Circular salver; silver-gilt; embossed and chased; raised circle on central boss with medallion engraved with arms and crest of Aspremont de Lynden and Reckheim; medallion surrounded by border of flowers and palmettes; broad band of twelve oval depressions divided by panel of guilloche pattern and reeded panel; broad flat edge with six panels representing Plagues of Egypt and Destruction of Pharaoh's Host; panels flanked by satyrs or female figures with baskets and groups of fruit between; inscribed.
This object was previously owned by Caroline-Yolande d'Aspremont Lynden, François-Charles-Gobert d'Aspremont Lynden, François-Maximilien d'Aspremont Lynden, Ferdinand-Charles d'Aspremont, Charles-Ernest-François d'Aspremont, Ferdinand-Maximilien-Henry de Lynden, Ferdinand de Lynden, Charles-Ernest de Lynden and Robert de Lynden, and collected and bequeathed to the British Museum by Ferdinand Anselm Rothschild.
How big is it?
47.5 cm wide, 47.5 cm high, 5.1 cm deep, and it weighs 3 kg
Detailed Curatorial Notes
Text fromTait 1988:-
Origin: Antwerp; 1546-7; unidentified maker's mark (formerly attributed to Joris Weyers).
(i) Assay mark for Antwerp, a crowned hand within a shield (R3 5020 (?)).
(ii) Antwerp date-letter, a Gothic N in a shield, thought to have been in use in the year 1546-7 (R3 5049).
(iii) The maker's mark, composed of two interlaced Vs and, above, a small crescent, within a shield-shaped punch; unidentified, although formerly presumed to be the mark of Joris Weyers (R3 5105).
Provenance [of WB.89 and WB.90]: Robert de Lynden, of the district of Liège, seigneur de Froidcourt, Vicomte de Dormael, Governor of the Castle and Marquisate of Franchimont (died 1610 and buried in the church of Theux, close to the Castle); under the terms of the joint will of Robert de Lynden and his wife, Marie d’Ingenieulandt, dated 3 March 1600, their possessions were divided between their two surviving children, Charles-Ernest and Anne; Charles-Ernest de Lynden inherited the ewer and basin, which is mentioned, for the first time, in his contract of marriage with Catherine de Rosey, signed in the house of her uncle in Liège and dated 13 June 1610: “Item, luy donne promptement un bassin d'argent doré avec son pot estimés a mille florins dc Brabant, à condition touttefois qu'il ne le pourra aliéner ains (c-à-d. : mais) qu'il demeurera pour son fils aisné, ou, à faute d'hoirs masles, à sa fille ainée.”
In their joint will, dated 23 March 1641, Charles-Ernest and his wife stipulated: “. . . finablement aurat encore ledit Ferdinand hors parte un bassin et aigier d'argent doré provenant de son grand’père et destinés à tousjours à l'avantage du plus aisné fils de la famille.”
By descent to the eldest son of Charles-Ernest, who was Baron Ferdinand de Lynden, grand mayeur de Liège (1656-74); he made a joint will with his wife, Marguerite-Isabelle de Rheede, dated 19 April 1660, leaving the ewer and basin to their eldest son, Maximilien-Henry, with the same injunction: “un bassin ct aigiere d'argent doré provenant de l'ayeul dudit sgr testateur et destiné à toujours à l'avantage du plus aisnez fils de la famille.”
Baron Ferdinand de Lynden died in 1674, but two years earlier his eldest son, Ferdinand-Maximilien-Henry, had married Ernestine-Constance-Isabelle, Comtesse de Suys, and in their marriage contract of 8 June 1672 it states: “Item aurat encor (qui luy doit suivre hors parte) un bassin et aiguière d'argent doré provenant de feu Messire Robert de Lynden son Ayeul, destiné à tousjours à l'avantage du plus aisné fils de la famille, le tout en conformité de la disposition testamentaire desdits Sgr Baron et de la feue Dame Baronne de Lynden, ses père et mère, sans aucune innovation.”
Because there was no male heir, the ewer and basin (together with the barony and title of Froidcourt) passed at the death of Ferdinand-Maximilien-Henry in 1689 to his brother, Charles-Ernest-François, Comte d'Aspremont Lynden, who died in 1705, having married Marie-Françoise-Agnès, a direct descendant of the first Comte de Reckheim (created in 1623).
By descent to their eldest son, Ferdinand-Charles (1689-1772), who became a Field-Marshal-General in the Imperial Army, colonel in Prince Eugene of Savoy's regiment of dragoons, a knight of the Golden Fleece, and chamberlain at the Hapsburg Court in Vienna. In his will, dated 3 May 1765 and made in Vienna, he states: “J'ajoute que le diplôme de la famille, un grand bassin d'argent doré avec son éguier à l'antique qui sont fidéicommis et par conséquent retourne(nt) au comte d'Aspremont Lynden de Barvaux, gouverneur de Franchimont, et à ses héritiers mâles, ont par moi été déposé(s) à l'archive de Reckhcim l’an mille sept cent cinquante, en présence du chanoine Holtacher, drossart Metyner, et receveur Libens.”
However, he also recognised in his will that he was the last of the Froidcourt branch of the family, since he himself had no children and his brother, Claude, had died without heirs. He named as his successor a cousin, Comte François-Maximilien d'Aspremont Lynden (1732-1814), head of the Barvaux branch of the family.
Confirmation that the ewer and basin were inherited by François-Maximilien is to be found in a letter to him from the head of the Reckheim branch of the family, dated 20 May 1775, announcing their despatch to the château of Barvaux-Condroz:
“Monsieur et cher Cousin,
Le Major Monsieur Moxhet votre agent et constitué général m'a remit la lettre que vous m'avés fait l'honeur, mon cher Cousin, de m'écrire en date du 9 de ce mois, et selon que vous me l'avés demandé, mon cher Cousin, je lui ai fait remettre dans toutes les formes, le 17 du courant, le bassin et aiguière, qui vous revenoient du Majorat de Froidcourt, aussi bien que le Diplôme de Votre Maison que feu Mr le Maréchal Lynden avoit laissé en dépot ici dans mes archives, je ne doute nullement qu'il ne vous remettra l'un et l'autre en bon état et tels qu'on les lui a remit ici. . . .”
The whereabouts of the ewer and basin are not recorded during the French Revolution of 1789 and the following years of war. However, as the French troops sacked the château of Barvaux-Condroz in 1794, it is probable that the ewer and basin, together with the most important family archives, may have been taken to Brussels, where Comte François-Maximilien had a residence, and so escaped the looting and general destruction. Subsequently, the family was re-established at the château of Barvaux-Condroz, and in 1858 the grandson, Comte François-Charles-Gobert d'Aspremont Lynden, is known to have died there and it was his widow (née Baronne Caroline-Yolande de Copis) who lent the ewer and basin to the Brussels National Exhibition in 1880, to the exhibition in Liège (L'Exposition de l'art ancien au pays de Liège, 1881) and to the exhibition in Brussels in 1888. She subsequently sold them to Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild and they joined his collection at Waddesdon Manor.
Commentary [of WB.89 and WB.90]: The ewer and basin were described in the 1880 Brussels Exhibition Catalogue as “Superbe travail de la renaissance italienne, XVIe siècle”, but there is no mention of the marks on either the ewer or the basin. By 1881 the Liège Exhibition Catalogue had included a description of both sets of marks on the bases but described the ewer and basin as “Superbe travail allemand du XVIe siècle'. The detailed documentation establishing the history of the ewer and basin from 3 March 1600 to the present day was not known until the archival researches of Jacques-Henry de la Croix were published in 1969. Although it was correctly stated in Read 1902 that they had come from the collection of Comte Aspremont Lynden, the earlier history was unknown and it was due to misinformation supplied to the British Museum by Comte Albert d'Aspremont Lynden after the First World War - no doubt based on the erroneous account published by Christophe Buthens (‘Les Annales de la Maison de Lynden’, Antwerp, 1626) – that it was stated in Dalton 1927 (p. 20) that the basin had been “given by the Empress Maria Theresa of Austria to Field-Marshal the Count d'Aspremont-Lynden after the Battle of Kolin (1757)”. There is no truth in this story.
The description of the basin in Read 1902 wrongly stated that the central boss was set with “a medallion engraved with the arms of Aspremont de Lynden and Reckheim”; the amended description in Dalton 1927 reads “the arms of Aspremont-Lynden”, but they should more correctly be described as the arms of the House of Lynden as borne in the late sixteenth century: gules, a cross or; the supporters, greyhounds rampant, argent, collared; and, above the mantling and the crowned helm, the crest: a greyhound sejant, collared. Neither the quality of the engraving nor the present method of attaching the armorial medallion to the boss looks original. Many of the original rounded 'claws' that held the medallion in position on the raised boss are still in situ, though some five or six 'claws' are broken off; however, none is serving any function today. The armorial medallion is, presumably, soldered into position and, although inconclusive, the evidence of the feeble engraving may indicate that the present medallion is a replacement for the lost original. However, in many cases the armorial medallion would, even in the sixteenth century, have been made separately - perhaps in a different workshop by a specialist engraver - and so the quality was not always comparable with the embossed and chased decoration of the basin. Furthermore, in the case of this basin's first owner, Robert de Lynden (died 1610), there is no evidence to indicate how he acquired the basin - nor, indeed, the ewer, which was clearly not made en suite (see discussion below) - and so, if he acquired the basin as booty during a successful military campaign, he might have removed the original medallion and added his own coat-of-arms to the boss, and the local craftsman available at the time might have been a mediocre engraver. It has not been possible to remove the present medallion and examine the reverse, nor indeed the method of attachment; consequently, no final conclusion can be reached.
The presence on the basin of six scenes depicting the Plagues of Egypt and the destruction of Pharaoh's army might seem a more appropriate iconographic programme for an ecclesiastical - rather than secular - piece of plate. The rich treasuries of abbeys and bishoprics contained plate of this kind and, in the upheavals of the second half of the sixteenth century, many fell prey to the looting zeal of the soldiery. However, during the first half of the sixteenth century the fashion for Court jewellery, plate and gold-mounted cups to be enamelled or embossed with Old Testament scenes relating to the theme of kingship and justice was prevalent in northern Europe; for example, the 1536 gold cover of the Markgraf Georg von Brandenburg-Kulmbach's agate cup in the Residenz in Munich, attributed to Melchior Baier of Nuremberg, has four such scenes, including the blinding of King Zaleukos and the Judgement of Solomon (Hans Thoma, ‘Kronen un Kleinodien’, Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1955, p. 22, pls 28-9; also Hayward 1976, p. 363, pls 275-6), while, in England, an entire class of Tudor Court jewellery of the 1530s and 1540s, heavily influenced by Flemish taste, incorporates many such scenes, including the Judgement of Daniel, the Judgement of Solomon and Esther before King Ahasuerus (see Hugh Tait, The girdle-prayerbook or “tablet, ‘Jewellery Studies’, II, Society of Jewellery Historians, 1985, pp. 29-32, fig. 1). Consequently, a secular dish with six scenes from the biblical story of Pharaoh could have been ordered by a Flemish patron at the cultivated court of Mary of Hungary, who reigned as 'Queen-Governess' of the Netherlands from 1531 to 1555 on behalf of her brother, the Emperor Charles V.
Fortunately, the three marks punched in the centre of the reverse of the basin are clear and unambiguous. Accompanying the Antwerp town-mark, the Antwerp date-letter in the form of a Gothic N (in a shield) establishes that the basin was finished and assayed in 1546-7, according to the current interpretation of the Antwerp date-letters by M. Piet Baudouin, formerly curator of the Provincial Museums of Antwerp. In a private communication he has stressed that, although there are many gaps and uncertainties, he regards this as one of the reliable changes that have been made as a result of studying the marks on pieces for which written sources provide external confirmation of the date. As recently as 1964 this basin with the arms of the house of Lynden was published (see Hayward 1964, p. 252) as bearing the Antwerp “Gothic "N" date-letter, probably for 1572/3”, although in Rosenberg 1928 it had been read as “1539-40 ?” - a shrewd new interpretation that apparently had not been communicated to the Museum because in Dalton 1927 it was catalogued as “about 1580”. M. Baudouin has established that the concordance of date-letter cycles in Antwerp before 1559-60, which had been worked out by the Abbé Crooy (‘L'Orfèvrerie réligieuse en Belgique’, Brussels, 1911, pp. 31-2) and incorporated in Rosenberg 1928, is misleadingly incorrect. In Hayward 1976 (p. 284), M. Baudouin's research is acknowledged and the date of the basin had been revised to read: “1546-7”.
The identification of the maker's mark on the basin is not yet established with complete certainty, although it has been published unequivocally as the mark of Joris Weyers (see Hayward 1976, p. 395, pls 591-2). Due to the French occupation under Napoleon at the end of the eighteenth century, all guilds were abolished and the touch-plates of the goldsmiths of Antwerp were among the many records that were destroyed at that time. A tiny fraction of the goldsmiths' archives has survived (in the Public Record Office of the city of Antwerp), and for the sixteenth century there is only an account book (‘Rekenboek’) for the years 1562-92, in which the names of the officers of the guild, the freemen and those apprentices whose fees were paid, together with some other details of expenses and income, are recorded. The search for firm documentary evidence prior to 1562 has met with only partial success and, in the case of the mark of Joris Weyers, the problem is still unresolved. Joris or Georgius Weyers (van de Wyer), who has been traced by M. Baudouin in the archives, was recorded as an officer (dean) of the Antwerp Guild in 1527-8 and was still being mentioned as late as 1568-9, when his wife died. He has also been traced in the archives of the Norbertine Abbey of Averbode - in 1536 (a book-cover), in 1539 (a valuation of the abbot's rings) and, again, between 1546 and 1549. Another abbot, Coenraet van Malsen (1529-49) of the Norbertine Berne Abbey in Heusden, near the River Maas just northwest of Den Bosch, is now thought to have commissioned Joris Weyers to make his crosier when he was installed in 1534; the crosier has survived and bears the Antwerp town-mark, the date-letter, a Gothic D (probably for 1536-7), and a maker's mark, the monogram IW in a shield (see Professor F. van Molle in ‘De Glans van Prémontré’, exhibition catalogue, Abbey du Parc, Heverlee/Leuven, 1973, no. 156). Even from the photographic evidence it is clear that the monogram IW mark is definitely not the same punch as on the Aspremont Lynden basin; indeed, it is a distinctly different mark, having a close resemblance, however, to the monogram IW mark on the Antwerp chalice in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (inv. no. 13, 222.2 ; Rogers Fund, 1913); the latter bears the date-letter O, perhaps for 1522-3. The marks on the chalice are clearly struck and seem even less ambiguous than those on the crosier; the maker's mark is certainly not the same punch as the goldsmith used on the Aspremont Lynden basin. Of the three, the latter is the only one to have this distinctive form of W created by using a double V (interlaced) and to have the tiny crescent or C above the W (as reproduced in Rosenberg 1928, R3 5105, and based on the line drawing in Read 1902, p. 43, which is not misleading). The latter, therefore, cannot easily be interpreted as part of Joris Weyers' monogram IW, as suggested.
In conclusion, it remains an open question whether it was Joris Weyers who used the punch-mark that is found on the crosier of Abbot Coenraet van Malsen - all the records of the Norbertine Abbey of Berne were destroyed in 1572. Similarly, the undocumented chalice in New York and the Aspremont Lynden basin may - or may not - be part of the oeuvre of Joris Weyers, but if all three pieces are correctly attributed to this goldsmith, then he undoubtedly used a second - and totally different - punch-mark when in 1546-7 the basin was hallmarked in Antwerp.
The style of decoration on the basin, except for the six biblical scenes in the oval reserves, is avant-garde, the creation of a goldsmith imbued with the latest vocabulary of Mannerist ornament and using it with a sophisticated ease and dexterity that is difficult to parallel except for the Aspremont Lynden ewer itself, and the Founder's Cup at Emmanuel College, Cambridge - both are works of the greatest virtuosity but, unfortunately, not of precise certain date. The Founder's Cup, given to the College by Sir Walter Mildmay (died 1589), bears a maker's mark (a lion-mask), the Antwerp town-mark and an uncertain date-letter (see Hayward 1976, p. 396, where it is dated “mid-16th century”); the latter had, however, been read as “1541-2” (see ‘Cambridge Plate’, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, 1975, p. 23, no. sc6). More reliably identified is the date-letter for 1557-8 on the beautiful Mannerist Antwerp standing-cup, with the Triumph of Neptune and Amphitrite embossed around the tall bowl, in the Schatzkammer of the Residenz, Munich (see H. Brunner, ‘Schatzkammer der Residenz München’, 3rd edn of the Catalogue, Munich, 1970, p. 242, no. 572; also Hayward 1976, p. 397, pl. 611). Although the maker's mark (a pair of compasses, R3 5103) is different from the maker's monogram mark on the Aspremont Lynden basin, the technical and stylistic similarities are striking, particularly in the use of very similar Mannerist ornament on the bowl and on the foot of the cup.
For the Antwerp goldsmiths in the 1540s and 1550s, the most talented and readily available source for these Mannerist ornamental motifs was, undoubtedly, the work of a Flemish artist, Cornelis Bos (born at 's Hertogenbosch c. 1510, died in Groningen 1556). His training in Rome in the 1530s brought him into close contact with engravers such as Marcantonio Raimondi and Agostino Veneziano. Their influence, combined with his awareness of the major contributions to Manneristic art by the artists of the Fontainebleau school, led Cornelis Bos to become the first engraver to introduce the new repertoire of fully fledged, and often eccentric, Mannerist ornament into Antwerp. He had returned there in 1540 and during the next three years he produced numerous sets of engraved designs (for a comprehensive examination of this early phase, see S. Schéle, ‘Cornelis Bos: a study of the origins of the Netherlands grotesque’, Stockholm, 1965; for a general survey of the contribution of the French artists, see H. Zerner, ‘The School of Fontainebleau, etchings and engravings’, New York, 1969). Consequently, it is not surprising that the motifs on the border of the 1546-7 Aspremont Lynden basin, with its satyrs and nymphs within the strapwork and the suspended open 'baskets' of fruit, etc., can be almost exactly paralleled in Cornelis Bos's engravings of c. 1545 (Schéle 1965, nos 173, 180, 184, 186; pls 48-51; also ‘Kunst voor de Beeldenstorm’, exhibition catalogue, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, 1986, p. 235, fig. 115b). Furthermore, they can be found again in an early dated Antwerp masterpiece - the renowned Netherlandish maiolica tile-picture, 'The Conversion of Saul', dated 1547 (Vleeshuis Museum, Antwerp - see Schéle 1965, p. 52, fig. 30 for a clear detail of the border motifs).
Less certain is the significance of the role of Bos's contemporary, Cornelis Floris (1514-76), who was also studying in Rome but had probably returned to Antwerp by 1539 (see Schéle 1965, pp. 39 ff., where many of the earlier assumptions were challenged, especially those published in R. Hedicke, ‘Cornelis Floris und die Florisdekoration. Studien zur niederldndischen und deutschen Kunst im XVI Jahrhundert’, 2 vols, Berlin, 1913). The arguments for attributing certain drawings to Floris - and hence giving Floris precedence in the field of the Netherlandish grotesque - are inconclusive. In Schéle 1965 (p. 221) it is pointed out that Floris, not being an engraver himself, was at a disadvantage compared with Bos, whose ideas received wide recognition the moment they were engraved and printed. The compositions of Floris do not appear as prints until 1548, when a set of designs for ewers was published in Antwerp by Hieronimus Cock, and judging from the initials BB, they had been engraved by Balthasar Bos (see Schéle 1965, p. 221, figs 12-13; also Hayward 1976, p. 356, pls 196-9). However, the widely held supposition that prior to 1548 Cornelis Floris was producing Mannerist drawings for goldsmiths (and others) to use is incapable of proof. (See WB.93)
The biblical scenes in the six cartouches on the basin are clearly copied, perhaps quite slavishly, from a set of woodcuts or engravings similar to the well-known illustrations created by Hans Sebald Beham (see ‘Hans Sebald Beham's Holzschnitte zum Alten Testament nach der 1537’, Zwickau S, 1910) and by Bernard Salomon for the Lyons Bible of 1553 that was published in several languages by Jean de Tournes. Consequently, the goldsmith reveals no awareness of the Mannerist style within any of these six figure scenes. Even within his own specialist sphere, the goldsmith has been content to depict within the scene of the Plague of Frogs items of silver plate, none of which are in the least Mannerist in style. Indeed, the covered cup carried by the servitor is very reminiscent of the famous Holbeinesque Rochester tazza and cover, hallmarked London, 1528 and 1532, respectively (see Hugh Tait, London Huguenot Silver, ‘Huguenots in Britain and their French Background, 1550-1800’ (ed. I. Scouloudi), London, 1987, pp. 92-3, pl 1, figs 1-3, where it is suggested that the second companion tazza from Rochester Cathedral, attributed to a foreign goldsmith (perhaps Flemish?) because of its totally different and rather Continental type of punch-marks, may have served as the prototype for the English goldsmith to copy in 1528). The goldsmith of the Aspremont Lynden basin seems to have faithfully copied the old-fashioned compositions - probably originally designed as simple narrative pictures - even though they are in complete contrast with the lively and inventive strapwork frames and Mannerist decorative motifs that fill the space between each cartouche. Surprisingly, these contain no repetition in the entire sequence, although each central pendentive element between the cartouches has a basically similar character; similarly, each of the satyrs and nymphs remains totally individual, although they are arranged like heraldic supporters and have to conform to a formal harmony.
The unknown goldsmith who decorated this basin did strive to improve upon the engraved sources of the scenes and give them a more three-dimensional, sculptural quality, even introducing the compositional trick of occasionally placing a part of the scene in front of the frame - for example, the frog in the bottom right-hand side of the plague scene, or the left hand of the stricken Egyptian in the foreground of the Plague of Boils and Blains, or the figure of Moses with his upraised staff in the Plague of Hail. However, his adaptation of the rectangular print source to the oval cartouche format is not entirely successful, especially where there are architectural backgrounds. The basin does not, therefore, seem to be based on an entirely original and integrated drawing by an artist of major stature, such as Etienne Delaune, who in the third quarter of the sixteenth century was already producing circular basin designs incorporating, for example, the story of Samson within four oval reserves set in a Mannerist framework (Cabinet des Dessins, Musée du Louvre - see Hayward 1976, p. 349, pl. 113). In solving the problem of scale and of relationship between the biblical scenes and the elaborate Mannerist ornamental setting, Etienne Delaune has introduced an elegant figure style and has avoided that uncomfortable cramped quality pervading the scenes on the Aspremont Lynden basin. If the task of adapting the print sources was carried out by the goldsmith himself, then this basin reveals one of his limitations while demonstrating in all other respects his technical brilliance, from his fine pointillé decoration on the wall-hangings in the Plague of Frogs scene to the very high relief of the satyrs trapped in the framing strapwork and the entirely original quasi-architectural and three-dimensional treatment of the deep concave zone of the dish itself.
By contrast, the two circular reserves on either side of the Aspremont Lynden ewer are embossed and chased with a Neptune figure and an Amphitrite figure that has in each case been skilfully designed for the space of the roundel and, at the same time, relates perfectly in scale and emphasis to the surrounding background of riotous Mannerist ornament. The goldsmith, talented though he undoubtedly was, probably worked from a drawing by a gifted artist (such as Cornelis Floris) who had successfully designed this complex and most sophisticated essay in Mannerism.
The identity of the goldsmith has been misrepresented in recent publications and it is important to analyse the evidence as objectively as possible. The punch-mark on the neck of the ewer is clearly struck and seems to represent a hand holding three ears of corn. There is no reason to doubt the authenticity of this mark, even though no other piece bearing this mark has yet been recorded (R3 5104). Nevertheless, it is not mentioned in Hayward 1976, p. 395, pl. 590, where the ewer is described as “Antwerp, 1544-5. Maker's mark, a pair of compasses (R3 5103)”. However, the set of marks that have given rise to this precise and firm attribution are “on a loose plate under foot” (Read 1902, p. 43) and a detailed examination reveals that:
(i) The circular loose plate under the foot is only held in place by a very long modern metal screw with a large flat head and a small modern nut.
(ii) The screw has to be placed inside the body of the ewer, pointing downwards, and aimed through the small threaded tube at the bottom.
(iii) The screw then passes through the tubular projection (rising from the centre of the foot), inside which a modern, narrower, tubular projection (fixed to the reverse of the loose plate) has already been placed, and fastened by a short rivet through the side of the double thickness of the two tubes.
(iv) The tip of the screw emerges just beyond the loose plate and the nut is then used to secure it in position.
(v) The loose plate has a fresh, modern-looking trim, or cut, to the edge; furthermore, the raised border to the loose plate is almost hemispherical in section and looks modern; it serves no purpose and would actually prevent the loose plate from being 'sprung in', as has been suggested.
(vi) The loose plate closes the area under the foot and thereby prevents the ewer from standing on the raised boss
in the centre of the basin - the more normal and correct procedure with a late medieval or Renaissance ewer and basin.
All these discrepancies and disturbingly modern features give rise to serious doubts about the 'marriage' of the loose plate to the foot of the ewer. It would seem that the set of three marks on it are almost certainly genuine and that the loose plate must, therefore, have been cut out of an authentic piece of 1544 Antwerp silver plate. As the present method of attaching the loose plate is no older than the nineteenth century, and the loose plate shows no signs of having been added to the ewer at an earlier date, it is misleading to publish this ewer as a reliably and fully marked piece of Antwerp silver dating from 1544 to 1545. It must be recognised that the set of marks under the foot probably have no significance and no bearing on the origin, date or identity of the maker of the ewer.
The alternative explanation advanced in 1964 (see Hayward 1964, p. 165) was based on the assumption that “it was the practice of the Antwerp goldsmiths to mark their work on the bottom, sometimes, as on the Antwerp ewer in the British Museum, on a circular plate that was sprung into the underside of the base in order to conceal the rear view of the embossing . . .”. If this practice, apparently designed to avoid the marks disfiguring the decoration, really existed in Antwerp - and the evidence for it has never been convincingly set out - then it presupposes that the loose plate on the Aspremont Lynden ewer, having previously been 'sprung in', had become detached from the foot and that, in the nineteenth century, it was decided to recut and reshape around the circumference of the loose plate and add a short tube to the centre of the reverse before riveting it to the large tube projecting upwards from the foot (so that it could not be easily taken apart) and, finally, attaching with a long iron bolt and a nut the combined loose plate and foot to the body of the ewer. Such an elaborate operation in order to reattach the loose plate that had some two hundred or more years previously been 'sprung in' seems wholly unnecessary. There has to be a more compelling explanation - and, by the second half of the nineteenth century, it was being universally recognised among collectors that fully marked silver-plate was potentially more significant and, probably, a more reliable item to buy, even at a much higher price.
Not only are there no other extant contemporary silver ewers sealed under the foot with a loose plate of silver, but any decision in the mid-sixteenth century to have this small and separately made loose disc of plain silver assayed and hallmarked with the Antwerp town-mark, the date-letter and a different maker's mark would have provided the Renaissance patron and purchaser with no safeguard or guarantee about the standard of the silver used in the ewer as a whole. It is difficult to believe that such a sloppy and unsatisfactory practice would have been permitted by the Antwerp Guild at the very height of the city's extraordinary prosperity, and at the time when the Antwerp goldsmiths' international reputation was reaching new levels of importance. The middle decades of the sixteenth century were a period of enormous affluence in Antwerp. As the great centre of international trade, the city was attracting in vast numbers rich foreign merchants who spent lavishly, and princely commissions from distant Courts - even from Duke Wilhelm V of Bavaria in Munich - were reaching the jewellers and goldsmiths of Antwerp as a result of their high standard of expertise and practice. Furthermore, the presence of the punch-mark on the neck of this ewer is sound evidence that the so-called disfigurement resulting from the use of punch-marks had no more deterred this Antwerp goldsmith than it had, for example, Hieronymus Mamacker when he finished the large sculptural Renaissance silver-gilt book-cover for the rich Norbertine Abbey of Tongerlo in 1543 - or the many Antwerp goldsmiths whose works are marked in the normal manner (see Tait 1985, pp. 39-44, figs 14-17). In 1557, according to a contemporary writer, Ludovico Guicciardini (‘Descrittione di tutti i paesi bassi’, 1568), there were 124 goldsmiths and cutters of diamonds and precious stones in Antwerp and “these produce works of beauty and marvellous quality . . .”. Under such circumstances, the strict system of maintaining standards operated by the flourishing Guild of Goldsmiths in Antwerp would have been enforced, and the marking of a loose plate under the Aspremont Lynden ewer by the Antwerp Guild's dean and assay master in 1544 seems less than credible.
Once the set of three marks (under the foot) are discounted, the ewer has to be judged, attributed and dated entirely on the evidence of its one mark (on the neck) and on its general appearance, whilst also remembering its long association extending back to 1610, if not before, with the branch of the Aspremont Lynden family that had its sixteenth-century origins in the district of Liège. The following analysis of its form, shape and decoration does, indeed, help to reinforce its previous attribution to an Antwerp workshop, but perhaps to the 1550s rather than to the previous decade.
The form is exceptional. Most Renaissance silver ewers do not have a separate spout. On the Aspremont Lynden ewer there is a long, narrow spout emerging from the shoulder of the oviform body, immediately below the wide, projecting lip of the mouth of the ewer. Such a design is difficult to parallel, either among the very small percentage of surviving plate or among the drawings and engraved designs. Normally, the Renaissance ewer of this type has an open, large, lipped mouth, which equally s
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