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Lot Essay
The story of the Calling of Saint Matthew is recounted in the three synoptic gospels. Matthew, or Levi, as he was known, was a publican who collected taxes and customs for ancient Rome at Capernaum. At the time, the money-broker profession was frequently condemned by the rabbinate, as it was understood to be corrupt and mainly practiced by sinners. The scriptures relate that one day, while Matthew was seated at his office, Jesus approached him and said `Follow me’. Without hesitation, Matthew arose and became one of the twelve apostles. By the late Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, Christ’s ability to inspire a man to abandon his infatuation with money and worldly possessions was considered to be more extraordinary than Christ’s many miraculous acts of healing (see B. Wallen, Jan van Hemessen. An Antwerp Painter between Reform and Counter-Reform, Ann Arbor, 1983, pp. 67-8). Desiderius Erasmus (1466-1536) described the event in these terms in his Paraphrases of the New Testament, and later followed St. Jerome’s commentary on this biblical episode, specifying that the beautiful face and voice of Christ exuded an awesome power on his disciples comparable to that of a magnet pulling iron rings (ibid.). The artist responsible for the present panel likely had this passage in mind when he painted the figure of Christ, who appears bathed in light and whose alabaster skin distinguishes him from the ruddy complexions of all of the other figures in the composition.
Though the subject of the Calling of Saint Matthew appeared in manuscript illuminations for some time prior to the early sixteenth century, it was only in the 1530s that Netherlandish artists began to treat the subject on a large scale (ibid., p. 68). One of the first to do so was Marinus van Reymerswaele, the fascinating but mysterious painter from Zeeland who specialized in genre scenes in the tradition of Quentin Metsys. Marinus, along with his workshop and followers, painted several versions of The Calling of Saint Matthew, the earliest of which is likely the panel in the Thyssen-Bornemisza National Museum, Madrid (see C. Seidel in C. Seidel, ed., Marinus: Painter from Reymerswale, exhibition catalogue, Madrid, 2021, pp. 88-90, no. 1). The upsurge in popularity of this subject was due in no small part to the influx of wealth into Antwerp, which had only recently become one of Europe’s leading economic centers. Throughout the fifteenth century, Bruges had been firmly established as an international capital for trade and commerce. By the end of the century, however, the Zwin channel, which led from the sea directly into the city, had begun to silt up, resulting in the route becoming increasingly impassable for merchant ships. Consequently, the main economic activity of the Netherlands shifted to Antwerp. A significant portion of this new wealth was produced by money-brokering and currency trading, driven by German bankers, Flemish burgher moneychangers and Lombard pawnbrokers, who had set up a major, nearly completely unregulated marketplace in the city. The locus for this was the famous Antwerp Bourse. With this newfound prosperity came a preoccupation with its spiritual consequences.
As with Marinus’s painting in the Thyssen collection, the present painting shows Christ and several of his apostles approaching Matthew, who stands at the counter of his office, surrounded by papers, coins and other objects of his trade. On the column hangs a plaque with an inscription marking the three places in the New Testament where the Calling of Matthew is recounted. As in the Thyssen painting, the inscription employs numbers for the chapters and letters for the verses, following the format used prior to the Council of Trent, though here the names of the books have become illegible, perhaps suggesting that the painter did not fully understand their purpose: ``IM 9.a / IIIII.2.b / ***.5.f’ [Matthew 9:9, Mark 2:14, and Luke 5:27-28].
In the recent monographic exhibition dedicated to Marinus held at the Museo del Prado, Madrid in 2021, Christine Seidel cited three variants of the Thyssen composition (ibid., p. 90). The first was sold to the Prince of Liechtenstein in the seventeenth century as a work by Marinus and is still considered to be by his hand today. She specifies that the other two were painted by the same artist who produced a version of Marinus’s Saint Jerome in the Prado, Madrid (inv. no. P002653), who has been identified by Adri Mackor as Marinus’s workshop assistant, Jan van Remmerswale (figs. 1 and 2; Koninklijk Museum voor Shone Kunsten, Antwerp, inv. no. 425 and Kunsthalle, Hamburg, inv. no. 234; ibid., p. 90, note 10). As Seidel notes, while the position of Christ is virtually the same in all three paintings relative to the earlier version in Madrid, the figures of Matthew and the other Apostles differ in each of the three variants to such an extent that it is impossible to establish a chronology for them. Moreover, none of the three paintings appear to have been created from the same cartoon or copy of the Thyssen painting, but rather they seem to have been modeled after distinct, subsequent versions of Marinus’s painting, which allowed their authors to modify their compositions in slightly different ways. As a group, these paintings indicate that partial models and cartoons from Marinus’s workshop were accessible to diverse artists in his circle (for more on the circulation and afterlife of Marinus’s compositions, see C. Seidel, op. cit., pp. 24-27).
The present painting is closest to the aforementioned painting in Antwerp (fig. 1), particularly in the arrangement of the background figures, and as Seidel notes, was likely produced by an artist who had direct access to it, or to close copy of it, that has since been lost (loc. cit.). Yet this is not a direct copy, and certainly details also relate to the version in Hamburg (fig. 2), including the articulation of the figures of Christ’s right hand. Infrared reflectography of the present work (fig. 3) reveals that the underdrawing of the figures of Christ and Matthew is likely a tracing. The somewhat rigid lines that are used to delineate the basic contouring of the figures are closer in style to the underdrawing found in the works of Marinus’s associate or collaborator (presumably Jan van Remmerswale), as they approach his more densely applied, linear underdrawings that were executed in a liquid medium. Details such as the pronounced eyelid creases and the delineation of the lower eyelid and the tear duct, Christ’s long curled beard, and the ears in the underdrawing seem more closely related to this painter than to Marinus, including the few instances in which he used cartoons. The IRR also shows that this tracing merely served as a starting point, as several significant changes were then made. Most notably, the artist changed the shape of Christ’s beard, modified his profile and repositioned his fingers. He likewise altered Matthew’s face, significantly raising his eyes.
Whereas compositionally, the links to Marinus are clear, the execution of the painting is quite removed from him. Rather, the principal figures are stylistically much closer to the dynamic, angular figures favored by Pieter Coecke van Aelst. The distinctive treatment of the saint in green with a white beard and sharp, sloping nose who stand immediately to Christ’s left, is especially reminiscent of Coecke’s aesthetic.
The present painting is further distinguished from other known examples of this composition by the fact the entire scene has been enlarged to include a view of Antwerp harbor, as it appeared from the left bank of the river Scheldt. The execution of this part of the composition is stylistically distinct from that of the figures in the foreground, and suggests that like so many sixteenth century Netherlandish works, this painting was a collaboration between two artists. Notably, the same defensive walls and city gate appear in the background of another Calling of Saint Matthew in the Musées Royal des Beaux-Arts, Brussels (fig. 4; inv. no. 6087). As with the landscape in the Brussels painting reflects an awareness of the graphic technique of Herri met de Bles (c. 1510-after 1550) and is executed with a restrained palette that derives from Lucas Gassel (c. 1480-1568/9). Many scholars have recognized the initials `L.C.’ at the center of the Brussels painting, and have thus given this anonymous artist the placeholder name of `the Master L.C.’. More recently, others have argued that the similarity to these letters are coincidental and that the markings are simply the metal hooks used to secure the painting to the tree trunk next to Christ, and thus propose the artist should be known as the Master of the Brussels Calling of Saint Matthew (for more on this artist, see L. Serck, Henri Met de Bles et la peinture de paysage dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux avant Brueghel, Ph.D diss., Université Catholique de Louvain, 1990, VI, pp. 1252-58). Comparison of architecture in both the Brussels panel and the present work, with its bold outlines and fine treatment of the stonework, as well as the similar approach to painting the animated, minute figures on the shoreline, raises the possibility that they were both painted by the same Antwerp master.
Though the subject of the Calling of Saint Matthew appeared in manuscript illuminations for some time prior to the early sixteenth century, it was only in the 1530s that Netherlandish artists began to treat the subject on a large scale (ibid., p. 68). One of the first to do so was Marinus van Reymerswaele, the fascinating but mysterious painter from Zeeland who specialized in genre scenes in the tradition of Quentin Metsys. Marinus, along with his workshop and followers, painted several versions of The Calling of Saint Matthew, the earliest of which is likely the panel in the Thyssen-Bornemisza National Museum, Madrid (see C. Seidel in C. Seidel, ed., Marinus: Painter from Reymerswale, exhibition catalogue, Madrid, 2021, pp. 88-90, no. 1). The upsurge in popularity of this subject was due in no small part to the influx of wealth into Antwerp, which had only recently become one of Europe’s leading economic centers. Throughout the fifteenth century, Bruges had been firmly established as an international capital for trade and commerce. By the end of the century, however, the Zwin channel, which led from the sea directly into the city, had begun to silt up, resulting in the route becoming increasingly impassable for merchant ships. Consequently, the main economic activity of the Netherlands shifted to Antwerp. A significant portion of this new wealth was produced by money-brokering and currency trading, driven by German bankers, Flemish burgher moneychangers and Lombard pawnbrokers, who had set up a major, nearly completely unregulated marketplace in the city. The locus for this was the famous Antwerp Bourse. With this newfound prosperity came a preoccupation with its spiritual consequences.
As with Marinus’s painting in the Thyssen collection, the present painting shows Christ and several of his apostles approaching Matthew, who stands at the counter of his office, surrounded by papers, coins and other objects of his trade. On the column hangs a plaque with an inscription marking the three places in the New Testament where the Calling of Matthew is recounted. As in the Thyssen painting, the inscription employs numbers for the chapters and letters for the verses, following the format used prior to the Council of Trent, though here the names of the books have become illegible, perhaps suggesting that the painter did not fully understand their purpose: ``IM 9.a / IIIII.2.b / ***.5.f’ [Matthew 9:9, Mark 2:14, and Luke 5:27-28].
In the recent monographic exhibition dedicated to Marinus held at the Museo del Prado, Madrid in 2021, Christine Seidel cited three variants of the Thyssen composition (ibid., p. 90). The first was sold to the Prince of Liechtenstein in the seventeenth century as a work by Marinus and is still considered to be by his hand today. She specifies that the other two were painted by the same artist who produced a version of Marinus’s Saint Jerome in the Prado, Madrid (inv. no. P002653), who has been identified by Adri Mackor as Marinus’s workshop assistant, Jan van Remmerswale (figs. 1 and 2; Koninklijk Museum voor Shone Kunsten, Antwerp, inv. no. 425 and Kunsthalle, Hamburg, inv. no. 234; ibid., p. 90, note 10). As Seidel notes, while the position of Christ is virtually the same in all three paintings relative to the earlier version in Madrid, the figures of Matthew and the other Apostles differ in each of the three variants to such an extent that it is impossible to establish a chronology for them. Moreover, none of the three paintings appear to have been created from the same cartoon or copy of the Thyssen painting, but rather they seem to have been modeled after distinct, subsequent versions of Marinus’s painting, which allowed their authors to modify their compositions in slightly different ways. As a group, these paintings indicate that partial models and cartoons from Marinus’s workshop were accessible to diverse artists in his circle (for more on the circulation and afterlife of Marinus’s compositions, see C. Seidel, op. cit., pp. 24-27).
The present painting is closest to the aforementioned painting in Antwerp (fig. 1), particularly in the arrangement of the background figures, and as Seidel notes, was likely produced by an artist who had direct access to it, or to close copy of it, that has since been lost (loc. cit.). Yet this is not a direct copy, and certainly details also relate to the version in Hamburg (fig. 2), including the articulation of the figures of Christ’s right hand. Infrared reflectography of the present work (fig. 3) reveals that the underdrawing of the figures of Christ and Matthew is likely a tracing. The somewhat rigid lines that are used to delineate the basic contouring of the figures are closer in style to the underdrawing found in the works of Marinus’s associate or collaborator (presumably Jan van Remmerswale), as they approach his more densely applied, linear underdrawings that were executed in a liquid medium. Details such as the pronounced eyelid creases and the delineation of the lower eyelid and the tear duct, Christ’s long curled beard, and the ears in the underdrawing seem more closely related to this painter than to Marinus, including the few instances in which he used cartoons. The IRR also shows that this tracing merely served as a starting point, as several significant changes were then made. Most notably, the artist changed the shape of Christ’s beard, modified his profile and repositioned his fingers. He likewise altered Matthew’s face, significantly raising his eyes.
Whereas compositionally, the links to Marinus are clear, the execution of the painting is quite removed from him. Rather, the principal figures are stylistically much closer to the dynamic, angular figures favored by Pieter Coecke van Aelst. The distinctive treatment of the saint in green with a white beard and sharp, sloping nose who stand immediately to Christ’s left, is especially reminiscent of Coecke’s aesthetic.
The present painting is further distinguished from other known examples of this composition by the fact the entire scene has been enlarged to include a view of Antwerp harbor, as it appeared from the left bank of the river Scheldt. The execution of this part of the composition is stylistically distinct from that of the figures in the foreground, and suggests that like so many sixteenth century Netherlandish works, this painting was a collaboration between two artists. Notably, the same defensive walls and city gate appear in the background of another Calling of Saint Matthew in the Musées Royal des Beaux-Arts, Brussels (fig. 4; inv. no. 6087). As with the landscape in the Brussels painting reflects an awareness of the graphic technique of Herri met de Bles (c. 1510-after 1550) and is executed with a restrained palette that derives from Lucas Gassel (c. 1480-1568/9). Many scholars have recognized the initials `L.C.’ at the center of the Brussels painting, and have thus given this anonymous artist the placeholder name of `the Master L.C.’. More recently, others have argued that the similarity to these letters are coincidental and that the markings are simply the metal hooks used to secure the painting to the tree trunk next to Christ, and thus propose the artist should be known as the Master of the Brussels Calling of Saint Matthew (for more on this artist, see L. Serck, Henri Met de Bles et la peinture de paysage dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux avant Brueghel, Ph.D diss., Université Catholique de Louvain, 1990, VI, pp. 1252-58). Comparison of architecture in both the Brussels panel and the present work, with its bold outlines and fine treatment of the stonework, as well as the similar approach to painting the animated, minute figures on the shoreline, raises the possibility that they were both painted by the same Antwerp master.