The Fall of Alba's Citadel. Image and Memory in Turbulent Times 

The KMSKA holds a painting of the demolition of the Antwerp citadel in 1577. At first glance, it seems a lively cityscape full of activity. But look closer, and you’ll find a story with many layers – about power, manipulation, and quackery. A story that reveals how images shape our view of the past.

For centuries, a large citadel stood in Antwerp’s southern quarter. It was built in the sixteenth century by order of the Duke of Alva and housed soldiers of the Spanish king. They kept the city and its inhabitants under control during the Eighty Years’ War, when the Low Countries sought to break free from the Spanish-Habsburg empire.

In the summer of 1577, Antwerp’s citizens seized control of the citadel and partially demolished it. A great triumph for the rebels, a slap in the face for the pro-Spanish faction. Some later described the event as a festive moment of liberation, others as a chaotic outburst by a populace misled by ambitious nobles – William of Orange foremost among them.

That latter interpretation is embedded in a painting made around 1620 in the circle of Sebastiaen Vrancx. By then, Antwerp was once again under Spanish rule and the citadel had been rebuilt. Recently restored by the KMSKA, research accompanying the restoration revealed an ever-expanding narrative. The image is a reworked version of an earlier composition that celebrated the demolition. But in this later piece, fighting children and a deceitful quack were added. Subtle yet unmistakable references that shift the message.

Behind the quack hang striking objects: bladder stones, remnants of a painful ailment. They were once removed through risky surgery and kept as tangible proof of healing. Here, however, their meaning is ambiguous: do they stand for purification, or for the illusion of cure?