The making of a
protestant history
The Reformation, Calvinist hegemony and
identity in the young Dutch Republic
By Elko Born
Auteur: Elko Born
Studentnummer: 6118429
Begeleider/eerste lezer: dhr. dr. F.R.E Blom
Inhoudsopgave
Introduction p. 3
1. Haarlem and the legend of Damiate p. 10
1.1 The Calvinist version of the legend of Damiate. Samuel Ampzing and Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem p. 13 1.2 A humanist history. Theodorus Schrevelius and Harlemias p. 16 2. Cornelis Booth and the former diocese of Utrecht p. 18 3. The Republic’s oldest city. Nijmegen, the Batavians and Johannes Smetius’
Oppidum Batavorum p. 23
3.1 The Batavian myth in Johannes Smetius’ Oppidum Batavorum p. 25 3.2 Oppidum Batavorum, the Holy Roman Empire and the history
of Christianity. p. 27
4. The Duchy of Brabant and the young Dutch Republic p. 29 4.1 The young Dutch Republic, The Eighty Years’ War and Brabant’s political place
within the States General p. 31
4.2 Laurens van Haecht, Chroniicke vande Hertoghen van Brabant and the young
Republic’s master narrative p. 33
5. The latecomer to the rebellion. Amsterdam and the master narrative of the young
Dutch Republic p. 37
5.1 Catholic identity and Johannes Pontanus’ Historische Beschrijvinghe der seer wijt
beroemde Coop-stadt Amsterdam p. 38
6. Religious identity and the practice of toleration in the young Dutch
Republic p. 41 Conclusion p. 44 Bibliography p. 46
Introduction
In the summer of 1995, men and women dressed up as rich merchants and chivalric knights prowled the streets of Haarlem. Coins depicting Haarlem’s famous ‘Damiate bells’ were in circulation, and writer Harry Mullisch, arguably Haarlem’s most famous son, received the title of ‘honorary poorter’. Indeed, during the summer of 1995, unaware visitors might have gotten the impression that the city of Haarlem in North-Holland was some sort of theme park, or that time had stood still there. In reality, it goes without saying, this wasn’t the case. What was happening in Haarlem during the summer of 1995 was that the city of Haarlem, or, to be more precise, Haarlem’s city government, was celebrating Haarlem’s status as holders of city rights, for 1995 marked the 750th year these city rights had been in existence.
During modern times, the city of Haarlem hasn’t been the only site of such a recreation of a certain past - Medieval or otherwise - in the Netherlands. In 2002, Breda in Noord-Brabant celebrated its 750 years of being a city organising, amongst other public activities and displays, an open open air concert and a theater festival. In 2013, Wageningen in Gelderland celebrated its 750 year old city status by organising various concerts and historic reenactments. Texel, an island to the North of the Netherlands governed by a council carrying the same name, is planning various festivities for 2015. Because it wasn’t quite clear when, exactly, Texel attained their city rights, this particular year was the outcome of a protracted debate. Eventually, Alkmaar’s regional archive, where a document giving clues about the specifics regarding Texel’s city rights was found, was called upon to make a decision. As the case of Texel shows, festivities surrounding the celebration of city rights are not always an easy matter. Often, they have to be legitimised by ‘official’ documents. It might well be that the aforementioned city councils looked closely at their early modern predecessors before organising their respective festivities and
commemorations. In the sixteenth- and seventeenth century, various Dutch cities and their respective urban authorities took it upon themselves to recreate, in one way or another, events and social settings from a past time. In the sixteenth-century, for example, groups of children would parade the streets in the so called ‘Damiate
procession’1. Other cities adopted similar rituals. Amsterdam, at the top of its wealth, power and influence, staged various public displays of its success throughout the seventeenth-century2. Much like in modern times, of course, these activities were political as much as social in nature. The promotion of the city, and its representation as a valuable and honourable place must have been the urban authorities’ prime motivation during the festivities. Indeed, the Dutch, early modern city governments weren’t the first political agents to appropriate the past. Many, including the Roman emperor Augustus, went before them.
In recent years, there has been significant academic interest in what one can describe as ‘collective memory’: the notion of memory, or memories appropriated in some way by a collective. By and large, the analysis of collective memory has been possible since the emergence of the interdisciplinary field of studies dubbed ‘Memory Studies’, which in itself is part of a larger and wider late twentieth century memory boom3. Broad in its scope, Memory Studies is contributed to by scholars from various other academic fields, including psychologists, historians and literary scientists. This expansive group add to Memory Studies from different perspective, but they share a theoretical framework inspired by the fundamental works of scholars like Maurice Halbwachs (who coined the essential concept Nachleben) and Jan and Aleida Asmann, to name just a few of the theoretical founding figures of Memory Studies. An important distinction made in this theoretical framework is the distinction between communicative memory and cultural memory4. Communicative memory is communicated by families, passed on from one generation onto the next. It has the potential to become cultural memory, but only if these memories are adopted by so called commemorative media, commonly texts, art and other forms of visual representation. This cultural memory, then, has the potential to become collective
1 Spaans, Joke. Haarlem na de Reformatie. Stedelijke cultuur en Kerkelijk Leven, 1577-1620. ’s
Gravenhage: Stichting Hollandse Historische Reeks (1989), p. 129.
2 Schama, Simon. The Embarrassment of Riches. London: Vintage (1997), p. 314.
3 Olick, Jeffrey e.a.. (red.). The Collective Memory Reader. Oxford en New York: Oxford University
Press (2011).
4 Assmann, Jan. ’Communicative and cultural memory’. In: Cultural memory studies, red. Erll and
Nünning, 109-118 and Assmann, Aleida. ‘Memory, individual and collective’. In: The Oxford
handbook of contextual political analysis, red. Robert E. Goodin en Charles Tilly (Oxford 2006)
memory. If this collective memory is appropriated by political stakeholders for political goals, it is possible to speak of political memory. In many ways, this process of political appropriation will be the subject of this study. The aforementioned
commemorative media will be its primary sources.
The theoretical framework broadly sketched sketched above is certainly not the only framework through which one can analyse the symbiose between memory and politics. In his fundamental study Imagined Communities, Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Benedict Anderson already argued that memory is essential to the nation state as a political entity5. Indeed, it was, amongst other things, memory which made the nation state possible, but it should not be forgotten that in pre-modern times, before the formation of nation states, collective identity and political entities both existed - albeit in a different form. Furthermore, a distinction must be made between the mass media Anderson speaks of - the media which made the rise of nationalism and of the nation state possible - and the aforementioned commemorative media. This last kind of media did not have the reach of the modern mass media, and thus, it did not make nationalism and the nation state possible in a direct sense. However, they were media nonetheless, and thus, they conveyed messages, which were often political in nature. Memory Studies, and interpretative concepts like cultural memory and political memory, aim to drag the idea of collective memory out of the exclusive zone of nineteenth-century nationalism. A primary example of a study exemplifying this claim can be found in Marianne Eekhout’s article ‘Celebrating a Trojan Horse. Memories of the Dutch Revolt in Breda, 1590-1650’. In this article, Eekhout explores the ways in which Breda’s famous peat barge was remembered, throughout different political phases, as a sort of Trojan Horse, and the Spanish consciously attempted to banish this memory to oblivion during the occupation of Breda (1625-1637)6. To do this, Eekhout
analyses a broad and extensive ‘memory scape’ - a large collection or range of commemorative media - including coins, illustrations, an annual celebration, a play
5 Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities, Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism.
Verso Books: New York en Londen (2006).
6 Eekhout, Marianne. ‘Celebrating a Trojan Horse. Memories of the Dutch Revolt in Breda,
1590-1650’. In: Kuijpers Erika, Pollmann Judith, Müller Johannes, Steen Jasper van der (Eds.) Memory Before Modernity. Memory cultures in Early Modern Europe. Leiden: Brill. 129-147.
written by poet Jacob Duym (performed in 1616) and even the famous peat barge itself. As Eekhout points, these items were all commissioned or produced by the city’s authorities. Thus, Eekhout’s case study serves as a prime example of the workings of political memory.
But the most fundamental study concerning collective memory in the context of the early modern Republic is perhaps Raingard Esser’s The Politics of Memory. As the title of this monograph suggests, this study mainly analyses the Republic’s
political memory7. It does this by closely examining a series of chirographies or ‘city
books’: a sort of combination between a history and a city guide, prominent in the seventeenth century, often written by prominent scholars and appropriated, through sponsorship and patronage, by the city’s authorities and elite. In The Politics of
Memory, Esser convincingly shows that chorographies, as a commemorative medium, brought certain narratives about their respective subjects (the cities they described) into circulation. Every one of these narratives had to fit the so called master narrative of the young Republic. This master narrative encapsulated the idea that the Dutch Republic, through strength and courage, was rightfully fighting for freedom against an unjust Spanish overlord. In a way, as one can discern from Esser’s findings, these chorographies were an early modern form of city marketing. Chorographies attempted to promote the value of the relation between the city in question and the Republic. No wonder, then, that chorographies play such a big role in a city’s memory scape. This assertion holds especially true if one considers the period of social and political turmoil that forever changed the Netherlandish region - and indeed, the whole of Europe - since the end of the middle ages. Commencing even before the process of religious reforms associated with the Reformation began, the area that would later become the Dutch Republic went through a period of massive change and evolution. In this regard, the rebellion and the Eighty Years War that followed were culminations of a process that was initiated almost a century earlier, when various economic and social changes were already affecting the make up of Holland and the surrounding provinces8. Nonetheless, the series of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century seismic events, defined by Esser as events that caused old cultural landmarks to
7 Esser, Raingard. The Politics of Memory. Leiden: Brill, 2012.
collapse9, created a demand for a rewriting of history. Identities had to be severed from Medieval ties and had to be fitted into the new grand narrative of the Dutch Republic as a united entity with a common enemy - The Catholic and Habsburg Spanish empire.
In the case of young Republic and the Eighty Years War, it is difficult to overestimate the significance of these seismic events. From the first Protestant practices, such as the infamous hagenpreken (or ‘hedge sermons’10), to the
groundbreaking religious and political reforms that would follow later, the innate make up of Dutch - and European - society changed drastically. In this regard, it might be better to speak of a series of seismic events, each of which was not solely political in nature, but - as was so often the case in early modern Europe - religious as well. What started with the Iconoclastic Fury later developed into a full blown rebellion, and thus, the forces that initially resisted the Catholic church, would later resist their (Catholic) Spanish overlords. The Reformation, defined here as a drawn out process rather than as a single event, was in this way constitutive to the Eighty Years War.
In what way, then, was the Reformation constitutive to the identity the young Republic would attempt to develop over the course - and as a result - of this Eighty Years War? And in what ways did various stakeholders appropriate (or refuse to appropriate) an invariably Catholic past? Was the memory of a catholic past banned to the wasteland of memory often conceptualised as oblivion? If so, what does this tell us about the ways in which Catholics and Protestants were deemed to live together in Dutch cities? Although the historiography briefly sketched above has briefly explored the various functions of Catholic elements in the memory scape of the young Dutch republic, these crucial questions are yet to be answered.
With all these questions in mind, then, this study will attempt to fill this void by close-reading relevant sections carefully distilled from a selection of the
aforementioned seventeenth-century chorographies. As was detailed before, these chorographies played a prominent role in seventeenth-century urban memory scapes. Carefully examining these relevant sections will first of all broaden our understanding
9 Esser, The Politics of Memory, p. 10.
10 ‘Hedge sermons’ open air sermons delivered in the confined and secretive space of the hage, outside
of Catholic heritage in the collective memory of the young Republic. What’s more, it will extend our knowledge of the (political) workings of memory and, perhaps most importantly, it will shed new light on the often contested question of ‘toleration’ of different religious factions in various seventeenth-century Dutch cities. After a detailed study of these sections, then, this study will relate the first part’s findings to the historiography concerning religious toleration in the seventeenth-century. This paragraph will help contextualise the first part of the study, for collective and urban identity are closely connected to the practice of ‘toleration’. As we shall see, in some instances, certain stakeholders appropriated broad and inclusive religious identities - all for the sake of internal politics and the ‘management’ of the various religious identities existing within the cities of the young Republic.
A selection of chorographies concerning the following cities and regions will be examined: Haarlem, Utrecht, Nijmegen, Brabant and Amsterdam. In their own rights, each and every one of these cities make up for interesting case studies.
Haarlem has been selected for the changes its economic function went through during the seventeenth-century, especially in relation with neighbour and fierce competitor Amsterdam. Utrecht has been selected for its unique (former) status as diocese. Nijmegen has been selected for the duchy of Gelderland’s ancient ties with the Habsburg empire, and the clear Spanish and Catholic connotations that go with it. Amsterdam has been selected for its unique and economically prominent role as (internationally orientated) trade city.
The region of Brabant has been selected for its unique role in the Eighty Years War - the city wasn’t conquered until 1629, when Frederik Hendrik was stadholder and the 12 Year’s Truce had ended, and its unique disposition to function as a
‘counter-voice’ within the young Republic. This study’s analysis of political memory in the context of the Southern Netherlands will thus function as an oppositional view on the workings of political memory in the young Dutch Republic. As will be
demonstrated, the workings of political memory in Brabant clashed with some of the duchy’s political actions. The consequences of this assertion will influence this study’s outcome, as will become clear in the conclusion.
Considering the wildly varying histories of the cities and regions in question, contradictions as well as similarities can be analysed and contextualised. All together, this selection of case studies will be anything but exhausting. Nonetheless, it will
more than adequately give an overview of the links between urban identity and Catholicism in the young Republic, and ample opportunities for further research will be provided.
1. Haarlem and the legend of Damiate
Throughout much of its medieval history, Haarlem was the centre of a flourishing beer brewing and textile industry. Even during the Golden Age, Haarlem’s textile industry remained significant - although beer brewing declined. Throughout the thirteenth- and fourteenth-century, Haarlem was the second biggest city in the Netherlands, bigger than, for example, its neighbour and main competitor Amsterdam. Unsurprisingly, then, the modern day capital city of the province of North-Holland is often observed and judged in terms of its relationship with Amsterdam - today the capital city of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Perhaps for this reason, Haarlemmers seem to have been especially proud of the city rights that were granted to them as early as the year 1245 by count Willem II, and as seen in this study’s introduction, this observation holds true to this day - or at least it did in 1995. Throughout much of the Middle Ages, the city of Haarlem played a prominent economic role in the region. It wasn't until the supposed ‘Golden Age’ of the seventeenth-century that its close rival Amsterdam surpassed Haarlem in terms of demographics and economic importance. After the Duke of Alba’s arrival in the Low Countries in 1567, Spanish troops besieged Haarlem in 1572. In July 1573, the Haarlemmers saw themselves forced to surrender. Disgruntled by the longevity of the siege , the Spanish troops executed thousands of Dutch soldiers and civilians11. The viciousness of the slaughter, as well as the bravery of the Haarlemmers during the siege itself, would later be politically appropriated to justify Haarlem’s position within the newly formed Dutch Republic. Indeed, Haarlem’s authorities did their best to promote an heroic image12. The siege of Haarlem later also provided the context for two of Haarlem’s most well known heroes: Kenau Simonsdochter
Hasselaer and Wigbolt Ripperda. Hasselear, whose first name is still used in Dutch popular speech, was believed to have helped defend Haarlem’s city walls against Spanish troops. In 2014, a feature film about her life and deeds was released in the Netherlands. Wigbolt Ripperda, whose name would later appear on various public
11 For an expansive history of the city of Haarlem, see: Van der Ree-Scholtens, G.F. (red.). Deugd
Boven Geweld. Een Geschiedenis van Haarlem 1245-1995. Hilversum: Verloren, 1995 en Brokken,
Hans e.a. (red.). Hart voor Haarlem. Haarlem: Schuyt en Co uitgevers, 1995.
buildings in Haarlem, was the city’s governor, during the siege. It was believed he fought bravely before he was beheaded on Haarlem’s Grote Markt when the city was finally taken by the Spaniards.
Besides the siege of 1572, the legend of Damiate13 was another constitutive myth in seventeenth-century Haarlem. According to the legend of Damiate, a
contingent of crusaders deriving from Haarlem found itself halted by a massive, iron chain blocking the port of Damiate, Egypt, in 1219 C.E., during the Fifth Crusade. Unwilling to surrender, the Haarlemmers decided to prove their worth to the Christian cause by devising a cunning plan. Under the leadership of Willem I, count of Holland (1203 – 1222), the crusaders attached an iron saw to the forefront of one of their ships, and sailed towards the blockade at full speed. After bashing the chain with the saw, the blockade gave way to the crusaders, and finally, the legend states, heathen Damiate was conquered by the Christian armies, transforming the thwarted Fifth Crusade into an undeniable success.
The legend of Damiate was a versatile myth. Various, slightly different version of the narrative can be discerned14. Even in 1995, during the aforementioned
celebrations of Haarlem’s 750 years existence as holders of city rights, the local authorities appropriated the legend of Damiate by issuing special commemorative coins depicting the so called ‘Damiatte bells’ and special booklets reproducing the legend to children in schools. Indeed, during various times, the legend of Damiate has been appropriated by countless incarnations of the urban government in Haarlem. Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, the legend of Damiate has been the subject of various academic publications. Historian of Dutch Medieval literature Wim van Anrooij, for example, traced the origins of the legend of Damiate back to the Middle Ages15. In his study, Van Anrooij suggests that it is possible to attribute the original formulation of the legend of Damiate to either the chronicler Clerc uten Laghen Landen or the Medieval travelling poet Dirk Mathijszoon. In any case, Van Anrooij
13 Damiate, or ‘Damietta’, ‘Damiata’ or ‘Dumyat’, is a port city situated on the North coast of Egypt.
This paper will consistently use the Dutch spelling.
14 Van Molenbroek, Jaap. ‘De Ketting van Damietta, een Haarlems zaagschip en Willem I van
Holland. Over de wording en standaardisering van een kruistochtmythe’. In: Jaarboek voor Middeleeuwse Geschiedenis 14. Hilversum: Verloren, 2011. P. 113-149.
15 Van Anrooij, Wim. ‘Middeleeuwse sporen van de Haarlemse Damiate-legende’. In: Haarlems
suggests, it is highly likely the purpose of the original formulation of the legend of Damiate was to serve as an explanation for the design of the city of Haarlem’s coat of arms. All Medieval versions of the legend of Damiate, Van Anrooij shows, included a section explaining the aftermath of the Haarlem crusaders’ heroic display. During the aftermath, the story goes, Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor (1212-1220), was so pleased with the crusaders from Haarlem that he, along with the patriarch of Jerusalem and a collection of cardinals, decided to grant the city of Haarlem the privilege to bear an upwards facing sword (originally a Medieval symbol of the crusades and the crusaders), as well as five stars and a cross (again, a Medieval symbol of the crusades and the crusaders).
Historian of the Middle Ages Jaap van Moolenbroek further explored this suggestion in his article ‘De Ketting van Damietta, een Haarlems zaagschip en
Willem I van Holland. Over de wording en standaardisering van een kruistochtmythe’ and reached a similar conclusion. ‘Here,’ Van Moolenbroek argues, ‘The hypothesis is defended that the myth from Haarlem, not connected to count William in 1218-1219 but to squire William in 1188-1190, was an artificial myth that was created in the late fourteenth century around the urban emblem that later evolved to become the official coat of arms, a crest depicting a sword, cross and four stars.16’
As noted before, the legend of Damiate would go on to enjoy a rich Nachleben. Contrary to its initial Medieval incarnation, however, the legend of
Damiate has never been the subject of an extensive and exhausting study. Joke Spaans devoted a small section of Haarlem na de Reformatie to the political appropriation of the legend of Damiate during the late sixteenth- and seventeenth-century. In this monograph, Spaans suggests Haarlem’s urban government, eager as ever to uphold a sense of community between Protestants and Catholics in Haarlem, was motivated by the unifying potential of the crusading motive that’s undeniably part of the legend17. More or less in compliance with Spaans, Raingard Esser has argued that early modern chorographers of Haarlem incorporated the legend of Damiate in their work exactly because of the political motivations their works had: not only did the legend of Damiate tell the people of Haarlem they were brave, strong and courageous, it also
16 Van Molenbroek, ‘De Ketting van Damietta, een Haarlems zaagschip en Willem I van Holland’, p.
143.
signified to the other cities that were taking part in the Dutch Revolt that the city of Haarlem was a trustworthy and desirable brother in arms, possibly more so than Haarlem’s big rival and latecomer to the rebellion, the nearby city of Amsterdam18.
Much like the siege of 1572, the legend of Damiate plays a prominent role in Haarlem’s seventeenth-century chorographies. In the context of political memory and catholic heritage, these political appropriations of the legend of Damiate are
especially interesting. With the Pope, the Patriarch of Jerusalem and the notion of the crusade playing a huge role in its Medieval incarnation, the legend of Damiate has various undeniably catholic connotations. As such, it would be interesting to analyse the role of the legend of Damiate in Haarlem’s sixteenth-century chorographies, namely Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland: in Rym bearbeyd (1628) by Samuel Ampzing and Harlemias (1648) by Theodorus Schrevelius. If, as both Spaans and Esser suggested, the legend of Damiate was indeed appropriated for its unifying potential, then how did the authors of Haarlem’s chorographies treat the legend’s Catholic connotations? Surely, Ampzing and Schrevelius, as well as the authorities they worked for, walked a thin line by appropriating a legend about the pope and the crusades? Or is it perhaps too rash to make these assumptions?
1.1 The Calvinist version of the legend of Damiate. Samuel Ampzing and
Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem
Samuel Ampzing was born as the son of a Calvinist minister in 1590. In 1616, he anonymously published his De Lof van Haarlem. In 1621, an updated version of this poetic ode to his city was published, titled Het Lof der Stadt Haerlem in Hollandt, again anonymously19. Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland: in Rym bearbeyd, the book that would become his lasting legacy, was published in 1628, this time under Ampzing’s own name. The choreography was an extensive and eclectic work, incorporating poetry as well as descriptions and various visual depictions of Haarlem and various things related to Haarlem. Most of the poems are written in Latin, as well as in Dutch. Almost two hundred pages in the book are devoted to the
18 Esser, Raingard. The Politics of Memory. Leiden: Brill, 2012.
19 Langereis, Sandra. Geschiedenis als Ambacht. Oudheidkunde in de Gouden Eeuw. Arnoldus
aforementioned siege of Haarlem by the Spaniards in 1572. As one can tell by the extensive praise Haarlem’s urban government receives in the opening paragraphs of the book, Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Harlem in Holland was a politically appropriated work. It presented an ‘official’ narrative of Haarlem and its history. Ampzing devotes about ten pages to the legend of Damiate. In his descriptions of the course of events, Ampzing mentions the role the Holy Roman Emperor and the Patriarch of Jerusalem played in granting the people of Haarlem the right to depict an upwards facing sword and four stars in their urban emblem is mentioned. For
Ampzing, however, this back-story is not the Raison d'être of the legend of Damiate.
Rather, it’s merely a side note. Contrary to the Medieval descriptions and depictions of the legend, what is stressed in Ampzing’s version of the legend of Damiate is the role the united Christians (rather than Catholics or Protestants) played in the siege of Damiate. This assertion becomes most apparent in Ampzing’s explication of the crusaders motive. First, Ampzing explicates the crusaders motive by listing the ‘veel magtige potentaeten, ende heren’ (many mighty potentates, and lords) who took part in this particular crusade: the king of France, the king of England, the duke of Beijeren, the duke of Austria, the duke of Swaven, the duke of Brabant, the earl of Vlaanderen, and of course, Floris, the earl of Holland20. According to Ampzing, these potentates and lords joined forces in this ‘generaele kruyzvaert’ (general crusade) ‘om ’t Christenrijk te vermeren’ (to further the realm, or kingdom, of Christianity). The list of kings and lords contains catholic as well as protestant leaders. What’s more, the use of the adjective ‘general’ is meaningful, because it implies a united front. Indeed, according to Ampzing, Haarlem earned its emblem because they fought for ‘’t geloof’ (the religion)21.
Ampzing was careful, then, not to mention Catholicism explicitly in his descriptions of the legend of Damiate. In other sections of Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland in Rym bearbeyd, however, Catholicism in itself is a subject Ampzing investigates. Ampzing, who himself became a Calvinist minister in 1616, refuses to present a balanced view on the catholic church and the pope. He even goes so far as to demonstrate – through rather long and farfetched argumentations
20 Ampzing, Samuel. Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland. In Rym bearbeyd. Haarlem:
Adriaen Rooman, Ordinaris Stads-Boekdrucker (1628), p. 157-158.
concerning dates and other historical markers - that Christian teachings were taught in the Netherlands before the arrival of Willibrord – the Anglo-Saxon missionary usually associated with the Christianization of the Dutch territories. ‘Therefore,’ Ampzing states, ‘Christianity in these lands is older than the Papacy, which for many centuries after darkened, spoiled and destroyed Christianity here.’ (‘…en dat daerom het Christendom hier te lande ouder is dan het Pausdom, dat eerst veel eeuwen daer na het Christendom alhier verduysterd, verdorven, en vernietigd heeft.’) 22. At one point, Ampzing even describes the pope as ‘the anti-Christ’23.
Rather than merely a historian, Ampzing was first and foremost a Calvinist minister. But as was emphasised earlier in this paragraph, Ampzing was a political agent as well. While one gets the impression Ampzing was passionate in his disdain for Catholicism, he therefore had to walk a thin line. As was noted by Joke Spaans in her fundamental study Haarlem na de Reformatie. Stedelijke cultuur en Kerkelijk Leven, Haarlem’s seventeenth-century urban authorities attempted to keep in place a united society of faith through top down policies24. Thus, a common, civic identity took prominence over specifics of faith. Ampzing was simply not allowed to go too far in his criticism of Catholicism. He therefore made sure not to attack Haarlem’s Catholics personally. He also did his best to shine a positive light on Haarlem’s political authorities by highlighting their goodwill in dealing with Haarlem’s Catholics. The passages Ampzing dedicated to the conquest of Haarlem by Dutch troops in 1577 make this especially clear. While (drunken) soldiers committed various acts of aggression against Catholics and Catholic heritage, Ampzing argues, the urban government ultimately succeeded in maintaining order and civility (‘Dit waren kleyne beginselen van meerder beroerte, ja van bloedkostinge. Evenwel is datmael zulke orde gesteld, datter dat gehele jaer geen onheyl nochte zwarichheyd is ontstaen’)25.
Indeed, while implementing vehemently anti-Catholic discourse, even going so far as to rewrite history, Ampzing carefully denies the following parties any blame: Haarlem’s Catholics and the city’s political authorities. If anything, this last group is to be praised, especially when it comes to their benevolent treatment of Haarlem’s
22 Ampzing, Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland: in Rym bearbeyd, p. 418. 23 Ampzing, Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland: in Rym bearbeyd, p. 443. 24 Spaans, Haarlem na de Reformatie.
Catholics. As such, Ampzing frames his description of the legend of Damiate within politically regulated anti-Catholic discourse.
1.2 A humanist history. Theodorus Schrevelius and Harlemias
Theodorus Schrevelius, born in 1572 as Theo Schrevel, was a humanist writer and poet. His family was on friendly terms with Samuel Ampzing, and some of
Schrevelius’ had positions in Haarlem’s urban government. In 1647, Schrevelius published his Latin chorography of Haarlem, Harlemum. In 1648, a Dutch translation of the book was published, titled Harlemias. It is unclear whether Harlemias’
publications had anything to do with the signing of the Peace of Münster in 1648, but generally, chorographies would sometimes be published as a mark of celebration26. The legend of Damiate appears Harlemias’ frontispiece, in the form of an illustration of a knight and a woman clutching a crest depicting Haarlem’s coat of arms, standing on a ship with a metal saw attached to its front. Possibly, the legend of Damiate was a known and possibly famous story amongst Haarlem’s political elite in 1648.
Harlemias’ textual description of the legend of Damiate is about three pages long27. The narative focusses on the bravery and intelligence of the Haarlemmers who took part in the siege of Damiate. The legend is introduced with an explicit reference to pope Alexander III, who, together with Holy Roman Emperor Frederick, called for the crusade out of ‘zeal for the Popish religion’ (‘ijver van de Pausche Religie’)28. This reference seems like an odd one out. While describing the legend of Damiate, Schrevelius hardly uses any explicit references to catholic elements. Much like Ampzing did before him, Schrevelius tends to emphasise the unity of Christianity during the crusade. ‘The Princes and Monarchs of the whole of Christianity…’ (‘De Princen en Monarchen van gansch Christendom…’)29, he writes in one passage, and in another: ‘De doorluchtighe mannen van het geheele Christendom’ (‘The
illoustrious men of the whole of Christianity’)30.
26 Esser, The Politics of Memory, p.2.
27 Schrevelius, Theodorus. Harlemias. Haarlem: Joannes Marshoorn (1648). P. 40 – 42. 28 Schrevelius, Harlemias, p. 39.
29 Schrevelius, Harlemias, p. 40. 30 Schrevelius, Harlemias, p. 39.
Contrarily, the Holy Roman Emperor and the Patriarch of Jerusalem, get multiple mentions. Schrevelius agrees with those authors who went before him that it was them who granted the people of Haarlem the right to depict an upwards facing sword and four stars in their urban emblem. However, Schrevelius uses even more explicit terms than Ampzing when it comes to classifying these honours as
specifically ‘Christian’. ‘After these Christian words of gratefulness,’ Schrevelius writes (‘Nae dese Christelijcke danckzegginghe…’)31. The classification of ‘Christian’ (rather than an adjective that implies religious duality) is significant, especially in light of the long passages in Harlemias dedicated to the classification of Catholicism as a form of belief consisting of a collection of superstitions.
In these anti-catholic passages, Schrevelius truly shows his humanist
inclination. Indeed, Schrevelius writes that it’s not just catholicism his readers should see as a ‘mistake’ belonging to they past - as Ampzing does in Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland, but indeed the entire Middle Ages. This view was not uncommon in humanism. Starting with Petrarca in the 1330s, classifying the Middle Ages as a ‘dark’ was common practice. The term ‘the Dark Ages’ became a
conceptual framework for the Middle Ages defined by a supposed deterioration of culture, science and economy following the decline of the Western-Roman Empire in Europe. One finds an example of humanist discourse in Schrevelius’ work in the descriptions of the history of the Sint-Bavo church, located on the central square Grote Markt in Haarlem. The construction of the church, Schrevelius writes, was in part financed by ‘popish indulgences’ (‘pauselijke aflaten’)32. Following this
statement, Schrevelius explains the definition of indulgences, and makes sure to let the reader know that practices of simony belong to the past, again using the word ‘darkness’ (‘duisternis’)33.
Thus, Schrevelius shifts blame from ‘catholics’ and ‘Catholicism’ to the all encompassing timeframe of ‘the Dark Ages’. This tactic allows Schrevelius to walk the thin line between criticism of the catholic church as an institution and the political need for a narrative about the unity of Christianity. ‘…those poor people who lived in the darkness of the papacy’ (‘…die arme menschen die in duysternis van het pausdom
31 Schrevelius, Harlemias, p. 41. 32 Schrevelius, Harlemias, p. 20. 33 Schrevelius, Harlemias, p. 20.
toen leefden’)34, Schrevelius writes. Much like Ampzing, Schrevelius makes sure not to blame Haarlem’s catholics or Haarlem’s political authorities for any grief or harm.
2. Cornelis Booth and the former diocese of Utrecht
The history of Utrecht can be traced back to Roman times, when the city was merely a Roman settlement in proximity of the Northern Roman limes. Thanks to this Roman history, Utrecht has played a role in various incarnations of the myth of the Batavian rebellion - a myth about a supposed heroic origin and rebellious nature of the people deriving from the Netherlandish regions, often politically appropriated in the
seventeenth century Republic35. During the Middle Ages, Utrecht functioned as a sort of centre of the Northern Netherlands. It was also one of the most prosperous cities outside of the province of Holland.
It is perhaps telling that the myth of the Batavian rebellion would take political prominence over another famous history associated with Utrecht: that of the early-medieval missionary Willibrord and the christening of the Netherlandish region, for even in the current day and age, Utrecht is known for its history as a Catholic diocese. This history began somewhere in the eighth-century, when the first bishop of Utrecht took up position. From the ninth-century onwards, Charlemagne’s reorganisations of his empire’s dioceses would serve as a blueprint for the temporal configuration of the Northern Netherlands. Spurred on by political circumstances, Philips II made Utrecht into an archbishopric in 1559, although by then, a process of reformation was already in process. In the Sixteenth-century, however, when the city’s function as diocese was still prominent, Utrecht counted five large collegiate churches, four parish churches, an abbey, a béguinage, 24 monasteries and 21 guesthouses.
However, the city of Utrecht was not able to fully escape the clutches of the Reformation. Throughout the course of the late seventeenth-century, various
manifestations of Catholic (physical) heritage were destroyed. In 1586, for example, the Oudemunsterkerk was demolished. What’s more, a variety of preachers,
34 Schrevelius, Harlemias, p. 20.
35 For more on the Batavian myth and its political function in the Dutch Republic, see: Schama, The
Embarrassment of Riches, p. 200-202, and; Swinkels, Louis (ed.). De Bataven. Verhalen van een Verdwenen Volk. Amsterdam: De Bataafsche Leeuw, 2004.
politicians and professors of Utrecht’s university were active promoting Protestant views through publications like Calvinist writer Arnold Buchelius’ (1565-1641) Diarium. It is known that in the course of the second part of the seventeenth-century, a radical form of Protestantism (the so called ‘Nadere Reformatie’, which was inspired by English Puritanism) gained at least some popularity in Utrecht36. Indeed, despite the city’s history, it’s difficult to call seventeenth-century Utrecht a bastion of the catholic faith. As is so often the case with cities in the Dutch Republic, however, it is equally difficult to call the city of Utrecht a Protestant place, as matters of religion and religious divisions were as complex in Utrecht as they were in the rest of the Republic.
Cornelis Booth (1605-1678) was a writer, preacher, doctor and politician from Utrecht37. He was the grandson of Cornelis Booth Janszoon, who lived in exile for a period of time because of his affiliations with the Reformation. Via two marriages, he became affiliated with the influential families Nellesteyn and Van Wijckersloot. Eventually, Booth’s career would see him become the mayor of Utrecht. He also occupied multiple positions in Utrecht’s church council - which had a very close relation to the city council. In 1648, Booth published his chorography Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht, and again in 1651. Later, during the French occupation of Utrecht in 1672, Booth would refuse to flee the city, prefering to give the French invaders a warm welcome. According to popular belief, he even attempted to attach a crest depicting the French coat of arms to Utrecht’s city gates.
Like various other chorographies (some of them mentioned in this study), Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht was published in 1648. It’s likely that this popular publication year was no coincidence: 1648 was the year of the Peace of Münster, which saw the Dutch Republic come into being officially. In 1651, Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht was published again. Both editions of the book were published together with an engraving of a profile of the city of Utrecht titled Aertsbisdom Utrecht
36 Van Lieburg, F.A. ‘De receptie van de Nadere Reformatie in Utrecht’. In: De zeventiende eeuw.
Jaargang 5, 1989. p. 121-125.
37 For a complete description of Booth’s life and career, see: Utrechts archief.
http://www.utrechtsarchiefnet.nl/zoeken?mivast=1535&mizig=210&miadt=39&miaet=1&micode=759 &minr=2615612&miview=inv2&milang=nl. Laatst geraadpleegd: 21-04-2013.
(‘diocese Utrecht’) created by illustrator Adam van Vianen (circa 1569-1627)38. Furthermore, the book’s appendix contains various illustrations of imperial edicts and monograms of Holy Roman Emperors. Comprised of 25 pages of actual text,
Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht is relatively short compared to other chorographies analysed in this study. The text mainly focusses on a physical description of Utrecht (‘…een seer oude, vermaerde ende heerlijcke Stadt’39) and on the city’s history. In a certain way, certain stylistic characteristics of the text may remind one of a walking tour of the city. Many of the locations Booth describes are discernible even today, such as ‘Sinte Cathrijnen’, ‘Tollestege’, ‘Pijlsweerd’ en ‘Palemaillebaan’. Although not in the broad scope of the works of Samuel Ampzing and Theodorus Schrevelius, Booth also makes sure not to neglect Utrecht’s elite by designating almost a quarter of a page to a list all of Utrecht’s most prominent families40. The stately homes connect to these families are, according to Booth, a ‘een hoogh-achtbaer teecken van de oude deftigheyd, ende deftige oudheydt deser Stadt’41. What’s more, Booth far from ignores the achievements of Utrecht’s urban
government. The public library, he writes, has a ‘ample ende heerlijcke voor-raed van Boecken … dat diergelijcke niet alleen in Neder-landt, maer oock in vele
Vorstendommen ende Rijcken noyt gesien is’42.
Various historical actors (including Charles V and Philips II) are explicitly mentioned in the text. In some passages, these actors are mentioned because they played a relevant and notable role in the narrative Booth unfolds. In other cases, however, a certain measure of simple name-dropping seems to be going on. In the book’s opening paragraph, for example, Booth goes out of his way to name various Roman emperors when describing the city of Utrecht’s history as a Roman
settlement43. Presumably, Booth does this to add more weight and authority to his story. But while Booth devotes plenty of attention to the role the bishops of Utrecht
38 Van Vianen, Adam. Aertsbisdom Utrecht, 1598. In: Universiteitsbibliotheek Utrecht, Bijzondere
Collecties.
39 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 1. 40 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 5. 41 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 11. 42 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 12. 43 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 1.
played in the city of Utrecht’s history, ecclesiastical authorities are not explicitly named: rather, they are referred to as ‘the bishops’44. In this way, Booth presents the
Catholic sway over his beloved city of Utrecht as some sort of broad, abstract, and - perhaps most importantly - external influence.
This is most apparent in the passage in which Booth opposes the broad category of ‘the bishops’ and the ‘free city of Utrecht’45. Speaking of various instances of misconduct of the bishops (like simony), Booth writes of Utrecht: ‘De welcke, als een vrije stadt, van outs ’t recht ende gewoonte had van, buyten den bisschop, ofte iemand anders, hear eygen magistraat te bestellen, Wetten ende ordonnantien te maken, niet alleen in politie, maar lock in Justitie, zo civiel, als crimineel, ja zonder verder beroep, te wijzen bij arrest, alsmede geleyde binnen der mijlen te geven, gratie te verlenen, munten te slaan, en evaluate van gelde te maken, oorloge te voeren, en die te zoenen of vrijde te sluiten.’46. By listing all of Utrecht’s supposed rights and privileges, Booth is attempting to make clear that Utrecht’s decision to join the Dutch rebellion in their fight against the Spanish empire was anchored in official, juridical rights. Booth is also trying to incorporate multiple perspectives on Utrecht’s history in one sentiment. Yes, Utrecht was a diocese, he seems to be saying, but first and foremost it was a free city. Therefore, they deserve their place in the Dutch union.
Thus, it is easier for Booth to appropriate Utrecht’s ecclesiastical and Catholic history as something that is worth representing, especially in the context of the Dutch rebellion. By shrouding this part of Utrecht’s history with rhetoric about urban rights and freedom, Booth refrains from ignoring it, but at the same time, he doesn’t let it take precedence of factors more important for the young Dutch Republic and its rebellion against the Spanish empire - the city of Utrecht’s prominent and privileged foundation. In Booth’s account, Utrecht is first and foremost a free city and a space defined by its noble citizens. If anything, the city has done its best to accommodate the misbehaving bishops - as far as civility allowed it. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht’s identification with the Dutch rebellion is explicated in passages glorifying the so called Union of Utrecht, a treaty that would later come to serve a symbolic role
44 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 1. 45 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 4-7. 46 Booth, Cornelis. Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht. Utrecht, 1651. p. 4.
as one of the Republic’s constitutive documents.
This sentiment also explains, in large measures, Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht’s appropriation of Adam van Vianen’s engraving titled Aertsbisdom Utrecht (‘diocese Utrecht’). As was decided by the city of Utrecht’s urban authorities in an official ruling47, this engraving was published as part of Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht’s second edition in 1651. It maps the city of Utrecht and its immediate surroundings in detailed fashion, and it also provides an illustration of the city of Utrecht’s profile (a view of the city from a horizontal perspective). At the centre of this profile is Utrecht’s famous Dom-tower. As if to emphasise this famous tower even more, a banner bearing the text Aertsbisdom Utrecht or ‘diocese Utrecht’ is pictures right above the tower. As argued before, Beschryvinge der stadt Utrecht’s text makes it possible to make such an appropriation. In the book, Booth makes it clear that Utrecht is first and foremost a respectable and free city, home of countless honourable and free citizens. In this context, its (past) status as a diocese is something to be proud of. Utrecht did its best to accommodate to the bishops, but put a stop to things when matters reached beyond the good intentions of their control over matters - or so the narrative developed by Booth argues.
In turn, Utrecht’s identity as a free city tied in with the popular early modern myth of the Batavians, which was closely connected to the Republic’s master
narrative of rebellion as a means to freedom from oppressors. According to the myth of the Batavians (a tribe inhabiting the region that would later form the Republic), first appropriated when Tacitus’ texts were rediscovered in the sixteenth-century, the Dutch had a history of standing up nobly to unfair oppressors: much like the
Republicans and their fight against the Spanish empire, the Batavians, motivated by their intrinsic thirst for freedom, had fought the Romans. In this capacity, this myth was a popular target of sixteenth-century political appropriation - most famously, of course, in the form of Rembrandt’s famous oil painting The Conspiracy of Claudius Civilis48. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Batavians would make their appearance in the (political) contexts of various chorographies as well49.
47 Unknown author. ‘Dwalen door Utrecht rond 1650’. In: http://bc.library.uu.nl/nl/node/635. Last
reviewed: 11-05-2014.
48 Swinkels e.a., De Bataven. 49 Esser, The Politics of Memory.
3. The Republic’s oldest city. Nijmegen, the Batavians and Johannes Smetius’
Oppidum Batavorum
As the following analysis will show, Johannes Smetius’ chorography Oppidum Batavorum, first published in 1644, politically appropriated the myth of the Batavians in part because of its potential to circumvent Catholic aspects of the city of
Nijmegen’s past50. What’s more, as Nijmegen was a city that liked to pride itself - more so than Utrecht - on its history as a Roman settlement (indeed, ‘the Netherlands’ oldest city’ is a phrase that is still used by histories of Nijmegen51), it was up to Oppidum Batavorum to consolidate two seemingly conflicting mythologies. On the one hand, Smetius admired the Roman Empire and - in true Humanist fashion - Antiquity on the whole. On the other hand, his book had to be incorporated in the master narrative of the Dutch Republic and the Batavian myth. The Batavians were, of course, the enemies of Rome and in any analogy, the Romans would have to be comapred with the Spanish.
Nijmegen (or ‘Gemina’), established in the area between the rivers Waal and Rhine, was founded by the tenth Roman legion in the first century B.C.52. It quickly developed into a city. In the late eighth-century, Charlemagne made Nijmegen into an imperial city and one of the headquarters of his Frankish empire. A series of
noteworthy buildings was constructed, including the famous Valkhof, an imperial residence, and a small cathedral. In 1364, the city joined the Hanseatic League, and thus began to play a role in international trade. As a reluctant member of the Holy Roman Empire, the city of Nijmegen was involved in various disputes with its German overlords. In 1230, Nijmegen received the title ‘Free Imperial City’ from emperor Frederick II.
From the outset of the conflict, the city of Nijmegen was heavily involved in
50 Oppidum Batavorum was published in Latin in Amsterdam in 1644. Until 1999, it was not translated
into Dutch by A.A.R. Bastiaensen, S. Langereis and L.G.J.M. Nellissen. This study will make use of this translation and refer to the following publication: Langereis, Sandra. Nijmegen, Stad der Bataven. Nijmegen: Museum Het Valkhof, 1999.
51 Kuys, Jan and Bots, Hans (ed.). Nijmegen. Geschiedenis van de Oudste Stad van Nederland.
Wormer: Inmerc, 2005.
the Eighty Years’ War. In 1576, the city joined the rebellion, but in 1585, it returned to Spanish control. In 1591, Dutch rebel forces managed to retake the city, and since then, it remained part of the Dutch Republic. But the war had already taken its toll. Much of Nijmegen’s economic power was lost as the city was isolated from its hinterland, which remained in Spanish hands - at least initially53. Furthermore, a gigantic exodus took place, as countless catholic and protestant citizens left the city in search for better opportunities. In response, the city of Nijmegen’s urban authorities actively attempted to attract immigrants from neighbouring regions. After the Spanish conquest of Aachen by general Spinola in 1614, for example, a mass exodus of textile workers arrived in the city - many of whom descendant from those who left the city only a decade earlier. The magistrates were sure to offer anyone citizenship and guarantee them free practice of their trades. In 1623, however, immigrating Catholics were excluded54.
Born in 1590 in Aachen, Johannes Smetius was, together with his family, amongst this wave of immigration55. Smetius’ father, Johann Smith, was a successful textile merchant, and as such, Smetius was prepared for an academic career from a very young age. At the Gymnasium Illustre in Harderwijk, where he was taught by Amsterdam’s famous chorographer Johannes Pontanus, whom he befriended, Smetius studied the Humanist Trivium. In Geneva and Heidelberg, Smetius later completed his education as a calvinist minister. After a Grand Tour through France and England, Smetius became a minister in Sittard in Friesland, and returned to Nijmegen in 1617, when a vacancy at St. Steven’s church arose. He married Johanna Brouwers, the daughter of a printer from Nijmegen. In Nijmegen Smetius started devoting less and less time to his work as calvinist minister - although he was still involved in church and city politics - and more time on his studies of the past. Especially Nijmegen’s Roman history seemed to interest Smetius, who was an avid (Roman) coin collector. In 1644, Smetius’ chorography Oppidum Batavorum was published. The book was commissioned by Nijmegen’s urban government, who had given Smetius a
53 Esser, The Politics of Memory, p. 138.
54 Prak, Maarten. ‘The Politics of Intolerance. Citizenship and Religion in the Dutch Republic’. In:
Po-Chia Hsia en Van Nierop, Henk (red.). Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. P. 159-176.
sabbatical and 300 guilders - as well as a lifelong pension of 150 guilders per year - to complete the work. The book was very well received in intellectual circles. Marcus Boxhoorn and Constantijn Huygens wrote poems lauding the book, and Haarlem’s chorographer Petrus Scriverius wrote a letter of recommendation. As briefly outlined in the introduction to this paragraph, one of Oppidum Batavorum’s most obvious aims was to contribute to the debate surrounding the role of the Germanic tribe of the Batavians in the history of the Dutch people and the Netherlandish regions, thus contributing to the master narrative of the young Dutch Republic.
As was often the case with foundational myths like the myth of the Batavians, Smetius’ contribution to this debate was not without any political interest. Oppidum Batavorum was partly a political appropriation of memory. This is made especially clear in the early sections of the book, where a political agenda is clearly set out. Near the end of the book, Smetius even included a quote from a letter his personal friend Christiaan Huygens wrote him [translated from Dutch]:
‘You have collected such a wonderful abundance of old coins and other everyday objects that you can persuade those who are not convinced by your beautiful Latin style with real Roman clasps, pierce them with pencils; keep them in chains, and, lastly overwhelm them with a whole armoury full of Roman weapons to force them to share your opinion and almost read on the ancient coins themselves, by the light of the ancient lamps, that only out of this city of the Batavians, by them alighted, Claudius Civilis has moved into Batavia.56’
But besides its apparent use outlined in the paragraph above (the Batavians, motivated by their intrinsic thirst for freedom, had fought the Romans like the Dutch fought the Spanish), what political function did the myth of the Batavians serve in Smetius’ Oppidum Batavorum?
3.1 The Batavian myth in Johannes Smetius’ Oppidum Batavorum As a historian and as an antiquarian, Smetius took great interest in the city of Nijmegen’s history as a Roman settlement. Besides Oppidum Batavorum, Smetius published many texts on Nijmegen’s history, most of them concerning Roman
influences on the city. What’s more, Smetius was a collector of Roman coins and artefacts. Because the areas surrounding Nijmegen were an important source of limestone (a raw material that became in demand during the Thirty Years’ War that raged in Gelderland’s neighbouring German provinces), Smetius was often invited to come and look at dug up items, and by 1620, Smetius’ had collected around 10.000 coins. In 1633, Smetius opened an exhibition in his house in Nijmegen. His guests included fellow politician Christiaan Huygens and stadholder Frederick Henry57. Smetius’ fascination Antiquity and ancient artefacts should, of course, be seen as part of his humanist inclination. Nonetheless, it’s fair to say Smetius was a fanatical collector.
In Oppidum Batavorum, Smetius discusses - as a true humanist scholar - the work of various classical authors, including Ptolemy, Ammianus Marcellinus and Pliny, all in order to find the exact location of the first Batavian settlement. This question was part of a larger debate on city versus countryside and the implications this had regarding the civility of the Batavians58. Deductions from aforementioned texts, as well as ‘evidence’ taken from his personal collection of archeological
findings, lead Smetius to the conclusion that Nijmegen must have been the Batavian’s first and most important town - and also the headquarter of Claudius Civilus, who led the Batavians in their rebellion against the Romans.
Not only was Nijmegen’s history as Batavian town meant to increase the city of Nijmegen’s status within the Dutch Republic, it also fitted the master narrative of the newfound nation and its struggle against the Spanish empire. In this narrative, Smetius’ beloved Romans played the role of the evil Spaniards the Dutch were rebelling against. As such, it is not surprising Smetius added a dedication to the city of Nijmegen’s urban authorities and to the Dutch Republic as a whole to Oppidum Batavorum’s opening page. Indeed, the book managed the thread a certain balance and presented a narrative worthy of political appropriation by both political
manifestations. But the Batavian myth also functioned within the theological narrative Smetius presents in Oppidum Batavorum.
According to Smetius, the province of Gelderland was not Christened by papal
57 Langereis, Sandra. ‘Inleiding’. In: Nijmegen, Stad der Bataven. Nijmegen: Museum Het Valkhof,
1999. P. 32-33.
initiatives, but by an indigenous ‘grass roots’ movement59. The Frankish king Clovis, who, according to historiography, played a major role in the christianisation of the Frankish empire, and thus of the European continent, was actually Batavian, if Smetius is to be believed. Therefore, Smetius argues - taking quite the intellectual leap - the Batavians were, in fact, early Christians60. In Oppidum Batavorum, Smetius extends this logic to the Romans and the Roman empire. As Tacitus noted, Smetius remarks, the Romans were worshippers of idols; something the Batavians refused to do. Thus, the Batavians were in fact proto-calvinists, while the religious practices of the Romans forewent the practices of Catholicism61.
Thus, Smetius expands the myth of the Batavians to not only fit within the master narrative of the rebelling Dutch Republic, but also to contribute to a debate about theological history. In Oppidum Batavorum, history is remodelled and
manifestations of catholicism are removed, and the Dutch, who are descendants of the freedom loving Batavians, are presented as proto-Calvinists. In this regard, Oppidum Batavorum offers a narrative strategy similar to Samuel Ampzing’s Beschrijvinge ende lof der stad Haerlem in Holland in Rym bearbeyd. There, Ampzing argues that Christian teachings were taught in the Netherlands before the arrival of Willibrord – the Anglo-Saxon missionary usually associated with the Christianization of the Dutch territories. Both chorographies generally present tolerant views on catholics, but not on Catholicism as an institution, and direct papal influences are denied in the narratives and histories presented in these chorographies. It seems as if certain
(catholic) elements of history were simply not desired in the newfound identity taking shape during the Eighty Years’ War.
3.2 Oppidum Batavorum, the Holy Roman Empire and the history of Christianity In the late eighth-century, the Frankish king and emperor Charlemagne took up residence in the city of Nijmegen. Consequently, it became one of the headquarters of the Frankish empire. Under Charlemagne’s initiative, a series of noteworthy buildings was constructed in Nijmegen, including the famous Valkhof, an imperial residence, and a small cathedral in the centre of the city. In 1230, Nijmegen received the title of
59 Esser, The Politics of Memory, p. 150.
60 Langereis, Nijmegen, Stad der Bataven, p. 102. 61 Langereis, Nijmegen, Stad der Bataven, p. 168.
Free Imperial City from emperor Frederick II. After joining the Hanseatic league in 1364, Nijmegen became a rather more reluctant member of the Holy Roman Empire. Nijmegen was involved in various disputes with its German overlords. The city became an important part of the duchy of Gelderland and became the capital of its administrative district within the duchy62.
An important factor in the history of Nijmegen was the city’s location and role in the Holy Roman Empire during the Middle Ages. In Oppidum Batavorum, the shared history of the Holy Roman Empire and Nijmegen is politically appropriated. In what ways, then, was this history fitted into the master narrative of the Dutch
Republic? And in what ways did Oppidum Batavorum emphasise or obscure the catholic elements one would usually associate with the notions of the Franks, the Holy Roman Empire and the Holy Roman Empiror - who was, in a myriad of possible ways, by definition connected to the pope and the Habsburg dynasty?
By and large, Oppidum Batavorum presented the role the city of Nijmegen had in the Holy Roman Empire as something to be proud of, but it also made sure it emphasised the duality of the relationship between Nijmegen and the Empire:
Nijmegen might have been subjected by the Holy Roman Empire, it did get the title of ‘Imperial City’ in return. Thus, Smetius argues in Oppidum Batavorum, Nijmegen achieved its status with the Emperor on merit, and it was not, in fact, subjugated. Nijmegen was a free city, and the relationship the city had with the Holy Roman Empire was mutually beneficial and therefore equal.
This sentiment is further explicated in passages in which Smetius compares the city of Nijmegen to Aachen - the famous residence of Charlemagne and the location of coronation of Holy Roman Emperors. By likening Nijmegen to Aachen, Smetius presented Nijmegen as a city amongst equals in its relationship to the rest of the Empire, and as a crown jewel in the Holy Roman Emperor’s possessions. As Raingard Esser made clear about Oppidum Batavorum’s representation of the Holy Roman Empire and the Holy Roman Emperor : ‘The main aim of this episode was to demonstrate both Nijmegen’s seniority and her traditional rights as an independent city which did not bow to any duke or ruler other than the Holy Roman Emperor, who
62 Kuys, Jan and Bots, Hans (ed.). Nijmegen. Geschiedenis van de Oudste Stad van Nederland.
