THE RISE AND FALL OF THE MORETUS DYNASTY
THE RISE AND FALL OF THE
MORETUS DYNASTY
In the 19th century, they faded into obscurity just as they had achieved international fame, wealth and prestige hundreds of years prior.
In this story, we will explore some important members of the Moretus dynasty, and how the business changed, for the better or worse, under their rule.
THE MIND BEHIND STABILITY
I
Born in 1543, Jan Moretus (né Moerentorf) would apprentice under Christophe Plantin from the age of 14. He married the latter daughter, Martine, years before inheriting his then father-in-law’s printshop.
Plantin trusted Moretus so much that he left him as the sole heir to his business - even despite his own blood relatives’ claim. His own words, in a letter written to Gabriel de Çayas, the secretary of the Spanish King:
CHRISTOPHE PLANTIN,
1570
As head of the Officina Plantiniana, Jan Moretus’ policy and
attiutude can be summarised through his motto.
Plantin’s words were ‘Labore et constantia’ - labour and
perseverence, both paramount to a newly founded business.
Taking over a flourishing press required something else: careful action to strengthen the foundations laid by his predecessor. Thus, a new motto was born to symbolise the precision required for the task.
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However, the seeds for Officina Plantiniana’s eventual downfall
had also been planted. Moretus’ attitude, despite his prosperous
tenure, remained one of conservatism.
He built on existing foundations and relationships, took the route
of safety, yet... he failed to truly innovate.
THE CREATOR
Jan Moretus’ son, Balthasar I, initially ruled the Officina with his brother from 1614 to 1618. After the latter’s early death, he continued on his own - aided by his nephew Balthasar II - until 1641.
His policy was somewhat different from his father’s: instead of just focusing on preservation and consolidation, he also opted to build and innovate, to expand the business across multiple dimensions.
Between 1620 and 1640, Balthasar I commisioned the construction of an additional wing. Including, yet not limited to the proofreader’s room, the upgrades gave the building most of its modern appearance.
Balthasar built more than just walls.
since childhood.
Their relationship spelled years of collaboration. Custom book covers and illustrations drove growth among historical and neo-Latin publications, while portraits of the Moretus family and their close friends adorn the walls of the Officina to this day.
With Balthasar I’s death, this age of innovation also petered out. Soon after, the business’s sales would revolve entirely around religious works for the Spanish crown, which, along with excessive anchoring in traditions, would spell misfortune for the later Moretuses.
THE WEALTHY BUSINESSMAN
By the 18th century, the Officina's focus had narrowed almost entirely to religious printing, bound by contracts with the Spanish crown. Although profitable, this shift marked a departure from its earlier intellectual ambitions.
Under Joannes Jacobus Moretus (1690 - 1757), the press lost its spark — yet the family’s fortunes soared. Would THAT be enough to sustain the family’s status as top printers? First, let's look at how that wealth came to be in the first place.
Joannes had already inherited a sizeable amount of wealth - around 180 thousand Dutch guilders from his marriage to the noble Theresia Mechtildis Schilders.
180k * 3.38(3) = 609k
His business interests extended beyond the ancestral printing press and into colonial ventures, such as the Ostend Company and the Trieste and Fiume Company.
At the time of his death, his estate was worth around
~ 45 million euros in today’s purchasing power.
Despite Joannes’ massive wealth, the press’s output was hardly reinvigorated. The Officina usually employed no more than 11 presses, all used for religious works. The number fell to as low as 2, during the Austrian War for Succesion.
The over-reliance on the Spanish contracts, as well as the relative austerity the printing business had to face were close to proving fatal for the Moretus legacy. And yet, it endured...
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Maria Theresia Borrekens (1728-1797) was the wife of Franciscus Moretus, Joannes’ son. One of the four women to assume control of the Officina, she ruled the press for nearly 30 years, from 1768 to 1797.
Her lasting tenure as director of the Officina more than earned her a place among the Moretus family. Despite her best efforts, darkness had started to consume the press, through a series of catastrophic losses.
After she passed away in 1797, the business was inherited by her 3 remaining sons, Jacobus Paulus, Ludovicus Franciscus and Josephus Hyacinthus.
Neither ruled as long, or as steadily as their mother. They failed to upgrade the wooden presses to modern, metal ones, and by 1820 the business had become outdated, clinging for survival.
THE FINAL STRUGGLE
When the last of Maria’s sons relinquished his position as head of the Officina to his nephew, Albert (1795 - 1865), the press’s over-reliance on tradition
had all but buried its legacy.
Metal presses were already emerging at the end of the 18th century - when Albert took control, they were already
the industry norm.
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The newer presses used additional levers, hand-wheels, gears, and even steam-powered engines.
The large force needed to leave an impression on paper was handled by these advanced mechanisms, instead of the printer’s own physical strength.
...but the new presses would never be seen inside the Officina Plantiniana.
... and neither would be any more successful business. The press
had finally been pushed to its point of no return.
All efforts to for the Officina’s revival were stopped soon
after. The decades that followed meant nothing but hasty
decline.
By the time Edward, the last Moretus, died in 1880, only
echoes remained of the press's legacy. The business and family
were no more.
Their legacy, shattered.
Tradition cannot survive through preservation alone.
Innovation is needed to ensure survival across changing times
- which the Officina Plantiniana, unfortunately, failed to
achieve.
By focusing exclusively on religious printing in an increasingly laic world, by mistaking heritage for timelessness and wealth for success, they laid cracks into their business’ very foundation - which in time, became gaping holes. And yet...
The press stopped its function - but it didn’t cease to exist. It
transformed into the very museum we’re proud to welcome you in.
The Moretus bloodline may have died out - that doesn’t mean it never
existed.
Their work still fills the halls of the Plantin-Moretus museum, and their reputation as top printers remains almost intact despite their late blunders. Time never erased their merit. And merit, they had.
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