Britain and its Neighbours: Cultural Contacts and Exchanges in Medieval and Early Modern Europe 2020045563, 9780367342661, 9780367342654, 9780429324741

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Figures
Maps
Tables
Contributors
Acknowledgements
Britain and its neighbours: Contacts, exchanges, influences. An introduction
Notes
1. Wayland the Smith and the Massacre of the Innocents: Pagan-Christian 'amalgamation' on the Anglo-Saxon Franks Casket
The front side of Franks Casket - Wayland's Revenge and the Adoration of the Magi
How can Jesus be linked to Wayland?
The Massacre of the Innocents
Wayland, the Anglo-Saxon Herod
Notes
2. The permeating presence of practices: Northwest English and Manx ecclesiastical sites with Viking-Age furnished burials and sculpture
Prying apart practices
Considering the context
Studying the stone
Extrapolating from the evidence
Conclusions and contemplations
Notes
3. Between continental models, a Christian message, and a Scandinavian audience: Early examples of the image of 'Christ trampling the Beasts' in the British Isles
Introduction: images of Christ and the Beasts
Continental links: occidental models and British images
Scandinavian links: pagan mythology and Christian messages
International links: influences and imports from across the seas
Notes
4. Silver threads: How Scandinavian Scotland connected with a wider economic world
Economic anthropology
Silver and market commerce in Scandinavian Scotland
Silver: commodity money for a long-distance age
Market currencies: the Baltic and Southern Scandinavian Model
Transfer to Ireland and Britain
Market economy in Scandinavian Scotland
Conclusions
Notes
5. The problem of Manx: Norse linguistic evidence for the survival of Manx Gaelic in the Scandinavian period
Introduction
Survival or extinction, and the limits to place-name evidence
Historical linguistic evidence: beyond the place-names
Linguistic theories: extinction or survival?
Pre-occlusion: Kenneth Jackson's fugitive unexploded d
Loanwords and their semantics
Conclusion
Appendix: Old Norse loanwords in Manx
Notes
6. Legal custom and Lex Castrensis?: Using law and literature to navigate the North-Sea neighbourhood in the late Viking Age
Introduction
Lex Castrensis and establishing Knútr's international legal legacy
Knútr's approach to Viking-Age problems
Lex Castrensis: a fictionalised solution to a factual Viking-Age problem?
Knútr's punitive attitude and a case for legal exchange in the late Viking Age
Literary approaches to the customary law of the late Viking Age
Notes
7. Ring-fencing the gardinum?: European romance to British reality of the thirteenth-century Caernarfon Castle garden and park
Introduction
Caernarfon Castle: Queen's Gate
Ring-fencing the medieval garden definition?
The garden below Queen's Gate
Eleanor de Castile's gardens: European romance to British reality
The 'Little Park' below Queen's Gate
Queen's Gate and an elite processional way
Conclusion
Notes
8. Albany and the poets: John Stuart, Duke of Albany, and the transfer of ideas between Scotland and the continent, 1509-1536
Pierre Gringore's Abus du Monde for James IV, c.1509
Macé de Villebresme's Epistres du Turc and the fortifications at Dunbar, 1515-1523
Bremond Domat, genealogy, and military ambition in the Hague Manuscript, 1518
Domat, the Liber Pluscardensis, and the Sainte Chapelle at Vic-le-Comte, 1519-1529
A sketch by Antonio da Sangallo the Younger and a eulogy by Desmontiers, c.1525-1538
Blood and vellum: Albany's promotion of the Boulogne and d'Auvergne lineage
Conclusion
Notes
9. Anglo-Swiss relations in the seventeenth century: Religion, refuge, and relief
Notes
10. Fashioning an expanding English world: Commerce, curiosities, and coastal profiles from Edward Barlow's 1668 voyage to Italian port cities
English shipping to the Mediterranean and Italian shores, 1660s
Edward Barlow: an eyewitness to history
Edward Barlow's 1668-1669 Mediterranean cruise
Conclusion
Notes
11. 'England is not a kingdom located on the Moon': Use and usefulness of English knowledge in early modern Swedish agricultural literature
Introduction
Translation as appropriation
Jacob Serenius and The English Husbandman and Shepherd (1727)
The kingdom not located on the moon: calendar and climate
The confusing case of the colon symbol: units of measurements
Things not useful other than in England? Knowledge and status
Reinerus Broocman and A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry (1736)
Broocman, Serenius, and the problem of measurements
Seaweed and clay: from England to Sweden through Europe
The usefulness of English agricultural knowledge in Swedish books of husbandry and agriculture
Epilogue
Notes
12. An honoured guest: The 1764 journeys across Piedmont of Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany
Introduction
Reading the reports: Prince Edward's journeys and stays in Piedmont
The first journey (10 February-7 March 1764)
The second journey (10-27 July 1764)
Prince Edward in Piedmont: a case study
A critical interpretation of Prince Edward's journeys: strategies of appearance and 'Shortcut-Diplomacy' between Britain and Italy in the second half of the eighteenth century
Notes
Further Reading
Index

Citation preview

BRITAIN AND ITS NEIGHBOURS

Britain and its Neighbours explores instances and periods of cultural contact and exchanges between communities in Britain with those in other parts of Europe between c.500 and 1700. Collectively, the twelve case studies highlight certain aspects of cultural contact and exchange and present neglected factors, previously overlooked evidence, and new methodological approaches. The discussions draw from a broad range of disciplines including archaeology, history, art history, iconography, literature, linguistics, and legal history in order to shine new light on a multi-faceted variety of expressions of the equally diverse and long-standing relations between Britain and its neighbours. Organised chronologically, the volume accentuates the consistency and continuity of social, cultural, and intellectual connections between Britain and Continental Europe in a period that spans over a millennium. With its range of specialised topics, Britain and its Neighbours is a useful resource for undergraduates, postgraduates, and scholars interested in cultural and intellectual studies and the history of Britain’s long-standing connections to Europe. Dirk H. Steinforth is an archaeologist and translator in Göttingen, Germany. Working as an independent researcher, he studied every aspect of the Viking Age in the Irish Sea, particularly the Isle of Man, and published two books and various articles on the subject. Charles C. Rozier is Lecturer in Medieval European History at Durham University, United Kingdom. He specialises in the intellectual culture of European monasticism, c.800–1200, publishing widely on the writing of history and uses of the past in medieval Europe.

Themes in Medieval and Early Modern History This is a brand new series which straddles both medieval and early modern worlds, encouraging readers to examine historical change over time as well as promoting understanding of the historical continuity between events in the past, and to challenge perceptions of periodisation. It aims to meet the demand for conceptual or thematic topics which cross a relatively wide chronological span (any period between c.500 and 1750), including a broad geographical scope. Series editor: Natasha Hodgson, Nottingham Trent University. Available titles: Writing War in Britain and France, 1370–1854 A History of Emotions Edited by Stephanie Downes, Andrew Lynch and Katrina O’Loughlin Drama in Medieval and Early Modern Europe Playmakers and their Strategies Nadia Thérèse van Pelt Florence in the Early Modern World Nicholas Baker and Brian Maxson Dynastic Change Legitimacy and Gender in Medieval and Early Modern Monarchy Edited by Ana Maria S. A. Rodrigues, Manuela Santos Silva and Jonathan W. Spangler The Origins of the Consumer Revolution in England From Brass Pots to Clocks Joanne Sear and Ken Sneath Lived Religion and Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe Sari Katajala-Peltomaa and Raisa Maria Toivo Cultures of Law in Urban Northern Europe Scotland and its Neighbours c.1350–c.1650 Edited by Jackson W. Armstrong and Edda Frankot Religion and Conflict in Medieval and Early Modern Worlds Identities, Communities and Authorities Edited by Natasha Hodgson, Amy Fuller, John McCallum and Nicholas Morton Britain and its Neighbours Cultural Contacts and Exchanges in Medieval and Early Modern Europe Edited by Dirk H. Steinforth and Charles C. Rozier For more information about this series, visit: https://www.routledge.com/ Themes-in-Medieval-and-Early-Modern-History/book-series/TMEMH

BRITAIN AND ITS NEIGHBOURS Cultural Contacts and Exchanges in Medieval and Early Modern Europe

Edited by Dirk H. Steinforth and Charles C. Rozier

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business. © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Dirk H. Steinforth and Charles C. Rozier; individual chapters, the contributors. The right of Dirk H. Steinforth and Charles C. Rozier to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Steinforth, Dirk H., editor. | Rozier, Charles C., editor. Title: Britain and its neighbours : cultural contacts and exchanges in medieval and early modern Europe / edited by Dirk H. Steinforth and Charles C. Rozier. Description: London ; New York, NY : Routledge/Taylor & Francis Group, 2021. | Series: Themes in medieval and early modern history | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020045563 | ISBN 9780367342661 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367342654 (paperback) | ISBN 9780429324741 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Cultural relations‐‐Case studies. | Civilization, Modern‐‐British influences. | Great Britain‐‐Relations‐‐Europe. | Europe‐‐Relations‐‐Great Britain. | Great Britain‐‐Intellectual life. | Europe‐‐Intellectual life. | Great Britain‐‐Civilization‐‐European influences. Classification: LCC D34.G7 B75 2021 | DDC 303.48/241040902‐‐dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045563 ISBN: 978-0-367-34266-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-34265-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-32474-1 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by MPS Limited, Dehradun

In memory of Rotraut Steinforth (1939–2020)

CONTENTS

List of figures List of maps List of tables List of contributors Acknowledgements Britain and its neighbours: Contacts, exchanges, influences. An introduction Dirk H. Steinforth, Bryony Coombs, and Charles C. Rozier 1 Wayland the Smith and the Massacre of the Innocents: Pagan–Christian ‘amalgamation’ on the Anglo–Saxon Franks Casket Sigmund Oehrl 2 The permeating presence of practices: Northwest English and Manx ecclesiastical sites with Viking-Age furnished burials and sculpture Danica Ramsey-Brimberg

x xii xiii xiv xviii

1

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31

viii Contents

3 Between Continental models, a Christian message, and a Scandinavian audience: Early examples of the image of ‘Christ trampling the Beasts’ in the British Isles Dirk H. Steinforth

51

4 Silver threads – How Scandinavian Scotland connected with a wider economic world Tom J. Horne

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5 The problem of Manx: Norse linguistic evidence for the survival of Manx Gaelic in the Scandinavian period Rod McDonald

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6 Legal custom and Lex Castrensis? – Using law and literature to navigate the North-Sea neighbourhood in the late Viking Age Keith Ruiter 7 Ring-fencing the gardinum? European romance to British reality of the thirteenth-century Caernarfon Castle garden and park Rachel E. Swallow 8 Albany and the poets: John Stuart, Duke of Albany, and the transfer of ideas between Scotland and the Continent, 1509–1536 Bryony Coombs 9 Anglo–Swiss relations in the seventeenth century: Religion, refuge, and relief Vivienne Larminie 10 Fashioning an expanding English world: Commerce, curiosities, and coastal profiles from Edward Barlow’s 1668 voyage to Italian port cities Alistair Maeer

105

121

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Contents

11 ‘England is not a kingdom located on the Moon’: Use and usefulness of English knowledge in early modern Swedish agricultural literature Linnea Bring Larsson

ix

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12 An honoured guest: The 1764 journeys across Piedmont of Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany Matteo Moro

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Further reading Index

226 228

FIGURES

1.1 The front panel of Franks Casket (eighth century). 1.2 Frieze on the lid of the sarcophagus in Sainte-Marie-Madeleine (crypt Saint-Maximin) in Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume, Dép. Var, France (fourth quarter of the fourth century). 3.1 Medieval carving on the cross shaft in Burton-in-Kendal, Cumbria, England – including the speculative identification of the ‘lion’ behind Christ’s legs. 3.2 ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ on the cross slab MM 128 in Kirk Andreas, Isle of Man. 3.3 Examples of possible artistic influences on the two scenes of Kirk Andreas MM 128. 7.1 Queen’s Gate, Caernarfon, with eleventh-century castle bailey and garden area to the fore (now a car park). 8.1 Jean Coene IV, A visual satire on the League of Cambrai, Pierre Gringore, Abus du Monde. Pierpont Morgan Library, MS M 42, fol. 49r. 8.2 Bremond Domat, Self-portrait, Généalogie de Madame Anne de la Tour, princesse de l’Écosse. KB 74 G 11, fol. 2r. 1518. 10.1 Edward Barlow: the city of Messina on the Island of Sicilia in the Mediterranean Sea (NMM JOD 4, fol. 59). 10.2 Close-ups of the city Messina on the Strait of Messina, and fleets of galleys fighting each other (NMM JOD 4, fol. 59). 10.3 Edward Barlow: the manner and situation of the city of Naples in Italy (NMM JOD 4, fol. 60).

16

20

56 57 62 122

142 146 181 182 184

Figures

10.4 Edward Barlow: the manner and situation of Leghorn (Livorno) in Italy in the Mediterranean Sea (NMM JOD 4, fol. 61v). 10.5 Edward Barlow: the manner of the situation of the city of Geniuia (Genoa) in Italy (NMM JOD 4, fol. 63).

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186 188

MAPS

2.1 Map and list of ecclesiastical sites discussed. 12.1 Prince Edward’s travel routes across Piedmont in 1764.

33 208

TABLES

2.1 5.1

Table of sites, burials, sculptures, and dates. Old Norse loanwords in Manx.

35 100

CONTRIBUTORS

Linnea Bring Larsson is a PhD student at the Department of History, Stockholm

University. She has previously worked for The Royal Swedish Academy of Agriculture and Forestry, as well as the National Library of Sweden. Her research interests include microhistory and history of knowledge in the early modern period. Her current thesis project concerns concept(s) of knowledge(s) in Swedish books of husbandry and agriculture in the 1720s. She primarily focuses on how the vastly different experiences, education, and personal views of the authors affected their use and circulation of agricultural knowledge. Bryony Coombs is a Teaching Fellow at the University of Edinburgh, specialising

in late-medieval art in Northern Europe. Her PhD thesis, ‘Distantia Jungit: Scots patronage of the visual arts in France, c.1445–c.1545’ (Edinburgh University), focussed on Franco–Scottish cultural connections in the late-medieval period. She has recently completed two projects; ‘Material Diplomacy: French Manuscripts and the Stuart Kings of Scotland’, funded by the British Academy Neil Ker Memorial Fund and published in the Scottish Historical Review (2019). The second concerned the military science of John Stuart, Duke of Albany, and was published in the PSAS (2019). For this research, she was awarded the Murray Medal for History. Her current research concerns text and image relationships in French Renaissance manuscripts. Tom Horne studied Ancient and Modern History at Oxford as an undergraduate.

At the University of Glasgow, he received an MLitt. (with distinction) in Medieval Archaeology, before gaining a PhD there with research that focussed on Viking-Age Scandinavian economic networks and the expansion of market economies.

Contributors xv

Vivienne Larminie is Assistant Editor, House of Commons 1640–1660 at the

History of Parliament Trust, London, working especially on MPs and constituencies in southern England. Previously, she was a Research Editor at the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography and taught for several universities. After a PhD at the University of Birmingham on English midlands gentry, her research interests expanded to include clergy and religious writers, immigrants, Huguenots, and Switzerland, particularly the francophone Pays de Vaud. In addition to many articles, she has published ‘Wealth, Kinship and Culture: the Seventeenth Century Newdigates of Arbury and their World’ (1995) and edited ‘Huguenot Networks 1560–1780: the interactions and impact of a Protestant minority in Europe’ (2018). Alistair Maeer is an Associate Professor of History and the History Education

Coordinator at Texas Wesleyan University as well as an Associate Editor for the journal Terrae Incognitae. He was previously an Associate Professor of History at Southeastern Oklahoma State University after having studied at the Universities of Toronto and Texas at Arlington. He researches the intersection of nautical cartography and early modern British history and has published in various journals and books, such as a recent chapter in ‘The Routledge Companion to Marine and Maritime Worlds, 1400–1800’ (2020). Additionally, he is a contributor to The History of Cartography Project with the University of Chicago. His next book is titled ‘An Empire’s Worth of Curiosity: Edward Barlow’s English Maritime World, 1659–1705’. Roderick McDonald is an independent scholar with research interests in Old

Norse and Celtic languages and literatures. His PhD (Sydney) examined Old Norse loanwords in the Gaelic languages, and his MA (Iceland) was in Medieval Icelandic Studies. He published in Zeitschrift für celtische Philologie, EOLAS: The Journal for the American Society of Irish Medieval Studies, Journal of Australian Early Medieval Association, Robinson and Clements (eds) Neomedievalism in the Media: Essays on Film, Television and Electronic Games, and Merkelbach and Knight (eds), ‘Margins, Monsters, Deviants: Alterities in Old Norse Literature and Culture’. He has held honorary positions with Swansea University and the University of Nottingham, and is currently establishing Emu Forge: an alternative art, craft, scholarship, activism, and performance collective. Matteo Moro is a PhD candidate at the Istituzioni pubbliche, sociali e culturali

(linguaggi, diritto, storia) at the Università degli Piemonte Orientale in Vercelli, Italy, an Honorary Fellow in Medieval History and Medieval and Early Modern Legal History, a member of UPO’s ‘DISCO’ Research Team, and a freelance archivist. He previously studied law at UPO (Department of Law and Political, Economic, and Social Sciences), and Archival Science, Palaeography, and Diplomatics at Turin State Archives. He is the author of several published and upcoming scholarly articles on the history and legal

xvi Contributors

history of North-West Italy during the thirteenth to eighteenth centuries, focused on topics such as criminal law and justice, migrations and travels, sumptuary law, ius mercatorum, charity, and court ceremonials. Sigmund Oehrl is a researcher and principal investigator of the project ‘Ancient

Images 2.0’ at the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies, Stockholm University. He obtained his PhD from the University of Göttingen with a dissertation on Swedish rune stones. For his habilitation on Gotlandic picture stones (‘Gotlands Bildsteine – Probleme und neue Wege ihrer Dokumentation, Lesung und Deutung’, 2019), he was awarded the venia legendi for Archaeology and Old Norse Studies of Munich University. He has been a Privatdozent in Munich and is currently a guest lecturer at the University of Vienna. His main fields of interest are Late Iron Age and Viking iconography, runology, Old Norse religion, archaeology of hunting, legal history, human–animal relations, and digital archaeology. Danica Ramsey-Brimberg researches interdisciplinary studies of burial and

funerary practices and of relations between the clergy and the laity during the Viking Age. She obtained two master’s degrees, one in Medieval Archaeology from the University of York and the other in Secondary Education in History from Boston College, in addition to her undergraduate degree in History from Boston College, and recently obtained her PhD in History from the University of Liverpool. Her doctoral thesis contextualised and analysed furnished graves at or near ecclesiastical sites in the Irish Sea area from the ninth to the eleventh centuries. Charles C. Rozier is Lecturer in Medieval European History at Durham

University. His research and teaching interests cover the political, cultural, and intellectual history of Britain and Continental Europe during the period c.900–1250, with particular focus on exploring perceptions of the past and theories of history-writing. His work on these topics has produced several articles and book chapters, an edited volume ‘Orderic Vitalis: Life, Works and Interpretations’ (2016), and his recent monograph ‘Writing History in the Community of St Cuthbert, c.700–1130: From Bede to Symeon of Durham’ (2020). He is an Assistant Editor of the Haskins Society Journal. Keith Ruiter is an honorary research fellow at the University of Nottingham’s

Centre for the Study of the Viking Age and the University of the Highlands and Islands’ Institute for Northern Studies. He received his PhD from the Centre for Scandinavian Studies at the University of Aberdeen in 2018 and worked as an Assistant Professor at the University of Nottingham and was an invited Guest Researcher at Stockholm University’s Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies and Uppsala University’s Department of History. His research focuses on issues of law, normativity, transgression, and punishment in the Viking Age and the early medieval period and his recent

Contributors

xvii

publications make use of a range of transdisciplinary and comparative methodologies to explore these topics. Dirk H. Steinforth is a Viking-Age archaeologist in Göttingen, Germany, where

he obtained his PhD with a study of early Viking settlement in the Isle of Man, published in 2015 in the Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde. As an Independent Researcher, he is working on projects on various aspects of the Viking Age in the Irish Sea region, particularly on the archaeological and historical evidence for settlement processes and chronology. Other research fields include burial-customs, ethnogenesis, iconography, and Manx and North British medieval stone monuments and their contexts. He has written two monographs and several articles on these subjects and presented his work at international conferences throughout Europe. He also is a translator and lector of texts for scholarly publication. Rachel Swallow is a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries (London) and Honorary

Fellow in the Department of Archaeology, Classics, and Egyptology at the University of Liverpool, where she is also a member of the pioneering UKRI Future Leader’s Fellow Project, ‘The Human Remains: Digital Library’ – and a Visiting Research Fellow in the Department of History and Archaeology, University of Chester. Her research explores interdisciplinary and cross-period research into British fortifications and their landscapes. With more than twenty years’ under- and post-graduate teaching experience, and in addition to being a member of various professional bodies, learned societies, and research networks, she has published extensively in international and national peerreviewed journals and books.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

In 2017, Charlie Rozier was tasked with organising the annual Swansea University Centre for Medieval and Early Modern Studies (MEMO) Symposium by the Sea, while then serving as a Lecturer in Medieval History at Swansea University. With the help of Dr Simon John (Swansea University History Department), a conference comprising around twenty international delegates working across a variety of chronological and methodological approaches was organised for July 2018, under the theme of ‘Britain and its Neighbours: Cultural Contacts and Exchanges in Medieval and Early Modern Europe’. The aim was to sketch out certain examples of Britain’s cultural relationships with Continental Europe during the periods and regions in question, in order to lend some historical perspective and perhaps repair some wounds that had opened up since the summer of 2016. During what was an extremely productive three days of discussions in uncharacteristically blazing hot summer sunshine in Swansea Bay, several delegates gave their support for the idea of an edited volume that would on the one hand allow the development and publication of some of the best papers given at the conference, while on the other, allowing space for the integration of new studies on what had proved to be an extremely fruitful topic for academic discussion. Dirk H. Steinforth, an Independent Researcher and Viking-Age archaeologist, was one of the original participants of the conference and gladly accepted the task to serve as co-editor. This book is the long-term result of this project. The editors would like to thank Simon John for his work in co-organising a fantastic conference, and other Swansea University colleagues for their assistance, including Adam Mosley, Teresa Phipps, Daniel Power, Catherine Rozier, Alison Williams, and Deborah Youngs and with a special mention made to our conference student assistants Stephanie Brown, Maddie Chesmore, Adam Fletcher, Kathryn Lodge, and Amy Megson. The conference was part-funded

Acknowledgements xix

by generous grants from the Swansea University College of Arts and Humanities, The Society for the Study of Medieval Language and Literature (Medium Ævum), and the Society for Renaissance Studies. We are grateful to all conference participants for their interesting presentations and inspiring questions, comments, and discussions as well as to the authors who joined the project later with their contributions; without which this book would not exist. Our sincere thanks go to all at the Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, who have contributed to the publication of this volume, but especially to Lydia da Cruz, Morwenna Scott, and Isabel Voice for their encouragement, patience, and professional guidance. The editors would also like to thank each other in writing. Charlie thanks Dirk for his leadership of the project and his diligence in its completion. Collaborating on such a project, exchanging files, and writing together remotely has been a challenge, but one that has been made much easier through Dirk’s commitment and attention to detail and overall rather fitting to have been working together from Britain to the European Continent. Dirk expresses his gratitude to Charlie for instigating this project in the first place and giving him the opportunity to be part of it in the capacity of co-editor, which proved to be a novel experience and a challenging, yet very interesting task. Charlie’s guidance and encouragement were invaluable during our cross-Channel collaboration. Charlie dedicates his contribution in this book to the numerous students past, present, and hopefully also the future, who have travelled from all parts of the world to enrich his experiences of teaching the medieval past, and who have broadened the cultural horizons of their fellow students and their teacher. Dirk dedicates his work to his friends and colleagues in the academic world, in appreciation of stimulating discussions and generous advice. But overall, this book is dedicated to the memory of Dirk’s mother, Rotraut Steinforth, née Schoepke (*05.05.1939, †11.08.2020), who sadly passed away while the final edits were being made. Charlie Rozier Needham Market, Suffolk, United Kingdom Dirk H. Steinforth Göttingen, Lower Saxony, Germany 21 September 2020.

BRITAIN AND ITS NEIGHBOURS Contacts, exchanges, influences. An introduction Dirk H. Steinforth, Bryony Coombs, and Charles C. Rozier

Only 33 kilometres of water separate the European Continent and the islands of Britain at the narrowest point of the Channel, from where each coast is within easy viewing distance. As an archipelago surrounded by seas, the shape of the British Isles and its borders are defined by its separation from the Continent. At times, these seas have protected the inhabitants along the coasts on both sides of the waters from unwelcome intruders. At others, Britain’s location within these seas has provided important traffic-ways and lines of communication, with boats and ships carrying travellers, troops, trade-goods, and ideas of all descriptions between the islands and neighbouring territories on mainland Europe, Scandinavia and in the Irish Sea. But how, exactly, have these contacts and exchanges been experienced by their participants, and how have observers commented on them? Were contemporaries aware of cultural separations between societies in Britain and their Continental neighbours, or did they regard parts of Britain as an extension or in some other way related to their own societies and cultures, and vice versa? These questions lie at the heart of the essays collected in this book. Together, the discussions which follow examine instances and periods of cultural contact and exchanges between communities in Britain with those in other parts of Europe during the medieval and early modern periods down to c.1700. Contacts and exchange across political and cultural boundaries can assume many different shapes on many different levels, from simple personal encounters to much more significant alterations to culture and society through the transfer of new trade goods, ideas, texts, religions, or languages, or indeed populations, and with some effects benefitting and some harmful to one or the other parties. During the medieval and early modern periods, virtually every aspect of human life was affected by the interactions between Britain and its neighbours. As has been summarised by Lloyd and Jennifer Laing:

2 Steinforth, Coombs, and Rozier

Introductions from Europe have varied from languages, town and village sites, rabbits, roses and grapes, to gardens, romantic love, Christianity, crossbows, hats, and diseases. Contributing countries include France, Switzerland, Germany, Scandinavia, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Greece, and the Low Countries. Some have made major contributions to modern society, others more subtly pervaded British life, still others apparently had little lasting effect. The extreme south of Britain was naturally subject to settlement from, and trade with, the Continent […]. Scotland and northeastern England were more open to influence from northern Europe […]. Western Britain, the “Irish Sea Zone”, was open to influences which came from southern Europe and the Mediterranean.1 The societies and cultures of Britain have been subject to cultural influences as far back as we have evidence; almost as soon as there was a channel between the landmasses that were to become the island of Britain and the European continent, there was cross-Channel traffic, translocation, transport, and trade. Pottery of the Early-Bronze-Age Beaker Culture in Britain, for example, strongly resembles its German counterparts, and various objects and materials were imported from the Continent and the Mediterranean.2 The so-called ‘Dover boat’ and a great number of implements and weapons found in the mouth of the River Dour show distinctive French production and suggest the Channel was crossed routinely by traders during the Middle Bronze Age.3 Later, the Celtic peoples, coming from Central Europe, settled in the British Isles and established far-ranging trade routes across the Channel, importing luxury objects and goods (such as wine or jewellery) and exporting metals (particularly tin), grain, or hides.4 This kind of long-distance mobility appears to be demonstrated by isotope analyses of human remains at the late-Bronze-/early-Iron-Age cemetery at Cliffs End Farm on the Isle of Thanet, Kent, which suggest that Britain’s inhabitants arrived from as far afield as the western Mediterranean and Scandinavia.5 The arrival of the Romans during the first century AD integrated Britain into a trade network that brought exotic wares from the furthest corners of the Empire to the emerging trading ports on the south English coast. With these goods came a Mediterranean lifestyle, art and architecture, new gods (first pagan, then Christian), methods of administration, coinage, soldiers, and settlers.6 The villa at Fishbourne, Sussex, for example, with its mosaics and painted walls, its bath suite, and its elaborate gardens, was every inch a Roman palace.7 Coins and objects from the Hoxne Hoard in Suffolk were minted in various places between Germany and Bulgaria, Constantinople, and Antioch in the Near East.8 Forts, such as those along Hadrian’s Wall, demonstrate Roman military power,9 and the tablets from Vindolanda, Northumberland, three of which mention Gaul and Rome, are a reminder that as early as the second and third centuries AD, it was possible to keep in contact over large distances by letter.10 In the middle of the fifth century, parts of Britain were subject to large-scale settlement by peoples from northern Germany and Denmark who would

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introduce an entirely new set of material culture and a new language. They maintained close links with their homelands on the other side of the North Sea, and early English urns are virtually indistinguishable from pottery in Old Saxony.11 Evidence from early English sites records access to exotic imports, such as amphorae from the German Rhineland, Frankish jewellery, amber beads from the Baltic, oriental silk, Egyptian glass-beads, and French wine.12 The famous seventhcentury boat-burial at Sutton Hoo, Suffolk, combined influences and objects from Scandinavia, France, Italy, and the eastern Mediterranean.13 Its overtly pagan burial rite may have been a defiant reaction to the spread of Christianity in southern England during this period. The process of Christianisation of Britain is one of the most consequential examples of cross-Channel influence. It had begun slowly during the third century, as Roman legionaries and tradesmen brought the new religion to the island as one of several other new cults and beliefs. Initially, Christian converts risked persecution, but its legalisation in the early fourth century by Emperor Constantine led to widespread permeation of the faith among the Romano-British population. This is seen, for example, in the mosaic of Christ in the villa at Hinton St Mary in Dorset, and in the early adoption of Latin terms into Gaelic in Ireland.14 While the arrival of Germanic settlers introduced new beliefs from northern mainland Europe and undermined the position of the Christian church, in 596, Pope Gregory I sent Augustine († 604) from Rome to England with several monks to convert the English.15 Landing in Kent, he was aided in his efforts by the fact that Bertha, the wife of King Æthelberht of Kent, was a Frankish Christian, who already had brought her own priests from Francia.16 This allowed Augustine to preach freely, and to found a bishopric in Canterbury. The missionaries stayed in constant contact with Rome and frequently reported on their success; in return, Pope Gregory sent further missionaries and clerical equipment, such as garments, vessels, books, and relics, to Canterbury.17 Despite some setbacks – Rædwald, king of East Anglia, for instance, appears to have followed Scandinavian influences and remained pagan – efforts at conversion generally made good progress.18 Around the same time, the Irish Church began to send missionaries of its own to the west coast of Scotland, the north of England, and the Continent. The Irish monk Columbán (540–615), for example, preached among the Franks, Burgundians, and Lombards and established monasteries as far south as northern Italy. Other missionaries from Ireland and Scotland, such as Willibrord (c.658–739) and Boniface (c.675–754), continued their work in Germany, Switzerland, France, and Italy, founding the so-called ‘Schottenklöster’, which lasted into the thirteenth century and beyond.19 A prime example of ecclesiastical contacts between Britain and the Continent at this time is seen in the work of Baducing (Benedict) Biscop (c.628–690), founder of the twin monastic foundation at Monkwearmouth and Jarrow. A Northumbrian, Benedict spent two years at the abbey of Lérins in southern France (665–7) and made several visits to Rome in order to bring back various books, icons, relics, and personnel to his new Northumbrian foundation.20 Most prominent among the

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arrivals was John, described by Bede as the ‘chief cantor of St Peter’s’ in Rome, who taught the Roman liturgy and modes of singing to the local monks.21 Benedict reached out to the Continent to make dramatic statements in the fabric of his buildings. Bede († 735) informs us that Benedict journeyed to Francia on at least two occasions in order to recruit masons who could build ‘in the Roman style that he had always loved so much’, and to find glaziers to fit his monasteries’ windows with coloured glass. Bede explained that the glassmakers ‘helped the English to understand and to learn for themselves the art of glass-making’.22 Recent studies of Wearmouth–Jarrow in this early period have emphasised the breadth of its communications with Continental Europe for educational, commercial, and political purposes.23 But while Benedict and his successors had brought much to their foundation from the outside, the works that Bede wrote through his use of this cultural and intellectual storehouse of knowledge ensured that Wearmouth–Jarrow was regularly sending copies of Bede’s works to contacts throughout Francia and Germany during the eighth century.24 Another of the English monks on the Continent was Alcuin (c.735–804), who served as a teacher and advisor to Charlemagne, king of the Franks, in Aachen, when in 793 the Northumbrian island monastery at Lindisfarne became the victim of the first reported attack by the Scandinavian Vikings.25 After this, Britain witnessed regular incursions by raiding Vikings for several decades, and from the ninth century onwards, the Scandinavians began to make a permanent settlement,26 introducing material and spiritual cultures that included language and writing, religion and burial custom, fashion, architecture, laws and administration, or art. Through extensive raiding and establishing colonies in locations such as Orkney, Dublin, and York, the British Isles brought immense wealth to Scandinavia, as shown in the vast numbers of Anglo-Saxon coins found in Sweden and Norway and in the amount of decorated Insular metal objects looted from Irish monasteries and re-used as jewellery.27 On the islands themselves, Scandinavian influence can be traced in runic inscriptions on countless stone monuments, for example, which often also feature intricate carvings in the Scandinavian art styles. Loan-words from Old Norse – ‘knife’, ‘window’, ‘bread’, ‘husband’, and many more – are common in modern English, and many placenames based on Norse words, such as Whitby, Lerwick, Snaefell, and Swansea, are a lasting legacy.28 For about 25 years in the early eleventh century, England would even be ruled by Danish kings,29 before government was taken over by others from across the sea. In 1066, Duke William of Normandy invaded England and claimed the kingdom after his victory at the Battle of Hastings. Numerous settlers arrived from northern French regions in the years that followed, variously adopting roles as major landowners and senior church figures, but also impacting lower levels of society as settlers, traders, and holders of minor church offices. The cultural impact of this settlement can be seen in the foundation and reconstruction of innumerable churches, cathedrals, and monasteries and the establishment of new castles, all in characteristic Anglo-Norman architectural styles, as well as in the development of

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what previous generations of historians argue was a strict ‘feudal’ structure of government.30 Reilly has recently described this as an ‘outpouring of art and architectural patronage’ designed to ‘affirm both the legitimacy of his [William’s] rule within both the English and wider European sphere and the continuity of the English monarchy, while also making apparent the arrival of a new ruler’.31 After 1066, England was home to significant numbers of French-speakers, who introduced loanwords into the English vocabulary,32 and whose cross-Channel landholdings and cultural ties drew Britain much closer into the culture and politics of the European continent. This proximity increased during the following centuries when the complexities of inheritance and marriage allowed the Angevin kings of England to exercise control over the greater part of the British Isles and several western French provinces.33 International trade flourished in the centuries that followed. Strong economic bonds were forged between Britain and the Low Countries, as wool became the driving force of the medieval English economy and helped to generate direct trading links with cloth manufacturers abroad,34 while Crawford has also shown that Scotland built strong economic contacts with Denmark, Sweden, and elsewhere.35 Specialists in trades and crafts travelled to settle on both sides of the Channel,36 best shown by the recent ‘England’s Immigrants’ project, which has to date collected the names of over 64,000 people known to have travelled to settle in England from 1330 to 1550.37 In England, relations with France in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were largely defined by the Hundred Years War, during which successive kings of England demonstrated their close cultural ties by asserting their right at various times to part or complete rule of France (c.1337–1453). This prolonged conflict strengthened international concepts of chivalry, while at the same time augmenting perceptions of national identity on both sides.38 Other cultural outcomes included the English acquisition of French manuscripts at artworks by individuals such as John, Duke of Bedford.39 At the same time, a longstanding alliance between Scotland and France against England had huge cultural implications. It was an agreement signed by every Scottish and French monarch, with the exception of Louis XI, from the earliest surviving treaty that dates to 1295, down to the midsixteenth century.40 The alliance was, from an early period, surrounded by myth and fable. In 1428, Alain Chartier, a French poet, was sent as part of an embassy to Scotland. Here he presented a Latin oration to James I that memorably recalled the antiquity of this alliance, remarking that ‘The Auld Alliance is not written on parchment in ink, but engraved on the living flesh of man’s skin in blood’.41 Already described as ‘ancient’ in the fourteenth century, French and Scots alike were convinced that their agreement stretched back over 800 years to one formed between Achaius, sixty-fifth king of Scots, and Charlemagne.42 Although there is little evidence to support this ancient origin for the agreement, as Gordon Donaldson points out, ‘history is the story not only of what happened but of what men believed: the point is that people believed in the antiquity of the Franco–Scottish alliance and such a belief added to its force from a propagandist angle’.43

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The alliance had many tangible consequences. Large numbers of Scottish mercenaries relocated to France to fight, and some received substantial rewards in land and property there.44 In 1445, Charles VII established the king’s bodyguard, the garde écossaise, in recognition of Scottish contributions to the expulsion of the English from France. In September 1513, Louis XII granted letters of naturalisation to the Scots recording that: for the service the Scots rendered to Charles VII on that occasion, and for the great loyalty and virtue which he found in them, he selected 200 of them for the guard of his person, of whom he made 100 men-at-arms, which are the 100 lances of our ancient ordinances, and 100 lifeguards who are still near and about our person.45 One approach to tracing cultural interchange between Britain and Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is to examine the making and patronage of art. Hans Holbein’s painting, The Ambassadors (a detail of which is reproduced on our book’s cover), sheds light on the cosmopolitan court of Henry VIII. Born in Augsburg, Germany, Holbein travelled to England in 1526, where he became court painter to Henry and painted The Ambassadors; a double full-length portrait of the ambassador and commissioner of the piece, Jean de Dinteville, alongside his friend, Georges de Selve.46 Throughout much of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, painters and sculptors travelled from the Continent, especially from the Northern and Southern Netherlands, to work in England and Scotland.47 Karen Hearn has shown that there were differing motives for this influx, ranging from religious beliefs to purely economic concerns. From 1500 to 1700, royal and aristocratic patrons in Britain sought high-quality and fashionable portraits and often favoured foreigntrained artists. There was a high demand in sixteenth-century Britain for portraits, which served a number of purposes but were also admissible in a Calvinist Protestant culture that was anxious about the Second Commandment’s prohibition of images. Following the re-imposition of Catholic Habsburg rule in the Netherlands in 1567, Protestant England became a refuge for Netherlandish members of the Reformed religion, including artists. Some settled there, gaining naturalisation.48 Hans Eworth had settled in London by 1549.49 He became a leading court painter in England and principal painter to the Catholic Queen Mary I, and later worked for her successor, Elizabeth I. Like many artists of the Tudor court, Eworth was also engaged in decorative work, including the set design for a masque given by Elizabeth I in honour of the French Ambassador in 1572. After the accession of King James VI of Scotland as James I of England in 1603, Dutch painters began to arrive in England for professional advancement rather than religious reasons. One of the most successful of this group was Daniel Mytens. Born in Delft around 1590,50 Mytens arrived in London in 1618 and portrayed many important figures at court. He was principal portraitist to James I, and afterwards, Charles I. Mytens retained this position until the Antwerp-born Anthony van Dyck arrived in 1632, after which Mytens returned to The Hague. Van Dyck worked for Charles I and

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transformed the visual image of the monarchy and the court. Indeed, his influence on portrait painting in Britain was to be extremely long-lasting through the rest of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Collecting Art became very fashionable at the court of Charles I, as English connoisseurs began to take interest in genres other than portraiture. Courtiers vied with one another to collect Continental art and to commission new works by relocated artists. From 1617, Hendrick van Steenwijck, for instance, was active in London, specialising in architectural scenes.51 Later in the 1630s, Alexander Keirincx arrived to work for Charles I.52 He was commissioned to tour the country in 1639–40 to depict views of major cities and castles in Charles’s domain. Charles’ commission was evidently politically motivated, originally intended to celebrate his victory over the Scots during the first of the Bishops’ Wars and when that did not materialise, a face-saving measure upon the return of his properties. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the leading painters to the British aristocracy were primarily a succession of migrant artists, principally from the Netherlands. It was not until the eighteenth century that British painters consistently achieved dominance in their own market. From the earliest archaeological evidence down to these well-attested and advanced acts of artistic patronage towards the beginning of the early modern period, there is a wealth of material for the study of cultural and intellectual exchanges between Britain and Europe. The nature of interactions was varied and constantly changing according to individual circumstances, and it is not possible to provide a complete narrative. Despite this, the brief overview given above demonstrates several consistent trends. The physical movement of populations, for example, features heavily in the studies of cross-cultural relations, and indeed, is perhaps vital to it. From the arrival of Germanic peoples around the year 400 AD onwards, through the settlement of Scandinavians and French-speaking groups in the early and central Middle Ages, down to the flourishing communities of migrant traders, artists, or diplomats of the Early Modern period, the history of our topic is rooted in the exchange of people. As has been noted, cultural interactions are often also linked to the movement of material goods and the development of international trade, which allowed the arrival of new goods and the vocabulary with which to describe these items as well as the ways of life they inspired and enabled. Lastly, examples such as the early medieval monastic foundation at Wearmouth–Jarrow and the movement of artists in England in the Early Modern period, highlight the roles played by intellectual communities and the arts in the cross-fertilisation of cultures. This book is not intended to provide a handbook or companion volume that might cover all aspects of the many and various types of interactions that took place between British and neighbouring Continental European communities during the Medieval and Early Modern periods, nor does it propose a single comprehensive argument on the topic. Such an attempt would be futile within the restricted space of a single book. Rather than a single overarching narrative, the chapters included here instead constitute a selection of twelve case studies, each

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aiming to highlight certain specialised aspects of cultural contact and exchange, presenting neglected factors, previously overlooked evidence, or new methodological approaches. By working the subject from a variety of perspectives – such as archaeology, history, art history, iconography, literature, linguistics, or law – and from a wide chronological range through time of more than 1000 years, they are shining new light on a multi-faceted variety of expressions of the equally diverse and long-standing relations between Britain and its neighbours. The character of this volume and the selection of its chapters are in no small way the result of the book’s genesis, as it represents in part the proceedings of an academic conference, in part the collection of papers of independent authors. In June 2018, scholars from Britain, Europe, and beyond travelled to Swansea for the annual ‘Symposium by the Sea’, organised by Swansea University’s Centre for Medieval & Early Modern Research. The theme was ‘Britain and its Neighbours: Culture Contacts and Exchanges in Medieval and Early Modern Europe’. Inspired by recent political developments and surrounding public discourses, the participants brought a wide variety of perspectives from their specialised research projects, with the overall aim to explore some of the aspects of the social, cultural, and intellectual connections, relationships, influences, and interchanges that took place between Britain and Europe between c.500 and 1700. Having been stimulated by the conference, several of the symposiasts expressed a desire to continue the conversation begun at Swansea, and with the help of additional authors, whose ongoing research speaks to the topic further, the editors formulated plans for the present book. Accordingly, the nature of the book, with its eclectic and seemingly ‘incomplete’ composition of chapters, is more due to the availability of authors and their willingness to contribute their research to the project than to an ambition to present a comprehensive picture of the subject. Given the political discourses at the time of writing and the circumstances of its origins, it is important to note that this is not a book concerning the historical roots of Britain’s decision to leave the European Union.53 Nor is it an attempt to point out flaws in the arguments of those who have argued for Britain to take this step, based on historical precedents. More simply, the essays collected together here examine episodes that variously demonstrate potentially illuminating moments of cultural contact, exchange, and (sometimes) misunderstanding between peoples in Britain and Continental Europe from the early Middle Ages down to the Age of Enlightenment. At the outset, it is necessary to outline the criteria through which the authors have engaged with the concepts of ‘Britain’ and ‘Europe’. Since discussions focus on small sections of what is an extremely broad chronological spread, the definition of what can and what must not be included in the term ‘Britain’ is changeable. Following the decline of Roman administration and cultural influence,54 the concept of a single political unit stretching across Britain would have been largely unknown. Writing at Wearmouth–Jarrow in the eighth century, Bede was aware of the geographical and one-time political unity of Britain from earlier histories, but his experience was one of numerous smaller fragmentary kingdoms of varying cultural allegiances.55 While

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some of England’s early and central medieval kings styled themselves as kings of Britain, neither they nor their successors could realistically claim to rule over anything like a single politically-unified Britain until the later Middle Ages.56 Even then, modern historians have characterised the later twelfth to the fourteenth centuries as a period of English colonialism rather than a more organic unification of Britain.57 Instead of attempting to keep track of all the contemporaneously ‘correct’ meanings of the term, therefore, discussions in this book make use of the term ‘Britain’ as the shortest possible label for all the constituent political units and populations of the British Isles; meaning Great Britain, parts of Ireland, and the Isle of Man. The term is thus used in a purely geographical sense rather than a political one, and in a generalising, pars pro toto manner. Its use in our chapters is not to be understood as implying cultural, political, demographic, ethnic, or any other kind of coherence, and in many ways, the discussions which follow serve to communicate the complexities of questions concerning exactly what constituted British society, politics, and culture during the Medieval and Early Modern periods, rather than to define specific key terms. In a similar way, ‘Europe’ is not used here as a political idea or unit, and even less as a coherent social entity. Rather, the label is employed simply as a way to differentiate the various societies and cultures present in the British Isles from those on the other side of the English Channel and the North Sea. The chapters of this book are arranged in chronological order of content. In order to accentuate the consistency and continuity of dealings between Britain and its neighbours through the centuries, each discussion individually shines a spotlight on a different aspect of interaction over a time of more than 1,000 years. The earliest chapters explore Britain’s place in a North Sea world during the early to central Middle Ages and focus on the archaeological evidence of burialcustom, funerary stone-sculpture, and religious imagery in a period of spiritual change between pagan and Christian traditions. Of crucial importance for the reconciliation of these differences were depictions of mythological scenes, which conveyed religious messages to both groups. Sigmund Oehrl examines the iconography of the famous ‘Franks Casket’, an ivory box made in early-eighth-century England, carved with figural scenes and runic inscriptions. He argues that one of its scenic images, featuring the pagan story of Wayland the Smith, is in fact inspired by the Biblical ‘Massacre of the Innocents’, and that it betrays strong occidental influences on the casket’s design. After the Vikings arrived and settled in the British Isles, they had to come to terms with local Christianity. In the second chapter, Danica Ramsey-Brimberg investigates Scandinavian-style motifs in the art of funerary monuments in the Viking graves of north-west England and the Isle of Man and the Norse influence they represent on both the local British population and the Christian Church at a time when the wish to honour the dead demonstrated decision-making made in a ‘Spannungsfeld’ not only between residual paganism and Christianity, but also between Scandinavian and local traditions and sensitivities. Turning to VikingAge iconography, Dirk H. Steinforth reflects on how the Christian image of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ drawn in the Bible’s Psalm 91:13 made its way from

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eastern Mediterranean clay-lamps, Byzantine friezes in Italy, and Carolingian book-illuminations to eventually arrive on eleventh-century British stone monuments, especially to one grave-stone in the Isle of Man, which at the same time features scenes from Norse mythology and thus seems to have been meant to address both pagan and Christian, local and Scandinavian audiences. Other important aspects of life in the British Viking Age included trade, language, and administration. Scandinavian settlers were not just raiders, but also traders, and the development of universally accepted means of payment, such as the use of silver bullion and eventually coins, was an important issue. Coins can be dated precisely, and their place of origin identified. In his chapter, Tom Horne uses them as evidence for evaluating the far-flung economic connections that linked ‘Viking’ Scotland to Scandinavia and the Baltic during the ninth to the twelfth centuries. The Vikings’ Old Norse has retained a profound and lasting influence on the languages in Britain (including, in areas of Scandinavian settlement, place-names) to this very day. Approaching Scandinavian–Insular British relations from this linguistic angle, Rod McDonald sets out to answer the contested question of whether or not local Manx Gaelic had become extinct under the rule of the Vikings in the Isle of Man. Settlement requires administrative and legislative order, and the Vikings imported their system of the ‘þing’ (Thing), an assembly of free men, many sites of which are still recognisable (such as in Tynwald, Isle of Man, or Thingwall, the Wirral, England), and medieval written sources include law books, which provide a detailed insight into Scandinavian legislature and law enforcement. Analysing a thirteenthcentury account of law attributed to Knut the Great, who brought the legal traditions of his home country Denmark to England when he seized its throne, Keith Ruiter in chapter 6 evaluates the beginnings of legal interchange between both realms in the late Viking Age. After the Viking Age, written sources and records increasingly provide detailed insight into a variety of aspects of life. Traditional narratives of the Norman Conquest assert that the landscape of Britain was forever changed, among other things, by the development of castles from purely military structures to homes as well as the introduction of ornamental gardens and the concept of romantic love. Rachel Swallow shows in chapter 7 that Eleanor of Castile brought Spanish designs to the gardens and architecture at the castles her husband, King Edward I, was building in Wales in the late thirteenth century, as well as influences from European and British romance literature. In the Early Modern period, international travel – for commerce and exploration as well as for diplomatic missions – again helped to establish and maintain bonds between countries, and influential individuals used their position to further their countries’ aims abroad. One of these men, one who profoundly influenced the character of Franco–Scottish relations of the early sixteenth century, was the Scotsman John Stuart, Duke of Albany. Bryony Coombs demonstrates how Stuart’s astute use of literary and visual art forms bolstered his political and diplomatic career and made him an important conduit for the transfer of knowledge and ideas between Scotland, France, and Italy. British visitors to Switzerland in

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their turn enabled the creation and maintenance of links between both countries based on common goals and concerns. In the ninth chapter, Vivienne Larminie explores how during the seventeenth century, a time of confessional friction, travel and individual contact between key individuals of both countries allowed religious and intellectual exchange and cooperation and defined the perception of Switzerland in Stuart England. In contrast, Alistair Maeer’s chapter 10 showcases a common English sailor’s wonder during travel, trade, and exploration of the later seventeenth century, vividly documented in the richly illustrated diary of Edward Barlow. Serving on board trading ships in the Mediterranean, Barlow chronicled his experiences and his perceptions of the exotic places he visited – such as Italian ports – from his English perspective. A very different kind of literature – agricultural textbooks published hundreds of years later, in the early eighteenth century – is the focus of the chapter by Linnea Bring Larsson. She investigates the translation of agricultural knowledge and innovations from England to Sweden by the writing and copying of books, points out some of the pitfalls of this process, and shows how obstacles in the transfer of information and ideas were overcome by interaction and intellectual cross-fertilisation. During this period, wealthy and often royal personalities began to visit other countries as ‘tourists’, as shown in our final chapter by Matteo Moro, as he traces both the movements of Edward, Duke of York, during his Grand Tour of Piedmont in 1764 and the courtesies of his Italian hosts. This journey allowed Edward to gain a cultural and intellectual education, while, perhaps more importantly, facilitating semi-official diplomatic relations between England and various Italian polities.

Notes 1 Laing, Lloyd and Jennifer Laing. Britain’s European Heritage. Stroud: Alan Sutton Publishing, 1995, xi. 2 Laing and Laing, Britain’s European Heritage, 1–15; Pryor, Francis. Britain B.C. Life in Britain and Ireland Before the Romans. London: Harper Perennial, 2004. 3 Muckleroy, Keith. ‘Middle Bronze Age Trade Between Britain and Europe: A Maritime Perspective’. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 47 (1981): 275–96; Blanchet, Jean-Claude, ed. Les Relations entre la continent et les Iles Britanniques á l’âge du bronze. Amiens: Revue arché ologique de Picardie, 1987; Clark, Peter, ed. The Dover Bronze Age Boat. Swindon: English Heritage, 2004. 4 Laing and Laing, Britain’s European Heritage, 19–26; Armit, Ian. Celtic Scotland. Iron Age Scotland in its European Context. London: B T Batsford, 2005, esp. 19–20. 5 McKinley, Jacqueline I., Matt Leivers, Jörn Schuster, Peter Marshall, Alistair J. Barclay, and Nick Stoodley. Cliffs End Farm, Isle of Thanet, Kent. A mortuary and ritual site of the Bronze Age, Iron Age and Anglo–Saxon period. Salisbury: Wessex Archaeology Ltd., 2014. 6 Scullard, H. H. Roman Britain. Outpost of the Empire. London: Thames & Hudson, 2002, 128–45; Laing and Laing, Britain’s European Heritage, 48–53. 7 Cunliffe, Barry. Fishbourne. A Roman Palace and its Garden. London: Book Club Associates, 1974. 8 Johns, Catherine. The Hoxne Late Roman Treasure: Gold Jewellery and Silver Plate. London: British Museum Press, 2010. 9 Breeze, David J. and Brian Dobson. Hadrian’s Wall. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 2000.

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10 Birley, Robin. Roman records from Vindolanda on Rome’s northern frontier. Carvoran, Greenhead: Roman Army Museum Publications for the Vindolanda Trust 1999. 11 Wilson, David. The Anglo-Saxons. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972, 100–2; Laing and Laing, Britain’s European Heritage, 66–7; cf. Myres, John N. L. Anglo-Saxon Pottery and the Settlement of England. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969. 12 Wilson, Anglo-Saxons, 89; Laing and Laing, Britain’s European Heritage, 67–8. 13 Carver, Martin. Sutton Hoo: Burial Ground of Kings? London: British Museum Press, 2002, 36–9. 14 Yorke, Barbara. The Conversion of Britain. Religion, Politics and Society in Britain c.600–800. Harlow: Pearson Education Ltd., 2006, 109–12. 15 Mayr-Harting, Henry. The Coming of Christianity to Anglo-Saxon England. London: Batsford, 1972; Yorke, The Conversion of Britain; see also essays in Gameson, Richard G., ed. St Augustine and the Conversion of England. Stroud: Sutton, 1999. 16 Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, trans. David H. Farmer. London: Penguin, 1990, I.25, 74–5. 17 Shaw, Richard. The Gregorian Mission to Kent in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History. Methodology and Sources. London/New York: Routledge, 2018, 41–2, 69. 18 Yorke, Conversion of Britain, 118–22. 19 Hindley, Geoffrey. A brief History of the Anglo-Saxons. London: Constable & Robinson, 2006, 120–49. 20 Bede, Lives of the Abbotts of Wearmouth and Jarrow, trans. David H. Farmer. In The Age of Bede, trans. J. F. Webb and David H. Farmer. London: Penguin, 2004, 1–13, 187–200; Hindley, Anglo-Saxons, 77–8; Yorke, Conversion of Britain, 168–9. 21 Bede, Lives of the Abbotts of Wearmouth and Jarrow, 6, 192. 22 Bede, Lives of the Abbotts of Wearmouth and Jarrow, 5, 191; Wilson, Anglo-Saxons, 52–3; Whitelock, Dorothy. The Beginnings of English Society. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1977, 225. 23 Cramp, Rosemary. Wearmouth and Jarrow Monastic Sites. Swindon: English Heritage, 2005–6, I, 31–2; Turner, Sam, Sarah Semple, and Alex Turner. Wearmouth & Jarrow: Northumbrian Monasteries in an historical landscape. Hatfield: University of Hertfordshire Press, 2013, 99–103. 24 Parkes, M. B. The Scriptorium of Wearmouth–Jarrow (Jarrow Lecture Series 25). S.l., 1982, 15–6, and see also the map showing locations of Bede’s works during the eighth century in Turner, Semple, and Turner, Wearmouth & Jarrow, 100. 25 ‘Letter of Alcuin to Higbald, Bishop of Lindisfarne, and his monks, condoling them for the sack of Lindisfarne (793, after 8 June)’. In English Historical Documents I: c.500–1142, edited by Dorothy Whitelock. London, 1968, 778–9. 26 Hadley, Dawn M. ‘And they proceeded to plough and to support themselves’. AngloNorman Studies 19 (1997): 69–96; Roesdahl, Else. The Vikings. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1998, 210–61. 27 Richards, Julian D. Viking Age England. Stroud: Tempus Publishing Ltd., 1991, 41–7; Wamers, Egon. Insularer Metallschmuck in wikingerzeitlichen Gräbern Nordeuropas. Untersuchungen zur skandinavischen Westexpansion (Offa-Bücher 56). Neumünster: KarlWachholtz-Verlag, 1985. 28 Richards, Viking Age England, 55–63; Graham-Campbell, James and Colleen E. Batey. Vikings in Scotland. An Archaeological Survey. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2002, 37–41; Griffiths, David. Vikings in the Irish Sea. Conflict and Assimilation AD 790–1050. Stroud: History Press, 2010, 48–62. 29 Highham. N[ick] J. The Death of Anglo-Saxon England. Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 2000. 30 See for example: Lyon, H. R. Anglo-Saxon England and the Norman Conquest. London: Longman, 1962, 315–30; Barlow, Frank. ‘The Effects of the Norman conquest’. In The Norman Conquest: its Setting and Impact, edited by Dorothy Whitelock, David C. Douglas, Charles H. Lemmon, and Frank Barlow. London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1966, 123–61; Brown, R. Allen. The Normans and the Norman Conquest (2nd ed.).

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34

35 36 37

38

39 40

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42 43 44 45 46

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Woodbridge: Boydell, 1995. For a revisionist view, see Williams, Anne. The English and the Norman Conquest. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1995. Reilly, Lisa. The Invention of Norman Visual Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020, 64–5. Lusignan, Serge. La langue des rois au Moyen Âge: Le français en France et en Angleterre. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2004. Bartlett, Robert, England Under the Norman and Angevin Kings: 1075–1225. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000, 11–28. On cross-Channel possessions under the Norman kings, see: Crouch, David. ‘Normand and Anglo-Normans: a Divided Aristocracy?’ In England and Normandy in the Middle Ages, edited by David Bates. London: Bloomsbury, 1994, 51–67. Ditchburn, David. Scotland and Europe, The Medieval Kingdom and its Contacts with Christendom, 1214–1560. Aberdeen: Tuckwell Press, 2001; Bell, Adrian R., Chris Brooks, and Paul R. Dryburgh. The English Wool Market, c.1230–1327. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007, 1. Crawford, Barbara. ‘Scotland’s Foreign Relations: Scandinavia’. In Scottish Society in the Fifteenth Century, edited by Jennifer M. Brown. London: Edward Arnold, 1977, 85–100. Laing and Laing, Britain’s European Heritage, 133–48. https://www.englandsimmigrants.com, accessed 10 September 2020. The main current publications of this project are Ormrod, W. M[ark], Nicola McDonald, and Craig Taylor, eds. Resident Aliens in Later Medieval England. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017; Ormrod, W. M[ark], Bart Lambert, and Jonathan Mackman. Immigrant England, 1300–1550. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2019. The best narrative accounts are Curry, Anne. The Hundred Years War. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003; Sumption, Jonathan. The Hundred Years War. London: Faber, 1990–2009. For chivalry, see Taylor, Craig. Chivalry and the Ideals of Knighthood in France During the Hundred Years War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013; King, Andy. ‘Chivalry and the Hundred Years War’. In The Hundred Years War Revisited, edited by Anne Curry. London: Red Globe Press, 2019, 133–52. McKendrick, Scot. ‘A European Heritage: Books of Continental Origin collected by the English Royal Family from Edward III to Henry VIII’. In Royal Manuscripts the Genius of Illumination. London: The British Library, 2011, 43–65. Bonner, Elizabeth. ‘Scotland’s “Auld Alliance” with France, 1295–1560’. History 84, no. 273 (1999): 6. For the documentary record of 1295, see: AN, Tr. des Ch. J. 677, no. 1; further copies: NLS, Adv. MS. 35.1.5, fos. 6–14; BL, Harl. 1244, fos. 18–26. There remains the possibility that there was an earlier alliance of which documentary evidence does not survive. Paris, BnF MS Latin 8757, f. 51r.: ‘Hac autem amicicia quid vivatius, que velut testamentum sempiternum jam per successions extenditur? Neque enim liga hec jam in carta pellis ovine designata, sed hominum carni et cuti, non atramento, ymno sanguine mixtim fuso scripta est’. MacDougal, Norman. An Antidote to the English, The Auld Alliance, 1295–1560. East Lothian: Tuckwell, 2001, 4. Donaldson, Gordon. The Auld Alliance: the Franco–Scottish connections. Edinburgh: Saltire Society and L’Institut franç ais d’Ecosse, 1985, 24. For example, Robert Cunningham became Lord of Chevreuse, Sir William Monypenny became Lord of Concressault, and John Stewart of Darnley became Lord of Aubigny and Evreux. Bonner, Elizabeth. ‘French Naturalization of the Scots in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries’. The Historical Journal 40, no. 4 (1997): 1085–115. Also, Simpson, Grant G. The Scottish Soldier Abroad, 1247–1967. Edinburgh: John Donald, 1992. For Holbein, see: Foister, Susan. Holbein in England. London: Tate Publishing, 2006; North, John. The Ambassadors’ Secret: Holbein and the World of the Renaissance. London:

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50

51 52

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Phoenix, 2004; Beyer, Andreas. ‘The London Interlude: 1526–1528’. In Hans Holbein the Younger: The Basel Years, 1515–1532, edited by Christian Müller et al. Munich: Prestel, 2006, 66–71. Hearn, Karen. ‘Netherlandish Painters Active in Britain in the 16th and 17th Centuries’. CODART eZine, The World of Dutch and Flemish Art (2013). URL: http://ezine. codart.nl/17/issue/46/artikel/netherlandish-painters-active-in-britain-in-the-16th-and17th-centuries/?id=191&showMap=true#!/page/1, accessed 10 September 2020. See Hearn, Karen. ‘Netherlandish artists in the Tate Collection’. CODART Courant 19 (2009), 10–1; Hearn, Karen. ‘Migrant Artists in Britain in the Seventeenth Century’. In Portraits and People: Art in Seventeenth Century Ireland. Cork: Crawford Art Gallery, 2010, 14–7; Hearn, Karen. ‘Portraiture’ and ‘New Genres’. In Migrations: Journeys into British Art, edited by Lizzie Carey-Thomas. London: Tate Publishing, 2012, 16–31. Originally Jan Eeuwouts of Antwerp (active c.1540–73). Smith, Elise L. ‘Eworth, Hans’. Grove Art Online (2003). URL: https://www.oxfordartonline.com/groveart/ view/10.1093/gao/9781884446054.001.0001/oao-9781884446054-e-7000027114, accessed 12 September 2020. Mijtens, Daniël (c.1590–1647/48). Ekkart, Rudolf E. O., Torbjörn Fulton, and Klára Garas. ‘Mijtens family’. Grove Art Online (2003). URL: https://www.oxfordartonline. com/groveart/view/10.1093/gao/9781884446054.001.0001/oao-9781884446054-e7000057936, accessed 12 September 2020. Hendrik van Steenwijck II (c.1580–1640). Baudouin, Frans. ‘Steenwijk family’. Grove Art Online (2003). URL: https://www.oxfordartonline.com/groveart/view/10.1093/gao/ 9781884446054.001.0001/oao-9781884446054-e-7000081156, accessed 12 September 2020. Alexander Keirincx (1600–52). Devisscher, Hans. ‘Keirinckx [Carings; Cierings; Cierinx; Keerinckx; Keirincx; Keirings; Keyrincx], Alexander’. Grove Art Online (2003). URL: https://www.oxfordartonline.com/groveart/view/10.1093/gao/9781884446054.001. 0001/oao-9781884446054-e-7000046168, accessed 12 September 2020. For some examples of such questioning, see: Nedergaard, Peter, and Maja Friis Henriksen. ‘Brexit and British Exceptionalism’. In The Routledge Handbook of the Politics of Brexit, edited by Patrick Diamond, Peter Nedergaard, and Ben Rosamond. Abingdon/New York: Routledge, 2018, 134–46; Buckledee, Steve. The Language of Brexit: how Britain talked its way out of the European Union. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2018; O’Rourke, Kevin. A short History of Brexit. London: Pelican, 2019. Potter, T. W. and Catherine Jones. Roman Britain. London: British Museum Press, 1992, esp. 66–98 (chapter 3: ‘The Romanisation of town and country’); Scullard, Roman Britain, esp. 37–57 (chapter 3: ‘Conquest, occupation and Romanization’). Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, edited by Bertram Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969, 15. Crouch, David. Medieval Britain, c. 1000–1500. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017, 78–84. Davies, R. R. The First English Empire: Power and Identities in the British Isles 1093–1343. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000; Carpenter, David. The Struggle for Mastery: Britain 1066–1284. London: Allen Lane, 2003.

1 WAYLAND THE SMITH AND THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS Pagan-Christian ‘amalgamation’ on the Anglo-Saxon Franks Casket Sigmund Oehrl Abstract: On the front panel of the Anglo-Saxon ivory box ‘Franks Casket’, the cruel revenge of Wayland the smith and the Nativity of Jesus are depicted side by side. This juxtaposition seems to represent a contrast between the cruelty of pa­ ganism and the Christian faith. Other researchers, however, have argued that Wayland should be understood as a positive Christian symbol. This discussion will argue that the depiction of Wayland’s child murder together with the Nativity of Christ was inspired by the iconography of the Massacre of the Innocents, depicting Herod and the child murder next to the Magi and the Virgin with Child. If Wayland can be interpreted as an Anglo-Saxon pagan counterpart of King Herod the Great, then the Casket functions as a forum for the examination of pagan and Christian cultural amalgamation during the early Middle Ages.

The front side of Franks Casket – Wayland’s Revenge and the Adoration of the Magi The famous, richly decorated walrus ivory casket was produced in the early eighth century in an ecclesiastical setting in north England, as a receptacle for jewellery, books, or relics. In 1857, it was bought by Sir Augustus Wollaston Franks in Auzon, Département Haute-Loire, in France, who later gave it to the British Museum in London.1 With its inscriptions and images combining different narrative traditions and showing strong influences of late antique and Frankish art, it is one of the most famous and fascinating testimonies of fruitful interrelations between the Anglo–Saxon World and the Continent during the early Middle Ages. The pictorial programme includes the story of Wayland the Smith and the Adoration of the Magi on the casket’s front side, runic inscriptions and images of the Roman foundation fathers Romulus and Remus on the left side, and Titus’ conquest of Jerusalem on the back. The lid depicts an archer defending a building and a figure on a throne within it against a superior contingent of enemy soldiers.

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The front panel of Franks Casket (eighth century). (Photo: Estate of Karl Hauck, ZBSA, Schleswig).

FIGURE 1.1

The runic inscription Ægili denotes this warrior as Wayland’s brother, the master archer Egill, who features in Old Norse tradition.2 The right panel is kept in the Bargello, Florence, Italy. While several sugges­ tions have been presented, its mysterious images (a horse–human hybrid and a warrior, a horse and a grave mound, three men/women in cloaks, among other motifs) have defied all attempts at interpretation.3 In fact, it remains unknown whether the images on the casket’s five panels are linked by a common icono­ graphical programme.4 Nonetheless, in the case of the images of Wayland and the epiphany on the front, a deliberate juxtaposition can be assumed. The front side of the casket (Fig. 1.1) is bordered by a runic inscription. In alliterative long lines, this recounts the fate of the stranded whale whose remains provided the material (hronæsban, ‘whale bone’) for the production of the casket.5 A vertical band divides the space in half: to the right, the adoration of the infant Jesus is shown. The Three Magi, bearing gifts and approaching from the left, are iden­ tified by a runic titulus (mægi, cf. Matthew 2:1: magi). Between the leading Magus and Mary with the Baby Jesus, a rosette representing the Star of Bethlehem can be seen. Below, a long-necked bird appears to lead the Magi to the throne of the Blessed Mother, which is a unique scene in Christian iconography. On the left side of the panel, on the outer edge of the field and opposite to Mary, a bearded man is shown, whose identity as a smith is shown by the tongs in his left hand and the anvil with two hammers in front of him. A semicircular object represents the fur­ nace or forgestone. At the man’s feet, a headless, naked human figure is lying prone on the ground. The smith holds the severed head in his tongs. In his right hand, he grasps a cup, which one of two women opposite him appears to reach out for. There can be no doubt that this is a scene from the Wayland legend.6 In particular, this story is told in the Edda’s Vo˛lundarqviða (probably tenth century) and in Þiðreks saga (mid-thirteenth century),7 and basically tells how master smith Wayland (Old Norse Vo˛lundr; Old Norwegian Velent) is abducted, crippled, held captive by a king (Old Norse Níðuðr; Old Norwegian Níðungr), and forced to

Wayland the Smith

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produce jewellery for the royal family. He takes revenge by beheading the king’s two sons. From their body parts, he fashions jewellery for the king and his family and drinking vessels from their skulls. After that, he impregnates the king’s daughter (Old Norse Bo˛ðvildr), after making her compliant with an alcoholic drink, according to Vo˛lundarqviða. Before flying away (using a bird-like flying machine, Þiðreks saga relates, while the Edda remains silent about his means to fly), Wayland finally confronts the king with his revenge. There is good evidence to suggest that Wayland’s story was known early to the Anglo-Saxons. The first two stanzas of the poem Deor (eighth or ninth centuries) tell of Wayland’s captivity at the hands of king Niðad and the king’s daughter’s sorrows about her unintentional pregnancy. Iconographical references8 to the Wayland story can be seen on the Gotlandic picture stones Ardre kyrka VIII9 and Alskog kyrka10 as well as the fragments of the stone cross of Leeds11 in West Yorkshire. There is also the gilded bronze mount (part of a helmet?12) in the shape of a man with wings from Uppåkra,13 and the solidus from Schweinsdorf (Eastern Friesland, Germany), bearing the runic inscription wela(n)du (= ‘Weˉland’).14 On Franks Casket, several figures relate to Wayland’s story: the woman standing opposite the smith would be the king’s daughter, being handed the stupefying drink by her tormentor. One of the beheaded princes can be seen on the ground, and the human head in the jaws of the smith’s tongs refers to the fabrication of the drinking vessels. The identification of the other two figures is unclear.15 The woman to the right of the princess has been interpreted variously as a maid accompanying her mistress to the smithy (as told by Þiðreks saga),16 the princess herself,17 a ‘beer maid’,18 or a supernatural ‘revenge helper’.19 The small male figure next to her, holding two of the four birds in the scene by their necks, cannot be identified. Wayland’s brother Egill may be shown here, collecting feathers for the flying ma­ chine,20 or instead one of the young princes hunting birds,21 the theft of the ‘swanshirts’ from the story’s prelude told in Vo˛lundarkviða,22 or the forging of the sword Mimung.23

How can Jesus be linked to Wayland? Why would both Wayland’s story and the Adoration of the Magi be depicted on the front panel of the casket? Scholars agree that the direct juxtaposition of two fundamentally different subjects must be deliberate, and that the carver must have correlated the two motifs and tales. The most obvious link is in the birds in both parts of the picture: to the left, long-necked birds are being caught, and to the right, an identical animal leads the three Magi to Bethlehem. On both sides, the presentation of an object plays an important part: to the left, the ominous potion offered to the unsuspecting princess, and to the right, the reverential gifts of the three wise men for the God incarnate and saviour. The Magus in front, who is proffering a kind of cup, kneels in front of the Blessed Mother, and in a similar manner, Wayland’s legs are also slightly bent (and his head bowed as well), as if he too was offering the drink with a gesture of reverence.

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It frequently has been suggested that this was a case of contrastive juxtaposition: Wayland, the child murderer from a pagan past, is vindictive and cruel, whereas the God of the Christians is merciful. The killing of the king’s children is contrasted with the adoration of the divine child by the Magi, the violation of the princess to the virgin birth of Christ. The pre-Christian principle of revenge is being contrasted with God’s love and grace. This juxtaposition points towards the overcoming of the Heroic by the new faith – an interpretation formulated by Schneider and convincingly presented by Haug.24 Meanwhile, a new position appears to prevail, which considers the Wayland on Franks Casket as a positive and Christian figure and thus interprets the adoration by the Magi of the infant Jesus in a complementary instead of a contrastive way. This primarily is based on the Old English poem Deor.25 In it, Wayland appears as a suffering victim, not as an offender, and there is no mention of any atrocities committed by him. Ellis Davidson takes the view that the image of Wayland on Franks Casket alludes to the birth of Wayland’s heroic son (Old English Widia, Old Norwegian Viðga, Middle High German Witege) with the king’s daughter. This son could be understood as a prefiguration of Christ.26 Bradley not only includes Deor, but also the translation into Old English of Boethius’ De Consolatione Philosophia by Alfred the Great (†899) as well as Bede’s (†735) commentary on the Book of Kings.27 In the commentary, it says that the smiths of Jerusalem were taken captive by the Babylonians, and Bede develops an allegorical significance of the smith in general who should be considered a wise master and guardian of Christian doctrine. Alfred mentions Wayland by name und uses him as an example for the position that nobody can be deprived of his Godgiven craftsmanship and strength. Webster points out that Wayland’s flight could be taken as a symbol of Christian salvation.28 It also has been noted that on occasion in Old English and Old Norse literature, Christ is described as a smith or son of a smith.29 There existed a positive image of Wayland known to the Christian Anglo-Saxons, which focused on his skills and wisdom, instead of on his acts of revenge.30 According to Lang and Yorke, Wayland was even seen as an avenger worthy of veneration, because his acts of violence were in fact legitimate means in his quest for justice. The villain of the story was not Welund, but Niðad, who abducts the smith.31 Abels concludes: The scenes on the front panel are more plausibly interpreted as comple­ mentary than adversarial [...]. The images of the revenge of Weland and the Adoration of the Magi […] represent two aspects of reciprocity, vendetta and gift giving, and two models of lordship, the good lordship of the Lord Christ contrasted with the bad lordship of King Niðad.32 These positive interpretations of the image of Wayland on Franks Casket are, however, problematic. They presuppose that child murder and rape were accepted practices among the elite of Anglo-Saxon society. In fact, however, murder and infanticide were considered a crime and punished severely: the legislation of King

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Aethelberht from the early phase of the Anglo-Saxon mission is characterised by high regard for human life – which constitutes an innovation as well as Christian influence – and renounced capital punishment for homicide.33 The synod of Birr in AD 697 prohibited the killing of women and children in the event of war, and von Padberg has argued that ‘Part of the increased protection of human life as a result of Christianisation was the fight of the Church against abortion and infanticide’.34 Similarly, Anglo-Saxon law carried severe penal provisions for rape and clearly demonstrates the intention to protect women from assault. Again, according to von Padberg: ‘Compared to pagan social standards, the position of women […] and the protection of children were improved’.35 Both the designer of Franks Casket and their audience belonged to a Christian elite that carried those social, ethical, and legal processes. Is it reasonable to suppose that these people would have accepted child murder and rape, ignored or even glamorised Wayland’s crimes? The poet of Deor and Alfred the Great completely ignore Welund’s atrocities. This stands in sharp contrast to Franks Casket, where the acts of revenge are given centre stage. Neither Wayland’s wisdom or his captivity nor his ability to fly are visualised, but the rape and infanticide he committed. Millet argues that the images of his violence had been necessary for the iconographic identification of Wayland, but without the need to attribute any special significance to them.36 However, the designer of Franks Casket surely would have been quite able to depict Wayland without the dead bodies of children; that is, if he had indeed intended to portray Wayland as a positive figure. Instead, Wayland’s drastic acts of violence appear to have been important to the artisan, as he made them the central theme of the scene.

The Massacre of the Innocents It is important to consider the fact that in the context of Jesus’ birth an infamous child murder played a crucial role. According to the Gospel of Matthew, the three Magi are following the star to King Herod and ask him for the place where the new King of the Jews was born. Herod sends them to Bethlehem and instructs them to tell him the exact whereabouts of the child – which, on God’s behest, they refuse to do: ‘When Herod realised that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem’ (Matthew 2:16). In Christian iconography, this ‘Massacre of the Innocents’ is often depicted next to the adoration by the Magi.37 The hypothesis presented here is that this influenced the design of the front side of Franks Casket.38 One of the earliest known representations of the Massacre of the Innocents is located among the mosaics of the fifth-century triumphal arch of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, directly beneath the Adoration of the Magi.39 The first examples showing the child murder in greater detail can be found on Roman sarcophagi from the fourth and fifth centuries, such as those in San Sebastiano in Rome,40 in the crypt of the church Sainte-Marie-Madeleine in Saint-Maximin-laSainte-Baume (Dép. Var) (Fig. 1.2),41 and the lost sarcophagus of St Martin in

20

Sigmund Oehrl

Frieze on the lid of the sarcophagus in Sainte-Marie-Madeleine (crypt Saint-Maximin) in Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume, Dép. Var, France (fourth quarter of the fourth century) (After Garrucci, Sarcofagi, pl. 334:3).

FIGURE 1.2

Saint-Rémy of which only two drawings are available.42 In the badly damaged relief in San Sebastiano, Herod is shown with a long sceptre, giving the order for the murder with a gesture of his hand. In front of him, a soldier is holding a baby by its legs and throwing it through the air, and next to them, one of the mothers laments the dead body lying at Herod’s feet. On the other two sarcophagi, Herod on his throne is portrayed on the left, looking to the right and extending the hand to order the killing, and his solders, standing to the right, in front of the king, are carrying it out, where a naked child is taken by the feet and thrown through the air. In Saint-Maximin, another soldier brings a second child, and in Saint-Rémy, a child’s dead body is lying in front of Herod’s throne. From the right, grieving mothers approach the scene. On both sarcophagi, the image area of the relief is partitioned in two halves by a central panel flanked by angels. On the right half, the adoration of the infant Jesus by the three Magi is depicted. Mary is located on the right, looking to the left, thus mirroring the position of Herod in the left half. Fifth-century ivories provide further Western Roman depictions of the chil­ dren being killed by smiting. Here, too, the scenes are juxtaposed with the birth of Jesus. In a rectangular field at the top of the left panel of the ivory diptych from Ravenna (or Northern Italy) in the cathedral treasure of Milan, the infant Jesus can be seen in the stable with Mary and Joseph.43 The lower portion depicts the Massacre of the Innocents, with Herod sitting to the left giving the order to kill with a gesture of his hand, while a soldier is hurling a naked child into the air, a second child lies on the ground, and to the right, two grieving mothers are being pushed away by soldiers. Another ivory tablet from Rome (or Northern Italy; Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Skulpturensammlung und Museum für Byzantinische Kunst, inv. no. 2719) shows the same basic scene juxtaposed against the Baptism of Christ.44 This Roman type was copied in the Carolingian period. A carved ivory book cover, probably from the court school of Charlemagne and dated to about AD 800 (Oxford, Bodleian Library, Cod. Douce 176) features the triumphant Christ in its centre, illustrating Psalm 90 (91):13.45 In one of the twelve smaller frames, the Massacre of the Innocents is depicted with its classic elements, including an en­ throned Herod giving the order on the right, a soldier hurling a naked child into the air, another child lying dead on the ground, and a wailing mother.46 Directly above this image, the artist depicted the adoration of Jesus by the three Magi, with

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echoes of composition from the scene below. Just like Herod directly below her, Mary is sitting on a throne to the right of the scene, both are looking to the left, turning towards three persons, and both images appear crowded. A ninth-century ivory book cover (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Cod. Lat 939347) is divided into three fields, showing the Annunciation of Mary at the top, the Adoration of Jesus in the middle, and the massacre at the bottom: again, Herod, on a throne, gives an order, two henchmen toss two naked children in the air, and a group of mothers are watching the proceedings. In the contemporaneous Purple Evangeliary from Augsburg (Staatsbibliothek München, Clm 23631, fol. 24v), on a subsequently inserted sheet of antique or early medieval date, the same scene can be seen, with one of the children apparently being smashed on a columnar altar, while a soldier attacks one of the women and pulls her hair.48 Even in later centuries, the Roman type was copied, such as in the carved ivory book cover in the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, dated to the eleventh century.49 A second type of this motif first occurs in the Middle East. In it, the children are not killed by hurling them into the air and smiting them, but by use of weapons. A miniature in the Rabbula Gospels (Florence, Bibl. Laur. Plut. I 56, fol. 4v), produced in 586 in Syria, features Herod on his throne, giving the order with a gesture of his hand, on one side, and on the other a soldier, holding up a child by its ankle and raising his sword, as well as the mother, attempting to stop the executioner.50 Directly above this scene appears the image of the Nativity of Jesus. Similarly, a clay medallion from the abbey of San Columban in Bobbio (north Italy) and produced in the Holy Land in the sixth or early seventh centuries shows Saint Elizabeth with the infant John the Baptist to the left of a soldier who appears to slay a child with his sword.51 Other early Christian or Byzantine depictions of the Massacre of the Innocents include (following an apocryphal model) Elizabeth’s escape and her hideout in the mountain, such as in the Homilies of St Gregory of Nazianzus (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Cod. Gr. 510, fol. 137) from about 880, or in the murals in the church of Deir Abu Hinnis in Egypt from the sixth or seventh centuries.52 This eastern type also was adopted in the Carolingian empire and continued to be popular until the tenth or eleventh centuries.53 An important example appears in the initials in the Drogo Sacramentary (mid-ninth century; Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Cod. Lat. 9128, fols 31a, 32b, 34b, 38a) which feature a massacre on no fewer than ten naked children, with three grieving mothers and two executioners with their swords, as well as Mary on her throne with the baby Jesus, the Magi coming before Herod, and their adoration of Jesus in Bethlehem.54 The manuscript of the hymn Carmen paschale from the second third of the ninth century by poet Sedulius (Museum Plantin-Moretus Prentenkabinet, Antwerp, M 17.4, fols 15v, 16r) portrays the Adoration of Jesus and the Massacre on two adjoining pages.55 To the right of Herod, standing on the left edge of the page, there are a mother, kneeling in front of a naked child’s corpse, a soldier, impaling a second child, another woman, holding two children, and a second henchman, holding a child at the ankle and hewing at it with a sword. This manuscript could be a Carolingian copy of an older model from England.

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Three very similar renderings of the massacre can be found in the Codex Egberti (about 980; Stadtbibliothek Trier, Cod. 24, fol. 15v),56 in the Reichenau Evangeliary of Otto III (about 1000; Staatsbibliothek München, Clm 4453, fol. 30v),57 and in the Echternach Pericopes (1039–1043; Staatsbibliothek Bremen, Hs. B. 21, fol. 13).58 All three examples depict Herod to the left of the scene, holding a staff, and giving the killing order with an outstretched hand, while two men reach out for the children with raised swords. In the Codex Egberti and the Echternach Pericopes, a third thrusts a spear into the body of a child, while a heap of naked children’s corpses, some headless, is piled up, and the mothers stand to the right.

Wayland, the Anglo-Saxon Herod This iconographic overview demonstrates that figural depictions of the Massacre of the Innocents were common in Late Antiquity and that in the Middle Ages, they were designed following antique models. It is highly plausible, therefore, that the Anglo-Saxon scholar, who created Franks Casket in the eighth century, drew on such models for inspiration. In fact, there are some striking parallels regarding form and content. The Massacre of the Innocents is often depicted in direct proximity to the Adoration of the infant Jesus.59 In some cases, the arrangement of the images in­ dicates that a relationship was established between both motifs, such as on the ivory diptych in Milan and the Carolingian ivory book cover in Oxford. On the Roman sarcophagi in Saint-Maximin and Saint-Rémy, Mary appears to be what Ulbert has described as a ‘Pendant zu Herodes’ (a ‘counterpart of Herod’).60 Both the partition of the panel and the positioning of Mary and Herod on the sarcophagi correspond to the composition of the front panel of Franks Casket. Here, too, the Adoration is located in the right-hand field with Mary on the outer edge. Wayland – placed on the outer edge of the left field – is equivalent to Herod, the killing of the king’s children to the mass murder of the children in Bethlehem. A similar juxtaposition of Mary and Herod can be seen on the Carolingian ivory book cover of the Lorsch Evangeliary (Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica, Cod. Pal. lat. 50)61 and on a gilded ornamental plate from Northern Italy (Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Skulpturensammlung und Museum für Byzantinische Kunst, Inv. no. 1007).62 The motif of the Massacre of the Innocents shows the corpses of the children – always naked, occasionally decapitated – lying on the ground, at the feet of King Herod and of the mothers. In the smithy represented on Franks Casket, the naked, headless body of the king’s child is lying on the ground, at the feet of Wayland, Beadohilde, and her companion. The two women in the smithy standing in front of Wayland and the child’s body correspond to the wailing women in the classical iconography of the Massacre. An antique or early medieval model might well have been the inspiration for the Anglo-Saxon carver to add the second female figure. The bird catcher in the Wayland scene is equivalent to Herod’s henchmen carrying out the Massacre. Just as the soldiers are seizing the children by their legs

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or hurling them into the air, the ‘fowler’ on Franks Casket is seizing the birds by their necks and lifting them up. The strangled birds correspond to the children of Bethlehem. This comparison is by no means far-fetched, as in Christian icono­ graphy, doves are regarded as representatives of pure souls, especially those of children.63 Hence, doves can be seen on a number of gravestones of late antique and Merovingian period date.64 Against this background, it is conceivable that several further elements of Franks Casket correspond to the images of Herod. For example, Wayland’s slightly bent legs suggest a sitting position, though there is no chair or stool in the picture. This peculiar posture of the legs has been taken to signify Wayland being crippled,65 but it is also possible that it refers back to the similar position of Herod, sitting on the throne, whose legs often are shown slightly bent, as is the case in the Roman mosaics of Santa Maria Maggiore, where his throne is hardly recognisable at all. Perhaps the designer of Franks Casket copied the sitting position of the depictions of Herod, leaving out the throne. This is exactly what the illuminators of the tenth and eleventh centuries did, as is demonstrated by the Codex Egberti and the Echternach Pericopes.66 Also, Herod’s arm gesture, raised and extended to give the killing order, might linger in the image of Wayland – as outstretched hand, offering the noxious cup. At first sight, Wayland and Herod do not appear to have much in common. Both cases of child murder, however, compare well in terms of their heinous­ ness. It is difficult to find more vicious child murderers in either the Christian or pagan Anglo-Saxon traditions. With this in mind, is Wayland an ‘Anglo-Saxon Herod’? Both Wayland and Herod commit infanticide in an attempt to influence dynastic developments in their favour: Wayland deprives King Niðad of his male descendants and impregnates the king’s daughter to put his son, the hero Widia, in the position of future king. Herod orders the children of Bethlehem to be killed to prevent the new-born King of the Jews from taking his throne from him. Summing up: The image of Wayland of Franks Casket might have been de­ signed by adopting and imitating those of the Massacre of the Innocents – and then placed beside the Adoration of the Magi. King Herod, who often occurs in juxtaposition to Mary and the infant Jesus within antique and early medieval Christian imagery, is replaced by the local child murderer, Wayland. Possibly, the artisan drew on a late antique model that featured the Adoration of Jesus as well as the Biblical infanticide. The parallels between Herod’s murders and Wayland’s revenge induced him to create a depiction of Wayland and transform the Biblical Massacre into an indigenous and pre-Christian motif. There can be no doubt that southern archetypes had a decisive influence on the design of the Anglo-Saxon casket.67 The adversarial juxtaposition of child murder and adoration was visible in the Gospel of Matthew. It particularly highlights the royal ancestry of Jesus and his role as King of the Jews, and then contrasts him with the tyrant king Herod.68 For this, the author needs the infanticide, which is mentioned neither in the other gospels

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nor in historical sources: ‘Matthew utilises the means of literary contrasting in order to distance the reigning sovereign, King Herod, from the Davidic ruler’.69 The Gospel of Matthew juxtaposes Jesus ‘as the true, compassionately healing Davidid (21:1–9) with the violent despot Herod (2:1–3)’.70 This juxtaposition clearly continues to have its effect in the late antique iconography,71 which is particularly apparent in the arrangement of the images on the sarcophagi of SaintMaximin and Saint-Rémy as well as eventually, according to the hypothesis put forward here, on the front panel of Franks Casket. This appears to be one of those learned insinuations and mystifications,72 based on interrelations between AngloSaxon England and the Continent, which are a characteristic of the casket. As an indigenous equivalent, Wayland refers to the Biblical child murderer Herod, possibly as a kind of ‘prefiguration’. Therefore, the conclusion is that a positive interpretation of the Wayland on Franks Casket, which is current opinio communis, must be ruled out. (Translation by Dirk H. Steinforth)

Notes 1 For introductions to the casket and its study, see e.g. Napier, Arthur S. ‘The Franks Casket’. In An English Miscellany presented to Dr. Furnivall. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901, 362–81; Viëtor, Wilhelm. Das angelsächsische Runenkästchen aus Auzon bei Clermont-Ferrand. Marburg: N. G. Elwert’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1901; Stephens, George. The Old–Norse Runic Monuments of Scandinavia and England I–IV. London: Williams & Norgate, 1866–1901, vols I & II, 470–6, 921–3; vol. III, 200–4; vol. IV, 40–4; Goldschmidt, Adolph. Die Elfenbeinskulpturen aus der Zeit der karolingischen und sächsischen Kaiser. VIII.–XI. Jahrhundert. 2 vols (Denkmäler der deutschen Kunst, II. Sektion, Plastik, 4. Abteilung). Berlin: Deutscher Verlag für Kunstwissenschaft, 1914/ 1918, vol. 2, nos 186–7. 2 Naumann, Hans-Peter. ‘Der Meisterschütze Egill, Franks Casket und die Þiðreks saga’. In Hansische Literaturbeziehungen. Das Beispiel der Þiðreks saga und verwandter Literatur (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 14), edited by Susanne Kramarz-Bein. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1996, 74–90. The inscription was also interpreted as indication to Achilleus (Vandersall, Amy L. ‘Homeric Myth in Early Medieval England: The Lid of the Franks Casket’. Studies in Iconography 1 (1975): 2–37) or the Alamannic–Byzantine general Agilo (Siller, Max. ‘Storie del Mediterraneo antico nell’Europa del Nord medievale. The Franks Casket (British Museum, ca. 700).’ In Ernst Robert Curtius e l’identità culturale dell’Europa (Atti del XXXVII Convegno Interuniversitario, Bressanone/Innsbruck, 13–16 Iuglio 2009), edited by Ivano Paccagnella and Elisa Gregori. Padova: Esedra, 2009, 293–300, at 297–9). For the archer, see also Cocco, Gabriele. ‘The Bowman who takes the lid off the Franks Casket’. In He hafað sundorgecynd. Studi anglo-norreni in onore di John S. McKinnell, edited by Maria Elena Ruggerini. Cagliari: CUEC, 2009, 15–31. The inscription in runes on the sixth-century Alamannic belt buckle from Pforzen in Bavaria seems to relate to the battle depicted here: see Marold, Edith. ‘Egill und Ǫlrún – ein vergessenes Paar der Heldendichtung’. Skandinavistik 26:1 (1996): 1–19; Marold, Edith. ‘Die Schnalle von Pforzen und die altnordische Heldensage’. In Verschränkung der Kulturen. Der Sprach- und Literaturaustausch zwischen Skandinavien und den deutsch­ sprachigen Ländern. Zum 65. Geburtstag von Hans-Peter Naumann (Beiträge zur Nordischen Philologie 37), edited by Oskar Bandle, Jürg Glauser, and Stefanie

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Würth. Tübingen/Basel: Francke, 2004, 217–38, at 224–5; Nedoma, Robert. ‘Die Runeninschrift auf der Gürtelschnalle von Pforzen – ein Zeugnis der germanischen Heldensage’. In Pforzen und Bergakker. Neue Untersuchungen zu Runeninschriften (Historische Sprachforschung, Ergänzungsheft 41), edited by Alfred Bammesberger. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1999, 98–109; Nedoma, Robert. ‘Noch einmal zur Runeninschrift von Pforzen’. In Alemannien und der Norden. Internationales Symposium vom 18.–20. Oktober 2001 in Zürich (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 43), edited by Hans-Peter Naumann. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2003, 340–70; Heinrich Beck. ‘Isoliertes appellativisches Wortgut im proprialen Lexikon. Ein runologischer Beitrag’. In Probleme der Rekonstruktion untergegangener Wörter aus alten Eigennamen. Akten eines internationalen Symposiums in Uppsala 7.–9. April 2010 (Acta Academiae Regiae Gustavi Adolphi CXII), edited by Lennart Elmevik and Svante Strandberg. Uppsala: Gustav Adolfs Akademien för Svensk Folkkultur, 2010, 207–17, at 209–10. Among them: motifs from Germanic eschatology (Becker, Alfred. Franks Casket. Zu den Bildern und Inschriften des Runenkästchens von Auzon (Sprache und Literatur. Regensburger Beiträge zur Anglistik und Amerikanistik 5). Regensburg: Hans Carl, 1973, 48–54), an Anglian deity (Krause, Wolfgang. ‘Erta, ein anglischer Gott’. Die Sprache 5 (1959): 46–54), Hengest and Horsa (Bouman, Ari C. ‘The Franks Casket’. Neophilologus 3 (1965): 241–4), or Sigurd the dragon-slayer (Clark, Eleanor Grace. ‘The Right Side of the Franks Casket’. Publications of the Modern Language Association 45 (1930): 339–53; D’Ardenne, Simonne. ‘Does the right side of the Franks Casket represent the burial of Sigurd?’ Études Germaniques 21 (1966): 235–42), the Valkyrie wives of Wayland and his brothers (Hauck, Karl and Wolfgang Krause. ‘Auzon, das Bilder- und Runenkästchen’. In Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 1. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1973, 514–23, at 517–8; Hauck, Karl. Wielands Hort. Die sozialgeschichtliche Stellung des Schmiedes in frühen Bildprogrammen nach und vor dem Religionswechsel (Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, Antikvarisk Arkiv 64). Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1977, 12–4), the Norse god Baldr (Schneider, Karl. ‘Zu den Inschriften und Bildern des Franks Casket und einer ae. Version des Mythos von Balders Tod’. In Festschrift für Walther Fischer. Heidelberg: Winter, 1959, 4–20), the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar (Peeters, Leopold. ‘The Franks Casket: A Judeo-Christian Interpretation’. Amsterdamer Beiträge zur Älteren Germanistik 46 (1996): 17–51, at 20–2), a story from the Cymric Mabinogion (Eichner, Heiner. ‘Zu Franks Casket/Rune Auzon, Vortragskurzfassung’. In Old English Runes and their Continental Background (Anglistische Forschungen 217), edited by Alfred Bammesberger. Heidelberg: Winter, 1991, 603–68, at 615–68; Schwab, Ute. Franks Casket. Fünf Studien zum Runenkästchen von Auzon (Studia Septentrionalia Mediaevalia 15). Wien: Fassbaender, 2008, esp. 17–21). For example, Schwab, Franks Casket; Hauck, Karl. ‘Vorbericht über das Kästchen von Auzon’. Frühmittelalterliche Studien 2 (1968): 415–8; Webster, Leslie. ‘The Iconographic Programme of the Franks Casket’. In Northumbria’s Golden Age, edited by Jane Hawkes and Susan Mills. Stroud: Sutton, 1999, 227–46. For a supposed numerological back­ ground, see Becker, Alfred. ‘Franks Casket Revisited’. Asterisk. A Quarterly Journal of Historical English Studies 12:2 (2003): 84–128; Müller-Braband, Therese. Studien zum Runenkästchen von Auzon und zum Schiffsgrab von Sutton Hoo. Mit besonderer Bezugnahme auf runische Inschriften und frühe lateinisch-runische Mischinschriften (Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik 728). Göppingen: Kümmerle 2005. Becker, Franks Casket, 17–27. For example, Souers, Philip Webster. ‘The Wayland Scene on the Franks Casket’. Speculum 18 (1943): 104–11; Nedoma, Robert. Die bildlichen und schriftlichen Denkmäler der Wielandsage (Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik Nr. 490). Göppingen: Kümmerle, 1988, 10–20; Oehrl, Sigmund. ‘Bildliche Darstellungen vom Schmied Wieland und ein unerwarteter Auftritt in Walhall’. In Goldsmith Mysteries – The elusive gold smithies of the North. Papers presented at the workshop organized by the Centre for Baltic

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and Scandinavian Archaeology (ZBSA), Schleswig, June 20th and 21st, 2011 (Schriften des Archäologischen Landesmuseums, Ergänzungsreihe 8), edited by Alexandra Pesch and Ruth Blankenfeldt. Neumünster: Wachholtz, 2012, 279–335, at 280–4. Nedoma, Wielandsage; Nedoma, Robert. ‘The legend of Wayland in Deor’. Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik 38 (1990): 129–45; Nedoma, Robert. ‘Es sol geoffenbaret sein / Ich bin genant wieland. Friedrich von Schwaben, Wielandsage und Vo˛lundarkviða’. In Erzählen im mittelalterlichen Skandinavien (Wiener Studien zur Skandinavistik 3), edited by Robert Nedoma and Sven Hakon Rossel. Wien: Praesens Verlag, 2000, 103–15; Nedoma, Robert. ‘Wieland der Schmied’. In Mittelalter Mythen, Vol. 4: Künstler, Dichter, Gelehrte, edited by Ulrich Müller and Werner Wunderlich. Konstanz: UVK Verlagsgesellschaft, 2005, 177–98; Nedoma, Robert and Alexandra Pesch. ‘Wieland’. In Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 33. Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 2006, 604–22; von See, Klaus, Beatrice La Farge, Eve Picard, and Katja Schulz. Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda 3: Götterlieder. Vo ˛ lundarkviða, Alvíssmál, Baldrs draumar, Rígsþula, Hyndlolióð, Grottaso ˛ ngr. Heidelberg: Winter, 2000, at 82–117. Þiðreks saga: Bertelsen, Henrik. Þiðriks saga af Bern. 5 vols. Udgivet for Samfund til Udgivelse af Gammel Nordisk Litteratur ved Henrik Bertelsen (STUAGNL XXXIV: 1–5). Copenhagen: Møller, 1905–11. Vo ˛ lundarkviða: Neckel, Gustav and Hans Kuhn. Edda. Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern 1: Text (Germanische Bibliothek. 4. Reihe: Texte). Heidelberg: Winter, 51983, 116–23. Regarding the early date, see Nedoma, Wielandsage, 116. Oehrl, Wieland. Lamm, Jan Peder and Erik Nylén. Bildstenar. Värnamo: Gidlunds, 32003, no. 16; Lindqvist, Sune. Gotlands Bildsteine, Bd. I–II. Stockholm: Wahlström och Widstrand, 1941/1942, vol. I, figs 139–40; vol. II, 22–4, fig. 311. Lamm and Nylén, Bildstenar, no. 2; Lindqvist, Bildsteine, vol. I, figs 135–6; vol. II, 13–5, figs 303–4; Oehrl, Sigmund. ‘Wieland der Schmied auf dem Kistenstein von Alskog kyrka und dem Runenstein Ardre kyrka III – Zur partiellen Neulesung und Interpretation zweier gotländischer Bildsteine’. In Analecta Septentrionalia. Beiträge zur nordgermanischen Kultur- und Literaturgeschichte (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 65), edited by Heinrich Beck, Klaus Böldl, and Wilhelm Heizmann. Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 2009, 540–66, at 544–50; Oehrl, Wieland, 303–4; Oehrl, Sigmund. ‘New iconographic interpretations of Gotlandic picture stones based on surface re-analysis’. Gotländskt Arkiv 84 (2012): 91–104, at 103–4; Oehrl, Sigmund. ‘Möglichkeiten der Neulesung gotländischer Bildsteine und ihre ikonographische Auswertung – Ausgewählte Beispiele und Perspektiven’. In Bilddenkmäler zur germanischen Götter– und Heldensage (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 91), edited by Wilhelm Heizmann and Sigmund Oehrl. Berlin/Boston: de Gruyter, 2015, 219–59, at 230–2. Coatsworth, Elizabeth. Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture, Volume VIII: Western Yorkshire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008, 198–200. Gustafsson, Ny Björn. ‘Är Uppåkra-Völund näsbärgan till enhjälm?’ Fornvännen 110 (2015): 286–8. Helmbrecht, Michaela. ‘A winged figure from Uppåkra’. Fornvännen 107 (2012): 171–8; Helmbrecht, Michaela. ‘Smeden der fløj’. Skalk 2013:3, 3–7; Stiegemann, Christoph, Martin Kroker, and Wolfgang Walter, eds. CREDO. Christianisierung Europas im Mittelalter. 2 vols. Petersberg: Michael Imhof Verlag, 2013, vol. II, 331, no. 280, fig. 280. Berghaus, Peter and Karl Schneider. Anglo-friesische Runensolidi im Lichte des Neufundes von Schweindorf (Ostfriesland) (Veröffentlichungen der Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Forschung des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen, Geisteswissenschaften 134). Köln/ Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1967; Düwel, Klaus and Wolf-Dieter Tempel. ‘Knochenkämme mit Runeninschriften aus Friesland. Mit einer Zusammenstellung aller bekannten Runenkämme und einem Beitrag zu den Friesischen Runeninschriften’. Palaeohistoria. Acta et communications Instituti Bio–archaeologici Universitatis Groninganae XIV

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(1968): 353–91, at 381–2; Beck, Heinrich. ‘Der kunstfertige Schmied – ein ikono­ graphisches und narratives Thema des frühen Mittelalters’. In Medieval iconography and narrative. A Symposium, edited by Flemming G. Andersen. Odense: Odense University Press, 1980, 15–37; Beck, Heinrich. ‘A Runological and Iconographical Interpretation of North-Sea-Germanic Rune-Solidi’. Michigan Germanic Studies 7.1 (1981): 69–79; Düwel, Klaus. ‘Schweindorf’. In Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 27. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2004, 477–9. Nedoma, Wielandsage, 11–8. Nedoma, Wielandsage, 11, note 15. Schwab, Franks Casket, 153–4. Wolf, Alois. ‘Franks Casket in literaturhistorischer Sicht’. Frühmittelalterliche Studien 3 (1969): 227–43, at 242. Becker, Franks Casket, 87; Hauck and Krause, ‘Auzon’, 517; Hauck, Wielands Hort, 11. Nedoma, Wielandsage, 11, note 15; Schwab, Franks Casket, 133–4. Nedoma, Wielandsage, 15, note 18. Becker, Franks Casket, 90. Weber, Edmund. Kleine Runenkunde. Berlin: Nordland Verlag, 1941, 108. Schneider, ‘Franks Casket’, 7; Haug, Walter. ‘Die Grausamkeit der Heldensage. Neue gattungstheoretische Überlegungen zur heroischen Dichtung’. In Studien zum Altgermanischen. Festschrift für Heinrich Beck (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 11), edited by Heiko Uecker. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1994, 303–26, at 325–6; cf. Nedoma, Wielandsage, 26–7; Fletcher, Richard. The Barbarian Conversion. From Paganism to Christianity. New York: H. Holt and Co., 1997, 270; Schwab, Franks Casket, 114–5. Malone, Kemp. Deor (Methuen’s Old English library). London: Methuen, 41966. Ellis Davidson, Hilda Roderick. ‘The Smith and the Goddess. Two figures on the Franks Casket from Auzon’. Frühmittelalterliche Studien 3 (1969): 216–26, at 219. See also Bailey, Richard N. Viking Age Sculpture in Northern England (Collins Archaeology 1). London: Collins, 1980, 116. Bradley, James. ‘Sorcerer or Symbol? Weland the Smith in Anglo-Saxon Sculpture and Verse’. Pacific Coast Philology 15:1 (1990): 39–48. Webster, ‘Iconographic Programme’, 232. Bradley, James. ‘St. Joseph’s Trade and Old English Smiþ’. Leeds Studies in English, New Series 22 (1991): 21–42; Oehrl, ‘Wieland’, note 7; Yorke, Barbara. ‘Ingeld, Weland and Christ’. Quaestio Insularis. Selected Proceedings of the Cambridge Colloquium in Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic 14 (2013): 1–14, at 9. Millet, Victor. ‘Der Schmied und der Erlöser. Zur Deutung Wielands im altenglischen “Boethius” und auf dem Runenkästchen von Auzon’. In Mythos – Sage – Erzählung. Gedenkschrift für Alfred Ebenbauer, edited by Johannes Keller and Florian Kragl. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009, 311–30; Millet, Victor. ‘Quid Wielandus cum Christo? Zum Verständnis der Frontplatte von Franks Casket’. In Heizmann and Oehrl, Bilddenkmäler, 295–314; see also Kopár, Lilla. Gods and Settlers. The Iconography of Norse Mythology in Anglo-Scandinavian Sculpture (Studies in the Early Middle Ages 25). Turnhout: Brepols, 2012, 9; Pesch, Alexandra. ‘Sterbende, überlebende und auswan­ dernde Götter’. In Dying Gods – Religious beliefs in northern and eastern Europe in the time of Christianisation (Neue Studien zur Sachsenforschung 5), edited by Christiane Ruhmann and Vera Brieske. Stuttgart: Konrad Theiss, 2015, 85–99, at 89. Lang, James. ‘The Imagery of the Franks Casket: Another Approach’. In Northumbria’s Golden Age, edited by Jane Hawkes and Susan Mills. Stroud: Sutton, 1999, 247–67; Yorke, ‘Ingeld’; Yorke, Barbara. ‘The fate of otherworldly beings after the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons’. In Ruhmann and Brieske, Dying Gods, 167–75. Abels, Richard. ‘What has Weland to do with Christ? The Franks Casket and the Acculturation of Christianity in Early Anglo-Saxon England’. Speculum 84 (2009): 549–81, at 567.

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33 Padberg, Lutz von. Mission und Christianisierung. Formen und Folgen bei Angelsachsen und Franken im 7. und 8. Jahrhundert. Stuttgart: Steiner, 1995, 318. 34 Padberg, Mission, 319 (translated). 35 Padberg, Mission, 365 (translated), cf. 340. 36 Millet, ‘Schmied und Erlöser’, 329; Millet, ‘Wielandus’, 307, note 34. 37 I owe this idea to a suggestion by Klaus Gereon Beuckers. 38 Cf. (with all relevant images) Oehrl, Sigmund. ‘Wieland – Herodes. Der Bethlehemitische Kindermord und die Frontseite des Franks Casket’. In Hvandalir – Beiträge zur Europäischen Altertumskunde und Mediävistischen Literaturwissenschaft. Festschrift für Wilhelm Heizmann (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 106), edited by Alessia Bauer and Alexandra Pesch. Berlin/Boston: de Gruyter, 2018, 429–61. 39 For the iconography of the Massacre of the Innocents, see Millet, Gabriel. Recherches sur l’Évangile aux XIVe, XVe et XVIe Siècles. D’aprés les monuments de Mistra, de la Macédoine et du Mont-Athos (Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome). Paris: Fontemoing, 1916, 158–63; Smith, E. Baldwin. Early Christian iconography and a school of ivory carvers in Provence. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1918; Dictionnaire d’Archéologie Chrétienne et de Liturgie. Tome Septième, I: Invitatoire. Paris: Letouzey & Ané, 1926, 609–16; Künstle, Karl. Ikonographie der Christlichen Kunst. Freiburg: Herder, 1928, 372–3; Réau, Louis. Iconographie de l’Art Chrétien. Tome Second. Iconographie de la Bible II: Nouveau Testament. Paris: Presses Univ. de France, 1957, 267–72; Bibliotheka Sanctorum. Istituto Giovanni XXIII della Pontificia Università Lateranense, Vol. 7. Rom: Città Nuova, 1966, 819–32; KötzscheBreitenbach, Lieselotte. ‘Zur Ikonographie des Bethlehemitischen Kindermordes in der frühchristlichen Kunst’. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 11/12 (1968/69), 104–15; Kirchbaum, Engelbert, ed. Lexikon der Christlichen Ikonographie, Vol. 2. Freiburg: Herder, 1970 (reprint 1994), 509–13; Schiller, Gertrud. Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst, Vol. 1. Inkarnation – Kindheit – Taufe – Versuchung – Verklärung – Wirken und Wunder Christi. Gütersloh: Mohn, 31981, 124–6; Beuckers, K. Gereon. Rex iubet – Christus imperat. Studien zu den Holztüren von St. Maria im Kapitol und zu den Herodesdarstellungen vor dem Investiturstreit (Veröffentlichungen des Kölnischen Geschichtsvereins 42). Köln: SH-Verlag, 1999. For the Santa Maria Maggiore example, see Kehrer, Hugo. Die Heiligen Drei Könige in Literatur und Kunst, Vol. 1. Leipzig: E. A. Seemann, 1908, 56, fig. 43; Wilpert, Joseph. Die römischen Mosaiken und Malereien der kirchlichen Bauten vom 4.–13. Jahrhundert. 4 vols. Freiburg: Herder, 1916, vol. III, pl. 69; Karpp, Heinrich. Die frühchristlichen und mittelalterlichen Mosaiken in Santa Maria Maggiore zu Rom. Baden-Baden: Bruno Grimm, 1966, pl. 25; Schiller, Ikonographie, 220, 222, pl. 52, 256, 301. 40 Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 104–7, fig. 4, pl. 16a. 41 Garrucci, P. Raffaele. Storia della arte cristiana nei primi otto secoli della chiesa. Scritta dal P. Raffaele Garrucci e corredata della collezione di tutti i monumenti di pittura e scultura incisi in rame su 105 tavole ed illustrati. Vol. 5: Sarcofagi ossia sculture cimiteriali dalla tavola CCXCV alla tavola CDIV. Prato: Guasti, 1879, 59–60, pl. 334:3; Wilpert, Joseph. I Sarcofagi cristiani antichi, Vol. 1. Rom: Pontificio Istituto di Archeologia Cristiana, 1929, 178, pl. 39:2; Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 106, pl. 17a; Ulbert, Thilo. Repertorium der christlich-antiken Sarkophage, Vol. III: Frankreich, Algerien, Tunesien. Bearbeitet von Brigitte Christern-Briesenick. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 2003, no. 499, 236–7, pl. 119:3, 120:4–5. 42 Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 106, note 11, pl. 17b–c; Dictionnaire d’Archéologie Chrétienne et de Liturgie, fig. 5857; Wilpert, Sarcofagi, Vol. 2, fig. 183. 43 Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 106–7, pl. 18c; Volbach, Wolfgang Fritz. Elfenbeinarbeiten der Spätantike und des frühen Mittelalters (RGZM Mainz, Kataloge vor- und frühgeschichtlicher Altertümer, Vol. 7). Mainz: Pilipp von Zabern, 31976, no. 119; Schiller, Ikonographie, 209, fig. 53. 44 Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 106–7, pl. 18a; Volbach, Elfenbeinarbeiten, no. 112; Schiller, Ikonographie, 222, fig. 302; Stiegemann, Christoph and Matthias Wemhoff, eds. Kunst und Kultur der Karolingerzeit. Karl der Große und Papst Leo III. in

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57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

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Paderborn. Katalog der Ausstellung Paderborn 1999. 2 vols. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1999, Vol. 2, 693–4, X4; Stiegemann, Kroker, and Walter, CREDO, Vol. II, 58–9, no. 43. Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 108, pl. 18b; Volbach, Elfenbeinarbeiten, no. 221; Schiller, Ikonographie, 227, fig. 427; Stiegemann and Wemhoff, Karolingerzeit, Vol. 2, 696–8, X.7. Schiller, Ikonographie, fig. 427. Schiller, Ikonographie, 222, fig. 303; Goldschmidt, Elfenbeinskulpturen, Vol. 1, pl. 72; Kehrer, Könige, fig. 104. Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 108–9, pl. 19a; Weitzmann, Kurt. ‘The Survival of Mythological Representations in Early Christian and Byzantine Art and their Impact on Christian Iconography’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers XIV (1960): 43–68, at 61–2. Goldschmidt, Elfenbeinskulpturen, Vol. 2, no. 65, pl. 22. Cecchelli, Carolus, Joseph Furlani, and Marius Salmi, eds. The Rabbula Gospels. Facsimile Edition of the Miniatures of the Syriac Manuscript Plut. I, 56 in the Medicaean-Laurentian Library. Evangeliarii Syriaci, vulgo Rabbulae, in Bibliotheca Medicea-Laurentiana (Plut. I, 56) adservati ornamenta edenda notisque instruenda. Olten/Lausanne: Urs-Graf Verlag, 1959, 54–6; Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 110, pl. 19b; Maguire, Henry. Art and Eloquence in Byzantium. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981, 29, fig. 4; Schiller, Ikonographie, 222, fig. 299. Grabar, André. Les Ampoules de Terre Sainte. Paris: Klincksieck, 1958, 44, pl. 56; Kötzsche-Breitenbach, ‘Ikonographie’, 111, pl. 19c; Maguire, Byzantium, 30, fig. 5. Fabricius, Ulrich. Die Legende im Bild des ersten Jahrtausends der Kirche. Der Einfluß der Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen auf die altchristliche und byzantinische Kunst. Kassel: Oncken, 1956, 69–71, pl. XVIII:1–2; Underwood, Paul A. The Kariye Djami, Vol. 4: Studies in the Art of the Kariye Djami and its Intellectual Background. Princeton: Pantheon Books, 1975, 230, figs 57–8; Maguire, Byzantium, 30, fig. 6. Millet, Recherches, 158–60 and passim; Underwood, Kariye Djami, 229–31, figs 57–61; Maguire, Byzantium, 25–7, figs 6–11. Koehler, Wilhelm. Die Karolingischen Miniaturen, Vol. 3/1: Die Gruppe des Wiener Krönungs-Evangeliars, Part 2: Metzer Handschriften. Berlin: Deutscher Verein für Kunstwissenschaft, 1960, pl. III, 82; Schiller, Ikonographie, 222, fig. 300. Beer, Manuela, Iris Metje, Karen Straub, Saskia Werth, and Moritz Woelk. Die Heiligen Drei Könige. Mythos, Kunst und Kult. Katalog zur Ausstellung im Museum Schnütgen, Köln, 25. Oktober 2014 bis 25. Januar 2015. München: Hirmer, 2014, 48–9, no. 13. Schiller, Ikonographie, 222, fig. 304; Franz, Gunther. Der Egbert Codex. Das Leben Jesu. Ein Höhepunkt der Buchmalerei vor 1000 Jahren. Handschrift 24 der Stadtbibliothek Trier. Ausstellung vom 27. April bis 8. Januar 2006, Stadtbibliothek Trier. Darmstadt: Konrad Theiss, 2005, 103–4. Mütherich, Florentine and Otto Dachs. Das Evangeliar Ottos III. Clm 4453 der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek München. München/London/New York: Prestel, 2001, 52, pl. 22. Franz, Egbert Codex, 104. Millet, Recherches, 137–8, 141, 164. Ulbert, Sarkophage, 237. Goldschmidt, Elfenbeinskulptur, Vol. 1, no. 13, pl. VII; Schiller, Ikonographie, 220, fig. 260. Kehrer, Könige, 100–1, fig. 99; Baum, Julius. La Sculpture Figurale E Europe à L’Époque Mérovingienne. Paris: Les éditions d’art et d’histoire, 1937, 75, pl. X:21; Beer et al., Könige, 44–5, no. 11. Kirchbaum, Engelbert, ed. Lexikon der Christlichen Ikonographie, Vol. 4. Freiburg: Herder 1970 (Reprint 1994), 242. Otten, Thomas, ed. Von den Göttern zu Gott. Frühes Christentum im Rheinland. Tübingen/Berlin: Ernst Wasmuth, 2006, 98–9; Ristow, Sebastian. Frühes Christentum im Rheinland. Die Zeugnisse der archäologischen und historischen Quellen an Rhein, Maas und

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65 66 67 68

69 70 71 72

Sigmund Oehrl

Mosel (Jahrbuch des Rheinischen Vereins für Denkmalpflege und Landschaftsschutz 2006). Köln: RVDL-Verlag, 2007, 270–1, pl. 75a–b. Whitbread, Leslie. ‘The Binding of Weland.’ Medium Ævum XXV:1 (1956): 13–9, 15–7; Nedoma, ‘Mittelalter Mythen’, 182; Oehrl, ‘Wieland’, 281. Franz, Egbert Codex, 104–5. Webster, Leslie. The Franks Casket (British Museum Objects in Focus). London: British Museum Press, 2012, 30–1. Albrecht, Felix. ‘Herodes der Große und der Kindermord zu Bethlehem (Mt 2,16–8) aus historischer und narrativer Perspektive’. In Wie Geschichten Geschichte schreiben. Frühchristliche Literatur zwischen Faktualität und Fiktionalität (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2. Reihe 395), edited by Susanne Luther, Jörg Röder, and Eckart D. Schmidt. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015, 139–54. Albrecht, ‘Herodes’, 150 (translated). Pokorný, Petr and Ulrich Heckel. Einleitung in das Neue Testament. Seine Literatur und Theologie im Überblick. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007, 440 (translated). Schiller, Ikonographie, 125. Webster, The Franks Casket, 50.

2 THE PERMEATING PRESENCE OF PRACTICES Northwest English and Manx ecclesiastical sites with Viking-Age furnished burials and sculpture Danica Ramsey–Brimberg Abstract: In many sites featuring furnished graves in churchyards, sculpture is also present with motifs and iconography associated with or partially based on styles originating in Scandinavia and the British Isles. Pervading use of this influence, whether consciously or unconsciously, appears to have had a wide-ranging impact, manifesting itself in two different forms and highlighting the complexities of so­ cieties amalgamated from Britain and its neighbours. Various ideas were developed and observed due to learned practices, adopted traditions, and/or simply aesthetics. The Isle of Man and northwest England contain examples of these phenomena in differing degrees of expression occurring at numerous ecclesiastical sites of varying sizes and purposes. The active relationship between the individuals who made these choices and the clerics of the Church would have played an important role, influencing the decisions and highlighting expressions of power and status on both sides. This discussion hopes to serve as a preliminary means with which to study long-term settlement as well as the underlying motivations with which these forms of expression were used to cement individual and collective statuses within local communities and regions among individuals from Britain and its neighbours. The Viking Age diaspora is known to have been a period of not just exploration and settlement, but of interaction between different peoples, objects, ideas, and practices. Individuals first raided and then settled Britain and its neighbours, adding further to the diversity already present. Physical manifestations of this can be seen in relation to memorialisation, specifically burials and sculpture; the kin of the deceased drew upon practices from different traditions. These existed on a spectrum. Some individuals maintained practices and ideas more in line with those found in Scandinavia, while others embraced more local, Christian practices and ideas. Many fell somewhere between the two. The process of Christianisation was a longer and more in-depth process than even that of conversion, and the extent and rate to which either occurred is varied and abstruse (even if certain events like baptism have been recorded).1 The physical record of burials may be used to

32

Danica Ramsey–Brimberg

augment our knowledge of the laity and the clergy during the Viking Age. Perhaps the best form of expression of this is funerary monuments, specifically furnished graves, and decorated sculpture, within or near ecclesiastical grounds. Often stu­ died separately even within the same work, these physical manifestations of power, status, and memory are closely linked and should be studied in tandem to shed further light on Britain and its neighbours. Before continuing, a few key terms must be clarified, as they may differ from those given elsewhere in this book. The first is ‘Viking Age’, which is used here as a descriptor that embodies characteristics associated with the time period, especially as related to the area now known as Scandinavia. Viking Age char­ acteristics outside of Scandinavia were the result of the homogenisation of the various practices and beliefs of transplanted individuals, although this does not preclude diversity.2 ‘Scandinavian’ will also be used to describe an individual or characteristic originating from or influenced by the culture within the area of modern-day Norway, Denmark, and Sweden.3 This term remains applicable when describing the people and the artefacts as a homogenisation of their former culture, which may have occurred when transplanted individuals amalgamated together, albeit not excluding multiplicity.4 ‘Manx’ and ‘English’ will be used as broad, cultural descriptors, which embodies the pre-existing, Christian char­ acteristics from their respective areas, specifically in this case around the burial, cemetery, and church. ‘Manx-Scandinavian’ and ‘Anglo-Scandinavian’ will be used for both burials and sculpture utilising aspects derived locally and from Scandinavia. Although they may date to the Viking Age, the sculpture and the burials are not wholly Scandinavian, containing Manx and/or English aspects, as well as Scottish, Irish, and broadly Irish Sea.5 These words stress the complexities of navigating past identities, which were multifaceted, complex, and often manipulated to achieve a specific purpose. An elastic form is necessary to en­ compass the various internal and external influences that led to different forms of expression. Sculpture and graves need to be reviewed together in the context of their re­ spective sites and geographic areas, as well as the larger funerary monument record. Analysing the sculpture and the furnished burials is critical to early medieval studies, as together they shed light on long-term settlement, as well as the attempts to ce­ ment individual and collective statuses to achieve power and status in local com­ munities and regions. Previous scholars have briefly touched upon their relationship, but an in-depth analysis was beyond their respective scopes.6 Both types of com­ memorations would have required negotiations between the clergy and the laity for approval in terms of location, construction, and materials. With these individuals having the funds to commission these works and to perhaps financially contribute to the ecclesiastical sites, the clergy may have been willing to accommodate different aspects of memorialisation in exchange.7 A mutual benefit would have been created. The limited evidence within the historical records from the Danelaw alludes to this close relationship between the laity and the clergy in the tenth century.8 The ambiguity of ecclesiastical and lay laws as well as documentation and archaeological

The permeating presence of practices

33

evidence reveal that furnishing or constructing burials in a certain way was not as prohibitive as previous research has indicated in the past.9 The same can be seen with sculpture, which has led to their hybridisation as Manx-Scandinavian or Anglo-Scandinavian. Burials and sculpture highlight the malleability and ambiguity of identity of the deceased, their kin, and even the clergy. Actively utilising forms and styles already present in the area, they were able to use these mediums to solidify their power and status amid a constantly changing society.10 Funerary monuments were potent tools to be used to build these new, amalgamated social environments, and individuals used them to their advantage.

Prying apart practices The Isle of Man and northwest England are two key geographic areas in which ecclesiastical sites feature furnished burials and sculpture in or near them. Even prior to the ninth century, these areas had consistent contact around the Irish Sea, interacting and sharing physical items and ideas.11 During the Viking Age, travel

1. St Michael’s Church, Workington, Cumbria. 2. Carlisle Cathedral, Carlisle, Cumbria. 3. St Bridget’s Church (Brigham Church), Brigham, Cumbria. 4. St Peter’s Church and St Patrick’s Chapel, Heysham, Lancashire. 5. St Patrick’s Church/West Nappin Chapel, Jurby. 6. Kirk Maughold, Maughold. 7. Kirk Michael, Michael. 8. St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, German. 9. Kirk Braddan/Old Kirk Braddan, Braddan. 10. Chapel of St John/Balladoyne, St. John’s, German. 11. Kirk Malew, Malew.

Map and list of ecclesiastical sites discussed (© Graphics: Danica RamseyBrimberg and Dirk H. Steinforth).

MAP 2.1

34

Danica Ramsey–Brimberg

continued among different settlements, along with the acquirement of certain objects and ideas and the dissemination of others.12 Elements found on sculpture were shared, developing a form of expression not found within Scandinavia but adapted from their areas of settlement.13 Both geographic areas were also areas of Viking‐Age settlement with their presence occurring over multiple generations.14 People would have needed to establish themselves within the socio-political systems. Despite assaults related to its wealth and centralised populations by various peoples, the Church continued to be a key player, maintaining its status and in­ fluencing leaders.15 The Isle of Man and northwest England are therefore areas that can be compared and contrasted to see the role funerary monuments played in long-term settlement. While a number of sites have furnished burials or sculpture, eleven sites have likely evidence for ecclesiastical structures concurrent to a furnished grave(s) and sculpture that has Scandinavian influences or influences from the ninth to eleventh centuries. While Knock y Doonee in Andreas and Cronk yn Howe in Lezayre contain furnished burials near keeills, the cross slabs are of an ambiguous date, either predating Viking‐Age settlement or having a terminus ante quem in the ninth century.16 Other sites (i.e. St Patrick’s Isle, Maughold, Jurby, and Braddan) feature similar sculpture, but have other pieces dating to the ninth century and after as well.17 In the case of one of the Cronk yn Howe stones (158), the dates of production have been ascribed as early as the Bronze Age to as late as the medieval period, although some point after Christian conversion seems the most likely due to the designs (seventh to twelfth centuries).18 However, due to the unclear nature of this stone and the others, these two sites will not be included. Several different aspects need to be considered. The dates of the furnished burials, sculptures, and sites need to be explored in depth, as well as their characters and contexts. Such analysis will help to determine whether there are any com­ monalities between the sites. For example, with sculpture, its type of stone, style, iconography, tentative date, and even discernible parallels to other sculpture will all be taken into consideration. Unfortunately, due to the movement of sculpture over time, their location cannot be included, but the placement of the burials and the ecclesiastical structures can be in the natural and man-made landscape. These can then aid in understanding how much visual impact may have been intended for those who created these different monuments. Through looking at these different aspects, the potential influence of the Viking Age on these ecclesiastical sites and society can be seen and vice versa. Light can then be shed on the gradual process of the groups of peoples acculturating over time and the redefinition of their society in a culturally hybridised environment.

Considering the context The eleven ecclesiastical sites reveal that relations between the Church and the laity in the Irish Sea area from the ninth to the eleventh centuries were far more complicated than has been portrayed in the past. The sites were chosen carefully,

4

3

2

1

St Michael’s Church, Workington, Cumbria Carlisle Cathedral, Carlisle, Cumbria St Bridget’s Church (Brigham Church), Brigham, Cumbria St Peter’s Church and St Patrick’s Chapel,

Name

1

4

2

9th to early 11th c.

Mid-9th–10th c.

Ecclesiastical 1 centre

Ecclesiastical 2 centre

Ecclesiastical 8 centre

Ecclesiastical 4 centre 9th–11th c.

Number of sculptures featuring designs or iconography with Scandinavian elements 6

Number of Dates of furnished furnished burials burials

Late 8th–11th c.∗

Ecclesiastical site type

TABLE 2.1 Table of sites, burials, sculpture, and dates.

10th–11th c.

10th–11th c.

10th–11th c.

10th–11th c.

2

7

2

10 (at least)

10th–11th c.

10th–11th c.

Late 8th–11th c.

10th–11th c.

Dates of Number of Dates of sculptures sculptures sculptures featuring designs mentioned mentioned or iconography with Scandinavian elements

(Continued)

7th–11th c.

8th–11th c.

8th–11th c.

8th–11th c.

Overall date of sculpture

The permeating presence of practices 35

8

7

6

5

Heysham, Lancashire St Patrick’s Chapel/West Nappin Chapel, Jurby Kirk Maughold, Maughold Kirk Michael, Michael St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, German

Name

TABLE 2.1 (Continued)

6 10 3

Late 9th c. 9th–11th c. 9th–10th c.

Ecclesiastical 2 centre Keeill 1

Ecclesiastical 7 centre

6

Number of sculptures featuring designs or iconography with Scandinavian elements

Mid-9th c.

Number of Dates of furnished burials furnished burials

1

Keeill

Ecclesiastical site type

10th–11th c.

10th–12th c.

9th–11th c.

9th–10th c.

6

10

7

6

8th–11th c.

10th–11th c.

9th–12th c.

9th–11th c.

Dates of Number of Dates of sculptures sculptures sculptures featuring designs mentioned mentioned or iconography with Scandinavian elements

(Continued)

9th–12th c.

7th c. to late 12th c. th 10 –12th c.

Pre-Scandinavian to 10th c.

Overall date of sculpture

36 Danica Ramsey–Brimberg

Kirk Braddan, Braddan Chapel of St John, St John’s, German Kirk Malew, Malew

Keeill

Keeill

Keeill

Ecclesiastical site type

1

3

1

1

1

9th–11th c.

?

6

Number of sculptures featuring designs or iconography with Scandinavian elements

?

Number of Dates of furnished burials furnished burials

1

1

10th c.

10th c.

10th c.

10th c.

Pre-Scandinavian to 10th c. Prehistoric? to 10th c.

9th to late 10th c. th 10 c.

9th–10th c. 6

Overall date of sculpture

Dates of Number of Dates of sculptures sculptures sculptures featuring designs mentioned mentioned or iconography with Scandinavian elements

∗ The one tentatively with several grave goods was radiocarbon dated though to the seventh–ninth centuries.

11

10

9

Name

TABLE 2.1 (Continued)

The permeating presence of practices 37

38

Danica Ramsey–Brimberg

just as much as the grave construction and placement as well as the sculpture iconography and design were. While many other ecclesiastical sites feature sculpture dated to this time period, these feature furnished burials and contemporary sculpture together, encapsulating the idea of a multicultural society in which different aspects were valued equally. Funerary monuments were erected at these sites that already held significant meaning in the landscape and were associated with those holding power and status. The sites chosen were also nodes of communication within the man-made and natural landscape. Brigham, Workington, Heysham, Jurby, Maughold, Michael, and St Patrick’s Isle are located at coastal locations, and in the case of Workington and St Patrick’s Isle, they are also located at estuaries, which were critical junctures.19 As a result, the ecclesiastical sites would have easily been seen by those travelling by water. Although not directly on the water, Malew is placed near the Silverburn River and would have been visible to those travelling along it.20 In addition, Carlisle was on a Roman road still being used and is at a crossing point of the River Eden, while St John’s and Braddan are located along the major roadway from Douglas to Peel.21 These locations would have been prominent to anyone taking these land routes. Carlisle, Brigham, Workington, Heysham, and St Patrick’s Isle were also areas of settlement, and St Patrick’s Isle and St John’s were both key monuments within the Manx-Scandinavian political landscape.22 The sites were also all conspicuous on the terrain with the churches and cemeteries being placed either on a raised plateau or hill or on a consistently flat plain, meaning that these structures would have been distinguished in the distance.23 All of these ecclesiastical sites continued in use long after the eleventh century, de­ veloping into cathedrals (St Patrick’s Isle and Carlisle), monasteries (Brigham, Heysham, Carlisle, possibly Workington, and possibly Maughold), parish churches (Workington, Brigham, Heysham, Maughold, Michael, Jurby, Malew, Braddan, and St John’s), and a national church (St John’s). They maintained importance, even rising in status. Choosing these sites was no accident, the physical landscape was taken into consideration as well as their social significances. The furnished graves vary in composition and with regard to their situation to the ecclesiastical buildings. However, a few trends are discernible. All of the burials with known skeletal remains were extended inhumations, orientated west to east with some variations, following practices concurrently used in the cemetery or at other ecclesiastically-affiliated cemeteries.24 The majority of furnished graves did not contain weapons, but rather grave goods linked to personal dress (including knives), occupations, and coins.25 On the north side of St Patrick’s Church and near St Patrick’s Chapel in Heysham, a furnished grave with skeletal remains and a corroded iron spearhead was found underneath a hogback, which may have served as a grave cover.26 While a spear was used as a weapon, it was the only grave good, and it may have had a spiritual connotation or been a status symbol.27 Within northwest England, only one of the sites (St Michael’s Church in Workington) featured a grave with a sword, but it was located on the opposite side of the river on the Oysterbanks of West Seaton and outside the lands of the ecclesiastical

The permeating presence of practices

39

complex, but within visual eyeline and close proximity.28 The burials at Maughold and St John’s each contained a sword and are in a liminal location, on the per­ iphery of the cemetery.29 Unfortunately, very little is known about the discovery of each of the swords at Jurby, Braddan, and Malew.30 The discovery at Braddan is known though to have been made on the north side of the church, placing it visibly near the contemporary road.31 A grave with multiple weapons (a sword, a spear, and a shield) was placed in the cemetery of Balladoyne, which is near the lands around St John’s and may have had a close relationship with the keeill.32 Despite its possible use as a secondary burial ground, its distance away from the keeill on the periphery may have deemed these inclusions permissible. Furnished graves were therefore acceptable in an ecclesiastical context during the Viking Age, yet certain parameters were set as to what they could be and how they affected one’s positioning in relation to the church and the other graves. The majority of burials appear to be singular occurrences, but multiple furnished graves can be found at Carlisle, Workington, Heysham, St John’s, St Patrick’s Isle, and Maughold.33 All of these locations were prominent either in the ecclesiastical and/ or political landscape. They represented areas where people may have wanted to display power and where clerics may have been willing to negotiate terms with who brought financial capital to the area. While a full in-depth discussion of the burials is beyond the scope of this piece, the evidence is illuminating. The burials tended to reflect local practices, aside from the grave goods, but even those were carefully crafted to convey a particular impression.

Studying the stone The sculpture present at these sites varies upon looking at the peripheral surface. Carlisle, Brigham, Heysham, Workington, Jurby, Maughold, Braddan, and St Patrick’s Isle all have sculpture that pre-date the ninth century as well as sculpture that is concurrent with Viking‐Age settlement.34 Aside from Jurby, all of these sites were either monasteries or ecclesiastical complexes of some kind, meaning they had the religious and social standing to attract financial interest and funerary monuments prior to Viking‐Age settlement.35 It is not known whether a church was present at Jurby prior to the ninth century, but it may have become a keeill with multiple sculptures in contrast to the three other furnished burials in the area (Ballachrink, Ballateare, and Cronk Moar) that are distinctively nonecclesiastically-affiliated and date to the late ninth to early tenth centuries.36 By becoming a conspicuous feature in the landscape, contemporary sculpture could have served as a visual display of alliance, at least socially and financially with clerics and the pre-existing population. Michael, Malew, and St John’s have sculpture that date from the tenth to the eleventh centuries at the earliest, and these sites may have become established during Viking-Age settlement with the first two as keeills and the latter as a keeill with political ties.37 However, the status of the sites or the need to express socio-political standing through sculpture ap­ pears to have varied depending upon the site at this time.

40

Danica Ramsey–Brimberg

Almost all of the sites include designs derived locally and/or from Scandinavia. The spiral-scroll school (including Carlisle 03 and 04, Brigham 03 and 10, Workington 02, and Workington Excavated Fragments 1 and 5), the Cumbrian school (including Workington 05 and 06), the Solway style (including Brigham 05, 06, and 07), and the Beckermet school (including Brigham 04, Workington 04, Workington Excavated Fragments 6, 8, and 20, Maughold 98, and Braddan 146) were all collections of similar sculpture.38 Based on particular styles locally derived, some of them (Carlisle 04, Brigham 07, Workington 05, and Workington Excavated Fragments 6 and 8) also contain Scandinavian elements.39 Works related to the Beckermet school are located on both sides of the eastern Irish Sea area, as seen through the use of the Stafford knot, emphasising the interaction between people during the ninth to eleventh centuries.40 In the case of Gaut, a sculptor, several Manx-Scandinavian pieces can be associated with him, due to his runic self-attribution (including Michael 101 and 129) and similarities between pieces (including Jurby 103, 104, 105, and 134; Michael 117 and 129; Maughold 108; and Braddan 135).41 Gaut cannot be attributed though to any works in the northwest English ecclesiastical sites where Scandinavian patterns appear.42 Originating from Scandinavia, the Borre style (850–950 CE; including Michael 101 and 126; Maughold 91 and 108; Jurby 125; Workington Excavated Fragments 13 to 18), the Jellinge style (900–975 CE; including Brigham 03 and 09, Malew 120, and Workington Excavated Fragments 7 and 9), the Mammen style (960–1000/25 CE; including Workington 03; Braddan 138; Maughold 114; Michael 129 and 132), the Ringerike style (1000–1075 CE; including Michael 116 and 117), and combinations of them (Jellinge and Mammen on Braddan 135 and 136 and St Patrick’s Isle 115; Borre, Jellinge, and Mammen on Workington Excavated Fragment 2, which is associated with Fragments 3, 4, and 5) can be seen on various sculptures.43 Construction was also adapted in a few cases with some crosses featuring a hammer-style head (Carlisle 04, Workington 05, Workington Excavated Fragment 1, Heysham, 08, and Brigham 06) and with the creation of the hogback (Brigham 10, Heysham 05, and two at Workington [Excavated Fragments 13 to 18 being one, Excavated Fragment 19 being another, and Excavated Fragments 9 and 21 as other tentative pieces]).44 Thor’s hammers and crosses have been known to have symbolic parallels which may explain the shaping of the crosses, and hogbacks were an entirely new creation during Viking‐Age settlement in the British Isles.45 Other sculptural fragments shared traits with other sculptures, highlighting further contact in the tenth and eleventh centuries and across the Irish Sea (Workington Excavated Fragments 10, 11, and 12).46 In all of these cases, they show Scandinavian influences with art, but are not indicative of belief systems specifically. However, they do underscore the degree to which the commissioner or the sculptor were permitted freedom to make their own deci­ sions in the ornamentation of a monument. In comparison, fewer than half of the ecclesiastical sites have dual iconography that could be Norse and Christian. Heysham and Malew both have singular examples, while Jurby and Michael have several pieces of sculpture featuring

The permeating presence of practices

41

iconography. On the Heysham hogback (05), Sigurd, Ragnarök, Garden of Eden, and/or Christian iconographies have been suggested.47 At Malew, a cross slab features possibly Sigurd and Fafnir on one of its faces (120).48 Jurby contains three pieces of sculpture: a crosshead with possibly Heimdall, Ragnarök, and a woman (127); a cross slab with multiple scenes related to the story of Sigurd (103); and a cross-shaft fragment with potentially Sigurd, Fafnir, Loki, Odin, Jörmungandr, and/or a woman (125).49 Michael also has four sculptural pieces: a cross slab feasibly decorated with Fenrir and Christ (126); a cross slab perhaps containing King David, Odin, and/or Bragi (130); a cross slab with images tentatively identified as Odin, the tree of life, and other figures (132); and a cross slab de­ picting a woman or vo˛lur, ‘seeress’ (123).50 An element also included into designs is the hunt (including Heysham 05; Jurby 125 and 134; Maughold 97 and 98; and Michael 126, 130, and 132), which is composed of deer, boars, dogs, horses, and/ or humans, but this is a motif used prior to Viking‐Age settlement throughout the British Isles and has differing connotations (religious vs. non-religious).51 The iconography of these pieces remains ambiguous, as is the intention of their inclusion, but influences of the past and figures associated with power and status can be perceived.52 An example of this is Sigurd and Christ, who are depicted on a piece at Heysham (05) as well as later in Scandinavia.53 Ships, birds, and bridges also have been known to fit in this category.54 A number of pieces of sculpture feature various birds (including Michael 129), but only one piece of sculpture at Maughold features a Viking‐Age ship (142).55 The ship indicates Scandinavian design, but not necessarily of religious beliefs, being more akin to the graffito present on the slabs of St Patrick’s Isle (195, 196, 197, and 198).56 Rather than being a central aspect to the aesthetic appearance of the slab, it is an addendum. Other sites including iconography are at Brigham, where a crosshead (05) displays a Crucifixion scene with Christ appearing to struggle with a snake interwoven in the interlace; at Michael, where a cross slab may depict the Crucifixion, an angel, and a cock, a man, a serpent, and a bird of prey (129); at Maughold, where one cross slab (98) depicts the Virgin and Child, a bishop or abbot, and the Crucifixion; and at Braddan (72), where a large circle-headed cross may feature the motif of Daniel in the lion’s den.57 In these cases, they are more Christian in nature, but could hold ambiguity or more widely-held connotations. The pieces of sculpture with Scandinavian and/or Christian iconography mainly have them as central figures along with the cross. Dating to the tenth to eleventh centuries, they overlap with the burials in the case of Heysham and Michael.58 Therefore, they represent variations upon early medieval monument practices. The furnished grave at Malew can only be ambiguously dated and therefore cannot be compared, while the grave at Jurby dates to the mid-ninth century, pre-dating the sculpture.59 However, as noted before, the three burials in the parish of Jurby are closer in date and may have been influential in the dual expression of the iconography. One expression of wealth and power possibly transitioned to another more closely tied with pre-existing Manx and Irish Sea practices. Ambiguity does remain as to whether the iconography represents dual

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beliefs or whether they are entirely secular.60 Yet, the iconography does appear to emphasise assorted burial practices. Some pieces of sculpture from these sites feature runic inscriptions, which could be perceived as a means of establishing power and status by describing relationships between people. In most cases, runic inscriptions are composed of a dedication to a relative and then potentially the name of the person who carved the runes (including Jurby 127; Michael 101, 102, 126, 129, 130 and 132; Maughold 142; St John’s 107; St Patrick’s Isle 140; and Braddan 112, 135, and 136).61 There are exceptions to this: Braddan 138 states that ‘Hrossketill betrayed his sworn friend in a truce [i tryggu]’; Michael 130 contains the Ogam alphabet in addition to the inscription; Michael 110 uses the word, ‘runes’, which may have been part of a longer inscription; and St Patrick’s Isle 196 has the name, ‘Thor’.62 In the case of the sculpture at Braddan and Michael, these may have been con­ sidered permissible, as they were at keeills. At St Patrick’s Isle, it may represent an establishment of dual beliefs, but it is more likely an example of later graffito, as the writing is crude in nature and other designs are also made.63 While runic inscriptions appear to have been acceptable in different contexts, most sites appear to have required only dedications.

Extrapolating from the evidence The usage of burials and sculpture does not necessarily represent two distinct periods of practices, but rather a continual one in which the dates of both overlap with each other. The sculpture from northwest English sites dates from the tenth to the eleventh centuries, while the majority of the burials fall in the ninth to eleventh centuries, leaning closer to the later part of the period. With the Isle of Man, the burials and the sculpture range from the ninth to the eleventh centuries and would have been known to those constructing both kinds of monuments. The burials and the sculpture highlight that negotiations between the clerics and the laity were an ongoing process and extended to different mediums. At the same time, different emphases were placed on different aspects of mortuary practices, deriving from financial, social, and/or personal factors. However, in all cases, they distinctively took on an Irish Sea style, in addition to developing distinctive characteristics in their own right.64 Both mediums honoured the dead using methods that were already considered acceptable, but individual interpretations adapted them to suit either aesthetic, personal, or social preferences in new, amalgamated communities. Although some aspects of funerary monuments were highlighted, others were not, depending upon the ecclesiastical sites. Carlisle and St John’s are both critical political and religious sites in the landscape where there is a favouring of furnished burials over hybridised sculpture. The sculptures do contain Scandinavian elements, but these are solely designs or, in the case of the one at St John’s, a runic inscription. These are also the sites where multiple grave goods were included in the graves. Workington, Maughold, and St Patrick’s Isle feature multiple furnished

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graves as well as multiple pieces of sculpture that include Scandinavian elements. While the number of sculptures outnumbers the number of furnished burials, the sculpture only goes so far as Scandinavian-derived designs, with St Patrick’s Isle and Maughold having simply one piece with a runic inscription at each.65 Brigham has more Anglo-Scandinavian sculpture, but it is all design-based. Heysham has two burials and two sculptures, but only one of the pieces contains iconography. In all of these cases, the fact that they were at ecclesiastical centres appears to have played a role in the sculpture. Conversely, Jurby, Michael, and Braddan all had more sculptures, as each ecclesiastical site had one grave, but designs, runes, and iconography were all utilised, often on the same piece. This may be the result of Jurby, Michael, and Braddan being keeills. For all eleven sites, the type of site was an integral part of determining what aspects of funerary monumentality were being used. In either case, using elements of Scandinavian style represented prestige and power at an ecclesiastical site, whether it took the form of a grave or a sculpture. One exception exists to this pattern: Malew. Only one grave and one cross slab have been found at the keeill.66 However, there is little evidence of settlement in the area, so establishing oneself through a funerary monument may not have necessarily been as needed.67 Though the rationale behind why this site is different will never be known, it is clear from the evidence overall that considerations beyond personal preferences were being made with funerary monuments. Decisions were clearly made at these sites with the type of site affecting the medium of funerary monument during the Viking Age. Both furnished burials and sculpture were considered acceptable and could be present at both monastic and clerical institutions. The display of certain aspects above or below the ground appears to have been a critical part of the interplay and what may have been considered appropriate. This did not prohibit the use of alternative elements entirely, but rather, individuals needed to navigate a pre-existing system. When needing to establish themselves among certain individuals, burials below the ground would have been the trend. When needing to establish themselves among others, sculpture would have been a more permanent visual means to denote their position. Even within these facets though, variation occurred contingent on other factors. Overall, it is clear that pre-existing, local elements were used along with Scandinavian elements to cement power and status in this hybridised environment, creating Manx-Scandinavian and Anglo-Scandinavian graves and sculpture.

Conclusions and contemplations The funerary monuments discussed in this piece underscore the complexities of Viking‐Age settlement and the need for both laity and clerics to secure power and status in an ever-changing landscape. Decisions had to be made and gauged based upon pre-existing conditions as well as new factors that were introduced, which could drastically vary. A difference beyond size and purpose appears with the treatment of ecclesiastical centres and keeills and what rulings could be made,

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whether that be related to finances, politics, or society. The rationale behind the funerary decisions may never be entirely known, but the product of it can clearly be seen though the inclusion of grave goods or the elements of style or icono­ graphy. More comparative work needs to be done in this area, expanding typo­ logically to other ecclesiastical sites with funerary monuments, geographically across the rest of Britain and its neighbours, and temporally over time to before and after the Viking Age. Blending different disciplines together provides a more transparent picture of the past, especially in the early medieval time frame where evidence can be sparse. Britain and its neighbours clearly had a close relationship and were forever altered, not just interacting but internalising customs, actions, and ideas on a personal level. The permeating presence of practices to honour the dead can be seen throughout history, but it is by taking them apart and putting them back together that we can begin to move perhaps beyond the contrivance of the living.68

Notes 1 Abrams, Lesley. ‘Conversion and Assimilation’. In Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian Settlement in England in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries, edited by Dawn M. Hadley and Julian D. Richards. Turnhout: Brepols, 2000, 137–53; Collingwood, William G. ‘Christian Vikings’. Antiquity 1, 2 (June 1927): 172–80; Carver, Martin. ‘The Politics of Early Medieval Monumentality’. In Image and Power in the Archaeology of Early Medieval Britain: Essays in honour of Rosemary Cramp, edited by Helena Hamerow and Arthur MacGregor. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2001, 1–22, at 5, 12, 20; Bailey, Richard N. Viking Age Sculpture. London: William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1980, 43–4; Moore, R. H. ‘The Manx Keeill and pagan iconography: Christian and pagan response to ideo­ logical turmoil in the Isle of Man during the tenth-century’. Trowel XIII (2012): 124–40, at 125, 128, 130, 135–6; Wilson, David M. Manx Crosses. Oxford: Archaeopress, 2018. 2 Downham, Clare. ‘Viking Ethnicities: A Historiographic Overview’. History Compass 10, no. 1 (2012): 1–12, at 1; Griffiths, David. Vikings of the Irish Sea. Stroud: The History Press, 2010, 14. 3 Abrams, Lesley. ‘Diaspora and Identity in the Viking Age’. Early Medieval Europe 20, no. 1 (2012): 17–38, at 22–7. 4 Abrams, ‘Diaspora’, 22–7. 5 Bailey and Devlin comment on this as regards sculpture: Bailey, Richard N. ‘Aspects of Viking-Age Sculpture’. In The Scandinavians in Cumbria, edited by J. R. Baldwin and I. D. Whyte. Edinburgh: Scottish Society for Northern Studies, 1985, 53–63, at 55, 58; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 10, 32–7, 40–7, 50, 69, 72, 83, 96, 135; Devlin, Zöe L. ‘Putting Memory in its Place: Sculpture, Cemetery Topography and Commemoration’. In New Voices on Early Medieval Sculpture in Britain and Ireland, edited by Michael F. Reed (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 542). Oxford: Archaeopress, 2011, 32–41, at 32. 6 My own doctoral thesis (forthcoming, University of Liverpool) only touches upon the subject, focusing on the furnished graves in or near ecclesiastical sites in the Irish Sea area, only briefly touching upon the sculpture as regards context of the ecclesiastical site. Griffiths discusses burial and sculpture as social and political statements in addition to religious ones, but is only able to touch on them in his broader focus on Viking-Age settlement in the Irish Sea area. Carver discusses the use of multiple expressions in more depth, confining it though to their relation to political power. Edwards more broadly

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8 9 10

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focuses on power, but through sculpture in northwest Wales. Gondek argues similarly about sculpture in Scotland. Griffiths, David. ‘Settlement and Acculturation in the Irish Sea Area’. In Land, Sea and Home: Settlement in the Viking Period, edited by John Hines, Alan Lane, and Mark Redknap. Leeds: Maney Publishing, 2004, 125–38, at 127, 131, 135, 137–8; Carver, ‘Politics’; Edwards, Nancy. ‘Viking-Age Sculpture in north-west Wales: Wealth, Power, Patronage, and the Christian Landscape’. In Tome: Studies in Medieval Celtic History and Law in Honour of Thomas Charles-Edwards, edited by Fiona Edmonds and Paul Russell. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2011, 73–87, esp. at 87; Gondek, Meggen. ‘Investing in Sculpture: Power in Early-historic Scotland’. Medieval Archaeology 50, 1 (2006): 105–42. Higham, Nicholas. ‘The Scandinavians in North Cumbria: Raids and Settlement in the Later Ninth to Mid Tenth Centuries’. In Early Medieval Sculpture in Britain and Ireland, edited by John Higgitt (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 152). Oxford: BAR, 1986, 37–52, at 48; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 80. Barrow, Julia. ‘Survival and Mutation: Ecclesiastical Institutions in the Danelaw in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries’. In Hadley and Richards, Cultures in Contact, 155–76; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 43–4. Further elaboration will be included in my forthcoming PhD dissertation (University of Liverpool) on furnished burials in or near ecclesiastical sites in the Irish Sea area. Bailey, ‘Aspects’, 54–5; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 67, 80–1; Wilson, David M. ‘Stylistic Influences in Early Manx Sculpture’. In Anglo-Saxon/Irish Relations Before the Vikings, edited by James Graham-Campbell and Michael Ryan. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009, 311–28. Hemer, Katie A., Jane A. Evans, Carolyn A. Chenery, and Angela L. Lamb. ‘No man is an island: evidence of pre-Viking Age migration to the Isle of Man’. Journal of Archaeological Science 52 (2014): 242–9; Cummings, Vicki and Chris Fowler, eds. The Neolithic of the Irish Sea: Materiality and traditions of practice. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2004; Waddell, John. ‘The Irish Sea in Prehistory’. The Journal of Irish Archaeology 6 (1992): 29–40; Cummings, Vicki and Chris Fowler, ‘Introduction: locating The Neolithic of the Irish Sea: materiality and traditions of practice’. In Cummings and Fowler, The Neolithic of the Irish Sea, 1–8; Edmonds, Fiona. Gaelic influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom: the golden age and the Viking age. Suffolk: Boydell & Brewer, 2020, xv–xvi, 5, 9–10, 28–9, 31, 35–6, 42–4, 129, 157, 161, 165–6, 170, 174–5; Zant, John. ‘Introduction’. In St Michael’s Church, Workington: Excavation of an Early Medieval Cemetery, edited by John Zant and Adam Parsons. Lancaster: Oxford Archaeology North, 2019, 1–10, at 3, 7; Zant, John. ‘The Stratigraphic Sequence’. In Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church, Workington, 11–46, at 11–20; Parsons, Adam J. et al., ‘Discussion’. In Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church, Workington, 119–47, at 119–31. Griffiths, ‘Settlement’; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 52–62; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 53–5, 58, 64–5, 67–71, 132–8, 143–4, 146; Zant, ‘Introduction’, 3, 7; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 133–4. Lang, James. ‘Principles of Design in Free-style Carving in the Irish Sea Province: c. 800 to 950’. In Higgitt, Early Medieval Sculpture in Britain and Ireland, 153–74, at 155, 159; Bailey, ‘Aspects’, 54; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 216–22; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 10, 32–7, 40–7, 67, 72, 83, 96; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 132, 198–209. For broader histories of settlement as well as other elements of these areas, see Wilson, David M. The Vikings in the Isle of Man. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2008; Richards, Julian D. Viking Age England. Stroud, Gloucestershire: Tempus Publishing, 2007; Hadley, Dawn M. The Vikings in England: Settlement, society and culture. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006; Hudson, Benjamin. Irish Sea Studies 900–1200. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2006; and Griffiths, Vikings. Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 40–3. Wilson, Manx Crosses, 13, 16–7, 48–9.

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17 Kermode, Philip M. C. Manx Crosses. London: Bemrose & Sons, 1907, 102, 105–13, 115–20, 128–33, 136–9, 141–2; Trench-Jellicoe, Ross M. C. ‘Early Christian and Viking-Age monuments’. In Excavations on St. Patrick’s Isle, Peel, Isle of Man, 1982–1988: Prehistoric, Viking, Medieval and later, edited by David Freke. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2002, 282–90, at 287; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 11, 13, 16–7, 19, 25–6, 29–32, 35–7, 40–3, 47–9, 62–5; Wilson, ‘Stylistic Influences’, 311–28, at 320, 328; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 28, 31, 42, 48, 190, 200. 18 Bruce, J. Ronald and William Cubbon. ‘Cronk Yn How. An Early Christian and Viking Site, at Lezayre, Isle of Man’. Archaeologia Cambrensis 85 (1930): 267–308, at 291, 295, 299–301; Cubbon, A. M. ‘The Early Church in the Isle of Man’. In The Early Church in Western Britain and Ireland: Studies presented to C. A. Ralegh Radford arising from a conference organised in his honour by the Devon Archaeological Society and Exeter City Museum, edited by Susan M. Pearce (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 102). Oxford: BAR, 1982, 257–82, at 276; Darvill, Timothy and Blaze O’Connor. ‘The Cronk yn How Stone and the Rock Art of the Isle of Man’. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 71 (2005): 283–331, at 283, 285, 290–7; Kermode, Philip M. C. ‘More Cross-Slabs from the Isle of Man’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, Vol. XIII, Sixth Series (1928–1929): 354–60, at 357–60; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 49, 167. 19 ‘The parish of Heysham’. In A History of the County of Lancaster: Volume 8, edited by William Farrer and J. Brownbill. London: Victoria County History, 1914, 109–18; British History Online, URL: http://www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/lancs/vol8/ pp109–118, accessed 8 August 2019; McCarthy, Mike and Caroline Paterson. ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington, Cumbria: Interim Report’. In In Search of Vikings: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Scandinavian Heritage of North-West England, edited by Stephen Harding, David Griffiths, and Elizabeth Royles. Baton Rouge, FL: CRC Press, 2015, 127–36, at 134; O’Sullivan, Deidre M. ‘A reassessment of the early Christian archaeology of Cumbria’. PhD thesis, Durham University, 1980, 251; Winchester, Angus J. L. ‘The Multiple Estate: A Framework for the Evolution of Settlement in Anglo-Scandinavian Cumbria’. In Baldwin and Whyte, The Scandinavians in Cumbria, 89–101, at 92, 97; Winchester, Angus J. L. Landscape and Society in Medieval Cumbria. Edinburgh: John Donald Publishers Ltd, 1987, 26; Edwards, B. J. N. ‘The West Seaton Viking Sword’. Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, Series 3, 4 (2004): 123–32, at 126; Griffiths, Vikings, figs 17, 19, 21; Cubbon, ‘Early Church’, 269, 280; Wilson, Vikings, fig. 4; Crawford, Deborah K. E. ‘St Patrick and St Maughold: Saints’ Dedications in the Isle of Man’. e-Keltoi, Journal of Interdisciplinary Celtic Studies, 8 (2016). URL: https://dc.uwm.edu/ekeltoi/ vol8/iss1/4, accessed 8 August 2019; Kermode, Philip M. C. ‘Parish of Kirk Maughold’. Fourth Report of the Manx Archaeological Survey, Sheading of Garff. Douglas: Natural History and Antiquarian Society, 1915. URL: http://www.isle-of-man.com/ manxnotebook/history/arch/4rpt/md1.htm, accessed 8 August 2019; Freke, David. ‘The Setting and Background to the Site’. In Freke, Excavations on St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, 3–14, at 3; Zant, ‘Introduction’, 1–2; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 119, 131, 134. 20 Butler, Lawrence A. S. ‘The Cistercian Abbey of St Mary of Rushen: Excavations 1978–79’. Journal of the British Archaeological Association 141, 1 (1988): 60–104, at 60. 21 McCarthy, Mike, Janet Montgomery, Ceilidh Lerwick, and Jo Buckberry. ‘Were There Vikings in Carlisle? ’In Harding, Griffiths, and Royles, In Search of Vikings, 137–48, at 139; McCarthy, Mike. ‘Carlisle: the making of a medieval town on the Anglo-Scottish frontier’. In Making a medieval town: patterns of early modern urbanization, edited by Andrzej Buko and Mike McCarthy. Warsaw: Institute of Archaeology, Polish Academy of Science, University of Warsaw, 2010, 115–30, at 105–18; Griffiths, Vikings, 98; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 214, 219; Crawford, Barbara. ‘Man in the Norse World’. In A New History of the Isle of Man, Volume 3: The Medieval Period 1000–1406, edited by Sean Duffy and Harold Mytum. Liverpool: Liverpool University

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Press, 2015, 210–40, at 227; Renterghem, Aya van and Heidi Stoner. ‘The Isle of Man Viking Trail’. In Viking Myths and Rituals on the Isle of Man, edited by Leszek Gardeła and Carolyne Larrington. Nottingham: Centre for the Study of the Viking Age, University of Nottingham, 2015, 5–11, at 6, 10. Potter, T. W. and R. D. Andrews. ‘Excavation and Survey at St Patrick’s Chapel and St Peter’s Church, Heysham, Lancashire, 1977–78’. The Archaeological Journal LXXIV (1994): 55–134, at 55; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 134; O’Sullivan, Cumbria, 251; Winchester, ‘Multiple Estate’, 92, 97; Winchester, Landscape, 13, 18, 26; McCarthy, ‘Carlisle’, 109–18; McCarthy et al., Carlisle, 139, 144, 222, 242; McCarthy, Mike. ‘A Post-Roman Sequence at Carlisle Cathedral’. Archaeological Journal 171, 1 (2014): 185–257, at 185; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 19–28; Cubbon, William. Island Heritage, Dealing with Some Phases of Manx History. Manchester: George Falkner & Sons Ltd., 1952, 103, 105; Wilson, Vikings, 122–7; Williams, Gareth. ‘The System of Land Division and Assessment’. In Duffy and Mytum, A New History of the Isle of Man, Volume 3, 466–83, at 467–8; Megaw, Basil R. S. and Eleanor M. Megaw. ‘The Norse Heritage in the Isle of Man’. In The Early Cultures of North-West Europe, edited by Cyril Fox and Bruce Dickins. London: The Syndics of the Cambridge University Press, 1950, 141–70, at 163; Cubbon, ‘Early Church’, 262, 280; Freke, David. ‘Conclusions’. In Freke, Excavations on St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, 437–45, at 442; Freke, David. ‘Period 3: Late Norse c.AD1000–1200’. In Freke, Excavations on St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, 132–9; Freke, David. ‘Period 4: High Medieval c.AD1200–1390’. In Freke, Excavations on St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, 140–54, at 140; Freke, ‘Setting’, 14; Moore, Raymond H. The Viking settlement landscapes of Jurby, Isle of Man: A changing perception or a perception of change. PhD thesis, University of York, 2007, 161; Renterghem and Stoner, ‘Isle of Man Viking Trail’, 10; Crawford, ‘St Patrick’. Parish of Heysham; Robson, Christopher. ‘Brun and Brunanburh: Burnley and Heysham’. CeNtre WoRdS 11 (2012): 1–18, at 10, 13–4; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 134; O’Sullivan, Cumbria, 251; Winchester, ‘Multiple Estate’, 92, 97; Winchester, Landscape, 26; McCarthy et al., Carlisle, 139; McCarthy, ‘Carlisle’, 105–18; Edwards, ‘West Seaton’, 126; Harrison, S. N. ‘On Some Antiquities at Kirk Maughold’. Yn Lioar Manninagh 1, 11 (1892). URL: http://www. isle-of-man.com/manxnotebook/iomnhas/lm1p382.htm, accessed 08 August 2019; Bowen, Emrys G. Saints, Seaways and Settlements in Celtic Lands, Second Edition. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1977, 149–50; Cubbon, ‘Early Church’, 269, 280; Moore, Viking settlement, 47; Crawford, ‘St Patrick’; Kermode, ‘Kirk Maughold Parish’; Renterghem and Stoner, ‘Isle of Man Viking Trail’, 10; Freke, ‘Conclusions’, 3, 5; Butler, ‘Cistercian Abbey’, 60; Zant, ‘Introduction’, 1–2. Redmond, Angela. Viking Burial in the North of England: A study of contact, interaction and reaction between Scandinavian migrants with resident groups, and the effect of immigration on aspects of cultural continuity (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 429). Oxford: BAR, 2007, 89, 108, 116; Richards, Viking Age England, 202, 224; Griffiths, Vikings, 87–9, 98–9; Keevil, Graham. ‘The Stratigraphy’. In McCarthy, Post-Roman Sequence, 188–200, at 194; Wilson, Vikings, 47, 50–1; Steinforth, Dirk H. Die Wikingergräber auf der Isle of Man (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 611). Oxford: BAR, 2015, 22, 34–40; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 131; Freke, David. ‘The Cemeteries: The Excavated Evidence’. In Freke, Excavations on St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, 58–82, at 66, 71, 73; Freke, David. ‘Grave Data’. In Freke, Excavations on St Patrick’s Isle, Peel, 120–31, at 122; Zant, ‘The Stratigraphic Sequence’, 15 (Table 2.1), 11–28; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 119–45, 147; McIntyre, Lauren et al. ‘The Human Skeletal Remains’. In Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church, Workington, 83–106; Marshall, Peter et al. ‘Radiocarbon Dating’. In Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church, Workington, 107–15. Richards, Viking Age England, 202–3; Griffiths, Vikings, 87–9, 96–9; Wilson, Vikings, 47–51; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 128–34; Edmonds,

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Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 213–4; Zant, ‘Introduction’, 2; Zant, ‘The Stratigraphic Sequence’, 15 (Table 2.1), 16–7, 20, 25; Paterson, Caroline with Adam J. Parsons and Christine Howard Davies. ‘Early Medieval Finds’. In Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church, Workington, 47–60; Paterson, Caroline with Adam J. Parsons and Christine Howard Davies. ‘Potential Early Medieval or Medieval Finds’. In Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church, Workington, 60–1; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 126–30, 133–4. Potter and Andrews, ‘Excavation’, 127; James Lang. ‘The Hogback: A Viking Colonial Monument’. In Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 3, edited by Sonia Chadwick Hawkes, James Campbell, and David Brown. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1984, 83–176, at 138; Richards, Viking Age England, 202, 224; Griffiths, Vikings, 98–9; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 99. Leszek Gardeła. ‘Into Viking Minds: Reinterpreting the Staffs of Sorcery and Unravelling “Seiðr”’. Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 4 (2008): 45–84. Edwards, ‘West Seaton’, 126; Maron, David. Northside Bridge Permanent Replacement, Workington, Cumbria. Lancaster: Oxford Archaeology North, January 2012, 2, 4–5; Redmond, Viking Burial, 112, XVIII; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 134; Zant, ‘Introduction’, 2; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 133–4. Redmond, Viking Burial, 88; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 33–4, 41; Griffiths, Vikings, 87. Wilson, Vikings, 27–8, 38, 51; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 30; Redmond, Viking Burial, 89; Griffiths, Vikings, 87. Redmond, Viking Burial, 89; Wilson, Vikings, 51; Griffiths, Vikings, 87; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 30. Redmond, Viking Burial, 89; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 22. In the case of Workington, though, this remains less tentative considering the distance away of the furnished grave with the sword. However, various items were at the site that may have been Viking-Age grave goods, possibly indicating more furnished graves. Cf. Zant, ‘Introduction’, 2; Paterson, Parsons, and Davies, ‘Early Medieval Finds’, 47–60; Paterson, Parsons, and Davies, ‘Potential Early Medieval or Medieval Finds’, 60–1; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 126–30, 133–4; Richards, Viking Age England, 202–3, 224, 246; Redmond, Viking Burial, 88–9, 108, 116; Griffiths, Vikings, 87–8, 98–9; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 128–34; Wilson, Vikings, 47, 50–1, 52n; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 22, 33–5, 40–1. Bailey, Richard N. and Rosemary Cramp. The Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Sculpture, Vol. II: Cumberland, Westmorland and Lancashire–North–of–the–Sands. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 74–5, 84–6, 154–5, 157; Bailey, Richard N. The Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Sculpture, Vol. IX: Cheshire and Lancashire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010, 196–201, 204, 207, 209–10; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 196 and 205; Zant, ‘Introduction’, 3; Zant, ‘The Stratigraphic Sequence’, 20, 22, 28; Cramp, Rosemary. ‘The Sculptural Fragments’. In Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church, Workington, 64–82, at 65; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 130, 134–7, 142–3; See previous footnote on sculpture predating and concurrent to Viking Age for St Patrick’s Isle, Maughold, Jurby, and Braddan. Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 18–20, 81; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 32–5, 50, 65–6; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 24, 42, 48, 91, 107–9, 112, 116, 128, 149, 189–90, 192, 196–7; Zant, ‘Introduction’, 1–3; Zant, ‘The Stratigraphic Sequence’, 28; Cramp, ‘The Sculptural Fragments’, 65; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 130–3, 137, 142–3. Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 18. Parish of Heysham; Robson, ‘Brun and Brunanburh’, 10, 13–4; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 134; O’Sullivan, ‘Cumbria’, 251; Winchester, ‘Multiple Estate’, 92, 97; Winchester, Landscape, 26; McCarthy et al., Carlisle, 139; McCarthy, ‘Carlisle’, 105–18; Edwards, ‘West Seaton’, 126; Harrison, ‘Antiquities at Kirk Maughold’; Bowen, Saints, Seaways and Settlements, 149–50; Cubbon, ‘Early

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Church’, 269, 280; Moore, ‘Viking settlement’, 47; Crawford, ‘St Patrick’; Kermode, ‘Kirk Maughold Parish’; Renterghem and Stoner, ‘Isle of Man Viking Trail’, 10; Freke, ‘Conclusions’, 3, 5; Butler, ‘Cistercian Abbey’, 60. Numbering for sculptures is based on David Wilson’s Manx Crosses, Bailey and Cramp’s Corpus, Vol. II, Bailey, Corpus, Vol. IX, and Zant and Parsons, St. Michael’s Church Workington. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 142–6; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 194–5, 204, 223–6; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 67, 161; Zant, ‘The Stratigraphic Evidence’, 22–3; Paterson et al., ‘Discussion’, 142; Bailey and Cramp, Corpus, Vol. II, 75–7, 87, 155–7; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 131; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 136, 205; Cramp, ‘The Sculptural Fragments’, 64–6, 69–71, 72–3, 75–6, 81. Bailey and Cramp, Corpus, Vol. II, 77, 87, 156; Cramp, ‘The Sculptural Fragments’, 69–73. Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 194–5, 222, 264; Cramp, ‘The Sculptural Fragments’, 69–73, 81. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 87, 149–53, 158–60, 165–7, 190, 202–5; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 217; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 83, 87, 129–32, 134, 161–2, 164; Wilson, Vikings, 66; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 199–200. Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 217–9. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 143–53, 160, 165–8, 176–7, 185–7, 189–90, 199–208; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 83–5, 87–8, 91–3, 95, 119, 161–5, and passim; Bailey, ‘Aspects’, 55, 57, 264; Trench-Jellicoe, ‘Early Christian’, 282, 286; Wilson, Vikings, 66; Zant, ‘The Stratigraphic Sequence’, 20–2, 34; Cramp, ‘The Sculptural Fragments’, 66–9, 71–2; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 134–7; Bailey and Cramp, Corpus, Vol. II, 75–6, 155–6; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at Workington’, 131. Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 97, 99; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 123; Zant, ‘The Stratigraphic Sequence’, 20–2, 28, 34; Bailey and Cramp, Corpus, Vol. II, 77–8, 87; Bailey, Corpus, Vol. IX, 201–5; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 202; Cramp, ‘The Sculptural Fragments’, 64–6, 73–5, 78–82; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 134–7. DuBois, Thomas A. Nordic Religions in the Viking Age. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999, 158–63; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 85–100. Cramp, ‘The Sculptural Fragments’, 76–7. Bailey, Corpus, Vol. IX, 201–4; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 121, 236; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 104. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 176–7; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 100, 102, 163. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 158–9, 185–9; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 88, 100, 102, 115, 119, 161, 163–4. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 189–90, 195–202; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 88, 105, 108–9, 115–6, 118, 163–4. Bailey, Corpus, Vol. IX, 201–4; Kermode, Manx Crosses, 142–6, 185–7, 189–90, 195–203; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 72; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 73–7, 88, 118, 163–4. Wilson, Manx Crosses, 97, 115. Bailey, Corpus, Vol. IX, 201–4; Gräslund, Anne-Sofie. ‘Late Viking Age Christian Identity’. In Shetland and the Viking World: Papers from the Seventeenth Viking Congress, Lerwick, edited by Val E. Turner, Olwyn A. Owen, and Doreen J. Waugh. Lerwick: Shetland Heritage Publications, 2016, 181–7, at 185. Gräslund, ‘Late Viking Age’, 184–6. Kermode Manx Crosses, 190; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 118–9, 121–2, 165. Trench-Jellicoe, ‘Early Christian’, 286, 288–90; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 121–2. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 140–6, 190; Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 150–1, 264; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 69–72, 112, 114, 118–9, 158, 170; Bailey and Cramp, Corpus, Vol. II, 76–7; Wilson, ‘Stylistic Influences’, 320–1. Redmond, Viking Burial, 88, 112, XVIII; Wilson, Vikings, 51; Griffiths, Vikings, 87; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 31; McCarthy and Paterson, ‘Viking-Age Site at

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61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68

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Workington’, 128–34; Edwards, ‘West Seaton’, 126; Maron, Northside Bridge Permanent Replacement, 2, 4–5; Parsons et al., ‘Discussion’, 134. Wilson, Vikings, 27–8, 38, 51; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 30; Redmond, Viking Burial, 89; Griffiths, Vikings, 87. DuBois, Nordic Religions, 148–51. While previous scholars, like Bailey, have argued these indicate signs of belief, the rationale behind why designs or icons are chosen or what they truly are will unfortunately never be known. A better argument for this may lie in the Christian missions of Scandinavia, where Gräslund comments using an ar­ gument initially by Lager, in which sculpture could be perceived as a form of Interpretatio Scandinavica. Who commissioned these works and why is more uncertain outside of Scandinavia in areas already largely converted. Moore highlights this ambi­ guity, but extends it only as far as sculpture, maintaining previous beliefs regarding grave goods as purely pagan. Bailey also comments that the iconography is secular; this cannot be substantiated, as the intent is unknown. Bailey, ‘Aspects’, 54–5, 60–1; Gräslund, ‘Late Viking Age’, 183–4, 186; Lager, Linn. ‘De synligatron. Runstenskors som en spegling av kristnandet av Sverige’. PhD thesis, Uppsala University, Uppsala, 2002, 193–202; Moore, ‘Manx Keeill’, 128, 131–4. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 86–8, 143–54, 156–60, 163–4, 187–90, 195–207, 209; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 22, 121–2, 129–36, 161–5; Trench-Jellicoe, ‘Early Christian’, 282, 286; Edmonds, Gaelic Influence in the Northumbrian Kingdom, 116. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 86–8, 162–3, 195–9, 207–8; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 129, 133, 140, 162, 164, 170; Trench-Jellicoe, ‘Early Christian’, 286, 289 Trench-Jellicoe, ‘Early Christian’, 286, 289. Wilson, ‘Stylistic Influences’, 311–28. Eventually, another piece of sculpture with runic inscriptions was erected at Maughold (145), but this was not a memorial and dates to the twelfth century. Kermode, Manx Crosses, 213–4; Wilson, Manx Crosses, 122, 127, 132–4, 136, 140, 165. Wilson, Vikings, 51; Steinforth, Wikingergräber, 30; Redmond, Viking Burial, 89; Griffiths, Vikings, 87. Butler, ‘Cistercian Abbey’, 98; Barnwell, Edward L. ‘Church Furniture in Malew Church, Isle of Man’. Archaeologia Cambrensis 12, Third Series, 48 (Oct. 1866): 472–6. Special thanks to the editors; Dr Clare Downham, my advisor; Adam J. Parsons; Debra Ramsey; and Rhiannon Ramsey-Brimberg for their assistance with this chapter.

3 BETWEEN CONTINENTAL MODELS, A CHRISTIAN MESSAGE, AND A SCANDINAVIAN AUDIENCE Early examples of the image of ‘Christ trampling the Beasts’ in the British Isles1 Dirk H. Steinforth Abstract: The image of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ (often illustrating Psalm 91:13) is well known in early Christian art, from Mediterranean lamps and mosaics to Carolingian book covers and illuminations. In the British Isles before the tenth century, however, it is rare, represented most famously in one book illumination and two memorial stones. The design seen on a stone in Burton-in-Kendal (Cumbria, England) and on a Viking-Age cross slab in Kirk Andreas (Isle of Man) appears to have been inspired by those models, indicating contact and exchange of ideas with the Continent. Furthermore, the imagery of the Manx stone includes a scene from pagan mythology, namely one of the Viking apocalypse, the Ragnaro˛k. This places the stone’s design between native Christianity and residual Norse paganism on the Island and betrays lingering connections with Scandinavia. This discussion investigates the different iconographical links and influences the artisans who created the British stones’ imagery appear to have drawn on, both by comparing the Christian images to Continental examples and by analysing the meaning of Norse mythology on a Christian gravestone.

Introduction: images of Christ and the Beasts A great many different passages from the Bible have been visualised in Christian art, frequently depicting the overcoming of Evil as well as promising divine protection from harm for those who believe in the Christian God and their Resurrection at the End of Days. One of these is the well-known Psalm 91:13: Super aspidem et basiliscum calcabis conculcabis leonem et draconem, Upon the viper and the cockatrice you shall tread, And you shall trample the lion and the dragon.

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Illustrations of these lines generally show the triumphant Christ, holding aloft a cross (often slung across one shoulder) and a book, and either standing serenely on a number of snarling beasts – a serpent, a lion, a basilisk, and a ‘dragon’ (frequently reduced to only the lion and the serpent) – or actively aiming the pointed end of his long-shafted cross (or, occasionally, a spear) down at them in a warrior’s attitude. Apart from the characteristic range of animals and mythical beasts, the reference to the Psalm is made clear in several examples either by alluding directly to its text by means of a short inscription in the book depicted in Christ’s hand or indeed by the proximity of the image to the Psalm in its entirety. While the reduction to two beasts is quite common in the motif, it could be argued that a single serpent beneath Christ’s feet, rather than representing the animals referred to in Psalm 91:13, might symbolise the Devil, as mentioned in Revelation 20:2: Et adprehendit draconem serpentem antiquum qui est diabolus et Satanas et ligavit eum per annos mille, And he seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil, or Satan, and bound him for a 1000 years. These scenes would thus depict the overcoming of the monster that is Satan by Christ prior to the Day of Judgement and the coming of the New Jerusalem. Using the serpent as a personification of evil, against which protection or the power to tread on with impunity is promised, is common in the Bible, as in Luke 10:19 and Mark 16:17–18, and its destruction is linked to the messianic assurance of Paradise, such as Isaiah 11:8–9.2 All of these passages and the images of both variants of Christ standing triumphantly over the serpent and/or other evil monsters, however, convey a message quite similar to the one in the Psalm, one closely connected to the promise and expectation of Resurrection. Apart from book illuminations and carved ivory book covers illustrating the corresponding lines in psalters or homilies, the scene is known from a variety of media, such as clay lamps, mosaics and stucco reliefs (mainly on church walls), sarcophagi, or stone churchyard crosses and grave markers. In these sepulchral contexts, the image – besides being a profoundly eschatological motif – takes on an apotropaic quality as well. The motif of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ is well known from sites in the eastern Mediterranean, Byzantine Italy, and the Frankish Kingdoms, but there are only few examples in the British Isles at first. Here, the earliest examples appear to be on two tenth-/eleventh-century stone monuments from Cumbria and the Isle of Man, with the latter also showing distinct links to the Vikings’ homelands in Scandinavia. This puts it in an intriguing position between Christian Biblical imagery and pagan Norse mythology during a period of syncretism on the Island.

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This paper outlines the Christian motif’s history in antique and early medieval religious art by providing a comprehensive ‘tour’ of the most important examples from the earliest known occurrences to the eleventh century, which inform our understanding of the two British monuments. The role these precursors and ostensible models played in the design of the imagery of the two stones from the Isle of Man and Cumbria is then examined, as they demonstrate long-distance connections between rather remote places in the British Isles and the Continent. In the same way, it then investigates the links between Man and Scandinavia expressed in the carving of the other face of the fragmentary Manx stone – designated Kirk Andreas MM 128 or ‘Thorvald’s Cross’ – that is depicting scenes of pagan mythology next to the Christian cross. Although it is one of the bestresearched examples of the Viking-Age stone monuments the Isle of Man is justly famous for, the bicultural backgrounds of its imagery have not been analysed in greater detail yet, and the Cumbrian stone in Burton-in-Kendal has hardly ever been subject of scholarly interest. The final section takes a look on the various forms and levels of ‘international’ influences and interchange during the ninth to eleventh centuries, which made it possible for both the Christian motifs and the Scandinavian imagery to reach the Insular workshops that produced the remarkable stone monuments.

Continental links: occidental models and British images Artistic renderings of the scene of the triumphant Christ standing on either a serpent or an assortment of up to four beasts are known at least as far back as the fifth century and as far away from the British Isles as the Near East and North Africa. The earliest known examples, which – by the presence of the diagnostic animals – can be identified as referring to Psalm 91:13, rather than to Revelation 20:2, are found in the centre field of clay lamps from the Holy Land and North Africa, especially Egypt and Carthage,3 as well as in a lost fresco in a funerary chapel in the Karmouz catacombs of Alexandria, which – according to a description – featured the lion and several crocodiles and other reptiles.4 Three further examples survive from fifth- and sixth-century Ravenna, Italy. The stucco relief in the Battistero Neoniano (Baptistery of Neon) and the mosaic in the Archiepiscopal Chapel both portray Christ as a Roman military officer with the long-shafted cross on his shoulder and the book in his hand, standing on the necks of lion and serpent (Christus triumphans),5 while a relief on the Pignatta Sarcophagus in the Basilica di San Francesco shows Christ seated on a throne while treading down the animals.6 By the late eighth century, the motif had reached the Carolingian empire. A book illumination in the homilies of Gregory the Great in Nonantola, Italy (Vercelli, Biblioteca Capitolare, MS. CXLVIII, fol. 72r), features only the lion,7 but several carved ivory book covers, such as the one from Chelles in France (the so-called ‘Oxford book cover’; Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Douce 176), of the Lorsch Gospel (Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Pal. Lat. 50), or the magnificent

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cover from Genoelselderen, Belgium (Brussels, Musées Royaux de l’art et d’his­ toire, No. 1474; cf. Fig. 3.3d), almost appear to take pride in showing all four animals mentioned in the Psalm lying prostrate and defeated under the feet of the Saviour.8 In all of these examples, Christ is standing on the necks of the lion and a serpent or dragon (with the other two animals shown below these or next to Christ’s legs), holding the cross in his right hand and the book in his left,9 occasionally with readable lettering. The short inscription in the book cover from Chelles – reading ‘HIS | XPS | SVP | ASP’, ‘Jesus Christus super aspidem’ – anticipates the longer inscription framing the motif in the Belgian ivory: ‘+VBI DNS | AMBVLCABIT SVPER ASPIDEM ET BASILIS|CV[M] ET CON|CVLCABIT LEONE|M ET DRACONEM’. This clearly shows that these carvings were indeed meant as literal illustrations of Psalm 91:13. Another example of this can be found in the ninth-century Stuttgart Psalter (Stuttgart, Germany, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, Cod. Bibl. 1. 12; fol. 107v; cf. Fig. 3.3c), where the Psalm is quoted in toto above a colourful illumination.10 Unlike the depictions mentioned above, however, Christ is por­ trayed here as a helmeted warrior hero (Christus miles) clad in scale armour (which to some degree is reminiscent of the military garb Christ is wearing in the mosaic in Ravenna) and holding a spear instead of a cross, thrusting it down at a lion and a fire-breathing serpent. A very similarly warlike scene is shown in a line drawing in the contemporaneous Utrecht Psalter (Utrecht, Netherlands, Universiteitsbibliotheek, MS Bibl. Rhenotraiectine I, 32, fol. 53v), but without the martial apparel.11 A rare example of Christ actively trampling down his demoniac antagonists may be seen in the posture of the Saviour in the ivory from Chelles, in which the slightly bent knees convey the impression that he is walking towards his right across the animals’ bodies on the ground. These examples suggest that over the course of more than 500 years, the motif of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ apparently made its way from the eastern Mediterranean to Carolingian/Ottonian Francia, but while quite popular there, it did not, as far as could be ascertained by this author, achieve any greater popularity in Britain and Ireland during this time. There are only a few early examples of ‘Christ in triumph’ in the British Isles. A full-page book illumination in the earlier eighth-century Durham Cassiodorus (Durham, England, Dean and Chapter Library, MS. B. II. 30, fol. 172v) from Monkwearmouth–Jarrow depicts a haloed figure holding a spear and a ring and standing on a the scaly, worm-like body of a two-headed monster. An inscription in the ring identifies the man as ‘David’, but as he was considered as a prototype for Christ, it seems evident that Christ is shown here,12 in the character of the Biblical David and as a warrior king. The miniature is not unlike an image on the sepulchral stele in Niederdollendorf, Germany, from the seventh century. A man with a radiating nimbus and a ring or disc on his chest is shown here, holding a spear and standing on an oblong strand of simple interlace, which frequently is interpreted as a coiled serpent intertwined on itself.13 This monster – just as the one of the Durham Cassiodorus – might have been meant as the composite of two

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animals and thus an abbreviation of the four mentioned in the Psalm, but it appears equally reasonable to suppose that it was in fact intended to portray one beast, ‘the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil’ of Revelation 20:2. This assumption may be confirmed by the surrounding motifs of two High Crosses from County Offaly in Ireland. On both, Christ can be seen in the centre of the crosshead, holding a cross and a sprouting bough in his hands, and – according to Françoise Henry – standing on a worm-like creature.14 On the High Cross in Durrow, Henry supposes the animal to be executed as a tight strand of interlace (perhaps with a pointed head in the lower left corner), while on the tenth-century ‘Cross of the Scriptures’ in Clonmacnoise, it is represented by only a single, short ridge in the stone relief with a head and gaping mouth on the right side.15 In both examples, the cross arms on both sides of Christ show several other motifs, such as the crowds of the Elect and the Damned, David playing the harp, and trumpeter angels. They identify the ensemble firmly as a depiction of the Second Coming of Christ at the Last Judgement, and at least make the idea of a diabolical serpent beneath Christ’s feet quite plausible. A mere insinuation – or rather anticipation – of Psalm 91:13 appears to be offered by a zoological terminal in the form of a tiny, dragon-like head adorning the initial ‘Q’ at the beginning of Psalm 91 in the early-seventh-century Cathach of Columba (Dublin, Ireland, Royal Irish Academy, s.n., fol. 48r).16 However, there is neither the figure of Christ nor any other details. Across these few early examples from the British Isles, the similarity with the eastern Mediterranean, Byzantine Italian, and/or Carolingian images of ‘Christ trampling on the beasts’ is not particularly marked. In fact, the presence of a spear in Christ’s hand instead of a cross puts these examples in a group of their own at this time. Possibly the earliest depictions in the British Isles of the triumphant Christ over the serpent (or beasts) are represented by two stone monuments. On the fragment of a tenth-century cross shaft displayed in St James’ church in Burton-in-Kendal, Cumbria, England (Fig. 3.1), beneath two haloed figures flanking a cross, another haloed man – obviously Christ – can be discerned on the stone’s badly weathered surface. He is holding a cross and a rod/bough, and a serpent is surrounding his lower body. Some irregular shapes protruding slightly from the stone’s background next to his legs have been identified as the serpent’s head and a coil of its body.17 Trampling on the ‘ancient serpent’, this therefore appears to be Christ in Majesty, as described in Revelation 20:2. Contrary to the prevalent reading of the stone, however, it is possible that these shallow ‘bumps’ once were designed to depict the lion standing behind the Saviour, com­ plementing the snake to refer to Psalm 91:13. Despite a careful examination of the stone by this author, while confirming the presence of raised shapes in the fields next to and between Christ’s legs, there remains considerable doubt as to whether the example shows either a lion or any other animal or parts thereof, including the coiled body and head of the serpent. Thus, the classification of the Burton stone as an illustration of the Psalm must remain hypothetical, pending further investigations.

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Medieval carving on the cross shaft in Burton-in-Kendal, Cumbria, England – including the speculative identification of the ‘lion’ behind Christ’s legs (© Photo/graphics: Dirk H. Steinforth; courtesy of the vicar and wardens of St James’ church, Burton-in-Kendal, England).

FIGURE 3.1

Less ambiguous, but even more intriguing, is the image on the fragment of the Viking-Age cross slab MM 128 (‘Thorvald’s Cross’) in St Andrew’s church of Kirk Andreas in the north of the Isle of Man (Fig. 3.2).18 The remains of the large central cross are decorated in the Scandinavian Borre style, dating the stone to the mid- or later tenth century. Carved in low relief, there is on one face (Face B) a man holding aloft a book and a cross, in an attitude as if walking towards his left, with a large fish in front of him and a large, knotted serpent below and above him, respectively. Even without a halo, the man must be identified as a Christian, and most probably Christ himself, by the long-shafted cross in his hand. Furthermore, the fish may be interpreted as the well-known ἰχθύς symbol.19 Although in an entirely different style, the gesture of brandishing cross and book on Kirk Andreas MM 128 strongly resembles the Continental examples of the ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ motif, albeit with some differences in detail: on the Manx stone, Christ is holding the cross in his left, the book in his right hand, while on the Mediterranean/Continental models it (almost) invariably is the other way round. Also, instead of lion, serpent, basilisk, and dragon, this example shows

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‘Christ trampling the beasts’ on the cross-slab MM 128 in Kirk Andreas, Isle of Man (© Photo: Dirk H. Steinforth; courtesy of the rector & wardens of St Andrew’s church, Andreas, Isle of Man).

FIGURE 3.2

only one serpent beneath Christ’s feet (with another above his head). Depicted in profile, Christ appears to be actively walking on the animal’s body – a posture that is not unlike that of Christ in the ‘Oxford book cover’ from Chelles (see above). The option to abbreviate the ‘bestiarium’ of the Psalm has been remarked on above, and while unusual, the presence of two identical beasts also has an earlier parallel, in the form of two symmetrical basilisks in a miniature in the early-ninthcentury Lorsch Homilies (Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS. Pal. Lat. 220, fol. Av), which is demonstrating pronounced Irish influence,20 as well as simila­ rities to the ivory of the contemporaneous Lorsch Gospel mentioned earlier. Both serpents on the Manx stone are knotted, which would mark them as both evil and being vanquished and helpless in the presence of the Saviour. Similar instances can be found in a miniature in the eleventh-century Crowland Psalter (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Douce 296, fol. 40r),21 probably from Peterborough, where the long tail of the basilisk is shown knotted in exactly the

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same way. Other examples of this appear on two Anglo-Scandinavian stones of similar date from York: on the tenth-century fragment of a Crucifixion (‘St Mary’s Castlegate 2’), a serpent appears on the cross arm under Christ’s right arm. Its body is knotted twice, as is the case for that of the serpent-like dragon Fafnir that is being killed by the hero Sigurð on Face D of the large Scandinavian-style stone grave-slab ‘York Minster 34’.22 Despite the idiosyncrasies particular only to MM 128, there can be no doubt that the scene must be counted as an illustration of Psalm 91:13, drawing on unidentified models of the ‘Triumphant Christ’ group of the motif of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’. For this reason, it is important to keep in mind that despite this motif’s long history and its popularity on the Continent, there is no known example of it in Britain that would predate the Manx stone from the middle of the tenth century. The Isle of Man is a small island in the middle of the Irish Sea with strong traditional ties to Ireland and Wales as well as the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in England, and the lack of direct models in the British Isles raises the question how and where the clerical designer of MM 128 could have obtained the information and inspiration for the stone’s imagery. This point is even more intriguing as the Island had been conquered and settled during the later ninth century by HibernoVikings, who were – at least initially and at least in parts – pagans and who not only introduced the spiritual and artistic ideas of their Scandinavian homelands, but also, it has been surmised, might have disrupted Christian religious life.23 While their presence thus would have interfered with the Island’s established lines of communication overseas, it also provided a massive fillip to local stone sculpture, imbuing it with unprecedented expression and variety (see below). An interesting, but later instance of the motif of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ in Britain – and a similar merging of the Christian imagery and Norse art styles – is the stone panel in St Andrew’s church of Jevington in Sussex, England, which features Christ, with halo and long cross (but without a book), standing over a lion and a serpent. It is important to note that the animals – the serpent’s coiled body and the lion’s hind legs – are executed in interlace in a rather clumsy rendition of the Urnes style, which dates the monument to the mid- or late eleventh century and demonstrates a lingering link to Scandinavian art traditions.24 During this time, the motif of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ continued to be popular on the late-Ottonian/early-Salian Continent, and it now found wider distribution in Britain and particularly England, too, but generally on media other than stone. First, it can be recognised, carved in walrus ivory, in the head of the Alcester Crozier (London, British Museum, Reg. No. 1903,0323.1),25 but it finally also made its way into English book illumination, for example in the mideleventh-century Tiberius Psalter (London, British Library, MS Cotton Tiberius C, IV, fol. 114v),26 the Winchcombe Psalter (Cambridge University Library MS Ff. 1. 23, fol. 195v),27 or the Anglo-Saxon Bury Psalter, produced in Canterbury (Vatican, Biblioteca Regina lat. MS. 12, fol. 98r).28 As was the case in the earlier Continental models, these miniatures occasionally are accompanied by the text of

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Psalm 91:13, but following a trend introduced in Carolingian Francia in the earlier ninth century, Christ no longer carries the cross on his shoulder. Instead, he stabs the pointed end of the long shaft down and towards the animals at his feet, often into the gaping jaws of one of them, a preference Meyer Shapiro attributes to the ‘primitive taste of the Anglo-Saxon tribes for imagery of heroic combats with wild beasts and monsters, as in Beowulf and the pagan legends’.29 Whatever the merit of this statement may be in general, the Manx stone for one does on its other face offer heroic combat as well as a distinct link in an entirely different direction: to Scandinavia and to pagan Norse mythology.

Scandinavian links: pagan mythology and Christian messages On Face A of the Kirk Andreas stone MM 128, back to back with the Christian scene, as it were, there is a man pointing a winged spear towards a dog-like animal below him that appears to bite him in the foot. A large bird is sitting on the man’s right shoulder, and there is a knotted serpent to his left (Fig. 3.3a).30 Appearing on a Viking-Age stone, decorated in Scandinavian style, this scene inevitably brings to mind the central episode in the pagan Norse apocalypse, the Ragnaro˛k. The Eddas prophesy that in the climactic, but ill-fated battle between the Norse gods (the Æsir) and the powers of Chaos, Ríðr fyrstr Óðinn með [...] geir sinn er Gungnir heitr. Stefnir hann móti Fenrisúlf [...]. Úlfrinn gleypir Óðin. Verðr þat hans bani, Óðinn rides in front with [...] his spear, called Gungnir. He engages with Fenriswolf [...]. The wolf swallows Óðin. That is his death.31 Taking the bird as a raven, representing Hugin and/or Munin, Óðin’s trusty deputies and familiars, the scene on MM 128 frequently is interpreted to show Óðin (wielding his spear Gungnir) in the process of being devoured by the de­ monic Fenris-Wolf. There are few depictions of this episode, but a similar image of a man being bitten in the foot by a canine can be seen on the Viking-Age picture stone Ög 181 in Ledberg in Sweden (cf. Fig. 3.3e). According to the Eddas, the death of the chief god Óðin means the end of the Norse world itself, with almost all of the other Æsir as well as earth perishing in floods and flames. Some scholars insist that on a Christian stone and placed right next to a large Christian cross, the image on the Manx slab must have been meant to symbolise the defeat of the old Norse religion in general and signify the victory of Christianity, in order to shame and bully the remaining pagans among the Norse settlers in the Isle of Man into conversion. In fact, this notion appeared almost irresistibly obvious when regarding both faces in juxtaposition: ‘Both faces show the victorious replacement of heathenism by the Christian faith. This could only have been expressed in a comprehensible way by depicting not only the

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winning side but also heathenism – represented here by Odin’32 – or shorter: one face says, ‘Óðinn is dead’, the other, ‘Christ rules!’ There is, however, the possibility of an alternative meaning rather than this aggressively missionary and highly confrontational message. The Isle of Man would have been in the final phases of religious reorientation and syncretism during the middle of the tenth century, when the stone and its image were cre­ ated, with the last of the residual pagan Norse settlers coming to terms with the local faith. However, there exists no evidence of an adversative dichotomy of heathendom and Christianity in the Island in the first place, and religious strife between the two groups is even more unlikely.33 Instead, a different interpretation can be placed on the scene. This hinges on the curious and rather awkwardly constructed posture of the man fighting the wolf, with one foot of a remarkably short leg in the beast’s mouth and with one hand of an unnaturally long arm at its upper jaw. Clearly, this was important for the design and deliberate on the part of the designer of the stone’s imagery. A similar scene can be found high up on the east face of the cross of Gosforth in Cumbria, England: in it, a man is putting one foot into the huge mouth of a monster while holding a staff or spear in one hand and the beast’s upper jaw with the other (cf. Fig. 3.3f ).34 This generally is identified as depicting the episode in the Ragnaro˛k immediately following the death of Óðin, when Víðarr, Óðin’s son, kills the Fenris-Wolf and avenges his father’s death: En þegar eptir snýsk fram Viðarr ok stígr o˛ðrum fœti í neðra keypt úlfsins […]. Annari hendi tekr hann inn efra keypt úlfsins ok rífr sundr gin hans ok verðr þat úlfsins bani. And immediately afterwards, Víðarr rushes forward and steps with one foot in the wolf’s lower jaw […]. With the other hand, he grasps the wolf ’s upper jaw und tears apart his mouth, and that is the wolf’s death.35 The presence of a victorious pagan god on a Christian gravestone may at first appear strange. Unlike Óðin’s death, Víðar’s victory is nothing over which to celebrate Christian superiority. Víðarr is one of the lesser known Norse gods, but he has a special place in the old pantheon, inasmuch as he is one of the very few of the gods to survive the chaos and destruction of the Ragnaro˛k and the end of the old world, and who will, the Eddas foretell, rule and inhabit a cleansed new one.36 The penultimate and possibly late stanza of Vo˛luspá (Hauksbók version) says: Þá kemr hinn ríki o˛flugr, ofan,

at regindómi, sá er o˛llu ræðr.

Then comes the mighty one, into his kingship, powerful, from above, he who rules (over) all.37

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This sounds very much like the inauguration of a new deity who has the bearing of a hero overcoming the evil (diabolical) monsters and surviving death itself. Remembering the transitional state of religious conceptions in mid-tenth-century Isle of Man, it is easy to imagine Víðarr being adopted to stand in as a type for Christ, as both Víðarr and Christ not only are ‘the son of god’, successfully battling the forces of evil to found and rule a better world, but they both survive the catastrophe, and thus stand for continuation and consistency and the prospect of life beyond death.38 In this context, it is interesting to note that Víðar’s name translates as ‘far-ranging ruler’, which not only recalls the stanza of Vo˛luspá quoted above, announcing the advent of ‘the mighty one, who rules over all’, but also brings to mind Christ’s Biblical title of ‘pantocrator’, meaning ‘he who rules all’ or ‘the all-powerful’. The Christian cross, present on all the Viking-Age cross monuments in the Isle of Man, clearly demonstrates the high degree in which the Viking settlers had embraced Christianity during their sojourn in Insular Britain by the mid/late tenth century. However, these slabs are decorated in the Scandinavian art styles of the day, with the Borre, Jellinge, Mammen, and Ringerike styles present on the Island. Furthermore, it must be appreciated that other motifs from pagan my­ thology have been used in a similar way to that on the Andreas slab. The stone MM 127 in Jurby, Jurby parish, depicts the image of the Norse god Heimdall, blowing his Gjallarhorn to warn the gods of the beginning of the Ragnaro˛k.39 In role and position, this figure is equivalent to the cocks and trumpeting angels in Christian tradition, sounding the Day of Judgement and waking the dead.40 Seen this way, the hope for and promise of Resurrection is the common message of the two scenes on MM 128 (and possibly on other Manx stones, too), told in images of both the old religion and the new, for pagans and Christians alike to understand. In appropriating and utilising Scandinavian pagan ideas and images and adapting them to their purpose, the Christian designers of the stone appear to have attempted to present the new order in the heavens as a natural transition and even continuity. Such a parallelisation or even equalisation of Víðar and Christ (‘Christ/Víðarr overlap’) would, no doubt, have facilitated access for the residual pagans to Christianity as well as conversion. Unfortunately, because possibly less than 30% of the iconographic programme of Kirk Andreas MM 128 has survived, conditions for its overall interpretation are far from ideal, and there is a decided risk of over-interpreting the intriguing ‘backto-back’ juxtaposition of the two scenes. In addition, due to the virtually unique nature of the Scandinavian imagery of Face A, it is extremely difficult to find viable parallels to assess the scene of the man and the wolf on any artistic and mythological/traditional background. Despite this, it is not too fanciful to suggest that the composition of the design of the ‘Óðinn face’ of MM 128 was influenced, whether deliberately or not, by the knowledge of the Continental images of the warlike Christ not only trampling, but actively fighting the beasts. This would be a variant of the motif that first occurred in (early) Carolingian book illuminations, such as in the Utrecht and Stuttgart Psalters (cf. Fig. 3.3c), probably dating to the 820/830s. This inspiration

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(c)

(a)

(d)

(b)

(e)

(f)

A. Óðinn or Víðarr fighting the wolf (Kirk Andreas, Isle of Man, Face A) B. Christ trampling the serpent (Kirk Andreas, Isle of Man, Face B) C. Christ fighting the beasts (Christus miles) (Stuttgart Psalter, Germany) D. Christ overcoming the beasts (Christus triumphans) (Genoelselderen, Belgium) E. Óðinn being killed by the wolf (Ledberg, Sweden) F. Víðarr killing the wolf (Gosforth, England)

Examples of possible artistic influences on the two scenes of Kirk Andreas MM 128 (© Drawings: Dirk H. Steinforth).

FIGURE 3.3

might possibly even have been chosen with the distinct intention of putting Víðar in the artistic posture as well as the semantic position of Christ killing the demonic monster, thus surviving death and promising life. In turn, this would explain the presence of the knotted serpent next to the spear-wielding man, which otherwise does not have any plausible interpretation: it would be nothing less than the wellknown serpent, complementing the ‘wolf’ (that is substituting for the lion) to represent the two main diabolical beasts mentioned in Psalm 91:13 (Fig. 3.3). While this particular interpretation remains speculative, MM 128 on the Isle of Man, in the middle of the British Isles, certainly represents a blend of images from the pagan Scandinavian mythology and purely Scandinavian art style on the one hand, and of images of Christian eschatology, clearly inspired by Continental religious conventions and artistic composition, which had formed and developed for centuries, on the other. In this way, the stone highlights both close relations between the Viking settlers in Man and their original Scandinavian homelands in the tenth century and previous and/or contemporary access of the Manx clerics to Christian ivory carving and book illumination in the Frankish Empires.

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International links: influences and imports from across the seas Connections and interchange between the British Isles and the Continent have existed for a long time, reaching back in time to the seventh century BC and beyond.41 During the Anglo-Saxon period, organised trade was conducted between emporia and their hinterlands along both coasts of the English Channel, and though Viking incursions caused a certain disruption and necessitated some reorganisation, the old traffic routes remained important and active. Apart from the exchange of goods, they guaranteed the transport of passengers, such as clerics and pilgrims on their way to Rome, as well as exiles, wives, and messengers,42 for example, between the Anglo-Saxon and the Frankish empires. This kind of travel also served to ensure the perpetuation of relationships on a personal level as well as the pursuit of political and dynastic interests, such as between royal and church elites: the ninth-century Anglo-Saxon kings considered the Old Saxons in Northern Germany kin, and many marriages and family con­ nections linked the royal houses of the tenth century on both sides of the channel, which called for expensive presents to be exchanged, among them precious books.43 When, for instance, the Saxon Liudolfing Henry I in 929 was looking for a royal bride for his son – the later Roman Emperor Otto I – he dispatched an envoy to Æthelstan of Wessex. With him, he sent to the king the gift of a Gospel book produced at Lobbes near Liège (modern France), which was then given to Christ Church, Canterbury (London, British Library, MS. Cotton Tiberius A II), and Æthelstan reciprocated by sending an Evangeliary to the Ottonian court (Coburg, Germany, Landesbibliothek, MS 1).44 As early as the later sixth century, the Church sent out Hiberno/Scottish and Anglo-Saxon missionaries such as Columba the Younger and Boniface, in order to bring Christianity to the Franks, Saxons, and Frisians, and established monasteries and nunneries on the Continent. The clerics from the British Isles introduced Insular style to local narrative and decorative art, produced books and sent them back to their homelands.45 This circumstance would explain the Northumbrian elements in the artwork of the magnificent carved ivory book cover from Genoelselderen or the Irish influence in a west Gothic miniature of Christ standing on two basilisks or dragons in the early-ninth-century homilies from Lorsch.46 These and other examples of this date, the (earlier) Carolingian period between c.810 and 840, display characteristics also found in the Manx stone MM 128, and it is tempting to conjecture that both their Insular background and the Continental milieu and Mediterranean tradition they were created in are reflected in the original design of the Manx cross. As there are in the British Isles no direct models that he could have copied or used for inspiration, it certainly seems that the clerical creator of the imagery of Kirk Andreas MM 128 drew on intimate knowledge of or even had personal access to Continental artwork featuring examples of the image of ‘Christ trampling the beasts’. Whether he had travelled to Francia himself and visited monasteries and their libraries or whether one of the

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local Manx monasteries held a Carolingian Gospel book – or a faithful Insular copy of it – that might have served as a model for his designs, we will never know.47 We know that the copying of books as well as the continuance of monastic contacts between Britain and the Continent led to the propagation of motifs. For example, the image of Christ fighting serpent and lion with a lance (instead of a long cross with pointed shaft), surrounded by a mandorla and several angels (including one armed with spear and shield), which appears in the mid-twelfthcentury Canterbury Psalter (Cambridge University Library, MS R. 17.1), is a direct and almost exact copy of the same scene in the Utrecht Psalter (see above) produced some 300 years earlier, about 830, in Reims in the Carolingian Empire.48 In general terms, therefore, mutual influence between the religious art in the Frankish kingdoms and those in the British Isles is hardly surprising, but it is one of the most intriguing characteristics of the cross slab in the Isle of Man that while betraying distinct influences from the Continent on one face, it features an equally unambiguous input from Scandinavia on the other. Though it seems that this was executed with a certain Christian twist, the ‘Ragnaro˛k Face’ surely represents Norse pagan iconography and a direct contribution of Viking imagery and mythology as well as Scandinavian art style. According to the Irish documentary sources, the Vikings had first sailed into the Irish Sea by 798, and arriving from the kingdom they had established in Dublin after 841, they conquered and permanently settled in the Isle of Man in the later ninth century, as is attested by a rich archaeological heritage. After converting to Christianity and abandoning furnished burial, they enthusiastically adopted and adapted to their taste the local custom of setting carved gravestones, often richly decorated.49 Although the ubiquitous Christian cross in their imagery unequi­ vocally identifies them as Christian monuments, the art styles employed, the depiction of certain figurative elements, such as pagan gods, and the inscriptions in Scandinavian runes mentioning Norse names, clearly put them and the Isle of Man in general in a distinctly Scandinavian context and demonstrate cultural links with Norway. More specifically, the ring-chain on the cross shaft on both faces of Kirk Andreas MM 128 is a characteristic element of the Borre style, which features in this (and several other Manx Crosses) in a remarkably pure rendition, unmixed with local artistic influences, that would not be out of place in Norway, and the scene on Face A clearly was taken from pagan Norse mythology. This strongly suggests that close ties between Man and Scandinavia continued to exist as late as the middle of the tenth century. In fact, this contact apparently only ceased after about the year 1000, when certain developments in the usage of runes in the Viking homelands were not adopted in Man anymore.50 The situation is very similar to the one mentioned above, with regards to re­ lations to the Continent. In Scandinavia, the general idea of creating illustrations of religious/mythological scenes also had been known for a long time, but again, as far as the evidence in the British Isles suggests, there are no known direct models for the Viking episode from the Ragnaro˛k that the designer of ‘Thorvald’s Cross’ in Kirk Andreas might have copied. Thus, he must have been well informed not

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only about Christian imagery in the Carolingian or Ottonian Empires, but also about the pagan mythology of far-away Scandinavia (and capable of adapting it to convey a Christian message), and he appears to have indeed drawn on these ‘non-local’ sources for inspiration, strongly indicating that tenth-century Isle of Man was in close contact with both territories. As far as Scandinavia is concerned, this interchange would have been the result of continuing cultural links, business relations, and even direct family connections between the Scandinavians in Norway and the Viking settlers in the British Isles during the tenth century. Ships sailed between the old homelands and the new, transporting trade goods and other items of material culture as well as friends and relatives, news, and ideas, ensuring the lingering influx of Scandinavian culture in general. The image of ‘Christ trampling the beast(s)’ – whether as illustration of Revelation 20:2 or of Psalm 91:13 – has a long tradition in Christian art. While it was quite popular in Carolingian book production, both in carved ivory book covers and manuscript illuminations, its occurrence in stone monuments and grave markers at the current status of research appears to be a somewhat novel concept. Lacking in direct models, we unfortunately cannot reconstruct the circumstances or even routes the motif eventually took on its way to Cumbria or the Isle of Man, but its use on the two medieval stones in Burton-in-Kendal and Kirk Andreas demonstrates the connections that existed to the Ottonian empire and reflects traditions reaching back several centuries and as far away as the eastern Mediterranean. In the case of the Manx stone, its design and its culturally and religiously ambiguous imagery also place the Isle of Man in a Scandinavian context, highlighting the existence in the tenth century of long-distance links between Britain and its neighbours.

Notes 1 Many thanks are due to Kath Hayhurst for showing me around St James’ church in Burton-in-Kendal and discussing the stone with me as well as for kind hospitality, to Rev. Iaen Skidmore of St. Andrew’s church, Andreas, Isle of Man, and to Rev. Graham Burrows of St. James’ church, Burton-in-Kendal, Cumbria, England, for permission to use the photographs taken in their churches, and to Patrick Martin, Winchester, for suggesting new references. 2 For example, Allen, J. Romilly. Early Christian Symbolism in Great Britain and Ireland before the thirteenth century (The Rhind Lectures in Archaeology for 1885). London: Whiting & Co., 1887, at 274–5. 3 Schiller, Gertrud. Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst 3: Die Auferstehung und Erhöhung Christi. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2nd ed., 1986, 33, 275 (no. 60); Smith, E. Baldwin. Early Christian Iconography and School of Ivory Carvers in Province. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1918, 150–1, figs 138–9. 4 Brenk, Beat. Tradition und Neuerung in der Christlichen Kunst des ersten Jahrtausends. Studien zur Geschichte des Weltgerichtsbildes (Wiener Byzantinische Studien III). Wien: Hermann Böhlaus, 1966, 188–9; Smith, Early Christian Iconography, 147–8. 5 Schiller, Ikonographie, 33–4, 275 (nos 62–4); Brenk, Tradition und Neuerung, 188; Smith, Early Christian Iconography, 152–3.

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6 Brenk, Tradition und Neuerung, 188, fig. 69; Smith, Early Christian Iconography, 153–4, fig. 141. 7 Schiller, Ikonographie, 36, 275 (no. 72). 8 Smith, Early Christian Iconography, 155–7, figs 142–3, 169; Neuman de Vegvar, Carol L. ‘The Origin of the Genoels-Elderen Ivories’. Gesta 29 (1990): 8–24; Schiller, Ikonographie, 36, 275 (nos 70, 71). 9 An exception is the cover from Lorsch, in which Christ is not holding a cross, but giving a benediction gesture with his right hand. 10 Schiller, Ikonographie, 36, 275 (no. 69). 11 Schiller, Ikonographie, 37, 275 (no. 73). 12 Bailey, Richard N. The Durham Cassiodorus (Jarrow Lecture 1978). Jarrow: Rector of Jarrow, 1978, 10–2; cf. Hilmo, Maidie. Medieval Images, Icons, and Illustrated English Literary Texts. From the Ruthwell Cross to the Ellesmere Chaucer. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2004, 38. 13 Schiller, Ikonographie, 34, 275 (no. 65). 14 Henry, Françoise. Irish Art during the Viking Invasions (800–1020 A.D.). London: Methuen & Co., 1967, 172, cf. pl. 109–10. 15 Henry, Irish Art, 173–4, pl. 109–10. Peter Harbison, however, does not recognise a serpent on either cross, but rather identifies the interlace of the Durrow cross as ‘presumably symbolising clouds’ (Harbison, Peter. The High Crosses of Ireland. An ico­ nographical and photographic survey 1: Text (Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum, Monographien Band 17, 1). Bonn: Rudolf Habelt, 1992, 49, 79–80). 16 Hilmo, Medieval Images, 33, 36. 17 See especially the drawings in Calverley, William S. and W. G. Collingwood. Notes on the Early Sculptured Crosses, Shrines, and Monuments in the Present Diocese of Carlisle (Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, extra series: vol. XI). Kendal: T. Wilson, 1899, 89, fig. c, opposite page 89; and Bailey, Richard N. Viking Age Sculpture in Northern England (Collins Archaeology 1). London/Glasgow: William Collins Sons, 1980, 158, fig. 38a; cf. Bailey, Richard N. and Rosemary Cramp. Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture II: Cumberland, Westmorland and Lancashire North–of–the–Sands. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 82–3, fig. 180. The stone’s date is unclear: Bailey and Cramp place it in the interval of ‘tenth to eleventh century’ (Bailey and Cramp, Corpus II, 82–3), at the same time, however, linking its ‘use of a separate arched frame’ to other stones predominantly dated earlier – such as Halton (St Wilfrid) 1 (early 10th c.), Penrith 2 (10th c.), Arlecdon 1 (10th or 11th c.), or the Burton 2 stone (10th c.) (Bailey and Cramp, Corpus II, 83, 136). If their parallels hold, a date in the tenth century ought to be considered more probable than one in the eleventh. 18 Steinforth, Dirk H. Thorvald’s Cross. The Viking-Age Cross Slab ‘Kirk Andreas MM 128’ and its Iconography (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2021; in preparation); Wilson, David M. Manx Crosses. A Handbook of Stone Sculpture 500–1040 in the Isle of Man. Oxford: Archaeopress, 2018, 82, 106–8, 115, 164; Kermode, P. M. C. Manx Crosses. 2nd ed. Balgavies: Pinkfoot Press, 1994 (1st ed. 1907), 192–4. 19 Cf. Steinforth, Thorvald’s Cross. 20 Schiller, Ikonographie, 35, 275 (no. 66); Brenk, Tradition und Neuerung, 205, fig. 83. 21 Schiller, Ikonographie, 37, 276 (no. 76); Temple, Elz˙bieta. Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts 900–1066 (A Survey of Manuscripts illuminated in the British Isles 1). London: Harvey Miller, 1976, 96–7, fig. 259 (no. 79). 22 Lang, James. Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture III: York and Eastern Yorkshire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991, 71–2. Both stones are now in the Yorkshire Museum, York. 23 Steinforth, Dirk H. Die skandinavische Besiedlung auf der Isle of Man. Eine archäologische und historische Untersuchung zur frühen Wikingerzeit in der Irischen See (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 92). Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 2015.

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24 Tweddle, Dominic, Martin Biddle, and Birthe Kjølbye-Biddle. Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture IV: South East England. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995, 191–3, figs 232–4. 25 Schiller, Ikonographie, 35, 275 (no. 67); Beckwith, John. Ivory Carvings in early Medieval England. London: Miller & Metcalf, 1972, 52, fig. 65. 26 Openshaw, K. M. ‘The Battle between Christ and Satan in the Tiberius Psalter’. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 52 (1989): 14–33, at 25–8. 27 Temple, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, 97–8 (no. 80). 28 Temple, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, 100–2 (no. 84). 29 Shapiro, Meyer. Late Antique, early Christian and Medieval Art. Selected Papers. New York: George Braziller, 1979, 153. 30 Steinforth, Thorvald’s Cross. 31 Snorri Sturluson, Edda: Gylfaginning, §79: Snorri Sturlusson: Edda. Prologue and Gylfaginning, edited by Anthony Faulkes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982, 50; my translation. 32 Capelle, Torsten. Heidenchristen im Norden (Schriftenreihe des Landesmuseums für Natur und Mensch, Oldenburg 38). Mainz: von Zabern, 2005, 29, my translation; cf. Steinforth, Skandinavische Besiedlung, 290–5. 33 Cf. Steinforth, Skandinavische Besiedlung, 289–96. 34 Bailey, Viking Age Sculpture, 125–31; Bailey and Cramp, Corpus II, 100, figs 294, 303. 35 Snorri Sturluson, Edda, Gylfaginning, §79: Faulkes, Gylfaginning, 51; my translation. 36 See e.g. Vo ˛ luspá 59, 62–63, and Vafþrúðnismál, 45, 51 (Larrington, Carolyne, ed. The Poetic Edda. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999, 10–2, 47–8). 37 Dronke, Ursula. The Poetic Edda 2: Mythological Poems. Oxford: Clarendon, 1997, 87; my translation. 38 Steinforth, Skandinavische Besiedlung, 291–2; cf. Olrik, Axel. ‘Om Ragnarok’. Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie 17, 2. Række (1902): 157–291, at 162–3. 39 Cf. e.g. Vo ˛ luspá 47, or Snorra-Edda: Gylfaginning 27, 51; see also Kermode, Manx Crosses, 188; Margeson, Sue. ‘On the iconography of the Manx crosses’. In The Viking Age in the Isle of Man. Select papers from The Ninth Viking Congress, Isle of Man, 4–14 July 1981, edited by Christine Fell, Peter Foote, James Graham-Campbell, and Robert Thomson. London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1983, 95–106, at 96. 40 Cf. e.g. 1 Corinthians 15:52; Revelation 8:6–11:19. 41 Cf. Laing, Lloyd and Jennifer Laing. Britain’s European Heritage. Stroud: Alan Sutton Publishing, 1995. 42 Lebecq, Stéphane and Alban Gautier. ‘Routeways between England and the Continent in the Tenth Century’. In England and the Continent in the Tenth Century: Studies in Honour of Wilhelm Levison (1876–1947) (Studies in the Early Middle Ages 37), edited by David Rollason, Conrad Leyser, and Hannah Williams. Turnhout: Brepols, 2010, 17–34, at 19; Bihrer, Andreas. ‘Exiles, Abbots, Wives, and Messengers: Anglo-Saxons in the Tenth-Century Reich’. In Rollason, Leyser, and Williams, England and the Continent, 51–66, at 51. 43 Ortenberg, Veronica. ‘“The King from Overseas”: Why did Æthelstan Matter in Tenth-Century Continental Affairs?’ In Rollason, Leyser, and Williams, England and the Continent, 211–36. 44 Leyser, Karl. Communications and Power in medieval Europe: The Carolingian and Ottonian centuries. London/Rio Grande: Hambledon Press, 1994, 82–3; Bihrer, ‘Exiles, Abbots, Wives’, 65. 45 Henderson, George. ‘Emulation and invention in Carolingian art.’ In Carolingian culture: emulation and innovation, edited by Rosamond McKitterick. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994, 248–73, at 254. 46 The place of origin of the ivory carving from Genoelselderen is an issue of lively scholarly discussion: Smith sees it as an example of the Carolingian ‘Godescalc school of miniaturists’, Beckwith rather attributes it ‘on palaeographical grounds to a

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Northumbrian workshop’, while considering it to be in ‘Italo-Byzantine’ tradition, and Lasko, while acknowledging Insular influences on the scene’s border and inscription, tentatively localises the place of manufacture ‘at Trier, northern or eastern France, [or] even Tours’. In her detailed study, Neuman de Vegvar dismisses the idea of an English/ Insular production and favours a Bavarian origin, ‘probably about 770–780, in the circle of the abbey of St. Peter in Salzburg and its dependencies, possibly at Mondsee’, drawing on Italianate models (Smith, Early Christian Iconography, 155–8; Beckwith, Ivory Carvings, 20–2; Neuman de Vegvar, ‘Genoels-Elderen Ivories’, 16–21; Lasko, Peter. Ars Sacra, 800–1200. 2nd ed., New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994, 7–8). Another mystery is the question how the motif of ‘Christ trampling the beast(s)’ – as seen on the Manx cross and on the Burton stone – came to be adopted for use on gravestones, a thing that apparently – although eminently appropriate – had not been done in this way before and only rarely afterwards. In fact, the early eleventh-century stone slab in Jevington (see above) and possibly a very poorly documented ‘Norman’ sculpture in New Malton, Yorkshire (of the late twelve or early thirteenth centuries?; cf. Allen, Early Christian Symbolism, 275), appear to be the only other medieval stone monuments featuring the motif in both the Continent and Britain. Schiller, Ikonographie, 37, 275 (no. 73). Cf. e.g. Steinforth, Skandinavische Besiedlung, 188–206, 275–96. Page, R. I. ‘The Manx Rune-Stones’. In Fell et al. Viking Age in the Isle of Man, 133–46, at 139.

4 SILVER THREADS How Scandinavian Scotland connected with a wider economic world1 Tom J. Horne Abstract: This paper will argue that even the most (apparently) isolated regions of Scandinavian Scotland were connected to wider economic developments in Scandinavia and the Baltic via the relatively rapid interconnectivity offered by maritime communications. Far from being rural outposts, settlements in both Viking-Age and Late-Norse Scotland interacted with and adopted key aspects of the sophisticated metal-weight economies that were intimately associated with the influx of Central Asian dirham coin. The material culture evidence cited will focus on the circulation and distribution of silver linked to Scandinavian bullion economies and the metrological equipment (weights and scales) linked to the weighing of fragmented metal in Scandinavia and the other Scandinavian regions of Britain and Ireland. It will be argued that ‘isolated’ rural (non-urban) communities with access to coastal networks would have been part of a wider, Scando–Baltic, economic world that connected Britain to Europe. The period encompassed by this work will be approximately AD 850 to 1400, and the region – ‘Scandinavian Scotland’ – is defined as the area of modern Scotland. This chapter seeks to demonstrate that even the most apparently isolated regions of Scandinavian Scotland were connected to wider economic and monetary developments in Scandinavia and Scandinavian groups in Britain and Ireland. Far from being peripheral outposts, Scotland can – by means of analogy with northern Norway – be shown to have adopted and adapted aspects of distinctive bullion (metal-weight) silver economies originated in Baltic and Danish market centres, before spreading north and west. In what follows, ‘bullion’ is taken to refer to the use of silver as a means of payment – cash – where monetary value was assessed in terms of weight and quality. A commodity money, the metal’s form was largely irrelevant. This, combined with the need for smaller denominations in market environments, contributed to the acceptance of amorphous or fragmented pieces, with the former typified by ingots and the latter known as ‘hacksilver’.2 Beyond any purity and plating assessment made by testing the metal via nicking, pecking, or bending,

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appraisal was undertaken by placing metal on one side of a set of balances against specialised bullion weights in the other. In order to assess connections between Scotland and other bullion-using regions of the Scandinavian world, the discussion which follows examines Scotto–Scandinavian silver circulation and the metrological equipment used to assess its value. This will highlight Scotland’s place within wider economic and monetary developments, while also demonstrating regional adaptations. The historical context takes into account arguments which have suggested that we must consider the market aspect to Scandinavian ambitions in Ireland and Britain, as alluded to in Sheehan’s observation that Viking leaders in the west possessed ‘economic and political vision’.3 On a theoretical level, the work of Sindbæk on the monetary connectivity of the Norwegian Norðweg (coastal ‘north way’) and recent additional modelling demonstrate how remote non-urban communities connected to waterborne networks like those in Scotland would have been part of an economic area linking Britain and Ireland to Scandinavia and the Baltic.4 Given the resistance by some in attributing market commerce to Viking-Age Scandinavians,5 economic anthropology models originally developed by Gustin, Skre, and others for Scandinavia and adapted for Insular contexts by the author are introduced to strengthen the case for its presence in Scotland.6 It is important to note that this present discussion does not provide a forensic examination of the material culture of Scotto–Scandinavian monetary developments, as this is something that can be read elsewhere.7 Rather, it represents an attempt to graft theory relating to exchange networks and economic changes originating in homeland Scandinavia onto the Scottish data, before assessing the routeways by which Scotland was connected to a wider Scandinavian economic world. This aims to demonstrate how monetary systems could be transferred from distant ‘urban’ market sites by means of regular or seasonal (market-based) trade to regions like Viking-Age Scotland that were without permanent market centres. In addition and as the following section demonstrates, this chapter also wants to show that, while accumulation and gifting of silver as part of social strategies was probably a central aim of many Scandinavians, much of the amorphous or fragmented silver we find likely relates to its use as a means of commercial exchange. The chronological parameters are approximately AD 850 to 1400, allowing us to encompass Scottish developments in bullion use and economic connections that long outlasted their Insular Scandinavian peers.

Economic anthropology Here, the terms ‘market’ and ‘trade’ are used according to their modern, capitalist connotations, due to evidence from sites like Birka, Hedeby, Kaupang, Dublin, and York. In these locations, the regular movement of raw materials from distant regions to sites in which value was added by, for example, the working of the material into products for mass consumption, is suggestive of commerce.8

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The distances involved between materials and market and the multicultural communities present at these sites speak to exchanges of goods that were, anthropologically speaking, transactions between non-kin individuals and, thus, largely regulated by non-socially embedded market norms. With different characteristics to Central Places,9 these sites do not seem to have been designed by their (royal) patrons as centres of socially-mediated gift giving, but as controllable areas where taxes and tariffs could be extracted efficiently.10 While relationships would have been created and gifts between individuals and to rulers exchanged, these were unlikely to be core concerns. In any case, royal control continued to provide control of the flow of prestige imported goods used to attract loyalty and followers, demonstrating the relationship between markets and social strategy, and how markets functioned as Central Places, albeit writ large and with less control.11 That these sites with their evidence of commerce and silver currencies can be described as markets appears axiomatic. However, until recently, resistance to attributing capitalism to the Viking Age (if not the Late Norse period) in British and Irish studies was latent, arguably due to Samson’s ‘Economic Anthropology and Vikings’.12 A Marxist perspective, Samson spoke against commercial interpretations, arguing that the goal of Scandinavians was the possession of giftable wealth, not profit. This followed Grierson’s ‘Commerce in the Dark Ages’,13 which placed ‘the burden of proof [...] with those who believed that trading had reached developed forms’.14 While these caveats are important correctives to ‘formalist’ interpretations that attribute little short of modern capitalism to Viking-Age Scandinavians, stripping them of any commercial aims is unsustainable. Indeed, Samson’s position that Vikings only moonlighted as traders in order to gain silver for social strategies at home is at odds with the establishment of long-distance markets at sites like Dublin and York and the evidence for silver currency use and manufacturing at HibernoScandinavian longphuirt and Great Army winter camps.15 Furthermore, historical evidence relating to treaties, such as that between Alfred and Guthrum, and the AD 873 request by Vikings to hold a market on an island in the Loire river, demonstrates that trade was of central importance to Viking army leaders in both England and Francia.16

Silver and market commerce in Scandinavian Scotland There is acceptance that Scandinavian Scotland was host to market trade and commercial transactions involving silver as a means of exchange, however limited or occasional.17 This tends to be evidenced by metrological equipment thought to relate to bullion, single-finds of silver coin in settlements,18 and the presence (and increasing fragmentation) of hacksilver.19 The ‘regular rendering’ of complete ornaments – which had a central gifting role, usually in the form of rings – into hacksilver is seen as evidence of

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‘commercial use’,20 with silver ‘cut up for use as small lumps of bullion in the prevailing metal-weight economy, as and when required to top up the scale pan’.21 This commercial perspective sees internal surpluses used ‘to equip boats for piracy and trade’,22 perhaps for ‘the lucrative trading world of the Norse in Ireland’.23 As argued by Graham-Campbell and Batey, increasing fragmentation and the increasing proportion of hacked to complete ornaments suggests a move from a more socially-embedded (display) role for silver to a more commercial one.24 Not all are convinced by the extent and importance of the latter, however. Moving away from formalist perspectives that stress the importance of silver as a means of exchange within market trade25 are those substantivists that err on the side of Grierson’s caveats about the significance of socially-embedded uses, arguing that (relatively) small volumes of silver point to the low importance of external market trade to Scotto–Scandinavians.26 This split has been balanced by ‘post-substantivist’ perspectives developed by Skre,27 Gustin,28 and others, primarily via analysis of the economic evidence from Kaupang and Birka. Skre and Gustin argue that economic agency grew in the very specific conditions of such sites. These conditions were the long-term occupation of sites designed to facilitate long-distance trade by a range of social classes who were developing business relationships with people outside their kin group. This ‘market-site dynamic’29 led to increased economic agency among the traders and producers and the export of commercial practice and efficient metal-weight economies to the rural regions that supplied the raw materials. Observations by the likes of Smyth and MacLeod have enabled the development of post-substantivist models.30 They acknowledge that most interacted with the commercial sphere of exchange only intermittently, but also note the evidence of commercial influence on Scotland stemming from raiding, migration, and trading connections between this region and Scandinavian market-centric silver bullion economies elsewhere. As discussed below, there is growing evidence in the form of bullion hoards and settlement finds, which suggests that silver had an important role in facilitating market trade, and Graham-Campbell and Batey have shown that there was ‘growth in supply and circulation of silver between the ninth and eleventh centuries in Scandinavian Scotland’.31 While we do not see the volumes seen in England, Ireland, and Francia, this would not be expected, given the disparity in populations.32 Indeed, on an assumed per capita basis, there is no reason to view Scotto–Scandinavians as the poor neighbours.33 Taking into account Williams’ observations that the widespread distribution of single-find coins at small, seemingly remote Scotto–Scandinavian settlements is evidence for the use of coined money in the region from the early tenth century,34 Blackburn suggested that Scotland had ‘something like a dual economy, where arm-rings, hacksilver, and mixed English and Continental coins remained an essential part of the economy, but individual coins could be used within settlements for daily transactions’.35

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Silver: commodity money for a long-distance age Beyond the establishment (Dublin) or reinvigoration (York) of markets, the widespread presence and volume of silver bullion points to the spread to northern Norway, Ireland, and Britain of a distinctive market economy developed in southern and eastern Scandinavia during the first half of the ninth century. While it remains probable that much of the bullion represents the pre-melting stage of silver for jewellery destined for gifting, the ubiquity of hacksilver suggests that the currency aspect was central: indeed, as Gruszczyn´ski argues (for the Baltic), gifting alone could ‘not have been responsible for the sheer volume of silver or the unaesthetic hacksilver’.36 Bullion of the ‘un-aesthetic’ type seen between the Baltic and the Irish Sea is, on the balance of probability, evidence of the popularity of an efficient medium of exchange in an environment with a volume of transactions that goes far beyond the scope of the gift economy.37 In many ways, silver was the perfect form of commodity money for a Viking world with vast geographical scope. It was easily transportable with a ‘relatively high value per weight unit’ and became the ‘increasingly preferred [...] medium for expressing and storing wealth, and as a universally accepted means of exchange throughout the Viking diaspora’.38 As seen below, it seems to have been developed in response to enormous influxes of silver from Central Asia.

Market currencies: the Baltic and Southern Scandinavian Model Before discussing Scotland, it is important to outline the Baltic and southern Scandinavian prototypes for the western and northern Scandinavian bullion economies. Scandinavian involvement in the east can be discovered elsewhere.39 It is sufficient to note here that an influx of Central Asian silver to the Baltic in the form of ‘dirham’ coins began in the early ninth century, and by the late ninth this had become a flood.40 The most convincing arguments on the subject of what dirhams were being exchanged for centre on slaves and furs, and perhaps Baltic amber.41 When silver glut met with the influence of Carolingian monetary economy within Baltic trading networks and the associated abstraction of thought necessary to adopt metal currency, a type of silver commodity money developed that would eventually frame the Insular Scandinavian transactional narrative for decades and – for Scotland – centuries to come. The small metal weights used to measure this silver were myriad, but two forms, namely ‘cubo-octahedrals’ (generally copper alloy blocks which look like dice with the tips of their corners removed) and ‘oblate spheroids’ or ‘truncated spheres’ (iron-cored copper alloy or rare solid copper alloy weights looking something like squashed barrels), are intimately associated with the dirham influx of the 860s and 870s and the (very approximate) weight standards and (extremely loose) target ounce of c.24–26g.42 Both weight types would transfer to Ireland and England, with – to date – only the oblate spheroid form known in Scotland.43

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Balances of an ‘eastern’ or Scando–Baltic type associated with dirham bullion are found in England, Ireland, and Scotland.44 Alongside metrological equipment, silver arm-rings eminently suited to fragmentation, but which also had an important dual role in display, were also developed. In the Danish case, these were ‘broad-band’ rings that would eventually be produced in Hiberno-Scandinavian markets, most likely Dublin.45 Broad-band rings, seemingly of both Danish and Hiberno-Scandinavian manufacture, with the latter predominating, are found in all Insular regions, including Scotland.46 The Galloway Hoard has produced several Hiberno-Scandinavian types, joining examples from the Gordon hoard (Berwickshire), the Clibberswick female burial (Unst, Shetland), and from Largo (Fife). The incomplete example from Blackerne (Kirkcudbrightshire) may be Danish. All may date from c.900, indicating Hiberno-Scandinavian involvement in Scotland at this time.47 This Danish–Dublin connection is vital when assessing Scandinavian monetary influences on Ireland and Britain. As it stands, the impression a student might receive is of northern Norwegian (rural) economic influence being stronger than that of more urban southern and Baltic Scandinavia. This is a false dichotomy: economic links between this latter region of monetary innovation, which included Kaupang in the Vestfold, and the north of Norway were more intimate and immediate than considered in Insular historiography, meaning that even northern Norwegian monetary influence on Scotland was also a mediation of the bullion economies developed by Gotlanders, Swedes, Danes, and Danish-influenced southern Norwegians.

Transfer to Ireland and Britain It has been argued that markets were of central importance to the Scandinavian groups on both sides of the Channel and in Ireland in the ninth century.48 Taking those Viking groups active in Ireland and England, we see how the latter’s wintercamps and Hiberno-Scandinavian longphuirt contribute to a picture of market centres characterised by small-scale manufacture and transactions made through the medium of bullion currency.49 As has been argued,50 the seemingly ‘Danish’ (or Vestfold-Kaupang) character of those Viking leaders who ultimately prevailed in the fair-versus-dark foreigner battle for Dublin and became the royal line of Jórvík, speak to what we might understand as a conscious desire to develop markets and market-centric kingdoms like those they knew in southern and Baltic Scandinavia. In this model, as Downham’s, the Dublin Ívarr is the same as the Great Army’s.51 Consequently, it seems that his Uí Ímair descendants were continuing an imperative to maintain long-distance market sites and link the Dublin–York kingdom to the wealth of southern Scandinavia and the Baltic. According to this model, this particular brand of bullion economy, characterised by broad-band arm-rings and dirhams, was transported to Ireland and England in more or less a direct line by related Viking groups. What, then, of

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Scotland? Critical to the arguments advanced here is the idea that Baltic–Danish monetary developments also transferred into northern and western Norway through Danish-founded southern Norwegian market sites like Kaupang. Consequently, even those Scandinavian settlers from rural northern Norway were bringing urban market and monetary influences with them to their Scottish lands. Despite the activities in central Scotland of that part of the (likely largely ‘Danish’) Great Army who headed north after 874 and the 870 siege of Dumbarton Rock that opened up Loch Lomond and the Clyde to HibernoScandinavian Dubliners,52 we rarely consider their potential economic influence. This may well be due to a belief among Scottish historiography, perhaps rooted in the Samson model, that Viking war bands were ‘uneconomic’.53 More correctly, it may due to the short-lived nature of their stay in this southern region (with some exceptions). For this reason, we turn to those northern and western areas in which long-term settlement occurred. The potential for bullion trade wealth generation, which is suggested by the silver corpus of northern and western Scotland, seems to have been based on its nodal positioning for east-west network traffic.54 Scandinavian Scotland likely benefitted from its strategic position between the two nodes of an Uí Ímair market kingdom based on Dublin and York, particularly for those cargoes unsuitable for the use of Roman roads linking Jórvík to the Irish Sea,55 and also as a result of its location on the sea route between Kaupang and southern Scandinavia and the Irish Sea.56 At this point, we turn to network models that seek to understand how abstract economic concepts and physical currency were transferred from post-substantivist ‘urban’ markets to rural and remote populations. This helps to explain how urban bullion economies were transferred to ostensibly unpromising environments for market trade, in regions like northern Norway and the coastal fringes and islands that constituted the majority of Scandinavian Scotland. Factors, such as proximity, later pseudo-historical sources (sagas), and Norse place names, suggest that the majority of Scandinavians in northern and western Scotland originated in northern and western Norway. If we accept this suggestion, any investigation into what monetary practices they brought with them should look at their homelands. However, as with Scotland, there is no evidence here for established market sites using the bullion (or coined) silver. If so, how might these settlers have encountered the use of bullion as a means of exchange prior to emigration? Here, Sindbæk’s ‘small world’ model is important in what it suggests about connections between southern Scandinavian patrons of market sites like Kaupang in the south of Norway and the rural and sparsely populated north. Sindbæk argued that, even in the pre- or early Viking-Age eighth century, communities in the far north of Norway were getting glass and copper alloy jewellery from southern, urban markets.57 In this way, the key network or ‘nodal’ markets ‘permeated [even] pre-Viking Scandinavia [...] to its far corners. In terms that are meaningful for the [Viking Age], there was no such thing as rural versus urban [...]. Every part of Norway maintained long-distance links with the budding

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urban network, and the opportunities and competition it generated’.58 We can use this to suggest how northern Norwegians, having been introduced to southern Norwegian practice via a small world of people they knew personally, might have brought bullion use and the understanding of markets to Scotland. This leads us to the ‘Ohthere Model’,59 whereby historical evidence allows us to speculate about a wealthy individual from Arctic Norway and their relationship with markets. The account preserves a coastal journey on the Norðweg between Ohthere’s home (perhaps around Troms) to the markets at Kaupang and Hedeby. As Kruse noted, Ohthere ‘was carrying goods and was thus presumably exchanging, but the source is not explicit that this was “neutral” exchange, even if it was likely to have been so’.60 Viewed with Sindbæk’s ‘small worlds’ theory, this model of rural individuals connecting to markets in which the evidence suggests silver was used as a means of exchange informs one of the key ways how Baltic and southern Scandinavian-style bullion economies spread not just to northern and western Norway, but also from these regions to Scotland. We note that Scotland appears to have been settled from the second half of the ninth century, the period in which bullion use was gaining popularity in Scandinavia.61 The Ohthere Model is but one of multiple avenues for how bullion economics could have reached Scotland. This could have been via Hiberno-Scandinavians (as is suggested for much of the silver in the west),62 as well as by the eastern Danelaw and eastern Scotland. These routes were also likely bidirectional, with marketbased traders from Dublin and York also heading north to the Scottish settlements, perhaps visiting individual farms or, as suggested below, attending temporary beach markets overseen by Ohthere-type magnates and using that most efficient of commodity monies, namely bullion silver, as the means of exchange.

Market economy in Scandinavian Scotland While no large-scale, long-term markets have been discovered in that part of Scandinavian Scotland outside of the Hiberno-Scandinavian influenced south west,63 evidence for the monetary use of bullion is mounting for the Scotto–Scandinavian region as a whole. A plausible case has been made for Pierowall (Orkney) as a beach market.64 Therefore, as with Gotland, northern Norway, or Iceland, Scotland may have functioned perfectly well within a wider bullion economy without a permanent ‘urban’ market centre, relying instead on temporary beach markets, perhaps overseen by local magnates or wealthy farmers.65 The important factor was the transfer to Scotland of the ideas through small-world market trader networks and efficient means of exchange based on the bullion circulating elsewhere in Scandinavia. Evidence from Whithorn and the Galloway Hoard with the latter’s multiple broad-band arm-rings of probable Hiberno-Scandinavian type suggests that the region of most economic influence from Dublin and the Irish Sea Region was likely

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to have been Dumfries and Galloway.66 As will be discussed below, influence from Irish Sea Region silver economies certainly explains the character of some of the most important bullion hoards found in Scotland. Hiberno-Scandinavian sources may also have been responsible for the simpler silver arm-rings that would become known as ‘ring-money’. Although of short-lived popularity in the Irish Sea Region proper due to the development of coined currency in Dublin, these became the leitmotiv of the later Scotto–Scandinavian bullion economy in the west and north of Scotland.67 Danelaw influence appears limited to migratory place names and a distribution of stone ‘hogback’ monuments in the south and centre of Scotland; both categories of evidence may be quite late, and neither seem to point to the sort of supraregional economic connections and influences that are of concern here. As we shall see, though, (indirect) silver bullion connections to the Danelaw were strong, albeit likely often mediated through the Irish Sea Region. The earliest coin-dated hoard evidence for possible commercial bullion use in Scandinavian Scotland is provided by the Talnotrie hoard from Dumfries and Galloway, deposited c.870–5.68 Now regarded as more Scandinavian than once thought due to the nearby Galloway Hoard that appears to date to c.900,69 Talnotrie is remarkable for what it might tell us about the spread of bullion to Scotland in terms of its beginnings and the agency behind it. On Talnotrie’s origins, Downham notes the possibility that ‘Vikings were responsible. [...] The hoard’s date corresponds with the North British campaigns of Hálfdan, brother of Ívarr’.70 We cannot say that there is any direct link between Great Army elements and this hoard, but it is important to note the combination of elements that connect this site with the southern Scandinavian-style bullion economies seen in winter-camps and longphuirt. Indeed, the presence of hacksilver, dirhams, and a weight made from a lead base with a hacked gilt copper alloy mount of probably Insular origin point to economic and monetary interactions of the same type as had occurred, for example, in the Torksey winter-camp of 872–371 and the Woodstown longphort of c.840/50–900.72 The Storr Rock hoard (c.935–40, Skye) gives further indications of connections linking Scandinavian Scotland’s economy to southern neighbours. Its 23 pieces of bullion included ingots, Hiberno-Scandinavian hacksilver, and ‘Permian’-style ring fragments from Eastern Europe or southern Scandinavia that likely arrived with dirhams.73 In total, 111 coins were present, made up of 19 dirhams, 90 Anglo-Saxon pennies, and two coins from the Anglo-Scandinavian Lincoln mint under the Uí Ímair king of Dublin and York, Sihtric Cáech († 927). Metcalf, Blackburn, and Graham-Campbell all considered Storr to be of HibernoScandinavian or Irish Sea Region character.74 Similarly, the Skaill hoard (c.950–80, Orkney) seems to have dominant Hiberno-Scandinavian or Manx connections. A total of 19 mostly fragmented dirhams are the major numismatic elements, accompanied by one Anglo-Saxon coin of Athelstan and an Anglo-Scandinavian issue from York.75 While these may have arrived from the Danelaw via the North Sea along with a fragment of

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‘Permian’-style spiral ring, the non-numismatic element in Skaill, and particularly the Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-ring and large collection of pennanular brooches with a Mammen-style decoration closely paralleled in the Isle of Man, is suggestive of strong Irish Sea Region connections.76 It is notable that the five earliest hoards of Scandinavian character display strong or dominant Hiberno-Scandinavian or Irish Sea (including Manx) influence. In assumed chronological order, the hoards from Talnotrie (c.870–5), Gordon (c.900, Berwickshire), Galloway (c.900), Storr Rock (c.935–40), and Skaill (c.950–80) speak to at least a century of interaction. Skaill is the source of the earliest coin-dated deposition of ‘ring-money’, with 27 complete examples and some fragments.77 Seemingly developing from an Irish Sea Region prototype of c.900–950, rings of this type soon lost popularity here, but remained the preferred choice for circulating and storing silver within the Scotto–Scandinavian bullion economy, according to Graham-Campbell, dominating ‘both the mixed and coinless hoards from the late tenth and early/mideleventh centuries’.78 The concept of ring-money derives from the idea that repetitive form and weights indicate a type of regulated money, although the inaccuracy of the latter units casts some doubt on suggestions that it was an ‘earldom currency’.79 Fragmentation was popular in Scotland, suggesting an important bullion payment role beyond its (intact) display economy attributes.80 These simple penannular rings of typically lozenge section and beaten out of ingots appear in datable hoards until the mid-eleventh century.81 A complete example was recovered from Jarlshof, Shetland.82 A fragment dating to between the early eleventh and late thirteenth centuries was discovered at Whithorn,83 and another fragment has been recovered from a midden context at the Earl’s Bu, Orkney.84 As with the hoards, the single-finds are consistent with a Scotto–Scandinavian ‘ring-money’ floruit from c.950–1050. ‘Ring-money’ holds clues towards changing influences and connections in Scandinavian Scotland from the 950s. In the period c.900–950, ingots were particularly popular in Ireland, the influence of Hiberno-Scandinavians on Scotland at this time perhaps being seen in the strongly Irish-influenced Gordon and Storr Rock hoards.85 This contrasts with the late tenth century, where HibernoScandinavians moved from preferring silver in the form of ingots, imported coins, and arm-rings to minting their own coins, while Scotto–Scandinavians began to favour ‘ring-money’; although Scotto–Scandinavian monetary connections with Man – as evidenced by ‘ring-money’ in Manx hoards – were probably maintained into the mid-eleventh century, the relative lack of Hiberno-Scandinavian coins (minted in Dublin from c.997) in Scotland suggests the waning of monetary contacts with Ireland, or the melting down of this coin to make ‘ring-money’.86 A principal element in assessing connectivity through bullion economies in Scandinavian Scotland and elsewhere is how far participants adhered, however nominally, to supra-regional weight ‘standards’. In this case, this refers to a supposed Scandinavian weight unit measuring c.24–26g. However, as this wide range suggests, observance was relative.

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The earliest evidence for bullion use in Scandinavian Scotland is supplied by the presence in Talnotrie of a distinctive weight of the type, which seems to relate to the Scandinavian metal-weight economies that evolved in Britain and Ireland. The characteristic lead and copper alloy weight type seen at Talnotrie is key to the Scotto–Scandinavian evidence for the weighing of what we presume to have been precious metals. Kruse labelled this type ‘Lead Weights with Copper-alloy or Enamelled Mounts’,87 but here, the term used is ‘Insular Mount’, which alludes to the British and Irish sources of many of the decorative mounts. Found mainly across Scandinavian regions of England, Kershaw considered these insular mounts an Anglo-Scandinavian innovation.88 Irish Sea Region origins are also considered a possibility, however, with Kruse arguing that the earliest examples and largest concentrations were found in this region, at Kilmainham–Islandbridge to the west of Dublin and at Kiloran Bay on Colonsay.89 Weights of this type were popular with the Great Army, with dozens discovered at Torksey against six finds (to date) at Woodstown.90 We also find concentrations in the eastern and northern Danelaw and other notable patterning around the Irish Sea, ranging from a concentration in Cheshire, through Dumfries and Galloway, to the southern Hebrides.91 This spatial and chronological data suggest two conclusions: first, that Insular Mounts developed in Insular Scandinavian contexts between the c.840s and 870s, and second, that connections between Hiberno-Scandinavians and the Great Army were close. Distributions suggest that Scandinavians in Scotland picked up (or developed) Insular Mounts via the Irish Sea Region, such as is likely the case for the Kiloran Bay burial. The weights and balance fragments from Kiloran Bay likely date to the last quarter of the ninth century, being contemporary with Talnotrie. Six of the weights are Insular Mounts. A seventh (lead) object is also probably a weight. The ornate balance fragments from Gigha, situated 50 km to the south-east of Kiloran Bay, remind us that Hiberno- and Anglo-Scandinavian sources were joined by other monetary influences, with the bird-shaped balance suspension pieces possibly being paralleled in Sweden.92 Clearly, the unique geographic context of Scotland meant diverse influences were at play, with the caveat that those monetary bullion ones had a common source in southern Scandinavia and the Baltic. Importantly for any understanding of ultimate Baltic and southern Scandinavian influence, the numismatic element of Talnotrie includes two dirhams and a Frankish denier alongside several Anglo-Saxon coins. Graham-Campbell and Batey noted that the ‘foreign coins’ would ‘suggest some form of contact with Norse traders in the region’.93 Indeed, the presence of Anglo-Saxon silver coins in Scottish hoards provides an important clue to influence on the Scotto–Scandinavian monetary economy. Metcalf noted that ‘the proportions of coins from different English mints emphasize the very close link with northeastern England (York and Lincoln) and, to a much lesser extent, north-western England’, but, importantly, added that the Anglo-Saxon coins had mixed outside these regions, possibly in the Irish Sea Region.94

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From our perspective, interest in these hoards focuses on what they can tell us about connections, whether relating to material culture or the direction of monetary influences. Of particular interest here is the presence of dirhams in both. While the combination of elements in Talnotrie may give indications as to network connections that brought dirhams to Scotland, we know little about the single-find dirham from Stevenston Sands, Ardeer, other than that this beach-find coin dates to the early tenth century. It could derive from a hoard or grave, but its beach location may point to the existence of a market, something which is expected for Scotland without one having been discovered conclusively. The most likely routeways for dirhams to reach Scotland are via Norway, the Irish Sea Region, or the Danelaw. It is this latter region which may be of most interest. Graham-Campbell and Batey propose ‘the dirhams which reached Scotland did so by way of Denmark and the Danelaw area of England [...], given that over 5,000 such coins are known from Viking period Denmark, as against only 400 from Norway’.95 If dirhams were reaching Scotland from Danish regions of Scandinavia and England, albeit probably via an intermediate stage in the Irish Sea Region, then it is also probable that the (bullion) monetary influence following their path was from southern Scandinavia and the Baltic. It is worth repeating the suggestion that the Hiberno-Scandinavian sphere was strongly influenced by southern Scandinavia and its use of silver (as a means of exchange and as display ornament) to the effect that the Irish Sea Region was, actually, another source of Danish and Baltic-style economic influence.96 The evidence of Viking-Age Anglo-Saxon coins from Scotland suggests connections with York and Lincoln with minor links to mints in the north-west, but that the coins (from Scottish hoards) mixed at some point between England and Scotland, with Ireland the most likely candidate.97 This seems to suggest that there were close and planned economic links between York (and, to a lesser extent, Lincoln) and Dublin, with the Uí Ímair polity influencing the economy of Scandinavian Scotland from the 860s to 950s, principally via the Irish Sea Region. Naismith noted that ‘the Vikings who settled in Ireland and Scotland remained in the Scandinavian economic sphere long after the use of dirhams and the common use of hack-silver had ended in England’.98 Indeed, recent excavations in the Northern and Western Isles point to the longevity of Baltic-influenced bullion currency in Scotland. The Earl’s Bu site in Orphir, Orkney, is perhaps best known for its Round Church, which may be the ‘magnificent church’ related to Earl Paul’s ‘drinking hall’ as mentioned in the twelfth century Orkneyinga saga.99 Either way, the excavations led by Batey appear to confirm the high-status nature of this site and the ultimately long-distance connections between it and Scandinavian wealth centres in the Baltic. The evidence for bullion use at Earl’s Bu consists of two oblate spheroid weights found at a site that has also produced a hacksilver ‘ring-money’ fragment, two pieces of hack gold, a fragmented steatite bar mould, and several crucibles.100 Although potentially of local or Insular construction, the seemingly bimetallic weights (of a type originating in the 870s and associated with the dirham influx) are more likely to

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have been manufactured in sites like Birka, Sigtuna, and Hedeby, where moulds for casting these types have been found. Preliminary dating for these weights centres on the eleventh or twelfth century, making Sigtuna origins the more likely of the three sites due to the dating of the collapse of Birka (c.960?), and those of the sacking (1050) and abandonment (1066) of Hedeby.101 In all, this could suggest that sites in Orkney had direct connections to the Baltic at this time. The multi-period South Uist site of Bornais – and that at Cille Pheadair, 10.5 km away – has also produced Late Norse materials relating to the continuation of a bullion economy with ties to the Scandinavian Baltic.102 Most importantly, oblate spheroid weights have been identified at both sites, with the Cille Pheadair example from an early twelfth century midden context of the same bimetallic (copper alloy covering an iron core) construction as at Earl’s Bu.103 The Bornais weight is seemingly solid copper alloy and, although an unstratified find, likely to date to between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries, given the general phasing of the site. Are we looking, then, at a circa twelfth-century floruit for northern and western Scotto-Scandinavian connections to Central Scandinavian sites like Sigtuna? Williams argued that between the late tenth and mid eleventh centuries, ‘Sweden briefly has relatively controlled economy with Sigtuna, but bullion based economy continues elsewhere and Sigtuna coinage collapses’.104 This would allow for continued metal-weight connections between Sweden and Scotland, given the fact that the Danish and Norwegian coinages began to dominate exchange and push out imported bullion within their countries from the mid-eleventh century.105 These eastern connections contrast with the south west of Scotland, which seems to have maintained connections to the Scandinavians in Ireland. The dating of the Norse productive phase at Whithorn, with agents that seem to have been linked to Dublin and/or York if the building styles are considered,106 is thought to be Late Viking and Late Norse, perhaps encompassing the later tenth century to the early twelfth.107 Certainly, it seems that by the early eleventh century, Whithorn was host to what Graham-Campbell and Batey have described as ‘dwellings and workshops of seemingly Hiberno-Norse artisans, processing raw materials into products for the Irish Sea trade’. This is also suggested in the numismatic evidence of two Hiberno-Norse coins and a Cnut issue from Chester.108

Conclusions As can be seen from both Late Norse and earlier Viking-Age evidence, Scandinavian Scotland was influenced by bullion and other silver-based currencies from a multitude of sources. Common to all was the ultimate influence of developments in Baltic and southern Scandinavia. As the dirham evidence suggests, even those coins that may have ended up in Irish Sea Region hoards in Scotland most likely came via the Danelaw and/or Denmark. Similarly, Viking-Age settlers from northern Norway likely made their home in Scotland having had experience

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of commercial economies via magnate trading vessel interactions in the southern Scandinavian Norwegian markets like Kaupang. This discussion has attempted to highlight the value of transposing theoretical models from one (or two) regions of the Scandinavian world to another, and how this, in combination with similarities in the material culture relating to trade and exchange, suggested that similar actors and network forces were at play. As a result, we can perhaps agree that, for Scotland as the North Way, communications networks kept ostensibly isolated, rural communities connected to commercial centres. We may never find a Scottish Ohthere, but the chances are that they existed.

Notes 1 Thank you to the editors, and to Dr Colleen E. Batey and Prof. Niall Sharples for kindly allowing my use of their data. 2 Graham-Campbell, James and Colleen Batey. Vikings in Scotland: an Archaeological Survey. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998, 243–4. 3 John Sheehan, pers. comm. 4 Sindbæk, Søren. ‘Silver economies and social ties: long-distance interaction, long-term investments – and why the Viking Age happened’. In Silver Economies, Monetisation and Society in Scandinavia, AD 800–1100, edited by James Graham-Campbell, Søren Sindbæk, and Gareth Williams. Århus: Århus University Press, 2011, 41–65; Horne, Tom. ‘Scandinavian market networks in the Viking Age’. PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 2014. 5 Samson, Ross. ‘Economic anthropology and Vikings’. In Social Approaches to Viking Studies, edited by Ross Samson. Glasgow: Cruithne Press, 1991, 87–96. 6 Cf. Gustin, Ingrid. ‘Islam, merchants, or King? Who was behind the manufacture of Viking Age weights?’ In Visions of the Past. Trends and Traditions in Swedish Medieval Archaeology, edited by Hans Andersson, Peter Carelli, and Lars Ersgård. Stockholm: Raå, 1997, 163–77; Gustin, Ingrid. Mellan gåva och marknad. Handel, tillit och materiell kultur under vikingatid. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International; Skre, Dagfinn. ‘Introduction’. In Means of Exchange: Dealing with Silver in the Viking Age. Kaupang Excavation Project Publication Series 2: Norkse Oldfunn XXIII, edited by Dagfinn Skre. Århus: Århus University Press, 2008, 9–11, at 10; Skre, Dagfinn. ‘Post-substantivist towns and trade AD 600–1000’. In Skre, Means of Exchange, 327–41. 7 Graham-Campbell, James. The Viking–Age Gold and Silver of Scotland. Edinburgh: National Museums of Scotland, 1995; Graham-Campbell, James. ‘Viking-Age and Late Norse gold and silver from Scotland: an update’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 138 (2008): 1–12. 8 Sindbæk, Søren. ‘Networks and nodal points. The emergence of towns in Early Viking Age Scandinavia’. Antiquity 81 (2007): 119–32, at 127. 9 Sindbæk, Søren. ‘Close ties and long-range relations: The emporia network in early Viking-Age exchange’. In The Viking Age: Ireland and the West (Proceedings of the Fifteenth Viking Congress, Cork, 2005), edited by John Sheehan and Donnchadh Ó Corráin. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2010, 430–40. 10 Blomkvist, Nils. ‘Traces of a global economic boom that came and went’. In The Spillings Hoard: Gotland’s Role in Viking Age World Trade, edited by Ann-Marie Pettersson. Visby: Gotland Museum, 2009, 165; Williams, Gareth. ‘Silver Economies, Monetisation and Society: an Overview’. In Graham-Campbell, Sindbæk, and Williams, Silver Economies, 351; Jankowiak, Marek. Dirhams for slaves. Investigating the Slavic slave trade in the tenth century. Medieval Seminar, All Souls (Oxford), 27 February, 2012, URL: https://www.academia.edu/1764468/Dirhams_for_slaves._Investigating_the_ Slavic_slave_trade_in_the_tenth_century.

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11 Sindbæk, ‘Networks’, 120; Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 123, 156. 12 Samson, ‘Economic anthropology’. 13 Grierson, Philip. ‘Commerce in the Dark Ages: A critique of the evidence’. Transactions of the Royal Historical Society (5th series) 9 (1959): 123–40. 14 Blomkvist, ‘Traces’, 159. 15 Samson, ‘Economic anthropology’, 91; Samson, Ross. ‘Fighting with Silver: Rethinking Trading, Raiding, and Hoarding’. In Samson, Social Approaches to Viking Studies, at 124–9, 132; Sheehan, John. ‘Viking raiding, gift-exchange and Insular metalwork in Norway’. In Early Medieval Art and Archaeology in the Northern World, Studies in Honour of James Graham–Campbell, edited by Andrew Reynolds and Leslie Webster. Leiden: Brill, 2013, 809–23, at 814; Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 169. 16 Gruszczyn´ski, Jacek. Viking Silver, Hoards and Containers: the Archaeological and Historical Context of Viking–Age Silver Coin Deposits in the Baltic c.800–1050. Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2019, 11–4. 17 Wilson, David. ‘Scandinavian settlement in the North and West of the British Isles: An Archaeological point-of-view’.Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 26 (1976): 95–113, at 110–1; Crawford, Barbara. Scandinavian Scotland. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1987, 134–5; Barrett, James. ‘“Few know an Earl in fishing clothes”, fish middens and the economy of the viking age and late norse earldoms of Orkney and Caithness, northern Scotland’. PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 1995, 44, 137, 147, 235; Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 62, 243; Kruse, Susan. ‘Trade and exchange across frontiers’. In Silver Economy in the Viking Age, edited by James Graham-Campbell and Gareth Williams. Walnut Creek: West Coast Press, 2007, 163–76, at 168–9. 18 Williams, Gareth. ‘Monetary economy in Viking Age Scotland in the light of single finds’. In Single Finds – The Nordic Perspective, edited by Jens Christian Moesgaard and Helle Horsnæs. Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen, 2006, 164–72. 19 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 243. 20 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 231. 21 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 243. 22 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 226. 23 Crawford, Scandinavian Scotland, 127. 24 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 243–6. 25 Crawford, Scandinavian Scotland, 127, 133–4; Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 122, 131, 243–4. 26 Graham-Campbell, James. ‘The Viking-age silver and gold hoards of Scandinavian character from Scotland’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 107 (1975–6): 114–35, at 127; Kruse, Susan. ‘Silver storage and circulation in Viking-Age Scotland: The evidence of the silver ingots’. In The Viking Age in Caithness, Orkney and the North Atlantic: select papers from the proceedings of the Eleventh Viking Congress, Thurso and Kirkwall, 22 August–1 September 1989, edited by Colleen Batey, Judith Jesch, and Christopher Morris. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1993, 187–203, at 196, 199–200; Kruse, ‘Trade and exchange’, 167; Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 246. 27 Skre, ‘Introduction’, 10; Skre, ‘Post-substantivist towns’. 28 Gustin, ‘Islam, merchants, or King?’; Gustin, Mellan gåva och marknad. 29 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 184. 30 Smyth, Alfred P. Scandinavian York and Dublin: The History and Archaeology of Two Related Viking Kingdoms (2 Vols). Dublin: Templekieran Press, 1975, 1979; Smyth, Alfred P. Scandinavian Kings in the British Isles 850–880. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977; MacLeod, Mary. ‘Viking Age Urbanism in Scandinavia and the Danelaw: A Consideration of Birka and York’. PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 1999, 355; Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’. 31 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 246.

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32 Williams, ‘Monetary economy’, 167; Williams, Gareth. ‘Kingship, Christianity and coinage: monetary and political perspectives on silver economy in the Viking Age’. In Graham-Campbell and Williams, Silver economy, 177–214, at 203–4; Blackburn, Mark. ‘Currency under the Vikings. Part 3: Ireland, Wales, Isle of Man and Scotland during the ninth and tenth centuries’. British Numismatic Journal 77 (2007): 119–49; Barrett, James H. ‘The pirate fishermen: The political economy of a medieval maritime society’. In West over Sea: Studies in Scandinavian Sea-borne Expansion and Settlement Before 1300, edited by Beverley Balin Smith, Simon Taylor, and Gareth Williams. Brill: Leiden, 2007, 299–340, at 319. 33 Williams, ‘Monetary economy’. 34 Williams, ‘Monetary economy’, 171. 35 Blackburn, ‘Currency’, 136. 36 Gruszczyn´ski, Viking Silver, 11–4. 37 Gruszczyn´ski, Viking Silver. 38 Gruszczyn´ski, Viking Silver, 5–21. 39 Horne, ‘Viking market economies’; Gruszczyn´ski, Viking Silver. 40 Kilger, Christoph. ‘Kaupang from afar: Aspects of the interpretation of dirham finds in Northern and Eastern Europe between the late 8th and early 10th centuries’. In Skre, Means of exchange, 197–252. 41 Gruszczyn´ski, Viking Silver. 42 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 256–61. 43 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 255–62. 44 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’; Kruse, Susan. ‘Late Saxon balances and weights from England’. Medieval Archaeology 36 (1992): 67–95. 45 Sheehan, John. ‘Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings’. In The Cuerdale Hoard and Related Viking-age Silver and Gold from Britain and Ireland in the British Museum, edited by James Graham-Campbell. London: British Museum Press, 2011, 94–100. 46 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’. 47 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 235–7; Graham-Campbell, The Viking-Age; Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 235–6; Martin Goldberg, pers. comm. 48 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 45; Sheehan, ‘Hiberno-Scandinavian’, 98. 49 Russell, Ian and Maurice F. Hurley, eds, James Eogan exec. ed. Woodstown: a Viking–Age settlement in Co. Waterford. Dublin: Four Courts, 2014; Blackburn, Mark. Viking Coinage and Currency in the British Isles. London: British Numismatic Society, 2011. 50 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 22, 41; Sheehan, ‘Hiberno-Scandinavian’, 98–9; Skre, Dagfinn. ‘From Kaupang and Avaldsnes to the Irish Sea’ (n.b. earlier in press version seen by author). In Clerics, Kings and Vikings: essays on medieval Ireland in honour of Donnchadh Ó Corráin, edited by Emer Purcell, Paul Mac Cotter, Julianne Nyhan, and John Sheehan. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2015, 237–46; Smyth, Scandinavian York, 1975, 16–7; Downham, Clare. Viking Kings of Britain and Ireland: The Dynasty of Ívarr to AD 1014. Edinburgh: Dunedin Academic Press, 2007. 51 Downham, Viking Kings, 64–7. 52 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 95–109. 53 Samson, ‘Economic anthropology’; Samson, Ross. ‘Fighting with Silver: Rethinking Trading, Raiding, and Hoarding’. In Social Approaches to Viking Studies, edited by Ross Samson. Glasgow: Cruithne Press, 1991, 123–36. 54 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 52–4; Wilson, ‘Scandinavian settlement’, 98, 110, 111; Crawford, Scandinavian Scotland, 14, 16, 126, 134–5; Morris, Christopher D. ‘The Vikings in the British Isles’. In The Vikings, edited by R. Farrell. London: Phillimore, 1982, 70–90. 55 Gooch, Megan. ‘Money and Power in the Viking Kingdom of York, c.895–954’. PhD thesis, University of Durham, 2012.

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56 Skre, Dagfinn. ‘Kaupang: Between east and west; Between north and south’. In Things from the Town. Artefacts and Inhabitants in Viking-Age Kaupang, edited by Dagfinn Skre. Århus: Århus University Press, 2011, 443–9; Skre, ‘From Kaupang’. 57 Sindbæk, ‘Silver economies’, 58–9. 58 Sindbæk, ‘Silver economies’, 59. 59 Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 114–5. 60 Kruse, ‘Trade and exchange’, 164. 61 Hårdh, Birgitta. Silver in the Viking Age: A Regional-Economic Study. Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 1996; Hårdh, Birgitta. ‘Viking-Age silver from hoards and cultural layers’. In Graham-Campbell, Sindbæk, and Williams, Silver Economies, 281–96; Skre, Dagfinn. ‘Commodity money, silver and coinage in Viking-Age Scandinavia’. In Graham-Campbell, Sindbæk, and Williams, Silver Economies, 67–91; Williams, ‘Silver economies’, 349. 62 Graham-Campbell, The Viking-Age. 63 Hill, Peter. Whithorn and St Ninian: the Excavation of a Monastic Town. Stroud: Sutton, 1997; Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 202–5; Griffiths, David. Vikings of the Irish Sea. Stroud: History Press, 2010. 64 Crawford, Scandinavian Scotland, 135; Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 54. 65 Gruszczyn´ski, Viking Silver, 14–7; Barrett, ‘Few know an Earl’, 170–1, 174, 186; Owen, Olwyn. The Sea Road: A Viking Voyage Through Scotland. Edinburgh: Canongate, 1999, 27; Woolf, Alex. ‘The Russes, the Byzantines, and Middle-Saxon emporia’. In Beyond the Emporia: Anglo-Saxon trading centres, edited by Mike Anderton. Glasgow: Cruithne, 1999, 63–75, at 67; Owen, Olwyn. The World of the Orkneyinga Saga: The Broad-Cloth Viking Trip. Kirkwall: The Orcadian, 2005, 301; Kruse, ‘Trade and exchange’, 168–9; Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 61–5. 66 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 106. 67 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 238–9. 68 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 109, 227. 69 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 109. 70 Downham, Viking Kings, 173. 71 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 109, 227; Blackburn, Viking coinage. 72 Russell and Hurley, Woodstown; Sheehan, John. ‘Silver’. In Russell and Hurley, Woodstown, 194–222. 73 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 236. 74 Metcalf, Michael. ‘The monetary significance of Scottish Viking-age coin hoards, with a short commentary’. In Graham-Campbell, Viking–Age, 16–25, at 20; Blackburn, ‘Currency’, 135; Graham-Campbell, Viking–Age, 28, 62. 75 Metcalf, ‘The monetary’, 20; Blackburn, ‘Currency’, 136. 76 Graham-Campbell, Viking-Age, 47; Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 228–46; Griffiths, David. ‘The context of the 1858 Skaill hoard’. In Reynolds and Webster, Medieval Art and Archaeology, 501–26. 77 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 235; Griffiths, ‘The context’, 501–2. 78 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 238–9, 241–3; Graham-Campbell, Viking-Age, 40. 79 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 238. 80 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 238; Not read by author: Critch, Aaron. ‘“How are princely gifts repaid by your powerful friends?”: ring-money and the appropriation of tradition in Insular Viking politics, AD 900–1065’. PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 2015. 81 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 238–9. 82 Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 238. 83 Graham-Campbell, ‘Update’, 195–6 and references. 84 Batey, Colleen E. with Rachel C. Barrowman, Ingrid Mainland, J. P. Huntley, and Jennifer Harland. A Norse Economic Hub: Excavation of a Horizontal Mill at the Earl’s Bu, Orphir, Orkney (forthcoming).

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Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 241. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 239. Kruse, ‘Late Saxon balances’, 81–2. Kershaw, Jane. ‘Lead weights with metal inserts’. URL: http://vikingmetalwork. blogspot.com/2012/08/lead-weights-with-metal-insets.html, accessed 21 August, 2019. Kruse, ‘Late Saxon balances’, 81–2; Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks, 297–8. Blackburn, Viking Coinage, 223, 226; Wallace, Patrick. ‘Weights’. In Russell and Hurley, Woodstown, 222–55. Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’, 297–8. Bryce, Thomas and C[ecil H.] Desch. ‘Note on a Balance and Weights of the Viking Period, found in the Island of Gigha’. Proceedings of the Scottish Antiquarian Society 47 (1913): 436–43, at 441–2. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 109. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 233; Metcalf, ‘The monetary significance’, 15. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 232. Sheehan, John. ‘The Huxley hoard and Hiberno-Scandinavian arm-rings’. In The Huxley Viking Hoard: Scandinavian Settlement in the North West, edited by James Graham-Campbell and Robert Philpott. Liverpool: National Museums & Galleries on Merseyside, 2009, 58–69, at 60; Horne, ‘Scandinavian market networks’. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 233. Naismith, Rory. ‘Islamic coins from early medieval England’. The Numismatic Chronicle 165 (2005): 193–222, at 205. URL: https://www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/earls-bu-and-churchorphir/, accessed 30 August, 2019; Batey, A Norse Economic Hub. Batey, A Norse Economic Hub; Horne, Tom. ‘A bullion economy at the Earl’s Bu’. In Batey, A Norse Economic Hub. Hilberg, Volker. ‘Hedeby in Wulfstan’s days: a Danish emporium of the Viking Age between East and West’. In Wulfstan’s voyage: the Baltic Sea region in the early Viking age as seen from shipboard (Maritime Culture of the North 2), edited by Anton Englert and Athena Trakadas. Roskilde: Viking Ship Museum, 2009, 79–113. Sharples, Niall. A Norse settlement in the Outer Hebrides: Excavations on Mounds 2 and 2A, Bornais, South Uist. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2019. Paterson, Caroline. ‘13.13 Spherical weight of copper alloy and iron’. In Cille Pheadair: a Norse farmstead and Pictish burial cairn in South Uist, edited by Mike Parker Pearson, Mark Brennand, Jacqui Mulville, and Helen Smith. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2018, 329–30; Sharples, Niall, ed. The Economy of a Norse Settlement in the Outer Hebrides. Excavations at Mounds 2 and 2A, Bornais, South Uist. [s.l.]: Oxbow Books, 2020, 104–9; Horne, Tom and Rachel Smith. ‘Weights’. In Sharples, Economy of a Norse Settlement, 106–8. Williams, ‘Silver Economies’, 349. Williams, ‘Silver Economies’, 349. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 203. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 205. Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, 109.

5 THE PROBLEM OF MANX Norse linguistic evidence for the survival of Manx Gaelic in the Scandinavian period1 Roderick McDonald Abstract: This chapter is concerned with the question of whether Manx Gaelic continued to be spoken on the Isle of Man during the tenth to the thirteenth centuries, when the island was under Scandinavian rule. The inconclusive Gelling/Megaw debate in the late twentieth century, concerning the survival or extinction of Manx Gaelic during the Norse period, failed to account for linguistic evidence. This chapter considers a small amount of phonological and semantic evidence that lends support to the hypothesis that spoken Manx Gaelic survived during the Norse period.

Introduction This chapter examines the question of whether Manx Gaelic continued to be spoken on the Isle of Man under Scandinavian rule, during the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. The question is no longer sharply polarised as it was in the 1970s, with neither the survival nor extinction hypotheses now of major concern to Manx scholarship. Margaret Gelling arguing for extinction and Basil Megaw for survival used a body of evidence which is now somewhat exhausted, but the question remains unresolved.2 It is perhaps telling that, while the subject of debate was linguistic, neither of these two advocates was a historical linguist: Gelling was a toponymist, and Megaw an archaeologist, ethnologist, and museum director. Curiously, neither side used linguistic evidence as is discussed in this chapter, and which is used here to lend support to the survival hypothesis. This chapter offers a linguistic perspective on the nature of cross-cultural interactions during the Norse period on the Isle of Man. Hitherto, little has been written concerning the ways in which language use might be relevant to understanding the social and cultural conditions in this period. In this chapter, a number of linguistic indicators of Manx Gaelic language survival are set against known historical conditions, and the potential for linguistic evidence to offer insight into historical society and culture is revealed. Firstly, the Gelling/Megaw exchange is reviewed, and implications arising from the divergent methodological approaches that they used and ways in which

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sociolinguistic models might apply to historical contact between speakers of different languages are discussed. Following this, the chapter explores the linguistic evidence that might differentiate between the survival and extinction hypotheses, and finishes with observations on what this might mean for our understanding of Manx Gaelic, historically, in the context of both Norse influence and the other Gaelic languages.

Survival or extinction, and the limits to place-name evidence In the 1970s, Gelling and Megaw came to represent the poles of a debate: did Manx Gaelic become extinct during Norse hegemony, or did it survive? Gelling, discussing earlier landmark Manx toponymic works of J. J. Kneen and Carl J. S. Marstrander, focused on thirteenth and fourteenth-century Manx place-names, as a basis for suggestions about the relative importance of Old Norse, Manx Gaelic, and English languages in those two centuries.3 Kneen’s view was that Gaelic in the Isle of Man was ‘replaced by a Scandinavian dialect’ and that ‘the earlier Gaelic population was either wiped out or absorbed’.4 In contrast, Marstrander argued that Manx bilingual stone crosses could be interpreted as refuting the view ‘that the Norwegians decimated or expelled the Gaelic population from the island’ instead arguing that there were ‘intimate and personal relations between the Gaidil and Gaill’, and that a Gaelic group coexisted with the Norwegians from the very beginning as ‘free and socially equal’.5 Gelling argues that between AD 900 and 1300, the Norse language predominated on Man and was more socially important. On the continued use of Gaelic, she used runic inscriptions and place-names to suggest a ‘relatively slight Gaelic linguistic survival during the period of Norse rule’.6 Paradoxically, she also notes the ‘virtual disappearance of Gaelic in the Norse period’.7 Gelling took the paucity of Gaelic place-names as evidence that the island’s population had not remained bilingual. While her place-name analyses may be sound, the methodology for extrapolating linguistic behaviour from surviving place-name records is wanting, failing to explore the critical relationship between inferred historical language use and how it might be possible to infer linguistic behaviours from surviving place-names. This is revealed, inter alia, through her imprecise terminology. She argues that the Irish names in the Manx runic corpus are ‘evidence of a Gaelic strain […] in the population of Man, but not of the continuance of Gaelic speech’, but she does not define what a ‘strain’ is, and she seems to be using the appellative ‘Gaelic’ for non-linguistic characteristics.8 Similarly, her references to ‘slight linguistic survival’ and ‘virtual disappearance’ are not explained, and she is not clear what these might mean for linguistic behaviours. Is she talking about Gaelic spoken only in limited geographic areas, only used in narrowed or marginalised semantic fields (for example, for farming only), the decline or loss of referential, functional, or creative capacities in the language, a decline in numbers of Gaelic first-language speakers, or a decline over time in the transmission of Gaelic from generation to generation?9 She also does not negotiate the scope for bilingualism in the linguistic communities of medieval Norse Man. Is this ‘slight

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survival’ to be found in specific social classes, such as merchants, who are likely to have enjoyed interactions with other Gaelic-speaking areas of the British Isles? Basil Megaw took issue with Gelling’s position in his 1976 article, reprinted with minor edits in 1978.10 Megaw charges Gelling with concluding that ‘Gaelic had ceased to be spoken in Man until reintroduced from outside the island (?Galloway) after 1300’, repeating his own position that Gaelic ‘held its own in the time of Manx kings of the Isles during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries’.11 Megaw introduces evidence for re-dating an ‘abbeyland bounds’ document to c.1280 of the document, based on palaeographical analysis by Neil Ker,12 in which a particular entry reveals Gaelic place-name evidence dating to around 1257, thus arguing for Gaelic in use during the Scandinavian period. He also points to the absence of farm place-names in Gaelic achadh (‘enclosed field’) common in southwest Scotland and Ireland, arguing this presents ‘a real obstacle to the theory of any new Gaelic settlement in Man in the thirteenth century’, as re-settlement would bring with it the nomenclature common in the homelands of the settlers.13 Megaw emphasises the importance of using as wide a range of evidence as possible, and he includes epithets and patronymics (Gaelic forms datable to the Scandinavian period) alongside literary evidence (references in and to Irish and Gaelic texts during the period) and administrative history (possible Norse-period Gaelic origins of Manx administrative structures such as the Manx farm-land treen). He ultimately argues that the conditions in Man were a balance between the powerful ‘Scandinavian element in the ruling circle and the chief land-owners’ and ‘a background of native continuity’ with widespread bilingualism in the population.14 However, Megaw’s lack of sound linguistic methodology, as with Gelling, is revealed in his imprecise terminology, where, for example, he talks of ‘two linguistic levels co-existing’ without explaining what these are.15 Megaw bristled at Margaret Gelling referring to part of his work where he attempts to establish the relative significance of Gaelic names among Norse in the documents as ‘unscholarly’, and Gelling herself makes her position clear in respect of this part, arguing that ‘it is unconvincing’.16 Megaw is emphatic about neither culturally nor linguistically compartmentalising Manx evidence, and he speculates about an already polyglot pre-Scandinavian Hebrides, suggesting that between the fifth and eighth centuries no fewer than four languages (British, Irish, English, and Latin) were spoken in Man. He concludes that ‘if we have learnt nothing else from this investigation, we now see that even our “Scandinavian” kings were characteristically Gaelic speakers’.17 In her 1978 reply, Gelling restates her argument that there is insufficient evidence to sustain Megaw’s view of Gaelic language survival through Norse occupancy of Man. She repeats her attribution to both Kneen and Marstrander ‘the view that the Gaelic language died out in Man for a period after the Norse settlement’, an attribution that is demonstrably wrong in respect of the latter, as noted above.18 Gelling happily embraces the re-dated bounds document, which Megaw depends upon, but disagrees broadly with his analysis of it, accepting that in the ‘district around The Curraghs is a limited area in which Gaelic speech either

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persisted from pre-Norse times, or was re-introduced at a comparatively early date’, but outside of that she remains in firm (and seemingly self-contradictory) disagreement with Megaw, that Gaelic died out, while admitting it might have persisted in that one area.19 Gelling restates her point that if Manx place-names are viewed chronologically then there was a period of Norse occupation when Gaelic stopped being used, with Norse the language of farmers and aristocracy alike. In the same volume, Danelaw place-name expert Gillian Fellows-Jensen sought some rapprochement between the two positions, endorsing Gelling’s arguments in favour of high Norse settlement density in Man, but also accepting Megaw’s possibility of continuity in spoken Gaelic. The debate settled to a quiet détante after 1978, and a little more than a decade later Gelling softens her position, but still maintains the island was ‘predominantly (perhaps even exclusively) Norse-speaking’.20 In this later work, she repeated her mistaken declaration that Marstrander’s view was in support of the extinction model, and she gives very short shrift (just six lines) to Megaw’s opposing view. Finally, in volume 3 of The New History of the Isle of Man, published in 2015, the topic is touched on by R. L. Thomson, but neither extinction nor survival is specifically endorsed.21 Thomson cites Gelling as agreeing with Marstrander (unreferenced by Thomson) that ‘Old Norse was the predominant language of Man c.900 to c.1300’, and quotes Kenneth Jackson to the effect that Man and the Hebrides were ‘united under Norse rule in a single Gaelic-speaking kingdom of the Isles until 1266’.22 Fellows-Jensen, in the same volume, also references Gelling when she reports that the low status of settlements bearing Gaelic place-names has been used ‘as an argument for a relatively slight survival of Gaelic names (and the Gaelic language) in the period of Viking rule and a subsequent reintroduction of the Gaelic language’.23 This debate exposed significant theoretical and methodological gaps between place-name studies and inferred language use, failing to problematise whether or how place-names can be used as evidence for a community’s linguistic behaviours. Moreover, assumptions were made that were not explicitly identified or analysed. The polarisation seems best attributed to a kind of talking at cross-purpose, where common sense overlooks linguistics. Matters unresolved in the debate include the question of whether a place-name can stand as proxy for the language use of a community, and how that might take account of mixed and bilingual communities, and the corollary assumption that a lack of place-names in both languages can be used as evidence for a monolingual community. Indeed, there is no necessary reason for a place-name to stand as verification of the language spoken, or even that the particular language endured through the period of that place-name’s existence. The establishment and recording of a Norse place-name cannot in itself preclude Gaelic being spoken at the same time, and given the inevitable flux in active communities, across a timeframe of three to four centuries, there can be no legitimate claim to static social, political, or cultural conditions. In 1972, Magne Oftedal explored an equivalent challenge in respect of Norse linguistic influence in Scottish Gaelic, in which he noted, inter alia, the

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separation between loanwords and place-names on a variety of methodological axes. While loanwords are understood as indicative of functional language use, place-name semantics are anchored to a location, and often to an historic moment. Similarly, in the same year, Alan Small questioned the idea that place-name densities on the Isle of Skye can be used to support theories of Viking settlement densities, while Charles W. J. Withers (1984) argued that Norse place-name density in the Hebrides cannot be equated with either uniform or hegemonic linguistic usage.24 Moreover, the assumption that an absence of place-names of one sort is indicative of the absence of the people for whom such place-names hold meaning or importance belies the fact that there are always more people than there are place-names, and not all people will have a role in the naming of places. This is especially pertinent when considering the power differentials within a community, typically expressed in the control of both the written record and naming practices, coupled with the likely population influx and departure over time, whether Norse- or Gaelic-speaking. In the absence of a sociolinguistic framework against which place-name evidence can be measured and analysed, there is no necessary historical causality linking place-names with exclusivity of language use. The formal study of toponyms has often been chiefly concerned with mapping genealogies and surface meanings of place-names, and with attributing explanatory power to the semantics. Botolv Helleland notes that ‘the etymological discussion and the historical bearings of place-names have traditionally attracted the widest interest among scholars’, but there has been a shift more recently towards a focus on ‘socioonomastic and socio-psychological functions of place-names’.25 Considered in this light, interest in Manx Gaelic place-names has largely embraced just one aspect of the surface – the etymological and historical aspects of the apparent language of the name itself – and taken this as evidence that reflects on the communities living in those places over time. However, Helleland suggests that a ‘place name not only points out a place, it also mediates a cluster of qualities and meanings attached to that place, partly valid for a single individual, partly shared by a given social group’.26 Considering possible social and cognitive roles that place-naming can play, the Manx evidence would seem to have limited capacity for explicating the social conditions that predominated over a period of likely flux. For even if placenaming evidence exists in just one language, the absence of evidence to the contrary is certainly insufficient for a conclusion of absence of other language use. Moreover, underlying conditions of naming practice are likely to be elusive.

Historical linguistic evidence: beyond the place-names Historical language change cannot be observed in vivo, and evidence must be sought through contextual analyses of historical linguistic records, however sparse, partial and distant they may be. Whatever evidence exists for the survival of Manx Gaelic needs to be examined in the context of historical sociolinguistics, the

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discipline that negotiates between historical linguistics (concerned with language change through time) and sociolinguistics (concerned with language use in the social context), using methods that examine the relationship between historical language evidence and the social circumstances in which the evidence was produced. When speakers of two or more languages come into contact simply by dint of circumstance, the speakers of one language can, and often will, influence the others’ linguistic behaviours and thus establishing ‘language contact’ and resulting in contact-induced language change. Such were the conditions subsisting in medieval Man, at least for some if not all of the Norse period. Language change can appear in the adoption of new lexis (new words for new things or as new words replacing native terms for existing things), as changes in the phonology and morphology of a language (different sounds and patterns of sounds being brought from one language to another), and as grammatical changes (where grammatical forms and structures change). Each of these types of language change can be interpreted for their social circumstances.27 The presence of loanwords in a language and indeed all of the indicators of contact induced language change are symptomatic rather than causal, and there are two governing principles that we must take into account when analysing this kind of language ‘interference’: (i) loanwords are neither arbitrary nor serendipitous and (ii) loanwords are used by speakers of both languages involved. The first principle is that loanwords appear not from some arbitrary, artificial, or idiosyncratic motivation on the part of a speaker to choose one particular word over another. Neither are they necessarily ornamental or serendipitous. Rather, they are indicative of social processes enacted through language behaviour, and they arise from sociolinguistic need under specific conditions. They have a role and a purpose, and they begin their immigrant lives in an adopting language at the point at which people who speak different languages come into contact, when speakers of the borrowing language need to use the non-native foreign term. The simplest of such circumstances might be that the term refers to a new or previously unknown object or unfamiliar activity or behaviour, or a term might be borrowed because of a need for trade with other-language-speakers, where there is a need to adopt agreed usage for mutual understanding, such as might be supposed for people such as merchants and traders. But the cause may not only be utilitarian. If the terminology is associated with social status or power, other social factors might influence choice in lexis, such as might be necessary or appropriate for specific social domains where the borrowed terms are accorded importance over local equivalents, or for which there are no local equivalents. Non-native lexis might also be called into service as a code of belonging for in-group identity. Importantly, in such circumstances, asymmetries of occupation can play out in linguistic behaviours. People who mix with the powerful need to learn the linguistic behaviours of the powerful in order to engage with them. If local (i.e. native Gaelic) speakers need to associate with an

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authoritative Norse-speaking group, then there is a chance lexis choice will follow that need. Significant evidence suggests that social status loanwords from Old Norse in Old and Middle Irish may be viewed as indicators of shared Hiberno–Norse authority and power in Norse centres in Ireland, over time.28 As discussed below, ecclesiastical Norse loanwords in Manx Gaelic may be viewed similarly. These are indicative of Norse-sponsored church hierarchy, where the adoption of suitable loanwords is a possible marker of a Gaelic speaker’s association therewith. Power asymmetries can occur on a number of axes: they can be political, they can be religious, and they can be economic, and in any situation where specific social and cultural values are established, and where authority of one sort or another is maintained, asymmetries and linguistic specificities may arise. The second principle, as noted above, is that the borrowing of loanwords necessarily occurs with the involvement of speakers of both languages. For example, the well attested loanwords related to shipping and maritime activities in Scottish Gaelic are indicators not only of the presence of maritime-skilled medieval Scandinavian people involved in the activities to which the words refer, but also the involvement of Gaelic speakers.29 Certainly, Norse-speaking people brought significant maritime expertise wherever they went, but the linguistic processes implicated in contact-induced language change emphasise the importance of both language speakers being involved in the activities to which the words relate.30 Gaelic speakers, in the process of adopting the loanwords, have to have been involved in the activities to which the words refer. Moreover, the process has to be understood as more complex when considered in both temporal and geographic terms. There is no basis for assuming that the Gaelic speakers adopting the Norse loanwords need to have been native Gaelic speakers; they could just as well have been Scandinavian in descent and bilingual with Gaelic their second language. The mixing of languages certainly implicates a role for bilingualism and, particularly in those domains where there are concentrations of loanwords, there is a higher likelihood of functional bilingualism.31 Moreover, where Scandinavians settled and became locals, as is assumed for many of the areas to which the medieval Scandinavians travelled, ensuing generations of families of mixed parentage can have been instrumental in affording subsequent generations the necessary conditions for mixed culture and mixed language use. Christopher Lewin notes that, based on historical and archaeological evidence, the social conditions on the Isle of Man were such that the population were likely to have been living in ‘small, tight-knit, isolated speech communities’ during the Norse period.32 Lewin also notes that when conditions favour stable longer-term language contact, whether asymmetrical or not, a possible means for Norse influence is through native-speaking families, where children become bilingual even if the adult native speakers do not. The domestic scene is evidently an important locus for Norse linguistic influence on Gaelic. Lewin, whose work is compatible with either the extinction or survival hypotheses, nevertheless is of the view that ‘the relative fertility of the island would have supported a fairly dense

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(though evenly dispersed) population’. He also considers that there is unlikely to have been social pressure to switch to Norse, and that more likely there would have been ‘a period of bilingualism and population mixing, ultimately with Gaelic winning out as the more widely spoken and useful language in the Irish Sea and Hebridean world’.33

Linguistic theories: extinction or survival? Given that the earliest written evidence of Manx Gaelic postdates the Norse period by many centuries, any Norse loanwords in that language, prima facie, cannot be drawn upon for specific diagnostic power concerning medieval Man. Indeed, if Norse had extinguished Manx Gaelic, then any such loanwords are most likely evidence of borrowing having occurred elsewhere, and these words simply being introduced to Man along with the rest of the Gaelic language. Thus, if any linguistic evidence for the survival of Manx Gaelic through the Scandinavian period exists, it has to meet the following conditions: i.

ii.

Features that can be attributed to Norse influence are exclusive to Manx Gaelic and not attested in the other Gaelics, for otherwise there can be no way of knowing the feature has survived in Manx Gaelic. Lack of attestation in the other Gaelics is assumed to be due to that particular feature never having appeared in the other Gaelics.

Thus, the survival hypothesis needs evidence of Norse influence that only appears in Manx Gaelic, and is otherwise unattested, and likely to have never been attested, in Scottish Gaelic or Irish. Moreover, for Norse influence to have survived exclusively in modern Manx Gaelic, it is assumed that some degree of bilingualism persisted through the Scandinavian period. This is because the survival of such linguistic markers depends upon either the continuity of Norse/Manx Gaelic bilingualism or continuity in communities of monolingual Manx Gaelic speakers retaining any Manx Norse influences in their speech. There is, however, a possible means for Manx-specific Norse linguistic influence to appear in Manx Gaelic under the extinction scenario. This would be the case if Manx-specific loanwords were borrowed by incoming Gaelic speakers before Norse ceased to be spoken, perhaps even with Norse speakers bringing their loanwords with them as they themselves shifted through a period of Norse/ Gaelic bilingualism.34 Unfortunately, not enough is known of population movements and sociolinguistic conditions on the Isle of Man during this period to be able to assess the likelihood, and so a further assumption must be made, in addition to the two listed above: iii. That the borrowing of loanwords into Manx Gaelic did not occur solely at a time-limited language frontier between incoming Gaelic speakers and declining Norse speakers.

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In short, if one is to assume extinction, there is no way of knowing when in the period of Norse occupation the extinction occurred. Neither is there any way of knowing over what period the language was absent nor the duration of Norse/ Gaelic bilingualism following the reintroduction of Gaelic speakers to the island, assuming that Gaelic was reintroduced while Norse was still spoken.

Pre-occlusion: Kenneth Jackson’s fugitive unexploded d In 1894, John Rhyˆs was the first to identify and record examples of ‘pre-occlusion’, a well-recognised phonological quality in Manx Gaelic that is not shared by the other Gaelic languages.35 In 1932, Carl Marstrander recorded examples of this same quality, in which stressed single-syllable words ending in voiced –n and –l were pronounced with an inserted ‘d’ sound before the final –n and –l, words ending in voiced final –m showing an inserted ‘b’ and those with voiced final –ŋ an inserted ‘g’.36 This particular linguistic characteristic was also noticed by Kenneth H. Jackson 20 years later, and he called it, rather charmingly, a ‘kind of fugitive unexploded d’. He described it as happening across both the north and the south of the island, with it occurring ‘before –n and –nn […] when final in stressed monosyllables’.37 He also noted that it occurred before final –rn, and suggested that, while there are also forms recorded without the inserted ‘d’ sound, the insertion was more common. As with Marstrander, he also observed the insertion of an analogous ‘b’ before final –m and ‘g’ before final –ŋ, but he did not observe the dental insertion before final –l. More recently, George Broderick also explores this behaviour, also known by the linguistic term ‘pre-occlusion’, which refers to the point at which the inserted sound is produced, and the nature of the sound: a brief occlusion, or closing of the stream of air, immediately prior to the production of the final ‘nasal’ (–n, –m, –ŋ) or ‘liquid/lateral’ (–l) sound.38 The inserted sound varies according to the nature of the final consonant of the word, where ‘d’, ‘b’, or ‘g’ are produced in the same place in the mouth that is used to produce the nasal or liquid/lateral sound. Examples of ‘d-insertion’ identified by Marstrander include ben ‘woman’ [bedn], grian ‘sun’ [grīdn], jeeill ‘damage, harm’ [d’žīdλ], and meeyl ‘louse’ [mīdλ]; by Jackson oarn ‘barley’ [ɔːdn], and doarn ‘fist’ [dɔːdn]; by Broderick oarn ‘barley’ /oː[dN]n/, keayn ‘sea’ /k’o[dN]n/, shooyll ‘walking’ /s’uː[dL]l/, and keeill ‘church’ /k’i[dL]l/.39 There is no way knowing for certain why or how this behaviour arose, and it is possible that it arose organically on the Isle of Man, not from outside influence. Pre-occlusion occurs in a small number of other northern European languages, including Cornish, Saami, Faroese, Icelandic, and some dialects of Norwegian.40 It also occurred historically in both Old Icelandic and medieval Norwegian dialects, manifesting as a ‘t’ inserted in stressed word-final syllables ending in –nn, –rn, –ll, and –rl. Examples in Old Icelandic include steinn ‘stone’ [steitn̥ ], barn ‘child’ [partn̥ ], heill ‘whole, healthy’ [heitl̥ ], and karl ‘boy’ [khartl̥ ].41 Stefán Karlsson dates the Old Icelandic form to the fourteenth century, arising from two related phonological changes evidenced in manuscript transmission.42

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But such a date might present a challenge for a link between Norse and Manx Gaelic, given that it post-dates Scandinavian rule on Man. While Stefán Karlsson is talking about Icelandic language characteristics a century and more after the period of Norse rule on the Isle of Man, it is important to bear in mind that spoken language behaviour necessarily pre-dates the written form, and the fourteenth century cannot be a terminus post quem. The questions as to how far back, prior to taking written form, the usage can be projected, and how far afield, geographically are not readily unanswerable. But if Manx Gaelic pre-occlusion did not arise on its own, then Jackson’s ‘fugitive unexploded d’ could stand as a signpost for the survival of continuous spoken Manx during the Scandinavian period and on into modern times.43

Loanwords and their semantics Approximately 60 words in Manx are likely to have derived from Old Norse, across a range of semantic domains, as listed in the accompanying Appendix.44 These loanwords can be arranged into semantic groups reflecting the broad range of cultural, social, economic and political activities and conditions that one might expect to find in medieval Man: there are six loanwords concerned with farming, seven with fishing, ten for maritime activities and objects, eight relating to social circumstances, twelve for terrestrial conditions and topography, nine relating to settlement characteristics, four for tools and a small group of two miscellaneous terms. These semantics seem fairly straightforward: maritime, farming, and fishing loanwords certainly reflect what is known about the geographies and cultures of the medieval agrarian coastal British Isles, and many of these words are shared with Irish and Scottish Gaelic. Beyond these subsistence categories, loanwords that can be viewed as specific to, or reflecting, social conditions help paint a picture of the conditions under which they were borrowed, where shared interests and activities took place. Signs of such can be found in terms relating to markets, neighbours, currency, positions of authority, law, and social intercourse between the two language groups. But taken at face value, the words do not advance the survival versus extinction issue, for almost all of these words are also found in either Irish, or Scottish Gaelic, or both. However, there is a small subset of four loanwords that might offer some support for the survival thesis, however speculative: three of these are only found in Manx (ON ho˛ fuðsimi, *halssimi, a halter → Mx ousym, oalsum, a halter, a fetter; ON far-tálmi, farar-tálmi, hindrance or delay → Mx fartum (an), fartiman, a long line (from shore), and ON grind, a gate → Mx grinney. These are the only loanwords in the wide Gaelic loanword lexicon (approximately 450 such words), which are exclusive to Manx Gaelic. Although absence of evidence to the contrary cannot be construed as evidence that these words were never in the other two languages, if we do indeed assume these to be exclusive, then they may be indicators supporting the survival hypothesis. There are no ready means for judging the probabilities either way, but the exclusivity of the Manx

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attestation against the considerable extent of historical lexical collection in both Irish and Scottish Gaelic absent these words strengthens the case for such exclusive usage. The fourth loanword in this subset is ON kapella → Mx cabbal, a chapel. Unlike many other loanwords in Manx, this is not a word concerned with the typical semantics of medieval maritime and rural island life; rather, it is a word imbued with important social and institutional values. Unlike the other three loanwords discussed above, this word is also found in Scottish Gaelic, as caibeal, and there is a small cluster of related words across the three languages: alongside Manx cabbal and Scottish Gaelic caibeal, we have Old/Middle Irish seipél, the forerunner to Modern Irish séipéal, and Scottish Gaelic also has seipeal. These words fall into two phonological groups: those with initial unvoiced velar stop [k] (i.e. words sounded with initial ‘hard’ c–, Manx cabbal and Scottish Gaelic caibeal) and those with initial unvoiced post-alveolar fricative [ʃ] (i.e. words sounded with initial ‘soft’ sh–, the Irish forms and Scottish Gaelic seipeal). Lexicographers usually consider both the Manx and Scottish Gaelic forms to be borrowed from Latin capella, while the latter are usually derived from Middle English or Old French chapele. However, the fact that this loanword is not exclusive to Manx and that there are related words in Irish presents a challenge for how we might approach the Manx term. The c‐ form is attested in the earliest Manx and Scottish Gaelic lexicons, whereas the s‐ form is Irish usage and does not appear to be in use in Scottish Gaelic, judging from the lexical record, until perhaps the mid- to late-nineteenth century.45 In fact, William Shaw’s dictionary of 1780 is the only one among eight Scottish Gaelic lexicons between 1741 and 1832 to include seipeal, and this dictionary was criticised for containing ‘more words strictly Irish than Gaelic’.46 The status of the s- form as Scottish Gaelic, historically, has to be considered doubtful.47 Such historical geographic differentiation of the forms in Irish, Scottish Gaelic, and Manx implies a sociolinguistic commonality between Manx and Scottish Gaelic that is not shared with Irish. The historic Old/Middle Irish form appears to be an English or French borrowing (perhaps English via Old French), whereas the etymology of the Manx and Scottish forms may shed some light on Norse influence. As noted, the common etymological view is that the c‐ form of the word is derived from Latin capella. However, Norse kapella and Latin capella are phonologically indistinguishable, and the Norse word itself is a loanword from Latin. A case can be made for the word having come into Manx directly from Norse-speaking people, indeed from a particular subgroup of Norse speakers, when one considers who might have been the actual Latin speakers bringing the word to the Manx vocabulary. The historical sociolinguistics of loanwords emphasises the social conditions under which words are borrowed, and it is self-evident that the adoption of ecclesiastical loanwords is to be associated with the spread of religious institutions and the embracing of religious discourse at the community level. The many Latin loanwords in Manx could certainly have been introduced over an extended

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period, from a variety of sources and influences. Latin was the language of both church and administration, and there were certainly later continental, AngloNorman and English Cistercian influence among the ecclesiastics of the Isle of Man.48 But from the mid-twelfth century the ecclesiastical authority on the Isle of Man was the Norwegian See of Niðarós, under whose jurisdiction Man fell during the Norse period. In this circumstance, it is possible that the word cabbal arose as a loan from both Norse kapella and Latin capella, two forms indistinguishable as either Norse or Latin, under the influence of presumably bilingual Norse/Latin ecclesiasts in positions of authority.49 The possibility that the loanword can be tied to Norse speakers might also account for the semantics of cabbal, as opposed to the other widespread Manx term for an ecclesiastical establishment, the keeill, or ‘church’. The term keeill is itself a loanword from Latin cella, and it is a Latin loanword also attested in Old and Middle Irish as well as Scottish Gaelic, with meanings including ‘cell’, ‘church’, and ‘monastic foundation’.50 Perhaps the post-reformation importance of the ‘chapel’ in the British Isles may be part of a socio-linguistic explanation for later usage of caibeal and seipeal as against other terms, such as eaglais and cill, although it is acknowledged that in modern usage keeill has the semantic of the parish church. But the possible differentiation of cabbal from the smaller monastic keill on the Isle of Man from the pre-Norse and Norse period suggests a need to further explore the semantics appropriate to that time.51 Loanwords like the Latin–Norse capella/kapella reveal the fluid nature of linguistic use at language boundaries, particularly when there may be more than two languages involved, such as with Norse-speaking ecclesiastics who also had Latin. A definite attribution of this loanword to one language is suboptimal when we consider the sociolinguistic interactions between Manx Gaelic speakers, some of whom may themselves have been bilingual or trilingual in Norse and/or Latin. It is possible, and perhaps even likely, that the first use of cabbal as a loan arose under Norse/Latin/Manx Gaelic multilingual conditions, where ecclesiastical authority may have brought a need to differentiate Norse-influenced ecclesiastic practices and attributes from those associated with the keeill. Thus, cabbal, as a Norse/Latin loanword in Manx, stands a good chance of predating any hypothetical extinction of Norse on the Isle of Man, and its survival as such may indicate survival of the spoken language more generally, although there can be no certainty, given that the form also exists in Scottish Gaelic. Nevertheless, the absence in Irish of the c- form still speaks of possible Norse/Latin influence that did not subsist in Ireland, where there was no such Norwegian ecclesiastical authority, as obtains for the Isle of Man and the Hebrides.

Conclusion This chapter has examined a small amount of phonological and semantic evidence that lends support to the hypothesis that spoken Manx Gaelic survived during the Norse period on the Isle of Man. This period is distant and the evidence is

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fragmentary, and for these reasons it is difficult to be certain about linguistic survival. Nevertheless, the foregoing disparate pieces of evidence lend support to this hypothesis, regardless of whether linguistic pre-occlusion, as discussed, has any bearing. The survival/extinction debate of the 1970s and 1980s was never fully resolved (and probably could never have been, based on the terms that were discussed at the time), but the evidence presented here contributes to a more expansive picture of the languages spoken and people living on the Isle of Man in the Middle Ages. When we take into account the sociolinguistics attached to cabbal, the Manx word for ‘chapel’, and the possibility that this word represents a bilingual Norse/ Latin loan, a good case can be made that this is a marker of an important social domain in which Gaelic and Norse speakers are likely to have interacted throughout the period. Considered thus, the word suggests a social medium, viz. ecclesiastical usage, through which the survival of Manx Gaelic may have been facilitated. Indeed, while the Old Norse loanwords listed in the Appendix are not dependent for their existence on the survival of Manx Gaelic through the Norse period, given that they could have been subsequently introduced to the island, the conditions of linguistic continuity inferred in this paper offer a new light on the way we can interpret these loanwords: as potential indicators of social and cultural activities among the Gaelic-speaking inhabitants during the Norse period. These words, thereby, offer a linguistic glimpse of life and culture in medieval Man, wherein different languages and cultures may have coexisted, despite one group enjoying some degree of apparent political and economic authority at the time.

Appendix: Old Norse loanwords in Manx Printed word lists such as included here are necessarily provisional, constrained by the limits of available evidence. Moreover, word lists derived from written sources or collections are further constrained in their certainty value because they are dependent on the particular, serendipitous, or idiosyncratic nature of the original data collection. Loanwords listed below are provisional and currently subject to review, but for the purposes of this study, they can be taken as indicative of current knowledge of likely Old Norse loanwords in Manx.52 They arise from the PhD research of the author where a three-point scale of likelihood was developed. This list only includes words assessed therein as ‘likely’.

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TABLE 5.1 Old Norse loanwords in Manx.

Old Norse

Manx Gaelic

Farming activities – 6 loanwords bundin, a sheaf of corn, a bundle. bunney, pl. bunneyn, a sheaf, of corn, hay or straw. dalr, dali (acc. m.), a dale, dall, dal(e), a dale, meadow (in place-name). meadow. ho˛fuðsimi, *halsimi, halter, ousym, oalsum, halter, fetter. head tie. kálfr, kalfr, calf. Colloo, a calf (geographical) (place-name). kleggi, a gadfly. clegg, a gadfly. lang-helda, langhalde, a type of lanket, langeid, a type of fetter. fetter. Fishing activities – 7 loanwords dorg, an angler’s tackle, a darrag, a hand fishing line. fishing line. far-tálmi, farar-tálmi, hindrance fartum(an), fartiman, a long line (from shore), a or delay in journey. night line, a ground line. karfi, a carp. carroo, a carp. keila, gadus longus or ‘long cod’. kellag(h), keilleig, kellig, codfish or pollock. greiði, material, equipment. greie, equipment, tools, implements. íli, submerged rock. aahley, ailey, ailey vie, a fishing bank at sea. skata, skate. skaddan, herring.53 Maritime items and activities – 10 loanwords akkeri, anchor. aker, anchor. bátr, boat. baatey, baadey, boat. bekkr, bench. beck, bench, rudder-bench. boði, a breaker over sunken rocks. boa, bowe, a rock over which waves break, a reef. byrðingr, cargo-ship. burling, a galley, bark, a type of ship. floti, a fleet, a raft. flod, plod, a fleet. hlunnr, timbers, rollers for lhun, roller for launching ship. launching. kjóll, a ship. kiouyl, kewyl, keel. skip, a ship. skib, a ship or boat (place-name element). stýra, to steer, to rule. stiurey, to steer. Social circumstances – 9 loanwords jarl, earl. eearley, earl. lo˛g, law. leigh, law. markaðr, market. margad, margey, margee, a market. nábúi, neighbour. naboo, naaboo, neighbour. penningr, penny. pingin, penginn, penning, ping, penny. rannsaka, to search, to ransack. ronsee, search. skipu-ligr, orderly, clever, neat. skibbylt, active, nimble. sess, seat, comrade. sheshey, a friend, a companion. sprettr, a spurt, a spring. spret, a start, a struggle, a shove. (Continued)

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TABLE 5.1 (Continued)

Old Norse

Manx Gaelic

Topographical features – 12 loanwords eið, *aið, an isthmus, neck The Eye, a ford, part of a stream leaving a lake, an of land. isthmus (place-name). ey, eyland, o˛yland, an island. -ey, ellan, an island. gil, gap, cleft, crevice. gill, watercourse, valley. gjá, gjo˛́ , a chasm, a rift, pool. giau, giaw, ghaw, a creek, a ravine with a stream. klettr, kletti (dat.), rock, cliff, hill. clett, a rocky eminence, ridge, cliff, a rock in the sea. knappr, a knob. knapp, a knob, a stud (place-name). nes, spit of land. Neash, island (place-name). sker, a rock in the sea. sker, a rock in the sea, a skerry. stakkr, a hay stack, pile, a stack. stack, high cliff in the sea. stallr, a shelf, ledge, block. stall, a peat bank; a ledge (topographical). stykki, a piece. stuggan, stuggey, a small piece (of land), half grown person. vík, bay, creek. -wick, -ick, a nook, cove (place-name). Settlement – 9 loanwords borg, town, city, a fort. burrow, a town, fortification (place-name). ból, farmyard, yard. boayl, a spot, a place, also in place-name. garðr, a yard. garey, garda-, a garden, yard (place-name). grind, a gate, lattice gate. grinney, a gate. kappella, a chapel. cabbal, a chapel. lopt, loft, a loft. lout, a loft, terrace. topt, toft, place marked on toftas, -tofthar, thowt, a plot of ground. ground for hut, a plot. vindauga, window. uinniag, uinnag, a window. o˛gr, an inlet, a bay, a cove. ag, agg, a nook, a hollow, a cleft, a notch. Tools and equipment – 4 loanwords spánn, spónn, a chip, a spoon. spain, a spoon. keppr, a cudgel, a club, a stick/ keppa, a block, a stick, a stake. stock. klofi, a fork (of a river), a cleft. clou, clouw, a pair of tongs. meiss, basket. meays, a large basket, hamper, a measure of 500 fish. Ungrouped – 2 loanwords brók, brækr (pl.), hose. braag, a shoe. skarfr, cormorant. skaroo, cormorant.

Notes 1 This paper is based on a paper delivered at the ISMARN (Irish Sea in the Middle Ages Research Network) conference ‘The Irish Sea in the Viking Age’, Douglas, Isle of Man, 12–13 July 2017. 2 See Gelling, Margaret. ‘The Place-Names of the Isle of Man [part 1]’. Journal of the Manx Museum 7, no. 86 (1970): 130–9; Gelling, Margaret. ‘The Place-Names of the Isle of Man [part 2]’. Journal of the Manx Museum 7, no. 87 (1971): 168–75; Megaw, Basil R. S. ‘Norseman and Native in the Kingdom of the Isles: A Re-assessment of the Manx Evidence’. Scottish Studies 20 (1976): 1–44; Megaw, Basil R. S. ‘Norseman and Native

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in the Kingdom of the Isles: A Re-assessment of the Evidence’. In Man and Environment in the Isle of Man, edited by Peter Davey (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 54). Oxford: BAR, 1978, 265–314. Gelling, ‘Place-Names’ [part 1]; Gelling, ‘Place-Names’ [part 2]; Kneen, J. J. The PlaceNames of the Isle of Man with Their Origin and History. Douglas: Yn Cheshaght Ghailchagh, 1925–28; Marstrander, Carl J. S. ‘Det Norsk Landnåm på Man’. Norsk Tidsskrift for Sprogvidenskap 6 (1932): 40–386. Kneen, Place-Names, xvi. Marstrander, ‘Norsk Landnåm’, 336–7. Gelling, ‘Place-Names’ [part 1], 139. Gelling, ‘Place-Names’ [part 2], 174. Gelling, ‘Place-Names’ [part 1], 139. For ‘slight linguistic survival’, see Gelling, ‘Place-Names’ [part 1], 139, for ‘virtual disappearance’, see Gelling, ‘Place-Names’ [part 2], 174. Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1976]; Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1978]. Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1978], 265. In Gelling’s earlier work, she had accepted the dating of the key ‘abbeyland bounds’ document to around the 1370s, placing it after the Scandinavian period, thus treating it as indicative of the reintroduction of Gaelic. Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1978], 276. Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1978], 288. Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1978], 275. Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1978], 299; Gelling, Margaret. ‘Norse and Gaelic in Medieval Man: the Place-Name Evidence’. In Davey, Man and Environment, 251–64, at 259. Megaw, ‘Norseman’ [1978], 292. Gelling, ‘Norse and Gaelic’, 251. Gelling, ‘Norse and Gaelic’, 259. Gelling, Margaret. ‘The Place-Names of the Isle of Man’. In Language Contact in the British Isles. Proceedings of the Eighth International Symposium on Language Contact in Europe, Douglas, Isle of Man, 1988, edited by Per Sture Ureland and George Broderick. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1991, 141–55, at 141. Thomson, R. L. ‘Language in Man: Prehistory to Literacy’. In A New History of the Isle of Man Volume 3: The Medieval Period 1000–1406, edited by Harold Mytum and Seán Duffy. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2015, 241–56, at 244. Thomson, ‘Language’, 244; Jackson, Kenneth H. ‘Common Gaelic: the Evolution of the Goedelic Languages’. Proceedings of the British Academy 37 (1951): 71–97, at 78. Fellows Jensen, Gillian. ‘The Manx Place-Name Evidence’. In Mytum and Duffy, New History 3, 257–80, at 260. Oftedal, Magne. ‘“Ardroil”’. In Indo-Celtica. Gedächtnisschrift für Alf Sommerfelt. Munich: Max Heuber Verlag, 1972, 111–25; Small, Alan. ‘The Viking Highlands a Geographical View’. In The Dark Ages in the Highlands: Ancient peoples, Local History, Archaeology, edited by E. Meldrum. Inverness, Inverness Field Club, 1972, 69–90; Withers, Charles W. J. Gaelic in Scotland, 1698–1981: The Geographical History of a Language. Edinburgh: John Donald Publishers Ltd, 1984, at 16–27. Helleland, Botolv. ‘Place Names and Identities’. Names and Identities, Oslo Studies in Language 4, no. 2 (2012): 95–116, at 96. Helleland, ‘Place Names’, 99–100. For an explanation of the linguistic factors governing contact-induced language change, and a discussion of historical language evidence as proxy for the social, economic and cultural circumstances of Scandinavians in Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man, see McDonald, Roderick W. ‘Vikings in the Hebridean Economy: Methodology and Gaelic Language Evidence of Scandinavian Influence’. Zeitschrift für celtische Philologie 62 (2015): 97–182. For an examination of the association of linguistic behaviour with social and cultural affiliations, see McDonald, Roderick W. ‘Dynamics of Identity:

The problem of Manx

28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35

36

37 38 39 40 41 42 43

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Norse Loanword-borrowers in Ireland and Scotland, and Linguistic Evidence of Urbanization’. EOLAS: The Journal for the American Society of Irish Medieval Studies 11 (2018): 2–31, at 4–8. McDonald, ‘Dynamics’, 23. See McDonald, ‘Vikings’, 101–2. See McDonald, Roderick W. ‘Scandinavians in the Celtic West: Loanword Evidence and Social Impact’. PhD Thesis, University of Sydney, 2009, at 43–4; Thomason, Sarah Grey and Terence Kaufman. Language Contact, Creolization and Genetic Linguistics. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988, at 36–8. See Thomason and Kaufman, Language Contact, 480. Lewin, Christopher. ‘“Manx Hardly Deserved to Live”: Perspectives on Language Contact and Language Shift’. Zeitschrift für celtische Philologie 64 (2017): 141–205, at 171. Lewin, Christopher, pers. comm., 5 May 2017. Christopher Lewin brought this possibility to my attention, pers. comm., 4 August 2019. Rhyˆs, John. The Outlines of the Phonology of Manx Gaelic. Douglas: Manx Society, 1894. I am indebted to Christopher Lewin for his considerable expertise in Manx linguistics and his preparedness to discuss his work with me during the late stages of drafting this paper. Marstrander, ‘Norsk Landnåm’, 58, states ‘overordentlig utbredt er også utviklingen av utlyderene n, l, m, ŋ efter sterkt betonet vocal til dn, dl, dm, dŋ’ (the development of n, l, m, ŋ after the stressed vowel to dn, dl, dm, dŋ is also extraordinarily widespread). Author’s translation. Jackson, Kenneth H. Contributions to the Study of Manx Phonology. Edinburgh: Thomas Nelson and Sons for the University Press, 1955, both quotes at 113. Broderick, George. A Handbook of Late Spoken Manx. Vol. 3, Phonology. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1986, at 28–34. See Marstrander, ‘Norsk Landnåm’, 58; Jackson, Contributions, 114; Broderick, Handbook, 29–30. Phonological transcriptions in square brackets are based on the transcription form employed by each scholar. George, Ken. ‘Cornish’. In The Celtic Languages, edited by Martin J. Ball and Nicole Müller. London: Routledge, 1993. George dates pre-occlusion in Cornish to c.1575, at 498. Haraldur Bernharðsson. Icelandic A Historical Linguistic Companion. Reykjavík: Háskóli Íslands, 2014, at 196. Stefán Karlsson. The Icelandic Language, translated by Rory McTurk. London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2014, at 21. It is important to acknowledge that Lewin strongly favours the view ‘that there is no (direct) link between Manx and North Germanic preocclusion … [and that it is] better viewed as one possible outcome of the common prosodic/metrical characteristics of these languages’, pers. comm., 4 August 2019. See McDonald, ‘Scandinavians’, for a more comprehensive consideration of the loanwords across the three Gaelic languages. Norse loanword numbers have often been underestimated in the scholarship: for example, in respect of Manx Gaelic, Thomson, ‘Language’, 254, lists only 24 loanwords, and such scholarship is persistent. Thomson is cited as an authority most recently in Etchingham, Colmán, Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Máire Ní Mhaonaigh, and Elizabeth Ashman Rowe, Norse–Gaelic Contacts in a Viking World. Turnhout: Brepols, 2019, at 16. McDonald, Alexander. A Galick and English Vocabulary. Edinburgh: Robert Fleming, 1741, and Cregeen, Archibald. Fockleyrny Gaelgey. A Dictionary of the Manks Language. Braddan: Cheshaght Ghailackagh, 1835, are the earliest published lexicons in Scottish Gaelic and Manx, respectively. The first plausible appearance of the s‐ form in Scottish Gaelic is in MacBain, Alexander. An Etymological Dictionary of Scottish Gaelic. Inverness: Northern Counties Printing and Publishing Co. Ltd, 1896, at 277.

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46 Reid, John. Bibliotheca Scoto–Celtica. Glasgow: John Reid & Co., 1832, at 56. The eight dictionaries are McDonald, Galick and English; Shaw, William. A Galic and English Dictionary, London: W. & A. Strahan, 1780; Mac Farlan, Robert. A New Alphabetical Vocabulary Gailic and English. Edinburgh: John Moir, 1795; MacFarlane, P. A New and Copious Vocabulary [etc]. Edinburgh: A. Constable and Co., 1815; Armstrong, R. A. Gaelic Dictionary. London: James Duncan, 1825; Highland Society of Scotland. Dictionarium Scoto-Celtica. A Dictionary of the Gaelic Language. Edinburgh: William Blackwood, 1828; MacLeod, Norman and Daniel Dewar. A Dictionary of the Gaelic Languages. Glasgow: W. R. M’Phun, 1831; and McAlpine, Neil. Pronouncing GaelicEnglish Dictionary. Edinburgh: for the author, 1832. 47 It is equally clear that contextualising to modern usage is problematic: The s‐ form certainly exists in Scottish Gaelic today and the online dictionary Am Faclair Beag includes both forms, both with online confirmation by fluent speakers of their current usage: https://www.faclair.com/, accessed 24 July 2019. 48 Thomson, ‘Language’, 253–4, lists 88 loanwords from Latin, the majority concerned with ecclesiastical matters. Manx shares many of these with Scottish Gaelic and/or Irish, and even though a more thorough source-critical analysis is needed, we can assume that the majority of these form the common stock of lexis dealing with religion and church across the Gaelic languages, having spread far and wide through the expansion of Christianity in the Celtic West. Moreover, Thomson’s list does not acknowledge the likelihood of some loans not being from Latin speakers, per se. For example, the apparent Latin loan ‘Mx straid “street” (strata [via])’ does not acknowledge cognate usage through Romance, Celtic, and Germanic languages alike. 49 Note Whyte, Alasdair. ‘Settlement-names and society: analysis of the medieval districts of Forsa and Moloros in the parish of Torosay, Mull’. PhD Thesis, University of Glasgow, Scotland, 2017, discusses the ‘model for Norse settlement in and around potentially powerful ecclesiastical communities’, at 152. 50 Thomson, ‘Language’, 253. 51 I am indebted to Professor Sir David Wilson for drawing to my attention the different (monastic) nature of the keill compared with the cabbal on the Isle of Man during the medieval period, and the more extensive presence of kialteenyn. 52 It is noteworthy that scholarship that uses loanwords as evidence typically tends not to acknowledge the contingent nature of the data. 53 See McDonald, ‘Vikings’, 138, for detailed discussion.

6 LEGAL CUSTOM AND LEX CASTRENSIS? Using law and literature to navigate the North-Sea neighbourhood in the late Viking Age Keith Ruiter Abstract: In his Lex Castrensis, the twelfth-century Danish writer Sven Aggesen tells the story of the creation of a law that he attributes to Knútr inn ríki (Cnut the Great) as a means of governing his substantial military following of retainers, known as the hirð. As unlikely as it is for Sven to claim that he preserves the law exactly as it was in Knútr’s own time, the text’s focus on process and punishment raises an intriguing question: can evidence be seen for shifting punitive attitudes and legal exchange in the late Viking-Age period of intense contact, interaction, and accommodation between Scandinavia and the British Isles? This chapter will offer a first step in considering the possibility for the exchange of legal practices and concepts in this context, and present a newly refined picture of England and its Scandinavian neighbours – one which points to sophisticated legal interchange happening much earlier than usually thought.

Introduction Lex Castrensis (hereafter LC) is a vexing source. Written in the late twelfth century, this Latin text purports to be a short, contemporary Latin translation of a set of Danish legal provisions dating back to the time of Knútr inn ríki (Cnut the Great), promulgated for the purpose of keeping his military following (Old Norse: hirð) in check. It recounts the story of infighting within the hirð, the king’s interest in bringing his following into concord, his consultation with legal experts to draft provisions to do so, and an exploration of notable cases of transgression of these provisions. However, the matter is not so straightforward. In the introduction to his translation of LC, in English called the Law of the Retainers, Eric Christiansen comments bluntly that the text is ‘a strange production’.1 It is a fair judgement, and doubly so from the perspective of legal history. Despite its claim to record accurately these Viking-Age legal details, LC also claims that the law ‘went out of date and was forgotten’,2 that it was rediscovered by Absalon (Archbishop of Lund 1178–1201) who wrote it down in the vernacular during the reign of Knútr VI (King of Denmark from 1182–1202), and perhaps most confusingly, that these same legal principles and precedents, despite

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being purportedly forgotten, were consulted during the reign of Nicolaus (King Niels of Denmark, reigning 1103/4–1134).3 Consulting the life of the author of the document, Sven Aggesen, does not clarify these matters. Almost nothing is known about him except that he was a contemporary of medieval Denmark’s most famous historian, Saxo Grammaticus. He came from a powerful political family (Sven was nephew to Archbishop Eskil of Lund), he witnessed the surrender of the Pomeranians to Knútr VI, and he wrote LC, Compendiosa Regum Daniae Historia (sometimes called Brevis Historia Regum Dacie), and a now lost genealogy of the kings of Denmark – all of which are details only contained in his own writings.4 Christiansen lays out a compelling case for Sven to be an archdeacon at Lund, who ‘put his legal expertise, such as it was, at the service of the new archbishop’.5 However, LC is not actually a law text in the conventional sense. Precious little attention is paid in Sven’s work to the provisions themselves, and far more detail is given to the story of the events surrounding their promulgation. LC states that the law at the heart of its discourse was a means by which Knútr, as king of England and its neighbours, Denmark and Norway, would be able to keep order in his substantial and diverse hirð. Due in part to this lack of attention to the legal provisions themselves, Christiansen argues that the text is a legal tractus, seeing it as something of a thinking exercise focused on the stipulated origin of this set of rules, their subsequent modifications, the logistics of trial and punishment, and the ethics of these provisions, all set in a narrative frame.6 However, in the context of the present volume, LC itself provides room for a new thinking exercise. In the intense and sustained contact, interaction, and accommodation that we can see in the late Viking Age – something LC clearly recalls with some accuracy – can evidence be seen for shifting attitudes to punishment and legal exchange between England and its Scandinavian neighbours? This discussion will use Sven’s text as a point of departure from which to consider how legal ideological exchange might have been possible in Knútr’s reign.

Lex Castrensis and establishing Knútr’s international legal legacy Although it is in the king’s power to issue or change laws, we do not issue this law as a new one; rather, as a law established from ancient times, which has been obscured by the clouds of ignorance, and which we are recalling to the memory of man, darkened over by the passage of many years, which is the mother of oblivion.7 This short extract from the conclusion of Knútr VI’s decree on homicide for Scania is highlighted by Christiansen as essential for considering the legal-historical context in which he situates LC. According to Christiansen, up until this decree in 1200, ‘kings had played little part in this business’ of law-making, and he argues that that they might attend assemblies, be entitled to fines and compensation, and be expected to swear ‘to uphold “the good laws of King Harald” (i.e. Harald

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Whetstone, d. 1080)’.8 However, one might reasonably ask how kings could have little part in the business of law-making before 1200 if Haraldr himself is remembered as making good law more than a century earlier,9 especially given his short, four-year reign? Much has been made in recent years about early law in Scandinavia,10 but even these studies focus on the systems as recorded by the earliest provincial laws, which were systems based, as Christensen puts it, ‘on collective responsibility and private prosecution, not on royal attempts at peace-keeping’.11 While there can be little doubt that the collective and customary nature of Scandinavian law remained a central component of even later medieval laws, Scandinavian and Icelandic historical sources point to the late Viking Age as a period in which kings were taking more and more of an active role in overseeing law-making.12 Regardless of whether these laws were inherently related to the legislation recorded in the medieval provincial laws,13 or even whether these had a certain royal character to them, is very much beyond the point. In the cultural memories of Scandinavians and Icelanders, kings indeed had a part to play in late Viking-Age law-making, something that LC itself attests to.14 If law in general, and customary law in particular, should be thought of as an extension of what Elkins has described as ‘the stories we tell ourselves’,15 it behoves us to stop and listen to the stories that medieval Danes were telling themselves. Indeed, if we look to England, Knútr shows himself to have been a keen legislator, promulgating two codes with a range of innovations over those of Æthelred II and issuing a number of further legally interested documents.16 While it is entirely possible that Knútr’s legislative attitude may have been different in England from his approach in Denmark, the English evidence would suggest that we should not be quite so hasty to count out Knútr as legally disinterested outside of England. After all, if he was disinterested in guiding the governance and legislation of his other territories, it seems curious to install his first wife, Ælfgifu of Northampton, as his royal representative in Norway.17 In this light, it seems that Christiansen’s suggestion that ‘no other Nordic source of the twelfth or thirteenth century gives any hint that “old” Knut was remembered as a legislator’ might be throwing the legal baby out with the source-critical bathwater, especially when he argues that it was likely bishop Absalon who attached Knútr’s name to a new code in order to ‘justify whatever innovations it contained’.18 In fact, such a justification would itself have to rely on Knútr being remembered for his association with good law in Absalon and Sven’s own time. So while Knútr’s association with law-making might not be well-attested in other surviving twelfth- and thirteenthcentury sources, Sven’s LC and Saxo Grammaticus’s sweeping history Gesta Danorum themselves hint at precisely such an association being current. It should also be pointed out that Christiansen is not entirely correct in suggesting that the record provided by Old Norse sources is without hints of Knútr as a legislator. Bolton has highlighted the likely existence of a whole range of legal innovations instituted by Knútr in Norway and overseen by Ælfgifu and their son, Sveinn.19 Evidence of these legal changes is attested in Ágrip, The Legendary Saga of St. Olaf, and Heimskringla, all twelfth- and thirteenth-century

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sources.20 Furthermore, Bolton has pointed out that, while the legal amendments included in the laws of the Gulaþing and Frostaþing do not explicitly mention Knútr, Ælfgifu, or their son, they do record the emendation of problematic laws that the saga evidence suggests were associated with Knútr’s law-making.21 The narratives of these Norwegian and Icelandic sources appear to unanimously agree that Knútr’s law-making in Norway was harsh, punitive, and ultimately responsible for driving the Norwegian people to depose Sveinn in 1034. The details of these matters can be debated further,22 but for our purposes here, the association between Knútr and law-making is certainly present. The association between Knútr and law-making appears to have been used elsewhere in the twelfth century to similarly lend legal gravitas to provisions and decisions, notably in the Liber Landauensis. In this twelfth-century compilation, Knútr’s association with law and governance are used to lend legitimacy to a charter affirming the holdings of Llandaff, appearing along with the names of other administrative movers and shakers like King Rhydderch ap Iestyn of Morgannwg and Archbishop Æthelnoth of Canterbury.23 Bolton ultimately argues that, despite the chronological accuracy of the document, the too-convenient way which the charter sits with twelfth-century Welsh politics makes it a likely forgery.24 However, just like Christiansen’s suggestion above with Absalon, it points again to a clear memory of Knútr as being associated with law and governance; an association that was so ubiquitous that it could be tactically deployed to lend force to legal novelties in both Wales and Denmark in the twelfth century. The fact that Christiansen himself points to the same attitude being demonstrated in the twelfth-century English sources Constitutiones de Foresta and Consiliatio Cnuti solidifies the fact that these associations were current in both Britain and neighbouring Scandinavia.25 Furthermore, the consistency of this association certainly suggests that it is not simple fabrication on Absalon’s part. Knútr was, in all likelihood, a keen legislator and legal innovator. Considered from this perspective, the veracity of the legal provisions within LC themselves are second to the association between Knútr, law-making, and his diverse following as king of England, Denmark, and Norway. All of these characteristics are corroborated by both Scandinavian and English sources, including those of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. This opens an interesting new possibility for exploration: is it possible to see Knútr’s reign as a unique moment where law and legal thinking were being exchanged between England and its Scandinavian neighbours, like so many other ideas and commodities of the late Viking Age?

Knútr’s approach to Viking-Age problems Now he had brought together men of such divergent national customs into the one household, his task was this: how, within the army of so great a king, gathered as it were, from various peoples (that is, from all the kingdoms which had been subjected to his authority) and with a variety of

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usages that jarred against each other, the warriors were to put their quarrels and differences to rest, forbear mutual wrangling, and serve together with equal devotion, as befits honest messmates with the same lord. […] However, it was no easy matter to pacify a crowd of so many quarrelsome men unless he checked them by punishment from falling into misconduct, so that the correction itself should be severe enough to restrain their bold delinquency.26 It has been pointed out that Knútr’s English reign was not unique in its requirement to bring diverse peoples under the rule of one law.27 Patrick Wormald has convincingly shown that English kings since Edgar had been struggling with more or less serious attempts to accommodate the customs of and rectify the legal differences between the English and Scandinavian peoples under their power.28 This should be seen, however, as an attempt to bring a heterogeneous population under English legislation, rather than an effort to synthesise or hybridise heterogeneous legal traditions and practices. The passage from LC above does suggest that Knútr’s successes may have exacerbated these problems beyond those experienced by his predecessors. LC’s narrative claims that Knútr had ‘annexed England, Norway, Slavia, and Finland to his own kingdom’ and, as such, had attracted such a diverse following to himself that he needed to seek legal innovations in order to ensure stability.29 Adjusting legal frameworks for diverse populations and cultures does seem to have been an issue in certain corners of Viking-Age Scandinavia. Sven Kalmring, for example, has pointed out that the rapidly urbanising spaces of Scandinavian proto-towns and proto-urban areas may best be understood as special economic zones (SEZs), where extensive foreign investments and presences necessitate a somewhat non-local approach to governance.30 In order to have the clearest legal messaging to their heterogeneous populations, these Viking-Age SEZs would likely have required the use of clear, visible, and unambiguous punishments to discourage transgressive behaviour that would upset the peace of the SEZ.31 Based on comparative findings in England and early medieval Poland, an increase in visible corporal and capital punishments would be one way that this could be achieved.32 Intriguingly, Sven’s LC makes precisely the same argument of Knútr’s court and, notably, his English court in particular. After all, it is ‘when the army was all assembled in England’ that Sven claims the new laws were promulgated.33 This is important contextual information that does smack of historical truth. While we know that the courts of English kings before Knútr were indeed diverse places that had active interests in the peoples, politics, and laws of elsewhere,34 the breadth of Knútr’s influence would have notably increased the existing heterogeneity of the English court. This may have necessitated precisely the approach that LC suggests: a reliance on severe and visible punishment to discourage transgressions. The sticking point with this hypothesis for a harsher punitive attitude to dissuade transgression in heterogeneous spaces, is that judicial violence was already deeply

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engrained in the English legal system as a key means to discourage transgression. Analysis of textual and archaeological evidence has pointed to a highly regimented system of visible, violent punishments being used and refined throughout the laws of early medieval English kings.35 By comparison, the legal systems of Scandinavia remained much more reliant on compensatory payments and outlawry well into the high medieval period,36 and it seems that this was a system which provided room for legal negotiation and more restorative-justice approaches. In fact, compared to his predecessor, Æthelred II, Knútr’s own English laws have far more of the decentralised features that Christiansen suggests are characteristic of early Scandinavian law.37 For example, Knútr’s proclamation of 1020 demonstrates his interest in a decentralised approach to governance and punishment: And likewise I enjoin upon all my reeves, under pain of forfeiting my friendship and all that they possess and their own lives, to govern my people justly everywhere, and to pronounce just judgments with the cognisance of the bishops of the dioceses, and to inflict such mitigated penalties as the bishop may approve and the man himself may be able to bear.38 This sentiment is even redoubled in his 1027 proclamation where Knútr highlights the breadth of his influence by styling himself as the king of England, Denmark, Norway, and part of Sweden: I enjoin likewise upon all the sheriffs and reeves throughout my kingdom that, as they desire to retain my friendship and their own security, they employ no unjust force towards any man, either rich or poor, but that all, both nobles and commoners, rich and poor, shall have the right of just possession, which shall not be infringed upon in any way, either for the sake of obtaining the favour of the king or of gratifying any powerful person or of collecting money for me; for I have no need that money should be collected for me by any unjust exactions.39 Of course, these features are not inherently more Scandinavian or English. Kings before Knútr had similar articulations in their own laws, but the fact that these provisions are prominently foregrounded in both of Knútr’s proclamations is suggestive of the fact that he may have been engaged in a wider attempt to integrate English and Scandinavian legal attitudes in his legislation. Knútr’s second English law, for example, works hard to distinguish and legitimise the differences in the practices of wergild forfeitures in areas of the Danelaw as compared to other areas in his realm.40 While allusions to different practices are included in the laws of Æthelred,41 this overt attention to and express inclusion of English and the diasporic Scandinavian community’s legal practices under one king’s legislation is a novelty in Knútr’s laws. His legal approach too, is dramatically different from his predecessor. Æthelred seemingly attempted to disguise or gloss over the polyjuridical nature of these provisions by attempting to present a sort of equivalency

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between matters like wergild,42 healsfang,43 and lahslit44 in different areas under his legislation. By comparison, the approach in the law code II Cnut is to distinguish these matters in geographical and cultural terms, highlighting and legitimising their polyjuridical authority under his law.45 This is an important revelation. Knútr’s legislative approach in England largely appears to focus on respecting and supporting the differences in legal custom as traditionally practiced throughout his realm – be those English or Scandinavian – especially when it came to dispute settlement. But what about matters of national importance? This is where Knútr tips his hand as a keen and flexible legal innovator. Bolton has highlighted the subtle legal and political manoeuvres that Knútr deployed in entrenching his own power in England and bringing the English church under his authority, making distinct power plays and using different strategies in different regions.46 Jonsson has helpfully enumerated Knútr’s similarly regional approach to coinage and minting in England, Denmark, and Norway, the first two seeing some clear, but independent, innovations during Knútr’s reign.47 Even regarding urbanisation, arguments have been made that Knútr employed distinct and discrete policies in Denmark compared to England, possibly importing English innovations into Danish urban development.48 However, LC poses an interesting problem by highlighting one key area that Knútr would be unable to take a regional approach to law, the hirð.

Lex Castrensis: a fictionalised solution to a factual Viking-Age problem? Close attention should be paid to the story – rather than the history – of LC. The scholarship of Indigenous law highlights the importance of considering narratives and stories as expressions and articulations of customary law,49 and there is much in this approach that can inform the study of early medieval law. Focusing on Sven’s story in LC presents us with a number of key details that require unpacking. First, the setting of Sven’s narrative should be reflected on. The text claims that Knútr ‘was resting amid his warlike enterprises in the calm of peace’.50 This places the legislative events to come in an ideal setting. Knútr is not making rash reactive decisions, but rather is a successful king without the distractions of war or uprisings. However, it would seem that this idle time is when his military following is most in need of governing. We are told that these events unfold in England when his forces were assembled; however, Knútr clearly has a problem before him that requires specialist guidance and counsel as he purportedly calls for a certain ‘Øpi the Wise of Sjælland and his son, Eskil’.51 So despite being in England with his diverse following and presumably his English legislative advisers, Sven importantly includes Danish legal specialists in these matters as well. The problem to be solved is similarly international: how to govern the hirð. As mentioned above, if we accept Sven’s story for its internal logic, this is not a problem that could be solved with a regional approach. Knútr’s followers would,

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true to form, follow him as he moved throughout his realm and, being full of heterogeneous people jockeying for position, he would indeed require a way to dissuade members of his hirð from transgressing legal and social norms. Sven presents the solution to this problem as a series of newly ratified provisions that are primarily based on punishing transgressors by displacing them in a highly stratified seating arrangement and thus a lasting and visible mark of dishonour. There are distinctions between greater and lesser transgressions, but the kernel of the system revolves around the proximity of Knútr’s retainers to his person. Fittingly, in special cases the king would also be able to pardon the wrongdoer.

Knútr’s punitive attitude and a case for legal exchange in the late Viking Age Consulting Knútr’s second English law, the facticity of these matters is up for some debate. On the one hand, it seems that fighting in the hirð may have been very harshly punished: Concerning those who fight at the king’s Court. If anyone fights at the king’s court, he shall lose his life, unless the king is willing to pardon him.52 Yet, on the other, there seems to have been room for minor violent transgressions of the king’s peace to be pragmatically punished according to severity: Breach of the peace. If anyone is guilty of a capital deed of violence while serving in the army, he shall lose his life or his wergeld. §1. If he is guilty of a minor deed of violence, he shall make amends according to the nature of the deed.53 While it remains unlikely that this was done by demoting retainers in the order of seating arrangements, as LC claims, the bones of Sven’s narrative remain strong enough to bear the weight of conceivability. It seems that governing the hirð was indeed likely accomplished by way of punishments that were ‘severe enough to restrain their bold delinquency’,54 but also that the king had pragmatic ways of interpreting the law, as well as mitigating or nullifying these punishments. These details are important because, given the fact that the Scandinavian provincial laws prefer outlawry to judicial violence,55 it would make sense that such legal details would leave a mark on the cultural memory of Danes associating Knútr with uncharacteristically punitive legal provisions. It is to these that we should now turn. These details thicken Sven’s plot considerably. It turns out that Knútr himself is the first to break this new law and in spectacular fashion. While still in England

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and still in peacetime, Sven’s Knútr kills one of his own retainers and the whole hirð flies into an uproar; first for justice, and then, once they realise the identity of the perpetrator, for a solution to a vexing issue: For their opinions were divided, and their verdict was doubtful and uncertain: whether to punish the king with death on account of the novelty of the crime, or was he entitled to pardon? For if the king were to undergo the prescribed sentence, they would be driven out of this foreign country as leaderless fugitives; but if they were swayed by their reverence for the king, the example of their corrupt indulgence would enable others to commit the same offence.56 Sven’s legal narrative here presents a curious thought-experiment: how does an international following of an international king navigate an international legal solution when the king, who legitimised the law and grants legitimacy to his legally empowered hirð, has, in a moment of weakness, undermined all these structures? The problem articulated by Sven is that if justice is passed according to the letter of the narrated law, the hirð will be responsible for the death of the king, making themselves fugitives. How might it be possible to solve the quandary? Once more, the system presented in Sven’s narrative appears to be rooted fairly convincingly in customary law. In fitting fashion, the hirð ‘gathered into a body and made careful inquiry into what they were to do’.57 Again, this is not a rash, reactive decision; rather, this diverse group of retainers comes together in a microassembly of sorts and renders a communal judicial decision based on the king’s provision that is in their best interest. It is, in fact, an extension of precisely the early medieval system of ‘collective responsibility and private prosecution’ described by Christiansen in his introduction.58 Even more interesting is the fact that Knútr seems to willingly give himself over to the judgement of the collective in the narrative even if it might result in his death. He is presented as both a careful law-maker and as deferring to the legal decision-making of the collective in matters of interpreting that law and weighing justice. These details are illuminating from the perspective of early medieval law, and it warrants a pause for further reflection. Sven’s version of events has Knútr, as king of England and its Scandinavian neighbours, inviting legal specialists to join him and his hirð in England to develop and pronounce legal innovations. His punitive strategy seems to lie within the actual English tradition of the late Viking Age, relying on severe and visible punishment to dissuade transgression, but he balances this with an apparent appeal to his Danish legal specialists.59 And yet, when he himself transgresses the law while still in England, he gives himself over for judgement to the collective he has wronged. Despite a seemingly more English character to the prescribed punishments associated with these new laws, the process by which the case is tried is decidedly in the Scandinavian tradition. It focuses not on centralised authority, but rather on diffusive legal decision-making in a collective assembly. The story certainly fits very well alongside the highly

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international character of Knútr’s reign and with recent suggestions that especially his English reign was likely a nexus of Scandinavian and English legal practice.60 This interaction of Scandinavian and English legal ideas and practices is especially detectable in England where a larger corpus of texts survive. Sara Pons-Sanz, for example, has pointed to clear places in the vocabulary of English legislation where Norse-derived legal vocabulary was creeping into the English legal technolect.61 While this process had already begun before the time of Æthelred and Knútr’s famous legal advisor Wulfstan II, there is a distinctly high number of Norse-derived terms in I-II Cnut. Pons-Sanz herself argues that this is most likely due to their official character and the breadth and diversity of their intended audiences;62 an observation that sits well with the discussion of that legislation, above. We can also see sources like the Anglo–Saxon Chronicle presenting Knútr as having a rather distinct approach to punishment in his English reign. For example, Æthelred is recorded in the Chronicle as potentially ordering judicially violent punishments in 993, 1002, 1006, 1014, and potentially 1015.63 Knútr, by comparison, is only associated with violent punishment in the tumultuous years of his early reign, specifically 1016–18 where he appears to have been putting down an uprising,64 and then again in 1021–22, where he outlawed Þorkell and Leofwine only to reconcile with both of them.65 Compared to his predecessor, Knútr’s personal approach to punishment in England is actually less severe, potentially hinting at deference to the legal customs of local collectives, as is suggested in LC, rather than imposing a centralised punitive strategy of his own.

Literary approaches to the customary law of the late Viking Age The situation in Scandinavia is quite different. With only skaldic poetry and the runic corpus containing the most securely datable snippets of late Viking-Age text,66 it is much more difficult to piece together these matters. However, LC may provide us with an example of a tentative way forward. Returning to the text of LC, the result of this private prosecution of the king by his hirð was a mutually agreed settlement that allowed the king to atone for his crime and we are told that: ‘in the end this sentence was passed by the whole cohort, and no wrong conclusion was to be drawn from it thereafter’.67 Furthermore, according to Sven, the law itself was preserved for posterity, although in order to better govern these matters in the future, it was agreed that the law was to be amended so that: any man who committed this kind of misdeed in future was to be disqualified from any dispensation, nor was he to make compensation for the crime. He was to expiate the gravity of the offence by submitting to an inexorable sentence of death, or at least, were the law to be relaxed, he was to depart from the whole association of warriors as an exile and a fugitive and an utter outcast, named by the shameful word of Nithingsorth.68

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These matters are concluded in such a way that LC claims this law was not transgressed again through the reign of eight subsequent kings. This immediate prescription of judicial execution or full outlawry and the ascription of the odious title of níðingr is somewhat out of place in Scandinavian legislation of this date.69 The earliest Scandinavian provincial laws only ascribe capital punishment in very select cases, most commonly serious breaches of local social stability like murder, rape, adultery, and theft.70 Notably, none of these is the least bit concerned with royal protection or the conduct of the king’s retainers. Suddenly, we are returned to Christiansen’s suggestion that, seemingly, kings did not much factor in to the business of law-making in the late Viking Age. But what if we take Sven at his word on this matter? Just as Knútr would need to, and seemingly did, formally integrate some Scandinavian legal customs and ideas into his English legislation, so too would he need to bring English law to bear on certain areas of his wider realm, especially in his immediate following. Adopting a more severe approach to judicially violent punishment in this setting, as was more common in English legislation, would have precisely the effect Sven suggests of tempering transgression. It would also leave a mark on the cultural memory of Danes as being a notably harsh punitive attitude, particularly if his successors to the Danish throne followed his legal examples – something which LC also seems to imply. Such a suggestion is hinted at by important evidence. Knútr’s own English legislation stipulated that those who fought in the hirede, the Old English cognate of hirð, were to pay with their life unless the king pardoned them.71 It seems highly unlikely and unnecessarily complicated to suggest that Knútr had different laws for his hirð in different regions of his realm, especially given his remarkable mobility within the British Isles, Scandinavia, and beyond.72 In fact, in the Scandinavian legal systems that were so focused on collective responsibility, the hirð is one of the few areas that a king could most easily act as a legal innovator and directly oversee those innovations. As already noted, the bulk of the specifics of Sven’s LC are probably very firmly rooted in his own time, and its treatment by scholars as a learned legal tractus is certainly the most secure. Nevertheless, it has been seen that some of the underlying details of the text seem to resonate with semi-remembered realities from Knútr’s actual reign. Knútr’s role in bringing diverse and heterogeneous people from the British Isles and neighbouring Scandinavia together under his rule, his associations with law-making and innovation, and possibly even his approaches to legal punishment and procedure all appear to be discernible in the background of LC’s narrative. Working in exploratory directions with different types of historical documentation and literature, Bolton has done much clarifying of Knútr’s reign, and, in her discussion of Wulfstan’s influence on Scandinavian legislation, PonzSans has even used her linguistic analysis of texts to suggest that Knútr’s reign over England and its Scandinavian neighbours might well have facilitated the movement of English legal vocabulary, especially the expanded senses of grið, into Norway and Denmark.73 In the same way, it behoves us to work across law and literature in interdisciplinary and exploratory ways to consider the extent to which

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early medieval customary law might yet be detectable in the surviving corpus of stories. Work by lawyers and modern legal scholars over the last three decades has embraced such an approach. James R. Elkins, writing in 1990, documents the then novel development in legal studies that law and stories helpfully engage with one another and can lead lawyers of all stripes to better understand how law intersects with human interests, culture, and history.74 Nowhere has this approach been more manifestly successful than in the field of Indigenous law where stories are viewed not as separate from law, but implicit in, expressions of, and calls towards customary legal traditions that are intrinsically interwoven with other areas of Indigenous lifeways and praxis.75 Similarly, Viking-Age law is customary law. There may indeed be quite the gulf between medieval Old Norse sources and these customary legal concepts and practices, but evidence exists in both Scandinavia and neighbouring Britain that, in dialogue, can help us to close this gap somewhat. We merely need to approach it in new ways. As has been the case in the study of Indigenous law, listening closely to and reflecting on the stories that claim to remember the customary legal elements of the Viking Age might allow us to piece together a little more of these practices that allowed neighbours to get on with each other in this complex and rapidly changing time. Yet, these methods have even more potential. By recognising, acknowledging, and exploring the customary legal foundations of European nations, meaningful progress can be made in the modern day to help bring European legal traditions into more effective decolonising dialogue with Indigenous legal traditions. In so doing, looking to the polyjuridical, customary legal particulars of Britain and its neighbours in the past can help contribute to a more just future for the neighbourhood and further afield.

Notes 1 Christiansen, Eric, ed. and trans. The Works of Sven Aggesen: Twelfth–Century Danish Historian. Birmingham: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1992, 12. 2 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 31. ‘Uetustate prossus antiquasset obliuio’ (Gertz, Martin Clarentius, ed. Scriptores Minores Historiæ Danicæ. Copenhagen: J. Jørgensen and Co., 1917–18, 64). 3 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 39. 4 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 1–27. 5 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 4. 6 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 13. 7 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 7. For a deeper consideration of legal terminology and articulation in these earliest surviving laws of Denmark, see Tamm, Ditlev and Helle Vogt. ‘Creating a Danish Legal Language: Legal Terminology in the Medieval Law of Scania’. Historical Research 86, no. 233 (2013): 505–14. 8 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 7. 9 Haraldr Hen’s legal promulgations are documented, for example, in Saxo Grammaticus’s Gesta Danorum: Friis-Jensen, Karsten, ed. Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum: The History of the Danes, Vol. 2. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2015, 826–9. Saxo goes even further to suggest that semi-legendary kings like Ragnarr loðbrók were also remembered as legal innovators (see Friis-Jensen, Gesta Danorum, 640–1), and Heimskringla clearly points to Hákon Aðalsteinsfóstri inn góði as being remembered in

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association with good law-making (see Finlay, Alison, ed. Heimskringla, Vol. 1. Exeter: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2016, 96). Representative examples include Brink, Stefan. ‘Law and Legal Customs in Viking Age Scandinavia’. In The Scandinavians from the Vendel Period to the Tenth Century: An Ethnographic Perspective, edited by Judith Jesch. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2002, 87–117; Brink, Stefan. ‘The Creation of a Scandinavian Provincial Law’. Historical Research 86, no. 233 (2013): 432–42; Riisøy, Anne Irene. ‘Eddic Poetry: A Gateway to Late Iron Age Ladies of Law’. Journal of the North Atlantic, Special Volume 8, Debating the Thing in the North II: The Assembly Project (2016): 157–71; Riisøy, Anne Irene. ‘Performing Oaths in Eddic Poetry: Viking Age Fact or Medieval Fiction?’ Journal of the North Atlantic, Special Volume 8, Debating the Thing in the North II: The Assembly Project (2016): 141–56; Ruiter, Keith and Steven P. Ashby. ‘Different Strokes: Judicial Violence in Viking-Age England and Scandinavia’. Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 14 (2018): 153–84; Sanmark, Alexandra. Viking Law and Order. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press, 2017. Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 7. Consider the case put forward by Saxo in Book x.16.2 for direct royal law-making on the part of Óláfr (see Friis-Jensen, Gesta Danorum, 738–9), or Heimskringla’s account of Hákon, mentioned above. Tamm, Ditlev. ‘How Nordic are the Old Nordic Laws?’ in How Nordic are the Nordic Medieval Laws? Proceedings from the first Carlsberg Conference on Medieval Legal History Second Edition 2011, edited by Per Andersen, Ditlev Tamm, and Helle Vogt. Copenhagen: DJØF Publishing, 2011, 5–21. We can pause here to reflect on the situation in England in the late Viking Age for comparison. Levi Roach has convincingly synthesised a wide body of evidence to demonstrate that English legislation of the late Viking Age was also only partly under direct royal control and was most likely pragmatically negotiated by kings, their officials, and local assemblies in alignment with contemporary normative expectations. See Roach, Levi. ‘Law Codes and Legal Norms in Later Anglo-Saxon England’. Historical Research 86, no. 233 (2013): 465–86. In light of these findings, it is not unreasonable to suggest that a similar model may have existed in Scandinavia at the same time, despite the source-critical issues with surviving evidence. After all, such a model would explain the cultural memory of kings being involved in law-making while the earliest provincial laws maintain a distinctly collective character to them. Elkins, James R. ‘The Stories We Tell Ourselves in Law’. Journal of Legal Education 40, no. 1 (1990): 47–66. For a detailed examination of the character of Knútr’s laws, see Wormald, Patrick. The making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, Vol. 1. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999, 345–66. For a more recent consideration of Knútr’s laws in an English legal and ideological context, see Lambert, Tom. Law and Order in Anglo–Saxon England. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017, esp. 202–37, 238–93. These details are attested in Heimskringla, Óláfs saga Helga, ch. 239; Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson. Snorri Sturluson Heimskringla, Vol. 2 (Íslenzk Fornrit 27). Reykjavík: Hið Íslenzka fornleifafélag, 2002, 399–401. Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 10–1. For a full analysis of this evidence and its impact on the historical account of Knútr’s reign, see Bolton, Timothy. The Empire of Cnut the Great: Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century. Leiden: Brill, 2009, 275–88. For Ágrip, see chapters 28–9 in Driscoll, Michael J. ed. Ágrip af Nóregs konungaso ˛ gum: A Twelfth–Century Synoptic History of the Kings of Norway. Exeter: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2008, 40–2; for the Legendary Saga, see chapter 71 in Heinrichs, Anne. Olafs Saga hins Helga: die “Legendarische Saga” über Olaf den Heiligen (Hs. Delagard. Saml. N. 8II). Heidelberg: Winter, 1982, 172–4; for Heimskringla, see Óláfs saga Helga, ch. 239; Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson. Heimskringla, 399–401.

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21 Bolton, Empire of Cnut, 278. 22 See Bolton, Empire of Cnut, 278–88 for a fuller discussion of what he sees as the key issues and events leading up to the deposing of Sveinn. 23 Evans, J. Gwenogvryn and John Rhyˆs, eds. The Text of the Book of Llan Dâv, Reproduced from the Gwysaney Manuscript. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1893, 254. 24 Bolton, Empire of Cnut, 126–9. 25 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 11. 26 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 33–4. ‘Cum itaque tam dissonos ritus gentium uni coadunasset familie, opus erat, ut tanti regis exercitus, utpote ex uariis adunatus nationibus, uniuersis uidelicet regnis iurisdictioni sue subiugatis, quorum ritus dissona tamen uarietate discrepabant, omni contrarietatis sopita controuersia, prout contectales decet honestos, communi domino [...]. Non enim negotio facili tantorum cetum dissonum pacificare ualuisset, nisi pene (enormitate) precipitium temperaret excessus, ut ipsa correptionis magnitudo audaciam refrenaret delinquendi’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 68–70). 27 Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 174; Wormald, English Law, 349–52. 28 Wormald, English Law, 131–3, 355. 29 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 32. ‘Angliam, Noruegiam, Sclauiam cum Semlandia proprio regno aggregasset’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 66). 30 Kalmring, Sven. ‘Early Northern Towns as Special Economic Zones’. In New Aspects on Viking-Age Urbanism c. AD 750–1100, edited by Lena Holmquist, Sven Kalmring, and Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson. Stockholm: Archaeological Research Laboratory Stockholm University, 2016, 11–22, at 16–7. 31 Ruiter, Keith. ‘Mannjafnaðr: A Study of Normativity, Transgression, and Social Pragmatism in Medieval Scandinavia’. PhD thesis, University of Aberdeen, Scotland, 2018, 294–5. 32 For a discussion of English material, see Reynolds, Andrew. Anglo–Saxon Deviant Burial Customs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009; for the West-Slavic material, see Gardeła, Leszek. Bad Death in the Early Middle Ages: Atypical Burials from Poland in a Comparative Perspective (Collectio Archaeologica Ressoviensis Tomus 36). Rzeszów: Instytut Archeologii UR, 2017; for more on judicially violent punishment in the Viking Age, see Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’. 33 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 34. Though differing somewhat in order, both recensions of LC record that these events, contained in chapter IV, take place in Anglia (Gertz, Scriptores, 70–1). 34 Evidence of this can be seen in Alfred’s inclusion of Ohthere’s account in his translation of the Old English Orosius (see Bately, Janet, ed. The Old English Orosius. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), the movement of lay and religious officials from the courts of England to neighbouring courts and ecclesiastical positions (see, for example, Abrams, Lesley, ‘The Anglo-Saxons and the Christianisation of Scandinavia’. Anglo–Saxon England 24 (1995): 213–49; and Nyberg, Tore. ‘Early Monasticism in Scandinavia’. In Scandinavia and Europe 800–1350: Contact, Conflict and Coexistence (Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe, 4), edited by Jonathan Adams and Katherine Holman. Turnhout: Brepols, 2004, 197–208), and even documents like the Dunsæte Ordinance providing the possibility of international and polyjuridical legal solutions (see Molyneaux, George. ‘The Ordinance Concerning the Dunsæte and the Anglo-Welsh Frontier in the Late Tenth and Eleventh Centuries’. Anglo–Saxon England 40 (2011): 249–72). For a short and helpful synthesis of the English ‘imperium’ before Knútr, see Bolton, Empire of Cnut, 107–9. 35 Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 170. 36 On the development of these matters in Sweden, see Ekholst, Christine. A Punishment for Each Criminal: Gender and Crime in Swedish Medieval Law (The Northern World 67). Leiden: Brill, 2014; for the situation in Norway, see Riisøy, Anne Irene. Sexuality, Law and Legal Practice and the Reformation in Norway (The Northern World 44). Leiden: Brill, 2009.

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37 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 7. 38 ‘7 eac ic beode eallum minum gerefum, be minum freondscype 7 be eallum þam þe hi agon 7 be heora agenum life, þæt hy æghwær min folc rihtlice healdan 7 rihte domas deman be ðære scira biscopa gewitnese, 7 swylce mildheortnesse þæron don swylce þære scire bioscope riht þince 7 se man acumen mæge’ (Robertson, Agnes J., ed. The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1925, 142–3). 39 ‘Praecipio etiam omnibus vicecomitibus et praepositis universi regni mei, sicut meam amicitiam aut suam salute habere volunt, ut nulli homini, nec diviti nec pauperi, vim iniustam inferant, sed omnibus, tam nobilibus quam ignobilibus, et divitibus et pauperibus sit fas iusta lege potiundi, a qua nec propter favorem regium aut alicuius potentis personam nec propter mihi congregandam pecuniam ullo modo devietur, quia nulla mihi necessitas est ut iniqua exactione mihi pecunia congregetur’ (Robertson, The Laws, 150–1). 40 Lambert, Law and Order, 94. Chapters 12–15 of II Cnut in particular (Robertson, The Laws, 180–3) detail some of the differences in legal practice between Wessex, Mercia, and the Danelaw. 41 Note especially V Æthelred chapter 31 (Robertson, The Laws, 88–9), and VI Æthelred chapters 37 and 51 (Robertson, The Laws, 102–3, 104–7). 42 Literally meaning ‘man money’, wergild was a compensatory payment to be made to an injured party by the injuring party in cases of bodily harm or death. These payments increased in value with social rank. 43 Healsfang, literally ‘neck taking’, was a fine to be paid to commute a punishment. 44 Meaning ‘a violation of the law’, lahslit referred to a fine to be paid when a transgression of law had occurred. 45 II Cnut is described by Mary Richards as ‘a patchwork of secular and ecclesiastical legislation that borrows less from the archbishop’s own writings and more from an interesting range of earlier legal materials including the Kentish laws. It also contains “new” legislation perhaps emanating from the kings’s advisors and, at least indirectly, from the Danelaw’. Richards, Mary P. ‘I–II Cnut: Wulfstan’s summa’. In English Law Before Magna Carta: Felix Liebermann and Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, edited by Stefan Jurasinski, Lisi Oliver, and Andrew Rabin. Leiden: Brill, 2010, 137–56, at 138. Of course, central to these matters would likely be the innovations and syntheses of Knútr himself. 46 Bolton, Empire of Cnut, 77–106. 47 Jonsson, Kenneth. ‘The Coinage of Cnut’. In The Reign of Cnut, edited by Alexander R. Rumble. London: Leicester University Press, 1994, 193–230. 48 Hill, David. ‘An Urban Policy for Cnut?’ In Rumble, Reign of Cnut, 101–5. 49 For a particularly vivid example, see Borrows, John. Drawing out Law: A Spirit’s Guide. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2010. Note that not all Indigenous law is customary in nature. For a full exploration of these matters, see Borrows, Drawing out Law. 50 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 34. ‘Inter opera bellica iam membra quietis tranquillitate recrearet’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 70). 51 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 34. ‘Øpy […] Sapiente Sialandensi ac Eschillo eius filio (Gertz, Scriptores, 70). 52 ‘Be ðam þe on cynincges hirde feohteð. Gyf hwa on kynincges hirede gefeohte, ðolie ðæs liues, buton him se kynincg geárian wylle’ (Robertson, The Laws, 204–5). 53 ‘Griðbryce. Gyf hwa on fyrde griðbryce fulwyrce, ðolie liues oððon weregyldes. §1. Gyf he samwyrce, bete be ðam ðe seo dæd sy’ (Robertson, The Laws, 204–5). 54 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 34. ‘Magnitudo audaciam refrenaret delinquendi’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 70). 55 Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 172–3. 56 Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 38. ‘Ambigua quippe fertur sententia, ancipitique fluctuabant iudicio, utrum ob facinoris nouitatem capite princeps plecteretur, an ei competeret

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indulgentia. Nam si date sententie rex subderetur, tanquam acephali et profuge a regione exterminarentur aliena; sin autem regie indulgeretur reuerentie, corruptionis exemplo et indulgentie a ceteris (similiter peccari) potuisset’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 80). Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 38. ‘Collecto cetu, quidnam facto opus sit’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 80). Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 7. Furthermore, it fits remarkably well within the contemporary English systems articulated by Roach, ‘Law Codes’, 479–86, as well as the Carolingian systems he compares his material to. For a detailed, interdisciplinary analysis of the Viking-Age approach to punishment in English legislation, see Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 157–70. Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 173–8. Pons-Sanz, Sara. Norse–Derived Vocabulary in Late Old English Texts: Wulfstan’s Works, A Case Study. Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2007, see especially 193–230. Pons-Sanz, Norse–Derived Vocabulary, 228–9. Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 160–1. Bolton, Empire of Cnut, 37, 44–5, 69. Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 174–5. Jesch, Judith. Ships and Men in the Late Viking Age. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2001, 6–33. Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 38. ‘Vniuerse tamen cohorti hec sedit sententia, ne in posterum traheretur inde consequentia’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 80). Christiansen, Sven Aggesen, 39. ‘Omni de cetero dispensatione semota, huiusmodi transgressionis exsequutor nulla satisfactione delicti de cetero immanitatem expiaret capitalem proculdubio subeundo sententiam, uel saltem, temperata lege, extorris, profugus, ab omni militari collegio cum probroso nuncupationis uocabulo, id est Nithingsorth, exterminatus omnino abscederet’ (Gertz, Scriptores, 80). In Old Norse, níðingsorð (literally ‘word of níðingr’) describes the ascription of the title níðingr, which has no direct English translation, but refers to someone who was utterly dishonoured and reprehensible due to extreme transgression. In his note 68, Christiansen (Sven Aggesen, 95) points out that the term is not as common in Danish legislation as Norwegian laws, but is used for especially aggressive and violent crimes like rape, arson, and certain homicides that breached the normative controls on violent action. For more on the vocabulary of transgression and the specifics of níð, see Ruiter, Keith. ‘A Deviant Word Hoard: A Preliminary Study of Non-Normative Terms in Early Medieval Scandinavia’. In Social Norms in Medieval Scandinavia, edited by Jakub Morawiec, Aleksandra Jochymek, and Grzegorz Bartusik. Leeds: Arc Humanities Press, 2019, 201–12. Ruiter and Ashby, ‘Different Strokes’, 156–7. Robertson, The Laws, 204–5. On Knútr’s mobility and international influence, see Bolton, Timothy. Cnut the Great. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017, 158–71. Grið, a legally reinforced and mutually agreed protection or truce, gained an expanded sense in England, resulting in the Wulfstanian English compound cyricgrið, ‘sanctuary offered by a church’, and Ponz-Sans suggests that this wider sense is partially brought into the legal vocabularies of Norway and Denmark as a result of Knútr’s reign (PonzSans, Norse–Derived Vocabulary, 254–6). Elkins, ‘The Stories’, especially 63–6. Especially recent representative examples include Borrows, Drawing out Law; Napoleon, Val and Hadley Friedland. ‘An Inside Job: Engaging with Indigenous Legal Traditions through Stories’. McGill Law Journal 61, no. 4 (2016): 725–54; and Napoleon, Val. ‘Did I Break it? Recording Indigenous (Customary) Law’. Potchefstroomse Elektroniese Regsblad/Potchefstroom Electronic Law Journal 22 (2019): 2–35.

7 RING–FENCING THE GARDINUM? European romance to British reality of the thirteenth-century Caernarfon Castle garden and park1 Rachel E. Swallow Abstract: The complex designs of Iberian-born Queen Eleanor de Castile’s gardens were not a new creation to her at the time the English Edwardian castle of Caernarfon was being built on Welsh soil in the late thirteenth century. This chapter considers the Medieval Latin word gardinum in documents relating to King Edward I’s and Queen Eleanor’s royal settlement at Caernarfon – a word now commonly translated as ‘garden’. Three Medieval Latin terms were in fact em­ ployed by contemporaries at Caernarfon, all generally translated homogeneously as ‘garden’. It is argued that Edward and Eleanor deliberately manifested the castle settings described in European and British Romance literature for their castle at Caernarfon, and its park and garden landscape setting. Following a fresh ex­ amination of the architecture, archaeology, and landscape at Caernarfon Castle, it is suggested that the chivalric features of parks and gardens in Arthurian-type literature can inform us of a more specific concept and purpose of the thirteenthcentury use of the term gardinum. This chapter concludes with the proposal that the late-thirteenth-century references to a gardinum at Caernarfon Castle likely referred to a park-like, plaisance-type of garden, which realistically emulated the features of the Romance literature that Edward and Eleanor were known to have admired.

Introduction A recent examination of King Edward I’s (r. 1272–1307) late-thirteenth-century castle at Caernarfon in Gwynedd, North Wales, points to a more complete un­ derstanding of the intended message for Edward’s and Queen Eleanor de Castile’s (b. c.1241, m. 1254, d. 1290) new-build castle situated within its inherited, elite, and culturally significant land and seascape.2 Eleanor – born in Burgos, Spain, and daughter of Ferdinand III of Castile and Joan, Countess of Ponthieu – likely had a contributory role in the creation of architecture and accommodation at Caernarfon Castle, as well as its surrounding chivalric context. In particular, the location and

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Queen’s Gate, Caernarfon, with eleventh-century castle bailey and garden area to the fore (now a car park) (Photo: Rachel E. Swallow).

FIGURE 7.1

architecture of the Queen’s Gate at the south-eastern end of the castle build, suggest that it was carefully manipulated to be an exclusively private entrance into the castle overlooking a garden (Fig. 7.1). The gate also marked and overlooked an ancient route-way to the first- to fourth-century Roman fort of Segontium and the mother church of St Peblig, both situated in the wider landscape of Caernarfon, with the dramatic backdrop of the Snowdonia Mountains beyond. The fact that King Edward intended to display his inherited imperial power of the first- to fourth-century Roman fort of Segontium at Caernarfon, through the elaborate and symbolic medieval castle architecture of polygonal towers with broad horizontal bands of contrasting masonry, is widely accepted. This discussion will suggest that Edward and Eleanor not only ensured that Caernarfon’s imperial past was materialised in Roman ruins and an elite designed landscape, but also that the late-twelfth-century Middle Welsh Romance tale of Breudwyt Maxen Wledic or ‘The Dream of Macsen Wledig’3 was brought to life in the form of a medieval garden.4 This garden landscape was linked physically by a processional route to and from the Queen’s Gate, and symbolically, between Eleanor and her namesake in ‘The Dream of Macsen Wledig’ legend. The Breudwyt Maxen Wledic is a late-twelfth-century Middle Welsh Romance,5 which centres on the equally legendary imperial Roman emperor, Macsen, and a ‘castle’

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(in Caernarfon) housing a beautiful maiden, Elen, who is said to have been the daughter of the Romano-British ruler, Eudaf Hen (Octavius).6 The Arch of Constantine in Rome was intended to function as a dramatic and symbolic reference to triumphant Christianity and imperial appropriation over­ looking a route way, and the Queen’s gate in Caernarfon likely appropriated this function from Christianised Rome.7 It reflects, therefore, the fictitious Elen and the real Eleanor’s piety, particularly as the gateway overlooked the then extant early medieval church of St Helen’s, and St Peblig Church, one kilometre away; both religious buildings were associated with Elen, and were situated adjacent to Segontium Roman fort. The medieval garden was therefore integral to the pro­ cessional route landscape, where its significant focal end points were represented by both women. A recent re-examination of European and British Arthurianbased legends, with a particular focus on Breudwyt Maxen Wledic, suggests that both Edward and Eleanor likely intended to actively play out and replicate the lives, architecture, and landscapes of the subjects of ‘The Dream of Macsen Wledig’ (hereafter, The Dream).8 The Dream was partly based on fact: Macsen Wledig was a real person, better known as Magnus Maximus, a Spanish-born general who was proclaimed emperor in AD 383 by the Roman troops in Britain.9 Medieval gardens could be portrayed as places of love and ancient tradition (‘ils sont le locus amoerus, heritage de la tradition antique’).10 The medieval garden and route-way below the Queen’s Gate, suggests a physical and symbolic link between the le­ gend, power, and piety of the late-fourth-century British Elen of The Dream and her namesake, the Castilian-born Queen Eleanor of the late thirteenth century.11

Caernarfon Castle: Queen’s Gate The architectural design of the Queen’s Gate was likely influenced by European builds that expressed ultimate secular and religious power within their land­ scapes.12 The design of the Queen’s Gate build could be interpreted as a blend of Roman, Castilian, and ecclesiastical architecture, and was a deliberate expression of both the incoming lord and lady, Edward and Eleanor, in an already legendary geographical and architectural context. This suggests therefore, that Queen’s Gate was intended to represent a triumphal arch akin to those in Roman Europe. For example, the Arch of Constantine in Rome is a high triumphal arch with an attic surmounting the entablature, and therefore provided an arched passageway de­ signed to span a road.13 The Queen’s Gate was also a dramatic and symbolic reference to triumphant Christianity and imperial appropriation, here overlooking both a garden and a route-way. While the high multi-ordered arch of the Queen’s Gate has been likened to that of Dover Castle, as well as to the staged recessing of the central entrance bay and its high outer arch of multiple orders at Tonbridge Castle,14 the Queen’s Gate also resembles the late-twelfth-century west front at Tewkesbury Abbey,15 itself a likely appropriation of images of form and architecture from Christianised Rome. This is perhaps a reflection of both Elen’s and Eleanor’s piety,16 particularly as the

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gateway looks towards and thus mirrors, the religious symbolism of the garden (see below), the now non-extant early medieval church of St Helen’s, and Caernarfon’s mother church of St Peblig Church in Llanbeblig, located one kilometre away to the east.17 Equally important is the simplicity of the Queen’s Gate’s monumental architecture, which can be found in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Castilian defensive structures and churches. Striking examples are the main gate of Puerto de Alcázar of Ávila town walls – the town notably renowned for its Islamic water gardens – and also the twelfth- to fourteenthcentury market wall gate at Almazán in Castile.18 Queen’s Gate, therefore, seems to have been built as a means of expression not only of Edward’s personal power and his claim of imperial heritage, but also of the legend of Elen and of Eleanor de Castile’s Iberian origins and pious nature. Particularly notable is the great height of the gate passage. Built upon the former motte of the eleventh-century motte-and-bailey castle built by Earl Hugh of Chester (b. 1047, d. 1101), it was dictated by the height of the outline of a planned hall to its rear. The structure deliberately presented the literally elevated symbolic lord and ladyship overlooking the garden below.19 In European and British Romance and Arthurian literature, a consistent feature of the perfect castle was that it was conspicuous in its surroundings.20 The Queen’s Gate certainly fulfilled this function, and indeed its outstanding inter-visibility was likely to have been one of the gate’s primary purposes. Gregory and Liddiard have argued that the ‘ideal approach’ route to a castle in Romance tales often involved access over water through a borough, where the buildings were set off with a backdrop of a deer park.21 Indeed, Caernarfon and town were on a peninsula almost entirely surrounded by water.22 In this way, it compares with Dunstanburgh Castle in Northumberland which, it has been ar­ gued, ‘incarnated a literary convention […] implicitly referring to the mythology of King Arthur and his final resting place of the Isle of Avalon’.23 Castle builds associated with Arthurian legends also include Carlisle, Winchester, Guildford, Tintagel, Arundel, Dover, and the Tower of London,24 and Arthurian associations have been argued for the castles and their land and water-scape contexts, at Orford,25 Dunstanburgh,26 Wallingford,27 and Roscommon.28 Such Romance and Arthurian features existed within both The Dream and at Caernarfon Castle and its wider context, as will be seen for the garden below the Queen’s Gate at Caernarfon.

Ring-fencing the medieval garden definition? Medieval gardens were often described by their contemporaries as the scenes for love, and functioned in textual traditions principally as elite chivalric environ­ ments. The appearances of European gardens provide context for those in med­ ieval Britain, where contemporary French and Flemish texts include prime examples as evidence.29 The finest medieval gardens would have belonged to the elite society, and would very probably have featured a lawn interspersed with

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flowers, shrubs, low trellis covered with vine or roses, turf benches, and perhaps a pool and orchard, and they most commonly contained either a fountain or an arbour.30 Other types of garden buildings existed across Europe, including summer-houses (such as that created by Roger II (r. 1129–54) at Palermo in South Italy) and aviaries (such as that recorded at Winchester Castle in the thirteenth century).31 At the French palace of Hesdin, and notably coincident with the contemporary documentary mentions of Caernarfon Castle’s garden, Count Robert II of Artois (b. 1250, d. 1302) enclosed a park in 1295, in which he constructed not only an aviary, but also a pavilion amongst marshland, a revolving summer-house, a chapel of glass, and a stone tower.32 Beyond its name, actual descriptions for the garden at Caernarfon Castle are lacking, but it would be reasonable to suggest that Eleanor and Edward were fully aware of, and perhaps also influential in instigating, European and British examples. The language used for gardens, however, seems to have changed regionally, and varied with time and space.33 About seven medieval terms were in con­ temporary use,34 and it is unclear to what extent these were interchangeable between individual scribes, both over time and contemporaneously.35 Landsberg suggests that of these seven terms, there were three main types of medieval garden overall: the herber(ium), which was usually a ‘lawn’ or pleasure garden (jardin de plaisance),36 of less than one acre; an orchard-type of garden; and a park-like type of garden, with animals and birds to watch, rather than to slaughter (parks).37 Royalty would have had all three types, Landsberg advises, the whole covering up to 13 acres, with moats and chains of ponds and lying adjacent to a larger hunting park of approximately 200 acres.38 The definition for each of the various terms used remains difficult to ringfence conclusively today. For example, in contemporary texts, gardinum (Latin)/ le jardin (French) seems to have denoted a meeting place (un jardin d’agrément), as in Chrétien de Troyes’ first of five romance poems, Érec et Énide, dating to c.1170; a utility/medicinal or herb garden, as in Le Roman de Renart (Reynard the Fox), a late-twelfth-century literary cycle of medieval allegorical Dutch, English, French, and German fables; and an orchard, as in the episode of Le Partage des Proies (also Le Roman de Renart).39 Less commonly used for a garden, and with more interpretative vagueness, was the (Latin) word hortus (see, for example, the twelfth-century poem, Le Roman de Thèbes). It is depicted as a jardin d’agrément in the mid-twelfth-century (originally French) European romance tale, Foris and Blanchflour, where hortus seems to replace the use of the alternative vergier/verger from line 1979.40 The verg(i)er (or its Latin variants: viridarium; virgultum; virectum) is in fact the most commonly used term for a garden in medieval literature, and, just like gardinum/le jardin (the second most commonly used term), it also seems to denote all the functions cited above (Le Roman de Renart and Le Roman de la Rose, for example, the latter being a thirteenth-century French allegorical dream vision).41 The Latin terms translated as ‘garden’ at Caernarfon were: herbarium (Caernarfon [and Conwy castles], 1283), gardinum (Caernarfon Castle, 1284 and 1295), and (h)ortus (Caernarfon Castle, 1343). It is possible that each term

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represented a different function of a garden at three consecutive periods, and that each also occupied a different location within and/or without the castle. It is argued here, however, that the gardinum and (h)ortus had broadly the same function and definition at Caernarfon Castle, and that both occupied the same location as the former Welsh Princes’ garden. All three terms are discussed within the castle and landscape context, below.

The garden below Queen’s Gate Gilchrist states that queens held responsibility for the planning of gardens, with their emphasis placed on its private, enclosed space used by both elite men and women.42 Importantly, gardens and courtyards were generally only overlooked by buildings associated with both the king and queen.43 This would ensure that gardens were appreciated from elevated viewing positions with limited access, and therefore the most elite areas located towards the top of such buildings and vantage points. Mesqui argues that these positions were ‘carefully sited for dioramic views’ and had complete ‘control of sightlines’.44 It is generally accepted that the Queen’s Gate overlooked a medieval garden,45 understood to have coincided with the area now called Y Maes, which was the eleventh-century bailey of Earl Hugh’s castle.46 The garden was created on the raised ground – still discernible today – of the former bailey of Hugh’s motte-and-bailey castle, and thus safe from recorded riverine inundations from the south.47 Gardens created within former baileys of eleventh- and twelfth-century castles were not unusual, with examples including Castle Rising in Norfolk, and Shotwick Castle in Cheshire.48 At Caernarfon, the Green Gate on the town’s curtain wall thus gave restricted, elite access to the garden from the King’s Gate and town. Facing the ‘Green’, or the garden, the Green Gate has two centred outer and inner arches separated by defensive architectural features of a shaft and portcullis chase, along with a rebated doorway inside, with draw-bar slots and a segmental rear-arch.49 Given that the Green Gate would have opened up to the north-western ditch of the previous Norman castle bailey, it is probable that a bridge spanned the ditch at this point or had been planned to do so. We also know that the garden was enclosed (‘dug and hedged’),50 similar to that described in the Partage des Proies of Le Roman de Renart; Le Roman de Thèbes; the late-twelfth-century chanson des gestes/cycle of tales, of Garin le Loherenc; and, as recorded in 1251, around the vegetable garden at Clarendon Palace.51 The water supply required for Eleanor’s renowned garden features, and as seen particularly for literary gardens outside medieval town walls,52 was probably fed by either one of the leets running to the former bailey from the adjacent King’s Pool,53 and/or by the river Cadnant, which might well have served as the bailey’s defensive boundary to its north. In the twelfth century, Hugh of Saint-Victor, in his De bestiis et aliis rebus, presents the fountain as an indispensable element of the garden (as evidenced in Le Roman de la Rose).54 Sham arrow loops of the Queen’s Gate provided an aesthetic display of defence from within the garden, thus continuing a

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theme in an area of elite privacy, created by the three layers of arrow loops in the castle’s south wall, visible from the River Seiont.55 Access to the garden was therefore restricted both by the Green Gate and the perhaps still extant barbican, which in all probability separated King’s Way from the former bailey of the earl of Chester’s eleventh-century castle (see below). Further research has revealed the evidence of a copy of a lost survey dating to 1284, which states that the Welsh princes had a llys, town, a port, and a garden in the manor/lord’s lands (xxs. de i gardino cum claust[ura] et Curia) of Caernarfon.56 This important royal Welsh evidence for a garden pre-dates the generally cited Edwardian-period garden. Given that this evidence states that the Welsh princes’ garden was adjacent to the port, this points to the probability that consecutive documentary mentions for a garden at Caernarfon related to the same space.57 Edward and Eleanor were not working with a completely blank canvas. Additionally, documentary evidence from 1321 to 1353 makes it clear that the medieval (and earlier Roman) road from Segontium Roman fort and St Peblig Church to the castle at Queen’s Gate was at that time significantly called King’s Way (via regie and via regia).58 Later called Peblig’s Way,59 King’s Way, from Caernarfon to Beddgelert, cuts across Segontium fort from west to east, crossing the site from the south-east gateway.60 It therefore makes sense that King’s Way led to the King’s Pool and to King’s Garden, both situated to the south-east and east of Caernarfon town outside its walls – and thus all below Queen’s Gate. This suggests that the King’s Pool and King’s Garden did not simply serve utilitarian purposes, but were also part of a wider scheme of elite landscape design focused on the similarly-named King’s Way created by and for both Edward and Eleanor, most probably reusing Roman and later road foundations.61 Indeed, medieval gardens and parks were designed to be viewed from a distance, as well as over­ looked from inside the castle itself. Stannard argues that they ‘represented extensions of the owner’s living quarters’,62 and this has also been suggested for the complex of eastern upper ward buildings and Queen’s Gate.63 We know that a herbarium (‘lawn’, translated generally as ‘garden’) was created for Eleanor at Caernarfon (and at Conwy Castle) during the earliest stages of the building (in 1283).64 Interpreted as a small-scale enclosed medieval garden, hedged, with geometric, raised beds of flowers, herbs, shrubs, pathways, and turf,65 the Queen’s herbarium could have been situated within the castle ward, as was often the case for royal castles.66 It is possible that the timber-framed structures of eight chambers and other houses constructed to accommodate Edward and Eleanor temporarily from that date were built in the more private eastern upper ward and within close proximity of the Queen’s Gate,67 and thus positioned to overlook Eleanor’s garden.68 This type of configuration can be seen at Conwy Castle, where Eleanor’s garden (herbarium) was situated ‘under the windows of the great chamber’, generally and notably interpreted as the King’s Great Chamber.69 Indeed, the area of the castle below the Queen’s Gate – adjacent to the King’s Pool with its leet system possibly feeding the fountains of the garden known to have existed here – would have made for a practical design and location for

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Eleanor’s herbarium (demonstrated, for instance, at Woodstock).70 Although the series of Caernarfon Castle guidebooks do not indicate the fact visually or tex­ tually,71 we know that this area would have been private, since it was dug out and hedged in 1295.72 The garden below Queen’s Gate was renamed to reflect the holder of it. Eleanor died seemingly suddenly aged 50 years in 1290, and in 1294, both the castle and Eleanor’s garden outside the castle walls were attacked by the Welsh.73 The following year (1295), the garden was rebuilt, dug out, and hedged at the cost of 24 shillings: for the digging and hedging of the King’s Garden at Caernarfon, by order of John of Havering.74 The garden either retained its original appellation, or was then appropriately altered to the ‘King’s Garden’ after King Edward I, who had survived his Queen. It is believed that the build of the Queen’s Gate dates from 1295 to 1300,75 and is thus coincident with the date for the rebuild and renaming of the King’s Garden. A survey of 1343 explicitly records that the ‘gate towards the Prince’s garden’ remained unfinished.76 This name is reminiscent of the three of seven doors to the city mentioned in Le Roman de Thèbes, which had direct contact with the gardens outside the city walls.77 This additional change of the garden’s name also possibly refers to Edward II (r. 1307–27); ‘Prince’ dis­ tinguished the son – the first English Prince of Wales from 1301 – from the father (‘King’) in the written record at this time, and the statue of Edward II was inserted above the King’s Gate in 1320.78 It is possible that ‘Prince’ in this context refers to Edward the Black Prince (b. 1330, d. 1376), son and heir apparent of Edward III, who was created Prince of Wales in 1343. However, we have no record that the Black Prince ever visited Caernarfon Castle, and it is more likely that ‘Prince’ in this context reflected the fossilisation of the garden’s name from Edward II’s reign.

Eleanor de Castile’s gardens: European romance to British reality Gardens created by and for Eleanor at her other elite residences provide potential parallels for attempting to understand the nature and form of her 1283-built, and likely European Romance-inspired, garden at Caernarfon Castle. Certain in­ novations in associated waterworks were traditionally attributed to Elen, including her one-hectare fortress at Dinas Emrys at Beddgelert that had a pool and artificial cistern,79 for which Ian Brooks and Kathy Laws indicate a fifth- to sixth-century date.80 Likewise, garden waterworks were also implemented by Queen Eleanor.81 We know that Eleanor was a keen gardener.82 Gardens were created for and by her, including at neighbouring Rhuddlan and Conwy castles.83 In an apparently direct parallel to Caernarfon, at Conwy Castle, Eleanor’s garden – described as herbarium Regine and generally translated as a ‘lawn’ type of garden,84 – was situated ‘under the windows of the great chamber’, and thus within the barbican to the east of the inner ward.85 Within the garden were three turrets (roofed in 1301),86 also reminiscent of Caernarfon Castle’s three turrets on the Eagle Tower, and pre­ sumably built specifically to view the garden from a height. Between 1282 and

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1283 at Rhuddlan, great quantities of turves (6,000) were transported by river at significant expense, a courtyard garden laid and fenced with staves of discarded casks, and a fishpond was created and surrounded by seats.87 The complex designs of Eleanor’s gardens, where their Romantic watery surroundings and fountains were overlooked by adjacent elite buildings, were not a new creation to her at the time Caernarfon, Rhuddlan, and Conwy castles were being built. Various features of her earlier gardens and associated buildings overlooking her gardens can be seen at Caernarfon. At Chester Castle, described by Harvey as ‘the base for Edward’s thrust into North Wales’, 200 apple and pear plants were bought in 1278.88 At Rockingham Castle (Northamptonshire) a garden was built for Eleanor in the same year,89 which was possibly in the courtyard to the south of the Great Hall, and was thus overlooked by Eleanor’s apartments at the east end of the hall.90 Also, in 1277–78, one Master Richard built an aviary for Eleanor at Westminster, London,91 and in 1278, the ‘new garden’ was the Queen’s Pool lined with lead, with the Queen’s ‘Oriol’ (bay window/gallery) overlooking the pool.92 Indeed, the likely influence of HispanoIslamic gardens on Europe is evidenced with the introduction of the aviary and park of Hesdin in Artois (see above) and the aviaries at Winchester and Westminster.93 Between 1278 and 1284, at Edward’s and Eleanor’s family palace at King’s Langley (Hertfordshire), Eleanor instructed the building of her own cloister and the rebuilding of great and middle chambers, with gardens positioned nearby. These were of the Moorish tradition, having a paved courtyard and fountains, as well as imported apple trees and vines.94 Aragonese gardeners worked on Eleanor’s gardens at Langley in 1289, and in the same year, a Castilian ship docked at Southampton, providing Eleanor with pomegranates, lemons, oranges, and olive oil from her homeland.95 At Haverfordwest Castle, known as the ‘Queen’s Castle’,96 there is an enclosed, terraced platform outside the walls on the south side and with a circular turret in one corner, presumably for viewing purposes. This enclosed platform was later named ‘green walk’ (in 1577), and there was a garden called ‘Queen’s Arbour’. This garden may be attributed to Eleanor, as she invested heavily in her castle here between 1288/89 and 1290.97 At Leeds Castle, Kent, between 1278 and 1290, and thus broadly contemporary and comparable with Caernarfon Castle, an existing castle was remodelled to create a ‘gloriette’: a building erected on an elevated viewpoint within a garden, which here overlooked a set of artificial lakes and ponds located within a deer park. The inner island supporting the ‘gloriette’ was approached by a stone-arched bridge, which led to a gatehouse tower from which the complete design could be enjoyed by the royal party and privileged visitors.98 A Spanish word for a pavilion placed at the centre of a garden of Moorish type and later used for a ‘lodge’ of elite apartments in a park or garden, the concept of the ‘gloriette’ was thought by Harvey to have migrated to England and Wales with Eleanor de Castile herself.99 However, Ashbee has pointed out that the term was in fact first used in c.1260 by Henry III when referring to King John’s private suite of courtyard chambers at

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Corfe Castle, and thus significantly before Eleanor’s time.100 Ashbee has also shown that a gloriette could have been ‘raised up as a belvedere, rather than built at garden level’,101 and that the term could refer not just to one building (for example, the great chamber at Corfe), nor to the king’s or the queen’s own chamber, but instead to a suite of buildings, such as those first built at Corfe by King John at the beginning of the thirteenth century, the whole now known by the name ‘gloriette’.102 Ashbee has further demonstrated that the term ‘gloriette’ was used in a re­ stricted way from the thirteenth century ‘because their owners wished to invoke a particular set of associations [...] directly from literature’.103 He refers particularly to the twelfth-century Romance chanson de geste, La Prise d’Orange,104 which he suggests was the origin of the term ‘gloriette’, and with which easy parallels can be drawn with both the description in The Dream and with many features of the Queen’s Gate in the upper ward at Caernarfon.105 As Ashbee states, ‘At the very least, Gloriette evoked a series of meanings: of opulence, sensuality, and victory in love and war’, as expressed in La Prise d’Orange: ‘this is paradise here’.106 Notably, Caernarfon Castle’s upper ward courtyard house ensemble, as it is described by Dixon,107 and which includes the Queen’s Gate, is of a similar size to the gloriette at Corfe Castle. Additionally, reminiscent of a gloriette with similarities to the hall and wall-walk over the entrance of Queen’s Gate, is that in 1354, Edward III (1312–77) constructed a balcony at Woodstock outside a daughter’s window, in order to give her a view of the park.108 Renowned for her garden ‘paradises’,109 the Queen’s Gate was intended to be one part of the gloriette in the upper ward overlooking Eleanor’s designed garden.110

The ‘Little Park’ below Queen’s Gate In the absence to date of a conclusive differentiation between various Medieval Latin terms which we now translate almost indiscriminately as ‘garden’, it might well be feasible to add the definition of a parcus parvum (‘little park’) to the purpose of the designed space below the elevated viewpoint of the Queen’s Gate.111 Indeed, medieval gardens were often constructed within parks (including her­ barii).112 Lying adjacent to the castle, such designed plots of ground of this period often ‘project[ed] into and nested within’ a parkland setting.113 Landsberg calculates that Eleanor’s garden of 6,000 turves at neighbouring Rhuddlan Castle in Gwynedd – each turf estimated to have been approximately 1 x 1.5 ft in size (i.e. approximately one third by one half a metre) – would have provided a small herbarium, or herber garden, of up to 18,000 square feet (i.e. less than half of an acre, or approximately 1672 m2). That said, the trapezoidal courtyard that exists at Rhuddlan Castle today is significantly smaller, at ap­ proximately 7,200 square feet (i.e. approximately 670 m2).114 The size of the King’s/Prince’s Garden at Caernarfon is approximately three acres (i.e. approxi­ mately 12,150 m2), if we were to take the interpretation of its size in The History of the King’s Works as being broadly correct.115 It was, therefore, significantly short of

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the early thirteenth-century advice in the treatises on gardens by Piero d’ Crescenzi of Bologna, Italy (c.1230/35 – c.1320), who suggested 12.5 acres or more for the perfect ‘pleasure garden’ (jardin de plaisance).116 However, the King’s Garden is considerably larger (about three times more) than the interpreted average-sized herbarium. Given the probable size of the garden below Queen’s Gate and given what we know about Eleanor’s gardens in other elite residences, it could be that the gar­ dinum and later-scribed (h)ortus at Caernarfon was the park-like type, which may, or may not, have enclosed Eleanor’s herbarium referred to in 1283. Hortus might have been short for hortus conclusus, which referred to an enclosed or secret garden, thus referring to virginity, and containing roses, lilies, and fountains, all being attributes to the Virgin Mary.117 Colvin suggested that the enclosed garden with its chambers and pools might have been inspired not by European Romance, but by the twelfth-century British Romance of Tristan and Isolde.118 Whatever the influence might have been on the design of the hortus conclusus, however, by the late fifteenth-century, Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur includes a recurring theme that the park ‘was an ideal forest in miniature’.119 We know that medieval parks functioned as extensions of the garden,120 with Pluskowski confirming that the ‘distinction between the park and garden was not as sharp as imagined’.121 Little parks were defined not by their size, but by their location subtus castrum (‘below the castle’),122 and were generally in the ‘form of a lobe appended directly onto the side of the castle’.123 This lobe form can be argued for at Caernarfon, where the kidney-shaped former bailey of the late-eleventh-century castle lends itself beautifully for this purpose. Little parks, therefore, were intended as both the contextual setting of, and visual approach to, buildings, where the castle’s external magnificence intentionally pervaded the wider landscape. From the early thir­ teenth century, park layouts with pools (for example, King’s Pool at Caernarfon) were becoming commonplace amongst the elite,124 and Liddiard argues that by the mid-thirteenth century, parks ‘enjoyed a particular spatial relationship with grand apartments or lodgings, and appear to have functioned more as gardens than “conventional parks”’.125 It could be that the name ‘Green’ is significant within the context of a little parkland,126 where the associated building was intrinsically, architecturally, and symbolically connected. The Green Gate on the walls at Caernarfon Castle, for instance, most likely restricted access to the here-interpreted little park-type garden within the area of the former bailey. Indeed, we know that Eleanor and Edward enjoyed hunting,127 just as Macsen did as an expression of status in The Dream. At Banstead manor in Surrey, for example, Eleanor built a new timberframed chamber with a new cloister and well-house and a park with ditches and hedges between 1276 and 1279.128 Edward and Eleanor might well have intended to recreate these chivalric concepts below Queen’s Gate. The following is a recent interpretation based on the likelihood that the Queen’s Gate provided an elite view of a garden/little park, which was an integral part of a wider chivalric, and inherited imperial and royal Welsh, private territory.129

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Queen’s Gate and an elite processional way The architectural and landscape evidence point to the fact that Queen’s Gate and the garden/little park below it were designed at least as an exclusively private entrance into the new Edwardian castle, and more specifically, that the Gate was designed to mark and overlook what was already by then an ancient route-way.130 This processional way was called ‘King’s Way’ (see above), and its starting, or indeed end, point was from the Roman fort of Segontium and Caernarfon’s mother church of St Peblig, one kilometre away to the east. This was to become Edward and Eleanor’s late-thirteenth-century processional way, the route-way taking the private royal party and its privileged guests through a designed en­ vironment of both inherited and newly created elite power, heavily infused with European Arthurian and Welsh legend, and both masculine and feminine symbolism.131 A castle’s wider spatial context was not purely utilitarian, but involved what Liddiard has termed the ‘social zoning’ of ‘landscape manipulation’.132 In the case of Caernarfon Castle, the Queen’s Gate manipulated the private, intimidating approach route into the castle buildings via ‘a negotiation of a series of separate spaces’.133 As we have seen, one of these spaces was the castle garden or little park, located immediately below the Queen’s Gate. As Fradley argues, movement to­ wards ‘not a low key [Queen’s Gate] would have taken on a formal and sophis­ ticated air’, and the movement up the presumed ramp to the gate’s entrance ‘would have created a particularly potent performance of social differentiation [where] the “ascension” of those privileged individuals [...] [was] visually pow­ erful, yet ultimately private’.134 Clearly, only the royal household was to see this ‘inner sanctum’ of the Queen’s Gate and its garden below, its external build being ‘a proclamation of royal strength’ to the elite visitor to the castle, ‘and a very conscious statement towards the church’.135 While these interpretations are highly convincing, what is obviously missing from it is an examination of what lay be­ tween the Queen’s Gate and St Peblig Church and thus the significance in respect of the gate’s ‘longer view’ purpose. One point of fact is highly significant: the arch of the Queen’s Gate and the Roman or medieval road of King’s Way on the south- and castle-facing front at Segontium (and indeed St Peblig Church) were directly in line with each other, precisely on the central axis of the arch of the gate. Today, our inter-visible view is impeded by modern houses. However, in 1298 in Caernarfon town, there were 59 burgage plots, and in 1309, 63, indicating that the town was self-contained and grew little beyond the town walls.136 Indeed, we know from charters dating to 1321 and 1353,137 that burgage plots were granted in the commotal settlements of Caernarfon and Llanbeblig either end of King’s Way, thus implicitly suggesting that plots were not built between them along this route. It is therefore likely that this private, elite route-way was devoid of medieval buildings and was in­ tentionally designed to intermingle landscapes of past and present, which opened up to both the royal party and the visitor as they moved along the route-way to

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and from Segontium and St Peblig Church. Importantly, this route-way was also visible from the height of the hall and wall-walk behind Queen’s Gate. In Christian mythology, medieval gardens carried considerable importance as religious symbols referencing Paradise.138 It is notable, therefore, that the medieval route took the visitor to a number of visible symbols represented in elite European and British Romance literature, which included: the King’s Pool (Stagnum Regis)139 built in 1285;140 the ‘new mill’ built in 1304–5;141 a stone bridge to the East Gate of the town, built in 1301,142 notably under which Greengate Street passed;143 and a dam built in 1305.144 Religious symbolism was associated with water,145 and also with the feminine – and water was inevitably linked to the Virgin.146 ‘The King’s Works tell us that the building of a swan’s nest in 1305 on the King’s Pool at the same time it was dammed (nidum cignorum in medio eiusdem stagni),147 the swan being associated with the Otherworld, and the early twelfthcentury Arthurian epic, Parzival, The Swan Knight, a medieval romance written by the knight-poet Wolfram von Eschenbach in Middle High German.148 Sailors thought the swan protected against shipwreck, and the swan also symbolised the purity of the Virgin.149 From the route-way of designed features infused with European- and British-influenced Romance literature, the royal party and elite visitor probably accessed the garden below Queen’s Gate via the likely still extant gatehouse to the former bailey; from here, the views to and from gardens were given equal importance.

Conclusion With no known contemporary description of Eleanor and Edwards’s garden de­ signs at Caernarfon Castle available to us, this discussion has examined a wealth of comparative and documentary evidence in order to evaluate their likely layout and features. These have included: the complex designs of Iberian-born Queen Eleanor de Castile’s gardens in England and Wales; the context of the former garden of the Welsh princes at Caernarfon; the evidence of grand designs and multi-purposes described in contemporary European Romance and garden design literature; and the traces of the proposed plaisance-type garden in today’s landscape below the Queen’s Gate. This examination has not intended to ring-fence our present-day definition of the Medieval Latin word gardinum, nor indeed the other two Medieval Latin terms employed by contemporaries at Caernarfon (herbarium and (h)ortus); these words remain to be translated homogeneously, and all too fluidly, as ‘garden’. However, it is argued that Edward and Eleanor deliberately manifested the castle settings described in European and British Romance litera­ ture, for their castle and its park and garden setting at Caernarfon. Re-examining the architecture, archaeology, and wider geographical and spatial context of the Queen’s Gate at Caernarfon Castle has shown that the chivalric features of parks and gardens as depicted in European Arthurian-type literature can inform us of a more specific concept and purpose of the thirteenth-century use of the various terms for ‘garden’. All three terms employed at Caernarfon described chivalric

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components of a likely park-like, plaisance-type of garden below a gloriette-type structure of the Queen’s Gate in the upper ward of Caernarfon Castle; the whole realistically emulated – and no doubt in turn inspired – the European-wide fea­ tures of the Romance literature that Edward and Eleanor were well known to have admired. Caernarfon Castle was built in Wales, and was commissioned by an English King, but its architecture and garden design were likely influenced by his Spanish-born Queen. In turn, both King and Queen were influenced by the rank and prestige depicted in literary chivalric contexts emanating from Europe – in­ cluding Spain, France, England, and, of course, Wales, itself.

Notes 1 With thanks to the Cambrian Archaeological Association, for permission to draw upon sections of the following co-owned/-copyrighted article for the purposes of further, new interpretation discussed in this chapter: Swallow, Rachel E. ‘Living the Dream: The Legend, Lady and Landscape of Caernarfon Castle, Gwynedd, North Wales.’ Archaeologia Cambrensis 219 (2019): 153–95. 2 Caernarfon’s seascape is discussed in Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, at 169–72. 3 Roberts, Brynley F., ed. Breudwyt Maxen Wledic. Dublin: School of Celtic Studies, Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 2005, lxxxv; Davies, Sioned, trans. The Mabinogion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007, 103–8. 4 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 177, 180. 5 Roberts, Breudwyt Maxen Wledic, lxxxv; Davies, Mabinogion, 103–8; Wheatley, Abigail. ‘Caernarfon Castle and its mythology’. In The Impact of the Edwardian Castle in Wales, edited by Diane Williams and John Kenyon. Oxford: Oxbow, 2009, 129–39, at 129. 6 Brown, R. Allen, Howard M. Colvin, and Arnold J. Taylor. The History of the King’s Works: The Middle Ages, 2 vols. London: HMSO, 1963, 1, 371; Guy, Ben. ‘Constantine, Helena, Maximus: on the appropriation of Roman history in medieval Wales, c.800–1250’. Journal of Medieval History 5 (2018): 381–405, at 392–4, 401–2. 7 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 174. 8 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, passim 9 Bury, John B. ed. The Cambridge Medieval History. Cambridge: MacMillan, 1924, 238. 10 Gesbert, Élise. ‘Les jardins du Moyen Âge: du XIe au début du XIVe siècle’. Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale, 46e année, no 184 (2003): 381–408, at 407. 11 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 153, 165, 188. 12 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 174. 13 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 174. 14 Hislop, Malcolm. Castle Builders. Approaches to Castle Design and Construction in the Middle Ages. Barnsley: Pen and Sword Books, 2016, 228–9. 15 Davis, Paul R. Three Chevrons Red. The Clares: a marcher dynasty in Wales, England and Ireland. Logaston: Logaston Press, 2013, 181–2. 16 Cockerill, Sara. Eleanor of Castile. The Shadow Queen. Stroud: Amberley, 2014, 59. 17 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 175, 184. 18 Cockerill, Eleanor of Castile, 51, and see Eleanor’s gardens, below; Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 174. 19 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 177, 180. 20 Creighton, Oliver H. Designs upon the Land: Elite Landscapes of the Middle Age. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2009; Jon Gregory and Robert Liddiard. ‘Visible from afar? The setting at the Anglo-Norman donjon’. In Castles and the Anglo–Norman World, edited by John A. Davies, Angela Riley, Jean-Marie Levesque, and Charlotte Lapiche. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2016, 147–58, at 147.

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21 Gregory and Liddiard, ‘Visible from afar’, 147. 22 Brown, R. Allen. Castles from the Air. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, 66. 23 Oswald, Alistair, Jeremy Ashbee, Katrina Porteous, and Jacqui Huntley. Dunstanburgh Castle, Northumberland: Archaeological Research and Historical Investigations (English Heritage Research Department Report 26/2006), Swindon: English Heritage, 2006, 93. 24 Wheatley, Abigail. The Idea of the Castle in Medieval England. York: York Medieval Press, 2004, 149. 25 Heslop, Thomas A. ‘Orford Castle, nostalgia and sophisticated living.’ Architectural History 34 (1991): 36–58. 26 Oswald et al., Dunstanburgh Castle, vii, 93–7. 27 Keats-Rohan, Katharine. ‘“Most securely fortified”: Wallingford Castle 1071–1540’. In Wallingford: the Castle and the Town in Context, edited by Katharine Keats-Rohan, Neil Christie, and D. Roffe (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 621). Oxford: Archaeopress, 2015, 34–270. 28 O’Keeffe, Tadhg. ‘Roscommon Castle, the Otherworld and the True Cross’. In Castles: History, Archaeology, Landscape, Architecture, and Symbolism. Essays in Honour of Derek Renn, edited by Neil Guy. Castles Studies Group, 2018, 190–204. 29 Cooper, Scott. ‘Ornamental structure in the medieval gardens of Scotland’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 129 (1999): 817–40, at 818. 30 Cooper, ‘Ornamental Structure’, 818. 31 Cooper, ‘Ornamental Structure’, 818. 32 Cooper, ‘Ornamental Structure’, 818. 33 Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 382. 34 Landsberg, Sylvia. The Medieval Garden. London: British Museum Press, 1995, 12. 35 Curl, James S. and Susan Wilson, eds. The Oxford Dictionary of Architecture (3rd ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. 36 Taylor, Patrick, ed. The Oxford Companion to the Garden. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. 37 Landsberg, Medieval Garden, 112. 38 Landsberg, Medieval Garden, 113. 39 Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 386. 40 Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 386. 41 Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 386, 388. 42 Gilchrist, Roberta. Gender and Archaeology. Contesting the Past. London and New York: Routledge, 1999, 125, 136. 43 Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 136. 44 Mesqui, Jean. Chateaux et enceintes de la France Médiévale, Vol. 1. Paris: Picard, 1991; Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 137; McNeill, Tom. ‘The view from the top’. In Mélanges d’Archaéologie Médiévale: Liber amicorum en homage à André Matthys, edited by Johnny De Meulemeester. Namure: Les Cahiers de l’Urbanisme, 2006, 122–7; Creighton, Designs upon the Land; Gregory and Liddiard, ‘Visible from afar’, 148. 45 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 380; Fradley, Michael. ‘Space and structure at Caernarfon Castle’. Medieval Archaeology 50 (2006): 165–78, at 170. 46 Salter, Mike. The Castles of North Wales. Malvern: Folly Publications, 1997, 19. 47 Peers, Charles R. Caernarvon Castle, Caernarvonshire. London: HMSO, 1936, 9. 48 Gregory and Liddiard, ‘Visible from afar’, 148; Everson, Paul. ‘“Delightfully sur­ rounded with woods and ponds”: field evidence for medieval gardens in England’. In There by Design: field archaeology in parks and gardens, edited by Paul Pattison (British Archaeological Reports, British Series 267). Oxford: Archaeopress, 1998, 32–8. 49 RCAHMW. An Inventory of the Ancient Monuments in Caernarvonshire. Volume II: Central (Royal Commission on the Ancient Monuments in Wales and Monmouthshire). London: HMSO, 1960, 152.

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57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

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Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 381 fn. 3. Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 396, 398, 400. Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 393, 403. Speed’s ( John) Map of Caernarfon, 1611, reprinted in The Counties of Britain: a Tudor atlas by John Speed, National Library of Wales. Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 402. Goodall, John A. A. The English Castle. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2011, 45. Jones Pierce, Thomas and John Griffiths. ‘Documents relating to the early history of the borough of Caernarvon’. Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 9 (1937–39): 237–8, at 237, citing an account of 1350–51; Williams-Jones, Keith. ‘Caernarfon’. In Boroughs of Medieval Wales, edited by Ralph A. Griffiths. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1978, 73–101. Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 179. Jones Pierce and Griffiths, ‘Documents’, 236, 241–3. Speed, Map of Caernarfon. RCAHMW, Inventory Caernarfonshire, 158. Liddiard, Robert. ‘A research agenda for the Edwardian castles’. In Williams and Kenyon, Edwardian Castle, 193–7, at 195. Stannard, Jerry. ‘Alimentary and medicinal uses of plants’. In Medieval Gardens, edited by Elisabeth B. MacDougall. Washington: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1986, 69–113, at 73. Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 176–9. Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 369, 372; Prestwich, Michael. ‘Edward I and Wales’. In Williams and Kenyon, Edwardian Castle, 1–8, at 6. Landsberg, Medieval Gardens, 11–48; Creighton, Oliver H. Castles and Landscapes. The Archaeology of Medieval Europe, 1100–1600. London: Continuum, 2002, 74. Steane, John. Archaeology of the Medieval English Monarch. London: Routledge, 1999, 117. Cited in Edwards, John Goronwy. ‘Edward I’s castle-building in Wales’. Proceedings of the British Academy 32 (1944): 15–81, at 44: ‘8 cameras et alias domos necessarias pro rege et regina in eodem castro’. Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 369, 372; Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’. Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 380, 388; Ashbee, Jeremy. ‘The king’s accommodation at his castles’. In Williams and Kenyon. Edwardian Castle, 72–84, at 72, 77, citing reference TNA, E101/13/32, m.2. Harvey, John. Medieval Gardens. London: Batsford, 1981, 11. Most recently, Taylor, Arnold J. Caernarvon Castle and Town Walls, Caernarvonshire. Cardiff: Cadw, 2015. Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 381, fn. 3, citing TNA E 372/146 and E101/486/9, and see above. Steane, English Monarch, 117. Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 381, n. 3, citing TNA E 372/146 and E101/486/9: ‘pro gardino domini regis [King’s Garden] apud Carnarvon defossato et sepe claudendo ad taschem per preceptum domini Johannis de Havering xxiiiis’. Cf. Steane, English Monarch, 117. Peers, Charles R. ‘Carnarvon Castle’. Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion 33 (1917): 28–37, at 35. Peers, Caernarvon Castle, Caernarvonshire, 13, 35; RCAHMW, Inventory Caernarfonshire, 125; Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 389, citing TNA, E163/4/42: ‘Et quod quedam porta versus ortum principis est incepta et non perfecta cuius per­ fectionem nesciunt estimare’. Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 392–3.

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78 Peers, Caernarvon Castle, Caernarvonshire, 17; Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 383. 79 Berresford Ellis, Peter. Celtic Women. Women in Celtic Society and Literature. London: Constable, 1995, 97. 80 Brooks, Ian and Kathy Laws, K. Topographical and Geophysical Surveys at Dinas Emrys, Beddgelert. Unpublished report, Engineering Archaeological Services Report 138, 2002, 6. 81 James, Thomas B. The Palaces of Medieval England, c.1050–1550. London: Seaby, 1990, 83, 98; Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 125. 82 Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 78. 83 Taylor, Christopher C. Parks and Gardens of Britain. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998, 24; Turner, Richard. ‘The life and career of Richard the Engineer’. In Williams and Kenyon. Edwardian Castle, 46–58, at 53. 84 Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 140, and see above. 85 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 380, 388; Ashbee, ‘King’s ac­ comodation’, 72, 77. 86 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 380, 388, citing TNA, E 101/13/ 32, m.2; Ashbee, ‘King’s accomodation’, 72, 77. 87 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 324; Landsberg, Medieval Garden, 128; Creighton, Castles and Landscapes, 74; Liddiard, Robert. Castles in Context. Power, Symbolism and Landscape, 1066 to 1500. Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 2005, 111; Prestwich, ‘Edward I and Wales’, 6. 88 Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 84. 89 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 2, 817, citing TNA, E101/480/21. 90 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 172, 179. 91 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 505; Colvin, Howard M. ‘Royal gardens in medieval England.’ In MacDougall, Medieval Gardens, 7–22, at 11. 92 Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 82. 93 Colvin, ‘Royal gardens’, 18–9; Heng, Geraldine. The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018, 169. 94 Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 78; Colvin, ‘Royal gardens’, 9; James, Palaces of Medieval England, 93; Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 126. 95 Walker, Rose. ‘Leanor of England and Eleanor of Castile: Anglo-Iberian Marriage and Cultural Exchange in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries’. In England and Iberia in the Middle Ages, twelfth – fifteenth Century, edited by María Bullón-Fernández. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007, 67–87, at 68. 96 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 2, 670–1. 97 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 2, 670–1; see also Keats-Rohan, ‘Wallingford Castle’, 73–8 for a discussion of the ‘Queen’s Arbour’ at Wallingford Castle, Oxon. 98 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 2, 695–702; Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 106; Creighton, Castles and Landscapes, 79; Goodall, English Castle, 236–7. 99 Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 103, 106 100 Ashbee, Jeremy. ‘“Gloriette” in Corfe Castle, 1260’, Henry III Fine Rolls Project, Fine of the Month for July 2011 (2011). URL: https://finerollshenry3.org.uk/content/month/ fm-07–2011.html, accessed 27 May 2019. 101 Ashbee, Jeremy. ‘“The chamber called Gloriette”: living at leisure in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century castles’. Journal of the British Archaeological Association 157 (2004): 17–40, at 22, 33–4. 102 Ashbee, ‘Chamber called Gloriette’, 22, 33–4. 103 Ashbee, ‘Chamber called Gloriette’, 22, 33–4. 104 Ashbee, ‘Chamber called Gloriette’, 35. 105 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 181–2. 106 Ashbee, ‘Chamber called Gloriette’, 37.

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107 Dixon, Philip. ‘The pacification of the castle’. In The Medieval Great House, edited by Malcolm Airs and Paul S. Barnwell. Donington: Shaun Tyas, 2011, 31–42, at 35–6. 108 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 2, 1016–7; Colvin, Royal gardens, 11. 109 Cockerill, Eleanor of Castile, 102. 110 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 172, 179, 181–2. 111 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 182–4. 112 Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 87, 103; Stannard, ‘Medicinal uses’, 74; Moorhouse, Stephen. ‘The medieval parks of Yorkshire: function, contents and chronology’. In The Medieval Park. New Perspectives, edited by Robert Liddiard. Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 2007, 99–127, at 124. 113 Creighton, Castles and Landscapes, 73. 114 Landsberg, Medieval Garden, 128–9. 115 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 389. 116 Calkins, Robert G. ‘Piero de’ Crescenzi and the medieval garden’. In MacDougall, Medieval Gardens, 157–73; Richardson, Amanda. ‘“The King’s chief delights”: a landscape approach to the royal parks of post-conquest England’. In Liddiard, Medieval Park, 27–48, at 27. 117 Curl and Wilson, Dictionary of Architecture, 2015. 118 Colvin, ‘Royal gardens’, 16. 119 Stannard, ‘Medicinal uses’, 74; Cummins, John. ‘“Veneurs s’en vont en Paradis”: medieval hunting and the “natural” landscape’. In Inventing Medieval Landscapes: Senses of Place in Western Europe, edited by John Howe and Michael Wolfe. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2002, 33–56, at 47; Norris, Ralph. Malory’s Library: The Sources of the Morte D’Arthur. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2008. 120 Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 145. 121 Pluskowski, Alex. ‘The social construction of medieval park ecosystems: an inter­ disciplinary perspective’. In Liddiard, Medieval Park, 63–78, at 71, 73. 122 Everson, Paul. ‘Medieval gardens and designed landscapes.’ In The Lie of the Land: aspects of the archaeology and history of the designed landscape in the south west of England, edited by Robert Wilson-North. Exeter: The Mint Press, 2003, 24–33, at 27–9; Richardson, ‘King’s chief delights’, 39; Richardson, Shaun and Ed Dennison. ‘A wall with a view? The gardens at Ravensworth Castle, N. Yorkshire’. Landscape History 35 (2014): 21–38, at 25. 123 Creighton, Castles and Landscapes, 188. 124 Harvey, Medieval Gardens, 11. 125 Liddiard, Robert. ‘Introduction’. In Liddiard, Medieval Park, 1–10, at 3. 126 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 182–4. 127 Cockerill, Eleanor of Castile, 73, 122, 235. 128 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 2, 896; Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 121,126. 129 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 182–4. 130 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 181–4. 131 Swallow, ‘Living the Dream’, 186–8. 132 Liddiard, Edwardian castles, 195. 133 Gregory and Liddiard, ‘Visible from afar’, 148. 134 Fradley, ‘Space and structure’, 171. 135 Fradley, ‘Space and structure’, 175. 136 Beresford, Maurice. New Towns of the Middle Ages. Town Plantation in England, Wales and Gascony. Gloucester: Alan Sutton Publishing, 1988, 45. 137 Jones Pierce and Griffiths, ‘Documents’, 236, 241–3, citing Bangor University Archive, Baron Hill Manuscripts, nos 3153, 3173, respectively. 138 Gesbert, ‘Les jardins’, 407. 139 For comment on the naming, see Liddiard, Castles in Context, 107.

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140 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 375; Taylor, Caernarvon Castle (ed. 2015), 38. 141 RCAHMW, Inventory Caernarvonshire, 150; Taylor, Arnold J. Caernarvon Castle and Town Walls, Caernarvonshire (repr. 1956). London: HMSO, 1953, 38; Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 372. 142 Taylor, Carnarvon Castle (ed. 1953), 10; RCHAMW, Inventory Caernarvonshire, 115; Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 375. 143 Taylor, Carnarvon Castle (ed. 1953), 41. 144 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 383. 145 Liddiard, Castles in Context, 110. 146 Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology; Liddiard, Castles in Context, 11. 147 Brown, Colvin, and Taylor, King’s Works, Vol. 1, 383; RCHAMW, Inventory Caernarvonshire, 115. 148 Wagner, Anthony R. ‘The Swan Badge and the Swan Knight’. Archaeologia 97 (1959): 127–38; Nelson, Jan A. ed. The Old French Crusade Cycle. Vol. 2. Le Chevalier au Cygne and La Fin d’Elias. Tuscaloosa, Alabama: University of Alabama Press, 1977; Mickel, Emanual, J. and Jan A. Nelson, eds. The Old French Crusade Cycle. Vol. 1. La Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne Elioxe. Tuscaloosa, Alabama: University of Alabama Press, 1977; Bryant, Nigel, trans. Chrétien de Troyes, c.1190. Perceval, the Story of the Grail. Cambridge, D. S. Brewer, 1996; Edwards, Cyril, trans. Wolfram von Eschenbach, Parcival with Titurel and the Love-Lyrics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006; Orme, Nicholas. ‘The Lady of the Swans’. In The Modern Traveller to our Past. Festschrift in honour of Ann Hamlin, edited by Marion Meek. Belfast: DPK Publishers, 2006, 298–300. 149 Gilchrist, Gender and Archaeology, 111; Werness, Hope, B. The Continuum Encyclopedia of Animal Symbolism in Art. New York: Continuum, 2004, 396; Edwards, Wolfram von Eschenbach, 396.

8 ALBANY AND THE POETS John Stuart, Duke of Albany, and the transfer of ideas between Scotland and the continent, 1509–1536 Bryony Coombs Abstract: John Stuart, Duke of Albany was born in France, but acted as Regent of Scotland from 1514 until 1524. From 1518, he also cultivated his ties of kinship to the Italian Medici family. Albany was, furthermore, noteworthy for his love of visual splendour and magnificence. In France, he was an astute patron of the visual arts, commissioning manuscripts, and grand architectural projects, such as the Sainte-Chapelle at Vic-le-Comte in the Auvergne. Albany’s main architectural achievement in Scotland was the fortification of his principal residence, Dunbar Castle, in the form of a great artillery blockhouse: perhaps the first such structure to have been built in the British Isles. This paper outlines Albany’s patronage of the literary arts in relation to his career and his cultural endeavours, both artistic and architectural. It is argued that Albany used his contacts with literary figures in France to bolster his career and to influence opinion; in so doing, he acted as an important conduit for the transfer of knowledge and ideas between Scotland, France, and Italy in the early sixteenth century.

Pierre Gringore’s Abus du Monde for James IV, c.1509 In an inventory of the library at Château Mirefleur, taken in 1560 for Catherine de Medici, is the following entry: ‘Plus ung livre nomme Les abus du monde couvert de velours noir’ (‘Also a book named the abuses of the world covered in black velvet’).1 In a later inventory of Catherine’s books, this time taken in Paris, the book is listed again as ‘Ung autre livre couvert de velours noir escrit à la main sur vélin, intitulé les Abus du monde’ (‘Another book covered in black velvet written by hand on vellum, entitled the Abuses of the world’).2 In the Pierpont Morgan Library, catalogued as MS M. 42, is a lavishly-illuminated copy of Pierre Gringore’s c.1509 text Les abus du monde.3 This is the only version of this text to survive in manuscript form, and thus a tentative connection may be drawn between this manuscript and the in­ ventory entries noted above. The Pierpont Morgan manuscript contains a finelyilluminated title page bearing the royal arms of Scotland and was evidently commissioned as a gift for James IV.4 The manuscript in Catherine de Medici’s

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library at Mirefleur was likely directly inherited from her uncle and tutor, John Stuart, Duke of Albany, the previous resident at this château, and thus it appears likely that the manuscript was commissioned by Albany as a gift for James IV c.1509. But rather than travelling to Scotland, the work remained in his collection inherited in 1536 by Catherine.5 This manuscript and its connection to Albany is interesting for the information it provides regarding Albany’s ties to Scotland in the period prior to his regency. It suggests, moreover, that Albany was actively involved during this early phase of his career in commissioning literary material with a political purpose, relating to Franco–Scottish diplomacy. John Stuart, Duke of Albany, was born in the Auvergne in 1482. He was the only son of Alexander Stuart, the younger brother of King James III of Scotland and entered the court of Charles VIII at a young age, likely in 1494.6 During Albany’s early career, he played a distinguished role in Louis XII’s Italian campaigns, which resulted in the conquest of Milan and the recapture of Naples. The 17-year-old duke was among the French nobles who then accompanied their king when he triumphantly entered Milan. In 1501, Albany took part in a crusade to the eastern Mediterranean and distinguished himself in an attack on the Aegean island of Mytilene.7 In the following year, Albany was appointed captain of 100 lances des ordonnances du roi garrisoned at Bordeaux, and in 1503, he returned to campaigning in Italy. When Louis invaded Italy again in 1507, Albany was present in the army, preceding the king when the latter entered Genoa on 28 April.8 These activities show him to be a figure of Scottish descent, who spent the majority of his life in Continental Europe and who cultivated a strong network of contacts spanning Scotland, France, and Italy. Albany was thus closely involved in Louis XII’s military exploits in Italy and also had an interest in crusades, having participated in one himself. He undertook, furthermore, during this early stage in his career, various diplomatic tasks on behalf of Scotland. In 1511, for example, James IV was so troubled by the state of Europe and the dissension between the Pope and the French king that he asked Albany to do all he could to help bring about a reconciliation.9 Albany was, therefore, personally involved in continental military and diplomatic activity that was of great interest to James IV and which was dealt with in the propagandic text Les Abus du monde. Although, in the end, Albany and James IV never actually met, Albany appears to have been so eager to meet his royal Scottish cousin during this period that he briefly entertained the idea of going to Scotland in disguise.10 A principal concern for Louis XII in the early sixteenth century was the defence of his interests in Lombardy. Numerous territorial skirmishes erupted during this period, the most severe culminating in a full-scale conflict with Louis and his allies confronting the republic of Venice. Running closely alongside Louis’ military ac­ tivities was a forceful literary propaganda machine involving poets and writers both directly employed by the court and working outside of the courtly milieu.11 Cardinal Georges d’Amboise, acting for Louis XII, and Margaret of Austria, re­ presenting her father, Maximilian, met for negotiations in Cambrai in November and December 1508. With the traditional pretext of a crusade against the Turks as the desired final outcome, an alliance was sealed known as the Treaty or League of

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Cambrai: binding together Louis XII and Emperor Maximilian. The real aim of the treaty was to tackle the issue of Venice. Other rulers were encouraged to join the venture with Ferdinand of Aragon, Pope Julius II, and Alfonso, duke of Ferrara, seizing upon the opportunity to regain territories lost to Venice. It is within this political context that MS M. 42 must be examined. On folio 49r is an illumination, which elucidates in visual terms the political complexities involved in the Treaty of Cambrai (Figure 8.1). On an island sits a lion, re­ presenting Venice, being pierced by black and white quills, which are being shot

Jean Coene IV, A visual satire on the League of Cambrai, Pierre Gringore, Abus du Monde. Pierpont Morgan Library, MS M 42, fol. 49r. (© The Morgan Library & Museum, New York, USA).

FIGURE 8.1

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from a porcupine, who represents Louis XII. To the left hovers the two-headed imperial eagle, while at the bottom is an oak tree, representing Julius II, and two barking dogs, representing Ferdinand of Aragon. The encroachment of the league on Venice is suggested by two ships approaching the lion’s island. The text, furthermore, emphasises the active role taken by Louis XII in this affair and the notion that he was acting under God’s protection. On folio 44v, further­ more, God is shown appearing to the three estates holding a crowned heart encircled by the collar of St Michael. The image refers to Proverbs 21:1, ‘The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord’.12 In the context of Franco–Scottish relations, it appears likely that the manuscript was intended to be understood as an incitement to join Louis’ cause, or at the very least, to lend distant support to his aims. In this respect, the manuscript was likely a propagandic instrument commissioned to encourage James IV to side with the French king in his ex­ pansionist ambitions in Italy.13 Although this text appears to have never reached the Scottish king, Albany’s intention is clear; to present Gringore’s work as a finely-produced and lavishlyilluminated manuscript, with the intention of persuading James IV to lend support to Louis XII’s territorial ambitions in Italy. This is the first of a number of instances throughout Albany’s career where he used his contacts with literary and artistic figures to further personal and political objectives.14

Macé de Villebresme’s Epistres du Turc and the fortifications at Dunbar, 1515–1523 An important turning point in Albany’s career took place on 9 September 1513, when James IV was killed at Flodden, leaving an infant James V as his successor. On 3 July 1515, the lords of the council recorded ‘that ane excellent and mychti prince Johnne duke of Albany, governour and protectour of Scotland and tutour to the kingis grace to his perfite age, arivit in the said realme the XVIII day of May’.15 At this time, literary figures in Scotland were employed in composing flattering poems to welcome the new regent, intended perhaps to reassure an apprehensive populace of Albany’s good intentions and fine credentials.16 Albany visited Scotland three times over the course of his regency: May 1515 to June 1517; November 1521 to October 1522; and September 1523 to May 1524. His first visit is generally considered the most successful, during which time he brought a degree of stability back to Scottish governance.17 Antoine d’Acres, seigneur de la Bastie, travelled to Scotland in late 1513, re­ ceiving in Albany’s name the strategically important fortress of Dunbar, part of the Albany property which belonged to the family through the Earldom of March and which had been confiscated when Albany’s father had been banished by James III.18 During Albany’s time in Scotland, he made Dunbar Castle his principal base where he was allowed, under the terms of his regency, to keep a French garrison. In terms of Albany’s patronage of architectural projects in Scotland, Dunbar Castle was an important focus for his building activities.

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Today, the fragmentary remains of the castle are scattered on a rock standing approximately 80 feet above the sea. To the south-west of the structure built, or repaired, for James IV, a great blockhouse dating to Albany’s regency stands on a neighbouring island-like promontory.19 The blockhouse was originally joined to the castle by a substantial traverse wall built across a tidal chasm.20 The blockhouse was apparently unroofed, consisting of four large ground-level casemates which are deeply recessed into the rampart and open to the rear. Seven gunholes survive. The gunhole throats are large enough to hold substantial pieces of artillery, and it has been noted that this blockhouse provides the earliest datable examples of this type of gunhole in Scotland.21 Above the casemates is evidence of a large parapet, perhaps originally about two metres thick. It has been suggested that the parapet may have had a curvilinear profile.22 The general shape of the blockhouse echoes that of a contemporary Italian angle bastion in the shape of its faces.23 The sur­ viving physical evidence of the castle and blockhouse may, furthermore, be re­ conciled with contemporary literary accounts. The most significant contemporary record of the castle and its appearance survives in the form of reconnaissance conducted by Lord Dacre, a field com­ mander for Cardinal Wolsey. In response to a request for information on the state of the castle, Dacre reported back to Wolsey on the 26 June 1523 that: and finally touching the state and strength of the castell of Dunbar whereof your grace is desirous to be advised, I assure your grace it is a thing in manner unprenable for I have bene in it. It standith upon a crag and there is no waye to go to it but one which is strongly and substantially made with a new bulwerk and sett with ordinance as can be devised by the duke of Albany for in the said castell is all the said duke’s trust. And if the said Bulwerk could be won I think there is no doubt but the castell might be won semblably be reason that the said castell stands low upon a crag and the erth without it is high about it, and so there could nothing stirr within it but the ordinance that were without the castell shulde bete it.24 This communiqué provides crucial evidence that Albany was responsible for the new bulwark and that this was complete by 1523.25 In examining possible sources for Albany’s military architecture at Dunbar, it is instructive to consider evidence of his literary interests during this period. A fas­ cinating document, held at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, is important in this respect. The manuscript begins with the epistles of Mehmet II, translated from Latin (by Landin, knight of Jerusalem) into French, by Macé de Villebresme in 1515 and dedicated to ‘Jehan, Duke of Albanye, regent and governor of Scotland’.26 Macé de Villbresme was a courtier and valet de chambre to Louis XII.27 He also acted as French ambassador to Scotland in 1515. He is recorded as having brought letters, which told of the ratification by Francis I of the treaty made by his predecessor with England, with the inclusion of Scotland on the condition of hostilities ceasing on the English borders.28 His exhortations were supported by

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Balthasar Stewart, who was an envoy of Pope Leo X, and had been in Scotland for a year using all his efforts to persuade the Scots to abstain from war with England, and join in the crusade against the Turks.29 Villebresme died in August 1517. It is, therefore, likely that this work was translated for presentation to Albany on Villebresme’s visit to Scotland in 1515. Villebresme notes in the prologue to the work that he had pondered long and hard who to present the work to and had decided that there was no one better than Albany given his ‘curiosity’ in such affairs. It appears, therefore, to provide evidence of Albany’s interest in, and preoccupation with, the military matters he engaged with on his crusade some years earlier.30 The date of the presentation of this document precisely coincides with the beginning of Albany’s campaign to fortify Dunbar, and it is feasible, therefore, to assume that these events are connected. The presentation of this unusual literary work by Villebresme attests to Albany’s preoccupation with military affairs relating to the crusades. Other works in the manuscript, moreover, indicate a broader interest in the works of Greek and Roman authors and testify to Albany’s keen interest in military matters relating to classical antiquity.31 The architectural work that Albany undertook in relation to the for­ tification of Dunbar appears to reflect, what he had experienced whilst employed in a military capacity in Italy, or developments he had encountered on his crusade to the Eastern Mediterranean. In either case, the work he commissioned in Scotland appears to have been the first of its kind in the British Isles and attests to his importance as a conduit for architectural and military ideas to Scotland from the Continent.32

Bremond Domat, genealogy, and military ambition in the Hague Manuscript, 1518 Albany was back in France from June 1517 to November 1521. A key event that took place during this period was the marriage of his sister-in-law, Madeleine de la Tour, to Lorenzo de’ Medici, Duke of Urbino, on the 2 May 1518. The marriage was extremely important for Albany, substantially elevating his standing in France by allying him with the powerful Florentine Medici family, and by providing him with a direct connection to Lorenzo’s uncle, Pope Leo X, a connection Albany was quick to exploit, both for his own ends and on behalf of Scotland. This can be seen in Albany’s correspondence with the papacy soon after this time, in which the ancient privileges of the kings and kingdom of Scotland were confirmed.33 Within several months of the birth of Madeleine and Lorenzo’s only child, Catherine, at Urbino on 19 April 1519, both parents died.34 This left the young child’s closest relatives as Pope Leo X and Albany. Following the death of Pope Leo X on 1 December 1521, Albany was appointed Catherine’s tutor and guardian, as her closest male relative. At the Koninklijke Bibliotheek in the Hague, is a manuscript catalogued under the title Genealogy of Anne de la Tour, Princess of Scotland, KB 74 G 11 (hereafter, the Hague Manuscript).35 The unusual address, referring to Albany’s wife as ‘Princess of Scotland’ and inclusion of material relating to Albany and his military objectives, suggest that this was a work commissioned by Albany as a gift to his wife. The

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Bremond Domat, Self-portrait, Généalogie de Madame Anne de la Tour, princesse de l’Écosse. KB 74 G 11, fol. 2r. 1518 (© Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag, Netherlands).

FIGURE 8.2

principal content of the work concerns the illustrious genealogy of the counts of Boulogne and d’Auvergne, from which both Albany and his wife, Anne de la Tour, could claim descent.36 There is sufficient evidence within the manuscript to attribute it to an interesting literary figure, Bremond Domat.37 Furthermore, Domat possessed the self-awareness and self-confidence to include his self-portrait within the manuscript; a detail that tells us much about the patron/creator re­ lationship between Albany and Domat (Figure 8.2).38 Following a story of the brothers Pharaon and Archemolu, two genealogies of the counts of Boulogne and d’Auvergne, and a collection of illuminated poems and epitaphs, the manuscript concludes with poems and drawings of the principal properties that came into Albany’s possession after his marriage.39 The work is

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dated to 1518, and it is likely that one of the primary aims of the manuscript was to detail the split of properties inherited by Albany and his wife, following the marriage of Anne’s sister, Madeleine. On fol. 52v, a poem included underneath a representation of Albany’s arms, impaled by those of Anne de la Tour, sets out his military objectives. It boldly proclaims: The year one thousand, four hundred, eighty and two in July, The eighth was born on earth, Albany, bonnie child, who will by sea conquer, Scotland also England, and put them into subjection, by strength of arms and of war, he will take possession of them.40 Below this is written: ‘The prognostication of the nativity of prince John, duke of Albany, as speculated by the planets’. This is followed by three verses of eight lines on the influence of the planetary deities on the life of Albany. It starts by noting that Venus, the principal planet that governs his birth, promises him papal power. Here, he is described as ‘double crowned two times king’.41 His intent was, therefore, to suggest that he was not only the ruler of Scotland, but the potential ruler of England. So beyond the practical aspect of detailing their properties, the manuscript also functioned as a medium through which Albany could display his military credentials and his potential political power. It was an astute and carefully considered piece of self-fashioning designed to bolster his social status. Several copies were made of the Hague Manuscript. BnF fr. 5227 is a copy of the genealogical sections and was produced as a gift for Pope Clement VII, c.1530. It contains the arms and emblem of Albany, and a portrait and the emblem of the Pope. This copy was executed by Jean Couteau and was evidently intended as a diplomatic gift to strengthen Albany’s ties with the papacy and enhance the re­ putation of Catherine’s French lineage in Italy.42 BnF fr. 20209 is another copy of the genealogies. It was also made as a gift, this time for the la Guesle family, seigneurs de Busséol.43 Again, the reasons behind the copy appear to have been to bolster the reputation of the counts of Boulogne and d’Auvergne, the lineage from which Albany, Anne de la Tour, and Catherine de Medici could all claim descent.44 The Hague manuscript in particular, is a finely produced work with carefullyexecuted figurative, heraldic, and architectural illuminations. It was a fine gift for Albany to present to Anne de la Tour, but was also used as an astute piece of selfpromotion. Albany had, by this time, completed one period of his regency in Scotland, and he thus sought to demonstrate his military prowess and political potential back on the Continent. His newly forged ties to the Medici family appear to have given him cause to consider several points; how best to promote himself in Europe, and how to bolster his political power by emphasising the importance of his pan-European status.

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Domat, the Liber Pluscardensis, and the Sainte Chapelle at Vic-le-Comte, 1519–1529 In the following year, 1519, Albany engaged Bremond Domat in another task, this time the translation of a copy of the Liber Pluscardensis into French. The Liber Pluscardenisis is a Scottish history based on Fordun and Bower’s earlier works, up­ dated and abridged in the early 1460s.45 This manuscript is now held in the Bibliothèque St-Geneviève, MS 936 (hereafter the Paris Manuscript) and is the only know example of this Latin chronicle translated into French. Domat also appended to this translation an original work apparently of his own devising: a finelyilluminated genealogy of the kings of Scotland. This work is interesting for multiple reasons. It tells us a great deal about Albany and his interest in his Scottish lineage during this time. Furthermore, it indicates that Domat was engaged in a dual commission; to research the French Boulogne and d’Auvergne lineage in 1518, and a year later, to work on Albany’s Scottish heritage. Viewed in the broader context of Albany’s cultural activities in France, his preoccupation with lineage fitted into a larger scheme of grand cultural endeavours, principally his foundation of a SainteChapelle at Vic-le-Comte. A papal bull was granted in June 1520 by Pope Leo X authorising the foundation of this chapel and much of the Sainte-Chapelle’s interior decoration emphasises the concepts of illustrious lineage and noble descent. The opening page of the Paris Manuscript is illuminated with a pen and ink drawing of the crowned arms of Albany, encircled by the collar of the Order of St Michael and situated in a bouquet of Renaissance foliage. At the base is a banner bearing the inscription ‘veritas de terra orta est’ (‘truth shall spring from the ground’); a reference to one of the central themes of the manuscript, the genea­ logical tree, a phrase also employed by Gringore in 1514.46 Domat prefaced the Paris Manuscript with a fourteen-line poem extolling the virtues of the very magnificent kingdom of Scotland: Powerful Princes, this present chronicle, Demonstrates by very clear evidence, Of Scotland has [Bruict] sovereign and antique, And is still why by excellence, I write this here solemn work, To demonstrate how the Catholic faith, Was kept and judicial power, Peace and love, equity, temperance, And against Turks often took a lance, Nobles and lay, I beg you, without replica, See this fact, full of prudence. Domat, the author translator.47

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In the introduction to the illuminated genealogy, Domat makes his intention clear. He stresses that it was written to ‘clarify and resolve the very illustrious and ancient lineage of Scots to that end that every noble prince descended from this line may apprehend the true source and origin of their lineage’, emphasising that few kingdoms can claim such an ancient line of descent as that of Scotland, which was traced back 330 years before the advent of Christ.48 The iconography employed in the SainteChapelle, viewed in relation to the genealogical manuscripts, suggests that Albany was concerned with illustrating the importance of a union between a descendant of the kings of Scotland and of the Capetian kings of France. This was a joining of bloodlines which had occurred previously, and which is highlighted in the Hague Manuscript by the earlier marriage of Mary, the youngest daughter of Malcolm Canmore and St Margaret of Scotland, to Eustace III, Count of Boulogne.49 The principal iconographic focus of the programme of decoration in the Sainte-Chapelle is the Tree of Jesse, adorning the axial window, below which kneel the donor figures, Albany and Anne de la Tour.50 The inclusion of Albany and his wife kneeling below this scene integrated the founders’ earthly lineage into this sacred genealogy. The aims and ambitions set out in Albany’s manuscripts paved the way for his grand architectural foundation: the Sainte-Chapelle. The chapel represents an earthly treasury of prestige and self-accomplishment, while simultaneously acting as a conduit for spiritual redemption. At the time that Albany was planning the foundation of the Sainte-Chapelle, his position as gov­ ernor of Scotland must have been at the forefront of his thoughts. The foundation and its decorative programme stressed lineage, kingship, and the joining of illus­ trious bloodlines. Thus, the foundation gave visual form to Albany’s concerns regarding his status in France, advertising his illustrious royal lineage, and de­ monstrating his magnificence and political power. The Paris manuscript is an important example of an international transfer of political ideas. In the Mitchell Library in Glasgow is a copy of the Liber Pluscardensis in Latin, MS 308876.51 Skene pointed out in 1877 that some of the notes on the flyleaf of this manuscript suggest that it had been in France in the early sixteenth century and that it may have been the manuscript Domat used for his translation.52 An examination of this manuscript confirms that this was likely the case. It contains the preface and prologue now found in only two other manuscripts. It also appears to have been in the possession of the French Roi d’Armes, Montjoie, and contains lines of verse related to those that were added by Domat to the Paris Manuscript. The inscription ‘J(?) [...] albinie’ on fol. 1r of MS 308876 perhaps also relates to this episode. The French Roi d’Armes, Montjoie, Gilbert Chauveau, certainly visited Scotland in 1506, and, as a figure involved in Venetian politics and crusading diplomacy, was likely well known to Albany.53 The example of the Paris Manuscript and MS 308876, therefore, provides evidence for the transfer of literary material from Scotland to France. The trans­ lation of that material into French and its reworking into an illuminated genealogy is crucial for understanding Albany’s motivations during this period. Albany’s patronage of literary and visual material evidently influenced the program of

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decoration employed in his grand ecclesiastical foundation, the Sainte-Chapelle, and his interest in the Liber Pluscardensis was both in promoting the prestige of Scotland on the Continent and in enhancing his own illustrious reputation.

A sketch by Antonio da Sangallo the Younger and a eulogy by Desmontiers, c.1525–1538 As noted above, Albany was concerned with updating the fortifications at his principal residence in Scotland, Dunbar Castle. Evidence also survives detailing Albany’s continued interest in such matters later in his career. In the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, are a large collection of architectural drawings attributable to the Sangallos, an influential family of Florentine architects and military engineers. Among these is a rough sketch in brown ink on paper that shows proposals for the modernisation for a typical late-fifteenth-century fortress, by the addition of a ravelin and caponier (U1051A).54 A line of text on the sketch notes: ‘Fortezza e opinione del Duca dalbania’ (‘fortress and opinion of the Duke of Albany’). A note on the verso states: ‘Forteze; openione delducha dalbania’. That Albany’s opinion regarding a matter of military science should have been sought by such an eminent Renaissance architect and engineer is important. The drawing appears to show a description provided by Albany of the fortress at Salses, or a similar example of transitional military archi­ tecture from this period, and in this respect it shows that Albany was perhaps used by those close to the Medici family as a source of military intelligence.55 The drawing also indicates that Albany’s opinion was highly regarded by Sangallo. Albany’s ties of kinship to the Medici family go some way to explain this, but there is more to be said here. Key to this is Albany’s broader reputation in matters of military science. Again, a literary work, this time by Jean Desmontiers, is enlightening. Desmontiers wrote his text on the origin, topography, and marvels of Scotland around 1538, initially for presentation to Madeleine of Valois. After Madeleine’s death, however, the work was redirected to Catherine de Medici. Although the work takes much of its detail from Hector Boece, via Bellenden’s translation, it also contains original topographical information, which suggests that Desmontiers may have visited Scotland himself earlier in his career. In the centre of the text is a eulogy to Albany: Also in this province is the strong castle of Dunbar: well known by the memory of the late very virtuous and very magnanimous prince M. Dalbanie father of Scotland: of whom the virtues have already been put [written about] in so high & eminent place, that it is impossible for me to reach that level. Because I am compelled to withdraw from the place where I had wished to go: and yet I shall dare to say, according to my little power, that neither Aristides, Themistocles, Pericles, nor Brasidas in all the virtues, in which each of them particularly excelled, do no work that was beyond the high and noble deeds of this prince: for, besides the prowess and military science which he was as renowned for as Alexander, or Caesar: and the love

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of his country which exceeded that of Deces and Horace Cocles, he has deserved to be immortalised: like Ceres or Dionisius for the extreme work he had to render most of all of Scotland fertile, and workable/cultivatable: which was previously barren and fallow.56 The declaration of Albany’s prowess in matters of military science, mentioned in relation to his stronghold at Dunbar, is interesting. Desmontiers’ text allows us to see that Albany cultivated a reputation in matters of military science, and part of this was based on his fortifications at Dunbar. The regard with which Albany’s opinions were held by Sangallo the Younger, therefore, reflects both his reputation in matters of military science and his elevated social standing in Rome. In 1530, Albany was appointed French ambassador to the Holy See, acting as the chief negotiator for the marriage of his niece, Catherine, and the duc d’Orléans. Albany’s status at this time appears to have caused some difficulties in papal ceremony, given that dukes outranked ambassadors.57 His family ties to the Pope evidently afforded him special privileges, as illustrated in November 1530, when he was responsible for carrying the papal train, and in Christmas 1531, when the ambassadors were ranked, in reverse precedence, Venice, England, Imperial, Duke of Albany.58 The note hastily scribbled on Sangallo’s sketch indicates that Albany was em­ ployed as a conduit for military information from elsewhere in Europe to Italy. He was evidently considered an important figure by his Medici kinsmen for his contacts and for the information that he was, therefore, party to. Albany’s re­ putation in military science was likely based, at least in part, on word of his military enterprises in Scotland. Whether the reality of his developments at Dunbar lived up to this reputation was of little concern, as few would actually travel to Scotland to see them: what mattered was his reputation and that of his fortress, as docu­ mented in the work of Desmontiers.

Blood and vellum: Albany’s promotion of the Boulogne and d’Auvergne lineage As noted above, twelve years after Albany commissioned the Hague Manuscript in 1518, he appears to have ordered several copies of this work with the intention of gifting them to illustrious figures.59 In 1530, Albany was appointed French am­ bassador in Rome. He was, as we have seen, highly regarded in papal circles at this time. The gift of a finely-illuminated genealogical manuscript to the Pope, de­ monstrating the prestige of both Catherine’s and his own, illustrious lineage, no doubt played its part in this. There is, furthermore, a second group of manuscripts, which must be con­ sidered in relation to these negotiations. Gustave Cohen wrote a text in 1944 on a manuscript in New York entitled La genealogie des contes de Boulongne. Cohen attributed the work to Geoffrey Tory principally on the evidence of a colophon in the manuscript which reads: ‘NE PLUS NE MOINS 1531’; the motto being close

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to Tory’s motto of ‘Non Plus’. He argued that the manuscript was commissioned by the French king, Francis I, of Tory, for presentation to Catherine in this year.60 Knowing what we do about Albany acting as chief negotiator for the king, and of Albany’s commission of genealogical material relating to the House of Boulogne previously, we can propose that the patron of this work was in fact Albany. There are two further examples of this text that survive, both apparently copies after the New York version; these are found in BnF fr 4653, fols 19r–25r, and at the back of BnF fr 20209, fols 77r–84v.61 This last example is the same manuscript that in­ cludes a copy of the Hague manuscript, which we have determined Albany in­ tended for the la Guesle family. This strongly supports the hypothesis that this group of genealogies were also commissioned by Albany in relation to his dip­ lomatic duties in Italy at this time. The purpose of the work being propagandistic material designed to heighten the fame and prestige of both his lineage and that of Catherine de Medici. The fine copy described by Cohen was in all likelihood a gift from Albany to Catherine in 1531, designed to heighten her awareness of her illustrious French heritage. Indeed, in the inventory of Catherine’s library in Paris of 1589, we find listed with the aforementioned Abus du monde manuscript, ‘Ung autre livre couvert de cuir rouge ou est descrite la généalogie des comtes de Boulongne’ – likely the same manuscript consulted by Cohen in New York. We also find an­ other text next to it listed as ‘Ung autre livre couvert de cuir de Levant vert escrit à la main intitulé l’Origine et succession des comtes de Boulongne’.62 The attribution of the work, moreover, to Geoffrey Tory on the strength of a similarity between the motto ‘NE PLUS NE MOINS’ and his motto ‘Non plus’ must be questioned. The great benefit in drawing together Albany’s literary pa­ tronage in this paper is that previously unseen connections become clear. If we return to 1515 and Macé de Villbresme’s work addressed to Albany, we can recall that he added an anagram of his name and his poetic device ‘PLUS QUE MOINS’ to the end of his work. Cohen noted in relation to the colophon in the New York manuscript that ‘there is no parallel [...] in contemporary scribal colophons’.63 Yet, here is a direct parallel in a work also addressed to Albany who was likely involved in the production of both works. It must be considered, therefore, whether this motto relates more to the patron, Albany, than to the author.64 The transfer of ideas in this instance was from France to Italy and performed an important diplomatic and political role, enhancing the prestige of Catherine de Medici’s French bloodline in her own eyes, that of the papacy, and other Italian nobles. In this example, Albany used literary material as luxurious gifts, in order that they might function as propaganda designed to serve his diplomatic and political aims and, furthermore, to bolster his own reputation.

Conclusion John Stuart, Duke of Albany, was a figure who acted throughout his life as a highly influential conduit for the transfer of ideas between elite, royal, and papal circles in Scotland, France, and Italy. He was unusual for the powerful positions he held in

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all three countries. He is also noteworthy for his evident understanding of the power and agency of visual and literary material in the service of his diplomatic, military, and political endeavours. Commissions of such material were not per­ ipheral to what was occurring, but integral: such works acted as active agents in shaping his career. We can, therefore, trace the development of his career through the cultural connections and enterprises he was involved in. While this present discussion is not exhaustive, it does, however, offer the opportunity to explore Albany’s impressive engagement with visual and literary material throughout his life, and to draw parallels between historiographic details with his literary, artistic, and architectural commissions. This allows us to see how Albany manipulated such material to bolster his position, influence opinions, and facilitate the transfer of knowledge and ideas between countries. It also allows us to speculate on how he was perceived as an important source of intelligence for various parties. Albany acted as a conduit for the transfer of ideas and knowledge not only from France to Scotland, but also from Scotland to France, France to Italy, Italy to Scotland, and indeed from Scotland to Italy. The importance of studying in­ dividual figures in this way is that it allows us to see, in a very specific manner, how ideas spread. Through such work, we can replace sweeping generalisations regarding ideas emerging from France and Italy and eventually reaching Scotland, with specific examples of how such a cultural transfer occurred and how, most importantly, it also flowed in the opposite direction.

Notes 1 Inventaire du bibliothèque du château de Mirefleur, 1560. Paris, BnF Latin 18610, fol. 210v. Unpublished. 2 II Inventaire du mobilier de Catherine de Médicis à Paris, en 1589. Paris, BnF Latin 14359, fol. 231v. Published by Édmond Bonnaffé. Inventaire des meubles de Catherine de Médicis en 1589: Mobilier, tableaux, objets d’art, manuscrits. Paris: Aubry, 1874, 84–5. 3 There is no modern edition of this text, although it is being worked on by Cynthia J. Brown: Brown, Cynthia J. ‘Les Abus du Monde de Pierre Gringore: de l’imprimé au manuscrit?’ In La Génération Marot, Poétes français et néo–latins (1515–1550), edited by G. Defaux. Paris: Honoré Champion, 1997, 35–58. For a fuller account of the connection between Albany and this manuscript, see Coombs, Bryony. ‘Les Abus du Monde: A French Manuscript Produced for James IV of Scotland ca. 1509, Pierpont Morgan, MS M. 42’. Scottish Historical Review (forthcoming). 4 New York, The Morgan Library and Museum, Pierre Gringore, Les Abus du Monde, MS M 42, fol. 1r. 5 For Château Mirefleur, Albany’s favourite residence, see Fouilhoux, J.-B. Fiefs et chateaux forts relevant de la Comté d’Auvergne (Capitale Vic-le-Comte). Clermont-Ferrand: G. de Bussac, 1926; Coombs, Bryony. ‘The Artistic Patronage of John Stuart, Duke of Albany 1518–19: The “Discovery” of the Artist and Author, Bremond Domat’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 144 (2014): 277–309; Coombs, Bryony. ‘The Artistic Patronage of John Stuart, Duke of Albany, 1520–30: Vic-le-Comte, the last SainteChapelle’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 147 (2017): 175–217. 6 Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, Henry VIII, Vols 1–4, 1509–1530, edited by J. S. Brewer. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1864–1920, IV: no. 52.

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7 Molinet, Jean. Collection des Chroniques Nationales Francaises, Chroniques de Jean Molinet, edited by J. A. Buchon. Paris: Verdière, 1828, XLVII: 183–91; D’Auton, Jean. Chroniques de Jean d’Auton, edited by P. L. Jacob, 4 vols. Paris: Silvestre, LibraireÉditeur, 1834, II: 12, 17, 19, 49–50, 57–8. 8 D’Auton, Chroniques, III: 309–37. 9 Letters and Papers, I, 684, 686, 688, 690–1, 694, 720. Unfortunately, the Pope refused to receive Albany because he was a Frenchman, although Ambassador Donato advised him to since Albany was also a Scot. 10 Flodden Papers, edited by M. Wood. Edinburgh: Scottish History Society, 1933, l, li, 56–7. 11 These included Jean d’Auton, Guillaume Cretin, Andre de La Vigne, Jean Marot, Jean de Saint-Gelais, and Pierre Gringore, all writing in support of the French king. Others writing with the imperial viewpoint in mind included Jean Lemaire de Belges and Ulrich von Hutten. 12 This maxim had been used in Jean Gerson’s Oratio ad regem franciae. Gerson, Jean. Opera omnia. Antwerp: P. de Hondt, 1728, IV: 662; Scheller, R. W. ‘L’union des princes: Louis XII, his allies and the Venetian campaign’. Simiolus 27 (1999): 195–242, at 199. 13 The visual satire on fol. 49r is thus a call for the heraldic beasts of Scotland, the lion and the unicorn, to assist those already engaged in this struggle. 14 This text was placed under copyright privilege for one year. Gringore’s authorial control suggests that he had contact with the patron of the manuscript. Brown, ‘Les Abus du Monde’, 44, n. 2; Coombs, ‘Les Abus du Monde’. 15 Acts of the Lords of Council in Public Affairs, 1501–1554, edited by R. K. Hannay. Edinburgh: HM General Register House, 1932, 40. 16 Two poems were composed for Albany’s arrival: We lordis hes chosin a chiftane mervellus, Edinburgh, NLS, Bannatyne Manuscript, Adv. MS 1.1.6. fols 78v–79r and (translated into French), Ballade faicte pour la venue du duc d’Albanie en Escosse translatée en francoys selon la lettre, Paris, BnF, MS fr 20055, fol. 73v. Janet Hadley Williams is currently working on both for an edition of poems from the minority and reign of James V for The Scottish Text Society. 17 Stuart, M. W. The Scot who was a Frenchman. Edinburgh: William Hodge and Company, 1940; Bonner, E. ‘Stewart, John, Second Duke of Albany (c.1482–1536)’. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 2004; Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1518–19’; Blakeway, A. Regency in Sixteenth-Century Scotland, Suffolk: Boydell and Brewer, 2015; Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1520–30’; Coombs, Bryony. ‘John Stuart, Duke of Albany and his contribution to military science in Scotland and Italy, 1514–36: from Dunbar to Rome’. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 148 (2018): 231–66; Emond, K. The Minority of James V, Scotland in Europe, 1513–1528. Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2019. 18 Acts of the Lords, 27. On 5 December 1512, Louis XII dispatched a request to James IV that Alexander Stuart’s confiscated estates be restored upon Albany, thus enabling the French king to make a marriage settlement befitting the rich dowry of Anne de la Tour. Flodden Papers, 62–5. 19 For Dunbar Castle, see Grose, F. The Antiquities of Scotland, 2 vols. London: Hooper & Wigstead, 1797, I, 85–90; Miller, J. The History of Dunbar: from the Earliest Records to the Present Time. Dunbar: James Downie, 1830; MacIvor, I. ‘Artillery and Major Places of Strength in the Lothians and the East Border, 1513–1543’. In Scottish Weapons and Fortifications 1100–1800, edited by D. H. Caldwell. Edinburgh: John Donald Publishers Ltd, 1981, 94–152; Merriman, M. ‘Intelligens to asseg, Migliorino Ubaldini and the Fortification of Scotland in 1548’. In Architetti e ingegneri militari italiani all’estero dal XV al XVII secolo, edited by M. Viganò, ii. Rome: dell’Istituto Italiano dei Castelli, 1999, 233–55; MacIvor, I. A Fortified Frontier, Defences of the Anglo-Scottish Border. Stroud: Tempus Publishing Ltd, 2001; Coombs, ‘From Dunbar to Rome’. 20 The wall collapsed in 1993. Miller, The History, 4. 21 MacIvor, ‘Artillery’, 94–152; Fawcett, R. The Architectural History of Scotland, Scottish Architecture from the Accession of the Stewarts to the Reformation 1371–1560. Edinburgh:

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27 28

29 30

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Edinburgh University Press, 1994, 290; Tabraham, C. Scotland’s Castles. London: Batsford, 2005, 86. MacIvor, ‘Artillery’, 116. This may have been due to the constraints of the site. MacIvor, ‘Artillery’, 112; MacIvor, A Fortified, 69; Coombs, ‘From Dunbar to Rome’, 8. Letters and Papers, III: 3134. Over 10 years earlier than Henry VIII’s campaign of coastal defence, which began in 1539. Paris, BnF, fr 12406 contains the ‘Epistres du Turc’ (1–23v), ‘Epistre de Cleriande la Romayne à Reginus, son concitoien’ (23v–30v), ‘Complainte de madame la douairiere de Nevers’ (30v–33v), ‘Translation historiale de latin en françoys par le dessus nommé Macé de Villebresme’ (33v–53), and ‘Plainte sur le trespas de feu maistre Jehan Braconnier, dit Lourdault, chantre, composée par maistre Guillaume Cretin, tresorier du boys de Vincennes’ (53r–56v). Villebresme signed the end of the ‘Epistres du Turc’ with an anagram of his name ‘DECLERES IMMVABLE’ and the device ‘PLUS QUE MOINS’. The ‘Epistres du Turc’ is a propagandic composition, relating 90 fictional letters between Mehmet II and other great powers, evidently intended to incite cru­ sading fervour. Tournoy-Thoen, G. ‘Fausto Andrelini et la cour de France’. In L’humanisme français au début de la Renaissance. Paris: Vrin, 1973, 65–79, at 70–1; Chesney, K. Guillaume Cretin: Ceuvres Poetiques. Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1932, xxi, 11. Rymer’s Foedera, edited by Thomas Rymer, London, 1739–1745, British History Online, URL: http://www.british-history.ac.uk/rymer-foedera/vol 8 (accessed 18 June 2019), XIII: 508; Letters and Papers, II: 464; Flodden Papers, xc; Letters of James V, 1513–1542, edited by R. K. Hannay. Edinburgh: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1954, 22. An account in the Exchequer Rolls for Scotland notes that on 20 September 1515 a payment of £90 was made to ‘Willebrand, Ambassador of the most Christian King, bearing the comprehension of peace between us and the English, paid on precept of the Lords of the Council’. This was likely a corruption of Villebresme. The Exchequer Rolls of Scotland, edited by G. Burnett & J. Stuart. Edinburgh: General Register House, 1878–1908, XIV: xxxix, 105–6. Calendar of State Papers Relating To English Affairs in the Archives of Venice, II, 1509–19, edited by R. Brown. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1867, n. 638; Letters of James V, 12, 18, 22, 24, 27, 39. Albany’s crusading enthusiasms have not previously received scholarly attention. Macquarrie’s key text on Scotland and the Crusades, for instance, barely mentions Albany. Macquarrie, A. Scotland and the Crusades 1095–1560. Edinburgh: John Donald Publishers, 1997, 116. Paris, BnF, fr 12406 fols 33v–53. Fawcett, The Architectural, 289; MacIvor, A Fortified, 69; Tabraham, Scotland’s Castles, 86. Papiers d’état, pièces et documents inédits ou peu connus relatifs a l’histoire de l’Ecosse, au XVI Siècle I, edited by A. Teulet. Paris: Typographie Plon Frères, 1851, I: 15–6. The Letters of James V: 68–9. During Albany’s visit to Rome in 1520, he not only secured a papal bull confirming his position as governor, but also took the time to obtain permission to construct the Sainte-Chapelle at Vic-le-Comte. Edinburgh, National Archives of Scotland, Bull of Pope Leo X, taking James V and his Kingdom under his Protection and Affirming the Authority of John, Duke of Albany as Tutor of the King and Governor of the Kingdom, 13 July, 1520, CH7/46; Paris, Archives Nationales, Bulle papale de Léon X, 21 June, 1520. J/1130, no. 25. Baluze, E. Histoire généalogique de la maison d’Auvergne, 2 vols. Paris: Antoine Dezallier, 1708, I: 352. For a more detailed discussion of this manuscript, see Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1518–19’.

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36 Albany’s mother was another Anne de la Tour. His wife, Anne de la Tour, was his first cousin. 37 Previously, this work has been attributed to Jean Lemaire de Belges, see Beaune, C. & É. Lequain, ‘Histoire et mythe familiaux chez les Boulogne Auvergne’. In Colloque Ecritures de l’histoire (XIVè–XVIè s.), Actes du congrès de Bordeaux, Université Michel de Montaine, edited by D. Bohler and C. Magnien Simonin. Paris-Genève: Droz, 2005, 386; Schoysman, A. ‘Jean Lemaire de Belges et la généalogie d’Anne de la Tour d’Auvergne dans le MS. 74 G 11 de La Haye (1518)’. Moyen Francais 57–8 (2006): 57–8, 315–6. For its re-attribution, see Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1518–19’. 38 Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1518–19’, 289–99. The banner reads: ‘Si non vtile est qvod facimvs stvlta est gloria’ (‘Unless what we do is useful, our glory is in vain’), with the initial ‘D’ for Domat. This was a motto Lemaire had previously used on the closing page of his work Legend of the Venetians of 1509. 39 A treatise was drawn up in 1518 detailing the split of properties between Anne de la Tour and her sister, Madeleine, agreed and signed by their husbands at Amboise. Baluze, Histoire généalogique, II: 684–9. 40 The Hague, KB, 74 G 11, fol. 52v. 41 The Hague, KB, 74 G 11, fols 52v–53r. 42 Paris, BnF, Couteau, Jean. Histoire généalogique des comtes d’Auvergne et de Boulogne. MS fr 5227. Albany was, at this time, engaged as a diplomat negotiating Catherine’s betrothal to the duc d’Orléans. 43 Paris, BnF. Généalogie fabuleuse d’Anne de la Tour, comtesse de Boulogne, femme de Jean Stuart, duc d’Albany, MS. fr. 20209. The arms of the la Guesle family appear on fol. 36. 44 Other copies include: Paris, BnF, Revenus du comté d’Auvergne, avec les revenus particuliers et les portraits des châteaux, Ars MS 4264 of 1552 containing the arms of Marie de Medici. It contains copies of the château portraits found in the Hague Manuscript showing the deterioration of the properties between 1518 and 1552. A sixteenth-century manuscript sold at Sotheby’s, 3 May 2012, also includes copies of the château portraits. It contains the arms of Catherine de Medici and was bound for presentation to Margaret de Valois. Sotheby’s Sale Catalogue ‘From the Collection of Prince and Princess Henry de la Tour d’Auvergne Lauraguais, 3 May, 2012’, 155. 45 The Liber Pluscardensis, while based on Bower’s Scotichronicon, includes a number of passages written in the first person by the chronicler as eye-witness accounts. The first five books follow Fordun’s Chronica Gentis Scotorum and the work up to James II is indebted to Bower. The remainder of the work is due, it is noted, to one whose name will appear at the end of the sixth book. This promise is unfulfilled in the surviving manuscripts. Skene proposed an identification with Maurice Buchanan. Mapstone proposed Gilbert Hay as a possible candidate. Skene, W. F. The Historians of Scotland VII: Liber Pluscardensis. Edinburgh: William Paterson, 1877, xix–xxiii; Drexler, M. ‘The Extant Abridgements of Walter Bower’s Scotichronicon’. Scottish Historical Review 61 (1982): 62–74; Mapstone, S. ‘The Scotichronicon’s First Readers’. In Church, Chronicle and Learning in Medieval and Early Renaissance Scotland, edited by B. Crawford. Edinburgh: Mercat Press, 1999, 4. 46 Taken from Psalm 84:12, Gringore used the phrase in his entry ceremony in honour of Mary Tudor in 1514. Brown, Cynthia J. ‘From Stage to Page: Royal Entry Performances in Honour of Mary Tudor (1514)’. In Book and Text in France, 1400–1600, edited by A. Armstrong and M. Quainton. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007, 65. 47 Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, MS 936, fol. 256r. 48 Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, MS 936, fol. 256r. 49 The Hague, KB, 74 G 11, fol. 40v. The marriage of his father, Alexander Stuart, also provides a precedent for this union. See Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1520–30’, 193. 50 Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1520–30’. For an engraving of the founders’ portraits copied before the destruction of the axial window, see Baluze, Histoire généalogique, I, 358, reproduced in Coombs, ‘The Artistic Patronage, 1520–30’, 185.

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51 Glasgow, The Mitchell Library Liber Pluscardensis, MS 308876. Skene lists six surviving manuscripts of the Liber Pluscardensis in Latin: Skene, The Historians of Scotland, x–xxiv. 52 Skene, The Historians of Scotland, xv–xvi. 53 For Gilbert Chauveau in Scotland, see Brittain, J. and J. Brown. ‘“And uther placis”: two French ambassadorial missions in Ayrshire’. Scottish Local History Journal 94 (2016): 1–14. The record of him visiting Crossraguel in Scotland is found in Accounts of the Lord High Treasurer of Scotland, III: 1506–7, edited by J. B. Paul. Edinburgh: H.M. General Register House, 1901, III, 350. 54 Frommel, C. L. and N. Adams, eds. The Architectural Drawings of Antonio Sangallo the Younger and his Circle, 2 vols. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1994, I: 193, reproduced in Coombs, ‘From Dunbar to Rome’, 16. 55 Coombs, ‘From Dunbar to Rome’, 16–9. 56 London, British Library, Jean Desmontiers, Le sommaire des antiquitez & merueilles Descosse, 1538, G.5441, fol. xv. Numerous copies of the Sommaire are known. See Pettegree, A., M. Walsby, and A. Wilkinson, eds. French Vernacular Books published in the French language before 1601, A–G. Leiden: Brill, 2007, 466, who list at least 18. 57 Fletcher, C. Diplomacy in Renaissance Rome: The Rise of the Resident Ambassador. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015, 75; Vatican City, The Vatican Library, BAV MS Vat Lat 12276, fol. 151v (297). 58 Fletcher, Diplomacy, 75; BAV MS Vat Lat 12276, fols 151v–152v (298 and 300). 59 See notes 42 and 43. 60 Cohen, G. Geoffroy Tory and Catherine de Medici, an unpublished manuscript of Geoffroy Tory of the genealogy of the Counts of Boulogne concerning the French ancestry of Catherine de Medici, Queen of France. New York: H. P. Kraus, 1944, 27–8. 61 Paris, BnF, Recueil de documents pour servir à l’histoire des maisons de Poitiers, Boulogne et Blois, MS fr 4653, fols 19r–25r; Paris, BnF MS fr 20209, fols 77r–84v. 62 Bonnaffé, Inventaire des meubles, 85. 63 Cohen, Geoffroy Tory, 11. 64 Villebresme died in 1517, so it is unlikely that he was responsible for this later work. Perhaps the motto was a borrowing of this earlier example in the manner that we have seen, for instance, Domat borrowed mottos and phrases from the work of both Lemaire and Gringore.

9 ANGLO–SWISS RELATIONS IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Religion, refuge, and relief Vivienne Larminie Abstract: While the debt owed by sixteenth-century English reformers to their connections in Zurich and Basel has been acknowledged, and travel and intellectual engagement during the Enlightenment have also been explored, relatively little attention has been given to links between the British Isles and the Swiss Confederation in the seventeenth century. The few moderately familiar examples – especially the ecumenical embassy of John Durie, the Swiss efforts at mediation in the Anglo–Dutch war, and the shared concern for the persecuted Waldensians – appear to come almost from nowhere. But they did not. Academic and religious interchange, a traffic in books, commercial links, and diplomacy were wellestablished; travellers overcame linguistic barriers and religious suspicions, and traversed mountains. English puritan writing gained popularity in the Protestant Cantons, while for English commentators the oligarchic republics presented a thought-provoking model of Protestant states directing their own political affairs, dominating their churches, and – depending on the point of view adopted – coexisting or warring with their Catholic neighbours. This chapter addresses perceptions of Switzerland in Stuart England, but also highlights individual friendships, which over decades sustained old connections, built new ones, and ensured the transmission of ideas and publications. Relations between England or Britain and Switzerland during the seventeenth century have received little attention, especially among anglophone scholars.1 This is despite the appearance of important work on adjacent centuries. In recent years, for instance, we have been reminded of the debt owed to Swiss Protestants by the Church of England, of the profound influence on leading English reformers of their exile in the Confederation during the reign of Mary I, and of the connections sustained through their subsequent correspondence with friends made in Zürich and Basel.2 Meanwhile, there has been a long-standing, if low-key, acknowledgement of British–Swiss interaction during the Enlightenment, embodied most notably in the person of Edward Gibbon, long-time resident of Lausanne.3 As hinted, there has been somewhat more activity on the intervening period

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among Swiss historians, but some of that, rooted in a historiography, which characterised the century as one of decline and the Confederation as an isolated conservative redoubt, is showing its age.4 Latterly, however, that historiography has been more outward-looking, and studies of particular aspects of interaction with England have opened up new perspectives.5 This chapter explores how work old and new can be combined to demonstrate not only that there was much such interaction throughout this period, but also that it had significance for the understanding both of English culture and of engagement between all the European Protestant powers. In order to remove any doubt, it should be stated that in what follows, ‘Switzerland’ is taken to mean the Confederation as manifested from 1536 to 1798, and not the later larger and evolving entity, which included from 1803 the republic of Geneva. It was not then, any more than now, a confessional state: the thirteen members of the Eidgenossenschaft were religiously divided. But while the Catholic cantons, invariably led by Luzern, were more numerous, they were also predominantly rural; they contained the Alpine passes through which Habsburg troops marched between territories in Italy and Germany, and that shaped their external relations. In contrast, the four Protestant cantons whose heartland was on the northern plateau – Basel, Schaffhausen, Zürich, and expansionist and increasingly powerful Bern – were relatively more populous and prosperous city republics. From a strategic and geographical standpoint as well as a religious one, it was they who, within the delicately balanced equilibrium that was the Confederation, had the most sustained relations with European Protestant powers, including England. It was also they who had the closest ties with their ally, the independent Protestant city state of Geneva, separated from Bernese territory by a narrow French enclave on land and by the waters of Lake Geneva.6 Since Geneva in its turn, as a magnet for Calvinists, a refuge for Huguenots, and a centre for international banking, played a notable role in oiling the wheels of Anglo–Swiss relations – especially through the far-flung family and business networks of its citizens – it cannot be excluded from the discussion which follows. The overall impression from official sources is, unsurprisingly, that the degree of Anglo–Swiss interaction fluctuated over the seventeenth century. State papers and parliamentary records suggest three high points: from about 1615 to 1640, when the alarming territorial ambitions of the duke of Savoy were overtaken by the even more concerning activities of the imperial armies of the Thirty Years War; the mid-1650s, centring on attempted mediation in the Anglo–Dutch war and relief efforts for the Waldensians; and from the mid-1680s, when a renewed wave of persecution of the Alpine Protestants coincided with the influx into Switzerland of an even bigger tide of Huguenot refugees following Louis XIV’s revocation of the Edict of Nantes.7 Correspondence and reports reaching the executive and legislature in London clustered in these periods respectively round the activities of diplomats: Sir Dudley Carleton, Sir Isaac Wake, Sir Thomas Roe, and Oliver Fleming; Johann Jakob Stokar of Schaffhausen, John Pell, and other agents including Theodore Haak, John Durie, and Jean-Baptiste Stouppe; and

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Oliver Cox and the Huguenot-born but effectively dual Anglo–Swiss national, Philibert Herwarth.8 Alongside this in official records is the correspondence between the English and Swiss churches maintained in the context of fraternal links between all the Reformed churches of Europe, that is, those who in some way owed their doctrine, if not always their discipline, to the legacy of John Calvin. This too had certain peaks, but also recalibrations. In the first half of the century, the contact given urgency by international religious conflict and the perceived threat from Catholic powers continued through the archbishopric of the antiCalvinist William Laud in the 1630s into the period of the Westminster Assembly of Divines and its (ultimately abortive) attempt to reshape the structure and discipline of the English church according to a model closer to that of Geneva (1643–1646).9 But the absence of a clear English church hierarchy in the 1650s with whom the Swiss ministers could do business, and the narrowing of the Church of England after 1662, weakened institutional interaction.10 Archbishop of Canterbury William Wake (a kinsman of Sir Isaac) and bishop of Salisbury Gilbert Burnet stand out among leaders of the English church as belonging to a later Anglo–Genevan and Anglo–Swiss nexus, but this merely underlines the fact that contacts were sustained or developed by individual clergy concerned to justify the idiosyncratic path of the ecclesia anglicana, or engaged in pan-European theological controversy, or attracted by devotional literature in English.11 It is the hitherto somewhat neglected lower-profile exchanges which underlie official representations and negotiations, whether religious or political, which are foregrounded in this chapter. Cumulatively, they prove to be more sustained. Traffic in visitors between England and Switzerland that had been established during the Reformation, continued into the seventeenth century to a greater extent than seems to have been appreciated. In his pioneering work on the origins of the grand tour, John Stoye noted the variety of routes taken through the Confederation to Italy.12 For as long as the University of Padua remained a popular destination for Britons, regular transit through Switzerland was highly likely, although the lack there of an institution of equivalent reputation probably limited time spent en route.13 Basel only attracted a trickle of Britons, either medical students or nobility passing through, although the latter included Basil Feilding, 2nd earl of Denbigh (1631), sons of Robert Rich, 2nd earl of Warwick and of William Fiennes, 1st viscount Saye and Sele (1633), and Richard Boyle, viscount Dungarvan (1633/4).14 But plenty of young men stopped off in Geneva: around 100 signed the subscription book of its Academy between 1600 and 1650.15 Anecdotal evidence indicates that these travellers – again including a significant proportion with politically significant careers ahead of them – had time to cultivate lasting ties with local residents and go on to explore the regions to the east.16 The flow went in both directions. A long-known example on the Swiss side is Thomas Platter, a medical student from Basel, who, with other young Swiss, Germans, and Flemings, visited England for six weeks in 1599 and recorded in his diary attendance at a performance of Julius Caesar, perhaps the one by Shakespeare.17 The fact that his grasp of English was weak, and that he said the

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English spoke poor French and Latin, gave the impression that interaction was limited and probably discouraged scholars from further investigation. Yet far from being an isolated instance, it looks like the tip of a modest iceberg. In 1931, Arnold Lätt depicted successive waves of Swiss visitors to England, and when rounded out from other sources, his evidence adds up to something substantial. In the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Swiss students regularly presented themselves at the universities of Oxford and Cambridge. That some expected to receive scholarships because of their family relationship to leading reformers – as did the Meyers of Basel, descended from Martin Bucer – only to have their hopes dashed, might indicate that the debt to those reformers was not honoured in England. However, others received a warmer welcome. On arrival, Caspar Thomann of Zürich benefitted from contact with the pastor of the French church in Threadneedle Street and from James Meddowes, rector of St George Eastcheap, who had gained his doctorate at Basel, before joining the household of Dr John Reynolds, the theologian and president of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, where he remained for several years and was among the first visitors to the Bodleian Library.18 During the 1610s and early 1620s, a whole swathe of Swiss brandishing letters of recommendation, and hailing from Basel, Bern, Biel, Zürich, and the Pays de Vaud, were admitted to the Library alongside Genevans and others, while the Meyers of Basel were among several families to send representatives of successive generations to Oxbridge despite their disappointment over funding.19 Throughout the seventeenth century, London was an important nexus. Introductions made there through the stranger churches or via pre-existing scholarly networks, and residence in the homes of ministers and scholars, were recurrent themes in the narratives of foreign protestant visitors. By the 1630s, Willem Thilenus, pastor of the Dutch church in Austin Friars, had established something of a hub for speakers of German dialects, while the man who had first welcomed him to England, Thomas Gataker, vicar of Rotherhithe, had for years been hosting a seminary in his home, extended especially for the purpose.20 The latter accommodated aspirant English ministers, but claimed he was ‘seldom without’ ‘strangers that from forain parts came over, to learn our Language and observe our Method of Teaching’.21 Among others who extended such hospitality was Gataker’s son-in-law, Francis Taylor, vicar of Clapham and lecturer at St Magnus London Bridge, motivated at least partly by a desire to uphold the Reformed credentials of the Church of England and ‘regaine us a good opinion with the other Churches abroad’. He alleged in 1642 that recently its reputation had been so tarnished by Laudian ecclesiastical innovations that ‘some’ had ‘forbidden their young Students to come into England, as I have heard from a young man of excellent parts, who adventured to come hither […] from Berne’, but such reservations appear to have been of limited effect.22 The young man in question, almost certainly Johann Heinrich Hummel (c.1611–1674), arrived in London in 1634 to join a diverse community and stayed 18 months. He had just spent two years at the University of Groningen in the Netherlands as a pupil of the internationally-renowned Henry Alting, who himself

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had English friends, and arrived in company with Polish fellow student Victorinus Bythner, who was to become a celebrated biblicist here, thereby illustrating the international dimension in which Anglo–Swiss interaction must be seen. Hummel was then introduced in succession to Willem Thilenus of the Dutch church, Jeremy Leech, rector of St Mary le Bow, Francis Taylor, and Thomas Gataker. With their assistance and within the orbit of the scholar Samuel Hartlib, Hummel undertook study of classic English biblical commentaries, from those of the ‘high church’ ceremonialist Bishop Lancelot Andrewes to those of the ‘Presbyterian’ Thomas Cartwright. That Taylor invited him to preach at Clapham indicates that he made good progress in learning English. Taken into the family of Fishmonger and East India merchant Daniel Penington and his wife Elizabeth, brother and sister-in-law of the future lord mayor, Member of Parliament and regicide Isaac Penington, Hummel went gadding to sermons and made acquaintances across the London godly community.23 If Hummel was exceptional in his experience, then it was more in the radical puritanism it comprehended than in the degree of his interaction. Different visitors met a different range of people. During his stay, Hummel encountered young compatriots Sigmund von Erlach (1614–1699), who was soon to enter military service with Bernard of Saxe-Weimar, and who eventually became the most important man in Bern, and Albrecht von Erlach (1614–1652), later a commander in the Swiss guard in France.24 Their presence in England was undergirded by the diplomatic missions of their kinsmen Franz Ludwig von Erlach (1574–1651) and Johann Ludwig von Erlach (1595–1650), whose correspondence with the English secretariat and diplomatic corps professes friendly co-operation.25 Albertus Rütimeyer from Bern, following in the footsteps of his father Markus a generation earlier but remarked by one English host for his (apparently unusual) disinclination to speak English, and one Schönauer, described as ‘[ Johann] Buxtorf ’s student from Basel’ seem to have moved in the same circles as Hummel over a similar period, while in 1640 Johann Heinrich Ott and Johann Heinrich Hottinger from Zürich also made puritan acquaintance.26 But Johann Jakob Stokar of Schaffhausen made his contacts with the leading jurist John Selden, and with Archbishops Laud and James Ussher of Armagh.27 As Thilenus’s activities suggest, there was a wider expatriate community, which may as yet only be glimpsed. The influx of watchmakers and bankers which gave rise in the early eighteenth century to the establishment of a Swiss church and a friendly society in the capital was yet to come.28 In the meantime, visiting Swiss were sustained by funds supplied via the great Geneva and London-based Huguenot banking families of Calandrini and Burlamachi, and by fellow countrymen. Initially, Hummel lodged with a table-maker originally from Winterthur, a circumstance which testifies to the presence in England of long-stay Swiss craftsmen – as does the contribution of the engraver Christoph Schwyzer to the first edition of John Speed’s History of England (1614) and the chance discovery of the 1654 will of Hans Ulrich, joiner of Bevis Marks and a member of the Dutch church, mentioning kin in Switzerland.29 One ‘John Lewis, citizen of

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Schaffhausen’ was admitted to Lincoln’s Inn in 1636, although he was described as ‘tutor to Count Maurice of Nassau’ and this was apparently an honorary entrance rather than a declaration of intent to study distinctly insular common law.30 A more portable qualification was that in medicine. The trickle of English- or Scottish-born London practitioners in the early seventeenth century who had studied in Basel and went on to serve the court and the aristocracy were complemented by immigrant physicians like Sir Theodore Turquet de Mayerne and his protégé Jean Colladon.31 Although the latter were Genevans, not Swiss, Mayerne acquired in 1620 a barony in the Bernese-ruled Pays de Vaud, and it was through his correspondence with Bernese physician Fabricius Huldanus, and on the pretext of consulting his medical expertise, that the Erlachs were given access to James I to press the case for English assistance in disputes between the Confederation and other powers.32 With such networks in place, the concern for the welfare of the Confederation and its Protestant subjects which was displayed by diplomats like Dudley Carleton and Isaac Wake over and above the requirements of their embassies in Venice and Savoy, begins to look more than simply the product of their training in the ‘school’ of former exile in Switzerland Sir Thomas Bodley (although the influence of that should not be underestimated).33 Wake’s success in mediating the treaty which guaranteed the freedom of the Pays de Vaud from Savoy, for example, is less surprising if others shared his grasp of its significance.34 In wider English literate culture, there was an awareness not only of the distinctiveness of the Swiss landscape of mountains and vineyards, but also of the political and religious structures of the Confederation, coupled with respect for a people who seemed to stand as a bulwark against the advance of Habsburg power in Europe. Some travellers told tall tales. James Hart of Northampton claimed in a medical treatise of 1633 not only that the people of Switzerland, and especially of Zürich were ‘very tall’, but implausibly that he himself had ‘encountered the skeleton of a giant […] 19 foot long […] during my abode at Basil for the finishing of my physical studies’ (otherwise unrecorded).35 Misconceptions were current. Apprehending that Switzerland was ‘a democracy’, writers including James Ussher and Marchmont Nedham affirmed that there was no aristocracy or gentry and that magistrates were accountable to the people, whereas, as a recent survey has noted, it was a country of aristocratic republicanism with tendencies to oligarchy.36 Yet in some respects, educated Englishmen had an informed and nuanced grasp of Switzerland and its ways. Religious practice in Switzerland was analysed and often well understood, while the governance of particular cantons through greater and lesser councils was correctly relayed. Political theorist Henry Parker observed with approval that ‘the canton towns in Helvetia [were] aristocratically governed’ and appeared to commend that as a potentially helpful model for the new order in 1640s England.37 The young Jeremy Taylor and Stephen Marshall, preaching to City fathers, appreciated the differing degrees of lay control that characterised the churches of protestant Switzerland and distinguished them from those of Geneva. Marshall, reacting against the clericalist Presbyterianism of the Scots and a minority

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of English puritans, invited his hearers to ‘goe to Helvetia amongst the Switzers’, where ‘generally the churches there are against all Divine-right of any Churchgovernment, and require nothing but the help of the Magistrate to keep their people in order’.38 John Selden accurately referenced the overwhelming territorial superiority of Bern, while Peter Heylyn delineated linguistic frontiers.39 Not all observers shared Parker’s and Marshall’s admiration for what they saw. While diplomats Wake in 1617 and Samuel Morland in 1656 were to complain of the Confederation’s labyrinthine political processes, at the Putney Debates in 1647, Oliver Cromwell cited its confrontational confusion – ‘one Canton of the Switz against another, and one County against another’ – as a warning against multilateral peace negotiations and in the 1656 Parliament, Sir John Trevor applied ‘cantonisation’ as a damning indictment of the rule of the major-generals.40 Meanwhile, important religious and scholarly influences operated in the other direction, as Swiss visitors returned home but remained in communication with English friends. Letters sent between 1637 and 1642 by Daniel and (especially) Elizabeth Penington to Johann Heinrich Hummel, a man they regarded as their adopted son, supplied not only news of a large mutual acquaintance among the London godly, but also striking insights into their own spiritual mindset and into the dilemmas of conscientious puritans struggling to survive within the ceremonialist church of Archbishop Laud.41 The Peningtons used diplomats (notably Oliver Fleming and his household), merchants, and travelling scholars to despatch to Hummel in Bern and to the Meyers and others in Basel, books, including the major works of English puritans like William Gouge and Jeremiah Burroughes, some of them hot off the press. Schönauer of Basel, another returned visitor, proudly admitted to a rich library of English books, at least some of them sent in a chest by the Peningtons in response to his request to Francis Taylor.42 Writing to Hummel in 1643, Schönauer extolled the pre-eminence of English theologians: precise in their analysis of the Bible; strong on doctrine; edifying, insightful, elegant, devout, and ingenious.43 During a ten-month stay in England in 1656, Johann Zollikoffer encountered John Milton, Katherine Lady Ranelegh, John Durie, and a variety of Independent and Presbyterian clergymen including John Owen, Edmund Calamy, and James Cranford. As he told eminent Worcestershire minister Richard Baxter in a letter of 1663 from St Gallen, where he was by then an assistant pastor, on his visit he had ‘bought a good number of English Divinity Books of your most solid and selected Divines’ and had been so impressed that he had provoked a clamour for them among his colleagues; Baxter’s own Reformed Pastor in particular had struck ‘home to the very heart many ministers’.44 For those Swiss who were disappointed in efforts to obtain books from England or who could not read English, from the 1650s, Zollikofer, Hummel, and Wolfgang Meyer of Basel were among numerous translators of English devotional works into German – with far-reaching consequences for the development of Swiss piety.45 On the diplomatic front, it seems clear that the civil wars of the 1640s led to a temporary diminution of exchange between England and Switzerland. For over a decade from 1641 surviving state papers are thin, although there were occasional

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official exchanges, such as when in November 1642 Parliament received a letter from the Protestant Cantons ‘expressing their Sense and Sorrow for the distracted Estate of this Kingdom, and an earnest Advice to Union’, or in November 1643 when it ordered the Westminster Assembly to inform the Reformed churches ‘against the great Artifices and Disguises of his Majesty’s Agents in those Parts, [and] of the true State of our Affairs’.46 Domestic preoccupations were such that when Ambassador Oliver Fleming finished his posting in 1642, he was not replaced either by the king or Parliament.47 However, Fleming kept up his friendship with the dean (antistes) of Zürich, Johann Jakob Ulrich, and in April 1649 used a briefing to the commonwealth council of state in his new capacity as master of ceremonies to dwell at some length on diplomatic niceties in Switzerland. This succeeded to the extent that in November the council considered sending an agent to Switzerland and reviewed former alliances between the two powers.48 Other individual interaction continued. Letters penned by Francis Taylor in February 1645, by Thomas Gataker in February 1650 and by Daniel Penington in March 1650 reached Hummel in Bern.49 The natural philosopher Robert Boyle later recalled stopping off on a journey from Geneva to Italy to visit the Swiss castle of a brother of one of his family’s servants, while John Evelyn, passing through in 1646, recorded that he regarded ‘this Country to be the safest spot of all Europ’.50 The outbreak of the Anglo–Dutch war in 1652 was a catalyst for the reactivation of formal relations between England and Switzerland. Ostensibly, however, the results were unimpressive. That the land-locked Confederation, which lacked ‘knowledge of the Ocean, and of navigation’, should resolve to mediate between two maritime republics at odds over water-borne trade struck at least one contemporary as absurd.51 That the Swiss initiative which despatched Johann Jakob Stokar of Schaffhausen to London in 1653 proved irrelevant to the peace finally concluded between the two protagonists seems to confirm its insignificance. Equally, the 1654 quest of John Durie to the Protestant Cantons seeking church unity can appear an idealist’s pipe-dream, destined to founder on the rock of Swiss doctrinal conservatism, while the accompanying political mission of John Pell to assert solidarity with co-religionists can seem hollow, given an ulterior motive of preventing a renewal of a Swiss–French alliance. Slow to understand the delicate position of Swiss Protestants, both as regards Catholic compatriots and external powers, and quick to condemn their apparently limp response to the plight of persecuted Waldensians, the English authorities did send relief funds for the victims, but they arrived late.52 When religious civil war broke out within the Confederation late in 1655, the young and inexperienced envoy Samuel Morland, safely in Geneva, pronounced it divine judgement on the Protestants.53 Yet this narrative does not tell the whole story, as it underestimates not only the personal relationships which encouraged intervention and imbued it with some reasonable chance of success but also the degree of wider public engagement. From the outset, the Protestant cantons’ intervention in the Anglo–Dutch war was driven by those with relevant personal experience. Bern’s chief representative at the conference in Baden which discussed prospective action was Sigmund von

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Erlach, the student visitor of the 1630s.54 If he had not grasped this from previous correspondence, Ulrich of Zurich was assured by Fleming in March 1653 that ‘all men of worth’ detested the Anglo–Dutch war, which looks like encouragement.55 Delegated negotiator Stokar was another who had visited England as a student and subscribed at the Bodleian.56 After the event, his retrospective report depicted a frustrating embassy: under the Rump and the Nominated Parliament he was prevented by parliamentary privilege from speaking privately to MPs; he was thwarted by the political instability of 1653. Once the protectorate was inaugurated, he was unconvinced by Oliver Cromwell’s ‘chimeric’ idea of uniting the English and Dutch republics; ultimately, he was sidelined.57 Yet, it was not altogether a wasted journey. He had received a commission from Zürich-born academic Johann Heinrich Hottinger – another English ‘graduate’ – to seek out catalogues of Arabic manuscripts in English libraries. This led to encounters with John Selden and Archbishop Ussher.58 As he departed for the continent in late January 1654, armed with a gift of £200 and emollient letters to take home, Stokar could still assert in English – his or a secretary’s – that it was ‘the great desire and longing’ of his ‘Masters and Superiours’ ‘to approove themselves the true and unfeigned Friends of this Republicq, whose peace and wellfare they do wish with all their hearts’.59 The fact that Fleming was Cromwell’s cousin, doubtless gave hope of reciprocation. That this sentiment was in play seems plausible enough, and indeed it is probably indicative of Fleming’s influence that it had been Cromwell who had reported to Parliament on Stokar’s imminent arrival the previous year.60 That the necessary accreditation for Pell’s and Durie’s mission to Switzerland was ready by the end of March 1654, only three months into the protectorate, argues some commitment.61 Once installed in the city republics, engagement with existing networks gained the envoys more credibility and sympathy than the bare facts of the situation might indicate. Durie took advantage of a relationship with Ulrich established through correspondence; both were probably assisted by Swiss-born Jean Baptiste Stouppe, pastor of one of the French churches in London, who had been sent to Zürich by Cromwell on a secret mission.62 Hummel and Stokar deployed their insights into English ways of thinking to resolve misunderstandings with their hosts. ‘If I canndoe you heerabout any service, spare me not’, remarked Hummel; ‘the Lord Gott preserve you and yours and all our friends in England: especialy the L[ord] Protector his highnesse and your whole state’.63 In the context of continued exchange of books and scholars, Pell worked on his German, took on the young local mathematician Johann Heinrich Rahn as a pupil, and became dedicatee of a Schaffhausen translation of a 1654 defence of the Cromwellian regime.64 Meanwhile, notwithstanding any doubts about English theological orthodoxy, in response to Cromwell’s invitation to Swiss students, a relative of Ulrich was sent to England.65 The multi-national firm of Sollikofer (or Zollikofer) of St Gallen, now operating in London, enabled financial and epistolary transaction, while experiencing the usual insecurities of foreign merchants.66 Apart from Marshall and Selden, already cited, others kept alive knowledge of Switzerland by appealing for their own

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purposes – on the whole approvingly – to its models of government in church and state.67 Grist was given to the mill of the Waldensian appeal by the first and posthumous publication of Sir Isaac Wake’s discourse ‘concerning the thirteen cantons of the Helveticall League’.68 And however tardily the proceeds arrived at their destination, that appeal captured the public imagination and raised a healthy sum.69 The Restoration of the monarchy in 1660 prompted a change of gear in official Anglo–Swiss relations, with Protestant solidarity no longer a priority and republics now out of fashion. It was a long time before there was another long-term English resident in Zürich. But interchange did not cease. Jean (now John) Colladon, naturalised as an Englishman in 1662 and knighted in 1664, corresponded with Johann Jakob Stockar, the Protestant cantons and their churches.70 Among several pastors arriving after 1662 who served in a Church of England (which had moved further away from the Reformed Calvinism with which they were familiar) was the former mediator’s kinsman Johannes Stockar of Schaffhausen. Having left his pastorate in Beggingen under a cloud, he was episcopally ordained in July 1663 and soon instituted as rector of St Alphege, Canterbury.71 Whether the re-ordination was the product of sincere conviction or financial necessity is no clearer than it is for many Huguenots who followed the same route. A later immigrant who certainly worked hard at gaining preferment was Johann Caspar Werndli of Zürich, ordained in 1690 after having served a Huguenot congregation in Lincolnshire. He translated into English Liturgia Tigurina, the prayer book and liturgy used in Zürich, and seems to have ended up as a chaplain in the British navy.72 A trickle of Swiss students still presented themselves at the universities and in 1670, Johann Georg Grob was teaching Hebrew in Oxford.73 In a context where quest for employment led young Swiss men all over Europe, the decision of Guy Miege of Lausanne to try his fortune in England looks unremarkable. Arriving in 1661, he served as a tutor to the aristocracy and with Andrew Marvell in the secretariat of an English mission to Sweden, then settled in London to become a pioneering English–French lexicographer and a Whig pamphleteer.74 Meanwhile, traffic to Switzerland also continued. It is true that John Durie’s second visit in 1662, during which he again made contact with Hummel, enjoyed even less success than his first.75 Moreover, the concurrent decision of fleeing English regicides to quit Geneva and seek refuge in Switzerland – specifically in the Bernese Pays de Vaud – appears predicated on its obscurity, beyond the reach of bounty-hunters and assassins. Since they then lived there safely for many years (discounting one botched assassination attempt) while some fellow regicides sheltering elsewhere in Europe were discovered and murdered, this seems confirmed.76 But reality was more complicated. As might have been suspected from the longpublished though heavily-redacted memoirs of one exile, Edmund Ludlow, but is revealed clearly in the more recently discovered original manuscript, the exiles did not live in isolation. Money from England must have sustained them, while visitors certainly did.77 Some English travellers chose to call, among them John Durie, the republican controversialist Algernon Sydney, and James Whitelocke, son of lawyer and memorialist Bulstrode Whitelocke, while Jean-Baptiste Stouppe, by this time a

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French agent, allegedly tried to engage them in plotting.78 Others registered the presence of countrymen living in Vevey, but prudently gave them a wide berth.79 Both exiles and travellers benefited from local experience of their country and its ways. Hummel, head of the church in Bern, and Sigmund von Erlach, commander of its army and later its mayor, granted the exiles patronage and protection, as well as toleration of their peculiar English nonconformist scruples in a society otherwise marked by its conservative orthodoxy.80 In Bern, Francis Tallents found not only ‘Hummel that had been in England much with Mr Gataker, lived at Merchant Pennington’s, loves the English much and very friendly to us’ but also ‘Mr Martin Bogdan the chief physician of the town (who was born in England and used us most friendly)’.81 In Basel, following up recommendations from one of the Burlamachi, Tallents encountered Citizen Meyer and his English wife, a ‘gentlewoman, related to the Astons in the west of England and to the Cartwrights’ and Johann Rudolf Wettstein, an ‘acquaintance of Dr [ James] Duport’ of Magdalene College, Cambridge, ‘whose son lately in England with Dr [John] Pierson’, bishop of Chester.82 The export to Switzerland of English devotional literature, already noted, was accompanied by a dissemination of more subversive political material. Edmund Ludlow employed the short-lived press at Yverdon in the Pays de Vaud to issue in 1663, a French translation of the work celebrating the martyrdom in England of regicides who had stayed, presumably convinced either that the Swiss would be interested or that it would reach a wider francophone audience just as easily as if it had been published in Geneva (where he maintained contacts).83 In a country supposedly shut off from the outside world by strict censorship, Ludlow was regularly supplied with international news.84 By 1689, when Gilbert Burnet published his account of travels through the Alps, there were again reasons for a closer official correspondence between England and Switzerland. To supporters of the Glorious Revolution like himself, the industry, simplicity, and ‘gentle government’ that characterised the Confederation stood in attractive contrast to the regimes of France and Italy. The alliance against the expansionist absolutism of Louis XIV and solidarity with the Huguenot victims of his revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685 gave common cause. It encouraged Burnet to remember gratefully the ‘kindness’ of Zürich to the Marian exiles and to forgive the excessive theological conservatism of Bernese authorities who ‘cannot be enough commended’ for providing ‘sanctuary’ to refugees.85 It was in English interests to persuade the Swiss not to swell the ranks of the French king’s mercenaries but instead to enlist with German Protestant princes, and also to support them in absorbing the flood of Protestants from France and Savoy. Long-stay ambassadors were again despatched in the shape of Oliver Coxe and Philibert Herwarth, the latter himself in some respects a Huguenot, but also a German speaker who was to marry into the Bernese oligarchy.86 The diary of Coxe’s secretary, Huguenot refugee Elie Bouhéreau, testifies to the enduring links that underpinned their stay – an Englishspeaking Meyer who translated from and into German; a Mr Ussher, great-nephew of the archbishop, passing through.87 Meanwhile, it was in Swiss interests to cultivate

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William of Orange, since the inability of the Confederation to absorb thousands of immigrants meant that moving the majority of them on to the Netherlands, England, and – as schemes evolved – Ireland became a priority. Meanwhile, the vulnerability of Switzerland’s ally Geneva to French encirclement and economic stranglehold necessitated diplomacy of the utmost delicacy.88 Genevan bankers continued to act as brokers for exchange, but now Bern too was lending to Britain and the Netherlands.89 It was the once supposedly obscure Pays de Vaud that the Huguenots first traversed on arriving in Switzerland and there, in a francophone Protestant environment, that many of those who did stay in the Confederation settled.90 It was thus there that the Anglo–Swiss nexus was at its most pronounced around 1700. The English regicides, who had once inhabited Lausanne and Vevey were replaced by French refugees whose wills revealed their close relatives in London and Amsterdam, and their investments in English lotteries and bonds.91 Here lived the earl of Galway’s uncle; here was a European crossroads. It is not the argument of this chapter that Anglo–Swiss networks had a unique importance among all the networks that England or Britain developed with its neighbours. Instead, they constituted one significant strand of intertwined Protestant networks across Europe, previously obscured, for instance, by more obvious Anglo–Dutch links. Together those networks, nurtured through travel, education, scholarship, trade, craftsmanship, and, eventually, banking, encompassed a notable number of the political, religious, and academic elite and engendered perspectives which had a palpable impact on the discourse of politics and religion through this period. Indisputably, London, Oxford, and Cambridge have loomed large in this particular story from an English point of view, but examples like Worcestershire minister Richard Baxter or metropolitan housewife Elizabeth Penington caution against underestimating the reach of piety, the exchange of ideas, and the longevity of friendship. It is the contention of this chapter that many seventeenth-century men and women were much more widely connected, across borders and polities, than has often been recognised.

Notes 1 A (limited) exception is Vaughan, Robert. The Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell, and the State of Europe during the early part of the reign of Louis XIV. 2 vols. London: H. Colburn, 1838. The chapter which follows builds on the author’s work since 1995 on the Pays de Vaud during the ancien régime and on Anglo–Swiss interaction, but also owes a considerable debt to conversation with, and references supplied by, Dr Sarah Rindlisbacher of the University of Bern, with whom she shared a panel at the Swansea conference in 2018. 2 Macculloch, Diarmaid. ‘Heinrich Bullinger and the English-Speaking World’. In Heinrich Bullinger (1505–1575): Leben, Denken, Wirkung, edited by Emidio Campi and Peter Opitz. Zürich: TVZ, c.2007, 1: 891–934. 3 Especially: Giddey, Ernest. L’Angleterre dans la vie intellectuelle de la Suisse Romande au XVIIIe siècle. Lausanne: Bibliothèque Historique Vaudoise, 1974; Moren, Pierre. La vie lausannoise au dix-huitième siècle. Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1970; Norman, Brian. The Influence of Switzerland on the Life and Writing of Edward Gibbon. Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 2002.

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4 For example, Stehlin, Karl. ‘Über die diplomatischen Verbindungen Englands mit der Schweiz im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert’. Beiträge zur vaterländischen Geschichte 7 (1860): 47–102; Schneewind, Wolfgang. Die diplomatischen Beziehungen Englands mit der alten Eidgenossenschaft zur Zeit Elisabeths, Jakobs I. und Karls I. (Basler Beiträge zur Geschichtswissenschaft 36). Basel: Verlag von Helbing & Lichtenhahn, 1950. 5 For example, Rindlisbacher, Sarah. ‘Zur Verteidigung des “Protestant Cause”: Die konfessionelle Diplomatie Englands und der eidgenössischen Orte Zürich und Bern 1655/56’. Zwingliana 43 (2016): 193–334; Sträter, Udo. ‘Die Schweiz als Umschlagplatz englischer Erbauungsliteratur’. In Schweizer Kirchengeschichte – neu reflektiert, edited by Ulrich Gäbler, Martin Sallmann, and Hans Schneider. Bern: Peter Lang AG, 2010, 211–24. A helpful context, positioning Switzerland at the heart of European affairs, is presented in Im Auge des Hurrikans. Eidgenössische Machteliten und der Dreissigjährige Krieg, edited by André Holenstein, Georg von Erlach, and Sarah Rindlisbacher. Baden; Verlag Hier und Jetzt, 2015. Thoughtful consideration of whether individual horizons encompassed England is found in La Chronique de Jodocus Jost. Mirroir du Monde d’un Paysan Bernois au XVIIe Siècle, edited by Danièle TosatoRigo. Lausanne: Société d’histoire de la Suisse romande, 2009, 90, 146, 168–9, 197, 300, 312. 6 Church, Clive C. and Randolph C. Head. A Concise History of Switzerland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013, 74–6. 7 Notably: The National Archives [TNA], SP96; A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe, edited by Thomas Birch. 7 vols. London: Fletcher Giles, 1742; Journal of the House of Commons [JHC], vols. 1–12. London: HMSO, 1802–3; Amtliche Sammlung der ältern Eidgenössischen Abschiede, vols. 5.1–6.2. Frauenfeld: Zürich & c., 1872–1882. 8 See below. 9 TNA, SP96/6/97 and Staatsarchiv Bern, B III.32, archbishop of Canterbury to the pastors and professors of the Protestant cantons, 30 April 1639; Lätt, Arnold. ‘Schweizer in England im 17. Jahrhundert’. Zeitschrift für schweizerische Geschichte 11, no. 3 (1931): 316–53, at 336; Milton, Anthony. Catholic and Reformed: The Roman and Protestant Churches in English Protestant Thought, 1600–1640. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002; Stern, Alfred. ‘Die reformierte Schweiz in ihren Beziehungen zu Karl I. von England, William Laud, Erzbischof von Canterbury und den Covenanters’. Jahrbuch für schweizerische Geschichte 3 (1878): 1–48. 10 Rindlisbacher, ‘Zur Verteidigung des “Protestant Cause”’. 11 Christ Church Library, Oxford, Wake microfilms 46, 47; ‘William Wake’, ‘Gilbert Burnet’. In Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. URLs: https://doi.org/10.1093/ ref:odnb4061, https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb28409, accessed 27 August 2019; Burnet, Gilbert. Some Letters containing an Account of what seemed most remarkable in traveling through Switzerland, Italy and Germany. London: 1689, esp. 11–61. 12 Stoye, John. English Travellers Abroad, 1604–1667. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989, 94. 13 Brown, Horatio F. ‘Inglesi e Scozzesi all’Università di Padova’. Monografie Storiche sullo Studio di Padova. Venice: Reale Istituto Veneto di Scienze, 1922, 143–66. 14 Die Matrikel der Universität Basel, vol. 3 1601/2–1665/6. Basel: Verlag der Universitätsbibliothek, 1962, 330, 350–1, 357. 15 Le Livre du Recteur de l’Académie de Genève (1559–1878), edited by S. Stelling-Michaud. 6 vols. Geneva: Droz, 1959–80, 1, 131–96. 16 See below. For one longstanding Anglo–Genevan aristocratic nexus, see Larminie, Vivienne. ‘The Saladins and the earls of Pembroke: Genevan Huguenots and the English Nobility’. Huguenot Society Journal 32 (2019): 15–25. 17 ‘Thomas Platter’, Oxford DNB. URL: https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb53269, accessed 27 August 2019. 18 Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 317–9; ‘Caspar Thommanus’, ‘John Waserus’. In Alumni Oxonienses 1500–1714, edited by Joseph Foster. Oxford: University of Oxford, 1891.

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19 Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 319–20; ‘Wolfgang Meyer’. In Historisches Lexikon der Schweiz [HLS]. URL: https://hls-dhs-dss.ch/fr/articles/010757/2008-04-10/, accessed 1 May 2020. 20 Grell, Ole Peter. Dutch Calvinists in early Stuart London. The Dutch Church in Austin Friars 1603–1642. Leiden: Brill, 1989, 57–8. 21 Gataker, Thomas. A Discours Apologetical. London: 1654, 50–1 (British Library [BL], E.731.1). 22 Taylor, Francis. The faith of the Church of England concerning Gods work on mans will. London: ‘1641’ [1642], ‘Epistle dedicatorie’ (Wing: T2/76). 23 ‘Histori des Lebens Johannis Henrici Hummellii’, edited by C. Erni. Berner Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Heimatkund 12 (1950): 24–57; Sheffield University Library, Hartlib MS 29/ 3/27B. URL: https://www.dhi.ac.uk/hartlib, accessed 13 July 2019. For more detailed analysis, see Larminie, Vivienne. ‘Johann Heinrich Hummel, the Peningtons and the London Godly Community’. Journal for the History of Reformed Pietism 2, no. 2 (2016): 1–26. 24 Erni, ‘Histori des Lebens’, 34–5; ‘Sigmund von Erlach’. HLS. URL: https://hls-dhsdss.ch/fr/articles/016679/2015-11-18/, accessed 27 August 2019. 25 For example, TNA, SP92/2/397, SP92/14/209, SP96/2/266, SP96/3/40, SP96/4/266, SP96/6/107. ‘Franz Ludwig von Erlach’, ‘Jean Louis d’Erlach’. HLS. URLs: https://hlsdhs-dss.ch/fr/articles/016675/2014-10-13/; https://hls-dhs-dss.ch/fr/articles/019678/ 2005-11-15/, accessed 27 August 2019. 26 Staatsarchiv Bern, B III.63.55, f. 2v (?31 May 1637); A Calendar of the Correspondence of J. H. Ott 1658–1671, edited by L. Forster. Huguenot Society Quarto Series 47, 1961, ix. 27 ‘Johann Jakob Stokar’. HLS. URL: https://hls-dhs-dss.ch/de/articles/015847/201310-22/, accessed 27 August 2019. 28 Smith, Roger. ‘Justin Vulliamy and the Protestant Swiss Community’. Huguenot Society Journal 30, no. 3 (2015): 327–45; Swiss Merchant Bankers in London. London: Swiss Bank Corporation, 1954. 29 Erni, ‘Histori des Lebens’, 32; Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 319; TNA, PROB11/ 237/338. 30 Records of the Honourable Society of Lincoln’s Inn. Vol. 1: Admissions. London: Lincoln’s Inn, 1896, 230. 31 In addition to Gaspar Tooman of Zürich, Basel-educated Richard Taylior, Thomas Gooch, John Craig senior, William Clement, James Thromington, Sir Matthew Lister, John Maccolo, Thomas Winston, and Alexander Ramsay appear in Margaret Pelling and Frances White. Physicians and Irregular Medical Practitioners in London 1550–1640 Database. London: Centre for Metropolitan History, 2004. 32 Trevor-Roper, Hugh. Europe’s Physician: The Various Life of Sir Theodore Turquet de Mayerne. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2006, 237–68. 33 Trim, David. ‘Sir Thomas Bodley and the International Protestant Cause’. Bodleian Library Record 16 (1998): 314–40. 34 See Larminie, Vivienne. ‘The Jacobean Diplomatic Community and the Protestant Cause. Sir Isaac Wake and the View from Savoy’. English Historical Review 121, no. 494 (2006): 1300–26. 35 Hart, James. Klinike, or the diet of the diseased. London, 1633, 8 (STC (2nd ed.) 12888). 36 Wither, George. A prophesie written long since for this year, 1641. London: 1641, 52 (Wing/ W3182A); Ussher, James. The rights of primogeniture, or, The excellency of royall authority. London: 1648, 8 (Wing/U221); Abbot, George. A briefe description of the whole world. London, 1636, 27 (STC (2nd ed.) /32); Nedham, Marchamont. The Excellencie of a Free-State. London, 1656, 75, 79, 103 (BL, E.1676[1]); Walter, François. Histoire de la Suisse: l’Âge Classique (1600–1750). Neuchâtel: éditions Alphil-Presses universitaires suisses, 2010, 12. 37 Parker, Henry. The Generall junto or The councell of union. London, 1642, 5 (Thomason/ 669.f.18[1]). 38 Taylor, Jeremy. Of the Sacred Order and Offices of Episcopacie. London, 1647, 9 (Wing T/ 354); Marshall, Stephen. A sermon preached to the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor, and Court of Aldermen of the city of London. London, 1652, 29 (BL, E.659[2]).

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39 Selden, John. Of the Dominion or Ownership of the Sea. London, 1652, appendix, p. 7 (Wing/S2430); Heylin, Peter. Cosmographie in four books. London, 1652, 133 (Wing/ H1689). 40 BL, Add. MS 18640, ff. 45v–48 (Wake to Secretary, 30 May/9 June 1617); Thurloe State Papers, 4: 418; The Clarke Papers, vol. 1, edited by C. H. Firth. Camden Society, series 2, no. 49, 1891, 237; The Diary of Thomas Burton, edited by John Towill Rutt. London, 1828, 1: 316. 41 Staatsarchiv Bern, B III. 63.49, 54–8; Larminie, ‘Hummel’, 11–23. 42 Larminie, ‘Hummel’, 14. 43 Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 336. 44 Calendar of the Correspondence of Richard Baxter, edited by N. H. Keeble and Geoffrey F. Nuttall. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991, 2: 38; ‘Johann Zollikofer’. URL: https:// www.historicum.net/themen/hexenforschung/lexikon/alphabetisch/p-z/art/ Zollikofer_Joh/html/artikel/5737/ca/9deb90e7a38e082f1198fd1de2d20624/, accessed 12 July 2019. 45 Sträter, Die Schweiz als Umschlagplatz; McKenzie, Edgar C. A catalog of British devotional and religious books in German translation from the Reformation to 1750. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1997, 25–56; Dellsperger, Rudolf. Die Anfänge des Pietismus in Bern: Quellenstudien. Bern: Habilitationsschrift Universität Bern, 1981, 24, 35–6; The Correspondence of James Ussher 1600–1656, edited by Elizabethanne Boran. Dublin: Irish MSS Commission, 2015, 1057. For widely-disseminated earlier works: Kamp, Jan van de. ‘Die Einführung der christlichen Disziplinierung des Alltags in die deutsche evangelische Erbauungsliteratur durch Lewis Baylys Praxis Pietatis (1628)’. Pietismus und Neuzeit 37 (2011): 11–9; Welti, Manfred E. Der Basler Buchdruck und Brittannien. Die Rezeption britischen Gedankenguts in den Basler Pressen von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn des 17. Jahrhunderts. Basel: Helbing & Lichtenhahn, 1964, 245–69. 46 JHC, 2: 842a; 3: 317a. 47 ‘Sir Oliver Fleming’, Oxford DNB. URL: https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb66617, accessed 27 August 2019; Stehlin, Karl. ‘Sir Oliver Fleming, englischer Gesandter in der Schweiz, 1629–1638’. Anzeiger für schweizerische Geschichte und Altertumskunde 1, no. 4 (1855–1860): 42–3. 48 Stern, Alfred. ‘Sir Oliver Fleming’s Bericht über die diplomatischen Gebräuche der Eidgenossen. 1649’. Anzeiger für Schweizer Geschichte 2 (1877): 242–4; TNA, SP18/1, ff. 134–42; SP25/63/2, f. 111. 49 Staatsarchiv, Bern, BIII.63.50, 79, 82. 50 Boyle, Robert. Certain Physiological Essays. London: 1669, 61–2 (Wing/B3930); The Diary of John Evelyn, edited by E. S. de Beer, vol. 2. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1955, 517–8. 51 Thurloe State Papers, 3: 345. 52 Such issues were addressed in Sarah Rindlisbacher’s paper at the 2018 Swansea conference. See also Malcolm, Noel and Jacqueline A. Stedall. John Pell (1611–1685) and his Correspondence with Sir Charles Cavendish. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005, 150–9. 53 Thurloe State Papers, 4: 418; Malcolm and Stedall, John Pell, 159. 54 Ischer, Th. Die Gesandtschaft der protestantischen Schweiz bei Cromwell und den Generalstaaten der Niederlande 1652/54. Bern: Buchdruckerei Gustav Grunau, 1916, 1. Preparatory deliberations among the Protestant cantons: Amtliche Sammlung der ältern Eidgenössischen Abschiede, 6.1: 100, 109, 129, 142. 55 Ischer, Die Gesandtschaft, 23; TNA, SP25/40, f. 38. 56 Hofer, Roland E. ‘Johann Jakob Stokar’. In Schaffhauser Biographien, fünfterTeil. Schaffhausen: Thyngen, Karl Augustin, 1991, 180; Ischer, Die Gesandtschaft, 18–19; Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 347. 57 Society of Antiquaries, London, SAL/MS/50 ‘Swiss Mediation’, ff. 9; ff. 10–19 has copies of important letters in the negotiation. See also Thurloe State Papers, 1: 308.

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58 Loop, Jan. Johann Heinrich Hottinger: Arabic and Islamic Studies in the Seventeenth Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013, 18, 168–9; Hottinger to Selden, 1 Dec. 1653 transcription by Gerald Toomer from Lincoln’s Inn Library MS Hale 12, f. 235. URL: https://databank.ora.ox.ac.uk/emlo/datasets/selden-correspondence/Selden_337–338. pdf, accessed 12 July 2019. Wolfgang Meyer was also in contact with Ussher and Selden in 1652–3: Correspondence of James Ussher, 1056; Bodl. MS Selden supra 108, ff. 51–2. 59 TNA SP46/116, f. 12. 60 JHC, 7: 252b, 263b, 264a, 264b, 279b. 61 Bodleian Library [Bodl.], MS Rawlinson A261, ff. 2–5 (27 March). Warrants for payment to each man of £200 advance expenses (22 March): Bodl. MS Rawlinson A328, p. 13. 62 Sheffield University Library, HP4/3/25A Durie to Hartlib, 15 Aug. 1654, and also 29/ 3/30A, 29/3/47A; BL Add. MS 4279, ff. 67–74, 306 Ulrich to Pell, Fleming, Morland; Malcolm and Stedall, John Pell, 154–5. 63 BL, Add MS 24850, ff. 11, 21 Hummel to Pell, and see ff. 2–3, 8–11, 13–14, 16, 18, 22. 64 Malcolm and Stedall, John Pell, 161–4. In addition to surviving copies cited there, Gründtliche Beschreibung der Neüen Regiments=Verfassung in dem gemeinen Wesen Engelland/Schott= und Ireland (1657), exists in Bodl. printed vol 4o.R.54.Art. 65 BL, Add MS 24850, f. 12 Haak to Pell, 16 June 1657; Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 344. 66 BL, Add MS 24850, ff. 1, 5–7, 12, 15 Haak to Pell; TNA, SP18/105, f. 136; SP18/111, f. 61; SP18/99, f. 204; ‘Zollikofer’. HLS. URL: https://hls-dhs-dss.ch/fr/articles/ 022830/2014-02-24/, accessed 12 July 2019. 67 Lupton, Donald. The Tythe-takers cart overthrown or, The downfall of tythes. London: 1652, 49 (BL, E.1380[3]); Nedham, The Excellencie, 79, 103; Harrington, James. The Commonwealth of Oceana. London: 1656, 19 (Wing/H809A); Morice, Sir William. Coena quasi koine: the new inclosures broken down and the Lords Supper laid forth in common for all Church-members. London, 1657, 273 (BL, E.895[1]). 68 Wake, Sir Isaac. A three-fold help to political observations. London, 1655 (BL, E.1671[2]). 69 Vigne, Randolph. ‘“Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered Saints”: Cromwell’s intervention on behalf of the Vaudois’. Proceedings of the Huguenot Society 24, no. 1 (1983): 10–25. 70 Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 349; ‘Sir John Colladon’. Oxford DNB. URL: https://doi. org/10.1093/ref:odnb/105833, accessed 28 August 2019. 71 Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 347; ‘John Stockar’. CCEd person ID 140291. URL: https://theclergydatabase.org.uk/jsp/search/index.jsp, accessed 28 August 2019. 72 Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 352; ‘John Conrad Werndly’. CCEd person ID 104874. URL: https://theclergydatabase.org.uk/jsp/search/index.jsp, accessed 28 August 2019; Lambeth Palace Library, London, SPG IX, ff. 114–6; TNA, SP34/5/9; Liturgia Tigurina, or, The book of common prayers and administration of the sacraments. London, 1693 (Wing /L2589). 73 Lätt, ‘Schweizer in England’, 350. 74 ‘Guy Miege’, Oxford DNB. URL: https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb18687, accessed 28 August 2019. 75 Staatsarchiv Bern, B III 63, ff. 14, 18; Léchot, Pierre-Olivier. Un christianisme ‘sans partialité’ Irénisme et méthode chez John Dury (v.1600–1680). Paris: Honoré Champion, 2011, 327–8. 76 The Memoirs of Edmund Ludlow, edited by C. H. Firth. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1894, 2: 334–7, passim. 77 TNA, SP29/391, f. 102. Bodl. MS Eng. Hist. c.487 ‘A Voyce from the Watch Tower’; TNA, SP29/391, f. 102. An important backdrop to this is provided by European Contexts from English Republicanism, edited by Gaby Mahlberg and Dirk Wiemann. Farnham: Ashgate, 2013. 78 Bodl. MS Eng. Hist. c.487, pp. 977, 1037; Ludlow, Edmund. A Voyce from the Watch Tower, edited by A. B. Worden. Camden Society, 4th series 21, 1978, 67, 332.

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79 The Travels of Francis Tallents in France and Switzerland, 1671–1673, edited by Janice V. Cox. Huguenot Society new series 5, 2011, 125. 80 Bodl. MS Eng. Hist. c.487, pp. 1184, 1286. 81 Travels of Francis Tallents, 126–8. 82 Travels of Francis Tallents, 129–30, 140. 83 Mahlberg, Gaby. ‘Les Juges Jugez, se Justifians (1663) and Edmund Ludlow’s protestant network in seventeenth century Switzerland’. Historical Journal 57 (2014): 369–96. For a study placing Swiss connections in wider context, see also Mahlberg, Gaby. ‘The English republican exiles in Europe’. Philosophical Enquiries 8 (2017): 35–59. 84 Ludlow, Voyce, passim. 85 Burnet, Some Letters, 43–4, 49–54, 58–61. 86 See also Storrs, Christopher. ‘British Diplomacy in Switzerland (1689–1789) and Eighteenth Century Diplomatic Culture’. Etudes des Lettres 3 (2010): 1–24. I am grateful to Dr John Condren for drawing this to my attention. 87 The Diary (1689–1719) and Accounts (1704–1717) of Elie Bouhéreau, edited by Marie Léoutre, Jane McKee, Jean-Paul Pittion, and Amy Prendergast. Dublin: Irish MSS Commission, 2019, 25, 27, 55 and passim. 88 BL Add. MSS 9741, 9742; ‘Philibert Herwarth’, Oxford DNB. URL: https://doi.org/ 10.1093/ref:odnb94740, accessed 28 August 2019; Chopard, Adrien. Die Mission des englischen Gesandten Philibert Herwarth in der Schweiz. University of Bern dissertation, Affoltern am Albis, 1932; Larminie, Vivienne. ‘Exile and belonging: the English service and the international links of Philibert Herwarth’. Proceedings of the Huguenot Society 28, no. 4 (2006): 512–16; Le Refuge Huguenot en Suisse: Die Hugonotten in der Schweiz. Lausanne: Musée Historique de l’Ancien-Evêchê, 1985; Gacond, L. ‘Bibliographie des Refugiés Huguenots en Suisse après la Révocation’. Revue Suisse d’Histoire 36 (1986): 368–91. 89 BL, Add. MS 9741, f. 64; Altorfer, Stefan. ‘The canton of Berne as an investor on the London capital market in the Eighteenth century’. IDEAS Working Paper Series from RePEc; St Louis, 2004. URL: https://ideas.repec.org/p/ehl/Iserod/22336.html, accessed 13 July 2019. For the case that Genevans and Huguenots were to the fore in this, see Monter, E. William. ‘Swiss Investment in England, 1697–1702’. Revue International de l’Histoire de la Banque 2 (1969): 285–98. I am grateful to Dr John Condren for this reference. 90 Ducommun, Marie-Jeanne and Dominique Quadroni. Le Refuge Protestant dans le Pays de Vaud (Fin XVIIe–début XVIIIe s.): Aspects d’une migration. Publications de l’Association Suisse pour l’Histoire du Refuge Huguenot, 1. Geneva: Droz, 1991. 91 Larminie, Vivienne. ‘Exile, Integration and European Perspectives: Huguenots in the Pays de Vaud’. In The Huguenots: History and Memory in Transnational Context, edited by D. J. B. Trim. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011, 241–61.

10 FASHIONING AN EXPANDING ENGLISH WORLD Commerce, curiosities, and coastal profiles from Edward Barlow’s 1668 voyage to Italian port cities Alistair Maeer Abstract: Edward Barlow, a common English sailor, recorded his 44 years tra­ versing the globe from 1659 to 1703 in a lavishly illustrated journal depicting voyages to the Baltic, Mediterranean, and North Seas, as well as across the Atlantic, Indian, and Pacific Oceans. Considered alongside his vivid written ac­ count, Edward Barlow’s illustrations not only depict navigational and geographic knowledge but also reflect the economic and socio-political vicissitudes of an Englishman traversing the globe at the end of the seventeenth century. Barlow’s account of his own travels thus demonstrates how mobility lies at the heart of English experiences abroad, as his thoughts and images are manifestations of the resultant re-conceptualisations of England’s place in the world. Even as Barlow’s journal acts as both a textual and graphic narration of his spatial understanding of an expanding world, it also acts as the aspirational discourse of a sailor from belowdecks reimagining the opportunities of his own lived experiences. This is nowhere more evident than in his imagery of Europe, as he re-envisions the role of England’s relationship to the Continent within an increasingly global context of possibilities and limitations – rich markets, imperilled trade, and evocative locales that inspire the imagination and transform perspectives. Edward Barlow’s journal can thus provide a clear example of a changing understanding of the relationships between England and Europe at the close of the early modern era. As early modern overseas commercial and imperial endeavours surged, north Atlantic merchants and mariners crisscrossed the globe selling woollen wares, dyed linens, dried cod, and various manufactured goods to an ever-increasing number of foreign ports, as well as their own gradually thriving colonies. Despite vibrant worldwide commerce, the Mediterranean represented the single-most lucrative region for European overseas trades until the end of the seventeenth century, thanks to a complex network of imports and re-exports across various entrepots. These mercantile interests in the Mediterranean therefore merited protection, so

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naval fleets and ships were dispatched to secure local protections and serve as convoys for heavily-laden merchant ships. In addition, Classical and Renaissance architectural sites, as well as geological curiosities near lucrative markets became increasingly a part of the cosmopolitan discourse of travel. For an English mer­ chant or mariner, then, the seventeenth century was a heady sea of movement and opportunity alongside ancient wonders and modern marvels.1 Foreign novelties, knowledge, and luxuries were highly prized by people throughout the early modern period, as the world remained ill-defined and filled with boundless promises of adventure, travel, the unknown, as well as lucrative prospects. Though more and more people ventured beyond European shores, especially in light of increasing overseas trades, most did not physically travel, but instead depended upon reports from those who did, as speculation and interest in exotic goods and curiosities grew. By the mid-seventeenth century, a rich and fertile tradition of published accounts, memoirs, and autobiographical exploits sought to sate the inquisitive minds of gentry and commoners alike. Among the many stories circulating at the time, those written by mariners provided a unique birds-eye view of growing engagement with and awareness of the planet. At the vanguard of global encounters, mariners’ surviving recollections offer layered narratives to better understand the accompanying cultural, economic, and imperial tensions between aspirations and familiarity in this cosmopolitan environment. In effect, the world became increasingly encompassed as the consistent and growing interactions offered peoples the ability to absorb the wares and wonders of distant lands. One chronicler was Edward Barlow, a common English sailor, who re­ corded his 44 years traversing the globe in rich detail, with narrative descriptions alongside hundreds of accompanying images, in a journal now preserved in the Caird Library and Archive at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich. Barlow’s representation of his experiences in Italian port cities provides a case study in the ways in which culture, trade, and empire intertwined in a postRestoration reimagining of England’s emerging commercial and imperial identity.

English shipping to the Mediterranean and Italian shores, 1660s The bulk of Barlow’s voyages to European ports of call occurred during his first 18 years at sea, wherein he sketched Alicante, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Bergen, Cadiz, Dieppe, Elsinore, Glasgow, Genoa, Kinsale, Lisbon, Livorno, Malaga, Marseilles, Messina, Naples, Rouen, and Toulouse. Examining Barlow’s imagery alongside his narrative highlights the mercantile realities of his expansive maritime world. However, by providing his reader with mutually informed words and images, Barlow situates his discourse and adds nuance to his observations. His renderings of Italian port cities reflect how growing English awareness of the breadth of European trade and the allure of European curiosities helped reorient England’s relationship to the world. In effect, in addition to noting the abundance of mercantile opportunities, Barlow describes how ornate churches, lush gardens, and

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other enticing attractions helped proclaim the cultural accoutrements of progress. In his own way, he coasts along Italian shorelines partaking in a maritime Grand Tour of sorts that places him well within the milieu of observing the exotic as means to disseminate knowledge and help ‘Britons to go beyond the past and prepare for their prestigious international future’.2 It was amid these rich oppor­ tunities that Barlow first went to the Mediterranean to protect such lucrative English activities and affirm such possibilities. It is no surprise that Barlow spent his early career in the Mediterranean, since so much of England’s shipping industry conducted business across the Balearic, Ligurian, and Tyrrhenian Seas during this period. In fact, during the 1660s, when Barlow most frequented various old-world ports, merchants across southern Europe purchased over 57% of England’s principal export of woollen cloths, and over 48% of England’s total exports (including all manufactures, food, and re-exports). Moreover, the Mediterranean constituted approximately 31% of England’s total imports during the same period. By contrast, Asiatic and Atlantic traffic combined represented only 9% of exports and 32.7% of imports. Even as trades from other parts of the world in­ creased by the dawn of the eighteenth century, those from classical shores still constituted 23% of the total value of English overseas commerce between 1699 and 1701.3 Furthermore, the importance of this market to English overseas business was made plain by the adoption of irregular naval convoys to protect English shipping, beginning in 1652; these convoys were made increasingly permanent in light of regular calls from consuls throughout the 1660s.4 The commitment of the English navy to protect these commercial interests demonstrates the entire region’s im­ portance. Ultimately, naval expenditures and the number of ships assigned to protect the said Mediterranean interests never dipped below 50% of the entire monies or ships of the English navy during the late seventeenth century and often reached as high as 75% despite equivalent levels of violence across the Atlantic.5 Of the many waterfronts within the great inland sea, only Spanish harbours surpassed Italian ports as the most voluminous destinations to sell English wares and buy foreign mer­ chandise. Italian warehouses, however, offered more luxurious goods than their Spanish counterparts; Spanish ports lacked the rich silk trades as well as the unique coral or marble of Italy. Ideally positioned in the Mediterranean, Italian ports had long been used by domestic and foreign merchants and mariners as way stations, connecting the east to the west. After a decline in Anglo-Italian mercantile traffic from 1511 to 1570, English traders rekindled Italian commerce by the later sixteenth century and then experienced dramatic growth in the carrying trades during the Thirty Years’ War, all of which ensured a steady and valuable flow of English exports and imports with the area throughout the seventeenth century.6 By 1663, Italian ports comprised over 18% of all exports and 27% of all imports between England and the Mediterranean, increasing in 1669 to over 20% of exports and over 30% of imports.7 Different forms of silks, both manufactured and raw, dominated imports from Italy, while currants and olive oil were also highly sought after as well as luxury goods such as glass, coral, and marble. Various types of manufactured woollens led English exports to Italy –

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though fish was also an important and voluminous trade.8 Accordingly, across Italy, be it in Venice, Naples, Messina, Genoa, or Livorno, English merchants bought and sold all manner of precious goods in bustling markets, full of foreign competition. Italian ports thus represented a strategically and vitally important economic focus of English overseas interests.

Edward Barlow: an eyewitness to history Edward Barlow participated in both the growing mercantile shipping industry and in convoys and fleets to protect English interests across the Mediterranean, and his descriptions of Italian port cities are among his most intriguing entries of his ex­ tensive journal. In addition to consistently listing viable commodities and the necessity to negotiate alliances and trade deals, Barlow also highlights the in­ numerable curiosities in the locations and sights he visits, from natural marvels to historic destinations and artistic wonders, as well as the commercial opportunities afforded by his growing awareness and experiences. Upon Italian coastlines, his chronicle bears witness to Classical and Renaissance ruins, architecture, and gardens that epitomise how the wonder of such ‘curiosities’ refines and informs the English imagination. Thus, by observing attractions, be they mercantile or cultural, Barlow represents an expanding English cosmopolitan worldview that includes distant lands as part and parcel of its identity.9 Edward Barlow himself was in many ways emblematic of the transformations of English maritime interests in the seventeenth century. Born in Whitefield in 1642 and raised during the turmoil of the Interregnum, Edward Barlow grew to adolescence in Prestwich, a hamlet near Manchester.10 His journal describes how having been entranced by stories of far-off places ever since his early childhood, Barlow quit an apprenticeship with a local whitester (bleacher of linens) in 1657 to seek employment and adventure in his uncle’s tavern, the Dog and Bear in Southwark, London. Two years later, Barlow joined the navy and began his new career aboard the Naseby (renamed the Royal Charles upon the Restoration of Charles II).11 In his illustrated journal, Barlow recounts these facts as well as his youthful exuberances and adventures as an able seaman, followed by the frustrations of promotion and being a tarpaulin, an officer risen from below-decks, in the East India Company until his apparent retirement in 1703. He reappears in the historical records two years after his last journal entry, when India Company records note Barlow being given command of the 150-ton frigate Liampo in 1705 – a ship he once saw moored in Macao after being dismasted by a storm in September of 1700. Sadly, while sailing to Mocha in Yemen, Barlow and all aboard the Liampo were lost somewhere off the coast of Mozambique and died in 1706.12 Fortuitously, Barlow’s journal survives, and embedded within its 141 folios are 210 distinct sketches and accompanying descriptions that visualise his maritime world. Barlow’s journal is a textual and visual commentary of a common English sailor’s experiences with distant shores, historic events, and commercial opportunities. His images depict voyages to the Atlantic and Indian Oceans as well as the Arabian,

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Baltic, Caribbean, China, North, Red, and Mediterranean Seas. Often, wherever blank space remained on an existing image in his journal, Barlow included additional shorelines – usually insets of birds-eye views of far-flung islands or harbours. For example, the entire Thames River from London Bridge and the Tower to the Goodwin Sands of the estuary is rendered on 14 different but connected folios, revealing hundreds of distinct internal English river-scenes. Interspersed within these drawings are dozens of other discrete coastal profiles from throughout the globe, with views of the Caribbean and Canary Isles, the Cape of Good Hope, and even Ethiopia as insets to fill unused space on his snaking portrayal of the River Thames. In short, Barlow knits the far reaches of the globe around England’s imperial, mercantile, and cultural centre as London’s wharves are wedded to the goods and wonders of the world. When considered alongside his vivid written account, Barlow’s illustrations not only display navigational and geographic knowledge, but also reflect the eco­ nomic, political, and cultural perceptions of a common Englishmen sailing around the world at the end of the seventeenth century. Furthermore, Barlow’s coastal profiles of port cities and seaways often include sketches of all manner of personal and natural curiosities, including volcanic eruptions in the Mediterranean, the travails of violent storms, the grandeur of beautiful gardens and statuary, as well as the many markets awaiting intrepid voyagers and merchant interests upon European shores. In effect, his imagery provides a lens into the roles of opportunity and curiosity in postRestoration English expansionism. Specifically, Barlow’s descriptions, birds-eye views, and pilotage charts simultaneously reflect and embody English activities and interests amid a growing cultural, economic, and imperial worldview. This is evident in Barlow’s imagery and textual commentary of Italian ports, as he interprets the increasingly global context of economic possibilities, political negotiations, and an appreciation of natural wonders and cultural artefacts as hallmarks of a respectable and celebratory English global identity. In addition to representing the practicalities of sea travel and imaginative re­ flections on distant locales, Barlow’s journal also offers a striking occasion to witness a richly embroidered personal story alongside the nascence of English global aspirations of the late-seventeenth century. For example, Barlow was aboard the Naseby, or Royal Charles, as she was re-christened upon picking up Charles II near The Hague to be restored to the throne in 1660. He took part in Admiral Lord Montagu’s expedition to suppress the Barbary pirates in the Mediterranean in 1661; furthermore, Barlow was in command in 1697 when he fought off the notorious pirate Captain Kidd in the Red Sea.13 Often, his piratical entanglements represent the bulk of Barlow’s limited place in our historical memory, although Marcus Rediker and Patricia Fumerton have argued that his narrative epitomises ‘the perpetual anxieties of England’s working and wayfaring poor’.14 Moreover, Steve Mentz has argued that Barlow characterises an iconic representation of the ‘Blue Humanities’; man’s intrinsic relationship with the sea as an inverse force of unknowingness, violence, and the fear of catastrophe.15 However, Barlow’s journal warrants further analysis, as it has far more to offer the English historical record.16 Ultimately, Barlow is a cosmopolitan sailor who

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narrated and drew an expansive maritime world replete with socio-economic, geo-political, and cultural observations that help one understand how the early modern English world was re-imagined in light of such global awareness.

Edward Barlow’s 1668–1669 Mediterranean cruise Barlow’s personal history embodies English commercial, military, and ideological engagements in this changing world. This is clearly shown by his experiences in Italy. In 1668, Barlow was pressed into naval service out of the merchantman Real Friendship while at anchor in the River Thames and unloading wine from the Canaries. Forced into the crew of the frigate Yarmouth, tasked to join a fleet under Admiral Sir Thomas Allen and sail to thwart a potential French threat in the Mediterranean, the ship was temporarily reassigned to convoy the Duke of York’s pleasure boat to Dieppe. More precisely, the Yarmouth was to ensure the safe passage of Princess Anne to Dieppe so that Queen Henrietta Maria could then assure the princess would receive the proper tutelage. Upon seeing the future Queen Anne safely ashore, the Yarmouth returned to London and joined the fleet as it left to cruise the Mediterranean in May of 1668.17 While deployed, the ship visited Cadiz, Tangiers, and Malaga before watering off Sardinia en-route to conduct negotiations in Tunis and Tripoli, and then sailed to Sicily and all along the western shore of the Italian peninsula to secure English commerce. Barlow’s maritime world was vast, but as an eyewitness to the realities of statecraft, identity, and power while aboard the Naseby or Yarmouth, his perspective was surprisingly nuanced and informed. As was common in his journal entries, Barlow sketched each port on this trip and catalogued its enticing opportunities, noting commodities and novelties. For example, while anchored near Carthage, in addition to listing the plentiful wares available nearby, Barlow regales his reader with a brief of the story of Aeneas and Dido after seeing the latter’s tomb. He regarded Tunis and its Carthaginian shadow as well si­ tuated, enabling ‘good trade for English ships bringing goods from Spain and Italy, and carrying goods again thither’.18 Here, Barlow explicitly describes his journey within a historical and cultural heritage that would have been familiar to most educated Englishmen: the journey by Aeneas from the ruined Troy to nascent Rome. By highlighting Dido’s tomb, Barlow draws attention to the parallels between his own journey – leaving Tunis, adjacent to Carthage, to eventually travel past Sicily and up the Italian coast to greater success and fulfilment – and Aeneas’ journey to founding the Roman Empire. Just as Aeneas and his crew braved the dangers of the mythical Scylla and Charybdis, Barlow and his fellow sailors encountered the natural dangers of Italian volcanoes and skirt political quagmires; both crews then took a restorative hiatus in Sicily. The literary allusion to the Aeneid implies an ideological parallel be­ tween Roman and English imperial interests, as well as reiterating the importance of trade. In effect, Barlow’s description of Carthage reflects practical knowledge about commercial potential whilst placing Carthage and subsequent Italian ports within a historical and cultural context that triangulates his modern expedition in relationship to English education and aspirational ideas of empire (Fig. 10.1).

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After renewing relations with the Shah of Tripoli, the Yarmouth sailed north towards Messina, Sicily. Five days later, Barlow recounts how he spied Sicily by day from the plumes of smoke and by night by great flashes of light from Mount Etna. Upon anchoring in Messina, the Yarmouth’s crew, as well as the other men of the fleet, were given liberty over a three-week period, allowing Barlow to judge Sicily ‘the best island in all the Mediterranean Sea both for fruitfulness and pleasant dwelling’.19 During this brief stay, he noted the well-proportioned homes made of stone and beautified with alabaster, and how the city acts as an entrepot of various goods from across the region, especially abounding in silks. In addition, he ob­ served that Sicily produces good wine, olive oil, ‘and fruits, [such] as oranges, lemons, figs, and good apples as we have in England, pomegranates, dates, and almonds’.20 He ends his entry about Sicily by recounting sailing through the Strait of Messina and past what mariners call the ‘four chimneys of hell: [the volcanoes] Stromboli, Volcano, Vulcanello, and Muengebell [Etna]’.21 In one of only a handful of two-page layouts in his journal, Barlow not only points out the pos­ sibilities that commerce affords, but also emphasises the accompanying natural curiosities. Examining the image more closely, it becomes apparent that Barlow is depicting a complicated, even layered, reflection upon how commerce, geopo­ litics, and scientific knowledge help re-imagine the nature and possibilities of the world and, by extension, England’s place in it.

Edward Barlow: the city of Messina on the Island of Sicilia in the Mediterranean Sea (NMM JOD 4, fol. 59) (© Royal Museums Greenwich, England).

FIGURE 10.1

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Barlow’s birds-eye view of the coast of Sicily focuses on three elements: the city of Messina, maritime conflict, and volcanic activity. In the image, Messina seems to be overshadowed by Etna’s plumes, the intensity of galleys fighting, and the various smouldering Aeolian Islands. On close inspection, the port of Messina is congested with all manner of vessels coming and going – a clear indication of commercial activity. Lighthouses and other coastal visual cues are rendered, guiding ships into a bustling port. The Dutch are notably present with two ships, one sailing south and another headed for the Italian coast, effectively framing Admiral Allen’s entrance into the harbour. In addition to these practical matters, however, Barlow accentuates what he describes as the ‘rare and beautiful gardens’ of Messina, including the Garden of Paradise, likely the Pietro Castelli Gardens founded in 1638, ‘for its rare inventions and pleasures’.22 Rather than obscured by eruptions and battles, Messina is situated amid lively activity and appeal. In this vein, the galleys emphasise the scale and volatility of trading in locally contested waters, underscoring why Allen’s squadron was cruising the Mediterranean to show the flag and negotiate the pro­ tection of vibrant English interests. Coupled with Barlow’s corresponding text, Messina’s markets are laid bare, and so too are its natural curiosities, be they lush gardens, or Etna’s foreboding presence (Fig. 10.2).

Close-ups of the city Messina on the Strait of Messina, and fleets of galleys fighting each other (NMM JOD 4, fol. 59) (© Royal Museums Greenwich, England).

FIGURE 10.2

The ‘four chimneys of Hell’ are inescapably prominent upon his chart. The dense, billowing volcanic smoke draws the eye, enticing the viewer to investigate (see Fig. 10.2). The volcanoes’ allure is enlivened by their suggestively fiery cores, especially when factoring in Barlow’s commentary that they ‘burneth with much horror and amazement to the beholders, great flashes and flames issuing forth’.23 In fact, not only does Barlow introduce his passage to Messina by describing how the ‘burning mountain’ of Etna is a defining navigational feature, but he also mentions how nearly six months later, Mt Etna exploded ‘with exceeding great horror […,] doing great damage upon the island which is better described in a book [...] printed presently after that fearful prodegie [extraordinary marvel]’.24 The

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mention of the eruption, as well as the book about Mt Etna’s infamous 1669 eruption, is significant. Barlow only makes references to reading a handful of times in his entire manuscript, and here he is likely referencing one of two books published anonymously in 1669, the first titled The Volcano’s, Or, Burning and Firevomiting Mountains Famous in the World, and the second being Mount Aetna’s Flames. Or, The Sicilian Wonder.25 Here again, Barlow is not only an eyewitness to history as he sailed past the simmering volcano months before its famous de­ structive climax, but he is a part of a growing English fascination with the geo­ graphy of southern Italy as a repository of natural knowledge and commercial opportunity.26 Further accentuating the significance of natural wonders and curiosities, Barlow describes how, upon leaving Messina, the Yarmouth sailed past three more volcanoes, completing the so-called, ‘Four Chimneys of Hell’. He notes that they are ‘all very fierce [...,] burning many hundreds of years [...,] but the cinders [...,] which are blown out of the fire [eventually] swim, they are the same that we call pumice-stones’.27 Barlow’s description of Messina, explicitly framed against a historical account of Etna’s eruption and the scientific observation of natural curiosities, reveals that he is aware of world events, geopolitical interests, and the significance of securing economic advantages.28 Three days after leaving Messina and witnessing the terrors of volcanoes, Allen’s squadron, including the Yarmouth, sailed into Naples ‘to renew peace for the good of our merchants’ trade’.29 Barlow describes Naples as ‘the greatest and finest city upon the seacoast in all the Straits on the Christian Shore’.30 Intriguingly, Barlow reports how some ‘gentry’ passengers departed the Yarmouth to tour Rome and Florence before rejoining them in Livorno. This simple no­ tation is significant as these men, having sailed with them from London, were participating in an early permutation of the Grand Tour; clearly, Barlow also was all too aware of the appeal of beautiful buildings, gardens, and artwork.31 As was his routine, he lists and elaborates upon the commodities for sale, mirroring the Messina catalogue of goods, records any competing foreign traffic, and then provides a summative assessment, in this case how the scale of activity at Naples made it a ‘place of good trade for the English and Dutch and the French’.32 Barlow also makes a mention of warships, three Hollanes [Dutch] men-of-war, and a fleet of Neapolitan galleys ‘to secure themselves from the Turks’ galleys and ships’.33 After completing the litany of marketable wares available in Naples, he briefly reports Mt Vesuvius off in the distance and refers to how its eruption in 1631 ‘blew up and destroyed most part of the town’.34 In all, his commentary on Naples is briefer than that on Messina, despite the avowed ‘greatness’ of the port. However, he affirms the importance of Naples by remarking on the presence of an English consul alongside a handful of merchants in constant residence. Unlike Messina, the sheer scale of English traffic to Naples demands a permanent presence to oversee and secure mercantile affairs. In Naples, Barlow affirms the scope and importance of trade to England’s interests, the awareness of foreign competition, as well as the attractions of cultural artefacts; he, like his English gentry passengers, was a part of an increasingly English cosmopolitan world (Fig. 10.3).

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Edward Barlow: the manner and situation of the city of Naples in Italy (NMM JOD 4, fol. 60) (© Royal Museums Greenwich, England).

FIGURE 10.3

Barlow’s accompanying image of Naples reinforces how this busy port re­ presents a necessary English presence in the Mediterranean. In direct contrast to the ‘Four Chimneys of Hell’, the infamous volcano of Mount Vesuvius appears on the margins and without any suggestions of activity. While the acropolis of Cuma is marked on the peninsula, it is merely a visual cue to guide ships sailing from the north into Naples. While both are present, neither dominates; instead, commerce takes centre stage. The various islands on the approach are marked to highlight navigation hazards – mounds of black to skirt in order to reach the crowded docks of Naples. Two harbours are full of vessels, their moles lined with all manner of craft waiting to offload and laden their holds. The effect is of ships lying in the offing, waiting to enter and then departing a busy port, avoiding any hazards, and following the visual cues to the bounty. The dense and competing shipping interests are the focus of this image. Two Dutch warships depart as a galley enters, a lighthouse beckons, and Admiral Allen’s fleet shepherds the Gulf of Naples. While Barlow mentions how Naples has many large and beautiful buildings, perhaps hinting at grand ancient and Renaissance architecture, he does not directly allude to any sites, or curiosities, in the city on his coastal profile. Rather, Barlow depicts foreign warships and highlights the necessity to secure English interests. Naples is a port town, a transit place of goods and peoples, and the sheer scale of com­ merce dwarfs any other site so it must be protected. Yet, its location allows other locales to be easily visited, as his commentary infers the many rich prospects in and beyond Naples, from ample trade goods to Vesuvius, and even the nearby sights of Rome and Florence. In sum, England’s trade affords Barlow and his gentry companions a chance to see new lands; such travel enabled the increasingly popular emergence of the grand tour, a hallmark of cosmopolitanism.

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After staying almost two weeks in Naples, the Yarmouth departed for Livorno, where Barlow’s expressions of commercial and cultural expansionism helped solidify his account as a reflection of developments in English identity. Notably, he even prefaces his entire entry about Livorno with a reminder about why he went to sea, ‘my desire was, from my youth, to see strange countries and fashions’.35 Once he arrives in Livorno, Barlow immediately emphasises the global extent of Mediterranean trades as well as geopolitical rivalries and the role of English ships and Italian ports within them. The Royal Navy frigate Ruby lay at anchor in Livorno after convoying merchantmen from Newfoundland heavily laden with fish, likely cod. One of the fleet’s ships was dispatched to fill her holds with white and blue marble for the new royal palace in Greenwich, now known as the King Charles Block of the Old Royal Navy College. Barlow then mentions how a Dutch ship that had left Naples when the English fleet had arrived began bragging about how ‘they had destroyed all our Great Ships in the wars [Second Anglo-Dutch War, 1665–1667] […,] which was a sign that peace would not hold with them long’.36 He then explains how ‘here is always an English consul for the King’s business [...] and three or four [...] English factors for the merchants in England’.37 Excellent oils, pickled anchovies, marble, and blood-red coral from the seafloor, alongside silks, wine, fruits, and root vege­ tables fill Livorno’s abundant warehouses. So too are the houses of ill-repute aplenty, ‘where many a man empties his pockets’.38 Ultimately, Barlow styles Livorno as ‘the chief magazine of trade in all the Straits, having a good and convenient mole for ships’.39 Here, an English presence is not temporary, rather it is clearly and necessarily permanent as Livorno is a global hub that must be secured for England’s imperial trade. The significance of Barlow’s ire at the Dutch and of the scale of commerce, both within the Mediterranean and across the Atlantic, is compounded by the singular attraction he chooses to highlight in Livorno. Renowned and symbolic of militarism and empire, Barlow describes in rich narrative detail the famous and influential sculpture known as the Monument of the Four Moors that crowns the galley mole of Livorno. Barlow writes that it represents the story of four ex­ ceptionally tall and powerful enslaved Muslims who once escaped from the Grand Duke of Tuscany were recaptured and immortalised in bondage ‘and over their heads standeth the Duke that was Governor’.40 In fact, the monument is an artistic assertion of global dominance celebrating Ferdinando I’s, the Grand Duke of Tuscany (1587–1609), victories over Ottoman pirates and the reach of Tuscany into the four corners of the globe. Barlow’s story, while inaccurate, nonetheless parallels the imperial and ethnocentric triumphalism of its manufacture. Barlow records how the statue exquisitely depicts ‘every “shade” and vein in their whole bodies, and line and wrinkle, that it is held by all beholders a piece of admirable workmanship’.41 Still the most celebrated artistic sculpture in Livorno, the lengthy description and corresponding rendering of the Monument of the Four Moors de­ monstrate the layered meanings and importance of English maritime expansionism in and to Barlow’s world (Fig. 10.4).

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Edward Barlow: the manner and situation of Leghorn (Livorno) in Italy in the Mediterranean Sea (NMM JOD 4, fol. 61v) (© Royal Museums Greenwich, England).

FIGURE 10.4

Barlow’s image of Livorno underscores its dynamic commercial activity and the continuing pull and power of cultural curiosities. Nine ships crowd the entrance, see­ mingly queuing to fill their holds. Various lighthouses dot the landscape, ensuring safe passage to the jammed harbour amid shoals and hazards. Three moles are teeming with ships, filling Livorno’s harbour. Upon a close examination, dozens of individuals are walking along the moles, and five men are riding out of the city. The five riders likely represent another set of genteel sightseers, much like those who departed the Yarmouth in Naples and re-joined in Livorno, who have gone to tour celebrated Italian attractions. Livorno is alive with activity and its urban centre crammed with buildings ready to burst from the city walls. Unlike Naples, where local attractions were relegated to the per­ iphery of his chart, Barlow highlights them here. As described in his narrative, Barlow meticulously includes in his harbour-view a recognisable Monument of the Four Moors presiding over the galley mole in the heart of Livorno. Barlow even carefully coloured it, trying to differentiate between the commanding alabaster statue of Ferdinando atop the sculpture and the four bronzed captured moors, which represent Tuscan military and imperial triumphs. For Barlow, the Monument of the Four Moors not only stands at the very heart of Livorno’s rich markets, but also embodies how trade and the fascination with cultural curiosities informs an expanding English world. In effect, Barlow’s Livorno reemphasises how commerce emboldens a nation economically, culturally, and affords empire. In Barlow’s Livorno, the scope, scale, and accoutrements of global expansion

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have fashioned an appeal to recognise the importance of English commerce, empire, and cultural awakenings. Perhaps, like the Italian expansion depicted in the Monument of the Four Moors, England ought to secure the four corners of the world. After renewing relations with the local representatives of the Duke of Florence, the squadron left Livorno and sailed for Genoa. The voyage was fraught with crosswinds and a storm that split sails and required men to go aloft to rig new sails as winds, lightning, and thunder seemingly conspired upon a ‘raging sea, [where] each wave [was] ready to swallow the ship’.42 Throughout his journal, Barlow often reminds his reader of the travails of sailors, be they violent storms, stern captains, meagre fare, or scant wages and harsh policies. However, when coupled with his unrelenting commercial gaze and appreciation of enlightening curiosities, his grie­ vances juxtapose the difficulties of living in an expanding world and the imaginative possibilities of refashioning his and England’s place in that world. Arriving in Genoa storm-tossed, the squadron proceeded to quickly renew relations and ensure ‘peace and trade for our merchants’.43 As for any sailor after a hard passage, the next port is a reaffirmation of one’s opportunities, and in this case, Genoa was ripe with valuable wares and fascinating sights for Barlow to introduce and narrate. Barlow’s portrayal of Genoa reiterates the extent of commerce alongside the allure of strange and intriguing sights. In addition to listing the same profitable goods as in Messina, Naples, and Livorno, he adds fine paper and ‘pure black slate’ from a local mine that he describes as chalkboards since it ‘serveth for many uses and in the room of paper to write and cipher, one rubbing it out again at your pleasure, very necessary for the young aritmitishon (arithmetician)’.44 Moreover, he expounds upon the bustling market for Newfoundland cod, English herrings, Portuguese sugar, as well as acknowledging the thriving merchant traffic to Smyrna, Alexandria, and Constantinople. Again, he underscores the complex geopolitical realities of com­ mercial and imperial conflict by noting Dutch, French, Portuguese, and Spanish shipping and how the lucrative trades from across the world pay for their armies.45 Such maritime activity is underscored in his harbour-view by the three packed moles in the harbour and the nine ships coming and going into Genoa. Like in Naples and Livorno, the scale of trade commands the presence of resident English merchants and requires a consul to better oversee and secure continuous access to such lucrative wares. Yet, unlike Naples or Livorno, Genoa possesses rare marvels and grand ar­ chitecture of rich description that warrant extra attention (Fig. 10.5). Barlow elucidates the curiosities and charms of Genoa by drawing attention to three discrete features: magnificent gardens, grand architecture, and a tourist attraction. Like other Italian cities, Genoa is ‘beatified with marble and alabaster’ as it benefits from rich nearby marble quarries.46 Yet, Genoa also possesses ‘rare and beautiful gardens, and rare artificial fountains, the water being made to pass out of diverse images and forms, very rare to behold, being made with much art and curiosity’.47 Barlow’s commentary and maritime views of Genoa also include two other points of interest. Firstly, he mentions the many ‘beautiful and fair churches, very richly adorned’, even sketching a massive ‘Church House’, which appears to be either the Cathedral of San Lorenzo or more likely the Santa Maria di Castello.48 Secondly, Barlow notes,

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Edward Barlow: the manner of the situation of the city of Geniuia (Genoa) in Italy (NMM JOD 4, fol. 63) (© Royal Museums Greenwich, England).

FIGURE 10.5

‘there is one rare thing here to be seen, namely a broad cage, of the bigness that it covereth a large garden, it being made of large wire and wood, and in it are kept all manner of wild and strange kind of fowls, there being trees and many inventions in it, which any stranger may see for the spending of a royal or two’.49 This depiction of the Prince Doria Palace Aviary and its gardens is striking and important. Paying for admission highlights how the aviary is a tourist attraction and a destination of note for many. Barlow’s sketch is made even more alluring by its oversized and accentuated presentation of the palace’s aviary, boldly labelled ‘Bird kage’ on the birds-eye view of Genoa – located to the left (or north) of the central harbour in Naples and now lost to history.50 Both it and the ‘Church House’ are curiosities of note, and experiencing them is made possible by English commerce. Likewise, their inclusion in Barlow’s journal, like England’s continued participation in expansive trades, makes them an important indication of how England’s relationship to the Continent, and the world, was evolving. Specifically, these attractions were made famous by Richard Lassell’s The Voyage of Italy (1670), a book that helped propel the Grand Tour as a defining socio-cultural activity for worldly Englishmen thereafter.51 Barlow is writing as a participant in the awa­ kening of English cultural, commercial, and imperial expansionism that followed the Restoration. This awakening included the Grand Tour, which often started in Genoa and rested upon a vast maritime trade network and global colonies.

Conclusion Barlow’s career represents the gambit of a life at sea and parallels England’s steady ascension upon the world’s stage. This is evident in Barlow’s imagery and textual commentary of Italian ports, as he re-envisions the role of England’s relationship to the Continent within an increasingly global context of possibilities and limitations. The style and tropes of Barlow’s images – birds-eye pilotage charts and harbour-

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views marked with visual cues, bustling maritime activity, and cultural and natural attractions that pique the curiosity of the reader – remained consistent and are augmented by corresponding descriptions in his journal. Moreover, even as Barlow’s journal acts as both a textual and graphic narration of his spatial under­ standing of an increasingly cosmopolitan world, it also acts as the aspirational dis­ course of a common sailor chafing against the epistemological limitations of his lived experiences. He is clearly aware of a world of enticing and profitable luxuries that is equally steeped in the dangers of politics, the pleasure of adventure, as well as the merits of scientific observation. Ultimately, Edward Barlow’s commentary and il­ lustrations depict the evolution of English global aspirations as they emerged out of the commercial successes and expansionism of the late seventeenth century and morphed into a globally influenced identity with imperial ambitions. Mediterranean shores, and Italian port cities, in particular, helped to fuse trade, empire, and the awareness of success into a growing imperial identity that was bound up in the legacy of classicism, the Renaissance, and the consumerism of an emerging polite society as much as the possession of colonies in far-off, distant lands.

Notes 1 The following are important scholarly texts on Early Modern English overseas carto­ graphic, commercial, imperial, and maritime expansionism as well as their impact upon England: Andrews, Kenneth. Trade, Plunder, and Settlement: Maritime Enterprise and the Genesis of the British Empire, 1480–1630. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991; Chaney, Edward. The Evolution of the Grand Tour: Anglo-Italian cultural relations since the Renaissance. New York: Routledge, 2000; Davis, Ralph. The Rise of the English Shipping Industry in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. London: MacMillan, 1962; DelanoSmith, Catherine and Roger Kain. English Maps: A History. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1999; Edney, Matthew and Mary Sponberg Pedley, eds. The History of Cartography, Vol. 4: Cartography in the European Enlightenment. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2020. Harley, Brian. The New Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2001; Rodger, N. A. M. The Command of the Ocean: A Naval History of Britain, Vol. 2: 1649–1815. New York: Norton, 2004; Games, Alison. The Web of Empire: English Cosmopolitans in an Age of Expansion, 1560–1660. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008; Ormord, David. The Rise of Commercial Empires: England and the Netherlands in the Age of Mercantilism, 1650–1770. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003; Peck, Linda Levy. Consuming Splendor: Society and Culture in Seventeenth-Century England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005; Woodward, David, ed. The History of Cartography: Vol. 3. Cartography in the European Renaissance. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1998. 2 D’Amore, Manuela. The Royal Society and the Discovery of the Two Sicilies: Southern Routes in the Grand Tour. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017, 47; In addition, see Craik, Jennifer. ‘The Culture of Tourism’. In Touring Cultures: Transformations of Travel and Theory, edited by Chris Rojek and John Urry. London: Routledge, 2002, 113–36; See also Irving, Sarah. Natural Science and the Origins of the British Empire. London: Pickering and Chatto, 2008; Hayden, Judy. Travel Narratives, The New Science, and Literary Discourse, 1569–1750. Burlington: Ashgate, 2012. 3 Hornstein, Sari R. The Restoration Navy and English Foreign Trade, 1674–1688: A Study in the Peacetime Use of Sea Power. Berkeley: Scolar Press, 1991, 36–9. 4 De Divitiis, Gignola P. English Merchants in Seventeenth-Century Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997, 57.

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5 Dickie, Trevor. ‘Commerce and Experience in the Seventeenth-Century Mediterranean: The Market Dynamics, Commercial Culture and Naval Protection of English Trade to Aleppo’. PhD thesis, Balliol College, Oxford, 1997, 277; Hornstein, Restoration Navy, 29. 6 Andrews, Trade, Plunder, and Settlement, 87–9, 97. 7 Divitiis, English Merchants in Seventeenth-Century Italy, 127. 8 Divitiis, English Merchants in Seventeenth-Century Italy, 144–59. 9 D’Amore, The Royal Society, 85–6; Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour, 17–20; Games, Web of Empire, 17–81. 10 The Registers of the Parish Church of Prestwick; Baptisms, Burials, and Weddings, 1603–1688, Series 34. Transcribed by Henry Brierley. Cambridge. Cambridge University Press for the Lancashire Parish Register, 1909, 28, 31, 34, 36, 40. 11 Lubbock, Basil, ed. Barlow’s Journal: Of His Life at Sea in King’s Ships, East & West Indiamen & Other Merchantmen from 1659 to 1703. London: Hurst & Blackett, 1934, 15–25. Basil Lubbock transcribed Barlow’s original manuscript and donated it to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, London (NMM) upon publication. Barlow’s manuscript has received significant attention by conservationists at the NMM for the past 50 years and is now accessible under the designation ‘JOD 4’. It is referred to as ‘Barlow’ for the remainder of this chapter. 12 Hackman, Rowan. Ships of the East India Company. Gravesend: World Ship Society, 2001, 33; Will of Edward Barlow, Commander of the Liampo, 1708. Wills and Probate, Prerogative Court of Canterbury, National Archives, PROB 11/500. 13 Ritchie, Robert. Captain Kidd and the War against Pirates. London: Harvard University Press, 1986. 14 Fumerton, Patricia. Unsettled: The Culture of Mobility and the Working Poor in Early Modern England. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2006, 63–130; Rediker, Marcus. Outlaws of the Atlantic: Sailors, Pirates, and Motley Crews in the Age of Sail. Boston: Beacon Press, 2014, 30–45. 15 Mentz, Steve. Shipwreck Modernity: Ecologies of Globalization, 1550–1719. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2015. 16 Maeer, Alistair. ‘Instruments of Acquisition and Reflections of Desire: English Nautical Charts and Islamic Shores’. In Britain in the Islamic World: Imperial and Post-Imperial Connections, edited by Justin Olmstead. Manchester: Palgrave, 2019, 27–55. Barlow offers numerous opportunities to compare and contrast English interactions with various parts of the world over time; highlighting, for instance, how commercial interests morphed into aspirational and situational imperialism along the Islamic shores of western India. 17 Barlow, 146–8. 18 Barlow, 154–5. 19 Barlow, 157. 20 Barlow, 158. 21 Barlow, 159. 22 Barlow, 158. 23 Barlow, 158. 24 Barlow, 157. 25 Anon. [Athanasius Kircher]. The Volcano’s. Or, Burning and Fire-vomiting Mountains, Famous in the World. And expos’d to more general view in English, upon a Relation of the late Wonderful and Prodigious Eruptions of Etna… London, 1669; Anon. Mount Aetna’s Flames. Or, The Sicilian Wonder. London, 1669. 26 D’Amore, The Royal Society, 68–100; Peck, Consuming Splendor, 311–45. Scholars have long recognised the connection of the Royal Society’s early interest in maritime knowl­ edge to commercial and imperial expansion, but in the past decade scholars had been able to connect such ideas to Southern Italy, travel writing, and the origins of the Grand Tour. Barlow is paralleling such sentiments and may in fact be attempting to directly participate in such a network, it is hoped that further study will solidify a more direct connection

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27 28 29 30 31

32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

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between him and the Royal Society. See also Hunter, Michael. The Royal Society and its Fellows, 1660–1700: The Morphology of an Early Scientific Institution (British Society for the History of Science Monographs 4). Oxford: Alden Press, 1994; Irving, Sarah. Natural Science and the Origins of the British Empire. London: Pickering and Chatto, 2008; Maczak, Antoni, Travel in Early Modern Europe, trans. Ursula Phillips. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995; Tinniswood, Adrian. The Royal Society: And Invention of Modern Science. New York: Basic Books, 2019; Suranyi, Anna. The Genius of the English Nation: Travel Writing and National Identity in Early Modern England. Cranbury: University of Delaware Press, 2008. Barlow, 159. For a thorough analysis of connections between learned travel and imperialism, see Irving, Natural Science; Hayden, Travel Narratives. Barlow, 159. Barlow, 160. D’Amore, The Royal Society, 85–92. For a thorough scholarly introduction to the history and significance of the Grand Tour and its Italian attractions, see Chaney, Evolution of the Grand Tour; Black, Italy and the Grand Tour; Hunt, John Dixon. Garden and Grove: The Italian Renaissance Garden in the English Imagination, 1600–1750. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996. Barlow, 160. Barlow, 159–60. Barlow, 160. Barlow, 162–3. Barlow, 161. Barlow, 163. Barlow, 163–4. Barlow, 163. Barlow, 164 Barlow, 164. Barlow, 164–5. Barlow, 166. Barlow, 167. Barlow, 166–7. Barlow, 166. Barlow, 166–7. Barlow, 168. Barlow, 168. Camurati, Michelle. ‘The aviary of Palazzo del Principe Doria in Fassolo in Genoa’. Archeologia dell’ Architettura VIII, 2003 (Supplemento a Archeologia Medievale 2004): 89–112; Gorse, George. ‘The Villa of Andrea Doria in Genoa: Architecture, Gardens, and Suburban Setting’. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 44, no. 1 (1985): 18–36; Podestà, Stefano and Sonia Resemini. ‘Reconstructive Hypothesis of the Historical Aviary in Prince Doria Palace, Genoa (Italy)’. In Proceedings of the 5th International Conference on Structural Analysis of Historical Constructions: Possibilities of Numerical and Experimental Techniques, Vol. 3, edited by Paulo B. Lourenço, Pere Loca, Claudio Modena, and Shailesh Agrawal. New Delhi: Macmillian Publishers India Limited, 2006, 1779–88. While Camurati, Gorse, Podestà, and Resemini make no reference to Barlow’s image or de­ scriptions of the aviary, they collectively highlight its existence and historical popularity for centuries. Interestingly, one of the most famous English diarists of the seventeenth century, John Evelyn, also visited the aviary, and it was considered a notable destination from the very beginnings of the Grand Tour; see Bray, William, ed. The Diary of John Evelyn. London: M. W. Dunne, 1901; Chaney, Edward. Evolution of the Grand Tour. Games, Web of Empire, 45–6; Lassels, Richard. The Voyage of Italy: Or a Compleat Journey Through Italy… London, 1670. See also Chaney, Edward and Timothy Wilks. The Jacobean Grand Tour: Early Stuart Travellers in Europe. London: I. B. Tauris, 2014.

11 ‘ENGLAND IS NOT A KINGDOM LOCATED ON THE MOON’ Use and usefulness of English knowledge in early modern Swedish agricultural literature Linnea Bring Larsson Abstract: Books of husbandry and agriculture were long-standing elements of the early modern European culture. In the first instance, they served as conveyors of useful practical knowledge. However, through a process of circulation and translation, the knowledge was incrementally detached from its practical context. This chapter argues that the usefulness of these books thus shifted to a more theoretical one, connected to the learned elite’s appropriation of knowledge and the aspirations of the individual authors. By studying the use of English agricultural knowledge in two Swedish works, Jacob Serenius’ The English Husbandman and Shepherd (1727) and Reinerus Broocman’s A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry (1736), this study examines how the different uses and usefulness of the knowledge influenced the translation and selection, and thus the circulation, of agricultural knowledge during the early modern period.

Introduction Books of husbandry and agriculture, that is, manuals on agricultural administration and practices, were long-standing elements of the European learned culture, from antiquity onwards. However, during the early modern period, the number of works increased dramatically for a number of reasons, including the invention of the printing press, the so-called scientific revolution, mercantilistic and cameralistic systems of thought, and an increasing interest in both agriculture and practical knowledge overall, by the gentry and learned elites. In Sweden, the genre experienced its real upsurge only in the eighteenth century, starting in the late 1720s.1 This increase was, in addition to the above-mentioned factors, partly fuelled by the political situation. Sweden, its economic and military power severely diminished after the Great Northern War (1700–1721), was in dire need of improvements in agriculture and commerce.2 In this context, English agricultural knowledge proved useful. However, it is important to ask to whom this knowledge was most useful. This discussion examines how the perceived practical and theoretical usefulness of

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the knowledge influenced the translation and selection, and thus circulation, of English agricultural knowledge into Swedish books of husbandry and agriculture during the eighteenth century. Through two case studies, Jacob Serenius’ The English Husbandman and Shepherd (1727) and Reinerus Broocman’s A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry (1736), it thus focuses on processes of appropriation, circulation, and translation of agricultural knowledge during the early modern period.

Translation as appropriation The Swedish books of husbandry and agriculture have been largely overlooked by previous scholars, due to their perceived unoriginality and dependence on European agricultural works.3 Many of the books were indeed compilations or translations. However, in recent years, it is possible to discern an increased international interest in translations as sources. This is especially true in studies of knowledge circulation, for example concerning the transformation of political and scientific concepts through translation. ‘Translation’ is here defined broadly, as the translation of knowledge from one context (for example social or linguistic) to another.4 Previous research regarding the translation of agricultural knowledge has explored how information tended to lose some of its practical usefulness through translation. For example, Mauro Ambrosoli has shown how the difficulty of translating and/or agreeing on plant names between different contexts led to the confusion of lucerne (Medicago sativa), sainfoin (Onobrychis), and sorghum (Sorghum vulgare) in medieval and early modern Europe, which reduced the spread of their cultivation.5 However, books of husbandry and agriculture served an additional purpose apart from the at least perceived circulation of practical knowledge: as part of the early modern process of knowledge appropriation, where local, practical popular knowledge was codified and systematised by learned, educated elites in order to control it. This happened, for example, in mechanics and medicine, as well as agriculture. The will to control knowledge was linked to a corresponding desire to control social structures, legitimising the status of the educated as above those who had learned by practice and custom.6 As James Fisher has argued, the English books of husbandry and agriculture can be seen as ‘tools of appropriation’, where local, practical agricultural knowledge was transformed and put into different theoretical systems of thought. This was done, Fisher argues, not only to improve agricultural practices, but to legitimise the control by the gentry and estate managers in a period which saw an increase in agricultural professionals and gentlemen. By removing the knowledge from its context, its usefulness shifted from a purely practical one to the one also concerning control over knowledge and power.7 The processes of translation and appropriation are clearly linked. The transformation of knowledge from oral to written is in itself a type of translation. Translations between different linguistic and social contexts thus played a great role in the appropriation and subsequent transformation of the usefulness of the knowledge, from a practical to a more theoretical one. However, these processes were not only affected by the wants of a group, but also by the aims of individual

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authors. This study explores these individual motives, by examining two Swedish works and the uses of English agricultural knowledge by their authors: Jacob Serenius’ The English Husbandman and Shepherd (1727) and Reinerus Broocman’s A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry (1736). During this period in Sweden, the notion of ‘usefulness’ (nytta) – as in public and therefore virtuous usefulness as opposed to sinful self-interest – was a cherished concept.8 The ambition to improve the wealth of the state fell within this kind of usefulness. It was therefore commended, and both Broocman and Serenius declared this to be the purpose of their books. However, it is argued here that the books also had another purpose: to serve the economic and political ambitions of their authors. These different and sometimes conflicting purposes affected the translation and selection of agricultural knowledge in various ways.

Jacob Serenius and The English Husbandman and Shepherd (1727) In 1727, Jacob Serenius (1700–1776) published The English Husbandman and Shepherd (Engelska Åker–Mannen och Fåra–Herden), a Swedish compilation of English agricultural literature. For him, gathering information on English agriculture was relatively easy. He was the minister of the Swedish Lutheran Congregation in London and both spoke and read English fluently, and he would later write the first dictionaries between the English and Swedish languages. As minister of the congregation, he became a focal point for Swedish–English exchange, functioning as an intermediary for Swedish researchers and travellers. Additionally, he became acquainted with numerous prominent English scientists and theologians, including bishop Edmund Gibson – whose 1695 translation and revision of William Camden’s Britannia (1586) was used by Serenius in The English Husbandman – and Hans Sloane, President of the Royal Society 1727–1741.9 For all his contacts, Serenius’ own farming experience at the time of the publication of The English Husbandman is unknown but likely limited: Serenius was only 26 years old and had spent a large part of his life as a student at Uppsala University.10 The English Husbandman is, therefore, not a work based on practical experience, but on translation and compilation. But why would a young minister choose to publish such a work? Like many contemporary authors, Serenius stressed the usefulness of agriculture for the wealth of the state, describing it as ‘the first and foremost work, onto which a kingdom’s strength and well-being is based’.11 However, although his interest in stately improvement was most likely sincere, personal ambitions also influenced his decision to publish. Serenius had temporarily returned to Stockholm at the time of publication, trying – for the moment unsuccessfully – to seize a better clerical position.12 Most likely, he also had his mindset on a position within the Diet of the Estates, as part of the Estate of the Clergy. Serenius was probably well aware of the current Swedish political interest in agriculture, manifested by the royal establishment of an agricultural commission in 1725.13 When his book was finished, he presented it to the Estates.14 Through

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the publication, he conveyed himself as possessor and disseminator of useful – in the virtuous, public sense – knowledge. Serenius thus had two motives for the publication of The English Husbandman: to prove himself a useful and virtuous resource for the state, as well as conveying useful practical knowledge. These two, sometimes conflicting, ambitions influenced his translation and selection of English agricultural knowledge, as will be seen in the following examples.

The kingdom not located on the moon: calendar and climate Serenius was well aware of the practical problems of implementing agricultural practices in a new context. He used a good part of the preface to explain the similarities between Sweden and England, arguing that England is not a kingdom located on the Moon, but on the same Earth as us; no further than that the southern parts of Sweden and the northern parts of England are located at the same height [on the map] […].15 Nevertheless, he acknowledged that there were some differences, which made him abandon his original plan of translating John Mortimer’s The Whole Art of Husbandry (1721).16 According to Serenius, using only Mortimer would have ‘made the work burdened with things not useful other than in England’.17 Instead, although Mortimer’s work still served as a base, Serenius compiled his work from a large array of sources, and his bibliography contains many famous English agricultural writers, such as Richard Bradley, John Evelyn, John Laurence, Gervase Markham, Timothy Nourse, and Thomas Tusser.18 To make this knowledge useful to a Swedish audience, Serenius not only needed to abandon some themes, but also adjusted the information to fit the Swedish context. Sometimes it proved impossible. For example, Serenius had to settle with translating ‘Furze’ as ‘Furze, (a plant similar to Juniper)’, as he did not know a Swedish name for it.19 In other cases, however, the facts could be adapted to retain the practical usefulness of the information. One example concerns dates. Sweden and England both followed the Julian calendar: linguistically and socially, dates were therefore easy to translate. However, differences in climate came with their own hurdles. When comparing Serenius’ work with the corresponding sections in Mortimer’s, an interesting pattern emerges. In instructive parts that do not merely describe a regional fashion of cultivation in for example the Low Countries, Serenius often, although not always, adjusted the information.20 If we compare the altered with the kept instances, it becomes clear that the changes were not random. The adjustments can be paired into three groups. Firstly, Serenius adjusted information about which month something needed to be done: for example, ‘February and March’ became ‘March or April’.21 Secondly, he replaced the mentioning of a month with a more vague concept, for instance, ‘January’ with

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‘the first days of spring’.22 Thirdly, he changed ‘winter’ to either ‘autumn’, ‘winter or autumn’, or ‘autumn and spring’.23 In the majority of the altered instances, Serenius thus adjusted the information to corresponding better to the harsher Swedish winter: mentions of months in the period of late spring (April) to late summer (end of August) were rarely changed, although common in the text.24 Serenius thus consciously tried to adapt the information in order to make it practically useful for a Swedish audience – at least those in the middle part of the realm. He had, as Serenius himself put it, ‘in the translation as far as possible, adapted the words to the subject matter’.25 However, his will to communicate practical information sometimes conflicted with an ambition to convey himself as learned. This could sometimes lead to confusion, as the next section will show.

The confusing case of the colon symbol: units of measurements Climate was not the only hurdle in translating practical information: linguistic and social differences also played a part. During the period, the Swedish and English units of measurements held no real equivalents. Serenius tried to solve this problem by keeping some of the English measurement names, for example, ‘acre’ and ‘bushel’, and include two conversion charts at the end of his book.26 However, he was not consistent. For the English mile, he used the Swedish word mil, which denotes a Swedish measurement roughly six and a half times longer than its English namesake.27 In the text, however, it is not always clear whether Serenius refers to the English or the Swedish unit, writing sometimes mil but sometimes English mil, in both instances meaning mile.28 To the contemporary reader, this uncertainty obscured the practical usefulness of the information. However, an additional motive besides practical usefulness can be discerned while looking at the conversion charts. In the body text, Serenius uses the Swedish words fot for foot and tum for inch.29 The ratio between the Swedish fot and tum and the English foot and inch, respectively, are stated in the first conversion chart: Conversion chart […] calculated after the proportion of the English foot in relation to the Swedish [fot], which is 1027:1000, and the English inch’s proportion in relation to the Swedish [tum], which is 85:100.30 Today, the English foot is calculated to 30.48 cm and the Swedish fot to 29.69 cm. Does this match Serenius’ information? Serenius’ use of the colon is somewhat hard to interpret. If he means the proportion between the two measurements, as the sentence above seems to refer to, the numbers to a modern eye seem inverted (the ratio is 1000:1027). However, Serenius might have used the notation somewhat differently. Additionally, the colon could denote the proportion to an unknown length x, where the English foot equals 1027x and the Swedish 1000x, making the calculation correct. In any case, the ratio 1000:1027 matches the information

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given in the rest of the conversion chart. For example, an acre is described as 43,560 English square feet or 45,944 Swedish square fot.31 Both the English and the Swedish systems used relation of one foot/fot = twelve inches/tum. However, it seems as if Serenius actually had a larger Swedish tum in mind. Most likely, he used the decimaltum, which instead divides the fot by ten, giving us a length of 2.969 cm. The ratio between the English inch of 2.54 cm and the Swedish decimaltum is roughly 100:86 (1000:8555…), which might explain Serenius’ use of 85:100. However, this does not fit the other information given by Serenius. For example, an English quarter is said to equal 17,424.000 English cubic inches and 10,700.514 Swedish cubic tum, giving us a ratio of roughly 100:88.5.32 Although they only span two pages of the entire book, the conversion charts highlight three interesting aspects of Serenius’ translation and selection of knowledge. Firstly, the mistakes made show the difficulty of translating measurements and the subsequent detachment of the information from practical reality. It is hard for a reader not only to discern whether Serenius meant the Swedish or the English units of measurements, but also to interpret the conversion charts and spot the mistakes in them, which require an ability to calculate the root of large numbers. Secondly, the obsession with giving exact numbers to operations not really in need of them (for example, regarding the distance between individual crop seeds on the fields) can be seen as part of the appropriation of agricultural knowledge, the will to systematise it to the smallest detail.33 Thirdly, Serenius’ use of decimaltum is interesting. The decimaltum was introduced in Sweden by Georg Stiernhielm in the 1660s. However, it was first used in official legislative documents in the 1730s, and then together with the other tum (= verktum).34 In effect, it was a unit of measurement discussed by and used mainly by a learned elite. Serenius’ use of it therefore denotes not only his intended audience but his own aspiration to belong to that group. Here, the wish to convey practical usefulness sometimes seems to have been overshadowed by a will to display his own theoretical knowledge.

Things not useful other than in England? Knowledge and status Serenius’ wish to convey himself as a knowledgeable man also influenced his selection of information. The main text is actually framed by sections more relevant to learned discussions than practical work: in the beginning, a preface containing a historical survey of agriculture, and in the end a bibliography.35 In the body text, the mentions of other authors are often a consequence of Serenius translating large chunks of text from other works, which in turn mention the authors.36 However, this is not always the case. The following example illustrates Serenius’ self-asserted will to omit things not useful other than in England: Mr Mortimer says, that grapes will grow exceptionally well using this kind of dung [= human], but one will rather with Evelyn eat medium-sized grapes grown with the help of beast-dung, than with Mortimer [eat] those who

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taste of man: for our often mentioned [and] commendable Evelyn says that it [= human dung] flavours them so badly, that nothing will help.37 Wherein lies the usefulness here? It is not in the practical use of dung on grapes. Grapes could not, with contemporary cultivation practices and varieties, really be grown in Sweden: at least not in such quantities necessary to improve the stately finances, which was Serenius’ stated overall goal with his book. Instead, the usefulness shifts to the mention and evaluation of the information given by the highly regarded John Mortimer and John Evelyn, both fellows of the Royal Society. To not only mention but also evaluate their thoughts served to put Serenius in the midst of a learned discussion, and thereby the learned community. Many of the theoretical discussions appear in the footnotes. Some of them mention or discuss other authors and their works, such as Timothy Nourse, Christian Wolff, and Olof Bromelius. Others contain elements that on the onset do not add to the usefulness for the practical farmer, for example Latin quotations, mostly from Virgil’s Georgica.38 Various footnotes convey information on English counties, usually regarding their size, administrative division, number of representatives in the Parliament, and greatest produces.39 Often, the footnotes are not required reading for an audience simply interested in improving their own agricultural practices. However, Serenius made an effort to add them, and they are usually not taken from the same source as the body text.40 Most likely, Serenius wanted his book to reflect his own mercantilistic and cameralistic knowledge. Together with the conversion charts, preface, bibliography, and the mentioning of famous authors, these additions were intended to highlight Serenius as a learned man, and as a consequence an asset to the state. Although the book’s practical purpose was important to Serenius, his own ambitions clearly affected his translation and selection of agricultural knowledge.

Reinerus Broocman and A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry (1736) Serenius’ book was solely and directly based on English agricultural knowledge. However, information from English sources sometimes found their way into Swedish works in far less direct ways. In 1736, nearly 10 years after Serenius issued his work, Reinerus Broocman (1677–1738) published the first part of his A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry (En Fulständig Swensk Hus–Hålds–Bok).41 Unlike Serenius, Broocman could not read English and had never been to England. Instead, as a consequence of the Great Northern War, the Swedish Livonia-born minister had been forced to flee to the Swedish mainland. He and his family settled in the town of Norrköping, where Broocman became minister of the German-speaking congregation.42 In 1723, he started his own publishing house with the intention to publish a Swedish translation of Christian Schriver’s Seelen-Schatz (1675–1692). In the following decade, he continued to publish mostly religious texts, before transferring the ownership of the publishing house to one of his sons.43

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Although nearly 60 years old and in bad health, Broocman had great ambitions for his work. Some of these were certainly economic. Broocman focused on printing works that appealed to a greater public and used his network, commissionaires, and advertisements to make sure the books were sold.44 Already in 1727, he had asked the Estate of the Peasants to support the project, in essence requesting them to recommend the book to their friends, giving it an audience and as a consequence some economic security.45 In the book, he expresses a will to circulate useful practical knowledge.46 However, to make it seem reliable and legitimate, he also needed to display his knowledge regarding learned discussions on agriculture. An integral part of his capacity to do so rested on mentioning English agricultural authorities.

Broocman, Serenius, and the problem of measurements Broocman strove to make his book the most complete book of husbandry yet published in Sweden.47 To accomplish this he elected to, ‘from both old and new, Swedish and German books of husbandry gather and adduce the most useful and necessary [information/knowledge]’.48 However, his work is rippled with mentions of English authors, such as Robert Boyle, William Camden, Joshua Childrey, Moses Cook, John Evelyn, and Samuel Hartlib.49 On this point, previous scholars have argued that Broocman was well-versed in English agricultural literature.50 However, it has recently been shown that this was not the case.51 In fact, Broocman had probably read none of the above-mentioned authors. Instead, his citations are extracted from the Swedish and German books that he did use. One of these books was the manual written by Serenius. In fact, Broocman reproduced Serenius’ whole first chapter – including the citations in relation to Evelyn and Cook.52 However, Serenius’ conversion charts were omitted by Broocman, obscuring the real measurements and therefore diminishing the practical usefulness of the information. The degree to which this information was considered useful was, therefore, not only and not always practical. To Broocman, as well as Serenius, the mentioning of Evelyn and Cook served to illustrate the expertise of the author. This use of English knowledge is even more evident when looking at the following example.

Seaweed and clay: from England to Sweden through Europe The information in the agricultural works, due to both collective and personal motives, ceased to be connected to reality and instead became part of a larger intertextual network of knowledge and status through the processes of circulation and translation. This is clearly shown by Broocman’s citation of William Camden’s Britannia (1586) and Joshua Childrey’s Britannia Baconica (1660s). In short, the information given is simply that the people of Cornwall have found seaweed and clay to be good fertilisers. However, the story of the circulation, translation, and appropriation of the information is interesting for the purpose of this chapter. In Broocman’s text, the following statement can be found (underlines by me, here and in the following quotations. English translation in endnotes):

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V. Profwet. §. 7. Camdenus uti sin beskrifning om Prowintsen Cornewall i Engeland, förtäljer, at inwånarena, besynnerligen bönderna ther i landet, betiena sig af siögräset och leret, hwarmed the sin annars af naturen ofrucktsamma jordmon fruchtbar giöra, och man försäkrar, at the ther igenom mer än man någonsin tro kan, uträttat, och få skiära up en obegripelig mycken säd. VI. Profwet. §. 8. Herr Childerey uti sin Historia naturali om Engeland berättar, at inwånarena uti landet Cornewall hafwa observerat, at ingen ting jordens frucktbarhet hos them mer befrämjar, än hafs-sanden, och at ju lengre uti siön, som then hämtas, ju rikare blifwer theras skiörd. Thesse 4. Multiplications eller sätt at förmera säden äro tagne utur 112. Observation Journal – eller Ephemerid. Curios. Natur. Germ. de Anno 1671. pag. 185. 186. 187.53 The text mentions Camden, Childrey, and a scientific journal. However, Broocman had – which he acknowledges – translated the information from Christoph Lorenz Bilderbeck’s Entdeckte Grüfft Natürlicher Geheimnüsse (1727), which states: V. Probe. Camdenus in seiner Beschreibung der Provintz Cornovval in Engelland, erzehlet, daß die Einwohner, und in specie die Bauren dieses Landes sich des Meer-Grases und des Leims bedienen, um ihr, sonsten von Natur sehr unfruchtbares Erdreich fruchtbar zu machen; Und man versichert, daß sie dadurch mehr als man sich einbilden kan, ausrichten, und eine unbegreiffliche Menge Korn einerndten sollen. VI. Probe. Der Herr Childerey in seiner Historia Naturali von Engeland mercket an, daß die Einwohner des Landes Cornovail observiret haben, daß nichts so sehr die Fruchtbarkeit ihrer Erde befördere oder verursache, als der Sand aus der See, und daß je weiter dieser Sand in der See gehohlet, je grösser und reicher die Erndte sey. Diese 4 Arten die Fruchtbarkeit oder die Multiplication des Saamens zu vermehren, sind genommen aus der 112. Observation des Journals oder Ephim. Curios. Natur. Germ. de A. 1671. pag. 185. 186. 187.54 However, Bilderbeck had not written this paragraph either, but had taken it from the famous Frenchman Pierre le Lorrain’s, abbé de Vallemont, Curiositez de la nature et de l’art sur la vegetation (1708):

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V. MULTIPLICATION. Cambdenus, dans la Description de la Province de Cornowaille, en Angleterre, raporte que les Laboureurs de ce païs-là se servent d’Alguemarine, & de limon, pour fertiliser leurs champs, naturellement trèsinfertiles. Ils assûrent que par ce moyen ils recueillent des blés, au delà de tout ce qu’on peut s’imaginer. VI. MULTIPLICATION. M. de Childrey, dans son Histoire naturelle d’Angleterre, remarque, que les habitans du pays de Cornowaille ont reconnu que rien ne contribute tant à la fécondité de leurs terres, que le sable de la mer; & que plus ce sable est pris avant dans la mer, & plus la recolte est riche. Ces quatre manieres de multiplier les grains sont tirées de l’Observation cxii. des Journaux, Curiosorum naturæ d’Alemagne, 1671. pag. 185. 186. 187.55 He was the one who had actually read the article cited in both Bilderbeck and Broocman, Philipp Jakob Sachs von Löwenheim’s ‘Observatio CXII: Singularis Spica Hordei’, in Miscellanea Curiosa Medico-Physica Academiæ Naturæ Curiosorum sive Ephemeridum Medico-Physicarum Germanicarum Curiosarum (1671), which says: Cambdenus in descript. Cornwall. s. Danmon. p. 113. breviter nimis & paucis verbis idem innuit: glebam, inquit, alga marina & limo quodam supra quam credi possit incolæ lætificant. Idem Dn. de CHILDREY l. a. p. 37. notat, Incolas Cornvvalliæ observasse sabulum marinum multò magis conducere ad fœcundationem terræ propter adjunctam salsedinem, quàm sabulum ex terrâ: & fertilius adhuc sabulum, quod non circa littoral maris, sed ex profunditate ipsius extrahatur.56 Sachs von Löwenheim had probably read Camden’s Britannia himself: his page reference fits the 1590s (reprinted 1616) Frankfurt edition of Camden’s work, which states: Hæc regio, veluti pensante æquorum cursus naturâ, vt plurimum montibus attollitur, gleba in conuallibus satis fertili, quam alga marina OreWood dicta, & limo quodam supra quam credi possit, lætificant.57 However, the reference to Childrey deserves another notation. Sachs von Löwenheim refers to Childrey’s work as ‘Hist. Natural. Angl.’,58 but the English original is titled Britannia Baconica, or, The natural rarities of England, Scotland & Wales. However, a French translation, Histoire des singularitez naturelles d’Angleterre, had been published in 1662 and 1667. The page reference given by Sachs von Löwenheim matches the 1667 edition, and his phrasing corresponds better with the French text than the English, for example:

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Sachs von Löwenheim (Latin): Incolas Cornvvalliæ observasse […].59 Childrey (French): Les habitans de Cornouaille ontremarqué […].60 Childrey (English): In Cornwall they find that […].61 To summarise, the knowledge thus travelled from England to Germany (via France in Childrey’s case), to France and back to Germany, and finally (for our purpose, that is) to Sweden.62 However, one is left to wonder: what use does this information have in Sweden? Cornwall is situated in the far southwest of England, its shores sliding into the Atlantic Ocean, which contains salt-water. On the contrary, the majority of the Swedish shoreline borders the brackish Baltic Sea. Additionally, the great tides of the Cornwall coastline, not matched in Sweden, made it easier to gather the seaweed and clay. Although Broocman certainly aspired to make his book practically useful, the usefulness of this information is therefore somewhat dubious. However, that did not stop it from being useful as a marker of Broocman’s own knowledge, thus legitimating the book and possibly increasing the number of copies sold.

The usefulness of English agricultural knowledge in Swedish books of husbandry and agriculture Did Serenius and Broocman manage to convey useful information, or, to put it differently, could England just as well have been located on the moon? The answer is somewhat complex. Both Serenius and Broocman wanted to improve Swedish agriculture, and the books do contain practical agricultural information. However, the England described by Serenius and Broocman is often not the England of those actually farming the land, but the learned men’s perception of it, with a great focus on systematisation, ‘who said what’, and a decreasing link to reality with every new step of the knowledge circulation. This amounts to usefulness in theory rather than practice, usefulness connected to status, not agriculture per se. To Serenius and Broocman, this was not necessarily a bad thing. To them, the books held an additional purpose, as a way to show themselves and their books to be part of a learned discussion, thereby helping their own private ambitions. Both purposes influenced the way they translated and selected English agricultural knowledge. Additionally, the books offer interesting possibilities to explore knowledge circulation, translation, and appropriation, as well as their consequences. Herein lies another usefulness of the books: not for the authors or the intended audience, but indeed, to us.

Epilogue Jacob Serenius did not get the promotion he sought when in Sweden to publish his book. However, in the years to come, he would rise to the rank of the bishop of Strängnäs, getting very close to becoming archbishop. From 1738 and on until a few years before his death in 1776, he was an outspoken and prominent member of the Estate of the Clergy during the Diets of the Estates. During his political career, he was regarded as knowledgeable in both English and general economic

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circumstances.63 His greatest scientific honour was undoubtedly the appointment to fellow of the Royal Society in 1732. In his letter of recommendation to the Society, it is mentioned that he published ‘in the year 1727 a System of Agriculture in Swedish from the best English Writers’.64 Reinerus Broocman died within two years of publishing the first part of his book, leaving the second part to be finished by his son Carl Fredric. However, the publishing house would live on, first under his son, then under his son’s son-in-law. In 1758, it started Norrköpings Weko-Tidningar, a local newspaper. It is still being published, although now under the shortened name Norrköpings Tidningar.65 Every year since 1958, the newspaper has awarded a prize in Broocman’s name to people and institutions of importance for or connected to the region’s cultural sector.

Notes 1 The history of books of husbandry and agriculture has been investigated by a number of authors, for example Ambrosoli, Mauro. The Wild and the Sown: Botany and Agriculture in Western Europe 1350–1850, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009; Fisher, James. ‘Rethinking Agricultural Books, Knowledge and Labour in Britain c.1660–c.1800’. PhD thesis, King’s College London, United Kingdom, 2018; Fussell, George Edwin. The Old English Farming Books, Vol. I: From Fitzherbert to Tull 1523 to 1730. London: Pindar Press, 1947; Myrdal, Janken. ‘Lantbrukslitteraturen under 1700-talet som indikator på djupgående mentalitetsförändringar i samhället’. In Hebbe, Pehr Magnus. Den svenska lantbrukslitteraturen från äldsta tid t.o.m. år 1850s: bibliografisk förteckning, edited by Olof Kåhrström. Stockholm: Kungl. Skogs- och Lantbruksakademien, 2014, 15–42. 2 Brasch, Erik. ‘Ekonomikommissionen 1725–1731: Sveriges första jordbruksutredning och preludium till den agrara revolutionen’. Licentiate thesis, Lund University, Sweden, 2016, 11–3, 29–40. 3 Runefelt, Leif. ‘Hushållningens dygder: affektlära, hushållningslära och ekonomiskt tänkande under svensk stormaktstid’. PhD thesis, Stockholm University, Sweden, 2001, 95–96; see also Myrdal, ‘Lantbrukslitteraturen under 1700-talet’, 15. 4 Knowledge is a somewhat elusive concept, and the literature discussing it is vast. In this study, knowledge is seen as not equal to truth but situated and legitimised through the norms of a specific society. Information is seen as non-processed, ‘raw’ knowledge. However, texts can contain both, depending on the perspective of the reader or author: I therefore use them interchangeably. Knowledge circulation is defined as movement and transformation of knowledge between and in different contexts through and by actors, influenced by the actors’ own experience and motivations. Burke, Peter. What is the History of Knowledge? Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016, 6–7, 35–7; Lässig, Simone. ‘The History of Knowledge and the Expansion of the Historical Research Agenda’. Bulletin of the German Historical Institute 59 (2016): 29–58, at 38–40; Meusburger, Peter. ‘Spatial Mobility of Knowledge: Communicating Different Categories of Knowledge’. In Mobilities of Knowledge, edited by Heike Jöns, Peter Meusburger, and Michael Heffernan. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2017, 23–50, at 32–4; Secord, James A. ‘Knowledge in Transit’. Isis 95, no. 4 (2004): 654–72, at 657–8. For circulation and translation, see Burke, Martin J. and Melvin Richter, eds. Why Concepts Matter: Translating Social and Political Thought. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2012; Burke, History of Knowledge, 41–3, 88–9; Gamsa, Mark. ‘Cultural Translation and the Transnational Circulation of Books’. Journal of World History 22, no. 3 (2011): 553–75, at 557–61; Lässig, ‘History of Knowledge’, 43; Östling, Johan and David Larsson Heidenblad. ‘Cirkulation – ett kunskapshistoriskt nyckelbegrepp’. Historisk tidskrift 137, no. 2 (2017): 269–84, at 283.

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5 Ambrosoli, The Wild and the Sown, 19–20, 105–6, 172–3, 179, 213. 6 Fisher, ‘Rethinking Agricultural Books’, 252–7; Orrje, Jacob. ‘Mechanicus: Performing an Early Modern Persona’. PhD thesis, Uppsala University, Sweden, 2015, 72–6. 7 Fisher, ‘Rethinking Agricultural Books’, 50–1, 110–65, 225. 8 Runefelt, Leif. Dygden som välståndets grund: dygd, nytta och egennytta i frihetstidens ekonomiska tänkande. Stockholm: Stockholm University, 2005, 19–20, 44. 9 Hagberg, Lars. Jacob Serenius’ kyrkliga insats: kyrkopolitik, kristendomsförsvar, undervisningsfrågor. Stockholm: Svenska kyrkans diakonistyrelses bokförlag, 1952, 22–3, 54–69. 10 Hagberg, Jacob Serenius’ kyrkliga insats, 6–10. 11 Serenius, Jacob. Engelska Åker–Mannen Och Fåra-Herden, Eller: Åker–Bruks–Konsten Och Får–Skiötslen. Stockholm: Horrn, 1727, preface, unnumbered 8, ‘[…] såsom det första och förnämsta wärk, hwarpå et Rikes styrka och wälmågo sig grundar’. For an English example, see Nourse, Timothy. Campania Fœlix. Or, a Discourse of the Benefits and Improvements of Husbandry. London: Bennet, 1700, 11–2. 12 Hagberg, Jacob Serenius’ kyrkliga insats, 42, 90–1. 13 Brasch, ‘Ekonomikommissionen’, 11–3. 14 Cederbom, Lars August. ‘Jacob Serenius i opposition mot hattpartiet 1738–66’. PhD thesis, Lund University, Sweden, 1904, 13. 15 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, preface, unnumbered 7: ‘At England icke är et Rike belägit uti Månen, utan på samma Jord-Klot med oss; ej eller längre aflägse, än at Sweriges Södra och Englands Norra delar ligga med hwar andra under en Högd […]’. 16 1st ed. 1707, but Serenius used the 1721 London revised edition: Mortimer, John. The Whole Art of Husbandry: Or, The Way of Managing and Improving of Land, Vol. I, 5th rev. ed. London: Robinson/Mortlock, 1721. 17 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, preface, unnumbered 8: ‘[…] hade warit at giöra hela Werket obehageligt med anförande af mycket sådant, som ingen annorstädes än i England är brukligit, eller kan låta sig giöra […]’. 18 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 300. 19 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 12: ‘Furze, (en buske lik enträ)’; Mortimer, Husbandry, 7. 20 For an example of mere description, see Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 68; Mortimer, Husbandry, 42; Examples of unaltered instances: Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 35, 63, 241; Mortimer, Husbandry, 23, 39, 178. 21 For example, Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 7, 16, 63; Mortimer, Husbandry, 4, 10, 39. 22 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 83; Mortimer, Husbandry, 51. See also e.g. Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 16, 234; Mortimer, Husbandry, 10, 173. 23 See e.g. Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 31, 35, 64, 74, 76; Mortimer, Husbandry, 20, 25, 40, 45, 47. 24 See e.g. Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 85–6, 241, 243; Mortimer, Husbandry, 52–3, 178–9; Sometimes adjustments were made, see e.g. Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 160; Mortimer, Husbandry, 109. 25 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, preface, unnumbered 8: ‘[…] och uti öfwersätningen, så wida någonsin mögligit warit, lämpat ord til sak’. 26 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 301–2. For examples in the text, see Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 60, Mortimer, Husbandry, 36. 27 Jansson, Sam Owen. Måttordboken, 2nd ed. rev. Dan Waldetoft. Stockholm: Nordiska museet, 1995, 180–1. Although many local variants of the mil existed, Serenius seems to have had a similar ratio in mind: Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 302. 28 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 156 (in footnote), 158. 29 For example, Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 104; Cf. Markham, Gervase. The English Husbandman, 2nd rev. ed. London: Taunton, 1635, book I, Part 1, 100. 30 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 301, ‘Förliknings Tafla […] uträknad efter Engelska Fotens proportion emot den Swenska, som är 1027:1000, samt Engelska Tumens proportion emot den Swenska, som är 85:100’.

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31 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 301. It also matches the information given on page 302. 32 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 301. The ratio of 100:88.5 also matches the information given regarding bushel, peck, and gallon. 33 For example, Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 104. 34 Jansson, Måttordboken, 18–9, 60–1, 268–9. 35 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, unnumbered preface, and 300. 36 For example, Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 11, 66, 102; Mortimer, Husbandry, 6–7, 41, 62. 37 Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 176; Mortimer, Husbandry, 118; Evelyn, John. Sylva, Or a Discourse of Forest-Trees and the Propagation of Timber In His Majesties dominions, 3rd rev. ed. London: Martyn, 1679, 317. Swedish text: ‘Mr. Mortimer säger, at Windrufwor skola wäxa öfwermåttan wäl efter denna giödsel, men man wil helre med Evelyn äta måtteligen stora windrufwor efter fägårds-giödsel, än med Mortimer de som smaka af Man-gården; ty wår ofta nämde berömlige Evelyn säger at det sätter en så obotelig osmak på dem, at ingen ting wil hielpat’. 38 For example, Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 67, 84, 106–7, 253. 39 For example, Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 12–3, 36–7, 168. 40 For example, Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 42; Mortimer, Husbandry, 28. Serenius also mentions them in the subheading of his book. 41 The second part was published posthumously three years later, and will not be discussed here because the question of authorship of that part is somewhat complex. I have previously written on Broocman in Bring Larsson, Linnea. ‘Lantbrukets nytta i Reinerus Broocmans En fulständig swensk hus–hålds–bok 1736: en mikrohistorisk diskussion kring statsbyggnadsforskningens informationsöverförings- och aktörsbegrepp’. Master thesis, Stockholm University, Sweden, 2015; Bring Larsson, Linnea. ‘Kommentera, komplettera, kritisera: Broocmans användning av referenser och egna erfarenheter i Hushållsboken’. In Broocman, Reinerus. En fulständig swensk hus-hålds-bok: en handbok i gårds- och hushållsskötsel i vid mening från 1700–talets första hälft samt Broocmans värld och hushållsbok belyst i åtta artiklar av nutida forskare, Vol. 2, edited by Håkan Tunón. Stockholm: Kungl. Skogs- och Lantbruksakademien, 2016, 977–1013; Bring Larsson, Linnea. ‘Makromodeller, informationshantering och aktörskap – en väg framåt för mikrohistoria?: Reinerus Broocmans Hushållsbok (1736–1739)’. Historisk tidskrift 137, no. 3 (2017): 411–36. However, none of these texts focuses on the Swedish-English connections: the main examples, when at all mentioned in the previous works, have here been greatly expanded on. 42 Raag, Raimo. ‘Reinerus Reineri Broocman: ett liv i nordiska krigets skugga’. In Broocman, En fulständig swensk hus-hålds-bok, ed. Tunón, Vol. 2, 871–908, at 871–87. 43 Backman, Helena. ‘Broocman som bokförläggare: en kyrkoherde som bokentreprenör’. In Broocman, En fulständig swensk hus-hålds-bok, ed. Tunón, Vol. 2, 909–40; Raag, ‘Ett liv i nordiska krigets skugga’, 892–5. 44 Backman, ‘Broocman som bokförläggare’, 920–2; Raag, ‘Ett liv i nordiska krigets skugga’, 897. 45 Raag, Raimo. ‘Reinerus Reineri Broocman junior: en baltisk flykting i Sverige’. In Bröd och salt: svenska kulturkontakter med öst: en vänbok till Sven Gustavsson, edited by Roger Gyllin, Ingvar Svanberg, and Ingmar Söhrman. Uppsala: Swedish Science Press, 1998, 58–73, at 68. 46 Broocman, Reinerus. En Fulständig Swensk Hus-Hålds-Bok Om Swenska Land-Hushåldningen i gemen och i synnerhet, Vol. I. Norrköping: Broocman, 1736, part 2, chapter 13, 137. 47 Broocman, Hus-Hålds-Bok, ‘Gunstige läsare’. [To the reader], unnumbered. 48 Broocman, Hus-Hålds-Bok, ‘Gunstige läsare’. [To the reader], unnumbered: ‘[…] at utur både gamla och nya, Swenska och Tyska Hushåldsböcker thet nyttigaste och nödigaste utleta och anföra, […]’.

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49 Broocman, Hus-Hålds-Bok, e.g. part 2, chapter 4, 28; part 2, chapter 13, 136, 143; part 2, chapter 25, 216. 50 Erixon, Sigurd. ‘Hushållsböcker och hushållsjournaler i äldre tid i jordbruket’. In Offerkast och bjudhammare: uppsatser om folklig tro och sed, edited by Åke Hultkrantz and Bengt af Klintberg. Stockholm: Nordiska Museet, 1988, 128–47, at 141. 51 Bring Larsson, ‘Lantbrukets nytta’, 31–3; Bring Larsson, ‘Kommentera, komplettera, kritisera’, 982–4; Bring Larsson, ‘Makromodeller, informationshantering och aktörskap’, 422–3. 52 Broocman, Hus-Hålds-Bok, part 2, chapter 4, 23–35; Serenius, Engelska Åker-Mannen, 1–22. Serenius in turn based his chapter on the first chapter of Mortimer, Husbandry, book 1, chapter 1, 1–14. 53 Broocman, Hus-Hålds-Bok, part 2, chap. 13, 143–4. Translation: V. Experiment. §. 7. Camdenus in his description of the county of Cornwall in England, says, that the inhabitants, especially the farmers there, use the seaweed and clay to fertilise their otherwise by nature infertile soil, and one assures, that they by this manner have succeed unbelievably well, and get to harvest an unimaginable amount of grain. VI. Experiment. §. 8. Mr Childrey, in his Historia naturali concerning England recounts, that the inhabitants of the county of Cornwall have observed, that nothing increases the fertility of their soil more, than the sea-sand, and the further out in the sea it is gathered, the better their harvest. These 4. Multiplications or ways to increase the harvest are taken from 112. Observation Journal – or Ephemerid. Curios. Natur. Germ. de Anno 1671. pag. 185. 186. 187. 54 Bilderbeck, Christoph Lorenz. Entdeckte Grüfft Natürlicher Geheimnüsse, 5th rev. ed. Leipzig: Martini, 1727, 33. Broocman mentions specifically that he has used the 1727 edition: Broocman, Hus-Hålds-Bok, part 2, chap. 4, 36. 55 The first edition is from 1705. A German translation existed; however, Bilderbeck uses the French title when mentioning the work. Additionally, the page reference in Bilderbeck, Entdeckte Grüfft Natürlicher Geheimnüsse, 83, seems to match the 1708 edition (reprinted 1710) of Lorrain’s work. For the quotations, see Lorrain, Pierre le (abbé de Vallemont). Curiositez de la nature et de l’art sur la vegetation, 2nd ed. Paris/Brussels: Cellier/Leonard, 1708, 170–1. 56 Sachs von Löwenheim, Philipp Jakob. ‘Observatio CXII: Singularis Spica Hordei’. Miscellanea Curiosa Medico-Physica Academiæ Naturæ Curiosorum sive Ephemeridum MedicoPhysicarum Germanicarum Curiosarum 2 (1671): 184–7, at 187. 57 Camden, William. Britannia; sive Florentissimorum regnorum, Angliæ, Scotiæ, Hiberniæ, et insularum adiacentium, 3rd ed. Frankfurt: Wechel, 1590, 113. The 1659 edition has not been compared to. 58 Sachs von Löwenheim, ‘Observatio CXII’, 186. 59 Sachs von Löwenheim, ‘Observatio CXII’, 187. 60 Childrey, Joshua. Histoire des singularitez naturelles d’Angleterre, d’Escosse, et du Pays de Galles, 2nd ed. Paris: Robert de Ninville, 1667, 37. 61 Childrey, Joshua. Britannia Baconica: Or, The Natural Rarities of England, Scotland, & Wales. London: Printed for the author, 1660, 21. 62 Broocman might, for another part of the book, actually have read Sachs von Löwenheim’s article himself, see Broocman, Hus-Hålds-Bok, part 2, chapter 8, 61. However, the example discussed here is clearly taken from Bilderbeck. Serenius actually mentions the Cornwall seaweed as well, albeit in less detail, Serenius, Engelska ÅkerMannen, 5 (footnote). 63 Hagberg, Jacob Serenius’ kyrkliga insats, 112, 137, 144–6, 183; Bergfelt, Börje, ‘Jacob Serenius’. Svenskt biografiskt lexikon. URL: https://sok.riksarkivet.se/sbl/artikel/5864, accessed 1 July 2019. 64 Letter of Recommendation for Jacob Serenius 1731. Royal Society Archive, repository GB 117, ref. no. EC/1731/03, London. URL: https://collections.royalsociety.org/DServe. exe?dsqIni=Dserve.ini&dsqApp=Archive&dsqCmd=Show.tcl&dsqDb=Catalog&dsqPos= 0&dsqSearch=%28%28text%29%3D%27serenius%27%29, accessed 1 July 2019. 65 Backman, ‘Broocman som bokförläggare’, 922–3.

12 AN HONOURED GUEST The 1764 journeys across Piedmont of Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany Matteo Moro Abstract: Travelling under the alias of ‘Earl of Ulster’, Prince Edward Augustus, Duke of York and Albany, was the first member of the English Royal Family to visit Italy as a grand tourist, from 28 November 1763 to 17 August 1764. Based on contemporary archival and printed sources, this discussion will focus on Prince Edward’s two journeys and stays in Piedmont. It aims to highlight the important role played by ceremonial rules in the social interactions that took place during his journeys, to the ways in which the Italian hosts judged the British guest and to the impact of Prince Edward’s presence at the Court of Savoy in Turin in the context of the political, diplomatic, and commercial relationships between the Kingdom of Great Britain and the Kingdom of Sardinia.

Introduction Popular from around the 1660s onwards, the Grand Tour was for a long time the prerogative of the European aristocratic and upper-class young men of sufficient means and rank. The aim was to visit Europe and, above all, Italy, in order to take in the principal cities and sites of cultural interest and to enjoy the refined amu­ sements and occasions of conviviality they offered (such as receptions, balls, gala dinners, hunts, theatre plays, etc.).1 Prince Edward Augustus, Duke of York and Albany (25 March 1739 to 17 September 1767), and younger brother of George III, King of the United Kingdom, was the first member of the English royal family to visit Italy as a grand tourist, from 28 November 1763 to 17 August 1764.2 His Italian Grand Tour, and especially his two stays in Piedmont (from 10 February to 7 March 1764 and from 10 to 27 July 1764), provide the focus of this investigation. Edward’s journey took place in a crucial moment in European history, only a few months after the conclusion of the Seven Years’ War (1956–63). This conflict, later termed the ‘first world war’ by Winston Churchill,3 had ended with a de­ cisive victory of the Anglo-Prussian coalition, while France’s supremacy in Europe was destroyed, and Austria lost its claim for Silesia. Overall, the war redefined the political balance in Europe, increasing and strengthening the importance of Britain.4 Due to a lack of relevant interests at stake, none of the Italian states had

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Prince Edward’s travel routes across Piedmont in 1764. The places that he visited or in which he stopped are represented by grey dots, those he only planned to see, by white dots. (© Graphics: Matteo Moro and Dirk H. Steinforth).

MAP 12.1

joined the war.5 Few of them, however, had good diplomatic relationships with Britain at the time of Edward’s visit, as they were linked to Austria for political or dynastic reasons, while in the Papal States a strong feeling of Jacobitism was still alive.6 However, this did not apply to the Kingdom of Sardinia. Although some of his advisors had urged a more aggressive and opportunistic policy, pressing for an intervention in the Seven Years’ War, its king, Charles Emmanuel III, decided to stay carefully neutral, and rather attempted to interpose his good offices of peace-maker between France and Britain, in the vain hope of enforcing the rights of the House of Savoy on Piacenza.7 In the years that followed, he trod a careful line among the principal European powers. This was for two reasons: first, in order to promote his kingdom as the mainstay of the Continental balance system; and second, because the historical-political context hampered any ambition of terri­ torial expansion.8 As a result of his policies, the diplomatic relationships between the Courts of Sardinia and Britain remained cordial and without tensions.9

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Prince Edward’s arrival in the Peninsula was anticipated with expectation and hope. Horace Mann (1706–86), who then was a British resident in Florence,10 reported that his tour seemed to be in fact more than ‘a party of pleasure and curiosity’.11 Indeed, as shall be seen, besides the novelty of the event, the Italian states considered it a great opportunity to rebuild or to reinforce their diplomatic relationships with Britain, in order to protect or to promote their own political and economic interests. In comparison with these aims, Prince Edward’s agenda was much more modest. Together with his brother George, he had spent much of his youth studying a diverse array of subjects, including astronomy, maths, French, Greek, Latin, history, music, geography, trades, agriculture, and constitutional law. While George was very shy, solitary, and taciturn, Edward turned out to be a cultured and refined man, a lover of music and theatre, enjoying an extraordinary popu­ larity among both the high society in London and the foreign courts he visited.12 Thanks to his education, he developed a great passion for travels and for the sea and joined the Royal Navy in 1759. His military career, however, was mostly spent in fighting France, and lacked accomplishments. Despite this, his privileged status allowed him to rise through the naval hierarchy, until he was appointed vice admiral in 1762.13 When his brother George was crowned king of the United Kingdom in 1761, he appointed Edward to his Privy Council, making him one of the closest official advisors of the Crown. It is in the context of his naval career that Prince Edward decided to visit Italy, presumably for cultural purposes and also to grant himself a period of relaxation.14 To avoid being recognised and incurring the nuisance of ceremonials,15 he travelled incognito under the alias of ‘Earl of Ulster’.16 However, his demands of anonymity frequently were ignored, as they clashed with the intrusive attentions that – with typical Italian warmth – some sovereigns wanted to honour him with. By studying his movements and the reactions of his hosts, we gain an important understanding of political, diplomatic, economic, and cultural relations between Britain and Italy in this particular period.

Reading the reports: Prince Edward’s journeys and stays in Piedmont As Prince Edward intended to go to Turin to visit the Court of Savoy, King Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia gave Francesco Antonio Vacca di Piozzo, his Master of the Revels and Introducer of the Ambassadors,17 the order to draw up a proper reception protocol.18 This specified in detail what kinds of treatment were to be reserved to the honoured guest and which amusements were to be organised to entertain him during his stay in Piedmont. It also listed all the rules of the ceremonial, namely of the complete apparatus of gestures, expressions, rituals, and formulas, which the functionaries, military officers, and the members of the Sabaudian royal family would have to observe when receiving and dealing with the Duke of York.19

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Vacca di Piozzo wrote two detailed day-by-day reports (later transcribed in the official court register),20 taking care that the specifications of the protocols were in fact followed to the letter. Although not always unbiased, these reports, the letters sent to the commanders of those Piedmontese towns visited by Prince Edward (that were recorded in a specific register of the Regia Segreteria di Guerra of the Kingdom of Sardinia),21 and some articles in English journals, such as The London Gazette and the London Chronicle,22 represent a unique and largely neglected body of evidence that allows us to trace, step-by-step, the prince’s itineraries, the ac­ tivities he joined in, and the people he met in Piedmont. But rather than merely being a ‘travel diary’, they also provide valuable information about the social as­ pects that surrounded his stays and how they were perceived by both the court of Savoy and the British press, and allow us better to understand the political, dip­ lomatic, and commercial relationships and cultural exchanges between the king­ doms of Great Britain and Sardinia.

The first journey (10 February–7 March 1764) Prince Edward disembarked in Genoa on 28 November 1763 and stayed there until 10 February 1764.23 In the city, he enjoyed the amusements the Doge of Genoa organised for him, including visits to the harbour and the city monuments, gala dinners, balls, and nights at the theatre. Not being a lover of the ceremonial rules, the prince occasionally did not observe them, but thanks to his young age (he was only 24 years old) and to his self-assured and expansive character, he was an extraordinary success in Genoa.24 The prince left Genoa on the morning of 10 February 1764 in the direction of Turin,25 accompanied by his Chamber Gentleman, Colonel Henry St John, and his Squire, Sir William, 5th Baronet of Gore Boothby.26 After passing Novi Ligure, Edward left the Republic of Genoa, entered the Kingdom of Sardinia, and then approached Alessandria, where he intended to stay the night.27 Deputising for the Governor of that city, the Count of San Michele, accompanied by two carriages, preceded by a horseback postilion and followed by several servants in livery, rode out to welcome the honoured guest, and met the prince’s party near the river Bormida, which was crossed by a custom-made pontoon bridge.28 The Count alighted, and together with his officers approached the right door of Edward’s carriage and, following to the letter the instructions imparted by protocol,29 he delivered the King of Sardinia’s homages, offering residence to the foreign guest in the Government building of Alessandria and an escort. Prince Edward gratefully accepted and invited the Count to join him in his carriage, proposing to him the seat to his left. Ghilini and Balbis, the Count’s officers, took their seats in the second carriage of the prince’s retinue, allowing St John and Boothby to stay with Edward. Shortly afterwards, the cortege was joined by George Pitt, 1st Baron Rivers (1721–1803), who then served as British Envoy-Extraordinary to the Kingdom of Sardinia in Turin.30 The Count of San Michele offered his place to him, but the Duke of York refused his proposal, ordering St John and Boothby to

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move to the second carriage instead.31 These arrangements clearly were not random, but in fact meeting the need to define a hierarchy and to establish the role of every person in that specific social context.32 On his arrival in Alessandria, Prince Edward was welcomed with 30 cannon shots.33 At the city gate, the guards presented their arms and performed the aux champs with the drum roll,34 and a guard of 80 men, led by high-ranking officers as well as the regiment’s oboists, greeted him at the Government Palace.35 A large group of noblemen and officers bowed when Prince Edward descended from the carriage and accompanied him inside. There, he was introduced to the Bishop of Alessandria and to the city’s nobles and officers; then, to the sound of music from a nearby gallery, the foreign guest's reception took place in the Chamber of Alcove. Prince Edward asked to be called simply The Mister Earl of Ulster and entertained the ladies with small talk.36 A table was set up to seat 20 people, and the supper went on far beyond midnight.37 Afterwards, the Duke of York was accompanied by his table companions to the Theatre Ball, and after a few dances, he took his leave.38 The next morning, together with George Pitt and the Count of San Michele, the Duke of York visited the Citadel of Alessandria, on the left side of Tanaro river, where he showed himself very interested and impressed by the grandeur of the complex.39 A battalion of the regiments of guards honoured him by presenting arms and then paraded in front of him performing a march, followed by the ca­ valry. Incessant rain, however, forced the prince to return to the Government Palace, where a gala dinner was set up for 16 table companions.40 Having thanked the Count of San Michele for all the attentions received, the Duke of York left for Asti, which, due to impeccable preparations, he reached early. Here, he was greeted by 20 cannon shots.41 Edward took up residence in the house of Count Roero di Settime. That night, he received the local authorities and noblemen as well as the Bishop of Asti, and then went to a ball, which had been organised in his honour and included a supper on a table set up for 24 persons.42 The next morning, Edward apologised to the Count of Settime for having imposed on his schedules and was assured that the Count had done his duty.43 After just over three hours of travel, the Duke of York arrived in Trofarello, five miles from Turin, the capital of the Kingdom of Sardinia. Francesco Antonio Vacca di Piozzo was waiting for him, accompanied by the Sub-Introducer Knight Caissotti di Chiusano, a Master of the Horses, four court pages on foot, and two carriages drawn by six horses each.44 Originally, this meeting and a breakfast had been scheduled to take place in Poirino, but it seems that Edward preferred to reach Turin as quickly as possible instead.45 It is important to note that it was possible to make changes in the planned schedule even at very short notice, ac­ cording to circumstances. Shortly afterwards, the Duke of York arrived in Turin. In order to contextualise Edward’s sojourn in Turin from a historical and social perspective, it is important to say a few words on how the Sardinian capital ap­ peared to be in the eyes of foreign visitors throughout the age of the Grand Tour.

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During the reign of Victor Amadeus II and the first two decades of the reign of his son, Charles Emmanuel III, Turin was described by some English and French travellers as a city characterised by a notable architectonic linearity, elegance, and majesty, but at the same time as austere, melancholy, bigoted, and, above all, boring. These characteristics reflected the Court of Savoy, whose activities were distinguished by the rigid formalisms and the notable impositions of a ceremonial that was certainly out of step with the times.46 In order to extenuate the climate of austerity and rigour typical of his court and to bestow upon Turin a more cos­ mopolitan tone, which could align it with both other big Italian cities (such as Venice, Florence, and Rome) and the most important European capitals, Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia had allowed the ambassadors to open the doors of their palazzi to the local nobility and to foreign visitors and had given a tacit consent to the establishment of many salons in which aristocrats and middle-class people could meet.47 Although these changes apparently went unnoticed by the foreign guests (Edward Gibbon, who visited Turin in 1764, actually confirmed those judgements and prejudices expressed on the city by earlier British and French travellers),48 there is no doubt that when Prince Edward approached Piedmont for the first time in February of that same year, he found a more open and dynamic social and cultural context than others had encountered in the past. Since the Duke of York had expressed a desire to remain incognito during his stay in Turin, his arrival here was greeted by neither cannon shots nor even the House Guard.49 At the palace, which Charles Emmanuel III had prepared for him, Edward was received by the King’s Butler, the Marquis of St Alban, and several servants, and some officers were put at his disposal. He later received the greetings of some nobles sent by the members of the Sabaudian royal family and the foreign ambassadors.50 Vacca di Piozzo now reported to the Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and then informed Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia that Edward had asked for an audience with him. At the appointed time, the Duke of York was accompanied by carriage to the Royal Palace. Francesco Emanuele di Valguarnera, the court Lord Chamberlain, led him to the Queen’s Chamber, where the king was waiting, standing upright in the middle of the room, with hat and sword, and with his son and grandson, the Prince of Piedmont and the Duke of Chiablese, at his side. Entering together with Pitt, St John, and Boothby, the Duke of York greeted the king with a deep bow and, approaching, addressed him with a respectful com­ pliment, which was reciprocated by Charles Emanuel III with kindness and courtesy. During their conversation, the king offered him to meet his older son, the Duke of Savoy, and his wife.51 Victor Amadeus, Duke of Savoy, warmly greeted Edward, invited him to sit in an easy chair (which Edward politely re­ fused), and entertained with him in pleasant conversation.52 The Duke of York then visited the Duchess, who was waiting for him together with the royal children, paying them all ‘a lovely compliment’.53 After this, he returned to the king and took his leave.54 On the same afternoon, the Duke of York received an informal visit by the king’s nephew and grandnephew, Louis Victor and Victor Amadeus II Princes of

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Savoy-Carignano. As the only furniture in the reception chamber of the palace was some tabourets (chairs without arms), Edward did not ask them to sit.55 For that night, the king had prepared a small box for him in the Teatro Regio, and Edward did not forget to go to the royal box to thank him. After this, the Duke went to the theatre every night, and he always remained standing during the performances, as was the local social custom followed by the King of Sardinia and the royal princes themselves.56 On the next day, Prince Edward reciprocated the visit the Princes of SavoyCarignano had paid him. In Palazzo Carignano, he was received without formalities by the knights in the service of Luis Victor and Victor Amadeus II. The three princes sat on easy chairs arranged around a fireplace, with the best of these – at George Pitt’s request – was assigned to the Duke of York, while Pitt himself and the princes’ knights sat on some tabourets.57 At the end of the short visit, a dip­ lomatic incident occurred: taking his leave, the Duke of York asked Luis Victor to introduce him to his wife, Christine of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg, but the host either did not understand correctly or – according to an enigmatic remark in the report – did not want to understand the request, answering that Edward ‘would find la Signora Principessa in her apartment’.58 Pitt was not pleased with this answer at all and lodged a formal complaint. The matter, however, was not pursued any further, and overcoming this embarrassment, the Duke of York and George Pitt were led to the apartment of Princess Christine of Carignano for a short visit. She invited Edward to sit on a sofa, preparing a tabouret for Pitt.59 Over the following days, the Duke of York continued to visit the court oc­ casionally and passed through the chambers without the guards presenting arms, respecting his anonymity.60 On 19 February, Edward organised a gala dinner for that evening, inviting the most illustrious people of the state, including the French Ambassador and the Count of Belgioioso, who had been sent by Francesco III d’Este, Duke of Modena and Reggio and Governor of the Duchy of Milan, to invite the Prince Edward to the Lombard capital.61 Prince Edward enjoyed the sightseeing in and around Turin. One day, he visited the Citadel,62 where he was received by the Governor of the fortress and his officers. He asked to see several elements of the fortification and climbed on the ramparts to observe the surrounding countryside. Then, he left the city to see the site where French troops had built the imposing circumvallation line to besiege Turin in 1706, during the War of the Spanish Succession.63 On another day, Edward went to Susa, where he was received with the usual celebrations, in­ spected the local fortresses, and joined an exceptionally sumptuous meal in his honour.64 Further excursions to Exilles, Fenestrelle, Pinerolo, Cavour, Saluzzo, Cuneo, and Demonte were cancelled,65 but instead the Duke of York visited the Arsenale, the University, and other public places in Turin, as well as the Reggia di Venaria Reale.66 On 3 March, the Dukes of Chiablese and Savoy called on the Duke of York in his palace, unannounced. Prince Edward was caught so off guard that he had no time to put on his sword and his hat, which had to be passed to him shortly

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afterwards. He did not hide his confusion to his guests, but nonetheless invited them to sit in two easy chairs. After a private conversation, the two guests took their leave. Edward accompanied them to their carriage and courteously helped the Duke of Savoy mount his horse.67 As the end of Prince Edward’s stay in Turin was approaching, the king hon­ oured him by inviting him to an intimate gala lunch, reserved to members of the royal family only.68 During the meal,69 Edward kept a respectful reserve. Afterwards, the party retired to the Duchess of Savoy’s chamber, where coffee was served. Following this, the king showed him the models of the fortified towns of his reign, also inviting Pitt, St John, and Boothby.70 On 6 March, his last day in Turin, Edward went to the court, together with St John and Boothby, to personally thank the king for all the attentions afforded to him, and he also bade farewell to the other members of the royal family.71 In the evening, he repeated his expressions of gratitude in the theatre, when he called on and thanked them again.72 The following morning, Prince Edward left Turin,73 accompanied by George Pitt and the Count of Lagnasco, quickly reaching Chivasso, where he was greeted with 20 cannon shots. Having received the honours by a guard, he met the Commander of the town, who courteously offered his services, for which Edward thanked him with deep gratitude.74 In Cigliano, Pitt and Lagnasco took their leave from the prince and returned to Turin. Later, Edward arrived in Vercelli, where he found a House Guard of Grenadiers deployed in front of the post inn. The Marquis della Rocca, Governor of the city, welcomed him and invited him inside, where the Duke of York found a richly laid banquet table and gratefully asked all the dignitaries and officers to join him in the meal.75 Afterwards, Edward continued his journey and crossed the Sesia river, where the Governor of Vercelli had set up a guarded ‘rest stop’ for the prince’s convenience.76 In the afternoon, Edward arrived in Novara, where again he was greeted with 20 cannon shots by the Guard of the Door and by another Guard of 80 men. Invited by the Baron de Viry, Colonel of the Regiment of the Genevois Dragoons and Provisional Commander of Novara, to leave his carriage and partake of some food, the Duke of York declined and resumed his journey to Milan.77

The second journey (10–27 July 1764) For his return to Turin, Prince Edward followed the same route as before. After leaving Milan on the night of 10 July, he was not received in Novara with the usual courtesies, because it was late. The Baron of Viry, meeting the prince’s retinue with torches, greeted the guest and again offered refreshments and help. Once more, the Duke of York thanked him, but continued his journey without stopping.78 Marquis della Rocca, Governor of Vercelli, sent out a high town official to wait for the honoured guest at the Port of Sesia and to inform him that the Governor would be waiting for him to offer him fresh horses, food, and

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drinks. Edward gracefully expressed his appreciation. Near the post inn of Vercelli, the Governor and a guard of Genevois Dragoons welcomed him with military honours. Edward alighted and accepted the dinner offered to him. Noticing that one of his squires was about to serve a glass of wine to the Marquis della Rocca, he insisted to ‘personally serve our Governor’. All the table companions applauded his attitude.79 Edward arrived in Chivasso soon the following morning and was sa­ luted with cannon shots and greeted by the House Guard, as per the instructions.80 An hour later, he reached Settimo Torinese, to be welcomed back by Vacca di Piozzo and other dignitaries and officers, including Louis Dutens (1730–1812), British chargé d’affaires in Turin, to be escorted into the city.81 In Turin, Prince Edward was hosted in the same palace used during his first stay. Following the usual greetings, he met with King Charles Emmanuel III in the Royal Palace, exchanging graceful compliments with him and meeting the other members of the Sabaudian royal family.82 During the following days, the Duke of York repeatedly visited the court, receiving ‘every Day fresh Marks of Friendship and cordial Affection from the King of Sardinia, the Duke of Savoy, and the rest of the royal family’,83 and organised and took part in several dinners and balls.84 One of these took place at the Castle of Racconigi on the invitation of the Princes of Savoy-Carignano. On that occasion, two tables with 100 seats and an orchestra had been set up and after dinner and games, the guests were provided with several calashes for an excursion through the park, which was accompanied by the sound of hunting horns and other musical instruments. Afterwards, there was a ball as well as a sumptuous supper.85 In the afternoon of 26 July, before leaving for Genoa, Prince Edward went to the Court to take his leave of the king and the royal family, but received an invitation for supper by the French Ambassador. This delayed his departure for Asti and caused considerable inconvenience to the local Commander,86 but when Edward eventually arrived in the town early the next morning, he was nonetheless welcomed by cannon shots from the castle and received by a Guard of Gebennese Dragoons. After a few hours of rest, he attended a festive lunch.87 As the prince approached Alessandria, the city’s Governor, the Count d’Atremont, and his son, the Baron de la Tour, went out to meet him at a farmhouse called Forse sì forsi nò. Due to the lateness of the hour, Edward was not greeted with cannon shots in Alessandria, but only by the Bridge Guard. However, a path of burning torches had been set up along the way from the city gate to the Government Palace. Entering the palace, Edward was introduced to the city officers, nobles, and ladies. The reception was followed by some games, music, and a supper for 27 guests. Complaining of being obliged to return to England, the Duke of York asked the Governor to convey his gratitude to the King of Sardinia for his arrangements and courtesies. Edward was then ac­ companied to the Bormida river by a cortege of men with burning torches and continued his journey to Genoa.88 On 17 August 1764, he set sail for England.89

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Prince Edward in Piedmont: a case study The sources examined in this study on Prince Edward’s journeys and stays in Piedmont allow us to learn many aspects that characterised the experience of the Italian Grand Tour made by some members of European royal families during the second half of the eighteenth century and to understand how the parties involved in this kind of experience interacted with each other, following the ceremonial rules, and what opinions on their respective behaviours and habits they developed. While, as noted above, there are no direct sources on Edward’s reasons for travelling to Italy, it is possible to speculate based on the nature of his activities. It appears that Edward’s prime purpose of travelling to Italy – and that of other early grand tourists – was to visit exotic places, take in their culture, and experience the pleasures of the Mediterranean way of life, and in this, at least according to Vacca di Piozzo’s accounts, the prince’s sojourn in Piedmont apparently must be con­ sidered a success. His hosts went to great lengths to make a good impression and make their guest feel welcome. Particularly Vacca di Piozzo’s planning to this end was extremely meticulous, and it seems that his arrangements worked out per­ fectly, thanks, no doubt, to the hard work of a whole pool of experts that also made sure that the rules were minutely observed. The 1763–64 letter-book of the Regia Segreteria di Guerra of the Kingdom of Sardinia relates that the Governors of the Piedmontese cities on Prince Edward’s itinerary were promptly informed and provided with detailed instructions about the personnel, furniture, and victuals that would have to be procured, and about the rituals, gestures, and expressions they were expected to employ to greet and entertain the honoured guest. These included, as has been seen, escorts of high-ranking officials during his journey and excursions; gracious words, cannon salutes, and military displays of welcome; privileged accommodation in noble and royal palaces; introductions to each city’s leading citizens and ambassadors; preferential seating arrangements; provision with refreshments; countless invitations to entertainments (such as gala dinners and suppers, balls, concerts, visits to the theatre, or excursions) and to the houses of royal hosts; and many smaller courtesies. Vacca di Piozzo’s ceremonial accounts record that Prince Edward much appreciated the welcome and the treatment accorded to him during his journey and stays.90 In much the same way, the local hosts – whether city officials, noblemen, or members of the Sabaudian royal family – are recorded as having been delighted to meet the cultured young guest from England, enjoying the excellent opportunity to socialise, discuss issues of mutual interest, and obtain reciprocal cultural enrichment in a semi-official situation. The British prince, again according to Vacca di Piozzo’s reports, proved himself equal to the potential minefield of diplomatic etiquette. In the official reports, he is described as a congenial and charming young man with a notable interest for military architecture and a passion for social events and amusements, who was open and jolly and liked to consider everyone as a friend. Certainly, the many times he sought out his hosts and especially the king to express his gratitude will not have gone unnoticed. And although he disliked the restraints of court

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ceremonial rules, he strictly observed them out of due respect and courtesy: for example, he did not invite his guests to sit down due to the lack of appropriate easy chairs, or insisted on pouring the wine for his host himself. There is only one (minor) occasion on record when there was the risk of a diplomatic incident, but thanks to grace and tact by all parties involved, mutual goodwill and appreciation prevailed. At the same time, we must be careful to accept Vacca di Piozzo’s fa­ vourable image of Prince Edward’s character and behaviour too quickly, as it is in stark contrast to several negative opinions by diplomats and personalities from the world of European culture, such as Edward Gibbon, Johann J. Winckelmann, or Horace Walpole.91 Thus, there may be reasonable doubt that all noblemen and officers were as happy to oblige during their dealings with Edward as suggested in the reports by Vacca di Piozzo – who, it must be kept in mind, was far from being an unbiased chronicler of the events concerning the prince’s sojourn in Piedmont: it certainly was very much in his and his king’s interest that, at least officially, everything was to the satisfaction of the honoured visitor. To some degree, this aim must have been made more difficult by the fact that Prince Edward had asked to travel incognito, under the alias of the Earl of Ulster. The use of the ceremonial to honour an important guest was considered an es­ sential tool and expression of good manners in the world of the early modern courts, which could not be discarded without being discourteous. Toeing a narrow line, it seems that, while not cancelling them altogether, Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia devoted more attention to the task of reducing some of its showiest and most public manifestations, in order to respect his guest’s request for anonymity than, for instance, the Doge of Genoa, at least during Edward’s stay in Turin: at his arrival, he was not greeted with cannon salutes, and the guards of the Royal Palace pretended not to recognise him. In contrast, in Alessandria, Asti, Susa, Chivasso, and Novara, he was given a rousing welcome with many cannon shots and drum rolls.92 Probably, it was thought that this would not bother him, because of the brevity of his presence and the fact that he would not be able to roam through these cities, anyway. This reluctance to forego the chance to celebrate – and flatter – the honoured guest adequately appears to be mirrored in the desire by other Italian rulers to welcome the British prince in their own states. Envoys arrived in Turin to invite Edward to Milan and to Parma,93 and Francesco III d’Este, Duke of Modena and Reggio, was eager to be informed in detail about the courtesies the Sabaudian Court would afford the Duke of York, in order not to be outdone should the prince decide to visit Milan.94 In particular, he wanted to know whether the Sabaudian Court would pay all the expenses, at what cost and with which ap­ paratus, where the Duke would sojourn, with which ceremonial the court would approach him, the entertainments organised for him, and the duration of his stay.95 However, the matter of expenses is not documented: nothing is known about the amount of the costs of Prince Edward’s travel and transport, but it must be assumed that they were high (the Piedmontese post inns, for example, were no­ torious for being expensive),96 not counting the costs for his luxurious

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accommodation in the towns and cities as well as activities (such as gala dinners and balls), sightseeing and excursions, and various other expenses his visit must have incurred. The only information on this point is provided by the official report, which ends with the statement that all services rendered to the Duke of York during his stay in Piedmont were paid by the King of Sardinia.97 This kind of generosity appears to indicate that instead of merely fulfilling the requirements of the societal courtesy of a host to an honoured visitor or even to a particularly welcome personal guest, the King of Sardinia indeed wanted ‘to ex­ press the greatest Pleasure at this Opportunity of testifying their perfect Regard and cordial Friendship for His Britannic Majesty and His Royal Family’.98 It seems that more important diplomatic issues were at stake and that the king had a clear political motivation for his actions.

A critical interpretation of Prince Edward’s journeys: strategies of appearance and ‘Shortcut-Diplomacy’ between Britain and Italy in the second half of the eighteenth century In the period following Edward’s journeys, the British court heard word of the generosity and benevolence shown by the King of Sardinia in Turin. The London Gazette praised the magnificence of the treatments accorded to Prince Edward and extolled on the ‘warmth of regard’ with which he had been received by the King of Sardinia and his family, who had afforded to his honoured guest every ‘Mark of Attention and Esteem’. The same journal also emphasised ‘the Cordial Friendship which exists between the Two Courts’.99 We can assume that King George III appreciated the courteous treatment of his brother and that consequently he was inclined to look with a friendly eye at the relationship between Great Britain and Sardinia. The Sabaudian state was wise to seek English support. For centuries, it had been able to survive due to a skilfully opportunistic policy,100 ‘to exploit the rivalry between France and first Spain and the Austria in north Italy’.101 Because of a now unfavourable geo-political situation after the middle of the eighteenth century, Turin failed to press its claim for Piacenza, for example, and grudgingly was obliged to accept the French occupation of Corsica. It is important to note that during this period, Savoy as well as the other Italian states were in a much weaker position than their European neighbours, such as France, Spain, Austria, Prussia, and also Britain. As a result, Savoyard policy aimed to maintain a scru­ pulous equilibrium in the political and diplomatic relationships with these states, ‘driven by fear of a general European war which was expected to be disastrous for Sardinia’.102 In contrast, Britain’s position in Europe had been greatly enhanced after the conclusion of the Seven Years’ War in 1763, at the expense of France. As a consequence, many Italian rulers were interested in the advantages a powerful ally like Britain could offer. The Doge of Genoa, for example, hoped for British help in preserving the domain of his Republic on Corsica,103 the Grand Duke of

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Tuscany and the Doge of Venice had a stake in maintaining the intensive trade between their states and Britain,104 while in Rome the Anglophile Cardinal Alessandro Albani (1692–1779) acted as mediator between the English Crown and Pope Clement XIII, in order to ease the tensions regarding the issue of the Jacobites then still existing between both parties.105 Furthermore, the Duchy of Parma and Piacenza, the Duchy of Modena and Reggio, and the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, which were linked to Austria politi­ cally or dynastically, were now interested in establishing lucrative ties with Britain after a war that had been very expensive in both financial and human terms. None of them, however, had the same advantage as the house of Savoy to be able to build on a traditional good relationship. Britain’s ships and subsidies during the recent military conflicts had been invaluable for Sardinia, and Britain offered lu­ crative opportunities for the export of Piedmontese silks and wines and the import of English cloth at the expense of the trade with France. These factors meant that Turin could hope to benefit greatly, if circumstances played out well. One means to achieve this was, of course, through official diplomatic chan­ nels.106 In 1751, for example, Carlo Baldassarre Francesco Perrone di San Martino (1718–1802), who held the post of Sardinian Extraordinary Envoy at the British court in London between 1749 and 1755, sent to Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia in Turin a manuscript, titled Pensées diverses de monsieur le comte de Perron sur les moiens de rendre le commerce florissant en Piémont [‘Various thoughts of the Count of Perron on how to make trade flourish in Piedmont’], with the epigraph ‘Look after good patterns and follow them’. In it, he recommended the devel­ opment of an industrial and commercial plan for Piedmont based on the models offered by the Netherlands and, above all, by England, which he personally had been able to observe and appreciate. He also suggested increasing the production of Piedmontese wines and brandies, for which, in his opinion, there was a big market in England.107 In the same way, Piedmont could also have sold its silk, for which it was famous, in Britain.108 Beyond these considerations and beyond the official procedure, however, it appears that there was high-class international communication and diplomacy yet conducted on a personal, non- or semi-official level. They offered the Italian rulers a chance to gain favour with or a certain degree of access to British decision-makers or even King George III himself by ‘buttering up’ visitors like Prince Edward during their stays in Italy, in order to promote their own political, diplomatic, and com­ mercial issues. Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia is reported to have been eager to court guests from England: George, Viscount Sunbury, who visited Turin in 1737, notes that he ‘had an audience with the King, as he insists upon all English no­ blemen’s having, by way of paying them a compliment’,109 and John Holroyd, in 1764, ‘found the Turin court pro-British’.110 The desire to ‘satisfy Prince Edward at all costs’ clearly responded to a codified ‘appearance strategy’, which aimed to enrapture the illustrious foreign guest and to gain his esteem and respect – and Edward, being both King George III’s brother and a member of his Privy Council, would have been an influential ally to have in one’s camp.

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Although Vacca di Piozzo’s accounts do not provide details of the conversa­ tions between Prince Edward, the members of the House of Savoy, and the Sardinian officers and nobles, we can confidently assume that at least some of the topics discussed were agriculture, trade, and commerce. Certainly, during those breakfasts, lunches, and dinners that Prince Edward joined in, Piedmontese food and drink were served, and during the conversations, the members of the House of Savoy and the Sardinian officers and nobles would have tried to sing the praises of these and other local products, in order to promote their export to the booming British market. After the end of the Seven Years’ War, a global recovery of trade and commerce made arrangements like these even more lucrative. According to the available sources, the plan to establish and maintain a cordial relation to Britain appears to have worked: an article of The London Gazette relates that ‘the Duke of York is […] greatly satisfied with the Manner of his reception’, while other articles, Vacca di Piozzo’s reports, and some letters of the Sardinian Regia Segreteria di Guerra often comment on the excellent diplomatic relations between the Kingdom of Sardinia and the Kingdom of Great Britain.111 In fact, polite expressions and words of praise abound in them, highlighting the affec­ tionate treatment accorded to the honoured guest by the members of the House of Savoy.112 Beyond declarations of goodwill, however, direct and tangible results of the prince’s visit in Turin and the Sabaudian efforts seem to have been limited: they did not give any concrete advantage to the Kingdom of Sardinia from the point of view of its territorial expansion, due to the protraction of the stalemate of the Italian political scenario;113 moreover, the increase in trade with Britain in wines, silks, and cloth (along with greater commercial independence from France) did not come through, and by 1784, England’s commercial capabilities had seriously declined due to difficulties both at home and on foreign soil.114 It can only be speculated that as far as the role of Prince Edward himself was concerned, further proceedings were cut short by his untimely death in Monaco in 1767, aged only 28, on his way to a second visit in Italy. In these regards, the investment of planning and effort and money did not yield the outcome Charles Emmanuel III might have hoped for, but it can be assumed that Prince Edward’s presence in Piedmont contributed to renew the bonds of friendship between the Courts of George III of the United Kingdom and Charles Emmanuel III of Sardinia and brought closer together two countries in a Europe recovering from years of warfare.

Notes 1 The bibliography on the Grand Tour is enormous, so it cannot be quoted here in its entirety. On the specific issue of the Grand Tour of British travellers in Italy, see Ingamells, John. A Dictionary of British and Irish Travellers in Italy: 1701–1800. New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1997; Black, Jeremy. Italy and the Grand Tour. New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2003; Sweet, Rosemary. Cities and the Grand Tour. The British in Italy: 1690–1820. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015.

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2 For a brief description of Prince Edward’s journeys in Piedmont, see Bignamini, Ilaria. ‘York, Edward Augustus, Duke of’. In Ingamells, Dictionary, 1033–5. 3 Bowen, Huw Vaughan. War and British Society, 1688–1815. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998, 7. 4 Cf. Szabo, Franz A. J. The Seven Years War in Europe, 1756–1763. Harlow: Pearson Longman, 2008; Schumann, Matt and Karl W. Schweizer. The Seven Years War. A Transatlantic History. London/New York: Routledge, 2008; Baugh, Daniel. The Global Seven Years War 1754–1763. Britain and France in a Great Power Contest. Harlow: Pearson Education, 2011; Füssel, Marian. La guerra dei Sette anni. Bologna: Il Mulino, 2013. 5 For an analysis of the consequences of the Seven Years’ War on Italian politics, diplomacy, and culture, see Migliorini, Anna Maria. Diplomazia e cultura nel Settecento. Echi italiani della guerra dei sette anni. Pisa: ETS, 1984. 6 See Black, Italy, 142–4. 7 Fearing a spread of the Seven Years’ War into Italy, on 5 February 1759 Louis XV of France had promised Piacenza to Charles Emmanuel III in return of Sardinian neu­ trality. At the end of the conflict, however, the Piedmontese diplomacy failed to obtain dominion over this city, mostly because of the opposition of the King of Spain: see Migliorini, Diplomazia, 151–9. 8 See Castronovo, Valerio. ‘Carlo Emanuele III di Savoia, re di Sardegna’. In Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 20. Roma: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1977, 345–57, at 355; Codebò, Roberto. ‘La neutralità sabauda durante la Guerra dei Sette Anni: un capolavoro della ars diplomatica’. PhD thesis, Università degli Studi di Torino, Italia, 2007; Storrs, Christopher. ‘The British Diplomatic Presence in Turin: Diplomatic Culture and British Elite Identity, 1688–1789/98’. In Bianchi, Paola and Karin Wolfe, eds. Turin and the British in the Age of the Grand Tour. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017, 78. 9 For a general overview of the diplomatic relationships and the cultural exchanges between Sardinia and Great Britain during the eighteenth century, see Bianchi and Wolfe, Turin. 10 Horace Mann served as British representative in Florence from 1740 to 1786 (Belsey, Hugh. ‘Mann, Horace’. In Ingamells, Dictionary, 635). He was also author of many comments on British travellers in Italy, so his opinion on Prince Edward’s Grand tour can be considered very reliable. 11 Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1033. 12 Selwyn, George Augustus. George Selwyn and his Contemporaries; with Memoirs and Notes, II. London: Richard Bentley, 1843, 194–5; Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1033; Padovano, Aldo. Alla scoperta dei segreti perduti di Genova. Curiosità, misteri e aneddoti di una città che non smette mai di stupire. Roma: Newton Compton Editori, 2017, at 71–2. 13 Selwyn, George Selwyn, 194; Haydn, Joseph Timothy. The Book of Dignities; containing Rolls of the Official Personages of the British Empire [etc.]. London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1851, 285, 578, 582. 14 The sources do not provide any specific reasons for Prince Edward’s travels, but it may be assumed that one of them was to amuse himself: see Padovano, Segreti perduti di Genova, 73; cf. Tour of His Royal Highness Edward Duke of York [etc.]. London, 1764, 9. 15 On the reasons of travelling incognito in the Europe of the early modern period, see Bély, Lucien. La société des princes (XVIe – XVIIIe siècle). Paris: Fayard, 1999, 469–509. 16 The London Gazette (in the following notes: TLG) (13 December 1763). It is inter­ esting to notice that Prince William Henry (25 November 1743 to 25 August 1805), Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh, another brother of King George III and Prince Edward, precisely followed the footsteps of the latter, visiting Italy (under the alias of ‘Conte di Connaught’) three times (in 1771–2, 1775–7, and 1786–7): on this, see Bignamini, Ilaria. ‘Gloucester, William Henry, Duke of ’. In Ingamells, Dictionary, 402–4; Storrs, The British, 79.

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17 A brief description of Francesco Antonio Vacca di Piozzo’s career at the Court of Savoy can be found in Galli della Loggia, Gaetano. Cariche del Piemonte e Paesi uniti colla serie cronologica delle persone che le hanno occupate ed altre notizie [etc.], II. Torino: A spese di Onorato Derossi Stampatore e Librajo in principio della contrada di Po ove si vende, 1798, 375–6. 18 The document that attests this royal order is not present in the analysed files. 19 The preliminary projects and the final protocol can be found in the Archivio di Stato di Torino (AST), Sezione Corte (SC), Materie politiche per rapporto all’interno (Mpri), Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12: Relazioni, e Memorie con­ cernenti il Trattamento di S.A.R. il Signor Duca di Yorck sotto nome Conte d’Ulster nel suo passaggio per questi Stati. 20 The official versions of Vacca di Piozzo’s two reports can be found in The Royal Library of Turin (RLT), Manoscritti Storia Patria, III, 726/8, Registro de’ Cerimoniali di Corte sotto il gloriosissimo e felicissimo Regno di Carlo Emanuele Re di Sardegna & dal Primo di Gennaio 1763 sino a’ 31 Dicembre 1766 diretto da me Cavaliere Di Piozzo Mastro di Cerimonie ed Introduttore degli Ambasciatori, 108–36, 167–79. 21 AST, Sezioni Riunite (SR), Regia Segreteria di Guerra (1717–1801), Lettere della Regia Segreteria di guerra ai governatori e comandanti di città e fortezze, r. 60, 1763 October 14 – 1764 June 16. 22 These accounts of the London Gazette and London Chronicle were separately published as The Tour Of His Royal Highness Edward Duke of York [etc.]. Dublin: P. Wilson, S. Cotter, J. Potts, and J. Williams, 1764. 23 On the British presence in Genoa during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, see Grendi, Edoardo. ‘Gli inglesi a Genova (secoli XVII–XVIII)’. Quaderni Storici 115, no. 1 (2004): 241–78. 24 On Prince Edward’s first stay in Liguria, see TLG (13 December 1763; 24 December 1763; 10 January 1764); Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1033–5; Padovano, Segreti perduti di Genova, 71–92. 25 AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, Ricevimento e Trattamento fatto a S.A.R. il Signore Duca d’Yorck, che viaggia sotto l’Incognito di Conte d’Ulster, tanto nell’ingresso de’ Stati di Sua Maestà, che all’arrivo, soggiorno, e partenza da questa Capitale (in the following notes: ‘Source-A’); RLT, 108–9. See also, TLG (28 February 1764). 26 AST, Source-A; RLT, 108–9. For some brief information on William Boothby and Henry St John, see ‘Boothby, Sir William’. In Ingamells, Dictionary, 104; ‘St John, Col. Hon. Henry’. In Ingamells, Dictionary, 836. 27 AST, Source-A; RLT, 108. 28 AST, Source-A; RLT, 108–9. 29 AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, Ricevimento da farsi a S.A.R.le il Signor Duca di Yorck (in the following notes: ‘Source-B’). 30 AST, Source-A and Source-B; RLT, 109–10. On George Pitt’s diplomatic affairs in Italy, see ‘Pitt, George’. In Ingamells, Dictionary, 772–3. 31 AST, Source-A; RLT, 110. 32 The adoption of similar ceremonial practices in receiving foreign personalities and ambassadors in the context of the early modern European courts is also highlighted in Moro, Matteo. ‘L’uso “politico” di cerimoniali e trattamenti nell’ambasciata milanese del marchese di Caraglio, inviato straordinario del duca Vittorio Amedeo II di Savoia presso la corte dell’arciduca Carlo d’Asburgo (1711)’. Annali di Storia Moderna e Contemporanea. Nuova Serie 5–6, no. 1 (2017–18): 7–25, at 15–6. 33 See AST, Source-A and Source-B; RLT, 110. 34 AST, Source-A and Source-B; RLT, 110. 35 AST, Source-A; RTL, 110. The protocol mentions only sixty guards (see AST, Source-B). 36 AST, Source-A; RLT, 110–1. 37 AST, Source-A; RLT, 111.

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38 AST, Source-A; RLT, 111. Although the account does not specify it, this ball took certainly place in the theatre located inside Palazzo Guasco, because the town theatre would have been inaugurated only 11 years later, on 17 October 1775; on this, see Gasparolo, Francesco and Carlo Parnisetti. ‘Il Palazzo del Comune, Teatro Municipale, Biblioteca e Museo’. Rivista di Storia, Arte e Archeologia per la Provincia di Alessandria 44, no. 1 (1935): 245. 39 AST, Source-A; RLT, 111–2. The visit to the Citadel of Alessandria is also mentioned in TLG (28 February 1764). On the history and the architecture of this Citadel, one of the greatest examples in the context of European fortifications of the eighteenth century, see Gariglio, Dario. Alessandria. Storia della Cittadella. Torino: Omega, 2001. 40 AST, Source-A; RLT, 112. 41 Source-A; RLT, 112–3. See also TLG (28 February 1764). 42 AST, Source-A; RLT, 113–4. 43 AST, Source-A; RLT, 114. 44 AST, Source-A; RLT, 114–5. See also TLG (28 February 1764). 45 AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, 4° Progetto. 46 See, for example, the views expressed by John Breval, Charles-Louis de Montesquieu, Ethienne de Silhouette, and Charles de Brosses, who visited Turin in 1726, 1728, 1729, and 1740, respectively (Galliano, Guido. Il Grand Tour nel Settecento. Viaggiatori francesi e inglesi, tra Piemonte e Liguria. Novi Ligure: Città del Silenzio, 2017, 32–8, 68–70; Bianchi, Paola. ‘Declinazioni del Grand Tour negli itinerari italiani: il caso di Torino e degli Stati sabaudi (fine XVII–inizio XIX secolo)’. In Scritture e linguaggi del turismo. Prospettive a confronto. Atti del convegno Università della Valle d’Aosta, Aosta, 10 e 11 novembre 2016, edited by Laura Balbiani and Dorit Kluge. Roma: Nuova Cultura, 2017, 144). For other – positive as well as negative – judgements of Turin by British travellers, see Black, Italy, 33–4. 47 Bianchi, ‘Declinazioni’, 144. 48 On these aspects, see Barbero, Alessandro. Storia del Piemonte. Dalla preistoria alla glo­ balizzazione. Torino: Einaudi, 2008, 316–7; Bianchi, Paola and Karin Wolfe. ‘Introduction’. In Bianchi and Wolfe, Turin, 12. 49 AST, Source-A; RLT, 115. 50 AST, Source-A; RLT, 115–7. See also TLG (28 February 1764). 51 AST, Source-A; RLT, 116–8. 52 AST, Source-A; RLT, 118. See also AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, Di pugno del duca di Savoia (Vittorio Amedeo III). 53 AST, Source-A; RLT, 118. 54 AST, Source-A; RLT, 118–9. 55 In fact, the ceremonial of many European courts prescribed that those with the dignity of a prince could only sit in easy chairs, while tabourets were reserved to mere officers and functionaries. AST, Source-A; RLT, 119; see also TLG (28 February 1764). 56 AST, Source-A; RLT, 119. 57 AST, Source-A; RLT, 120–1. 58 AST, Source-A; RLT, 121. 59 AST, Source-A; RLT, 121–2. 60 AST, Source-A; RLT, 122. 61 AST, Source-A; RLT, 123–4. 62 On the history of the Citadel of Turin, see Milanesio, Antonio. Cenni storici della città e cittadella di Torino dall’anno 1418 al 1826 [etc.]. Torino: dalla stamperia di Giuseppe Favale, 1826. 63 AST, Source-A; RLT, 124–5. 64 AST, Source-A; RLT, 125–6. See also TLG (13 March 1764). The menu of the gala dinner organised in honour of Prince Edward included two big eels, an Atlantic stargazer, 24 libras of shrimps and frogs, four cauliflowers, six bottles of Burgundy wine of the Royal Wine Cellar, two bottles of Vespetrò liqueur, as we can learn from a

224

65 66 67 68

69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78

79 80 81

82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

91 92

Matteo Moro

letter sent two days before to the Governor of Susa by the Regia Segreteria di Guerra. On this, see AST, SR, Regia Segreteria di Guerra (1717–1801), Lettere della Regia Segreteria di guerra ai governatori e comandanti di città e fortezze, r. 60, 1763 October 14 – 1764 June 16, 113v–114r, Al signor Conte Massetti. Susa. Li 22 Febbraio 1764. AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, Fer. 1764. Project de voyage n’a pas en lieu, pour la visite des fortifications de diverses places que M. le Duc d’Yorck [etc]. AST, Source-A; RLT, 126–7. AST, Source-A; RLT, 127–8. AST, Source-A; RLT, 128–9. On the Sabaudian royal family’s lunches and dinners during the eighteenth century, see Merlotti, Andrea. ‘Il pranzo “en famille”: pubblico e privato alla corte sabauda del Settecento’. In Le tavole di corte fra Cinque e Settecento, edited by Andrea Merlotti. Roma: Bulzoni, 2013, 287–314. On this, see also TLG (13 March 1764). AST, Source-A; RLT, 129–30. AST, Source-A; RLT, 130–3. See also TLG (24 March 1764). AST, Source-A; RLT, 133. TLG (24 March 1764) do not provide any details of the journey described in this section, only mentioning Prince Edward’s arrival in Milan. AST, Source-A; RLT, 134. AST, Source-A; RLT, 134–5. AST, Source-A; RLT, 135. AST, Source-A; RLT, 135–6. AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, 1764. Relazione degli Onori resisi dai rispettivi Signori, Governatori e Comandanti a S.A.R. il Signor Duca d’Yorck nel secondo passaggio [etc.] (in the following notes: ‘Source-C’), Novara. La Sera de’ 10 luglio 1764 due ore avanti la Mezza Notte. AST, Source-C, Vercelli. Circa la mezzanotte venendo agli 11suddetto; RLT, 167. AST, Source-C, Civasso. La Mattina delli 11 suddetto, circa le ore 7. AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, Ricevimento fatto a S.A.R. il Signor Duca d’Yorck allor che venne per la seconda volta in questa Capitale sotto l’Incognito sempre di Conte d’Ulster (in the following notes: ‘Source-D’); RLT, 167–8. On Louis Dutens’ biography and travels in Italy, see ‘Dutens, Louis’. In Ingamells, Dictionary, 325–6. AST, Source-D; RLT, 168–71. See also TLG (28 July 1764). TLG (4 August 1764). AST, Source-D; RLT, 171–4. AST, Source-D; RLT, 174–6. AST, Source-C, Asti. Li 27 detto luglio, and Source-D; RLT, 176–7. AST, Source-C, Asti. Li 27 detto luglio, and Source-D; RLT, 177. AST, Source-C, Alessandria. La sera del 27, e mattina de’ 28, and Source-D; RLT, 177–8. On Prince Edward’s second sojourn in Genoa, see TLG (11 August 1764; 18 August 1764; 1 September 1764). See also Padovano, Segreti perduti di Genova, 88–92. See, for example, RTL, 134–5, and AST, Source-C, Alessandria. La sera del 27, e mattina de’ 28, where Vacca di Piozzo describes the gratefulness expressed by Edward to the governors of Vercelli and Alessandria for the welcome and attentions they had accorded him. On this, see Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1034–5; Lollobrigida, Consuelo. Maastricht 2010. Galleria Cesare Lampronti. Roma: Gangemi, Galleria Cesare Lampronti, 2010, 46. Here, it should be clarified that Prince Edward’s second arrival in Novara and Alessandria was not welcomed by any cannon shots, but only because it was night.

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93 AST, Source-A; RLT, 123. This is also pointed out in TLG (13 March 1764): ‘The Duke of Parma has also followed this Example, and has sent the Marquis Calcagnini to compliment his Royal Highness, and to invite him to his Capital’. See also Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1034. 94 At the time of the events, Francesco III d’Este was also Governor of the Duchy of Milan, and this explains why he invited Prince Edward to the Lombard city, not to Modena. 95 AST, SC, Mpri, Cerimoniale, Inghilterra, m. 1 d’addizione, f. 12, Copia di lettera del Duca di Modena al Pre. Ratti [etc.]; Memoriale del trattamento che si pensa di fare al Duca di York; Copia di lettera del Signor Conte di Firmian al Signor Conte di Kevenhuller [etc.]. 96 As reported by other foreign travellers, such as Charles de Brosses (1709–1777): De Brosses, Charles. Viaggio in Italia. Lettere familiari. Roma/Bari: Laterza, 1992, 727; cf. Black, Italy, 95–7. 97 AST, Source-A; RLT, 136. 98 TLG (13 December 1763). 99 TLG (28 February 1764). 100 This policy included the changing of sides during an ongoing conflict, a strategy that proved advantageous on occasion of the War of the Spanish Succession (see Symcox, Geoffrey. ‘L’età di Vittorio Amedeo II’. In Merlin, Pierpaolo, Claudio Rosso, Geoffrey Symcox, and Giuseppe Ricuperati. Il Piemonte Sabaudo. Stato e territori in età moderna. Torino: UTET, 2002, 329–71) and the War of the Austrian Succession (see Ricuperati, Giuseppe. ‘Il Settecento’. In Merlin et al., Il Piemonte Sabaudo, 504–14). 101 Storrs, Christopher. ‘Savoyard diplomacy in the eighteenth century (1684–1798)’. In Politics and Diplomacy in Early Modern Italy: The Structure of Diplomatic Practice, 1450–1800, edited by Daniela Frigo. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, 210–52, at 212. 102 Storrs, ‘Savoyard diplomacy’, 212. 103 See Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1033; Padovano, Segreti perduti di Genova, 79–80. 104 On Prince Edward’s reception in Venice, see Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1034–5; Alberati, Anna. ‘Ricevimenti di ambasciatori e principi inglesi a Venezia’. In Non solo spezie. Commercio e alimentazione fra Venezia e Inghilterra nei secoli XIV–XVIII. Venezia, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana 3 dicembre 2016 – 8 gennaio 2017. Catalogo a cura di Michela Dal Borgo e Paola Benussi; con la collaborazione di Anna Alberati e Mirella Canzian. Venezia: Lineadacqua, 2016, 29–30, 34–5. 105 On Prince Edward’s reception in Rome, see Bignamini, ‘Edward’, 1033–4; Black, Italy, 142–4. 106 Cf. Storrs, ‘Savoyard diplomacy’. 107 Ricuperati, ‘Il Settecento’, 618–27. 108 On Piedmontese agriculture, industry, and trade during the eighteenth century, see Prato, Giuseppe. La vita economica in Piemonte a mezzo il secolo XVIII. Torino: Officine grafiche della Società tipografico-editrice nazionale, 1908; Bulferetti, Luigi. Agricoltura, industria e commercio in Piemonte nel secolo XVIII. Torino: Istituto per la storia del Risorgimento italiano, Comitato di Torino, 1963; Chicco, Giuseppe. La seta in Piemonte, 1650–1800. Un sistema industrial d’ancien régime. Milano: F. Angeli, 1995; Barbero, Storia del Piemonte, 301–13. 109 Black, Italy, 134. 110 Black, Italy, 135. 111 TLG (13 March 1764). 112 For example, RLT, 118; TLG (28 February 1764; 4 August 1764). 113 For a brief synthesis of the Italian political situation during the eighteenth century, see Montanelli, Indro and Roberto Gervaso. L’Italia del Settecento: 1700–1789. Milano: BUR Rizzoli; Corriere della Sera, 2018. For the specific political situation of the Kingdom of Sardinia after the Seven Years’ War, see the references in footnotes 7 and 8. 114 Storrs, ‘Savoyard diplomacy’, 233, 241–3.

FURTHER READING

Adams, Jonathan and Katherine Holman, eds. Scandinavia and Europe 800–1350. Contact, Conflict, and Coexistence (Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe 4). Turnhout: Brepols, 2004. Ambrosoli, Mauro. The Wild and the Sown: Botany and Agriculture in Western Europe 1350–1850, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Black, Jeremy. Italy and the Grand Tour. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003. Bolton, Timothy. Cnut the Great. Yale English Monarchs. New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2017. Bonner, Elizabeth. ‘Scotland’s “Auld Alliance” with France, 1295–1560’. History 84, no. 273 (1999): 5–30. Breay, Claire and Joanna Story. Anglo–Saxon Kingdoms: Art, Word, War. London: British Library, 2018. Brink, Stefan and Neil S. Price. The Viking World. London: Routledge, 2008. Chaney, Edward. The Evolution of the Grand Tour: Anglo–Italian Relations since the Renaissance. London: Routledge, 2000. Crawford, Barbara. Scandinavian Scotland. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1987. Creighton, Oliver H. Castles and Landscapes. The Archaeology of Medieval Europe, 1100–1600. London: Continuum, 2002. Creighton, Oliver H. Designs upon the Land: Elite Landscapes of the Middle Age. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2009. Ditchburn, David. Scotland and Europe, The Medieval Kingdom and its Contacts with Christendom, 1214–1560. Aberdeen: Tuckwell Press, 2001. Downham, Clare. The Viking Kings of Britain and Ireland. Edinburgh: Dunedin Academic Press, 2008. Etchingham, Colmán, Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Maire Ní Mhaonaigh, and Elizabeth Ashman Rowe. Norse–Gaelic Contacts in a Viking World (Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe 29). Turnhout: Brepols, 2019. Games, Alison. The Web of Empire: English Cosmopolitans in an Age of Expansion, 1560–1660. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.

Further Reading

227

Gesbert, Élise. ‘Les jardins du Moyen Âge: du XIe au début du XIVe siècle’. Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale, 46e année, no 184 (2003): 381–408. Graham-Campbell, James and Colleen Batey. Vikings in Scotland: an Archaeological Survey. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998. Griffiths, David. Vikings of the Irish Sea. Stroud: The History Press, 2010. Hudson, Benjamin, ed. Irish Sea Studies, 900–1200. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2006. Jesch, Judith. The Viking Diaspora. London: Taylor & Francis Group, 2015. Laing, Lloyd and Jennifer Laing. Britain’s European Heritage. Stroud: Alan Sutton Publishing, 1995. Liddiard, Robert. Castles in Context. Power, Symbolism and Landscape, 1066 to 1500. Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 2005. Lindqvist, Svante, ‘Technology on Trial: the Introduction of Steam Power Technology into Sweden, 1715–1736’. PhD thesis, Uppsala University, Sweden, 1984. Myrdal, Janken and Mats Morell, eds. The Agrarian History of Sweden: from 4000 BC to AD 2000. Lund: Nordic Academic Press, 2011. Ormord, David. The rise of commercial empires: England and the Netherlands in the age of mercantilism, 1650–1770. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Ortenberg, Veronica. The English Church and the Continent in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries. Cultural, Spiritual, and Artistic Exchanges. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. Rollason, David, Conrad Leyser, and Hannah Williams, eds. England and the Continent in the Tenth Century: Studies in Honour of Wilhelm Levison (1876–1947) (Studies in the Early Middle Ages 37). Turnhout: Brepols, 2010. Sauer, Hans and Joanna Story, eds. Anglo-Saxon England and the Continent (Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 394; Essays in Anglo-Saxon Studies 3). Tempe/AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2011. Smyth, Alfred P. Scandinavian York and Dublin: The History and Archaeology of Two Related Viking Kingdoms (2 Vols). Dublin: Templekieran Press, 1975, 1979. Smyth, Alfred P. Scandinavian Kings in the British Isles 850–880. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977. Story, Joanna. Carolingian Connections. Anglo-Saxon England and Carolingian Francia, c. 750–870 (Studies in Early Medieval Britain and Ireland). Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2003. Webster, Leslie. Anglo-Saxon Art: A new history. London: British Museum Press, 2012. Williams, Diane and John Kenyon, eds. The Impact of the Edwardian Castle in Wales. Oxford: Oxbow, 2009.

INDEX

[locator with italics f and t indicate figures and tables]

abortion and infanticide, 19 Absalon (Archbishop of Lund), 105, 107–108 Abus du Monde (by Pierre Gringore), 152 manuscript, in Pierpont Morgan Library, 140–141 visual satire on the League of Cambrai, 142f, 143, 154n.13 Adoration of Jesus, infant, by the Magi, 15, 16f, 17–22 Aethelberht, King, 18–19 Aggesen, Sven, 105–106, 109, 111–115 agricultural works, information Bilderbeck’s work, 200, 201, 206n.54, n.55 circulation, translation, and appropriation of, 199–202 intertextual network, of knowledge/status, 199 knowledge and innovations, 11 Pierre le Lorrain’s work, 200, 206n.55 textbooks (see Swedish books, husbandry and agriculture on) Albani, Alessandro (Cardinal), 219 Albany. See Stuart, John (Duke of Albany) Alcester Crozier, 58 Alfred the Great, King, 18, 19 Alting, Henry, 161 The Ambassadors (by Hans Holbein), 6 Andrewes, Lancelot (Bishop), 162 Anglo-Dutch war Protestant cantons’ intervention in, 165–166 Swiss efforts at mediation, 159, 165 Anglo-Genevan, and Anglo-Swiss nexus, 160, 161

Anglo-Italian mercantile traffic, from 1511 to 1570, 177 Anglo-Norman architectural styles, 4–5 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 114 Anglo-Saxon and English law/legal system, 19, 110, 114–115 Anglo-Scandinavian sculpture, 32–33, 43, 57–58 Anglo-Swiss relations, 11, 159 Anglo-Dutch war, 159, 165–166 civil wars, religious, 164–165 correspondence with, friends/officials, 158, 162, 163, 166, 168, 169 diplomats’ activities, 158–159, 163–165 English reformers, exile, 158 English/Swiss churches, correspondence, 160–161 exchange of books and scholars, 166 exile memoirs or accounts, 167–168 export/translation to Switzerland, English devotional literature, 164, 168 immigrants, 163 individual interaction, letters penned, 165, 166, 169 and interactions, 159–160, 167, 169n.1 ministers/scholars, role, 160–161 Oxford and Cambridge universities, 161, 167 political material, dissemination of, 168 Protestant networks across Europe, impacts, 169, 174n.83 scholarships, relationship to reformers, 161–162 Swiss Protestants, debt owed, 158, 161 Swiss returnees, communication with English friends, 164

Index

Swiss visitors/students, to England, 161, 166–167 travellers, students or nobility, 160–161 visiting Swiss, funding, 162 visitors interactions, and puritan acquaintance, 162, 166 Antoine d’Acres, 143 Arabic manuscripts, in English libraries, 166 Arch of Constantine, Rome, Italy, 123 Augustine, 3 Auld Alliance. See Franco-Scottish alliance Auzon, Dép. Haute-Loire, France, 15 Baducing (Benedict) Biscop, 3 Barlow, Edward, 11 about geopolitical rivalries, 185 awareness about of world events, 183 birds-eye views and pilotage charts, 22, 179, 182, 188–189 as cosmopolitan sailor, 179–180 early career in the Mediterranean, 175–177 England’s relationship to the Continent, 188 expansive maritime world, 176, 178, 180 eyewitness to history, 178, 183 Grand Tour and, 177, 183, 188 joined, Yarmouth, 180, 181, 183, 184, 186 journal, years at sea (see journal, Barlow’s) life history, 178–180, 188 Naseby, or Royal Charles at, 179, 180 spatial understanding, expanding world, 175 voyage 1668–1669 (see Mediterranean cruise, to Italian ports (Edward Barlow, 1668–1669)) Basel, Switzerland, British students or nobility in, 160 Battle of Hastings, England, 4 Baxter, Richard (Worcestershire minister), 164, 169 beach market, 76 Bede (Beda Venerabilis), 4, 8, 18 Bible, visualised in art, 9, 16, 19, 20f, 21–22, 51–55, 56f, 57f, 65 Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, 144 Bibliothèque St-Geneviève, MS, 936. See Paris Manuscript Bilderbeck, Christoph Lorenz, 200–201, 206n.54, n.55 bilingualism, 88–89, 93–95 Bodleian Library, Oxford, 161

229

Bodley, Sir Thomas, 163 Boniface, 3, 63 Book of Kings, 18 Bouhéreau, Elie, 168 Boyle, Robert, 165, 199 Breudwyt Maxen Wledic (The Dream of Macsen Wledig), 122, 123, 124, 130, 131 Britain, term defined, 8–9 Britannia (by William Camden), 194, 199, 201 Britannia Baconica (by Joshua Childrey), 199, 201 British Isles, and Britain. See also Isle of Man Bronze Age in, 2 Celtic peoples in, 2 Christianisation of, missionaries, 3 Germanic settlement in, 2–3 incursions by raiding Vikings, 4 Norman conquest, 4–5, 10 Romans’ arrival, influence, 2–3 Scandinavian settlement, 2–3 term, meaning, 8–9 UK leaving the European Union (‘Brexit’), 8 Vikings’ arrival, aspects of life, 9, 10, 31, 40–41, 58, 65 (see also Scandinavian settlement in the British Isles) Broocman, Reinerus, 198–199 book (see A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry) first/second part of book, 203, 205n.51 Norrköpings Tidningar, newspaper, 203 bullion economy. See silver burial custom, 4, 9, 31–33, 39, 42–43, 50n.60, 64 Burnet, Gilbert (bishop of Salisbury), 160, 168 Burroughes, Jeremiah, 164 Burton-in-Kendal, Cumbria, England, 53, 55, 56f, 65, 68n.47 Bury Psalter, 58 Bythner, Victorinus, 162 Byzantine art/imagery, 10, 21, 52, 55, 67n.46 cabbal, a chapel, 97–98 Caernarfon Castle, Gwynedd, Wales (see also Eleanor de Castile, Queen) Arthurian features at, 124, 133 documentary evidence, 127 European/British romance-inspired, gardens, 121–124, 128, 131, 133, 134 garden below Queen’s Gate, 126–128 gardinum and (h)ortus, function, 125–126

230

Index

‘ideal approach’ route to castle, 124 King’s Garden, rebuilt and renamed, 128 King’s Way, 127, 132 Latin terms, for garden at, 125–126 parcus parvum (‘little park’) below Queen’s Gate, 130–131 processional way, and Queen’s Gate, 132–133 Queen’s Gate, design/architecture, 121–122f, 123–124 Calvin, John, and Calvinism, 6, 159–160, 167 Camden, William, 194, 199–201 Canterbury Psalter, 64 capella/kapella, 97–98 Carleton, Sir Dudley, 159, 163 Carolingian book-illuminations, 10, 21, 53–55, 62, 65 Carolingian monetary economy, 73 Carthage, Barlow’s description of, 180 Aeneas and Dido story, 180 Catholics, and Catholisicm, 6, 148, 158, 159, 160, 165 Cartwright, Thomas, 162 Castle Rising, Norfolk, England, 126 Cathach of Columba, 55 cathedrals, 38, 188 Catherine de Medici, 140, 147, 150, 152 Central Asia, silver from, 69, 73 Channel, 1–2, 9, 63 chanson de geste, 126, 130 Charles Emmanuel III, King, 212, 215, 220 courting guests from England, 219 Louis XV promised Piacenza to, 208, 221n.7 neutral stance during War, 208–209 Charles I, King, 6–7 Charles VII, King, 6 Chartier, Alain, 5 Chauveau, Gilbert, 149 child murder, depiction of, 18, 23 on crypt of the church Sainte-MarieMadeleine, 19–20f fifth-century ivories, Western Roman, 20 in the Middle East, 21 on Roman sarcophagi, 19–20 Childrey, Joshua, 199 Christian Anglo-Saxon society and law, 18–19 Christian imagery, 9, 41, 51–53, 56 (see also Bible, visualised in art) Adoration of the infant Jesus (see

Adoration of Jesus, infant) animals and mythical beasts, 52–54 Christ trampling the Beasts (see ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ image) Crucifixion, 41, 57 Daniel in the Lions’ Den, 41 King David, 54, 55 Last Judgement/Second Coming of Christ, 52, 55 Massacre of the Innocents (see Massacre of the Innocents, depictions of) Nativity of Jesus, 21 Christianisation, of Britain, 3, 31 Christianity, 2, 3, 9–10, 59–61, 63, 64, 104n.48, 123 ‘Christ trampling the beasts’ image, 9, 51–55, 56f–57f, 58, 62f in British Isles, 52–53, 54–55, 57–58, 64, 65, 68n.47 (see also Burton-inKendal; Thorvald’s Cross) in Byzantine Italy, 53 (see also Ravenna, Italy) Carolingian/Ottonian book covers and illuminations, 53–54, 57, 67n.46 Christus miles (warlike Christ), 54, 62f Christus triumphans (triumphant Christ), 20, 52–55, 58, 62f ‘Christ/Víðarr overlap’, 61 eschatological motif, 52 illustrating Psalm 91:13, 9, 51–55, 58, 65 illustrating Revelation 20:2, 52–53, 55, 65 Irish or Northumbrian influences, 57, 63 Mediterranean examples and models, 52, 53 motif’s history and early medieval religious art, 52–53, 63–64 popularity, 54–55, 58, 65 Clay lamps, decorated, 53 Clement XIII, Pope, 219 Cliffs End Farm, Thanet, Kent, England, 2 Clonmacnoise, Offaly, Ireland, 55 coins, 2, 4, 10, 38, 72, 74, 77–81 (see also Scandinavian Scotland; silver) dirhams, 73–74, 79–80 Viking-Age Anglo-Saxon, 79–80 Colladon, Jean (now John), 167 Compendiosa Regum Daniae Historia, 106 A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry (by Reinerus Broocman) Britannia and Britannia Baconica citations, 199–202 for private ambitions, 198, 202

Index

English authors, mentions in, 199 learned men’s perception, of England, 202 Swedish and German books citations, 199–201 used Bilderbeck’s work, 200 Conwy Castle, Gwynedd, Wales, 125, 127–129 Cook, Moses, 199 Cornwall, southwest England seaweed and clay, as fertiliser, 199, 201–202, 206n.53, n.62 Court of Savoy, in Turin, 207, 209, 212 Couteau, Jean, 147 Cox, Oliver, 159, 168 Cromwell, Oliver, 164, 166 Cronk yn Howe burials, Isle of Man, 34 Crowland Psalter, 57 Cumbrian stone monuments, 35t, 39–40, 53, 55, 56f, 60, 62f De bestiis et aliis rebus, 126 De Consolatione Philosophia (by Beothius), 18 Deor, 17–19 Desmontiers, Jean, 150–151 Dinteville, Jean de, and Georges de Selve, 6 dirhams, 73–74, 79–80 Domat, Bremond. Boulogne/d’Auvergne lineage, research, 146–148 Genealogy of Anne de la Tour, Princess of Scotland, 145–147 Liber Pluscardensis, translation, 148 self-portrait, 146f work on Albany’s Scottish heritage, 148 Dover boat, Dover, England, 2 The Dream of Macsen Wledig. See Breudwyt Maxen Wledig Duke of York and Albany. See Edward Augustus, Prince (Duke of York and Albany) Dunbar Castle, East Lothian, Scotland, 140, 143–144, 150 Durham Cassiodorus, 54 Durie, John, 159, 164–167 Durrow, Offaly, Ireland, 55 Dyck, Anthony van, 6–7 ‘Earl of Ulster’. See Edward Augustus, Prince (Duke of York and Albany) Earl’s Bu, Orkney, Scotland, 78, 80–81 ecclesia anglicana, 160 ecclesiastical sites, and cemeteries, 33–34, 43 (see also funerary monuments, art of; furnished burials) keeills, 34, 39, 42, 43, 98

231

map and list of, 33f memorialisation, 31–32 periods of practices, 42 physical landscape, consideration, 34, 38 relations between clergy and laity, 32–34, 42 social/status, significances, 38–39 types, 35t–37t economic anthropology, 70–71 Eddas, 59 Gylfaginning (Snorri Sturluson), 59, 60 Vo ˛ lundarqviða, 16–17 Vo ˛ luspá, 60–61 Þiðreks saga, 16–17 Edict of Nantes, 159, 168 Edward Augustus, Prince (Duke of York and Albany), 11 ceremonial practices, European courts, 209–212, 214–217, 219, 222n.32, 223n.55, 224n.92 Citadel of Alessandria, visit to, 211, 223n.39 ‘Earl of Ulster’ alias, travelled under, 207, 209, 211, 217 English journals, articles, 210 expenses, of travel/transport, 217–218 expressions of gratitude, for stay, 214, 224n.90 first journey in Piedmont (10 February–7 March 1764), 210–214 Italian Grand Tour, 160, 177, 183–184, 188, 207, 211, 216 King George III, younger brother of, and member of Privy Council, 207, 209, 218–220 meetings with Royal family, 212–213 purpose of travelling to Italy, 216, 221n.14 refined and cultured man, 209, 215 second journey in Piedmont (10–27 July 1764), 214–215 travel routes, across Piedmont in 1764, 208f Turin, stay in, 211–215 untimely death in Monaco, 220 Vacca di Piozzo, reports/ceremonial accounts, 211–212, 216–217, 220 Edward I, King, 10, 121–125, 127–129, 131–134 castles (see Caernarfon Castle; Conwy Castle; Rhuddlan Castle)

232

Index

Eleanor de Castile, Queen castle (see Caernarfon Castle) gardens created, by and for, 128–130, 133 herbarium at Caernarfon, 127–128, 131 Iberian-born Queen, 121, 124 keen gardener, waterworks at garden, 128 medieval garden, based on The Dream, 122–123 ‘Queen’s Arbour’, 129 Queen’s Gate (see Queen’s Gate, at Caernarfon Castle) Spanish designs, to gardens/architecture, 10 Elen, 123, 124, 128 Engelska Åker-Mannen och Fåra-Herden. See The English Husbandman and Shepherd ‘England’s Immigrants’ project, 5 English colonialism, 9 The English Husbandman and Shepherd (by Jacob Serenius), 197 climate differences, 195–196 conversion charts, 197 information adjustment, grouped, 195–196 measurements units confusion, 196–197, 199 practical usefulness, information loss, 193, 195–199 publication motives, 194–198, 202 similarities Sweden and England, preface, 195, 197, 198 Swedish compilation, 194 translation and selection, 194–196, 198 English law. See Anglo-Saxon and English law/legal system English theologians, pre-eminence of, 164 Enlightenment, 158 Epistres du Turc (by Macé de Villebresme), 28, 143, 155n.26, 157n.64 Érec et Énide, 125 Europe/European Continent, term, 1, 9 European languages, pre-occlusion, 95–96 Evelyn, John, 165, 195, 197–199 Eworth, Hans, 6 Fishbourne, Roman Villa, Sussex, England, 2 Fleming, Oliver (Ambassador), 159, 165 Foris and Blanchflour, 125 Franco-Scottish alliance, 5–6 Franks, Sir Augustus Wollaston, 15 Franks Casket, iconography, 9 Adoration of the Magi of the infant Jesus, 15, 16f, 17–22

bird catcher scene, 22–23 contrastive juxtaposition of different subjects, 17–18, 23, 24 front panel, 15, 16f, 17, 22 Herod and Wayland, comparison, 23 image of smith, 17 images of Herod, 23 images of Romulus and Remus, Titus, and other motifs, 15–16 Mary and Herod, positioning of, 22 Massacre of the Innocents, 19–23 runic inscriptions, 17 walrus ivory casket, 15 Wayland, depiction of, 17–19, 23 fugitive unexploded d, 95–96 En Fulständig Swensk Hus-Hålds-Bok. See A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry funerary/memorial stone monuments, art of, 9, 32–33 (see also Christian imagery; Scandinavian art styles) design schools (Beckermet, Cumbrian, Solway, spiral-scroll), 40 Irish Sea style, 32–34, 40–42, 44n.6 runic inscriptions, 40, 42–43, 50n.65, 64, 88 Scandinavian influences, 9, 34, 40, 42–43, 61, 62f, 64–65 ships, birds, hunts, tree of life, and other figures, 25, 41, 59 furnished burials, 32, 38–39, 42–43, 44n.6 deceased and kin, identity, 33 grave goods, 38–39, 42, 44, 48n.33, 50n.60 key geographic areas, 33–34 relation to memorialisation, 31–32 sites and dates, 34, 35t–37t stone-sculpture, 9, 17, 32, 34, 35t–37t, 39–41, 51–53, 55–56f, 57f, 58–62, 64–65 Gaelic linguistic survival. See Manx Gaelic language Galloway Hoard, Scotland, 74, 76, 77–79 garde écossaise, 6 gardinum, 121, 125, 126, 131, 133 and (h)ortus, 125, 126, 131, 133 in romance poems, 125 Garin le Loherenc, 126 Gataker, Thomas (vicar of Rotherhithe), 161, 165, 168 Gautr, 40 Genoa, Italy Barlow’s portrayal of, 187–188 ‘Church Houses’ in, 188

Index

manner of the situation of the city, 187f maritime views of, 188 Prince Doria Palace Aviary, depiction of, 188, 191n.50 Genoelselderen, Belgium, 54, 62f, 63, 67n.46 Gesta Danorum (by Saxo Grammaticus), 107 Gibbon, Edward, 217 Gibson, Edmund, 194 glass-making, 4 ‘gloriette’, term and concept, 129–130 Gosforth, cross of, Cumbria, England, 59, 62f Gotlandic picture stones, Sweden, 17 Gouge, William, 164 Grand Tour, 177, 183, 188, 207, 211, 216, 220n.1 origins of, 160 of Piedmont, 11, 207, 208map, 209–220 Great Northern War, 192, 198 Gregory I, Pope, 3, 53 grið, 115, 120n.73 Gringore, Pierre, 140, 140f, 143, 148 Grob, Johann Georg, 167 Habsburg rule, 6 hacksilver, 69, 71, 73, 77 Hague manuscript 1518, 145 Domat, Bremond authorship, 146 to enhance reputation, 147, 156n.44 the genealogies, gift copies, 147, 151 Genealogy of Anne de la Tour, Princess of Scotland, 145–147 work commissioned by Albany, 145–146, 151 (see also Stuart, John (Duke of Albany)) Harald Whetstone, King, 106–107, 116n.9 Hart, James, 163 Hartlib, Samuel, 199 healsfang, 111, 119n.43 Heimskringla, 107 herber(ium), 125 Herod, King, depiction of, 19–24, 20, 21 heroic combats, imagery of, 59 Herwarth, Philibert, 160, 168, 174n.88 High Crosses, 55 Hinton St Mary, Roman Villa, Dorset, England, 3 Historia naturali, 200, 206n.53 History of England (by John Speed), 162 The History of the King’s Works, 130 Holbein, Hans, 6 hortus (hortus conclusus), 125, 131, 133 Hottinger, Johann Heinrich, 162, 166

233

Hoxne Hoard, Suffolk, England, 2 Hummel, Johann Heinrich (biblicist), 161–162, 164–168 Hundred Years War, 5 husbandry and agriculture books. See Swedish books, husbandry and agriculture on iconography, ambiguity of, 41–42, 50n.60 infanticide, 19–22, 23 (see also child murder, depiction of) insular mounts, 79 international travel, 10, 63, 93, 160, 163, 179, 184, 209, 212, 216 Irish Church, 3 Irish Sea Region silver economies, 73, 75–81 Irish Sea style, sculptures, 32, 40–42 Isaiah 11:8–9, 52 Isle of Man, 9–10, 33, 58–60, 78 (see also British Isles, and Britain) ecclesiastical sites, 33–34, 36–37t, 42 Manx Gaelic, spoken on, 10, 87, 88, 93–96, 98 Viking-Age burials, 34, 39, 41–42 Viking-Age cross monuments (‘Manx Crosses’), 34, 38–42, 52–53, 61, 64 (see also Thorvald’s Cross) Italian ports, English shipping at, 176–178 Italian states diplomatic relationships with Britain, 207–208 Prince Edward’s arrival, opportunity, 209 rulers interest in, making Britain ally, 218–219 ivory sculpture, 20, 58 book cover, 20–22, 52, 53–54, 62–63, 65 James I, King, 6 jardin, 121, 125, 126, 131, 133 Jevington (St Andrew’s), Sussex, England, 58 jewellery, 2–4, 17, 75 John, Duke of Bedford, 5 journal, Barlow’s about English global identity, and extension, 179–180, 181 about travails of sailors, 187 additional shorelines, 179 coastal profiles, of port cities and seaways, 179 commercial opportunities, catalogued, 176, 178, 180, 183, 187

234

Index

England’s relationship to the Continent, 175, 188 English global aspirations, evolution of, 189 Italian port cities, renderings of, 176–178 Mediterranean cruise (see Mediterranean cruise, to Italian ports (Edward Barlow, 1668–1669)) overseas trades, increasing, 176–177 Roman and English imperial interests, 180 Spanish harbours, 177 style and tropes, of images, 188 textual/graphic narration of travels, 175–176, 178–181, 187–189 understanding, cosmopolitan world of, 178, 183, 189 volcanoes’ allure, 182 voyages, and sketches of ports/places, 176–180 keeills, 34, 39, 42, 43, 98 Kingdom of Sardinia, 207–208, 210–211, 216, 220 the King’s Pool (Stagnum Regis), 133 Kirk Andreas MM 128. See Thorvald’s Cross Knock y Doonee burial, Isle of Man, 34 knowledge circulation, studies of, 193 concept, and information, 203n.4 transformation of, 199, 203n.4 Knútr VI inn ríki (Cnut the Great), King, 10, 105–106 decree on homicide, 106 distinctions between greater/lesser transgressions, 112–113 English laws, decentralised approach, 110 English/Scandinavian tradition, inclusion in legal practices, 110–111, 113 heterogeneous populations, law for, 109, 112, 115 law-making in Norway, 107–108 legal innovator, 108 legislative attitude, 106–108, 112–114 pragmatic ways, law interpretation, 112 punitive legal provisions, 112–114 Viking-Age problems, approach to, 108–111 Koninklijke Bibliotheek in the Hague, 145 Lätt, Arnold, 161 La genealogie des contes de Boulongne, 151 Albany’s involvement, in production, 152

lahslit, 111, 119n.44 language change, contact-induced, 92, 102n.27 La Prise d’Orange, 130 Lassell, Richard, 188 Laud, William (Archbishop), 160, 164 Laurence, John, 195 Law of the Retainers. See Lex Castrensis Ledberg, Sweden, stone monument, 59, 62f The Legendary Saga of St Olaf, 107 Lex Castrensis, 114–115 (see also Knútr VI, King) diverse hirð, law for, 105–106, 111–112, 115 in English, Law of the Retainers, 105 judicial violence, in English legal system, 109–110 law code II Cnut, 111, 119n.45 laws, during Knút’s time, 105 legal tractus, 106, 115 Sven’s legal narrative, 106, 111–113 Viking-Age legal details, 105 (see also Viking-Age law) Liampo, ship, 178 Liber Landauensis, 108 Liber Pluscardensis, 156n.45 Albany’s interest in, 148, 150 based on Fordun and Bower’s works, 148 as evidence, literary material transfer, 149 Latin copy of MS 308876, 149 Lindisfarne, island monastery, Northumbria, England, 4 literary and visual art forms, 10–11 Livorno, Italy Barlow’s view, 185 commercial activity, 185–186 English expansionism, importance of, 184–186 manner and situation of, in Mediterranean Sea, 186f Monument of the Four Moors, 185–186 loanwords, in language, 5 bilingualism, 93, 98–99 functional language use, indicative of, 91 historical sociolinguistics of, 97–98 from Latin, 97–98, 104n.48 phonological groups, 97 presence, contact induced change, 92, 102n.27 semantic groups, 96–98 social status, 92–93 London Chronicle, 210

Index

The London Gazette, 210, 218, 220, 221n.16 Lorrain, Pierre le, 200–201, 206n.55 Lorsch Gospel, 22, 53, 57 Lorsch Homilies, 57 Louis XII, King, 6, 141–144, 154n.18 Ludlow, Edmund, 167–168 Luke 10:19, 52 Macé de Villebresme, 144–145, 155n.26–n.28, 156n.64 Macsen Wledig (Magnus Maximus), Emperor, 122–123, 131 (see also Breudwyt Maxen Wledig) Malory, Thomas, 131 Mann, Horace, 209, 221n.10 Manx Crosses, 34, 36t–37t, 38–43, 52–53, 56–59, 61, 62f, 63–65, 88 Manx Gaelic language ‘abbeyland bounds’ document, 89, 102n.12 bilingualism scope, 88–89, 93–95 contact-induced, language change, 92 in the context of historical sociolinguistics, 91–94 d-insertion, pre-occlusion, 95–96, 103n.43 extinction or survival views, 87–89, 90, 91, 93–96, 99 historical sociolinguistics, of loanwords, 97–98 linguistic evidence, 94–95 loanwords, semantics of, 91–94, 96–98, 104n.48, n.51 Norse influence, 88–91, 92–94, 96 Old Norse loanwords in, 100–101App., 103n.44 phonological groups, 97, 104n.47 place-name studies, 88–91 Manx-Scandinavian sculpture. See Manx Crosses Mark 16:17–18, 52 Markham, Gervase, 195 Marshall, Stephen, 163 Massacre of the Innocents, depictions of, 9, 20, 23 in Carmen paschale, 21 Christian or Byzantine, 21 in Codex Egberti, 22–23 common in Late Antiquity, 22 in Drogo Sacramentary, 21 in Echternach Pericopes, 22–23 in Reichenau Evangeliary of Otto III, 22 triumphal arch of Santa Maria, Maggiore in Rome, 19 Matthew, Gospel of, 16, 19, 23–24

235

Meddowes, James, 161 medieval gardens associated buildings, overlooked by, 126 aviaries, 125 in Christian mythology, 133 constructed within parks, 130 defined, 124–125 and parks, 127 summer-houses, 125 Mediterranean cruise, to Italian ports (Edward Barlow, 1668-1669) (see also journal, Barlow’s) English shipping to, in 1660s, 176–178 Genoa, 187f–188 Livorno, 185–186f mercantile interests in, 175–176 Messina, Sicily, 181f, 182f–183 Naples, 183–184f Messina, Sicily, Italy, 181f Barlow’s view, 182–183 Etna’s eruption, 182–183 four chimneys of Hell, 182–183 the Meyers of Basel, 161 Mirefleur Château, library at, 140–141 mission, and missionaries, 3, 19, 63 Monkwearmouth and Jarrow, monasteries, Northumbria, 3–4, 8, 54 Monument of the Four Moors, sculpture, 185–186 Morland, Samuel, 164–165 Le Morte D’Arthur (by Thomas Malory), 131 Mortimer, John, 195, 197, 198 mosaics of Christ, 3, 53–54 Mount Aetna’s Flames, Or, The Sicilian Wonder, 183 Mytens, Daniel, 6 Naples, Italy Barlow’s view of, 183–184 manner and situation of, in Mediterranean Sea, 184f Mt Vesuvius, 183–184 trade scope/importance, England’s interests, 183–184 National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, Caird Library and Archive, 176 Nedham, Marchmont, 163 New Malton, Yorkshire, England, 86n.47 Niederdollendorf, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Germany, 54 Norman Conquest, 4, 10 Norse mythology, 9, 10, 16–17, 40–41, 51, 52, 59–61 Heimdall, 41, 61

236

Index

Óðinn, 41, 59–60, 62f Ragnaro˛k, 41, 51, 59–60, 62f, 64 Sigurðr, 25n.3, 41, 58 Víðarr, 60–62f Þór (Thor), 40, 42 Norse iconography, 9, 31, 32, 34, 35t, 40–42, 43, 64 (see also funerary/ memorial stone monuments, art of; Norse mythology) ambiguity of, 41–42, 50n.60, 56, 65 Northumbrian elements, in artwork, 63 Norwegian Norðweg, monetary connectivity, 70, 74–76 Nourse, Timothy, 195, 198 orchard-type of garden, 125 ornamental gardens, 10 Ott, Johann Heinrich, 162 Oxford book cover, Chelles, 53–54, 57 Óðinn, 41, 59–60, 62f paganism (‘heathenism’), 3, 9, 15, 51, 58–61 pagan mythology. See Norse mythology painters, foreign patronage of, 6–7 parcus parvum (‘little park’), 130–131 parish churches, 38 Paris Manuscript Latin chronicle translated into French, 148 political ideas transference, example, 149 park and garden, distinction between, 131 Parker, Henry, 163 park-like, type of garden, 125 Le Partage des Proies, 125 Pays de Vaud, Switzerland, 161, 163, 167–169n.1 Pell, John, 159, 165, 166 Penington, Daniel, 162, 164–165 Penington, Elizabeth, 162, 164, 169 Pietro Castelli Gardens, Messina, Italy, 182 Pignatta Sarcophagus, Ravenna, Italy, 53 place-names, 10, 88–91 Gaelic, 88–89 Platter, Thomas, 160 pleasure garden (jardin de plaisance), 125 pottery, 2–3 pre-occlusion, languages, 95 Protestant cantons, in Switzerland, 158, 159, 165, 167–168 (see also Calvin, John, and Calvinism) Protestants, and Protestantism, 6, 158, 159, 161, 163, 165, 167–168 Psalm 91:13 (90:13), 51, 54

illustration of, 9, 20, 51–53, 54–55, 58, 62, 65 Purple Evangeliary, 21 Putney Debates, in 1647, 164 Queen’s Gate, at Caernarfon Castle (see also Eleanor de Castile, Queen) architectural design of, 123–124 gardens below, 126–128 gloriette-type structure at, 130, 134 ‘landscape manipulation’, 132 legend of Elen, as expression of, 123–124 location, 122f reference to triumphant Christianity, 123 as reflection, of Eleanor’s piety, 123–124 Rabbula Gospels, 21 Ragnaro˛k, depictions of, 41, 51, 59–61, 62f, 64 Rahn, Johann Heinrich, 166 Ravenna, Italy, 20 Archiepiscopal Chapel, 53 Basilica di San Francesco, Pignatta Sarcophagus, 53 Battistero Neoniano (Baptistery of Neon), 53 Reformed Pastor (by Richard Baxter), 164 Regia Segreteria di Guerra, 216, 220, 224n.64 Revelation 20:2, illustration of, 52–53, 55, 65 Reynolds, John, 161 Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd, Wales, 128–130 ring-chain, 64 ring-money, 77–78, 80 Le Roman de Thèbes, 126, 128 Royal Society, 194, 198, 203 Ruby, Royal Navy frigate, 185 Rütimeyer, Albertus, 162 runic inscriptions, 24n.2 on Franks Casket, 9, 15–17 in Viking–Age funerary monuments, 4, 40, 42–43, 50n.65, 64, 88 Sabaudian royal family, 209, 212, 215, 216 Sachs von Löwenheim, Philipp Jakob, 201–202, 206n.62 Sainte-Chapelle at Vic-le-Comte, Auvergne, France, 140 Albany’s influence, decorations program, 149–150 foundation, by Albany, 148 iconography, and interior decoration, 148–150

Index

papal bull, Albany’s Rome visit, 148, 155n.33 Sainte-Marie-Madeleine, Saint-Maximinla-Sainte-Baume, Dép. Var, France, 19, 20f, 22, 24 Saint-Rémy, France, 20, 22, 24 Sangallo, Antonio da, the Younger, 150–151 San Sebastiano, Rome, Italy, 19–20 Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome, Italy, 19 sarcophagi, decorated, 19, 20f, 22, 24, 52–53 Sardinia, and Great Britain. See also Edward Augustus, Prince (Duke of York and Albany) communication, and diplomacy, 219, 221n.9 cordial relationship, 208, 218, 220 opportunities for export, of wines/silks, 210, 219–220 Saxo Grammaticus, 106 Scandinavian art styles. See also funerary monuments, art of Borre style, 40, 56, 61, 64 Jellinge style, 40, 61 Mammen style, 40, 61, 78 Ringerike style, 40, 61 Urnes style, 58 Scandinavian legal systems. See VikingAge law Scandinavian Scotland, monetary connections Baltic and southern Scandinavian, bullion economies, 73–77, 79–81 bullion use, 78–79 Central Scandinavian sites, connections to, 81 coin use, 10, 38, 72, 74, 77, 79–81 (see also dirhams) concept of ring-money, 78 Danish–Dublin connection, 74 economic models, 75–76 market economy, 76–81 market trade, and transactions, 71–72 in Norwegian market sites, 75 post-substantivist models, 72 silver currency use, and circulation, 70–71, 73, 77, 81 (see also silver) southern neighbours, connections to, 77–78 wealth centres in the Baltic, 80–81 Scandinavian settlement in the British Isles, 34, 39, 41, 44n6, 91 ‘Schottenklöster’, 3 Schriver, Christian, 198 Schwyzer, Christoph, 162 scientific revolution, 192

237

Second Coming of Christ, depiction of. See Christian imagery Sedulius, 21 Seelen-Schatz (by Christian Schriver), 198 Selden, John, 164, 166 Serenius, Jacob (minister of congregation), 194 became bishop of Strängnäs, 202 book (see The English Husbandman and Shepherd) farming experience, limited, 194 fellow of the Royal Society in 1732, 203 Seven Years’ War, 207–208, 218, 220, 221n.7 Shaw, William, 97 Shotwick Castle, Cheshire, England, 126 Sigmund von Erlach, 166, 168 silver accumulation and gifting of, 70–71, 73 Anglo-Saxon coins, 79–80 arm-rings, 74 as commodity money, 69, 73–74 influx of Central Asian ‘dirham’ coins, 73 metrological equipment, 70–71, 74 Scotto–Scandinavian circulation of, 70, 71–72 transfer of bullion economies, 74–76 single-find coins, 72 Skaill hoard, Orkney, Scotland, 77–78 Sloane, Hans, 194 Snorri Sturluson. See Eddas, Gylfaginning Sollikofer (or Zollikofer) of St Gallen, Switzerland, 166 Speed, John, 162 Steenwijck, Hendrick van, 7 St Helen’s church, Caernarfon, Gwynedd, Wales, 123–124 Stiernhielm, Georg, 197 Stokar, Johann Jakob (rector of St Alphege, Canterbury), 159, 162, 165–167 Storr Rock hoard, Isle of Skye, Scotland, 77–78 Stouppe, Jean-Baptiste, 159, 167 St Peblig Church, Llanbeblig, Gwynedd, Wales, 123, 124, 127, 132–133 Stuart, John (Duke of Albany), 10–11, 140 Abus du Monde, 140–141 Desmontiers, eulogy to, 150 Dunbar Castle, Scotland, fortification, 140, 143–145, 150, 151 early years, and family, 141 flattering poems for, 143, 154n.16 as French ambassador, 151 influential conduit for, knowledge/ideas

238

Index

transference, 140, 145, 152–153 interest in Liber Pluscardensis, 148–150 lineage, promotion, 146–147, 151–152 literary works use, for gains, 140, 143, 147, 149–153 manuscripts, to bolster his status (see Hague manuscript 1518; La genealogie des contes de Boulongne) Pope Leo X, connections to, 145 reputation, in military science matters, 145, 150–151 Sainte-Chapelle at Vic-le-Comte, foundation, 140, 148–150 Scotland visit, 143 ties of kinship to, Medici family, 140, 145, 147, 150–152 Treaty or League of Cambrai, 142–143 Villebresme literary work, presentation, 144–145, 152 stucco relief, 52, 53 Stuttgart Psalter, 54, 62f Swedish books, husbandry and agriculture on, 192 A Complete Book of Swedish Husbandry, 198–202 English agricultural knowledge in, usefulness, 194, 202 The English Husbandman and Shepherd, 193, 194–198 for circulation of practical knowledge, 192–193 notion of ‘usefulness’ (nytta), 194 as ‘tools of appropriation’, 193–194 translation and appropriation, link, 193 unoriginality and dependence on European works, 193 Swiss Confederation (Switzerland), 158, 163–165, 168, 169 (see also Anglo-Swiss relations) Catholic cantons, led by Luzern, 159 Geneva, ties with, 159 immigrants flow in, 169 labyrinthine political processes, complain of, 164 members of the Eidgenossenschaft, 159 Pays de Vaud, freedom from Savoy, 163 Protestant cantons, populous/prosperous city republics, 159 and Protestant subjects, welfare concern by diplomats, 163 religious practice in, approval, 163–164 superiority of Bern, 164 Swiss–French alliance renewal, 165 Sydney, Algernon, 167

‘Symposium by the Sea’, Swansea, 2018, xviii, 8 Tallents, Francis, 168 Talnotrie hoard, Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland, 77–80 Taylor, Francis (vicar of Clapham), 161–62, 164–165 Thilenus, Willem (pastor of the Dutch church), 161, 162 Thirty Years War, 159, 177 Thomann, Caspar, 161 Thorvald’s Cross (Kirk Andreas MM 128, Isle of Man), 52–53, 56–57f, 58–59, 61, 62f, 63–65 Tiberius Psalter, 58 Tory, Geoffrey, 151 translation of agricultural knowledge, 193 appropriation, processes link, 193 individual authors motives, 193–194 knowledge usefulness transformation, to more theoretical, 193 plant names confusion, reduced spread, 193 Treaty or League of Cambrai, visual satire on, 142f, 143 Trevor, Sir John, 164 Tristan and Isolde, 131 Turin, Sardinian capital, Italy, 211–215, 217 Tusser, Thomas, 195 Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy, 150 Ulrich, Johann Jakob, 165 University of Padua, Italy, 160 Ussher, James (Archbishop), 163, 166 Utrecht Psalter, 54, 62, 64 Vacca di Piozzo, Francesco Antonio, 209–210, 211–212, 215, 216–217, 220 Viking(-Age) diaspora, 31, 73 Viking-Age law, 105–106, 116 (see also Knútr VI, King) capital punishment, 115 customary law, 114–116 interaction of Scandinavian and English legal ideas, 113–114 kings, role in law-making, 107, 117n.14 Wulfstan’s influence on Scandinavian legislation, 114, 115 Viking-Age stone monuments, 9, 10, 17, 34, 39, 52–53, 55–65, 66n.17 Vikings (Scandinavian sea–farers), 4, 9, 10, 52, 58, 61–64, 70–71, 74, 77, 80, 90 Vindolanda tablets, England, 2

Index

Virgil’s Georgica, 198 Víðarr, 60–62f The Volcano’s, Or, Burning and Firevomiting Mountains Famous in the World, 183 The Voyage of Italy (by Richard Lassell), 188 Vo˛lundr. See Wayland the Smith, story of Wake, Sir Isaac, 159, 163, 164, 167 Wake, William (Archbishop of Canterbury), 160 Walpole, Horace, 217 walrus ivory casket. See Franks Casket, iconography Wayland the Smith, story of, 9 in Deor, 17–19 in Vo˛lundarqviða, 16–17 in Þiðreks saga, 16

239

on Franks Casket, image of, 16f, 17–19, 23 on other objects, image of, 17 positive interpretations of, 18–19 as a symbol of Christian salvation, 18 wergild, 111, 119n.42 Werndli, Johann Caspar, 167 Whitelocke, James, 167 The Whole Art of Husbandry, 1721 (by John Mortimer), 195 William of Normandy, Duke, 4 Willibrord, 3 Winchcombe Psalter, 58 Winckelmann, Johann J., 217 Wulfstan, 114–115, 120n.73 York, England, 57–58