Public Buildings in Early Modern Europe (ARCHITECTURA MODERNA) 9782503533544, 250353354X

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PUBLIC BUILDINGS

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EARLY MODERN EUROPE

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

Vol.9

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

Advisory Board: Howard Burns (Vicenza/Pisa) Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann (Princeton) Jean Guillaume (Paris) John Newman (London) Konrad Ottenheym (Utrecht) Ulrich Schütte (Marburg)

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PUBLIC BUILDINGS EUROPE

IN

EARLY MODERN

Edited By Konrad Ottenheym, Krista De Jonge and Monique Chatenet

H

F

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Cover illustration: Poznan´, Town Hall, G.B. Quadro 1550–1560. Copenhagen, Spire of the Exchange, Ludwig Heidenreiter 1625. (background) Simon Stevin’s city plan from De Huysbou, published in Burgerlicke Stoffen 1649.

Supported by the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (Nederlandse Organisatie voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek) © 2010, 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/2010/0095/59 ISBN 978-2-503-53354-4 Printed in the E.U. on acid-free paper

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TABLE

OF

CONTENTS

Introduction Konrad Ottenheym

IX

Part One. Public Buildings; Texts and Theories

1

Public Buildings in the Early Modern Period Hermann Hipp

3

A Typology for the Well-Ordered Society – Nicolaus Goldmann on Public Buildings Jeroen Goudeau,

13

Part Two. Government and Justice

27

Vorstellungen der Renaissance vom Sitz der Regierung im antiken Rom Hubertus Günther

29

Les loggias communales en Dalmatie aux XVe et XVIe siècles Nada Grujic´

53

Tolbooths - the Scottish hôtel de ville - during the Renaissance Charles McKean

65

Town Halls in Early Modern Poland c. 1500–1750 Barbara Arciszewska

77

Against Building Typologie: Why a Town hall doesn’t have to look like a Town Hall. A Case Study on the Town Halls of Augsburg and Nuremberg Stephan Albrecht

93

Dutch Town Halls and the Setting of the Vierschaar Pieter Vlaardingerbroek

105

Government Buildings in the Dutch colonies (Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries) Lex Bosman

119

Le rôle des hôtels de ville dans l’élaboration d’une architecture publique “à la française” Pascal Liévaux

131

Les hôtels de l’Intendance en France au XVIIIe siècle Stéphanie Dargaud

143

Italian State Prisons in the Sixteenth Century: Naples and Venice Lanfranco Longobardi

153

Building Discipline. Two Amsterdam Houses of Correction Freek Schmidt

165

Part Three. Economy

181

Bâtiments publics à fonction économique à Anvers au XVIe siècle : l’invention d’un type ? Krista De Jonge

183

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TABLE

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CONTENTS

Las lonjas de Mercado en Espanˇa: de Barcelona a Sevilla Joaquin Bérches, Fernando Marías

201

The Great Rialto Bridge Debate Deborah Howard

221

The Copenhagen Exchange (1619–1624) Designed by the Van Steenwinckel Brothers: “not for the secret arts of Mercury and Laverna . . .” Juliette Roding

241

Les infrastructures marchandes dans la Franche-Comté et ses marges du XVe au XVIIIe siècle Christiane Roussel

249

The Weigh House: an Architectural Typology of the Dutch Golden Age Karl Kiem

261

Meat Halls and Fish Markets in the Dutch Republic Konrad Ottenheym

273

Part Four. Education

285

Le renouveau des chantiers de collèges Parisiens aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles Aurélie Perraut

287

Jesuit School Courtyards at Évora and Coimbra and their Secular Origin and Function Rui Lobo The First Jesuit Schools in the Southern Low Countries (1585–1648) Krista De Jonge Architecture para-conventuelle: le pensionnat de jeunes filles aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles Laurent Lecomte The Post-Reformation School in England, 1540–1640 Maurice Howard The Academia Julia in Helmstedt as a Model University Building in Germany around 1600 Barbara Uppenkamp

297 307

325 333

343

‘So strangely altered’: Oxford and Cambridge Colleges, c.1660–1735 Alistair Fair

361

Astronomical Observatories in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries Johann-Christian Klamt

373

Part Five. Hospitals

383

Italian Hospitals of the Early Renaissance Hubertus Günther

385

L’Hôtel Royal des Invalides, Joelle Barreau

397

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FOREWORD

In architecture, the Renaissance began with a hospital – or so almost every manual written on Early Modern architecture in Europe since the nineteenth century asserts. This comment, which is factually quite correct as it refers to Filippo Brunelleschi’s famous Ospedale degli Innocenti in Florence (1418), serves one of the authors in this essay collection as a starting point. One single aspect only of this landmark building; i.e. the rinascimento dell’antichità manifest in Brunelleschi’s repertory of forms, has spawned a substantial literature list. The question of its typology in a perspective of longue durée and of its functionality as public infrastructure in the Florentine urban context on the contrary has not. This, the ninth volume of the Architectura Moderna Series, wants to address those very questions for the whole of Early Modern architecture in Europe, treading in the footsteps of pioneers such as Nikolaus Pevsner. Selected case studies from the areas of politics, governance, justice, economy, education and health care span Europe, from present-day Croatia and Spain, to England and Poland. They also reveal an important strand of contemporary theoretical thinking underlying these categories, distinct from the better-known treatise tradition on Antiquity and on the Classical Orders. Fascinatingly, the original – Pevsner-influenced – set-up of the papers is thus shown to be something of an anachronism, as in the sixteenth and early seventeenth century most of these buildings were not considered “public” but “private”. We must own up to the fact that the building categories labelled “public” here were defined as such only in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The collection Public Buildings in Early Modern Europe, to be more precise, addresses the Early Modern city, natural habitat of the buildings under review, and particularly the form it takes, not through its pattern of streets or of fortified boundaries, but rather through its infrastructure buildings. In this Series the problem has been discussed before for the Low Countries (see the third part of volume 5, edited by Krista De Jonge and Konrad Ottenheym, Unity and Discontinuity. Architectural Relations between the Southern and Northern Low Countries 1530–1700, 2007), and one of the forthcoming volumes, edited by Piet Lombaerde, will return to the subject of urban planning in the near future. In this volume also, in keeping with the Series’s mission statement, the Low Countries stand at the geographical heart of the exchanges described in the case studies. The new challenges urban society had to face from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries found new architectural expressions especially in the North of Europe, prosperous cities such as Antwerp and later Amsterdam not infrequently functioning as hubs. Nevertheless, for the first time the Series Editors are hosting a symposium of which they themselves did not take the initiative. The papers collected here were first presented at the Third (2006) and Fifth (2008) Rencontres d’architecture européenne organized by Konrad Ottenheym and Monique Chatenet at Utrecht University, under the aegis of the Centre André Chastel of Paris where the Rencontres originated. It seems fitting to quote the following passage from their “founding charter” (by Monique Chatenet and Claude Mignot), since it explains very clearly what the broader perspective is and why also the double Utrecht symposium fits in well with this Series’s scope: “From its very beginnings, art history has been torn between trans-European cultural history and between the individual histories of singular artistic personalities. Between these two poles, history of architecture has recognized the importance of a third factor, the typology of different human constructions, sacred

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FOREWORD places, public buildings, urban or rural dwellings, where different habitus take form, characteristic for particular collective, regional or national architectural cultures – habitus which nevertheless may be transformed by exceptional artistic personalities, extraordinary patrons, or ruptures which lead to the total or partial assimilation of neighbouring cultures. Up till now, historians have preferred to explore how great artistic personalities such as Palladio and Michelangelo (...) resonated across Europe, and to confront national visions, as if these should only be viewed bilaterally as centre versus periphery, one single country – Italy for the Renaissance, France for the Age of Enlightenment – constituting the single reference point. Research undertaken these past two decades has sufficiently shown up the inadequacies of that approach. In the sixteenth century, there is not one ‘Italy’ but several quite different ones, and the networks of exchange extending across Europe turn out to be infinitely more complex than could be imagined; in the seventeenth century different centres of gravity of varying relative weight (...) assert themselves (...) from Rome and Paris to London and Amsterdam.” Taking a leaf not only from our original mission statement but also from the latter one, the Series Editors are proud to welcome this important set of studies which highlight a particularly relevant problem of Early Modern architectural history and of European cultural history both, in a broad perspective of assimilation, cultural transmission and cultural transfer, reception and cultural exchange between all parts of Europe. They want to thank the convenors of the Utrecht symposia, Konrad Ottenheym and Monique Chatenet, and especially the ‘founding fathers’ of the Rencontres, first and foremost Jean Guillaume who took the original initiative, then at home in Tours (1973), and secondly Claude Mignot in Paris (2003), for thinking of their Series. Honour to whom honour is due: They also want to mention that previous results of these important fora for European architectural history have been published in the De Architectura Series (Paris: Picard). Last but not least, they want to thank the Nederlandse Organisatie voor Wetenschapplijk Onderzoek (NWO) and the Dutch Postgraduate School for Art History (Onderzoekschool Kunstgeschiedenis) for their generous support, without which these symposia would not have been possible. Leuven, 4 September 2009. Krista De Jonge, Series Editor

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PUBLIC BUILDINGS

IN

EARLY MODERN EUROPE,

AN INTRODUCTION

Konrad Ottenheym “Architecture has its Political Use; publick Buildings being the Ornament of a Country; it establishes a nation, draws People and Commerce; makes the People love their native Country, which Passion is the Original of all great Actions in a Common-wealth”. sir Christopher Wren, Parentalia In 1625 Duke Henri II d’Orléans-Longueville gave permission for a group of Protestant investors from France and Holland to found a new city on the shore of the Lac de Neuchâtel, Switzerland.1 This city was to be called Henripolis and the investors hoped to attract up to 15,000 new inhabitants. The merchandising for the project was very professional. In 1626 pamphlets were published in three languages; a French edition in Lyon, a German edition in Augsburg and a Dutch edition in Amsterdam. In each edition, sixteen pages of text are accompanied by three engravings, showing a map of Europe, a map of the area and the design of the new city (fig. 1). Henripolis would have been a utopia for early modern international merchants: its location is exactly the point of transition between the water systems of the river Rhine on one side, leading through Germany to Holland and the North Sea, and on the other side the river Rhône, leading through France to the Mediterranean. The pamphlet explains that this location is exactly halfway from Holland to Italy, from here it was only six days’ travel to Milan, four days to Lyon or Nancy, and three days to Dijon. The text of the pamphlet contains everything necessary to convince new investors and future immigrants to participate in this project. It eulogises about how the surrounding area is charming and healthy; the soil is very fertile and very good for growing grain; beneath the soil are gold and other minerals; all building materials necessary to erect houses can be found nearby; and the forest is densely crowded by deer, just waiting to meet hunters, while the lake is full of good fish. So far the pamphlet looks like a holiday advertisement. The utopian character of the whole project lies in its legislation; within the city there would be an absolute freedom of religion for both Catholics and Protestants (this was written during the Thirty-Years’ War), there was no compulsory military service and the city would not be fortified. The duke would guarantee the independence of the civic authority. The final enticement is the map of the future city. It shows the lay-out of streets and building plots in a rational grid system, apparently designed in Holland by one of those surveyors who had studied Simon Stevin’s urban theories (see page 23, fig. 8).2 Fountains and a public water supply are situated at almost every crossing. To make the city even more appealing, the most important buildings are depicted in three dimensions. The duke’s castle is located at the northern edge (No. 1, Le Palais) and two churches at the east and west side of the city (No. 4, L’esgliss), one for the German-speaking Protestants, the other for the French Protestants (while Catholics may visit the church in the nearby village, the pamphlet says). Public life is concentrated at two centres; the mercantile centre at the harbour with the trade halls at the left (No. 5, Les Halles des Marchandize) and the grain hall at the right (No. 6, Le 1

E. Castellani Zahr, J.W.F. Voogt, J.M.L. Ingen-Housz, ‘Henripolis: Karten zu einem Stadtgründungsprojekt des 17. Jahrhunderts’, Cartographica Helvetica, 8 (July 1993), pp. 3-8.

2

C. van den Heuvel, ‘De Huysbou’. A reconstruction of an unfinished treatise on architecture, town planning and civil engineering by Simon Stevin (History of Science and Scholarship in the Netherlands 7), Amsterdam, 2005.

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KONRAD OTTENHEYM

1. Henripolis, ground plan from the French edition of the advertisement, published in1626 in Lyon by C. Savery and B. Gaultier. (photograph: Universiteit Utrecht).

Marché du grain). The political centre is concentrated around a public square in the very heart of the city, with the town hall on the left side (No. 2, La court ou le senat) and the city’s military arsenal on the right (No. 3, L’arsenal). The corners of this central square are accentuated by four minor public buildings which are not identified as having any particular functions. According to what we know from comparable plans, we may expect to find here social and educational functions like a school, a hospital, an orphanage etc. Like many other utopias, Henripolis remained a draft on paper, but this case study shows the importance of public buildings in the early modern European city. The publicity agency that made this pamphlet included these various building types in the programme not just to enrich the visual attraction of the map but above all to make clear that Henripolis was to be a perfect city, with all the facilities that a mercantile society required. In the early modern European city, public buildings were the main pillars of the political, mercantile and social infrastructure. Nikolaus Pevsner’s A History of Building Types, first published in 1976, may be regarded as the foundation of contemporary research on public buildings.3 It was the first major study 3

N. Pevsner, A History of Building Types, London, 1976 (Princeton, 19792). For an overview of the older

historiography on the subject, see Pevsner’s ‘Foreword’ to this publication.

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PUBLIC BUILDINGS

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EARLY MODERN EUROPE,

AN INTRODUCTION

on non-religious and non-residential architecture in which various public building types were presented systematically according to their function and not just as examples of architectural styles. It is evident, however, that Pevsner had focussed his attention on the modernisation and multiplication of building types in the nineteenth century, as being the root of the era of modern architecture. New building types of the modern world have his special attention, like railway stations, exhibition halls, grand hotels and office buildings. The development of public buildings from the period before the late eighteenth century is the minor and less relevant part of his publication. Meanwhile, in the last three decades, some fine studies by various scholars in Europe and America have filled many of the blank spots. Most of these publications are monographs on specific buildings, town halls in the first place, but also hospitals, orphanages etc. Some of these monographs may be regarded as keystones in the history of that specific building type. Next to these pars pro toto studies, there are few new studies dedicated to the history of a particular building type as such. Most commonly the geographical scope of these studies is limited to contemporary national borders, like most of the surveys on town halls. There are only a few publications that analyse such developments in a European or even wider context, like Konrad Rückbrod’s publication on medieval and early modern university buildings (1977), the history of the hospital by Thompson and Goldin (1975) and Dieter Jetter’s overviews of the hospital in Europe from antiquity to 1800 (1986).4 In this kind of research a clear analysis of the function of the building in its historical setting is extremely important. Therefore historians of law as well as social historians have contributed a great deal to our current understanding of early modern public buildings, like publications on social welfare and orphanages, on the history of education and, of course, on the history of urban systems of government and justice.5 Most recent studies on early modern public building types are restricted to one country or region. An international comparison is often not possible, lacking the comparable information from different countries required for such a task. In a first attempt to create such a preliminary overview of current knowledge in various European countries, the IIIe and Ve Rencontres d’Architecture Européenne, held in 2006 and 2008 at Utrecht University, The Netherlands, in cooperation with the Centre André Chastel, Paris, were dedicated to this subject. In these two meetings, architectural historians from all over Europe discussed the results of their research on the development of various types of public building in the various European regions between the late fifteenth and mid-eighteenth century. This publication brings together most of the contributions to these two conferences, subdivided into three categories: • buildings erected for government and justice • buildings serving mercantile functions • buildings for education, health and social care.

4 K. Rückbrod, Universität und Kollegium. Baugeschichte und Bautyp, Darmstadt, 1977 ; J. D. Thompson, G. Goldin, The Hospital. A social and architectural history, New Haven, 1975; D. Jetter, Das europäische Hospital. Von der Spätantike bis 1800, Cologne, 1986.

5 P.G. Stein, Römisches Recht und Europa. Die Geschichte einer Rechtskultur, Frankfurt am Main, 1997. See for the historical practice of justice in medieval and early modern Europe: W. Schild, Alte Gerichtsbarkeit. Vom Gottesurteil bis zum Beginn der modernen Rechtsprechung, München, 1985.

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KONRAD OTTENHEYM Government and justice were the epicentre of civic authority. In the early modern period in most European countries the town hall was the seat of the local government, whether the council was a (semi) independent civic body or the representative of the feudal overlord. Meanwhile the town hall was often the court of justice as well. In medieval Europe, civic government and justice were not generally located in the same building. The court of justice, the seat of the bailiff and/or judges representing the feudal overlord, assisted by the aldermen elected or appointed from members of the civic council, had its own place to meet in public. This was often in an inn or even in the open air, often in front of a church, with the Last Judgment depicted on the tympanum at the judges’ back. A glimpse of such an open air ceremony of justice can still be seen today at the traditional ‘Water Court’ of Valencia. According to a tradition which dates from the ninth century, this tribunal meets every Friday at noon before the Puerta de los Apóstoles of the north transept of the cathedral to solve causes concerning the use of water from the irrigation systems (fig. 2). In most European legal systems the public character of the court of justice remained an important tradition, especially when the sentence of death was proclaimed. 2. Valencia, the traditional Water Tribunal sitting every In the late medieval period most of these ceremonies Friday at noon before the Puerta de los Apóstoles of were gradually transferred into an interior space for the cathedral (post card). greater comfort and security. From the fifteenth century onwards in various regions we find comparable solutions for the same problem: how to maintain the traditional ‘open air’ character of the ceremony of justice when the ceremony was transferred into a building. On the Dalmatian coast we find the open loggia di giustizia, while, for example, the German countries had their Gerichtslaube, a comparable structure but integrated into the town hall. The exceptional setting of the famous Vierschaar (tribunal) of the seventeenth-century town hall in Amsterdam, on the ground floor with windows open to the Dam square, can only be understood within this tradition. When, from the twelfth century onwards, cities became more powerful and more independent, they did not immediately set out to construct a new, purpose-built town hall. In some cases the civic council, representing the rich and mighty guilds, used the existing trade halls and guild houses as its meeting places. Before the town hall became the dominant building in town, in many cases, especially in the Low Countries, the halle functioned as such, for example, those in Ieper and Brugge, where the halles were multifunctional mercantile trade centres from the thirteenth century, erected when the town hall was still a humble dwelling. Those who ruled a city in early modern Europe mostly also dominated its mercantile life, especially in cities with a high degree of autonomy. The great town halls of the fifteenth century, especially those in Brabant (Brussels, Leuven), were built as the seat of the local authority but next to council halls and the court of justice, mercantile functions were also incorporated, like the meat hall (vleeshuis) and the cloth hall (lakenhal) as well as the public weigh house.

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PUBLIC BUILDINGS

IN

EARLY MODERN EUROPE,

AN INTRODUCTION

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the main focus of this publication, two parallel developments may be discerned in these interlinked building types for government, justice as well as trade. On the one hand, the growth of the cities, their population and the expanding bureaucracy, caused a further specialisation of building types. For various functions formerly included in a multifunctional town hall, new mono-functional building types were created as independent annexes of the town hall that were still part of the civic authority. Even when these buildings just served humble utilitarian functions, they still had to represent the authority and dignity of the city government. Sometimes this is very well expressed in architecture far more dignified than the humble function it serves might demand. On the other hand, meanwhile, elsewhere the process of concentrating several civic functions into one rationally organised governmental building continued. An example is the town hall of Maastricht, designed in 1656, which assembled the institutions and functions formerly located in different buildings: the court of justice, the city council as well as the room of the burgomasters on the main floor, various minor offices and a public library on the second floor, the public weigh house and civic guard 3. Maastricht, Town Hall, designed 1656 by Pieter on the ground floor, and a prison in the basement (fig. 3, Post, built 1659–1664. (photograph by the author). see also page 112, fig. 9).6 Buildings for education, like schools, universities and colleges, and those of the social institutions – orphanages, hospitals and old people’s dwellings – had a common root in medieval monastic building traditions. All had to accommodate specific groups of people who lived, worked, ate and slept together; thus the old principle of various buildings connected by a cloister or galleries fitted them all. Even in the ninth century, on the famous ground plan from Sankt Gallen which shows a system for the organisation of an ideal monastery, the infirmary and the noviciate are arranged symmetrically within one building with two courtyards. Up to the fifteenth century, throughout Europe, from England to Italy, the spatial organisation of college buildings differed not that much from hospitals or orphanages, notwithstanding the major differences in function and the wide range of qualities of the architecture itself. In later centuries, in the period after the Reformation, developments in Europe had evidently diverged. In the southern, Catholic parts of Europe, education was still strongly connected with religious orders and the architectural appearance of colleges, boarding schools and orphanages often had much in common with contemporary monastic complexes. In Protestant countries, on the other hand, from the late sixteenth century and even more in the seventeenth century, the point of reference for these building types changed. Protestant universities, colleges and even hospitals were no longer designed as a kind of secular monastery.

6

S.E. Minis, A.R.E. de Heer (eds.), Een seer magnifick Stadthuys. Tien studies over de bouw en de inrichting van het stadhuis te Maastricht, Delft, 1985.

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KONRAD OTTENHEYM Instead, from c. 1600, social and educational institutions were dressed up to resemble noble residences, as, for example, Heriot’s Hospital and School in Edinburgh shows convincingly (fig.4).7 This school was founded 1624 by the last will of George Heriot, the king’s treasurer and jeweller, and built c. 1628 by the royal master mason, William Wallace. It is a four-wing complex with corner towers, a central courtyard, and with classrooms, dormitories, refectory, board rooms, chapel, etc., all organised within a ground plan that is very close to some of Du Cerceau’s designs for noble residences.8 Also its elevation and the silhouette, with its 4. Edinburgh, Heriot’s Hospital and School, 1628, by William towers and corner pavilions and the enhanced Wallace (photograph by the author). sculptured entrance gates, resemble contemporary European châteaux. The growing dominance of the noble residences of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as a point of reference for the architectural design of contemporary public buildings, town halls as well as colleges, is one of the main topics of this collection of papers. The proceedings of the two conferences offer a wide view over Europe, with examples from many different regions and countries, with great differences in architectural solutions for what seems to be the same group of building types. Contributions to this conference illustrate, once more, the richness and diversity in Europe of buildings that only at first glance perhaps seem to have the same function. It is important to discern various constant factors, especially in the architecture for the ceremony of Justice, since in almost all countries this was based on the same principles of Roman law. At the same time, however, there are great differences between the various European countries in the division of power within the cities between a sovereign ruler or his representatives and the civic population. Therefore, in some cities the town hall is above all a representation of the central government; in other situations it is regarded as the palace of an almost independent republic. These differences in character of civic authority are also reflected in other public buildings, sometimes these are designed as merely utilitarian buildings, sometimes their architecture is seriously enhanced when these buildings were regarded as part of the civic authority, more or less acting as an appendix to the town hall. A palazzo communale in the Veneto is not the same as a hôtel de ville in France, or a tolbooth in Scotland, or a Rathaus in the Empire, in the Dutch Republic or in Poland. And neither are the demands for the mercantile infrastructure equal in all these countries. Differences in political systems, economic situations, cultural traditions as well as differences in the sense of decorum, all that must be recognised in order to try to understand the rich variety in architecture.

7 B.R.W. Lockhart, Georg Heriot’s Hospital and School: A survey of the buildings 1628–1978, Edinburgh, 1978. 8 J. Androuet du Cerceau, Livre d’Architecture, 1559, model XIX (among other examples). See for the influence of Du Cerceau in Scotland: M. Chatenet,

‘The paper houses of Jacques Androuet du Cerceau’, Architectural Heritage. The Journal of the Architectural Heritage Society of Scotland, XVIII. Scotia-Europa interactions in the late Renaissance, Edinburgh, 2007, pp. 87–98.

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Part One. Public Buildings; Texts and Theories

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1. Johann Heinrich Alsted, Methodus admirandorum mathematicorum complectens novem libros matheseos universae, Herborn, 1613. Typus architectonices on p. 531.

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PUBLIC BUILDINGS

IN THE

EARLY MODERN PERIOD

Hermann Hipp (Universität Hamburg)

Contemporary theories on differences between publicus and privatus and consequent scholarly systems of public buildings may be regarded as the key to understanding the architecture of public buildings in the early modern period.1 Its importance can be demonstrated by the 1613 diagrammatic scheme of Johann Heinrich Alsted (1588–1638) in his book Methodus admirandorum mathematicorum, which displayed the logical structure of architecture (fig. 1).2 His text explains in the same dichotomous way as the diagram the scope of architecture in general and the result of building in detail: “Aedificium est vel universale, vel particulare. Aedificum universale est urbs … Aedificum particulare est vel publicum vel privatum”.3 Alsted concluded that the end of all building is the city, and this city, comprehending all architecture, is constituted by the different building types, public and private. To understand what is meant by the word publicus, we can use the treatise on politics written by Petrus Gregorius (Pierre Grégoire), professor of law in Lotharingian Pont-à-Mousson, namely his book, De Republica, first published in 1596 (and often reprinted): “A populo, Publicum dicitur: quasi populicum, quod ad omnes de populo pertinet, vel pertinere potest …”.4 From this publicus meant all things belonging to a community or a state, whereas privatus meant everything that belonged only to a separate part of it, in most cases to the individuals constituting the society. Additionally the book on politics of Johann Angelius von Werdenhagen of 1632 asks (fig. 2a-b): 1

This essay is founded on ideas first published in H. Hipp, ‘Aristotelische Politik und frühneuzeitliche Bauaufgaben’, in: H. Hipp, E. Seidl (eds.), Architektur als politische Kultur: philosophia practica, Berlin, 1996, pp. 93–114. This is a shorter version of a forthcoming article: H. Hipp, ‘Die öffentliche Ordnung der Deutschen Renaissance’, in: S. Albrecht (ed.), Die Stadt und die Öffentlichkeit. 2 J. H. Alsted, Methodus admirandorum mathematicorum complectens novem libros matheseos universae, Herborn, 1613, engraving following p. 531. This scheme displays the ideas of the text on pp. 462–531. Alsted’s relevance in Early Modern cultural history is found in Johann Heinrich Alsted, Encyclopaedia septem tomis distincta, Herborn, 1630 (facsimile edition Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, 1989). Cf. W. Schmidt-Biggemann, Topica universalis. Eine Modellgeschichte humanistischer und barocker Wissenschaft (Paradeigmata 1), Hamburg, 1983, pp. 100–139; I. Schultz, Studien zur Musikanschauung und Musiklehre Johann Heinrich Alsteds 1588–1638, Marburg, 1967; W. Michel, Der Herborner Philosoph Johann Heinrich Alsted und die Tradition, Frankfurt am Main, 1969; G. Menk, Die Hohe Schule Herborn in

ihrer Frühzeit (1584–1600). Ein Beitrag zum Hochschulwesen des deutschen Kalvinismus im Zeitalter der Gegenreformation, Wiesbaden, 1981 (Veröffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission für Nassau 30; Dissertation, Frankfurt, 1975); J. Staedtke, ‘Alsted, Johann Heinrich’, Theologische Realenzyklopädie 2, 1978, pp. 299–303; J. Klein (ed.), Johann Heinrich Alsted, Herborns calvinistische Theologie und Wissenschaft im Spiegel der englischen Kulturreform des 17. Jahrhunderts, Frankfurt am Main, 1988; H. Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted 1588–1638. Between Renaissance, Reformation and Universal Reform, Oxford, 2000. Alsted’s architectural theories and his diagram of architecture are not discussed in this literature. Cf. Hipp 1979, pp. 485–487. 3 Alsted 1613, pp. 505 and 509. 4 (P. Grégoire), Dn. Petri Gregorii Tholosani, i. u. Doct. et professoris, prius in Academia Cadurcensi, dein Tholozana, nunc pontimussana Lotharingica, earundemque facultatem … De Republica libri sex et viginti, Frankfurt am Main, 1609 (Editio Germaniae altera, longe emulatior et nitidior; Pont-à-Mousson 1596), p. 4. For Grégoire, see below, note 27.

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2a and 2b. Johannes Angelius Werdenhagen, Introductio universalis in omnes respublicas, sive politica generalis, Amsterdam, 1632 – front page and p. 270–271.

“26. Quaenam sunt privata aedificia? Quae privatis hominibus negociisque eorum et commerciis sunt destinata, pro cuiusque usu”.5 Grégoire and Werdenhagen both created a system of different building types categorised by more or less detailed lists and descriptions. The impulse behind the diversification of architecture is the idea of functionally defined building types and that seems to be a ubiquitous phenomenon. Not only in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, as in Nikolaus Pevsner’s famous book,6 but equally in antiquity. The category by building type is one of the organizing principles in the Ten Books on Architecture of Vitruvius, and they form the basis of his theoretical ambition to give buildings ‘meaning’ (auctoritas) as evidence of their fitness for a purpose and of their decorum.7 This idea persisted even through the Middle Ages. The

5

Werdenhagen 1632, p. 271. For Werdenhagen, see also below notes 17–19. 6 N. Pevsner, A History of Building Types, London, 1976. In Germany the most extensive application is the Handbuch der Architektur, published from 1880 until 1943. See R. Jaeger, ‘Monumentales Standardwerk. Das “Handbuch der Architektur”

(1880–1943); Verlagsgeschichte und Bibliographie’, Aus dem Antiquariat, 2006, no. 5, pp. 343–364. 7 Building types are not used systematically by Vitruvius, but they are important in books IV to VI. See, Vitruvii de architectura libri decem. Iterum editit Valentinus Rose. Leipzig, 1899; Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture, translated by M. H. Morgan,

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extremely important and continuously widely-known seventh-century Etymologiae of Isidor of Seville is the primary link in a long-standing chain.8 Even Alsted cited Isidor as one of his authorities in architectura particularis in 1613.9 The great Renaissance treatises on architecture are also based on this concept, and it is displayed in the famous, very convincingly ‘organic’ diagram of a residential city by Francesco di Giorgio Martini, ordering the main building types within a human body.10 First of all Leon Battista Alberti’s De re aedificatoria is founded on a system of building types – public and private as in Alsted, who mentions Alberti among his authorities for architecture.11 Alberti through Alsted, Isidor through Alsted, and of course Alsted himself, are all in agreement with the building types as the most appropriate means of understanding early modern architecture. Certainly, there is no special technical term such as our modern ‘building type’ (or in German Baugattung) until the nineteenth century. But the idea, or the thing itself, is precisely defined by the systematically evolved architectura particularis, or simply by the word aedificium, because that is the primary content of the word ‘building’, characterised by fulfilling a certain function, thus belonging to a special building type. Exactly this category of aedificium (building) as building type is not only relevant to understanding architecture as such, but seems to be the crucial link between architecture and political theory, between philosophising on architecture as well as on human society and on the state in early modern times (at least in the German discourse). For the early modern treatises cited above are not books of architectural theory, but were written by politici, academic teachers of politics in the context of practical philosophy in the universities of their time. The theories of these politici are based on the political philosophy of Aristotle – the authoritative political theory of early modern times, and even used by Neo-Platonists as an entirely satisfactory source of words, concepts, categories and ideas to describe human society.12 Following Aristotle, it is the telos, the purpose of human nature, to form societies. As a zoon politikon, humankind needs community to pursue happiness; and the perfect form of society is the polis, in Latin civitas. To understand its quality as an entity and the New York, 1960 (first published 1914). They are the leading idea in the commentary of H. Knell, Vitruvs Architekturtheorie. Versuch einer Interpretation, Darmstadt, 1985. 8 ‘Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Etymologiarum sive Originum libri XX’, in: Patrologia Latina, vol. 82, col. 527ff (liber XV ‘De aedificiis et agris’). 9 Alsted 1613, p. 505. 10 Cod. Saluzziano 148 (Torino), fol. 3. See H. W. Kruft, Geschichte der Architekturtheorie von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, München, 1985, pp. 60–64, esp. p. 61 with fig. 15. 11 Leon Battista Alberti, De re aedificatoria, Florence, 1485. Facsimile edition, München 1975 (Alberti Index 4), see especially books VIII and IX, discussing public and private building types. Cf. Alsted 1613, p. 8. 12 The Politics of Aristotle, translated with notes by E. Barker, Oxford, 1948; Aristoteles, Politik. Übersetzt und mit erklärenden Anmerkungen versehen von Eugen Rolfes; mit einer Einleitung von Günther Bien (Philosophische Bibliothek 7), Hamburg, 1981. Cf. H. Maier, ‘Die Lehre der Politik an den deutschen Universitäten vornehmlich vom 16. bis 18. Jahrhundert’, in: D. Oberndörfer (ed.), Wissenschaftliche Politik. Eine Einführung in Grundfragen ihrer Tradition und Theorie (Freiburger Studien zu Politik

und Soziologie – zugleich Festschrift zum 65. Geburtstag von Arnold Bergstraesser), Freiburg i. Br., 1962, pp. 59–116; H. Dreitzel, Protestantischer Aristotelismus und absoluter Staat. Die “Politica” des Henning Arnisaeus (ca. 1575–1636) (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz, Abteilung Universalgeschichte 55), Wiesbaden, 1970; idem, ‘Der Aristotelismus in der politischen Philosophie Deutschlands im 17. Jahrhundert’, in:C. Keßler, C. H. Lohr, W. Sparn (eds.), Aristotelismus und Renaissance. In memoriam Charles B. Schmitt (Wolfenbütteler Forschungen 40), Wiesbaden, 1988, pp.163–192; H. Denzer, ‘Spätaristotelismus, Naturrecht und Reichsreform: Politische Ideen in Deutschland 1600–1750’, in: I. Fetscher, H. Münkler (eds.), Pipers Handbuch der politischen Ideen. Band 3: Neuzeit: Von den Konfessionskriegen bis zur Aufklärung. München, Zürich, 1985, pp. 233–274; W. Weber, Prudentia Gubernatoria. Studien zur Herrschaftslehre in der deutschen politischen Wissenschaft des 17. Jahrhunderts (Studia Augustana 4), Tübingen, 1992; Michael Philipp, Projektbeschreibung “Politische Wissenschaft in Deutschland im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert”, Universität Augsburg. URL: http:www.philso.uni-augsburg. de/web2/Politik1/geschpol1.html (accessed 5 October 2007).

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HERMANN HIPP interaction of its elements, the metaphor of mikro- and makrokosmos provides an organic model founded on the perfection of the human body. But the key metaphor can be found in the Nicomachian Ethics: as ethics is the practical philosophy for man as an individual within society, so the practical philosophy of politics as the science of society and of socialisation, is the episteme architektonike, the architectural science, bringing together neatly all the knowledge needed in our state as the natural telos, the aim of human existence – of the zoon politikon. It may be a metaphor, but it incorporates just the consequence that we find in our texts. In fact, Aristotle’s book Politics really has already, and in a very concise sense, its logical and practical climax in a building programme for the polis: the city as a material framework both organising and ordering society, with site, walls, streets, houses, temples and other public buildings.13 In the Latin Aristotelian texts, the urbs is the built receptacle of the civitas. From antiquity, therefore, there was a very close connection in practical philosophy, between architectural and political ideas. Indeed it had become an almost obligatory subject for debate by early modern times. For example, a Tübingen writer on politics, Zacharias Friedenreich, devoted an entire chapter on building the city as the necessary condition for the existence of the state in 1609: “Quamvis parietibus aut moenibus Respubl. non constat, non tamen sine his subsistit”.14 (Even if the state is not made out of walls, without them, it cannot exist.) That applied to all building tasks in the state, from house to temple, site to architectural detail. Johann Angelius von Werdenhagen (1581–1652), one of the most interesting German political philosophers of early seventeenth century in this context, lost his teaching job at the Lutheran university of Helmstedt because of his Neo-Platonic-Boehmian inclinations. Afterwards he became an imperial ambassador to the Hanse cities, living in Lübeck.15 In between he resided in Leiden where he published a forgotten but very important treatise on the history of the Hanseatic League and the cities united in it in 1631.16 This book was followed in 1632 by a likewise nearly forgotten treatise on political theory, in which Werdenhagen descended from universal notions about the social nature of man and his pursuit of happiness down to reality, meaning architecture.17 Even this strong Neo-Platonist needs the urbs as condition of civitas: “Quid est urbs? – Est receptaculum societatis civilis ex domorum et vicorum multitudine ita constans, ut communibus munimentis et securitate murorum, fossarum, turrium ornamentis publicis ac juribus sit exornatum … ”.18 13

The Politics of Aristotle 1948 (note 12), p. 359–364 (book VII, chapters XI and XII). Cf. G. Bien, ‘Einleitung’, in: Aristoteles, Politik 1981 (note 12), pp. XIII– LXI, esp. p. XXVI. 14 Z. Friedenreich, Politicorum liber, ex sacris profanisque scriptoribus veros artis politicae fontes investigans, Tübingen, 1609, p. 205. It is the first sentence of the chapter, ‘De Domo et civitate’, pp. 205–276. 15 Hipp 1996, p. 100. Idem, ‘Das Ansehen der “Stadt Gottes”. Politische und heilsgeschichtliche Perspektiven in Hamburger Stadtansichten der frühen Neuzeit’, Zeitschrift des Vereins für Hamburgische Geschichte 83/I, (Festschrift für Hans-Dieter Loose), 1997, pp.

243–268, at pp. 256–260; B. Uppenkamp, Das Pentagon von Wolfenbüttel. Der Ausbau der welfischen Residenz 1568–1628 zwischen Ideal und Wirklichkeit, Hannover, 2005 (Veröffentlichungen der historischen Kommission für Niedersachsen und Bremen 229, Dissertation, Hamburg, 2000), pp. 230–233. 16 J. A. Werdenhagen, De rebus publicis hanseaticis tractatus generalis, Leiden, 1631. 17 Werdenhagen 1632; A. Voigt, Über die Politica generalis des Johann Angelius v. Werdenhagen (Amsterdam 1632) (Erlanger Forschungen Reihe A: Geisteswissenschaften 17), Erlangen, 1965. 18 Werdenhagen 1632, p. 270 q. 19; Uppenkamp 2005 (note 15), p. 232.

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Even if using no other term for them than aedificia, Werdenhagen described the parts of this urbs with just the same category of building types as Alsted, whom he explicitly mentions as his authority.19 “20. Quanam sunt partes primariae. Quae consistunt in aedificiis ad utilitatem extructis, quae sunt vel publica vel privata. 21. Quaenam publica vocantur? Quae ad publici usus possessionem sunt destinata. Suntque alia sacra, alia profana. etc.”.20 Theoretical thinking about society through the lens of architecture and building type is commonplace in German texts on politics and remained untouched by the controversies of the era of ‘confessionalisation’ since there was complete accord between the different Christian denominations in such matters. Between the Calvinist Alsted on the one hand and the sectarian Lutheran Werdenhagen at the other, is the orthodox Lutheran Wolfgang Heider, who was teaching in the first quarter of the seventeenth century at Coburg. His manuscript was posthumously published in 1628 as Philosophiae politicae systema. He was explicitly Aristotelian, as stated in the title of this book, where he describes his work as “opus methodi aristotelicae, quae et rerum confert intelligentiam …”.21 Citing all well-known authorities from Aristotle and Vitruvius to Grégoire, Heider developed the programme of a built city, its urbanism and architecture within a treatise on society with the same range and order of distribution of public and private buildings.22 The first divide in this system is always the one between publicus and privatus, from which Alsted also started. This was clearly an element of the nature of human life and even Aristotle held it a fait accompli that there were two distinct spheres of life – public and private. Politics is the theory of public affairs and ethics and economics are theories of private life. Heider illustrated this by dividing public and private building programmes in his urbanistic programme, the first to serve the polis, the second to be orderly organised within the public as whole (the polis), for example in the Miletus of Hippodamos.23 This was codified as a fundamental pattern of European thought from the very beginning in one of the strongest traditions of Antiquity, the laws of the polis – and especially in Roman law.24 Alsted, Heider and Werdenhagen were all lawyers, and had academic training not only in the Aristotelian tradition but also in faculties of law. This fundamental dichotomy between public and private underpinned by legal theory surfaced in a diagram of Alsted that displayed iurisprudentia. His extremely important Encyclopaedia Universalis, published in 1632, shows the laws as to persons branching from privatus to publicus.25 The laws concerning public affairs and relating to private affairs represent a third dichotomous system of 19

Werdenhagen 1632, p. 271. Werdenhagen 1632, p. 270ff. Cf. Uppenkamp 2005 (note 15), p. 232ff. 21 W. Heider, Philosophiae politicae systema, in quo de rerumpublicarum causis materialibus, efficientibus et formalibus, earundem adjumentis et praesidiis, externisque accidentibus, ut numero plurimis, ita genere variis, maxime vero de Bello et Pace (…), Jena, 1628, at p. 24 ‘Methodus’. 22 Heider 1628, pp. 595–625, Cap. IV. 20

23

Aristotle, Politics, book VII, chapters XI and XII. Cf. above, note 12.24 For more detail, see P. G. Stein, Römisches Recht und Europa. Die Geschichte einer Rechtskultur (Europäische Geschichte; Fischer-Taschenbuch 60102), Frankfurt am Main, 1997; O. Gierke, Deutsches Privatrecht Bd. 1. Allgemeiner Teil und Personenrecht (Systematisches Handbuch der Rechtswissenschaft II, 3, 2), Leipzig, 1895, pp. 27 and 29. 25 Alsted, Encyclopaedia Universalis, 1632 (note 2), p. 18, tab. XXVII.

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HERMANN HIPP categories parallel to that in politics and in architecture, and of course, in real life, that was plainly the most valid one.26 Pierre Grégoire, also a lawyer and professor of laws (iuris utriusque), although a Roman Catholic, followed the same Aristotelianism as Heider.27 They became the most cited political writers in seventeenth-century Germany. In his introduction of De Republica, Grégoire outlined his method, which indeed is completely the opposite of Werdenhagen, albeit to the same effect (fig. 3): namely, that instead of believing ideas came down from heaven to earth, including the human need for real cities, public and private buildings, he began from the reality. He analysed the elements, organism and elaboration of a built city – the urbs – to interpret human society. In an almost scientific manner, he evolved from these facts the sociological theory, on which he grounded his discourse on the state, the institutions and laws of civitas. “Quia mihi semper placuit methodus, quae imitatur naturam, quam et ars secuta omnis est”.28 3. Petrus Gregorius Tholosanus (Pierre Grégoire), De Republica libri sex et viginti, Frankfurt am Main, 1609 (Editio Germaniae altera; first published Pont-à-Mousson, 1596), front page.

His short and nevertheless quite detailed consideration of building types gives real outlines of ‘building politics’, close to concrete life in the whole range of its possibilities. In their principles, categories and detail, Grégoire and the other politici not only wanted to understand society and the state but also to give hints as to how those theoretical insights might be applied to practical life. Similarly in his writings on canon law, Grégoire included the building of churches in the question of good Church government. The obligation to build churches and their fittings is set out in detail at the beginning of the treatise, including basic instructions with respect to images.29

26

Roman law seems to be the context of categorizing building types in the treatise of Vitruvius as well as Alberti. See H.J. Fritz, Vitruv. Architekturtheorie und Machtpolitik in der römischen Antike (Oktogon Studien zu Architetur und Städtebau 15), Münster, 1995, pp. 110–116, and H. Mühlmann, Ästhetische Theorie der Renaissance. Leon Battista Alberti, Bonn, 1981 (Habelts Dissertationsdrucke, Reihe Kunstgeschichte 6; dissertation München 1968), p. 123. 27 For Grégoire, see Dreitzel 1970, p. 144ff; Weber 1992, p. 73 note 253. E. Joucla, Les doctrines politiques de Grégoire de Toulouse, Toulouse, 1899; C. Collot, L’école doctrinale de droit public de Pont-à-Mousson. Pierre Grégoire de Toulouse et

Guillaume Barclay, Paris, 1965; Luigi Gambino, Il De republica di Pierre Grégoire. Ordine politico e monarchia nella Francia di fine Cinquecento (Università di Roma. Facoltà delle scienze politiche 23), Milan, 1978; L. Pigeaud, ‘Grégoire (Pierre)’, in: Dictionnaire de biographie française, vol. 16, Paris, 1985, pp. 1143–1144. 28 Grégoire 1609 (note 4), Periocha pars prima. S. p. 29 (Pierre Grégoire) Petrus Gregorius, Iuris canonici seu pontificii partitiones, in quinque libros digestae, Frankfurt am Main, 1595, pp. 17–26, ‘De ecclesia sive templo’. I leave aside all this, as well as his important book on Roman law.

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A firm understanding of Grégoire’s writings needs to begin with his early work on logic of 1575, Syntaxes, conceived as a complete system of universal knowledge.30 A copy in the State Library of Hamburg contains handwritten notes and several schemes of the same diagrammatical type that Alsted used (fig. 4).31 These diagrams provide the crucial methodological key to understanding notions of ‘public’ and ‘private’ in building, in politics and in law as interacting categories. 4. Johann Heinrich Alsted, Encyclopaedia septem tomis In each diagram, there is a visual device, distincta, Herborn, 1630. Part of the ‘Tabula vigesima which not only gives the logical relations septima Adumbrans Librum vigesimum sextum, In quo est of things and ideas in words and terms – Jurisprudentia’, vol. 1, p. 18. in grammatical and linguistic context –, but also shows the system at a glance. Metaphorically speaking, and at the same time in a very literal way, the visuality of the logical system is the main insight and evidence you get out of it.32 The schematic sketch of Francesco di Giorgio Martini may be read in the same way. Moreover, one may also see such logical diagrams in the city plans and city views which first became popular in the early modern period. In an Aristotelian sense, all those wonderfully perfect, geometrically shaped ‘ideal’ city plans of the Renaissance and Baroque were not so much theoretically ‘ideal’ cities as ‘natural’ ones – albeit more geometrical.33 Therefore they are the significant forms of early modern reality. One only needs to survey such schemes in detail to find the points of contact between the architectural discourse as an element of political discourse on the one hand, and public, well-ordered reality of Gute Policey, as it was called in Germany in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries on the other.34 This was demonstrated in the books on architecture by Joseph Furttenbach, the father and son from Ulm (an imperial city in southern Germany), published between 1628 and 1667.35 In his Architectura civilis of 1628, in a very concisely founded and reflective way, Furttenbach the Elder tells us that he did not want to show the decorative system of the ‘orders’ yet again, but instead the consequences for architecture of the different purposes that buildings serve, with a particular focus upon the distinction between public and private. Without using the term ‘building type’, he demonstrated the possibilities arising from this.36 The Furttenbachs had a total concept of the proper context for 30

Petrus Gregorius Tholosanus, Syntaxes artis mirabilis, in libros septem digestae. Per quos de omni re proposita, multis et prope infinitis rationibus disputari aut tractari, omniumque summaria cognitio haberi potest, Lyon, 1575. This book (as well as the work of Alsted and others) was strangely misunderstood by Michel Foucault in Les mots et les choses, see idem, Die Ordnung der Dinge. Eine Archäologie der Humanwissenschaften, Frankfurt am Main, 1990 (Suhrkamp Taschenbuch Wissenschaft 96; original French edition, Paris, 1966), p. 28 etc. 31 Grégoire 1575. This particular copy is in Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Hamburg, A/37567, front-paper and p. 5.

32

The historical development of this visual, instead of an older ‘aural’, system of thinking and logic, is best explained in Walter Jackson Ong, Ramus, method and the decay of dialogue. From the art of discourse to the art of reason, Cambridge, MA, 1958 (reprint New York, 1974). 33 Cf. W. Oechslin, ‘Il mito della città ideale’, in: L. Benevolo, C. Bertelli et al. (eds.), Principii e forme della città, Milan, 1993, pp. 419–456, at p. 449. 34 Cf. below note 42. 35 Kruft 1985, pp. 192–195. 36 Joseph Furttenbach, Architectura civilis, Ulm, 1628, f. VI v.

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5a and 5b. Joseph Furttenbach the younger, Feriae architectonicae, Der vierte Theil: Gewerb-Stattgebäw, Augsburg, 1650, parts of plate B.

all such building types within the entity of the urbs. This system is exemplified in the 1650 treatise on the Gewerbstadt (the commercial city) by Furttenbach the Younger (fig. 5a, b).37 One could explore his bird’s-eye view of an ‘ideal city’ with all its components, as Alsted’s diagram or Werdenhagen’s list, or Heider and Gregorius’ practical advice. We might also read the built cities of this time in a comparable Aristotelian and political way.38 Of course, the politici had different social and political preferences, both at a detailed level and at a more fundamental level. Grégoire particularly wanted to strengthen the early modern state based on the sovereignty of monarchs, something akin to legal absolutism, as is proved by his firm 37 J o s e p h F u r t t e n b a c h t h e y o u n g e r, F e r i a e architectonicae Der Vierte Theil. Gewerb-Stattgebäw, Augsburg, 1650. Engravings added to p. 31 demonstrate plan and bird’s-eye views of the city.

38

Cf. the example of Wolfenbüttel in Uppenkamp 2005 (note 15). Eva-Maria Seng, Stadt – Idee und Planung. Neue Ansätze im Städtebau des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts, München and Berlin, 2003 (Habil.-Schr. Halle 1999).

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reference to Jean Bodin.39 In his De Republica when writing about aedificia privata, Grégoire addressed the building laws absolutely necessary to protect public welfare, and one can readily see the tendency to extend the public intervention into the most intimate areas of private buildings. He wrote: “ … non nisi auctoritate publica, privata dirigantur, et copellantur suos tenere ordines, ut convenit societati, brevi tempore respublica dissolvitur. Quare diligenter cum publico etiam privatum in administratione reipublicae curandum est”.40 Thus absolutist consequences of early modern political and juridical theory extended public power over society as a whole and that might be understood as a tendency to suspend the traditional Aristotelian dichotomy of polis and oekos, state and domestic, public and private, and its legislation in Roman law. It is a tendency that occurs more or less in most of the political treatises. The Aristotelian civitas as urbs, as the teleological concept of the zoon politicon can be understood as something like a democratic polis.41 In general, however, the early modern sense of an ordered society, what is called in German gute policey, remains dominant.42 In all writers cited, including the Furttenbachs, the intention to consider the totality of human life, to give everything its special place and shape, to understand the diversity of social activities and to give them special buildings, even the tendency to extend the zoon politikon over the private sphere and private places into the homes of private people, all can be reduced to the concept of ‘social control’ (Sozialkontrolle) that Gerhard Oestreich introduced as the signature of the epoch.43 The nucleus of Furttenbach’s concept of the city coincides with the treatises. As a result, Oestreich’s term might not be as obsolete as has been meanwhile accepted.44 The evidence of a relationship between these treatises, diagrams and the built reality provides evidence of power. But their content is not a Nietzschean Machtberedsamkeit der Steine, no hidden ‘intrinsic meaning’ needing to be revealed; no ‘order of things’ in the sense of Foucault. In the German sense of the word, ‘public’ (öffentlich) means an open discourse, derived from publications and citations, founded on scientific method and based on scientific and philosophical authorities. This public discourse is proved as 39

Joucla 1899 (note 27), p. 48ff. Grégoire 1609 (note 4), p. 5. 41 The different principles of the state have been defined by Aristotle and are discussed in the Early Modern political treatises. One of the best examples, which does not give explicit preferences and which even lists the ‘democracies’ of its time (in The Netherlands) is Lambertus Danaeus (Lambert Daneau), Politices christianae libri septem, Genève, 1596, pp. 46–76, Cap. VI. For this Calvinist writer, see C. Strohm, Ethik im frühen Calvinismus. Humanistische Einflüsse, philosophische, juristische und theologische Argumentationen sowie mentalitätsgeschichtliche Aspekte am Beispiel des Calvin-Schülers Lambertus Danaeus (Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 65), Berlin, 1996. 42 P. Blickle, P. Kissling, H. R. Schmidt (eds.), Gute Policey als Politik im 16. Jahrhundert. Die Entstehung des öffentlichen Raumes in Oberdeutschland, Frankfurt am Main, 2003; Th. Simon, Gute Policey. Ordnungsleitbilder und Zielvorstellungen politischen Handelns in der Frühen Neuzeit (Studien zur europäischen Rechtsgeschichte 170), Frankfurt am Main, 2004. 40

43

G. Oestreich, Geist und Gestalt des frühmodernen Staates. Ausgewählte Aufsätze, Berlin, 1969; idem, ‘Policey und prudentia civilis in der barocken Gesellschaft von Stadt und Staat’, in: B. Oestreich (ed.), Strukturprobleme der frühen Neuzeit. Ausgewählte Aufsätze, Berlin, 1980 (19741), pp. 367–379. 44 M. Dinges, ‘Normsetzung als Praxis? Oder: Warum werden die Normen zur Sachkultur und zum Verhalten so häufig wiederholt und was bedeutet dies für den Prozeß der “Sozialdisziplinierung”?’, in: G. Jakitz (ed.), Norm und Praxis im Alltag der Frühen Neuzeit (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Phil.-hist. Kl. – Forschungen des Instituts für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit Diskussionen und Materialien 21), Wien, 1997, pp. 39–53. This term seems to be even more problematic within the contextualization of Oestreich’s ideas in his career under the Third Reich, see P. N. Miller, ‘Nazis and Neo-Stoics. Otto Brunner and Gerhard Oestreich before and after the Second World War’, Past and Present, 2002, n° 176, pp. 144–186.

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HERMANN HIPP accepted common sense by the very fact of its widespread dissemination, at least within the Holy Roman Empire and its many centres of academic teaching and publications. So it may be recorded as something like the code of the time revealed in both society and its architecture, a common sense Weltanschauung: visually evident in the architecture and intentionally invested in the buildings.45 The most important term remains ‘public building’ – in both senses. On the one hand it means that in its most important functions, the building is public, and on the other hand, it conveys the Aristotelian insight that society requires built frameworks, in that a city has to be built. Last but not least, the category of ‘public building’ is not a scientific construction ex post, but a cultural concept of the epoch. By its use, the early modern era tried to organise social life and to construct society by building. Frequently cited works Hipp 1979 Hermann Hipp, Studien zur “Nachgotik” des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts in Deutschland, Böhmen, Österreich und der Schweiz, Hannover, 1979 (dissertation Tübingen, 1974). Hipp 1996 Hermann Hipp, ‘Aristotelische Politik und frühneuzeitliche Bauaufgaben’, in: Hermann Hipp, Ernst Seidl (eds.), Architektur als politische Kultur: philosophia practica, Berlin, 1996, pp. 93–114. Werdenhagen 1632 Johann Angelius Werdenhagen, Introductio universalis in omnes respublicas, sive politica generalis, Amsterdam, 1632.

45 Finally I risk going back to that ‘Nachgotik’ as the style of this Weltanschauung. See H. Hipp, ‘Die “Nachgotik” in Deutschland – Kein Stil und ohne Stil’, in: S. Hoppe, M. Müller, N. Nußbaum (eds.),

Stil als Bedeutung in der nordalpinen Renaissance. Wiederentdeckung einer methodischen Nachbarschaft, Regensburg, 2008, pp. 15–46.

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Jeroen Goudeau (Radboud University, Nijmegen) Nicolaus Goldmann: deus ex machina at the outset In the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the changes in European society were manifold. As an offspring of the political, social, religious and cultural developments, architecture developed too, being the material context in which it all took place. As a consequence, new types of buildings were needed, especially in the field of public buildings; government, justice, finance, as well as church building. The way ‘back’ was not open, for the well known and authoritative examples of Roman Antiquity would no longer fit with the new requirements. Apart from requiring the architectural designer to come up with practical solutions, this development also raised theoretical questions. New and adapted building types caused a sort of typology-shifting. A redefinition in terms of the interrelations between the building types and their hierarchy came into question. A new, expressive coherence had to be found. It was the Silesian-Dutch architectural theorist and mathematician, Nicolaus Goldmann (1611–1665) who provided, around the middle of the seventeenth century, a unique theory of architecture. This theory dealt explicitly with the new situation and matched the highest methodological standards of its time. Goldmann’s theory became known to the world as Vollständige Anweisung zu der Civil-Bau=Kunst (henceforth, Vollständige Anweisung). The text was published posthumously by the German architect, Leonhard Christoph Sturm (1669– 1719) in Wolfenbüttel in 1696, with reprints in 1699 and 1708. Thanks to Sturm, the book gained some hold on architectural theory in eighteenth-century Germany. But the original mid seventeenth-century Dutch-German context in which this theory was conceived has until now mostly been overlooked. Almost unparalleled in its completeness and in its mathematical systematization, this source widens our horizon on Northern European architectural theory of the seventeenth century. Among other qualities, Goldmann’s theory can be regarded as an important contribution to contemporary thinking about public buildings in general. It nourished the rather fragmentary beginning of a typology ‘debate’ in particular. In the same period, some other authors also provided a parallel form of typology and had their influence on Goldmann. It is remarkable that they linked their typology to the layout of the city. Towards a theory of architecture Nicolaus Goldmann was born in 1611 in the Silesian capital Wrocław (Breslau) in Poland.1 In 1632 he came to the Dutch town of Leiden, where he studied at the university and worked until his death in 1665. There he became deeply interested in mathematics. Next to the official academic institutions, the university and the famous practical engineering school known as the Duytsche Mathematique and based on the instruction of Simon Stevin

1 On Goldmann, see: Max Semrau, ‘Zu Nikolaus Goldmanns Leben und Schriften’, Monatshefte für Kunstwissenschaft, 1916, Vol. 9, no. 10, pp. 349– 361, no. 12, pp. 463–473; Isolde Küster, Leonhard

Christoph Sturm; Leben und Leistung auf dem Gebiet der Zivilbaukunst in Theorie und Praxis, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Berlin, Berlin, 1942; Goudeau 2005.

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JEROEN GOUDEAU (1548–1620), there was a large number of so-called private tutors, such as the well-known Samuel Marolois (1572–1628).2 Goldmann became such a private tutor, teaching the basic curriculum of mathematics, and its application in military architecture and, which was less common, in architectural theory. During his life Goldmann published five treatises, which were directly derived from his lessons; two on military architecture, one on the Vitruvian Ionic volute, two on specific instruments for measuring and drawing; the sector and his own stylometer. A sixth book, his final work of theory on civil architecture, was completed and lectured on, but was not published during his lifetime. Together these six writings, varying from theoretical treatises to practical handbooks, reflect different parts of Goldmann’s architectural curriculum.3 His teaching attracted students from Holland, the German states, Poland, Ireland, Sweden and Denmark. Goldmann’s main contribution to architectural theory was his comprehensive treatise, which he himself simply named Architectura. Due to Goldmann’s sudden death in 1665 the treatise remained unpublished for many years, until its publication by Sturm in 1696. But by that time, mostly during Goldmann’s life, his theory had spread over Northern Europe in the form of precise lecture notes. It is very rare in Dutch and German architectural history for a number of examples of these students’ notes to have survived, together with Goldmann’s own original manuscripts of his architectural theory, ten copies in total.4 These manuscripts provide a rich insight into the architectural thinking and teaching of the seventeenth century, and into the principles of design technique, including the design of public buildings. Goldmann’s architectural theory is presented in four books: I. General principles (Von den allgemeinen Anfängen) II. The five column orders (Von den fünff Ordnungen) III. The interior of the building (Von der inneren Eintheilung der Gebäue) IV. The building types (Von den gantzen Wercken). The first book provides a general theoretical framework based on a formal, Euclidianaxiomatic approach. He founds his architectural theory on a threefold basis; mathematics, Antiquity (mainly derived from Vitruvius) and, which is exceptional, the Old Testament, especially the Temple of Solomon. Other basic principles of the theory in the first book include the building materials, and constructional principles for foundations, wall constructions, roofs and the like. The second book examines the column orders in great detail, specifically their

2

For some recent material and further references, see: K. van Berkel, ‘Simon Stevin et la fondation de l’école militaire de Leyde en 1600’, in: C. Secretan and P. den Boer (eds.), Simon Stevin, De la vie civile, 1590, Lyon, 2005, pp. 93–108. 3 The published books are: Elementorum Architecturae Militaris Libri IV, Leiden (Elsevier), 1643; La Nouvelle Fortification, Leiden (Elsevier), 1645; ‘Vitruvii Voluta Ionica’, in: Johannes de Laet (ed.), M. Vitruvii Pollionis De Architectura Libri Decem, Amsterdam (Elsevier), 1649, pp. 265–272; Tractatus De Usu Proportionatorii Sive Circini Proportionalis, Leiden (at Ph. De Croy), 1656; Tractatus De Stylometris Stylometris, Leiden (on own account), 1661; Vollständige Anweisung zu der Civil Bau=Kunst, ed. Leonhard Christoph Sturm, Wolfenbüttel (on account of Georg Bose; printed by C.J. Bißmarck’s widow), 1696/ Brunswick (printed by H. Keßler), 1699²/ Leipzig (Friedrich Lanckisch’s heirs), 1708³.

4

The manuscripts are: Prodromus Architecturae, [1659] (Staatsbibliothek Preussischer Kulturbesitz [henceforth StaBi], Berlin, sign.Ms.lat.fol.191); Der Vorläuffer der Baw-Kunst, [1659] (StaBi, sign.Ms.germ.fol.238); Von der Bawkunst: (StaBi, sign.Ms.germ.fol.7. (1)); [Architektonische Zeichnungen und Kupferstiche - 1] (StaBi, sign.Libr.pict.fol.A 71); [Architektonische Zeichnungen und Kupferstiche - 2] (StaBi, sign. Ms.germ.fol.239); Portefeuille contenant les desseins faits en partie de la propre main de S.A.E. Frederic Guillaum (StaBi, sign.R.94.IV.Ha 6); Ein Elementa der Baukunst; [before 1656] (Det Kongelige Bibliothek [henceforth KBC], Copenhagen, sign.Gaml.Kgl. Saml.332.fol.); Elementa Architecturae, copy by Willum Worm, Leiden 1658 (KBC, sign.Thott 267–2°); Architectura [1658?] (KBC, sign.Thott-270-Fol); Entwerffung dehr Baukunst, 1663 (Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, sign.1.7.11.Aug.fol.).

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application in the building itself, also in superpositions, arcades and so on. The third book discusses the lay-out of buildings with the emphasis on the classical auditoria or halls, largely based on Vitruvius, Palladio and Scamozzi. The fourth book examines the design and use of all kinds of buildings. With its cohesion, scope and detail, Goldmann’s treatise presented one of the earliest exhaustive building typologies in the architectural theory of Northern Europe. Especially in the case of the building types, the manuscripts are an important supplement to the text and illustrations of the printed edition. There are clear references to Palladio and Scamozzi, to contemporary Dutch Classicist examples, next to citations from Antiquity (particularly taken from Serlio). The building types also show the influence of Goldmann’s German origin. The impressive achievement of Goldmann is not only in his treatise’s scope and completeness, but especially in the mathematical-scientific method employed. Goldmann treated architecture so to speak as more geometrico, in harmony with the mathematically orientated projects of his time, such as those of Descartes and others. In this respect Goldmann is more than an interesting individual; he can be regarded as representative of a professional group and of an intellectual milieu. Goldmann on public buildings Book IV of Goldmann’s Vollständige Anweisung deals with the various building types. In separate chapters, the function, use, lay-out and dimensions of the main types of public building are described. More than in the other parts of the theory, here the sketches from the original manuscripts by Goldmann help to clarify the sometimes abstract or overly concise passages in the text. In these sketches of no more than a few square centimetres, the theoretical design instructions are translated into architecture. They are supplementary to the illustrations by Sturm in the printed editions of 1696 and later.5 The building types that are dealt with are, successively: • churches (die Kirchen) • schools and the university (die Schulen; die Academie) • hospitals (die Spittäle) • town halls (die Rath-Häuser) • the governmental building (das Land-Hauss) • the market places and the exchange (der Marckt; die Börse) • the court of justice (das Richthauss) • the armoury, guardhouse and the arsenal (das Zeug-Hauss; das Wach-Hauss; die Schiff-Häuser) • the mint, the treasury and the prison (das Pfennig-Hauss; die Gefängnüss). Other chapters discuss bridges, city gates, shipyards, the water supply system, mills, towers, theatres and buildings for sports and leisure, and finally different types of memorials and funeral monuments, respectively.6

5 On the relation between Goldmann’s work and that of Sturm (illustrations, shifts of emphasis, interpretations, etc.) see: Goudeau 2005, pp. 441–460. 6 Goldmann 1696, b. IV, ch. 1–19; Ulrich Schütte, ‘Die Lehre von den Gebäudetypen’, in: idem (ed.),

Architekt und Ingenieur; Baumeister in Krieg und Frieden (Ausstellungskataloge der Herzog August Bibliothek 42), Wolfenbüttel, 1984, pp. 155–262, passim; Goudeau 2005, pp. 369–403.

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JEROEN GOUDEAU The Town Hall The size and appearance of the town hall is, according to Goldmann, related to the size and importance of the city. The combination of religious and governmental functions in the curia of Antiquity no longer exists in our time, Goldmann states, so we have to invent a new form out of the old. He proposes three varieties; the small town hall for small cities, and two larger ones, for a large city and for the capital. The small town hall should be built on a square ground plan, with rectangular chambers in the ratios 1:1 or 1:2. In the centre, the Hals-Gericht, a court of rule and punishment, with the mayor or the sheriff on a semicircular dais. Here Goldmann must have had the famous Vierschaar of the Amsterdam town hall in mind.7 Around the public hall are situated the different offices for city affairs. The small town hall is a pure classicist building in the Dutch way, with stairs, free-standing columns and pediment. Remarkable in the section are the vault with three circular windows to lighten the central hall, and the open gallery on the first floor (fig. 1). The large town hall is projected on a ground plan with clear resemblances to the Temple of Solomon: a square with inner courts, vestibules, four wings for the administration, connecting halls and pavilions on the corners and crossings. This lay-out of a Greek cross, with surrounding bays and four courts, is much like the town hall design of Joseph Furttenbach senior (1591–1667) 1.Nicolaus Goldmann, ground plan in his Architectura Recreationis of 1640. Goldmann’s and elevation/section of the small town hall, pen and ink drawing building is dominated by a mighty tower in the heart of (Architektonische Zeichnungen und the building, with a clock face on all sides, which could Kupferstiche1, Staatsbibliothek, Berlin, be seen from all corners of the city (fig. 2). The proportions which accompany nearly all of Libr.pict.fol.A 7, p. 177). Goldmann’s sketches show that he had thought carefully about the dimensions of his buildings. That the measures vary for the same building types throughout his manuscripts illustrates how Goldmann did not prescribe fixed dimensions, but wanted to provide theoretical solutions within a harmonic proportional system. Typology formed the starting point for real building design. The Governmental Building Goldmann could not find satisfactory built examples for suitable buildings to house the state government institutions. It was an unusual building type. Most of the European states of those days were monarchies, ruled from a royal palace. In the Dutch Republic, the government had its seat in the court of the counts of Holland (the medieval Binnenhof 7

On the Amsterdam town hall and the Vierschaar, see the contribution of Pieter Vlaardingerbroek in this volume.

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2. Nicolaus Goldmann, elevation of the large town hall, pen and ink drawing (Staatsbibliothek, Berlin, Libr.pict.fol.A 71, p. 121).

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3. Nicolaus Goldmann, the governmental building, pen and ink sketch (Staatsbibliothek, Berlin, Libr. pict.fol.A 71, pp. 80 and 266).

complex) in The Hague. In Germany, the Landconvention of the Holy Roman Empire had no modern building especially built for the purpose. The different situations in the European countries made the presentation of a universal building type for the operations of government a more or less theoretical exercise. Here Goldmann harked back to Classical Antiquity, with a large assembly hall of seven to ten bays (fig. 3). The ruler is seated in the semicircular apse at the end of the building, flanked by his advisors and a council of ten wise men. This part is almost a copy of the Venetian city council with the Doge and the Dieci, even in the prescribed clothing of the magistrates. On both sides of the hall are the seats of the hundred delegates (referring to the classical centurion) and the thousand lesser representatives. The rooms on the outside are for the civil service and a printing office where the laws and decrees are printed and distributed. The Market Place and Exchange The term ‘market’, Goldmann writes, can be used for any public square in the city, but it refers in a more precise sense also to a place for trading. Goldmann describes a square, surrounded on four sides by a two-storey building with colonnades and with four entrances on the axes of the complex (fig. 4). The buildings contain one hundred shops in total. The merchants trade their goods under the colonnades, and in the open central area the common markets take place. The merchandise is transported by water, using the canals that surround the shops and warehouses. These markets can be used for all sorts of goods; meat, cloth, grain, etc. Fish markets are provided with a fountain in the centre and fixed stone benches to display the fish in the open air. Reading Goldmann’s text one has before his eyes a clear

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JEROEN GOUDEAU picture of the type, which resembles the Amsterdam stock exchange designed by Hendrick de Keyser in 1608, the exchanges in Antwerp (1531–1533, Domien de Waghemakere), London (1566–1569, Hendrick van Passe), and Lille/ Rijsel in northern France (1652–1653, Julien Destrée). For the real stock exchange, however, Goldmann used another example: Palladio’s Basilica of 1549–1597 at the Piazza dei Signori in Vicenza. Goldmann knew the building from Palladio’s Quattro Libri of 1570. He suggests that for the exchange one can actually choose the ordinary market place or a building according to what he indicates as the ‘Italian fashion’. Goldmann’s description stays close to Palladio’s example, with three aisles, colonnades and cellars below. No wonder that for his 1696 edition, Leonhard Christoph Sturm almost copied Palladio’s illustration of this building. The Court of Justice The counterpart of the governmental building is the court of justice. Again Goldmann com4. Nicolaus Goldmann, ground plan and inner elevation of bines public authority with Antiquity, here in the the market, pen and ink sketch (Staatsbibliothek, Berlin, shape of the classical Roman basilica. Goldmann’s Libr.pict.fol.A 71, p. 266). own sketches are too schematic in relation to his rather precise description, but the reconstruction by Sturm made around 1700 is more instructive (fig. 5). The building, of ten to twenty bays, consists of three main parts; a primary court room, the causidicum or classical room of the advocates (in Antiquity said to be covered with metal), and the tribunal, the supreme court or Gerichts-chor. Here in a square room with apse the supreme judge is seated on a throne, according to Goldmann “as in King Solomon’s court”. In Goldmann’s description, the court is flanked by the temples of Isis and Mercury. This reference to the Greek agora was derived from Palladio. A difficulty with this building type, remarks Goldmann, is that the modern court of justice has lost its public function as a market and meeting place. For that reason, Goldmann came up with a separate building type, in which he could pick his ideas from reality all over Europe as we have seen. Other public building types Of the more utilitarian building types, only a few rough sketches survive on a number of summarizing leaves (fig. 6). Goldmann mentions the armoury, guardhouse, arsenal, mint, treasury and prison. The Armoury: Having fled from his country during the Thirty Years War, Goldmann had a constant focus on defence and public safety. Hence he gave specific attention to the armoury. It should be situated on a strategic location with streets for quick transportation of cannon to all sides. On the ground floor of the square building, with a large inner court and watchtowers, the artillery was kept under open vaults. Two storeys above were for the other armaments. In the attic the city grain supplies were kept. For his description Goldmann used

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5. Leonhard Christoph Sturm, the basilica after Goldmann, pen and ink drawing (Germanisches National Museum, Nürnberg, Folio 94, 142, Bd.1, p. 65).

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6. Nicolaus Goldmann, sheet with pen and ink sketches of the basilica, market, exchange, arsenal, water tower, water mill, and armoury (Staatsbibliothek, Berlin, Libr. pict.fol.A 71, p. 26.).

the writings of Joseph Furttenbach and also refers to Adam Freytag (XVIIb-c). Goldmann in turn was copied by Sturm, and later on by Johann Friedrich Penther (1693–1749).8 The Guardhouse: Goldmann had already worked this out in his book on military architecture and it is modelled after contemporary Dutch examples. The Arsenal: The model for the state shipyards had its example in Venice (Goldmann uses the Italian word darsena). Docks and storehouses are grouped around a basin that is accessible through locks.9 The Mint: Goldmann’s mint has the form of a remarkable round tower, with a strong security system consisting of thick walls, steel-plated floors, small windows with bars and a ground floor without any openings. In this building the state-monopoly on the issue of money was exercised and money was also stored there.10 8

Joseph Furttenbach senior, Architectura Martialis […], Ulm, 1630; idem, Architectura Universalis […], Ulm, 1635; Joseph Furttenbach junior, Gewerb=Stattgebäw […], Augsburg, 1650; Adam Freytag, Architectura Militaris Nova et aucta […], Leiden, 1642; Leonhard Christoph Sturm, Architectura Civili-Militaris […], Augsburg, 1719, cf. p. 26 and Taf.XIV; Johann Friedrich Penther, Vierter Theil einer ausführlichen Anleitung zur Bürgerlichen Bau=Kunst […], Augsburg, 1748, cf. Tab.LXIII. See

also: Hartwig Neumann, Das Zeughaus […], 2 vols., Koblenz, 1991, passim. 9 Goldmann’s sketch was convincingly worked out by Leonhard Christoph Sturm in his Vollständige Anleitung, Schiff=Häuser oder Arsenale […] anzugeben, Augsburg, 1721, cf. Tab.I. 10 Sturm used this type for his powder magazine or Pulverturm. See: Leonhard Christoph Sturm, Architectura Civili-Militaris […], Augsburg, 1719, p. 34

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JEROEN GOUDEAU The Prison: For Goldmann the prison was not a place for punishment, but a place of detention outside the city, isolated from civic society. Again we see a square building with colonnades and an open central area, which contains in the centre a pulpit for a clergyman to conduct religious services. Other structures: There are other types of works of infrastructure and public utility, such as a cylindrical water tower, water supplies, and water mills. These designs are mainly after Vitruvius, Scamozzi, and contemporary sources such as Georg Andreas Böckler’s Theatrum Machinarum Novum (Nuremberg, 1661). Apart from the public utility buildings, Goldmann observes one and the same design principle throughout, based on certain elementary floor plans – a square, a Greek cross divided into 9 or 16 sections – with standard volumes (cube) and ratios (1:1 and 1:2). Each design in fact is created based on a planning grid of modules. The buildings mostly consist of two storeys on a square ground plan, with open arcades to one or more square inner courts and gables with pilasters. The application of a set of general principles indicates already that Goldmann meant to provide a comprehensive system of architecture, which should be coherent, meaningful and reflecting a larger order. This order Goldmann revealed in his design of an ideal city. Public buildings, social hierarchy and the well-governed city One of Goldmann’s main contributions to building typology, apart from coherence, is the overall meaning he explicitly assigns to the typology. Every building type represents a specific function and stratum in society. It is the task of architecture to express this function adequately on three levels; by its ornament and decoration, by its overall form (scale, shape and layout), and by its specific location in the built space. Goldmann’s typology provides solutions on all these levels within one coherent system. He introduces an independent method of thinking about architecture and its function in society. Goldmann’s hierarchy of building types is a part of this, and reflects his perception of society as a whole. This hierarchy he visualizes in two ways: by means of synoptic presentation, and by the ideal city. In short, Goldmann’s synopsis is built up according to the principle of dichotomy or the tree diagram. In the first place, there is the distinction between public and private buildings. The private buildings are not dealt with here. Public buildings are either religious or secular. Religious buildings are those in which people are taken care of; churches for the care of souls, hospitals for the ill and weak, orphanages and homes for the elderly, but also hostels for the travellers who are dependent on the hospitality of others. Secular buildings are buildings either for gathering, utility, or beauty. Here one can easily recognise Vitruvius’ adage of firmitas, utilitas, venustas. Buildings for public gathering are the town house, the governmental building, the market place, and the court of justice. Utility buildings have either to do with water (the arsenal, water supplies, mills etc.), with war (the armoury, the guardhouse), or with safekeeping and custody (the mint, the treasury, the prison). Buildings of beauty are towers (greatness), theatres, complexes for leisure and sports (as in Antiquity), and monuments (remembrance). As becomes clear, this synoptic hierarchy was no less than the summary of the theory, and at the same time the index of the chapters. This form, and the structural logic behind the synopsis, was a widely applied system of organizing knowledge, and was successfully propagated by Petrus Ramus, among others. Goldmann most likely derived this system from the work of the Herborn encyclopaedist, Johann Heinrich Alsted (1588–1638). The universal

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scholar Alsted also came up with a synopsis for architecture, according to his own ideas, in 1630.11 Goldmann was far more elaborate and architectural in his theory than Alsted. Goldmann’s hierarchy was not merely the application of a scientific method, but a result of his search for meaningfulness and a social dimension. Thus his building types not only came together in a scheme, but also in the shape of a city: the city as the physical representation of society. Somewhat hidden in the third book of his treatise, Goldmann gives a detailed description of the ideal city.12 Although no images of it remain, it is possible to reconstruct this ideal city in detail from his text (fig. 7). The capital, inner city is built on a square modular grid, surrounded by fortifications and one hundred radiating streets (the outer city ring with farms and a seaport in the north are left out here). The city is 7. Reconstruction of Nicolaus Goldmann’s inner city (J. Goudeau. reached through twelve entrance gates Computer animation by Jan A.C. Boot architects, Alphen aan den and four large canals that run up to an Rijn, 2005). immense central square. Here in the heart of the city are the domed church (in the very centre of it), the town hall, the governmental building, the court of justice, the mint and treasury, and a small prison. The shell around this centre contains the market places (in both senses) and the quarters of the merchants and craftsmen. In the third zone the citizens and students are accommodated in twelve city quarters. Each quarter, of one hundred uniform blocks of houses, is centred upon the house of one of the higher magistrates, with ten houses of the lower administration and ten parish churches. North of the inner city, but within the walls, the palace of the monarch is situated, and in the south there is the university and housing of the professors. The city is meant for 10,000 citizens, 20,000 students, and an unspecified large number of craftsmen. 0

11

Although Alsted published earlier architectural synopses (1613 and 1620), here the version in his encyclopaedia of 1630 is especially important: Johann Heinrich Alsted, Encyclopaedia Septem tomis distincta […], Herborn, 1630; facsimile edition W. Schmidt-Biggemann and J. Jungmayr, 4 vols., Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, 1989, Tom.VII-L.XXXIV, pp. 2192–2208. See also Hermann Hipp, ‘Die Bückeburger “structura”. Aspekte der Nachgotik im Zusammenhang mit der deutschen Renaissance’, in: Renaissance in Nord-Europa I; Schriften des Weserrenaissance-

250

500

750 1000 1250

Museums Schloß Brake, vol.4, München and Berlin, 1990, pp. 159–170; idem, ‘Aristotelische Politik und frühneuzeitliche Bauaufgaben’, in: H. Hipp, E. Seidl (eds.), Architektur als Politische Kultur; Philosophia Practica, Berlin, 1996, pp. 93–114; and the contribution by Hermann Hipp in this volume. On the problem of method, see Goudeau, 2005, pp. 227–254. 12 Goldmann 1696, pp. 112–113; for a detailed discussion of this city and the account of the reconstruction, see Goudeau 2005, pp. 343–367.

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JEROEN GOUDEAU In respect to Goldmann’s approach to building typology, the following characteristics can be stressed: - The city is in the first place the visualization of the presented dichotomy; - This civic society is based on three institutions: public government, religion and education; - The city is dominated by the domed church with its large bell-tower, situated in the very centre; - Every building (public and private) has a fixed place, according to social status; - Goldmann has given very precise dimensions for every building. Grouped together they fit in well next to each other and form a city of 7200 × 7200 feet or 600 × 600 rods, the same dimensions as Scamozzi’s city and the Temple of Solomon (according to Juan Battista Villalpando!). The meaning of Goldmann’s city is thus multiple. It is an ideal city in the most theoretical way. This city, with its worked-out building types, is a model for thinking about society, as it is a model for architecture which is derived from its divine origin. At the same time it is an architectural model to locate all the public and private buildings in a hierarchical and meaningful context. In short, Goldmann’s city is both theoretical and physical, both didactical and scientific. Typology and the civic framework Was Goldmann unique in bringing together typology, architectural and social hierarchy and city planning in a coherent theory with scientific ambitions? Are there examples for a city model that is both matter and thought? At least three authors published city designs that can be compared with Goldmann’s work, geographically, culturally, in time and content; Simon Stevin, Joseph Furttenbach and Johann Valentin Andreae. The merchant town of Simon Stevin In the Dutch Republic, the multi-talented scientist and engineer Simon Stevin wrote on several occasions between 1605 and 1620 about the city and the buildings in it.13 He came up with a city on a rectangular ground plan based on mirror symmetry, with rudimentary fortification (mind the rather unsatisfying corner solutions), and parcelled out in rectangular and square blocks (fig. 8). These blocks form the grid on which the public buildings, houses, gardens, markets and squares are projected. There is a central market and an exchange square, and four satellite markets (for corn and cattle, timber and stone, and a meat hall and fish hall), placed near the canal system that runs through the city. In the centre there is a main church with four satellite churches around it. Connected to the exchange are the principal public buildings; the town hall, opposite to the main church and flanked by the prison and house of correction. In the same vertical axis are also situated the university and poorhouse (for the elderly, the poor, the ill, the orphans, etc.) and, remarkably, a princely court. Outside the inner city stretches a suburban area, laid out along the canals on the same longitudinal grid as the city itself. In Stevin’s city three characteristics prevail: economy as the driving force (it is primarily a large merchant town with quarters for craftsmen and

13 E. Taverne, ‘Stevins koopmanstad’, in: Van stadskern tot stadsgewest; Stedebouwkundige geschiedenis van Amsterdam, Amsterdam, 1984, pp. 89–100; Ch. van den Heuvel, “De Huysbou”; A Reconstruction of an

Unfinished Treatise on Architecture, Town Planning and Civil Engineering by Simon Stevin, Amsterdam, 2005, pp. 47–68, 347–372.

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8. Simon Stevin, Materiae Politicae: Burgherlicke Stoffen; ‘Vande oirdeningh der steden’, Leiden [around 1600], Leiden, 1649 (Leiden University Library).

international commerce), as well as government (a city council and court of justice, combined with a prince at the head), and religion. This together with the university resembles the concept of Goldmann’s town. Stevin intended his city design in the first place as a didactic model that could be helpful in analysing and visualizing the layout of real towns and finding practical situations. The merchant and garrison town of Joseph Furttenbach. The city that father and son Joseph Furttenbach (Sr. 1591–1667; Jr. 1632–1655) presented in their treatise Gewerb=Statt Gebäw from 1650 was deeply influenced by the Thirty Years War (1618–1648) which left Germany almost in ruins.14 Their joint effort was meant as a kind of handbook for rebuilding cities in southern Germany and the buildings in them (fig. 9). The city, which contains nearly all building types is explicitly designed for peace, but reflects in all ways the fear of war. There are fortifications, heavy city gates and entrances via bastions, quarters for the soldiers, and in the middle not the domed church (religion, as in Goldmann) or the market (economy, as in Stevin), but the Armoury (defence). In the city are explicitly mentioned; the court of justice, town hall, churches (small churches

Joseph Furttenbach, Gewerb=Stattgebäw […] Wie ein, auff ebnem Plan ligende new Inventirte Gewerb: oder HandelStatt mit 18. Regular Wercken, durch der Wahlschlager Hand, von gutter Erden auffzuführen, darhinder zum andernmahl, ein Reiterada, oder Versatzung, neben den so wol verwahrten Soldatten Quartieren zu finden were […], Augsburg, 1650; M. Berthold, ‘Josef Furttenbach von Leutkirch, 14

Architekt und Ratsherr in Ulm (1591–1667)’, Ulm und Oberschwaben 33, 1953, pp. 119–179; G. Mann, ‘Joseph Furttenbach, die ideale Stadt und die Gesundheit im 17. Jahrhundert’, in: H.-H. Eulner et al. (eds.), Medizingeschichte in unserer Zeit; Festgabe für Edith Heischkel-Artelt und Walter Artelt zum 65. Geburtstag, Stuttgart, 1971, pp. 189–207; Schütte 1984 (note 6), pp. 166–168.

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JEROEN GOUDEAU

9. Joseph Furttenbach, Gewerb=Stattgebäw […], Augsburg, 1650, pl. B and p. 31 (Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel).

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and a domed church), schools for different levels, cemetery, all kinds of warehouses and depots, hospitals, prison, public bath, pharmacies and herb gardens, taverns, living quarters for craftsmen, merchants, dwellings for the other citizens, and a port within the fortifications. Just like Goldmann had done, the Furttenbachs in their city design make use of building types they had dealt with earlier separately. They also take the square and Greek cross as the basic ground form, which makes them in more than one way related to Goldmann’s building types. This city has four prevailing aspects: defence, stable government (to secure trade and public life), education and religion. The philosophical city-concept of Johann Valentin Andreae

10. Johann Valentin Andreae, Reipublicae Christianopolitanae

In the northern part of Germany, the theo- descriptio, Strasbourg, 1619, title page (from: Christianopolis, logian, philosopher and scholar Johann Valentin ed. E.H. Thompson, Dordrecht etc., 1999, p. 144). Andreae (1586–1654), who was acquainted with the Furttenbach family, published in 1619 about an exceptional place: Christianopolis.15 This is no design by an architect, but does have a physical description, accompanied by rather exact illustrations (fig. 10). It is in the first place the presentation of a utopia, about an isolated small community rather than a proposal for a real city, and is situated aside from the everyday world. Reading the description one can see some interesting similarities with Goldmann’s city layout. Christianopolis is a community of justice and wisdom. But it has the outlook of a physical city and contains a range of the common public and private buildings, such as farmhouses, a library, armoury, archive, treasury, pharmacy, laboratories, museum, observatory, theatres, schools, a water supply system, and a temple in the central place. The temple in the centre resembles Goldmann’s domed church, as do the fortified square ground plan and the four entrances. The community, which is reflected in the layout of the buildings, consists of three concentric zones: labour and agriculture, citizens and public services – again just like in Goldmann’s city. There is a triumvirate of a theologian, a judge and a scholar – a system that also occurs in Goldmann’s city with the churches and their clergy, the different kinds of houses for the administrators who each rule a housing quarter, and the university and the large number of schools throughout the city. Nevertheless the buildings in Andreae’s city are not described as separate types with their own shape and specifications. In fact they are functions in the first place, housed in . 15

Johann Valentin Andreae, Reipublicae Christianopolitanae descriptio, Strasbourg, 1619; here used: Christianopolis, E. H. Thompson (ed. and transl.), International Archives of the History of Ideas 162, Dordrecht, Boston and London, 1999; Johann Valentin Andreae 1586–1654; Leben, Werk und Wirkung eines universalen Geistes, exhibition catalogue, Calw, Herrenberg, Vaihingen an der Enz, and Bad Liebenzell, 1986; E. H. Thompson, ‘Christianopolis –

The Human Dimension’, paper presented at the conference, Publicists and Projectors in 17th-Century Europe, Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, February 1996; W. Schmidt-Biggemann, ‘Von Damcar nach Christianopolis. Andreaes “Christianopolis” als Verwirklichungskonzept der Rosenkreuzer ideeen’, in: Rosenkreuz als europäisches Phänomen im 17. Jahrhundert, ed. Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica, Amsterdam, 2002, pp. 102–132.

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JEROEN GOUDEAU the large four-sided uniform building blocks. This has not much to do with architecture, but more with a social organization by means of an architectural form. The question of matter and thought Perhaps it is possible to conclude a few things in general about the close relation of seventeenth-century architectural theory on public buildings, building typology and town planning. In the first place, new building types evolved and old types were adapted or updated, especially the public buildings. Architects worked on specific building types, their dimensions, functional requirements, lay-out and the way these had to be translated into a real architecture. Parallel to that, authors thought about the interrelation between the types in a more or less coherent typology. And more than once this building typology was visualized in the form of a city. These city designs served various goals on three levels: from concrete design problems (focus on building practice), via universally applicable and regular design models (architectural theory), to a blueprint and metaphor for society as a whole (philosophy). When focussing on the interrelation between the city and the building types, there are roughly two approaches: the material and the immaterial. But the distinction is not always that clear, as the four northern European examples above have shown. The typology can be the filling in of the city (Stevin, Andreae), or the city is the consequence of the typology (Furttenbach), both practically and theoretically. Stevin was theoretical and didactic in his aim. Furttenbach was the more practical and presented his typology in one spatial context. Valentin Andreae constructed an ideal city with a large number of buildings as a materialization of religious and social reform. It seems that Nicolaus Goldmann summarized and solved all these tendencies in one theory. This theory was both exceptional in its width (covering the whole of architectural design and knowledge) and in its depth (philosophically, didactic, meaningful, practical). Moreover it combined the authority of Antiquity with contemporary innovations and insights. By doing so Goldmann integrated the different levels and aims into a harmonic, scientific and universal theory of architecture. Finally, just as Goldmann’s theory, all the treatises that dealt with building typology had one thing in common, to contribute to a just and well-ordered society. Frequently cited works Goldmann 1696 Nicolaus Goldmann, Vollständige Anweisung zu der Civil Bau=Kunst, ed. Leonhard Christoph Sturm, Wolfenbüttel, 1696¹. Goudeau 2005 Jeroen Goudeau, Nicolaus Goldmann (1611–1665) en de wiskundige architectuurwetenschap [= Nicolaus Goldmann and the Mathematical Science of Architecture (with a summary in English)], PhD thesis, University of Utrecht, Groningen, 2005.

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Part Two. Government and Justice

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Hubertus Günther (Universität Zürich)

Zu Beginn der Renaissance, im Jahr 1446, stellt Flavio Biondo fest, daß der Senat und die Comitia, die Volkswahlen, das Fundament der römischen Republik und der Freiheit bildeten.1 Aus den antiken Schriften war bekannt, daß die Republik die Staatsform des römischen Reiches war und bis zum Ende seines Bestehens, also auch unter den Kaisern, blieb. Die Comitia, in denen das Volk die Magistrate wählte, bestanden unter den Kaisern fort. Der Senat war die höchste Regierungsinstanz Roms und blieb es zumindest theoretisch unter den Kaisern. Er erließ die Gesetze, er war verantwortlich für die Außenpolitik und für Krieg und Frieden, er wachte über Ordnung und Moral und den traditionellen religiösen Kult, er nahm teilweise an dauerhaften Gerichten teil. Die Exekutivgewalt lag bei den Magistraten. “Welches die Gebäude sind, wo die Vornehmen ihr Amt ausüben, ist klar: der Senat in der Kurie, der Richter in der Basilika oder im Praetorium, der Feldherr im Feldlager oder in der Flotte, der Priester im Tempel”. Das erklärt Leon Battista Alberti in seinem Architekturtrakat (1485 publiziert, aber schon 1451 teilweise vollendet).2 Die Kurie wurde sprachlich in Parallele zum Rathaus gesetzt, obwohl sich das Rathaus mit seiner besonderen multifunktionalen Bestimmung erst im Mittelalter entwickelt hat.3 Im Mittelalter und in der Renaissance wurde der Begriff curia wie heute noch gewöhnlich mit ‘Rathaus’, ‘Palazzo della Ragione’ oder ähnlich übersetzt und umgekehrt das Rathaus oft als curia bezeichnet.4 Gelegentlich nannte man das Rathaus auch Praetorium oder Basilica (so Palladios ‘Basilica’, die freilich nur einen Teil der Ratsbauten von Vicenza, den großen Ratssaal, bildete5). Wir konzentrieren hier die Frage, wie man sich den antiken Regierungssitz in der Renaissance vorstellte, hauptsächlich auf die Kurien. Die Vorstellungen der Renaissance waren durchaus nicht einheitlich und nicht immer wirklich konkret. Hier wird nicht die ganze Vielfalt an Varianten berücksichtigt. Es geht nur darum, die wichtigsten Ideen ins Auge zu fassen, sie zu beschreiben und ihren geistigen Hintergrund zu beleuchten. Rom, Regierungssitz eines Weltreiches Man sollte denken, daß die Regierung eines Weltreiches, wie es Rom war, einen großartigen Sitz hatte. Im Anschluß an Aristoteles und andere antike Autoren behandeln zahllose Schriften der Renaissance die Bedeutung der Magnificentia.6 Es geht letztlich um die Binsenweisheit, die heute so gut wie damals gilt, daß die Erscheinung der Architektur 1

F. Biondo, Roma instaurata, II 82. L. B. Alberti, De re aedificatoria V 6. Übers. M. Theuer, L.B. Alberti, Zehn Bücher über die Baukunst, Wien/Leipzig, 1912, p. 236. Diese Ed. wird hier zitiert; vgl. die lat./ital. Ed. v. G. Orlandi/ P. Portoghesi, Milano, 1966. 3 S. Albrecht, Mittelalterliche Rathäuser in Deutschland. Architektur und Funktion, Darmstadt, 2004; J. Paul, Die mittelalterlichen Kommunalpaläste in Italien, Diss. Freiburg, 1963; M. Borkenstein Neuhaus, Civitas – Vorstellung und Wirklichkeit. Architektur und Urbanistik im mittelalterlichen Italien, Oberhausen, 2001, pp. 77–99. 2

4

Vgl. neben E. Forcellinis Lexicon totius latinitatis die Lexika des mittelalterlichen Latein, wie bes. Du Cange, Glossarium mediae et infimae latinitatis; Dictionary of Medieval Latin der British Academy (bisher bis Phi); Lexicon latinitatis Nederlandicae Medii Aevi; Lexicon Mediae et infimae latinitatis Polonorum etc. 5 Vgl. den Kommentar dazu in: A. Palladio, Quattro libri dell’architettura, Venezia, 1570, III caput 20. 6 Vgl. neuerdings K. Imesch, Magnificenza als architektonische Kategorie. Individuelle Selbstdarstellung versus Verwirklichung von Gemeinschaft in den venezianischen Villen Palladios und Scamozzis, Oberhausen, 2003, pp. 37–68 und passim; dort weitere Literatur.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER großartig soll sein, weil so das Ansehen der Bauherrn vermehrt wird, und dies gilt in besonderem Maße für öffentliche Architektur, sicher auch für Bauten mit praktischen Funktionen, doch am meisten für die Regierungssitze mit repräsentativer Funktion. Der Staat demonstriert seine Macht gewissermaßen in der Großartigkeit seiner Regierungsbauten. Alberti hält gleich zu Beginn seines Architekturtraktates fest,7 wie wichtig die repräsentative Erscheinung der Architektur für den Staat sei, und bekräftigt das in der Folge immer wieder, am nachhaltigsten im sechsten Buch, das den Schmuck im Allgemeinen behandelt. Die repräsentative Erscheinung sei nötig, sagt er, um die Achtung sowohl der eigenen Bürger als auch ausländischer Regierungen hervorzurufen. Er bespricht zudem den Aspekt, daß die äußere Erscheinung über den dekorativen Wert hinaus konkrete politische Bedeutung hat: Sie dient zur Festigung der Sicherheit und Stärkung der Macht. Das sagt er generell und weist bei konkreten Beispielen wie dem Wehrbau auch auf den praktischen Effekt der äußeren Erscheinung hin.8 So heißt es beispielsweise: “Ich möchte auch, daß die Mauern einer Stadt derart seien, daß bei ihrem Anblick der Feind erbebt und alsbald kleinmütig abzieht”. Solche Redensarten drücken nur aus, was man in der Renaissance seit altersher gewohnt war: Leonardo Bruni stellt in seiner Laudatio auf Florenz (um 1403) fest, das Aussehen einer Stadt zeuge generell von ihrer Kraft. Der Palazzo Vecchio, das Rathaus, lasse schon durch seine äußere Erscheinung erkennen, was seine Funktion ist. Sein Rang zeigt sich in Größe, Aufwand und sogar in seinem Stil, denn er nimmt einen befestigten Adelssitz zum Vorbild: “Mitten unter diesen Gebäuden aber ragt der gewaltige und durch seine Schönheit beeindruckende Komplex einer Burg, der Signoria, der allein schon durch sein Äußeres zu erkennen gibt, wozu er errichtet wurde. Wie nämlich in einer großen Flotte das Admiralsschiff durch sein Aussehen erkennen läßt, daß auf ihm der oberste Befehlshaber der Flotte fährt, so ist das Erscheinungsbild der Signoria derart, daß jeder leicht urteilen kann: Hier wohnen die Lenker des Gemeinwesens. So prächtig ist sie erbaut, so steil ragt sie empor, daß sie alle Gebäude in weitem Umkreis beherrscht und ihr mehr als privater Rang deutlich ist”.9 Ähnliches läßt sich über die meisten Ratshäuser oder über den Dogenpalast von Venedig sagen. Sie bilden das bürgerliche Wahrzeichen ihrer Stadt. Das ist natürlich auch heute noch allgemein bekannt. Es wird hier nur angeführt, um daran zu erinnern, vor welchem Hintergrund die Vorstellungen der Renaissance vom antiken Regierungssitz in Rom entstanden. Man war sich zu Beginn der Renaissance bewußt, daß die antike Zivilisation die eigene weit übertraf und daß die alten Römer über ungleich großartigere Mittel verfügten als die kleinen italienischen Stadtstaaten. Das Zentrum des einstigen Weltreichs übertraf alles auf der Welt, war die allgemeine Meinung. Alberti kleidete sie in die Worte:

7

Alberti, De re aed. Vorrede. Theuer, p. 12ff. De re aed. VI 2, VII 2. Theuer, pp. 293, 347. Wdht. z.B. von G. Philandrier, In Decem Libros M. Vitruvii Pollionis De Architectura Annotationes, Roma, 1544. Vgl. J. Białostocki, ‘The power of Beauty. A utopian idea of Leone Battista Alberti’, in: Studien zur toskanischen Kunst. Festschrift für L.H. Heydenreich, München, 1964, pp. 13–19.

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9 H. Baron, From Petrarch to Leonardo Bruni. Studies in Humanistic and Political Literature, Chicago/ London, 1968, pp. 232–263; N. Mout (ed.), Die Kultur des Humanismus. Reden, Briefe, Traktate, Gespräche von Petrarca bis Kepler, München, 1998, pp. 43–55.

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“ … so schien die Kunst ihre ganze Kraft darein zu setzen, daß das Weltreich, welches alle anderen Vorzüge auszeichneten, auch durch ihren Schmuck um so bewunderungswürdiger werde. Also ließ sie sich vollständig erkennen und in Besitz nehmen, weil sie es natürlich als eine Schande betrachtete, wenn die Hochburg des Erdkreises und die Zierde der Menschheit im Ruhm ihrer Bauwerke von jenen erreicht würde, welche sie in allen anderen Vorzügen rühmlichst überragte”.10 Daß diese Vorstellung angebracht war, bezeugten in den Augen der Renaissance die riesigen Theater, Zirkusse, Thermen, oder der Kaiserpalast auf dem Palatin, obwohl er inzwischen weitgehend zerstört war, allein schon durch seine gigantischen Substruktionen und auch die riesigen Anlagen, die man für Privathäuser der Vornehmen hielt, also derjenigen, aus denen sich der Senat zusammensetzte. Selbst bei den Bauten, die dem reinen Vergnügen dienten, ließ sich beobachten, daß die großartige Erscheinung eine fruchtbare politische Wirkung ausübte. Tacitus berichtet davon, wie eine germanische Delegation, als sie ins Pompeiustheater geführt wurde, so beeindruckt von dessen enormer Größe und Pracht war, daß sie spontan die Römer als die machtvollste Nation der Welt pries und sich bereitwillig als ihre Bundesgenossen erklärte.11 Der Bericht war in der Renaissance berühmt. Biondo zitiert ihn bereits.12 Alberti preist das Pompeiustheater demgemäß als würdig der “Siegerin Rom”.13 Ebenso bekannt war die Angabe Varros, daß die Kurie eigens dazu bestimmt war, Gesandte zu empfangen, die fremde Völker zum Senat geschickt hatten.14 So lag es von vornherein nahe anzunehmen, daß sie großartig aussah, und Vitruv bestätigt das mit dem allergrößtem Nachdruck: “Besonders muß gerade die Kurie so gemacht werden, daß sie vor allem der Würde der Stadt oder des Staates entspricht”.15 Große Ausmaße mußte die Kurie wohl allein schon deshalb haben, weil der Senat ein großes Gremium war. Er hatte gewöhnlich dreihundert Mitglieder, zeitweise sechshundert und sogar tausend.16 Das Kapitol Bis zum Beginn der Renaissance war allgemein die Vorstellung verbreitet, daß der Sitz der römischen Regierung märchenhaft grandios war. Diese Vorstellung verband sich noch nicht konkret mit einer Kurie, sondern war vage auf das Kapitol bezogen, das in den antiken Schriften als Garant der römischen Weltherrschaft erscheint und als eindrucksvollstes Monument der Welt hingestellt wird.17 Im Mittelalter bildete sich die Überzeugung, der Senat habe auf dem Kapitol residiert. Die Mirabilien geben seit dem 12. bis ins 15. Jahrhundert an: die Konsuln und Senatoren hätten sich auf dem Kapitol versammelt, um die Welt zu regieren, und der Name “Capitolium” wurde von “caput mundi”, Haupt der Welt, abgeleitet.18 Im 12. Jahrhundert richteten sich die Konservatoren von Rom mit dem Senator an ihrer Spitze wirklich auf dem Kapitol ein.19 Aber dieses Gremium war weit davon entfernt, die 10

De re aed. VI 3. Theuer, p. 298. Tacitus, Annales XIII 54. 12 F. Biondo, De Roma triumphante libri decem, Venezia, 1511, p. 41v. 13 De re aed. II 2. Theuer, p. 73. 14 Varro, Ling.lat. V 155. 15 Vitruv V 2. 16 Cassius Dio 40.50.2; Cicero, fin. 5.1.2; Sueton, Aug. 35. 17 Ammianus Marcellinus 22.16.12. C. Edwards, Writing Rome. Textual approaches to the city, Cambridge, 1996, p. 34ff u. allg. zum Kapitol: pp. 34–41, 71–95. 11

18

Codice Topografico della Città di Roma. Ed. R. Valentini/ G. Zucchetti, Roma, 1940–1953, III, pp. 51, 120, 192; IV, p. 140 (Anon. Magl. ca. 1411), 416 (Gio. Rucellai, 1450) etc. Ebenso die Mirabilien des 15. Jh.s in Nationalsprachen. A. Graf, Roma nella memoria e nelle immaginazioni del Medio Evo, Rom/ Florenz, 1882–83, vol. I, p. 184ff; N. R. Miedema, Die “Mirabilia Romae”. Untersuchungen zu ihrer Überlieferung mit Edition der deutschen und niederländischen Texte, Tübingen, 1996, p. 348. 19 H. Siebenhüner, Das Kapitol in Rom: Idee und Gestalt, München, 1954; R. Krautheimer, Rome. Profile of a city, Princeton, 1980.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER Welt zu regieren. Es hatte nur administrative Aufgaben und Befugnisse; die Regierungsgewalt lag ausschließlich beim Papst. Die Stadt Rom hatte ihre Macht verloren. Rom, einst das Haupt der Welt, spottet Boccaccio, war zum Schwanz der Welt mutiert: “la quale come oggi è coda così già fu capo del mondo …”.20 Dieser Spruch ging weit um.21 Das Kapitol hatte seinen alten Glanz verloren. Es war großteils von Gebüsch bewachsen, Ziegen klettern darauf herum; Monte Caprino nannte man es deshalb. Die Tempel, die dort einst standen, waren längst zerstört. Nur verstreute Trümmer und einige Teile der alten Substruktionen des Hügels waren noch erhalten. Am Abhang über dem Forum Romanum tritt das Tabularium bis heute in Erscheinung, ausgezeichnet durch eine anspruchsvolle Disposition von Arkaden zwischen einer Blendgliederung von Halbsäulen im Prinzip ähnlich wie am Marcellustheater oder am Kolosseum. Giovanni Francesco Poggio Bracciolini nimmt in seiner Abhandlung De varietate fortunae (1431–48) Rom als Paradigma für den Wandel des Glücks. Er steigt auf das Kapitol, für ihn Zentrum und Regierungssitz des alten Rom, um von dort oben den Blick über die verfallene Stadt schweifen zu lassen. Das Kapitol, klagt er, einst Haupt des Römischen Reiches und Burg der ganzen Welt, sei desolat und zugrunde gerichtet. Der frühere Glanz sei in eine Halde von Abfall und Dreck verwandelt, Unkraut wuchere zwischen den Sesseln der Senatoren.22 Im Mittelalter stellte man sich vor, auf dem Kapitolinischen Hügel habe ein herrliches Schloß aufgeragt. Diese Vorstellung erwuchs aus der Überlieferung von der berühmten Burg (arx), die einst dort stand; im übrigen war sie eine reine Fiktion. Manche glaubten, der Senat habe unter dem Schloß residiert, so daß kein Ton von dem, was beraten wurde, nach außen habe dringen können. Das Libro imperiale (um 1400, mehrfach in der Renaissance abgeschrieben und im Druck ediert) phantasiert von einem rundem Raum unter dem Rathaus; sein Boden und die Sitze der Senatoren seien ganz aus Porphyr gewesen, Mosaiken hätten die Decke geschmückt, und an den Wänden hätten rundum Götterstatuen gestanden.23 Dieser Ratsaal wurde im 15. Jahrhundert anscheinend mit dem Tabularium assoziiert.24 Man stellte sich den Palast auf dem Kapitol so prächtig vor, wie es dem Haupt der Welt gebührt,25 als erstes aller Weltwunder, wie es der Pseudo-Beda nennt.26 Im Laufe des Mittelalters wurden die Vorstellungen von der alten Erscheinung des Kapitols zunehmend phantastischer. Die Mirabilien in vielen Landessprachen beschreiben es als Palast oder Burg über hohen und sicheren Mauern, das als ein Spiegel der ganzen Welt erschienen und so kostbar wie der dritte Teil der Welt gewesen sei. Es sei über und über mit vergoldetem Erz und Edelsteinen geschmückt und mit Kristall gedeckt gewesen. Die Halle des Schlosses habe einen Boden von Erz und eine Decke aus Kristall gehabt. Mit ähnlichen Metaphern für die glanzvollste Erscheinung, die man sich nur denken kann, beschreibt Albrecht von Scharffenberg im Jüngeren Titurel die Gralsburg. Über der Decke des Ratssaals imaginieren die deutschen Mirabilien noch einen Teich, so daß, wie sie versichern, die Senatoren, wenn sie nach oben schauten, über sich die Fische im Wasser schwimmen sehen konnten. In dieser Halle soll die “Salvatio Romae” gestanden haben, eine fabelhafte Gruppe von Statuen aus Erz, die alle

20

Boccaccio, Decamerone 5.3.4. Sogar vom spanischen Pilger Pero Tafur in 1436 paraphrasiert. M. Vaquero Pineiro, Viaggiatori spagnoli a Roma nel Rinascimento, Bologna, 2001, p. 47. 22 Poggio Bracciolini, De varietate fortunae. Ed. Pekka Suvanto, Helsinki (Annales Academiae scientiarum fennicae, Ser. B, Vol. 265), 1993, p. 98. 23 A. Graf, Roma nella memoria e nella immaginazione del medioevo, Turin, 1923, p. 217. 21

24

Pero Tafur, s. Vaquero Pineiro 2001 (note 21), 42ff; Antiquarie prospetiche Romane. Ed. G. Agosti/D. Isella, o.o., 2004, p. 20. 25 Graf 1882–83 I (note 18), pp. 182–213; Miedema 1996 (note 18), pp. 348ff, 421–425. 26 M. Demus-Quatember, ‘Zur Weltwunderliste des Pseudo-Beda und ihren Beziehungen zu Rom’, Römische Historische Mitteilungen 12, 1968–1969, pp. 67–92; Graf 1882–83 I (note 18), p. 185.

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1 Das Kapitol zu Rom, anon. Zeichnung, um 1500. Uffizi, Gabinetto dei Disegni, Sant. 156 (Arte Lombarda 15-II, 1970).

Provinzen des Römischen Reichs darstellten und auf wunderbare Weise anzeigten, wenn in einer Region Gefahr drohte.27 Ein besonders suggestives Beispiel für die bildliche Darstellung der Vision vom antiken Kapitol befindet sich in einer Gruppe italienischer Zeichnungen von Phantasiebauten, die um 1500 entstand und sich auf toskanische bzw. sienesische, lombardische und m.E. auch flämische Vorlagen stützt (fig. 1).28 Die früheste bekannte Version wurde um 27

Demus-Quatember 1968–1969 (note 26), p. 72ff; D. Comparetti, Virgilio nel Medioevo, Firenze, 1981 (1. Ed. 1872), II, pp. 70–74; Graf 1882–83 I (note 18), pp. 188–213; Miedema 1996 (note 18), p. 426ff.

28

Uffizi, Gabinetto dei Disegni, Sant. 157–166. A. Bartoli, I monumenti antichi di Roma nei disegni degli Uffizi di Firenze I, Roma, 1914, p. 8ff, Nr. 23–42; G. Scaglia, ‘Fantasy architecture of Roma antica’,

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER 1460/70 von Buonaccorso Ghiberti gezeichnet, aber in der Folge wurde die Serie anscheinend erweitert und ausgeschmückt. Die derart bereicherte Version von ca. 1500 war im 16. Jahrhundert höchst beliebt. Sie wurde wohl mehr als alle anderen Phantasiedarstellungen der Renaissance kopiert. Das Kapitol ist hier als hoch aufragender Bau dargestellt, der alle Elemente von Größe, Würde, Schönheit und Pracht vereint. Sein Grundriß bildet ein gleichmäßiges Polygon mit sechzehn Ecken, dessen vier Hauptseiten weit vorkragen. Das Erdgeschoß gehört offenbar zur Befestigung des Kapitolinischen Hügels; darauf steht die Burg, die Arx der antiken Schriften, charakterisiert durch die typischen Elemente mittelalterlicher Kastelle, mit Ecktürmen, Zinnen und Rustizierung der Mauer. Auf diesem Sockel erhebt sich der Palast der Senatoren, ein reiner Idealbau ohne Parallelen in der realen Architektur. Um seine Großartigkeit vor Augen zu führen, sind die vornehmsten architektonischen Elemente eingesetzt, wie die bekrönende Kuppel und die Inkrustation des Erdgeschosses in der Art der Fassaden des Dogenpalastes in Venedig, damals wohl dem prächtigsten öffentlichen Profanbau in Italien und Sitz einer der wenigen Senate in Italien, die wirklich Macht bewahrt hatten. Der 2 Das Kapitol nach Francesco di Giorgio Martini. Bau ist offenbar einbezogen in eine weite systematisierte Cod.Tor.Sal. 148, fol. 82r. (Ed. Maltese 1967, urbane Zone, denn von den vier Hauptseiten des Unterbaus pl. 151). gehen große Säulenhallen aus. Diese Vision findet ein gewisses Gegenstück in der ‘Rekonstruktion’ des antiken Kapitols, die Francesco di Giorgio um 1480 im Grundriß mit Aufriß des Eingangsportikus gezeichnet hat (fig. 2).29 Francesco räumt allerdings ein, daß er seine ‘Rekonstruktion’ zum größten Teil frei imaginiert habe. Auf dem in regelmäßiger Form befestigten Sockel des Kapitols steht ein Palast von immenser Ausdehnung, der zwischen gewaltigen Sälen und Höfen in der Mitte den Tempel des Jupiter, einen runden Peripteros, einschließt. Realiter bietet der Kapitolinische Hügel für eine derart weite Anlage sicher nicht genügend Platz. Die antike Kurie und Antikenforschung im 15. Jahrhundert Derartige Vorstellungen, die auf freier Phantasie beruhen, sind nicht typisch für den Rückblick der Renaissance auf die Antike. Wenn wir versuchen, auf Grund von Beschreibungen zu erfassen, wie man sich in der Renaissance die antike Kurie vorstellte,

Arte Lombarda 15, 1970, Nr. 2, pp. 9–24; T. Buddensieg, ‘Criticism of ancient architecture in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries’, in: R. R. Bolgar (ed.), Classical Influences on European Culture, A.D. 1500–1700, Cambridge, 1976, pp. 335–348, spez. p. 339; C.L.Frommel, ‘Peruzzis römische Anfänge. Von der “Pseudo-Cronaca-Gruppe” zu Bramante’,

Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana 27–28, 1991–1992, pp. 137–182, spez. p. 139ff. 29 Cod. Tor. Saluzz. 148, f. 81v.-82r. Francesco di Giorgio, Trattati di architettura ingegneria e arte militare. Ed. C. Maltese, L. Maltese Degrassi, Milano, 1967, Taf. 150ff.

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so ergibt sich ein enttäuschendes Ergebnis. Wir sind dann im wesentlichen, wie so oft, auf Albertis Architekturtraktat angewiesen. Alberti beschreibt Bautypen, die für die Neuzeit relevant sein sollen, aber realiter meist antike Bauten zum Vorbild nehmen und die moderne Baupraxis kaum berücksichtigen. Beispiele dafür bilden die Thermen, Theater, Mausoleen, Triumphbögen etc. Für die Kurie gilt das gleiche. Wir werden darauf noch genauer eingehen. Vorab stellen wir nur fest, daß Alberti die Kurie einfach als einen Saal beschreibt (fig. 6–7).30 Dieser Saal hat eine gewisse architektonische Gliederung, aber sonst nichts. Seine Dimensionen sind nicht angegeben, aber nach den praktischen Gliedern, Tür und Fenstern, ist er nicht auffallend groß. Er steht jedenfalls in keinem Verhältnis zur Größe des Römischen Reichs. Wir können aber auch einen anderen Weg einschlagen. Er ist allerdings etwas mühsam. Wir müssen uns dann nämlich darauf einlassen, die für die Renaissance typischen wissenschaftlichen Untersuchungen mit ihrem ganzen positivistischen Vorgehen nachzuvollziehen.31 Diese Mühe lohnt sich indessen. Nebenbei ist sie auch aus wissenschaftsgeschichtlicher Sicht ergiebig, denn die Renaissance hat, indem sie die induktive Methode zur Grundlage ihrer Untersuchungen machte, den Weg der modernen Wissenschaft eröffnet. Am Anfang dieser Entwicklung stehen die Forschungen zur Antike. Die Antiquare gingen im Prinzip ebenso rational vor, wie es die Archäologen bis heute tun sollten. Im Unterschied zu den einschlägigen Kommentaren aus dem Mittelalter wurde jetzt nicht mehr frei assoziiert, sondern systematisch gesammelt, was an Zeugnissen erhalten war: Hinweise in der antiken Literatur, Inschriften und Ruinen, und dies Material wurde dann präzise ausgewertet. Es ist bekannt, wie gründlich Alberti, um zu seinen Angaben über das Aussehen der antiken Bautypen zu gelangen, die Ruinen untersuchte, und wie viele Schriften er verarbeitete. Biondo, einer der Protagonisten der modernen Archäologie, behandelt sämtliche wichtigen antiken Bauten der Stadt in seinen grundlegenden Werken über das antike Rom: der Beschreibung des alten Rom, De Roma instaurata (publ. 1446),32 und der römischen Kulturgeschichte, Roma triumphans (vollendet 1459).33 Dafür stützt er sich ausdrücklich auf mehr als dreihundert antike Schriften, das ist fast der gesamte Bestand an Literatur, der bis heute für die römische Archäologie zur Verfügung steht.34 Poggio und dann viele andere Humanisten sammelten alle erreichbaren Inschriften. Auch diese Sammlungen sind bis heute grundlegend geblieben, obwohl sie im Lauf der Zeit ergänzt wurden.

30

De re aed. VIII 9. R. Weiss, The Renaissance discovery of classical antiquity, New York, 19882; S. Settis (ed.), Memoria dell’Antico nell’Arte italiana, Torino, 1984–1986; M. Fagiolo (ed.), Roma e l’Antico nell’Arte e nella Cultura del Cinquecento, Roma, 1985; H. Günther, Die Renaissance der Antike, Weimar, 1998. 32 Valentini/ Zucchetti IV (note 18), pp. 247–324; D. M. Robathan, ‘Flavio Biondo’s “Roma instaurata” ’, Medievalia et Humanistica, N.S. I, 1970, pp. 203–216; A. M. Brizzolara, ‘La Roma instaurata di Flavio Biondo: Alle origini del metodo archeologico’, Atti della Accademia delle Scienze dell’Istituto di Bologna, Cl. scienze mor., Memorie LXXVI, 1979–1980, pp. 29–74; O. Clavuot, Biondos “Italia illustrata” – Summa oder Neuschöpfung?, Tübingen, 1990; H. Günther, ‘L’Idea di Roma antica nella “Roma instaurata” di Flavio Biondo’, in: 31

S. Rossi (ed.), Le due Rome del Quattrocento, Roma, 1997, pp. 380–393. 33 A. Mazzocco, ‘Some philological aspects of Biondo Flavio’s Roma triumphans’, Humanistica Lovaniensia 28, 1979, p. 12ff; M. Tomassini, C. Bonavigo, Tra Romagna ed Emilia nell’Umanesimo, Bologna, 1985, pp. 9–80. Rezension von R. Fubini, Roma nel Rinascimento, 1987, p. 174ff; L. Capra, ‘Un tratto di “Roma triumphans” omesso dagli stampatori’, Italia Medioevale e Umanistica 20, 1977, pp. 303–322. 34 Mazzocco 1979 (note 33), p. 18ff; Tomassini/ Bonavigo 1985 (note 33), p. 79ff; Brizzolara 1979–1980 (note 32), p. 32ff; P. Buchholz, Die Quellen der Historiarum decades des Flavius Blondus, Diss. Leipzig, 1881.

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3 Zone des Forum Romanum unterhalb vom Kapitol, mit rechts S. Adriano (nach heutigem Verständnis ehemals die Curia Julia, errichtet an der Stelle der Curia Hostilia). S. Dupérac, Vestigi di Antichità, 1575, pl. 3 (Ed. Losi, Roma, 1773). Universiteit Utrecht.

Die Vorstellung, daß das Kapitol einst Sitz der römischen Regierung war, findet keinerlei Bestätigung in den antiken Schriften. Trotzdem ist sie bis heute populär. Davon zeugt etwa die Bezeichnung ‘Kapitol’ für das Regierungszentrum der USA, den Sitz von Kongreß und Senat in Washington. So ist es nicht verwunderlich, daß auch bei Humanisten wie Poggio die Idee vom Kapitol als Regierungssitz nachwirkte. Jean Poldo d’Albenas gebraucht noch in seinem Buch über das antike Nîmes (1559) den Ausdruck ‘Kapitol’ synonym mit Kurie oder Sitz der Regierung. Er hält die sogenannte Maison Carrée, also einen Antentempel, für die “maison Consulaire” des alten Nîmes.35 Es gab immerhin einige konkrete Anhaltpunkte dafür, das Kapitol mit dem antiken Sitz der Regierung zu assoziieren. Einer davon war die Nähe zum Forum Romanum. Diverse antike Schriften geben an, daß die Curia Hostilia zusammen mit der Rostra, dem Comitium etc. beim Forum gelegen habe. Das ist einer der Gründe für die heutige Lokalisierung dieser Stätten (fig. 3).36 Poggio entdeckte eine Inschrift aus der Zeit des Kaisers Theodosius, aus der sich ergibt, wo das Senatulum (Secretarium Senatus) lag,37 das aus antiken Schriften bekannt war und in dem sich nach Varro38 der Senat versammelte. Es befand sich am Forum unterhalb des Kapitols, ganz nahe beim vermeintlichen Schatzhaus (S. Adriano). Der antike Bau war damals in der Kirche von S. Martina sogar noch bewahrt (von Pietro da Cortona erneuert, SS. Luca e Martina). Flavio Biondo und viele Spätere folgten Poggios Lokalisierung des Senatulum.39 Überdies war überliefert, daß die Richtstätte am 35

Poldo d’Albenas, Discours historial de l’antique et illustre cité de Nismes, Lyon, 1559, pp. 73–78. 36 Vgl. außer den einschlägigen topographischen Lexica Roms auch den praktischen, wenn auch stark kompilatorischen Überblick von D. Gneisz, Das antike Rathaus, das griechische Bouleuterion und die

frührömische Curia, Wien, 1990. Besprechung von H. Lauter in Gnomon 63, 1991, p. 745ff. 37 CIL VI, p. XXXVII nr. 63 (=nr. 1718); Poggio, De varietate fortunae; Valentini/Zucchetti IV (note 18), p. 242. 38 Varro, Ling.lat. V 156. 39 Biondo, Roma inst. II 65.

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Tarpeischen Felsen lag. In den Illustrationen der Sylloge des Giovanni Marcanova (Padua, ca. 1465) ist das Kapitol als Ort der höchsten weltlichen Gewalt gekennzeichnet, indem es als Tarpea bezeichnet ist und gezeigt wird, wie hier Todesurteile vollstreckt wurden.40 Flavio Biondo Biondo veränderte die Vorstellungen von den Regierungsbauten gründlich. Er setzt sich mit ihnen sowohl in Roma triumphans, als auch in Roma instaurata auseinander. Er widmet dem Thema drei der zehn Bücher von Roma triumphans (3.-5. Buch). Dort erklärt er in erster Linie die staatlichen Institutionen, Regierungsorgane und die Administration; nur beiläufig, wenn überhaupt, erwähnt er hier, wo sie ihre Sitze hatten. Die Rombeschreibung lieferte bereits eine ausführliche Einführung zu den staatlichen Institutionen, aber hauptsächlich war sie dazu bestimmt, deren Sitze zu identifizieren. Sie bildet keineswegs eine geschlossene Darlegung, sondern konzentriert sich auf einzelne topografische Angaben und streut dazwischen bei manchen Bauten ausführlichere Abhandlungen über ihre Funktion ein. Wenn man besondere Bautypen überblicken will, muß man sich die Angaben zu den Ruinen, die dazugehören, an diversen Stellen zusammensuchen. Biondo gibt die Argumentation für seine Lokalisierungen nur teilweise und knapp an, den Rest muß man sich mit Hilfe der einschlägigen antiken Literatur hinzudenken. Wir werden teilweise die antiken Schriften zitieren, auf die sich Biondo stützt, um einen Eindruck davon zu vermitteln, wie sehr er sich an den Quellen orientierte. Aber wir können seine Argumentation nicht in extenso nachvollziehen, denn es geht hier ja weniger um die Art der wissenschaftlichen Untersuchung, als um die Vorstellungen, die dahinter standen. Biondo wandte sich erstmals gegen die populäre Meinung, daß das Kapitol Sitz der Regierung gewesen sei und stellte richtig, daß es hauptsächlich sakralen Zwecken diente. Die Regierungsbauten lokalisierte er nun an anderen Orten. Aber auch er war befangen von dem, was er gewohnt war und was zu seiner Zeit selbstverständlich schien. Er ging anscheinend von der Hypothese aus: Die obersten Regierungsgremien hatten feste Hauptsitze und deren Erscheinung entsprach der Würde der Gremien und der Macht des Staates. Er konzentriert sich darauf, den Ort des Comitium im Marsfeld und die beiden wichtigsten Kurien zu lokalisieren. Die meisten antiken Staatsbauten lagen nach Biondo gewissermaßen um das Kolosseum herum, das im Mittelalter oft als das Zentrum Roms bezeichnet wurde: auf der einen Seite Forum Romanum, Kapitol und Palatin, gegenüber auf dem Caelius und auf dem Esquilin die beiden Hauptkurien (fig. 4). Über die Kurien berichtet Varro direkt im Anschluß an das Comitium: “Es gab zwei Arten von Kurien: nämlich diejenigen, wo die Priester sich um die Angelegenheiten der Götter kümmerten, wie die Curiae veteres, und diejenigen, wo sich der Senat um die Belange der Menschen kümmerte, wie die Curia Hostilia, so genannt, weil sie zuerst vom König Hostilius errichtet wurde”.41 Biondo zitiert das. In diesen beiden Kurien, gibt er an, seien priesterliche und zivile Rechtsfälle behandelt worden.42 Er ist sich bewußt, daß der Senat an vielen verschiedenen Orten und nicht nur in Kurien tagte.43 Aber er geht nicht weiter darauf ein; er berücksichtigt nicht einmal die berühmte Kurie des Pompeius, in der Caesar ermordet wurde. Er konzentriert sich auf die Curiae veteres oder auch Curia vetus und auf die Curia Hostilia als die beiden Hauptkurien. Für sie sucht er in Roma instaurata geeignete Plätze.44 40

C. Huelsen, H. Jordan, Topographie der Stadt Rom im Altertum, Bd. I, Abt. 3, Berlin, 1907, Taf. 4, 17. 41 Varro, Ling.lat. V 155. 42 Roma inst. II, p. 87.

43

Roma inst. II, p. 87 etc. Curia Hostilia: Roma inst. I pp. 77–78; II pp. 62–63; III 7. Roma triumph. 1544, p. 19.

44

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER Nach Varro hätte es nahegelegen, die Curia Hostilia unterhalb des Kapitols zu lokalisieren, nahe beim Ort des Senatulum, der durch die von Poggio entdeckte Inschrift identifiziertet wurde. Dies ist die allgemeine Meinung der heutigen Archäologen. Aber Biondo folgt Varros Hinweis nicht, vielleicht weil es diverse Senatula gab.45 Er geht von dem Bericht des Livius aus, daß Tullus Hostilius seine Residenz auf dem Caelius errichtete, und dort “einen Tempel zur Kurie machte, die bis auf die Zeit unserer Väter die Hostilische genannt wurde”.46 Diese Angabe kehrt in den interpolierten Regionenführern unter der Region Caelimontium wieder.47 Was die Einrichtung der Kurie in einem Tempel betrifft, so war sie normal und sogar vorgeschrieben. Varro sagt, nur an einem von den Auguren bestimmten Ort dürfe der Senat Beschlüsse fassen, und deshalb seien die Curia Hostilia, die Kurie des Pompeius und die Curia Julia, obwohl sie profane Bestimmung hätten, allesamt von den Auguren bestimmte Tempel.48 Biondo zitiert das in einer allgemeinen Abhandlung über die Tempel.49 Die Lokalisierung 4 Das Kolosseum und Umgebung in der Antike, nach der Curia Hostilia auf dem Caelius wurde noch R. Lanciani; links vom Kolosseum das forum romanum, bestätigt durch die Berichte von den Heiligen rechts der Mons Caelius mit dem Podest des Claudiustempel, Märtyrern Johannes und Paulus, deren Kirche unten (Biondo’s Curia Hostilia), oben rechts die Reste SS. Giovanni e Paolo auf dem Caelius liegt. Die der Trajanstermen und der Titustermen (Biondo’s Curiae Akten ihres Martyriums geben an, daß sie “iuxta veteres). curiam Hostiliam” umgebracht wurden, dies soll in ihrem Haus geschehen sein, und über diesem Haus soll ihre Kirche errichtet worden sein.50 Die Reste der Aqua Claudia, die an die Fassade der Kirche angrenzen, wurden in der Renaissance manchmal als Reste dieses Hauses vorgezeigt.51 Für die Curiae veteres findet Biondo einen Ort mit Hilfe mittelalterlicher Tradition.52 Aus den antiken Regionenkatalogen von Rom geht hervor, daß die Curiae veteres auf dem Palatin lagen, und weitere antike Schriften bestätigen dies mehr oder minder indirekt. Aber diese Zeugnisse nimmt Biondo nicht wichtig. Vielmehr geht er zunächst von Varros Angabe aus, daß die Auguren über die Via Sacra zu dem Ort gingen, an dem sie ihre Vogelschauen vornahmen, und daß die Via Sacra vom Kapitol zu den “Carinae” führ-

45

Festus 519 [Fragment aus Codex Farnese L. XIX]. Livius 1, 30, 1–2. 47 Valentini/Zucchetti I (note 18), p. 209. 48 Varro, Epistolicae quaestiones, bei Aulus Gellius Noct. Att. 14, 7, 7. 49 Biondo, Roma triumph. 1544, p. 31v. 50 M. Marchetti, ‘Un manoscritto inedito riguardante la topografia di Roma’, Bullettino della Commissione Archeologica Communale di Roma 42, 1914, pp. 41–116, pp. 334–400, spez. 354–355; Acta 46

Sanctorum, Junii, Vol. 5, Antwerpen, 1709, 26. Juni, pp. 158–161; A. M. Colini, Storia e topografia del Celio nell’antichità, Roma, 1944, p. 208; R. Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum, Città del Vaticano, 1937, p. 268ff; W. Buchowiecki, Handbuch der Kirchen Roms, Wien, 1967–1997, Bd. 2, pp. 126–131. 51 A. Giovannoli, Vedute degli antichi vestigi di Roma, Roma, 1751, Taf. 9. 52 Roma inst. II pp. 30–35, 38ff, 60; Roma triumph. 1544, p. 24.

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te.53 Die Region des Esquilin, die zwischen S. Pietro in Vincoli und dem Kolosseum liegt (vulgär genannt “le Capocce”), identifiziert Biondo mit den Carinae, denn, begründet er, so werde sie in alten Rechtsakten und immer noch genannt. Frühere Schriften bestätigen, daß man die Region damals wirklich als Carinae bezeichnete.54 Biondo beschreibt nun, wie die Auguren vom Kapitol, durch das Forum Romanum und am Ende durch den Titusbogen zogen, sich dann dem Kolosseum zuwandten und hinter ihm auf den Esquilin zu den Carinae aufstiegen, um dort die Vogelschauen vorzunehmen. Diesen Ort setzt Biondo mit den Curiae veteres gleich. Warum, sagt er nicht. Vielleicht weil er Auguren mit Priestern gleichsetzt und annimmt, daß der Ort, an dem sie ihres Amtes walteten, identisch mit ihrem Hauptsitz sein müßte. Vielleicht auch weil es im damals sehr bekannten Aeneas-Kommentar des Servius heißt, Augustus sei in den Curiae veteres geboren und in den vornehmen Carinae gesäugt worden.55 Für beide Kurien weist Biondo nun monumentale Ruinen vor. Mit der Kirche SS. Giovanni e Paolo war ein Palast verbunden, der auf den Fundamenten der vermeintlichen Curia Hostilia liegt.56 Diese Fundamente gehören nach heutiger Ansicht zu den Stützmauern des Podiums, auf dem sich der Tempel des Claudius erhob. Sie bildeten die Westfront dieses Podiums. Das Podium umfaßte ein Areal von 180 x 200 m und war ca. 10 Meter hoch. Von dem Tempel selber hat sich nichts erhalten, doch seine Substruktionen sind teilweise noch heute sichtbar. Sie schlossen im Westen zwei Geschosse ein, die außen im Prinzip ähnlich wie das Tabularium in Erscheinung treten: mit hohen Arkaden und einer Blendgliederung zwischen ihnen. Allerdings bestehen Wand und Gliederung aus grob rustizierten Travertinblöcken. Es ist eines der schönsten antiken Beispiele für die Rustica, die in der Renaissance bekannt waren. Heute sind acht von den Arkaden erhalten; rund hundert Jahre nach Biondo waren es noch achtzehn oder neunzehn von ihnen.57 Hinter den Arkaden schließen tonnengewölbte Räume an, deren Mauern aus Ziegelstein bestehen und die an eine mehrschichtige Mauer (über 6 Meter tief) herangebaut sind. Beim heute sichtbaren Rest handelt es sich um das Obergeschoss der Stutzmauern. Das Erdgeschoß ist verschüttet. Die eindrucksvollen Reste sind oft gezeichnet worden in der Renaissance.58 Freilich meist nur das obere Geschoß. Piranesi hat beide Geschosse genau aufgenommen.59 Etienne Dupéracs Vedute der “Vestigi et parte del Monte Celio” in den Vestigi dell’Antichità di Roma von 1575 zeigt die Front des Podiums fast noch in ihrer gesamten Breite (fig. 5).60 Allerdings sind nur jene Arkaden nahe bei SS. Giovanni e Paolo in gutem Erhaltungszustand dargestellt. Die übrigen Fronten waren ähnlich gegliedert. Die Ostfront wurde aber unter Nero umgestaltet mit Nymphäen und den für solche Stützwände typischen Nischen in opus reticulatum.61 In der Mitte der Westfront und in der Mitte der Nordfront, die in Richtung Forum wies, führten Freitreppen hinauf zum Tempel. Die Treppe der Nordfront war anscheinend besonders aufwendig. Francesco di

53

Varro, Ling.lat. V 47. Gio. Cavallini, Polistoria de virtutibus et dotibus Romanorum, (um 1350); Anon. Magl. (um 1411); Valentini/Zucchetti IV (note 18), p. 26ff, 126. 55 Servius, Aen. 8.361. 56 Roma inst. I, p. 78. 57 So die Legenden zu Palladios Zeichnungen. G. Zorzi, I disegni delle antichità di Andrea Palladio, Venezia, 1958, Nr. 63–64. 58 So etwa Palladio, loc.cit., u. Gio. Ant. Dosio (Uffizi, Gab. dei Disegni, A 2030, A 2518). G. A. Dosio, Roma antica e i disegni di architettura agli Uffizi, Ed. F. 54

Borsi, C. Acidini, F. Mannu Pisani, G. Morolli, Roma, 1976, p. 123ff. 59 G. B. Piranesi, Le antichità romane (1756) IV. Idem, Vedute di Roma (1750–1751). Gesamtkatalog der Kupferstiche, Ed. L. Ficacci, Köln etc., 2000, pp. 317, 700. 60 E. Dupérac, Vestigi dell’antichità di Roma, Roma, 1575, p. 14. J. Garms, Vedute di Roma dal Medioevo all’Ottocento, Napoli, 1995, Bd. 2, p. 402 Abb. H 26. 61 Piranesi, Antichità Romane I, Taf. 24. 1. Gesamtkat. der Kupferstiche 2000 (note 59), p. 193, “Ninfeo di Nerone”.

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5 Die Curia Hostilia nach Dupérac (auf dem Podest des Claudiustempels). S. Dupérac, Vestigi di Antichità, 1575, pl. 14 (Ed. Losi, Roma, 1773). Universiteit Utrecht.

Giorgio Martini hat noch Reste davon erkennen können; er stellt sie als eine doppelläufige Anlage dar.62 Auf dem Podium waren keine antiken Strukturen erhalten. Man konnte sich dort einen beliebigen Bau vorstellen. Was Biondo vorschwebte, ist offen. Jedenfalls muß er sich den Bau dem gewaltigen Podium entsprechend imposant vorgestellt haben. Vielleicht war seine Vorstellung von den Curiae veteres inspiriert, die er identifizierte. Aber es ist auch möglich, daß er an etwas ähnliches wie große mittelalterliche Rathäuser dachte oder an einen Zentralbau, ähnlich wie der phantastische Sitz des Senats auf dem Kapitol gezeichnet wurde. Zumindest eine Basilika konnte in seinen Augen auch die Gestalt eines Zentralbaus einnehmen. So identifizierte er die Basilika, die Augustus nach Sueton im Namen seiner Neffen Caius und Lucius stiftete, mit dem später sog. Tempio della Minerva Medica bei Termini.63 Zu den Curiae veteres gehörten nach Biondo die diversen großen Ruinen, die bis heute über die gesamte Region der Capocce bzw. nach damaliger Bezeichnung Carinae hinweg verstreut liegen.64 Die Situation ist ersichtlich auf dem Romplan des Alessandro Strozzi (1474), dessen Angaben auf Biondo basieren.65 Der Abhang des Esquilin beim Kolosseum war durch mächtige Stützmauern eingefaßt, von denen heute noch Reste zu sehen sind; Rompläne der Renaissance zeigen noch mehr von ihnen. Auf dem Abhang ragen bis heute unter verstreuten Resten vier gewaltige, reich gegliederte Exedren auf. Sie gehörten nach späterer Erkenntnis zu den Trajansthermen, deren Disposition im wesentlichen den Diokletiansthermen glich. Aber für einen normalen Betrachter ist ein geordneter Zusammenhang schwer erkennbar. Biondo nahm die Exedren wohl für Teile von Hallen, die er für die Curiae veteres hielt.

62 Uffizien, Gab. dei Disegni, A 327. O. Vasori, I monumenti antichi in Itallia nei disegni degli Uffizi, Roma, 1981, p.16. 63 Biondo, Roma inst. II 24; Sueton, Aug. 29. 64 Biondo, Roma inst. II, p. 32.

65

P. A. Frutaz, Le piante di Roma, Rom, 1962, Plan 89; G. Scaglia, ‘The origin of an archeological plan of Rome by Alessandro Strozzi’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 27, 1964, pp. 137–163.

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Mit seiner Lokalisierung der Kurien auf den beiden Hügeln zu Seiten des Kolosseums, kreierte Biondo ein imposantes Regierungsviertel, das der Weltherrschaft der “Siegerin Rom” wahrhaft würdig war. Und das war offenbar auch seine wesentliche Absicht. Aus der Roma triumphans spricht seine Begeisterung für die Großartigkeit des antiken Rom. Das deutet schon der Titel des Werkes an. Besondere Hochachtung bringt Biondo der Regierung des Römischen Reichs entgegen. Er spricht sie als “geradezu göttliche Regierung eines Volkes an, das mächtiger und weiser als alle anderen war”.66 Biondo stand mit seiner Bewunderung für die Größe des antiken Rom natürlich nicht allein. Sie steht wohl auch hinter Poggios Lokalisierung der Kurie auf dem Kapitol. Bei ihr muß man sich fragen: Wenn geistig so rege Humanisten wie Poggio wußten, wo sich das Senatulum befand, und verstanden, daß die Curia Hostilia nahe dabei und am Forum lag, und zudem bemerkten, daß der Bau von S. Adriano antik ist, wieso kamen sie dann nicht bereits auf den Gedanken, S. Adriano mit der Curia Hostilia zu identifizieren? Dafür kann ich nur eine Antwort sehen: Der Bau von S. Adriano erschien ihnen zu klein und zu unscheinbar für eine Kurie oder, anderes ausgedrückt, sie stellten sich die Kurie viel großartiger vor (vgl. fig. 3). Aber Biondos Ausgangshypothese, daß die Erscheinung der Sitze der obersten Regierungsgremien im antiken Rom wie zu seiner eigenen Zeit der Würde der Gremien und der Macht des Staates entsprach, stimmt anscheinend nicht mit der Realität überein. Der Bau am Forum Romanum unterhalb des Kapitols, der heute als Curia Hostilia angesehen wird, ist nur klein und bescheiden gestaltet, obwohl er die Hauptkurie war und mehrfach in der großen Zeit des Römischen Imperium erneuert wurde, so klein, daß man sich fragt, wie der ganze Senat hineinpaßte. Sogar die altgriechischen Rathäuser waren aufwendiger. Der Bau umfaßt wirklich nur einen Saal, wie Alberti die Kurie beschreibt, ist aber noch bescheidener dekoriert als Alberti will. Vielleicht wollten die Römer ähnlich wie beim Tempel des Kapitolinischen Jupiter, dessen urtümliche etruskische Gestalt sie trotz vieler Erneuerungen bewahrten, auch bei der Kurie die Erinnerung an ihre primitive, aber heroische Frühzeit wach halten. Leon Battista Alberti Die einzige antike Schriftquelle über das Aussehen einer Kurie bildet Vitruvs Architekturtraktat. Ungeachtet der nachdrücklichen Ermahnung, die oben zitiert wurde, daß eine Kurie der Bedeutung des Staates entsprechen soll, widmet Vitruv ihr nur wenige karge Sätze, und mehr ist auch nicht nötig, denn die Beschreibung läuft auf einen so simplen Bau hinaus, wie es die Kurie am Forum ist. Anschließend an die Ermahnung heißt es wörtlich: “Wenn sie quadratische Form hat, soll ihre Höhe mit 1½ Breite festgelegt werden; wenn sie aber länglich ist, soll man Höhe und Breite zusammenzählen, und die Hälfte der Gesamtsumme soll man der Höhe bis unter die Decke zuweisen. Außerdem sind die Wände innen ringsum in halber Höhe mit Gesimsen aus Holzarbeit oder Stuck auszustatten”. Das ist alles. Biondo kannte diesen Text nicht. Trotz seiner umfassenden Kenntnis der antiken Literatur zitiert er nie Vitruv, und es läßt sich zeigen, daß er ihn merkwürdigerweise generell nicht berücksichtigt hat.67 Alberti hingegen nahm Vitruv als Basis für sein Architekturtraktat. Wie Vitruv stellt er Beschreibungen von Bautypen und Bauteilen in

66

F. Biondo, Roma trionfante. Übers. L. Fauno, Venedig, 1544, p. 92v.

67

H. Günther, ‘Alberti, gli umanisti contemporanei e Vitruvio’, in: Leon Battista Alberti. Architettura e cultura, Firenze, 1999, pp. 33–44.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER den Vordergrund. Nach dem Vorbild Vitruvs beschreibt er auch eine Kurie.68 Er beginnt mit einer kurzen historischen Einführung: Ursprünglich habe der Senat in Tempeln getagt, dann habe die Sitte zugenommen, die Sitzungen außerhalb der Stadt abzuhalten – das bezieht sich anscheinend auf die Curia Hostilia auf dem Caelius, weil der Hügel ursprünglich noch nicht zum Stadtgebiet Roms gehörte –, schließlich sei die Kurie mitten in die Stadt versetzt worden. Wohin sagt Alberti nicht. Man könnte denken, daß er das Forum Romanum als Standort annimmt. Aber eine solche Annahme läßt sich nicht verifizieren. Es ist ebenso denkbar, daß er die Kurie mit Poggio auf dem Kapitol lokalisierte. Seltsamerweise spricht Alberti nur von einer Kurie im Singular, geradezu als wüßte er nicht, daß es viele gab. Jedenfalls stimmt das nicht mit Biondo überein. Am auffälligsten wird der Unterschied zu Biondo beim Comitium.69 Alberti beschränkt sich auf die Mitteilung, daß in Rom ein eigener Platz für die Volksversammlungen bestimmt gewesen sei, ohne zu spezifizieren, wie er aussah oder wo er war. Kein Wort von Biondos großartiger Saepta auf dem Marsfeld. Vitruv folgend, beschreibt Alberti dann die Kurie als einen Saal. Aber er bemüht sich, dessen Gestaltung entsprechend der Bedeutung einer Kurie aufzuwerten: Er behandelt den Gegenstand viel ausführlicher als Vitruv und gestaltet diesen Saal reicher und kunstvoller. Zunächst unterscheidet er nach Varro zwischen Priesterkurie und Senatskurie. Er hält sich wie gewöhnlich so auch bei den Kurien wieder an konkrete Vorbilder, nur identifiziert er sie wie üblich nicht ausdrücklich.70 Wer Rom gut kannte, konnte trotzdem oft erkennen, worauf sich Alberti bezieht. Bei beiden Arten von Kurien berücksichtigt Aberti nicht die äußere Erscheinung, sondern nur den Innenraum. Die Priesterkurie soll wie ein Tempel gestaltet sein: als rechteckiger Saal mit Eingang an einer Schmalseite und Exedra gegenüber, tonnengewölbt, ohne Fenster (fig. 6a, b); zudem führt Alberti ein kunstvolle Gliederung ein, unten mit Säulen vor den Wänden, darüber eine niedrige Zone mit Statuen in Nischen. Die Priesterkurie gleicht demnach in ihrer Disposition, Gliederung und sogar in den Proportionen dem Tempel der Venus und Roma. Die Übereinstimmung ist aus mehreren Gründen sinnvoll. Erstens tagte der Senat – wie Poggio bemerkt71 – manchmal im Tempel der Venus und Roma. Zweitens sind in diesem Bau zwei gleiche Tempel miteinander verbunden, und das paßt zum Gebrauch des Plurals für die Bezeichnung der Curiae veteres. Daß der Tempel allseits von einer Peristase umgeben war, wußte man nicht in der Renaissance. Die Senatskurie besteht auch nur aus einem Saal, aber wie es zu einem gewöhnlichen profanen Raum paßt, ist dieser Saal breiter proportioniert als die Priesterkurie oder ein Tempel und hat keine Apsis, er ist nur mit einer flachen Holzdecke gedeckt und hat einen hohen Obergaden mit Fenstern (fig. 7a, b). Alberti begründet diese Eigenheiten damit, daß gute Beleuchtung nötig sei, weil in der Senatskurie viel geschrieben werde, und daß Flachdecken besser für die Akustik als Gewölbe und daher günstiger für die Reden seien, die in der Senatskurie gehalten würden. Nach Albertis Beschreibung gleicht die Senatskurie in Disposition, Gliederung und Proportionen zwei Hallen, die auf dem

68 Auf die Ankündigung in De re aed. VIII 8, daß im folgenden Komitien, Kurie und Senat behandelt würden, folgt in VIII 9. Ed. Theuer, 460, die wiedergebene Passage. 69 De re aed. VIII 9. Theuer, p. 459ff. 70 Vgl. zu Problem und Methode Alberti, De re aed. VI 1.

71

De varietate fortunae, Valentini/ Zucchetti IV (note 18), p. 234. Den in der Historia Augusta, Valerian, XXII.5.4, u.a. Schriften gen. Dioskurentempel identifiziert Poggio, wie es seinerzeit mehrfach geschah, mit der heute als Tempel der Venus und Roma angesehenen Ruine hinter S. Maria Nuova.

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6a,b Die Priesterkurie nach Alberti, De re aedificatoria, L.VIII c.9 (Ed. Bartoli, Firenze, 1550). Universiteit Utrecht.

Palatin standen, so wie sie vom 18. Jahrhundert bis heute rekonstruiert warden.72 Jetzt sind nur noch wenige Reste von den Hallen erhalten; sie gelten als Teile der Domus Flavia. Aber Alberti bleibt nicht bei dem einen Saal. An anderer Stelle, im Zusammenhang mit der Behandlung der Funktionen, liefert er weitere Angaben zur Senatskurie.73 Der Eingang in den Senat (in senatum aditus) soll mehr gesichert (munitus) als übermäßig würdig (honestus) sein, weil immer wieder die Gefahr eines Volksaufstandes drohe. Das ist eine freie Erfindung, vielleicht erwachsen aus dem Andenken an die alte Burg auf dem Kapitol. Vor allem stellt sich Alberti vor, daß die Senatskurie mit einem Ensemble von Bauten verbunden sei. Dazu gehören ein Tempel und eine Curia iudiciaria, das soll wohl eine Basilika sein. Alberti kommentiert, diese Verbindung sei nützlich, weil die Senatoren in der Curia iudiciaria ihren anderen Geschäfte nachgehen könnten und weil sie fromm seien. “Dazu kommt, daß es ja für den Staat nötig ist, wenn der Senat Gesandte oder Fürsten fremder Völker empfangen soll, einen Ort zu haben, wo man die Gäste so aufnehmen kann, wie es der Würde von ihnen und der Stadt entspricht”. Daß bei der Kurie Gesandte fremder Völker empfangen wurden, belegt der schon mehrfach zitierte grundlegende Passus des Varro über die Kurien: Demnach gehört zur Kurie ein Platz, genannt Graecostasis, wo die Gesandten warteten.74 Alberti mag durch

72

F. Bianchini, Il palazzo dei Cesari, Verona, 1738; J. Durm, Die Baustile II 2. Die Baukunst der Etrusker. Die Baukunst der Römer (Handbuch der Architektur), Stuttgart, 1905 (1. Ed. 1884), p. 516 Fig. 578; S. Gibson, J. Delaine, A. Claridge, ‘The triclinium of the Domus Flavia: a new reconstruction’, Papers of the British School at Rome 62, 1994, pp. 67–97; M. Royo,

Domus Imperatoriae. Topographie, formation et imaginaire des palais impériaux du Palatin, 1999, pp. 303–368; P. Gros, L’Architecture romaine du début du IIIe siècle av. J.-C. à la fin du Haut-Empire, Paris, 2002, Bd. II, p. 252ff. 73 De re aed. V 9. Theuer, p. 244. 74 Varro, Ling. lat. V 155.

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7a,b Die Senatskurie nach Alberti, De re aedificatoria L. VIII, c. 9 (Ed. Bartoli, Firenze, 1550). Universiteit Utrecht.

das Forum Romanum dazu angeregt worden sein, eigenmächtig die Verbindung der Kurie mit Tempel und Basilika einzuführen. Zudem gibt Vitruv an, die Basilika, die er in Fanum errichtete, sei mit einem Tempel verbunden gewesen.75 Aber vor allem bemerkte Alberti offenbar, daß die Kurie auch so, wie er sie ausschmückt, immer noch viel zu unscheinbar ist, um die Größe des Romischen Reichs zu repräsentieren. Deshalb müssen Tempel und Basilika hinzukommen. Sie behandelt Alberti als besondere Höhepunkte der Architektur; den Tempel hält er mit Vitruv für die vornehmste von allen Bauaufgaben.76 Die Basiliken behandelt Alberti zusammen mit den Tempeln im Buch über die Sakralbauten. Selbstverständlich wußte er aus Vitruv, daß sie für die Rechtsprechung dienten, und leitet davon auch ihre Disposition ab. Aber die profane Funktion stellt er nur als ihre ursprüngliche Bestimmung hin: “Zweifellos waren die Basiliken anfangs jener Ort, wo die Staatsmänner unter einem Dach zusammenkamen, um Recht zu sprechen”.77 Im übrigen gleicht Alberti die Basiliken Sakralbauten an. Er hält sich ganz an die konstantinischen oder andere frühchristliche Basiliken in Rom. Es war damals und auch später in der Renaissance durchaus nicht üblich, sich antike Basiliken generell wie die frühen christlichen Kirchen vorzustellen. Alberti beschreibt nach diesem Vorbild nicht nur die Disposition, sondern auch den Schmuck der Basiliken. Er entfernt sich dabei beträchtlich von Vitruvs Beschreibung der Basilika in Fanum. Das war ein Holzbau; von Schmuck ist dort überhaupt keine Rede. Die enorme Pracht, mit der Alberti Basiliken ausgestattet haben will, paßt nur zu Sakralbauten.

.

75 76

Vitruv V 1 (7). De re aed. VII. Theuer, p. 349.

77

De re aed. IX 14. Theuer, p. 393

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Den von Vitruv78 herausgestellten Zusammenhang der Basiliken mit dem Forum übergeht Alberti. Dabei gab es diverse prominente Quellen, die Vitruv bestätigen. Im Zusammenhang mit dem Bau des Augustusforum bezeichnet Sueton die Gerichtsbarkeit als eine wesentliche Funktion von Foren: “Das neue Forum errichtete er (Augustus), weil für die große Einwohnerzahl und die Menge der Prozesse die beiden alten Foren (Forum Romanum, Caesarforum) nicht mehr genügten und ein drittes notwendig zu werden schien; deshalb wurde es in großer Eile, bevor noch der Marstempel vollendet war, der Öffentlichkeit übergeben, und zwar mit der Bestimmung, daß auf ihm speziell die Strafprozesse und die Auslosungen der Richter stattfinden sollten”.79 Alberti berücksichtigt eigenartigerweise überhaupt nicht Vitruvs Hinweis, daß an ein Forum öffentliche Bauten angrenzen sollen, außer der Basilika ein Aerarium (Schatzhaus), Gefängnis und auch die Kurie.80 Foren behandelt Alberti zusammen mit Straßen und schmucklosen Plätzen. Sie haben für Alberti ausschließlich die Funktion von Märkten. An sie grenzen nichts als Geschäfte und Häuser an, keinerlei öffentliche Bauten oder gar Tempel wie beim Forum Romanum.81 Sie sind, wie Vitruv82 will, von Portiken umgeben. Aber die für Sport und Erholung dienenden Gymnasien, deren Höfe ebenfalls von Portiken eingeschlossen sind, stellt sich Alberti erheblich aufwendiger vor, größer und prächtiger: sie sind mit Marmor ausgekleidet und mit Mosaik gepflastert. Derartigen Schmuck sieht Alberti für das Forum nicht vor. Beim Forum beschreibt er die Portiken längst nicht so ausführlich wie beim Gymnasium. Alberti sagt sogar ausdrücklich, daß die Säulenhallen der Gymnasien geräumiger als diejenigen der Foren sein sollen.83 Lokalisierung der Kurien im 16. Jahrhundert Im Lauf der Renaissance setzte sich bei Humanisten die Erkenntnis durch, daß das Kapitol nicht der Regierungssitz des antiken Rom war und daß auf dem Hügel hauptsächlich Tempel und Heiligtümer standen. Die antiken Schriften berichten von einigen Dutzenden von ihnen, so daß sich Michel de Montaigne wunderte, wie so viele Bauten überhaupt Platz auf dem ziemlich kleinen Hügel gefunden haben könnten.84 Biondos Lokalisierung der Kurien hatte teilweise bis ins 19. Jahrhundert Bestand, auch wenn sie vielfach auf Widerspruch stieß. Aber seine Vorstellung, daß die Curiae veteres so monumental waren, wie es der Herrlichkeit des Römischen Reichs entspricht, verlor trotzdem an Gewicht. Schon im 16. Jahrhundert hatte sich die Erkenntnis durchgesetzt, daß die großen Ruinen auf dem Esquilin zu den Trajansthermen und Titusthermen gehörten. Die Curiae veteres wurden zwar weiterhin auf dem Esquilin lokalisiert, aber jetzt nahe bei S. Pietro in Vincoli. Ausschlaggebend dafür war nur noch die Deutung der Ortsangaben in den Schriften, nicht mehr die Attraktion markanter Ruinen. So verband sich mit ihrer Lokalisierung keine konkrete Vorstellung von ihrem Aussehen. Der gelehrte Vitruv-Übersetzer Fabio Calvo markiert in seinem Plan der Roma quadrata, des ältesten Rom, eine Senatskurie inmitten der Stadt, eine Domus Sacerdotum auf dem Palatin und eine Curia vetus auf dem Esquilin (fig. 8).85 Die Curia

78

82

79

83

Vitruv V 1. Sueton, Aug. 29. 80 Vitruv V 2. 81 De re aed. VIII 6. vgl. V 18. VII 1. Theuer, pp. 437ff, 284, 346.

Vitruv V 1. De re aed. VIII 8. Theuer, p. 457. 84 M. de Montaigne, Journal de voyage en Italie, Ed. P. Michel, Paris, 1974, p. 256ff. 85 Frutaz 1962 (note 65), Plan 7.

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8 Roma quadrata: die Stadt in der Zeit von Romulus, mit der Kurie des Senats im Stadtzen-trum und der Curia vetus auf dem Esquilin. Stadtplan des Fabio Calvo (Frutaz 1962, pl. 7).

9 Die Curia Hostilia auf dem Mons Caelius. Ausschnitt aus dem Stadplan von Rom zur Zeit der Flavier von Fabio Calvo, 1527 (Frutaz 1962, pl. 10).

vetus sieht wie ein mittelalterliches Kastell aus. Diese Darstellung war vielleicht durch die befestigte Anlage des Komplexes von S. Pietro in Vincoli angeregt. Eine spätere Abbildung der Curiae veteres ist mir nicht bekannt. Die Lokalisierung der Curia Hostilia auf dem Caelius fand im Allgemeinen Zustimmung. Bald wurde auch Albertis Idee übernommen, die Kurie als Teil einer Gruppe von Bauten zu rekonstruieren, zuerst wohl von Fabio Calvo in seinem Plan Roms zur Zeit der Flavier (1527) (fig. 9).86 Calvo stellt über den Substruktionen des Claudius-Tempels auf dem Caelius ein Ensemble von vier eng zusammenstehenden Bauten und einem Turm dar, der vermutlich den Nordeingang bewacht. Die Bauten sind bezeichnet als Curia Hostilia (links), Templum Claudiorum (oben) und Armamentum publicum. Calvo richtet sich nach dem von Pomponius Laetus interpolierten antiken Regionenkatalog von Rom. Dort sind auf dem Caelius aufgelistet die Residenz (Regia) des Tullus Hostilius und der Tempel, den Tullus Hostilius in eine Kurie umwandeln ließ,87 sowie der Tempel des Claudius und das Arsenal (Armamentum).88 Aus der Liste allein erklärt sich das Ensemble aber nicht. Calvo hat seine vier Bauten aus insgesamt zwanzig ausgewählt, die dort aufgeführt sind, und er hat sie hier ausnahmsweise als zusammenhängendes Ensemble dargestellt im Unterschied zu den übrigen Regionen, wo die Bauten separat dargestellt sind. Die Verbindung der Kurie mit einem Tempel, und ebenso der wehrhafte Eingang orientieren sich wohl an Alberti. Die Einbeziehung des Arsenals ist wohl durch die Tradition mittelalterlicher Rathäuser angeregt. In der Halle beim alten Eingang in den Palazzo

86 Frutaz 1962 (note 65), Plan 10; P. N. Pagliara, ‘La Roma antica di Fabio Calvo. Note sulla cultura antiquaria e architettonica’, Psicon. Rivista internaz. di Architettura 2, 1976, Nr. 8–9, pp. 65–87.

87 88

Von Pomponius nach Livius ergänzt. Livius I 30; 33, 2. Valentini/ Zucchetti I (note 18), p. 209ff.

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Vecchio in Florenz war eine Waffenkammer. Francesco di Giorgio schließt in ein ideales Rathaus ein armamentario ein, wo man die gesamte Artillerie der Gemeinde aufbewahren soll.89 Pietro Cataneo will, daß das Zeughaus, in dem die Artillerie deponiert ist, direkt beim Rathaus liegt.90 Die Berichte über das Armamentum, das der Architekt Philon von Eleusis für die Athener in Piraeus errichtete (zw. 347 u. 330 v.Chr.), sprachen dafür, sich antike Zeughäuser großartig vorzustellen. Es war wegen seiner Größe und seiner Schönheit hochberühmt in der Antike, und das war von Anfang der Renaissance an bekannt.91 Daniele Barbaro und Andrea Palladio Daniele Barbaro und Palladio machten wesentliche Fortschritte im Verständnis der Antike. Palladios Lehre von den Säulenordnungen zeugt von einem neuen Blick auf die Ruinen, weil endlich das Pathos der Tempelportiken mit ihren engen Interkolumnien wahrgenommen und als essentielles architektonisches Motiv gewertet wird.92 Wie ideenreich sich Barbaro und Palladio theoretisch mit der Antike auseinandersetzten, zeigen ihre Abhandlungen 10 Rekonstruktion der Kurie als Theil des Forums, nach über antike Staatsbauten. Sie fanden auf Andrea Palladio und Daniele Barbaro, Vitruvedition 1567; der Basis von Vitruv einen originären Weg, B = Curia. Universiteit Utrecht. um ein großartiges Regierungszentrum zu imaginieren.93 Ihr Ausgangspunkt ist gerade Vitruvs Angabe, daß ans Forum Staatsbauten wie Basilika, Kurie und andere angrenzen sollen. Auch sie kommen nicht daran vorbei, daß Vitruv nur einen Saal für die Kurie beschreibt. Aber dieser Saal wird zum Bestandteil eines großen geschlossenen “Palazzo”, wie Barbaro ausdrücklich formuliert (fig. 10). In der Mitte dieses Palastes liegt das Forum als von Portiken eingegrenzter Hof, daran grenzen an Basilika, Kurie, Sekretariate für den Senat, Gefängnis und Münze (zecca). Albertis Angabe folgend, daß die Gestaltung von Privathäusern öffentliche Bauten nachahmt, ist die Anlage

89

F. di Giorgio, Trattati 1967 (note 29), 350, Taf. 206. Auch in Deutschland dienten damals die Rathäuser als Zeughaus. Albrecht 2004 (note 3), p. 13. 90 P. Cataneo, I quattro primi libri di architettura, Venezia, 1554, p. 10v. 91 Valerius Maximus, Factorum ac dictorum memorabilium VIII 12.2; Plinius, Nat.hist. VII 125; Vitruv, VII Praef.

92 H. Günther, ‘Palladio e gli ordini di colonne’, in: Andrea Palladio. Nuovi Contributi, Milano, 1990, pp. 182–197. 93 Vitruv Ed. D. Barbaro 1556 u. 1567 (Reprint Milano 1567 mit Kommentaren von M. Tafuri u. M. Morresi). Ed. 1567, pp. 207–210 mit Illustration des Grundrisses eines Forum. Palladio 1570, III c. 16–18; p. 36 Grundriß eines Forum.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER insgesamt der Disposition eines antiken Hauses angeglichen, so wie sie sich Barbaro und Palladio vorstellten.94 Auf der Hauptachse liegen vorn ein Vestibül, anschließend die Kurie anstelle des Atrium/Cavaedium als Prachtraum und Empfangshalle des Hauses, als rückwärtiger Abschluß die Basilika anstelle des Tabularium, das die Form einer Basilika annehmen konnte. Die Mitte nimmt das Forum anstelle des Peristyl des Hauses ein, den Alberti mehrfach in Parallele zu einem Forum setzt.95 Das Forum ist, wie Alberti will, ganz umgeben von Geschäften anstelle von Zimmern, aber dahinter liegen Kurie und Basilika, die ebenfalls vom Forum aus direkt zugänglich sind. Palladio illustriert auch den Querschnitt dieses Palastes: Die Kurie bildet da einen hohen Saal mit Gewölbe. Das widerspricht Albertis Rat, daß die Senatskurie flachgedeckt sein soll, aber es entspricht Albertis ausführlicher Beschreibung des Atrium/Cavaedium testudinatum als gewölbtem Saal in der Art des vermeintlichen Atrium bzw., wie man heute annimmt, Frigidarium der Diokletiansthermen. Wie der Regierungspalast von außen aussehen sollte, bleibt offen. Dieses Konstrukt demonstriert, wie sich Vitruvs Angaben mit der herkömmlichen Erwartung verbinden ließen, daß das Regierungszentrum auch in der Antike großartig in Erscheinung trat. Zu dem gewaltigen Podest des Claudius-Tempels auf dem Caelius würde ein Palast, wie ihn Barbaro und Palladio ausgedacht haben, gut passen. Allerdings in Palladios Führer des antiken Rom (1554) ist keine Rede von einem solchen Regierungspalast. Da wird berichtet, daß es 35 Kurien, drei Senatuli, das ,Sekretariat’ bei S. Martina etc. gab.96 Rompläne und Bilderbücher des antiken Rom aus der Spätrenaissance In der zweiten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts verbreiteten sich Publikationen, die auf der Basis neuer archäologischer Erkenntnisse anschaulicher als die früheren gelehrten Abhandlungen vor Augen führen wollten, wie Rom in der Antike als Ganzes aussah. Sie stützen sich auf neue archäologische Erkenntnisse, aber sie führen auch freie Erfindungen ein, um eine Gesamtvorstellung zu vermitteln. Ungeachtet ihres eingeschränkten archäologischen Wertes behielten die Rekonstruktionen lange Geltung. Der Architekt und Antiquar Pirro Ligorio publizierte 1561 eine Rekonstruktion des antiken Rom, die eine lebendige Vorstellung von der alten Erscheinung der Stadt vermittelt.97 Die meisten bedeutenden Bauten sind erfaßt. Bei erhaltenen Bauten gibt Ligorio im Allgemeinen den Bestand gut wieder. Sorgfältig berücksichtigt er, wo verschwundene Bauten lokalisiert wurden und was die antiken Schriften über sie überliefern. Teilweise richtet sich die Darstellung der verschwundenen Bauten nach Münzen. Manchmal ist allerdings ganz eigenständig interpoliert. Ligorio hatte da Übung; er neigte auch sonst gelegentlich dazu, archäologische Fakten mit eigenen Erfindungen zu kombinieren, ohne offenzulegen, wie die Grenzen dazwischen liegen. Solche freien Erfindungen bilden die Darstellungen der Curia Hostilia auf dem Caelius oder der Kurie und des Senatulum im Zentrum, beim Forum

94

Vitruv 1567, 280. Palladio 1570, II c. 4–7, pp. 25, 34. Alberti, De re aed. V 2; V 17. Theuer, pp. 224, 273 (Alberti bezeichnet den mittleren Hof als Atrium; vgl. dazu meine ob. zit. Artikel zu den Vorstellungen vom antiken Haus in der Renaissance). 96 A. Palladio, Le antichità di Roma, Roma, 1614, pp. 21–27. 97 Frutaz 1962 (note 65), Plan 17; H. Burns, ‘Pirro Ligorio’s reconstruction of ancient Rome: The antiquae urbis imago of 1561’, in: R. W. Gaston (ed.), Pirro Ligorio. Artist and Antiquarian, Firenze, 95

1988, pp. 19–92; M. M. McGowan, ‘Unwillkürliches Gedächtnis – Romerfahrung in der Spätrenaissance’, in: Ruinenbilder, München, 2002, pp. 17–30; B. Palma Venetucci (ed.), Pirro Ligorio e le erme di Roma, Roma, 1998. Vgl. allg. zu Ligorio und seinen Bildungshorizont als Antiquar: A. Scheurs, Antikenbild und Kunstanschauungen des neapolitanischen Malers, Architekten und Antiquars Pirro Ligorio (1513–1583), Köln, 2000; D. R. Coffin, Pirro Ligorio. The Renaissance artist, architect and antiquarian, University Park, 2004.

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11 Die Curia Hostilia auf dem Mons Caelius, nach Pirro Ligorio, 1561.

12 Kapitol und Forum Romanum nach Pirro Ligorio, 1561 (hinter dem Kapitol rechts Senatulum, links Kurie).

Romanum (fig. 11, 12). Bei der Gestaltung der Kurie im Zentrum war Ligorio frei, denn niemand kannte damals Relikte von diesem Bau. Beim Senatulum berücksichtigt er den antiken Bau von S. Martina nicht, sondern erfindet ein großartiges Hochhaus. In seiner Darstellung der Curia Hostilia verschmelzen die Arkaden des Podiums des Claudius-Tempels mit einem langgestreckten Obergeschoß und einem tempelartigen Bau darauf zu einer neuen Einheit. Ligorios Romplan fand rasch Nachfolge. Étienne Dupérac, der seit 1559 in Rom gelebt hatte, publizierte 1574 eine noch sorgfältiger ausgeschmückte, bedachtsam überarbeitete,

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER aber nicht immer wirklich verbesserte Fassung von Ligorios Romplan (fig.13).98 Fünf Jahre später erschien ein ähnlicher Romplan von der Hand des Stechers Mario Cartaro, der hauptsächlich fremde Druckgrafik kopierte und in den Handel brachte.99 Er hält sich an Dupérac, korrigiert ihn teilweise seinerseits, aber weniger mit Bedacht, als mit freier Phantasie. Ligorios Rekonstruktionen sind noch bei F. H. Köhler, Urbs Roma, Leipzig 1829, paraphrasiert. Inzwischen erschienen Bilderbücher über das antike Rom im Druck. Zunächst enthielten sie nur Abbildungen von realen Bauten, wie Serlios drittes Buch (1540) oder Palladios viertes Buch (1570). Dann kam eine neue Art auf, die sich auf Rekonstruktionen konzentriert, großteils Rekonstruktionen verschwundener Bauten, unter anderem auch imaginierte Staatsbauten. In diesen Bilderbüchern sind oft die wesentlichen von den vielen Bauten, die in den neuen Plänen des antiken Rom erschei13 Die Curia Hostilia auf dem Mons Caelius, nach S. Dupérac, nen, oder manchmal ganze Ensembles heraus1574. genommen und jeweils so vergrößert, daß sie ein ganzes Blatt füllen. Damit sie in der Vergrößerung gut wirken, sind sie im Detail bereichert und ausgeschmückt. Das erste Werk dieser Art konzipierte Étienne Dupérac auf der Basis von Ligorios und seinem eigenen Romplan (1574–1575).100 Das populärste publizierte der römische Stecher Giacomo Lauro ab 1612 unter dem Titel Antiquae urbis Splendor. Vieles ist hier eigenständig erfunden. Dabei hielt sich Lauro nicht etwa genauer als seine Vorgänger an antike Zeugnisse. Seine Rekonstruktionen sind manchmal selbst da sehr freizügig, wo noch Ruinen standen. Eine freie Erfindung bildet auch seine Illustration der Curia Hostilia: ein Haus mit drei Geschossen von Arkaden ungefähr in der Art des Tabularium an den Seiten. Die Bilderbücher zeigen fast so viele Regierungs- und Verwaltungsbauten wie die berühmten wirklich erhaltenen römischen Monumente. Lauro etwa rekonstruiert zahlreiche Kurien, mehrere Saeptae, Kaiserforen, Basiliken, Palatin, Kapitol etc., alle als stattliche Anlagen. Auf diese Weise werden die früheren Vorstellungen vom alten Rom gründlich korrigiert. Die berühmten erhaltenen Monumente dienten zum größten Teil dem Vergnügen. Es waren Theater, Zirkusse, Stadien, Arenen oder Thermen. Manche von ihnen waren so riesig, daß sie soviel und mehr Zuschauer aufnehmen konnten, wie die größten Städte der Renaissance an Einwohnern zählten. Die Vergnügungen, für die sie dienten, waren meist unkultiviert und grausam. Alberti nahm diesen Aspekt der Antike ziemlich unvoreingenommen hin. Regierungs- und Verwaltungsbauten behandelt er nur kurz, Vergnügungsbauten in der Art der Antike dagegen in aller Ausführlichkeit.

98

Frutaz 1962 (note 65), Plan 22. Frutaz 1962 (note 65), Plan 23. 100 Ed. T. Ashby, Rom 1908, und E. Dupérac, Disegni de le ruine di Roma e come anticamente erono. Ed. 99

R. Wittkower, Mailand 1963/1990; H. Zerner, ‘Observations on Dupérac and the “Disegni de le ruine di Roma e come anticamente erono”’, Art Bulletin 47, 1965, pp. 507–512.101

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Wenn er generell auflistet, was es an Bauten gibt, pflegt er Regierungs- und Verwaltungsbauten zu übergehen. Beispielsweise rät er, in Städten neben Wohnbauten und Straßen Platz zu lassen für Rennplätze, Gärten, Wandelhallen, Schwimmbäder, Zierund Vergnügungsbauten – für Regierungs- und Verwaltungsbauten ist anscheinend kein Platz nötig.101 Allerdings stießen die ausschweifenden Vergnügungen und megalomanen Vergnügungsbauten schon in der Antike auf heftige Kritik aus moralischer Warte. So bei berühmten Autoren wie Seneca, Plinius, Cicero, Tacitus und natürlich den Kirchenvätern. Bei aller Bewunderung für die Antike teilten viele Humanisten diese Haltung. Biondo gehörte auch dazu. In diesem Sinn wurde die Bautätigkeit Papst Sixtus’ IV. ausdrücklich gegen die Antike abgesetzt, wo eitel Wollust und Prunksucht bestimmend gewesen seien.102 Die Bilderbucher des antiken Rom aus der Spätrenaissance korrigierten die alten Vorstellungen offenbar im gleichen Geist und nicht nur aufgrund neuer archäologischer Erkenntnisse. Indem sie die Regierungsbauten vermehrten und als stattliche Gebäude hinstellten, stellten sie einen im Sinn der Renaissance angemesseneren Proporz unter den Monumenten her. Zudem lebte im Bereich der Pläne und Bilderbücher vom antiken Rom die Vorstellung von der grandiosen Erscheinung des Kapitols wieder auf. Sie verband sich mit neuen archäologischen Erkenntnissen. Aber diese wurden so gedeutet, daß das Kapitol wieder als ein Regierungszentrum erschien. Die Curia Calabra lieferte den Schlüssel dazu (fig. 14). Lauro gibt ihm sogar eine Disposition, die generell Michelangelos Konzeption für die Erneuerung entsprach: mit einem Hof inmitten der Bauten und sogar auf das Marsfeld orientiert bzw. auf die im Mittelalter und in der Renaissance bewohnte Zone, das Abitato. Wie schön man sich immer das Kapitol vorstellte, es blieb nur ein Regierungssitz unter vielen, die verstreut über die ganze Stadt lagen. In der Renaissance war man aber gewohnt, daß der Sitz der Regierung, auch wenn er auf mehrere Bauten verteilt ist, im Zentrum der Stadt, beim Hauptplatz, liegt. So war es in den mittelalterlichen Städten, und so blieb es bei Neubauten. So wird es empfohlen in allen Architekturtraktaten, die mehr als Alberti auf die reale Situation der eigenen Zeit Rücksicht nehmen, von Filarete, Francesco di Giorgio und Pietro Cataneo (1554/1567).103 Daraus erwuchs sogar deutliche Kritik an der Urbanistik im alten Rom. Cataneo führt aus:104 Rom, die Herrscherin der Welt, sei zwar bei seiner Gründung klein gewesen und habe nur das Kapitol und den Palatin eingeschlossen, trotzdem hätte man bei der späteren Erweiterung viele öffentlichen Bauten und andere Elemente besser verteilen können, als es ausgeführt wurde. Denn, abgesehen von der Verwinkelung und schlechten Verteilung von Straßen und Plätzen (die bereits Livius, Ab Urbe condita 5.55.5 und Tacitus, Annales 15.38,43 ansprechen). hätte ein großer Teil der Gebäude, die weit ab vom Forum Romanum, dem Hauptplatz und Zentrum der Stadt, stehen, statt dessen um oder bei diesem Platz errichtet werden sollen, so besonders die am meisten frequentierten, wie die Basiliken, wo die Magistrate Recht sprachen, und ähnlich einige Kurien und Rostren, die weit vom Forum entfernt gelegen hätten, aber eigentlich bei ihm hätten liegen sollen. Auch hätte man die Comitien, die Volksversammlungen, nicht

101

Alberti, De re aed. IV 3. Theuer, pp. 191.102 H. Günther, ‘”Insana aedificia thermarum nomine extructa”. Die Diokletiansthermen in der Sicht der Renaissance’, in: Hülle und Fülle. Festschrift für Tilmann Buddensieg, Alfter, 1993, pp. 251–283. 102 H. Günther, ‘”Insana aedificia thermarum nomine extructa”. Die Diokletiansthermen in der Sicht der

Renaissance’, in: Hülle und Fülle. Festschrift für Tilmann Buddensieg, Alfter, 1993, pp. 251–283. 103 Antonio Averlino detto Il Filerete, Trattato di architettura. Ed. A.M. Finoli, L. Grassi, Milano, 1972, p. 272ff. (Anf. Buch X); F. di Giorgio 1967 (note 29), p. 350; Cataneo 1554, p. 11v. 104 Cataneo 1554, p. 7v.

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14 Das Kapitol zu Rom nach Giacomo Lauro, Antiquae urbis Romae splendor, Roma, 1612; hinten die Curia Calabra und der Senatulum.

weit draußen auf dem Marsfeld in der Saepta, sondern auf dem Forum oder nahe bei ihm abhalten sollen. Insgesamt hätten sich Volk und Senat in diesen und vielen anderen Orten und Tempeln weitab vom Hauptplatz und Zentrum der Stadt versammelt. Cataneo gibt die Verantwortung für diesen Mißstand den Auguren, weil aus den antiken Schriften bekannt war, daß sie die Versammlungsorte auswählten. Damit wollte er vielleicht im Geist der Rationalität der Renaissance sagen: Das kommt davon, wenn sich die Stadtplanung nach Vogelschauen statt nach vernünftigen Kriterien richtet. Vielleicht führt er die Auguren auch nur an, um anzudeuten, daß solche Unterschiede zwischen antiker und neuer Architektur, wie sie bei den Regierungsbauten auftreten, durch den Wandel der gesellschaftlichen Verhältnisse im Ganzen bedingt sind. Jedenfalls rief der Florentiner Historiker Francesco Guicciardini seinem Gegner Niccolò Machiavelli in Erinnerung: “Wie täuschen sich diejenigen, die sich mit jedem Wort auf die Römer beziehen. Man müßte einen Staat mit gleichen Lebensbedingungen haben wie sie und regieren wie sie. Aber bei den unterschiedlichen Verhältnissen ist es ebenso unangemessen wie es wäre, wenn ein Esel an einem Pferderennen teilnehmen sollte”.105

105

“Quanto si ingannano coloro che a ogni parola allegano e Romani! Bisognerebbe avere una città condizionata come era loro, e poi governarsi secondo quello esemplo: el quale a chi ha le qualità disproporzionate è tanto

disproporzionato, quanto sarebbe volere che uno asino facessi el corso di uno cavallo“. Francesco Guicciardini, Ricordi, diari, memorie, Ed. M. Spinella, Pordenone, 1991, p. 203ff, Ricordi 110.

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Nada Grujic ´ (Université de Zagreb)

Une dizaine de villes en Dalmatie ont préservé différents types d’édifices publics parmi lesquels des loggias où l’on rendait la justice.1 Cette fonction héritée de la période médiévale fut maintenue aux XVe et XVIe siècles quand la plupart de ces édifices furent reconstruits. Au début du XVe siècle les villes dalmates, jusqu’alors prospères, se soumettent à Venise l’une après l’autre et leur autonomie est limitée par l’installation de recteurs, provéditeurs et podestats vénitiens. En Istrie ces derniers possèdent ces fonctions dès les XIIIe et XIVe siècles, tandis qu’à l’extrême sud de la Dalmatie, Dubrovnik se développe à partir de 1358 comme une république indépendante. Même si l’organisation du pouvoir et des institutions administratives se différencie dans ces régions limitrophes de la Dalmatie, leur architecture, enracinée elle-aussi dans la tradition médiévale, reflète une évidente continuité. Cette explication préalable aide à mieux comprendre certains aspects que prennent les édifices publics en général et les loggias judiciaires en particulier au cours des siècles : leurs appellations et significations, leurs emplacements et fonctions et enfin leur architecture. Sans doute, le climat favorisait-il dans la région l’habitude de se réunir à ciel ouvert et la conséquence fut la construction de nombreuses loggias pouvant avoir diverses fonctions et se présenter sous des dimensions et des formes différentes. D’abord apparaissent les loggias autonomes à toits soutenus par des poteaux en bois qui sont très vite remplacés par des colonnes en pierre portant un toit ou une terrasse. Puis certaines loggias, surtout celles à fonction judiciaire, sont surmontées d’une salle : en ce cas, conçues comme la partie inférieure d’un nouveau bâtiment, elles continuent d’avoir la même fonction et conservent l’ancienne appellation. Le terme ‘loggia’ s’applique donc à deux formes architecturales distinctes. Dans les documents des XVe et XVIe siècles, les différentes graphies de ce terme: lobia, lobiolo, lodia, lodiolo, loca désignent aussi bien un corps de bâtiment indépendant qu’un portique ouvert au rez-de-chaussée d’un édifice. Le nom persiste donc même si la structure change et glisse d’un type à l’autre, et même dans les cas où la fonction initiale judiciaire est abandonnée comme en témoignent les loggias de Koper en Istrie, Šibenik en Dalmatie ou Dubrovnik. À Koper, la loggia communale construite en 1464 a conservé jusqu’à nos jours son appellation, qui survivra à toutes les modifications de son architecture et de sa fonction. À l’origine c’était un bâtiment en rez-de-chaussée, qui fut surélevé d’un étage en 1698.2

1

On se limitera ici à examiner les loggias judiciaires des centres qui administrent toute une région sans aborder les loggias des petits bourgs où la justice était rendue par les seigneurs locaux, ou les loggias des communes rurales autonomes. Pour un inventaire des loggias, élaboré d’après les textes de différents auteurs et les documents publiés voir M. Dragica Anderle, Die Loggia communis an der östlichen Adria, Weimar, 2002.

2

S.A. Hoyer, ‘Koper (Capodistria), Loggia’, in: Gotika v Sloveniji, Ljubljana, 1995, pp. 369–387. Construite par Nicolò da Pirano et Tommaso da Venezia, cette loggia était à l’origine ouverte par cinq arcs sur la place communale et par quatre arcs sur la rue latérale. En 1698, les deux arcs latéraux ont été supprimés et ajoutés à la façade principale.

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NADA GRUJIC´ Emplacement Les loggias complétaient le programme politique du palais communal ou d’un autre siège du gouvernement dont elles n’étaient souvent séparées que de quelques mètres. Pour déterminer l’emplacement de la loggia, il faut donc aborder celui du centre de la vie communautaire et administrative : la place communale. La plupart des communes dalmates ont succédé à des colonies romaines. Dans les cas où le tissu urbain antérieur a été respecté, le forum continue à assumer sa fonc1. Palais communal de Pula. tion et la place publique médiévale s’y substitue. Pula en offre une preuve évidente : le palais communal roman qui occupe le capitolium, englobe des parties entières du temple romain oriental (de Diane), le même prostyle tetrastyle que le temple occidental d’Auguste et Rome, qu’a dessiné Palladio.3 Sur ce palais est venu s’adosser en 1430 une loggia gothique, transformée vers 1500 en loggia dans œuvre du palais Renaissance (fig. 1). La Plathea magna (comunis) de la ville de Krk (Veglia) sur laquelle se trouvait la loggia a également remplacé le forum romain et la place communale de Trogir s’est constituée sur un emplacement reconnu comme le centre de l’emporium grec (Tragurion) et de l’oppidum romain (Tragurium).4 Dans les villes qui s’élargissent en se développant, un nouveau centre se forme – une place communale plus ou moins distante de l’ancien centre administratif. La ville médiévale de Zadar illustre les raisons d’une telle dissociation : la séparation entre le pouvoir ecclésiastique et le pouvoir communal. Bien qu’elle soit formée sur la superficie de la ville antique en respectant presque en totalité le réseau de ses rues, le centre épiscopal s’est établi sur le forum romain, et le centre communal avec la Platea magna (Platea comunis) s’est rapproché de la porte orientale de l’enceinte. C’est la Platea comunis qui devait réunir les édifices publics nouveaux, y compris la loggia. La croissance de la ville eut les mêmes conséquences à Split; en quittant le périmètre hérité du palais de Dioclétien, on a abandonné l’ancienne loggia romane près du temple de Jupiter (tout proche du Mausolée transformé en cathédrale) pour créer au XVe siècle une nouvelle place communale avec son palais et la loggia hors les murs du palais impérial. La situation diffère dans les villes médiévales privées de références antiques. La ville de Šibenik dont le tissu urbain présente toutes les caractéristiques de l’urbanisation spontanée, avait gardé l’unité du centre ecclésiastique et communal. Dès la fin du XIIIe siècle, on voit se former, tout près du centre administratif, le centre épiscopal avec le palais et la cathédrale. En revanche, dans une ville neuve au plan en arête de poisson comme Korcˇula, les deux centres distants sur l’axe principal ont été conçus dès la fondation.

3

W. Letzner, Das Römische Pula, Mainz am Rhein, 2005, pp. 39–40 ; J. Stošic´, ‘Kiparska radionica opc´inske palacˇe u Puli’, Peristil, 1965–1966, n° 8–9, pp. 25–46.

4

M. Suic´, Anticˇki grad na istocˇnom Jadranu, Zagreb, 2003, pp. 62, 66, 206.

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Fonction Même si le forum et la basilique de la tradition romaine ont disparu, leur souvenir est resté ancré dans les mœurs, et la Plathea comunis devient le lieu privilégié des relations sociales, des réunions, davantage encore des assises du tribunal. Les loggias revêtent une importance majeure par rapport à la fonction judiciaire, même si celle-ci, bien souvent, n’est pas exclusive. Une loggia qui fait partie de la place communale participe à la vie de la communauté de diverses manières, mais certains jours et à des heures fixes, elle est destinée à l’administration publique, aux magistrats ayant pour fonction de rendre la justice, aux conseillers et notaires de la commune. Les Iudices sive rectores Curie maioris participent au jugement; ils forment tous ensemble le gouvernement (regimen) – appelé dans les documents comes cum sua curia.5 C’est dans les loggias que, dès l’époque médiévale, sont dressés et stipulés les contrats, que les biens sont mis aux enchères, que les testaments sont ouverts publiquement. En 1445, un testament est lu … coram … comite Traguriensi sedente cum eiusdem iudicibus in logia magna comunis Tragurij.6 Dans la ville de Krk, les sentences y sont prononcées par le provéditeur sedente sub Lodia Civitatis in Platea (1485), … sedente sub loggia comunis ad eius iuris bancum (1541).7 C’est dans les loggias qu’on proclame publiquement les condamnations, même dans les cas où les juges ont délibéré dans la salle de justice du palais communal. Il semble que l’application de la loi dans la loggia ait disparu avec la période médiévale. D’après le statut de la ville de Šibenik (qui comprend les lois établies entre le XIIIe et le milieu du XVIe siècle), les nobles qui n’avaient pas payé leurs dettes étaient détenus dans la loggia communale: ils étaient obligé d’y “rester, dormir et manger” et il ne leur était pas permis d’en sortir, sauf pour satisfaire aux exigences de la nature. Au début, ces nobles endettés pouvaient y demeurer trois mois, puis leur séjour fut réduit en 1402 à une semaine. Pendant leur incarcération, un des deux Capitaines de nuit veillait dans la loggia.8 D’après le statut de la ville de Hvar, le débiteur condamné était obligé de stare in logiam comunis. À Trogir, on peut encore voir sur un côté de la loggia les chaînes qui servaient à punir les condamnés. Architecture À la fin du moyen âge, la place communale prend une signification politique. Dans la Dalmatie ‘vénitienne’, les édifices publics doivent suggérer la relative indépendance accordée aux communes conquises. À Dubrovnik, en revanche, l’aménagement de l’espace public devient une opération de prestige, reflet d’une grande politique d’embellissement de la ville capitale de la jeune République ragusaine. L’édification ex novo, la reconstruction ou l’aménagement d’une loggia dépend donc des circonstances et la diversité du langage architectural ne permet pas d’établir une typologie. On se limitera à examiner quelques exemples. La loggia communale de Trogir met en évidence une des caractéristiques fréquentes des loggias dalmates qui se rattachent à l’époque médiévale par leur fonction et leur emplacement 5 J. Kolanovic´, Šibenik u kasnom srednjem vijeku, Zagreb, 1995, p. 46. 6 C. Fiskovic´, ‘Poliptih Blaža Jurjeva u trogirskoj katedrali’, Prilozi za povijest umjetnosti u Dalmaciji, 1962, n° 14, p. 121.

7 I. Žic-Rokov, ‘Gradske zidine i ulice u Krku’, Krcˇki zbornik 2, 1971, pp. 210–212. Dans un document de 1539 on a précisé … sub logia ad bancum juris. 8 D. Zelic´, ‘Gradski statut kao izvor za povijest urbanog razvoja Šibenika’, Radovi Instituta za povijest umjetnosti, 1995, n° 19, pp. 37–51.

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NADA GRUJIC´ (fig. 2). La Loca comunis est mentionnée dans les documents de 1299 et de 1308 sur l’endroit actuel.9 Cette loggia qui garde toujours ses colonnes romaines réutilisées et ses chapiteaux gothiques, fut rénovée en 1470 (fig. 3). Nicolò di Giovanni Fiorentino, architecte et sculpteur, connu surtout pour sa participation à l’achèvement de la cathédrale de Šibenik et à la construction de la chapelle Orsini à Trogir, fut engagé pour l’exécution des bas-reliefs sur le mur latéral de la loggia. Le centre de la composition achevée en 1471 était occupé par le lion, symbole du pouvoir vénitien, qui fut détruit en 1932. Sur l’Evangile qui l’accompagnait, la formule usuelle Pax tibi Marce evangelista meus avait été remplacée par une citation de la Bible – une vraie menace pour 2. Place communale de Trogir : a. Cathédrale ; b. Loggia communale ; c. Tour les malfaiteurs: Iniusti punientur et de l’horloge et l’église Saint-Sébastien;d. Palais communal ; e. Palais Cippico. semem impiorium peribit (les injustes seront punis et la semence des impies périra). Le lion était surmonté par la statue de la Justice, assise sur une sphère ailée, et tenant la balance et l’épée. De part et d’autre sont représentés les deux génies avec des inscriptions glorifiant la justice, les deux saints protecteurs de la cité, les armes de la ville.10 La division en huit panneaux et prédelles – composition semblable à un retable où la Justice occupe la place de la Vierge – justifie le nom de Templvm ivris et ara ivstitiae donné au lieu (fig. 4).11 Ce monument public interprété comme le triomphe de la justice, résulte de la collaboration de Nicolas Florentin avec Coriolano Cipico.12 Cipico fut le promoteur des plus grandes entreprises du Quattrocento à Trogir: aménagement de la place communale avec le palais et la tour de l’horloge, rénovation de la cathédrale avec le baptistère et la chapelle Orsini. Cet aristocrate, humaniste et mécène, operarius et thesaurarius de la cathédrale exerçait aussi les fonctions de juge. Il est censé avoir crée le programme iconographique non seulement de la chapelle Orsini mais aussi de celui de la loggia qui se présente comme une véritable déification de la justice. À Šibenik, ce sont le comes et sua curia ou un iudex curiae qui aux XIVe et XVe siècles proclament les décisions et les adjucations in plathea comunis où se trouve la loggia communale (lobia magna, lobia communis).13 Le Palatium Communis (Palatium comitis)

9

Lj. Karaman, Umjetnost u Dalmaciji – XV. i XVI. vijek, Zagreb, 1933, p. 88. 10 La table et les bancs en pierre furent taillés en 1606 par Trifun Bokanic´, l’architecte de la loggia de Hvar. 11 R. Ivancˇevic´, ‘Trogirska loža - TEMPLVM IVRIS ET ARA IVSTITIAE (1471)’, Prilozi povijesti umjetnosti u

Dalmaciji, 1991, n° 31, pp. 115–150. Coriolano Cipico fut praefectus triremis lors l’expédition vénitienne au Levant et l’auteur des mémoires De bello asiatico. 13 Kolanovic´ 1995 (note 5), p. 47. 12

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3. Loggia communale de Trogir.

4. Relief de la Justice dans la loggia de Trogir.

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NADA GRUJIC´ tout proche abrite le notariat, la chancellerie et la prison. À la place de l’ancienne Loggia magna, une nouvelle loggia fut construite au XVIe siècle; pour la rendre plus profonde, on creusa le rocher auquel elle est adossée. D’après l’inscription qui se trouvait sous la corniche, la construction, commencée en 1534 (lorsque le recteur était Alvise Venier),14 fut terminée en 1542 (sous le rectorat de Francesco Diedo). La nouvelle loggia est conçue comme un corps allongé dont toute la façade s’ouvre vers l’extérieur par deux portiques superposés. Sa position dans le tissu urbain prend plus d’importance car elle longe la place communale, face à la cathédrale (fig. 5). Après la reconstruction, elle s’enrichit de nouvelles fonctions. Les inscriptions gravées au-dessus des portes indiquent que les pièces associées au portique abritaient les bureaux du gouvernement municipal, la fabrique de la cathédrale et le siège de la confrérie du Saint-Sacrement.15 D’après 5. Place communale de Šibenik. les documents du XVIe siècle, les ventes et les enchères étaient proclamées sopra il poziol della logia de Commun.16 Une grande salle au premier étage sert désormais pour les réunions du Conseil municipal. Cette fonction seule survivra, mais la mairie actuelle garde toujours son nom de ‘loggia’.17 Les contemporains considéraient qu’aucune loggia du Levant ne l’égalait en magnificence;18 en tout cas, elle reste le plus grand édifice de ce genre construit en Dalmatie (fig. 6). La qualité de son architecture a fait supposer que son architecte fut Gian Girolamo, neveu de Michele Sanmicheli. Pourtant, Gian Girolamo n’a pu participer qu’à l’achèvement de la loggia, car il n’arrive qu’en 1537 en Dalmatie, à Zadar. Il est présent entre 1540 et 1544 à Šibenik où il construit la forteresse SaintNicolas, un ouvrage en tenailles bastionné, considéré comme meravigliosa fortezza (Giorgio Vasari).19 Avec beaucoup plus de probabilité on peut attribuer à Gian Girolamo Sanmicheli la loggia communale de Zadar. Dans la deuxième moitié du XIIIe siècle on construit sur la Platea civitatis Iadre le palais municipal de Zadar et la loggia magna ou comunis. Mentionnée pour la première fois en 1289, elle a servi depuis aux débats publics, aux réunions du tribunal, aux proclamations des ordres; on y a passé des contrats privés et signé des traités de paix importants.20 Tous les procès civils et criminels s’y sont déroulés devant le recteur qui, d’après les décisions du Sénat, devait être assis dans la loggia personaliter ad banchum (en 1313), 14

F.A. Galvani, Il re d’armi di Sebenico, Venezia, 1884, t. II, pp. 82–85. 15 P. Markovic´, ‘Loggia communale’, in : La Renaissance en Croatie, Zagreb, 2004, pp. 235–236. 16 Zelic´ 1995 (note 8), p. 43. 17 Lors du bombardement en 1943, elle fut détruite puis reconstruite à l’identique (1949–1956), à l’exception

des voûtes qui furent remplacée par un plafond à solives. 18 V. Miagostovich, ‘La città di Sebenico’, Atti e memorie della società dalmata di storia patria 6, 1969, pp. 29–30. 19 A. Žmegacˇ, ‘Forteresse Saint-Nicolas près de Šibenik’, in : La Renaissance en Croatie, Zagreb, 2004, p. 240. 20 I. Petricioli, Prošlost Zadra II, Zadar, 1976, pp. 280, 281.

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et assister aux procès sub logia magna comunis ad banchum (en 1391). En 1988, les fouilles ont mis au jour les vestiges de cette loggia romane s’ouvrant par les colonnes vers la place et la rue latérale.21 La première reconstruction de la logia magna eut lieu en 1488,22 suivie d’une deuxième en 1512; c’était là que i Rettori giudicavano le cause e promulgavano le leggi et les notaires avaient leurs tables.23 À la réunion du Conseil en 1563, on constata que la loggia était en ruine, qu’il fallait l’abattre, et qu’elle devait être “refaite de cette meilleure manière et au coût qu’il semblera à sua Serenità pruden6. Loggia communale de Šibenik. tissima”. D’après certains auteurs, le Sénat vénitien avait confié le projet de la loggia à Michele Sanmicheli.24 En réalité, il l’avait envoyé à Zadar en 1537 pour moderniser les fortifications de la ville, mais Sanmicheli n’y resta qu’un mois ; c’est son neveu Gian Girolamo qui revint, avec les dessins du Michele, pour suivre l’exécution des fortifications et de la Porta terraferma.25 On peut supposer qu’il a laissé un dessin pour la loggia avant de quitter la Dalmatie au plus tard en 1556, bien avant la construction de la loggia actuelle (fig. 7). Celle-ci porte la date de l’an 1565 et l’inscription : IN AMPLIOREM FORMAM / A FUNDAMENTIS RESTITVTVM / MDLXV. À l’intérieur de la loggia, les bancs et la table portent la date de 1600. Leur encadrement orné d’armoiries est surmonté de la statue de la Vierge – allégorie de la Justice. Les niches, les bustes et les inscriptions ont disparu lors les travaux de 1855.26 L’architecture de Michele et Gian Girolamo Sanmicheli introduit en Dalmatie un vocabulaire classique qui diffère des modèles précédents. On le constate dans l’architecture militaire, mais aussi dans les édifices publics, notamment les loggias (fig. 8). Si le projet de Gian Girolamo Sanmicheli servit à Zadar à la construction de la loggia communale à colonnes jumelées toscanes, on pourrait lui attribuer aussi un édifice à appareil en bossage érigé 21

P. Vežic´, ‘Platea civitatis Jadre – prostorni razvoj Narodnog trga u Zadru’, Prilozi za povijest umjetnosti u Dalmaciji /Petriciolijev zbornik, 1996, n° 36, pp. 337–358. Derrière le portique de la loggia romane, on a trouvé une pièce qui servait probablement de bureau et d’archives, plus tard appelée Cancellaria civile. 22 G. Sabalich, Guida archeologica di Zara, Zadar, 1847. 23 L. Beneveria, A proposito di alcune iscrizioni lapidarie venete in Zara, Zadar, 1890, p. 23. 24 Ibidem, pp. 23, 28–30 : 1565 viene dal Governo Veneto eretta dalle fondamenta nella piazza dei Signori, dalla parte di libeccio, la bellissima nuova Logia sul disegno del defunto architetto Michel Sanmichieli.

25

A. Deanovic´, ‘Architetti veneti del Cinquecento impegnati nella fortificazione della costa dalmata’, in : D. Lamberini, S. Polani (éd.), L’architettura militare veneta del Cinquecento, Vicenza-Milano, 1988, pp. 126–134. 26 Fabbrica di pietra ornata di bugne e di colonne con piedestallo con architrave, regio e cornice d’ordine dorico, ringhiera e colonnette di pietra tut’intorno. Ha due scale, una sulla piazza et l’altra sulla Carriera. Stanno internamente tutto all’intorno banchette di legno sopra modioni di pietra viva. Nei muri vi sono varie armi, iscrizioni e nichi per busti tutti di pietra. Fuori della Loggia vi sono varie misure di pietre per grani. (Catastico Memo, 1789) (G.S. 394–396).

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7. Loggia communale de Zadar, élévation antérieure.

8. Loggia communale de Zadar, élévation latérale.

en 1562 en face de la loggia et destiné à la garde municipale.27 Les reflets de cet apport se voient au début du XVIIe siècle à la loggia communale de la ville de Hvar (Lesina) sur l’île homonyme. La loggia de Hvar résulte de trois reconstructions. Une première loggia communale est mentionnée en 1289, mais sa fonction fut probablement limitée par la construction du palais communal qui, depuis le début du XIVe siècle, comprenait une salle de justice où la curia

27

I. Petricioli, Povijesni i umjetnicˇki spomenici u Zadru, Zadar, 1973, p. 54.

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tenait ses séances, où les juges avaient leurs bureaux d’été et d’hiver.28 Une nouvelle loggia communale (loggia Diedo) fut érigée en 1447 en proximité de l’ancienne, mais hors de l’enceinte, sur la place qui s’était formée entre la cité et le faubourg. Lors de l’assaut des Turcs en 1571 elle fut détruite et la loggia actuelle fut érigée sur son emplacement entre 1603 et 1610 par Trifun Bokanic´ (fig. 9).29 Il n’est désigné comme “maître d’œuvre de la loggia” que dans un seul document en 1609,30 toutefois les colonnes, les masques sous la corniche et les pyramides sur la balustrade appartiennent au répertoire de son atelier (fig. 10). Les bancs et la table ont 9. Loggia communale de Hvar (dessin : Alois Hauser, 1895). disparu à la suite d’un incendie au XVIIIe siècle; peut-être ressemblaient-ils à ceux exécutés par Bokanic´ en 1606 pour la loggia de Trogir ? Bien que la ville de Korcˇula n’ait possédé qu’une place communale miniature, c’était un espace ‘politique’ noble d’allure, qu’on s’efforça d’embellir aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles. Une colonne isolée surmontée d’un lion fut exécutée en 1569, un arc de triomphe en l’honneur de Leonardo Foscolo, vainqueur des Turcs, entoura en 1650 la Porte di terraferma. Le palais municipal construit en 1520–1525 à l’emplacement de l’ancien palais, engloba aussi la loggia jusqu’alors indépendante. Sa fonction fut reprise par le portique du nouveau palais (fig. 11), selon un procédé qui trouve son apothéose à Dubrovnik. Dubrovnik présente plusieurs types de transformation de la loggia – du point de vue architectural, et du point de vue fonctionnel. La loggia du Recteur (locia domini comitis) est mentionnée pour la première fois en 1283. La même année est également mentionnée une loggia communale in publica plathea communis.31 Une nouvelle loggia communale est construite en 1356 à côté de l’église Saint-Blaise, protecteur de la cité, au centre de la ville marchande. Nous la connaissons telle qu’elle était en 1440, grâce à la Descriptio logiae seu teatri comunis de Philippe de Diversis.32 Les deux loggias, peu distantes, mais distinctes par leurs fonctions, correspondent à la différenciation des espaces publics. Le problème de la protection d’un lieu d’assemblées s’est ici posé très anciennement, puisque le palais du Recteur était au XIIIe siècle une forteresse. Au XIVe siècle il est transformé en palais réunissant plusieurs fonctions. En 1420, la loggia à quatre colonnes, voûtée et couverte d’une terrasse, se dressait devant le palais du Recteur.33 Lors des fouilles effectuées en 1980, on a découvert devant le portique actuel les assises des quatre colonnes appartenant à cette loggia hors-œuvre: d’après les documents, elle était située devant la porte de la chancellerie ou du notariat et c’est là (sub lodiolo) que le Recteur siégeait et rendait la justice.34 28

A. Tudor, ‘Sjeverozapadni dio hvarske pjace 1690. godine’, Građa i prilozi za povijest Dalmacije, 1997, n° 13, pp. 97–112. 29 Ivancˇevic´ 1991 (note 11), p. 145. 30 Hrvatski biografski leksikon, Zagreb, 1989, p. 102. 31 N. Grujic´, ‘Knežev dvor u Dubrovniku do 1435. godine’, Prilozi za povijest umjetnosti u Dalmaciji, 2003–2004, n° 40, pp. 149–170. 32 Filip de Diversis, Opis slavnoga grada Dubrovnika (Philippus de Diversis, Situs aedificiorum, politiae et

laudabilium consuetudinum inclitae civitatis Ragusii), Zagreb, 2004, p. 57 (152). 33 N. Grujic´, ‘Onofrio di Giordano della Cava i Knežev dvor u Dubrovniku’, in : Renesansa i renesanse u umjetnosti Hrvatske, Zagreb, 2008, p. 20. 34 Acta Minoris Consilii, t. II, f. 109v. ; Diversa notariae, ser. XXVI, sv. 21, f. 63v. ; Diversa notariae, ser. XXVI, t. XXI, f. 23v.

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10. Loggia communale de Hvar, détail.

11. Loggia communale de Korčula.

Lors la reconstruction du palais après l’incendie de 1435, cette loggia adossée au palais devient un portique dans-œuvre (fig. 12); pourtant elle devait retrouver sa fonction de lieu où l’on juge et proclame les sentences. L’architecte du palais Onofrio di Giordano de la Cava et le sculpteur Pietro di Martino de Milan qui exécuta son décor sculpté, ont donné à la loggia, portique du nouveau palais, une importance majeure. Pour mettre en évidence sa fonction, ont été exécutés des chapiteaux figurés: celui du Jugement de Salomon appartenait à l’arcade centrale ; celui qui représente le Recteur recevant les plaintes se trouvait sur le piédroit du portail (fig. 13). Ces deux chapiteaux, endommagés par une explosion, ont changé

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12. Palais des recteurs à Dubrovnik, le portique.

13. Palais des recteurs à Dubrovnik, Recteur recevant les plaintes

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NADA GRUJIC´ de place lors de la reconstruction de 1463.35 En 1445 on a établi dans la loggia deux rangs de bancs devant le notariat pour la cour d’assises (sezia dupla rectoris curie maleficii ante notariam).36 Jusqu’en 1477, le tribunal siégea sous les voûtes de cette loggia.37 D’après les documents publiés par Nella Lonza, les procès eurent lieu à partir de cette date dans une salle du palais, mais les sentences étaient proclamées au dehors, dans le lieu traditionnel. Jusq’’en 1734, c’était là qu’étaient proclamées les peines capitales: le condamné était obligé de s’agenouiller, d’avouer son crime, de remercier les juges et les conseillers du jugement, après quoi le jugement était proclamé solennellement. Bâtiment ouvert par un portique sur l’espace public le plus important de la ville, la loggia judiciaire devient une véritable scène de théâtre. La sentence ayant déjà été décrétée et communiquée au coupable, ce rituel profondément enraciné dans la tradition devient un spectacle moralisateur destiné au public, traitant du crime, du châtiment et de la justice.38

35

I. Fiskovic´, ‘Povijesni biljezi dubrovacˇkog identiteta’, Dubrovnik, 1993, n° 4, pp. 79–99 ; Renata Klemencˇicˇ, ‘Kiparski ukras Kneževa dvora u Dubrovniku u 15. stoljec´u – nekoliko priloga’, Prilozi za povijest umjetnosti u Dalmaciji, 2001–2002, n° 39, p. 270. 36 Diversa cancellariae, t. XXV, 59, f. 22v.

37

Diversa cancellariae, t. XXI, f. 23v. N. Lonza, ‘La giustizia in scena : punizione e spazio pubblico nella Repubblica di Ragusa’, Acta Histriae, 2002, n° 10, p 1 ; Kazalište vlasti – ceremonijal i državni blagdani Dubrovacˇke Republike u 17. i 18. stoljec´u, Zagreb-Dubrovnik, 2009, pp. 124–125. 38

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Charles McKean* (University of Dundee)

Since most Scottish towns were considerably smaller than their European equivalents, it was rare to find public buildings conceived specifically for a single purpose, and the consequence was that most of them in Renaissance Scotland were multi-functional. Only occasionally would you find, for example, the great weighing houses like those of Pieter Post in Holland,1 and never the enormous cloth halls of Flanders. For reasons of Scotland’s general peacefulness (consequent upon it being a virtual island), Scots never built arsenals equivalent, say, to those of Augsburg or Danzig. It was more common to adapt an existing structure on the edge of town, for reasons of safety. A good example was a large windmill on the shore of the seaport of Dundee, Scotland’s second town during the period, converted to the burgh arsenal in the mid sixteenth century. Moreover, with the possible exception of the first forty years of the seventeenth century, Scottish towns did not enjoy a prosperity equivalent to that of the great cities and seaports of Europe – and in particular nothing comparable to the expansion experienced by the larger towns of Holland. One reason is that power in Scotland remained with the aristocrats and landed families in their ancient paternal seats; and it was only after power had moved to the Scottish towns in the later eighteenth century, that the latter prospered. So, just as the mid seventeenth century was the principal epoch of Dutch towns, so was the period 1750–1830 the principal epoch of Scottish ones. During the Renaissance, Scottish burghs were distinguished between royal burghs, which had a charter from the Crown, had exclusive rights to international trade, similar rights to all trade in staple goods, and the right to Parliamentary representation, and were therefore fiercely independent; and burghs of barony, which were simple market centres, entirely the creatures of, and owned by, the adjacent noble or landowner. In the sixteenth century, royal burghs were the most important, but by the end of the seventeenth century, there had been a great augmentation of burghs of barony, and mercantile prosperity was increasing flowing toward them as a result of their noble patronage. Customarily, the principal public buildings of a Scottish town were the Tolbooth (l’Hotel de ville) and the parish church which was owned by the burgh, accepting the responsibility for its upkeep or replacement, and for providing ministers. It was the spires of these two buildings, and of a university or charitable hospital where there were any, that customarily dominated the Scottish urban skyline during the Renaissance. Generally, tolbooths followed a relatively standard pattern, as will be seen, and they were differentiated one from another often principally by the design of their campanile or clock-tower. Aberdeen’s, for example, squatter and more thickset than the norm with a spikier form of spire, was possibly the precedent for the tower in St Saviour’s, in Moscow, designed by Christopher Galloway.2

* Acknowledgements: I am extremely grateful to Dr. Alan Macdonald for his knowledge and advice. 1 Edinburgh and Dundee had purpose-built sixteenthcentury weigh houses, the latter converted from St Clement’s church.

2 J. Howard, The Scottish Kremlin Builder, Edinburgh, 1996.

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CHARLES MCKEAN Function In 1548–1549, Dundee’s mediaeval tolbooth had been destroyed when a vengeful English army, compelled by superior forces to retreat from the town, had burnt it; and for the next eleven years, the town used temporary premises. Finally, the wright George Black was appointed to build a new tolbooth in 1560, on a new, much more central site, St Clement’s churchyard at the centre of the south side of the High Market Gait, which the town 1. View of Dundee from the north c. 1678, by Capt. John Slezer. The appeared to own.3 Work on a toltown’s two most prominent buildings are the parish church (right) and booth on this site had, in fact, begun the 1560 tolbooth (left). back in the 1520s, once St Clement’s had ceased to function as a chapel,4 but it had proceeded no further than the two storeys of cellars and booths, thereafter lying open to the air.5 One hundred and forty feet long6 (42.7m) and forty-one feet (12.5m) from its arcades to its battlemented parapet (fig. 1),7 Dundee’s new tolbooth was thus probably the largest in the country, and would remain so until Glasgow’s behemoth tolbooth was built in 1626. Built of fine ashlar recycled from the Greyfriars Church, and re-using the roof which Patrick Walker dismantled from Lindores Abbey,8 the tolbooth sat upon an arcaded base, behind which were the high vaults, which in turn stood upon a further storey of low vaults.9 There were probably three storeys above the arcades containing, typically, town clerks, the record repository, the burgh court – which met almost daily – and a collector’s room; the council house, where the council met every Thursday before noon,10 and the guildry; a great civic chamber for ceremonial purposes (in Glasgow called the King’s Room, and in Edinburgh the Parliament Hall), and what appears to have been a prison on top.11 Its principal staircase projected into the street, and it had a central clock tower and a square ashlar steeple (or ‘prick’) on its north west corner. Much – certainly the windows and probably the armorials and crenellations – was painted by David Scott.12 John Slezer’s 1678 view of Dundee shows the Tolbooth to be one of the two principal structures of the town, with both the projecting staircase and fashionable turrets, typical of the contemporary ‘Marian’ architecture (the period 1551–1568).13 As Dundee’s tolbooth illustrated, it was in the tolbooth (the same word as the Danish Tolbod) that you collected the town’s customs, but that was perhaps the least of its functions. It was the centre of civic life and urban ceremony, and contained the municipal administration 3

A. Maxwell, Old Dundee … prior to the Reformation, Edinburgh, 1891, p. 186. 4 A.C. Lamb, Dundee, Its Quaint and Historic Buildings, Dundee, 1895, X1Xa. 5 Maxwell 1891 (note 3), p. 184. 6 It was the length of seven cellars, and they were generally c. 20 foot wide. 7 Charters, Writs & of the Royal Burgh of Dundee, Dundee, 1880, p. 146. 8 Maxwell 1891 (note 3), pp. 183, 149–151.

9

Dundee Town Council Minutes (DTCM) 21.1.88. DTCM 1588. 11 A. J. Warden, The Burgh Laws of Dundee, London, 1872, pp. 45–46. 12 This was something that needed redoing from town to time. In 1613, the windows of the Tolbooth had to be coloured again. 13 See C. McKean, The Scottish Chateau, Stroud, 2001, chapter 6. 10

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and archives, the council chamber, the courthouse, a great chamber for civic or royal events, and prison cells – small ones for the poor, and larger ones for people of higher rank. By the later sixteenth century, provision of cells had become mandatory: an Act in 1574 required provosts and bailies of burghs “to make sufficient provision with irons and stocks”14 and twenty-three years later, a further Act, defining tolbooths as buildings where courts might be held, justice administered and malefactors be holden till justice be done “required that prison houses should be bigged (built) within all burrows (burghs)”.15 It was rare for people other than debtors to be imprisoned for a long time – there was no bastille in Scotland (although Blackness Castle, jutting out into the River Forth was a state prison usually reserved for noblemen about to go into exile). Although there were almost always shops at ground floor level, it was rare for a tolbooth to be placed above an arcaded market, as was fairly common in England and Europe.16 They were, however, usually situated above shops generally at the heart of the town by the cross. They were sometimes placed, as in St Andrews, at one end of the market place to help block the wind so as to maintain temperate conditions in the town’s principal outdoor civic room. Rather than being in the centre of the market place, they were generally situated to one side of it – or moved there like Dundee – so that, as Tittler has observed, the magistrates’ power would be emphasised since the building would give them a grandstand view of the activities in the burgh’s principal civic meeting space.17 In Dundee’s case the tolbooth commanded both the market place to the north and the Vault, Exchange and harbour to the south. Architecture The tolbooth was the building that represented the dignity and the independence of a burgh; so it should be no surprise that the architecture for this civic castle often followed the militaristic architecture of Scottish country seats: height, turrets, romantic silhouette and almost always – so as to signal their independence and direct relationship with the Crown – crenellations. The tolbooths in the larger royal burghs were appropriately grander and more imposing, frequently characterised by a steeple adorned by the municipal clock. Larger tolbooths had public areas, less public areas, and sometimes very private areas accessibly only to town officials. In smaller tolbooths, chambers usually had to be multi-functional: the courthouse of the Canongate tolbooth, beside Edinburgh, for example, doubled as the council chamber, and that was not unusual. Its architecture, however, was defiantly over scaled, and its Francophile steeple was an early manifestation of the cult of Mary Queen of Scots that emerged in the 1590s (fig. 2). Typically, there was a principal staircase leading from the entrance to the piano nobile where there was the principal chamber, an oriel window indicating the judges’ bench where that room doubled as a court (fig. 3). The tolbooth of Leith, the port of Edinburgh but under the jurisdiction of the Queen, was constructed by the authority of Mary Queen of Scots in 1565,18 and lacked a bell tower probably because it was not a royal burgh. A comparable, if smaller, tolbooth was that of the small Fife burgh of Culross, whose clock tower was added only in 1783. Culross became a royal burgh c. 1590, and in all probability, the tolbooth contained a chamber with the public weighing machine and a room for customs collection on the ground floor, and the council chamber and a debtors’ prison above.19 There was only a single tiny prison cell. 14 A.F. McJannet, The Royal Burgh of Irvin, Glasgow, 1938, p. 115. 15 McJannet 1938 (note 14), p. 116. 16 Where that occurred, it tended to be in the eighteenth century – Mid Calder and Peterhead for example.

17

R. Tittler, The Architecture of Power, Oxford, 1991, pp. 130–131. 18 D. Howard, Scottish Architecture from the Reformation to the Restoration, Edinburgh, 1995, p. 117. 19 RCAHMS, Tolbooths and Town Houses, Edinburgh, 1996, p. 65.

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2. The Canongate Tolbooth, Edinburgh, 1590s.

3. The Tolbooth in Leith, c. 1565, drawn by S. Burns (author).

Edinburgh: tolbooth and parliament The development of the ceremonial functions of the tolbooth is best followed through the contrasting paths taken by Edinburgh and Glasgow. In 1560, the mediaeval Edinburgh tolbooth which, from time to time, had also been the seat of the Scottish Parliament, was so much on the verge of collapse that the upper storeys of its western two thirds were demolished, and the battlements had to be stripped off the remainder. Work began on a replacement on a different site in 1562 (fig. 4).20 Fortunately, Scottish towns had been given control of their parish churches after the Reformation, and St Giles’ church, in Edinburgh, was larger than its parishes required. Its nave, therefore, became available for non-religious activities, and this was duly converted into a dual-purpose tolbooth and Parliament House.21 Eighteen ceremonial steps led up to a new floor inserted into the nave. On this upper floor they built a Parliament Hall/Tolbooth, and an Inner and Outer House for the Court of Session. The Outer House was the lobby, and the Inner House the Court proper (a handy place for the king to meet his bishops22). High blocked windows of Parliament House can still be seen in the nave of St Giles. When Parliament was not sitting, the space was used both by the Court of Session, and by the city council for its principal ceremonial activities (fig. 5). The ground

20

Cited in A. Macdonald, The Burghs and Parliament in Scotland 1550 – 1651, Ashgate, 2007, p. 141.

21

Called both by contemporaries, depending upon what function was taking place at the time. 22 See A. Macdonald 2007 (note 20), chapter 6.

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floor below was used for a sheriff court and cells.23 In buildings across an alleyway, apparently reached by a bridge, were the chambers known as Edinburgh’s ‘new tolbooth’, but in fact comprising smaller spaces for the private functions such as the council chamber and the city archives.24 These paltry chambers never formed the capital’s principal ceremonial space. The distinction between the ceremonial and private activities of the city council, reflected in the two, adjacent and bridge-linked different and differently-scaled buildings, reflected the contemporary development in country house design between public spaces, guest spaces, and private family spaces. There is no evidence other than that this conversion to tolbooth of the nave of St Giles was expected to be permanent. The building was called both ‘parliament house’ and ‘tolbooth’ depending upon what func4. The Tolbooth, Edinburgh (courtesy of Alan Macdonald). tion was taking place within it. For example, The left hand tower is all that remains of the city’s mediaeval Robert Johnston referred to Parliament meettolbooth, showing a remnant of its battlements. At this point, ing in the Parliament House in October 157925 the entire building had been converted to the town’s prison. whereas Richard Bannatyne observed that the dying John Knox had preached in the Tolbooth on 9 November 1572.26 He could only have meant the great space that was also an occasional Parliament Hall, rather than the minuscule chambers of the ‘new tolbooth’. Persuaded by their ministers “to provide another house for Parliament House, and where actions of law may be impleaded, than a part of the Kirk where God’s word should be preached”, the townspeople of Edinburgh decided to quit St Giles’ nave in 1632. The royal architect, Sir James Murray of Kilbaberton, was instructed to design an entirely new structure on a site then occupied by ministers’ manses (clergy houses) which were in city ownership. The site of Parliament House lay on the edge of a steep slope down to the Cowgate, and the new platform required much underbuilding. Beneath the parliament house there was a comparably grand, arcaded ‘laigh hall’, and below that stores in which the city’s gallows were stored when not in use. Since the building was always called the Parliament House of Scotland, it has been supposed that that was its sole purpose, and traditional historiography reiterates that the new building was an initiative of King Charles I at the expense of the Council (fig. 6).27 The reality is wholly otherwise. It was a civic initiative during the reign of a monarch who 23

I am very grateful to Alan Macdonald for sharing his researches on the Parliament House with me. 24 Howard suggests that there was a plan to construct a full new tolbooth on the site, but that it was never executed. Howard 1995 (note 18), p. 118. 25 R. Johnston, The Historie of Scotland during the Minority of King James, London, 1646, in: Tracts Illustrative of the Traditionary and Historical Antiquities of Scotland, Edinburgh, 1836, p. 440.

26

R. Bannatyne, Journal of the Transactions in Scotland, Edinburgh, 1800, p. 413: the ‘New Tolbooth’ was far too small for such activities. 27 See, for example A. Mackechnie, ‘The Crisis of Kingship’, in: M. Glendinning (ed.), The Architecture of Scottish Government, Dundee, 2004; and R.K. Hannay and P. H. Watson, ‘The Building of the Parliament House’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club 3, Edinburgh, 1910.

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CHARLES MCKEAN did not tolerate Parliaments if he could avoid them, but who wanted the parish church of Edinburgh rendered fit to be transformed into a cathedral. This was the burgh’s response. The new L-plan structure was multi-functional: the larger western wing, entered through a ceremonial gate flanked by life-size statues of Justice and Mercy, acted as both Parliament Hall and Town hall, whereas the Court of Session and Inner House lay in the eastern wing. Most of the very large Parliament Hall was occupied by raked seating in a horseshoe plan, facing the king on his tribune against the south gable.28 The north end of the hall 5. Plan of St. Giles nave when in use as the tolbooth/parliament appears to have been occupied by the Sheriff hall (author/Alan Macdonald). Court relocated from St Giles. When the city wished to stage a ceremonial banquet, all seating was dismantled and removed, allowing the entire building to be used for the event.29 The Parliament House framed the west and south of the newly created Parliament Close. When ceremony and urban ritual occurred, it could be watched from the belvedere on the roof of the Parliament House itself. Once the Parliament was complete, St Giles reverted to the church that the king, Charles I, wished to elevate to cathedral. The civic and national ceremonial functions were now directed to the new Parliament Hall, whereas the cells that had occupied the ground floor of the nave of St Giles were relocated to the western section 6. The Parliament House of Scotland, drawn in 1645 by James of the original tolbooth, which was rebuilt as Gordon of Rothiemay (author). the city prison. Murray’s distinctive design for the Parliament House resembled that of both George Heriot’s Hospital and the palace in Edinburgh Castle, for both of which he had been responsible. Heriot’s Hospital shows a symmetrical courtyard plan, with a plain ordering of doors and windows in the lower storeys, overshadowed and masked by an overbearing towered and crenellated skyline. Both Parliament House and the palace shared that architectural expression but without any comparable rigour or symmetry in plan or elevation, and both lacked Heriot’s martial skyline. All three had ashlar facades facing the city, and harled facades on the flanks and the rear. Although the classical ordering devices of columns or pilasters were absent, these structures were nonetheless extremely modern: a sparing language of modelling and plain mass, enlivened by carefully controlled details for doors and windows and armorial panels. It was an architecture with a greater affinity to the villas of the court circle or to the north wing of Linlithgow palace rebuilt c. 1618 than the flamboyant cult of Mary Queen of Scots then so influential in the country houses of the nobility. 28

See R. Chambers, Reekiana, Edinburgh 1833, p. 186.

29

Cited in Macdonald 2007 (note 20), p. 154.

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7. Glasgow’s crowned Tolbooth (right), completed 1627. From Views and Notices of Glasgow (author).

No obvious sources for Murray’s architecture have yet been discovered. There are some aspects that seem Germanic and others that appear Danish. It is evident from the details that he was well aware of the classical language of architecture but chose to deploy something else. The nearest comparison lay to the west, in Glasgow. Glasgow In 1625, when Glasgow was moving towards superseding Dundee to become the second city of Scotland, the city set about rebuilding its university, aggrandising its streets, constructing a new grammar school and charitable hospital, and to preparing to build itself a new tolbooth on the ancient site of the city praetorium (fig. 7).30 The city’s new found freedom from the archbishops was symbolised in the construction of what could only be called a civic castle twenty metres long, with a steeple thirty-seven metres high.31 When he visited some twenty-five years later, the English soldier, Richard Franck, was enormously impressed. He thought it “a very sumptuous, regulated uniform fabric, large and lofty, most 30

Extracts of Records of the Burgh of Glasgow 1573–1642, Glasgow, 1886, p. 351. In September 1625, the Council paid for 2000 “hewen stones” for their tollbooth – considerably in advance of appointing the burgess John Boyd as the mason.

31

RCAHMS, Tolbooths and Town Houses (note 19), p. 98.

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CHARLES MCKEAN industriously and artificially carved, from the very foundation to the superstructure, to the great admiration of strangers and travellers … infinitely excelling the model and usual built of town halls”.32 Town clerks and the collection of customs were in vaulted chambers on the ground floor; the great courtroom was on the piano nobile; the council chamber and a room entirely lined in iron to safeguard the town archives, were on the floor above. Rooms for what we would now call the dean of guild – that is to say, the elected head of the merchant guild – were on the fourth floor,33 later converted into cells ‘prisoners of note and distinction’,34 and on the fifth floor above, a vestibule led from the staircase into the magnificent King’s Hall – thirteen metres by seven and a half35– which was Glasgow’s principal ceremonial space. The staircase led to a leaded belvedere roof six storeys up, where visitors could “take a full view and prospect of the whole city”. It was particularly admired by the English traveller Sir William Brereton who enjoyed the prospect in 1636.36 The appointed masons in charge were the Glasgow burgess John Boyd and Patrick Colquhoun, but since the Council had been buying ashlar stonework for the façade over five months before their appointment, that implies the design already existed. The architecture (or at any rate the design) was so close to that of Court circles – particularly to Murray’s design for the palace in Edinburgh Castle – as to imply that he and not Boyd had been the designer. Its setting amidst four-storeyed apartment (tenement) buildings, gable to the street, must have enhanced the ‘modern’ impression that this enormous structure would have made, with its long façade to the street. Yet it was resolutely unclassical: neither pediment, pilaster nor column, and therefore none of the typical ordering devices of classical architecture. Its non-classicism extended to the deliberate asymmetry of placing the soaring clock/stair tower steeple against the eastern gable of the tolbooth, and the rejection of a central entrance. Court architecture was revealed in the use of buckle-quoins, windows framed as an aedicule and capped by a pediment, the square turrets and the crenellated parapet all resembling those of the palace in Edinburgh Castle. A further association with royal works is that Valentine Jenkin, who gilded the royal arms and brass clock, and painted the globe, finials and weathervanes that decorated the superstructure,37 moved on to royal works and painted the interior of the Chapel Royal in Stirling Castle the following year. It appears that the only staircase in the original design was the one inside the steeple to the east, (just as the palace in Edinburgh Castle had a staircase lying against its right gable) but Glasgow quickly found it insufficient. A noble external stair was speedily added against the façade leading up to a platform, whence proclamations could be made, and into the piano nobile. The tolbooth suited its purpose for barely a hundred years. In 1739, new spacious civic chambers were built alongside (four storeys lower), and in 1811, the tolbooth was demolished for a speculative commercial development. With their emphasis upon a precise and contained form within a tight urban site, such buildings could not cope with expansion or a change in their role. The area behind Dundee’s tolbooth was soon full of buildings housing overflow from the town house – such as town guard room and a new prison. When new functions had to be added, they were usually placed at the rear, as at Musselburgh, which caused a complete re-ordering of the complex. Its original staircase rising from the street38 32 Cited in J. McUre, A View of the City of Glasgow, Glasgow, 1736 (new ed. Glasgow, 1836), p. 306. 33 There had earlier been a separate Dean of Guild house. Extracts of Records (note 30), p. 352. 34 McUre 1736 (note 32), p. 207. Since the breadth given is clearly an internal dimension, that implies that the vestibule was c. 7 metres in width. 35 McUre 1736 (note 32), p. 207.

36

He also found the rooms within the tolbooth stately. Sir W. Brereton, in: Hume Brown, Early Travellers in Scotland, Edinburgh, 1973, p. 151. 37 Extracts of Records, p. 362. The clock was provided by John Neill. 38 Clearly visible in J. and H.S Storer, City of Edinburgh, Vol 11, London, 1819.

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was replaced by a more gracious outside stair at the junction of the original building and the extension. It is curious to wonder why the tolbooth of a mere burgh of barony should have been quite so grand. There are two possible explanations. The first is that the superior, in the late sixteenth century, was Alexander Seton, Lord Urquhart, and future chancellor of Scotland, whose villa of Pinkie lay just across the road. Seton, who was the godson of Mary Queen of Scots and devoted to her, was one of the greatest architectural patrons of the Scottish Renaissance. The other possibility is that – particularly during the seventeenth century – Musselburgh was enjoying a boom in Musselburgh tapestries, which might have produced sufficient funds for its tolbooth’s flamboyance. The late seventeenth and early eighteenth century: Linlithgow, Stirling, Dumfries and Dundee After the depredations of the civil wars between 1637 and 1660, a number of tolbooths were rebuilt, or at least repaired. One of the most striking was built in Linlithgow in 1668. Linlithgow’s original tolbooth, with its exceptionally tall campanile shown in a sixteenth-century drawing by Timothy Pont, had been demolished by Cromwell’s army when they converted the palace into a defensible fort which required a good field of fire,39 and it appears that several 8. John Mylne’s proposed tolbooth in designs were sought for the new one. Robert Mylne proposed a more Linlithgow (author). or less symmetrical tolbooth, (fig. 8) save that the main stair to the piano nobile lay against the western wall, and the central entrance through the foot of the tall slender campanile led only into a single chamber without a fireplace – which implies a weigh house. Mylne died, and the rather splendid edifice that was then built 1668–1670 was the work of the otherwise unknown John Smith, and its sophistication, and its flight of steps and new emphasis upon symmetry has been argued to imply influence from Rome (fig. 9).40 Stairs, symmetrically disposed, rise on each side of the building up to the court house and burgh council chamber on the piano nobile, with the ceremonial chamber or burgh hall occupying the entire floor above. The steeple projecting to the rear is said to have been added later, since in 1673 the wright James Heyslope was sent to Edinburgh for a design which the Incorporation of Wrights offered to build.41 However, it is clear that the stair tower, which provided access to a belvedere on the balustraded flat roof, was always integral to the circulation of the building, and equally clear that the fine stonework could not have been provided by wrights. Almost certainly, what was being referred to was the capping of the steeple (now vanished). In 1703, Sir William Bruce was asked for a design to rebuild the tolbooth at Stirling, on a site facing the market place. His design was less self-conscious than Linlithgow’s: no balustraded belvedere, no aedicules. Just a plain, regular ashlar façade – still devoid of any overt classical reference – rebuilding the upper part of its campanile/steeple, obdurately asymmetrical against the north façade. The work was carried out by the architect/mason Tobias Bauchop (fig. 10). The site was narrow, and the great public staircase led from the foot of 39

G. Waldie, A History of the Town and Palace of Linlithgow, Linlithgow, 1894, pp. 79 and 97.

40

A. Mackechnie, ‘Sir William Bruce’, Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries in Scotland 132, 2002, p. 502. 41 Waldie 1894 (note 39), p. 97.

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9. Linlithgow’s smart post-Restoration tolbooth (author).

10. Stirling market place and tolbooth.

the campanile steeply up to the council chamber on the first floor. The town’s administration (Stirling was then in a state of decline) and a small cell occupied the ground floor. Justice had been chased elsewhere. Not long afterwards, the county town of Dumfries did something similar. Their original tolbooth had lain on the east side of the market place, and symbolising the then regional importance of this county town, had been a substantial affair. The ground floor was given over to shops. The principal floor was divided into two: the innermost chamber was used as a court house, whereas the large outer room was used as a council house for the common council. On the floor above, were some prison rooms for temporary occupants, and a writing chamber for the Writing Master, although the chronicler, R. Edgar, added sniffily “tho’ all the Principal Clerks and Writing Masters, heretofore, were obliged to pay for their own writing offices”.42 Unusually, the main three-storeyed prison or ‘Pledge House’ for thieves and debtors, lay in a separate building a little way to the north, which had been built in 1583 possibly sitting on arcades (fig. 11).43 Using a windfall from the king, the burgh decided to construct

42

R. Edgar, Introduction to the History of Dumfries, ed. R.C. Reid, Dumfries, 1915, p. 43.

43

Edgar (ibidem) used the term sitting on vaults. See also p. 148.

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a new public building, known as The Steeple, in the middle of that street. Possibly because they were aware of what he had done at Stirling, they invited Tobias Bauchop to design the building and Thomas Moffat to build it. The ground floor provided rooms for the public weigh house and the town guardroom, and an external stair led up to the principal floor, and the courthouse and principal municipal chamber. The council chamber was on the floor above. So far as can be ascertained, the Steeple was a net addition to the burgh’s buildings, rather than a replacement of the earlier tolbooth. At neither Stirling nor Dumfries was there any classicism in the form of symmetry, framing pilasters or any other applied classical motifs. Instead, by virtue of its height, quality of materials (beautifully dressed stonework) and prominent steeple, the intention appears to have been the desire to underline the importance of the building as a symbol of urban authority rather than one of overt modernity. Yet these austere tolbooths, with their refined ashlar facades would have appeared as the epitome of modernity in their original urban setting. These were the origins of the architectural development of tolbooths and town houses during the eighteenth century, with the singular exception that as burghs of barony became more successful and wealthier, their tolbooths expressed that – both in materials (the tolbooth of Hamilton was built of exceptionally 11. The Steeple, Dumfries (author). fine ashlar work), and in the addition of towers or steeples previously restricted to royal burgh tolbooths. An early example was the tolbooth designed by the architect William Adam at Sanquhar in 1735. There was no civic chamber in this diminutive building: only a council chamber, the courtroom, three little cells and a small village school.44 What was new, however, was its architectural disposition: the design was symmetrical, with a central entrance beneath a central tower – in the manner to become customary as the eighteenth century progressed. More or less at the same time, Adam was involved in the seaport of Dundee. The stately ashlar 1560 tolbooth, built with the stones of the town’s Greyfriars, was showing signs of great distress. Although John Macky had been very impressed by it barely ten years earlier, when visiting Dundee on his investigative trip round Scotland: “a stately venerable pile of Free-stone … a great ornament of the Market”,45 the structure was moving. The façade, perhaps under pressure from the great roof that had been stolen from Lindores Abbey, was fifteen inches out of vertical, and coming away from the rest of the structure. Adam concluded that the building was beyond saving46 and prepared a new design, using as much of the material of the old tolbooth as he could. Dundee’s replacement – now called the Town House and completed in 1735 (although not fully fitted out since it had been too expensive) was one of the finest civic buildings of the period north of London (fig. 12). As before, it sat on an arcade which contained shops and premises for the town guard.47 A great oval staircase 44

RCAHMS, Tolbooths and Town Houses (note 19), pp. 180–181. 45 J. Macky, A Journey thro’ Scotland, London, 1723, pp. 96–97. 46 Charters, Writs & of the Royal Burgh of Dundee, Dundee, 1880, pp. 146–148.

47

It is probable that these arcades projected to the same level as did those of the Town House’s adjacent tenement (apartment) buildings. However, these “foreworks” were all cleared away in the 1760s, which meant that, by the time of the first known illustrations, it always appeared that the Town House’s arcade was projecting into the market place.

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CHARLES MCKEAN at the centre of the building led up to two great rooms: one for the council chamber, and the other for the guildry. The latter was also used for concerts and theatre. Between the two were a small courtroom and even smaller rooms for magistrates and for city officials. On the attic floor were cells, lit only by circular oculi. Rising from the centre of the building was a tall steeple that became the principal landmark for sailors approaching this seaport. Dundee’s new Town House was ambitious – too ambitious for the finances of the town. Instead of a single ashlar façade to the market place, each façade was finished identically, with rusticated stonework and polished ashlar above, the design modulated by pilasters and adorned with ornate windows. Both long facades – the one facing the High Street and the other towering over the harbour – were focused upon a projecting pedimented centrepiece – in a way reminiscent of how the Stadhuis in Amsterdam faced both Dam Square and the canal that ran behind it. Thus did Dundee’s merchants signalled their ambition and their sense of pride to the rest of Great Britain. Town Houses remained the dominant civic structures, but not until John and Robert Adam had designed a new Royal Exchange for Edinburgh in 1752 did mainstream classical architecture become utilised for a Scottish public building. 12. William Adam’s 1732–5 town house in Dundee (author).

To conclude

Throughout the seventeenth century, tolbooths in Scotland enjoyed an urban prominence every bit as great as their counterparts in Europe. They represented the town’s authority and reputation, and their architecture reflected the principal urban agendas. That such significant buildings refused to adopt classical architecture unlike those of Scotland’s principal trading partner, Holland, or of its ancient ally, France, indicates the extent to which the country was following its own architectural agenda. Whereas there was some resemblance between the sixteenth-century tolbooths and buildings in France, those built in the court style of the early seventeenth century represent a distinct national architectural language, but one, so far as we can tell, was not replicated elsewhere. Scotland, with more in common with the buildings of northern Europe and the Baltic, had followed its own idiosyncratic architectural evolution.

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EARLY MODERN POLAND C. 1500–1750

Barbara Arciszewska (Uniwersytet Warszawski)

In his influential work on the history of building types, Nikolaus Pevsner listed only one fourteenth-century town hall built North of the Alps as a structure withstanding comparison with the proud communal buildings of Tuscany or Lombardy. It was the town hall of Torun´ (after 1259) (fig. 1), a great trade centre on the Vistula river.1 The city was established under the rule of the Teutonic Order, and incorporated into the Polish state by the mid-fifteenth century (1454), with the political and military support of the industrious burghers.2 The period under consideration in this paper follows, therefore, an era of emergent bourgeois power, displayed in many town halls complexes commenced in the fourteenth century, such as those in Kraków,3 Gdan´sk,4 Sandomierz,5 or Tarnów.6 But does the early modern period end in Poland with similarly evocative displays of patrician might? A single contemporary comment might suggest an answer. In 1752, one Wilhelm Schlemüller, a Livonian envoy to the Polish court, visited Grodno, from 1673 a site of alternative parliamentary sessions.7 He described Grodno as an impressive town with a “very large market square, … surrounded with palaces and beautiful town houses”.8 At the centre of this imposing urban space stood, according to Schlemüller, “the ruins” of a great town hall.9 This contrast between lavish architecture of private noble residences and decrepit buildings of municipal government seems quite symptomatic of the situation in Poland at the end of the early modern period. Polish towns were by then politically and economically weakened, increasingly taken over by nobility and clergy, as patrician land-ownership was shrinking.10 In Grodno itself, by the second half of the eighteenth century over 40% of urban land belonged to the nobles, who were clearly not interested in maintaining the traditional sites of communal pride.11 Despite the mounting economic and political problems, however, some contemporary town halls were built, or rebuilt, to defy these predicaments, usually compensating in visual terms for the loss of real power. Some cities, especially those along the Vistula (and Gdan´sk, as the main port), enjoyed real growth well into the seventeenth century, and continued to invest in their town halls to show off the status maintained due to their share in the foreign trade.12 This paper is focussed on these buildings to show how functional shifts, reflecting the changing 1

N. Pevsner, A History of Building Types (The W.A. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts, 1970, Bollingen Series XXXV, 19), Princeton, 1976, p. 29. 2 Bogucka & Samsonowicz 1986, pp. 302–305. 3 J. Ostrowski, Cracow, Warsaw, 1992, pp. 202–205. 4 Domagała 1978, p. 117ff. 5 J. Z. Łozin´ski, Pomniki Sztuki w Polsce. I. Małopolska, Warszawa, 1985, p. 449. 6 T. Chrzanowski, Sztuka w Polsce Piastów i Jagiellonów, Warszawa, 1993, pp. 389–390. 7 Every third ordinary sejm was to be held in Grodno, now a city in Bielorussia, cf. J. Putkowska, ‘Wpływ funkcji miasta sejmowego i rezydencjonalnego na rozwój przestrzenny zespołu miejskiego Warszawy i okolic’, Kwartalnik Architektury i Urbanistyki, 1975, no. 20, pp. 269–287; J. Lileyko, ‘Przebudowa Starego Zamku w Grodnie na cele sejmowe w latach 1673–1678’, in: J. Kowalczyk (ed.), Kultura Wielkiego

Ksie˛stwa Litewskiego w epoce Baroku, Warszawa, 1995, pp. 129–145. 8 W. Schlemüller, ‘Dyaryusz podróz˙y polskiej na sejm grodzien´ski roku Pan´skiego 1752 odbytej’, in: W. Gizbert-Studnicki (ed.), Litwa i Rus´, 1912, no. 2, pp. 8–9. See also J. Jodkowski, S´ródmies´cie grodzien´skie dawne a jutrzejsze, Grodno, 1930, p. 2. 9 Schlemüller 1912 (note 8), p. 12; J. Gardzeev, ‘Uz˙ytkowanie przestrzeni Grodna w XVIII wieku’, Przegla˛d Wschodni 7, 2001, no. 4 (28), pp. 1069–1093. 10 T. Zielin´ska, Szlacheccy włas´ciciele nieruchomos´ci w miastach XVIII w., Warszawa, 1987, pp. 27–28, 113–115. 11 J. Kowalczyk, ‘Pałace i dwory póz´nobarokowe w mies´cie sejmowym Grodnie’, in: J. Lileyko (ed.), Sztuka ziem wschodnich Rzeczypospolitej, XVI-XVIII w., Lublin, 2000, p. 453. 12 Bogucka & Samsonowicz, 1986, p. 324, for details.

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BARBARA ARCISZEWSKA social and political situation, affected architecture as a vehicle of civic identity. In contrast to Crown, or free cities, private towns and private estates within large cities (jurydyki) developed their own independent town halls, which will also be discussed here.13 They were promoting a new urban and civic ideal, with the estate’s owner, rather than the municipal government, at the centre of their ideological programmes. In this group of town halls (especially those built after 1720) the most interesting changes can be observed not only in terms of shifting ideology but also in terms of their functional programme and their role in urban space. I would like to demonstrate that new architectural, and urban-design solutions were devised in early modern Poland to render visible both the traditional claims of urban bourgeoisie, as well as those of the enterprising nobility. These observations will shed an additional light on the paradigmatic view of the town hall as the epitome of ‘bourgeois architecture’.14 At the beginning of the sixteenth century Poland was a thriving feudal economy with booming towns supported by healthy rural estates. Its borders were encompassing vast territories in the East (parts of today’s Belorussia and Ukraine), where fertile land 1. Torun´ , Town Hall, after 1259 (photo: Institute of was providing excellent conditions for agriculture. The Art History, Warsaw University). period of relative prosperity in later middle ages was conducive to the growth of strong urban centres enjoying broad autonomy.15 In the following centuries, however, Poland – an elective monarchy from 1572, and, in fact, a republic of the nobility (szlachta) – underwent political and economic changes that propelled her in a direction quite different from the rest of contemporary Europe. Although the seventeenth century saw the power and autonomy of urban communes eroded by the aspirations of central governments all across Europe,16 in Poland this was the period of an unprecedented campaign against the power of the town elites. The nobility (c. 10% of the population) consistently marginalized the third estate through comprehensive anti-bourgeoisie legislation; from the prohibition of land ownership and office-holding (in 1496), through the opening of local markets to foreign merchants (1507, 1538) to attempting to bar Polish merchants from engaging in trade abroad (1565).17 This economic discrimination was compounded by high excise taxes levied on manufactured goods, whereas the prices of agricultural produce remained unregulated, benefiting the landowning nobility.18 Important restrictions were imposed on urban autonomy, especially in private cities, where jurisdiction largely passed to owner-appointed officers (land-wójt), 13

A. Wyrobisz, ‘Miasta prywatne w Polsce, jako inwestycje kulturalne’, Kwartalnik HKM, 1978, no. 1. 14 For a recent discussion see J. Loach, ‘A Tale of Two Cities. The Town Halls of Lyons and Amsterdam’, in: M. Van Vaeck et al. (eds.), The Stone of Alciato. Literature and Visual culture in the Low Countries. Essays in Honour of Karel Porteman, Leuven, 2003, p. 822ff, esp. p. 836. 15 H. Samsonowicz, ‘Liczba i wielkos´c´ miast póz´nego s´redniowiecza Polski’, Kwartalnik Historyczny, 1979,

no. 4; idem, ‘Europa Jagiellon´ska – czy jednos´cia˛ gospodarcza˛?’, Kwartalnik Historyczny, 1977, no. 1, p. 95. 16 A. Cowan, Urban Europe. 1500–1700, London, 1998, pp. 44–45. 17 Bogucka & Samsonowicz 1986, pp. 321–327. 18 A. Popioł-Szyman´ska, ‘Problematyka handlowa w polityce “miejskiej” szlachty w Polsce centralnej w XV i XVI wieku’, Roczniki Historyczne, 1970, no. 37, p. 45ff.

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followed by the introduction (1520) of mixed courts (sa˛dy grodzko-ziemskie), placing final judicial decisions in the hands of the nobility.19 In broader political terms the participation of the urban elites in power sharing was increasingly restricted. From 1505 no third-estate members were present in the Polish Parliament (sejm), and in the following centuries the legislation closed off the remaining opportunities for non-nobles to hold offices in the state apparatus.20 To further underscore social divisions, several laws (in 1550, 1633, and 1677) were introduced to penalize the members of nobility for engaging in business or trade.21 Polish early modern towns faced other problems too. The key factor in increasing depopulation and 2. Zamos´c´, Town Hall, Bernardo Morando, Jan Jaroszewicz urban decline, were devastating wars. The and Jan Wolff, after 1591 (photo: Ewa Korpysz). Swedish Potop (or ‘deluge’) in the mid-seventeenth century caused so much destruction, that many cities never recovered. Up to 60% of all built structures in Małopolska were lost,22 with damage even greater in towns of the Wielkopolska region. Gniezno, for instance, had 113 houses before the Swedish invasion, but only 7 were left standing in 1665.23 The losses following the northern war (1700–1721) were equally disastrous.24 It is unquestionable, that all the above factors had immediate bearing on the municipal government in each city and on the functioning of its seat, the town hall. It seems useful to present at the outset certain key characteristics of the Polish town halls in the early modern period. In terms of the urban setting, they retained in most cases the position identical, or comparable to traditional medieval schemes.25 Usually replacing older structures, the early modern town halls were generally located in the centre of the main market square (e.g. Biecz, Szydłowiec, Chełmno, Warszawa, Jarosław), where they were complemented by additional structures, such as the pillory, the weigh house, or the stalls.26 In some exceptional cases the town halls were fronting the main urban thoroughfare (Gdan´sk, Elbla˛g).27 A few more innovative schemes were attempted in private towns.28 Zamos´c´ (c. 1591–1604) (fig. 2) was the first example of a town hall inserted into the row of town houses surrounding the market square (a solution taken up by other private towns, like Wejherowo c. 19

J. Bieniarzówna, ‘Proces ograniczania autonomii miast małopolskich w pierwszej połowie XVI wieku’, Małopolskie Studia Historyczne, 1963, no. 1–2, pp. 53–73. 20 Bogucka & Samsonowicz 1986, p. 323. 21 Volumina legum, ed. J. Ohryzko, Petersburg, 1859– 1860, vol. II, p. 596, vol. III, p. 806, vol. V, p. 463. 22 A. Kamin´ski, ‘Zniszczenia i straty wojenne w Małopolsce i ich skutki w czasie najazdu szwedzkiego 1655–1660’, in: Zniszczenia gospodarcze w połowie XVII wieku, Warszawa, 1957, p. 102. 23 W. Rusin´ski, ‘Straty i zniszczenia w czasie wojny szwedzkiej (1655–1660) oraz ich skutki na obszarze Wielkopolski’, in: Zniszczenia gospodarcze w połowie XVII wieku, Warszawa, 1957, p. 21.

24

J. A. Gierowski, ‘Społeczen´stwo polskie doby Augusta II’, in: Sztuka 1 Poł. XVIII wieku, Materiały Sesji SHS, Rzeszów, listopad, 1978, Warszawa, 1981, pp. 24–31. 25 Jakimowicz 1997, pp. 38–39. 26 See J. Kałdowski, Ratusz w Chełmnie, Torun´, 1984, pp. 8–15; Zlat 1997, p. 33. 27 T. Zare˛bska, ‘Kontekst urbanistyczny ratusza Głównego Miasta w Gdan´sku’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich, Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 58–59. 28 Jakimowicz 1997, pp. 43–44.

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BARBARA ARCISZEWSKA 1650).29 In the eighteenth century, in private foundations, the town hall began to be spatially incorporated into the residential complex (e.g. Białystok (1745–1746 and 1762–1768) (fig. 3), or Rydzyna (after 1752).30 In some towns, the role of the town hall (providing the meeting room for the council and the judicial board) was played by one of the houses belonging to the members of the local authorities (e.g. Tomaszów Lubelski, Dubienka, Tyszowce).31 Last, but not least, in some private towns there was no town hall at all, just separate court and commercial buildings (e.g. Tykocin, after 1735).32 The building material used in the majority of early modern town halls in Poland was wood, with only the most important and wealthy towns enjoying the prestige associated with a municipal seat built of brick or stone.33 A single example of this wooden civic architecture is extant (Sulmierzyce c. 1743) (fig. 4), with more cases known from iconographic sources (e.g. Gonia˛dz).34 The available evidence suggests that in the early modern period their form ambitiously imitated masonry architecture, with porticoes, monumental stairs, and tower.35 Only in the eighteenth century masonry structures were increasingly replacing these original wooden buildings (e.g. Bielsk Podlaski, after 1776, Siemiatycze, 1772, Kock, 1780s).36 The functional programmes of Polish town halls evolved in response to social and economic changes, as the relation between governmental, judicial, residential and commercial functions was continually re-defined. By comparison with Western European models, it is evident that in Poland the residential function of the town hall was never developed into the standard part of the functional programme, though the town hall could have played the role of an occasional residence (as during the royal visits in Gdan´sk).37 The commercial function, however, which in Italy, for instance, was gradually abandoned throughout the middle ages, was not only maintained in the early modern period, but was even emphasized to produce in the eighteenth century the so-called ‘market-type’ town hall (Białystok, Siedlce (1755–1767), Siemiatycze).38 In terms of planning, the new emphasis on symmetry, axiality and regularity of form, were the signs of impact made by the new, classicising idiom. The types of plan used throughout the early modern period can be roughly divided into square/centralized plans (Siewierz, Buczacz), rectangular (Rawicz, Staszów), pavilion (Białystok, Siedlce) and last, but not least, the four-wing complexes (Włodawa, Zaleszczyki).39 The typical functional/spatial programme called for a great hall for the meetings of the magistrates, a room (or rooms) for sessions of the jury (often with a prison nearby, sometimes with a torture chamber, e.g. Grodno, Poznan´), in addition to spaces servicing the commercial, 29

A. Miłobe˛dzki, Architektura polska XVII wieku, Warszawa, 1980, p. 82. Regarding Zamos´c´, city founded by Jan Zamoyski (1542–1605), see J. Kowalczyk, Zamos´c´ miasto idealne, Lublin, 1980, passim and A. Miłobe˛dzki, ‘Ze studiów nad urbanistyka˛ Zamos´cia’, Biuletyn Historii Sztuki, 1953, no. 55, pp. 68–87. 30 Kowalczyk 1997, pp. 185–187. 31 K. Wróbel-Lipowa, ‘Budownictwo komunalne i sakralne w miastach nad s´rodkowym Bugiem w drugiej połowie XVIII wieku’, Rocznik Zamojski 1, 1987, pp. 200–202. 32 Trzebin´ski 1962, pp. 105–107. 33 A. Miłobe˛dzki, ‘Architektura Królestwa Polski w XV wieku’, in: Sztuka i ideologia XV wieku, Warszawa, 1978, p. 461; Kowalczyk 1997, p. 181. 34 I. Tłoczek, Polskie budownictwo drewniane, Wrocław, 1980, p. 128; J. Łosowski, B. Wyporek,

‘Sprawozdanie z prac inwentaryzacyjnych Zakładu Urbanistyki Politechniki Warszawskiej w 1954 roku’, Kwartalnik Architektury i Urbanistyki 1, 1956, p. 90. A fine example of a wooden town hall with porticoed loggias was the one in Gonia˛dz, see Z. Gloger, Dolinami Rzek, Opis podróz˙y wzdłuz˙ Niemna, Wisły, Bugu i Biebrzy, Warszawa, 1903, p. 120. 35 A. Miłobe˛dzki, ‘Architecture in Wood: Technology, Symbolic Content, Art’, Artibus et Historiae, 1989, no. 19, pp. 195–196 for a broader context. 36 Miłobe˛dzki 1980, pp. 82–84. 37 Bogucka 1997, pp. 79–83. 38 T. Korzeniewski, ‘Ratusz W. Siedlcach’, Rocznik mazowiecki 3, 1970, pp. 290–293; D. Michalec, Osiedleckim ratuszu “jackiem” zwanym, Siedlce, 2002; A. Lechowski, E. Zeller Narolewska, Ratusz w Bialystoku, Białystok, 2003, passim; Trzebin´ski 1962, pp. 119–122. 39 Kowalczyk 1997, pp. 187–189 for details.

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3. Białystok, Town Hall, Jan Henryk Klemm, 1745–1746 (core), 1762–1768 (wings) (photo: Zdzisław Rynkiewicz).

4. Sulmierzyce, Town Hall, c. 1743 (photo: Michał Wardzyn´ski).

as well as the more mundane aspects of urban life (offices, treasury, archive, weigh house, militia office, sometimes arsenal and stalls).40 The cellars were usually used as stores, where the imported wine was often sold (together with local beer) under strict municipal controls.41 The establishment of new corporate bodies and offices in the early modern period, such as the new representation of the populace, the so called Third Order, required suitable

40

For details see Zlat 1997, pp. 13–20; Jakimowicz 1997, pp. 39–41.

41

Under the Lübeck law, all the wine imported into the city had to be stored in the town hall cellar, cf. Zdrenka 1997, p. 97.

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5. Szydłowiec, Town Hall, Kacper and Albert Fodyga, c. 1602–1626 (photo: Ewa Korpysz).

solutions to accommodate new tasks.42 Despite the increasingly specialized nature of town hall spaces, recent research indicates that there was a lot of flexibility in use, and plenty of room sharing, with municipal bodies occupying the same spaces, but meeting on alternative days, or complementary hourly schedules.43 The key semantic elements defining the design remained relatively stable throughout the period.44 This conservatism was not only caused by the fact that in many cases the early modern work was restricted to modernization of the façade, tower and interiors (e.g. Torun´, 1603–1605), but it was also a sign of continued attempts to meet the expectations of the urban public and render in visual terms the traditional symbols of power.45 The most meaningful architectural motifs appearing in the majority of Polish town halls (tower, attic or gable, loggia, great assembly hall) find their parallel in municipal buildings in other parts of Europe.46 The tower remained the most lasting semantic element of town hall architecture throughout the early modern period (Poznan´, Przemys´l, Białystok, Bielsk Podlaski, Rydzyna),47 with very few examples of tower-less halls (Czeladz´, Głusk, Słonim).48 The

42

The Third Order (in addition to the first – the council, the second – the jury board) was the corporation of the lower ranks of the populace, established in most Polish free cities in the 1520s and 1530s, intended as a controlling and advisory body, see H. Samsonowicz, ‘Pospólstwo’, in: A. Ma˛czak (ed.), Encyklopedia historii gospodarczej Polski do 1945 roku, Warszawa, 1981, vol. ii, p. 116. 43 In Gdansk, for instance, the councillors shared room with the royal burgrabia, cf. Zdrenka 1997, pp. 96–97.

44

Zlat 1997, pp. 34–35. Woz´niak 1997, pp. 166–167. 46 A. Reinle, Zeichensprache der Architektur. Symbol, Darstellung und Brauch in der Baukunst des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit, Zürich-Munich, 1976, pp. 62–67. 47 W. Beeh, ‘Zur Bedeutungsgeschichte des Turmes’, Zeitschrift für Aesthetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft, 1961, no. 6, pp. 177–206; M. Zlat, ‘Mittelalterliche Rathäuser in Schlesien’, Jahrbuch des Zentralinstituts für Kunstgeschichte 5–6, 1989–1990, pp. 229–232. 45

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6. Poznan´, Town Hall, Giovanni Battista Quadro, 1550–1560 (photo: Renata Sulewska).

IN

EARLY MODERN POLAND C. 1500–1750

7. Gdan´sk, Town Hall, 14th –17th century (photo: Renata Sulewska).

tower was usually built upon reception of full civic rights (the privilege of free elections to the city board and the purchase of the office of wójt) and it remained the most potent symbol of municipal autonomy.49 The citizens of Biecz, for instance, after their tower collapsed in 1569, immediately started rebuilding, delaying as a result the construction work on the parish church and fortifications.50 The tower was a key site for display, usually reserved for important ideological statements. In 1561, for instance, a statue of King Sigismund Augustus was mounted on the summit of the tower of the Gdan´sk Town hall, as a sign of the city’s allegiance to the Polish Crown.51 Almost equally important element was the vestigial crenellation, with its defensive connotations typical of castellated, feudal architecture (e.g. Poznan´, Przemys´l).52 This motif was transformed during the course of the sixteenth century into a fanciful ‘comb’, or attyka, combining Italianate, Netherlandish and local late Gothic motifs (as in town halls of Sandomierz, Tarnów, Chełmno, or Szydłowiec, see fig. 5).53 The façade design (often with a balcony or a loggia) and the decoration of

48

Kowalczyk 1997, p. 176. Zlat 1997, p. 20. 50 S. Walczy, S. Załubski, ‘Ratusz w Bieczu’, in: R. Kaleta (ed.), Biecz. Studia Historyczne, Wrocław, 1963, p. 212ff. 51 T. Domagała, Ratusz Głównego Miasta w Gdan´sku, Warszawa, 1980, p. 8. 52 S. von Moos, Turm und Bollwerk: Beitrage zu einer politischen Ikonographie der italienischen 49

Renaissancearchitektur, Zürich, 1974, p. 83ff; Zlat 1997, p. 13; Jakimowicz 1997, p. 39. 53 E. Pustoła-Kozłowska, ‘Ratusz w Szydłowcu’, Kwartalnik Historii Kultury Materialnej, 1986, no. 34, pp. 49–51; M. Zlat, ‘Attyka renesansowa na S´la˛sku’, Biuletyn Historii Sztuki, 1955, no. 17, pp. 48–79. See also Kałdowski 1984 (note 26), pp. 19–20 and T. Chrzanowski, M. Kornecki, Sztuka Ziemi Krakowskiej, Kraków, 1982, p. 231.

´

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BARBARA ARCISZEWSKA the interior spaces (especially the Magistrates hall) were traditionally crucial elements of design, serving as prominent fields of ideological display. Two extant monuments in key free cities deserve special attention: the town hall in Poznan´ (1550–1561) (fig. 6)54 and the early modern rebuilding of Gdan´sk town hall (remodelled in stages between 1468 and 1562, tower 1492, interiors 1563–1596 and 1606–1608) (fig. 7).55 The former was an ambitious scheme undertaken at the time of the growing threat to the urban elites. Impressive classicising architecture and a complex decorative scheme were employed here to create the image of Poznan´ as a perfect civitas, displaying a visual order lacking in the society at large, governed (as it was) by the quarrelsome nobles. The work of Giovanni Battista Quadro from Lugano (d. c. 1590) shows connections with north Italian models, and uses a motif of superimposed loggias to evoke the authority of the ancients in support of the claims of the local patricians.56 The consistent use of reductive Doric suggests a mode of solemn gravity and restraint, appropriate to the functions of the building, while decorously underscoring the official modesty of the city’s fathers. The representations of civic virtues in the first storey (including those explicitly associated with the concept of ideal kingship, such as Fortitude, or Temperance) as well as the royal portraits on the attic of the façade, emphasize the values publicly encouraged by the citizens as a sign of their allegiance to the legitimate rulers. Such stratagems placed the seat of their municipal government directly under the protection of the Crown.57 The decoration of the Poznan´ town hall thus proclaims the traditional power of the patricians, earned by their moral conduct and diligence, while reminding the Crown of its customary obligations to the cities and imploring the King to protect the endangered interests of the third estate.58 This message was reiterated in the interiors. The attempt to enhance the role of the town hall as the ceremonial seat of local government is evident here in the reduction of the commercial spaces in the building, and the emphasis placed on lavish decoration of the main governmental and court spaces on the first storey. These received elaborate coffered vaulting (modelled on Serlio’s patterns) decorated with Biblical, mythological and armorial motifs alluding to the special place of Poznan´ in universal, as well as Polish history.59 Equally forceful claims were made in Gdan´sk Main City town hall, but here the power of the magistrates, rooted in Gdan´sk’s monopoly in Poland’s Baltic trade, was real enough.60 With increasing accumulation of power and wealth, Gdan´sk town hall required modernization, but the approach adopted here was different. Whereas in Poznan´ the city council boldly decided to embrace trendy classicism and built an innovative, free-standing Italianate structure, in Gdan´sk the modernization was a slower, two-pronged process directed at both urban design and architecture. First came the creation of a new urban context for the existing town hall. With the gradual re-development of Długi Targ (c. 1480 – c. 1550), a remarkable new civic space was formed as an essential stage for theatrum civitatis. An elegant fountain was mounted in preparation of a royal visit (1549)61 and the façade of Artushof 54

Jakimowicz 1967. Domagała 1978, p. 136ff. 56 J. Kowalczyk, ‘Fasada Ratusza Poznan´skiego. Recepcja form z traktatu Serlia i antyczny program’, Rocznik Historii Sztuki, 1970, no. 3, pp. 141–173. 57 T. Jakimowicz, Temat historyczny w sztuce ostatnich Jagiellonów, Warszawa, 1985, pp. 78–81 for details regarding decoration of the Poznan´ town hall. 58 DaCosta Kaufmann 1995, p. 160, for a discussion. 59 Jakimowicz 1985 (note 57), pp. 78–81. 55

60

M. Bogucka, ‘Z problematyki zysków w handlu bałtyckim. Handel Gdan´sk-Europa Zachodnia 1550– 1650’, Rocznik Gdan´ski 40, 1980, no. 1. 61 The first classicising fountain of 1549 was replaced by the present Neptune fountain after 1606. Its basin was the work of Abraham van den Blocke, and the statue of Neptune was executed by Peter Husen between 1612 and 1615, see A. Gosieniecka, ‘Sztuka w Gdan´sku, malarstwo, rzez´ba, grafika’, in: Gdan´sk. Jego dzieje i kultura, Warszawa, 1969, p. 328 and H. Carl, ‘Der Neptunsbrunnen auf dem Langen Markte zu Danzig’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 1937, no. 6, pp. 150–165.

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(c. 1552–1560)62 was given a new classicising shape; both structures serving as imposing framing devices for the town hall.63 At the same time the seat of the city authorities was transformed through the introduction of the classical idiom on its facades. It was, however, a much cheaper version of classical modernization – restricted to a painted classical articulation in the form of pilasters on pedestals – white on red background, with yellow details.64 The final effect, relying on decorative use of colour as well as suggestion of sculptural form, must have been quite impressive.65 It is worth remembering that these changes were initially stimulated by the royal visits (1457, 1458, 1504, 1526) and the attempts to meet the demands of the court, rather than by the desire to display bourgeois pride.66 Subsequently, however, the power of the city grew and the patricians wanted the prestige of the building to project the new, confident image of the city. The town hall thus developed functionally towards emphasis on governance and representation (with Venice as the main model), whereas other functions were relegated to separate offices in independent buildings.67 The renovated Artushof served as the civic loggia and the site of social events,68 the Green Tower (1564–1568) as the seat of the Third Order as well as the site of the weigh house,69 and arms were moved to the Arsenal (1602–1605).70 The jury Board meetings (Ława) were first moved (c. 1549–1553) to Artushof, then to a neighbouring house,71 whereas the prisoners were sent to the Prison Tower, close to the High Gate (1574–1588). The pillory was moved next to this Gate in 1604.72 This functional and architectural de-centralization evident in Gdan´sk was driven by the ambition to rival major Western European cities. But it was also a mechanism to make the seat of the Council increasingly more elitist, open just to the top city officials who were entrusted with guarding the privileges of the patricians against the controlling arm of the Polish Crown, as well as the demands posed by the city’s poor.73 From the sixteenth century onwards, Gdan´sk town hall was increasingly closing its doors to the middling and lower ranks. This access was still free in the fifteenth century, but the removal of the commercial functions led to the creation of a boundary between most citizens and the seat of their government.74 Similar reduction of commercial spaces was introduced in Poznan´ (apart from room intended for the wine and beer trade),75 whereas in Torun´ (and most other cities) business was still freely permitted in the local town hall.76 Social events were also regularly held inside the majority of town hall buildings 62

Interestingly enough, the first classicising rebuilding of the Artushof (after 1552) might have been conducted by the workshop associated with Quadro’s circle. The current façade is the result of the subsequent rebuilding by Abraham van den Blocke, conducted c. 1616–1617, see L. Krzyz˙anowski, ‘Niderlandyzm w Gdan´sku’, in: Sztuka pobrzez˙ a Bałtyku, Warszawa, 1978, p. 270. 63 T. Zare˛bska, ‘Kontekst urbanistyczny ratusza Głównego Miasta w Gdan´sku’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich, Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 66–77 for details. The civic space in front of the Poznan´ town hall was also conceived as a ‘teatro’, see T. Jakimowicz, ‘Miasta naszego chluba i ozdoba’, in: Mie˛dzy sklepem i mieszkaniem. Kronika Miasta Poznania, 1–2, 1994, p. 283. 64 Z. Maciakowska, J. Gzowski, J. Tarnacki, ‘Wyniki najnowszych badan´ architektonicznych ratusz Głównego Miasta w Gdan´sku’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich, Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 113–117.

65

Poznan´ town hall was also richly painted, H. & S. Kozakiewiczowie, Renesans w Polsce, Warszawa, 1976, pp. 111–112. 66 Domagała 1978, p. 140; Zare˛bska 1997 (note 63), pp. 71–72. 67 Bogucka 1997, pp. 84–85. 68 For the history of Gdan´sk Artushof, see Z. Jakrzewska-S´niez˙ko, Dwór Artusa w Gdan´sku, Poznan´ and Gdan´sk, 1972, passim, esp. p. 9ff. 69 The weigh house in the Green Tower served the neighbouring Customs House, cf. I. Fabiani-Madeyska, Gdzie rezydowali w Gdan´sku królowie polscy, Wrocław, 1976, p. 17ff. 70 Zdrenka 1997, p. 97. 71 P. Simson, Geschichte der Stadt Danzig, Danzig, 1918, vol. II, pp. 175–176. 72 Bogucka 1997, pp. 84–85. 73 E. Cies´lak (ed.), Historia Gdan´ska, Gdan´sk, 1982, vol. II, p. 579ff. 74 Bogucka 1997, p. 84. 75 Jakimowicz 1967, pp. 21, 24. 76 Woz´niak 1997, p. 170.

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BARBARA ARCISZEWSKA (e.g. Poznan´ and Torun´), suggesting relative ease of access by the majority of urban population.77 In Gdan´sk, on the other hand, even social life was removed from the town hall to the equally elitist Artushof, as new social limits were imposed by architectural boundaries. Thus diverse functional models were evidently evolving in different cities – one maintaining the medieval multi-functionality of the town hall (and the underpinning social cohesion), and the other, more elitist, depending on the functional and social segregation. This shift in Gdan´sk towards social elitism had also a political dimension, as growing ambitions were further confirmed by the decision of the Gdan´sk patricians to refer to the City Council as the Senate (as in Venice) and the refusal (in 1552) of the traditional hospitality and accommodation to the Polish King.78 To Gdan´sk councillors, the town hall evidently became a temple of civic authority, and the presence of the Polish monarch there was seen as compromising the autonomy of the government building. The message of the town’s accomplishments and aspirations is conveyed in Gdan´sk town hall primarily in its interior design. The splendid decorations of the Red Hall (Vredeman de Vries, Isaac van de Blocke, 1593–1596; re-modelled after 1606–1608)79 commissioned in response 8. Kraków, Wawel Castle, Francesco Fiorentino, to the ostentatious rebuilding of the Torun´ town hall Bartolomeo Berecci, et al. 1507–1536 (photo: (1602–1605)80 demonstrate not only the lasting spirit of Ewa Korpysz). competition among the Polish towns, but are indicative as well of various approaches to the display of urban pride, tied to the sense of local identity. Gdan´sk patricians, whose sobriety and aversion to ostentatious displays of affluence had much to do with their ties to the Low Countries, considered public displays of luxury inappropriate.81 Thus the real wealth and ambitions of Gdan´sk elites were displayed not on the outside, as in Poznan´, but inside the town hall.82 The public display in Poznan´, where the autonomy and power of the patricians were fast eroding, was a bold move intended to salvage that authority with the use of classicising architectural vocabulary, thus far adopted only at the royal court. To engage in the ideological discourse, if not an artistic competition, with the Crown, Poznan´’s government secured the services of an Italian artist, whose idiom clearly alluded to the court architecture in Kraków (viz. the superimposed loggias in Wawel Castle (1507–1536) (fig. 8) and Poznan´ (fig. 6).83 In Gdan´sk, on the other hand, the sources of artistic inspiration demonstrated the carefully guarded 77

Jakimowicz 1967, p. 41–42; Woz´niak, 1997, pp. 164–169. Bogucka 1997, pp. 83–85. Regarding Venetian inspirations in Gdan´sk culture, see M. Karpowicz, ‘Fontanna Neptuna i inspiracje weneckie w sztuce Gdan´ska’, in: J. Kowecki, J. Tazbir (eds.), Ludzie, kontakty, kultura XVI-XVIII w, Warszawa, 1997, pp. 185–192. 79 E. Iwanoyko, Gdan´ski okres Hansa Vredemana de Vries (Studium na temat cyklu malarskiego ratusza w Gdan´sku), Poznan´, 1963, passim; E. Iwanoyko, Sala Czerwona ratusza gdan´skiego, Wrocław, 1986, pp. 10–24; E. Iwanoyko, Apoteoza Gdan´ska. 78

Program ideowy malowideł stropu Wielkiej Sali Rady w gdan´skim Ratuszu Głównego Miasta, Gdan´sk, 1976, p. 10ff for details. 80 Woz´niak 1997, pp. 166–167. 81 L. Beheydt, ‘The Cultural Identity of the Low Lands’, in: M. Kapustka et al. (eds.), Niderlandyzm na S´la˛sku i w krajach os´ciennych, Wrocław, 2003, pp. 16–17; Bogucka 1997, p. 86. 82 This was noted by contemporaries, see R. Curicke, Der Stadt Danzig Historische Beschreibung , Amsterdam and Gdan´sk, 1688, p. 53. 83 DaCosta Kaufmann 1995, p. 160.

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political and cultural independence from the Crown and overriding importance of economic ties to the West. In this port city, the itinerant Netherlandish artists provided the main artistic force, though Venetian models were never out of sight with Gdan´sk patricians clearly emulating the main European maritime powers.84 The town halls of Gdan´sk and Poznan´ thus well illustrate the diverse modes of negotiating the position of a free city within the changing political and economic context. Paradoxically, the more modern and ambitious town hall was built in a politically and economically weaker town, Poznan´, whose government remained committed to the traditional concept of shared civic duty and loyalty to the monarchy.85 In Gdan´sk, where royal power was really contested,86 the City Council avoided arrogant selfdisplay in the town hall, shifting attention instead to new, specialized municipal buildings. The image of the city as a well-ordered universe was a concept underpinning the ideological programmes of Gdan´sk and Poznan´’s town halls. The mythological and biblical scenes alluding to social concord from Poznan´, as well as Isaak van den Block’s allegorical representation of civic harmony resulting from good government and fruitful trade (all protected by the hand of Providence)87 were increasingly at odds, however, with the realities of communal life in early modern Poland. The relation between the emerging territorial state and the local governments was complicated here by the escalating independence of powerful nobles, manipulating the institutions of the weak monarchy.88 This process gave rise to a growing decentralization and the emergence of vast landholdings – in effect small independent states, whose owners often disregarded royal authority and even conducted independent foreign policy. The new urban centres in these domains (often constructed around the residence of the owner, or as the local administrative hubs supporting agricultural production) were established as private towns, controlled by the founders (e.g. Zamos´c´, Wis´nicz, Tykocin, Z˙ółkiew, Rydzyna).89 The motivation behind the location of most private towns was primarily economic – commerce and manufacturing, supported by trade privileges secured for these cities by the owners from the monarch, were to provide the lord with a healthy income.90 The benefits were all too evident, leading to sustained, but often ill-prepared attempts to urbanize the huge estates, especially in the East. Not surprisingly, the overall success rate was pretty low.91 As was ironically recorded by Emperor Joseph II who, during a visit in Bielorussia had been invited to the official town foundation ceremony, “the owner laid the first stone, and I the second, that is the last”.92 84

Karpowicz 1997, pp. 187–189; DaCosta Kaufmann 1995, pp. 226–227. For the spheres of artistic influence at the outset of the early modern period, see Z. S´wiechowski, ‘Regiony w póz´nogotyckiej architekturze Polski’, in: Póz´ny gotyk, Warszawa, 1965, p. 120. 85 Jakimowicz 1967, p. 29. 86 W. Czaplin´ski, ‘Problem Gdan´ska w czasach Rzeczypospolitej szlacheckiej’, Przegla˛d Historyczny, 1952, no. 43, p. 2. 87 W. Tomkiewicz, ‘Alegoria handlu gdan´skiego Izaaka van dem Blocke’, Biuletyn Historii Sztuki, 1954, no. 16, pp. 404–419; J. Stankiewicz, ‘Kilka uwag do artykułu “Alegoria handlu Gdan´skiego”’, Biuletyn Historii Sztuki, 1955, no. 17, pp. 267–270; H. Sikorska, ‘Apoteoza ła˛cznos´ci Gdan´ska z Polska˛’, Biuletyn Historii Sztuki, 1968, no. 30, pp. 228–230. 88 J. Tazbir, Kultura szlachecka w Polsce, Warszawa, 1978, p. 16ff; E. Rostworowski, ‘Theatrum polityczne czasów saskich’, in: Sztuka 1 Poł. XVIII wieku, Materiały Sesji SHS, Rzeszów, listopad, 1978, Warszawa, 1981, pp. 15–22.

89

T. Opas, ‘Miasta prywatne a Rzeczpospolita’, Kwartalnik Historyczny, 1971, no. 78, 1, pp. 28–47; Bogucka & Samsonowicz 1986, pp. 393–401. Private towns first appeared in Poland in the thirteenth century, and initially enjoyed privileges similar to the free towns. During the early modern period, however, the Crown passed the control to the owners, who removed most concessions and freedoms, see J. Mazurkiewicz, ‘O niektórych problemach prawno-ustrojowych miast prywatnych w dawnej Polsce’, Annales UMCS, Sec. G., 1964, no. 11, p. 4. 90 Regarding a more detailed functional typology of private towns, see A. Wyrobisz, ‘Typy funkcjonalne miast polskich w XVI-XVIII wieku’, Przegla˛d Historyczny, 1981, no. 1, pp. 25–49. 91 Bogucka & Samsonowicz 1986, pp. 331–335. 92 W. Morozow, ‘Klasycyzm w architekturze Białorusi pod koniec XVIII wieku’, in: J. Lileyko (ed.), Sztuka ziem wschodnich Rzeczypospolitej, XVI-XVIII w., Lublin, 2000, p. 674.

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BARBARA ARCISZEWSKA A similar expression of urbanization driven by the elites, were the jurydyki, that is the independent, privately owned districts within larger Crown cities. These areas remained outside of municipal jurisdiction and therefore required separate administration and courts.93 As a result, the Polish city was often the stage for several competing centres of local power, as well as the site for several buildings that represented those interests. In addition to the main town hall, there were also those serving the local jurydyki. Warsaw saw a major development of such districts in the seventeenth and eighteenth 9. Warszawa, Town Hall of jurydyka Grzybów, (Zygmunt centuries, such as Leszno (est. 1648), Wielopole Vogel, watercolour) 1786 (photo: Institute of Art History, (1693), Bielino (1757), Mariensztadt (1762), or Warsaw University). Grzybów (1650).94 Many similar “towns” clustered around contemporary Lublin (e.g. Podzamecka, 95 ˙ Słomiany Rynek, Zmigród), Kraków (e.g. Stradom, Piasek/Garbary, Nowy s´wiat) or Poznan´ (e.g. Stanisławowo, Piotrowo, Łazarz). Most of their municipal seats have not survived (many were demolished after the suppression of the jurydki in 1791), but extant evidence (e.g. the image of the town hall of Grzybów, by B. Schutz, 1786) (fig. 9) suggests that they followed patterns established by the town halls of private towns.96 This was not surprising, given the fact that there was already quite an interesting architectural tradition of such structures to call upon. In the seventeenth century, thriving private towns were embellished with ostentatious new town halls, such as one in Zamos´c´,97 or Leszno (1636–1639, rebuilt 1708–1710, 1787–1789) (fig. 10).98 Both were key civic monuments in towns established by the Zamoyski and Leszczyn´ski families respectively and invoked forms traditionally symbolizing municipal power (tower, stairs, attic). They differed, however, from edifices built for, and by, free cities. Town halls in private towns were, in general, constructed according to plans commissioned by the owner. Whereas the decision to sign the 1550 contract with Giovanni Battista Quadro, appointing him the city architect, was made by the magistrates of Poznan´,99 the citizens of private towns had their civic buildings designed by the court-based architects. Bernardo Morando (c. 1540–1600), Hetman Jan Zamoyski’s court artist from Padua, designed the town hall in Zamos´c´. The new town hall in Bielsk Podlaski (1770s) was the work of the court architect of the Branicki family, Jan Se˛kowski. In the case of the early eighteenthcentury rebuilding of the Leszno town hall (1708–1710), the counsel of Pompeo Ferrari (c. 1660–1736), the Rome-trained court artist of Stanisław Leszczyn´ski, King of Poland (1704) (and the future father in law of Louis XV of France) might have been secured.100 During the 93 See A. Wyrobisz, ‘Jurydyki’, in: A. Ma˛czak (ed.), Encyklopedia historii gospodarczej Polski do 1945 roku, Warszawa, 1981, vol. I, p. 285; J. Mazurkiewicz, Jurydyki lubelskie, Wrocław, 1956, pp. 6ff for details. 94 M. Drozdowski, A. Zahorski, Historia Warszawy, Warszawa, 1975, pp. 46–49. 95 A. Sochacka A., ‘Rodowody lubelskich dzielnic’, in: T. Radzik, A.A. Witusik (eds.), Lublin w dziejach i kulturze Polski, Lublin, 1997, pp. 405–418. 96 Kowalczyk 1997, pp. 175–176. 97 The town hall (executed c. 1591–1604) was expanded by Jan Jaroszewicz and Jan Wolff c. 1639–1651, cf. Kozakiewiczowie 1976, pp. 230–234.

98

Kowalczyk 1997, p. 182. Jakimowicz 1967, pp. 45–46. 100 W. Dalbor, Pompeo Ferrari ok. 1660–1726. Działalnos´c´ architektoniczna w Polsce, Warszawa, 1938, pp. 54–56. A. Kusztelski, ‘Twórczos´c´ Pompeo Ferrariego. Rewizja stanu badan´ i nowe ustalenia’, in: Sztuka 1 Poł. XVIII wieku, Materiały Sesji SHS, Rzeszów, listopad, 1978, Warszawa, 1981, p. 142, excluded the possibility of Ferrari’s responsibility for the design, yet his presence at the local court (and some payments to him recorded in 1707) make his advisory role at least likely. 99

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construction, however, in most cases some form of cooperation between the lord and the urban elites was required. Leszno town hall, for instance, was initially financed with a special tax levied on the townsfolk by the owner, Bogusław Leszczyn´ski (1612–1659), but he pledged, in turn, to provide construction timber.101 This practice of collaboration between key stakeholders in the private city clearly adds to the questions surrounding the notion of the so-called ‘bourgeois architecture’,102 which in the case of the town halls of the private cities had a decidedly courtly flavour. These buildings were not just produced by the court artists in the architectural idiom expected by the owner, but also took on a new significance in the urban context. Starting with Zamos´c´, the town hall – now built into a row of houses surrounding the square – lost its prime position in urban hierarchy. The market square itself was now an addition to the new cardinal point of reference for the entire urban context – the residence of the owner (Zamos´c´, Pszczyna).103 In the eighteenth century the town hall often formed the closing feature of the avenue linking the town with the palace of the owner, for instance at Białystok with Branicki palace (after 1728) and at Rydzyna with Sułkowski palace (1738–1762).104 Such spatial connections (with the local church often integrated into the scheme) clearly served as a visual reminder of the owner’s power, extending into his private town.105 10. Leszno, Town Hall, 1636–39, rebuilt 1708–1710, Even more radical changes were occurring in the 1787–1789 (photo: Michał Wardzyn´ski). functional structure of these buildings. With growing restrictions on municipal autonomy and the decline in political power of the third estate, their main function was increasingly commercial, thus requiring more room for business activity and merchants’ stalls. Such a functional shift was naturally not unique to private foundations. Temporary stalls cramming market squares in some free cities were also gradually given a more regular form.106 The most interesting example of this was the rectangle of permanent stalls, with four axially placed gates, set up around the centrally placed town hall of Warsaw (c. 1701).107 In private towns, however, the commercial spaces became the most important B. S´widerski, Ilustrowany opis Leszna i ziemi leszczyn´skiej, Leszno, 1928, p. 145. 102 The debate on the bourgeois versus court patronage (stemming from W. Pinder’s classic Die Kunst der ersten Bürgerzeit bis zu Mitte des 15. Jahrhunderts, Berlin, 1937) has been very broad. For the most recent contributions relevant to Polish context see M. Zlat, ‘Nobilitacja przez sztuke˛ – jedna z funkcji mieszczan´skiego mecenatu w XV wieku’, in: J. Harasimowicz (ed.), Sztuka miast i mieszczan´stwa XV-XVIII wieku w Europie s´rodkowowschodniej, Warszawa, 1990, pp. 77–101; cf. DaCosta Kaufmann 1995, pp. 77–79 and 92–95. 103 J. Kowalczyk, ‘Architektura Zamos´cia w okresie rokoka’, in: J. Kowalczyk (ed.), Zamos´c´ miasto idealne, Lublin, 1980, p. 132. 104 For Białystok see J. Lepiarczyk, ‘Zwia˛zki polsko-francuskie w architekturze 1 poł. XVIII w.’, 101

in: Sztuka 1 Poł. XVIII wieku, Materiały Sesji SHS, Rzeszów, listopad, 1978, Warszawa, 1981, p. 86; and J. Nieciecki, ‘Polski Wersal – Białystok Jana Klemensa Branickiego’, Biuletyn Historii Sztuki, 2001, no. 53, pp. 295–314. Regarding Rydzyna see E. Kre˛glewskaFoksowicz, ‘Wielkopolskie rezydencje w 1 poł. XVIII w.’, in: Sztuka 1 Poł. XVIII wieku, Materiały Sesji SHS, Rzeszów, listopad, 1978, Warszawa, 1981, pp. 151–152 and 163. See also K. Kalinowski, ‘Zwia˛zki artystyczne S´la˛ska i Polski w XVIII wieku’, ibidem, p. 325. 105 Trzebin´ski 1962, pp. 73–79. 106 Bogucka & Samsonowicz 1986, p. 514. 107 This was the work by Tilman van Gameren, cf. J. Łozin´ski, A. Rottermund (eds.), Katalog Zabytków Sztuki. Masto Warszawa. Stare Miasto, Warszawa, 1993, p. 235 for details.

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BARBARA ARCISZEWSKA element of the town hall design. Largely deprived of political and judicial autonomy, private towns could sustain in their municipal buildings the only important function left – commerce. Here we face another paradox of Polish civic architecture, the most ‘bourgeois’ town halls, with the overriding business purpose, were also those most closely tied to the aristocratic patronage. For these so-called ‘market town-halls’ two interesting types of plan were developed: the ‘pavilion’ and the ‘four-wing’ scheme.108 Among examples of the former, of special interest are ambitious edifices in Białystok and Siedlce109 as well as a few town halls applying the Serlian molino da vento pattern, with the higher central section containing administration and court spaces, and diagonally placed stall-wings (Stanisławów 1690s; and Husiatyn).110 The latter, ‘fourwing’ type, best suited to serve as the ‘town hall-bazaar’, appeared only after 1750 (Włodawa 1766–1772, Zaleszczyki after 1754), but invoked some monumental medieval solutions known from Hanseatic towns, most notably Torun´.111 The symbolic presence of the owner was most clearly legible in the decorative programmes of these buildings. Since private towns were conceived as attributes of aristocratic power, their town halls were extolling the virtues of the owner and his family, not those of the civic community.112 In Buczacz (fig.11), for example, the sculptural decoration of the town hall façade (c. 1750) shows the apotheosis of the town’s owner, Mikołaj 11. Buczacz, Town Hall, Bernard Meretyn, c. 1750 Potocki.113 Pilawa, the Potocki family coat of arms in a (photo: Ewa Korpysz). huge rococo cartouche, is placed against panoplies on the front, and more armorial bearings appear throughout the building. Moreover, the town hall received a lavish sculptural programme, with the statues of Biblical and mythological heroes (Samson, David, Hercules and Neptune, as well as figures of Fame and bound slaves) employed here as visual glorification of the owner and an allusion to his military exploits.114 The examples can be multiplied, but the conclusion is the same: The private city town hall became in the eighteenth century the monument erected by the owner to glorify his family and to generate income, not to extol bourgeois pride and shared communal values.

108

Kowalczyk 1997, pp. 188–189. Korzeniewski 1970 (note 38), p. 293; Trzebin´ski 1962, p. 119. 110 J. Kowalczyk, Sebastiano Serlio a sztuka polska, Wrocław, 1973, pp. 214–215. 111 Kowalczyk 1997, pp. 190–191. 112 Tarnów town hall, rebuilt c. 1568–1594, was one of the early examples of a new type of decorative scheme, with sgraffito portraits of the Tarnowski family in the attic fields, cf. Kozakiewiczowie 1976, pp. 138–139. 109

113

The town hall is the work of Bernard Meretyn (d. 1759) for Mikołaj Potocki, see T. Man´kowski, Lwowska rzez´ba rokokowa, Lwów, 1937, pp. 88–89; S. Bara˛cz, Pamia˛tki buczackie, Lwów, 1882, p. 39. See also Kowalczyk 1997, pp. 183–184. 114 The sculpture in Buczacz is attributed to Jan Jerzy Pinsel (d. 1761 or 1762), see J. K. Ostrowski, ‘A Great Baroque Master on the Outskirts of Latin Europe. Johann Georg Pinsel and the High Altar of the Church at Hodowica’, Artibus et Historiae 21, 2000, no. 42, pp. 197–198.

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TOWN HALLS

IN

EARLY MODERN POLAND C. 1500–1750

The town hall in early modern Poland (as elsewhere in Europe) was an epitome of urbanization and civilization, its form, scale and shape indexing the health of local economy, the shape of government, the structure of local society and its culture. Last, but not least, it reflected the power (actual, usurped, or aspired to) of not just the city dwellers, but also of other agents of patronage active on the local stage. The ‘bourgeoisie’, term used in the past to define the patrons of civic architecture, elided the amalgam of group interests and identities – class, ethnic and gender – playing a role in the construction of town hall architecture and translating social divisions into physical form. The municipal buildings described above served the needs of very diverse groups of patrons: from the affluent patricians of the large cities, increasingly seeking an architectural vocabulary emulating the taste of those socially above them, to the noble owners of private towns, unashamedly promoting the traditional ideal of aristocratic rule in public edifices built for purely commercial reasons. Despite adverse political and economic circumstances, the Polish early modern town hall was therefore a very dynamic site of re-negotiating social and cultural divisions. Frequently cited sources Bogucka & Samsonowicz 1986 M. Bogucka & H. Samsonowicz, Dzieje miast i mieszczan´stwa w Polsce przedrozbiorowej, Wrocław, 1986. Bogucka 1997 M. Bogucka, ‘Funkcje społeczno-polityczne ratusza Głównego Miasta w Gdan´sku do kon´ca XVIII w.’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich, Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 79–89. DaCosta Kaufmann 1995 T. DaCosta Kaufmann, Court, Cloister, & City. The Art and Culture of Central Europe 1450– 1800, London, 1995. Domagała 1978 T. Domagała, ‘Ratusz Głównego Miasta w Gdan´sku w latach 1327–1566’, in: Sztuka pobrzez˙a Bałtyku, Warszawa, 1978, pp. 115–141. Jakimowicz 1967 T. Jakimowicz, Ratusz Poznan´ski. Muzeum Historii Miasta, Poznan´, 1967. Jakimowicz 1997 T. Jakimowicz, ‘Ratusz jako miejsce kulturowe’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich., Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 37–47. Kowalczyk 1997 J. Kowalczyk, ‘Póz´nobarokowe ratusze w Rzeczypospolitej. Tradycje i innowacje’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich., Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 175–193. Kozakiewiczowie 1976 H. and S. Kozakiewiczowie, Renesans w Polsce, Warszawa, 1976.

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BARBARA ARCISZEWSKA Miłobe˛dzki 1980 A. Miłobe˛dzki, Architektura polska XVII wieku, Warszawa, 1980. Trzebin´ski 1962 W. Trzebin´ski, Działalnos´c´ urbanistyczna magnatów i szlachty w Polsce XVIII wieku, Warszawa, 1962. Woz´niak 1997 M. Woz´niak, ‘Ratusz Staromiejski w Toruniu. Dzieje - architektura - adaptacja’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich., Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 157–174. Zdrenka 1997 J. Zdrenka, ‘Ratusz Głównego Miasta w Gdan´sku i jego uz˙ytkownicy’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich., Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 91–100. Zlat 1997 M. Zlat, ‘Ratusz - zamek mieszczan: symbolika typu architektonicznego i jego form’, in: S. Latour (ed.), Ratusz w miastach północnej Europy. Materiały z sesji Ratusz w miastach nadbałtyckich., Gdan´sk, 1997, pp. 13–36.

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AGAINST BUILDING TYPOLOGY: WHY A TOWN HALL DOESN’T lIKE A TOWN HALL. A CASE STUDY ON THE TOWN HALLS AND NUREMBERG

HAVE TO LOOK OF AUGSBURG

Stephan Albrecht (Universität Bamberg) Introduction How can democracy be made manifest in architectural terms? This question played a crucial role in discussing the modern rebuilding of the Berlin Reichstag after the reunification of the two German states at the end of the twentieth century. On the one hand, the new architecture was supposed to follow the tradition of parliamentary buildings, at the other hand, it had to meet new standards and mainly, of course, it should symbolize the young reunified republic. All these requirements cannot be understood without looking at the tradition of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It seems to be a rather modern demand that the architecture of a building should reflect the ideology of the patron. What would the citizens in the early modern German states expect of their public buildings? Could they bear any meaning at all? What role did building type play in this context? This article examines the German town halls of the seventeenth century in terms of this question. It puts forward one general statement and one heretical thesis, that the traditional building type of the town halls had no longer the potential of meaning at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Furthermore, it argues that only princely and not burgherly (civic) connotations could express the high rank of a political institution. I will try to prove this by describing the architecture and iconography of several buildings, especially the town halls of Augsburg, Nuremberg and Regensburg. The modernisation of medieval town halls What was the architectural tradition of the German town hall at the end of the Middle Ages? By the beginning of the sixteenth century, the town halls were notable for their variety. Already in the fourteenth century, in the north-western part of the Holy Roman Empire, north of the line Speyer-Erfurt-Frankfurt, splendid town hall buildings existed, for example, in Lübeck, Magdeburg and Cologne. In the south, however, most town halls do not date to earlier than the later part of the fifteenth century. With the exception of the tall town halls of Nuremberg and Regensburg, these rather modest buildings were either newly erected, like those in most Swabian and Bavarian cities, or more often, they were existing burgher or guild houses converted into town halls.1 Augsburg provides an example of this. At the end of the Middle Ages, one might say that the town hall represented the crucial economic and political centre of any town in Germany. Apart from this established position of the town hall in the city structure, we must notice that there is no established exclusive building type for town halls. The only common feature shared by town halls at the time of the Holy Roman Empire is the two-storied form of the building, possessing two large halls superimposed on each other. However, this is a universal architectural solution, serving many other purposes as well, and found in guild-halls, palaces and noble houses. When the task of building new town halls arose at the beginning of the thirteenth century, the city councils esteemed superimposed 1

A. Grisebach, Das deutsche Rathaus der Renaissance, Berlin, 1907; K. Gruber, Das deutsche Rathaus, München, 1943; G. Nagel, Das mittelalterliche

Kaufhaus und seine Stellung in der Stadt, Berlin, 1971; S. Albrecht, Mittelalterliche Rathäuser in Deutschland, Form und Funktion, Darmstadt, 2003.

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1. Bremen, town hall. Anonymous drawing, seventeenth-century (collection author).

halls as adequate for this purpose. They followed the example of Italian palazzi comunali and the palaces of contemporary castles. At the same time, noble families adopted this building type for their private houses.2 In the context of the thirteenth century, the construction of superimposed halls may be interpreted as an architectural expression of high social rank. In terms of building types, nothing changed in the first half of the sixteenth century. Contrary to the commonly held opinion, in early modern times new town hall buildings were only erected in exceptional cases. Usually, the existing ensemble received a modernized façade and possibly an extension according to the needs of the growing administration, but only rarely was the inner structure of the building affected. For example, Bremen’s town hall, dating back to the late Middle Ages (1410), received an extremely expensive and richly decorated façade in 1608, whereas the small chambers on the ground floor were roughly divided off for administrative reasons (fig. 1). This actually destroyed the splendid impression of the whole.3 Other city councils acted in the same way. At Cologne and Lübeck, for example, splendid new porticos were built in front of the town

2 A. Kluge-Pinsker, ‘Wohnen im hohen Mittelalter (10.-12. Jahrhundert, mit Ausblicken auf das 13. Jahrhundert)’, in: Geschichte des Wohnens, Vol. 2: 500 – 1800. Hausen, wohnen, residieren, ed. U. Dirlmeier, Stuttgart, 1998, pp. 85–228, especially pp. 180–198; U. Albrecht, ‘Halle-Saalgeschosshaus-Wohnturm. Zur Kenntnis von westeuropäischen Prägetypen hochmittelalterlicher Adelssitze im Umkreis Heinrichs des Löwen und seiner Söhne’, in: J. Luckhardt and F. Niehoff (eds.), Heinrich

der Löwe und seine Zeit. Herrschaft und Repräsentation der Welfen 1125–1235, exhibition catalogue Braunschweig, 1995, München, 1995, vol. 2, pp. 492–501. 3 S. Albrecht, Das Bremer Rathaus im Zeichen städtischer Selbstdarstellung vor dem 30jährigen Krieg (Materialien zur Kunst- und Kulturgeschichte in Nordund Westdeutschland 7), Marburg, 1993; R. Gramatzki, Das Rathaus in Bremen: Versuch zu seiner Ikonologie, Bremen, 1994.

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2. Torgau, town hall (ground plan 1561, Stadtarchiv Torgau).

halls and given rich decoration and iconography.4 The bearers of meaning of all these town halls were not the older kernels of the buildings but additional structures. Nevertheless, the town hall itself still followed the traditional type of the double-storied structure, which as a building type itself had nothing to do either with the functions of a government building or with the specific form of a republican government. To sum up, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, many of the lavishly decorated façades were erected, particularly in the Weser area, but also in several southern German cities. However, hardly any completely new buildings were constructed. At that time the construction of superimposed halls was a very common building type for a great variety of purposes. From this we may conclude that it had no more connotations than social rank. The remodelling of the medieval town halls during this period served the growing desire for representation, rather than any functional purposes. New town halls Saxony represents an exception, with its thirty-nine town halls erected between 1550 and 1600, during the reign of the Elector August.5 Here we are speaking about newly built

4 I. Kirgus, Die Rathauslaube in Köln (1569–1573): Architektur und Antikenrezeption (Sigurd GrevenStudien 4), Bonn, 2003; R. Paczkowski, Die Vorhalle von 1570 am Rathaus zu Lübeck: Überlegungen zu ihrer kunstgeschichtlichen Stellung und ihren

typologischen Verbindungen, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Kiel, 1975. 5 H.G. Ermisch, Sächsische Rathäuser. Beiträge zur Baugeschichte der Rat- und Kaufhausbauten aus dem Gebiet zwischen Saale und Neiße, Leipzig, 1920.

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3. Torgau, town hall, façade (photo Stadtarchiv Torgau).

4. Neuburg, first town hall project, groundplan and façade (photo from Zimmer 1971).

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AGAINST BUILDING TYPOLOGY town halls, such as the splendid example in Torgau, or the fundamentally rebuilt ensemble in Leipzig.6 No other region of the Empire produced so many town halls. However the Saxon town halls of the sixteenth century still show the traditional character of the medieval double-storied structure. Admittedly, with the Torgau town hall, built 1563–1578, we notice a special wing with several rooms dedicated to the urban administration, but the building on the whole still shows the traditional building type of the double-storied structure, now supplemented with additional chambers (figs. 2 and 3). Here, the medieval tradition continues in a Renaissance dress, but no new, specifically Renaissance, building type of a town hall evolved. At a prominent place in an alcove at the corner in the Torgau town hall, we find a portrait of the count, which clearly demonstrates the power structure of the town – the count still dominates urban politics. The status of a town hall newly built in a city which was the principal residence of an aristocratic ruler is shown in the example of Neuburg an der Donau in Bavaria (fig. 4).7 The town hall erected in 1603 by Joseph Heintz differs substantially from the medieval concept. In place of the double-storied structure we find a historic model, namely the Palazzo dei Senatori on the Capitol Hill in Rome. This reference to Rome is not meant to emphasize the power of the council in the iconography, as is often believed, but is meant to stress the function of the building within the town’s structure. Thus, the architect of the town hall omitted the Roman pilasters because the town hall had a lower rank than the church of the count, which is decorated with pilasters. According to contemporary sources, the town hall had to be of mittelmäßiger Dignität (intermediate dignity)8 and had to take second place to the comital palace and the church. This hierarchical ranking can be found in the contemporary architectural theory of the Holy Roman Empire (see the contribution of Hermann Hipp to this volume). Considering secular architecture before the Thirty Years War in the Empire, it turns out that only two town halls of the burgherly towns vary from the so far well-known ground plan of the double-storied edifice – Augsburg and Nuremberg. The special position of these two ensembles becomes even more obvious taking the historical background into account. These two cities were exceptionally ambitious in their political claims.9 Thus, the architecture of the town halls of Nuremberg and Augsburg cannot be seen as the result of an architectural development but merely as a very special and inventive way of demonstrating political power. Augsburg In Augsburg, the two loggias built by Joseph Heintz between 1607 and 1609, which obviously refer back to Palladio and Sansovino, show the intention of the architect to tread new paths (fig. 5).10 Apart from the new form, the building type with the loggia itself had no architectural model in Augsburg. Also we know from the written sources that the council

6

A. Schwarz, ‘Bauarchäologische Beobachtungen am Alten Rathaus zu Leipzig’, Historische Bauforschung in Sachsen.ArbeitsheftedesLandesamtesfürDen–kmalspflege Sachsen 4, 2000, pp. 141–151; idem, ‘Bauarchäologische Beobachtungen am Alten Rathaus zu Leipzig’, in: W. Hocquél (ed.), Archäologie und Architektur. Das frühe Leipzig, Beucha, 2003, pp. 99–117. 7 J. Zimmer, Hofkirche und Rathaus in Neuburg an der Donau: die Bauplanungen von 1591 bis 1630, Neuburg an der Donau, 1971.

8

Zimmer 1971 (note 7), pp. 21, 28. It is worth mentioning that Nuremberg and Augsburg were free towns (Freie Reichsstädte). But it is also important to note that there is no difference between free towns and others, neither in the architectural design nor in iconography. 10 W. Baer, H.-W. Kruft, B. Roeck (eds.), Elias Holl und das Augsburger Rathaus, Regensburg, 1985, pp. 326–333. 9

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5. Augsburg, Stadtmuseum, model of a loggia (photo from Baer, Kruft and Roeck 1985).

originally planned a single assembly hall, which would have had an important new impact on urban ceremonial. As we know from the building plans of Elias Holl from 6. Augsburg, town hall, schematic section by 1610, the remodelling of the town hall Gerhard Spindler (photo from Baer, Kruft and would have followed the traditional scheme. Roeck 1985). The medieval tower and arcade as the most important symbols of power should remain as they were, and it was planned to give the medieval building itself a completely new outfit. Just at the moment when the council decided not to build a special assembly hall in 1614, an innovative new plan appeared. Finally, after a long process of planning, in 1615, a new town hall was commenced which was influenced by Venetian palace architecture and which broke with the established building tradition. For the first time, we find a ground plan organizing the variety of representative and administrative functions in a rational way. In reference to the Venetian model, the town hall had three storeys and on each storey there was a hall engaging the whole depth of the building and opening at the sides to a straight staircase (figs. 6 and 7). In the corners there are square chambers dedicated to the administration and the council. The architect of the Augsburg town hall succeeded in combining functional demands with aesthetic standards, as was precedent in the contemporary Italian and French architectural theory: a strict symmetry in plan, regularity and balanced proportions of the façades and classical details around doors and windows. The interior structure of the building corresponded perfectly with the exterior, the inner circulation functioned perfectly. Finally, the hierarchy of the functions corresponded to the storeys. Everyday business took place on the ground floor, the council assembled on the second floor, and the Reichstag (the imperial parliament) came together in the golden hall on the third floor. We do not know very much about the functions of the single chambers or halls, but if we look at the iconography we might conclude that the two assembly halls on the second and third floors, for the council and the Reichstag, corresponded to each other such as microcosm to macrocosm.

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7. Augsburg, town hall, façade.

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8. Nuremberg, town hall, courtyard (photo Stadtarchiv Nürnberg) and facade (photo K.A. Ottenheym).

Nuremberg Though less inventive, the unfinished architecture of the town hall in Nuremberg is an even more obvious example of treading a new path.11 The seventeenth-century building must be seen in direct competition to Augsburg. Like Augsburg, it was planned to function as an assembly hall for the Reichstag. It was also erected in 1616, by Jakob Wolff the Younger. Originally the building was supposed to have four wings, but from 1622 the construction made no further progress and the eastern wing was never completed (figs. 8 and 9). Strictly speaking, the Nuremberg town hall was not built totally anew because it reused the medieval council hall as the kernel of the whole complex. But the important role played by the facilities for the administration in this architectural setting and the mode of their organization around a courtyard are unprecedented in the history of town halls. This type of regular four-winged building was already well-known in Southern German cities, such as the princely Münzhof in Munich or the princely palace in Stuttgart.12 Of course this kind of architecture, with columns according to classical orders in superposition, must be seen as an Italian-inspired tradition. To sum up: nothing in the Nuremberg town hall reminds us of the medieval building traditions of town halls. Whereas Nuremberg more or less adopted the ground plan of a palace with four regular wings, Augsburg invented a completely new architecture

11

M. Mende, Das alte Nürnberger Rathaus. Baugeschichte und Ausstattung des großen Rates und der Ratsstube, vol. 1, Nürnberg, 1979; E. Mummenhoff, Das Rathaus in Nürnberg, Nürnberg, 1891.

12

D. Klein, ‘Der Münzhof in München’, Oberbayerisches Archiv, 1977, no. 102, pp. 226–234.

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9. Nuremberg, town hall, ground plan (photo from Mende 1979).

based on Venetian as well as local models. The town halls in Augsburg and Nuremberg, breaking both with the tradition of the double-storied hall, were using princely and modern Italian elements for their purposes to stress a new political claim: the councillors saw themselves on the same level as the count. It is remarkable that both town halls had no successors. Regensburg This idea becomes even more obvious if we will look at the iconography, as demonstrated by the façade of the Regensburg town hall. Up to the sixteenth century, the town hall had become the typical irregular ensemble of different buildings which is so characteristic of the town halls of that time. This architectonical conglomerate was supposed to gain a uniform appearance from the illusionistic paintings of Melchior Bocksberger created at the end of the sixteenth century (1573–1574) (fig. 10). Unfortunately these paintings have not come down to us, but they can be reliably reconstructed from the original cartoons.13 According to these, the walls were painted with an almost confusing array of small pictures. The iconography is so diverse that it is neither possible to go into the details nor to show any relationships on the whole. 13 M. Schreiber, ‘Die Bocksbergerschen Dekorationsentwürfe für die Fassaden des Regensburger Rathauses. Ein Beitrag zur Rathausprogrammatik im 16. Jahrhundert’, Ars Bavarica, 1989, no. 57–58, pp. 31–64; S. Albrecht, ‘Gute Herrschaft – fürstengleich.

Städtisches Selbstverständnis im Spiegel der neuzeitlichen Rathausikonographie’, in: H. Schilling, W. Heun, J. Götzmann (eds.), Altes Reich und neue Staaten 1495–1806, Bd. 2 Essays, Dresden, 2006, pp. 201–214.

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10. Melchior Bocksberger, sketch for the façade project (1573–1574), detail (Regensburg, Museen der Stadt).

Originally the cycle started with representations of the four evangelists reading the Gospels. The following paintings deal with the life and deeds of Moses as well as with antique topics such as Lycurgus and the education of two dogs, the fall of Bellerophon, Trajan’s justice, Hercules’ fight with the lion and the castigation of the school-master of Falerii. After these scenic paintings, there were single figures, allegories and personifications: David, Moses and Aaron, four antique sovereigns, the court of Thebes, an allegory of Good Government, accompanied by Hercules and Samson, Samson and Delilah, Solomon’s idolatry, Judith, Joel, Aristotle and Phyllis, Veturia and Volumnia with Coriolanus, Dido and the origin of Carthage, the suicide of Lucretia and Cloelia’s virtue. The cycle concludes with the personifications of the cardinal virtues and the Roman she-wolf with Romulus and Remus. Can we understand these paintings as a narrative cycle? Are the representations related to any function of the building? Generally speaking, all the paintings seem to give an example of good government, of wisdom, strength, virtuousness and justice. The allegory of Good Government appears just above the window of the councillors’ chamber. Here, a personification of the Res Publica is accompanied by Peace, Justice and Finances. The general character of this painting is striking: the allegory neither refers to any specific urban situation nor does it show any local reference to Regensburg. It turned out that the painter Bocksberger just copied a print of Jost Amman from 1570 illustrating the reformation of the urban rights in Frankfurt. The life of Moses reminds us not only of the alliance between God and his people but it also refers to the council as the guardian of the God-given rights. In this sense we might also understand the antique stories as references to the traditional Roman right. Finally, the illustrations of the heroic Hercules symbolize the strength of the council whereas the Roman and Christian virtues demonstrate the moral qualities of the council. At least, the great number of humanist and Christian topics stands for the wisdom of the government in general. Nevertheless the paintings are put together without a recognizable system and the choice of the topics themselves seems to be a rather free one.

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AGAINST BUILDING TYPOLOGY The number of themes painted on the façade makes the example of Regensburg remarkable, but the topics represent exactly what we know from the contemporary decoration of other town hall facades. Biblical histories or figures belong to the usual repertoire of early-modern town hall decoration, such as Augsburg, Lüneburg, Nördlingen, Schwäbisch-Hall, Thorn and Tübingen. More frequently we find the Roman exemplars, as in Augsburg, Bremen, Nuremberg, Ulm, Wasserburg or Worms.14 The origin of the Regensburg town hall decoration, merely in its iconography, is as heterogeneous as the motifs themselves. Of course, there exist comparable topics in medieval Italy. However, whereas in Italian town halls we usually find the antique heroes as republican heroes, there is no reference to any republic or at least urban topic in Regensburg.15 It has become obvious that the topics had been taken from encyclopaedic handbooks, the same ones which were used for the Fürstenspiegel and other princely decoration programmes. Compared with earlier town hall decorations, the example of Regensburg reveals a certain change in portraying itself. Traditionally the medieval iconography illustrated the town’s privileges, its freedom and its relationship to the Empire. In Regensburg any allusion to the republican character of its government or the special urban situation is missing. We look at an unspecific praise of a government, emphasizing its physical, moral and mental qualities. In other words, the decoration deals with the qualities of an ideal prince. How, then, can we interpret the ‘iconographic programme’ of Regensburg? How can we interpret the search for new architectural solutions and the ostentatious avoidance of the traditional architectural scheme in the town halls of Augsburg and Nuremberg? Did no urban self-consciousness exist at the beginning of the early modern era? As we know from the historians, indeed, it was just the opposite.16 We have to conclude, therefore, that there existed a great difference between the actual political status of a town and its representation. It seems as if the presentation of ‘urban republicanism’ was not a suitable topic to be depicted on the façade of the town hall. On the contrary, as the status of the towns attending the Reichstag, the most important political instrument of the Empire, was rather weak, the urban representatives were striving to be accepted by the aristocracy and that is why one refers to the general formulas of the so-called ‘praise of the souvereign’ (Herrscherlob) in 14

For an overview, see S. Tipton, Res publica bene ordinata. Regentenspiegel und Bilder vom guten Regiment. Rathausdekorationen in der Frühen Neuzeit, Hildesheim, Zürich and New York, 1996. 15 J. B. Riess, ‘Uno studio iconographico della decorazione ad affresco del 1297 nel Palazzo dei Priori a Perugina’, Bollettino d’arte, 1981, no. 66, pp. 43–58; A. Martindale, ‘The Venetian Sala del Gran Consiglio and its fourteenth-century decoration’, in: A. Martindale (ed.), Painting the palace. Studies in the history of medieval secular painting, London, 1995, pp. 144–192. 16 H. Schilling, ‘Gab es im späten Mittelalter und zu Beginn der Neuzeit in Deutschland einen städtischen ‘Republikanismus’? Zur politischen Kultur des alteuropäischen Stadtbürgertums’, in: H. Koenigsberger (ed.), Republiken und Republikanismus im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs, Kolloquien 11), München, 1988, pp. 101–144; P. Blickle, ‘Kommunalismus und Republikanismus in Oberdeutschland’, ibidem, pp. 57–75; H. Schilling, ‘Stadt und frühmoderner Territorialstaat: Die politische Kultur des deutschen Stadtbürgertums in Konfrontation mit dem frühmodernen Staatenprinzip’,

in: M. Stolleis (ed.), Recht, Verfassung und Verwaltung in der frühneuzeitlichen Stadt, Köln, Wien, 1991, pp. 19–39; U. Hafner, Republik im Konflikt. Schwäbische Reichsstädte und bürgerliche Politik in der Frühen Neuzeit, Tübingen, 2001; W. Mager, ‘Republikanismus. Überlegungen zum analytischen Umgang mit einem geschichtlichen Begriff’, in: P. Blickle (ed.), Verborgene republikanische Traditionen in Oberschwaben, Tübingen, 1998, pp. 243–260; J. Rogge, ‘Ratspolitik in oberschwäbischen Reichsstädten als praktizierter Republikanismus? Beobachtungen und Überlegungen für die Zeit von der Gründung des schwäbischen Städtebundes bis zum Ende des 15. Jahrhunderts’, ibidem, pp. 59–79; U. Meier, ‘Vom Mythos der Republik. Formen und Funktionen spätmittelalterlicher Rathausikonographie in Deutschland und Italien’, in: A. Löther, Ulrich Meier and Herbert Schnitzler (eds.), Mundus in Imagine. Bildersprache und Lebenswelten im Mittelalter, Festgabe für Klaus Schreiner, München, 1996, pp. 345–387; idem, ‘Republikanische Ikonographie in oberdeutschen Reichsstädten’, in: Blickle 1998 (see above), pp. 81–99.

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STEPHAN ALBRECHT the iconography. The diplomatic and social success of the cities in the German Empire from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries depended on their imitation of aristocratic status. At this period of time we will not find any representation of a town showing itself as a free commune. Against building typology? Since Nikolaus Pevsner’s influential book on the history of building types, at least, the term ‘building type’ has come to be widely used by architectural historians.17 Strictly speaking, architectural theory only allows us to deal with ‘building types’ from the nineteenth century onwards, a satisfactory definition for the time before 1800 has never been given (see also the discussion of this topic by Hermann Hipp in this volume).18 If we look in this connection at architectural treatises like Joseph Furttenbach’s Architectura Civilis from 1628 our expectations will be disappointed.19 Furttenbach’s writing on town halls has nothing to do with the real building activity in the Empire. The medieval and Renaissance town hall was a building project that never created a specific, exclusive building type. For this reason it would be better to speak of a building tradition than of building types. Turning back to our introductory comparison between the modern parliament building of Germany and the Renaissance town halls of Augsburg and Nuremberg in the Holy Roman Empire, we can observe some parallels and some differences in the mode of breaking with building traditions. Considering the democratic system of the western world, the reunited Federal Republic of Germany wanted to represent itself in Berlin as a democratically established republic and a reliable partner in world politics. The architect Norman Foster satisfied these requirements by transforming the meaning of the cupola. By opening its surface in large layers of glass and filling it with a spiral promenade he changes the old gesture of power into a symbol of republican self-determination. This cupola is a non-cupola. In the early modern German states, political life followed different rules – only that which was considered aristocratic was able to influence politics in the Empire. And that is the reason why the city councils of Augsburg and Nuremberg adopted aristocratic manners and eliminated nearly all civic elements from their architecture and iconography. These are government buildings of city councils which have a prince-like rank (like the town hall of Amsterdam some decades later).

17

N. Pevsner, A History of Building Types, Princeton, NJ, 1976. 18 Even the Lexikon der Bautypen gives no plausible definition; see, Lexikon der Bautypen: Funktionen und Formen der Architektur, ed. Ernst Seidl, Stuttgart, 2006.

19

Joseph Furttenbach, Architectura Civilis, Augsburg, 1628. On town halls in architectural theory, see B. Roeck, ‘Rathaus und Reichsstadt’, in: B. Kirchgässner and H.P. Becht (eds.), Stadt und Repräsentation, (Veröffentlichungen des südwestdeutschen Arbeitskreises für Städteforschung 21), Sigmaringen, 1995, pp. 93–114.

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Pieter Vlaardingerbroek (Bureau Monumenten en Archeologie, Amsterdam)

The geographical landscape of the Low Countries is distinctive in its high density of towns and cities, a legacy of the Middle Ages. Flourishing counties (and duchies) like Flanders, Brabant, Zeeland and Holland had many cities in a relatively small area of land. These rich and self-conscious cities played an important role within the political system of the region. This self-consciousness expressed itself in the construction of large and richly sculpted town halls as can be seen, for example, in Brussels, Leuven, Ghent, Bruges, Oudenaarde and Middelburg, all dating back to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. This expression of civic pride found its zenith in the construction of the Antwerp town hall (1565), in its time even regarded as the Eighth Wonder of the World.1 Its impressive palatial façade was influenced by the ephemeral architecture of the Triumphant Entries, erected in honour of the sovereign lord (fig. 1). This triumphal aspect of the Antwerp town hall marks clearly the prominent position of the city, presenting itself as almost an equal to the sovereign lord. Dutch town halls were relatively small compared with those in Flanders and Brabant. As a building type they start to appear around 1400, which is not surpris1. Antwerp, town hall designed by Cornelis Floris ing as most cities date back to the thirteenth and fourand Willem Paludanus (1561–1565) (photo K.A. teenth centuries. At first town halls as such did not really Ottenheym). exist: city governments used rooms in the residences of local counts, meat or cloth halls and taverns as gathering places. In many cases the original function gradually decreased in importance, while the function as the seat of the municipal government became more and more important. In some cases the original function disappeared in favour of the town hall function. The town hall of Haarlem was originally a residence of the Count of Holland (fig. 2), while the town hall of Dordrecht was a transformed trading hall.2 In other instances large dwellings were bought to house all governmental bodies. The town hall of Utrecht (1546) is a collection of private houses, adapted to the new function. Most Dutch town halls lacked the monumentality or rich architecture of those of sixteenth-century Flanders and Brabant. The government of Amsterdam, already in the sixteenth century the most important city in Holland, inhabited a small town hall which consisted of a fourteenth-century dwelling house, a fifteenth-century

1 H. Bevers, Das Rathaus von Antwerpen 1561–1565. Architektur und Figurenprogramm, Hildesheim, Zürich, New York, 1985, pp.1, 19.

2

W.G.M. Cerutti, Het stadhuis van Haarlem. Hart van de stad, Haarlem, 2001, p.69. M. E. Stades-Vischer, Het stadhuis te Dordrecht, Dordrecht, 1985.

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PIETER VLAARDINGERBROEK building that housed the Vierschaar (criminal court) and a wing which had once been a hospital (fig. 3).3 Due to political circumstances the situation changed. The start of the Revolt of the Low Countries in 1568 was the beginning of the shift of wealth to the north. Especially after the capture of Antwerp in 1585, the leading position in trade moved to Holland and mainly to Amsterdam. This caused an increase in building activity, resulting in many new town halls. The triumphant architecture of the Antwerp town hall served as the primary example for new or renovated town halls in The Hague (1565), 2. Haarlem, town hall, originally a residence of the count of Leiden (1593), Vlissingen (1595, destroyed Holland. In the middle the large hall is visible, in front of 1809), Bolsward (1614) and Delft (renovated which the small and the large Vierschaar were built (photo: 1618).4 With the Treaty of Munster (1648) the Hans de Witte). war against the Spanish Habsburg regime ceased. The end of the costly war allowed cities to spend their money on public buildings. Amsterdam erected a new town hall (1648–1665), dedicated to Peace (fig. 4). The Amsterdam town hall surpassed all previous town halls: it was three times as large as the town hall of Antwerp. The Amsterdam town hall was also qualified as the Eighth Wonder of the World and became the main reference for many town halls built afterwards.5 In Dutch architecture the rigid classicist architecture and the cupola shape of the bell tower were imitated, while in some cases even details like festoons were copied. Rigid stone façades appeared in the town halls of Maastricht (1659), Den Bosch (1670), Enkhuizen (1688) (fig. 5) and Weesp (1772) (fig. 6), while the crowning bell towers of Enkhuizen and Leeuwarden (1713) are clearly inspired by the Amsterdam example.6 The influence of the Amsterdam town hall reached beyond the Dutch borders. The eighteenth-century German

3 About town halls in general: G. Zeegers, I. Visser, Kijk op stadhuizen, Amsterdam, Brussels, 1981; C. Boschma-Aarnoudse, Renaissance-raadhuizen boven het IJ, Zutphen, 1992; R. Stenvert, B. Verweijen, Raadhuizen, Utrecht, 1995; C.P.J. van der Ploeg, ‘Representatieve aspecten van het raadhuis in de Nederlanden’, in: J.Ch. Klamt, K. Veelenturf (eds.), Representatie, Kunsthistorische bijdragen over vorst, staatsmacht en beeldende kunst, Nijmegen, 2004, pp.217–241; J.A. van der Hoeve, L.B. Wevers, ‘Behoud gaat voor vernieuwing. Bouwhistorie van het stadhuis van Alkmaar’, in: “Onse heerlijcke Stadt-huys binnen Alckmaer”. De geschiedenis van het stadhuis van Alkmaar, Alkmaar, 2004, pp.33–81. 4 K. De Jonge, K.A. Ottenheym, Unity and Discontinuity. Architectural Relations between the Southern and Northern Low Countries 1530–1700, Turnhout, 2007, pp.226–230. J.J. Terwen, ‘Het stadhuis van Hendrik de Keyser’, in: R. Meischke e.a. (eds.), Delftse Studiën, Assen, 1967, pp.143–170; A. de Groot, ‘Het stadhuis van Delft.

Aspecten van zijn bouw- en restauratiegeschiedenis’, Bulletin Koninklijk Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond 83, 1984, pp.1–42. J.C. Herpel, Het oude Raadhuis van ’s-Gravenhage, 2 vols., The Hague, 1975. 5 K. Fremantle, The Baroque Town Hall of Amsterdam, Utrecht, 1959; P. Vlaardingerbroek, Het stadhuis van Amsterdam. De bouw van het stadhuis, de verbouwing tot Koninklijk Paleis en de restauratie, unpublished PhD dissertation, Utrecht, 2004. 6 A.R.E. de Heer, S.E. Minis, Een seer magnifick Stadthuys. Tien studies over de bouw en de inrichting van het stadhuis te Maastricht, Delft, 1985; M. Hurx, ‘De zeventiende-eeuwse modernisering van het stadhuis van ’s-Hertogenbosch’, Bulletin Koninklijk Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond 106, 2007, pp.53–67; A. Stork, ‘Het stadhuis van Weesp’, in Bulletin Koninklijk Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond, 1959, col’s 237–252; J. Theunisz, Het stadhuis te Enkhuizen, Assen 1927; P.A.M. Zwart, Het stadhuis van Enkhuizen, Enkhuizen, 1983.

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3. Amsterdam, the medieval town hall and predecessor of the seventeenth-century town hall. Under the arches the Vierschaar was held, while the wing with the roof turret housed the large hall and the Magistrates’ Chamber. The burgomasters held office in the tower on the Dam square. (Print after Pieter Saenredam, taken from T. van Domselaer, Beschryvinge van Amsterdam, Amsterdam (bij Marcus Willemsz. Doornick), 1665, book IV, p. 3).

theoretician Johann Friedrich Penther, for example, clearly modelled his archetype of a town hall on that of Amsterdam.7 We may conclude that the architecture of both Wonders of the World had a strong influence on town halls in other places: Antwerp was used as reference for the period from 1565 to 1650 and Amsterdam for the period after 1650. This influence however was mainly formal. This leaves us with the question of the structure of town halls in general, or, to put it differently: what was the typology of a town hall in Holland? As the typology of the building is closely connected to its function, we need to establish the proper use of town halls. Seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Dutch town halls were the main seats of the local administration, which had a different meaning from nowadays. The separation of powers, as formulated by Charles Montesquieu, did not exist or was not applied in practice. The

7

J. F. Penther, Erster/Zweyter/Dritter/Vierter Theil einer ausführlichen Anleitung zur Bürgerlichen Bau-Kunst enthaltend ein Lexicon Architectonicum,

Augsburg (Johann Andreas Pfeffel), 1744–48, Erster Theil, pp.31–32, 49; Vierter Theil, pp.36–47. With gratitude to Thomas von der Dunk for this reference.

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4. Amsterdam, town hall (1648–1665), now Royal Palace, designed by Jacob van Campen (photo: author).

5. Enkhuizen, town hall designed by Steven Vennekool (1688) (photo: author).

legislature, the executive, and the judiciary were still in the hand of one government. A college of Sheriff and Magistrates was responsible for administering law, while Burgomasters held the executive and legislative powers. Usually the Burgomasters held the most powerful position. They were assisted by influential Treasurers who oversaw the city finances. Depending on the size of the community, more specialized offices were founded such as the Trustees of Orphans, Accountants, Commissioners of Petty Affairs, Treasurers Extraordinary, Commissioners of Insurance, Commissioners of Bankruptcy etc. Apart from these offices a more general representative body existed which was called ‘Vroedschap’. This representation of the local elite acted as an advisory body and was consulted for important political or financial decisions. Generally speaking, a town hall needed private places for executive offices as well as public places for judicial functions. This combination of two opposite factors has lead to similar solutions in different town halls, constituting some kind of a typology. The open and restricted areas of Dutch town halls The open town hall During the Middle Ages rights were transferred from the local lord to communities of civilians.8 These communities or cities considered this transfer of powers to be very important, as it marked their independence. At the end of this process cities held the power to 8 J.I. Israel, De Republiek 1477–1806, Franeker, 20015, chapter I (p.26).

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judge over their inhabitants. The legal system was similar to that exercised by the local lords by means of appointed Sheriffs and Magistrates. Trials were usually held in the open on the central market place. The old tradition of arranging benches or sealing off a part of the open space by means of cords or chains was called de Vierschaar spannen. Within this rectangular area law was spoken. At the end of the Middle Ages, purpose-built courts of law started to appear, usually combined with some rooms for the city administration. An interesting example of the transition from court proceedings in the open to those held under cover was to be found in the old town hall of Amsterdam 6. Weesp, town hall designed by Jacob Otten Husly (1772) (photo: (c. 1450) which burnt down in 1652 author). (fig. 3). Here we find the judges seated in an arcaded space while the public was still standing in the open air on the Dam square. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the Magistrates and the public were usually standing inside. The Vierschaar had been incorporated in the town hall. These structures had undergone the influence of the old tradition of the Vierschaar. Almost all town halls had a large interior space, situated close to the entrance and in most cases directly accessible from the street (often called the “large hall” or “citizen’s hall”). Here the Vierschaar was held. Many examples can be found: Tholen (1460), Harderwijk (fifteenth century), Middelburg (1513), Utrecht (1546), Zierikzee (1550), The Hague (1565), Delft (1618), Enkhuizen (1686) and Weesp (1772). In other cases large halls for holding the Vierschaar were situated on the first floor, usually being accessible by double stairways at the outside. Examples of this kind were to be found in Nijmegen (1553), Dordrecht (1544/1680), Gorinchem (situation before 1591), Leiden (1593), Vlissingen (1595), Naarden (1601), Bolsward (1614), Maastricht (1659) and Den Bosch (renovated 1670).9 The architecture of these halls could be very sober, although this sobriety was sometimes contrasted by elaborately sculpted fixed benches for the Sheriff and Magistrates. One of the best examples of this kind of contrast was to be found in Nijmegen, were the plain hall found its counterpart in the rich masterpiece by Gaert van Dulcken (1553, destroyed 1944) (fig. 7). In some cases we find a more elaborate kind of architecture used for the Vierschaar. In the town hall of Delft the Vierschaar was situated behind three of the five black marble arches that adorn the central hall (fig. 8). This kind of arcade is usually found on the exterior; by using it inside the building the arcade adds to the idea that the Vierschaar was usually held outside. In Maastricht the architect Pieter Post designed the central hall as if it were exterior architecture. The hall, which is very high, has arcaded, stone walls, while the vaults with round windows and painted decoration of open skies add to this idea of being outside (fig. 9). In ’s-Hertogenbosch a similar kind

9 General information derived from: M. Schimmel, De plaats en de functie van de vierschaar in het Nederlandse stadhuis, typescript, 1969. Gorinchem: T. Cerutti-Uijen, ‘Niet uit zucht tot praalvertoon

of weelde.’ Zes eeuwen stadhuizen in Gorcum, Gorinchem, 1995. Leiden: J. Dröge, Het stadhuis van Leiden, Leiden, 2001. Zierikzee: C. Postma, Zierikzee en zijn stadhuis, Zierikzee, s.a.

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PIETER VLAARDINGERBROEK of architecture can be seen. The Vierschaar is situated behind coupled columns at the end of the central hall. This hall also functioned as distributing space to the staircases, which were accessed through gate-like porches that seem more appropriate for exterior than for interior use. In essence these large halls were a reflection of the old situation in which the Vierschaar was held in the open air. The direct accessibility from the street and the large space in which the people could gather clearly give this space a public character that was similar to a market place. It is not without meaning that the central hall in Maastricht was even called Plein, the Dutch word for square. In cases where a 7. Nijmegen, town hall, the Magistrates’ Bench made for the large hall was absent, we usually find a vestiVierschaar in the main hall, by Gaert van Dulcken (1553– bule behind the entrance with direct access to 1554), destroyed in 1944 (photo: J. Kramer, taken from the Vierschaar, as is the case in Veere (1474) G. Lemmens, Het stadhuis van Nijmegen, p.118). and Gouda (after the renovation of its interior in 1680).10 During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the Vierschaar evolved into a kind of a representative room in which only the most serious cases were dealt with. It evolved into a ceremonial space in which already settled sentences like the death penalty were passed publicly. The actual court sessions of both criminal and civil law were held in Magistrates’ chambers. An important example of this situation can be found in Weesp, designed in 1772 by the architect Jacob Otten Husly (1738–1796). Here we find the Vierschaar on the ground floor at the end of a practically unadorned hall that was directly accessible from the street. The Vierschaar, with marble benches under stuccoed festoons, is closed off from the public by a Doric colonnade with iron fences (fig. 10). This Vierschaar was mainly used for ceremonially condemning the defendant to death. Before that moment, the lawsuit had taken place in the Magistrates Room, situated in the most prominent place on the first floor at the end of the central axis. Some of the truth-finding took place in the Torture Chamber on the second floor, where the Sheriff could exercise some more persuasive methods to make the defendant confess his crimes. During his trial, the defendant was imprisoned in the cells behind the Vierschaar on the ground floor. All of these spaces are internally linked with each other by means of a hidden staircase that could not be used by the public. Here we see a rare case of spaces within a town hall that were functionally related in such a manner that it determined an important part of the design of the building. It is evident that the judicial element of Dutch town halls was dominant as far as the internal distribution of spaces is concerned. As court of law the town hall needed to be public. Therefore the rooms in which law was spoken had to be easy to find and of a certain dimension. On the exterior, the judicial element usually found its expression in sculpted images of Justice.

10

For Gouda, see W. Denslagen, Gouda (De Nederlandse Monumenten van Geschiedenis en

Kunst. De provincie Zuid-Holland), Zeist, Zwolle, 2001, pp.212–225.

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The restricted town hall The local government that was not concerned with justice had different needs. There was not any need for openness. Burgomasters, Treasurers, Trustees of Orphans and other committees needed a private space in which they could come together and conduct their affairs. Other people were allowed into these rooms only by invitation. As a consequence the rooms were usually rather small. Despite the fact that Burgomasters held the most powerful position within a city, their rooms were not very spacious. As compensation, Burgomasters’ chambers were very richly decorated, as can be seen in Enkhuizen. Another advantage of having a smaller room was a working environment: it was far easier to warm the room. Only the representative body of the ruling class, the 8. Delft, central hall with Vierschaar behind the arches (1618) (photo: RCE, Amersfoort). Vroedschap, had a somewhat larger space, which was a result of the comparatively large number of its members. In general the rooms of the local government were situated further from the entrances. As there was no need for openness, the rooms could be placed wherever there was space. The best spaces were allocated to the most important functionaries, while the less important functionaries were situated according their rank. In the already mentioned town hall of Weesp, the largest space on the most prestigious first floor was used as Magistrates’ Chamber, while the Burgomasters were situated in the less important front corner rooms. It seems that the impact of the executive and legislative elements of the government did not much influence the ground plan. It did however influence the external architecture of a town hall by means of a balcony. Balconies or proclamation galleries were important instruments in communicating decisions or new laws to the public. A second important exterior element of the governmental town hall was the tower in which the city bell hung, to be tolled in case of special occasions or calamities. The medieval tradition of town halls with high towers ended more or less with the introduction of classical architecture. Architectural difficulties in designing a high tower with the correct use of classical orders were evaded by designing lower, cupola-shaped towers as being more suitable to classical architecture.11 The exception that proves the rule: the Amsterdam town hall The town hall of Amsterdam was built between 1648 and 1665.12 It was spectacular in its scale and ornamentation. Jacob van Campen’s (1596–1657) design for the town hall meant the destruction of a complete area of the old city. A new kind of structure with an unparalleled ground plan arose, and clearly demonstrated Amsterdam’s claim to be the most

11 T. H. von der Dunk, ‘Hoe klassiek is de gothiek? Jacob van Campen en de toren van de Nieuwe Kerk te Amsterdam: een nieuwe benadering van een oude kwestie’, Jaarboek Amstelodamum 85, 1993, pp.49–90.

12

Fremantle1959 (note 5); Vlaardingerbroek 2004 (note 5).

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9. Maastricht, central hall, serving as setting for the Vierschaar (photo: RCE, Amersfoort).

10. Weesp, town hall designed by Jacob Otten Husly (1772), hall with Vierschaar on the ground floor (photo: author).

powerful city in the world. The Amsterdam town hall is as much a statement as it is a town hall; the building was at least twice as large as necessary considering the floor area needed. The Burgomasters, who had been fervent advocates of peace and had brought wealth to the city, found their perfect historical example in King Solomon. This parallel was translated into architecture by modelling the town hall on the Palace of Solomon as reconstructed by Juan Bautista Villalpando in his book, In Ezechielem Explanationes et Apparatus Urbis ac Templi Hierosolymitani (1596–1604). Both consisted of a large rectangular structure with a large hall in the centre of the building lit by courtyards on the sides. In the Palace of Solomon this hall was called the “House of the Forest of Lebanon”; behind this hall a separate room was destined for Solomon’s law court. In Amsterdam the large hall or Citizen’s Hall served as entrance hall to the Magistrates’ Chamber, a disposition which clearly refers to the Palace of Solomon. The buildings also shared a tripartite horizontal division in their façades. The enormous advantage of Villalpando’s theory was the merger of classical architectural theory with biblical architecture. This gave Van Campen the opportunity to combine both cultures in one building. Within the context of such an influential archetype, could local traditions still leave their mark on the town hall? For that we must have a thorough look at the building and the way in which it was used. The distribution of functions The Amsterdam town hall consisted of a ground floor and four upper floors. The relatively low ground floor housed prison cells, the gaoler’s living quarters, the living quarters of the caretaker, the Exchange Bank, some offices of lesser importance and most importantly,

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11. Amsterdam, former town hall, ground floor, as published in Afbeelding van ‘t Stadt Huys van Amsterdam (1661). A = Vierschaar, B = Gallery, C = Torture Room, D = Northern Courtyard. The white arrows indicate the route to the main floor.

the Vierschaar and the entrances to the building (fig. 11). The Vierschaar and the entrances were situated in the central projection at the side of the Dam square, being preceded by an open gallery. The Amsterdam Vierschaar was a relatively small room in which the air from the Dam square could enter freely: it was enclosed not with windows, but with open bronze fences. The rich interior decoration, with its sculpted reliefs, caryatids and statues set within the frame of Ionic and Corinthian pilasters, clearly demonstrated the enormous importance of the room. The dimensions of the Vierschaar were particular: the room of 30 by 20 feet was relatively very high at 55 feet. It is as if the height meant to evoke the idea of being in the open air. This idea would have been underlined by the decoration, which was planned but not executed: in Van Campen’s original plans the ceiling was to be painted with prophets from the Old Testament set against a blue sky (fig. 13). The entrances are connected to the staircase which led to the Citizen’s Hall on the first floor. The Citizen’s Hall and the galleries that run around the inner courtyards formed the heart of the building and functioned as a kind of public square that gave access to the city offices. The architecture of the Citizen’s Hall reflects the external façades with its superimposed giant orders. On this first floor all important offices were located (fig. 12). The main executive offices were situated at the side of the Dam square. At the left were the quarters for the Treasurers, followed by the chamber for the important advisory body of former Burgomasters, while the Burgomasters were situated in a somewhat smaller and lower room in the central projection. By means of the Proclamation Gallery the Burgomasters’

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12. Amsterdam, former town hall, first floor as published in Afbeelding van ‘t Stadt Huys van Amsterdam (1661). E = Citizen’s Hall, F = Magistrates’ Chamber, G = Commissioners of Petty Affairs, H = Magistrates’ Chamber Extraordinary, I = Insurance Office, J = Bankruptcy Room, K = Chamber of Justice; 1 = Burgomasters’ Chamber, 2 = advisory body of former Burgomasters, 3 = Treasurers, 4 = Treasurers Extraordinary, 5 = Chamber of Accounts, 6 = Chamber for the Trustees of Orphans, 7 = Vroedschaps’ Chamber (City Council), 8 = Proclamation Gallery; s = Secretary’s Office.

chamber was linked to the Room of Justice, the only chamber on this side of the building with a judicial function. To the right of this room the spacious and high Chamber of the Vroedschap (City Council) was to be found, followed by the Chamber of the Trustees of Orphans on the right of the building. Two other financial committees occupied offices in the corners at the back. Between those two committees the main judicial offices were situated. The most important judicial functionaries occupied the Magistrates’ Chamber. To its left the Commissioners of Petty Affairs – for civil cases of lesser importance – and to its right the Magistrates’ Chamber Extraordinary were to be found. The Insurance Office and the Bankruptcy Room were situated north of the Citizens’ Hall and galleries, while the Secretary’s Office was placed on the south side. The distribution of functions over the ground plan was done in such a way that the most public rooms were easy to find and accessible, while less public and more administrative functions were placed in the corners of the building. When entering the building from the front, one would climb the stairs and enter the Citizen’s Hall at the east side, while at the opposite west side the entrance to the Magistrates’ Chamber was clearly marked by a monumental porch. The Magistrates’ Chamber took up the central projection at the rear façade. In other words, the most public function of the town hall was to be found at the end of the central axis: it held the most prominent place in the building when seen from the

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standpoint of the ground plan. Lower courts were juxtaposed to the Magistrates’ Chamber. These courts functioned separately; there was no functional nor an architectural relation between these rooms. The only functional aspect that had an impact on the architecture was the existence of an internal staircase leading from the prisons to the Magistrates’ Chamber, which guaranteed a safe passage for the imprisoned defendant, while minimizing the risk of escaping. Daily use or even ceremonies seem not to have had any influence on the design of the building. This is most clearly shown by the process of declaring someone “a child of death”, in which the death sentence was passed. A rather intricate ceremony accompanied this process in which a large number of rooms played a role, as we can read in several books of ceremony for the Amsterdam town hall that have survived.13 These rooms had no spatial relation to each other as they were situated on different floors or on the same floor but at different sides of the building. First the suspect was arrested or taken into custody by the Sheriff, using one of the cells on the ground floor or in the cellars to lock him up. The Sheriff conducted preliminary questioning of the suspect and let his assistants do research in the city. Within four days of his being taken into custody the defendant had to be 13. Jacob van Campen, partially executed questioned in the presence of the Magistrates. After this heardesign for the Vierschaar, published in ing the Sheriff might claim the death penalty; the Magistrates Afbeelding van ‘t Stadt Huys van Amsterdam then sentenced the defendant to death. This death sentence (1661). could only be executed when the defendant had confessed his crimes. Without this confession the interrogation was prolonged in the Torture Room, where less friendly ways of questioning were applied to the defendant. The use of whips, rods, thumbscrews and weights usually made the defendant remember his sins. Two days before the execution, the Sheriff with all the Magistrates and Burgomasters came together in the Torture Room. The defendant was brought in and after reading the accusation he was taken outside again to give the Magistrates and Burgomasters time to deliberate. During the deliberations the Sheriff waited outside. After the decision was made, the Sheriff came in again and listened to the verdict which he had to prepare. The next day the defendant was taken to the northern courtyard of the town hall, where the Sheriff informed the defendant of his punishment under the open sky. The day after that, the hoge Vierschaar or the high criminal court was held in the Vierschaar, the room in open connection to the Dam square. The cushions of the Sheriff and Magistrates were laid down on the marble benches while the seat of the Sheriff was indicated with the Rod of Justice. The court servants stood at the other side of the Vierschaar, while the City Secretary was seated on his Secretary’s Chair. For

13

Stadsarchief Amsterdam, library, inv. no. 99796 (eighteenth-century book of ceremonies); G.W. Kernkamp, ‘Regeering en historie te Amsterdam in de 17e eeuw’, in: A. Bredius, P.J. Blok e.a., Amsterdam in de zeventiende eeuw, Den Haag, 1897– 1904, pp.3–252; K. Fremantle, ‘De Open Vierschaar of Amsterdam’s seventeenth-century Town Hall as a

setting for the city’s justice’, Oud Holland 77, 1962, pp.206–234; S. Faber, J. Huisken e.a., Van Heeren, die hunn’ stoel en kussen niet beschaemen. Het stadsbestuur van Amsterdam in de 17de en 18de eeuw. Of Lords, who seat nor cushion do ashame. The government of Amsterdam in the 17th and 18th centuries, Amsterdam, 1987.

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PIETER VLAARDINGERBROEK spiritual assistance a minister of religion was present. The condemned person stood in the middle, while the Burgomasters stood in their chamber on the first floor, which had a window giving out on the Vierschaar. The Sheriff asked every Magistrate and every Burgomaster present whether it was the right time for the high criminal court. After being answered, the Sheriff summarised the accusations and asked the Magistrates to declare the defendant “a child of death” (fig. 14). The Sheriff’s question was followed by the Magistrates going 14. Ground plan of the Vierschaar during the ceremony of out of the Vierschaar and climbing upstairs to condemning an offender to death (the patient). The Sheriff the Burgomasters’ Chamber to deliberate and and nine Magistrates were seated on cushions, the secretary ask the Burgomasters whether they persisted was seated on his chair at the right, while the Burgomasters in their advice that the defendant was to be watched through the opening on the first floor at the oppoexecuted. After the affirmative answer of the site side. The clergyman (dominé) as well as officers of the Burgomasters the Magistrates went back to the law were also present in the room. Drawing taken from the Vierschaar where the defendant was declared Ceremonieboek. a child of death. After this moment the Sheriff advised the Magistrates in which manner the death penalty was to be executed: by the sword, the gallows or in a different manner. Again the Magistrates went upstairs to deliberate in the Burgomasters’ Chamber, asking their advice. After having made their decision the Magistrates returned to their seats in the Vierschaar. The Sheriff asked the youngest (in years of age) of the Magistrates what the decision was, while this youngest Magistrate told the Sheriff that the final verdict was to be read by the City Secretary. The condemned was placed in front of the Secretary, who told him the verdict. Following the verdict, the Sheriff, the Magistrates, the City Secretary, the clergyman and the condemned went to the Chamber of Justice, where they were joined by the Burgomasters. Cushions were spread out on the stone floor for everyone except for the condemned; before the execution everybody knelt on the floor, being joined in prayer for the condemned. After the prayer, the condemned stepped out of the window onto the scaffolding which was erected for the occasion, where he was executed. This ceremony was the most important ceremony conducted in the Amsterdam town hall. It made visible the highest of all rights held by the city, which was the right to judge over someone’s life. This ceremony dated from before the construction of the town hall by Van Campen. The different chambers in which the ceremony was held were not architecturally related or linked, there was hardly any or even no spatial relation between them. The only element which makes a visual connection between two rooms is the large window/opening between the Vierschaar and the Burgomasters’ Chamber, clearly indicating the influence the Burgomasters had on the judicial system: the Magistrates fulfilled their task under the supervising eyes of the Burgomasters, who figuratively and literally speaking, held a higher position than the Magistrates. A similar kind of window had existed in the old town hall and it is likely that tradition, more than architectural rules, dictated the design of this window. The influence of tradition is even greater when looking at the façade of the new town hall, which lacked a grandiose central entrance. Many people have remarked upon and criticised the fact that the gallery on the Dam square was too low to serve as a suitable entrance for such a large building. Such criticism overlooks the enormous influence of local tradition, which had forced the location of the Vierschaar at the side of the Dam square in the middle of the building. Van Campen’s design is nothing but a translation of the Vierschaar of the

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old town hall: he copied the central position of the Vierschaar at the Dam, preceded by an open gallery. There must have been a clear wish of the commissioners of the town hall to maintain the old tradition of the open Vierschaar, enabling the public to stand on the Dam square, listening to what was going to happen. Tradition also determined the distribution of other functions over the building. When comparing the old town hall with the design for the new building, many resemblances can be found in the positioning of all bodies of the city government. As in the old town hall, the Burgomasters were situated at the side of the Dam, while the Magistrates were situated at the rear near the prisons. In terms of architectural routing, the Magistrates’ Chamber was the focus point of the building, which must be explained by its public character. The Burgomasters’ Chamber was situated at the most important side of the building, but it played no part in the architectural routing of the building. In a way Amsterdam had two large halls: on the one hand the market square which functioned as large hall when condemning someone to death, while internally the Citizens’ Hall served as an internal public square. This situation was also already extant in the old town hall, where the old hospital had a large hall in which people could walk freely around and from which the Magistrates’ Room could be entered. Conclusion In general Dutch town halls were situated at market places or in important streets. In the eyes of the general public, a town hall mainly served as the Palace of Justice. As a result the judicial functions were usually located near the entrance, which allowed justice to be open to the public. This was not only done for safeguarding the rights of the defendant, but also (or perhaps mainly) to show the inhabitants of each town that law was upheld and that breaking the law would have serious consequences. The old medieval tradition of holding the Vierschaar outside was incorporated within the building of the town hall: the gathering space outside was translated into a large hall in which a section was reserved for the Sheriff and Magistrates. Apart from the judicial aspect the town hall housed the executive and legislative bodies of the city government. These two elements had far less influence on the typology of the building. The offices were restricted areas and there was no need to situate them in the centre of the building. The outside architecture did undergo some influence in the sense that proclamation galleries or balconies as well as towers for the city bell were added to the town hall. Together with the usual allegorical statue of Justice at the façade of the town hall, they formed an excellent visualisation of all activities that took place inside. The Amsterdam town hall is both a confirmation of and an exception to this general conclusion. The building has a unique design that expresses the aspirations of the Amsterdam Burgomasters that went far beyond the normal scope of Burgomasters in other cities. The Amsterdam Burgomasters took Solomon as their reference, trying to equal him in wisdom and wealth, with the same ambition for Peace. Jacob van Campen modelled their new town hall on the Palace of Solomon, by taking over the scheme of the ground plan, as well as the way the volumes are formed. This explains the vast building with two upper floors that served practically no function. The chosen example also explains why the Amsterdam town hall is completely different from all other town halls until that day. But despite Solomon’s example, tradition had a strong influence on the design. The Palace of Solomon was adapted to the situation in Amsterdam. This is most clearly illustrated by the positioning of the Vierschaar, the criminal court, at the front of the building, situated behind an arcade at the Dam square. Its central position made it impossible to make a large entrance in the middle. Local traditions were also leading in the distribution of functions.

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PIETER VLAARDINGERBROEK The Burgomasters had to be situated at the front, the Magistrates at the back and all other functionaries were situated in such a way that the public offices were easily accessible from the inside, while the more administrative offices were situated in the corners of the building. The architectural routing inside the building is clearly based on the judicial function of the town hall. In this respect the Amsterdam town hall is clearly rooted in the old tradition of Dutch town halls. Van Campen had been able to design a building that fitted the wishes for an unparalleled, grandiose monument, while ensuring that the old traditions could take place as before. He created a new kind of building which was unlike all other town halls before, while at the same time it was rooted in the same traditions. This explains the uniqueness of the Amsterdam town hall: it is the exception that confirms the rule.

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GOVERNMENT BUILDINGS IN THE DUTCH COLONIES (SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES) Lex Bosman (Universiteit van Amsterdan) Introduction The history of public buildings in Europe can be studied in a variety of ways. Of these, the typological approach has proved a very useful tool with which to interpret the architecture. Although typological boundaries are often much less obvious and much more difficult to define than one might imagine, the most important building types can be distinguished from each other rather well. When Europeans began to develop colonies in Asia and in the Americas, their settlements needed buildings. Therefore, it will be an interesting exercise to study such buildings in such colonies, by means of a typological approach and to investigate its usefulness in a completely different architectural context. First of all, it is important to realize that a rather small country – the Dutch Republic – had been able to conquer and occupy rather large areas in mainly hostile environments in various parts of the world. Dutch ships fought battles at sea with vessels from other European nations looking for the same products. Although the European rivals were dealt with, the people inhabiting the specific areas were not at all prepared to give their new foreign rulers a warm welcome. A complicated struggle to hold the occupied area began, followed by the initial organization and maintenance of a trading system as well as military operations to safeguard the area from both other foreign invaders and rebellious inhabitants. There were substantial differences between the organization established by the large Dutch East India Company and that established by the much smaller Dutch West India Company.1 However, both organizations had the various responsibilities in common: to ensure the production of goods, or at least to obtain the desired goods; to ensure trade, mainly between the colony and the Dutch Republic in Europe; the military occupation of the specific area; the jurisdiction of the European people working for the company in a colony, and to propagate, if possible, the Reformed Church. What interests us here is the establishment of trading posts and military and civil settlements, and the way in which architecture was used in this development. The area for which the Dutch East India Company was responsible was enormous, extending as far as the countries now known as Indonesia, Sri Lanka and India, to name the most important. This institution was rather well organized and it achieved a high degree of efficiency. Due to the enormous distance between these Asian settlements and the homeland in Europe, the system used to develop relations and trading systems between the colonial settlements themselves was quite successful.2 The Dutch West India Company, on the other hand, has always interpreted its task and responsibility in a much more restricted and limited way. During a large part of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this organization was more interested in making good profits in the slave trade between Africa and America than in the development of its own colonial settlements.3 To give a rough sketch of the situation, it seems fair to say that the

1

J. van Goor, De Nederlandse Koloniën. Geschiedenis van de Nederlandse expansie 1600–1975, ’s-Gravenhage, 1993; J. van Goor, Prelude to Colonialism: the Dutch in Asia, Hilversum, 2004; Gaastra 1991; F.S.

Gaastra, The Dutch East India Company: Expansion and Decline, Zutphen, 2003; Den Heijer 1994. 2 Gaastra 1991, pp. 124–130. 3 Den Heijer 1994, pp. 151–162.

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LEX BOSMAN Dutch East India Company was not only interested in the transportation of products from each colonial settlement to the Netherlands, but also in a degree of development of the colonies themselves, which would increase the interest in the trade between colonies. The Dutch West India Company did not aim for development of the colonial settlements, but considered every measure only as being a potential profit for the Dutch Republic. Although there were differences in the degree of organization, neither Dutch company ever opted for a more centralized and detailed way of planning of the necessary architectural activity. No ideal plan or master plan was ever developed, nor were specific rules written down for organizing settlements or their buildings. Consequently, neither city planning nor architecture was used as a tool for the further development of a specific colony. Another effect was that in many of the colonies – which were usually small, or very small, at the beginning of their existence – the same sequence of decisions and measures had to be taken without any given guideline for these decisions. The outcome of such a process depended on the accidental presence of individuals who were supposed to possess at least some knowledge of designing or building. Military engineers, surveyors, architects, carpenters or bricklayers could all be brought in to play an important part in the design and layout of a settlement, if they happened to be available. The public, to which different kinds of architecture, with differences in typology, architectural styles and details, or sophisticated use of materials would be presented, differed to that of in a town or city in the Netherlands. One might assume that architectural statements that were derived from European architectural roots were interpreted and understood – if at all – in a rather different way and in a completely different context. Faced with a fundamentally different society in the colony, government representatives may have felt that the use of architecture in a more refined, European way would not be of much use anyhow. Military buildings The protection of the European personnel and of the products to be shipped to Europe was one of the first and major tasks. There were two main solutions for this: trading activity and military activity could be combined in one fortress, which consequently had to be of considerable size if it were to house the soldiers, the governor and the administrative offices, warehouses to store the products, a church and several houses, which were to provide the living quarters for the civil and military leaders of the colony. The Fort Amsterdam at Willemstad on the island of Curaçao is an example of this type: it was initially laid out around 1634 as a five-pointed star, though after a few years it was reduced to a fortress with four bastions. In this case, settlement outside the fort was allowed, which would eventually lead to the development of the town of Willemstad.4 Although this solution may seem understandable in the initial phase of a small colonial settlement, once the colony began to develop and was more or less successful, such a fortification would no longer suffice. The further development of some kind of town was necessary in most cases. Sometimes the existing situation offered a good starting point, such as in Colombo in Sri Lanka, where, in the seventeenth century, the fort was located on a spit of land; however, it was not long before the town was built. Different kinds of buildings for which the local government was responsible had to be crammed into the limited space of the fort.5 Hospitals represented a necessary kind of architecture, designed to meet the given requirements and nothing else.

4 B. R. Buddingh’, Van Punt en Snoa. Ontstaan en groei van Willemstad, Curaçao vanaf 1634, De Willemstad tussen 1700 en 1732 en de bouwgeschiedenis van de synogoge Mikvé Israël-Emanuel 1730–1732,

’s-Hertogenbosch, 1994, pp. 27–59; Temminck Groll 2002, pp. 310–312. 5 Van Oers 2000, pp. 91–108.

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The other solution was to build a fort for military purposes only, containing only a few other buildings for the authorities. An example of this is Batavia, the present city of Jakarta in Indonesia. Close to the fort, the town was constructed in an extended, rectangular pattern. It is most likely that the first plan for Batavia was delivered in the first quarter of the seventeenth century by the well-know Dutch military and civil engineer Simon Stevin.6 Although the direct protection with such a fort was less than could be the case with the larger type, it is obvious that the possibilities for the layout of a colonial town were much better served by this kind of plan. A clear distinction between the functions of 1. New Amsterdam on Manhattan Island. First phase with five-pointed fort, situation c. 1626 (Meurs 1996). the almost exclusive military fort and those of the town might favour the gradual development of the town in architectural terms as well. It is remarkable, however, that this example is also the only example of a Dutch colonial town and nearby fort that were planned and designed together. It is also the only example of a Dutch colonial city designed by a wellknown engineer, whose knowledge of architectural theory is beyond doubt. The two solutions sketched here with the examples of Willemstad and Batavia could be considered as alternative solutions, as may become obvious from the changes that were undertaken in the process of building New Amsterdam on Manhattan in the first half of the seventeenth century. In the case of New Amsterdam, from which eventually New York would rise, a shift from the first, large type of fort to a much smaller four-sided one has left some traces in the layout (fig. 1). It is probable that, in the summer of 1625, work began on the construction of a large, five-pointed fort. Because the construction of this fort did not properly allow for the natural surroundings and because the possibilities to build a proper town as well were largely neglected in this situation, the original plan was abandoned after 1626 and replaced by an alternative. A much smaller four-sided fort was built, leaving enough space to develop a town.7 So here we encounter several interesting elements, which are of importance for the architectural history of former Dutch colonies. In those cases where the colonial settlement itself was incorporated into a fort, there was not much available space left to construct architecturally more interesting buildings. Those men who were responsible for the first layout of colonial towns were not equipped with knowledge of architectural theory, nor were they trained in any way to design different types of buildings for different functions. Consequently, the architectural level of most buildings in seventeenth-century Dutch colonies is rather poor. Another consideration is of equal importance. Since both the Dutch East India Company and the Dutch West India Company represented the highest authority in the colonies, upon 6 B. Brommer, ‘Oud Batavia gecarteerd. De eerste grote stadsplattegronden in de 17de eeuw’, in: De stenen droom. Opstellen over bouwkunst en monumentenzorg opgedragen aan Coenraad Liebrecht Temminck Groll, Zutphen, 1988, pp. 86–93; Van Oers 2000, pp. 40–41, 78–88; Temminck Groll 2002, pp. 128–132. For Stevin see: Charles van den Heuvel, ‘De Huysbou’. A reconstruction of an unfinished treatise

on architecture, town planning and civil engineering by Simon Stevin, Amsterdam, 2005, especially pp. 47–63. 7 P. Meurs, ‘Nieuw-Amsterdam op Manhattan 1625– 1660’, in: P.J.J. van Dijk a.o. (ed.), Vestingbouw overzee. Militaire architectuur van Manhattan tot Korea, Utrecht, 1996, pp. 19–31.

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LEX BOSMAN which all other kinds of authority depended, there were no other public organizations which might be responsible for specific buildings. Whether it was a fort, a church, a hospital, warehouse, court of justice, prison or any other public building, they were all commissioned by the same representative of the Dutch government. Various public organizations were installed only after a colony had become large enough to function as a society on its own. The implication of this is that, in most cases, there were no separate public organizations that could have used the architecture of their buildings to distinguish themselves from other organizations. Many of the forts were designed by people without any architectural education, and in most cases without any design training either. An interesting example is the Fort Zeelandia on the small Fort Island, in the river Essequebo in Guyana, South America. The first scattered settlements of this Dutch colony were located upstream in the seventeenth century, but in the eighteenth century, the seat of government was relocated on the island just mentioned, which gave the advantage of being closer to the mouth of the river Essequebo and therefore became more easily accessible. The keen and enterprising secretary and later governor of this colony of Essequebo, Laurens Storm van ’s Gravesande, was able to convince his superiors in Amsterdam that it was wise to install a brick oven to provide the necessary bricks for the fort he planned to build. From his letters, it becomes clear that he probably designed the fort himself: it was built in 1740–1743.8 It has a two-storey diamond shaped building as its central element, surrounded by four bastions, one of which also contained a powder house. A few other simple buildings were located not far from the fort to provide space for the administration and religious functions necessary in the small-scale settlement. However, in the longer run, this island proved an unsuccessful government centre for the colony and it was abandoned by the governor and his administration later in the eighteenth century, in favour of Demerara, which, as a colony, was developed later and was better located, taking the central position from Essequebo. Public or private architecture Ambition of the governor, paired to profound knowledge of architectural theory and practice, led to a short but very interesting phase in the Dutch presence in Brazil in the seventeenth century. After conquering the north-eastern part of Brazil in 1630, the West India Company sent Johan Maurits (1604–1679), Count of Nassau, nephew of the Dutch Stadholder Frederick Henry, as governor to Brazil.9 Johan Maurits engaged in unparalleled building activity in his years as governor between 1636 and 1644. Apparently, he intended to construct representative buildings of a high architectural level, equalling the level of the contemporary architecture in the Netherlands. Next to the fort, on the north side of what became Mauritiopolis, now part of Recife, the governor built a palace called Vrijburg, including large gardens, as his palace for working and for receiving guests. Despite suggestions in the literature to attribute the design to Pieter Post or his brother Frans Post, the most likely designer of this peculiar building is Johan Maurits himself.10 The palace is based on a rectangular ground plan, and with extended wings on either side, it became a U-shaped complex (fig. 2). In the middle of both shorter sides of the main building, a large tower rose, connected by what must have been both a kind of bridge as well as a window structure. This interesting feature was

8

C.A. Harris, J.A.J. de Villiers, Storm van ’s Gravesande. The rise of British Guiana, London, 1911, Vol. 1, pp. 195, 254, 283; Vol. 2, pp. 621–622 ; Bosman 1994, p. 70; Temminck Groll 2002, pp. 394–396; Bosman 2003, pp. 186–187. 9 Den Heijer 1994, pp. 35–54.

10

H. van Nederveen Meerkerk, Recife. The rise of a 17th-century trade city from a cultural-historical perspective, Assen/Maastricht, 1989, pp. 144–148; J.J. Terwen, K.A. Ottenheym, Pieter Post (1608–1669) Architect, Zutphen, 1993, pp. 28–29; Van Oers 2000, pp. 139–151; Temminck Groll 2002, pp. 295–300.

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2. Mauritiopolis (Recife) in Brazil. Vrijburg Palace, ground plan. Drawing, Kassel, Staatl. Kunstsammlungen (Terwen 1979).

AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES)

3. The Hague, Mauritshuis, ground plan. Print 1715, after drawing by Pieter Post, 1652 (Ottenheym 1995).

designed to illuminate the large room in the middle of the rectangular house. Since this large room was surrounded on all sides by other rooms, it was difficult to receive daylight. The design corrected this problem by vertically stretching the room over more than two storeys and adding the unique structure on top. In the right tower, Georg Markgraf had his astronomical observatory while the tower on the left served as a navigation point for sailors.11 The design of Vrijburg, above anything else, testifies to Johan Maurits’ personal interest in, and knowledge of, the architectural language of classicism as it was developed in the Dutch Republic. Two years before Johan Maurits left for Brazil, the construction of his stately palace in The Hague, known as the Mauritshuis and designed by Jacob van Campen, had begun (fig. 3).12 The outlines of the ground plans of the Brazilian palace and the Mauritshuis in The Hague are roughly comparable, but the distribution of rooms is quite different. The concept of two extending wings, flanking the courtyard can be explained by Johan Maurits’ apparent insight into the architectural developments of the sixteenth century in northern Italy as well as those in the Netherlands during his own time. In the Netherlands, the newly built house of Constantijn Huygens in The Hague clearly showed the U-shaped plan, as did the Noordeinde Palace in the same city. All three building projects in The Hague were designed by Jacob van Campen, the Noordeinde Palace, however, was begun three years after Johan Maurits had left Europe for Brazil.13 Special interest in the lighting of large halls is a common feature in most of these examples, and in another building, in the design of which 11

Terwen 1979, pp. 89–98; J.J. Terwen, ‘Johann Moritz und die Architektur’, in: Soweit der Erdkreis Reicht 1979, pp. 131–133; J.D. North, ‘Georg Markgraf. An Astronomer in the New World’, in: Soweit der Erdkreis Reicht 1979, pp. 402–411.

12

Terwen 1979, pp. 55–87; Ottenheym pp. 165–167. 13 Ottenheym 1995, pp. 163–167, 174–176.

1995,

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LEX BOSMAN Johan Maurits was involved in his later years. The main hall of the Stadtschloß in Potsdam, built after 1660, was lit by a cupola which cut through the vault of this large room. Although it is likely that Johann Gregor Memhardt was responsible for the final design, the involvement of Johan Maurits in this project is documented as well.14 The use of the towers of Vrijburg seems peculiar but the concept may have some precedents in older architecture (fig. 4). Andrea Palladio’s study for the Villa Pisani at Bagnolo (c. 1542) shows towers in the same position in the ground plan, although the towers became less prominent in the building as it was executed.15 A much closer par4. Mauritiopolis (Recife) in Brazil. Vrijburg Palace, reconstruction allel is found in Sebastiano Serlio’s Book (Terwen 1979). VII. The ground plan of this example by Serlio (fig. 5) shows a different distribution of the rooms than Vrijburg, but the size and location of the large main room in Serlio’s plan closely resemble the plan of the Brazilian palace. Apart from that, Serlio also included two towers in this design (fig. 6). The title given by Serlio to this explains the flexible typological boundaries between the palace and the villa: “D’un palazzo per fare alla villa”.16 And this seems to be exactly what Johan Maurits van Nassau had in mind for Vrijburg palace: a palace to be used as villa, or vice versa. Johan Maurits may have seen prints of the Villa Medici in Rome, another example of the use of interconnected towers.17 This example of Vrijburg Palace shows a combination of public and private architecture, thereby blurring the boundaries between architectural types developed in Europe. Using European examples, Johan Maurits designed a villa-like palace, meant to serve both public and more private functions. Representation of government In the years 1707–1710, Batavia in Dutch East India, now Indonesia, saw the building of a proud Town Hall, the existence of which marks an interesting phase, not only in the economic but also in the social development of this colony (fig. 7). The architectural expression of the city’s authority apparently promoted the design and construction of this building, which 14

K.A. Ottenheym, ‘Fürsten, Architekten und Lehrbücher. Wege der holländischen Baukunst nach Brandenburg im 17. Jahrhundert’, in: H. Lademacher (ed.), Onder den Oranje Boom. Dynastie in der Republik. Das Haus Oranien-Nassau als Vermittler niederländischer Kultur in deutschen Territorien im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert, München, 1999, Textband, pp. 293–295; G. van Tussenbroek, ‘Michiel Matthijsz Smids (Rotterdam 1626-Berlin 1692). Kurfürstlicher Baumeister in Brandenburg’, Architectura 36 (2006), pp. 69–71.

15

L. Puppi, Andrea Palladio. The Complete Works, New York, 1989, pp. 98–101; Terwen 1979, pp. 96–97. 16 Sebastiano Serlio, I sette libri dell’Architettura, Venezia, 1584, Book VII, pp. 202–205; E.W. Palm, ‘Überlegungen zur Mauritiopolis-Recife’, in: Soweit der Erdkreis Reicht 1979, pp. 26–29. 17 D.R. Coffin, The Villa in the Life of Renaissance Rome, Princeton, 1979, pp. 219–233.

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5. Sebastiano Serlio, design for a villa, ground plan (Sebastiano Serlio, I sette libri dell’Architettura, Venezia 1584, Book VII).

AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES)

6. Sebastiano Serlio, design for a villa, elevation belonging to design fig. 5 (Sebastiano Serlio, I sette libri dell’Architettura, Venezia 1584, Book VII).

shows the growing degree of complexity of the administration of this enormous colony. However obvious it may seem to us, it is worth noting that a specific municipal administrative body had come into being, which necessitated an architectural expression to show the difference between the authority of the colony and the city’s authority. Noteworthy are the tower as an iconographic element to designate the building as town hall and the extended ground plan, which was preferred above a more compact rectangular building and thus adding to the impression the building was supposed to make. This Town Hall was built to replace an apparently much simpler seventeenth-century building. Besides administrative offices, the building also housed the Council of Justice, and several prison cells were built in the basement.18 The importance of a colony, the ambition of the local government, the necessary building industry and ample space to build could promote the building of separate buildings for different purposes. In the first half of the eighteenth century, a representative Governor’s Residence came into existence in Paramaribo in Suriname (South America), now serving as the presidential palace of Suriname (fig. 8). Rather close to the main fort of this capital of the former Dutch colony, the Governor’s Palace was built in successive stages, mainly around 1730. Replacing a small seventeenth-century predecessor, the location was preserved but the new palace became much larger and more impressive.19 The available space made the design of a large building possible, while the neighbouring fort ensured the association of the palace with the power of the authority. But the availability of enough space well outside of the fort made this kind of architecture possible in the first place. Because the Suriname River provided the most important mode of transportation to and from Paramaribo, the location for the building of the Governor’s Palace was very well chosen. Coming from the Atlantic Ocean and sailing the river on their way to the main town of the colony, visitors would be confronted first with the large Fort Zeelandia, which was meant to show the military strength of the colony. Then immediately after the fort, a visitor would recognize a large palace-like

18

Temminck Groll 2002, pp. 133–134; A. Heuken, Historical sites of Jakarta, 6th ed., Jakarta, 2000, pp. 47–50.

19

C.L. Temminck Groll a.o., De architektuur van Suriname 1667–1930, Zutphen, 1973, pp. 40–46; Temminck Groll 2002, pp. 369–370.

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7. Batavia (Jakarta), former Dutch East India (Indonesia). Former Town Hall. Drawing by J. Rach (Temminck Groll 2002).

8. Paramaribo, Suriname. Former Governor’s Palace, now Presidential Palace, ground plan (Temminck Groll 2002).

building, surrounded by trees and lawns; the most important parts of authority were thus well represented and shown to visitors: the military and the civil authority were situated close together. A wooden second storey was built on top of the plastered brick ground floor. Some hundred years after Count Johan Maurits’ building in Brazil, the ground plan here, and especially the structure and appearance of the building, marks a growing architectural distinction from the Dutch Republic in Europe. A spacious ground plan shows a relatively large separate kitchen building. The urban space used to build the Governor’s Palace was only partly facing the town itself, but was mainly focused on the Surinam River, not just the most important artery for traffic but virtually the only one. Even in an era of international problems and wars, and after a serious decline in importance of the Dutch colonies in the West Indies, a rather ambitious plan was designed

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as the ultimate outcome of a sequence of plans, most of which were never executed. Since a serious and large slave rebellion in this colony in 1763–1764 almost led to the defeat of the Dutch government in Berbice (named after the river with that name) in present-day Guyana in South America, a series of plans for a new town called New Amsterdam were drawn up by different designers: the plans of a few military engineers were superseded by plans drawn up by an architect, eventually to be replaced by those of a surveyor. This project shows a group of buildings, the design of which forms a unique plan in the history of Dutch colonial architectural planning.20 The architect of the city of Amsterdam, Abraham van der Hart (1747–1820), was asked to advise on plans for government buildings of the colony of Berbice drawn up by someone else and in response, he designed the largest project of his entire oeuvre as well as in the history of Dutch colonial architecture. Well versed in the design of large buildings commissioned in the city of Amsterdam in the years around 1781, Van der Hart took this opportunity to design a group of six large buildings which were closely related (fig. 9). In Amsterdam, Van der Hart had built a disciplinary institution as a type of prison, the so-called ‘Nieuwe Werkhuis’(1779–1782) and a large building for an orphanage (1782–1787).21 His design for the government buildings in Berbice fits seamlessly into this group of large building projects (fig. 10). An austere kind of classicism executed mainly in dark red brick is characteristic for Van der Hart’s architecture. The ressault topped by a pediment is the main element in the centre of all these projects. An architectural expression of the function of these buildings was apparently of lesser importance, since a prison, an orphanage and the main 9. Abraham van der Hart, not executed government building in the Caribbean colony would all be furproject for government buildings in New nished with the same architectural elements. Amsterdam, Berbice (Guyana), plan (The In his design for the government buildings in Berbice, Hague, Nationaal Archief, VEL 1662-42). the hierarchy of buildings in a colony were all brought together: the very imposing main building would house the seat of government, including secretarial offices as well as the main colony church and the residence of the governor: a separate house was destined for the highest military officers, and four other buildings were designed as a hospital and living quarters for military and civil personnel. All six buildings would form a symmetrical layout on and along a central axis. A few years later, Van der Hart must have understood that his project was never to be executed because the necessary funds were lacking. The organization responsible for the administration and control of the colony of Berbice tried to avoid large-scale investments and eventually preferred a much more simple government building, combined with the use of a few other buildings for additional space. Apart from that, this project supposed the existence of a well-organized construction industry of the same level as Van der Hart was used to work 20

Bosman 1994. C.A. van Swigchem, Abraham van der Hart 1747– 1820. Architect-stadsbouwmeester van Amsterdam, Amsterdam, 1965, pp. 159–173; R. Meischke, Amsterdam. Het R.C. Maagdenhuis, het huizenbezit van deze

21

instelling en het St. Elisabeth-gesticht, ’s-Gravenhage, 1980; F.H. Schmidt, Paleizen voor prinsen en burgers. Architectuur in Nederland in de achttiende eeuw, Zwolle, 2006, pp. 145–191. See also the contribution of Freek Schmidt to this volume.

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10. Abraham van der Hart, unexecuted project for government buildings in New Amsterdam, Berbice (Guyana), elevations and section (The Hague, Nationaal Archief, VEL 1662-47).

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with in Amsterdam. But of course, the masons and carpenters in Berbice would not have been up to this project. A military engineer made a design for a government office, which Van der Hart criticized by delivering another design. In the end, however, it was the design of a modest surveyor which was built in Berbice.22 Van der Hart’s involvement with architectural plans for Berbice undoubtedly presented him with another opportunity several years later. For the colony of Demerara (equally Dutch, also in Guyana), he designed a Governor’s Mansion, which was shipped to South America as a construction set. A stately mansion, this building again fits well with Van der Hart’s other works. After its arrival in Demerara, the colony was no longer Dutch, however, but this didn’t prevent the ex-governor from having the house built as his private residence. Again, the boundaries between public esteem of the official function of a governor and the prestige of a private mansion were not strict enough to exclude each other.23 Conclusions The isolated location of most of the government buildings in Dutch colonies as opposed to an architectural ensemble was forced by the lack of large-scale urban planning. In Dutch colonies in Asia, as well as in North and South America, the governmental organizations were not completely separated from each other, making it unnecessary and often quite impossible to express their status by means of well-chosen architectural designs. On top of that, the public necessary to appreciate specific typological choices and architectural expressions and meanings closely connected with government, justice or economy was absent. The strongest architectural statement of the few selected examples must be Vrijburg Palace in the first half of the seventeenth century in Dutch Brazil. Here, Count Johan Maurits of Nassau freely exploited architectural examples on which to model his design, without limiting himself to any specific architectural type. Public and private domains flowed together in his design, as did the architectural types of palace and villa, resulting in a mixed field, the inspiration for which was handed to him by Serlio. When a colonial society was large enough, or at least felt important enough, to express such a position with architectural means as well, the location of the building could be equally important or even exceed the importance of the architectural features. In Paramaribo, the function and the hierarchical level of the eighteenth-century Governor’s Palace were expressed more by the well-chosen location of the building than by specific architectural or typological features. Even if we recognize Dutch architecture in several of such buildings, they never formed mere reproductions of architecture in the Netherlands, nor of European architecture in general. Frequently cited works Bosman 1994 L. Bosman, Nieuw Amsterdam in Berbice (Guyana). De planning en bouw van een koloniale stad, 1764–1800, Hilversum, 1994.

22

Bosman 1994, pp. 43–54, 57–61. L. Bosman, ‘Een onbekend ontwerp van Abraham van der Hart: het gouvernementsgebouw in

23

Demerary’, Bulletin Koninklijke Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond 90 (1991), pp. 135–139; Bosman 2003, pp. 191–192.

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LEX BOSMAN Bosman 2003 L. Bosman, ‘Stabroek in Demerara, het ontstaan van de stadsplattegrond van Georgetown (Guyana) in de achttiende eeuw’, Bulletin Koninklijke Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond 102 (2003), pp. 186–195. Gaastra 1991 F.S. Gaastra, De geschiedenis van de VOC, Zutphen, 1991. Den Heijer 1994 H. den Heijer, De geschiedenis van de WIC, Zutphen, 1994. Van Oers 2000 R. van Oers, Dutch Town Planning overseas during VOC and WIC Rule (1600–1800), Zutphen, 2000. Ottenheym 1995 K.A. Ottenheym, ‘Architectuur’, in: Jacobine Huisken a.o. (ed.), Jacob van Campen. Het klassieke ideaal in de Gouden Eeuw, Amsterdam, 1995, pp. 155–199. Soweit der Erdkreis Reicht G. de Werd (ed.), Soweit der Erdkreis Reicht. Johann Moritz von Nassau-Siegen 1604–1679, exhibition catalogue Kleve, 1979. Temminck Groll 2002 C.L. Temminck Groll, The Dutch overseas. Architectural survey. Mutual heritage of four Centuries in three Continents, Zwolle, 2002. Terwen 1979 J.J. Terwen, ‘The Buildings of Johan Maurits van Nassau’, in: E. van den Boogaart (ed.), Johan Maurits van Nassau-Siegen 1604–1679. A Humanist Prince in Europe and Brazil. Essays on the occasion of the tercentenary of his death, The Hague, 1979, pp. 54–141.

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Pascal Liévaux (Direction générale des patrimoines, ministère de la culture, Paris) En dépit des études, de plus en plus nombreuses, qui lui sont consacrées, force est de constater que l’architecture communale de la période moderne, de la fin de la guerre de Cent Ans à la Révolution, n’occupe pas encore toute la place qui lui revient dans l’histoire de l’architecture française. Le corpus des hôtels de ville construits, remaniés ou projetés sous l’Ancien Régime est pourtant impressionnant, comptant à ce jour à notre connaissance près de 300 objets. Dès la fin du XVe siècle puis tout au long de la période qui nous intéresse, les ‘bonnes villes’ se préoccupent de leurs édifices communaux, ‘maisons communes’ ou ‘hôtels de ville’. Ces bâtiments, des plus simples aux plus ambitieux, sont investis d’une double fonction symbolique et politique comme ils ne l’avaient jamais été, pas même au Moyen Âge qui, en France, ne connaît rien de comparable aux palais communaux d’Italie ou des Flandres.2 Désormais, la construction ou l’aménagement d’un édifice communal digne de ce nom est un enjeu majeur pour les communautés urbaines qui peuvent généralement compter dans cette délicate entreprise sur le soutien, parfois très direct, du pouvoir royal, comme ce fut notamment le cas, dès le début de la période envisagée, dans plusieurs villes du Val de Loire.3 Construit et décoré avec le plus grand soin, source d’importantes dépenses pouvant grever durablement le budget communal, l’hôtel de ville fut longtemps le principal, sinon l’unique monument civil des agglomérations, le seul susceptible de soutenir la comparaison avec les grands édifices religieux qui en ponctuaient la géographie comme en témoignent encore de nombreuses vues de villes. Son implantation, souvent sur un site privilégié (place, enceinte urbaine, quai …) peut avoir d’importantes répercussions sur la forme même de la ville telles que l’aménagement d’une place,4 le percement de voies d’accès, voire le développement d’un nouveau quartier, toutes opérations relevant du domaine de l’urbanisme.5 Durant ces trois siècles, l’architecture communale se distingue par sa grande richesse et se caractérise par une diversité typologique et stylistique qui défie toute tentative de classification. Elle fait appel à de multiples compétences et intéresse des acteurs très divers. Nombreux sont ceux, artistes et commanditaires, maîtres maçons anonymes ou praticiens

1

Expression empruntée à J.-M. Pérouse de Montclos, L’architecture à la française. XVIe-XVIIe-XVIIIe siècles, Paris, 1982. 2 M. Battard, Beffrois, halles, hôtels de ville dans le nord de la France et la Belgique, Arras, 1948; C. Enlart, Hôtels de ville et beffrois du nord de la France, Paris, 1920; P. Liévaux, ‘Hôtel de Ville’, in : Encyclopædia Universalis, Paris, 4e édition, 1995; Idem, ‘Un symbole architectural du pouvoir communal : l’hôtel de ville dans la France du XVIIème siècle’, in : C. Petitfrère (éd.), Construction, reproduction et représentation des patriciats urbains de l’antiquité au XXe siècle: actes du colloque des 7, 8 et 9 septembre 1998., tenu à Tours, Tours, 1999, pp. 487–496.

3

Citons notamment la construction ou l’aménagement des hôtels de ville de Tours (1476–1478), Orléans (1503–1513), Blois (vers 1510), Saumur (achevé en 1515), Beaugency (vers 1526), Angers (1527–1530), Loches (1535–1543). 4 L. Baudoux-Rousseau, Y. Carbonier et Ph. Bragard (éd.), La place publique urbaine, du Moyen Âge à nos jours, Arras, 2007. 5 P. Liévaux, ‘Le mouvement communal et ses conséquences architecturales en Europe et en France’, in : A. Gady et J.-M. Pérouse de Montclos (éd.), De l’Esprit des villes. Nancy et l’Europe urbaine au Siècle des Lumières. 1720–1770, catalogue de l’exposition, Versailles, 2005, pp. 120–127.

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PASCAL LIÉVAUX célèbres, qui apportèrent leur contribution, la construction d’un édifice communal étant pour la ville et ses représentants comme pour l’architecte un projet d’importance, susceptible de la plus grande publicité.6 Nous voudrions, dans les lignes qui suivent, montrer à partir de quelques exemples que les projets et les réalisations édilitaires furent souvent de véritables laboratoires de formes qui contribuèrent grandement à l’élaboration d’une architecture publique autonome émancipée de ses modèles privés.7 L’hôtel de ville des XVIe et XVIIe siècles, un programme unique, des formules architecturales très diverses Si les hôtels de ville présentent des aspects très variés, de la modeste maison commune au palais municipal, tous répondent aux exigences d’un même programme : équiper la ville d’un édifice représentatif, capable d’accueillir les réunions du corps de ville, de conserver en toute sécurité les précieuses archives fondatrices du pouvoir communal et d’abriter les différentes activités relevant de son exercice en matière de justice, de défense, de police, de voirie, de commerce, d’hygiène… En l’absence de modèles spécifiques directement applicables, les architectes et les commanditaires se tournèrent vers l’architecture privée dans ses différents types, maison bourgeoise, hôtel urbain, château, dont ils adaptèrent les formules constructives, distributives et décoratives au caractère public de leurs bâtiments. Ces modifications sont à l’origine de nouvelles formules architecturales qui connurent des fortunes très diverses. C’est ainsi que l’hôtel de ville de Beaugency (vers 1526) (fig. 1), implanté dans la continuité du bâti de la rue principale, entre la porte de ville et l’église, ne se distingue pas tant des maisons mitoyennes par sa masse, légèrement dominante, que par la qualité exceptionnelle de sa façade qui manifeste le caractère public de l’édifice. Entièrement appareillée en tuffeau (ce qui est relativement exceptionnel dans cette partie du Val de Loire éloignée des carrières de pierre tendre), elle est couverte d’un décor extrêmement raffiné et moderne. Il célèbre, comme sur la plupart des édifices communaux, la ville, son seigneur et le roi dont les armes et emblèmes respectifs occupent une place de choix sur le large bandeau séparant les deux niveaux d’élévation, tandis qu’un semis de fleurs de lis couvre les travées aveugles qui encadrent le bel étage. Quant au décor de pilastres et de médaillons, il relève du répertoire à l’antique récemment importé d’Italie qui caractérisait à la même époque les demeures ligériennes du souverain et de son entourage. D’une conception plus ambitieuse, la maison de ville de Loches (1535–1544) (fig. 2), vaste bâtiment abritant aussi la justice du roi et le grenier à sel, se présente sous la forme d’un hôtel urbain. Toutefois sa façade principale donne directement sur la rue et le corps d’escalier hors œuvre n’est pas implanté sur une cour fermée, comme le veut la règle dans l’architecture privée, mais très largement ouvert sur l’espace public et directement accessible. Ces deux traits annoncent clairement le caractère public de l’ouvrage que souligne encore l’élargissement de la rue à cet endroit. La petite place ainsi formée était ornée d’une fontaine monumentale, équipement édilitaire souvent associé à la maison commune.

6

Pour ne prendre que deux exemples parmi bien d’autres, l’hôtel de ville de Lyon fut connu, avant même sa construction, par des médailles et des gravures, les plus belles de la main de son architecte, Simon Maupin; le projet élaboré pour celui de Rouen fut diffusé par le recueil que son auteur, Matthieu

Le Carpentier, publia à Paris en 1758 : le Recueil des plans, coupes et élévations du nouvel hôtel de ville de Rouen. 7 Voir à ce sujet l’ouvrage de J.-M. Pérouse de Montclos, Hôtels de ville de France, de la curie romaine à la mairie, Paris, 2000.

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2. Hôtel de ville de Loches, 1535–1543.

1. Hôtel de ville de Beaugency, vers 1526.

Le plus fréquemment, comme à Tarascon (1648) (fig. 3),8 c’est surtout par le décor que l’édifice communal se distingue des grandes demeures construites en ville à la même époque. Dans ce cas précis, il s’organise autour d’une niche centrale abritant une statue de sainte Marguerite, patronne de la ville, terrassant la légendaire tarasque.9 Pour les projets de plus grande ampleur, le château est une référence qui s’impose d’autant plus naturellement que les communautés urbaines exercent depuis le Moyen Âge des prérogatives auparavant dévolues à la puissance seigneuriale et que dans de nombreuses villes les fonctions édilitaires sont anoblissantes. Le beffroi communal, traduction architecturale de cette évolution, peut être assimilé à un donjon urbain. Les tourelles en encorbellement et les mâchicoulis édifiés ‘pour la montre’, dépourvus de réelle fonction défensive, matérialisent cette référence à la demeure seigneuriale comme à Orléans (v. 1510) ou à Salon-de-Provence (1655)10 (fig. 4). Dans ce dernier exemple, les tourelles accrochées aux angles de l’hôtel consulaire contrastent avec la rigueur classique de l’élévation et l’on voit que la correction du dessin a été sacrifiée à l’expressivité architecturale. Du château, plusieurs édifices reprennent non seulement les éléments les plus expressifs mais l’entière configuration. C’est ainsi que Dominique de Cortone, architecte de François Ier, s’inspire du château moderne pour le dessin de l’hôtel de ville de Paris (1533–1628) (fig. 5) dont on oublie trop souvent qu’il fut le premier manifeste monumental de la Renaissance

8

J.-M. Grandmaison, Tarascon, cité du roi René, Tarascon, 1977, pp. 38–42. 9 Selon la tradition, cet animal fantastique, sorte de dragon, terrorisait les habitants de la basse vallée du Rhône avant que la sainte n’ait eu raison de lui.

10

L. Gimon, Chroniques de la ville de Salon, depuis son origine jusqu’en 1792, adaptées à l’histoire, Aix-en-Provence, 1892, pp. 513–514.

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3. Hôtel de ville de Tarascon, 1648.

4. Hôtel de ville de Salon-de-Provence, 1655.

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dans la capitale.11 Cet édifice isolé, implanté perpendiculairement à la Seine, composé d’un important corps principal flanqué de deux gros pavillons aux toitures fortement différenciées, présente des volumes et une silhouette tripartite relevant des évolutions les plus récentes de la grande demeure aux champs. Mais sa façade principale, entièrement rythmée d’ordres superposés, donne directement sur la place de Grève et annonce la fonction du bâtiment par un étroit beffroi implanté sur le comble. Jaillissant sur le ciel au centre de la composition, il abrite les cloches et l’horloge de la ville. Cette formule associant le beffroi à l’hôtel de ville qui permet de caractériser efficacement le bâtiment connut un grand succès. Elle met en valeur un axe vertical privilégié, allant de la porte d’entrée, généralement précédée d’un perron, jusqu’au couronnement de la structure 5. Hôtel de ville de Paris, 1533–1628. sommitale. Là se concentre l’essentiel du décor et de la polychromie rehaussée d’or qui enluminait la plupart des édifices communaux. Le principe en est repris avec élégance en 1627 par Jean Bonhomme à l’hôtel de ville de Reims (fig. 6),12 très inspiré du modèle parisien, dont le frontispice central à trois niveaux d’ordres de colonnes relève des meilleurs modèles de l’architecture civile et religieuse.13 A Lyon14 (fig. 7) en 1648, l’architecte voyer de la ville Simon Maupin dispose le beffroi à l’arrière du corps principal d’un somptueux palais municipal qui évoque non seulement le logis mais le plan tout entier d’un château. L’architecte en adapte cependant le schéma à la nature de cet édifice public : les cours, autour desquelles s’organisent les ailes, ainsi que les jardins à la suite, sont rejetés à l’arrière du corps principal, espaces ostentatoires liés par des écrans d’arcades rythmant une spectaculaire perspective. Sans doute doit-on ces effets de transparence et cette ductilité à Jacques Lemercier15 auquel l’échevinage, poussé par le gouverneur Nicolas de Neufville, soumit les plans de son architecte.16 C’est à notre connaissance le premier jardin public conçu comme tel, lointain ancêtre des nombreux squares urbains aménagés par les municipalités

11

P. Lesueur, Dominique de Cortone dit le Boccador, du château de Chambord à l’hôtel de ville de Paris, Paris, 1928; D. Thomson, Renaissance Paris : Architecture and Growth 1475–1600, Berkeley et Los Angeles, 1984, passim; A. Gady, ‘La porte de l’ancien Hôtel de Ville de Paris. Découverte et identification d’un vantail orné de bronzes de Perlan’, Revue de l’Art, 1999, n° 125, pp. 38–43. Le roi ne fit pas seulement bénéficier les échevins parisiens des talents de son architecte mais finança en grande partie la construction qui ne fut achevée que sous le règne de Louis XIII, un siècle plus tard. 12 H. Jadart, Jean Bonhomme architecte de l’Hôtel de ville de Reims 1627–1654, Reims, 1895; Montclos 2000 (note 7), p. 98.

13

On pense notamment au célèbre ‘portique’ du château d’Anet par Philibert Delorme au milieu du siècle précédent. 14 D. Bertin, L. Galacteros de Boissier et P. Liévaux, L’hôtel de ville de Lyon, Paris, 1998. 15 Jacques Lemercier avait déjà utilisé le procédé pour Richelieu au Palais-Cardinal pour ouvrir la cour sur les jardins. A. Gady, Jacques Le Mercier, architecte et ingénieur du roi, Paris, 2005, p. 444. 16 Archives municipales de Lyon, BB200, ff. 186–196, 18 et 20 décembre 1646, paiements à Simon Maupin qui a présenté ses plans à Paris.

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6. Hôtel de ville de Reims, 1627.

7. Hôtel de ville de Lyon, 1648.

au XIXe siècle. À l’autre extrémité de la composition, sur la place des Terreaux dessinée pour l’occasion et ornée d’une fontaine en forme d’obélisque, s’ouvre la façade principale au premier étage de laquelle règne un large balcon. Cet héritier de la logette à claire-voie médiévale prolonge et signale à l’extérieur la grande salle du conseil, tandis qu’au rez-de-chaussée, un vaste vestibule voûté répond à l’espace à ciel ouvert de la place. Avec le beffroi, le balcon est le marqueur le plus fort de la fonction communale. C’est une tribune ouverte sur la ville, depuis laquelle les édiles s’adressent à la population et assistent aux nombreuses cérémonies qui ponctuent la vie urbaine.

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8. Hôtel de ville de Toulon, 1656.

Le plus beau balcon communal français est sans doute celui que réalisa Pierre Puget à Toulon en 1656 pour l’hôtel que les consuls avaient construit en bordure du port une cinquantaine d’années auparavant17 (fig. 8). Les termes18 qui en supportent la plate-forme sont sculptés à l’image de portefaix dont les bustes, posés sur des gaines ornées de coquillages, semblent ployer sous l’effort. Avec le décor de la porte, tout entier dédié à Neptune, ils illustrent avec force le caractère maritime de la cité. La qualité exceptionnelle de ces sculptures et les proportions inhabituelles de cet appendice qui dominait alors une esplanade quadrangulaire gagnée sur la mer19 suffisaient à marquer la prééminence de l’édifice sur les autres constructions donnant sur le port. Contrairement à la maison bourgeoise, à l’hôtel sur rue et au château, l’hôtel entre cour et jardin fut faiblement sollicité par les concepteurs d’hôtels de ville car peu propice à la mise en valeur de l’édifice dans l’espace urbain.20 On le voit à l’hôtel de ville de Beaucaire, édifié de 1679 à 1683 sur les plans de Jacques Cubizol et d’Alexis de la Feuille,21 où l’effet produit par le corps principal à portiques superposés est affaibli par la présence du portail 17

Ch. Ginoux, Notice historique sur le portique et les cariatides de Pierre Puget, Paris, 1886 ; G. Monnier, ‘Puget et le portail à atlantes’, Provence historique 22, 1972, n° 88, pp. 73–82. 18 Communément et improprement appelés ‘atlantes’. 19 Archives municipales de Toulon, BB53, f. 474, 22 décembre 1609 ; f. 573, 21 juillet 1611. Les bombardements qui touchèrent gravement ce secteur de la ville lors du dernier conflit mondial ont détruit ce remarquable aménagement. L’œuvre de Puget a cependant été préservée, elle est aujourd’hui

remontée à son emplacement d’origine, sur un édifice contemporain. 20 L’hôtel entre cour et jardin inspira en revanche le plan de plusieurs intendances construites dans la seconde moitié du XVIIIe siècle, édifices certes publics mais aussi demeures des représentants du roi. L’un des plus beaux exemples conservé est l’ancienne intendance de Besançon, actuelle préfecture. Voir la contribution de Stéphanie Dargaud à ce volume. 21 M. Contestin, L’hôtel de ville de Beaucaire, Beaucaire, 1996.

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9. Hôtel de ville d’Arles, 1675.

qui en masque partiellement la vue depuis la voie publique. Plus rare encore est la référence à la villa italienne. Elle est perceptible cependant dans le plan en U et la terrasse axiale de l’hôtel de ville de Marseille, conçu comme un belvédère sur la mer à l’exemple des villas de la côte ligure bien connues des négociants marseillais. En l’absence de tout beffroi et en dépit de ses modestes dimensions, c’est par sa forme architecturale originale, son implantation privilégiée sur le port amplifiée par l’élargissement du quai, ses élévations en pierre de taille et son décor sculpté aux armes de la ville organisé autour d’un buste de Louis XIV, que l’édifice municipal s’impose dans le paysage urbain. L’hôtel de ville du XVIIIe siècle, édifice majeur de l’architecture publique “à la française” Dans le domaine de l’architecture communale comme dans bien d’autres, le dernier quart du XVIIe siècle ouvre une ère nouvelle qui prend fin avec la Révolution. C’est alors que se répandent progressivement à travers le pays les partis architecturaux et décoratifs issus des grands chantiers royaux placés sous la direction de Jules Hardouin-Mansart.22 La première manifestation de cette évolution arrive très tôt dans la brillante carrière de l’architecte du roi qui, sollicité par les consuls d’Arles, donne en 1675 le dessin d’un hôtel de ville23 (fig. 9) aux élévations décalquées de celles conçues sept ans auparavant par Louis Le Vau pour la façade sur le jardin du château de Versailles24: rez-de-chaussée percé d’arcades et couvert d’un bossage continu formant un socle sur lequel se dressent l’étage noble et l’attique rythmés par des ordres de pilastres superposés et couronnés d’une balustrade. Comme à Versailles, des

22 B. Jestaz, Jules Hardouin-Mansart, Paris, 2008; Gady 2010. 23 J. Boyer, ‘Jules Hardouin-Mansart et l’hôtel de ville d’Arles’, Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1969, n° 2,

pp. 1–32; P. Julien, ‘Hôtel de ville d’Arles’, in : Gady 2010. 24 Façade on le sait reprise et augmentée par Jules Hardouin-Mansart à partir de 1678.

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avant-corps à colonnes ponctuent efficacement le jeu parfaitement régulier des travées et mettent en évidence les accès à l’édifice. Cet apport stylistique très novateur dans le contexte provençal se double d’une prouesse technique sous la forme d’une voûte spectaculaire conçue par le premier architecte du roi pour couvrir d’un seul tenant le très grand vestibule traversant souhaité par les consuls. Au tout début du siècle suivant, la restauration du palais communal lyonnais,25 dont les parties supérieures avaient été ravagées par les flammes en 1674, est l’occasion pour Mansart, secondé par son beau-frère et principal collaborateur Robert de Cotte, de moderniser le château Louis XIII élevé par Maupin en substituant aux hautes toitures la forte horizontale d’un attique à balustrade très versaillais flanqué de dômes quadrangulaires. Très symptomatiquement, en cette période de forte centralisation du pouvoir, les références à l’architecture royale contribuent, avec le bas-relief équestre de Louis XIV placé au centre de la composition, à transformer l’œuvre édilitaire en monument à la gloire du souverain.26 Désormais systématiquement encadrée par les architectes et ingénieurs du roi mandatés par les intendants, l’architecture communale adopte l’esthétique ‘officielle’ élaborée sur les chantiers royaux et mise en œuvre de la manière la plus démonstrative sur les places royales parisiennes conçues en 1685 par Jules Hardouin-Mansart.27 Cette esthétique, basée sur la répétition de formes architecturales simples et monumentales, s’adapte aux projets modestes comme aux plus ambitieux et se plie, par de simples inflexions décoratives, aux évolutions du goût. Les plans dessinés en 1762 par Perroud, architecte du duc de Lorges, pour l’hôtel de la petite ville drapière de Quintin,28 témoignent de sa grande capacité d’adaptation. En dépit de son exiguïté, l’édifice exprime force et monumentalité tandis que l’emploi d’une frise de grecques, dans le goût néo-classique, suffit à lui donner un air de modernité. Jacques V Gabriel, premier ingénieur du roi, est, dans la première moitié du XVIIIe siècle, le principal propagateur de ce style.29 L’hôtel de ville qu’il dessine en 1730 pour la place royale de Rennes reprend les principes établis par Mansart, mais dans une mise en œuvre originale.30 De part et d’autre d’un beffroi monumental coiffé d’un dôme en bulbe, l’hôtel de ville et le présidial disposé en pendant, s’incurvent latéralement pour encadrer la niche qui, à la base de la grande tour communale, abritait la statue en pied de Louis XV autour de laquelle s’articulaient les éléments architecturaux de la place royale. Le dispositif, plastiquement efficace, est ici encore politiquement significatif dans la mesure où il détourne au profit du roi deux symboles forts du pouvoir communal, l’hôtel de ville et le beffroi, ce qui ne semble d’ailleurs pas avoir indisposé les échevins. L’association de l’édifice communal à la place royale dont il forme, après la statue du souverain, le principal ornement, exprime dans l’espace urbain la sujétion de la ville et de la province au pouvoir central. La formule est reprise au milieu du siècle par plusieurs des architectes concourant 25

29

26

30

P. Liévaux, ‘Hôtel de ville de Lyon’, in Gady 2010. La place Bellecour, place royale dont Jules HardouinMansart donna aussi les plans, complétait le dispositif. Gilbert Gardes, ‘Le monument équestre de Louis XIV à Lyon’, in : L’art baroque à Lyon, actes du colloque de l’université de Lyon-II, Lyon, 1975, pp. 79–161. 27 Sur la place des Victoires et la première version de l’actuelle place Vendôme, puis, en 1698, sur sa version définitive. I. Dubois, A. Gady et H. Ziegler (éd.), Place des Victoires. Histoire, architecture, société, Paris, 2004. 28 P. Liévaux, ‘Les architectes du roi et l’architecture communale des villes atlantiques’, in : RousteauChambon 2004, pp. 177–190.

Ibidem. F. Bergot, Une œuvre de Jacques Gabriel. L’hôtel de ville de Rennes, Rennes, 1963 ; D. Leloup, ‘Le projet de la tour de l’horloge à Rennes d’après les plans et devis de Jacques V Gabriel (1728–1730)’, in : RousteauChambon 2004, pp. 121–133 ; P. Liévaux, ‘L’offense faite au beffroi, fortune et infortunes d’un modèle d’architecture communale à Caen’, in : D. Rabreau et D. Massounie (éd.), Claude Nicolas Ledoux et le livre d’architecture en français, Etienne Louis Boullée, l’utopie, et la poésie de l’art, Paris, 2006, pp. 358–363.

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10. Hôtel de ville de Nancy, 1755.

pour la réalisation de la place royale que la capitale souhaite dédier à Louis XV.31 Mais le projet final établi par Jacques-Ange Gabriel ne la retint pas. Elle prend une forme originale à Reims (1756–1760) où Gabriel Legendre axe la nouvelle place royale sur le palais communal du XVIIe siècle, faisant dialoguer à distance le bas-relief équestre de Louis XIII avec la statue en pied de Louis XV.32 Elle est pleinement reprise dans plusieurs capitales régionales du royaume dépourvues d’hôtel de ville digne de ce nom, notamment les plus récemment annexées.33 La réalisation la plus spectaculaire est sans aucun doute celle de la place royale de Nancy en 1755.34 On sait que Stanislas Leczinski, duc de Lorraine par la grâce de son gendre Louis XV, souhaita honorer ce dernier et préparer le rattachement de la province au royaume de France en dédiant au souverain français un vaste aménagement urbain constitué de deux places communiquant par l’intermédiaire d’un arc de triomphe, reliant la vieille ville à la ville neuve par dessus les anciens fossés. Son architecte, Emmanuel Héré, dessina au fond de la place un hôtel de ville dont la façade, d’une grande ampleur, forme un écran d’architecture devant lequel se détachait la statue en pied du roi (fig. 10). L’élévation de ce bâtiment doit évidemment beaucoup à l’art de Jules Hardouin-Mansart35 dont les canons s’imposent à travers tout le pays. Il suffit pour s’en convaincre de la comparer à celle, quasiment identique, qu’Antoine Rivalz édifia à l’autre bout du royaume pour une autre place royale, devant les bâtiments disparates du Capitole de Toulouse.36 Dans les deux cas, le style rocaille des sculptures aux lignes courbes et des garde-corps de ferronnerie assouplit la structure architecturale. Le discours politique véhiculé par la réalisation nancéenne est d’autant plus clair que l’édifice communal fait très symboliquement face à l’intendance implantée sur la place

31

Pierre Patte, Monuments érigés en France à la gloire de Louis XV suivis d’un choix des principaux projets qui ont été proposés, pour placer la statue du roi dans différents quartiers de Paris, Paris, 1765; De la place Louis XV à la place de la Concorde, catalogue de l’exposition, Paris, Musée Carnavalet, 17 mai-14 août 1982. 32 M.-F. Poullet, ‘Les projets de place royale à Reims et l’intervention de Soufflot’, in : Soufflot et l’architecture des Lumières, Paris, 1986, pp. 69–77; J. de La Gorce, La place Royale de Reims 1755–2000, Reims, 2000. 33 P. Liévaux, ‘Les effets des changements de souveraineté sur l’architecture communale de la France d’ancien régime’, in : D. Turrel (éd.), Villes

rattachées, villes reconfigurées : entre rupture et intégration, actes du colloque tenu à l’université de Tours les 13, 14 et 15 décembre 2001, Tours, 2003, pp. 261–272. 34 A. France-Lanord, Emmanuel Héré, architecte du roi Stanislas, Nancy, 1984; F. Pupil, ‘D’une place royale l’autre’, in : Turrel 2003 (note 33), pp. 161–171; M.-B. Bouvet, ‘Les places de Nancy au XVIIIe siècle’, in : Gady, Montclos 2005 (note 5), pp. 71–81. 35 Dont Emmanuel Héré était le disciple. 36 Y. Bruand, ‘La reconstruction du Capitole de Toulouse’, Monuments Historiques, 1981, n°115, pp. 41–45; H. Heynard, Le Capitole de Toulouse, Toulouse, 2000.

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contiguë de la Carrière, à l’autre extrémité de la composition urbaine. En menant à bien cette vaste opération, Stanislas use du pouvoir de séduction et de la force de persuasion d’une architecture et d’un urbanisme ostentatoires pour rallier les Lorrains à leur nouveau souverain. En insérant l’hôtel de ville, équipement urbain majeur, dans un ensemble architectural au sein duquel il ne se distingue guère des autres bâtiments ni n’exprime clairement sa fonction, il marque symboliquement la place réservée aux Nancéens dans le nouveau contexte politique. Cette instrumentalisation très efficace de l’architecture communale par le pouvoir royal est à l’œuvre dans un projet plus modeste mais précoce, élaboré dès 1720 à Lille. Dans cette ville assez récemment rattachée au royaume et dépourvue de place royale, l’intendant avait chargé l’architecte Jean Vollant Deswerquains de dresser des plans pour la construction, en lieu et place du vieux palais ducal,37 d’un palais communal dont la cour, traitée comme une petite place royale, devait abriter une statue en pied du jeune Louis XV. Ici encore les formes architecturales retenues, élévations inspirées des places royales parisiennes, dôme du pavillon d’entrée, sont en totale rupture avec les pratiques locales et affirment le rattachement de cette capitale provinciale à la couronne de France. D’autres projets et réalisations, par exemple à Metz sur des dessins de Jacques-François Blondel (1761–1771),38 associent hôtel de ville et place royale. C’est sans doute dans le projet élaboré en 1756 pour Rouen39 par Antoine-Matthieu Le Carpentier que ce ‘forum moderne’, symbole de la monarchie centralisée, irradie le plus fortement le tissu urbain. Il s’agissait de restructurer le centre ancien de cette grande capitale provinciale alors très critiquée pour la vétusté de ses maisons à pan de bois et l’insalubrité de ses rues étroites, en perçant, de part et d’autre de la nouvelle place royale, une longue voie rectiligne reliant la cathédrale à l’hôtel-Dieu. Les plans présentés à Louis XV le 3 avril 1757, frappent par leur ambition. Disposé sur une grande place que devait orner une statue en pied du souverain, articulé autour d’une ample cour ouverte sur un jardin public, l’édifice fait écho, à un siècle de distance, au palais consulaire lyonnais. Le dessin des élévations, dont une maquette, conservée à la bibliothèque municipale, permet d’apprécier la qualité, fait une fois de plus référence à l’architecture royale du Grand Siècle mais au Louvre plutôt qu’à Versailles. La simplification des lignes architecturales, la monumentalité des proportions, l’usage de l’ordre colossal, des portiques de colonnes, la simplicité du décor, témoignent du renouveau architectural porté par le néo-classicisme naissant. On pense bien entendu à l’art de Soufflot qui donna dans les mêmes années un projet de grande envergure pour Bordeaux.40 Si l’on en a perdu les plans, on en connaît l’histoire et l’on sait notamment qu’il fut présenté à l’Académie d’architecture. Il ne fut cependant pas retenu par les échevins qui préférèrent confier le chantier à leur architecte François Bonfin qui pilla sans complexe l’œuvre de son confrère parisien. Un dessin de ce palais municipal qui ne reçut qu’un com-

37

Il s’agit du palais Rihour, construction bourguignonne (Philippe le Bon, Charles le Téméraire, 1453–1473) à disposition très moderne préfigurant l’hôtel de ville du XVIIIe (à quatre ailes disposées autour d’une cour carrée). F. Salet, ‘Le palais Rihour à Lille’, Congrès archéologique de France 120, 1962, pp. 175–185 ; E. Olivier-Valengin, ‘Le projet pour l’hôtel de ville, 1720–1725’, in : Lille au XVIIe siècle, des Pays-Bas espagnols au Roi-Soleil, catalogue de l’exposition, Paris, 2000, pp. 345–346. 38 J. Lejeaux, La Place d’armes de Metz, Strasbourg, 1927 ; E. Piccoli, ‘Disegni e incisioni di Jacques-

François Blondel per Metz e Strasburgo’, Il disegno di architettura, 2005, n° 31, pp. 3–12. 39 V. Droguet, ‘Le projet d’hôtel de ville pour Rouen par l’architecte Antoine-Matthieu Le Carpentier’, in : Rousteau-Chambon 2004, pp. 203–224. 40 F.-G. Pariset, ‘Note sur l’hôtel de ville de Bordeaux et ses projets de reconstruction (1752–1774)’, Archives de l’art français 25, 1978, A travers l’Art Français (du Moyen Age au XXe siecle). Hommage à Rene Julian, pp. 191–201.

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PASCAL LIÉVAUX mencement d’exécution peut donner une idée assez précise de l’apport de Soufflot. Il se rapproche par bien des points du parti que l’architecte adopta pour l’hôtel-Dieu de Lyon, jouant notamment sur de forts contrastes plastiques procédant d’un rythme architectural extrêmement répétitif sur lequel se détachent de puissants portiques de colonnes colossales qui distinguent des avant-corps surmontés de dômes carrés. Ici aussi, le programme comprenait un important volet urbanistique avec l’aménagement d’une place et la percée de nouvelles voies réorganisant, à cheval sur l’ancien fossé, toute une zone charnière entre la ville et l’un de ses faubourgs. Ce tour d’horizon trop rapide pourrait être enrichi de bien d’autres exemples tant la vitalité de l’architecture communale est grande durant ces trois siècles. Ils confirmeraient l’ampleur et la richesse de son apport à l’architecture publique et à l’urbanisme de la période moderne et permettraient de mesurer pleinement l’influence qu’elle exerça sur les innombrables projets élaborés et réalisés au cours du XIXe siècle et du premier XXe siècle. De nombreuses mairies, comme celle de Tours dont la façade fait à la fois référence au grand style de Jules Hardouin-Mansart et aux ‘atlantes’ de Pierre Puget, revendiquent en toute conscience ce riche héritage dont nous nous attachons à faire l’inventaire. Ouvrages fréquemment cités Gady 2010 A. Gady (éd.), Jules Hardouin-Mansart, 1646–1708, Paris, à paraître en 2010. Rousteau-Chambon 1984 H. Rousteau-Chambon (éd.), Jacques V Gabriel et les architectes de la façade Atlantique, Paris, 2004.

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HÔTELS DE L’INTENDANCE EN

FRANCE

AU

XVIIIE

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Stéphanie Dargaud

On appelle au XVIIIe siècle ‘hôtels de l’Intendance’ les bâtiments où s’installèrent les intendants nommés à travers le royaume pour remplir les missions que le roi leur avait assignées. Ce groupe d’édifices n’a jamais été étudié jusqu’à présent dans sa globalité. Louis Hautecoeur fut le premier historien de l’art à l’identifier en rapprochant cinq d’entre-eux.1 Parfois, l’excellence de leur architecture comme à Besançon, Lille, Dijon ou Châlons, ou la renommée de leur architecte, tels Victor Louis, Michel Lequeux, Alexandre-Théodore Brongniart ou Pierre-Adrien Pâris, ont occasionné leur étude. Toutefois leur édification distante dans le temps n’avait pas incité à effectuer des rapprochements. Ce corpus étant essentiellement défini par sa destination, celle d’accueillir l’exercice d’un pouvoir politique, nous nous efforcerons de comprendre les contraintes du programme avant d’analyser la récurrence de leurs dispositions architecturales. De l’intendant à l’Intendance Ce parti architectural est directement lié à l’évolution de la fonction de l’intendant à qui près de deux siècles furent nécessaires pour parvenir à assumer au XVIIIe siècle une place essentielle dans le système monarchique français. L’institution trouve son origine au milieu du XVIe siècle, sous le règne de Henri II. Pour renforcer son pouvoir sur tout le territoire, le roi entreprit de confier à des gens de robe des commissions extraordinaires “qui n’avaient rien de régulier ni de permanent”.2 Il s’agissait de magistrats des cours souveraines envoyés pour assister les gouverneurs et les lieutenants généraux sur des questions de justice et de finance. Cet envoyé du roi siégeait alors dans le conseil du gouverneur. Un demi-siècle plus tard, Henri IV, tout en continuant d’envoyer des hommes auprès des gouverneurs, confia à d’autres commissaires indépendants le soin de régler des affaires financières particulières et d’appliquer les édits de pacification. Le roi choisit désormais ces commissaires parmi les conseillers d’Etat et les maîtres des requêtes, hommes plus proches du pouvoir central et, surtout, hommes de confiance. Louis XIII devait favoriser l’installation des intendants dans tout le royaume. La Journée des Dupes (11 et 12 novembre 1630) eut pour conséquence l’envoi d’intendants dans toutes les provinces afin de maintenir l’ordre public. A partir de 1633, Séguier, garde des sceaux puis chancelier, s’appuie sur ces derniers pour réorganiser l’administration fiscale. Dotant l’intendant de larges pouvoirs, un règlement du 22 août 1642 le rend seul compétent et responsable de la perception de la taille. Le rôle du trésorier de France se voit dès lors réduit et celui qui porte désormais le titre d’intendant ‘de justice, police et finances’, gagne l’autonomie qui lui manquait sur le gouverneur.

1

L. Hautecoeur, Histoire de l’architecture classique en France. Seconde moitié du XVIIIe siècle, le style de Louis XVI (1750–1792), Paris, 1952, tome IV, pp. 154–155.

2 M. Marion, Dictionnaire des institutions de la France XVIIe-XVIIIe siècles, Paris, 1923, p. 293.

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STÉPHANIE DARGAUD La Fronde (1648–1653) met un frein passager à l’ascension des intendants perçus comme d’importuns surveillants. Les gouverneurs revendiquent de représenter seuls l’autorité du roi, les cours souveraines entendent être rétablies dans leurs prérogatives judiciaires et les trésoriers veulent être réintégrés dans leurs missions. Le 13 juillet 1648, le parlement de Paris annule et supprime toutes les commissions d’intendant. Cette contestation est révélatrice de l’importance qu’ils ont prise auprès du roi : la réalité de leur fonction et leur autonomie délégitiment les institutions locales dans leurs prérogatives. A la fin des troubles, le premier acte du gouvernement est de rétablir ces précieux auxiliaires. L’année 1653 marque le retour des intendants dans toutes les provinces sous le titre de “commissaires départis pour l’exécution des ordres du roi”, formulation symptomatique du lien privilégié unissant le roi et l’intendant, désormais seul habilité à transmettre et faire appliquer les ordres du souverain : il devient de ce fait le représentant de l’autorité royale dans les provinces. Colbert contribue à étendre les pouvoirs de l’intendant et à asseoir son autorité. Relais de la politique anti-protestante de Louis XIV, les intendants se voient confier des compétences très larges en matière de police tandis que l’arrêt du conseil du 18 novembre 1681 et l’édit d’avril 1683 leur accordent le contrôle des finances urbaines. Ces mesures consacrent la tutelle du pouvoir monarchique sur les villes. L’année 1690 devait marquer la fin de l’évolution majeure de l’institution. Le rôle et la mission de l’intendant sont désormais fixés pour le siècle à venir et sa place dans le système monarchique consacrée. Au XVIIIe siècle, les attributions de l’intendant paraissent illimitées, tant les champs d’action qu’elles couvrent sont étendus. Nous n’en présenterons ici que quelques aspects touchant la justice, la police et les finances. Souvent choisi dans le corps des maîtres des requêtes, l’intendant est un magistrat. Il peut présider les tribunaux, siéger dans les parlements et les cours supérieures. Il peut également instruire et juger des causes qu’il trouve digne d’intérêt dans son propre tribunal composé d’hommes qu’il est le seul à choisir. Son avis est requis pour trancher les litiges laissés au jugement du roi ou renvoyés par le Conseil. Le terme ‘police’ s’entend au XVIIIe siècle comme l’ensemble des affaires touchant au bien public. Les historiens de l’architecture connaissent bien les répercutions de cette mission, notamment l’implication de l’intendant dans l’édification de bâtiments publics ou la mise en place de grands programmes urbains, tel le rôle de Tourny à Bordeaux. D’ailleurs depuis 1713, les ingénieurs des Ponts et Chaussées sont placés sous sa tutelle. Les nombreuses enquêtes économiques et démographiques faites par l’intendant permettent au Contrôle Général des Finances d’établir une politique fiscale. L’intendant supervise également la perception des impôts. Enfin, au nom du roi, il est le gestionnaire de cet argent dans les pays dits d’“élection”. En définitive, dans le système politique centralisé et centralisateur de la France du e XVIII siècle, l’intendant, par la teneur de ses missions, est le maillon essentiel entre les villes et les provinces d’une part, et le roi et ses conseils d’autre part. Son avis est toujours requis et son aval est primordial pour l’exécution des décisions. Afin de garantir l’efficacité de ces missions et de couvrir complètement le royaume, il s’était avéré nécessaire à la fin du XVIIe siècle de fixer un cadre territorial pour l’exercice de la fonction. On retint celui de circonscriptions financières existantes : les généralités en pays d’élection, et les provinces en pays d’Etat. Un devoir de résidence est désormais attaché à la fonction : l’intendant ne peut s’absenter de sa circonscription que trois mois par an avec l’accord du roi.3 3

Cette consigne sera de moins en moins respectée par les intendants à partir de la seconde moitié du XVIIIe siècle. Jacques Necker, alors directeur général

des finances, devra d’ailleurs le leur rappeler dans une missive du 15 mars 1778 (Arch. dép. Orne, C 716).

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Plusieurs facteurs semblent intervenir dans la décision de la ville de résidence: la proximité des autres institutions royales (parlement, Etat, bailliage, trésor, gouvernement), le dynamisme économique et culturel et, parfois, l’importance stratégique et militaire du lieu. En 1761, le conflit opposant les édiles de deux villes normandes concernant les rumeurs de déménagement de l’Intendance de Caen à Bayeux4 révèle que la présence de l’intendant et de ses services est source de bénéfices économiques et de faveur politique. Mais si l’on peut parler véritablement de l’Intendance comme une institution, c’est surtout par la permanence et la stabilité que Louis XIV apporta au système. Le poste d’intendant, qui incarne la continuité du régime et assoit l’autorité monarchique sur l’ensemble du royaume, ne peut rester vacant. L’allongement de la durée des mandats5 au XVIIIe siècle permettra d’assurer une continuité dans l’action. Face à des responsabilités et à un volume croissant d’affaires à traiter dans des domaines très variés, l’intendant s’entoure de collaborateurs à partir du début du XVIIIe siècle. En 1755, deux cent cinquante-six personnes6 réparties dans les trente-quatre intendances travaillent au service du roi. Cette époque marque l’origine de services administratifs modernes et véritablement organisés. Chaque intendant a au minimum quatre secrétaires, chacun spécialisé dans un ‘département’ (Ponts et Chaussées ou impôts par exemple). Les secrétaires sont aidés par des commis aux expéditions, mais aussi par des copistes. D’après l’historien Michel Antoine, les employés de bureau seraient de huit à dix7 par Intendance. Les documents d’archives précisent ces chiffres : on recense entre dix et douze employés à Caen entre 1763 et 1790,8 quinze commis et deux premiers secrétaires en 1773 à Montpellier.9 A Paris, le fonctionnement de l’Intendance nécessite trois secrétaires chargés respectivement de la justice, de la police et des finances ; chacun a sous ses ordres trois chefs de bureau qui dirigent chacun quatre commis.10 Quatre garçons de bureau exécutent les besognes les plus simples. Un trésorier, un archiviste, un ingénieur géographe chargé du dépôt des cartes et des plans, un premier architecte, un médecin et son adjoint ainsi qu’un chirurgien sont également au service de l’Intendance. Pas moins de trente-cinq personnes sont donc employées à Paris. La permanence d’un personnel, qui souvent “lentement renouvelé, changeait moins vite que l’intendant lui-même”,11 est un des aspects qui font de l’Intendance une administration. De la résidence de l’intendant à l’hôtel de l’Intendance A partir de la fin du XVIIe siècle, l’intendant n’est plus un homme seul qui se déplace souvent pour accomplir ses missions. L’Intendance est devenue une véritable administration; son avènement explique l’émergence tardive des hôtels de l’Intendance dans le paysage urbain par rapport au développement des hôtels de ville, un siècle plus tôt.

4

Arch. dép. Calvados, C 204. Avant 1715, Louis XIV cherchant à se prémunir contre les complots, faisait se succéder les intendants à un rythme rapide (3 à 5 ans). Par la suite, les intendants resteront en poste en moyenne entre 10 et 15 ans. 6 J. Félix, ‘Les commis des finances au XVIIIe siècle’, L’administration des finances sous l’Ancien Régime, actes du colloque tenu à Bercy les 22 et 23 février 1996 par le comité pour l’histoire économique et financière de la France, Paris, 1997, p. 83, d’après le manuscrit 328, conservé à la Bibliothèque du Sénat. 5

7

M. Antoine, ‘Les hôtels de l’intendance’, Monuments historiques, décembre 1991, n° 178, pp. 13–14. 8 Arch. dép. Calvados, C 229 et C 230. 9 Arch. dép. Hérault, C 47. 10 F. Martin, ‘L’intendance de Paris’, in : Les institutions parisiennes à la fin de l’Ancien Régime et sous la Révolution française, Actes du colloque de l’hôtel de ville de Paris (13 octobre 1989), Paris, 1990, pp. 35–36. 11 Antoine 1991 (note 7), p.13.

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STÉPHANIE DARGAUD L’évolution administrative de l’institution conditionne directement le parti architectural des bâtiments qui l’abritent. Au XVIIe siècle, les intendants s’étaient installés dans des hôtels particuliers où seule la commodité du lieu semblait les intéresser. Pratiques pour des séjours ponctuels, ces demeures étaient souvent vétustes et sans faste, et les intendants en partageaient parfois la jouissance avec d’autres institutions comme à Alençon (Orne) où l’hôtel Erard de Ray est en partie occupé par le bureau des finances (fig. 1).12 Face à l’ampleur croissante de ses missions et à l’allongement de la durée de son mandat, l’intendant des années 1700–1740 doit résider plus longtemps dans sa circonscription ; accompagné de sa famille et d’un embryon de personnel, il investit alors des demeures de prestige. A sa nomination, Paul Esprit Feydeau de Brou, intendant de la généralité d’Alençon de 1713 à 1716, profite de la lenteur du règlement de la succession d’Elisabeth d’Orléans pour investir sa propriété, l’hôtel de Guise. A Bordeaux, les intendants résident depuis 1701 au château du Puy-Paulin, ancienne résidence des ducs d’Epernon. A Bourges, le célèbre palais des ducs de Berry et plus particulièrement la partie nommée “logis du roi” est, au XVIIIe siècle, le siège de l’intendance (fig.2). Toutes ces demeures doivent permettre d’associer trois 1. Hôtel Erard de Ray anciennement hôtel de types d’espaces de nature différente : le premier, privé, pour l’Intendance de la généralité d’Alençon de l’intendant et sa famille, le second, public, pour les réceptions 1636 à 1666 (cliché Stéphanie Dargaud). inhérentes à ses fonctions de représentation, enfin, le troisième, administratif, pour son travail et celui de ses collaborateurs. A partir de 1740, un parti général de distribution commun à l’ensemble des hôtels de l’Intendance commence à se fixer. L’hôtel proprement dit devient la demeure de l’intendant et de sa famille. Ses espaces privés se conforment à la distribution traditionnelle d’un hôtel particulier du XVIIIe siècle, avec notamment un appartement complet pour chacun des membres de la famille. Une chapelle est également aménagée dans la plupart des cas. Lors de son voyage à Caen en 1775, Louis XVI écoutera d’ailleurs la messe dans la chapelle de l’hôtel de l’Intendance. Office, cuisine, garde-manger, situés à la suite des appartements de réception ou rejetés dans une aile en retour du bâtiment principal, viennent compléter cette distribution. Certains hôtels, comme celui rue des Carmes à Caen est équipé d’une salle dite “des bains” avec une alimentation directe en eau aménagée en 1775.13 On constate d’ailleurs à partir des années 1770, une attention particulière dans la plupart des réaménagements d’hôtels de l’Intendance pour introduire des innovations techniques telles que l’alimentation directe en eau chaude et eau froide des cuisines,

12 Hôtel Erard de Ray, 10, rue du Bercail à Alençon (Orne). Hôtel particulier construit pour Louis d’Hérard au XVe siècle, hôtel de l’Intendance de la généralité d’Alençon de 1636–1666, aujourd’hui Tribunal de commerce, classé monument historique par arrêté du 12 février 1913. 13 Lefébvre, ingénieur des Ponts et Chaussées, se préoccupa de prévoir l’alimentation en eau de l’hôtel

de l’Intendance de Caen, rue des Carmes : il fit boucher le puits de la cour d’honneur afin d’alimenter la salle à manger, le cabinet des bains et les lieux à l’anglaise des appartements de l’intendant et des invités (Arch. Nat., H1 1408, mémoire de décembre 1775, mémoire au contrôleur général des finances).

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des espaces des bains et lieux d’aisance mais aussi des systèmes de chauffage centralisé. Les espaces privés sont fréquemment remaniés : “à chaque changement d’intendant, il faut se livrer à des dépenses nouvelles pour des distributions plus agréables ou plus commodes. C’est ce que l’on éprouve dans presque toutes les généralités lorsqu’il y arrive un nouvel intendant” écrit le commis de bureau d’un intendant des finances.14 Le subdélégué et le premier secrétaire sont également logés in situ. Un appartement simple est mis à leur disposition. Les gens de maison y habitent aussi, logés dans de petites chambres aménagées dans les combles ou dans les étages supérieurs d’ailes en retour du bâtiment principal. Les espaces de sociabilité prennent une dimension particulière: salons et salles à manger y sont très développés. En 1775, Charles Esmangart, intendant de la généralité de Caen, déclare qu’ “[il] désire que [sa] maison soit le centre auquel [il] réunisse toute la ville et surtout la bonne compagnie”.15 En 1767, lors de l’édification d’une aile en retour à l’hôtel de Guise, alors siège de l’Intendance de la généralité d’Alençon, Cessart, ingénieur des Ponts et Chaussées, prévoit d’édifier une salle à manger au-dessus de murs de refend suffisamment épais pour soutenir les planchers d’une pièce “où il pourra dans des circonstances si rassembler beaucoup de monde, et peut-être occasionner des danses”.16 A Dijon, la tenue des Etats de Bourgogne tous les trois ans oblige l’intendant à aménager l’hôtel Bouhier de Lantenay 2. Logis du roi, hôtel de pour y recevoir ses membres. Les salons sont modifiés pour placer des l’Intendance de Bourges, plan tables de plus de vingt-cinq mètres de long et dresser jusqu’à soixante du rez-de-chaussée, sans date couverts.17 (Archives Nationales, H11408). Une grande attention est apportée aux jardins: ces espaces extérieurs prolongent les espaces intérieurs de sociabilité. A Perpignan, l’hôtel de l’Intendance fait l’objet d’un remaniement conséquent en 1768 où l’aménagement du jardin prend une part prépondérante. L’entrepreneur présente même à l’intendant une maquette (fig. 3) proposant l’aménagement d’une galerie sous la terrasse qui prolongerait le rez-de-chaussée de l’hôtel côté jardin. Des espaces de travail dévolus à l’intendant et à ses collaborateurs prennent parfois autant d’ampleur que les espaces de sociabilité. Un cabinet de travail pour l’intendant avec une antichambre communique autant que faire se peut avec une salle d’assemblée et le cabinet du premier secrétaire ou de son subdélégué. De grandes pièces sont réservées aux secrétaires et aux commis : une table peut accueillir de trois à six postes de travail. Un local est réservé aux fournitures (papier, cire, plume). Enfin, une pièce est consacrée au rangement et à la conservation des archives.

14

Arch. Nat ., H1 1409, mémoire adressé à Vergennes, mars 1784. 15 Arch. dép. Calvados, C 3085, lettre de Esmangart à Lefebvre du 13 décembre 1775. 16 Arch. dép. Orne, C 254, ‘Devis des ouvrages a faires a lançien hôtel de Guise servant d’hôtel de l’intendance d’Alençon tant aux batimens qu’aux jardins,

mur de clôture et entretien d’iceux non compris dans l’adjudication du 5 février 1765’, signé De Cessart, le 8 juillet 1767. 17 F. Vignier, L’hôtel Bouhier de Lantenay, Dijon, préfecture de la Côte-d’Or et de la région Bourgogne (Itinéraires du Patrimoine 218), Précy-sous-Thil, 2000, p. 10.

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STÉPHANIE DARGAUD Concevoir un hôtel de l’Intendance Face à l’insuffisance de l’espace et à la vétusté de certaines résidences, les intendants du XVIIIe siècle n’ont de cesse de demander au Contrôle Général des Finances les moyens nécessaires à une construction neuve. Faute de moyens financiers suffisants, sur les trente-quatre hôtels occupés après 1740, neuf seulement ont été bâtis ex nihilo. L’analyse des quarantesix projets de construction actuellement recensés et l’étude des nombreux réaménagements effectués permettent cependant de dégager des constantes propres à ce parti architectural. • Des réponses architecturales pour accommoder ces trois espaces. 3. Maquette d’une galerie pour le jardin de l’hôtel de l’Intendance de Perpignan, vers 1768 (Archives départementales Les solutions mises en œuvre pour accomdes Pyrénées Orientales, C. 1600). moder dans un même bâtiment les espaces de représentation, de vie et de travail distinguent l’hôtel de l’Intendance d’un hôtel particulier du e XVIII siècle. L’ensemble des projets et des réalisations sépare nettement l’espace de résidence de l’intendant de ceux réservés à l’administration. La division peut être, soit horizontale, avec une jonction assurée par un salon ou une antichambre, soit verticale. Dans ce cas, une seconde porte d’entrée est aménagée directement depuis la cour principale : son décor plus sobre la distingue nettement de celle réservée à la résidence. Le visiteur accède alors à l’antichambre du cabinet de travail de l’intendant soit par un vestibule de vastes proportions, soit par un escalier monumental. Les distributions sont souvent doubles en profondeur. La multiplication des portes et des escaliers visant à faciliter la communication d’une pièce de travail à l’autre se remarque dans bien des cas. A Montpellier, où l’intendant avait loué des locaux dans un bâtiment situé de l’autre côté de la rue de l’hôtel de Ganges pour y installer des bureaux, une galerie de communication fut construite au-dessus de la rue afin d’accéder facilement et rapidement à cette extension (fig. 4). • L’affirmation de l’hôtel de l’Intendance dans le paysage urbain Les caractéristiques architecturales d’un hôtel de l’Intendance reprennent l’esthétique dominante au XVIIIe siècle : un hôtel situé entre cour et jardin dont le bâtiment principal est encadré par deux ailes plus basses en retour sur la rue (fig. 5). Une cour d’entrée se trouve ainsi dégagée. En revanche, contrairement à d’autres bâtiments publics, la majorité des hôtels de l’Intendance ne sont pas visibles directement depuis la rue ; le mur de clôture qui protège les hôtels particuliers est maintenu et cache la façade principale du bâtiment à la vue de tous. Un portail monumental y est aménagé: une porte cochère couronnée par un arc en plein-cintre, encadrée par deux portes piétonnes de forme rectangulaire, le tout couronné par un puissant entablement. A Besançon, on peut voir la transcription du motif d’arc de triomphe où un décor se déploie dans les tables au-dessus des accès secondaires (fig. 6). Cependant le décor des portails tout comme celui des élévations des hôtels de l’Intendance reste discret. Contrairement à beaucoup de bâtiments publics de cette époque, il est curieux de constater la pauvreté du décor sculpté: fleurs de lys, balance, trophées d’armes et autres attributs liés à la notion de bon gouvernement, de justice et à la gloire du souverain sont présents, mais limités au seul espace du portail.

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4. Hôtel de Ganges, hôtel de l’Intendance de Montpellier de 1718 à 1790, pont de communication entre l’hôtel et les bureaux, sans date (dossier hôtel de Ganges, cliché n° 8134726P, service régional de l’Inventaire, DRAC Languedoc-Roussillon).

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5. Hôtel de l’Intendance de Châlons de 1759 à 1790, façades sur la rue SainteCroix et le cours d’Ormesson, gravures de C. N. Varin, 1778 (J. Berland, L’hôtel de l’intendance de Champagne, aujourd’hui préfecture de la Marne, Châlons-sur-Marne, 1928, planche XX).

Ce sont à nouveau des dispositifs architecturaux éprouvés qui organisent et animent les élévations de l’hôtel de l’Intendance. D’une façon générale, sur cour, l’accent est mis sur le corps central. La saillie de l’avant-corps est renforcée par l’utilisation de chaînes d’angles à refends. Un fronton triangulaire en couronnement marque aussi la prééminence de l’axe central de la façade (fig. 7). Des escaliers monumentaux de part et d’autre peuvent mener à la porte principale. Le système de refends au premier niveau d’élévation est souvent utilisé pour distinguer visuellement cet étage des autres et asseoir efficacement le bâtiment. En revanche, et contrairement aux hôtels de ville, aucun balcon ne vient l’animer. La façade sur cour de l’hôtel de l’Intendance de Besançon, construit d’après les plans de Victor Louis à partir de 1771, témoigne de la pénétration dans les provinces du “goût à l’antique” (fig. 8) : un ordre ionique colossal de colonnes adossées couronné d’un fronton triangulaire marque le centre de la composition. Souvent, l’austérité des façades sur rue et sur cour contraste avec l’animation et la délicatesse du décor des élévations sur jardin. Jusque dans les années 1760, ce sont des dispositifs architecturaux plus élaborés que ceux utilisés pour les façades sur cour qui marquent la façade sur jardin. Dans le projet de réaménagement de l’hôtel de l’Intendance d’Auch, le décrochement de l’avant-corps central est mis en valeur par des chaînes de refends aux angles et le fronton triangulaire qui le couronne est délicatement orné des

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6. Hôtel de l’Intendance de Besançon de 1771 à 1790, mur de clôture et portail d’accès (cliché Stéphanie Dargaud).

7. Hôtel Bouhier de Lantenay, Hôtel de l’Intendance de Dijon de 1781 à 1790, façade sur cour d’honneur (Monuments historiques, décembre 1991, n° 178, p. 38).

armes royales. L’escalier qui permet de descendre de la terrasse vers le jardin renforce aussi l’accent sur l’axe principal du bâtiment. A partir des années 1770, l’avant-corps central sur jardin s’incurve en arrondi ou devient hexagonal. Des ordres colossaux de pilastres corinthiens ou composites peuvent scander régulièrement et harmonieusement cette façade ou des frises de rinceaux orner les tables au-dessus des baies, comme à l’hôtel de Besançon ou de Dijon (fig. 9).

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8 Hôtel de l’Intendance de Besançon de 1771 à 1790, façade sur la cour d’honneur, vers 1990 (Monuments historiques, décembre 1991, n° 178, p.47).

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9. Hotel Bouhier de Lantenay, Hotel de l’Intendance de Dijon de 1781 à 1790, facade sur jardin (Monuments historiques, no. 178, décembre 1991, p. 38)

L’emprise de l’édifice dans le parcellaire et les aménagements de ses abords sont certainement ce qui distingue avant tout les hôtels de l’Intendance des autres demeures de la ville. Ils occupent en général de vastes parcelles. Leur réaménagement ou leur construction est souvent le moteur d’une transformation radicale du tissu urbain environnant. De larges rues rectilignes sont percées : mises en œuvre au départ pour faciliter l’accès à l’hôtel, ces rues permettent une visibilité accrue sur le bâtiment par les perspectives qu’elles dégagent. L’édification d’une place devant l’hôtel est la meilleure façon de mettre en valeur le bâtiment et d’en faire un repère essentiel et incontournable dans la ville. L’exemple le plus célèbre reste l’aménagement des places Stanislas et de la Carrière à Nancy : l’hôtel de l’Intendance construit à l’extrémité de la place de la Carrière fait face à l’hôtel de ville, place Stanislas. Ce spectaculaire agencement est chargé de sens : le représentant du pouvoir central siège face au bâtiment occupé par les édiles municipaux. L’organisation spatiale créée à Nancy n’est pas une exception. Dans la plupart des projets de construction, l’intendant et l’architecte cherchent à rapprocher l’hôtel de l’Intendance des autres bâtiments publics tels que les hôtels de ville, ou étudient le percement de rues pour créer des perspectives signifiantes. Le projet de construction d’un hôtel de l’Intendance place Fontette à Caen18 résume parfaitement cette attention dans le choix de l’emplacement, l’aménagement des dégagements nécessaires à une grande visibilité du bâtiment et le développement des jardins pour une plus grande emprise sur le parcellaire (fig. 10).

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STÉPHANIE DARGAUD Conclusion

10. Projet des bâtimens à construire sur la Place Fontette pour servir de Logement à Messieurs Les Intendants de la Généralité de Caen, n°4, plan manuscrit en couleur, 40 toises= 26,5cm ; 87,5 cm x 82,5 cm, sans date, vers 1765 (Archives départementales du Calvados, Fi C 6495).

Outre les neuf hôtels construits ex nihilo, de nombreux projets et remaniements de bâtiments existants permettent d’analyser l’attitude des intendants du XVIIIe siècle à l’égard de leur demeure et de l’institution qu’elle représente. Les contraintes de programme identiques à travers le royaume et les réponses assez similaires apportées plaident en faveur de l’émergence d’une typologie nouvelle. La volonté exprimée avec force par l’ensemble des intendants et les solutions proposées par les architectes pour accroître la visibilité du bâtiment et l’inscrire efficacement dans le tissu urbain contribuent à considérer l’hôtel de l’Intendance comme un bâtiment public. En 1800, vingt-deux hôtels sur trente-quatre devaient être affectés à l’administration préfectorale nouvellement créée par Bonaparte. Espace de vie, de réception et de travail, l’hôtel des Intendants de l’Ancien régime s’adaptait ainsi au fonctionnement de cette nouvelle institution. Bien au-delà d’une reconnaissance de la commodité du parti architectural, on peut s’interroger sur l’intention politique ayant présidé à un tel choix pour abriter une administration post-révolutionnaire. Y-a-t il eu des recommandations particulières pour s’approprier et réinvestir ces bâtiments ? Si tel était le cas, on pourrait considérer que ces demeures projetaient bien dans la ville une image du pouvoir monarchique, forte et reconnue de tous.

18

Un projet d’hôtel de l’Intendance est élaboré à Caen, place Fontette entre 1761 et 1765 (Arch. dép. Calvados, C 204-C 207).

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Lanfranco Longobardi

In sixteenth-century Italy there were many kinds of jurisdictions and not all were managed by the State,1 as other institutions could be delegated to manage courts and their related prisons. Judicial institutions were often concerned with particular offences or social classes2 and can be classified into three groups; ecclesiastical, private and state. The first category includes prisons of the Inquisition and monastic prisons, although the Kingdom of Naples also had episcopal prisons.3 Some states also delegated judicial functions to guilds or particular families in order to grant them privileges and assign them the proceeds of justice.4 Justice was thus a source of power and revenue. Even prisons could produce income, as inmates had to keep themselves and some prisons even had taverns which sold food to prisoners.5 Jailers could also sell food and rent out mattresses and bedding.6 Later I will show how this aspect influenced the architectonic layout of the buildings. In the Kingdom of Naples, wool and silk guilds had jurisdiction over their members for civil and criminal offences and managed their own prisons.7 Under the ancien regime, states could also transfer their powers to private citizens and organizations and to their heirs. In Rome the Savelli family kept the police assignment until the seventeenth century and also administered a prison. In Naples up until the seventeenth century, the Moccia family was able to judge and punish offences of illegal house building and occupation of public land. Thirdly there were state courts. In this category we can identify military judicial institutions, which usually had their prisons located in castles or in garrisons.8 Special prisoners, such as political opponents, were detained in castles to guarantee the greatest security. This is the most celebrated kind of ancient regime prison, probably because it is the most evocative.9 Before illustrating two prisons in particular, Castel Capuano in Naples and the Ducal Palace in Venice, two other important points have to be explained. First, contrary to what is sometimes written,10 prisons in ancien regime states in Italy were not only preventive but also punitive and were not generally oriented to the rehabilitation of the inmate.11 In fact there was only one case of a prison with a reformatory purpose in Naples, namely the San Vincenzo tower. This twelfth-century fortified building was used in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to imprison persons on the request of their fathers.12 Venetian prisons had a

1

Cozzi 1982, p. 6, and U. Levra, ‘Dal corpo all’anima’, in: La scienza e la colpa, Torino, 1985, p. 104. 2 Berengo 1999, p. 632. 3 E. Bacco, Nuova e perfettissima desrittione del Regno di Napoli, diviso in dodici provincie [ … ] ampliata da Cesare d’Engenio, Napoli, 1629, p. 10 and p. 269. 4 Berengo 1999, pp. 631–632. 5 Berengo 1999, p. 634; Mantelli 1981, p. 186. 6 Berengo 1999, p. 634; Mantelli 1981, p. 186. 7 Mantelli 1981, pp. 159–160. 8 R. Borrelli, Memorie storiche della chiesa di S. Giacomo degli Spagnoli, Napoli, 1903, p. 180.

9

M. Foucault, Surveillir et punir. Naissance de la prison, Paris, 1975. 10 C. F. Black, Italian confraternities in the sixteenth century, Cambridge, 1989, p. 221. 11 N. Sarti, ‘Appunti su carcere-custodia e carcere-pena nella dottrina civilistica dei secoli XII–XVI’, Rivista di storia del diritto italiano, 1980–1981, no. 53, pp. 67–110. 12 In sixteenth-century Holland there were similar institutions. See Berengo 1999, p. 631. For the function of the San Vincenzo tower, see Alessandro Baratta, Fidelissimae urbis neapolitanae, Napoli, 1986; Naples

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LANFRANCO LONGOBARDI similar function.13 If the role of a prison was primarily detention, then it is necessary to ask what was the right ‘penalty’ for each offence. This is not as straightforward as it might seem, partly because imprisonment was not the only penalty. From 1595 to 1630 the sentences of the Venetian Quarantia criminal magistracy prescribed banishment in 73.5% of the cases, prison in 15.2%, the galley in 7%, house arrest in 3.3%, pillorying in 0.6% and maiming in 0.3%.14 Moreover, one might observe that prisoners’ living conditions were perhaps not as comfortable as those nowadays, but this is not a correct approach. The living conditions of the prisoners varied according to their wealth and their membership of particular social classes.15 Secondly, persons could be detained in prison for both criminal and civil matters. In the civil jails there were also insolvent inmates. Insolvent debtors could be released after they had settled their debts and,16 at the same time, had to keep themselves as prisoners. Debtors were not considered criminals and so they had the right to live in more comfortable conditions. How could debtors pay their debts and free themselves if they were forced to live in a cell? Sources indicate three possible ways; prisoners could work in the prison as servants of richer inmates, they could engage in craftwork, or ask for charity from passers-by,17 a factor which influenced the arrangement of the cells with respect to the public street. Finally the state or associations could make donations to free debtors.18 However there were also prisons with cells which did not have contact with the outside, such as the Stinche prison in Florence.19 In this case the state and charitable associations were charged with the task of assisting poor inmates. Castel Capuano Castel Capuano is a twelfth-century castle built astride the eastern walls of Naples to strengthen them and house the Norman kings. The castle lost its defensive function in 1484 when a new city wall was built east of the old one, leaving the building isolated. It was then used as a residence for the royal princes. In the 1530s, the viceroy Pedro de Toledo decided to concentrate all the principal courts and prisons in a single building.20 Precedents for this were a project mentioned in Summonte’s letter to Marcantonio Michiel in the late fifteenth century for Naples, and Bramante’s plans for the Via Giulia in Rome.21 Pedro de Toledo also performed a similar oper-

State Archive, Regia Camera Sommaria, Segreteria, Partium Regii Patrimonii, Diversi del Patrimonio, 274, 137 v. (19/6/1647); Naples State Archive, Segreterie dei viceré, Viglietti originali, b. 155, fs (sul retro) D. Nicolas de Vargas [ … ] Consdo a 18 de Agosto 1650 exdo; Naples State Archive, Segreterie dei viceré, Viglietti originali, b. 265, fs. (sul retro) Carlo Dentiche exdo en 7 de febrero 1662; Naples State Archive, Segreterie dei viceré, Viglietti originali, b. 272, fs (sul retro) el Auditor general; Naples State Archive, Segreterie dei viceré, Viglietti originali, b. 318, fs. D. Melchor gutierez (27/2/1668). 13 Scarabello 1979, p. 11. 14 Venice State Archive, Quarantia Criminal, b. 163; See also, for fourteenth-century data, Scarabello 1979, p. 10. 15 V. Paglia, La pietà dei carcerati, confraternite e società a Roma nei sec. XVI–XVIII, Roma, 1980, p. 27. 16 L. Faldati, ‘Piergiorgio Sovernigo e Marco Rebecca’, in: Gli artigli del Leone, Treviso, 2004, pp. 73–74.

17

F. Fabri, Venezia nel 1488, Venezia, 1881, p. 43; L. De Rosa, Il mezzogiorno spagnolo tra crescita e decadenza, Milano, 1987, p. 110. 18 P. Bargellini, I Buonomini di San Martino, Firenze, 1972; B. Pullan, ‘The relief of prisoners in sixteenth century Venice’, Studi veneziani, 1968, no. 10, pp. 221–229; and L. Longobardi, ‘Interventi di assistenza ai carcerati: i casi di Venezia e Napoli’, Quaderni dell’archivio storico Banco di Napoli, 2001, pp. 105–142. 19 F. Becchi, Sulle Stinche di Firenze e su nuovi edifici eretti in quel luogo, Firenza, 1839; M E Wolfgang, ‘A florentine prison: le carceri delle Stinche’, Studies in the Renaissance, 1960, no 7, p 149 20 D’Elia, Vita popolare nella Napoli spagnola, Napoli, 1971, p. 117, and Pilati 1994, p. 72. 21 F. Nicolini, ‘Pietro Summonte, Marcantonio Michiel e l’arte napoletana del Rinascimento’, Napoli Nobilissima, 1925, no. 3, p. 128, and L. Salerno, M. Tafuri and L. Spezzaferro, Via Giulia, Roma, 1973, pp. 314–322.

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ation in Capua.22 This operation allowed the viceroy to control more judicial institutions and to save money, because some previous locations for the offices were rented from private individuals and organizations. At the same time the chosen site was criticized by military experts because it was not central and was too far from the Spanish strongholds in the capital city, which could expose the building to revolts.23 Besides, Castel Capuano was lacking in cells for inmates. Courts needed two kinds of prison: civil and criminal. The former had to be located facing the public street, while the latter were to be in a more protected part. The public engineer Ferdinando Manlio designed the necessary modifications (fig. 1):

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1. Naples State Archive, Plans and drawings, IX, 4 Ground floor (second level) plan of Castel Capuano. A) prison block; 1), 2), 3), 4) stairs; 5) post guard; 6) kitchen; 7) stores; 8) civil cells; 9) long room; 10) chapel.

1) An additional structure with independent access (marked with A); this was placed behind the building between the courthouse and the town wall near a city gate; it allowed a garrison to be kept near the prison. 2) Different common areas for the public and prisoners; so the prison was provided with a courtyard to allow prisoners to exercise. 3) Stairwells (1, 2, 3 and 4) and passageways inside the existing building to distinguish different areas according to the kind of access; offices had to be accessible to the public, there were parts for authorized persons and, finally, reserved parts.

After all, this was a compromise between town institutions, which required a site near the courthouses, and the viceroy, who preferred a fortified building. Besides Pedro de Toledo encouraged the settlement of the judicial officers near Castel Capuano by building a group of residences on the nearby gardens of Duchesca.24 The construction of the new courthouse also had other advantages: meeting rooms on the main floor could be used as courtrooms and there were various apartments to accommodate magistrates. This unusual feature is also present in Bramante’s project for the Via Giulia in Rome. Initially Neapolitan judges lived in Castel Capuano because they were compelled to by the viceroy Pedro de Toledo. Afterwards they obtained permission to reside in their own houses.25 The new prison block was completed in 1545.26 We are able to describe daily life in part of the Castel Capuano thanks to a painting ascribed to Carlo Coppola (fig. 2).27 The tower in the façade is the characteristic element, with its base, entrance, Habsburg arms, clock and wooden turret in which there was a bell. This was rung to announce the court sittings.28 On the left of the entrance, in the lower part of the

22

I. di Resta, Capua, Roma and Bari, 1985, pp. 62–64. Archivo General Simancas, Estado, leg. 1046, fs. 148 (23/2/1554). 24 G. Pane, ‘Pedro di Toledo viceré urbanista’, Napoli Nobilissima, 1975, no. 14, p. 167. 25 Pilati 1994, pp. 223–224. 26 C. de Seta, Napoli, Roma and Bari, 1981, p. 118. 23

27

C. De Frede, ‘Il tribunale della Vicaria’, Napoli Nobilissima, 1995, no. 34, pp. 37–60. 28 According to Renata d’Elia, the wooden turret was built in the seventeenth century. See D’Elia 1971 (note 19), p. 120.

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2. Carlo Coppola, Vicaria courthouse, sec XVII (Naples, S.Martino National Museum).

3. Naples State Archive, Plans and drawings, IX, 3. First level plan of Castel Capuano 1), 2) , 3), 4), 5) cells for prisoners pending trial; 6), 8) 9) stores; 7) kitchen; 10) chapel?

façade, there were cells for debtors. Prisoners let down ropes from the windows to buy food and other goods from the barrows of street vendors below. This kind of layout is present in the law courts of Capua and we will also find it in the Ducal Palace of Venice. Below the porticos on the right there were the offices of the Bagliva magistracy, which made it possible to reduce the coming and going in the building. We currently have no data on whether this arrangement was due to the transformations made by Ferdinando Manlio or is a survival from the previous palace. Judicial ceremonies took place in the square in front of the courthouse, where insolvents had to embrace the column in the middle of the square and humble themselves. The internal arrangement can be reconstructed from archival sources and various plans: an early nineteenth-century partial plan which shows only the prison area and other complete plans drawn during restoration work in the middle of the nineteenth century. Castel Capuano is made up of two connected parts. The rear part is lower than the front, so the building has five levels on one side and six on the other (fig. 3). The first level at the rear was devoted to prisoners pending trial, the kitchen and its store. These cells were probably the most comfortable ones. Inside the courtyard there was a stairway which joined the first and second levels and a two-level construction placed against the corner (fig. 3, no. 10). This was a chapel built in the early seventeenth century by Jesuits to say Mass; the wide arcades let prisoners attend celebrations from their cells, as in the Stinche prison in Florence. Before the seventeenth century the courtyard was only used to allow privileged prisoners to take a walk.29 The two entrances

29

Anonymous author 1674, p. 6.

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are located in two towers on opposite sides of the building. Beside the main entrance there is a guard house connected to the entrance hall and courtyard (fig. 1, no. 5). Around the main courtyard there were offices, a second kitchen (fig. 1, no. 6), stores (fig. 1, no. 7) and cells for civil offenders (fig. 1, no. 8). A number of these were connected to a long room used by guards or, perhaps, by prisoners for exercise (fig. 1, no. 9). Some detention rooms joined the courtyard to the criminal prison block behind and the chapel (fig. 1, no. 10). The plans do not show an internal staircase in the rear block (fig. 4). This was due to the fact that on the third level there was the infirmary (fig. 4, no. 1), so the lack of vertical connections 4. Naples State Archive, Plans and drawings, IX, 5 Third level made it possible to isolate parts of the building of Castel Capuano; 1) infirmary; 2) chapel; 3) offices; 4) torture where the sick were cared for. This made it necroom; 5) keeper’s flat. essary to have a chapel also on the third level, above the one on the second level (fig. 4, no. 2). The creation of various sections also made it possible to separate persons by sex, age and social class, with the result that living conditions could vary enormously. Apart from the total number of the inmates (around 850),30 there are no data to make more precise estimations of the density of the single detention sections of the building. The prison infirmary did not fully meet the needs of the prisons, which also used an external structure, the Nuntiata hospital, and this led to risks of escape and of poor security in general.31 In the late sixteenth century the infirmary was reconstructed to increase its capacity to hold sick prisoners. This was probably done for security reasons and not to improve the health of inmates because, for example, in the winter of 1612, fifty-two prisoners died.32 One might also conjecture that the infirmary did not work well. Furthermore, jailers and physicians had to pass across a large common cell and passageway, with the result that sick prisoners were not completely isolated. In the front of the building were the judicial offices and a torture room near the staircase which connected with the lower levels (fig. 4, no. 3 and 4). Between the judicial office and the cells was the head jailer’s apartment (fig. 4, no. 3 and 4). However all these functional areas had no distinct passageways of their own and warders had, for example, to use the main staircases to take prisoners for questioning or to their lawyers. So the staircases had to be used by judges and lawyers as well as by warders and prisoners. In short the main defects of Castel Capuano can be defined as follows: 1) The criminal cells faced outwards and this allowed passers-by to introduce objects into the building. 2) Collective cells were more insecure than single ones, but cheaper to manage. 3) Warders had to cross some cells to check all the others (fig. 5).

30

E. Bacco, Nuova e perfettissima descrittione del Regno di Napoli, diviso in dodici provincie, Napoli, 1629, p. 10.

31

Naples State Archive, Ord. Zeni, Gran Corte della Vicaria, f. 139, fs. 11 (3/11/1566). 32 Anonymous author 1674, p. 8.

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5. Diagram of Castel Capuano layout. Grey lines indicate connections between two levels.

The state prison in the Ducal Palace in Venice This section will describe the Ducal Palace in Venice and its layout before changes were made in the early seventeenth century. The Ducal Palace is composed of four blocks which bear witness to the complex history of the building: from a fortress to a ducal residence, in which there were some private workshops and residences on the ground floor, up until the fourteenth century.33 In the sixteenth century these had different functions; the Palazzo Comune (A), the Palazzo ad jus reddendum and later Libraria (B), the court house (C), and the ducal apartment (D) connected with the San Marco chapel (fig. 6). Since the fourteenth century, these four parts have been surrounded by one curtain wall which contained within it the main government, administrative and judicial institutions of the Venetian State (fig. 7). Furthermore, the concentration of several functions in a single

33

Franzoi 1997, p. 13.

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building was useful for surveillance purposes. Nearby and in the palace itself there were guards.34 The conformation of the city of Venice made it possible to isolate zones. This reduced the risk of revolts and fires although, in spite of this isolation, several violent fires did occur. The work of the institutions was also facilitated by their proximity. It is necessary to distinguish between the various functions and identify those that could be connected and those that were incompatible. This influenced the vertical and horizontal routes and the accesses and location of rooms. We know from documents that up until the late thirteenth century (1297) there were several prisons in the Ducal Palace.35 There were several because every judicial institution had its own prison inside the government palace. There were two main prison areas: 1) In the area marked C there were the Pozzi and Piombi areas, the prisons of criminal magistracies. 2) In the area marked A there were various prisons depending on different civil judicial institutions. Block C is divided vertically: on the lower level (the ground and mezzanine floors) was the Pozzi prison area, in the centre (the third and fourth floors) were the magistracies, and in the loft the Piombi prison area (fig. 8). Thus 6. Francesco Zanotto, Il palazzo ducale di Venezia, Venezia, 1842, plates X-XI A) Palace Comune and the magistracies were on the central levels (piano nobile) Civil Prisons; B) Palace ad jus reddendum and and the prisons on the less important levels. These were women prisons; C) Courthouses and criminal connected by a service stair, which made it possible to link prisons; D) Ducal apartment. up the lower levels, the Pozzi (the ‘pits’) and the higher levels, the Piombi (the ‘plumbs’, from the lead used to cover the building36) without leaving the block. This was for security reasons. The same staircase connected the rooms of the main magistracies. Block C is also an independent element for reasons of safety: rooms for the detention of prisoners pending trial and condemned prisoners had to be easily monitored because if any prisoner escaped from the block he would arrive in the Ducal Palace courtyard. The Pozzi originated in 1532, when the Venetian State decided to house prisoners in the lowest levels of block C. This was intended to improve the prison facilities of the Council of Ten where political prisoners were kept (fig. 9).37 The first and second levels of block C were already in existence before the construction of the Pozzi. This imposed limitations on the project, determined by the external and supporting walls. Connections with upper levels were required by the various institutions and so the new staircase was built in line with the old one. The development of the Pozzi made it possible partly to eliminate the fragmentation of prison areas in the Ducal Palace. Besides, the vaulted stone rooms protected the palace against fires and the large stone block masonry made escapes more difficult. The Pozzi had a plan similar to that of the towers, that is, a guard passageway around a room or group of

34

E. Crouzet Pavan, ‘Potere politico e spazio sociale: il controllo della notte a Venezia nei secoli XIII–XV’, in: M. Sbricioli (ed.), La notte, Firenze, 1991, p. 54. 35 Franzoi 1997, p. 12.

36

G. Cappelletti, Relazione storica sulle magistrature venete, Venezia, 1873, p. 57. 37 Franzoi 1997, p. 198.

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7. Ducal Palace (A) and the new prison building (B) connected by the Bridge of Sighs (C) from Umberto Franzoi, Le prigioni di Palazzo Ducale di Venezia, Milano, 1997, p. 8

8. Francesco Zanotto, Il palazzo ducale di Venezia, Venezia, 1842, plates II

rooms. Both the building techniques (use of large stone blocks connected by metal cramps and vaults) and the arrangement of a sentry way around the cells can be related to models such as Ferrara castle, in which there is no communication of cells with the outside. The Pozzi was, in fact, the prison of the Council of Ten, which was concerned with treason and

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9. Ground floor and second level of Pozzi

plots against the state.38 This conformation made it difficult to manage the prison while taking personal dignity into account. Indeed, prisoners were obliged to live in dark, stuffy cells into which the only light came from holes in the doors. These holes 10. A cell of Pozzi from Umberto Franzoi, could sometimes be closed so that the cells were totally dark.39 Le prigioni di Palazzo Ducale a Venezia, Even if the Pozzi was developed all at the same time, its Milano, 1997, p.31 cells had different characteristics which could make prisoners’ living conditions better or worse. Some rooms were lined with wooden planks and this improved thermal insulation; others were not lined and their walls and vaults contain graffiti which bear witness to prisoners’ biographies and daily life (fig. 10).40 The rooms near the stairs were probably used by guards because these allowed the passageways to be monitored (fig. 9, no. 1). The room facing the quay of San Marco is not divided internally and is connected with the upper level (fig. 9, no. 2). Another feature which improves safety is the multiplication of routes. This arrangement allowed small areas to be checked and prevented large scale revolts. The Pozzi’s proximity to the canal also allowed prisoners to be transported safely. The construction of the Pozzi proved to be a temporary solution, however. Thirty years later, the Venetian State decided to create a new detention building which was connected to block C by the Bridge of Sighs. This area had the disadvantage of lacking a place where prisoners could take exercise, and its proximity to reception rooms could result in damage or disturbance. On the other hand, the advantages of the layout of the Pozzi were acknowledged and the authorities adopted a more rational version of the ‘tower’ arrangement for the new prison building.

38

Cappelletti 1873 (note 35), pp. 45–52. Franzoi 1997, p. 29. 40 A. Dal Medico, ‘Carceri e carcerati sotto San Marco’, Ateneo Veneto XI, 1887, pp. 50–80. This kind of 39

graffiti is also found in other Italian prisons and it is to be hoped that the forthcoming restoration of Castel Capuano in Naples will take into account the possibility of discovering them.

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LANFRANCO LONGOBARDI At the junction of the block’s staircase and the horizontal passageway to the bridge was the parlatory (fig. 8, A).41 This was located in an intersection and was accessible from the anteroom of the courtrooms, the Pozzi and Piombi cells and the new prison across the Bridge of Sighs. Its position meant that it could satisfy the functional requirements of the old and new buildings. The Piombi was the upper-level prison in the Ducal Palace, located above the Council of Ten rooms. Apart from the structural walls, the Piombi cells were all made of wood, making this prison less safe and more easily subject to fires. We are unsure of the arrangement of the rooms in the past because their wooden walls could be moved to enlarge or decrease the dimensions according to need and were often destroyed and reconstructed, even after the building of the new prison. In spite of the fire risks, the mansard level was enlarged as far as the San Marco chapel to face a problem that has always been common with prisons: overcrowding. Indeed it was still in use in the nineteenth century.42 A further study on this subject would make it possible to address the concept of ‘flexibility’ in architecture with reference to particular functional typologies, as Donatella Calabi did in the analysis of Scarpagnino’s buildings in the Rialto in Venice.43 Before the construction of the new prison building and changes to the Ducal Palace in the seventeenth century, other prisons were located on the ground floor under block A. These prisons were mainly civil, like the institutions located in block A, although there were also cells for persons condemned to death and for criminals. Some cells in this block faced the public street, unlike the previous ones, and so prisoners could conduct their affairs through the windows. This arrangement also facilitated the inspections of guards and talks with lawyers. Furthermore, the detention rooms in this block were collective, so inmates could work inside. These two characteristics are typical of civil prisons or detention cells for less dangerous (or more privileged) prisoners, including insolvents. As noted above, insolvent debtors could be released after they had settled their debts, often thanks to the charity of passers-by and charitable associations dedicated to this purpose.44 The prison population density was very high in the Ducal Palace. On the basis of Scarabello’s report on a common cell (although it was probably the airiest and brightest),45 we can estimate that 4.45 square metres were at a prisoner’s disposal (there were 40 prisoners in an area of 178 square metres). To improve the situation public institutions promoted and managed testamentary donations.46 Different magistracies managed each prison, which thus needed independent access and sentry posts for the various autonomous prisons (fig. 11). The creation of different sections also made it possible to separate persons by kind of offence (civil or criminal), sex and age. I have not found distinctions by social class, but perhaps the fact that prisoners had to keep themselves was enough to make the difference. The layout was not, indeed, completely functional: a chapel (the Chiesola) was used as an anteroom for a criminal cell named Forte and for a civil cell named Valiera (fig. 12). I must also mention the tortuous passageways which produced problems for the management of prisoners, as in the Neapolitan case. Notice, for example, that the rooms marked D were not connected to the others on the ground floor and were accessible from the second level. They were used by the Signori di Notte, a minor judicial institution which served also as a criminal police force (fig. 11, D). Finally, the walls of the civil prisons in block A of the Ducal Palace were made of bricks and not large stone blocks as in the Pozzi; the floor was wooden and not vaulted as in the lower level prison of block C. Therefore the prisons were not very escape-proof and 41

Franzoi 1997, pp. 142–143. U. Franzoi, Itinerari segreti nel palazzo ducale di Venezia, Treviso, 1983, pp. 240–247. 43 D. Calabi, P. Morachiello, Rialto, le fabbriche e il ponte, Torino, 1987, p. 68. 42

44

Archivio di Stato di Venezia, Quarantia Criminal, b. 176, and F. Fabri, Venezia nel 1483, Venezia, 1881, p. 43. 45 Scarabello 1979, p. 30. 46 Venice State Archive, Procuratori de ultra, b 423.

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IN THE

SIXTEENTH CENTURY: NAPLES

AND

VENICE

11. Civil prison in Ducal Palace in Venice

12. Diagram of the layout of the prison in block A. Each cell had a ‘nickname’ which indicated a charateristic or the previous owner jailbreaks were quite frequent occurrences.47 Even if prisoners did not manage to escape, they caused damage to the walls with hammers and other tools, smuggled in via the windows, and so bricks and wooden structures needed frequent repairs.48 This was one of the factors which compelled the public institutions to build a more rational prison building from 1566. 47

M. Sanudo, I Diarii, Venezia, 1879–1903, vols. XXXI, p. 44 and LIV, p. 268. 48 G. Lorenzi, Monumenti per servire alla storia di palazzo ducale, Venezia, 1868, p. 135 (no. 277 5/9/1506), p. 152 (no. 322 31/8/1510), p. 184

(no. 394 8/3/1526), p. 186 (no. 400 11/12/1527), p. 190 (no. 407 8/4/1530), p. 191 (no. 410 12/10/1530), p. 193 (no. 413 4/2/1531), p. 196 (no. 416 20/9/1531), p. 208 (no. 437 17/11/1535), p. 225 (no. 475 17/3/1540) and others.

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LANFRANCO LONGOBARDI Conclusion In spite of the severe restrictions imposed by the pre-existing buildings, Castel Capuano in Naples and the Ducal Palace in Venice show a common trend in ancien regime Italian states; the concentration of judicial functions in a single building, and the construction of a central detention building to resist local powers and private interests. At the same time they represent two of the three kinds of arrangement we can find in contemporary cities and in treatises on architecture; a prison block joined with the courthouse (Castel Capuano and the Ducal Palace before the construction of the new prison), and a detention building connected to the courthouse via a bridge. The third kind, an isolated building, like the Stinche prison in Florence and the plan for the new prison building in Milan, is the most infrequent in sixteenth-century Italian states. Even if prisons established different connections with the urban context – a very important factor in capital cities with ancient traditions like Naples and Venice – we can identify similar layouts. These include the use of a sentry way around a group of cells which is equipped with an autonomous courtyard in which a chapel is often located, and the presence of other functions, like taverns and infirmaries, to make the prison more autonomous. This process could also be compared with one that was happening to other government buildings in general and to urban areas, where power was located according to the re-organization of public institutions. In this connection, new studies in this direction could be profitable. Frequently cited works Anonymous author 1674 Anonymous author, Relatione dello stato delle carceri della Gran Corte della Vicaria di Napoli, s.l., 1674. Berengo 1999 Marino Berengo, L’Europa delle città, Torino, 1999. Cozzi 1982 Gaetano Cozzi, Repubblica di Venezia e stati italiani, Torino, 1982. Franzoi 1997 Umberto Franzoi, Le prigioni di Palazzo Ducale a Venezia, Milano, 1997. Mantelli 1981 Roberto Mantelli, Burocrazia e finanze pubbliche, Napoli, 1981. Pilati 1994 Renata Pilati, Officia principis, politica e amministrazione a Napoli nel Cinquecento, Napoli, 1994. Scarabello 1979 Giovanni Scarabello, Carceri e carcerati a Venezia nell’età moderna, Roma, 1979.

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BUILDING DISCIPLINE: TWO AMSTERDAM HOUSES

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CORRECTION

Freek Schmidt (Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam)

Introduction Crime, in early modern times, was a disease that could be cured by confinement and labour. In A History of Building Types, Pevsner notes the affinity of the hospital and the prison, closely following the eighteenth-century publications by the famous prison reformer John Howard. From Pevsner’s point of view, the house of correction, defined as a confined building intended to correct as well as punish, and presenting work as the remedy, was only taken seriously in Holland. In Amsterdam a house of correction for men opened in 1596, which became known as the Rasphuis. It was so-named because inmates were forced to pulverize (‘rasp’) dyewood to create powder for colouring textiles. This was followed a year later by a house of correction for women, the so-called Spinhuis, where the prisoners were forced to labour, spinning and reeling.1 These were the first houses of correction in continental Europe. The Amsterdam institutions quickly became known and were imitated widely in the seventeenth century, not only in the Netherlands but also in the towns along the North Sea and the Baltic.2 The architecture of the Amsterdam houses of correction did not impress Pevsner, and he does not discuss the reasons for the emergence of the new institution in Holland. His focus lies on architectural innovation and design, not on the implementation of the workhouse as a institution in early modern Europe. The house of correction – despite its influence in Northern Europe – lies outside the scope of the modernization-oriented scope of the history of the prison as well, and is absent, for instance, from Foucault’s interpretation of the prison as a new mode of repression to replace capital punishment.3 To comprehend the emergence of the early-modern house of correction in Amsterdam and its successors in the seventeenth and eighteenth century – a period that roughly coincides with the years that span the existence of the Dutch Republic – we cannot rely on Pevsner, Howard or Foucault. Taking a closer look at two influential houses of correction that were erected at an interval of 180 years, will help to explain the unlikely origin and subsequent development of an exceptional building type that demands a place between the prison, the hospital, the factory and the workhouse. In the Republic of the United Provinces, the house of correction was first developed as a pioneering instrument in penology. In the later eighteenth century, urgent urban problems, such as pauperism, criminality and economic inactivity were placed high on the agenda of reformers and city governments. Again Amsterdam took a pioneering role, in trying to reverse its decline by fighting poverty with a building.

1

Pevsner 1976, p. 161. Pevsner 1976, p. 161, mentions Leiden 1597, Leeuwarden 1598, Groningen 1601, Franeker 1608, Haarlem 1609, Enkhuizen 1612, Alkmaar 1614, Dordrecht 1614, Utrecht 1616, Antwerp 1618, Brussels 1623, Ghent 1627, Lübeck 1601, Bremen probably 1604, Hamburg 1618, Danzig 1629, Stockholm 1625. 2

Pevsner also mentions the London Bridewell, a castle that was turned into a prison, with workrooms and a hospital in 1556. Any connection with the new Dutch institutions, that were erected with the particular function of the house of correction, is not supported by documentary evidence. 3 Spierenburg 1991, p. 3.

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FREEK SCHMIDT Pioneering in penology The history of the Dutch ‘tuchthuis’ starts in jail. Following the arrival of the Spanish troops in the city of Haarlem, the secretary of the mayors, Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert (1522–1590), was imprisoned in one of the cells of the Gevangenpoort (the prisoners’ gate) in The Hague in 1567.4 Besides being a printmaker and a poet, Coornhert was also an advocate of religious tolerance. In his cell he wrote the outline of a book that was to appear twenty years later, in 1587, entitled Boeven-tucht ofte Middelen tot mindering der schadelyke ledighghangers (‘Disciplining criminals or means for reducing obnoxious wastrels’).5 Coornhert argued that criminals should be punished more severely, but also that they should be disciplined by forced labour. This would fundamentally improve their mental health and moral attitude, and turn them into good citizens. Coornhert considered idleness to be the primary cause of criminal behaviour. Among the four solutions he presented, two involved building special prisons in the country and in the city, consisting of a series of cells around a central courtyard, in which all kinds of crafts could be performed. In the city, the inmates could also be put to work in construction, to reinforce or build city walls and canals, or to drive piles. Coornhert thus formulated the blueprint for a new kind of correctional facility, based on forced labour. The word tucht (discipline) in the title of the book became the regular name to describe the new houses of correction, or tuchthuizen, distinguishable from jails, which were a much older type of institution. Almost every city had a jail for detention during trial, before execution and for coercing persons into paying fines. Penal imprisonment was often regarded as a form of corporal punishment, and was already very common in the fourteenth century, especially in England and Venice, but the duration of the incarceration was usually short. The second line leading to early houses of correction involves medieval hospitals, which functioned as guesthouses, asylums for the aged or the non-violent insane, as inns sheltering poor travellers, and refuges for homeless persons. Before dealing in detail with Amsterdam, a few words are needed to understand why the house of correction was greeted with open arms in the late sixteenth century. According to the research of cultural historians since the 1980s, the house of correction did not emerge as a response to the fundamental needs of commercial capitalism, as the result of economic developments in the city, although it is true that the obligation to work served as a punishment, ensured order, and it assured that costs were kept within acceptable limits.6 Moreover, attempts to reform the poor-relief system antedate the Protestant ethic and were not limited to punishment alone. In the general process of secularization, Protestantism can have acted as an accelerator, but it was together with urbanization and the rise of the city as an independent, secular authority. The three ‘founding fathers’ of the Amsterdam Rasphuis, Coornhert, Spieghel and Egters, were not Calvinists but liberals, favouring a policy of religious toleration.7 At the roots of the emergence of the house of correction lies a shift in attitudes towards the poor, including beggars and vagabonds, who were increasingly treated with suspicion. Early in the sixteenth century, the opinion spread 4

For Coornhert, see Bonger 1978, p. 411; Gelderblom 1985, p. 9. 5 H. Bongert et al. (eds), Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert. Dwars maar recht, Zutphen, 1989, esp. A. H. Huussen jr, ‘Coornherts Boeven-tucht’, pp. 144–153. See also S. Faber, ‘Het Rasphuis: wat was dat eigenlijk?’, in: Fijnaut and Spierenburg 1990, pp. 127–143.

6

Spierenburg 1991; P. Spierenburg, ‘The sociogenesis of confinement and its development in early modern Europe’, in: P. Spierenburg (ed.), The Emergence of Carceral Institutions: Prisons, galleys and lunatic asylums 1550–1900, Rotterdam, 1990, p. 21. 7 Spierenburg 1991, pp. 43–49.

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that the poor deserved compassion as long as they could not be blamed for their condition. New measures restricted or forbade begging, and non-resident poor and vagrants had to leave the city, while control of the system shifted from the ecclesiastical to the secular authorities. Experiments with confinement of beggars were carried out throughout Europe. The Rasphuis The official decision to erect a house of correction for all vagabonds, criminals, crooks and offenders, in the former convent of nuns of the Clarissa order in Amsterdam, was taken 1. Detail of the map of Amsterdam by Cornelis Anthoniszoon, in 1589.8 Following the Alteration in 1578, engraving 1544, with the Clarissa Convent. when Amsterdam was forced to side with William of Orange, Protestantism replaced Catholicism as the official religion. Most of the Catholic institutions, especially the churches and grounds of the convents, were claimed by the city government. The Clarissa convent dated from 1513 and was the most recent and one of the largest in the city (fig. 1). In 1589 the buildings were still inhabited by nuns. It was, however, strongly prohibited to display any signs of the Catholic religion outside the convent, or to draw attention in any way to the fact that mass was still celebrated regularly in the chapel. After having been warned several times, the nuns were evicted in 1589.9 This decision coincides perfectly with the proposal to house a new correctional facility in the abandoned complex, by one of the Amsterdam sheriffs, Jan Laurenszoon Spiegel. His report was refined by his colleague, the surgeon Sebastiaan Egters, who also drafted the house rules. There is no evidence that Coornhert, who died in 1590, was involved in the preparations for the foundation of the rasphuis in Amsterdam.10 Details of the actual transformation are scarce, because of the loss of the archives of both the rasphuis and the Amsterdam Office of Works. However, we can assume that it was easy to turn the convent into a house of correction for seventy prisoners given that it was already an enclosed and secluded, permanently occupied institution for a restricted number of people to work, eat and sleep (fig. 2). The walls, windows and doors had to be strengthened or barred and the locks changed. A year later, the same procedure

8

On the rasphuis: Bonger 1978, p. 314; Gelderblom 1985, p. 41; P. Spierenburg, ‘Boeventucht en vrijheidsstraffen. Coornherts betekenis voor het ontstaan en de ontwikkeling van het gevangeniswezen in Nederland’, in: Fijnaut and Spierenburg 1990, pp. 11–30, especially pp. 20–21; P. Spierenburg, ‘Het rasphuis anno ‘96’, in: T. Sterman et al. (ed.), Met straffe hand … Tucht en discipline in het Amsterdamse rasphuis, Amsterdam, 1996, pp. 5–12. Most descriptions of the Rasphuis are based on A. Hallema, ‘Merkwaardige voorstellen tot oprichting van het eerste nederlandsche

tuchthuis te Amsterdam’, Jaarboek Amstelodamum 24, 1927, pp. 63–105; and Sellin 1944. 9 M. Schilder (ed.), Amsterdamse kloosters in de Middeleeuwen, Amsterdam, 1997, p. 135; B. de Melker, ‘Burgers en devotie 1340–1520’, in: M. Carasso-Kok (ed.), Geschiedenis van Amsterdam. Tot 1578. Een stad uit het niets, vol. 1, Amsterdam, 2004, pp. 251– 313, at p. 310. 10 F. Schmidt, ‘Correctie op papier. Coornhert en de Amsterdamse tuchthuisarchitectuur’, Kunstlicht 27, 2006, no. 2–3, pp. 64–67.

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FREEK SCHMIDT

2. The Rasphuis in 1663, from O. Dapper’s Historische beschryvingh der stadt Amsterdam.

was probably followed for the spinhuis. This house of correction for women was installed in 1596 in the former convent of Saint Ursula on the Oudezijds Achterburgwal (fig. 3). A maximum of seventy-eight women could be housed and employed in this facility, which was subdivided into a section for regular offenders, who were forced to spin, reel and card, and a section for women who were placed there at the request of their relatives, and who were occupied with spinning, knotting of fishnets and the sewing of cloths for the children of the city orphanage (Burgerweeshuis). After a great fire in 1645 the Spinhuis was rebuilt, receiving a new porch with a classical façade. Thus, the official change of religion in the crowded city created a perfect opportunity to redistribute its scarce space. Expropriation and economical re-use of Catholic property intensified with the growing need for space following Amsterdam’s amazing surge in trade and industry after 1578, the Fall of Antwerp in 1585, and the increasing Baltic trade. Between 1570 and 1600 the population doubled from 30,000 to 60,000, leading to two successive decisions to expand the city, in 1585 and 1592. While these expansions accommodated the demand for warehouses, shops and houses, the pressure on the existing territory facilitated the silent entry of the house of correction as a new institution in the confiscated convent. The new rasphuis could serve as a spatial solution to public order problems and as a sign to both citizens and newcomers of the determination of the authorities to deal with all categories of deviants, especially the beggars and vagrants. A growing sense of an urban identity in a pacified and secular, liberal climate, gave the proud and independent city of Amsterdam its first house of correction. The Rasphuis derived its form from its predecessor, to which a new element was added, a gate on the Heiligeweg. The outer doorway – today the only structure that remains of the Rasphuis – was decorated with doric half-columns and a simple cornice with a relief of Hercules, driving three teams of lions and tigers, pulling a wagon of logs, emblematic of one of

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3. Engraving of the Spinhuis. To the left the Oudezijds Achterburgwal, and the Spinhuissteeg with the entrance gate, carrying the date 1645, and the courtyard behind it, 1663 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

the chief industries within the walls, the rasping of wood (fig. 4, left). A statue of Castigatio was placed on top of this gate a century later.11 Above the inner gateway, the rasping was depicted by two larger than life-sized figures of prisoners (fig. 4, right). Passing through this gateway, and through a hallway, one gained access to the rooms of the regents and warden, and to the courtyard (approx. 15 x 18 m.), used for rasping (fig. 5). In the surrounding wings, rooms of various sizes housed the inmates. There were nine cells on the ground floor of various sizes, which could serve both as workrooms (for rasping) and bedrooms, with four to twelve prisoners in each room (approx. 6 x 9 m and 4 x 6 m). On the east side the old chapel could be used as a school room and a church, and beneath were also a couple of cellar rooms for particular purposes. On the south side was the weighing room, with storage rooms above. On one of the top floors was a weaving loft. In 1603, a section of the old convent was turned into the ‘secret’ or ‘private’ section, where so-called black sheep, men and women who were placed in the custody of the regents of the workhouse by their families, or had requested to enter the workhouse voluntarily, were committed.12

11

W. J. M. Brouwer Ancher, ‘Het rasphuispoortje te Amsterdam en zijn geschiedenis’, De Navorscher 44, 1894, p. 565–570, 704–705; E. Neurdenburg, De zeventiende eeuwsche beeldhouwkunst in de Noordelijke Nederlanden: Hendrick de Keyser, Artus Quellimus, Rombout Verhulst en tijdgenooten, Amsterdam, 1948, pp. 30–35; F. Schmidt,

‘De architect van het Huis met de Hoofden. Moderne architectuur anno 1631’, in: J. Gawronski, F. Schmidt and M.-Th. Van Thoor (eds.), Amsterdam. Monumenten & Archeologie 5, Amsterdam, 2006, pp. 59–69. 12 Sellin 1944, pp. 31–35.

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FREEK SCHMIDT In 1654 a separate workhouse for petty offenders was established in an old warehouse on the IJgracht (Prins Hendrikkade), and thereafter the Rasphuis was reserved for criminals convicted of serious crimes. Perhaps already at that moment, the problems of the expanding city could not be solved in the way the liberals had hoped sixty years before. Reforming correction When the city architect, Abraham van der Hart (1747–1820), inspected the workhouse on the IJgracht in 1777 he was shocked.13 Not only was the building still in use although it had been condemned years ago, it was also extremely overcrowded. Instead of one, three to four inmates had to share one bed, the low 4. Drawing by Reinier Vinkeles of the outer gateway on the floors of the former warehouse and the lack Heiligeweg and of the inner gateway of the Rasphuis, 1764 of ventilation could easily cause contagious (Atlas Splitberger, Stadsarchief Amsterdam). diseases. Van der Hart’s inspection alerted the Amsterdam city council, who asked the regents of the workhouse to make a report on the situation. In their report the regents concluded that Amsterdam, a city that once had been free of vagrancy, was now flooded by beggars beyond the control of the police. After 180 years, the hopes of Coornhert, Spieghel and Egberts had given way to despair. Drastic solutions were needed. Even if the refurbished warehouse could contain a maximum of 150 inmates properly, it was calculated that four to six hundred vagrants and minor delinquents would still roam the streets of the city. The regents’ report made clear that vagrancy was a problem in Amsterdam that needed to be solved urgently. In 1779 the city council decided to built a completely new workhouse that would be large enough to detain all the beggars of Amsterdam. Apart from being an answer to the urgent problem of vagrancy, the new workhouse also represents an evaluation of the Amsterdam tradition of penology, which can only be understood in connection with the discussions on pauperism, poverty and economic decline in the Netherlands in the later eighteenth century. It is not a coincidence that the Amsterdam regents and council reacted so promptly to the report of their new city architect. In the 1770s poverty, forced labour and detention were important issues in enlightened discussions.14

13

Amsterdam, municipal archive (StA), inv. 5040 (archief stadsfabriekambt), no. 98, afschriften van rapporten van Abraham van der Hart aan de thesaurierenordinaris, 1778–1782, p. 2. On Van der Hart, see: C. A. van Swigchem, Abraham van der Hart (1747–1820). Architect. Stadsbouwmeester van Amsterdam, Amsterdam, 1965. More specifically on the workhouse, see: F. Schmidt, ‘Armoede en Verlichting. Het nieuwe werkhuis in Amsterdam en Abraham van der Hart’, De Achttiende Eeuw 35, 2003, no. 2, pp. 89–122, and idem, Paleizen

voor prinsen en burgers. Architectuur in Nederland in de achttiende eeuw, Zwolle, 2005, pp. 145–191. 14 H. F. J. M. van den Eerenbeemt, ‘Armoede in de “gedrukte” optiek van de sociale bovenlaag in Nederland, 1750–1850’, Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis 88, 1975, pp. 468–500; H. F. J. M. van den Eerenbeemt, Armoede en arbeidsdwang. Werkinrichtingen voor “onnutte” Nederlanders in de Republiek 1760– 1795. Een mentaliteitsgeschiedenis, ’s-Gravenhage, 1977.

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The idea had taken hold that pauperism, criminality and economic inactivity were strongly interrelated. From discussions in learned societies and prize-winning essays of competitions on economics and the state of the Republic, it becomes clear that the bourgeoisie was facing the fact that the United Provinces, after its Golden Age in the seventeenth century, had become a small power in Europe. Through decline and a rampant growth of poverty, the very existence of the Republic was now seriously threatened. Both on a municipal, regional and provincial level, special attention was devoted to the reversal of the decline by fighting poverty. From these initiatives sprang the con5. Engraving after a drawing by Hendrik Schouten of the viction that man could be perfected, as could 15 courtyard of the Rasphuis, from Fouquet 1783. society in general. The ideals were translated into propositions that would lead to economic upheaval, the extermination of poverty and the improvement of mankind’s fate in general. Subsequently, the methods of detention and the organization of punishment, in which the moral improvement of the prisoner became a central theme, drew the attention of enlightened reformers.16 Following the ideas of Voltaire and Montesquieu, and prison reformers like Howard and Cesare Beccaria, a tendency to replace corporal punishment with discipline and re-education was breaking ground once again in the Netherlands. Some reformers saw solitary confinement as an important instrument to improve the behaviour of inmates before they could return to society, but this was not the ideal of the workhouse planners. They continued to stress forced labour as a therapeutic device for repentance and re-integration. The Amsterdam government took the decision to build a new, largescale correctional machine. It was designed to house eight hundred persons in four separate wings, who were to work, eat and sleep in the building. The aim was, eventually, to transform them into hardworking and skilled model citizens before they could return to society. The solution looked simple enough, the large-scale reorganization of forced labour for minor delinquents, incarceration and discipline through labour for beggars, the needy, and black sheep or family outcasts, and all this within a cost-effective budget. Never before had the city undertaken a project of this magnitude, which could fundamentally change the face of poverty in the city.

15

W. W. Mijnhardt, “De Nederlandse Verlichting”, in: F. Grijzenhout, W.W. Mijnhardt, N.C.F. van Sas, Voor Vaderland en Vrijheid. De revolutie van de Patriotten, Amsterdam, 1987, p. 66. 16 C. Beccaria, Verhandeling over de misdaaden en straffen. Naar de derde verbeterde en vermeerderde Italiaansche uitgave. Waar by, de verklaaring op dit werkje van den heere de Voltaire. Uit het

Fransch vertaald, Amsterdam, 1768; C. Beccaria and J. M. Michels, Over misdaden en straffen. Ingeleid en van aantekeningen voorzien en vertaald door J.M. Michiels, Antwerpen, 1982 (19711), p. 23; Lis and Soly 1990, pp. 205–206; M. Giebelhausen, ‘Konzepte räumlicher Überwachung. Bemerkungen zur Gefängnisarchitektur, 1777–1842’, Architectura 23, 1993, pp. 173–199.

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FREEK SCHMIDT The new workhouse The new workhouse was built between 1779 and 1782, on a site east of the river Amstel, in a part of the city that had been laid out from 1662 onwards, as the last part of the ring of canals begun in 1612. The scale of the new building easily surpassed the earlier ones (figs. 6, 7). It consisted of four wings around a central building, with four galleries dividing the inner court into four separate courtyards, measuring approximately 51 x 102 m (180 x 360 Amsterdam feet). The free-standing, cube-like building of brickwork impresses less through its architec6. Drawing by Hendrik Schouten of the principle façade of tural detailing than through its size (fig. 8). The complicated programme of the building was the new workhouse, ca. 1783 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam). translated appropriately in an austere outward appearance on three of its four sides. The central part of the main façade is crowned by a pediment executed by the sculptor Anthony Ziesenis, depicting Amsterdam, surrounded by industriously spinning and weaving figures, while beggars and drunkards are being punished. It is the most pronounced clue to the function of the building, making use of an approved Amsterdam method. The overall architectural outline of the façade is reminiscent of the major Amsterdam buildings erected in the seventeenth century, notably the town hall by Jacob van Campen (1648), and the central warehouse of the Admiralty by Daniel Stalpaert (1670). The rich detailing of this façade, with its solid rustication of sandstone blocks, corresponds to its function in the complex. Behind the central porch a monumental staircase (fig. 9) leads to the rooms of the regents on the first floor on both sides of the centrally situated interrogation room, which was reached by the inmates through a separate corridor (fig. 10). The actual workhouse could contain four separate groups of inmates; offenders serving six weeks to three years and the ‘black sheep’, each divided into male and female. Inside, Van der Hart originally designated each of the four groups of ‘guests’ their own courtyards, staircases, workshops and sleeping quarters, guarded by wardens who had their accommodation in the four corners connected by separated staircases. Shortly before the completion of the building, however, the regents of the Spinhuis decided, for reasons of finance and efficiency, to incorporate the institution of the spinhuis in the new building. This took the architect by surprise and forced him to make last-minute adjustments in the four-part scheme, creating spaces for a fifth, separated group of criminal women. On the garden site, opposite the main façade on the ground floor, were placed the laundry, the slaughterhouse, the bakery and the granary. The prisoners entered the workhouse through different entrances, connected with dressing rooms and bathrooms. The other wings contained rooms to cook and to dry the spinning materials, storage rooms and dining rooms. Above the kitchens in the central pavilion lay the quarters of the head warden who, through a private staircase, had access to all wings on all floors. On the first or main floor were the workshops, filled with looms and spinning wheels. The largest workshop, for women, stretched all along the south side of the workhouse, and was also used as a chapel on Sundays. The top floor had separate dormitories, bathrooms, toilets and infirmaries for all four classes of inmates. From a technical standpoint the architect had to face the problems of hygiene, lighting of the workshops, heating and air circulation. The placing of ovens, heating units, wash basins, running water and

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7. Drawing with elevations and sections by Abraham van der Hart of the new workhouse, ca. 1779 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam). On top is the elevation of the wing for women along the Kerkstraat, the middle shows the courtyards of the men with galleries and the pavilion in the middle, and at the bottom is the elevation of the façade along the Prinsengracht.

8. Façade of the workhouse, ca. 1910 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

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9. Central staircase and gallery in the office wing behind the main façade, seen from the first floor of the workhouse, ca. 1910 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

10. Former interrogation room in the office wing behind the main façade of the workhouse, ca. 1910 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

sanitary fittings and sewer system (fig. 11), but also the choices of material and the finishing of the different spaces, demanded for a co-ordinated vision of the functioning of a workhouse. Van der Hart was convinced that, in a building of this size which would permanently house eight hundred people, hygiene was of the utmost importance. All floors were laid of masonry and slightly sloped so that they could easily be rinsed. The workshops were high and a special type of window was designed to enable continuous ventilation and shed a maximum of light on the looms, while at the same time preventing the inmates from escaping, or even looking out. Ventilation was also accommodated by holes in the walls, ceilings

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11. Plan of the vaults, sewers, rainwater tanks, wells and pipes of the new workhouse, by Abraham van der Hart, 1779 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

and floors (fig. 12). The infirmaries had their own systems of ventilation, with several ventilators invented by Stephen Hales (1743), and experiments were conducted by heating air with saltpetre, because at that time most doctors were still convinced that ‘gaol fever’ and other contagious diseases were spread through the air.17 To be absolutely sure that the new building was understood correctly and used according to its purposes, the architect even went so far as to write directions for its use, in which he outlined how the wardens had to maintain the buildings’ sewers, ventilation systems and technical installations. The result was that, in the first decades after its opening in 1783, the building would function without any major problems. Architecture without deterrence The Amsterdam workhouse was a state-of-the-art building; the amount of attention devoted to hygiene was comparable to that of the late eighteenth-century hospital as a ventilation machine, rather than to the development of the prison. The architecture of the contemporary prison outside the Netherlands seemed rather to move in the opposite direction.

17

Van Swigchem 1965 (note 13), p. 72; S. Hales, A Description of Ventilators, London, 1743; J. D. Thompson, G. Goldin, The Hospital: A Social and Architectural History, New Haven, CT, and London, 1975, p. 91;

Evans 1982, pp. 94–117; C. Stevenson, Medicine and Magnificence. British Hospital and Asylum Architecture, 1660–1815, New Haven, CT, and London, 2000, pp. 163–171.

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12. Section drawing by Abraham van der Hart of one of the wings of the workhouse, showing the substructure of the building, the masonry floors and the special construction of the windows (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

In George Dance’s famous Newgate Prison (1786) for example, the architectural language of the façade expressed deterrence to the public outside, while the reality inside was even more horrible.18 In the Amsterdam workhouse, instead of deterrence, reform, re-education and forced labour were employed in order to ‘cure’ the inmates. An institution of this sort did not need an architecture of a deterrent or horrifying character, but one of a more neutral or positive nature that could be linked to the municipal architecture of Amsterdam. Punishment was not the central issue here, but reform. Therefore, the new Amsterdam workhouse stands outside the development described by Michel Foucault in his Discipline 18

Evans 1982, pp. 103–109.

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13. The new workhouse, from Howard 1784.

and Punish. The birth of the prison (1975). Instead of a solution that was adopted, for instance, in the city of Gent in 1772 by its mayor Vilain XIIII for a workhouse that combined a panoptical plan with cellular detention – a system that became widely popular in nineteenth-century prison architecture – Amsterdam chose a solution that was completely designed for the local circumstances and respected the Dutch tradition established two centuries earlier.19 As a result, the architect of the workhouse made only very limited use of his knowledge of the recent developments in prison and hospital architecture. The models that were published by Jean-François de Neufforge in his Recueil d’architecture, as well as the newly developed Hôtel-Dieu in Paris and Newgate Prison, were not suited to Amsterdam purposes.20 On the

19

On Gent, see: Lis and Soly 1990, pp. 194–197; D. van de Vijver, Ingenieurs en architecten op de drempel van een nieuwe tijd (1750–1830), Leuven, 2003, pp. 125–129. The possible sources for the design are summed up by Pevsner 1976, pp. 161–163.

20

H. Rosenau, ‘Antoine Petit und sein Zentralplan für das Hotel-Dieu in Paris’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 26, 1964, pp. 228–237; H. Rosenau, Social purpose in architecture. Paris and London compared, 1760–

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FREEK SCHMIDT other hand, the interest in communal and civic ideas and institutional reform that Helen Rosenau and Anthony Vidler observed in late eighteenth-century England and France, can also be recognized in Amsterdam, but without a tendency to incorporate a new radicalism in the approach of architecture. The penal system of disciplinary punishment, which had been established around 1600, did not have to be drastically altered, and neither did the architectural language of the façades. Only the scale of the whole operation was changed. By the end of the eighteenth century, the prison had reached the architectural pattern book, in which neither a converted convent nor an austere brick block could possibly serve as a model for architects. Instead of following the recent international fashion in architecture, which demanded that prisons have either a character that expressed deterrence, or a panoptical or cellular plan, Amsterdam looked at examples from its own correctional tradition. On the other hand, the new building, with its intricate systems of communication, ventilation and sanitary fittings, demonstrates the progress made since the first establishment of the Rasphuis in 1589. The new workhouse was a house of correction, a factory, a hospital and a prison all at the same time, and on a scale never attempted before. Specialists such as doctors, prison reformers and architects immediately recognized the accomplishments of the Amsterdam workhouse. Even before the building was finished, Howard included the new Amsterdam workhouse in his publications on prisons and leper hospitals, and presented it as an ‘elegant and commodious building’ (fig. 13).21 Van der Hart’s designs were also used for a new obstetrics clinic in Göttingen in Germany. Its plan appeared in two important publications, Jean Nicolas Louis Durand’s Recueil et Parallèlle (1799–1801), and Pierre Jacques Goetghebuer’s Choix des monumens, edifices et maisons les plus remarquables du royaume des Pays-Bas (1827).22 Outside the world of specialists, however, the public still had some difficulty in understanding the workhouse, and for that matter, the Amsterdam penal system. Conclusion In the eighteenth century, visiting a prison or correctional facility was still regarded by some as entertainment, by others as a means of measuring the level of progressiveness, humanity or executive power of a city. The architecture of Amsterdam penitentiaries proved a rich source for confusion. Not many visitors were accustomed to an architecture that possessed a certain monumentality through its scale and neatness, but was associated with humble institutions of discipline and social service. Unfamiliar with the Dutch penal system, which had long been a forerunner in Europe, many visitors failed to understand the mentality behind these buildings. The myth of the drowning room in the Amsterdam rasphuis, as the ultimate penalty for work-shyness, was probably the most persistent. According to this myth, a prisoner was tied in an underground cell, and only by pumping incessantly could he prevent the water from rising so high that he would drown. Both John Howard and

21 Howard 1777 (1792), p. 61. See also Th. A. Markus, Buildings and power. Freedom and control in the origin of modern building types, Londen and New York, 1993, p. 118. 22 J. N. L. Durand and J.-G. Legrand, Recueil et parallèle des édifices en tout genre, anciens et modernes, remarquables par leur beauté , par leur grandeur ou par leur singularité, dessiné sur une

même échelle, Paris, 1800–1801, Pl. 28: ‘Casernes, arsénaux, prisons, &c.’; P.-J. Goetghebuer, Choix de monumens, édifices et maisons les plus remarquables du royaume des Pays-Bas, par P.J. Goetghebuer, architecte, l’une des directeurs de la Société royale des Beaux-Arts et de la Littérature à Gand, Ghent, 1827, pp. 63–64.

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the eighteenth-century Amsterdam historian Jan Wagenaar knew the truth, but that did not prevent present day historians and writers interpreting it as a symbol of Dutch seventeenthcentury penal mentality.23 However, in the eighteenth century in Amsterdam, every citizen knew that the drowning room was a fairy tale, accustomed as they were to the Dutch penal system. Only strangers failed to make a true assessment of the correctional facilities and their architecture. Yet, there is also some truth in the myth, indicating that a house of correction was not just a place to punish but also to reform. This had been the starting point of Coornhert’s Boeven-tucht in 1587, which reached its conclusion in the eighteenth-century workhouse. In 1777, the old Rasphuis was still credited by prison reformer John Howard as being so clean, “that a visitor can hardly believe he is in a gaol”.24 Both experimental buildings, the rasphuis and the workhouse, are easily overlooked or misinterpreted when disconnected from the institutions they housed and the many ideas and initiatives concerning penology and detention, poverty, economic downfall and reform that were circulating in the Republic at the time of their erection. The eighteenth-century workhouse expresses a Dutch response to the international Enlightenment that remained strongly based on the ideals established in the late sixteenth century and developed in the seventeenth century. Both the pioneering spirit of penology, established in the seventeenth-century rasphuis and spinhuis, as well as its plain and efficient architecture, were respected and continued. Even a building that housed vagrants and minor delinquents could be used to stress Amsterdam’s independent position within the Republic, and underline the city’s continuing ability to take care of its own people. However, this independent status would not last. In 1795 the Republic was invaded by the French Republican armies and with the establishment of the kingdom in the early nineteenth century, questions of penology and welfare became questions of national concern, if considered at all.25 The liberal and independent visions of the tuchthuis developed in and around Amsterdam in the late sixteenth century, in a young Republic, did not survive its downfall. Frequently cited works Bonger 1978 H. Bonger, Leven en werk van D.V. Coornhert, Amsterdam, 1978. Evans 1982 R. Evans, The fabrication of virtue. English prison architecture, 1750–1840, Cambridge, 1982. Fijnaut and Spierenburg 1990 C. Fijnaut, P. Spierenburg (eds.), Scherp toezicht van ‘Boeventucht’ tot ‘Samenleving en Criminaliteit’, Arnhem, 1990.

23

S. Schama, Embarrassment of Riches: An interpretation of Dutch culture in the Golden Age, New York, 1987; M. Pye, The Drowning Room, New York and London, 1995. 24 Howard 1777, p. 40; M. Ignatieff, A Just Measure of Pain. The Pentitentiary in the Industrial Revolution, London, 1978, p. 53.

25

In the nineteenth century, the workhouse was turned into a house for the poor, and in the twentieth century, after thorough interior renovation, into a home for the elderly.

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FREEK SCHMIDT Fouquet 1783 P. Fouquet, Nieuwe Atlas van de voornaamste gebouwen en gezigten der stad Amsterdam, met derzelver beknopte beschrijvingen, Amsterdam, 1783. Gelderblom 1985 A.-J. Gelderblom et al., Boeventucht. Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert. Naar de eerste druk uit 1587 uitgegeven en van commentaar voorzien, Muiderberg, 1985. Howard 1777 J. Howard, The state of the prisons in England and Wales, with preliminary observations, and and account of some foreign prisons, London, 1777 (later editions Warrington, 1784, London, 1792). Howard 1789 J. Howard, An account of the principal lazarettos in Europe, together with further observations on some foreign prisons and hospitals, London, 1789 (second, enlarged edition 1791). Lis and Soly 1990 C. Lis, H. Soly, Te gek om los te lopen? Collocatie in de 18e eeuw, Turnhout, 1990. Pevsner 1976 N. Pevsner, A history of building types, Princeton, NJ, and London, 1976. Sellin 1944 T. Sellin, Pioneering in penology. The Amsterdam houses of correction in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Philadelphia and London, 1944. Spierenburg 1991 P. Spierenburg, The prison experience. Disciplinary institutions and their inmates in early modern Europe, New Brunswick, NJ, and London, 1991.

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Part Three. Economy

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Krista De Jonge* (Katholieke Universiteit Leuven) Introduction Les bâtiments publics d’Anvers, grande métropole du XVIe siècle, paraissent bien étudiés, en particulier l’hôtel de ville:1 dès l’époque de sa construction (1561– 1565), celui-ci servit de modèle partout en Europe du Nord, grâce à l’architecture ‘de papier’ diffusée par Hans Vredeman de Vries.2 Or selon Lodovico Guicciardini (Loys Guichardin), cette bâtisse énorme et très coûteuse n’est autre que le point le point d’orgue d’une longue campagne de construction qui dota Anvers d’une infrastructure commerciale extraordinaire à partir du début du siècle (figs. 1, 12).3 Les entrepreneurs agissant pour le compte de la ville, comme Gilbert van Schoonbeke (1519–1556), et son financement complexe ont notamment bénéficié de l’analyse approfondie publiée par Hugo Soly en 1977.4 Les bâtiments, en revanche, ont été longtemps oubliés, puisqu’ils avaient tous disparus avant la fin du XIXe siècle, le Hessenhuis ou “nouveau logis pour y deschargir la marchandise, qui vient par terre” (Guichardin) excepté (voir fig. 10). Aujourd’hui, une iconographie très riche, composée de photographies anciennes, de

* Avec mes remerciements à Nurhan Abu-Jidi, Inge Bertels, Maurice Howard, Konrad Ottenheym et Herman Van Goethem pour leur aide précieuse. 1 F. Prims, Het stadhuis te Antwerpen. Geschiedenis en beschrijving, Anvers, 1930; A. Corbet, ‘Cornelis Floris en de bouw van het stadhuis van Antwerpen’, Belgisch tijdschrift voor oudheidkunde en kunstgeschiedenis / Revue belge d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’art 6, 1936, pp. 223–264; J. Duverger, ‘Cornelis Floris II en het stadhuis te Antwerpen’, Gentse bijdragen tot de kunstgeschiedenis 7, 1941, pp. 37–72; R. Adriaenssens, ‘Sur l’hôtel de ville d’Anvers et les apports des carrières wallonnes dans son édification’, Bulletin de la commission royale des monuments et des sites, nouv. sér., 9, 1980, pp. 125–141; H. Bevers, Das Rathaus von Antwerpen (1561–1565). Architektur und Figurenprogramm (Studien zur Kunstgeschichte, 28), Hildesheim, Zürich et New York, 1985; J. Lampo, Het stadhuis van Antwerpen, Bruxelles, 1993. 2 Les premières variantes sur l’hôtel de ville anversois apparaissent déjà dans les Intarsies ovales dédiées à Pierre-Ernest de Mansfeld (Anvers, chez Jérôme Cock, vers 1560–1562), pl. 17, et dans les Petites perspectives architecturales dédiées à Antoine Perrenot de Granvelle (Anvers, chez Jérôme Cock, 1562), pl. 6, 19. Fuhring 1997, I, cat. n°s 68, 78, 89. Des vues indépendantes sont publiées en 1564–1565. Fuhring 1997, I, cat. n°s 181–182. L’hôtel de ville inspire ensuite plusieurs fonds architecturaux dans le livre

des fontaines Artis perspectivæ (Anvers, chez Gerard de Jode, 1568), pl. 2, 8, 14, 16. Fuhring 1997, I, cat. n°s 271, 277, 283, 285. Il sert de base aux exemples doriques, ioniques et corinthiens dans le traité sur les ordres Architectura Oder Bauung der Antiquen auss dem Vitruvius (Anvers, chez Gerard de Jode, 1577). Fuhring 1997, II, cat. n°s 415–418, 420, 422–424, 426–428. 3 “ … & outre les maisons des citoyens particuliers, on y voit divers edifices publics, & beaux & somptueux, & magnifiques; tels que le lieu où l’on estale & vend la Tapisserie : la Boucherie, le Poids, & le superbe logis qu’on preste aux Angloys appellé Thof van Lire; pour ce que Art, homme segnalé & issu de tresnoble famille de Lire, feit bastir ce logis comme un Palais Royal, l’ayant ordonné pour servir de Court à l’Empereur Charles cinquiesme. Y sont encor les magasins somptueux faits expres pour les Angloys : & le nouveau logis pour y deschargir la marchandise, qui vient par terre. Mais sur tout autre edifice est à iuger pour le plus grand & plus magnifique, la maison ou logis des Osterlins. En somme, il ne manquoit rien en ceste ville qui fut digne d’une telle communauté, & seigneurie, qu’un hostel de ville correspondant aux autres parties : & pour ce en ont ils fait depuis un tressomptueux, grand & digne d’un tel estat : lequel tout comté coustera pres de cent mille escuz, ( … )”. Guicciardini 1582, pp. 125–126. 4 Soly 1977.

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KRISTA DE JONGE tableaux contemporains et de cartes, est suppléée par les fouilles (2006) qui ont permis de découvrir les fondations de la maison Hanséatique ou ‘maison des Osterlins’, le fleuron de cette infrastructure, toujours d’après Guichardin.5 Il est temps désormais de se mesurer au problème de leur typologie.6 Bâtiment par bâtiment, ces édifices et en particulier ceux de la première génération (1500–1540) tels que la Boucherie (Vleeshuis), semblent familiers aux connaisseurs de l’architecture publique de la fin du moyen âge. Seule, leur échelle les distingue parfois des précédents dans les autres centres commerciaux du réseau urbain très dense qui caractérise les Pays-Bas méridionaux. Une exception importante est constituée par la nouvelle Bourse, construite de 1531 à 1533, modèle à grand retentissement européen; l’opération financière et urbanistique à son origine constitue une décennie plus tard le modèle des spéculations immobilières de Van Schoonbeke.7 Ce sera notre premier cas d’étude. Dans un deuxième temps, reflétant le rythme d’expansion accéléré de la métropole, la rénovation et l’extension de cette infrastructure prend une envergure encore plus importante.8 Guichardin nous rappelle que la ville investit des centaines de milliers d’écus, non seulement dans des bâtiments-type comme la halle aux Tapisseries (Tappeciers Pant, 1551–1552, démolie en 1828) et le Poids public (Waag, 1547–1548, brûlé en 1873),9 mais également dans les magasins des marchands étrangers, qui étaient organisés en ‘nations’: Anglais, marchands des villes hanséatiques, transporteurs de Hesse qui avaient le monopole de la route vers l’Europe centrale. Cette deuxième campagne de construction se distingue par sa grande homogénéité: les preneurs d’initiative – les promoteurs immobiliers – étaient en effet relativement peu nombreux et de ce fait, quasi omniprésents. Ne nous trompons pas sur l’emploi de la brique, matériau de construction principal : dès le début du siècle, elle se faisait tellement rare, que la ville se vit obligée à prendre des mesures contre la spéculation et la monopolisation.10 La maçonnerie brique et pierre est par conséquent un mode de construction de grand prestige. Nous étudierons comme deuxième cas la ‘maison des Osterlins’ déjà citée.

5 W. Couvreur et al., Om en rond de Antwerpse vesten, Anvers, 1984; A.-M. Adriaenssens, Het iconografisch stadsbeeld van Antwerpen in de 16de eeuw, mém. lic., Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 1982; G. Bedeer, L. Janssens (éd.), Steden in beeld. Antwerpen, 1200– 1800 (catalogue d’exposition Bruxelles, Algemeen Rijksarchief/Anvers, Universitaire Faculteiteiten SintIgnatius), Bruxelles, 1993; H. Van Goethem (éd.), Fotografie en realisme in de 19de eeuw. Antwerpen : de oudste foto’s, 1847–1880 (catalogue d’exposition Anvers, Galerie Ronny Van de Velde), Anvers, 1999; H. Van Goethem et al., Antwerpen voor de lens. Een greep uit de fotoverzameling van het Museum aan de Stroom (catalogue d’exposition Anvers, Hessenhuis), Anvers, 2005. 6 Pour une étude plus exhaustive sur les bâtiments publics des anciens Pays-Bas à l’époque moderne, voir K. Ottenheym, K. De Jonge, ‘Civic Prestige. Building

the City 1580–1700’, in : De Jonge, Ottenheym 1997, pp. 209–250. Sur un plan général, N. Pevsner, A History of building Types, Londres, 1976, pp. 193–212 nous a été utile. 7 Materné 1992, pp. 56–60. 8 H. Van der Wee, ‘Opkomst van een wereldstad: handel en nijverheid te Antwerpen van de veertiende tot de achttiende eeuw’, Academia Analecta. Mededelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België. Klasse der Letteren 2, 1987, n° 2, pp. 1–18; H. Van der Wee, J. Materné, ‘De Antwerpse wereldmarkt tijdens de 16de en 17de eeuw’, in : Van der Stock 1993, pp. 19–31. 9 Soly 1977, pp. 165–176, 234–238; Voet et al. 1978, pp. 106–107, 111–113. 10 Tijs 1993, p. 96.

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La Nouvelle Bourse Témoin privilégié, Guichardin dédie un passage important à la Nouvelle Bourse dans sa Description de touts les Pais-Bas publiée pour la première fois en italien en 1567, au terme de l’époque que nous venons d’évoquer.11 Dans les éditions augmentées, publiées par Christophe Plantin en 1581 (italien), 1582 (français) et 1588 (italien), il ajoute une vue à vol d’oiseau gravée au burin par Petrus van der Borcht (fig. 2).12 Guichardin était un marchand d’origine florentine devenu citoyen anversois, un neveu du célèbre historien florentin Francesco Guicciardini.13 Son texte nous permet de situer la bourse sur le plan typologique. S’agit-il en effet d’un édifice réunissant en son sein un certain nombre de boutiques, ou d’une place entourée de boutiques (fig. 1)? Aujourd’hui, la Nouvelle Bourse et ses descendants directs à Londres, Séville, Amsterdam et Lille sont considérés comme des édifices, tandis que Guichardin – qui se fonde sur le témoignage de ses concitoyens anversois – classe la Nouvelle Bourse parmi les ‘places’ (piazze).14 Dans la Description de touts les Pais-Bas, une description sommaire est suivie d’un véritable mythe d’origine, qui comprend même l’étymologie du terme. La famille brugeoise Van der Buerse, dont la demeure et l’auberge qu’elle tenait constituaient le lieu de rencontre préféré des marchands étrangers à Bruges, aurait prêté son nom à la place de la ‘bourse’, nom qui évoque à l’origine uniquement les trois bourses qui ornent ses armoiries; voilà comment est né un nouveau terme, utilisé de façon générale, même par les Français et par les Anglais, comme le souligne Guichardin.15 11

L. Guicciardini, Descrittione … di tutti i Paesi Bassi, altrimenti detti Germania inferiore … , Anvers, chez Guglielmo Silvio, 1567 (ed. princ.). Sur les éditions de la Descrittione et ses sources, voir M. Jacqmain, ‘Les deux traductions françaises de la Descrittione di tutti i Paesi Bassi’, in : Jodoigne 1991, pp. 163–177; C. Sorgeloos, ‘Les sources imprimées de la Descrittione di tutti i Paesi Bassi’, in : Jodoigne 1991, pp. 37–98; Van der Stock 1993, cat. n°s 23A-B, pp. 170–171. 12 Nous utilisons l’édition revue et augmentée parue chez Plantin en 1582, version française. Bruxelles, Bibliothèque royale Albert Ier, VH 30683 LP. Guicciardini 1582, entre p. 108 et p. 109. Van der Stock 1993, cat. n° 84, p. 235. 13 L. Guicciardini, De idyllische Nederlanden. Antwerpen en de Nederlanden in de 16de eeuw, traduction et édition critique de M. Jacqmain, Anvers et Amsterdam, 1987, pp. 5–13; D. Aristodemo, ‘La figura e l’opera di Lodovico Guicciardini’, in : Jodoigne 1991, pp. 19–35. 14 “En Anvers y a vingt & deux places tant grandes que petites : la plus grande est celle des Seigneurs, &

1. Anvers, quartier de la Nouvelle Bourse, détail de la vue à vol d’oiseau, dans G. Braun, F. Hogenberg, Civitates orbis terrarum, Cologne, 1583, t. V, 27 (d’après le fac-similé).

la plus belle est celle des marchands qui est appellée la Nouvelle Bourse, ayant deux tours & horloges, & si belle que pour la retraite des marchands à grand peine s’en trouve il de pareille ailleurs; estant libre de passage, de chariots & chevaux & de tout autre destourbier & empeschement : & en icelle ses loges & boutiques tresbelles closes de toutes parts, & esquelles on entre & sort par quatre portes : & au dessus desquelles loges y a d’une mesme longueur & espace de tresgrands logis couverts & pleins de boutiques de touts costez, lesquels on appelle le Pant des Peintures, pource que c’est là qu’on vend de toutes sortes & façons : & fut ceste Bourse fondée l’an de nostre salut 1531”. Guicciardini 1582, p. 108. Voir cependant les bâtiments commerciaux à cour centrale en Franche-Comté, terre d’Empire jusqu’au XVIIe siècle, évoqués dans la contribution de Christiane Roussel à ce volume. 15 “Or n’est ce pas chose de peu de consequence, ny indigne qu’on la sçache, de reciter, d’où est-ce que vient ce nom de Bourse, pour estre fortuitement avec telle commodité & convenance approprié à ce

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2. Petrus van der Borcht, Byrsa (Nouvelle Bourse), gravure, avant 1581, dans Guicciardini 1582, entre les p. 108 et 109. (Bruxelles, Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, VH 30683 LP).

lieu. Faut donc entendre qu’il y en en Bruges une place fort propre & commode pour touts les cartiers de la ville, au bout de laquelle place est un grand & ancien logis basty & fondé par la noble famille de la Bourse; ainsi qu’on encore le peut recueillir par les armoiries d’icelle maison gravées en une pierresur le portail d’icelle; qui sont representees par trois Bourses. De ce logis, famille, & à cause des armoiries d’icelle, (comme il advient assez ordinairement en telles occurrences) prit son nom celle place. Et d’autant que les marchans qui traficquoyent à Bruges, choisirent ceste place pour leur retraicte, comme encor ils en usent à present, eux allans depuis aux foires d’Anvers, & de Berghe, au rapport & similitude de celle de Bruges ils s’accoustumerent d’appeler les lieux & places esquelles ils s’assembloyent, en Anvers & Berghe, les Bourses. Lequel nom a esté tellement chery, favorisé & approuvé en Anvers, que les François le tirant neanmoins en autre sens l’ont transporté à

Rouan, & iusques à Tolouse, ordonnans des places & boutiques pour les marchands, & retraicte ou magasin de leurs marchandises. Le mesme depuis n’a gueres en ont faict les Angloys à Londres : duquel edifice & illustre bastiment fut aucteur & fondateur M. Thomas Grassan, bourgeois honorable de celle royale cité. Est à noter que le bastiment finy, la Royne Elisabeth vint à Londres pour le voir & en loua grandement le dessein. Mais afin qu’il ne se raportast au modelle & exemple de la Bourse d’Anvers, elle voulut qu’il portast le nom de Change Royal, & feit faire expres commandement qu’il ne fust dict ny nommé en autre maniere. Mais ce nom a eu tel effort & vigueur, que son Edict n’a peu tant gaigner que d’empescher que son Change ne soit ordinairement appellé la Bourse”. Guicciardini 1582, pp. 108–109. Sur l’origine du mot ‘bourse’, voir Schreyl 1963, pp. 9–11, et J. Materné, ‘Terminologie en traditie. De oorsprong van het woord “beurs”’, in : De Clercq et al. 1992, p. 49.

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L’auteur a été bien renseigné. A Bruges, les tenanciers d’auberges servaient d’agents de change. Le comptoir des marchands de Florence, le comptoir de Gênes (construit en 1399, connu aujourd’hui comme halle aux Draps ou Saaihalle) et le comptoir de Venise (opérationnel au plus tard en 1397, situé dans la première demeure des Buerse, ‘Te Ouder Buerse’) se trouvaient sur la place ‘ter Buerse’. Ici se développa dès avant 1339, en premier lieu grâce à la présence permanente des marchands italiens, le trafic financier international qui fut à l’origine de la ‘bourse’ comme institution financière moderne.16 Dans les documents, en latin comme en flamand, le terme était apparemment employé couramment pour indiquer des transactions financières, au moins dès le XIIIe siècle; à Anvers en 1485 il signifie, peutêtre pour la première fois de façon généralisée, le lieu où se réunissent les changeurs et les marchands.17 Partout en Europe, ce lieu constitue en effet une partie intégrante de l’espace public : place, rue, ou, plus exceptionnellement, portique construit à cette fin par la ville pour abriter les marchands des intempéries (flam. love). Ainsi la Nouvelle Bourse anversoise ne dispose pas de véritables façades externes, contrairement à la bourse de Lille, par exemple, qui se situe également dans sa descendance (fig. 7). La place entourée de boutiques et d’espaces de stockage est liée aux rues d’accès par deux corps d’entrée, signalés par des tours à horloge (ou cadran solaire). Guichardin ne mentionne toutefois pas les chaînons intermédiaires entre la place des Van der Buerse de Bruges et la Nouvelle Bourse d’Anvers, en particulier l’ ‘ancienne Bourse’, lieu de rencontre des marchands à Anvers dans les premières décennies du siècle, quand s’opère le grand transfert de l’activité mercantile étrangère de Bruges à Anvers.18 Dans sa première incarnation – la ‘gemeyne borse’ autorisée par la ville en 1485 – il s’agissait d’une maison privée dévolue au commerce, et devenue ainsi lieu public.19 Ceci n’a rien d’extraordinaire, puisque les ‘nations’ de marchands étrangers occupaient tant à Bruges qu’à Anvers des maisons privées qu’ils utilisaient comme comptoir (contoor) et qui furent souvent financées par la ville, telle la maison donnée aux Castiliens par la ville de Bruges en 1494 et celle construite pour les Anglais par la ville d’Anvers autour de 1500 dans la Bullincstraat (Wolstraat) où se concentrait le commerce de la laine. D’autre part, dès le milieu du XVe siècle, certaines associations de marchands se réunissaient à Anvers dans des bâtiments religieux, comme les marchands de produits de luxe qui louaient une aile du couvent des dominicains.20 Les lieux du commerce étaient donc multiples, et leur typologie était

16

J. Marechal, De geschiedenis van de Brugse Beurs, Bruges, 1949, pp. 33–38; J.A. Van Houtte, ‘Von der Brügger Herberge “Zur Borse” zur Brügger Börse’, in : J. Schneider (éd.), Wirtschaftskräfte und Wirtschaftswege, t. V, Stuttgart, 1981, pp. 237–250; R. Bogaert, Deposito, krediet en geldhandel door de eeuwen heen, Anvers, 1988, passim; De Clercq 1992, pp. 17–20. 17 Synthèse dans Meseure 1987, pp. 15–16. 18 Vers 1510, le marché financier d’Anvers reprend définitivement le dessus; les Génois, Florentins et Lucquois quittent Bruges. Marechal 1949 (note 16), pp. 39–42; De Clercq 1992, p. 46. 19 ‘Den Rhijn’, Hofstraat 15. J. Denucé, ‘De Beurs van Antwerpen. Oorsprong en eerste ontwikkeling, 15e en 16e eeuwen’, Antwerps Archievenblad 2e sér., 1931, pp. 81–145, en particulier p. 87; Clijmans 1941, p. 12; Van Houtte 1981 (note 16), pp. 245–246; Meseure

1987, pp. 21–22; Materné 1992, p. 52; Tijs 1993, pp. 147–148. 20 La maison des Anglais dans la Bullincstraat était la plus somptueuse de toutes : construite selon toute probabilité par Domien de Waghemakere, elle servait de bourse pour le commerce du drap de laine jusqu’en 1550–1551, quand les marchands anglais déménagèrent au Hof van Liere, une demeure patricienne qui leur avait été offerte par la ville. Guicciardini 1582, p. 109, 130; De Smedt 1954, t. II, pp. 130–134; Voet et al. 1978, p. 131; Tijs 1993, p. 119, 128; Materné 1992, pp. 52–53. Pour les comptoirs de Bruges, voir M. Ryckaert, Historische stedenatlas van België. Brugge, Bruxelles, 1991, pp. 104–107. Les comptoirs de Florence, Venise et Gênes se trouvaient sur la place de la Bourse; les comptoirs des Castiliens, Biscayens, Navarrais, Catalans et Aragonais, des Lucquois et des marchands hanséatiques se situaient par contre ailleurs dans la ville. Materné 1992, p. 52.

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KRISTA DE JONGE encore loin d’être définie. L’ancienne bourse d’Anvers a cependant influencé le concept, tout à fait novateur, de la Nouvelle Bourse. Le lieu de rencontre des marchands était en effet la cour de la demeure, délimitée de façon irrégulière par les maisons voisines et accessible depuis les quatre rues qui entouraient l’îlot (‘Oude Beurs’, ‘Hofstraat’, ‘Zirkstraat’, ‘Koepoortstraat’ via le ‘Zilversmidgang’). Dans une deuxième étape, cette cour fut embellie, en 1515, par Domien de Waghemakere, connu également comme l’auteur de la flèche nord de l’actuelle cathédrale Notre-Dame et de la Nouvelle Bourse (fig. 3). Il ajouta un portique sur trois côtés et une tour d’escalier surélevée par des chambres hautes, rapprochant 3. Anvers, ‘Ancienne Bourse’, Hofstraat 15, portique sur cour. ainsi l’ensemble de l’architecture résidentielle (Photo auteur). d’avant-garde de l’époque : dans sa nouvelle forme, la bourse méritait la visite que Charles Quint lui rendit en 1515 lors de sa première Joyeuse Entrée.21 Issue logiquement de cette filiation, la Nouvelle Bourse n’a rien d’une halle médiévale mais se rapproche, au contraire, au dernier modèle de palais, composé de quatre ailes autour d’une cour carrée ou rectangulaire, avec des portiques ouverts au rez-de-chaussée.22 L’espace libre intérieur de la Bourse qui mesurait en effet 40 mètres sur presque 52, était entouré d’arcades — onze sur les grands côtés, huit sur les petits — en composées de colonnes en pierre bleue d’Ecaussines portant des arcs trilobés richement ornés (fig. 4).23 Pour Guichardin, qui reflète fidèlement ses sources anversoises, l’espace central de la Nouvelle Bourse est une place sans circulation – ce qui renforce évidemment la ressemblance avec une cour intérieure. Fermée à la tombée de nuit, elle prend d’emblée un caractère semi-public. De plus, la disposition à l’étage de boutiques disposées le long de galeries fermées sur les quatre côtés, fruit d’une restructuration ultérieure,24 reflète le parti le plus avant-gardiste que l’on puisse trouver dans les résidences nobles du milieu du siècle. Les tours d’horloge contribuent, elles aussi, à la ressemblance, puisque de telles tours d’escalier en vis surmontées de plusieurs petites pièces caractérisent la maison patricienne urbaine de la fin du XVe siècle, comme le rapporte d’ailleurs Dürer dans son journal.25 Ainsi le rapprochement entre le type de la Bourse tel qu’il émerge dans les années 1530, et les développements

21

S. Van Aerschot (éd.), Bouwen door de eeuwen heen. Inventaris van het cultuurbezit in België. Architectuur. Deel 3na Stad Antwerpen, Gand, 1976, pp. 119–121; Materné 1992, p. 56. 22 Nous ne sommes pas d’accord avec Meseure 1987, p. 25, qui mélange éléments typologiques et formels sans distinction logique. Sur les palais modernes de l’époque, voir K. De Jonge, ‘Antiquity Assimilated : Court Architecture 1530–1560’, in : De Jonge, Ottenheym 1997, pp. 55–78. 23 Clijmans 1941, p. 13–18; Meseure 1987, p. 22–24; Materné 1992, pp. 56–61. Voir par exemple le projet

non-exécuté pour la résidence des Nassau à Diest; le devis très détaillé, daté selon toute probabilité entre 1516 et 1522, décrit une cour carrée large de 150 pieds (45 m). B. 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, n° 1–2, pp. 155–168. 24 Voir ci-après, p. 190. 25 Tijs 1993, pp. 146–147.

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contemporains de l’architecture résidentielle de prestige prend pleinement son sens. L’architecture ‘moderne’, extrêmement ornée de la Nouvelle Bourse – dessinée par Domien de Waghemakere mais exécuté par les frères Adriaen et Peter Spillemans – n’a toutefois guère de contrepartie dans l’architecture civile anversoise des années 1530. La gravure de la Nouvelle Bourse dans la Description de touts les Pais-Bas, édition de 1582 (fig. 2) montre un cartouche à inscription en capitales romaines qui explique parfaitement l’importance du bâtiment comme ornamentum de la ville.26 La table était apparemment placée au-dessus d’une des entrées.27 Bourse ou comptoir ? 4. Jan Linnig, Nouvelle Bourse, portique sur cour (après Dans la littérature allemande, le type de l’incendie du 3 août 1858). (Anvers, Musée Plantin-Moretus, la Nouvelle Bourse d’Anvers est appelé ‘offene Collectie Stedelijk Prentenkabinet, inv. MPB 947 – P. 828, n° Hofhallenbörse’.28 L’historiographie tradition4328). nelle a toujours eu tendance à attribuer une origine étrangère, voire italienne, à tout bâtiment à cour intérieure entourée de portiques, qu’il s’agisse des résidences de la haute noblesse ou de la bourse anversoise.29 Le rapprochement avec le Fondaco dei Tedeschi à Venise (érigé entre 1506 et 1508)30 ignore toutefois la différence de fonction entre le fondaco / fundicum méditerranéen (et la version musulmane funduq) d’une part, et la bourse d’autre part. A sa fonction commerciale de comptoir, le fondaco, tel une auberge, associe une fonction résidentielle : il héberge une communauté de marchands étrangers sujette à une réglementation restrictive, et doit donc être pourvu de toute l’infrastructure nécessaire à cette fin.31 La bourse, telle qu’elle se développe de Bruges à Anvers, partage certaines caractéristiques formelles avec le fondaco puisqu’elle fonctionne également comme lieu de rencontre et de commerce, mais elle ne sert pas de résidence permanente ou d’auberge, même si elle peut être liée à une ‘nation’ de marchands particulière, et même si elle a pris son nom d’une famille propriétaire d’une auberge/ comptoir. Sur le plan formel, les deux types se rencontrent dans l’usage du portique comme lieu (semi-)public de commerce.

26

“S.P.Q.A. // In usum negotiatorum // cuiusq. nationis ac linguæ // urbisq. adeo suæ ornamentum. // anno. M.D.XXXI. // a solo estrui iur. //”. Commentaire chez Materné 1992, p. 73. 27 Clijmans 1941, pp. 18–19. 28 Schreyl 1963, pp. 16–19 (et à sa suite, Meseure 1987). 29 Schreyl 1963, p. 17; Meseure 1987, pp. 24–26. Voir également note 22. 30 Meseure 1987, p. 25. 31 Voir toutes les permutations possibles, discutées dans O. Remie Constable, ‘Funduq, Fondaco, and

Khan in the Wake of Christian Commerce and Crusade’, in : A.E. Laiou, R. Parviz Mottahedeh (éd.), The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, Washington, 2001, pp. 145–156; O. Remie Constable, Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World. Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, 2003. Nous n’avons pas pu consulter E. Concina, Fondaci : architettura, arte e mercatura tra Levante, Venezia e Alemagna, Venise, 1997.

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KRISTA DE JONGE Au milieu du XVIe siècle, la ‘bourse’ acquiert une façade, et se rapproche par conséquent davantage au fondaco: la transition de la ‘place’ au ‘bâtiment’ est clairement signalée dans le texte de Guichardin. Tout comme la Nouvelle Bourse, l’auteur considère encore la ‘Bourse des Anglais’ d’Anvers où a lieu le commerce du drap de laine, comme une place accompagnée d’un portique, ce qui correspond à la forme la plus ancienne et la plus commune pour une bourse.32 Or la ‘place’ devient un ‘palais’ dans le cas de la bourse de Sir Thomas Gresham, que Guichardin appelle ‘edifice’ et ‘bastiment’.33 Le Royal Exchange de Londres, construit de 1566 à 1569, dispose en effet de façades externes, quoique très sobres, exécutées en brique. Ainsi, un pas décisif a été franchi: la bourse n’est plus une place publique, mais un bâtiment à fonction publique, d’un type particulier, au plan parfaitement symétrique. La double arcade qui sert d’entrée et de sortie constitue un écho fidèle de la Nouvelle Bourse d’Anvers, son modèle. Comme ailleurs en Europe, les marchands de Londres conduisaient auparavant leurs affaires dans la rue, plus précisément dans Lombard Street, d’ailleurs déjà appelée burse dans les documents.34 De 1552 à 1567, Gresham (“Grassan” selon Guichardin) avait fréquemment séjourné à Anvers comme agent financier de la Couronne anglaise.35 Il confia la construction de sa bourse à une équipe de maçons et charpentiers venus des Flandres, dirigés par Hendrick Fleming, alias Hendrik van Passe (ou Paessche), maître-maçon d’Anvers qui avait travaillé à l’hôtel de ville. De plus, Gresham importa des Pays-Bas des lambris, ardoises, ferronneries, briques, colonnes et autres éléments de pierre préfabriqués, et même la statue de la reine placée au-dessus de l’entrée.36 L’élévation sur cour et la disposition générale s’inspiraient directement de la Nouvelle Bourse d’Anvers, appelée de façon explicite “la mère” de la Bourse londonienne dans le cartouche de la gravure de Wenzel Hollar (1644) (fig. 5).37 Deux gravures publiées à la fin des travaux (1569), en toute probabilité à l’instigation de Gresham lui-même, reprennent dans leurs cartouches, en quatre langues, les mots-clefs de l’inscription au-dessus de l’entrée de la Nouvelle Bourse: “to the ornament and publike use of this Royall citie of London”.38 La ressemblance deviendra encore plus grande quand, après l’incendie de 1581, l’étage supérieur de la bourse anversoise fut rehaussé et doté de grandes fenêtres rectangulaires donnant sur la cour.39 On sait maintenant que le père de Gresham, sir Richard Gresham, bourgmestre de Londres, avait déjà essayé de construire une ‘bourse’ dans le site traditionnel de Lombard Street en 1537–1539, mais sans success.40

32

“Aussi en Anvers est la Bourse des Angloys, qui est une place plaisante & gentille ainsi nommée, à cause que la ville la fait bastir à contemplation des Angloys, avec une belle loge, en l’an 1550”. Guichardin 1582, p. 109. F. de Belleforest a traduit loggia par ‘loge’; notons que le terme de ‘loge’ a cours à Bruges pour indiquer un comptoir. … Ryckaert 1991 (note 20), p. 105. Il s’agit d’un love ou portique, large de 10 à 12 pieds, aux piliers en bois sur bases de pierre, qui s’étendait de l’angle du Klein Coppenhol et du Goddaert jusqu’au pont des Frères mineurs; l’ensemble avait coûté plus de 272 livres à la villle. De Smedt 1954, t. II, pp. 155–157; Materné 1992, p. 69. 33 Voir texte cité dans la note 15. 34 Imray 1997, p. 20. 35 Portraits discutés dans Van der Stock 1993, cat. n° 86, p. 236. 36 J.F. Murray, Vlaanderen en Engeland. De invloed van de Lage Landen op Engeland ten tijde van de

Tudors en de Stuarts, Anvers, 1985, p. 298; Imray 1997, pp. 26–35; A. Saunders, ‘The Building of the Exchange’, in : A. Saunders (éd.), The Royal Exchange, Londres, 1997, pp. 36–49. 37 La mere est dépassée, d’après la légende de la gravure, par son enfant : “the mother Antwerps farre excelling”. Materné 1992, p. 77. 38 Inscription en anglais, latin, français, et néerlandais, mentionnée par Ch. Knight (éd.), London, Londres, 1842, t. II, p. 291 (Bolles Collection, version digitalisée du texte sur http://www.perseus.tufts.edu). Les gravures montrent l’intérieur et l’extérieur; elles sont attribuées à Frans Hogenberg. Reproduction dans Saunders 1997 (note 36), pp. 43–44 (British Museum, Crace collection, XXII, 34–35). 39 Materné 1992, p. 84–85. 40 Imray 1997, pp. 23–25.

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5. Wenzel Hollar, Byrsa Londinensis, gravure au trait, 1644. (British Museum, inv. 1868-8-22-351).

Dans les anciens Pays-Bas, comme ailleurs en Europe, les anciennes typologies – le portique ouvert sur rue ainsi que la halle – survécurent jusqu’au XVIIIe siècle, quand la halle se transforma en basilique à l’antique, entourée de portiques.41 Il n’est pas toujours aisé de distinguer les descendants directs de la bourse d’Anvers, mais outre Londres, l’on peut inclure parmi les plus précoces les bourses de Séville, d’Amsterdam (par l’intermédiaire de Londres) et de Lille. La bourse de Séville, construite par Juan de Herrera à partir de 1583, adopte en effet un parti très différent de la lonja traditionnelle en Espagne, parti qui fut explicitement approuvé par Philippe II; l’ensemble présente le répertoire classique sévère que l’on lui connaît.42 A son tour, la bourse de Gresham influença la nouvelle bourse d’Amsterdam, construite de 1608 à 1611, tant pour la disposition que pour l’ornement architectural, concentré sur les élévations sur cour. L’architecte de la ville, Hendrick de Keyser, avait en effet été envoyé à Londres en 1607 pour étudier le Royal Exchange (fig. 6).43 Le modèle originel 41

Schreyl 1963, pp. 20–23. Exemples de portiques ouverts sur un marché (‘Marktbörse’), voir pp. 30–32. 42 Meseure 1987, p. 101; C. Wilkinson-Zerner, Juan de Herrera. Architect to Philip II of Spain, New Haven/ Londres, 1993, pp. 81–83. Voir la contribution de Joaquín Bérchez et Fernando Marías à ce volume. 43 Meseure 1987, p. 101; L.J. Wagenaar, ‘Onder actionisten. Ontstaan van de aandelenhandel in

Amsterdam in de zeventiende eeuw’, in : De Clercq et al. 1992, pp. 86–109, en particulier pp. 93–94; E. Neurdenburg, Hendrick de Keyser. Beeldhouwer en bouwmeester van Amsterdam, Amsterdam, [1930], pp. 8, 31, 39–40, 68–70. K.A. Ottenheym, P. Rosenberg, N. Smit, Hendrick de Keyser, Architectura Moderna. Moderne bouwkunst in Amsterdam 1600–1625, Amsterdam 2008, pp. 98–101.

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6. Pieter Hendricksz. Visscher, Nicolaas Visscher, Bourse d’Amsterdam, gravure, avant 1670. (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

n’avait toutefois pas été oublié. Une des premières images du nouvel édifice, la gravure Bursa Amerod. de Boëtius Adamsz. Bolswert (dans la version revue de 1611), reprend presque littéralement, dans le cartouche de gauche, l’inscription qui ornait l’entrée de la Nouvelle Bourse anversoise, telle qu’elle avait été représentée sur la gravure de Petrus van der Borcht.44 Contrairement à ses précédents, la bourse d’Amsterdam s’intégrait dans une campagne de renouveau urbain de grande envergure, qui avait profondément transformé l’ancien centreville : dégagé des constructions environnantes, l’édifice se situait sur la rivière de l’Amstel, dans l’axe d’un grand pont qui permettait le passage des bateaux.45 Un autre descendant direct de la Nouvelle Bourse d’Anvers se retrouve à Lille (1652–1653) (figs. 7–8).46 44

Neurdenburg [1930] (note 43), pl. XVIII, p. 149 n. 134 : la version originale de 1609 (Hollstein 362) fut corrigée en ce qui concerne l’emplacement de la tour, et inclue dans la description d’Amsterdam par Pontanus, 1611 (fol. 228). Cartouche de gauche : “S.P.Q.Amst. // In publicum negotiantum // cuiuscunq. nationis ac linguæ // usum urbisq. adeo suæ ornamentum. // anno. M. DCVIII// a solo extrui curavit. //”. A comparer à la note 26.

45

H. Engel, E. Gramsbergen, ‘Het eerste beursgebouw en de vorming van het centrum van Amsterdam’, OverHolland 3, 2006, pp. 57–87 (avec une bibliographie des ouvrages plus anciens). 46 Projet de Julien Destrez (ou Destrée). P. Parent, L’architecture des Pays-Bas méridionaux (Belgique et Nord de la France) aux XVIe, XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles, Paris et Bruxelles, 1926, p. 49; Meseure 1987, pp. 101–102.

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7. Lille, Bourse, vue extérieure. (Photo Pieter Martens).

Dans d’autres cas, l’on peut noter des parallèles avec l’exemple anversois sans que le résultat se présente comme une véritable ‘Hofhallenbörse’. La première bourse de Hambourg, par exemple, comprenait un portique au rez-de-chaussée, ouvert sur une place ou avant-cour délimitée par des bornes en pierre, avec des espaces de stockage à l’arrière et des salles de réunion à l’étage. Construite en 1577–1583 par Jan Andresen d’Amsterdam, elle dérive, elle aussi, de la place publique conçue comme un lieu de commerce, sans adopter toutefois la typologie semi-palatiale de la Nouvelle Bourse. Le premier lieu réservé aux échanges monétaires par la ville de Hambourg en 1553 était en effet une place publique entourée de lions en pierre tenant notamment les armoiries de Hambourg, d’Amsterdam, des comptoirs hanséatiques de Bruges et de Londres, et des marchands commerçant avec les Flandres, l’Angleterre et Bergen.47 La première bourse de Rotterdam, à l’origine assez similaire, était située près de la rade de la ville entre le Haringvliet et l’Oude Haven, et fut construite dès 1597–1598. Elle se composait à l’origine de deux ailes placées en retour d’équerre qui s’ouvraient par une arcade sur une cour; dans un deuxième temps fut ajoutée une troisième aile de forme analogue. Sur le quatrième côté se trouvait un bâtiment plus bas, et l’ensemble était pourvu d’une tour octogonale.48

47

J. Bracker, Ch. Hirte, A. Gückel (éd.), Die Hanse, Lebenswirklichkeit und Mythos (catalogue d’exposition Hamburg, Kunsthalle), Hamburg, 1989, t. II, p. 220, cat. n° 12.23 (avec une bibliographie des ouvrages plus anciens).

48

D’après le plan de la ville d’Henrick Haestens, daté de 1599, légende n° 10. P. van de Laar, M. van Jaarsveld, Historische atlas van Rotterdam : de groei van de stad in beeld, Amsterdam, 2004, p. 20. Remplacée dès 1635 par la Halle aux Poissons

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KRISTA DE JONGE La maison des Osterlins Aucune ambiguïté n’existe en revanche quant à la ‘maison des Osterlins’: du point de vue fonctionnel, elle s’inscrit dans la même catégorie que le Fondaco dei Tedeschi déjà évoqué (fig. 9). Le comptoir des marchands provenant des villes hanséatiques apparaît au terme d’une longue série de constructions financées par la ville d’Anvers pour faciliter le commerce : la première pierre fut posée le 5 mai 1564 et le bâtiment fut achevé en 1569.49 Le projet est attribué à Cornelis II Floris, architecte principal de l’hôtel de ville, du moins en ce qui concerne le plan et l’ornement sculpté; le maître-maçon Peter Frans, qui avait également joué un rôle important dans la 8. Lille, Bourse, vue de la cour. (Photo Pieter Martens). construction de la nouvelle enceinte de la ville, était responsable du chantier.50 A l’époque où elle construisait son nouvel hôtel de ville (1561–1565), la ville avait en outre érigé le Hessenhuis où étaient emmagasinés les produits venant par voie de terre, de l’Allemagne et de l’Europe centrale (1564–1566), et des magasins pour les marchands anglais (1561–1563).51 Sur le plan typologique, la maison hanséatique diffère toutefois de façon fondamentale de ces derniers. Le Hessenhuis toujours existant (Falconrui, n° 51) appartient, comme le Tappeciers Pant, à la catégorie des ‘halles’, telles que l’on en trouve dans le duché du Brabant dès le début du XIVe siècle (fig. 10); ceux-ci consistent essentiellement en de grands espaces dégagés à plusieurs corps ou nefs parallèles. Au Hessenhuis, trois grands combles perpendiculaires à la façade se cachent en effet derrière la croupe du toit. D’autres éléments renvoient également à l’infrastructure commerciale préexistante : la maçonnerie brique et pierre aux lits de calcaire rapprochés évoque à dessein la mode du début du siècle – représentée, par exemple, par la Boucherie (1503) – et l’ordonnance de façade, à deux portails

renouvelée, et au début du XVIIIe siècle par la bourse de Adriaen van der Werff, également à cour découverte. Schreyl 1963, pp. 18, 31 (avec littérature plus ancienne). 49 A. Himler, ‘Historiek en voorgeschiedenis van het Hanzehuis te Antwerpen 1564–1893’, Tijdschrift der Stad Antwerpen 20, 1974, pp. 99–111, 166–175. La ville paya un tiers de la somme nécessaire à la construction (30.000 florins Carolus). 50 Attribution à Cornelis II Floris faite par Carel van Mander dans la Vie de Frans Floris. H. Miedema (éd.), Karel van Mander. The Lives of the Illustrious Netherlandish and German Painters, from the first edition of the Schilder-boeck (1603–1604), t. I, Text, Doornspijk, 1994, pp. 216–217, t. IV, Commentary, Doornspijk, 1997, pp. 25–26. D. Roggen, J. Withof, ‘Cornelis Floris’, Gentse bijdragen tot de kunstgeschiedenis 8, 1942, pp. 79–171, en particulier

pp. 138–140; V. Henn, ‘Das Brügger Kontor’, in : Bracker, Hirte, et Gückel (note 47), t. I, pp. 163–164, t. II, p. 139–141, cat. n°s 7.21–7.26; Van der Stock 1993, cat. n° 87, p. 238; J. Van Damme, ‘Architectuur’, in : A. Huysmans et al., Cornelis Floris 1514–1575, beeldhouwer, architect, ontwerper, Bruxelles, 1997, pp. 115–120, en particulier pp. 119–120. 51 Le magasin des Anglais se trouvait dans la Pauwel Eloutstraat (aujourd’hui Venusstraat, n° 13–15) et fut remplacé par le Mont de Piété en 1614, avec incorporation d’éléments plus anciens. De Smedt 1954, t. II, p. 148–155; Voet et al. 1978, p. 131; Van Aerschot 1979, pp. 524–525. Peter Frans, maître maçon de la ville et arpenteur, avait réalisé des dessins (patrons) de cette infrastructure pour le compte de la ville, selon son inventaire-après-décès. Voet et al. 1978, p. 135.

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9. Petrus van der Borcht ?, Domus Hansæ Teutonicæ, gravure, avant 1581, dans Guicciardini 1582, entre p. 170 et 171. (Bruxelles, Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, VH 30683 LP).

couverts en plein-cintre, reflète la halle aux Tapissiers (1551–1552).52 La maison hanséatique, en revanche, présente en son centre une cour rectangulaire entourée de magasins au niveau inférieur, et deux portiques superposés au-dessus, et se distingue par une haute tour à flèche surplombant un portail orné de colonnes (fig. 11). Ainsi s’y manifeste la typologie ‘palatiale’ de la Nouvelle Bourse (fig. 2), modifiée toutefois dans son rapport plein/vide parce que les ailes ont une profondeur plus importante, ce qui nécessite un double comble: une ‘contamination’ entre le modèle de la Nouvelle Bourse et le modèle des halles à volume massé. L’ensemble mesurait 80 mètres sur 62, avec une cour de 49 mètres sur 31, et comprenait 133 pièces;53 les étages étaient desservis par quatre escaliers logés chacun dans une tour horsœuvre située dans l’angle de la cour. Cette disposition dérive, elle aussi, du palais urbain du 52

Van Aerschot 1979, pp. 61–63. Pour la halle aux Tapissiers, voir l’aquarelle de J. Linnig, Anvers, Stedelijke Musea, Vleeshuis (Tijs 1993, p. 131), et le plan de Virgilius Bononiensis, 1565. Voet et al. 1978, p. 114. 53 Bedeer, Janssens 1993 (note 5), p. 44. Dimensions comparables à celles du plus grand château de l’époque, le château de Boussu, construit par Jacques Du Brœucq pour Jean de Hennin-Liétard,

grand écuyer de Charles Quint (1540–1554) : ici, la cour mesurait approximativement 44,20 x 40,80 m, tandis que le corps de logis formait un carré d’environ 81 m de côté (en faisant abstraction des quatre tours qui cantonnent le carré, larges de 12 m). K. De Jonge, M. Capouillez, Le château de Boussu (Monuments et Sites, Etudes et Documents, 8), Jambes, 1998, p. 115.

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KRISTA DE JONGE début du siècle, avec plan en L et la tour d’escalier logée dans l’angle, mais elle est démultipliée ici de façon logique. L’ornement du portail et de la tour, inusité pour un bâtiment utilitaire, exprime clairement la fonction représentative de l’édifice, comme le fait son emplacement. La maison Hanséatique s’élevait sur le quai du bassin le plus important de la “ville nouvelle”, la Nieuwstadt planifiée par Gilbert van Schoonbeke au nord de l’ancienne ville (dès 1549),54 dans le périmètre établi par la nouvelle enceinte bastionnée (commencée en 1543) (fig. 12). Ainsi elle faisait partie de la façade maritime de la ville, comme l’exprime clairement Guichardin; ce dernier emploie 10. Anvers, Hessenhuis, Falconrui 51. (Photo Inge Bertels). d’ailleurs le mot “palais” à son égard, comme le font à l’époque les représentants de la ville de Danzig.55 L’édifice a probablement eu un retentissement plus important que l’on ne soupçonne, en premier lieu à Londres et à Amsterdam. Les façades externes des bourses de Londres et d’Amsterdam (fig. 6), dans leur état originel, étaient très sobres et de ce fait, tout à fait similaires à celles de la maison Hanséatique. En effet, il faut attendre la construction de la bourse de Lille en 1652–1653 (fig. 7) – et la rénovation presque contemporaine des façades externes de la bourse d’Amsterdam avec un ordre de colonnes gigantesques – pour que les élévations sur rue s’accordent avec celles de la cour. Dans la maison Hanséatique, la tour joue donc un rôle représentatif de premier ordre. Surmontée d’une flèche en forme de poire – élément de représentation par excellence de la résidence noble depuis le début du siècle56 – et ornée de colonnes adossées, elle conviendrait tout aussi bien à un hôtel de ville ou à un palais urbain.57 Elle doit être comptée parmi les précédents immédiats de la tour de Gresham, sur laquelle fut calquée celle d’Hendrick de Keyser (figs. 5–6) : sur le plan formel, elle était plus moderne que les tours de la Nouvelle Bourse.58 Sa disposition axiale n’eut toutefois pas de suite à Londres ni à Amsterdam : les tours flanquent la double arcade de l’entrée qui, elle, se situe sur l’axe.

54 Soly 1977, pp. 205–215; Voet et al. 1978, pp. 113–115. 55 “En Anvers y a huict Goulphes, Seins, ou Canaux principaux venans de la Riviere, & par lesquels entrent & navires & fregates & grosses barques chargées iusques en la ville : le plus grand desquels & le dernierement fait est en la Nouvelle ville avec son port large & commode posé à costé du grand Palays des Osterlins: lequel canal est si grand, que plus de cent gros navires y peuvent surgir, terrir & y estre commodement à l’abry : (…)”. Guicciardini 1582, p. 107; Himler 1974 (note 49), p. 110. 56 K. De Jonge, ‘“Up die maniere van Brabant”. Brabant en de adelsarchitectuur van de Lage Landen (1450–1530)’, in : De Brabantse stad. Dertiende colloquium, Leuven 18–19 oktober 2002, (Bijdragen

tot de geschiedenis 86, 2003, n° 3–4), pp. 409–423, en particulier p. 415. 57 Voir la tour d’escalier de l’hôtel ‘De Grote Robijn’ (Sint-Jacobsmarkt n° 43), commandée par le magistrat Antoon Van Straelen dès 1565. Van Aerschot 1979, pp. 466–468. Voir également la tour du palais urbain imaginé par Hans Vredeman de Vries dans les Petites perspectives architecturales dédiées à Antoine Perrenot de Granvelle (Anvers, chez Jérôme Cock, 1562), pl. 21. Fuhring 1997, I, cat. n° 93. 58 Les tours de Londres et d’Amsterdam ont toutefois une horloge, contrairement à la tour de la maison Hanséatique; ceci renvoie aux tours de la Nouvelle Bourse, puisqu’une d’elles était ornée d’un cadran solaire (fig. 1).

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11. Anonyme, maison Hanséatique, fin du XVIe siècle (la tour n’est pas représentée). (Anvers, Stadsarchief, inv. ICO 12/11b).

Malheureusement, après la reconquête d’Anvers par Alexandre Farnèse en 1585, les marchands hanséatiques ne sont jamais revenus; l’édifice brûla en 1893. Conclusion La théorie architecturale dans les anciens Pays-Bas du XVIe siècle ne s’adresse pas aux édifices publics, Guichardin n’offrant que le point de départ in nucleo d’une réflexion plus approfondie. Dans la hiérarchie que cet auteur établit – de façon très implicite – pour les constructions non-religieuses à Anvers, les bâtiments à fonction publique et commerciale, financés (en partie ou entièrement) par la ville, devancent les palais et maisons privées en rang social et en prestige; l’hôtel de ville est le plus important du groupe, suivi immédiatement par la maison Hanséatique, “sur tout autre edifice … à iuger pour le plus grand & plus magnifique”.59 La nouvelle enceinte bastionnée occupe toutefois la place principale, 59

Guicciardini 1582, p. 126.

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12. Anvers, NieuWstadt, détail de la vue à vol d’oiseau, dans G. Braun, F. Hogenberg, Civitates orbis terrarum, Cologne, 1583, t. V, 27 (d’après fac-similé). (A) maison Hanséatique, (B) Hessenhuis.

car Guichardin la considère comme un ouvrage civil plutôt que militaire, suivant peut-être ici Pieter Coecke van Aelst.60 Dans son introduction à la traduction flamande du Troisième Livre de Serlio, parue à Anvers en 1546, ce dernier dit avoir décidé à publier cet ouvrage illustrant les réalisations monumentales des Romains pour justifier l’investissement tout aussi considérable de la ville d’Anvers dans ses nouvelles fortifications. Les Romains avaient été obligés de protéger leurs obélisques, pyramides, thermes, théâtres, amphithéâtres, arcs de triomphe et autres monuments érigés à la gloire de Rome, par des ouvrages défensifs encore plus monumentaux.61 Ainsi l’auteur établit un parallèle entre les monuments publics de l’Antiquité et ceux d’Anvers, dont le fleuron était, à son époque, la Nouvelle Bourse, l’infrastructure de Van Schoonbeke n’ayant pas encore été réalisée. Guichardin se fait en outre l’écho des idées de Cornelis Scribonius Graphæus, greffier de la ville et auteur de la description latine qui accompagne la célèbre carte d’Anvers de Virgilius Bononiensis (1565).62 Ce texte a en effet la même teneur, et met en évidence l’enceinte, Notre-Dame, le nouvel hôtel de ville (achevé au cours de la même année) et la maison Hanséatique encore inachevée, “utile à multiples fins, spacieuse et construite avec art”.63 Carolus Scribani, recteur du collège et de la maison professe des jésuites au début du XVIIe siècle, reprend l’évaluation implicite de Guichardin dans son éloge d’Anvers, publié en 1610, mais ne définit pas non plus une typologie claire.64 Comme la Descrittione, son Antverpia traduit cependant à merveille le rôle représentatif de l’infrastructure commerciale dans l’imago urbis d’Anvers.65 Dans les mêmes années (1605–1610), le brugeois Simon Stevin

60 Contrairement à la citadelle de 1567: Guicciardini 1582, pp. 104–107, 156–157. Sur le financement de l’enceinte par la ville, voir Soly 1977, pp. 203–205. Guichardin souligne que l’enceinte ne relève pas uniquement de l’autorité du magistrat d’Anvers, mais également de celle du prince: ce critère semble être important pour lui. C’était d’ailleurs également le cas de l’hôtel de ville, approuvé par Philippe II, par l’entremise de Marguerite de Parme, le 29 août 1560, et de la Nouvelle Bourse, approuvée par Charles Quint le 25 juillet 1531. Bevers 1985 (note 1), p. 7; Materné 1992, p. 60. 61 Die aldervermaertste Antique edificien va[n] temple[n]/ theatre[n]/ amphiteatre[n]/ paleisen/ therme[n]/ obelisce[n]/ brugge[n]/ arche[n] triu[m]phal. etc. bescreve[n] en[de] gefigureert met haren gronde[n] en[de] mate[n] oock de plaetsen daerse staen en[de] wiese dede make[n], Anvers, chez Gillis Coppens van Diest, 1546, in quarto. Première traduction française: Des antiquités, le troisièsme livre de Sebastien Serlio … , Anvers, 1550, in quarto. A. Rouzet, Dictionnaire des imprimeurs, libraires et éditeurs des XVe et XVIe siècles dans les limites géographiques de la Belgique actuelle, Nieuwkoop, 1975, pp. 45–46.

62

Gravure sur bois, 1200 x 2650 mm (!), composée de 20 feuilles, Anvers, chez Gillis Coppens van Diest, septembre 1565, un seul exemplaire connu, rehaussé de couleurs (Anvers, Musée Plantin-Moretus). Voet et al. 1978, pp. 133–146. 63 “Conditur pari celeritate et sumptu, qua urbs postremo aucta est, Teutonicæ nationis domus, ad multa utilis, laxa, et operosa”. Voet et al. 1978, p. 146. 64 La collégiale Notre-Dame y est mentionnée à égalité avec l’enceinte et la citadelle, l’hôtel de ville, la Nouvelle Bourse, la halle aux Tapisseries, et la maison Hanséatique. Carolus Scribani, Antverpia, Anvers, chez Johannes Moretus, 1610. J.S. Held, ‘Carolus Scribanius’s Observations on Art in Antwerp’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 59, 1996, pp. 174–204; L. Brouwers, Carolus Scribani S.J. Een groot man van de Contra-Reformatie in de Nederlanden, Anvers, 1961, pp. 187–199. 65 Aperçu de relations de voyageurs étrangers, avec bibliographie, dans A.-M. Van Passen, ‘Antwerpen goed bekeken. Een bloemlezing’, in : Van der Stock 1993, pp. 59–67.

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qui était alors au service de Maurice de Nassau, développe son célèbre modèle de ville idéale, caractérisé par un plan rectangulaire à îlots modulaires carrés (voir l’illustration en p. 23).66 Sur l’axe principal se situent, de part et d’autre du canal médian, la ‘grande place’ (Groote merct) avec la halle aux Poissons (Vis-Huijs) et la halle aux Viandes (Vlees Huijs), et son pendant, la ‘bourse’ (Beurse) avec l’église principale et l’hôtel de ville; des places moins importantes destinées à des marchandises particulières (blé, bétail, bois et pierre) sont disposées de façon symétrique autour d’elles. Le seul traité contemporain qui s’adresse à l’urbanisme et aux bâtiments publics constitue donc pour la Bourse un retour en arrière: elle y reste une place, et non un bâtiment. La disposition hiérarchique des différentes places dans le plan de Stevin exprime néanmoins son importance: c’est la place la plus représentative puisqu’elle est définie à la fois par l’édifice religieux le plus important, et par le centre du pouvoir urbain. Notons toutefois que le modèle paraît seulement en 1649, quand le fils de Simon Stevin, Hendrick Stevin, publie une partie des écrits de son père dans sa Materiae Politicae : Burgherlicke Stoffen (dans le chapitre Vande oirdeningh der steden, ‘sur l’ordonnance des villes’); avant il ne connaît qu’une diffusion limitée sous forme manuscrite. L’importance de la Nouvelle Bourse et de la maison Hanséatique comme ornements de la ville s’exprimait également par l’image. A égalité avec l’hôtel de ville, siège du gouvernement et de la justice, et la collégiale Notre-Dame qui est l’église la plus importante, les deux édifices ont mérité une illustration de format double in-folio dans les somptueuses éditions de la Descrittione, publiées par Christophe Plantin à partir de 1581 (figs. 2, 9). Ces quatre gravures, qui circulaient indépendamment du livre, servent encore au XVIIe siècle comme points d’ancrage de l’image de la ville, comme l’illustre la belle carte du marquisat d’Anvers gravée par Cornelis Visscher (1624).67 Ouvrages fréquemment cités Clijmans 1941 F. Clijmans, De beurs te Antwerpen, Anvers, 1941. De Clercq 1992 G. De Clercq, ‘In Brugge is er een plein. … . Brugge als financiële markt in de 14de - 15de eeuw’, in : De Clercq et al. 1992, pp. 15–48. De Clercq et al. 1992 G. De Clercq et al., Ter Beurze. Geschiedenis van de aandelenhandel in België, 1300–1990, Bruges et Anvers, 1992. De Jonge, Ottenheym 1997 K. De Jonge, K. Ottenheym (éd.), Unity and Discontinuity. Architectural Relations between the Southern and Northern Low Countries 1530–1700 (Architectura Moderna 5), Turnhout, 2007. De Smedt 1954 O. De Smedt, De Engelse natie te Antwerpen, Anvers, 1954, 2 tomes. 66

C. van den Heuvel, ‘De Huysbou’. A reconstruction of an unfinished treatise on architecture, town planning and civil engineering by Simon Stevin (History of Science and Scholarship in the Netherlands 7), Amsterdam, 2005, en particulier pp. 47–58. 67 Bruxelles, Archives Générales du Royaume, Atlas topographique-historique, 1369. Bedeer, Janssens

1993 (note 5), p. 74 fig. 65; J. Grieten, P. Huvenne, ‘Antwerpen geportretteerd’, in : Van der Stock 1993, pp. 69–77, en particulier p. 76. Version coloriée de Jansonius aux Archives de la Ville, Anvers. Tijs 1993, p. 442.

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KRISTA DE JONGE Fuhring 1997, I–II P. Fuhring, Hollstein’s Dutch & Flemish Etchings, Engravings and Woodcuts 1450–1700, t. XLVII, Vredeman de Vries Part I 1555–1571, t. XLVIII, Vredeman de Vries Part II 1572–1630, Rotterdam, 1997, 2 tomes. Guicciardini 1582 L. Guicciardini, Description de touts les Pais-Bas, autrement appellés la Germanie inférieure, ou Basse Allemagne … reveue & augmentée … par le mesme autheur … , (traduction de F. de Belleforest), Anvers, chez Christophe Plantin, 1582. Imray 1997 J. Imray, ‘The Origins of the Royal Exchange’, in : A. Saunders (éd.), The Royal Exchange, Londres, 1997, pp. 20–35. Jodoigne 1991 P. Jodoigne (éd.), Lodovico Guicciardini (1521–1589). Actes du colloque international des 28, 29 et 30 mars 1990 (Travaux de l’Institut Interuniversitaire pour l’étude de la Renaissance et de l’Humanisme X), Louvain, 1991. Materné 1992 J. Materné, ‘Schoon ende bequaem tot versamelinghe der cooplieden. Antwerpens beurswereld tijdens de gouden zestiende eeuw’, in : De Clercq et al. 1992, pp. 51–98. Meseure 1987 S.J. Meseure, Die Architektur der Antwerper Börse und der europäische Börsebau im 19. Jahrhundert, Munich, 1987. Schreyl 1963 K.H. Schreyl, Zur Geschichte der Baugattung Börse, thèse de doctorat, Berlin, 1963. Soly 1977 H. Soly, Urbanisme en kapitalisme te Antwerpen in de 16de eeuw. De stedebouwkundige en industriële ondernemingen van Gilbert van Schoonbeke (Pro Civitate, Historische Uitgaven van het Gemeentekrediet, ser. in-8°, 47), Bruxelles, 1977. Tijs 1993 R. Tijs, Tot Cieraet deser Stadt. Bouwtrant en bouwbeleid te Antwerpen van de middeleeuwen tot heden, Anvers, 1993. Van Aerschot 1979 S. Van Aerschot (éd.), Bouwen door de eeuwen heen. Inventaris van het cultuurbezit in België. Architectuur. Deel 3nb Stad Antwerpen, Gand, 1979. Van der Stock 1993 J. Van der Stock (éd.), Antwerpen, verhaal van een metropool 16de–17de eeuw (catalogue d’exposition Anvers, Hessenhuis), Gand, 1993. Voet et al. 1978 L. Voet et al., De stad Antwerpen van de Romeinse tijd tot de 17de eeuw. Topografische studie rond het plan van Virgilius Bononiensis 1565, Bruxelles, 1978.

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Joaquín Bérchez (Universitat de València)1 Fernando Marías (Universidad Autónoma de Madrid)2

“Lonja es lugar público, destinado para juntarse en él los tratantes y mercaderes, porque negocian passeando. Su forma suele ser de dos o tres naves, que por ser largas se llaman lonjas, y qualquier lugar cubierto en esta forma y para este ministerio se llama lonja”.3 Así definía las lonjas de comercio en 1611 el primer lexicógrafo de la lengua española, Sebastián de Covarrubias. Las lonjas de comercio de la Península Ibérica son el producto institucional y arquitectónico de dos momentos diversos de la historia socio-económica de los reinos de Aragón y Castilla. Por una parte, producto del desarrollo de la economía mercantil después de la Peste Negra; por otra, producto de la estructura centralizadora de la política comercial del reino de Castilla con respecto a América durante el Renacimiento (fig. 1). En este sentido, no es difícil entender su diversidad tipológica, desde los ejemplos monumentales de Barcelona, Mallorca, Valencia y Zaragoza a la excepcionalidad del edificio de Sevilla. Las más antiguas lonjas que han llegado hasta nuestros días son estructuras abiertas, como logge características de la arquitectura urbana del mundo mediterráneo; es posible que el llamado ‘Pórtico de San Antón’ de Barcelona – del monasterio de los antonianos – fuera una de las primeras construcciones que, ex profeso, se levantaran con la finalidad de dar cobijo tanto al mercado de bienes como a los mercaderes en sus negocios. Se piensa que estas lonjas de las ciudades levantinas surgieron como imitación de las logge italianas. Se ha señalado cómo Pedro IV de Aragón ‘el Ceremonioso’ (1319–1336– 1387), en un documento de 1339 por el que autorizaba la recaudación de impuestos para construir la primera lonja de Barcelona, aducía como justificación que el edificio serviría para que se reunieran concellers y mercaders para tratar de sus negocios, “lo mismo que se hace en diversas partes del mundo”, y “a honra del rey y para ennoblecer la ciudad”.4 Nos encontraríamos con un hábito comercial de reunión ‘institucional’ que habría sido prácticamente desconocido en el reino catalanoaragonés, por lo que el monarca recalcaba su bondad.5 1 Parte de las reproducciones fotográficas del presente artículo se inscriben en el proyecto I+D (HUM2004–0562/ ARTE), financiado por el Ministerio de Educación y Ciencia y cofinanciado con FEDER. 2 Se ha realizado este trabajo en el marco de la investigación “De Jerusalén a Roma: modelos y tipologías de la cultura arquitectónica de la España de la Edad Moderna (Siglos XV-XVIII)”, Proyecto BHA2001–0159 del Ministerio de Ciencia y Tecnología, que se prolonga ahora con el título “Los Templos de Salomón: las Antigüedades hebraicas en la construcción del imaginario arquitectónico de la España altomoderna”, Proyecto HUM2005–00300/ARTE del Ministerio de Educación y Ciencia. 3 Sebastián de Covarrubias, Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española, Madrid, 1611, p. 772.

4

J. N. Hillgarth, ‘La Personalitat politica i cultural de Pere III a través de la seva Crònica’, Llengua i literatura, 5, 1992–1993, pp. 7–102. 5 L. Torres Balbás, Arquitectura Gótica (Ars Hispaniae), Madrid, 1952, pp. 249–250; I. G. Bango Torviso, ‘Arquitectura gótica’, en: Historia de la arquitectura española, 2, Zaragoza, 1985, p. 536. Poco añaden los estudios tipológicos de V. Lampérez y Romea, La arquitectura civil española de los siglos I al XVIII, 2 vols., Madrid, 1922 (reed. Giner, Madrid, 1993), II, pp. 193 y 207–221 o, para el Renacimiento, de A. J. Morales, en: V. Nieto, A. J. Morales, F. Checa, Arquitectura del Renacimiento en España, 1488–1599, Madrid, 1989, pp. 227–228.

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1. Interior de la Lonja de Valencia (foto: J. Bérchez).

Esta falta de precisión funcional reaparece en la Lonja de la ciudad fluvial de Tortosa (Tarragona); con licencia real de 1352, este edificio se construyó – como almacén de mercancías, lonja de contratación y consulado del mar (1363) – sobre el muelle del rio Ebro entre 1368 y 1373 por el maestro cantero Arnaldo Marco; hoy se conserva en parte, el llamado porxo del blat (pórtico del trigo), tras haberse trasladado de ubicación desde la orilla del Ebro, casi junto al mar, hasta un jardín. Sin pretensiones monumentales y con una estricta funcionalidad, tenía planta rectangular y presentaba dos naves sobre tres arcos de medio punto sobre pilares poligonales y dos lonjas exteriores de cuatro y dos arcos apuntados; en el tercer lado se abrían dos ventanas geminadas. La imagen de Anton van den Wyngaerde de 1563 nos muestra los otros dos lados, con tres ventanas geminadas y aspecto ‘castellano’ por las almenas que coronaban el muro.6 La Lonja de Alcañiz (Teruel), fechada en el siglo XV sin mayores precisiones,7 responde a estas directrices fundamentalmente utilitarias, a pesar de su monumentalidad, debida a su situación central junto al ayuntamiento de esta ciudad aragonesa. En esta línea debiéramos situar también la más tardía Lonja de Granada (1517–1521), construida pocos años después de la conquista de la ciudad nazarí y aparente producto de una importación de la tipología al reino de Castilla.8 El ayuntamiento decidió en 1517, como muy 6

A. Cirici Pellicer, L’art gòtic català. II. L’arquitectura als segles XIV i XV, Barcelona, 1977. 7 C. Lomba Serrano, La casa consistorial en Aragón. Siglos XVI y XVII, Zaragoza, 1989, pp. 143–148.

8

Parece que en 1511 se decidió construir una lonja en Burgos y que también en Medina del Campo se había mandado construir otra poco antes, por orden de los Reyes Católicos.

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tarde, erigir una Lonja para el comercio, la banca de los genoveses (de Esteban Centurione) y el pregón de almonedas, próxima a la Alcaicería de la seda y adosada en ángulo a la Capilla Real y al este de la antigua mezquita mayor, utilizada entonces como catedral, sobre el modelo de la Lonja de Sevilla.9 Es posible que el maestro de ambos edificios cristianos, Enrique Egas, la proyectara como edificio de un solo piso y con arquerías en dos lados, ‘cerrada’ por medio de una rejería pétrea de tres ‘antepechos’ de balaustres,10 siendo aceptado por el arzobispo granadino Antonio de Rojas Manrique, quien venía de la diócesis de Mallorca. Contrató la obra Juan García de Pradas (o de Praves), pero se detuvo antes de terminar 1518, a causa del pleito interpuesto por la Capilla Real y la catedral ante la Audiencia en Granada, aduciendo que el terreno era propio y se necesitaba para una nueva sacristía catedralicia, y que la lonja interferiría en sus actividades religiosas, al molestar con sus tratos y las voces de los pregones de las almonedas. Una sentencia de la Chancillería, todavía de ese año, decidió que se concediera a la Capilla un piso alto, que quedaría abierto por medio de arcos en sus dos lados, y éstos con sus antepechos de claraboyas, como podemos todavía ver en sus dos frentes, oriental y meridional. Se nombró a Egas, por parte de la ciudad, y a Miguel Sánchez, por parte de la Capilla, para controlar la construcción. Ambos decidieron reforzar los soportes ‘columnarios’ de la galería baja, de arcos de medio punto, ensachando estos tres ‘pilares entorchados’ (retorcidos) – más gruesos que los laterales – y reutilizando los ya tallados en la arquería superior, de arcos escarzanos. No obstante, la obra fue nuevamente impugnada a través de un nuevo pleito, que no parece haberse resuelto hasta 1521; en esa fecha, se decidió mantener el ‘cierre’ de las galerías con los balaustres y reforzar la privacidad del espacio de la Lonja con unas gradas y un cierre de cadenas. También se le adjuntó en 1521 una nueva portada que tallaría el mismo Juan García de Pradas.11 La composición de la Lonja granadina, que no llega a cerrarse completamente y de un solo espacio longitudinal, emparenta con las formas más tradicionales de la tipología tardomedieval. Es nueva, en cambio, la exteriorización de los soportes ‘entorchados’ que, como veremos, aparecieron a mediados del siglo XV en Mallorca y Valencia. El empleo, por parte de Egas, de este elemento y, por otra parte, su original composición de columnas flanqueando balaustres, que parece depender de la reconstrucción de la Porta Speciosa del Templo de Jerusalén que acababa de publicar Fra Luca Pacioli en De divina proportione (Venecia, 1509), reforzaría los vínculos de la semántica de las Lonjas con la arquitectura bíblica. El nuevo cambio que se produjo en la segunda mitad del siglo XIV no solo se debió al enorme incremento del comercio civil sino también a la paralela emergencia de la clase de los mercaderes, que en la corona de Aragón se produjo durante el reinado de Pedro IV de Aragón ‘el Ceremonioso’ (1319–1336–1387), quien también acumuló los títulos de rey de Mallorca y señor del Roselló (1343/1375), y sus sucesores. Podemos utilizar quizá como el mejor exponente de esta nueva situación algunos de los textos redactados por el maestro en teología franciscano Fray Francesc Eiximenis (1327–1409), cuya geobiografía parece constituir un itinerario por las principales ciudades con lonja: vivió en Barcelona (ca. 1370–1383) 9 Esto es, sobre el modelo del Consulado sevillano que ocupaba un sector del Alcázar real. Sabemos que en Sevilla, por otra parte, existió una lonja de catalanes desde 1292, creada por cédula de Sancho IV, aunque desconocemos su localización o su tipología. 10 La historia de las imágenes de la Lonja y de sus restauraciones complica esta afirmación, basada en la lógica de la imagen pasada y actual de su lado sur; el oriental tenía a finales del siglo XIX ventanas en los arcos cegados – con un solo registro de balaustres en la parte superior –, ventanas rectangulares que fueron cegadas en el siglo XX y solo recuperadas a finales

de esta centuria. Las ventanas, sin embargo, parecen obra decimonónica más que antigua. 11 Hacemos una relectura de los textos básicos de A. Gallego y Burín, La Capilla Real de Granada, Madrid, s.a. [1951], pp. 182–186, y R. López Guzmán, Tradición y clasicismo en la Granada del XVI. Arquitectura civil y urbanismo, Granada, 1987, pp. 525–532 y docs. 6–7, pp. 735–752. En 1528 la ciudad consideraba ya ‘inútil’ esta Lonja y solicitó un nuevo espacio en la Plaza de Bibarrambla, entre las calles de la catedral y la Alcaicería, que no se le concedió por negativa real; no obstante, a comienzos del siglo XVII ya se había vendido todo el edificio a la catedral.

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para pasar después a Valencia (1383–1408) y morir en Perpiñán como obispo de Elna y Patriarca de Jerusalén (1408–1409). Más conocido como teórico de la ciudad, Eiximenis dedicó en su Dotzé del crestiá o regiment dels homens e de les dones, redactado en Valencia en 1384–1385,12 páginas específicas a la alabanza de los mercaderes, en un claro reflejo del nuevo papel social que se le estaba otorgando a la burguesía mercantil, al estamento o mano de “mercaders y drapers poderosos”, junto a los juristas y notarios, “e tots aquells que siens generositat notable han riqueses en la ciutat” (“y todos aquellos que sin generosidad notable poseen riquezas en la ciudad”). Estos individuos ‘generosos’ eran los aristócratas y los caballeros, quienes hasta entonces habían constituído las dos clases de ciudadanos, pues a los menestrales solo los consideraba vecinos y habitantes de las ciudades. Según Eiximenis, los mercaderes eran la vida y tesoro de la cosa pública, por lo que debían ser los seglares del mundo más favorecidos; eran comida de los pobres y brazo de todo buen negocio; sin ellos las comunidades decaían, los príncipes se convertían en tiranos, los jóvenes se perdían y los pobres lloraban: “los mercaders son vida de la cosa pública, deven esser favorits sobre tota gent seglar del món… y son tresor de la cosa pública… menjar del pobres, braç de tot bon negoci … sens mercaders les comunitats cahen, los prínceps tornen tirans, los jovens se perden, los pobres ploren …”. Pues los nuevos mercaderes eran los ciudadanos más limosneros, por encima de los caballeros y el resto de los ciudadanos, y a través de ellos Dios mostraba grandes maravillas, pues por su especial gracia y servicios los hacía subir por encima de los demás individuos de la comunidad: “Ensenya Deu en ells gran maravelles … suven alt per gracia de Deu special sobre tots les altres de la comunitat… lo món los haya menester … com los mercaders deven esser afavorits …”. Por ello se les debía conceder por parte de la monarquía y las repúblicas mayores privilegios, gracias especiales y honores superiores a los de los demás. Los mercaderes eran una necesidad absoluta para el mundo y no debían ser identificados y, por lo tanto, persegudios como los reguaters (los especuladores acaparadores).13 Es lógico que las clases de los mercaderes a cuyos oídos llegaban semejantes ideas, asumieran un concepto de sí mismos que debiera tener un reflejo institucional en sus organizaciones colegiadas y un rostro material en los nuevos edificios monumentales que, casi a manera de templos civiles, comenzaron a construirse como sedes de sus negocios. Las Lonjas optaron por un nuevo tipo al convertirse en edificios más complejos, incluso de dos pisos y básicamente cerrados, aunque pudieran mantener una amplia apertura hacia el exterior a través de secuencias de tres arcos en un lateral. La gran innovación fue su transformación desde espacio longitudinal de una única nave en espacio diáfano de tres naves, con dos arquerías sobre pilares, sobre el modelo de las Hallenkirchen – como la iglesia de Santa María del Mar de Barcelona – que se estaban construyendo contemporáneamente en la corona de Aragón. Tampoco podemos desechar la posible relación con edificios de almacenamiento con naves, como el Almudí – alhóngida o depósito del grano – de Valencia. A partir de finales del siglo XIV se inicia una secuencia que nos llevará desde Barcelona, a la Ciutat de Mallorca, Valencia y finalmente, a mediados del siglo XVI, a Zaragoza. La monumentalización arquitectónica de las lonjas españolas, vendría de la mano de los logros arquitectónicos alcanzados por la arquitectura religiosa, por el espacio basilical de su tiempo y lugar. Barcelona y Perpiñán La iglesia marinera de Santa María del Mar de Barcelona (1329–1393), obra de Ramón Despuig y Berenguer de Montagud, de proporciones casi catedralicias, tuvo sin duda que ver con la posterior concepción de la inmediata Lonja de Barcelona. Levantada en el barrio 12

Su Dotzé del crestiá se imprimió en Valencia en 1484 y su Regiment de la cosa pública en 1499.

13

Citamos por la edición de Valencia, 1499, caps. xxxiii–xxxiv.

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marítimo, esta parroquia estaba siendo sufragada por familias nobles, de armadores y mercaderes, por gremios y cofradías. Su esbelto y diáfano espacio interior de tres naves cerradas casi a la misma altura, separadas solo por cuatro atirantados soportes prismáticos de dieciocho metros de altura, sorteados entre sí con gran holgura con arcos de gran luz, permitiría una nítida visibilidad del espacio total del templo, llegando casi a ser absoluta desde cualquier ángulo, como si se tratara de un edificio una sola nave. El corolario civil de esta iglesia, tan expresiva del “entusiasmo por el espacio limpio” que caracteriza la arquitectura catalanoaragonesa del periodo,14 sería la Lonja barcelonesa, llamada ‘del mar’. Construida en lo fundamental entre 2. Lonja de Barcelona. Interior del Salón de Contrataciones 1380 y 1392, se cita a Pere Arvey, quien en 1386 (foto: F. Marías). firmaba como “mestre de l’obra de la llotja dels mercaders de Barcelona”, como autor del proyecto.15 Muy transformada entre 1772–1774 por Juan Soler Faneca, se ha conservado el salón de contrataciones, espacio principal, con una concepción espacial diáfana que semeja la generada en la iglesia de Santa María del Mar. Si se ha conservado la Sala del Consulado, que se situaba encima del salón, se han perdido en cambio la capilla alta, las dependencias destinadas a tribunales y la prisión de mercaderes. Tal como se puede observar en el dibujo de Wyngaerde, su exterior tenía una acentuada cubierta piramidal, a cuatro vertientes, rodeado toda con un antepecho de almenas escalonadas (luego repetido en la de Mallorca), con una entrada en triple arcada, y cuerpo superior horadado con tres amplias ventanales geminadas en los lados más estrechos y cinco en los restantes. El Salón de contrataciones (fig. 2), auténtico núcleo generador de la lonja, se estructura en una amplia caja rectangular de 33 metros de longitud por 21 de ancho y más de 16 de altura con cuatro espigados pilares de haces de columnillas sobre los que voltean grandes arcos semicirculares de 10,77 metros de luz, que a su vez sostienen un alfarje pintado.16 El espacio salón, dividido livianamente en tres naves, alcanza una absoluta diafanidad, y fija con gran vigor arquitectónico el trasvase de una funcionalidad litúrgica desarrollada de un modo nuevo en la arquitectura religiosa del entorno, a la funciones propias de un espacio destinado a acoger otro tipo de liturgia civil, como eran los negocios y transacciones de los mercaderes. En esta sala de contrataciones de la Lonja barcelonesa comienzan a cobrar significación arquitectónica las escuetas alusiones históricas a las lonjas que nos han dejado sus contemporáneos, como lugares cubiertos que debían albergar un trato comercial a pie, caminando, de paseo. En sus enormes salas de contratación debía transcurrir y alojar una específica práctica comercial basada en la conversación improvisada y en movimiento (“porque negocian passeando”, diría 14

J. Yarza Luaces, Baja Edad Media. Los siglos del Gótico, Madrid, 1992, p. 103. 15 Se hicieron reparaciones importantes tanto en 1483 como en 1557–1562, antes de la remodelación general del siglo XVIII. Véase ahora M. Bernaus i Vidal, ‘Els espais arquitectònics de la indústria i el comerç’, Barcelona Quaderns d’Història 8, 2003, pp. 99–124.

16

Que debiéramos pasar a la unidad que veremos aparece en esta zona, como también en parte del Midi francés, la canne de Montpellier (1,98 m) frente a la canne de Toulouse (1,79 m), siempre divisibles en 8 pasos, con el resultado de 16 cañas con 4 pasos, 10 con 5 y 5 con 3½ pasos respectivamente.

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más tarde Covarrubias), en el control visual de corrillos de compradores y vendedores, un particular mundo gestual implícito al trato comercial de su tiempo que, sin embargo, se nos escapa por falta de testimonios figurativos si expectuamos la imagen de la predella del retablo de la Trinidad (1489) de la antigua capilla de la Llotja de Perpiñán, en el Roselló.17 Esta Llotja de mar de Perpiñán/Perpinyà/Perpignan, situada junto al ayuntamiento y la diputación en la plaza principal de la Llotja, albergaba un ‘consulado del mar’, la organización jurídica que controlaba el comercio marítimo y terrestre creada por el rey Jaume III de Mallorca (1315–1324–1349) hacia 1335.18 Desde 1397 se les permitió a sus mercaderes construir una sede propia para su tribunal utilizando fondos de sus multas; la ‘Borsa dels Mercaders’ se inició en 1405, configurándose una estructura casi cuadrada en planta, con dos arquerías por sus lados oriental y septentrional, que parecen testimoniar la presencia del futuro maestro de la Lonja de Mallorca Guillem Sagrera, desde 1410 (en la catedral de Sant Joan el Nou), y de Rauli Valter en la ciudad, activos respectivamente en la segunda y tercera décadas del siglo. La lonja se cubrió con una techumbre mudéjar de madera (desaparecida en el siglo XVIII). En el siglo XVI el edificio se prolongó hacia poniente, para unirlo con el del ayuntamiento, concluyéndose probablemente entre 1538, fecha de una visita del emperador Carlos V, y 1540,19 a tenor de lo inscrito en una inscripción de los Jurados. En tanto ámbitos arquitectónicos propios de un colectivo específico colegiado y reglado, las lonjas cubiertas acogieron y techaron (o abovedaron) las funciones propias de los portales de mercaderes, las plazas de mercado o las gradas de acceso a los templos, imponiendo orden y monumentalidad arquitectónica al barullo humano generado por la actividad del negocio comercial. Su particular concepción móvil, cinética, evoca la no menos importante y en esos momentos también emergente de la liturgia eclesial, la de la moderna Hallenkirche como salón columnario, que con sus naves claustradas, la de las capillas ‘transparentes’, como se las llamara en el siglo XVIII, estuvieron destinadas a acoger procesiones, concebidas como corredores por donde debía transcurrir un culto itinerante, nada estático. De sus holgadas dimensiones y de sus posibilidades visuales en el conjunto de la arquitectura de una ciudad como Barcelona, nos habla el hecho de que este salón de contrataciones de la lonja de Barcelona fuera utilizado en el año 1708 para desplegar las escenografías teatrales de Ferdinando Galli Bibiena durante la corte austriaca del Archiduque Carlos, durante la Guerra de Sucesión. Mallorca y Valencia El siguiente eslabón de nuestra cadena está representado por la Llonja (Llotgia) o Colegio de Mercaderes de la Ciutat de Mallorca20, institución de la que se tienen noti-

17 Atribuído al Maestro de la Llotja (Rafael Tamarro), hoy se conserva en el Musée des Beaux-Arts Hyacinthe Rigaud de Perpignan. Véase R. Cornudella, ‘El Mestre de la Llotja de Mar de Perpinyà (àlies Mestre de Canapost; àlies Mestre de la Seu d’Urgell)’, Locus Amoenus, 7, 2004, pp. 137–169. 18 Dependía entonces del modelo de Mallorca (1326), pero fue reestructurada en 1388 por Joan I d’Aragó, al dejar de depender del reino de Mallorca, y ahora sus modelos organizativos fueron los de las ciudades aragonesas de Barcelona y Valencia.

19

Véase O. Poisson, Le Guide du Patrimoine. Languedoc-Roussillon, ed. Jean-Marie Pérouse de Montclos, París, 1996, pp. 435–436. 20 Hemos preferido obviar el nombre actual de la ciudad por razones históricas. La islámica Madina Mayurqa se convirtió tras la conquista en la Ciutat de Mallorca, y solo recuperó en 1717 el nombre romano Palma de Mallorca.

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cias desde 1246 (figs. 3–5).21 La obra se inició en 1421–1426,22 con proyecto de Guillem Sagrera (ca. 1380–1454), lapiscida, civis civitatis Majoricarum,23 y un presupuesto de 22.000 libras mallorquinas, y se prolongó al menos hasta 1449 (1447–1451).24 Mallorca constituía un centro (cap de la creu se decía ya en el siglo XIV25) de las rutas mediterráneas, e importantísimo eje del comercio con Berbería y la costa de Levante, cuyo papel se incrementó tras la conquista aragonesa de Sicilia (1282) y Nápoles (1442); además, la institución de su consulado se vió muy reforzada desde 1419, fecha en que el jurista Arnaldo de Mur consiguió del rey Alfonso V el derecho de monopolio mallorquín – frente a sus rivales genoveses – del comercio con el Mediterráneo 3. Lonja de Mallorca. Planta. suroccidental. La vida de la ciudad estaba de hecho en manos de los caballeros, los ciudadanos y los mercaderes, quienes, como lectores de Fray Francesc Eiximenis, en 1409 expresaban su deseo de poseer una lonja “que ennobleciese su profesión y ciudad”.26 Con la Lonja de Mallorca cuaja una elaborada tipología de lonja tardomedieval, posiblemente la expresión más monumental de la arquitectura civil de su tiempo. Construida

21

En esta fecha de 1246 el rey Jaume I dió permiso para construir en Mallorca una lonja y hospedería para los mercaderes y un terreno (de 20 por 15 brazas) junto a la Puerta Vieja del Muelle, que quedaría como proyecto al menos hasta 1409. Entonces, y tras la devastadora riada de 1403 (con el desbordamiento y destrucción de la Riera), el rey Martín I el Humano (1356–1396–1410) les concedió, como recompensa a su colaboración en la conquista de la isla de Cerdeña, un privilegio a los dos Defenedors de la Mercadería, en nombre de los consellers del colegio de mercaderes, para utilizar tasas en la construcción de un nuevo edificio en el sitio ya concedido años atrás, y que se conoce como Plaza de la Botaria. 22 Quizá no deje de ser una coincidencia el hecho de que las finanzas del reino y de la ciudad se vieran reimpulsadas en 1425 gracias a la imposición del nuevo estanco de la sal. 23 Sagrera abandonó la fábrica en 1446, tras diversas desavenencias con sus patronos, delegando en sus colaboradores Guillem Vilasolar y Miquel Sagrera la conclusión de la obra, y marchando a Nápoles en 1447 reclamado por Alfonso V. 24 Véase ahora J. Domenge i Mesquida, ‘Guillem Sagrera. Alcance y lagunas de la historiografía sagreriana’, en: E. Mira, A. Zaragozá Catalán (eds.), Una arquitectura gótica mediterránea II, Valencia, 2003, pp. 115–132, con la bibliografía previa, y La Lonja

de Palma, Palma, 2003. También G. Alomar, Guillem Sagrera y la arquitectura gótica del siglo XV, Barcelona, 1970 y M. R. Manote i Clivilles, ‘El contrato y pleito de la Lonja entre Guillem Sagrera y el Colegio de mercaderes de Ciutat de Mallorca’, en: X. Barral i Altet (ed.), Artistes, artisans et production artistique au Moyen Âge. I. Les hommes, París, 1984, pp. 577–588; M.R. Manote i Clivilles (ed.), Mallorca gòtica, Barcelona, 1998; S. Sabater Terrasa, ‘Escultura y decoración arquitectónica en el siglo XV: el interior de la Lonja de Palma’, en: Actas del 14° CEHA Málaga 2002. Correspondencia e integración de las artes, Universidad de Málaga, Málaga, 2006, III, i, pp. 169–179. 25 Expresión ya usada por el dominico Pere Marsili al dirigirse al rey Sancho de Mallorca, en su crónica de la conquista de Mallorca. 26 Torres Balbás 1952 (nota 5), p. 314. Véase, sobre el periodo, Á. Santamaría Arández, en: El reino de Mallorca en la primera mitad del siglo XV, Palma, 1955 y en: Mallorca medieval. Obra selecta, Palma, 2005; G. Morro Veny, Mallorca a mitjan segle XV: el sindicat i l’alçament forà, Palma, 1997; La Corona d’Aragona ai tempi di Alfonso II el Magnanimo: i modelli politico-istituzionali, la circolazione degli uomini, delle idee, delle merci, gli influssi sulla società e sul costume, I, Nápoles, 2000; P. Xamena, Història de Mallorca, Palma, 2005.

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4. Lonja de Mallorca.Interior (foto: J. Bérchez).

5. Lonja de Mallorca. Exterior (fotos: F. Marías).

extramuros, despliega como la de Barcelona una amplia sala rectangular de proporciones sensiblemente mayores (24 x 36 metros (12 x 18 cañas de Montepellier), frente a los 21 x 33 metros (10 con 5 pasos x 16 con 4 pasos de la barcelonesa), sorteada por seis pilars entorchats con estrías en espiral a arista viva, que dividen la sala en tres naves de igual altura, de cuatro tramos con capillas casi cuadradas cubiertas por bóvedas de crucería sencilla y con arcos y ojivas que arrancan directamente de los pilares, y muros lisos penetrados en altura por el desembarco de las ojivas. Los pilares entorchados de arista viva, si bien por esas fechas eran ya usuales en monumentos extranjeros, en la arquitectura de la Península eran inéditos. Al exterior la Lonja se presenta como un edificio perfectamente exento y de aspecto acastillado, por razones tanto reales – Mallorca estuvo siempre amenazada por los ataques de la flota genovesa y las incursiones de los piratas berberiscos – como simbólicas. Cuatro torrecillas octogonales en las esquinas encuadran todas y cada una de las fachadas, con escaleras de caracol – “de Mallorca”, ésto es sin nabo – alojadas en su interior, y un antepecho de almenas escalonadas recorre el perímetro externo. Las referencias formales a las cocleae cilíndricas (escaleras de caracol) de las puertas del atrio y el santuario del Templo de Jerusalén revelado a Ezequiel (Ez. 40–43) parecen claras, a partir de la reconstrucción literaria y gráfica de Fray Nicolas de Lyre (ca. 1270–1349) en sus Postillae litteralis (ca. 1322–1331) (fig. 6).27 Y sabemos de la lectura de éstas en el ámbito mallorquín ya a mediados del siglo XIV, al menos desde que el obispo

27 Véanse C. Herselle Krinsky, ‘Representations of the Temple of Jerusalem before 1500’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 33, 1970, pp. 1–19; H. Rosenau, ‘The Architecture of Nicolaus de Lyra’s Temple Illustrations and the Jewish Tradition’, Journal of Jewish Studies 25, 1974, 2, pp. 294–304 y Vision of the Temple, The Image of the Temple of Jerusalem in Judaism and Christianity, Londres, 1979; A. M. Ripoll, ‘Exégesis escrita y explanación dibujada de la arquitectura bíblica

en N. de Lira’, en: Dios arquitecto. J. B. Villalpando y el Templo de Salomón, Madrid, 1994, pp. 87–89; K. Reinhardt, ‘Das Werk des Nicolaus von Lyra im mittelalterlichen Spanien’, Traditio. Studies in Ancient and Medieval History, Thought, and Religion, 43, 1987, pp. 321–358; E. A. Gosselin, ‘A listing of the printed Editions of Nicolaus de Lyra’, Traditio. Studies in Ancient and Medieval History, Thought, and Religion, 26, 1970, pp. 399–426.

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de Mallorca Antoni des Collell poseyera en 1346, entre sus papiru librorum inventariados en la ciudad, unas “Postille fratis Nicolai de Lira”, encuadernadas junto con un “Librum pontificalem sedis Maior[ricarum]”.28 Dado además que en Mallorca la teología no fue monopolio de los clérigos, como demostrarían los libros inventariados entre 1300 y 1550 que ha estudiado J. N. Hillgarth, la posibilidad de su lectura por parte de los mercaderes parece probable; de hecho, de Nicolás de Lira existían 21 ejemplares en Mallorca, de ellos 10 en bibliotecas de particulares (4 de clérigos y 6 de seglares).29 Tampoco debemos olvidar que existía además en el ambiente del reino de Mallorca, Rosellón y Cataluña una tradición hebrea de manuscritos ilustrados con imágenes de elementos del templo al menos desde finales del siglo XIII.30 Sin embargo, estas referencias salomo6. Nicolas de Lyre (ca. 1270–1349), Casa del Bosque del Líbano, en Postillae in Vetus et Novum Testam. nistas parecen prolongarse en las columnas helicoidales o salomónicas, que sugieren una recreación de múltiples registros a partir de la exégesis bíblica de la arquitectura jerosolomitana; por una parte, hay ecos de las columnas en espiral, tenidas como procedentes del templo 28

J.N. Hillgarth, ‘Inventario de los bienes de Antoni des Collell, obispo de Mallorca (1349–1363)’, Boletín de la Sociedad Arqueológica Luliana [Bolletí de la Societat Arqueològica Luliana], 31, 1958–1959, pp. 504–554, esp. p. 536; idem, ‘La biblioteca del obispo Collell’, en: Actas del IV Congreso de Historia de la Corona de Aragón, 2, Barcelona, 1970, pp. 355–358; e idem, Readers and Books in Majorca, 1229–1550, 2 vols., París, 1986–1991. El franciscano mallorquín Fray Joan Eiximeno (†1420), confesor real de Martín el Humano y Alfonso V y maestro de teología, tuvo contactos el Papa Luna Benedicto XIII (ante quien llegó a predicar en 1409), que poseyó en Peñíscola (1411–1426) una biblioteca con dos manuscritos parisinos ilustrados de las Postillae de Nicolas de Lyre (París, B.N.F., Mss. Lat. 359 y 360). Sobre este religioso, véase A.G. Hauf i Valls, ‘Fra Joan Eixemeno, OFM i la seva “Quarantena de contemplació”’, Randa, 17, 1985, pp. 15–63. Alfonso V el Magnánimo (1396–1416–1458), de quien sabemos, por fuentes muy próximas al monarca, que leía la Biblia cum glossis y que incluso se sabía de memoria las Sagradas escrituras, al decir de Vespasiano da Bisticci. Sobre el contexto cultural de la isla, véase también S. Trias Mercant, Història del pensament a Mallorca: dels origens al Segle XIX, 2 vols., Palma, 1985–1995; P. Xamena y F. Riera, Història de l’Església a Mallorca 2, Palma, 1986; J.N. Hillgarth, ‘Mallorca e Italia: relaciones culturales durante la Baja Edad Media’, en: XIV

Congreso de Historia de la Corona de Aragón (1990), V, Cagliari, 1997, pp. 337–345; G. Ensenyat Pujol, La literatura catalana medieval a Mallorca, Palma, 1999; idem, Història de la literatura catalana a Mallorca a l’Edat Mitjana, Palma, 2001; J. Miralles i Montserrat, Antologia de textos de les Illes Balears. Volum I. Segles XIII-XVI, Palma, 2006. 29 J.N. Hillgarth, ‘La teología en Mallorca desde el s. XIII al XVI’, en: Hispania Christiana, Estudios en honor del Prof. Dr. José Orlandis Rovira, Pamplona, 1988, pp. 513–520. De igual forma las bibliotecas contabilizaban 86 libros religiosos de Fray Francesc Eiximenis (70 en manos de privados, 14 clérigos y 56 seglares), un número solo inferior al de los libros de Ramon Llull (del Libre des àngels, por ejemplo, se contabilizaban 46). 30 Véase M. Durliat, L’art en el Regne de Mallorca, Palma de Mallorca, 19892, pp. 279–285. Todavía se conservan al menos dos Biblias hebreas con ilustraciones, de 1299 en Perpiñán, para Salomon ben-Raphael (París, B.N.F., Ms. Hebr. 7), y su copia conocida como la Catalonian Bible de 1301 ahora en Copenhagen (B.R.D., Cod. Heb. II). Véase J.N. Hillgarth, B. Narkiss, ‘A List of Hebrew Books (1330) and a Contract to illuminate Manuscripts (1335) from Majorca’, Revue des études juives, 120, 1961, pp. 297–320 y K. Kogman-Appel, ‘Hebrew Manuscript Painting in Late Medieval Spain: Signs of a Culture in Transition’, The Art Bulletin, 84, 2002, n° 2, pp. 246– 272, esp. pp. 251–255.

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de Salomón, que se conservaban en San Pietro Vaticano de Roma, pero también de la posible reconstrucción de la Casa del Bosque de Líbano, por el material de cedro de su construcción, la Domus Saltus Libani (1 Reg. 9–10 y 2 Par. 9, 16–20) o palacio de Salomón, construído al sur del Templo (ver 3 Reg. 7, 3), con sus naves sobre columnas de cedro, y en consecuencia, interpretables como soportes de aspecto arbóreo en un edificio que es denominado también lonja.31 Es posible que sobre las lonjas mercantiles de este momento gravitara una mentalidad proclive a reponer una imagen decorosa de la maldición evangélica de la expulsión de los 7. Lonja de Valencia. Planta. mercaderes del templo de Jerusalén, en buena medida prolongada en el tiempo a través de la persistencia de sus costumbres mercantiles en las gradas de los templos más significativos, costumbre que de algún modo parece perpetuarse, ahora con una liturgia diferente, cívica, en la insistencia de concebir las lonjas con profusión de escaleras de gradas y bancadas alojadas en los exteriores o interiores de las mismas. No deja de ser significativo que en el dibujo de la Lonja mallorquina del Libro de fábrica de mediados del siglo XV, la fachada principal destacarán, de modo metonímico, junto a la fisonomía de torres almenadas de la fachada, unas prominentes gradas de acceso precedidas por un jardín.32 De igual forma, la fachada occidental está presidida, desde su tímpano, por la figura monumental de un Ángel de la Mercadería, el Custodio cuya fiesta la ciudad de Mallorca había introducido en 1407. La nueva Lonja de Valencia – pues existía ya una vieja en 1314 – fue construida por Pere Compte y Juan Yvarra, 1482–1498 (figs. 7–8),33 y se convirtió desde un primer momento en objeto de excepcionales elogios34; incluso se ha conservado el del doctor de Nurenberg Hieronymus Münzer, de 1494, quien había tenido ocasión de departir con sus arquitectos, y señaló la relevancia de sus dimensiones, su suntuosidad – que la colocaban por encima de la de Barcelona – y la existencia de una capilla en su torre, llamándole poderosamente la atención sus ‘artísticas 31 “Casa de los Cedros del Líbano”: “De la casa real de Salomón”. Cap. XL: “Este es el famosísimo palaçio que tan en particular descriue la sagrada scriptura [Nota al margen: 3. de los Rey. cap. 7] edificado con real apparato y costa de piedras de grandíssimo ualor y cedros al mediodía del templo en la çiudad superior y todas sus alhajas eran de oro y otras preçiosíssimas materias. Junto a aquel palaçio edificó otro no con menos apparato ni costa a la hija de Pharaón que tomó por muger. En medio destos dos palaçios estaua aquella nobilíssima lonja llamada casa del bosque Líbano porque la sustentauan quarenta y cinco gruesas columnas por banda todas de çedro traydas del dicho monte…” Traducción castellana comentada de Juan Bautista Villalpando en Madrid, B.N.E., Ms. 6.035 (en latín en In Ezechielem Explanationes et Apparatus Urbis, ac Templi Hierosolymitani Commentariis et Imaginibus Opus, Roma, 1596–1604, II, ii, cap. x; trad. esp. El Tratado de la arquitectura perfecta en la última visión del profeta Ezequiel:

traducido en el Monasterio de San Lorenzo el Real de El Escorial por fray Luciano Rubio, ed. José Corral Jam, Madrid, 1990, pp. 261–263). 32 En este jardín se construyó la capilla de la Lonja, concluída en 1600 y que se intentaba erigir, desde 1528, incluso en el interior del edificio cuatrocentista. El antiguo tribunal del Consulado de Mar se construyó como edificio independiente en el siglo XVII (1614–1669). Agradecemos muy amistosamente a Mercedes Gómez-Ferrer la noticia y aportación del dibujo mencionado. 33 Sobre la fábrica, véase S. Aldana Fernández, Símbolo y espacio en la arquitectura valenciana medieval: la Lonja de Valencia, Valencia, 1977 y La Lonja, Valencia, 1991. 34 Un evidente y detallado elogio de Valencia había sido redactado por Fray Francesc Eiximenis en la penúltima década del siglo XIV, para llegar a la imprenta en el Regiment de la cosa publica en 1499, aunque obviara la Valencia material, la urbs, para cantar solamente su dones naturales y humanos, la civitas.

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columnas’. También el bachiller y sacerdote Alonso de Proaza (ca. 1445–ca. 1519), familiar del obispo de Tortosa Guillem Ramón de Moncada y catedrático de retórica de la Universidad de Valencia desde 1504, la incluyó en una oratio pronunciada en 1505 ante el claustro y los estudiantes universitarios, reunidos en el teatro del Estudio, para imprimirse a fines de ese mismo año, tras recibir el privilegio de los jurados de la ciudad.35 La “singular belleza del edificio [pulchritudine et raritate] y honrada por el orden, la equidad y la rapidez con que los magistrados y cónsules oyen y deciden acerca de las disputas y las divisiones de los mercaderes, que se puede comparar o contar entre las famosísimas siete maravillas del mundo. Los latinos la llamaban bien basílica bien pórtico, los de aquí la llaman lonja [basilica sive porticus latini dicerent vulgares Lonjam vocitant], célebre por sus muy nobles mercaderes y por la afluencia de los demás vendedores; gracias a ella, Valencia está considerada como el más amplio mercado de casi toda Asia, África y Europa”.36 El salón de contrataciones valen8. Lonja de Valencia. Interior y Bóvedas (fotos: J. Bérchez). ciano, de 35,60 metros x 21,99 de ancho y 17,40 de altura hasta la bóveda, también conocido como ‘salón columnario’, parte del de Sagrera en Mallorca, aunque se separa de éste en la complejidad asignada a los elementos arquitectónicos. Frente a las bóvedas sencillas de crucería – de tradicional rampante llano – de los cuatro tramos casi cuadrados de los lonja mallorquina, Compte desplegó las bóvedas en un moderno y vanguardista rampante redondo, casi unas ligeras bóvedas baídas posiblemente de las más tempranas en la arquitectura española de su tiempo, que permitían la multiplicación de nervios y claves.37 Hay en este interior un auténtico exhibicionismo de redes romboidales formadas por nervios sogueados entrecruzados y anudados en claves, retorcidos en espiral, que amplifican el efecto ascencional de los alargados pilares torsos y abocelados de 16 metros de altura. Al contemplar este espacio de redes abovedadas acompasadas por el despliegue de veinticuatro pilares de fustes con estrías en rosca a la manera helicoidal – ocho aislados y dieciséis excedidos (más que estrictamente adosados) a los muros en cuatro hileras como la Casa del Bosque del Líbano –, ordenados todos con un rigor geométrico excepcional, con la inscripción latina en letras de oro de caracteres góticos sobre fondo oscuro recorriendo las cuatro paredes del salón, a modo de cenefa (y que recuerdan de modo salmódico 35

Véase D.W. McPheeters, El humanista español Alonso de Proaza, Valencia, 1961, especialmente pp. 137–151. Fernando Marías, ‘La ciudad de Valencia en la encrucijada arquitectónica del siglo XV: lo moderno, lo antiguo y lo romano’, Anuario del Departamento de Historia y Teoría del Arte, 12, 2000,

pp. 25–38. Citamos esta Oratio luculenta de laudibus Valentie, Leonardo Hutz, Valencia, 1505, por el ejemplar de Madrid, B.N.E., Inc. 1.095. 36 Ibidem, fol. b iv v.-b v. 37 A. Zaragozá Catalán, Arquitectura gótica valenciana. Siglos XIII-XV, Valencia, 2000, pp. 175–176.

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a los comerciantes sus deberes como mercaderes y buenos cristianos38), es difícil sustraerse a la idea salomonista que posiblemente acompañó de un modo genérico su concepción, evocando las pertinaces alusiones a los míticos entrelazos bíblicos percibidos de muy diversos modos por los exégetas de la escritura sagrada en torno a las construcciones bíblicas.39 La misma naturaleza de las bóvedas que ceden en su verticalidad, en su carácter apuntado, confiere al interior de esta sala de contratación una dilatación del espacio única. Cuaja también, en esta lonja valenciana, la idea de un espacio interior transitable y abierto de forma diáfana al exterior, con múltiples puertas y ventanas con asientos laterales de piedra, al modo de un paseadero despejado y cubierto, como un elaborado núcleo centrípeto del bullicioso ámbito urbano colindante. Al exterior persiste este carácter con amplios escalones y bancadas de piedra ciñendo su perímetro. Acaso sea la calle ‘de los Escalones de la Lonja’, ya prevista en la traza inicial, peatonal y situada a la altura de la sala de contratación y no a la altura de las demás calzadas, la que mejor refleje la inveterada costumbre de los mercaderes de tomar asiento en las gradas de los edificios religiosos para tratar sus negocios la que ahora se erige en Leitmotiv de la nueva tipología arquitectónica con que se conciben las lonjas. En Valencia, sin embargo, se hace también más compleja, al constar no solo del gran salón de contratación, sino de un torreón que albergó la capilla de la Concepción de la Virgen en el piso bajo y cárcel de comerciantes en el segundo cuerpo, y del anexo pabellón del Consulado del Mar, más el jardín rectangular. Zaragoza Depende estrechamente de este modelo la ya quinientista Lonja de Zaragoza, 1541–1551 (figs. 9a, b, c), proyectada por Juan de Sariñena y Alonso de Leznes, y promovida por don Hernando de Aragón (1498–1575), arzobispo de Zaragoza (1539) y virrey de Aragón (1566). En su gestación se mencionaron las lonjas catalanas y valenciana, referencias que se reiteraron en el proceso previo a la decisión de construcción, y aun en 1542 se mantuvo esta dependencia cuando en las Cortes de Monzón se aprobó por parte de Carlos V la instalación de una institución paralela (Tabla de depósitos) en la capital aragonesa.40 Entre los argumentos que justifican su construcción, solicitada por “muchos mercaderes y ciudadanos”, se 38 “INCLYTA DOMUS SUM ANNIS [A]EDIFICATA QUINDECIM GUSTATE ET VIDETE CONCIVES QUONIAM BONA EST NEGOTIATIO QUE NON AGIT DOLUM IN LINGUA SUA QUE IURAT PROXIMO ET NON DECIPIT, QUE PECUNIAM NON DEDIT AD USURAM EIUS. MERCATORES SIC DEGENS DIVICIIS REDUNDABIT ET TANDEM VITA FRUETUR ETERNA”. Su traducción sería: “Ínclita casa soy, edificada en quince años. Compatricios, probad y ved cuán bueno es el comercio que no lleva fraude en la palabra, que jura al prójimo y no le falta, que no usa de su dinero con usura. El mercader que viva de este modo rebosará de riquezas y gozará, por último, la vida eterna”. 39 A. Zaragozá Catalán, ‘Inspiración bíblica y presencia de la antigüedad en el episodio tardogótico valenciano’, en: Historia de la ciudad II, Valencia, 2002, pp. 168–183. Sobre la tradición manuscrita en España, véase Felipe Pereda, ‘Le origini dell’architettura cubica: Alfonso de Madrigal, Nicola da Lira e la querelle salomonista nella Spagna del Quattrocento’, Annali di architetura, 17, 2005, pp. 21–52. Tras la primera edición de las

Postillae impresa de Roma de 1471–1472, se sucedieron ediciones ilustradas desde las Postillae perpetuae de Nurenberg (Anton Koberger, 1481, 1485 y 1487), de Maguncia (1493), Venecia (1495) o Basilea (1502). En Valencia también existía un interés previo, como demostraría a las claras el hecho de que su obispo auxiliar, prior agustino y exégeta Jaime Pérez de Valencia (1408–1490) escribiera unos comentarios que arrancaban de Nicolas de Lyre, aunque también de fuentes hebreas (de Abraham Ibn Ezra, Rashi y Maimónides). Véase Pereda 2005, p. 50, n. 76, quien desarrollará este argumento en un trabajo próximo y a quien agradecemos que haya compartido con nosotros su hallazgo; también M. Peinado Muñoz, Juan Pérez de Valencia (1408–1490) y la Sagrada Escritura, Granada, 1992. 40 C. Gómez Urdáñez, ‘Zaragoza renacentista’, en: Guía histórica-artística de Zaragoza, Zaragoza, 19913, pp. 207–215; idem, ‘La Lonja de Zaragoza y la arquitectura civil de la ciudad en el siglo XVI’, en: Actas del IV Coloquio de Arte Aragonés, Zaragoza, 1986, pp. 101–112; idem, Arquitectura civil en Zaragoza en el

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9 a,b,c. Lonja de Zaragoza (1541–1561). Alzados, secciones y planta (U. Heredia).

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repite la imperativa circunstancia – alegada por el propio arzobispo – de desahogar la Seo y otros templos de la ciudad de los continuos tratos y negocios de los mercaderes. La Lonja de Zaragoza incluyó un nuevo tramo hasta un total de quince capillas en tres naves, con bóvedas estrelladas tabicadas y proyecto de una linterna en el tramo central (1546) que no llegó a ejecutarse, sobre columnas jónicas diseñadas por el escultor Gil de Morlanes el Menor que ritman también el perímetro interior del salón, por el que corre una inscripción fundacional de los Jurados.41 El piso alto con galería, al que se accedía por una escalera de caracol hoy desaparecida, se utilizaba como almacén de bienes y armas de la milicia local. Se custodiaban los depósitos judiciales y los ingresos y rentas de la ciudad, admitiéndose también de ciudadanos particulares. Su actividad cesó totalmente en 1795. La Lonja de Sevilla Nuestro último episodio nos traslada a Sevilla, puerto fundamental para el comercio americano. Si éste constituyó su justificación, su “grandeza y fortaleza” al decir de sus contemporáneos y su desorbitado costo – calculado en 1.000.000 de ducados a mitad de la fábrica – fueron probablemente la causa de que sea históricamente el último episodio de la historia arquitectónica de esta tipología de lonja, de la que además es ejemplo absolutamente singular.42 Establecida en 1503 en Sevilla la Casa de la Contratación de las Indias, que controlaba en términos de monopolio el comercio con América, revolucionó la ciudad de Sevilla como centro de ‘cargadores’ o tratantes extranjeros y nacionales, desde 1543 agrupados en el ‘consulado’ o ‘universidad de cargadores a Indias’ y que se reunían en los espacios catedralicios. Por entonces, el Consulado tenía su sede en el Alcázar real, cerca del Cuarto Real y el Jardín del Príncipe, en el llamado Cuarto o Cuerpo de los Almirantes y Plaza de la Contratación, espacio todavía restaurado en 1605–1611, tras haber utilizado también las dos naves más meridionales de las enormes atarazanas medievales de forma efímera, y lugar en el que estuvo la Casa de la Contratación hasta su traslado en 1717 a Cádiz. A su vez, la incrementada ‘universidad de mercaderes’ de Sevilla se reunía en la catedral, bien en las gradas del Corral de los Olmos o de la fachada principal, bien en su claustro, con el consiguiente disgusto de las autoridades eclesiásticas, testimoniado por ejemplo en el relieve de la ‘Expulsión de los mercaderes del templo’ de 1522, obra del escultor Miguel Florentín, que se colocó en la entrada del Patio de los Naranjos. Estos problemas se acrecentaron a lo largo del siglo, llegándose a la excomunión dictada por el arzobispo don Cristóbal de Rojas y Sandoval de 1572 y a una nueva amenaza en 1579. En aquélla fecha se logró un acuerdo entre la universidad, la catedral y la corona, y se iniciaron

siglo XVI, Zaragoza, 1987–1988, II, pp. 105–135; J. Ibáñez Fernández, Arquitectura aragonesa del siglo XVI. Propuestas de renovación en tiempos de Hernando de Aragón (1539–1575), Zaragoza, 2005, pp. 102–103; G. Colás Latorre, J. Criado Mainar e I. M. García, Don Hernando de Aragón, Arzobispo de Zaragoza y Virrey de Aragón, CAI, Zaragoza, 1998. 41 “SE ACABO ESTA LONJA, LA QUAL Y CIUDAD TENGA DIOS DE SU MANO PARA QUE SIEMPRE SE EMPLEHEN EN JUSTICIA, PAZ Y BUEN GOBIERNO DELLA. ANYO DEL NASCIMIENTO DE NUESTRO SEÑOR JESUCRISTO DE 1551. CORREGNANTES

DONYA JUANA Y DON CARLOS SU HIJO, REYES Y EMPERADORES NUESTROS SENYORES Y JURADO DON FELIPE, HIJO DEL DICHO EMPERADOR, POR REY EN ESTE NUESTRO REYNO Y REYNOS DE SPANIA, SIENDO JURADOS DESTA CIUDAD CARLOS TORRELLAS, JERONIMO ÇAPATA, JUAN BUCLE METELIN, JUAN CAMPI Y JUAN DE ROBRES”. 42 Al trasladarse a Cádiz, en 1717, la Casa de la Contratación, y hasta su extinción en 1793, jamás ocupó un inmueble de nueva creación. No obstante, en 1778 se proyectó un nuevo edificio por parte del ingeniero Antonio Hurtado (1728–1807).

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los preparativos, aunque todavía en 1593 el arzobispo Rodrigo de Castro tuvo que contratar agentes para que expulsaran a los comerciantes y pregoneros de las gradas de la fachada principal de la catedral, y exigir que se inaugurara el cuarto más próximo de la nueva lonja en construcción. El anticuario Rodrigo Caro (1573–1647) establecería en 1634 el paralelo entre este proceder y el de los antiguos romanos: “como si la casa de Dios fuera casa de negociación, o como si las gradas (que también son parte del Templo, y lugar sagrado) fueran Templo de Libitina …”,43 ésto es el templo de la diosa de la muerte, los entierros y las almonedas, identificada con Venus. Esta interpretación a la ‘antigua’ de las prácticas comerciales tiñe los comentarios de este autor; incluso buscó una nueva explicación etimológica – a la griega – en términos anticuarios al nombre de ‘lonja’, como derivación de la lanza o hasta (λóγχη) bajo la que se hacían los tratos y subastas.44 También esta visión a la ‘antigua’, ahora del propio edificio, apareció inmediatamente después de proyectarse, como testimonia la previsión de Alonso de Morgado quien, ya en 1587, señalaba que cuando la Lonja estuviera terminada sería “uno de los heróicos, y famosos edificios de todo el orbe”,45 utilizando una adjetivación – heróico – inusual para nuestra crítica arquitectónica, cuyo significado Rodrigo Caro precisaría con su empleo de los términos de “grandeça y fortaleça”, pero que también se había empleado como queja de los mercaderes, tras el proyecto de Herrera, a Felipe II, a quien señalaron que no era “menester obra tan eróyca”.46 En 1572, una cédula real se refería ya a “la orden que se ha de tener en la fábrica y edificio de la Lonja que se ha de hacer en esta ciudad para el concurso e trata de los negocios que ocurren en esta ciudad entre la dicha universidad y las demás naciones”, entregándoseles al prior y los dos cónsules del Consulado, que pedían sitio “para labrar una Lonja de la grandeza y capacidad que se requiere donde se puedan juntar los dichos mercaderes a tratar y contratar sus negocios”. No obstante, no se les concedieron hasta 1579 los terrenos que ocupaba hasta entonces la Casa de la Moneda, que pasó junto con la nueva Aduana a la sede de las Atarazanas, situadas más al oeste, en un proyecto de reordenación urbana de gran importancia para la vida económica y social de la ciudad.47 La nueva Lonja tendría que alojar tanto la estatal Casa de Contratación – con sus dependencias para controlar el tráfico y el comercio de las Indias, desde el aparejo y despacho de las flotas, al control y registro de los pasajeros, depósito de mercadurías y del oro y la plata americanos, y escuela de pilotos y cartografía – como el más privado Consulado de mercaderes, con sus propias oficinas, escribanías, contaduría y tesorería, así como su audiencia y tribunal y sus espacios de negociación. El Consulado parece haber ocupado el piso bajo del nuevo edificio, mientras que la Contratación se alojó en el superior, hasta su traslado a Cádiz en 1717. Herrera quizá diera una primera traza en 1573, pero la dilación en la toma de decisiones con respecto al sitio más idóneo y los métodos de financiación conllevó la del proyecto. La respuesta del Consulado y del concejo sevillano a la elección del sitio fueron unas nuevas trazas del maestro de la ciudad Asensio de Maeda (ca. 1540–1602) de 1579, enviadas 43

R. Caro, Antiguedades y principado de la ilustrissima ciudad de Seuilla y Chronographia de su convento iuridico o antigua chancillería, Sevilla, 1634, f. 60v. 44 Véase Sebastián de Covarrubias, Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española, Madrid, 1611, p. 772, quien deriva el término del latín longus, a , um, como “qualquiera cosa larga y angosta”. 45 Alonso de Morgado, Historia de Sevilla, Sevilla, 1587 (reed. Sevilla, 1887).

46

Citado por A. Pleguezuelo Hernández, ‘La Lonja de mercaderes de Sevilla: de los proyectos a la ejecución’, Archivo Español de Arte 249, 1990, pp. 15–41, esp. p. 24. 47 V. Lleó Cañal, Nueva Roma: Mitología y Humanismo en el Renacimiento sevillano, Sevilla, 1979, pp. 188–190; A.J. Albardonedo Freire, El urbanismo de Sevilla durante el reinado de Felipe II, Sevilla, 2002.

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a Madrid de inmediato. Siguiendo prácticas tradicionales de la casa andaluza, Maeda proyectó una rectángulo de proporción sesquiáltera y patio rectangular sobre columnas exentas y arcos; las galerías del perístilo no se comunicaban con los cuartos, aunque éstos se disponían sin interrupciones en los ángulos; las escaleras se situaban a ambos lados de los laterales más estrechos, que enmarcaban dos pórticos que, a su vez, reforzaban un eje este–oeste para el edificio. En el piso superior Maeda pensaba alojar tanto la Aduana de Indias como una Cárcel de Caballeros – dado que la Casa actuaba como tribunal de justicia con competencia en los litigios entre comerciantes y en materia de fletes y seguros –, cárcel que finalmente saldría del edificio principal a otro inmediato.48 En el piso bajo se pensó en espacios desahogados donde “se puedan [sic] pasear por ambos dos corredores” y almacenes en sótanos. El proyecto definitivo fue diseñado en 10. Lonja de Sevilla. Anónimo (BNE B-152-201, f. 48v.). 1581–1582 por Herrera, probablemente tras pasar por Sevilla a finales de la primavera de 1581, de regreso de su estancia en Portugal.49 La fábrica se inició en 1583 y de un nuevo tras parón en 1585, para solo concluirse en 1646 (figs. 10–13). En 1598, sin embargo, pudo inaugurarse la nave occidental de la Lonja, como testimonia una inscripción (“El cathólico y muy alto y poderoso Don Phelipe Segvndo Rei de las Españas mandó hazer esta Lonja a costa de la Vnibersidad … de los Mercaderes … en 14 días de el mes de agosto de 1598 años”), sobre la puerta de este cuarto.50 Herrera estableció desde un principio un enorme cuadrado también exento (de 200 x 200 pies, tamaño menor que los 295 x 200 pies del proyecto de Maeda, y una altura actual de ca. 64 pies) sobre un estereóbato de siete gradas, que parecían querer dar

48

Esta cárcel se creó para la acción ejecutiva de este tribunal desde 1535, como prisión independiente de la ordinaria; finalmente se reconstruyó, por parte del arquitecto milanés Vermondo Resta (ca. 1555–1625), eligiéndose el proyecto más modesto de los dos que presentó a la institución, en una manzana situada al este del edificio de Herrera. Juana Gil-Bermejo, ‘La Casa de la Contratación de Sevilla (Algunos aspectos de su historia)’, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 30, 1973, pp. 679–761. También La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España y las Indias, eds. A. Acosta Rodríguez et alt., Sevilla, 2003 y R. M. Serrera Contreras, ‘La Casa de la Contratación en Sevilla (1503–1717)’, en: España y América, un Océano de Negocios: Quinto Centenario de la Casa de la Contratación, 1503–2003, Madrid, 2003, pp. 47–64. 49 Su discípulo Francisco de Mora (1556–1610), tras ser aprobadas las trazas en Lisboa por el rey

(el 11 de julio de 1582) llevó en diciembre de ese mismo año a Sevilla el proyecto, y replanteó la traza tras volver a examinar el terreno. Mora cobró 300 ducados por su trabajo, frente a los 1.000 ducados que percibió Herrera en 1584 por sus dibujos y pinturas. 50 Todavía Rodrigo Caro señalaba en 1634 que solo se había concluído la mitad con un costo de 1.000.000 de ducados (véase nota 43).[en]La construcción corrió a cargo de Juan de Minjares (ca. 1520–1599), y hasta 1604 fue dirigida por Alonso de Vandelvira (1544–1626/27), a quien sustituyó en 1609 Miguel de Zumárraga (ca. 1550–1630), o Marcos de Soto (ca. 1590–1635), Juan Bernal (Bernardo) de Velasco (ca. 1580–1638) y Pedro Sánchez Falconete (1586–1664), al frente de la fábrica desde 1638 a 1654, concluyéndose la obra en 1646.

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asiento exterior a unos comerciantes habituados a sentarse en las gradas de la catedral, y cuatro fachadas iguales. Éstas se organizan con dos pisos de pilastras –toscanas y dóricas51 – sobre pedestales, que forman parejas con ritmo no paratáctico;52 se doblan enfatizando las dos calles laterales de los extremos, como si fueran ‘torres’ y en los siguientes ejes que correspondían con las pandas del patio, flanqueando las cinco calles, de las once de cada lienzo de fachada, que corresponden con los pórticos. Proyectó una única puerta por fachada, que a partir de una decisión tomada en 1611 se transformaron en tres. Con un enorme rigor geométrico Herrera estableció la correspondencia entre exterior e 11. Lonja de Sevilla. Vista general. interior: cuadrado de los corredores más anchos de dos módulos (30 pies en lugar de los 22 de Maeda), cuadrado de las galerías del patio (15 pies) de un módulo y cuadrado del patio (75 pies) de 2½ módulos.53 Las galerías del patio utilizaron el motivo del Coliseo – con dos órdenes de medias columnas dóricas y jónicas – y sus pandas se cubren con bóvedas de piedra de cañón con lunetos y de arista en los ángulos. Naturalmente, las cargas de estos abovedamientos, como los de los corredores externos, requirió un sistema de contrarrestos en éstos, en las líneas o ejes de los soportes del patio y sus pandas. No obstante, en el proyecto de Herrera se introdujo en 1609, por parte de Miguel de Zumárraga, un importantísimo cambio, con un nuevo sistema de abovedamiento y techumbres para el piso alto, sustituídas por bóvedas de piedra blandas extradosadas. Desaparecieron de este piso, por lo tanto, los abovedamientos planos a la escurialense –‘rincones de claustro’ con lunetos –y el hipotético remate de tejados de madera y pizarra.54 Es posible que los amplios corredores

51

El entablamento contraído enlaza en su molduración con la de los capiteles, a la manera del Palazzo Stati-Maccarani de Roma, de Giulio Romano, grabado por Antoine Lafreri. 52 El ritmo de las fachadas de Herrera es traicionado por una secuencia continua en el grabado de Louis Meunier de 1668, o al menos en algunas de sus repeticiones. 53 Sobre su diseño y fábrica, L. Cervera Vera, ‘Juan de Herrera diseña la Lonja de Sevilla’, Academia 52, 1981, pp. 161–184 y ‘Juan de Herrera percibe en Madrid el importe de sus diseños para la Lonja de Sevilla’, Academia 83, 1996, pp. 13–20; C. Méndez Zubiría, ‘La Casa Lonja de Sevilla’, Aparejadores 4, 1981, pp. 11–15; Pleguezuelo Hernández 1990 (nota 46) y idem, Arquitectura y construcción en Sevilla (1590–1630), Sevilla, 2000; A. Heredia Herrera, La Lonja de mercaderes, el cofre de un tesoro singular, Sevilla, 1992; V. Pérez Escolano, ‘El patio de la Lonja de Sevilla’, Laboratorio de Arte 4, 1991, pp. 83–99 y ‘Ciudad y espacios de comercio en la España del

siglo XVI. Una aproximación al hilo de la Lonja de mercaderes de Sevilla’, en: Juan de Herrera y su influencia, Santander, 1993, pp. 287–296; A. Marín Fidalgo, ‘La Lonja de mercaderes: intervención de las autoridades del Alcázar sevillano en la génesis de su construcción’, ibidem, pp. 297–310; A.J. Morales, ‘Lonja de mercaderes y Archivo General de Indias’, en: Archivo General de Indias, Barcelona, 1995, pp. 56–58; La Casa Lonja de Sevilla: Una casa de ricos tesoros, ed. Maria Antonia Colomar Albajar, Madrid y Sevilla, 2005. 54 Es probable que este cambio requiriera sobreelevar el piso superior también al exterior, modificando las relaciones proporcionales previstas por Herrera en el proyecto original, y el peso de unos pilares ‘mortidos’ que se transforman en las gigantescas pirámides de las esquinas de la Lonja, y cuya cronología precisa sigue dando todavía problemas, aunque parecen haberse iniciado en 1634 por parte de Juan Bernardo de Velasco; véase Morales 1995 (nota 53), p. 64.

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12. Lonja de Sevilla. Patio (foto: F. Marías).

altos se subdividieran en diez y nueve habitaciones independientes, en consonancia con las dimensiones de las bóvedas.55 Por otra parte, si la tipología de la escalera principal, de dos tiros y caja probablemente abierta, respondía al proyecto inicial del arquitecto de Felipe II, su abovedamiento en rincón de claustro (1614–1627), así como la segunda escalera, en regla adulcida, del lateral norte (1609–1611), fueron también ideación de Miguel de Zumárraga. A partir de su nueva tipología de ‘casa con patio’, la Lonja sevillana se ha puesto en relación con algunas estructuras de Europa del Norte, como la Bolsa o Cambio/Exchange de Amberes/Antwerp (1531–1533), de Domien de Waghemakere (1460–1542), que podían haber conocido tanto Herrera como Felipe II, y que incluso se había grabado – “Bvrsa In vsum negotiarorvm cvivscvmqve nationis ac lingvæ” – décadas atrás, habiendo sido elogiada como “veramente bella” por Francesco Guicciardini en su Descrittione di tutti i Paesi Bassi (15812 más que 1567, edición sin grabados).56 55

Así podría desprenderse de la relación de 1787 de Juan Bautista Muñoz, que publica Morales 1995 (nota 53), p. 61. 56 C. Wilkinson-Zerner, Juan de Herrera, Architect to Philip II of Spain, New Haven y Londres, 1993 (trad. esp. Juan de Herrera, arquitecto de Felipe II, Madrid,

1996), pp. 81–83; J. Ortega Vidal, en: Juan de Herrera, arquitecto real, Madrid, 1997, pp. 106–113; M.A. Aramburu-Zabala Higuera, C. Losada Varea, A. Cagigas Aberasturi, Biografía de Juan de Herrera, Santander, 2003, pp. 276–279. Véase la primera contribución de Krista De Jonge a este volumen.

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Sin embargo, la imagen que nos muestra un anónimo dibujo, de hacia 1600, de la planta de la lonja de la contratación de Sebilla (Madrid, B.N.E., Estampas y Bellas Artes, B-152–201, f. 48 v.) introduce modificaciones con respecto a lo finalmente construído que podrían sugerir otras fuentes.57 Nos enseña una estructura compuesta por tres cuadrados concéntricos, para cuartos, galerías y patio; los cuartos no se interrumpen en los ángulos, sino que configuran una secuencia continua de tres de ellos (solo a poniente queda interrumpida por la caja de la escalera que permite el acceso al segundo piso). Los pórticos de los tres cuartos se abren a las pandas del patio a través de cinco arcos, creándose una fluidez espacial a través de una sucesión de pantallas diafragmáticas hasta el espacio descubierto central, hoy absolutamente perdida. Esta disposición planimétrica parece responder a un deseo anticuario de vincular el nuevo edificio con las antiguas palestras y xistos de los griegos, con sus paseaderos o peridrómidas, con sus lugares descubiertos y porticados no solo para ejercicios gimnásticos, sino también para caminar o debatir. De las descripciones de Vitruvio (V, vi) y Alberti (VIII, xi) se podía deducir, más allá de sus medidas, su sistema de dobles corredores, o pórticos doblados, en torno al perístilo, sobre todo vueltos hacia el sur, que permitían resguardarse tanto de la lluvia invernal como del sol estival.58 Un tratado anónimo de arquitectura dedicado a Felipe II a mediados del siglo, para perfeccionar su formación arquitectónica, había precisado incluso la terminología española más adecuada, “De los públicos paseaderos 13. Lonja de Sevilla. Escalera principal (foto: J. Bérchez). o de los justos”.59 Así pues, volvemos a encontrar la idea de comercio en términos de paseo y tranquila discusión de unos comerciantes, deambulantes o sentados en un edificio propio, alejados de molestias e importunios, y hemos de pensar como hipótesis que Herrera tomara como punto de partida de su propia reflexión anticuaria el modelo de estos xistos clásicos de la tradición vitruviana.60

57

Compárese esta planta con las del siglo XVIII (Félix Caraza, 1788 – Sevilla, Archivo General de Indias, Mapas, Europa y África 58) o con las contemporáneas. 58 Vitruvio, V, vi (Cesare Cesariano, Como, 1521, fol. lxxxviii-lxxxix; Daniele Barbaro, Venecia, 15672, pp. 165–167). Leon Battista Alberti, VIII, viii, Los diez libros de architectura, Alcalá de Henares, 1582, pp. 261–262. Andrea Palladio (Venecia, 1570), II, xxi, pp. 44–45. 59 Anónimo, De arquitectura, ed. C. Gutiérrez-Cortines Corral, Madrid, 1995, cap. 111, pp. 298–299: “… y [para que] los biejos tubiesen recreaçión y paseadero, que obiese lugar oportuno para los hombres

sabios y otros que entre sí de grandes cosas quisieran razonar”. La imagen de la Lonja que reproduce Simon Wynhoutsz. Frisius (ca. 1580–1628), en su grabado de Sevilla para don Gaspar de Guzmán Conde-Duque de Olivares (Amsterdam, 1617), parece alejarse con su planimetría rectangular y sus tres pisos de un posible primer diseño del arquitecto real, como otros muchos elementos arquitectónicos de esta estampa. 60 A. Bustamante, F. Marías, en: Dibujos de Arquitectura y Ornamentación de la Biblioteca Nacional. I. Siglos XVI y XVII, Madrid, 1991, cat. n° 52, pp. 33–34.

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Rodrigo Caro lo insinuó claramente en su momento, al señalar que “La fábrica es de orden Tuscánico; la fachada por todos quatro lados, no parece, sino un edificio Romano, muy parecido a los que Vitrubio descrive: y no dudo, que el artífice los imitó. Lo alto y lo baxo de bóvedas de cantería, y ladrillo, que forman sobre pilastras, tres repartimientos de passeos muy largos, y un patio descubierto, quadrado con su fuente enmedio … Alrededor de cada una de las pilastras, ay escaveles de caoba para sentarse, y en las ventanas poyos aforrados de la misma madera. Por la parte de afuera tiene sus gradas, con sus passeos muy anchos enlosados, y una plaça, bien ancha …, rodeada de columnas de mármol, de dos en dos, y cadenas de hierro, gran parte de ella, para que los cavallos, y coches, no ocupen el uso de aquel lugar, y dexen libremente a los que allí están tratando sus negocios, quando el sol, o el agua no los obliga a recogerse, al edificio de la Lonja … Pregónanse y véndense en esta Lonja, y en sus gradas, muchas almonedas, en que se venden todo género de mercadurías, plata labrada, esclavos, ropa, escritorios, bufetes, quadros, y quanto se puede imaginar, pregonándolo en almoneda, como antiguamente se hazía en el Templo de Libitina, que era la muerte o deidad, que la significava”.61

61

Caro 1634 (nota 43), ff. 60v.-61.

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE Deborah Howard (Cambridge University)

When the English traveller Fynes Moryson visited Venice in 1594, he called the newly completed Ponte di Rialto the eighth wonder of the world.1 Erected by the elderly Venetian proto or building superintendent Antonio da Ponte between 1588 and 1591, the bridge had cost the vast sum of 250,000 ducats.2 A wonder of modern technology, it vaulted the Grand Canal in a single leap, a feat that many had judged impossible. How did the eventual solution achieve its final resolution in an era when Galileo’s understanding of mechanics was still an unknown science?3 This article will discuss the singular mechanisms of decision making, in the context of the Venetian Republic’s elaborate hierarchy of magistracies and councils. How were architectural debates resolved within the framework of a ‘democratic’ constitution – democratic, that is to say, within the male nobility. How did the constant sequence of discussions in the Senate and public consultations inform the debate? During the sixteenth century the Rialto market area was the scene of a series of heated dialogues between architectural theory and the practical knowledge of the proti or master builders of Venice. In order to understand this polarity we must first attempt to define the role of the proto. Derived from the Greek word meaning ‘first’, the term proto was originally applied to the chief architect of San Marco, who may have been a Byzantine master.4 Later the term came to be applied to the superintendent of works on any Venetian building site, in charge of executing the architect’s wishes and directing the teams of craftsmen (bricklayers, stonemasons, carpenters and blacksmiths).5 Renaissance Venice inherited from the Middle Ages two prominent images of proti, one just inside and one just outside the main entrance to San Marco. The first of these, a relief sculpture, sits in one of the archivolts over the main portal, just above one of the left-hand capitals, among other twelfth-century images of the mestieri or crafts and trades (fig. 1). Traditionally believed to represent the proto of the existing church, the relief shows a bearded elderly man with crutches and a long robe.6 The second is to be found just inside the main portal on the atrium vault, in the 1 F. Moryson, An Itinerary, London, 1617, Part I, p. 88. 2 The first costing in 1593 totalled 245,537 ducats, of which more than half was spent on expropriating property at San Bartolomeo. See Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 221–223; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p.299. In his edition of Francesco Sansovino’s guide to Venice of 1604, Giovanni Stringa estimated the cost at over 250,000 ducats. Francesco Sansovino, Venetia nobilissima et singolare, ed. G. Stringa, Venice, 1604, p. 254. 3 On pre-Galilean mechanics, see Parsons 1939; B. Cotterell, J. Kamminga, Mechanics of pre-industrial technology, Cambridge, 1990. 4 As a distant outpost of the Byzantine Empire, Venice inherited from Byzantium a clear hierarchy between two stages of architectural invention. The first was the mechanikos, the erudite mathematical engineer, with an academic training of the sort recommended in antiquity by Vitruvius. The architects of Hagia Sophia, Anthemius and Isidore, are celebrated examples. The

second, originally called the architekton, was a master builder, well-trained in the practice of construction and an expert in local traditions and the use of materials. From around the ninth century, more and more Byzantine buildings were erected without the intellectual input of the mechanikos. Thus the role of the architekton, in reality the master-builder, became the dominant one, and came to assume the title of protomaestro, or first master builder. See R. Ousterhout, Master Builders of Byzantium, Princeton, NJ, 1999, pp. 43–44. In Venice, the nomenclature became reversed: the mechanical aspects were considered the expertise of the proto, while the architetto took over the identity of the Byzantine mechanikos. 5 Vincenzo Scamozzi, L’idea dell’architettura universale, 2 vols, Venice, 1615, vol. I, p. 86; R. J. Goy, Building Renaissance Venice: Patrons, Architects and Builders, New Haven and London, 2006, pp. 247–251. 6 O. Demus, Le sculture esterne di San Marco, Milan, 1995, pp. 168–169, catalogue no. 164, with further references.

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DEBORAH HOWARD thirteenth-century mosaic of the Building of the Tower of Babel, which includes a depiction of the proto directing a team of construction workers.7 He is distinguished from the team of bricklayers by his clothing (a long-sleeved robe decorated with coloured bands on the sleeves and hem), his attribute (a right-angled ruler), and his physiognomy (a bearded, fine-featured face with slightly grizzled hair). In the last years of the Quattrocento, between 1497 and 1502, another representation of an unnamed proto made its appearance in the right hand-most scene on the beautiful inlaid cupboards of the new Sacristy of San Marco. Here, once again, the familiar elements of physiognomy, clothing and attributes appear: a gentlemanly figure, bearded and dignified, wearing a fur-lined toga, unrolling a ground-plan of the church to show to one of the Procurators of St Mark’s.8 The role of proto of San Marco was to be inherited by the Florentine architect Jacopo Sansovino, who held the position from 1527 until his death in 1570.9 In his work for the Procurators, Sansovino achieved the remarkable feat of uniting the traditional role of the proto as building superintendent with that of the educated classical architect, as defined by Vitruvius. Away from Piazza San Marco, however, the situation was very different. At the Rialto, these two figures – proto and Vitruvian architect – remained quite distinct throughout the sixteenth century. During this period the Rialto market area was the scene of a series of heated debates between architectural theory and the practical knowledge of 1. So-called ‘proto’ of San Marco, the proti or master builders of Venice. In order to set the scene for the twelfth-century relief from the series of I Mestieri, Venice, San Marco, detailed discussion of the planning process during the erection of the central portal (photo Deborah bridge itself, it will be necessary first to outline the preceding events, although these are well-known. Howard). At the very beginning of the century, after the fire in the Fondaco dei Tedeschi in 1505, the design for the rebuilding was provided by a German architect called Hieronimus, whose likeness, with T-square in hand, was recorded by Dürer; but two local proti, Spavento and Scarpagnino, were put in charge of Fondaco’s execution.10 Again, after the great fire that destroyed the Rialto market in 1514, the renowned Veronese humanist, architect and engineer, Fra Giocondo, proposed a square piazza based on the Greek agora, but his idealistic scheme was rejected in favour of the market’s reconstruction on the original plan by the young local proto Scarpagnino.11 Vasari was scathing about the decision: “This foolish choice caused great sorrow to

7

O. Demus, The Mosaic Decoration of San Marco, Venice, ed. Herbert L. Kessler, Chicago and London, 1988, p. 137, fig. 72. 8 U. Daniele et al., Tarsie lignee della Basilica di San Marco, Milan, 1988, pp. 162–163. 9 Vasari 1906, VII, pp. 500–502, 508; Howard 1987, pp. 9–10 ; M. Morresi, Jacopo Sansovino, Milan, 2000, p. 439. 10 H. Simonsfeld, Der Fondaco dei Tedeschi in Venedig und die deutsch-venezianischen Handelsbeziehungen, Stuttgart, 1887; J. McAndrew, Venetian Architecture of the Early Renaissance, Cambridge, MA and London, 1980, pp. 434–448; E. Concina, Fondaci: Architettura, arte e mercatura tra Levante, Venezia e Alemagna,

Venice, 1997, pp. 152–154; S. Oakes, The presence, patronage, and artistic importance of the German community in early cinquecento Venice, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2006, especially pp. 43–53. Dürer’s drawing of ‘Hieronymo Thodesco’, in the Kupferstichkabinett of the Staatliche Museen, Berlin, is signed ‘AD’ and dated 1506. It is a preparatory study for the figure on the right of Dürer’s altarpiece of The Feast of the Rosegarlands (National Gallery, Prague), painted in 1506 for the church of San Bartolomeo, Venice. 11 On the various propositions made for the rebuilding, see Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 94–99; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 50–57.

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE many who are still living”,12 but as the Venetian diarist Sanudo remarked of Fra Giocondo, “He’s not from here; he doesn’t understand the place”.13 Even as a native of nearby Verona and author of the most authoritative edition of Vitruvius to date, Fra Giocondo lacked credibility.14 Why such apparent conservatism? The Rialto was an international emporium frequented by merchants from many countries. Moreover, as a major centre of printing and publishing, Venice was a node of intellectual exchange.15 Three bookshops were even to be found on the old wooden bridge.16 A philosophy school established in the fifteenth century instilled the idea of the market as a centre of education.17 Francesco Sansovino’s guide to Venice published in 1581 mentions painters and musicians around the marketplace, who taught their skills to the young.18 Yet, paradoxically, in the reconstruction of the Rialto’s infrastructure, local knowledge was to prevail throughout the sixteenth century. The decrepit state of the Rialto Bridge was a festering sore for which there was no obvious cure. As Carpaccio’s memorable image from the Scuola di San Giovanni Evangelista makes clear, the bridge played a crucial role in the Venetian calendar of public ceremonial (fig. 2). Two of the most serious religious feasts, Ash Wednesday and Maundy Thursday, involved ducal visits to the churches of the Rialto market.19 On other state occasions, waterborne processions under the Bridge accompanied regattas and escorted important visitors, who were often lodged upstream at the palace now known as the Fondaco dei Turchi (known in the Renaissance as the palace of the Duke of Ferrara).20 The buildings of the Rialto were under the auspices of the Provveditori al Sal, who paid for public works such as the market and the Doge’s Palace from the salt tax.21 In order to achieve resolution of the bridge debate a special magistracy was proposed in 1525 to superintend the project.22 For three decades, however, no-one was elected to the office, and when the new Magistracy was finally elected in 1551, two of its members, Vettor Grimani and Antonio Cappello, were Procurators of San Marco known to be

12

Vasari 1906, vol. V, pp. 269–272: “della quale stolta elezione molti, che ancora vivono e benissimo se ne ricordano, ancora si dogliono senza fine”. Translation from Giorgio Vasari, The Lives of the Painters, Sculptors and Architects, 4 vols., London, 1963, vol. III, p. 24. On the fire of 1514 and Scarpagnino’s reconstruction see Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 83–114; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 40–78. 13 M. Sanudo, I Diarii, ed. R. Fulin et al., 58 vols., Venice, 1879–1903, vol. XVIII, col. 401: “no è di qua, non capisse il loco”. 14 L.A. Ciapponi, ‘Fra Giocondo da Verona and his edition of Vitruvius’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 47, 1984, pp. 72–90; V. Fontana, Fra Giovanni Giocondo architetto 1433 c. – 1515, Vicenza, 1988. 15 See especially, M. Lowry, The World of Aldus Manutius: Business and Scholarship in Renaissance Venice, Oxford, 1979; idem, Nicholas Jenson and the World of Venetian Publishing in Renaissance Europe, Oxford, 1991; B. Richardson, Print Culture in Renaissance Italy : The Editor and the Vernacular Text, 1470–1600, Cambridge, 1994, pp. 1–78, 90–108, 140–154; idem, Printing, Writers and Readers in Renaissance Italy, Cambridge, 1999, pp. 5, 73–75, 137–138 and passim.

16

ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 15, Botteghe, fasc. 1, unnumbered pages, list of tenants 11 Dec 1587. 17 Marin Sanudo, Laus urbis venetae, 1493, quoted in D. Chambers, B. Pullan (eds.), A Documentary History of Venice, Oxford, 1992, p. 14; Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 287–290; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 112–123. 18 Sansovino 1663, vol. I, p. 363. 19 Flaminio Corner, Notizie storiche delle chiese e monasteri di Venezia e di Torcello, Padua, 1758, p. 370; Marin Sanudo il giovane, De origine, situ et magistratibus urbis Venetae ovvero la Città di Venezia (1493–1530), ed. A. Carracciolo Aricò, Cisalpino, 1980, p. 60. 20 Marin Sanudo, Laus urbis venetae, 1493, quoted in Chambers, Pullan 1992 (note 17), p. 9. On the Fondaco dei Turchi, see J. Schulz, The New Palaces of Medieval Venice, University Park, PA, 2004, Appendix III, pp. 133–163. 21 Goy 2006 (note 5), pp. 34–6. On the Salt Office in Venice see J.C. Hocquet, Le sel et la fortune de Venise, 2 vols., Villeneuve d’Ascq, 1978–1979, especially vol. 2, pp. 189–225. 22 Zorzi 1966, Doc. 2, pp. 246–247. See also Cessi and Alberti 1934, p. 179; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 202–204.

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DEBORAH HOWARD

2. Vittore Carpaccio, Miracle of the True Cross, signed and dated 1494 (Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia).

fervent supporters of Sansovino.23 From 1554 onwards, except in the years 1568–1577, the three magistrates were re-elected regularly, but with the constant rotation of officers little progress was made.24 Sansovino’s own project for the bridge, if it ever existed, never emerged from the realms of myth. His son Francesco claimed that this was the preferred design, but that the Turkish war of 1570 prevented its execution.25 Other models supposedly provided by other celebrated Italian architects such as Vignola and Michelangelo remain equally enigmatic.26

23 ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 37, ff. 88 – 88v., 17 Jan 1550 m.v. (=1551), published in Zorzi 1966, doc. 4, pp. 247–248, cited in Howard 1987, p. 54. According to Cessi and Alberti, p. 186 and Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 220, the magistrates were not elected until 1554. On Vettor Grimani’s and Antonio Cappello’s support for Sansovino, see Vasari 1906, VII, p. 508; Howard 1987, pp. 18, 20–21, 34.

24

The annual elections are recorded in ASV, Segretario alle Voci, Elezioni Senato, reg. 2, 1554–1559, f. 53; reg. 3, 1559–1567, f. 50; reg. 4, 1568–1577, no elections; reg. 5, 1578–1588, ff. 113v.-114. See also Zorzi 1966, docs. 5–10, pp. 248–249. 25 Sansovino 1663, I, p. 364; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 233.

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE In a later report of 1588 the Senator Marc’Antonio Barbaro referred to “the models made in 1554, when this project was under discussion, sent from Rome and other places, by the hands of sound professional architects experienced in this art [of designing bridges]”.27 The only extant early designs are those of Palladio, preserved in Vicenza (fig. 3).28 Palladio’s five-arched bridge, based on the Bridge of Augustus in Rimini, offered the ideal associations of both Republic and Empire, but showed little understanding of the practical or ceremonial needs.29 Five arches obstructed both navigation and the flow of water. The level walkway meant that the stairs at the end were too steep, while the central arch was too low. Like Fra Giocondo, as a non-Venetian he didn’t “understand the place”, to recall the words of Sanudo. It is hardly surprising that in 1554 when the post of proto al Sal fell vacant, Palladio was rejected in favour of the now little-remembered local proto Pietro dei Guberni.30 Guberni himself submitted a proposal in the 1550s for a single-arched wooden bridge, surmounted by four rows of shops.31 This scheme prob3. Andrea Palladio, project for the Rialto Bridge, ably involved a trussed wooden construction similar Venice, before 1570, elevation and plan (Vicenza, to the one illustrated by Palladio in his Quattro libri.32 Museo Civico, D. 25 recto and verso). Palladio said this would be an “opera fortissimo” that could span any distance. Guberni’s proposal was taken seriously and Sansovino was asked to give his opinion on its viability.33 Sansovino himself, however, was equivocal and fudged his answer, for his knowledge of building mechanics was always somewhat empirical. Wisely, in

26 Scamozzi 1615 (note 5), part II, book 8, chap. 16, p. 330; Ascanio Condivi, The Life of Michelangelo, ed. H. Wohl, transl. A. Sedgwick Wohl, Oxford, 1976, p. 90 (writing of Michelangelo’s design “for a bridge over the Grand Canal in Venice in a new and unexampled form and style”); Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 186–7, 189; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 222. 27 “nelli modelli fatti far del .54. quando trattò di far questo ponte, venuti da Roma, et altre parti di mano di saldi Architetti professori ben intendenti di quest’arte”. ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte, busta 3, fasc. 2, Relazioni dei Provveditori, report of 29 August 1588, transcribed in Cessi and Alberti 1934, doc. XXII, l, pp. 411–414 “come si vede nelli modelli fatti pur nel ’54, quando si trattò di far questo ponte, venuti da Roma et altre parti, di mano di saldi architetti professori ben intendenti in quest’arte”. 28 The drawings are in the Museo Civico, Vicenza. See Zorzi 1966, plates 237–238; L. Puppi, Andrea

Palladio, Milano, 2 vols., 1973, vol. II, cat. no. 44, pp. 299–303; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, figs. 75, 77. 29 Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 222–229. For a useful analysis of Palladio’s involvement in bridge design see B. Boucher, Andrea Palladio: The Architect in his Time, New York, London, 1994, pp. 205–229. 30 Zorzi 1964, p. 130, p. 137 doc. 1 (from G. B. Lorenzi, Monumenti per servire alla storia del Palazzo Ducale in Venezia, vol. I Dal 1253 al 1600, Venice, 1868, p. 281, doc. 601). 31 Project described in the report by his son Giacomo de’ Guberni, ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, fasc. 1, document 1, no date but from Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588). 32 Palladio 1570, Book III, chap. VIII, p. 18. 33 Cessi and Alberti 1934, Doc. 15 f, pp. 334–335, 15 Sep 1546 (transcribed from ASV, Savi ed esecutori alle Acque, filza 119, f. 172) ; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 218.

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DEBORAH HOWARD the circumstances, the magistracy diverted attention to the scruffy bank of the Grand Canal just upstream, where Sansovino was commissioned to build his Fabbriche Nuove di Rialto.34 Meanwhile, Palladio evidently realised the problems inherent in his fivearched bridge design to span a width of only 30 metres. When he came to illustrate his own project in the Quattro libri in 1570, he reduced the number of arches to three and flattered the Venetian elite by describing the city as “one of the greatest and noblest in Italy, with trading links all over the world” (fig. 4).35 What remained were the grandiloquent references to the classical temple 4. Andrea Palladio, project for the Rialto Bridge (from I and the piers with classical aedicules. With Quattro libri dell’architettura, Venice, 1570, Book III, Chap. only oblique references to the actual locaXIII, pp. 26–27). tion, Palladio was able to situate his project in the realms of utopian fantasy. In reality the project would have necessitated major urban interventions at both ends of the bridge, and would have seriously obstructed the waterway. Moreover, as Canaletto’s capriccio illustrating Palladio’s design in situ shows vividly, the stairs at either end were still perilously steep.36 When Palladio died in 1580, the precarious wooden drawbridge was still standing. The architectural history of Venice is characterised by periods of intense activity, provoked by economic and political circumstances, as well as a by competition between building sites and patrons. One of these was the late 1580s, and it was at this point that the project finally achieved its triumphant resolution. The debate, however, proceeded in a curious and quintessentially Venetian way, in sharp contrast to the parallel debate in Piazza San Marco during the very same years over the completion of Sansovino’s Library, which revolved around arcane academic questions of Vitruvian correctness.37 At the outset, in January 1588, two crucial points had to be settled. • What alignment should the bridge follow? • And should there be one arch or three? The proposal to re-orientate the bridge along the line of the Drapparia would involve the demolition of property at the San Bartolomeo end and the compensation of the owners. In the Senate, the future Doge Leonardo Donà, renowned for his puritanical stance on architectural matters, objected to the very idea of building in stone, let alone the realignment, and even suggested repairing the old wooden bridge, yet again, to save money for the state’s defence budget.38 34 Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 121–129; Howard 1987, pp. 55–61; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 142–19; Morresi 2000 (note 9), pp. 313–326. 35 Palladio 1570, book III, Chap. XIII, p. 25: “la quale è delle maggiori, e delle più nobili d’Italia; & è Metropoli di molte altre Città; e vi fanno grandissimi trafichi, quasi di tutte le parti del mondo”. See Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 229–232. 36 Canaletto, Capriccio: A Palladian Design for the Rialto Bridge, signed, 1742–1744, Royal Collection,

reproduced in J.G. Links, Canaletto, Oxford, 1982, p. 135, fig. 124. 37 See Tafuri 1985, pp. 252–271. 38 The debate is recorded in the chronicle of Alvise Michiel, Annale delle cose della Repubblica di Venezia 1587–88, BCV, cod. Cic. 2556, unnumbered pp., 2 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588).

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE Three new Provveditori sopra la Fabbrica del Ponte di Rialto were elected by the Senate, but in contrast to the earlier holders of the office, they remained in post for the entire duration of the project.39 One of them, Marc’Antonio Barbaro, was a former patron of Palladio and brother of the late Daniele Barbaro, whose translation of Vitruvius in 1556 had been illustrated by Palladio. As an amateur sculptor with a long involvement in public building projects, Marc’Antonio Barbaro had both technical and theoretical knowledge of architecture.40 The second of the magistrates was his close friend Giacomo Foscarini, in whose splendid palace at the Carmini Barbaro often stayed when in Venice.41 As Barbaro’s close friend, Foscarini loyally supported Barbaro’s stance, but as we shall see, their opinions failed to persuade the Senate. By contrast, the third Provveditore, Alvise Zorzi, had little sympathy with classical doctrine: in most of his interventions he disregarded questions of aesthetics, and it may not be irrelevant to note that he suffered from very poor eyesight.42 Yet his views were to prevail at every point. By 7th January 1588, already certain decisions had been taken by the Senate. • The bridge was to be built in stone, from the Drapparia to San Bartolomeo, although the precise alignment would remain unresolved for some time. • It was to have two rows of shops, like the old wooden bridge, but with additional openings facing outwards towards the canal fronted by walkways with balustrades “so that, to enhance its beauty, it will be possible to view the [Grand] Canal, as the drawing shows”.43 Although numerous preparatory drawings have survived from this phase of the project, we cannot be sure who made the design mentioned by the Senate.44 Strange to report, only one of the surviving drawings indicates the underwater profile of the canal, and even this one exception barely acknowledges that the water would be deeper on the outside edge

39 ASV, Secretario alle Voci, Elezioni al Senato, reg. 5, 1577–1588, f. 113v.-114, 10 Dec 1587. These were not the original nominations: the first three elected were Alvise Zorzi and two Procurators, Vicenzo Mocenigo and Antonio Bragadin, but the election was challenged on a legality. ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 57, f. 230, 10 Dec 1587. See Zorzi 1966, docs. 12–13, pp. 249–250; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 238–240. 40 In her posthumous study of the stucco sculptures of the Nymphaeum of the Villa Barbaro at Maser, Carolyn Kolb attributed the execution of all the statues to Marc’Antonio Barbaro himself, and the authorship of the iconographic program to his brother Daniele (the stuccoes, like the villa itself, are datable to 1554–1558). See C. Kolb, ‘The Sculptures on the Nymphaeum Hemicycle of the Villa Barbaro at Maser’, Artibus et Historiae 35, 1997, pp. 15–33. Victoria Avery’s doctoral dissertation on Alessandro Vittoria concurred with this attribution, but suggested that he must have had assistance, possibly from Marc’Antonio Palladio. See V. J. Avery, The Early Works of Alessandro Vittoria c. 1540 – c. 1570, unpublished PhD dissertation, 4 vols., St John’s College, University of Cambridge, 1996, vol. I, pp. 176–179; vol. II, cat. no. 97, pp. 1–5. The late eighteenth-century attribution to Alessandro Vittoria is

not sustainable, although Avery believes that Vittoria may have supplied some designs. Marc’Antonio Barbaro’s design for a cantilever spiral stair with curved treads was illustrated by Palladio 1570, Book I, Chap., XXVIII, pp. 61–62. 41 In his will of 1595, Giacomo Foscarini described his palace at the Carmini as having two main living floors, one inhabited by him and the other by Marc’Antonio Barbaro. ASV, Archivio notarile, Testamenti, Notaio Nicolò Doglioni, busta 344, no. 399, f. 1v. 42 On Alvise Zorzi, son of Benedetto (1515–1593), see Tafuri 1985, pp. 247–248, n. 7. Zorzi’s poor eyesight was mentioned as an excuse when he declined the position of Proveditor in Zecca on 23 Apr 1585 because of his poor eyesight. ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 56, f. 26: “per la molta debilità della sua vista”. 43 “accioche per maggior bellezza possa scoprir esso canale come nel disegno si vede”. ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 56, f. 246, 7 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1587), published in Zorzi 1966, doc. 14, pp. 250–251. 44 Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 252–253. Giacomo de’ Guberni, son of Pietro, claimed that the idea of four rows of shops came from his father’s wooden bridge project. See ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 1, no. 6, 20 Dec 1588.

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5. Vincenzo Scamozzi, project for the Rialto Bridge, 1587 (London, Royal Institute of British Architects, VIII/10).

of the curve, whereas on the inside edge the mud would fall away more gently.45 Technical advice was taken from over thirty proti, architects and experts, while two members of the public, hearing of the debate, brought in their own models, one of them made long ago by the donor’s grandfather.46 Between 28th December 1587 and 15th January 1588 the same questions were put to each of seventeen proti.47 On 12th January the three magistrates presented their views to the Senate: Barbaro, tacitly supported by Foscarini, wanted three arches, favouring a scheme by Scamozzi (fig. 5), and Zorzi a single arch. Both spoke and length and with such strong feeling that the debate had to be adjourned.48 A week later, the Senate continued the debate. Despite his authority and powers of oratory, Barbaro’s proposal for a triple-arched bridge was supported by only eight votes out of 174 Senators present.49 Instead the Senate approved a compromise position (proposed by the Capi di Quaranta), to base the decision on the advice already accumulated from various proti and other experts.50

45

ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, disegni, no. 1, by Giacomo di Guberni, son of Pietro. 46 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 1. Those submitted by private individuals were no. 34, 17 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588) model by ‘Giovanni Thomaso Scalle ingeniero’ presented by his grandson Cesare Tasca quondam Marco cittadino; and no. 37, 27 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588), Zuan Antonio Scarpa de Giovanni Battista cittadino. 47 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, pareri, fasc. 1 (published in Cessi and

Alberti 1934, doc. XIX, g -s, pp. 352–371, and docs. bb – ii, pp. 376–385). See Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 244–250. 48 Alvise Michiel, Annale delle cose della Repubblica di Venezia 1587–8, BCV, cod. Cic. 2556, unnumbered pp., 12 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588). 49 Alvise Michiel, Annale delle cose della Repubblica di Venezia 1587–8, BCV, cod. Cic. 2556, unnumbered pp., 19 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588). Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 201–202. 50 Alvise Michiel, Annale delle cose della Repubblica di Venezia 1587–8, BCV, cod. Cic. 2556, unnumbered pp., 2 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588).

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Tiberio Zorzi

Proto dei Lidi

Bonaiuto Lorini 1 1 1 1 ⬀

Which would obstruct the Grand Canal less during building?

Which is more convenient for shipping?

Which would block the flow of water less? Which would silt up the Canal less? Which would be more beautiful?

1 1 1

1

1

1

1

Which would be more economical?

1 1 1

1

1

1

=

Proto alla Procuratia de Supra

=

Simon Sorella

=

Proto alle Acque

Which would have a greater total height?

Guglielmo di Grandi

=

da Venezia

=

Zuane de Hironimo

Which would involve more ascent?

1 1 3

1

1

1

1

1

1 1 ⬀

1

1

1

1 1 1

1

1

1

=

Marchesin di Marchesini Proto

=

= = 3

3

=

1

1

1

3

architetto da Vicenza

3

Vincenzo Scamozzi

3

Bresciano

1

Dionisio Boldù

⬀

Proto al Sal

1

Antonio da Ponte

Which would be safer?

3

3

3

1 1 1

1

1

1

=

=

1

1

1

1

1

1

=

=

3

Zuan Loredan & Iseppo della Fontana 1

1

1

3

3 3 3

1

?

?

?

3

3

1 3 3

1

1

=

=

3

3

3 = 3

1

1

=

=

3

3

3 3

3

1

1

3

3

1 1 1

1

1

1

=

=

⬀

⬀

perito ai Beni Inculti

1

Cristoforo Sorte

1

detto Paliari

3

Antonio da Marchò

3

nobil huomo

1

Zuan Alvise Boldù

1

invited by MA Barbaro

3

Ottavio Fabri

1

proto di Padova

1

Paolo dal Ponte

1

1

1

=

=

1

Felice Brunello

Should there be a single- or triple-arched construction?

Giacomo di Guberni

⬀ ‘it depends’ = ‘both alternatives equal’

Consultation I: December-January 1588

RIALTO BRIDGE PROJECT

[1] Consulation of proti and engineers on the design of the Rialto Bridge, December – January 1588, from ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, fasc. 1, Pareri degli architetti (published in Cessi and Alberti 1934, doc. XIX, g -s, pp. 352–71, and docs. bb – ii, pp. 376–85).

THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE

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DEBORAH HOWARD This method of interrogation of local proti was to become the principal decision-making process that controlled the erection of the Rialto Bridge. At each crucial stage, lists of questions were put to a selection of different local builders, mainly drawn from other building sites in the city and from other public departments. The practical experience and instinct of these proti gained the confidence of the Senate, whereas Barbaro’s erudite rhetoric fell on deaf ears. Several of the proti referred to existing precedents in Venice. Alongside the Palazzo Ducale, the Ponte della Paglia, dating back to the fourteenth century, provided important evidence of how to buttress the arch by filling the space under the steps with masonry, but the span was much smaller than the Grand Canal.51 Two bridges now spanned the broad Cannaregio canal: the three-arched bridge at San Giobbe, built in 1503, had caused serious problems because of subsidence of the piers in the middle of the canal.52 By contrast, the single-arched Ponte delle Guglie, erected in 1580 by the proto Marchesin Marchesini, was a triumphant success.53 As the chart shows (chart 1), an exactly equal number of ‘experts’ voted for one arch and for three, but the single-arched option was agreed to cause less obstruction to both shipping and the flow of water. Above all, it was considered a more economical solution. On 20th January 1588 the Senate took the final decision to build a single-arched bridge “with good safe abutments, as the drawings and models show, and as the majority of the engineers and experts recommend”.54 Yet there was still no agreed design and no proto. As a true public servant Barbaro respected the decision of the Senate to build a singlearched bridge, but he was concerned about the ad hoc way of proceeding without a proper design. First of all, he asserted, “there must be a firm and solid resolution of the form of the bridge, with its measurements of length, height, width, foundations and so on”, in order to avoid expensive errors.55 Secondly, “it is necessary to appoint the most intelligent person possible to take charge of the execution of the project, so that the work will be administered and carried out as it should be”.56 It seems almost incredible that neither of these obvious procedures had so far been followed. Yet Barbaro’s own ideas, too, seemed off the mark. He himself proposed damming the whole Grand Canal with two parallel dams while the bridge was built, in order to drain

51 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, disegni, no. 19. 52 Bonaiuto Lorini, 7 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588); Guglielmo de’ Grandi, 4 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588) (docs. published in Cessi and Alberti 1934, doc. XIX, z - aa, pp. 373–6). See Gianpietro Zucchetta, Venezia ponte per ponte, 2 vols., Venice, 1992, vol. I, p. 146, and vol. II, pp. 528–529. 53 See Zucchetta 1992, vol. II, pp. 524–527. The bridge was complete by 18 June 1580 (ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 53, pp. 25–25v.). The proto responsible for this bridge, Marchesin Marchesini, was to praise its structure in August 1588, but in the earlier January consultations he himself recommended a threearched structure. ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 1, no. 14, 30 Dec 1587; and fasc. 2, no. 25, 2 Sep 1588 (published in Cessi and Alberti 1934, doc. XIX, n, pp. 361–363 and doc. XXI, e., pp. 397–398). 54 ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 57, ff. 256–259, 20 and 23 January 1587 m.v. (=1588): “con buoni fianchi et sicuri, sicome nelli dissegni, et modelli si vede, et come consigliano la maggior parte delli inzegneri et

periti sopradetti”. These documents are published in Zorzi 1966, docs. 17–19, pp. 251–253. See also Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 202–203; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 258. Copies of the deliberations of the Senate regarding the construction of the Rialto bridge are to be found in ASV, Provveditori alla fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 1; and in BMV, ms. Marc. It., VII, 2207 (=9549). 55 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 2, 28 January 1587 m.v. (=1588): “si deve fare ferma e salda resolutione della forma di esso ponte con le sue misure di grandezza, altezza, largezza, fondamento et altro”. Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 205– 206; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 259. 56 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 2, 28 January 1587 m.v. (=1588): “e nesesario di far eletion di persona quanto piu inteligente sia posibelle per asister continuamente all’opera atio che sia conduta et fatta come si deve” (transcribed in Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 205–206). Barbaro presumably hoped Scamozzi would be appointed to this role.

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE

6. Antonio da Ponte, project for Rialto Bridge, Venice (water-damaged) (Archivio di Stato di Venezia, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, disegni, no. 10; and as re-drawn by Paolo Rossi in Calabi and Morachiello, 1987, fig. 93, photo Istituto Universitario di Architettura di Venezia, diateca del DSA).

the building site and provide a working platform and temporary bridge at the same time.57 As an anonymous critic responded, one would need to “write novels” about how to keep these dams from bursting in heavy rain.58 Instead it was decided to seal off the area at the Rialto end alone to prepare for laying piles. The laying of the foundations required the erection of a strong wooden barrier in order to seal off the area and drain out the water to allow the pile-driving. This sealing of the site proved difficult because of the fast flow of water. In March, the elderly Antonio da Ponte, proto to the Salt Office, then 78 years old, seized his opportunity and promised to reinforce the structure at his own expense.59 Thus he came to take control of the project, almost by default. What were the qualities that earned Antonio da Ponte this position?60 He was the least literate of any of the experts who submitted written technical reports. He was not the originator of the single-arched proposal. Indeed, at the outset he himself had favoured the

57

ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 2, 28 January 1587 m.v. (=1588). 58 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 2, 28 January 1587 m.v. (=1588): “si darà materia à novellisti di scriver”. 59 ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 58, f. 7v, 12 March 1588, published in Zorzi, 1966, doc. 26, p. 254. See also Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 261–262, 266. 60 See T. Temanza, ‘Vita di Antonio da Ponte architetto’, in: Vite dei piu celebri architetti e scultori

veneziani che fiorirono nel secolo decimosesto, Venice, 1778, pp. 499–518; B. Balboni, P. Martinelli, Antonio da Ponte Proto al Sal: ‘l’acconciar’ e le nuove ‘fabbriche’, Ponte di Rialto e Prigioni, unpublished tesi di laurea (relatore P. Morachiello), Istituto Universitario di Architettura di Venezia, anno academico 1982–1983, approved 1984; M. Petrecca, ‘Antonio da Ponte’, in: Dizionario biografico italiano, 32, Rome, 1986, pp. 701–706.

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DEBORAH HOWARD

7. Section showing structure as built (left) and as recommended by the anonymous draughtsman (right) (Archivio di Stato di Venezia, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del Ponte di Rialto, disegni, no. 11).

three-arched option.61 Moreover, his only surviving drawing of the bridge ignores the usual system of drawing in plan, section and elevation, by then standard practice throughout Italy (fig. 6). His own architectural vision was minimal: “Above these streets [on the bridge] put some decoration that befits the site”.62 Yet his idiosyncratic hybrid drawing gave a great deal of information in an easily comprehensible form. Moreover, he was the only one of the panel of proti who had offered detailed costings of the two alternative solutions.63 And even more importantly, as proto al Sal, he had already earned the respect of the Salt Office with his skilful restoration of the Palazzo Ducale after the great fire of 1577, when he returned the dangerously leaning walls to their upright position.64 The foundations at the Rialto end of the Bridge were laid between March and August 1588, but it was at this point that anxiety began to erupt in the Senate concerning the unorthodox manner of piling.65 The piles had been laid on three different levels, forming a series of three terraces with the highest one nearest the canal bank (fig. 7). Above this, the stone blocks had been laid at an angle, sloping downwards towards the water. Once again there

61

ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 1, no 5, 20 Dec. 1587 “far dito ponte in tre volti”; no. 18, 2 Jan 1587 .m. (= 1588): “dicho sara sempre piu segur in tre volti”. 62 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 1, no 5, 20 Dec. 1587: “E di sopra a deto strade farli qualche adornamento che ricercha deto liogo”. 63 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 1, no 33, 16 Jan 1587 m.v. (=1588). Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 270.

64

On the restoration of the Palazzo Ducale after the fire of 1577, see Zorzi 1964, pp. 151–167; U. Franzoi, T. Pignatti, W. Wolters, Il Palazzo Ducale di Venezia, Treviso, 1990, pp. 103–111; T. E. Cooper, Palladio’s Venice, New Haven and London, 2005, pp. 205–211. 65 Parsons, 1939, pp. 516–518; Cessi and Alberti 1934, p. 208; Calabi and Morachiello, 1987, pp. 269–270.

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE was disagreement among the three Provveditori. Alvise Zorzi, feeling outnumbered, proposed the election of a further nine Senators to assist in the decisionmaking, but in the event only five more were appointed.66 After a series of stormy sessions of the Senate, the same procedure was invoked once again: the new panel of five Senators would join with the three Provveditori to consult all the available proti e periti for their views on a series of questions.67 Meanwhile, Alvise Zorzi, whose wife was ill, asked to be relieved of his responsibilities, but in the long term he was to remain the most active and attentive of the three Provveditori throughout the completion of the bridge.68 Even more surprising was the interrogation – in a manner closer to a modern local enquiry – of various stall-holders and bystanders who had observed the pile-driving.69 Interviews were carried out with an orange seller from Val Brombana and a Brescian sausage maker, who both assured the committee that the piles had been laid diligently.70 A wine merchant from the Riva del Ferro testified that sometimes half an hour had been taken over the laying of a single pile.71 A fruit seller from

66

8. Antonio da Ponte, Rialto Bridge Venice, erected 1588–1591 (photo Deborah Howard).

9. Anonymous draughtsman in the circle of Jacopo Contarini, two alternative methods of laying the stone blocks for the Rialto Bridge, August 1588 (Biblioteca Marciana di Venezia, ms Marc. it. VII, 295 [=10047], f. 6).

ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 58, ff. 95v.-98, 6–9 Aug 1588 (partially cited in Zorzi 1966, doc. 31, p. 256); Secretario alle voci, Elezioni in Senato, reg. 5, ff. 113v.-114, 9 Aug 1584. 67 ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 58, ff. 100–100v., 13 Aug 1588, cited in Zorzi 1966, doc. 32, pp. 256–257. The debates are recounted in BCV, cod. Cic. 2556, Alvise Michiel, Annale delle cose della Repubblica di Venezia 1587–8, unnumbered pp., 6–9 Aug 1588. For the transcripts of the interrogations of the proti, see ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, Pareri, fasc. 2, nos. 11–25.

68

ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, pareri, fasc. 2, no. 3, 8 Aug 1588. 69 BMV, cod. Marc. it. Z, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, ff. 15–17, 12 Aug 1588. See also Cessi and Alberti 1934, pp. 403–405; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 273. 70 BMV, cod. Marc. it. Z, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, ff. 15–16. 71 BMV, cod. Marc. it. Z, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, f. 16.

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DEBORAH HOWARD Bergamo went every day to watch the work because “I am almost always at the Rialto and I don’t have much to do there”.72 Most impressed of all was the malvasia merchant from San Cassian who claimed that some piles took three hours to sink: “And in my judgement it is impossible that these foundations should be defective, and I can assure you that the piledriving has been done properly; [I say this] as confidently as I know how to taste a glass of malvasia, and tell whether it is good or bad, which is my profession”.73 The questions that were posed in the second series of interrogations of proti focused on two main issues: were the stepped foundations secure, and were the diagonally laid stones in the abutment satisfactory? A third issue was whether the abutment should be reinforced by a protective curtain of piles on the canal side. An anonymous report in a manuscript that belonged to Palladio’s friend Jacopo Contarini, now in the Biblioteca Marciana, stresses an Aristotelian position: “The knowledge of all the sciences, faculties and arts springs from the fundamental principles that explain them, because as Aristotle says through nature the cause and effect of most things may be learned”.74 Therefore, the anonymous writer continues, one must first of all consider the nature of the site of the Rialto Bridge. But he also defers to the authority of treatises such as Vitruvius, Alberti, Cataneo or Dürer, which all agree that foundations should be laid flat. As “natural philosophers” agree, he writes, the first buildings to collapse will be those with sloping foundations. A drawing in the manuscript shows how stresses might occur within the sloping brickwork in response to outward forces at the springing of the arch (fig. 9).75 Despite his erudition, the author of the accompanying report failed to realise that the lack of a continuous sliding plane is, in reality, one of the brilliant innovations of the design. It seems that the stepped foundations and diagonal beds of stone blocks, the very features that are the secret of the success of the structure, were conceived almost by accident, because of the gradient in the bed of the Grand Canal.76 To reach solid terrain towards the centre of the canal the piles had to be driven deeper – either by using longer piles or laying the platform at a lower level. Towards the bank, the firm ground was higher, so that to lay deep foundations would require costly excavations. The stepped arrangement was the most practical and economical solution. Laying the stones on a diagonal plane was a less obvious decision, and one which caused great apprehension among the critics of the work, but again, it seems that Antonio da Ponte’s intuitive understanding of the statics of the lagoon terrain and his long experience of building mechanics stood him in good stead. Because a heavy arch imposes a strong outwards force on the flanks, there was a real danger of the stones sliding horizontally outwards if laid flat. By setting the stones on the diagonal, da Ponte ensured that any slippage of the masonry would close the arch, rather than allowing it to spread out sideways.

72 BMV, cod. Marc. it. Z, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, f. 17: “io sto quasi sempre in Rialto et non ho molto che fare”. 73 BMV, cod. Marc. it. Z, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, ff. 16–17. “Et a mio giudicio de mi non è possibile che quel fondamento mai manca, et face io cosi buon giudicio di quella fondamenta, havendola fatto fabrichar come faria, à saver gustar un bichier de Malvasia, se l’è buona, ò cattiva, che s’è mia profession”. This evidence is discussed by Parsons 1939, p. 520, remarking that “This is what a modern commission would do – listen to both reason and gossip”.

74

BMV, ms. Marc. it. VII, 295 (=10047), Disegni del Ponte di Rialto e delle prigioni, anon. report on pp. 2–4, beginning as follows: “Il saper de tutte le scienze, facoltà et arte nasce dal principio e cominciamento loro per conoscer la causa, perchè, si come dice Aristotele, per natura ancora si vede in la maggior parte delle cose conoscersi la causa dell’effetto, per vero fondamento di esse” (published in Cessi and Alberti 1934, doc. XXI, pp. 390–392). 75 BMV, ms. Marc. it. VII, 295 (=10047), Disegni del Ponte di Rialto e delle prigioni, f. 6. 76 See the detailed explanation of the engineering solution in Parsons 1939, pp. 525–526, 529–530.

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE Although the experts consulted in the August enquiry (Chart 2) were far from unanimous, the majority supported the retention of the existing abutment and its replication on the opposite bank, although most agreed that some reinforcement was needed.77 The addition of a ‘coronella’, or protective row of piles on the canal side of the abutment was approved by the Senate on 5th September.78 Later in August 1588 Antonio da Ponte submitted a model and two drawings showing two alternative alignments, because the exact direction of the bridge was still unresolved.79 The model, crafted by carpenters, was a large painted wooden construction demonstrating the relationship of the bridge to the buildings at either end. The precise continuation of the line of the Drapparia would pass so close to the church of San Bartolomeo that one of its chapels would have to be demolished, whereas a slight deviation would avoid this. This second alternative corresponded with the foundations already laid at the Rialto end, so Antonio da Ponte had clearly predetermined the outcome to a certain extent. In early September another series of six questions was posed to the proti to confirm the alignment and confirm that the diagonally laid stones would be satisfactory.80 As we have seen, Antonio da Ponte’s vision was confined to issues of structure and function, rather than those of antique precedent or classical detailing. It was he who made the models for all the technical details of the foundations and the building of the vault, as well as for the buildings at San Bartolomeo, but he played no part in the detailing of the superstructure of the bridge. The contracts make it clear that the wooden templates for the balustrade and cornice were made by the proto Benedetto Banelli, who was the on-site representative (deputado) of the second proto al Sal, Antonio Contin. That these templates were shown to the masons in the house of Giacomo Foscarini indicates the close concern of Foscarini and his close friend Barbaro in the design details. All the specifications for the stonework of the bridge and its shops were prepared by Contin and Banelli, not by da Ponte. The centrepiece of the bridge was a motif plucked from Serlio’s treatise, while the balustrade was appropriated from Scamozzi’s proposal (figs. 10 and 5).81 Nonetheless, the articulation of the shops on a slope, using a type of rustication apparently adapted from the Roman Arena in Verona, was far more elegant than Scamozzi’s more classical and academic design, with its shop fronts and mezzanine windows awkwardly stretched into parallelograms.82 From this moment on, the work proceeded smoothly and without further discussion.83 The contracts for the supply of materials and labour were administered on a day-by-day basis by the three noble magistrates in charge, the Provveditori Alvise Zorzi, Giacomo Foscarini and Marc’Antonio Barbaro. At times, there is evidence of considerable friction between the three, and they made excuses for absence on several occasions. On 18–19th September 1589, 77

Parsons 1939, pp. 519–520, mentions the evidence of a certain ‘Alvise da Ponte’, supposedly the uncle of Antonio, but this is in fact a mistaken identity, for the evidence was given by Antonio himself. 78 ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 58, ff. 109–110, 5 Sep 1588, published in Zorzi, 1966, doc. 33, p. 257. 79 BMV, cod. Marc. it. Z, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, ff. 18v.-22, on p. 18v.: “Ho fatto un Modello il qual ho presentado alli 3 Clarissimi Provveditori et doi dissegni di far le stradde ad un modo, et all’altro”. See also Cessi and Alberti 1934, p. 218; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 274. 80 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, fasc. 2, nos. 14–25; also contained in BMV, cod. Marc. it. Z, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, ff. 35v.-49, transcribed in

Cessi and Alberti 1934, doc. XXII, o, pp. 418–432, 1–2 Sep 1588. 81 Sebastiano Serlio, Tutte l’opere d’architettura et prospettiva, Venice 1619, Book III, f. 74v. 82 Calabi and Hopkins 2003, pp. 283–88, cat. no. 30. Scamozzi’s single-arched alternative design, illustrated in an anonymous woodcut published in c. 1588 seems to reflect a desire on Scamozzi’s part to claim a role in the realisation of the executed bridge. 83 The specifications awarded to the various maestri, are contained in ASV, Proveditori sopra la fabrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 4, Contratti. On the next stages of the building work see Cessi and Alberti 1934, 218–21; Calabi and Morachiello 1987, pp. 283–299.

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ARCH_09_Deborah Howard16_03.indd 236

Proto alle Acque

N no

Cristoforo Sorte perito ai Beni Inculti

Dionisio Boldù Bresciano

Has there been any subsidence so far?

Proto dei Lidi

N

Y

N

N

N

N

Y

N

Y

N

Y

N

N

Y

Y

N

N

Y

Y

Y

N

Y

Y

N

N

Y

Giacomo dei Guberni Y

Proto (del Ponte delle Guglie)

Y

Marchesin di Marchesini

Y

proto

Y

Zuan Manca de Piero Y

ditto Bozzettoi

Y

Antonio di Marchesi Y

Muraro dell chiesa di San Giorgio

Y

Y

Y

Antonio da Marcò

N

N

Y

Cesare de Franco

Should the water-edge of the foundations be reinforced with a coronella? Should the buttressing be reinforced?

N

N

Proto alla Procuratia de Supra Y

Simon Sorella

Y

gastaldo della Scuola di S. Marco

Y

Martin Rigotti

Y

N

N

Y

Y

Tiberio Zorzi

Y

Y

Y

Y

Y

Y

Y

Y

N

Proto alla Procuratia di Citra

N

Francesco de Fermo

Y

murer

Are the diagonally laid stones satisfactory?

Francesco Zamberlani N

Francesco de Piero

N

Y

N

N

Ottavio Fabris

Are the new stepped foundations secure?

Y yes

Consultation II 10th – 12th August 1588

Guglielmo di Grandi

RIALTO BRIDGE PROJECT

[2] Consultation of proti and engineers on the foundations of the Rialto Bridge, August 1588, from ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 3, fasc. 2, no. 12, also transcribed in BCV, cod. Marc. it. VII, 29 (=4796), Difficoltà sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, ff. 5–12v (published in Cessi and Alberti 1934, doc. XXII, d - e, pp. 395–401).

DEBORAH HOWARD

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE for example, Marc’Antonio Barbaro personally awarded, signed and sealed four contracts for the building of the arch of the bridge and sent them to Alvise Zorzi to execute, claiming that he was too busy with ‘servitio publico’ to come in person.84 Yet, despite such tensions, the project reached its successful completion within just three and a half years. The necessary demolitions at San Bartolomeo occurred between 1589 and 1591, after the acquisition of the properties on the site and the eviction of their tenants. The huge cost was justified in the Senate because of the manifest “splendour and adornment of the city”.85 Embarrassingly, a lottery to assign the shops in the new buildings at San Bartolomeo proved a flop and the ticket holders, some from the Terraferma, had to be reimbursed.86 More positively, an earthquake on 10th July 1591 left not a single crack in the new bridge, confounding the fears of those who had doubted the structure.87 An anonymous account testified to the universal relief and delight: “The building conveys very great beauty to the eye; no-one who passes over it who does not marvel at the wonderful sight, nor those who go underneath in a 10. Jacopo Bassano, Portrait of Antonio da Ponte, boat”.88 1580s (private collection: photo Istituto Universitario The voice of experience had triumphed over di Architettura di Venezia, diateca del DSA). theoretical concerns, and local knowledge over universal principles. Architectural design had proceeded incrementally and eclectically through widespread consultation. Was this a modern procedure or a medieval one? The contrast with the execution of the Ponte della Trinità in Florence in 1567–1578 is striking, for in contrast to the Medici grand duchy the democratic procedures of the Venetian Republic were often indecisive and fraught when it came to public building projects.89 At the Rialto, different proti provided drawings for different aspects of the project – a procedure defined by Morachiello as “medieval workshop” practice90 – but the team work and collaboration of specialist expertise could also be considered a very modern approach. Stage-by-stage public enquiries and consultation seem oddly familiar today. In the early stages, there had been fears that the supervision on the building site was inadequate, underlined, as we have seen, by the gathering of testimony from bystanders. Indeed, Antonio da Ponte himself admitted that he was too busy with other projects to attend 84

Provedditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 4, Contratti, Fasc. 6, 18–20 Sep 1589. 85 ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 61, f. 13, 28 March 1591 (published in Zorzi 1966, doc. 50, p. 262): “quel spendore et ornamento della Città che si vede”. 86 ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 60, ff. 26v., 28, 2, 11 May 1590; and ff. 56–56v., 29 June 1590; Senato Terra, reg. 64, ff. 125v.-126, 20 Oct 1594. 87 Anonymous account from BMV, cod. Marc. It, VII, 2207 (=9549), ff. 170–170v., published in Cessi and Alberti 1934, Doc. XXIII, pp. 434–436.

88 Anonymous account from BMV, cod. Marc. It, VII, 2207 (=9549), f. 170–170v., published in Cessi and Alberti 1934, Doc. XXIII, pp. 434–436: “La fabrica riesce all’occhio di grandissima bellezza, nè alcuno si trova che vi passi sopra, che non resti pieno di meraviglia”. 89 Parsons 1939, pp. 540–551; C. Conforti, ‘Cosimo I e Firenze’, in: Storia dell’architettura italiana: Il secondo Cinquecento, ed. C. Conforti, R. J. Tuttle, Milan, 2001, pp. 130–165, on pp. 133–134. 90 Calabi and Morachiello 1987, p. 298: “un cantiere medievale”. See also Cessi and Alberti 1934, p. 218.

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DEBORAH HOWARD to the building of the abutment at the San Bartolomeo end.91 His fellow proto al Sal, Antonio Contin, could not remember precisely whether he had supervised the work closely, but claimed that had the workmanship been inadequate he would have had it redone.92 Regardless of the issues of on-site supervision, however, as soon as Antonio da Ponte had gained the confidence of the Senate in August 1588, the project proceeded with remarkable efficiency. Throughout the sixteenth century at the Rialto the exponents of the theoretical and practical options had adopted extreme positions, yet the dialectic process certainly enriched the design options on both sides. That the bridge was successful reflects the input of a multiplicity of viewpoints that combined technology, scenography and architectural design. Antonio da Ponte’s genius was to exploit his decades of experience on Venetian building sites to devise a brilliantly innovative solution. As his reports show, he was less literate than many of the other proti: on paper he expressed himself clumsily in Venetian dialect, in a halting and oldfashioned secretary hand, and his drawing skills were empirical, ignoring the plan-elevationsection convention. On the other hand, he gained confidence by his expertise in preparing specifications and budgets. Towards the end of his life, Antonio’s portrait was painted by Jacopo dal Ponte, called Bassano (fig. 10). Although sharing the same surname, the two masters were probably not related (the family of painters came from Bassano del Grappa, whereas Antonio da Ponte was a native of Venice), but they were near contemporaries, and both were very old.93 As suggested at the start of this article, the conventional image of the Venetian proto, dating back to the twelfth century, presented a venerable, dignified figure, his wisdom gained by age, hard work and experience. Bassano’s intimate, tender depiction of an elderly, slightly stooping figure with watery eyes and a tufty beard takes its place in a long line of portraits of Venetian proti.94 In a gerontocracy such as Venice, age was a badge of authority, not a source of feebleness. Da Ponte personally laid claim on the innovative technology when he secured a patent from the Senate in October 1590, forbidding anyone to sell views of the bridge or

91 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 4, fasc. 8, part 3, Processi, 13 Aug 1591. 92 ASV, Provveditori sopra la fabbrica del ponte di Rialto, busta 4, fasc. 8, part 3, Processi, 1 Sep 1591. Contin was probably the nephew of Antonio da Ponte, as first suggested by Temanza 1778 (note 60), p. 518. 93 On Jacopo Bassano, see B. L. Brown, P. Marini (eds.), Jacopo Bassano c. 1510–1592, Bologna, 1992; A. Ballarin, Jacopo Bassano, ed. Vittoria Romani, 5 vols. (2 vols. Text, 3 vols. Plates), Cittadella, 1995; B. Aikema, Jacopo Bassano and his public : moralizing pictures in an age of reform, ca. 1535–1600, transl. by Andrew P. McCormick, Princeton, NJ, 1996; P. Berdini. The religious art of Jacopo Bassano: painting as visual exegesis, Cambridge, 1997. Jacopo Bassano died in 1592, and Antonio da Ponte in 1597. 94 The portrait was published as a work by Tintoretto in E. Hüttinger, ‘Zur Porträtmalerei Jacopo Tintorettos: Aus Anla eines unbekannten Bildnisses’, Pantheon 26, Nov-Dec 1968, pp. 467–473. It was on the market in the Brod Gallery, London, Recent Acquisitions, 26th March – 12th April 1969, cat. no. 1, again as Tintoretto. The attribution to Bassano was proposed by Antonio

Ballarin in ‘Un ritratto inedito del Bassano’, Arte Veneta 25, 1971, pp. 268–71, reprinted in Ballarin, ed. Romani, 1995, vol. 2, fig. 221 and pp. 268–271. The portrait is reproduced in colour in Calabi and Morachiello 1987, fig. 102, as being in an English private collection. When in the collection of William Beckford, the portrait was engraved by Domenico Cunego in 1769 as part of Gavin Hamilton’s series Schola italica picturae; this engraving was copied by Giovanni Goldmann soon afterwards. See E. Pan (ed.), Jacopo Bassano e l’incisione: La fortuna dell’arte bssanesca nella grafica di riproduzione dal XVI al XIX secolo, exhibition catalogue Bassano dal Grappa, Museo Civico, 1992, pp. 131–133, cat. nos. 125–126. A more formal variant of Bassano’s portrait dressed in velvet and holding a pair of compasses, with the name of the sitter inscribed on it, is in the Musée du Louvre, Paris (inv. M.I. 1138), reproduced in Cooper 2005 (note 64), fig. 18 on p. 15. Ballarin compares it with another of Bassano’s few surviving portraits, the Portrait of a bearded man sold at Sotheby’s on 2nd December 1964, lot 125, with an attribution to Moretto, and bought by Mont of New York. The latter was acquired by the Getty Museum in 1969 (no. 69. PA. 25) and may represent the same sitter about 1550.

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THE GREAT RIALTO BRIDGE DEBATE images of its substructure for twenty years.95 When it was restored in 1975, the arch itself and its abutments were still firmly in place after nearly 400 years: as the conservation report asserted: “The structure of the great vault is basically in excellent condition”.96 That someone named da Ponte should have produced one of the most famous bridges in the world seems peculiarly appropriate. Frequently cited sources Palladio 1570 Andrea Palladio, I quattro libri dell’architettura, Venice, 1570. Sansovino 1663 Francesco Sansovino, Venetia città nobilissima et singolare (1581), ed. G. Martinioni, 2 vols., Venice, 1663. Vasari 1906 Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ piu eccellenti Pittori, Sculto ed Architettori, ed. Gaetano Milanesi, 9 vols., Milan, 1906. Frequently cited works Calabi and Hopkins 2003 D. Calabi, A. Hopkins, ‘Progetto per il ponte di Rialto a Venezia (1588)’, in: F. Barbieri, G. Beltramini (eds.), Vincenzo Scamozzi 1548–1616, exhibition catalogue CISA Vicenza, Venice, 2003, cat. no. 30, pp. 283–288. Calabi and Morachiello 1987 D. Calabi, P. Morachiello, Rialto: le fabbriche e il Ponte 1514–1591, Turin, 1987. Cessi and Alberti 1934 R. Cessi, A. Alberti, Rialto: L’isola – il ponte – il mercato, Bologna, 1934. Howard 1987 D. Howard, Jacopo Sansovino: Architecture and Patronage in Renaissance Venice, New Haven and London, 1987. Parsons 1939 W. B. Parsons, Engineers and Engineering in the Renaissance, Cambridge, MA and London, 1939. Tafuri 1985 M. Tafuri, Venezia e il Rinascimento, Turin, 1985. Zorzi 1964 G. Zorzi, Le opera pubbliche e i palazzi privati di Andrea Palladio, Vicenza, 1964. On portraits of architects in the Renaissance, see E. Trenerry (ed.), Portrait of Sansovino?, exhibition catalogue Ian Potter Museum of Art, University of Melbourne, 2000, with essays by Jaynie Anderson, Deborah Howard, et al.

95

ASV, Senato Terra, reg. 60, ff. 130–130v., 27 Oct 1590. 96 M. Pisà, R. Masobello, Il Ponte di Rialto: Un restauro a Venezia, Vicenza, 1991, p. 74: “La struttura della grande volta è sostantialmente in ottimo stato”.

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DEBORAH HOWARD Zorzi 1966 G. Zorzi, Le chiese e i ponti di Andrea Palladio, Vicenza, 1966.

ABBREVIATIONS ASV = Archivio di Stato di Venezia BCV = Biblioteca Correr, Venezia BMV = Biblioteca Marciana, Venezia

m.v. = more veneto (Venetian dating)

AFTERWORD This article was submitted before the publication of the catalogue of the exhibition Andrea Palladio, edited by Howard Burns and Guido Beltramini, Vicenza 2008, in which Beltramini re-dated the drawing illustrated in my Fig. 3 to the late 1560s (pp. 184–95, cat. nos. 94a–100). Some of the material contained in this paper has already been published in my article ‘Architectural Politics in Renaissance Venice’, Proceedings of the British Academy, 154, 2008, pp. 29–67.

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THE COPENHAGEN EXCHANGE (1619–1624) DESIGNED BY THE VAN STEENWINCKEL BROTHERS: “NOT FOR THE SECRET ARTS OF MERCURY AND LAVERNA…”. Juliette Roding (Universiteit Leiden)

The Copenhagen Exchange was built between 1619 and 1624 as a covered market. It was designed by the van Steenwinckel brothers, Laurens (c. 1585–1619) and Hans the Younger (1587–1639) (figs. 1, 1b and 2). Laurens died in the same year the construction of the building started, whereafter Hans, who became Chief Architect to King Christian IV (1588–1648) in December of that same year, continued the project alone. Financing for the project was provided entirely by the king himself. The building as it stands now comes to us through a series of restorations, of which the one carried out between 1879 and 1884 had the farthest-reaching consequences. During this time, the original brick was covered with thin, red, industrially-produced brick tiles, which largely determine the general character and appearance of the building today. All of the building’s sandstone figures were renewed between 1902 and 1906. The building was then again restored in the 1920s and 1950s, so that not much of Christian IV’s original building has survived.1 We can see from a 1666 painting by Wolfgang Heimbach that the original building had a much livelier appearance, with its original handmade red-flamed yellow brick and the more sculptural treatment of the ornamentation. An illustration in Laurids de Thurah’s treatise Den Dankse Vitruvius from 1746 also depicts a much livelier building (fig. 3).2 It was later on, in restorations undergone in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, that the building acquired the rather restrained classical appearance we know today.3 The urban context The Copenhagen Exchange’s urban context has changed significantly throughout its history as well. We can get some idea of this change by turning to the well-known prospect of Copenhagen in 1611 by Jan van Wijck.4 The painting itself was lost in a fire, but there is an engraving after the painting by Jan Dircksz. van Campen (fig. 4), which has survived through the centuries. This engraving provides us with a glimpse of the Exchange’s original urban context, showing us the neighbouring buildings of the time. On the left was the old royal castle, and on the right, the old anchor forge and the mint. The latter was converted into a church for the navy, the Holmens Church, in 1617–1619, just before the Exchange was built. This church was home to the royal navigation school between 1619 and 1624.5 The engrav-

1

D. F. Slothouwer, Bouwkunst der Nederlandsche Renaissance in Denemarken, Amsterdam, 1924, pp. 132–143, gives important information on the various restorations of the Exchange. His main sources were G. F. Lassen, Bidrag til Børsens Historie I de første halvhundrede aar, Copenhagen, 1858, and Werner 1915. 2 L. de Thurah, Den Danske Vitruvius, I, Copenhagen, 1746, p. LIV–LV. 3 In 1902–1906 some of the original hermas were transferred to the National Museum. The Bymuseum

also has one, see the exhibition catalogue, Christian IV and Europe (various Danish museums), Herning, 1988, p. 268, no. 918, and p. 504, no. 1799. 4 Jan Dircksz van Campen, after Jan van Wijk, Copenhagen seen from the Southeast, copper engraving, c. 350 × 1000 mm, København, Nationalmuseum. See, Christian IV and Europe 1988 (note 3), pp. 251–252, no. 853. 5 On the Holmens Church, see: L. Bobé, Bremerholms kirke og Holmens menighed gennem tre aarhundreder 1619–1919, København, 1920.

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JULIETTE RODING ing also shows the ropewalk, behind the anchor forge and the mint, where chained prisoners fabricated ropes for ships. The development of this area around the Exchange should be seen in close relation to the development of Copenhagen’s twin-town, Christianshavn (fig. 5). The twin-town project began in 1616 and was supervised by three Dutch engineers; Johan Sems, Poulus Buysser and Abraham de la Haye. Initially, Christian IV had intended Christianshavn to be a town for his sailors, but when the costs for this turned out to be too exorbitant, the king decided to house merchants there instead. The new town’s lay-out was changed to accommo1. The Copenhagen Exchange (photo: author, 2006). date this new purpose. It was decided that merchants would be allowed to purchase plots in the area as long as they promised to build solid stone houses with tiled roofs.6 The decision to build an Exchange there must have been related to this shift in plans for Christianshavn. Around this time a new pier was constructed for the Exchange, opposite the Holmens Church. Following that, a bridge, the so-called ‘Knippelsbro’, was built to connect this pier with Christianshavn. It is thought that this bridge may have been adorned, from the beginning, with allegorical statues representing the four winds.7 In front of the 2. The Copenhagen Exchange, north facade in the early Exchange, facing the church, there was a twentieth century (photo: Hude, Roskilde, reproduced in wharf. A canal adjacent to the back of the Slothouwer 1924). building was constructed by one of the leading engineers of the Christianshavn project, Abraham de la Haye.8 There was a narrow wharf located here as well. The canal was filled in in 1868–1869, when the Knippelsbro was reconstructed. The laying of the foundations in the marshy area in which the Exchange was being built was problematic, and for this reason, the Exchange building (20 × 120 m in area) does not have any cellars. The 1619 contract with Laurens van Steenwinckel mentions as part of the original building plans a portal, and window ornaments with pediments, architraves and mouldings, including herms (hermas) which were to subdivide the façade.9 The 6

Helge Gamrath, ‘Christianshavn grundlæggelse og ældste bybygningsmæssige udvikling’, Historiske meddelelser om København, 1968, no. 61, pp. 7–117. 7 M. Stein, ‘Vindenes ikonografi’, Weekendavisen, 14 December 1989. It is not clear if these wooden statues, by F.C. Willerup, were based on seventeenth-century predecessors.

8

Roding 1991, pp. 120–121, 174–175, note 30. Werner 1915, p. 22; Slothouwer 1924 (note 1), pp. 134–135. The contract of 4 May 1619 with Laurens van Steenwinckel and Hermann Rollefinck is in the Rigsarkiv, Copenhagen, Sj.R. 16, 4232. 9

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THE COPENHAGEN EXCHANGE (1619–1624) bricklaying started in 1620 and in 1623 the work had reached roof level. In 1624 the roof was covered with lead and in the same year the impressive west gable, with its ramp, was completed (fig. 6) (the monumental eastern gable was not erected until much later, in 1640).10 Later on in 1624, statues of Neptune and Mercury were placed at the entrance of the west gable ramp. In 1625 the bell tower was constructed, with its famous spire consisting of four dragons with intertwined tails. Three crowns, alternating with three copper balls, were placed on top of the spire to symbolize Christian IV’s position as the legitimate restorer of the Kalmar Union and the King of Denmark, Norway and Sweden. The dragon spire The dragon spire (fig. 7) was not designed by Hans van Steenwinckel the Younger, as one might expect, but by Ludvig (Lodwig) Heidenreiter, who was not an architect, but a modeller who made models in soft materials like wax and clay, amongst other things for immense firework arrangements.11 Models 3. Elevation and plans of the Copenhagen Exchange of large-size dragons spitting fire, that could fly (from: Laurids de Thurah, Den Danske Vitruvius, I, through the air, were already known in Frederik II’s 1746, LIV-LV). time.12 According to the eighteenth-century authors, Laurids de Thurah (1746–1749) and Nicolai Jonge (1783), the dragon spire was part of the spoils from the Kalmar War (1611–1613).13 Although this is certainly not true, it is not unlikely that the dragon spire was made of melted-down war materials and that the anecdote should be considered a topos that alludes to the famous Snake Column of Constantine the Great, the first Christian emperor, with whom Christian IV was sometimes compared, including in relation to his building enterprises. The Snake or Dragon Column was erected in 479 BC by the Hellenistic Union after the defeat of the Persians at Plateia, in honour of Apollo of Delphi. The column, on which three intertwined snakes were depicted, was made out of Persian weapons that were melted down. The head of the snakes supported a golden tripod. Constantine the Great moved the column, circa AD 300, to Constantinople, where the monument could be admired in the hippodrome.14 The four dragon-like monsters on the spire probably symbolize the four cardinal winds or the four corners of the world. One could commonly find these kinds of monsters depicted on contemporary sea maps as imaginative representations of the unknown, and of the dangers of the unexplored and heathen corners of the world. Christian IV’s father, Frederik II, had

10

For the data of the construction of the Exchange, see Lassen 1858 (note 1). 11 C.A. Jensen, ‘Om børsens dragespir’, Historiske Meddelelser om København, 4. række, 11 bind, Copenhagen, 1949–1952, pp. 145–157, esp. pp. 151–152. The first payment to Heidenreiter (also: Heiderider, Heideritter, Heidtritter) for the spire was on 24 April

1624, the last one on 31 August 1625, a total amount of 600 daler. 12 Ibidem, p. 152. 13 Werner 1915, p. 17. 14 Roding 1991, p. 175, note 33. In the eighteenth century the Snake Column was severely damaged by a drunken soldier, who cut off the three heads.

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JULIETTE RODING

4. J. Dircksz van Campen, after J. van Wijck, Prospect of Copenhagen (1611) (photo: København, Nationalmuseum).

a table clock in the shape of a Turkish ship at sea which was placed atop four similar beasts.15 Probably the dragons on the spire bear a connection to those prior beasts, and represent the supremacy of Christian IV’s reign over the seas and the four corners of the world, from where wealth came to Denmark.16 The idea is further supported by the three crowns and balls/ globes on top of the spire.17 The dragon spire was first restored between 1775 and 1777.18 After 1623, the Exchange building acquired a much wealthier and more ostentatious appearance than was initially intended. This had to do with Denmark reaching a peak in its commercial successes during this period. Profiting from the continuation of the war between the Dutch Republic and Spain after its own Twelve Years’ Truce (1609–1621), Denmark was able to expand its territories. Although Christian IV did not succeed in occupying Ceylon (Sri Lanka), he did manage to acquire another colony, Tranquebar, on the Coromandel Coast in eastern India. In this atmosphere of triumph, work on the building continued. In 1624, a plaque was set up above the western gable whose inscription tells us that the king, in his zeal to stimulate the rise of wealthy merchant towns in his kingdom like other kings before him, has erected this Danish bourse, not for the secret arts of Mercury and Laverna (the Roman goddess of cheating and plagiarism), but in honour of God, and moreover for the profit and use of buyers and sellers. Form and function of the Copenhagen Exchange The building’s ground floor originally had twenty combined storage rooms and shops located on both sides, which were partly below street level and therefore remained cool in the summer months. These were mainly used for the sale and storage of grocery goods. The first floor comprised a large and high rectangular space that served as a great hall, divided by a row of columns. The hall functioned as an indoor marketplace, with rows of stands in the middle and an office in every corner.

15 Roding 1991, p. 122. See S. Landes, Revolution in Time. Clocks and the making of the modern world, London, 1983. 16 The art historian Meir Stein has suggested that the inspiration for the tower may have been the Tower of the Winds in Athens, of which there is a wellknown reconstruction in the Vitruvius Teutsch. This tower also bears ornamental dragons, see Stein 1989 (note 7).

17

From 1616 there is an engraving of Jan Dircksz van Campen (?) after Christian Møller with the flagship of Christian IV, the Trekroner (‘Three Crowns’) with a Latin poem praising Christian IV’s mastery of the sea, see Christian IV and Europe 1988 (note 3), p. 254, note 862. 18 In 1772, the court architect, C. D. Anthon, proposed to exchange the spire for a cupola, but another architect, C. F. Harsdorff, was able to prevent this. See Jensen 1949–1952 (note 11), pp. 145–146.

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THE COPENHAGEN EXCHANGE (1619–1624) The building’s exterior was and remains typically Netherlandish Renaissance in style, brick combined with sandstone bands and decorations. As part of the design, every shop on the ground floor was to have one door with a window above it, and ‘half’ a window beside it, at its disposal (fig. 8). Although this design does not seem very architectonically sophisticated to us today, at the time this was quite common in Netherlandish building practice, where outer gables and inner constructions were still often seen as separate items. As we can see, the shops did not stand out as independent entities, because each door and window was separated by herms, which could be either male or female, and which lent the building 5. Johan Sems, Plan for Christianshavn (1616–1617) (photo: an exotic appearance. Above every door and København, Det Kongelige Bibliotek). window, we find a triangular pediment in which is placed an almost freestanding mask. These masks, that represent exotic people, are of the same type as the ones found on the outside of Rosenborg Castle (started 1606), another creation by Hans van Steenwinckel the Younger. Between the building’s ground and first floors, as well as between the first floor and the roof, we find decorated bands of sandstone. The first floor looks like a bel etage, even though its height is the same as the floor below. The windows on the separate floors also show variation. The first-floor windows do not have pediments and they lack the delicacy of the ones on the ground floor. The windows that provide light for the great hall are simple and functional in their design. They too are separated from one another by herms. At the roof level, we find a top gable with scroll work above every second door. In the middle of the building, facing the Holmens Church, there is an even bigger and higher top gable. This gable indicates the location of the middle of the building, simultaneously giving emphasis to and forming the visual spring to the spire. The top attic gables all have herms as well, the main one even in two layers. In this part of the building, we find a pattern of four herms on top of one other, a quite unusual application of the sixth order, symbolizing wealth and prosperity. There is quite a complex rhythmical play in this gable. As in many of Christian IV’s buildings, there seems to be a relation to polyphonic music in the design, but this link has not yet been fully developed and requires more research.19 The number of layers of hermas is greatest on the west gable with the ramp, where they number six. These herms constitute the entourage of a fine classical triumphal porch, made of sandstone and marble. The double columns left and right of the entrance are of two different colours, rose and black. According to the original contract the initial plan was to erect two statues here, an idea which was abandoned in favour of these two columns. Experts have long debated the sources for various elements of the Exchange’s design.20 One possible source for the monumental porch may have been Serlio. This is of course no coincidence. It has been established that the Renaissance gable on the mint, standing

19

The Danish art historian Harald Langberg was the first to notice this rhythm.

20

K. H. Schreyl, Zur Geschichte der Baugattung Börse, unpublished dissertation, Berlin, 1963, pp. 26–27.

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JULIETTE RODING

6. The Copenhagen Exchange, west facade (photo: author, 2006).

7. The Copenhagen Exchange, dragon spire (photo: author, 2006).

opposite the Exchange in the late sixteenth century, later to become the Holmens Church, was modelled on Serlio as well.21 The square in front of the royal palace, where both gables were visible, was often used for open-air theatre and royal festivities. In Wolfgang Heimbach’s painting of 1666, which represents the rendering of homage by the Danes to the heir to the throne in 1660, a richly decorated throne is placed on top of the ramp just in front of the western façade of the Exchange, with the entrée to the building functioning as a classical triumphal porch behind the throne. The exploitation of the building Initially, the Copenhagen Exchange was not very financially successful. This changed in 1631 when the king decided to allow foreign merchants to start selling their goods in the building. Objects from all over the world, from as far away as India and China, could then be bought here. Besides the new commercial products, new knowledge could be obtained at the exchange in other ways as well: the famous Dutch printing houses Elsevier and Janssonius had a permanent bookshop in the building. Rafael, one of the grandsons of Karel van Mander I, painter and author of the Schilder-Boeck (1604) and brother to court painter Karel van Mander III, had a druggist’s shop.22 The building also housed a lottery and a post office, and the town 21

O. Norn, ‘Serlio and Denmark’, Analecta Romana Instituti Danica 1, 1960, pp. 105–121, esp. pp. 65–66. 22 J. Roding, ‘The “Kunst und Wunderkammer”: The library and collection of paintings of Karel van

Mander III (c. 1610–1670) in Copenhagen’, Tijdschrift voor Skandinavistiek 27, 2006, n° 1, pp. 25–42.

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THE COPENHAGEN EXCHANGE (1619–1624) council sometimes held its meetings here. The offices in the corners were rented out to brokers and notaries. A contemporary source gives us an idea of the way the building functioned. The French envoy Charles Ogier visited the Exchange in 1634, when he was in Copenhagen to attend the wedding of Crown Prince Christian (1608–1647) to Maria Sybille of Saxony. He was shown around by the court astronomer Christian Longomontanus (who was considered Christian IV’s main advisor in the field of architecture). Ogier noted in his diary that the king habitually promenaded through the building, accompanied by his daughters. That very day he had come across him with Leonora Christina (1621–1698).23 This deliberate combination of commerce and walking was also characteristic of the Spanish lonja, with this being seen as the correct manner to arrive at wise transactions.24 In 1636 the Copenhagen merchants asked the king to hand the building over to them. The king agreed to this (he had severe financial problems at the time), but on the condition that the merchants would continue to welcome foreign merchants into their circle. This did not work out very well and so 8. The Copenhagen Exchange, detail (photo: between 1639 and 1642 the king rented out the shops author, 2006). himself. In 1642 he left the exploitation of the building over to Jacob Madsen, who had been burgomaster of Christianshavn from 1621 onwards and who was one of the richest men in the town, supplying the court, the army and navy with merchandise. The Copenhagen Exchange and Lutheran ideology Clearly one cannot compare the Copenhagen Exchange very well with contemporary exchanges such as those of Antwerp, London or Amsterdam. We know that Christian IV’s private collection at Frederiksborg Castle contained engravings of the Amsterdam Exchange. Furthermore, he had seen the one in London with his own eyes, when he visited his sister Anna and her husband James I in England in 1606. At this time there were enough scholars and highly educated merchants in court circles who could have provided him with the latest news about modern exchange buildings elsewhere in Europe. Hence Christian IV could have imitated those buildings had he so wished. The Copenhagen Exchange was first and foremost a functional building, based on certain principles of utility and pragmatism. Merchants could gather indoors, out of the rain and snow, and congregate in a place close to both their houses and the harbour. The building could be reached both by foot and by boat. The merchandise could be easily transported from the boats to the storage spaces/shops on the ground floor or by the ramp to the indoor

23 C. Ogier, Det Store Bilager i København 1634 (Overs. Efter Caroli Ogerii Ephemerides sive iter Danicum Svecicum Polonicum), København, 1969.

24

See, on this theme, the contribution of Joaquín Bérchez and Fernando Marías in this volume. I thank them for sending me their manuscript.

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JULIETTE RODING market place. In the building you could see what you were buying directly; you did not have to buy ‘pieces of paper’ that represented value, and therefore the risks of being cheated were greatly lessened. Perhaps this is the reason for the inscription above the entrance: “Not for the secret arts of Mercury and Laverna […]”. Of course, in this way too, Christian IV, who was both the founder and exploiter of the building, could be in more complete control of the transactions taking place there. The option to build a covered market hall could also have been related to the Lutheran ideology of Christian IV, which is best expressed in the ceiling decoration of the Great Hall at Frederiksborg Castle. Here, in a complex programme of images and texts, the close interrelationship between religion, trade and science is put forward. Trade, in this view, was considered a source of new knowledge and wisdom.25 That is most probably the reason that one could find not only the finest commercial products, but also the best books, at this particular exchange. When Christian IV admiringly referred to the famous kings before him, he did not mean his immediate predecessors, or other European kings from recent history. He meant, above all, Early Christian and Biblical rulers, like the aforementioned Constantine the Great and especially the wise biblical King Solomon, with whom he was identified since his early youth and whom he tried to equal. Solomon was known for the wealth and knowledge he was able to amass in his kingdom from all over the world and for the commercial buildings he founded, such as warehouses for grain storage. Given all these unique features, it does not make much sense to compare the Copenhagen Exchange with other exchange buildings of the time. The building represents neither the ‘courtyard’ nor the ‘town hall’ type. There is a much stronger resemblance to, for example, the meat hall in Haarlem by Lieven de Key of 1603, which also combined an elevated hall with small shops.26 The Copenhagen Exchange did not have any direct successors in the Baltic area either, a fact which further underscores its uniqueness. Today the building serves as an official ‘landmark’ in Copenhagen and still lives out its legacy of trade, containing office spaces for trade organizations in the Merchant’s Guild27. Frequently cited works Roding 1991 J. Roding, Christiaan IV van Denemarken (1588–1648). Architectuur en stedebouw van een Luthers vorst, Alkmaar, 1991. Werner 1915 J. Werner, Børsen. En fremstilling I billeder og text af Kobenhavns børsbygnings historie 1619–1915, København, 1915.

25

Roding 1991, pp. 72–81. Schreyl 1963 (note 20), p. 27, also mentions the Kloveniersdoelen in Middelburg (1607). As the prototype of the Copenhagen Exchange, he mentions the ‘Flemish Hall’ in Dordrecht from 1383, originally built as a free-standing building of which the main floor was used as a bourse, and the cellars

26

and upper floor as store rooms. The building lost its original character when it was converted into a town hall in 1545. It therefore can hardly have been a source of inspiration for the Steenwinckel brothers. 27 City of Copenhagen (ed.), Cityscape Atlas Copenhagen, Copenhagen, 2003, p. 16.

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LES INFRASTRUCTURES MARCHANDES XVE AU XVIIIE SIÈCLE

DANS LA

FRANCHE-COMTÉ

ET SES MARGES DU

Christiane Roussel (Inventaire général, Franche-Comté)

Sur l’ensemble de la France, les infrastructures marchandes ont, bien entendu, intéressé tous les historiens de la ville, mais elles ont rarement fait l’objet d’études concernant leur réalité matérielle (forme, matériaux, organisation interne). Il est vrai qu’elles n’entrent pas toujours dans une perspective d’histoire de l’architecture et relèvent au contraire souvent de l’architecture vernaculaire, voire éphémère ; elles ont d’ailleurs de ce fait subi de nombreuses destructions. C’est le lot des édifices utilitaires que de disparaître lorsqu’ils ne servent plus, car ils ne sont guère réutilisables à d’autres fins. D’un autre côté, le domaine inclut également des édifices importants qui ont compté dans l’évolution du genre. Il recoupe aussi des problèmes d’urbanisme, les places et les rues servant aussi de lieux de marché plus ou moins permanents. L’objet de cet article est de recenser sur un territoire donné, la Franche-Comté et ses marges, les types d’infrastructures marchandes créées entre le XVe et le XVIIIe siècle. Cette province, voisine de la Suisse et des pays alpins, qui a appartenu à l’empire des Habsbourg de 1493 à sa conquête par Louis XIV en 1674, ne se signale pas par des activités commerciales de premier ordre, mais elle présente l’intérêt particulier des zones frontalières soumises à différentes influences et où dialoguent diverses expressions de l’art de bâtir. Les rues-marchés Encore appelées rues à portiques ou rues bordées d’arcades, elles sont courantes en Europe et jusqu’en Russie, mais force est de constater qu’elles ne se trouvent que dans certaines villes. En Franche-Comté, il n’y a guère que Lons-le-Saunier dans le Jura qui possède sa rue bordée d’arcades ainsi que le bourg d’Arinthod, dans le même département. Dans la Bourgogne voisine, on en trouve à Louhans et à Tournus, mais pas à Cluny par exemple. A l’origine, comme leur étude l’a démontré, ces agglomérations comportant une ou plusieurs rues-marchés étaient toutes des villes-carrefours dont la vocation première était le commerce, leur aménagement ayant été prévu dès leur fondation en fonction de cette particularité. C’est le cas par exemple des villes de Souabe et de Suisse occidentale, comme Berne, Morat, Fribourg, créées au XIIe siècle par les ducs de Zähringen, nommés recteurs de Bourgogne en 1127 par l’empereur Lothain III.1 Il convient de retenir que ces villes avaient été fondées ex nihilo le long d’itinéraires commerciaux de premier ordre reliant l’Italie, la Bourgogne, la vallée du Rhin et les Flandres. Destinées à la tenue de foires et de marchés, des rues très spacieuses y avaient été aménagées dès l’origine. Dans les fondations des Zähringen, celles-ci oscillent en effet entre 25 et 29 mètres de large. Pour la ville de Lons-le-Saunier, située au carrefour de voies importantes menant à Lyon, à Genève ou en Bourgogne et qui fut au Moyen Age un marché important, sa longue rue-marché, actuelle rue du Commerce, mesure également 27 mètres dans sa plus grande largeur (fig. 1). Dès leur création, ces rues-marchés planifiées ont évolué, d’abord à cause de l’installation 1

Ces villes ont été étudiées par Françoise Divorne, voir Divorne 1991.

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CHRISTIANE ROUSSEL d’échoppes mobiles devant les maisons, certaines peut-être protégées par des toits en appentis appuyés contre les façades. Puis la création de véritables saillies en dur furent autorisées, comme à Fribourg (Suisse) en 1249, où les bourgeois eurent le droit d’établir à l’avant de leur maison un arc en pierre.2 C’est probablement lorsque ces agglomérations construites en pan de bois avec pignon sur rue furent transformées aux XVe et XVIe siècles en villes de pierre avec des longs-pans sur rue que les arcades se généralisèrent et qu’on eut la 1. La rue du Commerce à Lons-le-Saunier (Jura). Cliché Yves possibilité de bâtir au-dessus ; en même temps, pour permettre un meilleur accès Sancey © Inventaire général / ADAGP, 1983. aux sous-sols des maisons, des avantscaves furent creusées avec des entrées directement accessibles sur la rue à l’aplomb des arcades (fig. 2). Cette prise de possession de l’espace public ne fut possible que parce que l’urbanisme de ces villes marchandes à rues très larges, le permettait. Ailleurs, à partir du XVIe siècle, les saillies furent en revanche fermement proscrites sans toujours, il est vrai, beaucoup d’effet.3 Les édifices à fonction simples : les halles et les boucheries • Halles Les halles se différencient selon qu’elles sont ouvertes et portées par des poteaux de bois ou fermées par des maçonneries. Bâties par des charpentiers, les premières faisaient appel au vieux système pré- et protohistorique des poteaux porteurs et se rencontrent plus fréquemment dans la moitié nord de la France. En Franche-Comté, cette catégorie était de loin la plus nombreuse. Sous l’Ancien Régime, chaque bourg de quelque importance en possédait une, mais dès la deuxième moitié du XVIIIe siècle, elles commencèrent à disparaître, probablement en raison d’une réorientation des flux commerciaux, comme le montre l’exemple du village de Saulx qui, en 1778, avait déjà “des hâles démolies et ruineuses”, ou celui de Dampierre-sur-Salon où les halles n’étaient plus, à l’époque, qu’un souvenir.4 Ce mouvement s’accentua au siècle suivant, si bien qu’actuellement la région ne compte guère que deux halles ouvertes, datées du XVIIe siècle, à Belvoir dans le Doubs et à Vauvillers en Haute-Saône, toutes deux protégées au titre des Monuments historiques (fig. 3). Cette ‘halle des champs’, car on la rencontrait plutôt à la campagne, existait aussi en milieu urbain, comme le montrent les vues conservées du marché au Vieux-Linges dans le quartier du Temple à Paris, ou la halle au blé de Rouen.5 A ces structures en bois, très vulnérables aux incendies, les villes préférèrent souvent l’emploi d’édifices en pierre. C’est le cas à partir du XVe siècle en Franche-Comté où dans les principales agglomérations furent construites des halles fermées, fondées sur des 2

Ibidem, p. 109. J.L. Harouel, L’embellissement des villes – L’urbanisme français au XVIIIe siècle, Paris, 1993, pp. 229–233. 4 Archives municipales de Besançon, Bibliothèque municipale (A.M. Besançon, BM), fond Dunand, ms 3

20. Statistique de la Franche-Comté par Joseph-Marie Dunand. Le village de Saulx est situé entre Vesoul et Luxeuil, celui de Dampierre-sur-Salon au nord de Gray, tous deux dans l’actuel département de la Haute-Saône. 5 Bailly, Laurent 1998, ill. p. 38 et p. 41.

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3. Vue d’ensemble de la halle de Vauvillers (Haute-Saône). Cliché Patrick Blandin © M.H., 1979.

2. La rue du Commerce à Lons-le-Saunier (Jura): détail de l’entrée d’une avant-cave. Cliché Yves Sancey © Inventaire général / ADAGP, 1983.

caractéristiques architecturales communes. Elles étaient “en forme de cloître” comme le précisent les documents, c’est-à-dire à cour centrale, avec des murs extérieurs en pierre, plusieurs grandes portes, la cour intérieure étant bordée d’un portique supportant un toit en appentis. La halle de Dole, dont on a conservé le marché,6 fut rebâtie par ordre du duc et comte de Bourgogne Jean sans Peur, entre 1414 et 1421, pour servir de boucherie, halle aux cuirs et aux draps, en remplacement d’une plus ancienne certainement en bois. Son portique comprenait trente-quatre piliers de pierre assis sur des soubassements ronds ou carrés, soutenant une toiture à un pan en tuiles plates. Elle était en outre dotée de trois grandes portes “pour entrer esdictes haules et y mectre chars et chevaux chargez et vuiz”, d’une “fenêtre marchande” et d’un logis de portier probablement situé dans un angle.7 Par lettres-patentes de Philippe le Bon, les grandes halles mercières de Salinsles-Bains, précédemment incendiées, furent reconstruites entre 1443 et 1455.8 Ici, c’est grâce au ‘compte des deniers ordonnés par la façon des haules’ qu’il est permis de se faire une idée de la forme de cet édifice en maçonnerie, pourvu de quatre grandes portes, avec une cour intérieure bordée de dix arcades. Deux bannières en tôle de fer sur lesquelles étaient peintes les armoiries ducales ornaient la toiture en tuile plate, matériau de couverture choisi par le prince “pour plus grant sécurrite et perfection d’icelles”.9

6

Voir Theurot 1988, pp. 295–313. Une partie du projet initial a été publié p. 302. 7 Cité par Theurot 1988, p. 302.

8 9

Voir Voisin 1984, pp. 557–573. Cité par Voisin 1984, p. 564.

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CHRISTIANE ROUSSEL Située sur la rive droite du Doubs, à l’angle du pont Battant, la halle au blé de Besançon fut élevée en 1423 sur le même modèle que les précédentes. Les propriétaires en étaient l’archevêque et la Ville qui devaient se partager les revenus.10 Elle est représentée sur les nombreux plans historiques de la ville et, contrairement aux deux autres qui ont disparu, ses arcades en pierre subsistent encore dans la cour intérieure d’un immeuble du XIXe siècle. Au cours du XVIIe siècle, des étages d’habitation avaient été bâtis au-dessus du portique, selon une pratique courante dans les centres urbains 4. Extrait du plan « Vue de Besançon », s.n., s.d. (début du lorsque la pression immobilière devenait XVIIIe siècle, Bibliothèque municipale Besançon). La halle trop forte (fig. 4). au blé est située rive droite du Doubs, à gauche de l’entrée Même si l’édifice dolois, le premier du pont de Battant. Repr. Jérôme Mongreville © Inventaire construit, a pu servir de modèle aux deux général / ADAGP, 2006. autres, les ‘halles-cloîtres’ qui n’ont pas été l’apanage du seul grand Duché de Bourgogne, ne sont pas nées au XVe siècle puisque le roi Henri II d’Angleterre, au XIIe siècle, en aurait doté la ville de Saumur et que l’Etape aux Laines de Calais aurait aussi reçu cette forme à une époque indéterminée.11 En 1567, à Belfort, ville qui faisait partie des terres héréditaires des archiducs d’Autriche, Ferdinand de Habsbourg avait fait don de 300 florins pour la reconstruction des halles. Ici encore, d’après le plan conservé (fig. 5),12 il s’agissait du même type de halle que les précédentes, avec trois grandes portes d’accès, mais le plan, dû au maître-maçon Moingin, est plus évolué puisqu’une série de dix boutiques, avec des arcades en plein-cintre, occupait une face latérale et que la façade principale était précédée d’un portique. Enfin, en 1700, une halle à cour centrale fut encore bâtie dans le bourg de Faverney (Val de Saône) par un architecte bénédictin, Dom Vincent Duchesne, pour le compte de son ordre. Située sur une parcelle traversante, elle possédait deux portes charretières sur chaque rue et un portique développé sur trois côtés de la cour, à l’origine sur poteaux de bois, reconstruit avec des arcades en pierre dans le courant du XVIIIe siècle.13 Bien qu’elles aient à peu près toutes disparu ou ne soient conservées qu’à l’état de vestiges, les halles à cour centrale représentaient probablement la forme la plus courante et la mieux adaptée aux milieux densément bâtis, car ses avantages étaient nombreux : – elle offrait une grande sécurité pour les biens, une fois les portes fermées, ce qui évitait aussi sa transformation la nuit venue en lieu malfamé ; – grâce à ses multiples portes charretières, elle permettait une circulation fluide des véhicules et des personnes ; – l’espace pouvait en être aisément rentabilisé en créant des logements aux étages ; – enfin, construite majoritairement en pierre, elle présentait un moindre risque d’incendie que son homologue en matériau ligneux. 10

A.M. Besançon, BM, DD 52, mémoire pour les procès des halles, 1688. 11 Bailly, Laurent 1998, pp. 111–112. 12 Plan de 1567 conservé aux Archives départementales du Haut-Rhin, fonds de la régence d’Ensisheim, C 588.

Ce qui reste de cette halle a été protégé au titre des Monuments Historiques en 2004 (voir dossier documentaire M.H. par P. Boisnard). 13 Cette halle a été protégée au titre des Monuments Historiques en 1996 (voir dossier documentaire M.H. par P. Boisnard).

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L’idée de cette forme rationnelle, fermée sur elle-même, où le bois intervenait très peu, a connu en 1769 un spectaculaire aboutissement dans la halle au blé de Paris. Construite par Nicolas Camus de Mézières sur un plan annulaire, la brique avait été choisie comme unique matériau, y compris pour la charpente, ce qui devait protéger l’édifice en cas de sinistre.14 • Boucheries Les termes employés dans les témoignages du XVIIIe siècle à propos des boucheries montrent qu’il s’agissait de lieux parfaitement insalubres, d’une “putridité”, “infection” et “puanteur intolérable”, entraînant la “corruption de l’air”.15 Si certaines halles anciennes sont parvenues jusqu’à nous, car c’est une architecture ‘propre’ qui a su garder une certaine utilité, les boucheries de l’Ancien Régime ont été éliminées des centres-villes à partir du XIXe siècle en raison des progrès accomplis en matière de salubrité. Aussi ne subsistent-elles plus guère qu’à l’état d’ ‘architecture de papier’, avec les difficultés que l’on imagine pour en restituer les formes, les matériaux, la distribution intérieure, d’autant que 5. Plan du rez-de-chaussée de la halle de Belfort le mot ‘boucherie’ était souvent employé comme (Territoire de Belfort) en 1567 par le maître-maçon un générique regroupant toutes les opérations, de Moingin (Archives départementales du Haut-Rhin, la ‘tuerie’ c’est-à-dire l’abattoir, à la triperie où l’on fonds de la régence d’Ensisheim : C588 © Archives vendait les dépouilles des animaux, jusqu’aux étals départementales du Haut-Rhin). des bouchers. Néanmoins, en 1769, dans sa description d’une boucherie idéale, le maître-maçon bisontin Nicolas Pillot indiquait qu’elle devait être composée de quatre espaces différenciés comprenant “une tuerie, une salle à pendre et débiter les viandes, une autre pour mettre les étaux et une chambre à feu pour y fondre les suifs” et “à l’une et l’autre extrémité hors du bâtiment (…) des rabaissées sur colonnes suivant le versant des croupes pour y placer les étaux des tripiers et les cuviers des poissonniers”.16 Quoiqu’il en soit, d’après les sources et l’iconographie conservées, il semble qu’il n’y ait jamais eu de plan type concernant ce genre d’établissement, mais plutôt des constantes, comme l’installation au bord de l’eau pour des raisons d’hygiène. En 1340, à Besançon, lors de la création de la grande boucherie au bord du Doubs dans le quartier du Maisel,17 il est question d’une ‘hâle’ et de ‘bancs’, ce qui laisse supposer un édifice ouvert, type halle de marché. Suite à un incendie en 1388, ce dernier fut reconstruit “en bois de chêne, [avec des] colonnes, 2 bons angles de pierre, [et] 2 pignons”,18 ce qui confirmerait la présence d’un bâtiment encore plus ou moins ouvert, probablement sur les deux longs pans côté rivière et côté rue, avec deux murs pignon pleins semblable

14

Bailly, Laurent 1998, p. 122. A.M. Besançon, BM, ms (Académie) 33. Dissertations sur «les embellissements de Besançon», sujet proposé par l’Académie de Besançon en 1769–1770. 15

16

Dissertation n° 6, par le maître-maçon Nicolas Pillot, 1769 (A.M. Besançon, ms [Académie] 33). 17 A.M. Besançon, BM, DD 27. 18 Ibidem.

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CHRISTIANE ROUSSEL à la halle de Crémieux, près de Lyon. Le dernier état de cette grande boucherie, en partie conservé, est mieux connu, du moins dans son aspect extérieur: reconstruit en pierre de taille en 1716 par l’architecte Pierre-François Chalandre,19 le bâtiment était percé au rez-de-chaussée de portes en plein cintre, remaniées après 1833, date du transfert des abattoirs à l’extérieur du centre ville, et comportait au-dessus deux étages d’habitation loués par la ville. Des descriptions succinctes du XIXe siècle permettent d’en savoir un peu plus. Les grandes boucheries étaient par exemple qualifiées de “profondes et fraîches: avec leurs portes basses cintrées comme des granges, les ais rabattus en dehors, toujours béantes”.20 On sait aussi que, derrière chaque étal, les animaux étaient égorgés sous les yeux de la clientèle.21 Pour la tuerie de Dijon sont conservés plusieurs projets de la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle, dont certains sont accompagnés de plans.22 Le premier, où était intervenu Hugues Sambin en tant que menuisier, fait état d’un édifice entièrement en bois, couvert en tuile, avec plusieurs boxes et des trappes pour l’écoulement du sang. Situés dans la même liasse, mais ne se rapportant pas au même devis, un plan et une élévation sont attribués au même Hugues Sambin. Il s’agit d’un édifice totalement différent, en pierre, à haut comble à croupes percé de deux lucarnes à frontons triangulaires, avec au rez-de-chaussée, au centre de la façade, une porte en plein-cintre encadrée de part et d’autre de trois fenêtres, toutes ces ouvertures étant décorées de bossages. Le peintre Euvrard Bredin fournit ensuite une “tibériade, figure et plan” attachée à un nouveau projet. Ce nouvel édifice en pierre, de forme irrégulière, était précédé d’une cour, avec un grand côté totalement ouvert donnant sur le ruisseau du Suzon. A l’intérieur, une allée centrale était bordée de boxes, et une rangée de sept poteaux de bois soutenait la toiture. Pour finir, c’est un édifice du type halle qui sera choisi par la municipalité avec une couverture soutenue par des piliers en pierre, et une seule façade en maçonnerie comprenant une grande porte carrée. En revanche, la boucherie et tuerie de Montbéliard, assise sur le canal de la Schliffe et reconstruite en 1610 par l’ingénieur français Claude Flamand, se présentait comme un massif édifice en pierre, de plan carré, à haut toit à croupes percé de lucarnes. Une photographie, prise avant sa démolition à la fin du XIXe siècle nous montre une façade principale percée de deux portes en plein-cintre et quatre petites fenêtres placées en hauteur, comme dans le dessin attribué à Hugues Sambin, probablement pour que les animaux ne puissent pas s’échapper. Néanmoins, elles ne nous dévoilent rien de l’organisation intérieure du bâtiment (fig. 6). Edifices à fonctions juxtaposées Bâtiments de l’administration communale, les hôtels de ville, associés au rez-de-chaussée à une fonction commerciale, exprimaient le fait que les marchands avaient joué un rôle prépondérant dans la naissance des communes. L’origine du type est d’ailleurs sûrement à rechercher dans la maison de marchand, construite en pierre, avec une ou plusieurs boutiques ouvertes par des arcades sur le mur long pan et une salle à l’étage. Considéré comme l’un des plus anciens de France, l’hôtel de ville de Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val (Tarn-et-Garonne) n’était à l’origine qu’une maison vicomtale du XIIe siècle, qui n’aurait servi de maison commune qu’à partir du début du XIVe siècle, sans toucher à son espace dédié au commerce 19

A.M. Besançon, BM, BB 130. G. Coindre, Mon Vieux Besançon …, Besançon, 1980, t. III, p. 749. 21 A. Castan, Besançon et ses environs, Besançon, 1901, p. 227. 20

22

Pour les différents projets du XVIe siècle, concernant la tuerie, voir Gulczynski 1997, t. I, pp. 225–231 et du même auteur, ‘Composition et décoration. Le problème du maniérisme architectural de Sambin’, in : Hugues Sambin, vers 1520–1601, catalogue de l’exposition, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon, 1989, p. 72.

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au rez-de-chaussée et à sa grande salle au premier étage éclairée par une claire-voie, qui finirent tous deux par représenter des poncifs de l’architecture communale.23 En Franche-Comté et dans ses marges, ce n’est guère qu’à partir du XVIe siècle que se dégage un type achevé d’hôtel de ville surmontant une halle (ou des boutiques), comme le montrent les exemples de Bâle et Lausanne en Suisse, ou de Gray dans le val de Saône. Construit entre 1504 et 1514 en bordure de la Marktplatz par l’architecte Ruman Faesch, celui de Bâle comprend une halle ouverte sur la place par trois grandes arcades en tiers-point, avec une claire-voie au premier étage. Dès 6. Vue de la façade occidentale de la boucherie de Montbéliard 1532, la ville de Gray avait acquis un terrain (Doubs), photographiée dans la 2e moitié du XIXe siècle en bordure de la place du Marché pour y (Archives municipales de Montbéliard). Repr. Jérôme bâtir un hôtel de ville. Pour remplacer les Mongreville © Inventaire général / ADAGP, 1987. petites baraques en bois qui tenaient lieu de loges de marchands, l’édifice, construit entre 1567 et 1572, avait été conçu selon l’organisation désormais traditionnelle, avec une salle du conseil à l’étage et des boutiques au rez-de-chaussée donnant sur un portique ; ce dernier jouait le rôle d’espace intermédiaire avec la place où se tenaient – et se tiennent encore – les marchés de plein air. Contrairement à l’hôtel de ville de Bâle, dont la façade est encore empreinte d’éléments gothiques, celui de Gray conjugue les leçons de l’Italie avec certaines traditions constructives françaises ou propres aux deux Bourgogne (fig. 7).24 Notons que l’hôtel de ville de Lausanne dans le quartier de la Palud, bien qu’éloigné stylistiquement des deux autres parce qu’il a été reconstruit entre 1672 et 1675, conserve les dispositions essentielles de celui qui existait au même emplacement au XVe siècle, avec une halle au blé au rez-dechaussée couverte de voûtes d’arêtes, et une salle du conseil au premier étage.25 Avec des façades de 37 mètres de long à Gray et 24 mètres à Lausanne, les dimensions de ces bâtiments restaient somme toute modestes. Si bien que la halle de Montbéliard (au nord de la Franche-Comté) bâtie à partir de 1536, avec sa grande emprise au sol et une façade de 77 mètres de long, fait figure d’exception dans ce corpus (fig. 8). Il est vrai qu’il ne s’agit pas d’une architecture communale mais d’une commande princière, le comté de Montbéliard ayant appartenu au duché de Württemberg de 1397 à 1793. Censé représenter l’autorité ducale, l’édifice, de plan en U, combinait dans l’aile principale une halle de marché au rezde-chaussée et, à l’étage, des locaux luxueusement aménagés pour accueillir le conseil de régence du comté de Montbéliard. L’aile gauche contenait l’éminage et l’aile droite, la douane. Bâti par les maîtres d’œuvre ducaux, la construction s’étendit sur une centaine d’années, et l’aile nord, qui devait clore le quadrilatère prévu à l’origine, ne fut jamais construite.26 23

D’après J.M. Pérouse de Monclos, Hôtels de ville en France, Paris, 2000, p. 20. 24 Voir C. Claerr-Roussel, Gray (Haute-Saône), Images du Patrimoine n° 183, 1998, pp. 39–42. 25 M. Grandjean, Les monuments d’art et d’histoire du canton de Vaud, la ville de Lausanne, 1965, t. I, pp. 385–397.

26

Sur les halles de Montbéliard, voir L. Sahler, ‘Les halles de Montbéliard’, Mém. soc. Emul. Montbéliard, 1905, pp. 209–230; B. Rochelandet, ‘Les halles de Montbéliard, construction et transformations’, Mém. soc. Emul. Montbéliard, 1991, pp. 367–381; B. Ducouret, Montbéliard, Doubs, Images du Patrimoine n° 55, 1988, pp. 51–53.

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CHRISTIANE ROUSSEL Un corpus hétérogène L’une des premières caractéristiques de ce corpus est son manque évident d’homogénéité. Se côtoient, en effet, des édifices relevant de l’architecture vernaculaire, alors que d’autres appartiennent à l’architecture majeure. En d’autres termes, à côté d’édifices à caractère purement utilitaire s’ajoutent pour d’autres des ambitions esthétiques et symboliques. Dépendant des institutions urbaines, les halles et les boucheries appartiennent surtout à la première catégorie. Le cas de la tuerie de Dijon, dans la deuxième moitié du XVIe siècle, est à cet égard assez exemplaire. 7. Vue d’ensemble de l’hôtel de ville de Gray (Haute-Saône). Les magistrats ne privilégièrent pas l’édifice Cliché Yves Sancey © Inventaire général / ADAGP, 1992. attribué à Hugues Sambin qui présentait cependant une façade dotée d’un certain chic, en tout cas d’une régularité et d’une décoration de bon ton, l’entrée ornée de bossages étant aussi surmontée d’un écu portant les armes de la ville. Après cinquante ans d’hésitation, ils se décidèrent pour un bâtiment traditionnel sur poteaux, très largement ouvert, comme le précédent sans doute, et comme il s’en rencontrait ailleurs (à Besançon, par exemple), parce qu’il s’agissait d’un modèle maintes fois éprouvé, prosaïque mais commode. Dans ce type d’infrastructure, les marques extérieures de richesse ne comptaient pas, mais plutôt la recherche d’un emplacement convenable. Ainsi, avait-on choisi, dans le premier projet, un endroit à l’intérieur des remparts, entre la grosse tour, la porte d’Ouche, le ruisseau du Suzon et le bastion de Guise, c’est-à-dire un lieu à la fois bien protégé, passant et à l’écart des habitations.27 L’exiguïté du site et le débit aléatoire du Suzon plaideront en faveur d’un autre site plus excentré.28 Mais il est important de souligner que ces activités considérées comme polluantes et malodorantes étaient néanmoins toujours installées à l’abri des fortifications car elles constituaient ‘le ventre’ incontournable des agglomérations et qu’il fallait de ce fait les protéger contre toute attaque ennemie. A l’opposé de ce groupe se placent les édifices à fonctions juxtaposées, comme les hôtels de ville avec halle ou boutiques au rez-de-chaussée. En France, à partir du XVIe siècle, les activités marchandes et administratives ont tendance à se séparer. A Besançon, c’est peutêtre au moment de la reconstruction de l’hôtel de ville par l’architecte Richard Maire, entre 1565 et 1573, que la halle drapière créée en 1403 dans une aile sur cour disparut au profit de boutiques qui étaient encore louées à des particuliers au XVIIIe siècle.29 En Franche-Comté, la mode des édifices à fonctions combinées devait subsister jusqu’à la fin de l’Ancien Régime, et connaître une recrudescence importante au XIXe siècle. Selon une élévation de façade de l’architecte Jean-Pierre Gazelot, l’hôtel de ville de Lons-le-Saunier, dans le Jura, construit entre 1735 et 1743, comprenait encore au rez-de-chaussée cinq arcades boutiquières réparties de part et d’autre de la porte d’entrée.30 On peut aussi citer, parmi

27 28 29

Gulczynski 1997, p. 225. Gulczynski 1997, p. 230. A.M. Besançon, BM, DD 52.

30

Elévation conservée aux archives départementales du Jura (Archives municipales, Lons-le-Saunier).

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8. Vue d’ensemble de la halle de Montbéliard (Doubs). Cliché Jérôme Mongreville © Inventaire général / ADAGP, 1987.

9. Plan du rez-de-chaussée du palais de justice de Vesoul (Haute-Saône) par Charles-François Longin en 1763 (Archives départementales de Haute-Saône : C 67). Cliché Denis Pacquelet © M.H., 1986.

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CHRISTIANE ROUSSEL d’autres exemples, deux projets non réalisés de l’architecte bisontin Charles-François Longin pour le palais de justice de Vesoul. Dans le premier, daté de 1755, une grande halle ouverte à trois travées scandées par des piliers, avec les locaux de la mairie à l’étage, était accolée au présidial. Le second, daté de 1763, proposait un bâtiment à cour centrale bordée d’un portique. Ce dernier devait tenir lieu de halle, et la cour servir de marché en plein air (fig. 9).31 Enfin, pour le XIXe siècle, si fécond en édifices à fonctions combinées, notons qu’à Salins-lesBains fut construit en 1837 le seul théâtre-halle de Franche-Comté avec, au rez-de-chaussée, un marché couvert pour les légumes et la volaille, les deux étages supérieurs étant occupés par la salle de spectacle et son foyer.32 Epilogue : vers une révolution hygiéniste au siècle des Lumières Contrairement aux riches cités des Flandres qui élevèrent de somptueux édifices dédiés au commerce, les infrastructures marchandes de la Franche Comté, comme celles de la plupart des villes de France, ne se caractérisent pas, jusqu’à une date assez récente, par une architecture monumentale porteuse d’un message. Même au XVIe siècle dans une ville comme Lyon, considérée comme la capitale bancaire et financière du royaume, “le mythe de l’opulence brilla davantage dans les âmes des humanistes lyonnais que dans la réalité du bâti”.33 En effet, chacun sait que les plans proposés en 1547 par Sebastiano Serlio pour une loge de change et pour un palais des marchands ne furent pas réalisés ; le même sort attendait le projet d’envergure lancé par Henri II d’un marché couvert à cour centrale bordée d’un portique sur trois côtés, accompagné d’une grande salle et de deux petites, de dix-huit magasins et dix-huit réserves, d’une habitation de gardien et de quinze chambres pour loger les marchands.34 Le refus des édiles municipaux était probablement lié à un problème financier. Mais pourquoi auraient-ils consenti à cet effort, puisque l’expression de la renommée de la ville passait par d’autres biais, comme le nombre élevé de boutiques et la diversité des produits qui s’y vendaient, ou encore l’importance des banques de change tout comme celle du trafic fluvial ?35 Quant au pouvoir central, il s’exprimait généralement aussi par d’autres moyens, comme les entrées royales ou la création, à partir du XVIIe siècle, de places dédiées au souverain. Un tout autre état d’esprit animait les villes du nord de l’Europe, gouvernées par de puissantes guildes de marchands. Celles-ci rendaient une sorte de culte aux activités commerciales qui leur rapportaient tant, en érigeant en luxueux monuments des boucheries36 qui relevaient ailleurs de l’architecture vernaculaire. Même si, avant le siècle des Lumières, il existait “une harmonie cachée (…) créée par l’excellente répartition” des activités commerciales à l’intérieur des villes,37 c’est à partir du XVIIIe siècle que l’attitude changea vis-à-vis de celles qui engendraient du désordre et de la malpropreté. Les hommes de cette époque parurent soudain développer leurs cinq sens, en particulier la vue et l’odorat. C’est ce qui ressort par exemple de la lecture des dissertations du concours lancé en 1769–1770 par l’Académie de Besançon sur ‘les embellissements’ de la 31

Projets conservés aux archives départementales de Haute-Saône, C 57. 32 A. Rousset, Dictionnaire géographique, historique et statistique, département du Jura, Lons-le-Saunier, 1858, p. 576. 33 Iacomo, Furone 1999, p. 89. 34 Iacomo, Furone 1999, pp. 139–150; D. Bonnet Saint-Georges, Philibert de l’Orme lyonnais, Lyon, 1993, pp. 62–63 et 170 (les dossiers des archives municipales, 5).

35

Iacomo, Furone 1999, p. 89–90. Les boucheries de Harlem, aux Pays-Bas, construites en 1602, constituent un exemple célèbre. Voir à ce sujet l’article de Konrad Ottenheym dans ce volume. 37 Frédérique Lachaud, ‘Espaces, acteurs et structures de la consommation dans les villes médiévales’, Histoire urbaine, n° 16, juillet 2006, p. 16. 36

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ville.38 Comme d’autres auteurs de ce temps, les rédacteurs insistent sur la propreté comme le garant majeur de l’embellissement. Suivent souvent des descriptions peu ragoûtantes des tueries et boucheries de la ville, celle de Saint-Quentin (à l’extrémité de la Grande rue, au pied du quartier épiscopal) si peu sécurisée – sans doute même en plein air – que régulièrement des bœufs “frappés d’un premier coup bris(ai) ent leurs liens avec un mugissement effroyable” en renversant tout sur leur passage. On insiste ailleurs sur le sang croupi, sur le “vilain ornement” formé sur la place SaintQuentin par les membres palpitants des animaux qu’on venait d’égorger, ou encore sur la puanteur extrême dégagée par la 10. Projet de Claude-Joseph-Alexandre Bertrand pour la fonderie de suif de la boucherie du Bourg. halle au blé de Besançon en 1769 (Bibliothèque municipale Divers emplacements nouveaux sont, bien Besançon : ms 33, Académie © Bibliothèque municipale sûr, proposés pour éloigner ces activités Besançon, 2006). du centre, on imagine même d’installer la boucherie du Bourg sur une île au milieu du Doubs. Le problème des halles n’est pas négligé non plus. Puisqu’il n’y en avait apparemment pas pour la vente des légumes, des œufs et des fromages et que ce commerce encombrait les rues en produisant “un effet ridicule”, certains proposent d’en créer une, l’endroit le plus adéquat étant l’actuelle place de la Révolution où se tenaient depuis toujours les marchés de plein air. Un auteur signale même que, pour le bien public, cette halle devait être ouverte, c’est-à-dire sur poteaux. Dans les halles fermées par des murs, il soupçonne les commerçants de cacher des produits pour favoriser l’enchérissement des prix. Un autre pense que si de pareils établissements décorent peu la ville, c’est ‘l’utilité publique’ qui, comme à Paris, doit être préférée. Chacun critique aussi l’étroitesse et la vétusté de la vieille halle au blé, construite au XVe siècle à l’angle du pont de Battant, et évoque la difficulté d’y accéder. L’architecte bisontin Claude-Joseph-Alexandre Bertrand (1734–1797), reconnu comme étant l’auteur du mémoire n° 15, indique à ce sujet que “les halles sont de tous les édifices publics les plus utiles et les plus négligées”, celles de Besançon n’échappant pas à la règle. Il est le seul à proposer un vrai projet afin de faire de ce lieu, écrit-il, une rencontre entre ville et campagne. Composée de deux bâtiments situés de part et d’autre de l’ancienne place, au centre de laquelle est érigée une fontaine, chaque façade de seize toises de longueur est ornée d’un portique. A la commodité des lieux, terminés côté rivière par une contrescarpe servant d’appui à une balustrade de chaque côté du pont, répond une ordonnance simple et solide, requise pour ce type d’établissement (fig. 10). Au final, rien ne se passa comme prévu. Comme dans beaucoup d’autres villes, les ambitions affichées se heurtèrent aux réalités, mais un changement de mentalité était en marche qui devait s’épanouir pleinement au siècle suivant. 38

A.M. Besançon, BM, ms (Académie) 33.

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CHRISTIANE ROUSSEL Ouvrages fréquemment cités Bailly, Laurent 1998 G.H. Bailly, Ph. Laurent, La France des halles et marchés, Toulouse, 1998. Divorne 1991 F. Divorne, Berne et les villes fondées par les ducs de Zähringen au XIIe siècle, Bruxelles, 1991. Gulczynski 1997 H.S. Gulczynski, L’architecture à Dijon de 1540 à 1620, Paris, 1997. Iacomo, Furone 1999 G. Iacomo, S.E. Furone, Les marchands banquiers florentins et l’architecture à Lyon au XVIe siècle, Paris, 1999. Theurot 1988 J. Theurot, ‘Une opération d’urbanisme : la reconstruction des halles de Dole (1414–1421)’, Travaux de la Société d’Émulation du Jura, 1986–1987 (1988), pp. 295–313. Voisin 1984 J.C. Voisin, ‘La reconstruction des halles de Salins en 1454 : urbanisme et métiers du bâtiment au XVe siècle dans le comté de Bourgogne’, in : F. Lassus (éd.), Mélanges offerts à la mémoire de Roland Fiétier par ses collègues de Besançon (Cahiers d’études comtoises 33), Paris, 1984, pp. 557–573.

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THE WEIGH HOUSE: GOLDEN AGE

AN

ARCHITECTURAL TYPOLOGY

OF THE

DUTCH

Karl Kiem (Universität Siegen)

When considering the building type known as the weigh house, it is necessary to distinguish between buildings that are merely called weigh houses and those that truly possess the architectural characteristics that are specific to this function. Only when these characteristics are present and significantly influence the design of a building, as in the latter instance, can we truly speak of a weigh house. In contrast, buildings that accommodate weighing along with numerous other functions are of little interest for the study of this typology. Therefore, when a distinction is made between weigh houses in the sense of an architectural typology and trade halls that are known as weigh houses, a major discovery is revealed: the architectural typology of the weigh house only appears in Holland.1 The weigh house (poids public, pesa publica, Waage) was a public building that served the wholesale trade. Among other things, this building provided traders with a large weighing beam, which they could share so that each individual did not have to purchase and transport this heavy instrument. As a public institution, the weigh house served to guarantee a reliable measurement of weight. A ruler could grant a city the right to administer a weigh house and require payment of a rental fee, which was in fact a kind of tax. From time to time, wealthy trade cities were able to buy the permanent right to weigh goods and keep the revenues from the weigh house for themselves. In any event, the payment made in the public weigh house was dependent upon the nature and the amount of goods being weighed.2 Generally speaking, the public weigh house did not play an important role in the European city. Neither a building nor a specific place were necessary to accommodate this function, as the weighing instruments could be moved to different locations, and, if necessary, placed outdoors. This flexibility had advantages, as it was often easier to take the weighing instruments to the goods than the other way around. In addition, when the weighing took place outdoors, the size of doorways or the dimensions of the interior did not limit the loading of the trays. Naturally, the serious disadvantage of outdoor weighing was the lack of protection against inclement weather for both the workers and the merchandise. This was somewhat improved when a protective roof was constructed. The multi-functional trade halls In cities with a monopoly on the conduct of trade and storage of wholesale goods, it made sense to accommodate the public weighing facilities within a trade hall, as goods normally had to be stored and sold from inside this building.3 The architectural requirements for this kind of weighing were modest. If the weighing beam was not attached to a frame that was placed on the floor, then it could be hung from a strong beam or vault. To ensure that the goods were only transported short distances, the weighing function was located 1 Kiem 2009. Die Waage als Bautyp, PhD dissertation, University of Amsterdam, 1996 (Published as Kiem 2009). This article is based upon this study and the dissertation will not be cited again in this text.

2 3

Noordegraaf 1990. Nagel 1971.

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KARL KIEM on the ground floor and near to the door. In any event, the free placement of the weighing instruments in the main hall, that is, without being enclosed by partitions, was advantageous, as when space was needed, the weighing trays could be hung up and the area could easily be used for other purposes. In urban trade halls, the task of weighing was just one of many functions taking place in these buildings.4 This holds true regardless of the name given to a building, whether it is called a town hall, a trade hall, a warehouse, a cloth hall, a wine house, etc., or even if it was called a weigh house. In any event, as building typologies, these are all multi-functional, usually multi-storeyed trade halls, where the weighing function does not have any specific outstanding architectural characteristics. This was typical of the manner in which the public weighing function was accommodated in the European city from the Middle Ages to the nineteenth century. The differences in the size and the decoration of the multi-functional trade halls were dependent upon the financial means available to construct them, which was in turn dependent upon the wealth of the individual city or the strength of a ruling, central authority. Thus, large and impressive trade halls are found in Flanders, which possessed relatively independent and rich trade cities.5 In contrast, simple, wooden trade halls with open sides are found in France, which was ruled by a strong central authority.6 Within this spatial and temporal framework, an exception existed in the Republic of the Northern Netherlands (1581–1795) and, most importantly, in the provinces of Holland and Friesland. Here, a significant number of weigh houses was constructed that primarily accommodated the public weighing function. The uppermost floor served various functions and mainly expressed the importance of these buildings within the city. In contrast, the ground floor was completely given over to the equipment necessary for the public weigh house, which, when compared with other similar small European cities, could have a fairly large number of weighing beams. The mono-functional weigh house The forerunner of the kind of weigh houses found in Holland was located in Antwerp. Gilbert van Schoonbeke, a businessman known for his innovative projects, built the weigh house in this city in 1547 (it was destroyed by fire in 1873), which contained an important improvement in the planning of this type.7 Originally the building was designed as a typical, multi-storeyed trade hall with fixed weighing beams installed in the interior. In the end, though, the weigh house in Antwerp was constructed with moveable weighing beams (fig. 1). When they were in use, one arm of the weighing beam could extend outside of the building, so goods no longer had to be brought into the interior. When the work was completed, the weighing beam could be moved back into the building, where it was securely locked inside. To protect the arm of the weighing beam, which extended outside, a canopy was added to the building. The canopy was located at the height of the first floor and affixed to the long side of the building. This detail corresponded to the location of the weighing beams, which were arranged in two rows along the longitudinal axis of the building. The idea of the Antwerp building, furnishing a weigh house with moveable weighing beams, was soon adopted for the construction of the weigh house in Amsterdam (1563, 4

Nagel 1971. F. Schröder, Die gotischen Handelshallen in Belgien und Holland, München, Leipzig, 1914. 6 G.-H. Bailly, Ph. Laurent, La France des halles et marchés, Toulouse, 1998. 5

7 H. Soly, Urbanisme en kapitalisme te Antwerpen in de 16de eeuw: de stedebouwkundige en industriële ondernemingen van Gilbert van Schoonbeke, Brussels, 1977, p. 165 ff.

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DUTCH GOLDEN AGE

1. Weigh House in Antwerp, Floor plan, reconstruction (drawing: Author).

demolished in 1808).8 In Antwerp, the longitudinal plan of the weigh house was originally designed to employ traditional, fixed weighing beams. In Amsterdam, however, the initial planning of the weigh house took into consideration the use of moveable weighing beams. As a result, at the Amsterdam building, which was square in plan, two weighing beams were installed on each of three exterior walls. These six weighing beams were arranged in a U-form along the walls (fig. 2). The canopy was pitched toward the building and covered the working areas around the weighing beam that extended outside. A two-armed, exterior stair leading up to the guardhouse in the first, above ground, floor level was located on the fourth side of the plan (fig. 3). The discovery of a new means to furnish a weigh house in Antwerp should be seen in relation to the role this city enjoyed as a leading centre of world trade. Goods flooded into the city, leading to a specialization of the multi-functional trade halls. In addition, the rapid appropriation of the specialized weigh house in Amsterdam can be explained by the commercial rivalry that existed between these cities. Shortly after the Amsterdam weigh house was constructed, a large number of weigh houses with moveable weighing beams appeared in the province of Holland. Therefore, the Amsterdam weigh house certainly played an important role in this development. However, the Amsterdam weigh house was a bi-functional building, with particular architectural characteristics, including the exterior stairs and a complex programme, that is, the inclusion of the guardhouse. This building must be distinguished from the mono-functional weigh houses that were constructed at a later date. In these examples, the weighing function constituted the 8

A. Fokke Simonz, Historie van de Waag te Amsterdam; de Amsterdamsche waag beschreven en afgebeeld, Amsterdam, 1808.

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KARL KIEM

2. Weigh House in Amsterdam, Floor plan, reconstruction (drawing: Author).

central and most important function of the building and completely occupied the ground floor, while the upper floor accommodated fluctuating uses. In contrast to the multi-functional trade halls, these types were mono-functional weigh houses, that is, buildings that were primarily conceived, designed and built to be used as public weigh houses.

3. Weigh House in Amsterdam, engraving: Claes Jansz. Visscher, around 1610 (Stadsarchief Amsterdam).

Passageway, tower, loggia and composite typess When considering the key architectural characteristics of this building type, the weigh house can be empirically divided into four subtypes. A centrally placed passageway characterizes the first type, known as the passageway type. In this example the weighing beams are fixed on both sides of a passageway. This arrangement is related to the process of weighing, as wagons and carts delivered goods into the building, where they were weighed inside (fig. 4). Previously, the passageway system had appeared in multi-functional trade halls (Deventer, 1528;9 Leeuwarden, 159810). The difference between these two types of buildings is that the floor areas of the mono-functional weigh houses were limited to the weighing function (Workum, 1650;11 Franeker, 1657;12 Dokkum, 175413). The passageway type of weigh house always has a height of two storeys, and is usually situated as a free-standing building (fig. 5).

9

K. Kiem, ‘Die Waage von Deventer (1528) als Handelshalle’, Bulletin van de Koninklijke Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond 93, 1994, pp. 53–61. 10 W. Eekhoff, Geschiedkundige beschrijving van Leeuwarden van den vroegsten tijd tot den jare 1846, 2 vols., Leeuwarden, 1846 (reprint 1967). 11 T. H. Siemelink, Geschiedenis van de stad Workum, Buitenpost, 1978 (reprint, originally Workum, 1903).

12

Files, Franeker City Archive, Inv. no. 1053. G. I. W. Dragt, ‘Over de Waag te Dokkum naar aanleiding van een tekening door F. J. van der Elst’, in: Streekmuseum “Het Admiraliteitshuis” gevestigt te Dokkum: jaarverslag 1983, Dokkum, 1984, pp. 30–44.

13

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The second type of mono-functional weigh house can be called the tower type. This type is always placed at the corner of a town block, has two similar street facades and possesses a square plan (fig. 6). The width of the building was kept fairly small, so that it was only possible to have one gateway on each street side. The weighing beam, placed in the interior, was fixed and was located directly on axis with the gateway. The name of this type derives from its tower-like appearance, as its width is smaller than its height. It is also the only type that has three storeys (fig. 7). Two weigh houses (Haarlem, 1598;14 Makkum, 169815) fully conform and one (Arnhem, 176816) largely conforms to this definition. The third group of weigh houses, the loggia type, is characterized by a row of five gateways arranged on the front façade (Hoorn, 1609;17 Monnickendam, 1669;18 Rotterdam, 170319). In this type, a weighing beam is located in the interior of the building behind every gateway (fig. 8). These weighing beams are moveable, like the ones used in Amsterdam and Antwerp. The loggia type of weigh house is always found on a corner site. It is distinguished from the common urban loggia or arcade, because the gateways can be closed off with wooden doors. In addition, a canopy was constructed to protect the arm of the weighing beam, which could be moved outdoors, against inclement weather (fig. 9). In contrast to the monumental tower type, this building was primarily designed to respond to more functional needs. A fourth kind of mono-functional weigh house was developed from the characteristics found in the tower and the 14 K. Kiem, ‘Ideal und Wirklichkeit. Die Identifizierung des Entwurfs für die Waage von Haarlem: Lieven de Key, 1598’, Architectura 25, 1996, no. 1, pp. 24–32. 15 A. J. Wijnsma, De Waag in Makkum; symbool van een dorp met stedelijke allures, Leeuwarden, 1988. 16 J. van Veen, ‘De Waag te Arnhem’, Buiten 18, 1924, no. 3, pp. 32–33.

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4. Weigh House in Workum, Floor plan, reconstruction (drawing: Author).

5. Weigh House in Workum, View from the north, 1924 (RCE, Amersfoort) 17

K. Kiem, ‘De Waag van Hoorn in gevaar’, Heemschut, 1987, nos. 7/8, pp. 16–17. 18 J. J. F. W. van Agt, De Nederlandse monumenten van geschiedenis en kunst, deel VIII, de provincie Noordholland, eerste stuk, Waterland en omgeving, ‘s-Gravenhage, 1953. 19 R. H. Krans, ‘Wikken en wegen voor handel en fiscus: de Rotterdamse waag’, Rotterdams Jaarboekje 19, 1991, pp. 181–210.

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6. Weigh House in Haarlem, Floor plan, reconstruction (drawing: Author).

7. Weigh House in Haarlem, View from the west, after 1915 and before 1935 (RCE, Amersfoort).

loggia types. This weigh house combined the advantageous qualities of both types, while it largely avoided their disadvantages, such as the monumental appearance and functional problems. Therefore, it can be called a composite type. Concerning its functionality, this building contained moveable weighing beams and a canopy, which was included on the exterior for protection. Nevertheless, it had a monumental appearance (fig. 10). This favourable combination was achieved through a single gateway, placed on the front façade, although the moveable weighing beam behind this opening was not given a protective canopy. Meanwhile, the moveable weighing beams located on the side façades were fitted with canopies to protect them against inclement weather (Leiden, 1658;20 Gouda, 166821). The composite type was constructed as a free-standing building, although it was designed to fit into an existing urban context (fig. 11). In addition to these new buildings, in Holland in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, a number of existing trade halls were converted to single-function weigh houses. The example of Enkhuizen (1559 and 1601) shows, on one hand, how such a building could be fitted with moveable weighing beams and, on the other, how the weighing function only occupied half of the ground floor (fig. 12).22 This was also the case of the weigh

20

Terwen and Ottenheym 1993, pp. 186–190. Terwen and Ottenheym 1993, pp. 190–193. 22 H. M. van den Berg, De Nederlandse monumenten van geschiedenis en kunst, deel. VIII, de provincie 21

Noordholland, tweede stuk, Westfriesland, Tessel en Wieringen, ‘s-Gravenhage, 1955.

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house in Dokkum (1593 and 1754), which was built on the foundation of a multifunctional trade hall. In addition to the weigh house, a guardhouse was placed in the ground floor. The mono-functional weigh house: an exception in Holland When considering the mono-functional weigh house as a completely developed type that can be classified into four sub-groups in regards to the region where it appeared and the period of time when it was constructed, another astounding finding is revealed: disregarding precedents – such as the 8. Weigh House in Hoorn, Floor plan, reconstruction (drawing: Author). small related structures and multi-functional trade halls –, one discovers that all of the buildings that can be considered as mature weigh house types only appeared in the territory of the Republic of the Northern Netherlands (1581–1795) (fig. 13). Furthermore, these buildings were largely constructed in the provinces of Holland and Friesland. If the four sub-groups are divided into prototypes and their ensuing variants, then all of the basic, typological solutions that have been discussed were developed during the period known as the ‘Golden 9. Weigh House in Hoorn, View from the southwest, before 1930 (RCE, Century’ (fig. 14). Amersfoort). Comparisons with Germany, England, France, Italy, Austria, Poland and Spain demonstrate that buildings known as weigh houses were rare in these countries. When these structures are more closely considered, they turn out to be multi-functional trade halls, and not mono-functional weigh houses. For example, this is true of the trade halls known as weigh houses located

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10. Weigh House in Gouda, Floor plan (drawing: Author).

in Braunschweig23 (1534), Neiße24 (1606; today Nysa) or Edinburgh25 (1352–1820). In these 11. Weigh House in Gouda, View from instances, the buildings are more or less arbithe west (photograph: J. G. van Agtmaal, trarily identified as weigh houses, although undated). they contained many other functions and/or possessed no significant architectural characteristics of this type. For example, this is also the case of the manor house weighing tower in Schaffhausen.26 Here, the weighing function was integrated into this residential tower, dating from 1299, that was occupied by the lord of the town. Furthermore, the use of moveable weighing beams is not known outside Holland. Therefore, one can conclude that the building type of the mono-functional weigh house did not appear in feudal, absolutist Europe (and most probably did not exist anywhere else in the world). One exception that confirms this rule is the weigh house in the Estonian city of Narva (1741), as the architecture of this city was largely based upon examples from the Netherlands, such as the weigh house in Leiden.27 When architectural theory is investigated, a similar result occurs. For example, the building type of the weigh house was not discussed in contemporaneous architectural theoretical literature. Once again, there is an exception to this rule found in the ‘Instruction on the Art of Civic Building’ by Johann Friedrich Penther, published in 1748.28 In this book, only one existing

23

K. Kablitz, ‘Die archäologischen Ausgrabungen auf dem Gelände der Alten Waage in der Braunschweiger Neustadt’, in: M. R. W. Garzmann (ed.), Die Alte Waage in der Braunschweiger Neustadt: Ausgrabungsbefunde, Geschichte des Weichbildes Neustadt, Rekonstruktion und Platzgestaltung, Braunschweig, 1993, pp. 9–50. 24 H. Lutsch, Die Kunstdenkmäler des Reg.-Bezirks Oppeln, Breslau, 1894, p. 109. 25 D. Daiches, Edinburgh, London, 1978; also: Kiem 1996, note 462.

26

R. Frauenfelder, Die Kunstdenkmäler des Kantons Schaffhausen, Band 1, Die Stadt Schaffhausen, Basel, 1951. 27 S. Karling, Narva; eine baugeschichtliche Untersuchung, Stockholm, 1936. 28 Johann Friedrich Penther, Vierter Theil der ausführlichen Anleitung zur Bürgerlichen Bau-Kunst, worin von publiquen weltlichen Gebäuden, als von fürstlichen Residenz-Schlössern…, Augspurg, 1748.

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example of a weigh house is mentioned, namely the weigh house in Amsterdam. Somewhat off the mark, Johann Friedrich Penther included his own design for a weigh house, which apparently was never used as a model for a realized building. Therefore, it can be assumed that the mono-functional weigh house came about through a process of trial and error where different solutions were developed, varied, combined and modified. The Dutch weigh house as an expression of its political and economical role 12. Secondary built-in, moveable weighing beam in the weigh house The unique development of in Enkhuizen (Measured drawings constructed by the author with the architectural typology of the weigh students from the Technical University Berlin; publication drawing by house within the territory and during Martin Bücker). the existence of the Republic of the Northern Netherlands suggests a connection between the phenomena of this type and the special political, economical and cultural conditions that existed in this state. One key factor is found in the area of trade. In contrast to the other areas of feudal absolutist Europe, the requirement for travelling merchants to store goods for sale in a city’s trade hall when they were brought to be exchanged and sold within a particular territory was completely abolished in the Republic of the Northern Netherlands.29 With this decision, the multi-functional urban trade hall lost its most important function as a place for storage. As a result, the secondary weighing function that was also accommodated in these buildings assumed a more independent role. This change brought about the development of the special building type, the weigh house. As has been noted, the mono-functional weigh houses were concentrated in the provinces of Holland and Friesland, located in the Northern Netherlands. Besides the abolition of the requirement to store goods, there were other factors that led to the development of a mono-functional weigh 13. Distribution of the mono-functional weigh house. When they are compared, a fundamental difference houses (drawing: Author). in the commercial, agrarian development within the seven provinces of the Republic of the Northern Netherlands becomes apparent. The provinces of Holland and Friesland had a unique, highly innovative and extremely profitable cattle-breeding industry at their disposal that was geared toward the production of dairy products. However, the commercial, agrarian development in the other provinces was, in general, not only less

29

O. Gönnenwein, Das Stapel- und Niederlagsrecht, Weimar, 1939.

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14. Mono-functional weigh houses in the Netherlands, plan typology (Author: publication drawing by Christina Strasse).

specialized, but was also rather inefficient.30 Therefore, these differences had a direct influence upon the development of the typology of the weigh house since amounts of grain could easily be measured with a hollow device like a cup or a container, but butter and cheese had to be weighed. When the output of dairy products was so great that one arrives at a ‘critical mass’, where the establishment of a public weigh house containing two weighing beams is necessary, it becomes worthwhile to build an independent weigh house. The variations in the sub-types of the mono-functional weigh houses arising in the provinces of Holland and Friesland can also be explained by the differences that existed in the commercial agrarian development in these two provinces. While milk was largely used to produce cheese in Holland, in Friesland it was predominantly used to make butter.31 As this foodstuff was sensitive to the rays of the sun, it was preferable to weigh these products in the interior of the building. Therefore, it made sense to employ the passageway type. Meanwhile, as loaves of cheese could be easily stored in front of a weigh house, they could be weighed with moveable weighing beams that were brought out to the exterior of a building. The analysis of the weigh houses in the Netherlands also reveals an extremely important function of this building type which goes beyond the measurement of commercial foodstuffs. Namely, the public weigh house also served as a tax-collecting office. Because

30

De Vries 1974.

31

De Vries 1974.

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the tax payable was dependent upon the weight of each individual good or product sold on the market, this was a logical combination of functions. In addition, these items were legally required to be weighed.32 As public weigh houses provided cities with an important source of income, they acquired a sophisticated, monumental design. Therefore, the Dutch weigh houses are usually larger than the surrounding dwellings. In Gouda a law even existed stating that the eaves of the dwellings surrounding the weigh house were not to be higher than the eaves of this building. After the completion of the weigh house in Hoorn, reducing the height of the neighbouring buildings was even considered. Furthermore, the façades of the weigh houses were often constructed out of expensive stone, in contrast to the brick normally used for residential buildings. Last but not least, weigh houses were often designed by the best architect that a small city could hire. With their proliferation during the period of and within the territory of the Republic of the Northern Netherlands, the architectural type of the weigh house should be viewed as a significant symbol of this society. While the economic importance of their spectacular foreign trade is often overvalued, it was in fact the especially intensive agrarian production that decisively provided the basis for the unique material prosperity of the Netherlands, most notably during the seventeenth century.33 Furthermore, the development of this building type, with its complex moveable constructions needed for the weighing beams, demonstrates the high degree of innovation and technological sophistication the Dutch achieved during the seventeenth century.34 The typology of the weigh house, therefore, should be seen as an architectural equivalent to the other leading achievements that Dutch culture produced throughout the seventeenth century. Frequently cited works Kiem 2009 K. Kiem, Die Waage. Ein Bautyp des Goldenen Jahrhunderts in Holland, Berlin 2009. Nagel 1971 G. Nagel, Das mittelalterliche Kaufhaus und seine Stellung in der Stadt; eine baugeschichtliche Untersuchung an südwestdeutschen Beispielen, Berlin, 1971. Noordegraaf 1990 L. Noordegraaf, ‘De Waag: schakel in de pre-industriële economie’, in: C. H. Slechte and N. Herweijer (eds.), Het waagstuk; De geschiedenis van waaggebouwen en wegen in Nederland, Amsterdam, 1990, pp. 11–25. Terwen and Ottenheym 1993 J. J. Terwen, K. A. Ottenheym, Pieter Post (1608–1669); Architect, Zutphen, 1993. De Vries 1974 J. de Vries, The Dutch Rural Economy in the Golden Age; 1500–1700, New Haven, CT, and London, 1974.

32 33

Noordegraaf 1990. De Vries 1974.

34

Johan Huizinga, Holländische Kultur des siebzehnten Jahrhunderts, Jena, 1933.

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1. Detail from Simon Stevin’s ground plan of an ideal city (Materiae Politicae, ed. Hendrick Stevin, Leiden 1649). For the complete plan, see fig.8 on page 23.

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Konrad Ottenheym (Universiteit Utrecht) Introduction In the early years of the seventeenth century Simon Stevin laid out his ideas for an ideal city, probably as part of his instructions for the newly founded Duytsche Mathematique, the training college for surveyors and military engineers next to the University of Leiden.1 His plan, as published posthumously by his son in 1649, shows a rectangular city with a perpendicular grid of streets and canals and with regular rectangular blocks of buildings (see the illustration in the contribution by Goudeau, page 23).2 Stevin deals mostly with practical solutions. He discusses logistical problems and best practices for the division of various functions within the city walls. The position of public buildings within the urban structure therefore becomes a crucial point in its organisation. His theoretical design shows various focal points. The feudal lord, if any, has his residence not in the centre but close to the city walls in order to give him free entrance and exit. There are four minor churches in the four quarters of the city and four market places, each for a particular commodity; grain, wood, stone and livestock. There is a political centre with the town hall accompanied by a prison (to its left) and the house of correction (to its right) and the main church. The main square, between the town hall and the church, also serves as the exchange, the commercial centre of the city. This area is flanked by two secondary centres. Below on the plan we find the main social institutions, the university and poor men’s hospital. Above the main square the local trade centre is situated with a market place for daily food supply. Here we find the Vis-Huys (Fish House) as well as the Vlees-Huys (Meat House) symmetrically arranged as two equal institutions (fig. 1). According to this theoretical scheme, selling fish and selling meat deserved two more or less equal building types, both located not very far from the epicentre of civic prestige. In fact there were few cities in Holland where fish and meat halls were situated as ‘twins’ in the way Stevin designed them, including Delft and Haarlem. In Delft, the fish market and meat hall are next to each other on corner of the street just behind the main square of the city (fig. 2).3 In Haarlem they stood close to each other at the main square of the city, just in front of the church of St Bavo. In most other Dutch cities meat and fish markets were located independently, without any relationship in their situation at all. From the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when cities all over Europe became more crowded, the selling of essential foodstuffs became more regulated and city authorities started to gain control over these food supplies. In the fifteenth century, and in most cities even before that, the civic authority had created regulations for selling perishable goods. To keep control of the retail of fish and meat, trade was only allowed at specific, appointed locations at specific, appointed times. The purpose of these centralising regulations was twofold: it was much easier to collect taxes and, even more important, in this way it was possible to guarantee the quality 1 C. van den Heuvel, ‘Simon Stevin, de Crychkonst en de Duytsche Mathematique’, in: G. Vanden Berghe et al., Simon Stevin (1548–1620). De geboorte van de nieuwe wetenschap, (Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België), Turnhout, 2004, pp. 103–113; C. van den Heuvel, ‘De Huysbou’. A reconstruction of an unfinished treatise on architecture, town planning and civil engineering by Simon Stevin, (History of Science and Scholarship in the Netherlands, 7), Amsterdam, 2005.

2

Simon Stevin, Materiae Politicae, ed. Hendrick Stevin, Leiden, 1649. 3 E.H. Ter Kuile, ‘De Vleeshal te Delft’, Bulletin van de Koninklijke Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond, 1962, col. 35–42; R. Meischke, ‘Het klassicisme van 1620–1660’, in: R. Meischke et al. (eds.), Delftse Studiën, Assen, 1967, pp. 171–186 (esp. 181–182).

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2. Delft, Fish market and meat hall (1650). Engraving by C. Decker from R. Boitet, Beschryving der Stadt Delft, Delft, 1729.

of the food. On these locations provided by the city government, products offered to the public were under constant control of independent inspectors appointed by the city. So far, fish and meat are treated the same way but in fact there is a great difference in architecture for selling fish and that for selling meat. Fish markets, even the more distinguished, always maintained their open air ‘market’ character, a portico construction on wooden or stone pillars, while meat halls were always installed in dark and cool inner spaces. Perhaps even more significantly, there was apparently a great distinction in prestige between these two building types. Fish Fresh-water fish from the rivers and lakes surrounding the city was sold at the fish market or directly from boats by the fishermen who were inhabitants of the city. Sea fish, supplied by fishermen from outside the city (from villages at the coast), had to pass a formal procedure before being offered to the public. We must be aware that the sea fish sold at the market had been taken from its natural environment several hours before: first the fishwives had brought it to the town where it was sold at auction to local fishmongers under strict control of the city. The local fishmongers would sell it to the public at the fish market. Only on specific market days were fishwives allowed to sell sea fish directly to the public. The fish auction took place on a designated site in the city. In some Dutch cities a permanent open-air construction for the fish auction was erected: an enclosure surrounded by a wooden or iron fence with a small brick or wooden cabin for the auctioneer and wooden benches for the buying fishmongers. In Goes, a city in the province of Zeeland, such a fish auction place still exists with an octagonal brick auctioneer’s cabin (fig. 3). In its present form it dates from 1647 but the earliest mention of such

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a structure on this site is from 1625.4 Here the auctioneer took his seat in the octagonal building at nine o’clock in the morning while the fish was displayed to prospective buyers, mostly women, who sat on the wooden benches from which they made their bids. They communicated with the auctioneer through a shutter. Two controllers kept strict control of the quality of the fish as well as keeping order during the auction since fishmongers were famous for their fractious disputes and quarrels. This auction place was in operation until 1920. The fish was sold to the public at the fish market. The form and construction of these markets remained almost unchanged over the course of time. The system used today at open-air markets does not differ very much from the traditional market stall of several centuries ago: a table with some kind of roof above, available as a transportable system or as a permanent construction. The latter was made of wood, sometimes with stone columns, covered by tiles. In short, most fish markets were mere utilitarian constructions, designed to offer shade to the perishable foodstuff in summertime and to offer some protection against bad weather to fishmongers and the buying public. One point that always returns in the regulations 3. Goes (Zeeland), open air fish auction space, on fish trade is the need for fresh air to drive out the 1646 (photo c. 1900, Gemeente archief Goes). bad smells. Open portico constructions were the essential characteristic of fish markets. Strict regulations also existed for the removal of waste and again preventing and expelling bad smells was the aim of these rules. In Amsterdam the fish market was located at the waterside on Dam square.5 This position with the Amstel river on both sides offered excellent facilities to deliver the fish by boat and to throw all waste into the water after cleaning the fish, while fresh air was assured by the windy location. In Haarlem the fishmongers insisted on having their selling point at the very heart of the commercial centre, on the great market square and not at the edge, by the river Spaarne. Thus a new fish market was erected in 1601–1603 at the north side of the church of St Bavo.6 The shadow of this massive church was to protect the fish market from the heat of the sun. Apparently this worked too well, since after a while the fishmongers asked for permission to enclose the back of the market with a wall, to protect them from the cold wind. This wall had many shutters that were opened on warmer days in order to allow streams of air to pass. Another repetitive problem at all fish markets was the cleaning of the street afterwards, since the remaining rubbish was a serious source of malodorous smells. The city of Haarlem appointed a special assistant for this job. In some other Dutch cities, domesticated storks with clipped wings were used for this purpose.7 4

A.J. van Dissel, ‘Het visperk te Goes’, Bouwen in Nederland. Leids Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek 3, Delft, 1985, pp. 121–130. The octagonal building was carefully reconstructed in 1912. 5 R.E. Kistemaker, ‘De Amsterdamse markten van omstreeks 1300 tot 1815’, in: Idem, Amsterdam marktstad, Amsterdam, 1984, pp. 15–93.

6

I. van Beek-Mulder and M. Polman, De hallen van Haarlem. De Vis-, Vlees- en Verweyhal op de Grote Markt in Haarlem (Kleine Monumentenreeks), Zwolle, 1993, pp. 11–22. 7 This was the case in Delft, Utrecht, The Hague and Zwolle. These civil storks are often depicted on paintings of seventeenth-century Dutch fish markets. See, for example, Hendrick Martensz. Sorgh, ‘De Vismarkt’, c. 1650,

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KONRAD OTTENHEYM The market was always divided in two parts; one for sea fish, the other for fresh-water fish. In some cities there were even two distinct market places for the different types of fish. In all cases, dried and salted fish was sold elsewhere. Unlike the situation elsewhere in continental Europe, where fish was expensive and regarded as luxury food, in seventeenth-century Holland, fish was the most common food; even poor people could afford it.8 The fish market was the retail outlet for the common people and the poor. Wealthy people bought their fish directly at the door, since fishmongers were allowed at certain hours to peddle their wares along the streets, and we can imagine they sold the most expensive 4. Heusden, fish market, 1796 (photo: author). species in the more distinguished urban quarters at those occasions. Perhaps the low social status of the public frequenting them caused fish markets in the seventeenth century to remain rather undistinguished buildings. This changed in the second half of the eighteenth century. In this period the quantities of fish in sea and rivers were diminishing: even in Holland fish became more expensive.9 In this period we see the petrification of the market stall construction, as well as a certain ‘upgrading’ towards a nobler appearance, almost like an antique stoa, with stone columns and roofs covered with slate. In many cities in Holland such fish markets with classical colonnades from around the 1770s can be found, as, for example, in Haarlem where the former fish market of 1601 was replaced in 1766, in Zaltbommel in 1776, and in Heusden in 1796 (fig. 4). Perhaps it was its newly gained status as luxury food that caused the sudden rise of architectural ambition shown in these buildings. Meat Cities were very eager to keep close control of the quality of the meat sold to their inhabitants. Regulations for the fish market mainly aimed at preventing inconvenience to the inhabitants as far as possible. Rules for selling meat, on the other hand, were made to keep control of its quality, and to protect the city from contagious diseases transferred by sick animals. All cities in the Dutch Republic had regulations for meat halls and several of these were published in print.10 Differences between these various civic regulations can be found in details only, like opening hours, holidays etc. In general, selling meat to the public was organised in a rather similar way all over the country. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (ill. in: L.M. Helmus et al., Vis. Stillevens van Hollandse en Vlaamse meesters 1550– 1700, exhibition catalogue Utrecht 2004, cat. no. 60, pp. 342–343); Emanuel de Witte, ‘De Nieuwe Vismarkt te Amsterdam’, 1678, Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, CT (ill. in: A. van Suchtelen and A.K. Weelock Jr., Hollandse stadsgezichten uit de Gouden eeuw, exhibition catalogue The Hague and Washington, DC, Zwolle, 2009, cat. no. 51, pp. 206–207). 8 P. Martens, ‘Visserij en vishandel. De zalm van het Bergse veld’, in: Helmus 2004 (note 7), pp. 121–138.

9

J. de Vries, De economische achteruitgang der Republiek in de achttiende eeuw, Leiden 1968; van BeekMulder, Polman 1993 (note 6), p. 18; W. Frijhoff and M. Prak (eds.), Zelfbewuste stadstaat 1650–1813 (Geschiedenis van Amsterdam II-2), Amsterdam, 2005, p. 265. 10 For Amsterdam, for example, see: Kistemaker 1984 (note 5) and R.E. Kistemaker, ‘Amsterdam’s Municipal Control of Food Supplies’, in: P. van Kessel and E. Schulte (eds.), Rome * Amsterdam. Two growing cities in seventeenth-century Europe, Amsterdam, 1997, pp. 221–234 (meat: pp. 227–231).

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MEAT HALLS City control started when cattle were sold to the butcher for slaughter: the live animals were checked by city inspectors to see that they were healthy. These inspectors also attended the actual slaughter to check the carcasses for any sign of disease and ‘black swellings’, as they called it. In most cities, cattle were slaughtered at the butcher’s own domestic premises. There, cows and oxen could be divided into four parts only, not more. Sheep could not be divided at home. Division of these animals into smaller parts for retail had to be done in the public meat hall where the butcher had to rent a butcher’s board. In the meat hall, independent inspectors appointed by the city kept control of the quality of the meat offered to the public. Butchers were not allowed to slaughter more animals than could be sold in one day. Trade activities in the meat hall were under strict regulations as well: the butcher was allowed to be assisted by his wife or by just one servant. They had to stay behind their own board and any discussion or quarrel with colleagues was strictly forbidden. In the meat hall only beef and mutton was sold. Trade in pork was strictly separated and located elsewhere since pigs were regarded as impure. Also bowels were not sold within the meat hall but elsewhere, under a simple roof at the outside walls of the meat hall, like in Amsterdam, or at another appointed location, like the pens hal opposite the town hall in Leiden (the meat hall was on the ground floor of the town hall).

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5a. Gouda, town hall, 1450–1454, with the meat hall on the right side of the ground floor (photo: Henkjan Sprokholt).

5b. Gouda, town hall, interior of the meat hall.

Meat hall as part of a multifunctional building All cities had strict regulations for selling meat and we have various testimonies that meat halls existed in some cities in the Low Countries as early as in the thirteenth century (Zierikzee in 1248, Delft in 1295). We do not know what these halls looked like. The oldest existing example can be found in the prestigious Halle of Bruges, the multifunctional guild hall and trade centre, dating from the thirteenth century. The meat hall is installed on the ground floor of the right wing. The long row of Doric columns that dominate this space today is the result of modernisation in the early seventeenth century. This shows a kind of prototype since most meat halls were long, rectangular spaces, sometimes divided into two bays by a row of columns and covered by vaults to create a cool space where the meat was protected from direct sunshine. Many meat halls were part of the town hall. Late medieval town halls were multifunctional complexes with meeting rooms for the burgomasters, the city council and the court of justice, as well as spaces for economic and commercial activities such as the cloth hall, weigh house and, in some cases, the civic meat hall, as was the situation in Brussels, for example.

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6a. Nijmegen, meat hall, public weigh house and civic guard (photo: RCE).

6b. Nijmegen, ground-floor plan with the meat hall (left) and public weigh house (right). Drawing by Karl Kiem (Kiem 2009).

6c. Interior of the meat hall of Nijmegen (photo: author)

In this way it is evident that control of the quality of meat was an important responsibility of the city government. The system of the great town halls of Flanders and Brabant could also be found, albeit on a more modest scale, in Holland. A well-known example is the town hall of Gouda, built in 1450–1454 including the seat of the city government as well as the cloth hall and the meat hall, similar to the aforementioned examples (fig. 5).11 The meat hall was located on the ground floor at the back, initially covered by one wide barrel vault. Apparently this was not a stable construction and in 1517–1518 this vault was replaced by four rows of smaller triangular vaults supported by three rows of columns, dividing the space into four bays. This meat hall remained in operation up to 1853. 11

A. Scheygrond (ed.), Het stadhuis van Gouda, Gouda, 1952, pp. 95–97; W. Denslagen (ed.), Gouda (De Nederlandse monumenten van geschiedenis en

Kunst), Zeist, Zwolle, 2001, pp. 212–225 (esp. pp. 218–219).

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The medieval town hall of Leiden also incorporated the meat hall on the ground floor and this situation was continued after the famous new façade of Lieven de Key was erected in 1593.12 In new town halls of the seventeenth century, however, we no longer find a meat hall, nor a cloth hall or indeed any other trade hall. In the time of the Dutch Republic, town halls became more and more reserved for government and the court of justice. Meanwhile mercantile functions had become so important that separate buildings were erected for these purposes. Sometimes new buildings were erected to serve various public functions except government and justice. Apparently such multifunctional buildings were regarded as appendices to the town hall and therefore the architectural ambition is almost equal to that of the town hall. An evident example of such a multifunctional commercial public building was built on the market square of Nijmegen in 1612 (fig. 6).13 The ground floor was used for the weigh house (at the right side) and the meat hall (at the left side), while the upper floor became the guardroom of the civic guard. The weigh house has a ceiling of wooden beams while the meat hall has brick vaults, supported by a row of three columns. The exterior of this building has much in common with the architecture of town halls of that period. It has richly decorated stepped gables and a double staircase at its entrance. The combination of meat hall with other public functions was rather common in Holland. In Amsterdam, from the late sixteenth century, the main meat hall in the city centre was located in the former chapels of St Peter’s hospital and of St Margaret’s abbey at the Nes, between the Rokin and the Oudezijdsvoorburgwal (fig. 7).14 The upper floor of the latter was in use as an anatomical theatre and fencing school. Another meat hall was erected in 1619 in the new western extension of the city between the Keizers- and the Prinsengracht, not far from the Westerkerk.15 Here too, the upper floor was in use as a guardroom. Notwithstanding its utilitarian function, the location was rather prominent and the architecture refined, with pilasters framing the ground floor, an upper storey with pilasters of a colossal Tuscan/Doric order, and a double staircase leading to the rooms of the civic guard (demolished in 1857). Monofunctional meat halls Monofunctional meat halls also existed. Commonly these buildings contained one large ground floor hall, sometimes vaulted like the meat halls in the town halls, sometimes covered by wooden beams. The oldest examples of this type are found, again, in the great cities of the Southern Low Countries. As in the history of many other public building types, the large population and huge scale of the cities in Flanders in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and in Brabant in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries stimulated the development of various specialised building types. The developments in Holland in the seventeenth century are in fact the continuation of these processes. The earliest example of such a monofunctional meat hall on a really grand scale is the Groot Vleeshuis (Great Meat Hall) at Ghent from 1409. Situated in the very heart of the city not far from the town hall and built in white stone and covered by a huge wooden

12

H.A. van Oerle, Leiden. Een multidisciplinaire benadering van het process der stadwording en de ontwikkeling van het oudste stadsgebied in de middeleeuwen, Leiden, 1974, pp. 88–91; R. Meischke, ‘Een nieuwe gevel voor het Leidse stadhuis (1593–1598)’, Leids Jaarboekje 81, 1989, pp. 55–83. 13 J.M.G.M. Brinkhoff, ‘De waag in eer hersteld’, Numaga 3, 1977, September, pp. 65–72; K. Kiem,

Die Waage. Ein Bautyp des Goldenen Jahrhunderts in Holland, Berlin 2009, pp.39–42. 14 W. Frijhoff and M. Prak (ed.), Zelfbewuste stadstaat 1650–1813 (Geschiedenis van Amsterdam II-2), Amsterdam, 2005, pp. 266, 273–278. 15 K.A. Ottenheym, P.Rosenberg, and N. Smit, Hendrick de Keyser, Architectura Moderna. Moderne bouwkunst in Amsterdam 1600–1625, Amsterdam, 2007, pp. 104–105.

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KONRAD OTTENHEYM roof, it is a structure that even today does not fail to impress the visitor. The meat hall of Antwerp dates from 1501–1504 (fig. 8), and was designed by the city’s most important architect, Hendrick II de Waghemakere, and his son Domien.16 This building too, is a free-standing rectangular structure, a number of storeys high, covered by one, huge saddleback roof with tall turrets at the corners. Its architecture is dignified with a high rising stepped gable and walls with zones of bricks alternating with courses of white stone. This resembles rather closely the so-called ‘manner of Brabant’ that was typical of the residences of the high Burgundian nobility at that time.17 The interior of 7. Interior of the ‘great meat hall’ of Amsterdam, installed in a former the ground floor is one large space chapel after the Reformation (drawing Pieter van den Berge c. 1690, divided into two bays by a row of six Stadsarchief Amsterdam). pillars that provided room for sixtytwo counters. The space is covered by rib vaults. In one of the corners at the back of the hall was a chapel, separated from the hall by a screen wall. The upper floor was reached by spiral staircases installed in three of the five turrets flanking the building. On this level the butchers’ guild had its meeting rooms as well as a larger space for ceremonial occasions. The immense attic had no other purpose than the storage of goods. Separate meat halls were built in the northern parts of the Low Countries from the fifteenth century onward, albeit on a lesser scale compared with the magnificent examples in the south. In Utrecht the meat hall was originally located rather close to the town hall, but after a serious revolt of the butchers this hall was closed in 1432 and instead two new halls were built in more distant quarters of the city. One of these still exists (at the Lange Nieuwstraat, next to St Catharine’s church), a modest utilitarian brick building with just four walls and a roof, nothing more. More civic prestige was involved in the new meat hall of Kampen in 1557.18 In fact this was the transformation and modernisation of an existing house with a new façade all’antica in sandstone with pilasters, masks and probably a scrolled gable on top. The work was supervised by Lambert Stuurman, a master mason and stone trader with an international network that extended even to Gdansk. As a building type it follows 16

P. Genard, ‘Notices sur les architectes Herman (le Vieux) et Dominique de Waghemakere’, Bulletin des commissions royales d’art et d’archéologie 9, 1870, pp.429–494; S. Migom, “Het paleis onzer beenhouwers”. Het Antwerpse vleeshuis; van vleesbanken tot clavecimbelklanken (Bulletin van de Antwerpse Vereniging voor bodem- en grotonderzoek, 2002-1), Antwerpen, 2002. 17 K. De Jonge, ‘ “Up die maniere van Brabant”. Brabant en de adelsarchitectuur van de Lage Landen (1450– 1530)’, in: De Brabantse stad. Dertiende colloquium,

Leuven 18–19 oktober 2002, (Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis 86 [2003] 3–4), pp. 409–423; K. De Jonge and K.A. Ottenheym (eds.), Unity and Discontinuity. Architectural relationships between the Southern and Northern Low Countries 1530–1700, Turnhout, 2007, pp. 55–62. 18 C. Kolman and R. Stenvert, ‘Nieuwe vormen en traditionele bouw: het Vleeshuis te Kampen in het midden van de 16de eeuw’, Bulletin van de Koninklijke Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond 93, 1994, pp. 81–99.

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the scheme of a traditional private town house, with a rich façade executed in stone, which must have given the building a very prestigious appearance. The rebuilding of the meat hall was paid for by the city authorities and afterwards the hall was rented to the butchers. Upper floors were rented as storage rooms to individual merchants. Notwithstanding the costly detailing of the façade, the enclosed position of the building within a continuous row of private houses was not practical. In 1593 the city of Kampen decided to sell the building and to erect a new free-standing meat hall on the land of the former churchyard. After 1585, when Antwerp was re-conquered by the Spanish, the emigration of a great part of the population towards the north started, causing an unprecedented growth of the cities in Holland. From the late sixteenth century, the flourishing northern cities commenced various ambitious new public building projects. The expanding population created the need for new and enlarged civic institutions. Finance for prestigious architectural projects was secured by selling the former monastery properties within the city walls that were confiscated by the local authorities after the Reformation. Dutch cities, 8. Antwerp, meat hall, 1501–1504 (photo: author). acting in many aspects more or less as independent city states, expressed their newly gained prestige in building new town halls. Those cities that did not built a new town hall expressed their ambitions in other public buildings. New public buildings were more or less designed as town halls as we have already seen: even mere utilitarian buildings represented the civic authority. This is also how we must understand the remarkable and ostentatious architecture of the meat halls in Haarlem and in Utrecht. Haarlem 1602–1604 The decision to erect a new meat hall in Haarlem was made in the autumn of 1601.19 It was built between 1602 and 1604 by the city stone carver and architect, Lieven De Key who was also responsible for the design.20 The result is a splendid building surpassing any utilitarian form (fig. 9 a,b). It has large cellars which were rented out. The ground floor is just one big hall, divided into two bays by a row of six stone columns supporting the vault (fig. 9 c). The huge attic above was not destined for a proper function and was rented as storage room. The exterior architecture is a showpiece of inventive ornamentation with all kind of sculptured details, among them several ox and sheep heads. The walls and the gables at the front and the rear façade can be understood as variations on the Tuscan order, while the small gables of the side elevation show the superposition of the Doric and Ionic orders. The building history is very well documented. Specific details illustrate very clearly the high ambition of the city government to create not just a hall for selling meat but a true monument of civic prestige. The architect Lieven de Key presented the design to the city council in 19

van Beek-Mulder, Polman 1993 (note 6), pp. 40–69.

20

A. van der Blom, Lieven de Key, Haarlems stadsbouwmeester. Een Vlaamse emigrant en zijn rijke nalatenschap, Haarlem, 1995.

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KONRAD OTTENHEYM

9a. Haarlem, meat hall, 1601, exterior (photo: author).

9b. Haarlem, entrance of the meat hall in front of the Bavo Church, 1601 (photo: author)

1601 with two variations for the façade: one with a broad classical pediment and a flat roof behind, the other, more expensive, with a stepped gable and a steep roof.21 The total costs of the building were estimated at 18,162 pounds. The solution with a pediment and a flat roof would have been 250 pounds cheaper (1.5 % of the total sum) but the more expensive solution was chosen. Evidently the city council was not looking for a modest solution for this utilitarian function. They wanted to create a showpiece of architectural and civic splendour, a monument of their authority with the city’s coat of arms on top. The same attitude dominated decisions on solutions for other details. The difference in cost between stone or wooden windows was 600 pounds (approx. 4 %) and again the more expensive solution was preferred. There were two alternatives for the construction of the interior of the hall: to cover it with vaults or not. Again the more expensive solution was chosen, with two rows of vaults supported by stone columns of the Doric order, at an additional cost of 1000 pounds (6 %). A cheaper solution was only pursued for the type of bricks used for the interior walls, with a reduction in costs of 800 pounds (approx. 5 % of the total building sum). Building activities started in 1602 and already in 1603 the city council had to decide how to cover the roof. There were three possibilities; to cover it with tiles, with slate or with lead. The latter solution was chosen, once more the most expensive one, costing 2239 pounds.22

21

Haarlem City Council (Resolutie Vroedschap) 20 November 1601. van Beek-Mulder, Polman 1993 (note 6), p. 41.

22

Haarlem City Council (Resolutie Vroedschap) 22 April, 1603. van Beek-Mulder, Polman 1993 (note 6), p. 45.

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9c. Haarlem, meat hall, 1601, interior, c. 1900 (photo: Gemeentearchief Haarlem).

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10. Utrecht, meat hall, 1637 (photo: author).

The most important decision however was the location. The new meat hall was not erected on the site of its predecessor somewhere behind the main square. Instead it was built very prominently next to the main entrance of the main city church. Four existing houses had to be expropriated and were pulled down. The city created a serious counterpart for the town hall. The town hall of Haarlem was itself a prestigious medieval building.23 The great hall and adjacent rooms were the remains of the former, medieval residence of the Count of Holland. Because of its heritage of feudalism, the ‘old fashioned’ crenellated architecture of the town hall was always regarded with pride and respect (see fig.2 on page 106). In short, in Haarlem it was impossible to modernise the town hall without losing its appeal and distinction. When the city, in the early seventeenth century, felt the need to keep up appearances with neighbouring cities in building impressive new public buildings, the new meat hall may have fulfilled that role to become the expression of civic wealth and prosperity. It must be said, anyhow, that although the city paid for this building, the costs were partly repaid by the butchers, since the rent of the butchers’ benches was raised dramatically after the new building opened its doors (and it was forbidden to sell the meat anywhere else in the town). Utrecht 1637 The same explanation may apply to the situation in Utrecht where, in the seventeenth century, a new meat hall rather than a new town hall was constructed (fig. 10). On 7 November 1636 the city council of Utrecht decided to rebuild the great meat hall on the Voorstraat, one 23

C.W. Royaards, P. Jongens, and H.E. Phaff, Het stadhuis van Haarlem, Haarlem, 1961.

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KONRAD OTTENHEYM of the two halls from 1432 mentioned above. The designs were approved on 3 April 1637. The architect is unknown but perhaps the painter Paulus Moreelse was involved in this project. He was a member of the city council and of the commission that had prepared the project. Moreelse is also known as the architect of a city gate ten years earlier, in 1625.24 The building is in fact one large rectangular space on a building plot stretching from the Voorstraat at the front to a back street, with entrances at both sides. Both façades are designed carefully although the one at the Voorstraat is somewhat enhanced, serving as the main entrance. It has a superposition of Tuscan and Doric pilasters crowned by a neck gable with flanking scrolls. This kind of composition has its origin in Serlio’s models but in the Dutch Republic in the 1630s it was not a yet a common solution. Philips Vingboons would design several variations of this type of façade for houses along the canals in Amsterdam but none of these had been built yet in 1637, since Vingboons’ career as an architectural designer started that same year. In fact, in the Low Countries, this kind of gable, enriched by a broad pediment with curved wings, had so far only been used in the Catholic South on church façades. Conclusion In the Dutch Republic, and especially in the province of Holland, cities were ruled by a class of wealthy merchants and bankers who had direct interests in shipping and trading companies and other commercial concerns. In their view the task of the city government was to create the best opportunities for commerce, from which not only they would profit but the community as a whole as well. The development of several modernised building types in the seventeenth century was the result of an attempt to maintain control over the unprecedented urban growth. The new public buildings were an organised response to the needs of expanding trade in the rapidly growing city. The town hall stood at the top of the hierarchy of building types in these republican cities but the architectural expression of the city’s authority was not restricted to the seat of government. Utilitarian public buildings, too, had a role in the formal representation of the city’s power and prosperity since they housed functions that were integral to the ruling institutions. As a result, all institutional buildings erected by the civil authority in the seventeenth century may be regarded as offspring of the town hall. In some instances the new service building even surpassed the existing town hall in architectural expression. This group of building types includes not only the meat hall but also the cloth hall, weigh house and butter market, in short, the whole mercantile infrastructure. For a long time only the fish market was really regarded as of inferior rank, but this attitude changed in the second half of the eighteenth century. The question remains whether this special attention to these kinds of public buildings was something typical for the Dutch Republic in the seventeenth century or whether it was a wider European phenomenon. Since the overview of the European situation in this specific field is still incomplete it will not be possible to answer this question. Some isolated examples from abroad suggest a similar attitude, as the magnificent Meat Hall of Augsburg by Elias Holl of 1606–1609 and the New Meat Hall of Brussels from 1697 illustrate.25

24

M.D. Ozinga, ‘Paulus Moreelse als architect’, Oudheidkundig Jaarboek, 1931, pp.18–25. The work was executed by the stone carver and master mason Joannes van Dreesden. 25 B. Roeck, Elias Holl. Architekt einer europäischen Stadt, Regensburg, 1985, pp. 108–112; M. Culot et

al., Le bombardement de Bruxelles par Louis XIV et la reconstruction qui s’en suivit 1695–1700, Brussels, 1992, pp. 222–225; G. Meyfroots, ‘Het Comité d’études du Vieux Bruxelles (1903–1939): vier decennia in de marge van de monumentenzorg’, Monumenten & Landschappen 20, 2001, no. 2, pp. 8–33.

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Part Four. Education

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LE RENOUVEAU DES CHANTIERS DE COLLÈGES PARISIENS AUX XVIE

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XVIIE

SIÈCLES

Aurélie Perraut

Après une phase d’expansion décisive aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles, les chantiers des collèges de Paris connurent une brusque interruption due aux troubles de la guerre de Cent ans et à la lutte entre Bourguignons et Armagnacs. Certains établissements ne se relevèrent jamais des pillages et désertions engendrés par ce contexte politique difficile. En mai 1418, au moment de l’entrée des troupes bourguignonnes dans la capitale, les collèges proches du pouvoir royal ou dont les sympathies armagnaques étaient notoires subirent les dégradations les plus importantes. Le collège royal de Navarre, par exemple, fut dévasté. Pendant l’occupation anglaise et même après la reprise de la ville par le roi Charles VII (1436), leurs bâtiments furent laissés à l’abandon, certains demeurant à l’état de ruines. En effet, la plupart des édifices médiévaux ne furent restaurés ou rebâtis qu’à partir du règne de Louis XI.1 Le tournant du XVIe siècle marqua une étape charnière dans le développement des collèges parisiens. À l’instar de nombreuses églises paroissiales,2 ces fondations universitaires participèrent au grand renouveau de la construction courante et religieuse dans la capitale. Les nombreuses séries comptables conservées pour cette période trahissent en effet une effervescence constructive dans le milieu scolaire parisien : plusieurs collèges – modestes ou de premier plan – firent l’objet de lourds travaux destinés à améliorer les conditions d’hébergement des écoliers mais également à assurer le bon déroulement des cours et la prise en charge de pensionnaires et d’externes toujours plus nombreux. Or, ce phénomène allait à l’encontre de la destination première de ces établissements. À l’origine, les collèges devaient simplement offrir le gîte et le couvert à quelques étudiants bénéficiant d’une bourse allouée selon les dispositions statutaires de la fondation. En 1452, le cardinal Guillaume d’Estouteville, légat pontifical, réforma l’Université de Paris.3 Une des nouvelles directives prévoyait que tous les étudiants seraient tenus de suivre les cours dans un collège et de ne plus en changer, provoquant un afflux sans précédent de jeunes gens dans ces institutions souvent ruinées et mal équipées pour les accueillir. Dès lors, la relève des fondations médiévales devenait une nécessité absolue. À partir des dernières décennies du XVe siècle, on peut observer, en parallèle, la création de nouveaux centres intellectuels dans la capitale : les collèges modernes, dont les aménagements se révélèrent souvent bien plus spectaculaires que ceux réalisés dans les établissements antérieurs. Parmi les nouveaux collèges parisiens, le plus précoce fut celui de Sainte-Barbe, haut lieu de l’enseignement humaniste ouvert en 1460, dirigé pendant plusieurs décennies par d’anciens maîtres du collège de Navarre.4 À Paris, le succès et le prestige des enseignements d’humanités ne se démentirent pas au XVIe siècle, enrichis de nouvelles disciplines telles que l’hébreu, le grec et plusieurs autres langues orientales. En 1530, François Ier fonda le Collège royal5 dans un contexte d’émulation intellectuelle particulièrement favorable, en attribuant

1 A. Tuilier, Histoire de l’université de Paris et de la Sorbonne, t. 1 : Des origines à Richelieu, Paris, 1994, p. 211. 2 A. Bos, Les Églises flamboyantes de Paris XVe–XVIe siècles, Paris, 2003.

3 H. Denifle et E.Châtelain (éd.), Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis, Paris, 1889–1897, t. 4, 2690. 4 J. Quicherat, Histoire de Sainte-Barbe : collège, communauté, institution, 3 vol., Paris, 1860. 5 Aujourd’hui Collège de France.

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AURÉLIE PERRAUT des chaires de lecteurs en grec.6 L’impact de cette création royale fut assez minime sur le plan monumental, dans la mesure où aucune construction nouvelle n’était prévue à l’origine. Au début du XVIIe siècle toutefois, il fallut se résoudre à investir des bâtiments préexistants afin d’assurer l’hébergement des nombreux boursiers et de leurs enseignants. Le jeune roi Louis XIII jeta son dévolu sur les locaux des collèges médiévaux de Tréguier et Cambrai, alors en partie ruinés et désertés. En 1611, leur achat et leur réunion au Collège royal étaient officiels.7 Au début du XVIIe siècle, le chantier universitaire majeur fut sans conteste celui de la Sorbonne de Richelieu, dont le fleuron demeure 1. Vue de la cour et de la chapelle du collège du Cardinal la chapelle dessinée par Jacques Lemercier. En Lemoine, XVIIIe siècle (Bibliothèque nationale de France, 1661, le dernier collège fondé à Paris fut aussi Cabinet des Estampes, Topo Fr., Va 256 fol.). l’un des plus ambitieux. Le collège des Quatre Nations était une initiative du cardinal Mazarin, dont le principal enjeu était politique : franciser les élites issues des provinces nouvellement annexées au royaume.8 Situé à la limite occidentale du quartier de l’université, l’établissement souhaitait s’inscrire délibérément dans la continuité de son histoire prestigieuse. L’ampleur de ses bâtiments isole complètement le collège des Quatre Nations au sein du corpus des établissements universitaires modernes. Notre attention se portera donc plutôt sur la relève des fondations médiévales, plus modeste et sensiblement moins ambitieuse. Pourtant, les aménagements qui y sont réalisés aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles se révèlent dignes d’intérêt, dans ce qu’ils témoignent d’une adaptation pragmatique d’anciens locaux devant remplir de nouvelles fonctions d’accueil et d’enseignement. Ainsi, au collège du Cardinal Lemoine, des classes furent installées dans de petits édifices en bois et plâtre le long de la muraille (fig. 1). Le collège acheta en 1490 une portion de jardin qu’il louait aux Bernardins voisins depuis une date indéterminée.9 Cette bande de terrain séparait la partie occidentale du collège fondé par Jean Lemoine10 du jardin du principal des cisterciens. Il s’agissait manifestement, pour ces premières classes attestées au collège, de constructions précaires et sans doute peu adaptées. Au XVIe siècle, la place venant à manquer pour héberger des étudiants toujours plus nombreux,11 les dirigeants du collège durent se résoudre à construire un nouveau bâtiment entre la chapelle bâtie au début du XIVe siècle et les jardins s’étendant jusqu’à la Seine. Les travaux du nouveau corps de logis commencèrent en 1533.12 Le maçon chargé des travaux, Philippe Martin, décéda en 1535 et laissa le chantier inachevé.13 L’estimation de ce qu’il restait à effectuer fut confiée au maçon juré Louis Poireau, issu de la famille Poireau comme plusieurs autres artistes de premier plan au XVIe siècle à Paris.14 Un nouveau marché de construction passé en 1628 indique que le bâtiment de Philippe 6

M. Fumaroli (dir.), Les origines du collège de France, 1500–1560 : actes du colloque international, Paris, décembre 1995, Paris, 1998. 7 Archives nationales de France, O1 1600 et M 109 n°25. 8 Nombreuses copies des statuts et du testament du cardinal, notamment : Bibliothèque Mazarine, 2776A. Texte publié dans : Félibien, Lobineau 1725, t. 4, pp. 195–207. 9 Arch. nat., MM 366 et S 6392B.

10

Légat du pape Boniface VIII. N. Gorochov, ‘Le collège du Cardinal-Lemoine au XVIe siècle’, Mémoires de la Société de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Île-de-France, 42, 1991, p. 220. 12 Arch. nat., MM 446 p. 26. 13 Arch. nat., S 6392B. 14 Arch. nat., S 6392B n°17. 11

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Martin n’était toujours pas terminé à cette date. Il s’agissait d’une construction soignée en pierre de taille, de quatre étages et abritant tous les espaces nécessaires à la vie autonome des boursiers : salle commune, chambres, classes … Deux escaliers en vis desservaient les étages supérieurs. De façon très nette, ces aménagements de la première moitié du XVIe siècle rendaient caduques les maigres structures de la fin du XVe siècle. Elles apparaissent pourtant toujours dans les documents graphiques du XVIIIe siècle (fig. 1). Afin de répondre aux mêmes exigences d’accueil et d’enseignement, d’autres établissements durent investir dans des aménagements relativement précaires. Ainsi, les comptes du collège de Beauvais signalent, pour les dernières années du XVe siècle, de lourds travaux dans les bâtiments primitifs, surtout la réalisation de salles de classe et d’études.15 Ces dernières consistaient en de petits espaces isolés, enclavés dans les chambres par des cloisons en bois ou en plâtre, et comprenant un bureau et une chaise pour le travail scolaire. 2. Parcellaire du collège de Montaigu (A. Berty, Topographie Du fait de leur aménagement praghistorique du Vieux Paris). matique, il est fort probable que nombre de ces structures nous échappent toujours. Ce ‘bricolage’ s’est pourtant poursuivi jusqu’à la Révolution dans de nombreux établissements modestes. En plein XVIIIe siècle, dans la chapelle du collège de Reims, il suffisait de tendre des tapisseries devant le maître-autel pour transformer cet espace en salle de classe.16 À côté de ces aménagements emprunts de pragmatisme mais souvent dénués de toute ambition architecturale, certains collèges bénéficièrent de travaux plus cohérents dès la fin du XVe siècle. Le cas du collège de Montaigu Fondé par le conseiller royal Gilles Aycelin de Montaigu en 1314,17 le collège éponyme fut presque intégralement reconstruit au tournant du XVIe siècle. L’importance du chantier post-médiéval est due à plusieurs facteurs, à commencer par la volonté du nouveau principal, Jan Standonck. Lorsqu’il prit la direction de l’établissement en 1483, celui-ci tombait en ruine.18 Standonck y instaura une discipline très stricte et austère, inspirée des pratiques monastiques, notamment mendiantes.19 Il s’attaqua aux bâtiments pour augmenter le prestige du collège ainsi que ses capacités d’accueil. Les travaux furent en grande partie financés par l’amiral Louis de Graville ; ils étaient pratiquement terminés en 1494 lorsque les boursiers purent investir la nouvelle aile longeant la rue Saint-Étienne des Grés (fig. 2).20 Outre les logements des étudiants, cette campagne de la fin du XVe siècle englobait la nouvelle 15 16 17

Arch. nat., M 94A n°1. Arch. nat., M 187 n°5. Arch. nat., S 6514.

18 19 20

M. Godet, Le Collège de Montaigu, Paris, 1909, pp. 3–4. Félibien, Lobineau 1725, t. 5, pp. 716–721. Arch. nat., LL 126.

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AURÉLIE PERRAUT chapelle. L’évêque de Paris n’en avait autorisé la construction qu’en 1495, mais l’édifice devait être en voie d’achèvement lorsque Standonck fut condamné à l’exil par Louis XII en 1500.21 Le corps de logis qui abritait l’espace sacré avait un plan rectangulaire irrégulier, son chevet plat épousant la forme aiguë de l’angle des rues SaintÉtienne des Grés et des Sept Voyes.22 Il possédait deux niveaux : une chapelle basse, qui servait également de lieu de sépulture, et une chapelle haute, réservée aux boursiers du collège.23 L’espace sacré n’occupait donc que deux étages d’un corps de bâtiment qui en comptait trois ou quatre selon les plans anciens. Ceci correspond à la fondation de l’amiral de Graville, qui prévoyait l’aménagement du logement des pauvres boursiers au-dessus de leur chapelle.24 Les murs goutterots du bâtiment étaient percés de baies en plein-cintre, tandis que le pignon oriental, sur la rue des Sept Voyes, était éclairé par des baies rectangulaires à croisées de pierre réparties sur deux travées et séparées par un contrefort central assez plat (fig. 3). Au milieu du XIXe siècle, on 3. Bâtiment de la chapelle de Montaigu, vers 1844 (Institut discernait encore plusieurs arcs de décharge au national d’histoire de l’art, Fonds Lenoir). profil brisé au-dessus des fenêtres de la chapelle haute. La chapelle basse était un lieu de sépulture : Jean Standonck fut enterré près du chœur25 et son prestige était si grand que plusieurs personnages voulurent être inhumés près de sa tombe. Le 5 février 1502, un certain Hugues Le Coq, chanoine de Notre-Dame, en fit la demande expresse dans son testament.26 En 1510, le typographe et imprimeur Ulric Gering présenta la même requête.27 Le 20 mai 1511, le collège de Montaigu s’agrandit considérablement grâce à l’acquisition de l’hôtel du Grand Vézelay qui lui était contigu, moyennant la somme de 1200 livres tournois,28 issue du très important legs d’Ulric Gering.29 Cette politique d’agrandissement du collège de Montaigu se poursuivit tout au long du XVIe siècle, jusqu’à ce que l’établissement possédât tout l’îlot, comprenant, entre autres, l’ancien hôtel des abbés du Mont-SaintMichel et les dépendances de l’ancienne chapelle Saint-Symphorien des Vignes. Un plan de 1794, dressé alors que les bâtiments de l’ancien collège de Montaigu abritaient une prison, permet d’imaginer les développements importants réalisés à la période moderne dans ce qui fut un modeste établissement médiéval (fig. 4). Certaines pièces devaient présenter un décor exceptionnel, comme la salle commune aménagée sur l’ancienne maison du Grand Vézelay acquise en 1511. Un relevé de Théodore Vacquer livre des renseignements inédits 21

25

22

26

Félibien, Lobineau 1725, t. 5, pp. 712–715. Aujourd’hui rue Valette, 5e arrondissement. 23 Arch. nat., M 178 n°11 : fondation de messes par Pierre Aymoins et Jean Pecheur le 8 août 1570. 24 Félibien, Lobineau 1725, t. 5, pp. 712–715: “Secondement que le dessus de ladicte chapelle soit perpetuellement dedié au logis et habitation des vrays pauvres escoliers (…)”.

Bougy 1847, p. 46. Arch. nat., M 178 n°1 : “(...) mon corps qui est terre je recommende a la sepulture ecclesiasticque en la chapelle du colliaige de Montagu avec les prieres pres de feu monseigneur Standon (…)”. 27 Bougy 1847, p. 48. 28 Arch. nat., S 6515. 29 Bougy 1847, p. 48.

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4. Collège de Montaigu transformé en prison, 1794 (Musée Carnavalet, Cabinet des Arts graphiques, Topo 97 H).

sur le traitement des supports, répartis en deux files médianes : des colonnes au fût polygonal, reposant sur une base aux griffes formées de feuillages et supportant des poutres épaulées par des corbeaux fichés dans les murs goutterots (fig. 5). Ces colonnes étaient surmontées par des chapiteaux d’inspiration antique. Il s’agit d’un langage formel complètement différent de ce que l’on connaît des aménagements médiévaux tardifs de ces anciens collèges parisiens, annonçant ici les chantiers de la Renaissance.

5. Relevé d’un support de l’ancienne salle commune de Montaigu par Théodore Vacquer, 1850 (INHA, Fonds Lenoir).

Un chantier flamboyant au collège de Fortet À l’instar de celui de Montaigu, le collège de Fortet connut de lourdes campagnes de construction au tournant du XVIe siècle. Cet établissement fondé en 1391, installé en face de celui de Montaigu, avait fait l’acquisition de la maison à l’enseigne de la Corne de cerf entre 1413 et 1417.30 L’annexion doubla la surface du collège, ce qui permit les agrandissements nécessaires à l’accueil des pensionnaires et au déroulement des leçons. Une grande campagne de travaux débuta en 1505 et sa direction fut confiée au maître maçon Jean Troussart.31 Le chantier avançait rapidement car, en 1507 au plus tard, il était achevé. C’est à cette campagne que l’on peut rattacher la construction de la célèbre tour ‘Jean Calvin’, toujours en place, quoique lourdement restaurée, au n° 21 de la rue Valette (fig. 6). Les comptes de construction conservés nous renseignent avec précision sur le déroulement des travaux et l’identité des différents intervenants. Un passage intéressant indique que la tour ‘Jean Calvin’ n’était pas prévue au marché initial : il semblerait que la décision de la bâtir ait été prise en cours de chantier, occasionnant des frais supplémentaires : “Item quarente escuz d’or aussi a la couronne pour la visz par luy [Jean Troussart] faitte en iceluy corps d’ostel qu’il n’estoit aussi tenu de faire par led. marché”.32 30 31

Arch. nat., S 6431. Arch. nat., H3 27942.

32

Ibidem.

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6. Façade sur la cour du collège de Fortet et tour ‘Jean Calvin’, dessin de Théodore Vacquer, 1850 (INHA, Fonds Lenoir).

7. Relevé du noyau de l’escalier dans la tour ‘Jean Calvin’ au collège de Fortet par Vacquer, 1850 (INHA, Fonds Lenoir).

Cette tourelle d’escalier se présente sous la forme d’une vis demi hors-œuvre de plan hexagonal, surmontée d’une pièce rectangulaire en surplomb. Plusieurs baies légèrement brisées éclairent l’escalier sur sa face orientale, tandis qu’une croisée s’ouvre sur les trois faces de la pièce sommitale. La porte d’accès, dans la cour, est surmontée d’un arc surbaissé légèrement sculpté. Sur un relevé de Lenoir, on peut apprécier la délicatesse des décors flamboyants, en particulier le noyau torsadé à bases prismatiques de la vis (fig. 7). L’analyse des comptes de construction du collège a également révélé qu’un grand nombre d’ouvriers engagés par les écoliers de Fortet étaient actifs, dans les mêmes années, sur le chantier tout proche de Saint-Étienne du Mont.33 C’est ainsi que l’on repère sur les deux sites le serrurier Isaac de Citou, le couvreur Jean Gervais, le verrier Nicolas Le Cordonnier, le maçon bachelier Renaud Lemercier, le maître maçon Jean Troussart qui dirigeait les travaux au collège de Fortet, enfin le charpentier Nicolas Côteret. Il est très probable que les responsables du collège soient venus sur le site de Saint-Étienne du Mont pour recruter ces artisans qui, habitués à travailler ensemble, auraient décidé d’un commun accord de prendre en charge l’exécution du nouvel édifice. L’intense renouveau des chantiers d’églises paroissiales dans Paris au début de la Renaissance semble donc avoir en quelque sorte ‘profité’ aux collèges de l’Université. En effet, il a été possible de dénombrer au moins dix-huit artistes ou artisans issus du chantier emblématique de Saint-Étienne du Mont et actifs dans un collège : par exemple, le couvreur Michault Diche qui travaillait avec son frère Jean au collège de Beauvais 33

Voir l’édition des comptes de la fabrique dans Bos 2003 (note 2), pp. 324–348.

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8. Collèges du Plessis et de Louis-le-Grand, plan de Delagrive (1757).

dans les années 1490,34 ou encore le verrier Jean Damours, actif au collège de Cambrai en 1524.35 L’adresse de certains de ces artistes est précisée dans les documents, il semble qu’ils vivaient en majorité sur la rive gauche, du côté de la place Maubert et de l’église Saint-Séverin. Les commanditaires, qu’il se fût agi des marguilliers de Saint-Étienne du Mont ou des dirigeants d’un collège, faisaient donc appel aux artisans domiciliés dans leur voisinage. Les travaux du XVIIe siècle dans la mouvance de la Sorbonne de Richelieu La relève des bâtiments des collèges médiévaux fut sans doute la plus intense à la fin du XV et durant les premières décennies du XVIe siècle. C’est du moins ce que laissent entendre les sources d’archives conservées, en particulier les séries comptables. Mais il existe un cas plus tardif, tout aussi intéressant : celui du collège du Plessis. Cet établissement fut fondé en 1323 par le conseiller royal Geoffroy du Plessis.36 Entré dans les ordres, ce dernier créa en 1326 un second établissement, régulier : le collège de Marmoutier. En 1332, un ensemble de dispositions fut pris pour assurer la cohabitation des deux fondations. Les terrains du fondateur sur la rue Saint-Jacques en particulier, furent re-découpés et partagés entre les deux communautés de boursiers. En 1641, les locaux du collège de Marmoutier furent achetés par les jésuites pour la création du collège de Clermont, futur collège Louis-le-Grand (1682).37 Ainsi les propriétés des jésuites et du Plessis se retrouvèrent-elles imbriquées (fig. 8). Le collège du Plessis connut un destin différent de son voisin de Marmoutier. Au début du XVIIe siècle, l’anarchie y régnait. Après 1628, la Société de Sorbonne fit détruire e

34 35

Arch. nat., S 6559. Arch. nat., H3 27961.

36 37

Arch. nat., M 182A n°1–4. Arch. nat., MM 388.

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AURÉLIE PERRAUT le collège de Calvi afin d’élever la chapelle de Lemercier.38 Dans la mesure où il fallait assurer la poursuite des enseignements de grammaire et d’arts libéraux dispensés aux Sorbonistes, autrefois tenus au collège de Calvi, l’abbé de Marmoutier Jean-Baptiste de Vignerod, responsable du Plessis et parent de Richelieu, consentit à l’union des deux établissements : en 1646, ils devinrent le collège de Plessis-Sorbonne, faisant dès lors locaux communs.39 À partir de 1649–1650, de lourds travaux de restauration furent entrepris au Plessis aux frais de la Sorbonne, à commencer par un grand bâtiment situé au fond de la cour et sculpté des armes de Richelieu.40 Un document du minutier central des notaires de Paris (1649) indique que les travaux furent dirigés par l’architecte de la Sorbonne Jacques Curabelle, selon des plans de Lemercier.41 La chapelle située contre l’enclos des jésuites fit l’objet d’agrandissements entre 1646 et 1661, avec l’adjonction d’une sacristie et de deux chapelles hors-œuvre formant un faux transept. En 1661, les chambres qui surmontaient cet espace ainsi que la couverture furent refaites sur l’ordre du principal du collège.42 Plusieurs années après, la Sorbonne devait encore s’acquitter, pour ces travaux, des dettes du collège du Plessis envers un charpentier nommé Nemet.43 En janvier 1674, un nouvel architecte intervint au collège du Plessis : Jean Girard (Jean III).44 Ce dernier se plaçait dans la continuité de l’activité de Jacques Curabelle, avec lequel il avait collaboré pour la Sorbonne (construction des maisons sur la rue des Maçons à partir de 1667). Pour les besoins du collège du Plessis, Jean Girard effectua un relevé de l’ancienne maison du Treillis vert, qui appartenait à la Sorbonne (fig. 9). Cette demeure locative se situait au chevet de la chapelle du Plessis, dont il dressa également un plan (fig. 10). Les deux documents sont conservés dans le fonds du collège du Plessis.45 En 1674, Girard apporta des modifications au chevet, remplaçant le mur plat par une abside mordant sur le terrain de l’ancien Treillis vert et dont on trouve encore la trace en négatif dans le parcellaire du début du XIXe siècle. En 1674 toujours, Girard construisit un grand corps de logis du côté ouest de la chapelle, contre le mur des jésuites46. Destiné à l’hébergement des boursiers et aux classes de grammaire, ce grand bâtiment devait, d’après les termes du marché, présenter la même élévation que celui réalisé par Curabelle en 1649. Ce souci de cohérence dans le programme architectural témoigne bien d’une vision unique des travaux et la continuité entre l’activité de Girard et celle de Jacques Curabelle, pourtant décédé en 1673. Elle trahit par ailleurs une volonté d’harmonie architecturale, celle-là même qui semble avoir assez peu préoccupé les constructeurs de collèges parisiens avant le XVIe siècle. Le prestige d’un rapprochement avec la Sorbonne de Richelieu n’est sans doute pas étranger à ce phénomène, comme semble l’indiquer la représentation des armes du cardinal sur les grands logis nouvellement construits. Les bâtiments élevés par Curabelle et Girard au collège du Plessis furent absorbés par le Prytanée français en 179747 et détruits en 1864.

38

Arch. nat., S 6211. Arch. nat., M 182B n°41. 40 J. A. Piganiol de la Force, Description historique de la ville de Paris et de ses environs, rééd., Paris, 1765, t. 5, 17e quartier, p. 408. 41 Arch. nat., Min. cent., LXXIII, 400, 1649, 15 novembre. 42 Arch. nat., Z1j 284, 1661, janvier. 43 Arch. nat., S 6547 : délibérations et présentation des comptes pour 1664. 39

44

Arch. nat., S 6547. Sur Jean Girard, voir la notice de M. Decrossas dans : Allgemeines Künstler Lexikon : die bildenden Künstler aller Zeiten und Völker, Leipzig-München, 2007, t. 55, pp. 157–159. 45 Arch. nat., S 6547. 46 Ibidem. 47 Ancien collège de Louis-le-Grand.

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9. Relevé accompagnant le toisé du Treillis vert par Jean Girard, 1674 (Arch. nat., S 6547).

10. Plan de la chapelle du Plessis par Jean Girard, 1674 (Arch. nat., S 6547).

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AURÉLIE PERRAUT Conclusion Ces quelques exemples sont caractéristiques de l’intense activité de restauration et d’agrandissement observée dans les collèges parisiens après le Moyen Âge. Ruinés pendant la guerre civile et la guerre de Cent ans, ils furent investis d’une nouvelle mission au milieu du XVe siècle : celle d’héberger le plus grand nombre possible d’étudiants et de leur dispenser des enseignements de toutes sortes (en particulier les humanités). Ce changement radical de leur destination obligea les dirigeants des collèges à repenser l’agencement de leurs locaux, au moment même où ils devaient envisager la relève pure et simple de ces derniers. Se produit donc, à partir du tournant du XVIe siècle, un renouveau profond de l’architecture collégiale à Paris : agrandissements, aménagements pragmatiques et sans envergure, ou au contraire reconstructions complètes, les nouveaux chantiers furent parfois témoins de l’activité de grands artistes et artisans, tels ceux issus du site flamboyant de Saint-Étienne du Mont, ou encore des architectes de la Sorbonne Lemercier, Curabelle et Girard. Ouvrages fréquemment cités Bougy 1847 — A. de Bougy, Histoire de la Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, précédée de la chronique de l’abbaye, de l’ancien collège de Montaigu et des monuments voisins, Paris, 1847. Félibien, Lobineau 1725 — M. Félibien, G.-A. Lobineau, Histoire de la ville de Paris (…), 5 vol., Paris, 1725.

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JESUIT SCHOOL COURTYARDS AT AND FUNCTION

ÉVORA AND COIMBRA AND THEIR SECULAR ORIGIN

Rui Lobo (Universidade de Coimbra)

The Jesuit classroom courtyards of the College-University of Espírito Santo in Évora and of the second Colégio das Artes in Coimbra, Portugal, are quite exceptional in size and have a specific layout and organization. They were designed (and built, as was the case in Évora) in the 1550s and 1560s. This confers a relatively early date for this type of infrastructure which became proper to large Counter-Reformation schools set up under the supervision of the Society of Jesus. I will discuss here their possible typological models. My suggestion is that these courtyards are indebted to former school types of lay origin, namely to the never completed classroom precinct of the first Colégio das Artes in the centre of Coimbra. The influence of the patio of the Escuelas Menores of Salamanca, finished in 1533, should also be considered. The College-University of Espírito Santo at Évora (1559) The vast courtyard of the Jesuit College-University of Espírito Santo at Évora was essentially built between 1559 and 1561. It formed a square-like figure of 36 by 34.5 metres surrounded by colonnaded galleries supporting arches and by classrooms, mainly for arts and humanities courses. Two of the rooms served for the theological faculty. The galleries stood originally on only three of the sides. A fourth gallery, over the southeast entrance side, was added in the late seventeenth century which made the patio shorter. It currently forms a 36 by 31.5 metre rectangle. The courtyard is the most characteristic feature of the College-University of Évora.1 The history of the building goes back to 1550 when King João III’s brother, the Archbishop of Évora, Cardinal Henrique (1512–1580)2 decided to create a college for the instruction of the metropolitan clergy, on a site near the city wall. The building was begun, consisting of two small patios and a church in between (fig. 1). In 1554, Cardinal Henrique eventually ceded the college (still under construction) to the newly arrived Jesuits, who had started their mission work in southern Portugal. Nonetheless the cardinal kept his role of patron and main benefactor of the college. He had in mind the creation of a second university in Portugal, specializing in theological studies, a project that was disapproved of by the king who had been concentrating his efforts on making the recently renewed University of Coimbra (1537) one of the main cultural centres of the Iberian Peninsula. Henrique had to settle for an Arts faculty.

1

On the College-University of Évora, see mainly T. Espanca, Inventário Artístico de Portugal, tomo VII – Concelho de Évora, Lisbon, 1966, vol. I, pp. 71–91; F. Sanches Martins, A Arquitectura dos primeiros colégios jesuítas em Portugal, 1542–1579, unpublished PhD dissertation, Faculdade de Letras da Universidade

do Porto, 1994, pp. 207–319; and R. Lobo, O ColégioUniversidade do Espírito Santo de Évora, Évora, 2009. 2 On Cardinal Henrique, who became the last Portuguese king (1578–1580) before Philip II of Spain took the throne, see A. Polónia, D. Henrique. O CardealRei, Lisbon, 2005.

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1. Jesuit Espírito Santo College, Évora. Probable situation in 1556.

2. Jesuit College-University, Évora. Probable situation in 1561.

This obstacle disappeared in 1557, when João III died. The heir to the throne, the king’s grandson, D. Sebastião, was merely three years old. Cardinal Henrique became the most influential man in the kingdom. His university could now come to life. Pope Paul IV recognized the new academic centre in 1558–1559 and it was at this point that the new classroom courtyard, located in front of the college’s church façade, came into being (fig. 2). The original structure was only one storey high, with its main entrance opposite the church façade. Thus, the small church was set in a perpendicular position to the northwest wing of the new courtyard (fig. 3). The cardinal would also think of a system of four smaller colleges (1574) to be built around the main infrastructure, a model, I would argue, that was copied from the Spanish University of Alcalá. However, he lacked the funding for such a project and managed only to start the nearby Colégio da Purificação (begun in 1577) which eventually became the seminary he had envisaged in the first place. One should add that the Jesuits were not particularly fond of the Cardinal’s four college project. Their concerns lay mainly with the completion of the community areas needed for a Jesuit ‘college’. In this sense they managed to obtain from the Cardinal a new noviciate (finished 1568), a new and larger church with direct access from the street (1567–1574) and a new wing, built towards the northeast (1575–1579), which included a relatively large refectory and a dormitory on the top floor. Hence the built infrastructure encompassed two main functional areas – one for the Jesuit community and other for the schools – in a single architectural complex (figs. 4, 5). Later works, of Jesuit responsibility, were the upper floor over the classrooms (mainly made up of dormitories), the infirmary wing towards the northwest, and the eighteenth- century façade of the examinations room (the former inner church) over the schools courtyard.

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3. Jesuit College-University, Évora. Courtyard, between 1574 and c. 1590 (‘Pateo dos studos d’Évora’, VR 446, Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France).

4. Jesuit College-University, Évora. Courtyard ground floor plan (Direcção Geral dos Edificios e Monumentos Nacionais Portugal).

5. Jesuit College-University, Évora. Aerial photograph (photograph: Manuel Ribeiro; Miguel Pedroso de Lima, O recinto amuralhado de Évora, Lisbon, Estar, 1996).

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RUI LOBO The first Colégio das Artes in Coimbra (1548) I have previously discussed3 the possible typological influence of the first Colégio das Artes in Coimbra on the conception of the school courtyard at Évora. The Colégio das Artes was founded as a secular royal college by João III in 1547.4 It was installed in the city centre of Coimbra near the monastery of Santa Cruz and on the Rua de Santa Sophia, the ‘street of holy knowledge’, a sort of strada nuova, opened in 1537 to host the colleges of the re-founded university. By 1544, however, the higher faculties had already been settled away from this particular urban area, into the royal palace in the upper part of the town, where the university is still located today. The Colégio das Artes, 6. First Colégio das Artes (1548–1555) Coimbra. The north amongst other things, was conceived to give wing today. new input to the urban infrastructure in the city centre. The main concern, nonetheless, was the separation of preparatory level studies from the faculty courses. To supervise the Colégio das Artes the king invited the Portuguese pedagogue André de Gouveia who had been principal of the Collège de Sainte Barbe in Paris and was at the time principal of the Collège de Guyenne in Bordeaux. According to Montaigne, he was “le plus grand Principal de France”.5 Gouveia, with the help of the French Renaissance sculptor and architect João de Ruão (or Jean de Rouen), who lived in Coimbra, conceived a new building for the institution which besides the classrooms (according to the statutes) apparently contained a series of chambers6 that came together in groups, probably under the supervision of a teacher, a clear indication of a tutorial type of school.7 It is not clear to what extent Gouveia’s ideas were followed. The new building, started in 1548, was never finished but important parts were built, remnants of which still exist today. It reused part of the previous S. Miguel College, along Rua da Sofia, to which

3

R. Lobo, Santa Cruz e a Rua da Sofia. Arquitectura e Urbanismo no século XVI, Coimbra, 2005, pp. 165–166. 4 On the first Colégio das Artes, see M. Brandão, O Colégio das Artes, 2 vols., Coimbra, 1924–1933; Da Silva Dias 1969, vol. I, pp. 528–565; J. E. Horta Correia, ‘A importância dos colégios universitários na definição das tipologias dos claustros portugueses’, in: Universidade(s) – história, memória, perspectivas. Actas do Congresso História da Universidade, Coimbra, 1991, vol. II, pp. 269–290; Lobo 2005 (note 3), pp. 101– 109, 157–173; W. Rossa, Diver[sc]idade, urbanografia do espaço de Coimbra até ao estabelecimento definitivo da Universidade, unpublished PhD dissertation, Faculdade de Ciências e Tecnologia da Universidade

de Coimbra, 2001, pp. 718–742; and M. De Lurdes Craveiro, O Renascimento em Coimbra. Modelos e programas arquitectónicos, unpublished PhD dissertation, Faculdade de Letras da Universidade de Coimbra, 2002, pp. 186–224. 5 Montaigne, Essais, Livre I, Chapter 26, cited in J. Quicherat, Histoire de Sainte-Barbe, Paris, 1860, vol. I, p. 130. 6 “Cameras”, as noticed by Da Silva Dias 1969, vol. I, p. 544. The 1547 statutes, published by the king with the assistance of Gouveia, can be seen in M. Brandão, Documentos de D. João III, Coimbra, 1939, vol. III, pp. 108–117. 7 Which should offer a combination of ‘instruction’ and ‘education’. Da Silva Dias 1969, vol. I, p. 543.

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JESUIT SCHOOL COURTYARDS AT ÉVORA AND COIMBRA AND THEIR SECULAR ORIGIN AND FUNCTION a new perpendicular wing of seven classrooms was added (fig. 6), on the north side of what was most likely meant to be a squarelike courtyard of around 36 metres per side (figs. 7, 8). This north wing was continued further to the east, featuring distinct architectural characterisation (apparently more monumental in style) which suggests that a second and possibly shorter courtyard was envisaged.8 Although the lay commoners (who slept and ate at the college) were the focal point of the pedagogical organisation,9 their number did not surpass around one hundred, due to lack of rooms and chambers,10 out of the more than one thousand students that attended classes at the end of 1548. In the meantime, Gouveia became suddenly ill and died in June of that year. Subsequent conflicts between Gouveia’s comrades and the more conservative Parisian scholars, who eventually came into control, 7. First Colégio das Artes (1548–1555) Coimbra, as imagined by Hoefnagel. Detail from the town view (c. 1567) published were prior to the king’s decision to hand down by Georg Braun, Urbium Praecipuarum Mundi Theatrum the college to the Jesuits finally in 1555. Quintum, Cologne, 1599. Setting our eyes again on Évora, one should notice that Cardinal Henrique should have stayed in Coimbra, in the Santa Cruz monastery, for a couple of days in July 154811 and surely became acquainted with the project and building site of the neighbouring Colégio das Artes. I believe the courtyard at Évora, the architect of which is unknown, follows the ground floor courtyard scheme that was being built in Coimbra in 1548.12 One could also add that both courtyards should have been similar in size. The second Colégio das Artes in Coimbra (1568) The Jesuits had settled in Coimbra since June 1542, when they organized themselves as a ‘college’ (the first of the Society, according to some authors13) occupying a couple of houses in the upper part of town. They started a new building, where they could prepare missionaries for the Indies, in 1547.14 8

This apparent second courtyard was left largely to be completed. Its function is not clear. I believe it was intended to be a kind of entrance precinct to the college which possibly sustained (in the referred north wing) a ‘disputations room’, or a large refectory, or perhaps both. 9 Da Silva Dias 1969, vol. I, p. 546. 10 Ibidem, p. 544. 11 This information can be inferred from the letter of Friar Brás de Barros to the Head of Santa Cruz Monastery, dated 15 July 1548. The Cardinal had left Leiria (60 km to the south) and was arriving in Coimbra to stay at the monastery the next Tuesday. M.Brandão, ‘Cartas de Frei Brás de Braga para os priores do

Mosteiro de Santa Cruz de Coimbra’, Revista da Universidade de Coimbra 13, 1937, pp. 115–116. 12 A main stylistic difference should, however, be pointed out. While in the courtyard of the Colégio das Artes the prospect is encompassed along pairs of arches separated by buttresses (as in the contemporary cloisters of the Convent of Christ in Tomar), the tendency in Évora is for the continuous sequence of arches and columns. 13 F. Rodrigues, História da Companhia de Jesus na Assistência de Portugal, 4 vols., Porto, 1931–1950 (Tom. I, vol. I, pp. 304, 428). 14 “Les Collèges des Jésuites, qui connurent un si prodigieux développement, n’avaient pas été prévus tout d’abord par le fondateur de l’Ordre. Ce ne

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RUI LOBO After being granted supervision over the Colégio das Artes, the Society decided to move it next to their college that was then under construction. The city centre building was abandoned and sold to the Inquisition in 1565. Three years later, in 1568, construction of a new Colégio das Artes commenced next to the main Jesuit College, the Colégio de Jesus. What was blended into one singular architectural complex in Évora was now separated into two autonomous buildings in Coimbra.15 The main explanation for this was the need to separate the commoners of the Arts College from the Jesuit community sleeping quarters. The Society did not intend to retain the students of the former city-centre college, but was compelled by Cardinal Henrique to keep the original statutes of the college. A first general project including the two buildings is known, probably designed by Diogo de Castilho between 1566 and 1569 (fig. 9).16 It was not, however, the final scheme. The Colégio de Jesus was eventually awarded a large Counter-Reformation church of the Gesú type (built 1598–1698) and a more symmetrical and regular plan. The built Colégio das Artes became 8. First Colégio das Artes (1548–1555), Coimbra. Ground somewhat larger, with the main entrance to the south floor plan of the “Inquisition”, Mateus do Couto, 1634 instead of to the west, and finally hosted the Jesuit (Arquivos Nacionais Torre do Tombo) with insertion of noviciate on the upper floor. Thus the classes were probable layout of the original courtyard, left unfinished. attended by the Jesuit novices and mainly by external (both lay and religious) students (figs. 10, 11). The rectangular courtyard, along which the first classrooms were inaugurated in 1616,17 was totally completed in 1656. It became even larger than the one in Évora, spanning 43 metres from west to east and 36.5 metres from north to south (fig. 12). A continuous architrave ran over the gallery columns while the large internal chapel and the spacious examinations room, both two storeys high, made up almost the whole north wing.18 A Spanish or French connection? I have suggested so far that there was a typological link between the classroom courtyard of the first Colégio das Artes (started 1548) and the Jesuit courtyards of the College-University of Évora (built 1559–1561) and of the second Colégio das Artes in Coimbra (started 1568). A prior fut qu’à partir de 1548, avec la fondation du collège de Messine, qu’il prit la décision d’ouvrir des établissements destinés aux élèves du dehors, alors que, jusque là, les collèges n’avaient été conçus que pour la formation des recrues de la Compagnie”. J. ValleryRadot, Le recueil de plans d’édifices de la Compagnie de Jesus conservé a la Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris, Rome, 1960, p. 42*. 15 On the Jesuit colleges of Coimbra, see Sanches Martins 1994 (note 1), pp. 23–204, and R. Lobo,

Os Colégios de Jesus, das Artes e de S. Jerónimo, Coimbra, 1999. 16 Sanches Martins 1994 (note 1), p. 58. 17 Rodrigues 1931–1950 (note 13), Tom. II, vol. II, p. 249. 18 The chapel and examinations room no longer exist. Behind, in autonomous volumes, stood the common refectory and kitchen of both Jesuit colleges, as can be seen in the eighteenth-century (1732) engraving by Carlo Grandi.

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JESUIT SCHOOL COURTYARDS AT ÉVORA AND COIMBRA AND THEIR SECULAR ORIGIN AND FUNCTION issue, of course, is where the idea of the large classroom courtyard came from in the first place, although one can assume certain notions of spatial organisation were considered appropriate for certain building types in Europe at the time. Keeping the focus on institutions that offered the preparatory Arts and Humanities courses for the university, we should look to the Escuelas Menores of the University of Salamanca as a possible source of influence for the cases we have just considered (fig. 13). They were built in their present form in the 1520s and up to 1533,19 and consist of a relatively large, irregularly shaped courtyard (although smaller in dimension than the ones we have been dealing with),20 surrounded by galleries and classrooms.21 Nonetheless, and concerning another possible source of influence, particularly for the 9. Jesuit College complex, Coimbra. Project, c. 1566–1569, not first Colégio das Artes, it is perhaps worthwhile followed (‘Traça do futuro Edifício do Collegio de Coimbra da to regard the Collège de Guyenne in Bordeaux, co[m]panhia de Jesu’, VR 445, Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale where André de Gouveia had taught for more de France). than twelve years before coming to Coimbra. This municipal college was re-founded in 1533 (a prior institution had been given the original name of Collège des Arts).22 The college buildings, today disappeared, were adapted from pre-existing houses according to a plan devised by the first principal of the institute, Jean de Tartas, in 153323 and taken on by André de Gouveia as he became the second principal in 1534. They occupied more than half of an entire urban block and consisted of a large chapel, classrooms and groups of living quarters (for teachers, or régents, on the ground floor and possibly dependent students on the upper levels), and were organized around a great rectangular inner courtyard (fig. 14), which was brought to one level and organized at the time. Apparently, one could access the classrooms from this central open space.24 19

On the Escuelas Menores of the University of Salamanca, see mainly A. Castro Santamaria, Juan de Álava, Arquitecto del Renacimiento, Salamanca, 2002, pp. 429–435 and J. Ramón Nieto González, ‘Escuelas Mayores, Menores y Hospital del Estudio, siglos XIII–XX’, in: L. E. Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares (ed.), Historia de la Universidad de Salamanca, Salamanca, vol. II, 2002, pp. 375–455. 20 The courtyard is trapezoid-shaped and between 18 and 26 metres wide. The renewed building of the Escuelas Menores was conceived to be of one storey and the galleries are defined by a colonnade of very particular design. It is interesting, however, that the possibility of transforming the schools into a college was put forward at a prior stage. The bishop of Malaga Diego Ramírez de Villaescusa considered buying the schools and adding an upper floor of rooms, in 1510, for his intended foundation of a college. 21 One should also perhaps consider the case of the patio of the Colegio Trilingüe, built 1555–1572, beside the College-University of San Ildefonso, in Alcalá de

Henares. This courtyard, which supported the Humanities courses, served to access the university’s examinations room – the Teatro, later Paraninfo. It is actually around 28 by 21 metres wide. On the College of San Ildefonso complex, see mainly M.A. Castillo Oreja, Colegio Mayor de San Ildefonso de Alcalá de Henares, Madrid, 1982, and R. González Navarro, Universidad y Economía: El Colegio Mayor de San Ildefonso de Alcalá de Henares (1495–1565), Alcalá de Henares, 1998. 22 On the Collège de Guyenne, see E. Gaullieur, Histoire du Collège de Guyenne, Paris, 1874. On the foundation of the college, see, particularly, pp. 23–32. 23 Tartas had been principal at the Collège de Lisieux in Paris. Gaullieur 1874 (note 22), p. 25. 24 According to the nineteenth-century plan published in Compte Rendu des Travaux de la Commission des Monuments et Documents Historiques et des Bâtiments Civils du Département de La Gironde pendant l’année 1849–1850, Paris, 1851, p. 42–43 (see fig. 14), republished in: G. Chevrou (ed.), A la Memoire du Saintongeais Elie Vinet, Barbezieux, 1910, pp. 184–185.

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RUI LOBO

10. Jesuit College complex, Coimbra. Image by Carlo Grandi, 1732 (Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal).

11. Coimbra, Goullard town plan, 1874 (a. Santa Cruz monastery; b. First Colégio das Artes; c. University / former royal palace; d. Colégio de Jesus; e. Second Colégio das Artes).

12. Second Colégio das Artes, Coimbra. Ground floor plan, c. 1772 (Biblioteca Geral da Universidade de Coimbra).

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JESUIT SCHOOL COURTYARDS AT ÉVORA AND COIMBRA AND THEIR SECULAR ORIGIN AND FUNCTION

14. Collège de Guyenne, Bordeaux. Ground floor plan, c. 1850 (A. Passage d’entrée; B. Classe de Philosophie; C. Jardin; D. Maison du Principal; a.k.v: chambres des régents; b.j.o.p.u: cuisine; c: classe de mathématiques; d: classe de sixième; e: classe de cinquième; f: classe de quatrième; y: chapelle; z: cour du collège) (Compte rendu des Travaux... 1851 [note 24]).

The first Colégio das Artes, although having adapted a couple of former constructions to its structure, was to be basically a new, or de13. Escuelas Menores, Salamanca. Ground floor novo, building that would have come out of a plan by Ildefonso Gago. well ordered architectonic project commissioned by the king. This was to be the main difference between the two buildings. Common characteristics, however, can be pointed out in relation to its French counterpart, namely the large courtyard25 and the principle of arranging the classrooms around it. A large internal chapel was also planned in Coimbra like the one that existed in Bordeaux.26 However, André de Gouveia wrote something quite striking in a letter to the king, while defending Jean de Rouen’s project against the negative criticism of the royal architects João de Castilho and Miguel de Arruda: “I am aware that they know little of colleges, except for those built for friars”.27 He also explained that “your Majesty should not be astonished to see two sets of varandas and chambers, one over the other, because all colleges in France are like that”, finally adding that “they do not want to divide the chambers the way I wish to”.28 25

Although in Coimbra there was to be another courtyard, as we have explained. 26 A large chapel was thought of on the college side facing the monastery of Santa Cruz. This project is referred to in a document of 15 June 1548, in Brandão, ‘Cartas de Frei Brás de Braga…’, 1937 (note 11), pp. 188–189. Another chapel, which I presume to have been provisional, is known to have functioned in the college. 27 “…bem sei que todos eles entendem tão pouco em fazer colégio como eu quero & deve de ser como aqueles que nunca fizeram outro senão para frades”. Excerpt from the letter by André de Gouveia

to João III, 13 March 1548, published in M. Brandão, Alguns documentos respeitantes à Universidade de Coimbra na época de D. João III, Coimbra, 1937, pp. 130–131. 28 “…nã se espante VA das duas varandas & cameras huã em cima da outra p q asy sã todos os collegios em França”(…). “Diz me Gaspar da Costa q nã querem os pedreiros Repartir me as cameras da meneira q la vão Respondo q nã sabem q cousa he collegio”. Excerpts from the letter by André de Gouveia to João III, 13 March 1548, published in Brandão, Alguns documentos…, 1937 (note 27), p. 131.

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RUI LOBO As we can see, the college principal’s main concern was the chamber organisation, quite probably of the tutorial type, since the colonnaded galleries (namely the varandas of the upper levels that appeared in Coimbra) along the courtyard sides could have not been the issue – they are totally missing in Bordeaux. In fact, the existence of colonnaded galleries is a relevant difference between the two buildings. It is also, of course, a relevant general difference between colleges, or schools, of the Iberian Peninsula (and even Italy29) and those of France.30 Focusing again on the Jesuits, we can further observe how the absence of surrounding galleries is in fact the relevant feature of the large seventeenth-century courtyards of the Society’s main French colleges of Clermont (later Louis-le-Grand), in Paris, or of La Flèche, near Le Mans.

Frequently cited works Da Silva Dias 1969 J. S. Da Silva Dias, A política cultural da época de D. João III, 2 vols., Coimbra, 1969. The author wishes to thank Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia for financial support.

29

On the northern Italian Jesuit colleges founded by the Borromeo, see, for instance, M. Kiene, ‘Die Erneuerung der italienischen Universitätsarchitektur unter Carlo und Federico Borromeo’, Architectura. Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Baukunst 18, 1988, pp. 123–168.

30 The main issue on the lack of surrounding galleries, in the courtyards of northern countries, seems to be the need for sufficient illumination of the classrooms.

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THE FIRST JESUIT SCHOOLS

IN THE

SOUTHERN LOW COUNTRIES (1585–1648)

Krista De Jonge (Katholieke Universiteit Leuven) Introduction The first important Jesuit educational institutions in the Southern Low Countries, which greatly contributed to that order’s first golden age in the country, mostly had their origins within a fairly restricted chronological period, between the end of the Spanish reconquista under Alexander Farnese, faithful friend to the Society of Jesus1 in 1585, and the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. Unlike the religious buildings erected by the Society, its colleges and school buildings have so far not been studied in depth, apart from rare exceptions such as Namur.2 There is indeed an extensive bibliography on Jesuit churches in Belgium, some of them figuring regularly in broad overviews of the European Baroque;3 but the buildings that accompanied them are generally overlooked. Within the Belgian context alone this is surprising because, until its temporary abolition in 1773, the Society of Jesus played a major role in education. Moreover, nowhere else in Europe could a comparable density of Jesuit educational institutions be found in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The Jesuit educational system is, on the contrary, well known and its particular Southern Netherlandish variants have already been studied a long time ago.4 Over the past twenty years, together with our students, we have assembled a significant body of evidence upon which an extensive study of Belgian Jesuit colleges can be built in the future; this paper will serve as its first outline.5 The ground plans of Jesuit college buildings conserved in Paris,6 Rome,7 Beveren (formerly in Brussels)8 and Heverlee (Belgium) 1

Poncelet 1927, vol. I, pp. 352–412. L.F. Genicot and Th. Coomans, ‘Les bâtiments des jésuites à Namur aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles’, in: Les jésuites à Namur 1610–1773. Mélanges d’histoire et d’art publiés à l’occasion des anniversaires ignatiens, Namur, 1991, pp. 99–173. 3 See, for instance, J. Braun S.J., Die belgischen Jesuitenkirchen. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Kampfes zwischen Gotik und Renaissance, Freiburg im Breisgau, 1907; J.H. Plantenga, L’architecture religieuse dans l’ancien duché de Brabant depuis le règne des archiducs jusqu’au gouvernement autrichien (1598– 1713), The Hague, 1926, pp. 75–126, 173–181, 194– 195; R. Tijs, Renaissance- en barokarchitectuur in België, Tielt, 1997, pp. 147–159; H. Vlieghe, Flemish Art and Architecture 1585–1700 (Pelican History of Art), New Haven and London, 1998, pp. 263–267, 272; P. Philippot and D. Vautier, ‘L’architecture religieuse baroque dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux et la Principauté de Liège 1620–1760/70’, in P. Philippot et al., L’architecture religieuse et la sculpture baroques dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux et la Principauté de Liège 1600–1770, Liège, 2003, pp. 43–153, especially 65–80. 4 Poncelet 1927, vol. I, pp. 3–113; Van de Vorst 1950. See also note 28. 5 Hendrickx 2000. See also notes 9, 17, 25, and 44. 2

6

From 1566 plans for new colleges and churches had to be sent to Rome, and copies were conserved in the Roman Generalate from 1613. Most of the original set now can be found in the Bibliothèque nationale at Paris. Vallery-Radot 1960. Henceforth we refer to these plans as BNP Estampes [ref.] (VR [catalogue number according to Vallery-Radot]). We thank Thomas Coomans for the documentation on the Walloon Province (Gallo-Belgica) and Annemie De Vos for the documentation on the Flemish Province (Flandro-Belgica). 7 The Jesuit Archives at Rome conserve, amongst others, plans for the colleges of Antwerp, Bruges, Leuven and Luxemburg (inventory by E. Lamalle S.J., see ValleryRadot 1960, pp. 489–496). Hendrickx 2000, pp. 79–80. A more thorough analysis still remains to be done. 8 See the collection Jezuïeten in the State Archive of the Province of Antwerp at Beveren (Rijksarchief Beveren, consulted by us when still in the Algemeen Rijksarchief at Brussels), especially Flandro-Belgica 1445, which comprises several plans that were never realised (summary inventory in B. Daelemans, Het Promptuarium Pictorum volume II. Cataloog, Master’s Thesis dir. by K. De Jonge, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 1998, vol. I, Appendix 7, pp. 125–129); in addition, the minutes of the correspondence are very useful. Henceforth quoted as SAAB Jezuïeten.

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KRISTA DE JONGE in the Promptuarium Pictorum,9 and the accompanying documentation conserved partly in Beveren, partly in Malta,10 constitute the most important sources. There are indeed very few school buildings or indeed colleges still extant, even in a fragmentary state, and none of the surviving ones have escaped thoroughgoing transformations (fig. 1). The aforementioned plans are essential to the reconstruction of the original disposition of the school building and of the functions of the different rooms, even if they do not always accurately reflect what was actually built. For the former duchy of Brabant, the monumental illustrated work of Antonius Sanderus on the principal religious foundations of his era (the seventeenth century), offers 1. Tournai, Jesuit Noviciate (late 16th century–early 17th century) valuable complementary information (see, for (photograph: Author). instance, figs. 6, 9 and 15).11 In addition there is an important issue of terminology to address. In the Jesuit context, the term ‘college’ (collegium) signifies the residence of the Society’s members (domus), which in spite of not being accessible to outsiders was not a cloistered space in the strictest sense. The college consisted of individual rooms, a refectory with kitchens, a recreation room and a library room. The school building, on the other hand, was quite separate from the college proper as we shall see, and should not be confused with it since not all colleges had a school. For instance, the domus professa which housed the ‘professed’ members of the Society, the highest rank dedicated only to study and pastoral care, did not have a school since its residents were exempt from teaching. In the Southern Low Countries, there was just one example – Antwerp.12 In another class of domus, the noviciate (at Tournai, later also Malines), novices were trained for two years; after being educated at a university, they spent a third year in the tertiate (at Lier, from 1629).13 Even during their training these ‘scholars’ could teach in the ‘school’ (gymnasium), the subject of our paper, which was housed in a separate part of the college complex. Jesuit teaching was dedicated to the lit-

9 In 1747 the Superior of the Flemish Province, Father Dolmans collected drawings and also engravings linked with Jesuit architectural practice into a set of bound volumes, called Promptuarium Pictorum on the frontispiece he had printed. The two most important volumes which have survived are kept in the Archive of the Flemish Jesuits at Heverlee, henceforth quoted as AFJH PP. S. Lemmens, Catalogue raisonné van het Promptuarium Pictorum, Master’s Thesis dir. by K. De Jonge, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 1996; Daelemans 1998 (note 8);B. Daelemans, ‘Het Promptuarium Pictorum als spiegel van de ontwerppraktijk der Vlaamse Jezuïetenarchitecten in de 17de eeuw’, in: De Jonge, De Vos, Snaet 2000, pp. 175–198. 10 The documents in the National Library of Malta at Valletta, manuscript no. 156 (henceforth abbreviated as NLMV ms. 156) have a similar provenance

as the Paris collection. They comprise notes made by the college rectors, explanatory notes by the architects, remarks on submitted projects, etc., and thus complement the documents conserved in Beveren. Hendrickx 2000, pp. 43–44 and Appendix I. 11 The engravings of double in-folio size show a lot of detail. A. Sanderus, Chorographia sacra Brabantiae…, first edition Brussels: Philippus Vleugartius, 1659–1669; second revised edition 3 vols., The Hague: Christianus Van Lom, 1726–1727. 12 Poncelet 1927, vol. I, pp. 451–484. 13 Ibidem, vol. I, pp. 434–450. On the buildings of the noviciate at Tournai (fig. 1), see Le patrimoine monumental de la Belgique, vol. 6, Province du Hainaut, Arrondissement de Tournai (T-W), Arrondissement de Mouscron, t. 2, Liège, 1978, pp. 725–731.

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THE FIRST JESUIT SCHOOLS

IN THE

SOUTHERN LOW COUNTRIES (1585–1648)

2 and 3. Leuven, Van Dale College, main façade and courtyard (from 1569) (photograph: Author).

terae humaniores. It was also free tuition, at least in the day schools; boarding schools (convictus), which were rather rare in the Jesuit context, were not. To most schools were linked confraternities (‘sodalities’) of lay persons which met in one of its rooms. Exceptionally, some ‘schools’ offered higher education in theology and philosophy, equivalent to that provided in a university college, but in this case also, it was open to students from outside the Society’s ranks. In the Southern Low Countries, there were only two examples: Douai14 and Leuven (Louvain), our first case study. The Society of Jesus at Leuven The Society’s debut in Leuven15 is similar to other foundations in the Southern Low Countries, in the sense that it was marred by conflict with the local civic authorities, the governors of the Low Countries and even the supreme religious authority; the bishops of the newly created church provinces (1559). The first Jesuits had arrived in Leuven in 1542 from Paris. The intermittent war between the Habsburg and Valois powers had started up again; as a consequence the community had been expelled by the French because they were subjects of Charles V. They were closely linked with the Society’s founder: foremost amongst them, Ignatius’ cousin Emile of Loyola, Pedro Ribadeneira and Francis Strada. Ignatius soon recalled them to Rome to complete their studies there, but their house remained very active in recruiting novices, in spite of not being recognised by the authorities and indeed over the protests of the University and of concerned parents. In 1556 Philip II officially allowed the Society to settle in the country, on the express condition, however, of obtaining permission to acquire property from the local authority. As often happened in Italy,16 in Leuven the mendicant orders and even the parishes interceded

14

Poncelet 1927, vol. I, pp. 315–320, vol. II, pp. 146– 160, 164–187. 15 Ibidem, vol. II, pp. 120–146, 188–228, 252–297. 16 L. Giard, ‘Le devoir de l’intelligence, ou l’insertion des jésuites dans le monde du savoir’, in: L. Giard (ed.), Les jésuites à la Renaissance. Système éducatif

et production du savoir, Paris, 1995, pp. XI–LXXIX (especially pp. XIX–XXII); G. P. Brizzi, ‘Les jésuites et l’école en Italie (XVIe–XVIIIe siècles)’, ibidem, pp. 35–53; C. Carlsmith, ‘Struggling toward success: Jesuit education in Italy, 1540–1600’, History of Education Quarterly 42, 2002, no. 2, pp. 215–246.

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KRISTA DE JONGE with the city magistrate to stop the Jesuits from inhabiting a number of houses donated to them in 1560; this is a typical example of the difficulties which they initially had to face. The first college, together with a seminary of theology and philosophy, and a noviciate, was housed in a new building in the straete vande Backeleyn in 1567 (the noviciate would be transferred to Tournai two years later), cobbled together out of ten older houses.17 The result, only known from a 1593 chronicle, thus may have closely resembled the larger sixteenthcentury university colleges in the city, such as the contemporary Van Dale College (founded in 1569).18 With its courtyard plan, developed between street and garden, and non-identical wings loosely linked by a portico, the latter also reflected urban residences of a certain standing (fig. 2 and 3). Leuven remained loyal to the Spanish king and did not have a Calvinist government between 1578 and 1584/1585 as was the case in Ghent, Brussels and Antwerp. However, the plague which hit the city between August 1578 and March 1579 killed three-quarters of the inhabitants, with twelve victims among the Jesuit fathers. Under Alexander Farnese, however, conflict with the University reached new heights, not only on the juridical level but also on the matter of doctrine. In 1587 Michel Baius (du Bay) and the University’s Faculty of Theology directly confronted Jesuit Leonard Lessius over the issue of human will and divine grace. This quarrel spread across the whole of Catholic Europe, opposing Leuven University and most of the Belgian bishops, as well as the University of Douai, to Lessius, who in his turn was supported by Cologne, Ingolstadt, Trier and other universities under Jesuit influence, and by noted scholars such as Cardinal Roberto Bellarmino. (In the end, Pope Sixtus V decided in favour of Lessius.) In 1593, the Leuven Jesuits took a fateful initiative in organising a complete course on philosophy, metaphysics, logic and mathematics. Together with the existing course on theology,19 the Society now offered a complete programme of higher education, which was open to the public and free to boot. This not unnaturally provoked the ire of the University. After its initial success – the course had been officially sanctioned by the Council of Brabant on 11 August 1595 with the approval of Archduke Albert of Austria – it had to be abolished again on 16 March 1596 by Jesuit General Aquaviva on the orders of the pope, who had taken the University’s side in this matter.20 In this short period of time, however, the Jesuits acquired a number of properties situated amongst the most important university colleges in the higher part of the town; this would be the starting point for the construction of a far bigger college in a far more prestigious location than the previous one. The first plots, later augmented by several donations, fronted upon the Proefstraete (actually Naamsestraat, remarkable even today for its ancient college buildings and for the University’s medieval headquarters in the Hallen); they stretched from the Meyerstraete (Sint-Michielstraat) to the Kattestraete (De Bériotstraat), between the College of the Pope (founded by Hadrian VI) and the Royal College. In 1598, the ancient College of Craendonck was even incorporated into the complex. The neighbouring colleges have been carefully drawn in one of the earliest extant plans, testifying to the Jesuits’ sensibility to the genius loci (fig. 4). As before, construction work – probably supervised by the most active

17 B. De Vos, De St.-Michielskerk te Leuven, Master’s Thesis dir. by K. De Jonge, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 1989, pp. 2–34. 18 R.L. Lemaire (ed.), Bouwen door de eeuwen heen, vol. 1, Provincie Brabant, Arrondissement Leuven, Liège, 1971, pp. 256–257; E. De Maesschalck, ‘Beurzen en colleges te Leuven in de 15de en 16de eeuw’, Spiegel Historiael 13, 1979, no. 9, pp. 556–563.

19

See BNP Estampes Hd-4a 156 (VR 959) (fig. 4): in the domus serviana in the Meyerstraete, the great hall fronting upon the street is called aula magna destinata lectionibus theologicis, and the chapel at its end parvum sacellum consecratam cum altari. 20 J. P. Donnelly S.J., ‘Padua, Louvain and Paris: Three Cases of University-Jesuit Confrontation (1591–1596)’, Louvain Studies 15, 1990, pp. 38–52.

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Jesuit architect of the era, Hendrik Hoeymaeker – initially aimed at a pragmatic transformation of the houses that existed on the site in order to achieve the most elementary comfort, while the erection of a new church was put off till later. The kitchens and the dining room were enlarged; a hall was created by taking out a wall, etc. Only in the second phase does the question of type become relevant. From 1610 the foundations were laid of a large rectangular building measuring 116 feet by 32 feet (33 by 9 m, 1 Leuven ft measuring 28,55 cm), comprising fifteen rooms, a refectory and a hall. The plan with the legend Idea collegii Lovaniensis conserved at Paris dates from this period; it may be attributed to Johannes du Blocq (before 1612?) (fig. 5).21 College and school each have their own courtyard, with a large garden at the back; the church is turned towards the Naamsestraat and thus constitutes the most public and most prestigious façade of the complex (it would be built on that spot from 1650). This is a disposition of quite another type, obviously aiming at far greater regularity with the courtyard as hub. Unfortunately, the plan’s key has disappeared, so that it is nowadays impossible to situate each function in a more precise manner. The building was never realised, however; the former, hybrid state of affairs with older, partially transformed houses and new additions continued to exist, as is confirmed by the later iconography. As before, the school occupied the former houses in the Kattestraat (fig. 6).

SOUTHERN LOW COUNTRIES (1585–1648)

4. Leuven, Jesuit College, plan with building plots attributed to Hendrik Hoeymaker, after 1595, detail: domus serviana in the Meyerstrate with H: hall for theology classes and I: small chapel (Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris).

5. Leuven, Jesuit college, plan attributed to Johannes du Blocq, before 1612 (Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris).

Jesuit schools in the Southern Low Countries The chequered pre-history of the Jesuit College and school at Leuven was no exception by any means. On the contrary, many similar cases could be found in the Low Countries;22 discussing them all would nevertheless lead us too far astray. If we leave aside the particular history of each school, two main groups can be distinguished on the basis of the surviving drawings.23

21

BNP Estampes Hd-4A 157 (VR 960), key has been lost (fig. 5): the Area collegij is situated between the Area scholarum and the church, the main façade of which is turned towards the Proefstrate; the college and the school are located in the Meyerstraete, as before. To be confronted with the view from Sanderus 1726–1727, vol. III, between pp. 30–31 (fig. 6).

22

See Poncelet 1927, vol. I. Analysis of colleges (including school buildings) at Aire-sur-la-Lys, Antwerp, Brussels, Kortrijk, Douai, Dunkirk, Ghent, Leuven, Liège, Luxemburg, Mons, Namur, Saint-Omer, and Ypres in Hendrickx 2000, pp. 47–67.

23

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6. Renier Blockhuysen, Bird’s eye view of the Jesuit College at Leuven, engraving. On the upper side of the plot, the houses in de Kattestrate serving as school buildings (Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek).

The ‘Leuven type’, with courtyard plan flanked by the church in the most prominent urban position, may be found elsewhere. For instance, it was fully realised at Namur under the direction of Pieter Huyssens, the Jesuits’ most gifted architect, with the financial support of the city magistrate; construction work went on without interruption from 1611 till 1620 (work on the church started the following year) (fig. 7).24 In Bruges only a partial courtyard plan saw the light of day in various phases spread over almost a century. As happened elsewhere, local circumstances and especially lack of funds limited its realisation (fig. 8).25 In the case of Brussels, there was a large site available, made up out of different noble residences and their gardens (fig. 9). There again we discover a succession of different courtyards, with a semi-public courtyard next to the church, followed on the right side by the school’s courtyard and a more private one serving the domus at the back, with a large garden with outbuildings to its right.26 The 24

Genicot, Coomans 1991 (note 2), pp. 136–149. Analysis of the surviving building in J. Cornilly, The former Jesuit college in Bruges. Past – Present – Future, Master’s Thesis of Conservation dir. by K. De Jonge and B. van der Wee, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 1998. 26 BNP Estampes Hd-4C 31 (VR 952), sent to Rome in 1615, shows a courtyard surrounded by porticoes on three sides, similar to SAAB Jezuïeten 1445, no. 10, which can be dated to 1603 or thereabouts (fig. 1). 25

AFJH PP vol. I, 90v-91, on the other hand, which also dates from 1615, shows a schoolyard entirely surrounded by porticoes but this was never realised, as shown in the view from Sanderus 1726–1727 (note 11), vol. III, between pp. 32–33 (fig. 9). L. Brouwers, De jezuïeten te Brussel 1586–1733.1833, Mechelen, 1979, pp. 31, 44–52; A. De Vos, ‘Hofarchitect Jacques Francart en de Brusselse jezuïetenkerk. Tussen traditie en vernieuwing’, De zeventiende eeuw 14, 1998, no. 1, pp. 65–80, especially pp. 65–66.

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7. Namur, Jesuit College, Pieter Huyssens, 1611–1620 (photograph: Author).

8. Bruges, Jesuit College, gymnasium wing, Jacobus Stratius (?), 1607–1610 (before restoration, photograph: Jeroen Cornilly).

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9. Renier Blockhuysen, Bird’s eye view of the Jesuit College at Brussels, engraving. The school stands to the right of the church (Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek).

Brussels regium gymnasium or ‘royal school’ built in 1614 was counted amongst the largest in the country (see figs. 10 and 14); we will analyse its plan later. On the other hand, less important colleges and colleges situated in smaller towns usually had schools of a more compact type (fig. 11). In this group, the school building consisted of five or six rooms of comparable size on the ground floor (the smaller ones served the more senior classes), and a hall on the floor above. The class rooms mostly opened directly upon the courtyard, without an interposed portico (which would have cut off most of the light) or without a corridor, as was the case in bigger schools. The schoolyard, as can be seen in Dunkirk where the school was located in the entrance wing, was often reduced to a narrow corridor-like space.27 On common ground: the Ratio Studiorum Both groups found common ground in the Ratio Studiorum of the Society of Jesus, the study programme to which all Jesuit school buildings had to adapt.28 This constituted indeed a major criterion for approval of the plans which the colleges had to send to the Roman headquarters before starting construction. The Ratio took form slowly after the death of the founder, 27

Poncelet 1927, vol. I, pp. 486–487. See AFJH PP vol. I, 67a (fig. 11). A similar example may be found at Ypres, see SAAB Jezuïeten, Flandro-Belgica, 1445, no. 25 (dated 1616) and Poncelet 1927, vol. I, pp. 367–372. 28 J.-B. Herman S.J., La pédagogie des jésuites au XVIe siècle (Université de Louvain, recueil de travaux), Brussels and Paris, 1914; A.P. Farrell S.J., The Jesuit Code of Liberal Education. Development and Scope of the Ratio Studiorum, Milwaukee, 1938; G. P. Brizzi, La ratio studiorum : modelli culturali e pratiche educative dei Gesuiti in Italia tra Cinque e Seicento, Rome, 1981; Giard 1995 (note 16);

D. Julia, ‘Généalogie de la Ratio Studiorum’, in: L. Giard and L. de Vaucelles (eds.), Les jésuites à l’âge baroque 1540–1640, Grenoble, 1996, pp. 115–130; A. Demoustier, L. Albrieux, M.-M. Compère, Ratio studiorum : plan raisonné et institution des études dans la Compagnie de Jésus, Paris, 1997; L. Lukacs S.J., and G. Cosentino, Church, Culture & Curriculum. Theology and Mathematics in the Jesuit Ratio Studiorum, Philadelphia, 1999; V. Duminuco, The Jesuit Ratio Studiorum of 1599: 400th anniversary perspectives, New York, 2000; M. Hinz, R. Righi, and D. Zardin, I gesuiti e la Ratio studiorum, Rome, 2004.

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10. Brussels, Jesuit College, detail with school, attributed to Hendrik Hoeymaker, c. 1603 (Rijksarchief Beveren).

IN THE

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11. Dunkirk, Jesuit College, undated plan with school at lower edge (Archives of the Flemish Jesuits, Heverlee, photograph: Katholieke Universiteit Leuven).

Ignatius of Loyola. The matter remained unresolved in his Constitutiones; these nevertheless suggest that the rules of the Roman College may be followed while waiting for more definitive regulations. Different initiatives taken under Claudio Aquaviva finally led to an initial proposal sent to all provinces in 1591 to be tried out in the colleges for a period of three years. Their feedback was taken into account in the definitive version adopted in 1599 in all Jesuit houses and which remained valid until the temporary abolition of the Society in 1773. From the start it was foreseen that potest varietas accidere, in some cases variations of the Ratio could be permitted. The Belgian Provinces indeed deviated from the Ratio on several points albeit of a secondary nature, as evidenced by the 1625 Instructio which consists of a set of particular Flemish customs in use since 1599 at least.29 A revised edition was sent back to Belgium in 1647, at the initiative of Father Montmorency and with the approval of General Carafa.30 29

SAAB Jezuïeten, Flandro-Belgica, L 1063 (Van de Vorst 1950, pp. 194–220). No analogous source has been conserved for the Walloon province but the organisation of education has been described in the Consuetudines provinciae Gallo-Belgicae of 1641 approximately, chapter 5 (formerly in Brussels, Algemeen Rijksarchief Jezuïeten/Jésuites, Gallo-Belgica, 5). Quoted by E. Put, De jezuïeten in de Nederlanden en het prinsbisdom Luik (1542–1773), exhibition catalogue, Brussels, Algemeen Rijksarchief, 1991, cat. nos. 67–68, p. 32. The

Flemish (Flandro-Belgica) and Walloon (Gallo-Belgica) Provinces were separated in 1612. We note that the correspondence with the Roman headquarters, on the other hand, only gives scant evidence concerning this issue, as shown by Luce Giard in an unpublished talk: ‘Jesuit Colleges in the Low Countries and the Writing of the Ratio Studiorum (1540–1620)’, The Jesuits of the Low Countries: Identity and Impact (1540–1773), Leuven, Jesuitica Conference, 3 December 2009. 30 Van de Vorst 1950, pp. 221–234.

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KRISTA DE JONGE These documents only offer scant information of a concrete nature on the architecture of the school. The following elements are nevertheless very suggestive. A janitor (ianitor or praefectus atrium) must control the entrance of the schoolyard (area scholarum) from the public street. In accordance with the division of the school in five (or six) classes,31 there must be (at least) five separate school rooms of sufficient size. The Belgian Instructio adds that geographical maps should decorate the walls of the senior classrooms. Thirdly, supervision of the classes, which is the main task of the study prefect (praefectus studiorum), is done from a central point; i.e., the atrium or area overlooked by the classrooms, as the study prefect will enter the classrooms but rarely. This, the sixth rule of the Ratio seems to be especially determinant for the school’s spatial organisation. Communication with parents and with urban society in general turned upon the yearly prize-giving ceremony, which was usually preceded by a theatrical representation. For this important occasion a hall of sufficient size was needed, which was also used for declamation. Finally, the most important schools also possessed a library similar to the ones at the ‘professed’ house and at the bigger colleges.32 There are, however, no explicit rules regarding this space, but since books were frequently mentioned as important didactical instruments, the library had to be easily accessible from the classrooms. Model or type? The Ratio Studiorum obviously did not offer a clear-cut architectural model to the Belgian Jesuits. Generally speaking, model plans had not taken with the Jesuit community outside Italy, in spite of Everard Mercurian’s efforts on this point in the late sixteenth century. There would be no ratio aedificiorum applied in the provinces, either for churches or for colleges and schools.33 Nevertheless, models of Italian origin may have circulated between the Belgian colleges. Amongst the first proposals for the ‘professed’ house in Antwerp there may be found several college plans with churches inspired by the idealised models developed by Giovanni De Rosis on the basis of Giuseppe Valeriano’s oeuvre.34 A college plan of clearly Roman origin has been conserved in the Promptuarium

31

In ascending order, 6. Rudimenta (preparatory class, not always present), 5. Figurae (third class of grammar), 4. Grammatica (second class of grammar), 3. Syntaxis (first class of grammar), 2. Poesis, 1. Rhetorica. 32 R. Fabri and P. Lombaerde, ‘Architectural Treatises, Books and Prints in the Libraries of the Jesuits in Antwerp’, in: P. Lombaerde (ed.), Innovation and Experience in the Early Baroque in the Southern Netherlands. The Case of the Jesuit Church in Antwerp (Architectura Moderna, 6), Turnhout, 2008, pp. 187–200. 33 Model plans are mentioned first in 1580: ideae sive formae aedificiorum nostrae societatis hic factae. P. Pirri S.J., Giovanni Tristano e i primordi della architettura gesuitica (Bibliotheca Instituti Historici Societatis Iesu, VI), Rome, 1955, pp. 40–44, pp. 160–169; P. Moisy, Les églises des Jésuites de l’Ancienne Assistance de France (Bibliotheca Instituti Historici Societas Iesu, XII), 2 vols., Rome, 1958, vol. I, pp. 44–60; Vallery-Radot 1960, pp. 6*–18*; P. Pirri S.J. and P. Di Rosa S.J., ‘Il P. Giovanni de Rosis (1538–1610) e lo sviluppo dell’edilizia gesuitica’, Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu 44, 1975, pp. 3–104, especially

pp. 20–23; D. Zocchi, ‘I Collegi della Compagnia di Gesù’, in L. Patetta et al. (eds.), L’architettura della Compagnia di Gesù in Italia XVI–XVIII sec., Brescia, 1990, pp. 15–18; I. Balestreri, ‘L’architettura negli scritti della Compagnia di Gesù’, ibidem, pp. 19–26, especially pp. 22–24; M. Kiene, ‘Bartolommeo Ammanati et l’architecture des jésuites au XVIe siècle’, in: Giard, Vaucelles 1996 (note 28), pp. 183–196, especially pp. 183–185. 34 BNP Estampes Hd-4c 11 (VR 936) and Hd-4c 10 (VR 938), by François d’Aguilon, around 1613. S. Brigode, ‘Les projets de construction de l’église des jésuites à Anvers d’après les plans conservés à la Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris’, Bulletin de l’institut historique belge de Rome 14, 1934, pp. 157–174; J. Snaet, ‘De bouwprojecten voor de Antwerpse jezuïetenkerk’, in: De Jonge, De Vos, Snaet 2000, pp. 43–66; J. Snaet, ‘Rubens’s Palazzi di Genova and the Jesuit churches of Antwerp and Brussels’, in: P. Lombaerde (ed.), The Reception of P.P. Rubens’s Palazzi di Genova during the 17th century in Europe: Questions and Problems (Architectura Moderna, 1), Turnhout, 2002, pp. 161–182.

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Pictorum.35 The Collegio Romano built by Giovanni Tristano was in any case quite well known in the Low Countries, as numerous Flemish and Walloon Jesuits had been trained there, and Quentin Charlat, founder of Tournai College (1554) even became its rector.36 A late seventeenth-century source, the drawings of the Walloon Jesuit architect Henri Laloyau testify to the transmission of Roman classroom arrangements and their furniture to the Low Countries.37 None of the colleges and schools built ex novo in the Low Countries can nevertheless be considered as a copy or imitation of the eminent Roman example (leaving aside, for the moment, the fact that the latter was a university college), not even the new college at Namur (fig. 7). No example can be found here which can be compared to the Italian and Spanish university colleges, true palaces with uniform loggia façades repeated on all four sides of a square courtyard.38 Moreover, no effort seems to have been made to realise perfectly symmetrical complexes with the church on the central axis, as shown by the numerous plans which have been conserved. It should be noted here that in the Low Countries a symmetrical disposition of wings around a courtyard bordered by porticoes had become the norm for the urban palaces of the nobility from the 1530s, and likewise for the most prestigious urban public buildings.39 In the urban architecture of the upper classes the portico with gallery above had gained widespread currency even earlier, from the beginning of the sixteenth century, as a connecting element between the front wing on the street and the more private back wing towards the garden. It is all the more surprising that Jesuit architecture in the Low Countries does not seem to have profited by this feature, or indeed to have realised its spatial and functional potential.40 Was it deemed too status-bound, too worldly? Maybe the extraordinary number of new foundations, concentrated in a very short period, and the difficult spatial conditions which these had to cope with; the lack of available space in the dense urban fabric and, as a consequence, the almost obligatory reuse of older buildings, constitute the primary causes for this apparent frugality. Economy and frugality are indeed most often quoted by the Roman Generalate as reasons for rejecting the more ambitious plans sent in from the provinces. The remarks formulated by the ‘building inspector’ (consiliarius aedificiorum) in Rome mostly concerned the dispositio or functionality and use 35

AFJH PP vol. II, 67 (ground floor), 66 (first floor). Symmetrical disposition with rectangular courtyard and centrally-planned chapel on the main axis comprised within the wing facing the entrance. 36 Poncelet 1927, vol. I, p. 64; Pirri 1955 (note 33), pp. 11–16; P. Pirri S.J., R. C. Colombo, and M. Scaduto, Giuseppe Valeriano S.I., architetto e pittore 1542–1596 (Biblioteca Instituti historici Societatis Jesu, XXXI), Rome, 1970, pp. 53–75; R. Bösel, Jesuitenarchitektur in Italien (1540–1773). I. Die Baudenkmäler der römischen und der neapolitanischen Ordensprovinz, 2 vols., second edition, Vienna, 1986, vol. I, pp. 180–211. 37 Born 1646, died 1723. Private collection, New York. One of these schematic drawings shows the furnishings of a classroom in the Collegio Romano, related to the teachings of Andrea Pozzo. R. Bösel, ‘L’architecture de la compagnie de Jésus en Europe’, in: G. Sale S.J. (ed.), L’Art des Jésuites, Paris, 2003, pp. 65–122, especially pp. 72–73. 38 K. Rückbrod, Universität und Kollegium, Baugeschichte und Bautyp, Darmstadt, 1977, pp. 65–86; M. Kiene, ‘Il Palazzo della Sapienza. Zur italienischen

Universitätsarchitektur des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts’, Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana 23–24, 1988, pp. 220–271; Id., ‘Die italienische Universitätspaläste des 17. Jahrhunderts’, Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana 25, 1989, pp. 321–381. 39 See our first contribution to this volume. 40 There are a few exceptions. In Namur College the portico is used to connect different wings around a courtyard (see note 24). In Pieter Huyssens’ project for the Antwerp ‘professed’ house, dated around 1622, the portico connects different parts of the complex (courtyard and garden). Antwerp, Archives of Saint Charles Borromeus, inv. no. 8, see B. Daelemans, ‘Pieter Huyssens S.J. [1577–1637], an Underestimated Architect and Engineer’, in: Lombaerde 2008 (note 32), pp. 41–52, especially p. 44 fig. 4. The Antwerp College proper and its school, and their successor the Faculty of Arts of the University of Antwerp, continue to occupy the residence of the noble family of Van Liere to the present day; this house also shows an arrangement of several porticoed courtyards. L. Brouwers S.J., Het hof van Liere van patriciërshuis tot universitaire instelling te Antwerpen 1516–1975, Antwerp, 1976.

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KRISTA DE JONGE of the plan in relation to its spatial organisation.41 This aspect also constitutes the central theme of contemporary architectural writings linked with the Jesuit milieu, such as the treatise by Ammanati and Valeriano, included in Antonio Possevino’s Bibliotheca selecta.42 Each project approved by Headquarters was in any case judged to be sufficient on this level at least. ‘Rome’ did not encourage building grand and wasteful complexes, and it may very well be that the vast courtyard schemes were considered as such. In spite of all this, certain guiding principles of the Collegio Romano plan – those which also underlie the Ratio Studiorum – may be recognised 12. Ghent, Jesuit School, south wing with classrooms on the in Belgian examples. If there is no unique model, ground floor and library on the upper floor, 1661–1662 (before there certainly is a common basic type. It is clear restoration, photograph: Halewijn Missiaen, 2002). that wherever possible the Jesuit communities tried to realise a plan centred upon several courtyards; i.e., the area collegii closed off from the public on the one hand and the area scholarum surrounded by classrooms on the other. The vast atrium characteristic of the Collegio Romano (in the state realised by Tristano in 1561) was known through several contemporary descriptions and may have inspired this choice, quite apart from the prestigious nature of such plans in the local architectural context. The asymmetrical placement of the church commonly found in the Low Countries, however, corresponded more closely to functional requirements, as the Ghent Jesuits put it (figs. 12 and 13): Quia tres praecipuae partes Collegii, societatis Templum, domus, et Scholae, optimi inter se, et in eadem platea collocantur, sicut (…) R.P.tres desiderant. Domus enim est inter Templum et scholas et utrique vicina.43 Ideally the domus was located between the school and the church, so that the fathers could rapidly get to the church for their devotional exercises and to the school for their educational work.44 Most of the surviving plans conform to that principle, even if they vary very much as to the disposition of single spaces, the dimensions of the schoolyard, etc., depending on the situation of the building plot. 41

Vallery-Radot 1960, pp. 34*–50*. First edition Rome, 1593. Pirri, Colombo, Scaduto 1970 (note 36), pp. 213–223; M. Kiene, Bartolommeo Ammanati, Milan, 1995, pp. 201–204; Kiene 1996 (note 33), pp. 185–188. We were not able to consult I. Balestreri, ‘Scritti di padri gesuiti in materia d’architettura’, in: I Gesuiti e l’architettura. La produzione in Italia dal XVI al XVIII secolo, Milan, 1997, pp. 46–52. 43 NLMV ms. 156, no. 359 (219). ‘Rationes quas infrascripti Patres representant R.P.N. ut ostendant expedire Collegio Gandensi aedificari suo tempore iuxta Ideam hic adiunctum : Quia tres praecipuae partes Collegii, societatis Templum, domus, et Scholae, optimi inter se, et in eadem platea collocantur, sicut (…) R.P.tres desiderant. Domus enim est inter Templum et scholas et utrique vicina. Quia est apta ad servandam disciplinam religiosam. Omnes enim domestici habitant coniuncti, et facile Superiorem adire, ab eoque conspici possunt. Quia est commode. Tam quia pleraque cubicula sunt ad Orientem vel septentrionum, ex quibus partibus venti salubres spirant: Templum autem nos munit adversos alios 42

ventos hic satis turbulentos et insalubres; tam quia hic sunt commodi horti, tam (…) culinae, quam ambulatori et templi servit. Sunt enim illis (…) quia tota habitatio est vicina templo et scholis. Quia secundum hanc Ideam servamus pleraque aedificia, illa scilicet quae sunt ad Occidentem. Quod facimus tam ut infermant nobis quousque alia sint aedificata, tam eut illo suo tempore elocemus bonis vicinis, tam quia Gandavi aedificia non sine magno scandalo deicuntur, sicut hic contingit.’ Transcription Hendrickx 2000, Appendix II. 44 As shown in the earliest plans for the Ghent College, SAAB Jezuïeten, Flandro-Belgica 1445, no. 20 (dated c. 1599–1606), 21 (dated 1616, by Pieter Huyssens) and 22 (dated 1631). On the building history of the new school, see L. Brouwers S.J., De jezuïeten te Gent, 1585–1773, 1823–heden, Ghent, 1980, pp. 74–81. Analysis of the gymnasium building by H. Missiaen, Preparatory architectural investigation for the restoration of the former Jesuit gymnasium in Ghent, Master’s Thesis of Conservation dir. by K. De Jonge and B. van der Wee, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 2003.

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13. Ghent, Jesuit College, school plan by Willem Hesius, 1658. In the north wing fronting the street: A porticus gymnasij. In the east wing: theatre hall, B aula theatralis, C gradus ad orchestram…, D theatrum. In the south wing: classrooms, E rudimenta, F figurae, G grammatica, H syntaxis. In the west wing: more classrooms: I poesis, J rhetorica, K gradus ad sodalitatis. Schoolyard: area gymnasij, L (Rijksarchief Beveren, photograph: Halewijn Missiaen).

14. Brussels, Jesuit College, c. 1615? (Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris).

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15. Renier Blockhuysen, Bird’s eye view of the Augustine convent at Brussels, engraving. Beyond the church, the school built by Jacques Francart, 1615–1616 (Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek).

The Brussels school had, exceptionally, a fair-sized plot at its disposal. Accordingly the undated axonometric view conserved at Paris (fig. 14) shows a rectangular courtyard almost completely surrounded by arcaded porticoes which connect the classrooms with the staircase placed in a turret.45 A contemporary German source, the school manual in the form of a dialogue published by Father Jacobus Pontanus in Ingolstadt from 1589 to 1594, indeed describes the ideal Jesuit school as having a square courtyard and classrooms connected to each other by ambulatiunculae, ‘small galleries’, located in front and between them, with a similar disposition on the upper level.46 Maybe this description echoes lost model plans? 45

BNP Estampes Hd-4c 30 (VR 951) (fig. 14). Jacobi Pontani de Societate Jesu, Progymnasmatum Latinitatis, sive Dialogorum, cum Annotationibus, 3 vols., Ingolstadt, 1594, vol. I, chapter 75, Descriptio Gymnasii, p. 310: ‘Schola ista nostra, in quam ad ingenij culturam percipiendam in dies coepimus commeare, pulcherrime commodissimeque exaedificata mihi videtur. F. Hic summum quies, hic alta silentia. Academiam illam Athenis amoeno, & nemoroso, at minime ad tuendam sanitatem accomodato solo traditum est constructam fuisse […] F. Nullae domus ita contiguae, ut officant luminibus. Iam vero quam excelsi 46

parietes? quam sublime & ad pluviarum defluxus praeceps aptatumque tectum? Ipsa forma domus non proiecta in longum, non extens nimis in latum, non trilatera, sed tetragon sive quadrata: ita tamen, ut sit aliquanto longior quam latior, porta ingens, & aspectu augusta ac venerabilis a sculptore & pictore emblematis insigniter decorata. S: Illi ordines fenestrarum, infra quidem latis luminibus, supra angustiarum, omnium autem inter se ad perpendiculum aequalium, ecquid ornamentum addunt? F. Eximium. Ubi ingressus fueris, ad laevam auditoria duo, ad dexteram totidem: ambulatiunculae ante scholas, & inter scholas. Inde gradibus

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16. Brussels, Augustine School, plan by Remi Nivoy, 1804: 18 refectory, 19 prefect’s room, 20 staircase, 21 gallery, 22 classrooms, 23 courtyard (Algemeen Rijksarchief, Brussels, photograph: Annemie De Vos).

The school’s entrance played a representative role. Hence, certain plans show a semi-public forecourt (area ingressus), which is a prestigious feature in the densely built-up cities of the Low Countries. The halls for declamation exercises and theatre, and the rooms used by the sodalities were usually to be found near the entrance to facilitate public access.47 In Willem Hesius’s plan for the Ghent gymnasium, the theatre is located on the ground floor and similarly to Brussels, it is provided with a small sanctuary (fig. 13).48 In the aforementioned project for the Brussels school, the sodality rooms can be found in the front wing on the first floor, looking out upon the street. Galleries connect them to the posterior wing, which is occupied by a public hall (with altar niche), to the right of the winding staircase which goes down to the schoolyard, and by the teachers’ apartments, the

septendecim ex albo expolito lapide, quatuor cubitos longis, unum pene latis ascenditur. Rursum ibi quatuor Gymnasia, cum suis ambulatiunculis […] S. Aulam omittis? F. Nonne haec scholis incumbens, & in summis aedibus ampla, tabulatisque ornatissima, & picturis egregiis mirabiliter locuplerata est? S. Assentior. F. Nonne ad oratorias exercitationes, ad comicas quoque actiones opportunissima? S. Nimirum. F. Nonne templo quam simillima? Etiam. F. Quid igitur salubris, quid splendidus nostra schola S. Nihil.’ W. W. Scheibel,

Ordenskollegien der Gesellschaft Iesu unter Kurfürst Maximilian I. von Bayen (1598 bis 1651) – Untersuchungen zur Kollegarchitektur im 17. Jahrhunderts, PhD dissertation, Philipps-Universität Marburg, 1999, http://archiv.ub.uni-marburg.de/diss/z2000/0400html/ Htmlpro/Lpmmeg/Grafik/Bau.htm (n. 215). 47 Hendrickx 2000, pp. 60–63. 48 Plan by Willem Hesius, 1658 (realised in 1661–1662), SAAB Jezuïeten, Flandro-Belgica 1445, no. 23 (fig. 13).

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KRISTA DE JONGE prefects’, and the library, placed on the left side of the staircase. Pontanus’ text, too, places the great hall which is used for devotional exercises and for theatre on the first floor, and compares it with a church. Staircases are very often of the winding type, sometimes placed in staircase tower which may encroach upon the courtyard. One of the plans for the Ghent gymnasium, however, shows a more modern type of staircase with straight flights turning back upon themselves and connecting with the galleries on the main circulation axis of the complex.49 Similarities and differences with other teaching orders The Brussels Jesuit College enjoyed an eminent position within the Low Countries thanks to the support of the Court. Archduke Albert of Austria and the Infanta Isabella of Spain, governors of the Low Countries, had heavily subsidised its church, even temporarily lending one of their court architects, Jacques Francart, to the Jesuits to speed up construction.50 Francart was also the architect of the new convent and school of the Augustinian canons in the same city (fig. 15).51 We may indeed ask whether there is any typological difference to be noted between the two establishments. The Augustinians were the Jesuits’ most important competitors in the educational field. From 1600 until 1656, they founded no less than twenty-one new schools, the very first of which was located in Brussels (1601), followed by Antwerp (1608), Ghent (1609) and Leuven (1612).52 On 14 January 1623 Pope Gregory XV put his official seal of approval on their enterprise.53 In short, the Augustinian Order managed to found an important school at Brussels, residence to the Court, three years earlier than the Society of Jesus (1604). Both institutions could boast of an important number of pupils, between 400 and 500 each. From the beginning the Augustinian school received financial support from the city magistrate and also from Archduke Albert. In 1605 the Augustinians started building a vast new convent, which was followed in 1615 by a new school building and in 1616 by the transformation of the old one (this edifice was located further along on the same axis as the new school wing). There are clear parallels but also clear differences to be noted with the Jesuit gymnasia. First of all, the separation between school and convent was much stricter because the latter – conceived as a quadrangle flanking the church, in accordance with tradition – was of course a cloistered space; a true claustrum, on the other hand, cannot be found in the Jesuit context, as we have stressed in the beginning. In the Brussels Augustinian convent, the trapezoidal space at the back of the convent building and the church was directly accessible from the side street (Bruidstraat); it served as schoolyard and was separated by the school buildings from the northern border of the site, where the river Senne ran (fig. 16). The classrooms could be found on the ground floor behind a Doric portico (on the right

49

SAAB Jezuïeten, Flandro-Belgica 1445, no. 24, with explanatory note. 50 Brouwers 1979 (note 26), p. 75; De Vos 1998 (note 26). 51 A. De Vos, ‘Het augustijnenklooster van Brussel (1598–1796). Reconstructie van een bouwgeschiedenis’, in: De Jonge, De Vos, Snaet 2000, pp. 91–125. The main iconographical sources are the view from Sanderus

1726–1727 (note 11), vol. II, between pp. 192–193 (fig. 15) and the plan by Remi Nivoy (fig. 16, Brussels, Algemeen Rijksarchief, Kaarten en plannen 22). 52 Likewise, this college was strongly contested by the University and in the end was put under the latter’s authority. 53 Papal bull approved by the Council of Brabant on 8 April of the same year. Brouwers 1980 (note 44), p. 92.

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side of the image), while the fifty rooms on the first floor were probably ranged alongside a corridor. The Augustine establishment was indeed a boarding school, which is rather rare in the Jesuit milieu as we have seen. A staircase placed in a separate tower linked both floors. The part furthest away from the street comprised an aula on the upper or third level and two refectories on the ground floor and the first. Several spaces of a fairly public nature linked the school with the convent. The library next to the north wing of the convent was connected with the school by a narrow corridor. The chapel of the confraternities associated with the school – similarly to the Jesuit schools – was located in the middle of the northern portico. To conclude For a further in-depth study our working hypothesis could be formulated as follows: The religious orders which were the mainstays of the Counter-Reformation in the Low Countries and particularly their vanguard rapidly adopted the most advanced didactical models of the early modern era. As a consequence it should come as no surprise that on a typological plane their school buildings show many common features; since these models are heavily indebted to the modus parisiensis developed in the late fifteenth century,54 similarities with the most modern university colleges are also to be expected. More case studies are needed to come to a more precise thesis. In the Southern Low Countries, the northernmost frontier of the Catholic world, Jesuit pragmatism proved to be a hindrance to the introduction of true ‘palaces of knowledge’ in the monumental manner known from Southern European examples. Circumstances were propitious only in the Archdukes’ reign, more precisely during the Twelve Years’ Truce with the Dutch Republic (1609–1621). In that period – and with the Archdukes’ full support – the Belgian Jesuits decided to invest most of their available resources in the construction of monumental churches, in many cases even proposing revolutionary solutions which were more often than not rejected by their Roman headquarters as being too avant-garde or too ambitious. In this field only true architectural innovation can be found. Nevertheless, the prestige connected with the new school buildings, especially those at Brussels, Ghent and Namur, should not be minimised. Built for the purpose, in a manner recalling patrician residences and modern university colleges, and provided with the most modern ornament at their entrances, as shown, for instance, in Jacques Francart’s 1617 manual,55 they far surpassed the existing local school buildings.

54

This didactical method used at the University of Paris from the late fifteenth century had some of its roots in the Low Countries, since Jan Standonck from Mechelen had greatly contributed towards it development (see the contribution of Aurélie Perraut to this volume). The ‘Brothers of the common life’ or Hieronymites (broeders van het gemene leven) had already diffused a very similar model across the Low Countries in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. See note 28.

55

A. De Vos, ‘Premier Livre d’Architecture (1617) van Jaques Francart: een post-Michelangelesk, maniëristisch traktaat’, Belgisch tijdschrift voor oudheidkunde en kunstgeschiedenis / Revue belge d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’art 63, 1994, pp. 73–90; A. De Vos, Jacques Francart. Premier livre d’Architecture (1617). Studie van een Zuid-Nederlands modelboek met poortgebouwen (Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België, Klasse der Schone Kunsten, 60, no. 65), Brussels, 1998.

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KRISTA DE JONGE Frequently cited sources De Jonge, De Vos, Snaet 2000 K. De Jonge, A. De Vos, and J. Snaet (eds.), Bellissimi ingegni, grandissimo splendore. Studies over de religieuze architectuur in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden tijdens de 17de eeuw (Symbolæ Facultatis Litterarum Lovaniensis, series B, 15), Leuven, 2000. Hendrickx 2000 R. Hendrickx, Jezuïetenarchitectuur in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden 1585–1648. Typologische studie van jezuïetencolleges en onderzoek van hun Italiaanse bronnen, Master’s Thesis dir. by K. De Jonge, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 2000. Poncelet 1927 A. Poncelet S.J., Histoire de la Compagnie de Jésus dans les anciens Pays-Bas, 2 vols., Brussels, 1927. Vallery-Radot 1960 J. Vallery-Radot, Recueil des plans d’édifices de la Compagnie de Jésus conservés à la Bibliothèque nationale de Paris (Bibliotheca Instituti Historici Societatis Iesu, XV), Rome, 1960. Van de Vorst 1950 C. Van de Vorst S.J., ‘Instructions pédagogiques de 1625 et 1647 pour les collèges de la Province Flandro-Belge’, Archivum historicum Societatis Iesu 19, 1950, pp. 181–236.

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ARCHITECTURE PARA-CONVENTUELLE: ET XVIIIE SIÈCLES

LE PENSIONNAT DE JEUNES FILLES AUX

XVIIE

Laurent Lecomte (École Pratique des Hautes Études, Paris)

Reconnue depuis longtemps par les historiens du catholicisme, la mission éducative des ordres féminins n’a jamais été examinée sous l’angle de l’histoire de l’art. Ainsi, à l’inverse de l’architecture des collèges jésuites ou oratoriens, celle des pensionnats de jeunes filles reste mal connue, à l’exception de la Maison royale de Saint-Cyr. Les moyens considérables affectés au bâtiment de ce prestigieux établissement, autant que le renom de son architecte, Jules Hardouin-Mansart, soulignent de manière éclatante l’importance de cette institution dans la société de l’Ancien Régime.1 Saint-Cyr, toutefois, est l’arbre qui cache la forêt : l’effort de construction des pensionnats a été essentiellement supporté par les ordres nouveaux qui, dans leur écrasante majorité, n’ont jamais bénéficié des largesses royales. Cela vaut en particulier pour les religieuses de Sainte-Ursule – dites ursulines – qui faisaient vœu de “vaquer à l’éducation des petites filles”. Hélas, on ne sait rien ou presque de l’architecture des quelques 315 maisons fondées par ces religieuses en France. Nous avons donc préféré reporter notre attention sur la Visitation Sainte-Marie dont l’histoire architecturale permet de comprendre comment l’accueil des pensionnaires a été pris en compte aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles. Plans type et taches éducatives Créée par François de Sales pour “vaquer à la perfection du divin amour”, la Visitation est, au départ, un ordre strictement contemplatif et ses membres, à l’inverse des ursulines, ne sont pas tenus de jouer un rôle éducatif. Seules quelques jeunes filles – les “sœurs du petit habit” – sont tolérées dans l’enceinte du monastère en tant qu’internes, mais leur nombre ne doit pas dépasser “deux ou trois, ou quatre au plus, âgée d’environ dix ou douze s’il se peut, que si on trouve convenable de la prendre plus jeunes, qu’elles soient au moins d’âge capable pour ne point troubler la quiétude du monastère”.2 De même, si leur présence est autorisée dans les villes “où il n’y a point d’ursulines”,3 Jeanne de Chantal recommande de “ne point se charger davantage”, et de prendre des dispositions pour “que le lieu où cet office se fera, soit hors le commerce des sœurs, afin qu’elles n’en soient point empêchées en leurs autres offices”.4

1

Voir, en dernier lieu, l’ouvrage collectif dirigé par Alexandre Gady Bâtir pour le Roi, Jules HardouinMansart (1646–1708), à paraître au printemps 2010 aux éditions des Sciences de l’homme, Paris. 2 Art. V, ‘Des jeunes filles’, Coutumier de la Visitation, p. 27. Sur la question de l’accueil des petites filles cf. E. Maridet, L’éducation chez les Visitandines aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles, Maîtrise d’Histoire moderne, B. Dompnier (dir.), Université Blaise Pascal, ClermontFerrand II, 1997. 3 Réponses de Notre sainte Mère Jeanne-Françoise Frémiot, baronne de Chantal, Annecy, 1849, pp. 440– 441. Une fois de plus, la Mère de Chantal matérialise la pensée de François de Sales qui voulait que les monastères fussent ouverts, comme en Italie, aux filles

et aux femmes : “En Italie, tout communément, on fait entrer les filles desquelles on craint en quelque sorte le péril de leur pudicité ; les mal mariées, quand elles sont en doute d’être grandement maltraitées de leurs maris ; les filles qu’on veut instruire non seulement en la dévotion, mais aussi à lire, écrire et chanter”. Lettre MDCCCXLVII, 10 ou 11 novembre 1621, à la Mère de Chantal, à Paris, dans Œuvres de saint François de Sales, X, p. 179. 4 Ibidem, pp. 439–440. La fondatrice mentionne le texte de cette constitution “parce que, écrit-elle, je sais que l’intention de notre bienheureux Père et saint Fondateur était que nos sœurs qui seront établies aux petites villes, et ès lieux où il n’y a point d’Ursulines, la suivissent”.

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LAURENT LECOMTE Dans la pratique, peu de maisons ont pu se permettre de suivre la règle à la lettre. La conjoncture économique, le plus souvent, pousse les communautés les plus fragiles financièrement à accueillir des filles, comme à Beaune en 1676 : “il n’y eut simplement que l’extrême pauvreté de la maison qui put en quelque façon nous y faire résoudre”.5 D’autres monastères n’ont pas résisté à la pression de la société civile qui attend des religieuses qu’elles se rendent ‘utiles’ à travers une action caritative ou éducative. Mais, en vérité, les visitandines ne s’y sont guère opposées, sachant fort bien que le pensionnat constitue un vivier de futures religieuses.6 Après avoir ouvert le sien à contrecœur, le monastère de Beaune n’a “presque point vu de religieuses qui ne soient sorties de ce petit séminaire, où l’on a moyen de connaître leur caractère naturel et de s’en défaire honnêtement quand elles ne sont pas propre à soutenir dignement le joug qu’on leur impose”.7 Le plan type de l’ordre, dont il existe trois états (1628, 1637 et 1670), est révélateur de ces tensions entre l’idéal de la règle et la réalité pratique. Le premier ne réserve aux fonctions éducatives que le “noviciat”, où les prétendantes à la profession reçoivent, pendant un ou deux ans au maximum, une formation spirituelle de base. La présence des “sœurs du petit habit” est prise en compte dans le second plan (la “chambre des fondatrices ou des petites sœurs”), mais il faut attendre 1670 pour que celle-ci se cristallise dans l’espace conventuel, encore timidement (fig. 1) : la “chambre des petites sœurs” est alors un réduit coincé entre l’apothicairerie et le “cabinet du réfectoire”, tandis que leur dortoir est relégué dans un angle du bâtiment (à droite de la basse-cour). A la même époque apparaissent d’ailleurs les premiers espaces spécifiquement dévolus à l’enseignement et à l’accueil des internes : quelques chambres ou un dortoir, quelques salles de classes, le tout regroupé dans une aile ou un angle du carré claustral. Ces débuts modestes sont bien représentés par les exemples du second monastère d’Aix-en-Provence (1675) et de Belley (1708). Le XVIIIe siècle : l’âge d’or des pensionnats Cette solution a minima s’est vite révélée insuffisante. Après 1700, la montée rapide des effectifs oblige les communautés à élever des bâtiments capables d’accueillir plusieurs dizaines de filles. On assiste dès lors à une vague de construction qui n’a d’égale, à la même époque, que celle des églises conventuelles.8 Pour améliorer les conditions d’accueil mais aussi rétablir l’ordre au sein de la communauté, les pensionnaires sont dorénavant regroupées dans un corps de bâtiment indépendant.9 Au monastère du faubourg Saint-Jacques (fig. 2), où le nombre de filles passe de 6 en 1670 à 24 en 1712, 5

Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine, ms. 2433 : ‘Histoire chronologique des monastères de l’ordre de la Visitation Sainte-Marie’, Saint-Denis (avant 1700), t. V, f. 1–88. 6 Pour les monastères d’Auvergne et de Bourbonnais, B. Pasquier relève que “60 % des pensionnaires découvrirent leur vocation pendant le pensionnat et de là, entrèrent directement au noviciat, sans passer par celui du petit habit” : B. Pasquier, La vocation religieuse d’après les notices nécrologiques des Visitandines XVIIe-XVIIIe siècles, Mémoire de D.E.A., B. Dompnier (Dir.), Université Blaise Pascal de ClermontFerrand, 1998, pp. 32–35. 7 Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine, ms. 2433, ‘Histoire chronologique’ (note 5), f. 64.

8

Les couvents du Faubourg Saint-Jacques à Paris, de Paray, de Lyon-Bellecour et de Strasbourg font bâtir le leur autour de 1700. Un premier pic est atteint dans les années 1730 (Castellane, Saint-Amour, Aurillac, Metz, Auxerre). Puis un second dans la décennie 1770 (Nancy, Limoges, Montargis, Marseille I et II). Entre-temps, les pensionnats de Bordeaux et d’Avallon sont édifiés en 1750, Villefranche de Rouergue en 1754. Le pensionnat de Caen est le dernier de la série (1790). 9 Les sources font d’ailleurs état régulièrement de la satisfaction des religieuses après le départ de leurs protégées. A Paray elles se réjouissent de la construction d’un nouveau pensionnat “d’une capacité de vingt

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PARA-CONVENTUELLE

1. Anonyme, plan type pour la Visitation, Paris, 1670 (Paris, Archives nationales).

2 . Anonyme, relevé du couvent de la Visitation du Faubourg Saint-Jacques à Paris, vers 1710 (Paris, Archives nationales).

filles” et “entièrement à leur usage” : “ce projet réussit fort bien, et dès lors, nous eûmes la satisfaction de ne voir plus ces chères enfants qu’au chœur”. De même à Sisteron où “par cette séparation, nous sommes délivrées des distractions que ce petit peuple

occasionne” ; ou encore au second monastère de Marseille où le pensionnat est édifié hors clôture : “cette disposition nous procure beaucoup de tranquillité dans la maison et contribue au silence et au recueillement qui étaient souvent interrompus”.

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LAURENT LECOMTE

3. Anonyme, relevé du couvent de la Visitation de Lyon-Bellecour, 1798 (Lyon, Archives départementales du Rhône).

4. Relevé du premier couvent de la Visitation de Marseille, 1810 (Marseille, Archives départementales des Bouches-du-Rhône).

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5. Projet pour le pensionnat de la Visitation de Montargis, coupe et plan, 1775–1777 (Paris, Archives nationales).

le pensionnat – situé jusqu’alors dans la plus petite aile du cloître – est transféré dans un nouveau corps “de onze toises de long sur quatre” (22 m x 8 m environ) édifié dans le prolongement de “la face du corps de logis qui donne sur le jardin” dont Jules HardouinMansart a dessiné les plans.10 A Strasbourg, “le Saint-Cyr alsacien” (1701–1702), il occupe tout le premier étage de l’avant-cour. Rapidement, le pensionnat se détache complètement du carré claustral : celui de Lyon-Bellecour (1712) est relié au couvent par une galerie et forme ainsi une véritable unité d’habitation autonome avec toutes les commodités nécessaires à la vie d’une petite communauté permanente (fig. 3).11 Si ce parti devient la norme au XVIIIe siècle, il gagne en ampleur au fil des décennies. Le pensionnat du premier monastère de Marseille (fig. 4), édifié en 1775 sur le modèle de celui du second monastère de la ville, frappe par ses dimensions imposantes (40 m x 16 m). Au rez-de-chaussée se trouve un réfectoire, une cuisine, une salle de cour, une salle des bains, et des latrines : “toute cette partie du bâtiment est voûtée”. D’une capacité de soixante lits, le dortoir occupe tout l’étage : “à chaque dortoir il y a deux chambres où couchent les maîtresses et ces chambres ont de part et 10

Lettre circulaire de la Mère Anne-Elisabeth de Lamoignon, du 3 septembre 1703 : Archives de la Visitation, Paris (Vaugirard), ‘Recueil de lettres circulaires du second monastère de la Visitation Sainte-Marie du Fg. Saint-Jacques’, t. II (1700–1740), f. 19. Une photographie du début du XXe siècle de la longue façade sur jardin montre distinctement le raccord des toitures entre l’ancien et le nouveau bâtiment.

11 Seule la distribution du rez-de-chaussée est connue : on y trouve la cuisine – la salle voûtée à droite – avec un puits et un vaste réfectoire, bien chauffé grâce à deux cheminées à chaque bout, ainsi que des latrines, installées dans le petit appendice de droite.

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6. Le Mans, grand escalier du couvent de la Visitation, vers 1720, état actuel.

7. Caen, façade principale du pensionnat de la Visitation, 1788–1790, état actuel.

d’autre des fenêtres d’inspection sur les chambres voisines des pensionnaires” ; une chapelle, une salle de récréation, et une partie du jardin conventuel sont également réservées à l’usage des demoiselles pensionnaires. Des bâtiments imposants De construction tardive, le pensionnat constitue souvent le bâtiment le plus moderne, le plus confortable et aussi le plus beau du monastère. Le contraste est parfois saisissant entre la simplicité des lieux réguliers et l’élégance et le confort de ceux affectés aux internes. A Paray, celles-ci disposent au début du XVIIIe siècle d’un promenoir en forme de loggia. A Montargis, le pensionnat édifié entre 1774 et 1777 évoque un immeuble cossu disposant de toutes les commodités d’usage à l’époque (fig. 5) : chambre de bains, chambres spacieuses à cheminées, escalier suspendu en pierre, latrines à chaque étage. Dans cette maison où les pensions constituent une source vitale de revenus, la qualité de l’architecture et de l’hébergement représente assurément un atout pour attirer les filles de bonnes familles. Mais les monastères les plus riches de l’ordre ne sont pas en reste. Au Mans, le grand escalier à quatre noyaux dessert un pensionnat fréquenté par la fine-fleur de la noblesse locale (fig. 6). Celui de Caen, le dernier construit juste avant la suppression des ordres religieux (1790), est particulièrement soigné. La façade principale (fig. 7), au fond de la cour d’entrée du monastère, emprunte certains traits à l’architecture civile privée : l’avantcorps axial surmonté d’un fronton, le toit à la Mansart et les grandes fenêtres. Comme à Saint-Cyr au début du siècle, les ornements restent discrets (clefs à trois claveaux) pour

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8. Joseph Demange, projet pour le pensionnat de la Visitation de Nancy, 1760 (Caen, Archives départementales du Calvados).

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LAURENT LECOMTE ne pas heurter la sensibilité des religieuses, mais la symétrie, les bonnes proportions et la majesté du bâtiment relèvent simultanément le prestige de l’établissement et le rang social de ses élèves. L’évolution du programme culmine dans le projet du pensionnat de la Visitation de Nancy, dessiné en 1760 par un architecte local, Joseph Demange (fig. 8).12 Les dimensions mais aussi l’organisation spatiale de cet ensemble en font une sorte d’apax architectural, mais aussi le symbole éclatant d’un retournement complet des visitandines sur la question de l’accueil des pensionnaires. La production architecturale des ordres féminins, comme celle de leurs homologues masculins, ne se limite pas aux seules constructions ecclésiales ou conventuelles. Poussées par des nécessités économiques ou sociales, les religieuses ont pris en charge l’éducation des jeunes filles de la bonne société, au prix parfois, comme à la Visitation, d’un contournement de la règle primitive. Marginal à ses débuts, ce phénomène a connu au XVIIIe siècle un développement architectural considérable. Aux confins de l’architecture publique et de l’architecture monastique, le pensionnat répond à des problématiques nouvelles liées aussi bien à l’accueil des internes et aux tâches éducatives qu’au respect de la règle de la clôture et au prestige des élites urbaines. Edifiés avec soin en bordure des enclos conventuels, à l’instar des immeubles de rapport mieux étudiés,13 ces bâtiments trahissent – de manière souvent ostensible on l’a vu – l’implication grandissante des ordres religieux dans la vie sociale et dans la mutation du paysage des villes de la fin de l’Ancien Régime.

12

Archives Départementales Meurthe-et-Moselle, H 2911 : “Projet d’une neuve église, chœur, avant-chœur et parloir à bâtir pour les religieuses de la Visitation Sainte-Marie de Nancy, suivant les plans, coupes et élévations au nombre de quinze feuilles, le tout dressé par le soussigné architecte à Nancy. J. Demange”.

13

En dernier lieu, cf. A. Gady, ‘Les religieux et la construction immobilière à Paris au XVIIIe siècle’, dans : B. Marrey (éd.), Les bâtisseurs, des moines cisterciens aux capitaines d’industrie, Paris, 1997, pp. 64–71.

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ENGLAND, 1540–1640

Maurice Howard (University of Sussex)

Our knowledge of the building of schools in post-Reformation England, the century after 1540, is based on a considerable amount of surviving physical evidence and a wealth of discussion in contemporary texts on education, as well as often detailed provision in the wills of benefactors and statutes of foundation. Yet the particular characteristics of schools of this period do not generally claim a place in wider histories of architecture alongside grander palaces, country houses or even town halls; they have rather been the preserve of specialist studies in social history or broader studies of school architecture covering many centuries.1 A 1592 woodcut of a schoolroom, depicting an imaginary, single teaching space, its roof supported by two classical columns, can serve as the starting-point for the questions architectural history might ask about these structures (fig. 1). Both the idea of education through the coercion of punishment shown here and the spatial and conceptual entity are not matched by other evidence we have from this period. The aims of education, whilst certainly directed towards the pragmatic needs of government, are expressed in treatises with surprisingly liberal and socially responsible attitudes to children.2 The plan of new schools also diverged from this single-spaced image, providing carefully subdivided structures for various levels of pupil age and attainment and the housing requirements of school officials. Documenting the evidence for these buildings will be the subject of this paper. It will examine the plans and a number of surviving schools to suggest two things: first, that there is an order and symmetry of disposition about their physical arrangements and second, that the move towards symmetry led to a pre-disposition towards classicism as the obvious style for educational buildings. The Reformation was profoundly disruptive to the earlier, medieval provision of both elementary and secondary education in England. Before this, many schools were run by great abbeys and priories, often within the space of the monastic precinct and often with heads of monasteries being responsible for the appointment of teachers. The dissolutions of 1536 and 1539 made the future of these establishments uncertain, as did the dissolution of the chantries in 1547 since these, largely late medieval, private bequests for perpetual prayers for the dead, also had schools attached to their original endowment.3 The issue was: where was the money for the continuation of the old schools and the foundation of the new to come from? Though central government now exerted a new authority over education, it was largely concerned with the management of officials and their religious persuasion; during the reign of the Catholic Mary I (1553–1558) the government required that all schoolmasters be appointed by bishops, a regulation that was confirmed early in the reign of her Protestant sister, Elizabeth I. Central

1 The major texts are M. Seaborne, The English School, its Architecture and Organization 1370–1870, London, 1971; N. Orme, English Schools in the Middle Ages, London, 1973. A very useful summary of school building with a gazetteer of sites across Great Britain is found in M. Airs, Tudor and Jacobean: A Guide and Gazetteer (Buildings of Britain series), London, 1982. 2 F. Watson, The English Grammar Schools to 1660, London, 1908; J. Simon, Education and Society in

Tudor England, Cambridge, 1967; H. Jewell, Education in Early Modern England, Basingstoke, 1998. On documentation, D.W. Sylvester, Educational Documents 800–1816, London, 1970. 3 The issue is succinctly discussed in Jewell 1998 (note 2), pp. 22–26 and the documentation on chantries in Sylvester 1970 (note 2), pp. 83–90.

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MAURICE HOWARD government did not, however, provide consistent means for new school foundations even though the Crown readily accepted dedications, notably in the case of the number of grammar schools named for Edward VI and Elizabeth I. It was largely private individuals and corporate bodies (the local government of towns and cities) that found the money to get new schools off the ground; generous long-term provision of funds was rare and the more common fixedterm arrangements in individuals’ wills often led to decline a few years later.4 During Elizabeth’s reign many school foundations or re-foundations moved out of pre-existing, re-used monasteries, the makeshift premises for new schools, into purposebuilt new buildings. However, this physical 1. A woodcut image of an Elizabethan Schoolroom, 1592. replacement did not involve an outright secularisation of the patron’s endowment. There were continuities with the pre-Reformation world. Private patrons in particular did not forget the sense of honour to themselves that endowments for public building bestowed. This began with the parish church itself; if mass could no longer be said for the soul, paying for new bells in the church which would be regularly rung thereafter was one way of memorialisation. Equally, prayers or annual ceremonies conducted in a school or almshouse which a patron had endowed could also perpetuate his or her memory. At Felsted in Essex Richard Rich, Chancellor, under Henry VIII, of the Court of Augmentations which had sold off the spoils of property released by the dissolution of the monasteries, provides us with a very powerful example of memorialisation through endowment. Under the Catholic regime of Queen Mary, Rich’s conservative religious views led him to found a new chantry at Felsted to replace the dissolved guild. When this was again suppressed under Elizabeth, he turned the money from the foundation to education, appointing the former chaplain to head a new school in buildings adjacent to the church. By his will of 1564 Rich also instituted an almshouse for the village, creating thereby within sight of his principal residence, the former monastic house of Leez Priory nearby, a core of charitable buildings that perpetuated his name though his bequests. The perpetual image of him at the centre of this complex was also assured when in 1620 his grandson erected a monument in the church to the family with his grandfather’s effigy upon it.5 John, Baron Williams, another of Henry VIII’s courtier group who, like Rich, survived into the reign of Elizabeth, endowed the town of Thame in Oxfordshire similarly with almshouse and school and devised another way of an annual remembrance of him which linked the parish church to a newly-founded school. In this case, the school was built after his death and it survives in a restored state (fig. 2). The plan is one of a key type which will be further discussed below. To stress the link between the perpetuation of his memory and these foundations, 4 On the bishops’ role in appointments, Simon 1967 (note 2), pp. 303–304. On broader issues of endowment after the Reformation, W.K. Jordan, Philanthropy in England: A Study of the Changing Pattern of Social Aspirations, London, 1959.

5 On Rich’s biography, see his entry in The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, by P.R.N. Carter. On Felsted, The Victoria History of the Counties of England: Essex, vol. II, 1907, pp. 531–535; J. Sergeaunt, Felsted School, Chelmsford and London, 1989.

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instructions to the executors of his will included provision for the warden and scholars of the school to pay a yearly sum of money to the parish clerk to ‘dress’ (probably to deck with his heraldry and honours) and keep clean his projected tomb in the parish church, completed after his death in 1559. By such means patrons ensured continuous memory and annual commemoration.6 In many cases endowment for new schools came from the local town and its leading merchants. Some sixteenth-century schools were originally modest in scale, but they gained national fame very quickly. In some instances sixteenth-century buildings survive to this day but the school 2. Thame School, Oxfordshire. The front of the Master’s House, c. 1569. itself moved out, sometimes as late as the nineteenth century, into spacious new accommodation further away from the town centre. This was usually to house ever-increasing numbers of pupils, not originally boarded within sixteenth-century schools but placed in local houses. Whilst they may originally have been founded to accommodate the sons of local gentry some schools gained a much wider reputation. Felsted had been founded by Rich to serve the sons of families across his wide landholdings in the county of Essex, but within a century had become nationally famous, as was the school built in the town of Oakham, Rutland, where the stone coursing running half way up the 3. Oakham Grammar School, Rutland. The south front, originally inscribed building has the inscription ‘Latina – in 1584. Graeca – Hebraica’, re-cut at a later date, proclaims the ambition of the school’s curriculum (fig. 3).7 As a testament to the national fame of certain schools, commentators and writers on topography and history cited the sums of money spent by successful

6

On Williams’s biography, see his entry in The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, by Sybil M. Jack. On Thame, Victoria County History: Oxfordshire, vol. I, 1939, p. 475 discusses the school statutes and vol. VII, 1962, pp. 160–219 both school and almshouse in

the context of the town. See also F. G. Lee, The History and Antiquities of the Prebendal Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary at Thame, London, 1883, col. 427–32. 7 Victoria County History: Rutland, vol. 1, 1908, pp. 261–268.

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4. Guildford School, Surrey, plan, begun in 1557.

London merchants on schools in their places of birth, sometimes at great distances from the capital. John Stow, in Survey of London of 1596 mentions how the school of Ashbourne, Derbyshire was built: “diverse well-disposed citizens of London (…) being born at or near Ashbourne in the Peak county of Derby, combining heir loving benevolence together, have builded there a fair schoolhouse with convenient lodgings for a master and a liberal main5. Berkhamsted Grammar School, Hertfordshire, begun c. tenance allowed thereto (…)”. 1544, main hall at centre with headmaster’s and usher’s houses William Camden, in the 1586 ediflanking this. tion of his Britannia, noted that the grammar school of Shrewsbury was the largest school in England, which it assuredly was, with 360 boys recorded in the Register of 1581.8 Many founders left quite specific instructions for the planning and management of their schools, and it was the move away from the use of a single teaching space in the larger establishments towards the segregation of scholars by age, by the curriculum they covered and the demarcation of roles between the teachers and the pupils that led to a quite new rationale of plan which encouraged a symmetrical arrangement. But the history of this

8

Victoria County History: Derbyshire, vol. II, 1907, p. 255; A. Rimmer and H.W. Adnitt, History of

Shrewsbury School, London, 1889, p. 20; W. Camden, Britannia, London 1586 edition, vol. I, p. 337.

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6. Ashbourne Grammar School, Derbyshire, founded 1585.

7. Ashbourne Grammar school, plan.

development takes us further back in time because it was the humanist programme of preReformation scholars that first articulated a new order for educational buildings. Simple, symmetrical plans meant the abandonment of earlier medieval arrangements. The larger schools of the Middle Ages employed a quasi-domestic multi-courtyard plan which copied to some extent both the great courtyard houses and the ritual and living spaces of the monastery. New schools in courtyard form still sometimes appeared, as at

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MAURICE HOWARD Guildford, begun in 1557 and added to by the bequests of successive Lord Mayors, but even in this traditional form new concerns for symmetrical disposition are seen; at Guildford the school room was flanked by houses for the Master and the Usher (fig. 4).9 This latter role developed as essentially a delegated teaching officer directly accountable to the headmaster, yet a vital link with the older pupils. The role was seen in apostolic terms; when Thomas More was describing the task of one of the apostles in his Confutation of the Works of Tyndale of 1533 he says: “Our saviour sent him for one of his ushers to teach in his own time”. The clergyman Donald Lupton defined 8. Thame School, plan. the role in practical, modern terms when writing about schools in his book London and the Countrey Carbonadoed and Quartred into severall Characters of 1632: “Countrey ushers are under the Head-maister, equall with the chiefe Schollers and above the lesser boyes”. The separation of masters and pupils led to a distinctive sixteenthcentury plan either in the form of the single continuous block with spaces disposed either side of an entrance passage or with schoolroom and master’s house at right angles to each other, making up a ‘T’ shape. John Colet founded St Paul’s School, famously described by Erasmus in 1509 in a way that defines the essentially humanist programme of these new establishments. Erasmus describes a school of four apartments: one was a space for young children to be taught the principles of religion; another two spaces were for the lower boys and the upper forms, each a single space but divided when necessary by a curtain; and fourthly, there was a chapel. The key sense that this plan is now distanced from the monastic layout is borne out by Erasmus’s words: “The School has no corners, or hiding places, nothing like a cell or closet”.10 The school often presented as the major surviving representative of Colet’s ideal at St Paul’s is that of Berkhamstead in Hertforshire, north of London, founded in the 1540s through a bequest by the former Dean of St Paul’s, John Incent (fig. 5). Here there is a central hall, with master’s and usher’s houses at each end of it.11 This is essentially repeated at Ashbourne in Derbyshire, built largely in the 1590s but here at the end of the sixteenth century and in a part of the country yielding some good building stone, it is noticeable how a sense of the classical vocabulary of architecture brings order and decorum to the structure. Here on the façade we see a plinth moulding, a continuous string course between upper and lower floors and attached columns

9

On Guildford, Seaborne 1971 (note 1), p. 19. Erasmus, cited in N. Carlisle, A Concise description of the Endowed Grammar Schools of England and Wales, 2 vols., London, 1818, vol. II, p. 82. 10

11

Victoria County History: Hertfordshire, vol. II, 1908, pp. 71–79.

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9. Shrewsbury Grammar School, Shropshire. Façade of the new school building of the 1620s.

flanking the two entry doors to passages at each end of the central school room (figs. 6,7). A different solution is found at Thame, discussed above, where houses for the master and usher face the street whilst the schoolroom runs at right angles to it behind (fig. 8).12 The development of plans for schools towards a simple and practical symmetrical plan is to some extent paralleled at this period by developments in small country house plans and raises the issue of wider European influences, and especially the small-house plans of Du Cerceau.13 It is Shrewsbury however which is the grandest of Elizabethan and Jacobean schools and its very complexity gives us clues to an evolving picture (fig. 9).14 Shrewsbury was founded in the middle of the sixteenth century in the reign of Edward VI. Early in Elizabeth’s reign, Thomas Ashton, exiled in Geneva under Queen Mary, came here as Master in 1561 from St John’s College, Cambridge. Shrewsbury enjoyed a ‘catchment’ area of gentry families in the border counties and into Wales. It enjoyed a single headmastership of half a

12

Victoria County History: Derbyshire, vol. II, 1907, pp. 254–260. 13 The evolution of British house plans of the early modern period have recently been fully discussed in A. Gomme and A. Maguire, Design and Plan in the Country House: From Castle Donjons to Palladian Boxes, New Haven and London, 2008. On Du Cerceau, F. Boudon, ‘Les livres d’architecture de Jacques Androuet Du Cerceau’, in: J. Guillaume (ed.), Les traités d’architecture de la Renaissance, Actes du colloque

tenu à Tours du 1er au 11 juillet 1981 (De Architectura), Paris, 1987, pp. 367–396. 14 The School is now the Public Library of Shrewsbury. The standard history of Shrewsbury School remains Rimmer, Adnitt 1889 (note 8). See further Victoria County History: Shropshire, vol. II, 1973, pp. 154–15; J.B. Oldham, ‘A Sixteenth-Century Shrewsbury School Inventory’, Transactions of the Shropshire Archaeology and Natural History Society, vol. 47, 1933–1934, pp. 121–137.

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10. Shrewsbury Grammar School, plan of the school as it was at completion in 1630.

century, for John Meighan was Master from 1583 to 1635 and so oversaw the two great phases of building, one of the library wing of about 1595 to 1603 (this by 1617 served as a library on the upper floor and a chapel beneath) and a second of extensive accommodation for schoolrooms from the 1620s, running at right angles to the first structure (fig. 10). The Corporation of Shrewsbury rewarded him with a sum of £20 for his achievement in the erection of the new buildings for the construction of the School was seen as very much part of a wider programme of embellishing the town. It was built in local Grinshill stone (from the village of that name outside Shrewsbury, where the school kept a house for use of master and pupils in times of plague) and its ornament follows that of the market house finished in 1595 (just at the point that the school buildings were begun) and attributed to the master mason Walter Hancock, whose signature feature of the crested parapet appears on both buildings. Shrewsbury School is the most famous of a series of late sixteenth-century schools that celebrated new ideals of education, both through its situation and its place within the urban community. First, let us examine its situation. The school was built at the north-eastern edge of the town, sharing with the castle the neck of the great swell of the river Severn which encircles the town to the south west. It therefore originally looked on to the river valley and countryside beyond; early nineteenth-century views suggest an approach from a steep slope up from the river (fig.11). This idea of looking out over town and country was significant. Along with encouragement to book learning, writers on education of the Elizabethan period stressed other aspects of education, some of them projecting a forwardlooking care of mind and body. Richard Mulcaster, scholar of Latin and Greek, wrote in his Positions Concerning the Training up of Children: “I could wish that grammer schooles, were placed in the skirtes and suburbes of townes, neare to the fieldes, where partely by enclosure of some private grounde, for the closer exercises both in covert and open: partely for the beefit of the open fieldes for exercises of more range…”.15 Second, the school also

15

R. Mulcaster, Positions Concerning the Training up of Children, London, 1581, p. 229.

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11. Shrewsbury Grammar School, the range of 1595–1603 seen from the north.

played an important urban role. Like other new schools, that at Shrewsbury participated fully in the new, post-Reformation civic rituals which celebrated national events, marked the urban year or visits of the sovereign and great political figures. For example, the scholars of Shrewsbury read poems and devised classical orations both outside the school itself and at other points of the town on the occasion of the visits of great dignitaries, such as the Earls of Leicester and Essex. The building completed by 1630 thus essentially presents an outward face that celebrates both learning and the ability to serve town and nation. The archway here records completion and is emblazoned with the inscription ‘If you love learning you will become learned’ (fig. 12). The figures atop the flanking columns represent Philomathes, who loves to learn, and Polymathes, who has learned much. The very entrance to the new building thereby suggests an order or progression, a sense that the building itself is transformative, that the place of going in is also the place of emerging after an education, and being different. This is, in its simple and straightforward way, a step beyond earlier, sixteenth-century uses of classical language and reference in such locations as doors and gateways, whereby the decoration was principally for the showing of established and unchallengeable heraldry of owner, or founder. This entrance takes us into the world of gateways that signal passage of time,

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12. Shrewsbury Grammar School, the entrance to the 1620s range.

of commemoration and in its simple way reflects the spirit of that more sophisticated progression of classicism put forward some years before in the gateways of Gonville and Caius College at Cambridge, whereby the progression of the Orders in gateways through which undergraduates pass signals a sense of time, achievement and the gaining of experience.

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THE ACADEMIA JULIA IN HELMSTEDT AS A IN GERMANY AROUND 1600

MODEL UNIVERSITY BUILDING

Barbara Uppenkamp (Universität Hamburg) Introduction Medieval universities had no central location and no special buildings where they were housed. Instead academic teaching took place in lecture rooms, which were scattered around the town. The students lived in private houses or in colleges, which were in most cases differentiated according to the ‘nations’ of their inhabitants. During the sixteenth century, universities and academies were founded all over Germany, but few of these were equipped with new buildings. The new task of university architecture was the combination of students’ accommodation with lecture rooms for all faculties. In contrast with medieval universities, which were in the first instance corporations of scholars, the early modern universities were the donations of mighty patrons. This means that representation became a task of university architecture, and consequently, inspirations from princely architecture were integrated into the buildings. This essay gives a brief overview of German university foundations of the sixteenth century and then concentrates on the Academia Julia in Helmstedt as a typical university of a Protestant country around 1600. The final paragraph analyses the oration of the Helmstedt Professor of Rhetoric, Christoph Heidmann (1582–1627), held on the occasion of the inauguration of the new auditorium building in 1612.1 The text of the oration is based on classical and Renaissance theories of rhetoric, and it contains basic remarks on how a perfect university building should appear. It is equally interesting to see that in his speech Heidmann parallels the decorum of rhetoric with the architectural ornament. It is the intention of this essay to demonstrate the erudite concept that lies behind the early modern university building and draw on the general aspects of this building type in a wider context. German university buildings of the sixteenth century During the sixteenth century a considerable number of universities and academies were founded in Germany.2 Due to the Reformation, it became necessary in the Protestant countries to redevelop the schools and universities, which had always been closely linked to the Church, according to the new understanding of the Protestant doctrine.3 On the other hand, Catholic regions reacted with the foundations of Catholic academies and Jesuit colleges. Unlike the medieval universities, which had emerged from corporations of scholars, 1 Christopherus Heidmann, Oratio I. de Nova Aede Musarum in Illust. Academia Iulia, Helmstedt, 1612 (Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel Q 392 Helmst. 4°), henceforth: Heidmann 1612. 2 For an overview, see O. Scheel, ‘Die deutschen Universitäten von ihren Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart’, in: M. Doeberl (ed.), Das Akademische Deutschland, 4 vols., Berlin, 1930–1931, vol. 1, pp. 1–66, at 13–27. A helpful bibliography is T. Pester, Geschichte der Universitäten und Hochschulen im deutschsprachigen Raum von den Anfängen bis 1945: Auswahlbibliographie der Literatur der

Jahre 1945–1986, Jena, 1990. For European university buildings of the sixteenth century, see Rückbrod 1977, pp. 133–147 3 L. Petry, ‘Die Reformation als Epoche der deutschen Universitätsgeschichte’, in: E. Iserloh and P. Manns (eds.), Glaube und Geschichte. Festgabe Joseph Lortz, 2 vols., Baden-Baden, 1958, vol. 2, pp. 317–353; P. Baumgart, ‘Die deutschen Universitäten im Zeichen des Konfessionalismus’, in: Baumgart 2006, pp. 5–30; Idem, ‘Universitätsgründungen im konfessionellen Zeitalter: Würzburg und Helmstedt’, in: Baumgart 2006, pp. 61–84.

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BARBARA UPPENKAMP the institutions of the sixteenth century were always founded by authorities who also held political power.4 Most of the newly founded institutions were housed in buildings that already existed. Very often such buildings were secularised former monastic buildings. This was the case with the university of Marburg (Philippina), founded by Landgrave Philipp of Hessen-Kassel (1504–1567) in 1527, which occupied the residences of the Dominican and Franciscan orders.5 The university of Königsberg (Albertina), founded by Albrecht I of Brandenburg-Ansbach (1490–1568) in 1544, was housed in existing buildings near the cathedral on the Kneiphof island, until a new university building in the style of an Italian palazzo was erected after plans by August Stüler in 1857–1858.6 Equally, the university of Jena, planned by Elector Johann Friedrich of Sachsen (1503–1554) and realised by his sons in 1558, was housed in pre-existing buildings until 1901.7 The Academia Nassauensis, which was founded by the younger brother of William of Orange’s, Count Johann VI of Nassau-Dillenburg (1536–1606) as a Calvinist academy in 1584, resided first in the castle of Herborn, before it moved to the old town hall of the city in 1588.8 Among the many newly founded German universities and academies of the sixteenth century there were only three, for which new buildings were erected. Within a European scope, however, this number appears to be high, since there was only one further institution, which was equipped with completely new buildings. This university was the Sapienza in Rome, a papal foundation, which emerged from the fusion of the universities of Rome; the studium sacri palatii and studium urbis, and the collegium pauperum scolarium sapientiae Firmane. The university buildings of the Sapienza were erected 1575–1585 on the site of the collegium sapientiae by Giacomo della Porta (c. 1532–1602), and fully completed 1640–1660 by Francesco Borromini (1599–1667).9 The three German universities, for which new buildings were erected were Würzburg, Altdorf, and Helmstedt. The university of Würzburg was founded jointly by the Jesuit order and Bishop Julius Echter of Mespelbrunn (1545–1617) in 1582 as a Catholic institution with the aim to support the Counter-Reformation.10 The university in Altdorf, founded by the city authorities of Nuremberg as a Protestant institution in 1578, was an academy, which only comprised an Arts school for basic studies until it became a full university with all faculties

4 For the relation of politics and higher education, see R. Stichweh, Der frühmoderne Staat und die europäische Universität. Zur Interaktion von Politik und Erziehungssystem im Prozeß ihrer Ausdifferenzierung (16.-18. Jahrhundert), Frankfurt am Main, 1991. 5 For the history of the Marburg university, see W. von Bredow (ed.), 450 Jahre Philipps-Universität Marburg. Das Gründungsjubiläum 1977, Marburg, 1979; J. J. Berns (ed.), Marburg-Bilder. Eine Ansichtssache. Zeugnisse aus fünf Jahrhunderten (Marburger Stadtschriften zur Geschichte und Kultur 52–53), 2 vols., Marburg, 1995–1996; Baumgart 2006, pp. 389–422. 6 For the history of the Albertina in early modern times, see, most recently, M. Komorowsky, Die Universität Königsberg in der Frühen Neuzeit, Köln, 2008. 7 For the history of the Jena university in early modern times, see, most recently, J. Bauer, A. Klinger, A. Schmidt, and G. Schmidt (eds.), Die Universität Jena in der Frühen Neuzeit, Heidelberg, 2008. 8 G. Menk, Die Hohe Schule Herborn in ihrer Frühzeit (1584–1660). Ein Beitrag zum Hochschulwesen des

deutschen Kalvinismus im Zeitalter der Gegenreformation, Wiesbaden, 1981. 9 R. Stalla, ‘Architektur als Wissensform – Palast und Kirche der römischen Sapienza’, in: Z. Arnold (ed.), Wissensformen: Sechster internationaler Barocksommerkurs Stiftung Bibliothek Werner Oechslin Einsiedeln, Zürich, 2008, pp. 220–229. For the history of the Sapienza within the context of Italian universities in general, see, most recently, B. Azzaro (ed.), L’Università di Roma “La Sapienza” e le università italiane, Roma, 2008. 10 For the history of the Würzburg university in general, see P. Baumgart (ed.), Vierhundert Jahre Universität Würzburg, Neustadt an der Aisch, 1982; Baumgart 2006, pp. 297–380. For the buildings of the Würzburg university, see Rückbrod 1977, pp. 139–140; B. Schock-Werner, Die Bauten im Fürstbistum Würzburg unter Julius Echter von Mespelbrunn 1573–1671. Struktur, Organisation, Finanzierung und künstlerische Bewertung, Regensburg, 2005, pp. 286–290, 338–342.

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and the right to grant doctoral degrees in 1622.11 The Academia Julia, founded by Duke Julius of Braunschweig-Lüneburg (1528–1589) in Helmstedt in 1576, was a Lutheran institution, and a full university with all privileges from the beginning.12 These three German universities have some characteristic features in common. They combined the students’ accommodation with the faculty buildings, lecture theatres, the hall, the library, and other facilities, like service rooms and stables, into a group of buildings enclosing a central courtyard.13 The example of the New College in Oxford The grouping of university buildings around a courtyard or quadrangle derived from the college type, which was established with the erection of the New College in Oxford.14 The roots of this model may be found in monastic architecture in the medieval cities. Unlike hostels, which were rented by corporations of students in the cities, the colleges were always donations, and the students or scholars lived there on a stipend or a grant. A college was a pious donation according to the medieval understanding of a work of righteousness. During the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, numerous colleges were founded, and they developed from residential places into places for living and learning. The colleges had property at their disposal, and they had statutes, rules and regulations similar to those of a monastery.15 The New College in Oxford was not the first college, but it was the most prominent one, which served as an example for other colleges throughout Europe. The college was founded in 1379 by Bishop William of Wykeham (1320–1404), and it was conceived for seventy students from the diocese of Winchester. Social life at the New College was in some respects comparable to that of a monastery. A Warden and a Sub-Warden, five Deans, three Bursars, and eleven older students (Seniors) formed the executive. Students normally entered the college at the age of fifteen and became full members after two years, a time span that can be described as a noviciate. Two or three students lived together in one room, and the older students functioned as tutors for their younger fellows. The buildings of the New College are arranged around a quadrangle with the bell tower, the chapel, the great hall, the kitchen, and the refectory in the north. The students’ accommodation was located in the south wing, the library and reading rooms in the east wing. The Warden’s apartment and the porter’s

11

For the history of the Altdorf academy in general, see W. Mährle, Academia Norica: Wissenschaft und Bildung an der Hohen Schule in Altdorf (1575– 1623), Stuttgart, 2000; G. A. Will, Geschichte und Beschreibung der Nürnbergischen Universität Altdorf, Altdorf, 18012 (Reprint: Aalen, 1975); H. C. Recktenwald, Die fränkische Universität Altdorf, Altdorf, 19902; H. Recknagel, Die Nürnbergische Universität Altdorf, Altdorf, 1993. For the buildings of the Altdorf academy, see Rückbrod 1977, pp. 140–142. 12 For the history of the Helmstedt university, see Häberlin 1876; H. Hofmeister, Die Gründung der Universität Helmstedt, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Marburg, 1903; R. Volkmann (ed.), Die Universität Helmstedt und die Epochen ihrer Geschichte. Ausstellung aus Anlaß des 400. Gründungsjubiläums der ehemaligen Universität Helmstedt, Braunschweig, 1976; R. Volkmann, ‘Die

geschichtliche Entwicklung der Universität Helmstedt. Ein Überblick’, Braunschweigische Heimat 62, 1976, no. 3, pp. 65–75; R. Volkmann, ‘Die geschichtliche Entwicklung der Universität Helmstedt (Schluß)’, Braunschweigische Heimat 63, 1977, no. 1, pp. 1–4; Landkreis Helmstedt (ed.), Academia Julia: die Universität Helmstedt, 4 vols., Helmstedt, 2000; Baumgart 2006, pp. 103–296; W. Kloth, Die Universität Helmstedt und ihre Bedeutung für die Stadt Helmstedt (Beiträge zur Geschichte des Landkreises Helmstedt und der ehemaligen Universität Helmstedt 16), Helmstedt, 2003. 13 Rückbrod 1977, pp. 135–136. 14 Rückbrod 1977, pp. 128–136. For the history of the New College in Oxford in general, see J. Buxton and P. Williams (eds.), New College Oxford 1379–1979, Oxford, 1979. 15 Rückbrod 1977, pp. 113–116.

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BARBARA UPPENKAMP lodge were located in the west wing. Stables and service rooms were situated close to the west wing.16 The Oxford New College was well-known in sixteenth-century Germany, since in his oration Christoph Heidmann points out that the buildings of the Academia Julia were modelled after this example.17 The Academia Julia in Helmstedt The Academia Julia in Helmstedt is a combination of a college, like the Oxford New College, and the new type of university building with lecture rooms for all faculties. The Academia Julia was installed in Helmstedt on the site of the city residence of the Cistercian monastery of Mariental, which had become a Protestant convent after the Reformation.18 The buildings of the Cistercians dated back to 1315. They were located in the heart of the city, and the Duke bought some adjoining land where the main auditorium was erected.19 In 1577–1578 the architect Paul Francke (c. 1534–1610)20 transformed the medieval buildings into a college. The foundation walls and two walls of the east wing of the medieval buildings remained intact, but most of the college buildings were newly erected. Several things appear to be characteristic about this sixteenth-century university foundation. In contrast to the early universities, which had no central location with accommodation for the students and no service rooms, colleges were designed after the example of medieval monasteries and the residences of the mendicant orders in the cities. Very often, the colleges were donations of the clergy, as it was the case with the New College in Oxford. It must be noted that after Duke Julius of Braunschweig-Lüneburg had introduced the Reformation in 1568, he was not only the head of the government but also the head of the church and the highest bishop (summus episcopus) in his country. For Duke Julius it was only logical to donate a university, where teaching and learning took place according to the principles of the Protestant doctrine, which he had published in the Corpus Doctrinae Julium in 1569.21 In his function as a bishop he was responsible for the education of his subjects, since churches and schools formed a single complex of administration.22 Consequently, churches and schools 16

Rückbrod 1977, pp. 128–132. Heidmann 1612, no pagination. See Häberlin 1876, p. 14; Rückbrod 1977, p. 139. 17

18

For the former Cistercian monastery of Mariental in general, see C. Römer, Das Zisterzienserkloster Mariental bei Helmstedt: 1138–1988, München, 1988; C. Raabe, Das Zisterzienserkloster Mariental bei Helmstedt von der Gründung 1138 bis 1337. Die Besitz- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte unter Einbeziehung der politischen und ordensgeschichtlichen Stellung (Berliner Historische Studien 20; Ordensstudien IX), Berlin, 1995, at pp. 281–287 on the Helmstedt residence of the Cistercians. 19

The main auditorium was dilapidated in 1593. Its foundations were discovered in 1967, when construction works and excavations were executed in the northern part of the courtyard. See R. Volkmann, ‘Der “Graue Hof” des Klosters Mariental und seine spätere Bedeutung für die Universität Helmstedt’, in: Römer 1988 (note 18), pp. 137–144.

20

For Paul Francke, see Thöne 1963, p. 230; K. Seeleke, ‘Paul Francke, ein fürstlicher Baumeister zu Wolfenbüttel’, Braunschweigisches Jahrbuch 3, 1940, no. 1 (= 26), pp. 29–57. 21 Julius Herzog zu Braunschweig und Lüneburg, Corpus Doctrinae, das ist, die Summa, form und fürbidde der reinen christlichen Lehre, Heinrichstadt bey der Vestung Wolfenbüttel, 1576 (Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel 64.8 Theol. 2°). For the Reformation in BraunschweigLüneburg, see I. Mager, ‘Die Einführung der Reformation in Braunschweig-Lüneburg und die Gründung der Universität Helmstedt’, in: Graefe 1989, pp. 25–33; I. Mager, Die Konkordienformel im Fürstentum Braunschweig-Lüneburg. Entstehungsbeitrag, Rezeption, Geltung (Studien zur Kirchengeschichte Niedersachsens 33), Göttingen, 1993; Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 193–208. 22 H. W. Krumwiede, Zur Entstehung des Landeskirchenregiments in Kursachsen und BraunschweigLüneburg (Studien zur Kirchengeschichte Niedersachsens 16), Göttingen, 1967.

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are listed under the generic definition of religious buildings in early modern typologies of architecture.23 Emperor Maximilian II (1527–1576) granted Helmstedt university’s privileges in 1575.24 The privileges comprised the right to promote students to bachelors, masters, and doctors, and for the professors the right to teach anywhere in the country and abroad (ius ubique docendi). The members of the university lived according to their own statutes.25 They had the right to appoint a director, and not surprisingly the first director was the son of Duke Julius, Heinrich Julius (1564–1613), who was also appointed bishop of Halberstadt. The director received the dignity of a Count Palatine and had the power to appoint notaries and judges, who enacted justice upon the students, professors, and other members of the university. From the point of view of the Helmstedt citizens, this led to the paradoxical situation that two different judicial systems existed alongside each other in the same town. Among the university’s privileges that were especially hard to accept for the city authorities of Helmstedt were the tax exemption for the members of the university, the right to brew beer and to sell wine, and the right to hold a weekly market. In addition to that, the members of the university were not obliged to serve as watchmen on the city walls, nor to risk their lives in the case of defence. In general, it may be stated that the citizens of Helmstedt felt that the university was an alien corporation within their city walls, and they tried to fight the institution’s special privileges as long as it existed.26 Duke Julius did not plan that the university should remain in Helmstedt for a long period of time. He had started large building projects in his residence at Wolfenbüttel, especially the extension of the city according to an ideal plan in the form of a pentagon.27 It was his 23 See, for instance, Oswald Coscanus, Disputatio physica de generalibus architectonicae principiis, Ingolstadt, 1619; Johann Heinrich Alsted, Methodus admirandorum mathematicorum novem libris exhibens universam mathesim, Herborn, 1613, p. 530; Johann Heinrich Alsted, Cursus encyclopaediae libri XXVII, Herborn, 1620, lib. XV, p. 21; Johann Heinrich Alsted, Encyclopaedia septem tomis distincta, Herborn, 1630, p. 2206 (Reprint: Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, 1989). For a discussion of Alsted and Coscanus, see H. Hipp, ‘Die Bückeburger “structura”. Aspekte der Nachgotik im Zusammenhang mit der deutschen Renaissance’, in: G. U. Großmann (ed.), Renaissance in Nord-Mitteleuropa I (Schriften des Weserrenaissance-Museums Schloß Brake 4), München and Berlin, 1990, pp. 159–170; H. Hipp, ‘Die Hauptkirche Beatae Mariae Virginis in Wolfenbüttel und der protestantische Kirchenbau um 1600’, in: R. Bürgel, H. A. Müller, and R. Volp (eds.), Kirche im Abseits? Zum Verhältnis von Religion und Kultur, Stuttgart, 1991, pp. 181–202; H. Hipp, ‘Aristotelische Politik und frühneuzeitliche Bauaufgaben’, in: H. Hipp and E. Seidl (eds.), Architektur als politische Kultur – philosophia practica, Berlin, 1996, pp. 93–114. A huge broadsheet displaying a synopsis of architectural theory in the German language was published by the Brunswick surveyor Henning Hasemann. See Henning Hasemann, Synopsis Architectonicae, Frankfurt am Main, 1626. Hasemann’s Synopsis is published in: W. Harms and C. Kemp (eds.), Deutsche illustrierte Flugblätter des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts, 4 vols., Tübingen, 1985–1987, vol. 4, 1987, no. IV, 308. For a discussion of this broadsheet, see Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 151–163.

24

P. Baumgart, ‘Die kaiserlichen Privilegien von 1575 für die Universitäten Würzburg und Helmstedt’, in: Baumgart 2006, pp. 85–102. 25 P. Baumgart and E. Pitz, Die Statuten der Universität Helmstedt (Veröffentlichungen der Niedersächsischen Archivverwaltung 15), Göttingen, 1963. 26 For the difficulties between the citizens of Helmstedt and the members of the university, see B. Becker, Die Privilegien der Universität Helmstedt und ihre Bekämpfung durch die Stadt 1576 bis 1810, unpublished PhD dissertation, Technische Universität Braunschweig, 1939; M. Füssel, ‘Umstrittene Grenzen. Zur symbolischen Konstitution sozialer Ordnung in einer frühneuzeitlichen Universitätsstadt am Beispiel Helmstedt’, in: C. Hochmuth and S. Rau (eds.), Machträume der frühneuzeitlichen Stadt, Konstanz, 2006, pp. 171–191. 27 K. Biskup, ‘Planungen zum Ausbau Wolfenbüttels als einer Idealstadt der Renaissance’, in: Graefe 1989, pp. 35–39; Idem, ‘Die Festung Wolfenbüttel als geplante Idealstadtanlage in den Jahren 1575–1589’, in: V. Schmidtchen (ed.), Sicherheit und Bedrohung – Schutz und Enge. Gesellschaftliche Entwicklung von Festungsstädten (Schriftenreihe Festungsforschung 6), Wesel, 1987, pp. 207–212; Uppenkamp 2005; B. Uppenkamp, ‘Idealstadt Wolfenbüttel’, in: Hipp, Seidl 1996 (note 23), pp. 115–129; B. Uppenkamp, ‘Ordnung und Geometrie. Die Wolfenbütteler Heinrichstadt – eine deutsche Idealstadt um 1600’, in: G. von Büren (ed.), Pasqualini-Studien I, Jülich, 1995, pp. 7–30; B. Uppenkamp, ‘Politische Macht – Architektonische Imagination? Zur Politik als architektonische Wissenschaft am Beispiel Wolfenbüttels um 1600’, in: Hochmuth, Rau 2006 (note 26), pp. 59–74.

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BARBARA UPPENKAMP intention to transfer the university to the socalled ‘Heinrichstadt’ in Wolfenbüttel, where each of the four faculties should have special buildings and a church of its own in a quarter of the ideal city.28 But after Julius’s death in 1589, his son Duke Heinrich Julius abandoned these plans. Heinrich Julius decided that the university should remain in Helmstedt, and in 1592 he confirmed the university’s privileges and commissioned a new main auditorium building, the Novum Juleum. The Academia Julia existed in Helmstedt for more than 200 years. The university was closed in 1810 during the time of the Kingdom of Westphalia (1807–1813) under the reign of Jérôme Bonaparte (1784–1860). The buildings of the Academia Julia The four wings of the building complex of the Academia Julia enclose a rectangular courtyard (fig. 1 and 2). In the sixteenth century they comprised the main auditorium in the north wing, lecture rooms in the west wing, service rooms in the east wing, and accommodation in the south wing.29 At this time the south wing was the only wing, which contained sleeping rooms for students, located on the upper floor above the stables. From the beginning onwards, there was not enough room for all the students to live in the college. Only those who lived on a ducal stipend were granted a bed in the college. Most students were obliged to rent a room outside the university, and very often they lived with the families of their professors. The south wing of the Academia Julia was demolished at the end of the nineteenth century, and a school building in the Neo-Renaissance style was erected in its place (fig. 3).30 The lecture rooms of the Arts school, which comprised the basic studies of the trivium and quadrivium, were located in the west wing. On the upper floor were the faculty rooms and the disputation chamber. In the early eighteenth century the west wing was extended with a third floor to create more accommodation for ducal stipendiaries. The west wing also contained a stable and bookshops in the south, and detention rooms

1. Perspective view of the Academia Julia, Helmstedt, c. 1576– 1612, reconstruction by Konrad Rückbrod (reproduced from: Rückbrod 1977).

28

Note by Duke Julius, with some insertions by another hand, Niedersächsisches Landesarchiv-Staatsarchiv Wolfenbüttel 2 Alt Nr. 7700, f. 33r.-v.: “Hier uber die Julius Universitet Ihn künfftig zwischen der Ocker und Nette also beiden waßer strome [zu Wolffenbüttel zu Vestung nahe die Gotteslager Heinrichst.] wegen der infallenden Pest zu erbauen, mit vier kirchen alße zu jeder fakultet eine dar über die schlaff haußer vor die Stipendiaten so gratis gehalten werden sollen, auch zu jeder fakultet eine [Küche/ Rauchhauß] undt schmiede Brauw und Backhauß auch eine Roßmühle und mehrere wolfeiligkeit und die studenten mit geringen Unkosten zu unterhalten”. See Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 311–312. There were also later plans to transfer the university to Wolfenbüttel. See

B. Voges, ‘Der Plan einer Verlegung der Helmstedter Universität nach Wolfenbüttel im Jahre 1790’, Braunschweigisches Magazin, 1898, no. 4, pp. 203–206. 29 For the university buildings, see Rückbrod 1977, pp. 133–136; P. J. Meier (ed.), Die Bau- und Kunstdenkmäler des Kreises Helmstedt (Die Bau- und Kunstdenkmäler des Herzogtums Braunschweig 1), Wolfenbüttel, 1896, pp. 83–92; R. Volkmann, Das Juleum in Helmstedt (Große Baudenkmäler 433), München and Berlin, 1992; H. Thies, Das Juleum Novum – Paul Francke (Beiträge zur Geschichte des Landkreises und der ehemaligen Universität Helmstedt 9), Helmstedt, 1997; Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 89–97, 214–219. 30 Uppenkamp 2005, p. 91; Rückbrod 1977, p. 138. It is a technical high school today.

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2. Ground plan of the Academia Julia, Helmstedt, c. 1576–1612, reconstruction by Konrad Rückbrod (reproduced from: Rückbrod 1977). A: main auditorium – B: Arts school – C: administration and service rooms – D: accommodations (porter and stipendiaries) –1: lecture room Divinity/ hall – 2: library – 3: lecture room Medicine – 4: lecture room Law – 5: lecture room Philosophy (artes liberales) – 6: anatomic theatre – 7: room for dissections – 9: faculty rooms –10: archive – 11: conference rooms – 12: administration rooms – 13: detention rooms – 14: kitchen – 15: service rooms – 16: refectory – 17: accommodations – 18: bookshops – 19: stables – 20: toilets – 21: well – 22: wine steward.

on the ground floor and on the upper floor in the north. An anatomic theatre and a room for dissections were added to this wing in 1650.31 The ground floor of the east wing contained part 31

In the mid seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, anatomic theatres were erected for many German universities. The Helmstedt anatomy theatre was destroyed in the nineteenth century, and its

collections were transferred to the universities of Göttingen, Halle, and Marburg. For the Helmstedt anatomy school from a social historian’s point of view, see K. Stukenbrock, “Der zerstückte Cörper”. Zur

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3. Helmstedt, Academia Julia, view of courtyard with side aisles and nineteenth-century south wing (photograph: Author).

of the library and the archives, the kitchen, and the refectory. On the upper floor were offices and service rooms. Both lateral wings have octagonal towers, which are accessible from the courtyard. However, only the tower of the Arts school has a representative portal, which displays the portrait bust and the coat of arms of Duke Julius of Braunschweig-Lüneburg (fig. 4). The Duke is portrayed wearing a suit of armour, and he is accompanied by the virtues of Justice and Faith on either side. The inscription on the tablet above the entrance emphasises the Duke’s generosity, his courage, and his faith, of which the donation of the university gives an excellent proof.32 The east wing has a representative doorway towards the Collegienstrasse, which used to be the main entrance to the whole complex (fig. 5). This doorway has suffered over the centuries, the ducal coat of arms, which supposedly was fixed at the top of the tablet, and the inscription of the tablet, have not been preserved.33 When Duke Heinrich Julius confirmed the privileges and decided that the university should remain in Helmstedt in 1592, he also decided that a new main auditorium should be erected. The construction works on the Novum Juleum started in 1593, and it was fully Sozialgeschichte der anatomischen Sektionen in der Frühen Neuzeit (1650–1800), Stuttgart, 2001. 32 HOC OPUS, HAEC VIRTUS GENEROSI PRINCIPIS ARDENS/ PROQVE ARIS FERRVM PROQVE TENERE FOCIS/ HOSPITAQVE INGENVIS APERIRE PALATIA MVSIS/ ET DARE LAVRIGERO PRAEMIA DIGNA CHORO/ ET RECTIS PRETIVM DOCTRINIS PONERE IVSTVM/ CVNCTA EA DIGNA PIO PRINCIPE GRATA DEO. See Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 91–92.

33 The portals were probably sculptured by Adam Liquier de Beaumont, who worked at the ducal court and died in 1586 in Wolfenbüttel. See Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 91–92. For Adam Liquier, see O. von Boehn, Adam Liquier Beaumont und Hans Winter. Zwei Bildhauer des ausgehenden 16. Jahrhunderts (Bremische Weihnachtsblätter 12), Bremen, 1952, pp. 5–18; Thöne 1963, p. 240.

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4. Helmstedt, Academia Julia, portal of the tower of the west wing (photograph: Author).

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5. Helmstedt, Academia Julia, portal of the east wing (photograph: Author).

completed in 1612 (fig. 6). Initially, the duke’s architect Paul Francke planned a building that, like the former auditorium, should be attached to the side aisles and close the courtyard in the north. But the professors of the university desired a freestanding building. One of their arguments was that the air could circulate better, but the main point was that they wanted it to be seen by the public from a distance.34 It was important for them, as much as it may have been important for the ducal patron, to have a large, representative building. This is an interesting point, since representation was not initially a characteristic of university buildings. The Novum Juleum contained the lecture rooms of the three higher faculties, including the Schools of Law, Medicine, and Divinity. The building has large, round-arched windows on the ground floor, which show a simple form of tracery with bars and three circles. The upper storey has large, rectangular windows with scroll ornamentation. The most impressive parts of the building are the scrolled gables, which are decorated with superimposed columns and large sculptures. The sculptures, which were executed by Jacob Meyerheine (c. 1550–1620) from Wolfenbüttel,35 represent the four faculties of Philosophy, Medicine, Law, and Theology through the virtues of Hope (fig. 7), Prudence, Justice, and Faith. Soldiers who present their weapons accompany the allegories. 34

In a letter to Duke Heinrich Julius of 18 February 1593, the professors wrote: “. . . ist aber vor ratsambt angesehen, auch von efg Bauverwaltern beliebet, das das Newe Collegium etwas von dem alten ab und dem Rhatstall nehergerucket und aufgeführt werde, sintemal es dort mehr ins licht und großen prospekt bekompt, da auch der windt die auditorien besser

perspirieren und erfrischen kann . . .”. See Seeleke 1940 (note 20), p. 42; Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 93–94. 35 For Jacob Meyerheine, see Thöne 1963, pp. 241–242; P. J. Meier, Das Kunsthandwerk des Bildhauers in der Stadt Braunschweig seit der Reformation (Werkstücke aus Museum, Archiv und Bibliothek der Stadt Braunschweig 8), Braunschweig, 1936, pp. 37–39.

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6. Helmstedt, Novum Juleum (photograph: Author).

7. Helmstedt, Novum Juleum, allegory of Hope (photograph: Author).

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8. Helmstedt, Novum Juleum, main entrance (photograph: Author).

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9. Helmstedt, Novum Juleum, portal of the tower (photograph: Author).

The main entrance of the Novum Juleum is richly decorated with superimposed Ionic and Corinthian columns, scrolls, masks and flowers (fig. 8). In the original setting, the decorative scheme of the portal contained sculptures of the seven liberal arts. Unfortunately, the sculptures of Rhetoric and Dialectic are lost. The remaining sculptures are Music and Geometry, Arithmetic and Grammar on the sides and Astronomy on the top. It makes perfect sense that the seven liberal arts are represented at the entrance to the higher faculties, because the liberal arts formed the basic studies in the Arts school, and students had to pass them before they could continue to become a master or a doctor of one of the higher faculties.36 The coat of arms of the university fills the central field of the aedicule above the entrance. It shows Samson fighting with the lion, and the sun, the moon and a star.37 In the centre of the south façade stands an octagonal tower, which is five storeys high. The tower is accessible from the courtyard. It contains the staircase to the upper storey of the Novum Juleum, and with its gallery at the top it also served as an astronomical observatory. The portal of the tower displays Corinthian and Composite columns in superimposition, and an abundance of decoration with scrolls, masks and flowers. The central cartouche bears the coat of arms of Duke Heinrich Julius, framed by Corinthian columns and armed soldiers, who present their lances (fig. 9). The inscription in the cartouche under the coat of arms is not preserved.

36

J. Tezmen-Siegel, Die Darstellungen der septem artes liberales in der bildenden Kunst als Rezeption der Lehrplangeschichte, Munich, 1985; P. O. Kristeller, ‘The Modern System of the Arts’, in: Idem,

Renaissance Thought and the Arts, Princeton, 19903, pp. 163–227. 37 The motto of the university was “Ex forti dulcedo” (from the Old Testament story of Samson, Judges, 14).

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10. Helmstedt, Novum Juleum, hall (photograph: Author).

The lecture room of the Divinity School was situated on the ground floor of the Novum Juleum. It also served as the main auditorium and assembly hall (fig. 10).38 The ceiling of this large hall is supported by three highly decorated, abstract terms of the Doric order. The smaller room on the ground floor was the library. The Doric portal of the library is topped by three sculptures representing scholars, probably personifying the three academic grades of bachelor, master, and doctor (fig. 11).39 A small staircase led from the library down into the wine cellar with two drinking rooms and a large wine depot. The wine depot has a separate entrance on the back of the building, which is adorned with the ducal coat of arms. The wine steward lived behind the main auditorium building. The lecture rooms for Medicine and Law were located on the upper floor of the Novum Juleum. They were separated by a small, centrally located room, which served as a vestibule and disputation chamber. The rooms on the upper floor were transformed into one big hall in the eighteenth century.40 The oration of Christoph Heidmann On the occasion of the opening of the Novum Juleum in 1612, the Professor of Rhetoric, Christoph Heidmann, gave a laudation, which was published in print.41 Heidmann had studied philosophy at the Academia Julia from 1602. He was a student of the Aristotelian 38

Today the hall is used for concerts and theatre plays. The sculptures are called “disciples” in the accounts of the sculptor Jacob Meyerheine. See Thöne 1963, pp. 241–242. 39

40 The hall serves today as a museum. It contains part of the historic university library and historic portraits of the university professors. 41 Heidmann 1612.

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11. Helmstedt, Novum Juleum, figures of scholars above the portal to the library (photograph: Author).

philosopher Johannes Caselius (1533–1613) who taught politics in Helmstedt. Heidmann became a professor of rhetoric at the age of thirty in 1612, and the oration might have been one of his first great public speeches. In 1626 Christian IV of Denmark (1577–1648) appointed Heidmann as a professor of philosophy at the Noble Academy of Sorø in Denmark, where he died at the age of 45, in 1627.42 In his book on rhetoric, Aristotle (384–322 BC) unfolds a rhetorical system as a network of relations between the speaker, the speech, and the audience.43 These Aristotelian principles and their elaboration by Cicero (106–43 BC) and other Roman authors formed the basis of teaching and learning rhetoric at the Academia Julia.44 Heidmann’s oration includes five parts. A short introduction is followed by a description of the building, a dedication to Prince Friedrich Ulrich of Braunschweig-Lüneburg (1591–1632), a justification, and a conclusion, which includes an address to the audience. Heidmann thus follows a classical scheme of oration according to the principles of rhetoric stated by Cicero.45 In his oration, Heidmann first describes the whole building complex of the Academia Julia, and then concentrates on the Novum Juleum with all its peculiarities. Throughout his talk he parallels his oration with the building. Such a swift shifting between rhetoric and architecture is possible because the idea of decor in the ten books on architecture by Vitruvius 42

For the life of Christoph Heidmann, see P. Zimmermann, Album Academiae Helmstediensis, Abt. I Studenten, Professoren etc. der Universität Helmstedt von 1574 bis 1636 (Veröffentlichungen der historischen Kommission für Hannover 9), 1926, pp. 436–437. 43 Aristotle, Rhetoric, III, 13–19, 1414a-1420b on the disposition of an oration. For an English edition, see Aristotle, On Rhetoric. A Theory of Civic Discourse, trans. by G. A. Kennedy, Oxford, 1991. 44 The same counts for poetics. See I. Henze, Der Lehrstuhl für Poesie an der Universität Helmstedt bis

zum Tode Heinrich Meiboms d. Ält. (+ 1625). Eine Untersuchung zur Rezeption antiker Dichtung im lutherischen Späthumanismus, Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York, 1990. 45 Cicero, De oratore, III. For a recent edition with commentary, see M. Tullius Cicero, De oratore libri III, eds. A. D. Leeman, H. Pinkster, et al., 5 vols., Heidelberg, 1981–2008. For early modern rhetoric and its relation to classical models, see J. Dyck, TichtKunst. Deutsche Barockpoetik und rhetorische Tradition, Bad Homburg, 1966.

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BARBARA UPPENKAMP (c. 70/60−c. 10 BC) and the theory of ornamentation in the architectural treatise of Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472) are both based on rhetorical principles.46 In his introduction Heidmann states that what words are for the ears, the building is for the eyes. By means of his words he would try to give the same impression that the building enacts upon the beholder.47 The following part is basically an ekphrasis, but the way Heidmann describes the Novum Juleum is shaped after the model of Alberti’s description of religious buildings in the city.48 In Heidmann’s words, the building ‘speaks’ to the eyes of the beholder by means of its material, by the way it is constructed, and above all, by its decoration. As a temple of the Muses, as an academy, as a religious building, and as a princely commission, the Novum Juleum belongs to the highest category of building types. Consequently, Heidmann’s laudation is written in the highest and most ornate style of rhetoric. In his description, Heidmann uses the categories and the vocabulary of both Vitruvius and Alberti in parallel. He starts with the category of site. First, he describes the situation of the academy in the duchy of Braunschweig-Lüneburg and in the city of Helmstedt. This description appears to be closely linked to Alberti’s understanding of regio and area.49 With regard to the site, Heidmann also mentions the winds that can circulate in a healthy way, thus picking up one of the arguments that were used by the professors for the new auditorium to be erected as a freestanding building. Wind circulation is also an argument in Vitruvius’ Ten Books on Architecture, when the author deals with the salubriousness of sites.50 Heidmann then moves on to the three categories of firmitas, utilitas, and venustas, which are key concepts of Vitruvian theory.51 He mentions the category of utility (utilitas) by commenting on the rectangular ground plan and the size, both of which are appropriate to the purpose of the building. Here he dares a comparison with the academy in Altdorf (1571–1583), which represents a similar building type as Helmstedt. Heidmann also praises the material, which he calls marble. Certainly, since the building is not constructed of marble, but of sandstone, this is a rhetorical device to lend dignity to it. In connection with

46

Research in this field has been done primarily on Italian architectural treatises. On the links between architectural theory and literary culture in the sixteenth century, see A. Payne, The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Renaissance. Architectural Invention, Ornament, and Literary Culture, Cambridge, 1999; Idem, ‘Ut poesis architectura: Tectonics and Poetics in Architectural Criticism circa 1570’, in: A. Payne, A. Kuttner, and R. Smick (eds.), Antiquity and its Interpreters, Cambridge, 2000, pp. 145–158. On Vitruvius’ understanding of decor and its relation to Ciceronian rhetoric, see A. Horn-Oncken, Über das Schickliche. Studien zur Geschichte der Architekturtheorie I (Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, Philologisch-historische Klasse, 3, No. 70), Göttingen, 1967. On Alberti, see V. Biermann, Ornamentum. Studien zum Traktat De re aedificatoria des Leon Battista Alberti, Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York, 1997; V. Biermann, ‘Ornamentum und seine rhetorischen Grundlagen in Albertis Architekturtraktat’, in: J. Poeschke and C. Syndikus (eds.), Leon Battista Alberti. Humanist, Architekt, Kunsttheoretiker, Münster, 2008, pp. 227–242; H. Mühlmann, Ästhetische

Theorie der Renaissance. Leon Battista Alberti, Bonn, 1981. On rhetoric and the visual arts in general, see most recently, C. van Eck, Classical Rhetoric and the Visual Arts in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge, 2007. 47 Heidmann 1612, no pagination: “Quod si ad alios verbos essent de his rebus facienda, ad eos praesertim, qui ipsi nunquam aedem hanc Iuliam vidissent, ne(que) ab alijs de ea satis accipissent, vberiore oratione vtendum mihi existimarem”. See Uppenkamp 2005, p. 215. 48 Alberti, On the Art of Building, VII. For an English edition of Alberti’s treatise, see Leon Battista Alberti, On the Art of Building in Ten Books, trans. J. Rykwert, N. Leach, and R. Tavernor, Cambridge, MA, 1988. 49 Alberti, On the Art of Building, I, 2. 50 Vitruvius, On Architecture, I, 4. For an English edition of Vitruvius’s books, see Vitruvius, On Architecture, ed. Frank Granger, London, 31955. 51 Vitrsuvius, On Architecture, I, 3. Alberti discusses the category of firmitas in books II and III, utilitas in books IV and V, and venustas in books VII–IX of his treatise.

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the building material, Heidman touches upon the Vitruvian category of firmitas, but he spends most of his time on the category of beauty (venustas). He praises the most elegant windows, the high roof, and the ornate gables, which are topped by the most impressive statues. Heidmann interprets the soldiers standing on the stepped gables as symbols, meaning that the education of the subjects is an important task comparable to the defence of the country (patria). According to Heidmann, the sculptures are worthy of Skopas (c. 420–c. 330 BC) or Praxiteles (c. 390–c. 320 BC), and by alluding to the great examples of classical antiquity he implies that the Academia Julia equals the academies and temples of the Greeks and Romans.52 When he describes the sculptures of the building, Heidmann also mentions the coat of arms. Here, he takes the opportunity to tell the story of the foundation of the university, to mention the latent conflict between the university members and the Helmstedt citizens, and to point out the privileges, which were granted by Emperor Maximilian II in 1575 and confirmed by Duke Heinrich Julius of Braunschweig-Lüneburg in 1592.53 The most important part of the building is, according to Heidmann, its tower. Heidmann describes the tower as a symbol of the power of the dukes of Braunschweig-Lüneburg and the most representational part of the building. It is important to realise that representation of political power has become a function of a university building. With respect to the special history of the Helmstedt university, it becomes even more important because of the conflict between the city and the university members, which was decided by the ducal patron partially in favour of the university. It is a demonstration of the increasing power of the high nobility in relation to other political corporations, like the city authorities. In his oration, Heidmann only mentions the tower as a landmark within the city, but he says nothing about its function either as a staircase or as an astronomical observatory. The representational function seems to overrule the other functions of the tower. The tower alludes to the tower of the Wolfenbüttel castle, which dates back to the fourteenth century but was rebuilt and extended at the same time as the Novum Juleum was erected.54 Architecturally, however, it comes even closer to the planned tower of the church of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Wolfenbüttel, which was begun in 1608 and never fully completed. The original design of the church tower is known from two woodcuts, dating from 1625.55 Both towers were princely architecture, connected with the ideal city plans of Duke Julius, which were executed under the reign of Duke Heinrich Julius. Heidmann praises the columns and the ornamentation of the Novum Juleum with the most ornate words,56 before he moves on to the dedication, which is chiefly a flattering

52

Uppenkamp 2005, p. 216. Uppenkamp 2005, p. 216. 54 For the castle of Wolfenbüttel, see, most recently, H. H. Grote, Schloss Wolfenbüttel: Residenz der Herzöge zu Braunschweig und Lüneburg, Braunschweig, 2005; Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 66–75. 55 For the church of the Blessed Virgin Mary, see H. Thies, ‘Die Wolfenbütteler Hauptkirche Beatae Mariae Virginis’, in: Großmann 1990 (note 23), pp. 171–188; H. Thies, ‘Die Baugeschichte der Hauptkirche Beatae Mariae Virginis’, in: Bürgel, Müller, Volp 1991 (note 23), pp. 203–221; H. H. Möller (ed.), Die Hauptkirche Beatae Mariae Virginis in Wolfenbüttel (Forschungen zur Denkmalpflege in Niedersachsen 4), Hannover, 1987; Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 81–88. 53

56

Heidmann 1612, no pagination: “Vt enim omnes ingenij neruos intendam, &, si quae poßint, ornamenta verborum conquiram, nunquam tamen eius dignitatem elegantiumq(ue) dicendo exprimavi. Quamuis enim & pauimentum hoc lato politoq(ue) lapide stratum, quamuis candentes parietes, albicans & crebris distinctum trabibus lacunar, pulcerrimas illas columnas & lapides arcuates, quamuis cathedram hanc amplißimam, atq(ue) illa subsellia; quanto poßim studio laudare instituam, vbi quis tamen ingressus fuerit, & quasi in rem praesentem venerit omnia maiora ac praestantiora, quèm acceperat, inueniet, itaq(ue) secum statuet, non magnificentiam conditori, nec artifici industriam, sed mihi ad id docendum demonstrandumq(ue) verba defuisse”. Uppenkamp 2005, p. 216.

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BARBARA UPPENKAMP laudation of the ducal family of Braunschweig-Lüneburg and their merits for the country. The dedication also contains an admonition addressed to Prince Friedrich Ulrich of BraunschweigLüneburg to take care that the institution will flourish in the future. Friedrich Ulrich presided over the opening celebration, because his father Duke Heinrich Julius was staying as a diplomat at the court of Rudolf II (1552–1612) in Prague and could not attend the festivities. At the end, Heidmann mentions the professors of all faculties and the students, who, in his words, are the ornament of the institution by following in their studies and in their lives the highest principles of knowledge and virtue. Speaking about the decoration of the building, Heidmann parallels the ornamentation of the building (ornamentum) with the decor of his oration (ornamenta verborum) throughout. While his oration is decorated with quotes from antique sources, like Cicero, Quintilian (AD c. 35–c. 96), Seneca (AD c. 1–65), and Sallust (86–c. 35/34 BC), the building is equally decorated with such quotations, taken from antiquity. It is the Vitruvian decor, including the columns, the ornaments, and the sculptures, which are apt for the purpose and the status of the building. As much as the rhetorician Heidmann followed the example of Cicero in his oration, the architect Francke followed the example of Vitruvius, and the sculptor Meyerheine the example of Skopas and Praxiteles. They could extract the ancient vocabulary of forms of classical architecture and decoration from the pattern books and Vitruvian treatises, which were published during the sixteenth century and were eagerly collected by Duke Julius of Braunschweig-Lüneburg and his sons.57 Most prominent among these books, and most influential for Helmstedt, were the publications of Hans Vredeman de Vries (1526–1609), who served as an engineer-architect for the ducal court in Wolfenbüttel between 1587 and 1590.58 The columns of the portals and the decoration of the shaped gables were extracted from Vredeman’s publications Dorica–Ionica and Corinthia–Composita, which were both published in Antwerp by Hieronymus Cock in 1565.59 However, the general shape of the Novum Juleum as a palace with large, round-arched windows and the octagonal tower come close to sheets 20 and 21 from Vredeman’s Architectura (1577) (fig. 12).60 Just like the oration of Christoph Heidmann, which is shaped on the model of a Ciceronian laudation, the Novum Juleum displays the Vitruvian decoration, which forms a system that is apt for the purpose of the building. It is highly individual, but at the same time speaks about more general things, like the newly defined building type of a university.

57 For a reconstruction of the library of architectural books of Duke Julius, see Uppenkamp 2005, pp. 140– 151, 315–325. 58 F. Thöne, ‘Hans Vredeman de Vries in Wolfenbüttel’, Braunschweigisches Jahrbuch 41, 1960, pp. 47–68; F. Thöne, ‘Werke des Hans Vredeman de Vries in Wolfenbüttel’, Pantheon 20, 1962, pp. 248–255, 335–336; H. Borggrefe, V. Lüpkes, P. Huvenne, and B. van Beneden (eds.), Hans Vredeman de Vries und die Renaissance im Norden, München, 2002, pp. 311–319. 59 Hans Vredeman de Vries, Den eersten boeck gemaeckt op de twee Colomnen Dorica en Ionica, Antwerpen, 1565 (Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel Uf 2° 5); Hans Vredeman de Vries, Das ander Buech, Gemacht auf die zway Colonnen, Corinthia

und Composita, Antwerpen, 1565 (Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel Uf 2° 5). See P. Fuhring and G. Luijten (eds.), Hans Vredeman de Vries (Hollstein’s Dutch and Flemish Etchings, Engravings and Woodcuts 47–48), 2 vols., Rotterdam, 1997, nos. 183–200 and nos. 201–222; Borggrefe, Lüpkes, et al. 2002 (note 58), pp. 192–194. 60 Hans Vredeman de Vries, Architectura oder Bavvng der Antiquen aus dem Vitruvius, Antwerpen, 1577 (Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel Uf 2° 66). See Fuhring, Luijten, 1997 (note 59), nos. 408–431; Borggrefe, Lüpkes, et al. 2002 (note 58), pp. 197; P. S. Zimmermann, Die Architectura von Hans Vredeman de Vries. Entwicklung der Renaissancearchitektur in Mitteleuropa (Kunstwissenschaftliche Studien 99), München and Berlin, 2002.

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12. Hans Vredeman de Vries, Architectura (1577), fols. 20 and 21 (photograph: Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel).

In a greater context it speaks of the formation of an early modern, Protestant state, where the education of the political elite is a crucial task. It constructs a mental framework, which makes the university and its members – the faculties and the scholars who lived and learned there according to certain rules and with certain privileges – readable as an organised body. According to the words of Heidmann, the building itself may be understood as a public oration, held on a special occasion, which contains general information on the ethics of education, on representation, and on the purpose of architecture. It displays in front of the eyes of the beholder a system of order, on the one hand in a practical sense of the word by creating special rooms for special purposes, and on the other hand in an Aristotelian understanding of politics as an architectural science.61 This message is conveyed in an erudite, humanistic way by the means of columns, sculpture, and ornamentation, which are applied to the building according to the principles of Vitruvius’s idea of decor and Alberti’s theory of ornamentum.

61 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, I, 2. For an English edition, see Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, transl. by Terence Irwin, Indianapolis, 1985.

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BARBARA UPPENKAMP Frequently cited works Baumgart 2006 P. Baumgart, Universitäten im konfessionellen Zeitalter. Gesammelte Beiträge, Münster, 2006. Graefe 1989 C. Graefe (ed.), Staatsklugheit und Frömmigkeit. Herzog Julius zu Braunschweig-Lüneburg, ein norddeutscher Landesherr des 16. Jahrhunderts, Weinheim, 1989. Häberlin 1876 F. Häberlin, Geschichte der ehemaligen Hochschule Julia Carolina zu Helmstedt, Helmstedt, 1876. Heidmann 1612 Christopherus Heidmann, Oratio I. de Nova Aede Musarum in Illust. Academia Iulia, Helmstedt, 1612 (Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel Q 392 Helmst. 4°). Rückbrod 1977 K. Rückbrod, Universität und Kollegium. Baugeschichte und Bautyp, Darmstadt, 1977. Thöne 1963 F. Thöne, Wolfenbüttel. Geist und Glanz einer alten Residenz, München, 1963. Uppenkamp 2005 B. Uppenkamp, Das Pentagon von Wolfenbüttel. Der Ausbau der welfischen Residenz 1568– 1626 zwischen Ideal und Wirklichkeit, Hannover, 2005.

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‘SO

STRANGELY ALTERED’:

OXFORD

AND

CAMBRIDGE COLLEGES, C. 1660–1735

Alistair Fair1 (Cambridge University)

Writing in 1721, the Warden of All Souls College, Oxford, reflected upon the recent wave of building which had taken place in the town, noting that “the buildings in Oxford were so strangely altered and encreased [sic] that if our old Founders and Benefactors were to rise from the dead, they would not know Oxford even in Oxford”.2 His comment can be understood in two ways. On the one hand, there had been so much building work that the town was unrecognisable to one who had been away for some time. On the other, it also perhaps implies that the new buildings had not only changed the appearance of the town, but that they also differed in a more fundamental way from those of the past. In this respect, the changes were such that the benefactors would no longer recognise the essential attributes of the institutions that they had founded. This essay surveys the building boom which took place after 1660 in Oxford, and, to a lesser extent, Cambridge. Summarising and expanding my previous work on this topic, its focus is building for the colleges. This subject (with the exception of Wren’s Trinity Library at Cambridge) has attracted historians’ interest less than the universities’ role as innovative patrons of architecture, evident in such examples as the Sheldonian Theatre, Oxford (1664– 1669). However, innovation also took place in college design, and so this paper shows how established ideas could be extended and filtered in the light of new functional needs, symbolic requirements, and architectural thought. To illustrate this change, it is first necessary to briefly outline the history of the two universities and their architecture. The historian Richard Southern has succinctly written of Oxford University that it was not created; rather it ‘emerged’,3 and much the same can be said of Cambridge.4 Both were in the twelfth century already centres of learning. Gradually, lodging houses took on a more formal quality, being constituted first as halls and then colleges. These bodies were typically accommodated at first in existing buildings,5 but by the fourteenth century it had become the norm for colleges to be arranged with all their main elements – hall, chapel, library and chambers – grouped in an essentially continuous building around a single quadrangle. This arrangement derived much from the example of New College, Oxford (1379), which effectively established the idea of the college as a unified, introverted complex.6 Although the three-sided courts of Caius and Emmanuel colleges represent notable deviations from the introverted model in Cambridge, new building and reconstruction projects alike frequently aspired to this arrangement. In Cambridge, for example, Trinity College was established in the late sixteenth century around a large court created from the buildings of three earlier halls.7 Stylistically, too, the quadrangle suggested homogeneity. As Kerry Downes has written, “a quadrangle has, almost by definition, a certain uniformity or conformity, and a college 1 This paper draws together and extends my two previous articles on aspects of the subject, i.e. Fair 2006 and Fair 2008. As with those two articles, I would like to thank Dr Christine Stevenson for guiding my research during an MA at the Courtauld Institute of Art, London, in 2003–2004. 2 H. M. Petter, The Oxford Almanacks, Oxford, 1974, p. 11.

3

Tyack 1998, p. 24. Rawle 1993, p. 19. 5 Willis and Clark 1886, vol. III, p. 248. 6 Tyack 1998, pp. 40–41; Gervase Jackson-Stops, ‘The planning of the college’, in: J. Buxton and P. Williams (eds.), New College, Oxford, 1379–1979, Oxford, 1979, pp. 140–192. 7 Willis and Clark 1886, vol. II, pp. 476–477. 4

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ALISTAIR FAIR quadrangle … has a certain quiet and reserve”.8 Certainly such early seventeenth-century examples as Wadham College, Oxford (1610–1612), should be seen in these terms (fig. 1). A consistent approach was deployed across its elevations, which featured mullioned windows of a pattern established in the fourteenth century. Together with an open-roofed hall, heated from a central hearth, their use connoted the conception of Wadham in terms of precedent.9 Additions, too, might be Gothic. Thus was a plaster ‘fan vault’ constructed as late as 1659 at Brasenose, while Wren worked in a classicised Gothic at Christ Church in 1684 so as to match the existing buildings. At University College, Oxford, the early eighteenth-century benefaction of John Radcliffe was accompanied by a stipulation that the resulting new ranges should emulate the old.10 Historians have long noted the continued predominance of the Gothic in college architecture, and recent accounts have argued that it was often deliberately intended to suggest scholarly and institutional continuity in a positive sense.11 The sometimes unusual combinations of Gothic and classical which occurred in such examples as Brasenose were thus not second-rate misunderstandings of Court developments. 1. Wadham College, Oxford, main front (photograph: Nonetheless, new ideas in planning and styling Author). were more consistently debated in the years after 1660. Wren, in a letter of 1665 to Ralph Bathurst, the Master of Trinity College, Oxford, both recognised the dominance of the quadrangle and highlighted the emerging possibility of avoiding it when he suggested that “the name of a quadrangle will carry with it those whom you say may possibly be your benefactors”.12 The implication is that donors would be reluctant to contribute to a scheme which was not arranged in what had become the traditional way, though Wren’s view of this arrangement was that it would be “the worse” for the new buildings that he was designing for the college. There were several possible motivations for change in this period. The often-Royalist colleges were buoyantly optimistic after the Restoration, confident of their position in towns which had often been somewhat hostile to them during the Commonwealth.13 Second, their Fellows and students were often drawn from an increasingly elevated background,14 and while recent research suggests that this development was confined to a limited number of colleges such as (at Oxford) Christ Church, Queen’s, Magdalen and Trinity,15 we should not discount it entirely as such colleges were to the fore in building. For these people, arrangements essentially 8

Downes 1979, p. 106. Tyack 1998, p. 99. 10 Tyack 1998, p. 159. 11 See especially Ch. Brooks, The Gothic Revival, London, 1999, pp. 25–32; also A. Buchanan, ‘Interpretations of medieval architecture, c. 1550–c. 1750’, in: M. Hall (ed.), Gothic architecture and its meanings, Reading, 2000, pp. 27–52. For older accounts see e.g. J. Summerson, Architecture in Britain, 1530–1830, New Haven and London, 1993, pp. 157–164. 9

12

Reproduced in A.T. Bolton (ed.), Wren Society, vol. 5, Oxford, 1928, p. 14. 13 Rawle 1993, p. 27. 14 H. E. Salter and M. D. Lobel (eds.), The Victoria history of the counties of England: A history of Oxfordshire, London, 1954, vol. 3, p. 242; Tyack 1998, pp. 131–132. 15 S. Porter, ‘The university and society’, in N. Tyacke (ed.), The history of the University of Oxford, Oxford, 1997, vol. 4, pp. 25–101.

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unchanged since medieval times would be unlikely to find much favour, i.e., bedrooms shared with others who may well be drawn from an inferior background. Thirdly, we should also note the increasing interest on the part of college Fellows in architecture. There were no architectural books, so far as we can tell, in Oxford Fellows’ libraries in 1550, compared with the keen interest of Dr Caius at Cambridge in Serlio.16 By 1700, however, Henry Aldrich of Christ Church and George Clarke at All Souls were taking a particular interest in architecture. A similar role was filled later in the century by James Burrough at Cambridge. By the 1720s, architectural subjects had displaced allegorical scenes at the head of the annual Oxford Almanack, reflecting not only Clarke’s editorship of that publication but also the role of these buildings as symbols of a new Oxford. Although the role of the client in promoting a new architecture is undeniably important, the role of the architect in devising that architecture should not be discounted, and here an increasingly self-conscious architectural profession is important.17 In particular, Wren’s background in experimental philosophy circles at Oxford in the 1650s had made him sceptical of precedent, principally in experimental science but also architecture.18 He was critical of those who subscribed to what he famously termed “Rules, too strict and pedantic, (…) not to be transgressed without the crime of barbarity”.19 Even for those of a less explicitly experimental bent, increasing knowledge of European and historic models alike offered valuable examples for new approaches, to which we now turn. Perhaps the most radical attempts to reform college architecture in this period came from the fertile pen of Nicholas Hawksmoor. His proposals have been much discussed by historians,20 but they are worth considering here as they introduce several themes. The unbuilt schemes are especially helpful, for they demonstrate an idealised approach to design. As Vaughan Hart has discussed, Hawksmoor’s proposals were founded upon the idea of the college as an insular community with both domestic and religious overtones, and to that end he returned to archetypes, namely the Vitruvian house and the Solomonic Temple.21 Although these precedents clearly were felt to have an appropriate affinity with the college, they can also be read as an attempt to extend the type through an appeal to a wider range of sources than those immediately to hand. The results would have been quite unlike any other college buildings, had they been executed. Indeed, Colvin suggests of Hawksmoor’s proposals for Queen’s College, Oxford, that they were so wide of the mark it is unlikely that they were ever seriously contemplated, notwithstanding their likely cost.22 The typological challenges were several-fold. First, Hawksmoor sought to break apart the closed quadrangle. In his proposals for Queen’s, for example, he offered alternatives for the position of the hall, chapel, library and residential accommodation, with several schemes featuring a detached, centralised chapel that allowed views between the different parts of the college. This arrangement finds no immediate precedent in either Oxford or Cambridge. His designs for King’s, Cambridge, meanwhile, deviated from expectations of unity within the quadrangle, with elevations that differed from one side of the court to the other, and on alternate sides of individual ranges.23 In this monumental classicism, the residential parts of the college would no longer be subservient to

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Colvin 1983, p. 9. H. Colvin, A biographical dictionary of British architects, New Haven and London, 1995, pp. 31–32. 18 For a useful summary, see Downes 1979, pp. 13–18. For Wren’s science, see L. Jardine, On a grander scale: the outstanding career of Sir Christopher Wren, London, 2002, pp. 54–72, 89–101 and 120–128.

Soo 1998, p. 157. Downes 1979, pp. 99–155; Hart 2002, pp. 187–219. 21 Hart 2002, pp. 202–213. 22 Colvin 1983, p.47, with the designs reproduced on pp. 52–53. 23 Downes 1979, p. 116.

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ALISTAIR FAIR the hall and chapel; rather, they compete with these parts in their own grandeur. Internally, Hawksmoor proposed innovation in both examples. Queen’s was to feature rooms arranged along corridors rather than staircases, while the King’s scheme has an interesting mezzanine arrangement which recalls the house he had designed at Easton Neston.24 The innovatory nature of these schemes is summed up best by Hawksmoor’s proposals that the centres of Oxford and Cambridge be rebuilt along heroic classical lines with the colleges forming the terminating point for grand vistas.25 Hawksmoor’s letters make his grand intentions especially clear, if there were ever any doubt, referring expansively in the case of Magdalen, Oxford, to the “pomerium” and adding an explanatory note: “in English, the town ditch”.26 Of course, there had previously been college buildings that dominated the townscape, and one thinks of the way in which King’s College Chapel looms above Cambridge even today, but here is a particularly consistent expression of a confident outlook. Although each retained a degree of insularity in their overall planning, the colleges were to be ordered into a coherent whole which was perhaps intended to stimulate a new public order through reform of their surroundings.27 So far, we have seen that Hawksmoor’s unbuilt schemes highlight four important themes in ideas of college architecture, namely: the open quadrangle; the balance of private and communal elements; the appropriate architectural idiom for the type; and the internal arrangements of their buildings. There were few opportunities to re-plan colleges along such comprehensive lines, but we can see these ideas in several smaller schemes which were in fact realised. Wren’s work at Trinity College, Oxford, has already been mentioned in terms of his view that a quadrangle would be the “worse setting” for the college’s new buildings. Indeed, Wren’s initial proposal rejected precedent entirely. There is a drawing in the college’s archives of a detached building, square in plan with a projecting staircase in the centre of one front, intended for a location in the college garden.28 The presence of windows on all four sides implies that it was conceived as an outward-looking, independent unit, rather than the first part of a subsequent quadrangle. Another scheme, for which we lack drawings, apparently proposed something similar for a site in the college grove.29 However, then as now, college building was dependent on benefactions,30 and a quadrangular arrangement seems to have been preferred, perhaps for its perceived grandeur and order as much as its typological overtones. Wren was forced to compromise, describing his solution as being “somewhat like a three-legged table”. Built in 1668, it turned out to be a range (the Garden Building) which was set to the north of the college’s existing buildings, parallel with the northern side of the Durham Quadrangle (fig. 2). Initially detached, it was linked to this older building in 1682 by a similar block placed at right angles to it. The result was a three-sided quadrangle, open to the east. This arrangement was innovatory for Oxford and may have been the “three-legged table” which Wren described. However, the mansard roof of the original design (later removed) precluded an easy junction, while, as originally built, some of the rooms at the corner could seemingly only be accessed from the rear of the building.31 Wren may, therefore, have anticipated 24

Downes 1979, p. 117. Hart 2002, pp. 191–202. 26 Letter from Hawksmoor to Clarke, 11 April 1734, now in Magdalen College archives. 27 Hart 2002, p. 193. 28 Fair 2006 reproduces the drawing on p. 46; see also Fair 2008, p. 102. 29 Colvin 1983, p.20; Arthur Oswald, ‘Trinity College, Oxford’, Country Life, 1930, p.354; Tyack 1998, p.132 25

30

J. Newman, ‘The architectural setting’, in N. Tyacke (ed.), The history of the University of Oxford, Oxford, 1997, vol. 4, pp. 135–177. 31 The doorway in the angle between the two ranges is not shown in the illustration in W. Williams’ Oxonia Depicta of 1733, nor in that in the University Almanack of 1756, the latter being reproduced as fig. 21 in Colvin 1983. It must, therefore, have been added later, access to the rooms in this area previously being via an entrance adjacent to the rear staircase.

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the quadrangle being developed as a grouping of separate or semi-separate buildings, perhaps only connected at the lower levels, rather than fully linked ranges – if indeed he planned for a western building at all. In fact, Wren seems to have consistently sought to avoid introversion in his Oxford and Cambridge colleges, often by proposing detached buildings.32 For example, his Williamson Building at Queen’s College, Oxford (1671–1674), was set apart from the rest of the college. The seventeenth-century writer Anthony Wood wrote that further ranges were to be added to it to form a quadrangle, but this may not have been Wren’s intention as the block proved troublesome to incorporate into a later scheme. In Cambridge, meanwhile, his first pro2. Trinity College, Oxford, in 1676, as illustrated by David Loggan posal for Trinity College Library (1675) should in his Oxonia Illustrata. not be overlooked.33 Often considered in terms of its novelty as a circular library seemingly inspired by the villas of Palladio or Scamozzi, it would have also been innovative as a piece of college planning. The building was to stand in the centre of an existing three-sided quadrangle, with a low wall and railings linking it to the side ranges in such a way as to permit views out to the river and the countryside beyond. Although the college Master’s resolve to build more grandly saw the design abandoned,34 its unusual nature may also explain why it was never pursued. The executed scheme at Trinity drew not on the Renaissance villa, but the Greek stoa 3. Trinity College, Cambridge, the Library (photograph: Author). (fig. 3). Its ground-floor arcade was intended (as Wren wrote) to be “open and pleasant”,35 with a central row of columns rather than a wall. As a result, views from the quadrangle to the river were maintained, surely an important consideration, as one plan shows columns on the riverside elevation in place of the executed scheme’s wall with openings.36 Something similar can also be seen in Wren’s chapel of 1668 at Emmanuel College, Cambridge, where the quadrangle is closed by a range whose open arches once again allow views to the gardens behind (fig. 4). The arrangement recalls the earlier example of Peterhouse, but this does not detract from its consistency with Wren’s other college works.

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Fair 2006, pp. 25–42. H. Colvin, ‘The building’, in: D. McKitterick (ed.), The making of the Wren library: Trinity College, Cambridge, Cambridge, 1995, pp. 28–49.

36

Willis and Clark 1896, vol. II, p. 532 Bolton 1928 (note 12), p. 33. Fair 2006, p. 54.

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4. Emmanuel College, Cambridge, chapel (photograph: Author).

While this ‘open’ consistency might represent a belief that an open quadrangle would promote health-giving airflow (as had motivated Dr Caius to demand three-sided courts for his Cambridge college in the sixteenth century and which perhaps contributed to the layout of Wren’s hospitals at Chelsea and Greenwich), it can also be linked with Wren’s belief that beauty resulted from what he termed “a variety of uniformities”.37 Wren explained this idea by likening beauty in architecture to the combination in poetry of various different lines. In other words, the effect of the whole was more important than its uniformity, and so we should see here a similar attempt to get away from the quadrangular precedent which parallels Hawksmoor’s approach on paper. Indeed, it was in some ways yet more radical, for unlike Hawksmoor’s combination of insular colleges set within a more open townscape Wren abandoned the expected insularity completely. The styling and layout of Wren’s Garden Building were similarly innovatory. Internally, his design anticipated Hawksmoor’s attempts to reform college accommodation by dispensing with the shared dormitories of earlier buildings in favour of individual sets that might appeal better to the wealthy students increasingly attracted to Trinity.38 In terms of style, meanwhile, classicism was not unknown in the universities before 1660: the towers of the orders in the Schools Quadrangle and at Merton College in Oxford spring to mind, along with the Gates

37

Soo 1998, p. 154.

38

Tyack 1998, p. 131 and K. Downes, The architecture of Wren, London, 1982, p. 44.

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5. Pembroke College, Cambridge, the Hitcham Building (photograph: Author).

6. Christ’s College, Cambridge, Fellows’ Building (photograph: Author).

of Honour and Virtue at Caius College, Cambridge.39 However, classicism had usually functioned as an emblematic device,40 to be deployed at specific points. In the Hitcham Building of 1658–1661 at Pembroke, Cambridge, for example, it distinguishes the public rooms from the residential staircases (fig. 5). Only in isolated examples, such as the Fellows’ Building of 39

Rawle 1993, pp. 54–55.

40

Rawle 1993, p. 27.

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7. All Souls, Oxford, east range of Hawksmoor’s executed scheme (photograph: Author).

1640–1643 at Christ’s, Cambridge, had classicism functioned as an overall system of organisation and decoration in that way that Wren and others deployed it after 1660 (fig. 6). Wren’s Garden Building at Trinity, Oxford, was thus novel in its French-inspired classicism, challenging received notions of appropriate style for the colleges and, in its clash with the nearby buildings, making no attempt to achieve the sense of uniform appearance and regularity which had often previously been thought desirable and which had led to the symmetry of such colleges as Wadham. Wren was celebrated in the case of the Sheldonian Theatre for his triumph over the “Gothic rage”,41 and much the same might be also said of his collegiate work for its novel styling, internal layouts and external planning. Other classical buildings followed in subsequent decades; indeed, in the austere work of George Clarke at Christ Church in the first years of the eighteenth century, Oxford blazed something of a trail, anticipating the approach advocated by the likes of Colen Campbell and Lord Burlington. James Gibbs’ building for King’s, Cambridge (1724–1732) adopted a similar approach. Many of

41

Colvin 1983, p. 23.

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these buildings can be read as having the air of a small country house or row of townhouses – perhaps another response to the background of the students who might reside there. These ideas were taken up by others. For example, the open quadrangle re-appears in William Byrd’s Garden Quadrangle at New College, seemingly conceived with reference to an even more elevated prototype, namely Wren’s aborted Winchester Palace project, itself the offspring of Versailles in its cour d’honneur.42 Furthermore, as in Wren’s Trinity project, each resident of this quadrangle was afforded a small suite of rooms. Hawksmoor, meanwhile, may have been denied the chance to implement some of his more extravagant ideas, but their conception clearly informed his various executed schemes in Oxford, notably at All Souls. This scheme came into being in the first decade of the eighteenth century, when George Clarke proposed to build a new house for himself to the north of the college’s existing chapel. However, the college decided to provide a grand new residential block on this site, working to a master plan by Clarke. Designs were submitted by Hawksmoor, John Talman, and others, nearly all of whom offered variants on a detached, grandly classical theme. This style and the proposed four-room suites found in most of the proposals befitted All Souls’ status as a rich college whose members were, as one put it, “persons of great fortunes and high birth, and of little morals and less learning”.43 Indeed, John Talman’s scheme displays particular affinities with the prominent country houses designed by his father William: in its general disposition; in the deployment of such stylistic motifs as pedimented scrolls; and in its grand oval staircase, which was in fact added during the design process.44 Hawksmoor’s executed All Souls scheme is especially useful for the light it sheds on the way in which college buildings were understood, and the extent to which they were considered in a typological fashion. The project was transformed by the bequest to the college of Christopher Codrington’s extensive library, and so the residential building was turned through ninety degrees by Hawksmoor, with the library taking its original place. His design (built 1716–1735) demonstrates the same preference for the open vista in its three-sided arrangement (fig. 7). Although externally these buildings are all broadly Gothic in their styling, they embody what Downes has described as “explosive rhetoric” in the tense, competitive relationship between the hall and chapel to the south, the grand twin-towered residential building to the east, and the library to the north.45 As originally conceived, the “explosive rhetoric” was to be continued in a reworking of the High Street front of the college, for which Hawksmoor’s designs exude confidence, making an impressive statement in their solidity and massive entrances. Nathaniel Lloyd, a Fellow of All Souls, was critical of Hawksmoor’s approach, stating that Hawksmoor designed “grandly, for a college”.46 Lloyd’s criticism may result in part from his status as one of the scheme’s major benefactors: perhaps he was worried at its escalating cost. Nonetheless, it also reflects some sense that there was an appropriate way to design a college, and that to do so “grandly” was pushing at the limits of what was acceptable for the type. For Hawksmoor, it was a way to beauty: at Magdalen in 1734, he wrote of his proposed “grand entrance” and “great Quadrangle, a corps of building of noble extent”.47 For others, too, this grandeur could be productive, not least by distinguishing new from old. Writing in 1773, one academic, contrasted what he termed the “petty convenience and monastic reclusiveness” of previous generations to the “magnificence and … elegance of approach” of the

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Colvin 1983, p. 22. H. Colvin and J.S.G Simmons, All Souls: an Oxford college and its buildings, Oxford, 1989, p. 20. 44 Fair 2008, pp. 97–116.

Downes 1979, p. 106. Quoted in Downes 1979, p. 99. 47 Letter from Hawksmoor to Clarke, 11 April 1734, now in Magdalen College archives.

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8. John Talman, design for the hall at All Souls, Oxford, 1709 (Worcester College no. 42; by kind permission of the Provost and Fellows of Worcester College, Oxford).

present.48 Certainly, as we have seen, attempts were made to extend and refresh college architecture through a critical examination of precedent, and the resulting buildings were far from monastic in their styling or planning. Nor were they reclusive, with changing understandings of the quadrangle and the townscape both creating a new framework in which individual buildings might make a statement of their magnificence and grandeur rather than being subservient to the hall and chapel. The results – Hawksmoor’s “corps” or Wren’s “variety of uniformities” – saw the quadrangle recast on a number of significant occasions as an ensemble of distinct units rather than the homogenous enclosure it had hitherto often been. These changes can, as has been mentioned, be linked with various factors, such as the colleges’ confidence, the wealth of some of their members, or a wish by knowledgeable architects and clients to reform the college through an appeal to other typologies, both historic and contemporary, as a way to distance it from its monastic origins at a time of religious and political change – a subject which would repay further research. In conclusion, a couple of further interpretations can be suggested. First, the particular role of Wren in the field and his background in experimental science suggests a reading of some of these buildings as symbols of the New Learning, parachuted into a university context whose buildings were otherwise the conscious embodiment of academic and communal continuity. For Wren, university architecture was a particular interest: he wrote in 1696 to the Master of St John’s, Cambridge, that he believed there to be a distinctive “public spirit” in the universities.49 Wren

48

V.H.H. Green, A history of Oxford University, London, 1974, p. 111.

49

Letter of 31 March 1697, quoted in A. Tinniswood, His invention so fertile: a life of Christopher Wren, London, 2002, p. 235.

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firmly subscribed to the idea of architecture as a motivational symbol, famously commenting that “public buildings being the ornament of a country, it (…) makes the people love their native country, which passion is the origin of all great actions…”.50 Perhaps Wren’s own rejection of tradition in Oxford and Cambridge college design was an attempt to stimulate critical academic thinking amongst the users of these buildings? Whatever the case may be, like proposals by Hawksmoor, Talman, Clarke and their contemporaries, they were certainly indicative of a broader intellectual and geographical outlook. Nonetheless, it is worth noting that new co-existed with the old. While recent historians have played down the extent to which the universities were entirely reactionary in viewing their role as transmitters of knowledge unchanged from generation to generation, it nonetheless remains clear that academic innovation was largely the product of particular individuals’ ideas and that it was accommodated, at least at undergraduate level, within relatively conservative degree courses.51 Similarly, when examining innovation we should not ignore the continuities in college design. In this respect, John Talman’s design of 1709 for the new hall at All Souls is especially revealing.52 Talman was not alone in submitting designs for the hall, and like the others – Hawksmoor, Aldrich et al. – proposed a Gothic scheme. In part, this stylistic choice was dictated by the prior existence of the adjacent chapel, to which the hall was to be linked. However, Hawksmoor’s comments on the symbolic value of the medieval hall and chapel at nearby Magdalen College also suggest a reason for the choice. Hawksmoor wrote that he considered it “using the memory of the Founder with a great deal of disregard to demolish what his munificence has set up; besides it is an affront to history to raze (…) the Monuments and Fabrics of former times”.53 The continuity which was evoked by these buildings, and perhaps especially their Gothic styling, remained appropriate in spaces whose functions were long established at the heart of the communal college life. This idea was arguably embodied especially clearly in Talman’s design. Unlike the other architects, who proposed a stripped, classicised Gothic without the kind of ‘cut-work and crinkle-crankle’ which John Evelyn thought dangerously seductive in its evocation of medieval Catholicism.54 Talman, a closet Catholic much inspired by Italian architecture, actually added ornament to the existing chapel whilst also proposing a highly decorative hall. The results would surely have been read by onlookers in terms of their relationship with the past as a result of their affinity with the old “crinkle-crankle” and thus their extreme contrast with the plainer Gothic then in vogue. Internally, the layout was almost entirely conventional. Talman’s proposed apsidal “hall for disputations” may have referenced basilican precedent, but its function recognised the ongoing role of the traditional disputation in university examinations. Furthermore, his scheme paralleled those by Hawksmoor in retaining the traditional screens passage (there was much debate regarding its optimal position), despite being long out of fashion in domestic architecture, and, as Hawksmoor recognised, also wasteful of space. Indeed, we should read Talman’s proposal in terms of continuity. Externally, brass statues and coats of arms were to represent the college’s benefactors, while the internal decoration was to include references to the history of All Souls, making a statement of the college’s past in a space which had particular

50

Wren’s ‘Tract I’, pp. 153–157 in Soo 1998. M. Feingold, ‘The mathematical sciences and new philosophies’, in: N. Tyacke (ed.), The history of the University of Oxford, Oxford, 1997, vol. 4, pp. 359–458. 52 Talman’s designs are discussed more fully in Fair 2008. 51

53

Letter from Hawksmoor to Clarke, 25 March, 1734, now in Magdalen College archives. Hawksmoor’s annotation on drawing no. 8 at Worcester College, Oxford is similar. 54 John Evelyn, An account of architecture and architects, prefixed to his translation of Fréart’s Parallel of the ancient architecture with the modern, London, 1707, pp. 9–10.

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ALISTAIR FAIR resonances as somewhere in which the daily rituals of communal college life might be played out in a way that recalled monastic or even courtly precedent (fig. 8). Other projects similarly balanced change with continuity. The new hall at Queen’s, Oxford (1714–1719), was the first to be wholly classical but nonetheless had a screens passage and gallery, while Wren’s chapel at Pembroke, Cambridge (1663), featured the traditional antiphonal arrangement. One therefore suspects that the “old founders and benefactors” would find something that they recognised in early eighteenth-century Oxford (and Cambridge). And yet, these continuities also serve to highlight the very real changes which were taking place, in the planning of college buildings, in their styling, in their relationship with each other, and not least in the wider townscape. Frequently cited works Colvin 1983 H. Colvin, Unbuilt Oxford, New Haven and London, 1983. Downes 1979 K. Downes, Hawksmoor, London, 1979. Fair 2006 A. Fair, ‘Somewhat like a three-legged table: Christopher Wren’s collegiate architecture’, Immediations: the research journal of the Courtauld Institute of Art 1, 2006, no. 3, pp. 25–42. Fair 2008 A. Fair, ‘John Talman and All Souls, 1708–1709’, The Georgian Group Journal 16, 2008, pp. 97–116. Hart 2002 V. Hart, Nicholas Hawksmoor: rebuilding ancient wonders, New Haven and London, 2002. Rawle 1993 T. Rawle, Cambridge architecture, London, 1993. Soo 1998 L. M. Soo, Wren’s ‘Tracts’ on architecture and other writings, Cambridge, 1998. Tyack 1998 G. Tyack, Oxford: an architectural guide, Oxford, 1998. Willis and Clark 1886 R. Willis and J. Willis Clark, An architectural history of the University of Cambridge, Cambridge, 1886.

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ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATORIES IN THE SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES Johann-Christian Klamt (em. Universiteit Utrecht)

In the early modern period new building types serving one specific function also developed among civic buildings for education and learning, like for example academic ceremony halls, anatomical theatres and astronomical towers, the subject of this paper. From the late seventeenth century onwards monofunctional observatories were built all over Europe, such as those in Greenwich and in Paris, while the grandest examples date from the eighteenth century. To arrive at a proper understanding of this new building type, it may be useful to look at earlier examples which evolved at the universities, as well as at private astronomical pavilions on the roofs of the residences of ruling princes. Scientific instrument or prestigious luxury In the year 1700 the Danish astronomer Olaus Rømer (1644–1710) wrote to Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1644–1716) in Berlin: “I differ sharply from their opinion, who up to now have adorned observatories more for pomp than use, and have accommodated the instruments to the building rather than the building to the instruments”.1 Rømer’s words need some explanation. From 1672 to 1679 he had been assistant astronomer at the Paris Observatoire which had been designed by Claude Perrault (1613–1688) between 1665 and 1669. Perrault’s building at once was criticized by Giovanni Domenico Cassini (1625–1712), who had moved from Bologna to Paris in 1669 after having been appointed Astronomer Royal to Louis XIV. The Italian was rather definite when commenting on the new building which Perrault himself regarded as handsome and as one of his masterpieces. Cassini reproached the architect for having given more attention to the ‘magnificence’ of the observatory than to its ‘commodité’.2 When advising Leibniz, Rømer also could have had in mind what his fellow countryman Christianus Severinus Longomontanus (Longberg) (1562–1647) had remarked in a small publication of 1639, dealing with the impressive Round Tower in Copenhagen, which was built as church tower and astronomical observatory between 1637 and 1642. Longomontanus – a former pupil and assistant of Tycho Brahe (1546–1601) – complained tactfully that King Christian IV of Denmark had ordered the Round Tower to be erected in the centre of the Danish capital. With good reason, he expected that the accuracy of astronomical observations would be spoiled by the shimmering air heated up by thousands of fireplaces in the town.3 In order to avoid such a handicap, the Royal Society at London

1

Donnelly 1973, p. 27. In his letter Rømer approached the famous Leibniz in Latin: “(. . .) cum recedam non modicum ab eorum sententia, qui huc usque observatoria adornarunt ad pompam magis quam ad usum, et instrumenta potius aedificio, quam aedificium instrumentis accomodarunt”; Hannover, Leibniz Archive, Letter L. Br. 787, fol. 18 recto. 2 Donnelly 1973, pp. 15–20 and fig. 2; Petzet 1967, pp. 15–16; P. Müller, Sternwarten in Bildern. Architektur und Geschichte der Sternwarten von den Anfängen

bis ca. 1950, Berlin, Heidelberg and New York, 1992, pp. 46–50. 3 Christianus Severinus Longomontanus, Introductio in theatrum astronomicum, quod (. . .) auspicio Dn. Christiani Quarti (. . .) instauratur, Copenhagen, 1639, Sectio secunda, fol. B 4. See also: J.-Ch. Klamt, ‘Der Runde Turm in Kopenhagen als Kirchturm und Sternwarte. Eine bauikonologische Studie’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 38, 1975, pp. 153–170, especially p. 165.

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JOHANN-CHRISTIAN KLAMT very wisely – in the years 1672 to 1675 – preferred its observatory to be built far from the city centre and thus far from any hindrance by air pollution, on a hill in Greenwich. The Greenwich observatory was designed by Christopher Wren (1632–1723), himself an astronomer and mathematician, before he started his brilliant career as architect, who would make his mark on London by his many churches built after the Great Fire of 1666. To be sure, Wren also had a certain pleasantness in mind when he designed the two scrolls which flank the north facade of the building (fig. 1). Looking back at his Observatory, Wren wrote to a friend in Oxford in 1681: “(. . .) We built indeed an Observatory at Greenwich. (. . .), it was for the Observer’s habitation & a litle for pompe”.4 For serious astronomers an observatory had to be a scientific instrument, nothing less than that and nothing more. But, looking back 1. Greenwich, Royal Observatory, north façade, Christopher at the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries we Wren, 1672–1675. again and again see ourselves confronted with just that conflict. There were too many who wished observatories erected for pomp and for their very own fame, without caring for the money which would be needed for the purchase of adequate instruments. Back to Paris: Claude Perrault made all efforts to invent a nice costume for his Observatoire Royal, situated outside the walls of Paris, like the Greenwich Observatory. From the many drawings preserved it becomes evident that Perrault was a master in his field. A drawing of 1668 or 1669 shows us that he – at least for a while – had Ionic pilasters in mind for the south façade.5 It should be remembered at least, that Sebastiano Serlio (1475–1554) regarded the Ionic Order as suitable for buildings devoted to “huomini litterati, e di vita quieta”.6 Contemplative persons astronomers always were. Of course Serlio did not think of observatories when he wrote his Regole generali di architettura (1537). In the seventeenth century there was no real tradition and little experience in that field. The Round Tower of Copenhagen was inspired by the image of the Tower of Babel which, according to contemporaneous sources and as early as by Honorius Augustodunensis (died about 1157) or later by Johannes Kepler (1571–1630), was interpreted as the first observatory of mankind.7 We should not blame Perrault whose building had been criticized by Cassini because of its inner structure. But, needless to say that Perrault and Cassini never became friends. Very soon observatories came to be praised in terms such as ‘House of Urany’, ‘Palace of Sciences’ or ‘Musarum Sedes’. Christopher Wren was to speak of Urany as the “ancilla

4

Donnelly 1973, p. 26. Petzet 1967, p. 16 with fig. 14. 6 Sebastiano Serlio, Regole generali di architettura sopra le cinque maniere degli edifici (. . .), Venice, 1537. 5

See: E. Forssman, Dorisch, Ionisch, Korinthisch. Studien über den Gebrauch der Säulenordnungen in der Architektur des 16. – 18. Jahrhunderts, Uppsala 1961, p. 88. 7 Klamt 1975 (note 3), pp. 159–164.

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Theologiae”, and he was not the only one.8 It was absolutely clear that, where Urany had taken her residence, all the other sciences and arts had gained a safe home.9 But there is more. When founding the Greenwich Observatory, King Charles II gave instructions “to find out the so-much-desired Longitude of Places for the perfecting the art of navigation”.10 Astronomy had to be not only an obedient servant to Theology but also as it were a servant of Navigation. Wren, a true child of his time, praised Astronomy as a guarantee for European prosperity. In his memoirs he wrote: “He that looks upon that little Parcel of the World, which the Ancients contented themselves with, and sees now, how we furrow the great Ocean, and gather our aromatick Harvests from the remotest Parts of the Globe, and can enjoy in our own Europe, whatever Thule or Aethiopia, the rising or setting Sun can produce, must needs rejoice, that so much larger an Inheritance is fallen to Mankind, by the Favour of Astronomy”.11 Towers of learning and towers for enlightened princes Other aspects should be taken in account. Not so long ago even Dutch children still had to learn by heart the verses composed by Alexander Pope (1688–1744) at the occasion of the death of Sir Isaac Newton (1643–1727): “All Nature and its Laws lay hid in night: God said, let Newton be and all was Light”.12 In his publications on the phenomenon of gravitation, Newton dealt with greater and smaller celestial bodies which are held in balance by attraction and gravitation. The smaller bodies circle around the greater ones, which have more ‘power’. Soon, the findings of the English scientist and philosopher were applied to the field of politics, for example, in the socalled Peace of Utrecht in 1713.13 Smaller countries were understood as satellites of greater countries. The European powers had to be held in balance for peace. It is to be remembered that not so long ago we were used to speaking of the ‘satellite states’ of the Soviet Union. The European sovereigns, if they wished to be regarded as at all ‘enlightened’, were expected to build observatories, in fact, by preference, in combination with their residences. It was indeed just a fashion: On the eve of the French Revolution, Louis XVI ordered a small observatory to be installed on the roof of the Château de Versailles.14 He was not the only one. Prince Willem IV of Orange had an observatory on the Buitenhof, his formal residence in The Hague, which bore witness to his interests in astronomy, natural history and his enlightened intentions.15 It is also interesting to learn that the architect Mario Gioffredo (1718–1785) had designed a megalomaniacal project for Carlo III of Bourbon at the Reggia in Caserta, north of Naples. In the centre of the huge palace he had planned a huge cupola, with on top of it, in the lantern, a small observatory.16 No institution of learning could do without an observatory. Idealistic ideas, as propagated for example in the Utopian romances by Johann Valentin Andreae (1586–1654) or Francis Bacon (1561–1626), extolled astronomy. As early as 1619, Andreae praised astronomy 8

S. Wren, Parentalia or Memoirs of the family of the Wrens (. . .) chiefly on Sir Christopher Wren (. . .) published by his Grandson Stephen Wren, London, 1750 (Reprint: Farnborough, 1965), p. 203; Klamt 1999, pp. 247–254. 9 Klamt 1999, pp. 247–267. 10 Donnelly 1973, p. 20; Klamt 1999, p. 278. 11 Wren 1750 (note 8), p. 203. 12 F. Wagner, Zur Apotheose Newtons. Künstlerische Utopie und naturwissenschaftliches Weltbild im 18. Jahrhundert (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften,

Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Sitzungsberichte, 1974/10), Munich, 1974, p. 4. 13 Wagner 1974 (note 12), pp. 6–8. See also: H. Duchhardt, Gleichgewicht der Kräfte, Convenance, Europäisches Konzert, Darmstadt, 1976, pp. 72–73. 14 L. É. Dussieux, Le Château de Versailles, vol.1, Paris, 1885, p. 330. 15 Klamt 1999, fig. 144 on p. 295. 16 A. Schiavo, ‘Progetto di Mario Gioffredo per la Reggia di Caserta’, Palladio, new series 2, 1952, pp. 160–170.

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2. ‘The Adoration of the Magi’, print by J. Chr. Steinberger after a drawing by J.E. Holzer (c. 1736).

as a discipline which would guide mankind to heaven.17 The rather late and somewhat pedestrian Utopian romance published in 1699 by a German Anonymous speaks about an observatory within a beautiful garden, open to the Christian inhabitants of his Utopian society of ‘Ophir’: a country which is linked with the happy reign of King Solomon.18 Astronomers liked to quote from Psalm 19, 2–7: “Coeli enarrant Gloriam Dei (. . .)”, and it was remembered that by watching the stars the Magi found their way to Bethlehem. That idea is expressed by a print after a drawing (c. 1736) by Johann Evangelist Holzer. The Bavarian artist surrounded his ‘Adoration of the Magi’ with two telescopes, a sphaira armillaris as well as a crown and a laurel wreath – the symbols of the so greatly esteemed discipline of Astronomia (fig. 2). Very early, in 1612, the council of Augsburg ordered Elias Holl (1573–1646) to build a small observatory on the roof of the Civic Library, close to the renowned Gymnasium of Saint Anne. A few years later the whole complex, consisting of school, library and observatory, was mentioned as ‘the workshop of the Holy Spirit’.19 Actually observatories were mere instruments of astronomy, but very soon they were loaded with ideology, in the sense that these buildings promised certain fame in the fields of learning, education and religion. The buildings of learned societies or of universities of course had to have their own observatories. The Jesuits especially liked to combine their schools with observatories, for example, those in Vienna, Prague and Vilnius, or that of the Gregoriana in Rome – just to mention a few. Since some early disciples of Ignatius had impressed the Chinese emperors by their astronomical knowledge the Jesuits propagated that discipline.20

17 Johann Valentin Andreae, Christianopolis (1619). Originaltext und Übertragung nach D. S. Georgi 1741 (Quellen und Forschungen zur Württembergischen Kirchengeschichte, Bd. 4), ed. Richard van Dülmen, Stuttgart, 1972, p. 155. 18 Anonymous author, Ophirischer Staat, oder Curieuse Beschreibung des Königreichs Ophir, in welchem die

völlige Kirchenverfassung, Einrichtung der hohen und niederen Schulen, des Königs Qualitäten (. . .), Landund Stadtobrigkeiten (. . .), Gesetze und Ordnungen vorgestellt werden (. . .), Leipzig, 1699. For the text see: Klamt 1999, pp. 221–222. 19 Klamt 1999, figs. 145 and 146 on p. 296. 20 Klamt 1999, pp. 68–71.

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IN THE

3. Bologna, Istituto delle Scienze (1711–1726), exterior. Engraving from G. Zanotti, Storia dell’Academia Clementina di Bologna, Bologna, 1739.

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4. Bologna, Istituto delle Scienze, section. Engraving from Zanotti 1739.

Observatories all too often functioned as mere symbols of ambitious intentions or of vain promises which never were kept, or at least insufficiently. To have just a tower built is one thing – to spend money enough for the acquisition of adequate and thus expensive instruments is quite another. But that was not always the case. The Istituto delle Scienze in Bologna, for example (figs. 3, 4), founded in 1711 by Luigi Ferdinando Marsili, built an observatory which was completed in 1726, at once equipped with astronomical instruments.21 It is also to underline that this institution had large collections to illustrate natural history, among them the collection of Ulisse Aldovrandi, still to be admired in this building today. Bologna became a Mecca for later generations of enlightened scientists, because here all idealistic dreams had, as it were, come true. When in 1769 Landgrave Frederic II of Hessen-Kassel ordered the Museum Fridericianum to be built in Kassel, he sent his architect Louis Du Ry (1726–1799) to Bologna to study the Istituto delle Scienze and its observatory (fig. 5). All the elements which Frederic II had in mind were realized in one building: an observatory, an anatomical theatre, a large collection of items concerning natural history, a collection of antiques (especially cameos and intaglios), a library and a lecture room.22 In the same period it was Leopold II of Habsburg, Grand duke of Tuscany since 1765, who wanted to impress his subjects in Florence. In order to promote his role, as he saw himself, as an enlightened sovereign, he founded the Museo Reale di Fisica e d’Istoria Naturale amidst a botanical garden. Of course the museum building itself was crowned by a specola astronomica (fig. 6).23 We have to keep in mind that especially in the eighteenth century

21

Giampietro Zanotti, Storia dell’Academia Clementina di Bologna aggregata all’Istituto delle Scienze, 2 vols., Bologna, 1739; I materiali dell’Istituto delle Scienze, exhibition catalogue Bologna, 1979, pp. 248–249; Klamt 1999, passim. 22 Klamt 1999, pp. 382–384.

23

M. L. Azzaroli Pucetti, ‘Il museo della Specola’, in: F. Guerrieri and L. Zangheri (eds.), I musei scientifici a Firenze (Biblioteca di architettura – Saggi e documenti, no. 4), Florence, 1976, pp. 83–91; Klamt 1999, pp. 384–386.

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5. Kassel, Museum Fridericianum, Louis du Ry, 1769. Engraving, 1784.

6. Florence, Botanical Gardens and the Museo di Fisica e d’Istoria Naturale, with the specola astronomica. Engraving c. 1780.

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7. Kremsmünster (Austria), Mathematical Tower, Anselmus Desing, 1749–1758 (Bundesdenkmalamt, Wien).

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8. Kremsmünster (Austria), the cabinet of minerals in the Mathematical Tower (Bundesdenkmalamt, Wien).

scientists, clergymen or just common people were fascinated by the so-called physico-theology which promised knowledge of God’s intentions and blessings more than the written word of the Bible. Many an author liked to quote from 1 Kings, IV, 33: “And he spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall. He spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and creeping things, and of fishes”. Enlightened and less enlightened sovereigns, all could bask themselves in the splendour of a New Solomon. The Mathematical Tower of Kremsmünster The examples mentioned reflect an encyclopaedic concept which was so dear to the eighteenth century. Other examples could be added. Among the buildings of that type the socalled ‘Mathematical Tower’ of Kremsmünster Abbey in Upper Austria deserves more attention (fig. 7). The Benedictine monks of Kremsmünster were very ambitious. Their Mathematical Tower was erected between 1749 and 1758. This building which from the beginnings was meant and understood as a symbol of a ‘Catholic enlightenment’ had a turbulent history. The almost accomplished shell collapsed in 1755, but one should not mock the afflicted: At once the Jesuits of Vienna made fun of the rival Benedictines of Kremsmünster, but the Jesuits were not the only ones. Within the community of the Austrian Benedictines there were some who criticized the Mathematical Tower as a new Tower of Babel which rightly had collapsed. Father Anselmus Desing (1699–1772) was the ‘spiritus rector’ of the Mathematical Tower. On the occasion of the celebrations of the Holy Year in 1750 he travelled to Rome: as it were, a Benedictine monk on his Grand Tour to Italy. On his way to the Eternal City, Desing – of course – visited the observatory of the Istituto delle Scienze. In a letter to one of

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JOHANN-CHRISTIAN KLAMT his friends in Kremsmünster, he remarked: “If the abbot would be inclined to care for the accomplishing of our tower, then there would not be any reason to blush in view of the observatory of Bologna”.24 The Mathematical Tower had to be more than an observatory. It had to be a symbol; it had to signal that all sciences were flowering in Kremsmünster: “fidemque faceret publicam, consummatam hic vigere encyclopediam”.25 The high-rise building still holds a large ‘cabinet d’histoire naturelle’ containing minerals, plants in herbaria and stuffed animals (especially birds) – according to the grading of the maxim ‘ab imperfectioribus ad perfectiora’ (fig. 8). On the floor above follow collections of scientific instruments (especially ‘optica’) and collections of artificialia, i.e. products of Nature which had been refined by human hands, for example, cups made from coconut, carvings in ivory. Then – as a first climax – in a storey higher, followed the picture gallery containing 432 paintings, celebrating ‘Pictura’ as one of the most valuable achievements of humankind. And then there follows the ‘aula astronomica’ for practising astronomy – for looking into the realm of the millions of celestial bodies, for looking into God’s own ‘Kunst-und Wunderkammer’ (‘Cabinet of Curiosities’) as Johann Daniel Major in 1674 defined the firmament.26 Indeed, the Benedictines of Kremsmünster did not have to blush. Father Desing was a down-to-earth person. He preferred a sober exterior for his Mathematical Tower, much to the annoyance of a certain Johann Blasius Franck, whom Desing from the beginning kept away 9. The Mathematical Tower of Krems-münster, from all planning and discussions. Franck, who after drawing by J.B. Franck (c. 1749). Kremsmünster all taught ‘Architectura Civilis’ at the Nobles’ Academy Abbey archive, AP 26. of Kremsmünster, complained about the vertical, broad bands (in Italian: lesene) which, in the central part, run from the so-called ‘corona’ straight down to the parterre, without any interruption, and which indeed catch the eye immediately. Again and again Franck made beautiful drawings according to his visions of a handsome building, as a kind of therapy against his frustrations (fig. 9). When confronted with the complaints of Franck, Desing remarked in an undated letter in the summer 1755: “I am not inclined to spend time dealing with the judgement of that engineer” (“Ingenarii iudicium nihil moror”).27 Desing’s esteem for Franck did not really grow when the latter suggested brightening up the upper terrace of the Mathematical Tower with four garden gnomes which he had found somewhere in the convent garden. 24

A. Desing in a letter (23 May 1750) to N. Stadler in Kremsmünster: “Ceterum Bononiensem speculam vidi, pro qua non erit Cremifanensi [Kremsmünster] erubescendum, si Excellentissimo placuerit, ad fastigium perducere opus”. See: Klamt 1999, p. 31. 25 A. Desing in a letter (12 December 1748) to N. Stadler in Kremsmünster. See: Klamt 1999, pp. 44–45.

26

Johann Daniel Major, Unvorgreiffliches Bedencken von Kunst und Naturalien-Kammern, Kiel 1674. Reprinted in: Michael Bernhard Valentini, Museum museorum (. . .), 2 vols., Frankfurt am Main, 1704–1714, here: vol. 2, pp. 109–116. 27 Klamt 1999, pp. 114, 204.

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To conclude In his Cours d’architecture of 1771, JacquesFrançois Blondel (1705–1774) of course also deals with observatories. We read: “Ces monuments d’utilité se construisent avec plus ou moins de grandeur et de magnificence, selon l’importance des Capitales, où les grands Princes les font élever. (. . .). La décoration extérieure des Observatoires doit être ornée de peu de Sculpture, et porter un caractère décidé, puisé dans le motif qui donne lieu à l’exécution de ces sortes d’édifices”.28 Indeed, the builders of observatories sometimes took to a bit of pomp, as for example Wren did. And as James Wyatt did when, from 1773 on, he designed the upper storey of the Radcliffe Observatory in Oxford. Thanks to the first volume of Antiquities of Athens, published in 1762 by James Stuart (1713–1788) and Nicholas Revett (c. 1720–1804), the ‘Horologion of Andronikos Cyrrestres’ – still admired today as ‘Tower of the Winds’ – became known to a great many persons who loved the Greek past and who proved themselves devoted propagandists of neo-classical architecture.29 In England, even dovecotes 10. Oxford, Radcliffe Observatory, James Wyatt, 1773 came to be dressed up according to the Athenian model.30 (Country Life). Thus it seemed almost self-evident for Wyatt to design the Radcliffe Observatory in emulation of the ‘Tower of the Winds’. In itself the model promised harmony by its octagonal shape, as well as openness to the ‘phenomena’ of heaven and earth, represented by the personifications of the eight cardinal winds (fig. 10).31 The functionality of the Radcliffe Observatory became linked to the desire for fashionable form and pomp, as did so many other observatories. It should be clear that astronomical observatories in many case prove to have been subjects of different interests. Observatories were burdened by much ideology. If there is any building type to be rated to the background of the History of Sciences or to the background of the History of Ideas, then astronomical observatories deserve all our attention. The same is true of the telescope as a symbol of enlightenment. In his Utopian romance, L´an deux mille quatre cent quarante (1771), Louis-Sébastien Mercier (1740–1814) remarked: “Le télescope est le canon moral qui a battu en ruine toutes les superstitions, tous les fantômes qui tourmentaient la race humaine. Il semble que notre raison se soit agrandie à proportion de l´espace immesurable que nous yeux ont découvert et parcouru”.32

28

Jacques-François Blondel, Cours d’architecture ou traité de la Décoration, Distribution et Construction des bâtiments, 9 vols., Paris, 1771–1777. Here: vol. 2, pp. 442–443. 29 James Stuart and Nicholas Revett, The antiquities of Athens measured and delineated by J. Stuart (. . .) and N. Revett, vol. 1, London, 1762, plates IX–XV. 30 D. Wiebenson, Sources of Greek revival architecture, London, 1969, pp. 63–65 and figs. 7–8, 11, 15 and 18.

31

A. Dale, James Wyatt, Oxford, 1956, pp. 82–84 and fig. 38; J. M. Robinson, The Wyatts. An architectural dynasty, Oxford, 1979, pp. 244 and fig. 52; Müller 1992 (note 2), pp. 73–75; Klamt 1999, pp. 300–303. 32 Louis-Sébastien Mercier, L’an deux mille quatre cent quarante. Rêve s’il en fut jamais, Amsterdam, 1771, ed. R. Trousson, Paris, 1971, pp. 192–193.

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JOHANN-CHRISTIAN KLAMT Frequently cited works Donnelly 1973 M.C. Donnelly, A short history of observatories, Eugene, OR, 1973. Klamt 1999 J. -Ch. Klamt, Sternwarte und Museum im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Der Mathematische Turm zu Kremsmünster (1749–1758), Mainz, 1999. Petzet 1967 M. Petzet, ‘Claude Perrault als Architekt des Pariser Observatoriums’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 30, 1967, pp. 1–54.

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Part Five. Hospitals

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ITALIAN HOSPITALS

OF THE

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Hubertus Günther (Universität Zürich)

Hospitals did not belong to the reception of antiquity during the Renaissance; antique literature barely deals with them, Vitruvius says nothing about them, and no built example was known in the Renaissance. Therefore Alberti touches the subject only incidentally in his architectural treatise. He establishes a certain relationship with antiquity only in connection with the sanctuaries of Aesculapius and Apollo, reporting the records that invalids were brought there in the hope that they would be healed by the god, and indirectly, a propos the imperial baths, describing their functions as if they had been therapeutic baths.1 Nevertheless Renaissance architecture began with a hospital. In the middle of the fifteenth century, Giovanni Rucellai specifies, as typical elements of the advent of the modern epoch, churches, palaces and hospitals built in the antique style.2 The first of these to be realized was the Ospedale degli Innocenti in Florence (fig. 1–3). At the end of the Middle Ages, hospitals were status symbols of prospering towns in Italy as well as in other parts of the occident and in the Islamic world.3 In the face of the Black Death which afflicted Europe during the fourteenth century they gained in importance. Two-thirds of the Italian population fell victim to the plague. The Renaissance actually began in a time when the plague had lost momentum and the problem arose how to react to the terrible consequences of it. The Italian hospitals, as Alberti treats them, were asylums for people of all kinds who needed help; the sick, paupers, travellers or abandoned and orphaned children. Hospitals comprised offices for the administration, living space for the staff and service rooms such as kitchens and laundries, their centre was constituted by large halls for the beds with chapels visible from all the beds. The seminal disposition of these halls in the form of a cross was probably invented during the fourteenth century in the Florentine Hospital of S. Maria Nuova. Usually the hospitals had an appearance as modest as monasteries, with simple courtyards like monasteries and façades without much decoration, at the most with porticos which also had practical advantages (as, for example, the Ospedale di S. Matteo, Florence, built between 1385 and the beginning of the fifteenth century). The design was secondary to the practical requisites of ample equipment and good organization. At the beginning of the Renaissance, Florence and Siena were the leaders in public welfare. Both had many small hospitals, even special orphanages, and also a large central hospital; in Siena, the Ospedale di S. Maria della Scala opposite the facade of the cathedral, and in Florence the Ospedale Nuovo, which was extensively restored in 1334.4 Alberti praised the 1

Alberti 1966, V 8, VIII 10, pp. 366–370, 768–777. A. Perosa (ed.), Giovanni Rucellai ed il suo zibaldone quaresimale, London, 1960–1981, vol. I, p. 60ff. 3 D. Leistikow, Hospitalbauten in Europa aus zehn Jahrhunderten. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Krankenhausbaues, Ingelheim, 1967; J. D. Thompson and G. Goldin, The Hospital. A social and architectural history, New Haven CT, 1975; D. Jetter, Das europäische Hospital. Von der Spätantike bis 1800, Cologne, 1986; M.-L. Windemuth, Das Hospital als Träger der Armenfürsorge im Mittelalter, Stuttgart, 1995; J. Henderson, 2

The Renaissance hospital. Healing the body and healing the soul, New Haven CT, 2006; Drossbach 2007 (historiography on pp. 9–25). 4 Thompson, Goldin 1975 (note 3), pp. 34–69; J. Henderson, Piety and charity in late medieval Florence, Oxford, 1994; J. Henderson, ‘Caring for the poor: commessi and commesse in the hospitals of Renaissance Florence’, in: Drossbach 2007, pp. 163–175; M. Heinz, San Giacomo in Augusta in Rom und der Hospitalbau der Renaissance, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Bonn, 1977, pp. 147ff, 158ff.

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1. Ospedale degli Innocenti, Florence, portico.

‘marvellous’ hospitals in the Toscana, equipped with incredible resources, where every citizen or traveller would find whatever contributed to his health.5 A Russian voyager deeply impressed by his visit to Florence (1337–1340) records: “The Hospital of S. Maria Nuova is built, out of Christian charity, for helpless foreigners and pilgrims, even from other countries. Even more, one feeds them, provides them with clothing and shoes and esteems them”. He goes on to say that there were more than one thousand beds: “but even on the least bed there are wonderful eiderdowns and expensive blankets”.6 Martin Luther in 1511 was equally impressed by the comfort and hygiene of the Florentine hospitals.7 Already before the advent of the Renaissance outside central Italy, it was reported that even prominent cities which at that time were not orientated towards Tuscany took the hospitals of Florence and Siena as models (e.g. Genoa 1422, Brescia after 1447, Pavia after 1449).8 Moreover, the city of Genoa, preparing for the construction of its own hospital, sent engineers to Florence and Siena especially to study the architecture and facilities of the hospitals there. Ospedale degli Innocenti

In Florence the municipality had to care for the public welfare. This task was performed not only by the city council, but also by the guilds whose members formed the coun2. Ospedale degli Innocenti, Florence, model, after G. Morozzi. cil, specifically members of the upper guilds which represented wealthy citizens, traders, academics etc., including also people not engaged in manual work and trade, like Dante Alighieri, for example.9 The silk guild, which at the beginning of the Renaissance became one of the leading guilds of Florence, had taken care of orphans since the thirteenth century. In the fourteenth century there were already two asylums for them; in 1419 the silk guild founded a third, then called the Ospedale Nuovo, now the Ospedale degli Innocenti.10 It is situated 5

Alberti 1966, V 8, p. 368ff. G. Stökl, ‘Reisebericht eines unbekannten Russen (1437–40)’, in: F. Grabler (ed.), Europa im XV. Jahrhundert, von Byzantinern gesehen, Graz, Vienna, and Cologne, 1965, p. 164. 7 M. Luther, Tischreden. Weimarer Ausg. (1916), Tischreden, vol. 4, no. 3930. 8 Lucio Franchini (ed.), Ospedali lombardi del Quattrocento. Fondazione, trasformazioni, restauri, Como, 1995, pp. 15ff, 20, 119. 6

9

R. Davidsohn, Geschichte von Florenz, vol. 4 part 2, Berlin, 1925, pp. 55–70. 10 H. Saalman, Filippo Brunelleschi. The buildings, London, 1993, pp. 33–81; L. Sandri (ed.), Gli Innocenti e Firenze nei secoli: un ospedale, un archivio, una città, Florence, 1996.

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north of the cathedral in the newly urbanized region which at this time began greatly to prosper with the rebuilding of the convent of S. Maria dei Servi, now SS. Annunziata. Cosimo de’ Medici also erected the new convent of S. Marco nearby and by establishing his famous library there made it a collecting point of the recently discovered antique literature and a centre of Humanism. The new Ospedale degli Innocenti was appointed to house not only orphans but also children abandoned by their parents, even children born legitimately in wedlock. The 3. Ospedale degli Innocenti, Florence, original project, plan support went from nursing babies up to basic after H. Saalman. education in reading and writing. As Luther relates, the children were “optimally accommodated, nursed and taught” there.11 The boys were dismissed at the age of seven to eight years, but they were not simply abandoned on the street. They were committed to craftsmen, sometimes even being adopted by them, and employed in their workshops or factories. Mainly the silk weavers attended to the apprenticeship of the children. The silk guild estimated the cost of the new asylum at the enormous sum of 20,000 florins. It was to become their main orphanage and soon was in great demand. At the end of the fifteenth century it housed more than one thousand children and the number increased by almost three hundred children per year. Eight years after the foundation it became necessary to enlarge the hospital; new cellars were excavated even under the already completed structure. The earliest guide to Florence, dating from 1423, that is four years after the foundation of the new orphanage, in describing the hospitals, concentrates on those which were asylums for children, explaining how they worked, giving prominence to the fact that the boys were entrusted to artisans, which is specially noted as a worthy enterprise. The report finishes with the statement that the annual costs of these hospitals equalled those of a whole town.12 The silk guild wanted a building which was not only practical, but also beautiful. Indeed a municipal decree of 1421 calls the hospital a “pulcherrimum aedificium”. This objective also shows in the choice of Filippo Brunelleschi as architect. Just some months before he received the commission for the Ospedale he had asserted himself with his plan of how to construct the cupola of the cathedral, claiming that architecture should be orientated to antiquity.13 Only in this way, he thought, was it possible to solve the urgent problems of the construction, and he recommended himself as the right person for the task by demonstrating intimate knowledge of antique architecture which he, as the first modern architect, had gained by intensive study of Roman ruins. This claim hit the mark of his time. Some years earlier, the librarian of the Medici, Niccolò Niccoli had begun to study antique architecture.14 It was here that the new studies of antique literature pursued by Florentine humanists converged. Florentine intellectuals now claimed generally that one had 11

Luther 1916 (note 7), vol. 4, no. 3930. C. Gilbert, ‘The earliest guide to Florentine architecture, 1423’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 14, 1969, p. 46. 13 H. Saalman, Filippo Brunelleschi: The cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore, London, 1980, p. 63; A. Manetti, 12

The life of Brunelleschi, ed. H. Saalman, London, 1970, pp. 52ff, 64ff. 14 E. H. Gombrich, ‘From the revival of letters to the reform of the arts. Niccolò Niccoli and Filippo Brunelleschi’, in: Idem, The Heritage of Apelles. Studies in the Art of the Renaissance, vol. III, Edinburgh, 1976, pp. 93–110.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER to surmount the overall ignorance that prevailed in the occident since the barbarians had destroyed the culture and civilisation of antiquity, and that one should aim for a better future which was again to be guided by reason. In the reign of reason they heralded a revival of culture and civilization.15 “How many towns did I see in my youth”, Alberti pretended, projecting his utopian hope onto the present, “which had been erected in wood only and now were renewed in marble”.16 To reach the level of antique civilisation, first it seemed to be necessary to explore what precisely were the achievements of antiquity. On these foundations a new world was to be erected. In this spirit, Marsilio Ficino, Erasmus of Rotterdam and other humanists saw the dawn of a golden age.17 Education was considered an essential element in looking back to antiquity, which seems quite reasonable as one aimed for a better future.18 There was hardly another field in the early fifteenth century to which as many treatises were dedicated as education. The advance of the Renaissance is connected with the renewal of schooling. In Florence the number of schools of all kinds increased rapidly.19 The care for education and of apprenticeship at the Ospedale degli Innocenti was in line with these efforts. Therefore the foundation of the new institution was part of the dawn of the Renaissance. The architectural structure of the hospital generally was quite commonplace: as usual, it includes a large hall, a chapel and a courtyard on the ground floor. Some years later a second courtyard was added (fig. 2). Offices for the administration and living spaces for the staff were on the upper floor. The utilities, like kitchen, laundry, etc., were probably accommodated in the vaulted cellars. The street façade, as was frequently the case, has a portico and an upper storey with windows. A similar disposition of the ground plan as well as of the façade is still preserved in the hospital of S. Matteo. The style of the hospital was completely new, however. While the cupola of the cathedral had initially posed mainly technical and organizational problems, the Ospedale degli Innocenti was the first building to be designed in antique style, at least it was the first example of the new style to be visible in a townscape. Originally the disposition of the ground plan was strictly symmetrical, with a central courtyard and two large spaces on either side (fig. 3). The focus of the building’s design is the external effect. Its formal highlight is the façade, with Brunelleschi’s famous portico (carcass finished in 1424) which was conceived in a style that was most ambitious and conspicuous – ambitious as every detail was deliberately formed in the new manner, and conspicuous as it was obviously out of the ordinary, completely different from the medieval buildings which hitherto were the norm (fig. 1). All elements were taken from the model of antiquity, or at least were thought to be taken from there; moreover the antique models were even ‘revised’ on the basis of consistent geometrical rules. The façade is not at all ornately decorated, but rather purist, with a dark articulation of pietra serena on a white wall and white vaults 15 E. Garin, ‘Die Kultur der Renaissance’, in: Propyläen Weltgeschichte, vol. VI, ed. G. Mann, A. Nitschke, Frankfurt and Berlin, 1964, pp. 429–534; H. Günther, Was ist Renaissance? Eine Charakteristik der Architektur zu Beginn der Neuzeit. Darmstadt, 2009. 16 Alberti 1966, VIII 5, p. 699. 17 Erasmus, letter to Wolfgang Faber Capito von Haguenau, Antwerp, 26 February 1517: M. Ficino, Epistole XI. Opera, Basel, 1576, I, 944; R.A. Mynors and others (transl.), W.K. Ferguson and others (notes), The correspondence of Erasmus (Collected works of Erasmus 1–12), Toronto, Buffalo, 1974–1977, Letter no. 541.

18

E. Garin, Erziehung Anspruch Wirklichkeit. Geschichte und Dokumente abendländischer Pädagogik, vol II. Humanismus, Reinbek, 1966; P. Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy. Baltimore and London, 1989; G. Müller, Mensch und Bildung im italienischen Renaissance-Humanismus, BadenBaden, 1984. 19 A. Fanfani, ‘La préparation intellectuelle et professionelle à l’activité économique en Italie, du XIVe au XVIe siècle’, Le Moyen Age 57, 1951, pp. 327–346; R. Goldthwaite, ‘Schools and teachers of commercial arithmetic in Renaissance Florence’, Journal of European Economic History 1, 1972, pp. 418–433.

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(the coloured majolica roundels depicting infants were added later, against the will of Brunelleschi). The clearly calculated simplicity represents the conception of reason as the main basis of the new style all’antica. This unique monument is, so to speak, served on a silver platter, or – to paraphrase Filarete – spectacularly staged. The portico rises upon a high socle of steps normally reserved for a few prominent buildings like cathedrals or town halls, where it served for appearances of the public authorities. The steps leading up to the cathedral of Florence and to the town hall were actually lower than those of the Ospedale degli Innocenti. The architecture of the courtyards, though also built in the new style, is far less elaborated than that of the façade. Vasari ascribes the whole project, the main building as well as the portico, to Brunelleschi.20 Antonio Manetti, in his vita of Brunelleschi (c. 1470), only refers to the façade without even mentioning the structures behind it.21 He treats extensively of where the building workers departed from the model of Brunelleschi, commenting on how the enlargement of the hospital affected the façade: “There is also a variation from Filippo’s proportions in an addition – besides the error of the addition itself – built on the south side, and appearing on the outside façade of the portico”. The practical reasons necessitating the enlargement are not considered as Manetti is generally not interested in the function of the hospital. Obviously, as Machiavelli states,22 the outward appearance is as important as what it represents or even more essential. The façade, like a signboard, fulfilled the function of advertising that the silk guild was one of the leaders of the movement towards a better future. Ospedale Maggiore In 1450 Francesco Sforza seized the lordship of Milan after the last duke of the dynasty of the Visconti had died without leaving a legitimate heir and after the ‘Ambrosianic republic’ led by intellectuals that followed for a short time had failed. The new sovereign introduced the new movement of the Renaissance to Milan. He made it the programme of his regime and he acted like the ideal prince of the rationally-oriented political concept of the Renaissance, which meant preserving and increasing public welfare. After he had seized power, Francesco proclaimed that he would not govern as a despot but attend to the ‘public utility’. He immediately took over the project of the ‘Ambrosianic republic’ to concentrate the health care system.23 The approximately thirty hospitals of the city should be united in a single great institution in order to eliminate the inefficiencies of administration and inconsistent quality. The new central hospital was intended to house ‘poor people’, as is written above the entrance which meant needy people of many kinds like invalids, paupers and orphans. A convenient site was chosen for it on the bank of the part of the moat that had been made navigable to transport the marble for the cathedral. It was located at the end of the city diametrically opposite the ducal residence, which was rebuilt at the same time. At first Francesco asked Cosimo de’ Medici to recommend an architect for the construction of the hospital, and Cosimo sent Antonio Averlino, afterwards called Il Filarete, 20

G. Vasari, Le vite de’più eccellenti pittori, scultori ed architettori. Le opere di Giorgio Vasari con nuove annotazioni e commenti, ed. G. Milanesi, Florence, 1906, vol. II, p. 366. 21 Manetti 1970 (note 13), pp. 94–99. 22 N. Macchiavelli, Il Principe, cap. XVIII. 23 L. Grassi, Lo “Spedale di poveri” del Filarete. Storia e Restauro, Milan, 1972; R. Quadflieg, Filaretes Ospedale

Maggiore in Mailand. Zur Rezeption islamischen Hospitalwesens in der italienischen Frührenaissance, Cologne, 1981; Patetta 1987, pp. 275–291; E. S. Welch, Art and authority in Renaissance Milan, New Haven CT and London, 1995, pp. 118–166; L. Franchini (ed.), Ospedali lombardi del Quattrocento. Fondazione, trasformazioni, restauri, Como, 1995, pp. 137–173.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER who brought a plan for the project, as was announced by the Milanese ambassador in Florence. Some years passed before construction began. Then Averlino was sent back to Florence together with an engineer to visit the hospital of S. Maria Nuova there and to draw plans of it. This took place in coordination with the Medici. Giovanni de’ Medici wrote to Francesco Sforza that he had shown everything to his architects. The hospital was a worthy thing, he continues, but one should proceed prudently and the designs of several masters were needed.24 At the same time events occurred in Mantua that were so similar as if there might have been prior consultation.25 There too, the architect for 4. Ospedale Maggiore, Milan, plan in the Treatise of Filarete. the new central hospital, Luca Fancelli, came from Florence. Ludovico Gonzaga was on good terms with Francesco Sforza; he even participated in the ceremony of laying the foundation stone for the new hospital of Milan. Francesco wanted the new hospital to be beautiful, suited to the purpose and as orderly as possible. He wanted it to impress the whole world and to be a highlight of his ducal dominion.26 Vasari later on attested that the hospital was so well made and so orderly that he believed nothing of the like to exist in the whole of Europe.27 Bramante made a plan of the hospital as a model for the government of Venice (1484).28 Cesariano even depicted it in his edition of Vitruvius and described it extensively.29 The plan was indeed to build the most magnificent hospital that had ever existed: the largest, most elaborate, technically most progressive and most orderly in its disposition. It should consist of three main parts; in the middle a courtyard with a church, and attached to it two side wings each surrounded by porticoes and comprising four courtyards, subdivided by cross-shaped bed halls (fig. 4, 5). This structure was to be situated on a high basement, which included warehouses on the inside and shops on the outside, while on the side facing the city moat, ships could be unloaded so that the material that they brought was directly transported to the warehouses. Under the reign of the Sforza dukes, construction work progressed speedily, thus in the fifteenth century one side wing was finished and the central courtyard begun. The whole project, however, was only finished in the eighteenth century. The Milanese hospital was beautifully designed but not as uncompromisingly in the modern style as the Ospedale degli Innocenti; the new Forentine style was mainly applied to the inner courtyards (fig. 7). On the outside the decoration was adapted to Milanese tradition including upper-storey windows in the gothic style (fig. 6). In a quite similar way, Filarete designed the branch of the Medici bank in Milan in conformity with the local custom. The most striking element of the Milanese hospital was not the formal design of the outer appearance, but the practical and technical facilities. Beside every bed was a folding table, which being tipped up, also served as a refuse chute. Between every two beds was a door leading to a lavatory. The lavatories were part of corridors on both sides of the 24 25 26 27

Patetta 1987, p. 277. Franchini 1995 (note 23), pp. 73–91. Patetta 1987, p. 281. Vasari 1906 (note 20), vol. II, pp. 456.

28

Patetta 1987, p. 28. Vitruvius, De architectura, ed. C. Cesariano, Como, 1521, ff. 99v.-100.

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5. Ospedale Maggiore, Milan, elevation in the Treatise of Filarete.

6. Ospedale Maggiore, Milan, façade.

7. Ospedale Maggiore, Milan, courtyard.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER bed halls (fig. 8, 9). The waste from the folding tables and the lavatories fell into spaces inserted in the basement, where it was washed away. The water of the city moat and collected rainwater were used for the cleaning and also for mills that ground the grain needed for the hospital. During the restoration of the hospital after the grave damage caused by bombing during the Second World War, a complex system of horizontal and vertical channels, gangways, and tubes of lead and clay was found. The wide range of these inventions is certainly connected with the rich supply of water in Milan and in the whole 8. Ospedale Maggiore, Milan, plan of one of the old wings plain of the Po. About 1490 Leonardo da Vinci showing the corridor of lavatories flanking the hall and conceived somewhat similar installations for the cleaning of stables when he lived in Milan.30 reconstruction of the original position of the beds, after L. As in Florence, an important element of the Franchini. Renaissance in Milan was the humanistic renewal. The famous graecist, Francesco Filelfo, was called to the Sforza court where he formed a friendship with the architect of the hospital, Antonio Averlino, to whom he gave the name Il Filarete, the ‘brave’ or the ‘efficient’ one. Filarete, perhaps with his help, wrote an architectural treatise describing the foundation of an ideal city. There he ideates constructions and even social institutions which bear properly utopian traits, such as, and most notably, a school where all kinds of schooling, from elementary education and apprenticeship in the workshops of artisans up to academic studies were united under the same roof.31 He even describes there at length (over some twenty pages) the project of the new hospital of Milan (fig. 4, 5).32 The main importance is attached to the technical equipment. Some of the facilities cited above were taken from the indications given there. Filarete is hardly concerned with the decoration and with artistic values. Even where, exceptionally, a sumptuous appearance is planned, as in the case of the central church, he confines himself to scant instructions that it should be covered with coloured stones and mosaics. 9. Ospedale Maggiore, Milan, section of one of the old wings In relation to the disposition of the hospishowing the corridor of lavatories flanking the hall, after L. tal, Filarete even mentions that there were stairs Grassi and J. D. Thompson. leading up from the ground to the entrances 30

Leonardo, Ms. B, ff. 38v-39r u. passim. Leonardo architetto e urbanista, ed. Luigi Firpo, Turin, 1971, pp. 88–92. 31 H. Günther, ‘Society in Filarete’s “Libro architettonico” between Realism, Ideal, Science Fiction and

Utopia’, in: B. Hub (ed.), Arte Lombarda 155, 2009, 1 (Architettura e Umanesimo. Nuovi studi su Filarete), pp. 56–80. 32 A. Averlino detto il Filarete, Trattato di architettura, ed. A.M. Finoli and L. Grassi, Milan, 1972, pp. 299–322.

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ITALIAN HOSPITALS above the basement, adding peculiar supplementary advice on how the stairs should not be made.33 Filarete is opposed to the opinion of some people that they should be as wide as the whole length of the hospital. For many reasons he prefers them to be no broader than the entrance, mainly for utility, as this is more economical and makes it possible to insert shops in the basement. Secondly he points out that there is no need for large stairs, as the façade of the hospital was not a place for spectacles. The patron approves the opinion of his architect, confirming that this was not a theatre where one stays to see festivities. This differentiation is obviously directed against the Ospedale degli Innocenti, implying that such an institution, although a herald of the Renaissance, would be better advised to have perfect technical equipment than a spectacular appearance.

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10. Ospedale di S.Spirito, Rome, plan, after P. Letarouilly (1860).

Ospedale S. Spirito As a result of the exile of the papal curia in Avignon, the great papal schism and the expulsion of Pope Eugene IV, the city of Rome had degenerated to such an extent that the king of Naples, on his visit in the holy year of 1475, could say to the face of Pope Sixtus IV that a town in such a state could not be governed. The energetic pope managed to turn the miserable situation around, however. He initiated a substantial renewal of the Eternal City which would soon lead to a splendid blossoming under his nephew, Pope Julius II. Sixtus restored the traffic routes, built a new bridge, 11. Ospedale di S.Spirito, Rome, view on the sides going to repaired the churches and founded many new Ponte S. Angelo and to the street leading to St. Peter’s. ones, and these initiatives caused a great boom of private building activities and generally of the economy.34 Sixtus was guided more by the ideal of poverty propagated by the Franciscan Order, whose general he had been, than by a sense of splendour. Simplicity and functionality are typical of the style of most of his buildings. The most magnificent monument of his attitude was the Ospedale di S. Spirito which he had rebuilt in only five years after the old structure had burnt down (fig. 10, 11).35 33

Averlino detto il Filarete 1972 (note 32), p. 306ff. F. Benzi, Sisto IV renovator urbis, Roma, 1990. 35 P. de Angelis, L’Ospedale di S. Spirito in Sassia, Rome, 1960–1962; E.D. Howe, The hospital of Santo Spirito and Pope Sixtus IV, New York and London, 1978; Benzi 1990 (note 34), pp. 124–134; A. Esposito, ‘Von der Gastfreundschaft zur Krankenaufnahme: zur Entwicklung 34

und Organisation des Hospitalwesens in Rom im Mittelalter und in der Renaissance’, in: M. Matheus (ed.), Funktions- und Strukturwandel spätmittelalterlicher Hospitäler im europäischen Vergleich, Stuttgart, 2005, pp. 15–28; A. Rehberg, ‘Die Römer und ihre Hospitäler’, in: Drossbach 2007, pp. 225–260.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER The Ospedale di S. Spirito, like most contemporary hospitals, was destined to house needy people of many kinds, even pilgrims, and it comprised a large separate section for orphans with its own courtyard. Exceptionally, there was even a section for noble invalids. At the time when it was finished, the hospital may have been the largest one in Christendom. The biographer of the pope, the humanist Platina, relates that many architects were consulted for its construction, just as Giovanni de’ Medici had advised to Francesco Sforza with respect to the Milanese hospital. The disposition is not as regular as that of the Milanese example and of some other hospitals by then under construction. It was adapted to the site between the banks of 12. Sixtus IV presents his buildings to God, anonymous fresco the Tiber and the street leading to St Peter’s. in the Ospedale di S. Spirito, Rome. Therefore the hall of the beds has only three wings. On the other hand the chapel, situated in the crossing, is more accentuated than elsewhere with a prominent tower rising above it. The two courtyards, for men and women, are both located on the same side, while the section of the orphans is somewhat remote, behind the adjoining church of S. Spirito in Sassia. Outer porticoes cover the building on the side of the street leading to St Peter’s, at the façade opposite the Ponte S. Angelo, and at a portion of the façade opposite the Tiber. The style is simple, as is typical of the buildings of Sixtus IV. On the exterior brick work, there is a restrained Doric articulation and windows with gothic elements, generally similar to the Milanese hospital, and in the courtyards Ionic and Corinthian columns. Only the interior of the tower above the crossing, a shelter for the altarpiece, is sumptuously adorned in the antique style. The hall with the beds is decorated with frescoes which depict the lives of the founders, Alexander III and Sixtus IV. At the end, the cycle of Sixtus shows what the pope had done to renew the city. He presents his buildings to God: the Sistine bridge, two churches standing for many of them and most prominent, in the foreground, the hospital (fig. 12). The next fresco shows, as the effect of this presentation, Sixtus in reward for his good deeds being received in paradise by St Peter. The style of the frescoes is as simple as their content. The painter is anonymous. A similar plain, even vulgar, style of language is typical for the many inscriptions which were placed in Rome to commemorate the urban activities of Sixtus. For example, the largest of these plaques, instead of a eulogy in noble rhetoric as was common, begins: “Thou, Campus Martius, that recently were rotten and dirty from stinking junk and full of nasty mud, under the reign of Sixtus IV abandonst that ugly aspect . . .” (Campo de’ Fiori). Another style was chosen for a noble ambience. Compare the simple frescoes of the hospital with the marvellous ones which the same pope commissioned from the greatest painters of Italy for the Sistine Chapel. In the Sistine Chapel, Botticelli has inserted the Ospedale di S. Spirito as the central architectural setting of ‘The Temptations of Christ’. Opposite it, he has painted the arch of Constantine in ‘The Insurgence against the Laws of Moses’ which means there a prefiguration of ‘The Temptations of Christ’ during the old covenant.36 Thus the hospital figures as 36 L. D. Ettlinger, The Sistine Chapel before Michelangelo, Oxford, 1965; H. W. Pfeiffer, Die Sixtinische Kapelle neu entdeckt, Stuttgart, 2007.

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a modern counterpart to the ancient triumphal arch which commemorates the victory of Constantine under the sign of the cross. In the panegyrics of Sixtus IV his building activities were compared with those of antiquity. It was claimed that he had ornamented Rome more than any other ruler, but not with triumphal arches and obelisks, baths, naumachias, circuses, theatres and similar buildings; such buildings were said to have been invented more for insane voluptuousness or ambition than to meet real needs. Sixtus was praised for having constructed traffic routes, churches, chapels, monasteries and many other remarkable buildings which were required by utility, piety or honesty and not by pomp and glory.37 Later in the sixteenth century, Philibert Delorme would denounce the pyramids of the Egyptian kings in the same spirit as useless and vainglorious, and advise rich people to spend their money on the foundation of hospitals and other public utilities rather than to build magnificent houses which serve just to arouse envy and jealousy.38 Criticism of the corrupt morals in antiquity was not new. It is already to be found in the humanistic literature at the very beginning of the Renaissance.39 Flavio Biondo and many others criticized the moral decadence during the reign of the emperors which seemed to be a cause for the decline of the empire. As paradigms for such decadence they cited the pyramids which were condemned for having just served to vanity, and vast building complexes such as the imperial baths or the circuses, which were devalued as places of trivial pleasures and pure lust. Alberti’s description of the functions of the imperial baths as therapeutic baths was just an attempt to defend the architecture which he so admired against the general moral verdict. Maffeo Vegio in 1457 expressly contrasted the insane lust, dissipation and cruelty which prevailed in the circuses with Christian humility and modesty.40 As usual in the Renaissance, even this criticism was based on an antique tradition. Many Roman authors judged the moral value of architecture mainly by the criterion of utility.41 Pliny and others denigrated as superfluous and ostentatious such enormous constructions as the Egyptian pyramids and, in Rome, the Golden House of Nero or the theatres. However, the Romans evaluating the utility of architecture had in mind more technical works than humanitarian institutions.42 Pliny considered the aqueducts and sewers to form the real essence of architecture and to be the greatest of all the world’s wonders.43 Cicero thought that utilitarian public buildings such as walls and aqueducts were more to be praised than theatres and even new temples.44 Frontinus goes as far as to combine admiration for the advantages of aqueducts with general criticism of the fine arts in Greece: “With such an array of indispensable structures carrying so many waters, compare, if you will, the idle pyramids or the useless, though famous, works of the Greeks”.45 Thus the Milanese hospital of Filarete, which combined a

37

See for instance Robert Flemmyng, Lucubraciunculae tiburtinae, 1473–1477 (on this source, R. Weiss, Humanism in England during the fifteenth century, 4th [online] ed. D. Rundle and A. J. Lappin, 2009, pp. 157–158, and the literature quoted therein); T. Buddensieg, ´Die Statuenstiftung Sixtus’ IV. im Jahre 1471’, Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 20, 1983, p. 55, appendix I. 38 P. Delorme, Le premier tome de l’architecture, Paris, 1567, ff. 129v.-130. 39 H. Günther, ‘“Insana aedificia thermarum nomine extructa”. Die Diokletiansthermen in der Sicht der Renaissance’, in: Hülle und Fülle. Festschrift für Tilmann Buddensieg, Alfter, 1993, pp. 251–283.

40

Maffeo Vegio, De rebus antiquis memorabilibus basilicae S. Petri Romae, in: Acta Sanctorum Junii VII, p. 64ff. 41 C. Edward, The politics of immorality in ancient Rome, Cambridge, 1993. 42 H. Günther, ‘Umanisti e architetti del primo Rinascimento davanti alle infrastrutture idriche e tecniche dell’antichità romana’, Humanistica. An International Journal of Early Renaissance Studies 3, 2008, no. 2, pp. 71–82. 43 Plinius, Hist. nat. 36.104; Livius 1.56.2. 44 Cicero, De officiis 2.60. 45 Frontinus, De aquaeductu 16.

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HUBERTUS GÜNTHER humanitarian institution with the most advanced technical installations, optimally conformed to the criteria of utility and public welfare from both the antique and the Christian view. Conclusion Each of the three preeminent hospitals of the Italian Renaissance signals the start of a new epoch: the dawn of the Renaissance in Florence, the advent of the Renaissance in Milan initiated by Francesco Sforza when he seized power, and the regeneration of the Eternal City under Pope Sixtus IV. The new humanitarian institutions were all destined not only to serve public welfare, but also to demonstrate the honourable intentions of the authorities. The constructions, as well as contemporary commentaries, testify that three different styles of propagating that attitude were chosen. An innovative design, though following purely formal criteria, was exhibited as a symbol of a progressive spirit that enhanced public welfare, or most elaborate techniques which actually surpassed antiquity were employed for the sake of practical utility, or modesty and economic prudence instead of vainglory were advocated as the adequate means of social progress. Frequently cited works Alberti 1966 L.B. Alberti, De re aedificatoria, ed. G. Orlandi, P. Portoghesi, Milan, 1966. Drossbach 2007 G. Drossbach (ed.), Hospitäler in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit. Frankreich, Deutschland und Italien. Eine vergleichende Geschichte, Munich, 2007. Patetta 1987 L. Patetta, L’architettura del 400 a Milano, Milan, 1987.

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Joelle Barreau

“The Hostel of the Invalides which for magnificence of the building is as sumptuous in a manner as the Louvre itself, is so called Hostel, being a name of honour, by which prince’s and chiefest men’s houses are call’d here, and not Hospital, which sounds of beggery – this depressing and dis-honoring, the other expressing and honoring the nobleness of a Soldier’s profession”. (Thomas Povey)1 Par l’Edit de Saint-Germain-en-Laye du 24 février 1670, Louis XIV annonçait sa décision de faire construire un bâtiment pour recevoir et loger les officiers et soldats vieux ou estropiés, hors d’état de servir et de pouvoir assurer leur subsistance (fig. 1). Si Louis XI, Henri II, Henri IV et Louis XIII, avaient déjà essayé de remédier au sort des vieux soldats, il revient à Louis XIV d’avoir concrétisé ce projet. Fort des échecs passés, il pourvut l’institution de revenus propres pour en assurer le succès: “sinews of this House” selon l’expression de Povey,2 ces fonds étaient approvisionnés par la moitié du montant des pensions que les abbayes et prieurés versaient jusqu’alors aux religieux lais et par la retenue de deux deniers par livre sur les dépenses effectuées par les trésoriers de l’ordinaire et de l’extraordinaire des guerres.3 Durant cette année 1670, tout fut organisé. Pour élever l’édifice, l’emplacement choisi fut la plaine de Grenelle à l’extrémité du faubourg Saint-Germain en dehors des limites de Paris “at a good musket shot out from Rue du Bac”4 et à une distance équivalente de la Seine, la façade principale, au nord, regardant du côté du fleuve, avec vue sur “le court de la Reyne et les bastiments et jardin du Palais des Tuileries”.5 La construction en fut confiée à Libéral Bruand. Cet architecte qui est ingénieur des ponts et chaussées depuis 1669 et sera un des premiers membres de l’académie d’architecture fondée en 1671 connaît autour des années 1670 une période d’activité exceptionnelle (chantiers à Versailles et à Paris, dont La Salpêtrière). En octobre, Louvois soumettait les plans de l’Hôtel à son expert, Louis Goujon, et, les 14 et 15 mars suivant, le marché de maçonnerie était signé par-devant notaires,6 tandis que les premiers pensionnaires étaient logés provisoirement dans une maison rue du Cherche-Midi. Quatre ans après le début de sa construction, le 31 avril 1674, un Edit perpétuel et irrévocable consacrait solennellement la fondation de l’Hôtel royal des Invalides, “led. Hostel estant dejà fort avancé et presque en estat de loger lesd. officiers et soldats estropiés, vieux et caducs”.7 Le roi lui-même étant le fondateur de la nouvelle institution et s’étant déclaré son ‘protecteur et conservateur immédiat’, celle-ci ne relevait d’aucune autre instance, qu’elle soit * Nous avons étudié l’Hôtel royal des Invalides, œuvre de Libéral Bruand, dans le cadre de notre thèse : Etre architecte au XVIIe siècle : Libéral Bruand, architecte et ingénieur du roi, sous la direction de Claude Mignot, Université de Paris IV-Sorbonne, 4 vol., février 2004. 1 Voir le manuscrit de Thomas Povey publié dans Ritchie 1966, en particulier p. 9. Je tiens à remercier tout particulièrement Gordon Higgott de m’avoir signalé ce manuscrit riche d’éléments sur l’administration de cet Hôtel. 2 Ritchie 1966, p. 14.

3

Povey mentionne une troisième source de revenus, mais celle-ci n’était pas régulière (Ritchie 1966, p. 16). 4 Ritchie 1966, p. 185. 5 Archives nationales de France (abrégé comme Arch. Nat.), Minutier central, CV, 841, 14–15 mars 1671, devis et marché de maçonnerie ; Service historique des armées de Terre (abrégé comme S.H.A.T.), Invalides, carton 17. 6 Arch. Nat., Min. centr., CV, 841. 7 Arch. Nat., Z1F 601, f. 65 à 70 (Les citations non référencées qui suivent sont aussi extraites de l’Edit de 1674).

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1. Robert Bonnart, Louis XIV montrant aux Invalides l’hôtel en cours de construction, eau-forte et burin (bandeau de l’épître dédicatoire dans Description générale de l’hostel royal des Invalides, . . ., de Le Jeune de Boullencourt, 1683).

civile ou religieuse.8 Le roi lui avait accordé de nombreux privilèges: exemption des droits “de guet, garde, fortification, fermeture de ville et faux bourgs et généralement de touttes contributions publiques et particulières”, franchises sur le sel, le vin et la viande.9 Jugeant que “les fonds qui lui sont affectés sont suffisants”, le souverain fit défense de procéder à des acquisitions ou de bénéficier de gratifications ou de donations. Les artisans qui travaillaient dans et pour l’Hôtel jouissaient des mêmes prérogatives que ceux qui œuvraient pour les hôpitaux et, en conséquence, n’étaient pas sujets à la visite de maîtres ou jurés. Pour “pourvoir à les y faire subsister commodément et aux autres choses concernant le bon ordre et discipline”, l’établissement était doté de structures administratives autonomes à la fois civiles, militaires, sanitaires et religieuses. À la tête de l’établissement, le souverain nomma son secrétaire d’Etat à la guerre, qui reçut le titre de ‘directeur, administrateur et gouverneur général’ avec “pouvoir de faire et exécuter tout ce qu’il trouvera necessaire à propos pour le maintien de la discipline et du bon régime en iceluy”; trois directeurs l’aidaient dans sa tâche. Le commandant militaire de l’Hôtel était remis au gouverneur avec pour le seconder le lieutenant du roi. Un prévôt et cinq archers à cheval, dont un greffier, assuraient la police. Le personnel administratif comptait aussi des officiers subalternes et des civils: un receveur, un contrôleur des bâtiments, un commissaire, un secrétaire, un garde-meuble, et aussi des pourvoyeurs, sommeliers, chefs de cuisine, chef portier, etc. La direction spirituelle était confiée à douze prêtres de la mission Saint-Lazare. Le service de santé était assuré par un médecin assisté d’un chirurgien, et par des sœurs de la maison des filles de la charité. Celles-ci, au nombre de douze, avaient en charge la gestion 8

Ritchie 1966, p. 17 : “[. . .] it is exempted from the right of visit or examination of any other, as Chancellor, the High Almoner of France, the Archbishop, first President of the Parliament or any other who claim and pretend a right of visiting of Houses of the like quality, and pious foundations”.

9

R. Chaboche, ‘Le sort des militaires invalides avant 1674’, in : R. Baillargeat (éd.), Les Invalides, trois siècles d’histoire, Paris, 1974, p. 146. L’établissement avait droit à 30 minots de sel (= 30× 38 dm3) ; et à 300 muids de vin (1 muid :18 hectolitres à Paris).

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de l’infirmerie et de l’apothicairerie. Le médecin jouissait des mêmes honneurs et privilèges que les médecins ordinaires du roi et, comme le gouverneur, disposait d’un appartement dans l’Hôtel. Les autres membres du personnel administratif y étaient également logés. L’admission des officiers et des soldats se faisait sur présentation de leurs états de service et devait être entérinée par le conseil d’administration présidé par le directeur général. Une fois admis, ils restaient soumis à une discipline militaire comme dans une caserne: les plus valides, étaient organisés en compagnie sous le commandement d’un capitaine avec tour de garde et exercices. Ils avaient la possibilité d’interrompre ce séjour de manière temporaire ou définitive, voire même de reprendre du service. L’Hôtel se caractérisait ainsi par sa totale autonomie vis à vis de l’extérieur: il pouvait être comparé à une ‘petite ville’10 avec son gouverneur, son clergé, son hôpital, son hôtellerie et ses services de subsistance. En construisant 2. Plan de l’Hôtel royal des Invalides, dessin, Stockholm, le bâtiment Bruand dut et sut réunir tous ces Nationalmuseum CC 2092 (photo Statens Konstmuseet). éléments. “Par les soins glorieux de l’illustre Louvois, Digne ministre du grand Roy, Bruant a mis au jour ce superbe édifice. Braves qui dans les champs de Mars Faites de votre sang un noble sacrifice, Vous serez mieux logés que n’étaient les Cæsars”.11 La construction du bâtiment fut menée en six ans en deux étapes, la priorité ayant été donnée à la réalisation de l’Hôtel sur celle de l’église : de 1671 à 1674, la volonté d’installer au plus tôt les soldats invalides dans leur nouvelle maison conduisit à commencer le chantier à l’est et, entre janvier et février 1675, officiers et soldats pouvaient emménager dans la moitié orientale du bâtiment. Dès 1674, les travaux furent poursuivis à l’ouest et achevés en 1676. Plan et élévations L’Hôtel et ses dépendances occupent un terrain presque carré. La moitié nord, la plus densément bâtie, est composée de cinq cours, “une grande court dans le milieu ensuitte de la principalle entrée dudit hostel, [. . .] et deux autres courts à chacun costé d’icelle” (fig. 2).12 Dans la moitié sud devait prendre place l’église orientée nord-sud, entourée à

10 J. Wemaere, ‘Avant-propos’, in : Baillargeat 1974 (note 9), p. 11. 11 Bibl. Sainte-Geneviève, Mss. 2522, f. 75. Madrigal contemporain des premières années de l’Hôtel cité par

R. Burnand, L’Hôtel royal des Invalides, 1670–1789, Paris, 1913, p. 28. 12 Description relevée dans le devis de 1671 (Arch. Nat., Min. centr., CV, 841 ; S.H.A.T., Invalides,

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3. Hôtel royal des Invalides, plan schématique des divisions et subdivisions des différents corps de bâtiments. J. Barreau et C. Noailles inv. / I. Letteron et G. Fonkenell delin.

l’est et à l’ouest par deux ailes et au sud par une basse-cour, bordée de bâtiments moins élevés. Sur l’axe principal de symétrie nord-sud s’échelonnent les principaux éléments fonctionnels: entrée principale, cour royale, porches de l’église et enfin portail de la basse-cour à l’autre extrémité. Les axes de symétrie secondaires des cours latérales servent également aux circulations. Les différents corps de bâtiment comprenaient généralement quatre étages, à l’exception des ailes fermant à l’est et à l’ouest la cour royale dont le rez-de-chaussée s’élevait sur une double hauteur, et des quatre pavillons de cette cour abritant les vestibules qui avaient chacun deux étages de double hauteur. De grands greniers occupaient les combles régnant sur l’ensemble du bâtiment. Des caves voûtées en berceau plein-cintre s’étendaient sous une carton 17). Voir également [Le Jeune de Boullencourt] (éd.) Description générale de l’hostel royal des Invalides, établi par Louis le Grand dans la plaine

de Grenelle . . . avec les plans, et élévations de ses faces, coupes et appartemens, Paris, 1683.

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4. Jean Marot, Elevation de la principale entrée de l’Hôtel Royal des Invalides qui fait face à la riviere de Seine et au cours de la Reine avec son plan géométral au bas (Paris, Musée du Louvre, plan de la Chalcographie).

partie de l’édifice seulement : le corps de logis sur Seine, les réfectoires, la boulangerie, le bâtiment des pères et les deux cuisines. Si, avec sa grande cour centrale et l’église au fond dans l’axe de l’entrée principale, le plan en grille de l’Hôtel ne peut manquer d’évoquer le palais de l’Escurial, il s’agit aussi à notre avis plus simplement d’un plan rationnel à cours multiples dans la tradition de l’architecture hospitalière et monastique.13 Parti distributif Le parti distributif s’organisait du nord au sud : au nord, les services administratifs ; au centre, les bâtiments des soldats et des officiers ; au sud, l’église, le logis des prêtres et les dépendances (fig. 3). Le bâtiment réservé à l’administration (I) se dressait vers la Seine (fig. 4). Au centre s’en détache le grand portail d’honneur ouvert sur le vestibule14 qui donnait accès à la cour royale, avec, au-dessus, le grand salon, seule pièce d’apparat de l’Hôtel.15 L’aile à gauche du portail était réservée au gouverneur et à son état-major, celle de droite au médecin. Gouverneur et médecin disposaient d’un logement de fonction dont la distribution empruntait ses traits à l’hôtel particulier: les services au rez-de-chaussée dégagés par une basse-cour avec remises et écuries, et un appartement au premier avec, en enfilade, grande salle, chambres et cabinet. Derrière les bâtiments des soldats et des officiers étaient répartis autour des cinq cours (fig. 5). À l’est comme à l’ouest de la cour royale (III et VIII), chaque aile comprenait au rez-de-chaussée deux réfectoires de part et d’autre d’un vestibule central (pièces en double

13

L. Hautecœur, ‘L’architecture hospitalière, La Salpêtrière’, Médecine de France, 1968, n° 96, pp. 21–25 ; Levy 1991, pp. 296–312. 14 Vestibule tétrastyle constitué de huit colonnes centrales isolées, huit demi-colonnes adossées aux murs de refend.

15

Le grand salon servit de chapelle jusqu’à la construction de l’église des soldats. Le pavement, la corniche, les trois porte-fenêtres et les quatre portes avec les lions (sans les cadres ajoutés en 1690) datent de la construction; le décor de pilastres à motif rocaille encadrant les cheminées a été exécuté par Jacques Verberckt en 1732.

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JOELLE BARREAU hauteur) et, au-dessus, aux troisième et quatrième étages, quatre salles d’infirmeries aussi séparées par un vestibule en double hauteur. Autour des petites cours, le corps de bâtiment médian (IV et IX) était réservé au service des cuisines et aux dépendances des infirmeries.16 Les autres corps servaient au logement des officiers et des soldats (II et VII), à l’exception du rez-de-chaussée de l’aile sud, où divers magasins d’approvisionnement (armurerie, lingerie, garde-meuble . . .) et une bibliothèque (V et X) avaient été aménagés. Au fond de la cour royale, l’aile méridionale comprenait, au 5. Jean Marot, Plan général du rez de chaussée de tous les bâtimens de centre, les vestibule et porche de l’hôtel Royal des Invalides, eau-forte et burin sur papier, Paris, vers 1683 l’église (XII). Flanquant l’église à (Paris, Musée du Louvre, plan de la Chalcographie). droite, le corps de bâtiment attribué aux prêtres de la mission (XI) formait un logis indépendant répondant aux besoins d’une communauté religieuse, avec chapelle, chapitre, bibliothèque, infirmeries, cellules, chauffoir, cuisines, réfectoire, parloir et grand jardin. À gauche de l’église, le bâtiment lui formant pendant (VI), comprenait au rezde-chaussée la boulangerie, la buanderie, et aux niveaux supérieurs le logement du contrôleur et autres personnels civils. Un cimetière prenait place dans l’espace entre ce corps de bâtiment et l’église. Sous les combles, les greniers étaient divisés pour servir d’entrepôts à la viande et au blé ou de séchoir pour le linge des infirmeries. Au sud, se trouvait la basse-cour encadrée à droite et à gauche de jardins potagers. Outre la loge du portier attenant la porterie de l’entrée, elle comprenait pigeonnier, poulailler, bouverie, bergerie, tuerie, ainsi qu’un moulin et une brasserie. Cette basse-cour, dont les historiens ne font jamais mention, fut pourtant entièrement réalisée et fonctionna un an, de 1676 à 1677, date à laquelle elle fut détruite pour faire place à l’église du Dôme et aux nouvelles infirmeries. Circulations Les soldats et les officiers disposaient des cinq cours et de deux allées plantées d’arbres formant promenoirs situées à l’est et à l’ouest le long des murs de clôtures.

16

Ces premières infirmeries, prévues dans le marché de 1671 et réalisées, ont été presque ignorées par tous les auteurs; quand l’Anglais Thomas Povey visita les Invalides en 1682, les infirmeries avaient

déjà été déménagées dans leur nouveau bâtiment construit par Jules Hardouin-Mansart en 1679 dans l’angle sud-est du terrain.

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6. Jean Marot, Plan du troisième étage au dessus du rez de chaussée de l’hôtel royal des Invalides, eauforte et burin sur papier, Paris, vers 1683 (Paris, Musée du Louvre, plan de la Chalcographie).

De larges galeries au rez-de-chaussée et au deuxième étage ouvertes sur la cour royale dégageaient les quatre réfectoires et le premier niveau d’infirmeries (III et VIII).17 À chaque étage des bâtiments réservés aux soldats et officiers (II, V, VII et X), un ‘corridor’ central desservait les chambres. Au premier et au troisième étages, la continuation du corridor, interrompu au niveau des galeries sur la cour royale, se faisait par un passage en encorbellement bordé d’un garde-corps à balustres tournés (entre les corps de bâtiment V et VI à l’est, X et XI à l’ouest).18 De même, au troisième étage, les deux salles d’infirmeries étaient séparées par le vide du vestibule central : pour résoudre le problème de communication créé par cette disposition, une passerelle fut réalisée au-dessus du vide central du vestibule reliant les salles entre elles (III-CVIII-C), et des passages biais furent pratiqués pour assurer le service entre les ailes des infirmeries et le corps de bâtiment transversal en retour entre les cours latérales (IV III A et C et IX VIII A et C) (fig. 6).19 De nombreux escaliers assuraient la circulation verticale : cinq grands escaliers dans les pavillons (EA, ED, EF, EM, EL) et, quatre autres aux angles de la cour royale (EB, EC, EH, EI),

17 Les galeries, couloirs de circulation latérale, correspondent aux bâtiments sur la cour royale (I, VI et XI, rez-de-chaussée), et les corridors, couloirs de circulation centrale, aux bâtiments II, IV, V, VII, IX et X.

18

S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 32 bis, toisé de charpenterie, p. 165 (V-A, 3e) ; toisé de maçonnerie, art. 4841 (VI-A, 3e). 19 S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 31, toisé de maçonnerie, art. 3557 (VIII-B, 3e).

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JOELLE BARREAU auxquels s’ajoutaient des escaliers secondaires montant de fond ou desservant uniquement un ou deux niveaux. Comme dans les couvents, les circulations étaient segmentées: des grilles de fer interdisaient le passage vers les appartements du gouverneur et du médecin, vers le logis et le jardin des prêtres, vers le bâtiment de la boulangerie, mais aussi vers le potager au sud-est. Les vestibules ouvrant sur les promenoirs étaient fermés le soir. Cette organisation rationnelle de la distribution se retrouve dans nombre d’établissements à caractère communautaire, mais c’est à l’architecture monastique que certains éléments ont été plus directement empruntés : la grande cour de cloître, le couloir central distribuant les chambres, les galeries ouvertes sur la cour centrale. Les éléments du confort L’Hôtel royal des Invalides offrait aux soldats qu’il hébergeait des installations d’un confort exceptionnel pour l’époque qui conduisit les contemporains à le comparer à celui des palais des Césars ou au Louvre. De larges corridors (8 pieds, soit environ 2 m 60) facilitaient les déplacements de ces hommes ‘invalides’. Les longues galeries à arcades leur permettaient des promenades à couvert.20 Les grands escaliers étaient aisés à monter et à descendre avec de grandes marches basses et profondes,21 des repos entre chaque volée “afin de n’estre pas obligé de monter un étage tout d’une traite”.22 Les officiers logeaient à deux ou trois par chambre, et les soldats à quatre ou six. Le mobilier, simple, comprenait deux ou trois armoires par chambre, une chaise, une petite table et un lit par personne : un grand lit à hauts piliers (1 m 13 × 1 m 94 × 2 m) pour les officiers, une couchette (0 m 97 × 1 m 94) pour les soldats23 (dans les mêmes années, les mousquetaires gris, rue du Bac, comme les hommes de troupe dans les casernes construites par Vauban, dormaient encore à deux par lit).24 Seuls les officiers avaient une cheminée dans leurs chambres. Les soldats disposaient de huit grands poêles ou chauffoirs, deux par étage, situés à l’extrémité sud des corridors, juste à l’entrée du bâtiment de la boulangerie et de celui des pères (VI-A, XI-A). Les grandes salles des infirmeries n’étaient chauffées que par une cheminée, mais un ‘poêle d’Allemagne’ y fut ajouté dès l’ouverture de l’Hôtel. L’éclairage était assuré par de grandes lampes de cuivre, des chandeliers, grands et petits (chambres des soldats), des lanternes (corridors) et des lampes.25

20

L’avant-cour dégageant la façade principale de l’Hôtel a été réalisée après le départ de Bruand par Jules Hardouin-Mansart en 1678. 21 “Dans une marche normale,[. . .] la largeur est à peu près le double de la hauteur ; de plus, la somme de cette largeur et de deux fois la hauteur est à peu près égale à 65 cm ou longueur du pas (L = 32,5 cm ; H = 16,25 cm ; L + 2H = 65 cm). [. . .] La marche est petite ou grande quand ce total est très sensiblement inférieur ou supérieur à 65 cm”. (Vocabulaire de l’architecture, 1972, p. 39, col. 41); nous pouvons donc parler de grandes marches aux grands escaliers de pierre de l’Hôtel (XII-EG et EJ) dont les dimensions sont : H = 12,5 cm ; L = 42, 5 ; et 2H+L = 75 cm.

22

L. Savot, L’architecture françoise des bastimens particuliers, Paris, 1624, rééd. avec notes de François Blondel, 1673, pp. 73–81 ; Augustin-Charles d’Aviler, Cours d’architecture . . . avec une ample explication . . . de tous les termes, Paris, 1691, p. 185 (réed. Th. Verdier éd., Montpellier, 2002). 23 S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 18, compte des recettes et dépenses de l’Hôtel, années 1674 et 1675. 24 I. Dérens, ‘La Halle Barbier, puis Hôtel des Mousquetaires gris, . . .’, in : B. Pons et A. Forray-Carlier (éds.), Le Faubourg Saint-Germain. La rue du Bac, Paris, 1990, pp. 28–35; F. Dallemagne, Les casernes françaises, Paris, 1990, pp. 42–43. 25 5 S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 18, achats cités dans les comptes des recettes et dépenses de l’Hôtel, année 1675.

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Alors que les lieux d’aisance restaient peu et mal distribués dans l’habitat particulier,26 l’Hôtel disposait de ‘cabinets d’aisance’ à chaque étage des quatre pavillons d’angle, deux cabinets à cinq lunettes dans les pavillons des angles sud-est et sud-ouest (II-D et VII-D) et, aux pavillons du bâtiment sur Seine (I-A et G), trois dont deux à cinq lunettes et un à trois lunettes ; les cuisines, les infirmeries, le bâtiment des pères et celui de la basse-cour en étaient également pourvues. Le siège consistait en une lunette de bois fixée sur une banquette de pierre.27 Un tuyau d’évacuation des matières descendait jusqu’à la fosse en sous-sol ; à l’arrière de ce tuyau, assurant la ventilation des lieux, un conduit fait de brique montait du dessus de la voûte de la fosse jusqu’au toit où il se terminait ‘en forme de cheminée’. Préconisé par François Blondel, le système d’aération n’est guère mentionné, à notre connaissance, dans l’architecture privée.28 Dans les infirmeries, les malades disposaient de chaises percées. A l’Hôtel des Invalides, trait le plus remarquable, l’eau était dispensée en abondance et différents services étaient même alimentés en eau courante.29 Dès mai 1676, un grand puits avec machine élévatrice et grand réservoir assura la distribution de l’eau dans les cuisines, les offices, les cours latérales et quelques autres services.30 Dans la cuisine, l’eau était collectée dans une chaudière d’une contenance de 2 muids (soit environ 540 litres),31 encastrée dans le mur de la cheminée, qui procurait de l’eau chaude par l’intermédiaire de tuyaux et de robinets aux marmites placées près du feu pour la cuisson des aliments et au 7. Hôtel royal des Invalides, porche lavoir situé derrière l’âtre pour laver la vaisselle qui était ensuite dépode l’église, détail des ordres ionique sée sur les deux grandes tables de pierre d’Arcueil (1,62 m × 0, 97 m ) (photo du bas) et corinthien (photo situées dans les passages vers la cuisine.32 De la pompe, d’autres tuyaux du haut) (clichés J. Barreau). conduisaient l’eau dans les angles sud de chacune des cours latérales où se trouvaient de grandes pierres d’évier équipées de robinets pour la toilette des soldats. Ailleurs, comme à l’office du gouverneur, l’eau était fournie par une fontaine.33 Onze puits complétaient les besoins en eau de l’Hôtel. Les aménagements hydrauliques de l’ Hôtel des Invalides ne constituent cependant pas une innovation. Dès le Moyen-âge, les communautés monastiques réalisèrent des circuits hydrauliques complexes (eau courante, réseaux d’égouts) ;34 la différence majeure est, aux 26

R. H. Guerrand, Les lieux. Histoire des commodités, Paris, 1987, pp. 56–57. L’Hôtel des Invalides avait plus de 200 cabinets d’aisance, dont 8 dans le bâtiment des pères (XI). 27 H. de Buttet (Colonel), ‘La vie aux Invalides sous le règne de Louis XIV’, in : Baillargeat 1974 (note 9), 1974, p. 207. 28 François Blondel, Cours d’architecture enseigné dans l’Académie royale d’architecture, Paris, 1675–1683, p. 667. 29 A. Pardailhé-Galabrun, La naissance de l’intime: 3000 foyers parisiens, XVIIe–XVIIIe siècles, Paris, 1988, pp. 350, 352. 30 Le pavillon de la pompe fut construit dans l’angle sud-ouest de l’enceinte de l’Hôtel par le charpentier Antoine Gauthier. Elle fut mise en fonction dès le 22 mai 1676. Un garçon la manœuvrait à l’aide d’un cheval, remplacé ensuite par des mulets.

31

S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 18, 1675, 4e chapitre des dépenses. 32 Gabriel-Louis Calabre Pérau (abbé), Description historique de l’hôtel royal des Invalides, . . . avec les plans, élévations géométrales de cet édifice, et les peintures et sculptures de l’église, dessinées et gravées parle sieur Cochin, . . ., Paris, 1756, p. 58. 33 S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 31, toisé de maçonnerie, art. 814 (I-B). 34 M. Wabont, avec la collaboration de Ph. Soulier et de C. Toupet, Maubuisson au fil de l’eau : les réseaux hydrauliques de l’abbaye du XIIIe au XVIIIe siècle (Notices d’archéologie du Val d’Oise n° 3), Service départemental d’archéologie du Val-d’Oise, 1992 ; C. Bou, ‘Aux sources de l’Aube : patrimoine et maîtrise hydraulique de l’abbaye cistercienne d’Auberive au Moyen âge’, Les cahiers Haut-Marnais, 1997, n° 209, 2e trimestre, pp. 29–39.

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8. Hôtel royal des Invalides, pavillon nord de la cour royale (cliché J. Barreau).

9. Hôtel royal des Invalides, grand salon, porte en placard sud-est (cliché J. Barreau).

Invalides, l’utilisation de la force mécanique, non de la force gravitationnelle (captage de sources, étangs de retenue, et rôle de redistribution du lavabo, comme à Maubuisson par exemple), c’est aussi et surtout l’utilisation d’eau courante pour un bâtiment laïc accueillant des soldats. Toutefois, dans certaines pièces, l’évacuation des eaux usées se faisait très simplement . . . par un trou pratiqué dans le mur de façade, que ce soit au rez-de-chaussée pour la cuisine et pour l’office du gouverneur ou pour la pièce d’eau des sœurs au troisième étage.35 De multiples aménagements ingénieux avaient été prévus. Dans les cuisines, outre l’apport en eau courante et l’installation de l’équipement ordinaire (potagers, fourneaux, grils, tables couvertes d’étain, tourne-broche), un escalier donnait accès directement aux caves où étaient les herbes; une des portes d’entrée avait une plus grande largeur pour permettre aux chariots de passer; le sel pour l’usage journalier était gardé au sec au-dessus de la cheminée. Dans les chauffoirs des soldats, les poêles étaient alimentés en bois à partir du corridor.36 À la boulangerie, une trappe avait été ménagée sous la fenêtre pour passer le bois entreposé dans le bûcher proche.37 Et trois puits avaient été creusés à l’intérieur du bâtiment: un dans les cuisines “en cas qu’il arrivast quelque désordre à la pompe”, un dans la boulangerie, et un à la buanderie (VI A et B).38 35

S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 31, toisé de maçonnerie, art. 375 et 815 (I-B). Dès 1679, fut réalisé aux Invalides l’aqueduc drainant les eaux usées, travaux conduits par Jules Hardouin-Mansart. 36 S.H.A.T., Invalides, carton 32, toisé de serrurerie, 31 octobre 1675 (VI-A au rez-de-chaussée).

37

Le bûcher, était situé à l’extrémité sud-est de la basse-cour, proche du pavillon de la boulangerie ; cette solution évitait d’entrer dans le bâtiment. 38 Il en subsiste deux dans la première petite cour à droite de la cour royale (cour d’Angoulême).

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10. Jean Lepautre, Plan et élevation en perspective d’un des quatre refectoirs des soldats de l’hôtel Royal de Invalides qui est le premier en entrant à gauche du côté de Paris, 1680–1681, eau-forte et burin sur papier (Paris, Musée du Louvre, plan de la Chalcographie).

À l’Hôtel royal des Invalides, ‘micro-univers clos’,39 Bruand avait ainsi concrétisé le concept esquissé par Scamozzi, du regroupement de services complémentaires (cuisines proches des réfectoires, infirmeries avec tisaneries et lingerie pour les malades, chauffoirs et lieux d’aisances à chaque étage).40 S’y ajoutait l’adaptation des espaces dans le respect d’une hiérarchie sociale (bâtiment des pères indépendant, appartements de fonction dans le corps de bâtiment sur Seine, réfectoires et chambres distincts de ceux des soldats pour les officiers). Un décor ‘parlant’ L’ensemble de l’édifice est d’une grande sobriété. Le décor sculpté, cantonné aux parties hautes de la façade principale et de la cour royale, mêle la représentation iconographique de Louis XIV, fondateur de l’Hôtel, et la destination du bâtiment. À la ‘porte de la Cour Royalle’,41 au tympan de la grande arcade triomphale, la figure de Louis le Grand en roi guerrier à cheval42 accueillait ses soldats et officiers dont

39

Levy 1991, p. 302. F. Choay, La règle et le modèle. Sur la théorie de l’architecture et de l’urbanisme, Paris, 1980 ; Levy 1991, p. 300.

40

41 Ritchie 1966, p. 185 : “. . . the portal or great gate of the House, which they call ‘la Porte de la Cour Royalle’ ”.. 42 Le roi guerrier à cheval rappelle un thème à l’honneur depuis plus de deux siècles (hôtel Jacques Cœur

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JOELLE BARREAU les armures, désormais inutiles, forment de spectaculaires trophées en place des lucarnes (fig. 4). Dans la cour royale, les ordres sont recomposés, retraités en fonction d’une iconographie en référence au Roi-Soleil et à sa magnificence : volutes en forme de cornes de bélier,43 fleur de tournesol, tête d’Apollon, laurier, cornes d’abondance (fig. 7). Les hautsreliefs des frontons évoquent “chacune des premières guerres conduites par Louis XIV” (fig. 8).44 À l’intérieur, seuls le grand salon et les réfectoires reçurent un décor : honneur au grand monarque dans le premier (lions couchés dos-à-dos avec un soleil couronné de guirlandes et rubans) (fig. 9) et souvenir des batailles auxquelles ces vieux soldats avaient participé dans les seconds (grands tableaux peints entre 1678 et 1680 par Jacques Friquet de Vauroze à l’est et par Joseph Parrocel45 et Jean-Baptiste Corneille à l’ouest) (fig. 10). L’Hôtel royal des Invalides illustrait ainsi avec simplicité mais efficacité la munificence du roi envers ses soldats. Louis XIV attacha toujours un grand prix à cette fondation et il engagea son arrière-petit-fils et ses successeurs à poursuivre son action : “Entre les différents établissements que nous avons faits dans le cours de notre règne, il n’y en a point qui soit plus utile à l’état que celui de l’hostel royal des invalides [. . .]. Toutes sortes de motifs doivent engager le dauphin et tous les rois nos successeurs à soutenir cet établissement et luy accorder une protection particulière, nous lui exhortons autant qu’il est en notre pouvoir”.46

Ouvrages frequemment cités Levy 1991 A. Levy, ‘Proposition d’un instrument d’analyse typologique et application à l’architecture monastique’, in : J.-C. Croizé, J.-P. Frey, P. Pinon (éds.), Recherches sur la typologie et les types architecturaux, 1991, pp. 296–312. Ritchie 1966 C. A. Ritchie, ‘The Hostel of the Invalides by Thomas Povey (1682) (Lambeth Palace Library [Londres], Mss. 745)’, Medical History 10, 1966, pp. 1–22; 11, 1967, pp. 177–197.

à Bourges, châteaux du Verger, de Blois et d’Ecouen, palais ducal de Nancy). Ce fut selon André Chastel une “interprétation monumentale du pouvoir” pendant tout l’Ancien Régime (A. Chastel, L’art français. Pré-Moyen âge, Moyen âge, t. 1, Paris, 1993, p. 67). 43 Roland Fréart de Chambray, Parallèlle de l’architecture antique et de la Moderne, Paris, 1650, p. 34. Les cornes de bélier utilisées pour l’ordre ionique renvoient aussi bien au dieu solaire qu’à une virilisation d’un ordre réputé féminin. Cet ordre ionique est repris au grand portail d’entrée et dans le vestibule d’accès à la cour royale. 44 B. Sevestre, ‘Le fronton de l’avant-corps du levant dans la cour d’honneur à l’hôtel des Invalides’, Revue de la société des amis du Musée de l’Armée, 1987, n° 94, pp. 7–17. Au fronton oriental, ‘la victoire sur

l’Espagne catholique, et la victoire sur l’Empire turc’, et au fronton nord, ‘la victoire du roi de France sur le Saint-Empire et ses alliés à l’issue de la guerre de Trente ans’. Nombre des assertions de cet auteur sont, à notre avis, discutables: surinterprétation des parties décoratives, méconnaissance de l’historique de la construction du bâtiment. 45 J. Delaplanche, ‘Les peintures de la salle François Ier’, in : F. Lacaille (éd.), Peintures murales aux Invalides. L’œuvre révélé de Joseph Parrocel, Dijon, 2005, pp. 150–165; M. Hanotaux, ‘Le programme iconographique du réfectoire’, ibidem, pp. 166–229. 46 Testament du roy du deuxième aoust 1714. La Régence et le Conseil. Codicille du treize avril mil sept cens quinze, s. l. n. d., p. 4.

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