Saint John's Cathedral

Stand still for a moment and tilt your head back. The pale stone above you is carved so densely that it looks almost like lace left out in the weather. Pigeons shift on the ledges. Somewhere above the roofline, tiny stone figures sit along the flying buttresses, and on a bright day you can see their shadows move across the walls as the sun turns. This is Saint John's Cathedral, the Sint-Janskathedraal, and it is the great stone heart of 's-Hertogenbosch.

Locals call this city Den Bosch, a short form of its longer name. The name means something like "the Duke's forest", a reminder that the Dukes of Brabant founded the town in the late twelfth century. For centuries this church was the place where the town measured its wealth, its faith and its pride. Merchants, guilds and religious brotherhoods all wanted a share of it. Many of them paid for chapels, altars and decoration. The building you see now carries the marks of all those competing ambitions.

The church is a leading example of what scholars call Brabantine Gothic. That is a regional version of the Gothic style that spread across the Low Countries in the late Middle Ages. Gothic builders used pointed arches, ribbed vaults and flying buttresses. These stone arms carry the weight of the roof outward, so the walls can open up into tall windows. Here, the builders pushed that idea far. Most of the present church rose between the late fourteenth and the early sixteenth century, over roughly one and a half centuries of work.

Now look at the tower at the west end. It looks different from the rest — heavier, plainer, built largely of brick. That is because it is older. It survives from an earlier church that stood on this spot before the Gothic rebuilding began. So when you look from the tower to the choir, you are reading the building from its oldest part to its newest. Medieval churches were rarely built in one go. They grew piece by piece, often while services continued inside.

Here is the first detail many visitors miss. Look up at the flying buttresses along the sides of the nave. Riding on their sloping backs are small stone figures — dozens of them. Some play musical instruments. Some look like monsters, soldiers or ordinary townspeople. They seem to be climbing up toward the roof. Nobody can tell you the meaning of every figure, and that is part of their charm. They give this solemn building a sense of humour.

And now the second surprise. During the long restoration that ended around 2010, stone carvers replaced many worn sculptures. One new figure is an angel in modern clothes, often described as holding a mobile phone. It is small and high up, so it takes patience to find. The carvers followed a medieval habit here. Old stonemasons also added faces and figures from their own world. This angel simply brings that habit into the twenty-first century.

The church only became a cathedral in 1559, when the Pope created a new diocese of 's-Hertogenbosch. Its life after that was turbulent. In 1629 the Dutch army under Prince Frederick Henry captured the city after a long siege. The Protestant authorities took control of the building, and Catholic worship moved elsewhere. The interior was stripped of many images. For almost two centuries, this Catholic-built church served a Protestant congregation.

The building returned to Catholic hands in the early nineteenth century, during the period of French rule over the Netherlands. In the twentieth century the Pope gave it the title of basilica, an honour for churches of special importance. So the stones around you have held Catholic Mass, Protestant sermons, and Catholic Mass again. Few buildings in the country show the religious history of the Netherlands so clearly in one place.

If you step inside, let your eyes adjust to the light. The nave rises in tall, narrow bays, and the columns run straight up into the vaults without heavy capitals to stop them. Look toward the west end for the great organ. Its carved wooden case dates from the seventeenth century, and it is one of the most admired organ cases in the Netherlands. When the organ plays, the sound fills the whole stone space and seems to come from everywhere at once.

Inside, you will also find the chapel of the Sweet Lady of Den Bosch, the Zoete Lieve Vrouw. This is a medieval wooden statue of the Virgin Mary. For centuries, pilgrims have come to pray before her. According to popular tradition, many miracles were linked to the statue in the late Middle Ages. Even today, people light candles in front of her chapel. You may notice local people slipping in quietly for a few minutes on their way through town.

The painter Hieronymus Bosch lived and worked a short walk from here, on the market square. He took his name from this city. He belonged to the Illustrious Brotherhood of Our Lady, a religious confraternity closely connected to this church. When you see the strange creatures on the buttresses outside, it is easy to think of the odd figures in his paintings. There is no proof that one inspired the other. But Bosch grew up looking at carvings like these every day.

Take a moment to listen to the space around the cathedral. Its square, the Parade, is often calm, with café tables at its edges and the sound of bicycles crossing the stones. The carillon in the tower rings over the rooftops at regular intervals. Narrow streets lead away toward the market and toward the old canals, which locals call the Binnendieze. Many of these canals run beneath the houses of the old town.

Before you leave, walk slowly around the outside of the building once more. Notice how the colour of the stone changes, from fresh pale blocks to darker, older ones. That patchwork is the record of centuries of repair. Look again for the little figures on the buttresses, and see if you can find one more face than before. Then turn and look back from the edge of the square. The cathedral has stood here through sieges, reformations and restorations — and this afternoon, it shares its square with you.