Issuu

the city of mechelen

PREFACE

In 1473, Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, established the Parliament of Burgundy, later the Great Council, here in our city. This made Mechelen the most important legal centre in the Netherlands until the Great Council was disbanded in the late eighteenth century. Although the Great Council was not a democratic institution in the modern sense of the word — the vast majority of the population could not, for example, afford to bring a case before the court — it did become a symbol of the law and of justice. The role of Mechelen as the seat of the Great Council can still be seen in the city’s built heritage. The palaces where the Great Council met, first the Schepenhuis (Aldermen’s Hall) and later the Palace of Margaret of Austria, still exist, as do the unfinished Palace of the Great Council and some of the city palaces built by members of the council, such as the Hof van Busleyden. These buildings are the crown jewels of the rich late medieval and Renaissance architecture of our city, and of the Netherlands as a whole. The spiritual legacy of the Great Council is at least as important to us today as its tangible remains. What do law and justice mean in today’s rapidly changing society? Can Mechelen still play a leading role in the judicial system? How does our city deal with its past? Mechelen may be able to boast that it was a centre of law and justice, but the Dossin Barracks transit camp, symbol of probably the greatest injustice of the last century, is also within its walls. 5

To seek an answer to these questions, and to celebrate the fundamental freedoms on which our society is based, the city of Mechelen is hosting a festival, OP.RECHT.MECHELEN, from spring 2016 to summer 2018. This continues the city’s tradition of holding major festivals with a strong cultural component, such as Stad in vrouwenhanden (‘A City in Women’s Hands’) in 2005 and Stadsvisioenen (‘City Visions’) in 2009. OP.RECHT.MECHELEN has three components. The cultural component offers a varied programme of artistic reflections on the rule of law in times of social polarisation. The academic legal component comprises a series of conferences addressing the issue of the future of the justice system. And, lastly, the social component is exploring the barriers people face as they move from the street to the courtroom. It was clear from the outset that the highlight of OP.RECHT.MECHELEN would be a major historical art exhibition — Call for Justice. After all, the heyday of the Great Council coincided with a period in which the arts flourished as never before in the Netherlands, particularly from the mid-fifteenth to the mid-seventeenth centuries. During this period, Mechelen was an important centre of the arts, thanks partly to the presence of the Great Council, the court of Margaret of Austria and leading members of the Burgundian-Habsburg family, including Charles V before he assumed office. Justice, injustice and the administration of justice

were prominent themes in the justice panels that hung in courtrooms, in depictions of Lady Justice and of martyrs, and in illustrated books and pamphlets on the Dutch Revolt and the New World. The arts proved to be an ideal way of giving the general public an insight into the enormous complexity of the justice system and questions of guilt and innocence. Great art reveals, inspires, refines, questions and dares to criticise. It is above all for this reason that the works in the exhibition and in this book continue to fascinate, stimulate and inspire us centuries after they were made. Call for Justice is also the opening exhibition at the refurbished Museum Hof van Busleyden, which is being relaunched as a museum devoted to the Burgundian and early Habsburg culture in the Netherlands, and its significance today. The museum is housed in the former home of the important jurist and member of the Great Council, Hieronymus van Busleyden of Luxembourg, who welcomed to his home the great Humanists of his age, including Desiderius Erasmus and Thomas More. Some of the key features of the OP.RECHT.MECHELEN festival and the exhibition are also the basis of the new museum’s mission: to make the past relevant today, reveal the power of art, and demonstrate social engagement, participation and close collaboration with academia. As a small city with big ambitions, Mechelen is particularly keen on partnerships. Our partnership with the Royal Museum of Fine Arts Antwerp has been vital to Call for Justice. We would particularly like to thank Professor Manfred Sellink, Dr. Elsje Janssen and Ellen Goetstouwers, who helped curator Dr. Samuel Mareel develop the exhibition.

Marinus van Reymerswale, The Lawyer’s Office (detail) 1545, oil on panel, 102.5 × 123.5 cm New Orleans Museum of Art, inv. 70.7

Bart somers

Björn Siffer

Mayor of Mechelen

Alderman for Culture, Tourism and Part-time Art Training Mechelen

Contents

THE GREAT COUNCIL OF MECHELEN AS SEDES JUSTITIAE? The law and the administration of justice in the Burgundian-Habsburg Netherlands 13

An Verscuren

IN THE ORBIT OF LADY JUSTICE 23

ValÃ©rie Hayaert

MIRRORS OF JUSTICE Justice panels in the Netherlands 43

Samuel Mareel

JURISTS: BAD CHRISTIANS? Men of the law in paintings of the early modern period 63

Georges Martyn

AT THE THRONE OF JUDGMENT Scenes of martyrdom and gestures of legal decision 83 Carolin Behrmann

JUSTICE

INJUSTICE

A blindfold as blindness to the truth

‘Off with her head! Off with —’

Vanessa Paumen

Margaret of Austria: pious and just 102 Matthias Desmet

Justitia as an ancient monument 109 Sophie Suykens

Righteousness and peace have kissed 111

Sophie Suykens

The painter’s truth 115

Maja Neerman

Justice begins with selfknowledge and compassion 119 Manfred Sellink

Justice according to a Jesuit economist

121 Stefan Huygebaert

Paying the price: biblical morality as guidance for aldermen and kings 126 Nico Van Hout

Divine promises for a just society 129 Elizabeth Vandeweghe 10

135 Astrid Harth

A Tribune of injustice 141 Jessica Buskirk

An execution of mythical proportions

Egmont and Horn as victims of political repression under the Duke of Alba 145 Paul De Win

False judges and abominable misjudgment 148 Astrid Harth

Indians are people too: justice and injustice in the New World 151 Jeroen Dewulf

Religion is being crushed: The Duke of Alba and allegories of injustice 155 Diva Zumaya

Christ convicted, here and now 159 Stefan Huygebaert

Injustice as propaganda 165 Stijn Bussels

Valérie Hayaert

IN THE ORBIT OF LADY JUSTICE

Images of justice have largely escaped the main trends in the history of Western legal thought, even if notable exceptions1 have focused their attention on to the long history of the jus imaginum (the law of images). What role did images of justice play in the formation, perception and reception of the ideal of Justice in Western Europe? How was legal self-awareness shaped by the perception of Justice as an image? The history of Western Law has mainly been written by studying first — and understandably so — the empire of texts (codes, legal records, textbooks). Texts are susceptible to an approach using social sciences techniques, including quantification, appropriate for measuring longue durée changes. But is the idea of Justice an appropriate subject to be represented at all? Blaise Pascal, in his Pensées sur la Justice, believed that it wasn’t. Real Justice, Eternal Justice, is always ‘d’un autre ordre’; it is impossible to measure, it defies any attempt to be categorised in a clear-cut scheme. Justice — as an ideal — remains in the realm of the essence of Ideas. Many early modern artists deployed ingenious allegorical inventions in order to create an appropriate representation of this abstraction. Far from seeing the allegory as solely a vehicle for abstract and transcendent meaning, their endeavours demonstrate that the very idea of representing an incarnate form within the legal sphere is problematic.

I C O N O LO G Y A N D C R E AT I O N

Lady Justice is both a spiritual and a physical body. The emphasis on her attributes leads to several problems, not least the fact that these conventions may shift over time and are highly dependent on a given cultural sphere. For instance, Chinese people perfectly understand the attributes of the sword and the scales. Even in remote rural regions, these symbols are understood as the embodiment of principles of justice, whereas the sculpture of a female body still puzzles them today as an inappropriate allegorical tool. Allegorical language plays an integrating role; it must be displayed and visible to the mind’s eye. Attempts to understand the power of allegory run into the problem of defining how Lady Justice’s body can act as a force or have any function at all. Allegorical invention derives from a long tradition: iconology. Designing allegories, finding the right set of attributes for each concept, has been the object of discussion since Antiquity. The process of copying with variation and selection is at the heart of the iconological method. Creative imagination emerges from this relentless activity of variation and selection, and iconology stands as an ideal workshop for iterative processes of recombination. Lady Justice has had numerous attributes; some are still visible today, many others (a prominent knee, an ostrich, an eye inserted into a necklace) are

forgotten because they died out quickly. This iterative process of imitation with variation is not a top-down process. Behaviours meet artefacts: selecting appropriately from myriad possible combinations needs to be evidenced as a creative process per se. In methodological terms, allegory is susceptible to an analysis that balances a semiotic trend, based on tracking signs and attributes, to a more phenomenological depiction, focusing on effects of presence. Allegorical creation uses continuously varying images to invent what may be desirable. Each person must be able to recall and store the image in his or her mind if the allegory is expected to have a long life. First, there is heredity. Some allegorical conceits are shared within a group, a family or a civic body. They are worn as badges, tokens, medals of office and achieve the status of an emblem, displaying a selfconscious identity in public. But allegorical sculptures of Justice, especially when they are executed on a monumental scale and designed to adorn a public courthouse or urban space, have a rather different purpose: they are not meant to be separate or independent, their role is to foster a symbolic community: they are the binding force and the emotive foundation of the Law. As an effigy, in the legal sense of the term, Lady Justice acts as a substitute for real individuals: the judges. The aim of this essay is to reveal the essential dynamic function of a civic allegory: its composition or invention, informed by iconological treatises, its role in the dissemination of meaning and the ways in which it has been perceived by different audiences. To what extent has this device fulfilled didactic, persuasive, mnemonic, evidential or deontological functions?

A VA R I E T Y O F F U N C T I O N S

The ubiquitous nature of allegorical imagery in the physical spaces of early modern Europe is a burgeoning field of research. Allegory shaped civic ritual, and appeared in sculpture and monumental painting, but also in print images, frontispieces, medals and coins. Early modern images of justice shared this extraordinary vitality. Painted on the walls of courthouses, displayed on their faĂ§ades, standing in public spaces such as fountains or marketplaces, effigies of Lady Justice were abundant. Allegorical images of justice were commonly elaborated for ambitious title pages of law books. During early modern times, more complex allegorical scenes were part of an important tradition: the exempla justitiae, where the damnation of the erring judges is depicted with great acuity. These allegorical programmes are meant to be deontological: they serve as a visual memorandum of judicial duties. As a vehicle of a political and ethical ideal, allegory has thus assumed an exemplary character in order to engage viewers into action. Lady Justice, rooted here in the urban landscape of Mechelen [Fig. 5] stands out in a beautiful red dress as a sophisticated noblewoman; a thin gauze, acting here as a diaphanous blindfold, lets us see her eyes. The delicate gestures of her fingers underline how her attributes seem paradoxically easy to handle: in her right hand, an upward sidesword, a Spanish espada ropera, an ideal weapon for facing armoured as well as unarmoured opponents during the early modern period. The ricasso allows a better grip while still protecting the hand. Used in early modern rapier fencing, this half-sword seems particularly adapted to the size of a womanâ€™s wrist. The very essence of her symbolic gesture is to

[12] Dirk Bouts, The Justice of Emperor Otto III: Beheading of the Innocent Count c.1473−1475, oil on panel, 323 × 181.5 cm, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels, inv. 1447

[13] Dirk Bouts, The Justice of Emperor Otto III: The Ordeal by Fire c.1471−1473, oil on panel, 324.5 × 182 cm, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels, inv. 1448

Vanessa Paumen

A BLINDFOLD AS BLINDNESS TO THE TRUTH

[44] Master of the Legend of St Ursula (Bruges)

SYNAGOGUE (detail from The Legend of St Ursula) c.1482, oil on panel, 59 × 18.5 cm Groeningemuseum, Bruges, inv. 0000.GRO1545.I

This small panel is part of an altarpiece dedicated to St Ursula [Fig. 44]. The anonymous artist, who worked in Bruges at the time of the famous Flemish Primitives, such as Hans Memling and Gerard David, is named after this painting.1 The lost central panel probably showed St Ursula with the eleven thousand virgins under her cloak, as she also appears in Memling’s St Ursula Shrine at the Old St John’s Hospital Museum in Bruges. The two side panels show the legend of St Ursula in eight scenes. Above these are two smaller panels: the personification of the New Testament and the Christian church, Ecclesia, to the left, with a chalice and cross, and the Old Testament and the Jewish church to the right, symbolised by Synagogue. While the crowned and opulently dressed Ecclesia stands upright, Synagogue stoops, facing the ground. In her right hand she holds a broken lance with a flying banderole, while Moses’ stone tablets of the old law appear to slide from her left hand. Her turban-like headdress alludes to her non-Western origins. Interestingly, Synagogue wears a blindfold, in contrast to Ecclesia, who looks ahead sharp-eyed. The contrasting depictions of Ecclesia and Synagogue have Christian origins. The pair feature regularly in medieval art, on church paraphernalia, and in stained glass, miniatures in manuscripts and monumental sculptures. The manner of depiction highlights the complex relationship between Christianity 99 – justice

and Judaism. While Ecclesia is Christ’s royal bride, Synagogue symbolises the fallen queen with a broken staff and blindfold.2 In this image, too, the blindfold, Synagogue’s essential attribute, is depicted as an outward sign of her blindness to the light of Christ, and as a reference to the Jews’ blindness to the Messiah. Being blindfolded (taking away sight or having an inability to see reality) had negative connotations until the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.3 Blindfolds and blindness were associated with social outcasts. Christ, for example, is depicted with a blindfold when he is being flogged and executed. But in real life, too, a medieval citizen would be able to recognise a criminal before and during his execution by his blindfold, among other things. In both the Old and New Testament, blindness is equated with ignorance or poor judgment. Worse still, being blinded was a form of punishment, as in Job 11:20 (‘But the eyes of the wicked will fail’).4 No sight, or impaired sight, is also a feature of the vices. In Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia — a guide to depictions of virtues and vices, which from the seventeenth century also includes illustrations — the blindfold or blindness has negative connotations in several emblemata. Eros, for instance, is depicted blindfolded to indicate the recklessness and confusion of love. On Fortuna, the blindfold symbolises the irrational and indifference. The vices, including Errore, Ignoranza and Furore [Fig. 45], are all

depicted blind or blindfolded. Ripa also depicted Injustitia with a blind eye.5 Justitia appears in Ripa’s emblemata book in seven different guises. In all of them bar one, keen sight is admired and praised as an essential quality. Only one Justitia is shown with several attributes, including a blindfold. It is described as a preventive tool to prevent her from seeing anything that might unduly influence her judgment.6 This positive aspect of the blindfold is underlined from the early sixteenth century, mainly in the context of justice, when Lady Justice adopts it as an attribute.7 The blindfold then signifies a wise and unbiased judgment. The Synagogue depicted here is not blind, but blindfolded, suggesting she is refusing to see or acknowledge the light of Christ’s salvation. When Lady Justice later has her blindfold tied tightly, she too refuses to see, but in her case it is an unwillingness to see the worldly things that might prevent her from making a neutral judgment. In this context the blindfold signifies a positive connotation of justice.

[45] Cesare Ripa, Furore In: Cesare Ripa, Iconologia overo descrittione di diverse imagini cavate dall’antichità, e di propria invenzione (Rome, Appresso Lepido Facii) 1603, woodcut, 22.6 × 6.6 × 3.8 cm (closed book), p. 176 Museum Plantin-Moretus, Antwerp

100 – justice

Literature: Ripa, 1611; Bruges, 1969; De Vos, 1979; Resnik and Curtis, 2011, 62−90; Huygebaert, 2016a.

1 Attribution by Friedländer, 1903, 85. 2 Resnik and Curtis, 2011, 65. 3 Resnik and Curtis, 2011, 67−70. 4 Resnik and Curtis, 2011, 64−65. 5 Ripa, 1611. 6 Idem. 7 Huygebaert, 2016a, 147−151. The 1611 edition of Ripa’s Iconologia contains no fewer than seven versions of Lady Justice, six of them with open eyes. Later editions of Ripa did not include all the descriptions of Lady Justice. In the course of the eighteenth century (Ripa 1758−1760) all but one description of Lady Justice were removed. The remaining description has her blindfolded as a symbol of unbiased judgment. Resnik and Curtis, 2011, 35.

Elizabeth Vandeweghe

DIVINE PROMISES FOR A JUST SOCIETY

[61] Philippe de Champaigne

MOSES AND THE TABLETS OF THE LAW 1640−1648, oil on canvas, 92 × 72.2 cm The Schorr Collection, London

According to the two accounts in the Old Testament (Exodus 20:2−17 and Deuteronomy 5:6−21) God gave Moses two stone tablets on Mount Sinai, each bearing a set of commandments.1 The theme of justice applies to these ten commandments. They are precepts to guide us through life, which were given to the Jews by God, through Moses, to guarantee a just society. However, the word ‘commandment’ suggests an undertaking rather than a prohibition. The commandments, which occupy half of this painting by Philippe de Champaigne (1602−1674), are meticulously engraved into a stone in the form of a book [Fig. 61].2 Due to a trompe-l’oeil, part of the text appears to extend beyond the parapet, so the artist makes visual contact with the viewer’s space, and the Law enters the real world.3 The canvas, decorated with gold thread, shows Moses wearing a robe of sumptuous blue velvet. In his left hand he holds a sceptre, and in his right the ten commandments engraved in stone. His left hand and the stone tablets rest on a stone parapet. Various authors have remarked that the commandments are written on two pieces of marble. In the original iconography, the stones are arched. Thanks to the rectangular form in this painting they resemble a book, a codex for rules of conduct. In a version of the painting in the Milwaukee Art Museum, the left side (from the viewer’s perspective) shows the first three commandments associated with religion 129 – justice

and culture and the relationship between God and his people; on the right side are the seven other commandments pertaining to relations between people. In the version discussed here, the fourth commandment, honour thy father and thy mother, is also on the left.4 Moses appears against a dark background, his face illuminated.5 He regards the viewer with his mouth half open, giving the impression that he is reading the ten commandments to us.6 What is more, De Champaigne reverses the Bible story. In the Bible, the Jewish people could only hear Moses. They could not see him because he wore a cloth over his face to prevent his audience from being blinded by its radiance after his encounter with God. In the painting, however, we see Moses but do not hear him. The painting ‘speaks’ to the viewer, who ‘beholds’ the word of God.7 In his analysis, art historian Lorenzo Pericolo refers to the synaesthesia of the image: in order to hear God’s word, the viewer has to look at the painting and the divine image of the prophet, sight informing hearing. Moses’ shadow falls partially over the right tablet, which makes it difficult to read the text, which encourages mental engagement. Thus the painting transcends the polemic of the time and the reference to parallels between the Old and New Testament.8 Furthermore, the light in the painting is not artificial, as was common, but comes from a supra-human source, which is therefore invisible to humans. It symbolises transcend-

[61]â€„

Paul De Win

AN EXECUTION OF MYTHICAL PROPORTIONS Egmont and Horn as victims of political repression under the Duke of Alba

[68] Frans Hogenberg

THE EXECUTION OF EGMONT AND HORN (1568) Second half 16th Century, etching, 29.4 × 38.6 cm (closed book) Ghent University Library, inv. BHSL.RES.1183

The Counts of Egmont and Horn were executed on the Grand Place in Brussels on 5 June 1568. The etching by Frans Hogenberg (1535−1590) shows the scaffold surrounded by a large number of armed soldiers on foot and horseback, at the moment when the Count of Horn is executed [Fig. 68]. The count kneels as he awaits his death, his hands folded, while behind him the executioner raises his sword to decapitate him. The Count of Egmont has already been executed. His body lies on the scaffold under a sheet. Part of Brussels city hall can be seen in the background. The print is one of a series of images depicting important events in the history of the Netherlands.1 Lamoral, Count of Egmont, Prince of Gavere (1522−1568), stadholder of Flanders and Artois (1559−1568), and Philip de Montmorency (1524−1568), Count of Horn, stadholder of Guelders and Zutphen (1555−1560) and Admiral of the Netherlands (1558−1567), were both knights in the Order of the Golden Fleece and members of the Council of State, the most important of the three Collateral Councils, or governing councils, that advised the governors in the Habsburg Netherlands. Together with William of Orange, they formed a league against the policies of Cardinal Antoine Perrenot de Granvelle who, on the orders of the Spanish king Philip II, introduced the Inquisition to the Seventeen Provinces. Their protest eventually led to 145 – injustice

Granvelle’s departure in 1564. In 1565 the Compromise of Nobles rebelled against the autocratic policies of their sovereign. They called for a kind of religious peace and the abolition of the Inquisition in the Netherlands. On 5 April 1566 the nobles submitted a petition to the governor, Margaret, Duchess of Parma. She forwarded the petition to Philip II, but he delayed his response. In August 1566 the Protestants unleashed a wave of destruction in the churches of the Low Countries, known as the Beeldenstorm (iconoclasm). In response, Philip II sent Fernando Álvarez de Toledo (1507−1582), Duke of Alba, to the Netherlands as military governor. Equipped with an army and unlimited powers, his brief was to restore order and punish those responsible for the Beeldenstorm. William of Orange fled, but Egmont and Horn remained in Brussels. On 9 September 1567, almost immediately after his arrival, Alba had the two noblemen arrested. They were accused of high treason and lèse-majesté, and brought before the Council of Troubles, a special court that Alba had established on 20 September 1567 on behalf of Philip II in order to try cases of high treason. At the end of December, a disillusioned Margaret of Parma left the Netherlands, and Alba replaced her as governor. On 4 June 1568 Alba ratified the death sentence handed down to Egmont and Horn, and the following day they were publicly executed on the Grand Place in Brussels.2 In the meantime, an armed rebellion had broken out,

[68a] detail

led by William of Orange, and this eventually lead to the Eighty Years War (1568−1648) and the division of the Netherlands.3 The execution of these two high-ranking noblemen made a deep impression at the time, in the Netherlands and beyond, among both the higher social classes and ordinary people. It continues to fascinate historians and artists to this day.4 In the Northern Netherlands, where the protest was strongest, Egmont and Horn soon became the most famous victims of the merciless political repression. With the help of a special court, the Duke of Alba led a regime 146 – injustice

of terror on behalf of a despot and religious fanatic who was entirely estranged from his subjects. Alba came to personify political repression and the Council of Troubles soon became known as the Blood Council, because it continually and indiscriminately handed down death sentences. The execution of the two counts came to symbolise the oppression of the Seventeen Provinces. The Iron Duke’s vigorous oppression of the Low Countries was used as political propaganda against Spain long after his departure. The geuzenliederen (Songs of the Sea Beggars) and political cartoons ensured that

Vanessa Paumen

WHOSOEVER SEES GOLD GLEAMING IN THE COURTROOM SHALL ENCOUNTER HELL’S MOUTH AFTER THE JUDGMENT From the fourteenth century on, it was customary to decorate the aldermen’s hall, where legal cases were heard and judgments handed down, with art, mainly paintings and sculptures. The Last Judgment was the most commonly depicted scene in paintings, as it was intended to remind the judges of the importance of their task, fulfilling the same role on earth as Christ on the day of judgment. A Last Judgment scene would also remind them that they too would appear before the supreme judge at the end of time. In addition to the Bible, fifteenth-century artists also drew inspiration from history or legend, using events and tales that were intended as examples of righteous judgments. These exempla iustitiae, such as the legend of Herkinbald, were designed to encourage judges to make wise decisions, and were a popular form of decoration in courtrooms until well into the sixteenth century.1 The Last Judgment was associated with worldly justice in only a few panels, such as this painting produced for the Dinghuis in Maastricht, where legal cases were heard [Fig. 81].2 The Maastricht ‘justice panel’ is one of four surviving paintings (the others are in Würzburg, Graz and Wesel and date from c.1400 to c.1500) in which a strong visual association is presented between worldly justice at the tribunal and divine justice on the day of judgment. The direct relationship between the presiding judge and Christ as the supreme judge presiding 171 – jurisdiction

[81] Jan van Brussel

DUAL JUSTICE 1477 or 1499, oil on panel, 211.5 × 158 cm Dinghuis, Maastricht

over the Last Judgment is expressly depicted in the painting, and sends a visual message that judges act as substitutes for divine justice.3 The panel from Wesel gives us a glimpse of a fifteenth-century courtroom with a Last Judgment on the wall, showing the court in session. The judge points his right hand theatrically towards the painting of Christ passing judgment, adopting the same pose as Jesus. In the panels from Graz [Fig. 82] and Würzburg the judge is shown directly beneath the Christ figure, and the worldly court is in session at the same time as the day of judgment above. In the work from Maastricht, too, a court is shown in session at the bottom of the painting, while in the upper register Christ is shown as the supreme judge. The Maastricht panel was painted in 1477 or 1499 by Jan van Brussel (who lived in Maastricht around 1475).4 It is divided into two registers. The upper register has a traditional depiction of the Last Judgment. Christ as a judge, dressed in red as a precursor of the red robes magistrates would later wear, sits on a rainbow, his feet resting on the globe. As supreme judge, he is flanked by Mary and John, with the chosen few on either side. Above Christ, angels carry a sword and a lily, the symbols of justice and mercy. Two other angels blow horns from which fly banderoles with the inscriptions Surgite mortui (Arise the dead) and Venite ad Judicium (Come to Judgment).

172 – jurisdiction

[81a] detail

Stijn Bussels

JUSTICE AS A STORM

[96] Peter Paul Rubens

LANDSCAPE WITH GALLOWS c.1635, oil on panel, 19.5 × 24.6 cm Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, inv. 1948

[96]

204 – jurisdiction

We see a landscape wracked by a storm [Fig. 96]. The blinding light of the sun in the background appears to rouse the wind, which rages around the castle before strafing the path in the foreground. The wind blows a passer-by walking with a staff towards the edge of the panel, and whistles through the scrawny trees, but its full force is felt only at the place of execution. There, a hanged man dangles in a white robe that is sharply lit, drawing the eye to him immediately, all the more so since we are observing the wild scene from the same height. The five tree trunks that make up the gallows seem to creak, and at certain crucial points appear too fragile and too crooked to support the weight of the hanged man much longer. The same is true of the cartwheel suspended high in the air, on which limbs have been piled. Despite the stark light, this painting is full of darkness, bleak, elongated shadows melding into dark green marshy meadows and dark grey storm clouds. Together, the sun and the storm, the castle and the trees, the gallows and the path, the shadows, meadows and clouds give this small panel an overwhelming monumentality that makes it the equal of the larger works for which the painter of this landscape, Peter Paul Rubens, became internationally famous.1 His brushwork is coarse. Thick layers of paint evoke the effect of the storm, rendering solid shapes blurred. Rubens does not force any emotions on us through facial expressions, postures or human actions, the means he so often used to give his paintings such uncommon power. Instead, he evokes an awe-inspiring grandeur that humans can only submit to or, if we are lucky, flee from. An awesome display of natural power engenders a deep sense of turmoil, isolation and unease in this landscape. 205 â€“â€Šjurisdiction

And so this unique masterpiece from around 1635 tests the limits of historiography. We cannot resort here to iconographical analysis. This painting does not allow us to focus on certain elements to which we can attribute specific meanings. But the art historical proposition that Rubens is trying here to hold up a direct mirror to reality is equally baseless. He makes no attempt whatsoever to give us the illusion that we are actually looking at a landscape. By not drawing on any familiar symbolism, or trying to create any sense of realism, Rubens is able to paint a multi-layered picture of justice, by contrasting two structures that are being subjected to the forces of nature here: the castle and the gallows. Part of the castle reflects the strong sunlight. A tall central tower and a smaller round tower are also able to withstand the powerful storm. Sentence will have been passed within those walls, leading eventually to the hanged man on the gallows, and the limbs on the cartwheel. These structures give a much less stable impression. In this way, Rubens masterfully illustrates the power of the law and the weakness of the convicted men. The storm enables him to show the contrast all the more sharply, the castle reminding us of the rock in a turbulent sea in many paintings of shipwrecks, a genre in which Dutch painters from the Low Countries excelled, and of which Rubens had shown himself to be a master [Fig. 97].2 At the same time, the artist also illustrates justice through the storm itself, portraying the law as terrifying and merciless, yet with an aspect of redemption. If we associate both the castle and the storm with the law, we see justice as a paradoxical combination of stability and turbulence,

Holland), and shared this power with the States of Holland after the revolt. But this association was no longer appropriate during the First Stadholderless Period (1650−1672).4 However, another contemporary political significance was probably associated with the legend in Hasselt: a heated conflict with nearby Zwolle concerning the appointment of a controversial bailiff, in which the small town was embroiled in 1657 and about which Holland province was mediating.5 The fact that William III is not lying ill in bed, but is depicted as a judge in Hasselt, leaves no doubt as to the message intended.6 This highly topical meaning was lost over time, however. By 1844 it was no longer clear to people what the composition represented, and the painter was also unknown by then.7 But the quality of the large painting meant that it attracted a good deal of attention from art historians. The subject was identified once again during a visit to Hasselt by Barthold Willem Floris van Riemsdijk, director of the Rijksmuseum, in 1901, though the identity of the artist remained the subject of debate for some time.8 Until Van Galen’s signature was discovered while the picture was being restored in 1903, the painting had been attributed to Karel Dujardin of Amsterdam. Later, the unknown artist Abraham van der Plancke, who in 1657 had received payment for paint from the municipal administration in Hasselt, was believed to be the painter. Since Van der Plancke was not from the town, it was assumed that Van Galen may have signed only ‘in name’ in order to circumvent the guild laws.9 However, further exploration of the archives revealed that Van der Plancke had been paid for two paintings in 1658, and that the sum was not appropriate for such a large painting.10 Nevertheless, the debate ensured that the painting remained surrounded by 210 – jurisdiction

mystery. Indeed, it was recently suggested that Johannes Vermeer may have painted it.11 Although it is unusual that no similar works are known to have been produced by such a skilled painter, the attribution to Van Galen is now widely accepted.

Literature: Verbeek, 1979 ; Ten Hove, 1994; The Hague, 1999; Rotterdam and Frankfurt am Main, 1999; Goutbeek, 2010; Van Deurzen, 2012; Duijst, 2012; Schmidt, s.d.

1 2 3 4 5

Den Haag, 1999, 69−86. Ten Hove, 1994, 54. Duijst, 2012, 18. Rotterdam and Frankfurt am Main, 1999, 318. Schmidt, s.d.; The Hague, 1999, 83−84; Rotterdam and Frankfurt am Main, 1999, 318. 6 Ten Hove, 1994, 56. 7 Idem, 60. 8 Idem, 57−60, 63−64. 9 Verbeek, 1979, 338−339. 10 Ten Hove, 1994, 59−60 11 Van Deurzen, 2012.

Photo credits Private collection: 26, 51, 51a

© City Archive Mechelen, photo: Fotografie BD Digitalisering – KU Leuven: 1 © Ghent University Library: 2, 3, 68, 68a, 80, 85 © Royal Library of Belgium, Brussels: 4, 71, 84, 90, 91a © City Archive Mechelen, www.beeldbankmechelen.be: 5, 5a © Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam: 6, 6a, 7, 32, 32a, 69, 76, 76a, 77, 78, 78a, 79, 91 © 2017. Image copyright The Metropolitan Museum of Art / Art Resource / Scala, Florence: 8, 8a © Museum Plantin-Moretus, Antwerp – UNESCO World Heritage: 9, 45 © By permission of University of Glasgow Library, Special Collections: 10 © Bernisches Historisches Museum, Bern, photo: Stefan Rebsamen: 11, 11a © Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels, photo: J. Geleyns – Art Photography: 12, 12a, 13, 29, 93 Musea Brugge © www.lukasweb.be – Art in Flanders vzw, photo: Hugo Maertens: 14, 15, 15a, 86, 86a © Stiftung Preußische Schlösser und Garten BerlinBrandenburg, photo: Roland Handrick: 16 © Royal Palace Amsterdam, photo: Tom Haartsen: 17 © KIK-IRPA, Brussels: 18, 27, 83, 88, 88a, 89 © MOU (Museum Oudenaarde and the Flemish Ardennes): 19 © KHM Museumsverband, Vienna: 20 © Luc Van Hoeylandt: 21 © Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN-Grand Palais / Image Beaux-Arts de Paris: 22 © Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford: 23, 24 Royal Museum of Fine Arts Antwerp © www.lukasweb.be – Art in Flanders vzw, photo: Hugo Maertens: 25, 64, 64a, 64b, 70, 70a

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© National Galleries of Scotland: 38 © Städtisches Graphik-Kabinett, Ernst-Riecker Collection, Backnang (Germany): 39 Siena, Palazzo Pubblico. © 2018. Photo Scala, Florence: 40 Florence, Galleria Palatina. © 2018. Photo Scala, Florence – courtesy of the Ministero Beni e Att. Culturali e del Turismo: 41 © Douai, Musée de la Chartreuse: 42a, 42b, 42c Venice, Palazzo Ducale, Sala dei Tre Capi © 2018. Cameraphoto/Scala, Florence: 43 Musea Brugge © www.lukasweb.be – Art in Flanders vzw, photo: Dominique Provost: 44, 44a © Patrimonio Nacional, Madrid: 46 Church of Our Lady, Bruges © www.lukasweb.be – Art in Flanders vzw, photo: Hugo Maertens: 48 Graphische Sammlung, Städel Museum Frankfurt am Main, photo: © Städel Museum – U. Edelmann – ARTOTHEK: 49, 50, cover © Private collection, Luxembourg, long-term loan to the Rubenshuis, Antwerp: 52 © Photographic department of the Uffizi Galleries: 53 © The Trustees of the British Museum, all rights reserved: 54, 75, 75a © Museum Hof van Busleyden, photo: Dries Van den Brande: 55, 55a, 92, 92a © The John G. Johnson Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art, cat. 423: 56 © Libraries of the Catholic University of Louvain (KUL) – Maurits Sabbe Library: 57, 57a, 57b, 58, 58a

© Museu Nacional Machado de Castro, Coimbra – Flagellation, Quentin Massys – photo: José Pessoa – Direção-Geral do Património Cultural / Arquivo de Documentação Fotográfica (DGPC/ADF): 67 © Photographie Bibliothèque nationale de France: 72, 72a © Museum Catharijneconvent, Utrecht, photo: Ruben de Heer: 73, 73a, 74 Gemeente Maastricht © 2016 SRAL: 81, 81a, 81b, 81c © GrazMuseum: 82 Marinus van Reymerswaele, The Lawyer’s Office, The New Orleans Museum of Art: Museum purchase through the Ella West Freeman Foundation Matching Fund, 70.7: 87, frontispiece (detail) © KBC, Snijders&Rockoxhuis, Antwerp: 94, 94a © Jan Vanes: 95 © bpk / Gemäldegalerie, SMB / Jörg P. Anders: 96 © bpk / Gemäldegalerie, SMB, Eigentum des Kaiser Friedrich Museumsvereins / Jörg P. Anders: 97 © Gemeente Zwartewaterland: 98, 98a © Collectie Gemeente Zwartewaterland; Gerdien van der Graaff: 99