The Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten
Occupying an immense Neoclassical edifice dating from the 1880s, Antwerp’s prestigious Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten (KMSKA; Royal Fine Art Museum), overlooking Leopold de Waelplaats, possesses a first-rate collection of Belgian art from the fifteenth century onwards, but it’s closed for a long-term refurbishment until at least 2014. In the meantime, plans are afoot to display highlights of the collection elsewhere in the city – the cathedral and the MAS museum are two likely locations – and the tourist office will have the latest news. Key paintings in the collection include two tiny but especially delicate works by Jan van Eyck (1390–1441), a Madonna at the Fountain and a St Barbara, and Quinten Matsys’ (1465–1530) triptych of the Lamentation, a profound and moving work portraying the Christ, his forehead flecked with blood, surrounded by grieving followers including Mary Magdalene, who tenderly wipes his feet with her hair as tears roll down her face. The museum also possesses several enormous canvases by Rubens (1577–1640), most notably an inventive Last Communion of St Francis (1619), showing a very sick-looking saint equipped with the marks of the stigmata, a faint halo and a half-smile: despite the sorrowful ministrations of his fellow monks, Francis can’t wait for salvation. Also from 1619 is Christ Crucified Between the Two Thieves which, with its muscular thieves and belligerent Romans, possesses all the high drama you might expect, but is almost overwhelmed by its central image – you can virtually hear the tearing of Christ’s flesh as the soldier’s lance sinks into him.
Mercenary mutinies
The Spanish fury was a disaster for Antwerp, but although the savagery of the attack was unusual, mutinies in the Spanish army were not. The Habsburgs often neglected to pay their soldiers for years on end and this failure, combined with harsh conditions and seemingly interminable warfare, provoked at least a couple of mutinies every year. Indeed, mutinies became so commonplace that they began to develop their own rituals, with the tercio (army unit) concerned refusing orders but keeping military discipline and electing representatives to haggle a financial deal with the army authorities. A deal was usually reached, outstanding wages were paid (at least in part), normal military life was resumed and, remarkably enough, punishments were rare.
ModeNatie and MoMu
Spread over several floors at Nationalestraat 28, ModeNatie (www.modenatie.com) is a lavish and extraordinarily ambitious fashion complex, which incorporates both the fashion department of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts and the Flanders Fashion Institute. As such, it reflects the international success of local designers, beginning in the 1980s with the so-called “Antwerp Six” – including Dries van Noten, Dirk Bikkembergs, Marina Yee and Martin Margiela – and continuing with younger designers like A.F. Vandevorst, Stephan Schneider and Tim Vansteenbergen; all are graduates of the academy. Part of the building contains a fashion museum, MoMu (www.momu.be), whose adventurous and thought-provoking temporary displays cover a lot of ground – everything from the walking stick as fashion statement through to the evolution of the trench coat.
The Onze Lieve Vrouwekathedraal
One of the finest Gothic churches in Belgium, the Onze Lieve Vrouwekathedraal (Cathedral of Our Lady; www.dekathedraal.be) is a forceful, self-confident structure that mostly dates from the middle of the fifteenth century. Its graceful, intricate spire dominated the skyline of the medieval city and was long a favourite with British travellers. William Beckford, for instance, fresh from spending millions on his own house in Wiltshire in the early 1800s, was particularly impressed, writing that he “longed to ascend it that instant, to stretch myself out upon its summit and calculate, from so sublime an elevation, the influence of the planets”. To help guide yourself around, pick up a free diagrammatic plan just beyond the entry desk.
Inside, the seven-aisled nave is breathtaking, if only because of its sense of space, an impression that’s reinforced by the bright, light stonework. The religious troubles of the sixteenth century – primarily the Iconoclastic Fury of 1566 – polished off the cathedral’s early furnishings and fittings, so what you see today are largely Baroque embellishments, most notably four early paintings by Pieter Paul Rubens (1577–1640). Of these, the Descent from the Cross, a triptych painted after the artist’s return from Italy in 1612 and hung just to the right of the central crossing, is without doubt the most beautiful, displaying an uncharacteristically moving realism derived from Caravaggio. Christ languishes in the centre in glowing white, surrounded by mourners tenderly struggling to lower him. As was normal practice at the time, students in Rubens’ studio worked on the painting, among them the young van Dyck, who completed the face of the Virgin and the arm of Mary Magdalene. His work was so masterful that Rubens is supposed to have declared it an improvement on his own, though this story appears to originate from van Dyck himself. Oddly enough, the painting was commissioned by the guild of arquebusiers, who asked for a picture of St Christopher, their patron saint; Rubens’ painting was not at all what they had in mind, and they promptly threatened him with legal action unless he added a picture of the saint to the wings. Rubens obliged, painting in the muscular giant who now dominates the outside of the left panel.
Above the high altar is a second Rubens painting, the Assumption, a swirling Baroque scene painted in 1625, full of cherubs and luxuriant drapery, while on the left-hand side of the central crossing, the same artist’s The Raising of the Cross is a grandiloquent canvas full of straining, muscular soldiers and saints; this triptych was painted in 1610, which makes it the earliest of the four. On the right-hand side of the ambulatory in the second chapel along, there’s the cathedral’s fourth and final Rubens, the Resurrection, painted in 1612 for the tomb of his friend, the printer Jan Moretus, showing a strident, militaristic Christ carrying a red, furled banner. Among the cathedral’s many other paintings, the only other highlight is Maerten de Vos’ (1531–1603) Marriage at Cana, hung opposite the Descent from the Cross, a typically mannered work completed in 1597.