction with a focus on the natural history of Brussels and its surroundings: François-Xavier Burtin 1784,52; Théodore-Auguste Mann 1996 (originally published in 1785), 28–39. In the twentieth century, several local historians also contributed to the study of quarries, exploring the 1

toponymy of places such as Poelbos and Het Hof ten Put.They mainly focused on quarries in specific villages. Podevyn 1922; De Munck 1927; Verbesselt 1937; Herdies 1961; Van den Haute 1986; Meskens 1987. The history of quarrying around Brussels has also received some attention from geologists; see: Camerman 1955; Huygens 1986. 3   Maesschalck & Viaene 1985. See also: Maesschalck & Viaene 1960; Maesschalck & Viaene 1977; Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000. 4   Where no quarry is specified, general terms such as ‘white stone’ and orduin were often used. 5  Maesschalck & Viaene 2003, 292–94; DicksteinBernard 2006; Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 46, note 35. Another contemporary document in which the use

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stipulates the use of ‘Brussels stone’ from the quarries west of Brussels, either Dielegem, Dilbeek, Laken or Heembeek.6 Many other patrons specified quarries in their contracts. A contract dating from 1478 between the Brussels stone supplier Jan Quaywante and the churchwardens of St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch stipulates that he should provide stone from Dilbeek (Dielbeecschen steen), and another from 1502 with Lodewijk van Boghem for the same church specifies the use of stone from Dielegem (van den groent van Dielegen).7 And for the columns of the choir arcade at the church of St Lawrence in Alkmaar and the nave of St Bavo’s in Haarlem, the contracts prescribe stone from the quarries of Affligem (fig. 3.4 and 3.12).8 The white limestone specified in these contracts was found in the environs of Brussels, in an area then known as the Ammanie, which belonged to the jurisdiction of the duke’s legal officer in Brussels, the amman.9 Within this zone, three groups of quarries can be distinguished. One ran along the east bank of the Zenne, with important quarries near Haren, Diegem and Steenokkerzeel Fig. 4.1 Brussels, remains of the Aula Magna of the (fig. 4.2). The busy quarries of Dilbeek, Dielegem Coudenberg Palace, 1451–1461. White limestone and Laken on the Zenne’s west bank formed a secfrom Diegem (Brussels grès) is used for ashlars, ond group. The third comprised quarries owned by while stone from Dilbeek or Laken (grès of Lede), is the powerful abbey of Affligem in the basin of the applied for the larger corner stones. river the Dender, near Aalst. The composition and characteristics of this white limestone exhibit some variation.10 The quarries east of Brussels generally yielded small white blocks with dimensions rarely exceeding fifteen centimetres in height. Stone from west of Brussels usually has a slightly yellowish tinge and was extracted in blocks of up to 35 centimetres.11 Due to these differences, stone from the east bank of the Zenne was chiefly used for ashlars, floor tiles and gutters, whereas stone from the west bank and from Affligem was also suitable for sculpture, mouldings and window tracery (fig. 4.3 and 4.4).12 In the current literature these two variations are referred to as Brussels stone

of two different types of white limestone is specified is the construction contract for the choir of the church of the Holy Cross in Vrasene, dating from 11 January 1448. It stipulated that the Antwerp contractor Jan Hazeldonk use stone from Diegem for the exterior wall cladding and from the quarries of ‘Van der Heyden’ (Asse-Terheyden) near Affligem for the windows. Demey 1981–1984, 37–38. 6   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2. 7   Peeters 1985, 43–44; Janse & de Vries 1991, 155. 8   Alkmaar: RHCA, PA, inv. no. 3.; Haarlem: Janssen 1985, appendix 10 and NHA, SA, 67 I-1183. 9  On the development of the jurisdiction of the Ammanie, see: Bonenfant 1934; Godding 1989.

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  Nijs 1980.  Blom 1950, 171; Doperé 2002, 355. Generally speaking, the Zenne river demarcated the boundary between the two types of stone, however at several places near Brussels larger Lede stone blocks could also be found on the east bank. Sometimes both types of stone were extracted from the same quarries at different depths. Herman & Steurbaut & Vandenberghe 2000. 12  Slinger & Janse & Berends 1980, 46. In the fourteenth century, large blocks were applied as facing stone on exterior walls of buildings on the west bank near the quarries, for instance at the abbey of Affligem, Our Lady in Dendermonde and the old city walls of Brussels. 10 11

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Fig. 4.2 Map of the Ammanie of Brussels showing the ­locations of the most important quarry sites. Two variations of white limestone were extracted in this area, Brussels grès and grès of Lede.

(Brusseliaanse steen or Brussels grès) and Lede stone (Ledesteen or grès of Lede), deriving from the two geological formations of Lede and Brussels where they are found.13   Brussels stone is also regularly called ‘Gobertange stone’ (Gobertangesteen), a term that refers to the quarries near Jodoigne which became the chief production area for white limestone in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Tordoir et al. 2000. Use of this term is somewhat anachronistic, however, since stone from Gobertange was only of local importance in the fifteenth century, whereas Brussels stone became a major export product and was used throughout the western Low Countries. As the Gobertange quarries were not connected to navigable waterways (the Gete river was opened up for transport in 1525), its distribution remained restricted mostly to the nearby centres of Tienen, Leuven, Diest, Hasselt, Sint-Truiden and Jodoigne. Halflants 1992–1996, vol. 2, 239; Doperé 2000, 105; Dreesen & Dusar & Doperé 2003, 119–21. The

13.

distinction between both variants is also historically relevant as in the nineteenth century Gobertange stone came to be widely used in the coastal areas for restorations, substituting the exhausted Brussels stone. Tordoir et al. 2000; De Clercq 2002, 175. Brussels stone and Gobertange stone are variants that belong to the same Brussels Sand formation, but stone from Gobertange is easily distinguished from Brussels stone by its stronger horizontal laminations of alternating fine pale grey sand and pale yellowish marly sand and marl, which resembles the texture of oak wood. There are several modern terms for Lede stone: Balegemse stone, named after the main quarries in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Vlaamse arduin and Dender stone, named after the Dender river. Dusar et al. 2005, 85; van der Veen 1920–1923.

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Fig. 4.3 Haarlem, St Bavo, choir, c. 1380–1400. Stone from the east bank of the Zenne, Brussels grès (‘Brusseliaanse steen’) is used here for the cladding of the exterior walls.

Although contracts frequently mention the names of hamlets near the quarries, it is nearly impossible to trace stone blocks to their exact quarry of origin.14 Places such as Diegem, Dilbeek and Laken did not have a single large quarry but a multitude of small open pits that each yielded only a limited quantity of stone.15 To reach the deepest layers, subterranean galleries were sometimes dug, resulting in underground networks ­ranging in depth from 15 to 25 metres.16 None of the quarries

  Nijs 1980.  Groessens 2011. The traces that quarrying has left on the landscape have been little studied, but because these pits were often filled with dirt after use, they are hard to recognise now. Camerman 1955; Rijdant 1977. It has been proposed that the erratic relief of the landscape in several western suburbs of Brussels (Dilbeek, the Dielegemse forest and Poelbos in Jette) is the result of intensive stone extraction. Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 16; Van den Haute 1979, 100; Huygens 1986, 210. Old cartographical 14 15

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material, such as the eighteenth-century Ferraris maps, provides some information as to the location and spread of the quarries. They show around thirty quarries in the area of Melsbroek, Steenokkerzeel and Zaventem (now part of Brussels Airport). In Ferraris’ day there were still several quarries in operation near Diegem, but west of Brussels he shows only one, near Boekhout (Affligem), given the caption Carriere. 16   Gulinck 1949, 27; Camerman 1955, 14–22.

Quarrying

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around Brussels are still in operation, but archival sources indicate that many had diameters of only ten to twenty metres.17 For instance, the accounts of the receiver of Brussels from 1405–1406 specify the exact dimensions of a stone pit near the RougeCloître Abbey in the Sonian Forest, where two diggers excavated a quarry to a depth of 56 feet (15.4 metres), length of 2 rods (around 9.4 metres) and width of 1 rod (around 4.7 metres).18 However documents also attest to larger pits, such as a contract from 1437 which refers to an excavated quarry of one bunder, equal to 0.81 hectare. One of the largest quarries mentioned in archival sources was operated by the Brussels patrician Dierick Van Heetvelde, said to extend over four bunder (approximately 3.2 hectares). However, it remains unclear whether this was a single quarry or a c­ onstellation of smaller pits.19 East of Brussels, stone was mostly extracted from small pits (fig. 4.5). A good indication of the size of such quarries can be obtained from a contract for the lease of several “stone pits” by the stonemason Wencelijn van Woluwe dating from 12 March 1529.20 He was allowed to dig eight pits along the road from Diegem to Zaventem for Fig. 4.4 Hulst, St Willibrord, remains of the west pora sum of 31 stuivers each for a period of four years. It was tal, which was supplied by Mattheus II Keldermans expected that the pits would be exhausted after the lease between 1484–1495. The former inner face of the period as Wencelijn was instructed to refill them before the portal was made from larger blocks of grès of Lede, end of the lease. Failure to do so would result in a fine of while for the rest Brussels grès was applied. 20 Karolusgulden and the pits would revert to the sovereign, Charles V. Two other contracts paint a comparable picture. The bunder of “stone land” (approximately 0.9 hectare) leased by the stonemasons Joes Tycke and Daem Coppens in Sint-Geertruide-Machelen in 1482 must have been drilled full of holes: the field contained 168 pits which were expected to be exhausted within forty years.21 Another field in the parish of Machelen along the road to Melsbroek, leased in 1486 from the Brussels chapter of St Gudula’s by the stonemasons Aert vander Hagen, Willem de Deckere and Gielys de Smet, contained as many as 66 pits within an area of only 1.5 dagwand (approximately 0.34 hectare), equating to around one pit per 51.5 square metres. As in Wencelijn’s contract, all of these pits had to be refilled before the end of the lease (24 years),

 The small size of such pits is confirmed by recent archaeological excavations east of Brussels (Melsbroek, Steenokkerzeel and Kampenhout). See: Smeets 2015; Hazen 2013. The discovered traces of such pits show that they were usually 5 to 6.5 metres long, 2 to 3.5 metres wide and 1 to 1.2 metres deep. Hazen 2013, 95–99. 18   ARA, ARK, 4162, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Brussel 1405–1406, f. 40v. 19   RAA, SB, 2000, f. 3v. De Waha 1979, 263. In some cases, pits were confined to a narrow strip of land. For instance, in 1504 Maarten Schelkens and Gielis Vrancx concluded a contract with the Chamber of 17

Accounts of Brabant allowing them to excavate a piece of land near Peutie measuring 144 by 4.5 rods (approximately 689 by 21.5 metres). ARA, ARK, 292, f. 197r.-v. 20   ARA, ARK, 4785, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Tervuren en Vilvoorde 1528–1529, f. 36v.-73r. 21  RAL, SGVB, 7958, f. 279v.-280r. and Peeters 1975, 153. More detailed data on the yields of such pits exist from the eighteenth century: the ten pits excavated in Heembeek in 1742 contained 170 feet of usable stone. Verbesselt 1937, 29.

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Fig. 4.5 Jean de Tavernier, Charlemagne visiting the construction site of an abbey (detail), in: David Aubert Chroniques et conquestes de Charlemaine, c. 1450–1460. The background shows a small pit with a windlass, which was used to raise the quarried stone from the underground galleries. Next to the pit a stonemason is busy chiselling stone. (Brussels, Royal Library)

though the three stonemasons were allowed to have a single pit with a maximum diameter of twelve rods (approximately 57 metres) still in operation when the term expired.22 Actors Involved in Quarrying Initially, stone quarrying was an activity dominated by monastic institutions, but in the fourteenth century it developed into one of the main industries in Brussels. The earliest pits were probably opened by monasteries near the city. One of the first sources is a charter from 1151 conferring land to the abbey of Affligem, described as “land near Meldert where we dig out stones”.23 Another monastery at which quarrying is documented early on is Dielegem, which owned land “at the stone pit” in Laken in 1272.24 From the thirteenth c­ entury onwards more monasteries around Brussels appear to have been operating q ­ uarries, including the abbeys of Grimbergen and Vorst.25 Little is known about how quarrying was organised by these monastic communities, but it seems likely that the work was largely c­ arried out under

  RAL, SGVB, 7958, f. 83v.   Podevyn 1922, 388. 24   Van den Haute 1984, 13. 22 23

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  On Grimbergen, see: Meskens 1987, 64; on Vorst, see: Herdies 1961, 143–44.

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their direct management. At the abbey of Vorst, quarrymen “worked at the said stone pit for the [monastic] church”, which probably means they were employed as day labourers.26 The monasteries were mainly interested in the procurement of stone for their own building works, but some also benefitted from the sale of building materials. In the early sixteenth century the prior of Dielegem Abbey supplied stone for several building projects, including Our Lady of Antwerp and the chapel of the Holy Sacrament at St Gudula’s in Brussels.27 The prior of Bijgaarden Abbey is also known to have sold stone. Among his customers was the city of Leuven, which he supplied with stone for the town hall.28 Sales of stone provided welcome additional revenue for abbeys, although commercial operations remained limited in the late Middle Ages. Abbeys generally preferred to lease out their quarries, as is documented at Affligem. In the early fifteenth century, the abbey decided to lease its main quarries at Meldert to commercial quarry masters. To sweeten the deal, the abbey furnished the infrastructure needed to transport the stone, providing free use of the abbey’s dock on the Dender river at Hedersem, and also granting quarry masters the privilege of storing their goods at the riverside.29 Apart from abbeys, several church fabrics also owned quarries. St Gudula’s in Brussels operated a quarry near Drogenbos (south of Brussels) in the fourteenth century, and in 1412 it leased additional hectare or so of “stone land” (terrae lapidicinae) in the parish of Sint-Agatha-Berchem from the abbey of Ter Kameren.30 Stone extracted from these quarries was intended mainly for the construction of St Gudula’s, and their capacity must have been limited as the fabric also repeatedly purchased stone from ­suppliers.31 Moreover, as the aforementioned 1486 lease of its Machelen stone pits to three stonemasons indicates, by the fifteenth century the canons had little interest in managing operation of the pits directly.32 The chapter of St Peter’s in Anderlecht is also known to have farmed out its quarries from an early date, as revealed by a contract for the lease of a stone pit to a certain Willem Haec of Brussels, dating from the beginning of the fourteenth century.33 This decision meant that the stone needed to build the new church in the fifteenth century had to be purchased entirely from stone merchants.34 Apparently, the advantages of the stone trade were so compelling that patrons preferred to turn to the market even if they had a quarry of their own. On the whole, church fabrics were not interested in quarrying stone for commercial purposes, one of the few exceptions being the fabric of St Martin’s in Asse, which sold stone on a regular basis.35

  Herdies 1961, 143.  KAA, OLV, KR 1515, f. 26r. and 1517, 24v. RAA, SG, 8672, Rekeningen van het Sacrament van Mirakel 1533–1534, f. 85r. and Rekeningen van het Sacrament van Mirakel 1534–1535, f. 139r. Lefèvre 1956–1957, 38, note 3. 28  Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, werkblad no. 1. 29   Podevyn 1922, 390. 30  Wauters 1968, vol. 1, 351; Lefèvre 1956–1957, 29. Even though the church fabric and chapter owned several quarries, it seems the church was not actively involved in the stone trade; such activity is documented however at several cathedral fabrics in Italy (Florence and Milan) and England. Goldthwaite 1980, 229–30; Giacomini 2006, 1237; Knoop & Jones 1967, 49. 31  The accounts of St Gudula’s contain regular payments to stone merchants, including to Heinric 26 27

van Dielbeke (c. 1399–1400) and the master of the works, Heinrick de Mol, called Coomans. RAA, SG, 9897 and RAA, SG, 9360, f. 17v.-18r. 32  RAL, SGVB, 7958, f. 83v. Another example of a quarry leased to stonemasons by a chapter dates from 1475. RAA, SG, 9878, f. 82r. The priest and curates of Our Lady in Vilvoorde are also known to have leased several quarries to stonemasons. Peeters 1975, 153. 33   De Waha 1979, 105, note 13. 34   RAA, KAB, 229. 35  The church accounts from 1477 contain a section listing payments made at the stone pit (Ander vutgegeven van werke op den steenputte), which shows that quarrymen were employed directly by the church. The church also arranged for the carriage of stone from the quarries to the harbour on the Scheldt at Baasrode. My thanks to Flor De Smedt for sharing a transcription of the accounts of St Martin’s in Asse with me.

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Like local abbeys and churches, the sovereign lords also owned land containing important quarry sites around Brussels. Though the Burgundian dukes and Habsburg princes commissioned the construction of many important stone buildings in the Low Countries, they did not operate quarries to serve their own demand.36 It is telling that while the huge wooden beams of the roof structure of the Aula Magna in Brussels could be sourced from the duke’s forests, the stone had to be procured by the city.37 Likewise, whereas the felling of trees in these forests was closely supervised by the duke’s officially appointed woudmeester (wood master), no equivalent position existed for his quarries, as most were leased out. Various accounts of the receivers of Tervuren and Vilvoorde list revenues from the lease of quarry rights; this income was relatively small, however, especially compared to the lease of meadows or woods.38 It is significant that from the fourteenth century onwards quarries were operated not by the great patrons of public buildings, but by citizens of Brussels. Large landowners could probably draw a steadier income from leasing than from operating their quarries by day labour. Furthermore, their need for stone was not continuous, and therefore the motivation to maintain a permanent workforce was largely absent. Patrons’ disinterest or inability to exploit their own quarries provided openings for other parties. Several Brussels patricians are known to have been active in the stone trade. In particular, the prominent Van Heetvelde family seems to have acquired great wealth from their quarries.39 In the fourteenth century the family was already operating sites near Dilbeek, where they owned 3.3 to 5.7 hectares of ‘stone land’. The Van Heetveldes used every means possible to extend their operations – such as Johanna Van Heetvelde, who in 1434 proposed a deal to the chapter of St Gudula’s in Brussels whereby she would obtain three dagwand (approximately 0.6 hectare) of ‘stone land’ bordering her quarries in exchange for pasture land elsewhere. As it happened, the chapter had little choice, because Johanna’s quarrying activities had made their land useless for agriculture.40 Several years earlier she had deployed a similar tactic that led to a clash with the canons of St Peter’s in Anderlecht, who protested in 1428 that Van Heetvelde should confine her quarrying to her own land.41 Also involved in the extraction of white limestone was Willem Estor, amman of Brussels. In 1482 he bought 1.5 dagwand of ‘stone land’ near Dilbeek from the Scheut Charterhouse for 50 crowns (15 Brabant pounds). The contract contains the interesting condition that in the event no stone was found, Estor would only pay the customary rate for cornfield, indicating that land containing stone had a higher value than arable land.42 Several other contracts contain a provision stating that an inadequate quantity of stone would be considered a legitimate reason for nullifying the lease. Often, a small section of land was quarried at the commencement of the lease to assess whether it contained enough stone.43   A rare example of a quarry operated by the duke is that opened in 1405–1406 for works at the ducal castle of Trois-Fontaines in the Sonian Forest. ARA, ARK, 4162, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Brussel 1405–1406, f. 40v. 37  Maesschalck & Viaene 2003, 295–96; DicksteinBernard 2007. 38  ARA, ARK, 4765–4785. Noted in: Limberger 2001, 165, note 18. Other revenues from the lease of quarries owned by the dukes of Burgundy are noted by: Nauwelaers 1941, vol. 2, 337–38; Peeters 1975, 152. 39  De Waha 1985, 121–39. Other documented examples include Philippe Pipenpoy, steward (meier) of Zaventem, and Willem de Weert, steward of Melsbroek, who leased a quarry near the 36

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Zaventerloo forest from Charles V in 1525. ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 116/1 P67. 40   De Waha 1985, 126–27. 41   De Waha 1985, doc. 5, 134. 42  RAA, KAB, 11577, file 677. Also cited in: Waha 1979, 202 and 264. 43   These assessments are referred to in the sources as proeven (‘sampling’). Such a clause is included in a 1531 lease contract between Bijgaarden Abbey and the stonemason Peter de Rouwe for a stone pit near Sint-Agatha-Berchem, west of Brussels. As a sample, he was allowed to quarry six or seven rods, and if he did not find any stone or the quality was wholly bad, he would only have to pay 2 Rhinegulden for each rod excavated. Van Liedekerke 2000.

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Though a handful of patricians enjoyed considerable success in the stone trade, the majority of quarry masters were stonemasons from Brussels. They obtained quarry rights by leasing land, usually for a fixed period of 9, 12, 24 or 36 years. Sometimes a maximum quantity was determined in advance, as was standard at Affligem Abbey’s quarry at Meldert, for example.44 By demarcating rights, landowners sought to prevent leaseholders from quarrying as much as they could within the lease term in order to profit from the revenues as long as possible afterwards.45 Another way that landowners could maximise revenues from the lease of ­quarries was to publicly auction the lease. Charles V used this method for stone pits in the e­ nvirons of Diegem and Zaventem in 1524, granting the lease to the highest bidder for a term of nine years.46 The bidding was organised in the form of a candle auction, c­ omparable to construction tenders (see Chapter 3). The receiver of Tervuren and Vilvoorde, who was responsible for arranging the bidding, had the tender publicly announced in various towns and cities, including not only nearby Brussels and Vilvoorde and quarry villages such as Zaventem, Diegem, Machelen, Haren, Peutie and Humelgem, but also the cities of Antwerp and Leuven, offering a clear indication of the supra-regional importance of such auctions.47 Aside from short-term leases, stonemasons could also obtain hereditary t­enure, making them less dependent on the owner. Such leases allowed the lessee to operate a stone pit for an extended period, sometimes up to 99 years, in return for a fixed annual rent. This arrangement had the advantage that the lease was passed on to the eldest son when the leaseholder died, ensuring greater continuity for family enterprises. The right to operate a quarry could also be sublet without the landowner’s approval. An example of this is documented in a contract concluded in 1474 between Willem de Bosschere and the three De Mol brothers (called Coomans), which included the transfer of around 3.3 hectares of land containing stone pits to De Bosschere.48 Parcels located near Laken and Ossegem (northwest of Brussels) had been leased by the brothers from several landowners, including the abbeys of Dielegem and Ter Kameren. The longest of the leases transferred to De Bosschere had a term of one hundred years, but the lease period had already started in 1416; another lease agreement made in the previous year had a term of 43 years. Because leaseholds and landownership could change hands repeatedly, transfers had to be carefully administered. The potential complexity is attested by a 1512 case in which the stonemasons Gielis Vrancx and Jan Vaer and the landowner Peter Heymans appeared before the aldermen (schepenen) of Vilvoorde to settle the lease of a quarry near Machelen. Vrancx

  In a surviving lease contract from 1457 the abbey gives a stonemason permission to quarry 25 rods of stone each year for 80 Rhinegulden. Beda Regaus 1975, 65. 45   Comparable conditions can be found in seventeenth and eighteenth-century lease contracts for the blue limestone quarries at Arquennes in Hainaut. Van Belle 1990, 68–76. 46   ARA, ARK, 4784, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Tervuren en Vilvoorde 1523–1524, f. 39v.-41v. ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 116/1 P67. 47   ARA, ARK, 4784, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Tervuren en Vilvoorde 1523–1524, f. 42r. 44

48  RAA, SB, 1461, 10. The Coomans brothers probably inherited the quarries from their father Heinrick Coomans, who was the master of the works at St Gudula’s. They belonged to a prominent dynasty of Brussels stonemasons that also included the brothers Hanequín de Bruselas, Egas Cueman and Antón Martínez de Bruselas, who worked as sculptors and architects at the cathedral of Toledo from the 1440s onwards. Heim & Yuste Galán 1998; Hurx 2014, 35. For the brothers’ matriculation in the Brussels Steenbickelerenambacht, see: Duverger 1933, 57, 60–61.

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had received the right to operate the quarry from the landowner Willem van Attenvoorde, who had subsequently sold his rights to the land to Jan vander Horst, and he in turn to Peter Heymans. These transfers still left Vrancx with his rights to the quarry, which he had decided to sublet to Jan Vaer. Heymans agreed to the transfer on the condition that Vrancx would be held responsible should Jan Vaer fail to ready the land for farming once the lease ended.49 Another lease contract concluded by the same Jan Vaer is interesting in that it demonstrates the increasingly commercial character of quarry operations. In 1499 he received permission from Maarten Schelkens to operate two quarries on the latter’s property. The two agreed that Vaer would not pay an annual rent for the leasehold, but instead they would share the profits from selling the excavated stone. Vaer could mine the quarries for as long as he wished and was free to cut the stone and sell it “for the best price”. If Vaer did not make a profit, Schelkens would not receive any payment. In return, Schelkens would provide him with a starting capital of 30 Rhinegulden, and a sack of rye or its equivalent of 2 Rhinegulden each year at Christmas.50 Occasionally, prosperous stone merchants opted to leave the operation of their quarries to other masons. In 1525 the Ghent stonemason Lievin van Male, who worked on Ghent town hall, arranged with another stonemason, Lievin van Beneden, that the latter would excavate two stone pits that Van Male owned between Ghent and Aalst. In return, Van Beneden would deliver to Van Male half the quarried stone plus an additional quantity of 400 square feet.51 A less common way to obtain quarry rights was to acquire land. Because stone pits were typically exhausted within a relatively brief time, short-term leases were more convenient for stonemasons. Nonetheless, several contracts show that stonemasons sometimes did buy land. Two such documents have been preserved in connection with Lodewijk van Boghem, who purchased around 3.4 hectares in the parish of Sterrebeek and around 0.5 hectare in Kraainem from Philips van Vilain, a knight, in 1502.52 Somewhat later he also acquired 0.4 hectare in Laken from the abbey of Dielegem. Commercial Importance and Stone Politics The Brussels quarry zone owed much of its commercial success to the fact that it provided Brussels stonemasons with easy access to raw materials. This is reflected first and foremost by the many references to suppliers from Brussels in building accounts throughout the Low Countries. Other sources also offer insight into the growing prominence of quarries in the Ammanie during the fifteenth century. A short but vivid description of the industry is given by the monk Odo Cambier in his chronicle of Affligem Abbey, the Historia Afflighemensis, in 1651. He relates that the abbey’s quarry near Meldert contained large quantities of good quality stone that were used to erect many richly decorated buildings in Antwerp and Mechelen. The scale of activity at the quarries had led to the formation of semi-permanent settlements of tents and simple huts to house all the stonecutters, sculptors and workmen. To the great vexation of the cities of Aalst and Brussels, these spontaneous settlements soon became important centres for the stone trade. Wishing to bar successful competition on their doorstep, both cities anxiously sought to prevent the establishment of free markets

  RAL, SGVB, 7319, f. 251r.-v.  This arrangement to some extent resembles sharecropping – a common system for farming arable land – though in this case the goods were 49 50

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sold by Vaer himself and not, as was usual, by his landlord. RAL, SVGB, 7959, f. 205v.-f. 206v. 51   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 397–98. 52   RAL, TKV, 95.

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for stone at these quarries (forum illic et liber mercatus). Yet, by the seventeenth century the quarries at Meldert had been exhausted, and most activity had ceased. When Cambier was writing, the area was known, tellingly, as “the desert” (Woestyne).53 Another important source of quantitative data on the Brussels stone trade is the Yersekeroord toll accounts for traffic on the Eastern Scheldt and the Honte toll accounts for the Western Scheldt. Both record numerous payments for shipments of stone, including white limestone from Brussels and blue limestone from Arquennes and Écaussinnes. Most registered shippers came from Brussels, Vilvoorde or Mechelen, which served as the main depots for white limestone from the Ammanie of Brussels. The preserved Yersekeroord toll accounts span the period from 22 August 1491 to 20 July 1499. In these years, 359 ships bearing 1,087 loads (last) are registered, equal to roughly 16,300 tonnes.54 The accounts for the Honte are only preserved for the month of August 1496, but reveal that many ships used this route to convey stone to the coastal cities of Flanders. During this short period, ten ships passed the Honte, on average one every three days. Together they transported 28 last, or almost 420 tonnes.55 Rather surprisingly, however, most of the cargo registered at Yersekeroord was not destined for the construction of buildings.56 Of the total 1,087 last, around 22.8 per cent (248 last) is registered as paving stones meant for pavements, 53.9 per cent (586 last) as “sinkstone” (zinksteen), used for quays and dykes, and only 8.7 per cent (94 last) as intended for buildings.57 The remaining shiploads contained rubble stone, which could be

  Quod si porro pergas ad pagum Melderensem saxifodinam Affligeniensem offendes olim ita quidem celebrem et fecundam ut Antverpia et Mechlinius lapides ad edificia copiose ederit. Tantus ibi latomorum, sculptorum et operariorum in tentorijs et casulis habitantium erat numerus ut opidi frequentiam locus referret agendumq[ue] fuerit Bruxellensibus et Alostanis, ne forum illic et liber mercatus haberetur. Hodie nulla eius rei fere vestigia et desertum ex vero nomine (nam Woestyne olim dicebatur) nunc potius voccaret. Odo Cambier 1651, vol. 3, chapter 5, 169–70 (Royal Library Brussels, Manuscripts, inv. no. 13550–52, cat. no. 3727.). Cited without reference in: Podevyn 1922, 384. 54  The toll account data are derived from: Unger 1939, 383–479. The weight and volume of a last is not specified in the accounts. For wheat, a last was approximately 2,000 kilograms; however, the toll accounts show that generally only three last of stone were shipped, and therefore another measure must have applied, since the vessels that plied the Scheldt in the fifteenth century are known to have averaged a capacity of 40 tonnes. Asaert 1973, 221. Maesschalck and Viaene have calculated that in Leuven a last of stone was approximately 15 tonnes, which seems a more plausible weight considering the freight capacity of fifteenth-century vessels. Maesschalck & Viaene 1999, 206–07, appendix 3; Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, no. 281. Their calculations are supported by data from the accounts of Our Lady in Antwerp, in which one last of Bentheimer sandstone is equated to 250 feet (KAA OLV, KR 1513, f. 27r.). Assuming 53

that loads were measured in linear feet, with a height and thickness of one foot, the aggregate volume would have been 5.9 m3. Given the specific gravity of Bentheimer sandstone of 2,620 kg/m3, this mass would have weighed approximately 15.5 tonnes. 55   Unger 1939, 497–500. 56   Peeters 1975, 151 and 155. 57  The use of stone for dyke construction in the late Middle Ages has received little attention. Zeischka 2007, 70–71. Several early sixteenth-century accounts of the water authority (hoogheemraadschap) of Delfland indicate that the use of white limestone (Vilvoordse steen) was common in dyke construction in Holland. Postma 1989, 222. A treatise (c. 1576–1579) by Andries Vierlingh, receiver of the prince of Orange in Steenbergen, also recommends that the outer slopes of dykes be made of Vilvoordse steen. Andries Vierlingh 1920, 269–70. François-Xavier Burtin’s Oryctographie de Bruxelles attests that stone from the environs of Brussels remained important for the construction of dykes until the eighteenth century. He notes that Brussels stone was sold in large quantities in Holland: En revanche nos pierres à chaux sont si abondantes, qu’on en trouve d’enpuiser le pays: aussi ont-elles fait jusqu’ici l’objet le plus intéressant de nos productions souterraines, par les pierres à bâtir, les pavés, et la chaux qu’elles nous fournissent, et par les pierres à diguer et à lester, que nous vendons annuellement à la Hollande. François-Xavier Burtin 1784, 52. See also: Adriaan Bommenee 1988, 203. White limestone was also used for infrastructural works such as quays and bridges. See: Nijland & Dubelaar & Tolboom 2007, 78–79.

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used to raise land levels and for burning lime.58 Judging from these figures, building stones probably made up a fairly small share of the entire stone trade. Toll data reveal that stone was transported in large quantities through the Scheldt ­estuary, yet the total volume of shipments must have been substantially higher as many shipments were exempted from paying tolls. The inhabitants of Holland and Zeeland were partially exempt, for example, and many patrons were able to obtain the right to ship their building materials toll-free.59 The town of Bergen op Zoom, for example, was granted an exemption from paying tolls on shipments of building materials for St Gertrude’s by Philip the Good after the great fire that struck the town in 1444.60 Regulation of Brussels Quarry Production Another indication of the commercial importance of the quarries around Brussels is provided by the city’s attempts to gain control of the industry and of the transport of stone. In 1471 the city took a significant step to shore up its economy by banning the import of any stone from quarries in the Ammanie that was pre-cut by stonecutters who were not members of the Brussels masons’ guild.61 This decree extended the guild’s monopoly to quarries outside the city and compelled quarry masters to hire freemen to cut stone at the quarries or else transport their raw material into the city.62 The main justification given for the new measure was the straitened state of the masons’ guild, but it also fit in with the city’s overall strategy of strengthening its grip on the surrounding countryside.63 The ban met with opposition from several of the most prominent Brussels stone merchants, who were guild members themselves. It also led to a prolonged conflict with Dierick Perneel, who was charged with hiring non-free workmen at his quarry in Dilbeek. Perneel was no outsider, but a prominent guild member who had twice been appointed dean of the masons’ guild, in 1466 and 1470.64 In the dispute, he was furthermore supported by one of the city’s most renowned stonemasons, Reynier van Impeghem (enrolled in the masons’ guild in 1416–d. before 1473). In 1471, Van Impeghem was at the end of a long and successful career during which he had served four terms as dean of the masons’ guild.65 He had supplied stone for many prestigious building projects, such as Leuven’s town hall (1449– 1452), the Aula Magna of Coudenberg Palace (1456–1459) and the church of St Willibrord in Hulst (1462/63–1468/69).66 The ban also affected his business, since he, like Perneel, leased   These have not been included in the calculations.  Unger 1939, 34. See also: Asaert 1973, 322–23; Bindoff 1945. 60  Juten 1923, 302. Not all builders were granted a toll exemption on the Scheldt, however, as the building accounts of St Bavo’s in Haarlem show. They contain regular payments for the toll at Yersekeroord. Janssen 1985, 44, 73, 77. Better documentation exist for tolls on the Rhine, which shows that exemptions were rarely granted, but prominent patrons usually did receive a reduction on toll fees. Utrecht Cathedral is one example. Alberts 1954. In 1454 St Eusebius’ in Arnhem was also granted a toll reduction by Duke Johannes I of Cleves for a shipload of stone intended for the piers of the church. Vollmer 1924, 176. Several other churches are also known to have requested toll exemptions, such as the Confraternity of Our Lady in ’s-Hertogenbosch, which appealed to the lords of 58 59

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Egmond and Cleves to obtain an exemption for the transport of stone for their chapel. Peeters 1985, 23. 61   De Stobbeleir 1965; De Waha 1979, 84–86. 62   ASB, OA, Ordonnantien der Ambachten, 1447, f. 73r. 63   De Waha 1979. 64   Duverger 1933, 64 and 65. He is known to have supplied stone for the churches of St Peter in Anderlecht (1473–1474 and 1475–1476) and Our Lady in Antwerp (1470, 1475 and 1484). RAA, KAB, 229, KR 1473–1474, f. 9v. and KR 1475–1476, f. 10v. For Antwerp, see: KAA OLV, KR 1470, f. 15v.; KR 1475, f. 22r. and KR 1484, f. 38r. 65   Duverger 1933, 57, 58, 60 and 62. 66  For his involvement at Leuven town hall, see: Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000. For the Aula Magna in Brussels, see: Maesschalck & Viaene 2003; Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 45–46. For Hulst, see: Dierick-van Pottelberghe 1984–1985.

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a quarry at Dilbeek.67 The conflict hints at a power struggle within the guild, possibly stirred by the city’s policy of seeking to tighten its hold on the countryside. Like many other stone merchants, Perneel and Van Impeghem profited from the different working conditions in and outside the city.68 In effect, they played a double game, sourcing cheap labour from the countryside to employ at their quarries with no need to consider guild regulations, while their leading positions in the masons’ guild ensured easy access to the urban market and trade connections, and to a pool of well-trained stonemasons in the city. Alongside Van Impeghem, Perneel was also supported by the lord of Gaasbeek. Though part of the Ammanie of Brussels, Dilbeek also belonged to the jurisdiction of Gaasbeek. His attorney sided with Perneel, fearing that the Brussels ban would be detrimental to the employment of stonemasons from Dilbeek.69 Though the verdict of the court of aldermen in Brussels does not survive, they almost certainly condemned Perneel for violating the new law, for in 1472 Perneel appealed to the duchy’s supreme court of justice, the Raad van Brabant. In the first court report of 6 May 1472, Perneel declared that he should be free to hire both free and non-free workmen at his quarry in Dilbeek. A second report drawn up on 5 June 1473 contains a more detailed argumentation, in which Perneel raised several objections to the Brussels decree. He appealed to customary law, pointing out that since time immemorial stone merchants had employed free and non-free workmen at the quarries of Dilbeek, Dielegem, Bijgaarden and Affligem, which were located inside the Ammanie but outside the jurisdiction (Vrijheid) of Brussels.70 Furthermore, he deemed the ban counterproductive as it put Brussels stone merchants in an unfavourable position relative to merchants who were not bound by the new rule. The ban would harm the Brussels stone trade, he said, because stone merchants living outside the city could not be forced to employ only free workmen.71 According to Perneel, this would merely constrain suppliers in Brussels, while leaving other operators unfettered. The ban, therefore, was “foolish and inadequate”. Furthermore, Perneel feared that suppliers at the Affligem quarry, which was exempt from the rule, would be in a better position to expand their market share to the detriment of Brussels stone merchants, and “would make much more money than they have done so far”.72 Also, Perneel predicted that Affligem’s privileged market position would enable its stonemasons to force up prices at the expense of the Brussels market: “…to sell their goods for such a high price that this would bring no advantage to the city.”73 Perneel sensibly refrained from mentioning the advantages to him of hiring non-free workmen at his quarries. However, a temporary settlement made until the court reached a judgement strongly suggests that non-free workmen were indeed cheaper than guild members. While awaiting the court’s final decision, Perneel was obliged to hire only guild members, except if they asked a higher pay than non-free workmen.74 The stonemasons’ guild and magistrate of Brussels responded to Perneel’s defence by stating that he was only interested in his “own profit” (zyn singuliere profyt). According

67   In 1459 he is documented to have leased two bunder of land at Craeybroeckveld, an area well-known for containing many quarries. RAL, SGVB, 4176, f. 4v.-5r. 68   De Waha 1979, 85. Reynier van Impeghem is only mentioned in one of the official reports: RAA, AG, Brussel, Ambacht van de steenhouwers, metsers, beeldsnijders en schaliedekkers, 923. 69 RAA, RB, 533, f. 1v.-2r. 70  RAA, RB, 533, f. 1r.-v. On the boundaries of the Vrijheid of Brussels, see: Godding 1989.

71  RAA, RB, 533, f. 1r.-v. and RAA, AG, 923. Also cited in: De Waha 1979, 84. 72   Sy soude vele meer gelts daeraf nemen dan men altijt van nu doet. RAA, AG, 923. 73  … hueren goet tot soe hoegen prijs vercoepen dat dit vanden voirs. stat daeraf egheene wynninge hebben en souden. RAA, AG, 923. 74   RAA, RB, 533, f. 4v.-5r.

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to them, the new rule was necessary to counter the many abuses resulting from a lack of regulation and the influx of non-free workmen.75 The verdict of the Raad of Brabant does not survive, but Perneel appears to have lost the case as Brussels reaffirmed its restrictive regulations on the import of stone on 5 September 1475. The city’s ordinance states that it wishes to protect its citizens from fraud in the building of houses. Henceforth, the deans of the masons’ guild would impose stricter controls on the quality of imported stone. Any stone imported from the quarries of Diegem, Zaventem, Haren or Evere for the construction of houses would first have to be inspected by the deans.76 The housing construction market was not the city council’s only concern however. The stricter regulations were also meant to safeguard the reputation of the Brussels stone trade, because there were fraudulent suppliers from outside the city who marketed their goods as ‘made in Brussels’ (dat voirs. werck te leverenne voer werck te Bruessel ghewracht).77 Therefore, stone for export also had to be inspected by the deans before it could be shipped.78 Better protection from shady suppliers was probably needed, but the new regulation was certainly also intended to give the city’s stone industry a competitive edge. Several of the city’s protective measurements had very little to do with supervising the market. For instance, new quarry masters who were not guild members were permitted to bring only unwrought stone to the market in Brussels, and had to wait three years before being allowed to import ready-made blocks. Such measures hardly improved the transparency of the market, but they undoubtedly generated more work for stonemasons in Brussels.79 The single concession made to Perneel and his fellow stone merchants was that they would be able to ask permission from the guild deans to employ non-free workmen for urgent work. Permission would only be granted when no guild members were available and only for the duration of the works in question. Furthermore, non-free workmen would have to pay half a stuiver to the guild for each working day.80 An exception was also made for quarry masters in Diegem, Zaventem, Haren and Evere, who were allowed to retain their freedom to employ any workmen they wished.81 No reason was given for this privilege, but possibly the city was afraid that overly strict regulation would spur stone merchants to instead bring their goods to Vilvoorde, situated few kilometres downstream on the Zenne. Trade on the Zenne The town of Vilvoorde was conveniently situated for the quarries near Diegem, Zaventem, Melsbroek and Peutie, and vied with Brussels as the main harbour on the Zenne river for stone exports. In the fifteenth century the Zenne became a major transport route for stone, and there was keen interest in the profitable stone-shipping business. This interest brought the two cities into repeated conflict. Income from the stone trade was vital to Vilvoorde’s   RAA, RB, 533, f. 2r.  ASB, OA, Ordonnantien der Ambachten, f. 121r.-v. 77  ASB, OA, Ordonnantien der Ambachten, f. 120r.-v. 78  ASB, OA, Ordonnantien der Ambachten, f. 121v. 79  ASB, OA, Ordonnantien der Ambachten, f. 121v. See also: Des Marez 1904, 213. 80  ASB, OA, Ordonnantien der Ambachten, f. 120v.-121r. This arrangement had already 75 76

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1447, 1447, 1447, 1447, 1447. been

proposed in the official records of the Raad van Brabant: Ende oft gebuerde dat eenich coopman van binnen met haestigen wercke by hem genomen soe zeeren waeren verlast dat hy om dat werck binnen eene gelegene daige met gevrydden gesellen niet voldaen en coste gehebben, soe soude hy in dien gevalle dat haestich werck met ongevrydde gesellen mogen doen volmaken… RAA, RB, 533, f. 5r. 81   RAA, RB, 533, f. 3r.

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finances, particularly after the collapse of its once-thriving cloth industry in the fourteenth century.82 This income included not only harbour dues and fees for storing stone on the riverbanks, but also excise duties levied on the beer and wine consumed by tow barge crews.83 One of the earliest confrontations between Brussels and Vilvoorde in the struggle for supremacy in the stone trade concerned the construction of a new sluice in the Zenne.84 In 1434 the magistrate of Brussels wrote to Duke Philip the Good to warn him that access to the city’s harbour was being jeopardised due to the silting up of the river. To improve the river’s navigability, the city asked permission to construct a series of locks between Vilvoorde and Brussels. The plan was approved by the duke, on the condition that the new waterworks would not interfere with the locks of the castle at Vilvoorde. Furthermore, Brussels would not be allowed to levy a toll before the duke gave his permission. However, Vilvoorde protested the planned new lock near the Diegemse Ham, an important riverside storage site for Diegem stone merchants, because it was afraid of losing its income from storage fees. The matter was brought before the Raad van Brabant, which ultimately proposed a compromise under which Brussels would bear the full cost of building the new lock, and on its completion both cities would share the revenues from storage fees.85 In the second half of the fifteenth century, traffic on the Zenne swelled to such an extent that better regulation of stone shipping became necessary. On 16 September 1468, Charles the Bold issued an ordinance, Van den tourte van Vilvoirden, aimed at directing traffic flows on the Zenne.86 To prevent queue-jumping and quarrelling among the shippers, it provided for the creation of a rotation system whereby the mooring and loading of barges was conducted on a first come, first served basis. The first barge arriving in the harbour of Vilvoorde had the right to be loaded first.87 If two ships arrived at the same time, one upstream from Brussels and one downstream, turns were assigned by lot. To prevent vessels from loading out of turn, ­shippers were prohibited from making private arrangements with stone merchants. For a ­shipper to visit a stone merchant at home to do business became an offence. Furthermore, it was ­forbidden to practise the profession of both shipper and stone merchant concurrently. Those who had ­heretofore combined the two occupations were obliged to choose one or the other. An exception was made for merchants who had promised to supply stone before the decree was issued; they were allowed to transport the shipment in question themselves.88 By divorcing the trades of stone merchant and shipper, the authorities intended to ensure that all arrangements would be made through the designated harbour clerk. As well as regulating stone shipping, the Van den tourte ordinance was meant to give the authorities tighter control of the trade. Accordingly, Vilvoorde received the right to charge for registration of the tourt (‘turn’) and to collect fines for violations of the new rules, generating a welcome source of income for the town. Another issue settled by the ordinance was the establishment of fixed rates for transport. When paying the tourt fee, each shipper was obliged to report whether his barge was entering or leaving the harbour, along with the destination of the freight. The ordinance included a list of ports and pre-determined charges, which gives clear insight  Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 430. See also: Peeters 1975, 151–52. 83   Peeters 1975, 151 and 155. 84   Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 402–03; Peeters 1975, 151–52. 85   Peeters 1975, 152. 86  The original ordinance is preserved in two copies: RAL, SGVB, 9937, part 3, f. 27v.-30v. and 82

ARA, ARK, 669, f. 1r.-5v. A summary is published in: Piot 1879, no. 14, 7–8. For in-depth discussions of the ordinance, see: Peeters 1975, 159–68; Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 454–57; Nauwelaers 1941, vol. 2, 331–50. 87   ARA, ARK, 669, f. 1r. 88   ARA, ARK, 669, f. 2r.-v.

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into the geographical distribution of stone from Vilvoorde.89 The list begins with the major Brabantine cities – Antwerp, Lier and Mechelen (fig. 4.6) – and also includes centres further north such as Bergen op Zoom, Breda and ’s-Hertogenbosch. Curiously, no cities east of Brussels (such as Leuven, Aarschot or Diest) are listed. A likely explanation is that the Dijle and Demer rivers were not accessible for the barges that plied the Zenne and the freight had to be transhipped onto smaller vessels of shallower draft at Mechelen.90 Next on the list are the cities of Flanders. Up the Scheldt, Dender and Leie were Ghent, Dendermonde, Aalst and Hulste (near Kortrijk), while the Scheldt estuary and the North Sea provided access to the other ports in the county. Further along this route the trade extended to Bruges, Ostend, Dunkirk and Saint-Omer. Also included on the list of destinations is Calais, testifying that stone merchants from Vilvoorde traded with the English as well. Several accounts from Calais affirm that limestone was used in the construction of infrastructural and hydraulic works.91 Sources also indicate that white limestone from Brabant even found markets in England in the fifteenth century; white limestone was used at London Bridge in 1444, for example, and at St Mary-at-Hill in 1491.92 Grouped last on the list are cities in the counties of Holland and Zeeland. Rates were fixed for Middelburg, Zierikzee, Vlissingen and Brouwershaven, but also for Dordrecht, Delft, Gouda, Rotterdam and Schiedam. The most northerly cities included are Utrecht, Leiden and Amsterdam. For all other destinations, the list instructs users to calculate the charge by comparing their destination’s geographical location to that of the ports listed. The list distinguishes three distinct markets for stone: the large cities in central Brabant, the coastal cities of Flanders, and cities in Holland. Apart from demand for stone for public building projects, the bulk of the stone shipped to these markets was used for the construction of dykes, piers and quays, as confirmed by the toll accounts of Yersekeroord.93 In the period following Charles the Bold’s ordinance, trade and transport became increasingly regulated. Even dockworkers had to swear an oath that they would not unduly favour a shipper by loading his barge before his turn or loading more stone than permitted.94 The size of tow barge crews, too, came under regulation; in 1498 it was decreed that instead of one crew, a shipper would henceforth be allowed to hire two teams to tow his barges.95 The critical role of stone shipping in the economies of not only Vilvoorde but other ­centres as well led to the foundation of a trading company in which the city councils of Vilvoorde, Antwerp, Mechelen and Brussels were represented.96 In 1498, the delegates met in Mechelen to reconfirm the original Van den tourte ordinance as promulgated by Charles  ARA, ARK, 669, f. 4v.-5v. and RAL, SGVB, 9937, part 3, 29v.-30v. The list of cities has been published in: Piot 1879, 8. See also: Peeters 1975, 162–63. For several destinations, a different rate applied for chiselled stone (gehuwen werck) and rough blocks (quaden steenen). For example, the rate for a last of quaden steenen bound for Antwerp, Lier or Mechelen was 8 ‘mottoenen’ (approximately 6 s. 3 d. gr. Vls.), whereas for finished work it was 9 mottoenen. ARA, ARK, 669, f. 5v. 90   Maesschalck & Viaene 1999, 196–98. 91  For instance, in 1467 brodebrabandistone from Brussels and hardasshler from Mechelen were 89

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purchased for the construction of a harbour pier. Salzman 1952, 135–37. 92  Salzman 1952, 135–37. Asaert also noticed that Antwerp shippers transported large quantities of white limestone (mostly for pavements) to England. The stone probably did double duty as a commodity and ballast. Asaert 1973, 289. 93  Peeters 1975, 163. See also: Andries Vierlingh 1920, 269–70. 94   RAL, SGVB, 9937, part 4, f. 17v. 95   RAL, SGVB, 9937, part 3, f. 31r. See also: Nauwelaers 1941, vol. 2, 349. 96   Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 455.

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Fig. 4.6 Places mentioned in the ‘Tourte van Vilvoorde’. Not all places were equally important for the trade in stone, smaller harbour towns were probably places of transhipment (marked here with a small boat).

the Bold in 1468 and to add a number of new stipulations. Among other things, they made it compulsory for stone ­merchants to register as well, who were to be served in the harbour in the order that they registered.97 The trading company’s board convened on several occasions to draw up new rules to combat abuses. In 1512, it ordained that lime burners who procured their stone in Vilvoorde had to register the name of the quarry master.98 Another stipulation adopted a half-year later targeted the large quantities of bad quality stone sold for burning lime. Stone quarried upstream from the Vilvoorde lock was prohibited for use in the production of lime.99 In Brussels this type of stone had already been banned for lime-burning but 97   RAL, SGVB, 9937, part 3, f. 31r. See also: Nauwelaers 1941, vol. 2, 344. 98   RAL, SGVB, 9937, part 3, f. 32r. See also: Nauwelaers 1941, vol. 2, 344.

99  ARA, ARK, 669 f. 12r.-v. See also: Nauwelaers 1941, vol. 2, 344.

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could still be sold as zinksteen for dyke construction. Probably it contained too much sand, which produced poor quality mortar. Vilvoorde’s success as the main port for stone in Brabant aroused the envy of Brussels. The toll accounts of Yersekeroord show that of the 359 ships registered as transporting stone, 46 per cent came from Vilvoorde, 31 per cent from Brussels and 18 per cent from Mechelen.100 Because the navigability of the Zenne remained problematic, and to get around Vilvoorde and Mechelen, Brussels repeatedly asked permission from the sovereign to dig a 28-kilometre long canal connecting Brussels to the Rupel and Scheldt.101 Even though authorisation to build the canal was given successively by Philip the Good in 1436, Mary of Burgundy in 1477 and Charles V in 1531, it was not until Mary of Hungary approved it in 1550 that ground was finally broken for the Willebroek canal. With the opening of this new waterway, the trade in white limestone finally shifted to Brussels, although by then its heyday was over. Brussels Entrepreneurs in Stone: Godevaert de Bosschere and Lodewijk van Boghem The rapid development of the stone trade in the fifteenth century had a significant effect on the character of the industry. The usual image of commercial quarrying in Europe is that enterprises remained relatively small until the Industrial Revolution. In his study on the building sector in Florence, Goldthwaite supposed that with the exception of Carrara in the fifteenth century, no quarry zone in Europe experienced a major intensification of commercial exploitation. Although he acknowledged (in 1980) that few in-depth studies existed on the commercial extraction of stone, he considered the absence of written sources an important clue for the lack of much industrial development in most quarry zones.102 The demand for stone was simply too uncertain to allow for such development and quarries often too far removed from urban markets and capital. However, evidence connected with the quarries of Brussels shows that the industry became highly commercialised from the mid-fourteenth century onwards. A large, densely populated market generated continuous demand for stone, while proximity to Brussels afforded access to the requisite commercial infrastructure and capital, allowing operations to expand beyond the scale of the family workshop. Quarrying and stonecutting were labour-intensive and, especially in the case of urgent and large works, required many workmen. Because the masons’ guild in Brussels was dominated by prosperous quarry masters, the size of workshops there was not restricted, and, in any case, restrictive measures on quarries in the countryside would have been difficult to enforce.103 Recruiting labour in the marketplace allowed ­operators the necessary flexibility to respond to demand and scale up their ­workshops ­considerably when needed.104 Unlike the cloth industry, in which merchants tried to avoid ­competition from wealthy masters by preventing them from expanding their enterprises through the subcontracting of work (known as the ‘putting-out system’ or Verlagssystem), no such ­opposition existed in the stone industry because merchants were also producers.105 In the Low Countries, the ­building sector – and especially   Thirteen shippers from Antwerp were registered (four per cent), and only four from other places (one per cent). 101   Wauters 1882a. 102   Goldthwaite 1980, 216–19. 103   Dambruyne 2002, 76; Kolman 1993, 127. 100

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 In comparison, the average sixteenth-century painter’s or woodcarver’s workshop probably rarely employed more than five to seven people, including the master, journeymen and apprentices. Peeters & Dambruyne 2007, xvii–xviii and Peeters & Martens 2005, 85. 105   Dambruyne 2002, 61–62; Lis & Soly 1994. 104

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the supply of stone – was characterised by the ­concentration of ­production around a few large-scale producers.106 Although sources on the size, structure and financing of stoneworkers’ shops are scarce, the activities of two masters, Godevaert de Bosschere and Lodewijk van Boghem, are s­ufficiently well-documented to offer a general impression of their enterprises. Both were involved in the construction of many prestigious buildings throughout the Low Countries. Their practice was not unique however, and formed part of a closely intercon­ erchants. This is apparent from De Bosschere’s repeated nected milieu of affluent stone m alliances with several colleagues. Early in his career he collaborated with Reynier van Impeghem and Jan Trappaert to supply stone for the Aula Magna of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels, and later he entered into a partnership with the stonemason Steven Elen for works in Haarlem, Lier and Antwerp. Because of their links with other stone merchants, De Bosschere’s and Van Boghem’s activities can shed light on the upper circle of Brussels quarry masters. Documentary ­evidence paints a picture of prosperous stone merchants who achieved high social ­standing, belonged to the urban elite and had good connections with court. This small group of stonemasons’ dynasties also played a key part in the development of architectural practice, producing some of the most important designers in the Low Countries. De Bosschere, and even more so Van Boghem, successfully combined the profession of commercial quarry master with that of architectural designer. Trained as stonemasons, they performed almost no manual labour, being too busy directing their stoneworkers’ shops. Their large-scale commercial enterprises had little in common with ordinary artisans’ workshops, which were typically run by family members and employed only a handful of journeymen and ­apprentices. The stone industry, by contrast, was more labour-intensive and required considerable i­nvestments. Consequently, the most successful entrepreneurs – men like De Bosschere and Van Boghem – were able to rise from the ranks of craftsman and even to join the city’s upper stratum. Van Boghem was more successful than De Bosschere in his social ascent, becoming a member of the Brussels cultural elite and enjoying close ties with the court of Margaret of Austria. The administrative skills required of these merchants enabled them to not only do business with customers far away but also hold important public offices. Several are known to have held prestigious posts, such as Willem de Ronde, mentioned above, who was a­ lderman and treasurer of Vilvoorde, and Wouter van Reynighem, a merchant who supplied stone to Alkmaar, Haarlem and Hulst and was alderman of Brussels in 1482 and several years later became steward (meier) of Affligem Abbey.107 That stone merchants were appointed to such high offices is indicative of the economic importance of their trade in Brussels and reflects the increasing scale of their operations.

 The studies by Sosson and Dambruyne on the building sector in Bruges and Ghent show that there was a vast economic gap between a few affluent masters and the majority, who were fairly poor. Sosson 1977; Sosson 1979; Sosson 1986; Dambruyne 2002, 77–78. The situation in Brussels has not been so well studied, but presumably there was a comparable segregation. Other industries in the Low Countries,

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such as brewing and brick production, also saw a concentration of capital and rise of labour productivity in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. van Bavel 2010, 364–65; Ibelings & Smit 2002; Hollestelle 1976. 107   On De Ronde, see: RAL, SGVB, 7319, f. 309v. and 7321, f. 252r., f. 352v., f. 407v. and f. 456v. On Van Reynighem, see: Adriaanse 1932, 71; ASB, OA, 3362 and Liber Feudorum Affligemensis 1975, 5 and 34.

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Godevaert de Bosschere De Bosschere was descended from an important stonemasons’ dynasty. His father was inscribed in the Brussels masons’ guild as Goert die Bossere in 1440, but by that time he already had a thriving enterprise. In the 1420s and 1430s De Bosschere the Elder supplied stone for the Oostpoort in Sluis (1426, 1428, 1431) and Coudenberg Palace (1433–1434, 1436).108 In 1443–1444 he was paid for work in Bergen op Zoom, where he appears in the town accounts as Govert den Busschere, and in 1448 he supplied stone to the city of Ypres.109 By then he was a prominent guild member, as attested by the fact that in 1450 he was made a delegate of the ‘Nine Nations of Brussels’, which represented the craft guilds in the city council after the popular uprising of 1421.110 Because Godevaert de Bosschere the Elder joined the guild late in his career, it is unlikely that the family was originally from Brussels. Several family members are mentioned in a Vilvoorde lease register in 1450 as having leased land near Diegem, one of the villages in the area east of Brussels where many quarries were concentrated.111 That the family had its roots in this area seems to be confirmed by a lease contracted by Godevaert de Bosschere the Elder in 1411.112 He probably died before 1451, as the 1450 register refers to the “late Goirt de Bosser the Elder” (wylen goirt de bosser doude).113 It can be no coincidence that few years later, in 1454, Godevaert de Bosschere the Younger was inscribed in the Brussels masons’ guild as Govaert de Bosscer, Goyvaert syn sone, es porter.114 Godevaert certainly did not descend from an ordinary family of craftsmen. His father had married a daughter of the bailiff of Evere, Maerten de Loeze, and his sister Yda de Bosschere married a knight, Willem van Diedegem. Their in-laws on both sides were of noble birth, i­ndicating that the De Bosschere family had secured a favourable position on the social ­ladder.115 Godevaert’s social background gave him a leg up in his career. He is 108  Janse & de Vries 1991, 34. ARA, ARK, 27395. See also: Maesschalck & Viane 1985, note 182. A difficulty in reconstructing the family genealogy is that the same name was passed on for several generations. An early record dates from 1409–1427, when Godevaert de Bosschere leased the ducal mill in Diegem, where the family originated. In 1428 the lease was transferred for three years to “Godevaert de Bosschere the Younger”. Lauwers 1980, 196– 200. Dickstein-Bernard assumes that the stone supplied to Sluis and for Coudenberg Palace in the 1420s and 1430s concerns the father of Godevaert de Bosschere the Elder, who is inscribed in the Steenbickelerenambacht in 1440. Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 45. However, these sources may well relate to the same person, because the renewed lease of the mill in 1428 by the De Bosschere the Younger suggest that the family business had been passed down to the next generation in the late 1420s. 109   RHCB, SR, 1443–1444, f. 28r, f. 34r. He was also paid for stone in 1452: RHCB, SR, 1452, f. 6v. To Ypres he supplied six shiploads of stone: ARA, ARK, 38672, f. 28r. In 1440 De Bosschere the Elder is known to have leased a warehouse from the city of Brussels at Diegemse Ham for the storage of stone for a period of twelve years. Five years later his son renewed the contract. Dickstein-Bernard 1977, 77.

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110   ASB, OA, 3362. In the records of the officials of Brussels, Godevaert de Bosschere is listed four times as member of the Nine Nations, in 1450, 1455, 1457 and 1464. However, because 1450 would be rather early for the son (he was inscribed in the guild in 1454), this first mention probably concerns the father. 111  Names include Herlwych sBossers, Katelyne sBossers, Yde sBossers, Jan de Bossere and Cornelys de Bossere, all recorded as children of “Godevaert de Bosschere the Elder” (Goirts Bossers doude). ARA, ARK, 44958, 148r.-149r. 112   Lauwers 1980, 179. 113   ARA, ARK, 44958, f. 149r. 114  Duverger 1933, 59. In some cases the sources distinguish between the father and the son by referring to them as “the Elder” (de Oude) and “the Younger” (de Jonge), in others the names differ slightly in spelling: Godevert de Bossere de Jonge van Goirt Bosser syns vaeders… ARA, ARK, 44958, f. 149r. See also: Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 45. 115  Stroobant 1934–1935, 209, note 1. A further indication of the family’s successful social climbing is the marriage of the son of Willem van Diedegem and Yda de Bosschere, Cornelis van Diedegem, into the house of Slees, one of the lignages of the Brussels. Spelkens 1963, 118, note 13.

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not known to have traded in stone independently before the death of his father, but the many large commissions Godevaert acquired soon after joining the Brussels guild show that he must already have had considerable experience of leading a workshop, and it is likely that he took over his father’s business after the latter’s death. The guild register refers to De Bosschere as a “burgher of Brussels”, so presumably the family had moved to Brussels, where De Bosschere also acquired properties on Lakensestraat and on Turfkade, a quayside of the Zenne, where many prominent stone suppliers were concentrated.116 Settling in Brussels probably provided De Bosschere with better access to the elite network of stone merchants, and his career soon gained momentum. Not only did he acquire large commissions, within a few years he obtained several notable administrative posts as well. He became dean of the masons’ guild in 1462, but more importantly was thrice elected as a delegate to the Nine Nations (1455, 1457 and 1464).117 De Bosschere’s apparent administrative talents were quickly recognised. Already in 1454–1455 he was sitting on a committee established by the city of Brussels and Philip the Good to petition the bishop of Cambrai to consecrate the Scheut Charterhouse near Brussels. The other members came from the highest ranks of the city government and included the amman, Henri Magnus, the burgomaster, Thierry de Mol, and a city councillor, Nicolaas Van Heetvelde.118 The pinnacle of De Bosschere’s administrative career was his election as city treasurer in 1473. From this period a medal survives bearing on one side the name and coat of arms of the aristocrat Heinrick de Mol, and on the other De Bosschere’s coat of arms encircled by an inscription that reads: GODEVAE – RT: DE: – BOSSE’: :A: LXXII ● I.119 The medal was minted during the two men’s term of office, which in Brussels was jointly held by a representative of the aristocracy and a representative of the craft guilds (fig. 4.7). Though comparable medals exist, most depict only the patrician treasurer’s coat of arms, and it is rare to see that of the deputy of the craft guilds as well.120 The medal can be seen as a typical expression of De Bosschere’s desire to be ranked among the urban elite, an ambition that would later prove his downfall. It has been suggested that De Bosschere also maintained close ties with the court of Charles the Bold, because he was inscribed in the registers of the guild of St Sebastian at Linkebeek.121 Established by the duke, this guild counted many prominent courtiers among its members and its registers include the names of other illustrious artisans such as the duke’s goldsmith and valet de chambre, Gerard Loyet, and the master of the works of St Gudula’s in Brussels, Heinrick de Mol. However, because membership was open to everyone, it remains unclear whether their inscription reflects a high position at court.122 Ultimately, De Bosschere did not attain his desired position among the urban elite, as witnessed by the dramatic finale to his career. In the chaotic aftermath of Charles the Bold’s death on the battlefield of Nancy in 1477, De Bosschere took a gamble by initiating a revolt by the craft guilds against the great patrician families of Brussels, the lignages.123 Though triggered by the high taxes Charles the Bold levied to fund his war machine, the outbreak of riots was to an equal extent precipitated by increasing discontent among craftsmen. This emerging class felt its upward mobility impeded the many restrictive tax  RAA, SB, 1462, 19. Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 46. Many stonemasons lived around Lakensestraat (near the beguinage known as ‘de Wijngaard’), just outside the inner Lakenpoort, which was close to the Zenne riverside. Vannieuwenhuyze 2009, 102–07. 117   Duverger 1935, 63. ASB, OA, 3362. 118   Jan Tourneur 1562, f. 82r. Cited without reference in: Wauters & Henne 1968, vol. 1, 255. 116

  Vanden Broeck 1888, 126.   Vanden Broeck 1888, 131. 121   Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 5, 14. 122  Wauters 1882b, 414–35. On Loyet, see: van der Velden 2000. 123   Wauters & Henne 1968, vol. 1, 279. 119 120

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measures taken by the urban elite.124 The craftsmen’s successful coup led to the public execution of the most hated city councillors on Brussels’ great market square.125 De Bosschere was a leading figure in the new regime and attended the executions in the honourable function of standard-bearer.126 The craftsmen’s triumph was short-lived, however, and Maximilian of Austria soon restored the old government. De Bosschere was expelled from Brabant, notwithstanding resistance to his forced departure by the masons’ guild.127 Maximilian prosecuted the leaders of the revolt in 1480, but it is unknown if De Bosschere received any further punishment. Whatever the case, his career was over by 1478, because no payments to him are recorded for any building projects after this date. This is further supported by the accounts of St Bavo’s in Haarlem, which in 1481–1482 record his failure to deliver stone for the Fig. 4.7 Verso of the medal honourchurch as “…Godevaert de Bosscher was banished from the ing Heinrick De Mol and Godevaert land of Brabant…”128 De Bosschere as treasurer of Brussels, Unlike his personal life, De Bosschere’s career as 1473. (Brussels, Museum of the city of stone supplier is well documented. Soon after enrolling in Brussels – Maison du Roi) the Brussels masons’ guild in 1454 he was already involved in many of the most important building campaigns of his time. He succeeded Jan Trappaert and Reynier van Impeghem as the chief supplier of stone for Leuven’s town hall between 1455–1456 and 1459–1460.129 He also collaborated with Trappaert and Van Impeghem in the prestigious commission for the Aula Magna of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels. Their three-party consortium supplied ready-made components for nearly the entire building, but De Bosschere additionally made separate deliveries of stone from Diegem for the Aula, as well as for the palace of the lord of Croy (1459).130 Manifesting an almost insatiable appetite to expand his business, in the same year De Bosschere began to supply stone for the church of Our Lady in Antwerp.131 In the years that followed, De Bosschere succeeded in extending his enterprise to Holland and Flanders (fig. 4.8). In 1460 he and Steven Elen van Affligem began supplying

  Van der Wee 1963, vol. 2, 95.   Apres l’exame et torture faiz au dit Pietre, il a confessé que ung nommé Govaert de Bosschere, tailleur de pierres, de la nacion de Saint-Nicolas, commença premièrement la dicte commocion. Et dit que le dit Govert avoit lyé sa cornette de son chappaeu à l’un des posteaulx des fenestres de la maison des mestiers, en signe de faire comocion et assemblée avec les autres mestiers. De Bosschere was assisted by his former business associate Willem van den Berghe: Dit aussi que Guilleaume van der Berch fut ung des principaulx de la dicte comocion. Favresse 1934, 109. 126   Dist oultre que, ou temps de la commocion, quand les notables et gens de biens furent poins et exécutez au dit Brouxelles, ung appelé Govaert Bosser porta la 124 125

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banière sur le grand marchié, comme il a oy dire, et fist rabatre et diminucion de la vendicion du vin à taille. Favresse 1934, 101. 127   Favresse 1934, 106. 128   NHA, KR 1481–1482, inv. 315, f. 19r. Maesschalck and Viaene believe that a payment to De Bosschere was recorded in the accounts of Onze-LieveVrouwehospitaal in Oudenaarde as late as 1488. However, this must be an error, as no accounts have been preserved from that year. Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, no. 31; Devos 2007. 129   Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, werkblad no. 1. 130   ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 186r.; f. 190v.-191v. and f. 197r.-198r. Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 45–46. 131   KAA OLV, KR 1459, f. 15v.

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Fig. 4.8 Map showing the places where Godevaert de Bosschere and Lodewijk van Boghem supplied stone.

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pre-cut stone for St Bavo’s in Haarlem.132 In 1463 he supplied large quantities of stone for Charles the Bold’s castle in Gorinchem, the Blauwe Toren (Blue Tower).133 Between 1463 and 1466 he and the Brussels stonemason Jan van Evergem made the rood screen of Our Lady in Kortrijk, and in the same years he also supplied stone for St Martin’s in Kortrijk (1466).134 In Oudenaarde in Flanders he undertook the renovation of the hospital of Our Lady, for which he supplied building materials and provided labour to erect the walls.135 The success that De Bosschere and his colleagues enjoyed in Brussels, so far up the Scheldt and the Leie, is surprising given that the Tournai limestone and white limestone quarries south of Ghent were closer to the building sites.136 In Oudenaarde, stone from Tournai could be easily delivered down the Scheldt, and the white limestone quarries at Balegem, Oombergen and Oosterzele were situated just twenty kilometres away overland. Nonetheless, patrons from Oudenaarde preferred stone suppliers from Brussels, and in their contracts stipulated the supply of “Brussels stone”.137 There is no simple explanation for the success of Brussels stone merchants in comparison to their competitors from Tournai and Ghent. Brussels was fortunate that its quarries were situated near the Zenne, reducing transportation costs and allowing easy access to most cities in the western Low Countries. However, the quarry sites at Tournai and Ghent shared these advantages, being situated near the Scheldt. Indeed, fifteenth-century Tournai altars, baptismal fonts, tombstones and floor tiles can be found all over the Low Countries and even beyond.138 The quarries south of Ghent supplied similar architectural components as those around Brussels, but production was mostly destined for Ghent itself. Possibly quarry masters there were content to concentrate on the home market in Ghent, still the largest city in the Low Countries, whereas Brussels merchants actively sought other markets and therefore were more geared towards export. In the 1460s and 1470s De Bosschere acquired many new commissions in various cities. In Leuven he supplied stone for the Great Sluice (as from 1465) and the ducal mill (1470–1471), and in Damme he was asked to design the town hall.139 The contract for its construction was subsequently awarded to his son Willem, but behind the scenes Godevaert was in charge. In the same years Godevaert supplied stone for the new choir of St Willibrord’s in Hulst (1468–1471) and for the town of Kortrijk he built a stone bridge over the Leie (before 1469).140 In Brussels he was contracted for the construction of the great staircase of Coudenberg Palace in 1468–1469, together with Willem van den Berghe, and in the meantime he continued to supply finished stone to the churches of Our Lady in Antwerp (fig. 4.9), St Catherine in Brielle (fig. 4.10) and St Gommarus in Lier (fig. 4.11),   NHA, KR 1460–1461, inv. no. 304, f. 22r.   ADN, B 2053, no. 63947. 134   Van de Putte 1868, 247; Despriet 1992, 39. 135   Devos 2007. 136  Willem de Ronde and Jan van Ruysbroeck also supplied stone for St Walburga’s and the Onze-LieveVrouwe-hospitaal in Oudenaarde. Maesschalck & Viaene 1985; Devos 2007. 137   Devos 2007; Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 2, 29. 138   Nys 1993. Some authors believe that the declining importance of the export of Tournai limestone as a building material in the fifteenth century was due 132 133

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to the success of blue limestone from Hainaut. Groessens 2009, 39. 139  Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000. On the construction of the lock, see: Van Even 1860, 63–64. In the same years (1462–1464), he was also paid for supplying stone for another lock in Leuven. Van Even 1895, 173. For Damme, see: Devliegher 1964. On the mill: ARA, ARK, 3801, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Leuven 1471–1472, f. 58v–59r. 140   For Hulst, see: GAH, KR 1468–1469, 379, f. 20r. and KR 1470–1471, 380 f. 17v. and Dierick-van Pottelberghe 1984–1985, 111. For Kortrijk, see: ARA, GRM 791, f. 107r.-v. and de Smidt & Strubbe 1966– 1971 vol. 1, 33.

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Fig. 4.9 Antwerp, Our Lady, nave, begun 1419.

where he worked together with Steven Elen.141 He also partnered with Elen in 1470 on a commission to supply all of the columns and arcade arches for the nave and crossing of St Bavo’s in Haarlem (fig. 3.12).142 Doubtless the many works recorded in the sources represent only a fraction of De Bosschere’s activities as a stone merchant. Many archival sources have been lost, in particular those pertaining to private commissions, and therefore it is unknown whether he was involved in the construction of houses. In addition, De Bosschere also dealt in millstones, and it is likely that part of his production went towards the construction of dykes, for which the bulk of stone from Diegem and Vilvoorde was destined.143 Nonetheless, the numerous projects cited above allow several important conclusions. First, De Bosschere worked simultaneously on many commissions spread out over a large geographical area. Second, these commissions are striking in their diversity: De Bosschere supplied both raw materials and ready-made components for secular buildings (the duke’s palace, castles, town halls, hospitals, mills), ecclesiastical works (churches, rood screen) and infrastructural and hydraulic works (bridges, sluices). In several cases he also supplied labour to erect the masonry. 141  For Coudenberg Palace, see: ARA, ARK, 2423, Rekeningen van de ontvanger-generaal 1468–1469, f. 156v.-157v. See also: Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 5, 124; De Jonge 1991, 34–35 appendix 1. In Antwerp, he supplied piers for the tower (1465), windows (1468) and three piers and arches for the side aisles (1474–75). KAA OLV, KR 1465, f. 18r.;

1468, f. 17v.; 1474, f. 23r. and 1475, f. 21r. See also: Van Brabant 1972, 20; Van Langendonck 1993, 110. For Brielle, see: ARA, GRM, 978, f. 206r. Janse 1965. For Lier, see: KAL, 17/a. Leemans 1972, 33; Doperé 1999, 146. 142   NHA, SA I-1183. Janssen 1985, appendix 10. 143   Limberger 1999, 220; Dickstein-Bernard 2007, 45.

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Fig. 4.10 Brielle, Evert Spoorwater (attributed), St Catherine, nave, begun 1462.

A third conclusion is that De Bosschere was able to supply large quantities of stone and to complete extensive and complex jobs in a short amount of time. The most spectacular example is Damme town hall, which he and his son Willem finished in only four years (1463–1464 to 1466–1467). In order to supply the huge quantities of stone needed, De Bosschere actively acquired new quarries throughout the Ammanie of Brussels. He leased several hectares of land east of Brussels, near Diegem and Haren, which provided him with the smaller grès of Brussels.144 For Lede stone, which was more suitable for mouldings, tracery and sculpture, he acquired the right to quarry 25 rods of stone with a fellow stonemason at Affligem Abbey’s quarries in Meldert in 1459.145 Calculations made by Maesschalck and Viaene for Leuven town hall show that De Bosschere supplied almost 1,320 tonnes of unwrought white limestone in four years’ time (1455–1460, the accounts for the year 1456–1457 being lost). On average, he supplied 330 tonnes per year, but in the first year, 1455–1456, he nearly doubled his production and delivered 570 tonnes.146 These quantities can be compared to calculations made by Van Belle for quarry production at Hainaut in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. He r­ eckoned that Antoine Hannicq, one of the most successful quarry masters in Arquennes, supplied around 950  Like his father, Godevaert de Bosschere the Younger owned quarries in several places in the Ammanie. He inherited the lease of two bunder and a dagwand (approximately two hectares) on the “Haerenheyde” near Haren and Diegem, which was known for its large quarries. From his relative Willem de Bosschere he obtained two and 144

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a half bunder of land. ARA, ARK, 44958, f. 148r., f. 149r. In 1475 he leased another three bunder and 37 rods at the Harenheide. ARA, ARK, 44830, f. 73r.-v. 145   RAL, KAB, 4649, f. 53r.-54v. 146  Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, Tab. 01 Dilbeek (taking 15.5 tonnes per last).

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to 970 tonnes of finished pieces for Antwerp’s town hall in the three years between 1561 and 1563.147 Some 500 to 550 carts were needed to transport all the stone, amounting to roughly 183 per year. Van Belle estimated that the maximum weight of stone that could be quarried by the largest workshops at Arquennes in the seventeenth century was around 600 tonnes a year.148 De Bosschere’s capacity may even have exceeded this amount, because in the years that he was supplying some 330 tonnes of stone for the town hall of Leuven, he also procured vast ­quantities of stone for the Aula Magna (1455, 1457–1460), Our Lady in Antwerp (1459) and St Bavo’s in Haarlem (1460). De Bosschere’s operations involved large sums of money. In 1455–1456 he received 1,098 gulden and 40.5 plakken in a single payment for stone from the city of Leuven, a sum comparable to 37 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer.149 Being engaged in many commissions simultaneously, the revenues generated by De Bosschere’s workshop were substantial. No business records survive, but we can gain an indication of the size of his enterprise by calculating all known payments made to him for construction work and the supply of stone.150 The resulting figures can of course give only a partial picture of his activities, given that many building accounts have been lost and the payments recorded represent only a fraction of all the original payments. Moreover, the informa- Fig. 4.11 Lier, Jan van Hazeldonk, St Gommarus, transept, 1460–1476. Steven Elen and Godevaert tion that can be culled from his customers’ accounts is de Bosschere supplied stone for the clerestory fragmentary, offering no insight into the costs of produc- in 1471. tion and the profits made. Neither is his business in lime and millstones included in these calculations. Nonetheless, the figures show that the combination of large, short-term commissions (such as the Leuven and Damme town halls) and lengthy, ongoing projects (Our Lady in Antwerp and St Bavo’s in Haarlem) ­furnished him a fairly constant income. Smaller payments by multiple patrons could also add up to ­considerable sums. In 1464 and 1465, for example, De Bosschere received payments from five patrons amounting to 207 and 145 Flemish pounds, respectively, or the equivalent of almost 46 and 32 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer (Table 4.1). The bar graph shows that De Bosschere’s annual income peaked at around 45 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer, though calculated over his whole career, between 1455 and 1478, he averaged 100 Flemish pounds a year (22 years’ wages). Yet his actual income must have been significantly higher, since the fluctuations in the graph are more likely attributable to the lack of sources than to his changing fortunes. To put these figures into some perspective, the sums that De Bosschere received were comparable to the average

  Van Belle 1990, 181.   Van Belle 1990, 193. 149   Maesschalck & Viaene & Viaene 2000, werkblad no. 1. 147 148

150  A problem in establishing De Bosschere’s revenues is that when he collaborated with partners it is not clear what his share was; for this calculation, the total sum has therefore been divided by the number of associates.

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50

40

30

20

10

1475

1470

1465

1460

1455

0

Table 4.1 Payments made to Godevaert de Bosschere for the supply of stone and construction work, expressed in the equivalent of annual earnings of an unskilled worker.

budget of a large parish church. For example, between 1455 and 1476 the church fabric at St Gommarus’ in Lier spent an average of around seventeen years’ wages of an unskilled labourer (with a maximum of 55) per year for construction of the transept (fig. 4.12),151 while the fabric at St Willibrord’s in Hulst averaged annual expenditures of almost nineteen years’ wages during the construction of the choir (1455–1475).152 When compared to other churches, too, De Bosschere’s earnings prove considerable: annual expenditures of the Buurkerk in Utrecht (1430–1456) and St Peter’s in Leiden (1398–1428) ranged between nine and twenty years’ wages.153 Only at Our Lady in Antwerp and Utrecht Cathedral were the building budgets far higher, averaging 99 years’ wages between 1455 and 1478 in Antwerp and 81–90 between 1395 and 1530 in Utrecht.154 Clearly, De Bosschere must have had substantial means, since his multiple ­commissions required large investments. Most patrons paid in instalments, occasionally with a portion in advance, but almost always settling the final and largest instalment after the work was f­inished.155 In the interim, De Bosschere had to finance his materials, tools and workmen. To mitigate the attendant financial risks, it was common for   Vroom 1983, 104–09.   These figures are based on: Dierick-van Pottelberghe s.d., 53. 153   Vroom 1981, 557. 154   Vroom 1981, 557. 155  For example, the payment for his work on the great staircase of Coudenberg Palace 151 152

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in 1468–1469 was not made until after its completion, when De Bosschere and Willem van den Berghe jointly received a sum equivalent to almost 38 years’ wages. ARA, ARK, 2423, Rekeningen van de ontvanger-generaal 1468– 1469, f. 156v. See also: De Jonge 1991, 34–35 appendix 1.

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Fig. 4.12 Lier, St Gommarus, nave and transept, 1424–1476.

contractors to form consortia in order to share the burden of investments. The construction of the Aula Magna in Brussels is a case in point. De Bosschere also formed a longterm alliance with Steven Elen, with whom he worked together at Lier and Haarlem as from 1469.156 It regularly happened that patrons were unable to pay a promised instalment on time. That such delays could be considerable is attested by the records of debts to stone suppliers in the accounts of St Willibrord’s.157 Late payments could lead to serious conflicts between patrons and contractors, and De Bosschere did not hesitate to appeal to the highest court in the Low Countries, the Grote Raad (Great Council) in Mechelen, to compel his customers to fulfil their financial o ­ bligations. Between 1469 and 1471 he was involved in a lawsuit against the town of Kortrijk, for example, in which De Bosschere demanded payment of 100.5 Flemish pounds (more than 22 years’ wages) for a stone bridge that the town had commissioned him to build. De Bosschere’s efforts paid off, because on 16 August 1471 the Great Council ruled in his favour and ordered Kortrijk to pay the claim.158 Several years later De Bosschere himself was sued after having seized work made by the Brussels carpenter Henri Marissis for St Catherine’s in Brielle. The seizure was in fact intended to force the churchwardens in Brielle to pay a sum of approximately 54 Flemish pounds that they owed De Bosschere for the supply of stone. Marissis, however, appealed  They supplied the columns and arches for the nave arcade of St Bavo’s in Haarlem and various parts for the transept of St Gommarus’ in Lier. Janssen 1985, appendix 10; Doperé 1999, 146. 156

  Dierick-van Pottelberghe 1984–1985, 111.  ARA, GRM, 791, f. 107r.-v. de Smidt & Strubbe 1966–1971, vol. 1, 33. 157

158

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to the city council to protest De Bosschere’s action. The city ruled against De Bosschere, but the stone merchant stubbornly maintained the seizure to be justified and brought the case before the Raad van Brabant. Again he was denied, but De Bosschere would not give up and appealed to the Great Council of Mechelen. This final attempt failed as well, and his appeal was dismissed.159 The payments made to De Bosschere provide clues to the character of his operations. Because De Bosschere owned various quarries and combined multiple commissions simultaneously, his workshop was not confined to a single location. Rather, his men worked in various places. Stone was cut into shape at the quarries and probably also at his workshop in Brussels, but his crews also accompanied the materials to building sites to finish the work on-site. In the fifteenth century, family members usually formed the nucleus of the workshop, and enterprises built by successive generations could grow into true dynasties. One of the best-known examples in the Low Countries is the Keldermans family in Mechelen, but other masters also relied on family members, such as Steven Elen, whose sons travelled to Haarlem and Lier to finish foliate capitals on columns Elen had supplied. Yet relatives could not supply all the labour needed for simultaneous and large commissions, which required the recruitment of additional workmen. Their numbers must have fluctuated in tandem with orders. To spread the financial risks involved in hiring a large workforce, quarry masters often formed partnerships. Considering De Bosschere’s large production and the sizeable sums involved, he must have regularly had dozens of men working for him, giving his workshop the character of a near-industrial enterprise. Lodewijk van Boghem De Bosschere was one of the most successful stone merchants active in Brussels in the second half of the fifteenth century, but his operations were not unique. Other merchants such as Reynier van Impeghem, Jan Trappaert and Jan van Ruysbroeck ran similarly large stoneworkers’ shops. A more famous Brussels stone merchant whose activities are also well-documented is Lodewijk van Boghem.160 Unlike De Bosschere, however, Van Boghem concentrated almost exclusively on commissions for the court. He is best known as the architect of the church of Brou, near Bourg-en-Bresse, which was commissioned by Margaret of Austria in 1512 as the mausoleum for her deceased third husband, Duke Philibert of Savoy (fig. 4.13).161 Van Boghem began his career as a stone supplier and remained active in this trade throughout his life. Much like De Bosschere, Van Boghem belonged to a dynasty of stonemasons that can be traced back to the fourteenth century.162 His father, Lieven van Boghem, was a leading stone merchant in Brussels who supplied stone for many important building projects throughout the Low Countries, among which Our Lady in Antwerp, St Salvator’s and the belfry of the cloth hall in Bruges, St Bavo’s in   Janse 1965, 103–05.  His name appears in different spellings in the sources, with variations including Van Beughem, Van Bodeghem and Van Bogem. See also: Hörsch 1994, 115, note 485. Even Lodewijk himself was not always consistent in how he spelled his name. Letters he sent to Jan Heyns in ’s-Hertogenbosch in 1503 and 1504 are signed “Lowijc van Bogem”, whereas two others of 13 July 1513 and 2 September 159 160

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1521 to Margaret of Austria are signed “Lowych van Boghem”. Bruchet 1927, 230 no. 107 and 238 no. 140. The autograph on a 1536 payment receipt for the new gallery of Coudenberg Palace is spelled the same way. ARA, ARK, 27400, f. 15v. See also: Ciavaldini Rivière 2014, 150–52. 161   Hörsch 1994. 162   Hörsch 1994, 116.

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Fig. 4.13 Bourg-en-Bresse, Lodewijk van Boghem, St Nicolas of Tolentino, choir with the tombs of Margaret of Austria, Philibert of Savoy, and Margaret of Bourbon, 1513–1532.

Haarlem and Utrecht Cathedral.163 The many quarries he owned around Brussels, which contained both types of white limestone, also reflect his importance.164 From the registers of the distinguished Brussels rhetoricians’ chamber, the Leliebroeders, it is known that Lieven died in 1498–1499, leaving his son a thriving business and connections among the urban elite.165 Indeed, Lodewijk’s high status is confirmed by his election that same year as dean of the Leliebroeders. Among the chamber’s other  Lieven was probably not from Brussels, but from one of the hamlets in the Ammanie, possibly SintMartens-Bodegem or from ‘Beughem’ near Schepdaal. According to Duverger, he was inscribed in Brussels as burgher (poorter) in 1468 or 1470. Duverger 1933, 68. He delivered window traceries for Our Lady of Antwerp (1479 and 1494, KAA OLV, KR 1479, f. 27v.; KR 1494, f. 32v.) and St Bavo’s in Haarlem (1483, NHA, KR, inv. no. 191.) and provided ready-made stone for the radial chapels of St Salvator’s in Bruges (1483–1488 and 1493–1496, Devliegher 1981) and also the lantern of the belfry of the cloth hall in the same city (1483–1487, Sosson 1977, 99, note 68), as well as large quantities of unworked stone for Utrecht Cathedral (1484–1492, Alberts 1969). Lieven was also a sculptor; in 1485 he supplied several statues for the town hall of Bruges, including of the Virgin Mary, Charles the Bold, Mary of Burgundy and Maximilian of Austria. The designs were

163

provided to him by the painter Frans van den Pitte. Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 559; Hörsch 1994, 117. 164   According to Cosyn, he leased land near a stone pit at the Stuyvenberg (the present Park van Laken, also known as ‘Little Switzerland’). Later, this lease would be transferred to his son Lodewijk. Cosyn 1921, 50. Around 1476, Lieven leased a dagwand of land at the Dilbeek stone pit. RAA, SB, 6, f. 75r. Most of Lieven’s documented quarries were situated west of Brussels, but he also acquired several quarries on the east bank of the Zenne; in 1494 he took over several parcels of land (one bunder and 37 rods in total) at Harenheide near Haren from Godevaert de Bosschere’s son, Jan de Bosschere. RAA, TKB, 82, f. 23v. For another parcel (53 rods) in Zaventem, he entered into a long-term lease of one hundred years in 1495. RAL, SGVB, 6739, f. 111r. 165   Lieven van Beughem, Lowys vader. Duverger 1935, 88.

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Fig. 4.14 Unknown artist, Four Crowned Martyrs (‘Vier Gekroonden’), in: book of hours of Lodewijk van Boghem, Lyon, c. 1520–1530. (Bruges, Grootseminarie) (Plate 5)

members were important poets and playwrights such as Jan Smeken and Jan Pertcheval, but also painters and sculptors, for example Cornelis van Conincxloo and Jan Borreman.166 The ‘Lelie’ enjoyed the protection of Maximilian, and it seems probable that Van Boghems’ membership gave him a direct entrée to the court, thus making it an important stepping stone to his later career in the service of Margaret of Austria.167 His appointment as land surveyor to the court in Brabant in 1507 (­ arpenteur et mesureur juré du duché de Brabant), and as master mason in Brabant in 1515 – a ­position in which he was mainly occupied with the church of Brou – further enhanced his social standing.168 Testifying to Lodewijk’s lofty social ambitions is a book of hours he commissioned in Lyon in 1526, now preserved at the Grootseminarie in Bruges.169 Though debate continues as to his role in the design of the pages’ architectural frames, it is clear that Van Boghem had the book made to his personal wishes.170 Several folios bear his name, coat

  Sleiderink 2012.  Duverger 1935, 87. On the rhetoricians’ chamber of the Leliebroeders, see: Speakman Sutch 2003. 166

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  Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 5, 228; Hörsch 1994, 121.  Ciavaldini Rivière 2014; Ciavaldini Rivière 2009; Fransolet 1930. 170   Ciavaldini Rivière 2014. 168

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Fig. 4.15 Unknown artist, Saint Louis of France and Saint Francis of Assisi, in: book of hours of Lodewijk van Boghem, Lyon, c. 1520–1530. Depicted are the patron saints of Lodewijk and his son Frans van Boghem. Another folio contains an image of Saint Anne, patron saint of his second wife Anna Deckeleye (and his first wife Anna van Aelst). (Bruges, Grootseminarie) (Plate 6)

of arms and initials (LVB), occasionally accompanied by the motto Jusque à la fin. In addition, Van Boghem ­himself largely determined the iconography. The verso of the title page portrays the patron saints of the building trades (Vier Gekroonden), and in the margins of the adjacent page are builders’ tools including chisels, hammers, a plumb rule, a compass, a trowel, a rope and a masons’ square (fig. 4.14). The book also contains images of Saint Louis of France, Saint Anne and Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saints, respectively, of Lodewijk, his second wife Anna Deckeleye (and first, Anna van Aelst) and son by his first wife, Frans van Boghem (fig. 4.15). The frame surrounding the Vier Gekroonden contains an escutcheon with two horizontally mirrored L’s entwined in such a way that they also can be read as ‘Lb’ – Lodewijk van Boghem’s initials.171 The subsequent folio contains a medallion with the initials L and A conjoined with a love knot, which is reminiscent of similar playfully devised monograms used at court, and also at Brou, where the entrance portal, tombs and vault keystones are ornamented with the interlaced initials of Margaret and Philibert (fig. 4.16). Significantly, Van Boghem avoided the angular stonemasons’ marks commonly used by masons.   Ciavaldini Rivière 2014, 150–52.

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Lodewijk was inscribed in the stonemasons’ guild of Brussels in 1482, but the first mention of him as a stone merchant dates from the year his father died, probably because this is when he took over the family business.172 His appointment as dean of the guild in 1497 gave Van Boghem an edge as an independent master.173 A year later, he, his brother Dierick van Boghem and Willem de Ronde signed a contract with the wardens of St Walburga’s of Oudenaarde to supply stone for the church’s new tower. The first decade of the sixteenth century saw Van Boghem involved in many major building works. In 1501 he took over his deceased father’s commission to supply stone for the radial chapels of St Salvator’s in Bruges (fig. 4.17), and in 1502 he signed a contract with the churchwardens of St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch to supply compound piers for the south side aisles of the nave (fig. 3.13).174 Another important contract in these years concerned the supply of a new portal for St Peter’s in Anderlecht, in 1505–1506.175 In Lier, he was engaged to supply gutters and raw building materials for the church of St Gommarus.176 His most important job in this period, however, was to supply stone for the north tower of Our Lady in Antwerp, for which he was paid considerable sums in 1507–1508.177 Van Boghem was well on his way to becoming one of the most successful stone merchants of his time when in 1512 Margaret of Austria appointed him master mason in Brou. His business clearly suffered under his new office, which required Van Boghem to stay abroad most of the year to lead construction of the new church in Brou. The initial years probably left him no time to accept any large commissions to supply stone, but in 1515 Margaret gave him permission to return to the Low Countries twice a year, once in summer and once in winter, to attend to his business.178 Shortly after this Van Boghem received several commissions for stone in the Low Countries, including for the Maison du Roi in Brussels and for the church of the Annonciades near Bruges, a convent founded by Margaret of Austria in 1518. In his absence, Van Boghem’s workshop was managed by his wife, as is documented by her acceptance of a receipt for stone supplied to the Annonciades in 1519.179 In 1521–1522 Van Boghem also delivered stone for the imperial prison, Het Steen, in Antwerp, which was built to the plans of Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere.180 No commissions are documented during the years immediately following, until the end of the 1520s, when Van Boghem was paid for supplying stone for the chapel of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels. Van Boghem’s greatest commission came several years after his return from Savoy in 1532: in 1538 he was paid the enormous sum of 2,172 Flemish pounds of 40 groats each, representing around 63.5 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer, to supply four piers for the chapel at Coudenberg.181 This and other payments brought his income in that year to 599 Flemish pounds (105 years’ wages) in total. 172   Lodewijck van Beugem, es poirter. Duverger 933, 70. 173   Duverger 1933, 73. 174   Hörsch 1994, 118; Devliegher 1981. On ’s-Hertogenbosch, see: Peeters 1985, 43–44. 175   RAA, KAB, 229, KR Sint-Pieter Anderlecht, 1505– 1506, f. 15r. 176   In the same period (1503) he also worked with Hendrik Van Pede and Laureys Keldermans on the Nassau Palace in Brussels. Wauters 1885, 40. ARA, ARK, 12704, f. 416v. 177   KAA OLV, KR 1507, f. 28r. and KR 1508, f. 29v.-30r. 178  …il pourroit faire ung voyaige en sa maison pardeçà pour entendre à ses affaires particulières

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en temps d’esté et ung autre durant l’ivers. Finot 1888, 229 no. 6. 179  Bruchet 1927, 237 no. 136. In Van Boghem’s absence, she leased several stone pits in her husband’s name, affirming her important role in the management of the family business. RAA, SB, 2397, 126 and 147–48. 180   ARA, ARK, 4979, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Antwerpen 1521–1522, f. 82v.-85r. and ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2. 181   ARA, ARK, 27398. Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 5, 245, note 3. During these years he also supplied stone pieces for the chapel of the Holy Sacrament at St Gudula’s in Brussels. RAA, SG, 8673, Rekeningen van het Sacrament van Mirakel 1536–1537, f. 47v.-48r.

Quarrying

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Brussels   Chapter 4

Before 1513, Van Boghem’s patrons came from the urban milieu, but after becoming master mason to Margaret he seems to have confined his work mainly to court commissions. During his years in Savoy, Van Boghem’s activities as a supplier were subject to long lulls, and it was only after his return to the Low Countries that his trade in stone received a new impulse. On the whole, his workshop was less busy than that of De Bosschere. Between 1498 and 1540, the year of his death, Van Boghem’s annual income averaged 6.5 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer (table 4.2). This low figure is attributable to Van Boghem’s long stay abroad, but probably also to a lack of sources. Nevertheless, he must at times have led a considerable workforce, as the peaks in his income show: in 1502 he was paid the equivalent of 19 years’ wages and subsequently 17 in 1507, 21 in 1527 and 105 in 1538. For several commissions Van Boghem is known to have prefinanced the necessary materials and labour himself. In the 1502 contract for piers for the south side aisles of St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch, it was agreed that Van Boghem would supply a quantity of one hun- Fig. 4.17 Bruges, St Salvator, moulded respond in the dred feet over the subsequent year for a sum of ambulatory, c. 1481–1510. 350 gulden (thirteen years’ wages). If he failed to supply all the material in time, he would be paid half the price of the material delivered and receive the remainder after the job was completed.182 In the meantime, Van Boghem had to make considerable investments, and he soon overextended himself, possibly because he had other commissions underway that needed credit as well.183 He therefore requested the churchwardens to advance him money to continue the work. Four surviving letters sent by Van Boghem to Jan Heyns, master of the works at St John’s, give a clear sense of the master stonemason’s solvency and bargaining strategy. Responding to a lost letter from Jan Heyns concerning the progress of the work, Van Boghem reports on the pieces he has ready for transport, and then asks Heyns to persuade the churchwardens Furthermore, he was involved in the construction of the chapel for the Brussels beguinage in 1530 and its infirmary refectory in 1537. Frankignoulle & Bonenfant 1935, 13–14. 182   Item dit werck heeft hij geloeftte leveren bijnne eenen jaerre ende oft gevielle dat Lowis dit werck heer ret maeckte, een del oft alf soe sellen de kerckmesters te geauwen zijn dit een maent naer dat hen de weete gedaen werden sal te laten vijssenteren oft lofbaer ende goet es ende hem als dan te betaellen de helft van dat sij gemaect vijndden ende et dander ten dagee dat hij levert. KA SJ, 1365c. Peeters 1985, 43–44.

 In this period (1504–1505) Van Boghem was unable to finish work for St Gommarus’ of Lier. The work was so much delayed that the churchwardens decided to cancel the order. Leemans 1972, 36. Insufficient funds forced several stone merchants to request advance credit from patrons. An example is the Brussels stone merchant Jan van den Gheere, who wrote a letter to Tongerlo Abbey in 1552 asking for 200 gulden to enable him to finish the work: Ende ic bidde u oetmoedelijke dat u wille believen mij te willen te seconerene van twe hondert gulden, om u werck te volle opte brengenne… AAT, II, 113.

183

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120

100

80

60

40

20

1538

1533

1528

1523

1518

1513

1508

1503

1498

0

Table 4.2 Payments made to Lodewijk van Boghem for the supply of stone, expressed in the equivalent of annual earnings of an unskilled worker.

to advance funds that he needs to finish the work.184 Although he received considerable advance payments of 45 Rhinegulden in 1503 and 1504, Van Boghem kept requesting more money. His first attempts are still deferential, but in subsequent correspondence Van Boghem becomes more insistent; in a letter of May 1504 he complains that he lacks money and will be ashamed if he is unable to pay his journeymen.185 In another, written in the same month, he grumbles that he has twice visited ’s-Hertogenbosch regarding financial matters to no avail, adding that the small amount of money given him is not enough to continue the work for the church.186 Indeed, he threatens Heyns, if the wardens want their work to be finished at all, they should send him the money he has asked for, or else he will transfer his men to another commission.187 Beyond these documented payments, a far better indication of Van Boghem’s prominent position in the Brussels stone trade is provided by the number of quarries he acquired around Brussels. From his father he inherited several sites, one of which was a large stone pit in Laken, northwest of Brussels.188 His appointment as master of the works at Brou did not stop him from acquiring more, and between 1517 and 1519, the period in which he 184  …soudye u seker wullen bydden dat ghy hyer inne het best soet wullen doen byden cercmesters vant ic van node ben na wt wysen vanden bryeve dye ic u gescreven hebbe… KA SJ, 1379. 185  …om myen gesellen te betalen want icht groet van node ben ende sonder om bescamyet syen dat icht niet en hadde… KA SJ, 1408. 186  …dat ghy u woerverde oenderhouden het maer ic hebbe tveverf oem moeten by u coemmen en oen

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senden ende op quaden loen dat en can ic niet mer… KA SJ, 1405. 187  …aldus wuldy u werc hebben soe sent my dye pennyengen daer ic om scryve vant andre souden moeten myen gesellen op ander verc stellen… KA SJ, 1405. 188  On 13 August 1504 he leased half a bunder and 34 rods of land at the “Schempegemveld” at a stone pit in Laken. This piece of land bordered his own properties. RAA, SB, 1463, 44. Six years later,

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supplied stone for court commissions, he expanded his holdings with several quarries.189 Two surviving letters indicate that Van Boghem not only leased but also purchased quarries when he had the chance.190 Though most of his quarries were located near Laken, he also purchased land east of the city, where cheaper Brussels stone was found.191 Over his entire career, Van Boghem is documented to have acquired a sum total of 28 hectares of land containing quarries. Having already inherited a considerable amount of property, his holdings must have been significantly larger.192 Though it would not have been enough to rank him as a large landowner, Van Boghem’s continuing efforts to expand his holdings are an important indication that his business extended beyond the scope of an ordinary craftsman’s workshop. The careers of Godevaert de Bosschere and Lodewijk van Boghem offer good illustrations of the growing importance of the stone trade and stone merchants in the fifteenth century. Quarrying in the environs of Brussels became a major industry, one that allowed merchants to amass considerable wealth and join the city’s upper echelons. This milieu formed a dynamic backdrop for the exchange of architectural knowledge, and would give rise to several of the most prominent architectural designers in the Low Countries, as we shall see in the next chapter.

in 1510, he obtained a dagwand of land near the stone pit in Laken, opt velt geheeten den Steenpoel in Laken, and a long-term lease for half a bunder at the “Wannerkouter” at Ossegem. RAA, SB, 2397, 81–82 and ARA, ARK, 44831, f. 112v. According to Cosyn, he also had a farm comprising eighteen to nineteen bunder of land (approximately eighteen to nineteen hectares), but it is unclear whether these lands contained stone pits. Cosyn 1921, 46. 189  On 16 March 1517, Van Boghem obtained a lease for half a bunder of land in Laken. RAA, SB, 2397, 129–30. In 1519 (28 February), he expanded his holdings at the Wannerkouter with a long-term lease of half a bunder, a dagwand and 74 rods of land. RAA, SB, 1464, 4. In the same year (2 December) he contracted a long-term lease for another dagwand at the Wannerkouter and on 15 December acquired eleven dagwand in Laken, possibly with stone pits. RAA, SB, 2397, 147–48 and 148–49. 190   RAA, KAB, 6973. These letters give an interesting insight into the negotiations preceding such an acquisition. In one letter the abbot of Dielegem asks permission from his superior in the Premonstratensian order to sell half a bunder at the quarry of Ossegem to Van Boghem. The stone merchant did not want to lease the land as he claimed the quarry was exhausted, and therefore deemed the quoted rent too high. The quarry is indeed known to have been excavated before this by several important stone merchants: in 1473 the brothers De Mol,

called Coomans, obtained a lease for a period of 99 years, but a year later the lease was transferred to Willem de Bosschere. RAA, SB, 1461, no. 10. The abbot himself also preferred selling land to leasing it, because he was worried that Van Boghem would not pay his annual rent on time, being abroad most of the year. Moreover, in the event that they had to force Van Boghem to fulfil his financial obligations, a lawsuit would be difficult since Van Boghem was in the service of Margaret of Austria and therefore enjoyed her protection. The abbot advised selling the land for 12 Philippusgulden (2.5 lb. gr. Vls.) and his superior agreed because he wanted to use the money to buy arable land near Lier. 191  A contract from 31 August 1502 survives which shows that Van Boghem bought one bunder and three dagwand in the parish of Sterrebeek and half a dagwand near the hamlet of Kraainem. RAL, TKV, 95. 192  He also owned three houses in Lakensestraat in Brussels. As from 1520 he leased the ‘Small Lakense Gate’ from the city. Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 5, 228 and Wauters 1885, 47. According to Wauters, he also owned the castle of Houtem, from which his descendents took their noble title. Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 577. Van Boghem further seems to have leased several mills near Laken, and land at Sint-Katharina-Lombeek, a hamlet fifteen kilometres west of Brussels. Frankignoulle & Bonenfant 1935, 111.

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Fig. 5.3 Dordrecht, Evert Spoorwater, Our Lady, 1457–1474.

Chapter 5 Profession

of the

Architect

The previous two chapters considered economic and organisational developments in the building industry. This chapter will now turn to examine the consequences these changes had on the position of the architect in the Low Countries. It will be argued that the building boom and commercialisation of the building industry brought about a stratification of labour, widening the gap between the planning and construction of building works. This division of labour transformed the traditional role of the master of the works, whose design activities had usually tied him to the supervision of a single construction site. As the involvement of private contractors and preference for ready-made building components increased, the building process became fragmented in time and place. The tasks of design, processing of building materials and assembly were no longer carried out by a single organisation near the building site, but instead lay in the hands of a designer and one or more contractors working at different locations and as far as 200 kilometres from the site. The physical distance separating the architectural design and construction processes and the growing importance of contractors led to a sharper division between the planning and construction phases and resulted in the architect’s gradual specialisation as designer. The division between design and construction was not new in the fifteenth century, and traces its roots to the streamlining of building activities two centuries earlier, when the introduction of systematic serialised production at the cathedrals of Soissons, Amiens and Reims required a more efficient approach to construction planning.1 It can be no coincidence that the earliest surviving architectural drawings date from this period. It also marks the first time that masters are documented as supervising more than one building site simultaneously. An early example is Gautier de Varinfroy, who in 1253 concluded a contract with the chapter of Meaux permitting him to work outside the diocese under the condition that he would not be absent for more than two months.2 From this point on, many masters are known to have led multiple complex building projects concurrently.3 Their newly achieved status clearly struck contemporaries such as Nicolas de Biard, who in a famous sermon of 1261 exemplified the idleness of his fellow clergymen by drawing a parallel with certain master builders who appeared to do nothing themselves. They worked, he said, by words alone, only ordering others what to do, and yet, to Nicolas’ indignation, they received the highest pay.4 This passage is illustrative of the new intellectual position of the architect, but also suggests that masters continued to communicate their   Kimpel 1983; Kimpel 1986; Kimpel 1989.   Kurmann 2006. 3  Toker has shown that from the fourteenth century onwards masters could also lead the works remotely. Toker 1985a, 69. Several famous examples of masters who led multiple projects simultaneously are: Peter Parler, Ulrich von Ensingen, Burckhard Engelberg, Hans Niesenberger, Jacques de Fauran, Raymond Du Temple and Martin Chambiges. See: Bischoff 1999; Freigang 1996; Binding 1993, 250– 55; Freigang 1989a; Freigang 1989b; Brehm 2013; Schock-Werner 1983, 121; Taveau-Launay 2001. In the early sixteenth century, Martin Chambiges directed work on the cathedrals of Sens, Troyes and 1 2

Beauvais, but remained home in Beauvais for most of the year. His employer, the chapter of Beauvais, often tried to keep Chambiges at the building site, and the chapters of Sens and Troyes sometimes had to negotiate with the Beauvais chapter to allow the master to visit their building sites. Meunier 2015, 76–79. See also: Cailleaux 1999, 228–36 and 339–240. 4   Operantur aliqui solo verbo. Nota: In istis magnis aedificiis solet esse unus magister principalis qui solum ordinat ipsa verbo, raro aut numquam apponit manum, et tamen accipit majora stipendia aliis. Mortet & Deschamps 1929, 291. See also: Binding 1993, 238; Binski 2010, 23.

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plans to workmen verbally (ipsa verbo). Though their daily involvement at the construction site was no longer essential, historians believe that these masters were still closely involved in building operations.5 The emergence of this new breed of specialised designers was contingent on a continuous demand for architectural designs and an advanced building industry that could take charge of all aspects of large-scale building projects. Goldthwaite has argued that such conditions existed in the fifteenth century in Renaissance Italy, but they were also present in several regions north of the Alps. Particularly in the Low Countries, the building boom catalysed by rapid urbanisation and growing architectural rivalry between cities created ample opportunities for the architectural designer. Nor was demand limited to a few exceptional projects, such as cathedrals. In the most prosperous cities, many new public buildings were erected. Furthermore, short distances between cities and navigable waterways made travel easy, allowing architects to juggle concurrent jobs in multiple locations. As prestigious urban building projects relied to a large extent on independent contractors, patrons could be relieved of the need to establish and run a project administration themselves, and, in the words of the patron of Huis te Rumpt in 1553, “not do anything, except provide the money”.6 This development contributed in two different ways to a shift of the masters’ tasks from on-site direction to remote planning and coordination of the works. First, the trend towards contracting out work meant that there was no longer a large permanent workforce at the building site and also made it unnecessary for a master of the works to direct the work on-site all year round. Patrons quite naturally preferred to pay the master only when his services were required. Second, contracting reduced the latter’s organisational duties at the building site. This did not make the architect redundant, however; indeed, as planning and coordination of the building process became more complex, patrons needed someone who could prepare designs for contractors and monitor the construction from off-site, as will be discussed in the next chapter. The first section of this chapter will briefly consider architectural designers’ characteristically close ties with the stone trade. These links have often been seen as a proof of architects’ low, artisan status in the Middle Ages, yet this view disregards the social stratification of the building trades and high status enjoyed by elite stone merchants. The next section investigates the changing role of the master of the works based on an analysis of employment contracts.7 Surviving contracts demonstrate a clear change in the conditions of their appointment. Whereas traditionally the master of works had been tied to a single project and had to supervise the masons’ lodge on a daily basis, by the fifteenth century the most prominent architects were typically employed part time. Their accumulation of leading positions at many major concurrent projects allowed some of the most sought-after architects to concentrate fully on design and to coordinate the building process remotely. Exemplifying this new type of architect were Evert Spoorwater (d. 1474) and Rombout Keldermans (d. 1531), both of whom will be discussed. Spoorwater’s career marks a transition from a master charged with year-round supervision of the masons’ lodge to one who divided his time between multiple building operations in various cities. He paved the way for architects like Rombout Keldermans in the early sixteenth century, who was involved in virtually every project of consequence in the Habsburg Low Countries. 5  Booz 1956, 68; Aubert 1961, 81–82; Shelby 1964; Kostof 1977, 83; Warnke 1976, 138; Salzman 1952, 45. 6   van Tussenbroek 2013, 71. 7  Thirty-one surviving contracts and oaths from the Low Countries have been examined. See also:

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van Tussenbroek 2013, 25–30. On Germany, a systematic study of masters’ employment contracts is being prepared by Bischoff; see: Bischoff 2009, 123, note 10.

Profession

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Architect   Chapter 5

The last section examines the new status achieved by certain masters and assesses in how far they were admired for their technical knowledge, their capacities as managers and their design abilities. Background and Training Many important architects descended from families of stone merchants. The best known example in the Low Countries is probably the Keldermans family in Mechelen, which formed a close network of stone merchants, sculptors and architects.8 The workshops at the quarries of Brussels also produced several talented architects, including Jan van Ruysbroeck and Lodewijk van Boghem.9 Though some masters, Rombout Keldermans among them, choose to concentrate on their design activities, many others preferred to combine designing with directing a stoneworkers’ shop, such as Van Boghem, who continued to run his Brussels workshop while living in Savoy.10 Such masters pursued a wide range of activities and their role could differ from one commission to another, making clear cut distinctions between the professions of building contractor and architect impossible. Such categories were in any case of no concern to contemporaries, for whom it was entirely natural to combine these professions. The humanist Grapheus even praised the prudent stonemason who showed an interest in architecture. In his defence of Van Noort in the Utrecht court case of 1542, he explained that architects need not necessarily be trained as stonemasons, but because of the craft’s importance it was only sensible that masons were educated in architecture, and the combination offered evident economic advantages: Thus, architecture does not belong to the domain of any craft, but instead the building crafts serve Architectura, and particularly the stonecutters’ craft, which is important to the architect because he has to deal with it very often. Therefore, it happens that many stonecutters, who are intelligent and competent, resolve to obtain knowledge of Architectura, so that becoming both building masters [ordineermeersters] and workmen, they may gain double profit.11 As no formal training existed, the stone merchants’ milieu was the logical environment to gain knowledge of building materials, design methods and construction techniques. The skills and expertise of stone suppliers largely overlapped with that of architects. Leading a large workshop successfully demanded not only a full understanding of the craft, but also significant design skills and a thorough knowledge of commercial arithmetic and of geometry. Without such knowledge it was impossible to measure buildings, estimate quantities and calculate the cost of construction (which was often done by multiplying unit prices).12 Given their profound knowledge of practical geometry and arithmetic, it is not surprising that some stone merchants and architects also worked as land surveyors. For example, in 1507, five years before he was appointed court architect to Margaret   van Mosselveld et al. 1987.   On Van Ruysbroeck, see: Maesschalck & Viaene 1985. 10  Up until the nineteenth century it remained common for designers to also be active as building contractors. van Essen & Hurx 2009; van Essen & Hurx & Medema 2010; Krabbe 1998; Bruynzeel 1900. 11   Alsoe dat architectura dat ambocht van enigen van desen nyet aen en gaet; mer desen ambochten, die syn onder die architectura diendende, bysunder dat ambocht van steenhouwen, overmits dat een 8 9

architect veeltyts dat ambocht te besigen heeft. Ende gebeurt daer duer, dat veel steenhouders, cloeck ende verstandich wesende, hem ingenieren om verstant vander architectura te vercrigen, op dat sy beyden, ordineermeersters ende werkluyden vanden steen wesende, dubbele proufiten hebben mogen. Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 245. 12  In the fifteenth century, the measuring of quantities also became a distinct profession; see: Van de Vijver 2006.

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of Austria, Lodewijk van Boghem worked as the official land surveyor of the duchy of Brabant (arpenteur et mesureur jure du duche de Brabant).13 He continued to hold this prestigious office until 1524–1525, even though from 1512 on he was away most of the year to supervise the works at Brou. Another famous master, Alard Duhamel, combined the offices of master mason to the city of Leuven and city land surveyor (erfscheider).14 That master masons generally considered surveying to be one of their fields of expertise is clear from a 1595 lawsuit in Antwerp. The deans of the city’s masons’ guild claimed that they understood geometry, which they described as the mathematical science needed for land surveying: …sub geometria que est scientia mathematica consistens in terrae mensuratione.15 Confident of their superior abilities, they challenged the sculptors to a contest to measure the distance between several cities, the height of the tower of Our Lady and the width of the Scheldt river. Apart from proficiencies specific to architecture, stone merchants and architects both also had to possess other more general abilities. They needed accounting skills and experience of organising a large team of workers. The ability to read and write was indispensable, both to direct construction while away from the site and because invitations for public tenders were often accompanied by lengthy building specifications that contractors had to study carefully in order to understand the nature of the work and calculate the building sum.16 After winning a contract, additional specifications might be needed in order to execute the work. Furthermore, because travel distances often prevented meeting face to face during the process, communication between architects, merchants and patrons was largely conducted in writing. Extensive correspondence with customers is evidenced by the surviving letters of Jan Trappaert, Jan Terwaert and Lodewijk van Boghem, discussed in chapters 3 and 4. Letters written by prominent architects such as Evert Spoorwater, Dominicus de Waghemakere and Rombout Keldermans have also been preserved and will be discussed below. Though this is only a fraction of the original correspondence, they indicate that these masters must have written letters on a daily basis. Family Networks Knowledge was customarily transferred from father to son, which explains in part how several families were able to dominate the architectural scene and form true dynasties of architects.17 Most notable were the Keldermans and De Waghemakere families, which occupied major posts almost as though they were hereditary. For example, between 1469 and 1534,   Hörsch 1994, 121.  Cheyns 1979, doc. 2, B 5–6. Several other master masons and sculptors are also known to have worked as erfscheider. For instance, the master mason to the city of Brussels, Hendrik van Pede, is documented as a surveyor (meester meeter) in Vilvoorde in 1525–26. ARA, ARK, 26475, f. 6r. Also, the master mason to the court of Brabant, Pieter van Wyenhoven, held the office of land surveyor (meter der stadt) to the city of Brussels in the 1540s. ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 116/1. In 1549–1550 Willem van den Broeke, Frans de Drijvere, Peter Frans and Willem van der Borcht were all paid by the city of Antwerp for their work as land surveyors. Roobaert 1957–1958, 185, note 74. 15   Casteels & Rylant 1940, 199. 16  Literacy was widespread in the Low Countries, with a dense network of schools especially in cities. 13 14

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van Bavel 2010, 313–19. That stone merchants and architects took care to ensure their offspring received sound commercial training is also borne out by the fact that Lodewijk van Boghem’s son and several members of the Keldermans family were able to pursue administrative careers. François van Boghem became councillor of Brussels, and Jan, son of Mathijs II Keldermans, had a career as secretary to the Grote Raad in Mechelen, while Anthonis, son of Rombout II, was elected alderman of Antwerp. Wauters 1885, 47; Hörsch 1994, 134; De Roo 1952, 82; Hoekstra 1988b, 164–65. 17  On Keldermans, see: van Mosselveld et al. 1987. On De Waghemakere, see: Génard 1870; Van Cauwenberghs 1889; Philipp 1989. On the central role of the family in the transfer of architectural knowledge, see: Klein 2010; Coldstream 2002, 100–02.

Profession

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the post of master of the works to the city of Mechelen was successively held by Andries Keldermans, his son Anthonis I, grandsons Anthonis II and Rombout II, and great-grandson Laureys Keldermans.18 Even outside their native city, they more or less monopolised offices in Bergen op Zoom, Delft, Middelburg and Veere, among others, where Anthonis I was succeeded by Anthonis II and subsequently Rombout II. The three also worked as court architects to the Habsburg princes. Though Rombout did not follow precisely in his father and brother’s footsteps as master mason at the court in Brabant, since Lodewijk van Boghem was appointed instead, he later obtained the even more prestigious position of “general master workman” to Emperor Charles V for the whole of the Low Countries: maistre ouvrier general de tous les ouvraiges et refections de lempereur en ses pais de pardeca.19 Anthonis II and Rombout furthermore assisted their father from an early age, enabling them to develop the skills needed to become architects and gain access to their father’s extensive networks of customers and stone merchants, thus giving them a valuable head start on their competitors. Alongside the merchants’ workshops in Brussels and Mechelen, the masons’ lodges at Utrecht Cathedral, Our Lady in Antwerp, St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch and Liège Cathedral formed important training centres for young architects.20 There are several documented examples of young masons who worked their way up through the ranks of a lodge. One of the best is Herman de Waghemakere, Dominicus’ father, who started out as a humble mason at the lodge of Our Lady in Antwerp in the 1450s and eventually succeeded Evert Spoorwater after the latter’s death in 1474. However, such examples are comparatively rare, and usually when a position became vacant a master was called in from abroad. In Utrecht, only Willem van Boelre rose from stonemason at the cathedral lodge to become undermaster of the works in 1400 and master in 1435–1436.21 The infrequency with which undermasters were promoted to the lodge’s highest position likely owed to patrons’ general preference to seek out the best masters from the wider region. Nevertheless, in some cases family relationships were every bit as influential in the lodge as in the stone merchants’ milieu. In Antwerp, Herman de Waghemakere was succeeded in 1503 by his son Dominicus, who had entered the lodge as a young mason in the 1480s. And in ’s-Hertogenbosch, the deputy of the masons’ lodge, Jan Heyns, assumed his fatherin-law Alard Duhamel’s position when the latter left St John’s to become the architect of St Peter’s in Leuven in 1495.22 The available data suggest that guilds played almost no role in the training of architects in fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Guild regulations were mostly limited to the apprenticeship of young masons, and not until the sixteenth century did the masterpiece become a common test of formal competence. Yet even until the end of the sixteenth century most of the guild regulations make no mention of architectural drafting or building specifications.23 Neither do they address design principles or skills to manage construction remotely. The guilds seem to have played an altogether marginal role in training architects, but this is not to say that architects were equally indifferent to them. Several prominent masters, including Anthonis I and Anthonis II Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere,   van Wylick-Westermann 1987.   Roosens 2005, 174–75, 221. 20  The importance of masons’ lodges in training architects has always been a focus of much scholarly interest: Aubert 1961, 33–36; SchockWerner 2009. 21   de Kam & Kipp & Claessen 2014, 79. 22   Peeters 1985, 40. 18 19

  An early example is the criteria for the masterpiece formulated by the Breda masons’ guild in 1587, stipulating that masons should be able to make a drawing of a stepped gable. van Tussenbroek 2013, 51. In the masterpiece regulations for carpenters’ guilds, drafting and calculating abilities first receive some attention starting from the seventeenth century. de Vries 2009. 23

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held key offices in the masons’ guilds of their cities. The craft guilds offered them an excellent opportunity to expand their networks and attain a leading role in the trade.24 Although the majority of leading masters were trained as stonemasons or sculptors, such a background was not essential. The best example of an architect who came from outside the building trades is the clockmaker and silversmith Joos Metsys, brother of the famous painter Quintin Metsys.25 He eventually became master of the works of St Peter’s in Leuven, producing a design for the west façade and a stone architectural model that both survive. Conversely, several master masons successfully expanded their activities to other arts. Alard Duhamel was also a successful figurative engraver, for instance.26 And Laureys Keldermans (Rombout’s younger nephew) ran the largest and most prominent workshop for carved wooden altarpieces in Antwerp, which he combined with his business as a stone merchant and master of the works for Tongerlo Abbey and the cities of Mechelen and Hulst.27 The close ties that many fifteenth and early sixteenth-century architects had with the stone trade and masons’ guilds are usually thought to reflect their low status as craftsmen and seen as an indication of their continuing involvement in manual labour. However, this view disregards the social stratification that existed within the profession. As has been argued in the foregoing two chapters, the stone trade permitted the most successful merchants to enter the ranks of the urban elite and even the lower nobility, while the guilds offered them an important tool to dominate the building trades and to secure their own interests. Changing Conditions of Employment During the Middle Ages, building patrons were commonly compelled to personally direct the organisation of a workforce and manage construction. In the case of ecclesiastical projects, the financial accounts were usually maintained by a magister fabrica or a churchwarden, whereas the courts tended to rely on a steward or a specialised surveyor called a controlleur. Besides keeping records, they were usually also responsible for the procurement of building materials and organisation of the workers. This was a responsibility shared by the master of the works, whose tasks encompassed the design and technical management of the project, but also regularly included many administrative duties such as hiring and firing workmen and purchasing building materials.28 Sometimes their work involved manual labour as well. Because of their central role in managing the building site, patrons were keen to commit a master to their project and often offered them a full-time and permanent, salaried post.29 24   In 1509 Anthonis I Keldermans became a gezworene (sworn member, i.e. a juror) of the masons’ guild in Mechelen, and in the same year his son Anthonis II was appointed the guild’s busmeester (treasurer). SAM, MGS, 14, f. 2v. Dominicus de Waghemakere six times served as gezworene of the Antwerp masons’ guild between 1492 and 1510. Van Cauwenberghs 1889, 53. He was also the guild’s busmeester. Génard 1870, 449–50. 25   Van Even 1895, 136. 26   Verreyt 1894; Peeters 1985, 40; De Jonge 2011, 205; Kik 2014, 80. 27  van Wylick-Westermann 1987, 22–23; Peeters & Martens 2005, 85. Laureys was inscribed in

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St Luke’s guild in Antwerp in 1499. In 1485, a Laureys Keldermans was enrolled in the Brussels Steenbickelerengilde, of which he was a gezworene in 1498 and 1503. It seems unlikely that both records concern the same Laureys, since 1485 seems rather early for the younger nephew of Rombout II Keldermans. Duverger 1933, 71, 74–75; Rombouts & Van Lerius, 1868–1874, vol. 1, 54, 59; Squilbeck 1953, 134–38. 28   See: Goldthwaite 1980, 351–53; Shelby 1964, 395– 97; Knoop & Jones 1967, 22, 31. 29   Warnke 1976, 133 and 138; Salzman 1952, 45.

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By delegating daily supervision of the masons to a foreman or undermaster, called a parlier in Germany and an appelleerder in the Low Countries, a master could carve out the freedom to lead the works at multiple construction sites.30 Starting with Gautier de Varinfroy, some masters enjoyed considerable autonomy, even if they usually still needed their patrons’ permission to also work elsewhere. Thus, the Ordinance of the Masons’ Lodges, or Hüttenordnung, of Regensburg, which created a pan-regional association of masons’ lodges in the German countries in 1459, stipulated that masters be present at the building site. Only with their patron’s permission were they allowed to accept other jobs. Nevertheless, combining multiple jobs seems to have become increasingly customary from the end of the fourteenth century.31 As design and construction became further separated through the commercialisation of building practice, it also served to relax once rigid bonds in the Low Countries. Whereas extensive and continuous building projects such as Our Lady in Antwerp and Utrecht Cathedral still offered some of the best masters a permanent position, in most cases the need for on-site supervision was limited and patrons preferred to engage an architect as a part-time consultant. These masters received a fixed yearly stipend plus a daily wage when and as their services were requested. Additional payments could be made for drawings, such as the large sum of 100 Philippusgulden (equal to 4.4 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer) paid to Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere for supplying two elevation drawings for the façades of Ghent town hall in 1518–1519.32 For less extensive projects, patrons could opt not to appoint a master of the works at all and instead ask a contractor to prepare all the documents for a tender. This happened in Damme, as we have seen, where Godevaert de Bosschere and the master carpenter Willem van Noebrouc provided designs and cost estimates for the town hall tender. Both were invited to participate in the bidding and were promised a small reimbursement for their designs if they did not win the contract.33 Tendering an entire construction project in effect implied the separation of design and construction, but this rarely offered a steady income for a designer. Preparing designs in this way was only lucrative when combined with contract work. In his traditional role, the master of the works was still largely occupied with the management of construction; where he sought to specialise as an architect, combining multiple posts as a design consultant offered the best opportunities. Daily Supervision The earliest surviving contracts show that patrons in the Low Countries tried to secure the full commitment of masters of the works in several ways. The contract that the Utrecht Cathedral chapter concluded with the Liège master Godijn van Dormael in 1356 stipulates that he had to be present at the construction site every day, and where possible had to “work with his hands”.34 Nevertheless, the chapter realised that Godijn would occasionally have to leave the building site to procure building materials.35 He was given leave to make purchases at his own discretion up to a certain sum and was even given the keys

  Briggs 1974, 85; Toker 1985a, 69; Bürger 2009. On the Low Countries, see: van den Berg 1947; Philipp 1989, 80. 31   Nußbaum 2000, 139–41. 32   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 1, 103; Meischke 1988d, 137. 33   Devliegher 1964, 159–66. 30

  Voert sel hi daghelix stadeliken, alse redenlic is, wesen bi den werken, ende selver met der hand werken. Muller Fz. 1905, 150–52; Meischke 1987c, 184. 35   Muller Fz. 1905, 150–52. 34

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to the treasury.36 After the contract was signed, Godijn was also granted two months to arrange his move to Utrecht. The chapter subsequently had the exclusive right to Godijn’s services; he was allowed to work for the bishop and the chapters’ provost, but only with the chapter’s consent.37 Other fourteenth-century contracts contain comparable terms of employment. In the contract appointing Herman “de Steenbikker” and his brother as masters of the church of St Nicholas (called Bovenkerk) in Kampen in 1351, it was specified they were free to travel, under the condition that one of them was always present to direct construction at the building site.38 In return, the city government granted the brothers citizenship and a house in Kampen, which was a common method to ensure the master remained close to the building site.39 Fifteenth-century contracts still tended to demand the continuous presence of the master of the works, even though contracting was becoming more widespread.40 When Jan van Ruysbroeck was appointed master of the works of the town hall of Brussels in 1449, he was required to swear an oath promising not to leave the city for more than one day and night without explicit permission from the receivers of Brussels.41 Aside from this oath, his contract also stressed the importance of his daily presence at the building site.42 Unlike Godijn van Dormael, Van Ruysbroeck does not appear to have been required to perform manual labour, instead holding a more advisory role; thus, he pledged that he would advise the city to the best of his ability (raiden dbesten ende dorberlexste voir de stad) as to the design of the building, the purchase of stone, the execution of the work and the manner of contracting the work.43 In its 1474 contract with Willem de Visschere, the chapter of St Peter’s in Anderlecht similarly required the master to visit the masons’ lodge on a regular basis (fig. 5.1). In this case, however, it was agreed that De Visschere should visit the building site only twice a week, probably because most of the construction was contracted out and the level of activity in the lodge was expected to be low.44 This did not mean that he enjoyed the   van den Berg 1947, 22.  …extunc infra duos menses vocationem huiusmodi immediate sequentes idem magister Godinus veniet ad eandem civitatem Traiectensem ad dictos dominos… And: Begheert oec onse here van Utrecht in des stichts oerbaer of die Doemproest in der Doemproestyen orbaer meyster Godijns, dien sel hi bereyt wesen bi des capittels oerlof, of waert luttic te doen bi des werkmeysters oerlof; ende anders gheens werks hem onderwinden zonder des capittels oerlof. Muller Fz. 1905, 150–52. 38   Helten 1994, 140, doc. 1. Likewise, in Zutphen, a 1392 contract with Aernt van Aken and Aelbert van Palenen stipulated that when work was underway at Our Lady, at least one of them had to remain at the building site. Helten 1994, 143, doc. 4. 39  Warnke 1976, 133–34. Another example in the Low Countries is found in a contract appointing Jan Spyskin as maistre ouvrier of St Waltrude’s in Mons in 1450, in which the chapter granted him a rented house. Devillers 1899–1913, vol. 3, 250. 40   Jan van Kessel’s contract as master of St Sulpicius’ in Diest as from 1469 stipulated that he inspect 36 37

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the stone and supervise the stonemasons. Because he was to live in Diest, the fabric offered him accomodation in the masons’ lodge until he found a dwelling. Halflants 1992–1996, vol. 2, 17, 81–82. 41   Ende sal, den tijt van deser officien gheduerende, altoes binnen der stad van Bruessel bliven ende daer buyten niet trecken, boven I nacht ende I dach, ten ware bij wetene ende consente vanden rentmeesteren van der stad… ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 24r. Published in: Des Marez 1923, 102; Maesschalk & Viaene 1960, 59–61. 42   Ende hij sal tvoirs. steenwerck dagelijx moeten begaen ende besorgen… 43   ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 24r. Published in: Des Marez 1923, 102; Maesschalk & Viaene 1960, 59–61. 44   En sal de vors. meester sculdich sijn opt werck te comene de weke tweewerven oft meer, op dats van noode ende ontboden waeren van sinen meesters. RAA, KAB, 19417. For the complete transcription, see: Hurx 2012, 436–37.

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Fig. 5.1 Anderlecht, St Peter, choir, c. 1470–1480.

freedom to accept other commissions however. Like Godijn van Dormael and Jan van Ruysbroeck, Willem de Visschere still needed his patron’s permission if he also wished to work somewhere else. As the job did not promise continuous employment, it was provided that he could supplement his income by chiselling stone in the masons’ lodge. Unlike the other stonemasons, who had to work a full day at the lodge to receive their daily wages, De Visschere enjoyed the privilege of being free to leave the workshop at any time to inspect the building, without losing his payments for stonecutting.45 Interestingly, the explicit mention of this condition suggests that things had changed since Godijn van Dormael’s day, and that by the fifteenth century manual labour was no longer among the regular duties of a master of the works.

  Item sal de vors. meester Jan [sic] mogen comen steene houdene daghelijcx inde logie ghelijc de anderen ende dair voren hebbene des daeghs iiij stuivers behoudelijck dat hy op ende af als dan

45

sal mogen ghaen om dat werck ende metselrye te visenterene. The contract was originally drawn up for Jan van Everghem and therefore his name still appears in several places in the document. RAA, KAB, 19417.

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Part-Time Consultants These varying degrees of involvement in the management of building operations persisted up through the sixteenth century. When Hendrik van Pede and Maarten van Ophem accepted the position of master mason to the city of Brussels in 1515 and 1517, respectively, they swore oaths not to accept work from employers other than the city.46 They were furthermore required to perform manual labour on a daily basis. Nonetheless, alongside the traditional arrangement under which the designer also had to work at the building site, new terms of employment developed in the fifteenth century. In the Low Countries, patrons were rarely in a position to tie the master of the works exclusively to their own project. The best masters were highly sought after and therefore could negotiate the terms of their employment. Some threatened to leave a job if they were not paid sufficiently, such as Joos Metsys, master of the works in Leuven, who demanded – and got – a weekly salary of 16 plakken.47 Engaging a master part time meant patrons sometimes had to patiently await their turn. Thus, when the churchwardens of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-ten-Poel in Tienen requested the presence of Jacob van Tienen, he downright refused to because he was too busy in Brussels and Antwerp. As the churchwardens were in no position to force him, they could do little else than wait until Van Tienen found the time to visit their site.48 The churchwardens of the Buurkerk in Utrecht experienced similar difficulties; in 1438–1439 they complained that their master of the works, Willem van Boelre, who was also directing the works at St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch, had too little time to attend their building site. Because his absence was delaying the work and the wardens wished to economise on his substantial travel costs, they asked Van Boelre to delegate his son to direct the works in Utrecht permanently instead.49 The lack of well-trained masters was felt particularly in the cities of Holland, which did not have a strong tradition of large stoneworkers’ shops. Churchwardens were usually compelled to attract master masons from outside the county, mostly from Brabant or Utrecht. The building pace of Holland’s large city churches was often erratic and did not offer continuous employment, and as a consequence masters tended to be hired as consultants and called in only when their advice was needed. The earliest documented example of a part-time master of the works is Rutger van Kampen, in Leiden.50 His contract with the churchwardens of St Peter’s, dating from 1391, reveals that he continued to reside in Kampen, as his presence was required only for short periods of time. The surviving building accounts confirm that Rutger spent very few days at the building site in Leiden: in 1399 he was paid for only 11 days and in 1401 for 21.51

 …en dat ic met gheene heeren […] andere steden dorpe of vryheden verbonden en ben noch my verbinde en sal buten noch binnen lande dan alleen metten stad van Bruessel. ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 44r.-v. For the complete transcription, see: Hurx 2012, 437–38. 47   Crab 1977, appendix 3, 332–33. 48   Roggen & Withof 1944, 95 and 199. 49   Philipp 1989, 80. 50   Jtem soe sel hi hebben alle daghe, als men werct, tusschen sinte Pieters dach Jnden lenten Ende sinte Maertijns misse Jnden winter, als hi te Leyden bi den werke Js, tsdaghes vijf Vlaemsen placken ende een halve placke. Ende tusschen sinte Maertijns misse 46

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Jnden winter tot sinte Pieters misse Jnden lenten toe tsdaghes, als hi bi den werke Js, drie Vlaemsche placken Jof hairre wairde. Voirt of meester Rutgeer tot huys wair Ende men onbode, so soude hi hebben tsdaghes voir sinen cost drie Vlaemsche placken, Ende als hi te Campen wairt weder trecket, dat sal wesen up ziins selfs cost. Helten 1994, 142, doc. 3. See also: Helten 2009; Meischke 1988b, 26. Though Rutger was granted a tower in the city walls in Kampen that his predecessor had used as dwelling, he was left free to take other commissions, probably because it was expected that the town would not have enough work to offer him. Helten 1994, 140, doc. 1. 51   Meischke 1988b, 34; van den Berg 1992, 15–16.

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Rutger can be considered a forerunner of such fifteenth and early sixteenth-century masters as Evert Spoorwater and Anthonis I, Anthonis II and Rombout II Keldermans. In Anthonis I Keldermans’ contracts as architect in Bergen op Zoom (1476), Veere (1479) and Haarlem (1505), his permanent presence was no longer expected. In Bergen op Zoom it was agreed that he would only come to the site when specifically called for.52 In Haarlem, the contract specified that Anthonis would visit the site once a year for the duration of work on the crossing tower, though it also provided that the churchwardens could ask Anthonis to visit the works more frequently if needed. For his services he would receive an annual stipend plus a daily wage to cover the costs of his travel to and stay in Haarlem.53 The most comprehensive provisions regarding site visits are found in the contract appointing Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere as chief masters of the works (upperweerclieden) of Ghent town hall in 1518. Their presence was required only three times a year: at the start of the building season in March, midway through the season, and finally around St Bavis’ Day (1 October) to give the stonecutters their instructions for the winter.54 The city was entitled to summon the architects at other times, but in that case had to announce the need for a visit at least three to four weeks in advance. Like Anthonis I Keldermans in Haarlem, both masters received an annual stipend and a daily wage to cover the costs of their travel to and stay in Ghent.55 Similar conditions were laid down in their contract for the Maison du Roi in Brussels in 1517, which required that Rombout and Dominicus were to visit the site only when requested by the Chamber of Accounts of Brabant.56 Evert Spoorwater and Rombout Keldermans In the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries a handful of masters found themselves in a position to concentrate fully on their work as designers and to direct numerous building projects concurrently. Evert Spoorwater is the first architect for whom this is relatively well documented, and it is for this reason that he is justly considered a key figure in the development of the architectural profession in the Low Countries.57 He was the first to exploit the potential of the Brabantine stone trade, which allowed him to combine his busy office as master of the works of Our Lady in Antwerp with a considerable number of projects in Holland and elsewhere. Spoorwater started out as a stonemason and stone merchant, but soon turned his talents to architectural design. In 1431–1432 he worked as a stonecutter at Coudenberg Palace  …ende wanneer ic van der voirs. stadwegen ontboden ende bescreven worde, terstont te comene… Juten 1936, 157–58. Also noted in: Philipp 1989, 109, note 272. 53   NHA, SA, I-1187a. It was agreed that he would be paid for four days of travel. Published in: Weissman 1915, 72–73. As in Haarlem, Anthonis I Keldermans was paid an annual stipend and a daily wage for travel to and stays in Veere. …ende die dachgelden sullen ingaen als hy ontboden wesende om hier te comme van huys trect om herwert te comen… Published in: Ermerins 1780–1797, vol. 2, 241–42. See also: Vermeulen 1936, 48. Similar arrangements are found elsewhere in Europe, for example in a contract appointing Jacques de Fauran as master of the works of Girona Cathedral, which specified that he had to 52

visit the building site every two months. Freigang 1989b. Nevertheless, such stipulations seem to have been fairly exceptional in the late Middle Ages. 54  …ende hemlieden driewarven sjaers commen ende vinden binnen deser stede van Ghendt, te wetene telcken beghinenne van den saijsoene van weerckenne, dwelc es onttrent den maent van maerte; ooc eens onttrent den halven saijsoene van den weercke vanden zelven jare, ende boven dien noch eens telcken upslutene van den weercke, te wetene onttrent Bamesse… Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 389. 55   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 390. 56  ARA, ARK, 27484, part 3, 8r.-v. Published in: Pinchart 1860–1881, vol. 2, 56; Schayes 1857. 57  Ozinga & Meischke 1953, 66–70; de Kind 1987; Meischke 1988c; 78–84; de Kind 1998; Hurx 2007a.

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Fig. 5.2 Map showing the places where Evert Spoorwater and Rombout II Keldermans were active as master of the works.

in Brussels, where in 1436 he also supplied stone together with Jan van Ruysbroeck.58 In 1439 he made a career switch, accepting the prestigious office of master of the works of Our Lady of Antwerp, which he would hold until his death in 1474 (fig. 4.9). Spoorwater rapidly established himself as an acknowledged authority on architecture, and by 1439 had already obtained his first major commission outside Antwerp, as master at the church of Our Lady in Dordrecht in 1439 (fig. 5.3). Within a few years he also found employment much farther north (fig. 5.2), becoming master of the works at the churches of St Gertrude in Bergen op Zoom (1443–1474) (fig. 5.4), St Bavo in Haarlem (1445–1474) and St Willibrord in Hulst (1450–1474) (fig. 5.5). Spoorwater is also documented as a consultant. In 1448 he received a payment from the church of the Holy Cross in Vrasene near Antwerp, and in 1464 he was consulted on the expansion of the nave at St Peter’s in Leiden with additional side aisles.59 He was also asked to advise on plans for Charles the Bold’s castle in Gorinchem (the Blauwe Toren) in 1462.60   ARA, ARK, 27395, f. 3v. and f. 36r.-v.   Asaert 1972; Dröge & Veerman 2011, 34.

58 59

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Fig. 5.4 Bergen op Zoom, Evert Spoorwater, St Gertrude, choir, begun 1443. The clerestory was destroyed by bombardments during the siege of the town in 1747.

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Fig. 5.5 Hulst, Evert Spoorwater, St Willibrord, choir, begun 1462.

Apart from these documented buildings, it seems that the designs of the naves of St Catherine’s in Brielle (fig. 4.10) and Our Lady in Tholen (fig. 5.6) can also be attributed to Spoorwater, since both closely resemble his documented oeuvre. Spoorwater was engaged not only for ecclesiastical projects, but also as master of the works to the cities of Antwerp, Middelburg (1452) and Veere (1474) (fig. 2.37 and 2.38). His projects in the service of Antwerp’s city council remain unidentified, but in Middelburg and Veere he is thought to have prepared the plans for new town halls.61 Spoorwater was also engaged to consult on infrastructural works. In 1469, for example, he surveyed a stone bridge across the Leie river in Kortrijk built by Godevaert de Bosschere. Spoorwater’s activities spanned a variety of duties and responsibilities. In the initial phase of a new project he would have visited the building site to discuss the patron’s general wishes, take the necessary measurements and make preliminary sketches.62 After returning home he probably started more elaborate drawings. When the site was being prepared for construction, he would have directed the setting out of the building plan himself, as this was 61  de Kind 1987; Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 340; Ozinga & Meischke 1953, 68. No contract or building accounts from Antwerp survive, however Spoorwater was referred to as “master of the works of the city of Antwerp” (stadswerkman van Antwerpen) in both Bergen op Zoom (1443) and Leiden (1464). Meischke thought that Spoorwater

could have designed the cloth hall (Vlaamse Hal, begun 1383) in Dordrecht after the city fire of 1457. Meischke 1988c, 79. However, Stades-Vischer found no evidence that the building was seriously damaged, which would make an attribution to Spoorwater unlikely. Stades-Vischer 1985. 62   Meischke 1988c, 82.

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an important task requiring great precision (discussed below). Subsequently, work on the foundations would commence according to his instructions. Back at home, he worked out the design in further detail, also preparing wooden stonecutters’ templates. These templates were then sent to stonecutters at the quarries, with a duplicate delivered to the patron at the building site.63 Daily supervision of the small site crew was left to a foreman, such that Spoorwater’s on-site involvement mainly concerned the inspection of materials supplied by stone merchants and the quality of contracted work. Spoorwater’s presence was further expected whenever his patron wanted to discuss the progress of the work Fig. 5.6 Tholen, Evert Spoorwater (attributed), Our Lady, or needed technical advice. In his absence, nave, begun c. 1450. Spoorwater kept in touch with the building site through regular written correspondence.64 That the master’s visits were limited to a few each year is evident from table 4.1, which lists all projects Spoorwater is documented to have supervised as master of the works.65 The years in which he received an annual stipend or payment for architectural services are shown in light grey; where known, the number of working days are also stated.66 Many accounts are fragmentary or have been lost; therefore years in which Spoorwater is thought to have been involved in a project but written evidence is lacking are shown in dark grey.67 In Dordrecht, for instance, the contract appointing Spoorwater as master of the works in 1439 is still preserved, but because all of the building accounts are lost, his precise activities there are not documented. Yet, we know construction progressed apace in this period, and after the fire of 1457 rebuilding progressed with particular speed.68 As this church fits well in Spoorwater’s oeuvre, there is no reason to suppose he did not supervise the work up until his death in 1474. With the exception of the church of Our Lady in Antwerp, the accounts of most building projects led by Spoorwater have been lost or preserved only in part. As such, they do not afford a clear picture of how many days Spoorwater spent on individuals projects. However, the records of Our Lady in Antwerp reveal an important change late in his career. Up until the 1450s Spoorwater spent most of year working for Our Lady, being paid for 234.5 days on average in 1450, 1454–1456 and 1459. His maximum number of working days in any given year was in the range of 250–70 days, thus leaving him less than a month

  Meischke 1988c, 82; Janssen 1985, 42 and 72.   van Essen & Hurx 2009, 20. 65  Buildings that are attributed to Spoorwater have not been included in the table. 66  His working days could also include travel days, as the accounts usually do not specify how many days of travel are included; for instance, in 1445–1446 Spoorwater was paid six for days for the time he spent at the building site and for travel to Haarlem. NHA, KR 1445–1448, inv. no. 192, f. 18v. 67   Payments do not always specify the number of days or Spoorwater’s daily wage. Also, many sources have 63 64

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been lost. For example, the Hulst accounts for 1463– 1468 are missing, but it is likely that Spoorwater directed the works in these years because work continued on the choir. In Haarlem, many accounts are missing, but even for the surviving years, information on the number of days Spoorwater worked is patchy because only the draft accounts remain. The fifteenth-century building accounts of St Gertrude’s in Bergen op Zoom are lost altogether, however some information on Spoorwater’s activities in connection with the church can be traced in the town accounts. 68   Jensma & Molendijk 1987, 27.

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Table 5.1  Documented projects of Spoorwater. The years in which he received an annual stipend or payment for his services as architect are marked with light grey and when data are available the number of workdays are indicated. The years that Spoorwater was likely to be involved with a project, but archival evidence is lacking, are coloured dark grey. Projects (1439-1456)

’39 ’40 ’41 ’42 ’43 ’44 ’45 ’46 ’47 ’48 ’49 ’50

’51

’52

’53

230

ANT, Our Lady

’54

’55 ’56

212 239 243

BER, St Gertrude DOR, Our Lady GOR, Blauwe Toren HAA, St Bavo

6

3

6

3

9

HUL, St Willibrord KOR, Bridge LEI, St Peter MID, Town

hall

VEE, Town

hall

VRA, Church Cross Number

of

Holy

of workdays

Projects (1457-1474) ANT, Our Lady

’57 ’58 ’59 ’60 ’61 ’62 ’63 ’64 ’65 ’66 ’67 249

197

230

’68

’69

’70

9

212 239 243

’71

’72

’73 ’74

149 125 207 75.5 168 120 83

BER, St Gertrude

6

DOR, Our Lady GOR, Blauwe Toren

5

HAA, St Bavo

9

HUL, St Willibrord

15

9

6

16

8

KOR, Bridge LEI, St Peter MID, Town

hall

VEE, Town

hall

VRA, Church Cross Number

of

Holy

of workdays

ANT = Antwerp BER = Bergen op Zoom DOR = Dordrecht

249

9

28

GOR = Gorinchem HAA = Haarlem HUL = Hulst

9

197 KOR = Kortrijk LEI = Leiden MID = Middelburg

149 125 207 75.5 174 126 99 VEE = Veere VRA = Vrasene

to visit other projects.69 His nearly continuous presence in Antwerp is remarkable, because we know that he combined this job with several other commissions. In 1450 he is documented as the master of St Willibrord’s in Hulst, in 1452 he was consulted in Middelburg, and he also supervised the works in Haarlem, and probably also in Bergen op Zoom and  Scholliers 1960, 84–87. Vroom takes 250 days as an average. Vroom 1983, 10. The accounts of Our Lady in Antwerp show Dominicus de Waghemakere 69

was regularly paid for more than 250 days a year; the maximum number of days was 271.5, in 1528. KAA OLV, KR 1528, f. 24r.

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Dordrecht in these same years. Apparently, these projects did not demand too much of his time, but this was to change a decade later. From the end of the 1460s, there is a major shift in Spoorwater’s activities; specifically, in the period 1468–1474 he spent only half of the year working at Our Lady in Antwerp.70 The reason for his absence was not that the works in Antwerp slowed down, since the building expenses there remained consistent.71 Neither did health problems prevent Spoorwater from working, as he is documented as having travelled to the building sites in Haarlem, Bergen op Zoom, Kortrijk and Veere during this period.72 Therefore, the striking reduction in his working days in Antwerp can only be explained by an increased intensity of his activities elsewhere. At the end of his career, Spoorwater was appointed as master of the works at Veere (1474) and probably also Tholen (c. 1450) and Brielle (c. 1462).73 In addition, the building pace at his other projects accelerated considerably in the 1460s. Work on the nave and tower of St Gertrude’s in Bergen op Zoom continued at a steady pace, but in Dordrecht the rebuilding of Our Lady generated more work.74 Furthermore, in 1462 an extensive new building campaign was launched in Hulst to complete the new choir of St Willibrord’s (fig. 5.7), while the 1470s saw the construction of the nave of St Bavo’s in Haarlem (fig. 5.8).75 Rombout Keldermans If the available data for Spoorwater is fragmentary, sources for Rombout II Keldermans paint a more detailed picture.76 In contrast to Spoorwater, who did not specialise as a designer until the end of his career, Rombout developed as a fully-fledged architect early on. Working for cities, the clergy and the nobility, he guided more than forty of the most important building projects of his time in the Low Countries. The commissions he received in his fifteen-year career as architect encompassed a wide variety of buildings, from churches, abbeys, town halls, palaces and castles to fortifications and infrastructural works. Rombout started out working in the Keldermans family stone business. Between 1512 and 1515 he and his elder brother Anthonis II Keldermans are documented as supplying the portal of the north transept of Our Lady in Antwerp, and in these years he also procured large quantities of stone for the town hall of Middelburg.77 At the same time,   Meischke calculated that Spoorwater never left the Antwerp building site for more than sixty days within a given year. Meischke 1988c, 82. However, the table shows that in 1468, 1469 and 1471–1473 he was paid for only 127 days on average, which means he had approximately 137 days left to work for other patrons. 71   Vroom 1983, 149. 72  Bad health would not always prevent a master from working. Dominicus de Waghemakere is a documented example: in the last ten years before his death in 1540 he worked 249 days on average as the master of Our Lady in Antwerp, even though sources record that he had bad eyesight as from 1525, and by 1535 was deemed “very old and sick” (zeer oudt ende cranc). Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 402. Because of his poor health, his daily wage in Antwerp was halved in 1526. KAA OLV, KR 1526, f. 26r. Travelling to other building sites became problematic and in 1525 he was dismissed as master of the works of the Maison du Roi in Brussels as “because he had become blind, he had not worked” (…overmidts dien dat hy blindt gewordden was hy nyet 70

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gedient en heefte…) ARA, ARK, 27486, f. 49v. In Ghent it was decided to replace him in 1535. Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 402. Dominicus died in 1540, but his will had already been drawn up in 1534. KAA OLV, KR 1534, f. 16r. 73  In Tholen work on the new nave began in the mid-fifteenth century, and in Brielle in 1462. Ozinga & Meischke 1953, 69; Janse 1965. 74   Juten 1924a; Stades-Vischer 1989, 20. 75  In 1463 and 1469 the expenses of the fabric of St Willibrord’s in Hulst were considerably higher than in the 1450s: expenditures amounted to an equivalent of approximately 25 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer in 1463 and to 48 years’ wages in 1469, whereas the average over the period 1455–1457 was only ten years’ wages. See: Pottelberghe s.d., 53. 76   Neeffs 1876, vol. 2, 44–56; Coene 1897; De Roo 1952; Squilbeck 1953, 114–33; van Mosselveld et al. 1987. 77  KAA OLV, KR 1512, f. 22r.; KR 1513, f. 26r.; KR 1514, f. 29r. and KR 1515, f. 26r. On Middelburg, see: Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 436 and 438, note 1.

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Fig. 5.7 Hulst, Evert Spoorwater, St Willibrord, choir, begun 1462. Dominicus de Waghemakere added the radial chapels from c. 1515 to Spoorwater’s choir.

Fig. 5.8 Haarlem, Evert Spoorwater, St Bavo, nave, 1456–c. 1480.

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Rombout received training in the architectural trade as chief assistant at several projects to his father, Anthonis I, and older brother, Anthonis II. In 1506–1507 he accompanied his father on a trip to Haarlem to deliver the design for the crossing tower of St Bavo’s.78 Several years later, in 1512–1513, he assisted his father in the preparation of stonecutters’ templates for the town hall of Middelburg and in taking measurements for the masonry work. In Bergen op Zoom (1511–1512) and Veere (from 1512) he was delegated to visit the works on his own.79 The earliest documented construction project that Rombout conducted independently is the tower of the church of Goedereede in Zeeland, although his father probably kept an eye on things from the sidelines. Rombout supervised work at the building site in 1504 and 1505, for which he received 188 days’ pay in 1505.80 From 1515 Rombout began to focus increasingly on his design activities, and only occasionally still acted as a stone merchant.81 After his father and older brother died in 1512 and 1515, respectively, he succeeded them as master of the works at several important projects. He became master of the works at Our Lady in Veere in 1512 (fig. 2.22), continued to lead work on Middelburg’s town hall and the Oude Kerk in Delft (1514) (fig. 5.9), and was appointed master of the works to the cities of Mechelen in 1516–1517 and Bergen op Zoom in 1517–1518.82 In a petition to the Chamber of Accounts of Brussels in 1516, Rombout was already presenting himself as master mason to “Mechelen, Antwerp and various other places”.83 With his early appointment in Antwerp, Rombout shifted focus from Mechelen to the city that was quickly becoming northern Europe’s main commercial metropolis. This proved to be a fortunate move, because the rapidly expanding city provided ample opportunities for a designer. He soon established a successful and enduring working relationship with Dominicus de Waghemakere, master of the works at Our Lady. They worked together on the Maison du Roi in Brussels (from 1517–1518) (fig. 2.44), Ghent town hall (from 1518) (fig. 1.6) and the imperial prison of Het Steen (1520) (fig. 5.10) and St James’ (1525) (fig. 2.64) in Antwerp. In 1521 Rombout became co-master of Our Lady in Antwerp alongside Dominicus. Besides the building campaigns they led together, Rombout also continued to conduct his own projects. A highlight of his career must have been his appointment as general master workman to Emperor Charles V in around 1522.84 In this prestigious position he was responsible for all of the emperor’s castles, manors and fortresses in the Low Countries. Furthermore, as it was not a full-time commitment, Rombout still had time to work for other patrons, and his work at court made him the preferred architect of many high courtiers, including Anthonis de Lalaing, William of Croy, Henry III of Nassau and Floris of Egmond. The overview of Rombout’s activities in table 5.2 clearly demonstrates that he specialised as an architectural designer. As such, his practice was far removed from the traditional situation in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, when masters were usually tied

  NHA, KR 1506–1507, inv. no. 336, f. 24r.  RHCB, ARR, 652.1, f. 55v.; Vermeulen 1936, 49; van Wylick-Westermann 1987, 20. 80   Enderman et al. 2010, 21. 81  Meischke called him the first ‘drawing board’ architect in the Low Countries, because he was wholly specialised in design. Meischke 1997, 46. After 1515 he supplied capitals and other elements for the town hall of Middelburg (1514–1519). Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 439, note 7. In Antwerp he occasionally supplied a small quantity of stone for Our Lady (1524). KAA OLV, KR 1524, f. 22r. 78

79

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However, when Rombout was paid for stone it does not necessarily mean he was also the supplier, because sometimes he received compensation for stone he had purchased in advance for the church when buying building materials. 82   van Wylick-Westermann 1987. 83   Ic Rombout Keldermans meester werckman van Mechelen, Antwerpen ende ander diverssche plaetsen ben ontboeden gheweest te Bruesele… ARA, KWI, 5512, 93. 84   Roosens 2005, 174–75 and 221.

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Fig. 5.9 Delft, Anthonis I Keldermans, Anthonis II Keldermans and Rombout II Keldermans, Oude Kerk, north transept arm, 1510–1548.

to one project. Rombout did not work for a single patron full time. From 1515, the year in which he succeeded his brother Anthonis II to become a full-fledged, autonomous master, until his death in 1531, Rombout is documented to have directed an average of eight prestigious projects a year, with a maximum of thirteen. However, the actual figure was certainly higher, since gaps in the sources impede a complete reconstruction of his activities. On average, he can be traced for only 132 days a year, roughly half the customary number of annual working days. This is due partly to the loss of the accounts for several longterm projects at which Rombout is known to have worked, including the early sixteenthcentury accounts of the city of Antwerp and most of the building accounts of the churches of St James in Antwerp, Our Lady in Veere and St James in Steenbergen. If these projects are included in the calculations, Rombout’s annual average was easily as many as thirteen projects, with a maximum of nineteen. A full reconstruction of Rombout’s activities is further hampered by the fact that the documentary record for many other building projects is also very fragmentary. In the case of private patrons, almost nothing remains. Nonetheless, a great number of early sixteenthcentury buildings have been attributed to Rombout on the basis of stylistic characteristics. Although such attributions cannot be proven, several are substantiated by the fact that they were commissioned by patrons who also employed Rombout for other projects,

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Table 5.2  Documented projects of Rombout II Keldermans. The years in which he received an annual ­stipend or payment for his services as architect are marked with light grey and when data are available the number of workdays are indicated. The years that Rombout was likely to be involved with a project, but archival evidence is lacking, are coloured dark grey. ’12

’13

’14

’15

’16

’17

’18

’19

’20

’21

’22

’23

’24

106.5 180 168 135 4

16

7

28

14

’25

’26

’27

’28

’29

’30

’31

99 124.5 95.5 86

60

60

82

3 21

38.5

-

19 3

26 75

59

6

9

15

33

23

10

37 36

3

4

4

5.5

3.5

4

4

3.5

51

31

16

17

10

10

14

6.5

8

49

71

9 59

31 1

-

19

10

44

15 23 59 5

8

13

9

3

-

226

21

19

13

51

45 80.5 135.5 115.5 56

196 237 168 172 272 135.5 170 173

97

60

82

3

3

4

5

9

13

16

14

14

11

12

12

13

12

11

12

15

19

18

14

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among them Lalaing’s palace in Brussels (from 1517), Arenberg Castle in Heverlee (c. 1519) (fig. 5.11) and the transept and choir of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-de-Dijle in Mechelen (fig. 5.12). In several other cases Rombout’s involvement seems probable, such as at two houses in Mechelen known as ‘de Lepelaar’ (demolished) and ‘het Pavilioen’, Hof van Busleyden in Mechelen (fig. 2.51), St Lambert’s in Wouw (near Bergen op Zoom) and the nave of St Catherine’s in Utrecht (begun 1529) (fig. 5.13).85 Rombout was not the principal designer of all the buildings listed in table 5.2. In several instances his appointment came when construction was already underway, probably allowing him little opportunity to place his stamp on the design. This applies to the town hall of Middelburg, the Oude Kerk in Delft, Turnhout Castle and the stone enclosure of the forecourt of Coudenberg Palace, the Bailles (fig. 1.5), at all of which he probably had to follow the designs previously supplied by his father and brother.86 At other projects, such as the town hall of Ghent, palace of the Great Council in Mechelen (fig. 2.29), chapel of Coudenberg Palace (fig. 2.48), Tongerlo Abbey, the church and town hall in Hoogstraten (fig. 2.23 and 2.41) and Vredenburg Castle in Utrecht (fig. 5.14), Rombout was in charge of the architectural design from the very beginning. On other occasions, however, the design was the product of a team of designers. Aside from the influence of his ­partnerships with Dominicus de Waghemakere and later Laureys Keldermans, patrons, too, sometimes had a significant impact on Rombout’s Fig. 5.10 Antwerp, Rombout II Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere, entrance designs. They could specify examples to be followed or, as in of the ­imperial prison Het Steen, c. 1518– the case of Floris of Egmond and Henry III of Nassau, provide 1522. The building was largely recontheir own sketches for the project, as will be discussed below. structed in the nineteenth century. Patrons could also decide to consult multiple masters or form a committee of designers. This happened in Brussels, for example, where in 1515 a team consisting of Lodewijk van Boghem, the city’s mason Hendrik van Pede, Rombout II Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere was asked to draw up a new plan for the Maison du Roi based on the designs of the deceased Anthonis II Keldermans.87 Last but not least, Rombout was sometimes invited as a consultant to advise on specific, mostly technical, problems. In Oudenaarde, he received a payment in 1529–1530 for the design of a staircase for the new town hall, the rest of which was built to the designs of Hendrik van Pede.88

  Coene 1897, 241, 247; Squilbeck 1953, 114, 121; Martiny 1962, 28; van den Berg 1987, 76; Letor & Loir & Rosillon 2002. 86   On Turnhout Castle, see: De Kok 1982. 87   ARA, KWI, 5537. 88  Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 3, 315 and 428. Other projects where Rombout was 85

consulted are the Diestse gate in Leuven, where he advised on the laying of foundations, Van Even 1895, 137, and the castle of Montfort, which was inspected by Rombout in 1529 before ownership of the castle was transferred to the duke of Guelders by Charles V. ADN, B 2351, f. 382r.-v. Janssen & Hoekstra & Olde Meierink 2000, 137.

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Fig. 5.11 Heverlee, Arenberg Castle, built for William of Croy, from 1518–1519.

Fig. 5.12 Mechelen, Anthonis I, Anthonis II and Rombout II Keldermans, Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-overde-Dijle, choir, first half of the sixteenth century.

228

Fig. 5.13 Utrecht, St Catherine, 1518–1550, upper part of the west façade. The façade was demolished for the expansion of the nave, but rebuilt using the old building materials in 1898–1900.

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The fragmented character of Rombout’s schedule indicates that he had little time to guide the works at each individual building site. Rombout’s most labour-intensive project was Our Lady in Antwerp, where he and Dominicus led construction of the vast new choir that was to comprise four times the floor area of the late fourteenth-century choir. In the initial years this enormous project took up around two thirds of his time; in 1522, for example, he was paid for 180 days’ work. In the subsequent years this figure decreased considerably, to an average of around one hundred days, or less than forty per cent of the customary number of annual working days. At other prestigious building works such as Ghent town hall and the Maison du Roi in Brussels, his presence at the site Fig. 5.14 Coenraad Decker, reconstruction of Vredenburg Castle was even more limited, with the length and around 1540, 1656, in: Pieter Corneliszoon Hooft, Nederlandsche frequency of his visits dependent on the Historien, third edition 1677. stage of construction and building pace. At both Brussels and Ghent, the first years of construction were the busiest for Rombout. Conferring with patrons on the design, ­surveying the site, directing the laying of foundations and advising on public tenders was time-consuming and often required him to be physically present. Rombout furthermore had to prepare drawings, stonecutters’ templates and building specifications for tenders. The records from Brussels show that such work could largely be done at his studio in Antwerp. In the first year of work at the Maison du Roi in 1517, for instance, Rombout was paid for 75 days, 24 of which he spent working on designs and stonecutters’ templates in Antwerp.89 After this starting phase his visits became shorter and less frequent, spanning 59, 33, 23 and 10 days in the years that followed. In Ghent a similar sharp decline can be traced, from 51 and 31 days in the first two years, to 16 and 17 days in the subsequent two years. These figures suggest that Rombout must have been very efficient, particularly since his payments usually included the days he spent travelling. At other projects, his involvement after the initial phase sometimes shrank to a bare minimum, as at the Oude Kerk in Delft, where Rombout was paid for four days a year on average to inspect the work. Undermasters and Methods of Communication Whenever the master of the works was away, on-site supervision was normally delegated to a foreman or undermaster. These posts were not specific to the Low Countries and existed in many masons’ lodges throughout Europe. The undermaster represented the master of the works in the latter’s absence, directed the workmen and assisted in the making of stonecutters’ templates. An illustrative example of the undermaster’s 89   Ende noch van xxiiij dage by hen gevaceert ind stadt van Antwerpen int maken vande houten

berderen vande wercke voirscr. ARA, ARK, 27484, part 3, f. 7v.

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duties and responsibilities is provided by a contract between Pouwels Janszoon and the churchwardens of the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft from 1512. As undermaster, Pouwels was to take care that the work was carried out according to the plans of Anthonis I Keldermans, to prepare templates, supervise the workmen and ensure that blocks of stone were assembled in the right order.90 Undermasters also had to be familiar with the architect’s plans, as is stated in a 1527 contract appointing Hubrecht Frederikszn at St Gertrude’s in Bergen op Zoom, which specified that he was to teach the stonemasons how the work was to be carried out, following the instructions he would receive from Rombout II Keldermans.91 Undermasters usually also had to perform manual labour, as is apparent from the contract with Jan Arijsz for the church of St Lawrence in Alkmaar. It specifies that in addition to an annual stipend, the undermaster would receive a daily wage for the days he worked as a stonecutter or waller. For stonecutting, a distinction was made between the summer and winter rate, as was standard practice for all labourers.92 A similar distinction existed at the lodge of Our Lady in Antwerp, also reflecting the hierarchical relationship between the master of the works and his undermasters. The foreman of the masons’ lodge, the master carpenter and the master waller all received an annual stipend, but their daily wages varied according to the season, while that paid to the master of the works remained constant. His tasks, after all, did not depend on seasonal conditions, whereas the three undermasters were each the foreman of their own craft and worked alongside their crews on the scaffolds. It is interesting to note that in the Low Countries the position of undermaster can be documented earlier at building projects that were managed remotely than at the great masons’ lodges. In Utrecht a regular undermaster is not recorded in the cathedral building accounts until as late as the 1460s, and at Our Lady in Antwerp not until the 1480s.93 Yet the earliest records of an appelleerder are almost one hundred years older: in the accounts of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-ten-Poel in Tienen, Jacob van Gobbertingen (later called Van Tienen) is referred to as the opusgerius from 1374–1375 onwards. He was the deputy of the magister operis Jehan d’Oisy, who was residing in Mechelen to lead the works at St Rumbold’s.94 In Antwerp and Utrecht, the undermaster worked alongside the master of the works in the masons’ lodge all year round, as was also customary elsewhere in Europe. However, because many other building projects in the Low Countries were only occasionally visited by the master, undermasters had to be able to conduct the works fairly autonomously. Their increased responsibility meant they often also were a confidant of the master of the

  …aangenomen voir hoeren werckman pouwels Jansz. stienhouder tot een apelleere omdat stienhouden ende metselen te bewaren ende Regeren dattet werck gemaect wort na dat patroen dat meester Anthonis Kelderman geordineert ende gemaeckt heeft, oft byden heren van der stat mit die kerckmeesteren gheordineert sal worden. Ende voort sal pouwels voirs. suldich wesen alle die borden te maken elck int syne als dat eyschen sal ende die ghesellen te wissen ende te stieren dat sy dat werck maken alst behoren sal ende die steene te breken totter kercken profyt. Ende alle die sorge te dragen in stienhouden ende int metselen dat die gesellen wercken ende op hair werck syn of syn eygen werck wair int stienhouden ende oeck int metsen, ende alsment werck setten sal dat hij dan ook 90

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die sorge dragen sal dat alle dat werck op syn stede komt dairt beoort. van der Kloot Meijburg 1941, 63–64. 91  …omme de steenhouderen ende metsers, die de kerken metsen ende wercken sullen, te regeren ende haer steen te soucken ende een iegelick van denselven wercluden te onderwysen van alles des den werch aengaen zal, ende dat in sulcke manieren als meester Rombout Kelderman, huerlieden gesworen meester, hem ordonneren zal. Philipp 1989, 81. 92   RHCA, SE, inv. 16, 1157. 93   van den Berg 1947, 19. In the Antwerp accounts, the first payment of an annual stipend to an undermaster is recorded in 1481. KAA OLV, KR 1481, f. 27r. 94   Rogge & Withof 1944, 92.

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works. Evert Spoorwater had several relatives who led his projects as undermaster: his nephew Heinric Spoorwater supervised the work at St Bavo’s in Haarlem and a certain “Jan Sporrewater” is recorded in the town accounts of Bergen op Zoom.95 Rombout Keldermans had a close collaborator at several projects, named Hubrecht Frederikszn, who in the 1520s was undermaster at Bergen op Zoom and at Schoonhoven Castle instructed the carpenters during the foundation pile driving work in 1524.96 Rombout also worked with several regular assistants, including his nephew Laureys, who did not serve as undermaster but was often sent to inspect a site when his uncle had no time. Thus, in 1530 he is recorded to have visited the chapel of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels as Rombout’s deputy: à Laurent Keldermans, pour avoir esté au nom de son oncle maître Rombault Mansdaele d’Anvers à Bruxelles pour visiter la gallerie…97 When a master of the works was too busy to travel to a building site, the undermasters usually came to him instead. For instance, the apeleirdere vanden nieuwen weercke of the town hall in Ghent, Pieter vanden Berghe, was in close contact with Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere and regularly travelled to Antwerp to meet with them.98 Written Correspondence Large distances and tight schedules prevented architects from making frequent visits to building sites and meeting with their patrons in person. Written correspondence therefore became increasingly important. Only a few letters written by Evert Spoorwater and Rombout Keldermans survive, but it is likely that letter-writing was a daily practice. A variety of subjects are addressed in these letters, including design issues, construction updates and instructions for the delivery and storage of stone. An informal missive written by Spoorwater to the churchwardens of St Bavo’s illustrates how he coordinated the supply of stone from Antwerp to Haarlem (fig. 5.15).99 The letter was given to a bargeman who shipped the rough-cut stone and arcade arches from Steven Elen’s workshop to Haarlem. As it was February, Spoorwater instructs the wardens to cover the blocks of stone immediately upon arrival to protect them from frost, and if possible to store the arcade arches in the church. The architect concludes his note with a calculation of the bargeman’s payment. Even though this is the only surviving letter written by Spoorwater, the remarkably plain instructions suggest that the exchange of such messages must have been routine.

  Janssen 1985, 72 and RHCB, SR 1452, f. 2r., f. 12v.  Leys 1987, 164–65. Hubrecht Frederikszn was also paid for masonry work on the Blauwe Toren in Gorinchem in 1524–1525. NA, GRK, 5008, 61v.-62r. 97   Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 5, 243, note 1; Roggen & Withof 1944, 151. Herman de Waghemakere also proposed his son as an assistant: in his contract as master of the works to the city of Aalst in 1489 it was specified that Herman could also send his son to inspect the building site, but that he would receive a lower daily wage than Herman. De Potter & Broeckaert 1874–1876, vol. 3, 170–71. 98  Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 1, 105, 113. The master mason and master carpenter of Hoogstraten are also recorded as having visited Rombout Keldermans together to consult him on drawings for Hoogstraten Castle. SAH, 180, Gelmelslot rekeningen 1525–1529 14, 1529, f. 33v. 95 96

  Erbar goede vrienden Steven send v een deel rouwen steen waer mede ghesonden van hem hebbende somme ander half last al soe hij scrijft ende vele nagaens vanden boghe te samen houdende ander half last waer welke ru steen ghesonden terstont decken moet op dat aldus blift vriesen ende dander sette binnen der kercken of het soude oek vervriesen. Item de schepman sal hebben van vracht xiij gulden ende in tolhuys tAntwerpen ende ghele in Iersijkeroort ij s. gr. Item dan hebben sy ghelent aen Stevens scheepman V rijnsgulden te xx stuivers ende iiij phillipus daer niet meer op desen tijt God sy met v allen. ghesent x dach in feberuary. The letter bears Spoorwater’s signature (Spoerwater), but no date was added. Given that it concerns the supply of arcade arches by Steven Elen, the letter can be dated between 1470 and 1474. NHA, KR 1496–1497, inv. no. 326. See also: van Essen & Hurx 2009, 20.

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Fig. 5.15 Letter to the churchwardens of St Bavo in Haarlem with signature of Evert Spoorwater, 1470–1474. (NHA, KR 1496–1497, inv. no. 326, without foliation)

We are somewhat better informed about written communication between Rombout and his customers, thanks to the fact that some of this correspondence ended up in the court’s well-preserved administration. This includes copies of a number of letters that the Chamber of Accounts of Brabant sent to Rombout and Dominicus de Waghemakere to request their presence in Brussels, alongside several autograph letters from Rombout himself.100 In his letter of 6 March 1521, Rombout reports to the Chamber of Accounts that he has contracted Michiel Yselwijns of Mechelen to furnish the sculpture for the façade of Het Steen, the imperial prison in Antwerp.101 In another letter, dating from 1526, Rombout informs Floris of Egmond, count of Buren and Leerdam, that he has been to Leerdam, where he received a ‘draft plan’ drawn by the count for renovations to the castle of Leerdam (located midway between Utrecht and ’s-Hertogenbosch).102 He promises to inspect the count’s design and to draw up the requisite building specifications, and expresses his hope of meeting the count before his return to Brabant. As a postscript, he notes that during his inspection travels he visited the works at Schoonhoven Castle, which are proceeding to schedule, with work on driving the foundation piles expected to start the next day.103 Engineer, Manager, Designer The foregoing sections traced the changing position of the architect. This development ­naturally raises the question as to whether this shift also propelled a change in the architect’s status, as well as which of his capabilities were valued most highly. Were ­architects regarded mainly as engineers possessing technical knowledge, as managers of the construction process, or as designers with artistic talents? At least several masters enjoyed considerable recognition in their own time. When Reyner Lambrechts from Kampen testified in

  ARA, KWI, 5512, no 124 and 126.   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2. 102   Ende ock myns heeren consept waer af ic alle die maeten genoemen hebben. Ende alle gelegentheyt oversien. Alzoe reyse ic weder om naer Gurichem [Gorinchem]. Ende ic sal met alder nersticheyt myns heeren saken over sien ende daer af maecken een 100 101

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ordinancie naer myn simpel verstande… NA, NDR, 1029, 176. Drossaers 1948–1955, vol. 2, 47; Hermans & Brongers 1983, 34. 103  …dwerck van Schoonhoven es al in goed voirganck zoe dat zy morgen zullen begenne te heyen. NA, NDR, 1029, 176.

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the 1542 lawsuit between Willem van Noort and Jacob van der Borch in Utrecht, he named several prominent masters with whom he had worked, including Anthonis and Rombout Keldermans. He went on to provide a short résumé of the two masters’ credentials, including that Anthonis had directed many building works for Charles V, and crediting Rombout with Ghent town hall, Vredenburg Castle in Utrecht and, mistakenly, the tower of Our Lady in Antwerp.104 His mention of both masters attests to the prestige they enjoyed among colleagues until long after their deaths – Anthonis I and Anthonis II had died almost thirty years before, and Rombout had been dead for eleven years. These men must have enjoyed a good reputation among patrons as well. Ofhuys’ chronicle of the Rouge-Cloître Abbey narrates how, in 1511, several experts invited by the prior could not agree on how to lay the foundations of the new monastery church. The prior decided to consult a specialist who could resolve the matter, and sent for Anthonis I, master mason to Maximilian I, because his “fame spread with the speed of the wind” – In illo tempore fama euro velocior percrebuit principalis praepositi et magistri operum illustrissimi archiducis Mechliniae residentis.105 Besides Anthonis I, the experts included other eminent masters such as Anthonis II Keldermans and Anthonius van Baerdeghem; the latter was even called as the “famous stonemason from Brussels” (famosum Bruxellensem lathomum).106 Ofhuys referred to them as trustworthy men and as masters famous in the mechanical arts: …probi viri magistrique mechanici in hac arte famosi.107 Their status seems to have derived from their technical expertise in laying foundations and the use of machines. Knowledge of driving foundation piles in soggy subsoil was indeed advanced by the early sixteenth century, and large and heavy structures such as church towers and fortifications could be built even in marshy areas.108 For instance, the tower of the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft – the tallest in Holland, at 108 metres – was built on excavated peatland (fig. 2.56). Other surviving examples of engineering feats are the Schreierstoren in Amsterdam (1499) and the Campveerse Toren in Veere (1500), both of which were built next to deep, open water.109 Also remarkable is the Dubbele Poort in Hulst, constructed between 1506–1507, which has a canal running underneath (fig. 5.16). Ofhuys’ account makes it clear that the clergymen greatly valued technical expertise on how to lay foundations in difficult conditions. In fact, according to Ofhuys, both the prior of the Rouge-Cloître Abbey and Jacobus van Dinter, prior at nearby Groenendaal, were actually experts themselves (in fundamentis mollibus et defluentibus expertus erat valde).110   It is unclear whether he meant Anthonis I or his son Anthonis II Keldermans. The other masters he mentioned are Clemens van der Goude, Jan Poyt and Peter from Hoogstraten. On Clemens van der Goude, see: van den Berg 2008, 74–75. On Jan Poyt, see: Meischke 1988c, 94–97. 105   Johannes Gielemans 1961, 398. 106  Johannes Gielemans 1961, 397. Anthonis van Baerdeghem worked with Anthonis I Keldermans on several occasions. Saintenoy 1932–1935, vol. 3, 172. 107   However, Ofhuys’ reference also included experts who did not belong to the building trades, such as a master Willem, the woudmeester (magister forestariorum); Dierik van Heetvelde, the receiver of Brabant; Johannes van Niewenhoven, secretary to Maximilian Philips Sauvaige; Johannes de Pielare; a certain Gysbertus; the fisherman Johannes Mite; and Aegidius de Beckere, laybrother of the RougeCloître Abbey and also a stonemason. Johannes Gielemans 1961, 398. 104

 Geleyns & De Jonge 2003; Gawronski & Veerkamp 2003. On archaeological excavations of fifteenth-century church foundations, see: Janse 2004, 25 and 38–39 and de Boer & Vos 1980. A good description of the difficulties encountered when laying foundations in marshy subsoil is provided by the 1524–1525 accounts of the never-finished castle of Schoonhoven, which was situated on the soggy riverbed of the Lek. Soon after the workmen started excavations for the foundation, they reported that the soil was very muddy; to prevent water filling the pits, two pumps were installed that were operated day and night. Hermans & Brongers 1983, 37. 109   Meischke 1988c, 101. On the Schreierstoren, see: van Tussenbroek 2007a. 110   Johannes Gielemans 1961, 396. 108

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Fig. 5.16 Hulst, Dominicus de Waghemakere, Dubbele poort, c. 1506–1507.

In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, praise for the master of the works often concerned his sincerity and foresight. Thus, the contract appointing Godijn van Dormael as master of the works at Utrecht Cathedral in 1356 calls him, still rather vaguely, a “man of foresight and an industrious master” (providus vir et industriosus magister).111 In the fifteenth century, we find more specific qualities mentioned; in the chronicle of the Herne Charterhouse, the Brussels master Gilles Joes was commemorated after his death in 1459 as a “very virtuous and devout man” (vir valde et idoneus et devotus), who aided the Carthusians with his counsel, his “building ordinances, his assistance and the supply of large quantities of stone”: tam in consiliis seu ordinantiis aedificiorum quam in auxiliis et ministrando multos lapides.112 The monastery’s obituary further celebrates him for directing everything that concerned the “art of architecture” (…dirigens quantum ad artem architectoriam).113 Ample experience and a good reputation were important criteria for patrons when selecting a new master of the works. The contract engaging Anthonis I Keldermans as master mason to the town of Bergen op Zoom specifically states that he was considered a good   Muller Fz. 1905, 150.   Anno 1459 obiit 4 idus februarii amicus huius domus magister Egidius Ioes, architectus fabricae sanctae Gudilae Bruxellis, vir valde et idoneus et devotus. Et fecit multa bona huic domui, tam in consiliis seu ordinantiis aedificiorum quam in auxiliis et ministrando multos lapides et frequenter mittendo pitancias sive pecunias per annum. Ipse fuit plus 111 112

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quam 40 annis amicus huius domus et iacet sepultus in novo vestario ad latus altaris sub visione gregoriana quam ipse donavit, et etiam hostium sacristiae cum lapidibus et imaginibus. Et ultimo dedit 2 clitardos pro pitancia in die anniversarii sui ministranda. Arnold Beeltsens & Jean Ammonius 1932, 62. 113   Arnold Beeltsens & Jean Ammonius 1932, 227.

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candidate in view of his expertise, diligence and judiciousness (consten, nernsticheden ende discrecies), which he had demonstrated in particular in the construction of the rood screen for St Getrude’s.114 From the praise accorded Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere in their contract for the town hall of Ghent it is apparent that patrons preferred experienced architects because it was expected that they could bring the project to fruition. The two masters are extolled for their diligence (industrie), theoretical knowledge (scientie), experience (experientie), judgment (verstant) and good advice, which were needed to complete the town hall: …eensdeels gheexperimenteert hebbende de industrie, scientie, experientie, verstant ende goet advys omme behoorlic tselve weerc te vulmakenne…115 The mention of their scientie is significant, for it reveals that in addition to their experience in the craft, they were also valued for their theoretical knowledge.116 This dovetails with the definition of architecture in the Vocabularius copiosus (1477–1480) as a scientia, distinct from a mere ars (see Chapter 1). Several masters were well aware of their own distinctive qualities. To convince the executors of Margaret of Austria’s will to pay him certain promised gratuities, in 1533 Lodewijk van Boghem self-confidently pointed out that he was responsible for the completion of her sepulchral church at Brou. He called himself an expert, “renowned in his art, and likewise knowledgeable in carpentry and everything needed to bring the work to completion”: homme de bien, expert et entendu en son art et semblablement bien sachant au fait de charpenterie et en ce que dependoit pour toute la perfection du dit ouvraige.117 From the introduction Margaret provided Van Boghem to the brethren at Brou in 1512, it is apparent that he enjoyed a good reputation indeed; she describes him as one of the best master masons of the Low Countries: …maistre masson qui est ung bon et expérimenté maistre et des meilleurs qui soient par deça.118 At Brou, Van Boghem was praised especially for his knowledge of geometry. In his eulogy for Margaret in 1532, the Savoy poet and humanist Antoine du Saix lauded Van Boghem as a preeminent geometer and architect.119 His ode to the church, Blason de Brou, penned in 1533, even mentions Van Boghem in the same breath as the classical architects and geographers Vitruvius, Aelius Nicon, Archimedes and Pausanias, citing these towering figures as Van Boghem’s source of knowledge on architecture and geometry.120 Du Saix heaped still further commendation on Van Boghem in a panegyric appended to the Blason du Brou, believed to have been intended for the altar of Van Boghem’s chapel in the same church. In this poem, the church is called the “eighth wonder of the world”, even surpassing all others, and its realisation credited to Van Boghem’s ingenuity (ingenium) and effort (manus).121 The claims of authorship made for and by Van Boghem raise the question how much design freedom architects actually enjoyed in the early sixteenth century. Usually, patrons had a major say in the final result and they were often closely involved in their projects. They could specify a model they wished to be followed or select from multiple sources the elements they liked best. Occasionally patrons even provided sketches themselves, such 114  Juten 1936, 157–58. Also mentioned in: Philipp 1989, 74. 115   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 388; Philipp 1989, 74–75; Ottenheym & De Jonge 2007, 99, note 48. 116   De Jonge 2011, 201. 117   Bruchet 1927, 252–53 no. 176. 118   Bruchet 1927, 225 no. 91. 119   See Chapter 1. Baux 1862, 197; Hörsch 1994, 121. 120   Auprès duquel seroit vieille et flestrie / L’Architecture et la géométrie / Du vieil Nicon, père

de Galien, / Dicéarchus, homme sicilien, / Qui Pellion dit plus haute montaigne, / Seroit l’escorce et Loys la chastaigne. Baux 1862, 197–98. 121  The poem ends: …Hos posuisse orbi septem miracula dicunt [which are summed up in the previous lines]; / CLARIUS OCTAVUM TEMPORA NOSTRA VIDENT; / PRISTINA QUAEQUE IGITUR POTUIT SPECTASSE VETUSTAS; / UNIUS INGENIUM PRESTITIT ATQUE MANUS. Baux 1862, 199–200.

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as Floris of Egmond’s ‘draft plan’ for the castle of Leerdam in 1526. Henry III of Nassau similarly made a design for the ‘new work’ at his castle in Breda. Both designs were given to Rombout Keldermans to review and were to be worked out in building specifications. In the case of such military architecture, the expertise of experienced military commanders was of course indispensable. Nevertheless, the architect’s role was not confined to meekly following his patron’s plan. Thus, in Breda, Keldermans revised Henry’s drawings and instructions while the latter was in Spain: …lezquelz depuis ont este corrigez par maistre Romboud Keldermanz.122 In many cases, the final design was the product of a committee of experts, which might include, besides the master of works, the patron, financial administrators, the undermaster and the master carpenter.123 With all of these participants able to exert an influence, it must have been difficult for masters to put their individual stamp on a design. After Anthonis II Keldermans’ death, new plans for the Maison du Roi were drafted in 1515 by a committee made up of Lodewijk van Boghem, Hendrik van Pede, Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere. Committees of this type often consisted of masters with different specialisations. When planning the roof structure of the chapel of the Holy Sacrament at St Gudula’s in Brussels, for example, the churchwardens invited several master carpenters, master masons and stonecutters in 1536–1537 to discuss the chapel’s dimensions.124 Although multiple individuals usually had a hand in the final design (both in this and later periods) a small number of sources demonstrate that some architects enjoyed great authority as aesthetic advisers. Lodewijk van Boghem and Rombout Keldermans were not afraid to propose costly design solutions purely to enhance the beauty of the result. During Van Boghem’s first inspection of the construction site at Brou, for example, he determined that it would be better not to build the church directly adjoining the existing cloister, as originally planned, but to leave fifteen to twenty feet in between to create a freestanding structure. Van Boghem argued that the additional space would allow the chapels and sacristy to be made more beautiful and larger (plus belles et grandes), thus making the church even more magnificent (plus magnifique). Furthermore, he promised, his new plans would make Margaret’s chapel a chief d’œuvre.125 Even in the design of fortifications, which belonged to the expertise of military commanders, an architect of Rombout Keldermans’ stature could see his own plans through, as attested by a conflict over the design for Vredenburg Castle in 1529. Charles V’s artillery master and steward of Vredenburg Castle, Jean de Termonde, lord of Borgnival, severely criticised Rombout’s plans for Vredenburg because he deemed the two large corner towers on the field side of the castle to be redundant. They were too costly, he said, especially

  Leys 1987, 160.   Hollingsworth 1984; De Jonge 2010b. 124  …deden de heeren fabryckmrs. vergaderen diversche meesters van tymmerlieden ende daer mede de metssers ende steenhouwere vander fabrycken om tsamen te sprekene aengaende zekere zwaerheit vander tymmeringen vander nieuwer capellen… RAA, SG, 8673, Rekeningen van het Sacrament van Mirakel 1536–1537, f. 61v. Lefèvre 1956–1957, 68. 125  Letter from Secretary Barangier to Margaret of Austria, November 1512: Il la reculera bien de quinze ou vingt pieds loing dudict ediffice, afin de n’empesché point la vehue du dortoire, aussi 122 123

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pour fere les chapelles et sacristies tant plus belles et grandes, et avec ce, en sera ladicte esglise plus magnifique. Dessubz ladicte sacristie il pourra fere ung oratoire pour vous s’il vous plait. Et quant à vos chapelles à la vérité, Madame, selon que vous diz à mon partement, il les fera à l’opposite du dict édiffice, et entend d’en fere une qui sera ung chief d’oeuvre et pourréz descendre par dessubz le jubilé, comme je dysais, en vostre chapelle, de laquelle pourréz veoir par dessubz voster sepulture au grand haulté, ainsi que le tout à plain ledict maistre Loys déclairera… Brou 1996, 78; Bruchet 1927, 227 no. 95.

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because Rombout’s plan required the old city walls to be demolished, and he believed that reinforcing the walls with a fausse-braie and earth ramparts would offer sufficient protection. In contrast, Rombout maintained that both projecting towers were essential to protect the adjacent curtain walls. Moreover, he self-assuredly argued, the two towers were a more beautiful and a better option (plus beau et meilleur).126 His argument seems to have been based largely on aesthetic preference; perhaps he felt the two towers were needed to balance out the two facing the city. Remarkably, given Termonde’s rank and military experience and his own cost-saving proposal, his counsel was not heeded: in 1534–1535, a few years after Rombout’s death (but during Termonde’s lifetime), both towers were built according to the architect’s plans.127 The esteem enjoyed by the most prominent masters in the Low Countries was reflected in their earnings and social standing. When a messenger visited Anthonis I Keldermans to ask him to visit the Rouge-Cloître Abbey to advise on the foundations of the new church in 1511, he was promised a generous reward: Ne pigriteris venire ad nos. Et quia lucrum attrahit et excitat, salarium promittitur.128 Another source confirms the large salaries paid to Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere. The arrangements recorded by Ghent’s city council in 1535 to collect two elevation drawings for their town hall from Dominicus de Waghemakere (Rombout had died several years before and Dominicus was ill and too old to direct the works) mention that both masters had received large annual pensions (zekeren grooten pencioenen sjaers).129 Patrons could also promise lucrative rewards to encourage masters to accelerate their work. In 1521 the churchwardens of Our Lady in Antwerp offered Rombout Keldermans expensive cloth for a doublet, worth 37.5 schelling (shillings), to spur him to finish the drawing before the ceremonial first foundation stone was laid by Charles V later that year.130 Rewards were also given as token of gratitude for completed work, such as the 30 schelling annuity that Dominicus de Waghemakere received from Our Lady after completing the tower in 1518 until his death in 1540.131 Their position as court architects also provided masters like Rombout Keldermans and Lodewijk van Boghem an outstanding opportunity to climb the social ladder. The transcription of Rombout Keldermans’ tomb slab, now lost, in Our Lady in Antwerp refers to him as Joncker, suggesting that he was knighted at the end of his life.132 Van Boghem aspired to a comparable high status, as is apparent from his richly illuminated book of hours. Only the elite were able to afford such luxury objects, most notably members of court. The motto, interlaced monograms, love knot (fig. 4.16), initials in Roman capitals and

126   En ce assavoir que ledit maistre Rombault, lequel avoit ordonné lesdits moynetz, et soustenoit que à la seureté du fort ilz feussent requiz et necessaires et que d’ung train et quant à quant les autres tours dudit fort ilz se feissent, disant d’avantaige que l’ouvraige en seroit plus beau et meilleur. See: Hoekstra 1988a, 67, note 26; Martens 2009, 90–91. 127  Hoekstra 1997, 122. The final building did diverge in several respects from Rombout’s surviving floor plan. Also, Rombout is known to have made multiple plans for Vredenburg. Hoekstra 1997, 123; Hoekstra 1988a. 128   Johannes Gielemans 1961, 398. 129   Van Tyhgem 1978, vol. 2, 402, doc 29.

  KAA OLV, KR 1520, f. 20r.   Item meester Dominicus meester vand logien ex gra want hy den torre volmaect heeft. KAA OLV, KR 1523, f. 17v. 132   The slab was removed in the nineteenth century, but recorded by Génard in the 1850s: Hier leet begraven Joncker Rombout van Mansdale / sterft 1531 den 15 x ber… Génard 1856, 339. See: Van Cauwenberghs 1889, 51; van Wylick-Westermann 1987, 22. From the thirteenth century onwards several architects are known to have been knighted, but it remains unclear whether this honour was a sign of the high esteem they enjoyed as professionals. Toker 1985a, 69–70. 130 131

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Fig. 5.17 Undated letter to Jan Heyns, master of the works of St John in ’s-Hertogenbosch, signed by Lodewijk van Boghem, c. 1504. Noteworthy is the monogram of horizontal mirrored and interlaced letters L, which can also be found in Van Boghem’s book of hours that he purchased in c. 1526 (Fig. 4.14). (KA SJ, no. 1408). The closing of the letter reads: Ic Lo wyc (I Lowyc van Bo gem van Bogem, altyt tot Uwen dienste. always at your service)

Fig. 5.18 Signature of Rombout II Keldermans in Rombout’s and Hendrik van Pede’s report of the visitation of the contracted blue limestone by the family Le Prince from Écaussines for the Maison du Roi in Brussels, 4 February 1524. (ARA, ARK, no. 27484, part 5)

Fig. 5.19 Receipt signed by Hendrik van Pede, 19 April 1521. (ARA, KWI, 5538)

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coat of arms in the manuscript are all clear indications that he sought his peers at court.133 Another indication that prominent masters such as Spoorwater, Rombout Keldermans and Van Boghem were well aware of their status is the elegant manner in which they signed their names on construction documents and letters (fig. 5.17 and 5.18).134 Illiterate stonemasons often signed with their masons’ mark, and even sculptors and stone merchants who could read and write, such as Michiel Yselwijns and Hendrik van Pede, often added an angular mark to their name (fig. 5.19).135 By contrast, Spoorwater, Rombout Keldermans and Van Boghem followed the court fashion for using curling letters that were playfully intertwined with their monograms. The examples discussed in this chapter illustrate the changing conditions of architectural practice in the fifteenth century. A few leading architects were able to concentrate on design activities, and this specialisation helped them to attain a higher social standing. The next chapter examines what these changes meant for communication about the design between designers, patrons and builders.

133   Ciavaldini Rivière 2014, 248. Another sign of the family’s rise is the noble title of his son François. Hörsch 1994, 133–34. 134  My thanks to Krista De Jonge for drawing my attention to the distinct autographs of Lodewijk van Boghem and Rombout Keldermans.

135   On the shape of masons’ marks and their use for signing contracts, see: Janse & de Vries 1991, 51–60 and 62–63.

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Fig. 6.2 Rombout II Keldermans, plan of Vredenburg Castle in Utrecht, paper 97.5 × 111, 1529. The verso contains the note: Grooten gront t Utrecht ende principael patroen aengaende het casteel, ghemaect by Mr. Rombout van Meghelen. (HUA, 37 FI, 46–2)

Chapter 6 Communicating

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In 1542, Philip Lammekens testified in the court case in Utrecht (see Chapter 1) that without drawings and specifications, no building could ever be erected.1 His testimony is an important acknowledgement of the key role that documents played in architectural practice in the Low Countries. The transformation of building practice not only triggered changes in employment conditions, but also made drawings and written documents increasingly important as a means to communicate designs and guide the construction process.2 When construction was managed from off-site, graphic and written communication were indispensable. More importantly, the tendering of construction works changed the relationship between patrons and builders. Working with contractors required more explicit and formal methods of communication than when patrons managed the work themselves. The practice of contracting out work reduced the amount of control patrons had over quality and therefore necessitated more detailed descriptions of the work and legal documentation of builders’ responsibilities. In the new arena of patrons and contractors, the master of the works gradually came to play an intermediary role between the two parties. This chapter considers the planning instruments at an architect’s disposal and traces several important experiments in architectural representation that accompanied the growing significance of drawings. The Drawing as Planning Instrument Evidence of the growing role of drawings in architectural design practice in the Low Countries can be found in the increasingly detailed stipulations on the preparation of these documents in fifteenth and early sixteenth-century contracts with masters of the works. The earliest preserved contracts tend to contain general stipulations on the designs to be made. The contract appointing Godijn van Dormael as master of the works of Utrecht Cathedral in 1356 states that he is to “devise, master, guide and make [vizieren, meysteren, berechten ende maken] all works in stone, wood, gold, silver, lead, iron and any other material”.3 These terms encompass both the design and supervision of the work, but make no clear distinction between the two tasks.4 The first reference to drawings is found in Jan van Ruysbroeck’s contract as master of the works of Brussels town hall, dating from 1449. It states that he was to “trace” (betrecken) the tower of the building and to make stonecutters templates.5 More explicit are the two contracts engaging Rombout and Dominicus as masters of the Maison du Roi in Brussels (1517) and Ghent town hall (1518). The Brussels contract specifies that the masters were to make “patterns, ordinances or templates” (patroonen, ordinantien oft berderen).6 In Ghent the stipulations were similar,   Cited in Chapter 1. Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 241.  A similar development can be discerned in fifteenth and sixteenth-century Italy. Schlimme & Holste & Niebaum 2014, 325. 3   Muller Fz. 1905, 150. 4   Another fourteenth-century contract that does not distinguish between making designs and supervision at the building site is that between Rutger van Kampen and the Kampen town council, from 1369. Helten 1994, doc. 2, 141. 1 2

  Inden jersten sal de selve meester Jan moeten betrecken, wel ende ghetrouwelijck, dwerck vanden voirs. torre, na inhout sijns eedts, ende alle de berderen tot den voirs. wercken behoerende, na tvoirs. betreck sniden of doen sniden… ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 24v. Published in: Des Marez 1923, 102; Maesschalk & Viaene 1960, 59–61. 6  Pinchart 1860–1881, vol. 2, 56. The contract was drawn up after Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere sent a letter to the 5

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charging the two masters with the preparation of all “ordinances and paper templates” (ordonnanchien ende berdren van pampiere).7 They were further given one year to complete two elevation drawings for the town hall – one for the façade on the Botermarkt and the other facing the Hoogpoort: …the same masters workmen have herewith promised and committed themselves to complete and to present to our successors of the law [= aldermen] a drawing from bottom to top [= elevation drawing] on parchment or vellum, of the said work of the town hall, concerning both sides of the same town hall, before Easter next year…8 Likewise, Laureys Keldermans’ contract as master at St Martin’s in Aalst (fig. 6.1) from 1527 emphasised that the duty of the architect was to furnish the drawings and stonecutters’ templates that would be needed as the work progressed: “…as it befits a chief workman, to make drawings and stonecutters’ templates, to which the men will work year after year”.9 In the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, the word patroen (‘pattern’) was usually used for drawings, both architectural and other types, and more in general for designs.10 Several surviving drawings bear an note on the reverse identifying them as a patroen in Dutch or a patron in French.11 A good example is a drawing of Vredenburg Castle, probably made in 1529 by Rombout Keldermans (fig. 6.2), which is inscribed: “large ground [plan] in Utrecht and principal pattern of the castle, made by Master Rombout of Mechelen” (Grooten gront t Utrecht ende principael patroen aengaende het casteel, ghemaect by Mr. Rombout van Meghelen).12 Another example is a sheet of paper containing two drawings of a timber roof construction for the castle of Tervuren, identified as “patterns of the work at Tervuren” (patronen vanden werke Ter Vueren).13 The word gront as used in the Vredenburg drawing became the customary designation for a ground plan in the early sixteenth century.14 Before this, no terminological distinction was made between plans and elevations. The fourteenth-century ground plans for the castles of Warneton and Kortrijk, for example, use the general terms devise de louvrage and pourtraicture.15 Less frequently used in the sources are beworp, meaning design, and betreck, derived from the word trekken, meaning to trace.16 A difficulty with the term patroen is that while it usually refers to drawings, it was also used for stonecutters’ templates. No clear distinction was made, though the word berderen (‘scantlings’) was more often used for templates. Chamber of Accounts of Brussels requesting proper payment for all the work entailed in making building specifications, stonecutters’ templates and drawings. 7  …als meesters weerclieden, ghehouden ende ghelast zyn van nu voort an te makenne ende vulmakenne alle de ordonnanchien ende berdren van pampiere. Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 389. 8   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 390. 9  …zulck als eenen uppersten werckman toebehoirt, van patroonen, barderen te makene, daermen van jaere te jaere naer wercken sal. De Potter & Broeckaert 1874–1876, vol. 3, 172–73. 10  Meischke 1988d, 140, 165–67; van WylickWestermann 1987, 9–10. 11   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/1. 12   HUA, 37 FI, 46–2. Meischke 1988c, 107–08; Leys 1987; Hoekstra 1988a. Even though the sixteenthcentury note indicates that the plan was made by

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Rombout Keldermans, both Roosens and Martens attribute the plan to his nephew Laureys, it being part of a group of six drawings of which the other five can be attributed to Laureys with certainty. Roosens 2005, 234–35; Martens 2009, 93, note 21. 13   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2. 14   Meischke 1988d, 193. 15   On the back of the Warneton drawing is the text: Cest la devise de louvrage du cyastel de Warneston… ARA, KPH, 8694. That on the Kortrijk drawing reads: La pourtraicture du nouvel chastel de Courtrois. ARA, KPH, 8070. Lavalleye 1930; Pauwels 1983. For a discussion of the French terminology, see: Meunier 2015, 84–85; Beltrami 2016, 98–101. 16  The word betreck is used in, for instance, the contract appointing Jan van Ruysbroeck as master of Brussels town hall in 1449. ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 24v. Published in: Des Marez 1923, 102; Maesschalk & Viaene 1960, 59–61.

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Fig. 6.1 Aalst, Herman de Waghemakere, Dominicus de Waghemakere and Laureys Keldermans, St Martin, choir and crossing, begun 1481.

Effectively, it is only possible to establish whether the terms used in sources refer to drawings or templates based on the context.17 Archival sources contain many references to architectural drawings, offering a clear indication of their importance in the building process. That many drawings might be made for a single project is evidenced by a payment recorded in the building accounts for the chapel of Coudenberg Palace to Hendrik van Pede for a large quantity of paper intended for drawings (and probably stonecutters’ templates): …du papier de grand volume a faire des patrons pour louvraige de ladicte chappelle…18 The accounts of the church of Our Lady in Antwerp likewise document the purchase of substantial quantities of paper. Two years before Charles V laid the first stone of the enormous new choir in 1521, the undermaster Willem Smeeckaert purchased a ream of thick paper (approximately 500 sheets) for drawings (beworpene) and another ream of writing paper for Master Dominicus de Waghemakere.19 In 1520, Dominicus was assisted by Rombout Keldermans and his nephew Laureys in the preparation of a drawing of the new choir, for which they received the  Meischke 1988d, 140, 165–67; van WylickWestermann 1987, 9–10. 18   ARA, ARK, 27399, f. 167v. 19   Item betaelt inde handen vand selven Willeme [Willem Smeeckaert] voer eene riem dubbel papier 17

ende eene riem elcker pampiers voer meester Dominicus om op te beworpene ende te scrivene… KAA OLV, KR 1519, f. 22v.

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considerable sum of 37.5 Brabant pounds.20 In all probability this concerned a meticulous large-scale drawing on parchment. Nor did the production of drawings end after the first stone was laid; as the work progressed year upon year, new drawings and templates were needed. Because the design of the church in Antwerp was worked out in successive stages, additional paper had to be purchased in subsequent years. In 1522 alone, 200 sheets of thick paper were ­purchased, probably for making templates.21 Despite a large number of references in the written sources, few actual drawings dating from the period before around 1530 have been preserved in the Low Countries. Of the original total, only a small fraction of 31 documented drawings survive.22 This corpus is very diverse and includes sketches, presentation drawings, working drawings and record drawings made for various purposes. Drawings could be and were made for each step in the building process: to present a new design to the patron, to raise funds for a prospective project, to illustrate building specifications and to report on the progress of building.23 It is significant that in the Low Countries their use was not limited to prestige projects, but also extended to fairly plain buildings such as watermills. Initially, drawings were typically made on parchment, but towards the end of the fifteenth century paper became more common. The earliest use of paper for an architectural drawing in the Low Countries concerns a plan of Amiens Cathedral purchased by the chapter of St Waltrude’s in Mons from Michel de Rains in 1449 (fig. 6.3).24 The drawing was made on a sheet of parchment and three pieces of paper that were glued together for this purpose.25 It shows the northern half of the ground plan of Amiens over two thirds of its length, with the chevet drawn on the parchment and the crossing and the first bays of the nave on the paper. The watermark in the paper points to a date early in the fifteenth century, making it unlikely that the plan was actually commissioned by the chapter. The canonesses of St Waltrude’s acquired the drawing to serve as inspiration for the design of their new church, for which they actively sought suitable examples. A year after purchasing the Amiens ground plan they formed a committee to inspect several churches in Brabant, Tournai, Hainaut and Flanders.26 Though never yet found, full scale tracings (called Ritzzeichnungen) were probably not unknown in the Low Countries. An indication of their use is offered by a miniature in an illuminated manuscript at the Royal Library in Copenhagen, made in Bruges around   Item betaelt meester Rombout ende meester Domincus tsamen op patroen vanden nieuwen choer. KAA OLV, KR 1520, f. 20r. 21  KAA OLV, KR 1522, f. 21v. In 1534 another 200 or so sheets of thick paper were purchased for templates: Item betaelt van acht boecken groff papiers om berdders aff te maken voir zekere steene te houdene… KAA OLV, KR 1534, f. 32v. 22  A significant number of drawings are published and discussed in Meischke 1952 and Meischke 1988c, 97–110. On the drawings for St Waltrude’s in Mons, see: Philipp 1988. For the two drawings for the west façade of St Peter’s in Leuven, see: Doperé 1998, 323– 24. On drawings for defence works, see: Lavalleye 1930; Leys 1987; Janssen 1981; Roosens 2007; Martens 2009, 54–55, 97. Martens has discovered two drawings of bulwarks for the defence works at Arras from around 1513, however because Arras lies somewhat outside the geographical scope of this study, they have not been included in this survey. Neither have 20

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painted representations of churches been counted as architectural drawings, as it is unclear in how far they played a role in the design process (see below). Roosegaarde Bisschop 1956. Two paintings discovered by Charles van den Heuvel of the city walls of The Hague, dating from around 1528, may well have served as designs. Martens 2009, 55. One has already been published in: Stal 1998, 31. Also preserved are two seventeenth-century prints of the tower of St Rumbold’s in Mechelen and the Sint-Lievensmonstertoren in Zierikzee, which were probably based on drawings by Rombout Keldermans. A systematic search of archives in the Low Countries would likely uncover more drawings predating the 1530s. 23  On the different uses of drawings in an international context, see: Bucher 1968; Meischke 1988d. 24   Philipp 1988, 389. 25   Böker & Hurx & Sauvé 2013, 359. 26   Philipp 1988, 393–403.

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1480 for Philips van Horn, lord of Gaasbeek (fig. 6.4).27 It depicts the Emperor Domitian visiting the building site of the Pantheon in Rome. The artist certainly had not seen the Pantheon himself as the building is rendered as a Gothic structure, albeit with a central ground plan and portico. However, the depiction of the workmen and various types of cranes does give a fairly accurate representation of a contemporary building site with, remarkably, several geometric tracings visible in the foreground. Conceptual Phase: Sketches and Examples Among the types of drawings that have been preserved, freehand sketches made in the conceptual phase of the design process are particularly rare. One of the earliest surviving examples in the Low Countries is a sketch of the fortifications of the town of Rhenen (fig. 6.5), made on the reverse of a more elaborate plan for the same project (fig. 6.6).28 The sheet is preserved in Utrecht and is part of a series of plans for new defence works in the region that also includes Vredenburg (fig. 6.2) and the Tolsteegpoort in Utrecht (6.7), the castle of Duurstede (fig. 6.8) and Huis Ter Eem at Eembrugge (fig. 6.9). Apart from the drawing of Vredenburg, they were probably made by Laureys Keldermans during an inspection trip in July 1532 with Count Anthonis de Lalaing, the stadtholder of Holland and Zeeland, and Jean de Termonde, lord of Borgnival and the artillery master of Charles V and steward of Vredenburg Castle in Utrecht.29 The elaborate plan shows the existing southern walls of Rhenen with its three city gates facing the Rhine, which were to be fortified with a second ring of earthworks and massive bulwarks. That the sketch concerns the same defence works is evident from the annotation Den Ryn, but it seems to explore an alternative position of the bulwark defending the central Rhine gate (den Ryen poerte), showing the bulwark not on the external ring, but integrated with the olds walls. This sketch and elaborate plan are probably closely related to two other sketches inscribed Rynen and Reynen preserved in Brussels (fig. 6.10 and 6.11). Instead of outlining a new plan for a second defence ring, the latter two are probably surveys of the existing situation.30 Whereas the annotations on the Utrecht sketch and plan made by Laureys are in Dutch, those on the drawings in Brussels are in French,  The Royal Library (Det Konge­ lige Bibliotek), Copenhagen, Thott 568, vol. 2, f. 1r. See: Wijsman 2006, 74–78. 28  HUA, 37 FI, 46–7. First noted by: Martens 2009, 97. 27

  Meischke 1988c, 104–10; Roosens 2005, 235; Schoemaker 2008. 30   Martens 2009, 97. 29

Fig. 6.3 Michel de Rains (attributed), plan of Amiens Cathedral, parchment 67 × 40, paper 85 × 41, c. 1380–1430. (AEM cartes et plans 409)

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Fig. 6.4 Master of the Harley Froissart and the Master of the Vienna Chroniques d’Angleterre, Emperor Domitian visiting the building site of the Pantheon in Rome, in: Jean Mansel, Fleur des histoires, c. 1480. (Copenhagen, The Royal Library (Det Kongelige Bibliotek), Thott 568, volume 2, f. 1r.) (Plate 7)

indicating that they may have been drawn by a member of the entourage of the military commanders. Because the two Brussels sketches have been separated from their administrative context, it is difficult to ascertain their original purpose, but they may well have illustrated an inspection report on the defensibility of Rhenen sent to the court in Brussels.31

 Two other surviving early freehand sketches of ground plans show the renovation of the town hall of Utrecht, one of the earliest all’antica buildings in the Northern Netherlands. Possibly made by Willem

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van Noort between 1537 and 1546, they show two different modifications to several houses to achieve a symmetrical layout of the new building. Meischke 1988c, 47; Ross 1989.

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Fig. 6.5 Laureys Keldermans (attributed), sketch for the fortifications of the town of Rhenen made on verso of fig. 6.6, paper 39.5 × 126, 1532. (HUA, 37 FI, 46–7)

Fig. 6.6 Laureys Keldermans (attributed), plan of the fortifications of the town of Rhenen, paper 39.5 × 126, 1532. (HUA, 37 FI, 46–7)

The oldest surviving freehand sketch in the Low Countries is found on the back of a letter written by Rombout Keldermans in 1521, already discussed in Chapter 5 (fig. 6.12).32 It pictures the new entrance of Het Steen, the imperial prison in Antwerp. The freehand lines are drawn rapidly but accurately in black chalk, convincingly conveying the volume of the projecting polygonal apse of the chapel above the entrance. In the letter itself, Rombout reports to the Brabant Chamber of Accounts that he has contracted Michiel Yselwijns to carve the emperor’s coats of arms and two flanking reliefs 32

  ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2.

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with his columnar device and motto Plus Oultre. Yselwijns would also supply escutcheons of the duchy of Brabant, Holy Roman Empire and margraviate of Antwerp to be placed above the entrance. Appended to the letter is a short description copied from the original (surviving) building specifications marking the sculpture with the letters MM. Because the specifications were drafted a month earlier in Brussels, the drawing on the back of the letter was certainly not an early conceptual sketch of the building. Rather, Rombout probably made the drawing to remind the clerks of the Chamber of the work that had been contracted. Besides sketches, record drawings were also regularly made during the early stage of planning. It was common for patrons to gather documentation of other renowned buildings to make up their minds about their own project.33 The earliest surviving example in the Low Countries is the ground plan of Amiens preserved at Mons, mentioned above. It is likely that drawings of the Amiens plan had a wider circulation in the Low Countries, as the oldest description of Amsterdam, written around 1500, mentions that the initial plan for the Nieuwe Kerk (begun c. Fig. 6.7 Laureys Keldermans (attributed), plan 1400) was based on “a drawing of Amiens Cathedral in 34 of the Tolsteegpoort in Utrecht, paper 42 × 58, Picardy”. The drawing known as the Chalon plan, made in 1532. (HUA, 37 FI, 46–4) 1550 for the new tower of St Waltrude’s in Mons, illustrates that drawings not only of existing buildings but also of unfinished projects were used as models (fig. 6.13).35 The Chalon plan, made by the two masters of the works at St Waltrude’s, Jean Repu and Jean de Thuin, copies a design for the tower of St Rumbold’s in Mechelen. In 1547 the chapter sent them and the prominent stone merchant Guillaume Le Prince to visit the churches of Leuven, Mechelen and Antwerp to measure the church towers and record them in drawings: …pour viziter les ouvraiges tante à Louvain, Malines et Anvers qua aultrez part: de quoy en avon prins les coppie par patrons…36 Though by and large an accurate representation of the existing tower in Mechelen, several details in the drawing are different. The most striking departure is the frame of the portal, which is richly decorated with filled tracery in the drawing.37 Because the actual portal was never adorned, it is uncertain whether Jean Repu and Jean de Thuin invented this decoration themselves. Archival sources show that such records were usually not made with the intention to build exact copies, but to enable patrons and designers to emulate the best features of existing buildings and combine then into new compositions. For example, in 1460 the town of Aalst sent a certain Adriaan van de Velde to Valenciennes, Bethune and several other places to make drawings (pourtraicturen) of belfry towers “to take therefrom an  Meischke 1988d, 169–72. In general, see: du Colombier 1953, 60–61; Aubert 1961, 101–07; Coppola 1998, 53–55. 34   Petrus Montanus 1614, 357. 33

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 AEM, Documents précieux 4. Van Langendonck 1987, 41–42; Meischke 1988d, 142; Philipp 1988, 404; Böker & Hurx & Sauvé 2013, 361–62. 36   Van Langendonck 1987, 58, note 103. 37   Van Langendonck 1987, 41–42. 35

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Fig. 6.8 Laureys Keldermans (attributed), plan of the castle of Duurstede, paper 88 × 98, 1532. (HUA, 37 FI, 46–5)

example for the work on the belfry of Aalst”.38 A later example dates from 1531, when the patrons of the chapel of the Holy Sacrament at St Gudula’s in Brussels sent for a drawing of the chapel of the Confraternity of Our Lady in ’s-Hertogenbosch, built in 1479–1494, “to see whether some of its elements could be used” (om te moghen sien of men der uijt ijet soude moghen nemen) (fig. 6.14 and 6.15).39 Another written source that sheds light on the importance of emulating existing models is Gaspar Ofhuys’ account of preparations for the new Rouge-Cloître Abbey church in the Sonian Forest near Brussels. In his chronicle, Ofhuys recounts how in 1511 the prior, Johannes Rampaert, and the lay brother and mason Aegidius de Beckere went to inspect three monastery churches that, like the Rouge-Cloître Abbey, belonged to the Congregation of Windesheim. Travelling to the churches of Groenendaal (1467– 1483), Zevenborren (1433–1467) and St Maartensdal near Leuven (1478), they took  …omme te doen bewarpene in pourtraicturen de manieren ende fauchoene vanden belfroote, als omme daer uut te nemene exempel ten warcke 38

vanden belfroote tAelst. De Potter & Broeckaert 1874–1876, vol. 2, 57. 39   Lefèvre 1956–1957, 34; Peeters 1985, 396.

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Fig. 6.9 Laureys Keldermans (attributed), plan of Huis Ter Eem at Eembrugge, paper 75 × 70, 1532. (HUA, 37 FI, 46–6)

measurements of the choirs (including the height of the vaults) and examined the win­ riting dows and decorative masonry elements.40 They recorded their inspections in w and made drawings on paper (in scriptis redacta sunt, formasque et figuras in foliis papyreis depinxerunt), with the intention to combine these three churches in the design of their own new church (pari modo noster chorus novus conceptus est et ex his tribus choris depictus). Proceeding just like painters, who wished to depict absolute beauty, they created a composite image from the finest features, “while avoiding anything inappropriate and ugly”. Ofhuys’ description of such an eclectic imitation is reminiscent of the famous topos of Zeuxis, but he does not explain the selection criteria used. The drawings and report by the prior sparked a passionate debate among the monks regarding which forms and construction would be most appropriate for their new church (…   In unoquoque loco chorum specialissime con­ templati sunt, illiusque latitudinem, longitudinem et usque ad testudinem altitudinem metientes. Sed

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et fenestras et politas structas intuiti sunt. Johannes Gielemans 1961, 394. Nothing remains of these churches. See: Kohl & Persoons & Weiler 1976.

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Fig. 6.10 Unknown draftsman, sketch for the fortifications of the town of Rhenen, c. 1530–32. (ARA, KPH, 1671)

Fig. 6.11 Unknown draftsman, sketch for the fortifications of the town of Rhenen, c. 1530–32. (ARA, KPH, 1672)

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Fig. 6.12 Rombout Keldermans, sketch for the new entrance of Het Steen in Antwerp, paper, signed and dated 6 March 1521. The drawing was made on the backside of a letter by Rombout sent to the Chamber of Accounts. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2)

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exiit sermo inter frates quali formi qualique structura haec nostra basilica esset construenda).41 The wish to not only emulate but surpass existing buildings fit the contemporary competitive climate in the Low Countries, and until the introduction of illustrated architectural treatises and prints of existing buildings, visiting other buildings was an important and logical way for patrons and designers to obtain first-hand knowledge of the latest architectural developments. Presenting the New Project Once a clear concept of the new structure had begun to take shape, impressive elevations and plans of the envisaged building could be presented to convince patrons of the merits of the design. These detailed, geometrically composed orthogonal and semiorthogonal projections were usually drawn on large sheets of parchment, examples of which include two elevations of Ghent town hall (86 cm × 146 cm and 83 × 123) (fig. 6.16 and 6.17), two designs for the west façade of St Peter’s in Leuven (180 × 61 and 276 × 82) (fig. 6.18 and 6.19) and another for the tower of Breda (170 × 39) (fig. 6.20). Depicting the buildings in great detail, these drawings must have taken considerable time to produce and were quite costly, as the large payments of 100 Philippusgulden (equal to 4.4 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer) for the Ghent drawings and 37.5 Brabant pounds (5.3 years’ wages) for a now lost drawing of the new choir of Our Lady in Antwerp attest.42 A drawing of the Great Council in Mechelen (50 × 70), dating from 1525–1526 (fig. 6.21) and attributed to Rombout Keldermans, shows that to speed up production, repetitive motifs were occasionally left blank; in this case, the complex geometrical filler tracery surmounting the windows, which was repeated in each bay, was drawn only in two bays of the upper storey.43 Sometimes architects had to supply several alternative designs to serve as the basis for discussions with the patron. For the town hall of Damme (1461), for example, Godevaert de Bosschere was asked to make several designs, “the one costlier than the other”.44 Multiple options could also be presented in a single drawing, such as in a fifteenth-century elevation of the west façade of St Peter’s probably made by Matheus de Layens, who was   Quibus omnibus visis et mensis, cuncta in scriptis redacta sunt, formasque et figuras in foliis papyreis depinxerunt. Ex his tribus ecclesiis egregiam basilicam imaginati sunt. More autem pictorum insignem imaginem pingere volentium, quod decorum pulchrumque visu in alia conspiciunt statua, hoc suae addunt imagini, quod foedum et ineptum est relinquentes; pari modo noster chorus novus conceptus est et ex his tribus

41

choris depictus. His peractis, domum priore redeunte, exiit sermo inter frates quali forma qualique structura haec nostra basilica esset construenda. Johannes Gielemans 1961, 394. 42   On Ghent, see: Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 1, 103. On Antwerp, see: KAA OLV, KR 1520, f. 20r. 43   Roosegaarde Bisschop 1956, 170. 44   Devliegher 1964, 159–66.

Fig. 6.13 Jean Repu, Jean de Thuin and Guillaume Le Prince, drawing for the tower of St Waltrude in Mons (so-called Plan Chalon), parchment 345 × 65, 1550. The drawing was made after a design for the tower of St Rumbold in Mechelen, probably made by Rombout II Keldermans. (AEM, Documents précieux 4)

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Fig. 6.14 ’s-Hertogenbosch, Alard Duhamel and Jan Heyns, St John, chapel of the Confraternity of Our Lady, 1487–1495.

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Fig. 6.15 Brussels, Lodewijk van Boghem, Hendrik van Pede and Pieter van Wyenhove, St Gudula, chapel of the Holy Sacrament, 1532–1540.

the church’s master of the works between 1445 and 1483 (Fig. 6.18).45 The drawing shows two alternatives. That on the left side of the central axis is mostly unadorned apart from the archivolts of the portal and the windows frames of the upper storey. By contrast, the right side shows a more richly decorated façade, with the portal and the window frames embellished with crockets and finials, buttresses encrusted with baldachins and blind arcading in the spandrels above the upper storey windows. That the left side was not simply left unfinished to save money, like the Mechelen drawing (fig. 6.21), can be deduced from the differences between the spires of the north and the south towers: whereas the north tower (on the left) is clad in plain stone, the south tower (right) has a pierced tracery spire. The double view continues in the rendering of the central tower, which at its rectangular base has plain buttresses capped by a wimperg on the left and decorated with baldachins on the right. The right-hand buttresses are furthermore surmounted by a heavy pinnacle that flanks the octagon.46 Another intriguing detail is the focal point of the façade; where one would expect a large west window, the elevation is left unadorned save for two small, rectangular 45   Doperé has proposed that the drawing could also have been made by the painter Gielys Steurbout, because in 1481 he was paid for a drawing of the west front (voor het betrecke te beworpene van den drie toren…). However, because such designs on

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parchment were usually made by masters of the works, the payment to Steurbout possibly concerns a painted image of De Layens’ project made for display in the church. Doperé 1998, 323–24. 46   Böker & Hurx & Sauvé 2013, 355–56.

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windows with some latticework placed above each other. A possible explanation for this awkward design is that it shows a situation with parts of the pre-existing Romanesque westwork integrated into the Gothic façade.47 The new design made in the early sixteenth century and usually attributed to Joos Metsys follows the general composition of the earlier drawing, albeit stylistically updated and with a large central west window to illuminate the nave.48 It is clear in any case that these elevations were made to facilitate discussion of the design and to offer the patron alternatives for selection and approval. Like elevations, plans provided a basis for discussing a final design with the patron. The fourteenth-century ground plans of Kortrijk Castle and Warneton Castle are among the oldest preserved in the Low Countries and earliest known drawings of military architecture in all medieval Europe. The plan of Kortrijk Castle (fig. 6.22) seems to have been made in 1394 at the end of the first year of construction, and can perhaps be identified with an account which relates that in November a messenger was sent to the duke’s chancellor in Lille to discuss work on the donjon and to show him the measurements and plan (la messure et le patron).49 The drawing can probably be attributed to Philip the Bold’s master mason Henri Heubens, who supervised the construction.50 The ground plan shows the general outline of the castle, which is a largely symmetric quadrilateral structure reinforced by ten circular towers. The donjon with its staircase turret is significantly larger than the other three corner towers. Two additional towers defend the curtain walls midway, and the two gatehouses are also flanked by two projecting towers. The donjon and north wall faced the Lys river, the gatehouse to the west was oriented towards the road to Lille, and the opposite gate connected the castle to the town of Kortrijk. Short annotations to the plan detail the building’s dimensions and thickness of the walls, and furthermore state that the builders had begun work on the north wall, which at some points rose to a height of 25 feet (approximately 7.5 metres) at the time the drawing was made. The other sides of the castle were still awaiting the start of foundation work. As such, this drawing is not the original design but was made just before the crucial next phase of laying the foundations for the rest of the castle commenced. Several fifteenth and early sixteenth-century documents in the Low Countries confirm that drawings were used as a guide when setting out ground plans in the field (see below), and the Kortrijk drawing may have served a similar purpose. Nevertheless, with its detailed measurements and notes on the progress of the work, the drawing could also have been intended to illustrate a report on the state of the castle. The ground plan of Warneton Castle (fig. 6.23), situated midway between Lille and Ypres, depicts the wing facing the Lys, which contained the ‘logis’ of Yolande of Flanders, countess of Bar.51 The note on the reverse of the drawing explains that the plan was made by Gilles Largent, master of the works at Arras, Cambrai and Saint-Quentin, and Jehan le Fèvre, who jointly sent the design to Yolande for inspection on 6 September 1394: Cest la devise de louvrage du cyastel de Warneston fait par maistre Gile Largent et Jehan le Fevre   Doperé 1998, 324.   Meischke, 1988d, 142; Doperé 1998, 325; Böker & Hurx & Sauvé 2013, 356–57. 49   Pauwels 1983, 26 and 56. 50   Lavalleye 1930; Pauwels 1983. 47 48

  During an armed conflict in 1395, Philip the Bold seized several castles from Yolande of Flanders, including Kortrijk and Warneton. Bubenicek 2002, 379–81. It seems likely that the drawing entered the administrative records of the duke of Burgundy at that time.

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Fig. 6.16 Rombout II Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere, design for the façade of Ghent town hall on the Hoogpoort side, 1518–1519, parchment 86 × 146. (Ghent, STAM, inv. 472)

maistres masons raporter a Ma dame a Nieppe le vj e jour de septembre l’an mil ccc iiijxx xiiij.52 Presumably, the plan was utilised in the discussion of the apartment’s arrangement with the patron. The plan shows the wing enclosed by two large corner towers, with an entrance from the courtyard via a small stairway. To the right of the courtyard is a small entry gate and la grande poirte. Brief inscriptions specify the basic dimensions (width and length) and function of rooms within the apartment. The largest chamber is the great hall (Grande sale), which is flanked by a presence chamber (Chambre deparement) on one side and a buttery (boutellerie) and stairs on the other. From the hall, the kitchen could be reached through a small room located next to the main entrance. Opposite the entrance, the hall leads to two small rooms that project from the main body of the wing, identified in the plan as a pantry and parlour. Yolande’s bedchamber (Chambre de Madame en le grosse tour) is situated in the large corner tower (on the left), along with a small private chapel (accessible via the presence chamber), and is connected to a withdrawing chamber (retraite), a privy and a corridor leading to a garde robe (lower left).53   The year in the note is difficult to read, and may be either 1381, 1389 or 1394. Work had already started in the early 1380s and continued up to Yolande’s death in 1395. The drawing was first published in 1980 but was largely ignored by publications on architectural history: Duvosquel & Lemoine-Isabeau 1980, 123. On Gilles Largent’s activities in Cambrai, see: Salamagne 2001, 123–24. Largent is known to have been the master of the works of the north façade of the great transept of the collegiate church of Saint-Quentin around 1399. 52

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Héliot 1967, 72, note 9, 73. Jehan le Fèvre was probably active in the same region and is recorded in the city accounts of Lille in 1396–1997. It seems unlikely that he can be identified with the master mason who worked in Mons in the 1440s and was involved in the construction of St Waltrude’s in 1449. Philipp 1988, 390. 53   Most studies on the development of the apartment in the Low Countries have focused on the Burgundian court in the fifteenth century; see: De Jonge 1991; De Jonge 1994b; De Jonge 2000.

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Fig. 6.17 Rombout II Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere, design for the façade of Ghent town hall on the Botermarktzijde, parchment 83 × 123, 1518–1519. (Ghent, STAM, inv. 473)

Like the ground plan for Kortrijk, the layout is fairly schematic, rendered in only a few ink lines. The drawing gives the impression of having been made in a hurry – an idea reinforced by the fact that many of the rooms appear to lack doorways. In fact, these were initially drawn in uninked construction lines used for the preparation of the drawing. When finishing the drawing in ink, the draftsmen apparently preferred to mark the locations of the doors with the letter v (or b). By contrast, they put considerable care into drawing the main chimneypieces of the apartment, labelling all of them with a c. Though the preparatory lines of the plan show that it was meticulously drawn, it seems unlikely to have been intended as an actual guide for the builders, because it lacks essential information regarding the interior arrangement of the chapel, pantry and parlour. Compared to these two military plans, the only two remaining fifteenth-century ground plans for ecclesiastical buildings were made with far more care and attention to detail (fig. 6.3 and 6.24). Both are preserved in Mons. The oldest drawing is the plan of Amiens already discussed above, and the other is a never-realised design for St Waltrude’s bearing the date 1448 and probably made by Michel de Rains, who the chapter paid for two patrons en parchemin in 1449.54 The plan shows the choir with an ambulatory and seven radial chapels and the transept with its side aisles and part of the first bay of the nave.55 54

  Philipp 1988, 389 and 391.

 The quadrangled spaces with a central pier positioned in the corner of the transept and choir were probably intended as a sacristy.

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Fig. 6.18 Matheus de Layens (attributed), design for the west front of St Peter in Leuven, parchment 180 × 61, before 1481. (Leuven, Museum M)

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Fig. 6.19 Joos Metsys (attributed), design for the west front of St Peter in Leuven, parchment 276 × 82, c. 1525. (Leuven, Museum M)

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It is minutely drawn and annotated with several measurements, which also indicate the height of the nave. Curiously, the height is measured from the keystone of the arcade arches up to the keystone of the clerestory vault. These measurements and the precise mouldings of the compound piers show that the draftsman had a clear conception of the elevation, as the type of vault would have to be known in order to determine the shape of the piers. That this was indeed the case can be discerned from the draftsman’s small corrections visible at the east crossing piers, which were revised by adding the shafts needed to support the intermediate ribs of the stellar vault (fig. 6.25). Because the west piers lack these modifications and have all supporting shafts in place, the decision to have a stellar vault instead of a regular cross-rib vault must have been made during the drafting process. In the Low Countries, the use of architectural drawings was so widespread that plans were even drafted for humble and utilitarian constructions. A good example is the plan for the emperor’s water mill at Gordaal near Tervuren, dating from 1533 (fig. 6.26).56 It was probably accompanied by building specifications for a tender, as a note on the reverse reads “tendered in May 33” (Bestaedt in mayo xxxiij). On the left, a schematic ground plan shows the water wheel from above, and on the right is a plain ground plan of the house. The largest room adjacent to the wheel probably accommodated the mill. The house had two additional rooms, a kitchen and a small chamber, and three sheds outside for horses, cows and pigs, respectively. The Drawing as Construction Guide The extent to which drawings guided the construction process in the Middle Ages has long been a matter of scholarly debate. Even though architectural drawings survive in greater numbers from the thirteenth century onwards, particularly for German churches, their function in the construction process has frequently been questioned.57 Few medieval drawings contain dimensions,   See also: De Meulemeester & Dewilde 1985. 57  On the use of medieval drawings in general, see: 56

Bucher, 1968; Böker 2005; Böker et al. 2011; Böker et al. 2013.

Fig. 6.20 Unknown draftsman, design for the tower of Our Lady in Breda, parchment 170 × 39, second half of the fifteenth ­century. (Present whereabouts unknown, formerly collection Jean Squilbeck, Brussels)

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Fig. 6.21 Rombout II Keldermans (attributed), design for the Great Council in Mechelen, parchment 50 × 107, 1525–1526. (Stedelijke Musea Mechelen)

Fig. 6.22 Henri Heubens (attributed), plan of Kortrijk Castle, parchment 89 × 93, 1394. The drawing contains the note: La pourtraicture du nouvel chastel de Courtrois. (ARA, KPH, 8070)

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Fig. 6.23 Gilles Largent and Jehan le Fèvre, plan of Warneton Castle, parchment 43.5 × 68, signed and dated 1394. (ARA, KPH, 8694)

and most show only a part of the project. Furthermore, they often lack the detailed technical information characteristic of modern plans, and likewise are seldom accompanied by building specifications that precisely set out the construction process and final product. In northern Europe, fully detailed sets of documents that give a clear and complete description of planned construction works are scarce before the seventeenth century.58 For these reasons, it has often been thought that the use of drawings to guide construction was limited in the Middle Ages. It has been proposed that little documentation was needed, as most agreements were passed on among builders through tradition and tacit knowledge. Furthermore, decisions regarding construction could have been made as the work advanced, and instructions were mostly given orally by the master of the works. It has also been thought that the provision of actual measurements in drawings was largely unnecessary, given that constructive or dynamic geometry – the process guiding the design – could be replicated to scale at the building site.59 In the Low Countries, however, many written archival sources survive attest to the important role that drawings played in construction. In some cases, the actual function of a drawing is difficult to confirm, as in Culemborg, where at the start of work on the new town hall in 1533–1534 it was declared that the building would be erected according to

 A famous exception is the fourteenth-century Sansedoni contract, illustrated with the elevation of the façade of the Sienese palazzo. Toker 1985a.

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  Gerbino & Johnston 2009, 24; Pacey 2007, 59–65; Ackerman 2002, 31; Bucher 1968, 51; Shelby 1964, 390–91.

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Fig. 6.24 Michel de Rains (attributed), plan for St Waltrude in Mons, parchment 80 × 64, 1448. (AEM, cartes et plans 408)

the drawing made by the late Rombout Keldermans, who had died two years earlier.60 The drawing, now lost, may have been followed to the letter, but it could also have conveyed just a general idea of the project. A clearer picture of the role of drawings in construction can be gleaned from references in building specifications. Rombout Keldermans’ specifications for the masonry work of the choir of the church at Tongerlo Abbey, dated 9 May 1527, stipulate that the small staircase be constructed “the same as it was drawn in the old drawing”.61 The drawing therefore contained vital information that supplemented the written specifications. Other building specifications indicate that written instructions and drawings were made to complement each other, such as a 1528 specification for a new wooden gallery for the ducal castle at Vilvoorde, near Brussels, which stipulated that the work was to be made “according to the content of the specifications following hereafter and according to the drawing”.62   Item het stadthuys sal gemaict worden navolgende den patrone, beworpen by wylen meister Romb[out] Keldermans, wesende In handen van gherit hubertsz. Sillevis & Beltjes 1939, 12. 61   Item de cleijne weijndelsteen salmen te werck legghen ghelijk opt doudt patroon geteckent staet… AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 24v. 60

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 …na dinhout vander ordinantie so hier nae volgen sal ende na dinhoudt vand patroone. ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1. 62

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Fig. 6.25 Michel de Rains (attributed), plan for St Waltrude in Mons, 1448. Detail showing the stellar vault of the crossing with small corrections at the eastern crossing piers. (AEM, cartes et plans 408)

Similarly, the documents that accompanied the ground plans of fortifications in the territory of Utrecht, discussed above, contain many references to drawings. Those for Rhenen, for example, specify that the new bulwark for the Rhine gate should be modelled on the West gate, an option explored in the quick sketch (fig. 6.5), or “according to the plan” (naer vuytwysen den patrone), referring to the aforementioned elaborate ground plan (fig. 6.6).63 Written sources are particularly informative regarding the importance of ground plans for setting out the foundations of buildings. In view of the great accuracy this task required,

  Martens 2009, 94–96, notes 23, 24, 25, 27. Other examples are the specifications for the carpentry of the Blauwe Toren in Gorinchem, which stipulated

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that the carpenters Jacob Snouc and Joos Janssone de Keyser had to follow the drawings. NA, GRK, 5008.

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Fig. 6.26 Unknown draftsman, plan of the emperor’s water mill at Gordaal near Tervuren, paper 40 × 58.7, dated 1533. (ARA, KPH 2, 981)

it was usually done in the presence of the master of the works.64 An interesting account is given in a letter written by Anselme Cara, prior of the monastery of Brou (15 July 1513), in which he reports to Margaret of Austria that after the demolition of the old church and levelling of the site, work on the foundations of the new church had begun. They were laid, he writes, according to the measurements that Lodewijk van Boghem had set out with pegs and ropes in the field: L’eglise vielle et la maison ancienne sont abbatus et a l’on esgallé la place de l’eglise tellement que l’on est apres à foer la terre pour commencer à fonder selon les mesures et cordeaulx mis et apposéz par ledit maistre Loys.65 64  Setting out a building’s layout with ropes in the field remained an important task for architects throughout the early modern period, especially in the case of complex plans. For instance, Gian Lorenzo Bernini is documented to have set out the layout of Sant’Andrea al Quirinale himself in 1658. Schlimme & Holste & Niebaum 2014, 244. 65  In a letter to Margaret of Austria, Von Boghem used the expression cordeaulx de la plate forme. Bruchet 1927, 230 no. 107. Another documented

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example of a ground plan being set out in the field using pegs and ropes is found in the building accounts of Our Lady in Antwerp in 1521, which records the purchase of a ball of rope to “trace the dimensions of the new choir” (Item betaelt voir een clouwen coerden mede te trecken de mate vanden nieuwen choore). KAA OLV, KR 1520, f. 20r. Génard 1870, 468. On the measuring tools used in general to set out ground plans in the field, see: Binding 1985, 13–14.

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Ground plans were generally set out with the drawings in hand. Thus, in 1526, Hendrik van Pede, master of the work of the town hall of Oudenaarde, was paid “to mark out, using the drawings, the ground [plan] of the town hall”.66 In some specifications, plans seem to be given precedence over written descriptions, such in as a document drawn up in 1515 by Lodewijk van Boghem, Hendrik van Pede, Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere for the Maison du Roi in Brussels, which prescribes following the ­drawing of the ground plan when the laying the building’s foundations.67 From St Waltrude’s in Mons, a rare drawing survives that was made specifically for work on the foundations of the tower of (fig. 6.27). The master of the works, Jean de Thuin, was paid in 1548 to make several ground plans for the tower on parchment and paper. The record of the payment explains that the plans were made just before the tower was set out with pickets in the field: A Jehan De Thuing, tailleur d’imaiges, pour trente journées par luy employées tant à faire plattes-formes en parchemin et en pappyer pour la thour de l’eglize, comme à planter paissons pour conmenchier à érigier la ditte thour, et avoir fait pluiseurs plattes-formes…68 The loosely drawn plan has been preserved with a note explicative titled Pour la fondation de la thour Ste Waldrud, and is therefore likely to have been one of the drawings mentioned in the record.69 The general outline of the drawing resembles the ground plan of the built tower, even if some important details are markedly different. The portal in the drawing lacks a trumeau, and the spiral staircases are accessible only from the exterior, whereas in the present building they can be reached through a corridor directly from the interior. Furthermore, the drawing indicates that the interior was spanned by a single cross-rib vault with a large oculus in the centre, whereas ultimately two bays with cross-rib vaults were built. The differences between the drawing and the actual tower suggest that De Thuin’s various drawings may have represented different options. Both the drawing and the note contain several measurements in feet, which mostly concern the thickness of the walls, but the information provided is rather limited and the final drawing on parchment was likely to have been more detailed. Written sources are less specific about the extent to which large-scale elevations were used as guides for builders. In several cases, it is known that such drawings were not actually kept at the building site. The two expensive elevations of Ghent town hall were in the keeping of the architects Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere in Antwerp.70 Perhaps copies were made for the undermasters in Ghent. The sources do not say why the drawings were not kept by the city aldermen in Ghent, who after all had paid generously for them, but a likely reason is that Rombout and Dominicus needed them to draft detailed drawings and stonecutters’ templates as the work progressed year by year. This practice seems to be confirmed by the contract appointing Jan van Ruysbroeck as master at the town hall in Brussels in 1449, mentioned above, which stipulates that he had to “cut all stonecutters’ templates for the said work, or to have them cut, according to the drawing of the tower”.71 66  …omme metten patroenen de grondt van der Stedehuus te betreckene… Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 3, 315. 67   Item inden iersten is geordineert datmen dit voirs huyse al heel fonderen zal naer wtwysen vanden patroone… ARA, KWI, 5537. 68   Devillers 1857, 20.

  AEM, cartes et plans 1231.   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 390 and 402. 71  …alle de berderen tot den voirs. wercken beho­ erende, na tvoirs. betreck sniden of doen sniden. ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 24v. Published in: Des Marez 1923, 102; Maesschalk & Viaene 1960, 59–61. 69 70

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Fig. 6.27 Jean de Thuin (attributed), plan for the foundations of the tower of St Waltrude in Mons, paper 59 × 42, 1548. (AEM, cartes et plans 1231)

A different category of drawings that do seem to have been used as working drawings are designs for timber roof constructions. The collection of drawings that Laureys Keldermans made in 1532 for fortifications in the territory of Utrecht contains one for the roof constructions of the large corner towers on the field side of Vredenburg Castle (fig. 6.28). The meticulousness with which the structural details are drawn makes it likely that the drawing was intended for the builders. Another example is a sheet of drawings for Tervuren Castle, with a plan for the roof structure of a hall on one side and a section on the verso (fig. 6.29 and 6.30).72 The plan probably served as an illustration to surviving building specifications dating from 1540. It shows masonry walls on three sides of the hall, and on the fourth two wall plates, one inner and one outer (de binnen plate/de buyten plate). The six tie beams spanning the hall are pictured in a 90-degree rotation to show the sides of each beam and the corbels. Showing them at this angle made it easier to align the plan and the section; making it possible to trace one of the tie beams on the back of the plan. The section depicts a complete roof truss with all its principals, braces, collar-beams and purlins accurately drawn. Because the paper is somewhat translucent, both sides can be seen simultaneously, making it easier to see the relationship between the two drawings. Thus, looking at the drawings together makes it clear that the inner wall plate that supports the principals is carried by the tie beams, while the outer wall plate supporting the sprocket

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  ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2.

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Fig. 6.28 Laureys Keldermans (attributed), drawing of the roof construction of the large corner towers on the field side of Vredenburg Castle, paper 84 × 56, 1532. (HUA, 37 FI, 46–3)

rests directly on the masonry. The drawing is remarkably modern in its execution, and the section in particular closely resembles current illustrations of medieval roof structures in the literature on construction history. Measured Drawings As in Germany, a significant proportion of the drawings preserved in the Low Countries contain no measurements or indication of scale.73 This seems to be at odds with the many extant building specifications and contracts that do provide precise measurements.74 They suggest that real measurements were vital during the planning and construction phases. The comprehensive specifications for Henry III of Nassau’s castle at Diest, drawn up in the early 1530s,   This goes for elevation drawings in particular. An exception is the oldest design for the west façade of St Peter’s in Leuven, where at several points the height of the façade (probably in ‘Leuven feet’) is indicated in Hindu-Arabic numerals; on the south tower, the number 62 (= 17.7 m) marks the level of the ground floor, the top of the first storey is indicated at 120 feet (= 43.3 m), the number 212 (= 60.5 m) is inscribed halfway up the third storey, and just below the octagon of the central tower the height is indicated at 328 feet (= 93.6 m).

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As these measurements correspond with the actual height of the building, and contemporary sources usually use Roman numbers, it seems likely that the numbers were added later. Böker & Hurx & Sauvé 2013, 355. 74  Comparisons with the actual buildings have led to the assumption that a scale of approximately 1:60 was often used. Meischke 1988d, 142. On the use of measurements in contracts and building specifications in the Low Countries, see: van Tussenbroek 2013, 141–44.

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furnish a good example. The castle was never built, but this document meticulously specifies the components of the building and its interior arrangement in a list of 29 items, which enabled Bernhard Roosens to reconstruct the precise ground plan.75 The first item gives the castle’s general dimensions: it would have a ground plan extending 234 by 234 feet and walls 68 feet high. The second item prescribes the thickness of the walls, and the third the measurements of the inner courtyard, which would be a quadrangle 150 feet across. Items 5–29 set out the interior arrangement, starting with the great hall of 30 by 60 feet and continuing with the dimensions of the chapel and various rooms and the heights of the storeys. The enumeration even includes specifications for the width of the mantelpieces and entrances and for the precise dimensions of service rooms and privies. Though there is no reference to a drawing in the document, the level of detail seems almost inconceivable without a pre-existing ground plan. The incongruity between pictorial and written documentary evidence is at the root of a longstanding historiographical debate regarding the dichotomy between geometrical and numerical/arithmetical approaches to the design of architecture.76 In his seminal study on Gothic design principles, Konrad Hecht concluded that dimensions were predominantly determined by arithmetical modularity, and attributed the lack of measured plans to the use Fig. 6.29 Unknown draftsman, plan of the roof construc- of standard scalings that were tacit knowledge tion of a hall of Tervuren Castle, paper, c. 1540. (ARA, ARK, in the masons’ lodge.77 In a recent response to Administratieve dossiers, 132/2) this thesis, Robert Bork rigorously d ­ emonstrates the geometric logic that underlies many Gothic drawings.78 According to Bork, from the times of Villard de Honnecourt up to the sixteenth century, plans and elevations always depended on analogous geometric schemes. Bork believes that arithmetical formulas played a minor role in the design process, though they were probably needed to translate geometric drawings to the building site.79 The ­indication of   Roosens 1983.   Hecht 1979. For a recent discussion of ‘medieval geometry vs. renaissance number’, see: Cohen 2013, 44–51. 77   Hecht 1979, 381–82. See also: Böker 2005, 25. 78   Bork 2011. 79   On the combined use of geometrical schemes and arithmetical modules in the building process, see: Nußbaum 2011 and Bork 2014. The treatises of the southern German werkmeister Lorenz Lechler (1516) 75 76

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and Matthäus Roriczers (1486 and 1487–1488) and the goldsmith Hans Schmuttermayer (c. 1485) also show that they used both geometry and modular proportions to design architecture. Coenen 2009. On the problem of the use of geometry in building practice in the Middle Ages, see also: Surdèl 1994; Denslagen 1982. The combined use of geometric and arithmetic procedures in architectural design continued to be important in the Low Countries throughout the sixteenth century; see: De Jonge 2014.

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scale on several fourteenth-century Italian drawings led Franklin Toker to suppose that these drawings may have been used to fix approximate measurements for an actual building.80 This practice is often considered typical for Italy, yet drawings with scale lines preserved north of the Alps have until now received little attention.81 A good example of such drawings is the ground plan of Saint-Urbain in Troyes, thought to have been made between 1490 and 1515 and attributed to Hans Hammer.82 By the end of the fifteenth century, and probably much earlier, some northern masters must have used graduated rulers as a measuring tool for drawings. Significant evidence for this is found in a portrait in the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin, usually attributed to Ludger Tom Ring the Elder (1496–1547), but more recently and credibly to Jan Cornelisz Vermeyen (c. 1550–1559), court painter to Margaret of Austria (fig. 6.31).83 The painting shows an unidentified architect, his profession indicated by the compass in his left hand and two stonecutters’ templates hanging behind him on the wall – next to which, curiously, hangs a graduated ruler.84 A similar type of ruler is depicted in the early sixteenth-century Weimar Ingenieurkunst- und Wunderbuch, on the verso of folio 311.85 Also interesting in this connection is a miniature of the tower of Babel in the Spinola Hours, made c. 1510–1520 by the Master of James IV of Scotland, who was most likely active in

Fig. 6.30 Unknown draftsman, section of the roof construction of a hall of Tervuren Castle, paper, c. 1540. The drawing was made on the verso of fig. 6.29. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2)

  Toker 1985a. The earliest examples of architectural drawings on which a scale line is indicated are the elevation of a tomb for the Baroncelli chapel in Santa Croce in Florence from c. 1338 and the famous plan for the Duomo of Siena (S2), dating from around 1340. For the drawings, see: Ascani 1997; Toker 1992. 81   The oldest drawing containing a scale line north of the Alps is an elevation of the tower of Sankt Bartholomäus in Frankfurt, attributed to Michael Kurtze, which dates from 1430–1460. The drawing is preserved in the Historisches Museum in Frankfurt am Main (Domriß A). See: Böker et al. 2013, 307–13. 82  Munich Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, inv. no. 24850v. Böker et al. 2013, 262–63. Other examples are a drawing for the west gallery of St Stephen’s in Vienna, from c. 1485 (Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna, inv. no. 17009), Böker 2005, 25, 319–20;

Böker et al. 2013, 262–63; a plan of the choir of Augsburg Cathedral from c. 1500 (Vienna, inv. no. 16846), Böker 2005, 25, 134–35; and an elevation of the tower of Freiburg Minster, attributed to Hans Denck, from 1507 (Berlin, Kupferstichkabinett, inv. no. 79 C 36/113), Böker et al. 2013, 109–10. See also: Hecht 1979, 374, note 697. For a discussion of the scale of the Augsburg choir plan, see: Bork 2011, 374–76. 83   Guerreau 2012. 84   Guerreau 2012. There are several other examples of a master of the works portrayed with a measuring rod. Hecht 1979, 242. 85  Interestingly, the recto shows a drawing that explains how the height of a tower can be measured using a quadrant and a rope with nods at regular intervals. Weimar, Stiftung Weimarer Klassik / AnnaAmalia-Bibliothek, cod. f. 328.

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Fig. 6.31 Jan Cornelisz Vermeyen (c. 1500–1559) (attributed), portrait of an architect, early sixteenth century, oil op panel 53 × 43. The painting was formerly attributed to Ludger Tom Ring the Elder (1496– 1547). (Berlin, Gemäldegalerie, inv. no. 629A)

Fig. 6.32 Master of James IV of Scotland, tower of Babel (detail), in: Spinola Hours, c. 1510–1520. (Los Angeles, J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig IX 18) (Plate 8)

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Ghent. It shows a mason measuring an architectural component with a graduated ruler as a final check before the block is assembled (fig. 6.32).86 Together, these three examples suggest that use of graduated rulers was widespread in northern Europe in the early sixteenth century. Several early examples of scaled, measured plans are extant in the Low Countries. The aforementioned plans of the castles at Kortrijk and Warneton show that exact measurements were specified on ground plans early on. The annotations on the Kortrijk plan provide measurements for the length and thickness of the walls that consistently correspond to the proportional relationships of the layout, suggesting that the drawing was made to scale. The varying lengths of the curtain walls between the castle’s towers could not have been determined solely through geometry. The irregular site forced the draftsman to work with actual measurements. He would have used a compass to set out the general proportions and draw the circular towers, but he also had to depend on his measuring rod. The Warneton plan similarly includes brief annotations with the chief measurements (width and length) of the rooms. The great hall measures 80 by 40 feet, the presence chamber 52 by 40 feet, and the bedchamber 43 by 36 feet. Like the Kortrijk drawing, these measurements correspond to their proportional relationships, which is a strong indication that the plan was made to scale.87 Although no measured plans are preserved from the fifteenth century, it seems likely that there was a continuous tradition of making drawings to scale from the fourteenth century onwards, at least for plans of military edifices. Examples of early sixteenth-century plans that include measurements are two drawings for the castles of Schoonhoven and Limbourg. The notes on the Schoonhoven Castle ground plan, made by Rombout Keldermans in 1524 (fig. 6.33), provide information about the orientation of the castle, the location of two sluices and

86  J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig IX 18, f. 32. Also published in: Meunier 2015, 113. 87  No scale line is indicated, but a line drawn in freehand running through the courtyard from the wall of the garderobe to the kitchen is annotated

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pye a main and xii pauches pour pie, indicating that a pes manualis was used, which as usual was subdivided into twelve inches. The measurements of the withdrawing chamber, the garderobe and the kitchen are also inscribed.

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Fig. 6.33 Rombout II Keldermans, plan of Schoonhoven Castle, paper 59 × 40, dated 1524. (NA VTH 3352)

the functions of the main rooms. Again, the measurements of the courtyard and rooms, expressed in feet, correspond to their proportional relationships, testifying that the drawing was made to scale.88 Conversely, the sketchily drawn ground plan for the castle of Limbourg, made in 1519, seems not to have been made to scale (fig. 6.34), but does include detailed measurements, both in feet and rods, for the length and thickness of the walls and diameter of the castle’s circular towers.89 Close inspection of the drawings shows that here the measurements do not exactly correspond to their proportional relationships, which suggests that this plan was not the final design for the castle but served as a quick survey (see below). This period also witnessed a new advance in the production of scale drawings, with the first instance of a clear scale diagram in the Low Countries, found on four drawings for the fortifications of Antwerp and first published by Roosens in 2007.90 The four drawings were probably made around 1506 and have been attributed to Dominicus de Waghemakere, who was the master of works to the city at that time. Three drawings show extensive modifications to the existing towers, while the fourth is a general plan for a defence system with double walls surrounding the entire city (fig. 6.35, 6.36, 6.37 and 6.38). Such large-scale master plans are very rare for this period, but the three drawings of the bulwarks are also noteworthy, because they show

  Gerritsen 2006, 221.   ARA, KPH 1641. Thisquen 1907, 127–32; Thisquen 1978, 26–27, 67–72; Bragard 1997–1998, 88 89

vol. 2, 524–27. My thanks to Pieter Martens for sharing these references with me. 90   Roosens 2007.

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Fig. 6.34 Peter Bandon, plan of Limbourg Castle (Belgium), paper 29.5 × 43, dated 1519. The verso contains the note: Patroen ende ordinantie vanden slote van Lymborch geconcipieert in februario anno xv c xviij [= 1519 N. S.]. (ARA, KPH, 1641)

very early experiments in strengthening fortifications to withstand heavy artillery. Apart from the early use of linear scale, the drawings are also interesting in that they mark the first instance of another modern drawing convention: the use of a coloured wash to indicate the mass of the brick walls. The plan for the Begijnenpoort (Beguines gate) has two scale lines (fig. 6.35), one marked at intervals of 1 to 10 (probably in Antwerp feet) at the lower centre of the drawing, and another indicating intervals of 10 feet drawn to the right of the plan, starting at the old city wall and ending at 60 feet on the other side of the moat. It has long been assumed that the use of scale diagrams was first introduced in the Low Countries by mapmakers and was not applied to architectural drawings until from around the middle of the sixteenth century.91 However, close inspection of plans for the fortifications of Antwerp and a series of plans in Utrecht shows that scale lines were in fact used much earlier.92 For instance, the plan of Vredenburg Castle includes two scale lines with length markings at regular intervals of 50 feet. The first two unlabelled graduations are subdivided into smaller dimensional units of 10 feet (fig. 6.39), the first of which is further graduated by small dots to the measure of one foot. Similarly subdivided scale lines are found on plans of the Tolsteegpoort (fig. 6.7), Duurstede Castle (fig. 6.8) and Huis Ter Eem (fig. 6.9). The Antwerp and Utrecht drawings are furthermore remarkable for their early use of Hindu-Arabic numerals, which is rather exceptional in the north in this period, and was

  Meischke 1988b, 148–49.  For a discussion of these drawings, see also: Meischke 1988c, 107–10; Leys 1987. On the 91 92

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attribution to Laureys Keldermans, see: Roosens 2005, 234–35; Martens 2009, 93, note 21.

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Fig. 6.35 Dominicus de Waghemakere (attributed), plan of Begijnenpoort in Antwerp, c. 1506. (SAA ICO 26/1C)

certainly not standard practice in Italy either.93 This use of scale lines and inscribed dimensions demonstrates the importance of true measurements in the building culture of the Low Countries. Indeed, the irregular outlines of these buildings were hard to reconcile with an ideal geometric design procedure and the graduated ruler was therefore an indispensable tool for draftsmen. The early use of scale in architectural drawings in the Low Countries may be explained by the close link between the master mason’s field of expertise and knowledge of land surveying, as discussed in Chapter 5. Proof that architects had experience in surveying is also evident from the ground plan for Vredenburg Castle. The drawing shows the building and its surroundings in two superimposed layers, with the new design of the castle projected onto the existing urban fabric, part of which had to be demolished for the castle moat. To prepare the drawing, Rombout presumably made a detailed survey of the old city walls, surrounding blocks and their lots.  Some drawings from German lodges have measurements expressed in Arabic numbers. See, for instance: Böker et al. 2013, 249, 308. On early 93

sixteenth-century Italian practice, see: Sebregondi 2015; Huppert 2014; Carpo 2003.

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Fig. 6.36 Dominicus de Waghemakere (attributed), plan of Viskoperstoren in Antwerp, c. 1506. (SAA ICO 26/2C) (Plate 9)

The importance of scale in early sixteenth-century architectural drafting is well articulated in a letter written in 1521 by Michiel Heynrich, a master carpenter of Haarlem, to the king of Denmark. Heynrich apologises that a drawing he has made for a wooden spire for the ‘Bakery Tower’ of the royal castle in Copenhagen is not as “beautiful as those made by painters”. Yet, he points out, in contrast to the designs of painters, he has provided a ground plan (gront) made according to the art of geometry (na den rechten ordinanci) that is true to the real measurements (steeck).94 Some painters appear to have been capable of making measured ground plans just as well, however. For instance, in a 1511 letter to Secretary Louis Barangier, Jean Perréal, court painter to Margaret of Austria, writes that he has made a ground plan for the sepulchral church of Brou which he is sending for Margaret’s inspection. It is made “to proportion with measurements according to the rules of geometry”, and he explains that he has sent along the compass he used to make the drawing, “with which she can understand the lengths, widths and heights of the whole and of each detail, as she well knows”.95 94  …wy tesamen hebben dit seluer gemaeckt na den rechten ordinanci, also wy conden ten niet so reynlick ghemaeckt, oft een schilder ghedaen hadde die soudet reyner ghedaen hebben, maer hy en soude die steeck niet ghehouden hebben en die gront en soud die schilder niet ghemaeckt hebben. Norn 1948, xx–xxi. See also: Gerritsen 2006, 21–22; Bøggild Johannsen 2013, 273–75. 95   Sy me suis mis apres et ay fait une plate forme que mons. l’indiciaire porte, laquelle a porpocions et

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mesures par le commandement de geometrie … j’ay envoyé a Madame le compas dont me suis aidé, par lequel elle peust, comme bien le scet, faire cognoistre touttes les largeurs, haulteurs, longueurs tant du tout que des parties. Bruchet 1927, 208 no. 58. It remains unclear why Perréal mentions that Margaret needed his compass as a measuring device; possibly it was accompanied by a separate ruler indicating the scale of the drawing.

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Stonecutters’ Templates Particularly instrumental in communication between architects and workmen were stonecutters’ templates, usually called berderen (‘scantlings’) or scampeljoenen in the sources.96 Made on a one-to-one scale, usually from wood but after the mid-fifteenth century also from thick paper or cardboard, stonecutters used these templates to outline moulding contours on blocks of stone. This ensured that all blocks of a certain type had exactly the same outline and facilitated serial production, as templates could be copied and distributed among stonemasons. For simple blocks, one template was sufficient, but sometimes multiple templates were used for elements of more complex three-dimensionality. The accounts of the Maison du Roi in Brussels show that several templates were needed for a tas-de-charge: one for the contour of the base (grontberderen) and others for the individual ribs of the vault at the top of the block.97 Almost all templates were discarded after use at the building site. An important exception is a collection of templates preserved at the General State Archives in Brussels.98 Among them is a rare set of paper templates made in connection with the renovation of Tervuren Castle (fig. 6.40), bearing the note: Fig. 6.37 Dominicus de Waghemakere (attributed), “These are the templates of the cross windows [of] plan of Kronenburgtoren in Antwerp, c. 1506. (SAA Ter Vueren”.99 The set contains five templates, all with ICO 26/23C) brief annotations. One shows the section of the lintel, transom and sill. Two separate templates were made for the mullion, one with a rectangular moulding below the transom (upper left) and another with a curved moulding for the mullion above (lower right).100 Two templates were likewise made for the frame, one for the lower and one for the upper windows. The notes also specify the measurements and the quantities needed, making a distinction between the mouldings needed straight away (terstont) and those that could be supplied later on. They give no indication of the precise location of the windows, but the measurements on the templates correspond to those of the Konincskamer (‘Kings’ chamber’) in the building specifications.101

 Van Tyghem 1961–1966; Shelby 1964; Shelby 1971. 97   Ende noch vier rasementen van drie brancken elck gestruys. Ende dat allet byde voet hoogden deen duer dander elcke ogive inckel gemeten nae dbert dair af gemaict ende geteekent metter letteren G. Ende oic den grontberderen geteekent mit hueren bezunderen teekenen… ARA, ARK, 27484, part 4, f. 5v.-6r. In Tongerlo two different templates were also used for the springers of the vaults of the side 96

aisles: one for the transverse arches and another for the ribs. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 27r. 98  Several rare drawings of mouldings have been preserved from St Stephen’s in Vienna; see: Böker 2005. 99   Dit syn de berderen vanden cruysvensteren Ter Vueren. ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/2. 100  The use of two different mouldings for cross windows was common in the sixteenth century. See the examples in: Janse 1971, 36–52. 101   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/2.

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Fig. 6.38 Dominicus de Waghemakere (attributed), general plan for a defence system with double city walls for Antwerp, c. 1506. (SAA 12#4175)

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Preserved in the same archive are four other stonecutters’ templates for a cross window and two for a mantelpiece in an unknown building.102 The window templates consist of two different mouldings for the mullion and frame, like those for the Konincskamer in Tervuren Castle. The templates for the mantelpiece concern the moulding of the lintel and a section of the chimney cheek, also showing the plan of its squared base (fig. 6.41 and 6.42). The note on the template for the chimney cheek states that the height of the cheeks should be six feet from base to lintel.103 On the reverse is a detail drawing of the profile of the chimney cheek base, along with further specifications for the base (fig. 6.43). Translating a design into templates required a thorough knowledge of geometry, as well as experience. The process of encoding a three-dimensional design into planes and sections was both intelFig. 6.39 Rombout II Keldermans, plan of Vredenburg lectually challenging and painstaking work, as a Castle in Utrecht, 1529 (detail). The plan ­contains two separate template was needed for each individual scale lines, which have length markings at regular intermoulding. Plans and elevations must have been vals (HUA, 37 FI, 46–2) helpful for keeping track of the resulting myriad of templates. Frequently they were produced in phases, to be ready either the winter before the new season started or at the start of a building campaign. Usually, templates were made by the architect himself or by his undermaster.104 Lodewijk van Boghem had several assistants who helped him in the preparation of drawings, templates and building specifications. In 1535, for instance, he received a payment for work that he and his assistants had executed for the chapel of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels: Davoir faict et livre avecq ses complices et assistens les pourtraictures, patrons et ordonnances…105 Several sources shed light on the amount of work that went into the production of templates.106 In his first year as master of the works at the Maison du Roi, Rombout Keldermans spent 24 days making templates, which was one third of the total number of days he spent on the project. He was assisted by Dominicus de Waghemakere and the master mason to the city of Brussels, Hendrik van Pede, who supervised the building site. Van Pede prepared a portion of these templates in Brussels, but also travelled to Antwerp to help Rombout and Dominicus draft drawings and templates there. After they   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1.   Dit es het bert vanden halssen ende bassement ende moet alle hoighe sijn vj voeten toet onder die sammeijsen. ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1. 104   Van Tyghem 1961–1966, 71. 102 103

105  ARA, ARK, 27399, f. 80r. In 1538–1539 Van Boghem also had assistants who made templates for a tower at Vilvoorde Castle. ARA, ARK, 26476, f. 21v. 106  For example, in 1472 the master of the works at St Gommarus’ in Lier, Jan Hazeldonk, was paid for 67 days that he spent cutting templates for the transept of the church. Leemans 1972, 33.

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Fig. 6.40 Set of paper templates for a cross window of Tervuren Castle, paper, first half of the ­sixteenth century. The templates are preserved together and are identified by the note: Dit syn de berderen vanden cruysvensteren Ter Vueren. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/2)

had completed most of the templates in Antwerp, a cart was hired to transport them to Brussels, where they were handed over to quarry masters from Hainaut.107 It was common for undermasters to travel to the master’s studio to help prepare templates. Another example is the undermaster at the town hall of Middelburg, Heynric van de Eycke, who travelled to Mechelen and spent 21 days assisting Anthonis I Keldermans in making templates for the tower. In less than three weeks they used nine quires of paper, corresponding to around 225 sheets.108 Because templates were used at both quarries and building sites, copies had to be made of each one. In 1445 Evert Spoorwater is documented as having made three copies of his templates for St Bavo’s in Haarlem: one copy to be sent to the quarries,   Item noch van xv daigen by hem [Hendrik van Pede] gevaceert inder stadt van Antwerpen om in presencien vanden voirs. ander meester wercluden te hebben gemaict die berderen vande patroonen vanden blauwen steenen dair inne begrepen zyn reysen ende wederom comen te x s. s daigs ende van vracht vanden voirs. berderen… ARA, ARK, 27484, part 3, f. 7r. Likewise, the templates for St Willibrord’s

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in Hulst were made by the master Herman de Waghemakere in Antwerp. The building accounts record that his assistant was paid for transporting templates to Hulst. GAH, 385, KR 1481–1482 f. 27r. 108   Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 428. Two years later, in 1511, Van de Eyke spent twice as long in Mechelen to assist him in the making of templates. Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 432.

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Fig. 6.41 Paper template for the lintel of a mantelpiece, paper, first half of the sixteenth century. The template contains the note: Dit es het bert vanden scowsteen ende sammeijsen. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1)

Fig. 6.42 Unknown draftsman, drawing showing a section of a chimney cheek and the plan of its squared base, paper, first half of the sixteenth century. The section belongs to the same set as fig. 6.41. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1)

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one to the building site and one for himself.109 Building accounts usually make no explicit reference to the production of copies, but it seems to have been common practice. Another rare documented case is a recorded payment to the master at the town hall of Oudenaarde, Hendrik van Pede, for making templates in duplicate. One copy was provided to the stonecutters and the other to the masons at the building site: Paid the same Mr Heyndric Van Pe, because he has cut in Brussels the templates in wood and in paper for the chiselling of the stones needed for the new work in duplicate, the one copy for the stonecutters, and the other for the masons of our town.110 Usually, the master of the works determined the design of mouldings, but occasionally contractors shared this responsibility and used their own designs for their products, as will be discussed in the next chapter. Several stone merchants are known to have made templates themselves, such as Jan Rugher of Zwolle, who provided Bentheimer sandstone for Utrecht Cathedral and also received several payments for paper to use for templates.111 Innovations in Architectural Representation The development of the drawing as a key planning instrument led architects in the Low Countries to experiment with architectural representation. New methods and Fig. 6.43 Unknown draftsman, drawing on techniques were employed to improve communication verso of fig. 6.42 showing the outline of the between masters, patrons and builders. Apart from the use chimney cheek’s base, paper, first half of the of measured, scaled drawings, draftsmen started to apply sixteenth century. new viewpoints and combine multiple views. The search for new graphic methods was stimulated by a heterogeneity in architectural practice in the Low Countries and benefitted from crossovers with the pictorial arts. From as early as the fourteenth century, painters also became involved 109   Item noch meester Evert ghegheven voir siin arbeit dat hi dat borderwerck maeckede en den steenhouwers seinde boven ende hilt selve een scampelion ende seinde ons mede borderwerck al te samen. NHA, KR 1445–1448, inv. no. 192, f. 7r. Meischke 1988c, 82; Janssen 1985, 42. 110   Betaelt den zelven Mr Heyndric Van Pe, van dat hy de berderen om tsnyden van den ordune steenen ende patroonen ghesneden heeft te Brussele van haute ende papiere, dienende ten voors. nyeuwen wercke al dobbel, deen partien omme den steenhauwere ende dander omme de metsers deser stede. Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 3, 315. See also: Meischke 1988d, 166.

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 He was paid in 1471–1472 for paper from which to cut templates: Item Johanni Rugher van 23 groet blay papiers, 8 cleyne blaye, die berders daer in geteykent, daer hy onse verschicten steyn maken sall… And again a year later: Item om groet papier ende cleyn blaye samengelijemt, dair Jan Ruger zijn barden in geformet hadde, dair hye nae leveren zoude… The accounts of 1477–1478 also mention a payment to Jan Rugher for making templates: Item om een groot boock pampiers, daer Jan Rugers berder of gemaict zijn om die steen nae the verschicken in den berch… Tenhaeff 1946, 467, 477, 544.

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in presenting architectural projects, while by the fifteenth century some masters of the works, such as Alard Duhamel and Matthijs III Keldermans, were expanding their activities to engraving and the design of carved altarpieces.112 Prominent architects like Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere in turn developed a range of drawing skills keyed to the great diversity of their building commissions. Whereas these masters’ elevations for the town hall of Ghent belong to the same tradition as Gothic drawings made at German cathedral lodges, their drawings for fortifications applied new graphic solutions. Master carpenters, too, developed distinct graphic conventions specifically suited to their own needs. Involvement of Painters The comment in Michiel Heynrich’s 1521 letter to the king of Denmark regarding the architectural designs of painters bears witness to the important role that pictorial artists played in the representation of architecture in the Low Countries.113 Heynrich may have had in mind the paintings, or ‘portraits’, of churches that depict the whole building in perspective, sometimes in an ideal finished situation. Five such paintings dating from the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries survive in the Netherlands and one in Belgium.114 Heynrich may well have been familiar with the picture of St Bavo’s in Haarlem (fig. 6.44) made in 1518 by the painter Pieter Gerritsz.115 The painting depicts the existing building with the planned wooden crossing tower intended to replace the church’s stone tower, which had been hastily dismantled after the supporting crossing piers began to show dangerous cracks. The lightweight wooden construction that was eventually built differs in some minor respects from the painting, and it remains unclear whether Gerritsz’s work was meant to serve as an architectural design. The practical utility of such paintings to instruct builders seems dubious given that they provide no measurements and the foreshortening complicates an understanding of the exact spatial arrangement. More likely is that such paintings were intended to accompany a collection box to encourage the faithful to contribute to the construction of a new building.116 In Leiden, such a ‘portrait’ was made shortly after the church

  Matthijs III Keldermans is also documented as having worked as a sculptor: in 1517 and 1518 he carved a lion and a statue of Job for the city gates of Leuven. Van Even 1860, 71–72. That prominent painters also took an interest in architecture and geometric design principles is demonstrated by the Berlin sketchbook from the workshop of Jacob Cornelisz van Oostsanen, which contains a large number of drawings of architecture and architectural ornaments. van Leerdam & Meuwissen & Filedt Kok 2014. On the shared design knowledge of painters, goldsmiths, printmakers and architects, see: Kik 2014. Some stone merchants were also active as sculptors, such as Lieven van Boghem. Wauters 1968, vol. 2, 559; Hörsch 1994, 117. Another example is Michiel Yselwijns, who was both a sculptor and stone merchant and is known to have made statues for the town halls of Veere and Middelburg and statues for Margaret of 112

Austria’s palace in Mechelen. Matthijssen 2013, 17 and Eichberger 2002, 82. 113   Norn 1948, xx–xxi. 114   The oldest surviving painting, made for St Lawrence’s in Alkmaar, dates from around 1490 and was joined with an additional panel depicting the tower in 1510. The other extant paintings are of St Peter’s in Leiden (after 1512), St Bavo’s in Haarlem (1518), St Martin’s in Zaltbommel (after 1538) and the Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam (first half of the sixteenth century). Meischke 1988d, 158–63; Roosegaarde Bisschop 1956. On the date of the Alkmaar painting, see: Nieuwsbrief Monumentenzorg en Archeologie Gemeente Alkmaar, no. 40, April 2014. Another painting made around 1540 for the church in Wijk bij Duurstede differs from these church ‘portraits’ in that it shows only the church tower in orthogonal projection. van der Eerden 2008. 115   Snoep 1985. 116   van Tussenbroek 2013, 65–67; Philipp 1989, 91.

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Fig. 6.44 Pieter Gerritsz (attributed), painting of St Bavo in Haarlem, oil on panel 163 × 225, 1518. (Nederlands Hervormde gemeente, Haarlem) (Plate 10)

tower collapsed in 1512, damaging the nave and making repairs urgently necessary (fig. 6.45). The painting of St Martin’s in Zaltbommel was likewise made after the church’s wooden spire was destroyed by fire 1538.117 Another painting which was unquestionably intended for a collection box is a panel made around 1530, preserved at Museum Hof van Busleyden, depicting the church of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-deDijle in Mechelen. The note below urges the faithful to contribute to the repair and upkeep of the church, promising that God will reward them “a thousand times” more in the hereafter.118 This latter painting differs from those in the Netherlands in that it is a rather generic representation of the church. These surviving paintings were probably intended more as artists’ impressions, providing the viewer an attractive image of the finished building. Nevertheless, there was also a long history of painters making real ‘designs’ for architectural projects.119 In 1481, for example, the painter Gielys Steurbout was paid for a ‘design’ for the west façade of St Peter’s in Leuven that was displayed inside the church.120 This recorded payment has led him to be credited as the author of a surviving fifteenth-century drawing of the church’s west façade (fig. 6.18). Normally it was the master of the works who produced designs, however, and it remains open to debate whether Steurbout drafted the design mentioned 117  Veerman 2011, 74. The Zaltbommel painting contains an note commemorating the destruction of the spire by fire in 1538. Roosegaarde Bisschop 1956, 202; Schulte 1980. 118   The note reads: DOET HIER U CHARITAET TOT DE KERCK VERHEVEN OM TE DOEN DIE REPARACIE EN ONDERHOUT GODT SALT U LOONEN IN T’EEUWIGH

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LEVEN EN GEVEN U WEDER THIEN DUYSENT FOUT. Helmus 2010, 126. See also: Roosegaarde Bisschop 1956, 195. 119   Philipp 1989, 90–91. 120   Doperé 1998, 324.

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in the records himself or copied it from drawings by Matheus de Layens.121 Other documented cases, such as a commission given to the painter Coupin Doustre in 1447 to paint two pourtraictures ou devises for the town council of Béthune to help them make up their minds about the new town hall, leave no doubt that they concerned new designs.122 The oldest known painted architectural designs date from the fourteenth century. A now lost example is a painting of the tower of Utrecht Cathedral, in the chapter’s possession until the nineteenth century, from when we have a description which recounts that the painting showed the tower with a never-realised steep spire, possibly with pierced tracery. This makes it likely that the painting predated the tower’s completion in 1382 and served as an early design.123 Fig. 6.45 Unknown artist, painting of St Peter Another example, exceptionally well-prein Leiden, which shows the church with a tall served, is a coloured drawing for the belfry tower and an unfinished transept, oil on panel tower of Ghent (fig. 6.46).124 The drawing 119 × 96, early sixteenth century. The tower probwas made on parchment in black ink and ably depicts an intended design after its collapse heightened in red, black and green. Apart in 1512, however the project was never realised. from several elements that are rendered in (Leiden, Museum De Lakenhal) (Plate 11) perspective, most notably the upper balustrade and the shutter in the spire, the drawing shows the tower in orthogonal elevation. It also contains several amusing details that have little to do with the structure itself, such as the trumpeters in the galleries and the gargoyles that are blown out of proportion. On the lower left, the drawing is inscribed: dbeweerp vanden beelfroete (“design for the belfry”). The text may have been added later, but the visible corrections to the preparatory lines suggest that the drawing was not a copy of an existing design, but probably an early design for the building. Given that work on the belfry started before 1314–1315 and only the two lowest storeys in the drawing resemble the built tower, it must have been made during an early stage, probably in the early 1320s, before plans for the upper storeys were altered.125

  Meischke 1988d, 157–58.   de la Fons-Mélicocq 1848, 81. 123   de Kam & Kipp & Claessen 2014, 116. 124   Unpublished conservation report by Duodecimo 1998–1999; De Smidt 1975; Roosegaarde Bisschop 1956, 171–74; Van Wervike 1905. 125  The drawing is reminiscent of the early fourteenth-century design of the campanile of the Duomo in Florence, attributed to Giotto. Although 121 122

they look quite similar, the two drawings treat space in different ways. The illusion of depth in the Ghent drawing is created mostly by shading and less by the use of foreshortening. For example, the corbels supporting the gallery of the belfry tower are seen from the front, while in the campanile drawing they are rendered in perspective. Ackerman 2002, 45.

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Painters’ involvement in the representation of architecture may explain why Gothic elevations made in the Low Countries tend not to be strictly orthogonal drawings, as was customary in the German world. Perhaps competition with painters as hinted at by Michiel Heynrich encouraged architects such as Joos Metsys, Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere to introduce some illusionistic qualities in their own elevations. Metsys used splayed perspective in his design for the west façade of St Peter’s in Leuven to give an impression of the depth of the buttresses. His design also contains some figurative details, such as the trumpeter atop the central spire (fig. 6.47) and small figures in the portal, although the latter may have been added later. The splayed perspective technique was also used in the depiction of the town hall of Ghent (fig. 6.16 and fig. 6.17), which shows the steps to the entrance, the dormers of the roof and the large gables flanking the façade at a slight angle, giving the impression of recession into space. This, paired with the foreshortening of the polygonal corner turrets and the protruding polygonal apse of the chapel, combines to create an illusion of depth. Hatching gives additional sculptural relief to the façade, though this effect is now less noticeable due to the poor preservation of both drawings (fig. 6.48).126 To heighten the illusion of space, an elevation drawing of the tower of Breda introduces the use of a wash to render the heavy shadows of the projecting buttresses and the niches (fig. 6.20).127 Another new device that may have been influenced by painters is the depiction of buildings from an angle. A curious and almost unparalleled example is an engraving made by Vander Willighe in 1619 presenting a ‘corner view’ of the tower of Zierikzee, which shows the tower at an angle of 45 degrees (fig. 6.49). Its close resemblance to the architecture of the drawing made for Mons and the note praising Keldermans for the tower’s design make it likely that the engraving shows not a fanciful seventeenth-century reconstruction but a copy after a now lost design made by Rombout Keldermans around 1530.128 The unconventional viewpoint makes it far easier to grasp the complex  The drawings have suffered from an early twentieth-century conservation treatment in which the parchment was attached to a lining canvas. Unpublished conservation report by Duodecimo 1998–1999. 127  The drawing was probably made for the wooden crown around 1500, when the tower 126

had almost reached completion. An important reason to doubt its function as a design for the whole tower is that the masonry contains several awkward structural details; for instance, the top of the belfry windows extends too far up in the walls. Meischke 1988d, 148. 128   Meischke 1988d, 142, 162.

Fig. 6.46 Unknown draftsman, design for the belfry of Ghent, parchment 225 × 40, c. 1320. (Ghent, STAM, inv. 462) (Plate 12)

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Fig. 6.47 Joos Metsys (attributed), design for the west front of St Peter in Leuven, c. 1525. Detail of a trumpeter atop the central spire. (Leuven, Museum M)

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Fig. 6.48 Rombout II Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere, design for the façade of Ghent town hall on the Hoogpoort side, 1518–1519 (detail).

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three-dimensional spire than would be possible with a frontal view. Nevertheless, this perspective was probably chosen more for its visual impact than for its utility for builders. Similar viewpoints can be found in depictions of intricate monstrances and baldachins in the prints of Duhamel (fig. 6.50), Master W with the Key and Israel van Meckenem, though of course these do not concern large buildings. The only drawings that are really comparable to the Zierikzee engraving are from France. A recently discovered example (offered at Sam Fogg’s in London, 14–18 October 2015) is a drawing 3.4 metres in height of a tower that can probably be identified as a design for the crossing tower of Rouen Cathedral made by Roulland le Roux in 1516.129 A second drawing with a similar viewpoint that also stems from the early sixteenth century, now in the collection of the Bibliothèque nationale de France, was probably made as a design for the crossing tower of Orléans Cathedral.130 Multiple Views Like scale, the convention of combining multiple views in a single architectural drawing has commonly been considered a Renaissance invention.131 In Gothic ground plans, the threedimensional form of buildings was usually conveyed by showing superimposed levels in a single drawing. The relationship between these horizontal sections was indicated by a sequence of rotated squares, often called ‘quadrature’. Such plans allowed building professionals to understand a structure’s geometric 129  Beltrami 2016. My thanks to Wim Vroom for bringing this drawing to my attention.

  Beltrami 2016, 105.  Lefèvre 2004; Camerota 2004, 197. 130 131

Fig. 6.49 Anthonis van der Willinghe, depiction of the upper storeys and spire of Sint-Lievensmonstertoren in Zierikzee, 3 engravings, 1619. The engraving was probably made after a design by Rombout II Keldermans from c. 1530. The subscript in the cartouche praises Keldermans for starting such a masterpiece, which could compare with the Seven Wonders of the World. The text also laments the fact that the tower was never completed, due to the changing economic fortune of Zierikzee. However, it expresses the wish that the depiction of the finished tower brings great joy to the beholder. De weerelt roeme vry haer seven wonderheden die sy miraclen noempt, ick niettemin met reden, ick Ziericzee, sal doch roemen dit wonderbaer gebouw dat Monster hiet en monster is voorwaer: en daer van sal ick u o Keldermans loff geven. U door wiens cloeck vernuft dit stuck is aengeheven. O droeve wint; o storm; die t’stuck werck onvolmaeckt door groot verlies van volck, en schepen hebt gestackt. Wie souw dat niet met recht in syn volmaeckt­ heyt loven daer t’onvolmaeckte veel volmaeckte gaet te boven. Dat niettemin t’is ons geneughsaem een verblyen in plaets van t’volle werck dit beelt daervan te sien. (Collectie Zeeuws Genootschap, Middelburg)

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logic and to derive the elevation from the ground plan (Auszug).132 Many examples of such superimposed plans remain from the German lodges, but few similar drawings have survived in the Low Countries. A rare example of the use of geometric progressions is found on the plan made for St Waltrude’s in Mons in 1448, which shows the successive stages of the elevation of the north transept façade (fig. 6.51).133 For the non-expert, it must have been rather difficult to grasp the three-dimensional arrangement of a building on the basis of this type of drawing. Though some medieval patrons did have architectural knowledge, many probably would not have been readily able to understand multileveled drawings. Perhaps this is why the plans for the bulwarks of Antwerp use two different colours to distinguish the upper and lower levels, which a note on the drawing of the Viskoperstoren (‘Fish sellers’ tower’) explains: “These are two grounds, one according to the black strokes and the other according to the red strokes”.134 In other words, the black ink lines indicate the lower level and the lines in red chalk the upper level (fig. 6.36), presumably to enable the magistrate of Antwerp to read the plans. However, the red lines give only a rough idea of the elevation of the bulwark, from which it can be understood that it had a sloping wall. To complicate matters, modifications to the existing towers are also indicated in red. Though they fit the medieval tradition of showing superimposed horizontal cross sections on a single ground plan, the relationship between the two levels was not calculated using quadrature in the Antwerp drawings. As one of the earliest attempts in northern Europe to adapt fortifications to withstand the increasing power of artillery, it seems likely that the wall gradient of the bulwark was based not on traditional geometric formulae but on the insights of military experts.135 This period also saw some draftsmen begin to experiment with different approaches to depicting multiple building levels. Roof constructions, in particular, were unsuited to the usual Gothic representation in   Bork 2011, 6–7; Lefèvre 2004; Coenen 1990; Shelby 1977, 61–79; Shelby 1964. 133   Philipp 1988. 134   Dit zijn twee gronden de eenen naer de swerte toghe ende 132

den anderen naer den rooden toghe. Roosens 2007, 149. 135   On the novelty of the design of these early fortifications, see: Roosens 2007; Martens 2009.

Fig. 6.50 Alard Duhamel, design for a baldachin, engraving 38.7 × 12.3, third quarter of the fifteenth century. (London, British Museum, 1924, 0617.5)

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Fig. 6.51 Michel de Rains (attributed), plan for St Waltrude in Mons, 1448. Detail showing the successive planes of the elevation of the façade of the north transept arm. (AEM, cartes et plans 408)

superimposed levels. A special case is the drawing of the roof construction of the large corner towers of Vredenburg Castle, also mentioned above. The draftsman, possibly Laureys Keldermans, chose to show the construction in four uniform horizontal sections placed next to each other (fig. 6.28).136 The plan on the left shows the beams of the roof at the level of the tower gallery, together with the crossbeams of the floor. On the right, the three horizontal sections of the crown of the tower are visible, rotated 90 degrees but drawn on the same scale as the drawing on the left.137 The upper section depicts the tie beams of the roof trusses. Because of the sloping roof, the two other sections are progressively smaller. They show two separate levels with the purlins, collar-beams and the sections of the posts that support two circular roof turrets placed at the extreme ends of the rooftop. A more effective means of representing spatial configuration in a way that could be grasped by patrons and craftsmen alike was to show the building’s elevation and ground plan together on the same scale. Antonio da Sangallo the Younger is usually credited with being the first architect to have systematically constructed elevations on the basis of ground plans in such combined views.138 Their use became more widespread with the publication of Serlio’s treatises, but in the Low Countries the multiple view did not become standard until the seventeenth century, thanks to the publications of Palladio and Scamozzi.139 Though such drawings certainly became more common in the Renaissance, whole series of combined views of sacrament houses have been preserved in the German world from as early as the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.140 In large-scale architecture, the pairing of elevation and ground plan even seems to have been employed in the thirteenth century. A famous example is the drawing of the multileveled ground plan and elevation of the tower of Freiburg Minster (Breisgau), preserved at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna. Probably made around 1300 as a copy of the original design for Freiburg, the drawing was adapted and modernised at the end of the fifteenth century.141 The two projections of the   Meischke 1988c, 108; Leys 1987, 166.  The upper section on the right has exactly the same dimensions as the inner core of the tower in the drawing on the left. 138   Ackerman 2002, 56; Lefèvre 2004, 227. 139   Hart 1998; Gerritsen 2006, 26–31 and 166–72. 136 137

 Böker 2005, 25. Plans and elevations are also known to have been combined in Britain; see: Gerbino & Johnston 2009, 30. 141  The drawing is preserved at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna, inv. no. 16.874. Recht 1995, 59. Lefèvre 2004, 238; Böker 2005, 181–84; Böker et al. 2013, 105–08. 140

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Fig. 6.52 Unknown draftsman, plan and elevation of the choir of Stephansmünster in Breisach, parchment 231.3 × 32.6, end of the thirteenth century (detail). (Nuremberg, Germanisches Nationalmuseum, HZ3818)

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plan and elevation are aligned and drawn on the same scale. The Vienna drawing is typically considered an exception, but the early use of combined views is confirmed by another late thirteenth-century drawing of the tower of the Freiburg Minster preserved at the Germanisches Nationalmuseum in Nuremberg.142 Like the Vienna drawing, it shows an elevation and plan of the tower in superimposed levels. The accuracy of their alignment is confirmed by the buttresses in the plan, which correspond exactly to the elevation. Depicted on the reverse are combined views of three other structures: a tabernacle or ‘monument’ and two churches. The church in the centre is most likely a design for the choir of the Stephansmünster in Breisach (near Freiburg), and the church with the diagonally placed chapels drawn at the top is probably a design for the Theobaldsmünster in Thann.143 The section of the Stephansmünster shows the interior of the entire choir, looking towards the chevet (fig. 6.52). The lower level of the church is left blank and the roof construction is also absent. Other details, however, such as the windows, sloping lines of the vaults and the balustrades are meticulously drawn. The elevation aligns perfectly with the plan, since the lines of the ground plan, if extended, match the vertical lines in the elevation, indicating that the plan was used to construct the section of the complete church. As such, these late thirteenth-century drawings are truly unique, antedating Da Sangallo’s views by more than two centuries.144 Few comparable drawings survive from the Middle Ages, and in the fifteenth century it was more common north of the Alps to com­ bine an elevation with a partial multilayered plan of the façade, as in the surviving drawings for the town hall of Vienna (1455) and west façade of the cathedral of Clermont-Ferrand (1496).145 In the Low Countries, the only fifteenth-century examples of a combined view are two engravings of a monstrance and a baldachin made by Alard

  Böker et al. 2013, 94–100.   Böker et al. 2013, 122, 127–38, 255. 144  Another exceptional example is the famous drawing of Milan Cathedral by Antonio di Vincenzo from 1390. Ascani 1997, 116–18. 145   Böker 2005, 113–18. Worth noting is that on the reverse of the design for the façade of Vienna town hall is a drawing of a complete ground plan on the 142

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same scale as the elevation (Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna, inv. no. 16.836). On Clermont, see: Davis 1983, 67–83. In France, two additional drawings of portals that combine an elevation with part of the plan are preserved for the hospital of Saint-Jacquesaux-Pèlerins in Paris, dating from 1474, and the hôtel-Dieu in Amiens, dating from around 1530. Hamon 2011, 213–14; Hamon 2015.

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Duhamel.146 Both probably date from the period that he was employed as the architect of St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch (1478–1495), as the monstrance bears the inscriptions ‘SHERTOGEN’ and ‘BOSCHE’, presumably signifying that the design was made in that city (fig. 6.50).147 Apart from his work as an architect, Duhamel was also a successful f­igurative engraver.148 This may explain why he preferred a more pictorial view for his drawings of the monstrance and baldachin, using foreshortening and shading to highlight the volume and mass of his complex three-dimensional designs. To make the intricate form of the baldachin more legible, he experimented with a corner view, showing multiple sides simultaneously. His drawing technique and the viewpoint closely resemble the prints of monstrances and baldachins by the contemporary Bruges Master W with the Key and Israel van Meckenem.149 These pictorial devices probably appealed to a general ­audience, and probably a less sophisticated presentation would have been suitable for communicat­ ing with patrons and builders. For the expert, however, Duhamel included a small triangle or ‘pie slice’ containing one eighth of the plan which can be multiplied and rotated to derive the entire plan with superimposed levels.150 This inclusion would have enabled craftsmen versed in geometry to reconstruct the three-dimensional structure. A simple way to coordinate a ground plan with an elevation on the same scale was to draw the plan and elevation on both sides of the same sheet. A good example of this technique is the previously mentioned drawing of a roof construction for Tervuren Castle. A different combination of a plan and elevation from the Low Countries is seen in a pair of drawings in red chalk of the castle of Limbourg (fig. 6.34 and 6.53), one sheet showing a bird’s eye view of the castle, the other a ground plan drawn on roughly the same scale. The drawings were made by the local master mason Peter Bandon in 1519 during an inspection of the construction works by Robert de la Marck-Arenberg and William of Rennenberg on behalf of Charles V.151 Originally they were accompanied in the archives by a brief written report (Ordinantie ende concept) preserved from the site visit, which provides a general description and measurements of the new castle, paying special attention to the thickness of the walls.152 The drawings provide an overview of the castle with accurate measurements for the foundations. The ground plan shows the rectangular castle layout and a sketchy depiction of the forecourt and city gate. Though the sloppy lines suggest that the plan was drawn in a rush, the preparatory uninked construction lines were traced freehand in red chalk afterwards. The absence of measurements and preparatory lines indicates that draftsman did not intend an exact depiction of the forecourt and city gate. To offer a legible view of the defences, the elevations of the gate and entries to the forecourt and castle are shown in flattened profile.   De Jonge 2014, 9–10.   Meischke 1988b, 148. 148   Verreyt 1894; Kik 2014, 80. 149   Kik 2014, 78–79. 150   De Jonge 2011, 205. 151  On the reverse of the plan is the text: Patroen ende ordinantie vanden slote van Lymbourg. Geconcipieert in februario anno xv c xviij [= 1519 New Style]. Gachard 1848, no. 1641; Thisquen 1907, 127–32; Thisquen 1978, 26–27, 67–72; Bragard 1997–1998, vol. 2, 524–27. Bandon received a payment for a design in 1519, and was appointed as supervisor of the stonemasons in the same year. ARA, ARK, 2453, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Limburg 1518–1519, f. 51r. 146 147

 

152  ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 111/2 G6. After Limbourg Castle was ravaged by a fire in 1510, several plans for its rebuilding were made. In 1510–1511 Anthonis I Keldermans was paid for a design modelled on the important ducal castle at Vilvoorde. ARA, ARK, 4781, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Tervuren en Vilvoorde 1510–1511, f. 70r. He collaborated with the Limbourg master mason Claese Maghyn and master carpenter Dierick van Bilsteyn, who had been summoned to Brussels to confer on the new plans with the Chamber of Accounts, and stopped to visit Vilvoorde on their way. The construction works started after some delay in 1519.

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Fig. 6.53 Peter Bandon, elevation of Limbourg Castle (Belgium), paper 29 × 42.5, dated 1519. (ARA, KPH, 1641) (Plate 13)

Like the plan, the bird’s eye view offers a rough sketch of the forecourt and city gate, thereby giving a general impression of the defence works surrounding the castle. It has a certain naïve quality reminiscent of children’s drawings, and the oversized blocks of stone, enormous loopholes and battlements are very clumsily drawn. It is clear that the draftsman had difficulty suggesting depth, as he combined an orthogonal elevation of the walls with foreshortened elements viewed from different angles. The spires of the towers are simultaneously shown from the side and from above. In an attempt to depict the entire castle, Bandon placed the towers above each other and rotated the receding walls, making it look as though they are lying flat on the ground. Also unclear is the exact position and height of the old tower in the courtyard, identified as the “lion’s den” (die Leuwcuyle). Though it may be lacking in artistic merit, the drawing is a noteworthy early case of a combined view drawn to a single scale, antedating the first known examples of this technique in the Low Countries – in Pieter Coecke’s translation of Serlio’s third book, Die aldervermaertste antique edificien – (1546) by almost thirty years. Cutaway Views Another graphic innovation generally considered to be an invention of the Italian Renaissance is the cutaway view.153 From the end of the fifteenth century, architects such as Giuliano da Sangallo, Antonio da Sangallo the Younger, Baldassare Peruzzi and Sebastiano Serlio applied this technique to show both the exterior and interior of a   Edgerton 1991, 125–39.

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Fig. 6.54 Unknown draftsman, cutaway view of the ducal water mill in Menen, parchment 63 × 98, ­middle of the fifteenth century. (ARA, KPH, 2850) (Plate 14)

building in a single drawing.154 The earliest use of cutaway drawings can be traced back to technical representations of machines, and among the first to produce them were the Sienese engineers Mariano Taccola (1382–c. 1453) and Francesco di Giorgio Martini (1439–1501), who used cutaway views of their inventive devices to reveal and clarify their functional principles.155 Shortly after this we find similar drawings included in master gunmakers’ treatises in southern Germany (Büchsenmeistertraktate).156 Perhaps such treatises are what inspired the unknown draftsman of the ducal water mill in Menen, near Kortrijk, to present the design of his structure in a cutaway view (fig. 6.54).157 The accuracy with which he drew the mechanism of the gristmill shows that he draftsman was principally interested in the operation of the mill. To the right, the by-pass weir and millrace with a waterwheel can be seen. Looking along the axle of the waterwheel, we see the whole system of the gear wheel (pit wheel), transmission (wallower), upright shaft and grinding mechanism with the millstones and hopper. The drawing also illustrates how flour is fed down a chute from the outer rim of the stones. The drawing is similar to pictures of mills in late fifteenth-century catalogues such as the Medieval Housebook of Wolfegg Castle and the early sixteenth-century Erlanger Kriegsbuch and Weimar Ingenieurkunst- und Wunderbuch.158 Unlike the illustrations in German and Italian mechanical treatises, however, the drawing of the mill in Menen depicts not only  In the 1460s, Filarete was probably one of the first to show a building’s interior and exterior in a single drawing. See Lotz 1956, 197–98. 155   McGee 2004. 154

  Leng 2004.   ARA, KPH 2850. 158   See: Leng 2004; Waldburg Wolfegg 1997. 156 157

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the grinding mechanism but the entire building in which it was housed. This structure is shown with two sides flipped out to present the three façades side by side. The façade with the door on the left and that facing the stream on the right are both clad with stone at the ground floor level and have wooden siding above. The two other façades and the roof are sliced open to reveal not only the wheel mechanism but also the timber frame and roof construction. In attempting to combine several viewpoints in a single drawing, the draftsman clearly had some difficulty rendering the space correctly. The waterwheel and pit wheel are not parallel, for example, and the perspective of the timber frame is markedly inconsistent, so that rather than converging to a single point, the receding lines diverge. The wheels, too, are not drawn foreshortened as they would appear in reality, but are turned towards the viewer to better convey the functional principle of the mill. Presumably, however, the accurate rendering of space was less important to the draftsman than the legibility of the drawing. What purpose this drawing actually served is unknown. The meticulous rendering of the mill and timber frame implies that the draftsman was an expert on mills and also knowledgeable in carpentry. At first glance, the drawing’s painterly qualities and inclusion of a small figure looking at the waterwheel from the window suggest that it is not an architectural design. Yet, the note Menin devise douvraige on the back of the drawing indicates that it is, if not a design, at least an artists’ impression of the watermill, since this was a term usually used to designate designs in the Middle Ages. The ground plan of Warneton Castle, for instance, was also called a devise de louvrage. The Menen drawing may have been made for one of the major building campaigns in 1436 or 1456, or perhaps for a later renovation carried out before the mill was leased to a new tenant.159 The style and particularly the figure in the window point to a date around the mid-fifteenth century, which would mean that it predates cutaway views of architecture in Italy. Earlier examples of the use of cutaway views of buildings can be found in frescos and miniatures, but there they serve to show a religious or mythological scene taking place inside a building, not to reveal the technical details of its construction. The Menen drawing may well be one of the earliest technical drawings in Europe to apply a cutaway view to an entire building, and it is not until around the mid-sixteenth century that we find a similar technique used to depict mills in Georg Bauer’s De re Metallica (1556).160 The drawing therefore offers an important clue to the development of technical drawings, showing that simultaneous to the better-known advances in Italy, similar experimentation was taking place in northern Europe. Architectural Models A different way to show patrons and builders an envisaged building was in the form of a three-dimensional model. It has generally been assumed that scale models did not play a significant role in the design process north of the Alps in the Middle Ages.161 In the Low Countries there is no recorded use of models as a design tool before the beginning of the sixteenth century, but after around 1520 written documents show that they became fairly common.162 Nevertheless, we know that small-scale representations of specific buildings were occasionally made before the sixteenth century. In a description of the banquet on the third 159  ARA, ARK, 27776 and 27777. ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 254 and 255. There were several mills in Menen, but it is unclear which one is depicted in the drawing. On the mills of Menen, see: Mattelaer 1981.

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  Georgius Agricola 1912.   Bischoff 1989; Binding 1993, 189–90. 162   Tieskens et al. 1983. 160 161

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day of Charles the Bold and Margaret of York’s wedding celebration in Bruges in 1468, Olivier de la Marche mentions a tower that was made to represent Charles’ castle in Gorinchem, the ‘Blauwe Toren’ (representant celle de Gorchem). The accounts record that it was a 46-foot tall timber structure covered with painted canvas, which could hold a watchman.163 Although we do not know whether it was a good copy of the original, the description suggests that it was not merely a generic representation; the tower had been made to look as though it was made of blue limestone (like the actual castle) and included machicolations and faussebrayes.164 As in France and even Italy, no single, specific term was used for architectural models in the Low Countries.165 The word patroen was used interchangeably to refer to designs, drawings, templates and three-dimensional objects, but after the mid-sixteenth century this term was gradually replaced by the more fashionable “model”, derived from the French modelle, when referring to architectural models.166 The increasing number of references to models in the early sixteenth century makes it plausible that the spread of architectural ideas from Italy encouraged the use of architectural models. However, written sources testify that their increased importance in the design process cannot be explained by a growing awareness of Italian architectural practices alone.167 Possibly their popularity was also influenced by traditions in sculpture, such as the custom of making models for sculptural objects and the fabrication of micro-architecture.168 Notably, the oldest documented models were made at least two decades before Italian architectural treatises and engineers arrived in the Low Countries. Furthermore, the use of models was not limited to all’antica architecture or fortifications, but also extended to other structures, such as Gothic towers and chapels and hydraulic works, where they played an important role in the design process.169 The first documented scale model in the Low Countries was made in 1509 by Anthonis I Keldermans for the Bailles – the stone enclosure of the forecourt of Coudenberg Palace in Brussels (fig. 1.5). He was paid for a small-scale model (op ten cleyne voet) that he brought from his studio in Mechelen to Brussels.170 Also made for the Brussels court were two models of the chapel of Coudenberg Palace. On 19 October 1524 Thomas Isaac, kingof-arms of the Order of the Golden Fleece, received a payment for commissioning two scale models for the royal chapel, one made of papier collé and one of wood. They were produced with great care by the Brussels sculptor Jacques Darost, or Daret, who received the substantial sum of 35 Flemish pounds and 12 schelling (equivalent to around six years’ wages of an unskilled labourer).171 The cardboard model was transported by wagon to Antwerp for inspection by Margaret of Austria and Anthonis de Lalaing, chef de finances, while the wooden model was shipped to Charles V in Spain:   de Laborde 1849–1852, vol. 2, 326–27.  …et droit devant icelle [the high table] estoit une grande, puissante et haulte tour representant celle de Gorchem à façon de pierre bleue, bachicolemens, faucles braies et tout… Olivier de la Marche 1883–1885, vol. 4, 124. The resemblance to the actual building also seems to be confirmed by the accounts, which indicate that it was made according to the form and shape of the tower: …fait la forme et figure de la grosse thour que MdS fait faire à Gorinchem. de Laborde 1849–1852, vol. 2, 326. 165   Lepik 1994, 139–41. 166   Meischke 1988d, 163. 167   See also: van Tussenbroek 2013, 52–54. 168  For instance, in 1529 the stonecutters Jan Roelandts and Franssoys van Kiexhem made 163 164

two small stone scale models of the mantelpiece dedicated to Emperor Charles V in the former Aldermen’s Chamber of the Brugse Vrije based on designs by Lancelot Blondeel: …van dat hij inschelicx zeker patroon int cleene ghesneden heeft vanden voornoemden cafkoene in witten steene… Meischke 1988d, 197; Devliegher 1987, 101. 169   Hurx & Ottenheym 2015. 170  Meischke 1988d, 163; Meischke & Van Tyghem 1987, 149. 171  Jacques Daret is not to be confused with the more famous fifteenth-century painter. The Brussels sculptor was also engaged by Charles V for several all’antica works in 1516 and at his coronation in Aachen in 1520. Wauters 1873, 679–80; Pinchart 1860–1881, vol. 1, 50.

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Oultre et pardessus ses gaiges et pension tant par avoir fait faire ung patron servant pour la chapelle de notre court et hostel en notre ville de Bruxelles taillee premierement en papier colle tant au parfait et au petit pied et icelluy fait amener sur ung chariot de notred. ville de Bruxelles en notre ville d’Anvers vers notre treschiere et tresamee dame et tante l’archiducesse d’Austrice, ducesse et contesse de Bourgogne et regente et gouvernante et vous [Anthonis de Lalaing]. Et apres par notre ordonnance en avoir fait faire une autre taillee en bois lequel nous a este envoye en noz royaumes d’Espaigne.172 Early examples of architectural models are also found in the urban milieu, such as the wooden model of the crossing tower of St Bavo’s in Haarlem, “…a design made of wood according to which the tower of the parish church will be made”, for which the master carpenter Jacob Symonsz was paid in 1519.173 In Oudenaarde, the master of the works Hendrik van Pede made “a design of the tower carved in stone” for the town hall in 1528.174 Another interesting example is provided by sources relating to the tender for the new town hall of Antwerp in 1541, won by the aged architect of Antwerp’s church of Our Lady, Dominicus de Waghemakere, which describe entries consisting of “multiple designs either carved in stone and in wood or painted on parchment and paper”.175 In the Low Countries, only one single sixteenth-century model has been preserved. This is the colossal model of the west façade of St Peter’s in Leuven (fig. 6.55), made from the soft white limestone of Avesnes-le-Sec by Joos Metsys and the sculptor Jan Beyaert between 1525 and 1530.176 It shows the façade’s full upper storey with its crowning central tower and north tower.177 At more than eight metres tall, it is probably one of the largest scale models ever made in the Low Countries, and from its position in the transept of St Peter’s the central spire reaches all the way up to the springers of the vaults of the side aisles. According to the surviving contract drawn up between Metsys and the city council of Leuven in 1525, the councillors commissioned the model because they feared that construction of the towers would be frustrated (verachtert te wordene) if the aged Metsys were to die before the work was finished.178 Because the lower storeys were already under construction and their structure could also easily be understood from Metsys’ drawing, the model only needed to show the upper part of the façade and the towers. At the level where the rectangular mass supported the three octagonal towers, the design became more spatially complex. As his drawing gives only an ambiguous and incomplete rendering of space, it would have been difficult even for an experienced mason to understand the exact arrangement of the three towers and their supporting buttresses.179 The model, by contrast, much better communicates the transition from the rectangular base to the octagonal shape of the towers.   ADN, B 2322, no. 81973.  …een patroon van hout gemaict om de thoorne boven optie prochykerk dair nae gemaict te worden. Meischke 1988d, 165; Vink 2002, 84. 174   …ende noch van eenen torre in voorme van patroone, ghesteken in steen. Meischke 1988d, 165; Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 3, 392. 175  …diversche patroonen zo in steen, in houte gesteken, als oick op franckyn pampier geschildert… Meischke 1988d, 198; Bevers 1985, 156. 176   Briggs 1931, 123–24; Doperé 1998, 323–26. 172 173

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 The upper octagon and spire of the nothern tower were made by J. Van Uytvanck during a restoration in 1935. Maere 1936, 49. 178  …indien de voirscreven meester Joos, die een oudt ende afgaende man was, afflijvich werde zonder voirscreven patroen gemaekt te hebbene, d’werck van den voirscreven torren dair hij gescapen soude wesen verachtert te wordene… Doperé 1998, 325; Crab 1977, appendix 3, 332–33. 179   However, Maere proposes that the lower storeys were lost, which seems to be supported by the fact that one buttress from the lower storeys has survived. Maere 1936, 59. 177

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As well as communicating the tower’s spatial arrangement, closer inspection of the model reveals that it also provided options to modify the original design, as it contains several notable differences with Metsys’ older drawing. Most of the changes concern the decorative motifs used for the tracery of the balustrades and windows. Like the earlier drawing by Matheus de Layens, Metsys’ model offered various design options from which his patrons could choose the final details. For instance, the square base of the central tower shows two different solutions for the tracery of the large windows. At first, the lack of mullions in the window on the left may appear to be the result of damage, but the horizontal ‘beam’ that divides the window into two zones and accentuates the transition from the mullions to the decorative tracery is clearly an intentional variation (fig. 6.56). Other subtle differences are found in the balustrades, which not only have more ‘modern’ and complex tracery in the model, but also contain an array of playful inventions, whereas the motifs in the drawing are all variations on the same pattern. The diverse design variations presented in the model signal that several important details still had to be decided as construction progressed. Its purpose, therefore, was twofold: the model served not only to instruct the workmen, but also as a last opportunity in the design process for the patron to decide on the final details. The Design in Words Besides drawings and models, written documents were used to communicate aspects of construction work that were difficult to express visually, such as building procedures and the quality and finish of materials.180 The involvement of commercial parties made it crucial to formalise design and surveying processes, for example, as exact designs and detailed descriptions of the work were indispensaFig. 6.55 Joos Metsys and Jan Beyaerts, model of the ble for putting large and complex projects out to west front of St Peter in Leuven, white limestone of Avesnes-le-Sec 230 × 827, 1525–1530. (Leuven, St Peter) tender. Not only did this help patrons gain a clear overview of the work to be done and the associated costs, it also gave contractors vital information they needed to prepare their bids. Furthermore, with multiple contractors working on the same project from different locations, improvisation was to be avoided. Because blocks were cut to shape at the quarries   Davis 1999, 181-200.

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Fig. 6.56 Detail of the model and the drawing of the west front of St Peter in Leuven, showing the square base of the central tower.

near Brussels, potential inconsistencies in measurements or shapes would only be discovered after they arrived at the building site. Furthermore, clear advance agreements made it easier to inspect the quality of construction upon completion. Once the building was finished, it was measured and compared to the original specifications and a calculation was drawn up for the final payment. A documented dispute between the town of Dendermonde and the contractor Machiel van Melbroec in the fourteenth century reveals that even for costly building enterprises a clear description of the final product was not always laid down in advance. Even where the contractor was sincere and trustworthy, vague expectations could therefore lead to conflicts. The contract of 1377–1378 for the erection of the belfry tower of Dendermonde’s town hall allowed for alterations to the original plans during construction, yet contained no clause to determine how the master would be paid for extra work. When the building was finally completed, the aldermen were unpleasantly surprised by the additional costs Machiel charged for building a tower that was “larger and richer” than planned.181 To solve the dispute, it was decided that each party would invite three experts to inspect the work and settle a reasonable building sum through arbitration. The conflict in Dendermonde was probably the result of diverging expectations, but Philip the Good’s objections against contracting out the construction of his Palais Rihour in Lille (discussed in Chapter 3) make it clear that medieval patrons were well aware that not all contractors were reliable. Contracting had the disadvantage that it reduced patrons’ control over the quality of the work, as imprecise specifications could be misused by contractors to furtively use less of a material or material of inferior quality. As a countermeasure, contracts and specifications became increasingly detailed during the fifteenth century, leaving fewer decisions to the discretion of builders. 181  …meester Machiel hiesch eene groote quantiteit van ghelde, ende vele meer dan scepenen ende den goeden lieden redenlec dochte, ende en consten

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metten vorseiden meester Machielle niet eens ghewerden van den overwerkene vorseid… De Pauw 1984, 283.

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Two other specific factors also contributed to more exhaustive planning of building works in the Low Countries. The first was a professionalisation of building patrons’ financial administration, a development led by the Chamber of Accounts of the dukes of Burgundy.182 In the duchy of Brabant in particular, a centralised building administration was established which not only kept the building accounts, but from 1472 also required a controlleur, the court’s master mason and master carpenter to send duplicates of all building documents for inspection, including drawings, estimates, specifications and reports on the tender procedure.183 Second, patrons and contractors in the Low Countries were on relatively equal footing in the market. Churches, city governments and even the dukes of Burgundy were limited in their power to recover costs from incompetent or fraudulent contractors, for instance through the seizure of goods. Often, contractors lived outside the jurisdiction of their patrons, putting the latter in a weaker position. This is well illustrated by the imprisonment of the churchwarden of St Walburga’s in Oudenaarde by Lodewijk van Boghem and Willem de Ronde after the wardens had threatened them with a lawsuit in Brussels. By the same token, contractors could have difficulty compelling patrons to pay what they owed. Conflicts like these could be solved through the mediation of independent experts, but in the fifteenth century such clashes regularly ended up in court. Striking examples are the two lawsuits brought by Godevaert de Bosschere, which even made it to the highest court of appeal in the Low Countries (discussed in Chapter 4). In situations where it came to a confrontation in court, detailed documentation was indispensable as legal evidence. The provision of such documentation, usually called ordinanties (ordinances) in the sources, was mainly the responsibility of the master of the works.184 The contracts of Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere for the Ghent town hall and Maison du Roi explicitly state that it was their duty to furnish drawings, templates and ordinances. At Our Lady in Antwerp, the accounts for 1521 reveal that just as much paper was bought for Dominicus to make drawings and templates as to write ordinances. Though they could be prepared by the master himself, most of the preserved construction documents are copies drawn up by a clerk who was in the patron’s service.185 Documents for the Tender Rombout and Dominicus’ contract for the Maison du Roi required them to have the full set of drawings, specifications and templates ready each year before the winter, this being the period when the next season’s work was usually contracted out.186 Where orders consisted of simple blocks and mouldings, little documentation was needed, and even for more complex configurations such as portals, windows and columns, the documentation remained modest. For instance, Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere’s contract for the supply of columns for the nave and crossing of St Bavo’s in Haarlem contained only c. 800 words.187 Being a contract, the document naturally is largely concerned with the cost,   Hurx 2015.  ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 751/2. See: Hurx 2015. 184   van Wylick-Westermann 1987, 11. 185  Nevertheless, sources regularly state that the specifications were drawn up by the master of the works himself, as in case of the building specifications for Tongerlo Abbey from 9 May 1527, discussed more extensively below, the header of which states that it was drawn up by Rombout Keldermans (gheordineert by Meester Rombout Keldermans 182 183

tot Tongerloe) AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 24r.-25r. For a complete transcription, see: Hurx 2012, 443–44. 186  …dat zy t’allen tyden, als ’t behoeren sal, patroonen, ordinantien oft berderen te maken, dat zy dairtoe selen verstaen, ten versueke van den luden van deser cameren goidstyts voere den winter, aleer men die leveringe van den steenen ende stoffen dairop sal bestaden. Pinchart 1860–1881, vol. 2, 56. 187  NHA, SA, box 67 I-1183. Published in: Janssen 1985, appendix 10.

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quality of the stone, finish and responsibility for transportation (see Chapter 3). Only few sentences are devoted to the design of the columns, specifying the diameter and height of the columns and capitals, that the capitals are to have two superimposed rings of foliage and that the mouldings of the columns and arcade arches are to follow the templates. No reference is made to additional documents, which may indicate that the combination of a contract and templates was deemed sufficient for the contractor to execute the work. It is possible that additional instructions or drawings of details were included on the templates, as those surviving from Tervuren show.188 This practice is also confirmed by documents from Tongerlo Abbey, for instance, which refer to instructions written on the templates: “And on the templates of the tas-de-charge is written to what height the transverse arches should continue to rise vertically…”189 When large-scale, complex works were put out to tender, more comprehensive documentation was necessary, as is demonstrated by documents from Tongerlo Abbey and the Habsburg administration.190 Before the tender, a set of documents systematically enumerating every single type of stone block, similar to a modern bill of quantities, was drawn up. This detailed inventory had the dual advantage of making it possible to verify whether an order was complete and facilitated a more precise estimate of the cost of the work. For instance, at the start of the construction of the choir at Tongerlo in 1526–1527, an Estimatie was made of all the white and blue limestone blocks needed to erect the side aisles.191 Seven pages methodically list and describe every architectural piece and specify the quantities needed. In the margins, each one is marked with a different capital letter ranging from A to Z (fig. 6.57), corresponding to the stonecutters’ templates for each piece. Proceeding more or less from the outside of the building in and from bottom to top, this itemised cost estimate starts by listing all the blocks of the exterior walls of the side aisles, including dripstone mouldings and the window frames (A, B, C), followed by the interior walls with their half columns (D, E, F, G) and the ribs, arches and keystones of the vaults of the side aisles (all H).192 It continues with the window tracery (I, K, L), freestanding columns and arcade arches supporting the clerestory (M, N) and bases and capitals of the vault shafts (O). It then lists the pieces for the polygonal apse: the mouldings below the large windows (P), the vault shafts, including their supporting corbels, bases, and capitals (Q, R, S, T) and the window tracery (V, X, Y). The last item on the list concerns the tower flanking the choir (Z). Another example of a carefully managed building project concerns the imperial prison of Het Steen in the old fortress of Antwerp. Five written documents pertaining to the rebuilding campaign in 1521 and 1522 give a clear impression of the Habsburg building administration’s exhaustive planning and control.193 The records are not complete, as reference is made to other documents that have not been preserved; however, those that remain leave no doubt as to the painstaking effort taken to document the design and the building process. One of the surviving documents is a bill of quantities for the entrance which enumerates all of the architectural pieces needed.194 It divides the façade into sections, referred to as perselen, each of which is marked with a letter and listed with a short  ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1 and 131/2. 189   Ende opte berderen van desen rasementen staet ghescreven hoe hooghe dat die fermeretssen recht staen opgaen met oeck alle die basten, daer wt dat alle die ozynen ende fermeretssen welven. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 34r. 190   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131 and 132; AAT, IV, 199, 51. 188

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  AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 26r.-29r.   Dat ogijff bert ende fermerets bert getekent metten selver letteren h. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 27r. 193   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/2, 132/1 and 132/2. 194   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2. 191 192

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Fig. 6.57 Cost estimate of the white and blue limestone components needed to erect the side-aisles of the choir of Tongerlo Abbey. Each component is listed with a letter (N, O, P, Q). The document was probably drafted up in 1526–1527 following the counsel of Rombout II Keldermans. (AAT, IV, 199, no. 51, f. 28r.)

description, the main measurements and the quantity needed. Each individual section was contracted out by means of a candle auction held at the Chamber of Accounts in Brussels on 4 February 1521. The names of the winning contractors were subsequently added to the bill of quantities, together with a note on the difference between the first and the winning bids (fig. 6.58). This meticulous inventory made it possible to tender the supply of stone blocks to multiple contractors from Brussels, Mechelen and Hainaut.195 Among them were famous stone merchants such as Lodewijk van Boghem and Hendrik van Pede. Van Boghem succeeded in winning the tender for the three small arches above the portal (G), the buttresses above the capitals (L), the small buttresses between the sculpted panels (M) and the window frames (N) (fig. 6.59). Van Pede was contracted for the capitals of the half columns  Several other cases are known in which an order was divided among multiple contractors. The Celestine priory of Heverlee contracted a stonemason from Leuven to cut the mullions according to template ‘B’, a group of stonemasons from the quarries of Humelgem, Steenokkerzeel, Woluwe and Diegem (east of Brussels) to carve other mullions for the large windows as per template ‘C’, and another group of 195

contractors from the quarries of Mélin, Lathuy and Jodoigne (southeast of Leuven) to provide mullions also according to template C. SAL, 8182, f. 41v., 43v., 47v. A similar approach was used for the Maison du Roi in Brussels and the Coudenberg Palace staircase in 1538–1539. ARA, ARK, 27484, part 4, f. 3v., f. 4r., f. 5v. and ARA, ARK, 4227, f. 130r.-136v.

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Fig. 6.58 Bill of quantities for the entrance façade of Het Steen in Antwerp, 4 February 1521. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2)

flanking the portal (C), the two corbels beneath the three arches (F) and the hanging corbels (I).196 To guide the execution of each component, the contractors received an excerpt from the original building specifications and stonecutters’ templates.197 The carpentry work was itemised in a similar way in two documents of 1522, which are even lengthier than those for the masonry. One consists of as many as 37 paragraphs enumerating all of the products needed, such as doors, windows, benches and spiral staircases.198 In this case, however, all the work was contracted out in gross to a single contractor. Unlike bills of quantity, which were mainly instruments for patrons, building specifications which described the building, the sequence of construction and the quality and finish of the materials provided a guideline for contractors during the execution of the work. Occasionally building specifications were part of the contract, but more often they were drafted as separate documents. Normally they were prepared before the tender to inform contractors of the precise nature and scope of the work. That specifications were   Hurx 2012, 284–85.   For example, the building accounts of the Maison du Roi state that the contractor Janne Brugge was given “an extract” from the specifications drawn up by Dominicus de Waghemakere and Rombout Keldermans “for as far as it concerns him”: … 196 197

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gelyc die voirs. ordinantie dair opgemaict byd mr. wercluden voirscr. dat innehoudt ende begrypt dair af extraict soe verre het den voirs. Janne Bruggen aengaet… ARA, ARK, 27484, part 4, f. 3v. 198   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/1.

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C   Capitals D   Arch E  Frame of the arch (sambrande) F Corbels G  Small arches H Mouldings of the projecting chapel I  Hanging corbels K  Dripstone moulding L Buttresses above the capitals M  Small buttresses MM Sculpted panels and coats of arms N  Window frame O Tracery P Eaves

Fig. 6.59 Building parts for the entrance façade of Het Steen mentioned in the bill of ­quantities of 4 February 1521.

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sometimes signed at the end of the tender in lieu of a contract demonstrates that there was not necessarily a clear-cut distinction between contracts and building specifications.199 The itemised cost estimate for the choir of Tongerlo Abbey (1526–1527), discussed above, was also accompanied by comprehensive specifications drawn up on 9 May 1527 by Rombout Keldermans.200 The specifications concern the assembly of the masonry work, which was contracted to the masons Gielis Crabbe and Gommaert Kriecaert.201 The detailed description of the building makes it possible to gain a clear picture of the church, which was completely demolished after the French Revolution. The choir must have resembled that at St Catherine’s in Hoogstraten (1525–1533), also designed by Rombout Keldermans. A major similarity in the layout of the two choirs is that they both had side aisles and a polygonal apse without an ambulatory (fig. 6.60). However, the position of the towers was completely different; in Hoogstraten the tower was placed west of the church on the main axis, while Tongerlo’s tower flanked the choir. Keldermans’ specifications give instructions for the building materials, dimensions, and construction procedures, methodically describing the choir from bottom to top, obviously following the sequence in which the building would be erected. The ground level of the church was to match that of the adjacent cloister (pand). From this level, the masons had to dress the exterior walls with white limestone up to a height of 2.25 feet. From there, bricks were to be laid to the level of a moulded stringcourse, for which a stonecutters’ template was provided. Attesting to the high level of detail is the instruction that the stringcourse of the tower was to be seven inches taller than the stringcourse of the side aisles, but in order to link them visually, the lines of the two mouldings were to merge together. Seven feet above the stringcourse, the side aisle walls would have a set-off on which the window sills rested. Here, the document stipulates that the measurements of the sills would be determined during construction, meaning not all of the dimensions were prescribed. The set-offs of the buttresses of the side aisles were to be positioned at the same level, however the buttresses of the tower would continue upwards without interruption. The bottom of the windows in the polygonal apse was to be positioned sixteen feet higher than the bottom of those in the side aisles. The window sills and the set-offs of the buttresses would be aligned by a stringcourse. Rombout furthermore determined that construction was to reach the height of the window sills in the first building season. Ahead of the winter, the columns alone would have to be covered with straw, but such protection was unnecessary for the walls, Rombout explained, as the set-offs and sills would prevent any damage from rainwater. Rombout’s instructions for the interior are similarly detailed. For instance, the height of the base of the columns was fixed at six feet, and walls had to be erected between the columns to support the choir stalls. Because the exact height of the stalls had not yet been decided, it was determined that the walls between the columns should be some five feet higher than the bases. The columns were to be toothed up to this level to allow for later addition of the walls. Leaving no detail to chance, Rombout further stipulated that these walls were to be 1.5 feet thick and made from the smallest type of bricks.

  van Tussenbroek 2009; van Tussenbroek 2013, 13. The Dutch term for building specifications is bestek. The oldest use of this term concerns a payment to master Joosse den Ottre for a bestek and templates for the parapet of the town hall of Aalst in 1474–1475: Item was betaelt bi den voorsaten meester Joosse den Ottre, meester warcman, omme tbestec van desen warke ende over zinen arbeit vanden 199

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bordren ende patroone te snidene… De Potter & Broeckaert, 1874–1876, vol. 2, 59, note 1. 200   AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 24r.-25r. 201  A copy with instructions (Memorie) given to them on the same day has also been preserved. The document closely follows the specifications. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 31r.-32r.

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Fig. 6.60 Hoogstraten, Rombout II Keldermans, St Catherine, choir, 1525–1534.

Comprehensive as the specifications for Tongerlo Abbey are, some elements could not be determined until the work was in progress. In the case of the window sills, for example, the exact dimensions had to be measured in the masonry: “…the height and width will be determined by the work that has been made”.202 Specifications from other building projects reveal that it was not uncommon for such details to be decided as the structure went up. Unlike modern building specifications, the documents were not always binding, having instead a more advisory character.203 Another example is the specifications for the Blauwe Toren in Gorinchem, drawn up on 1 September 1523 by Rombout Keldermans. The document summarises the dimensions and quantities of all of the stone elements apart from the doorways and cross windows, which had to be made according to the quantities needed (…hoe vuel men des behoeven sal).204 Such flexibility was essential because, as the work progressed, deviations from the original plans were almost unavoidable, as will be discussed in the next chapter. Unfortunately, it is difficult to know in how far the specifications for Tongerlo Abbey and the Blauwe Toren were indeed followed to the letter, as the buildings have been completely destroyed. Specifications were often accompanied by drawings. The instruction in the Tongerlo specifications that contractors should adhere to the “old drawing” for the small staircase suggests that multiple drawings were made for this project. Though these drawings have  …die hooge ende wijt sullen sijn alsoe dat werck vutwijse sal dat daer toe gemaeckt is. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 24r. 202

203 204

  See also: Toker 1985a, 79 and 84.   NA, GRK, 5008.

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Fig. 6.61 Pieter van Wyenhoven and Wouter de Cock, illustrated building specifications for the renovation of the toll house of Tienen with annotated floor plan and section of the roof construction, 1546. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1)

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not been preserved, illustrated building specifications from several other projects do survive. The best example is from the renovation of the Tolhuis (toll house) in Tienen (fig. 6.61 and 6.62).205 These lengthy specifications are illustrated with a floor plan, a plan of the beams supporting the first floor and a section of a roof truss drawn to the same scale, made in 1546 by the court’s master mason, Pieter van Wyenhoven, and master carpenter, Wouter de Cock.206 The specifications list measurements, construction requisites and the required quality and finish of materials. There are also references to additional drawings, though none appear to have concerned the façades. Nothing remains of the toll house today, but the combined plans, section and specifications paint a fairly precise picture of the building. A rather small structure, measuring only around 14 by 9 metres, it had two storeys. On the ground floor were two rooms, a kitchen and a privy. The walls were made of brick with a few stone accents on the window and door frames, and the façade on the market square was crowned by a stepped gable. Inspection of the Work

Besides serving to guide builders, detailed documentation also made inspection of the executed work easier. Where patrons managed the enterprise themselves, they usually hired a full-time master who was required to visit the building site each day to monitor the quality of the work. For instance, the master at the tower of Brussels’ town hall, Jan van Ruysbroeck, swore in 1449 to ensure that no masonry work would be executed without his approval. He pledged to faithfully inspect the work and would not turn a blind eye to abuses.207 To be sure that Van Ruysbroeck took his responsibilities seriously, the city aldermen reserved the right to recover from him any expenses for repairs or alterations that could be proved to have arisen from a neglect of his duty (…dat ghebreck op hem ende op syn goed mogen verreyken).208 In addition, to guard against any conflict of interest, Van   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1. Hurx 2015. 206   ARA, ARK, 4040, Rekeningen van de rentmeester van Tienen, 1546, f. 45v. 207   Ende dat ic egheen steenwerc totter voirs. stad werke en sal laten setten, tenzij bij mij daer tae ontfangen ende gepresen. Ende dat ic daer toe egheen steenwerck ontfaen oft prysen en sal, ofte bij eenigher similatien ofte oeghluykingen laten doergaan, ofte liden, anders dan allene tghene van stoffen, van hantgewercke, ende van allet des daer aen cleeft, claerlec ende volcomelec alsulck is als de 205

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voirwaerden die biden rentmeesteren daer op selen sijn ghemaect, selen inhouden ende begripen. ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 24r. Published in: Des Marez 1923, 102; Maesschalk & Viaene 1960, 59–61. 208   Item ende oft soe gheboerde, dat God verheude, dat int toelegghen of int maken vanden voirs. werke, yet mesdaen of mesraect worde, of dat de selve meester Jan in siinre officien tot enighen tide ghebreckelic bevonden worde, soe selen de rentmeesteren vander stad, dat ghebreck op hem ende op syn goed mogen verreyken. ASB, OA, Perquementboeck, IX, f. 24v.

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Fig. 6.62 Pieter van Wyenhoven and Wouter de Cock, illustrated building specifications for the ­renovation of the tollhouse of Tienen showing the section of the roof construction, 1546. (ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 131/1)

Ruysbroeck was forbidden to take part in tenders for projects under his supervision. In fact, all masters of the works in service to Brussels had to swear an oath that they would not contract work for the city except with the aldermen’s express permission.209 As the contracting of work became more prevalent, architects no longer had a duty to inspect the progress on a daily basis. And since the master visited the building site only a few times a year, he also could not be held liable for expenses should repairs be needed. This responsibility now fell mainly to contractors. However, the use of contractors also meant patrons had less control over the quality of the work. Consequently, conducting an impartial and comprehensive survey when the work was finished became crucial. Such inspections, called ‘visitations’ (visitacien) in the sources, were performed before contractors received their final payment. Usually it was the master of the works who took the final measurements and calculated the contactor’s pay.210 For example, in 1462–1463 Evert Spoorwater was paid to visit Haarlem to examine the bills submitted by Jan Trappaert, Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere.211 This job could also be left to a specialised edificie-meter (quantity surveyor), which became a separate profession in the fifteenth century.212 If there was a risk of conflicting interests, masters from another town  Such restrictions can also be found in other contracts. Willem de Visschere’s 1474 contract as master of St Peter’s in Anderlecht prohibited him from contracting work for the church, whether by himself or in a partnership, both for the supply of stone and for the masonry work: …ten tyde dat hy dienen sal niet mogen deelen oft gheselle sijn met eneghen anderen

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die enich werck hoe dat sy vande voirs. kercken soude mogen nemen oft oic in coope van steenen hoe die ghedaen mochten werden. RAA, KAB, 19417. 210   See also: Meischke 2002. 211   NHA, KR 1462–1463, inv. no. 306, f. 32v. 212  At other buildings, Rombout is known to have performed the survey himself. For the inspection of the

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or the deans of the local masons’ guild could be consulted. In Brussels, the deans of the masons’ guild were asked on several occasions to inspect ready-made white limestone supplied to the Maison du Roi.213 These were minor inspections, for which it was deemed unnecessary to ask the master of the works, Rombout Keldermans, to come over from Antwerp. Normally, the surveying was then left to the undermaster Hendrik van Pede, but in these particular cases he had supplied white limestone himself. Impartiality was a concern not only for patrons but for contractors as well, who wanted to be sure of an unbiased inspection committee. This is apparent from a conflict in 1519–1520 between a trustee of the De Burcht College at Leuven University and the contractor Matthijs III Keldermans, who was also master of the works to the city of Leuven.214 Matthijs insisted that the survey be performed by a committee that included members from Brussels or elsewhere. He provided no reasons, but evidently he distrusted his Leuven colleagues, who of course were also his competitors. The trustee of the college refused to pay the additional travel costs for experts from outside Leuven, stating that he believed there were enough capable masters in the city. When called to mediate in the matter, the city council effected a compromise under which both parties could select two masters from Leuven for the inspection. When Matthijs subsequently objected that the results of the survey were unfair, he was finally allowed to invite outside experts. Original contracts, drawings and specifications were indispensable both as documentation of agreements that had been made and to verify that work was well executed.215 If omissions or faults were discovered during an inspection, the contractor was compelled to remedy them at his own expense or else the costs were deducted from his final payment.216 For instance, the contract engaging Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere to supply columns for St Bavo’s includes the proviso that in the event Evert Spoorwater encountered any poor quality materials or flaws in the finished work, the two contractors would be required to mend them themselves.217 During inspections, detailed reports were often drawn up, of which several examples survive. At the Maison du Roi in Brussels, four “measurements” (metinge) of the blue limestone contracted from the Le Prince family of Écaussinnes were conducted by Rombout masonry of the Blauwe Toren in Gorinchem, executed by Hubrecht Frederikszn, Rombout was paid 1 stuiver per linear rod. NA, GRK, 5008, f. 65v. However, the stone pieces supplied by Michiel Yselwijns and Anthonis de Vleeshouwere were inspected separately by Rombout. NA, GRK, 5008, f. 66r. On the development of the profession of edificie-meter in the Low Countries, see: Van de Vijver 2006. 213   Betailt den gezworenen vanden steenhouders ambachte van te hebben gevisiteert alle de voirs. leveringe van witten steenen voer hueren loon… ARA, ARK, 27484, part 3, 2r.-v. And: Den gesworenen vanden steenhouwers in deser stadt van Bruessel die welcke in augusto anno voirsc. met huere knape gevisiteert hebben gehadt alle die metselrie die alsdoen gemaict was aen tvoirs. edifficie ende oic dwelck alsnoch ongemest… ARA, ARK, 27484, part 4, f. 18r. 214   SAL, 7413, f. 526r; Cheyns 1979. 215  The importance of drawings during inspections is affirmed by an inspection of the chapel of the Holy Sacrament at St Gudula’s in Brussels, carried

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out in 1539–1540 by Lodewijk van Boghem. He concluded that the chapel was “well and admirably made according the drawings”: …Item als mr. Louwyck van Bueghem visiteerde den nieuwen choor de welcke vercleerde dat al wel ende loffellyck ghewrachts was nae vuytwysen vanden patroonen… RAA, SG, 8674, Rekeningen van het Sacrament van Mirakel 1539–1540, f. 168r.; Lefèvre 1956–1957, 70. 216  There are several examples of a contractor whose final payment was docked due to errors found during the final inspection. For instance, faults (faulten) discovered during the inspection of the masonry work at the town hall of Damme resulted in the calculation that Willem de Bosschere had received 42 lb. gr. Vls. too much from the town. Devliegher 1965, 188. 217   Ende waert dat de voirscr. Steven ende Godevaerd in eenighen gebreke vielen vander leveringen voirscr. het ware van qualic houwen, bedden oft steenen dad souden zij beteren bij meester Everarde voirscr. ende bijde wercliede. NHA, SA, box 67 I-1183; Janssen 1985, appendix 10.

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Keldermans in 1521–1524, with the fourth and last report drafted in Brussels in 1524 in the presence of the undermaster Hendrik van Pede and signed by Rombout (fig. 6.63).218 The document lists careful calculations and measurements of all the stone elements, classified according to the bill of quantities, which was now used as a sort of checklist on which each element was “…marked with the same letter as in the existing ordinance”.219 All shortcomings and extra work were furthermore taken into account in the calculation of the final payment. A comparable document survives for the carpentry of Het Steen in Antwerp. After the carpenter had finished his contracted work, it was subjected to a rigorous inspection by the controlleur, the architects Dominicus de Waghemakere and Rombout Keldermans, and the court’s master carpenter in Brabant, Willem Zeghers. Their report, which was used to calculate the last payment instalment, sums up the defects and the additional work for each item on the original specifications.220 For instance, it notes that the roof structure of the chapel (item 30) was 3.5 feet wider than planned, for which the contractor was to receive an additional 30 schelling. Though the contractor had executed the work with some changes, the surveyors concluded that all in all he Fig. 6.63 Survey of blue limestone contracted by Jan compensated “the one with the other”, and that and Eustache Le Prince from Écaussinnes for Maison du after deducting for the defects, he was to receive Roi in Brussels signed by Rombout II Keldermans. The a supplementary payment of 42 pounds and 5 survey was done in the presence of Hendrik van Pede, 14 February 1524. (ARA, ARK, no. 27484, part 5) schelling. In some cases, record drawings were made for these surveys. In 1525, a Metinghe of the refectory (Nieuwe Visrefter) and cloister at Tongerlo was carried out by the priest Johannes Marten from Tongerlo in the presence of the contractor and mason Gielis Crabbe and the stone merchant Claes de Vleeshouwere (fig. 6.64 and 6.65). Their calculations are accompanied by a simple ground plan on which letters and symbols indicate specific sections of the building. The length, height and thickness of the masonry of each section was calculated to achieve a total quantity for the entire work (expressed in Antwerp feet).221 The south façade of refectory was indicated by the letters A-B, the north façade by E-F, the west façade by G-H, the east façade by I-K and so on. The walls were measured from the foundations up to the eaves in several segments.   ARA, ARK, 27484, part 5. Another lengthy report drawn up by Laureys Keldermans on 9 October 1532 survives from the Grote Raad in Mechelen, where he inspected the supply of the blue limestone columns by Eustache Le Prince. SAM, part 6, 175. Published in: van Caster 1899, 125–27, appendix I. 219   geteykent metter selver letteren vander ordinantie dair af zynde. ARA, ARK, 27484, part 5. The accounts 218

show that the survey must have been a very large job, as Rombout received 52 lb. 14 s. of 40 gr. (8 lb. 15 s. 8 d. gr. Vls.) in 1530 for metinge of the blue limestone of the first, second and third storeys of the Maison du Roi and the Bailles at Coudenberg in Brussels. ARA, ARK, 27486, 16r. 220   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/1. 221   AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 61r.-66v.

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Fig. 6.64 Gielis Crabbe and Claes de Vleeshouwere (attributed), record drawing of the refectory (Nieuwe Visrefter) and cloisters of Tongerlo Abbey, 1526. (AAT, IV, 199, no. 51, f. 60v.)

The wall of the south façade (A-B), for instance, measured 2 feet from the foundations to the first snede, and from there to ground level (second snede) they had a height of 4.5 feet. The stone plinth which started at the ground level measured 8 feet and 1 inch high, and the brick walls up to the eaves were 36.5 feet high. Besides the walls, other elements such as staircases, fireplaces and buttresses were also recorded separately. The total quantity of work was calculated to be 6,835 feet. As the examples discussed in this chapter demonstrate, each step of the planning and building process was accompanied by significant amounts of documentation. To a large extent, these documents were prepared by the master of the works. During the fifteenth century this task became increasingly important, such that some masters would spend more time at their desks than at the building site. This new method of working would have major consequences for the design of buildings, as will be discussed in the next chapter.

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Fig. 6.65 Survey of the refectory and the cloisters of Tongerlo Abbey, 4 January 1526. (AAT, IV, 199, no. 51, f. 61r.)

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Fig. 7.6 Leiden, St Peter, nave, c. 1410–1430.

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The involvement of contractors and suppliers of finished architectural components in building projects made it more important to describe and document them in drawn and written form. Such documentation had its limitations, however. The increasingly complex threedimensional designs that became fashionable towards the end of the fifteenth century were especially difficult to capture in words, drawings or stonecutters’ templates. Sophisticated spatial configurations of dazzling intricacy posed a major challenge for designers attempting to convey the exact arrangement of such works (fig. 1.3).1 Experiments in architectural drawings show how some draftsmen sought to overcome these constraints. Yet, while some of these drawings – such as the corner view of the Sint-Lievensmonstertoren in Zierikzee (fig. 6.49) – provide an appealing impression of the envisaged project, they do not always offer a clear view of the structure. In case of the Zierikzee drawing, the blank zone separating the storeys gives them the appearance of floating in mid-air.2 Likewise, the drawing of the tower of St Waltrude’s in Mons, made in 1550, does not effectively communicate its three-dimensional form; the relationship between the storeys remains particularly unclear (fig. 6.13) and the foreshortening can be read in multiple ways, making it difficult to distinguish between advancing and receding planes. It was probably for precisely this reason that the city council of Leuven commissioned the aged Metsys to make a vast architectural model for St Peter’s (fig. 6.55), not wanting to rely on the existing drawing of the west façade (fig. 6.19). Indeed, the contract explicitly states that it was feared the workmen would not know how to proceed if Metsys were to die.3 To accomplish architectural feats of this magnitude, it was vital that the master of the works was continuously present at the building site. It is not surprising, then, that during the construction of the spectacular and intricate spire of the north tower of Our Lady in Antwerp, the accounts record payments to Dominicus de Waghemakere for an average of 244 days a year. Difficulties in communication were bound to arise at projects where the master of the works was away most of the year.4 Usually, a capable undermaster who was familiar with the masters’ intentions was appointed to oversee the execution of the work, and several employment contracts explicitly stress the undermaster’s duty to explain the master’s design to workers at the building site. In the event of urgent technical problems or design issues it was common for the undermaster to visit the master of the works himself to seek his advice, as discussed in Chapter 5. The involvement of external parties and the wide geographic spread of production sites exacerbated the risk of miscommunication. Because stone was cut to shape at the quarries, potential inconsistencies in measurements or shape were not likely to be   Kavaler 2000.   Meischke 1988d, 162. 3   Doperé 1998, 325; Crab 1977, appendix 3, 332–33. 4  This problem was also common in fifteenth and sixteenth-century Italy, and the architect was therefore often still required to be present at the building site, especially in the case of large and complex projects. Schlimme & Holste & Niebaum 2014, 201. Hans Niesenberger of Graz is an interesting example of a master whose absence from 1 2

the building site ultimately led to serious problems. He led the works of several of the most important building projects in the Upper Rhine simultaneously with Milan Cathedral. When mistakes were made in assembling the masonry at Milan, the just-finished work had to be demolished. Niesenberger defended himself by stating that the errors had been made during his absence, but this did not prevent him from being fired from his posts in Milan in 1486 and the Freiburg Minster in 1491. Brehm 2013.

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discovered until the ready-mades arrived at the building site. A particular problem must have been the differences in local units of measure. Contracts and building documents that contain measurements often do not explicitly indicate the foot chosen, and we must assume that in these cases the standard of measurement was known to the documents’ users. It is also possible that iron rods one foot in length were sent to the quarries to ensure the correct unit was used. This practice is documented somewhat later during construction of the church in Willemstad in 1597, when two rods of an equal length were made, one for the patron and the other for Coenraad III van Neurenberg, a stone merchant from Namur.5 Such ad hoc solutions aside, however, it seems that by the end of the fifteenth century the Antwerp foot had become a standard measure at the Brussels quarries. Five contracts survive which stipulate that work should be measured in the Antwerp foot – namely, the contracts of the Brussels stone merchants Jan Quaywante (1478) and Lodewijk van Boghem (1502) for St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch, of Lieven van Boghem for St Bavo’s in Haarlem (1483), of the Affligem merchant Maerten Gheertsz for St Lawrence’s in Alkmaar (1497) and of the Lede merchant Willem Vrominck for St Martin’s in Aalst (1535).6 The Metinghe conducted for the new refectory and cloister at Tongerlo Abbey in 1525 was likewise calculated in Antwerp feet.7 It is significant to note that these cases concern buildings in a large geographic area, spanning Brabant, Holland and Flanders, and that none of the parties involved came from Antwerp, which seems to confirm that the Antwerp foot at times served as a supra-regional standard of measurement in construction. Very likely, long-term working alliances helped to reduce the risk of errors. Building accounts attest that masters of the works frequently introduced the same group of stone suppliers with which they had worked before at new projects, and no doubt such close relationships between architects and merchants served to establish certain routines and a common understanding of the work required.8 Where works were publicly tendered, such ties could not be effected directly, although at prestigious buildings a select group of major contractors often recurs in the sources. Because a small number of stone merchants dominated the building scene, the odds were high that whoever won the tender would have worked with the architect on previous occasions. Nevertheless, shared experience and routine processes were not sufficient to prevent misunderstandings and errors. With the growing preference for building kits of finished stone came a need for pragmatic design strategies and repeatable designs that were easy to communicate.9 This, along with the need to economise on expenses, led to simplified designs for more or less standard architectural elements. The adaptations made to facilitate working with finished pieces from the quarries are best discerned in ecclesiastical architecture, particularly in Holland.10 Here, the ambition to compete with the most celebrated churches in the Low Countries and even beyond (as described in Chapter 2) led not to spectacular innovations in construction, building typology or to complex decorative vaults like those found in England or Germany; instead, church architecture is strikingly standardised. Overall, the elevations are characterised by the use of columns for the main arcade and ‘ordinary’ cross-rib vaults or wooden vaults. Because of these features, scholars frequently consider ecclesiastical architecture in Holland to be traditional, and it has   van Tussenbroek 2013, 144.  On ’s-Hertogenbosch, see: Peeters 1985, 43–44. On Haarlem, see: Janssen 1985, appendix 10 and NHA, SA, 67 I-1183. On Alkmaar, see: RHCA, PA, inv. no. 3. On Aalst, see: De Potter & Broeckaert, 1874–1876, vol. 3, 174.

  AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 61r.-66v.   See also: Goldthwaite 1980, 383–84. 9   Hörsch 1997, 49. 10   Bangs 1997, 174.

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been proposed that patrons and designers of churches in Holland were conservative or ignorant of developments elsewhere in Europe.11 The most recent survey of Dutch architecture thus distinguishes between Utrecht Cathedral, which fits the international evolution of Rayonnant Gothic architecture and took the cathedrals of Cologne and Tournai as its model, and the less ‘modern’ city churches in Holland, which are regarded as ‘provincial’.12 Such a formalistic approach does not explain why city churches did not take French cathedrals or Utrecht as their main example, however. Moreover, the most prominent patrons and designers working in Holland were certainly familiar with contemporary architectural innovations abroad.13 Therefore, the decision to simplify church architecture requires some other explanation. Plain Architecture by Prominent Architects When the churchwardens and city council of Leiden appointed Rutger van Kampen as the master at St Peter’s in 1391 (fig. 2.13), they hired an architect who was in the vanguard of European church design. Rutger was the son of Michael of Cologne, the master of the masons’ lodge of Cologne Cathedral, and had close ties with the illustrious Fig. 7.1 Kampen, Rutger van Kampen, Parler family.14 In 1369 he had been made master of the Bovenkerk/St Nicolas, high vault of the choir, second half of the fourteenth century. works of Kampen’s two parish churches. For the choir of the town’s Bovenkerk (church of St Nicholas), he designed a spectacular high vault (finished c. 1400), which is one of the earliest examples of the decorative use of rib vaults on the Continent (fig. 7.1). The design’s intersecting parallel ribs recalls Peter Parler’s high vault in Prague Cathedral, constructed in nearly the same period, between 1380 and 1385.15 Rutger must have seen designs by Parler, and it is even likely that he visited Prague himself, given a payment to a stonemason named ‘Rutger’ recorded in the cathedral’s building accounts in the winter of 1372–1373. When Rutger was asked to design the choir of St Peter’s in Leiden ex-novo several years later, one naturally would expect him to pull off a similar architectural tour de force. In fact, the result is almost diametrically opposed to the delicate construction at Kampen. The choir’s appearance is far removed from the elegant churches in the so-called Parler style. Although the plan shares some similarities with the layout of the Bovenkerk in Kampen, the elevation of St Peter’s is remarkably simplified, with squat proportions.16 The slender looking compound piers of Kampen have been replaced by heavy columns, and the zone above the main arcade consists of plain masonry with simple tracery as a

  Hörsch 1997, 52.   Mekking & Helten & Burger, 2007. 13   Hurx 2014. 14  Rutger was probably acquainted with the Parler family through his father, or perhaps through his sister, who married Heinrich Parler the Younger, 11 12

a relative of Peter Parler and the architect of Ulm Minster. Helten 2009, 113; Böker et al. 2011, 13; Schock-Werner 1978a, 9–10. 15   Helten 2009; Meischke 1988b, 26. 16   Helten 1994, 47–61; Meischke 1964.

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kind of shadow of a triforium. By comparison, the clerestory in Kampen has large windows and a net vault supported by exceptionally flimsy shafts, which are detached from the wall at the level of the triforium. In Leiden, the clerestory was finished by Aernt Bruun (also called Van den Doem), who was master of the works at Utrecht Cathedral and s­ucceeded Rutger in 1407. In contrast to Kampen and Utrecht (fig. 0.6), St Peter’s has thick walls with small windows and a wooden tunnel vault. Without the evidence of archival sources, it would be hard to believe that the masters of Kampen and Utrecht were involved. Columns and Compound Piers A distinctive feature of churches in the coastal areas of the Low Countries is a clear preference for cylindrical piers.17 In the literature, these churches in Flanders, Holland and Brabant are often classified as ‘Brabantine Gothic’.18 St Rumbold’s in Mechelen is traditionally placed at the inception of this style.19 Built after the city fire of 1342, its elevation introduced several new design features. It combines columns in the main arcade with decorative blind tracery in the spandrels of the arcade arches, the patterns of which continue into the triforium zone and are coordinated with the mullions of the clerestory windows (fig. 7.2). The columns, which at most churches belonging to this group have an octagonal base and ‘cabbage leaf’ capitals, which consist of two rings of separate bunches of stylised oak leaves. In Mechelen, the horizontal accent of the capitals is balanced by the verticality of the vault shafts, which have the same roll and fillet mouldings as the arches and vault ribs into which they flow uninterruptedly. Though the classical threefold division of arcade, triforium and clerestory is still recognisable, both the lattice of repetitive tracery patterns and the continuous shafts act to unify the upper zones of the elevation. The linear character of the triforium and clerestory form a striking contrast to the heavy columns. The peculiar choice for these columns may have been guided by a desire to harmonise the design with that of the thirteenth-century nave, which was in turn modernised in the fifteenth century to match the choir. Alternatively, the patron may have wanted to compete with the most eminent thirteenth-century churches of Brabant, such as St Gudula’s in Brussels (notably the choir, 1226–1300) (fig. 2.9), which had columns.20 The choir of St Gommarus’ in Lier, near Antwerp, demonstrates the importance of St Rumbold’s as a model during the subsequent century and a half (fig. 7.3). Built between 1476 and 1515 under Herman and Dominicus de Waghemakere, it is an almost exact copy of Mechelen; only the tracery decoration has been updated.21 The scheme of St Rumbold’s was quite common in Brabant throughout the fifteenth century. In Lier it was introduced by the Mechelen master Jan II Keldermans in the nave of St Gommarus’ (1425–1443) (fig. 7.4), although here it is somewhat less richly decorated, lacking the blind tracery in the spandrels of the main arcade. Similar arrangements are found in the nave of St Gudula’s in Brussels (first half of the fifteenth century), Our Lady in Breda (c. 1400–c. 1450) (fig. 7.5),

  On the terminological difference between cylindrical pier and column, see: Binding 2013. Here, both terms are used without distinction. 18   Coomans 2003a. 19   Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 32. 20  They followed late twelfth and early thirteenthcentury examples from northern France and 17

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Normandy, however it is not clear which examples were of direct influence due to the loss of many Brabantine abbey churches and the cathedrals of Arras, Douai and Cambrai, which played a key role in the early spread of Gothic architecture in the Low Countries. Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 20–22. 21   Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 44; Wilson 2008, 238.

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Fig. 7.2 Mechelen, Jan van Oisy, St Rumbold, choir, begun after 1342 and finished early fifteenth century.

the nave of Notre-Dame-du-Sablon (after 1450) and the nave of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-overde-Dijle in Mechelen (begun c. 1451) (fig. 5.12). At other churches, the wall articulation seen at St Rumbold’s was reduced in complexity, with St Peter’s in Leiden being one of the earliest and most austere examples. Its elevation has two major structural simplifications compared to Mechelen. First, the triforium zone has no wall passage. Instead, each bay of the nave – probably built to designs made by Aernt Bruun between around 1410 and 1430 – simply has two shutters at the triforium level which open to the attic above the side aisles (fig. 7.6).22 22

  Dröge & Veerman 2011, 70.

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Fig. 7.3 Lier, Herman and Dominicus de Waghemakere, St Gommarus, choir, 1476–1515.

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Fig. 7.4 Lier, Jan II Keldermans, St Gommarus, nave, 1424–1443.

A second difference is that the elevation lacks a strong vertical emphasis, and its arcade, triforium and clerestory levels are treated more or less autonomously. For example, there are no shafts to link the main arcade columns with the springers of the high vault. Instead, small unadorned colonnettes at the level of the clerestory windows support the wooden beams of the barrel vault. Only the tracery patterns of simple superposed bands of blind arcades unite the arcade with the triforium zone. Without the vertical connection between arcade and vault, the elevation has become fragmented into separate zones. The structural and visual simplification of the elevation are also characteristic of later fifteenth-century churches in Holland and Zeeland.23 A typical feature shared by churches in this group is the so-called ‘vensterbank triforium’ (‘window sill triforium’), in which the triforium is reduced to a sort of balcony that, paired with the windows above, forms a niche in the thick walls of the clerestory. This arrangement was   Meischke 1988c; Hurx 2007a.

23

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Fig. 7.5 Brussels, St Gudula, nave, first half of the fifteenth century.

commonly accentuated by a low arcaded balustrade, as seen in the transepts and naves of the churches of St Bavo in Haarlem (1445–c. 1480), St Mary Magdalene in Goes (after 1455), Our Lady in Dordrecht (1457–1472) (fig. 5.3), St Catherine in Brielle (after 1462) (fig. 4.10), the Hooglandse Kerk (St Pancras) in Leiden (c. 1460–c. 1495) (fig. 7.27), St Lawrence in Alkmaar (1470–1520) (fig. 7.7), St Lawrence in Rotterdam (second half of the fifteenth century) and the choirs of the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft (1453–1476) and St James’ in The Hague (after 1492) (fig. 7.33). As at Leiden, there is no wall passage, and the triforium niches are accessible from the roof space above the side aisles.24 Towards the end of the fifteenth century a more elegant variation on this arrangement was introduced outside Holland at St Martin’s in Aalst (after 1481) (fig. 6.1) and St James’ (1491–1525) and St Andrew’s (early sixteenth century) in Antwerp, where more effort was made to mask the thickness of the walls. In contrast to St Peter’s in Leiden, later churches in Holland have main arcade columns which support colonnettes that run up to the springers of vault. With capitals clearly distinguishing the colonnettes’ cylindrical shafts from the springers of the vault, they are more autonomous than the continuous shafts at Mechelen.   With the exception of Rotterdam and the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft, the balconies are not connected by a passage.

24

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A more refined and costly alternative to columns were compound piers, which merged the delicate mouldings of the arcade arches, transverse arches and ribs of the vaults. With no capital to interrupt the flow of the mouldings from the pier socles into the arches and ribs of the vault, a strong sense of verticality could be achieved. In the Low Countries, continuous moulded arcades were first used in the early fourteenth century in the south bays of the choir of Utrecht Cathedral (c. 1300–1325) (fig. 7.8), although there the shafts of the high vault, constructed around 1400, still have capitals. The piers in Utrecht were most likely modelled on those supporting the south tower of Cologne Cathedral, begun around 1300.25 From the second half of the fourteenth century, all the most prestigious newly erected churches in the wealthy cities of Brabant used a similar type of compound pier for the main arcade. The earliest example is the choir of Our Lady in Antwerp (1352–1406) (4.9 and 2.11), soon followed by St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch (1360–1400), where the system was applied consistently for the first time and capitals were omitted for the vault shafts (fig. 7.9).26 Essentially, these churches combined Utrecht’s compound piers with Mechelen’s wall articulation for the triforium and clerestory. The logic of the design used at ’s-Hertogenbosch proved Fig. 7.7 Alkmaar, St Lawrence, nave, c. 1470–1520. to be a successful formula and was closely copied in the fifteenth century at St Peter’s in Leuven (1425–1441) (fig. 7.10). Several other Brabantine churches also opted for piers without capitals, but not in the main arcade. For instance, continuous responds are found in the ambulatories of St Sulpicius’ in Diest (begun 1321) and St Rumbold’s in Mechelen (begun 1342) (fig. 7.2), in the north side aisle of the nave of St Gudula’s in Brussels (first half of the fifteenth century) (fig. 7.3) and in the transept of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-de-Dijle in Mechelen (first half of the sixteenth century) (fig. 5.12).27 For the late fifteenth-century choir of St Gertrude’s in Bergen op Zoom a hybrid system was developed, with piers consisting of a cluster of delicate mouldings running up into the arcade arches and a cylindrical shaft with a capital that supports the ribs of the vault (fig. 7.11).28

 Comparable piers were also erected at the Wiesenkirche in Soest (1313–1376). Halflants 1992– 1996, vol. 1, 48–51. On the development of the continuous moulded arcade, see: Freigang 2007. 26   Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 40. 27  Another noteworthy example is Notre-Damedu-Sablon (c. 1420–1450) in Brussels, which has 25

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freestanding compound piers in the nave side aisles. 28   The building would never be completed and fell into ruin, leading to its demolition in 1699–1700; only the west side aisles of the transept remain. Peeters 1987, 162.

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Fig. 7.8 Utrecht, cathedral, southern aisle of the choir, c. 1300–1330.

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Fig. 7.9 ’s-Hertogenbosch, Alard Duhamel and Jan Heyns, St John, nave, 1478–1517.

Outside Brabant, the only large churches apart from Utrecht that have compound piers without capitals in the main arcade are St Waltrude’s in Mons (begun 1450) (fig. 7.12) and the abbey church of St Hubert in the Ardennes (begun 1526) (fig. 7.13). Both closely follow the design of the elevations in ’s-Hertogenbosch and Leuven, though at St Hubert’s the ribs of the high vault spring from a cylindrical shaft, comparable to Bergen op Zoom. At Our Lady in Dordrecht, in Holland, the late fourteenth-century responds in the transept and side chapels of the nave have continuous mouldings (fig. 7.14), and possibly ­compound piers were intended for the main arcade as well. The preference at most churches in Holland and Zeeland for columns and simplified designs was not at all due to a lack of knowledge of architectural developments elsewhere. As at St Peter’s in Leiden, most ecclesiastical building patrons made an effort to employ the best architects, who were certainly well acquainted with the latest developments at the most important building sites in the Low Countries. For instance, several masters of Utrecht Cathedral were also active in Holland, among them Aernt Bruun in Leiden, Jacob van der Borch in Delft and Cornelis de Wael in Haarlem.29 The most successful masters came from Brabant, such as Evert Spoorwater and Anthonis I and Rombout Keldermans. Though all also involved in designing the great Brabantine churches, in Holland they furnished simplified designs. 29

  Meischke 1988c, 88–89.

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Fig. 7.10 Leuven, St Peter, choir, 1425–1441.

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Fig. 7.11 Bergen op Zoom, Anthonis I and Rombout II Keldermans, St Gertrude, respond with capital in the sideaisle of the north transept arm, after 1489.

In 1964 Meischke already pointed out that the striking contrast between the architectural designs at Kampen and Leiden should be attributed to differences in the building process. St Peter’s had a part-time master of the works and was one of the first churches to make extensive use of finished building components from the Brabantine workshops.30 By contrast, all churches with compound piers had a permanent masons’ lodge where the master of the works was present most of year.31 An important indication that building economy and the advantages of using ready-made building kits were decisive in the choice to reduce the complexity of church architecture and opt for columns instead of compound piers is found at the church of Our Lady in Dordrecht, which was probably initially intended to have compound piers. The cracked stones of the moulded responds in the transept bear witness to the serious damage inflicted by the fire that struck the city in 1457. When the church was rebuilt by Spoorwater, columns were used throughout (fig. 5.3).32 This choice appears to have   Meischke 1964.   Meischke 1988b, 17; Peeters 1987, 162. However, this does not mean that all churches with columns did not have a masons’ lodge; for instance, the works at St Gudula’s in Brussels and St Gommarus’ 30 31

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in Lier both had masons’ lodges that were directed by a master of the works. 32  In his archaeological study of the building, Ter Kuile also discovered stones that were affected by fire in the chapels along the nave, while the columns

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Fig. 7.12 Mons, St Waltrude, choir, 1450–1506.

Fig. 7.13 Saint-Hubert, abbey church, nave, 1526–1564.

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been motivated by a wish to accelerate building speed, and so it is significant that the choir could be consecrated a mere fifteen years later, in 1472.33 At Utrecht Cathedral, too, economic considerations led to simplification of the responds in the north aisle of the choir, though without the use of ready-made building kits. After the south side of the choir was finished with moulded responds around 1330, the north aisle was built between around 1330 and 1360 with markedly simpler responds consisting of a central polygonal shaft and two flanking colonnettes (fig. 7.15). One reason for the different supports seems to be that by the time work on the north side of the choir began, the construction of the massive Dom tower (1321–1382) was already consuming most of the resources, making a more economical design for the choir desirable.34 Apart from building economy, other factors may also have contributed to the prevalence of columns.35 It is quite possible that aesthetic preferences and symbolic value also played a role. Patrons may have wished to follow the example of venerable thirteenth-century churches such as St Gudula’s in Brussels (fig. 2.9) and the Dominican church (Our Lady) in Leuven (fig. 2.19), both of which were built with the support of the dukes of Brabant.36 Furthermore, colFig. 7.14 Dordrecht, Our Lady, side-aisle of the nave, umns were employed not only in churches but c. 1380–1390. also in richly decorated micro-architecture such as rood screens (fig. 7.16) and sacrament houses, where building economy was of little importance. From the late fifteenth century, monolithic columns of blue limestone also became especially popular for arcades in palace architecture (see Chapter 2).37 Nevertheless, the use of columns and fragmentation of the elevation design had definite advantages that made it possible to build fast and on a large scale, as we shall see. Budgets and Building Speed To explain why many city churches in Holland did not establish a permanent masons’ lodge and preferred to employ part-time architects, we must look to their often limited and fluctuating income. In the Northern Netherlands, few churches were assured of revenues as continuous of the nave and the choir seem to be undamaged and were likely erected after 1457. ter Kuile 1933, 7–8. His findings are supported by Stades-Vischer: Stades-Vischer 1989, 20. Moulded responds were also used for the richly decorated pilgrimage church of St Martin’s in Halle, fifteen kilometres south of Brussels (1341–1470), and the new ambulatory of St Salvator’s in Bruges (1481–c. 1510).

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  Jensma & Molendijk 1987, 27.   Haslinghuis & Peeters 1965, 339. 35   Binding 2013. 36   Hörsch & De Jonge 2009, 25–26. 37  My thanks to Sascha Köhl for discussing this issue with me. An early example of an arcade with columns is found at the early fifteenth-century town hall of Brussels. 33 34

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Fig. 7.15 Utrecht, cathedral, left: continuous moulded responds in the south side-aisle of the choir, c. 1300–1330. Right: the north side-aisle has somewhat simpler responds with capitals, c. 1330–1360.

and high as those of Utrecht Cathedral. The cathedral fabric disposed over a mix of income sources, the most important being ‘quests’ (itinerant alms collections in the diocese) and diocesan indulgences.38 Over the period from 1395 to 1527, an average of 65 per cent of these proceeds were spent on building, equivalent to almost 90 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer.39 The economic underpinnings of most city churches were rather different. Whereas the cathedral collected money throughout the entire diocese, the income of city churches came mainly from within the boundaries of the parish and depended largely on property assets, donations and proceeds from the sale and opening of graves.40 Though in Holland parishes   Vroom 2010.   Vroom 2010, 400.

38

  Vroom 2010, 409–14; Oosterbaan 1973, 349.

40

39

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Fig. 7.16 Leuven, St Peter, rood screen, second half of the fifteenth century.

often encompassed the whole city, their sources of income remained relatively limited. Yearly expenditures on the construction of St Peter’s in Leiden during the period in which the choir and nave were erected (1398–1428) ranged between 12 and 22 per cent of the sums spent at Utrecht Cathedral.41 Holland’s cities may have been booming, but they were still less wealthy than the older commercial centres of the Southern Netherlands.42 Revenues from pilgrimage also did not contribute greatly to church building in Holland, as few parish churches in the county ever became major pilgrim destinations – though sometimes not for lack of trying.43 In Delft, for instance, the city government purchased saints’ relics for its two parish churches, and the building accounts show that pilgrimage was indeed an essential fundraising instrument for several building campaigns at the Oude Kerk.44 Yet, the income generated by miracle-working statues and relics was still fairly modest as their cults enjoyed only local appeal.

  Vroom 1981, 557.  For instance, Leiden, one of the largest cities in Holland, had a small elite whose wealth was fairly modest; see: Brand 2002, 122.

  Parker 1998, 37.   Verhoeven 1992, 25–28.

41

43

42

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Table 7.1  Revenues and expenses of the church fabric of St Peter in Leiden. church fabric st. peter

1398

1399

1417

1426

1427

1428

Revenues (in

1,037

954

2,570

1,960

1,751

2,491

pounds)

Expenses,

total

1,104

1,127

3,008

2,635

2,405

3,283

Expenses,

construction

  412

  580

1,704

  404

  285

1,066

37.3

51.5

56.7

15.3

11.9

32.5

Percentage

of total

To fund large building campaigns, more money had to be raised. Many church ­fabrics engaged in other, riskier methods, such as issuing life annuities, to obtain necessary funds more quickly. This approach proved successful at St Peter’s in Leiden in the early fifteenth century. In the years 1398 and 1399, the fabric had an annual income of around 1,000 pounds (table 7.1).45 After issuing annuities, the amount almost doubled in the 1420s. But there was also had a downside. In 1398, 1399 and 1417, between 40 and 55 per cent of the revenues could be used for church building, but in the years 1426, 1427, 1428, when the income still averaged around 2,000 pounds, only between 12 and 30 per cent remained to spend on construction. Increasingly, the church fabric found itself struggling to repay its debts, which consumed more than 30 per cent of the total budget. In the four cities known as the ‘capitals’ of Brabant, church fabrics were more successful at raising money for construction. Due to the loss of building accounts, exact figures for the churches of St John in ’s-Hertogenbosch and St Peter in Leuven are l­acking, but in both cases special circumstances generated substantial income. The discovery of the miraculous statue of the Virgin in 1380 turned St John’s into a major pilgrim destination, and in Leuven the initiative to build a new church was probably related to the foundation of the university in 1425.46 The wealthiest church, however, was that of Our Lady in Antwerp, where the church fabric could spend even more on construction than its counterpart in Utrecht – on average the equivalent of 112 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer in 1431–1540.47 Antwerp’s rapidly growing importance as a commercial metropolis in northern Europe undoubtedly contributed to the church fabric’s flourishing finances, so that where it still faced recurrent deficits in the fifteenth century, after 1480 the accounts show a surplus almost every year. The significant increase in revenues at Our Lady in this period is even more remarkable considering that from 1478 onwards it faced competition from a second eminent parish church in the city, namely St James. This church developed into an important rival for funds in Antwerp, with yearly expenditures on construction increasing from the equivalent of 30 years’ wages of a labourer in 1491–1492 to 125 in 1507.48 Over the period from 1491 to 1525, the fabric spent an average of 56.7 years’ wages of a labourer per year, which, though substantial, was still less than half of the budget of Our Lady in these years. Construction was financed largely by donations from the faithful, but to speed things up an increasing number of life annuities were issued. This strategy eventually brought the fabric of St James’ in grave difficulty as life annuity distributions progressively increased from slightly more than ten per cent of the total budget in 1507 to more than thirty per cent in 1516 and almost fifty per cent in 1522. By then, the fabric’s financial situation had become unsustainable,  Regionaal Archief Leiden, Archief van de Kerken inv. no. 323, kerkmeestersrekeningen. The calculations are based on the transcriptions of the fabric accounts by Ed van der Vlist; see www.janvanhout.nl.

45

46   Kuijer 2000, 165–66. Various sources show that the city of Leuven contributed generously to the fabric of St Peter’s church. Maesschalck & Viaene 2005. 47   Vroom 1983, 104–09. 48   Vroom 1983, 161.

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Fig. 7.17 Woodcut announcing the fundraising lottery for the construction of the clerestory of the choir of the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam, 1558. The woodcut is titled: Loterie van die oude Kercke van Sinte Nicolaes binnen der stede van Aemstelredam. (Koninklijk Oudheidkundig Genootschap, Amsterdam inv. no. Atlas van Amsterdam, portefeuille 31e)

and new sources of income were sought in order to continue building. In 1519 it obtained permission from the emperor to hold a lottery, though the event was postponed until 1525 owing to the large number of lotteries held for other churches in the Low Countries in the same period (fig. 7.17). In 1522 the emperor also allowed the fabric to sell property to reorganise its finances, but ultimately this was not enough to save it from bankruptcy in 1535. At churches in the smaller towns of Brabant and Flanders, construction expenditures were more comparable to the situation in Holland. In Lier, which had around 5,000 inhabitants in the fifteenth century, the yearly budget of the collegiate church of St Gommarus’ averaged the equivalent of 17.3 years’ wages of an unskilled labourer in the period between 1436 and 1506.49 And in Hulst, a Flemish town with fewer than 5,000 people, the fabric of St Willibrord’s spent an annual average of 19 years’ wages of a labourer in 1455–1475.50 In Leiden, Lier and Hulst, the money available for construction varied considerably. In Lier,

  Vroom 1983, 106, 166.   These figures are based on: Dierick-van Pottelberghe s.d., 53. These figures are also comparable to those for the Buurkerk in Utrecht (1430–1456), the city’s main

49 50

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parish church, where annual expenses fluctuated between the equivalent of eleven and twenty years’ wages of an unskilled labourer. Vroom 1981, 557.

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Fig. 7.18 Elevation and plan of the choir of Our Lady in Antwerp, St John in ’s-Hertogenbosch, St Bavo in Haarlem and Utrecht Cathedral, drawn to the same scale. Situation in the early fifteenth century.

construction expenses fluctuated between 7 and 55 years’ wages of a labourer. In Hulst, total outlays amounted to 47.8 years’ wages of a labourer in 1469, but only two years later, in 1471, fell to only 10.8 years’ wages. These figures show that the building expenditures of the fabrics of Utrecht Cathedral and Our Lady in Antwerp were not only much higher than at most parish churches, but also more stable. And only with such large and continuous resources was it possible to maintain a permanent masons’ lodge. Though the financial resources of many city churches in Holland were limited, they had to accommodate the needs of fast-growing urban populations, for example providing space for graves and a multitude of altars. Building speed and cost-effectiveness were therefore of great concern. Through reductions in the complexity of church architecture – comprising the use of columns and fragmentation of the elevation, sparse stone decoration and omission of radial chapels – it became possible to build churches with surface areas comparable to Utrecht Cathedral at less than a quarter of the cost. While Utrecht Cathedral was a continuous project, the nave and choir of St Peter’s in Leiden were completed in only forty years. Even more impressive in scale and building speed is St Bavo’s in Haarlem, whose vast choir, with a clerestory extending 45 metres, was constructed in approximately twenty years.51 Upon its completion in around 1400 it was by far the largest choir in the Low Countries (fig. 7.18), at more than one and a half times the size of the choir of Utrecht Cathedral. With a surface area of around 1,750 square metres, it was also significantly larger than the choirs of St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch and Our Lady in Antwerp (approximately 1,450 and 1,300 square metres, respectively). But where Haarlem took only two decades to complete (with the exception of the wooden net vault, which was added in the sixteenth century), Utrecht took more than a century. In Utrecht the slow pace of building was largely due to the construction of the 112-metre tall Dom tower, yet even the choirs at ’s-Hertogenbosch (c. 1360–1400) and Antwerp (1352–1406) took around forty and fifty years, respectively, to build.52 The choir of St Waltrude’s was also built over a period of fifty  No exact dates survive for Haarlem, but den­ drochronological data and archaeological evidence have allowed Jörg Soentgerath to estimate that the entire choir was built in under twenty years; 51

publication forthcoming. My thanks to Jörg for sharing his insights with me. 52   On ’s-Hertogenbosch, see: Glaudemans 2009; Boekwijt & Glaudemans & Hagemans 2010; Glaudemans 2017.

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years, with work on the piers beginning in 1451 and the vaults of the clerestory finished in 1506.53 Various churches that had columns were erected with greater speed. The detailed data available regarding the choir of St Lawrence’s in Alkmaar show that the time between the ordering of the arcade columns and the completion of the roof structure was a mere fifteen years: the first columns for the choir were ordered in 1497, the beams of the roof of the ambulatory are dendrochronologically dated between 1498 and 1504, and the beams of main vessel date from 1511–1512.54 Leuven may be the only exception to this rule. It has long been supposed that construction of the choir started around 1410 and was finished around 1440, but recently it has been suggested that the choir was not started until as late as 1425, which would mean it was finished in the astonishingly short timespan of around fifteen years.55 Although the preserved sources do not provide certainty as to the exact dates, it nevertheless seems clear that the building went up very quickly. The church fabric must have possessed almost unlimited financial means. After the choir was completed, however, the work slowed down considerably, and it took until the early sixteenth century to finish the nave. Expanding Churches, Changing Designs Besides speed of construction, a design that permitted modification during the building process was also imperative for city churches. Parish needs tended to change relatively rapidly, especially in the fast-growing cities of Holland, and plans therefore had to allow for the addition of more aisles and chapels when and as needed. This also had the advantage that the construction of a new church could be split up into delimited building campaigns that could viably be finished in the near term. Instead of an on-going process, the erection of a church could take place in a piecemeal manner, making it possible to expand the church at a financially feasible or otherwise suitable moment in the future. Flexibility was also essential in the construction of the elevation, allowing major design issues such as whether to add a clerestory or the choice between a stone or wooden vault to be settled along the way. By adopting pragmatic building strategies, patrons could adjust to changing circumstances during the building process. Such an additive process is still easily recognisable in various churches: the Oude Kerk in Delft, the Grote Kerk in The Hague, St John’s in Gouda and the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam all evolved through a gradual expansion that kept pace with the growth of their cities. Whenever a church no longer met the city’s needs, or sufficient funds became available, a new section was added. Such consecutive additions and enlargements of several new aisles transformed both Amsterdam’s Oude Kerk (fig. 2.26) and Delft’s Oude Kerk (fig. 2.55) into hybrids of a basilica plan and hall church.56 Even in cities where, more ambitiously, the old church was replaced completely on the basis of a single plan, later additions were still common. For instance, forty years after the completion of the nave of St Peter’s in Leiden, work began on additional side aisles, and in the same period construction of a transept was planned.57 In Amsterdam, radial chapels were added to the early fifteenth-century choir of the Nieuwe Kerk around 1500, and in Hulst Dominicus de Waghemakere similarly attached radial chapels to Evert Spoorwater’s choir after 1515 (fig. 5.7).58 More remarkable perhaps is the later phased addition of a clerestory at the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam (fig. 7.17), first in the nave around 1510

  Bavay & Doperé & Tourneur 2008.   RHCA, PA, inv. no. 3. My thanks to Dirk-Jan de Vries for sharing the dendrochronological data with me. 55   Maesschalck & Viaene 2005.

  Janse 2004; Berends & Meischke, 1981.   Dröge & Veerman 2011, 34–39. 58   van Tussenbroek 2011, 30; de Kind 1984–1985, 28.

53

56

54

57

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but not until after 1558–1559 in the choir, when a lottery finally provided the necessary funds.59 It is difficult to be certain whether such additions were actually intended from the outset, but the visual autonomy of the elevation’s individual storeys in any case made it possible to put off such decisions until a later date. This need for flexibility is difficult to reconcile with the decisive design of compound piers. Churches with compound piers demanded greater precision and a consistent design approach: all the details had to be worked out beforehand, because determining the moulding of the shafts required knowing the precise shape of the vaults. This can be illustrated by the small corrections in the ground plan of St Waltrude’s, discussed in Chapter 6 (fig. 6.25). While preparing the plan, the vault of the crossing was changed from a regular cross-rib vault to a stellar vault, for which shafts supporting the tiercerons had to be added to the two east crossing piers. In a drawing such additions are easy to make, but they were difficult to introduce once construction was already underway, since the design of the elevation was largely fixed at the level of the socles. The profile of the piers determined the shape of the mouldings and orientation of the arcade arches, the arches and ribs of the vault and the wall arches. There are several cases where this can still be seen to have led to complications. For instance, unforeseen difficulties could arise upon the resumption of work with a new design, as happened in the south transept of Utrecht Cathedral, where an alteration in the design after an interval of almost a century caused a small shift in alignment of the bays at the triforium level (fig. 7.19). A possible reason why the builders did not discover this inconsistency until too late is that proper alignment of the bays was impeded by a temporary roof that rested on the arcade. Only after the roof was removed and the first new stones were put in place would the mistake have been discovered.60 By that time, however, a large portion of the stones for the triforium and clerestory would probably already have been finished in the masons’ lodge. To bridge the transition between the two levels, an oddly improvised connecting piece was made for the shafts. In some cases, capitals or foliate blocks were used to mask a deliberate change to the design of compound piers. In the north transept of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-deDijle in Mechelen, the shafts of responds from an earlier building phase (1451–1465) were intersected by a foliated stringcourse at the level of the triforium to mask the transition to the new type of shaft with a different profile (fig. 7.20).61 That the foliage was a correction and not a preconceived design solution is evident from the other responds built during the second building phase, which run interruptedly from their base into the ribs of the vault. Improvised connecting pieces can also be found at the church of St Bavo (formerly St John) in Ghent, where they were used to realign the ribs of the vaults in the chevet (fig. 7.21). After an interruption in construction – marked by a transition from Tournai limestone to white limestone – the design of the vaults was altered, and the gradient and direction of the springers therefore had to be recalibrated relative to the existing shafts and springers.62 A similar solution was applied at the Kapellekerk in Brussels (fig. 7.22), where a new design for the vault of the tower made it necessary to realign the springers. The transition was made by simply inserting a large block of foliage between the old springers and the new ribs. The elevations of column churches afforded more freedom to work out a design in the order in which the elevation was erected, as there was no strong visual connection between the individual sections. Consisting of several distinct elements, with columns, 59 60

  Janse 2004, 124-29, 149–53.   My thanks to Maren Lüpnitz for this suggestion.

61 62

  Martiny 1962, 110–12.   Also noticed by De Smidt 1962, 199.

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Fig. 7.19 Utrecht, cathedral, south transept Fig. 7.20 Mechelen, Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-dearm, arcade dates from c. 1300–1330, triforium Dijle, north transept arm, arcade of the side-aisle and clerestory were built in 1440–1480. was built in 1451–1465, the rest of the transept was finished in another campaign before 1545.

arcade arches, colonnettes and ribs that could be assembled relatively independently of each other, the design was less rigid than in an elevation with compound piers. The large abaci of the columns, in particular, were used as a space to revise the design. For example, in the choir of St Peter’s in Leiden, the westernmost bays have arcade arches with very basic mouldings, but during the ten years over which the arcade was erected, arches with more delicate mouldings were introduced (fig. 7.23).63 Another example of a design modification is seen at St Lawrence’s in Alkmaar, where at a late stage it was decided to span the nave aisles with net vaults instead of the planned cross-rib vaults, making it necessary to insert additional ribs (in brick) between the existing stone springers (fig. 7.24). The added springers crowd atop the capital, causing some ribs to protrude slightly from the abacus. These minor blemishes are not easily detected from ground level, but had the church had compound piers, such an adaptation would have caused major difficulties. In churches with columns, it was also possible to make later additions to the elevation without having to conform to the existing arrangement. For example, at the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam the clerestory bays dating from 1558–1559 were made almost twice as wide as those in the main arcade, from 1448–1455. Remarkably, these later bays were not precisely aligned with the bays of the arcade (fig. 7.25). A somewhat different problem had to be overcome at the Oude Kerk in Delft, where the design of the new transept had to be adapted to the building’s existing irregular layout (fig. 7.26). Due to the diverging   Dröge & Veerman 2011, 25–27.

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Fig. 7.21 Ghent, St Bavo (formerly St John), the responds in the chevet date from the fourteenth century, the vaults were constructed in the fifteenth century.

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Fig. 7.22 Brussels, Kapellekerk, vault of the tower, early sixteenth century.

widths of the chapels and the side aisle of the nave, the columns of the main arcade had to be placed at varying distances, with the result that especially the intercolumnia of the first arcade north of the crossing is disproportionately wide. This irregularity does not extended to the level of the clerestory, where all the bays are the same size, and therefore do not align with the arcade arches. The capitals of colonnettes supporting the ribs of the vault also offered leeway to put off decisions concerning the design of the vault. Several churches, including St Bavo’s in Haarlem, St Catherine’s in Brielle and the Hooglandse Kerk in Leiden (fig. 7.27), were originally intended to have stone vaults but, ultimately, like churches everywhere in Holland except Dordrecht, they were built with high wooden vaults. At St John’s in Gouda, St Lawrence’s in Rotterdam and the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam, wooden vaults were also employed for the side aisles and ambulatory. Instead of stone springers, the arcade capitals carry heavy wooden beams (fig. 7.28). In these three cases the wooden vaults may well have been planned from the start, but at most churches they seem to have been chosen at a later stage, given the evidence of toothing in the masonry and mouldings on the exterior of the clerestory where flying buttresses were originally intended (fig. 4.3).

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Fig. 7.23 Leiden, St Peter, arcade arches with different mouldings in the choir, 1391–1415.

Alignment of the Supports Another advantage of the use of columns and the fragmentation of the elevation is that it demanded less precision in the alignment and orientation of the supports. As the placement of the small fillet bases of compound piers already had to reflect the orientation of the main elements of the ribs and arches, setting out the ground plan required great care: not only the position of each pier had to be determined, but also its exact orientation (fig. 7.29). This was especially challenging at the hemicycle. Erroneous alignments were difficult to rectify later on, though small corrections could be made by slightly adjusting the curvature of the springer of the vault.64 A somewhat patchy and easily discernible example is the twisted springer of the vault of the westernmost bay of the nave of Notre-Dame-duSablon in Brussels (fig. 7.30). Wide abaci made it easier to calibrate the blocks of the arches, ribs and colonnettes independently of the supporting   Such springers are found in the choir of St Peter’s in Leuven, where the orientation of the roll and fillet mouldings of the piers does not correspond exactly with the ribs of the high vault of the hemicycle.

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Fig. 7.24 Alkmaar, St Lawrence, springers of the vault in the side-aisle of the nave, c. 1470–1495.

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arcade columns. Being built up from separate blocks around a brick core, these elements could each be arranged separately (fig. 7.31). For instance, in the hemicycle of St James’ in The Hague, the colonnettes are placed somewhat irregularly on the capitals of the arcade columns (fig. 7.32), instead of being aligned with the vertices of the polygonal abaci as they are in the rest of the choir (fig. 7.33). The reason for this is that the polygonal plan of the hemicycle made it necessary to position the springers of the arcade arches at an angle on top of each abacus. This makes the blocks converge on the side of the main vessel, leaving less room for the base of the colonnettes (fig. 7.34). The blocks of the arches in the rectangular choir bays are aligned with one of the ten sides of the abacus, whereas the arcade arches in the hemicycle are centred on the vertices. At the first bay of the apse these two arrangements collide, resulting in an asymmetrical arrangement of the blocks and making it necessary to insert the bases of the colonnettes according to the space left. A similar problem arose with the position of the Fig. 7.25 Amsterdam, Oude Kerk/St Nicolas, choir, springers of the ribs of the vaults in the ambulatory arcade 1448–1455, clerestory 1558–1559. (fig. 7.35), but the width of the abaci masks these irregularities. In churches with compound piers, transitions of this sort called for asymmetrical piers. At Our Lady in Antwerp, the main arcade of the choir has piers with three different cross sections: one for the rectangular bays, one for the hemicycle and one for the transition between the two systems (fig. 7.36). The same solution can be seen on the two plans preserved in Mons. The plan of Amiens Cathedral shows that the piers are composed of a cylindrical core flanked by four attached cylindrical shafts, known as a pilier cantonné’ (fig. 7.37). Both the transition arcade pier and the placement of the responds in the ambulatory are noticeably asymmetrical. With columns, by contrast, all of the supports could be made using identical blocks and their assembly required less precision.65 The fragmentation of elevation design in the churches of Holland can also be observed at other levels in the elevation. For instance, at St Peter’s in Leiden the angles of the walls in the hemicycle are not accurately aligned with the centre of the supporting arcade columns (fig. 7.38). And in the clerestory, the vertical beams of the wooden vault are not aligned with their squat supporting colonnettes (fig. 7.39), and have been connected by an asymmetrical impost. Similar inconsistencies can be found at several other churches and are in part adaptations to the difficulties of working with finished building materials, as will be discussed below.

  It should be noted that the systematic separation of each element does not occur at the thirteenthcentury church of St Gudula in Brussels; instead of calibrating the arches and ribs from the abacus, the 65

whole column is skewed at the transition from the choir to the chevet, giving the shaft an oval cross section.

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Fig. 7.26 Delft, Oude Kerk, side-aisle of the nave 1355–1365, north transept arm 1510–1548.

Margins of Error Where multiple suppliers delivered readymade products from the quarries for a single building project, it could easily lead to confusion and parts that did not fit properly, especially when the master of the works had only a limited number of opportunities to instruct the workers. In addition, stone was cut at the quarries away from the building site, and therefore it was difficult to take additional measurements during the work. Inconsistencies were unlikely to be detected until the ready-made stone arrived at the building site, in which case on-site alteration was necessary.66 Faults of this type and incomplete deliveries could cause unpleasant surprises and seriously delay the progress of work. The accounts  Such problems also occurred at churches with a large masons’ lodge. See for instance the detailed study of the choir of Cologne Cathedral by Maren Lüpnitz: Lüpnitz 2011, 255–58, 260–61.

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Fig. 7.27 Leiden, Hooglandse Kerk, choir, c. 1460–1495.

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Fig. 7.28 Gouda, St John, choir, capital in the chevet seen from above, after 1552.

Fig. 7.29 Leuven, St Peter, choir, 1425–1441.

of St Gommarus’ in Lier show that such problems occurred with work supplied by Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere, for example. In 1473–1474, a churchwarden from Lier and the master of the works, Jan van Hazeldonck, made two trips to Brussels and the quarries at Affligem to meet with the stone merchants because pieces had not been cut according to the specifications.67 The following year a churchwarden visited the quarries once more to ensure there would be no faults in the subsequent delivery.68 Small errors could be remedied during assembly by using some extra mortar to adjust the springing line of an arch, for example, or by cutting blocks to shape. In the case of larger corrections and final pieces such as the keystone of an arch, the blocks were usually cut immediately before installation (fig. 7.40).69 As one of the earliest projects in Holland to be directed by a part-time master and make extensive use of finished components, St Peter’s in Leiden is proof that communicating the design was not always easy. The importance of clear instructions is well illustrated by several erroneously cut blocks that were used in the arcade of the choir (fig. 7.41).70 The lowest white limestone blocks of the arcade arches are roughly cut, as though they were hastily added with no time to chisel a moulding to correspond with the moulded  …toet Bruezel ende voert tot opten steen puit tAfflegeem om zeeker noet zaec van werc dat ons Goeyvaert de Bosser ende Steven van Puit niet in leverden ghelyckerwijs als voerwaerde was… KAL, 43/3/1, klapboek 1473–1474, f. 11r. 68   Wouter Malle ghereden opte steen putten ende te Bruessel omt sten werc te besien om dat daer gen gebrec aen syn soude… KAL, 43/3/1, klapboek 1473–1474, f. 62r. 69  For instance, in 1464 Steven Elen received a deduction on his payment because parts of the 67

window frames of the nave of St Bavo’s had to be made at the building site in Haarlem: Item wy hebben hier sellef ghemaect vier voeten boechts an die glase vensteren, die men Steven corten sel van zijn werck. Apparently, the stonecutters in Haarlem had to supplement the pieces because Steven was too late in delivering his work. NHA, KR 1475–1476, inv. no. 313, f. 46v. See also: Janssen 1985, 91. 70   My thanks to John Veerman and Jan Dröge for our joint visits to the church, during which we first noted these inconsistencies.

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Fig. 7.30 Brussels, Notre-Dame-du-Sablon, vault of the most western bay of the nave, early ­sixteenth century.

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Fig. 7.31 Leiden, St Peter, choir, 1391–1415. The photo taken during the restoration of 2009 shows that the stone blocks of the arcade arches and ribs were placed around a brick core.

tufa blocks they support. In the ambulatory, too, the ribs seem to have been added as an afterthought, springing from improvised blocks (the sixth block up from the abacus). The reason for this sloppy work is unknown, but the tufa blocks may provide a clue: apparently they did not describe the correct arch and therefore were assembled with small improvised wedges, slanting them forward to create a broader, lower arch. The builders must have been in a hurry, with no time to recut the arches. Perhaps they decided to improvise and use the white limestone blocks to raise the arch and bring its apex to the same level as the other arches. In the apse, the workers encountered problems when positioning the arcade arches on the capitals, and at several columns the springers extend slightly beyond the edge of the abacus (fig. 7.42). The work is poorly executed, but as the abacus masks most of these irregularities they are hardly noticeable at ground level. In the nave, several arcade arches also have springers that project beyond the abacus. Along the south nave arcade and in the north transept the blocks appear to be too large for the capitals, as the roll mouldings partly stick out over the abacus (fig. 7.43). The fact that the white limestone blocks of the arches bear masons’ marks suggest that they were chiselled at the building site, as masons were obliged to mark their blocks so their work could be checked. A possible explanation for the overly large arches is that they were cut simultaneously with the columns at the quarries, and only when the blocks for the columns arrived at the building site were they found not to fit properly. At other churches, too, wide abaci offered a considerable margin of error to conceal misalignments arising from the use of ready-made building kits (fig. 7.44). Springers often

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Fig. 7.32 The Hague, St James, two capitals in the choir seen from above, from c. 1492.

Fig. 7.33 The Hague, St James, choir, from c. 1492.

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Fig. 7.34 The Hague, St James, schematic view of the abaci in the hemicycle with indication of the position and orientation of the springers of the arcade arches.

Fig. 7.35 Dordrecht, Our Lady, capital in the choir seen from above, 1457–c. 1472.

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are not exactly centred on the abacus, as evidenced by a variation in the distance between the blocks and the edge of the abacus. This is seen in the nave of St Catherine’s in Brielle (fig. 7.45), for instance, where the distance between the edge of the abacus and the springer of the arch is somewhat larger in the column on the left than in that on the right, and the base of the colonnette projects a little more from the capital on the left than from that on the right. Such discrepancies are a few centimetres at most, and the abaci offered just enough dimensional tolerance to allow for blocks that do not fit perfectly. Archival sources demonstrate that patrons were well aware of the potential risks of ill-fitting architectural elements. Several contracts include a fairly general stipulation that the work should not have any deficiencies (gebrec). More explicit is an agreement made between the churchwardens of St Bavo’s in Haarlem and the Haarlem stonecutters Jan Diricz and Heinric die Haes, who were engaged to supply ribs and keystones for the stellar vault over the crossing (fig. 7.46). If the ribs did not fit the existing springers, the stonecutters would have to cut them to shape: “…and in the event that they [the ribs] do not match or do not fit, and there is a defect when they are put in place, this must be altered by them at their own expense.”71

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Fig. 7.36 Antwerp, Our Lady, choir, asymmetrical pier on the transition from the rectangular bays to the hemicycle, 1352–c. 1400.

Capitals had one last advantage in that they could offer a convenient support for scaffolding or for centring the vault, as can be seen in the unfinished nave of the Hooglandse Kerk in Leiden. Due to religious turmoil, the masons abandoned the work in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, never to return. The result is an exceptional and almost untouched glimpse of a sixteenth-century building site. The work halted at the level of the triforium, where each niche was to feature two blind arches supported by columns (fig. 7.47). The Bentheimer sandstone columns look as though they have only recently been put in place, and still bear their assembly marks in red chalk. The economy with which the small arches were centred is remarkable, achieved by placing a beam with loosely piled bricks on the capitals to support the arch during bricklaying.72

  Item wy hebben besteet Jan Diricz. en Heinric die Haes steenhoûders opten sesten dach van maert anno xv hondert ende twe dat harnes en ogyven te make by die voet boven die kerc om te welfve nae vutwysinc dat bort datter toe ghemacht is ghelyke die ogyve ghemacht siin die boven in wilft staen van eenre groet op dat selfde bort en hier voer sullen sy

71

hebben van die voet twee stuivers miin een oert en in dien dat se niet ghelic en maken dat sy sluten als mense setten sullen isser dan ghebreck in dat sullen sy vermaken tot hoerren cost. NHA, KR 1501–1502, inv. no. 331, f. 25v. 72   Veerman 2015.

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Fig. 7.37 Michel de Rains (attributed), plan of Amiens Cathedral showing the asymmetrical pier and responds on the transition from the rectangular bays of the choir to the chevet, c. 1380–1430. (AEM, cartes et plans 409)

Fig. 7.38 Leiden, St Peter, choir, 1391– 1415. The centre of the columns of the main arcade in the hemicycle is not perfectly aligned with angles of the bare walling above.

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Fig. 7.39 Leiden, St Peter, choir, 1391–1415. The beams of the wooden vault are ­supported by an asymmetrical impost.

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Fig. 7.40 Leiden, St Peter, choir, 1391–1415. The irregular shape of the keystones of the arcade arches indicates that they were cut to shape immediately in advance of installation.

Fig. 7.42 Leiden, St Peter, capital in the chevet, 1391–1415.

Fig. 7.41 Leiden, St Peter, choir, arcade arches and ribs of the vaults in the ­ambulatory, 1391–1415.

Fig. 7.43 Leiden, St Peter, capital in the nave, c. 1410–1430.

Repeated Designs As discussed above, arcade arches, ribs and colonnette bases were all self-contained elements made of a limited range of different types of blocks. In general, there was a tendency to construct larger architectural configurations from simple blocks that could easily be described by stonecutter’s templates. This two-dimensional information, some measurements and a short description were all that was needed to cut the blocks to shape. For example, the socle of a column required only four types of blocks: one for the octagonal

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Fig. 7.44 Gouda, St John, capital in the chevet seen from above, after 1552.

Fig. 7.45 Brielle, Evert Spoorwater (attributed), St Catherine, capitals in the nave, begun 1462.

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Fig. 7.46 Haarlem, St Bavo, stellar vault in the crossing, c. 1502.

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Fig. 7.47 Leiden, Hooglandse Kerk, nave, centring of the unfinished blind arches of the triforium in the attic of the nave, c. 1520–1530. Also visible is the nail in the wall below the centring which was used to set out the right shape of the arch with a rope.

plinth, another for the lower base mouldings, a third for the octagonal blocks between the mouldings and a fourth for the upper base mouldings (fig. 7.48). Their shape could easily be communicated by providing the dimensions of the octagons, the radius of the shaft and two templates for the mouldings. This restricted the communication needed and facilitated the production of standard types of blocks. Although ready-made architectural elements typically consisted of simple blocks, there are several exceptions which testify that stone suppliers could also supply more complex arrangements. For instance, the building accounts of the church of Our Lady in Antwerp indicate that the compound piers in the nave were largely supplied by contractors, including Steven Elen, Godevaert de Bosschere and Jan Trappaert. In ’s-Hertogenbosch, the contract concluded with Lodewijk van Boghem in 1502 stipulates that he was to model the compound piers for the south nave aisle (fig. 3.13) on the piers in the north aisle, to which end he would be provided with templates by the master of the works, Jan Heyns. The pier socles were to differ from those on the north side, however; instead of small fillet bases that disappeared into the body of the plinth, the bases supplied by Van Boghem were to be cut with the shafts of the transverse arches continuing to the ground.73 Remarkably, the socles produced by Van Boghem (fig. 7.49) were even more complex than those on the north side, which, as we know from the stonemasons’ marks, were made in the masons’ lodge in ’s-Hertogenbosch. Though there were still complications with the delivery, as is clear from the correspondence between Van Boghem and Jan Heyns, this concerned financial matters rather than technical problems with the piers (see Chapter 4). 73

  Peeters 1985, 46–47.

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Fig. 7.48 Brielle, St Catherine, nave, base of a column of the main arcade. The mouldings were partly cut away for the installation of the pulpit, from 1462.

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Fig. 7.49 ’s-Hertogenbosch, St John, socle of a ­compound pier in the south nave aisle supplied by Lodewijk van Boghem, 1502–1517.

In many cases, the same basic formulas were more or less copied time and again, thus contributing to the uniform character of church architecture in the Low Countries. Cutting the blocks of compound piers was more complicated than cutting the blocks of columns and therefore required far more detailed instruction of the workmen, particularly with regard to the transition from the piers to the springers of the diverging ribs and arches. For these elements, multiple templates were used, and it is likely that additional oral instructions were often necessary. To economise on communication, the same templates could also be used repeatedly for different elements. For instance, in the choir of Our Lady in Dordrecht, analogous mouldings are used for the bases of the main arcade, the responds and the columns of the chapel of Our Lady, despite the differing dimensions of the shafts. In house construction, multipurpose components called ‘common house work’ are known to have been used, and it is possible that standardised pieces may in some cases have been employed at churches as well. This is certainly suggested by the recurrent use of specific terms in building accounts. However, standardisation must have been restricted to simple blocks like dripstones, cornerstones and plain mouldings.74 There was no standard production of pieces of identical dimensions, in any case, because the varying heights of stone banks in the quarries made cutting blocks to exactly the same sizes very uneconomical.75 At St Bavo’s in Haarlem, the blocks of the stringcourse along the interior walls  Philipp 1996, 347. It has been proposed that simple standardised blocks were also in use in other 74

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parts of Europe; see: Salzman 1952, 104; Brachmann 2000, 50–58. 75   Doperé 2002.

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of the aisles were perhaps supplied as standardised components. The horizontal course runs at sill level and continues as a frame around the chapel of the Hondenslagers (‘Dogcatchers’). Interestingly, both the horizontal and upright mouldings are made of identical pieces of white limestone, and only the angular corner pieces are made of tufa (fig. 7.50). This suggests that the straight mouldings were supplied ready-made by Brabantine stone merchants, while the tufa blocks were made for the purpose at the building site.76 Contracts make it clear that, perhaps with some exceptions, mouldings were usually made to order.77 The remarkable uniformity in the design of mouldings and other elements that is characteristic of many churches in the Low Countries is therefore not the result of a standardised mass production. This is well illustrated by the mouldings of column bases, which appear almost identical in a number of churches (fig. 7.51).78 A recurring motif in upper mouldings is the double-ogee, used in the bases in the choirs at Hulst, Dordrecht and Alkmaar, the nave at Haarlem and Brielle, and at the Hooglandse Kerk in Leiden.79 Although these mouldings look strikingly similar, measurement of the profiles using a template former reveals that they vary in size and differ slightly in their curvature (fig. 7.52). Even more similar are the bell-shaped profiles of the lower mouldings of bases in Holland and Zeeland. However, even here the mouldings are always proportioned differently, attesting that identical standardised pieces were not used. Nor Fig. 7.50 Haarlem, St Bavo, string course adorncan it be substantiated that templates of column bases ing the interior walls of the north nave aisle at the Hondenslagerskapel, 1456–1474. were reused for different projects. This would have been impeded by the diverging scale of building projects, as the dimensions of mouldings were proportioned accordingly. Nevertheless, the manifest similarities do point to a standardised practice in which designs were repeated, and these repeated designs are likely to have facilitated communication between patrons, builders and designers.

  My thanks to Jörg Soentgerath for bringing these mouldings to my attention. 77  Interestingly, archaeological studies by Van der Wee in Antwerp show that the window frames of houses had almost identical dimensions and profile mouldings. van der Wee 1982; van der Wee 1985. However, more data are needed from other cities before general conclusions can be drawn. 78  Another pragmatic argument for measuring the mouldings of column bases is that they are easy to reach and most are still original. Measuring exterior profile mouldings is more difficult because many have been replaced due to weathering damage. It is documented 76

that only a fraction of the exterior cladding of the churches of Our Lady in Breda, St Mary Magdalene in Goes and St John in ’s-Hertogenbosch still dates from the Middle Ages; all the rest has been replaced in subsequent restaurations. Peeters 1985, 143; Quist 2009a; Quist 2009b. On the difficulties connected with measuring and comparing mouldings, see: Roberts 1977; Morris 1990. 79  Similar profiles are also found in England; see: Roberts 1977, 7. Clear variations on the double-ogee profile can be seen at other churches in the Low Countries, for example combined with a fillet in Veere and Tholen.

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A

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C

D

Fig. 7.51 Bases of columns of the main arcade. A Dordrecht, Our Lady, choir, 1457–c. 1472. B Haarlem, St Bavo, nave, 1470–1478.

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C Leiden, Hooglandse Kerk, choir, c. 1460–1495. D Hulst, St Willibrord, nave, after 1481.

Standard Recipe of the Architect? The repetition of certain mouldings in the Low Countries can be attributed to various factors. First of all, architects seem to have preferred using common designs for mouldings, and when designing stonecutters’ templates they regularly based the new design on their own older specimens. In rarer cases, they even reused templates at different sites. Masters must have kept collections of designs and templates, and it is telling that two templates hang prominently on the wall behind the sitter in the portrait of an architect in the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin (fig. 6.31). Like the compass and rule, they emphasise the intellectual capacity of the architect, who was able to conceive of complex three-dimensional objects and encode them in two dimensions for building. Templates also served architects as a sort of external memory, and were prized in the same manner as drawings. Alard Duhamel probably took his templates with him on his travels, as we can infer from an entry in the building accounts of the chapel of the Confraternity of Our Lady in ’s-Hertogenbosch in 1489–1490, which records a payment to a cabinetmaker for wainscot given to the undermaster Jan Heyns to make the “pattern [i.e. template] of our work, because master Alart was away and had not left the pattern behind”.80 Though fifteenth-century sources offer no clear evidence for the existence of personal collections, the sketchbook of the Jesuit architect Hendrik Hoeymaker (1559–1626) does lend credence to this idea. Containing several pages of Gothic tracery work and   Item gegeven Goeyart den screynmeker van enen wagescot, dat Jan Heyns heeft gehad omme af te maken die patroen van onsen werck, want mester 80

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Alart ewech was, ende hem die patroen nyet en had gelaten. Peeters 1985, 24.

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mouldings, it shows that Hoeymaker still adhered to Gothic design principles and therefore that his sketchbook may reflect an older tradition. Interestingly, Hoeymaker sketched profiles of the Jesuit churches in Mons, Ghent and Valenciennes on the same sheet, suggesting that he compared his older designs when preparing templates for new mouldings.81 Compelling evidence that architects saved their own templates is provided by a 1445 entry in the building accounts of St Bavo’s in Haarlem of a payment to Evert Spoorwater, which states that he had made three copies of his templates, one of which he kept for himself.82 Like Hoeymaker, Spoorwater therefore seems to have used his previous designs to serve as inspiration for new profile mouldings.83 The mouldings of the arcade arches in Spoorwater’s churches do tend to resemble each other (fig. 7.53) and form a recognisable group in the Low Countries, whereas mouldings in churches with a masons’ lodge usually have their own distinct design, of which the fourteenth century choirs of Utrecht Cathedral and St John’s in ’s-Hertogenbosch are examples.84 At Our Lady in Antwerp, Our Lady in Dordrecht and St Gertrude’s in Bergen op Zoom, the mouldings of the arches vary only slightly in their dimensions. Those at St Catherine’s in Brielle and the transept of Our Lady in Tholen, where Spoorwater is thought to have been involved in the design, also belong to this group. The only exception in Spoorwater’s documented oeuvre concerns the nave arcade of St Bavo’s in Haarlem, where the design of the mouldings had to follow those of the arches in the late fourteenth-century choir. The contract with the stone merchants Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere explicitly stipulates that the arches should consist of two parts, one “lower arch” and one “upper arch”, which made them resemble the rather heavy arcade arches in the fourteenth-century choir.85 In all other cases, Spoorwater employed the profiles of the arcade arches of Our Lady in Antwerp. Though they were not his own design, since the choir dates from the fourteenth century, Spoorwater was the only architect to use this particular profile; no similar mouldings are found at any other church. Small profile variations are seen in the choir of Our Lady in Tholen and the Augustinian church in Dordrecht, which are possibly attributable to local masters who followed Spoorwater’s designs. The mouldings at this group of churches in any case demonstrate that certain profile designs can be attributed to specific masters. Measurements made using template formers have thus far not been able to confirm the use of standardised pieces or reuse of templates at different buildings, yet several archival sources indicate that architects did give instructions to reuse existing templates at new projects. For Rombout Keldermans there is especially clear evidence that he used the same templates repeatedly. For example, building specifications from 1528 for the choir of the church of Tongerlo Abbey direct the contractors Claes de Vleeshouwere and Michiel Yselwijns to use the same template for the cornice as had been used for the cornice of the abbey’s new refectory, built by Claes de Vleeshouwere and Gielis Crabbe in 1525.86 Rombout also gave directions for his moulding templates to be reused for several different components. The Estimatie prepared a few years earlier for the choir of Tongerlo required that the same template be used for both the doorways of two staircases and the   Daelemans 2000, 193–97.  NHA, KR, 1445–1448, inv. no. 192, f. 7r. See: Meischke 1988c, 82; Janssen 1985, 42. 83  Meischke already remarked that mouldings be­­ longing to Spoorwaters’ oeuvre are easily recognised because of his reuse of templates, however he did not provide any exact measurements of mouldings to substantiate this hypothesis. Meischke 1988c, 83. 84   Hurx 2007a, 121–22. 85   Janssen 1985, appendix 10. 81 82

  Item inden iersten zullen die voers. leveraers moeten leveren die dobbel decklyste vanden cooere naer tselve bert vander decklyeste vand nieuwen refter. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 33r. The Estimatie of 1526– 1527 also stipulated that two doorways in the choir of the abbey church were to have the same mouldings as that leading to the sacristy. Item ind choore salmen behoeven ij goede dueren deen int suijden ende dander int noorden vander selver berddaere dat die duere vander saenstie [sic.] is. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 29r.

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Fig. 7.52 Mouldings of bases of columns of the main arcade. (drawn to the same scale) A Schematic indication of the position of the mouldings 1 Dordrecht, Augustinian church (nave) 2 Dordrecht, Augustinian church (nave) 3 Bergen op Zoom (choir) 4 Tholen (choir) 5 Tholen (transept) 6 Tholen (nave) 7 Veere (nave) 8 Alkmaar (nave) 9 Brielle (nave) 10 Leiden, Hooglandse Kerk (choir) 11 Dordrecht, Our Lady (nave) 12 Dordrecht, Nieuwkerk (nave) 13 Haarlem (nave) 14 Haarlem (crossing)

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Fig. 7.53 Mouldings of arcade arches (drawn to the same scale) 1 Antwerp, Our Lady (nave) 2 Antwerp, Our Lady (choir) 3 Bergen op Zoom (choir) 4 Dordrecht, Our Lady (choir) 5 Brielle (nave) 6 Tholen (transept) 7 Tholen (choir) 8 ’s-Hertogenbosch (choir) [after Peeters 1985] 9 Utrecht (choir) [after Haslinghuis & Peeters 1965] 10 Dordrecht, Augustinian church (nave) 11 The Hague (choir) 12 Alkmaar (choir) 13 Haarlem (nave) 14 Bruges, St Salvator (nave) [after Devliegher 1981]

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windows of the staircase of the new refectory.87 Whereas reuse of the same templates in a single building probably stemmed from the desire for a unified design, Rombout is also documented to have used exactly the same templates at different sites. For example, the ordinance for the Blauwe Toren in Gorinchem of 1 September 1523 specified that the stone merchants Michiel Yselwijns and Anthonis de Vleeshouwere were to make certain components using the templates already provided to them for other projects. For the dripstones they were to use the same templates as for Anthonis de Lalaing’s castle of Hoogstraten, and for the cornice they were to use a template that had already been employed at both Hoogstraten and Lalaing’s palace in Mechelen.88 At Tongerlo Abbey, Rombout stipulated in 1522 that the suppliers were to use a template they had previously employed at the church in Hoogstraten.89 And the specifications for Het Steen in Antwerp from 1521 instructed that the templates for the jambs of the mantelpieces were to be the same as those used for the chimneys of the Maison du Roi in Brussels.90 Making templates was time-consuming, and by not having to make new templates for each project Rombout doubtless saved precious time. Reusing old templates additionally had the advantage for patrons of assuring them of fixed prices for specific components. For example, the specifications for the Blauwe Toren provide that for certain mouldings Anthonis de Lalaing would pay the same price as he had at Hoogstraten and Mechelen.91 Unfortunately, it is impossible to confirm whether the same mouldings were indeed used at these buildings, since Tongerlo Abbey, the Blauwe Toren and Lalaing’s palace in Mechelen have all been destroyed, while the Maison du Roi, Het Steen and the castle of Hoogstraten have been extensively modified.92 To date, the study of mouldings has mainly been used to substantiate attributions and datings.93 Though not a developed field of research in the Low Countries, the analysis of mouldings has a particularly strong tradition in Great Britain.94 John Harvey has stated that moulding profiles reveal the true hand of the master, comparable to brush technique in painting.95 His research has shown that, similar to Spoorwater and Rombout Keldermans, English masters such as Henry Yevele and William Wynford are likely to have reused their profile designs at several churches.96 Conversely, Eileen Roberts and Richard Morris have   Item noch salmen behoeven ij dueren de eene om ind cleijne weijndelgraet te gane ende dander om ind weyndeltrap vand dormpter te gaene. Ende dat vand selver berddere gelyck d venstier vand weijndeltrap aend nijenwe reefter buyte opt hoff ende de wyde naerde gelegentheijt. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 29r. 88   Item noch salmen behoeven omtr. drie hondert voeten rechte waterlysten metter ronder wellen vanden selven berde dat tot Hoochstraten gemest staet. And: Item noch salmen behoeven omtr. drie hondert voeten dobbel dacklyste naer tselve bert van mynen heere van Hoighstraten tot Mechelen ende tot Hooghstraten gemest staende… Other pieces for which existing templates were used are the corbels supporting the wooden beams in the hall: Item noch salmen behoeven alle die balcknoeten ende stryckhoutnoeten ende zullen gemaict wordden vander selven berdueren dat die moeten syn in myns heeren van Hoighstraten hoof te Mechelen inde sale ende salette… NA, GRK, 5008. 89   AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 46v. 90   ARA, ARK, Administratieve dossiers, 132/2. 87

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  Ende dat voir den selven prys dat myn voirs. heere de grave van Hoighstraten die voirs. leveraers betaelt vand. wercke dat zy leveren te Mechelen oft te Hooghstraten. Behoudelyck dat die voirs. leveraers niet voirdere leveren en zullen dan te Mechelen oft tAntwerpen. NA, GRK, 5008. 92  For a reconstruction of the Gelmelslot in Hoogstraten, see: Mertens 2006–2007. 93   Morris 1996. 94  On the Continent, most of the research on mouldings has appeared in building monographs and in few instances has it led to systematic comparative analysis of mouldings. Binding 1993, 234 and Freigang 1990, 621. An interesting exception is the case study of several brick mouldings used at churches built in the so-called Brick Gothic style (Backsteingotik) in Brandenburg and Pommeren, which can be traced to the master of the works Hinrich Brunsberg. Dirk Schumann supposes that he reused the same templates, because the profiles are almost identical. Schumann 2010. 95   Morris 1990, 244. 96   Harvey 1947. 91

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rightly sought to temper overreliance on moulding analysis to justify attributions, arguing that it is important to understand the context in which mouldings were designed. Not only the master of the works, but also the undermaster and stonecutters could be responsible for designing profiles. Furthermore, they have argued that more research needs to be done on the role that local traditions and the exchange of designs played in shaping the form of profiles.97 Indeed, a second group of arcade arch mouldings in the Low Countries underscores the care that should be taken in applying this method. The profiles of the arcade arches in the transept of the Oude Kerk in Delft and in the choirs of the Nieuwe Kerk in Delft, St James’ in The Hague, St John’s in Gouda, St Lawrence’s in Alkmaar, St Mary Magdalene’s in Goes, the Hooglandse Kerk in Leiden and St Lawrence’s in Rotterdam do look very similar. Nonetheless, it seems unlikely that a single master was responsible for the design of all these mouldings. Possibly the design can be connected with the Keldermans family, as Anthonis I Keldermans was master of the works at St Lawrence’s in Alkmaar and the Oude Kerk in Delft. However, the lack of sources make such attributions problematic, especially since the mouldings of Our Lady in Veere do not resemble this group, even though Anthonis is documented to have been master of the works there as from 1479. Workshop Products Besides masters of the works, undermasters and stone merchants could also be responsible for the design of profile mouldings. Undermasters and workshop assistants usually assisted their masters in the preparation of templates, and therefore is seems likely that they also did design work for them. Templates were usually furnished by the architect, but, as discussed above, some stone merchants sold ready-made profiled pieces based on their own designs. Few sources provide a clear picture on design opportunities for suppliers, but several payments in the building accounts of Utrecht Cathedral show that the stone merchant Jan Rugher from Zwolle made his own paper templates (see Chapter 6).98 Furthermore, designs and templates were probably regularly exchanged between masons. Masons’ lodges and stonemasons’ workshops must have accumulated considerable numbers of templates, as illustrated on the sixteenth-century Brussels triptych of the Four Crowned Martyrs, where several templates are depicted hanging on the wall (fig. 7.54 and 7.55). Though almost no stonecutters’ templates have survived, they were treated with care during construction.99 The 1528 regulations of the masons’ lodge of Ghent town hall contain several penalties for stonecutters who were careless with their templates. For instance, if a workman damaged one of his templates, he was subject to a fine of 2 Flemish groats.100 Templates were highly valued by masons and, like work tools, were considered essential requisites for their craft. Often, sets of templates were regarded as important personal belongings. For instance, the prenuptial agreement of the Bruges stonemason Jan Aerts and his wife Antonine Maes, dating from 1560, explicitly describes his stonecutters’ tools and patterns as his property, because they were needed to perform his craft.101 It is   Morris 1990; Roberts 1977.   Tenhaeff 1946, 467, 477, 544. 99  A likely explanation for this loss is that they were discarded after construction was finished, but in some cases it seems that such collections were preserved even long after building works ended. For instance, at the end of the nineteenth century a shed with stacks of templates was discovered in Xanten that had probably once belonged to Sankt Victor. 97 98

Heckes 1989, 29. A number of templates also remain in the tracing house of York Minster, but they probably date from the nineteenth century. Shelby 1971, 143–44. Examples of profile drawings are preserved for St Stephan’s in Vienna. Böker 2005. 100   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 399. 101   Parmentier 1948, 35. A similar case is found in the prenuptial agreement dating from 1565 between the stonecutter Pieter Aerts and Marie Fierins. Parmentier

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Fig. 7.54 Unknown artist, triptych of the Four Crowned Martyrs painted for the guild of the Steenbickeleren in Brussels, sixteenth century. (Brussels, Museum of the city of Brussels –Maison du Roi) (Plate 15)

likely that stonemasons were also accustomed to copying templates and reusing them at various commissions. There are no written sources to confirm this, but in the eighteenth century it was certainly common practice at the blue limestone quarries in Hainaut, as evidenced by the architect Jan-Pieter van Baurscheit’s threat to his preferred stone supplier in Feluy in 1751 not to let his drawings be copied by other masons, because if he did, he would certainly not get any new commissions in the future: …ie vous veut bien advertir très sérieusement de poin laisser copier mes ouvrage par des mains étrangères…102 Sharing and copying drawings and templates must have been common in earlier centuries too, and when architects sent their plans to quarries they became more or less ‘public’ property. It is not known if designers took measures to protect their work from being copied in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but the provision in Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere’s employment contract in Ghent, agreeing that the masters would keep their drawings at home and that no one would be allowed to use their designs during their lifetimes, indicates that they did.103 While the practice of sharing profile designs at the quarries probably contributed to a greater uniformity of moulding profiles in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the involvement of multiple contractors in individual building campaigns could also lead to small variations in profiles within a project. In some cases, they enjoyed considerable freedom in the finishing of their products. An illustrative example is the pair of engaged columns on the west wall of the nave arcade of St Bavo’s, supplied by the Brussels stone merchant Jan Trappaert in 1462.104 Trappaert was involved in many of Spoorwater’s projects 1948, 62. The undermaster of Ghent town hall, Pieter vanden Berghe, also preserved drawings and templates of the work in his own house. After his death they were presented to the city by his widow, who received a payment for their safekeeping in 1524. Baillieul & Duhameeuw 1989, 186. 102   Van Belle 1990, 232–33. 103   Van Tyghem 1978, vol. 2, 392; Philipp 1989, 90. 104  NHA, KR 1462–1463, inv. no. 306, f. 26r. Also in Janssen 1985, 58. The payment to Trappaert also mentions that he made the springers of the

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aisle vault and eight feet of the arcade arches: Item enen voet vande groten boghe die dair op comt op die semeysen voirscr. den voet vj s. iiij d. ende desene isser viij voet… Item noch op die semeysen ij ragementen ten ommeganck waert elc x s. facit xx s. NHA, KR 1462–1463, inv. no. 306, f. 26r. Hurx 2007a, 127. See also: Janssen 1985, 59. Trappaert’s work is easily distinguished as the stone he supplied is somewhat lighter than that used by Elen and De Bosschere.

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and would continue to supply stone to St Bavo’s in the 1460s and 1470s, though the contract for the remaining columns of the main arcade was granted to Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere in 1470.105 Interestingly, Trappaert’s capitals are different from those made by Elen and De Bosschere (fig. 7.56 and 7.57). Trappaert used a single hollow for the profile of the abaci, while Elen and De Bosschere used a double hollow. Another more conspicuous difference is how the abaci support the ribs and arches of the aisle vaults: Trappaert’s abaci bulge outwards in the form of a quarter octagon, whereas those supplied by Elen and De Bosschere have triangular extensions as supports. Also, the treatment of the foliage is quite different. Trappaert’s oak leaves are delicately sculpted, showing the veins and stems along with small acorns. By contrast, Elen and De Bosschere’s foliage is more stylised and lacks fine details such as stems and acorns. Finally, the surface treatment is different: only the blocks of the engaged columns have margins with delicate parallel, narrow strokes, while the other columns have a more rugged finish.106 It seems unlikely that such detailed changes were prescribed by Spoorwater. The work of multiple suppliers is also easily recognised in the crossing, where the upper capitals of two east piers were Fig. 7.55 Unknown artist, triptych of the Four Crowned Martyrs showing supplied by Wouter van Reynighem in 1480.107 A few years earlier a bunch of templates hanging on he had entered a partnership with Elen and De Bosschere, but the wall in a stonemasons’ workbecause the former had died and the latter was banished from 108 shop, sixteenth century (detail). Brabant, Van Reynighem had to complete the work on his own. (Brussels, Museum of the city of The foliage on these capitals is quite similar to that made by the Brussels –Maison du Roi) consortium, but the abaci are distinctly different, carved in the shape of octagons instead of dodecagons like those in the nave and with profile mouldings that are proportioned differently (fig. 7.58). Given that these variations are not the result of long interruptions in the works or disparate building campaigns, it is likely that this level of design detail was left up to contractors, who probably all had their own repertoires and workshop traditions.109 Like attempts to attribute moulding designs to individual architects, the search for workshop products is problematic. Few building accounts are as detailed as those of St Bavo’s, and most do not provide enough information to enable us to trace the products of various workshops in the building. Such an endeavour is in any case complicated by the exchange of designs between workshops. However, in several cases sources do   Hurx 2007a, 127.   Interestingly, the difference in surface treatment does not correspond to Doperé’s periodisation (see Chapter 3). 107   Item Wouter voors. heeft ghelevert twee halve capetelen die eens ghemaeckt waren ende niet ghelewert en waren ende die har tevoren betaelt heeft Steven Eelensz., Govaert die Boskaert ende Wouter van Reghen. NHA, KR,1481–1482, inv. no. 315, f. 16v. See also: Janssen 1985, 97. 108  …voir welke xviij rynsgulden Wouter voirs. ons gelevert heeft twe halve capetelen inde jair van lxxx die opten cruus pylaern staen boven Sinte Baef ende 105 106

Sinte Willeboert welke capetelen die kerckmeesters te voeren eens betaelt hadden Govaert de Bosscher, Steven Elens ende Wouter van Ryeghen voirnt. Ende alsoe als Steven Elens ende Govert die Bosscher dese twe halve capetelen met Wouter voirs. niet gelevert en hebben ghehadt myts dien dat Steven Elens doet is ende Govaert die Bosscher wt die lande van Brabant ghebannen is… NHA, KR 1481–1482, inv. no. 315, f. 19r. The statues of St Bavo and St Willibrord aid in identifying the intended positions of the capitals, as they stood attached to the east crossing piers. Janssen 1985, 97. 109   Hurx 2007a, 127.

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Fig. 7.56 Haarlem, St Bavo, nave, capital of the main arcade supplied by Jan Trappaert in 1462.

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allow us to link the treatment of foliage to certain contractors. For instance, the foliage on the capitals of the east crossing piers at St Gommarus’ in Lier closely resembles that on the capitals in the nave of St Bavo’s, which were supplied by Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere (fig. 7.59). This can be no coincidence, because the merchants are documented to have supplied ready-made pieces for the crossing at Lier in the same years, and Steven Elen’s son, who worked in Haarlem in the 1470s, was paid for cutting foliage in Lier in 1472.110 Yet the existence of a workshop tradition for the chiselling of foliage does not prove that it was standard practice for contractors to supply their own distinctive designs. Indeed, the capitals in Lier point in precisely the opposite direction: the profiles of De Bosschere’s and Elen’s capitals exactly match the older capitals in the nave. Consequently, practices seem to have differed from one occasion to another, and apparently in this case the merchants enjoyed greater freedom to introduce their own moulding designs in Haarlem than in Lier.

Fig. 7.57 Haarlem, St Bavo, nave, capital of the main arcade supplied by Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere between 1470–1478.

 In 1473, Elen and De Bosschere were paid for supplying capitals for the crossing piers. In the same year, Elen received a payment for cutting the foliage 110

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of several capitals, probably those of the crossing. Leemans 1972, 33.

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Fig. 7.58 Haarlem, St Bavo, crossing pier. The lower capital was supplied before 1478 by Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere, whereas the upper capital with a slightly different design was delivered by Wouter van Reynighem in 1480.

Fig. 7.59 Lier, St Gommarus, crossing pier. The capital was probably supplied by Steven Elen and Godevaert de Bosschere in 1473.

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Fig. 8.5 Michiel Yselwijns, statues of Wolfert VI of Borssele and his spouse Charlotte of Bourbon-Montpensier made for the façade of the town hall of Veere, 1517–1518. (Veere, Museum De Schotse Huizen)

Conclusion The object of this study has been to gain a better understanding of the historical d ­ evelopment of the architectural profession in the Low Countries, focusing in particular on trends in the construction market and the position of the architect in the architectural production ­during the period between 1350 and 1530. Until now, the economic circumstances that paved the way for the architect’s specialisation as a designer have received scant attention from s­cholars. After the mid-fourteenth century, organisational developments in building ­production led to a pervasive stratification of labour, and hence to a widening gap between design and construction work. This development occurred well before the introduction of Italian architectural theory in the second quarter of the sixteenth century. Indeed, as a reflection of contemporary practice, this theory was in fact an important affirmation of the architect’s position in the building process at the time. Architectural treatises played a ­particularly important role in defining the architectural profession for a wider audience, but did not cause a substantive rupture in practice. In the first chapter, it was argued that the introduction of the word ‘architect’ in the Dutch language did not mark any categorical rift between ‘medieval’ and ­‘modern’ ­practice. On the contrary, the neologism introduced by Pieter Coecke van Aelst in 1539 was c­onceptually synonymous with the existing terms architectus and werkmeester ­(‘master of the works’). None of these three terms had a straightforward and unambiguous ­meaning, ­however, and up into the seventeenth century were all used widely to refer to the ­supervisor of a building site, and far less in relation to designers. The meaning of the term ‘architect’ can be traced back to its definition in the encyclopaedic works of such key ­thirteenth-century Dominican theologians as Thomas Aquinas and Vincent of Beauvais, who were indebted, in turn, to Aristotle and Vitruvius. They posited that the architect was set apart from the ordinary craftsman by his more advanced knowledge and foresight; it was he who bore responsibility for the design and for planning the work and bringing it to completion. In practice, architects were often also responsible for inspecting construction ­materials and directing the workmen, sometimes in combination with administrative tasks. The scope of their individual duties varied with the circumstances. But whereas in the ­fourteenth century architects could still regularly be found directing works on-site, which could take up a larger proportion of their time than actual design activities, over the ­fifteenth century the status of leading Netherlandish architects increasingly changed to that of a remote project leader. Daily administration and on-site supervision came to be delegated to a locally-appointed overseer, thus enabling the architect to concentrate on designing. Placed in charge of supervising the entire building process, the responsibilities of the fourteenth-century architect in the Low Countries touched on a wide array of ­different trades. Witnesses in the 1542 lawsuit over guild obligations in Utrecht testified that the design of buildings had never in living memory been monopolised by the masons’ guilds. There was some disagreement however as to whether membership of the mason’s guild should be compulsory for the foreman who supervised day-to-day work on the site. Though fifteenth-century masters of the works were usually masons by training, they also regularly supervised smithing and carpentry. This is attested by sources such as the Utrecht Cathedral statute book (1342) and a contract appointing Godijn van Dormael as its master of the works (1356), in which he is tasked with the management of both masons and carpenters. This interdisciplinary responsibility applied to the execution of a­ rchitectural drawings as well, as may be surmised from the great detail in which

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Dominicus de Waghemakere and Rombout Keldermans drafted the roofs of the town hall of Ghent and the Great Council of Mechelen, respectively. Working out the design of roof c­ onstructions was a separate specialism of master carpenters, who were usually not directly subordinate to an architect but did always consult with them. In architectural treatises, architecture was accorded a place amongst the liberal arts. This armed designers with a powerful argument against compulsory membership of carpenters’ or masons’ guilds, depending on their trade. Although this argument was new, it fits in with a longer tradition of artists who invoked their exceptional expertise to gain exemption from guild rules. Yet their appeal to the liberal arts was not a call for laissez faire for the sake of artistic freedom, but stemmed from economic considerations, since those practising the new profession were already members of one guild and wanted to avoid having to answer to yet another. A different and more common route to evading guild obligations was through the authority of a patron. Secular lords, the Church and city governments were generally able to override guild regulations in order to be assured of employing the most highly skilled craftsmen. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, specialised designers were still few and far between. As discussed in chapters 2 and 3, the new status of the designer was directly linked to a spike in building activity and the expansion of the construction market in the Low Countries in the fifteenth century. Although various parts of Europe experienced a commercialisation of the building industry after the mid-fourteenth century, the sheer importance of the market was probably exceptional in the Low Countries. Where large public building projects had once usually been brought to fruition under a patron’s management, private construction firms now performed a growing share of the work at the expense of building lodges. Contractors assumed charge of much of the construction, supplying building materials in both rough and ready-made form and erecting the structure. Tenders made the coordination of demand and supply increasingly efficient and offered patrons a number of advantages: price competition kept construction costs low, only a small contingent of unspecialised workmen were needed at the site, and responsibility for a portion of the logistics could be delegated the contractor. The rapid growth of the market in the Low Countries can be attributed to ­various factors. One decisive impetus was the building boom that accompanied the rapid u ­ rbanisation of Brabant and Holland. This, combined with increasing prosperity and competition between cities, led to a spate of prestige projects of which town halls and city churches are the most striking examples, but which also included other types of public commercial and administrative buildings such as trade halls, meat halls and offices. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the capital cities of Brussels and Mechelen and the trading metropolis of Antwerp witnessed massive residential building projects commissioned by the nobility. In Brussels, the dukes of Burgundy and the Habsburgs transformed the old castle on the Coudenberg into a large, regal palace, while in Mechelen the city built two existing complexes for Margaret of York and Margaret of Austria. From the third quarter of the fifteenth century, high nobles began vying with each other to erect splendid mansions in the immediate vicinity of the court and in their own fiefdoms. Apart from this building explosion, another key factor in the advent of the construction market in the Low Countries was relations of ownership. Compared to elsewhere in Europe, relatively few patrons could afford to procure construction materials on their own as there was no natural stone in the coastal regions and their cities lacked the political clout to easily gain control of quarries. Yet, from the fourteenth century onwards, even the churches and abbeys in and around Brussels that did possess quarries preferred to leave

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Conclusion their operation to private stonemasons. Well-established land and labour markets assured Brussels stone traders easy access to raw materials and manpower, and with cheap transport thanks to a dense network of waterways, they were able to serve a large distribution area. The resulting competition led to innovations in the production process, and from the mid-fourteenth century quarries began to ‘mass-produce’ finished building materials and supply simple standard parts for houses and mouldings for churches. Chapter 4 showed how these circumstances helped the stone trade around Brussels to evolve into a thriving industry in the fifteenth century, reaching an almost industrial scale. Most of this stone was intended for the construction of dykes and embankments, and only a small share was used for buildings. As exports grew, so did the scale of stone enterprises, with the expanding market reducing the risk to contractors of a hiatus in orders. Wealthy suppliers could take on a large number of simultaneous orders and boasted annual ‘turnovers’ that were at least the equivalent of the total expenditure for the construction of the average city church. The emergence of an advanced construction market went hand in hand with a number of important changes in the terms of architects’ employment and their responsibilities (Chapter 5). The use of prefab components and the possibility of outsourcing masonry work contributed to the fragmentation of the construction process, making it essential for architects to thoroughly prepare their tenders and ensure effective coordination throughout the building process. With the organisational apparatus on the building site progressively stripped down, architects were no longer needed for daily supervision and could be replaced by a local deputy or undermaster, called an appelleerder. Freed from their former administrative duties, architects could now direct the works remotely. Whereas fourteenth-century patrons still preferred to keep architects on duty full time and required them to be present at the construction site every day, from the fifteenth century architects were more routinely paid only for the intermittent visits they made to the site each year (in addition to an annual retainer fee). All other contact took place through messengers and letters from the architect’s own workplace. As a result of this shift, some architects were now able to specialise in the design and direction of building enterprises and work on a large number of projects throughout the Low Countries simultaneously. Among the most striking examples was Rombout Keldermans, who on average juggled more than ten projects at once. As ‘star architects’ avant la lettre, Evert Spoorwater and Anthonis I, Anthonis II and Rombout Keldermans were involved in almost every prestige project built in the western parts of the Low Countries. For them, these changes in daily practice opened to door to attaining a new social status. There is no evidence to suggest that a background in the building trades formed any impediment in this respect, nor did ties to the stone trade define designers’ status. On the contrary, the stone trade offered an excellent way to make one’s fortune and could also provide a leg up the social ladder. Evidently, substantial profits could be made as stems from the fact that even various leading Brussels patrician families were involved in operating stone quarries. Stone masons who ran their own workshops engaged in little manual labour themselves. The most successful stone traders are referred to in the sources as merchants and some of them entered the ranks of the urban ruling elite. But no profession offered better prospects for attaining an elevated stature than that of the architectural designer, with court architects like Rombout II Keldermans and probably also Lodewijk van Boghem even breaking into the lower gentry. Fifteenth-century architects were valued for their capabilities as building planners, engineering experts and designers, and men like Lodewijk van Boghem, Rombout

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Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere were acclaimed for their theoretical knowledge, or scientie, which chiefly meant their mastery of geometry. That architects also offered their services as aesthetic consultants is evidenced by the plans for Vredenburg Castle in Utrecht and the advice that Lodewijk van Boghem provided on the position of the monastic church in Brou. In Utrecht, Vredenburg Castle was erected complete with Rombout’s planned two projecting towers in spite of the astronomic expense and against the objections of Charles V’s artillery master, because Rombout insisted that they were not only necessary for the structure’s defence but would also afford the most beautiful result. With the increasing professionalisation, commercialisation and stratification of the building process, solid working agreements became essential. In the Low Countries, civic and ecclesiastical patrons and contractors enjoyed equal footing in the construction market. Yet the fact that city governments often hired contractors from farther afield made it difficult to claim damages in the event that they delivered poor work. Such conflicts could be resolved through the agency of independent experts or by initiating proceedings before the provincial councils or the Great Council in Mechelen, both of which required the patron and contractor to furnish evidence. This resulted in increasingly detailed and precise descriptions of architectural designs. The scope of such written building instructions varied depending on the commission and could range from a few stipulations in the contract to extensive separate specifications. These documents, combined with drawings and stonecutters’ templates, were deemed to provide contractors with all the information they would need to carry out the work to satisfaction. Having solid agreements also smoothed inspections upon delivery. The final costing of large contracts was drawn up after completion by taking the measurements of the building and drawing up a systematic inventory of the stone components based on the original bills of quantity. Architectural drawings underwent a number of important refinements in the period up to 1530. In the case of large building projects, drawings would be prepared prior to each phase of the building process, from the exploratory stage before construction began all the way through to the building’s inspection upon delivery. Drawings could serve multiple purposes and ran the gamut from impressions and sketches to presentation drawings, working drawings and record drawings. They were also prepared for smaller structures such as mills and toll houses, though the number of drawings made for such projects was probably more limited. The steady proliferation of architectural drawings prompted innovations that are at the root of several modern graphic conventions including, most notably, the introduction of indications of scale and the use of coloured washes to designate the mass of the brick walls. Building specifications show that accurate measurements were of key importance in fifteenth-century building practice, which explains the early use of scaled, measured plans from at least the late fourteenth century onwards. Both geometric and arithmetic methods lay at the basis of such drawings, and it is likely that architects used graduated rulers as an important tool as from at least the late fifteenth century. They also experimented with new forms of representation in order to render spatial features more clearly. It seems probable that the involvement of painters in the depiction of architectural projects and, vice versa, the interest some master masons took in the pictorial arts contributed to the introduction of certain illusionistic qualities in architectural drawings, such as splayed perspective and shading by means of washes and hatching. A crucial step in the representation of space was the combination of elevations and floor plans, as was the introduction of cutaway drawings and corner views. The final chapter explained how remote supervision of construction activities and subdivision of the building process made coordination of the works more complicated.

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Conclusion Many problems could be prevented by forging long-standing business alliances, which ensured that everybody involved knew the desired working methods without the need for them to be communicated explicitly each time anew. Nonetheless, well-prepared building documents and planning strategies remained essential. This also explains the simplicity of many churches in Holland, which owed not to the persistence of traditional ideas among designers and patrons – both of whom were reasonably well aware of the latest architectonic developments in Europe – but to a deliberate choice to simplify the architecture of export churches because the risks of potential miscommunication inherent to building operations were taken into account during the initial design phase. Almost every church that had a full-time architect and a large masons’ lodge had compound piers, whereas other churches were built predominantly using columns. The advantage of the latter approach was that the structure ascended in multiple zones, with the transitions between them offering a generous margin of error during assembly and making it possible to postpone design decisions. The assembly of compound piers demanded greater precision and a different design mentality in that churches with such piers had to be planned from the top down, as it were; to determine the profile and orientation of the shafts one first had to know the exact shape of the vaults. By contrast, when building columned churches it was still possible to revise key aspects in the design of the vertical elevation as there was less interdependence between the components of the individual horizontal zones. Another advantage of churches with columns was that they used standard elements, with all the parts made up of simple configurations of building blocks that could be described in two dimensions. This minimised the need for consultations and facilitated serial production. The almost industrialised organisation of the construction of export churches led to a uniformity of design in more than one respect. Besides a tendency to more or less recycle the same recipes, architects also regularly referred back to old stonecutters’ templates when preparing new profile mouldings. Thus, Spoorwater’s arcade arches consistently exhibit the same profile type, albeit with different dimensions. Existing stonecutters’ templates were also copied and reused at the quarries, in a few cases at the instructions of the architect. Another factor contributing to this uniformity was that suppliers also offered basic standard components on demand. However, it was more exceptional for the designs of bases and capitals to be produced in the workshops at the quarries. In conclusion, the development of the construction market over the fifteenth century can be credited with laying the foundations for several modern features of architectural practice, four of which deserve specific mention: (1) the emergence of wealthy contractors who were supraregionally active, (2) the advent of the public tender, (3) the changing position of the architect, who was no longer part of a single building organisation but gained an independent status and acted as an intermediary between patrons and contractors and (4) the rationalisation of the architectural design through its documentation in drawings and written instructions for the purpose of tenders. In his study of the building industry in Florence, Goldthwaite assumed that the commercialisation and attendant stratification of labour there made Florence an exception in Europe. However, as the present analysis has shown, various organisational ­characteristics can be seen to have developed in parallel in both Florence and the Low Countries, and on some economic fronts, such as tenders and the scale of private enterprises, the latter were even ahead. In both cases, the increased demand and commercialisation of the building sector were decisive in effecting a split between design and construction. Even so, these changes should not be understood as signalling the start of an evolutionary process that

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found its culmination in modern-day architectural practice. Different organisational forms continued to exist side by side: large, complex commissions for important patrons such as secular rulers and the clergy were often carried out under the patron’s direct management, in which case the architect tended to be engaged to work exclusively on that sole project, whereas smaller budgets meant civic commissions usually had to make the most of the market. This also explains how Rombout II Keldermans (like Andrea Palladio) was able to work on a large number of projects at once, while Godijn van Dormael, Jan van Ruysbroeck and Lodewijk van Boghem (like Brunelleschi during the construction of the dome in Florence and Michele Sanmicheli at the construction of the Cappella dei Magi of the Duomo in Orvieto) had to attend the works daily.1 A survey of developments in fourteenth and fifteenth-century design and building practices in Europe is urgently needed to shed light on the economic mechanisms that led to our modern organisational structures and the genesis of the architectural professional. At present, we can only speculate as to how and when construction markets developed in other parts of Europe, for example in southern England, Bohemia, southern Germany and Île-de-France in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and whether this coincided with the rise of specialised designers. The same applies to the progressive use of building documents (drawings and specifications) and what they can tell us about whether differences between direct management as opposed to public tendering gave rise to new forms of drawing annotations and written descriptions. Such an approach could offer valuable insights as regards to other periods as well. The epilogue therefore offers a summary sketch of the transition to the subsequent period. Epilogue In several respects, the 1530s heralded a new era in the development of architectural design and building practice in the Low Countries. Where design is concerned, the most important changes were the introduction of all’antica architecture and of illustrated architectural treatises, the increasing use of architectural models, the shift from a predominantly linear drafting method to a more spatially oriented representation of architecture (fig. 8.1) and the emergence of new design professionals.2 The courts in particular witnessed the rise of a handful of architects who had neither training in the building trades nor any ties to the Brabant stone trade. The most important of them, aside from the Italian military architects, were the sculptors Jacques Du Broeucq (d. 1584) (fig. 8.2), at the court in Brussels and Cornelis Floris II (c. 1514–1575) and Willem Paludanus (1530– 1580) in Antwerp.3 Inspired by the new architectural theory, these practitioners managed to showcase their special status as artists to good effect. Du Broeucq, for instance, was accorded the title of l’artiste de l’empereur by Charles V.4 These changes coincided with the introduction of antique architecture, and from the early the 1540s most public prestige projects would be built in the new style.5 Curiously, both the Keldermans and  On Brunelleschi’s daily presence on the building site of the Duomo see: Schlimme & Holste & Niebaum 2014, 106. 2   Meischke 1988d. 3  In addition to sculptors, many painters are also cited in the literature, but up until the seventeenth century painters who actually supplied designs for public prestige projects were rather an exception. See also: Gerritsen 2006, 22. 1

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  De Jonge 2010a.   Various large-scale building enterprises such as the nave of St Bavo’s in Ghent, the final part of the nave of St Waltrude’s in Mons, the clerestory of the choir of the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam and the renovation works at Our Lady in Antwerp were all still carried out in the Gothic style.

4 5

Conclusion

Fig. 8.1 Cornelis Floris II, design for entrance portico of the town hall of Cologne, signed and dated 1557, paper 72 × 78.5. (Cologne, Kölnisches Stadtmuseum)

Fig. 8.2 Mons, Jacques Du Broeucq, St Waltrude, altarpiece of Maria Magdalene 1550 (detail). (Mons, St Waltrude)

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the De Waghemakere families, which had for generations occupied a key position in the design and building world, all but fell into obscurity after 1540. The only exception is Marcelis Keldermans (d. 1557), who was engaged by Charles V as a military architect in the Northern Netherlands.6 Traditional art historical explanations for this shift in design practice have mainly emphasised the role of the introduction of the new visual idiom and architectural theory in propelling a so-called breakthrough of a new class of architect. These new architectural designers owed their success principally to an increased familiarity with antique architecture and their closer conformity to the intellectual ‘profile’ that patrons now came to expect of architects.7 Painters, in particular, were well-versed in these new stylistic trends since they had already been ornamenting the backgrounds of their pictures with fanciful antique architectural elements from the early sixteenth century onwards (fig. 8.3), alongside their commissioned work to paint temporary constructions for ceremonies and pageants such as the Joyous Entries of 1515 in Bruges and 1549 in Antwerp. As such, it is hardly surprising that it was a painter, Pieter Coecke van Aelst, who published the first two architectural treatises published in the Low Countries.8 Nonetheless, the existing art historical model Fig. 8.3 Brussels, Jan Haeck, emperor Charles V and offers an only partial explanation for sixteenth-century Isabella of Portugal in adoration in front of the Holy changes in architectural practice. By focusing on the Sacrament. The design of the window was made by striking revolution in style, scholars have placed too great an emphasis on discontinuity in the profession, Barend van Orley in 1537. (Brussels, St Gudula) whereas it was marked just as much by continuity. Throughout the sixteenth century, architects continued to have strong links with the stone industry. Cornelis Floris II came from an established line of stonemasons, while Du Broeucq, Willem Paludanus and, later, in the Northern Netherlands, Joost Jansz Bilhamer, Lieven de Key and Hendrik de Keyser were all sculptors by trade.9 This situation differed very little from medieval practice. Though there has been no thorough investigation of which masters were also trained as sculptors, it is known that Leuven’s city-appointed masters of the works Matheus de Layens and Matthijs III Keldermans also produced statues.10 Laureys Keldermans was listed among the members of the guild of St Luke in Antwerp in 1499 and 1503 as a sculptor (beeldsnydere) and ran one of the city’s largest and most successful workshops for sculpted altarpieces.11   Hoekstra 1981.   Meischke 1988d; Baudouin 2002, 23. 8   De Jonge 2007, 41–53; De Jonge 1998. 9   On the background of Cornelis II Floris, see: Van Damme 1996, 10–11; Roggen & Withof 1942, 81–84. On Joost Jansz. Bilhamer, see: van Tussenbroek 2007b. On Hendrik de Keyser, see: Ottenheym & Rosenberg & Smit 2008. 6 7

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 Among the sculptures supplied by Matheus de Layens was a large lion for the city gates in Leuven in 1446; Matthijs III Keldermans carved a lion and a statue of St Job for Leuven’s city gates in 1517 and 1518. Van Even 1860, 71–72. 11  Peeters & Martens 2005, 85; Rombouts & Van Lerius 1868–1874, vol. 1, 54, 59. 10

Conclusion Another example is Rombout de Drijvere, whose name was mentioned in the 1542 lawsuit in Utrecht as the master of the works of St Paul’s in Antwerp.12 Several years later, in 1548–1549, he had risen to the rank of master mason at the church of Our Lady in the same city, for which he is also known to have previously supplied statues of saints and reliefs between 1538 and 1544.13 Besides masters of the works, a number of leading stone suppliers are also known to have received important commissions for figurative sculptural works. Lieven van Boghem supplied a number of statues for the façade of the town hall of Bruges, for example, and Michiel Yselwijns created statues for Margaret of Austria’s palace and the town halls of Middelburg and Veere.14 Nowadays it is almost impossible to make any assessment of the oeuvres of these masters of the works and stone suppliers as almost all of their sculptures have either been lost or can no longer be assigned to a specific artist. One of the most impressive sculptural works still extant is the St Christopher mantelpiece at the Markiezenhof in Bergen op Zoom (fig. 8.4), which is attributed to Rombout II Keldermans, although it has not been definitively established whether he worked on it himself. Another unusual example is the series of statues of the lords of Borssele and their successors of the house of Burgundy-Beveren made by Yselwijns and preserved at the Museum of De Schotse Huizen (the Scottish Houses) in Veere (fig. 8.5). Changes in the structure of the building practice were gradual and were prompted by a complex constellation of factors. We can dismiss the assumption that designers from the building trades were a priori unequipped to fit the new class of architect simply because they could not boast the same elevated status and intellect as painters. This study has demonstrated that there was no significant divergence between the ideal of the architect as presented in theoretical writings and the status and activities of architects such as Lodewijk van Boghem, Rombout Keldermans and Dominicus de Waghemakere. Similarly, the assumption that designers from the building crafts were too conservative or lacking in competence to master the new style begs more investigation.15 It is further worth questioning whether producing work in diverging styles, which contemporaries distinguished as ‘modern’ and ‘antique’, would inevitably have posed a problem for masters of the works and educated stonemasons. We know that certain sculptors and painters, such as Conrad Meyt, Jan Gossaert and Jan van Roome, were equally at home in the Late Gothic and in the antique idiom.16 Lodewijk van Boghem is a special case of a master of the works who also supplied antique designs. In 1538–1539 he supervised the construction of the first addition to Coudenberg Palace in Brussels in the antique style, consisting of a stairway with an Ionic triumphal arch (fig. 8.6).17 Although it is possible that Pieter Coecke van Aelst advised him in this endeavour, the book of hours that Lodewijk commissioned in Lyon in 1526 testifies that he had already developed an interest in antique ornamentation at least a dozen years earlier, with eight of the seventeen architectonic frames setting off the images made up in the antique manner (fig. 8.7). Notwithstanding questions as to whether he was personally involved in designing the manuscript’s frames, it is clear that it was made to his personal wishes. As far as we know, Rombout Keldermans (d. 1531) and Dominicus de Waghemakere (d. 1542) never designed any buildings in the antique manner, but they probably also   Muller Fz. 1881–1882, 239.   Roobaert 1957–1958, 186; Vroom 1983, 157. 14  Wauters 1868, vol. 2, 559; Hörsch 1994, 117; Matthijssen 2013, 17; Eichberger 2002, 82.

  Borggrefe 2005; Baudouin 2002.   De Jonge 2007, 21–23; Nußbaum & Euskirchen & Hoppe 2003; Kavaler 2000. 17   De Jonge 2007, 24–25.

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Fig. 8.4 Bergen op Zoom, Rombout II Keldermans (attributed), Markiezenhof, mantelpiece of St Christopher, 1521. (Bergen op Zoom, Historisch Centrum Het Markiezenhof)

never had the need as, up until around 1540, all the large public prestige projects, both in cities and at court, were carried out in the ‘modern’ style.18 Several of their pre-eminent colleagues from a younger generation, such as Jean de Thuin (d. 1556) and Philip Lammekens (d. 1548), did work in both styles however, and received major commissions for structures in each. As a sculptor, Jean de Thuin, was one of the leading assistants to Jacques Du Broeucq during the construction of the Renaissance rood screen at St Waltrude’s in Mons; however, he himself was the master of the works at St Waltrude’s, also designing its new Gothic tower (the Plan Chalon) together with Jean Repu and Guillaume Le Prince.19 18  Notable examples include the Coudenberg chapel in Brussels (1522–1553), the new choir of Our Lady in Antwerp (begun 1521), the Great Council in Mechelen (1526–1547), the Antwerp

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Exchange (1531) and the same city’s town hall (designed by De Waghemakere in 1541, not built). 19   Hedicke 1904, 118–19.

Conclusion Philip Lammekens, who succeeded Dominicus de Waghemakere as the master of the works of Our Lady in Antwerp and was involved in the construction of the town hall of Hulst, was furthermore not only recorded as the architectus of the Late Gothic Tongerlo Abbey but also supplied plans for the Renaissance castle of Binche (1545–1549), erected under the direction of Jacques Du Broeucq, though it remains unclear whether these concerned the building’s structural engineering alone or also its antique design.20 Whatever the case may be, he also independently produced various furnishings in both the Late Gothic and antique styles. The fact that few to none of his antique works have been preserved has hampered an objective appraisal of his oeuvre, however. For Tongerlo Abbey he is known to have designed a sacrament tower, the architectural ornamentation for an entombed Christ and a wooden rood loft in the 1530s, which were executed by famous ‘antique carvers’ (antieksnijders, sculptors who worked in the antique manner) such as Willem van der Borcht, Claudius Floris, Rombout de Drijvere and Conrad Meyt. Fig. 8.6 Frans Hogenberg, events of 6 April 1566 in front of the That the works themselves were also ‘antique’ Coudenberg Palace, in: Michael Eyzinger, De leone Belgico, is evident from the terms in which they are Cologne 1583, 36–37. Detail showing the classical entrance described, with Lammekens supplying the of the palace. patterns and templates for various items including candelabras, pedestals and cornices. The contract for the production of the steps of the sacrament tower states that the abbot and Philip Lammekens were still to agree on whether to make them in the antique or the modern manner: …het waer van antijcke oft moderne gelijck mijn heer den prelaet ende meester Philips dat goedduncken zal.21 Several stone suppliers likewise had no trouble providing elements in either of the two styles. Guillaume Le Prince simultaneously supplied prefabricated components in blue limestone for the Renaissance castle of Boussu, built to Jacques Du Broeucq’s plans of 1540, and for the Gothic St Waltrude’s in Mons.22 Similarly, whilst the Mechelen stone supplier Anthonis de Vleeshouwere provided white limestone for a number of Rombout Keldermans’ projects (including Tongerlo Abbey and the church of Hoogstraten), in 1538 the Middelburg town accounts record a payment to him for a blue limestone slab decorated with antique motifs: eenen blauwen saerck gewrocht op zijn antycx.23   Duverger 1964.  Duverger 1964, 183. An interesting detail is that three of these contracts for ‘antique’ works were signed with Dominicus de Waghemakere as a witness. AAT, IV, 199, 51, f. 79v., 89v. and 104v.

20 21

  De Jonge 2007, 68; Bavay & Doperé & Tourneur 2008. 23  Kesteloo 1881–1902, vol. 6, 282–86. AAT, IV, 199, 51; van den Berg 1987, 82. 22

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Fig. 8.7 Unknown artist, Visitation, in: book of hours of Lodewijk van Boghem, Lyon, c. 1520–1530. (Bruges, Grootseminarie) (Plate 16)

It should be apparent from the foregoing examples that in the first half of the sixteenth century there was not always a clear dividing line between architectural designers working in the modern style and those who used antique forms. Up until now there has been little scholarly attention for the links between these two ‘worlds’. More research is therefore needed to gain an understanding of both the continuity and transformation of architectural production – not only in art historical terms but also, crucially, to shed light on the economic dimensions. To explain the changes that took place in design and construction practice during this period, we must look to a confluence of several autonomous trends. Aside from stylistic changes, three additional factors played an important part in the transformation of architectural production. One of them, already cited by Meischke, was the rapid alteration of the building sector: from 1525–1530 the church building industry collapsed almost entirely within the space of just a few years, as the Reformation corroded revenues from collections, taxes and indulgences.24 Many church fabrics faced funding shortages and in Antwerp St James’ 24  Meischke 1988d, 178; van Essen & Hurx 2009, 20. Revenues from quests and diocesan indulgences, previously the principal sources of income, experienced a particularly dramatic reversal under Protestant attacks on the sale of indulgences, which would only intensify

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in the years that followed. By 1560 cathedral fabrics no longer had any income from indulgences whatsoever. Vroom 1981, appendix 4, 506–20 and appendix 5, 521– 29. On Delft see: Verhoeven 1992.

Conclusion

Fig. 8.8 Leiden, Hooglandse Kerk, works on the nave halted in the second quarter of the ­sixteenth-century leaving the clerestory unfinished.

even went bankrupt in 1535.25 Though the construction market had certainly also been subject to fluctuations in the previous century, declining incomes now forced ecclesiastical building activities to a permanent halt.26 Numerous churches were left only partially built and present a dramatic aspect to this day, such as the Hooglandse Kerk in Leiden (fig. 8.8), St Walburga’s in Oudenaarde (fig. 3.9) and the St Catherine’s in Brielle (fig. 8.9). In Leiden the tall choir and transept stand out strangely next to the much lower nave, of which only the side aisles and the arcade were ever completed, while the triforium was left half completed as though the masons still had to return to finish their work. As a consequence of this downturn, masters of the works had to switch their focus to other types of commissions.27 The loss of large ecclesiastical projects also opened up 25   The immediate cause of its insolvency was massive debts in the form of life annuities. Vroom 1983, 107– 09. In Cologne the labourers were discharged and the cathedral lodge shut down due to lack of money; in a letter from the master of the cathedral fabric at Cologne to the abbot of the abbey of St Hubert’s (in the Ardennes) in 1533, he reveals the severity of the situation, reporting that the revenues of a collection leased to the Cologne Cathedral fabric had so dwindled that it could not pay the abbey the amount due. Describing

their perilous financial circumstances, the fabric master bemoaned having been forced to fire all the workmen and close the lodge: Adeo perfecto enormi magnaque pecunia et inopia laborat et opprimitur nostra fabrica, ut coacti sumus singulos operatios nostros predicte fabrice ablegare et remittere ac officinam fabrice claudere et obserare donec tempora receperimus. Vroom 1993, 577; Vroom 1989, 90, note 25. 26   Goudriaan 1994. 27   van Tussenbroek 2001.

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new opportunities for designers seeking to supplement their income with other types of work or offices. This also partly explains the rise of designers who pursued dual careers as sculptors and architects, in a period when ecclesiastical building commissions remained primarily limited to micro-architecture projects. A second decisive change that contributed to a reduction in the interdependence between architectural designers and the stone trade was a shift in the procurement of construction materials. By the mid-fifteenth century blue limestone from Hainaut and Bentheim sandstone were taking over an increasing share of the market, alongside stone from Namur in the sixteenth century.28 At the same time, the use of white limestone for buildings declined rapidly. From the latter half of the sixteenth century many quarries that supplied good quality limestone became exhausted. Though this is an area that requires further research, it is worth noting that according to Odo Cambier operations at Affligem Abbey’s quarry near Meldert had long since ceased by 1651.29 Unlike the quarries around Brussels, many of the important quarry zones that emerged during this period were not in the vicinity of large cities. It is quite natural to assume that this might have loosened ties between the stone trade and design profession. With the leading architectural designers now based in the cities – near their clients – their physical distance to the quarries likely made it difficult to combine design work with quarry exploitation. A third key catalyst for changes in architectural proFig. 8.9 Brielle, St Catherine, the transept duction was the emergence of municipal building compaand choir were never realised and the nave nies in the Northern Netherlands, and in cities in the county was closed off by a brick wall. of Holland in particular. Holland’s population continued to grow exponentially in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, and this rapid growth was attended by intensified building and an increased pluriformity of projects.30 The expansion of its urban centres from the third quarter of the sixteenth century brought a proliferation in the number and variety of buildings, including Protestant churches, town halls, weigh houses, exchange buildings, hospitals, houses of correction, quays and harbours.31 The booming construction market and professionalisation of municipal building companies in Holland’s cities opened up a growing number of jobs for designers. Rather than designs accompanying ready-made construction materials from the south, they were now sent to the quarries from the north. The impact of these developments can be clearly traced in the Van Neurenberg family, which traded in Namur stone. Where in the sixteenth century the family

  van Tussenbroek 2006.  Odo Cambier 1651, vol. 3, chapter 5, 169–70 (KBB, Manuscripts, inv. no. 13550–52 (cat. no. 3727). It is possible that this downturn can be inferred from the decreasing course height of limestone of Lede in the seventeenth century, as assumed by Van Tussenbroek. Examples can be found at 28 29

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the Hanswijkkerk in Mechelen, the St Michael’s in Leuven and the Beguinage Church in Brussels in the early seventeenth century, where smaller course heights were used after each building freeze. van Tussenbroek 2003, 375. 30   Groenveld & Schutte 1992, 6–7. 31   van Essen & Hurx 2009.

Conclusion had still carried out a combination of design and contracting activities, during the seventeenth century their role was steadily limited to the supply of construction materials.32 Apart from the changes in the organisational structure of building practice mentioned above, the market continued to be of key importance. All the way up until the nineteenth century there was no fundamental change in the processes surrounding design, tenders and construction.33 Even in the seventeenth century, when the municipal building companies were at their height, cities still continued to contract out a great deal of construction work. Well into the eighteenth century patrons struggled with the decision of whether to manage building projects themselves or hire a contractor, which mainly hinged on the manageability of the costs and in how far suppliers were able to quickly realise large-scale works.34 The extent to which architects were able to specialise remained largely dependent on market conditions, with fluctuations in the complexity and scale of building projects leading to cycles of specialisation – including among architects – and of diversification. The occupation of architectural designer continued to go hand in hand with that of stone supplier, sculptor, surveyor or engineer, and true ‘design professionals’ who could apply themselves solely to the supply of architectural designs remained the exception. Only in the seventeenth century do we see painters who were actually able to develop a large architectural oeuvre. At the ducal court in the Southern Netherlands, Wensel Coberger and Jacques Francart acted as both architects and arbiters of good taste; in the Northern Netherlands their counterparts Jacob van Campen and Pieter Post served at the court of the stadtholders.35 Yet even in the seventeenth century there was only a mere handful of painter-architects and the lion’s share of designs were produced by craftsmen in the building trades.36 Most architectural designers had to supplement their income with other lines of profession activity, whether the supply of construction materials, holding an office at court or taking on administrative duties in a municipal building company. Not until the latter half of the nineteenth century did the scale and complexity of design activities expand to such an extent that it could evolve into a separate profession.

  van Tussenbroek 2007c; van Tussenbroek 2006.   van Tussenbroek 2009. 34  van Essen & Hurx 2009; van Essen & Hurx & Medema 2010; Medema 2011. 32 33

 Ottenheym 2009; De Jonge & Ottenheym 2007; Ottenheym 1999. 36   Gerritsen 2006. 35

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Appendices Appendix 1. Money and measurements Money and coinage In the period treated in this book, virtually all transactions recorded in account rolls were expressed in money of account, a denomination of value on paper only, whereas actual payments were settled in gold and silver coin. The principal money of account used was the Flemish pound (lb. Vls.), which was equal to 20 schelling (shilling, abbreviated s.), which in turn was equal to 12 groten (groats, abbreviated d. gr.). Another common unit of account was the Brabant pound (lb. Brab.), which was equal to 2/3 Flemish pounds (2 lb. Vls = 3 lb. Brab.). Besides pounds of 240 groats, the ratio of 40 groats per pound was also employed regularly in accounts. The Rhinegulden, which was the principal imperial gold coin in circulation in the Low Countries in the fifteenth century, could also serve as a unit of account, known as the Rhinegulden-current. In the 1450s it valued at 40 Flemish groten, and it is for this reason that the term gulden was used until into the sixteenth century for the pound of 40 groats, even though the value of the gold Rhinegulden in circulation increased over time, equalling 50 Flemish groats by 1500. In view of the wide range of coins and complexity of fluctuating values, this book translates the diverse moneys of accounts into annual wages of an unskilled labourer based on calculations made by Wim Vroom, where a standard year contains 250 working days, of which 180 paid at the summer rate and 70 at the winter rate (Vroom 2010, 85–86). Though this kind of reckoning should be applied with care and does not reflect fluctuations in purchasing power, it at least provides an indication of the scale of the construction works under discussion. Table showing the annual wages of an unskilled labourer at Our Lady in Antwerp expressed in Flemish pounds (based on Vroom 1985, 10). year

lb.

Vls.

gr.

1431

3.5

1434-1438

3.9

1450-1486

4.5

1487-1489

4.7

1490-1513

4.5

1514-1520

4.7

1521

5.7

1522-1526

5.9

1527-1542

5.7

Measurements Length. No uniform measurement existed in the Low Countries up until the nineteenth century: however, in the fifteenth century the Antwerp foot at times served as a supra-regional standard of measurement in construction. Antwerp foot = 28.68 cm

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Brussels foot = 27.56 cm Antwerp rod = 5.736 m Rijnland rod = 3.767 m In Brussels and the surrounding region, the chief production area for white limestone, rods of different lengths were in use. Brussels: Rod of 16 1/3 foot = 4.50 m This unit was also used on the left bank of the Zenne river in Anderlecht, Dilbeek, Jette and Laken and on the right bank in Zaventem and Sterrebeek. Kraainem, Grimbergen, Machelen, Steenokkerzeel: Rod of 17 1/3 foot = 4.78 m Diegem, Erps, Melsbroek, Vilvoorde: Rod of 18 1/3 foot = 5.05 m Hekelgem, Meldert: Rod of 20 1/3 foot = 5.60 m Area. Land area was usually measured in bunder, dagwand or rods. The different rod measures used in the production area for white limestone resulted in different measurements of land area. 1 bunder = 4 dagwand = 400 square rods. Brussels: 1 bunder = 0.81 ha This unit was also used on the left bank of the Zenne river in Anderlecht, Dilbeek, Jette and Laken and on the right bank in Zaventem and Sterrebeek. Kraainem, Grimbergen, Machelen, Steenokkerzeel: 1 bunder = 0.91 ha Diegem, Erps, Melsbroek, Vilvoorde 1 bunder = 1.02 ha Hekelgem, Meldert: 1 bunder = 1.26 ha Volume/weight. Shipments of stone were often recorded in last in the accounts. It is difficult to determine the precise equivalent weight and volume of a last of stone. For wheat, a last was approximately 2,000 kilograms. Calculations by Maesschalck and Viaene indicate that in Leuven a last of stone was approximately 15 tonnes. Their calculations are supported by data from the accounts of Our Lady in Antwerp, in which one last of Bentheimer sandstone is equated to 250 feet (KAA OLV, KR 1513, f. 27r.). Assuming that loads were measured in linear feet, with a height and thickness of one foot, the aggregate volume would have been 5.9 m3 and the weight approximately 15.5 tonnes.

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Appendices  Appendices Appendix 2. Projects of Evert Spoorwater, Sources of Table 5.1 Antwerp Our Lady KAA OLV, KR 1450; 1454; 1455; 1456; 1459; 1465; 1468; 1469; 1470; 1471; 1472; 1473; 1474. Bergen op Zoom St Gertrude RHCB, SR, 1472–1473; de Kind 1987. Dordrecht Our Lady van Dalen 1927, 168, doc. 19. Gorinchem Blauwe Toren ADN, B 2047, no. 63531. Haarlem St Bavo NHA, KR 1445–1448, inv. no. 192; KR 1447–1448, inv. no. 297; KR 1452–1453, inv. no. 299; KR 1460–1461, inv. no. 304; KR 1461–1462, inv. no. 305; KR 1462–1463, inv. no. 306; KR 1464–1465, inv. no. 308; KR 1465–1466, inv. no. 309; KR 1471–1472, inv. no. 311; KR 1473–1474, inv. no. 312; NHA, SA, box 67 I-1183; NHA, oude boekerij voormalige Stadsbibliotheek, inv. II, 4 (KR 1474–1475); Janssen 1985. Hulst St Willibrord GAH, KR 1450 (no. 373); KR 1462–1463 (no. 378); de Kind 1987; Dierick-van Pottelberghe 1984–1985. Kortrijk Brigde over the Leie Asaert 1972, 41. Leiden St Peter Dröge & Veerman 2011, 34. Middelburg Town hall Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 340; Ozinga & Meischke 1953, 68. Veere Town hall Ozinga & Meischke 1953, 68. Vrasene Church of the Holy Cross Demey 1981–1984; Asaert 1972.

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Appendix 3. Projects by Rombout Keldermans, Sources of Table 5.2 Antwerp Works for the city ARA, KWI, 5512, 93. St James KAA SJ, KR 1524–1525. Our Lady KAA OLV, KR 1521; 1522; 1523; 1524; 1525; 1526; 1527; 1528; 1529; 1530; 1531. Het Steen ARA, ARK, 4978; ARA, ARK, 4979; ARA, ARK Administratieve dossiers, 132/1; 132/2; Coene 1897, 259. Mint ARA, ARK, 4980. Bergen op Zoom Markiezenhof RHCB, ARR 652.1; 653.3; 653.5; 935.1; van Ham 1986. Works for the city including St Gertrude RHCB, SR, 1517–1518; 1518–1519; 1521–1522; 1525–1526; 1526–1527; 1529–1530. Breda Castle Leys 1987, 160. Bruges Church of the Annonciades ARA, ARK, 1803; Squilbeck 1953, 118 note 91. Brussels Bailles ARA, ARK, 27397; ARA, KWI, 5512; Henne & Wauters 1968, vol. 3, 327. Maison du Roi ARA, ARK, 4205; 27484; 27485; 27486; ARA, KWI, 5537; 5538; 5539; 5540; Schayes 1857, 261–67; Van Tyghem 1987. Coudenberg chapel ARA, ARK, 27398; ARA, AUD, 1235; NA, GRK, 5008; Saintenoy 1932–1935. Culemborg Town hall Sillevis & Beltjes 1939. Delft Oude Kerk Typoscript Ruud Meischke, owned by author. Ghent Town hall Van Tyghem 1978. Gorinchem Blauwe Toren NA, GRK, 4998a; 5008; NA, NDR, 1029, 176; Drossaers 1948–1955, vol. 2, 46, 47, 71. ’s-Hertogenbosch Hinthamerpoort van Zuijlen 1863–1876, vol. 1, 423. Heverlee (Leuven) Celestine priory SAL, GRK, 8182; Van Even 1895; Van Uytven 1974.

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Appendices  Appendices Hoogstraten St Catherine, castle, town hall SAH, 19; 180.2; 180.3; 180.4; 180.10; 180.12; 180.14; 180.16; 181.17; 181.19; 181.21; Lauwerys 1960. Leerdam Castle NA, NDR, 1029, 176; Drossaers 1948–1955, vol. 2, 46, 47, 71. Leuven Diestse poort Van Even 1895. Lier Great Sluice van Wylick-Westermann 1987. Mechelen Great Council De Roo 1952; van Wylick-Westermann 1987. Court of Hoogstraten NA, GRK, 5008. Court of Savoy SAM, SR, 1516–1517; 1519–1520; 1526–1527; Meischke & Van Tyghem 1987. Works for the city including St Rumbold’s tower SAM, SR, 1515–1516 to 1531–1532; De Roo 1952, 86–88. Middelburg Town hall Unger 1923–1931, vol. 2, 436–39. Montfort (Limburg) Castle ADN, B 2351; Janssen & Hoekstra & Olde Meierink 2000; Leys 1987. Oudenaarde Town hall Van Lerberghe & Ronsse 1845–1855, vol. 3, 428. Schoonhoven Castle NA, GRK, 4998a; 5008; NA, NDR, 1029, 176; Hermans & Brongers 1983; Leys 1987. Steenbergen St James van den Berg 1987. Tongerlo Abbey AAT, II, 563; 567; AAT, IV, 199, no. 51; Van Spilbeeck 1883; Van Spilbeeck 1888. Turnhout Castle ARA, ARK, 5204–1; 5204–3; De Kok 1982. Utrecht Vredenburg Hoekstra 1997; Hoekstra 1988a; Meischke 1988c; Leys 1987. Veere Our Lady Jacobus Ermerins 1792, vol. 6, chapter 3; Vermeulen 1936.

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Valkenburg Castle ADN, B 2351. Vilvoorde Castle ARA, ARK, 4782; 4783. Zierikzee Sint-Lievensmonstertoren Van Langendonck 1987. Zoutleeuw Town hall Meischke 1987b.

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Abbreviations Regionaal Historisch Centrum Alkmaar Collectie aanwinsten, aantekeningen door Simon Eikelenberg De parochie Alkmaar vóór 1573 Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed, Amersfoort Rijksarchief Anderlecht Archieven van de Brabantse ambachten en gilden, Brussels Kerkarchieven van Brabant Raad van Brabant, Archief van de griffies Kerkarchief Sint-Goedele Archieven van de Schepengriffies van Brussel Tolkamer Brussel Stadsarchief Antwerpen Het archief van Gilden en Ambachten Inventaris van kerkelijke en caritatieve instellingen Kathedraalarchief Antwerpen Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk Kerkrekeningen Kerkarchief Antwerpen Sint-Jacob Kerkrekeningen Regionaal Historisch Centrum Bergen op Zoom Archieven Raad en Rekenkamer van de markiezen van Bergen op Zoom Stadsrekeningen Archief van de Stad Brussel Oud-Archief Algemeen Rijksarchief, Brussels Algmene Rekenkamer Raad van State en Audiëntie Grote Raad Mechelen Kaarten en plattegronden in handschrift Kwitanties

rhca

se pa

rce raa

ag kab

rb sg

sb tkb saa

ga

kk

kaa olv kr kaa sj kr rhcb

ar sr asb oa ara ark aud grm

kph kwi

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Low Countries

Koninklijke Bibliotheek België, Brussels Gemeentearchief Dordrecht Stadsarchieven, de grafelijke tijd Universiteitsbibliotheek Gent Noord-Hollands Archief Kerkvoogdij van de Nederlands Hervormde Gemeente Haarlem, Rekeningen van de kerkmeesters van de St Bavoparochie Stadsarchief van Haarlem 1245–1572, restant Enschede box 67 Nationaal Archief, The Hague Grafelijkheidsrekenkamer, rekeningen Nassause Domeinraad: Raad en Rekenkamer te Breda 1, 1170–1580 Koninklijke Bibliotheek, The Hague Kerkarchief Sint-Jan, ’s-Hertogenbosch Stadsarchief, Hoogstraten Gemeente archief, Hulst Kerkrekeningen Rijksarchief Leuven Kerkarchieven van Brabant (kerkrekeningen) Schepengriffies Vlaams-Brabant Tolkamer Vilvoorde Stadsarchief Leuven Kerkarchief Sint-Gommarus, Lier Stadsarchief Lier Archives Départmentales du Nord, Lille Stadsarchief Mechelen Archief van het Metselaars-, Glazenmakers- en Steenhouwersambacht Stadsrekeningen Archives de l’État à Mons Archief van de Abdij van Tongerlo Het Utrechts Archief Financiële instellingen

384

kbb gad sa ubg nha

kr

sa na

grk

ndr kb ka sj sah gah kr ral kab sgvb tkv sal kal salr adn sam

mgs sr aem aat hua fi

in the

Fifteenth Century

Bibliography Manuscripts and Prints before 1800 FRANÇOIS-XAVIER BURTIN 1784 François-Xavier Burtin, Oryctographie de Brux­ elles ou Description des Fossiles. Tant Naturels qu’accidentels découverts jusqu’ à les environs de cette Ville, Brussels 1784. ODO CAMBIER 1651 Odo Cambier, Historia Afflighemensis, Royal Library Brussels, Manuscripts, Inv. no. 13550–52 (cat. no. 3727).

JOHANNES SERVILIUS 1557 Johannes Servilius, Dictionarium Triglotton, hoc est tribus linguis Latina, Graeca et ea qua tota haec inferior Germania utitur, constans: non tantum eas voces omnes quas Latina agnoscit Resp. sed & praecipuas quasque ab Autoribus usurpatas phrases, vernaculo sermone expressas, continens, Antwerp 1557 (first printed in Antwerp in 1545).

JACOBUS ERMERINS 1780–1797 Jacobus Ermerins, Eenige Zeeuwsche oudheden uit echte stukken opgeheldert en in het licht gebragt; Behelzende een Beschryving der stad Vere, Middelburg 1780–1797, 10 vols.

JAN TOURNEUR 1562 Jan Tourneur, Hoe dat convent van ons Vrouwe van gratien der ordenen van den chatroesen gemenlick genoemt Scheute es gefundeert buyte Brussele, 1562 (Translation of Marcel Voet’s Liber fundationis Carthusiae Bruxellensis), Royal Library The Hague, Manuscripts, no. 71 G 25.

LUDOVICO GUICCIARDINI 1612 Ludovico Guicciardini, Beschryvinghe van alle de Nederlanden anderssins ghenoemt NederDuytslandt, Amsterdam 1612.

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HENRY HEXHAM Henry Hexham, A copious English and Netter­ dutch dictionary, Rotterdam 1675. CORNELIS KILIAAN 1599 Cornelis Kiliaan, Etymologicum Teutonicae sive Dictionarium Teutonico-latinum, Antwerp 1599. GABRIEL MEURIER 1563 Gabriel Meurier, Dictionaire flamen-francois, Antwerp 1563. GABRIEL MEURIER 1574 Gabriel Meurier, Dictionaire francois-flameng, Antwerp 1574.

PIETER HENDRIK VAN DE WALL 1790 Pieter Hendrik van de Wall, Handvesten, privilegien, vrijheden, voorregten. Octrooijen en costumen midsgaders sententien, verbonden, overéénkomsten, en andere voornaame handelingen der stad Dordrecht. Opgezogt, overgezien, met oorsprongkelijke Stukken vergeleeken, en met Geschied- en Oudheidkundige Aanmerkingen opgehelderd, Dordrecht 1790, 3 vols. JAN VAN DEN WERVE 1553 Jan van den Werve, Het Tresoor der Duytsscher talen, Antwerp 1553. Prints after 1800

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ACKERMAN 1949 James Ackerman, ‘“Ars sine scientia nihil est”, Gothic theory of architecture at the cathedral of Milan’, The Art Bulletin 31 (1949), 84–111.

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ACKERMAN 1954 James Ackerman, ‘Architectural practice in the Italian Renaissance’, JSAH 13 (1954) 3, 3–11.

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ACKERMAN 2002 James Ackerman, ‘The origins of architectural drawing in the Middle Ages and Renaissance’,

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APERS 2013 Chris Apers, ‘De bouwgeschiedenis van het Hof van Busleyden volgens de originele archiefdocumenten uit de 16de en begin 17de eeuw’, Handelingen van de Koninklijke Kring voor Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen 103 (2013), 101–21.

AERTS 1993 Willem Aerts (ed.), De Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekathe­ draal, Antwerp 1993.

THOMAS AQUINAS 1902 Thomas Aquinas, An apology for the religious orders. Being a translation of two of the minor works of the Saint (translated and edited by John Procter), St Louis 1902.

GEORGIUS AGRICOLA 1912 Georgius Agricola, De re metallica. Translated by Herbert Clark Hoover and Lou Henry Hoover, London 1912.

THOMAS AQUINAS 1983 Thomas Aquinas, Quodlibetal questions 1 and 2 (Translated with an introduction and notes by Sandra Edwards), Toronto 1983.

AKKERMAN 2001 Chris Akkerman, ‘De verdedigingswerken’, in: Wim Denslagen (ed.), Gouda (Nederlandse monumenten van geschiedenis en kunst), Zwolle/Zeist 2001.

THOMAS AQUINAS 2012 Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the letters of Saint Paul to the Corinthians (translated by F. R. Larcher, B. Mortensen, and D. Keating ; edited by J. Mortensen and E. Alarcón), Lander, Wyoming 2012.

LEON BATTISTA ALBERTI 1966 Leon Battista Alberti, L’architettura [De re aedificatoria]. Testo latino e traduzione a cura di Giovanni Orlandi. Introduzione e note di Paolo Portoghesi, Milan 1966, 2 vols. ALBERTS 1954 Wybe Jappe Alberts, ‘Leveranties van steen uit het Rijnland voor de dombouw te Utrecht en tolheffing op de Rijn’, in: Wybe Jappe Alberts, Frans Ketner (eds), Nederrijnse studiën XIIIeXVe eeuw, Groningen 1954, 1–48. ALBERTS 1969 Wybe Jappe Alberts, Bronnen tot de bouwges­­ chiedenis van den Dom te Utrecht (Rijks Geschied­­ kundige Publicatiën 129), The Hague 1969. AMES-LEWIS 2000 Francis Ames-Lewis, The intellectual life of the early Renaissance artist, New Haven/London 2000. AMT 2009 Stefan Amt, ‘Von Vitruv bis zur Moderne – Die Entwick­lung des Architektenberufes’, in: Ralph Johannes (ed.), Entwerfen. Architektenausbil­ dung in Europa von Vitruv bis Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts, Geschichte, Theorie, Praxis, Hamburg 2009, 10–45.

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ASAERT 1972 Gustaaf Asaert, ‘Everaert Spoorwater en de bouw van een nieuw koor voor de kerk van Vrasene in 1448’, Het land van Beveren 15 (1972) 2, 38–46. ASAERT 1973 Gustaaf Asaert, De Antwerpse scheepvaart in de XVe eeuw (1394–1480). Bijdrage tot de ekonomische geschiedenis van de stad Antwerpen (Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België, Klasse der Letteren, jaargang 35, nr. 72), Brussels 1973. ASCANI 1997 Valerio Ascani, Il Trecento disegnato. Le basi progettuali dell’architetture gotica in Italia, Rome 1997. AUBERT 1961 Marcel Aubert, ‘La construction au Moyen Âge’, Bulletin monumental 119 (1961), 7–42; 81–120; 181–209; 295–323. BAILLIEUL & DUHAMEEUW 1989 Beatrix Baillieul, Anne Duhameeuw (eds), Een stad in opbouw. Gent voor 1540, Tielt 1989.

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BEELAERTS VAN BLOKLAND 1932 Willem Beelaerts van Blokland, ‘Het in 1553 gebouwde huis te Rumpt’, Gelre. Bijdragen en mededelingen Gelre 35 (1932), 105–16.

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BEISSEL 1883 Stephan Beissel, Die Baugeschichte der Kirche des heiligen Victor zu Xanten. Nach den Originalrechnungen und andern handschriftlichen Quellen dargestellt (Stimmen aus Maria-Laach. Katholische Blätter 6, no. 23–24), Freiburg im Breisgau 1883.

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DECEULAER & DIELS 2007 Harald Deceulaer, Ann Diels, ‘Artists, artisans, workshops in the Low Countries (fifteenth to seventeenth centuries)’, in: Natasja Peeters (ed.), Invisible hands? The role and status of the painter’s journeyman in the Low Countries c. 1450c. 1650 (Groningen studies in cultural change 23), Leuven/Paris/Dudley MA 2007, 1–31. DE CLERCQ 2002 Lode De Clercq, ‘De gevels van de “Belgische” schouwburgen uit de eerste helft van de negentiende eeuw. De impact van de aan de École Spéciale te Parijs opgeleide architecten op het materiaalgebruik van publieke monumenten in België’, in: Anna Bergmans et al. (eds), Neostijlen in de negentiende eeuw: zorg geboden? (KADOC –Artes 7), Leuven 2002, 161–80. DE JONGE 1991 Krista De Jonge, ‘Het Paleis op de Coudenberg te Brussel in de vijftiende eeuw. De verdwe­ nen hertogelijke residenties in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden in een nieuw licht geplaatst’, Revue belge d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’art 60 (1991), 5–38. DE JONGE 1994a Krista De Jonge, ‘Architekturpraxis in den Niederlanden in der frühen Neuzeit: Die Rolle des italienischen Militärarchitekten; der status questionis’, in: Günther Bers, Conrad Doose (eds), Der italienische Architekt Alessandro Pasqualini (1493–1559) und die Renaissance am Niederrhein: Kenntnisstand und Forschungsperspektiven, Jülich 1994, 363–83. DE JONGE 1994b Krista De Jonge, ‘Le palais de Charles-Quint à Bruxelles. Ses dispositions intérieures au XVe et XVIe siècles et le cérémonial de Bourgogne’, in: Jean Guillaume (ed.), Architecture et vie sociale. L’organisation intérieure des grandes demeures à la fin du moyen age et à la Renaissance (Actes du colloque tenu à Tours

Bibliography du 6 au 10 juin 1988, De Architectura 6), Paris 1994, 107–25. DE JONGE 1998 Krista De Jonge, ‘Vitruvius, Alberti and Serlio: Architectural treatises in the Low Countries, 1530–1620’, in: Vaughan Hart, Peter Hicks (eds), Paper palaces. The rise of the Renaissance architectural treatise, London 1998, 281–96. DE JONGE 2000 Krista De Jonge, ‘Bourgondische residenties in het graafschap Vlaanderen. Rijsel, Brugge en Gent ten tijde van Filips de Goede’, Handelingen der Maatschappij voor Geschiedenis en Oudheidkunde te Gent 54 (2000), 93–134. DE JONGE 2002a Krista De Jonge, ‘Anticse wercken: “Vreemd gebouwd” in de 16de eeuw’, in: Stefaan Grieten (ed.), Vreemd gebouwd. Westerse en niet-Westerse elementen in onze architectuur, Turnhout 2002, 35–59. DE JONGE 2002b Krista De Jonge, ‘“Anticse wercken”: la découverte de l’architecture antique dans la pratique architecturale des anciens Pays-Bas. Livres de modèles et traités (1517–1599)’, in: MichèleCaroline Heck, Frédérique Lemerle, Yves Pauwels (eds), Théorie des arts et création artistique dans l’Europe du Nord du XVIe au début du XVIIIe siècle, Lille 2002, 55–74. DE JONGE 2003 Krista De Jonge, ‘“Up die manier van Brabant.” Brabant en de adelsarchitectuur van de Lage Landen (1450–1530)’, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis 86 (2003), 409–23. DE JONGE 2004 Krista De Jonge, ‘Schloss Heverlee bei Löwen (Leuven) und die Residenzbildung in den südlichen Niederlanden um 1500’, in: Guido von Büren, Hans-Heinrich Häffner (eds), Burgen und Schlösser in den Niederlande und in Nortwestdeutschland. Herausgegeben von der Wartburg-Gesellschaft zur Erforschung von Burgen und Schlössern in Verbindung mit dem Germanischen Nationalmuseum, Munich 2004, 69–80. DE JONGE 2005a Krista De Jonge, ‘Les fondations funéraires de la noblesse des anciens Pays-Bas dans la première moitié du XVIe siècle’, in: Jean

Guillaume (ed.), Demeures d’éternité. Eglises et chapelles funéraires aux XVe et XVIe sièces (De Architectura), Paris 2005, 125–46. DE JONGE 2005b Krista De Jonge, ‘The principal residences in Mechelen. The Court of Cambrai and the Court of Savoy’, in: Dagmar Eichberger (ed.), Women of distinction. Margaret of York. Margaret of Austria (exhibition catalogue Mechelen 2005), Leuven 2005, 57–66. DE JONGE 2007 Krista De Jonge, ‘The first reception of the Antique’, in: Krista De Jonge, Konrad Ottenheym (eds), Unity and discontinuity. Architectural relations between the Southern and Northern Low Countries 1530–1700 (Architectura Moderna 5), Turnhout 2007, 15–86. DE JONGE 2009a Krista De Jonge, ‘Adellijke residenties in en buiten de stad’, in: Krista De Jonge, Piet Geleyns, Markus Hörsch (eds), Gotiek in het hertogdom Brabant, Leuven 2009, 63–99. DE JONGE 2009b Krista De Jonge, ‘Bouwen in de stad’, in: Krista De Jonge, Piet Geleyns, Markus Hörsch (eds), Gotiek in het hertogdom Brabant, Leuven 2009, 101–36. DE JONGE 2010a Krista De Jonge, ‘The court architect as artist in the southern Low Countries 1520–1560’, in: H. P. Chapman, Joanna Woodall (eds), Envisioning the artist in the Early Modern Netherlands (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek 59), Zwolle 2010, 111–35. DE JONGE 2010b Krista De Jonge, ‘Chantiers dans le milieu de la Cour des anciens Pays-Bas méridionaux aux XVIe-XVIIe siècles: organisation et innovations techniques’, in: Robert Carvais et al. (eds), Édifice & artifice. Histoire constructives. Recueil de textes issus du Premier congrès francophone d’histoire de la construction (Paris, 19–21 juin 2008), Paris 2010, 917–26. DE JONGE 2010c Krista De Jonge, ‘Bâtiments public à fonction économique à Anvers au XVIe siècle: l’invention

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d’un type?’, in: Konrad Ottenheym, Krista De Jonge, Monique Chatenet (eds), Public buildings in Early Modern Europe (Architectura Moderna 9), Turnhout 2010, 183–200.

het kasteel van Turnhout (1504–1516)’, in: Carlos Wyffels, Eddie van Haverbeke (eds), Gedenkboek Michiel Mispelon, KortemarkHandzame 1982, 165–74.

DE JONGE 2010d Krista De Jonge, ‘Galleries at the BurgundianHabsburg court from the Low Countries to Spain 1430–1600’, in: Christina Strunck, Elisabeth Kieven (eds), Europäische Galeriebauten. Galleries in a comparative European perspective (1400–1800), Munich 2010, 73–88.

DÉLÉHOUZÉE & WESTERMAN 2013 Laurent Déléhouzée, Jeroen Westerman, ‘Tournai, la cathédrale Notre-Dame aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles. Histoire de la construction’, in: Marie-Paule Arnauld (eds), Lille, le Nord et Tournai (Congrès Archéologique de France, 169e session, 2011), Paris 2013, 179–202.

DE JONGE 2011 Krista De Jonge, ‘“Scientie” et “experientie” dans le gothique moderne des anciens Pays-Bas’, in: Monique Chatenet et al. (eds), La Gothique de la Renaissance (Actes des quatrième Ren­ contres d’architecture européenne Paris 12–16 juin 2007, De Architectura 13), Paris 2011, 199–216.

DE MARCHI & VAN MIEGROET 2006 Neil De Marchi, Hans Van Miegroet (eds), Mapping markets for paintings in Europe, 1450–1750 (Studies in European Urban History (1100–1800) 6), Turnhout 2006.

DE JONGE 2013 Krista De Jonge, ‘Inventing the vocabulary of antique architecture. The early translators and interpreters of Renaissance architectural treatises in the Low Countries’, in: Harold Cook, Sven Dupré (eds), Translating knowledge in the Early Modern Low Countries, Berlin/Zürich 2013, 217–40. DE JONGE 2014 Krista De Jonge, ‘Early Modern Netherlandish Artists on Proportion in Architecture, or ‘de questien der Simmetrien met redene der Geometrien’’, Architectural Histories 2 (2014), no. 11, 1–23. DOI: http://doi.org/10.5334/ah.bt DE JONGE & OTTENHEYM 2007 Krista De Jonge, Konrad Ottenheym, ‘Chapter I: The production process of architecture within the context of the courts 1580–1700’, in: Krista De Jonge, Konrad Ottenheym (eds), Unity and discontinuity. Architectural relations between the Southern and Northern Low Countries 1530–1700 (Architectura Moderna 5), Turnhout 2007, 165–208.

DE MEESTER 2012 Jan De Meester, ‘Migrant workers and illicit labour: regulating the immigration of building workers in sixteenth-century Antwerp’, in: Bert De Munck, Anne Winter (eds), Gated communities? Regulating migration in Early Modern cities, Farnham/Burlington VT 2012, 25–43. DE MEULEMEESTER & DE WILDE 1985 Johnny De Meulemeester, Marc De Wilde, ‘De hertogelijke watermolen te Tervuren’, Archaeologica Belgica I (1985) 2, 137–42. DEMEY 1981–1984 Anthony Demey, ‘De H.-Kruiskerk te Vrasene. Analytische bouwgeschiedenis’, Gentse bijdragen tot de kunstgeschiedenis 26 (1981–1984), 1–44. DE MUNCK 1927 E. De Munck, ‘De steenhouwers der streek Steenock­erzeel’, Brabantsche Folklore 6 (1927) 36, 381–83. DENEWETH 2010 Heidi Deneweth, ‘Een demografische knoop ­ontward? Brugse bevolkingscijfers voor de vroegmoderne tijd’, Handelingen van het Genoot­ schap voor Geschiedenis 147 (2010), 3–48.

DEKKER 2006 Jeanine Dekker (ed.), De Abdij van Middelburg, Utrecht 2006.

DENSLAGEN 1982 Wim Denslagen, ‘Geometrie in de gotische bouw­ praktijk’, Bulletin KNOB 81 (1982), 131–47.

DE KOK 1982 Harry De Kok, ‘Antoon en Rombout Keldermans en Domien de Waghemaker werken aan

DE PAUW 1894 Napoléon De Pauw, ‘Histoire de la ­construction du Beffroi de Termonde (1376–1378)’,

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FAVRESSE 1934 Félicien Favresse, ‘Documents relatifs à l’histoire politique intérieure de Bruxelles de 1477 à 1480’, Bulletin de la Commission Royale d’Histoire 98 (1934), 29–125. FINOT 1888 Jules Finot, ‘Louis Van Boghem, architecte de l’église de Brou’, Réunion des sociétés des beaux-arts des départements 12 (1888), 187–234. FONS-MÉLICOCQ, DE LA 1848 Alexandre de la Fons-Mélicocq, Les artistes et les ouvriers du nord de la France (Picardie, Artois, Flandre) et du midi de la Belgique, aux XIVe, XVe et XVIe siècles, Béthune 1848. FONTAINE VERWEY, DE LA 1976 Herman de la Fontaine Verwey, Uit de wereld van het boek I. Humanisten, dwepers en rebellen in de zestiende eeuw, Amsterdam 1976 (second edition), 58–59. FRANKIGNOULLE & BONENFANT 1935 Eugène Frankignoulle, Paul Bonenfant, Notes pour servir a l’histoire de l’art en Brabant, Brussels 1935. FRANSOLET 1930 Mariette Fransolet, ‘Le livre d’Heures de Louis Van Boghem conservé au Séminaire épiscopal de Bruges’, Annales de la Société royale d’Archéologie de Bruxelles 35 (1930), 179–84. FREIGANG 1989a Christian Freigang, ‘Le chantier de Narbonne’, in: Roland Recht (ed.), Les batisseurs des cathédrales gothiques (exhibition catalogue Strasbourg 1989), Strasbourg 1989, 127–38. FREIGANG 1989b Christian Freigang, ‘Jacques de Fauran’, in: Roland Recht (ed.), Les batisseurs des cathédrales gothiques (exhibition catalogue Strasbourg 1989), Strasbourg 1989, 195–99. FREIGANG 1990 Christian Freigang, ‘Ausstellungen und neue Literatur zum gotischen Baubetrieb’, Kunstchronik 43 (1990), 606–27. FREIGANG 1996 Christian Freigang, ‘Organisation d’un chantier en France méridionale au XIIIe et au XIVe siècle. L’exemple de Narbonne’, in: Chantiers médiévaux, Milan/Paris 1996, 169–93.

Bibliography FREIGANG 1999 Christian Freigang, ‘Die Expertisen zum Kathedralbau in Girona (1386–1416/17) – Anmerkungen zur mittelalterlichen Debatte um Architektur’, in: Christian Freigang, Cristina Stiglmayr (eds), Gotische Architektur in Spanien. La arquitectura gótica en España (Akten des Kolloquiums der Carl JustiVereinigung und des Kunstgeschichtlichen Seminars der Universität Göttingen. Göttingen, 4.-6. Februar 1994), Frankfurt am Main/Madrid 1999, 203–26. FREIGANG 2007 Chistian Freigang, ‘Changes in vaulting, changes in drawing. On the visual appearance of gothic architecture around the year 1300’, in: Alexandra Gajewski, Zoë Opacˇic´ (eds), The year 1300 and the creation of a new European architecture (Architectura Medii Aevi 1), Turnhout 2007, 67–77. FRUIN 1866a Robert Fruin, Enqueste ende Informacie upt stuck van der reductie ende reformatie van den schiltaelen, voertijts getaxeert ende gestelt geweest over de landen van Hollant en Vrieslant, gedaen in den jaere MCCCCVCIII, Leiden 1866. FRUIN 1866b Robert Fruin, Informacie up den staet faculteyt ende gelegentheyt van de steden ende dorpen van Hollant ende Vrieslant om daernae te reguleren de nyeuwe schiltaele gedaen in den jaere MDXIV, Leiden 1866. FUCHS & WEIJERS 1970–2005 Johan Fuchs, Olga Weijers (eds), Lexicon Latinitatis Nederlandicae Medii Aevi. Woordenboek van het Middeleeuws Latijn van de Noordelijke Nederlanden, Amsterdam/ Leiden 1970–2005, 8 vols. GACHARD 1848 Louis Gachard, Inventaire des cartes et plans manuscrits et gravés, qui sont conservés aux Archives générales du Royaume, Brussels 1848. GAWRONSKI & VEERKAMP 2003 Jerzy Gawronski, Jørgen Veerkamp, ‘Over staal, kleef en stuit. Funderingen in Amsterdam’, in: Jerzy Gawronski, Freek Schmidt, MarieThérèse van Thoor (eds), Amsterdam: Monumenten & Archeologie 2 (2003), 11–23.

GELDERBLOM 2004 Oscar Gelderblom, ‘The decline of fairs and merchant guilds in the Low Countries, 1250–1650’, Jaarboek voor middeleeuwse geschiedenis 7 (2004), 199–238. GELEYNS & DE JONGE 2003 Piet Geleyns, Krista De Jonge, ‘New light on specialized XVIth century construction techniques in the Low Countries’, in: Santiago Huerta (ed.), Proceedings of the First International Congress on Construction History (Madrid, 20th24th January 2003), Madrid 2003, vol. 2, 987–95. GÉLY 2008 Jean-Pierre Gély, ‘L’approvisionnement en pierre d’appareil des églises de Paris et du bassin hydrographique de la Seine, du Moyen Âge aux Temps modernes’, in: François Blary, Jean-Pierre Gély, Jacqueline Lorenz (eds), Pierres du patrimoine Européen, économie de la pierre de l’Antiquité à la fin des Temps modernes (Actes du colloque international ‘Pierres du patrimoine Européen’, Château-Thierry (France) 18 au 21 octobre 2005), Paris 2008, 329–40. GÉNARD 1856 Pierre Génard, Verzameling der graf- en gedenkschriften van de provincie Antwerpen : Arrondissement Antwerpen. Inscriptions funéraires et monumentales de la province d’Anvers : arrondissement d’Anvers, Antwerp 1856. GÉNARD 1870 Pierre Génard, ‘Notice sur les architectes Herman (le vieux) et Dominique de Waghemakere’, Bulletin des Commissions royales d’Art et d’Archéologie 9 (1870), 429–94. GERBINO & JOHNSTON Anthony Gerbino, Stephen Johnston, Compass and Rule: Architecture as mathematical practice in England 1500–1750, New Haven/ London 2009. GERRITSEN 2006 Elske Gerritsen, Zeventiende-eeuwse architec­ tuurtekeningen. De tekening in de ontwerpen bouwpraktijk in de Nederlandse Republiek, Zwolle 2006. GIACOMINI 2006 Laura Giacomini, ‘The management of private building yards in Milan between 1550–1650:

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a history reconstructed through building and supply contracts’, in: Malcolm Dunkeld et al. (eds), Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Construction History (Cambridge, 29 March-2 April 2006), Cambridge 2006, vol. 2, 1233–1249. JOHANNES GIELEMANS 1961 Johannes Gielemans, De codicibus hagiographicis Iohannis Gielemans canonici regularis in Rubea Valle prope Bruxellas. Adiectis Anecdotis (Partim excertum ex ‘Analectis Bollandiansis’ 14), Brussels 1961, 391–417. GLAUDEMANS 2009 Ronald Glaudemans, De Sacramentskapel, bouwgeschiedenis, restauraties en bouwhistorische opname (Verslagen van het bouwhistorisch onderzoek van de Sint-Janskathedraal 9), s.l. 2009 (unpublished research). GLAUDEMANS 2017 Ronald Glaudemans, De Sint-Jan te ’s-Hertogenbosch. Bouwgeschiedenis en bouwsculptuur 1250-1550, Amersfoort/Zwolle, 2017. Glossarium Harlemense 1973 Het Glossarium Harlemense (circa 1440), opnieuw uitgegeven met een inleiding, transliteratie en commentaar en van een alfabetische en retrograde index voorzien door P. G. J. van Sterkenburg (Oude Nederlandse Woordenboeken reeks 1, deel 1), The Hague 1973. GODDING 1989 Philippe Godding, ‘Juridische betrekkingen tussen de stad en haar omgeving’, in: Arlette Smolar-Meynart, Jean Stenger (eds), Het Gewest Brussel. Van de oude dorpen tot de stad van nu, Brussels 1989, 110–17. GODDING 2005 Philippe Godding, Verordeningen van Filips de Goede voor de hertogdommen Brabant en Limburg ende landen van Overmaas (Verzameling van de verordeningen der Nederlanden, eerste reeks: 1381–1506, tweede sectie, deel 2), Brussels 2005. GOLDTHWAITE 1980 Richard Goldthwaite, The building of renaissance Florence. An economic and social history, Baltimore, Maryland/London, 1980.

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GOLDTHWAITE 1993 Richard Goldthwaite, Wealth and the demand for art in Italy 1300–1600, Baltimore, Maryland/ London, 1993. GOUDRIAAN 1994 Koen Goudriaan, ‘Het einde van de Middeleeuwen ontdekt?’ Madoc 8 (1994) 2, 66–75. GOUDRIAAN 2002 Koen Goudriaan, ‘Fervente vroomheid in een bange tijd’, in: Paul Abels (ed.), Duizend jaar Gouda. Een stadsgeschiedenis, Hilversum 2002, 181. GOY 2006 Richard Goy, Building Renaissance Venice: patrons, architects and builders c. 1430–1500, New Haven/London 2006. GROENVELD & SCHUTTE 1992 Simon Groenveld, Gerrit Jan Schutte, Delta: Nederlands verleden in vogelvlucht. De nieuwe tijd: 1500 tot 1813, Leiden 1992, vol. 2. GROESSENS 2009 Éric Groessens, ‘De Doornikse steen, bouwmateriaal sinds de Romeinse periode en een parel tussen de Belgische marmers’, in: Vergane glorie of glorieus verdergaan? 3de VlaamsNederlandse natuursteendag (Geological survey of Belgium professional paper no. 30), Brussels 2009, 25–46. GROESSENS 2011 Éric Groessens, ‘Quelques pierres blanches au pays de la pierre bleue (Belgique)’, in: JeanPierre Gély, Jacqueline Lorenz (eds), Carriers et bâtisseurs de la période préindustrielle. Europe et régions limitrophes (Actes du 134e Congès national des sociétés historiques et scientifiques, Bordeaux, 20–24 avril 2009), Paris 2011, 165–75. GROOT, DE 2011 Arie de Groot, De Dom van Utrecht in de zestiende eeuw. Inrichting, decoratie en gebruik van de katholieke kathedraal, Utrecht 2011. GEERT GROOTE Geert Groote, Geert Grootes Tractaat ‘Contra turrim Traiectensem’ teruggevonden (translated and edited by R. R. Post), The Hague 1967.

Bibliography GROTE 1959 Andreas Grote, Der vollkommen Architectus. Baumeister und Baubetrieb bis zum Anfang der Neuzeit, Munich 1959. GÜNTHER 1988 Hubertus Günther (ed.), Deutsche Architektur­theorie zwischen Gotik und Renaissance, Darmstadt 1988. GÜNTHER 2009 Hubertus Günther, ‘Der Beruf des Architekten zu Beginn der Neuzeit. Innovationsgeist und Kreativität als Berufsgeheimnis’, in: Ralph Johannes (ed.), Entwerfen. Architektenausbildung in Europa von Vitruv bis Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts, Geschichte, Theorie, Praxis, Hamburg 2009, 215–75. GÜNTHER 2013 Hubertus Günther, ‘Der Architekt in der Renaissance’, in: Winfried Nerdinger (ed.), Der Architekt. Geschichte und Gegenwart eines Berufsstandes, Munich/London/New York 2013, vol. 1, 81–103. GUERREAU 2012 Alain Guerreau, ‘Une règle graduée, en Allemagne du Nord, vers 1530’, in: Rosa Alcoy (ed.), Le plaisir de l’art du Moyen Âge. Commande, production et réception de l’oeuvre d’art. Mélanges en hommage à Xavier Barral i Altet, Paris 2012, 986–91. GUILLAUME 1991 Jean Guillaume (ed.), Les chantiers de la Renaissance (Actes des colloques tenus à Tours en 1983–1984, De architectura 4), Paris 1991. GULINCK 1949 M. Gulinck, ‘Oude natuurlijke bouwmaterialen in Laag- en Midden-België’, Technischwetenschappelijk tijdschrift 18 (1949) 2, 25–32.

op Zoom. Reeks monografiën 5), Bergen op Zoom 1986. HAMAKER 1873 Hendrik Hamaker, Middeneeuwsche keurboeken van de stad Leiden, Leiden 1873. HAMON 2008 Étienne Hamon, Un chantier flamboyant et son rayonnement: Gisors et les églises du Vexin français, Besançon 2008. HAMON 2011 Étienne Hamon, Une capitale flamboyante, la création monumentale à Paris autour de 1500, Paris 2011. HAMON 2015 Étienne Hamon, ‘Le dessin et l’architecte au soir de l’âge gothique. Le projet de portail du fonds de l’hôtel-Dieu d’Amiens’, in : Étienne Hamon, Dominique Paris-Poulain, Julie Aycard (eds), La Picardie flamboyante. Arts et reconstruction entre 1450 et 1550 (Actes du colloque tenu à Amiens, du 21 au 23 november 2012), Rennes 2015, 229–50. HART 1998 Vaughan Hart, ‘Serlio and the representation of architecture’, in: Vaughan Hart, Peter Hicks (eds), Paper palaces. The rise of the Renaissance architectural treatise, London 1998, 170–85. HARTMANN-VIRNICH 2004 Andreas Hartmann-Virnich, ‘Préfabrication, module et ‘standardisation’ dans l’architecture de taille médiévale: quelques exemples du Sud-Est de la France (XIIe-XIVe siècles)’, in: Jacqueline Lorenz, Jean-Pierre Gély (eds), Carrières et constructions en France et dans les pays limitrophes IV, Paris 2004, 187–204.

HALFLANTS 1992–1996 Jacques Halflants, De Sint-Sulpitiuskerk te Diest. Kunsthistorische studie (Jaarboek van de Vrienden van de Sint-Sulpitiuskerk), Diest 1992–1996, 3 vols.

HARTOG, DEN 2011 Elizabeth den Hartog, ‘De verdwenen interieurs voor de Beeldenstormen van 1566 en 1572’, in: Elizabeth den Hartog, John Veerman (eds), De Pieterskerk te Leiden. Bouwgeschiedenis, inrichting en gedenktekens, Zwolle 2011, 147–84.

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Bibliography HEUVEL, VAN DEN 1991 Charles van den Heuvel, ‘Papiere Bolwercken’. De introductie van de Italiaanse stede- en vestingbouw in de Nederlanden (1540–1609) en het gebruik van tekeningen, Alphen aan den Rijn 1991. HEYMANS 2014 Vincent Heymans (ed.), Le palais du Coudenberg à Bruxelles. Du château médiéval au site archéologique, Brussels 2014. HEZENMANS 1866 Johannes Hezenmans, De St. Jans-kerk te ’s Hertogenbosch en hare geschiedenis, ’s-Hertogenbosch 1866. HOEKSTRA 1981 Tarquinius Hoekstra, ‘Marcelis Keldermans, Mr. van den wercken van de starckte Vredenborch t’Utrecht en boumeester der vesteijcheden van de sterckten in Gelderland (ca. 1500–1557)’, in: Tarquinius Hoekstra, Hans Janssen, Ingrid Moerman (eds), Liber Castellorum, Zutphen 1981, 170–86. HOEKSTRA 1988a Tarquinius Hoekstra, ‘Vredenburg c­ astle: medieval castle or modern fortress?’, in: Frans Verhaeghe, Marcel Otte (eds), Archéol­ ogie des temps modernes (Actes du colloque international de Liège, 23–26 avril 1985), Liège 1988, 53–93. HOEKSTRA 1988b Tarquinius Hoekstra, ‘Boekrecensie; H. Janse, R. Meischke, J.H. van Mosselveld (eindred.), F. van Tychem, (red.), Keldermans. Een architectonisch netwerk in de Nederlanden, Staatsuitgeverij/Gemeentemuseum Markiezen­ hof,’s-Gravenhage/ Bergen op Zoom 1987; 198 p., ISBN 90.12.05545.8; f. 48,-’, Bulletin KNOB 87 (1988), 163–67. HOEKSTRA 1997 Tarquinius Hoekstra, ‘Vredenburg; de bouw van en het leven op een zestiende eeuwse citadel (1529–1532)’, in: Geeske Bakker, Tarquinius Hoekstra (eds), Het stenengeheugen. 25 jaar archeologie en bouwhistorie in Utrecht, Utrecht 1997, 112–43. HÖRSCH 1994 Markus Hörsch, Architektur unter Margarethe von Österreich, Regentin der Niederlande

(1507–1530). Eine bau- und architekturgeschichtliche Studie zum Grabkloster St.-Nicolas-de-Tolentin in Brou bei Bourg-enBresse, Brussels 1994. HÖRSCH 1997 Markus Hörsch, ‘Anmerkungen zur Architektur der südlichen Niederlande in der Zeit der Burgunderherzöge’, in: Birgit Franke, Barbara Welzel (eds), Die Kunst der burgundischen Niederlande. Eine Einführung, Berlin 1997, 45–63. HÖRSCH & DE JONGE 2009 Markus Hörsch, Krista De Jonge, ‘De kerkenbouw. Brabantse religieuze architectuur uit de gotiek’, in: Krista De Jonge, Piet Geleyns, Markus Hörsch (eds), Gotiek in het hertogdom Brabant, Leuven 2009, 15–61. HOEVE, VAN DER & WEVERS 2004 Jan van der Hoeve, Leo Wevers, ‘“Behoud gaat voor vernieuwing”. Bouwhistorie van het Stadhuis van Alkmaar’, in: Joseph Cox et al. (eds), ‘Onse heerlijcke Stadthuys binnen Alckmaer’. De geschiedenis van het stadhuis van Alkmaar, Alkmaar 2004, 33–81. HOLLESTELLE 1976 Johanna Hollestelle, De steenbakkerij in de Nederlanden tot omstreeks 1560, Arnhem 1976 (first printed in 1961). HOLLINGSWORTH 1984 Mary Hollingsworth, ‘The architect in fifteenthcentury Florence’, Art History 7 (1984) 4, 385–410. HOOYDONK, VAN 1995 Jacques van Hooydonk, Graaf Hendrik II van Nassau-Breda en zijn stad 1504–1538 (Publikatiereeks Gemeentearchief Breda nr. 10), Breda 1995. HUBEL 1989 Achim Hubel, ‘La fabrique de Ratisbonne’, in: Roland Recht (ed.), Les batisseurs des cathédrales gothiques (exhibition catalogue Strasbourg 1989), Strasbourg 1989, 165–77. HULSHOF 1996 M. Hulshof, ‘De Gilden’, in: Koen Goudriaan et al. (eds), De Gilden in Gouda, Zwolle 1996, 87–144.

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HUPPERT 2014 Ann Huppert, ‘Practical mathematics in the drawings of Baldassarre Peruzzi and Antonio da Sangallo the Younger’, in: Anthony Gerbino (ed.), Geometrical objects. Architects and the Mathematical Sciences 1400–1800, Cham 2014, 79–106. HURX 2007a Merlijn Hurx, ‘Middeleeuwse “prefab” in de Nederlanden? De Hollandse kerken van de Antwerpse loodsmeester Evert Spoorwater’, Bulletin KNOB 106 (2007), 112–34. HURX 2007b Merlijn Hurx, ‘De zeventiende-eeuwse modernisering van het stadhuis van ’s-Hertogenbosch’, Bulletin KNOB 106 (2007), 53–67. HURX 2009 Merlijn Hurx, ‘Architecten en gildedwang; vernieuwingen in de ontwerppraktijk in de vijf­ tiende en zestiende eeuw?’, Bulletin KNOB 108 (2009), 1–18. HURX 2011 Merlijn Hurx, ‘Het koor van de Pieterskerk: experimenteren met bouwpakketten’, in: Elizabeth den Hartog, John Veerman (eds), De Pieterskerk te Leiden, Zwolle 2011, 91–102.

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HURX 2012 Merlijn Hurx, Architect en aannemer. De opkomst van de bouwmarkt in de Nederlanden 1350–1530, Nijmegen 2012.

IBELINGS & SMIT 2002 Bart Ibelings, Hans Smit, ‘Schuiten, puiken en Goudse kuit’, in: Paul Abels (ed.), Duizend jaar Gouda, Hilversum 2002, 94–100.

HURX 2013 Merlijn Hurx, ‘City churches in Holland: combining ambition with pragmatic building strategies (1350–1550)’, in: Stefan Bürger, Bruno Klein, Katja Schröck (eds), Kirche als Baustelle – Große Sakralbauten des Mittelalters, Cologne 2013, 182–95.

INSTALLÉ 1997 Henri Installé (ed.), ‘Historische Stedenatlas van België. Mechelen II’, Handelingen van de Koninklijke Kring voor Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen 117 (1997), 5–303.

HURX 2014 Merlijn Hurx, ‘Wandering architects. Travelling as part of an architect’s education in the fifteenth century: the example of the Low Countries’, in: Konrad Ottenheym (ed.), Architects without Borders. Migration of Architects and Architectural Ideas in Europe, Mantua 2014, 29–39. HURX 2015 Merlijn Hurx, ‘Keeping in control: The building administration of Northern European courts

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Bibliography JANSE 1971 Herman Janse, Vensters, Nijmegen 1971. JANSE 1987 Herman Janse, ‘Het bouwbedrijf en de steenhandel ten tijde van de Keldermans-familie’, in: Jan van Mosselveld et al. (eds), Keldermans, een architectonisch netwerk in de Nederlanden, The Hague 1987, 173–82. JANSE 2004 Herman Janse, De Oude Kerk te Amsterdam. Bouwgeschiedenis en restauratie, Zeist/Zwolle 2004. JANSE & STRAALEN, VAN 2000 Herman Janse, Thomas van Straalen, Middeleeuwse stadswallen en stadspoorten in de Lage Landen, Zaltbommel 2000 (first printed in 1974). JANSE & VRIES, DE 1991 Herman Janse, Dirk de Vries, Werk en merk van de steenhouwer. Het steenhouwersambacht in de Nederlanden voor 1800, Zwolle 1991. JANSSEN 1981 Hans Janssen, ‘De fortificaties van Ter Eem 1528–1553 en het ontwerp van Rombout Keldermans’, in: Tarquinius Hoekstra, Hans Janssen, Ingrid Moerman (eds), Liber Castellorum, Zutphen 1981, 302–18. JANSSEN 1985 Corneille Janssen, De Grote- of St Bavo te Haarlem. De geschiedenis van haar bouw en inrichting tot de Reformatie, Haarlem 1985. JANSSEN 2006 J. Janssen, ‘On construction in the rise of wage labour 1349–1563’, in: Malcolm Dunkeld et al. (eds), Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Construction History (Cambridge, 29 March-2 April 2006), Cambridge 2006, vol. 2, 1705–1718. JANSSEN & HOEKSTRA & MEIERINK 2000 Hans Janssen, Tarquinius Hoekstra, en Olde Meierink, ‘Fortification of castles in the Northern Netherlands during the GelreHabsburg Conflict (1492–1543)’ in: Château Gaillard 19 (Études de castellologie médiévale. Actes du colloque International de Graz (Autriche) 22–29 Aout 1998), Caen 2000, 123–48.

JAS 1997 Eric Jas, De koorboeken van de Pieterskerk te Leiden: Het zestiende-eeuwse muzikale erfgoed van een Hollands getijdencollege, Utrecht 1997 (unpublished dissertation). JENSMA & MOLENDIJK 1987 Theunis Jensma, Ad Molendijk, De Grote- of Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk van Dordrecht, Zwolle 1987. JOHANNES 2009 Ralph Johannes (ed.), Entwerfen. Architekten­ ausbildung in Europa von Vitruv bis Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts, Geschichte, Theorie, Praxis, Hamburg 2009. JONES 1952 Gwilym Jones, ‘Building in stone in Medieval Western Europe’, in: The Cambridge economic history of Europe: from the decline of the Roman Empire, Cambridge 1952, vol. 2, 493–518. JUTEN 1923 G. C. A. Juten, ‘De Sint Geertruikerk te Bergen op Zoom, I’, Taxandria 30 (1923), 297–306. JUTEN 1924a G. C. A. Juten, ‘De Sint Geertruikerk te Bergen op Zoom, II’, Taxandria 31 (1924), 25–29. JUTEN 1924b G. C. A. Juten, ‘De Sint Geertruikerk te Bergen op Zoom, III’, Taxandria 31 (1924), 43–48. JUTEN 1924c G. C. A. Juten, ‘De Sint Geertruikerk te Bergen op Zoom, IV’, Taxandria 31 (1924), 73–76. JUTEN 1936 G. C. A. Juten, ‘Antoon Keldermans te Bergen op Zoom’, Taxandria 43 (1936), 152–58. KADATZ 1983 Hans-Joachim Kadatz, Deutsche Renaissance­ baukunst von der frühbürgerlichen Revolution bis zum Ausgang des Dreißigjährigen Krieges, Berlin 1983. KAM, DE & KIPP & CLAESSEN 2014 René de Kam, Frans Kipp, Daan Claessen, De Utrechtse Domtoren. Trots van de stad, Utrecht 2014. KAVALER 2000 Ethan Matt Kavaler, ‘Renaissance gothic in the Netherlands’, The Art Bulletin 82 (2000) 2, 226–51.

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KAVALER 2008 Ethan Matt Kavaler, ‘Architectural wit: Playfulness and deconstruction in the gothic of the sixteenth century’, in: Matthew Reeve (ed.), Reading gothic architecture (Studies in the visual cultures of the Middle Ages 1), Turnhout 2008, 139–50. KAYE 1960 Barrington Kaye, The development of the architectural profession in Britain. A sociological study, London 1960. KESTELOO 1881–1902 Huibert Kesteloo, ‘De stadsrekeningen van Middelburg’, in: Archief. Vroegere en latere mededeelingen voornamelijk in Betrekking tot Zeeland (Zeeuws Genootschap), Middelburg 1881–1902, 9 vols. KIK 2014 Oliver Kik, ‘From lodge to studio: Transformations of architectural knowledge in the Low Countries 1480–1530’, in: Piet Lombaerde (ed.), The notion of the painter-architect in Italy and the southern Low Countries (Architectura Moderna 11), Turnhout 2014, 73–88. KIMPEL 1977 Dieter Kimpel, ‘Le développement de la taille en série dans l’architecture médiévale et son rôle dans l’histoire économique’, Bulletin monumental 135 (1977), 195–222. KIMPEL 1983 Dieter Kimpel, ‘Die enfaltung der gotischen Baubetriebe. Ihre sozio-ökonomischen Grundlagen und ihre ästhetisch-künstlerischen Auswirkung’, in: Friedrich Mobius, Ernst Schubert (eds), Architektur des Mittelalters. Funktion und Gestalt, Weimar 1983, 246–72. KIMPEL 1986 Dieter Kimpel, ‘La sociogenèse de l’architecte moderne’, in: Xavier Barral i Altet (ed.), Artistes, artisans et production artistique au Moyen Age (Colloque international, Rennes, 2–6 mai 1983), Paris 1986, vol. 1, 135–49.

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KIMPEL 1996 Dieter Kimpel, ‘Structures et évolution des chantiers médiévaux’, in: Chantiers médiévaux, Milan/Paris 1996, 11–51. KIND, DE 1984–1985 Richard de Kind, ‘De Sint Willibroduskerk te Hulst’, Jaarboek Oudh. Kring ‘De Vier Ambachten’ Hulst (1984–1985), 17–44. KIND, DE 1987 Richard de Kind, ‘De plaats van de SintGertrudiskerk in het werk van Evert Spoorwater’, in: Bergen op Zoom, gebouwd en beschouwd, Alphen aan den Rijn 1987, 138–57. KIND, DE 1998 Richard de Kind, ‘De bouwpraktijk van Evert Spoorwater en de kerkrekeningen van Hulst’, Bulletin van de Oudheidkundige Kring ‘De Vier Ambachten’ 17 (1998), 3–9. KLEIN 2009 Bruno Klein, ‘Einleitung: Werkmeister oder Architekten? Ein Problem kunsthistorischer Paradigmen’, in: Stefan Bürger, Bruno Klein (eds), Werkmeister der Spätgotik. Position und Rolle der Architekten im Bauwesen des 14. bis 16. Jahrhunderts, Darmstadt 2009, 13–17. KLEIN 2010 Bruno Klein, ‘Zwischen Hofkünstler und Zunft: Architektendynastien im späten Mittelalter’, in: Stefan Bürger, Bruno Klein (eds), Werkmeister der Spätgotik. Personen, Amt und Image, Darmstadt 2010, 13–25. KLEP 1981 Paul Klep, Bevolking en arbeid in transformatie. Een onderzoek naar de ontwikkelingen in Brabant, 1700–1900, Nijmegen 1981. KLEP 1988 Paul Klep, ‘Urban decline in Brabant: the traditionalization of investments and labour (1374– 1806)’, in: Herman Van der Wee (ed.), The rise and decline of urban industries in Italy and in the Low Countries (Late Middle Ages – Early Modern Times) (Studies in social and economic history 1), Leuven 1988, 261–86.

KIMPEL 1989 Dieter Kimpel, ‘Die Soziogenese des modern­ - KLEP 1992 en Architektenberufs’, in: Friedrich Möbius, Paul Klep, ‘Long-term developments in the Helga Sciurie (eds), Stil und Epoche. urban sector of the Netherlands (1350–1870)’, Periodisierungsfragen, Dresden 1989, 106–43. in: Het stedelijk netwerk in België in historisch

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KRABBE 1998 Coert Krabbe, Ambacht, kunst, wetenschap. Bevordering van de bouwkunst in Nederland (1775–1880), Zwolle/Zeist 1998.

KLOOT MEYBURG, VAN DER 1941 Herman van der Kloot Meyburg, De Nieuwe Kerk te Delft, haar bouw, verval en herstel, Rotterdam 1941.

KUIJER 2000 P.Th.J. Kuijer, ’s-Hertogenbosch, stad in het hertogdom Brabant ca. 1185–1629, Zwolle/ ’s-Hertogenbosch 2000.

KNOOP & JONES 1938–1939 Douglas Knoop, Gwilym Jones, ‘The English medieval quarry’, Economic History Review 9 (1938–1939), 17–37.

KUILE, TER 1933 Engelbert ter Kuile, ‘Aanteekeningen betreffende de bouwgeschiedenis der Groote kerk te Dordrecht’, Bulletin KNOB (1933), 2–18.

KNOOP & JONES 1967 Douglas Knoop, Gwilym Jones, The mediæval mason. An economic history of English stone building in the later Middle Ages and Early Modern Times, New York 1967 (first printed in 1933).

KUILE, TER 1934 Engelbert ter Kuile, ‘De voormalige toren der Groote Kerk te Hoorn’, Oud Holland 51 (1934), 97–104.

KOCKEN 2004 Edmund Kocken, Van bouwen, breken en branden in de Lage Landen. Oorsprong en ontwikkeling van het middeleeuws stedelijk bouwrecht tussen ± 1200 en ± 1500. Een terreinverkennend onderzoek, Deventer 2004. KÖHL 2013 Sasha Köhl, ‘Princely architecture: town halls in the Burgundian Netherlands’, Anne van Oosterwijk et al. (eds), Staging the court of Burgundy. Proceedings of the conference “The splendour of Burgundy”, Turnhout 2013, 191–200. KOHL & PERSOONS & WEILER 1976 Wilhelm Kohl, Ernest Persoons, Anton Weiler (eds), Monasticon Windeshemense. Teil 1: Belgien (Archief- en bibliotheekwezen in België 16), Brussels 1976. KOLMAN 1993 Chris Kolman, Naer de eisch van ’t werck. De organisatie van het bouwen te Kampen 1450– 1650, Utrecht 1993. KOSTOF 1977 Spiro Kostof, ‘The architect in de Middle Ages, East and West’, in: Spiro Kostof (ed.), The architect. Chapters in the history of the profession, New York 1977, 59–95.

KURMANN 2006 Peter Kurmann, ‘“Stararchitekten” des 14. und 15. Jahrhunderts im europäschen Kontext’, in: Rainer Schwinges, Christian Hesse, Peter Moraw (eds), Europa im späten Mittelalter. Politik – Gesellschaft – Kultur, Munich 2006, 539–57. KUYS 2004 Jan Kuys, Kerkelijke organisatie in het middel­ eeuwse bisdom Utrecht, Nijmegen 2004. KUYS 2006a Jan Kuys, ‘Secular authorities and parish church building in late medieval towns in the Netherlands’, in: Jan Kuys, Marjan De Smet, Paul Trio (eds), Processions and church fabrics in the Low Countries during the late middle ages. An inquiry into secular influence on ecclesiastical and religious matters on a local urban level (Preprint 111), Kortrijk 2006, 109–33. KUYS 2006b Jan Kuys, ‘Weltliche Funktionen spätmittel­ alterlicher Pfarrkirchen in den nördlichen Niederlanden’, in: Paul Trio, Marjan De Smet (eds), The use and abuse of sacred places in late medieval towns, Leuven 2006, 27–45. KUYS 2014 Jan Kuys, Repertorium van collegiale kapittels in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht, Hilversum 2014.

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LABORDE, DE 1849–1852 Léon de Laborde, Les ducs de Bourgogne : études sur les lettres, les arts et l’industrie pendant le XVe siècle et plus particulièrement dans les Pays-Bas et le Duché de Bourgogne, Paris 1849–1852, 3 vols. LARDIN 2010 Philippe Lardin, ‘Les pierres de la vallée de la Seine à la fin du Moyen Âge: l’exemple normand’, in: Danièle James-Raoul, Claude Thomasset (eds), La pierre dans le monde médiéval, Paris 2010, 37–47. LAUWERS 1980 Jos Lauwers, Diegem: zijn watermolens, zijn kasteelheren, zijn bedevaartkerk, Tielt 1980. LAUWERYS 1956 Jozef Lauwerys, ‘Brieven van Antoon de Lalaing, 1e graaf van Hoogstraten, meestal aan zijn rentmeester Lucas van Achtenryt’, Jaarboek van Hoogstratens Oudheidkundige Kring (Elisabeth van Culemborg. Losse Studiën bij de 400e Verjaring van haar Overlijden 1) 24 (1956), 189–227. LAUWERYS 1960 Jozef Lauwerys, ‘De kerk van Hoogstraten I. (Tot 1555)’, Jaarboek van Hoogstratens Oudheidkundige Kring 28 (1960), 5–226. LAVALLEYE 1930 Jacques Lavalleye, ‘Le château de Courtrai. Contribution à l’histoire de l’architecture militaire en Belgique’, Annales de la Société royale d’Archéologie de Bruxelles 35 (1930), 157–68.

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LEFÈVRE 1956–1957 Placide Lefèvre, ‘La collégiale des Saints Michel et Gudule à Bruxelles. L’édifice, son ornementation et son mobilier à la lumière des textes d’archives’, Annales de la Société royale d’Archéologie de Bruxelles 49 (1956–1957), 16–72. LEFÈVRE 2004a Wolfgang Lefèvre (ed.), Picturing machines 1400–1700, Cambridge MA/London 2004. LEFÈVRE 2004b Wolfgang Lefèvre, ‘The emergence of combined orthographic projections’, in: Wolfgang Lefèvre (ed.), Picturing machines 1400–1700, Cambridge MA/London 2004, 209–44. LEGNER 1978 Anton Legner (ed.), Die Parler und der Schöne Stil 1350–1400: europäische Kunst unter den Luxemburgern (exhibition catalogue Cologne 1978), Cologne 1978, 3 vols. LENG 2004 Rainer Leng, ‘Social character, pictorial style, and the grammar of technical illustration in craftsmen’s manuscripts in the Late Middle Ages’, in: Wolfgang Lefèvre (ed.), Picturing machines 1400–1700, Cambridge MA/London 2004, 85–114. LEPIK 1994 Andres Lepik, Das Architekturmodell in Italien. 1335–1550 (Römische Studien der Bibliotheca Hertziana 9), Worms 1994, 139–41.

LEEMANS 1972 Hertha Leemans, De St.-Gummaruskerk te Lier, Kapellen 1972.

LESGER 1993 Clé Lesger, ‘Stedelijke groei en stedensystemen’, in: Ed Taverne, Irmin Visser (eds), Stedebouw. De geschiedenis van de stad in de Nederlanden van 1500 tot heden, Nijmegen 1993, 30–38.

LEERDAM, VAN & MEUWISSEN & FILEDT KOK 2014 Andrea van Leerdam, Daantje Meuwissen, Jan Piet Filedt Kok, Het vroegste Amsterdamse schetsboek. Een zestiende-eeuws zakboekje uit het atelier van Jacob Cornelisz. van Oostsanen, Oostzaan 2014, 2 vols.

LETOR & LOIR & ROSILLON 2002 Axelle Letor, Christophe Loir, Jean-Marc Rosillon, ‘La galerie de l’hôtel d’Antoine de Lalaing à Bruxelles: un reflet de la cour gothicorenaissante de Marguerite d’Autriche’, Annales de la Société royale d’Archéologie de Bruxelles 65 (2002), 11–60.

LEFÈVRE 1942 LEVERLAND 2000 Placide Lefèvre, De collegiale kerk van Sint- Bauke Leverland, St. Pancras op het Hogeland. Michiel en Sinte-Goedele te Brussel. Ge­schieden-­ Kerk en kapittel in Leiden tot aan de Reformatie (edited by Dick de Boer and Rudolf van is. Architektuur. Meubileering. Schat, Antwerp 1942. Maanen), Hilversum 2000.

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MEISCHKE 2000b Ruud Meischke, ‘De bouwmeester als organisator (± 1525–1575)’, in: Ruud Meischke, Henk Zantkuijl, Paul Rosenberg, Huizen in Nederland. Utrecht, Noord-Brabant en de oostelijke provincies. Architectuurhistorische verkenningen aan de hand van het bezit van de Vereniging Hendrick de Keyser, Zwolle/ Amsterdam 2000, 86–94. MEISCHKE 2002 Ruud Meischke, ‘De “Meesters van het Steenwerck” en de Sint-Laurenskerk te Rotterdam’, Bulletin KNOB 101 (2002), 201–13. MEISCHKE & VAN TYGHEM 1987 Ruud Meischke, Frieda Van Tyghem, ‘Huizen en Hoven, gebouwd onder leiding van Anthonis I en Rombout II’, in: Jan van Mosselveld et al. (eds), Keldermans, een architectonisch netwerk in de Nederlanden, The Hague 1987, 131–54. MEKKING 1992 Aart Mekking, Het spel met toren en kapel. Bouwen pro en contra Bourgondië van Groningen tot Maastricht, Zutphen 1992. MEKKING, HELTEN & BURGER 2007 Aart Mekking, Leonhard Helten, Matthijs Burger, ‘Provinciale stadsgotiek’, in: Koos Bosma et al. (eds), Bouwen in Nederland 600–2000, Zwolle 2007, 169–81. MELLAERTS 1998 David Mellaerts, De Sint-Pieterskerk te Leuven – Architectuur en kunstpatrimonium, Leuven 1998. MERTENS 2006–2007 Line Mertens, ‘Het Gelmelslot te Hoogstraten ten tijde van Antonis de Lalaing: een bouwkundige reconstructie van het vroeg zestiendeeeuwse kasteel’, Jaarboek Erfgoed Hoogstraten 2 (2006–2007), 5–111. MERTENS & TORFS 1847 François Mertens, Karl Torfs, Geschiedenis van Antwerpen sedert de stichting der stad tot onze tijden, Antwerp 1847, vol. 3. MESKENS 1987 Frans Meskens, ‘Steenwinningen in Grimbergen’, Eigen schoon en de Brabander 70 (1987), 59–74.

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MESEURE 1987 Sonja Meseure, Die Architektur der Antwerpener Börse und der europäische Börsenbau im 19. Jahrhundert, Munich 1987. MEUNIER 2015 Florian Meunier, Martin & Pierre Chambiges. Architectes des cathédrales flamboyantes, Paris 2015. MIDELFORT 1999 Erik Midelfort, A history of madness in sixteenth century Germany, Stanford 1999. MIEDEMA 1980 Hessel Miedema, ‘Over de waardering van architekt en beeldende kunstenaar in de zestiende eeuw’, Oud Holland 94 (1980), 71–84. MIEDEMA 1987 Hessel Miedema, ‘Kunstschilders, gilde en aca­ demie. Over het probleem van de emancipatie van de kunstschilders in de Noordelijke Nederlanden van de 16de en 17de eeuw’, Oud Holland 101 (1987), 1–34. MINVIELLE 1921 Géo Minvielle, Histoire et condition juridique de la profession d’architecte, Paris 1921. MONTIAS 1982 John Michael Montias, Artists and artisans in Delft. A socio-economic study of the seventeenth century, Princeton 1982. Monumenten in Nederland Monumenten in Nederland, Zeist/Zwolle, 1996– 2006, 12 vols. MORSBACH 2009 Peter Morsbach, Die Erbauer des Doms. Die Geschichte der Regensburger Dommeister­familie Roriczer-Engel, Regens­burg 2009. MORRIS 1990 Richard Morris, ‘Mouldings and analysis of medieval style’, in: Eric Fernie, Paul Crossley (eds), Medieval architecture and its intellectual context: studies in honour of Peter Kidson, London 1990, 239–47. MORRIS 1996 Richard Morris, ‘Mouldings in medieval cathedrals’, in: Tim Tatton-Brown, Julian Munby (eds), The archaeology of cathedrals (Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph no. 42), Oxford 1996, 211–17.

Bibliography MORTET & DESCHAMPS 1929 Victor Mortet, Paul Deschamps, Recueil de textes relatifs à l’histoire de l’architecture et à la condition des architectes en France, au Moyen Age XIIe-XIIIe siècles, Paris 1929.

NANNINGA UITTERDIJK 1907 Jurjen Nanninga Uitterdijk, ‘Nederlandsche bouwmeesters der 16e eeuw’, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis van Overijssel 14 (1907), 362–63.

MOSSELVELD, VAN et al. 1987 Jan van Mosselveld et al. (eds), Keldermans, een architectonisch netwerk in de Nederlanden, The Hague 1987.

NAUWELAERS 1941 J. Nauwelaers, Histoire de la ville de Vilvorde, Paris/Brussels/Kortrijk 1941, 2 vols.

MULLER FZ. 1881–1882 S. Muller Fz., ‘Getuigenverhoor te Antwerpen over het maken van ontwerpen van gebouwen in de 16e eeuw door schilders, goudsmeden, timmerlieden en metselaars’, in: Archief voor Nederlandsche kunstgeschiedenis IV, Rotterdam 1881–1882, 227–45.

NEEFFS 1876 Emmanuel Neeffs, Histoire de la peinture et de la sculpture à Malines, Ghent 1876, 2 vols. NERDINGER 2013 Winfried Nerdinger (ed.), Der Architekt. Geschichte und Gegenwart eines Berufsstandes, Munich/London/New York 2013, 2 vols.

MULLER FZ. 1895 Samuel Muller Fz., Het rechtsboek van den Dom van Utrecht door Mr. Hugo Wstinc (Werken der vereeniging tot uitgave der bronnen van het Oude Vaderlandsche recht, eerste reeks, nr. 18), The Hague 1895.

NEVE, DE & HEEZIK, VAN 2007 Roel de Neve, Alex van Heezik, ‘Verbonden door het water. Binnenvaart en zeehavens in Holland’, in: Eelco Beukers (ed.), Hollanders en het water. Twintig eeuwen strijd en profijt, Hilversum 2007, vol. 1, 169–273.

MULLER FZ. 1905 Samuel Muller Fz., ‘Contract met den Dombouwmeester Godijn van Dormael, 1356’, Bulletin KNOB (1905), 147–52.

NIEUWENHUIZEN, VAN DEN 1993 Jos van den Nieuwenhuizen, ‘De periode 1124–1559’, in: Willem Aerts (ed.), De OnzeLieve-Vrouwekathedraal, Antwerp 1993, 23–38.

MURRAY 1987 Stephen Murray, Building Troyes cathedral. The late gothic campaigns, Bloomington/ Indianapolis 1987. MURRAY 1996 Stephen Murray, Notre-Dame, cathedral of Amiens: the power of change in Gothic, Cambridge 1996. MUSSET 1985 Lucien Musset, ‘La pierre de Caen: extraction et commerce, XIe-XVe siècles’, in: Odette Chapelot, Paul Benoit (eds), Pierre et métal dans le bâtiment au Moyen Age, Paris 1985, 219–35. MUTHESIUS 2013 Stefan Muthesius, ‘“Profession or Art?” – Zur in entwick­ lung des Architektenberufs Großbritannien’, in: Winfried Nerdinger (ed.), Der Architekt. Geschichte und Gegenwart eines Berufsstandes, Munich / London / New York 2013, vol. 1, 181–93.

NIJLAND & DUBELAAR & TOLBOOM 2007 Tim Nijland, Wim Dubelaar, Hendrik Tolboom, ‘De historische bouwstenen van Utrecht’, in: Wim Dubelaar, Timo Nijland, Hendrik Tolboom (eds), Utrecht in steen. Historische bouwstenen in de binnenstad, Utrecht 2007, 31–109. NIJS 1980 Roger Nijs, ‘Identificatie van de Balegemse steen door middel van de korrelgrootteverdeling van de zandfractie’, Vlaanderens Erfgoed 55 (1980), 8–13. NORN 1948 Otto Norn, Mester Michiels to breve til Christian den Alden, Copenhagen 1948. NUßBAUM Norbert Nußbaum, German gothic church architecture, New Haven/London, 2000 (originally published as Deutsche Kirchenbaukunst der Gotik in 1994).

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NUßBAUM 2011 Norbert Nußbaum, ‘Planning and building without writing: questions of communication in gothic masons’ lodges’, in: Zoë Opacˇic´, Achim Timmermann (eds), Architecture, Liturgy and Identity Liber Amicorum Paul Crossley (Studies in Gothic Art 1), Turnhout 2011, 137–45. NUßBAUM & EUSKIRCHEN & HOPPE 2003. Norbert Nußbaum, Claudia Euskirchen, Stephan Hoppe (eds), Wege zur Renaissance, Cologne 2003. NUTTALL 2004 Paula Nuttall, From Flanders to Florence. The impact of Netherlandish painting, 1400–1500, New Haven/London 2004. NYS 1993 Ludovic Nys, La pierre de Tournai; son exploitation et son usage aux XIIIème, XIVème et XVème siècles, Tournai 1993. OECHSLIN 2009 Werner Oechslin, ‘Das Berufsbild des Architekten – eine Erinnerung als Einführung’, in: Tiziana De Filippo, Philipp Tscholl (eds), Architekt und / versus Baumeister. Die Frage nach dem Metier (Siebter Internationaler Barocksommerkurs 2006. Stiftung Bibliothek Werner Oechslin, Einsiedeln), Zürich 2009, 6–15. OOSTERBAAN 1958 Dinant Oosterbaan, ‘Kroniek van de Nieuwe Kerk te Delft’, Haarlemse Bijdragen 65 (1958), 1–326. OOSTERBAAN 1973 Dinant Oosterbaan, De Oude Kerk te Delft gedurende de Middeleeuwen, The Hague 1973. OTTENHEYM 1999 Konrad Ottenheym, ‘De schilder-architecten van het Hollands classicisme’, in: Albert Blankert (ed.), Hollands Classicisme in de zeventiendeeeuwse schilderkunst (exhibition catalogue Rotterdam 1999), Rotterdam 1999, 34–53. OTTENHEYM 2003 Konrad Ottenheym, ‘Renaissancearchitektur und Architekturpraxis im städtischen Bereich’, in: Norbert Nußbaum, Claudia Euskirchen, Stephan Hoppe (eds), Wege zur Renaissance, Cologne 2003, 211–31.

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OTTENHEYM 2009 Konrad Ottenheym, ‘The rise of a new profession: the architect in 17th-century Holland’, in: Guido Beltramini, Howard Burns (eds), L’architetto: ruolo, volto, mito, Venice/Vicenza 2009, 199–219. OTTENHEYM 2010 Konrad Ottenheym, ‘Meat halls and fish markets in the Dutch Republic’, in: Konrad Ottenheym, Krista De Jonge, Monique Chatenet (eds), Public buildings in Early Modern Europe (Architectura Moderna 9), Turnhout 2010, 273–84. OTTENHEYM & DE JONGE 2007 Konrad Ottenheym, Krista De Jonge, ‘Architectural theory, antique and modern 1560–1640’, in: Krista De Jonge, Konrad Ottenheym (eds), Unity and discontinuity. Architectural relations between the Southern and Northern Low Countries 1530–1700 (Architectura Moderna 5), Turnhout 2007, 87–161. OTTENHEYM & ROSENBERG & SMIT 2008 Konrad Ottenheym, Paul Rosenberg, Niek Smit, Hendrick de Keyser. Architectura Moderna. Moderne bouwkunst in Amsterdam 1600– 1625, Amsterdam 2008. OZINGA & MEISCHKE 1953 Murk Daniel Ozinga, Ruud Meischke, De gothisch­ e kerkelijke bouwkunst (De schoonheid van ons land), Amsterdam 1953. PACEY 2007 Arnold Pacey, Medieval architectural drawing. English craftsmen’s methods and their later persistence (c. 1200–1700), Stroud 2007. PAGAZANI 2014 Xavier Pagazani, La demeure noble en HauteNormandie, 1450–1600, Tours 2014. PANOFKSY 1979 Erwin Panofsky, Abbot Suger on the abbey church of St –Denis and its art treasures, Princeton 1979 (first printed in 1946). PARAVICINI 1991 Werner Paravicini, ‘Die Residenzen der Herzöge von Burgund, 1363–1477’, in: Hans Patze, Werner Paracivini (eds), Fürstliche Residenzen im spätmittelalterlichen Europa (Vorträge und Forschungen 36), Sigmaringen 1991, 207–63.

Bibliography PARKER 1998 Charles Parker, The Reformation of community. Social welfare and Calvinist charity in Holland, 1572–1620, Cambridge/New York/ Melbourne 1998. PARMENTIER 1948 Remi Parmentier, Documenten betreffende Brugsche steenhouwers uit de 16de eeuw (Ge­­ schiedkundige Publicatiën der Stad Brugge, 3), Bruges 1948. PAUWELS 1983 P. G. Pauwels, ‘Het nieuw Kasteel van Kortrijk, 1394–1684. Bouwgeschiedenis en Ikonografie’, Handelingen van de Koninklijke Geschied- en Oudheidkundige Kring van Kortrijk 50 (1983), 5–138. PAUWELS 1998 Yves Pauwels, ‘L’architecte, humaniste et artiste’, in: Louis Callebat (ed.), Histoire de l’architecte, Paris 1998, 63–85. PEETERS 1975 Jean-Paul Peeters, Bloei en verval van de middeleeuwse stadsvrijheid Vilvoorde, Tielt 1975. PEETERS 1985 Kees Peeters, De Sint Janskathedraal te ’s-Hertogenbosch, The Hague/Zeist 1985. PEETERS 1987 Kees Peeters, ‘Het Nieuwe Werk als het bijna mogelijke’, in: Bergen op Zoom, gebouwd en beschouwd, Alphen aan den Rijn 1987, 157–69. PEETERS et al. 1987 Kees Peeters et al., ‘Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis van de Sint-Gertrudiskerk’, in: Bergen op Zoom, gebouwd en beschouwd, Alphen aan den Rijn 1987, 135–213. PEETERS & DAMBRUYNE 2007 Natasja Peeters, Johan Dambruyne, ‘Artists of the twilight zone. Some introductory remarks on journeymen in painters’ workshops in the Southern Netherlands c. 1450 – c. 1650’, in: Natasja Peeters (ed.), Invisible hands? The role and status of the painter’s journeyman in the Low Countries c. 1450- c. 1650 (Groningen studies in cultural change 23), Leuven/Paris/ Dudley MA 2007, ix–xxiv.

PEETERS & MARTENS 2005 Natasja Peeters, Maximiliaan Martens, ‘A cutting edge? Wood carvers and their workshops in Antwerp 1453–1579’, in: Carl Van de Velde et al. (eds), Constructing wooden images. Proceedings of the symposium on the organization of labour and working practices of late gothic carved altarpieces in the Low Countries (Brussels 25–26 October 2002), Brussels 2005, 75–92. PEETERS & MARTENS 2007 Natasja Peeters, Maximiliaan Martens, ‘Assistants in Artists’ workshops in the Southern Netherlands (fifteenth and sixteenth centuries). Overview of the archive sources’, in: Natasja Peeters (ed.), Invisible hands? The role and status of the painter’s journeyman in the Low Countries c. 1450- c. 1650 (Groningen studies in cultural change 23), Leuven/Paris/ Dudley MA 2007, 33–49. PEVSNER 1931–1932 Nikolaus Pevsner, ‘Zur Geschichte des Architectenberufs (Anläßlich Martin S. Briggs: The Architect in history, Oxford 1927)’, Kritische Berichte 4 (1931–1932), 97–122. PEVSNER 1942 Nikolaus Pevsner, ‘The term “Architect” in the Middle Ages’, Speculum 17 (1942), 549–62. PHILIPP 1988 Klaus Jan Philipp, ‘Sainte-Waudru in Mons (Bergen, Hennegau). Die Planungsgeschichte einer Stiftskirche 1449–1450’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 51 (1988), 372–413. PHILIPP 1989 Klaus Jan Philipp, ‘Ein huys in manieren an eynre kirche. Werkmeister, Parliere, Steinlieferante, Zimmermeister und die Bauorganisation in den Niederlanden vom 14. bis zum 16. Jahrhundert’, Wallraf-Richartz-Jahrbuch 50 (1989), 69–113. PHILIPP 1996 Klaus Jan Philipp, ‘L’hôtel de ville de Gand. “Le gothique commercial du Brabant”’, in: Chantiers médiévaux, Milan/Paris 1996, 327–53. PIÉTRESSON DE SAINT-AUBIN 1928–1929 Pierre Piétresson de Saint-Aubin, ‘La fourniture de la pierre sur les grands chantiers Troyens du Moyen Âge et de la Renaissance’, Bulletin Archéologique du Comité des travaux

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historiques et scientifiques 46 (1928–1929), 569–600. PINCHART 1860–1881 Alexandre Pinchart, Archives des arts, sciences et lettres. Documents inédits, Ghent 1860–1881, 3 vols. PIOT 1879 Charles Piot, Inventaire des chartes et keures de la ville de Vilvorde, vol. 4, Brussels 1879, 1–34. PIRGENT 2003 Daniel Pirgent, ‘Evolution de la construction médiévale en pierre en Anjou et Touraine’, in: John McNeill, Daniel Prigent (eds), Anjou. Medieval art, architecture and archaeolo­ gy (The British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions 26), Leeds 2003, 14–33. PIRGENT 2008 Daniel Pirgent, ‘Les débuts du moyen appa­ reil: l’exemple de l’Anjou-Touraine (Xe-XIIIe siècles)’, in: François Blary, Jean-Pierre Gély, Jacqueline Lorenz (eds), Pierres du patrimoine Européen, économie de la pierre de l’Antiquité à la fin des Temps modernes (Actes du colloque international “Pierres du patrimoine Européen”, Château-Thierry (France) 18 au 21 octobre 2005), Paris 2008, 295–308. PISANI 2013 Salvatore Pisani, ‘›Nos architectes‹ – Die Architektenprofession im Frankreich des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts’, in: Winfried Nerdinger (ed.), Der Architekt. Geschichte und Gegenwart eines Berufsstandes, Munich/London/New York 2013, vol. 1, 169–79. PITZ 1986 Ernst Pitz, ‘Das Aufkommen der Berufe des Architekten und Bauingenieurs. Baubetrieb und Baugewerbe insbesondere nach unteritalienischen Quellen des 13. Jahrhunderts’, Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 66 (1986), 40–74. CHRISTOPHE PLANTIN 1972a Christophe Plantin, De Thesaurus van Plantijn van 1573 opnieuw uitgegeven met een inleiding van dr. F. Claes, s.j. (Oude Nederlandse Woordenboeken reeks 2, deel 1), The Hague 1972.

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CHRISTOPHE PLANTIN 1972b Christophe Plantin, Het tetraglotton van 1562. Eerste deel opnieuw uitgegeven door F. Claes, F. de Tollenaere en J. B. Veerbeek (Oud Nederlandse Woordenboeken reeks 2, deel 2/1), The Hague 1972. PODEVYN 1922 Renier Podevyn, ‘De steengroeven van Affligem’, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis (1922), 384–95. POLL, VAN DE & BAKKER 1991 Frank van de Poll, Sarah Bakker, Schreden naar Parnas. De onderkomens van de Amsterdamse rechtbank van middeleeuwen tot heden, Amsterdam 1991. POSTMA 1989 Cornelis Postma, Het hoogheemraadschap van Delfland in de middeleeuwen, 1289–1589, Hilversum 1989. POT 1950 Gregorius Pot, ‘De bouwrekening van het Goudse Stadhuis van 1450’, Bulletin KNOB 3 (1950), 129–45. PRAK 2003 Maarten Prak, ‘Guilds and the development of the art market during the Dutch Golden Age’, Simiolus 30 (2003) 3–4, 236–51. PRAK 2008 Maarten Prak, ‘Painters, guilds, and the art market during the Dutch Golden Age’, in: Stephan Epstein, Maarten Prak (eds), Guilds, innovation and the European economy, 1400–1800, Cambridge 2008, 143–71. PRAK et al. 2006 Maarten Prak et al. (eds), Craft guilds in the Early Modern Low Countries: Work, power, and representation, Aldershot 2006. PREVENIER 1983 Walter Prevenier, ‘La démographie des villes du comté de Flandre aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles. Etat de la question. Essai d’interprétation’, Revue du Nord 65 (1983), 255–75. QUIST 2009a Wido Quist, ‘Replacement of natural stone in conservation of historic buildings. Evaluation of replacement of natural stone at the church of Our Lady in Breda’, Heron 54 (2009) 4, 251–78.

Bibliography QUIST 2009b Wido Quist, ‘Natuursteenvervanging aan de Grote of Maria-Magdalenakerk te Goes’, Bulletin KNOB 108 (2009), 194–209. RECHT 1989 Roland Recht (ed.), Les batisseurs des cathedrales gothiques (exhibition catalogue Strasbourg 1989), Strasbourg 1989. RECHT 1995 Roland Recht, Le dessin d’architecture: Origine et fonctions, Paris 1995. BEDA REGAUS 1975 Beda Regaus, ‘Bona et Jura monasterii Hafflighemensis (Baerdeghem, Esschene, Hekelghem, Menszele, Meldert, Molhem’, in: Fontes Affligemenses. Bouwstoffen voor de Geschiedenis van de Abdij Affligem (introduction by J. Ockeley, no. 20), Hekelgem 1975, 1–87. RENN & OSTHUES & SCHLIMME 2014 Jürgen Renn, Ernst-Wilhelm Osthues, Hermann Schlimme (eds), Wissensgeschichte der Architektur. Band III: Vom Mittelater bis zur Frühen Neuzeit, Berlin 2014. RIJDANT 1977 Rudy Rijdant, ‘Asse. Het Landschap’, Ascania 20 (1977) 3, 65–100. ROBERTS 1977 Eileen Roberts, ‘Moulding analysis and architectural research: The late Middle Ages’, Architectural History 20 (1977), 5–13. ROGGEN & WITHOF 1942 Domien Roggen, J. Withof, ‘Cornelis Floris’, Gentse bijdragen tot de kunstgeschiedenis 8 (1942), 79–171. ROGGEN & WITHOF 1944 Domien Roggen, J. Withof, ‘Grondleggers en grootmeesters der Brabantse gotiek’, Gentse bijdragen tot de kunstgeschiedenis 10 (1944), 83–209. ROMBOUTS & VAN LERIUS 1868–1874 Philip Rombouts, Theodoor Van Lerius, De liggeren en andere historische archieven der Antwerpsche Sint Lucasgilde onder de zinspreuk: Wt ionsten versaemt, Antwerp 1868– 1874, 3 vols.

ROOBAERT 1956–1957 Edmond Roobaert, ‘Antwerpse kunstenaars uit het tweede kwart van de XVIe eeuw werkzaam voor de kathedraal’, Gentse bijdragen tot de kunstgeschiedenis en de oudheidkunde 17 (1957–1958), 175–95. ROOSEGAARDE BISSCHOP 1956 G. Roosegaarde Bisschop, ‘De geschilderde maquette in Nederland’, Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek 7 (1956), 167–217. ROOSENS 1983 Bernhard Roosens, ‘Het lastencohier voor de bouw van een nieuw kasteel te Diest voor graaf Hendrik III van Nassau, ca. 1530’, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis 66 (1983) 3–4, 155–68. ROOSENS 2005 Bernhard Roosens, Habsburgse defensiepolitiek en vestingbouw in de Nederlanden (1529– 1560), Leiden 2005 (unpublished dissertation), 2 vols. ROOSENS 2007 Bernhard Roosens, ‘Four early sixteenth-century plans for the fortifications of Antwerp’, Architectura 37 (2007), 145–68. ROSS 1989 Alice Ross, ‘Het eerste stadhuis van Utrecht - een belangrijke verbouwing in 1546’, Jaarboek Oud-Utrecht (1989), 37–57. RÜFFER 2014 Jens Rüffer, Werkprozess, Interpretation. Studien zur Gestaltungspraxis und zur Erschließung am Beispiel Skulptur, Berlin 2014.

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VAN SPILBEECK 1888 Waltman Van Spilbeeck, De abdij van Tongerloo. Geschiedkundige navorschingen, Lier/Geel 1888. VAN TYGHEM 1961–1966 Frieda Van Tyghem, ‘Het gebruik van mallen door middeleeuwse steenhouwers’, Gentse bijdragen tot de kunstgeschiedenis en de oudheidkunde 19 (1961–1966), 67–75. VAN TYGHEM 1978 Frieda Van Tyghem, Het stadhuis van Gent, Brussels 1978, 2 vols. VAN TYGHEM 1987 Frieda Van Tyghem, ‘Bestuursgebouwen in Brabant en Vlaanderen’, in: Jan van Mosselveld et al. (eds), Keldermans, een architectonisch netwerk in de Nederlanden, The Hague 1987, 105–30. VAN UYTVEN 1961 Raymond Van Uytven, Stadsfinanciën en stads­ ekonomie te Leuven van de XIIe tot het einde der XVIe eeuw, Brussels 1961. VAN UYTVEN 1974 Raymond Van Uytven, ‘Leuvense glazeniers in het Celestijnenklooster te Heverlee tijdens de zestiende eeuw’, Arca Lovaniensis 3 (1974), 93–122. VAN UYTVEN 1991 Raymond Van Uytven (ed.), De geschiedenis van Mechelen. Van heerlijkheid tot stadsgewest, Tielt 1991. VAN UYTVEN 1995 Raymond Van Uytven, ‘Architecturale vormen en stedelijke identiteit in de middeleeuwen’, in: J. C. Dekker (ed.), Sporen en spiegels, beschouwingen over geschiedenis en identiteit, Tilburg 1995, 17–21. VAN UYTVEN 1998 Raymond Van Uytven, ‘Flämische Belfriede und südniederländische städtische Bauwerke im Mittelalter: Symbol und Mythos’, in: Alfred Haverhamp (ed.), Information, Kommunikation und Selbstdarstellung in mittelalterlichen Gemeinden, Munich 1998, 125–59. VAN UYTVEN 2005 Raymond Van Uytven, ‘Économie et financement des travaux publics des villes brabançonnes

Bibliography au moyen âge et au XVIe siècle’, in: Simonetta Cavaciocchi (ed.), L’edilizia prima della rivo­ luzione industriale secc. XIII–XVIII (Atti della ‘Trentaseiesima Settimana di Studi’ 26–30 aprile 2004), Florence 2005, 669–92. VAN WERVIKE 1905 A. Van Wervike, ‘Van wanneer dagtekent ‘dbeweerp van den beelfroet’, Bulletijn van den Geschied en Oudheidkundigen van Gent (1905), 131–50. VEEN, VAN DER 1920–1923 Abraham van der Veen, Resultaten van het onderzoek van oude natuursteen. Rijkscommissie voor de Monumentenzorg, Bilthoven/The Hague 1920–1923. VEERMAN 2011 John Veerman, ‘“Den thorn valt”’, in: Elizabeth den Hartog, John Veerman (eds), De Pieterskerk te Leiden. Bouwgeschiedenis, inrichting en gedenktekens, Zwolle 2011, 72–90. VEERMAN 2015 John Veerman, ‘De bouwgeschiedenis van de Hooglandse Kerk’, in: Hans Karstens et al. (eds), De Kathedraal van het licht. Zeven eeuwen Hooglandse Kerk, Meppel 2015, 197–285. VELDEN, VAN DER 2000 Hugo van der Velden, The donor’s image. Gerard Loyet and the votive portraits of Charles the Bold (Burgundica II), Turnhout 2000. VERBESSELT 1937 J. Verbesselt, ‘Steenpoelen te Heembeek’, Eigen Schoon en De Brabander 20 (1937), 26–30. VERDAM & VERWIJS 1885–1971 Jakob Verdam, Eelco Verwijs, Middelnederlandsch woordenboek, The Hague 1885–1971, 11 vols. VERHOEVEN 1992 Gerrit Verhoeven, Devotie en negotie. Delft als bedevaartplaats in de late middeleeuwen, Amsterdam 1992. VERLEYSEN 2003 F. Verleysen, ‘De bouw van een laatgotisch stadhuis: Zoutleeuw (1530–1539). Financiële, sociaal-economische en materiële aspecten’, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis 86 (2003), 321–45. VERMEER & BOS, VAN DEN 1997 Gerrit Vermeer, Willemijn van den Bos ‘De Amsterdamse kloosters stedebouwkundig

en architectuurhistorisch belicht’, in: Marian Schilder (ed.), Amsterdamse kloosters in de Middeleeuwen, Amsterdam 1997, 21–46. VERMEULEN 1936 Filip Vermeulen, ‘Bijdrage tot de bouwgeschiedenis van de Groote of Onze Lieve Vrouwenkerk te Veere’, Bulletin KNOB (1936), 48–54. VERMEYLEN 2003 Filip Vermeylen, Painting for the market. Commercialization of art in Antwerp’s Golden Age, Turnhout 2003. VERREYT 1894 C. C. V. Verreyt, ‘Alart du Hamel of du Hameel. Bouwmeester en plaatsnijder’, Oud Holland 12 (1894), 7–14. ANDRIES VIERLINGH 1920 Andries Vierlingh, Tractaet van dyckagie (edited by J. De Hullu, A. G. Verhoeven) (Rijks Geschiedkundige Publicatiën, kleine serie 20), The Hague 1920. VINK 2002 Ester Vink, ‘De vieringtoren in de Haarlemse bronnen’, in: Karel Emmens et al. (eds), De toren van de Grote of Sint-Bavokerk, geschiedenis en restauratie, Haarlem 2002, 64–101. VOLLMER 1924 B. Vollmer, ‘Zur Baugeschichte der St.Eusebiuskirche in Arnheim 1454–1457’, Gelre. Bijdragen en mededeelingen 27 (1924), 176. VRIES, DE 1984 Jan de Vries, European urbanization 1500– 1800, London 1984. VRIES, DE 1994 Dirk de Vries, Bouwen in de late middeleeuwen; stedelijke architectuur in het voormalige Over en Nedersticht, Utrecht 1994. VRIES, DE 2009 Dirk de Vries, ‘Een timmerman zal tot zijn proeve maken…’, Bulletin KNOB 108 (2009), 32–47. VRIES, DE & WOUDE , VAN DER 1997 Jan de Vries, Ad van der Woude, The first modern economy. Success, failure and perseverance of the Dutch economy, 1500–1815, Cambridge 1997.

427

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

VROOM 1981 Wim Vroom, De financiering van de kathedraalbouw in de middeleeuwen, in het bijzonder van de dom van Utrecht, Maarssen 1981. VROOM 1983 Wim Vroom, De Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk te Antwerpen. De financiering van de bouw tot de Beeldenstorm, Antwerp/Amsterdam 1983. VROOM 1985 Wim Vroom, ‘Financiering van de bouw. De moer de heilighe kerc tot hullip (ge)gheven’, in: J. N. de Boer et al. (eds), De Bavo te boek bij het gereedkomen van de restauratie van de Grote of St.-Bavo kerk te Haarlem, Haarlem 1985, 59–69. VROOM 1989 Wim Vroom, ‘La construction des cathedrales au moyen âge: une performance écono­ mique’, in: Roland Recht (ed.), Les batisseurs des cathedrales gothiques (exhibition catalogue Strasbourg 1989), Strasbourg 1989, 81–90. VROOM 1993 Wim Vroom, ‘Het jachtgebied van Sint-Hubertus’, in: Bouwkunst. Studies in vriendschap voor Kees Peeters, Amsterdam 1993, 571–79. VROOM 2010 Wim Vroom, Financing cathedral building in the Middle Ages, the generosity of the faithful, Amsterdam 2010. WAL, VAN DER 1940 Johannes van der Wal, De economische ontwikkeling van het bouwbedrijf in Nederland, Delft 1940. WALDBURG WOLFEGG 1997 Christoph zu Waldburg Wolfegg, Venus und Mars. Das Mittelalterliche Hausbuch aus der Sammlung der Fürsten zu Waldburg Wolfegg, Munich/New York 1997. WARD-PERKINS 1980 John Ward-Perkins, ‘Nicomedia and the marble trade’, Papers of the British School at Rome 48 (1980), 23–69. WARNKE Martin Warnke, Bau und Überbau. Soziologie der mittelalterlichen Architektur nach den Schriftquellen (Suhrkamp Taschenbuch Wissenschaft 468), Frankfurt am Main 1976.

428

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

WAUTERS 1873 Alphonse Wauters, ‘Jacques Daret’, in: Biographie nationale (vol. 4), Brussels 1873, 679–80. WAUTERS 1882a Alphonse Wauters, Documents concernant le canal de Bruxelles à Willebroek précédés d’une introduction contenant un résumé de l’histoire de ce canal, Brussels 1882. WAUTERS 1882b Alphonse Wauters, ‘Un portrait du duc Charles le Téméraire et la gilde de Saint-Sébastien de Linkenbeek’, Bulletins de l’Académie Royale des Sciences, des Lettres et des Beaux-Arts 51 (1882), 414–35. WAUTERS 1885 Alphonse Wauters, Etudes et anecdotes relatives à nos anciens architectes, Brussels 1885. WAUTERS 1968 Alphonse Wauters, Histoire des environs de Bruxelles. Description historique des localités qui formaient autrefois l’ammanie de cette ville, Brussels 1968 (first printed in 1855), 3 vols. WEE, VAN DER 1982 P. van der Wee, ‘Standardisatie in de 16de~17deeeuwse architectuur te Antwerpen’, Bulletin van de Antwerpse vereniging voor bodem- & grotonderzoek (1982) 1/2, 140–55. WEE, VAN DER 1985 P. van der Wee, ‘Standardisatie van witstenen onderdelen in de traditionele, 16de- en 17deeeuwse Antwerpse gebouwen. I. Vensters’, Bulletin van de Antwerpse vereniging voor bodem- & grotonderzoek (1985), 19–33. WEISSMAN 1915 Adriaan Willem Weissman, ‘Gegevens omtrent bouw en inrichting van de Sint Bavokerk te Haarlem’, Oud Holland 33 (1915), 65–80. WELCH 1995 Evelyn Welch, Art and authority in Renaissance Milan, London/New Haven 1996. WENDEHORST & BENZ 1994 Alfred Wendehorst, Stefan Benz, ‘Verzeichnis der Säkularkanonikerstifte der Reichskirche’, Jahrbuch für fränkische Landesforschung 54 (1994), 1–174.

Bibliography WESTERMAN 2005 Jeroen Westerman, ‘Cathédrales aux confins du royaume et de l’empire’, in: Benoît Van den Bossche (ed.), La cathédrale gothique SaintLambert à Liège, une église et son contexte (Actes du colloque international tenu du mardi 16 au jeudi 18 avril 2002), Liège 2005, 129–37. WEZEL, VAN 1999 Gerard van Wezel, Het paleis van Hendrik III graaf van Nassau te Breda (De Nederlandse monumenten van geschiedenis en kunst), Zeist/Zwolle, 1999. WEZEL, VAN 2003 Gerard van Wezel, ‘Het nieuwe Herenkoor als grafkapel voor Oranje-Nassau (‘de Prinsenkapel’)’, in: Gerard van Wezel et al. (eds), De Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk en de grafkapel voor Oranje-Nassau te Breda (De Nederlandse monumenten van Geschiedenis en Kunst), Zeist/Zwolle 2003, 204–19. WIJSMAN 2006 Hanno Wijsman, Handschriften voor het hertogdom: de mooiste verluchte manuscripten van Brabantse hertogen, edellieden, kloosterlingen en stedelingen, Alphen aan de Maas, 2006. WILKINSON 1977 Catherine Wilkinson, ‘The new professionalism in the Renaissance’, in: Spiro Kostof (ed.), The architect. Chapters in the history of the profession, New York 1977, 124–60.

WILSON 2008 Christopher Wilson, The gothic cathedral. The architecture of the great church 1130–1350, London 2008 (first printed in 1990). WILTON-ELY 1977 John Wilton-Ely, ‘The rise of the professional architect in England’, in: Spiro Kostof (ed.), The architect. Chapters in the history of the profession, New York 1977, 180–208. WOODWARD 1995 Donald Woodward, Men at work. Labourers and building craftsmen in the towns of northern England, 1450–1750, Cambridge 1995. WYLICK-WESTERMANN, VAN 1987 C. G. M. van Wylick-Westermann, ‘Het bouwmeestersgeslacht Keldermans’, in: Jan van Mosselveld et al. (eds), Keldermans, een architectonisch netwerk in de Nederlanden, The Hague 1987, 9–26. ZEISCHKA 2007 Siger Zeischka, Minerva in de polder. Waterstaat en techniek in het hoogheemraadschap van Rijnland (1500–1856), Hilversum 2007. ZUIJLEN, VAN 1863–1876 Rogier van Zuijlen, Inventaris der Archieven van de stad ’s-Hertogenbosch, ’s-Hertogenbosch 1863–1876, 3 vols.

429

Photo Credits Unless listed below, all photographs are by the author.

Museum Plantin-Moretus, Antwerp 2.27 (Peter Maes)

Ashmolean Museum, Oxford 2.69

Museum De Schotse Huizen, Veere 8.5

Böker et al. 2013 6.52

Nationaal Archief (Netherlands) 6.33

Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin / bpk 6.31 (Jörg P. Anders)

Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed, Amersfoort 0.5; 1.1; 2.7; 2.37; 2.42; 2.59; 3.4; 6.20; 6.49; 7.17

J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 6.32 Merlijn Hurx, Otto Diesfeldt 2.1; 2.2; 2.17 Merlijn Hurx, Martine Zoeteman 7.34; 7.52; 7.53; Plate 4 KIK-IRPA, Brussels 2.19; 2.48; 2.53; 6.18; 6.21 Kölnisches Stadtmuseum, Rhei­nis­ches Bildarchiv Köln 8.1

Cologne/

Det Kongelige Bibliotek, Copenhagen 6.4 Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Antwerp / Lukas – Art in Flanders VZW 2.8 (Hugo Maertens)

Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 1.5; 2.18; 2.44; 2.50 KBC Rockoxhuis, Antwerpen 0.7 (Erwin Donvil) Royal Libary Brussels 2.3; 2.4; 4.5 Städel Museum – ARTOTHEK 2.24 (U. Edelmann) Stadsarchief Antwerpen 6.38 STAM, Ghent 6.16; 6.17 (Lieve Watteeuw); 6.46 (Studio Claerhout, Ghent) The Trustees of the British Museum, London 6.50

KU Leuven 2.21

Het Utrechts Archief 5.14; 6.2; 6.6; 6.7; 6.8; 6.9; 6.28

Museum van de stad Brussel-Broodhuis 7.54; 7.55

Universiteit Utrecht 2.47; 2.48; 8.6

Museum De Lakenhal, Leiden 6.45

Vanden Broeck 1888 4.7

Museum M, Leuven 6.19 (Paul Laes)

John Veerman 7.23

431

Index of Places and Buildings A Aachen 146 Aalst 68, 79, 92, 115, 162, 178, 184, 242, 248, 314, 319 St Martin's Church 79, 162, 242, 314, 319 Town hall 92 Aarschot 184 Affligem 78, 159, 170, 174, 175, 177, 178, 181, 187, 194, 337, 374 Abbey 170, 174, 175, 178, 187, 194, 374 Alkmaar 60, 61, 68, 98, 159, 161, 170, 187, 230, 314, 319, 330, 332, 347, 355 St Lawrence's Church 159, 161, 170, 230, 314, 319, 330, 332, 355 Town hall 98 Amersfoort 117 Church of Our Lady 117 Amiens 22, 88, 114, 115, 129, 155, 207, 244, 248, 257, 335 Cathedral 22, 88, 244, 248, 335 Amsterdam 60, 61, 62, 65, 68, 75, 83, 85, 87, 98, 102, 115, 166, 184, 233, 248, 330, 332, 333 Nieuwe Kerk (New Church) 75, 83, 85, 115, 248, 330 Oude Kerk (Old Church) 75, 85, 87, 166, 330, 332, 333 Schreierstoren 233 Anderlecht 49, 50, 175, 176, 202, 214 St Peter's Church 49, 175, 176, 202, 214 Antwerp 11, 25, 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 47, 48, 49, 51, 52, 53, 57, 60, 61, 62, 63, 65, 67, 68, 73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 79, 80, 81, 86, 87, 88, 89, 96, 97, 98, 100, 101, 102, 108, 113, 114, 119, 120, 121, 122, 131, 136, 140, 151, 154, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 169, 175, 177, 178, 184, 187, 190, 192, 195, 196, 198, 202, 210, 211, 212, 213, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 224, 225, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 237, 243, 247, 248, 253, 265, 271, 272, 277, 278, 288, 295, 296, 299, 300, 308, 309, 313, 319, 320, 327, 329, 335, 345, 349, 354, 362, 366, 368, 369, 371, 372 Begijnenpoort (Beguines gate) 272 Court of Immerseel 113 Court of Liere (English house) 113 Exchange (Beurs) 25, 101, 102, 136 Fortifications 271, 272, 288 Hessenhuis 100 Het Steen (imperial prison) 169, 202, 224, 232, 247, 300, 309, 354

Meat hall 101 Oosterhuis (warehouse of the Hanseatic League) 100 Our Lady's Church (Cathedral) 11, 38, 41, 49, 52, 63, 68, 73, 74, 76, 78, 79, 80, 86, 87, 88, 119, 121, 122, 131, 136, 154, 159, 175, 190, 192, 195, 196, 198, 202, 210, 211, 213, 217, 218, 220, 222, 224, 229, 230, 233, 237, 243, 253, 296, 299, 313, 320, 327, 329, 335, 345, 349, 369, 371 St Andrew's Church 319 St James' Church 80, 87, 121, 224, 225, 319, 327, 372 St Michael's Abbey 49, 78, 121 St Paul's Church 78, 369 Tapissierspand (tapestry warehouse) 100 Town hall 45, 98, 195, 296 Viskoperstoren (Fish sellers' tower) 288 Weigh house 100 Arquennes 54, 131, 151, 169, 179, 194, 195 Arras 73, 115, 255 Aulnois 133 Avesnes-le-Sec 139, 296

B Balegem 192 Beaumetz 129 Bergen op Zoom 62, 68, 79, 82, 84, 85, 112, 113, 115, 160, 180, 184, 188, 211, 217, 218, 221, 222, 224, 230, 231, 234, 320, 321, 349, 369 Markiezenhof 82, 85, 113, 369 Our Lady gate 62 St Gertrude's Church 85, 115, 180, 218, 222, 230, 235, 320, 349 Béthune 115, 248, 283 Town hall 283 Bijgaarden 175, 181 Abbey 175 Binche 371 Castle 371 Bonne-Espérance 114 Abbey 114 Bourg-en-Bresse 37, 38 Breda 50, 68, 84, 85, 122, 161, 184, 236, 253, 284, 316 Castle 236 Church of Our Lady 50, 85, 316 Prinsenkapel (Princes' Chapel) 85 Breisach 290 Stephansmünster 290

433

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Brielle 68, 80, 192, 197, 219, 222, 319, 333, 341, 347, 349, 373 St Catherine's Church 80, 192, 197, 219, 319, 333, 341, 349, 373 Brou 37, 40, 198, 200, 201, 202, 204, 210, 235, 236, 264, 274, 364 Church of St Nicholas of Tolentino 37, 40, 198, 200, 202, 235, 236, 274, 364 Brouwershaven 68, 184 Bruges 47, 51, 53, 58, 59, 60, 67, 73, 75, 90, 93, 94, 96, 103, 106, 120, 122, 129, 135, 140, 144, 145, 152, 154, 184, 198, 200, 202, 244, 295, 368, 369 Church of Our Lady 53, 67, 122, 129 Church of the Annonciades (Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-van-Zeven-Smartenklooster) 202 Cloth hall 198 Prinsenhof 103, 106 St Salvator's Cathedral 67, 129, 198, 202 Town hall 93, 369 Brussels 24, 27, 28, 31, 34, 37, 40, 42, 47, 49, 50, 51, 54, 57, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68, 75, 78, 83, 91, 93, 94, 95, 96, 99, 102, 103, 104, 106, 108, 111, 114, 115, 119, 128, 129, 131, 135, 136, 138, 139, 140, 144, 146, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 156, 160, 163, 165, 166, 169, 170, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 192, 197, 198, 199, 202, 204, 205, 209, 211, 214, 216, 217, 218, 224, 227, 229, 231, 232, 233, 236, 241, 246, 248, 249, 265, 275, 277, 278, 280, 295, 299, 301, 306, 307, 308, 309, 316, 320, 324, 331, 334, 337, 354, 362, 366, 369 Bailles 47, 104, 227, 295 Chapel of the Holy Sacrament (St Gudula and St Michael) 40, 115, 175, 236, 249 City palace of the Croy family 107, 190 Coudenberg Palace 47, 103, 104, 106, 107, 111, 136, 169, 176, 180, 187, 188, 190, 192, 195, 197, 202, 217, 227, 231, 243, 277, 295, 362, 369 Hôtel d,Hoogstraten (city palace of the Lalaing family) 107, 227 Kapellekerk 331 Maison du Roi (Broodhuis) 42, 54, 99, 136, 165, 202, 217, 224, 227, 229, 236, 241, 265, 275, 277, 299, 308, 354 Nassau Palace 107 Notre-Dame-du-Sablon (Onze-Lieve-Vrouwter-Zavelkerk) 317, 334 Obbrusselpoort (Hallepoort) 62 St Gudula and St Michael (Cathedral) 37, 40, 63, 78, 83, 115, 119, 131, 173, 175, 176, 189, 236, 249, 316, 320, 324 Town hall 93, 99, 104, 131, 214, 241, 265, 306

434

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

C Caen 134 Calais 152, 169, 184 Cambrai 63, 73, 255 Canterbury 39 Cathedral 39 Caprarola 19 Villa Farnese 19 Carrara 186 Clermont-Ferrand 290 Cathedral 290 Cleve 35 Cologne 62, 88, 130, 146, 315, 320 Cathedral 88, 130, 315, 320 Copenhagen 274 Royal castle 274 Culemborg 98, 99, 261 Town hall 98, 261

D Damme 95, 138, 139, 140, 141, 144, 158, 163, 192, 194, 195, 213, 253 Town hall 95, 138, 139, 141, 144, 158, 192, 194, 195, 213, 253 Delft 60, 61, 65, 68, 80, 87, 116, 117, 118, 119, 121, 132, 147, 184, 211, 224, 227, 229, 230, 233, 319, 321, 326, 330, 332, 355 Nieuwe Kerk (New Church) 80, 117, 118, 121, 132, 147, 230, 233, 319, 355 Oude Kerk (Old Church) 80, 87, 116, 117, 119, 121, 224, 227, 229, 326, 330, 332, 355 Dendermonde 91, 101, 136, 159, 184, 298 Meat hall 101 Town hall 91, 298 Diegem 169, 170, 172, 173, 177, 182, 188, 190, 193, 194 Dielegem 149, 170, 174, 175, 177, 178, 181 Abbey 174, 175, 177, 178 Dieppe 133, 134 Diest 63, 80, 82, 91, 148, 184, 267, 320 Castle 267 St Sulpicius' Church 80, 148, 320 Dilbeek 139, 169, 170, 172, 176, 180, 181 Dordrecht 48, 51, 52, 60, 61, 64, 68, 79, 80, 82, 91, 119, 184, 218, 220, 222, 319, 321, 322, 333, 346, 347, 349 Augustinian Church 349 Church of Our Lady 51, 64, 80, 82, 119, 218, 222, 319, 321, 322, 346, 349 Flemish merchants' hall 91 Drogenbos 175

Index Dunkirk 184 Duurstede 245, 272 Castle 245, 272

E Écaussinnes 149, 165, 169, 179 Edam 68, 129 Eembrugge 245 Huis ter Eem 245, 272 Enkhuizen 68, 129, 152, 169 Erps 149 Essen 146 Evere 182 Evreux 134

F Fécamp 134 Feluy 169, 356 Florence 11, 16, 17, 19, 23, 24, 186, 365, 366 Cathedral 11, 19, 366 Palazzo dei Canonici 11 Freiburg 289, 290 Minster 289, 290

G Gaasbeek 181 Gaillon 133 Castle 133 Geraardsbergen 114 Ghent 41, 43, 49, 58, 59, 60, 62, 67, 73, 75, 83, 91, 96, 97, 101, 103, 106, 138, 140, 141, 148, 152, 153, 154, 156, 178, 184, 192, 213, 217, 224, 227, 229, 231, 233, 235, 241, 253, 265, 270, 281, 283, 284, 299, 331, 349, 355, 356, 362 Belfry 153, 283 Great Meat Hall 101 Hof Ten Walle 106 St Bavo's Cathedral 67, 83, 331 St Nicholas' Church 67 Town hall 41, 49, 96, 138, 141, 148, 153, 156, 178, 213, 217, 224, 227, 229, 231, 233, 235, 241, 253, 265, 281, 284, 299, 355, 362 Gisors 133 Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais 133 Gobertange 169 Goedereede 224 Goes 68, 82, 114, 319, 355 Church of St Mary Magdalene 319, 355 Gordaal 259 Water mill 259 Gorinchem 42, 192, 218, 295, 305, 354 Castle (Blue Tower) 42, 192, 218, 295, 305, 354

of

Places

and

Buildings  

Gouda 22, 60, 61, 62, 82, 83, 85, 87, 95, 114, 184, 330, 333, 355 St John's Church 22, 82, 83, 85, 330, 333, 355 Town hall 95 Grimbergen 174 Abbey 174 Groenendaal 233, 249

H Haaltert 79 Haarlem 60, 61, 62, 64, 68, 74, 75, 82, 87, 92, 122, 160, 161, 162, 166, 170, 187, 190, 192, 193, 195, 197, 198, 199, 217, 218, 221, 222, 224, 231, 274, 278, 281, 296, 299, 307, 314, 319, 321, 329, 333, 341, 346, 347, 349, 358 Church of St Bavo 64, 68, 74, 82, 87, 160, 161, 162, 166, 170, 190, 192, 193, 195, 198, 218, 222, 224, 231, 278, 281, 296, 299, 308, 314, 319, 329, 333, 341, 346, 349, 356, 357, 358 Spaarnwouderpoort 62 Town hall 92 The Hague 60, 61, 68, 87, 92, 104, 146, 319, 330, 335, 355 Grote Kerk (Great Church) 87, 330 Ridderzaal (Knights' Hall) 92, 146 St James' Church 319, 335, 355 Halberstadt 130 Cathedral 130 Haren (Belgium) 170, 177, 182, 194 Hedersem 175 Heembeek 170 Hekelgem 162 Herentals 147 Abbey 147 Herne 37, 234 Charterhouse 37, 234 's-Hertogenbosch 40, 49, 52, 60, 64, 66, 67, 74, 79, 80, 86, 87, 97, 115, 122, 131, 136, 146, 152, 163, 170, 184, 202, 203, 204, 211, 216, 291, 314, 320, 321, 327, 329, 345, 348, 349 Chapel of the Confraternity of Our Lady (St John's Cathedral) 40, 115, 249, 348 St John's Cathedral 40, 49, 64, 67, 74, 80, 86, 115, 131, 136, 146, 163, 170, 202, 203, 211, 216, 291, 314, 320, 327, 329, 349 Town hall 98 Heverlee 85, 112, 149, 161, 227 Arenberg Castle 227 Celestine priory 85, 149, 161 Hoogstraten 42, 68, 79, 83, 85, 97, 99, 112, 122, 143, 147, 149, 152, 159, 227, 304, 354, 371

435

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Castle (Gemelslot) 42, 112, 149, 354 St Catherine's Church 83, 143, 147, 227, 304 Town hall 97, 112, 227 Hoorn 61 Hulst 68, 81, 97, 160, 163, 180, 187, 192, 196, 212, 218, 221, 222, 233, 328, 330, 347, 371 Church of St Willibrord 160, 163, 180, 192, 196, 197, 218, 221, 222, 328 Dubbele Poort 233 Town hall 97, 371 Hulste 184 Humelgem 149, 177

I IJsselstein 112

K Kampen 42, 44, 52, 82, 214, 232, 315, 316, 322 Church of Our Lady (Buitenkerk) 82 St Nicholas' Church (Bovenkerk) 82, 214, 315 Koblenz 142 Kortrijk 97, 152, 192, 197, 219, 222, 242, 255, 270 Castle 242, 255, 257, 270 Church of Our Lady 192 St Martin's Church 192 Stone bridge over the Leie 192, 219 Town hall 97 Kraainem 178

L Laken 169, 170, 172, 174, 177, 178, 204, 205 Lede 162, 171 Leerdam 232, 236 Castle 232, 236 Leiden 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 68, 79, 80, 85, 118, 132, 146, 184, 196, 216, 218, 281, 315, 316, 317, 319, 321, 322, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 332, 333, 335, 337, 341, 347, 355, 373 Church of St Peter 64, 85, 118, 132, 146, 196, 216, 218, 315, 316, 317, 319, 321, 326, 327, 329, 330, 332, 335, 337 Hooglandse Kerk (St Pancras) 79, 80, 319, 333, 341, 347, 355, 373 Leuven 35, 40, 49, 50, 54, 60, 61, 66, 68, 75, 77, 78, 82, 90, 91, 93, 94, 96, 103, 114, 121, 138, 139, 140, 145, 147, 151, 152, 158, 175, 177, 180, 184, 190, 192, 194, 195, 210, 211, 212, 216, 248, 253, 282, 284, 296, 308, 313, 320, 321, 324, 327, 330, 368 Cloth hall 90 Dominican Church (Our Lady) 77, 324 Ducal mill 192 Great Sluice 192

436

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Keizersberg 103 St Peter's Church 40, 54, 68, 78, 121, 211, 212, 253, 282, 284, 296, 313, 320, 327 Town hall 93, 94, 114, 138, 139, 145, 151, 158, 175, 180, 190, 194, 195 Liège 59, 62, 73, 211 Cathedral 211 Lier 68, 78, 82, 91, 101, 119, 149, 150, 166, 184, 187, 192, 196, 197, 198, 202, 316, 328, 337, 358 Meat hall 101 St Gommarus' Church 78, 82, 119, 149, 150, 166, 192, 196, 202, 316, 328, 337, 358 Town hall 91 Lille 58, 102, 103, 104, 106, 114, 127, 136, 137, 144, 147, 148, 255, 298 Castle 137 Palais Rihour 103, 106, 127, 136, 144, 147, 148, 298 Limbourg (Belgium) 270, 271, 291 Castle 270, 271, 291, 292 London 102, 184 London Bridge 184 St Mary-at-Hill 184 Lyon 200, 369

M Machelen 173, 175, 177 Marchiennes 115 Abbey 115 Meaux 207 Mechelen 37, 41, 54, 57, 60, 61, 63, 65, 67, 68, 74, 75, 78, 80, 82, 90, 92, 93, 99, 100, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 120, 121, 140, 154, 159, 178, 179, 184, 186, 197, 198, 209, 211, 212, 224, 227, 230, 232, 248, 253, 278, 282, 295, 301, 316, 317, 319, 320, 331, 354, 362, 364 Cloth hall 90 Cortenbach mansion 112 Court of Hoogstraten 110, 112 Court of Savoy 111 De Lepelaar 227 Hof van Busleyden 109, 227 Hof van Palermo (mansion of the Carondelet family) 109 Huis Berthout 112 Keizershof (Court of Cambrai) 110, 111 Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-over-de-Dijle (Church of Our Lady across the river Dijle) 80, 227, 282, 317, 320, 331 Palace of the Great Council (Grote Raad) 41, 99, 100, 362, 364 St Rumbold's Cathedral 63, 74, 78, 114, 120, 121, 230, 316, 317, 320 Town hall 92

Index Meldert 174, 175, 177, 178, 179, 194, 374 Melsbroek 173, 182 Melun 133 Saint-Aspais 133 Menen 293 Water mill 293 Menen 293 Metz 129 Cathedral 129 Middelburg 78, 95, 97, 159, 184, 211, 219, 221, 222, 224, 227, 278, 369, 371 Town hall 95, 159, 219, 222, 224, 227, 278, 369 Milan 18, 129 Cathedral 18, 129 Mons 83, 94, 114, 115, 122, 244, 248, 265, 284, 288, 313, 321, 335, 349, 370, 371 St Waltrude's Church 83, 114, 115, 122, 244, 248, 257, 265, 288, 313, 321, 329, 331, 370, 371 Munster 146

N Nucourt 133

O Oombergen 192 Oosterzele 192 Orléans 287 Cathedral 287 Orvieto 19, 366 Cappella dei Magi (Cathedral) 19, 366 Cathedral 19 Ossegem 177 Ostend 152, 184 Oudenaarde 68, 97, 100, 149, 150, 152, 159, 161, 162, 163, 192, 202, 227, 265, 280, 296, 299, 373 Hospital of Our Lady 192 St Walburga's Church 149, 161, 163, 202, 299, 373 Town hall 97, 100, 159, 227, 265, 280, 296

P Paris 20, 58, 62, 88, 133, 134 Notre-Dame 88 Saint-Étienne-du-Mont 133 Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois 133 Peutie 177, 182 Picquigny 129 St Martin's Church 129 Prague 20, 130, 315 Cathedral 130, 315 Purmerend 83

of

Places

and

Buildings  

R Regensburg 130, 213 Cathedral 130 Reims 63, 155, 207 Rhenen 117, 245, 246, 263 Church of St Cunera 117 Fortifications 245, 263 Rome 245 Pantheon 245 Rotterdam 60, 61, 68, 184, 319, 333, 355 St Lawrence's Church 319, 333, 355 Rouen 73, 134, 287 Cathedral 73, 287 Rumpt 145 Huis te Rumpt 145, 208

S Saint-Denis Abbey 20, 129 Saint-Hubert 321 Abbey 321 Saint-Leu-d,Esserent 133 Saint-Omer 184 Saint-Quentin 255 Sassenheim 146 Teylingen Castle 146 Savonnières 133 Scheut 176, 189 Charterhouse 176, 189 Schiedam 184 Schoonhoven 95, 231, 232, 270 Castle 231, 232, 270 Sens 73, 133 Cathedral 73, 133 Serans 133 Seville 102 Siena 18 Sansedoni Palace 18 Sint-Agatha-Berchem 175 Sint-Geertruide-Machelen 173 Sluis 140, 152, 159, 188 Castle 159 Soissons 155, 207 Sonian Forest (Zoniënwoud) 34, 103, 173, 249 Rouge-Cloître Abbey 34, 114, 173, 233, 237, 249 St Maartensdal 249 Steenbergen 225 St James' Church 225 Steenokkerzeel 139, 149, 170 Sterrebeek 178 Strasbourg 122, 130 Cathedral 122, 130

437

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

T Ter Kameren 175, 177 Abbey 175, 177 Tervuren 103, 104, 144, 176, 177, 242, 266, 275, 277, 291, 300 Castle 103, 104, 144, 242, 266, 275, 277, 291 Thann 290 Theobaldsmünster 290 Thérouanne 73 Tholen 68, 96, 219, 222, 349 Church of Our Lady 219, 349 Tienen 131, 216, 230, 306 Onze-Lieve-Vrouwe-ten-Poel 131, 216, 230 Tolhuis (toll house) 306 Tongerlo 38, 40, 78, 147, 212, 227, 262, 300, 304, 305, 309, 314, 349, 354, 371 Abbey 38, 40, 147, 212, 227, 262, 300, 304, 305, 309, 314, 349, 354, 371 Tonnerre 133 Tournai 59, 66, 67, 73, 114, 131, 192, 244, 315 Cathedral 66, 315 Troyes 133, 269 Basilica of St Urbain 269 Cathedral 133 Turnhout 103, 227 Castle 103, 227

U Ulm 130 Minster 130 Utrecht 22, 39, 42, 44, 47, 48, 60, 61, 66, 67, 68, 73, 74, 75, 78, 79, 85, 98, 117, 120, 121, 122, 131, 136, 142, 146, 148, 152, 184, 196, 199, 209, 211, 213, 214, 216, 227, 230, 233, 234, 241, 242, 245, 263, 266, 272, 280, 283, 315, 316, 320, 321, 324, 325, 326, 327, 329, 331, 349, 355, 361, 364, 369 Buurkerk 196, 216 Cathedral 22, 39, 42, 67, 68, 73, 85, 117, 118, 120, 122, 131, 136, 142, 146, 196, 199, 211, 213, 230, 234, 241, 280, 283, 315, 316, 320, 321, 324, 325, 326, 329, 331, 349, 355, 361 Church of the Franciscans 78 St Catherine's Church 78, 227 Tolsteegpoort 245, 272 Vredenburg Castle 148, 227, 233, 236, 242, 245, 266, 272, 273, 289, 364

V Valenciennes 104, 115, 248, 349 Veere 68, 79, 83, 96, 99, 120, 211, 217, 219, 222, 224, 225, 233, 355, 369

438

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Campveerse Toren 233 Church of Our Lady 83, 224, 225, 355 Town hall 96, 219, 369 Vernon 134 Vicenza 19 Basilica 19 Vienna 130, 290 St Stephen's Cathedral 130 Town hall 290 Villers 78 Vilvoorde 92, 136, 149, 154, 159, 176, 177, 179, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 193, 262 Castle 183, 262 Vlissingen 184 Vorst 51, 174, 175 Abbey 51, 174, 175 Vrasene 218 Church of the Holy Cross 218

W Warneton 242, 255, 270, 294 Castle 242, 255, 270, 294 Wesel 130 Wijk bij Duurstede 117 Church of St John the Baptist 117 Woluwe 149 Wouw 113, 227 St Lambert's Church 227

X Xanten 37, 130 Sankt-Viktor 37, 130

Y Yersekeroord 142, 179, 184, 186 Ypres 58, 59, 90, 188

Z Zaltbommel 282 St Martin's Church 282 Zaventem 173, 177, 182 Zevenborren 249 Zierikzee 120, 121, 184, 284, 313 Sint-Lievensmonstertoren 121, 313 Zoutleeuw 80, 97 St Leonard's Church 80 Town hall 97 Zwolle 280

Index

of

Persons

A Aelst, Anna van 201 Aerts, Jan 355 Aerts, Joost 53 Alberti, Leon Battista 15, 19, 31, 33, 36, 43, 45, 47 Alde, Martin 130 Anthonis I de Lalaing (count) 83, 84, 85, 107, 112, 143, 149, 159, 161, 224, 245, 295, 354 Anthoniszn, Cornelis 75 Appelmans, Pieter 11 Aquinas, Thomas 35, 36, 39, 361 Archimedes 235 Aristotle 35, 361 Attenvoorde, Willem van 178

B Baerdeghem, Anthonius van 233 Balbi, John (of Genua) 35 Bandon, Peter 291, 292 Barangier, Louis 274 Bauer, Georg 294 Baurscheit, Jan-Pieter van 104, 356 Beauvais, Vincent of 35, 361 Beckere, Aegidius de 114, 249 Beneden, Lievin van 178 Berghe, Pieter vanden 231 Berghe, Willem van den 192 Beyaert, Jan 296 Biard, Nicolas de 36, 207 Bilhamer, Joost Jansz 368 Binchois, Gilles 23 Bodeghem, Lauwereins van 37 Boelre, Willem van 211, 216 Boghem, Dierick van 149, 202 Boghem, Frans van 201 Boghem, Lieven van 160, 198, 199, 314, 369 Boghem, Lodewijk van 37, 38, 40, 149, 163, 170, 178, 186, 187, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 209, 210, 211, 227, 235, 236, 237, 239, 264, 265, 277, 299, 301, 314, 345, 363, 364, 366, 369 Bologna, Tommaso Vincidor da 31, 42 Boni Pellizuoli, Donato de' 38, 42, 43, 47 Borch, Jacob van der 42, 44, 233, 321 Borcht, Willem van der 40, 53, 371 Borreman, Jan 40, 200 Borssele, Wolfert van 83 Bosschere, Godevaert de 82, 95, 139, 140, 141, 150, 161, 162, 163, 165, 166, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 203,

205, 213, 219, 253, 299, 307, 308, 337, 345, 349, 357, 358 Bosschere, Godevaert de (the Elder) 188 Bosschere, Willem de 140, 141, 144, 177, 192, 194 Bosschere, Yda de 188 Bruchsal, Alexander van 42 Bruijne, Peter de 43 Brunelleschi, Filippo 11, 31, 366 Bruun, Aernt (Van den Doem) 316, 317, 321 Busleyden, Jerome 109

C Cambier, Odo 178, 179, 374 Campen, Jacob van 98, 375 Canterbury, Gervase of 39 Cara, Anselme 264 Carondelet, Jean I 109 Chambiges, Martin 18 Charles the Bold (duke) 53, 100, 104, 107, 108, 110, 144, 154, 183, 184, 185, 189, 192, 218, 295 Charles V (emperor) 31, 39, 42, 44, 47, 48, 83, 85, 87, 100, 103, 104, 109, 114, 173, 177, 186, 211, 224, 233, 237, 243, 245, 291, 366, 368 Coberger, Wensel 375 Cock, Wouter de 306 Coecke van Aelst, Pieter 33, 34, 38, 292, 361, 368, 369 Conincxloo, Cornelis van 200 Coppens, Daem 173 Cortenbach, Jan 112 Cortenbach, Ywein 112 Cortte, Peeter de 40 Coustain, Pierre 47 Crabbe, Gielis 304, 309, 349

D Daems, Jan 46 Darost, Jacques 295 Deckeleye, Anna 201 Deckere, Willem de 173 Dickele, Jan van 47 Diedegem, Willem van 188 Dinter, Jacobus van 233 Diricz, Jan 341 Domitian (emperor) 245 Dormael, Godijn van 39, 213, 214, 215, 234, 241, 361, 366 Doustre, Coupin 283 Drijvere, Rombout de 40, 369, 371 Du Broeucq, Jacques 366, 368, 370, 371 Du Saix, Antoine 38, 235 Du Temple, Raymond 18

439

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Dufay, Guillaume 23 Duhamel, Alard 40, 210, 211, 212, 281, 287, 291, 348 Dunghenen, Florys van 54 Dürer, Albrecht 78, 89, 107, 114, 122

E Eggert, Willem 83 Elen, Steven 82, 150, 161, 162, 165, 166, 187, 190, 193, 197, 198, 231, 299, 307, 308, 337, 345, 349, 357, 358 Elisabeth of Culemborg 83 Engelberg, Burckhard 18 Engelbrecht II of Nassau (count) 107, 108, 112 Ensingen, Ulrich von 18 Erasmus, Desiderius 109 Estor, Willem 176 Evergem, Jan van 192 Eyck, Jan van 23, 25, 117 Eycke, Heynric van de 278

F Fèvre, Jehan le 255 Fioravante, Neri di 19 Floris of Egmond (count) 112, 224, 227, 232, 236 Floris V (count of Holland) 104 Floris, Claudius 40, 53, 371 Floris, Cornelis II 45, 98, 366, 368 Floris, Cornelis III 45 Francart, Jacques 375 Frederikszn, Hubrecht 230, 231 Fugger, Jacob 113

G Gerritsz, Pieter 281 Gheertsz van Afflighem, Maerten 159, 163, 314 Ghoetghebuer, Michiel 144 Goes, Hugo van der 34 Gossaert, Jan 369 Grapheus, Cornelis 43, 209 Groote, Geert 117 Guicciardini, Ludovico 39, 61

H Haec, Willem 175 Haes, Heinric die 341 Hagen, Aert vander 173 Hammer, Hans 269 Hannicq, Antoine 194 Hazeldonck, Jan van 337 Heetvelde, Dierick van 173 Heetvelde, Johanna van 176 Heetvelde, Nicolaas van 189 Henry I of Brabant (duke) 83

440

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Henry III of Nassau (count) 85, 112, 224, 227, 236, 267 Hervy, Jan de 47, 48 Heubens, Henri 255 Heymans, Peter 177, 178 Heynrich, Michiel 274, 281, 284 Heyns, Jan 163, 203, 204, 211, 345, 348 Hoeymaker, Hendrik 348, 349 Hollar, Wenceslas 120 Honnecourt, Villard de 268 Horn, Philips van 245 Horst, Jan vander 178

I Impeghem, Reynier van 139, 160, 180, 181, 187, 190, 198 Isaac, Thomas 295

J Jan II of Brabant (duke) 104 Jan II of Glymes 85 Janszoon, Pouwels 147, 230 Jauche, Henri de 114 Joanna of Brabant (duchess) 51, 103 Joanna of Castile (queen) 111 Joes, Gilles (Gilles Vanden Bossche) 37, 234

K Kampen, Rutger van 82, 216, 315, 316 Keldermans, Andries 159, 211 Keldermans, Anthonis I 18, 44, 83, 104, 159, 211, 217, 224, 230, 233, 234, 237, 278, 295, 321, 355, 363 Keldermans, Anthonis II 18, 211, 217, 222, 224, 225, 227, 233, 236, 363 Keldermans, Jan II 82, 316 Keldermans, Laureys 40, 211, 212, 227, 231, 242, 243, 245, 266, 289, 368 Keldermans, Marcelis 48, 368 Keldermans, Matthijs III 40, 50, 281, 308, 368 Keldermans, Rombout II 18, 41, 42, 44, 49, 83, 97, 100, 104, 107, 112, 149, 202, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 217, 222, 224, 225, 227, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 235, 236, 237, 239, 241, 242, 243, 247, 248, 253, 262, 265, 270, 273, 277, 281, 284, 299, 304, 305, 308, 309, 321, 349, 354, 356, 362, 363, 364, 366, 369, 371 Key, Lieven de 368 Keyser, Aernd 82 Keyser, Hendrik de 368 Kriecaert, Gommaert 304

L Lambart, Hendrik 38, 159, 161 Lambrechts, Reyner 44, 232

Index

of

Persons

Lammekens, Philip 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 241, 370, 371 Langenberg, Johannes von 37 Largent, Gilles 255 Layens, Matheus de 94, 138, 253, 283, 297, 368 Le Prince, Eustache 42, 165 Le Prince, Guillaume 248, 370, 371 Le Prince, Pieter 165 Lechler, Lorenz 19 Lechler, Moritz 19 Liere, Aert van 113 Loeze, Maerten de 188 Looman, Jan 50 Louis II of Male (count) 103 Loyet, Gerard 23, 189

Niesenberger, Hans 18 Noebrouc, Willem van 139, 213 Nole, Hans de 45, 46 Nole, Robert de 45, 46 Noort, Willem van 42, 209, 233 Noyen, Sebastiaan van 39

M

Paesschen, Hendrik van 46 Palladio, Andrea 19, 21, 289, 366 Paludanus, Raphael 45 Paludanus, Willem 45, 98, 366, 368 Parler, Peter 18, 315 Pasqualini, Alessandro 38, 42, 47 Paul (Apostle) 34, 36 Paul II (pope) 79 Pausanias 235 Pauwels, Gilles 159 Pauwels, Steven 163 Pede, Hendrik van 159, 216, 227, 236, 239, 243, 265, 277, 280, 296, 301, 308, 309 Perneel, Dierick 180, 181, 182 Perréal, Jean 274 Pertcheval, Jan 200 Peruzzi, Baldassare 292 Peter of Luxembourg (count of Saint-Pol) 51 Petercels, Jan 40 Philibert of Savoy (duke) 37, 40, 198, 201 Philip II (king of Spain) 39, 74 Philip the Bold (duke) 103, 255 Philip the Fair 87, 89, 100, 107, 108, 110, 111 Philip the Good (duke) 48, 49, 51, 103, 104, 106, 127, 135, 136, 144, 169, 180, 183, 186, 189, 298 Pius II (pope) 116 Plantin, Christophe 38 Post, Pieter 375

Machielszn, Jan 48 Maes, Antonine 355 Magnus, Albertus 35 Magnus, Henri 189 Male, Lievin van 178 Marche, Olivier de la 295 Marck-Arenberg, Robert de la 291 Margaret of Austria 37, 38, 40, 60, 83, 104, 107, 110, 111, 112, 187, 198, 200, 201, 202, 203, 210, 235, 236, 264, 269, 274, 295, 362, 369 Margaret of Bourbon 40 Margaret of York 37, 110, 111, 295, 362 Maria-Magdalena of Hamal 149 Marissis, Henri 197 Marten, Johannes 309 Martini, Francesco di Giorgio 293 Mary of Burgundy (duchess) 186 Mary of Hungary (queen) 186 Master W with the Key (engraver) 287, 291 Maximilian I of Austria (emperor) 106, 107, 109, 112, 190, 200, 233 Meckenem, Israel van 287, 291 Melbroec, Machiel van 136, 298 Metsys, Joos 40, 212, 216, 255, 284, 296, 297, 313 Metsys, Quintin 212 Meyt, Conrad 40, 369, 371 Mignot, Jean 18, 19 Mol, Heinrick de (Brussels patrician) 189 Mol, Heinrick de (master of the works of St Gudula) 189 Mol, Thierry de 189 Mone, Jean 83 Montanus, Petrus 61 More, Thomas 109 Morre, Andries 51

N Nicon, Aelius 235

O Ofhuys, Gaspar 34, 233, 249, 250 Oisy, Jehan d' 230 Ooge, Jan 50 Ophem, Maarten van 216

P

Q Quaywante, Jan 170, 314

R Rains, Michel de 244, 257 Rampaert, Johannes 34, 114, 249 Rennenberg, William of 291 Repu, Jean 248, 370 Reynighem, Wouter van 187, 357

441

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Ried, Benedikt 20 Ring, Ludger Tom (the Elder) 269 Ronde, Willem de 149, 150, 162, 163, 187, 202, 299 Ronne, Lodewyc de 148 Roome, Jan van 369 Rossum, Maarten van 98 Roux, Roulland le 287 Rugher, Jan 280, 355 Ruysbroeck, Jan van 93, 169, 198, 209, 214, 215, 218, 241, 265, 306, 307, 366

S Sangallo, Antonio da (the Younger) 289, 292 Sangallo, Giuliano da 292 Sanmicheli, Michele 19, 366 Sars, Helin de 114 Scamozzi, Vincenzo 289 Schelkens, Maarten 178 Scherrier, Michiel 53 Schueren, Gerard van der 35 Seclyn, Jan van 150 Sens, William of 39 Serlio, Sebastiano 33, 34, 289, 292 Servilius, Johannes 38 Sluter, Claus 23, 25 Smeeckaert, Willem 243 Smeken, Jan 200 Smet, Gielys de 173 Smet, Jan de 53 Soetmans, Wouter 148 Sous-Saint-Leu, Jean de 133 Spillemans, Adriaen 136 Spillemans, Peter 136 Spoorwater, Evert 18, 52, 83, 160, 208, 210, 211, 217, 218, 219, 220, 222, 231, 239, 278, 307, 308, 321, 322, 330, 349, 354, 356, 357, 363, 365 Spoorwater, Heinric 231 Sporrewater, Jan 231 Spyskin, Jan 114 Steenbikker, Herman de 214 Steurbout, Gielys 282 Suger (abbot of Saint-Denis) 20, 129 Symonsz, Jacob 296

T Taccola, Mariano 293 Talenti, Francesco 19 Termonde, Jean de 236, 237, 245 Terwaert, Jan 161, 163, 210 Theels, Peter 43, 44 Thuin, Jean de 248, 265, 370 Tienen, Hendrik van 131, 148

442

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Tienen, Jacob van 131, 216, 230 Trappaert, Jan 160, 163, 187, 190, 198, 210, 307, 345, 356, 357 Tycke, Joes 173

V Vaddere, Lauwereins de 148 Vaer, Jan 177, 178 Varinfroy, Gautier de 207, 213 Velde, Adriaan van de 115, 248 Vermeyen, Jan Cornelisz 269 Vignola, Jacopo Barozzi da 19, 21 Vilain, Philips van 178 Visschere, Willem de 214, 215 Vitruvius 14, 19, 31, 33, 34, 35, 37, 43, 45, 47, 235, 361 Vleeshouwere, Anthonis de 354, 371 Vleeshouwere, Claes de 309, 349 Voesteren, Art der 131 Voghel, Willem de 104 Vrancx, Gielis 177, 178 Vrominck, Willem 162, 314

W Wael, Cornelis de 321 Waghemakere, Dominicus de 41, 49, 97, 98, 202, 210, 211, 213, 217, 224, 227, 229, 231, 232, 235, 236, 237, 241, 243, 265, 271, 277, 281, 284, 296, 299, 309, 313, 316, 330, 356, 362, 364, 369, 371 Waghemakere, Herman de 211, 316 Wenceslaus of Luxembourg (duke) 103 Werchtere, Johannes van 37 Weyden, Rogier van der 23, 37 William of Croy 85, 112, 149, 224 William VI of Holland (count) 83 Woluwe, Wencelijn van 173 Wstinc, Hugo 39 Wyenhoven, Pieter van 306 Wynford, William 354 Wyngaerde, Anton van den 122

Y Yevele, Henry 134, 354 Yman, Cornelis 53 Yolande of Flanders (countess) 255 Yselwijns, Michiel 232, 239, 247, 248, 349, 354, 369

Z Zeghers, Willem 42, 309 Zeuxis 250

Colour Plates

Plate 1. Jacob van Deventer, map of Brussels, 81 × 67, c. 1550 (detail). (Brussels, Royal Library) (Fig. 2.3)

443

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Plate 2. Jacob van Deventer, map of Leuven, 56.5 × 47.9, c. 1550 (detail). (Brussels, Royal Library) (Fig. 2.4)

444

Colour Plates

Plate 3. Rogier van der Weyden, Sacramentsaltaar, 1440–1445. (Antwerp, Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten) (Fig. 2.8)

445

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

BRABANT

Antwerp, Our Lady

Antwerp, St James

Bergen op Zoom, St Gertrude

Breda, Our Lady

Brussels, St Gudula

Brussels, Kapellekerk

Brussels, Notre-Dame-du-Sablon

’s-Hertogenbosch, St John

Hoogstraten, St Catherine

Leuven, St Peter

Lier, St Gommarus

Mechelen, Onze-Lieve-Vrouweover-de-Dijle

Mechelen, St Rumbold FLANDERS

446

Aalst, St Martin

Bruges, St Salvator

Ghent, St Bavo (St John)

Ghent, St Michael

Hulst, St Willibrord

Oudenaarde, St Walburga

Colour Plates HOLLAND

Alkmaar, St Lawrence

Amsterdam, Nieuwe Kerk

Amsterdam, Oude Kerk

Brielle, St Catherine

Delft, Nieuwe Kerk

Delft, Oude Kerk

The Hague, St James

Dordrecht, Our Lady

Edam, St Nicholas

Enkhuizen, St Gommarus

Gouda, St John

Haarlem, St Bavo

Leiden, Hooglandse Kerk

Leiden, St Peter

Rotterdam, St Lawrence UTRECHT

ZEELAND

Brouwershaven, St Peter and Paul

Tholen, Our Lady

Goes, St Magdalene

Veere, Our Lady

Utrecht, Cathedral

1250-1300 1300-1350 1350-1400 1400-1450 1450-1500 1500-1550

10m 20m

30m

Plate 4. Plans of the largest churches in the Low Countries for which white limestone from the q ­ uarries of Brussels was used, shown with intervals of fifty years. The plans are drawn to the same scale.

447

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Plate 5. Unknown artist, Four Crowned Martyrs (‘Vier Gekroonden’), in: book of hours of Lodewijk van Boghem, Lyon, c. 1520–1530. (Bruges, Grootseminarie) (Fig. 4.14)

448

Colour Plates

Plate 6. Unknown artist, Saint Louis of France and Saint Francis of Assisi, in: book of hours of Lodewijk van Boghem, Lyon, c. 1520–1530. Depicted are the patron saints of Lodewijk and his son Frans van Boghem. Another folio contains an image of Saint Anne, patron saint of his second wife Anna Deckeleye (and his first wife Anna van Aelst). (Bruges, Grootseminarie) (Fig. 4.15)

449

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Plate 7. Master of the Harley Froissart and the Master of the Vienna Chroniques d’Angleterre, Emperor Domitian visiting the building site of the Pantheon in Rome, in: Jean Mansel, Fleur des histoires, c. 1480. (Copenhagen, The Royal Library (Det Kongelige Bibliotek), Thott 568, volume 2, f. 1r.) (Fig. 6.4)

450

Plate 8. Master of James IV of Scotland, tower of Babel (detail), in: Spinola Hours, c. 1510–1520. (Los Angeles, J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig IX 18) (Fig. 6.32)

Colour Plates

451

Plate 9. Dominicus de Waghemakere (attributed), plan of Viskoperstoren in Antwerp, c. 1506. (SAA ICO 26/2C) (Fig. 6.36)

The Origins

452

of

Architectural Practice in the

Low Countries in the

Fifteenth Century

Plate 10. Pieter Gerritsz (attributed), painting of St Bavo in Haarlem, oil on panel 163 × 225, 1518. (Nederlands Hervormde gemeente, Haarlem) (Fig. 6.44)

Colour Plates

453

The Origins

of

Architectural Practice

in the

Low Countries

in the

Fifteenth Century

Plate 11. Unknown artist, painting of St Peter in Leiden, which shows the church with a tall tower and an unfinished transept, oil on panel 119 × 96, early sixteenth century. The tower probably depicts an intended design after its collapse in 1512, however the project was never realised. (Leiden, Museum De Lakenhal) (Fig. 6.45)

454

Colour Plates

Plate 12. Unknown draftsman, design for the belfry of Ghent, parchment 225 × 40, c. 1320. ­ (Ghent, STAM, inv. 462) (Fig. 6.46)

455

Plate 13 Peter Bandon, elevation of Limbourg Castle (Belgium), paper 29 × 42.5, dated 1519. (ARA, KPH, 1641) (Fig. 6.53)

The Origins

456

of

Architectural Practice in the

Low Countries in the

Fifteenth Century

Plate 14. Unknown draftsman, cutaway view of the ducal water mill in Menen, parchment 63 × 98, middle of the fifteenth century. (ARA, KPH, 2850) (Fig. 6.54)

Colour Plates

457

Plate 15. Unknown artist, triptych of the Four Crowned Martyrs painted for the guild of the Steenbickeleren in Brussels, sixteenth century. (Brussels, Museum of the city of Brussels –Maison du Roi) (Fig. 7.54)

The Origins

458

of

Architectural Practice in the

Low Countries in the

Fifteenth Century

Colour Plates

Plate 16. Unknown artist, Visitation, in: book of hours of Lodewijk van Boghem, Lyon, c. 1520–1530. (Bruges, Grootseminarie) (Fig. 8.7)

459