“Un Labeur courageux muni d’humble Constance
Resiste à tous assauts par douce Patience.”
On July 1, 1589, this “giant among printers” breathed his last, and was buried in the ambulatory of the cathedral, his friend Justus Lipsius writing the inscription for his tombstone. While his name is not associated with the earliest beginnings of the art of printing, and the products of his press do not therefore command the almost fabulous prices paid for the rarest productions of some of the first printers, Christopher Plantin was not only the greatest printer of his age, but one of the greatest in the history of the art. Almost from the first he knew how to gather about him the foremost scholars and artists of his time, making his establishment not merely a printing-office but an institution of learning, a home of the fine arts. Arias Montanus, editor of the Biblia Regia, aided by a host of the most learned churchmen of Europe; Justus Lipsius, lecturer before Princes at the Universities of Leyden and Louvain; Mercator and Ortelius, the geographers, from whom the world learned the right way to make maps and atlases; Crispin, Van den Broeck, Martin de Vos, and a score of the foremost Flemish artists, who were employed by Plantin to illustrate his books; these and many more no doubt were frequent visitors at the printing-house during the lifetime of its founder.
These noble traditions were fully maintained under his successors. Jean Moretus I ruled over the destinies of the house until his death, in 1610, leaving it to his two sons, Jean II and Balthazar I. The latter was the greatest of the dynasty of printers after Plantin and Jean Moretus I. He was a warm friend of Rubens, who illustrated many of the publications of the house during this period. In the fourth generation, represented by Balthazar III, who ruled for half a century, from 1646 to 1696, the family was ennobled, but after this period the house confined its output and commerce to missals and breviaries, under the monopoly granted by Philip II for the countries under the rule of Spain. This business was completely destroyed by an edict prohibiting the importation of foreign books into the Spanish dominions, and in 1800 the printing office ceased operations. It resumed activity on a small scale once or twice during the nineteenth century, but finally closed in 1867, after an existence of three hundred and twelve years, and in 1876 the last representative of the house, Edouard Moretus, sold the entire establishment, with all its priceless collections and furnishings, to the City of Antwerp for the sum of 1,200,000 francs, to be maintained as a museum.
During the splendid period of activity in the first half of the seventeenth century, the throng of famous men in the libraries and the corrector’s room of the old establishment surpassed that of the days of Plantin and Jean Moretus I. Rubens, Van Dyck, Erasmus Quellin and a host of other artists; Lævinius Torrentius, bishop and poet, Kiliaen, the lexicographer, and scores of other learned men; Princes and Dukes innumerable, the patrons and protectors of the house—all these and many more were constant visitors. To the student the museum of to-day recalls these great names with a freshness and vividness that the ordinary museum fatally lacks, for here are countless mementoes of their presence in the very proofs and prints they handled and corrected, in the letters they wrote, in the sketches drawn by the greatest artists of Flanders and engraved by the foremost engravers of the time.
As a detailed description of the Plantin Museum can be found in all the guidebooks, while an excellent handbook regarding its treasures by Max Rooses, its renowned curator, can be purchased for a franc, it would be unnecessary as well as tedious to recount them here. To those who have but a little time at their disposal a liberal honorarium to the attendant in each room—all of whom are garbed in brown with a quaint cap of the same colour, as the printers of the house were wont to be dressed in the great olden days—will bring forth a wealth of curious and interesting information not to be found in any book, anecdotes of distinguished visitors, bits of lore about this or the other treasure, that will make the trifling investment well worth while. In our case we made our first visit in this way, roaming about the splendid old rooms and dipping into this case or that at random—like butterflies amid a bower of roses. Visitors were few that day and we had each attendant to ourselves. Later on we made another visit, armed with letters of introduction to M. Denucé, the learned assistant curator, and through his courtesy revisited each room once more. A single book—one of the marvellous collections of early Bibles—was, according to the attendant in that room, made the object of an offer of a million francs, or maybe it was a million dollars, by a well-known American millionaire. The collection in its entirety, if dispersed by auction, would doubtless fetch many millions—but it belongs exactly where it is. Like the collection of Van Eycks and Memlings in Bruges, it would be a world calamity to despoil it or disperse it. Even the very furnishings of the chambers up-stairs are associated with the house of Plantin, were used by the family for many years; the paintings that crowd the walls like an art gallery are for the most part by Rubens—portraits of leading members of the family. Then there are numberless drawings, prints and engravings that represent the work of half of the greatest artists of the Flemish school during the century of its greatest splendour—an inimitable, indescribable collection!
Among other pictorial treasures we saw a collection of views of old Antwerp that the Professor said he would gladly have spent a month in, if only his vacation were a little longer. Then there were the books—and again words fail to convey an adequate idea of the richness and interest of the collection. There are nearly a score of early German Bibles, including a fine copy of Gutenberg’s Bible latine of 1450; rare German and Italian incunabula, choice examples of the work of the early Flemish printers, including Les dicts moraulx des philosophes, printed by Colard Manson at Bruges in 1477. There are examples of early French, Dutch and Italian printing; there are Aldines, Estiennes, Elzevirs; books from the first printing presses of Switzerland, Spain and Portugal. Truly the historian of the early art of printing might come here and complete his work within these charmed walls—he would need no other materials! Naturally the collection of books printed by the house itself is large, though not complete, and there are a great many products of other Antwerp presses. Most valuable of all is the collection of manuscripts, which includes a huge Latin Bible completed in 1402 and ornamented with the most marvellous miniatures. Here are also several superb Books of Hours and many other books with choice miniatures.
The printing-rooms also deserve all the time the tourist can spare. The proofreaders’ room is a gem, architecturally, artistically, and from its historic associations with one of the world’s finest arts. A few old proof sheets are still lying on the high desks, near the stained glass windows with their tiny panes. The typeroom has still some of the old fonts of type and original matrices, while the composing and pressroom has two presses of the sixteenth century, and many quaint and curious devices then in use. All these rooms, together with the large state rooms, which contain the manuscripts and choicest examples of early printing, surround a charming courtyard which is still kept bright with flowers as it was in the days of the founders of the great house. The City of Antwerp is justly proud of this noble monument to its great family of great printers, which serves to keep green the memory of their achievements and of their fine artistic taste and skill as no other form of memorial could do.
ANCIENT PRINTING PRESSES AND COMPOSING CASES, PLANTIN MUSEUM, ANTWERP.